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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