Skiing

I’ve grown up believing that cross country skiing is the worlds most popular sport. That and perhaps football. As time went on I realized it’s kind of not, but to me it still is. Having a family and tons of friends that love it too might have something to do with that. My first time skiing was when I was two or three years old and maybe somehow I was hooked, all I know is that it is one of the things I’ve stuck with, and to me it’s one of the definitions of winter. Both the actual skiing and the weekend mornings when you eat breakfast in front of the TV, watching the champions and then my dad in the end, his screaming and cheering might be even more entertaining than the actual sport at times and me and my sister always laughed at him. Well, we still do.

So anyway, we saw the finale of the world cup live, it being in Sweden, Falun, where my aunt lives, and it was such a good day I thought I should share some pictures. I didn’t take too many though, I kind of have this problem with not actually experiencing things when I see them through a camera lens, so sometimes I let things go undocumented. Still, with my camera around my neck I can never resist it completely.

Image

Image

Image

Image

Image

Procrastination and self doubt

I never quite realized the connection between those two, procrastination and self doubt. I guess it’s obvious though, self-doubt; as in believing (or not) that you can do it, and procrastination; as in doing it (or not). I suppose I’ve just always seen myself as so confident. In a way not, because I was always the shy little kid, but still, because I was the one who didn’t want to hang out with them, because whenever people didn’t like me, my unconscious though process went: Wow, what’s wrong with them? Always them, never me, and I’ve always thought that was the main difference between confident and non confident people. Either you think Wow what’s wrong with them, when they don’t like you, or you think Wow, what did I suddenly do right? when they do.

Childhood stories and my unsuccessful try at psychology aside, I’ve kind of realized that I’ve always thought of myself as the complete opposite to self doubting (okay, not really psychology aside). So to the point that even when I do doubt myself, I don’t realize it. I don’t realize that the reason behind sudden dips in my mood might be a sudden disbelief in myself. And now, looking back, I wonder how many times that’s happened without me even noticing it.

Now, though, it has showed up in my homework. My ability (well, disability) to get it done. The school I’m in now is so much tougher, the people I hang out spends about 37,8 % of their time worrying about their grades, and I think that’s getting to me. Me always agreeing that yeah, the tasks are impossible, when I used to honestly believe that I could be fine with studying to a test for about one hour. But you can’t just say that to people that it wouldn’t work for. And let’s not blame this only on that development, because I don’t know (and don’t want to know) where my grades would have ended up without those extra few hours of studying, but now I’m one of the people never doing things, until the point where I stop believing I can. Or maybe that’s the reason why I’m not doing it, I don’t even know.

I’ve postponed my essays because I don’t think I could write them if I tried, not because I think I don’t need to spend that much time on them. But I’ve noticed that the big, tremendous difference lies in how I look at the blinking cursor. And looking at it while thinking about how good I am at this, trying to scare my self doubt away to the dark corners of my brain, and then starving it back to death, is how I’ve written this post. So now I’m gonna go try it on some homework.

Psychologists scare me

Perhaps because as every other person, I like to believe that I make my own choices. I don’t want someone looking at me and immediately know how the puzzle falls together, how my family relations and childhood shaped me until who I am today. Like anyone, I want to believe that the choices I made were my own and not the result of a predictable pattern.

Writing

I write because I’m terrified of forgetting. Because everything that happens to us – every experience, every emotion – and even things that don’t, things that just passes through our minds for mere moments, it will all sink into nothingness. Become a piece of the past, and the past itself is something that doesn’t exist. It did, but not anymore. And when I write, it’s like I chain those moments to reality. I think writers should be called heroes because they save.

At the moment

I do not precisely love the place I’m in right now and find myself elsewhere in my mind, not just up in the clouds with my dreams and ideas, but somewhere else as in I like the future better than I like now. It’s a trap, and I know that, because future is just another name for the now that is to come and by hiding further into the future I’ll never reach it, sometimes I just have to remind myself that there’s always a purpose for me being right where I am now, and perhaps tomorrow I’ll be somewhere else.

Words and dictatorship

Media is king and we’re its peasants, master the internet and you master the world. Since perhaps ten years back. The world is changing, and it’s no longer the authors that control it. And perhaps we’re free in a way, it’s no longer the few people rich enough to afford books that know things, but we all have information and news at our fingertips. I thought about my friend with dyslexia and how she finds so much joy in being able to master the internet with photos and paintings. She doesn’t need words to say how she feels. But then I thought about her difficulties in school. Or when it comes to reading music, it still affects her in a lot of areas in her life.

And I realized that we’ve only changed the way we use our words, not how much they own us. Today, every person with a blog is a writer and we share our lives and feelings on social media without pause, we just usually don’t care as much about how we say it and how we use our words as an art form to express ourselves. Instead they’re a necessary mean that is about what we say and do, instead of how we say it. The art of the written word has been pushed away into the dark corners of the internet. And the art of the spoken word is in many ways since long forgotten.

Or has it just moved into a quiet dictatorship? If you master your words well, and for that you can be a rapper as well as a poet, you can have the world under your feet without people even noticing that it’s you they’re listening to.

Even though the dusty old poetry books are a source of magic, the source of the art of every single written and spoken word, rests within all of us. Anyone who cares about getting their point across, or want to be able to tell a story in a way that will make people laugh, have their hope in mastering talking. Anyone who wants their essays to be the very best, who want to blog with a voice that people listens to, have their hope in mastering writing. And anyone who wants to be able to ask the right questions by sorting through the 90% bullshit in every conversation and get to the core of what actually matters, have their hope in understanding what words are, how we use them and how other people use them.

The word is dead when the world shuts up.

I forgot my heart

Sometimes I get so wrapped up in things I want to do and feel like doing and don’t feel like doing and kinda have to anyway, that I forget to stop thinking. I forget to feel life, and start to experience it simply with my mind. And then I’m suddenly shaken alive, God wakes my soul up, and so I go back to feeling. I feel everything and it’s like having an additional sense. Or bigger than that, like the way I normally go around, thinking about stuff and experiencing them with all my senses, is fine. But what a poor way to live. And when I go back to happiness that warms my heart and tears that wrecks it, it’s like all my senses had lost their meaning until now when my heart feels what it knows so it can believe it.

Early spring

The air is crispy fresh and that’s what I’ve missed the most. Also, today I saw the first.. Hepatica I think it’s called in english? And dear friends, to me that flower is the banner of spring, it means winter is beaten.

Image

Image

^Chilling watching some Pretty little liars, relatively unrelated to the rest of the post but randomness is my motto.

Image

Image