What will we do without him?

So, as a sometimes writer, I am also a lover of books. As most book lovers do, I often imagine whirlwind trips to every corner of the world, visiting the most fantastic libraries and bookstores. I often see posts on social media sites like Facebook and Pinterest with photos of drool-worthy libraries in which we bibliophiles all long to roll around. 

I take a bit of warm satisfaction when I see a certain library, with floor-to-ceiling shelves, chocked-full of thousands of dusty and well-thumbed volumes that probably don't often see the light of day because of their incalculable value. The library at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland is famous for housing, perhaps the most valuable illuminated manuscript in existence--the Book of Kells. But as you make your way to the case where you can view the two pages currently on display, you get to stroll past several other illuminated volumes as well. 

I've been there twice. I'm not a person of faith, and I don't read or understand the languages with which these beautiful volumes have been created. But while I do not understand or share in their language, I respect and understand their value and beauty.

And that is what is so special about an artist like David Bowie. 

It has been more than a week since my mind came to know that he is gone, but my heart is still in denial. It's as if a wing of one of the most incalculably valuable libraries has been destroyed in a fire, and there is nothing left but ash. 

Like that library filled with so many valuable and important works, I didn't always understand, or even like what Bowie brought to the table, but I always understood that the artists I found less challenging and easier to embrace, existed and were better because of him. 

The only similar loss I have witnessed in my lifetime was the loss of John Lennon. I know some would argue that Michael Jackson and Elvis left similarl sized voids, but neither of them stretched and strained against boundaries and convention in the ways that Lennon did. Or Bowie. 

Music has always been a vital part of my life, but I didn't come to realize it so much until I was old enough to start choosing what to listen to for myself. I have no talent for music, but luckily love requires no skill, and its only limits are self-imposed. 

I started to explore on my own and developed a passion for music around the time of the so-called Second British Invasion. There was a wave of boys with bottle-colored hair, lipstick and eyeliner. They were all artfully delicious, and they all consistently credited one man for their existence--Bowie. I had casually listened to, and liked David Bowie over the years, but now I wanted to know why he was so important to so many. 

I dove into the world of Ziggy Stardust, and "The Man Who Fell to Earth." I didn't understand his journey at the time. That kind of understanding only comes with experience, exposure and scars. Just like many people, I loved the David Bowie in the movie "Labyrinth," and I loved the infectiousness of the song "Blue Jean." I always sing along. It's easy to love that which does not challenge. It's harder to love what you don't understand, but more worthwhile, because it challenges you. 

And that is why losing a David Bowie is a heartbreak. Clearly, I did not know him. I was lucky enough to see him live once--a bucket-list item ticked off. The heartbreak is that someone so stunningly illuminating to so many has gone dark, and I don't know where that kind of light still lives.

I am much older now than I was when Ziggy first played in my little cassette player, and the universe we live in now doesn't seem to be sending out too many artists like David Bowie these days. Knowing how especially illuminating he was for so many artists, I worry even more about the void he leaves behind. 

Who will inspire the generations to come to ignore boundaries and to create themselves all the way to their last breath like Bowie did? Who will prevent my daughter from being dragged down into the mire of homogenized mediocrity that sounds mostly the same from station to station on the dial? 

Without David Bowie, I just don't know. 

http://youtu.be/_gjZP8OPH-U--Without You by David Bowie

I don't mean to offend

So, I have been ruminating over a handful of things since the middle of November, but I am smart enough not to get sucked into arguments that are waged only to be lost. Arguing with figurative brick walls makes even less sense than arguing with real ones. 

It has been a mad season, and when I say that, I mean a lot of people are both angry and crazy. Sometimes I think that none of us truly knows or understands where all of the mad comes from. I am a strong advocate for never diminishing people's woes, because nobody knows or understands the depths of each other's personal struggles, but it is true that sometimes when you look at the big picture, it's easy to start quantifying and distinguishing between the real and the perceived.

One thing I see a lot lately is a backlash against being "politically correct," and people who express offense over things. 

I am absolutely dumbfounded by this. I know that the term politically correct is not brand new, but it's not really that old either. It describes the effort to avoid specific language that demeans people of different races, genders, sexual orientations, religions or beliefs, and ethnicities--among other groups. But I think people have begun to use the term interchangeably with two words that have been around much longer--being respectful. 

I make it no secret that I would have been better off to have been raised by wolves. That being said, I understood from an early age that there were some kinds of things you just didn't say--no matter what you might think. I learned as I grew up that there were ways to express your opinion without being rude, hurtful or disrespectful to others. That doesn't mean you don't have opinions, or that you don't share them, it just means you say what you mean in ways that don't make you seem like an ass. The interesting thing I have found is that in finding a way to express yourself that isn't offensive or hurtful, you often express yourself more effectively, and people are more inclined to pay attention to what you have to say in the long run.

I realize current events make that pretty hard to believe. After all, right now, it seems like the loudest, angriest, rudest voices are the ones getting the most attention in our media. I think the real reason why so many people are becoming angry, loud and rude is because it's easier to say you're angry than it is to admit you are actually afraid. 

Fear, in the eyes of many people, is a weak emotion. Anger is the emotion of the strong and the ready. 

The world we live in today is a dangerous place. There are pockets of hate, distrust, and opportunistic misunderstanding in every corner. There is poverty, injustice, savagery and violence. We can't feel secure letting our kids walk or ride their bikes to school alone, or to play outside alone. Even our food can be a source of danger on any given day. I have a healthy amount of concern and disappointment about all of these things and many others. 

To a degree, we should all be angry about those things. But we also need to look deep inside all this rage and understand what its origin actually is. We're angry because we believe someone or something has given us reason to fear. 

Here's the thing, being loud, rude, offensive and disrespectful doesn't make any of these ills better, and anger doesn't conquer fear. 

When I was growing up, and found myself afraid of something, I learned to find someone to help, or to turn on a light. 

Maybe instead of tearing others down over differences, especially the ways in which others differ from ourselves, standing together in spite of those differences would be a better way to conquer our fears. The loud mouths who are using our own differences and resulting fears to further their own agendas couldn't really care less about any of us. The more we fight amongst ourselves and assist them in perpetuating negative stereotypes and ignorant assumptions, the more we undo any of the work that has been done to heal old wounds and make things better. It seems like when we say we are tired of being "politically correct," and people need to not be offended so easily, we are letting these loud and extreme voices do the same thing to us as we do to those we offend--we are letting them dehumanize us.

Do we really want to be used like that?

Trying to learn more about what we share in common might help us pull together and find the light in a time that can feel pretty dark. Maybe that's how we become "humanly" correct.