8/28 in Recap
Tuesday Morning (Prayer Group, 10:30): Nelsey Tapley remarked that she “couldn’t remember when I was that young….cutting a’loose, probably.” She then informed me that she did the Charleston in front of a crowd of party guests when she was about 13. She looked silly, but it was the Charleston, so who cares? We’ve lost the art of social dancing. Now, you’re unique if you can tango or waltz; the girl in me longs for the elegance of social dances. Learning to dance tops the list of “things to do when you’re not in school anymore.” Re-learning the violin and taking more photography courses are there, too.
Tuesday Afternoon (Thesis Meeting, 2:30): “beautifully written,” “excellently stated,” “good progress,” “good project,” “excited to read your work,” “ambitious timeline, but we support you.” The panel of four encouraged me that the fifth (who was out for migraine-recuperation, and is notoriously the most challenging and difficult to please) was highly satisfied with my work, and impressed by the solidarity of my project. I felt that the only solid thing about me was the table I gripped with my palms. Are they just being nice? I feel like anyone can see that I have no idea what I’m talking about. Most of my self-esteem is tied up into academia, which is a precarious foundation. I’m scared I won’t live up to their expectations.
Tuesday Afternoon (Iraq War Protest, 6:15): A group of 30-40 people stood outside of a Unitarian church (not, duly noted, the First Baptist across the street) with signs protesting the Iraq War. “Honk for Peace!” a red sign screamed, and suddenly taken with a bohemian blush, I honked, and threw up a peace sign. Janis Joplin reincarnate in my Japanese sedan. Cars flew by me and I felt suddenly embarrassed. I’m not even fully in support of withdrawing our troops.
Tuesday Evening (Mom and Dad’s House, 9:30): My parents’ speaking becomes unintelligible when they note that I am suddenly less like their little girl in sweatpants and rubber boots than they would like me to be. It’s hard, as I’m slowly realizing that I can be disappointed by them, and their acceptance of the things I do, and their habits as maturing adults. And yet, they are proud of me, too, and that is a burden. And immense freedom. We are all growing older, and that's a hard thing for each of us to accept.
Tuesday Evening (Apartment Bedroom, 11:00): Folding clothes. Arranging underwear. A glass of ice water and Amos Lee through earbuds. Twenty minutes of solidarity of being. Contentment in lavender-vanilla scented fabric softener.
