Wood tips, BBC Video, Bustin Seams, Matthew is Awesome, Lori Wick, Nature Valley, Intensive Care, FEAR, Boston, Vector, Childhood – the list could (and does) go on and on. A list of what? Just the normal everyday text on the items surrounding my desk. Could a simple peruse through my room tell about who I am? Probably. How about if you were to spend a decent amount of time just going through the items on my desk and pc – would I be comfortable with that type of situation? Of knowing somebody is actually figuring out who I actually am? Forget the bravado, the false fronts that are thrown up when social interaction rears its head, this is getting down to the bear bones of who a person really is. Just plain ol stripped down to the core of a being.
Yet there is still one reserve I hold over you – intellect.
I have items on my desk from years and years ago. Take for example Bustin Seams. It's a simple little booklet that is supposed to help you record information on pitchers from a batters' viewpoint. Needless to say, it's a baseball thing that I never took time to get rid of, or even put to use. I have no reason for it now. There's the faintest trace of dust overruling its proper sheen. That is an item which was used to reflect a portion of my personality not four years ago. Is that part of me still alive? Do I record and keep information on actions and occurrences which happen in my day to day life? Sure, now they don't have to be number and location of pitches thrown to me on a certain day, but more apt would be the description of day to day interactions.
I keep a journal from time to time. It's horribly inconsistent, and the writing is laughable, but it is nice to flip through it and see what I was thinking after a particular event or occasion. How my mentality interpreted a phrase I remember verbatim to this day, yet my thoughts soon after the phrase was spoken are down there, written just to get them out of my head and see how they look on paper.
On point.
Your personality changes. Yes yes, there is that whole little phase of life called puberty through which, at one point or another, we all must trek. Beyond that. A first kiss, an engagement, that marriage day, the countless hours spent at the hospital hearing one set of screams, but yearning, waiting, for that infants first cries in this world.
We are different people before, and come out on the other side (hopefully) a better person for them.
A divorce, a death in the family, looking at the bank statement while a million other thoughts are flowing through your head, wondering if you've got what it takes to make it this month, the relationship which could be on the verge of folding because of the hasty words which were spoken last week, and still have yet to be reconciled.
Life is all about change. Sometimes it comes at you from behind, hitting you when you can be no more prepared for it. Some are seen from afar. You see them and plan accordingly for what is to come. Others are brought about from an incident you have recently experienced in one way or another, and acts as a whip which is to prod you into action.
August is fading. School is dawning. The holidays approach. Papers are signed. Smiles are cracked. Tears are shed. Friends are made. Beaus are deserted. 'Yes' is said. Loved ones unite. A life is born. The Olympics wan. A country traversed. A country fights. A country crippled. A civilization forgotten. A civilization discovered.
The world revolves. Life goes on.
There is nothing new under the sun.
And yet.
Change is the rod which spurs.
