![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Oct. 22nd, 2011 10:58 amThis morning I comfortably sat and drank too much coffee while reading the economist, sitting next to/with a mother and grandparents who switched comfortably from english to german. They called their daughter and showed my favorite parenting skills - in their post-coffee and breakfast conversation mom said she hoped she wasn't waking her; checked if it was "ok" to bring anything - all comments showing support but granting autonomy to the young adult.
I miss that romantic thought that things might be markedly different somewhere else. People are not wholly products of their environment, except that we all are in any period of scarcity. We're all assholes and murderers when we're hungry.
I like the feeling of being around people, but I think I've resigned to my fate of not having a group of close frequently-interacting friends. I'm more comfortable "writing off" people I want to be friends with that don't seem to reciprocate. I'm less obligated myself to reciprocate when I'm the wanted friend. My comfort is higher, related largely to confidence. After all the years of pain of searching, it seems my personal answer wasn't friends or a lover, but doing something productive for years. It was overcoming graduate school(s), then working a job for years until I was good at it. It was boxing until I was ok at it, running until I was decent at it, and now lifting weights. The thing I learned was how to apply myself to something, followed by how that makes me feel. Comfortable.
I miss the romance of hope, but not the pain that spawned it. I do not miss pain.
I may fade from livejournal, not to move to fb or even google, but from writing for a non-existent audience. I haven't found friends through media nor maintained existing friendships - not for years. I also no longer confuse my feelings of wanting to communicate my coffee-fueled thoughts with any degree of importance. Not being 20 anymore, I don't confuse the intensity of my emotions with the import of recording or sharing my thoughts. I am not important. My thoughts are not important. I'm not sad that nobody cares, and I don't care like I used to. I'd still like those same things and still feel that way, only less so and with far more experience with those feelings. I will continue to write as I feel like it, and it is silly to predict or declare intentions to write or not to - but here I am discussing the concept anyway.
I miss that romantic thought that things might be markedly different somewhere else. People are not wholly products of their environment, except that we all are in any period of scarcity. We're all assholes and murderers when we're hungry.
I like the feeling of being around people, but I think I've resigned to my fate of not having a group of close frequently-interacting friends. I'm more comfortable "writing off" people I want to be friends with that don't seem to reciprocate. I'm less obligated myself to reciprocate when I'm the wanted friend. My comfort is higher, related largely to confidence. After all the years of pain of searching, it seems my personal answer wasn't friends or a lover, but doing something productive for years. It was overcoming graduate school(s), then working a job for years until I was good at it. It was boxing until I was ok at it, running until I was decent at it, and now lifting weights. The thing I learned was how to apply myself to something, followed by how that makes me feel. Comfortable.
I miss the romance of hope, but not the pain that spawned it. I do not miss pain.
I may fade from livejournal, not to move to fb or even google, but from writing for a non-existent audience. I haven't found friends through media nor maintained existing friendships - not for years. I also no longer confuse my feelings of wanting to communicate my coffee-fueled thoughts with any degree of importance. Not being 20 anymore, I don't confuse the intensity of my emotions with the import of recording or sharing my thoughts. I am not important. My thoughts are not important. I'm not sad that nobody cares, and I don't care like I used to. I'd still like those same things and still feel that way, only less so and with far more experience with those feelings. I will continue to write as I feel like it, and it is silly to predict or declare intentions to write or not to - but here I am discussing the concept anyway.
