Contracting the Move

I just got in a huge fight with my dad over nothing. The struggle in my mind was initially rooted by a seven page instruction manual he asked me to print out and has come to a screeching halt by my realization of my very sudden, yet very real, need to begin living on my own. It takes quite a bit of time and energy to make people believe how well of a relationship I have contained with my parents throughout high school so know that I've had an open mouth and an open mind in their regard for the past four years and it has been a constant that when I look back to my treatment of them in my middle school years, I often roll my eyes and turn a specific shade of pink. I am not saying that my treatment of nor attitude towards them is at all similar as it was when I was twelve and seemingly ruled the world or that I am at all the same (I am somewhat similar but let's just move on), the current issues have been triggered by similar bitty anecdotes however are latched on much tighter and grip much harder.

I have come to know and understand myself in the past six or seven months more throughly and rapidly than at any other point in my life so far (I am stressing "so far" because I realize I am still a baby) and I know that this shall continue to happen at many different times and for many different reasons in my life time. This particular growth - no, let's say development - started with a nearly fatal car crash and is being well established by music and education. I am becoming someone who I love, admire, and truly respect in all possible ways and am just coming to the realization that not only is it alright to be different for all those out there, it is completely acceptable to differ from those closest to you. This is my slow incline on my very cluttered path to self-discovery and independence. I don't have to agree with the people I love always, go figure!

It is more than important to me, as an artist and as a writer, to be able to comprehend first what is moving in my head and second what may be poignant in the heads of others. I think it the most amazing talent to be able to practice compassion and forgiveness and though I am not wholly there, I am on my way (and no, I do not need religion to assist me). My parents and I are experiencing right now what might be explained as a preparation of detachment and my mind, I have at least noticed, has rearranged its chemical make-up in order to protect me from extreme homesickness by provoking different emotions within me: maybe I'm reading too much into this.

What I know is that the seven page instruction manual was regarding payment for my education and I had no right to feel invaded, frustrated, bossed, or baffled. However when my way of executing processes is degraded at the time when I'm trying to do everything well and learn on my own, it isn't entirely out of line for me to feel a little bit shamed. I should apologize, and I will, completely understanding that swallowing my pride is a teeth-grinding deal I had to make with the unusually beautiful woman on the other side of the desk before I could sign the papers. It's good that someone else runs the contracting: imagine if they let the seventeen year-olds decide the deals.