(no subject)
Dear [Redacted],
I like that you challenge me to question my assumptions. I've spent a lot of time more recently in this place that's more hard, more gritty, more earthbound and sweaty, and while it's not completely foreign, it's not where I've spent most of my life. I like that you think about presentation, about how people will perceive things, just the little details that make things great instead of just good. The only area I'm confident in for myself is words.
My mother is very much where my creative side comes from, and she... she wanted things to be perfect. Part of me thinks it drove her a bit mad, but I think that's far too poetic for what happened. She was given all the money and time to obsess over details while being terrorized. She couldn't cope, she couldn't process, so she would redecorate. I even tried to get her into just other kinds of art and she wouldn't even give that a chance - and she certainly didn't believe she could support herself in something even dimly artistic, so she never even tried.
My dad couldn't do that or appreciate that - he thought it was all frivolous (and will continue to think that). He thinks that my mother thought spending all this money would make her happy, but she was only ever excited about the prospect of something slightly different - not out of her trauma, but making sure her trauma was lush and bold. The mere suggestion of her mother brings her quickly to tears - and I know she misses having that family (my grandmother held a lot of my mother's side of the family together, at least in public), but I'm sure she couldn't put into words why she has mixed feelings, and I would be shocked to my core if she recognized her childhood as the deep-seated trauma it was.
Even long after they divorced - even today! - my dad will go on long tangents about my mother wasting so much money on so much stuff... and it's not precisely wrong (and in some respects is outright false), but she was so mired in her own trauma without any support that it's difficult to blame her. It's just incredibly sad.
But because of my dad, I now think of a lot of details as being completely extraneous - and that's not what I actually believe. I think sometimes people can get lost in details certainly (myself included), but... those details make the difference. Poor lighting alone can make the difference between an evening in and a horror show.
And you're certainly not my mother. And I'm very much not my dad - and thank god for that. And I don't mind that I'm a little more gruff, but spending time with you reminds me that I care about those details. Maybe I can look past them or disregard them when they become too much, but sometimes they're absolutely vital.
So, I have judged you - some. But because of something that I don't think is wrong, or bad. And I'm not prepared to let go of that.
Love & Fishes,
Ted
I like that you challenge me to question my assumptions. I've spent a lot of time more recently in this place that's more hard, more gritty, more earthbound and sweaty, and while it's not completely foreign, it's not where I've spent most of my life. I like that you think about presentation, about how people will perceive things, just the little details that make things great instead of just good. The only area I'm confident in for myself is words.
My mother is very much where my creative side comes from, and she... she wanted things to be perfect. Part of me thinks it drove her a bit mad, but I think that's far too poetic for what happened. She was given all the money and time to obsess over details while being terrorized. She couldn't cope, she couldn't process, so she would redecorate. I even tried to get her into just other kinds of art and she wouldn't even give that a chance - and she certainly didn't believe she could support herself in something even dimly artistic, so she never even tried.
My dad couldn't do that or appreciate that - he thought it was all frivolous (and will continue to think that). He thinks that my mother thought spending all this money would make her happy, but she was only ever excited about the prospect of something slightly different - not out of her trauma, but making sure her trauma was lush and bold. The mere suggestion of her mother brings her quickly to tears - and I know she misses having that family (my grandmother held a lot of my mother's side of the family together, at least in public), but I'm sure she couldn't put into words why she has mixed feelings, and I would be shocked to my core if she recognized her childhood as the deep-seated trauma it was.
Even long after they divorced - even today! - my dad will go on long tangents about my mother wasting so much money on so much stuff... and it's not precisely wrong (and in some respects is outright false), but she was so mired in her own trauma without any support that it's difficult to blame her. It's just incredibly sad.
But because of my dad, I now think of a lot of details as being completely extraneous - and that's not what I actually believe. I think sometimes people can get lost in details certainly (myself included), but... those details make the difference. Poor lighting alone can make the difference between an evening in and a horror show.
And you're certainly not my mother. And I'm very much not my dad - and thank god for that. And I don't mind that I'm a little more gruff, but spending time with you reminds me that I care about those details. Maybe I can look past them or disregard them when they become too much, but sometimes they're absolutely vital.
So, I have judged you - some. But because of something that I don't think is wrong, or bad. And I'm not prepared to let go of that.
Love & Fishes,
Ted