Two Trains

Picture it: Two trains travelling at the same speed, in the same direction, towards the same target.

The target is {Knowing Something Really Well Station}.

As train 1 progresses on its journey to the station, passengers board and bring little bits of information with them. They have a lovely ride and stay on the train the entire way to the final station.

As train 2 progresses it gets more and more tired of its journey, again and again, the same thing. It contemplates stalling or jumping the tracks, anything to get off its narrow limited path through the countryside. As this train approaches its target station-it is completely run down and sick of the journey and the countryside and all of its passengers.

The two trains pull into the station at exactly the same time.

I realized the other day that these two trains, are actually the same train.

Here is New York

This is an excerpt from E.B. Whites book, {Here is New York}, 1948: I am going to get this book and read it.

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last--the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company. . . .

Demons

When you are so crippled by anxiety and you let it overwhelm you to the point that you completely ditch out on the lecture you have to give- tears mixing with beads of sweat- then you realize that your problem needs to be addressed. You feel sorry for yourself and people treat you with the kid gloves of pity. You are ill and a loser.

But when you are crippled by anxiety and you dont let it own you and you walk through the door and you do give your lecture. No one cares that you are battling a demon, they just judge you on your lecture: that your voice was not loud enough, or that you overstated or understated something.

Not sure what I want, but it just occurred to me the other day that once you actually do something people never assume that it was the hardest thing that you have ever done. They just know that you did it and now you join the ranks of all the others who have done it and you are judged against them.

Maybe this is my secret reason of wanting to just opt out of things, then I wont be able to be judged against others and they will never know how good (or bad) I could have been.

All The Places I am Not

and before I resume writing my paper for school, because I am sitting at home and have been all day struggling, because I am restless and bored, because I cant concentrate or appreciate the cup of tea beside me, the absolute quiet in my apartment right now, the view of the newly painted manhattan mini storage sign or the sun sort of coming through the window in my kitchen.

Because no one can truly appreciate where they are, I wanted to write an homage to all the places I am not:

Not in an office, all stuffy and gray, struggling to tell a client why they cant have their way.

Not on the street, roaming and sad, with nothing to do but get into something bad.

Not about to give a lecture to a room full of people, all nervous and sick, watching the clock for each ugly tick.

Not in a factory, all stripped of my individuality.

Not in a hospital starting at the ceiling, wondering why I have this terrible feeling.

Not too cold or too warm, or too bold or too forlorn.

Just sitting here, sipping my tea, not in need or absurd or a black eyed me.

Sip, type, sip, type, type, sip.

2 Full Years and We've Never Had a Fight

Thank you to commenter {phalanges} for noting that petri dish is 2 years old!

I didn't realize it myself. April 9, 2006 is when it all began its growth, its amazing. Same Birthday as my brother-in-law on one side and my sister-in-law on the other, its a magical date, there is no doubt.

I had a thought today about something: You know when someone has done a lot for you, like too much for you to ever be able to properly thank them for? Well, how do you balance expressing thanks and praise without it turning into you be indebted to them forever, no matter how much they decide to treat you like crap?

Its a reason to never let anyone do anything for you, really, because you dont want that indebted feeling to weigh on you. And you certainly dont want to let anyone do anything for you who has some weird control issues, or just weird issues that would give them potential to make you feel small. No, you wouldn't do that.

Some people only want to do things for others, so they have the power over them. This is totally foreign to me, because I never really do anything for anyone, but I see it all around me.

Everyone, everyone, everyone, everyone

Everyone is superficial. If you act like you know what you are saying, most people will think that you do. But if you act like you are not sure of what you are saying, most people are not going to pluck your insecure voice out of a crowd and say {I think you have got something there!}

Weak and feeble minded people dont take risks on other people. Most people are weak and feeble minded. They only like people who are already obviously good. They never like someone who is undiscovered. Its smart people who find the value in the words and not only in how they are said. These people are rare, and precious.

But really, really you never know who someone is going to be some day.

Our deepest fear...

I have this habit of trying to make people like me by being so humble that it burns, with loads of self depricating humor and discouting all of my talents, but I am realizing that it does not work. I need the speech below to sink in, its so great:

{Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.}

The above speech by Nelson Mandela was orignally written by Marianne Williamson who is the author of other similar material.

Lighten Up

There is something that I have realized lately about these over-educated, {all knowing}, arrogant nerds that I have been dealing with as of late.

Sometimes things are funny to me when I have, or someone close to me has, gotten something wrong. Like when I go in the wrong direction (which happens often), or just basicly when I screw up in all sorts of ways. But these people do not find this kind of thing funny, because it is just a signal of foolishness.

I think they need to join the human race and lighten up.