January 3rd
Speak proud aloud, and bitter!—In my ear
Whisper me simply this,—She loves thee not!
-Le Bret, Cyrano de Bergerac, Scene 2 VIII
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A different version than the one we studied in English, but just as striking. I can't say how or wherefore, but the line appeared from a fathomless nothingness in my mind as I sat, doing something completely unrelated. The beauty of it, the emotional depth, Le Bret's loyalty, their friendship. A relic of a different time? A fragment from a different culture? Perhaps.
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F. Scott Fitzgerald's writing. Indeed, it is worthy of standing alone as its own sentence! Fitzgerald's writing. Can you feel it hit you? A train, full-on, face smashed, heart crushed, wouldn't be nearly as powerful.
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Respectable people seem to have a period of introspection at the beginning/end of every year. I suppose I must have one now.
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This past year, as all years before have been and all years hereafter shall be, has been one of ups and downs. I can't honestly say it has been any bit more volatile or complex than before, but it may appear that way because of the inherent human need to electrify and color the mundane and inexpressive. Nonetheless, it has been, undeniably, one of incredible change. Not in emotional reactions or even morality, necessarily, but in the more crucial aspects of self-comprehension and social interaction. All of life is but an endless journey to discover...I was about to write "yourself" but that can't be it. I had the honor of interacting with many new people, who I both delightedly and disappointedly discovered were normal. A few colorful figures stand out, of course--the way they always do. I can even recall their names. But, happily, it is much more common to meet someone and realize they are of the same mold as someone you already know.
I've also had the privilege to, for the first time, interact with working adults on a regular basis. There seems to be a greater variance in personalities and personal interests when one explores the vast world that lies beyond the secure groves of academe. From my conversations with them, I've gleaned an immeasurable quantity of invaluable wisdom. I rememember, most clearly, one man telling me that life only gets faster every year. It's unfortunate that his reflection is true.
Socially, what else was there? Ah, yes. A greater attachment and loyalty to friends. A greater reliance on them, in general. The stronger realization that I am, indeed, not an island, although I am not a man. ("No man is an island...") I'm not funny. Yes! I realized that too! Which leads me to the next thing: self-discovery.
I'm not funny. I'm not talented at anything. I'm more ready to let things go at the first sight of danger, at the first taste of failure, than to persevere and succeed. I act very differently around different people and even around the same people at different times. I am too cynical for too many things, like religion, and love, and hope, and world peace. And...some people still want to be friends with me! And enjoy talking to me! Which means...what exactly, I don't know. I have also realized how incredibly difficult it is to maintain relationships with people you don't see much. That doesn't fall under self-comprehension, but then again perhaps it does. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, the people we associate with define who we are. They become our ruler for measuring, not only our social capabilities, but our self-worth, and they shape the way we see the world and the way we react to it. They form the basis for our personal growth, providing a secure home, if you will, to reach out and explore an insecure world. I miss so many people, and I can't recall ever missing them so much before--people who have, in some way or another, crossed my path and left something behind, although I know some of them don't even realize it.
I let what I do define who I am, instead of defining who I am before I enter the world. It's easy to call it creating a barrier or forming prejudices, but more accurately, it's living with a certainty of who you are, what you are, how you are. What makes you tick, what makes you smile, what makes you cry, what makes you laugh, or dance, or shout. All of that. But I've never sat down to think about it, so I don't know. I'm tempted to ask everyone I care about those same questions, to revel for a short moment in a well-hidden piece of their lives, but I can't bring myself to it when I can't answer them for myself. What sort of answers would they give me? Would they even bother to answer? And then, do I really want to know so much about them, about myself? Is it worth the time?
Of late, I've been trapped in that quandary. Should I really take the time to stop and think about these issues or should I let them go, stop worrying, face each moment as it comes? I can identify much of 2005 with that question. Perhaps this year will see the resolution of that, at least. That malicious quagmire of self-doubt reminds me of quicksand. Struggle and you're pulled in. Don't struggle and I get to enjoy dying more slowly. What does it matter, either way's ineluctable asphyxiation.
Towards the end of the last school year, I'd fallen into a quiet contentment. Ah, that dreaded complacency! But I was quite abruptly shaken out of it when September arrived, with its generally uncomfortable novelty. May I call it that? It wasn't truly novel; none of it was. The same people, the same place, the same aspirations, the same worries. But it was more than before. Amplified. Pulled like taffy to unrecognizable proportions and just as difficult to get off your teeth. More demands. More responsibilites. More taxing on my sanity. I learned I had no time management skills. The end of the fall season and the arrival of two breaks in quick succession made me forget about responsibility. I'm still waiting for it to catch up.
I feel as if I had more to say, but on the time scale I've arrived at the end of last year and the beginning of this one. So that's it. My year in review: what was worth mulling over and writing about, my hopes, dreams, fears, hung out like dirty laundry in my front yard. How funny.
