A couple of years ago, my West Coast gal pal introduced me to "TED Talks" by emailing me a link about being a lone nut.
OK. That's subtle.
I took the bait and clicked the link. Instantly, I was whisked to the world of TED, a series of conferences where some of the world's brightest minds are invited to give brief lectures (no longer than 18 minutes) on interesting ideas, originally in the areas of technology, entertainment and design (thus, "TED").
They now cover most any field.
Being the fine Southern girl I am, I generally prefer to be on the giving, rather than the receiving, end of a good lecture. And depending on the subject matter, the recipient and my level of agitation, I can't claim to have limited every soapboxed recitation to a mere 18 minutes.
Why sometimes, I'm just getting warmed up by then.
However, I found myself quite taken by some of the fascinating speakers and their ideas. Lecture me, darlin'.
One talk I particularly enjoyed was given by a gentleman named Dan Phillips. Mr. Phillips is a builder who creates unique homes out of recycled and reclaimed material in Huntsville, Texas. His photographs and explanations of how he repurposes old junk and turns it into useful building material was interesting, but it was his commentary on an aspect of our human nature that really resonated with me.
He explained humans like patterns. Our brains seek to find cohesion and balance in all things, but how we go about achieving balance depends a lot on our personalities.
Take, for instance, a series of small windows. One window is cracked, but operable. What would you do?
The theory is the cracked window would be considered by most to be a flaw, and more people would be inclined to replace that window to make it look like all the others because that's the logical, or "Apollonian," philosophy of creating order in the world. One would guess that fewer people would achieve balance by cracking all the other windows to make them look like the broken one (a more "Dionysian" philosophy based on emotions and artistic instincts).
Now, historically, I'm a fixer. If there's a problem, I'll find a solution. It may not be the right one. It might work and it might not, and it could possibly involve more duct tape, WD-40 and saucy language than you've ever known. But if it's moving and shouldn't, or not moving and should, by George, it won't be here in a minute.
But as for the windows? These days, I'd leave them alone.
That broken one isn't hurting a thing. Much like my crow's feet, laugh lines, couple of extra pounds, the chipped paint on my dresser, the century-old crumbling bricks in my garden and the rusty gates on my courtyard wall, we aren't ruined. We've simply been around a while.
Slowly, I'm learning to see the beauty in imperfection. To embrace the well-worn life. It's not about being lazy or not taking care of things. It's about consciously shifting my attitude from what the world says something has to look like to have value to what I know in my heart and the Heavens has value all on its own.
The Japanese call this view "wabi sabi" (pronounced wah-bee sah-bee) and it's my new favorite word. Not only is it fun to say (over and over), it best describes the outlook I'm trying to have about my place in the world.
It's not about just accepting things as they are, but actually seeing the flaws as being beautiful. That the imperfect, impermanent and incomplete is ... well, life.
The world -- the big floating globe and the little one I whirl in daily -- has lots of issues, some self-inflicted, some caused by the hand I was dealt. There's heartache, sadness, triumph and joy everywhere. I've no spouse, no children, no siblings and no Mom. The butcher at Harps could easily be my "Who to Call in Case of Emergency" and most folks probably don't plan it that way (unless you're Mrs. Butcher). I know I didn't.
But I have a beloved mutt and an endearing cat who isn't right in the head. I have wonderful friends and my Uncle Ronnie and other extended family. And I choose to believe there will come a day when all this makes sense in the grand scheme of things, even if today isn't that day.
I just may be a lone nut. And I'm OK with that.
Commentary on 05/01/2014