Your ideas of getting lost in a city, riding the subway aimlessly, photographing citylife, doing quiet non-recovery-requiring things... sounds _really_ fun. Wish I could come up and do that sort of thing with you. Cept I'm the one that lives in the city. So...
"And you can't create those incandescent moments; they come unbidden. I try to arrange them and they don't come; they're not like pigeons, you can't leave them crumbs and hope they'll come in flocks to collect them." I love that paragraph. It echoes within me and resonates.
When I was eighteen, I loathed conversations with people who were out of touch with me, because of the inevitable "What are you doing these days?" or worse, "What school are you going to?" Of course, I could reply with "You mean, 'to what school do I go,' or rather, 'what school do I attend?'" But I hated those questions, and there was a growing discomfort with myself, a growing discomfort with my empty sheet of accomplishments. Equally discouraging to me was the same set of hobbies, photography music and writing, laying around and doing nobody any good aside from some entertainment and stress relief.
But let's go busking, small as the city is. Let's go on photography sessions. Long live the Q&IS!
Eighteen is no gateway unless you want it to be. It certainly wasn't for me, and that was okay - for a while. I passed through a gateway of my own when I was 19.5, and that worked just fine.
Life is an adventure. There are chapters where things don't move quickly, and you don't know what will come next or even how the protagonist could possibly even get to the better part of the story from where they are. But they always do, eventually. And the best is yet to come.
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2008-06-12 05:54 am (UTC)Your ideas of getting lost in a city, riding the subway aimlessly, photographing citylife, doing quiet non-recovery-requiring things... sounds _really_ fun. Wish I could come up and do that sort of thing with you. Cept I'm the one that lives in the city. So...
"And you can't create those incandescent moments; they come unbidden. I try to arrange them and they don't come; they're not like pigeons, you can't leave them crumbs and hope they'll come in flocks to collect them."
I love that paragraph. It echoes within me and resonates.
When I was eighteen, I loathed conversations with people who were out of touch with me, because of the inevitable "What are you doing these days?" or worse, "What school are you going to?" Of course, I could reply with "You mean, 'to what school do I go,' or rather, 'what school do I attend?'" But I hated those questions, and there was a growing discomfort with myself, a growing discomfort with my empty sheet of accomplishments. Equally discouraging to me was the same set of hobbies, photography music and writing, laying around and doing nobody any good aside from some entertainment and stress relief.
But let's go busking, small as the city is. Let's go on photography sessions. Long live the Q&IS!
Eighteen is no gateway unless you want it to be. It certainly wasn't for me, and that was okay - for a while. I passed through a gateway of my own when I was 19.5, and that worked just fine.
Life is an adventure. There are chapters where things don't move quickly, and you don't know what will come next or even how the protagonist could possibly even get to the better part of the story from where they are. But they always do, eventually. And the best is yet to come.