Me and My Head
If I have to give it a voice I shall. If I address it, then I can move on to do my stack of work. I do have a stack of work today.
I felt heavy this morning. Then I thought about shaving my head, or at least trim the hair down to very short, that way I won't have to fuss with it in the morning. Then I stared at my face for a very long time. Then I went for a walk.
The beautiful thing about Cornell is I can leave home and walk any direction and see beautiful houses and little decorations that cheer me up. So I walked. I looked at front porches, and wondered what we could do with front porches like these, and possibly having a dinner for two at one of these porches, though I’ve never seen anyone done that. An old couple relaxes on a bench on their porch. This, I see a lot. We say hi.
I turned into another side street. I walked purposely on the sunny side and I thought about my head. What would it be like to have really short hair? What would it be like to have no hair? What would it be like to just be out there?
I guess we all have things with which we build our sense of self, however fickle these things might be. For some it's having money and securities and numbers in the books. For some it's their job status and the titles and initials that garnish their names. For some it’s their beauty. For some it's their knowledge. I too have my own. But I just wonder, how nice it'd be to have the materials I used to build me based not on what I possess but on what I do.
Writing comes close to this. It shapes me without having a physical shape. Physical shapes are tiresome. The fluidity of my words is much better. I emphasize fluidity, because my words are only how I feel in a given time. It's constantly changing. That's what makes it energetic and never boring.
I know I’ll cut my hair short one day. It may be very soon. Then I can shop for hats.
I felt heavy this morning. Then I thought about shaving my head, or at least trim the hair down to very short, that way I won't have to fuss with it in the morning. Then I stared at my face for a very long time. Then I went for a walk.
The beautiful thing about Cornell is I can leave home and walk any direction and see beautiful houses and little decorations that cheer me up. So I walked. I looked at front porches, and wondered what we could do with front porches like these, and possibly having a dinner for two at one of these porches, though I’ve never seen anyone done that. An old couple relaxes on a bench on their porch. This, I see a lot. We say hi.
I turned into another side street. I walked purposely on the sunny side and I thought about my head. What would it be like to have really short hair? What would it be like to have no hair? What would it be like to just be out there?
I guess we all have things with which we build our sense of self, however fickle these things might be. For some it's having money and securities and numbers in the books. For some it's their job status and the titles and initials that garnish their names. For some it’s their beauty. For some it's their knowledge. I too have my own. But I just wonder, how nice it'd be to have the materials I used to build me based not on what I possess but on what I do.
Writing comes close to this. It shapes me without having a physical shape. Physical shapes are tiresome. The fluidity of my words is much better. I emphasize fluidity, because my words are only how I feel in a given time. It's constantly changing. That's what makes it energetic and never boring.
I know I’ll cut my hair short one day. It may be very soon. Then I can shop for hats.
posted by Adam C at
11:58 PM
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