This blog was never intended to become a source for gossip-mag news -- or, really, anything that might particularly reveal the teenage girl that still dwells inside me somewhere. But, I just received a txt from a girlfriend of mine breaking the sad news about Heath Ledger's death, and I can't help feeling a personal loss. It seems like every one of my girlfriends is experiencing similar feelings at the news this afternoon.
I never knew Heath Ledger -- never claimed to... never made an attempt to -- but like so many young women my age, I grew up with a lasting crush on this actor that evolved from occasional teenage fantasies to the respect and admiration that one has for an accomplished peer. He was a truly talented artist. A person that was down-to-earth enough about his art and celebrity to make light-hearted films and yet serious enough to use his art and celebrity to take on one of the most challenging roles ever written -- aimed at breaking down social perceptions and prejudices in today's version of racism. I tend to claim people like Bono and Angelina Jolie as my "favorite" celebrities... but Heath and the rest of the individuals involved in Brokeback Mountain deserve at least as much credit for using art and celebrity to change the world. For that, I admired him.
And yet, the girl in me keeps coming back to his personality. To me, he always seemed too quiet and mysterious for me to actually "work" with. And by that, I mean "marry." Hehe. But I admit that the dreamy 14 year-old in this 25 year-old pragmatist dared to let it cross my mind a number of times over the years.
Handsome, yes. But above all, relatable. Around my age, living in Brooklyn alongside the other 20-somethings, with a beautiful 2 year-old daughter at home, and having been so genuine in his expressions of love for his ex-fiance, Michelle Williams (who always just seemed like our girlfriend-next-door rather than a distant supermodel). He *seemed* like a truly nice person, and I'll go ahead believing it, though I never met him.
And though I feel silly having been caught dreaming about marrying -- or even just being friends with -- a sexy, Australian actor, at my age, I can't help thinking that all of us girls must feel a little caught today. Why else would this stranger's death feel so personal?
I feel sad to think that he was so sad that he took his life (if that's what happened) and wish he had known how many of us out there -- against our young, professional pragmatism -- felt deeply that there was something about him that was worth knowing.
I never knew Heath Ledger -- never claimed to... never made an attempt to -- but like so many young women my age, I grew up with a lasting crush on this actor that evolved from occasional teenage fantasies to the respect and admiration that one has for an accomplished peer. He was a truly talented artist. A person that was down-to-earth enough about his art and celebrity to make light-hearted films and yet serious enough to use his art and celebrity to take on one of the most challenging roles ever written -- aimed at breaking down social perceptions and prejudices in today's version of racism. I tend to claim people like Bono and Angelina Jolie as my "favorite" celebrities... but Heath and the rest of the individuals involved in Brokeback Mountain deserve at least as much credit for using art and celebrity to change the world. For that, I admired him.
And yet, the girl in me keeps coming back to his personality. To me, he always seemed too quiet and mysterious for me to actually "work" with. And by that, I mean "marry." Hehe. But I admit that the dreamy 14 year-old in this 25 year-old pragmatist dared to let it cross my mind a number of times over the years.
Handsome, yes. But above all, relatable. Around my age, living in Brooklyn alongside the other 20-somethings, with a beautiful 2 year-old daughter at home, and having been so genuine in his expressions of love for his ex-fiance, Michelle Williams (who always just seemed like our girlfriend-next-door rather than a distant supermodel). He *seemed* like a truly nice person, and I'll go ahead believing it, though I never met him.
And though I feel silly having been caught dreaming about marrying -- or even just being friends with -- a sexy, Australian actor, at my age, I can't help thinking that all of us girls must feel a little caught today. Why else would this stranger's death feel so personal?
I feel sad to think that he was so sad that he took his life (if that's what happened) and wish he had known how many of us out there -- against our young, professional pragmatism -- felt deeply that there was something about him that was worth knowing.
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