talk talk talk

there's a picture of me as a little kid, probably no more than 4 years old. i'm sitting in my room alone, at my piano, with my headphones on. i'm looking over my shoulder, scowling: the most genuinely indignant face you've ever seen on a 4-year-old. the problem? my mother. who was (i'm told) behind the camera, interrupting my private time. how dare she.

this picture is often the gateway to a family dissertation on my lone-wolfishness. the lead-in to stories of all of those times i could have been playing outside with friends, but was instead sitting in my closet fort, recording radio shows with my imaginary students. all of the times i would rather read a book or play an instrument than interact with human beings.

it's a notoriety i'd like to abandon.

it's a hard habit to break after 26 years of assuming you are what you always were.

lately, i've never wanted to talk more than i do now. insularity is no longer cute and fun. i want feedback. i want dialogue. i want the comfort of another person's voice to hash out the kinks with.

especially if that person knows me as well as i do. and doesn't buy into the notion of childhood photos as portents.

as determined by their viewer

i just came across my last blog post. nine months ago. my first thought was, "oh, things change quickly." but because i'm trying very hard to qualify my thoughts these days, my second thought was "wait, have they really?"

nine months ago i had just finished my first year of graduate school. i'd secured my first two legitimate jobs in education. i moved to a real apartment. the sun was shining. i met a boy.

today, i just finished grad school. i have two more legitimate jobs in education. my apartment remains real. the sun is shining. i lost that boy.

then, transition felt like progress. today, it sometimes feel like treading water. the difference is, i know wholeheartedly, a matter of perspective.

perspective, my constant, constant foe.

breaking into the habit of maintaining perspective is akin to training for a marathon. commitment. persistence. commitment. persistence.

so, now i do both. i run and i think. my stamina for running pales in comparison, at this point, to my stamina for thinking. but one of these days, after three miles of running and thinking, it'll be programmed. because it has to be.

nine months ago i welcomed perspective. right now, i'm afraid of it. because choosing to find perspective means taking control.

and that is a frightening ... and liberating ... thing.