Team FYC
So I’ve been thinking a lot. A lot about the death of Pat, a lot about the passage of time, about how many of my friends and acquaintances delight in pointing out how old we are getting, about how I haven’t been walking down a path toward a goal, and about how I am overwrought with thinking and talking.
Whenever there is a news story, an earthquake, a tsunami, a war… it is generally followed by someone making the comment that “the world is getting worse.” I immediately roll my eyes, think about things like The Bay of Pigs, or World War I, or The Crusades, and all those other catastrophic events in history the all point toward the idea that humans are selfish and idiotic as much as they are brilliant and amazing. The world isn’t getting worse. The ease in which we can gather and present information is getting better… certainly more efficient, and sometimes the technology advancements scare me so that I wonder if Wall-E won’t prove to be predictive long after I’m gone.
So I also think that my instinct to grow nostalgic and marvel over how much better it was however many years ago- when I was in college, when I was in high school, when I was 12- is just the result of in inability to think proactively about the realities I’m facing. Those times were filled with a different kind of strife, one that I didn’t have to be as responsible about. Nick could break my heart over and over, but at least I didn’t have to pay bills. I could get made fun of in class for the way I pronounced the word “nine” but I could come home to a bedroom full of sunshine and an afternoon to spend in the world of Polly Pockets. What’s frustrating is that if I had that same bedroom and those same Polly Pockets and an entire afternoon, it would not mean as much to me as it did then. If Nick tried to pull what he did then to me now, it wouldn’t feel romantic. It would feel like a waste of time. And that’s the thing we all forget. Memories are contextual. Ten years from now I’ll revel in what I did now, I’m sure, and wonder why I didn’t appreciate it. Listen, people can tell you to appreciate every day before it’s gone and you know what? You won’t. Because it’s hard to appreciate what you don’t know you’ll miss, when you don’t have the understanding of a new context to create hindsight.
In the end, I don’t think life is getting worse. I think it’s getting more complicated. 18 was more complicated than 12. 12 was more complicated than 9. And I suspect it gets more complicated for everyone. It doesn’t help that I don’t believe in fresh starts. Your life is the one you have had since the day you were born. How can it be new? The faces change. The places change. But you are you. You can mold a different story. But not a new one.
I do believe there comes a point when you can talk too much and you can think too much and you can focus too damn much.
I read this stupid LJ and realize that every entry is an emotionally plagued diatribe about some existential bullshit, about hoping one day life will suddenly make sense. I’m annoyed with myself. I’m annoyed with the constant diatribes of this same thing by my peers.
So here is what I don’t want to talk about anymore:
1. Weight
2. Age
3. “Finding myself”
4. How the 20’s are difficult
I worry about all these things, yeah. And sometimes I think I worry about them just because everyone else is and it’s all we talk about. It all spirals into a reality that I’m not convinced should be relevant. I’m not avoiding these issues. I just don’t want to keep making them the constant theme of what is, I’m learning, a very swift life. I don’t want to give up, throw in the towel, and I’m not naïve enough to believe that simply because I say “I’m not talking about it anymore” I will instantly keep my mouth shut. I’m not saying never. I’m just saying not today.
Whenever there is a news story, an earthquake, a tsunami, a war… it is generally followed by someone making the comment that “the world is getting worse.” I immediately roll my eyes, think about things like The Bay of Pigs, or World War I, or The Crusades, and all those other catastrophic events in history the all point toward the idea that humans are selfish and idiotic as much as they are brilliant and amazing. The world isn’t getting worse. The ease in which we can gather and present information is getting better… certainly more efficient, and sometimes the technology advancements scare me so that I wonder if Wall-E won’t prove to be predictive long after I’m gone.
So I also think that my instinct to grow nostalgic and marvel over how much better it was however many years ago- when I was in college, when I was in high school, when I was 12- is just the result of in inability to think proactively about the realities I’m facing. Those times were filled with a different kind of strife, one that I didn’t have to be as responsible about. Nick could break my heart over and over, but at least I didn’t have to pay bills. I could get made fun of in class for the way I pronounced the word “nine” but I could come home to a bedroom full of sunshine and an afternoon to spend in the world of Polly Pockets. What’s frustrating is that if I had that same bedroom and those same Polly Pockets and an entire afternoon, it would not mean as much to me as it did then. If Nick tried to pull what he did then to me now, it wouldn’t feel romantic. It would feel like a waste of time. And that’s the thing we all forget. Memories are contextual. Ten years from now I’ll revel in what I did now, I’m sure, and wonder why I didn’t appreciate it. Listen, people can tell you to appreciate every day before it’s gone and you know what? You won’t. Because it’s hard to appreciate what you don’t know you’ll miss, when you don’t have the understanding of a new context to create hindsight.
In the end, I don’t think life is getting worse. I think it’s getting more complicated. 18 was more complicated than 12. 12 was more complicated than 9. And I suspect it gets more complicated for everyone. It doesn’t help that I don’t believe in fresh starts. Your life is the one you have had since the day you were born. How can it be new? The faces change. The places change. But you are you. You can mold a different story. But not a new one.
I do believe there comes a point when you can talk too much and you can think too much and you can focus too damn much.
I read this stupid LJ and realize that every entry is an emotionally plagued diatribe about some existential bullshit, about hoping one day life will suddenly make sense. I’m annoyed with myself. I’m annoyed with the constant diatribes of this same thing by my peers.
So here is what I don’t want to talk about anymore:
1. Weight
2. Age
3. “Finding myself”
4. How the 20’s are difficult
I worry about all these things, yeah. And sometimes I think I worry about them just because everyone else is and it’s all we talk about. It all spirals into a reality that I’m not convinced should be relevant. I’m not avoiding these issues. I just don’t want to keep making them the constant theme of what is, I’m learning, a very swift life. I don’t want to give up, throw in the towel, and I’m not naïve enough to believe that simply because I say “I’m not talking about it anymore” I will instantly keep my mouth shut. I’m not saying never. I’m just saying not today.