People have a tendency to categorize their thoughts, going from point A to point B to point C in a way that we perceive as far too fast to even follow. It reflects the level of intelligence we wield, but also the way that we, as people, are able to process everything we encounter in our everyday lives. The method that I've found myself using is categorizing my thoughts into things. The summer has left me a lot of time to think about these things, the good, the bad, and the in-between. By putting them in these boxes, I've found certain "things" that cross over these categories, and some that remain starkly separate. As an exercise it was a very interesting process, and taking a half-hour to write out my thoughts was very therapeutic.
Things That Are Strange
Watching myself in the mirror, to watching myself as others watch me. To feel that similar note of tension fall upon my shoulders under the weight of a gaze, even though it is just my own. Every breath is an expenditure of energy. My own eyes even seem to hold some irrefutable judgment at times.
Making eye contact with someone I’ve met before and not knowing whether or not to anoint them with a wave, a nod, a brief hello… usually we just avoid eye contact and forget the ordeal had ever happened. Maybe once I’ve offered up a tentative “Hey,” but it tends to go unacknowledged and we both simply retreat behind self-created walls. The cycle repeats.
It is especially strange how, in a day and age where we demand so much authenticity, so much verification, we are so quick to believe anything and everything we read that is dubbed “news.” The amount of ignorance coming from the mouths of those who consider themselves older and wiser is aggravating. Tongue-in-cheek comments are hardly enough to get through a lunch with certain relatives, or say, dinner with my neighbor, but I was raised to be polite to my elders, even if the sentiment is scarcely ever returned. Wisdom and age no longer directly correlate.
Reading a story that I’ve read before and had forgotten until I started reading it again. The feeling you get when you think someone can practically read your thoughts. Not talking to someone you once considered a close friend.
Things That Get You Up In The Morning
My dogs. The threat of flunking out of college. The fact that my new boss is kind of a jerk so the “on time means you’re late” rule actually applies.
The smell of cinnamon. The cool taste of water. It only tastes good in the morning. The way my legs ache as I move them for the first time in hours. The cracking and popping of the joints as they slide back into their place, as if my body had grown old and rusty overnight. The way my eyes are still weak with sleep.
The surge of adrenaline that courses through my body when the cold morning air hits my skin while the birds chirp mercilessly outside. The way they insist on singing out of tune.
Things That (as a formerly aspiring visual artist) Harrowed My Career
Realism. Abstract art. Anything that didn’t look like a tree, if I’m being honest.
I can recall drawing a dragon in the second grade. Its snout was too large; its wings too tiny to hold up its bulky frame. I’d painted it blue and then cried when the boy sitting next to me told me that I had to give it a boy’s name. I’d created it solely from my imagination, as limited as it was back then. Right after that class I was supposed to get my ears and eyes checked. Then I really did cry due to my innate fear of doctors and strangers. By the time I’d gone back to my art class, the blue watercolor had spread across the page, blurring the dragon in with the rest of the background. I started over, this time with a purple dragon that looked a lot like the one painted by the girl across from me.
I tried to draw a pear on my first day of art class in high school. In black and white. The teacher sat at her desk the whole time, emailing her boyfriend and ignoring the rest of us. She’d come highly qualified from some fancy art school. Everyone in the room sat with our own lamps and fruit. The pear was supposedly the most difficult, but my friend and I couldn’t help but laugh at some of the hazardous attempts at an apple we saw. It felt good to laugh at something, to feel so carefree. I remember wishing that I was colorblind so that I could get the shading right, even though I knew that wasn’t how colorblindness worked. The teacher gave it an A, even though I thought it looked like a Jackson Pollock painting.
Things I Want To Do
Travel. Run in circles. Sometimes I want to drop out of college, but then I remember I’ll have to go home and figure out my life there. Ignore my responsibilities.
I used to want to be a famous basketball player. This was after my time as an artist, and before I stopped growing, approximately a foot shorter than everyone else on the court. This was also before I had to have two titanium pins stuck in my hand for two months after a girl jammed a basketball between my ring and little fingers. I hadn’t ended up losing my finger that day, but I did lose faith in what basketball could do for me as a sport. I play rugby now.
Take the world’s best photo. Buy a dog. Take the world’s best photo of a dog. Know what I’m doing in a relationship, while still standing as my own person. Read people’s minds.
Things I Can’t Do
Console my sister when she sees a truck full of pigs stop next to us at the stoplight. I try to tell her they’re going to their new home, somewhere nice, where they’ll have room to play and live. I can’t erase the lines of worry from her forehead. She eats pork that night for dinner, and even goes back for seconds.
Cry when everyone else is crying. Laugh when everyone else is laughing. Read people’s minds.
