Journaling and a view from the edge
I think everyone has that moment when they look back on their life and see all the weird little choices that have led to this point in time. This moment when everything finally coalesces and one thinks, "ah, that's why I did that."
Well, when you figure it out, let me know, will ya?
Because I'm still sitting here trying to figure out if I've made the correct choices in my life. If by choosing to do one thing I've screwed up the grand design for my life path or if everyone else's looks as much like Harold got a hold of his purple crayon again. I look back at certain key moments in my life and I know they changed the course of direction for me: that one class in college that kept me from getting into the university program I wanted, that one weekend trip that changed my love life completely, that one question that pushed me to go back to school... so many little decisions that have led to some big time changes.
I wonder about the other side of it too. If I had continued with computer programming back when HTML was the only language and Geocities was bigger than Google, would my life be different if that Sailor Moon web page I meticulously coded from scratch was the beginning of my love of coding instead of the end? If I had ignored my adviser telling me to take Trigonometry and gone on to get my teaching degree instead of one in anthropology (a degree that finally became useful 20 years later)? If I had said no to moving to California instead of yes? If I had moved to Virginia instead of Europe? Where would I be now? Would I have children instead of a full passport?
So many questions with no way to answer them and yet here I am trying to do just that. Journaling (aka blogging) was such an integral part of my childhood, although as a visual person I vision boarded more than wrote, but the effect was the same: placing thoughts, feelings, fears, and future aspirations down on paper, or online as the case may be. I am constantly asked by my family if I journal as I travel and I inevitably end up shrugging my shoulders. I do, kinda. More like I take hundreds of photos, make a few notes on some postcards and bitch about the rest during calls home. I wonder how many others do the same?
I have dozens of journals partially full, their blank pages looking back at me accusingly asking what I'm waiting for, and then I go and do this. Post a Facebook message, put my best pictures on Instagram, write a blog post. Anything but put pen to paper, because let's face it, this is faster and gets more attention and we've all become a bit of an attention whore. We constantly seek other's affirmation that our lives are meaningful, purposeful, and perhaps to see a bit of jealousy from our peers (or at least those people in our lives we can't stand but have to deal with). My life means something. That's what we're screaming at the top of our virtual lungs, praying the rest of the world isn't deaf and can hear that little notification bell telling them in grand Pavlonian fashion that the world has been updated, refreshed, and I'm at the top of the world...or at least their News Feed.
How sad a world this has become and how miserable a race that we have resigned ourselves to rats looking for their next hit through feel-good button pushing.
I am not better than you. I am not smarter or prettier or more wealthy. I am neither a wallflower nor the life of the party. I have secrets, but not too many, not too dark that I couldn't survive them coming to light. I have suffered loss and experienced love. I am just me. Normal and plain. Yet, I wish to be greater, simply because I feel alone, still I know that won't change the fundamental imbalance I feel because ultimately we are alone. We make decisions that effect us first, than the rest of our sphere of influence. Rarely do we see the grand ripples and therein lies the heart of the matter. Every person makes a difference...to someone, somewhere. Even if you can't see it. Even if in a hundred years it is unknown, but some where, some when, the ripple will hit shore and then we will all be Grand Masters.
Well, when you figure it out, let me know, will ya?
Because I'm still sitting here trying to figure out if I've made the correct choices in my life. If by choosing to do one thing I've screwed up the grand design for my life path or if everyone else's looks as much like Harold got a hold of his purple crayon again. I look back at certain key moments in my life and I know they changed the course of direction for me: that one class in college that kept me from getting into the university program I wanted, that one weekend trip that changed my love life completely, that one question that pushed me to go back to school... so many little decisions that have led to some big time changes.
I wonder about the other side of it too. If I had continued with computer programming back when HTML was the only language and Geocities was bigger than Google, would my life be different if that Sailor Moon web page I meticulously coded from scratch was the beginning of my love of coding instead of the end? If I had ignored my adviser telling me to take Trigonometry and gone on to get my teaching degree instead of one in anthropology (a degree that finally became useful 20 years later)? If I had said no to moving to California instead of yes? If I had moved to Virginia instead of Europe? Where would I be now? Would I have children instead of a full passport?
So many questions with no way to answer them and yet here I am trying to do just that. Journaling (aka blogging) was such an integral part of my childhood, although as a visual person I vision boarded more than wrote, but the effect was the same: placing thoughts, feelings, fears, and future aspirations down on paper, or online as the case may be. I am constantly asked by my family if I journal as I travel and I inevitably end up shrugging my shoulders. I do, kinda. More like I take hundreds of photos, make a few notes on some postcards and bitch about the rest during calls home. I wonder how many others do the same?
I have dozens of journals partially full, their blank pages looking back at me accusingly asking what I'm waiting for, and then I go and do this. Post a Facebook message, put my best pictures on Instagram, write a blog post. Anything but put pen to paper, because let's face it, this is faster and gets more attention and we've all become a bit of an attention whore. We constantly seek other's affirmation that our lives are meaningful, purposeful, and perhaps to see a bit of jealousy from our peers (or at least those people in our lives we can't stand but have to deal with). My life means something. That's what we're screaming at the top of our virtual lungs, praying the rest of the world isn't deaf and can hear that little notification bell telling them in grand Pavlonian fashion that the world has been updated, refreshed, and I'm at the top of the world...or at least their News Feed.
How sad a world this has become and how miserable a race that we have resigned ourselves to rats looking for their next hit through feel-good button pushing.
I am not better than you. I am not smarter or prettier or more wealthy. I am neither a wallflower nor the life of the party. I have secrets, but not too many, not too dark that I couldn't survive them coming to light. I have suffered loss and experienced love. I am just me. Normal and plain. Yet, I wish to be greater, simply because I feel alone, still I know that won't change the fundamental imbalance I feel because ultimately we are alone. We make decisions that effect us first, than the rest of our sphere of influence. Rarely do we see the grand ripples and therein lies the heart of the matter. Every person makes a difference...to someone, somewhere. Even if you can't see it. Even if in a hundred years it is unknown, but some where, some when, the ripple will hit shore and then we will all be Grand Masters.
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