A Window In
I am convinced that I am truly weird.
At ten years old I was watching JAG and building model F-14's.
I daydreamed endlessly and wished that my artistic skills could be capable of depicting them.
I'd hide in my room, playing James Taylor and imagining alternate endings to the television shows I had become obsessed with.
Legos, Barbies, Playstation and Basketball were great, don't get me wrong. But I was happiest when I was nestled atop the tree in our backyard, watching the sunset.
I loved books, music and sports like most kid's my age. But I never felt like most kids my age. I felt truly weird... because I was. The things that they worried about - I didn't. And the things they never even considered - were the things that I worried about.
Even now, as a teacher, I have yet to meet a student who is anything like me. And it makes me wonder if there is anyone out there like me.
Keenly aware. Cautious. Extroverted. Anxious at times. Strongly grounded in my faith. Creative. Artistic. Longing for justice and peace on Earth. Fascinated by the triviality that so many people are obsessed with. Terrified of the notion of how small we are, and how infinite space is. Insightful but over-trusting. Too quick to share my thoughts with others. Too able to remember nearly every detail of my dreams. Too tempted to close my eyes and reach as far into my memory as I can. So very capable of imagining what it feels like to be in others' shoes.
I love filling blank sketchbooks, playing bingo with the elderly, and putting in my headphones as I pace around the house, still imagining alternate routes that my favorite shows and stories could take.
Sometimes I feel like an alien, and in all reality - I am. My home is heaven, and I'm just a visitor here.
But there are moments when I wonder if it would be easier to be me if I were…simpler.
There are people out there who are simple. Not dumb…they're smart, just…simple. And sometimes I envy them.
But I take the maddening complexities of my life and use it as fuel for my art and writing. And without those two things - without art and writing - I'm not sure that I would still be me. Maybe I need complexity, maybe I use it to my advantage. Maybe there is no one out there exactly like me.
At ten years old I was watching JAG and building model F-14's.
I daydreamed endlessly and wished that my artistic skills could be capable of depicting them.
I'd hide in my room, playing James Taylor and imagining alternate endings to the television shows I had become obsessed with.
Legos, Barbies, Playstation and Basketball were great, don't get me wrong. But I was happiest when I was nestled atop the tree in our backyard, watching the sunset.
I loved books, music and sports like most kid's my age. But I never felt like most kids my age. I felt truly weird... because I was. The things that they worried about - I didn't. And the things they never even considered - were the things that I worried about.
Even now, as a teacher, I have yet to meet a student who is anything like me. And it makes me wonder if there is anyone out there like me.
Keenly aware. Cautious. Extroverted. Anxious at times. Strongly grounded in my faith. Creative. Artistic. Longing for justice and peace on Earth. Fascinated by the triviality that so many people are obsessed with. Terrified of the notion of how small we are, and how infinite space is. Insightful but over-trusting. Too quick to share my thoughts with others. Too able to remember nearly every detail of my dreams. Too tempted to close my eyes and reach as far into my memory as I can. So very capable of imagining what it feels like to be in others' shoes.
I love filling blank sketchbooks, playing bingo with the elderly, and putting in my headphones as I pace around the house, still imagining alternate routes that my favorite shows and stories could take.
Sometimes I feel like an alien, and in all reality - I am. My home is heaven, and I'm just a visitor here.
But there are moments when I wonder if it would be easier to be me if I were…simpler.
There are people out there who are simple. Not dumb…they're smart, just…simple. And sometimes I envy them.
But I take the maddening complexities of my life and use it as fuel for my art and writing. And without those two things - without art and writing - I'm not sure that I would still be me. Maybe I need complexity, maybe I use it to my advantage. Maybe there is no one out there exactly like me.
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