^That seemingly depressing opening sentence was supposed to be the depressing opening to a thoroughly depressing post, and as it was being mentally laid out in the cloudy loops of my brain during the conversation that inspired it, had all the intention of being so. Exactly so.
I'm quietly proud of my parents - humbled, thankful, and awed, often, by my good relationship with them together and him and her as individuals. Though certainly not with everything, my dad is remarkably patient with us. It's admirable and impressive, how determinedly he holds onto his mind and cool as we play the appropriately immature parts of the stubborn little babies we are. Stubborn little babies who got progressively worse and worse at math as the classes changed from Algebra to Trig to Calculus, too, and math was really the least of his troubles with us. It's a terrible thing to abuse, this patience, but no matter how many times we turn our gaping mouths in that unsightly "...huh?" toward him, my dad can erase all the previously explained and start over. And over. And over.
My mom is a little less adept with the stuff regarding repetition - strict no-more-than-three-reps policy here, or you'll pay the price by listening to a(n ironically) repetitive lecture about how You Never Listen for anywhere from 30 minutes to 3 weeks - but her virtues shine through her actions. She's the most compassionate, and untiringly-, uncomplainingly-hardworking person I know. Sometimes when she shares tidbits of her life philosophy with me, it's in the form of offhand slips of verbal gems she just casually and spontaneously tosses about, like dustbunnies that get unearthed in search of something else in the attic-resident trunk. Makes them seem a lot less monumental than they are truly worth, so I sort of have to rub my eyes and stay alert when she does this, and pick up those pieces and tuck them away for further study later, quietly in my room or something.
The two plump paragraphs above deserve [much more than] a whole post of their own, really, but for today, they're just gonna serve as disproportionately-lengthy prefaces to the sentence that shall follow:
I can't really and completely share with them about my vision for the future."Vision" being that mystical, vague haze also known as Postgrad Life Plans, and future being that equally unclear patch of mystery time that begins After May. My soon-to-come first-ever institutional void, all of which, thanks to the combination of ~40% my own lack of direction and ~60% lack of desire to communicate with my parents about it, isn't really a subject we have much to discuss about anyways. And which, I know, is a validly-timed and validly-directed sort of discussion for us to be having right about now... But the trouble is that I feel so fundamentally different about what I think I want for my future than they think they do that it's just defeating and deflating to even begin the conversation. A former nurse and current engineer - practical and sensible and realistic as their jobs - talking to an English major - and general Poster Child-result of the blessings and woes of a liberal arts education - who says she doesn't want to teach or go into academia. Yeah cue those womps. Three of them.
Today's, in particular, was disheartening to the point of embarrassed tears. To the point of one whole sigh-filled afternoon, leaving behind its funk long after the actual conversation was over. To the point of that seemingly depressing opening sentence up^ there.
And today's, anyways, was different, too - advice against "all these documentaries I've been watching recently" and inappropriate allusions to the French Resistance movement during WWII all tossed in there like a bowl of discordant fruit salad. Like, with cabbage and mangoes trying to make it jive. All confusion about history and fruits aside, in essence, this is what they told me.
They told me to go with the flow. To just be a
Yup, I am often bitter when I think of hypothetical Other Parents who support their children unconditionally, in anything and everything they are passionate about - especially when object of those passions seem so socially responsible and selflessly beneficial to the world and hopeful and good and objectively easy to root for. [Aside: Parenting, of all styles, must be so hard. It's terrifying. I think well-considered decisions to have children are some of the greatest acts of faith and hope we humans commit.]
But it must be a small sign of growing up that I didn't just shut down at that point in the conversation, cause I dunno - some short amount of time ago, I wouldn't have even stayed at the table for that to get finished. I mean what travesty, right? How could you be so unsupportive and doubtful of what I change I can effect in the world?! You two are the worst stomp stomp stomp etc. I am young and un-trodden upon by society, YOU JERKS, stop trying to nip my potential in the BUD stomp. Let me burn dat ephemeral flame of YOUTH, DANG IT. And why am I so afraid to mention the God aspect of all this to them?
Thank goodness I didn't stomp on out of there like that. Cause the rest of this talk was indeed a healthy reminder of the fact that I am so undeniably a Romantic-Realist, and of my need for equal doses of both sides of that hyphen. That yeah - at least evidenced by the second half of that indecisive self-given identity-label, I am such a child of my parents.
They told me that it's important to be wary of the depressing, deflating effects of those social problems I feel so righteously angered and upset by. That anger - no matter how justified or righteous - is often counterproductive and always energy-inefficient. To remember the beautiful things. To be recharged by beauty and good, to maintain that balance within myself, cause frankly, the world is unbearable without that. It was a gentle, a revolutionary, reminder that I'm allowed to be personally happy in the midst of all this depressing stuff. That it actually helps, in a lot of subtle ways.
And though ultimately, we're still in clear disagreement about what we believe needs to be done - and possibly can be hoped to be done - about the sorry state of this world, and specifically, what I can do about it all (and more specifically...after that graduating business), they. are. right. Absolutely. My specific anger, at least at this particularly powerless point in my life and from this particularly influence-less place in society, burns furiously only against myself. If I don't keep this vague bitterness-against-all-the-ugly-stuff checked and specific and well-informed and most importantly, balanced with generous doses of Good and Beauty in the world, it will probably accomplish very little other than destroy my tiny life. Which, ultimately, is just accomplishing very little. I'm nothing to make a martyr out of. Not yet, anyways. I mean society's just getting finished educating me - and I still have a whole year to go. My time to give back is juuust peeping around the corner. Shy or something.
In more ways than this, so many, it is good to listen to my parents' [basically opposite-from-mine-] opinions and advice. If the fact that they've experienced me (in addition to their own lives, own societal problems, own political frustrations) through my terrible two's and awkward teenage years and all the jazz in between and really, to their fullest human knowledge and ability, want what they believe is the best for me isn't enough, then for the cool and reasoned answer that opposition is healthy in appropriate amounts. It critiques and challenges and sharpens and fosters a better-rounded growth.
Cause everything seemingly depressing, including mediocrity, is sort of a two-sided beast with its very own upside - just as anything seemingly good isn't ever completely, unconditionally Good. Simply put, the world is complicated, and the only control you have over its confusion is your reaction to it all. So I'm thinking, maybe I should alternate these documentary consumptions with Disney movies or something. Not that Disney movies necessarily deserve the label of capital-g Good, but frankly, neither do documentaries. And because, frankly, that's just the first thing that popped into my head and because, frankly, it's fine to not end on a warm, fuzzy note of enlightenment and conclusiveness. Sometimes it's just marking the progress of things, and that's that.
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