Blog Post #2 Without Quotations

I didn't really believe it when I was in my 20s, but wisdom comes with age - probably because implicit within the concept of aging is experiencing, and we usually learn from our experiences. (Which is not to say that all older people are wiser than all younger people, or even that all older people are wise -- that is certainly not the case. My husband, the wisest person I have ever known, was probably wise in first grade and has just gotten wiser.) Anyway, I digress...

I remember a young man who came to visit me when I was 20 as my home teacher. (For those who are not members of the LDS faith, all members are given 'home teachers' who visit each month to give a short lesson and see if you need help with anything.) He was very proud of his knowledge, like me, and gave me some advice I really needed and have thought a lot about since: "Don't take yourself so seriously."

I wasn't offended by this advice - I think someone had probably given him the same counsel at some point and it had helped him, so he was passing it along to the only person on the planet (me) who had ever beaten him at Trivial Pursuit. (I still remember the winning question involved "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allan Poe, which he had never even heard of. When I recited the first sentence of the story from memory, he was astounded. It just happens to be one of my favorite first lines from all of literature, but again, I digress...)

Since that time, I have tried to remember to laugh at myself and to let some of my vulnerabilities show, and I've come to realize that people may admire us for our strengths, but they love us for our vulnerabilities.

A vulnerability is not necessarily a weakness, but it is a soft spot, a need, an unfulfilled dream, an indication of our humanity. We can camouflage our vulnerabilities and pretend that they do not exist, but we all have them. They are what make us empathetic to and protective of each other.

I've noticed a similar phenomenon in my reaction to art. I admire the nearly photgraphic quality of a painting that is a perfect refletion of the subject matter, but I love the painting that has human emotion in it even more. Dramatic brush strokes and blurred lines convey something of the artist and not just the object or landscape he painted. I am seeing the subject matter through the artist's eyes.

I have several excellent quotes on this subject which come to mind...but I am trying to express original thoughts, and believe me it's harder than it looks.

Here is the first line of "The Cask of Amontillado":

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. (Isn't that great?!) (Scott said, 'Isn't this supposed to be a blog without quotes?')