Sharing is a Virtue.

All of our lives we've been told by our parents to to share--sharing is caring, whatever, whatever, bullshit bullshit bullshit. Before I go on any further, let it be known that this has nothing to do with the Occupy protests, and that I am not a socialist.

But I just read this article about how the author of which deletes his Facebook, and afterwards he realizes that having a Facebook never made his life more fulfilling; in fact, since he deleted it, his life has been more fulfilling. I'm seriously considering taking heed, going the extra mile, and finally deleting my own because of it. I think about doing it once a month if not more. I deactivate it for months at a time. I've been on this track for awhile. But I haven't gotten there. Yet. But I'm setting the date. Dec. 31st, 2011. My personal New Year's resolution--one that is permanently achievable.
But at the same time, I'm reading this article and I think it's funny. It's funny that he still had the notion to share what he did, to publicize that he deactivated his Facebook through a different social medium. I've written about this before, but I never made it to a conclusion. Our generation has an obsession with sharing. But is it so much sharing or are we looking for some sense of validation in the form of recognition. Are we hunting for people who agree, to approve of our statuses, relationships, jobs, education, our friends, our appearances?  If it's not Facebook, it's Twitter, it's Tumblr, it's something else. Look at what I'm dong right now. What is the difference between what I choose to publish on my blog and what I choose to write in my journal?
What is the difference between the thoughts that I want to keep private and those I want to broadcast? Nine times out of ten it's for my own sense of ego--the cynical motive behind most everything--arguably everything--that we do. The thoughts I keep private are kept private for my own benefit--to avoid a bad representation of myself--to save face. And the thoughts I choose to share, I convinced myself might be of some social value, entertainment, or just thoughts that I can't fathom on my own, that need collaborative feedback.
As I'm thinking about it, I actually don't think this obsession with sharing is limited to our generation, we've just been the best at it so far. Before the Internet, there was broadcast television, before the news, there were newspapers, before newspapers, there was gossip. People want to be in the know. And people who are in the know want everyone else to know they're in the know...
I can never finish my thoughts on this. Gotta run.

"Life, if you keep chasing it so hard, will drive you to death. Time - when pursued like a bandit - will behave like one, always remaining one county or one room ahead of you, changing its name and hair color to elude you, slipping out the back door of the motel just as you're banging through the lobby with your newest search warrant, leaving only a burning cigarette in the ashtray to taunt you. At some point you have to stop because it won't. You have to admit that you can't catch it. That you're not supposed to catch it. At some point, you gotta let go and sit still and allow contentment to come to you."

-Elizabet Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

The Black Hole of Possibility

“To describe this process of getting acquainted with people, with a culture different from our own is to recognize the experience as liberalizing. We are all limited in our understanding of our own conduct and that of our neighbors because we see everything by the preconceptions offered by our own culture. It is a task of education to provide a viewpoint from which the educated person may free himself from the limitations of these preconceptions.We are all islanders to begin with. An acquaintance with another culture, a real and deep acquaintance, is a release of the mind and the spirit from that isolation. It is to learn a universal language.”

-Robert Redfield, Chicago anthropologist

I can do whatever I want to do--be whoever I want to be. So what happens if I don't know what I want?

The possibilities are endless.

Well, don't you think that's just a little bit exorbitant?

There are so many options that I feel limited...

trapped inside my own.

ImaginaAAAaaaation.

"I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic. I try to give that to people. I do misrepresent things. I don’t tell truths. I tell what ought to be truth. And if that is sinful, then let me be damned for it!"
— A Streetcar Named Desire, Tennessee Williams


Have you ever wondered what would happen if everything you ever imagined as a child were real?
Because it would be awesome. It would rain apple juice. Sofas would be made out of gummy bears. Dirt would be made out of crushed oreos. 
And people wonder why I was fat as a kid. 
I never really believed in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy--although I did applaud their practice of rewarding children-- but even without them, my fabled world of adolescence was straight up magical (and delicious).
At the same time, it was horrible--terrifying--scary.
I mean, it would really suck if every time I flushed the toilet a monster would grab me and take me with him (or her) into a world of smelly darkness. It would really suck if every time I closed my eyes in the shower a demon that resembled Paige's former love interest (Charmed reference) would take me with him into some undetectable cave in the underworld. It would really really suck if at the stroke of midnight the clothes in my closet would come alive and try to strangle me. And although it might be kinda cool if dinosaurs really were my best friends or if street lights really did have feelings, what happens when my dino pal tries to eat me? Or when I realize I don't care about what streetlights have to say?
I guess if things went sour, I could always revert back to the if-I-can't-see-you-you-can't-see-me trick or take cover under my blanket that doubles as an invisibility cloak and invincible fortress.
Fast forward thirteen years...who am I kidding, I believed in the Toilet Monster well into the fifth grade...minor detail. Fast forward roughly thirteen years and now I have to face real problems (ie. Acne and student loans). It's no longer cute to be fat. It's no longer acceptable to sing while you use a public bathroom (and then run away after flushing). And no matter how long I hide under my blanket, all of my monsters will still be there waiting for an opportune moment to kidnap something bigger than me--my future. 
Now I'm eighteen and I'm finally starting to understand that until now, all of my battles have been fought for me. A monster never got close enough to eat me because I had an older sister, a mommy, a daddy, grandparents, and comfort food to protect me from harm's way. I've never really been alone. And even if I was alone, I never really felt alone.
Well.
In two months, I'm going to college.
College.
Is that real life? Or is that some kind of pre-packaged cookie?
I wish it were a cookie because then I'd know what to do with it (eat it, le duh). Unfortunately it's real life and I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no idea what I'm going to do without my wonderful hometown that I love even more than processed food. And I'm afraid that when I turn off the lights, I won't be scared, I'll be lonely.
But these anticipations are just possibilities entangled in something much bigger--because college isn't a cookie, it's magic. Sure I'm scared shitless, but everything that I ever wanted to accomplish, anything that I ever wanted be real can become tangible through secondary education. I'm glad I'm not a kid anymore. Because now I know that I'm psyching myself out. Monsters aren't real. I made them up. And although I don't want to leave my hometown, my friends, my memories behind, I can't wait until these two months are up and college transforms from magic to reality.

If the world were smaller...

I am completely obsessed.
Addicted.
Strung out.
I love to travel.
I want to see the world.
There's so much world to see.
How will I possibly have enough time?
And yet if the world were any smaller it would lose infinite amounts of appeal.
The fact that the unknown can be known, found, touched, tasted, experienced is incredibly tantalizing.
What in the world am I going to do with myself?
There's so much world to see.
Where should I go first?

Spare time.

This is the result of having plenty to avoid doing and insane ice cream cravings.

Gray Skies.

I am force feeding Fight Club down my own throat and I have come to the conclusion that struggles arise from only two situations:
1) when you don't have enough
2) when you have too much

The problems that the poor face are circumstances. Think poverty, hunger, disease.
The problems that the rich face are invented. Think depression, addiction.

We are unhappy when we don't have things. We are unhappy when we have things. I hate Fight Club. But I cannot say I disagree. I hate the narrator because he is complains that his life doesn't have any meaning and the only way to find it is to destroy everything and fuck everything up. I hate him because I am doing the exact same thing. I really hate myself right now. No. Shut up. I don't remember why I'm here. I'm living to die. I've become a nihilist in four weeks. I want to know that it's worth it. That I've impacted something important positively. That without me something else could not exist. Maybe that's why people want children. Maybe that's why people make art. Those things are all their own. Without them those things could not be. They find the will to live so that their creations can keep living. We are what we make. And following that logic, I am nothing.

I struggle with the idea of insignificance and mediocrity but I am also afraid of heights, not so much because I'm afraid of falling but because I don't want anybody else to see. Isn't there a way to climb in the dark? Eh but I'm probably bullshitting you because I might be very afraid of the fall.

I need to crawl out of myself.
I need to stop complaining. I need to remember that I'm working towards something. I need to remember that there are people out there who did not invent their problems. I need to just do it and stop blogging about it.

I know what God is but I do not know my own.
I feel so lost. And I am annoying the fuck out of myself.

Why can't I just go through the motions until it's real? Does that work?
All this identity crisis bullshit is leading me to large bouts of idleness. I wish I could spend 75% of my life on a time crunch. Stressed out to meet five deadlines. Then maybe the other 25% of the time I wouldn't worry about who I am.

The only thing is, I should be on a time crunch because I do have five different deadlines to meet. I just don't care about any of it, anymore.

Who can I blame for this one? I'm going to go ahead and say college. "My future"
I need to get out of myself.

Sorry all my posts are depressing.