A few weeks ago, I discovered a lone pebble outside of a bar. I had consumed a copious amount of liquor, and I was squatting on my haunches pondering the meaning of life. It seemed like I was out there a long time; it was at least time enough that the drunkenness gave way to a clearer buzz. The great thing about tequila is that as the fog lifts from your mind and makes its way through to your kidneys, you allow yourself to think for a bit outside the box. And when you think a bit outside the box, you can feel some things that you may not have had the guts to let yourself feel.
I looked at the pebble and realized how frightened and lost it must be. I looked at the size of it, and tried to judge how old it had to be. You see, most people take for granted that stones don’t change much over our lifespans. If you were a turtle or a tree, you might be able to observe just a fraction of what a stone might experience in its lifetime. If you could live eternally, you’d probably see so much change between boulder to pebble to dust to sand to glass to other geological forms that stones would probably be much more exciting than any strictly living thing.
Anyway.
After speaking to the pebble telepathically for awhile, I realized that I was projecting myself onto it. I was asking the pebble how it felt to be separated from the boulder it was probably chipped from years ago. If it was hard to adjust to not having its friends around, and what body of water transformed it from a jagged rock into a smooth, friendly pebble. I wanted to ask it so many things because it seemed like the right thing to do. Take your wikipedia and parental advice or the counsel of your loved ones. Keep it. I’d rather talk to my pebble.
The pebble just listened to my thoughts, and it gave me license to do the same. For all the thinking I do, it wasn’t until I was drunk enough that 1) all of the unimportant background noise was relegated to where it belonged (the background), and 2) I was talking to an inanimate object telepathically, that I realized what’s been bothering me.
What did I see in the pebble? I saw a medley of things I saw in store for myself: isolation, loneliness, wisdom, a future, insecurity, patience, impatience, and above all, freedom (maybe too much) from the boulder it inevitably broke from. I also envied how content it looked. Even though I would hate to be immobile in front of a ktown bar stocked full of cigarette smoking morons for years before chance took me somewhere else, the pebble seemed perfectly fine where it was. (This thought also made me kick it away into the street…I’m sure it is looking content there as well, even in the face of oncoming traffic.)
So what’s this all mean? I’m afraid of graduation. Yes, I have my diploma and I’ve inherited an alumni network that has no rivals on the west coast. Cool. But where do I go from here? Can I say I’ve graduated from studenthood when I still feel that I haven’t learned enough?
My whole life I’ve planned things. As impulsive and reflexive as I can be, I’m a tactician at heart. I play my life like chess or go, and I hate it when I feel that there is no correct next move. So what do I do from here? Sure, the plan’s always been to go into healthcare but what about the other aspects of my life? The aspects that USC allowed me to explore, nurture and substantiate on a multiweekly basis? I’m not even sure what the next step is to recreation. Bars and clubs for the rest of my unmarried life? Really? I respect my pebble sitting in ktown, but I don’t want that to be me. I have to move, but where do I want to go and how do I get there? And my network…the people I have held dear for 4 years, where have you gone, and how will you get there?
There is still so much left before I will be ok with being a pebble. What body of water will the world throw me into to straighten out my rougher edges? Pun intended: I guess graduation means I’m finally going to “rock” at life. But my new goal is to be a pebble.
The next entry will probably be about risk in romance. More specifically, whether it’s worth it. So far I’ve worked out that the answer is conditional to whether or not you are or are not an idiot.
If you are an idiot, you will believe that a girl may be the love of or your life. If you are not, you will realize that there are too many women out there to be concerned with one.
That said, I think I’m getting dumber.
Goodnight.
