Dear faceless blog audience,
Sometimes when I see forks in the road coming, I get a special kind of joy out of scoping each one out in mind- driving down them in my mind with the top down and eyes wide open- scanning. Seeing. Perceiving. Predicting. Loving. Loving all the infinite possibility that all the dirt trails and pebble-y roads offer splitting from the more established asphalt and cement, living out and evaluating each of them with equal romanticism and curiosity. Quickly before me full webs of possibility sprawl out woven from thread comprised of my own life experiences, guided by calloused fingers and worn cuticles. And you know... I've thought about why I do these things, found that there was no clean-cut reason. Stupid if not wasteful, I tend to throw these remnants away once the sun has forced their imprints to the backs of my eyelids- maps innate and shining both through darkness and light... Because without fail, the romantic fool that I am, I choose instead to let life just sorta happen- beyond practicality or logic. I'm not much for planning.
So here I am, sitting here writing this. It's 11:57pm, April 1st, 2015, and in 3 minutes I will be 19 years old. The sort of dotted line between teenage and adulthood as a close friend said in her early birthday letter... And I'm not really sure what to feel, much less think about it yet.
*12:00am* I'm now 19.
On one end, I found out I can pinpoint the exact instant I found a dislike for physical contacts, which unsurprisingly was in the event of a sexual assault of sorts I was victim to. And on the other, I'm listening to a Marvin Gaye CD my good friend got me and occasionally peeking at videos of clumsy baby monkeys and elephant calves finding their land legs. On one end I've felt like culling some of the not so desirable individuals out of my life and increasing my solitude, while on the other I've had the good? bad? fortune of meeting 4 or so new faces just this past week that are truly intriguing, and for the first time ever, my younger brother and I are engaging in conversation that doesn't suck. Marvin Gaye is reminding of past affections while also melting me the same way candles and their wicks eventually put themselves out (don't spend any brain power on that one, I just wanted to compare my heart to a candle and Marvin Gaye/love to a fire like every writer ever)... Anyway...
You know, the difference between college birthdays and high school birthdays is that well, it's a momentous occasion. Whether 8 or 18, people near and far would show you love and give you shoutouts
"Oh my gosh thank you"
"You're the best"
"For me? You're too kind"
"Oh you shouldn't have, thanks man"
Classes stop and cafeterias sing your name- but in college? Nobody gives a damn. And you know what? At first it kinda bothered me. Makes you feel real small- like you're just another number/statistic/customer/extra in a grand production that doesn't mean anything. But I think counter-intuitively there's also a weird sort of comfort in that. Now I can't offer any sort of deep, Confucius-esque reason as to why that is- just understand it's simply how I feel, and sometimes in this life you aren't given any real reasons to feel happy or satisfied or anything for that matter, but you just do anyway and it's a glorious thing worth holding on to. I'm going to be very much alone this birthday around, but it will be by choice- made with nothing but flutters of nostalgia and content in my heart.
-your friend,
Jon
Sometimes when I see forks in the road coming, I get a special kind of joy out of scoping each one out in mind- driving down them in my mind with the top down and eyes wide open- scanning. Seeing. Perceiving. Predicting. Loving. Loving all the infinite possibility that all the dirt trails and pebble-y roads offer splitting from the more established asphalt and cement, living out and evaluating each of them with equal romanticism and curiosity. Quickly before me full webs of possibility sprawl out woven from thread comprised of my own life experiences, guided by calloused fingers and worn cuticles. And you know... I've thought about why I do these things, found that there was no clean-cut reason. Stupid if not wasteful, I tend to throw these remnants away once the sun has forced their imprints to the backs of my eyelids- maps innate and shining both through darkness and light... Because without fail, the romantic fool that I am, I choose instead to let life just sorta happen- beyond practicality or logic. I'm not much for planning.
So here I am, sitting here writing this. It's 11:57pm, April 1st, 2015, and in 3 minutes I will be 19 years old. The sort of dotted line between teenage and adulthood as a close friend said in her early birthday letter... And I'm not really sure what to feel, much less think about it yet.
*12:00am* I'm now 19.
On one end, I found out I can pinpoint the exact instant I found a dislike for physical contacts, which unsurprisingly was in the event of a sexual assault of sorts I was victim to. And on the other, I'm listening to a Marvin Gaye CD my good friend got me and occasionally peeking at videos of clumsy baby monkeys and elephant calves finding their land legs. On one end I've felt like culling some of the not so desirable individuals out of my life and increasing my solitude, while on the other I've had the good? bad? fortune of meeting 4 or so new faces just this past week that are truly intriguing, and for the first time ever, my younger brother and I are engaging in conversation that doesn't suck. Marvin Gaye is reminding of past affections while also melting me the same way candles and their wicks eventually put themselves out (don't spend any brain power on that one, I just wanted to compare my heart to a candle and Marvin Gaye/love to a fire like every writer ever)... Anyway...
You know, the difference between college birthdays and high school birthdays is that well, it's a momentous occasion. Whether 8 or 18, people near and far would show you love and give you shoutouts
"Oh my gosh thank you"
"You're the best"
"For me? You're too kind"
"Oh you shouldn't have, thanks man"
Classes stop and cafeterias sing your name- but in college? Nobody gives a damn. And you know what? At first it kinda bothered me. Makes you feel real small- like you're just another number/statistic/customer/extra in a grand production that doesn't mean anything. But I think counter-intuitively there's also a weird sort of comfort in that. Now I can't offer any sort of deep, Confucius-esque reason as to why that is- just understand it's simply how I feel, and sometimes in this life you aren't given any real reasons to feel happy or satisfied or anything for that matter, but you just do anyway and it's a glorious thing worth holding on to. I'm going to be very much alone this birthday around, but it will be by choice- made with nothing but flutters of nostalgia and content in my heart.
-your friend,
Jon
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