And when you're talking to yourself, you control the conversation
The older I get, I can only seem to move progressively away from who I am. Nothing makes this clearer than the, albeit brief, reflection that I am granted on my bus ride home from school almost every day. I've ridden the same route and sat in, relatively, the same seat for going on 10 years, with some eras like sports seasons excluded. For this hour, I've always listened to music and watch the scenery pass by. As I sit today, listening to an album that largely got me through a then-inexplicable "seasonal" depression 2 years ago, I can't help but wonder how it is it doesn't hit me the same.
I'll clarify: I'm by no means a happier person, quite possibly for the same reasons I was so down and out not so long ago. All of the other variables are constant. The only differences? I've dyed my hair. I play with my hands now when I'm nervous. I over-analyze my interactions with people. I sleep less and am tired more. My clothes fit differently, and maybe not in a good way.
This music is beautiful, just as it always was. What the hell happened to me?
I'll clarify: I'm by no means a happier person, quite possibly for the same reasons I was so down and out not so long ago. All of the other variables are constant. The only differences? I've dyed my hair. I play with my hands now when I'm nervous. I over-analyze my interactions with people. I sleep less and am tired more. My clothes fit differently, and maybe not in a good way.
This music is beautiful, just as it always was. What the hell happened to me?