… and wizards shouting in towers.
(Yesterday it was rainbows, butterflies, inadequacy and madness.)
I feel too old to credibly muse on any of these things.
I feel too young to know anything about anything.
Between school and social media, life is all opinions, all the time. It freaks me out. The truth is not one thing; there are so many contexts and filters and legitimate perspectives. I cannot possibly reflect them all, and putting thoughts in boxes labeled ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ makes me shudder.
I know I can be strident, or seem that way. I get excited about pretty much everything and that passion bubbles over when I share my thoughts. But I don’t believe passion makes me any kind of credible. In fact, more often than not, it’s been used as an excuse to dismiss my point of view.
School is forcing me to take myself seriously, which is both traumatic and empowering. Most of the time, in academic terms, I’d rather pretend my opinion doesn’t exist and hide behind the comforting armour of Technically Correct. It’s safe, but kinda boring, and it doesn’t leave much room for creative discourse.
Unfortunately — or fortunately, I still can’t decide — creative discourse is basically the driving force behind the entire program I’m enrolled in. Read, respond, write, discuss, write some more. The other day, I confessed in a message to a friend that I was procrastinating on a book review because I don’t feel qualified. I don’t feel qualified. To write an opinion piece. About a book I’ve read. Which reality breaks my heart a little bit, when I pay attention to it.
Homework involves a lot of frantic pacing, mild panic, the ranting manufacture of Reasons This Assignment Is Stupid, occasional throwing of pens, and, eventually, actually completing the assignment. I’m learning to surrender to the process.