Why My Dreams Are My Biggest Nightmares
It has been a few days since I last posted. My quick response is that I've been busy, but my short-but-accurate response is that I had a lot of things happen in a short time.
It's always difficult for me to dig out from under a mountain of new things; rather than sludge through it, I'd more likely wait until it's no longer pertinent and move on to a point where I can start again. This isn't good, but it's how I am.
I know this, and I've tried many times to do better. Still, old habits die hard. So today, I'm writing a confessional of my sins against myself and my potential.
It's all Paul's fault.
Just my luck that he, of all people, would be the one to pick up on it and mention it. He's my boy, but we are opposites in a sense. Most things that we agree on we do for different reasons, and many things we know we just don't have in common. Even our thinking is different, as is our outlook on the world.
He asked me last night if I was depressed here in Korea, and I said no. In truth I wasn't; there are some tensions that I'm dealing with which I think every foreigner deals with in a different country, but otherwise I'm enjoying myself quite nicely. Considering that I'm doing nothing that I'd be doing at home, I'm suprisingly satisfied.
So the topic turns to Korean. If you know Paul and you know me, you know that this is a common topic between us. If you know us well, you may have sensed that it is a sensitive topic for us. Paul was who I started learning Korean with, and he was a major influence in coming to Korea.
However, Paul likes to find the surest way to reach a goal. I , on the other hand like to find an easy path that works so that the entire process is an amicable learning experience. When we studied, he'd lecture me constantly about my half-hearted efforts, my lack of study time outside the classroom, and scoffed at my promises to improve. in his mind, his way was the best way to learn.
In my mind, his way was also the best way to learn, but I didn't feel like I was capable of that kind of dedication. By the time we stopped studying together, I had improved my study habits exponentially (though still I was a bad student), but without his constant nagging I knew my progress would fade fast.
The reason we stopped was because our schedules got complicated for about a month, and he felt my willingness for a short break was a sign of my lack of dedication. After that, he basically was skeptical of any effort I made, So I just stopped--which confirmed in his mind that I wasn't serious after all.
I tried to resume it a couple times but to no avail. Paul wanted me to prove my seriousness about Korean, but without his wall of inflexibility I consistently flopped and faltered.
In another great move for me, I then enrolled in a Korean class that was offered by the Korean Cultural Center in DC. They weren't nearly as strict as he was, and we met less often, but the classroom setting was enough to make me at least try not to look inferior to my peers. There weren't enough students for my Level 2 class the next session so I sat out--a very bad move for me. Again, Paul scoffed and wondered whter I really was interested in learning Korean at all.
This is my relationship with Paul. And I tell you all this because Paul tells me everything I know in my head but have no way of escaping. He confronts me last night, telling me to take advantage of my time here in Korea, because I have such an opportunity to finish school, learn Korean, and build a foundation for a successes in the future. He told me that if I didn't take full advantage of this time, that I probably will never be able to reach the same possibilities; I may not be able to recover from missing an opportunity of this magnitude and ease--I'm living in the country whose language I want to learn and I don't even have to work!--and that will seal my fate to a life of mediocrity.
What Paul doesn't know is that in my mind, I agree with him. In my mind I have the same cloud hanging over my head every day as I try, again, to make today the day things are different. The words that he told me last night are the same words that I sobbed to my grandmother when we weren't able to obtain the loan I needed to take classes this semester, and the words that make me dread going to bed each night knowing that again I've avoided the mountain of things in front of me and that tomorrow they'll be there; just older and more depressing. Paul does not know that I shafe these fears and resentments with my wife and with my mother on occasions that I just feel overwhelmed.
Paul does know, however, that he's probably the only person that will tell me these things. I don't know if other people don't know of if they really don't care, but they seem to always say say you're fine or don't worry about it or I know you'll do it next time. Paul tells me without flinching, and I hate it, but only because I know it's true and I cannot hide from the mirror of his words.
So today, Paul, I am depressed. Because I woke up feeling like the bonless entity that I am, doing just enough to get by all my obligations. I'm depressed because again I've decided that I'm going to try to heed your advice and walk like a man despite the fact that I've never used those muscles effectively for any sustained period in my entire life.
And, most likely, I'll sit here at this computer thinking to start something grand but instead whittle away the precious minutes of another day until I can no longer stay awake and go to bed as I do every other night. Late. Unaccomplished.
This is why it's all Pauls fault. Because he tells me what I want to hear; the truth. He tells me what I'm capable of; my hope. But after talking whith him I still have no idea where to start and so I avoid it until it's no longer pertinent and move to on to a point where I can start again. This isn't good, but it's how I am.
You're right Paul. Thanks for reminding me. =oS
