Vertigo
Last week, I went to a talk given by my favorite professor; an old and frail man yet who somehow still retains a childlike innocence. He reminded us at the end of the talk that if there's one thing he's learned throughout his life, it's that we should do what we want to do now before it's too late. Just looking at his earnest grin, his enthusiastic manner, I realized he was a living breathing testament to that.
Lately I've been feeling dizzy. Maybe it's the strange amount of rain and humidity that's been making me feel perpetually lightheaded; I don't know. Everywhere I walk it feels like my head is detached from my body, and my eyes from my head, and my vision from my eyes and I go through the motions of everyday life but it's not me. Hearing my professor's words overwhelmed me with a sudden rush of anxiety equivalent to that of a night before an exam; except this time, it didn't end when I left the testing hall.
Whether the dizziness means anything (in the Weberian sense of the word) is irrelevant. Vertigo gives your sensory experience an element of absurdist surreality that not even having your laundry thrown out and shat on can achieve. And that brings to light the fact that I live constantly attempting to infuse my meaningless life with meaning one way or another.
When I’m on my way to class and I start feeling lightheaded, I sometimes catch myself wondering if my life is a dream and if anything in my head is real: the crisp air up in the mountains at McDonald Observatory, the childhood spent in the rural countryside tinkering with Legos building them high towards the ceiling, the splashes of lilac, ruby and goldenrod in the garden just beside my home, the suffering of others that constantly surrounds me, the sound of bells coming from the church just down the street...the memories and perceived matters whose reality I question and simultaneously cling to.
My biggest fear is that I’ll wake up someday and realize that it’s all been a dream.
Lately I've been feeling dizzy. Maybe it's the strange amount of rain and humidity that's been making me feel perpetually lightheaded; I don't know. Everywhere I walk it feels like my head is detached from my body, and my eyes from my head, and my vision from my eyes and I go through the motions of everyday life but it's not me. Hearing my professor's words overwhelmed me with a sudden rush of anxiety equivalent to that of a night before an exam; except this time, it didn't end when I left the testing hall.
Whether the dizziness means anything (in the Weberian sense of the word) is irrelevant. Vertigo gives your sensory experience an element of absurdist surreality that not even having your laundry thrown out and shat on can achieve. And that brings to light the fact that I live constantly attempting to infuse my meaningless life with meaning one way or another.
When I’m on my way to class and I start feeling lightheaded, I sometimes catch myself wondering if my life is a dream and if anything in my head is real: the crisp air up in the mountains at McDonald Observatory, the childhood spent in the rural countryside tinkering with Legos building them high towards the ceiling, the splashes of lilac, ruby and goldenrod in the garden just beside my home, the suffering of others that constantly surrounds me, the sound of bells coming from the church just down the street...the memories and perceived matters whose reality I question and simultaneously cling to.
My biggest fear is that I’ll wake up someday and realize that it’s all been a dream.