Even the most non-traditional, almost anarchists' rituals become tradition this time of year (the emphatic song from Fiddler spurs to mind suddenly...). Waking up to a snowy semi-offwhite Christmas morning to brimming full stockings and a pajama clad family was just one small joy in this decoratively beaded string of holiday ongoings. Though I can't help but spend some of this idle time in mindless thought. I've been preoccupied lately with this idea of an overlooked, misguided blessing in disguise. It comes masqueraded in the cloak of familiarity, of the occasional mundane and habitualness; a rut, some might say. We all try to escape those things in our pasts and present that weigh us down, keep us from attaining the adventure and inspiration that we seek.
What I've been slowly coming to terms with in the past few days is that there is comfort in the familiar, specifically in people who know my history-- the person I was back then and the traces that still remain. Spending some time with a dear friend helped to shift my focus out of this blindspot and be able to see from a wider angle. Ironically, I had thought it was in better judgment to burn those bridges and never even so much as glance back, but in the grander scheme of emotional evolution, I believe that we become more capable, better people, better apt to deal with the struggles that keep us bound. The very same things that beat us down, whip us with lashes so deep that they leave scars, triumph our spirits; perhaps they are merely a test of will, and in the end, make us stronger. Standing afar on the banks of the opposite shore, it's much easier to see how far I've come, that this year was better than the last, this season better than the last. Those bridges left standing, only serve as a reminder of the long journey behind all in the past.
But I digress (much). This will be yet another Christmas to remember and to cherish. It's easy to lose some of that childhood innocence and glee with the emergence of adulthood, but I can definitely say that there's still a glimmer of glee that peeked its unruly head out a couple of times this weekend. :)
While for the sake of posterity I should probably be knocking on wood while I convey these next thoughts (though the next best thing is this simulated wood grain that somewhat resembles a once living tree), it has been a fabulous weekend, following a pretty dandy week. I finally got my computer back on Monday, which filled a long-aching void in my heart and consequently realized that I know some pretty great people who were willing to offer themselves up to public tantrums and outcries if necessary (see two entries prior). Holiday parties at work and school adequately overwhelmed the monotony that is the 9-5 workweek, and getting to spend time with friends and wrapping the last of my Christmas gifts consumed the remaining time quite nicely.
I also went to my first indoor soccer game on Friday, the St. Louis Steamers versus the Cleveland Force, with an outstanding (and quite unheard of in outdoor soccer) score of 9-3 in favor of good 'ole St.L. Even knowing that indoor soccer does not hold as much credibility as outdoor for the true soccer enthusiasts, it was great fun watching little boys in bomber jackets and families cheering wildly. The rest of the day should entail more activities that fall into the holiday category, with it being the last weekend before Christmas; which means lots of hot chocolate, candy canes and endless shopping. Hooray! (Especially because I've checked off all the items on the gift list). :)
The bitterly chilly winds snapping back and forth impetuously through tree branches, darting back and forth childishly, irradiates rather ironically, an aura of warmth and comfort (especially since I’m inside enjoying the modern convenience of electric heat). This time of year always induces such nostalgia for the things that once were, and continue to be. I’m constantly reminded of them if I care to take notice. There is the shimmering, nervous dance of lights teetering back and forth on frost-laden shrubbery, the hearty crowds that perform their own ritual rite in expectation of a discount, and of course the overflow of maximum capacity in church on Sundays by the “Chreasters” (for those who may be unfamiliar with the term, the people whom out of emotional obligation, only attend church twice a year). Many of my friends as well as my parents now fall into this category; interestingly enough, I’m the only one in my immediate family who attends with any regularity. But I suppose that faith comes in many forms, and that this season does not hold the same value in all our hearts. Moreover, judgment of will and moral indebtedness should not be an underlying motivation.
Taking a step away from my orate for a moment (though I’m sure everyone is well accustomed to my wildly tangential moments) I love everything about this time of year; the weather, the merriment and rosy cheeks of children, and even the attempt at cordialness between people for the sake of the season. This was a somewhat long-winded route to express how I feel about this time of year, but it served its purpose; I started the morning with some Christmas cheer.
I may be jumping to a somewhat unprecedented conclusion, but in general I think that most who know me well could attest to the fact that I normally don’t have a flair for the dramatic. However, there are those unusual days like this one that involve a hysterical crying fit in the middle of a large, crowded store. Yep, I think that definitely falls into the category of drama.
So here’s the full story. I HATE Best Buy. I brought my laptop in on Monday under the pretense that my hard drive had crashed. I paid all the diagnostic and service fees upfront under the absolute assurance from a very cordial “Geek Squad” employee that everything would definitely be remedied in three days or less. Four days later, nothing; nada, not a single word or call. I decided it was time to let go of this pesky passivism for a moment and inquire about the status myself. Another couple hundred dollars later spent on a new hard drive and installation fees (all by phone), I finally made it out to the actual store to pick up my computer, only to be met with much animosity from the department manager for not waiting for them to call first. Shelving my frustration from being yelled at aside, I became subsequently more dissatisfied when he tried to charge me the fee(s) again because they had lost the original receipt. Luckily I had my copies, so that problem was quickly remedied, though not without bitter snide remarks from Carl, the manager.
Even worse was what came next. When he finally dragged himself out of the back storeroom in order to retrieve my computer, what he brought out was definitely not mine. I rather definitively stated: “that’s not my computer”. He didn’t believe me at first, insisted that it was mine, and after another couple minutes of this continuing dialogue in this manner, I finally convinced him to go back and find my computer. Upon his return he informed me that they must have LOST my laptop. After my initial jaw drop and face aghast expression, I could only manage through brimming tears and hyperventilation to utter these words in astonishment: “you lost my seventeen-hundred dollar computer”??? Being that he manager was overwhelming blasé about the whole situation, I became much more agitated and fitful, causing a man in line behind me whom I had just had a conversation about aerospace engineering with, to step in and come to my defense chivalrously. An hour of discernment and further heated discussion later, we had still come to no viable conclusion other than, “they’d call me if it turned up”.
While I only have a pretty vague working knowledge of standard business practice and customer service, I do realize that this was just downright atrocious. This whole ordeal made for a pretty excruciatingly stressful morning, in addition to demoralizing embarrassment in thinking retroactively of my reaction. But moreover, because of this experience, I’m very much deterred from the idea of returning to a Best Buy store, ever. There’s no moral to this story, no rampage to initiate picketing or angry riots, just simply a recount of a rhetoric that I would not wish on anyone.
This ongoing thought was recently spurred once again by recent conversation. It is the idea that as we get older, we accrue histories and memories in the form of trundle baggage. It’s infinitely difficult to summon the willpower or initiative to shed the weight of recollected mementos of past experiences. And with each successive encounter, it gets increasingly harder to truly “know” a person because we haven’t experienced their cuts and scrapes of childhood and emotional bruises that have since healed. How much can you truly learn about a person second-hand, either from they themselves, or from others who have known them longer? So are we just doomed from the get-go if not fortunate enough to meet earlier?
True, society and culture have developed methods to get to know another person. It supposedly says a lot about personality depending on who your friends are, what your favorite color is, even as trifling as what you name your pet. But taken in perspective, what judgment would you or I make about a person who has four close friends from childhood, whose favorite color is green and has named his dog Sam?
Maybe it’s the little things that factor together to make a whole. “Bonding” moments usually come in the form of divulging little quirks like being scared of caterpillars, or obsessively disinfecting shopping carts before use. And so ultimately, though I’m not posing a right or wrong answer, I think that there may be a loophole; being that if given adequate time and situation, there is a possibility for true intimacy.
As I laughed out loud to myself early this morning, letting out a huff of warm breath into the chilly interface of air, I thought about how much I truly enjoy being “on vacation” from school and subsequently from stress, anxiety and sleepless nights. In lieu of memorable current pop culture references that would be applicable (though I really wanted to give justice to the Mastercard "Priceless" ads and the hilarity that is any given Geico Gecko commercial), I'll instead use a slogan from childhood days past: "It's grrrrreeeeaat!!!" from the lovable Tony the Tiger. The catalyst that initiated this merry reaction was a glimpse of my sherpa-like image in a passing window display. I was hauling my usual multiple bags, in addition to being more than adequately dressed for the frosty weather conditions, and thus I was adorned with mittens and scarves and such paraphernalia, plus carrying a baked tray of lasagna rather indiscriminately (yay for the season of Christmas office parties or any haphazard reason to celebrate!) Overall, it was an interesting little trek to work.
Contradictions are sometimes thought provoking situations for a third party to observe. For example, going to a hockey game last night I expected much more of the stereotypical bloodshed and gruesome violence that is portrayed on TV- crashing helmets, broken ribs and the like. Yes, admittedly it was the minor leagues and the players had not yet developed the maleficent greed and repugnant drive for money, fame and fortune that is typically more common as they ascend the ranks. However, there was an air in the arena that I had not expected to encounter. It was the air of innocence; of little children observing good sportsmanship, and of wholesome family values.
The incident that really triggered this recognition of this perpendicular paradigm was when not unexpectedly, a puck suddenly absconded the ice during a pass and flew into the stands. There was the typical response from the audience of hands and bodies flailing desperately towards this direction, only to be caught by a rather unobtrusive looking, baseball hat clad young man. He looked at the puck in his hand for merely a moment before handing it callously to a small boy of six or seven sitting next to him, obviously of no relation. The boy, most likely thinking habitually of another sport, bewilderdly threw the puck back onto the ice, only to recieve much admonishment from the crowd as well as the players. Upon quick realization of the calamity of his actions, the boy sought comfort in tears and his mother. Shortly thereafter, the uproar that this incidenct caused the officiator to intermediately throw the object of much desire and distress back into the crowd, and it fatefully returned back into the hands of its rightful owner. The entire situation made me smile with the warm feeling that even in the most seemingly minor circumstances during very unexpected times, there's still a glimmer of goodness and hope that can be found.
I've officially decided that the month of December will be strictly devoted to hedonism and debauchery, and by the end of the next 28 days or so, long after my brain and I have left for a long vacation to the bright chasm of mindlessness, I hopefully won't even be able to recall what these words mean. Monday marks the last day of this eternal stretch of a semester and consequently a series of sleepless nights and abundant stress. And thus I'll finally reclaim forty hours lost a week lost to my other full-time job. With each passing day I pose the same question- is it all really worth it? What lengths must one be willing to succumb just for an extra three little initials after a monogram? I have always been the one with a five year plan, but right now it's not so much set in stone as it is in moldable plaster. Tomorrow I have a "mutual interview" with a Lieutenant from the Navy who is in the power to hire a new civilian director of Epidemiology and Environmental Health. It seems somewhat uncanny that this is exactly what I'll receive my degree in this May. It's possibly that echo of self-indulgence reverberating from deep within, but at this moment with the limited knowledge I have about this position (salary, benefits, pension etc...) it's starting to look much more appealing than spending the next five years toiling with lab specimen and continuing to juggle a grueling work schedule. But then again, we must all ask ourselves what our motivation is- is it intrinsic motivation for self-improvement and knowledge, or is it extrinsic incitement for worldly goods? And why can't it be both? I'll have the next month to truly revel in these perplexing quandries, and who knows- maybe I'll actually come to the conclusion that I am and forever will be destined to live the life of a student... and that I actually do enjoy it. Only time will tell.
I believe this is truly worth mentioning, and that we should take a moment to reflect on what it means to be blessed with physical health mainly attributed to where we were fortunate enough to be born or grow up in. Having had first hand experience with the atrocities that are common place in third world nations, this is a major underlying factor and catalyst for many of their detrimental problems. If only there was the initiative for education and remediation. There is. Support the cause.
~~It's the heart, afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance. It's the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes a chance. It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give. And the soul, afraid of dying, that never learns to live. ~~
