Wednesday, July 9, 2008

The Case for Being Closed

What is inside? Who, me? Who cares?

Despite my scientific leanings, I'm really more of an alchemist. I consider myself an artist in search of the ultimate day job. I was a chef and I know what it takes to make money off of your art, and it involves sacrifices in the realm of family life that I just wasn't willing to make at the time. Sometimes in my dark heart I worry that means that in making the choice to walk away from that career, I chose to never be a great artist.

I still write, though, and do other artistic things. I am coming to realize that I would much rather that people look at me through the lens of my art than looking too close at me personally. My art is something that I can edit and polish and hide altogether if I am not happy with it. To a degree I like to hide behind it. It is still me in that it is an expression of who I am, albeit a more abstract or esoteric one.

Me as a person, though? I'm messy, intemperate, and self-deprecating. If you tell me that you like a piece of art that I have made or a performance that I have put on, I will beam and carry that compliment with me for weeks. If you tell me that after a look at the insides of me, that you like me, tongue firmly in cheek, I'm sorry to say that I will probably think you are a little nuts.

Not that I don't have my good points. I know I am the life of the party. I know that I make complex and delicious birthday cakes. I know that I am a loyal friend. I know that in the right frame of mind I am as cute as a speckled pup under a red wagon. But I also know that I can be a pestering, insecure pain in the ass. I'm untrusting and cynical.

I try very hard to show the world my bright and cheery side. It isn't artifice, I really am trying to be positive and allow my destiny to unfold the way it is meant to. But I can't resist the temptation to stick my fingers in it, and that's when things go all sideways.

What's inside me? Like everyone, what is inside me is a measure of pain along with all the other good things. An inner child with a compulsion for picking the fuzz off of her blankie until it is threadbare.

I don't want you to look at what is inside me, because for the most part the things that cause me pain are things that no one can do anything about. It seems almost pointless to talk to people about what makes me sad. Everyone has their burdens, right?

Most people don't have a concept of what doing legal risk foster care placements is like. Honestly, unless I am talking to another foster parent who has been there, people just get overwhelmed when I tell them what is going on with Little A's case plan. Their eyes glaze over. I'm not trying to be a martyr here, but it is horribly painful and terribly scary, so much more so that I could have imagined. I mean, you take all these training classes and everything, but the reality is something else. People wonder aloud why I don't just stop, but at this point we are talking about the life of a small, defenseless and very sensitive child. I remember being a kid like that. I would rather suffer a hundred times daily than see her come to harm. Luckily for her, even though I am damaged in some ways, I know how to shoulder pain. Doesn't mean I don't feel it, but I can take it if it means that she can maintain a little of her remaining innocence.

The fact that I can make art at all right now has to be some kind of proof that I have more grit than I give myself credit for. I can be the strongest woman in the world and still hurt like hell.

If you want to know me deep down, that means knowing the depth of how sad I am sometimes. The benefit that gives me is that I can really give you empathy if you are going through grief and loss. I like to think that the understanding I bring to Little A as a parent will help her in the long run. I hope she is better than me in every way.

There is beauty in me, I know it. I run a metal detector over that beach every day looking for buried treasure. It might not be the shining, incandescent jewel of unmitigated artistic genius I hoped for. It might still be something rare and something good and something true. I hope you are there when I find it. Maybe it will be something I can feel proud of and I'll want to show you every facet of it.

1 comment:

  1. I love this. I have done the same thing with regards to art and have the same doubts. Of course my other fear is that I'm just not good enough to begin with. Yeah, I know.. good enough for what? I'm so NOT a painter, not a sculptor, really. Crafts? Cute!

    I really don't want to live in the world of fine arts, or craft shows (gag) Yet, there's still things I want to make. I often stop myself with the very real question, so what are you going to DO with this?

    Anywho... I guess I should put this in my own dang blog. I'll show you mine if you show me yours?

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