As far back as I can pull my memories into focus I have been told that I am a serious. In a way I am, in others not so much. One of my earliest (clearly formed) memories was on our farm in South Africa with a caretaker explaining that it can take 100 years for wood to break down and ultimately become soil. With four years under my belt, attempting to grasp biodegradation resulted in a 404 Error. That is, page not found.
I recall precious seconds of fascination. Looking toward an unhelpful sky for guidance ready to host some new understanding, yet no understanding came. A dry breeze rustled dryer leaves and Johannes said “… and you know, If you make an ugly face when the wind changes it’ll be stuck like that forever.” My first state of wonder was served learning that my expressions are boldly animated by mental activity.
Just mentioning, as you and I may be unfamiliar that I’m generally happy and like most humans I have countless reasons to be so. The problem is my physiology demands a tense brow for quality output. I tried smiling at my laptop once and caught myself frowning about how hard it is to keep a smile. I’m surely not alone, though beneath the story my face might tell is a man not so serious, just trying to understand.
A friend once told me that the joy is exactly that, not completely understanding. When you know how something works the magic is lost and the moment you’ve packed it away into a little compartment another question is always waiting… True. Yet my problem, is that to love something I need to understand it. Consequently, understanding smothers ignorance and leaves me aware, exposed to the rough surfaces of life and so I become serious for a time. There are problems, personal and worldly asking the best of me and my generation will soon take the helm to preserve or destroy our future. In all honesty we have a lot more to worry about than most acknowledge so yes, this is worthy of some seriousness and that’s totally okay.