Well. You all may be willing at the drop of a bucket to talk about
yourself, but I feel no such inclination for transparency. I am not
as willing to lay down my life's story on a whim. Just asking won't
get me talking. I enjoy the ridiculous, and if that means making fun
of others or myself, I'm in. But when it comes to talking serious reality, I
mean really, who cares? Where's the Drama? The Passion?
Because, as this article so explicitly points out,
http://www.relevantmagazine.com/life/whole-life/features/20511-the-rise-of-the-ironic-class
I am from an ironic generation. Sincerity is mocked at. Because
sincerity is rarely sincere. Why am I stating the obvious here??
Cynicism. That is my disease. But seriously, who wants to hear about
my day-to-day, play-by-play 8-5, what I eat for dinner, when I work
out, each excruciating detail about my weight loss
progress...bor--ing.
And yet, I punch out the weekly blog. Consistently inconsistent.
Honestly yearning for recognition, yet ruefully acknowledging I don't
have anything worth being recognized for. Hmmm...That's not only
cynical is it? I'd call that a genuine cry for candor, frankness,
veracity. A guileless spirit in the world. Small town goodness. Hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment