All the world is moved by pretty girls.
I met another one last night. Another one of those smiles that I could fall in love with. Eyes that distract you from really seeing anything else.
I first noticed her when she asked if I wanted my "usual" at Starbucks. 4 pump, no water, chai tea latte. It wasn't until a few visits later that I realized that she was the same barista that I had given money to, to randomly purchase someone else's drink. But I did realize right away when she changed her hair. Her co-workers didn't, she joked.
I went in yesterday evening, to spend some time alone lost in people with a drink I enjoy and a book that makes me smile. She was at the till. That was unexpected. I thought she worked mornings. She volunteered that it was one of her last shifts as a barista: she wasn't doing so well in school, and either her job or her social life had to go. The job never had a chance. I told her I was devastated and asked what she was taking. International Relations. We swapped a couple of niceties about the program. I swiped my debit card.
I never learned her name.
My friends often joke that if it were not for the natural motivation of pretty girls, nothing would have gotten done in our male-dominated history. It's always pleasantly world-altering to meet another one.
The other night I had a dream. A real dream, not an ideological dream. I was enrolled in school. It was the first day. I was taking a bus tour around the campus. It was a tour geared towards all the first years, and I was new, but I already knew my way around. I was restarting.
The dream jumped to my being in a car, just finding a parking spot. I jumped out quickly, with a few of my friends. The sun was shining, and the pavement had that expensive, rarely-driven-on look. I could smell the lifestyle. I was exceptionally happy. I was a first year something, in a new school, in a new place, and I felt relaxed in who I was. This was what I wanted.
When my dream looks through the looking glass, it finds itself no less warped than Alice does. In real life, I've often thought about re-starting. Never has the "I wish I could re-do it" feeling been so strong as it has been for me, about school, over the past couple of years. But school was merely the localized target of a larger, grand-scale desire for a do-over. Over the past couple months, I've been reading through a lot of high school notes from family and friends telling me about how the sky's the limit for me. I've been reconnecting with old friends who express that old understanding that I've got potential. And yet when I tell myself that old "world's my oyster" cliché, in any kind of mirror, I no longer believe it.
And I'd like to believe it again, even though I've said it to myself a thousand times and never followed through, I'd like to act on it again. In light of the paradox, re-doing it all is the only answer my melancholy mind appreciates.
Socrates is famously quoted for claiming that he was the wisest person in the world - the Oracle at Delphi helped him to understand that he was the wisest because he knew that he didn't know anything.
I don't know how to fix a car.
Don't know how to take beautiful pictures.
I haven't the foggiest understanding of how to buy a house. Or start my own company.
And don't even think about putting me in a room with a real philosophy student.
I'm terrified that my experiences might not have taught me anything. My waking nightmare includes feeling like everything I've worked for, and other people have contributed to, has not produced anything of value. Sometimes it feels like it never will.
See, I like to build. I like to imagine myself as one big bucket of accumulating experiences, and that with every drop that goes in, I become a better, more full person. That list of "I don't"s gets smaller. But these past years feel like the bucket leaks faster than it fills. It feels like Sisyphus' rock beats Nietzsche’s will to power paper every time. That's just not fair.
I don't know how to be properly impassioned.
I don't know where I buried that confidence I used to have.
I don't know what will bring me sustainable joy.
But I suppose, technically speaking, neither did Socrates. Accepting that worked out pretty well for him. I could handle being in that company.
I may pass on the hemlock though.
Even though Socrates found out at Delphi that all his work and understanding was worthless, Socrates rejoiced, and redoubled his honest inquiry and legitimate pursuit of the good. For him, it was one of the best things that had ever happened. Restarting made him into one of the most well known philosophers of all time. And more importantly, restarting helped him to be happy with who he was.
I don't know her name. Probably never will.
- Z
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