A BLOOM THAT NEVER FULLY BLOSSOMED
Recently, I watched a documentary on the late Marilyn Monroe. Several episodes take you on a fast but rather well-footed dance through her life which was arguably ahead of its time and ironically cut before its full blossom. In many ways, the world was unable to grasp her magnificence until she departed the life that had helped her define it for the coming generations.
Life on her terms meant feats of fame were possible while maintaining an unapologetic penchant for independence—an astoundingly rare breed for that era. Unfortunately, the totality of her impact came into view only after decades of public speculation and theory were pieced together, revealing with it the objectified shell of a person others had mentally conjured.
The “real” Marilyn was found in the pause of all the noise that surrounded her. During those intimate and momentary glances, where she’d pivot toward the camera as her sole director and dance for the ocean waves, which seemed her favorite type of captive audience.
When it all came to a screeching halt, the answers as to why have often come with some form of blame. Blaming culture, the patriarchy, Hollywood, politics, and the press. Or any of those individually or collectively who helped create the mask of Monroe that deliberately separated the artist from the human being—one who was fiercely intellectual and creatively gifted.
Though each had a part to play in the effect on her mental state, external circumstances come with limits we personally assign to them. And Marilyn was no exception.
The details: black, white, and color
As I sat there watching her life unfold in three mini segments of black, white, and color, I couldn’t help but compare the complexity and fragility that comes during our honing of potential as creators. Whether publicly viewed or not, each of our lives is a collection of mixed mediums—a treasure trove often discovered but not thoroughly dug through.
Her story differed in that it was one of significant fame and fortune. However, it’s also one even without those external trappings, the majority of us already know. It’s a story that begs the question: who gets to define our own greatness?
Most have concluded that greatness is a character attribute of death and that a legend is one who dies youthfully, tragically, and questionably. But is a legend discovered only in death? Or, is it defined by the choices one made in a single life?
Legends themselves seem to be a character defined more by those observing the drama rather than those living it. Humorously enough, it’s both people we know and those we never meet who lead us to the hiding spot of our unexposed and unexpressed potentials – who help us create the storyline of life and how we go about living it.
As much as we relish arguing against it, however, the personal decision on what parts to mine, polish, and pursue or discard and forget, are uniquely ours. Yet those key decisions – the ones standing behind our pursuits, propelling them either into the deep ground or vast space, hardly differ. The gritty ‘why’ driving us to that ideological finish line, the one that seems just out of arms reach, is where we continue to fall until we eventually can’t get up again.
fall is a punch line
The punch line that continues to elude most in the pursuit of happiness, is that those endings, those finish lines, [don’t] exist. We’re never done. We cross a boundary only to discover another one to pine after and another one beyond it—a spiral staircase with no landing.
We see this eternalness in nature – Autumn, a rebirth of sorts, echoes this cyclical idea of joy, desire, death, and beginning. Just as leaves transition into various hues before dropping to the ground and returning to the soil of creation, we hold limitless potential for colorful and creative achievements in our time here—each stage met with a host of new choices.
In every breathable moment of our individual existence lies another possibility for greatness. Our downfall is believing in the aspect of permanency, in believing that obstacles on the way to the dream aren’t simply opportunities gifting us another one in the process. A dream within a dream within a dream – that is what we live. That’s what we should aspire to continue living.
At the end of a legend is another one to mold, express, and experience. Greatness itself is not permanent, it’s not collective. It’s not found in an era or even a single life. It is momentary. It’s a breath, a pause amidst the chaos to reflect before forward motion is taken up again.
What defines greatness is not how many colors we can wear or how many of them are acknowledged by others over the course of our lives. What defines greatness is the joy of donning the different, reveling in the newness of each experience, and pushing passed another boundary of potential. It’s knowing the joy found inside the act of achievement is getting to do it over and over again.
