Evening Thoughts

This city makes strange noises. I've noticed several times, especially in the back alleys, that it always sounds like there's a huge crowd just around the corner. There never is. Your turn the corner, and there's just a bunch of people walking around, and then it sounds like the big crowd is just around the next corner. I've been wondering why this is, and I've finally developed a theory.

I think it works something like a seashell. And keep in mind that I don't really know why a seashell makes the noise it does when you hold it up to your ear, but I'm pretty sure it has to do with its shape and the way it funnels vibrations. My best guess is that this city is so vast, and so busy, that the noises of the people from all around just echo off of the buildings and travel down the alleyways, creating the sense that there's a large group of people shouting just a few hundred feet away.

Sometimes I feel like coming here was a mistake. And sometimes I've never been happier. Sometimes the concept of spending a whole year here seems unbearable. And sometimes it's not enough time. This is the most bipolar experience I've ever had in my life. As I'm starting to make more and more friends, and as work is getting easier, the difficulty is revealing itself to be a lack of anything meaningful to do with my free time.

The first difficulty was the stress of work, and how quickly I was expected to just do it. As that started to ease, the next difficulty was loneliness, and not knowing anyone, not having anyone to eat or drink with. And now that problem too has faded. But when I come home from work, and I have my evening, I'm not sure how to fill it.

I've been watching a lot of movies. That's a distraction, but it's not been fulfilling. I've been working on a chain mail project for a very special person, but aside from that I'm surprised to find the prospect of chain mail less appealing and less fulfilling then it was back home. I'm not sure exactly why that is yet. I have my flute, and my oil pastels, and I've been drawing and playing, which is fulfilling temporarily, but doesn't leave me with a satisfied feeling of accomplishment when I'm done. Again, I'm not sure why.

I think it has something to do with what I actually want to do with my life. Drawing and making music are nice hobbies, but they aren't what I want to do with my life. Perhaps it is the same with making chain mail. Of all the arts I've ever studied, chain mail is the one I have the most mastery of. But perhaps, deep down, I don't want to spend my life making chain mail. As much as i love it, and as good as I am, I don't think it is my life long calling.

When I have freed time, I think a lot about the future, what I want to do, and what I need to do now to get there. But the enduring problem is that I do not know what I want to do, and thus I have no idea what must be done to get there. I like teaching, but I do not want to spend my life teaching English to foreigners. The two most fulfilling activities, I find, are socializing, and writing.

Why socializing? Is it because we are just such social creatures, that this is an instinct as intrinsic as food and sex? Or is it something more personal to me, that I am as an individual more prone towards social interaction. I think the answer is yes. I do think we are social by nature, but not intrinsically so. The existence of introverts supports this idea. I had a very good conversation with a self proclaimed introvert over the summer who explained to me that introversion has nothing to do with shyness. "Introversion is the seeking of satisfaction within, while extroversion is the seeking of satisfaction without", she said. This makes sense. And now, put in a situation where my ability to interact with others is greatly limited, I have to admit that introversion seems like the wiser philosophy. And while I can certainly be shy at times, alas, I am an extrovert.

And why writing? Well, certainly in part, because it allows me to stay in contact with all of you. So it fulfills, in part, that extroverted tendency. But it goes beyond that, because even on the occasions that I have written privately, it has left me with the same feeling of satisfaction that writing to you, posting on my blog, gives me.

I've noticed that I think best while I write. My thoughts are chaotic and jumbled and hard to follow. But when I put them down in writing, it helps me to organize and understand them. I have my greatest realizations and understandings only while I am writing. Does it seem like I have these diatribes planned out? I certainly do not. They flow from my mind and my fingertips as they are happening, surprising me just as much, if not more so, then they do you. Maybe that is the source of my love of English, which I have come to embrace even more so since becoming a teacher of the subject. Were it not for the written word, I'm not sure I would know how to think properly.

So playing flute, and drawing, and even making chain mail, are not how I want to spend my life. They entertain me, but they do not fulfill my need for progress. And yet writing and socializing do. Writing, and people. My two greatest passions I suppose. It seems, at this moment in time at least, that my destiny must be to write about people. And so I shall, as much as possible.

In general, I plan and intend to post un update to my blog every Sunday. If you have a desire to be a regular reader, Sunday is probably a good time to check it. This mid week post is simply a matter of the fact that I had too much on my mind not to express. And, of course, because I needed to write. Besides, I missed a posting on at least one Sunday, so I owed you guys one.

Oh, and please, feel free to comment on my actual blog. I've received a number of comments on Facebook, and it's become apparent that a number of people actually read this thing, but posting comments on the blog itself is still much appreciated. It's kind of like proof, ya know? And I promise I'll respond.


Until next time
-Mongoose