The other day, when talking with my friend from high school, we thought about what our former selves would think of the people we are today. While our conversation didn't last long, the thought lingered.
I began thinking about the old (younger) Nicole: when people would ask what I wanted to do with my life, I'd answer proudly "save the world." Each moment was an opportunity to teach and affect change: "don't use the word 'gay' like that, it's offensive," or "but what of the impacts on society or the environment?" I left no incendiary statement unchallenged or unsupported. "Opinionated" was a compliment; and I fully earned the names Debbie Downer and Brodie Buzzkill. My enemies were apathy, ignorance and complacency, and the people (especially the women) who stayed silent because they didn't want to offend or, worse, because they genuinely didn't care, frustrated and saddened me to no end.
Today, the shoulder chip has shrunk, and I feel less compelled to prove how unique and thoughtful I am. I've learned that most people don't like to be preached to (including myself); putting people on the defensive only makes them cling tighter to their beliefs; and I've discovered the pointless waste of engaging people who say things simply to get a reaction, looking to provoke an argument rather than an intelligent exchange. Prejudice, apathy, and ignorance are still my enemies, but I prefer to combat them by living my life in a way that is consistent with my beliefs and hope that it may inspire others along the way.
While these are perhaps signs of growth, my former self would likely be disappointed in me--these are excuses for why I've given up the fight... I've been beaten by exhaustion and effectively silenced... one of those sad, cynical progressive do-nothings who tell young idealists, "I used to be like you."--And maybe in a way, she'd be right.
Is there more to my silence than simple maturity? It's true that I do find myself avoiding political discussions that I used to seek out. While some friends still lovingly call me Brodie Buzzkill, with people I don't know, have I turned into a boring pussy-footer who doesn't talk religion and politics in order to maintain polite conversation?
Having deeper philosophical exchanges with people is still a large part of who I am, but it no longer defines me. Once people get to know me, they'll inevitably discover my politically passionate side, and I'm ok waiting.
A concession I will make to my former self: there is a chance that "opinionated" has given way to "quiet" not only because of patience but perhaps because of a newly acknowledged level of ineptitude in communicating my views without coming across as aggressive or abrasive. Maturity has shown me that this is not how I want to present myself, but it has yet to effectively govern my passions.
This conversation with my younger self has made me see (that I may want to seek professional mental help, ) that I should learn how to better communicate, and that I should've been more forgiving to the aforementioned "do-nothing progressives" who remained quiet. Hopefully, the next time she and I talk, I'll have grown more--and I won't need to take lessons from some obnoxious, opinionated 22-year old.
I began thinking about the old (younger) Nicole: when people would ask what I wanted to do with my life, I'd answer proudly "save the world." Each moment was an opportunity to teach and affect change: "don't use the word 'gay' like that, it's offensive," or "but what of the impacts on society or the environment?" I left no incendiary statement unchallenged or unsupported. "Opinionated" was a compliment; and I fully earned the names Debbie Downer and Brodie Buzzkill. My enemies were apathy, ignorance and complacency, and the people (especially the women) who stayed silent because they didn't want to offend or, worse, because they genuinely didn't care, frustrated and saddened me to no end.
Today, the shoulder chip has shrunk, and I feel less compelled to prove how unique and thoughtful I am. I've learned that most people don't like to be preached to (including myself); putting people on the defensive only makes them cling tighter to their beliefs; and I've discovered the pointless waste of engaging people who say things simply to get a reaction, looking to provoke an argument rather than an intelligent exchange. Prejudice, apathy, and ignorance are still my enemies, but I prefer to combat them by living my life in a way that is consistent with my beliefs and hope that it may inspire others along the way.
While these are perhaps signs of growth, my former self would likely be disappointed in me--these are excuses for why I've given up the fight... I've been beaten by exhaustion and effectively silenced... one of those sad, cynical progressive do-nothings who tell young idealists, "I used to be like you."--And maybe in a way, she'd be right.
Is there more to my silence than simple maturity? It's true that I do find myself avoiding political discussions that I used to seek out. While some friends still lovingly call me Brodie Buzzkill, with people I don't know, have I turned into a boring pussy-footer who doesn't talk religion and politics in order to maintain polite conversation?
Having deeper philosophical exchanges with people is still a large part of who I am, but it no longer defines me. Once people get to know me, they'll inevitably discover my politically passionate side, and I'm ok waiting.
A concession I will make to my former self: there is a chance that "opinionated" has given way to "quiet" not only because of patience but perhaps because of a newly acknowledged level of ineptitude in communicating my views without coming across as aggressive or abrasive. Maturity has shown me that this is not how I want to present myself, but it has yet to effectively govern my passions.
This conversation with my younger self has made me see (that I may want to seek professional mental help, ) that I should learn how to better communicate, and that I should've been more forgiving to the aforementioned "do-nothing progressives" who remained quiet. Hopefully, the next time she and I talk, I'll have grown more--and I won't need to take lessons from some obnoxious, opinionated 22-year old.
Since May 27th, a satellite radio-equipped rental car has been motoring Mom, Dad, and me through the national parks of the Southwest US. Road-tripping through expansive deserts and mountains with few signs of modern development seems uniquely, and therefore classically, American. Vast landscapes unfold as the black ribbon of road winds through them, granting us access to these rugged wonders. (See? It makes me wax all poetical!) From California to Arizona, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada--we're getting a solid sense of what the Southwest has to offer, and we are thoroughly impressed. In fact, all of us like the idea of moving to Colorado.
seeming contradictions: the Mohave Desert was filled with life and color; and diversity as revealed by the towering sequoias, the Dr. Seuss-like joshua trees, and delicate aspen groves.
We've learned how the 50,000 year old Meteor Crater was formed, how trees became rocks at Petrified Forest, and how ancient peoples survived these climates. We've also discovered that in this part of the country, a population of 50 or even 1 is sufficient to put a town on the map.