I was fucking lonely. I dropped myself in this river of uncertainty, and I wasn't sure if the current was taking me in a down stream plummet or if it was dragging me head first, upstream, against the boulders along the rocky, sinuous bank of the mistake I thought I had made. "You know exactly why you are doing this, get yourself together man", I would tell myself on a nightly basis.
"Why am I not happy," a question which percolated through my head and defeated any positivity from a self inflicted pep-talk.
I looked around at the brand new apartment I was residing in. Van Gogh prints loitered on the porcelain hued stucco walls--the one print which still burns in my mind, perhaps because it is still in my room at the moment is the one entitled "The Mulberry Tree". It's gnarled, contorted branches flaming with the most disturbed reds, oranges and yellows seemed to encapsulate my confusion which had taken my head as it's abode, simply because it was weak and vulnerable those few weeks. The blue sofa mocked my state of mind while the round kitchen table capable of seating four would only seat myself for the time being. The whole town was new to me, but the emptiness...the solitude was new in particular.
Dinner hour was the most difficult. The darkness echoed across the walls and hardwood floors ripping through the window pains like a cross wind shattering my solace. Every sound from the adjacent apartments was intensified as my kitchen table of four was only sitting one and there was no one else in the room to help absorb these sounds let alone create noise of our own. I would over salt the chicken. Perhaps my mind was occupied with my mistake. Perhaps I didn't care what the food tasted like, I was merely eating as I knew my mom would check up on me and I could barely muster up a counterfeit smile let alone tell her a lie.
"Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. What did you do. Mistake. Why. Mistake."
"I am miserable."
I left my life behind. The life I had spent two years creating and developing. I left everyone behind. Selfishness? Over zealousness? It was music which inevitably told me to make the move from Oxford, Ohio--Miami University to Charlottesville, Virgina--University of Virginia. I was sure that directing myself to Charlottesville, a town which thrives on originality, would be the appropriate move in order to allow my music to flourish to it's maximum potential. I was drowning in the conformity of Oxford, OH, I needed to leave. I, being the driven one, did so.
Two weeks into my University of Virginia experience I could take no more. My normal cheerful, hopeful, giddy, self had deconstructed itself all guided by the hand of confusion and realization as to what I had done. I left behind my friends. I left behind the name for myself I had created at Miami. I left behind my solid GPA. I left behind my assurance and comfort.
I made the decision to transfer schools completely illogically. I was completely motivated by the hope that my music would be appreciated in this art based town of Charlottesville that I never accounted for the serious lifestyle change. Entering as a Junior in a brand new school is no easy feat. While you're trying to learn your way around the school, understanding the way your professors work, you're also helplessly looking to weasel your way into a welcoming social scene to ease yourself with some sense of normalcy. I didn't account for any of this. When the question was brought up to me, my ambition must have made me somewhat delusional and I would assure myself everything would work itself out.
Had I not transferred, I would not have left college to begin with and I would have continued on with my college life. The life that I currently have would be non existent. I would have passed on all the amazing knowledge and wisdom I have gained by meeting all the wonderful people down the current path I am travelling. I would have missed on the many friendships and encounters along this path. I wouldn't have had any of these musical experiences I currently have. My life would be drastically different. I saw both paths. I never saw where they lead, nor do I still as at any moment there could be another fork I decide to walk upon, but I saw the mouth of each journey I had the option of taking. We often tell ourselves that everything we do must be sensible. We tell ourselves that everything we do must follow our blueprint somewhere along life we so crudely sketched. Perhaps our problem is if we get too caught up with the practicality of our life's events that we lose sense of what we want. What really makes us happy. What is best for our heart rather than our manipulative mind. I was unpractical. I was impetuous. But I'm starting to think that rashness is the way to go if you want to follow your heart. It's your instinct. It's what you want. It's what happens before your mind has a minute to voice up it's anxious opinion. We become the pets' of our minds. We become teathered when we become obedient to our minds and not our hearts. The remedy? All we need is just a little impetuousness.
The Mulberry Tree -- Vincent Van Gogh.