There is a certain allure to the concept of cool. It’s a detached, relaxed, devil-may-care attitude. It’s always remaining composed and unphased no matter what life throws at you. It’s being put together and having your shit together at all times. It’s definitely something super attractive and something to aspire to.
Unfortunately, life isn’t always cool.
Life is messy and complicated, and being detached sometimes means not caring enough.
You see, I can’t be cool. I struggle to be, but I fail. I’m passionate and I feel a lot – many times way too much. And with that passion, comes the reverse: drama. I love grandeur and big gestures, but I also find a quiet comfort in simple life pleasures, which to me become just as big. So yes, sometimes my hair is a mess and my eyebrows aren’t on point, but underneath the surface I’m buzzing because I spent over 12 hours working on something that sets my soul on fire, or simply because I witnessed an unbelievable sunset.
I get lost in my head,
in my imagination, and I have an endless supply of creative ideas. Not all of them see the light of day, and some of them lead to exactly nowhere. But to me there’s no other way of being and I’d rather die than to be forced to live “in the real world“.
Sure, being a nomad is cool. And despite the fact that I think there’s something beautiful to be found everywhere in the world, I do search for a place to feel I belong to and I can call home.
For the longest I can remember I’ve been told that pale skin is not hot and definitely not cool. Yet, I had to live with this burden and tried to hide the fact that it hurts to be judged through the color of your skin, regardless of what that color is. Yes, self tanner helps a lot, but when that fades, can I be strong enough to face my naked pain?
When I was 10 or 11 I was taking art classes after school, and my art teacher told me that I’m meticulous and very detailed, but I need to learn how to let go and expand and sometimes start coloring outside the lines. I got scared and I didn’t know what to do. At school everybody always told me to color between the lines, inside their predefined teritory! So instead I just sat there, staring at all the paints and having no clue how to react. I still find myself swimming in so many ideas but incapable of letting my heart sing, because I’m paralyzed in between the expectations of me coloring inside the lines and drawing my own goddamn paths. Well, art is beautiful in the end, but the process is messy, uncertain, humbling and complicated. The process is far from cool.
I used to feel bored, until I realized that boredom is a fear of permanency. The permanency of an uncomfortable feeling. Who really likes to be uncomfortable? Not me, I’m a definite creature of comfort. So we would do absolutely anything to distract ourselves from this feeling, to escape, to just make it magically disappear. Escapist behaviors are so cool. After all, it’s all we glorify these days.
I’m not detached from the outcome of my work, because time runs so fast and I’d like to live a life full of meaning. So I fret. And I sometimes take things too seriously. I also hate being constrained, so that’s when I rebel. I rebel against ugliness and suffering and living in a world ruled by fear.
So no, I’m not cool. I feel too much. I am flawed. I’m complicated.