reality bites.
"Honey, the only thing you have to be at age 23 is yourself."
--Reality Bites, 1994
[Without intent of sounding like a stuck-up, self-absorbed ass] I can honestly say that I was always aware of people's perception of me as someone strong, independent, someone who can hold her own. Someone upbeat and outgoing, a people person. Someone happy. I have many friends, so I always thought that it told a lot about who I was. I have never been someone others referred to as shy, or quiet. Or sad and on the verge of depression, for that matter. Well, not until recently.
I was always the one who psychoanalyzed everybody else. I was always the one who had the answer to questions like, "Why is he like that?" or, "What the hell is wrong with her?" That's probably why it felt weird to be the one who's being psychoanalyzed. Weird, in a strangely refreshing way. I was never comfortable with self-scrutiny, no matter how comfortable I was doing it to someone else. But pain is gain, and my turn under the microscope was something I desperately needed to get back on track.
Yesterday, someone very dear to me told me, "I hate to say this, but it seems to me that you're becoming a very sad person." It hurt like hell to hear someone say that. And it hurt even more to admit that to myself, to finally come to terms about something I've known and yet have been denying all along. But it felt good for once to be blatantly told the truth, instead of sugar-coating it. Like I said, pain is gain. I mean, do we not learn to pick ourselves up after a bad stumble?
Reality does bite--and it bites hard.
It seems to me like this trip is becoming more than a customary break from the rigors of routine daily life. I am certainly learning a lot--about myself, most importantly. How I feel about certain things, what I think about people, what I truly, deeply want for myself. Which is good. More than I could ask for.
So now, while I may not be the strong, tough person others think, I'm taking slow but sure steps to hopefully becoming one. I have to. I want to.
And just in time, too. 23--the perfect age. Had I seen it when I was a little younger, I would've just brushed it off as "a phase". Should I discovered it when I'm way older, it may be too late. Now's just right. I mean, at 23, you can't be anything but yourself, right? You have to.
Thank God.
--Reality Bites, 1994
[Without intent of sounding like a stuck-up, self-absorbed ass] I can honestly say that I was always aware of people's perception of me as someone strong, independent, someone who can hold her own. Someone upbeat and outgoing, a people person. Someone happy. I have many friends, so I always thought that it told a lot about who I was. I have never been someone others referred to as shy, or quiet. Or sad and on the verge of depression, for that matter. Well, not until recently.
I was always the one who psychoanalyzed everybody else. I was always the one who had the answer to questions like, "Why is he like that?" or, "What the hell is wrong with her?" That's probably why it felt weird to be the one who's being psychoanalyzed. Weird, in a strangely refreshing way. I was never comfortable with self-scrutiny, no matter how comfortable I was doing it to someone else. But pain is gain, and my turn under the microscope was something I desperately needed to get back on track.
Yesterday, someone very dear to me told me, "I hate to say this, but it seems to me that you're becoming a very sad person." It hurt like hell to hear someone say that. And it hurt even more to admit that to myself, to finally come to terms about something I've known and yet have been denying all along. But it felt good for once to be blatantly told the truth, instead of sugar-coating it. Like I said, pain is gain. I mean, do we not learn to pick ourselves up after a bad stumble?
Reality does bite--and it bites hard.
It seems to me like this trip is becoming more than a customary break from the rigors of routine daily life. I am certainly learning a lot--about myself, most importantly. How I feel about certain things, what I think about people, what I truly, deeply want for myself. Which is good. More than I could ask for.
So now, while I may not be the strong, tough person others think, I'm taking slow but sure steps to hopefully becoming one. I have to. I want to.
And just in time, too. 23--the perfect age. Had I seen it when I was a little younger, I would've just brushed it off as "a phase". Should I discovered it when I'm way older, it may be too late. Now's just right. I mean, at 23, you can't be anything but yourself, right? You have to.
Thank God.
posted by anj at 9:11 AM
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