Now, there aren't any written rules saying you have to do them in order, so I could very well have taken a picture of the papers on the floor and done #7 on Day 6. But then the structure junkie part of me would have a fit, and well, that's a conversation for the therapist I didn't need past the consultation.
So here we are, Day 7 of 28, following prompt #7: Disorganized. And so, dear social media friends, I present to you, my raw photo:
See me on Instagram
And a couple others I took out there
And then I realized I could just take a panoramic shot
So yes, disorganized.
It looks so calm and serene out there. Flat, like a single sheet placed over the ground. That's where the trick is.
In contrast to yesterday's post of a pattern, this is a beautiful example of mass chaos...on a level that most would not see as such.
Take New Year's Eve in Times Square, or a victory parade for the Stanley Cup, Super Bowl, or BCS Bowl Game victory, or even The Hunger Games. You can look at photos and see hundreds of thousands of screaming fans packed in there with each other, basking in fandom glory to behold their victors. That is definitely an example of disorganized. Maybe not completely, but there is a major aspect of chaos in there.
Now take out your magnifying glass from the front left pocket of your safari vest and check out the snow pictures.
Hundreds of thousands, millions, dare I say billions of little snowflakes packed in there like screaming fans at the Olympics freezing their furry hats off.
But when you're on the second floor of an apartment building, it looks peaceful.
In the Instagram post of the first picture you can see reflections of the windows on the snow. In one of the additional photos you can see tiny, teaspoon-sized piles of snow on top of the sheet.
The OCD part of my brain curses the single tree in two of those photos for breaking up the unity of the snow blanket, but then I appreciated it's presence to serve as a point of reference instead of just presenting an all-white photo.
I've found the snow to be a creative partner in my acknowledgement of it. With a couple of YouTube videos and earlier blogs Snowmance and Diving into snow, the snow has prodded my creative herd a bit this winter.
But for today, the thought of disorganization masked by an appearance of serenity, elicits a confession of sorts. For myself mostly, but I'm sure for many of us. As the snow behind my apartment sits in a fairly uniform plane, it appears to calm, serene, and peaceful. Thinking that the violent winds have shifted the randomly constructed piles of snow from earlier snowfall, the state of the snow now is just a result of forces it has no choice but to react to.
As a child, from elementary school to high school, there was a major transformation in junior high. I actually used to be really quiet. Dreadfully shy actually. If it was a matter of answering a factual question, doing math, or regurgitation of knowledge from an earlier lesson, I was there. But socially, there was little to no footing.
Through a club's team spirit that allowed me to look through a magnifying glass at my own snow blanket, I saw the snow flakes. I found the violent winds, and I laid down in subordination.
So, by the time I got to high school, unlike the snow, I fought back. But those outside forces were still there. Those days of jumping around, joking and laughing, dancing, and smiling, were my response to the winds and freezing conditions. My close friends knew what was really going on under the ice, but to those that watched from the balcony upstairs, the appearance of peaceful snow hid some brutal frozen conditions beneath.
A couple of folks asked me along the way, and some afterwards, why I was the way I was, cheerful, and always enjoying my time at school. And when I shared what was beneath the ice, they became surprised saying they had no clue that I was going through certain struggles because I was always having fun, and was so good in class. Well, being book smart and having a sense of humor isn't always a recipe for happiness--but it's a good start.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that many of us appear to others as having the elegant, peaceful snow blanket, but like those smooth rocks on the beach or by a river, it's only by the long-term battering of the waves and other objects.
So when you're "shocked" at someone's passing like Philip Seymour Hoffman, Cory Monteith, Heath Ledger, Kurt Cobain...(you get the picture), realize that although many hold these celebrities up on monumental pedestals, being good at something, whether it's book smarts, music, acting, or having a lot of something else, like money, fame, or popularity, doesn't mean you're completely happy.
Not that each suicidal, accidental, tragic death is equal, but what makes me a little bit sad is for each individual that takes his or her own life, is that it could have been prevented by some one (or some few) that listen. And you don't always have to wait for them to ask either. Asking for help is a big pride issue for many people, and so even the simplest act of saying hello can make someone feel important.
So listen to each other. Ask for help. Reach out if you really care, regardless of how long it has been since you last spoke.
Death is a unfortunate truth. Suicide is tragic, preventable situation. But loneliness...
Loneliness is probably the singular, saddest thing anyone can experience.
And so, if you're reading this, whether I know you or not.
You're never alone.