"Just call me Jennifer." or "Reflective Angles"

So, if you're wondering why July and August are bare of blog posts it's because I've been away at camp. I even chose to stay longer at camp.




This morning I went on a quick walk down to the lake. I sat not at its edge mostly because the gate was locked, but from where I sat I had a view well enough to appreciate. I don't know that I was conscious of what I was thinking- I was just thinking, praying my coughing wouldn't disturb the morning air...it did.

Like any mass of water it reflects what is around it,

from my journal today

I wondered what it would be like living in a reflection.

But then I wondered what the reflection must look like from the other side of the lake.

Then I thought, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it."

Which would explain the innate desire to twist and manipulate images when I don't like what I see--I forget I'm viewing it at a different angle than yesterday, or a minute ago. It's still me- it's still the lake- I just happen to prefer one angle as opposed to the infinite number of other angles.




Self-reflection is key to who I am. I'm sure a lot of people can relate to that. I tend to be on the more obsessive end of self-reflection, but there it is- because of this I tend to forgo an observer's reflection of me. Not consciously though, I know I tend to seek out advice and criticism, and yet, I still funnel out all things I don't like to hear.

I accepted this job I have at camp without qualms, save one: "So, are you ready to join us, Jennifer?"

My prospective boss called me 'Jennifer' despite the rest of the conversation calling me 'Justine'. I considered telling him, "It's funny, my best friend's name is Jennifer," but I declined that little anecdote and replied instead, "So...my name is Justine? It is Justine."

"Oh! That- that was a test! Your name is Justine. I am ----. Justine, would you like to come work with us?"

Then I accepted and came without further qualms.

But I was told to have qualms, none of which I will list here because some worries should be kept private. Besides, most of these worries are FWP (First World Problems) which aren't generally problems in the long run anyway. But I wanted to come, needed to- I couldn't really tell you why, only that if I didn't go I would regret it.

I jumped both feet in and though I cringed on the drive down to the camp my experience since then has been, to say the least, encouraging, enlightening, and wonderful. I think all the more so because I came into it without any expectations or plans. I just kind of did it.

 

The above has been my mantra for a bit, given to me by one of my fellow counselors. I kinda, sorta (not really) apologize for the swear word.

Those words resonate with me mostly because I have been far too timid and judgmental. I have weighed balances I don't have; foreseen occurrences that never occurred.To a certain extent, I have pretended to know so many things without really knowing. Why do I do that? 

I don't want to pretend I know things. I don't want to assume I know exactly what you'll be like, or that I know exactly what will happen.

I have worked under the premise that I know nothing, but its twisted its head on me: I knew nothing and therefore knew everything. That's incredibly stupid.

I suppose before I took this job I saw only one thing: I got the job. What else is there to see? As much as I enjoy writing, I was tired of sitting around and doing nothing. One can only have so much time to oneself before one goes insane. Honestly, self-reflection can become psychotic without exterior perspective.

And thus came the newer angles from which I began to see my life.

I speak of taking risks without actually taking them.

I judge and hold onto my judgements more firmly and aggressively than I knew.

And yet, I also adapt to various situations incredibly well without coming across as high and mighty. ...knock on wood.

When did all this happen to me?

Why haven't I looked at myself from this angle yet? Where have I been hiding myself?

Who knew I could be capable of such elementary, childlike bravery?

Who knew I could laugh so loudly and well, and gain so many blessed new friends?

I ask all this and the answer couldn't be plainer, though it is very Sunday-schoolish: God.

Now, moving on! Time to see what's next!




Seriously, though, if the swear word bothers you... :P

Glorified Tourists

I don't know much about where I live. At least, not all the little details. 

Me: Oh, and these are Brownstones!

Friend: Oh, what are they made out of?

Me: ...brown stones? Haha, I'm sure they're not all brown-colored. You can paint over stones.

But the little I do know seemed to suffice for our adventure last Saturday. That and our smartphones are embedded with GPS systems [:

Walking around the city, any city, you will always overhear conversations, and encounter strangers, find new holes-in-the-wall (or another Starbucks) especially when you're willing to get lost. There's nothing more enjoyable than walking about aimlessly, your only goal to enjoy the company you're with. What else do you need?

"Food."

Oh, well, that's a given! Good food always comes with good friends!

Now, if you find it necessary you'll have to forgive me for this next bit: I always forget that every adult used to be a child. 

How did I come to this thought?

Walking around the city, any city, you will always overhear conversations, and encounter strangers, find new holes-in-the-wall (or another Starbucks), and if you're not careful you'll forget that these conversations, strangers and holes-in-the-wall are someone else's familiar scene.  

It was really the strangers that struck me. They all were, at one point or another, an adorable baby learning to walk, to talk, to feed himself. I never forget that every child will become an adult. I forget that every adult used to be a child.

What's stopped our childlikeness?

Have we forgotten what it is to fly?

Have these city walls worn us down so that their previous glamour is now moldy and damp?

But the strangers I encountered: the homeless, the immigrants, emigrants; the tourists (not very much unlike me), the artists, the students, the runners; the commuters (everyone) they all wore expressions that I couldn't label for you. They stood there, alone or with a couple others, mostly with headphones on, stuck in their individual worlds; going about their day.

Were they as methodical as children?

Sometimes, I think everyone needs to be a tourist in their own hometown just so they can encounter some of the local mysticism, historicity: so that everyone can remember what it was like and, hopefully, be more grateful, for the privileges they now have. 

Yes, we all want to be remembered, but do we remember anyone?

I wish I knew more about Harlem's Brownstones. Well, then, I'll study up on them! That way the next time you follow me around I won't be a glorified tourist

glorified tourist definition :: one who resides in, but knows little to nothing about, tourist hot spots

(the term 'glorified' may also describe babysitters, cooks, etc.; any person who is familiar with, but not an expert in, said profession or   category)

I'll be your legitimate tour guide.

I imagine that if I know more about the area, more about its history and mysticism, I'll be more apt to remember its residents: rich and poor. These are my neighbors, after all. Don't I want to know my neighbors?

I could wander anywhere if you let me, and if you didn't mind my disappearing for a few hours because I promise you I will disappear if you don't wander with me. I may or may not find my way back to you, but whether I find you or don't I hope it won't bother you if I don't find you.