Like Watching the Sunrise

I've always wondered at the concept of growing up. It's a complex process, and a transition that's impossible to pinpoint exactly. There doesn't seem to be a moment in time you can press your finger against and exclaim, "Aha! Here marks the turning point into adulthood."

No, it seems much more gradual, and seamless, than that. Of course, there are certain milestones everyone is familiar with (in no particular order): the eighteenth and twenty-first birthdays, graduating from college, moving out, marriage. But all of these things happen in different ways, and at different times, for all of us.

I think that growing up is like watching the sunrise. The world seems to barely change at first, yet before you know it, dawn has broken, and what was cool and dark and quiet only a few minutes before is now flooded with light and life and warmth. It is both fast and slow, both a stark change and a gradual one. The more I live, the more I see that life is a combination of paradoxes; it seems I have found one yet again.

I know several people - peers of mine, people I went to high school with - who are recently married. It's been very strange, watching people I know go through such a big life transition; mainly because it doesn't seem like much has changed. Just the other day, I was looking at photos from someone's honeymoon, and all I could think was that these people looked just the same as they always had. Nothing had changed. They were still the couple I had always known.

And that's when I realized that while marriage is a huge change, in some ways, it's not. People don't change completely after they get married. The next day, you're still the same person, the same couple, that you've always been. With your same mannerisms, sense of humor, goals, dreams, vices.

I think the reason this discovery came as such a surprise to me was that for all of my life up until now, there has been a great gap between me (the child) and married people (the mature adults who have their lives more or less sorted out). But now, I'm entering the stage of life where the adults, the ones becoming married people, are my peers, and I myself am a part of that group. The gap between me and adults that I know is slowly, yet quickly, shrinking.

I've always thought that I'll never realize I've grown up until it's already happened. I pictured myself looking into the mirror one day and realizing that I am no longer a child. That day hasn't come yet, and I'm not quite sure when it will. But it is coming, slowly, and quickly.

Big rocks, bigger sky, and not a soul in sight

I wandered around my house tonight, not sure what to do with myself. I pittered at the piano for a few minutes, and then picked up a giant book of Ansel Adams photography. I wanted company, so I made my way to the kitchen, sat down at the table across from my mom, and opened the book, rather listlessly.

I read a bit of the introduction, and learned that Ansel Adams documented the world with his photos longer ago than I thought. He first visited Yellowstone when he was fourteen, and I remember a date from the 1930s - early on in his career?

"Is Ansel Adams dead?" I asked my mom, bluntly.
She replied that she wasn't sure, but probably, yes.

Tired of reading, I flipped through the book, which is divided into sections: sky, water, plant, rock, and others. Any one of the photos are breathtaking. I'd like to see some of his color photos, I thought to myself, my eyes scanning black-and-white landscape after black-and-white landscape.

What I thought most interesting from the introduction was this: Adams' own description of his work. He saw it as divided into two sections: "within" and "without", "without" being his hired jobs (more color photos), and "within" being his own creative productions. Very cogent, Mr. Adams. Almost anything could be categorized as such, because all inspiration comes from one of two places: without one's self, or within one's self.

Sitting there, at the kitchen table, I reminded myself of my grandfather, whom we visited in France just a few weeks ago. In the evenings, when it would be just a few of us over at his house, he would sit there, at the dining room table, and read articles chosen at random from the World Book Encyclopedia.

The thought of it makes me a little sad, because I think he is lonely. I was a little lonely tonight, so I flipped through Ansel Adams' work with no particular direction or investment. To behave such likely means one of two things: one either possess some amount of free time and nothing better to do, or one is a little lonely. I suppose they are not mutually exclusive, and perhaps not necessarily bad. But I always hated saying goodnight to my grandfather, leaving him alone in that great big house.

Fuuuun.

Maybe stress inspires me to write. I guess it at least kicks me out of the "slouch couch" mode my mind was in a little while ago.

I was online checking up one some school stuff, and I noticed that I had some "late payments" on my account with the University of New Mexico. Let me explain: I had applied a while ago, because I had been in between what I wanted to do about school for a long time, and I still have an account open. Upon calling, I was informed by a bored-sounding (aren't they always bored-sounding? Could the people who work these jobs at least attempt to feign interest to make us lowly callers feel slightly more significant?) woman that none of my payments had been made for the fall semester. Uh-huh. Wait, what? Listen, bored woman, I did not attend UNM in the fall. I had considered it, so I had registered for some classes, but I decided against it and I made sure to inform admissions and other various offices of that decision.

Apparently, there's a rule I wasn't aware of that even if I tell UNM that I'm not attending, and they check it off and tell me that there's nothing else I need to do, I still need to drop the classes I registered for. I have an ugly, sneaking suspicion that this is some kind of common knowledge that I should have acquired by now, being in the middle of my second year of the university world, but it's not. Bored woman referred me to another office to sort this out, and told me that I might have to file an appeal, which could take (here's the fun part) up to four weeks to process.

So I call the second office, and am answered by a woman who (Lord bless her) had a little more human empathy toward my situation. Other than emotional support, however, there wasn't much more she could do for me. She said that I needed to call the office who had referred me to her, and sort it out with them. By this time, the offices were going to close in a matter of minutes, and I was a little too frustrated to call the bored woman again.

I guess I'll be making a bunch of phone calls tomorrow, and hopefully I can sort this out without having to file that appeal.

Slouch Couch

Wow, I've been really horrible at my "write one thing a day" rule. The past few days I've just been lying around my house, which is empty save for my two cats, Hawkeye and Hoss. Hoss is keeping me company right now on the couch, and I'm watching an episode of CSI.

In a way, I feel like my Christmas break just got started. The first week back was so crazy, what with Christmas and shopping and seeing family, and then we left for France, and I've been back since Thursday. A couple of my friends are already back at school. Weird.