Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Reflection 4/21 - Skin
It smells like incense here in my little cell, and rain without. The stillness and the quiet are protection from the motion of the outside - the rain falling and the people shrouded in dark clothes and dark moods. The weather is bad today, better to be inside. I am inside, waiting in my fallout shelter against the world. Here I am like the sage, the immortal, clothing myself in this solitudinous space, armor against the onslaught. It comes with me, I think, when I walk outside, and keeps me safe. Who else but me would reside in my clothing, within my own skin? Sometimes there's an echo, too, when I speak, and the words don't get out. But the rain falls on the outside, and I am untroubled.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
What I'm trying to say is...
I've learned two new things about myself recently:
1. I like weird people, exceptionally free spirited people, people who have learned that life is an end unto itself. I feel like I can learn from them.
2. I'm not comfortable playing second fiddle in my own life, which is tough when I want to learn new things. I'm uncomfortable with hero worship for this reason as well, but godammit all I wanted to ask him was how to be more like him and less like the person I am now, stuck in a rut.
I just came up with that last one, so it's gonna be three things
3. I want to do more things with my hands. I want to create and tinker. Pick locks and play piano. I'm not quite sure why. Yes I do. It seems more sincere, less abstracted from life. I seem like just the person to dissect experiences to such a scientific level that the life is gone from them, and yet for some reason the social sciences aren't fulfilling at all, go figure. Another instance of wanting to be more like some ideal other than what I am? Perhaps. Perhaps I've just got too many of my own questions to give a fig about Chinese nationalism or the miserable lives of Japanese office ladies. I feel like I'm more alive than all of them, but have somehow forgotten how to speak, and how to walk. I need something real to teach me how to do those things again, differently and better this time.
Interactions with people are strange these days. I have trouble listening to what they say, which is no way to have a conversation. I think I'm afflicted by a strange sense of superiority where I think I'm different from everyone, which has come to equal better in my mind, but at the same time all I want is for someone to get through to me. My friends do that. Increasingly, people I've never met who's work I admire have done that, and then suddenly I meet them and feel inadequate. I need more to show for my life.
Angst over weekend activities continues, but I think I'm narrowing the field. I want things to do rather than places to go, and I want these things to involve a few people who could be friends. I don't want to simply attend different places. I guess this fits with my new desire to develop awesome skills and talents in order to affirm my worth.
I think I would like to write something. A story maybe, some kind of fiction. First I need to learn how to write, and to do that I need to read more. This is another new project.
Maybe the story would start like:
He was leaving today, and each step was considered as he made his way down the street to the subway station. He was reckoning with the city, trying to find the feeling this place inspired in him, the exact notion he would take with him as he made his way back home. To be charitable, he would remember it as it was now, gray and smelling of rain. Even the wind was gray as it shook the bare trees. It was palpable in the air and the whole world seemed very small and muffled, trapped in a snow globe of rain and clouds.
And maybe it would end like:
He opened his eyes as he leaned against the glass, and the sun was still there.
So now I just need to write the middle part, go back and fix the first and last parts, and we'll have our story. No sweat.
So what else? In trying to write the above it became apparent to me that I can only write autobiographically and that I want desperately to go on a journey somewhere, or at least to just leave this place. I think maybe I need to not be so intent on writing something in order for it to be good. My inner voice is pompous and wordy and has no idea what I want to say.
I need to feel exceptional, but it seems like chances of that being anything other than a delusion are getting slimmer by the minute.
Damn.
1. I like weird people, exceptionally free spirited people, people who have learned that life is an end unto itself. I feel like I can learn from them.
2. I'm not comfortable playing second fiddle in my own life, which is tough when I want to learn new things. I'm uncomfortable with hero worship for this reason as well, but godammit all I wanted to ask him was how to be more like him and less like the person I am now, stuck in a rut.
I just came up with that last one, so it's gonna be three things
3. I want to do more things with my hands. I want to create and tinker. Pick locks and play piano. I'm not quite sure why. Yes I do. It seems more sincere, less abstracted from life. I seem like just the person to dissect experiences to such a scientific level that the life is gone from them, and yet for some reason the social sciences aren't fulfilling at all, go figure. Another instance of wanting to be more like some ideal other than what I am? Perhaps. Perhaps I've just got too many of my own questions to give a fig about Chinese nationalism or the miserable lives of Japanese office ladies. I feel like I'm more alive than all of them, but have somehow forgotten how to speak, and how to walk. I need something real to teach me how to do those things again, differently and better this time.
Interactions with people are strange these days. I have trouble listening to what they say, which is no way to have a conversation. I think I'm afflicted by a strange sense of superiority where I think I'm different from everyone, which has come to equal better in my mind, but at the same time all I want is for someone to get through to me. My friends do that. Increasingly, people I've never met who's work I admire have done that, and then suddenly I meet them and feel inadequate. I need more to show for my life.
Angst over weekend activities continues, but I think I'm narrowing the field. I want things to do rather than places to go, and I want these things to involve a few people who could be friends. I don't want to simply attend different places. I guess this fits with my new desire to develop awesome skills and talents in order to affirm my worth.
I think I would like to write something. A story maybe, some kind of fiction. First I need to learn how to write, and to do that I need to read more. This is another new project.
Maybe the story would start like:
He was leaving today, and each step was considered as he made his way down the street to the subway station. He was reckoning with the city, trying to find the feeling this place inspired in him, the exact notion he would take with him as he made his way back home. To be charitable, he would remember it as it was now, gray and smelling of rain. Even the wind was gray as it shook the bare trees. It was palpable in the air and the whole world seemed very small and muffled, trapped in a snow globe of rain and clouds.
And maybe it would end like:
He opened his eyes as he leaned against the glass, and the sun was still there.
So now I just need to write the middle part, go back and fix the first and last parts, and we'll have our story. No sweat.
So what else? In trying to write the above it became apparent to me that I can only write autobiographically and that I want desperately to go on a journey somewhere, or at least to just leave this place. I think maybe I need to not be so intent on writing something in order for it to be good. My inner voice is pompous and wordy and has no idea what I want to say.
I need to feel exceptional, but it seems like chances of that being anything other than a delusion are getting slimmer by the minute.
Damn.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Youth and Beauty
What is one's youth best spent on? Should one strive to act in a certain way when they are young, with the knowledge that such a lifestyle cannot be maintained forever? Should youth be treated as the playtime before the real work of one's life gets started? What then is the value of being young?
I can, at times, be a terribly cerebral person, and it's been pointed out to me before that in thinking too much I stand to lose precious time that I may never get back, time that I could be spending doing things that are only acceptable of young people. Incidentally if I were to make a list of such things, most of them considered out of the context of youthful exuberance and lack of life experience would be considered to be vices at best and moral failures at worst.
Drinking all night. Staying out till all hours. Random hookups with people a first name beyond total stranger-hood. Carelessness and irresponsibility. Looked at in this light, it doesn't seem important or useful. Looked at like this, as a simple description of activities, it really does seem like people my age are simply trying to take in as much hedonistic stimulation as society will condone before they "settle down". And if that's all it is, and I'm sad to think it probably is for many if not most, then I can understand the judgmental dichotomy between the time before and after "youth". Before you settle down, it's ok to be frivolous because you're just getting it out of your system, but after you settle down, god help you if you ever look back. It'll be too late and "real" life will have begun and no amount of sports cars with make it otherwise.
I don't like this setup at all. It holds a ticking clock over my head and tells me that
anything I do and feel before time runs out doesn't matter and everything I do after has to conform to an entirely different paradigm that denies the importance of the first. Life is all one, and you are always a product of your prior experiences, so why do I get this feeling that so many of my peers are frantically trying to cram their whole lives as they know it into the years before they can no longer cling to some kind of lifestyle based on going to school? I disagree with those peers, just as I have to disagree with my seniors who would tell me that I have to give up the values I hold now, when I'm young, in order to become an adult. It sounds too contrived.
Let's look at that list again. I want to put it in a different light and talk about why it's important. I want to talk about the purpose behind it.
Well, I guess I can only speak for myself as to the purpose behind it all. Everything else is speculation, but I'll try anyways. I wonder if it isn't simply escapism. Like the many or most of my peers who are trying to live large before the giant come-down of real life, going to bars and fooling around is transcendental.
I just realized I'm projecting from what, in my head at least, is a typically female point of view. Not being a girl myself, I may be getting this entirely wrong, but I feel like the female perspective on youth is one of romance, which, in my mind, is equal to a desire to transcend the mundane and reach something larger than life. If I knew how to dance, I imagine that would be rather transcendental in that sense. I hear you asking: "well what's the male perspective?". I dunno. Conquest? I'm dealing in large strokes here, as this is tangential to whatever point I was on about earlier, but if the female perspective is attempting to experience something...elusive and transcendent, then I'd have to say the male perspective is oriented toward accomplishment and mastery. Again, I'm writing this on the fly, so forgive the oversimplifications where they arise, but maybe the answers to why people my age do what they do can be found within the generalizations. Maybe people are that simple.
Maybe I'm that simple. How many people my age have felt alienated from the world at large, thinking they're special somehow, or that whatever angst their feeling isn't simply characteristic of their age. Of their youth.
I think the truth has come out. I started writing this to vindicate myself, to prove that I'm surrounded by a bunch of uninteresting people stumbling around looking for thrills. But if I'm going to be honest with my myself and really stick to my beliefs, then there's nothing wrong with any of that. People are how they are, and I'm how I am. I'm certainly not the first person to feel this way, and I suppose that's a comforting thought. I'd like to find the others. It seems there are so few of my kind.
I do need to find people. As much as I might try to deny it, I think it's the truth. I need to make connections, the kind of connections that will remind me of the beauty of being alive and sharing that experience. I guess my problem is with the orthodoxy of the interactions I'm used to. If the goal of a party is escapism, I think I want something else. I want to escape to reality, really cut through the crap and find someone, if only for a couple hours, and I think that's what I take away from that laundry list of typical college activities: the staying up late is an adventure to share, the drinking is for the comradery, and the sex is an attempt to know someone. All of these are for the connection to others.
A while back I was at a typical kind of dance party. Lots of people dancing, loud music you can't talk over, that kind of thing. I ended up standing off by the wall because I didn't want to dance, either by myself just for the sake of dancing or with someone else. It was all too anonymous, and I was tired of trying to fit into those kinds of situations when I had to honestly admit that I never had any fun. And so it went, until it was shut down by campus security. Noise complaint. But as fate would have it, a small group broke off from the throng and went up to an apartment on 129th street. Suddenly there were few enough people to remember everyone's name and actual opportunity to talk to people. We got out some drinks, ended up playing some games, and it was a great time. A while later, as the night was winding down, I found myself alone in the living room with one of the girls I had met that night. She was picking up her things and getting ready to leave with the rest of us. She looked at me and said, "This is a weird relationship we have. I didn't know you before tonight, and I'll probably never see you again". But for those several hours, she was one of only a handful of people in the entire world for me. I had made connections to them, if only for a while, and finally I had felt like I'd had a night worth talking about, a night worth remembering.
I think I've let too many walls get built up around me while I wasn't paying attention, and life has been oversimplified. Monday through Thursday is school, classes during the day, homework at night. Weekends are for getting away from school, and then preparing for school again. Rinse repeat. These are the people I hang out with, these are the things I do. Recycle, recycle.
This is how I think.
But there's a whole world outside of these walls, these classrooms and job opportunities and resumes. I've let myself get trapped in a radius of several blocks around campus, venturing out all too rarely. I've hung out with the same people. I live in New York, I should not be wanting for adventures or interesting people, but I haven't done enough to satisfy this hunger that I've finally acknowledged. If I can't find the answers or the people here, I have plenty of other places to look, and I won't let myself get trapped into thinking how things are is how things have to be. Everything can change if I'm brave enough to see it through.
And I'm going to find them. I'm going to find the things that make me happy. I'm going to find the people that can teach me about life.
I can, at times, be a terribly cerebral person, and it's been pointed out to me before that in thinking too much I stand to lose precious time that I may never get back, time that I could be spending doing things that are only acceptable of young people. Incidentally if I were to make a list of such things, most of them considered out of the context of youthful exuberance and lack of life experience would be considered to be vices at best and moral failures at worst.
Drinking all night. Staying out till all hours. Random hookups with people a first name beyond total stranger-hood. Carelessness and irresponsibility. Looked at in this light, it doesn't seem important or useful. Looked at like this, as a simple description of activities, it really does seem like people my age are simply trying to take in as much hedonistic stimulation as society will condone before they "settle down". And if that's all it is, and I'm sad to think it probably is for many if not most, then I can understand the judgmental dichotomy between the time before and after "youth". Before you settle down, it's ok to be frivolous because you're just getting it out of your system, but after you settle down, god help you if you ever look back. It'll be too late and "real" life will have begun and no amount of sports cars with make it otherwise.
I don't like this setup at all. It holds a ticking clock over my head and tells me that
anything I do and feel before time runs out doesn't matter and everything I do after has to conform to an entirely different paradigm that denies the importance of the first. Life is all one, and you are always a product of your prior experiences, so why do I get this feeling that so many of my peers are frantically trying to cram their whole lives as they know it into the years before they can no longer cling to some kind of lifestyle based on going to school? I disagree with those peers, just as I have to disagree with my seniors who would tell me that I have to give up the values I hold now, when I'm young, in order to become an adult. It sounds too contrived.
Let's look at that list again. I want to put it in a different light and talk about why it's important. I want to talk about the purpose behind it.
Well, I guess I can only speak for myself as to the purpose behind it all. Everything else is speculation, but I'll try anyways. I wonder if it isn't simply escapism. Like the many or most of my peers who are trying to live large before the giant come-down of real life, going to bars and fooling around is transcendental.
I just realized I'm projecting from what, in my head at least, is a typically female point of view. Not being a girl myself, I may be getting this entirely wrong, but I feel like the female perspective on youth is one of romance, which, in my mind, is equal to a desire to transcend the mundane and reach something larger than life. If I knew how to dance, I imagine that would be rather transcendental in that sense. I hear you asking: "well what's the male perspective?". I dunno. Conquest? I'm dealing in large strokes here, as this is tangential to whatever point I was on about earlier, but if the female perspective is attempting to experience something...elusive and transcendent, then I'd have to say the male perspective is oriented toward accomplishment and mastery. Again, I'm writing this on the fly, so forgive the oversimplifications where they arise, but maybe the answers to why people my age do what they do can be found within the generalizations. Maybe people are that simple.
Maybe I'm that simple. How many people my age have felt alienated from the world at large, thinking they're special somehow, or that whatever angst their feeling isn't simply characteristic of their age. Of their youth.
I think the truth has come out. I started writing this to vindicate myself, to prove that I'm surrounded by a bunch of uninteresting people stumbling around looking for thrills. But if I'm going to be honest with my myself and really stick to my beliefs, then there's nothing wrong with any of that. People are how they are, and I'm how I am. I'm certainly not the first person to feel this way, and I suppose that's a comforting thought. I'd like to find the others. It seems there are so few of my kind.
I do need to find people. As much as I might try to deny it, I think it's the truth. I need to make connections, the kind of connections that will remind me of the beauty of being alive and sharing that experience. I guess my problem is with the orthodoxy of the interactions I'm used to. If the goal of a party is escapism, I think I want something else. I want to escape to reality, really cut through the crap and find someone, if only for a couple hours, and I think that's what I take away from that laundry list of typical college activities: the staying up late is an adventure to share, the drinking is for the comradery, and the sex is an attempt to know someone. All of these are for the connection to others.
A while back I was at a typical kind of dance party. Lots of people dancing, loud music you can't talk over, that kind of thing. I ended up standing off by the wall because I didn't want to dance, either by myself just for the sake of dancing or with someone else. It was all too anonymous, and I was tired of trying to fit into those kinds of situations when I had to honestly admit that I never had any fun. And so it went, until it was shut down by campus security. Noise complaint. But as fate would have it, a small group broke off from the throng and went up to an apartment on 129th street. Suddenly there were few enough people to remember everyone's name and actual opportunity to talk to people. We got out some drinks, ended up playing some games, and it was a great time. A while later, as the night was winding down, I found myself alone in the living room with one of the girls I had met that night. She was picking up her things and getting ready to leave with the rest of us. She looked at me and said, "This is a weird relationship we have. I didn't know you before tonight, and I'll probably never see you again". But for those several hours, she was one of only a handful of people in the entire world for me. I had made connections to them, if only for a while, and finally I had felt like I'd had a night worth talking about, a night worth remembering.
I think I've let too many walls get built up around me while I wasn't paying attention, and life has been oversimplified. Monday through Thursday is school, classes during the day, homework at night. Weekends are for getting away from school, and then preparing for school again. Rinse repeat. These are the people I hang out with, these are the things I do. Recycle, recycle.
This is how I think.
But there's a whole world outside of these walls, these classrooms and job opportunities and resumes. I've let myself get trapped in a radius of several blocks around campus, venturing out all too rarely. I've hung out with the same people. I live in New York, I should not be wanting for adventures or interesting people, but I haven't done enough to satisfy this hunger that I've finally acknowledged. If I can't find the answers or the people here, I have plenty of other places to look, and I won't let myself get trapped into thinking how things are is how things have to be. Everything can change if I'm brave enough to see it through.
And I'm going to find them. I'm going to find the things that make me happy. I'm going to find the people that can teach me about life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
