Perception is an interesting thing.

When I said “The clouds are purple and orange,” they heard “surreal.”

I was describing the sky during a forest fire.

When I said “My peonies are exploding,” they heard “I have hundreds of beautiful peonies blooming in my garden.”

I was just about to vacuum thousands of peony petals from my livingroom rug.

It’s rough, in this world, to hang onto your ‘self.’  Your vision, your perception, your meaning.

In stressful moments, my cousin quotes The Gambler, “gotta know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em.”  Which, to me, is basically a retread of the Serenity Prayer.

Here’s mine:

Sometimes you explain.

Sometimes you complain.

Sometimes you contain.

And sometimes, you just move on.

Sometimes one’s experience is in itself perceptual.  Directors and actors and musicians – good ones – operate from more than the notes or words on the page, more than physical and aural cues.  I’ve always seen it as a space that hovers somewhere above our heads, that place where we meet and communicate, that other level.

It’s the wisdom part that’s tricky.  What do you do with that pesky little voice that overrides your internal editor, “Go ahead, say it!  Type it!  Hit SEND!”

Sometimes you do make the decision to override your editor, to vent wrath, perhaps.  To help a friend.  To incite other artists.  To safeguard a child by saying “no.”

Perception is the first step in a chain of decision necessarily colored by experience.  What one does with those perceptions?  Ignore, override, go-with-the-flow?

The very first step is to recognize that others have their own perceptions of your perceptions, of you.  The second?  Whether or not to accept them.



One thought on “perspicacity

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