We're all in this together

One night, I had two related dreams. The first was in a large, warehouse-like building with several couches laid out in the middle. I sat with some other guys, and realized I had a guitar in my hands. I started strumming something, and everyone else joined in. I thought to myself "I'm so glad I learned how to play the guitar". Then I woke up for a few minutes, only to fall back asleep. My next dream was in what looked like a classroom, with other students learning how to play guitar, and our teacher was Gregory House. Again, I remember feeling glad to be learning how to play guitar.

Conclusion: I need to learn how to play guitar (again).

While I am pretty serious about this idea on its own, it really brought some things to the forefront that had been on my mind somewhat recently. It seems to me that I take a lot of pleasure and satisfaction from expressing myself, and I've been thinking recently that I ought to explore other outlets for that creativity. I used to be so creative as a kid...I was always drawing or building something. My mom recently dug up a bunch of old paintings and artwork from elementary school, and I couldn't believe I had done them. How I could have thought up the stuff I put on paper is beyond me, and I think a lot of it lies in the fact that I literally lacked self-consciousness. I just did stuff. I don't know what capacity I'd have to do any of it today, but I think I'd like to try my hand at it again. Painting, drawing, who knows? Maybe I'll find something I love. The guitar dreams reminded me of this neglected creative world, and I'm thinking now that maybe that might be part of the key to future happiness. It feels good to really want to do something, and more than that I think, it would be nice to do something purely for its own end. It's like my writing, I suppose. I don't write perhaps as often as I like, but when I do it's usually one of the most enjoyable things I'll do all day. And yet, I'll never put any of it to any practical use - it's not going to be published anywhere, and even up until now I didn't even put most of it anywhere anyone else could see it. It is a significant act in itself, sincere and complete. I would like to find a way for my life to be more like that.

I am surrounded by people with plans. They all know what they'll do in a couple years, or at the very least, they know what they want to do. I've become more and more concerned by my lack of such a plan, or really of any identifiable passion to do something. I think I'm passionate about living, but it's hard to put a finger on what that means, or to select a profession or lifestyle that I would consider appropriately sincere to that passion. I feel like I've put in so much time walking the line, hearing about only a handful of socially valid choices that I can make as far as how I will spend my life, and as I near the end of my educational career, I feel afraid that I can't seem to find my niche. However, I take heart in the fact that, for the most part, those people that I count on the most, the people that represent the only certainties in my life, are largely in the same boat. Having spoken to most of them in the past couple days, I've heard similar accounts of these concerns, which is comforting in a couple of ways. For one, I'm not alone in this, and for all the dopes I see compiling their resumes, at least I know the people I respect most are similarly stumped by this predicament. Maybe having no future plans and an ever-increasing desire to live like vagabonds is just what cool people do, and it's just all the uninteresting people that keep the world turning. That'd be nice.

But the notion that my closest friends are experiencing the same doubts as me also comforts me in another way, maybe a way that I didn't want to admit for fear of seeming weak or needy or some other nonsense - that maybe we each can't find something for ourselves to do because the best thing we could be doing is doing something with each other. Maybe after all the doubts we've undergone, it will be the certainties that have been there all along and provided our support that will shape our future.

And maybe it will be greater than anyone could reasonably hope for. And maybe we won't even have to pad our resumes to do it.

A lot of people have called me self-confident, even arrogant. I know that the things I've said and done have been worthy of that judgment, especially when I was younger. But it seems that as I get older, I am less and less sure of myself. However, for as much as I have started doubting myself in recent years, my respect and awe at the character and ability of my friends has only grown. So again, I may be too arrogant in this thought, but I have this gut feeling that my friends are special. That they alone, more than all the ages of people to have come before, possess an unparalled brilliance and understanding of life. I think they could change the world, and I want to be a part of it.

If we're really all in this thing together, if we're realizing that we've looked around at the possibilities being shown to us and found them distasteful, if we don't know how we're going to fit in the molds we've seen, then maybe fear about the future is unnecessary. If we're in this thing together, then maybe the excitement I'm starting to feel about all the unthought possibilities open to us is more appropriate.

At the very least, we can start a band. Maybe you'll listen to us someday.

Reflection 2/9 - Viewing Stones

I'm so sick of writing about things I don't know, and I'm sick of the fact that my life is seemingly composed of those unknowns. I want to write of revelations and certainties, and hope. I want my life to be like a smooth river stone, unique and substantial. I love the feel of stone, the feeling of immovability against one's fingers. Pure substance, dense and smooth. How much of that purity and solidity comes from its lifelessness, I wonder. You feel the rock, but surely what you press between your fingers is a pocket of pure universal substance, that stuff that makes up the world. I like this word, solid. I even like the thought of the world being a lifeless mass of stone, the thought that I could press my face against the dirt and the sand, and dig my fingers into the ground and hold on as the world spins. This all reminds me that the world is indeed spinning, tracing grooves in space, cog in cosmic chronometer. Maybe if I held on, I wouldn't feel so much like I was an accidental smear of bacteria on someone's masterpiece pencil drawing. I would cling to this spinning stone, and maybe then I'd learn something.

Reflection 2/2 - The Humming Heart

I long for a room of my own, with a shut door at my back, pooled in darkness. I'd listen to the air buzz in my ears and then settle on the floor and in all the interstices, and everything would shrink until I could wrap myself in the dark. Or maybe not. Maybe I would grow, the me in my head would grow and take on skin made of music and goosebumped with pure ineffable feeling, and this dark room could be my humming heart. Yes, and I could be so vast that all the open places between things could be my home, and the wind would be arms and words for me to be rest in. And I would grow and grow, greater than life even, to be free of my fear and my loss and all my love I'd fling it all to the stars and scream until I'm sitting here in this room still, breathing this darkness. And it runs like water into my chest.

So I've decided to start writing nightly reflections again. Every night I will simply write out what's in my head when I start typing. Here's the first attempt.

The Thaw, part 1

I am getting older. I am questioning everything. Some things have been confirmed, and those foundations shall be given more care and attention. Other things have been, or may yet be, discarded. The aspects of my life that I have chosen to change, the things that I have let go of, felt like a weight I was obliged to carry on my shoulders, and when I could go no further and had to put down my burden, I found no one and nothing telling me to pick it back up. I was startled at my own freedom. I have since become more wary of my obligations, and just as my sensitivity to undeserved expectations has become more acute recently, so has my awareness of the people and ideas in my life that really matter to me, and might have been receiving only lip service for too long.

I think even more than getting older, I am growing. I mentioned earlier in this blog that sometimes it is best for people to grow out of relationships, and that wishing things were otherwise is not healthy for anyone, but at that time I was perhaps too hasty in my assessment of those closest to me. I might be making the same mistake now, but I know the change is coming, and I recognize now as then that it will happen one way or the other.

I have this image attached to the notion of growth. I suppose I could best describe it as streamlining. That which is most central to who I am has been reaffirmed and strengthened, and even aspects of myself that I had once cherished and had recently forgotten have been uncovered again by this process. Some new elements have been incorporated too, but they seem to share the spirit of what has always mattered to me, and represent a growth out of those ideas.

I hope the following will be somewhat of a disambiguation of the preceding:

Winter break was the catalyst for all this change.

I had developed a rut since I'd been at Columbia, but by the first semester of Junior year, and maybe even the preceding summer, I knew it. I am still struggling with my reasons for being here, and I have been considering many questions the answers to which may illuminate my situation and my path in the future:

What is an academic? Am I one? Is that the same thing as being a student? Am I even a "student" anymore?

Should I be looking around for my career here in college? Is that realistic? Should I be studying my interests or some hybrid of my interests and pragmatic, marketable skills?

If I don't get a job in the field of my major, what will the point of going to college have been?

I don't know the answers to many of these questions. Some part of me gets the sense that I could never be an academic. No part of me wants to enrich human understanding as a whole. It would seem that I am after more personal answers, answers on an individual level. It could be that I'll find those answers by looking outward, but lately I find it hard to find a great deal of affinity for humanity as a whole. These days, it's draining enough to care about me and mine, and I have enough questions for myself without trying to figure the world out. And the problem is that whatever atrocities I may be ignoring, whatever social ills I should be out combating, I see humanity's hand behind them all. There is some idealism left in me, and I know that the ignorance I abhor is sometimes simply a lack of education, a lack of civilization and reverence for thought. We owe it to a great many people to cultivate a human culture of compassion based on reason and respect for our shared human condition.

Maybe people fight because they don't realize how doomed we all are anyways. Maybe if they really believed that all of us only had one life and realized how short it was, people could be more peaceful. It breaks my heart to think of how many things I wish I could hold on to forever, but will eventually pass away from me. Too many people think themselves immortal.

Anyways, I think I got sidetracked somewhere.

You know, I thought this would be an easy blog post. I've been through perhaps the most emotionally tiring couple weeks of my life, and I can't even be poetical and eloquent about it. I was messed up last semester, so much so that even a relatively easy workload felt like a grind. I felt out of touch with pretty much everything, only to come home and find no relief and unlooked for questions about people and things I had always counted on. I think I started losing my mind. And only after that came the most painful emotional blow I've ever experienced. What was meant to be an "intervention" for me, with my friends expressing their concern over my increasingly withdrawn demeanor, resulted in my roommate telling me that in the wake of his father's death last semester, he needed me more than anyone else in the world, but that I wasn't there for him. Ostensibly, he said all of this to tell me how obviously absent I was, but this seemed like something he wanted to confront me about with regard to our relationship. I'm not sure how much my other friends knew about how this supposed intervention was going to turn out, but I hope they didn't know he was going to do that.

I have never felt so guilty, so embarrassed, or so angry. I hope I never will again.

It was clear to me that our relationship was one thing in his mind, and something entirely different in mine. He had made me into something that I was not willing to be to him, and he wanted me to act in a way that I was not willing to act. And so he became disillusioned and hurt at my apparent failure to act the part of his friend. He had made what should have been a discussion between the two of us, taking place months beforehand, into a guilt trip aimed right at me and abetted by my closest friends.

I have many more thoughts on this that I will not share. Things between us now are not good, and most interestingly, I don't really care.

But the most remarkable thing happened after all that, and I felt better than I had in weeks.

I'll tell you all about it later.