As my time in New York begins to approach its end I have decided to begin a series of entries devoted to the idea of "reflection." These are both for me and you.
It's funny, really. While we were experiencing our childhood we aspired to be older. While we experience aging we attempt to reconnect somehow with our inner child. Perhaps youth really is wasted on the young.
While I play in my room I imagine myself on stage. When I'm on stage, I imagine myself in my room. I never used to have these thoughts, though. I just was. Time just was. Things just were. I find myself returning to a place in which that state of mind can exist once again. That's really been a theme in my life this semester: return. So many elements of my life have been coming full circle for me. My dreams, beliefs, passions, outlook, etc. Even coming down to things like equipment, I have recently returned to a horn that I played in high school. Why? That's my sound.
I realize, though, that I'm not the same person that I once was. These things I'm returning to have been put through New York, they've been put through Juilliard. My dreams have returned, my passion has returned, but they are not the same. My dreams are now dreams reborn. My beliefs are beliefs that had been lost, but are now found. My passion is a passion tested. As skin reforms stronger than before over a wound, my heart has been toughened, my resolve has been strengthened, and my values have been aligned.
3 comments:
Wow. You sound very profound in your re-visited dreams, beliefs, and values. You are coming back to your core. It's where you are meant to be. As you experience so much more throughout your life, may you continue to re-visit "you".
It is good to reflect. We all should do more of that. Looking back can help us move forward. Life is like a river. Ever flowing. Never standing still. Affected by various patterns surrounding it, and reacting to those constant challenges. Reflection. Connection. Reaction. Moving on.
It's like with my running. I get so caught up in training for my coaches and worrying about meets--who will be there and who I need to beat. I get so caught up in personal bests and split times, that I forget why I truly began to run.
It wasn't for my coaches. It wasn't to beat that girl in red. It was over a decade ago when I was chasing neighbor kids in the yard, and running from squirt guns. It was when we played tag and raced home for dinner.
Run for that girl.
love, me
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