UMFA

Yet another piece from a class last semester.

I’m immensely small, lost amidst the massive polished grandeur around me. The problems of my miniscule part of the world seem distant and unreachable. It seems strange to have an hour ahead of me to simply feel, not stress or worry or solve problems. And even stranger still that in the calm and peaceful rooms I can forget the troubles of life. Every piece has a story and what is mine in comparison? Why should I worry so much about my mortal existence in the presence of timelessness?
Expression comes in so many ways. Everything is an expression of some sort, but understanding, deep emotional understanding and connection is something else. You can connect with something without understanding it or even liking it. Everything has its own magnificence and although much of it defies my idea of beauty, it is yet beautiful. A concept that first seemed impossible proves the relativity of impossible as I wander through not really thinking, but absorbing.
Simplicity seems to have the most attractive pull. When everything is so complicated, simplicity is nice especially because it is more complicated than it appears to be although not necessarily of its own accord. A frog bowl becomes complicated with memories. Catching dozens of frogs and some snakes and tiny fish at Bear Lake every summer. My aunt who likes them and the times we’ve spent together. Origami frogs that we made and raced in a junior high math class. Fairy tales, hopes, and dreams. Somehow, for all its wooden simplicity, this frog holds a key to life.
A conversation will be the hardest part, but not merely for my original worries of being too shy and not knowing anybody. Instead, it is a breaking of the silent spell of the place and its inhabitants; the breathtaking silence that entrances me as I slowly tour the rooms. A silence that I’m reluctant to break. I’ve lost myself in this and yet found myself at the same time. I've lost the world. Now, life is only here and now, not the problems of the future or anything stressful. I feel I’ve found the root of myself, a place I lost with the transition to college and maneuvering to find my niche.
There is a strange comfort to sit in a corner surrounded by art in a silence that is enhanced not broken by the murmur of distant voices and the noises of the building. I feel completely at home here, in a place I’ve never been before. More so even than in my own home where the chaos of everyday life and the never-ending nagging of my mother bar the entrance of true peace and tranquility.
Strangely, the piece that has most claimed my attachment is of a picture gallery, where I am. Not a place I would expect to have any interest in or a place where I would find myself on a regular basis, but now, in this moment, it seems the best place in the world.
When I recognize the ease with which my thought flow and begin to ponder it, they slip away a little, warning me off. As if, I must simply accept and not analyze or expect. Truth be told, I suppose I could use this lesson in my life. When I constantly analyze, fret, and worry, how can I be happy and delight in all the little things in life. So many little things grab my attention, but they are the wrong ones or not even the wrong ones, but they don’t need such attention and are often interpreted wrong. It is better to think of the little things like solving a math problem perfectly on the first try, hugging a friend, or buying someone a Christmas present.
I have to admit there is an odd sense of peace and companionship with the silent presence of another person from class in the room. A feeling of kindred spirits as we sit far apart, but linked in that we’re buried amongst our thoughts.