I could feel my lungs constrict as I watched them hobble from checkpoint to checkpoint. It was as if the plot line of the next horror flick was unfolding before my very eyes, striking fear into my already exhausted body. They walked in circles, talking amongst themselves, as if they were plotting to pounce at any moment. Some of them even carried machinery, as if to declare their readiness to go to battle at any beck or call. They were the most terrifying of men, these honed athletes. They were the senior citizen mall- walking club.
The early morning light streamed into the food court of the Castleton Square Mall as I watched what seemed to be a battalion of orthopedic shoes race toward me. I could not believe that I was actually beginning my day with this. I had been forced to stare into my inevitable future by my grandfather, who was adamant about getting his walk in before we could spend the day together. The familiar nursing home odor reached me as I held my breath, apparently afraid that wrinkles might be contagious. With their oxygen tanks and wheel chairs, they each walked six miles every morning together. Had I not known this was a club, I would have assumed that the age limit of Olympic athletes had been raised. I could not help but chuckle, settling into my seat as I stared openly at this comedic spectacle. This was actually happening. These herds of Revolutionary War vets were actually storming this shopping center, all one hundred and twenty-four of them.
I loathed the thought of getting older. Settling into a graying body could not be less appealing to me, not to mention the unavoidable dementia. I would rather pull the plug any day than spend my “golden years” drooling on myself. Yet as I watched these men and women power walk around the mall, laughing with their friends, making plans for the day, stopping to window shop, I could not help but realize that these people were not as alien as I once thought. They might be sporting fanny packs and neon visors, but they were still twenty-five at heart.
The majority of them had finished after a couple hours and rewarded themselves with a senior cup of McDonald’s coffee as they chatted about the weather, taxes, and whatever else there is to talk about when you are ninety-seven. On their last lap, I could see a group a ladies struggling to finish when a young mall security officer sped around them on his segway. At that moment I watched as a bright red finger nail rose from behind an over-sized handbag. Her hoop earrings glinted in the light of the rising sun, stockings desperately grasping her knees, as her dentures shifted in her mouth with laughter. She was victorious in that moment, with her middle finger waving in the air, as she mouthed the words “f--- you”. Tears streamed from my eyes as I could no longer muffle my laughter. It was then that I knew we were not different at all, aside from the fact that I would not have been able to claim disorientation to get out of trouble for flicking off mall employees. I sighed, the pain of laughter still tingling in my gut. Apparently drooling was not my only option fifty years from now. Rebellion was always going to be an open door.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Plastic Tubs Should Never Be Orange
As I stared at the orange plastic tub in the center of my room, I began to understand why everyone hates moving day. It was so final, this orange tub, like a giant yield sign wedged into my plans for the future. I wasn't ready for the year to be over. I wasn't ready to be a sophomore in college. Where did my transition year go? Lost in transition.
I wasn't allowed to be a doe-eyed simpleton anymore. I had to start making plans for next year, then for my internship, then for my career, my marriage, taxes, rent, deadlines, credit checks. When did I get to breathe, and I mean really breathe? That kind of breath that is not invaded by thoughts of the next assignment or waitress gig. When did I get to feel the freedom of my age for the full beauty that it held and not the responsibilities it entailed? Could it be possible to pause my crammed classroom knowledge for just a small fraction of my life and learn the things that the world could only teach me?
I realized in this sheer desperate moment that I did not belong behind a desk taking notes, but in a tent on the side of a mountain somewhere writing in a leather-bound journal. There was one problem with this: I was safe behind that desk. I was safe behind my competitive GPA and well-phrased research papers. College was the next logical step for me. This all made sense. This all made sense. This all had to make sense.
No matter how many times I chanted this empty phrase to myself, I could not make myself buy into the lie. This place could not make sense for me if I was consistently dreaming of something else. I had spent this year wishing that I was the kind of person who did things. Not even anything in particular, just things in general. I wanted to be that person who went to the gym every day. I wanted to be that person who cared about the environment. I wanted to be that person who was confident and directed.
I had to stop wanting to be that person and just be that damn person already. I had to stop wasting my life picturing myself as someone else in order to lull myself to sleep at night. This had to end now. I had to finish hiding behind the self-improvement process and do something to actually improve my life. Maybe the most insane thing in the world right now was the only thing that made sense for me. Maybe I had to do the thing that no one else would understand in order to finally understand myself.
And so there I was, staring down the "path less traveled by" and frozen in fear. I knew I couldn't afford to stay, but taking that step seemed too radical for moving day. Suddenly, I could not contain the pressure of the choice and walked from my room to the bus stop. I rode the bus for one full cycle before getting off at the very corner I had gotten on.
After getting in, I sat down and stared at the orange plastic tub in the middle of my room. I knew why everyone hated moving day.
I wasn't allowed to be a doe-eyed simpleton anymore. I had to start making plans for next year, then for my internship, then for my career, my marriage, taxes, rent, deadlines, credit checks. When did I get to breathe, and I mean really breathe? That kind of breath that is not invaded by thoughts of the next assignment or waitress gig. When did I get to feel the freedom of my age for the full beauty that it held and not the responsibilities it entailed? Could it be possible to pause my crammed classroom knowledge for just a small fraction of my life and learn the things that the world could only teach me?
I realized in this sheer desperate moment that I did not belong behind a desk taking notes, but in a tent on the side of a mountain somewhere writing in a leather-bound journal. There was one problem with this: I was safe behind that desk. I was safe behind my competitive GPA and well-phrased research papers. College was the next logical step for me. This all made sense. This all made sense. This all had to make sense.
No matter how many times I chanted this empty phrase to myself, I could not make myself buy into the lie. This place could not make sense for me if I was consistently dreaming of something else. I had spent this year wishing that I was the kind of person who did things. Not even anything in particular, just things in general. I wanted to be that person who went to the gym every day. I wanted to be that person who cared about the environment. I wanted to be that person who was confident and directed.
I had to stop wanting to be that person and just be that damn person already. I had to stop wasting my life picturing myself as someone else in order to lull myself to sleep at night. This had to end now. I had to finish hiding behind the self-improvement process and do something to actually improve my life. Maybe the most insane thing in the world right now was the only thing that made sense for me. Maybe I had to do the thing that no one else would understand in order to finally understand myself.
And so there I was, staring down the "path less traveled by" and frozen in fear. I knew I couldn't afford to stay, but taking that step seemed too radical for moving day. Suddenly, I could not contain the pressure of the choice and walked from my room to the bus stop. I rode the bus for one full cycle before getting off at the very corner I had gotten on.
After getting in, I sat down and stared at the orange plastic tub in the middle of my room. I knew why everyone hated moving day.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
The Search For Self and Coaster
The aisle smelled like a garage sale I had been to once, with that mold meets paper feel. I glanced at the librarian, feeling his judgement radiate toward me. He caught my eyes, giving me a smug head tilt as he pushed his cart like some kind of academic hobo. I was there, standing in the most desolate, humiliating section of the library. The Self Help section. It might as well have been labeled the "desperate and pitiful" section, with a "give up all hope now" banner spanning all five rows. This was no man's land, the place people attack with a James Bond in-and-out-tuck-and-roll-be-seen-and-die attitude. I was not sure how I had even ended up in this place, staring at When You Can't Take Anymore or Life Can Be Worth It.
Part of me wanted to stand on a chair and announce to the Quiet Room readers that I had gotten lost on my way to the magazine stand. The other part of me opened a book. The first chapter focused on definition, asking me to define myself as a person. This book asked rude questions that prodded into my relationships and family life. As I read on with an indignant look on my face I soon became disgusted that this book was defining me by what I do, or who I love. I sighed, placing the book back. My curiosity got the better of me. I picked up just one more.
Thirty minutes later I awoke from an empowerment dusted haze as I realized I was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, with The Better You open on my lap. I couldn't help but laugh at myself, but quickly stifled my giggling when I realized how crazy I looked. That was the last thing I needed, being caught laughing on the floor of the Self Help section.
As I moved on to a study table I couldn't help thinking of all the misused words and dangerous logic used in my shameful detour. Of course I was not defined by others! Without all the people and accomplishments in my life I was still Autumn, and Autumn... And Autumn what?
If I stripped away my family and friends, my education and acclaim, who was I really? I was stunned by the lack of a swift and reassuring answer. I wanted so badly to be someone great apart from the world I was placed in, but I couldn't define myself other than friend, daughter, or lover. I knew that this was the time in every one's life when they begin to truly discover who they are, but I wasn't prepared to answer life altering questions next to a stack of half priced cookbooks.
My pondering turned to panic and panic to terror as I sifted through my mind for even a glimmer of an answer. Staring through glazed eyes I finally read the sign I had been staring at for almost an hour. "No one should have to be illiterate. Please contact the Cincinnati Literacy Institute for information concerning free tutoring". My face burned as I read on. The audacity of placing a sign for an illiterate person to read, in a library no less, began to infuriate me. Suddenly, I realized that this was what defines me. Injustice pains me. I have an innate desire to free people from the stupidity of the average corporate decision, while taking shots at The Man in the process. I dream of a world where equality and grace prevail, and children come home from school not filled with facts, but ideas. This, this desire for a better life, defines me if not just a molecule of the woman I have become.
I sighed, relieved. I had hit the tip of the ice burg that was my true self, even sitting next to the cheap cookbooks. I checked the time, rising from my chair to meet the bus down the street. On the way to elevator I stopped by that guilt filled book shelf, placing The Better You back where I had found it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman hurriedly searching through titles, practicing the James Bond method of emotional band-aid retrieval. I gave her a smile that read nothing short of "I used to be you" and got on the elevator.
It was refreshing, finding a piece of my soul on a public library display board. I knew I would never venture to the Self Help section again, unless someone printed a book for the illiterate. I could always use a sturdy coaster.
Part of me wanted to stand on a chair and announce to the Quiet Room readers that I had gotten lost on my way to the magazine stand. The other part of me opened a book. The first chapter focused on definition, asking me to define myself as a person. This book asked rude questions that prodded into my relationships and family life. As I read on with an indignant look on my face I soon became disgusted that this book was defining me by what I do, or who I love. I sighed, placing the book back. My curiosity got the better of me. I picked up just one more.
Thirty minutes later I awoke from an empowerment dusted haze as I realized I was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, with The Better You open on my lap. I couldn't help but laugh at myself, but quickly stifled my giggling when I realized how crazy I looked. That was the last thing I needed, being caught laughing on the floor of the Self Help section.
As I moved on to a study table I couldn't help thinking of all the misused words and dangerous logic used in my shameful detour. Of course I was not defined by others! Without all the people and accomplishments in my life I was still Autumn, and Autumn... And Autumn what?
If I stripped away my family and friends, my education and acclaim, who was I really? I was stunned by the lack of a swift and reassuring answer. I wanted so badly to be someone great apart from the world I was placed in, but I couldn't define myself other than friend, daughter, or lover. I knew that this was the time in every one's life when they begin to truly discover who they are, but I wasn't prepared to answer life altering questions next to a stack of half priced cookbooks.
My pondering turned to panic and panic to terror as I sifted through my mind for even a glimmer of an answer. Staring through glazed eyes I finally read the sign I had been staring at for almost an hour. "No one should have to be illiterate. Please contact the Cincinnati Literacy Institute for information concerning free tutoring". My face burned as I read on. The audacity of placing a sign for an illiterate person to read, in a library no less, began to infuriate me. Suddenly, I realized that this was what defines me. Injustice pains me. I have an innate desire to free people from the stupidity of the average corporate decision, while taking shots at The Man in the process. I dream of a world where equality and grace prevail, and children come home from school not filled with facts, but ideas. This, this desire for a better life, defines me if not just a molecule of the woman I have become.
I sighed, relieved. I had hit the tip of the ice burg that was my true self, even sitting next to the cheap cookbooks. I checked the time, rising from my chair to meet the bus down the street. On the way to elevator I stopped by that guilt filled book shelf, placing The Better You back where I had found it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman hurriedly searching through titles, practicing the James Bond method of emotional band-aid retrieval. I gave her a smile that read nothing short of "I used to be you" and got on the elevator.
It was refreshing, finding a piece of my soul on a public library display board. I knew I would never venture to the Self Help section again, unless someone printed a book for the illiterate. I could always use a sturdy coaster.
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