13 took me to the movies to see The Great Gatsby so I would get out of the house for a little bit. He’s wonderful at cheering me up when I’m sad or frustrated, even if it’s just by sending me pictures of his adorable cat. (I’m not a cat person, but this cat has definitely won me over.)
I’d wanted to see the movie for a while because The Great Gatsby was one of my favorite books in high school. I identified with the feeling of disillusionment that was a common theme in books from the Lost Generation writers of the 1920s. The same week I read the book during my sophomore year of high school, I got my hair cut in a short bob. I also started wearing 1920s-themed clothes and pearls.
I’d forgotten a fair portion of the story over the years, but soon I remembered that the Great Gatsby character I most identified with back in high school was Nick Carraway. There were scenes in the movie where I wondered, “Why is Nick still there? It’s so awkward that he is just randomly lingering in this scene.” I often feel like—throughout life—that’s the role I play, that I am just kind of awkwardly there.
I am concerned about falling into that role as I start a new graduate school program. I worry that I am not bringing the same skill set as my peers. Writing has always been a hobby. I recently went out to lunch with my best friend, Joe, and I expressed my concern about attending the writer’s retreat-esque opening session for graduate school. I’m worried that I will lack the intensity my peers have. I take my writing seriously, but I’m not an intense person. How do I bridge my love for writing and the fervent requirements of my school program?
My school sent me a packet of information describing the many group activities we’ll take part in during the session, but it also says that students can wander nature paths if they wish. Of course, Joe warned me that people who wander nature paths in movies never make it back. This is true, but I still know that I’ll be that nature-path wanderer. I need that time to collect my thoughts so I can write. I can just imagine people wondering why I keep wandering off by myself. I used to do the same thing all the time in elementary school.
My elementary school was situated in nature, and there weren’t a lot of kids in my class. At recess, the class split up, some playing superheroes and others playing the roles of queen and servants. When I played a superhero, I never got to be the one I wanted. Instead, I was always stuck being Jean Grey, the red-haired superhero from X-Men. And I was always a servant when I played with the queen and servants group.
I remember asking a girl who was always chosen to be the queen if someday I could be queen for a day. The answer was a resounding no. But I preferred to wander off behind the school anyhow, where I sat on a hill and braided grass baskets. I was never sad not to play with others. But my fascination with nature meant I encountered many ant hills, sending me to the school nurse, who applied cortisone cream to treat my ant bites. (Red ants are vicious, especially if you accidentally crush their hill.) When I wanted to be around people again, I played with my classmates. To this day, the weird distancing thing I do sometimes leaves me feeling like I can be Nick Carraway-like and just linger for too long in the background. I’m working on feeling more comfortable in interacting with new people.
I have a fairly new hobby: mantra meditation. I purchased a mala to help me keep track of how many times I say the mantra, and Amanda, one of the National Youth Leadership Institute facilitators, gave me a mantra to try. Because her background is in yoga and meditating, I talked with her in New York to get advice. Before that, I tried meditating using guided meditation CDs, but I found my mind wandering.
My motivation is that I really want to get into a good meditation routine to focus my mind since I am going back to school. I want my brain to be ready and brimming with ideas when I need it most, but I’d like it to take a break from all of the idea creation when I need rest. I thought meditation would be a great way to achieve that focus.
It was great timing with everything that has happened in my life lately. I realize now that there is always a reason for the timing of things that happen to me, even if I can’t make sense of it at that moment. I also know that I can’t make my words more effective than whatever meaning they present to others. And I can’t feel comfortable with myself, but then also question whether others think I am slightly odd.
But mostly, I know for certain that there is no way to plan for everything that happens in life, and there is no perfect timing. So I try to make all time spent with people I care about really count. After all, all we can do is try to create balance, take it all in—the good and bad—and hope to just be in the moment.