A New Chapter?
So it's time to move out. I've been contemplating moving, looking at scattered apartments here and there, but now I'm ready to get serious. Living at home for the past few months has been the most mind boggling experience. Aside from the natural anxiety produced by returning to the panopticon I grew up in (my mother secretly searching through my stuff, reading my emails, stalking my whereabouts), it's as if I've reverted back to some outdated version of myself. The anger, the defiance, the need to assert my independence - all those familiar emotions have returned. Behavior appropriate for teenagers, not 22 year old's. I know, I wrote about this earlier. I guess part of me is just hoping that this weird emotional state I've dipped into is a result of my living situation, not mental arrested development, or the onset of some disease (I'm at that age, right? 18-24?).
A while ago my mother told me about something in Jewish mysticism, an "ich." This is a mysterious figure that appears in your life during a crossroads and points you towards the next path to embark on. She mentioned this notion when we were in a bookstore, and I, being in a state of despondency and searching for answers, was looking through the self-help section. An older British man looked at me and said "You'll get more out of writing or doing photography. Those books are crap." I knew he was right. And then he disappeared. My mother excitedly told me that this figure perhaps materialized to tell me what road to take next. To write a book, to do photography, or to even combine the two. I was at a crossroads, wondering what direction to take, and here was a guide. Looking at this occurrence from the "ich" perspective made it feel like divine intervention of a sort, rather than just a guy, giving me his 2 cents on the book section I was browsing.
I'm still at that same cross roads but now my mother wants me to be a lawyer. Who knows.
Another possible ich whom I met recently over a game of chess in a bar told me that he likes people who inspire him, that he likes to live life with passion, because he knows how dull things can be with out it. I thought this view point was a bit optimistic, a bit too cliche for my liking, but he's right. Life becomes so dull without a passion. And I keep thinking I'd at least like to try to publish. I'd at least like to try to write a book. When I told him reading and writing were my passion he asked me, "When you're on your deathbed do you want to look up at a shelf full of books you've published, or what?" and I knew he was right. Although still a bit too optimistic.
A while ago my mother told me about something in Jewish mysticism, an "ich." This is a mysterious figure that appears in your life during a crossroads and points you towards the next path to embark on. She mentioned this notion when we were in a bookstore, and I, being in a state of despondency and searching for answers, was looking through the self-help section. An older British man looked at me and said "You'll get more out of writing or doing photography. Those books are crap." I knew he was right. And then he disappeared. My mother excitedly told me that this figure perhaps materialized to tell me what road to take next. To write a book, to do photography, or to even combine the two. I was at a crossroads, wondering what direction to take, and here was a guide. Looking at this occurrence from the "ich" perspective made it feel like divine intervention of a sort, rather than just a guy, giving me his 2 cents on the book section I was browsing.
I'm still at that same cross roads but now my mother wants me to be a lawyer. Who knows.
Another possible ich whom I met recently over a game of chess in a bar told me that he likes people who inspire him, that he likes to live life with passion, because he knows how dull things can be with out it. I thought this view point was a bit optimistic, a bit too cliche for my liking, but he's right. Life becomes so dull without a passion. And I keep thinking I'd at least like to try to publish. I'd at least like to try to write a book. When I told him reading and writing were my passion he asked me, "When you're on your deathbed do you want to look up at a shelf full of books you've published, or what?" and I knew he was right. Although still a bit too optimistic.
posted by Sophia at 1:31 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home