Having something you need to write about is the equivalent of crossing your legs and bouncing awkwardly when you really have to pee, or waiting for someone’s reaction when you’ve sent them a gift. it’s this annoying shield that blankets your mind and your thoughts with an opaque layer, suspending all other inquiries until the matter at bay is resolved.
As was expected, for the past few days as I attempted to align the wheels of my shitty, but beloved Ford explorer with the dashing yellow lines dividing the lanes on the 101, as I carefully avoided the uneven layers of pavement on my runs, and as I waited in line for a highly overrated blended coffee drink, I have mulled over in my head the idea of apathy.
It’s a curious thing. Because occasionally I allow myself to fall into the persona of the cliché tragic poet. Who feels for the purpose of feeling. Whether it be woes or joys. You know that dramatic writer who allows simple thoughts to extrapolate ecstasy from a mere simple pleasure or exacerbate a paper-cut into a full-blown wound? The one who loves to be in love. Or sees pain as the seed for a budding masterpiece. I have to be mindful of those days. But after that verbose paragraph, I guess what I’m getting at, is that I don’t see the point of a life without thought and consequential feeling. So, although many consider pain the greater evil, I would like to argue that apathy takes that cake.
For once, I paid attention to the “No return beyond this point” sign on my way to baggage claim. I hate things that pound a sense of finality into you. Obviously, no return to Ithaca for a while. Strike one. No return to the simplicity of freshmen year. Strike two. What called me out, was perhaps the thought of no return to who I was before. Not that I necessarily wanted to return to that person, but change always leaves you with some sense of loss. Then there’s the whole “beyond” ordeal.
"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered."-Nelson Mandela
That was what was beyond. And as I stepped onto LA territory, I realized I was treading unfamiliar territory.
I’m not one to be apathetic. While some pride themselves on their bodies (athletes), intelligence, beauty, talent, I have always been happy with my ability to empathize, to listen, to love. So this silence was unnerving. And like one of those sputtering, shitty cars running out of gas (oh wait, that would be mine), my words and ideas are slowly approaching a hault.
I guess I’ll get back to you when I’ve checked out what’s under the hood.
