MONALISA*

there are stretches of time (minutes, hours, days) when i get completely lost inside myself. at the risk of losing touch with reality, friends, family and colleagues, i go straight down the rabbit hole in search of my own personal wonderland. it’s almost as if they fear i’ll never return, not knowing that losing & finding my way is exactly what built the character they’ve come to know (and love?) over time.

yet and still, it’s both my most constructive and destructive vice.

whether it be exploring thoughts i’d tucked away for a rainy day, putting together puzzle pieces of past, present and future, or spending time on my rubik’s cube of a brain, i never realize exactly how much time has passed during this process. i’d like to say i don’t care, but if i didn’t, i probably wouldn’t be writing this.

what finally makes me realize that this type of behavior isn’t quite commonly accepted is the reaction i get from others. the frustration when i’ve been caught not paying full attention. the judgmental head shake at my confessions of self-analysis. the disappointment caused by rescheduling & my never-ending supply of rainchecks. the confusion behind missed calls and unreturned emails. the betrayed accusations brought on by feelings of neglect and non-importance.

nah, that’s not what bothers me most. what bothers me is that it’s not socially acceptable to do so in the first place. when did we stop becoming mysteries? to ourselves and others. when did we sign-on to become concrete objects existing in an abstract world, instead of vicing the versa? and most importantly, how can we possibly write our own stories without doing a little research first?

either way, i’m searching for alternatives. actual vacations instead of mental ones.  interpersonal v. intrapersonal. and most importantly, physical & digital journals rather than endless mental scribes.

because i’ve found that i get tired of typing, or my wrist will grow achy from writing, long before my mind gets tired of thinking. processing. feeling. exploring. analyzing. slowly learning to time what feels timeless.

i’ll let you know how it goes. 

as a kid, i never saw myself where i am right now. i didn’t sit in my windowsill at night and pray to become a ________ ________ at ___.

singing into hairbrushes. making paper dolls. playing school with my friends. selling candy, popsicles, chips and soda to the neighborhood kids. climbing to the top of our tree to write. riding down the steepest hill on my bike. stealing piles of makeup from woolworth’s, then lying to my parents about where it came from (“oh, so & so’s mom is a makeup artist and she just gave us all this stuff!”)

i thought all those things were preparing me for my adulthood. i was so sure in my teens that all those moments were prequels to my lifelong dreams. so before i even reached college, i was so sure i was going to be a singer. no, a fashion designer. no wait, a teacher. i mean, an entrepreneur. an explorer. an adventurer. a stylist. a journalist. who knows. anything. something. exciting.

instead, i stuck with what i knew best. what came effortlessly. interactive media. marketing. advertising. strategic planning. all those pretty little grown up words that bring lots of money in (or so i’ve heard). but as satisfied as i am in corporateland, a little part of me still wonders what would’ve happened if i’d have chased those childhood dreams instead.

and truth be told, a little part of me is still running towards them.

(march 2011)

The Beat Generation is a group of American post-WWII  writers  who came to prominence in the 1950s, as well as the cultural phenomena that they both documented and inspired.

Central elements of “Beat” culture included experimentation with drugs and alternative forms of sexuality, an interest in Eastern religion, a rejection of materialism, and the idealizing of exuberant, unexpurgated means of expression and being.

Even still the Generation is in motion.

(Source: Wikipedia)