I’ve decided that I hate airports.
And I hope that I don’t end up hating all means of travel. Because I loved the idea of going through airports a lot until I actually started doing it.
I love trains, and tonight I found out that taxis aren’t so bad. But I think I enjoy them because I’ve only traveled by train and cab once. They’re new and interesting. Like the first time I sat in the front seat of the car. It may have been just a step up from the back seat, but gosh, it was thrilling.
Maybe trains are my new front seat.
I hope not.
I loved traveling by train, and I want to always love it.
One thing I dislike about my personality is I can love something fully for a very short time, and then I get plainly bored with it. I know that things are special to me when I stay interested in them longer than a few breaths.
I don’t know what this means.
I would say my flip-floppy feelings are because I’m too young to appreciate things through time. Too impatient. Too used to instant intense stimulation because of today’s world where I find anything and everything any time I’d like. Dopamine within my reach whenever I have an extra minute before work or while I’m waiting for someone to show up for coffee.
But there are people three times my age who are like me in this way. Flip-floppy with their affection about things and sometimes people.
Maybe they’re my age at heart.
I remember watching a video of a 90 year-old woman who said she still felt 20 on the inside.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe that anyone really matures. At least, that everyone can learn how to mature.
Sometimes that progress to maturity seems like it can’t be more than a natural process that some people are born with and others are missing. Like some people can never fully learn empathy or patience or faith. They can be 90 but remain at 20.
Some people take pride in learning the opposite of it all.
When I was 17 I worked at Kohl’s. It was the Christmas season. It was my first real job. Well, I was technically a furniture salesman before that, but my boss at that job was a fraud and a bit of a creep, and I learned what it meant to be scammed because of him.
I learned that I interact very well with people because of that job. I had no idea. Before that I thought I was too introverted to be bubbly or very friendly. But they put me a register and customer service and this different version of myself popped up out of nowhere, a version that I never had a shot to experience because I was homeschooled, and the homeschool co-op I attended was full of charismatic geniuses who seemed to unwittingly smother the squeaks of us acceptably intelligent introverts. The only reason any of the ‘cool’ kids at the place knew me was because of my psych experiment I did on the campus. I became known as ‘that inkblot girl’.
Darn it, sidetracked again. Okay, let’s try this one more time.
I would make conversation with customers as they went through my line. One very round woman went through mine one night, I forget most of the conversation, but I do remember the tail end of it. It stuck with me.
Me: Well, at least there’s optimism, right?
Customer: *sarcastic chuckle* I’ve been trying ‘optimism’ for 45 years and it never helped me.
I’ve heard quite a few folks state an opinion grown from personal experience as though it’s a universal truth.
I tend to dislike these people a little.
Sometimes a lot.
Never mind. Often a lot.
I feel that there are very few things about life that can apply to everyone experiencing it. And it’s ridiculous for someone to think that their extensive experience with breathing gives them insight into the lives of everyone else.
Maybe I’m not being fair.
I’m not sure.
I’m reminded of something else I can’t stand (I’m sorry if I sound like a grump. It has been a day full of travel and a weekend lacking sleep), which is when someone dislikes something, and decides to argue as though their opinion makes everyone who disagrees with them wrong. You know these folks. The ones who hear you enjoy a certain book or movie or style of music. They all go about explaining your foolishness in different ways. Some more obnoxious than others. The air they suddenly have about them is that they are going to teach you, you poor uneducated child, why your enjoyment of this thing is not only so ridiculous they find it chuckle-worthy, but it is also apparently inherently wrong to like it.
I feel that when it comes to anything involving creativity, where there are so many different styles of music and film and art, no one should feel proud about telling someone that it is wrong of them to enjoy making it or watching/reading/listening to it. When you love something there’s a bit of a child inside of you that comes alive. It’s wide-eyed and soaks up information. It remembers quotes and curves of faces and voices. It looks up at these new heroes and without trying begins to copy them in little ways.
I think you’re a bully and a jerk and it’s wrong if you mock anyone’s interests.
I don’t imagine that anyone who might read this (there are maybe a dozen people who would be interested enough to read my blog) is the sort of person that rant was directed at, but I felt like saying it. So there it sits.
This is another moment where I don’t want to post something because I know I’m not the first person to say it, and not even in a different way. But at least there’s only a dozen of you.
It’s very, very late. To the point of being very, very early.
So I suppose I’ll go to sleep now.