The other day I wondered what I offered people. Is there a quality I have that I can impress upon people instantaneously? I sometimes feel choked up when first meeting people in group settings. When I have to fend for myself, I feel rather confident but in the presence of another person I only absorb the situation. Rarely do I feel compelled--or able, really--to contribute to the conversation at hand.
I start feeling insecure. The other day after reading a chapter of Studs Terkel's book, Talking to Myself, he writes that it could be possible that he becomes more creative and more alive when he presses down the lever of his "mute companion" (his tape recorder). After absorbing his thought, I concluded that it could be possible that I could only truly be known on a deeper level after having read my words instead of having listened to them. Because it's in my writing where I feel truly expressed and where most of my liveliness rises.
I don't believe that I am a good writer--although I understand that I love writing and in loving something you can only one day find yourself "good" at it--but what I do believe is that it's easier for me to convey my opinions and views, feelings and fears after having time to contemplate my reaction and having taken time to have clearly and concisely expelled them onto paper or typed out on a computer that is not mine. I cannot debate--I cannot--there is no room for editing in debate. Oratory skills have no place in my life and running for presidency will never be in my cards.
Find me in my words: For this could indeed be the only way one would truly get to know me. Although I find it rather bittersweet for all of those first impression encounters that have since expired--because having no opinion is hardly attractive--I find peace in the revelation that I can be known by my words.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
[NEW] Beginnings & Orleans
[This post was never published for fear of my openness in speaking of the man I was dating at the time. Now it is almost a year later and I feel comfortable with being so vulnerable with my feelings although I am no longer with this man. I feel it's still a writing worthy of sharing.]
It's true that I have not written in a while. I'm taking on the John Steinbeck way, I suppose. Observing first, absorbing it and then later hashing out the meaning--if there is any.
It's been a little over a month since Isabel and I moved to New Orleans. Most days I realize that I am here. I know, that sounds weird-to realize you are somewhere-who doesn't? But what I mean is that feeling when it seems as though you are watching yourself and you see the people around you and the place that you're in and you realize--I am living.
It's not a surprise to myself that I am living in a different place than I was last year. I've taken up impermanent residency in a few locations over the past few years but I've started to realize that in order to find what I am truly seeking on this earth, I have to stay still. I started to realize one day after the thought of San Francisco popped into my head that I might not be able to do this anymore. This rampant lifestyle might not suite what I'm seeking after.
In these newest of beginnings, I've found myself suddenly in something similar to an actual relationship--or rather, the beginning of one.
This man-he is something that nearly aligns with the epitome of an individual I would surely adore. I've only been seeing him for a little over two weeks but I am suddenly struck with fear. When will he stop finding interest in me? Could it be at any hour that he'll meet someone new? Why shouldn't he be completely taken by my best friend instead of me?
These thoughts--although most likely stirring insecurities--are truly present to me today. I think this is the hardest part of beginnings: The unsureness of its ability to grow legs and make it out of the water, where we sit on the shores, mouths covered, bated breaths and off-beat heartbeats until first signs of loyalty bounds from the pulling back tides.
To describe my initial perception of this individual would do less justice to his unseen.
He's a painting and I'm beginning to see some of the shades of colors that make up this person-and what's this? I think the Artist is using some of my favorite colors, ones that I wouldn't imagine leaving out. Whether it's the lighting that is getting brighter, allowing me to slowly see more or if the painting is developing, I can't tell if the colors are going to get deeper or if they'll stay as they are but from what I see, this painting is going to be completely gorgeous and if I was so blessed as to behold it for the remainder of my life, why I'd think myself the richest woman in the world. I'm not sure if I should walk away and come back when the painting is done or if the Artist has been waiting to create this piece of work for me. I'll sit back--though not too far--for this painting is captivating me in every sense.
It's true that I have not written in a while. I'm taking on the John Steinbeck way, I suppose. Observing first, absorbing it and then later hashing out the meaning--if there is any.
It's been a little over a month since Isabel and I moved to New Orleans. Most days I realize that I am here. I know, that sounds weird-to realize you are somewhere-who doesn't? But what I mean is that feeling when it seems as though you are watching yourself and you see the people around you and the place that you're in and you realize--I am living.
It's not a surprise to myself that I am living in a different place than I was last year. I've taken up impermanent residency in a few locations over the past few years but I've started to realize that in order to find what I am truly seeking on this earth, I have to stay still. I started to realize one day after the thought of San Francisco popped into my head that I might not be able to do this anymore. This rampant lifestyle might not suite what I'm seeking after.
In these newest of beginnings, I've found myself suddenly in something similar to an actual relationship--or rather, the beginning of one.
This man-he is something that nearly aligns with the epitome of an individual I would surely adore. I've only been seeing him for a little over two weeks but I am suddenly struck with fear. When will he stop finding interest in me? Could it be at any hour that he'll meet someone new? Why shouldn't he be completely taken by my best friend instead of me?
These thoughts--although most likely stirring insecurities--are truly present to me today. I think this is the hardest part of beginnings: The unsureness of its ability to grow legs and make it out of the water, where we sit on the shores, mouths covered, bated breaths and off-beat heartbeats until first signs of loyalty bounds from the pulling back tides.
To describe my initial perception of this individual would do less justice to his unseen.
He's a painting and I'm beginning to see some of the shades of colors that make up this person-and what's this? I think the Artist is using some of my favorite colors, ones that I wouldn't imagine leaving out. Whether it's the lighting that is getting brighter, allowing me to slowly see more or if the painting is developing, I can't tell if the colors are going to get deeper or if they'll stay as they are but from what I see, this painting is going to be completely gorgeous and if I was so blessed as to behold it for the remainder of my life, why I'd think myself the richest woman in the world. I'm not sure if I should walk away and come back when the painting is done or if the Artist has been waiting to create this piece of work for me. I'll sit back--though not too far--for this painting is captivating me in every sense.
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