The Smartest Man in the Room

“The role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.”

― James Baldwin

The Smartest Man in the Room

He’s the smartest man in the room. He doesn’t know it. Or maybe he does. The problem is, he doesn’t believe it – not down deep. Down deep he feels something darker and more sinister – a lie he’s believed, or a series of lies he’s believed, win out. I can’t name this thing. I just know it’s there. If I was forced to name it, I’d say he sees himself as the smallest man in the room.

But when I see him, I see the smartest man in the room. I see depth and discernment and poetry. I see color, music, and art. I see passion and humor. There’s a light in him when he talks about the things that matter most to him. It’s endearing and sweet.

I keep hoping he’ll understand – his wisdom winning out over whatever this thing is that keeps him mired some of the time. I wish to show him. But even if I did, the truth remains, he has to see it first on his own. That is the thing I hope for him first, before anything else I could hope for.

Nonetheless, I spend much of my days longing to show him what I see.