memories and flightless wings,
tattered torn and faltering
settled dust and golden rain
sing the worn out songs again
a little ditty scribbled on scrap paper a few months ago.
But, to be honest, worn out songs are precisely the thing I have lately been trying to avoid in my life. We all carry them: the things we do simply because they’ve always been done – by us, the people we love, people around us, people we’ve never even met before but mimic their actions for no reason other than we do. I’m especially guilty of just ambling along mindlessly rather than mindfully.
Today I officially applied for a transfer from my current university to a completely different one. I say completely different, because you couldn’t really find two more different schools existing side-by-side in the same city. The first is one of the most elite in the country, a super-research, super-charged school more interested in its own reputation than its students. [Alright, that was more from my own bitter tongue than accurate description, but objectivity is a myth.] The other is far more arts-centric, and has no elite reputation to be interested in. Moreover, they have a writing program that eerily matches every possible professional interest I have ever had.
This school has always existed in the back of my mind. I was actually going to apply there originally. Instead, I spent two years elsewhere, and while I don’t regret it, I do feel a twinge of embarrassment. My choice to ignore my gut feeling in regards to my education was most certainly a result of that mindless ambling, of chasing worn-out songs on tattered wings. Seduced by the self-proclaimed repute of that other school, by the expectations of those around me, I followed the path that I thought I was supposed to take without really stopping to consider whether it was the one I really wanted. And I kept on blindly forging ahead down that path until I tripped and landed in a rather unpleasant pothole.
That’s what happens when you charge ahead without taking the time to watch where you’re stepping.
Luckily, though, sometimes a good fall is exactly what one needs to get up and start down the right path again. So here I go, stepping a little more carefully, a little more mindfully. A little timid, a little unsure, but perhaps with sturdier wings that will glide on some brand new melody.