One of my tasks at Borders was to organize the myriad books people would take out and forget to replace (or completely misplace). It was one of my favorite parts of the job; indeed, as frustrating as dealing with misplaced books may have been (which is to say nothing of the general sloppiness of people), there was a nice quality in seeing all the different kinds of books that other people read and found interesting. What was going through person X’s head as they left a sports book by the self-help section? How did a poetry book end up among the WWII shelves? There’s also my OCD self who really enjoys that sense of satisfaction and completion when a messy pile of disorganized books were transplanted back to their neat and logical homes among the ordered shelves. Near the end of my time with Borders I was shelving downstairs in this section that was a miscellaneous mixture of books about art, photography, crafts, television, and music. Among the mess of books to be shelved was one of the postsecret hardcovers. I started to flip through this collection of anonymous, yet universal, secrets and feelings and a page torn from a loose-leaf notebook fell out onto the floor. I set the books I was carrying aside, I bent over to pick up the paper, and saw writing on it. I saw writing and my heart stopped for a brief moment; I read it, paused, and read it again; and I then looked around as if the author were among the stacks watching me read what they had written. There was the secret thrill of having seen this secret note written to everyone, no one, and myself. While I don’t believe a new place can change all of my struggles and things I don’t like about myself—I hope this move is the start of a new me, in many ways. Today I’m reminded of this quote attributed (albeit incorrectly) to F. Scott Fitzgerald: I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again. I don’t know what happened to this person, but I know I hope and wish and pray that they gained insight from their struggles; that they could distinguish that which they could control and change when it came to things they didn’t like about themselves; that they had the strength and self-confidence to accept the things they didn’t have control over; and that they have built something of a life for themselves wherever they are now. I don’t know if I believe that moving to a new place really provides a new start to life. Except that, be it a physical or mental or emotional move, it’s the only thing that ever does. It’ll never be clean nor even clear, it’ll never be easy. But having the strength to move? Having the strength to start again? That’s the only thing that makes us grow.
On March 21, 2012 at 2:23pm

One of my tasks at Borders was to organize the myriad books people would take out and forget to replace (or completely misplace). It was one of my favorite parts of the job; indeed, as frustrating as dealing with misplaced books may have been (which is to say nothing of the general sloppiness of people), there was a nice quality in seeing all the different kinds of books that other people read and found interesting. What was going through person X’s head as they left a sports book by the self-help section? How did a poetry book end up among the WWII shelves? There’s also my OCD self who really enjoys that sense of satisfaction and completion when a messy pile of disorganized books were transplanted back to their neat and logical homes among the ordered shelves.

Near the end of my time with Borders I was shelving downstairs in this section that was a miscellaneous mixture of books about art, photography, crafts, television, and music. Among the mess of books to be shelved was one of the postsecret hardcovers. I started to flip through this collection of anonymous, yet universal, secrets and feelings and a page torn from a loose-leaf notebook fell out onto the floor.

I set the books I was carrying aside, I bent over to pick up the paper, and saw writing on it. I saw writing and my heart stopped for a brief moment; I read it, paused, and read it again; and I then looked around as if the author were among the stacks watching me read what they had written. There was the secret thrill of having seen this secret note written to everyone, no one, and myself.

While I don’t believe a new place can change all of my struggles and things I don’t like about myself—I hope this move is the start of a new me, in many ways.

Today I’m reminded of this quote attributed (albeit incorrectly) to F. Scott Fitzgerald: I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

I don’t know what happened to this person, but I know I hope and wish and pray that they gained insight from their struggles; that they could distinguish that which they could control and change when it came to things they didn’t like about themselves; that they had the strength and self-confidence to accept the things they didn’t have control over; and that they have built something of a life for themselves wherever they are now.

I don’t know if I believe that moving to a new place really provides a new start to life. Except that, be it a physical or mental or emotional move, it’s the only thing that ever does. It’ll never be clean nor even clear, it’ll never be easy. But having the strength to move? Having the strength to start again? That’s the only thing that makes us grow.

8 notespermalink
#Me#growth#growing up#F. Scott Fitzgerald#changes
Comments
“
And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via mishsquish)

(Source: quote-book, via irrevokable)

On November 17, 2011 at 10:51pm
10,737 notespermalink
#haruki murakami#growth#growing up
Comments
I’ve recently come to the realization that it’s time for me to properly enter adulthood and buy myself grown-up furniture not from Target or even from Ikea. The first step would be to say goodbye to my futon-type thing that I got four years ago the week preceding my start as a 1L. It was $75 and allowed me to not sit on the floor - It met all of my prime objectives at the time. Fast forward four years and it’s still there in a different apartment in a different city. But still it remains. There are tons of reasons to get rid of it - not the least of which that it sucks as a sofa. It actually hurts to sit on it for too long and is only really for laying down on, but I think one of the things I liked so much about it was that if it didn’t mean much, then I could easily move on. For much of my 20s I’ve disliked the notion of investing much in a particular person or place. In fact, I prided myself in my ability to pick up and just leave. It’s how I randomly went to England, how I quit my job after college and went to live in China, and how I went to law school. Mainly on whims but largely because I could. And for much of my 20s? It was great. It was what I wanted. I don’t know if it’s that I turn 30 in under 2 months; or if it’s that after 10 years of moving around I’m ready to stay still for a bit; or the recognition that if I ever want to settle down, date, and get married, the lady may think that a $75 couch by a 30 year-old is a bit indicative of unreliability. Or maybe I’m just tired of my back hurting when I sit down on the damn thing. Or maybe it’s a bit of all of those reasons. Maybe it’s time to set down some roots and make something of a home for myself. Maybe it’s time to find something and someone that saying goodbye to is damn hard. Design Milk - Atrium House By MESH Architectures [wearemfeo | dontrblgme]
On October 25, 2011 at 12:10pm

I’ve recently come to the realization that it’s time for me to properly enter adulthood and buy myself grown-up furniture not from Target or even from Ikea. The first step would be to say goodbye to my futon-type thing that I got four years ago the week preceding my start as a 1L. It was $75 and allowed me to not sit on the floor - It met all of my prime objectives at the time.

Fast forward four years and it’s still there in a different apartment in a different city. But still it remains. There are tons of reasons to get rid of it - not the least of which that it sucks as a sofa. It actually hurts to sit on it for too long and is only really for laying down on, but I think one of the things I liked so much about it was that if it didn’t mean much, then I could easily move on.

For much of my 20s I’ve disliked the notion of investing much in a particular person or place. In fact, I prided myself in my ability to pick up and just leave. It’s how I randomly went to England, how I quit my job after college and went to live in China, and how I went to law school. Mainly on whims but largely because I could. And for much of my 20s? It was great. It was what I wanted.

I don’t know if it’s that I turn 30 in under 2 months; or if it’s that after 10 years of moving around I’m ready to stay still for a bit; or the recognition that if I ever want to settle down, date, and get married, the lady may think that a $75 couch by a 30 year-old is a bit indicative of unreliability. Or maybe I’m just tired of my back hurting when I sit down on the damn thing.

Or maybe it’s a bit of all of those reasons. Maybe it’s time to set down some roots and make something of a home for myself. Maybe it’s time to find something and someone that saying goodbye to is damn hard.

Design Milk - Atrium House By MESH Architectures

[wearemfeo | dontrblgme]

176 notespermalink
#Growing Up#Me#Sofa#interior design#A sofa as a metaphor for growth
Comments
“
We weren’t satisfied with where we were in our lives and after much deliberation and planning decided to make changes. Our changes may have been more risky and drastic than others’, but what could be more risky and drastic than knowingly continuing down the wrong path? I wasn’t aware that it was a prerequisite to have a trust fund to quit your job, but it’s my opinion that if you’re waiting for the “perfect time” and situation to make a large and at times uncomfortable or, hell, scary change in your life, then you may be waiting a long time indeed.
The Skadden Associate Who Picked Up and Moved to Nepal - Above the Law
On March 12, 2011 at 10:51am
2 notespermalink
#growth#growing up#movement#truths
Comments

“Give the game away,” she advises.

“But if I do that, then I’ll have to build it all back up, won’t I?”

“But it’ll be yours, not hers. And, not to put too fine a point on it, but isn’t building it - and yourself - back up, the entire point of it all?”

On November 6, 2009 at 1:16pm
1 notepermalink
#Truths#These are just ghosts that broke my heart before I met you.#growing up#growth#Me
Comments
“
At any rate, that’s how I started running. Thirty-three - that’s how old I was then. Still young enough, though no longer a young man. The age that Jesus Christ died. The age that Scott Fitzgerald started to go downhill. That age may be a kind of crossroads in life. That was the age when I began my life as a runner, and it was my belated, but real, starting point as a novelist.
Haruki Murakami
On July 24, 2009 at 1:43pm
4 notespermalink
#haruki murakami#running#F. Scott Fitzgerald#Truths#growth#growing up
Comments