When small things get in the way of big things, and futures become slightly hazy, it makes you really think about what it is you really want in the future.
I want a library. A home library stocked with my favorite books, all of which I've completed at least once, and organized in some way that I love and is confusing to everyone else.
I want the library to be a sanctuary against all the clutter my personality won't allow me to not make. I want the walls (that aren't already lined in shelves, of course) to be covered in things I love. A wall of significant newspaper headlines, a wall of vintage propaganda posters, maybe my favorite records, and some antique typewriters that I've always been fascinated with. Frivolous things that look immature in living rooms will come together to create a space that only I'd put together.
And more than that, I want to be able to sit in that room and write things that people want to read. Maybe not a lot of people, but a few genuine ones.
I often find myself focusing on the school and career parts of my future, but there's definitely more important parts that I'll need more than anything else.
I'll need great friends that will hop into a ditch I backed into without hesitation and friends that clip perfect cartoons from newspapers and carry them around in their wallets so I can see them and friends that don't mind when my brother needs to tag along.
I'll need family that supports my frantic panicking and doesn't get mad when I call at random hours freaking out even though they're on vacation and laughs at me with more love than amusement.
These things are what make the bad parts bearable. Whether I'm teaching people who don't care at a brain dead community college or guiding vibrant and curious students at a prestigious university or writing magazine articles with topics I know nothing about or living on freelance writing and a prayer, I'll be okay.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Oct 9, 2010
Aug 5, 2010
Growing Pains
On the first day of sixth grade, I sat beside a girl in homeroom. We talked. We became friends. We talked on the phone endlessly, even though I always hated talking on the phone. We killed half the Amazon Rain Forest writing notes, including one of the true cementing factors to our friendship: The Notebook. We passed the The Notebook back and forth every day at school after writing in it each night. We made up symbols for the names we didn't want exposed in case it fell into the wrong hands, and confessed our deepest worries in that black binder.
Always a private person, I found I could open up to her, and even now seven years later, I still tell her things I can't tell anyone else. Even though we never really had the most in common, we've remained friends through it all.
I don't know what I'd do without her. But the realization came crashing down tonight--I might have to.
I know there's the internet and letters and telephones, but it's not the same. It's not the same as being able to meet up at Talquepaque for lunch and the rain that always seems to accompany these trips. How do I survive without seeing her name pop up on my messenger list every day, and the typing style I've come to know so well spill out the worries of her day?
Even though I'm 18, applying to college, and generally on the threshold of adulthood, it never really seemed that real to me until my best friend from sixth grade tells me she's contemplating marriage and moving halfway across the country, away from everything she's known, away from me. I told her a million times in middle school that her beloved would come around and see her for the amazing girl she is, and now my prophecy is coming true to a dizzying degree.
But I'm also so excited for her. I'm excited that she gets a new and exciting life. Truly, there is not much here for her. She could reach her higher potential somewhere else, and maybe help her maybe-husband reach his too. There is room to grow outside of the little world she's always lived in, and it would be a shame if fear kept her from inhabiting this new life.
Just last week, we were sitting in my floor playing board games, one of which was Life. As we moved the cars through the rapidly progression lifetime, I never imagined her real life would move as quickly so soon.
But I wish her a little plastic husband who is devoted and loving, a career card that she enjoys with a salary card she doesn't want to trade, Life Tiles full of things she's always dreamed of, and maybe, someday, a plastic car full of beautiful plastic peg children. And when she gets to the end of the gameboard, I hope she takes it all at Millionaire Acres.
But most of all, I hope we can still mail back and forth our secrets and dreams and hopes in a proverbial The Notebook.
Always a private person, I found I could open up to her, and even now seven years later, I still tell her things I can't tell anyone else. Even though we never really had the most in common, we've remained friends through it all.
I don't know what I'd do without her. But the realization came crashing down tonight--I might have to.
I know there's the internet and letters and telephones, but it's not the same. It's not the same as being able to meet up at Talquepaque for lunch and the rain that always seems to accompany these trips. How do I survive without seeing her name pop up on my messenger list every day, and the typing style I've come to know so well spill out the worries of her day?
Even though I'm 18, applying to college, and generally on the threshold of adulthood, it never really seemed that real to me until my best friend from sixth grade tells me she's contemplating marriage and moving halfway across the country, away from everything she's known, away from me. I told her a million times in middle school that her beloved would come around and see her for the amazing girl she is, and now my prophecy is coming true to a dizzying degree.
But I'm also so excited for her. I'm excited that she gets a new and exciting life. Truly, there is not much here for her. She could reach her higher potential somewhere else, and maybe help her maybe-husband reach his too. There is room to grow outside of the little world she's always lived in, and it would be a shame if fear kept her from inhabiting this new life.
Just last week, we were sitting in my floor playing board games, one of which was Life. As we moved the cars through the rapidly progression lifetime, I never imagined her real life would move as quickly so soon.
But I wish her a little plastic husband who is devoted and loving, a career card that she enjoys with a salary card she doesn't want to trade, Life Tiles full of things she's always dreamed of, and maybe, someday, a plastic car full of beautiful plastic peg children. And when she gets to the end of the gameboard, I hope she takes it all at Millionaire Acres.
But most of all, I hope we can still mail back and forth our secrets and dreams and hopes in a proverbial The Notebook.
May 28, 2010
Goodbye
There have only been a few times in my life where I felt the unique sadness that comes with the thought that you will never see some one again.
Even if it's not even someone you're incredibly close to, just some one that fills up your days, it's sad to let them go. You lose the security of knowing that if you ever did want to talk to them, they would be there. The familiar faces you've come to know will soon be replaced by strange ones, ones that do not know you or your past. Most of the time, I consider this an exciting idea, but today, as I did many things that I've done for the past four years for the very last time, I couldn't help but feel fond of a sea of familiar faces.
I think I often under-appreciate the simple feeling of sitting in a room full of people that know you. They understand your quirks and your mannerisms, they know where you came from, and they know where you want to go. A room full of people bonded from similar experiences is truly a great thing.
And when you're about to leave it, it's so sad.
The first time I felt this, I was about eight, and I came home from school and sat down on the couch beside of my mom. She told me we were moving to Texas. I remember just crying and crying. By the time my tears had dried, Mom was on the phone in the kitchen. I got up and wrote lengthy notes to my two best friends, begging them not to move on and forget me. Of course we've long since forgotten each other; it was but first or second grade. While I only have a few vague memories of them, the sadness I felt while writing those notes remains sharp in my memory.
The next time, I was leaving the place I'd so dreaded moving to--Texas. Leaving was the hardest thing I'd ever done, and now (seven years later), it still ranks pretty high. I loved all those people so much and I still remember a lot of my time there, but again, the strongest memory is of writing a note. I was sitting in a classroom in my new town, fuming. I missed my old school and friends terribly, and hated the new one with a passion. We had some random free time, and I yanked a piece of notebook paper out and scribbled a furious note about how much I hated everything in Virginia to my Texas best friend. I remember the smell of the black pen's ink, all the strength it took to hold back my tears, and the relief I felt after I mailed it. I don't talk to her anymore, but the kind reply I received to that angry, angry letter carried me through the next few months in a place I hated.
More and more of these are coming to me as I type, and I just keep getting sadder and sadder, but still I write.
I remember the last time I saw another Texas best friend. This time, it was he who was moving. I ran to his house, the grass where I'd run so many times before worn into an oft-beaten path. He was sitting in the back of his moving truck, possessions piled high behind him. He threw a gift at me--a beanie baby cat that I still have. I don't remember the conversation we had, but I remember the realization that I would never see him again as that truck pulled out of view.
The most recent time I remember (excluding today) was the last day of middle school. While I wasn't truly going anywhere this time, I knew I'd be at a different high school than most of my classmates. It was kind of surreal walking to the bus after that final day. I remember looking around, walking alone, at all the people around me saying goodbye. Even though I didn't really love middle school, I was grieving for the familiarity of it all. The sea of familiar faces. There was nothing left to fear there, nothing unknown. While this a great comfort, it also means you have to get on that bus for the last time and pull away.
Now it's time for what is the greatest goodbye yet. While I know there's next year, I also know it won't be the same, and it's the loss of the familiarity and safety of my high school class that I grieve for. I hate counting life in "lasts" but it's simply unavoidable. I'll never be in that place again, and for that I'm horribly sad.
I may really suck at being sentimental, but I'm great at feeling sad.
Even if it's not even someone you're incredibly close to, just some one that fills up your days, it's sad to let them go. You lose the security of knowing that if you ever did want to talk to them, they would be there. The familiar faces you've come to know will soon be replaced by strange ones, ones that do not know you or your past. Most of the time, I consider this an exciting idea, but today, as I did many things that I've done for the past four years for the very last time, I couldn't help but feel fond of a sea of familiar faces.
I think I often under-appreciate the simple feeling of sitting in a room full of people that know you. They understand your quirks and your mannerisms, they know where you came from, and they know where you want to go. A room full of people bonded from similar experiences is truly a great thing.
And when you're about to leave it, it's so sad.
The first time I felt this, I was about eight, and I came home from school and sat down on the couch beside of my mom. She told me we were moving to Texas. I remember just crying and crying. By the time my tears had dried, Mom was on the phone in the kitchen. I got up and wrote lengthy notes to my two best friends, begging them not to move on and forget me. Of course we've long since forgotten each other; it was but first or second grade. While I only have a few vague memories of them, the sadness I felt while writing those notes remains sharp in my memory.
The next time, I was leaving the place I'd so dreaded moving to--Texas. Leaving was the hardest thing I'd ever done, and now (seven years later), it still ranks pretty high. I loved all those people so much and I still remember a lot of my time there, but again, the strongest memory is of writing a note. I was sitting in a classroom in my new town, fuming. I missed my old school and friends terribly, and hated the new one with a passion. We had some random free time, and I yanked a piece of notebook paper out and scribbled a furious note about how much I hated everything in Virginia to my Texas best friend. I remember the smell of the black pen's ink, all the strength it took to hold back my tears, and the relief I felt after I mailed it. I don't talk to her anymore, but the kind reply I received to that angry, angry letter carried me through the next few months in a place I hated.
More and more of these are coming to me as I type, and I just keep getting sadder and sadder, but still I write.
I remember the last time I saw another Texas best friend. This time, it was he who was moving. I ran to his house, the grass where I'd run so many times before worn into an oft-beaten path. He was sitting in the back of his moving truck, possessions piled high behind him. He threw a gift at me--a beanie baby cat that I still have. I don't remember the conversation we had, but I remember the realization that I would never see him again as that truck pulled out of view.
The most recent time I remember (excluding today) was the last day of middle school. While I wasn't truly going anywhere this time, I knew I'd be at a different high school than most of my classmates. It was kind of surreal walking to the bus after that final day. I remember looking around, walking alone, at all the people around me saying goodbye. Even though I didn't really love middle school, I was grieving for the familiarity of it all. The sea of familiar faces. There was nothing left to fear there, nothing unknown. While this a great comfort, it also means you have to get on that bus for the last time and pull away.
Now it's time for what is the greatest goodbye yet. While I know there's next year, I also know it won't be the same, and it's the loss of the familiarity and safety of my high school class that I grieve for. I hate counting life in "lasts" but it's simply unavoidable. I'll never be in that place again, and for that I'm horribly sad.
I may really suck at being sentimental, but I'm great at feeling sad.
Apr 12, 2010
"You can pick your nose,
you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your friends' noses."
Can you really pick your friends? I don't think so.
It's just one of those things in life that just happens. You get squished together by some turn of fate--a mutual enemy, a mutual friend, a seating chart, a class schedule. Slowly but surely a friendship develops.
The book I just finished brought up an interesting concept, the differences between platonic and romantic relationships. People don't often look at friendships in the same parameters as romantic relationships, but they do have their similarities, and are in their own way, harder to maintain. This is especially true of "best" friendships (a term I do not very much like, but that's another blog entirely).
Friends can break up, and these break ups can be every bit as tumultuous and emotional as a romantic break up. Even more so because friends tend to stay in your life longer than any boyfriend or girlfriend (unless you get married and even then, childhood friendships can last longer). They take up a bigger chunk of your existence.
When you break up with a significant other, people just kind of infer it after they notice you not mulling about together anymore. But if you suddenly drop a friendship, people aren't so quick to realize what might have happened. They tend to go on thinking everything is fine, and make the assumptions that follow. As they go on as normal, it makes it even harder for the two ex-friends to move on. They're expected to be a duo long after they aren't anymore. Friendship break ups are never a clean break.
I believe that every person in your life serves a different purpose; you get something that nobody else gives from them. When that source runs out, or when people find somebody else who feels that need better, they move on. Perhaps this a callous way of looking at it, but I see no evidence to the contrary. Perhaps they hang on longer than they should sometimes, and that only breeds sitcom-esque problems.
I've moved on from quite a few friendships, but I've noticed a quality in the ones that hang around. They are the people that you don't necessarily have to talk to every day, but never let that awkward layer of distance pile up between them. They are the people that don't need reminding. They are not the people you chose, or the people that chose you. They're simply the people that choose to stick around.
Can you really pick your friends? I don't think so.
It's just one of those things in life that just happens. You get squished together by some turn of fate--a mutual enemy, a mutual friend, a seating chart, a class schedule. Slowly but surely a friendship develops.
The book I just finished brought up an interesting concept, the differences between platonic and romantic relationships. People don't often look at friendships in the same parameters as romantic relationships, but they do have their similarities, and are in their own way, harder to maintain. This is especially true of "best" friendships (a term I do not very much like, but that's another blog entirely).
Friends can break up, and these break ups can be every bit as tumultuous and emotional as a romantic break up. Even more so because friends tend to stay in your life longer than any boyfriend or girlfriend (unless you get married and even then, childhood friendships can last longer). They take up a bigger chunk of your existence.
When you break up with a significant other, people just kind of infer it after they notice you not mulling about together anymore. But if you suddenly drop a friendship, people aren't so quick to realize what might have happened. They tend to go on thinking everything is fine, and make the assumptions that follow. As they go on as normal, it makes it even harder for the two ex-friends to move on. They're expected to be a duo long after they aren't anymore. Friendship break ups are never a clean break.
I believe that every person in your life serves a different purpose; you get something that nobody else gives from them. When that source runs out, or when people find somebody else who feels that need better, they move on. Perhaps this a callous way of looking at it, but I see no evidence to the contrary. Perhaps they hang on longer than they should sometimes, and that only breeds sitcom-esque problems.
I've moved on from quite a few friendships, but I've noticed a quality in the ones that hang around. They are the people that you don't necessarily have to talk to every day, but never let that awkward layer of distance pile up between them. They are the people that don't need reminding. They are not the people you chose, or the people that chose you. They're simply the people that choose to stick around.
Nov 9, 2009
Only "Urgh" is Adequate
Fickle friends, how you annoy me!
I don't understand people. I really don't. They're so simple and so complex all at same time. This makes them especially hard to be friends with.
All I want are people I can talk to, that I can identify with, and who don't judge me. Apparently this is entirely too much to ask.
Why do we demand that our friends be who we want them to be instead of who they actually are? Life isn't supposed to be like a Sims game. You can't click edit and add or subtract personality traits. That doesn't stop anyone from trying though.
I have come to really appreciate the few people I can count on to actually accept me instead of try to mold me into their image of what I'm supposed to be. Heck, I'll even settle for people willing to incorporate new ideas into their me-stereotype.
What I can't tolerate are those who feel the need to demand of me certain actions or bar me from others. If you do not like any aspect of my personality, actions, interests, etc., why do you even want to be near me at all?
If I could, I would be everyone's friend. But I'm tired of always having to the bigger person in some many various relationships. I'm never allowed to be the petty and immature one because that role is constantly filled by somebody else. It's hard always letting everything slide off my back when hardly anyone affords me that luxury.
I suppose I should just get over it and deal with people as they are, and I as I am. But sometimes, I just reach a breaking point where I wish I didn't have to talk to them anymore. I want to pass on all their games and scheming and lies. I just want to be. Simply be, without judgment or having to take sides or engage in silly arguments.
But that's not possible and I'll always have to deal and I'll always have to be the bigger person and I hope I don't have to stretch so far I break.
As Michel from Gilmore Girls once said, "People are especially stupid today. I cannot talk to anymore of them." Or something like that.
I don't understand people. I really don't. They're so simple and so complex all at same time. This makes them especially hard to be friends with.
All I want are people I can talk to, that I can identify with, and who don't judge me. Apparently this is entirely too much to ask.
Why do we demand that our friends be who we want them to be instead of who they actually are? Life isn't supposed to be like a Sims game. You can't click edit and add or subtract personality traits. That doesn't stop anyone from trying though.
I have come to really appreciate the few people I can count on to actually accept me instead of try to mold me into their image of what I'm supposed to be. Heck, I'll even settle for people willing to incorporate new ideas into their me-stereotype.
What I can't tolerate are those who feel the need to demand of me certain actions or bar me from others. If you do not like any aspect of my personality, actions, interests, etc., why do you even want to be near me at all?
If I could, I would be everyone's friend. But I'm tired of always having to the bigger person in some many various relationships. I'm never allowed to be the petty and immature one because that role is constantly filled by somebody else. It's hard always letting everything slide off my back when hardly anyone affords me that luxury.
I suppose I should just get over it and deal with people as they are, and I as I am. But sometimes, I just reach a breaking point where I wish I didn't have to talk to them anymore. I want to pass on all their games and scheming and lies. I just want to be. Simply be, without judgment or having to take sides or engage in silly arguments.
But that's not possible and I'll always have to deal and I'll always have to be the bigger person and I hope I don't have to stretch so far I break.
As Michel from Gilmore Girls once said, "People are especially stupid today. I cannot talk to anymore of them." Or something like that.
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