Last week, I found something challenging. The magazine article discussed the philosophical validity of a cup changing color if one person turns and does not look at it. A student asking the professor about the feasibility was pushing boundaries, to see if the professor would bend, as he had the reputation for being kind.
The professor responded with the suggestion the one student not face the cup, while the rest of the group looked, and be asked about its color.
The article went on to discuss how to stand for an idea without being a jerk about it. Which is helpful information as I've noticed, to paraphrase Al Capone, kindness is often mistaken for weakness.
The thought of perception not being reality lingered in my head. Talking with a friend online, I shared that although Sunday was a royal bitch, I'd not blogged about it because I don't want to present as whiny or so selfish, I'm constantly looking for empathy. I don't want to be That Chick.
He asked me what was wrong with seeking support from friends; said it's not a weakness.
Honestly? I hadn't thought of it that way, didn't see the situation in that light; didn't recognize it was acceptable or possibly appropriate. That idea was foreign, like a newly discovered color. I couldn't reference it, so didn't have a name for it; thankfully, I have differently color-blind friends.
I spent the night with Sarah this weekend. We watched movies, had pizza, ice cream; stayed up too late, had gluten free pancakes for breakfast. At noon. It was AMAZING.
And from the outside, the evening sounds like an episode for some tweener show on the Disney Channel. Or would have been if we watched or a Pixar movie with some profound message wrapped in cool animation. Or a rom-com.
And if we were 12. Or not dealing with loss and the weightier, darker things of life.
Mulling over movie options, I realized I was secretly hoping for something light and bright; a romantic comedy looked like brain candy, an escape to me. I wouldn't seek out a drama about death; I'm living it. And that experience colors my world right now.
Conversely, Sarah would shy away from romcoms. No matter how much I might love to see the one with Meg Ryan and Hugh Jackman jumping through tesseracts and that fantastic talk about dogs seeing rainbows being like we humans don't see time. That space, right now, she just sees lacking. It's not where she's exploring; it's not where she'll find new life.
Instead, we tore through slices from a local joint, curled up on a couch under blankets, talking about random things, and scrolled through the new movie options OnDemand presented. We had Interstellar (which was long) and Fury, which had been written up in Relevant.
Somewhere between the beginning of Fury, and 1 am, we started talking about the past week. I shared my Sunday; how it started late, then offered enough traffic to make a 5 hr. drive into 8, how visiting on a different day meant Mom wasn't doing well, only to head for home and be pulled over for speeding. And then have a tire blow.
There was more when the sugar rush hit. Or the sense of the absurd.
She was a good friend, and listened. Even though she didn't have to. Even though dark night had fallen. Even though her world is colored by the truth of not asking to be a widow at 33.
She said she's glad we're friends; because although she is one of the most Pollyanna-esque individuals she knows, she sees me as the SciFi channel. She sees this hallway season experience as Firefly, and hopes the next window shows Eureka.
She said she mentions me in her evening prayers.
I love the world I get to see through her eyes; full of colors I'd be blind to otherwise and things named as they are. We misfit together, she and I, although the odds of us ever even getting along were never in our favor.
Funny, by accepting each other as individuals, differently color-blind to our cups, we've learned to see unexpected beauty in each other's worlds. She sees me wandering hallways, and walks with me; and I see a Pollyanna, aiming to misbehave.
The professor responded with the suggestion the one student not face the cup, while the rest of the group looked, and be asked about its color.
The article went on to discuss how to stand for an idea without being a jerk about it. Which is helpful information as I've noticed, to paraphrase Al Capone, kindness is often mistaken for weakness.
The thought of perception not being reality lingered in my head. Talking with a friend online, I shared that although Sunday was a royal bitch, I'd not blogged about it because I don't want to present as whiny or so selfish, I'm constantly looking for empathy. I don't want to be That Chick.
He asked me what was wrong with seeking support from friends; said it's not a weakness.
Honestly? I hadn't thought of it that way, didn't see the situation in that light; didn't recognize it was acceptable or possibly appropriate. That idea was foreign, like a newly discovered color. I couldn't reference it, so didn't have a name for it; thankfully, I have differently color-blind friends.
I spent the night with Sarah this weekend. We watched movies, had pizza, ice cream; stayed up too late, had gluten free pancakes for breakfast. At noon. It was AMAZING.
And from the outside, the evening sounds like an episode for some tweener show on the Disney Channel. Or would have been if we watched or a Pixar movie with some profound message wrapped in cool animation. Or a rom-com.
And if we were 12. Or not dealing with loss and the weightier, darker things of life.
Mulling over movie options, I realized I was secretly hoping for something light and bright; a romantic comedy looked like brain candy, an escape to me. I wouldn't seek out a drama about death; I'm living it. And that experience colors my world right now.
Conversely, Sarah would shy away from romcoms. No matter how much I might love to see the one with Meg Ryan and Hugh Jackman jumping through tesseracts and that fantastic talk about dogs seeing rainbows being like we humans don't see time. That space, right now, she just sees lacking. It's not where she's exploring; it's not where she'll find new life.
Instead, we tore through slices from a local joint, curled up on a couch under blankets, talking about random things, and scrolled through the new movie options OnDemand presented. We had Interstellar (which was long) and Fury, which had been written up in Relevant.
Somewhere between the beginning of Fury, and 1 am, we started talking about the past week. I shared my Sunday; how it started late, then offered enough traffic to make a 5 hr. drive into 8, how visiting on a different day meant Mom wasn't doing well, only to head for home and be pulled over for speeding. And then have a tire blow.
There was more when the sugar rush hit. Or the sense of the absurd.
She was a good friend, and listened. Even though she didn't have to. Even though dark night had fallen. Even though her world is colored by the truth of not asking to be a widow at 33.
She said she's glad we're friends; because although she is one of the most Pollyanna-esque individuals she knows, she sees me as the SciFi channel. She sees this hallway season experience as Firefly, and hopes the next window shows Eureka.
She said she mentions me in her evening prayers.
I love the world I get to see through her eyes; full of colors I'd be blind to otherwise and things named as they are. We misfit together, she and I, although the odds of us ever even getting along were never in our favor.
Funny, by accepting each other as individuals, differently color-blind to our cups, we've learned to see unexpected beauty in each other's worlds. She sees me wandering hallways, and walks with me; and I see a Pollyanna, aiming to misbehave.
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