Finding Beauty in an Ugly World
July 23rd 2010
I want to apologize upfront for this extemporaneous, stream-of-consciousness blog entry—especially since it has been more than a month since I have posted and this material is not at all related to my Learning to Love LA (again) series, which I promise I will finish.
I was sitting here on my couch watching the news, and I remembered a funny story from my first year of college. My roommate whom I’ll call Julia asked me, “What’s your major?”
I responded, “Journalism.” At the time, USC had one of the best journalism schools in the country and I had written a brilliant bullshit essay to get into the school. Getting my degree in broadcast journalism at an expensive university was easier to explain to my father than my true ambition—to be an actress.
Then Julia asked, “If your major is journalism, how come you never watch the news?”
I spoke before thinking (a bad habit in my youth), “I hate the news; it’s depressing.” When I saw the look on Julia’s face, I realized I had no business taking that spot in the journalism school. I dropped out the next day and changed my major to theatre. My father was not pleased when he found out, but that’s another story.
The funny thing is … now I watch the news all the time. I am a News Junkie; it is my drug. I watch CNN, Fox, even MSNBC. I read The Week, an awesome magazine that provides all points of view on a variety of subjects. I can tell you when I started paying attention to the world—when my sister Adrienne died. You see, I was so busy pursuing my dream, trying to earn a decent living, and later being a parent, that I didn’t make time to watch all of the ugliness around me. (At least that’s my excuse.) Maybe my conversation topics at dinner parties were limited, but I have always gotten by on my smile and my charm. I knew I was the ditzy, funny redhead of the “group”; in fact, my friends often compared me to Lucille Ball. “If only you could get your own sitcom,” they would say.
I liked playing that role. I miss That Girl. Goofy, ignorant me didn’t know anything about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and it didn’t bother me even though my former-roommate-turned-best-friend Julia was Jewish. Hell, it didn’t bother her either because Julia loved being the super-intellectual. Her favorite phrase was, “Does that make sense?” because we dimwits could not possibly comprehend her level of genius. The difference between Julia and me is that I knew I was smart but I never felt a need to prove it. I was comfortable being Lucy because in her shoes, the world was beautiful.
Ever since Adrienne died, I have been trying to figure out who I am. Being her parent gave me an identity that completed me, more than anything I have ever experienced in my entire life. Having that taken away from me—having her taken away from me—I struggle every day to find not only my identity, but also some beauty in this ugly world.
I found a butterfly lying on the ground in our backyard yesterday; it was dead. Perfectly intact, yet devoid of life. I lay the creature with its delicate yellow wings in our pomegranate tree because I didn’t want our dog Winston to step on it.
I don’t know if the butterfly is still there because I cannot bear to look. I need that brief moment of beauty to get me through the next week.
AWW — XoXo
P.S. I think I should stop watching the news or buy a pair of rose-tinted glasses. Either way, I’m open to suggestions.
