Apathy?
We're back from Walla Walla. Everyone had a really great time, save some stiff necks from sleeping outdoors and grumpiness from being in the car so long. The food was good and so were the people- more on that later. Right now I'm too tired to write a novella, so I'll just leave you with some pre-written thoughts about teen angst that I composed in the car:

Some time ago there was a period in my life when everyday things felt beautiful and terrible all at once. Especially times when I was upset or angry, there was a glory to my emotions that left me weak and satisfied... sometimes lonely... but always aching with hope for the coming explosion of freedom in my life. Sometimes I still feel this way, lost in an especially poetic depression. Mostly, though, I feel nothing. I wonder, as I look back, where that beautiful feeling went and I realize now, what it was about.

That drama was the struggle of a young thing. I desperately wanted freedom and control in my life and constantly romanticized everything it entailed, everyone who could bring it to me- and villainized those who wanted to take it away. All this "glory" was really just a raging case of teen angst. In truth, I was more free to dream back then, unburdened by the everyday stupidities of now. I never realized that being free to idealize life is almost as savory as living it in reality. Now, I just have so many things to think about that I can't dramatize the way that I used to. I'm too busy building my life.

I have the freedom that I so violently craved- and all the obligations that come with it. Despite cutting some of my dreams loose and suffering their losses, it has been utterly worth it. I love (almost) every moment. The power struggle I went through with my parents, especially my mother, was simply too tiring to live with. I'm glad we fought and she gave it up.

I miss the aching beuty of the sentimental drama but I'm not convinced that the power I found it its inspiration was real, that all the things I hoped to feel I can even obtain. Now that I know real freedom, I know that it's not the things I dreamed about, it's more... but not in such an intense, orgasmic flood of euphoria. I am not apathetic. I am real, I am in control and I feel satisfied. It's a good, gentle feeling- less earth shattering but infinitely more nurturing and quenching than the feeling I imagined.

What purpose, then, did this teen angst serve? Just to inspire me for a few years? To give me the hope to rebel and to hang on, to make me more inspired to succeed at a life alone? I wonder what I would be like if I hadn't imposed such shattering drama on my adolsecent years. Would I have the gratitude, responsibility, or perspective that I have now? Would I value my freedom like I do? What if I had been granted that freedom at an early age- if I had, for example, raised myself. Or simply if my parents had given me a longer leash. Would I be someone entirely different without those seemingly meaningless dreams?

I'm glad for my family and internal trauma now; glad for the battle, for the youthful & stupid failures. It's made getting here so much more worth it. It's what makes me smile with nostalgia and hope for the coming years, because things always will change.

I'm glad for the calm in the storm... but I'll always seek the drama.