Today I turned 37, and leading up to this day, Vincent Van Gogh has been weighing heavily in my mind. Vincent Van Gogh painted for ten years of his life and during that time he produced “860 complete oil paintings… 1,240… watercolor paintings, sketches and prints… and he wrote more than 900 letters” (Ramsey 138). The year that Vincent turned 37, he was on track to complete around 200 works of art, but stopped at 108, because... he killed himself. I often lament that I have not accomplished all the creative endeavors that live along with Vincent in my mind. I am still dreaming more than doing. I have too many words that will go unsaid and unwritten. Paintings that will go unpainted. Pictures that go unprinted. Questions that go unasked. Gardens that remain unplanted. Exotic places that remain unvisited. Dance choreography that will never see the light of day, and movement in my body that may never be expressed. As I have started the process to write this birthday reflection, I have ...
I once thought of Hippos as these slow, cute, chubby animals who lounged around in water all day, and then, I learned that they are actually one of the deadliest animals on earth. In that moment I felt a connection on another level with these creatures. I have often felt that most people have a skewed perception of who I am. And upon reflection, realized that I quite often misjudge others too. So really, maybe we're all hippos.