They
are honest. It’s that incredible,
unfiltered honesty that draws me most to children. If they feel like shit and you ask them how
they feel, they tell you. They don’t say,
“fine, how are you” and walk away before you even formulate your formulated
answer.
What if we could learn to be as honest as children? I’m not suggesting we go around telling
everyone with a bad haircut how bad they look.
I’m suggesting that we allow ourselves an honest look in the mirror
without caring what anyone else will think.
What if we said, “This is me and I am perfect.”
It’s much easier to say that when you are 10, than when you
are 17 or even 40. What if we could
allow our children to remain honest as they grow through adolescence into
adulthood? Is it possible? Is it a good idea? Is there a way to keep that internal honesty
and still function in the real world?
Or
maybe we should protect them, teach them to hide how they really feel so they
don’t get hurt. Keep that veil up, it’s
safer. Keep those feelings to yourself,
they are irrational, illogical, unpredictable, unstable. Not for public record. My word for that line of thought,
“stunted”.
What if it’s too late?
What if our children are already grown and we have taught them to be
like us, to hide our true, inner selves?
What if we have taught them to keep that mask on…. tight. Is it too late? Is there anything we can do?
I’d say, look at yourself.
Hard. Allow yourself to be
honest, and when you don’t think anyone is looking, your kids will see
you. They’ve always seen the real you
anyway, buy now they will see you being honest with yourself. And they will trust you, and maybe allow
themselves to be honest too.
How do we start the process?
Do you know a child? I say, start
paying attention to them. They all love
to draw and to run and to play and yes, to dress up. Don’t you remember when you loved to do those
things? What if we find a child and ask
them to help us take our masks off? And
remind us how to fly.
Flying is scary. I
once had a dream that I was flying and had a joystick in my hand. I held on so tight because I was trying to
control where I was going. The more I
moved it around, the more I lost control.
The next night I had the same dream, but I let go of the joystick and I
was in complete control.
I also had a dream once that I could walk on water. Cool, huh?
It reminded me that I really can do anything I want to. So I became a photographer. Because in my heart, I always knew I was
one. Can you imagine yourself doing the
thing that you want to do most?
Maybe to start that process, we need to put the masks on for
a while, until we feel comfortable with our soul’s nakedness, comfortable with
our own greatness, comfortable with our own success. We all get a little shy sometimes; a mask
gives us permission to be bold.
And then try taking the mask off again, and allow that
trueness, the honesty, that real you to shine through without giving a damn
about what anyone else thinks. That
reminds me a little of a story about a light and a bushel… That’s why were here after all, to be
perfect. And we are.
This is my daughter Emma, her roots are deep; she is her own
person. One day she showed up like this
and said, “Take my picture.” I call this
image Joan. Joan didn’t give a damn what
anyone thought. That’s what I wish I
could give to every woman.
So I say, be sassy.
Be bold. Be honest. Be true to yourself and your desires and your
commitment to being the best, most honest and happiest self you can possibly
be. And if the people around you don’t
like that? Fuck ‘em. Move.
Separate yourself from them. Or
introduce them to your new old self and say, “Take it or leave it”.
There is nothing easy about introducing your new self to the
world. Nothing easy about revealing the
secret person you’ve been hiding behind the mask for so long. It’s like walking around naked in a room full
of strangers.
Put those sunglasses on and hide, quick, someone will
recognize you. They might judge
you. They might say, “That’s not who you
are! You are the other person, the meek,
the mild, the joy stick holder, the one who does what everyone else expects.” Dare I say, possibly, the Mother?
And you say. “I’m so
sorry you didn’t realize that there are two of me. The one you expect. The one who follows the rules. The one who puts others before myself,
always. The one who cooks and cleans and
drives the minivan. The one who always
has control of the joystick.
And then there is the other me; the soulful, joyful, deep
and passionate person, who let’s go of the joystick and is in complete
control”. That’s the person I try to bring to light with
my photography. I am photographing the
light within.