This is not a love story, nor it is
an inspiration. There should be no pity present and further questions
concerning the following conclusion are only an argument in my favor. There is
no way, within reason, for me to figure or quantify a single choice made by me
that caused some substantial personal growth. There are places I ended up that
consumed, and respectfully, informed who, what and where I am today- a trip to
the South of Tanzania, a solo trip at age thirteen to Israel, going to college,
etc. Instead, I want to open our definition of ‘decision’, and this request to
reflect on “a time when…” said decision was made, should to be expanded to
allow for the grandiose of life.
When one reflects on moments of
change during which the foundation of identity is moved, or eroded, or perhaps
filled in for the first, second, or third time- there is a tendency to notice
larger themes. These themes are, so to speak, items of consistency, seemingly
omnipresent at moments of choice and consequential affect. Let me repeat, this
is not a love story, but in moments of choice, choosing in favor of such the
gorgeous idea of love, whimsical in nature, does not always seem to the
rational ‘Me’ to be in good judgment.
In my life, there have been pivotal
moments between reason and directions of the heart. In the large picture,
choosing to embrace love means to embrace perhaps initial pain, or allowing for
the eventual degradation of the light-hearted, child-like self. Especially
significant as I grow older and as I exist in a time where maturity, as to say
the development of solid rationale, is expected. To mature is to not devalue
love, nor is maturity something to avoid. Love as an idea is mature, with red
lipstick and roses. Though in moments of choice necessary to live and define
your life, following your heart is often blind, and terrifying, and childish,
looked down upon by superiors who refuse to pass over the absence of reason.
It is not one moment that stands as
some climactic point in a life, but rather an accumulation of little moments-
minute, acute, and diminutive instances that stand in the forefront of
importance for, realistically, the relative short-term. The temporality of
importance, here, is what changes a life- my life, specifically. As moments
dwindle in their beauty and transition into memory, I am only ever left with
the emotional aftermath, a new foundation instituted in the shadow of my
choices- most of which are made instinctually and on essential whim. The most
profound of these residual emotions is love, and in the shadow of a choice
made, this is the most sustaining.
In the same way that I could not
describe to you a single pivotal moment of choice, deciding whether or not a
choice was made in a moment of good or bad judgment seems to be of little
importance. This, again, joins this gorgeous temporality that ultimately makes
all and any decisions vital. Perhaps it is my choice to focus on the residual
love and passion left in the wake of my movements and evident, unconscious
cognitive displays of preference, which stands as the ultimate choice that has
defined me as I am.
Let me, for the sake of argument,
look at the choice of mine to love my body. This is not an exercise in
examining the insecurities of a once adolescent girl; rather it is the
exploration of the choice and moment of realization that a physical body is important for its position and occupation
as a vestibule of all functions- biological, intellectual, and creative, which
I associate with the spiritual and organic aspects of production, thought and
embodiment. There were, in the early years, no moments of self-loathing, but
all of a sudden there was an all-encompassing breadth of acceptance in me for
myself and all that was a production of these hands, present in every breath I
took. This love was not hubris elitism, but passionate drive, which allowed me
to throw energy into things that were real. This realization allowed me to
embrace the role of an eccentric, a title taken and given by my Grandfather,
the original maverick. This love informed further choices, all which left me
with continued avenues of realization, further exploration of passion and all
appliances, and gave riddles meant to push me towards new all-encompassing
moments of grandeur and thought. These consequential choices infinitesimal, all
the same.
The organic nature of this
realization, begot from a choice, a moment, is the foundational inspiration for
the work I do. The organic process through which things rise from mans’ hands-
that organic place from which creative impulses gestate and grow into fruition,
that organic place from which love is extended into ideas and connectivity-
this is the place from which originality and inspiration come. Inspiration,
itself, to in-spire: to breath in, this is an organic process and to be in
touch with such a cycle driven by choice and love and breath, is one of the
most generous and beautiful abilities found in artists and intellectuals alike.
I will continue to revel in this
organic process by which the choice to love and be loved, the choice to embrace
the body for what it is and is capable of doing, and the moments of good or bad
judgment will continue to be. This is the cycle, and this is why it would be
insufficient to choose a single moment, as it is all temporary and organic and ever
so important.
