Looking-glass selves

The way we view ourselves based off of our (incorrect) beliefs about the way others perceive us (Tice et al, 2003)
How much of us is real, and how much did we fabricate to suite what we think we shouild be? Whose expectations am I living up to? My own? Yours? What I think yours are? How much of me is something I created to meet your idea of me?
It makes sense: most of us, independent of society, would have pretty positive self concepts: no one was born thinking they're *that bad.* And we know this, inherently. So we judge ourselves, our self worth, our vere self-concept, based off of what others think of us. People tell me I'm an activist, so I become an activist. Studies show that if a child is percieved as delinquent amongst his/her peers, s/he will go out of his/her way to commit delinquent acts. If a student is percieved as intelligent by his/her professor, s/he will act intelligent. A self-fulfilling prophecy. But most of the time, we don't really know what people think of us. We can only guess. And because we are human, we usually guess wrong. And so the real effect arises when we act the way we *think* our peers want us to. Perhaps "want" is the wrong word- "expect" may be better.
And so this relates back to the ridiculous/semihilarious commentary on the dating scene at Hamilton:
Girls are told that we want relationships. Boys are told they shouldn't want relationships. Girls think that boys don't want relationships, boys think that girls always want relationships. Boys who hook up with girls think that the girl thinks he doesn't want a relationship, when really he doesn't know what he wants. Girls who hook up with boys think that the boy thinks she wants a relationship, when really she doesn't know what she wants. And so she does, and so he doesn't. And then it all falls down.
Life is so silly when you look at it like that. We should just laugh at ourselves, and how silly we are, leading out our insignificant lives, clinging to every moment of our soap opera dramas of lives: he slept with her, she loves someone else, girls are so complicated, boys are so cold. I'm so tired. Turn off the reality tv. Give me some good tunes, a dark room and a bed and i'll be set forever.

results: undetermined

Well it wasn't a yes. But then again, it wasn't a no.
I'm ok for now. I guess.

Long Road Home

I wish I could talk back, tell you how I really feel. But there's no time for anger or drama now because I've got a non-optional date set for friday, a date for which I feel more emotion than towards these petty collegiate nonsense games. You're gonna ask me: "are you OK?" and don't even bother because I'm going to answer "I'm fine." But am I? For a people as scared of death as we; for a culture as terrified of growing old and dependent, we certainly do live with blinders. We convince ourselves that if we look fine, we are fine. We abuse our bodies- the majority of crops grown in this country are dedicated to making artificial products, we smoke like it's not a big deal (it'll take the bed-ridden years; a lie that is shamelessly parading as truth), we drink until we pass out. We don't excercise unless we look like we need to (and even then we don't). We watch tv instead of being with our families and friends. Life is so precious, why be bathed in television light when you can have sunlight? And if Friday is really so terrifying, I will embrace it with all the love I am capable of posessing, because it is a day that belongs to me, terrifying or not. Regardless of what Friday brings, I want to live my life with lights so green that they sprout leaves, under skies so open and blue they beg to be drunk deep, surrounded by people so beautiful in their flaws and their compassion that I can't tell where the me ends and the they begins. Because that's what this is all about, really. Living deep and sucking the marrow out of life. Drinking it all in till I can't possibly take it anymore. A bomb of ecstasy: not chemical, not spiritual, not physical. Just energy, just life.

Facing South

I'm moving into a room that faces south. I just moved the rest of my stuff tonight. In this new room, the blinds are always open. I woke up this morning and saw the sunrise. I think it was the first sunrise I've seen in a whole year. It peeked over the trees which dot the horizon, over the edges of the other dorms and, as if someone spilt pink lemonade, stained the snow the softest pink I've ever seen. And so I just layed in bed and watched the wind play with the snow, tossing it into translucent sparkly balls that rolled over the landscape, crashed into eachother and disappeared.
One of my friends came over today. It was the first time she had seen my new room, and she (just like I) loved the sunshine. It's almost always sunny in here: I get sun from sunrise to sunset. Perfect. We sprawled out on the beds and talked about religion and philosophy. It's funny how people can be thinking about the same issues without even discussing it. It appears that I am not the only one who is searching for something to hold on to. So much has happened that I can't possibly go back to my atheist college tendencies. And to be honest, that was never really me anyway. We talked about Christianity, I told her about my Amish Neighbors and the man they strive to emulate with their passive nonresistance to violence. I told her the beautiful story of Dirk Willems, one of many Anabaptist martyrs who, in the winter of 1569, was captured by spanish inquisitors. They locked him in a palace used as a makeshift prison, and he lowered himself from a window with a rope of rags. He fled over the frozen landscape, pursued by palace guards, and when he came to a pond, he slid across a thin layer of ice. Then behind him he heard a splash and the cry of a palace guard, who had fallen through. Dirk Willems turned back and rescued the guard, who then arrested him and took him back to the palace. (www.phillymag.com) He was burnt at the stake the next day.
I've been having really strange dreams about spirituality and religion, perhaps a result of my constant thinking about it. I told my friend, about the strange dream I had over break, after reading this intense book about Desert Dwellers in Christianity, who sell all their belongings and retire to the desert for years and years to gain solitude and eventually undying compassion for others. I dreamt I was a spiritual worker (perhaps a priest), and I was listening to this little girl. And she was really scared about dying and being unsure about her spirituality. And halfway through her explanation, I realized that I was talking to myself: I was, in fact, the little girl and the priest. And I (the priest) told her something along the lines of "It doesn't matter if you believe or not, in solitude you will find compassion- love your brothers and sisters. It doesn't matter if god does or does not exist. Live as you will and you'll find solace in your heart. Remember, Jesus Christ is your brother, we are all children of god. You can be him too." And then I woke up. It was a strange dream for two reasons. 1: I haven't really identified with christianity since freshman year of college, and 2. because it was exactly what I needed to hear. I guess I always knew the answers, I was just too afraid to ask myself for them.
I've been trying this thing where I am positive for 12 hours. Not positive as in "avoiding negative thoughts." because that's just fake and I think it's impossible, really. I mean positive in that I've been trying to be aware of all my negative thoughts, about myself, about those around me. I acknowledge them and then just let them go. Positive meaning not dwelling in negativity. It's been working pretty well so far, I feel better about everything now. Hopefully it will have a good physical effect as well. I guess we'll see about that.
It was really cool to sit there and really take a day for ourselves, to discuss our skepticism about certain religions, our love for others. It's nice to know that other people actually do think about this stuff, even if they are afraid of talking about it. I don't have classes tomorrow, and I would really do anything to just stay in bed and watch the sun and the wind play with the snow. I'd do that for the rest of my life if i could.

Hilarious and then..

Hilarious column in the spec today about how this campus is full of "tarts". God what a perfect word to describe them. Tarts. You know who I mean: the skanky blonde in your philosophy class who "accidentally" flashes the class as she bends over to pick up her pen. The scantily clad brunette who gets up on stage and strips because she's "sexually liberated" (translation: has major daddy issues). The "bi-curious" girls who are really what my gay friends call BUGS (Bisexual Until Graduation) who have threesomes with anyone that asks.
Do I sound bitter? Honestly, I probably am. But perhaps I'm more disappointed than anything else. I met a really sweet girl at the pub, who was about to get hijacked by some upperclassmen guys with a not-so-nice track record. I stole her and took her to the bathroom. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked her. And she couldn't answer. She literally did not know what to say. She just shrugged her shoulders and gestured briefly at her body and looked at me sadly. It was as if no one ever asked her that before. And she's not a tart. She's not. She's sweet and innocent and maybe just doesn't know what she wants. She could've been anyone, even me.
And I don't know who to side with. I'm not this raging radical feminist. I dont spell women like "womyn" anymore because *it offends me* to spell it that way. I don't *want* to take the men out of womens movement. We need them there: and when I say need I don't mean it in a dependent sort of way. I mean it in the way that any "minority" (although women are a majority) group needs their oppressor. We need to work *with* them and not *against* them. And yet for all my mellow feminist tendencies, I can't but feel frustratration towards these tarts. Somewhere, someone along the line told them it was ok to objectify themselves. Someone must've showed them that if you take off your clothes, men will act like they like you. And all I want to do is grab them and feed them and tell them that they shouldn't *have* to take off their clothes. No one should *have* to do anything they don't want to do. Of course they think this is what they want. They say that they are just treating sex like men treat sex. But I don't really think i can buy that. No one just wakes up one day and decides to objectify herself. Something must've happened. Something must've taught these girls that in order to be loved, they have to fulfill every man's fantasy.
And so as sorry as I am for these girls, there is no changing them. There is no helping them. That innocent girl I pulled aside still went on her way with those guys, and I don't know what happened after that. i don't want to know. The worst part about these girls is sometimes I feel like it's too late for them. They won't listen. They *can't* listen. And they're not going to change. They'll always hate girls like me, hating us for no apparent reason, talking about us behind our backs, threatening our mutual friends, stealing our boy friends, threatening us directly. But it's a hatred that comes from misunderstanding. Perhaps even envy. And it's a hatred that I can't reciprocate, because all I ever feel for them is pity.

Turn around

I think it was about a year ago today that I arrived in Spain. In some aspects, i can't believe it's been a year. Memories of climbing sandy terrain barefoot, trecking through what at the time seemed miles of endless desert in search of the beloved mediterrainian, crawling through cobblestone streets alongside an israeli boy with bells around his ankles and a pocket full of overripe cherries, armed with a few euros and a bottle of cheap spanish wine still blissfully plague me every time I close my eyes, as if the images are burned beneath my eyelids and every time I attempt to sleep, I am haunted by days past in which I was younger, happier and more innocent. And when i am not paying attention, the rough protective wall of the alhambra appears on my fingertips and the song of the romani gypsies in my head: I wake up singing words I don't understand.
In other aspects, I've grown so much since then, the lessons learned also following me throughout my daily life- constant reminders in every step that I am not who I once was, and who I will become can only be determined by a flip of a coin. Echoes of situations, like watching a shadow puppet play of a true event.
If you only knew. Or rather, if I only knew. Once I decipher what happened, I'll let you know.
What does it mean to be haunted by ones own past? I wonder if I will ever be able to live my present the way I live my memories, creating each single moment as a priceless object to be cherished and treasured. To replay images over and over again like old-fashioned family videotapes projected on flowing white screens and popcorn and to snuggle up against eachother and say "wow that's not how I remembered it to be, but that must be the way it always was." I wonder if we can really live like that. I'd like to try living that way, even just for a moment.

Transcendence

When I was five, I believed that throughout the course of your life, all the experiences, people you meet, places you've been and things you've done leave a mark on your soul, a physical color and shape. And that only the prettiest and most creative souls would become part of this eternal ball of energy and light, and the others would get a chance to try again.
I also believed that our souls chose our bodies, our families and our lives. This way we know that when the body fails, the soul can overcome this earthly deterioration and survive the struggles of life.
And for some reason, these kindergarden philosophies seem more true to me now than ever before.

the process of resolving

I love people during new years celebrations. Love them. I love meeting people at these celebrations because there is this crazy feeling of worldwide solidarity: tonight we will put away our differences and just celebrate the oncoming year, some with prayer and meditation, and others in the more westernized fashion of getting drunk and kissing a stranger at midnight. Random people you don't know will stop you on the street and wish you a happy new year. A bunch of hooligan college kids on the subway approached me for "beer money" and for once I actually gave it to them. Because for some reason I was reminded of my time in europe, and felt like i should spread the affirmation that there are, in fact, ways to connect with strangers in this world (these are ways that mostly, of course, involve beer and money, usually together.)

But I guess I just crave that kind of connection, even if it is one sided; that feeling of knowing that you're in a city surrounded by *people* not robots. I guess that's why I feel so strangely towards places like manhattan: so much potential to meet new and interesting people, and yet we'd rather put on our ipods or play with our cell phones- new yorkers actually avoid contact. Maybe that's why they're so grumpy- they've forgotten how to just be.

The teevee is raving about keeping new years resolutions, of course a typical ploy by the industry to sell more things that people don't want or need. I've always thought that new year resolutions are bound to fail because of the high pressure. I mean, sure, you may think that this year you're gonna turn a new leaf over, lose 15 pounds, kick your nasty boyfriend to the curb, quit smoking, start investing etc etc. But come March, and you're most likely back into your old bad habits. Think about it: Every day is the start of a new year. You can make your resolution on a random tuesday in June, and then a year later mark your progress. It's not that I'm against resolutions, I just think that people always wait till a benchmark time to make a life-altering decision: usually by which point it's already too late. Really we should be making these decisions when it occurs to us that something in our lives is going terribly wrong.

I made a resolution last spring to cut out the negative forces in my life. And here I am, half a year later, still trying to succeed. And this path has taken me to so many different encounters, I've met people that I so horribly wrote off before because of superficial purposes- without even realizing it, I had reverted to the highshool goth kid mentality of "I'll reject you before you reject me" and ended up missing out on interactions with very beautiful people. At the same time, this quest has proven equally destructive as constructive: I've lost many friends or people I had regarded as friends, I find myself holding others to extremely high standards and often being dissapointed when they fail to meet them. And I've found a lot of negative energy within myself surfacing as well, which causes that horrible cycle of knowing that something is wrong but feeling absolutely powerless to resolve it.

For example, upon returing from a very typical New Years weekend in New York City, I've been awashed with an overwhelming wave of discontent. I'm not quite sure why, but I think it has to do with a lot of things including some health issues I've been faced with and some tough social decisions. I feel like I'm falling in a downward spiral, at moments inexplicably happy and ecstatic to be in my current state of independence, and other moments extremely isolated and sad. And then there's this feeling that comes between the two, a feeling that I can only describe as discontent: neutral and unsatisfied, like mixing all the colors of life together and coming out grey- it's not nothing, but not the right thing either. This is what Viktor Frankl calls an existential vacuum. And I am being blown away.

Oh, but tangents, tangents. I guess what's really important is to recognize that change and creation are products of our own hands. We may not be able to change "the world" but we most certainly can change "our world." And really, isn't that all that matters? It's not as selfish as it sounds: because of this wonderful contact between people, change within ourselves will cause a ripple of change in others. Of course it will. Think about the grumpy secretary at the doctors office: if she greeted you with a warm smile instead of a cold glare or even an ambivalent look, your mood will be altered. Smiles are contagious.

I'm sounding like a hallmark greeting card. The point is, each day is an opportunity to resolve. Each moment is a moment to create. It is a continuous 7th day, so to speak. Happy New Year.