Grad School Skate - Rationale

I've never been one to follow the crowd, or be just another sheep in the heard. But does this explain why I wanted to finally learn how to skateboard at the age of 24? Partially.

I grew up with skaters around me, all of whom were men / boys. I always liked what skateboarding represented - counter culture, self expression, making a playground out of the urban landscape around us, and constantly pushing yourself to be bigger and better.

Maybe I didn't think I was coordinated enough (I wasn't). Maybe I was intimidated because there was one girl skater for every 5-10 boys at the skate park (I also didn't have very much self-confidence back then).

Maybe it was just street skating that was never really my thing. To me, street skating was less about getting around and more about doing tricks and getting hurt. It has always seemed too masculine for my taste and I have never been one to identify with overtly masculine activities.

Cruising on the other hand...

The Story of Only Children and Walls

I am an only child born to older parents, my birth circa their early 40's--it's a miracle my mother survived the ordeal considering her petite stature and my fetal weight. Most of my time spent with peers was in school, at church, or at the park. Regardless, I spent countless hours playing and entertaining myself in my room, alone, with my toys to the extent that my stuffed animals became my friends, and protected me from vampires when the lights were turned off. But that is inconsequential.

If you've ever lived alone, you might find yourself having conversations in your head, often saying the same things many times over, or recalling the same memories or people until you find something else distracting--like sitting in front of a wall. The only response to your call into the abyss of human absence is silence. Consequently, you start to intuitively know yourself very well and become comfortable with me, myself, and I.

Topics that would normally suggest, yield or require discussion become monologues. It is very easy to become close minded and trapped in the room that is your isolation. It isn't that a person in this room keeps everyone else on the other side of the only door in, it is more that no other human is sitting on the carpet with you, sipping tea, as a matter-of-fact.

There are a lot of stereotypes about only children. But I have found that their independence means being unafraid to be alone. For some people, the absence of a loved one (or potentially another person in general) feels like a piece of your world is missing. For me, my world was never missing a piece to begin with, it was simply fuller when others were around. It is easier to cope with absence when solitude is something you have known your entire life.

This blog is a dialogue presented in monologue. A dialogue about an only child, young Buddhist woman traversing American life while not compromising her many identities. Sometimes I wonder how I'm doing...

Redecorating Therapy

The bandaid:

I've redecorated. Currently, I occupy the living room of a one bedroom apartment--it's all I can afford on my under employed salary... I decided a physical change was required. So, I grabbed a friend, hopped in the car, bought an espresso americano and drove. For the sake of ambiguity, I'm going to omit the before photo and present the after:

Only the room divider, duvet cover, 1 cushion, and bed frame are new (this is the scaled back project version, believe it or not...). The bookshelf, TV stand, desk (executive!) and mattress are old. What I wanted was a definitive separation between my space and the common space, work and recreation, relaxation and stress--thus the wall simulating and barrier producing furniture. This was my birthday gift to myself. Respite in times of turbulence such as now.

The wound:

I am standing in a doorway leading to a yard full of green grass. Along the tall outer fence are closed gates. Any minute now, I'm supposed to push open any one of those countless doors and enter a new grassy yard, a new house, a new chapter of my life. And yet, I'm still standing in the doorway, staring out at my options--my future. It seems impossible to chose, impossible to wrap my head around the possibilities, impossible to will my cerebral membrane to produce any thoughts at all. My body is frozen in time.

December 1 is my first deadline for graduate school applications. Over the past month or so, my conscious and subconscious alike have been frantically trying to avoid making any relevant decisions, or even researching alternative programs for my further education. So much so that my partner has caught onto my scheme and isn't putting up with my bullsh*t anymore. Good for him. Next, he needs to teach me the ancient and elusive art of get 'er done. 

To date, my pursuits of graduate program research, selection, and overall future academic self discovery has been stopped and stalled by hopelessness, depression, exhaustion, fear, stress, distraction, and old fashion ornery attitude. It's time I hang up my listless jacket and put on my thinking cap. I'm applying to graduate school!!