One More Dream
I don't know about you, but sometimes I can be such a whiny, little female dog.
I haven't quite learned how to preempt the whining, but I can occasionally rout it.
I made a new comic. It stretches my original objective, but I don't think my comic has to stay inside strict boundaries.
In other news, I am an extrovert. I know that most of you knew that. I know that I knew it, but I never knew it was quite like it is. When I spend time with people, good people, it splashes this wash of hope and energy and determination and focus over most of my life. The past few days have had pretty much the exact same circumstances that I've always had, but the conversations and joys I've shared with friends in the recent past have stuck with me. I still feel as tired as ever, but I don't feel weighed down by the grayness.
I haven't figured out how to articulate it yet, but there's something strikingly different between small talk and light conversation. Small talk, it feels, is this endless pursuit of avoiding conversation by using words. Light conversation, I think, is two or more real humans sharing simple things.
I used to think I always wanted to have hyper-intense conversations—that's what many small-talkers told me anyway—but I really just wanted to connect with people. And I'm not saying the connection has to be some kind of deep, kindred bond. I just wanted to hear about real things from real people.
I met this old Ukrainian gentleman in Jenkintown. He's a jeweler and clock/watch maker. He told me stories about when he lived in Ukraine. He told me a story about how he made a special set of fourteen identical rings for a dying man's last wish. He showed me the special necklace he had made for one of his daughters. I suppose he shared some personal things but only because I simply asked. None of our conversations have been "intense;" they've just been conversational.
That's one of my many, many dreams: to travel anywhere, near or far, and hear the stories that ring so deeply in people's hearts and memories.
I haven't quite learned how to preempt the whining, but I can occasionally rout it.
I made a new comic. It stretches my original objective, but I don't think my comic has to stay inside strict boundaries.
In other news, I am an extrovert. I know that most of you knew that. I know that I knew it, but I never knew it was quite like it is. When I spend time with people, good people, it splashes this wash of hope and energy and determination and focus over most of my life. The past few days have had pretty much the exact same circumstances that I've always had, but the conversations and joys I've shared with friends in the recent past have stuck with me. I still feel as tired as ever, but I don't feel weighed down by the grayness.
I haven't figured out how to articulate it yet, but there's something strikingly different between small talk and light conversation. Small talk, it feels, is this endless pursuit of avoiding conversation by using words. Light conversation, I think, is two or more real humans sharing simple things.
I used to think I always wanted to have hyper-intense conversations—that's what many small-talkers told me anyway—but I really just wanted to connect with people. And I'm not saying the connection has to be some kind of deep, kindred bond. I just wanted to hear about real things from real people.
I met this old Ukrainian gentleman in Jenkintown. He's a jeweler and clock/watch maker. He told me stories about when he lived in Ukraine. He told me a story about how he made a special set of fourteen identical rings for a dying man's last wish. He showed me the special necklace he had made for one of his daughters. I suppose he shared some personal things but only because I simply asked. None of our conversations have been "intense;" they've just been conversational.
That's one of my many, many dreams: to travel anywhere, near or far, and hear the stories that ring so deeply in people's hearts and memories.
Comments
Post a Comment