Shhh

I enjoy finding back-alley secrets: the discrete side of society. 
What happens "off the record" is often far more interesting than what is supposed to happen.


During the day, I get stuck in traffic that's backed up for miles as cars trudge from place to place, as people run errands they don't want to be running. But at night, I cruise around town, nothing and no one in my way, traffic lights flashing yellow, saying "Go ahead."


In the morning, I pay five bucks for a cup of coffee and a croissant. When evening comes, the guy behind the counter hands me that same coffee along with a shopping bag of free pastries as they close for the night.


During the day, I go to class and work. I put on a strong, happy exterior to power through the to-do's. At night, when no one's around, I can be me. I do what I want to do, what I love to do. Just for the hell of it.


I like staying up late, taking walks with no exact purpose, and seeing what happens (or doesn't) while the rest of the city sleeps. At that time, I can enjoy silence and stillness in the world, both of which seem unattainable during the day. 


Yet I can't decide if I'm an early riser or a night owl. Is it possible to be both? I feel anxious when I lay down, as if I'll miss out on something happening right outside my window. So in the morning, I spring out of bed to get caught up on whatever happened while I was asleep. I hope that never wears off: that childish engagement with the world around me. I see too many people become jaded all too quickly with life, growing apathetic in their twenties. There's so much to see, to do, to experience. It just doesn't make sense to stop exploring (yes, this brings a Northface ad to mind). Anyway, to summarize, I argue that the world is an endlessly fascinating place, if you take risks and investigate past what societal authorities want you to see. 

Airport Hostility

Yesterday, I flew from Dallas, TX, to Nashville, TN. On the plane, I wrote in my notebook about "airport hostility": "Everyone is ready to fight at any moment; you can feel it in the air, though it's hidden well." 


That statement may sound a bit dramatic, but has anyone else noticed that people seem especially irritable on airplanes? This lady sitting next to me was saving a seat for her husband who was a few people behind her in line. Another woman approached and pointed to the empty seat, starting to make her way to it. When the lady next to me explained that it was taken, the other woman took it quite personally. She huffed and rolled her eyes before she continued down the aisle to find a seat. Awkward.


Then, I'm sitting on the plane, buckled up for a two-hour ride, kind of looking around at the other people on the plane. I notice that no one is talking to each other. Everyone has their iPods, laptops, books, drinks, food, whatever, or they're sleeping. I suddenly wonder: why can't we all start singing songs or telling stories? I mean, with a couple hundred people on this plane, surely someone has a good joke to tell, right?
Just then, the lady next to me starts throwing up. I'm serious. The lady that was saving a seat for her husband? Well, now she's vomiting—violently—into one of those tiny barf bags they give you on an airplane. I realize at this moment that those little bags cannot actually hold much liquid. So, I scramble to find mine in the back pocket of the seat in front of me, and I hold it out to her as an offer. I then realize that her husband on the other side is doing the same. We look at each other, the husband and me, with matching cringes that seem to say, "Yeah...this sucks." Of course, she's embarrassed to be throwing up on a plane, so no one's really winning at this point. Oh, and naturally, there's no flight attendant to be seen. Eventually, the lady stops vomiting (thank God). Her husband digs a napkin out of her purse and helps her clean up. Now, this is one of the sweetest things I've ever seen: a husband wiping vomit off his wife's jacket sleeve, telling her everything is okay. She is clearly devastated. She doesn't dare to make eye contact with anyone until everything is cleaned up, but finally she turns to me and says, "I'm so sorry." I just smile at her. "It's all good."


I guess I got what I wanted after all: something to unite people on an airplane. I was hoping for a story or a song. Instead I got vomit. But hey, that's life.

frigid toes!

This weather makes me want to stay inside and write.

Weather: the state of the atmosphere at a place and time.


Ah, yes, how we love talking about the weather. It is the one immediate thing that we all have in common. It's specific, it's undeniably present, and the worse it is, the more it bonds us together. Especially in a place like Dallas, where the summer heat is so brutal that the power grid struggles to support air conditioners and where rolling blackouts occur for months, the weather is the common enemy that unites neighbors and strangers alike. When I sense that horrifying early-conversation terror that I have nothing in common with the other person and therefore nothing to say to him or her, there's the weather to my rescue. "Man, it's cold outside!" or, "You know, it's supposed to rain later today." That's genius, Miranda. What a simply effortless conversation starter you are. I suppose it's better than the dead-end "How are you," right? Eh, maybe not. 


If I were homeless, I would go south. I would just start walking until I reached a beach. There I could live the dream, lying on a beach all day and night, until a hurricane would come and carry me off to the next place. That sounds fun, though dangerous.
In all seriousness, I do want to try being homeless at some point. I mean, just for a day or so, to gain some understanding of what it's like to live nowhere and anywhere, and also to see how differently people treat you.


In fact, we should all try being homeless for a week. It would be an incredibly difficult challenge. As a young lady, I don't know that it would be the wisest decision, but it's been on my mind nonetheless. 

This is for me.

Look forward. Imagine the entirety of your life, the timeline of all the events that have happened, and all those to come.

Realize how fleeting this particular moment is in that expanse.

Understand how insignificant this particular problem is in the full picture of your life's work.

Now breathe and move past it.

I want to travel the world, starting with Europe. I want to see landscapes, architecture and artwork that will render me speechless. I want to be fully immersed in something so beautiful that all I can do is stare and take it in for as long as possible.


I want to create masterful, relevant, world-changing theatre. 


I want to burst through peoples' expectations.

Imagine the infinite possibilities of your life. What happens next is completely up to you. It is a matter of making one decision at a time. So take this moment, this obstacle, whatever it is, and own it.

Shit.

As I sit here sipping my usual morning cup of coffee and listening to sad, acoustic, indie music, I'm feeling a powerful apathy. It's the kind that makes you want to turn off your phone and hide in bed all day. Two questions consume my head:
How did I get back to this place?
and How do I get the fuck out?


To the answer the first question, I'll start by saying that I ran across a quote recently: "People say that bad memories cause the most pain. But it's the good ones that actually drive you insane." In the past few months/years (I'm not sure how long), I have been haunted by good memories. And now I realize that I have been living in an idealized past, which to this day stops me from moving forward. As you probably guessed, these memories are of a boy—a boy who used to make me happy and now tortures me without even knowing it. The truth is, I don't even know him anymore. 

Let's rewind.

I was brainstorming on ideas for a screenplay earlier this year, around May. Someone told me to start with a "what if" to form a concept. I wrote down two:
1. What if you were stuck in the past?
2. What if you were only capable of loving one person?


Now, looking at them side-by-side, I see that they are not in fact two separate ideas. They are, for me, one in the same. 

I am trapped by memories of a beautiful relationship which no longer exists. 

On that same page, I had recorded a quote from Samuel Beckett's Cascando:


If you do not love me
I shall not be loved
If I do not love you
I shall not love


I do not agree with this poem. I believe that love is a series of choices, an all-too-conscious decision to work through problems rather than give up. Though I sincerely hope this poem is not true for me, I cannot be sure: I have no proof of the contrary, for I have yet to love any other boy. What I do know from experience is that filling all of your capacity to love with one person is a huge risk. In doing so, you may experience immense disappointment, regret, and pain...a wound like no other. 
From this wound I have yet to heal.