I have this idea that one day I'll be daydreaming about a mysterious being telling me about someone who would hypothetically be the perfect girl for me; then I look at the girl I have my arm around, look back, and reply in my head, "No thanks. I'm set." And that's when I'll know.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
3 Weeks in the City of 5 Flags
For almost three weeks now, I've been on Christmas break, away from Penn State and safely back in my hometown of Pensacola. Up to the time for Christmas break I wondered how I would handle that long a stay in Pensacola: 3 weeks. That's 21 days, 21 days in the city I called home for 18 years. Check that-- I've called Pensacola my home for the past 22 years and will do so until my death, but everything beyond that eighteenth year has been mere visitation, periodic checkup-slash-reunions to make sure everything is exactly how I left it. It felt that way for about two years, but much as I've grown without the city, the city has grown without me.
I told my friends during the days leading up to my trip that I would most likely go crazy from the suffocation of Pensacola after about Day 10. This was based on data from my return trips home from college, when I would always feel this nagging need to escape Pensacola after a little over a week there. This time around, I didn't feel the need to escape. Honestly, I've had a great time here. It's been a comfortable stay. Really.
By my first weekend here, I was staying out until 3 am on a nightly basis, taking breaks occasionally for things like exhaustion and Christmas Eve. Old friends would call, I'd meet them in my sister's Chi Omega-mobile, and we'd enjoy each other's company over the stupidest of conversation topics. That's how you distinguish friends from the past from friends in the past: if you can hang out for an hour without resorting to the standard updates and reminiscing for more than 10 minutes of the conversation, they are friends from the past that are still friends of the present.
I also met some new people. Some were cool, some were mean, some were sexy. But that's for another time. Back to the story at hand. Where was I? Oh yeah, having a good time in Pensacola...
After two weeks passed with my sanity not only intact but at its finest, I wondered why I wasn't getting tired of Pensacola this time. Instead of checking the calendar for the days it would take for me to get out, I ignored the calendar and didn't want to think about leaving. Something was very different about my stay this time. The difference was obvious and simple: in comparison to my past 4 months in an alien city and the start of graduate school, I was having more fun in the familiar, responsibility-free confines ("confines" being used in its least suppressive form) of Pensacola.
But this is not a life I can get accustomed to; this has been a vacation. One by one my friends returned to their other lives, until I became the lone survivor, the only one walking freely in the ever-annoying 70 degree Florida winter breeze. The 3 am nights are over, and I've spent the closing days of my stay here watching home videos (as I transfer them to DVD) and listening to music my sister hates (Nellie McKay at the moment). The friends are gone, and I'm the only one still on vacation.
You want everything to stay the same when you're on vacation. The life seems like a better and suddenly feasible alternative to your real situation. We've all had that feeling at the close of a great vacation, the one where we could see ourselves in that scene forever, intending to keep in close touch with the people and the things we've met along the way. That's not how it works, though. This time I've had away from everything is not the way best-suited for me to live my life. It's not even really a life; rather, a break from it. I'm ready again for a normal routine, to regain responsibility, and to move in a positive direction rather than remaining in a positive standstill. With this break, I've been again taught a valuable lesson. Enjoy all of life: the big moments, the little things, even the breaks from it.
I told my friends during the days leading up to my trip that I would most likely go crazy from the suffocation of Pensacola after about Day 10. This was based on data from my return trips home from college, when I would always feel this nagging need to escape Pensacola after a little over a week there. This time around, I didn't feel the need to escape. Honestly, I've had a great time here. It's been a comfortable stay. Really.
By my first weekend here, I was staying out until 3 am on a nightly basis, taking breaks occasionally for things like exhaustion and Christmas Eve. Old friends would call, I'd meet them in my sister's Chi Omega-mobile, and we'd enjoy each other's company over the stupidest of conversation topics. That's how you distinguish friends from the past from friends in the past: if you can hang out for an hour without resorting to the standard updates and reminiscing for more than 10 minutes of the conversation, they are friends from the past that are still friends of the present.
I also met some new people. Some were cool, some were mean, some were sexy. But that's for another time. Back to the story at hand. Where was I? Oh yeah, having a good time in Pensacola...
After two weeks passed with my sanity not only intact but at its finest, I wondered why I wasn't getting tired of Pensacola this time. Instead of checking the calendar for the days it would take for me to get out, I ignored the calendar and didn't want to think about leaving. Something was very different about my stay this time. The difference was obvious and simple: in comparison to my past 4 months in an alien city and the start of graduate school, I was having more fun in the familiar, responsibility-free confines ("confines" being used in its least suppressive form) of Pensacola.
But this is not a life I can get accustomed to; this has been a vacation. One by one my friends returned to their other lives, until I became the lone survivor, the only one walking freely in the ever-annoying 70 degree Florida winter breeze. The 3 am nights are over, and I've spent the closing days of my stay here watching home videos (as I transfer them to DVD) and listening to music my sister hates (Nellie McKay at the moment). The friends are gone, and I'm the only one still on vacation.
You want everything to stay the same when you're on vacation. The life seems like a better and suddenly feasible alternative to your real situation. We've all had that feeling at the close of a great vacation, the one where we could see ourselves in that scene forever, intending to keep in close touch with the people and the things we've met along the way. That's not how it works, though. This time I've had away from everything is not the way best-suited for me to live my life. It's not even really a life; rather, a break from it. I'm ready again for a normal routine, to regain responsibility, and to move in a positive direction rather than remaining in a positive standstill. With this break, I've been again taught a valuable lesson. Enjoy all of life: the big moments, the little things, even the breaks from it.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Right Off Broadway
I kept telling all the people I was meeting at this party that we were in the greatest city in the world. Over the course of the day I had driven across a great deal of it, where 7.5 miles takes an hour in the car. In that time I drove by famous actors, ate food that makes me sweat just thinking about it, saw a city that truly never sleeps, and best of all, shared it with people I love. I had driven there alone, but was joined by aunts, uncles, and cousins; my best friend from the days of band nerdom; and a newly relocated dear friend from college. The family, they've lived there for all their lives. The friends, they're chasing dreams, moving over a thousand miles to pursue their ideal lives and happiness. I've joined them in the journey, but I'm not with them in that city.
Not yet, anyway. That should probably be the next step. September 2006. I hope to be there. It's the greatest city on Earth, and I'd have great people with which to share it.
Not yet, anyway. That should probably be the next step. September 2006. I hope to be there. It's the greatest city on Earth, and I'd have great people with which to share it.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Laughter Equals Happiness
None of us had been to the movies in a while, not going to any multiplex since early last summer. This was also the first time the four of us had been together since I moved to Harrisburg, and going to see a well-received family movie like “The Incredibles” seemed like an appropriate outing for some of that ever-diminishing family time. We were all entertained by the movie, jokingly making ourselves superheros as we exited the theatre. It was no longer raining as it had been when we first left for the movie, but my dad still passed the umbrella for me to hold. When I wondered why, my sister remarked that I must be Umbrella Boy, a pun that normally wouldn’t muster more than a smirk of appreciation to the reference.
Instead, the moniker struck my dad as incredibly funny, and he immediately burst into laughter. We would repeat the name of my new alter-ego just to see him continue laughing, which would happen without fail. My samuri swinging of the umbrella finally pushed him over the edge. There we were in the middle of a movie parking lot, my dad laughing so hard he had to bend his head down to regain his breath. By the time we reached the car, he had to wipe tears from his face, which I think is around Level 7 on the laughter scale.
I saw my dad laugh a lot during my brief trip home. He’s always had that sarcastic edge that I’ve been fortunate enough to inherit, and when we’re put together in the same room, it can be very dangerous, particularly for my mom, who can at times be taken aback by our sarcastic remarks. After one particular episode that ended with my mom calling my dad an asshole, leading him to again cover his face in laughter, my mom returned to me and said that my dad laughs a lot more when I’m home. On a drive a few days later my dad admitted that very fact, that he laughs a lot more when I come home. I felt similarly, realizing that I was much more upbeat, energized, humorous, and humored during my trip away from Harrisburg.
Instead, the moniker struck my dad as incredibly funny, and he immediately burst into laughter. We would repeat the name of my new alter-ego just to see him continue laughing, which would happen without fail. My samuri swinging of the umbrella finally pushed him over the edge. There we were in the middle of a movie parking lot, my dad laughing so hard he had to bend his head down to regain his breath. By the time we reached the car, he had to wipe tears from his face, which I think is around Level 7 on the laughter scale.
I saw my dad laugh a lot during my brief trip home. He’s always had that sarcastic edge that I’ve been fortunate enough to inherit, and when we’re put together in the same room, it can be very dangerous, particularly for my mom, who can at times be taken aback by our sarcastic remarks. After one particular episode that ended with my mom calling my dad an asshole, leading him to again cover his face in laughter, my mom returned to me and said that my dad laughs a lot more when I’m home. On a drive a few days later my dad admitted that very fact, that he laughs a lot more when I come home. I felt similarly, realizing that I was much more upbeat, energized, humorous, and humored during my trip away from Harrisburg.
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