Universal

Long ago, when I was a pretentious little theater student, I had discussions about what is Universal. Class discussions, theater party rants, directors having the stage and expounding. Shakespeare being the most cited example of what is Universal, because he wrote so specifically. Think Lear and fussing at a button. And the curiosity of why the Everyman in the Cycle plays seemed so abstract and remote. Popular for so long, no doubt because in performance, the actor added in local references.

I came to the conclusion that it is the closely observed details, seen clearly, that are what is really universal. Class Struggle, Good vs Evil, the Nature of God, are all Big Ideas that should speak to everyone. Yet, what people everywhere actually respond to is more like, When My Feet Hurt, That Buzzy Feeling When I Can't Get To Sleep, The Frustration When I Have Dropped That Little Thing Four Times In A Row What Is Wrong With Me.

Even when everyone's details are different. I wrote about liking ugly, comfortable shoes for wide feet, but I spoke just as clearly to those who love high heels and have narrow feet.

We are none of us average. As much as we want to be more or less normal, we really don't want to be like everyone else. Much as we think we want to be able to walk into a store, pick up the first thing in a color we like, and it will fit, flatteringly, (and be on sale) we prefer to be perverse, and unusual. The most perfect Ubermodel will complain about the shape of her nose, or the width of her fingers, not, I am beginning to think, because she thinks herself ugly. But because she does not want to be stamped-out-of-plastic perfect. In a mass produced world, we demand to be, ourselves, handmade. We want to be recognizable, but not identical, the same, but different.

Universal does not mean to be perfectly, exactly the same, everywhere. A smile is a universal human behaviour, fraught with different cultural meanings. But have Gromit roll his plasticine eyes at Wallace (yes, I did just see Curse of the Were-Rabbit), and the world smiles in recognition. Because, Happy is too Big. I Explained This And It's Quite Simple, Why Don't You Listen To Me is much more specific, and everyone can agree on how this feels.

My writing is where I strive to see clearly. To explain my experience trusting that, if I am deeply honest, brutally thorough, transparently enigmatic, then those who read this will say "I feel that same way, exactly!" Small observances, a color, my kitchen, a shoe. No point of view is less exotic than any other. Look through any peephole, and the infinite is there.

Pick any one of the ten thousand things, and really look.