Goodbye?

I have mostly decided to give up something that has been a large part of me for quite a while: track.

There is a multitude of reasons for my making this decision, but there is one that is most easy to understand and probably the most respectable. I'm not stopping because of the running, but more because of the time and effort that must be invested in it. There are so many things that I want and need to do that I haven't been and wouldn't be able to do because of track.

In the past, I've always put the highest priority on band for the first half of the school year, then pushed it aside and made it secondary in the second half to track. Somehow, though, that's something that I don't think I can do here. Perhaps it's my being in a place of responsibility in the jazz band or the higher exposure to the director's observation. Maybe I'm just beginning to realize how much I care about my musicianship. For whatever reason, I don't think I can ignore band this year. I have the feeling that I'm going to have to put a lot more into it than I ever have before.

I've been developing more stable plans for my future than I've ever had before, plans that will require a lot of work and preparation. There's a lot that I want to work toward that will require quite a bit of time and effort. I don't plan on running after high school, so I feel that a high school's interest can be compromised for my lifelong dreams.

Running is something that has threatened to crush me before. It's such a high-stress activity at all times. In even the few weeks that I was beginning conditioning here at Riverton, I began to feel underneath more than I could handle. I was starting to break, much like how I felt last year, but this time into so many more pieces.

The activity of running itself, I'll admit, is something that I've never said I loved. I do, however, love the experience that can only be felt on a track, in a race. I love that pure exhilaration, that rush of adrenaline. I love that desire to always go faster. I love to give everything left in my body to that final stretch of track. I like the track atmosphere, which is one of both self-achievement and team camaraderie. I like the definite goals set with times and PRs. Yes, I even like the shoes. Track spikes are on my list of favorite material objects (I really do love spikes).

Also, I know how important my involvement in one of my father's favorite things has made him so happy. I know that by ending it, I'm probably killing a part of the joy within him. He's always had such an avid interest in track, which is part of the reason why I got into it in the first place. He was so looking forward to getting me into jumping this year.

That's why giving track up is something that is possibly tearing me apart. It truly has been a huge part of me, and there are very few activities that I can say that about. Yes, I have quit things before, but none of them having such a hold on me as this. I don't necessarily want to give it up, I just feel like it's something that should be done. Still, as I write this, I don't feel like it can be true that I'm quitting track.

Perhaps, if there's any chance I'll be let to, I'll be able to maybe be a jumper-only. I know I'm really no good at jumping, but it could perhaps ease some of Dad's upset. But what track team lets someone show up only at meets to do nothing but jump?

In any case, I'll still go to meets, to watch and encourage. To feel that track atmosphere.

A Clarification

In my last post, I said that at Timpview, there "wasn't much room for fun." For that post's sake, I felt it was an accurate statement. However, it does need some elaboration to clarify what I really feel.

It's not that Timpview isn't fun. It's just missing a certain element, an element which I feel is important. It's hard to put words to it. This factor is what puts the awe into an ensemble. It's what makes a group something new and exciting.

I had fun at Timpview and I made a startlingly large number of memories for one year. I love the people there; why else would I keep showing up to visit? I realize now that the friends I made there are important to me, very important.

Needed

Yet another marching season gone. Just like that, it's passed.

This season carried its own challenges and plenty of them. Riverton's band is dysfunctional to say the least. It's been a learning experience, though. I've worked in great programs and under great directors, so I feel like I can bring something to this band. I feel like I'm finally needed.

In Easley, I felt like a contributing member. I wasn't necessarily absolutely needed, but I carried some weight. The Chelaks were a big deal there. We were definitely leaders in the program, even the little me.

After leaving Easley, I was pretty miserable. In Timpview's program, I felt like there wasn't much room for fun (sorry to my Timpview readers). It was a strict, no-nonsense band. That's good; they get a lot of work done in a short amount of time. It works for them, but I felt like it didn't work for me. I didn't feel like I fit as well into the program. I didn't know where I could help, what I could do; I wasn't needed.

So I left Timpview. I came here to Riverton. After my first rehearsal, I was honestly and truly frightened. This band had obvious issues; they spent three hours doing next to nothing. I didn't want to come back; I didn't know what to do. I thought I couldn't exist in a program that didn't work.

I made myself show up to rehearsals, though. I couldn't give up on band. It's all I have; it's who I am. At each practice, though, the internal issues only became more apparent. The leadership structure was shoddy and falling apart. The people didn't like one another. The staff and director weren't doing anything with our time. It was all enough to make me fall apart.

I found somewhere inside me a place that I could go for the three hours of rehearsal. I didn't like it; it was cold and distant and not a pleasant place to be. But it made things bearable. If I simply left whatever part of me that cared and went to this place, I could get through it. So for these summer rehearsals, I didn't say a word. I was shut off in this place of mine. I don't have a clue what people's impressions of me were. I don't know if they thought I was shy or simply didn't talk.

Things gradually got better. I started to let go of the "getting things done" hope and began to accept the time-wasting, carefree, relaxed aspect of this band. I began to hang around a group of people who at least acknowledged me. I still went to that place of mine, though.

When band camp rolled around, I didn't know what to expect. I was prepared for upset. We mostly wasted time. The band couldn't handle having a new director, who couldn't handle having a new band. Our drill wasn't completely written, so we spent a lot of time inside.

The season continued, and I began to introduce my "leadership" side of me. I tried to stop some of the crap that I saw; I tried making suggestions that would, in my opinion, benefit the band. I've gathered a lot from what works in a program and what doesn't. I tried to express that.

We went through the motions at rehearsals without really doing any work. I could see a mentality within the band that as long as we showed up, we would get better. That's not true, though, and we didn't. We remained at relatively the same level the entire season. People kept expecting our scores to go up, for us to place, but were shocked and upset when they didn't. They didn't want to put in any effort, though.

Now the season's over and not much has changed. People still predict the next section leaders using their method of picking whoever's been there the longest. There are still complete issues with attitudes. The bus is still an absolute wreck after our trips.

I have hope, though. I see these things and Mr. Faires sees that I see them. The band recognizes that I have experience and some of them look up to me. I wonder how much I can bring to this band in the remaining time I have left.

Still, though, I find myself back in that place inside my mind. A lot of what I have to say ends up shut off. I don't want to intrude or seem like a jerk, but is that what they need? Do they need someone to slap them in the face to get them to wake up?

Stress

My life should be relatively carefree, right? I'm a young teenager with no responsibilities and nothing to worry about, right?

I wish. With all my heart and soul, that's all I want. For some reason, however, I manage to make my little involvements into something that consumes me. I feel overwhelmed with this weight that's crushing down on me from all sides.

The most frustrating thing, though, is that this weight should be as light as a feather. The burden that I carry should only be a minor discomfort.

Really, I'm only involved in three things: school, band, and track. It doesn't seem like much, even to me. Each activity, however, has its ability to expand into a giant, all-consuming monster that just wants to tear me to pieces.

School:

I take school very seriously. There's no option to slack off or to miss an assignment. Every assignment I turn in must be the best work I can do. I try to finish projects creatively and with meaning, even if they are expected to be cheap and commonly done. If I don't get an assignment done until the last minute, I stay up as late as it takes me to get it done, even if it's not really important. I absolutely, no exceptions, unquestionably must get all A's, and preferably higher ones. I strive to be noticed by the teachers as excellent and maintain good stature in their eyes.

Band:

Music pretty much conquers my life. I love it and I love to be good at it. That's just the thing, though. I strive to be this amazing, accomplished, revered musician but I'm just not. I don't put in the practice hours to be one and I've never taken a real lesson. Yeah, I think it would be great to take private lessons and learn all this new stuff about my passion, but it just intimidates me so much. I don't take criticism well and I feel like I never have the time to dedicate to a weekly lesson.

I don't plan on making a living off of music, yet I still want to study like I will. I want to be the best even when I feel like I shouldn't be so devoted to this. I never practice nearly enough at all, so I always become super-stressed come audition time.

Track:

I want to be a good runner. I love to call myself a runner and I love being with runners. I'd like to call myself physically fit. I can't settle for last place in a race. I always want to beat my PR. I feel like running makes me a better person.

One problem: I never run. Yes, I go to all the track practices and conditioning sessions. Yes, I normally do fairly well in races. Yes, I take track seriously. I just never can strike up enough self-motivation to go out and run by myself. Outside of practice, I'm a lazy, good-for-nothing blob. This becomes a serious problem when the majority of training is self-done. Two weeks without conditioning does serious harm on a runner's physic. Any sort of break from regular practice (say, Winter Break) just absolutely kills me. I never get out and do what I need to do, even though I tell myself constantly that I need to. I beat myself up over it, but I just never can seem to push myself to stop being such a bum.

See the common monster between the three?

It's me. I'm my greatest enemy. I hold myself back and I sabotage my chances of being what I want to be. Even now I beat myself up, which hurts me more. I can never seem to do what I need to do and I create my own stress.

I want to live a life where I have absolutely nothing to do, but I can't see any opening any time in the future. I want to live quietly and stress-free, but I feel like that will never happen. I have school, then band in Summer Break, then marching band, then school, then track, then it all repeats throughout high school (and I need to fit a job in there somewhere). After high school, I have college, work, family(?), life, expenses, etc. Aghck!!

Life never stops, never takes a break, no matter how desperately I want it to.

There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays

It's so strange... I've been gone for six months, yet it seems as if that time has never existed.

We pulled up into the driveway of our home and it seemed like every other time. We hopped out of the car, grabbed our stuff and made our ways to the door. Like always, I was the first one to the unlocked door and walked right on in. I was greeted heartily by Rosie, who I gave a vigorous pet before the rest of the family walked in.

Everything was like we left it except for one detail: Harrison and Dad had managed to do the impossible. They completely cleaned our house out. No eccentric knick-knacks, no random pieces of furniture, no anything that wasn't necessary.

Yeah, that was really weird. To see our home clutter-free was a completely foreign concept to me.

It seems as if life (other than the house-cleaning part) has been standing still. My friends are still my friends, and just as much as ever. Nothing's really changed between us; we can converse as casually as before. Except now we actually have things to talk about.

It really doesn't feel like I'm visiting here. This is my home, the very same house that I've lived in my whole life. Those are my woods, that's the Ingles down the street. Here's my friend that I've known for the past three years. Hey, look, it's the dog that I've grown up with since before I had a cohesive thought process!

And like so many times before, I'm up in the dead of night listening to the ruckus downstairs of family friends still over. Singing and laughing along with the screams and shouts of excitement from those playing video games.

I'm here, sitting not in my room because Harrison moved in there, but in the next room over. It's the same room in the same house. I'm in the same town with the same people.

I still feel like I belong here just as much as ever.