The Day We've All Been Waiting For/Dreading

It's Valentine's Day. More importantly, it's Chinese New Year, but this post will only be dealing with V-day. Isn't it funny how our personal lives completely determine our feelings toward this annual event? I've never been a super huge fan of the holiday, just because it makes me uncomfortable to have someone doing tons of stuff for me for no real reason, and because I never know what I'm supposed to do for the significant guy in my life. This year, however, I'm approaching it more as a celebration of unabashed consumerism and naivety; my inner cynic is showing a little.

A friend of mine said earlier, "It's Singles Awareness Day!" and truer words were never spoken. My roommate and I have been commiserating since yesterday about our boy troubles, and it got me thinking: why is this liking people business so difficult? Perhaps the most frustrating part is not knowing where you stand with that person. Are you just another chick friend? Is he interested in that other girl? And it ends up with you taking all of the little nonsensical "signals" and assigning them the meaning you wish they carried. He hugged you because you're leaving, not because he wants to do you; he purposely sat beside you because it was the next available seat; he keeps "accidentally" bumping into you because he's a klutz. I won't pretend I don't do this, I won't lie to you, but isn't it just a little stupid? And suppose any of us actually work up the guts to find out for sure how this hypothetical man really feels: we still won't be straightforward. We will send our best friend in to be straightforward, or "casually" mention inviting him out dancing or to a party, or refer to how frustrated your "friend" is about liking some guy. So we still won't know!

I wish I could start a grassroots movement of honesty. I wish we would tell the people we like that we do, in fact, like them, instead of constantly trying to be cool/aloof/friendly/sexy/interesting/not too interested all at the same time and still probably get nowhere with it. But to tell the truth, I would probably be too afraid to follow my own lead. Who would be receptive to someone walking up and saying "I like you, do you like me back?" And isn't it easier to hide behind the layers vagaries afforded us by being indirect? To quote Goethe: If I love you, what business is it of yours?

Wander on.

Where are you going?

I have almost decided to leave the southern, coastal city I love so much, in favor of green fields and open spaces and possibly some sort of science minor at a college in South Carolina's foothills. Is it a good choice? I would be leaving a better writing program and a city who's smoky breath is ever-wrapped within my own--but I'd also leave a dissatisfaction, the sour taste of disillusionment, and my old habits, lifestyles, and (sometimes painful) memories behind. I can't say I would miss all of those. I know it seems juvenile to think that changing where you live can change you (as I mentioned in my last, oh-so-long-ago post), but as someone accustomed to change and movement, the two seem almost inseparable to me.

The other night, my roommate and I sat awake in the pre-dawn hours--as we so often do--this time talking about why I would want to transfer colleges. It wasn't until that conversation that I realized what my perspective on life is, and now that I've found it, I want to share it. By no means does this constitute anything of remotely biblical proportion, but just something I pondered on, and I hope it will get you thinking, too.

Okay, so:

When we come into this world, we are, for the most part, blank canvases. For the first however-many years of our lives, we receive obscene amounts of input: what to do and not to do, how to talk, how to make conversation, even table manners. At some point we have to start distilling all this stuff, because even though it was taught to us, that doesn't mean it's right, or more specifically: right for us. And I feel like I'm somewhere between these two places right now; still receiving input, but already filtering out some of it, too. And here's the reason I think we distill: we cannot be everyone we meet. Our souls, our truest and purest selves, will be reflected in what we give to the world; our output, someone else's input. It's our job to filter through the things to which we are exposed, so that what we keep, reflect, and put out into the world is truth, and so that we can be our best selves by being our most honest selves. I know this is all really abstract, but bear with me.

So, all that being said, I feel like all the "new" input I'm getting here is recycled, things I've heard or seen or done already. And on top of that, it's difficult for me to step back and look objectively at who I am versus who I want to be when it seems like I'm still in the middle of it. I've (more or less) always been the person I am now whilst in this city, but I don't know that it's exactly the person I aspire to be. My skin is beginning to feel scratchy against me, and I can tell a change needs to be made; a fresh start.

Here is where I find another twist in my dilemma. So, writing is one of the few things (as opposed to people) I love unconditionally. I am driven by words, even when I'd rather do anything else. For example, at present, I would really prefer to be sleeping. I want to be a poet. I am a poet. I have a book. Yet I will absolutely never make a living as a poet. So I've thought to myself, "What else do you love? What else would you willingly do everyday?" Teaching was my first thought; I love working with elementary school children, and if I could be in a Gifted and Talented classroom, it would be almost-heaven. BUT being a teacher isn't a job; it's a life. And presently, I am still selfish enough to relish my free-time, because it's the only chance I really get to write and live. So I 86'd teaching, at least for now. The only other thing I really love is nature. I am constantly inspired and fascinated by it. Nature environment outdoorsy stuff, meet new life plan and naive hope.

So for now I'm telling myself that for my personal growth, psychological well-being, and science aspirations, I should transfer to the other end of the state, keep up with my English and Writing classes, pick up a science minor, and hope it works. The part of me that is sickly addicted to misery because of the creativity it breeds is fighting with me on this, but I think that's the only part that's not in favor of it. I'm desperate for the pressure of unfamiliar faces; of having to be myself openly and confidently or risk never being known at all. I thrive on introductions, first impressions, and defining myself exactly as I hope to be, and the clean openness of this other campus/world doesn't hurt either. I'm hoping the answers are waiting for me in the hill songs.

Happy moment of the day (before I go):

I walked into Starbucks before my Poetry class today and ordered a Grande cup of their Passion Tea, served hot. Not only did the Barista (Baristo? it was a guy) close the cash register with a swift kick and a flourish, he handed me my drink and said " One heated cup of Passion. Have a great day."

Wander on.