Artistic Musings

You know, I don't read blogs as religiously as I did a few months ago. Part of it may be that I am busier than I was even a few months ago, and part of it is the natural attrition of bloggers who I really enjoy reading. And I have not replaced many of the ones I have read in the past.

There is one blogger who I read, but not as much as I once did. Most of it is that I can no longer link to her – she doesn't want traffic (one person actually) to her site. So I have to remember to find her URL in my Yahoo account, and then link from there. The URL she uses is one that I would never be able to remember. But she is definitely worth the extra trouble.

She in her hubbie are having trouble – actually a lot of trouble. Okay, she was one of the first people I started reading, partly because her life and my life seemed so similar. So I have been always the voice of "save the marriage, save the marriage." I am Catholic, so I have a pre-disposition to save the marriage, save the marriage. Okay, I can't solve her problems, but I am beginning to have a different view of the world, and I will share it with you. This new world view has little to do with blow jobs and cum stains. Shocking, I know, but there it is.

And the only way I can think about this is through an analogy. We are like paintings, our parents providing most of the brush strokes early on. Heck, they even provide the frame.

Rich Kids where the Parents Aren't Present
I have met people of influence who had parents who worked on the frame, giving them guilding, ornate workwork, whatever – that is, giving them materially so much. The best schools, wonderful clothing, braces, dermatology services, whatever. But the parents don't spend time with them, so their picture has haphazard strokes that have no feeling, no value. These are the kids that seem to be always lost, even though they have every advantage in the world.

Poor Kids with Great Parents
Okay, this is how I see myself. My parents were of modest means. We had little discretionary income as we were growing up. My parents absolutely gave of themselves. Now, they weren't perfect parents, but we always felt loved. The brush strokes they applied were full of feeling and depth, but the frame was modest. It complimented the artwork – did not detract from the painting.

Poor Kids with Troubled Parents
This is the person who I have been reading. She grew up like me, in a modest household. Her parents had setbacks, be it alcoholism or whatever. It is not that they did not love their children; they just had poor role models themselves. The brush strokes had feeling, for they loved their children, but there were also random marks, caused by their short fallings. Self-taught artists, as it were. Perhaps the children themselves needed to add strokes to make the painting more complete. And because these children often have to grow up faster, there is white space on the canvas, white space that had to be completed by them at a later date.

[I just reached my one-page limit – please bear with me on this one.]

But what I have described is what happens to people by the time they turn 22 or 25, or 18 or whatever. Guys are probably on the 25 side of things, girls on the 22 side of things. And if you have had a traumatic event, maybe the age is younger. And for those of you that started families earlier, your painting had to be finished quicker – you have had to mature earlier because you had to be parents for children.

Over the years, however, these paintings hang on walls – and start to fade. Some paintings are in direct sunlight, and the colors fade. Some fall from the wall, perhaps being damaged by a traumatic event. After a while, we look at our own artwork and we forget who we once were. Life seems to have happened.

One day, you look at yourself and you don't remember the vivid colors you must have been. You don't remember what excited you, what was important to you. Instead, you are more worried about paying the mortgage, the cable bill, perhaps losing that 10 pounds that you keep on your ass. I mean, we are all – most of us, at least – wonderful pieces of artwork. And over time, we forget this. We forget what is truly important, what our core values are.

Now I am no fan of just doing things to make us "happy," but if there is no joy in our lives, perhaps we moved from what we knew we should be doing to what we are doing to make mortgages, to cutting the grass, to whatever. We have lost what is most important to us.

Moving back to this individual – I have always been in favor of "saving the marriage." But what if her hubbie does not help her to be the best person she can be. For a religious person like me, I would describe it as "getting closer to God." But even for those who don't believe in God, I think spouses are supposed to help you become better people. Not change you. We women have a problem with this one. But encourage people to excel – and I am not talking about a fully vested 401-K. You know, when you die, you can't roll over your retirement savings to your soul in heaven. At least, if you can, I am sure that the paperwork is a bitch and few have the proper documents. A joke.

We spend so much time cleaning house and the yard. Sometimes we need to stop and clean our souls. We need to remember what the painting of ourselves truly is. Because if we are not living in harmony with who we truly are, I think we are cheating ourselves and those we touch on a daily basis. Those in harmony with themselves don't work to be happy. They are happy, and they infect others. Their joy is contagious. They are better sons and daughters, better friends, better parents, better lovers.

Now I am not suggesting that my friend end her marriage – but if her hubbie won't help fix himself, help get in tune with her beautiful music, it leaves her with few healthy options. From what I recall, they played beautifully together in the past.