Some Thoughts, or Hello World?

“W. H. Hudson says that birds feel something akin to pain (and fear) just before migration and that nothing alleviates this feeling except flight (the rapid motion of wings).” – Lorine Niedecker, 1968.

I’ve been seeing buildings in my dreams as long as I can remember.

Huge shopping malls. Cramped apartments. Wood-paneled libraries, nightclubs that don’t obey the laws of physics. Sometimes I wake up and can still trace the walls of the room I was in before the dream fades away. I started keeping a dream journal around the age of fourteen. Not that I could ever keep my logs consistent. Months without a word written down and then several convoluted page-long entries in quick succession. Often in handwriting that I, entirely lucid, struggled to decipher.

When the time came for final exams (any IB survivors in the crowd?) and university applications, this inconsistency was quick to make itself known as a highly inconvenient transferable skill. A new cycle, parallel to the first. Weeks without a word, then hours of cramming information into my notebooks and into my head. I had tunnel-vision and the light at the end was a passing grade. I ended up not applying to university that year. Figures.

But when I graduated high school, aimless save for having the best time on the lowest budget that summer, bouncing from one idea to another and ignoring the deep dark canyon of what I wanted to do with my life, I wordlessly struck up a deal with myself. 

A gap year to figure myself out. A job, a bunch of volunteering gigs, every exhibition, concert and museum I could make time for, and a list of movies and books to chew through. But that was the fun stuff. The terms of the deal were that I was obligated to choose something by the end of the year, like a less morbid death sentence. I went into that deal with the same half-baked idea I came out with, and that idea was studying architecture, in Italy. 

Given the opener of this piece, you’d think I’d be burning with the desire to become an architect. But I can’t say I was dying for it. All I knew about architecture students was that they were up to their necks in projects, running on too little sleep and reeling from critique, twenty-four-seven. An uncharitable stereotype, sure, but one that I’d heard mainly from the victims themselves. Safe to say I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of joining the ranks. I liked the idea of architecture, I had no clue about what studying or practising it actually entailed. But I had a feeling this wasn’t necessarily a degree you can half-want. But I also had no other ideas, so I threw myself head-first into the unknown and maybe shoulder-first into studying. 

And why Italy? Studying is hard on its own. Studying in your fifth language, for something you’re maybe lukewarm about, is entirely absurd. But I knew there was a university one direct flight away, and I knew it was the best of the best. And I knew that if there was one thing I was not lukewarm about at all, and that was climbing out of the cesspit of boredom my life had become. Routine was stifling and everyone knew everyone, knew your mother, knew your aunt. I felt like a stranger on home soil. I felt at home in a crowd of utter strangers.

I’m sure many of my peers relate to the feeling of being lost. My respects to the maybe dozen teenagers on planet earth that are completely sure of what they want to become and are working steadily towards that idea. My sympathy to everyone outside of that dozen, who spent so much time avoiding the question that the mere idea of the future felt like looking into a black hole, who applied somewhere just so they could say they did, who took an eternity deciding in hopes that they wouldn’t have to decide at all. I’m torn between the belief that there’re entirely too many unreasonable expectations put on the shoulders of the average high schooler, and that indecision is the root of all suffering. Modern-day giants of philosophical thought, commonly referred to as The Clash, outlined this paradox as Should I Stay or Should I Go. 

My two cents are that it is always Go. Even if you’re going in completely blind, and especially if you’re going afraid. Fear is never reason enough to stagnate. Courage is an acquired taste. And to those who are afforded time and options, which I sincerely hope most people my age can be, it is best to explore all sides of both. There’s nothing you can’t take back.

I knew there would never be a perfect option, or a perfect time. But if I let myself sit around waiting for it I’d spend my entire life in anticipation. Architecture is working out well enough. Italian rolls off the tongue after you’ve spent two weeks smothered by it. I can’t say what I’ve written here isn’t entirely hypocritical. Ask me again in three years when I’ve maybe graduated or maybe gone off the rails. Or ask me right after you read this and I’ll probably supply an answer with a completely unrelated perspective. It’s good to contain multitudes. 

Good Evening and Best of Luck to everyone out there.

P.S. xx