This is an important day.
I think it was meant to go this way. This day of stressful living started and ended much in the way most days do. But it made some weird moves in the middle, twisted and turned until my body was trapped in an eternal state of unraveling.
So I'm ready to start the next chapter. And tomorrow I'm going to try really hard to do that. I've been looking forward to it for a while now. Without the benefit of companionship that I've had the past two weekends, I'm looking toward days and days of responsibility and hard work. They will be full of tension and I know I'll reach my wit's end.
I've been nearly at the breaking point for a while. The straw broke the camel's back a while ago. I had to let go of stability and open myself up to possibility. But that's not really an option when I'm stuck and I'm waiting for tomorrow, waiting for the next step in a process that seems neverending. There's no end, no solution in sight, but I keep barreling toward it - whatever it is.
As tomorrow begins, I will see how another type of person lives. I've tried for a long time never to be this person. Change scares me, I'm afraid to embrace new experiences because it means putting away a part of my past. Or it feels that way, anyway. And giving away a part of myself to embrace a new person is daunting, but it's beautiful too.
There's tension in my back. I've attributed it to bad posture, to sitting inappropriately as I browse through the infinite web of information on the screen in front of me. But it's more than that. It's like the weight of the world. I am Atlas. I feel too aware of what's going on around me and it overwhelms me with thought. Sometimes sadness, too, but I try to push that feeling away.
This entry is one I'd like to treat as poetry. I know what I'm doing tomorrow. I know what I did today. You don't know, however, or it's likely you don't. And that's okay.
Because what is important to see is that it isn't the activity or the details that make the experience, that incite the change. We choose to be who we are each day, to alter our course or to remain in the place that we've been. What we do is not as important as the decision to do something.
I'm doing something.
I'm letting it all out. I hope I have more hopeful and positive things to say once I've gone through with it.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
List-less thoughts
This is an atypical blog. I don't have much time tonight before I should head off to ZZZ Territory/Slumberland/BeddyBye, so I figured I'd just share a few thoughts. In a list. Because I've been working with a lot of lists in my Interactive Storytelling class and because compartmentalizing helps sometimes.
1. I used to despise being thought of as fickle, but I do believe that I am someone who is always looking toward bigger and better things.
This isn't to say I'm always the "grass is greener" sort, but I do love thinking that I'm never stuck in one situation. That if I have hopes and dreams, I can achieve anything.
2. High expectations are my single worst vice.
I am a very intense person. I put a lot of thought into things. Rarely anything gets past me. Sometimes I have to pretend that I don't notice things even when I did. It's just the way I am, and if others find it strange...well, that's life.
3. There is a lot of beauty in the world, but most of us fail to pay attention to it.
Today I was struck by how wonderful it is to live indoors. To have a roof over my head, floor under my feet, a bed to sleep in. This is a luxury that I consider a necessity, and it's beautiful that I've been given a life with such ease and simple joy.
4. People are way too complicated for my liking.
When I think something is predictable, the human race proves me wrong. This is my eternal struggle.
5. I am very self-centered.
But aren't we all? And if we aren't, how honest are we being with ourselves?
6. Escapism is the worst, yet most effective form of catharsis.
When I've forgotten my woes, I feel the most freed from them. Even more than when I actively combat them. There's something to be said about the value of escape in the face of perpetually troubled thoughts...that is, it works.
7. Fun is fundamental.
It is hard for me to understand how people find joy in serious careers, or cerebral and unemotional subject matter. I am all about having fun and feeling enthusiasm for everything I do. I wonder if this is true for most people.
8. There's no reason to lie to someone's face.
If you aren't honest, you're likely to show your true self despite your kind façade. Why even try to pretend you're someone who you're not?
9. Time inspires very contradictory emotions.
It ticks away and stresses us out, but when we have some of it to spare, it has the most relaxing presence of anything in this world. Time is a frenemy to all.
10. Sometimes this all feels too weird to be true.
Who are you all, anyway? As my dad and I have discussed a couple of times recently, it is so strange to think that when you are in a public place, you are surrounded by people who are part of your story, but who have stories of their own. We're all separate, but intertwined.
That's it. I think I'm going to do more of these in the future. It's a bit weird, I guess, but it was the blog I needed right now.
Goodnight.
1. I used to despise being thought of as fickle, but I do believe that I am someone who is always looking toward bigger and better things.
This isn't to say I'm always the "grass is greener" sort, but I do love thinking that I'm never stuck in one situation. That if I have hopes and dreams, I can achieve anything.
2. High expectations are my single worst vice.
I am a very intense person. I put a lot of thought into things. Rarely anything gets past me. Sometimes I have to pretend that I don't notice things even when I did. It's just the way I am, and if others find it strange...well, that's life.
3. There is a lot of beauty in the world, but most of us fail to pay attention to it.
Today I was struck by how wonderful it is to live indoors. To have a roof over my head, floor under my feet, a bed to sleep in. This is a luxury that I consider a necessity, and it's beautiful that I've been given a life with such ease and simple joy.
4. People are way too complicated for my liking.
When I think something is predictable, the human race proves me wrong. This is my eternal struggle.
5. I am very self-centered.
But aren't we all? And if we aren't, how honest are we being with ourselves?
6. Escapism is the worst, yet most effective form of catharsis.
When I've forgotten my woes, I feel the most freed from them. Even more than when I actively combat them. There's something to be said about the value of escape in the face of perpetually troubled thoughts...that is, it works.
7. Fun is fundamental.
It is hard for me to understand how people find joy in serious careers, or cerebral and unemotional subject matter. I am all about having fun and feeling enthusiasm for everything I do. I wonder if this is true for most people.
8. There's no reason to lie to someone's face.
If you aren't honest, you're likely to show your true self despite your kind façade. Why even try to pretend you're someone who you're not?
9. Time inspires very contradictory emotions.
It ticks away and stresses us out, but when we have some of it to spare, it has the most relaxing presence of anything in this world. Time is a frenemy to all.
10. Sometimes this all feels too weird to be true.
Who are you all, anyway? As my dad and I have discussed a couple of times recently, it is so strange to think that when you are in a public place, you are surrounded by people who are part of your story, but who have stories of their own. We're all separate, but intertwined.
That's it. I think I'm going to do more of these in the future. It's a bit weird, I guess, but it was the blog I needed right now.
Goodnight.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Where am I?
It has been over a month since I last wrote in this blog, and that feels sort of inappropriate, seeing as how much has gone in just 30-sum days. What makes this period in my life not worth documenting, whereas in the past I've spent hours upon hours writing blogs about the most insignificant topics?
To catch you up, I'm back at college. It is my final quarter on campus and while I do try to remind myself that one day I will look back on these days fondly, it's been hard not to grow tired of university living.
My classes are going exceedingly well, perhaps for the first time in recorded history. While they may all advertise themselves as time-consuming, drop-it-if-you-can't-handle-it sort of courses, I have not yet been dissuaded.
What I have, however, been dissuaded from, is any attempts at civility with my neighbors. With my friends off campus in an apartment and myself still on campus in a dormitory, I'm surrounded by individuals whom I don't know, yet who know each other. It is lonely, despite being enveloped in perpetual sound.
This is a great metaphor for real life, I think. We often enter the outside world and are forced to abandon our bubbles of introspection. There are so many babbling beings walking the Earth, that even with our iPods in ear, our cell phones in hand and our eyes glued to whatever the closest digital screen may be, we're always surrounded by sound.
As someone who is often struck by the dystopic (god do I hate that word, but I'm using it anyway) nature of loud surroundings, I've had to confine myself lately to my room, blasting all sorts of white noises to keep from going insane. If the sound of someone crunching on a potato chip drives me mildly bonkers, then having someone sporadically cackle down the hallway has become my greatest foe.
Which means, at the moment, I'm balancing between good and bad - the sweetness of a few good hours of classtime studying subjects that don't make me want to rip my brains out, and the perversion of a crowded hallway, inundating my room with the raucous noise of disrespectful peers who never seem to do any work.
Goodness, I sound angry.
Well I guess I am.
Because with this being my last quarter as a true college student, I was hoping to finally have the experience I imagined when I was a high schooler. I dreamed of walking around a beautiful nature-filled campus, alone and in silence, peacefully taking in my surroundings and preparing myself to devote time and thought to work.
Instead I feel how I'm sure many do when they are freshmen, starting out in college: surrounded by people who don't seem to take anything seriously, and don't seem to value the tranquility that I covet.
Perhaps I am misjudging, however when it's 2 am on a weeknight and I hear someone blasting gangster rap, I can't help but feel compelled to believe the stereotype in my mind.
This was a disjointed post, probably because it's been so long since I've written on this poor neglected blog of mine. And whether or not anyone chooses to read my nonsensical thoughts, I'm glad I have this here, to rant and to rave, to lament and to enthuse.
So I'm going to try to use it again, less sparingly.
But for now: Bed... Unless my neighbors decide to run down the hallways screaming for the rest of the evening.
To catch you up, I'm back at college. It is my final quarter on campus and while I do try to remind myself that one day I will look back on these days fondly, it's been hard not to grow tired of university living.
My classes are going exceedingly well, perhaps for the first time in recorded history. While they may all advertise themselves as time-consuming, drop-it-if-you-can't-handle-it sort of courses, I have not yet been dissuaded.
What I have, however, been dissuaded from, is any attempts at civility with my neighbors. With my friends off campus in an apartment and myself still on campus in a dormitory, I'm surrounded by individuals whom I don't know, yet who know each other. It is lonely, despite being enveloped in perpetual sound.
This is a great metaphor for real life, I think. We often enter the outside world and are forced to abandon our bubbles of introspection. There are so many babbling beings walking the Earth, that even with our iPods in ear, our cell phones in hand and our eyes glued to whatever the closest digital screen may be, we're always surrounded by sound.
As someone who is often struck by the dystopic (god do I hate that word, but I'm using it anyway) nature of loud surroundings, I've had to confine myself lately to my room, blasting all sorts of white noises to keep from going insane. If the sound of someone crunching on a potato chip drives me mildly bonkers, then having someone sporadically cackle down the hallway has become my greatest foe.
Which means, at the moment, I'm balancing between good and bad - the sweetness of a few good hours of classtime studying subjects that don't make me want to rip my brains out, and the perversion of a crowded hallway, inundating my room with the raucous noise of disrespectful peers who never seem to do any work.
Goodness, I sound angry.
Well I guess I am.
Because with this being my last quarter as a true college student, I was hoping to finally have the experience I imagined when I was a high schooler. I dreamed of walking around a beautiful nature-filled campus, alone and in silence, peacefully taking in my surroundings and preparing myself to devote time and thought to work.
Instead I feel how I'm sure many do when they are freshmen, starting out in college: surrounded by people who don't seem to take anything seriously, and don't seem to value the tranquility that I covet.
Perhaps I am misjudging, however when it's 2 am on a weeknight and I hear someone blasting gangster rap, I can't help but feel compelled to believe the stereotype in my mind.
This was a disjointed post, probably because it's been so long since I've written on this poor neglected blog of mine. And whether or not anyone chooses to read my nonsensical thoughts, I'm glad I have this here, to rant and to rave, to lament and to enthuse.
So I'm going to try to use it again, less sparingly.
But for now: Bed... Unless my neighbors decide to run down the hallways screaming for the rest of the evening.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Wordless encounter
I've been in the car for many extended periods lately and because of this I've had a lot of time to think about life whilst my hands rest on the steering wheel. The other day I had an idea for a short story. It's slightly derivative, I am aware, and I don't plan on necessarily doing anything with it. But I decided I wanted to share it somewhere.
She saw him at a glance. He drove past her in his flashy, overly blue and noticeably economy-sized car and in that instant she knew there was something. It wasn't something they shared necessarily, but something it was.
You know how in that moment of first noticing a something or a someone you find intriguing? How you almost feel as though you've come to know it inside and out? They say not to judge a book by its cover, but it's impossible not to do just that. You look, you perceive, you assume. We all know what happens when you assume.
Well she assumed. As he drove past her, the car in front of her screeched to a stop. Her senses were lagging, she was consumed in her own foggy daydreams. He had disappeared, though, so what was left of the daydream was slowly dissolving.
But as she began to speed up, there he was again. With a tinted back window, a few cars ahead, moving at a steady pace. He still had no idea. His lane began to slow; he merged in front of her. Her mind raced.
Unsure of how to act, but convinced something needed to be done lest she reluctantly admit defeat, she decided to work with the tools at her fingertips.
Turn on the brights. That's sure to get his attention. She flicked them on and they blinded her for an instant. She tried again, but no reaction other than her own wincing at the sight of the reflected headlights on his practically highlighter blue back bumper. Why isn't he realizing what's going on?
She resigned herself for a moment. This is ridiculous.
She merged out of the lane, now on his right, moving at a slightly faster speed. Then with an effort towards nonchalance, she glanced over past his empty passenger seat, to the driver whom she had set her literal and figurative sights on.
He wasn't oblivious.
He looked back at her, boldly but kindly. He smiled, but only for a moment. After all, the eyes can only flick away from the road for so long before they must return to the task at hand.
She kept at his pace, tried not to seem deliberate. She ignored the obvious question in her head: How do I keep myself from looking deliberate when I'm deliberately moving a steel vehicle down a freeway?
As she spent time conversing with herself in her mind, he managed to move his car behind hers. He flicked his own bright headlights on and off and when she didn't notice, honked his horn.
Startled, she broke, expecting that there was something dangerous to evade. Rather than prevent an accident as was her intention, she managed to cause one of her own.
The girl and the boy in their respective cars stopped traffic. Everyone looked around with bewildered eyes, unsure of what to do as most looky-loos are. It was just a rear-ending, no cause for alarm.
As they pulled over, however, the rubberneckers glued their eyes to the sight, not for the damage or to see the arrival of tow trucks and police cars. Rather to watch the girl and the boy as they stood still, exposed to the elements, at the side of the freeway, staring at each other, not saying a word.
The End
She saw him at a glance. He drove past her in his flashy, overly blue and noticeably economy-sized car and in that instant she knew there was something. It wasn't something they shared necessarily, but something it was.
You know how in that moment of first noticing a something or a someone you find intriguing? How you almost feel as though you've come to know it inside and out? They say not to judge a book by its cover, but it's impossible not to do just that. You look, you perceive, you assume. We all know what happens when you assume.
Well she assumed. As he drove past her, the car in front of her screeched to a stop. Her senses were lagging, she was consumed in her own foggy daydreams. He had disappeared, though, so what was left of the daydream was slowly dissolving.
But as she began to speed up, there he was again. With a tinted back window, a few cars ahead, moving at a steady pace. He still had no idea. His lane began to slow; he merged in front of her. Her mind raced.
Unsure of how to act, but convinced something needed to be done lest she reluctantly admit defeat, she decided to work with the tools at her fingertips.
Turn on the brights. That's sure to get his attention. She flicked them on and they blinded her for an instant. She tried again, but no reaction other than her own wincing at the sight of the reflected headlights on his practically highlighter blue back bumper. Why isn't he realizing what's going on?
She resigned herself for a moment. This is ridiculous.
She merged out of the lane, now on his right, moving at a slightly faster speed. Then with an effort towards nonchalance, she glanced over past his empty passenger seat, to the driver whom she had set her literal and figurative sights on.
He wasn't oblivious.
He looked back at her, boldly but kindly. He smiled, but only for a moment. After all, the eyes can only flick away from the road for so long before they must return to the task at hand.
She kept at his pace, tried not to seem deliberate. She ignored the obvious question in her head: How do I keep myself from looking deliberate when I'm deliberately moving a steel vehicle down a freeway?
As she spent time conversing with herself in her mind, he managed to move his car behind hers. He flicked his own bright headlights on and off and when she didn't notice, honked his horn.
Startled, she broke, expecting that there was something dangerous to evade. Rather than prevent an accident as was her intention, she managed to cause one of her own.
The girl and the boy in their respective cars stopped traffic. Everyone looked around with bewildered eyes, unsure of what to do as most looky-loos are. It was just a rear-ending, no cause for alarm.
As they pulled over, however, the rubberneckers glued their eyes to the sight, not for the damage or to see the arrival of tow trucks and police cars. Rather to watch the girl and the boy as they stood still, exposed to the elements, at the side of the freeway, staring at each other, not saying a word.
The End
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Negative Capability
"I mean Negative Capability, that
is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without
any irritable reaching after fact & reason." - John Keats in a letter to George and Tom Keats, December 1817
It's been such a long time since I've written a blog and there are a few reasons for that:
1. I haven't felt too compelled to share anything about my life lately.
2. I've been pretty pressed for time with a full-time internship this summer.
3. Sometimes private things are best left private.
Well, more the first two than the last. I'm a firm believer in sharing one's story with the world. You never know who will find it intriguing, valuable or significant. One man's throw-away diary entry may be another man's raison d'être.
But anyway, I currently write for a living, so it seemed excessive to be keeping up with a blog as well. Yet tonight I felt a really strange compulsion to write. It was the kind of knot in my stomach that I used to get when I would nearly forget to write blogs during my year-long adventure in personal essay composition. The kind that could only be rid of if I vented on something, no matter how trivial.
Recently I've been having a crisis of the heart. Not in regards to romantic relationships, I should clarify. I'm well over that burdensome anxiety.
Rather, I'm growing a bit impatient with my chosen life goals. And honestly, I've been looking for a way out.
By "a way out," I mean a way to change my future. For me, this search is very much unmarked territory.
I decided when I was 13 what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Since then, I've pursued it. I've felt fairly strongly about it. I've been proud of my ambition, and of how I've stuck to one path for so much of my life.
Recent events have proven to me, though, that my plans have been based on false realities and high expectations. Working life always seemed glamorous to me, maybe because it's been years since I've heard of the trials and tribulations of 9 to 5 jobs. My dad loves his work, my mom hated hers. But since my mom passed away, I haven't heard complaints about the workplace, so I seemed to have convinced myself that those complaints don't exist.
No job is perfect. But for a long time I believed that my plans for the rest of my life were just that. The thought of a career came secondary to the expectations of an existence by my own design. But the way the world works, our designs are not as fundamental as the designs of those around us. We fit within a mold that isn't necessarily ours to define.
This isn't just about finding a job and carving out a future that includes a paycheck and a medical insurance plan.
This is way more than that.
I've been thinking about what it means to make myself into something beyond the mold. And not in that hipster-y, "going against the grain just for the sake of uniqueness" sort of way. I really, truly need something more than the world generally offers.
Writing is part of that. The one thing I was right about when I was 13 was that writing is my calling. I may have been great at math in first grade, pretty dang good at science in fourth, but when I was old enough to really know who I was, it was clear that there was something else I wanted to do with my life.
My crisis of the heart occurred when I discovered that perhaps the structure of traditional writing careers isn't what I need. There are expectations I have: for life and for career, that are beyond press releases, superhero movies or novels about vampires.
I don't know that I can fully define how my life is going to play out in the next few months, years or decades. I used to think I could. As unpredictable as the future truly is, I always thought I had a definite road to travel on. Now I'm starting to see all these different routes. They have twists and turns, but they seem a lot more interesting than the original map I had laid out.
The other day I felt so anxious that I started panicking about the past, present and future. My world started to collapse in on me as I remembered what it was like to have faith in my goals. But I had to come to terms with the truth: that I now reside in a new mindset of complete uncertainty.
This is normal for people leaving college, I tell myself. And that's okay. We are young when we start our higher education. It is through experience and missteps that we discover what it is we truly need.
Well I've made a lot of the latter and I'm looking to have a lot more of the former.
I stopped writing this blog because I decided to focus on a career that I'm not sure is mine anymore. But right now, even though this isn't a career, this writing space is the more me than anything else. That's a start, I guess, to figuring out what I don't fully understand.
Moving forward with uncertainty, I am trusting my instincts. With outstretched arms I venture forward, pen in hand as my only safeguard, reaching for something in the blackness that is the mystery of what's to come.
It's been such a long time since I've written a blog and there are a few reasons for that:
1. I haven't felt too compelled to share anything about my life lately.
2. I've been pretty pressed for time with a full-time internship this summer.
3. Sometimes private things are best left private.
Well, more the first two than the last. I'm a firm believer in sharing one's story with the world. You never know who will find it intriguing, valuable or significant. One man's throw-away diary entry may be another man's raison d'être.
But anyway, I currently write for a living, so it seemed excessive to be keeping up with a blog as well. Yet tonight I felt a really strange compulsion to write. It was the kind of knot in my stomach that I used to get when I would nearly forget to write blogs during my year-long adventure in personal essay composition. The kind that could only be rid of if I vented on something, no matter how trivial.
Recently I've been having a crisis of the heart. Not in regards to romantic relationships, I should clarify. I'm well over that burdensome anxiety.
Rather, I'm growing a bit impatient with my chosen life goals. And honestly, I've been looking for a way out.
By "a way out," I mean a way to change my future. For me, this search is very much unmarked territory.
I decided when I was 13 what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Since then, I've pursued it. I've felt fairly strongly about it. I've been proud of my ambition, and of how I've stuck to one path for so much of my life.
Recent events have proven to me, though, that my plans have been based on false realities and high expectations. Working life always seemed glamorous to me, maybe because it's been years since I've heard of the trials and tribulations of 9 to 5 jobs. My dad loves his work, my mom hated hers. But since my mom passed away, I haven't heard complaints about the workplace, so I seemed to have convinced myself that those complaints don't exist.
No job is perfect. But for a long time I believed that my plans for the rest of my life were just that. The thought of a career came secondary to the expectations of an existence by my own design. But the way the world works, our designs are not as fundamental as the designs of those around us. We fit within a mold that isn't necessarily ours to define.
This isn't just about finding a job and carving out a future that includes a paycheck and a medical insurance plan.
This is way more than that.
I've been thinking about what it means to make myself into something beyond the mold. And not in that hipster-y, "going against the grain just for the sake of uniqueness" sort of way. I really, truly need something more than the world generally offers.
Writing is part of that. The one thing I was right about when I was 13 was that writing is my calling. I may have been great at math in first grade, pretty dang good at science in fourth, but when I was old enough to really know who I was, it was clear that there was something else I wanted to do with my life.
My crisis of the heart occurred when I discovered that perhaps the structure of traditional writing careers isn't what I need. There are expectations I have: for life and for career, that are beyond press releases, superhero movies or novels about vampires.
I don't know that I can fully define how my life is going to play out in the next few months, years or decades. I used to think I could. As unpredictable as the future truly is, I always thought I had a definite road to travel on. Now I'm starting to see all these different routes. They have twists and turns, but they seem a lot more interesting than the original map I had laid out.
The other day I felt so anxious that I started panicking about the past, present and future. My world started to collapse in on me as I remembered what it was like to have faith in my goals. But I had to come to terms with the truth: that I now reside in a new mindset of complete uncertainty.
This is normal for people leaving college, I tell myself. And that's okay. We are young when we start our higher education. It is through experience and missteps that we discover what it is we truly need.
Well I've made a lot of the latter and I'm looking to have a lot more of the former.
I stopped writing this blog because I decided to focus on a career that I'm not sure is mine anymore. But right now, even though this isn't a career, this writing space is the more me than anything else. That's a start, I guess, to figuring out what I don't fully understand.
Moving forward with uncertainty, I am trusting my instincts. With outstretched arms I venture forward, pen in hand as my only safeguard, reaching for something in the blackness that is the mystery of what's to come.
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