Stop Sign.

So Shirley and I stayed after today for calc and, not surprisingly, got into a pretty serious conversation amidst trying to fix our completely warped wire model of a hyperboloid of one sheet. After our lopsided project was complete, we left the classroom, conversation still going on, when she asked, "Do you ever get the feeling that life just never stops?" And I replied, "I know exactly what you mean."

We walked outside into the drizzling parking lot. My mind was filled with a million thoughts, with hopes and worries, with dreams and doubts, with memories from the past, with instants from the day, with wishes for the future. It was a jumble of reality, of the high school, the concrete, the raindrops, the track, the cars - a collage of everything around me cramped into the space beneath my skull. Cold and wet, I opened the car door and rushed into the cozy warmth of the vehicle. For a few seconds, the world was quiet, I was alone, and life stopped.

Then I turned on the engine and the loud buzzing vibrated throughout the car, the windshield wipers started moving at top speed, I pressed on the gas pedal and life began again. Driving home was like any other day - the same streets, the same stop lights, the same turns. A part of me didn't want to go home, I just wanted to keep going, just wanted to get lost so I could find myself again. But then I saw a stop sign, paused and thought for a second, and then I turned left, the way I always do.

Past.

So I finally realized that letting go is a much more efficient way to forget about the past than trying to lock up memories. Took me long enough.

A Reflection Upon Perfection.

My life is like anyone else's - a day to day routine, sprinkled with some mishaps and mistakes and driven by some faraway dream, but all in all, relatively content. I'm mediocre at most things I do: I get good grades but am no genius, play piano and violin decently but am really a crappy stage performer, and participate in three seasons of varsity sports but in all likelihood will only ever play club sports in college. I like who I am and I'm proud of whatever accomplishments I've achieved thus far, but there has never been a moment in my life when I felt like I had truly succeeded in something, reached a lifelong goal, justified my existence. Albeit I'm only 17 years old, but as college rounds the corner and the Rest of My Life approaches, I suddenly feel as if I might fear...success.

This morning at piano lessons I was playing a Sonata that I honestly don't like at all. Being that I find the piece rather boring, I obviously don't practice it much, and consequently always play it badly at piano lessons. It's become sort of like a weekly thing. At every lesson, I'll play every other piece fine and then once I get to this piece my brain shuts down, I'm not into it, I make mistakes left and right, my piano teacher yells at me. But this morning for some reason I played this piece really well. It's eight pages long, but it wasn't until around page four that I realized this was the best I've ever played the piece before. It was the longest I had ever gotten through the piece without Mrs. Goldsmith stopping me and making me replay something I messed up. But once I realized this - I began messing up.

I hate perfection. It's so flawless, so pure, so like a beautiful slate of crystalline glass that could be shattered at any moment. I want to succeed, I want to be perfect, but at same time I'm afraid that perfection is too much to live with. It's hard making your way to the top, but once you're the best, it's even harder staying the best. Is it worth the price?

I feel like I'm just making excuses for myself, pretending to be reluctant to reach success when in reality I'm just afraid I won't get there.