Simple Things/ Lang Kenneth Haynes
“Coloring inside the lines”
“Coloring inside the lines”
We’ve all heard expressions like “dancing to the beat of a different drummer,” “thinking outside the box” (a cliché that I detest completely and viscerally),
“coloring outside the lines,” “taking the road less traveled” and other attempts to describe the virtues of not following the crowd. Fine. Wonderful. I’m not a big fan
of conformity for the sake of the comfort that comes with conforming. It’s probably just as well since I can’t conform in the most obvious way, which is to look like
the majority of the population of this particular country. For the time-being anyway. The whole minority/majority complexion will shift well before the end of this
century. It’s shifting now and has been for a long time. Just open your eyes and walk down just about any street and you’ll see a change – a different world than
the one you grew up with.
One of my favorite cartoons appeared in the New Yorker magazine several decades ago. It depicted several beatniks (the predecessors to hippies, some
might say) all wearing blue jeans, sweatshirts and sunglasses marching outside a subway station where most of the people were dressed in suits and ties. The
beatniks carried signs that read, “Fight the Rising Tide of Conformity.” If we try hard enough to be different and associate with growing numbers of people who
also seek to demonstrate their uniqueness, a funny thing is likely to happen: all the unique people will start to look the same.
In any event, this business of coloring inside or outside the lines is pretty funny because it is circular by nature. If you color outside the lines you are perhaps
not conforming to obvious external forces, but you are risking the ultimate alienation – you are at risk of alienating yourself from yourself. It is quite possible that
the more effort you expend in dancing to a different drummer the further you might find yourself from the rhythm of the beat of your own heart. You may alter the
box in which you have formed your ideas to the point where there is no structure of any shape to provide a context that you might need to impose some sort of
order on your world.
And drawing outside the lines is useful, liberating and exhilarating. It’s fun and frightening like an amusement park ride. Good for a time but even the fastest
roller coaster in the world gets boring after the third or fourth ride. Sure. It might continue to provide a nauseating kind of boredom that can be mistaken for
excitement, but it’s boring nevertheless. Your freedom becomes as predictable as the attire of the beatniks who confront the standards of the establishment by all
dressing in the same non-establishment uniforms – but uniforms all the same.
It’s a pendulum kind of thing. Swing outside the lines when you are sick and tired of coloring inside the lines. Go outside just for the hell of it. Just for the
freedom of it. Redefine yourself. Re-establish your boundaries. Dangle at the periphery of who you know yourself not to be, swing back past your center to
experience the other extreme – an equal distance from your center. And when you’re done playing around and come to the realization that you’ve essentially
been goofing around with external boundaries, you can get down to the work of –you guessed it- coloring inside the lines that give form and richness of color to
your essence. Color inside the lines when you come to the conclusion that doing anything else is a waste of time. Color inside the lines and savor the freedom
that comes with staying within the form that you have created and follow the path that you have prescribed for yourself.
There is a scene in one of my favorite movies - “True Stories” - in which the main character, played by John Goodman, seeks the help of a Voodoo priest,
played by Pops Staples of the Staples Singers, to attract love into his life. Upon hearing Goodman’s request Pops Staples says something like, “Most people don’t
know what their true natures are so they ask for things that will not help them get where they want to go. But in your case, love is who you are. I’ll work on you
today and tomorrow.” The point is that John Goodman was coloring inside the lines of who is. He recognized love as the key element in his life and he sought
help to make that connection stronger.
My guess is that most or many of us knew who we were a long, long time ago. For some of us singing made our hearts vibrate, and when we sang the
expressions on the faces of the people around us softened and then glowed. We were touching something elemental when we sang and the people around us
could feel it. It didn’t matter if singing or the human voice was special to them, but your expression of your essence comprised the essential universal language
that gently challenged all around you to ask themselves who they were, what mattered to them, to uncover their own essence, to brush it off and send it out into
the world to seek resonance.
Singing is only one example. It doesn’t matter where you find your essence. It might reside somewhere in one of the arts. It may hide in your knack at picking
up languages or ability to understand complex math or science problems. Your essence could consist of your constant appreciation of beauty and ability to see
and feel it when those around you only complain about dire conditions. It doesn’t matter. It may be different for all of us, but when it is uncovered and allowed to
flow it feels the same. Like two tuning forks tuned to the same pitch. One causes the other to vibrate.
I wrote a poem about four years ago that tries to touch on what it feels like to color inside our own lines. The name of the poem is:
“coloring outside the lines,” “taking the road less traveled” and other attempts to describe the virtues of not following the crowd. Fine. Wonderful. I’m not a big fan
of conformity for the sake of the comfort that comes with conforming. It’s probably just as well since I can’t conform in the most obvious way, which is to look like
the majority of the population of this particular country. For the time-being anyway. The whole minority/majority complexion will shift well before the end of this
century. It’s shifting now and has been for a long time. Just open your eyes and walk down just about any street and you’ll see a change – a different world than
the one you grew up with.
One of my favorite cartoons appeared in the New Yorker magazine several decades ago. It depicted several beatniks (the predecessors to hippies, some
might say) all wearing blue jeans, sweatshirts and sunglasses marching outside a subway station where most of the people were dressed in suits and ties. The
beatniks carried signs that read, “Fight the Rising Tide of Conformity.” If we try hard enough to be different and associate with growing numbers of people who
also seek to demonstrate their uniqueness, a funny thing is likely to happen: all the unique people will start to look the same.
In any event, this business of coloring inside or outside the lines is pretty funny because it is circular by nature. If you color outside the lines you are perhaps
not conforming to obvious external forces, but you are risking the ultimate alienation – you are at risk of alienating yourself from yourself. It is quite possible that
the more effort you expend in dancing to a different drummer the further you might find yourself from the rhythm of the beat of your own heart. You may alter the
box in which you have formed your ideas to the point where there is no structure of any shape to provide a context that you might need to impose some sort of
order on your world.
And drawing outside the lines is useful, liberating and exhilarating. It’s fun and frightening like an amusement park ride. Good for a time but even the fastest
roller coaster in the world gets boring after the third or fourth ride. Sure. It might continue to provide a nauseating kind of boredom that can be mistaken for
excitement, but it’s boring nevertheless. Your freedom becomes as predictable as the attire of the beatniks who confront the standards of the establishment by all
dressing in the same non-establishment uniforms – but uniforms all the same.
It’s a pendulum kind of thing. Swing outside the lines when you are sick and tired of coloring inside the lines. Go outside just for the hell of it. Just for the
freedom of it. Redefine yourself. Re-establish your boundaries. Dangle at the periphery of who you know yourself not to be, swing back past your center to
experience the other extreme – an equal distance from your center. And when you’re done playing around and come to the realization that you’ve essentially
been goofing around with external boundaries, you can get down to the work of –you guessed it- coloring inside the lines that give form and richness of color to
your essence. Color inside the lines when you come to the conclusion that doing anything else is a waste of time. Color inside the lines and savor the freedom
that comes with staying within the form that you have created and follow the path that you have prescribed for yourself.
There is a scene in one of my favorite movies - “True Stories” - in which the main character, played by John Goodman, seeks the help of a Voodoo priest,
played by Pops Staples of the Staples Singers, to attract love into his life. Upon hearing Goodman’s request Pops Staples says something like, “Most people don’t
know what their true natures are so they ask for things that will not help them get where they want to go. But in your case, love is who you are. I’ll work on you
today and tomorrow.” The point is that John Goodman was coloring inside the lines of who is. He recognized love as the key element in his life and he sought
help to make that connection stronger.
My guess is that most or many of us knew who we were a long, long time ago. For some of us singing made our hearts vibrate, and when we sang the
expressions on the faces of the people around us softened and then glowed. We were touching something elemental when we sang and the people around us
could feel it. It didn’t matter if singing or the human voice was special to them, but your expression of your essence comprised the essential universal language
that gently challenged all around you to ask themselves who they were, what mattered to them, to uncover their own essence, to brush it off and send it out into
the world to seek resonance.
Singing is only one example. It doesn’t matter where you find your essence. It might reside somewhere in one of the arts. It may hide in your knack at picking
up languages or ability to understand complex math or science problems. Your essence could consist of your constant appreciation of beauty and ability to see
and feel it when those around you only complain about dire conditions. It doesn’t matter. It may be different for all of us, but when it is uncovered and allowed to
flow it feels the same. Like two tuning forks tuned to the same pitch. One causes the other to vibrate.
I wrote a poem about four years ago that tries to touch on what it feels like to color inside our own lines. The name of the poem is:
| Often Overlooked Things I knew the wood was perfect from the ease with which I found it Round, fragrant, not completely dry, dark in the center Just the right last log for a late winter evening There would be large coals waiting in the morning One breath or two would make them glow red To make their place in the universe of possibilities Hickory’s essential nature is heat and persistence To glow solid in the ashes of other woods Oh, how we look in places other than ourselves to find ourselves Tussle with poplar, elm, stovepipe clogging pine While relishing occasional encounters with oak When hickory is our essence As the artist’s hand selects the best color for a particular stroke The sax player feels the need to play the note between notes With odd fingerings and partially closed holes Breathe into yourself; find the core that will leave coals on which you build your fire In the morning |