there have been precious few times when i have been afraid. when a 14 hand thoroughbred stepped on my back, when i left the country for the first time... but, tonight, i was truly frightened. let me tell you why.
i went to my grandmother's around 6 for dinner. she lost her husband about six weeks ago, so we've all been a little more deferential than usual. anyway, she wanted to cook dinner for me & my parents. we get to the house, and everything is going pretty normally. she's in the kitchen yelling at the pot to boil more quickly.
then, suddenly, we hear a loud crash.
my mother goes into the kitchen calling, "ma! mom!" without any reply. we can't see her but we can hear her. not finding her anywhere, we open the cellar door. there she is, splayed on the floor, with blood running down her forehead.
we didn't know that someone was at the house working on the furnace. he had just finished and was leaving the cellar through the outside door. well, the outside cellar door is a hatch in the floor of the back porch right beneath the kitchen door. so, my grandmother-unaware that anyone was there--went to throw garbage out on the porch. when she stepped onto the porch, there wasn't any porch there. and she fell into the cellar.
they had to airlift her to stonybrook because of her head trauma. and thank god. she needed six stiches on her head--and it's a blessing she needed so few--and she's got multiple fractures: they're thinking both ankles, her left wrist, her right elbow, maybe other parts of the legs...
anyway, it was a wakeup call. she just can't catch a break, and yet she's such a trooper. she was in the hospital, broken bones still not set, worrying about christmas gifts and food going bad and taxes and her upstairs neighbors... it just puts everything in perspective, you know?
22.12.06
15.12.06
assimilation
When I was sixteen, I found myself coughing up blood and phlegm—fire in my chest—trying to tell a doctor what was wrong. The trouble was, no French class ever told me the words for medical conditions and my hysterics (combined with total lack of vocal projection) made me virtually impossible to understand.
This was the turning point for me. After months of assimilating into the French culture, I felt truly foreign. For the first time, I felt alone.
I was in bed for a week, taking God knows what, and missing my friends. I had spent every night watching French television with my French mother, playing with Conton—who was 5--, and listening to French rap. I started saying “oui” while breathing in, just like my French father, and I dreamed in the language.
The first night out after being sick, we went to the triangle—a series of blocks containing all the nightlife. We took a cab instead of riding our bikes, maybe out of pity for me, and got dropped off at The Garage, a British pub.
Sitting together, maybe ten of us at the table, we decided to get a pitcher of Xcider. I went to the bar, ordered the pitcher in the required English, and headed back to the table. But I was stopped on the way by a group of British tourists who asked me for a “vrai” French girl’s take on something or other, and I tried to tell them I was American but they would hear none of it so I lied, gave them some story, and got back to my friends.
I’ll never forget that because it seemed unfathomable at that time that a person could take on cultural attitudes and affects without a conscious choice. And it’s the first time I thought about how we become who we spend our time with.
The next spring, my choir was touring in Austria, and the lot of us went to a dance club in Salzburg. As we went through the night, I was painfully aware of how we were—how loud, how rude, how American. And I thought about that night in France, having people think I was French. What had changed since then? Had I really reverted back so far, taking on all the negative stereotypes Europeans have of Americans? Or was it simply the company I was keeping?
I’ve often wondered this as I’ve gone from city to city. And I realize now that I make very conscious decisions and observations to blend more into the culture of a place, knowing that it is possible to become one more person in that world. It’s partly in our choosing people, friends and family, and partly in our following unwritten rules, but it is possible to assimilate into a culture.
I still miss that semester in France, and one of my goals is to go back there and live for as long as I can. Paris, I think, will always feel a little like home; and Pau, the city where I got sick, will always seem a little like where my best friend is from. I made France a part of me, and once you have that feeling it’s very hard to take away.
So why am I thinking about this now? I think it's partly because I don't want to assimilate into the culture of my current residence, partly because I'd really like to get an opportunity to travel, partly because I'm a little nostalgic, maybe partly, too, because I spent some time recently with a French woman. Regardless of my reasoning, it's an interesting thought process. Why do some people get on so much better than others?
This was the turning point for me. After months of assimilating into the French culture, I felt truly foreign. For the first time, I felt alone.
I was in bed for a week, taking God knows what, and missing my friends. I had spent every night watching French television with my French mother, playing with Conton—who was 5--, and listening to French rap. I started saying “oui” while breathing in, just like my French father, and I dreamed in the language.
The first night out after being sick, we went to the triangle—a series of blocks containing all the nightlife. We took a cab instead of riding our bikes, maybe out of pity for me, and got dropped off at The Garage, a British pub.
Sitting together, maybe ten of us at the table, we decided to get a pitcher of Xcider. I went to the bar, ordered the pitcher in the required English, and headed back to the table. But I was stopped on the way by a group of British tourists who asked me for a “vrai” French girl’s take on something or other, and I tried to tell them I was American but they would hear none of it so I lied, gave them some story, and got back to my friends.
I’ll never forget that because it seemed unfathomable at that time that a person could take on cultural attitudes and affects without a conscious choice. And it’s the first time I thought about how we become who we spend our time with.
The next spring, my choir was touring in Austria, and the lot of us went to a dance club in Salzburg. As we went through the night, I was painfully aware of how we were—how loud, how rude, how American. And I thought about that night in France, having people think I was French. What had changed since then? Had I really reverted back so far, taking on all the negative stereotypes Europeans have of Americans? Or was it simply the company I was keeping?
I’ve often wondered this as I’ve gone from city to city. And I realize now that I make very conscious decisions and observations to blend more into the culture of a place, knowing that it is possible to become one more person in that world. It’s partly in our choosing people, friends and family, and partly in our following unwritten rules, but it is possible to assimilate into a culture.
I still miss that semester in France, and one of my goals is to go back there and live for as long as I can. Paris, I think, will always feel a little like home; and Pau, the city where I got sick, will always seem a little like where my best friend is from. I made France a part of me, and once you have that feeling it’s very hard to take away.
So why am I thinking about this now? I think it's partly because I don't want to assimilate into the culture of my current residence, partly because I'd really like to get an opportunity to travel, partly because I'm a little nostalgic, maybe partly, too, because I spent some time recently with a French woman. Regardless of my reasoning, it's an interesting thought process. Why do some people get on so much better than others?
4.12.06
regret
the semester is winding down; i say that with a hint of irony because, in complete honesty, it seems like there's more to do now than ever before. i wouldn't have a problem with the work load if, say, i had been slacking up until now. since i've been working diligently all semester, it feels somehow wrong to be getting slammed at the end. still, this was the choice i made--coming here, doing this--and i have to continue to believe that it has been the best thing.
do i have regrets? that's an interesting question.
i've been thinking about regret recently. i've posed the question to a number of people: do you have regrets? what is your greatest regret? and, generally, everyone has got one. they regret the thing they haven't said, or the thing they wish they had done, or their inability to see a situation more clearly more quickly.
but, me? i don't normally feel those things because i tend to do what seems right or important at the time: i say what i need to say, i do what i want to do. it's in the last category that i find difficulty because seeing something for what it is doesn't necessarily follow any patterns, and we can't practice getting better at it because each situation is dependent on so many outside influences that are uncontrollable. to have a regret regarding something over which we have no control seems silly to me.
having said that, feeling regret regarding something over which i have no control is exactly where i find myself--well have been finding myself since going to new york at thanksgiving.
i know i did everything i could. i'm confident in the knowledge that i wouldn't change anything--not a word, not a glance, not a touch. i'm less confident in the knowledge that there is nothing i can do. RATIONALLY i know i can't do more. but since when does love or companionship have anything to do with rationality? and my irrational heart regrets the end of this.
so where does this leave me?
right now i'm left in a world of half-realized dreams and hopes for the future. right now i'm left wondering if he will ever become the person i need him to be. right now i'm left feeling a little silly because i can't let go of him. right now i'm a little sad because i've lost my best friend. and, ultimately, romance or no, that's what i'm regretting. i regret that i can't allow him to be my best friend the way he was for so long--i regret needing him to be something more and therefore losing him completely.
do i have regrets? that's an interesting question.
i've been thinking about regret recently. i've posed the question to a number of people: do you have regrets? what is your greatest regret? and, generally, everyone has got one. they regret the thing they haven't said, or the thing they wish they had done, or their inability to see a situation more clearly more quickly.
but, me? i don't normally feel those things because i tend to do what seems right or important at the time: i say what i need to say, i do what i want to do. it's in the last category that i find difficulty because seeing something for what it is doesn't necessarily follow any patterns, and we can't practice getting better at it because each situation is dependent on so many outside influences that are uncontrollable. to have a regret regarding something over which we have no control seems silly to me.
having said that, feeling regret regarding something over which i have no control is exactly where i find myself--well have been finding myself since going to new york at thanksgiving.
i know i did everything i could. i'm confident in the knowledge that i wouldn't change anything--not a word, not a glance, not a touch. i'm less confident in the knowledge that there is nothing i can do. RATIONALLY i know i can't do more. but since when does love or companionship have anything to do with rationality? and my irrational heart regrets the end of this.
so where does this leave me?
right now i'm left in a world of half-realized dreams and hopes for the future. right now i'm left wondering if he will ever become the person i need him to be. right now i'm left feeling a little silly because i can't let go of him. right now i'm a little sad because i've lost my best friend. and, ultimately, romance or no, that's what i'm regretting. i regret that i can't allow him to be my best friend the way he was for so long--i regret needing him to be something more and therefore losing him completely.
25.11.06
somewhere between crayons & cosmopolitans
i've been thinking a lot since coming to my parent's house for the thanksgiving holiday. this is the town i used to be a part of, where everything gets blurred in the fog of memory and the figuring out of who you ARE compared to who you USED TO BE. why is it that things get murky in the past--in the easiness of sliding into old habits, in the quick transformation into one's former self?
in some ways, i love getting to see old friends. it's a great thing to realize that there are people you never thought could change, but they HAVE and in the most positive way. there's safety in realizing that someone knows your whole history, that they've seen you fall off your bicycle or remember how you felt about your first kiss or threw you a ball when you weren't looking and clocked you in the head. there is something inherently beautiful in how ALIVE that can make you feel.
because, ultimately, somewhere along the line we forget to live. somewhere between crayons and cosmopolitans, we start to edit our lives. we form habits. we make snap judgements. we allow ourselves to stop dreaming. we don't ask for the things we want anymore--we ask for the things we think we'll get. and that's really sad. and that's defeating, too.
maybe the incredible thing about old friends is that they expose possibilities. when faced with childhood friends, suddenly we remember the person we thought we would be. we see what our former selves saw. for me, looking at myself through the eyes of my six year old self, i see dancing and laughing and playing board games and watching movies curled up on the couch and baking oatmeal raisin cookies and telling people i love them. i see a life filled with simple pleasures. i see a life that isn't bogged down by what is conventionally right or by what other people expect from me. it's a life that belongs to something really amazing: me.
thankfully, i'm on my way. i still try to live like i did in childhood. i've been working towards this idea for a long time, even if it wasn't consciously. i've cultivated my dreams and fought for beautiful moments. but i'm still working. i need to learn to ask for what i REALLY want; what's the harm in asking? i know that i've lost my brazen mouth--i know i ask for what i'll get. i've definitely learned fear since six. so, yeah, i keep working. i keep evolving. because i'd like to have more courage.
being here, around these people, makes me want to be more courageous. i think that's a huge step. and in many ways i'm grateful that my old friends indulge me.
but, when i play devil's advocate, i wonder if these realizations have little do with these people and more with my struggle to stay the same regardless of circumstance. i fight slipping back into old habits, i resist a quick transformation into my former self...
maybe, in the end, the only thing that has changed is me. maybe i'm learning to let go of old bitterness and that's why i find something incredible and beautiful in these old friends.
in some ways, i love getting to see old friends. it's a great thing to realize that there are people you never thought could change, but they HAVE and in the most positive way. there's safety in realizing that someone knows your whole history, that they've seen you fall off your bicycle or remember how you felt about your first kiss or threw you a ball when you weren't looking and clocked you in the head. there is something inherently beautiful in how ALIVE that can make you feel.
because, ultimately, somewhere along the line we forget to live. somewhere between crayons and cosmopolitans, we start to edit our lives. we form habits. we make snap judgements. we allow ourselves to stop dreaming. we don't ask for the things we want anymore--we ask for the things we think we'll get. and that's really sad. and that's defeating, too.
maybe the incredible thing about old friends is that they expose possibilities. when faced with childhood friends, suddenly we remember the person we thought we would be. we see what our former selves saw. for me, looking at myself through the eyes of my six year old self, i see dancing and laughing and playing board games and watching movies curled up on the couch and baking oatmeal raisin cookies and telling people i love them. i see a life filled with simple pleasures. i see a life that isn't bogged down by what is conventionally right or by what other people expect from me. it's a life that belongs to something really amazing: me.
thankfully, i'm on my way. i still try to live like i did in childhood. i've been working towards this idea for a long time, even if it wasn't consciously. i've cultivated my dreams and fought for beautiful moments. but i'm still working. i need to learn to ask for what i REALLY want; what's the harm in asking? i know that i've lost my brazen mouth--i know i ask for what i'll get. i've definitely learned fear since six. so, yeah, i keep working. i keep evolving. because i'd like to have more courage.
being here, around these people, makes me want to be more courageous. i think that's a huge step. and in many ways i'm grateful that my old friends indulge me.
but, when i play devil's advocate, i wonder if these realizations have little do with these people and more with my struggle to stay the same regardless of circumstance. i fight slipping back into old habits, i resist a quick transformation into my former self...
maybe, in the end, the only thing that has changed is me. maybe i'm learning to let go of old bitterness and that's why i find something incredible and beautiful in these old friends.
24.11.06
grace
a lot has happened since my last post. some of it has been really good, & some of it has totally sucked, but i'm getting through.
i've moved to baltimore. so, yes, i'm continuing to move. i'll be here for a bit--& generally i really like the city. i've made amazing friends & i feel like the person i used to be when i was living in manhattan. school is a bit harder than i expected, a little like junior high, but what can you do? keep out of as much bs as possible, & try to get what you need from the experience. i'm doing that. i think.
my grandfather passed away just a few weeks ago. it's been really difficult for me--more so than i anticipated. &, after the first thanksgiving w/o him, i'm a little nostalgic for the old days. i miss our private conversations; i was much closer to him than i realized.
i think that's the toughest thing. he & i were close, sure, but i didn't realize how much i relied on his approval & attention. he was this classic male figure in my life--strong & quiet...
i came to my parent's for thanksgiving. it's been a little strange to be back--i got thrown into the life i had before almost immediately. somehow it's like i never left. in other ways, i feel miles away from everyone. also, after the last week, i don't know, i find it hard to be ok w/myself.
i've been working on grace.
which is exactly what i need. especially back here. especially when it becomes clearer every day how poorly i've handled certain situations. especially when i'm beginning to understand that some things don't get better with time.
i've moved to baltimore. so, yes, i'm continuing to move. i'll be here for a bit--& generally i really like the city. i've made amazing friends & i feel like the person i used to be when i was living in manhattan. school is a bit harder than i expected, a little like junior high, but what can you do? keep out of as much bs as possible, & try to get what you need from the experience. i'm doing that. i think.
my grandfather passed away just a few weeks ago. it's been really difficult for me--more so than i anticipated. &, after the first thanksgiving w/o him, i'm a little nostalgic for the old days. i miss our private conversations; i was much closer to him than i realized.
i think that's the toughest thing. he & i were close, sure, but i didn't realize how much i relied on his approval & attention. he was this classic male figure in my life--strong & quiet...
i came to my parent's for thanksgiving. it's been a little strange to be back--i got thrown into the life i had before almost immediately. somehow it's like i never left. in other ways, i feel miles away from everyone. also, after the last week, i don't know, i find it hard to be ok w/myself.
i've been working on grace.
which is exactly what i need. especially back here. especially when it becomes clearer every day how poorly i've handled certain situations. especially when i'm beginning to understand that some things don't get better with time.
30.6.06
everyone is healthy and happy
It's been a long time since my last entry; I know that. Things have gotten out of hand--or, at least, I'm feeling more overwhelmed than in the past. Summer is supposed to be a time of relaxation for us teacher-folk. I'm finding (however) that I'm busier than ever.
I took a summer job--working at a little boutique in my village--to pass the time and make some extra bucks. What was intended to be a few days a week has turned into five days, seven hours a day. It's monotonous work, and while I am grateful for that, I am exhausted after a long weekend. The only benefit to working in a store called KHARMA--which is owned by a woman practicing Hindu and peopled with Buddhists--is that I'm learning a lot about eastern spirituality, refining those thoughts I've had for a long time, seeing the connection between things (the non-accidents). I'm becoming a fuller person spiritually; that's wonderful.
As for other things...
The situation with W hasn't gotten any better. It's been a month since we spoke; we haven't seen each other or called each other (we haven't even said "hi") since Memorial Day weekend. Part of me is having a hard time with that. I feel like I'm chucking the situation because it became too difficult to handle--in other words, I lost control of it. I feel like I disappointed him; that may be a weird statement. After all, he was a jerk to me not the other way around. But it makes sense because I always said that I'd be there, thick or thin, and at the first sign--or the tenth sign--of trouble I gave up. I justify myself because it has always been hard, and I'm not one of those people who believe relationships should be hard; I think the opposite--it shouldn't be that difficult. The other part of me, however, is feeling liberated. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. I'm reading and taking bubble baths and listening to orchestral music and dancing and being silly...
That was a really stupid concession I made with W. I gave up part of myself to be friends with him. I let him decide who I was. In worrying about what he wanted me to be, I forgot who I am. It was a grave error. When someone is worth your time they make you the best version of yourself.
What else?
A really great person recently lost his battle with cancer. I've taught his kids, and I'm really sad for them. I just came from the funeral home. It's wild to think that, not so long ago, he was giving me a hard time about concert music. It's horrifying to think about how his children will be affected by this loss--how they may become more introverted, more solitary... This family has had it so so so rough; enough is enough. It's time for them to have some good things. So, if you think about it, would you send some positive energy their way? It would mean the world to me. And to them.
I went out last night for the first time since Memorial Day weekend. I got to talk to A.B. like a human for the first time in a while; I feel a little weird asking him about himself when his girlfriend is around. I feel like she'd think it was weird or feel like I was being intrusive. Luckily, she wasn't around, so we talked for a bit. I also saw L and his girlfriend. The rest of the clan was missing; he and I got to speak for the first time da solo. He's a really interesting person, and I got to pick his brain (drunk as he was) about living out here, choosing to be here. That was incredible. Then, I was totally shocked and surprised that his friend (this super cute guy), D, remembered me. He walked right up, said my name, asked about things we had talked about previously. That was impressive--especially considering we had met one time, oh, a month ago (?). I also got to see old friends--B has been around for the last three years, but we never see each other because our schedules don't match. And A moved to California. It was weird. Weird but good. Weird because everyone was excited to see A, so we ended up talking to a lot of people that we probably wouldn't speak to normally. Good because everyone is healthy and happy and moving forward. I like to hear that kind of information.
I took a summer job--working at a little boutique in my village--to pass the time and make some extra bucks. What was intended to be a few days a week has turned into five days, seven hours a day. It's monotonous work, and while I am grateful for that, I am exhausted after a long weekend. The only benefit to working in a store called KHARMA--which is owned by a woman practicing Hindu and peopled with Buddhists--is that I'm learning a lot about eastern spirituality, refining those thoughts I've had for a long time, seeing the connection between things (the non-accidents). I'm becoming a fuller person spiritually; that's wonderful.
As for other things...
The situation with W hasn't gotten any better. It's been a month since we spoke; we haven't seen each other or called each other (we haven't even said "hi") since Memorial Day weekend. Part of me is having a hard time with that. I feel like I'm chucking the situation because it became too difficult to handle--in other words, I lost control of it. I feel like I disappointed him; that may be a weird statement. After all, he was a jerk to me not the other way around. But it makes sense because I always said that I'd be there, thick or thin, and at the first sign--or the tenth sign--of trouble I gave up. I justify myself because it has always been hard, and I'm not one of those people who believe relationships should be hard; I think the opposite--it shouldn't be that difficult. The other part of me, however, is feeling liberated. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. I'm reading and taking bubble baths and listening to orchestral music and dancing and being silly...
That was a really stupid concession I made with W. I gave up part of myself to be friends with him. I let him decide who I was. In worrying about what he wanted me to be, I forgot who I am. It was a grave error. When someone is worth your time they make you the best version of yourself.
What else?
A really great person recently lost his battle with cancer. I've taught his kids, and I'm really sad for them. I just came from the funeral home. It's wild to think that, not so long ago, he was giving me a hard time about concert music. It's horrifying to think about how his children will be affected by this loss--how they may become more introverted, more solitary... This family has had it so so so rough; enough is enough. It's time for them to have some good things. So, if you think about it, would you send some positive energy their way? It would mean the world to me. And to them.
I went out last night for the first time since Memorial Day weekend. I got to talk to A.B. like a human for the first time in a while; I feel a little weird asking him about himself when his girlfriend is around. I feel like she'd think it was weird or feel like I was being intrusive. Luckily, she wasn't around, so we talked for a bit. I also saw L and his girlfriend. The rest of the clan was missing; he and I got to speak for the first time da solo. He's a really interesting person, and I got to pick his brain (drunk as he was) about living out here, choosing to be here. That was incredible. Then, I was totally shocked and surprised that his friend (this super cute guy), D, remembered me. He walked right up, said my name, asked about things we had talked about previously. That was impressive--especially considering we had met one time, oh, a month ago (?). I also got to see old friends--B has been around for the last three years, but we never see each other because our schedules don't match. And A moved to California. It was weird. Weird but good. Weird because everyone was excited to see A, so we ended up talking to a lot of people that we probably wouldn't speak to normally. Good because everyone is healthy and happy and moving forward. I like to hear that kind of information.
11.6.06
moving to baltimore
it's ironic how the thing we most want, the thing we've been waiting for, often turns into something that, instead of clarifying the future, actually muddles it somewhat. that's how i've been feeling since friday.
friday afternoon i was pleased to discover my acceptance letter to peabody in my mailbox. i didn't (not for ONE second) doubt that i would go away; of course i've accepted this chance. i'd be a complete moron to pass it up. firstly, i'm going to be going to a very prestigious, very selective school that is renowned for its excellence (it's hopkins, for christ's sake!); secondly, i'm moving to a new city with the closest friend i've (quite possibly) ever had; thirdly, i've been wanting to get out of this town since i moved back three years ago.
so why, all of a sudden, am i a little petrified?
everything that seemed so clear in the IMAGINING of it is quite suddenly murky. how am i going to do this? how can i do this? what if i'm not strong enough or courageous enough or smart enough to do this? what if this turns into a total failure?
those thoughts are scarily pertinent now.
then there is the whole situation with w. oh! i wish i could walk away from him, no thoughts backward, no last look... i don't know why i find myself so paralyzed by him. and, in the last two weeks of self-inflicted isolation from him, i fear that the only person i hurt, the only person punished by the separation, was me. regarding him i am a coward.
but, this break is going to be easier. better to cut it off now--as one might cut off a limb--and feel phantom pains, and lament the loss, then wait until august when, god forbid!, it might be quite a messy goodbye. no. this is better. i know that. i really do. i have to remind myself.
i guess this is bittersweet. on the one hand, rationally, i know that i'm moving on to something better--to the chance to be in a great relationship, to meet someone new. on the other hand, irrationally, EMOTIONALLY, i feel like i'm giving up on something. that i'm chucking it before it can chuck me. that i'm allowing myself to abandon him because he can't be what i need him to be. but that's the thing. he can't be what i need him to be; how can i devote my attention to a friend who can't be there for me in a way that's meaningful to me?
i guess it's time to start moving on. moving away from him. i can do that.
i think.
friday afternoon i was pleased to discover my acceptance letter to peabody in my mailbox. i didn't (not for ONE second) doubt that i would go away; of course i've accepted this chance. i'd be a complete moron to pass it up. firstly, i'm going to be going to a very prestigious, very selective school that is renowned for its excellence (it's hopkins, for christ's sake!); secondly, i'm moving to a new city with the closest friend i've (quite possibly) ever had; thirdly, i've been wanting to get out of this town since i moved back three years ago.
so why, all of a sudden, am i a little petrified?
everything that seemed so clear in the IMAGINING of it is quite suddenly murky. how am i going to do this? how can i do this? what if i'm not strong enough or courageous enough or smart enough to do this? what if this turns into a total failure?
those thoughts are scarily pertinent now.
then there is the whole situation with w. oh! i wish i could walk away from him, no thoughts backward, no last look... i don't know why i find myself so paralyzed by him. and, in the last two weeks of self-inflicted isolation from him, i fear that the only person i hurt, the only person punished by the separation, was me. regarding him i am a coward.
but, this break is going to be easier. better to cut it off now--as one might cut off a limb--and feel phantom pains, and lament the loss, then wait until august when, god forbid!, it might be quite a messy goodbye. no. this is better. i know that. i really do. i have to remind myself.
i guess this is bittersweet. on the one hand, rationally, i know that i'm moving on to something better--to the chance to be in a great relationship, to meet someone new. on the other hand, irrationally, EMOTIONALLY, i feel like i'm giving up on something. that i'm chucking it before it can chuck me. that i'm allowing myself to abandon him because he can't be what i need him to be. but that's the thing. he can't be what i need him to be; how can i devote my attention to a friend who can't be there for me in a way that's meaningful to me?
i guess it's time to start moving on. moving away from him. i can do that.
i think.
8.6.06
garbage, mouse droppings, & retirement parties
of all the things that make me want to get the hell out, a bad day at school is on the top of my list. and today was pretty bad.
i get to school every morning around 7:15; today i get there only to find that the custodians have thrown away a huge box filled with my spring concert music. all of my octavos thrown in the trash.
then, i go into my desk--spring cleaning etc--and all over my files are mouse droppings. yes. MOUSE DROPPINGS. so, i don my gloves and surgical mask (which is pretty hysterical, what in my blazer, venetian crystals, and high heels) and proceed to throw away about half of my files--confidential files, concert programs, letters to and from parents, observation summaries... oh i was ticked off. really ticked off.
the day did get better. it had to, didn't it? things turned out ok--i just cranked up the sound on my ipod and listened to some tunes during free periods, finished my ordering for next year, corrected some papers...
after school, however, i had to go to an informal retirement party for one of the fifth grade teachers. she's been teaching a long time and i really like her. i should. i spent my childhood in her house. but, i don't know, some things have been done recently that i thought were rather insensitive; and despite my desire to feel ANY other way, i'm not feeling like i want to celebrate her right now. isn't that horrible?
oh well. thing is, this town is so so so so so small. everyone knows everyone and everything about everyone. it's hard to have secrets in a place like this. that's why i'm feeling boxed in.
but maybe i feel this way because of the mouse turds in my desk.
that could have done it for today. i don't know. maybe that's the explanation.
i get to school every morning around 7:15; today i get there only to find that the custodians have thrown away a huge box filled with my spring concert music. all of my octavos thrown in the trash.
then, i go into my desk--spring cleaning etc--and all over my files are mouse droppings. yes. MOUSE DROPPINGS. so, i don my gloves and surgical mask (which is pretty hysterical, what in my blazer, venetian crystals, and high heels) and proceed to throw away about half of my files--confidential files, concert programs, letters to and from parents, observation summaries... oh i was ticked off. really ticked off.
the day did get better. it had to, didn't it? things turned out ok--i just cranked up the sound on my ipod and listened to some tunes during free periods, finished my ordering for next year, corrected some papers...
after school, however, i had to go to an informal retirement party for one of the fifth grade teachers. she's been teaching a long time and i really like her. i should. i spent my childhood in her house. but, i don't know, some things have been done recently that i thought were rather insensitive; and despite my desire to feel ANY other way, i'm not feeling like i want to celebrate her right now. isn't that horrible?
oh well. thing is, this town is so so so so so small. everyone knows everyone and everything about everyone. it's hard to have secrets in a place like this. that's why i'm feeling boxed in.
but maybe i feel this way because of the mouse turds in my desk.
that could have done it for today. i don't know. maybe that's the explanation.
5.6.06
unfamiliar variables
i've been thinking about what it means to be fully present--it's something in which i've always had interest. don't we all want to find that magic button that allows for perfect attention? and don't we all hope that complete awareness pushes us towards wonderfully poignant or deliciously fulfilling experience? i know that it's something i've always dreamed... i guess i thought that being present allows us to witness things in a pure way--in an honest way; it does seem that, when i am present, i have richer encounters--but maybe i've made that up.
i started to really think about presence in mongolia last summer. i think that doing something humanitarian forces awareness. of course, being in a foreign country, one is going to be more aware naturally because there are a lot of unfamiliar variables. but, also, standing with those mongolian children, looking at their faces as house after house went up, seeing the promise of a new life in their smile--you can't trade those things. for those things you want to be fully there. you want to be there when a five year old boy puts a green lizard beenie baby on his head and starts painting the stucco a pale shade of cornflower blue; you want to be there when one of the surly mongolian workers lays his head on the rounded belly of his pregnant wife; you want to be there when everyone is laughing as you try to pull your leg out of the hole in the roof without losing the 2x4 you're carrying...
so why do i recently feel myself pulling away? why do i get the sense that i'm only half doing things? am i trying to avoid disappointment or pain--or am i being cowardly? because, see, the thing is: at least by pulling away, i have an excuse for things f-ing up. you know? it's my fault. i can definitively say that it's my fault. i can be the bad guy. i can be the person who threw it all away. and there is comfort in that. it's ridiculous, sure, but it's comforting.
so, what does it take to be present? what do i need to do? what should i change?
i need answers to those questions. i need to figure out what has changed. i need to figure out how i've changed. because i don't feel like the person that i used to be.
i need someone to remind me of the person i used to be.
i started to really think about presence in mongolia last summer. i think that doing something humanitarian forces awareness. of course, being in a foreign country, one is going to be more aware naturally because there are a lot of unfamiliar variables. but, also, standing with those mongolian children, looking at their faces as house after house went up, seeing the promise of a new life in their smile--you can't trade those things. for those things you want to be fully there. you want to be there when a five year old boy puts a green lizard beenie baby on his head and starts painting the stucco a pale shade of cornflower blue; you want to be there when one of the surly mongolian workers lays his head on the rounded belly of his pregnant wife; you want to be there when everyone is laughing as you try to pull your leg out of the hole in the roof without losing the 2x4 you're carrying...
so why do i recently feel myself pulling away? why do i get the sense that i'm only half doing things? am i trying to avoid disappointment or pain--or am i being cowardly? because, see, the thing is: at least by pulling away, i have an excuse for things f-ing up. you know? it's my fault. i can definitively say that it's my fault. i can be the bad guy. i can be the person who threw it all away. and there is comfort in that. it's ridiculous, sure, but it's comforting.
so, what does it take to be present? what do i need to do? what should i change?
i need answers to those questions. i need to figure out what has changed. i need to figure out how i've changed. because i don't feel like the person that i used to be.
i need someone to remind me of the person i used to be.
29.5.06
old habits
Tonight, after a Memorial Day weekend unlike most, I find myself succumbing to old habits--laying on my bed, listening at once to the chirping of crickets and the tender trumpet melody of I REMEMEMBER CLIFFORD, smelling the heavenly smoken ash of early summer fires... Yes, I am returning to old haunts--those deliciously precious stolen moments of utter solitude. I haven't taken one of these moments in months, it seems, and yet I have much upon which to reflect.
This is what I miss about Manhattan--living a life of proximity which allowed for breathing room. One can always find moments of reflection--strolling through a museum's fine collection or drinking a cup of coffee at a favorite rendez-vous. But solitary moments are rare in rural areas--people travel in groups; it is considered strange to be alone too often.
It's this constant companionship that I find stifling. I seem to thrive in solitude--was it always thus? Or maybe it's that, after a weekend of great company, I can more fully appreciate these moments of quiet repose.
What do you think? Do you find yourself drawn to stolen moments? Are you living your life in a land of companionship, a string of tete-a-tetes and group activities?
I also find myself thinking about Paris... It's hard to believe that it's been, oh, nine years since living there and I haven't been back. I've been to Italy & Germany & Austria & Korea & China & Mongolia--but no Paris. That dream of moving there--of trying to make a go of that European lifestyle seems so long ago, and yet it is so appealing; the wanting of it is acute.
But I can't really make any decisions because I'm still waiting to hear from Peabody. And if I get in there, I'm thinking about bending my study towards historical musicology and research; in that case, I'd think about going to Oxford to continue that course of study. And I do love London dearly. I don't know. I guess I have to decide how courageous I'm going to be.
These thoughts are strange after receiving tenure at my school district, but I fell confined by this life. It's a horrible feeling at 24. I'd rather be almost anything--poor, crazy, lost--than confined; I need to feel free.
And despite the wonderful security of tenure, of knowing that I have a career (a job, come what may), I find myself bending my thoughts (more now than ever) to the next adventure--the next new thing. I never considered myself restless; it seems, however, that I am a wanderer.
I wonder, too, how much of this is precipitated by an eagerness for the conclusion of this school year.
I feel burned out.
I was drinking a glass of wine with a friend from childhood on Saturday whose life is one exciting thing after another--yes, she's had her fair share of tragedy and pain, but ultimately she's got 20 positive paths in every direction. No matter where she steps, she'll come out well. There are catalysts for positive change on each of these roads. I worry sometimes that I AM the catalyst--that I induce change in others while I am unable to change myself.
Oh well. There's not much to do about it either way, is there? And life is, generally, good. So I'll keep working hard and eventually something will happen. It has to. I am an optimist, fundamentally.
This is what I miss about Manhattan--living a life of proximity which allowed for breathing room. One can always find moments of reflection--strolling through a museum's fine collection or drinking a cup of coffee at a favorite rendez-vous. But solitary moments are rare in rural areas--people travel in groups; it is considered strange to be alone too often.
It's this constant companionship that I find stifling. I seem to thrive in solitude--was it always thus? Or maybe it's that, after a weekend of great company, I can more fully appreciate these moments of quiet repose.
What do you think? Do you find yourself drawn to stolen moments? Are you living your life in a land of companionship, a string of tete-a-tetes and group activities?
I also find myself thinking about Paris... It's hard to believe that it's been, oh, nine years since living there and I haven't been back. I've been to Italy & Germany & Austria & Korea & China & Mongolia--but no Paris. That dream of moving there--of trying to make a go of that European lifestyle seems so long ago, and yet it is so appealing; the wanting of it is acute.
But I can't really make any decisions because I'm still waiting to hear from Peabody. And if I get in there, I'm thinking about bending my study towards historical musicology and research; in that case, I'd think about going to Oxford to continue that course of study. And I do love London dearly. I don't know. I guess I have to decide how courageous I'm going to be.
These thoughts are strange after receiving tenure at my school district, but I fell confined by this life. It's a horrible feeling at 24. I'd rather be almost anything--poor, crazy, lost--than confined; I need to feel free.
And despite the wonderful security of tenure, of knowing that I have a career (a job, come what may), I find myself bending my thoughts (more now than ever) to the next adventure--the next new thing. I never considered myself restless; it seems, however, that I am a wanderer.
I wonder, too, how much of this is precipitated by an eagerness for the conclusion of this school year.
I feel burned out.
I was drinking a glass of wine with a friend from childhood on Saturday whose life is one exciting thing after another--yes, she's had her fair share of tragedy and pain, but ultimately she's got 20 positive paths in every direction. No matter where she steps, she'll come out well. There are catalysts for positive change on each of these roads. I worry sometimes that I AM the catalyst--that I induce change in others while I am unable to change myself.
Oh well. There's not much to do about it either way, is there? And life is, generally, good. So I'll keep working hard and eventually something will happen. It has to. I am an optimist, fundamentally.
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