Losing a Friend

So I've done some internal empirical analysis on my mean time to friendship. I have quite a bit of data now (it's all stored in the mother database called my memory, of course), so I think I can make some strong observations with confidence.

On average, it takes me one full year to develop a good friendship. Even when inebriated, I can't just call anyone my best friend...they have to be a someone. There is a lengthy process it takes for someone to dutifully peel my shell and uncover a more raw and loving side of me. We can spend hours trying to figure out why I'm still encased by a shell since at this point I should have escaped from its confines. But that is a post for another time.


In any case, since the friendship acquisition time is so long, the reward of my friendships is that much better. I've come to feel truly lucky in the random souls that have crossed my path and gradually became intertwined in my life. I try my best to hold on to that attachment for as long as possible, just so I can bask in the comfort of a radiant personality. 

So when it comes time for that friendship to slowly unravel, whether it is due to a move or difference in passions, I'm left with a slight indent. The impression of what was once a good friend takes a while to fade away. Mild Sorrow and Nostalgia have front row seats to the memories that are now on replay. 

We all must lose a friend, especially at this point in our 20's. I ask myself if my mind will be ready to play those memories each time.

What Are You Dreaming?

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."

Having a dream is one of the most precious liberties some of us have been granted. A lot of us have been raised thinking that chasing after your dream is your right since birth. Even then, it is appalling that I meet so many people who groan about their current situation, claiming that they are stuck.

One particular co-worker I interact with is very consistent with interjecting some complaint about his stagnant career. I used to laugh it off, thinking he was joking (as I usually am prone to), but the more he complained, the more affected I became. And he's not the only one. Several of my friends voice that same fear, as if we do not have the freedom to make our own decisions and determine our next steps. I, too, have found myself lamenting to my parents of my fear of stagnation that my coworker instilled in me.

Before we allow ourselves to surrender our drive to be caged up by discouragement, just remember that you have the power of making a decision. I think that statement needs to sink in more.

In our minds, we exaggerate every parameter in life--especially time. Our lives are moving fast, yes. But we don't realize how much more is left for us. Stop wasting time thinking that you are wasting time. There are decisions to be made, and there are dreams to be realized.




When Your Thoughts Take Over

Sometimes, I wish I was a dude. Not because I don't like dressing up, wearing makeup or having to go through monthly internal battles within my body (maybe I can skip that part actually). 

I just want to not think for once. And at least from what I've read--and experienced--guys don't think as much as girls.

During my time out in the wilderness or putting one foot in front of the other in my attempt to run, a transformation takes place. I'm suddenly banned from the outside world, sucked into a vacuum and shackled by my ankle to the beast of my thoughts.

It's quite ironic--I go running or hiking to escape the confinements of life in a cube to find myself imprisoned in mental version of one.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not in a constant wrestling match with my thoughts--but I do pine for that silence, or "zen", that some are privileged to enjoy. 

See, the issue is that for someone like me who allows my negative thoughts to have a voice louder than my own, I have a predilection to let them determine my actions. Often times (this was more frequent back in college), that means talking myself out of doing something.

Yes, I've gotten more brave and have taken more risks, but the weight of those thoughts that I drag along try to remind me that I'm still the same timorous girl that I was a few years ago. I fight it all the time, especially when I'm presented with an opportunity that scares the hell out of me and turns my hair (even more) grey.

This is perhaps a symptom of maturation--maybe I'm just going through the awkward puberty stage of blooming into an adult.

Or maybe.....I'm just a girl.