Blog 62: Death by Indifference

This deluge of thought all came from one simple decision: sitting down to watch a movie on Netflix. It wasn't just any movie that I chose; no, it was Braveheart, the [slightly historically inaccurate] story of one of my most revered heroes: William Wallace. Now, he definitely is romanticized a bit. He was a large man, but he was probably not 7 feet tall as the legends say. He was not merciful. He was brutal, ruthless, and sometimes even barbaric in the pursuit of his goal. He was a flawed man. But he was also the quintessential warrior-poet. He was ardently passionate, strong, full of conviction, courageous, and thoroughly educated. He was well-versed in astronomy and mathematics as well as being fluent in four languages. He loved a few people deeply and loved his country enough to be tortured for it. I not only want a man like William Wallace to stand beside me, but I want to be like him--in some ways. Don't worry, I'm not going to go around displaying heads of Englishmen on pikes outside of my house. But I don't think warrior-poet status is just for men. Never have thought that, never will. And if the men I know won't step up, then I sure as hell am not going to sit around and wait for their change of heart. I'm going to believe and fight passionately for truth and justice TODAY. That's one reason I have "Veritas" and "Aequitas" tattooed on my back. They are reminders to myself of the kind of person I was born to be.

I love Braveheart. But watching movies like that makes me sad. The race of warrior poets is all but dying out. Apathy in place of passion, convenience in place of courage. When I think of all the people I know, I see very few who would put a noble (but maybe 'hopeless') cause before their desires for money and pleasure. What a careless and inelegant society we have become, despite our so-called advances. During the movie, Tom kept asking me if I was all right. I looked so upset, he said. "I'm fine," I replied...but I realized that I wasn't. My heart was aching and my thoughts were racing. 

Maybe it's just because I'm in my twenties (everyone says your twenties are the pits), but I feel like a lot of my peers are--pardon the language--just a bunch of douchebags. They don't care about anything. They don't DO anything. They party and they have sex with anyone who comes along and they cry out for validation of SELF, rather than for recognition of any important or righteous thing. They stumble around, carelessly laughing, and think themselves to be living full lives. They say, "One day, I'll clean up. One day, I'll be responsible. One day, I'll be more conscientious of my actions." But it is a cop-out. What right do we have to put off the heartbreak of GIVING A SHIT when for centuries, better (and worse) people have grown up with their minds set on freedom and the refusal to surrender? You haven't earned any right to blow off the truth until you're mature enough to handle it, you selfish assholes. You haven't earned anything, and you're not automatically entitled to it, no matter how special your mothers say you are. So get that out of your head now.

I think the part that stirred me the most was at the battle of Falkirk, when all the nobles betrayed their people and simply turned away from the fight--or slaughter, actually. In the movie, Robert the Bruce is discovered to be fighting on the side of Edward Longshanks. Wallace falls to the ground and the look of hopelessness on his face is so raw and practically unbearable. It struck such a chord with me because passion for my beliefs and for what is right has always been a part of my life. And yet I can completely imagine believing in someone to do the right thing and watching them not only betray you, but betray faith and the truth. I've watched it happen time and again to people who spoke goodness with their mouths and did evil with their hands. I've felt that hopelessness, too. You feel like you're the only one who stands for something and it tears you apart.

I will never stop standing for absolutes. And I will never stop trying to encourage people I love to step out of apathy. But I really can't end this post on a cheery note. My heart is heavy. And carelessness is the order of the day.

Blog 61: Experience Lacking

I feel like a lot of older people I know, particularly women, write memoirs. It isn't simply self-indulgent, either. Their stories are rich, interesting, and at times dramatic and dark. Their lives have a cinematic quality that makes me wonder if I'm boring or just young. Maybe the world was just more interesting then, both in good and terrible ways. We've been robbed of a lot of romanticism in these modern times. It's not "He wrote me the most beautiful love letters," it's "OMG, he put something adorbs on my Facebook wall and then texted me 'good morning!'" It's not "he walked me home from school every day" or "he threw pebbles at my window," it's "Last Saturday, I ran into him at the club and then we hooked up."  Maybe it's that inelegant scene that takes away rather than gives excitement. Do we have intricate, compelling stories to tell? No. Where is that semi-magical quality? I don't even remember so much of my adolescence because it was wasted on pointless activities like Myspace. Where are my close scrapes and adventures? It's probably about time to start making those memories. I don't want to wake up twenty years from now and realize that there's nothing worth writing about in my life.

Of late, I've had a few things worth mentioning--love and false friends, hard lessons learned, and all that jazz. It's a start. But I don't want your typical picket-fence American dream. Neither do I want the partying lifestyle chosen by so many of my peers. I want a depth of experience as well as adventure. Worsening this thought, ridiculous as it is, is the fact that I saw The Hobbit the other day. There's a scene where Gandalf says something to the effect of 'When did your mother's dishes and a few doilies become more important than adventure?' Bilbo just sits around smoking his pipe at first, like all of the other respectable hobbits his age. But then, he snaps out of it and plays a part in a world-changing journey. Now that's what I want--to get out of my hobbit hole. I don't want to be showered with troll snot or find any evil jewelry, persay, but I do want something epic to come along.

I really have been thinking on this for several days, and today, after reading 6 Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person (from one of my favorite humor sites) I decided I should stop planning things I'll never write. Not that I'm resolving to blog more often, as I often have. Life happens. But creativity should happen, too. Anywho, in particular pertaining to my writing, I have found that my lack of experience is completely upsetting. I want to write the kind of thing that sweeps you up and takes you to another world. But they say write about what you know. In the grand scheme of things, I don't know much. I've seen next to nothing. Some of that is owing to being a poor kid. But you know, a lot of it is my own fault.

So many of us are unsatisfied with our lives. Well, we spend our hours in front of the TV or in shady places and wonder why nothing beautiful happens to us. You want to be a hero? Get off your ass, then. You want miraculous love? Offer much more of yourself than the bare minimum. You want to be remembered? Get your face out of the clouds of smoke and bottles of liquor and show kindness to a few people.

Always with the inspirational speeches, us writers. Maybe we'll take our own advice one day.