kethrai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She's a DAYYYY--TRIPPER....He's a DAYYY-Tripper--a Sunday Driver, Yeah....now get the hell out of my way. A friend of mine today reminded me of exactly why, as infuriating as I find some of my creative/renfaire community, why I also love them to death. Because they’re real—they’re home—and they’re not Daytrippers. Yet another reason why I adore my Darling Husband, too—he just regards me as Kethrai, the Force of Nature, as opposed to Kethrai, the Freak of Nature. I don’t know how many artsy alternative communities that you’ve spent time in, Dear Nonscheduled Reader(I tend to cast it in terms of the arts rather than, say, pagan, or B&D or whatever, just because I’ve not really seen the phenom as distinctly in alternative communities other than artistic ones, although it does happen) but there’s always someone who’s not really artistic, but are hanging out with the Artistic Group. They’re the DayTripper—boyfriend or girlfriend of the Artistic Person, who come to the performances and openings and whatnot. Usually the Daytripper is a somewhat conventional soul who thinks they’re being all radical and alternative by dating their Artistic Partner. They bask a bit in the reflected glory when the Artistic Partner wins an award, or stars in a show, or gets their very own gallery opening. On the other hand, the Daytripper often exhibits a low-grade contempt for the Artistic Person –claims that she or he doesn’t “live in the real world”, and either enjoys “taking care of business” or acts like the Artistic Person CAN’T—regardless of the actual temperament and/or everyday competence of the Artistic Person. There is also a tendency of the Daytripper to not regard their relationship with their Artistic Partner as “real”—after all, here’s this flighty Artistic Person (again, regardless of the actual flightiness of the Artistic Person in question) and since they’re regarding this relationship as their foray into Du Monde de l’Boheme, and they intend to WITHDRAW from Du Monde de l’Boheme at some point and go back to the “real world” sometime, or at least “stay grounded”, there is a strong tendency for the relationship to not progress past certain points. Sometimes (not always) it progresses to the living-together stage, rarely to the marriage stage. After all, the Daytripper is operating on the assumption that their Artistic Partner is too free-spirited and odd to actually want to do anything like “real” people would. And the Daytripper also believes that their Artistic Partner is not part of their “real” world—that this is temporary, due to the flighty artistic nature that their Artistic Partner possesses, even if only in the Daytripper’s head—and therefore, perhaps, the Artistic Person doesn’t need all the conventional trappings that a conventional relationship might request or require. All of this is predicated on how much the Daytripper buys into stereotypes of the artistic life—and let’s face it, stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. There certainly ARE Artistic People who can’t tie their own shoelaces without an audience, a cheering squad, detailed directions, and a visual aid, but most of them are more of a mix than that. But the treatment of Artistic Folk by the Daytrippers tends to be scarily uniform. Daytrippers reserve their “real lives” for the “real people” as opposed to the Artistic People. By now, of course, you’ve probably glommed on to the idea that I’m not all that terrifically fond of Daytrippers. I admit, from time to time I’ve been cast in the role of the Daytripper—when I move in the worlds that the Darling Husband is more familiar with than I. There are a number of worlds that he inhabits that I do not—and likewise—but one of the reasons it all works is that neither of us regards this as temporary—and nowhere is the not-so-veiled contempt that I consistently see in the Daytripping crowd. I once suspected my father of being a Daytripper in my mother’s world of quilting—I am happy to report that while he would never take up quilting (and hell, neither would I) we can appreciate the gifts of my mother’s art without necessarily having to share the inner workings of it. It’s a healthy reminder for me, actually, to remember the pitfalls of being a Daytripper. I do not want to fall into the trap of being the Art Groupie, either, where even mounds of sculpted shit are brilliant works of social commentary, but neither do I want to give in to the smugness of thinking that mine is the only way or the best way or even a Way, as opposed to a deer track that I fell upon by accident. Still, I just don’t have shitloads of patience with folks who refuse to compromise, or treat other people as less actualized than they are because they don’t think the same things are important. Which is why I sometimes catch myself of up short, thinking…my…we’re being a wee bit judgemental…. Well, hell yes. Because the problem lies in Daytrippers fundamentally that they are NOT making judgements. They are waiting for the real world to happen to them. And the real world never happens to you. You build it around you, brick by brick. 6:33 p.m. - 2003-02-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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