Resistance

On Sunday we went to the Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades. Since it was past lunchtime, we started our visit with a trip to the cafe. As I was sitting there among the German tourists and local sophisticates, enjoying the ocean view and sampling our artisanal cheese plate, I felt a familiar sense of longing. I feel it when I go to the Philharmonic, or a museum, or when we visit Italy. It's the sense that there is a world of beauty and culture out there that I don't make enough use of. Instead of immersing myself in the finer things, I read Perez Hilton, or fall asleep on the couch while paying partial attention to "Forensic Files." While I clearly have no objection to lowbrow culture (see the rest of this blog), I do feel that I'm wasting my time on earth by not enjoying places and offerings that might require a bit of effort.

This new concern arises in part from reading The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield. Though the book veers too far into religion for me toward the end, the first section was like reading the story of my life. It describes the very human struggle against what he terms "Resistance," which encompasses the forces of fear, laziness, and simple confusion that prevent us from doing the things we want to do. The book plunged me into an even-deeper-than-usual self loathing, enough that I might even write something once and a while. Read it if you're looking for a kick in the ass.