start time: 8:13 pm
"Okay, so it looks like you are E, N, F, P," my best friend Danielle said to me after proctoring my Myers-Briggs Personality Test, an oral exam that asked me to recall details of a farm scene from memory and to describe my most perfect vacation, amongst other things. My results indicated that I was an individual of Extraversion, iNtuition, Feeling, and Perception, a personality category shared by approximately 4-9% of Americans, including my close friend, Laurel.
Danielle read aloud my personality traits, which, for the most part, were really nothing more than ego-boosters, igniting a tiny flame of confidence and self worth inside my head: "Warmly enthusiastic and imaginative." Ooh, that's nice... "See life as full of possibilities." Hmm, I like to think I do... "Want a lot of affirmation from others, and readily give appreciation and support." I suppose you could say that about me... "Make connections between events and information very quickly, and confidently proceed based on the patterns they see." Well, I guess you're right! "Spontaneous and flexible." Wow I'm pretty awesome! "More starts than finishes." uhhhh...
After a second or two, I broke my ego's silence of skepticism. "Well, that's definitely true," I said, thinking about my lofty and frequent ambitions, which in the past two years, have included the not-at-all realistic goals of growing my own vegetables, visiting a different religious institution every weekend, writing a 120-page undergraduate thesis in one semester, becoming fluent in Arabic, moving to a foreign country, such as Syria or Texas, reading basically every book I hear about, going to space, and learning how to play the piano, all while perfecting the delicate art of the cake ball.
Other than the kids' interactives and Program Notes I've written for Ballet Austin, I haven't had a need to put much down on paper since graduating. To be honest, it has been quite refreshing to be freed from the pressures of meeting deadlines and cramming for prelims, however nostalgically I think of those somewhat-productive, seemingly unending hours I spent in the library their subsequent, bone chilling 2 am walks home. (Even just thinking about them raises my heart in a sort of breath-taking longing.) And while I've certainly chipped away at my ever-growing book list and am on my way to becoming a loyal citizen of the Republic of Texas, I haven't taken the time to reflect on these new experiences, to allow myself to think about an interesting argument I heard or an emotionally affective story I read, and to make something of it. I've had exposure to just as many intellectual and creative stimulants that I had in college, and they are arguably even more meaningful since it is all because I want to, not because I will eventually receive a grade for it, but I haven't done anything with them. It has been all input, and no output. It's an addictive hoarding--though of stories and recipes and new experiences, as opposed to wooden canes and styrofoam plates and tupperware--that I never do anything with; they just pile up and get lost somewhere in my easily distracted mind, or they are forgotten about and put off in my chaotic and inconsistent schedule.
It was certainly that output, that creation, that I loved so much about college. Not that I always (or ever, for that matter) produced a profound piece of literature or a nobel peace prize contending solution to the "immigrant problem" in France, but I learned so much--about myself and everything else--from that analytical, creative process. So, in an attempt to bring some stability to my life completely free of constraints or deadlines, I'm going to commit to a little ritual and take seventy-five minutes, 3 times a week to do something with these liminal, fleeting ideas; to continue to try new things, to take in the beauty of fiction or the excitement of a rodeo parade, but to then to bracket off the time and reflect upon them in a positive way with this blog--a specific, defined space; to momentarily return to the to stacks of the library with my coffee and type away; to externalize the internal; to see what I can make or do or try, whether it be with creative non-fiction, a description of my culinary adventures as I work my way through my incredible Indian cookbook, a short story, an incoherent rant, or a photographs of a recent tourist trap I visited.
Seventy-five minutes. 1.25 hours, or 4500 seconds (don't worry, I will not attempt to sing "Seasons of Love" at the moment). It's more time than most Americans spend eating (only 1.2 hours--how do we eat so much in such little time?!), but less time than they spend watching TV (a whopping 2.8 hours), per day. It's about how much time we all spend in traffic commuting to and from work. It's less than the length of a blockbuster movie, but slightly longer than a Sunday morning (or Friday afternoon, or Saturday morning, for that matter) service. In college, it was the length of those longer lectures that allowed us to get into things a little deeper than the typical 50-minute lectures, but shorter than the two-hour seminars that either kept us on the edge of our seats or left us longing for our beds. It's really not that much time, but it's one way I can try to collect all of those scattered thoughts and make something of them. Maybe, it will let me add a few more finishes to those starts. Or, it will simply be further documentation for all of those inconclusive beginnings. Either way, I'm sure it will contribute to my personal self-cultivation as I delight in this liminal, unstable, chaotic, transitive time of my life.
end time: 9:31 pm
