// you can pick your friends and you can pick your nose. But you can't pick your friend's nose.
(First, the copy of Roald Dahl's The Wonderful Story Of Henry Sugar And Six More I ordered off half came! And it's almost the same edition I read when I was little... sweetness abounds. Let me know if you wanna read, I'm going to whore this one out. It's pure magic.)
So I've been groping blindly for some measure of independence (that I've long romanticized in my mind) as of late, and I've been realizing that I've somehow equated it with contented isolation since, I guess, ever.
And that's probably why I suck so much at it.
As a way of explanation: My way of notetaking (probably to the living horror of my professors) primarily deals with aesthetics - words and phrases that catch my ear during lecture, or thoughts that compel to push themselves above the surface of my unconscious that I simply must jot down or be left with a nagging feeling of unfulfillment. It's a release of sorts, and among other things, I've discovered it makes for some of the best found poetry - I adore the idea of cutting and pasting different parts of my life together in a naive, but very often satisfying, attempt for unity. (I'll post a haiku sometime.)
Today I was sitting in 110A (hobbit class, for reference), and I suddenly scrawled across the top margin of my Wordsworth notes, "I am the person I want to be." (Another side note. My notebook this quarter is freaking awesome. I go through one each quarter, and this one happens to be an eye-catching, but unobtrusive, red, ornamented by doodle and my ever-deteriorating chickenscratch - my mom actually called me the week after Mother's Day to tell me I need to work harder on making it legible re: the card I gave her - plus I managed to leak yogurt all over it in the first weeks and there are some gorgeous looking watermarks all over the lined pages. I just need some matches to make burn marks and a spoonful of angst and voila, I'm the spirit of Cobain...)
My penchant-for-self-deprecation-that-has-moved-into-the-sphere-of-habit immediately reached to qualify the statement with a hasty "(sometimes)," but after an evening to mull it over, I really believe this a great majority of the time. I'm not yet self-sufficient, I have the vaguest of visions of my future beyond the immediate, I use humor as a defense mechanism so well it's become an excuse not to examine myself and some of the changes I'm going through, I often can't express myself coherently until I have a pen in hand, I shy away from reality when excess is involved, I have a terribly selective memory, I am awful at keeping in touch with people and my self-consciousness tends to overcome my will in academic situations...
but I've also methodically allowed room in my life for constructive outlets, I've been able to stick to my rule of making time for those that ask lately, I think critically (that is, I allow nothing to pass through blindly; I, like a jackass, question everything), I violently refuse to allow school to characterize me, I am getting to be a better listener. I am sleeping well. I am the curator of a great collection of useless information. I usually understand my role in a group of friends (or otherwise) and perform accordingly, but I've also seemed to make it my job to push people into considering alternate planes, and I am truly encouraged and overjoyed when I see potential fulfilled. I am the ecstatic owner of a burgeoning, often music related t-shirt museum; I never thought I would be so happy to be a walking billboard. I am getting to see the ocean again, and the days are long and summer-as-students-know-it is almost here.
I've come to realize that I have the freedom to be this person I've wanted to be simply because I've been placed into a context that fosters such ready self-improvement. The people around me are infinitely wise and understanding; they allow me to struggle because, for some reason, they are so confident that in my own time I'll find that equilibrium that allows me to walk upright again. The resources I have at hand give me a wealth of opportunities to seek my own cognitive construction of the world.
So I am my own person already - specifically, the person I wanted, perhaps needed, to be at 18 - and maybe that's what I really meant by independence. The space to grow at my own pace, the simple ability to change of my own accord, and yet with an amazing cast (uh oh, getting into Truman Show territory now) of people eager to smack their version of sense into me if they don't happen to approve. Knowing that this kind of blessing is the only safety net life really gives us has been really key for me in understanding the figures of authority in my life - that in the end I give them the power to change my own mind, but at the same time owe my life to them.
I'm still chasing simple autonomy, but I guess this is all just to say that yes, I've noticed you're there. And I thank you. You're the best. (Thanks for even letting me meddle. I'm going to do my best to give you your space too, but remember that I'm watching you, fool.)
(First, the copy of Roald Dahl's The Wonderful Story Of Henry Sugar And Six More I ordered off half came! And it's almost the same edition I read when I was little... sweetness abounds. Let me know if you wanna read, I'm going to whore this one out. It's pure magic.)
So I've been groping blindly for some measure of independence (that I've long romanticized in my mind) as of late, and I've been realizing that I've somehow equated it with contented isolation since, I guess, ever.
And that's probably why I suck so much at it.
As a way of explanation: My way of notetaking (probably to the living horror of my professors) primarily deals with aesthetics - words and phrases that catch my ear during lecture, or thoughts that compel to push themselves above the surface of my unconscious that I simply must jot down or be left with a nagging feeling of unfulfillment. It's a release of sorts, and among other things, I've discovered it makes for some of the best found poetry - I adore the idea of cutting and pasting different parts of my life together in a naive, but very often satisfying, attempt for unity. (I'll post a haiku sometime.)
Today I was sitting in 110A (hobbit class, for reference), and I suddenly scrawled across the top margin of my Wordsworth notes, "I am the person I want to be." (Another side note. My notebook this quarter is freaking awesome. I go through one each quarter, and this one happens to be an eye-catching, but unobtrusive, red, ornamented by doodle and my ever-deteriorating chickenscratch - my mom actually called me the week after Mother's Day to tell me I need to work harder on making it legible re: the card I gave her - plus I managed to leak yogurt all over it in the first weeks and there are some gorgeous looking watermarks all over the lined pages. I just need some matches to make burn marks and a spoonful of angst and voila, I'm the spirit of Cobain...)
My penchant-for-self-deprecation-that-has-moved-into-the-sphere-of-habit immediately reached to qualify the statement with a hasty "(sometimes)," but after an evening to mull it over, I really believe this a great majority of the time. I'm not yet self-sufficient, I have the vaguest of visions of my future beyond the immediate, I use humor as a defense mechanism so well it's become an excuse not to examine myself and some of the changes I'm going through, I often can't express myself coherently until I have a pen in hand, I shy away from reality when excess is involved, I have a terribly selective memory, I am awful at keeping in touch with people and my self-consciousness tends to overcome my will in academic situations...
but I've also methodically allowed room in my life for constructive outlets, I've been able to stick to my rule of making time for those that ask lately, I think critically (that is, I allow nothing to pass through blindly; I, like a jackass, question everything), I violently refuse to allow school to characterize me, I am getting to be a better listener. I am sleeping well. I am the curator of a great collection of useless information. I usually understand my role in a group of friends (or otherwise) and perform accordingly, but I've also seemed to make it my job to push people into considering alternate planes, and I am truly encouraged and overjoyed when I see potential fulfilled. I am the ecstatic owner of a burgeoning, often music related t-shirt museum; I never thought I would be so happy to be a walking billboard. I am getting to see the ocean again, and the days are long and summer-as-students-know-it is almost here.
I've come to realize that I have the freedom to be this person I've wanted to be simply because I've been placed into a context that fosters such ready self-improvement. The people around me are infinitely wise and understanding; they allow me to struggle because, for some reason, they are so confident that in my own time I'll find that equilibrium that allows me to walk upright again. The resources I have at hand give me a wealth of opportunities to seek my own cognitive construction of the world.
So I am my own person already - specifically, the person I wanted, perhaps needed, to be at 18 - and maybe that's what I really meant by independence. The space to grow at my own pace, the simple ability to change of my own accord, and yet with an amazing cast (uh oh, getting into Truman Show territory now) of people eager to smack their version of sense into me if they don't happen to approve. Knowing that this kind of blessing is the only safety net life really gives us has been really key for me in understanding the figures of authority in my life - that in the end I give them the power to change my own mind, but at the same time owe my life to them.
I'm still chasing simple autonomy, but I guess this is all just to say that yes, I've noticed you're there. And I thank you. You're the best. (Thanks for even letting me meddle. I'm going to do my best to give you your space too, but remember that I'm watching you, fool.)
posted by steph at
2:31:00 AM
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