really tired.
So many times this year I have felt, more than ever, that there are not that many people like me. And I don't mean this in the ego-maniac, I'm friggin' unique and special way, but in the sense that as time goes on, I find that there are only a small, very small, handful of people that I genuinely relate to, and that the people that I once thought that I could relate to, I, in actuality, have very little in common with. I don't know why that is. Why are you considered uninteresting if you are not demanding to be the center of attention? Why is wanting to be considerate an invitation for some to throw their weight around? And when did not being competitive make one weak? Is it not possible to be ambitious without being competitive? Since when did a victory for me mean a loss for someone else? I don't understand why some feel that in order for them to win, others have to lose.
Can't we all be winners? (I will someday start my own line of motivational stickers, and you are all privy to the very first one) (be excited)
I get to know people best through (and enjoy more than anything) good conversation. I feel as though many of my sorority sisters don't know me as well as they could. Some of that is my fault (having achieved new levels of reclusiveness this year), but really sitting down in just another's company is not something that is typically encouraged, and I don't really feel that I bond with people over drinking games. Or gossip. When did looking inward become so scary that we'll focus on just about anything else to avoid doing so? We humans have a tough time with stillness. If it gets too quiet, we turn on some music. If we try to sit still, we're fidgety in moments. If we've been alone for an extended period of time, we feel anxiety from the desire to talk to someone else. Silence is scary, because sometimes we equate it with loneliness. I think that that can be the only explanation for shows such as The Hills. You watch the mindlessness for about 30 minutes or so, and at the end of it, you think "well, I don't exactly know what I am, but at least I'm not THAT" and our dismissal of our own silence feels justified.
I started crying the other day because it occurred to me that my biggest fear would be if I died alone in my house, and nobody realized it had happened until a few days later. (sorry to be a downer, but it's 2:35 in the a.m.)
Hope my musings have been of some help to those of you who may be having a pensive moment.
~peace
Can't we all be winners? (I will someday start my own line of motivational stickers, and you are all privy to the very first one) (be excited)
I get to know people best through (and enjoy more than anything) good conversation. I feel as though many of my sorority sisters don't know me as well as they could. Some of that is my fault (having achieved new levels of reclusiveness this year), but really sitting down in just another's company is not something that is typically encouraged, and I don't really feel that I bond with people over drinking games. Or gossip. When did looking inward become so scary that we'll focus on just about anything else to avoid doing so? We humans have a tough time with stillness. If it gets too quiet, we turn on some music. If we try to sit still, we're fidgety in moments. If we've been alone for an extended period of time, we feel anxiety from the desire to talk to someone else. Silence is scary, because sometimes we equate it with loneliness. I think that that can be the only explanation for shows such as The Hills. You watch the mindlessness for about 30 minutes or so, and at the end of it, you think "well, I don't exactly know what I am, but at least I'm not THAT" and our dismissal of our own silence feels justified.
I started crying the other day because it occurred to me that my biggest fear would be if I died alone in my house, and nobody realized it had happened until a few days later. (sorry to be a downer, but it's 2:35 in the a.m.)
Hope my musings have been of some help to those of you who may be having a pensive moment.
~peace