“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days. Lightly, lightly it’s the best advice ever given to me. So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. Thats why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling.” - Aldous Huxley
I’m not sure if I plan on recapping the last two weeks or not.
I’m thinking no.
Let’s just go with some ideas/feelings/thoughts
It’s hard to enjoy yourself when you’re constantly wondering what someone else is doing.
On that note, I’m still feeling more lost than ever.
If anything, I have been able to understand more about who I am in the last few months, then I’ve ever been able to, with that understanding comes fear and confusion.
Facing what we are, and who we want to become is one of the biggest challenges a person can face.
I’m scared…I’m scared of what summer can bring, I’m scared of a loss in routine, I’m scared of who I can be when drinking.
I’m still working on committing to living, and not breathing, but living each moment, it’s a challenge.
I’m still working on meeting new people, and making friends, integrated in this is understanding charisma, and how effective it can be.
I still feel like I would be more comfortable at 10 years old, naive to the world and responsibility.
I’m still holding on to regrets, loss, and a lack of respect towards myself.
I’m dying for a breath of fresh air, a moment of clarity.
You know that saying about endings, and how they are just beginnings in disguise
I hate that saying.
I’ve never wanted a drink so badly before in my life.
Am I crazy or am I just crazy about you?
and we don’t care
about anything …” —Charles Bukowski (via deathvisions)
The details. That’s what I remember. The curly wisps of hair that line your neck. The way you readjust your body at least 10 times in three variations in the wavering hour. Your arms and how they grasp the back of your head, cradling yourself to pay attention. That’s what I remember. The color of your hair, which isn’t just blonde, it’s not that basic of a description, no, there are weaves of red, and strawberry that surface, the longer it grows the deeper the red seems to develop, like it was their all along, just waiting to come out. And that sweater. The thick cable knit sweater that you put on once the temperature drops below 40. Probably since you ride your bike you need that thick sweater. The holes all equal in size. And if it’s not that sweater, then you have the same hoodie on, covering your broad shoulders, blue, with a red and white striped hood. Always the same, corduroy on your legs, black, blue and tan. That’s what I remember. The way you tell your stories as if every last detail was just important as the first. That’s what I remember. I remember your smile, and the way you look back after you tell a joke, reassuring that I’m smiling or laughing too. That’s what I remember. Spilling stories about meaning, about books, about tattoos, about how you almost died when you were young because of a heart problem. Tracing my finger along the left of your back, following that scar, that you identify with. That’s what I remember. The way you take your coffee, with just a little sugar, no cream. That’s what I remember. How your grammar is omitted when sending a text. That’s what I remember. The way you can remember a small detail mentioned, but the important stuff, you forget. That’s what I remember. Your man crush on the anthropology teacher. That’s what I remember. Your desire to learn German in order to impress another girl. That’s what I remember. I remember how polite you are, your charm. Your ability to become friends on contact with someone. You adaptability and desire to relate. The feeling I got every time someone walked into a room, nervous and excited that it was you. Your kindness, the attraction I had and felt. The attraction I still feel. I remember you. I will probably never not remember you.
A trap, this Starbucks is a trap. It sets you up for false hope that you will be productive. They have tables, a multitude of plugs, many chairs, and coffee. Coffee that is super sweet, strong and has all the characteristics of a man you crave. Maybe that’s over thinking the aspects of caffeine. Either way, when I step into a Starbucks I expect to be productive, I’m set up for success in almost every matter. The only problem is the fear of accomplishment. For some reason, Starbucks is intimidating, not the baristas, or the venti coffee cups, nope the clientele, that’s the cause of fear. Productive college students, professionals, soccer moms, etc. They all exhibit the traditional descriptions of someone determined and ready to get shit done. And that’s exactly what happens, the students work in groups to set up a project and assign each other sections of work, the pressure of impressing one another gets them going, and eventually the assignment comes to a close and they are more than prepared. Professionals come in and send emails, talk on the phone and set up meetings, when they leave taking more coffee with them for their office buddies. The soccer moms are so quick if you don’t see them hurrying in with their five kids you might just miss them, that’s how efficient they are. They walk in, get their coffee (and maybe a couple organic chocolate milks) and they run right back out. A professional, trained by time.
Me? I’m looking around at people, watching, waiting for inspiration to strike. Avoiding every bit of productivity it’s almost tasking, an art form really.
Fake it till you’re stable, if you can’t get stable, fake it till you’re dead.
The hardest part is always getting started. Once you have that opening phrase that captured everyone’s attention, you’re set. It’s the ego building opening line, that’s what we need. Isn’t it always the first moment, the first glance, the first look that captures you? Isn’t that what grasps you, so similar to judging a book by it’s cover- the innate first seconds, that’s what life is about. All communication that you have with people is based on a continual but not consecutive series of firsts. First words, first steps, first best friend, first day of school, first fight, first paper, first kiss, first book that you fallen in love with, first character that you compare everyone to, first love, first heartbreak. All defined in the first few seconds.
I don’t care if it’s just conversation about school work, I don’t.
The fact is, he is talking to me.
And so what if it’s for reasons that aren’t part of my own personal goals. So what.
He’s talking to me.
And that’s all that really matters.
Sometimes you can’t understand feelings. And as humans, we have to accept that. As twenty-somethings we have to understand that fact. Not the feelings, but that single fact. Because truth is, we are always going to feel lost, and we are always going to be yearning for our innocence that once coated us with protection. The hardest part is knowing that I, you, we - are not alone, many people feel this way. Adult: Why do we have to define it? Doesn’t that just point out how hard it is? Why do we have to sit down and swallow the idea that we have to act like “adults;” Why is emotional stability so essential to being older and wiser? How are those two things related? Because if being an adult has anything to do with emotional stability than I want no part of it. I want to be crazy for as long as I can be, because that would mean I am still living. Still experiencing. And still not understanding those feelings.