Embarrassingly Unashamed

Oh the teenage angst that some of those of us who like to call ourselves creative went through. The horror of it all is unbearable and unbelievable at this late hour. And just to throw it out there, I’m utterly embarrassed for my younger self.

As I scroll through documents of my past, the unimaginative and cynical lines make me cringe. What could I have possibly had going on in my life at that age that made me write what I did? I really have no answer to this question so maybe you can answer it for me. All I can think of is maybe one of my friends didn’t text or IM me back quick enough. Maybe it was something else, something equally as heartbreaking. Either way, I know I felt some sort of passion about the matter. How that passion was expressed is another story.

A creative writing professor of mine once told me that no matter how strong your writing is, there will always come a time when you look back at a piece and you will want to burn it. You will want to crinkle it into a ball, pour on the lighter fluid, strike the match, and watch it burn until the little flakes of charcoaled flakes scatter into the wind. In that moment your heart will steady and you will be able to rest assured that no one will ever have to read it again.

For her this was easy. A short trip under her bed, followed by by a visit to the bedroom closet of her childhood home, was all she needed to do to destroy the evidence. I, on the other hand, will face the tragic conclusion that what I wrote will literally never go away unless the internet ceases to exist.

Smart teen that I was, I thought it would be a “brilliant” idea to start a blog at age 13. Though I’m happy that I have it now, there are just certain things from my teenage years that never need to see the light of day. Some of my posts don’t even need a flashlight shined upon them in the dark of night.

But they’re there! And they always will be. And I guess in a way that’s pretty awesome. Though I groan at the unoriginality or ignorance of some of the things I wrote about in my early teens, it’s exciting at the same time to know that they will always be there for me in moments of need. If I’m ever alone, I know that my former self will always be available. Online, 24/7 I will be able to find that young teen and look to her for some sort of insight. She’s my own little time capsule. She grounds me to the events of my past, and helps me think of ways I can continue moving forward.

In the end, I’m grateful that former me had the foresight to record her thoughts and dreams in such a public way. For when it comes down to it, she is my blog and my blog keeps me connected to all parts of myself; the good, the bad, and even the teenage angst.

Concealed Confessional

I have a confession. Not a dark and twisted tale of how I’m responsible for someone’s death, or an embarrassing story of unrequited love. I’m pretty much an open book, so nothing to really see here. My confession isn’t even shameful, it’s simply something I do that not too many people know about. So, just so I can get this off my chest, you should know that: sometimes I sit in class and blog instead of paying attention.

I like to think of it as the better alternative to pinning away an hour or stalking ex-lusts on Facebook. At least it seems like a better distraction and not just a waste of my time.

Over my life, I’ve perfected the intermittent “I’m listening” smile that I flash every so often to avoid being called out by the professor. It’s a learned skill. Not everyone can do it, but some can master it after enough practice.

It’s like going to a cocktail party and talking to people you loathe. First there’s the attempt to avoid phase, followed by the awkward run in. Then the difficult part begins. The witty banter, the plastered on smiles, and the questions you don’t want to ask or hear the answers to. You schmooze. Share a secret look of disgust with a close friend. Schmooze some more. Fake a smile or two, or ten, or maybe even twenty. Haphazardly gulp down entire glasses of champagne to make the night a little more eventful. And then repeat.

It’s a balancing act of sorts. Too much schmoozing and not only do you end up looking fake and overzealous, but you end up wanting to shoot yourself in the foot by the end of the night. Not enough schmoozing and too many glasses of champagne and you find yourself dancing on top of a table in front of all your coworkers, including your boss, who will then fire you come Monday morning.

So see, balance is key when blogging, or for that matter doing anything else you shouldn’t be doing, in class. If you look like you’re paying too much attention to what the professor is saying, he or she might think that you actually want to participate. This results in the awkward moment when they, in no doubt, make eye contact and call on you. Look like you’re not paying enough attention and you’re royally screwed as well. Depending on the audacity of the professor they may call you out in any number of ways. My personal favorite is the classic name mention that makes the student not paying attention jump in their seat a little. It’s startling to be the victim, but amusing when you’re watching it from afar.

When it comes down to it, I’ve learned that there are two valuable skill sets that help in this endeavor: selective hearing and proper typing skills. I learned the irreplaceable skill of selective hearing at a young age. I learned how to pay just enough attention to hear when my mom asked me to do something, but not so much that her ranting distracted me from whatever I was reading. The ability to type while not looking at your hands is also quite valuable. I’ve mastered staring directly at someone while continuing what I’m writing. It’s efficient, but just beware that it may startle the person you’re looking at. Some people simply don’t know how to handle it and may become uncomfortable under your gaze.

What they don’t realize, however, is that you are merely staring through them as the creative energy flows through your body and out your fingertips. When I blog, my mind is somewhere else, almost, entirely. Whatever power remains unused by my brain is used to keep my hands moving and my eyes glancing up every so often. It may not be the best learning technique, but it’s efficient for my purposes. I mean it’s been working the entire time I’ve been writing this blog hasn’t it? I even think I answered a few questions in class while writing this post.

I guess I’m just a multitasked at heart. And that’s my confession.