It's scary how, in my life, there is a definite but unknown reality. Even my own reality is up for judgment- what do I represent, how are my actions being interpreted, when can I rely on my mind's eye to hint me on how to prepare for my future? And then, intensifying the anguish is the reality of others. I'm often wondering what those around me are thinking of me. "Well, I just looked at the wall, do they think I'm looking at them? Do I look bored? Do they think I'm reacting to what somebody just said?" When the truth comes out, it's harsh, because if it wasn't, it probably would have exposed itself already, through positive body language or verbal cues. When I discussed my interest in studying Psychology, my uncle derived some situations, such as contrasting its lack of progress to other scientific fields and by trying to convince me that I would get burned out and I'd have to deal with crazy people who can't be fixed. I had answers for all of his questions, which seemed sophomoric considering his love for learning. But it didn't stop there. The jokes riled up, "oh, he's going to analyze us.." etc. I expressed my discontent, hoping it would come to a stop, and they did slow down after a while. Great. But then, of course, comes the answer so many consider resolute. "Why does it matter what people are thinking?" What about two night ago, for instance, when a family friend was reservedly discussing a private matter and I coughed after a drink of wine at just the wrong time? It could have been interpreted as holding back from a laugh at a very non-humorous statement. Just to keep matters straight, I came to the admittance that although it might not have seemed to be the case, the cough was unintentional. It was a surprise to the woman. So what about all of the times when I don't catch those drifts? But then again, I am the opposite, I'm usually on the lookout for negative press when I'm not feeling my best. I find it noteworthy, spectacular even, that with a positive attitude, nobody can blister your mood. But, on the other side of the spectrum, anybody can hinder it. "They're more intelligent than I am," I thought of my family friends (not the woman at dinner, but some others.) They have a wonderful family. Maybe it's being from a broken home, a broken family, a broken self that stirs these fragmented emotions. Maybe it's that I am so afraid of doing wrong that I hesitate when I have the opportunity to do something right. Maybe it's all those years of listening to naysayers, maybe it's a life lesson learned, at 21 years of age. Maybe it's time for a new generation, but maybe it's time for the end of mine, or at least it might be so if I were to rest my mind.