Posts Tagged ‘perseverance’

Everything’s Explodin’

Thursday, May 11th, 2023

Last night Tumblr decided to slip my feed some post regarding the anniversary of the Kent State shootings claiming that liberals wanting gun control is ACKTUALLY disrespectful to the students who died that day because they weren’t armed and not wanting people to have access to military grade weapons obviously means wanting the state armed to the teeth and honestly, that utter mental gymnastics bullshit barely phases me anymore. The amount of mental effort you have to put in to make yourself look so “owning” when you’re actually just an awful attention whore…is completely antithetical to the logical facts of how the world actually works. And I have the privilege of not having to pay attention to people who only want my outrage. I can laugh at them and go on my merry way focusing on what is actually important to my life and self betterment.

Most of last week was spent focusing on the May 4 commemoration, and it was probably the most overwhelming and valuable time of my life. Standing before a crowd of dedicated people, young and old, and getting to use my voice. Getting swarmed with messages of hope and support as a result. Connecting with so many kind, caring, fascinating individuals throughout the week. Working my tail off and juggling so many factors the entire time. It was extremely rewarding. Now I’m back home on a well deserved summer break. I’m feeling accomplished and more excited than I ever thought I’d be for next semester to start up. (Maybe some time I’ll eep out a more comprehensive recount. Who knows.)

Throughout my freshman year, I knew there was plenty I still had left to learn. Last week proved to me that there is even more for me to learn than I ever could have expected. It’s a pill I’ll have to swallow while everyone around me is monitoring my intake as good ol’ Senate Bill 83 aims its security cameras at me and everyone else. But it’s a dedication I’m willing to make, because it is how I want to spend my time, and I know firsthand that it is good for me.

And the last thing the powers that be want someone like me to do is spend my days doing something so invigorating.

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SNOWBALL

Monday, December 12th, 2022

I got to hit up the Kent State Ice Arena for the second time yesterday afternoon, my second bout with public skate. As I made my laps around the rink—with little to no assistance from the wall—the unruly kids seemed much less distracting, and the casually skilled demeanor of the cool old dude gliding across the ice seemed much less unobtainable. In fact, I finally started to feel cool on those skates. Being granted the ability to skate on ice that was of actual quality after a few more rounds downtown definitely helped.

What’s most awakening to me is that it totally cleared my mind. I was focused, and it wasn’t on something stupid and awful that I let my mind wander towards because I was bored. I fell four times, and one of those times was because I got too into the cheesy soundtrack (Baby Shark not included this time, thankfully enough) and lost balance while instinctively, as if infected by a virus of performative irony, started miming out the lyrics to “Timber” by our savior Mister Worldwide. Face down (point at the ground), booty up (point at the ceiling), that’s the way we like to what (cross arms and shrug), and then it truly was slicker than an oil spill. They cut off the song immediately after I fell, presumably because there were many children in the room. But I’m going to think it was my fault. It was strangely beautiful.

I came to the conclusion before the end of the hour and a half that I needed a pair of my own, because wearing a size three on one foot and a size four on the other because of your wide feet and stopping to dust off your blades every ten minutes because they don’t feel quite sharp enough is not ideal. (Honestly, one return to the downtown rink after my first arena gig made me highly identify with my professional-skater-for-ten-years friend’s choice of the word “butterknives.”) I am now a purist! For something other than music! (Well, not really.) But more importantly, I’ve found a way to actually, successfully stop letting my overactive switchboard brain get hung up on stupid crap: making a big circle.

Good thing there’s more to learn than just making a big circle.

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The Slog Of Life

Wednesday, October 6th, 2021

My time in COVID-19 induced quarantine has had me reflecting on the things that I crave or look forward to in life that remain perpetually out of reach. Like a nice dinner outside in my general area without the party being crashed by invasive insects. Multiple times, the dinner I had with my family the other weekend was interrupted by spotted lantern flies landing on our table or dive bombing us. You could barely walk anywhere without seeing one of them flattened on the pavement. It was disgusting to experience. Spotted lantern flies, like all insects, are fascinating creatures. That does not subtract from the damage they have been doing to local ecosystems since they arrived in America a few years ago. They did not completely ruin my dinner, a genuinely good meal on its own, but they were a nuisance.

Recently, it seems like life has been filled with nuisances, and they accompany everything otherwise worth living for. All of them point towards the path of one of life’s cruelest, most disabling nuisances—DOUBT. Seeing those harmful insects polluting the air makes the restoration of the world you once knew seem more and more unlikely. Seeing people’s conversations de-evolve into mindless sloganeering and virtue signaling makes you question anyone’s ability to think critically. Having your view of the world ignored and shot down makes you question if your words even have meaning. You get overwhelmed by a gaslighting world, you lose grip on your motives and sense of self, you become complacent. You are crippled when the spotted lantern fly that just landed in your hair should have been the one to take the boot.

I know from personal experience what it is like to be overcome with dutiful, certain passion. Ninety percent of the time, that passion feels one sided. Life becomes an uphill battle to defeat the monster assembled from the tangled wires of consciousness and unconsciousness, decisiveness and anxiety, love and hatred—and nothing is right until the mission is completed. The rewards are usually temporary and unsatisfying, and true fulfillment has a waiting list. Now that’s what I call a nuisance.

At least I’m lucky that a few of the waiting lists I’ve found myself on have been growing shorter. That’s not always the case.

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Crockfishing

Thursday, July 29th, 2021

If I owned a nickel for every hard choice I’ve had to make, I’d own a bank’s equivalent, and should the rapidly rising pace of their prevalence keeps up, I’d be a millionaire by the time I get my bachelor’s degree. Since everything seems dire and of utmost importance in these modern day end times, I’ve developed a tendency towards perfectionism in my decision making, and it is both grueling and ultimately satisfying.

Every choice forces the possibilities left behind to die, opening the door to more choices. Fish hatch from eggs only to give birth to more when they mature. It’s an endless cycle. Every choice has impact, which not enough seem to realize, and seeing others make horrible decisions, while painful, comes as no surprise at this point. When boostered by a false sense of superiority, you gain lenience and begin to cut strings between you and your fellow men. What you do matters not as long as it benefits your wants, even when others may need the complete opposite.

When others look down at you from the higher rungs of their constructed Social Ladder, on the other hand, methods of survival must be utilized. Situations must be utilized down to the pinprick, and every move must be made like a chess game. Sense must be made in a world gone mad, reaching a point where what others deem as weird becomes common and not repulsive. Case in point: I keep getting this Captain Beefheart song trapped in my head to the point where mentally reciting it’s lyrics—

I’m gonna grow fins
‘N go back in the water again
If ya don’t leave me alone
I’m gonna take up with ah mermaid
‘N leave you land lubbin’ women alone!

—has become a cute ritual in maintaining my sanity. I guess some people’s blues are gill-bearing, and I guess that includes me. Considering how chronically perseverant I am, I always thought I was more like a cockroach. Maybe when my concerns regarding climate-induced end of the world scenarios become reality, I’ll be among them. If only the things I have actual control over were the most of my concerns. But I don’t plan on riding some easy path of acceptance. I can’t let myself succumb to that, and it pains me to see others do so, blowing their potential in the process.

I could choose routes that serve only to dim my bulbs, routes that satisfy others at the expense of what I truly need. Instead, I make myself that fish out of water, searching for the right pool.

And how right it will be.

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