My basil plant is growing. The stem leans towards the sunlight, absorbing, sucking up energy to get stronger and healthier. Needless to say, I'm a proud Basil Mommy. Of course, I'm not quite as proud of my own writing lately; sure, I've been attempting to learn towards my own proverbial sun, sucking up the energy of blogs and books and magazines (I officially subscribed to The New Yorker!), but while absorbing said sunlight, I have forgotten to "water" my writing energy daily and, as such, am still a seedling, and am not producing sweet pieces of writing like the large, sweet leaves of my basil plant.
OK, so this metaphor has probably gone a little too far already, but reflecting back upon this past year, I realize that I have missed out on a lot of opportunities to appreciate, truly appreciate, what's around me. From the time I've started this blog, I've made several changes to my life that I think have truly made me a healthier, happier, better person.
First, I've provided more time for me - just me - to relax. Of course, this is somewhat facilitated by the fact that I live by myself in a studio apartment (which is glorious), and I try to read something pleasurable every night before I go to bed to unwind.
I've also decided not to get frustrated when a particular interaction does not go the way I intended it. Rather than grasping and desperately hanging on to unsuccessful acquaintances/friendships/relationships, I try and let the weak connection pass, not attempting to make something fruitful our of something barren. That's not to say I've been dismissing all uncomfortable social interactions, blaming them on an intrinsic lack of connection that must be immediately eliminated, but I no longer waste energy on people that I know simply don't work with who I am. It's OK if not everyone likes me. Really.
With that said, however, I have refused to pass up novel situations. I try to talk to people, break through my initial insecurities about how others will perceive me, and ask questions. In my interview class, my instructor told us that when he is at cocktail parties, he plays a game with himself where he finds one person and tries to ask that person as many questions as possible before the person asks him something. I've tried to adopt the strategy for myself, and it has eased me into a somewhat more comfortable social state. That's not to say that I am - by any means- an any more socially comfortable person, but I've at least found an avenue through which I may be able to better understand people and take some more risks.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm not afraid of the potential for growth and change. I may still drag my feet on accomplishing certain tasks because I'm afraid of failure or I'm afraid of abandoning something and feeling disappointed with the final product, but I appreciate, today, that there's so much more potential for me to fulfill what I want to fulfill, find people who will truly fulfill me, and continue to live a more grateful and joy-filled life.
Here's to watering the writing spirit with hope, excitement, and possibility.
Showing posts with label friendliness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendliness. Show all posts
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Today I Appreciate Vincent of French Class
Call me "nerd," but the first day of class must be one of the best days of the year. Only syllabi (that is the plural of "syllabus," yes?) are distributed, professors remain energetic about course material, and even the students are not yet burnt out. An exciting world of opportunities are soon to begin! We're anticipating a journey with a group of other engaged minds through literature and life (at least in my case)!
The only major problem with the first day of classes is the ten minutes prior to when class begins when students sit completely in silence. A full classroom with no one talking must be on one of the eeriest places on the entire campus. Inevitably, someone will whisper into a cell phone or tap a pencil against the desk, if only out of habit of - you know - actually communicating, but otherwise nothing. The thing is everyone glances around the room seeking out the incoming professor and waiting for something - anything - as long as it's not him or her, of course to break the quiet.
I typically pride myself in remaining mildly friendly on the first day of class (e.g. "Have you had this professor before?" to the person sitting next to me) because I find the silence especially uncomfortable. This is not to say that I can't stand being alone (I can), but I can't stand a group of people all unable to at least ask a few question and engage in some kind of small talk. Coming from someone like me who loathes large parties with people I don't know and the necessity to comb through niceties for the sake of politeness, this is saying something.
Fortunately, today, there was Vincent of French 1. The amazing thing about the students in French class is they're exactly who you'd expect: slim, well-dressed girls draped in scarves and - well - slim, well-dressed gay men in scarves. This may seem like an intimidating population of artistic souls, but then, amazingly, there's someone like Vincent with dirty sneakers, a zip-up hoodie, and a battered-up backpack. I have a habit of staring at whoever walks into a room and as I gave Vincent a smile as he walked in (so as not to simply stare; that's even worse than not acknowledging someone's presence), he actually said "hello" and smiled back. At a big school like UCLA, a smile is an increasingly rare greeting as if you smile at someone you do not know, the average student will either anticipate you trying to sell him or her something or try to convince him or her to join some sort of student-run nonprofit organization to benefit African children. Social justice on UCLA's campus has, unfortunately, become more of an advertising campaign than an actual attention to social justice, but that's a different story.
Anyway, Vincent and I engaged in a conversation, discovered his brother had a family in my hometown of Folsom ("It's very nice," he said. "Spread-out. Clean enough. Kind of pretty" I told him that was a decent way of describing Folsom were one to omit the stretches of strip mall and suburban sprawl. He didn't disagree, but rather remained silent. Smart move, perhaps). I wouldn't say Vincent (who came from a high school filled with metal detectors) is exactly someone I would typically befriend, but his effort to engage, to actively enjoy conversation with someone he doesn't know, that takes the sort of confidence I always appreciate and that can always improve someone's day.
The only major problem with the first day of classes is the ten minutes prior to when class begins when students sit completely in silence. A full classroom with no one talking must be on one of the eeriest places on the entire campus. Inevitably, someone will whisper into a cell phone or tap a pencil against the desk, if only out of habit of - you know - actually communicating, but otherwise nothing. The thing is everyone glances around the room seeking out the incoming professor and waiting for something - anything - as long as it's not him or her, of course to break the quiet.
I typically pride myself in remaining mildly friendly on the first day of class (e.g. "Have you had this professor before?" to the person sitting next to me) because I find the silence especially uncomfortable. This is not to say that I can't stand being alone (I can), but I can't stand a group of people all unable to at least ask a few question and engage in some kind of small talk. Coming from someone like me who loathes large parties with people I don't know and the necessity to comb through niceties for the sake of politeness, this is saying something.
Fortunately, today, there was Vincent of French 1. The amazing thing about the students in French class is they're exactly who you'd expect: slim, well-dressed girls draped in scarves and - well - slim, well-dressed gay men in scarves. This may seem like an intimidating population of artistic souls, but then, amazingly, there's someone like Vincent with dirty sneakers, a zip-up hoodie, and a battered-up backpack. I have a habit of staring at whoever walks into a room and as I gave Vincent a smile as he walked in (so as not to simply stare; that's even worse than not acknowledging someone's presence), he actually said "hello" and smiled back. At a big school like UCLA, a smile is an increasingly rare greeting as if you smile at someone you do not know, the average student will either anticipate you trying to sell him or her something or try to convince him or her to join some sort of student-run nonprofit organization to benefit African children. Social justice on UCLA's campus has, unfortunately, become more of an advertising campaign than an actual attention to social justice, but that's a different story.
Anyway, Vincent and I engaged in a conversation, discovered his brother had a family in my hometown of Folsom ("It's very nice," he said. "Spread-out. Clean enough. Kind of pretty" I told him that was a decent way of describing Folsom were one to omit the stretches of strip mall and suburban sprawl. He didn't disagree, but rather remained silent. Smart move, perhaps). I wouldn't say Vincent (who came from a high school filled with metal detectors) is exactly someone I would typically befriend, but his effort to engage, to actively enjoy conversation with someone he doesn't know, that takes the sort of confidence I always appreciate and that can always improve someone's day.
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