Tuesday, April 04, 2006, 1:18pm

So I pinched a nerve in my neck and shoulder about two weeks ago and the constant pain is driving me crazy. I keep telling myself how lucky I am to even have an arm to complain about, a husband to drive crazy with all my moaning, and a little dog that snuggles up to me with concern on her face… But sometimes I lose that battle and just feel sorry for myself. I need better drugs, I say… I need a massage… Even just a full night of sleep and I’d be so grateful! But you know what helps the most?

Reading or listening to music—two of my favorite art forms. (I’m not saying the pain goes away completely, but at least I’m distracted enough to feel some relief.)

And now that I think about it, art has always been there for me. Every difficulty in my life, I’ve gotten through with art by my side. Joys celebrated with music and song…

If it wasn’t for drama, I would never have gone to class in high school. (Not that I wasn’t a good student, because I was when I was there. I just didn’t like dealing with all the cliques, the rules, the system, the MAN. I thought it was all so bourgeois. Oh yeah, I was quite full of myself back then…Now I’m rushing back to it all as a teacher…ironic, huh?)

When I had a cyst on my tail bone lanced, I clutched my mom with my left hand and held a book in my right hand. (The book was Hawk Mistress by Marion Zimmer Bradley.)

When I had my impacted wisdom teeth taken out with local anesthesia, I was listening to Pat Benatar and Stevie Nicks on head phones.

When I was sick with the first of many bouts of strep throat in elementary school, I read all of the Narnia books in a couple of days.

And every new love, break up, disappointment, achievement, and party in my life has warranted a mix tape. (For you youngsters out there, that’s an eighties version of play lists…)

Don’t get me wrong, I know that art is so much more than that—but I think we underrate it’s quiet, simple value of being there for us when we need it. It makes me so sad when I see schools cutting art programs and getting rid of music, art and drama teachers. I believe that the most important job of a teacher is to teach students about life. And is there anything that does that better than art? Who’s going to create new art for the kids of tomorrow if we don’t teach the kids of today about it?

So, my question to you is, what does art do for you? What paintings, writings, plays, music, etc. hold meaning for you?

I’ll start.

BOOKS. There are way too many books for me to list them all, but here are some of them: Jonathon Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach, the Darkover series by Marion Zimmer Bradley, The Stand by Stephen King, the Xanth series by Piers Anthony, The Witching Hour by Anne Rice, Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet, The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. There are many many more, but that’s all I’m going to list for now.

MUSIC. Music on my I Pod right now: Garden State soundtrack, City of Angels soundtrack, Norah Jones, my various playlists with names such as: The Land of Nod, Still in the Eighties, White Noise (bunch of classical and instrumental songs for when I want to really concentrate), Funky Town, Martini Mix (Dean, Sammy, Sinatra, etc.), Mellow Mushroom (fun hippie songs), Silly Love Songs, and Kiss My Grits (angry & girl power songs). There are many others, but that’s all I can think of right now.

PLAYS: anything by Neil Simon, Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, Fiddler on the Roof, Oklahoma, Anything Goes, You Can’t Take It With You, Harvey, and many others.

I look forward to hearing what moves you. Movies, tv, anime—if it moves you, it all counts as art in my book.

-A.

Monday, April 03, 2006, 12:48pm  

So I’ve wanted to start a blog for some time now, but I haven’t been able to work up the courage.  I read blogs.  I compose blog entries in my head all the time, on a variety of subjects and moods of passing fancy, but they never go anywhere.  I’m too afraid to post anything for real, so these errant thoughts keep floating around in my brain, and I think they’re beginning to clog the works, so the least I can do is paste them here in this anonymous, sad excuse for a locked diary…(I started writing this in a password protected Word doc on my computer.)  

But just what is it that I’m afraid of?  I try to just sit with the feelings for a moment, to actually feel them with no judgment, see them for what they are, maybe find a way to release all this fear…  

I guess I’m afraid that my husband will see something I’ve written and get upset.  But so what?  He already knows most of my social/moral views anyway.  (We don’t agree on much, but that’s never been an issue—for him.)   It’s obviously the more personal thoughts I have about him and our relationship that I worry about him seeing.  But what’s the worst that can happen?  He’d gain some insight?  He’d leave me?  If so, I’d survive just fine, I know that.  But what if I hurt his feelings?  I think in some ways, deeply hurting his feelings would be worse for me than him leaving me.  Is that twisted?  Maybe.  In truth, I believe my motives are more selfish and uh, cowardly than altruistic.  I’d rather him leave me for his own reasons than have the guilt of hurting him by revealing truths he probably doesn’t want to know.  And let’s be honest, what we feel one day may drastically change the next day, especially in a long term relationship.  It would be disastrous if the people we loved knew everything we ever thought about them.  Wouldn’t it?  

So what else?  What else makes me so afraid to reveal my true thoughts?  I know I’m being egocentric here, but I’m terrified that something I say might come back to haunt me one day.  As if something I have to say could really matter in the big picture of things and that people will one day scour the internet for any hint of me… They’ll find my words here and it will ruin my future reputation as a great teacher, thinker, and philanthropist… (Yeah, right—get a clue, A!)  But even if in some alternate Bizarro world that were to happen, wouldn’t I be the type of person to be unconcerned by those who would look down on me for speaking and living my own truth?  Whatever that is, was or will be?     

See…there’s the rub.  Part of the fear is having to face the truth of my own cowardice—to have to admit that the me I like to think I am isn’t the me that walks around most days in my body.  Because if I were completely honest I’d have to admit that it’s the fear of rejection that so terrifies me and that I’ve lived most of my life doing whatever possible to avoid it.  The fear that the people who know and love the person I allow them to see will discover my true self and no longer love me.  If they reject me now, I can always say, “Well, they didn’t really know me…”  But what if they really knew me and still rejected me? 

I don’t know why it terrifies me so much to have people dislike me, or even worse, reject me.  Why should I care?  Why is their approval so important to me?  So important that I’ll go out of my way to make someone else happy at considerable discomfort to myself?  It’s not like I’ve ever been ostracized by society or anything… Ah, now we’re getting somewhere… I’ve always been an accepted, even somewhat respected member of society.  I’ve seen others on the outskirts and felt for them, even reached out occasionally if it didn’t cost me too much, but I’ve never been one of them… The thought terrifies me and I’m not really sure why.  Am I really that afraid of losing status, power, “privilege”?  (More on this topic later…)  

But what is it that makes me want to publish a blog anyway?  Why not just keep a locked diary somewhere safe?  But why do even that?  Why does anyone keep a journal?  Just to put the thoughts down somewhere other than in your head?  Because to not write is not an option?  To record your history?  To serve as a memory for you when your memory is no longer reliable?  I think it’s some of that and more.  Because if we’re being totally honest here, don’t we all secretly hope that someone else will some day read our writings and relate to them?  Someone will finally understand us?  And even though our blog may say that it is just an exercise for us and that we don’t care if anyone ever reads it, don’t we secretly wish for at least one comment?  Some kind of affirmation that we’re not alone?  Some feeling of connection to another human being?  That’s the beauty of words.  They help us fulfill some of our most basic needs: to be heard, to be understood, and to be loved.  Isn’t that what we’re all really looking for when we journal and/or blog?  

So here goes…I’m pushing the button, taking the cyber leap…in the hopes of better understanding myself, my place in the universe and how we are all connected.  I hope you’ll join me in my quest to connect the dots…  

-A.