Lets Plan A Murder Or Start A Religion

For my third essay for the Naropa University application, I have to write about a "transformative experience", whether it consists of a person, a book, an event, a musician, anything. I was able to come up with the first two essays within about two days, but for some reason I've had a real hard time with this one. Mostly because it's hard for me to narrow down and pinpoint specific dates and people and things that have transformed me in some way. I have all of these things that have influenced me in some way, but I have a hard time conveying how. I wanted to get really specific, too; I didn't want to be vague or general. I wanted to be real specific about an experience and be able to describe my emotions exactly. I wanted it to be an experience that only I could feel, and only I could convey, but also be able to do it in a way that I could get people to connect and feel a part of it. I'm just really picky, ok?

I eventually got over the ridiculous belief that there actually is an emotion and experience that only I could understand and feel. No matter what event I use, no matter what emotions I talk about, someone in this world will have gone through that exact same thing. I don't know why I thought I was so different.

At first I wanted to write about my connection to Catcher in the Rye. So I sat down and started to write. And then I realized that though Catcher in the Rye had changed me, I'd no idea how it had changed me. My connection to that book left me speechless, and I couldn't figure out how to express my love for that book without seeming cliche. The same happened with The Dharma Bums. I just couldn't do it.

I then thought about writing about my friends. I thought it'd be cool to write about the Silly Squad, until I saw how the words "Silly Squad" looked all typed out, and then tossed that idea. I thought about writing about Amanda, and how she's changed my way of thinking. But I knew all my other friends would hate me if I did that, and I've never been very good with writing about people anyway. There's something so intangible about human beings; when you write about them, they never sound as good as they really are. The only person I've really been able to write about is myself, and even that sometimes is a hit and miss.

I thought about writing about Metamorphoses, that gorgeous play that I was in and all the beautiful people I met. But I realized that was almost four years ago, and got really depressed. I wanted something more recent. So then I thought about writing about my time in San Francisco, and how much that changed me, not only physically (hello, black hair and nose ring), but mentally and emotionally and spiritually. But that topic seemed all too general and non-specific; that event happened over a four month period. I wanted something that happened in an instant and then vanished. Something almost magical, but cruel at the same time. Something that can't be expressed through pictures, or any concrete images. Something abstract.

Then I thought about the time here and now, the present, where I am. I am in Ventura. But it's not the same Ventura that I knew. I only left for a short while, but during that time everything changed. The people I hung out with last year either have jobs taking up all their time now, or are merely gone. Or they found new crowds, or they have girlfriends or boyfriends, or some silly thing like that. Some relationships died. Needless to say, it's been hard for me to watch. These people who became so much a part of my life, and that I couldn't live without last year, had gone on, even in my absence. Their lives still progressed and unfolded even when I wasn't there to witness it. It made me feel very small. Until I realized that that was life.

Sometime during high school, I got stuck. I got stuck in a frame of mind, a very childish Peter Pan-like frame of mind. I did not want to grow up. Subconsciously I knew this, though internally I fought it. I immersed myself in theater and art and blamed my flighty ways on the fact that I was "an artist." "Artists" didn't have to answer to society; they could live through T.S. Eliot and Tennessee Williams, and not have to worry about grades and expectations, and the real world. As long as I was an "artist", I was a free spirit. And as a free spirit, I made some lousy choices. None of them had to do with alcohol or drugs, mind you; people seem to think that those are the only things that constitute "lousy choices." No, the major lousy choice I made was that I didn't apply myself.

I thought growing up was just a process, I thought it was just what happened as you got older. I didn't realize it was an actual way of thinking. But being back in Ventura and seeing how all of these things have changed, how life went on without me, it changed my mind about everything. People who are younger than me in years have surpassed me in thought and direction. And that's when I knew it was time to grow up. It's time for me to start being real. I always thought that when you grew up and started to become independent, you would lose sight of freedom and beauty. But then I realized that you only begin to see freedom and beauty when you grow up and become independent. The world really opens up for those who admit their faults and agree to move forward. I always fought against time and change, and I remember having so many reasons to do so. It's funny, though, because now I can't remember what any of those reasons were.

When I came back to Ventura, I thought I was moving backwards. But really, coming back here and getting to witness all that has changed and really getting to soak it all in, it's made me move forward in my ways of thinking. It's natural for people to move forward and change; it's unnatural to fight it. It's the fighting that messes you up, not the actual transformation. So what I'm trying to say is: I get it, World. I get it. I have to grow up. I'm sorry it took me so long to do so. Let me start now by submitting this last essay.