I had a conversation recently with a few friends on the topic of aesthetic, namely how to define it. In the age of social media, and as a generation which sort of grew up with it, aesthetic has become an ironic ideal. It’s the idea of putting forward the best-lighted, sharpest version of a life and displaying it for the world to see. Some of it is certainly tongue-in-cheek, but a lot of it is not- especially if you’re regularly blogging and posting on something like Instagram (guilty).
But the importance of the aesthetic thus described comes from its detachment from reality. It is an ideal, and it’s a displayed ideal, but it’s not life. For every picture posted, say, of a glass full of Blanton’s, there’s a night or two when it’s a Godfather in one’s hand. For every picture of a hundred-thousand word victory, there are plenty of writer’s block-filled nights (also guilty). Maintenance of an aesthetic can come at the cost of legitimate productivity and fuel a kind of bizarre imposter syndrome; that one’s life is not what it really is.
My confession of guilt above- it has been a bit of a writer’s block-filled time. Life itself gets exhausting, and displaying a life that’s not is likewise exhausting. Did anyone forget we’re in the middle of a global pandemic? A defining election? Half my country seems on fire. I’ve friends beginning paths of great victories, and I am overjoyed and proud to see them achieve, but I remain (and feel myself) behind.
It’s the season of change, and I remain.
There was a plan for the rest of the year; a list of projects to complete and a schedule for work needed to get done. I’m still kind of on track for it, assuming anything of my leftover collegiate ability to dash towards a deadline remains. It’s been more work than I thought, and I’m sure it contributes to this kind of general exhaustion I’ve felt the past month or so. Maybe the isolation of this wonderful virus is finally getting to me, or the shift in the air and the trees accompanies fall has hit, too. Maybe I’m finally acknowledging reality.
This week as a whole has been something of an awakening, because of course I’m twenty-five and have the answers to life completely figured out. Change is nature, of course, and there’s been plenty of it. I like to think that I’ve been honest with the people who’ve needed it. Many of a personal cords that bind me to the past have been cut, sometimes rather suddenly. I’m speaking to people who see things in me I thought didn’t exist, or couldn’t possibly relate to me and it feels… good. As far as making any new headway, I feel more adrift than anything. As is usually the case when this happens, personality dictates a new plan. It also, in this instance, expects change.
Although I maintain that New Hampshire has the best state motto (Live Free or Die!), North Carolina’s made a larger impact on me than I previously thought. I’m not referring to “First in Flight,” but the other, Latin, motto: Esse quam videri. To be, rather than to seem. That’s the goal, more than anything else. A kind of complete internal honesty, acknowledging reality and everything that comes with it. It will be more work (who doesn’t love a little self-deception here and there?), and it will require a more attuned sense of what I’m doing and why but that this point what else is there but me?
I remain.
What remains beside will be of better quality for it, I hope.
Structure, health, writing, work, a plan.
A commitment to life instead of survival.
“Esse Quam Videri”
The trees burn with their bright, fiery crowns.
On the ground there’s frost, not dew.
The season of change, we say with frowns,
And wonder if it means us, too.
The rain that waters our garden
Will soon be the snow that buries it.
Even the warming light of the sun
May, in the face of clouds, just quiet.
How to handle that coming loss?
What protection can I really offer?
Is it enough to gap the space across
Which our relationships may suffer?
I’ll find comfort in this final dream
To be, rather than to seem.