Hi. I like pretty things, being nocturnal, reflecting idly and the rain.
The very meaningless of life forces man to create his own meaning. Children, of course, begin life with an untarnished sense of wonder, a capacity to experience total joy at something as simple as the greenness of a leaf; but as they grow older, the awareness of death and decay begins to impinge on their consciousness and subtly erode their joie de vivre, their idealism—and their assumption of immorality. As a child matures, he sees death and pain everywhere about him, and begins to lose faith in the ultimate goodness of man.
But if he’s reasonably strong—and lucky—he can emerge from this twilight of the soul into a rebirth of life’s elan. Both because of and in spite of his awareness of the meaninglessness of life, he can forge a fresh sense of purpose and affirmation. He may not recapture the same pure sense of wonder he was born with, but he can shape something for more enduring and sustaining. The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death—however mutable man may be able to make them—our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfillment.
However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.
I didn’t know what college I wanted to go to at the beginning of my senior year of high school. I got accepted into a number of schools, but my dad was pulling his alma mater: Texas A&M University.
On March 14th, 2009—a few months before I graduated—he suddenly passed away of a heart attack. As a tribute to him and everything he did for me, I confirmed my acceptance into Texas A&M University. I would do this for him, his last wish of me. A few months later I was moving away from the place I’d just spent the past 18 years of my life and to the place my dad said he spent the best years of his. I took his Aggie ring with me as a reminder of what, and who, I was there for.
On November 9th, 2012—the day of my dad’s birthday—I received my own Aggie ring. He would have been 54 years old. I can’t help but stare at this ring on my hand in wonder at its powerfully symbolic culmination of so much hard work and effort. Looking back on everything I’ve experienced, accomplished, endured.. There have been a lot of good times and a lot of hard times. Really, really hard times. When I began my time at this university, I was a child. I wish he could see the young woman I’ve become today.
I know you would have been proud of me today, Dad. Happy belated birthday.
Wise words from Thomas Jefferson.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), XVII (I do not love you…)
This is not true. Introverts just don’t talk unless they have something to say. They hate small talk. Get an introvert talking about something they are interested in, and they won’t shut up for days.
Shyness has nothing to do with being an Introvert. Introverts are not necessarily afraid of people. What they need is a reason to interact. They don’t interact for the sake of interacting. If you want to talk to an Introvert, just start talking. Don’t worry about being polite.
Introverts often don’t see a reason for beating around the bush with social pleasantries. They want everyone to just be real and honest. Unfortunately, this is not acceptable in most settings, so Introverts can feel a lot of pressure to fit in, which they find exhausting.
On the contrary, Introverts intensely value the few friends they have. They can count their close friends on one hand. If you are lucky enough for an introvert to consider you a friend, you probably have a loyal ally for life. Once you have earned their respect as being a person of substance, you’re in.
Nonsense. Introverts just don’t like to go out in public FOR AS LONG. They also like to avoid the complications that are involved in public activities. They take in data and experiences very quickly, and as a result, don’t need to be there for long to “get it.” They’re ready to go home, recharge, and process it all. In fact, recharging is absolutely crucial for Introverts.
Introverts are perfectly comfortable with their own thoughts. They think a lot. They daydream. They like to have problems to work on, puzzles to solve. But they can also get incredibly lonely if they don’t have anyone to share their discoveries with. They crave an authentic and sincere connection with ONE PERSON at a time.
Introverts are often individualists. They don’t follow the crowd. They’d prefer to be valued for their novel ways of living. They think for themselves and because of that, they often challenge the norm. They don’t make most decisions based on what is popular or trendy.
Introverts are people who primarily look inward, paying close attention to their thoughts and emotions. It’s not that they are incapable of paying attention to what is going on around them, it’s just that their inner world is much more stimulating and rewarding to them.
Introverts typically relax at home or in nature, not in busy public places. Introverts are not thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies. If there is too much talking and noise going on, they shut down. Their brains are too sensitive to the neurotransmitter called Dopamine. Introverts and Extroverts have different dominant neuro-pathways. Just look it up.
Introverts cannot “fix themselves” and deserve respect for their natural temperament and contributions to the human race. In fact, one study (Silverman, 1986) showed that the percentage of Introverts increases with IQ.
With unusually bright clarity I can remember the night my mother resigned herself to my nocturnal schedule when she caught me on FFVII at 4am in the morning for the 3rd school night in a row. I remember hearing the door handle turn with that gut-wrenching dread specific to children who are about to get caught doing something already explicitly forbidden. She opened the door. We made eye contact for three of the most terrifying seconds of my life before she screamed “FUCK,” slammed her hand against the wall, slammed the door closed, and went back to bed. That was the last curfew check I ever got. I was 11.
Insomnia has defined my individuality dusk-to-dawn via all-night study sessions, philosophy binges, art projects, musical evolutions, daring adventures, reckless loves and violent heartbreaks. My most brilliant triumphs and devastating defeats happened under starlight whereas I can only associate daytime with the imperiously mundane. Everyday sitcom happenings permeated with compulsory prosaic interactions. Does that make me misanthropic?
Regardless, it’s become a beast I can no longer control. These days I feel lucky to sleep every other night with cat naps where I can catch them. Day on, day off. Hazy half-heard conversations and listless half-efforts characterize my dreamy purgatory of an existence with no respite in sight. I’m exhausted and not even entirely sure I can survive another semester like this. In a last ditch effort to return some semblance of normalcy to my life I got a script for Ambien today.
Is it odd to feel like I’m betraying a core element of my identity by choosing to suppress whatever neurochemical imbalance causes my brain to believe it doesn’t need sleep? Worst yet I’ll be sentencing myself to life in the daylight with the rest of the “normal” people, the thought of which kiiiind of makes me want to stab my own eyes out. God I am so strange.
…you realize you have almost seventy followers (consisting of various family/friends/sorority sisters/acquaintances) on Instagram over the course of the four months you’ve been actively using it—and during which time several pictures of somewhat questionable behavior and prohibited substances were uploaded—because you never bothered to investigate the social aspect/privacy settings of the free, easy-to-use camera.