I have spent today doing the things I enjoy, and yesterday I did the same.
It would seem that I turned nineteen at five in the morning a great many more than 24 hours ago, one more year spanning across the ages in this grand, small life.
That's the age two of my best friends were, nineteen, when we met one of them, and really started hanging out with the other. They made being nineteen look absolutely awesome, and I seem to remember and hang onto weird little things about other people, remembering conversations and idiosyncrasies and outward appearance and small details of lives and being at certain times.
This is a year I've been rather looking forward to, for abstract and intangible reasons. This is an age and birthday that arrived gracefully, fitting and flowing freely. Still, I never really think of myself as just one age. I am many.
I had no expectations, though many hopes for my birthday, however, hope is more flexible than expectation, and doesn't fall as hard when it is not met. Everything was perfect, which I guess is just how life has been lately, perfect as it is, perfect day by day, nothing amiss, though, yeah, there are still things I wish would happen or happen more, and it's not like I'm just blithely happy all of the time.
I am exploring life and being, and rather liking everything I find. There's not much of a concept of good or bad in my head anymore, which in itself, isn't necessarily great or worse. I mean, I do things that don't strike others as kind or safe, but I see no "wrong" with them. Maybe I'm overconfident. Part of the problem with being in the moment, I guess. But I still feel that I straddle past, present and future in my life. I'm getting more and more independent, even though others' still matter, other people still have wisdom and can offer guidance. It's confusing though, because I look at my grandmother, who asks for advice often, and voices her grand dreams, but she doesn't necessarily actually listen to the advice and guidance she gets. I don't really want to do that, because it makes people feel ignored and ill-valued.
I dance around the concepts in my head, as well as the things in outer life, looking carefully at every side of all the dimensions I sense. This can make for confusion, or at least, confusing writing. I look at every side, up and down and in and out, and I can see how I could go spinning off on the tangent, but I hold my core still and continue to observe the thing I am exploring; I want to see it all. Like the blind men and the elephant, except I want to feel every side of the elephant, and I want to know what others feel, what the elephant is to them, and then I can fit it to what I know of the elephant and know the elephant a little better.
I want to choose, not just fly off at the most opportune sound or sight. I guess that's why I don't really get mad anymore, at least not lately, not necessarily never --stretching of into the future-- There are so many sides to everything, and so many sides to every person who, themselves, feel so strongly. And the why for their feelings, oh, that could be explored forever too.
My brother, who reading a piece out loud during the Christmas organ recital, mispronounced a word. This, along with the absolute beauty of his tone and inflection while reading, striking every word in gold and mahogany, sent me and my sister into a strained giggle fit. It wasn't meant to make him uncomfortable, and it wasn't even entirely because of him, but also of the absurd beauty of the entire program, the emotion and setting and remembering there, everyone singing lovely songs off-key but whole heartedly and in easy companionship. Beautiful things can be amusing, you know, and I am elvish, fairy-kind, Gwragged Annwn, seeing the world at odd angles which can elicit strange reactions and emotions from me. It was exhilarating, in a way, and uncontrollable, I knew it wasn't a good idea, but it was nigh unto impossible to stop. I kept bumping up next to and careening off of my sister's giggling. We did eventually get a hold of ourselves, though, when the next carol finally started.
The whole thing was kind of embarrassing, and I apologized profusely to my brother right after and multiple times over the course of the evening.
Somebody asked that evening, after the program was over, whether I felt more mature, it being my birthday and all, and I said yes, though inside I was remembering the giggle fit and how childish that was. It was embarrassing, but it doesn't actually bother me a lot, it was what it is and will be. I am forty and four and nineteen, you know; I'm not sure how it all meshes together, but somehow it does.
It would seem that I turned nineteen at five in the morning a great many more than 24 hours ago, one more year spanning across the ages in this grand, small life.
That's the age two of my best friends were, nineteen, when we met one of them, and really started hanging out with the other. They made being nineteen look absolutely awesome, and I seem to remember and hang onto weird little things about other people, remembering conversations and idiosyncrasies and outward appearance and small details of lives and being at certain times.
This is a year I've been rather looking forward to, for abstract and intangible reasons. This is an age and birthday that arrived gracefully, fitting and flowing freely. Still, I never really think of myself as just one age. I am many.
I had no expectations, though many hopes for my birthday, however, hope is more flexible than expectation, and doesn't fall as hard when it is not met. Everything was perfect, which I guess is just how life has been lately, perfect as it is, perfect day by day, nothing amiss, though, yeah, there are still things I wish would happen or happen more, and it's not like I'm just blithely happy all of the time.
I am exploring life and being, and rather liking everything I find. There's not much of a concept of good or bad in my head anymore, which in itself, isn't necessarily great or worse. I mean, I do things that don't strike others as kind or safe, but I see no "wrong" with them. Maybe I'm overconfident. Part of the problem with being in the moment, I guess. But I still feel that I straddle past, present and future in my life. I'm getting more and more independent, even though others' still matter, other people still have wisdom and can offer guidance. It's confusing though, because I look at my grandmother, who asks for advice often, and voices her grand dreams, but she doesn't necessarily actually listen to the advice and guidance she gets. I don't really want to do that, because it makes people feel ignored and ill-valued.
I dance around the concepts in my head, as well as the things in outer life, looking carefully at every side of all the dimensions I sense. This can make for confusion, or at least, confusing writing. I look at every side, up and down and in and out, and I can see how I could go spinning off on the tangent, but I hold my core still and continue to observe the thing I am exploring; I want to see it all. Like the blind men and the elephant, except I want to feel every side of the elephant, and I want to know what others feel, what the elephant is to them, and then I can fit it to what I know of the elephant and know the elephant a little better.
I want to choose, not just fly off at the most opportune sound or sight. I guess that's why I don't really get mad anymore, at least not lately, not necessarily never --stretching of into the future-- There are so many sides to everything, and so many sides to every person who, themselves, feel so strongly. And the why for their feelings, oh, that could be explored forever too.
My brother, who reading a piece out loud during the Christmas organ recital, mispronounced a word. This, along with the absolute beauty of his tone and inflection while reading, striking every word in gold and mahogany, sent me and my sister into a strained giggle fit. It wasn't meant to make him uncomfortable, and it wasn't even entirely because of him, but also of the absurd beauty of the entire program, the emotion and setting and remembering there, everyone singing lovely songs off-key but whole heartedly and in easy companionship. Beautiful things can be amusing, you know, and I am elvish, fairy-kind, Gwragged Annwn, seeing the world at odd angles which can elicit strange reactions and emotions from me. It was exhilarating, in a way, and uncontrollable, I knew it wasn't a good idea, but it was nigh unto impossible to stop. I kept bumping up next to and careening off of my sister's giggling. We did eventually get a hold of ourselves, though, when the next carol finally started.
The whole thing was kind of embarrassing, and I apologized profusely to my brother right after and multiple times over the course of the evening.
Somebody asked that evening, after the program was over, whether I felt more mature, it being my birthday and all, and I said yes, though inside I was remembering the giggle fit and how childish that was. It was embarrassing, but it doesn't actually bother me a lot, it was what it is and will be. I am forty and four and nineteen, you know; I'm not sure how it all meshes together, but somehow it does.
