A Study on Time

*DISCLAIMER: I think this is one of my more honest blogs, where I kind of just put it out there. These are things that I am still mulling over. I don't have all the answers. But it's my interpretation. And I feel it's time to stop sugar-coating things. I'm saying this because, what follows might anger certain readers...

The masses are requesting an update, so I'm taking a few minutes out of working on Linear Algebra homework to give one.

Break was good, and eventful. I finished my Calc II class with a C, which, given the difficulty of that class, was just fine with me. I boarded a train to Massachusetts on Wednesday morning, and my family and I went to Maine later that evening. I indulged in two lobsters...because, what else are you going to do in Maine if not eat Lobster? We went on a sailing tour out of Portland, which was also very neat.

Back in my hometown, I took the time to hang with old friends and buy gifts for my new ones. I really do love going back, it's relaxing and beautiful, and so quiet and different from city life. I do love the fast pace of Philadelphia, but Massachusetts is one of the best places to slow down and rest. It's where I go to clear my head and get a fresh start.

Unfortunately, rehashing the past that I left behind when I left there got a bit in the way of that. This may not be entirely fair, but in a lot of ways my past is my past and I'd rather leave it up in Massachusetts. When I moved to Philadelphia I left those messes behind. I left so that I could get away and really live. Philadelphia really was freedom. It was starting over.

So when others want to rehash those years, think of them as 'the good old days', I cringe. Because, quite simply, they weren't. Not that I don't have a some good memories, but they're few and far between compared to the hard times. Even in the good times, there was this cloud over it. There was always another appointment with social workers, therapists, lawyers, etc. etc. I tried to maintain my friendships as best I could but did a rather shoddy job of that...I just didn't fit in. Truth is, I had no clue how to be a good friend. I remained socially awkward well into college, actually. For a lot of years, I worried entirely too much about what the 'right' thing to do was, what the 'right' thing to say was. (But somehow, I always managed to say and do the wrong thing.)

I suppose all this is to say, there's a quality about some of the people who live in my hometown, where time moves so much more slowly. Six years, the time that I've lived in Philadelphia, I've had the opportunity to live and learn a myriad of things, meet dozens of new people, and start over at least twice. It's been a lot of trial and error, but I've made no small matter of how I am thankful for all of it.

At the same token, six years in Massachusetts shows no major change. This is part of Greenfield's charm, actually: no matter how turbulent your life might be, Greenfield hearkens back to something a bit simpler. But when it comes to the lives of people, I can't help but feel that there are years being wasted. People become content with being complacent, and letting those years unravel behind them. Time in this world is a gift! It's hard for me to watch people not use that time to their full potential.

So I hung out with a friend of 10 years while I was back in Greenfield. We had a falling out right before I moved to Philadelphia, but have worked that out over the years. Problem is, our friendship will never be the same, and I know that, and am okay with that--and I don't think he is. He's very comfortable (complacent, even) with his life up there, so I suppose it's hard for him to fathom how much my life has changed, how much I have changed. So him wanting our friendship to be as strong as it was before I moved to Philadelphia, before he and I wounded it, represents steps backward, I guess.

I don't want people to think that I hold a grudge over these wounds--I don't. I'm perfectly fine with the state of things. It just seems to me to go back to the way things were, before the hurt, before Philadelphia, before all the growth and scars of the last six years, seems wildly unrealistic. For one thing, I no longer have the ability to wear my heart on my sleeve the way I used to. I just won't do it. So while the wounds themselves may have healed, and I'm not angry anymore about the things that have happened...there are still consequences.

Does that make sense?