Today was a bit of a short day for me today. My presence was not required at lab this morning and in Andrea's class today we continued the arduous journey toward vocal liberation (one that I'll write more about as the total picture comes in to a sharper focus), so there's unfortunately not much to talk about regarding the program. That being as it is, and in dire need of something to enter into the blog tonight, I am afraid I'm going to have to arrogate tonight's blog post to explore something that markedly wounded me tonight.
I was buttonholed in to a conversation tonight by one of my classmates at The Heights, a bar a few blocks down Broadway from our main hub at Schapiro (which I am beginning to lovingly refer to as "the pit"). What started out as a conversation on my friend's insistence about her feelings about Monday night's classwork exchange with 2013 and their perceived reception of it quickly turned into an all-out sortie on my character. I could tell you who I am; how I view myself, but that would be incredibly trite. I healthily assume that if you're reading this, you've had some sort of personal interaction with me, and that you've formed some sort of opinion of me which, to me, is far more important than anything that I could tell you. Actions... words... you know.
The criticism that I received is one that I have received for much of my adult life: "I feel like I have to watch what I say and do around you, because I don't know how it's going to effect you." Despite my best efforts to not be a moody jerk-face, I have apparently not yet shaken this... sense of myself that I seem to out out into the world. I have found myself inching closer and closer to this particular topic with a few people. I don't know if it's because I'm hanging around artsy people again, but generally in my life over the past three years, I've had very few experiences where there's been a sense of, "You're X; you need to be Y." I feel like people are trying to fix me, which would be absolutely fine if I were asking for it. I consider it way out of my purview to actively go out and change somebody else and I really take offense at being told how to live my life. It's frustrating... immensely frustrating. I'm content. I know who I am and what I'm about. I'm content, and that to me is of importance, which may sound selfish, but for me, it's the foundation of being able to operate in the world. I have no intention of changing of cowing to anyone's will, BUT, there's aways opportunity for further self-refinement.
The part that really hurt about the whole exchange wasn't coming to face the fact that I'm seemingly failing in my attempts to not be a barbous, social brute, but that I was completely broadsided by it. I didn't see it coming; I had no idea that she felt this way in slightest... not even an inkling, which, I suppose, says something about my observational skills and my ability to be truly conscious of how my actions affect people.
I'm a work in progress. Always. I relish conversation and debate, even if it's heated, ugly or difficult. The conversation makes us stronger, but I hope that I never put up a wall that says, "You can't talk to me." Well, no, that's a lie, there's definitely one person who immediately comes to mind upon typing that last sentence that frequents my life that I immediately jump behind the ramparts for purely in the interest of self-preservation, but that's an entirely different story... one that I'm still working out. Work in progress. What was genuinely shocking was that I received a verbal portrait of myself from a person that I have no reason to mistrust which shows some features that I do not see in my own self-portrait. Perhaps it is entirely possible to have a clear picture of the self and yet not; perhaps we paint each other with our own impressionism. Either way, there's enlightenment to be found.
My opinions; ideas; philosophies, admittedly, are constantly in flux. Permanent definition scares me. It's a label; a mark; a sign that you can't wash off. It's the reason I don't have any tattoos. It may be my Piscean nature, but I prefer to be a bit more mercurial. As much as it was thoroughly terrible to be accosted and pinned to the wall and, as I interpreted it, informed that I am a person that (inadvertently) censors the experience of an other, there's something to be taken away. A harsh reminder that these eyes of mine can only look outward, and there's much of myself that I cannot see without the aid of a mirror. Wow, that is an interesting concept. But the aide-mémoire is that I unquestionably know nothing about anything.
The Romans once used wax tablets to write on which they could later reuse by heating and smoothing over the surface. So, I'm off to go heat the wax of my experience and smooth away the etched-in grooves of my perceptions of the world and look on tomorrow with fresh eyes.
Thank you for the study, Cajun.
"It is one thing to show a man that he is in error, and another to put him in possession of truth."
-John Locke
Breathe in. Breathe out.
-R
I was buttonholed in to a conversation tonight by one of my classmates at The Heights, a bar a few blocks down Broadway from our main hub at Schapiro (which I am beginning to lovingly refer to as "the pit"). What started out as a conversation on my friend's insistence about her feelings about Monday night's classwork exchange with 2013 and their perceived reception of it quickly turned into an all-out sortie on my character. I could tell you who I am; how I view myself, but that would be incredibly trite. I healthily assume that if you're reading this, you've had some sort of personal interaction with me, and that you've formed some sort of opinion of me which, to me, is far more important than anything that I could tell you. Actions... words... you know.
The criticism that I received is one that I have received for much of my adult life: "I feel like I have to watch what I say and do around you, because I don't know how it's going to effect you." Despite my best efforts to not be a moody jerk-face, I have apparently not yet shaken this... sense of myself that I seem to out out into the world. I have found myself inching closer and closer to this particular topic with a few people. I don't know if it's because I'm hanging around artsy people again, but generally in my life over the past three years, I've had very few experiences where there's been a sense of, "You're X; you need to be Y." I feel like people are trying to fix me, which would be absolutely fine if I were asking for it. I consider it way out of my purview to actively go out and change somebody else and I really take offense at being told how to live my life. It's frustrating... immensely frustrating. I'm content. I know who I am and what I'm about. I'm content, and that to me is of importance, which may sound selfish, but for me, it's the foundation of being able to operate in the world. I have no intention of changing of cowing to anyone's will, BUT, there's aways opportunity for further self-refinement.
The part that really hurt about the whole exchange wasn't coming to face the fact that I'm seemingly failing in my attempts to not be a barbous, social brute, but that I was completely broadsided by it. I didn't see it coming; I had no idea that she felt this way in slightest... not even an inkling, which, I suppose, says something about my observational skills and my ability to be truly conscious of how my actions affect people.
I'm a work in progress. Always. I relish conversation and debate, even if it's heated, ugly or difficult. The conversation makes us stronger, but I hope that I never put up a wall that says, "You can't talk to me." Well, no, that's a lie, there's definitely one person who immediately comes to mind upon typing that last sentence that frequents my life that I immediately jump behind the ramparts for purely in the interest of self-preservation, but that's an entirely different story... one that I'm still working out. Work in progress. What was genuinely shocking was that I received a verbal portrait of myself from a person that I have no reason to mistrust which shows some features that I do not see in my own self-portrait. Perhaps it is entirely possible to have a clear picture of the self and yet not; perhaps we paint each other with our own impressionism. Either way, there's enlightenment to be found.
My opinions; ideas; philosophies, admittedly, are constantly in flux. Permanent definition scares me. It's a label; a mark; a sign that you can't wash off. It's the reason I don't have any tattoos. It may be my Piscean nature, but I prefer to be a bit more mercurial. As much as it was thoroughly terrible to be accosted and pinned to the wall and, as I interpreted it, informed that I am a person that (inadvertently) censors the experience of an other, there's something to be taken away. A harsh reminder that these eyes of mine can only look outward, and there's much of myself that I cannot see without the aid of a mirror. Wow, that is an interesting concept. But the aide-mémoire is that I unquestionably know nothing about anything.
The Romans once used wax tablets to write on which they could later reuse by heating and smoothing over the surface. So, I'm off to go heat the wax of my experience and smooth away the etched-in grooves of my perceptions of the world and look on tomorrow with fresh eyes.
Thank you for the study, Cajun.
"It is one thing to show a man that he is in error, and another to put him in possession of truth."
-John Locke
Breathe in. Breathe out.
-R
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