Saturday, May 22, 2010


I am suspended between excitement and defeat when I think about all there is to learn. Everything interests me and fascinates me and tries to draw me into its web. I want to learn to cook, to knit, to crochet, to speak French fluently, to master more difficult yoga poses. I want to read War and Peace, explore the world of finance, consider new avenues for academic research, publish a book. Engage with art, architecture, music, Christianity. Become more environmentally aware, more health conscious. Develop my mind and body to the fullest potential.

Here I am, one speck on a sprawling celestial canvas. I could spend forever looking outward -- seeking, learning, endeavoring to understand. And I will. Because I don't think I can extract myself from the yearning.

But I could also spend forever looking inward -- reflecting, reevaluating, attempting to become a better friend, daughter, niece, neighbor, girlfriend/wife, citizen of earth. And I will. Because knowledge of oneself cannot be found in a paperback that claims to offer such. It cannot be bought or taught or memorized or rehearsed. There is no step-by-step grammar for self-awareness. It is felt, it is lived, it simply is.

I do not want to move mechanically through each day, checking mirrors for skin blemishes and applying apologies as relationship balms. I am deeper than my complexion, and I love more deeply than words can render. To beautify, I must first look inward. To love those around me, I must first look inward. To interrogate this globally shared existence, I must first, and always, be willing to interrogate my own.

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