On '122 Degrees West' or "What it Means to Leave Things Behind"
It's been a month and a day since I arrived in Hayward.
It seems much longer than that.
I was looking for some sort of seismic change, coming here, and I would like to say that I had found it. But I haven't. If anything, my lethargy and isolation have only become more intense.
I don't go out. I don't know anyone. And I don't sleep much at all. Insomnia's been plaguing me recently, familiar with the coming of autumn. Like an old and hated, if comfortable, companion that decided to follow me leisurely south. It's sort of scary how accustomed I've become to it.
It feels very empty here. And I like that. There is a lot of space to grow. But I do not know who or what I want to grow into. It is strange being 26 and feeling so misplaced and uncertain and incompetent. But I think that is something that is probably very common among undergraduate liberal arts majors. Our society doesn't really seem to know what to do with us, and we certainly don't seem to know what to do with our society.
I feel very much like a failure lately, but not in the usual sense. My failure isn't a failure of engagement - it's a failure of articulation.
As a college-educated, gay white male in his mid-20's from an affluent family who's in a stable, loving relationship and living on the west coast of the United States, I'm situated very well to make something of myself in this culture.
But I don't want to, simply as an issue of character, and the cost to character success here often brings.
If I was exceptionately passionate about anything, or less inclined to comprehensive criticism, perhaps this wouldn't be the issue in my life that it is. But, like Q, my passions are far more broad than they are deep, and my inclination towards criticism only works to aggravate that tendency in my character.
Both of those things combine to make me exceptionally reluctant to put my foot down anywhere firmly. But, despite my reservations, I need to start. Issues of character are largely issues of place, and if I'm ever going to begin to understand who I am, I need to also understand where I am and what I'm doing here.
Right now, I'm 122 degrees west, with someone I love, staring at the distant borders of my future, trying to discover a shape they might conform to.
It is a very empty place in my life.
Though, that, perhaps, is something I should not worry so much about.
It may be, I think, that I am becoming more comfortable with blind horizons. I have ceased attempting to bring light to them. In some ways, it is a disservice. There are places that you can only explore once you've arrived.
And that is a good thing. You need some space if you're going to grow, and unexplored space is best.
I have plenty of that here.
It seems much longer than that.
I was looking for some sort of seismic change, coming here, and I would like to say that I had found it. But I haven't. If anything, my lethargy and isolation have only become more intense.
I don't go out. I don't know anyone. And I don't sleep much at all. Insomnia's been plaguing me recently, familiar with the coming of autumn. Like an old and hated, if comfortable, companion that decided to follow me leisurely south. It's sort of scary how accustomed I've become to it.
It feels very empty here. And I like that. There is a lot of space to grow. But I do not know who or what I want to grow into. It is strange being 26 and feeling so misplaced and uncertain and incompetent. But I think that is something that is probably very common among undergraduate liberal arts majors. Our society doesn't really seem to know what to do with us, and we certainly don't seem to know what to do with our society.
I feel very much like a failure lately, but not in the usual sense. My failure isn't a failure of engagement - it's a failure of articulation.
As a college-educated, gay white male in his mid-20's from an affluent family who's in a stable, loving relationship and living on the west coast of the United States, I'm situated very well to make something of myself in this culture.
But I don't want to, simply as an issue of character, and the cost to character success here often brings.
If I was exceptionately passionate about anything, or less inclined to comprehensive criticism, perhaps this wouldn't be the issue in my life that it is. But, like Q, my passions are far more broad than they are deep, and my inclination towards criticism only works to aggravate that tendency in my character.
Both of those things combine to make me exceptionally reluctant to put my foot down anywhere firmly. But, despite my reservations, I need to start. Issues of character are largely issues of place, and if I'm ever going to begin to understand who I am, I need to also understand where I am and what I'm doing here.
Right now, I'm 122 degrees west, with someone I love, staring at the distant borders of my future, trying to discover a shape they might conform to.
It is a very empty place in my life.
Though, that, perhaps, is something I should not worry so much about.
It may be, I think, that I am becoming more comfortable with blind horizons. I have ceased attempting to bring light to them. In some ways, it is a disservice. There are places that you can only explore once you've arrived.
And that is a good thing. You need some space if you're going to grow, and unexplored space is best.
I have plenty of that here.
posted by Anonymous at 12:40 AM
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