How to fail at being a hater and a lover

The ingredients you need to be critical are laziness, an overactive criticism muscle, a desperate need for acceptance, a buffer between you and the thing or being that you’re criticizing.

Et voila, vous êtes un asshole! 

I’ve battled a haters attitude for too long. It’s not constant. It’s not every day even. But sometimes, I see other photographers work and I pick it apart, like I’m some badass with no blemishes.

Sometimes I do it to other people. What with their stupid religious proclivities or their personality traits that bug. Bug me so much that I have to tell you about it.

Being critical is not always a pejorative. It takes a sharp mind to create, to identify weaknesses and to succeed.

And there’s a form of criticism that is just plain evil. I’m not talking Satan evil. That guy just gets a bad wrap. I mean, the entirety of the Biblical tradition comes from the standpoint that the guy who wrote the sixty six books of the Bible is the greatest, most untouchably perfect hero of all heroes and the little guy in the red suit with a pitchfork is the asshole. I’d like Lucifer to have his day in court. Until then, I don’t trust either of those fellas. It’s just not fair to take a one-sided approach to who’s bad and who’s good? Right?

It’s like thinking Trump is the creator of the universe, he loves you and he sent his son Don Jr. to us through Trump’s first wife to live, die and live again for the sake of eternity. And the only person we’re hearing from that all news organizations are fake are from, well, the creator of the universe.

No no no. I’m talking Ted Bundy evil. Donald Henry Gaskins malevolent. Stephen Paddock rotten. Dylann Roof gnarly. These guys feature(d) one strong idiosyncrasy; you can practically touch their dirty, rotten, evil. If you happened on any one of their crime scenes, you’d know deep down, as the compassionate sentient being you are, that they were evil. And no matter what evil you did, cheated on a mate, lied, stole, defaced property, badmouthed your friends, you still wouldn’t amount to the level of shit that those guys have reached.

For whatever reason, for whenever it started to affect me, for whoever the soul of my being thought, “Man, enough is enough,” that’s how long I’ve been thinking, it’s time to be positive about things. It’s time to fulfill the clichéd prophecy from the bumper sticker engrained in the back of your mind after being stuck in traffic that day: “Be the change you want to be in the world.”

I point my morality and purpose compass at that direction and am aiming this ship toward it.

I read yesterday that “Hate is Fear.”

That means something to me.

Hate is fear.

What I fear, what makes me insecure, what makes my inner being shutter and wince, that’s what I hate. What I fear is other people succeeding while I perceive myself as a failure.

It’s that Failureanitis that gets into the blood stream. It’s a cancer. A brain cancer. And it’s strengthened by boredom, by lack of productivity, by constant self critical examination rather than freedom to self love, give self compassion, and harness artistic endeavor.

Happy Saturday, you azizis.