I’m, uh, I’m really lucky to have the friends that I have. While, admittedly, there aren’t too many of them, they’re all pretty phenomenal, and I wouldn’t be able to get by without them.
A lot of people talk about how independent they are. I’m kind of independent, in that I can feed and clothe and clean myself, and I can get myself to class, and I can spend money somewhat wisely. But I’m not altogether emotionally independent. I’m fairly emotionally dependent upon my friends. And when I need them, they’re always really supportive and amazing. I feel like I can trust them completely. And I hope they feel the same way about me. (Circumstantial evidence would suggest that they do.)
People call me smart. A lot.
I’m not bragging, I’m just stating a fact. They say, “Oh, Nicole, you’re really smart!” Now, this is kind of weird to me, because a lot of the time, I don’t feel very smart. (I think that’s mostly because I choose to surround myself with people way smarter than me, though. Doesn’t do much for the ol’ self-esteem.)
So anyways, I was listening to an old This American Life today. The one where they talk about how money is a fabrication. And I was sitting there thinking, “Well, yeah. I’ve basically known that since I was a kid.” And then I realized! That’s why people call me smart! Because I remember all the things I wondered as a kid! I remember all of the philosophical questions I wanted answered when the world was still new to me, and I keep asking myself those questions. And I try to find answers.
So basically, it’s not that I’m particularly intelligent. It’s that I keep looking at the world like it’s new. I’ve made a conscious effort not to simply accept the truths presented to me at face value.
This probably makes me sound pretentious? I don’t know. It’s 2 a.m. and I have a midterm in 9 hours.
So earlier on, I talked about how I thought it would be easier to grieve if I had a God to believe in, a knowledge of something more. Well, I read the blog of a classmate I seldom talk to because I’m a creep (I’m a weirdo, what the hell am I doing here) and she’s pretty devoutly Christian, and she’s got a family member with cancer right now, too. But the way she described it, it almost sounded worse. She said that a part of her thought that if she had prayed harder, more, her step-father wouldn’t have gotten cancer, or his treatments would have worked by now.
I cannot imagine feeling that kind of guilt. One time, I left my shoes out and my mum tripped on them and she sprained her wrist, and I felt guilty about that for years. I only stopped feeling guilty when she broke her ankle and it wasn’t my fault. But to feel that you could have stopped a loved one from getting cancer… I don’t think I could handle that.
So anyways, that realization has made me feel less like a martyr. Like my atheism was a burden with which I was suffering to do the right thing, and believe what my heart tells me. Now, it’s just that I’m doing what my heart tells me, which is as much as a burden as everyone else has.