Adjusting to a new skin is never easy.
While snakes shed their skin periodically—and expectedly—every few weeks for people this transition can be both unprecedented and unpredictable. Sometimes it can take months before you realize you are someone entirely new and unfamiliar to even you. You can feel lost, even in familiar surroundings. And perhaps the hardest part of this transformation is being honest with the person easiest to lie to; yourself.
Sometimes we don’t want to admit that we have changed because we are afraid of how people will receive us, or worry that we may have outgrown even some of our closet inner circle. It can be humbling to admit that the ideologies and opinions that we held so firmly and definitively are no longer how we feel now. It becomes important to remember that evolving and changing is not the same as being a hypocrite, it’s a necessary part of the aging process. How boring we would be if we never changed, never progressed? Maybe we need to remember that growing pains will always present themselves with a certain discomfort. Permit ourselves to be confused during our adjustment to our new skin. Be as patient, and forgiving with ourselves as we are with our closest friends and family. And not be so afraid when we look in the mirror, and appear unfamiliar.
642 Things to Write About
PROMPT: How your cat sees the world.
The rushing…I’ll never understand it. What’s the rush? You have everything you want right here, food, water, even companionship. Where are these people rushing to? Could it even get any better than this?
They never even seem like they want to go. Frantically running around, sighing, cursing. The “hustle and bustle” is what they call it. I’ll never understand it. I leave when I want. I come back when I want. I only ever do what I please.
Life could be much easier for them—more enjoyable too—if they did only what they please. I appreciate the simple things. The tingle of rubbing my face on the corner of a box, the warmth of the sun on my fur when I sit near the window, and best of all, the scratch of a hand behind my ear. Complicated doesn’t exist in my world. Does it have to exist in theirs?
642 Things To Write About
PROMPT: Through a freak accident, you lose one of your senses. Which sense is it, what happens to you, and how do you deal with it?
I have never been patient, and had always been warned that my compulsion to rush was a direct route to tragedy. Surely these premonitions were true. One day unable to wait for my Starbucks Grande Cinnamon Dolce Latté to cool I chugged it down without hesistation. To my dismay the Barista was new, and the latté scolding. What I thought was a typical burn to the tongue turned out to be much worse. It was the day I lost my sense of taste.
When I visited the doctor he informed me that my impatience had caused me to burn my tongue far too many times. At first I was able to taste my food through the memories my sense of smell would provide, but as the year’s passed these memories faded. Now food had no taste, and my life became bland. No longer could I be a credible Yelper, I was forever shun from the foodie community, and my days as a Yuppie felt numbered.
642 Things To Write About
Prompt: A houseplant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live.
Yet another houseplant lost to neglect. My tally was now up to six since last December. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to care for a plant–not that I’d claim to be a horticulturist either–watering them just often slipped my mind. This time was no different; the soil was dry and chalky, littered with withered leaves.
I wish I could talk this bromeliad off the ledge. I would let it know that despite my neglect I enjoyed it’s company. I didn’t just want it to stick around just because it was a gift from my mother, but because I liked knowing I had something living to come home to. I saw little of anyone these days working the night shift, and even a 500 square foot bachelor apartment could feel a little empty sometimes.
You wouldn’t know it by my lack of care but my houseplants (many now deceased) brought me great joy. As I mentioned my work schedule prevented me from seeing anyone but my colleagues, and didn’t really allow me time for pets either. My plants became my pseudo pets, I named them, I spoke to them (before you judge, it’s no more crazy than talking to an animal that doesn’t know your language) the only thing I didn’t do was feed them. I guess that’s how I lost Boots, the bromeliad. “Oh well,” I thought, “just another casualty.”