Things I know

I'm 21 years old, certainly not a ripe old age of wisdom and experience, but I think that I can say with some authority that the following things are true:
1. Money does not grow on trees, or even on bushes. It is a fickle mistress, and so easy gets away, but comes with much greater difficultly. I've come to realize that this is one of my biggest shortcomings, my inability to budget effectively or to pay off necessary expenses is going to be a continuous challenge. I'm working hard to get out of my slump, but it's an uphill battle of the steepest slope.
2. The future is both thrilling and terrifying. I have some idea of what I'd like to be doing in the immediate future (following graduation in May I mean), but after that the sky is wide open. Ideally I'll spend the next few years working in non-profit fundraising, and even more specifically, I'd like to be working for a private college running part of their annual fund. If that doesn't pan out, I'll have to find a new calling.
3. Wine, pickles and cheese do not a fridge make.
4. Friday Night Lights is an under-appreciated show which I am discovering much too late, but fortunately at a time when I can watch all episodes in sequence. It makes me sort of long for a small town Texas background, one surrounded by aged pickups and attractive football playing men. Not to discard the utter beauty of growing up in the liberal, hybrid car loving Pacific Northwest, where soccer playing hipsters who camp on the weekends in Gore-Tex and fleece abound.
5. My eyelash curler has revolutionized my daily "face," and allows me to cancel out the under-eye circles I would have if I didn't sleep the extra half hour I've been giving myself.

For the moment, that's the wisdom that comes to mind.

A

retrospective

It began with one name: Freud. A name loaded with academic tones, not of authority but of scholarship. The text On Dreams was incomprehensible, and yet thrilling; names of theories demanded repetition, and sounded so intellectual. Instead of giggling at the words: “penis envy,” science and scholarly background were implied by talking about things well beyond understanding. He looked like the quintessential professor, all white hair and glasses, the ironic and foreboding glint as he stared from postcards and dust jackets.

It was about people, how they behaved, how they thought; why do we do the things we do? Could anything have been more basic? How could I not ask these questions of myself, of my peers and of this bizarre creation of humanity?

Psychology was helping people understand themselves. It was a way to understand myself. A way to explain why there was suicide in the family, why there was unprovoked crying, anger and fear. Why medicine was a solution, but not an answer.

Why did the things that made me crazy, the things that disrupted my life have no impact on the lives of those around me? If we are all the same, why are our experiences so unique?

a foray

I'm attempting something new. A novel way to record those things that come to mind in these somewhat tumultous and terrifying months that are ahead. The mission: a means to collect thoughts and record minutae that will otherwise fall through the cracks, as it has been years since I was a faithful journal keeper. It seems that it is about time for me to embrace the digital age and accept an electronic recording system, though it will never be as pleasurable as pen and ink recording.
It seems somewhat vain and absurd to publish my own thoughts in a form that sends them out into the "great unknown," and I think some admission of humility is in order. I do not ancipiate or solicit a readership. I just encourage myself to write again.