|Even adrift in space, alone, as a skeleton no meat|
on those bones, it's not too late to breath fire on a
torch to help others see you in the darkness of space.
Image by the great artist Donathon Crew
People take that to mean "what pays for your lifestyle?" Or, "What do you do for a steady paycheck that will hopefully allow me to judge you in a way that makes me feel better about my menial cubicled existence?" But there are plenty of things that the collective "we" do outside of the narrow definition of a drunken party-goer.
This weekend alone, I was a landscape artist, unwitting exhibitionist, cook, bartender, pharmacist, critic, juggler, inadvertent perpetrator of avicide, sub-amateur botanist, chauffeur, sex object/deluded narcissist, personal stylist, maid, and of course a wino.
People who are self-defined by one characteristic are suspect. If you meet someone and, if before you can burp a question in this person's general direction, that person aggressively forces you to confront their one, self-defined characteristic, that person is probably going to be annoying. "Hi, I'm Phil, I'm an anti-Gluten activist and will bring every conversation back to that." Yuck.
I knew someone who grew a big bushy beard and dressed in ironic t-shirts and called himself a "street artist." Instead, he was reduced to a dismissible stereotype, a hipster, because his entire personality was wrapped up in this image he was trying to project.
We are, each of us, a human thesaurus. (Oh, that's good, I should make that into some poster using religious symbols to spell the words.)
|Okay, maybe that baby is more than just a baby.|
Maybe I am the person who farted in the elevator and stood facing the back wall so I didn't have to face the disapproving looks of fellow passengers. So what? Can't I also be the person who just donated bone marrow to the 10 year-old cancer patient? Yeah, feel bad, don't you? Well, no, I didn't donate bone marrow, but that doesn't mean that I couldn't have. I am more than the elevator farter!
There's a world of things you and I could be outside of the confining pens of labels, if only we'd allow our brains to reconcile more than one thing at a time.