Family

So I Just got back "home" after a week long foray into the inner sanctum of familial relations. My parents renewed their vows after 25 years of (more or less) happy marriage, four kids, a host of semi-adopted auxiliaries and half a lifetime of dealing with large groups of Type A personalities. After having the privilege of participating in the ceremony (by far the worst "singing" I've done in recent and not so recent memory) I realize that I'm in no hurry to venture down that road.

Don't get me wrong. I love family. I love seeing the look of true pleasure in their eyes when they behold the reassuring sight of a lasting union between two individuals in whom they see a wellspring of promise and possibility. I love the almost palpable bond that connects even the most estranged members of the convivial collective. I love feeling a sense of safety amidst a world of danger and chaos. Still, too much of any good thing counteracts that thing's goodness, and--true to form--, the family that I hold so dearly is also the family that-- given the proper amount of time--drives me up a wall-- and/or out a door.

All in all, the week was enjoyable. I had the opportunity to see folk I hadn't in a very long time, and also got to hang out with friends whom I'd been sorely missing for what seemed to be even longer. It was a week I didn't know I needed. Here's to the times when surprises are doubly unexpected and, equally, enjoyed.

Random Confessional...

So, my friend Nate tagged me a little more than a month ago with a meme for which I'm supposed to divulge six widely unknown things about myself. Since I operate with a "better late than never" mentality (most of the time) I figured I'd give it a shot. Oh boy...

1. I'm deathly afraid of the dark. When I was little, I used to sleep with a plastic mini coat rack (the one that hangs on the back of a door or on a wall) in my hand to beat any ghost/person/unknown entity that might sneak up on me while I lay alone. To this day, I sleep with the TV on to simulate another person's presence in the room. Now I even go as far as to play downloaded movies and episodes of TV shows on my computer monitor when no TV is present. My sisters think it’s funny; I think it's debilitating.

2. Though most people never notice, I don't wear shorts in public. I developed a bad case of eczema right around the time I started going through puberty. At such a vulnerable time in my (mental) development, I was ashamed of any irregularities. The eczema got better, but my self-perception did not. Thus, my legs are made to suffer for my insecurity. (Sorry legs. I really do love you. I promise.)

3. I have full-blown conversations with other people both audibly and internally when those people aren't around. I say what I think they might say and react accordingly, often with added intonation and appropriate emotion. It's something I do to make up for the fact that I can't seem to grasp even the most rudimentary fundaments of social interaction. This is why I write better than I speak and why I plan to be a recluse for the remainder of my life... a plan that academia seems to view as ideal...here's to a successful future...

4. As my best friend Andrea admitted, I'm a pack rat. I can't bear to part with things even when I know that I have no use for them. I kept homework sheets from the first grade in my closet until my parents moved from the house in Philly. They threw them out, and I cringed from 100+ miles away. This fact becomes more interesting when one considers that I also have a mild case of OCD. Talk about being one's own worst enemy.

5. When I was little, I could not stand loud noises. They bothered me to the point where I would drop everything I was doing (or holding, apparently) and cover my ears. A couple days ago, my Godmother was telling my brother about how everyone knew not to give me any glass bottles or fragile things to hold when walking with me through the streets (I grew up in Philly). To this day, my eyes still twitch when fire trucks or motor cycles go by.

6. I sometimes buy books with no intentions to read them. I like how they smell and feel and would be perfectly content with having a library full of ones that I have never read. Just the idea of having a study with walls resplendently bedecked with bookshelves that are packed with books is almost exciting enough to be the sole reason for my desire to succeed. I love to read. Don't get me wrong. I just love the physical aspect of books a little more.

Alright then, that's it. I lay bare before you and hope the sight is an altogether endurable one.

A Change...

Hello World. It's me again, finally...

Since I've worked hard to establish a precedent of stating the obvious at the most ridiculous (read: glaringly unnecessary) moments, I'm going to take time out to say: "It's been a while."

Now, in defiance of my previous nod toward precedent, I'm going to admit in (relatively) plain English what has caused the hiatus and the--arguably long overdue-- face-lift that this humble repository of cerebral refuse has undergone. Things have changed.

This change in no way resembles that of the present variety. It isn't the fleeting, taciturn, easy-mac and speed dating type of change that we've come to know over the years. It's the type that calls into question every decision I've ever made. It's the kind that brings to bear every black fear I've ever faced about the contiguous actions (and resulting reactions) that have shaped what lies both between my ears and within my heart.

* * *

In order to save myself from a relapse into a imobilizing bout of self-scrutiny, Ill just say that there were times when I felt trapped in my own mind, both afraid and unable to leave from behind the self-erected bars of isolation. The bars were my bars, the fears were my fears, and the pains were my escape. I was (and, to an extent, still am) a masochist of the most secret variety.

Since then I've graduated in more ways than I care to admit, and, in so doing, have become someone to and with whom I'm still trying to (re) connect. It's been slow going. Still, I'm making progress. Despite the fact that there's a host of "no more's" in my life right now (Rutgers, Undergrad, "free" lodging, gratuitous slacking, reckless abandon...), I've yet to jump off of any bridges or into any oncoming traffic...a feat that I'm more than a little happy to have pulled off, if for no other reason than a naked desire for self preservation.

I'm even learning how not to bastardize parts of myself that seem to garner attention, no matter how ill deserved...yeah.

All this to say, you'll be hearing from me more often. Now that I've spruced up the place and have re-broken the ice, I think writing here will be more --what has come to be--me.

What you ask for...

It's been longer than usual, as I've bounced consistently between laziness, business, and general overwhelmedness (think King James pronunciation). I'm graduating in a couple months; I’m moving out of my parent’s house (completely) in a few more, and I'm making one of the most important decisions ever. I think it's hilarious that the last post revolved around feelings of inadequacy and fears of possible failure, when I now have a tremendous choice on my hands. I was given advice and encouragement which I, at the time, saw as overly confident in abilities I knew I did not posses. Tremendously grateful, I still remained a cynic. I felt out of my league, out of my depth, and out of my mind for even attempting something as presumptuous as applying for graduate study...

In the first couple months after that post my fears were validated. Rejections did abound, and there came, despite the pain, a twinge of underlying vindication. It seemed as though I was right after all. My pride began to glaze over, and I went on as if none of it was happening. But then there was February 25th...

After that day, three acceptances came in rapid succession, and now I'm standing here, yet undecided...

* * *

I can't shake the burden of incompetence that has consistently afflicted every area of my life. People try to encourage me, and I am heartened by, what I perceive to be, genuine praise. Still, the load does not let up. I see that they both mean and believe what they say; I just can't seem to receive it. I've been able to cope with this over the years. Blending into the crowd has provided a bubble of anonymity that has served to hide my glaring insufficiencies. But now I'm entering an arena of singular accomplishments, and that bubble is in the process of rabidly bursting. My cover is failing.

At this point, I've narrowed the decision down to two. Why can't they see me? A bubble isn't by any means the most effective method of concealment. It's transparent; it’s insubstantial; it’s tenuous. And still they perceive something; something that, at this point, is neither the bubble, nor the man that stands behind it, because neither is worth the effort they're putting forth. I wish to God I knew what it was....

On a wing and a prayer...

So, I just sent off my last application to grad school, and I'm completely terrified at the idea of possible failure. I guess I've always taken for granted the reassurance provided by an underlying faith in my abilities. I was calm because I didn't see failure as an actual possibility. But now, I'm on the wrong side of mediocrity, and I can't figure out how to cope with the fact that I'm just like everyone else.

PhD programs are no joke. That's a given. Still, I'm wondering whether I've started bugging out unnecessarily. I've always made things out to be harder than what they actually are. It's been my way of achieving what I have over the years. I get myself worked up over the (internally fictitious) prospect of failure and then over-perform. I know afterward that the idea of failure was never real; it was something that I fabricated in order to push myself over the edge of complacency and into the waters of productivity. Now though, I'm in those waters and am, for the first time, floundering.

I've always been a good swimmer. Backstrokes, breaststrokes, doggy paddles and treading were always easy for me, and I dominated the kid and teen swim with natural alacrity. I didn't need any flotation aids and could survive in the deep end, but it’s adult swim now, and the facility that separated me from my previous company is shared by all. Many have practiced their swimming technique so much that I seem to be the opposite of what I once was. I'm nowhere near as comfortable on the deep end as they are, and I've begun to realize my relative limits.

I'm applying to 11 schools with 11 different pools of applicants and I'm worried. The pools there are all adult swims, requiring everything I have and some things that I've yet to develop. No more swimming circles around other kids in the pool, no more treading lazily in the middle, and no more doing elementary tricks. Everyone else will have passed this stage and already developed unique techniques.

I wish so much sometimes that I'd used the time I had to hone my craft instead of remaining complacent in my abilities. Now I have to hope and pray that I, by some grace of God, am accepted into the fold, that I'm skilled enough for the adult world, that I perform well enough in the deep end to warrant inclusion into the "big boy" crowd. Oh God. I long for the days when I was confident. I wish for some sense of security. There are approximately 3 months until I know for sure if I'm good enough. I'm anxious and deathly afraid.

I applied to eleven schools and I don't feel especially confident about any one of them....Failure scares the crap out of me, but mediocrity enrages me, especially when its my own...