I think about you a lot lately. Things like what I would say to you if ever we meet. Oh I do realize how pathetic it is. I ponder that all the time too, like, why YOU? Of all people, really, it has to be you? It’s absolutely the dumbest thing that I could possibly be thinking about. I think it’s an escape. I CAN’T think about the disaster that is my life, so I fantasize instead I guess. Just like I was 13 again…but I’m not.
It was my 13 year old daughter that introduced me to you, which tells you right there how stupid I’m being. At first I hated you, all of you. I’d roll my eyes at her and and barely be able to endure the videos. They were obnoxious! They aren’t even in English! Well, maybe a phrase here and there, but that was even more maddening! The camera never stays in one place long enough and it makes me dizzy trying to focus on one guy when it switches so fast and pans around and everyone’s dancing, but the scenes are changing. It was just too much and you all looked the same except for the crazy hair styles and bright colors which at first were the only way I could tell any of you apart. The outfits are terribly tacky and pretentious, and the drama was SO pre-teen over-mellow! I’d actually laugh, and sometimes still do at how good you all are at being emotional for the camera and all your screaming heartbroken fans.
But then something changed. I picked you and one other absolutely stunning man out just for the sake of picking because my daughter seemed to think that everyone should have a “bias” or two, or three. I picked him for his perfect face, but I picked you because you were endearing. You have such a sweet face and you move in a way that is…different from anyone else. You carry your little self with an air of…something. You seem small but you are unafraid and you know you are the best at what you do. And you kinda remind me of another dude I once knew. At first I payed more attention to the other because even though I loved watching you, I though you were arrogant, a playboy. The way you dressed and the way you acted in your videos lead me to assumptions. But then I read your lyrics…all of them. Now it is obvious to me that you are not a gimmick. All you have ever had to do to achieve what you have achieved is BE you.
I keep telling myself this is a mid-life crisis. As a matter of fact I know that’s what it is. It had to be you because had my daughters been in love with European or American stars I would NEVER become infatuated. I’d STILL be rolling my eyes and barely tolerating their fandom. Honestly I had no idea just how incredibly famous you are. I never had time to pay attention to such things. Now you have been pointed out to me though. You are just alien enough, just different enough, mysterious enough, far enough away to let myself feel a spark of interest.
I look at the art that you create out of your life in everything you do from your photos, to your videos, to your lyrics, your clothing, your jewelry, and your stage performances and I’m mesmerized and so bitterly jealous of you. You say things like “Hope is the parent of despair.” and I actually hate you for it because letting myself feel like a girl again after so many harsh years only makes me feel the sharp sting of NOT having my dreams fulfilled. You remind me what it was like to have hope, to actually believe that dreams can come true for everyone. They can’t. Not for everyone. Not for me. Not for my children.
I remember what it was like to be in front of the camera, to feel beautiful, to be alive with creativity. I remember what it felt like to go on all night art binges, to look on my creations with satisfaction and to get recognition from my artistic peers. I remember what it felt like to deprive myself of sleep to run up into the woods with friends and enjoy all of God’s creation. I remember what it felt like to be infatuated with myself, to feel sexy and strong and free. Now, at 38, I feel like a withered old woman trapped in a cage of her own making. It’s all downhill from here. Beauty is fading, strength is waning, energy lacking. I’m like poor old Jacob Marley carrying my unachieved dreams around my neck like heavy chains weighing me down and tearing me apart. It’s so much easier to just be resigned to my fate, to believe that suffering where I am is noble and beautiful. Damn you! I hate you for making me WANT again! But I don’t really. I admire you. I have a pathetic and definitely kind of creepy cougar crush on you. Seeing as how you are almost exactly in the middle of my daughter and I in age, it would be far more fitting for her to love you than me. Oh God I’m so creepy! Forgive me. I amuse and disgust myself because of you.
I guess I admire you because you’ve done it, you’ve achieved greatness at your passion, and I’m as proud of you as I am jealous. I’ve always admired and been drawn to passion. I think passionate people intimidate and scare me away though. Maybe I feel unworthy? Sometimes I wonder if you are happy with fame? If I could ever be happy with fame? I see the thousands of likes and comments on all your social media and I wonder if it ever weighs on you? I think about how I think I feel about you sometimes, which I am fully aware is just the creepy fantasy musing of an over worked, under payed aging mother of three living in a loveless marriage. I KNOW I don’t know who YOU are. But I know that the little girls really truly think their feelings for you are real. Their hearts are really breaking because they actually believe that the you they have made up in their heads is who you actually are. You must know the pictures and videos and even live performances will never be enough to satisfy their aching hearts. You must know that each and every one of them believes deep down in their soul that they are your soul mate and that if you only SEE them, you would know too? Does that ever scare you? Holy cow it would scare me! You can’t possibly answer them all, satisfy them all, meet them all, thank them all, let alone love them all! Do you ever feel a responsibility for breaking so many hearts? Or do you get off on it, does it excite you? It must be thrilling and lonely at the same time. I feel like I need to be alone in a crowd sometimes and that there are very few places left that you can go and truly be alone in a crowd. I enjoy strolling down streets and watching people. I assume that you can’t do that in very many places. Are you sure you want to be famous in America too? Don’t you want just a few places where you are still just some regular guy?
I also assume that we, you and I, are on opposite sides of the same problem…money. I’m in the gloriously wonderful spot of having none. I get up and go to work every day, I work hard, but it doesn’t matter. I’m still on the verge of loosing everything. I am feeding my kids, but can’t take them or myself to the doctor. I just lost a job that was covering all the bills, but after that I didn’t get paid for two weeks, and now I have a job that I like better than the old one, but it only pays half of what I was making before. I’m three months behind on my mortgage payments and my husband won’t finish school for another six months. I’m wondering when they will come take the house. Damn near 40 years old and still struggling just to put food on the table and keep my house. I’m aging. Fading, and I will never have the money to fix it. I can’t get clothes for my kids let alone for myself. I used to have the most glorious smile, but now my front tooth is yellowing and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it. I’m bitter and I’m angry at my husband for not taking care of me and the kids. I’m angry at myself for not being better, not being smarter, not trying hard enough, not making the right choices and I’m dying inside knowing that time is running out. I wonder if my kids will make it. If they will be successful. I can’t help them. I can’t help me. My husband and I are caged animals ready to devour one another. we barely even like each other anymore. I guess that’s why I make up who you are in my day dreams.
And that’s your problem. You have money, you are who you are and everyone wants a piece of it. But would they want you if you weren’t famous? Who would want you if you were as broke as me? I wish I had the answer. Probably not me. I’d probably be just as pissed at you as I am at my husband. I think the difference is though, that even if you were my husband in the same poor place that we are in, I think you would dance with me, even if I am bad at it, and I think you would write me love songs even as my youthful beauty fades, and I think you would still try to make me feel happy and carefree even as the world seems to be falling apart. But there I go again. Putting perfection on someone who is still just a man.
It’s time to stop being 13 and turn back to God for His perfect love, and it’s time to call the mortgage company and rest of the creditors and work out whatever it is that they are willing to work out or face bankruptcy. I can’t waste any more time feeling sorry for myself and wishing for you when you’re not even what I wish you were and even if you are, you wouldn’t want an aging American with three kids anyway. This mid life crisis stuff is no joke, especially when you’re poor. It amazes me that some people can have it all while others have nothing. I just don’t get it.