Here and There

A few days before going home for Christmas vacation, I made a trip to a certain red store looking for an everyday product I needed but wasn’t finding stocked at my usual blue store the past two or three visits.

I was frustrated and exhausted and the season was starting to wear on me. The consumerism was avidly outshining the festivities I typically enjoy. I calmed myself remembering this always seems to happen the week before Christmas, unless you have already snuggled into the site of your merriment.

I walked through the front doors of the red store musing to myself. Why is there such a rivalry between blue and red? I was comforted to see a mild difference in the lighter crowd at the red store though my time of day may have had something to do with it. The rest of the excursion left me with a mindful of giggles.

I made myself chuckle when I thought; the blue store people wear an array of jumpsuits. Then I passed a woman buying eggs and laughed at her velour jumpsuit. OBVIOUSLY a difference between the blue and red store.

Well, I considered, the blue store has that fast food restaurant in the front of it. Maybe that’s why all those people… Then I looked up long enough to see this fast food restaurant instead.

I thought of the blue store’s populace allowing their children to run amuk screaming. Then I walked passed the fitting room of the red store and listened as a sullen teenager addressed her mother, in no hushed tones, as an “out of style bitch.” I shuddered.

What is the difference between here and there?

I attended a party in Utah before I left for vacation. “Christmas Under the Mistletoe” and it was one of the most fun parties I’ve been to in awhile. I looked around at these people I’ve been spending the bulk of my time with lately and I was happy. We kissed. We laughed. We took pictures. And my favorite, we talked.

I had been homesick the past couple months (something I rarely feel anymore being ten years out of the gate) and in that moment, I felt my soul eased.

I went home to Pennsylvania for the break. The day after getting in, I attended a party with my high school friends. I was super excited to see the people I once held as the best friends I would ever make. We laughed. We took pictures. And my favorite, we talked.

The homesickness I had been harboring hit with the force of a tidal wave and I felt I couldn’t return once more. I had to ask myself.

What is the difference between here and there?

I hammered it all out in my mind. The pros and the cons. I even pitted the types of people I associate with in either place against one another. The diversity remaining acute. And you know what I came up with?

People I went to high school with ARE some of the best friends I will ever make. But so is my college crowd and everywhere I ever turn, I will always be confronted with a paradigm of dichotomies peppering why I love and loathe anything or anywhere.

So what is the difference between here and there? So far, nothing. Just a whole lot of various somethings put together differently. However, I’m open to re-evaluations.

A Spirit of...

It was late and I was home lying in my bed. The Rockefeller Center Tree had been lit. The drive to look at Christmas light displays in the community was over. I left my friends. And there I lay.

I picked up the book I read every night before I go to sleep. I read. It was a simple and pleasurable day.

Although it usually does, my mind wasn’t winding down. Yet I was completely exhausted. I debated watching a little TV. Instead, I tried an unusual outlet.

I turned on my stereo as I relaxed in the dark. Thank goodness for remote controls. I switched it to radio. I kept flipping through all of the stations looking for something I didn’t know.

I heard late night disc jockeys playing their stations’ requests. 80’s music. Rock. Even now, I was a bit surprised to hear people still call in and make requests. Tons of stations have turned into ‘round the clock Christmas music stations, while others throw in a mix to their usual playlists.

Then, there it was. A duo of guys bantering back and forth witty enough to catch my attention. I stopped surfing immediately. I was surprised. A decent radio show instead of music. It reminded me of the countless Saturday evenings my family spent listening to the radio while growing up. I smiled. Then I felt it.

I fell asleep listening to the show. I woke up to the remote falling off my pillow the next morning. I, of course, had set the sleep feature and so the radio had turned off in the night.

I felt good. The kind of good which comes from knowing you resisted doing something stupid. (That’s my secret.)

Tomorrow is the first of December and there will be many who flip, like a switch, into Christmas mode.

Now they will purchase and decorate the tree. Now they will listen to the seasonal carols. Now, for a limited time only, they will allow the Christmas spirit to permeate their souls. Kindness starts to prevail in a world full of hearts which have waxed cold otherwise.

There are years when I feel this spirit more than others. Sometimes commercialism satiates my appetite but only momentarily until I’m left feeling empty soon after.

Then there are years with the spirit of last night. When the spirit is a slow building sentiment. A sentiment based in gratitude.

Peace fills my mind and my heart in spite of my external worries. I think back to better times. I look forward to better times.

Again, I remember still and quiet can pierce and penetrate with the strength of a thousand swords.

So what do I hope for tomorrow, this first of December? May the next month be filled with less hustle & bustle and more calm & hushed moments.

Fueling on Dreams

For as long as I can remember, I have been a dreamer. Both in the literal sense and in the idealistic sense.

To declare I am a romantic person would probably be one of the very largest understatements in this world. There are those days when I wake up feeling certain no one else on earth can feel like THIS. As stated in a previous blog, I feel confident my body just may explode with all of the emotion it’s consistently forced to contain.

As fate would have or probably the eternal plan of Deity, I have found myself in a position in life where I have nothing wretched to report and I have nothing encouraging sustaining me.

As a romantic, this may quite possibly be more tragic than either extreme. As a note, I have spent the past decade developing my more logical and rational side. This part of me is entirely blessed to be sitting in the position I sit in currently. There is peace in the mundane and heaven knows I appreciate the calm.

Lately, I’ve been completely concerned for my station in life. I feel as though I sit at a crossroads. I am deciding right now whether I choose to be average or whether I will step up, work hard, and strive to be exceptional. I have heretofore opted for distinctive.

However it seems as peeled as I have kept my eyes for opportunity or guidance, I frequently find myself at day’s end with minimal results for what feels like maximum effort.

I have consulted on high for aid. I have prayed to find solace from my own attacks… from the daily barrage I wage on myself for having little of what I desire in my life. I know there are few to blame and I am positioned number one in the rankings of responsibility for what is.

Nonetheless, I now express gratitude on high for what I deem only as a gift from the Divine.

Each night of late, as I have retired to bed, I have found myself waking up next morning from vivid dreams. Dreams full of detail. Dreams full of imagination. I have experienced wonderful fantasies. I have traveled to many places. And most importantly, I have found myself in company with many magnificent people.

My dreams have felt so authentic; I have been privileged to be left with the lingering feeling of satisfaction, as though I have actually experienced it.

Lest you question my mental state, rest peacefully knowing I am clearly aware of the lines in my life between reality and make-believe. Still again I feel appreciative for the endowment of such an active night life.

My gratitude stems from a necessary fact about me. I need dreams. Whether remarkable achievement in life or passionate desires of the heart, I need dreams.

These nights from this past month have been fueling my existence. As I assume my Maker is aware of this for me, I may only assume in my life also, these dreams to be a gift from Him.

I’m saddened to awake stated perfectly by Mr. Oscar Wilde.

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."

What's In A Hug?

Last night, after an evening indulging in our more feminine sides, my friend and I turned off the tivo’d Oprahs, said our farewells, and prepared to part ways. With a ‘thank you’ and ‘drive safe’ uttered, we embraced.

In that electrical instant, my skin seemed to scream at me. This is good. This has been awhile.

I sighed in the night air and my breath was immediately apparent in the cold. Her front door closed behind me and by the porch light, I started to reflect.

How long had it been, I wondered. Surely not too long. I mean, I made out with John* last week. Still in that moment, I realized one of life’s secrets.

Kissing is not hugging. Kissing is not holding.

And to be held. To feel another person in this world. To take them into your arms and embrace.

It’s a thousand fires right below your skin. It’s warmth in your heart and in your mind. It’s feeling tangibly secure. It’s the serenity of dark with the intensity of light. It's the lightheartedness of a laugh and the complexity of a cry. It IS the physical manifestation that someone is there to witness your life.

It’s a squeeze. It’s a clinch. It’s a clasp. It’s a snuggle.

And no matter the relationship, I’m surprised to each time feel the intimacy of it. The parent. The sibling. The friend. And when life allows (and he remembers), the boy.

Jacques Prévert said, “millions and millions of years would still not give me half enough time to describe that tiny instant of all eternity when you put your arms around me and I put my arms around you.”

Delilah

Even now as the night air probably sits at a frosty 35 degrees temperature, I can’t resist the need to always sleep with my window cracked. I just jumped out of the shower and my body is still running warm. My bed has welcomed me yet again after a long day and I can feel the cold air on my exposed face. I smell the scent of chimney smoke and although I’m trying, I can’t quite discern the type of wood which is being burnt.

All of my senses are currently equating the mood with the holidays. Though it’s not yet Halloween, I can already imagine a crystal clear scenario of Delilah on the radio playing. There are active overseas military shout outs to the families here in the states. “I want to wish my wife and 2 daughters at home in Illinois a Merry Christmas. I wish I could be there but I’ll be home soon. Daddy loves you.” The sentiment is followed by a great rendition of any festive song.

(Delilah is a closet indulgence of mine and ESPECIALLY around the holidays, I become a faithful listener to the soft sounds of… De-li-lah.)

So what does this all mean? It means life it good. It means even when life isn’t really good, every now and again you are granted a small escape into a dream world. A world providing an environment of rest. A world of better times and anticipation of good things to come.

So now I lie here listening to the cars on the main road outside my apartment. I don’t have the car I want, or the travel experience I want, or even the furniture I want. I’m acutely reminded I could be further along in career, love, and life.

Yet as I’m here in my bed, feeling the chilly air, and smelling a wood burning stove, I get to forget about the career, love, and life. I get to pretend I have all that I want because all that I want is in this moment. Now is the time to turn off my mind and allow myself to remember. Remember any and all of the good in life. And with this perspective, life IS good. Even without the car.

La dolce vita.

Pondering

A philosopher once asked, "Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?"

Pointless, really... "Do the stars gaze back?" Now THAT'S a question.

Harvest

I awoke this morning; I twisted open the blinds of my bedroom; I gazed at the sinister syrupy sky; and I had one thought. Autumn is here.

The grayness has settled in. The on and off again precipitation is present. The temperatures are cooling.

This is my favorite season. I easily enjoy many things about it. Baking increases and there seems to be an abundance of pumpkin and spice. Pumpkin cookies, pumpkin breads, and pumpkin pies. Candles and wall plug-ins sprinkle the stores in scents of harvest spice, spice cake, and spiced cider.

People are settling into their dwellings. Sweatshirts are pulled out of the winter clothing trunks. Blankets out of the storage closets. The smell of wood burning fires and stoves pepper the night air. The streets seem to clear a little earlier.

Of course it wouldn’t be the season without the plethora of insects which too want to nestle in before the winter. I spied a spider in my office, two in the workplace bathroom (girls, cross your legs with me), and one marching out of my roommate’s bedroom.

I promptly picked up the Raid can and sprayed him to death on the sheer principle his stride pompously declared his residence in a place I’m sure he never paid a dime of rent for.

Some are brown and thin and frail while others are dark and thick and crunchy. There is absolutely zero irony the 8 legged creepy crawling creatures are the symbolic indicator for the first festival to mark the holiday season.

Already the ghoul candy has been discounted and the webs have been replaced for Christmas trees in the department stores. Some mumble under their breaths about the premature existence of holiday music and perhaps they are substantiated.

However, it’s not too early for the deep regal hues of autumn. Gone are the pastels of summer. Present are the concentrated shades of reds, oranges, greens, purples, browns, and black. Happy autumn.

Any Powerful or Compelling Emotion

There have been many words and phrases used to describe me and because of the type of person I am, I’ve never really had to probe others to find out what they were.

As a gregarious person, in the beginning, that unpolished characteristic sometimes lent to social awkwardness. One can assume the words which accompanied. Cumbersome. Graceless. Even obnoxious.

Who knows when, but somewhere after inelegant and tolerable followed charismatic and additionally any spin on that word. Captivating. Magnetic. Even on occasion charming.

I’ve highlighted one personality trait of me and one alone. It doesn’t take long to realize the core make-up of any trait remains unchanged although finding an appropriate outlet to display it may get refined.

Many things others believe me to be, I am. Many things other believe me to be, I am not. So with a “big personality”, I’m always intrigued to hear which element and from what perspective I am attributed.

I have always had my favorite ingredient of me. There are reasons why it is my largest weakness and hopefully after a lifetime will become my principle strength.

Passionate.

It has been the component which has earlier had me deemed as insufferable. And I firmly believe it to be the constituent which occasionally has earned me mesmeric.

So when two nights ago one of my dear friends stopped conversing and just sat listening, I quickly heeded the flag to immediately cease and query, what?

She mumbled something about me being so passionate and what came after went blurry as I wondered how caught up I had become. My eyes must have questioned volumes as she was quick to clarify the trait as making me hypnotizing. I offered gratitude for her compliment and silently I experienced one of those personal “pat on the back” moments.

And though I love it, there are days like today when feeling so deeply is a nuisance, it seems.

When any single sensation slogs thick and slow and bottomless. When every prick of the sentiment is deliberate and intended to inflict deep-rooted scoring on my internal emotional meter.

When every song I hear is flawlessly crushing and comprehended in my core in a way it seems no other could ever grasp… unless by a fellow member of us endangered subjects of passion.

When every inner desire roars immutable and every nerve-ending is hard at work feeling it. When discipline and homeostasis are harder at work hushing it.

In these instants when my being seems satiated inside this crude container with all the searing feeling the universe offers, I’m left to ponder curse or blessing?

Then in these moments a voice speaks in my heart the comforting words of philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel. “Nothing great in the world has been accomplished without passion.”

Evolution of A Woman

It all started with a bowl of hair bleach.

Actually, I’m not going back far enough. Allow me to lead with another sentence.

He is very pretty.

It commenced on Sunday. I awoke and attended church like the obedient girl my parents raised me to be. It is a practice I have not digressed from as an adult though there are Sundays when my enthusiasm for organized worship wans from the zeal most saints with my devotion in attendance possess. This Sabbath day happened to be one of those despondent Sundays.

The meeting launched and within the first 15 minutes, I located a newfound reason for interest in religion (in the very loosest sense.) Him.

I never noticed Him before. I was told of his presence for the past year. Could it be I have been so caught up in my own surroundings to have missed Him? Nevertheless, I noticed Him now and I couldn’t stop examining. He was so pretty.

He isn’t the type of guy I would ever go for and I feel certain in saying I am far from the kind of girl he would ever be with. Yet I feel fine. For the words which come to mind when staring at him have little to do with sex or raw attraction, rather beauty, like a sculpture or piece of art. Again I assert he was… pretty.

I utilized my experience to accomplish little more than personal indulgence. (Perhaps the antithesis of organized religion. The irony is NOT lost on me.) Worship ended and so did my intrigue with Mr. Pretty. I went home and prepared for the upcoming week.

This evening, once I had put in twenty solid minutes of apartment time after work, boredom got the best of me and I decided to ring a dear friend. I was quickly informed she was dyeing her sister’s hair and as I have always had an interest and AFFINITY for hair color, I immediately invited myself over to supervise the project, if only to witness the results.

By the time I arrived, the task had been completed and the hair (which looks fantastic) was in the middle of being blown out. As I chatted with my friend, I picked up the brush in the bowl of dye and began painting the substance onto my arms. Ten minutes and itchy bleached skin later, the laughter was flowing freely and the story of Mr. Pretty was shared.

I learned of his ironic residence in the exact complex of my friend. As girls, it took us two minutes to fabricate a story for why we needed to be at his door. We resolved to “borrow an egg.” My friend and I were disappointed to discover his roommate’s answer and upon further inspection quickly deemed the plan foiled. One egg and a painful conversation about a broken DVR later, we were on our way giggling whilst displaying our youthfulness despite our age.

Some things will always be the same. Where there is a boy, there will always be giggling girls.

We returned defeated temporarily. Then we heard of his potential attendance of a church activity scheduled for tonight. Our hope waxed strong once more and we climbed in the car if only to catch a 10 minute glimpse of Mr. Pretty.

15 minutes and 3 false alarms later, we for a second time deemed the plan foiled.

There seemed only one consolation. Laughter. So with a little help from a classic “doorbell ditch” to a random residence (okay, not so random… and my apologies for my moment of silliness if you’re reading this), we found ourselves tearing through bushes headed for the car.

As I sit here eating grapes and scrutinizing over my blonde arm hair (I’m pleased with the outcome but saddened to discover I missed a patch), I’m reminded of the lyrics to a Britney song (of all people) proclaiming, “I’m not a girl; not yet a women…”

The years have lapsed and I know exactly where I am categorized according to that song. I have long since been a woman. Yet every once in awhile, the impractical girl will reappear and vocabulary words like “crush” are used by our friends to defend our harebrained attempts to secure a peek at Mr. Pretty.

I’m ridiculous. Although, I’ve made my peace with it.

Dracula & Me Alike?

I may be the craziest person in the world to blog about this but I fear for too long there has been a body part overlooked. The neck.

Now I know what the very first instinct of everyone to say will be. I love being kissed on the neck. Okay. Okay. You’ve discovered one of the most obvious reasons why I love it.

Yet earlier today, I took my lunch break and decided to head to my sister’s house for a midday visit. She just delivered a baby boy not even two weeks ago. It’s hard to keep your lips off a brand new infant? Have you ever noticed that? They are so incredibly soft.

So after he had fed and while he was falling asleep, she kept kissing him and I was quite distracted in my talking to her while watching her fawn over him. I halted my story and took a moment to kiss in his neck. It is the mecca of all soft places.

Yet I must admit my fascination with the neck neither commenced nor concluded in that moment. I have long since noticed my affinity for the neck.

It is NOT just solely for receiving kisses either. It seems to be one of the softest places on anybody’s body. AND as much as I love getting kissed there, I love KISSING there on others. Biologically our lips are primed with nerve endings and are great receptacles for all things supple.

Yet I’ve noticed in relationships past, I absolutely even love resting my hand on his neck. I love looking at his neck. I love the way the sternocleidomastoid plays around just under the skin with every word, movement, and breath. I could watch his neck for hours. I could touch his neck for longer.

Finally, today while I was perusing music videos, I was astonished when I landed on a video with the lead vocalist merely singing the entire video long. I loved it and I’ll give you one guess why. The tight close up shots mesmerized me as I, once again, found myself intensely fixated on his neck. His veins, his muscles, his neck.

And there you have it. Another mystery of my fascinations revealed. Hmmm.

An Epoch to Remember... or Forget.

“Set me on fire in the evening, everything will be fine. Waking up strong in the morning, walking in a straight line. Lately I’m a desperate believer…” – Silverchair

It has been a downward spiral for a few weeks now. Sadly those familiarly close with me have all had the opportunity to bear the brunt of the effects of the spiral. And it has not been pretty.

“One lie tells a thousand stories, the greatest stories that were ever told, one lie…” – Kelly Osbourne

Love has left a lot to be desired. There are times we are placed in another’s life and for whatever reason, it seems two can spend practically forever trying to chase each other aspiring to be on the same page while never quite obtaining it. After a year, it seems futile. Yet, sincere emotions are involved and investments in each other have been made. It seems impossible to make the cut. I’m left to ponder, is it supposed to be such a headache?

“But if you’re gonna leave, I’m asking you to please, go all the way to Mexico.” – Jump Little Children

Friends come and go. This is a fact found in many a lyric of countless songwriters. Though there will always be those who contest in kitschy ramblings of opposition. Perhaps to ease everyone’s feelings on the matter, I will attest friendships may not CEASE but paths separate and all which you thought would never terminate does eventually expire in relevance. Chew on that for a moment. Meanwhile, I am a witness, even now, to these expirations. Mourn with me folks as I am mourning currently the metamorphosis of those who once were. Of those who I once treasured above most else.

“If time could stop, how could I make this more poetic? When there’s nothing more pathetic to be said.” - Amber Pacific

As though living wasn’t tough enough dealing with life alone, it becomes even more difficult trying to “manage” life’s wallops against you. Ultimately, life is no longer an entity which you submit to as a victim but an entity which a smart person tries to conduct preventative damage control on constantly. Take roommates, for instance. You either take what comes with the utmost in flexibility (this is NOT me) or give a concerted effort to filter out potential disasters before they occur. This week has taught me life can foil any of my plans no matter how much “management” I assert in the department. And the new roommate… well, we shall see.

“Desperation is a tender trap, it gets you every time.” – U2

Work wouldn’t be work unless it was work. Can I get an amen? Work came to a head on Wednesday. It commenced with a disagreement with my boss and concluded with tears at least a third of the day long. Those who question the accuracy of the fraction, I assure you I have friends who will confirm the puffy eyes and the splotchy face and the numberless emails and phone calls placed. Though the tears were not always in direct result of my employment, my employment was the catalyst for breakdown of the many aforementioned stressors in my existence of late.

“I’ll stop the storm if it rains. I’ll light a path far from here. I’ll make your fear melt away, and the world we know disappear.” - Angels and Airwaves

On the positive, my constant anxiety has led to a decreased appetite. I believe I may have lost 2 or 3 pounds. Also, I have experienced the sweetness of loving relationships in both family and friends whom I have turned to despite their open knowledge of my doing so in the moment.

And finally, last night while conversing with of friend of my misery, I asked for a hug. He told me to start from the beginning and not leave out any details. When I questioned why, he simply commented he needed to know how long he was going to hug me.

I laughed and then semi-cried out my detailed story to him. Upon completion, I received my hug. When he asked if it helped at all, I assured him it truly did. When he further queried how that worked, I told him although it doesn’t relieve the stress in my mind, it temporarily replaces the hurt in my heart for a healing love in my heart. While I laughed off a statement about a desire to just be embraced for the next few days, I was surprised to hear him reply, I would hug you all day if you asked me to.

Since I am neither ridiculous nor irresponsible, the declaration was more than enough to ease my mind, an injury heretofore un-nursed.

“If you keep talking then I’ll keep walking in straight lines.” - Silverchair

Show Me Around

It’s into the early hours of the morning and I should be sleeping. A foolish decision I’ll more than regret once my alarm clock sounds tomorrow to arouse me for work. But for now, I’ve got a little music going on iTunes and my mind determined I needed to take pleasure in the evening as the warm summer nights complete with their breezes are now on the decline... both in number and temperatures. It’s a beautiful 81 degrees.

I finished showering. The night air always feels cooler on damp skin. I phoned a dear friend. Sporadic checkups are good for all of us and he seems to consume quite a bit of my thoughts these days. While conversing, I peered out my front window to see the “Y” on the mountain completely lit in white lights for the returning students… and maybe some of the new ones as well. It welcomes them back and though my sentiments couldn’t be more opposite, I more than appreciate the ambiance it brings.

As I sit here, I’m less concerned to write some epiphanal life conclusion and merely content to enjoy whatever life is for me in this moment. Good.

Wear Sunscreen

I’m entirely dumbfounded right now at the power of the emotions which I am feeling.

I opened my myspace account to see I had received a friend invite from a boy I supposedly knew way back when; only I had little recollection of him. This is not the first time high school days have proven their NON impact on me. I don’t know if it was b/c of The Divorce or just my own personal late blooming which has all but erased any memory of those days on me.

I recalled vague things he had referenced and was honestly stunned he seemed to have more recollection of my past than I.

I perused his page and mostly caught my breath a little at the fact he held in his arms a baby. Was it his? I checked his status immediately to see he was single. As that means almost nothing these days, I looked for any type of tag for the picture. Upon further inspection I surmised by some of his remarks this was a picture of his nephew. I saw a few of him being cute with whom I assume to be his sister and found the recurring theme among his other family and friends.

I stared at pictures of him at Hershey Park and the beach. Two things which immediately transport me back to an unusually familiar time and place but a time and place with which any memories I DO keep are preserved perfectly complete with all 5 senses in tact. I saw that and smelled this. I heard that and felt this exactly.

I couldn’t stop gawking at his pictures and after rummaging through them all, went back a second time. This time instead of looking at the place and searching and attributing my own memories to them, I looked at this kid and tried to glimpse any insight into his life.

In so doing, I saw a man before me in a boy I once knew. And I was wholly turned on.

Baz Luhrmann once wrote “the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.”

Only very recently do I understand the absolute truth in this. There is a reason why most people die within 200 miles of the place they were born. I have grown and matured much over the years. I have formed wings to parallel the roots afforded me. Still there are certain truths which cannot be denied.

Anyone who is not looking to escape a very tortured or damaged past will inevitably find again the place they called home for the first 18 years of their life (provided it remained relatively similar in the instance of any moves).

I can’t stop looking at these pictures. I can’t figure out if it is them or if it is him I am gazing so deeply at. I feel myself searching for something and feeling so connected to a person I know nothing about. And I am astounded at the intensity with which I am doing it.

Know-It-All

When I was young, I thought I knew everything. Okay. I didn't actually think I knew everything.

Adults always believe kids think they know everything. However in hindsight, I realize the attitude they are spying, YET I do not believe it is as they interpret.

A child is a student. A student of academia. A student of the household paradigm. A student of life. The only knowledge youth lends itself to is all the fundamentals. It’s easy to turn our noses up to the people who claim to “know best” when they don’t know algebra, they don’t know Avogadro’s number, they don’t remember how the Merchant of Venice ends, they don’t know how to get the boy, and they don’t know where I left my book bag. Then what DO they know and honestly why are they confused at our doubts of them knowing “it” best?

I never thought I knew everything.

I was, however, naive enough to think I knew more… and in some things I did. I only realize now knowing a lot about the material things of the world is NOT the same as knowing a little about the principle lessons of the world.

In fact, if we ever came off as knowing everything, it was probably a result of our measuring it against how much we knew in relation to the most essential thing… ourselves. Knowing zilch about ourselves translated into knowing a great deal about anything else.

As I have grown older, I have come to understand the importance of self-awareness. My success in my public and private life are a direct result of my self knowledge (or lack thereof sometimes.) The more I learn about myself, the less it seems important to remember all the phases of mitosis.

Furthermore, self awareness is only the jumping off point to acquiring a fundamental understanding of relationships and THIS is the CHIEF LIFE LESSON learned. When we are able to comprehend and then identify with others, the rest seems to crumble and dissipate.

Today I spoke with my father. For a few minutes of my life, I was allowed a glimpse into some of his essence. The topic was casual on my side and still I listened as our conversation flowed into an exposure of a painful encounter he once experienced. For a brief moment, my heart ached for a man I hardly know and a man who hardly knows me. Yet I desired as I never have before to hear of his “story”.

In the tenderness of the incident, I realized I knew nothing about him. And as I pondered on this, I realized I knew nothing about us. And as I pondered on this, I realized just how little I truly know.

Still I was grateful for the miniscule self knowledge I had. Without it, I might never have been able to identify with his emotion. I might never have realized the importance of it all. I might never have realized another viewpoint in life besides my own. One which may not have existed in me in that particular encounter but one which does exist within me.

Additionally, the more I know about me and those whom I relate with, the less I care about knowing the specifics of the world.

Me and the Morning

Every morning I awake to the beeps of a battery powered alarm clock. This vexes me. However, when the showering and the dressing and the apartment door have been locked behind me, I find myself in the car driving towards heaven… or as others call it, the gas station.

I have come to love this place since the day the college graduation tassel was packed away. (Ironically, I don’t have a college graduation tassel. I never attended my college graduation.) I spent the first month lackadaisically relaxing and then scurried around to find a job to support my adult lifestyle… alright my dwindling bank account.

I knew right away the workforce and I weren’t a good fit. I recognized this the same day the tassel was packed away. My college education satisfied my own personal curiosity and left me with little supposed value to employers despite the fact I believe a good knowledge of human behavior to be essential in this game we call life. The day my education ended, my grief commenced.

Don’t cry for me. I have proven a late bloomer in ALL areas of my life and assume career to follow perfectly in suit with what I have discovered about myself so far. I will find my niche.

Yet as an optimist, I have established a love affair with a social aspect to the workforce. The morning wake-up practice. Daily I make my way to the Mecca of others like me. The “evening” people or more importantly, the “non-morning” people gathering place. The caffeinated watering hole. The gas station though more significantly used and less frequently referenced as the convenient store.

It has taken on many names in my lifetime. 7-Eleven in my college days. Sheetz in my inaugural labor encounters. Mavrick of late. After all, I concur with the great playwright Shakespeare when he penned “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

I enjoy going there each morning. I have never awoken with any innate sense of civility in me. It’s something which has always come after an hour of open eyes, a decent beverage, and the knowledge of all around me to leave me to myself while my sluggish brain instigates the battle to once again perform.

Still, when I saunter into the store and the construction workers are buying sodas and processed meat sticks, the white collar drones purchasing coffee and newspapers, and the rest of us an energy drink and pop-tarts, against my initial morning grouchiness, I’m forced to smile. These are my people and this is my place.

This is where I wake. This is where I watch. This is where I continue to learn about the human condition in spite of that packed away graduation tassel. This is life in the real world and I can join forces with it. I fit into this.