Life is Beautiful
The world from the eyes of a sheltered girl is beautiful. It may be marred, but her only connection with this imperfection is to say a quick prayer for the less fortunate souls and remember, with dutiful gratitude, how privileged she is in comparison. But as she grows up, the reality of pain and imperfection begin to evolve from the unwelcome guests of her childhood to permanent pieces of her life's fabric. This creeping in often occurs somewhat earlier for most people. By the time the government grants them the right to bear the weight of legal adulthood, their weathered eyes are able to look out among the suddenly broader world and know that for all its promises, pain will always remain a constant. But as I stepped over into this arbitrary adult role, my eyes were only just adjusting to the darkness of this world, and more appallingly, the darkness in myself. I struggled to accept the reality that so many had already embraced, and found my pain jarring and confusing. I remember speaking with Jamie the night before my birthday, and telling her suddenly "I feel old..really old." Pain can age a soul like nothing else, for the real and crippling encounter with darkness can render any childish idea of a kind world hopelessly unrealistic.
Even now, one year later, the presence of pain still catches me off guard at times. There is often an unapologetic gap between what our minds tell us should be and what our eyes tell us actually is.
I recently finished reading a novel by John Steinbeck called "East of Eden". The story follows the lives of two families, but focuses mostly on a man named Adam Trask, and later on his sons Cal and Aron Trask. Besides being brilliantly written, the story is poignant in its portrayal of humanity. It uses the story of Cain and Abel as an allegorical backbone, and the title itself implies that everyone in the novel struggles with life outside of the perfection we were originally created to enjoy. There are good people in the story, evil people, foolish and intelligent people, kind and wise people, and unreasonably cruel people. But every single one of the characters is carefully constructed in such a way that his humanity is understood, and therefore, relative to the reader. Cal Trask is haunted by the darkness he finds in himself, a darkness that he believes flows in his veins due to his mother's evil. His brother seems to be his polar opposite; a boy easily embraced and loved by all who encounter his sweet and naive disposition. Cal spends his childhood struggling with his "badness" and protecting his brother from the pain of reality, believing him to be too good to deal with it. What touched my heart about Cal is that although he did things that were wrong, although he enjoyed stirring up anger or discomfort in other people, he was always aware of his darkness, and always struggled to overcome it. While Aron ran away from all that he deemed tainted or less than virtuous, believing them to be an abomination to his path of personal purity, Cal struggled with making good decisions that were contrary to his nature. Aron's childhood love, Abra, was driven from him because of his obsession with perfection, and his projection of such an image upon her. Abra fell in love with Cal, and when she told him so, he protested simply, "But I'm bad." And she replied "Because you're bad."
Imperfection is as much a part of all of us as the longing for perfection. We are broken rag dolls gazing longingly from our dusty shelves at the gleaming electronic toys. Just as rag dolls cannot possibly understand the technology that goes into making these toys, or construct a micro-chip and place it into themselves to make them one step closer to perfect, we cannot understand how to perfect ourselves. But the rag dolls may believe that to become electronic, is to become perfect. There is no mistake that we all understand what perfection is.
I suppose after all of this musing and semi-philosophical (or pseudo-philosophical) thought, I simply wanted to put my own struggles into words. Accepting my imperfection, and even my darkness, is the first step. The second step is to overcome what I can overcome. The third is to learn how to hold on to one last childhood belief: life can be as beautiful as you want to make it. This world has nothing to do with that.
Even now, one year later, the presence of pain still catches me off guard at times. There is often an unapologetic gap between what our minds tell us should be and what our eyes tell us actually is.
I recently finished reading a novel by John Steinbeck called "East of Eden". The story follows the lives of two families, but focuses mostly on a man named Adam Trask, and later on his sons Cal and Aron Trask. Besides being brilliantly written, the story is poignant in its portrayal of humanity. It uses the story of Cain and Abel as an allegorical backbone, and the title itself implies that everyone in the novel struggles with life outside of the perfection we were originally created to enjoy. There are good people in the story, evil people, foolish and intelligent people, kind and wise people, and unreasonably cruel people. But every single one of the characters is carefully constructed in such a way that his humanity is understood, and therefore, relative to the reader. Cal Trask is haunted by the darkness he finds in himself, a darkness that he believes flows in his veins due to his mother's evil. His brother seems to be his polar opposite; a boy easily embraced and loved by all who encounter his sweet and naive disposition. Cal spends his childhood struggling with his "badness" and protecting his brother from the pain of reality, believing him to be too good to deal with it. What touched my heart about Cal is that although he did things that were wrong, although he enjoyed stirring up anger or discomfort in other people, he was always aware of his darkness, and always struggled to overcome it. While Aron ran away from all that he deemed tainted or less than virtuous, believing them to be an abomination to his path of personal purity, Cal struggled with making good decisions that were contrary to his nature. Aron's childhood love, Abra, was driven from him because of his obsession with perfection, and his projection of such an image upon her. Abra fell in love with Cal, and when she told him so, he protested simply, "But I'm bad." And she replied "Because you're bad."
Imperfection is as much a part of all of us as the longing for perfection. We are broken rag dolls gazing longingly from our dusty shelves at the gleaming electronic toys. Just as rag dolls cannot possibly understand the technology that goes into making these toys, or construct a micro-chip and place it into themselves to make them one step closer to perfect, we cannot understand how to perfect ourselves. But the rag dolls may believe that to become electronic, is to become perfect. There is no mistake that we all understand what perfection is.
I suppose after all of this musing and semi-philosophical (or pseudo-philosophical) thought, I simply wanted to put my own struggles into words. Accepting my imperfection, and even my darkness, is the first step. The second step is to overcome what I can overcome. The third is to learn how to hold on to one last childhood belief: life can be as beautiful as you want to make it. This world has nothing to do with that.
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