Study Day

Thursday, April 29th, 2010. It's study day for the population of Middle Tennessee State University. Finals week begins tomorrow.

I was rejoicing yesterday at the last day of classes having finally arrived and then passed at 3:45 PM. The end of classes for me means no more daily homework, final projects are all behind me, and, most importantly, I don't have to go to class! All that's left are six tests, and that feels like a breeze at this point.

By late morning on Wednesday, my junior year will officially be complete. *cue sigh of relief*

The magical covering of the night.

I have a theory about people. In reality, I probably have several. But we'll focus on one for now.

I am convinced that the best time to hang out with people is at night. The later, the better. And if you can make it to sunrise, that's even greater.

Why do I think this?

With or without other people, interesting things happen at night. Spoken like a true nocturnal creature, which I consider myself to be. The night carries an unexplained magic.

Its this that I think comes over people and creates a nighttime behavior that is distinct from their daytime behavior. There's also exhaustion, which can have a profound impact on a person. We can't forget that. But, based on my own experience and observations, I don't think its just exhaustion.

This nighttime behavior is often much more entertaining than daytime behavior. It's also much more honest, candid.

Introversion is one of the characteristics I possess, and it translated into intense shyness for many years. I don't feel like I'm so shy anymore, but I'm reserved enough most of the time that it may seem like I'm really shy. Back when I started formulating this theory, I still considered myself to be severely shy. But I noticed that when I was up late with people, particularly good friends, I would find myself doing things that I didn't usually do in the day. I felt much more relaxed. And people increasingly started to say things to me like, "I never thought I would hear you say those words," or "what are you doing?" I also was much more ready to share the deep things of my heart, because there's something vulnerable about nighttime. I'm sure in many cases exhaustion was mixed in there, which would undoubtedly muddle my presence of mind and persuade me to abandon pretense. But I have a history of being up late, so on many occasions I would have slept at least half the day before, and, therefore, I wasn't tired. When night came, I felt like a light came on inside me.

And I noticed this in other people. I would meet certain people whom would catch my attention as being interesting, someone I figured I would like to get to know, but I couldn't really get a full grasp on their personality and there wasn't much opportunity to get to know them, which is always a sad thing for me. Then, we would finally share a late night, and a bond would form. We would act goofy together. Or have a serious discussion about very personal things, and I would finally feel like I got a view of who that person really is. A view that I could at best glimpse in the daytime. Similarly, I felt like I was actually able to give them a good representation of myself.

So when I want to spend time with people, although I don't ever tell anyone this, I really want to do it at night. Always.

I mentioned earlier that the night seems to have a vulnerable quality. After saying that, it got me to thinking. Why is that? I believe it's true, but I haven't considered what makes it so.

Perhaps it is because it is night. Night is characterized by an absence of light. Light exposes things, whether you want them to be exposed or not, and there's little to do to escape it aside from hiding or covering yourself. Maybe people don't want to be forcefully exposed, so they hide in the day. But at night, there's not an inescapable brightness glaring in their face. They feel comfortable there in the darkness, so they can let go. They can expose themselves on their own terms, which is important. But also, in a way, it doesn't feel like exposure, because the darkness still provides a sense of covering, even though you may consciously understand that you're exposing yourself.

I certainly don't feel entirely like myself during the day. So even if my theory doesn't apply to everyone, I think it applies to myself. You should talk to me at night.

Who I am.

I was reminded of something tonight. I didn't necessarily forget it, but it was something that I hadn't taken the time to actively think about much in recent days. Which is tragic.

Jason Gray posted a blog for Sanctus Real about a song that he co-wrote for them called "I Want to Get Lost." In it he talks about the importance of finding your identity in Christ.

This is something I know like I know my name. My name is something that identifies me, and as important as I think my name is, even more important than that is firmly rooting myself in Jesus and letting him be what defines me.

A discussion on this topic started on Jason Gray's message boards, and I shared that the biggest thing that's helped me in remembering my identity in Christ is to pursue truth. And it takes a conscious effort. I started typing out that I have to stop and ask myself, especially when I'm having a particularly hard time with something, "Okay, what is true, right here, right now?," and as I typed that, I realized that I haven't done that in a while. And I've been battling so many lies.

So, right here, right now, what is true?

Jesus is true. And I am in him, he is in me.

Parties with food.

It was my original intent to begin this with "This week has been a monster of a week."

But I can't say that. I've had worse weeks. Worse days. Worse months. And even if that weren't the case, this week has been full of too much good and I have smiled too much for me to call it a "monster."

It has been tough, though.

This was the last full week of classes. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday next week will be the last three days of classes this semester, and finals week starts on that Friday, a week from tomorrow. Or today, considering that most, if not all of you will be reading this as Friday is well underway.

I pulled an all-nighter Tuesday. I was expected to show up to my pop culture class on Wednesday with a 10-page paper in my possession, and I had nothing written at the beginning of Tuesday. That paper was also supposed to have at least 16 sources, but since it was only peer review day, and the final draft was not yet due, I didn't even try to make that happen. I just decided to squeeze ten pages out of the sources I already had so that I would have something to present to my classmates.

Wednesday night, the plan I had made in my head was to cram for the music theory test I had the next morning. But after having been awake for a number of hours that I don't care to calculate, that plan fell through. I fell asleep in the early evening, and slept for at least 12 hours. Sometime in the night, when I woke up briefly, I told myself that I would try to study before class the next morning. The next morning, this morning, came and I tried to wake myself up on several occasions, but it wasn't working. I would wake up, read a few tweets, try to study the pieces of music I was supposed to analyze for the test, something, and I would drift off again. So I would tell myself, "Okay, surely if I let myself sleep just a little bit longer, I'll be able to wake up and still have time to get some real studying done."

I went through that process at least three times. Even with 12+ hours of sleep, my body did not want to be awake. All that sleep was probably why I was so groggy. I can't remember the last time I slept that long. I average approximately half that. So I imagine my body was greedily saying, "Hey, I like this. Let's keep going."

But at about an hour before I needed to leave for school, I was half awake enough to check the time, and when I realized how late it was getting and how much I really needed to study, I made myself stand up and go downstairs. Getting up and moving helped, but I was still half asleep for a while.

I studied as much as I could. Which wasn't much. And I walked into the test feeling immensely unprepared. Mercifully, it seemed to be much easier than I expected. I'm hoping I got a good grade.

My Facebook status from Tuesday read as follows: "Emily Lynn Harmon has all the symptoms of no time and high stress. Well, maybe not all of them." When I say not all of them, I was considering that fact that I have had neither a mental, nervous, nor emotional breakdown. Which is good. But one specific symptom I was thinking of was my complete disinterest in food. There are two things that push eating off of my radar: busyness and any feelings that could be put in the category of "not good," which applies to stress. Some people turn to food when they feel bad. Not me. I'm much more inclined to eat when I'm happy. And while I can't say that I've been unhappy, I haven't consistently been the jolliest person the past couple of weeks. Thus, my eating has been more sporadic than usual. I stopped long enough for a few minutes last week to think about what had been the last thing I had eaten, and I realized that in the previous approximately 40 hours all I had eaten was a little turkey sandwich and a few walnuts. And during that time, I had: walked all over my college campus; climbed a lot of stairs; carried heavy loads of books and whatnot; driven to another state and back, taking in a concert while in said state; and gotten even less sleep than usual. I'm pretty sure this isn't a good thing. I think somewhere I was told that a body isn't supposed to operate on such limited resources.

At the moment, I feel as if a great deal of pressure has been released. When that happens, it's easy to feel like celebrating, to forget all obligations and throw yourself a party. A party with food. That party doesn't have to have any attendants aside from yourself. Some really great parties happen solo. But whomever the attendants, a party is certainly longed for.

But in reality, there's still a lot of pressure on me. Pressure that I can't ignore if I hope to do well in my classes. It's just exponentially smaller than what it was. So I can't drop everything and party just yet. Although eating the party food before it spoils may not be a bad idea.

My prayer this weekend is that I will stay focused when all I want to do is go read a book, bake a cake, sing all day, or write for a few hours on a subject that has not been dictated to me by anyone else, in whatever form I choose. I have to keep reminding myself that there's only a week and half until it's done. That's one aspect of school that I'm grateful for: I know at some point it will be done.

"You're [in a car], don't notice the miles and months fly by."

For those who may not know, my place of residence has changed a great number times over the course of my life. So far, the longest I've lived anywhere (and when I say this I mean physical space in the same location; I've lived in the same town but not the same dwelling for more than three years, and there have also been instances in which my dwelling has moved) is approximately three years, and that being the exception, it seems like an eternity. Three years has only happened once. The average is much shorter. I've been in this house from which I am writing for two years now, and I've had an underlying feeling that I could be moving at any moment for a while. That's how ingrained it is in me.

Arkansas is my place of birth. My family left there, after I had already lived in three different places, a few months before I turned seven years old. Because all of our extended family still lives there, many trips have been made back there. So many trips, in fact, that as a child I quickly became accustomed to being in the car for at least 6-7 hours. For about as long as I can remember, that length of time has felt like nothing.

When I was in the fourth grade, my parents sent in an application to an academic magnet school for me, to see if I could make it in for middle school starting in the fifth grade. Apparently my grades fit their standards, because they let me in, and I started going there when I was 10 years old. I mention this because the school was in downtown Nashville. I didn't live in downtown Nashville. Anyone who has been in downtown Nashville during rush hour traffic knows how long it can take to get anywhere. From my house to my school, one way, was approximately one hour. Going to school and from, I spent at least two hours in the car every day. My poor mother spent four hours, going there and coming back twice, once in the morning, once in the afternoon.

When I was 12, my parents started home schooling me, and not because of all the driving. Even though the word "home" is in home school, that did not translate into me never going anywhere. Like the other things I have mentioned, it actually also contributed to me spending long periods of time in the car. When you're home schooled, you have the freedom to go wherever, whenever, you want. So while we didn't go somewhere every day, it was a regular occurrence for us to load up in the car and be gone all day, going here, there and everywhere. At one point, the home school band my brother and I were in met quite a long distance from where we lived, so every band practice meant a short road trip. It also didn't help that the last place we lived before I started college was out in the middle of nowhere, so getting any place at all that wasn't the woods or a field took a time commitment. No Walmart right down the road. A neighbor with a still is what we had right down the road.

Considering all of this, I almost feel like I grew up in a car. Moving, visiting, going to school, almost everything I've done has required a great deal of time spent in a metal-framed contraption on four wheels.

Something else that struck me recently: even though I live in a house, and I've been living in it for two years, I still live in a suitcase. I don't have a place to put all of my clothes that don't hang in my closet, so luggage seemed like a logical choice in the absence of furniture.

Growing up in a car...living out of a suitcase even when you're in your home...could these be indicating something? It's interesting to consider the implications. Which is what I've been doing all evening.

What's important in life.

In recent times, there have been many things that I have decided not to worry myself with. In ideal situations, I would do them differently, but in the grand scheme of things they aren't all that important, and I have many other important things vying for my time and attention.

One of these things that has been lowered on the totem pole of importance is the cleanliness of my room. There's rarely a moment when there isn't at least one article of clothing on the floor. Also on the floor is a suitcase from a trip four weeks ago that I haven't completely unpacked yet. And speaking of the floor, a good vacuum job is long overdue. I'm really happy I'm not one of those people who's grossed out by hair.

Cleaning off my bed before I lay down at night has lost importance too. I can't remember the last time I slept on my bed with nothing but me and my bedding. Whatever lands on it stays there, until I find a reason other than sleeping to take it off. I make sure that about half of it (or even a little less) is clear so that I have a place to lie down, then I lie down and I wonder if tonight will finally be the night that I knock something off.

Most nights, I don't even care what I sleep in anymore, either. Pajamas are not required. A couple of months ago, I fell into bed wearing a dress for the first time ever. The first time I can remember, at least. I assume it could be possible when I was very young that I fell asleep in a dress, and my parents decided to leave me in it in order to not wake me up. But I don't recall ever wearing a dress to bed. I've done it a few times since then, and I think I'm about to do it again.

Continuing with bed talk, I even almost convinced myself that sleeping in my bed wasn't important, and almost slept in my armchair one night within the past couple of months. My armchair is pretty big as far as chairs go, but considering that many chairs are just big enough for you to sit on, "pretty big" doesn't mean much. It's not fit for sleeping. But I was so tired that I didn't want to move the half a foot to get to my bed. So I pulled the ottoman over to try to get as cozy as I could, and after about a minute, when I hadn't fallen asleep and was feeling almost anything but cozy, I sternly told myself to get in the bed. Even if it is covered in junk, bed is better than no bed, so that is one thing that needs to keep its status of importance.

Most other things seem to be negotiable, though.

Emotionally induced promises.

When you're on an emotional high, whatever the emotion may be, it's really easy to determine within yourself that you're going to do something at another point in time, and then go on to proclaim to the world or anyone who will hear you that you are going to do that something at said point in time.

Right now, I can easily proclaim that I am going to blog more when school is out. Except of course the times when I am out of pocket and no where near my computer or an Internet connection.

Theoretically, this is possible. From my current perspective, I don't see why it won't happen. When not buried in an avalanche of academics, I would love to channel more of my creative juices into writing on my own time. And I am currently feeling so eager to write, that the thought of blogging from here until next month sounds like a good idea.

But my rational side is nagging at me. "You can't say that. You don't know what you're going to do. You may find that you lose interest. Or that you run out of things to say. Or that you end up being a lot busier than you expected. That promise can't be made."

So I'm not making that promise. But I am saying that at the moment that's what I want to do. And I'm fairly certain I'll make it happen. But if I don't, you've been sufficiently warned not to expect anything, so I hope all disappointment is kept to a minimum. Which it probably would be anyway, because the world nor my next-door neighbor's life hang on how much I blog. For this I am grateful.