Alright, this is going to be a pretentious college piece, about the sort of banal adolescent angst that everybody likes to pretend that they're unique in having, until they actually a) meet other people or b) read books. But...so what? It's my blog, it gives me joy, so here goes.
I was sitting in class yesterday, listening the proffessor babble about Nietzsche, when I was suddenly and unexpectedly hit by a gushing wave of the thought: "Holy mackeroly, I'm surrounded by college students. What the heck am I doing here?" It was fascinating. I think that, at some level, I still think of myself as... eleventh grade. Tops. The whole college experience seems, at times, a joke, as if I am visiting an older sibling and sitting in on classes just for the thrill. As if everyone else there is somehow inexpressably older and wiser and more sophisticated. Their pretentions are adult pretentions, their vices are adult vices. I feel like some precocious kid, watching it all go by and wondering when I'm going to be all grown up too.
Which is crazy. I'm older than many of my acquaintances, including most of the people in my year (the year in Israel thing will do that). I am at least as intelligent as a good many of them, and I lack as many of their immaturities as I do their sophistications (I think the grammar of that sentence works. I have no patience to check it).
I put the whole thing down to my general method of dealing with reality. While everyone in my class was crying over leaving high school, I was shockingly blase. And the reason behind that is that it simply had not hit me. It did not even begin to hit me until a month into seminary. Seminary itself never started to become real, forget about getting over it. It was a glitch, a retreat, an anomaly. No wonder I can't come to terms with my being in college.
But at the same time, who says that's true? I mean, maybe I perceive reality just fine. Maybe I didn't get all het up over leaving high school 'cuz I just didn't care so very much. Maybe what I like to call glitches in my perceptions of reality are simply normal, and I just have to give them some name to account for the way they seem to clash with the way everyone else reacts. Maybe nothing ever hits anyone, or rather, was I have been feeling is hitting.
And the saddest thing about all of the above is that I have absolutely no patience for any of this sort of "look, I'm being deep" babble. I am, at heart, a pragmatist, which is why it annoys me so much to lapse into useless existential musings. But at the same time, I worry sometimes, because neither do I want to be one of those annoying people, who at forty still do not seem to have come to terms with what age they actually are.