my rainy disposition

though the many other st louisans are currently complaining about the month-long downpour we've been experiencing, I am not. I like the rain, even if it is a bit out of the norm and even though it's forcing the trees to drop their leaves before I've visually witnessed the full glory of fall. I mention this simply because I wouldn't want you to think that this post has anything to do with the weather.

***

the way I see it, a person generally has one of two statements running through the back of their head at all times. both statements are usually said with some degree of disbelief and can be adjusted - through the inflection and intonation of one's internal monologue - to reflect exactly how they feel. these statments become the audible expression of one's mood, reflecting that person's true attitude toward a situation, and I think that they do a much better job of revealing one's general disposition than any half-empty or half-full glass ever will.

these statements are:
1. this is my life.
2. this is not my life.

it is my current opinion that a person uses the same statement - one or the other above - to describe every situation. they just happen to change their expression of it to match what's going on in their head. and it sounds simple, but generally, the inclusion or exclusion of that commonplace three-letter-word is the deciding factor between one having a pessimistic or an optimistic view on life.

I bring this up because last night I realized that, after years of pretending to be an optimist, trying to emulate that kind of disposition and the likable traits that go along with it, my general disposition is one of pessimism. that three-letter-word is always present, even in those moments when I've been truly happy about something. my tone just vacillates between one of elated disbelief instead of defeated disbelief (or just defeat).

it's just ironic that it has taken me this long to admit it. afterall, I write a blog "dedicated to finding the good in everything." and I write posts wherein I seek an uplifting ending. if that doesn't scream 'fighting a natural pessimistic streak,' I don't know what else does.

the social scientist in me wonders if pretending to be optimistic is a social coping mechanism akin to people emulating extroverts. hmm...

when a moment hits

I love this picture:

win mcnamee/getty images

it's from today's ny times article about the first lady's efforts to raise awareness about nutrition in school meals and fitness for kids. which, in my youth development- and healthy eating-oriented opinion, is such a refreshing topic for any first lady to take on considering the things her predecessors have put on their agendas (and droned on about)...

but social issues have nothing to do with why I love the shot.

sometimes I have a hard time connecting with art. I know, with my whole mind, that art - painting, illustration, sculpture, photography, all of it - is a very personal experience, and that others feel differently than I do about each and every piece out there. but I happen to take a very sterile, very analytical stance toward art.

maybe it's got something to do with spending four years of my life cataloging slides and their digital counterparts (really, I'm just looking for descriptive keywords); or maybe it's that I'm constantly sizing things up for the amount of time, skill, and effort (and wondering if I could do better).

I think, though, it's that I'm often just waiting for 'it' to hit, as 'it' did with the picture above.

the 'it' I'm talking about is the aforementioned personal experience, that I only know with my whole self on rare occasions, and that I only vaguely capture with words after the moment has hit. in this instance, it was a moment of recognition, a split second connection I made with this picture had something to do with the bright colors, the action, and the look on her face, that triggered the thought I've been there, I know what that feels like, that hit an undefined personal memory and caused a gut reaction. and thankfully, this gut reaction was a smile.

like I said, I don't have these moments often. so I thought I'd share, in the vain hopes that documenting such reactions might help me have more of them.

grown-up observations

most mornings, if I leave for the office on time, I am witness to a neighborhood full of kids walking to the pretty brick elementary school in the center of my neighborhood. each of these mornings I am struck with a bit of envy for their simpler lives.

my mind wanders back to my days spent walking the six blocks to my elementary school with my brother and a random assortment of friends. I get a laugh when the older ones are walking with parents, because I just don't get the over-protective behavior displayed by parents of late. I get a bigger laugh out of their backpacks, bigger than they are, and the differing levels of excitement/dread/fear on their faces.

I don't remember not wanting to go to school when I was that young. I enjoyed reading and writing and spelling and coloring and all of it so much that, coupled with the socialization with my small group of friends, each day seemed pretty excting. while I do remember not wanting to do the homework, I generally remember being happy to be there. I picture myself in each little dark-haired girl I see walking by, and wonder if adults driving past me as a kid could tell that I was quietly happy, in my own world, on my way to a favorite place.

fifth grade is when the look of dread settled on my face. I was a bit of a wreck, actually. I stopped doing my homework and stopped wanting to go to school in general.

at one point that year I learned to forge my mom's signature so that I could hand in late homework assignments and would skip recess to work on extra credit projects for my teacher to make up for it. I had a group of friends to play with on recess when I did go, and I enjoyed art class and sometimes gym. the only time I was happy sitting through regular class was when we were creating things with our hands or reading. but generally, I spent quite a bit of time staring out the large windows at the younger kids on recess or gym classes, wishing I was out there.

sometimes I think I was a pretty normal kid, that this sort of ick settles over all kids around the age of ten or eleven. sometimes I wonder if I wasn't just a little too weird for my own good, that I'd had a hard time adjusting to a new school and socializing. and sometimes I wonder if I was just experiencing my first dip in a lifetime of mild dysthymia, but one can never be sure.

throughout this rough year, I remember regularly thinking that I envied my mother for being an adult, for working in a tall building with high windows and mazes of cubicles, for wearing nice grown-up clothes, and for not having to be in school anymore. I revisited this feeling - this thought that being an adult was simple, because there was no homework, there were no teachers, and you got paid! - throughout the rest of my schooling, all the way up through grad school. I spent many a night holed up in my bedroom in tempe writing papers and resenting my roommates for having nothing better to do but watch tivo, get drunk, slam doors, and laugh.

if added up, I'm sure I've spent days of my life wishing I were an adult working in an office.

which is ironic, seeing that for the better part of two years - the time I've worked in a "typical" office setting, wearing business casual clothes and yearning for a window to gaze out of - I have spent numerous stolen moments wishing I were outside walking to school or laughing with my friends.

it makes me wonder what I missed by not being fully present all those years, and if I'm missing anything by not being fully present now.

the only conclusion I have so far is: I miss art class.