Tortoise and the Hare

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You can’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs, right?

In the months since I got to Brown, I realized something I had never thought of before. Really, in so many ways, I have everything I wanted. I talked about this before, on my post about cracked pavements and crunchy leaves. I talked about this in the poems I wrote at the poetry club, and on the notes I write on my phone at night, and with the people I love to talk to. I can’t seem to stop talking about it.

And that’s because something else you realize is that, when you can do anything (and you really can do anything!) everything you don’t do is on you. There’s no one to yell at you, or show you whatever’s next. There’s only disappointed, sidelong glances. You didn’t do what they wanted. Now go figure out if it was the right choice.

I mention this because I’ve been searching so desperately recently for a lot of things. I’ve been looking for people to go to Boston with on the weekends, who are always excited to go out, but always mindful of my wallet. I’ve been looking for people who love to party and love to stay in and play board games. I’ve been looking for people who stay up at night only when I talk to them, so I don’t miss anything when I have to sleep early. I’ve been looking for people who don’t exist.

But when you see someone out there, who looks like they’re living that life you want, it stings—in this weird, surreal way. I know I’m trying, but what if I’m not trying hard enough, or in the right way? What if I already have what I want, and I’m just too ambitious to know when to stop?

I don’t want this to be misinterpreted. I love everything I do. I love going outside, and walking to the cinema with friends, and playing card games at 2am. That’s exactly the issue. I love my friends so much, that I want the same thing over and over again, until it’s finally perfect.

The other day, a friend told me in a somewhat wistful and philosophical way that I was putting too much pressure on myself. I think he’s right. I’m on two ends of a tug of war, both trying to give myself time and telling myself that there just isn’t enough time anymore. I’m putting moisturizer on without cleaning my face right. That’s how you get pimples.

So I thought about the tortoise and the hare. No one else is running around trying to minmax these things, right? So how did they beat me to it? It’s really simple. I’m running around, bumping my head into walls all day, and they’re all on a nice evening stroll.

Maybe in a while, a few months or a year, I’ll write another post in here. Titled “Becoming the Tortoise”, or something cheesy like that. I thought about that, too.

It’s lonely out here in college. Please come back to me! Much love.