Something's been on my mind lately. In fact, it's been passing through my thoughts for probably the last six months. I just haven't been able to specify exactly what it is that's intriguing me so much. I've finally decided to jot some things down with hopes that this issue, whatever it may be, will resolve itself.
At what point in time did the world and everything in it become no longer new? I can only see things from my own perspective. If you think you can put yourself in someone else's "shoes" and see things from their point of view, think again. You can't remove your eyes and borrow someone else's. Rather, I believe when you try to understand someone else (ie. in their "shoes"), you're only allowing yourself to become even more blind than before. So even after writing all that, there you sit, trying desperately to understand this perspective of mine... Funny, isn't it? Stop trying. You might hurt yourself.
When I was younger, I used to see things and they had such a glow. I'm not sure how to describe it. Most of the time, it was in the car. Whenever we drove along the street, from the passenger window, I would stare down at the dashed yellow lines. What became fascinating was how the lines seemed to connect, therefore becoming one line, whenever the car sped up and then dashed again as the car slowed. Why was that so amazing then but not so much now? What changed? Something I once found beautiful and great has seemingly become simple and plain; normal.
I guess the reason why I'm writing about this is because I wish I could get back that way of seeing things. I'm not sure what that way was... It could have been the fact that I was younger or that I've seen so much since the age of thirteen. But somehow I can't help thinking somewhere down the line, I decided not to notice; to ignore that glow. Everything has a glow. I remember being able to see it in everything. Everything! In the bathroom tiles! Or a recently vacuumed carpet! When there was good weather, I used to lie on our trampoline and stare up at the evergreen trees and I used to pretend I was one of them. Because they would sway back and forth and I remember imagining the conversations they could be having. I wasn't just a dreamer and I don't think I had a wild imagination. But that's how I saw things. Things and people alike. I used to see them all.
It was a glow, but not the kind that shines or makes something brighter. It was a sort of glow that I couldn't really see, but rather feel. A glow that was simply there. Has the time that has passed simply desensitized me? Have I gone numb over the years?
Holy crap... Have I become jaded?
At what point in time did the world and everything in it become no longer new? I can only see things from my own perspective. If you think you can put yourself in someone else's "shoes" and see things from their point of view, think again. You can't remove your eyes and borrow someone else's. Rather, I believe when you try to understand someone else (ie. in their "shoes"), you're only allowing yourself to become even more blind than before. So even after writing all that, there you sit, trying desperately to understand this perspective of mine... Funny, isn't it? Stop trying. You might hurt yourself.
When I was younger, I used to see things and they had such a glow. I'm not sure how to describe it. Most of the time, it was in the car. Whenever we drove along the street, from the passenger window, I would stare down at the dashed yellow lines. What became fascinating was how the lines seemed to connect, therefore becoming one line, whenever the car sped up and then dashed again as the car slowed. Why was that so amazing then but not so much now? What changed? Something I once found beautiful and great has seemingly become simple and plain; normal.
I guess the reason why I'm writing about this is because I wish I could get back that way of seeing things. I'm not sure what that way was... It could have been the fact that I was younger or that I've seen so much since the age of thirteen. But somehow I can't help thinking somewhere down the line, I decided not to notice; to ignore that glow. Everything has a glow. I remember being able to see it in everything. Everything! In the bathroom tiles! Or a recently vacuumed carpet! When there was good weather, I used to lie on our trampoline and stare up at the evergreen trees and I used to pretend I was one of them. Because they would sway back and forth and I remember imagining the conversations they could be having. I wasn't just a dreamer and I don't think I had a wild imagination. But that's how I saw things. Things and people alike. I used to see them all.
It was a glow, but not the kind that shines or makes something brighter. It was a sort of glow that I couldn't really see, but rather feel. A glow that was simply there. Has the time that has passed simply desensitized me? Have I gone numb over the years?
Holy crap... Have I become jaded?
