November 30th, 2008
It occurred to me tonight that it's a miracle that any of us are okay. I mean, it's a testament to the strength of the human spirit that we don't just shoot ourselves before we're fifteen.
There was a baby on the plane today. Oh, I'm in New York, but that's neither here nor there. Well, it's there. But that's another story. So, there was a baby on the plane. A beautiful six-month-old baby. And everyone, including myself, was cooing over this baby. My questions were rapid: "What's her name?" "Has she flown before?" "Is she sleeping through the night?" Then, "I have a 14-month-old. His name is Garrett. This is the first time I've ever left him. Blah blah blah blah blah." But that's not the point.
The point is, I was just one of many people who stopped to look at this baby and tell her she was beautiful and coo and ooh and aah. That's what happens to babies.
Later, at baggage claim, I saw another beautiful little girl. She was about four and she was very cute. But the urge to ask all about her was not there. No one was really looking at her except for people who were a tad annoyed or afraid she was going to run into their legs or touch their luggage.
That's when it hit me. After you're a baby, you're totally on your own. You've gotta do amazing or interesting things to get people's attention because "just being a person" isn't enough. Doesn't that suck? I mean isn't that just a bitch?
At the beginning, all you have to do to get love and attention is just... Be. Any time after that you have to be... Something.
So how do we get through that? It's like we're born famous, and then we start all over again as nobody. I guess it doesn't kill us because we don't remember being babies. If we did, we'd feel like total losers by the time we were seven. God works in mysterious ways.
There was a baby on the plane today. Oh, I'm in New York, but that's neither here nor there. Well, it's there. But that's another story. So, there was a baby on the plane. A beautiful six-month-old baby. And everyone, including myself, was cooing over this baby. My questions were rapid: "What's her name?" "Has she flown before?" "Is she sleeping through the night?" Then, "I have a 14-month-old. His name is Garrett. This is the first time I've ever left him. Blah blah blah blah blah." But that's not the point.
The point is, I was just one of many people who stopped to look at this baby and tell her she was beautiful and coo and ooh and aah. That's what happens to babies.
Later, at baggage claim, I saw another beautiful little girl. She was about four and she was very cute. But the urge to ask all about her was not there. No one was really looking at her except for people who were a tad annoyed or afraid she was going to run into their legs or touch their luggage.
That's when it hit me. After you're a baby, you're totally on your own. You've gotta do amazing or interesting things to get people's attention because "just being a person" isn't enough. Doesn't that suck? I mean isn't that just a bitch?
At the beginning, all you have to do to get love and attention is just... Be. Any time after that you have to be... Something.
So how do we get through that? It's like we're born famous, and then we start all over again as nobody. I guess it doesn't kill us because we don't remember being babies. If we did, we'd feel like total losers by the time we were seven. God works in mysterious ways.
posted by Lisa at 8:29 PM
3 Comments:
You write even better in New York. This is something I've NEVER thought of before.
SO awesome!
All good thoughts. I think the trick is to give precisely what we aim to get, but to do so unconditionally, and most of all, to be grateful for what we do receive, even when it isn't as much as we might prefer. Even as babies, we were only ever really adored by those who beheld us in person, and never by the world at large, at least on an individual level. As a coalition of the young, helpless, and adorable, though, we received the care and attention of the universe.
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