I feel antsy sometimes. Like I am unable to sit still, or relax my anxious thoughts that run vigorously through my head.
It's mostly at night when I feel this way. I just have the upmost compulsion to get up, grab my keys and i pod and just hit the road. Go as far as my little '98, 195,000 mile Toyota Corolla can go. Other times I just feel like running out the door and going as far as my legs can take me. If I make it to Chix Beach, I'll be happy. Just so long as it is far from here.
My thoughts about getting out of school are irrational. I'm safe here. I live within a bubble of ignorance, blind to the outside world even though I'm informed of everything that is going on out there. I'm sheltered. My Con Law briefs and Spanish lesson plans take more precedent over the anxiety of me paying upwards to $5 a gallon this summer for gas. School prevents me from feeling this uneasiness and added stress that the real world causes. But here I am blabbing about how much I want to escape.
The thing is, once I leave the gates of VWC, it's all on me. I've been waiting for the day of complete independence and freedom from parents, school, soccer... and here it comes in about 6 weeks. I've convinced myself that I'm ready and prepared.
It's total bullshit.
I know in my right mind that I am going to struggle this next year. I'm open to the challenge but will I make it, or will I hit the ground running?
I'm never satisfied in one spot, always wandering, meandering and searching for something else. Being in school gave me the opportunity to exercise my roaming tendencies. But once I am responsible for myself, will I have the ability to wander off like I have? Will I be satisfied to stay in one place?
Monday, March 28, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
A Wanderer
"Not all those who wander are lost." J.R.R. Tolkien
Not too long ago, my mother and I were playing the reminiscing game about my childhood when out of nowhere she revealed that she used a leash on me when I was younger.
We've all seen those poor children in the mall, harnessed tightly to a leash that looks like it was meant for a German Shepherd, not a 35-pound toddler. You see them try to run beyond the limits of the leash, moving their little arms and legs so fast but gaining no ground whatsoever.
Well, yeah that was me. How embarrassing.
In hindsight though, I was a wanderer. I could never seem to stay with the wolf pack. I was the stray duckling who ends up on wandering on the side of the road searching for Momma Duck.
Problem is I still am. I don't know what it is about me and staying in one spot, but I can't seem to stay put. I have to wander, roam and meander around a party, a room and even the streets. Its not that I don't like my friends, I just seem to be guided by other things... I suppose.
I can't really come up with a logical answer.
My mind tends to wander first with my body following it clumsily. There is no rhyme or reason, but then again I don't truly wish to find out why. Although I'm curious to know how I ended up in a hammock on a beach one early morning while Spring Breaking in Key West. Or how I end up at Chix Beach by myself for hours on end on Sunday afternoon.
During re-caps of the night before after drinking, I always find myself asking my friends, "where I was that during all this?" Meaghan always answers me the best: "Well you know you're just the wandering type, Gill. You're always off somewhere!"
I don't know if it's good, or if it's bad, but it's in my nature.
I just can't seem to sit...
Not too long ago, my mother and I were playing the reminiscing game about my childhood when out of nowhere she revealed that she used a leash on me when I was younger.
We've all seen those poor children in the mall, harnessed tightly to a leash that looks like it was meant for a German Shepherd, not a 35-pound toddler. You see them try to run beyond the limits of the leash, moving their little arms and legs so fast but gaining no ground whatsoever.
Well, yeah that was me. How embarrassing.
In hindsight though, I was a wanderer. I could never seem to stay with the wolf pack. I was the stray duckling who ends up on wandering on the side of the road searching for Momma Duck.
Problem is I still am. I don't know what it is about me and staying in one spot, but I can't seem to stay put. I have to wander, roam and meander around a party, a room and even the streets. Its not that I don't like my friends, I just seem to be guided by other things... I suppose.
I can't really come up with a logical answer.
My mind tends to wander first with my body following it clumsily. There is no rhyme or reason, but then again I don't truly wish to find out why. Although I'm curious to know how I ended up in a hammock on a beach one early morning while Spring Breaking in Key West. Or how I end up at Chix Beach by myself for hours on end on Sunday afternoon.
During re-caps of the night before after drinking, I always find myself asking my friends, "where I was that during all this?" Meaghan always answers me the best: "Well you know you're just the wandering type, Gill. You're always off somewhere!"
I don't know if it's good, or if it's bad, but it's in my nature.
I just can't seem to sit...
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The Secret Lagoon
I imagine this special place in my head, a secret spot that no one else knows of. I'm not quite sure if this place truly exists in the world, but in my mind, it is beautiful.
I imagine myself floating on my back in the cool, clear water of a breathe-taking lagoon. The lagoon is sequestered in a pocket of woods, protected from the breaking waves of the ocean. Mangrove trees line the lagoon, their finger-like roots submerging below the translucent water and piercing the white, clay bottom. Vines and Spanish moss hang from tree to tree and drape the area with an air of seclusion.
The day has melted into dusk and the faint light illuminates the cool water to reflect the colors of the setting sun. The forest is filled with life as the day comes to an end, waves crash against the jagged rocks just out of reach of the secluded lagoon. But I hear nothing as I wade in the smooth pool.
The air is thick and still but the cool water embraces my submerged body and makes me feel weightless.
The water surrounds my exposed frame, making me feel safe and secure.
The night is settling but I fear nothing. I want to remain in the lagoon forever. I close my eyes and breathe, releasing all my thoughts, all my worries, all my memories. Everything flows out of me and travels out of the protected lagoon into the crashing surf. It is as if life is effortless...
I imagine myself floating on my back in the cool, clear water of a breathe-taking lagoon. The lagoon is sequestered in a pocket of woods, protected from the breaking waves of the ocean. Mangrove trees line the lagoon, their finger-like roots submerging below the translucent water and piercing the white, clay bottom. Vines and Spanish moss hang from tree to tree and drape the area with an air of seclusion.
The day has melted into dusk and the faint light illuminates the cool water to reflect the colors of the setting sun. The forest is filled with life as the day comes to an end, waves crash against the jagged rocks just out of reach of the secluded lagoon. But I hear nothing as I wade in the smooth pool.
The air is thick and still but the cool water embraces my submerged body and makes me feel weightless.
The water surrounds my exposed frame, making me feel safe and secure.
The night is settling but I fear nothing. I want to remain in the lagoon forever. I close my eyes and breathe, releasing all my thoughts, all my worries, all my memories. Everything flows out of me and travels out of the protected lagoon into the crashing surf. It is as if life is effortless...
Blogging Re-Visited
About a little over a year ago, I attempted to keep up a steady blog to chronicle my European adventures while studying abroad in Sevilla, Spain. I had this elaborate idea in my mind that my blog would be the bank in which I would deposit all my memories and horrors of living abroad. But I barely made it to the second month of the trip and decided that my time was better spent at the bars in Sevilla and speaking Spanish than writing on a silly blog in English.
But things have changed. Writing has become a secret hobby for me. I carry my black, weathered moleskin journal at all times now, ready to write down a great quote or song lyric or spill about my frustration over what I am going to do after graduation. Even though my writing activities have increased and my writing style is starting to develop, the majority of my thoughts are not making it to paper, or to Microsoft Word.
So this blog is an experiment. I really I am not concerned with followers, although I would love it if people read my posts. What I am trying to say is that is not my main objective. My purpose is to document my thoughts, my crazy, analytical, circular, convoluted thoughts that have lately been clouding my brain.
They need to get out some how, so why not blog about it?
But things have changed. Writing has become a secret hobby for me. I carry my black, weathered moleskin journal at all times now, ready to write down a great quote or song lyric or spill about my frustration over what I am going to do after graduation. Even though my writing activities have increased and my writing style is starting to develop, the majority of my thoughts are not making it to paper, or to Microsoft Word.
So this blog is an experiment. I really I am not concerned with followers, although I would love it if people read my posts. What I am trying to say is that is not my main objective. My purpose is to document my thoughts, my crazy, analytical, circular, convoluted thoughts that have lately been clouding my brain.
They need to get out some how, so why not blog about it?
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