I hurt myself watching a movie. I am special. Ha. I have hurt myself sitting on a couch talking to a friend. I have a body that has too be perfectly in alignment to not hurt. Any turning of a degree held for any length of time resulting in pain for me. So, if I turn my head to talk to you in the back seat of a car from the front: agony. I can’t sit on a couch and talk to you side by side either, but enough about me. I bring it up because it raises the thought in me of “Why?”.
Why me? I did yoga since I was 19, I ran, I ate organic, and all homemade food growing up. I went to herbalists and alternative “medicine” doctors from 13 to 30. Oh- yes I so just air quoted medicine. It should be called alternative to medicine, as in you are going to die. Okay maybe I am a little bitter; but I spent thousands on chiropractors, physio, and orthotic inserts for my shoes, to say nothing of the herbs, drinks, homeopathic remedies and other snake oil I tried. Reiki. Ha! Possibly my stupidest “investment.”
Why do we live only to die? Face death enough times and you start to realise you are here to die. So why anything. Insert blank here. Why work? Perhaps to create something that lives on after you, a legacy. That is the only good answer I have come across so far.
If there is one thing I know it is that education is our greatest gift. With the abilities to think, reason, read and write we humans have created a vast amount of information. Sadly, most of it is drivel--thank you internet—but there are systems of recording information to pass on the future generations that amaze me. Science being the foremost example.
At university, I saw for the first time how little I knew in life. You think you know a lot, but it is only because you have stayed in the place you grew up and are not exposing yourself to new things. Suddenly I saw departments of specialized information, it was incredible. Anything you wanted to know seemed to have a topic. Find one you love and you can research and hopefully add to the conversation one day. It seems to me a good reason to live, a life well lived.
I have strayed from my point which was how hard it is to find “your tribe.” Even I hate the word tribe, as it sounds like some back woods hippy group or a literal ground sleeping hunting homed; not my sort of scene. My tribe for one would not be called a tribe. It would be a clique, but friendlier. Black spiked heels with red soles, designer handbags and Dior makeup. Women that shop and enjoy life, a glass of wine, sans children. Intellectuals. Nothing better than a lady all decked out because she loves makeup studying the books. Why was I such an anomaly? Makeup, jewelry—oh the dripping jewelry—silk scarves and perfectly styled… for class. Class with kids wearing sweatpants. It was me. It was fun. It was the best 3 years of my life: UNB.