Sometimes we do things to ourselves that is similar to putting a metaphorical gun to our figurative head. Or we find ourselves with a blood red face to a situation we created.
I’m rather random with what comes out of my mouth some days. I think that as we get older, the filters our parents have put on our mouths slowly start to dissolve until we are geriatric and grumpy. I say if you live to a ripe old age with your mind intact and your faculties functioning, you are allowed to speak your mind and disregard the consequences.
I get carried away with enthusiasm, whether it is for a song, a movie, a game, a person. Why shouldn’t we be passionate? Why shouldn’t we show we care? Why shouldn’t we regard someone we have never met with affection and yes, I daresay, adoration?
I am a fan of writers, both songs and books, why shouldn’t I be interested in what they have to say? How they process their creativity, how they nurture their art? Yet I know someone who consistently calls me a ‘stalker’ because I follow a writer through his processes; who tells us where he is on any given day or his thoughts on any given topic.
Today I blurted out how I have a terrible crush on a celebrity and immediately felt regret. Because I felt that what I said could be so easily misconstrued. In this day and age of instant messages and social networking, we sometimes feel such an instantaneous connection that such full disclosure borders on invasion of privacy, namely, mine. I’ve divulged my deep dark secret. I’ve opened myself up to pity, scorn, ridicule.
But then I thought about it, after a few hours of introspection who cares?
Why should I care about what someone else thinks of me? They don’t walk in my shoes, they don’t live my life, they don’t feel what I feel and they don’t matter unless I let them matter.
I have a crush on a beautiful, articulate, smart, witty actress. Like I’m the only one?