it's all talk
3.19.2004
While at the hairdresser's yesterday, Robyn was asked about her hobbies... You know, the things you do for fun? When she came home around noon, donning flirty "face framers," she fretted over the fact that she had no answer to the question. Funny, I didn't have an answer to that question either last week when it was asked of me, either. I fretted then, too.
I think the ramifications of episodes like these are twofold: First, you feel vulnerable, wet hair twisted back into metal clips and draped in plastic bib, head being pushed around by a girl your same age. It's a position in which your feelings of unhipness are magnified, and then you suddenly believe, while watching your hair drop to the floor around you, that you don't really do things for fun. But then, when you go home and fret and exclaim and wave your hands in the air to us in the kitchen, we're really all implicitly celebrating our total geekdom.
Because Robyn, it's not that we don't' have "hobbies." Our hobbies are massive amounts of work, and all-nighters, and reading, and writing, and caring. And if we have pursuits that don't happen to fall into any of the above categories, we somehow manage to turn those passions into obligations and deadlines and other stressful situations that make it sound like all we do is work. But we're working on what we love. We're HAHD-CORE, dear. Hahaha.
Who needs UCONN and their roofies, anyway? That's not a hobby! ¶ 12:01
I think the ramifications of episodes like these are twofold: First, you feel vulnerable, wet hair twisted back into metal clips and draped in plastic bib, head being pushed around by a girl your same age. It's a position in which your feelings of unhipness are magnified, and then you suddenly believe, while watching your hair drop to the floor around you, that you don't really do things for fun. But then, when you go home and fret and exclaim and wave your hands in the air to us in the kitchen, we're really all implicitly celebrating our total geekdom.
Because Robyn, it's not that we don't' have "hobbies." Our hobbies are massive amounts of work, and all-nighters, and reading, and writing, and caring. And if we have pursuits that don't happen to fall into any of the above categories, we somehow manage to turn those passions into obligations and deadlines and other stressful situations that make it sound like all we do is work. But we're working on what we love. We're HAHD-CORE, dear. Hahaha.
Who needs UCONN and their roofies, anyway? That's not a hobby! ¶ 12:01
3.15.2004
My father asked me how things were going.
I couldn't control myself. I started sobbing.
I talked to my mom for a long time.
She called her sister.
I was rescued by aunt and uncle, made french toast with my little cousin and took a very long nap in their spare room.
I quit things. Two things. One music ensemble that I'm not getting credit for, and the show.
Those decisions will change my relationships with people on this campus, and has also ruined my bid for the pianist's seat in the small jazz ensemble for next year.
So I'm grieving the fact that I've given up opportunity. In two different forms.
But each time I stood up for myself, my priorities, and my sanity, it felt so good.
Despite my obsession with maximizing my potential, I realize now that trying to do a million things and do them all fantastically well is not just physically impossible, but is yet another way I had managed to be untrue to myself. I hadn't felt like myself these last few months, and I certainly wasn't acting like myself in class, at rehearsals, or especially around my friends.
I had been afraid to even attempt any amount work over the first week of spring break, because I knew that once I started it, I would have to finish. I was terrified: I had 17 major projects on my "to-do" list. It's still no vacation, but I've cut that list in half over the last 72 hours. I will go to Atticus tomorrow morning, sit down with a cup of coffee, and start my work. I've renewed my desire to do it, but most importantly, I now know that I can do it. Having the ability to things well is the biggest opportunity of all; and that's the one opportunity I had let go to waste.
¶ 00:53
I couldn't control myself. I started sobbing.
I talked to my mom for a long time.
She called her sister.
I was rescued by aunt and uncle, made french toast with my little cousin and took a very long nap in their spare room.
I quit things. Two things. One music ensemble that I'm not getting credit for, and the show.
Those decisions will change my relationships with people on this campus, and has also ruined my bid for the pianist's seat in the small jazz ensemble for next year.
So I'm grieving the fact that I've given up opportunity. In two different forms.
But each time I stood up for myself, my priorities, and my sanity, it felt so good.
Despite my obsession with maximizing my potential, I realize now that trying to do a million things and do them all fantastically well is not just physically impossible, but is yet another way I had managed to be untrue to myself. I hadn't felt like myself these last few months, and I certainly wasn't acting like myself in class, at rehearsals, or especially around my friends.
I had been afraid to even attempt any amount work over the first week of spring break, because I knew that once I started it, I would have to finish. I was terrified: I had 17 major projects on my "to-do" list. It's still no vacation, but I've cut that list in half over the last 72 hours. I will go to Atticus tomorrow morning, sit down with a cup of coffee, and start my work. I've renewed my desire to do it, but most importantly, I now know that I can do it. Having the ability to things well is the biggest opportunity of all; and that's the one opportunity I had let go to waste.
¶ 00:53
