Good day, Sunday. It's finally properly cold in New York and Khan and I just froze our tootsies off walking around the neighborhood. Happy to report I'm back home now, warm, thankful, and cozy- this is the way all Sundays should feel.
As I sat and earnestly looked at all of the full frontal fashion coming out of New York this week, it was with great sadness that I heard about Whitney Houston's passing last night. David was trying to install a dimmer in our living room, gave up halfway, and caused us to lose our internet for a few hours. After three hours on hold with Time Warner and their Level 3 tech support (yes, it was that serious) and some crap pizza (yes, it's possible to have bad pizza in New York), our connectivity was restored, and the first thing I saw on my computer was the announcement of Ms. Houston's death. I was stunned, floored, and immediately saddened.Though I may not strike you as the type to love a pop star like Whitney, I wholeheartedly did. I have always been a fan of both R&B and gospel, and her voice always took me somewhere, along with her gorgeous face and unfortunate ability to make her way into the tabloids- at first as a legend for her blessed voice, and then later as a poster child for her now infamous testament that "crack is whack". Indeed it is.
I couldn't help but immediately take to Facebook and cry out a big "WTF", and noticed that many of my friends were in the same place- posting old videos, online eulogies, and sadness at her passing. In recent weeks, I've been troubled by my lack of direction, my aimlessness that plagued me in my early years in New York, where everything seems possible but getting "there" is often quite the opposite. It's hard enough for a normal sod like me to not somehow feel beat up by a constant need to succeed, to do better, to one up. I can't imagine what it's like to have talent on the scale of Whitney- many of us wish our path was as clear as hers (to sing and sing and sing), but that often comes with a huge price. I don't know if it's the fact that true artists like Whitney suffer more because it's much harder to live in one's truth and observe the rest of the world not doing the same, or if the constant scrutiny of a press and public obsessed with failure and a fall from grace finally takes the wind out of such glorious sails.
And although I sought solace in my Facebook community and looked for connection in my sadness, I couldn't help but think of all of the parodies of Whitney over the years- and we all laughed at them- particularly Maya Rudolph's portrayal of her. A big part of me thinks we have to stop making fun of something as serious as drug abuse- if somebody did that to someone in our family, or worse, ourselves- I am not sure how many of us would survive that microscopic level of cruelty, that somehow makes us feel better about our own lives but does not consider the lives that kind of joking does.
I know it's a big cliche to talk about the trappings of fame and being in the public eye, but all of this 24/7/365 information exchange at our fingertips (literally) feels out of control- we focus too much on the disasters of celebrity and sometimes forget they are still human, even if their talent somehow renders them otherwise to their fans. If less time was spent talking about how fucked up Whitney was and more time was spent trying to help her, could things have turned out differently? I'm not sure, but it brings up something bigger to me- there is so much shit talking all over the place- I've even seen it in my own industry in the comments sections of blogs where an announcement of a promotion or success can often lead to some serious snark. I'm not sure when we became a culture obsessed with watching people fail, or wishing them to do so, but it should stop. It's only after these people fall, or even worse, never get up again, that we remember what their true talent was- whether it's their music, art, athleticism, or simply being a good mother, father, or child.
To have to constantly be "ok" in the public eye must be a huge burden, because sometimes we're not. How many of us can admit that certain days we might share a recipe or a funny video on Facebook but inside we're feeling lonely, lost, or overwhelmed? I'm amazed at our inability to recognize when people need help, because we're so busy judging and scrutinizing and talking about how crappy they looked or how a comment they said to a hungry media is spread all over the world, and often taken out of context.
Though I am grateful to all of this "sociality" and the opportunity it has given me to rediscover my "voice" (my writing voice that is), I wonder- is it time to stop doing so much talking and start listening? Clearly there's too many people out there that are in a great deal of pain- are we canonizing people for their faults rather than what they can give to the world? It all seems a rather perverse side effect of a world gone crazy, and as I think about that beautiful person that died, is it possible to save another life, or be a little kinder to someone in your own sphere that may need it? Instead of another update on Twitter or Facebook, take some time to really share. I reluctantly look forward to seeing the tribute to Whitney on the Grammys tonight, and I most likely will be sharing my thoughts on Facebook, when really I should be taking stock in how lucky we are to not be suffering, and further still, to be alive. Have we lost our ability to protect ourselves from constant scrutiny and judement- is the umbrella formerly known as privacy gone forever? Sometimes we all need a little bit of protection, a little shelter from this storm called life. In Whitney's case, when times were bad, I can't help but feel we left her in the rain.
Cause that's what's up this somewhat heavy Sunday in the 718. All the love, and I mean that. If you need me today, I'll be your umbrella. XO
