Today while I was driving in the car with my mom, the blast from the past song "No Such Thing" by John Mayer came on and for the first time I realized how genius those lyrics are. I felt like saying, yeah John you're right, there is no such thing as "the real world" and yeah, I do want to run through the halls of my high school and scream at the top of my lungs. Before that song was just a catchy tune but now I'm thinking of incorporating it into the sound track of my life. Preach on John, preach on. (Though I still think the song "Say" is incredibly redundant and that you are regressing towards the label "man whore.")
In respect to the "real world," this is where my desire to be musically inclined accelerates. I would love to join the list of artists making a statement with their guitars and quick-witted lyrics regarding the "real world" fallacy. As far as I'm concerned, I am already in the "real world" and I've lived in it a full twenty years now. Yeah, ok, maybe I'm not financially independent yet and maybe I'm completely naive when it comes to politics, the stock market and trusting mechanics, but I'm still not convinced those are the ingredients that mix together to define the "real world." I babysat a two and a one year old all summer and that seemed more like reality than anything I've ever watched on CNN or Fox News. Oh, and "reality" television? Come on. I think the show entitled "The Real World" proves my point. So yeah, Matchbox 20 I do wish the "real world" would just stop hassling me because unless a "fake world" exists, I don't want to hear it. And yes, from now on the "real world" will always be put into quotation marks.
Showing posts with label me on my soap box again. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me on my soap box again. Show all posts
Monday, August 25, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
You can't put your arms around a memory
I've been thinking a lot about something lately. A few years ago when I was having a difficult time understanding why I was struggling with something so much, my friend, CJ Lotz said, "Sometimes living hurts, but it beats the hell out of living numbly." I know that's true, but is it really true?
Just as our words cannot be neutral, neither can our experiences. What do you do when you don't want to re-live something because you know it will never be as good, but you also don't want to move forward because you don't want to forget it? And is there a limit to how many memories our brains can hold at one time? Does one memorable moment automatically replace another? Do I have to sacrifice my memories in order to get more? For some reason I have this scenario in my mind of me saying, "I'll give you one fourth grade slumber party in exchange for my upcoming camping trip," followed by a man with horn-rimmed glasses and the book of my life squinting his eyes whilst flipping pages back and forth then saying, "Throw in that senior year karaoke night and you've got a deal." That's not right.
Plus, if I can't store all of these memories in my brain, then I am forced to document them elsewhere. Ok. That's great. If I was the one responsible for recording the Second Coming it would probably go like this, "It was really dark. Then really light. Then Christ came and it was really cool. He's awesome." When you have the vocabulary of a fifth grader, it's difficult to convey any speck of emotion. In my creative writing class last semester, my professor shared this line from a girl's paper used to describe her character: "Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever." I sympathize and empathize.
It's depressing thinking about all the good memories I can't think about anymore because they're forgotten. That's why I'm starting to believe that living numb is the only way to go. If we don't know what we're missing, we aren't missing anything.
Side note: There's a reason why this blog is entitled "Conversation With Myself." I am very well aware I couldn't pay someone to have this conversation with me.
Just as our words cannot be neutral, neither can our experiences. What do you do when you don't want to re-live something because you know it will never be as good, but you also don't want to move forward because you don't want to forget it? And is there a limit to how many memories our brains can hold at one time? Does one memorable moment automatically replace another? Do I have to sacrifice my memories in order to get more? For some reason I have this scenario in my mind of me saying, "I'll give you one fourth grade slumber party in exchange for my upcoming camping trip," followed by a man with horn-rimmed glasses and the book of my life squinting his eyes whilst flipping pages back and forth then saying, "Throw in that senior year karaoke night and you've got a deal." That's not right.
Plus, if I can't store all of these memories in my brain, then I am forced to document them elsewhere. Ok. That's great. If I was the one responsible for recording the Second Coming it would probably go like this, "It was really dark. Then really light. Then Christ came and it was really cool. He's awesome." When you have the vocabulary of a fifth grader, it's difficult to convey any speck of emotion. In my creative writing class last semester, my professor shared this line from a girl's paper used to describe her character: "Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever." I sympathize and empathize.
It's depressing thinking about all the good memories I can't think about anymore because they're forgotten. That's why I'm starting to believe that living numb is the only way to go. If we don't know what we're missing, we aren't missing anything.
Side note: There's a reason why this blog is entitled "Conversation With Myself." I am very well aware I couldn't pay someone to have this conversation with me.
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