Something Of A Realization

It was only a weekend. One weekend, in the middle of no where, when I felt the most comfortable, though we all know we approached the weekend with different intentions. Whether it was getting ass, or completely drunk, we approached this weekend with a crooked smile that, if done by a six year old, you would know that it was up to no good. On the first weekend of August, we all met at Don's house to drive up to his cabin in the woods. I was almost late, as per usual, but we all got there with a sleeping bag and a smile. I hadn't seen some of these people for years, but I reestablished the connection very quickly. We drove up to the cabin as though we had never left each other's side, making various jokes about Don's intensity, the fact that we were in bumble-fuck, and the large hickies that decided to cover all of my neck. Eventually, as if the three hours were three minutes, we got there thinking "that was fast!"

The cabin wasn't much. It seemed to be lost. A sea shanty that was stuck on a dirt road with a cliff view to the Delaware river. It had a whopping number of five cherry red rooms and a wooden shack which was to be used if we had to do the worst of bowel movements. This was only for the fact that we couldn't flush the toilet for fear that Don's father would kill us using the stakes and twine that he specifically told us was NOT for play nor hair accessory. I think it was also safe to say that the town was just as small. The town had one cop, a general store, a two screen movie theater, and not to mention an up to date (if the date were 1970) hunting store. The moment you entered this town you fell in love with its quaintness, even though you knew you weren't ever going to step foot in it unless it was for alcohol.

I fortunately never had to do that work. The alcohol was brought to us around noon and we started immediately, taking various breaks to float in the river, or skip rocks off of the old slate that surrounded the beach. No pressured shots, or chugging was in this day, instead the day's activities accumulated to comparing Rolling Rock bottles to the male anatomy, eating nothing but burgers and dogs, dancing to Shakira, and watching the "Nap Committee" form before our eyes. We all didn't know each other extreemly well but we all had a wonderful time, and when night fell it wasn't any different. We all cared when one of us fell of the cliff, or couldn't decide who he was going to make out with that night, or if he should put another marsh mellow on the fire. I was daring enough to try things that I had never done before such as swim while intoxicated, or smoke hookah from a bong. When midnight came around we all supported each other's theory that we should go to bed after such a hard days work, and when we woke up, we commemorated each other for the amount of alcohol that we consumed and the fact that all, but one, put our pants on correctly last night.

That morning was probably one of the most peaceful ones that I had felt in a long time. I woke up and walked outside to view a golden landscape that was breathtaking. And, as each of us rose to the occasion, we all proceeded to take a seat, looking at the earth in silence. No one had to speak, we all understood that everything, for that moment, was right in the world. All 18 of us, with our different conflicts and various anxious lives at home, were at peace then. No one had parents to worry about, or work later that day, or a heartbreak waiting at home, they just had the view of the river, and the mountains, and the occasional bird that would skim the sky's surface.

The volume of the day only grew to a loud whisper as we joked at what ensued the night before. Later, Don passed the guest book to sign. Many wrote short "thank you's" and some wrote a paragraph or two. When the book came to me, I decided to write about balance, for I had never felt such balance in my life. Because even after the three hour drive home, to which we combined with arrangements of classic rock, there was nothing that could describe this weekend.

This story doesn't even begin to describe the feelings I had there. I was content, happy, with who I was. I was the ideal me. I know that might sound strange but since the halfway mark in Freshmen year, I haven't had many moments of sheer contentiousness. I have only felt a struggle between the high school me, and the College me. Here, I found the balance between chill and hyper, lax and funny. No one judged me for what I did or said. Everyone was gracious, relaxed, accepting, and loving. And I realized that it was the people. The communication I got back from them, and connection we made. It was these people that I knew that I would be friends with no matter what. Not because we were in a play together, or choreographed a piece together, it was because we all respected and loved every moment. I'm not putting down theater or dance, you all know me better than that, but I'm recognizing that sometimes life isn't about those things. Life isn't about getting that part, or having those friends. Life is about the moments you gather and the connections that you establish, and aiming to feel the way I felt that weekend. Maybe that's why I do theater, to try to find that feeling again through other's stories, but I know that I can't replicate that formula again. All I know is that I want to feel it again. And I hope to God that I can feel it with the people that I love now. I don't want to start all over again. I don't want to look for a new beginning. I like where I am now, who I'm with now. At least I think I do. I can't help but get the feeling that I went about it all wrong. Not to say that I don't like the friends that I gathered this past year, just that I took a weird path. I know better than to judge people. I know better than to aim for a status. I also know better than to say that I can escape these things. We can all wish they would go away but, lets be honest, they're inescapable.

I once heard someone say that: "The hardest thing to be, is yourself." I completely agree. There is something about getting to know yourself that is extreemly hard. To do justice to yourself with every decision in every moment. I have a feeling that it is something deep within and I wish it came as an instinct and maybe it does. But then why do we have logic, and reason, and a two sided mind that can see from a completely different point. There is nothing I can really do but exist, and try, and accept, and most important learn, and feel. I don't know who I am going to be this year, but I am going to try really hard to be who I, not my mom, not my best friend but who I want to be.