For Emily

Today, without warning, I was taught a lesson.  In a crowded art room, surrounded by supportive parents, friends, and faculty members, a student I have never actually had in a class presented her end of the semester review and, in that room, I was moved to tears by the things she had written, the art she had made, borne from a need, she said, to immerse herself in the process, to see the thing created.

Part of her work was tribute to a recently lost relative, part was catharsis over a recently ended relationship, and part--the most moving part--was a bare and honest capturing of the moments that she sees as defining for who she is, has been, and is on her way to becoming.

All of this at 18.

Emily is not the kind of girl you imagine cheering in the stands at a sporting event.  She wears black glasses, fabulous old jackets, a great collection of boots, and she has a soul wise not only beyond her chronological years but possibly wise beyond mine.  In her work and explanations, I heard the bravery of a self I have tried so hard to cultivate, I saw the same questions being asked and tentatively answered--who am I?--what does this all mean?--how do I matter?--where do I go from here? 

These are not question relegated to adolescence, but it occurs to me that, as adults, we often hide behind this mask of total capability, complete control, the illusion that we have all the answers, and that once you reach some arbitrary age, you can have them all, too.  It is so very sad, this lie that we perform under the guise of being a grown up, that somehow we are less afraid, less questioning than the people born after us.

I recently answered the Pivot questionnaire that James Lipton uses as the end of Inside the Actor's Studio. One question asks, "What is your least favorite word?" I knew my answer immediately.  Wait.  I hate all that that word implies.  I hate waiting on people from my years of food service, I hate the notion that women must to wait on men, but most of all I cannot stand the way adults tell children to "wait until you're older."  What a crock.  We often say "wait" because the question asked or situation presented is simply too difficult for us to navigate at the time, so we build an illusory world in which the answer or outcome will be more desirable if we simply...wait.  But believing things will change simply by waiting, or that answers will come or that understanding and acceptance or action will suddenly spring up from a void is silly and irresponsible.  [I'm not selling patience short, mind you.  There's something to be said for it, but not when patience is meant to yield an answer that action or conversation could achieve far more readily]

So, today, with a great deal of gratitude to Emily for her artwork and her fearlessness, I'd like to be brave enough to say that we, adults, have been lying to you, younger generation.  We know no more than you do, we've just had more experiences, and in a lot of ways, that greater depth of knowledge has scared us more and caused us to ask more questions.  But, and this is important so pay attention, not having all the answers is not only okay--for the really intelligent among us--it's a more exciting and invigorating way to live. 

What could I learn if I knew everything?  What would I ever find inspiring or beautiful or new? What amazing thing ever happened because someone was feeling particularly contented?

The biggest lie is that being afraid is a bad thing, that fear should be repressed or hidden.  It's not only okay to be scared, it's necessary if you have any hope of living an examined life.

So, I'm going to try to be more like Emily, to be brave enough to tell the truth, to show the world that while I may not yet know who I am, I'm okay with the process of finding out.