Here I am – but there is too much on my mind to write a speech, or a paper, or even do anything that’s one-quarter, three-fourths, or semi-constructive; I just want to write. It’s not even that I have anything of significance or relevance to write about (really, do I ever?) but for you, audience (are you there?), I am willing to scrape together my freshest random thoughts from the cauldron that is my mind.
Lately I have been very aware of particular aspects of my personality that I may have previously been oblivious to. For example, I am not a team player and, come to think of it, I don’t know that I have ever been. Put me in a group of people and I will crawl into the nearest crevice, pull the zipper closed on my mouth, turn the lock, throw away the key, and proceed to slap a fat piece of duct tape across my face. In the meantime my head will be filled with a explosion of ideas, suggestions, and input that I am too stubborn and frightened to apprise. On the flip side of things, put me to work alone and I can possibly move mountains and create earthquakes measuring 10.0 on the Richter Scale. I feel invincible. I feel the urge to lasso universes and solve outrageous differential equations. I feel the urge to go to the library and scour the creative writing section for just the right book. I feel the urge to build submarines and visit other continents and walk a million miles, just for the sake of walking a million miles. I feel like a nerd, I feel like I can work harder, I feel like I can win. When I work alone I am, and I can.
But that is simply just one of my recent self-discoveries. It is unfortunate for me to admit that I am also a flake. Making plans and breaking them is something I have come to be very ashamed of as of late, and it’s no wonder that people have given up hope on calling, inviting, etc. me into their lives. I push a lot of people away because at the moment, it seems more “convenient” for me to be alone. I am becoming more and more like a hermit every day, and it’s really not a pretty pathway. What’s a girl to do.
I went to grab some coffee the other day – solo – and after sitting down, decided to call up several people whom I hadn’t spoken to in a while. It is almost a sense of relief when you hear their voice, to know that they still remember you and/or have that one crazy birthday card you gave them a couple of years ago, or can recount the times you worked together at such-and-such a restaurant, or even recall where you’re at and why you’re there. It’s those details.
And I can’t tell you much about the big picture, but I can tell you details. I can tell you that when I pulled into the parking lot of Starbucks, there was an ‘Obama ’08’ sticker on the bumper of a car. A man inside was wearing a very nice scarf, and the ceilings seemed a little too high, or the space too empty (one of the two). I can tell you that there is still Pennsylvania mud caked on the bottom of my running shoes from a service project in Harrisburg last spring, and that my locker combination is 4-26-14. I can describe to you what my favorite scent is, but not the name of it. I can relay to you every lesson I’ve learned from ‘What Not to Wear’ and describe every hair on my best friend’s head.
I could tell you all of this, but it doesn’t mean much to you; merely a collective mush of irrelevant constituents of my life. I can tell you, however, that I am a detail junkie with little idea of where my life is going but every good intention of getting to Whereveri’msupposedtobe. Someday.
PS. My postcard didn’t make today’s Sunday Secrets.
And with that, I will put an end to this randomness and encourage you to carry on with your day, perhaps this time with an extra bounce in your step.