It’s something that we all encounter. Carefully groomed and crafted personas that seem flawless and precise: these are those cheerleaders and jocks in high school, debate team leaders, and politicians not to mention the technical luminaries who groom a cult of personality around them and carry with them a brief case of bon mots to support their image. With the care and attention to politics and media this year, book casing the Olympics, it’s a time where we’re all highly sensitive too, and suspicious of Heroes. The film Hero, with Jet Li in the title role is yet another resonating vibe and commentary.
I’m wondering if we’ve become a generation without heroes, and so sardonic that we struggle, perpetually, with the suspension of disbelief that true heroes, every day ones, still exist.
Now the notion of integrity and honor is not new. It’s just often neglected. And the gentlemen out there gripe that the ladies love the bad boys. And the women gripe, that all the men are ass holes or pussies. And everyone has an opinion on the international politics and battle stratagems of our current president and the sexual irresponsibilities of our president prior.
In the meantime, Afghanistan has a woman presidential candidate (likely decades before America will), and hundreds die as Russians and the rest of the world are horrified by the terrorism of children, teachers and families. South Korean has been busted for enriching Uranium, and Britney Spears’ gum goes on sale for more than what a South American family can earn in a year.
Where are the heroes, my dear friends? Where are the heroes? I’m asking questions and I don’t have the answers, nor do I expect you to have them.
My eyes are poor, but the closer I look at people — some close and some far, the more cracks I find in their seemingly porcelain facade.
I’d always taken an indulgent sort of shame and embarrassment with my flaws…as if I were somehow unworthy, and uncool, and far too neurotic, and the dumbest gal in the room; while in their company. The closer I get to them. the more I see flaws. They’re not heroes either. But that’s ok and … in a way, very beautiful.
I’ve been really challenged by the notion of self-awareness, self-acceptance, and self-management. For myself, 2/3 ain’t bad most days.
Personally. I am governed via a haphazard dedication in faith, abject self-deprecatory humility. And a fondness for mischief and other people. Laid over that, the desperate hope that I won’t do anything to discredit or dishonor my family and what they’ve given to me. Not as an iron fist in how my life is lived, but as a path to take me from here to where I want to be. I veer off lots. I sit under a shady tree and drink wine. I intentionally get lost on occasion, but I always know the path is there and that somehow or other I’ll get back to it.
Myself, I’ve never been good at facades. My best attempts for cloaking my gut intentions or feelings are made by being incommunicado. In person, in dialogue, or via IM. if I’m afraid of how I will be perceived (in terror, grief, horror, fury, etc) it’ll be a rare occasion when you see it. I craft in absence. my own facade.
Children are not like this. When they want something, they ask. When upset,. they cry. When scared, they howl. When hungry, they’ll gum anything you give them. When lonely. they seek out comfort. When cold, they wimper for warmth and tenderness. There is purity in that kind of transparency.
As an adult if you behaved in same manner, you are medicated. Because demonstrating forthright need is … impolite and somehow inappropriate. Our needs are not that different from when we were children. we’ve just boxed up and locked tight our avenues for expression.
Pity.
My friend SJ back in college and I came up with this term “11 Oclocks”. Referring to 11:00 conversations that we had in the dorms. Seemed like all the best conversations happened after that hour. Facades slipped and sometimes cracked. You’d get exhausted with “fronting”. You could finally acquiesce to the idea of not being the hero.. And in many circumstances. just listening to the other transformed you into one.
Isn’t life already too complicated without games, facades, and politeness? When did we become so afraid to ask for what we want? When did we become afraid to need. Anything.
I *need* a hug. I *need* to feel appreciated. I *need* to feel accepted. I *need* to feel understood. I *need* to feel that judgment for my actions past can stay relegated to the past and that I won’t forever be judged and criticized for them. I *need* new trees to sit under along my path, because the sun is far too strong and hot against my brow and the wind is against me some days. I *need* my friends to bring cold beer and good wine to sit under the trees along the path with me as we both get from here to there. I *need* you.
And that, likely, terrifies us both. Very much. But it’ s now 2:17 AM and I cannot front anymore. And perhaps we can be heroes to each other. But most importantly, be real humans first.