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Thursday, October 15, 2009

Disparate Parts


So many disparate parts make up a person. The sum total of every quirk and imperfection is an individual. We start as clean slates, tabula rasas, and over time we are moulded and changed and we become unique. Sure, we start unique, our DNA is specific to us, our fingerprint is our own. But from the very second we leave our mother's womb, we are changed. As we grow into adulthood, we lose that genuinely childlike purity. We see things, we do things, we say things, we hear things, and we are forever changed. Jaded. Scars are collected, telling stories on our skin, and our minds collect scars too. Our experiences affect our perception of the world. They affect the way we think, our actions, our ideas.

Have you noticed that photographs of children truly reflect emotion, whereas photographs of adults often seem false? The emotions therein are faux emotions, modeled for the camera. Unless in a state where control is lost, adults are able to conceal their true emotions. It's almost like it's a game, these walls are built up, to protect people from harm, from expressing the things that they don't want the world to know. There is a filter.

Another aspect of adulthood that strikes me is that people often prioritise their lives, and generally they don't put the things that make them the happiest first. They put their career first. They put the aquisition of material things first. They put winning first. They put on these blinders that block out all the beautiful things. The simple things, like laying in the grass in the sun, or listening to the rain pitter pattering on a tin roof. They forget these things, tell themselves that those things are not important. Complication is important. Toil is important.

What about simplicity? What about love? What do I love? What am I passionate about? What weird wacky strange oddball thing am I absolutely enamoured with? The things that are suppressed for fear of judgement. Simplicity, simple things. Like when I was a kid and I would get entirely absorbed with certain historical periods, or with animals, or events, and I would tirelessly ponder and explore these ideas until every stone had been turned and turned again and picked up and broken in half and fused back together. Egypt, Rome, Dinosaurs, Cats, Titanic, Horses, Pompeii, Penguins, Snails, Trees, Clouds, Caves, Wind, Oceans, Secret Gardens. Obsession is a good word for the way I pursued things of that nature.

I grew more and more practical over the years, taking placement tests, career interest tests. Tests, tests, tests. I put my passions to the side in order to become practical. I'll be a Vetrinarian and an artist when I have time. I'll be a doctor and a writer when I have time. At a certain point my practical ideas peaked, and at that time I decided that I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be impractical because that was what was going to make me happy. I wanted to follow through with my harebrained, crazy, irresponsible, odd ideas and dreams. At which point I decided that Evergreen was my best option. Sure, I could get into Lewis and Clark, I could get into UW, I could get into Western, or Cal Arts. But I didn't want that. I wanted this. I made this happen, and I couldn't be more ecstatic.

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