A Minor Detail

I just had a thought.

When people ask me to tell them something about myself, I always tell them the hollowest answers. "I'm 22. I'm from Tinton Falls. I go to Ramapo and I'm an accounting major." Okay... so what? What does that really even say about me?

Don't get me wrong here; I'm not trying to imply that all of this information I provide is entirely irrelevant. Knowing the history of an individual can be significant, such as where they live or work or go to school or how long they've experienced the journey of life. But that information does not define you; it's just a trivial label. It's information of minimal value. If all someone knew about me is that I'm a 22-year old accounting major, then they have no clue who I truly am, what I genuinely feel, and what my values are.

Yet, when prompted to describe myself to others, I still spit out the same meaningless banter. Why is that?

Maybe I'm lazy and don't feel like getting into detail with people when it comes to a subject as sensitive as myself. Or maybe it's not possible to paint a true portrait of yourself for someone in one coversation. Or maybe I don't know what I want to tell people because I'm not entirely sure myself. I know the expression is "if anyone knows me, it's me," but I still don't know how to put "me" into words. I know this sounds stupid, but I feel the people who have gotten to know me over the years through friendships can do a better job of saying who I am (in words) than I can.

Even though I just went on this rant, I suppose it's not going to change the type of responses I'll generally give people when they want to know something about me. After all, I'm not the only one who does this. We all do. We rehash our hometowns and birthdates and astrological signs. Maybe small talk is what people want to hear?

So I guess, at this point, you're expecting me to offer a legitimate explanation of who I am...

Fuck. Can I get back to you? I haven't entirely figured that part out yet.

Parallel Lines

There's something therapeutic about being "home".

But why is that? Is it because we're accustomed to it? Can "home" be considered one of the few things that we can all call a constant in our lives? Something we can retreat to when we need a few moments to collect ourselves or a change of pace?

Just being in Monmouth county while spending quality time with family or hanging out at a diner with old friends feels like a blast from the past. It almost feels like I've gone through a time machine. There is some dissonance, however, between my experiences at "home" (what feels like the past) and myself (the present). I'm not the same person I was four-or-so years ago. I've changed, likely for better and for worse, as has the world around me. Just maybe not at the same pace.

Of course, I'd be a liar if I were to claim that "home" hasn't changed at all. It's actually altered drastically in some respects, so I suppose even constants are changing. But there's still something familiar about "home".

It's nice to be back. Gimme a few hours though, and I'll be ready to leave.

Tinton Falls is "home", but Ramapo is my real home.