Yesterday I relived an event when I was seventeen, when I felt humiliated, furious, and very, very stubborn. I believed with all my heart that my life depended on breaking conventions, on not doing what was expected of me, on finding my own way despite difficulties. While I recognize some of those feelings as close to a child's tantrum, I respect their power. Strong, absolute emotion did help me stumble on my own path, however clumsily.
So, when I picked up a copy of Spin Magazine while waiting for a haircut, I didn't reject completely the destructive posturing of some of the interviewees. For one thing, they are not in the world to please me. There was an article I could identify with, about hip-hop and rap in Tunisia, which is credited, along with communication facilitated by Facebook, with focussing dissatisfaction with the regime and helping topple it. The singers themselves had no idea what would happen, but found themselves revolutionary icons. They were defiant and true enough to themselves to risk saying what young people were feeling. Another Tunisian rapper said he is all about the music and not politics. He already had hostages to fate, a family to support.
My Dad once protested that I could only learn by running my head into a brick wall. Hmm. I do have some neck injuries.