01 12 / 2013
I like what I’m doing now. I feel needed, but needed in the right way. And for the 4-5 hours a day I’m at NDHS, I think about myself a little less, which is nice. I don’t look the best I’ve ever looked, I don’t feel the best I’ve ever felt, but I like what I’m doing right now.
21 10 / 2013
A lot of people believe that the key to finding happiness in life is to “find your passion.” Well, what about us poor slobs who can’t maintain a grain of interest in anything long enough to be passionate about it? Writing. I suppose that’s always been one of my “passions”, but some days I don’t want to write and the pressure of feeling like I should because it’s my “passion” makes me squirm.
My advice to the miserable, bored and frustrated is to find reasonable amounts of joy in as many things as you can. Art? Art is great. Why wouldn’t I love looking at art? Dance is terrific. I love to watch people dance and even to do it in the privacy of my own home (when every shutter is closed and all smoke detectors have been checked for cameras a la Amanda Bynes). Photography is very nice. Music is great. I think animals are just swell. I find joy in all of these things but I don’t think any single one of them sums up my entire reason for being. Did I mention I like helping people, too? I do. I get joy from that. But if I were to help people all the time, it might cease to bring me joy.
Once you label an activity your “passion”, it’s the same trouble for when you become totally ass over heels for another person. Too much pressure gets put on the thing or the person to bring you happiness and you simply end up resenting it. For those of you who have one or two deep passions, I envy you. I wish that picking up a guitar or kicking a wooden board in half would turn my mood around, but it simply doesn’t work that way for me. I need many tools at my disposable. I have to like lots of things instead of just loving one. Not saying it works the same for people, though, like in a romantic way- for friends, though, it certainly does. No one really wants to burden of all my suffocating love anyway.
26 9 / 2013
I love fall more than any other season, but I have come to realize that all seasons make me happy. Whenever I can sense that a new season is approaching, I am both inspired and comforted. I am comforted to know that life goes on no matter what. Pumpkin paraphernalia in September and Easter eggs in March…always.
The evidence of change: change in temperature, fashion, the menu at Starbucks- it all makes change appear very easy and fluid. It’s hopeful for all of us who struggle with change. No one has to coach nature through the cycle of the seasons. No one has to make sure the Eastern Hemisphere is mentally prepared to perform Autumn for us. The leaves never miss their cue to turn.
Change is not bad or scary; change is necessary. We’re not supposed to be happy all the time. It can’t always be spring inside of us. There is a kind of stoic happiness to the fall and winter, a happiness that can happen on one’s own.
Gone are the incessant pressures to go out and bare our skin in the sun. Here comes a time where darkness does not offend anyone. I like Fall, and I like Winter. People who can’t have fun in these seasons are unimaginative.
Also, since I haven’t been writing a lot, you should read my friend, Ebony’s blog: pinkdeer.blogspot.com. I would never steer you wrong. Ebony is like me but with fashion sense, beauty product knowledge and more wisdom. She writes on beauty, fashion and relationships etc.
07 9 / 2013
When I was about six years old my mother signed me up for a swim class at the 92nd street Y. I even got a new bathing suit for this damn class. I had my first lesson and the teacher was a freak, a certified freak. I mean, the guy was bald but he still wore a swim cap. Now, I was only six years old but I was fully aware that swim caps made people look ridiculous.
The teacher told us all that it was the RULES to wear a swim cap and goggles. Strike one. No way in hell was I going to wear to a swim cap and goggles. It was a pool, not a war zone. I enjoyed having naked eyes in the water because I liked the feeling of the water in my eye balls. Wearing goggles felt like showering with clothes on.
Then this teacher did this horrible thing where he told us to pretend there was glue on our bellies sticking us to the water. He lifted a girl up and pretended to take a giant glue stick and rubbed her stomach with it. I think he tried to do it to me, but I cringed and grimaced so fiercely that he gave up.
I don’t know why exactly, but from the moment I stepped into that swim class I was looking for a way out. I was uncomfortable- miserable, even. I hated that this guy wanted me to listen to him and I had to do what he said even know I didn’t know him and already didn’t like him. I hated that I couldn’t just run away. I went through all the reasons in my head of how I could get out of ever going back and how I could explain to my mom why I hated it. I felt guilty. The new bathing suit, the cost of the class. I wanted to like it…that’s the worst part. I usually loved swimming but I associated it with summer, with freedom and with joy, and this guy was ruining it with his weird, bald head and belly glue.
Sometimes for no reason at all, often when starting something new, I get the same panicky feeling. Like I am somewhere I don’t want to be and can’t get out. Like I’m entering into a situation that I didn’t agree to. It is a truly awful feeling.
07 9 / 2013
Anonymous asked: I absolutely love your blog <3
Thank you. Sorry I have been neglecting it!
13 6 / 2013
I’m home from Tasmania. I do nothing all day. Literally nothing. It’s a new concept for me. I used to be terrified of doing nothing, because I thought I’d fall into an endless pit of self-destruction. But then you realize that self-destruction can find its way into your schedule no matter what. On that front, I’m not so threatened at present.
In July, I’m working. Teaching. Teaching creative writing and essay writing. I’m cynical about teaching even though I want to teach. I’m cynical, because I don’t believe you can teach someone to write. If someone doesn’t want to write: they won’t. Shit, I can’t even write when I want to sometimes. I don’t really know what makes a good teacher yet. I know what my favorite teachers did like Sarah and Margie (in hippie school, we call our high school teachers by our first names), and my professors from college. I know not everyone can like you. I guess the best I can do is know who the kids are and give a shit about them and learn from my mistakes as much as possible.
Wade said that if I don’t like it, I can do something else. And another friend said some garbage about how I could throw away 5 years chasing my dreams if I really wanted to. Um, no? I agree with Wade, though.
But truth be told: I am too lazy and scared to “follow my dreams.” And the only person I’ve ever really known to have their dream come true got their face completely chopped up to do so. So it was like this very superficial process. I know if I chopped up my face, it probably wouldn’t go as planned anyway. I’d end up with my ass stapled to my forehead, or something.
And the thing about your dreams is: the older you get, the smaller they become. We all wanted to be famous or super heros (like veterinarians) when we were little. When I was a pre-teen, I just wanted to be better than most people around me. As a teen, I wanted to be “happy,” and now I just want to be “not miserable,” which is not the same thing as happy. I don’t need to exude pride about who I am or what I have. I just don’t want to dread waking up in the morning. That’s my new dream.