The title is everything. Here I have sat for fifteen minutes, trying to conjure up a title for this blog... I think of everything I find humorous or trendy; statements that can carry some kind of depth to an artisitc mind, yet sound like I've barely put thought into it. I think of titles that would catch the average joe's attention who would otherwise look for something that is... well.... average I guess. I've thought of phrases that people would find "clever" or "catchy" but I have yet to think of what I like.
I often find myself wondering... "who are these faceless people that I am trying so hard to impress?"
Thinking of these things, I'm reminded of my junior high and high school experiences.
At that age (and even still) there are titles for everything. You have the jocks, the preps, the skaters, the goths, the band kids, the artists. Everything has a title. Even the word "teacher" gives you some sort of title. You always hear of Johnny the goth, or Amanda the prep. We give titles for everything. And somehow it always seems to attatch itself to our identity.
In junior high and high school, it was too much of a struggle to keep up with the new fashion trend that seemed to be changing weekly. While the other kids were wearing Sketchers, I was wearing Airwalks, the Payless look alikes. While girls in school were straightening their hair, I was trying to figure out how to iron the frizz that I had for hair (or what my mother would call "curls" ) because I couldn't afford a hair straightener. My whole adolesence seemed to be filled with this sort of unintentional defiance. But as I look back, there is something I can't help but notice. Despite all of my fashion faux pas' I was still liked by people. Which has brought me to the conclusion that I don't think it was all the effort hat I put into being cool that made people like me (because I definately failed at that), but rather who I was that brought about the attention.
I was voted class clown in both junior high and high school (again, another title). I always seemed to be friends with the most popular girls in school, and the only people that disliked hearing me speak were my teachers. (But I'm pretty sure that had to do with my timing... Appearantly when the classroom is quiet, that is not an open invitaion for you to practice some of your stand up routines). Now, I don't say all of this because I'm conceited or I am one of those girls who is still living in her high school days and needs to boast about her social status and social accomplishments from years ago to fufill the lack thereof . But I do say these things because I think of all the years that I've wasted, dedicated to trying to impress people with my style and even humor.... and I've realized that they are exactly that. Years wasted.
Whether I'm in junior high, worrying about what brand I'm wearing, or whether I'm twenty-one years old wondering which coffee shop is the most artistic or likely to hire employess with square black framed glasses, I find I am always thinking of an external opinion. The opinion of those faceless people again. No matter how old I get, I find I am subconsciencely always getting stuck in this rut. I've come to a place where I've seemed to have lost my opinions. My thoughts. My likes. My dislikes.
But I think these days are coming to an end... Because I've decided to take a year of journeying and discovering a little bit more of who I think Mable is.
I'm ready to decide if I really do think Pizza is better cold or not. Whether I actually do prefer beach sand over snow, or if I say that because I know that's everyone elses favorite thing to do. I'm ready to decide if I think Obama's a good president or not or If I actually like art museums, or I just go to "look" artistic.
I know whose I am,
but now, I think I'm ready to find out who I am.
The title is everything.
Mable is my title.
Here starts my journey to find out who Mable is.
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