The Other Me

Man decorates basement with $10 worth of Sharpie

I am always astounded by my pigeonholing skills, even though I, as a divine human creature, defy categorization on a regular basis. I am deeply ashamed by my reductionist tendencies, condensing people into the easiest two dimensional definition at hand, and underrating them in the process.
That's why I'm regularly caught off guard by the secret self, the spiritual party boy, the doctor-musician, and here, Mr surprisingly talented lawyer-artist. With a typical western-humanist liberal arts educational background informing my intellect, this guy is close to being my hero; if I ignore the naff black leather furniture, even more so. What passion, what patience, what planning and determination must have gone into transforming this basement into a personal testament to what shapes his epistemology, his critical value system, and all very "popular" choices too, nothing culty or overly cerebral in any of these icons, a safe yet wise choice for an everyday living space. I always feel like I missed my calling in life, my secret self scratches at my insides, taunting, reminding me that I am not expressing the "real" Cat Among the Pigeons. I'm hemmed in by convention, obligation, expectation and perhaps a self preservation instinct that does not want to see me ousted from clan and country. So I find myself jealous of Mr. Sharpie, humdrum as his artistic contribution maybe, disappointed in myself for not achieving "fulfillment", for not getting "satisfaction", the two entitlements of our age, and hoping to one day find the courage and space and project that will finally channel the other me.

"Cat Among the Pigeons"