That title above is intended to be sung to the tune of "Where in the World is Carmen San Diego," FYI.
Ever since I was a little kid (and even as a grownup), I've liked to play dress-up. I would steal my mom's pretty green silk shirt for going to school imagining I was Irish. I fantasized about being an uber cool Black 20-something lady feminist sporting a neat Afro with bold gold hoops in my ears and super-chic bell bottoms ringing in change (I'm a 70's baby. What can I say?). I've tried to figure out what the Russian diminutive of Rebecca is. I've fancied myself an Indian Brahman (when doing past-life regressions, we're always princesses, yes?), I've glamorized a self-notion of myself as an Aztec priestess (I'm sure there were a couple of them in that male dominated society). Learning that the Inuit eat raw seal liver? Live changing. And what is it like to live in North Dakota? I have no idea.
Maybe that's why I like reading so much. With the written word, you can slip on someone else's shoes and prance around the globe and through time. Now, I don't proclaim to really understand, in the true sense, what others than myself experience, but it's fun to try. To get into the heads of strangers is an exciting possibility. And the writings of others gives us the chance.
I think that's why I majored in anthropology (and why I love reading). The differences amongst populations and individuals are superficial but the essence that binds humanity is what is true. Every distinct grouping of people have particular beliefs as to an "afterlife." We all love, cry, covet, and dream. I remember a professor of mine commenting on the ties of culture. Even your rebellion has human definitions. Your goth look only provokes those who know of it. Cats don't care.
Food is so personal. I've mentioned it before yet I don't mind repeating the thought. When you explore how other people eat, you get into their psyches. My mammaw's biscuits and gravy have worked their way into my heart in a manner than can never be duplicated at this stage in my life. When I went to my friend, Daljit's house, and her mom made black dal and chapati for me... Well, it was like letting me look into their medicine closet. In fact, we tried on each other's wedding dresses that day.
So, when I read about things like the average person only reads six books a year (a generous lie, by the way), I think we should read more. We should stretch out, shake hands with the 'foreigner' across the way (whoever they may be-- sometimes the foreigner is you!) and widen our experiences. It's fun, it's tasty, and it's wholly fulfilling.
Ever since I was a little kid (and even as a grownup), I've liked to play dress-up. I would steal my mom's pretty green silk shirt for going to school imagining I was Irish. I fantasized about being an uber cool Black 20-something lady feminist sporting a neat Afro with bold gold hoops in my ears and super-chic bell bottoms ringing in change (I'm a 70's baby. What can I say?). I've tried to figure out what the Russian diminutive of Rebecca is. I've fancied myself an Indian Brahman (when doing past-life regressions, we're always princesses, yes?), I've glamorized a self-notion of myself as an Aztec priestess (I'm sure there were a couple of them in that male dominated society). Learning that the Inuit eat raw seal liver? Live changing. And what is it like to live in North Dakota? I have no idea.
Maybe that's why I like reading so much. With the written word, you can slip on someone else's shoes and prance around the globe and through time. Now, I don't proclaim to really understand, in the true sense, what others than myself experience, but it's fun to try. To get into the heads of strangers is an exciting possibility. And the writings of others gives us the chance.
I think that's why I majored in anthropology (and why I love reading). The differences amongst populations and individuals are superficial but the essence that binds humanity is what is true. Every distinct grouping of people have particular beliefs as to an "afterlife." We all love, cry, covet, and dream. I remember a professor of mine commenting on the ties of culture. Even your rebellion has human definitions. Your goth look only provokes those who know of it. Cats don't care.
Food is so personal. I've mentioned it before yet I don't mind repeating the thought. When you explore how other people eat, you get into their psyches. My mammaw's biscuits and gravy have worked their way into my heart in a manner than can never be duplicated at this stage in my life. When I went to my friend, Daljit's house, and her mom made black dal and chapati for me... Well, it was like letting me look into their medicine closet. In fact, we tried on each other's wedding dresses that day.
So, when I read about things like the average person only reads six books a year (a generous lie, by the way), I think we should read more. We should stretch out, shake hands with the 'foreigner' across the way (whoever they may be-- sometimes the foreigner is you!) and widen our experiences. It's fun, it's tasty, and it's wholly fulfilling.
Who is this "Average Person" of whom you write? ;-)
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Oh Lord, Marica! I have no idea. I'm sure I've never met one. And Happy New Year to you, too!! :)
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