i am becoming a web nerd. nerd isn't really the right word because i'm not websmart, so revise: i am becoming a webophile. i love the internets. today i was thinking about how drastically twitter changed the game (a line of thought generated by the justin bieber movie never say never--don't hate till you've seen it) because it shifted the emphasis of communication from receiver to sender. imagine if you could send a message without signifying an audience? if the audience could come to you? enter twitter and facebook statuses and BLOGS.
that really has nothing to do with what i intended this post to be about, so to prep you, here's a summary of what is to come: i moved, i feel sad, i'm not really sure where i'll go next, all the songs on the radio as i drove away from provo were appropriately depressing (multiple stations playing "i hope you'll dance"--what better theme song for a crisis?), and on top of all that, i hit two hygiene lows today: i forgot my toothbrush etc at bro bro's house, and i forgot my towel at the ward swimming party, which necessitated drying off with paper towels. (edit: you know as well as i do these are not my hygiene lows, but no matter who you are or how dirty, forgetting your toothbrush is always a bust.)
i am sick of moving. i don't care so much about the physical hassle; i just don't like having to leave people, especially since i know from so many parallel experiences that the closeness i cherish now will fade into the awkward grocery store aisle recognition of acquaintances who used to be friends. isn't that sad? people can't always mean what they once meant to us. i find that terribly sad. in this weird phase of life, the people i live with/near/etc are my family. so when i move, i have to start over. i look forward to changing place but not people. i think that will be nice.
i'd rather not grow up. or, i guess growing up just hasn't been what i thought it would be. grief is a kind of growing up, a getting kicked out of the nursery, a home you can't return to; and that was my first shock. but provo, peter pan land, where you only really seem to grow up if you get married or move away, absorbed some of that shock.
i'm rambling, and lindsay isn't here to tell me it's never a good idea to blog when i'm tired, so i'll tell myself and stop with a toast to "all good leaps of faith must eventually touch ground again."
2 comments:
Hi Cath,
I can't pretend to know you because I really don't know you at all. BUT, as someone who has felt every emotion you described and been in your shoes more than once, I can honestly say that it gets better (I'm not as articulate as you are, so that's the best I can describe it).
When I left Provo I felt so lost and confused about what life could possibly have in store for me, especially when every other girl my age and younger (much, much younger), was married with children. Our culture never really defined what a girl in our shoes was supposed to do/think/be next. But piece by piece I slowly figured it out and even started to love that unique situation I found myself. Hmm...this probably isn't making any sense.
Of course, it's all easier to digest in hindsight. But there you have it.
I wish you the best of luck and hope you'll continue to blog about wherever you go and whatever you do because I love reading anything you write (even though I don't like Obama-:)).
Brittany (Amy's sister)
I want to give you hugs. " Our culture never really defined what a girl in our shoes was supposed to do/think/be next. " -- I find a lot that I struggle with the idea that we can do/think/be ANYTHING WE WANT. It's a great thought, and obviously I'm grateful for the decades of feminist struggle that got me to this place (though I'd argue that we're still working towards *really* being able to do "Anything"), but it is also challenging to be faced with an open-ended question. With so many options, how can we choose one? And how can we choose multiple? And how can we realize our potential and live up to our own expectations of ourselves?
Growing up is tough.
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