Every day, I am reminded of how at odds I feel with much of
the culture we live in. Don't offer me tickets to the Magic Kingdom, I'm not
going. Most things Disney, Kardashian, Vegas, mainstream TV, crowds large and
small...cause me to feel bad...about all of us. The things we aspire to; the
things we wait in line for. I have no “Midnight Madness Sale” bug nor any
interest in the contents of the local mall. My eyes glaze over when you start
talking about the big game. Politicians won't see me at any of their rallys,
nor will I be in the congregation of any priest, reverend or guru claiming
insider information while passing the plate. For me, Eddie Arnold, handed down
the boring gene to George Straight who gave it to Allen Jackson who helped
spawn the majority of the country pop artists on any mainstream radio today.
Most of it a big yawn. Put on some Steve Earle or Lucinda Williams for me.
Something with a bite. Please don't make me live in a “planned community” where
my McMansion is a clone of every other house on the block and to which I sadly
tie my identity, even though it is actually owned by Bank of America.
Misplaced priorities and the pursuit of mediocrity rule too
routinely.
Yet we are more alike than different. We strut our
uniqueness while embracing the sameness. It’s one color instead of another, this
undisguisable from that, beyond the thinnest veneer.
As I think about such things, I remember the Carl Jung quote
Carla mentioned to me which I’m unable to shake: “Everything that irritates us
about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”
I wish I could hide from its truth and escape my own harsh
judgements in the mirror.
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