My Own Understanding

Sometimes I feel like I only understand about 40% of what is said to me. It's not that I just can't grasp on to what people are telling me, it's that their frame of understanding is completely different from my own, and as such there's a certain amount of "translation" of sorts that has to take place. A person may feel as though they have been utterly explicit, clear, and lucid in their communication, and it may be understood as just that to the others involved--and still there can be this gap between what is meant by the speaker and what is understood by the listener. I say something and you say, "Ah, yes, I understand," (and you truly feel as though you do), but what you "understand" is different than what I was trying to say.

And that's what happens when we are being straightforward in our communication. Add an element of crypticism to that (or mystery--call it what you like), and reduce levels of understanding by at least 20%. (Put me on the phone with someone, and my comprehension falls to about 8%, but that's another issue.)

The problem is that we try to turn everyone around us into a version of ourselves. When we say, "She is acting that way because she wants attention," we are really saying, "If I were acting as she is, it would be because I wanted attention." We don't really know, though. And we always try to figure other people out. We try to ascribe motives to their actions or inactions. It's the best we can do, to try and understand others through our own perceptions.

In The Four Agreements, by don Miguel Ruiz (one of my new favorite books), the author cites one of the agreements as being that we should never make assumptions. I'm beginning to understand why. To assume something is to project on someone else your own beliefs, intentioins, life experiences, etc. The truth is that we have absolutely no way of knowing exactly why a person acts as they do, even if they tell us explicitly. What's really going on inside their brain, their heart?

That's where trust comes into play. I suppose when you learn enough about a person, and they tell you something, you can take them at their word. They say, "I love you," and you say, "I love you too," not "you're just making that up."

I'm trying really hard to not make assumptions, but it's a huge temptation. I want to make sense of life, of other people, of all my relationships. Sometimes, taking it at face value just leaves me confused and wanting more conclusion. I'm getting better. It's hard.

In the Dark

I think we have a dozen lightbulbs in our house that need replacing. Two of these are in my room, which, in other words, means that I have zero working lightbulbs. This means that between the hours of 6pm and 7am, I cannot see anything in my room at all. I have a flashlight, so I feel like I'm going spelunking every time I go in there. What a delightful adventure.

I was looking at a bridal guide that one of my friends had yesterday. I decided a few things:

1. I HATE those photos where one of the couple (usually the groom) is intimately kissing or nuzzling the other, and the one being kissed / nuzzled is grinning cheesily at the camera. He says, "I love you," and she responds, "I love me, too." I don't know, I feel like they should BOTH be involved in an intimate moment like that. I think it's really dumb if they're not.
2. I am going to have a really hard time finding a dress that I like enough to wear at my wedding. Most of the ones in the magazine were pretty gross. Engagement rings, too.
3. For that matter, I can't really imagine myself liking a BOY enough to marry him. I'm going to be honest, the concept of relationships leaves me utterly baffled. I have a hard time picturing myself saying the words "my boyfriend" or "my fiancé" or "my husband." Maybe that's because I've never really gotten past the "I like you and you like me" phase (when I have even gotten there), so the other relationship phases are completely unknown to me, other than what I've observed in the lives of others. Someday, my prince will come.
4. I decided this at my brother's wedding last weekend: I want to get married just for the flowers. My Auntie sent leis and orchids from Hawai'i, and they smelled so pretty! And there were roses, and the beautiful bouquet . . . sigh.
5. I really have no idea what I want, and that's what it boils down to. I don't know what I want in a man (though I have many lofty ideas, I'm not entirely sure how that will work in actual practice), in a dress, in a ring, in a cake, in a reception . . . I guess it's a really good thing that I'm not getting married anytime soon. It gives me time to work on figuring these things out.

I just looked outside, and it snowed again. It looks really pretty. I wish that it hadn't, though. I was enjoying the much warmer weather, the sunshine, and the concept of an early spring. Spring is a season that doesn't really happen in Texas, and it's nice here. Oh, well. Maybe next week.

The Bad Mood Monster

I'm in a really pissy mood right now. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe I'm mad at myself for never being able to make it to my 9am class on time. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the first words my roommate spoke to me this morning were to verify something that I was wrong (and she was right) about last night. Maybe it's because the next words she said to me were, "I remember when I used to think that in high school." Whatever it is, I don't like it.

I found some cheering up in walking through the Wilk past a folk dancing class. Walking past dancing classes in the Wilk always makes me happy, partly because it always makes me laugh, and partly because I halfway wish that I were IN the class.

I don't know, though. Sometimes I just get in these funks where everything annoys me. Usually it can be attributed to PMS, which may be the case here (although the timing is a little off). I guess it could be hormones, anyway.

Maybe part of it has to do with the raging jealousy that I feel for having just watched my brother and his new wife be ridiculously happy together after their wedding on Friday. I think I feel underappreciated. And to further exacerbate matters, I think I feel like there is little reason for me to be MORE appreciated than I am. Why is it that some days everything looks so black, and I get the feeling that all the negative beliefs I hold about myself are true?

You'll always hear people telling you that if you're feeling low about yourself, to serve someone else, and that will make you feel better. The problem lies in the fact that if you're feeling underappreciated, and then you serve someone who fails to acknowledge your service, you really end up feeling worse than when you started. Maybe I don't have the right attitude about it all, but it's immeasurably difficult to come out of a bad attitude like this one all by oneself. I need the help of others, but I feel like everyone else is at least mildly annoyed with me since I've been somewhat testy of late.

I just need a hug. I just need someone to say, with or without words, that I am worthwhile to them. That they appreciate what I am. That I am, to them, something that no one else can be. As Mary puts it, I need sweet somethings.

But nobody will read this, so I can't hope for any through this.

the SAPD

I love the San Antonio Police Department.

I first realized this when we visited San Antonio on our orchestra trip my junior year of high school. We were cruising the Riverwalk . . .



. . . enjoying the placid beauty. Then, CRASH! Two of the Riverwalk barges collided. We were all shocked and disturbed, even though it was obvious that no one was hurt or even jarred at all (those things probably travel about .5 miles an hour), until we saw the trusty old SAPD to the rescue in their little motorboat.



They were looking very official, directing the barges, and saying things like, "Nothing to see here, folks. Carry on." How they could remain so calm in such a heated situation was beyond me. I was stunned.

Today, at the airport, I saw another inspiring member of the SAPD. He was at the airport, just rolling on his Segway. He looked something like this:



. . . only he was alone. And just rolling around by a wall, looking pretty bored and lonely.

Ahhh, the SAPD.

Know Thyself

Lately I've been wondering: is it easier to know yourself, or to know someone else? Because you'd think it would be easier to know yourself, but a lot of times it makes a difference to be a third-party observer. Our perceptions of ourselves are often untrue, but that's all we have upon which to build our self-images. When we observe others and form our ideas of who they are, we have evidence from the things they say, the things they do, the way they interact with others . . . with ourselves, it's very hard to be objective about it at all. I think it's probably impossible to know oneself unless you are attempting to do so through viewing one's own interactions with those around him or her. Just a thought.

On an unrelated topic, I've decided that it's sad how I've made myself hate the cello so much. Deep down inside, I love it. I just forget that sometimes. Regularly. Once a week. On Tuesdays. From 4-7pm. And so, I begin to dread the process, which leads me to avoid it, which leads to me feeling guilty and miserable--BECAUSE I'M NOT DOING WHAT I LOVE TO DO. Talk about a vicious cycle. I feel better about myself when I'm playing cello a lot. Somehow the universe seems to line up better. I'm not entirely sure which is the cause and which is the effect.

I've been thinking about that a lot lately. Cause and effect. How thought relates to reality. I know we've all heard those things that say we create our own reality, but I'm beginning to believe it. After all, I can find evidence to support almost any theory I have. If I want to believe that a person is lazy, disorganized, inconsiderate, or unkind, I can certainly find the necessary evidence. If I want to believe that a person is responsible, thoughtful, loving, or intelligent, I can find evidence to support that. None of us is purely one thing or another. Everything is everything, as Lauryn Hill says. I believe her. So why do I spend so much time dwelling on all the negatives that I see in myself? The positives are there, but for some reason I don't like to think so much about those. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment. Especially when the switch is in my own hands.

In any case, I think I'm a happier person when I focus on the evidence that says I'm a good human being, that I'm on the right path. For some reason that's just a much more satisfying way to go about living.

Foolish pride.

With reseating auditions always comes a flurry of emotions by all parties involved. This time around was no exception. We all walk around the week of the auditions following our usual scripts: "I'm so bad at the excerpts. I haven't even practiced. I'm going to be last chair; I don't even care." Our actions, as we scurry about looking for open practice rooms every spare moment of the days preceding the auditions, are quite inconsistent with those statements. We all care.

It's dumb, and we know it's dumb. If we were to think really hard about it, we would probably come to the conclusion that one can still be a good person and sit in the back of the section--after all, how would Mother Teresa have fared in an orchestra seating audition? We probably all recognize that chair order has little or nothing to do with being a high- or low- quality human being, but somehow if we're not sitting where we feel we "deserve" to sit, we still end up feeling like a pile of dung. A big, fragrant, steaming pile of dung.

I keep telling myself I don't care. I don't WANT to care. So I have been sitting in the same damn middle of the section since I came here as a freshman four years ago! So people are passing me up, running me down like I'm an empty fast food bag on the freeway! So I'm not good enough at what I spend so much time doing! So I'll never get a job! So my life's dream amounts to nothing!

And that, my friends, is why we all care--even though we all pretend like it doesn't matter. It matters a great deal. This is much more than just an ego trip. This is life. We musicians are notoriously famous for being unable to distinguish self-worth and playing ability (after all, how well you play determines a great deal of how much you're worth to the world, at least in terms of dollars and cents), and so when our playing is ranked against everyone else's, we feel that we ourselves (apart from how we played that day, apart from how we know we are capable of playing, apart from music altogether) are being ranked. Those dreaded words "LAST CHAIR" carry with them the weight of knowing--or at least thinking--that one is worse than everyone else. It would be nice if we could contain that feeling to relate only to orchestra seating instead of infiltrating our every belief about ourselves.

Alas, that is not the case. So, the week of seating auditions some are full of joy and some are full of discouragement. What do you think my feelings on the matter are?