(no subject)
Professor Frankel tells me that I should write about things that embarass me because that's where the heat is. I guess that means I should talk more about my naivete, sex, relationships in general, and public speaking. I realize that throughout the course of my journal-taking, I have not discussed many of the things that have truly and deeply affect my life. I've often been too afraid of my own judgments let alone judgments that others may make. I don't know why I should be afraid of knowing the real me. How else will I mold myself into the person I want to be?
He also tells me to focus on my academics, to keep writing at least 20 minutes a day, and to show my work to someone who is gentle with criticism but excellent and trustworthy. I hope that I don't expect too much from myself. I truly don't expect to write anything worth reading until I am about 35. I will really need a strong foundation of memories and experiences before I can truly relate to much of the literary audience. And even then, I should only hope and be terribly grateful if someone publishes a portion of anything I say or write. Sometimes, I feel so anxious to start my life and begin new experiences that challenge my comfortable daily existence that I cannot help but wonder why I am here. I still cannot help attributing these seemingly mundane tasks of reading a chapter of a book I don't find engaging for a class that I may never remember to the fact that I am in my comfort place--a culture and environment that I grew up in. I want to surprise myself. I want to be surprised by simply walking around the city.
Sometimes, I forget that there are still so many layers of people, places, and myself to explore, and I don't necessarily even have to leave my room. I forget how significantly my impression of the world can affect the reaction fo the world. If I can just show a little more appreciation for the beauties and opportunities of every day, I'm sure I would find surprises around every turn of phrase, face, or corner.
I don't think I will ever be the one that knows me best. I will always be too biased by my need for self-esteem and basic survival psychology. Perhaps if I were clinically depressed, I may begin to paint a somewhat accurate picture of myself. But since I don't plan to become depressed or accurate, I cannot thank my friends and family enough. They keep us from identity confusion and insanity (counterintuitive isn't it?). How else would we know who we are or are becoming?
He also tells me to focus on my academics, to keep writing at least 20 minutes a day, and to show my work to someone who is gentle with criticism but excellent and trustworthy. I hope that I don't expect too much from myself. I truly don't expect to write anything worth reading until I am about 35. I will really need a strong foundation of memories and experiences before I can truly relate to much of the literary audience. And even then, I should only hope and be terribly grateful if someone publishes a portion of anything I say or write. Sometimes, I feel so anxious to start my life and begin new experiences that challenge my comfortable daily existence that I cannot help but wonder why I am here. I still cannot help attributing these seemingly mundane tasks of reading a chapter of a book I don't find engaging for a class that I may never remember to the fact that I am in my comfort place--a culture and environment that I grew up in. I want to surprise myself. I want to be surprised by simply walking around the city.
Sometimes, I forget that there are still so many layers of people, places, and myself to explore, and I don't necessarily even have to leave my room. I forget how significantly my impression of the world can affect the reaction fo the world. If I can just show a little more appreciation for the beauties and opportunities of every day, I'm sure I would find surprises around every turn of phrase, face, or corner.
I don't think I will ever be the one that knows me best. I will always be too biased by my need for self-esteem and basic survival psychology. Perhaps if I were clinically depressed, I may begin to paint a somewhat accurate picture of myself. But since I don't plan to become depressed or accurate, I cannot thank my friends and family enough. They keep us from identity confusion and insanity (counterintuitive isn't it?). How else would we know who we are or are becoming?