A Swim in One's Psyche
I'm facing the fact that I'm not sure what I want out of life. Happiness, yes, but of what kind? Material success? I've been doing fairly well without that. Intellectual stimulation? It would help greatly to keep me interested in the world, but keep it moderate. Comfort? I guess that's necessary for anyone. A decent living is necessary too.
Something about the silence and the darkness just makes me want to explain myself, talk to the air. I know that people are not drawn to me, because I keep finding it hard to care about things. An iron maiden, made of stone. So to speak. Heh. Poor Jere. Whatever he sees in me, I certainly don't see it in myself, for all my arrogance. But he - he's the innocence I lack, the person who perpetually has faith in people no matter what happens that I completely lack. He makes me articulate my anger. Makes me learn to forgive. I wouldn't go so far as to say he completes me, but I'm very happy with him, and I think I love him. That's all. Nothing epic. Nothing noble.
Nothing worth telling a story about. Well, maybe except for the part where we met in the Gorman laundry room, where he broke the washing machine. The strangest and, in my life so far anyway, funniest entrance into someone else's existence ever.
So it bothers me that my father doesn't like him at the moment all that much. My parents have these expectations of the guy I'm supposed to date, the person I'm supposed to marry that they hand their daughter off to. I don't know what to do, but I tell Jere to talk to my dad more, so that he can see that Jere is not only harmless, but rather helpful. But this is contradictory, because when asked to live with Jere again after his graduation, I didn't feel ready. I seem to idle between the girls who pick one guy and are set for life, and those who drift around forever. I've done my share of drifting, but I'm not sure I'm completely ready to settle down.
Then there's just building my skill set in general. I love writing, that's why I picked English... But people tell me there's some truth to the starving artist myth, and I don't really want to try being homeless. It'd be great if I can somehow combine photography, technical writing and comics into a profession. But this summer I'm going to write manuals about software. Certainly a career for some people. I'm not sure I belong in an office, but that seems to be all I've ever done, it fills up my resume so much. Does that mean I'm somehow manufactured to be in a cubicle? What a scary thought...
The information technology minor is to keep me from starving. And it's already started to be effective, it seems. But it doesn't keep me out of cubicles. I fear being one of those people who get locked into a job or jobs that they are very dissatisfied doing, and then being miserable that way. I fear repeating my parents' marriage and romantic mistakes. I fear that goodness in the world doesn't exist, but I have no right to say that, because of another story: put briefly, I stupidly chose to hitch hike once, and an old lady picked me up instead of some creepy man who might rape me. She took me to my destination and only asked for a smile. How can I say humanity is bad after that? When I could have dehydrated and starved and died next to a highway, but some kind old lady picked me up.
Maybe I'm a bad person that I don't see very much good in most people, because I don't look hard enough or something. Or try hard enough to be religious or have a conscience without religion. But I also believe that being good is a luxury.
Hungry people must steal. Hungry animals must kill. For survival, sometimes people must kill. Then again, one can also argue that humans are just advanced animals, that killing is instinct. You know, every form of government that humans have tried for themselves have had the initial purpose of trying to make people's lives better. My parents are communists, and they tried to have everyone work equally and get equal amounts of food. It didn't work because people are cynical. It's funny, because if everyone were like Jere, then communism would have worked. But if politics are supposed to better people's lives in some way, then why does it cause so much anger, and so much confusion? Why aren't disagreements about the correct way to do something more easily resolved?
Who knows. I'm just a kid, like the millions of other people who have a lot more questions than answers. Some people turn to God. I look at the sky and marvel at its timelessness, endlessness, but I don't know who to turn to. I don't know who tells the truth, or which version of the truth is the most useful. Those who say it is overrated are probably seeing the truths that don't help with anything. All the cynics. Myself included, maybe?
I look at the population of Umass, and see people building foundations for their lives. I see people that I've never gotten close to. I've been trying to figure out why I talk to the people I talk to, and the way I unconsciously choose people. Everyone does that, you know? So far, I've seen that my closest friends are all very isolated people, and I'm not sure what to make of that. But my friends don't define who I am, they just tell me about a certain aspect. I met most of these people in high school, a fairly hostile, competitive environment. The teenage equivalent of a corporate war zone. They are strange relationships. We certainly don't need each other, no. We barely see each other once in several months. But we all seem to have fairly extreme personality traits. I have made new friends, but I wonder. Once I care about a person, I will always care, as in, for the rest of my life. But it's so hard to get me to start caring. How did I become this way?
Memory doesn't serve. Not this time. The logical answer is to prevent myself from getting hurt, of course. I don't really think that is all. But I can't answer that right now.
People become stronger, because they want others to rely on them, and so become a useful part of society that way. People can rely on me. They have. But most never come close enough to see that. It's like I hide it or something. Shirking responsibility? My interactions seem so eclectic, so random, so lacking in depth except for a handful of people. And then there's this thing where I feel completely uncomfortable relying on others, unless I've known them for years.
I keep wanting to know: aside from approval from others, and an emotional support network for a person, why else is it good for a person to fit in? It seems to be a quest in every coming of age story. And as for the people who have gotten too used to solitude, what are their roles in society? The people on the fringes must play a role somehow too, because they're always there. Sometimes, they become the villains. But... just as in I don't believe in God or an absolute good, I cannot believe in an absolute evil. Solitude leaves room for introspection, unless it becomes a parasite: loneliness.
So many questions. So little time. Perhaps there is something to being a philosophy major. But I never want to run around in mental circles. And I also do not want to starve, in the short run or the long run. It's the DC food you know, makes me lose my appetite. I've lost at least ten pounds. Turning that around, and getting enough hydration, will be the first steps in figuring everything out. If I get at least half the answers before I die, say, at age eighty, I would have lived a good life.