I'm claustrophobic.
The positive way to put this is that I like wide open fields, large, lapping bodies of water, the beach before and after everyone has come or gone, empty elevators and 360 degrees between me and the last person who made the door revolve. That list would be much longer if I thought about it for another hour, day or week. I back up when someone in a grocery line stands too close whether they're in front of or behind me. I'd rather pull my car over and let another pass than suffer through a tailgating episode. I board planes after others cram and hurry to arrive frantically at an assigned seat. It will be there whether they're first or last to get on.
I am not antisocial, but solitary, and this arm's length need extends roundly to all my senses. I am downright intolerant of slamming doors, incessant public cell phone conversations, gum cracking,"outside" sounds taking place inside or television-as-background noise. Some of these are futile intolerances in a new media/digital age. I am attuned to quiet. To others' voices and my memories of them, to the kaleidescopic variety of sounds that water can make--splashing, running, breaking on a shore, drip-drip-dripping, rain's changing textures and temperatures, the quiet of a snow "storm"; I have never heard a snowstorm make any thunderous noise. My aural preferences are rooted in meaningful and natural things, earth's seasons and the delightful side of our shared humanity.
When I look, I like a moment to engage what I see--not to experience anxiety I associate with millisecond half-shots followed by unidentifiable things from different angles that appear in music videos, avante-garde films and new commercials. If I am listening to the news, I do not appreciate "ticker tape" borders running interference against my senses, competing for the status of "first to tell" as both anchor and border create their own kind of attention deficit disorder. When I look I want to see--to be able to identify a lovely frame, face, unique profile, beautiful wool or fine linen, a still image that changes every time I see it, a moving image I can associate with pictures I know, a baby's face that morphs with every mood and age, yet retains traces of it from birth to maturity. Looking and merely "seeing" are different experiences. Looking is neutral, curious, perceiving and making an effort to understand. Seeing is experiencing the passing of an object through the biological mechanisms of vision.
The positive way to put this is that I like wide open fields, large, lapping bodies of water, the beach before and after everyone has come or gone, empty elevators and 360 degrees between me and the last person who made the door revolve. That list would be much longer if I thought about it for another hour, day or week. I back up when someone in a grocery line stands too close whether they're in front of or behind me. I'd rather pull my car over and let another pass than suffer through a tailgating episode. I board planes after others cram and hurry to arrive frantically at an assigned seat. It will be there whether they're first or last to get on.
I am not antisocial, but solitary, and this arm's length need extends roundly to all my senses. I am downright intolerant of slamming doors, incessant public cell phone conversations, gum cracking,"outside" sounds taking place inside or television-as-background noise. Some of these are futile intolerances in a new media/digital age. I am attuned to quiet. To others' voices and my memories of them, to the kaleidescopic variety of sounds that water can make--splashing, running, breaking on a shore, drip-drip-dripping, rain's changing textures and temperatures, the quiet of a snow "storm"; I have never heard a snowstorm make any thunderous noise. My aural preferences are rooted in meaningful and natural things, earth's seasons and the delightful side of our shared humanity.
When I look, I like a moment to engage what I see--not to experience anxiety I associate with millisecond half-shots followed by unidentifiable things from different angles that appear in music videos, avante-garde films and new commercials. If I am listening to the news, I do not appreciate "ticker tape" borders running interference against my senses, competing for the status of "first to tell" as both anchor and border create their own kind of attention deficit disorder. When I look I want to see--to be able to identify a lovely frame, face, unique profile, beautiful wool or fine linen, a still image that changes every time I see it, a moving image I can associate with pictures I know, a baby's face that morphs with every mood and age, yet retains traces of it from birth to maturity. Looking and merely "seeing" are different experiences. Looking is neutral, curious, perceiving and making an effort to understand. Seeing is experiencing the passing of an object through the biological mechanisms of vision.
I realize how retrograde this post sounds. It may also seem cheesy and nostalgic. But sometimes convictions are borne out of the most cheeseball kinds of sentimentalities others have disposed of through time and "progress". I like an orange off a tree, a 100% cotton garment, a pen and paper, getting slowmail, sending a package wrapped in brown paper, Crest "original" toothpaste and "band-aid" bandages. Walnuts are filled with specially shaped nut meat and memories of cracking them with my Granny, ecstatic to preserve a "whole" half. Ice cream tastes so good because Dad would take us to Thrifty's ice cream counter for a scoop. I always had orange or rainbow sherbet. Homemade cookies and goodies reveal my sister's cooking talents and my love for receiving them each Christmas. Enchiladas have become a celebratory "home fixin'" because they remind me of California and my mother made them well. Plain spoon size shredded wheat is somehow all mine.
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