Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Jan. 20, 2003: Clueless

Clueless in 1988

I don't know whether to be happy about this or depressed about it. To be exactly the same for 13 years, what does that say about me? But when I told another friend about it, he suggested that maybe it just meant I had certain "enduring personality traits." I can live with that.

The truth is, I've spent the past two years trying to get back to the sort of emotional health I'd known 13 years ago. So to say this to me now, it must mean that I'm having some success.

I spent this past weekend reading through my journal from my freshman year at Penn State. Someone had asked for help filling in the history of the Penn State Monty Python Society, so I thought I'd see if I had anything in my journal worth sharing.

Looking back on the 17-year-old Alyce, from a vantage point of 15 years, was an interesting and revealing experiment. Reading through this journal, here was somebody who was coming out of her shell and was absolutely flummoxed that nobody was shoving her back in.

Knowing my own history, I know that I'd been seen very differently in my home town. I wasn't ready for the sort of attention I would receive, and I certainly didn't know what to do about it when I got it.

One of the funniest "aha" moments was when I was reading about this guy I'd had a crush on in my Film Studies 101 class. As the days unfolded, it was clear to anyone reading the journal that he'd been interested in me, too. And there was a crucial moment when I was hanging out in his room, listening to music, and he'd touched my knee and asked me what I wanted to do now.

I have to admit, I blew it. Not knowing what to say, I hadn't said anything. And then, over the next couple of weeks, he grew more and more distant. At the time, I was confused. Now, looking back, it's clear which moment was the crucial turning point. Reading my hesitation as rejection, my Film Studies friend drifted away and into my past.

And the strangest part is that, until I read the journal, I'd completely forgotten about that moment. I don't think I repressed it; I just don't think I realized at the time how crucial a moment it was.

So I guess the question is: Am I any less clueless now? Good question. Unfortunately, it's also nearly impossible to answer. Because let's face it; if I am clueless, it's not like I'd know.

Moral:
Get a clue, before it's too late.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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