Once upon a time, there was a boy named Cole. Cole was so handsome, he made all the ladies in a 2 mile radius drop their panties. On Cole’s first day of college, classes had to be cancelled because, “All the bitches’ panties was wet.” And so, from that day forth, it was declared that Cole must attend college in a floatation vest, because of all the pussy he was drowning in.
—The Ballad of Cole Thomas. Written by Tyler.
Your feelings are valid simply because you feel them.
something lovely my therapist said (via jeanprouvair)
I would argue that humans, by nature, are emotional, but validation comes from being able to interpret those feelings and immediate gut responses in a way that’s cogent with reality. Call me a logical buzzkill, but I really dislike this quote simply because it can be used a cutesy justification for acting on irrational feelings. After all, aren’t most feelings irrational anyways? Maybe I’m over thinking this one…
Justify what you want, work things out internally, but utilize your feelings in way that will make you feel validated as a whole, logically and emotionally. It’s hard, but it’s worth a whole lot more than these little “happy pills” of “sage wisdom”.
Even then, it all comes down to what you feel like “Valid” means. Maybe the quote should read, “Your feelings are natural simply because you feel them.”
I woke up this morning to find my inbox littered with backlash in response to this post. Messages like:
"How dare you say something like this, I have social anxiety and this offends me.”
"You should have put a trigger warning on this because I’m literally crying now thanks to you.”
Et cetera, ad nauseum.
I don’t care to talk more about these messages, especially because this is by no means an apology post. Rather, it is my intention to simultaneously thank those who agreed with me (thank you!) and do an enormous favor to those whom I so greatly hurt. I’ll hazard the risk that those parties possess the capacity to logically and critically read to the following anecdote:
As a pianist and artist, I learned at an early age that, if I wanted to be successful and recognized, I had to take work in places that I would never expect. Enter a gaggle of morticians into my life some seven years ago. Funeral calls came flooding in when I was age seventeen, simply because no other pianist in the area wanted to take them. Death was simply too touchy in their eyes, and the funeral directors who hired me were impressed that I actually wanted to play piano at as many funeral services as I did.
Back then, I rarely thought about the emotions in the room that only converged when death was a guest. I had found my niche. Why should I let grief and sobbing stand in the way of my fledgling career?
At least, that’s what I thought up until I was hired to play a teen suicide funeral.
When I arrived to the service that morning, there was a bizarre silence in the air. Typically, people love to swap stories and memories of their loved ones, drowning out the tears of some with honest, heartfelt laughter. Not today, though. No crying, no laughing, no stories to be told. With most performances, I can articulately recall how well I played and sang, but not this one. No, I didn’t really care to think about what I was doing; playing piano at funerals was almost automatic at this point in my life anyways. For the first time, I was more focused on hearing the eulogy from the father of the young man who took his life.
He told a story or two about his late son and concluded abruptly, leaving the congregation (and myself) with a pure and beautiful sentiment:
"Take the time to express love to your family and friends. Never feel like you’ve spent enough time with those you care about, because once it’s all over, you only get those memories."
It’s a mantra I’ve carried close to me till this day, and a concept that can, woefully, only be seen in other people at their worst times: Those who are grieving or near death. The ones who lose a loved one long for more time to spend with the deceased and those near death regret not spending more time with their contemporaries.
We, as a society, have gotten to a point where we don’t just fear death, we ignore it. The concept of our mortality is obscured from the young, who desperately need it for motivation in planning their lives and taking the time to build lasting, valuable relationships. Not out of fear, of course, but because youth is finite and valuable; Wasted by many of those I see on tumblr.
Do I feel that religion is partly to blame in squelching or sugar-coating the reality of death? Absolutely, but it isn’t my intent to bash religion at this time. Instead, I feel like those in doubt or fear about their lives, be it dithering on talking with someone they like or signing a risky business deal, simply need to remember that there are no promises or guarantees after death. And when you find yourself old and grizzled, bedridden and ill, would it not be better to have archives of intrepid memories to share with those kind enough to visit you? Would you not want to become the sage that inspires the hero in the next generation?
Would you not want to be satisfied with your short existence, rather than, not just living with doubt, but dying with it?
If someone you really want to talk with hasn’t initiated a conversation with you in a while, you should absolutely interpret that as:
A) They hate you.
B) You irritate them whenever you speak.
C) They probably don’t want to be friends with you anymore.
D) Go away.
Or, alternatively, *you* could just start a dialogue with that person instead of jumping to this idiotic conclusion and whining about imagined issues.
Pride is incredibly useful and empowering if you take pride in yourself as a whole, which can be difficult.
The second you take pride in a title, rather than who you are as an individual, you mortgage true pride for vanity and narcissism.
How I feel about tumblr when I get up in the morning.