Sword of Orion
Lest those of you who know the Sports Night reference in the title, worry not, no one's had a 27 year affair with anyone. That I know of.
No, but I'll get to why I feel it's an apt metaphor later.
For now, I guess it's time to write. I used to do it much more, here and in private, yet within the last year, it seems that no matter how high the highs or low the lows, I haven't had the zeal that I used to for the short compositions that I used to so often partake.
Today, however, I feel so damn introspective, I could burst. So I will. On paper. Or on the screen.
Today in "Navigating Relationships," we watched a film called "The Color of Fear," where a bunch of men sat in a room and talked about racism and differences and prejudices. And for some reason, the truth of the matter hit me really hard. I don't know how to stop racism. I know I am racist. And I don't like this idea that open-minded, equality-for-all me can hold so many judgments for those I don't know. I don't want to pass this to my children. I don't even want them to see it, though I realize that it's inevitable. It was such a hard blow to take, this creeping realization that I make so many judgments based on one's color, without realizing it. That there is truth in "the sins of the father." This is in my past, my culture, my country, and I, as one woman, can't undo it all. But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't try.
So... I told you I was introspective today...Maybe I'm just feeling small in the world that surrounds me.
I think every day gets better. The cool part about this is that yesterday, and the day before...pretty fucking great. There have been many times in my life that I wouldn't have believed that I could ever be as happy as I am, with my life, my future, and my boyfriend. I feel like I have every thing that I could ever want, and best of all, one of those things is a sense to not rush it or to fight it, to just let life happen. I am not terrified of failure. Rather, I feel, I am aware of its possibility. Furthermore, I am aware that there are things that I can (and cannot) do to thwart it. And I would like to say that I have earned this truly fantastic life of mine, but truth be told, I think I just got really lucky. It's like winning the lottery at 18. All of this was handed to me. I'm not going to give it up.
I could have worked harder though. I've been cleaning my room tonight, and because (like I said) I have the most amazing boyfriend in all of the land, all I have to do is organize my junk, as he cleaned my room for me this weekend. So I'm going through my paperwork, filing things away, and I come upon this big chunk of school work. And it's all from Spanish. And I just sift through all of the Ds and Fs, failed tests, papers now illegible from the massive corrections on them, things that I should have learned. And I just look through it all. I don't have an explanation as to why I so miserably and fantastically failed Spanish. I would like to say it's there fault. Or it's my fault. The truth is, no explanation feels like the truth. I don't know why I couldn't do it, except to say it's likely a combination of the way the department made me feel, the way I let the department make me feel, and the fact that I never worked hard enough. Never worked hard enough to prove them wrong. To exceed there expectations. To make them shut up. To learn the fundamental building blocks of grammar. To finish my homework.
This feeling of failure so intense is something much more reminiscent of my days before high school. Where all I had were good intentions of getting it right the next time, without ever taking away the learning or discipline tools to get the job done.
Here's a secret, I suppose. It's not something I'm really happy about, so if you could keep it on the DL, I would appreciate it. I didn't quit the program. I was told, that if I wished to graduate this May, I simply could not be a part of it. I didn't maintain the necessary GPA to graduate with a double major.
Spanish has done very little to me in the last four years except lower my over all GPA, make me miserable and frustrated, and on more than a few occasions, made me cry. I should have worked harder but I don't think that even now I would know how to do that.
And it's a shame, too. Because I really do like it so much. I'm caught, still in this kind of confusing paradox of loving it and hating it, all at the same time. The literature, the art, the history excites me, even the idea of being able to communicate with so many more people in the world than most makes me look forward to when I can do that. Yet, here I am.
Ten years ago, a 68 ft. Merit Class yacht called The Sword of Orion, which was favored to win, went massively and inexplicably off course and into the path of winds gusting up to 90 miles per hour with 30 foot seas. The
tactician, who was the son of the boat's owner, was thrown overboard and drowned. The rest of the crew was
saved four days later.....
It's worth it, I think, to figure out
exactly how...this boat...that was
supposed to win...met with this kind
of disaster.
---Jeremy, Sports Night
No, but I'll get to why I feel it's an apt metaphor later.
For now, I guess it's time to write. I used to do it much more, here and in private, yet within the last year, it seems that no matter how high the highs or low the lows, I haven't had the zeal that I used to for the short compositions that I used to so often partake.
Today, however, I feel so damn introspective, I could burst. So I will. On paper. Or on the screen.
Today in "Navigating Relationships," we watched a film called "The Color of Fear," where a bunch of men sat in a room and talked about racism and differences and prejudices. And for some reason, the truth of the matter hit me really hard. I don't know how to stop racism. I know I am racist. And I don't like this idea that open-minded, equality-for-all me can hold so many judgments for those I don't know. I don't want to pass this to my children. I don't even want them to see it, though I realize that it's inevitable. It was such a hard blow to take, this creeping realization that I make so many judgments based on one's color, without realizing it. That there is truth in "the sins of the father." This is in my past, my culture, my country, and I, as one woman, can't undo it all. But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't try.
So... I told you I was introspective today...Maybe I'm just feeling small in the world that surrounds me.
I think every day gets better. The cool part about this is that yesterday, and the day before...pretty fucking great. There have been many times in my life that I wouldn't have believed that I could ever be as happy as I am, with my life, my future, and my boyfriend. I feel like I have every thing that I could ever want, and best of all, one of those things is a sense to not rush it or to fight it, to just let life happen. I am not terrified of failure. Rather, I feel, I am aware of its possibility. Furthermore, I am aware that there are things that I can (and cannot) do to thwart it. And I would like to say that I have earned this truly fantastic life of mine, but truth be told, I think I just got really lucky. It's like winning the lottery at 18. All of this was handed to me. I'm not going to give it up.
I could have worked harder though. I've been cleaning my room tonight, and because (like I said) I have the most amazing boyfriend in all of the land, all I have to do is organize my junk, as he cleaned my room for me this weekend. So I'm going through my paperwork, filing things away, and I come upon this big chunk of school work. And it's all from Spanish. And I just sift through all of the Ds and Fs, failed tests, papers now illegible from the massive corrections on them, things that I should have learned. And I just look through it all. I don't have an explanation as to why I so miserably and fantastically failed Spanish. I would like to say it's there fault. Or it's my fault. The truth is, no explanation feels like the truth. I don't know why I couldn't do it, except to say it's likely a combination of the way the department made me feel, the way I let the department make me feel, and the fact that I never worked hard enough. Never worked hard enough to prove them wrong. To exceed there expectations. To make them shut up. To learn the fundamental building blocks of grammar. To finish my homework.
This feeling of failure so intense is something much more reminiscent of my days before high school. Where all I had were good intentions of getting it right the next time, without ever taking away the learning or discipline tools to get the job done.
Here's a secret, I suppose. It's not something I'm really happy about, so if you could keep it on the DL, I would appreciate it. I didn't quit the program. I was told, that if I wished to graduate this May, I simply could not be a part of it. I didn't maintain the necessary GPA to graduate with a double major.
Spanish has done very little to me in the last four years except lower my over all GPA, make me miserable and frustrated, and on more than a few occasions, made me cry. I should have worked harder but I don't think that even now I would know how to do that.
And it's a shame, too. Because I really do like it so much. I'm caught, still in this kind of confusing paradox of loving it and hating it, all at the same time. The literature, the art, the history excites me, even the idea of being able to communicate with so many more people in the world than most makes me look forward to when I can do that. Yet, here I am.
Ten years ago, a 68 ft. Merit Class yacht called The Sword of Orion, which was favored to win, went massively and inexplicably off course and into the path of winds gusting up to 90 miles per hour with 30 foot seas. The
tactician, who was the son of the boat's owner, was thrown overboard and drowned. The rest of the crew was
saved four days later.....
It's worth it, I think, to figure out
exactly how...this boat...that was
supposed to win...met with this kind
of disaster.
---Jeremy, Sports Night