Cleaning Thoughts

I really like cleaning.

I'm not sure what that says about me. But it's true. Lots of my best thoughts happen along when I'm sorting through papers or straightening books. Lots of my least best thoughts, too. I suppose you take the good with the bad.

So it's winter break, it's the new year, and I've been cleaning. There's something extra special about tidying up at the dawn of a new decade; potential is in the air, opportunities are boundless, life could go in any direction. New year, same old me. Here's what I've been thinking about.

1. The Trajectory. This is what I and the voices in my head call the path everyone expects you to take. High school, check. High GPA, check. Selective college, check. High-paying job, check. But also... crippling student debt, anxiety, minimal social skills, and a sense of dwindling purpose. When I was in the eighth grade, my writing and history teachers took a picture with me. That way, they could say they knew me when I am famous. I know they meant well, but I've not been able to get that out of my head. The thing is, I don't want to be famous. I don't want to be an architect or a brain surgeon. I want to do art. People don't particularly like or believe in this answer, and while cleaning, I hypothesized why: The Trajectory. My dreams don't align with it. But who the heck determined The Trajectory anyway? I don't know.
2. Humans are oddly like markers. We're colorful and vibrant in our youth, fresh-faced and eager. Then, life wears us down. Our hair grays. Our skin wrinkles, our spines curve, our strength dwindles. Markers are, miraculously, the same way. Super colorful, but the more you use them, the more they begin to pale. They dry up. They don't work after awhile, and so you know its time to get new ones. A marker's death isn't sad. It's contributed so much joy to children waiting for their pancakes to arrive at the diner. It's made sheets of Dead Trees a lot happier, infusing them with brightness and color. Maybe that's how we are, too. We go when we've given all of our color. Life drains out of us and into the world, and that is the price we pay to experience and to love.
3. English class is a mess. I am so fortunate to go to school, and to a good school at that. I am grateful for my resources and teachers and the whole nine yards. But nothing is ever perfect in any education system, and in my opinion, this is most evident in English class. Teachers associate reading with rewards; if you read the book, you'll do well on the test and get a good grade. When you read at home for pleasure, though, there is no reward. No A+, no sticker, nothing. So students are less motivated to read. They lose the magic of wearing somebody else's shoes. The same class trying to promote literature and language is the one spoiling it. How ironical. Books are portals, but the way English class is taught turns them into sludgy mud-banks. Maybe I'm just bored, or maybe I've been watching too much Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. You can decide.
4. A line I heard once in a TEDTalk: Depression is the club that isn't remotely exclusive, but somehow manages to convince you you're the only member. 
5. We only regret the things we don't do or say. That's possibly the most inspirational cat poster thing I could type out, but it's true. Recently, an old friend of mine reached out and asked if I'd like to reconnect. It made me so happy, reader. So happy. This year, and for the rest of my life, I intend to tell people what they mean to mean and experience all of the things I'd like to. That's really easy to write. The trick'll be whether or not I manage it. I think I can. I hope so. We just have to talk to each other truthfully. 
6. Nobody enjoys auditions. They suck, universally, but we do them anyway. Thus, I must conclude that people are inherently hopeful. 
7. The world's messy, but your room doesn't have to be. I told you, I like cleaning.

Good night, everyone.

- Maya

Photo by 胡 卓亨 on Unsplash