The Art of The Language of Myself in Billings.
I speak a language no one understands. I speak the language of my spirit, my mind, and how it was changed while I was traveling. I desperately want to share my language, but I am the only one who speaks my language.
The language of me.
Nobody I know will ever speak my language, because nobody else has experienced the same things as I have experienced them. My experience of Europe will never be replicated. My experience is unique in it’s oneness.
While in Europe I learned this language. Now being home, it’s up to me to practice my language so I don’t lose the ability to speak.
I started playing violin at the age of 6. I remember practicing a new lesson, and always being frustrated. “Why do I have to play this scale over and over?”. I wanted to learn everything at once, and be at a professional level at the same time. I was inpatient. I didn’t want to take time. I quit the violin at the age of 17. I didn’t want to make time anymore for practicing, because I didn’t want to take time to practice. I wish I kept up. I was good at the violin, and I never thought I was good. If I had just been patient I would have felt good at playing the violin.
I have no patience since returning home. I’ve spent the last two and half months on the go. If I didn’t like a place, I left. If I didn’t want to wait in line, I didn’t. If I didn’t like someone, I stopped talking to them. If I felt impatient I would change the situation so I wouldn’t have to deal with feeling impatient. These are actions I cannot make here at home, and this frustrates the shit out of me.
I spent the first week back in a perpetual asshole state of being impatient. I was frustrated nobody “just got it” when I would talk about how I felt since returning home. I was pissed that nobody understood. I was pissed that people didn’t respond to my calls/texts/emails right away. I was way too pissed to function that my ice tea took 10 minutes at the coffee shop (this actually happened).
In the past few days I’ve slowly realized that it’s going to be ok.
It’s going to be ok because I recognized that my impatience comes from my fear of the mundane. I know what every street corner looks like in Billings, and I can probably identify the street by smell only. I spent two and half months exploring unknown territory, conquering the foreign city streets in my own way. There is a special kind of beauty in the mundane. The mundane has made me look closer, and understand on a deeper level. What I’ve come to understand is Billings is not my forever, but it is my now. I need just the right amount of patience so I am not beating my head against the wall, screaming. And, just the right amount of patience so I am creating a consistent amount of change for myself to grow. Europe has proven to me what I am capable of achieving. So instead of passing out from banging my head against a wall, I will use that energy to grow into the person I know I am.
Everyday is a chance to learn. Everyday is a chance to grow. Everyday is a chance to practice my language.
Everyday is going to suck. Everyday is going to be amazing. Everyday is going to be mundane.
The ebb and flow of life is what inspires, creates, and drives my will to exist as an artist.
In London I learned the art of getting lost.
In Paris I learned the art of connection.
In Rome I learned the art of self.
In Athens I learned the art of the hierarchy of needs.
In Istanbul I learned the art of assertiveness.
In Budapest I learned the art of stumbling.
In Prague I learned the art of being quiet.
In Berlin I learned the art of friendship.
In Billings I am learning the art of the language of myself.
Now, I can’t wait to take time and practice my language.