(no subject)
I remember when my life was one of 'quiet desperation'. Maybe the desperation wasn't so quiet. So many times, it was as if I was staying afloat by the tiniest of margins, barely hanging on, barely finding the desire to continue. The internal chaos threatened to consume me so, so many times. And there were so many times I wanted to let it. I would sit in a bathtub of cooling water, staring at the ceiling while a bottle of alcohol dangled in my fingers, debating myself.
I never was the kind of child who spun sugar castles of future ambition. It was enough for me to pursue the things that interested me in those moments. I think I simply wanted to be left alone to indulge my interests. I just never had that one overarching passion that turned everything else to shades of grey to become my driving force.
Maybe I was too curious.
I watch coworkers drift along, existing through our five days together, dutifully executing steps that are expected. Every now and then there is even a glimmer of critical thinking that comes through. Like the old teach-yourself-to-dance methods, we all trace the patterns laid out on the floor for us to follow. These people go home to empty lives of bars, or television, or excursions to restaurants. It seems the only hobby is whiling away the weekend hours until Monday morning rolls around again, when they stumble bleary eyed to the confines of cubicle walls, to loathe the next five days. The cycle repeats itself again and again. They hate being at work, but it's so painfully evident that this thing they do is the largest thing in their life.
That's what I was terrified of, years ago. I couldn't imagine being someone who let their life slip into obscurity and misery.
Ironic, if you know me.
For a moment, I wanted to be someone who made a difference. Occasionally, I watch a movie about inspirational teachers, and I consider that nobility of spirit. It used to affect me more deeply than it does now. Now, I am less enticed by the idea of inspiring the next generation by being that one amazing teacher. The whole system is woefully flawed and flagrantly wrong. There is no part of me that wants to be a shining beacon in an unhealthy system.
There are so many things about the average American life I reject, and I refuse to assimilate even slightly in the hopes that I can make a positive impact. Why would I lower my standards drastically in some misplaced idea that I can cause someone else to raise their standard slightly? When I observe others my age, many of whom came from privileged backgrounds that I would never understand, I feel like they are missing some essential force.
What makes a generation willingly accept what they are told? What created the anomaly that became me and (most of) my siblings? Was it the religious background, starting so early with logical foundations of this belief system that would structure our lives? Was it the homeschooling that so many are convinced is a terrible option? Was it the neo-Amish style way we lived, or the tiptoeing along the poverty line?
I can't tell.
I watch several of my siblings question the values of their respective generations. I see them think, weigh, and reject. In our own ways, most of us choose to be removed from the expectations of living in this time. These are not easy ways to live. I do believe that the homeschooling is responsible for most of us developing the strength to follow our convictions, popular opinion be damned. We willingly remove ourselves. In my case, we dream of removing ourselves even further than we are now.
I don't care to concern myself with making an impact on the lives of others. Is this selfish or shallow? I can hardly judge. Those who have influenced me the most are similar to that - they have not designed their life for maximum impact on others. They concern themselves with living in a manner that illustrates their convictions - with courage, grace, and strength. If I influence someone else because I have the courage to live what I claim to think or believe, so be it. I can only strive to be the kind of person that lives in such a manner others would be inspired.
Oddly enough, I am more happy and fulfilled now, even with that way of thinking. The barely contained chaos that would rattle the walls of my psyche is silent these days. I see people who destroy themselves in quiet desperation, and I wonder why they don't go out to the woods and sit a spell. There is a clean honesty in removing all distractions and simply sitting to listen to the natural world. That's part of what calls me to the wild, untamed spaces. The winding of a river punches no timeclock, and takes no weekend calls. It simply goes, the way it is supposed to, and everything around it does the same thing.
I don't worry so much anymore about falling into the trap of a small life. Our life is simple, but so rich. Hedonistic, in the most joyful, innocent way. We don't live hemmed in by our devices, turning from one screen to the next so that we don't have to live. So much excitement comes from being alive in the way that we live it; new flavors, a perfect sunset, the comforting dreariness of a rainy autumn morning. I've come to savor so much of experiencing life in a way I never used to. I reject the burden of intellectual cynicism for the delight of seedlings pushing up through dirt, for the ache in my shoulders after kayaking down the morning stillness of a river. Even that broken hand - the pain of impact followed that most glorious sensation of being so free as you cycle down a hill.
I wonder sometimes how much G has to do with this renewed outlook of mine. Sometimes I suspect it was his unabashed joy in experiencing existence that shook me out of that intellectual cynicism. Sometimes I think I let the intellect close me into a small life, where the only way I could see to escape were those dark things that plagued me so. With him, I can absolutely be 100% of who I am; there is no part I have to tuck away because it would not be understood. I realized that this summer, as we both crouched on the ground watching for a snail to uncurl itself and move along, for no other reason than we wanted to know what it looked like when a snail moved. As I crouched that day in the damp grass, I thought of others who never would've willingly done that. A few may have done it to try to please me. Maybe one would've begrudgingly done it, vocalizing contempt until I would've hidden that part away, and let my life become smaller by one more thing. I don't think I've known anyone else that would've done it for the simple delight of seeing. I think sometimes that he allowed me to start unfolding my life back out of the smallness I had made it, so that I could become who I should've been all along.
Dreary, rainy autumn mornings....
I never was the kind of child who spun sugar castles of future ambition. It was enough for me to pursue the things that interested me in those moments. I think I simply wanted to be left alone to indulge my interests. I just never had that one overarching passion that turned everything else to shades of grey to become my driving force.
Maybe I was too curious.
I watch coworkers drift along, existing through our five days together, dutifully executing steps that are expected. Every now and then there is even a glimmer of critical thinking that comes through. Like the old teach-yourself-to-dance methods, we all trace the patterns laid out on the floor for us to follow. These people go home to empty lives of bars, or television, or excursions to restaurants. It seems the only hobby is whiling away the weekend hours until Monday morning rolls around again, when they stumble bleary eyed to the confines of cubicle walls, to loathe the next five days. The cycle repeats itself again and again. They hate being at work, but it's so painfully evident that this thing they do is the largest thing in their life.
That's what I was terrified of, years ago. I couldn't imagine being someone who let their life slip into obscurity and misery.
Ironic, if you know me.
For a moment, I wanted to be someone who made a difference. Occasionally, I watch a movie about inspirational teachers, and I consider that nobility of spirit. It used to affect me more deeply than it does now. Now, I am less enticed by the idea of inspiring the next generation by being that one amazing teacher. The whole system is woefully flawed and flagrantly wrong. There is no part of me that wants to be a shining beacon in an unhealthy system.
There are so many things about the average American life I reject, and I refuse to assimilate even slightly in the hopes that I can make a positive impact. Why would I lower my standards drastically in some misplaced idea that I can cause someone else to raise their standard slightly? When I observe others my age, many of whom came from privileged backgrounds that I would never understand, I feel like they are missing some essential force.
What makes a generation willingly accept what they are told? What created the anomaly that became me and (most of) my siblings? Was it the religious background, starting so early with logical foundations of this belief system that would structure our lives? Was it the homeschooling that so many are convinced is a terrible option? Was it the neo-Amish style way we lived, or the tiptoeing along the poverty line?
I can't tell.
I watch several of my siblings question the values of their respective generations. I see them think, weigh, and reject. In our own ways, most of us choose to be removed from the expectations of living in this time. These are not easy ways to live. I do believe that the homeschooling is responsible for most of us developing the strength to follow our convictions, popular opinion be damned. We willingly remove ourselves. In my case, we dream of removing ourselves even further than we are now.
I don't care to concern myself with making an impact on the lives of others. Is this selfish or shallow? I can hardly judge. Those who have influenced me the most are similar to that - they have not designed their life for maximum impact on others. They concern themselves with living in a manner that illustrates their convictions - with courage, grace, and strength. If I influence someone else because I have the courage to live what I claim to think or believe, so be it. I can only strive to be the kind of person that lives in such a manner others would be inspired.
Oddly enough, I am more happy and fulfilled now, even with that way of thinking. The barely contained chaos that would rattle the walls of my psyche is silent these days. I see people who destroy themselves in quiet desperation, and I wonder why they don't go out to the woods and sit a spell. There is a clean honesty in removing all distractions and simply sitting to listen to the natural world. That's part of what calls me to the wild, untamed spaces. The winding of a river punches no timeclock, and takes no weekend calls. It simply goes, the way it is supposed to, and everything around it does the same thing.
I don't worry so much anymore about falling into the trap of a small life. Our life is simple, but so rich. Hedonistic, in the most joyful, innocent way. We don't live hemmed in by our devices, turning from one screen to the next so that we don't have to live. So much excitement comes from being alive in the way that we live it; new flavors, a perfect sunset, the comforting dreariness of a rainy autumn morning. I've come to savor so much of experiencing life in a way I never used to. I reject the burden of intellectual cynicism for the delight of seedlings pushing up through dirt, for the ache in my shoulders after kayaking down the morning stillness of a river. Even that broken hand - the pain of impact followed that most glorious sensation of being so free as you cycle down a hill.
I wonder sometimes how much G has to do with this renewed outlook of mine. Sometimes I suspect it was his unabashed joy in experiencing existence that shook me out of that intellectual cynicism. Sometimes I think I let the intellect close me into a small life, where the only way I could see to escape were those dark things that plagued me so. With him, I can absolutely be 100% of who I am; there is no part I have to tuck away because it would not be understood. I realized that this summer, as we both crouched on the ground watching for a snail to uncurl itself and move along, for no other reason than we wanted to know what it looked like when a snail moved. As I crouched that day in the damp grass, I thought of others who never would've willingly done that. A few may have done it to try to please me. Maybe one would've begrudgingly done it, vocalizing contempt until I would've hidden that part away, and let my life become smaller by one more thing. I don't think I've known anyone else that would've done it for the simple delight of seeing. I think sometimes that he allowed me to start unfolding my life back out of the smallness I had made it, so that I could become who I should've been all along.
Dreary, rainy autumn mornings....