Damn, I was actually pretty out of it last night-- I only vaguely remember writing my last post. I quite regularly start writing a blog or a comment and then give up because it's banal, and I thought this was one of them. Guess not. It doesn't make a lot of sense either. Oops.
I just chatted to one of my friends from university, who is leaving England next week to go back to her family in Greece. I just watched a little video of memories from uni she put together on youtube and it's made me feel a little bit sentimental.
I have a strange relationship with sentimentality. I'm rarely someone to stand on ceremony and do things "because that's how they've always been done", but I hoard things as souvenirs of events past, long after I've forgotten any specific details about them. I think the past fascinates me because it seems so out of my control in hindsight, and yet our actions now can control and shape the future that will in time be "the past". The Unwritten Past, you could call it.
It sounds perverse and backwards, but what frustrates me about the ability to control my future (or past) is the wealth of opportunities available to me now. In the bigger picture, I could be someone who does great good or unspeakable evil; travels to the corners of the Earth or makes a big difference right where they are. What gets me is that if I did one, I'd miss out on the opportunity to do something else; if I dedicated my life to researching a lethal disease, I could never become a great sportsman. There just isn't enough time to do everything I'd like to do. Time and again I resolve that I can only be myself and do what I'm good at and/or what suits me, but time and again I begin to hate myself for not being taller and more athletic; more logical and intelligent; less idealistic and superstitious. Ultimately, the product is a self-destructive turn where I express my frustration through drinking too much or indulging in some other vice. If I'm lucky I'll take it out on my body in the gym and at least get a little stronger or fitter. Once, in due course, I forget what triggered the self-destructive turn, I return to "normal" and continue my unremarkable arc towards death, achieving nothing of note and struggling to even piece together a resume that would land me a reasonable salary, let alone being a person that will be remembered for all time as "the guy who...".
I'm not sure what my point is. Maybe that's it. I guess the summary is that the past makes me regret all the things I didn't do, but while I resolve to do better in the future, I carry on the same as I always have and it drives me mad. For some reason, while glimpses of the past remind me of this, still I hoard souvenirs of the past as if they could release me from the cycle.
I just chatted to one of my friends from university, who is leaving England next week to go back to her family in Greece. I just watched a little video of memories from uni she put together on youtube and it's made me feel a little bit sentimental.
I have a strange relationship with sentimentality. I'm rarely someone to stand on ceremony and do things "because that's how they've always been done", but I hoard things as souvenirs of events past, long after I've forgotten any specific details about them. I think the past fascinates me because it seems so out of my control in hindsight, and yet our actions now can control and shape the future that will in time be "the past". The Unwritten Past, you could call it.
It sounds perverse and backwards, but what frustrates me about the ability to control my future (or past) is the wealth of opportunities available to me now. In the bigger picture, I could be someone who does great good or unspeakable evil; travels to the corners of the Earth or makes a big difference right where they are. What gets me is that if I did one, I'd miss out on the opportunity to do something else; if I dedicated my life to researching a lethal disease, I could never become a great sportsman. There just isn't enough time to do everything I'd like to do. Time and again I resolve that I can only be myself and do what I'm good at and/or what suits me, but time and again I begin to hate myself for not being taller and more athletic; more logical and intelligent; less idealistic and superstitious. Ultimately, the product is a self-destructive turn where I express my frustration through drinking too much or indulging in some other vice. If I'm lucky I'll take it out on my body in the gym and at least get a little stronger or fitter. Once, in due course, I forget what triggered the self-destructive turn, I return to "normal" and continue my unremarkable arc towards death, achieving nothing of note and struggling to even piece together a resume that would land me a reasonable salary, let alone being a person that will be remembered for all time as "the guy who...".
I'm not sure what my point is. Maybe that's it. I guess the summary is that the past makes me regret all the things I didn't do, but while I resolve to do better in the future, I carry on the same as I always have and it drives me mad. For some reason, while glimpses of the past remind me of this, still I hoard souvenirs of the past as if they could release me from the cycle.
southernbelle:
Why thank you very much!!!! 