Right now I'm curled up in bed, enjoying the fluffy crispness of just-washed bed linens. There's something so excellent about having clean sheets-- especially when they still utter a bit of warmth from having been tumble-dried as you crawl into them. Through an isolated lens, with no further information, this doesn't seem like a very noteworthy occurrence to be blogging about. However, it becomes intriguing when I mention that it's Saturday, it's only a smidgen (is that an actual unit of measure?) past 11:00 pm, and there's a famed college Halloween party taking place at this very moment. Yeah I'm an 18 year old college student, and I should probably be at that party.
Except hold on, back up, reverse, reverse, reverse.... I don't really believe in societal-pressured "shoulds." I don't choose to buy into what society thinks I should be doing. Not because I'm raging with cynicism and hatred of society, not because I think I'm superior to everyone else, really just because I deeply believe in listening to myself. The only "shoulds" that I follow are my own. And tonight, within myself, I didn't feel any "should" that told me to go to a party.
So I stayed home. I took a snoozy nap on my carpet, visited my sister and her adorable new apartment, drank some Diet Coke (ALWAYS a valid decision), rearranged my bedroom, lit some Sugared-Cinnamon and Spiced Cake candles (shout out to Pier 1), ate an extra cheesy quesadilla and an extra cheesy grilled cheese sandwich, and carved pumpkins with my dad.
Pumpkin carving is a tradition that I have always treasured. As I sat at the kitchen table tonight and began carving, I found myself reminiscing on years past. I remembered being a little girl who had chocolate-colored blunt bangs. As a less-than-skilled-with-a-knife juvenile, I'd leave the actual carving to my dad. I'd take a blue crystal ballpoint pen, the end of it cracked from being chewed on by one too many sisters, and sketch the design I wanted my dad to carve. The design never changed from year to year. Each time it was a classic jack-o-lantern face, complete with triangle eyes, triangle nose, and a toothy crescent smile. But I couldn't help but feel creative as I carefully drew that tried and true template on the piece of newspaper that my precious pumpkin rested upon. And then the transformation began, my dad carefully widdling away at the waxy thickness of the gourd, never criticizing my primitive sketch, always sticking to exactly what I wanted. After hours of him patiently helping his four daughters with each of their demanding pumpkin designs, we'd carry the heavy masterpieces onto the rear balcony, setting them down with a decided thud into the sea crackling maple leaves that blanketed the deck. Mom, unfailingly dressed in her black turtleneck, would strike a match and light the candles harbored within the goopy hollows of our pumpkins, and instantly, the magic would begin. We'd lay down on our stomachs, our chins cradled in the palms of our hands, and gaze at the sorcerous orange flickers before us. With all of the lights in the house turned off, the ember glow shone bright against the purple darkness. And in that moment, everything was happy. Now, years after this glowing memory, things are very different. Many of the characters of this memory now carve pumpkins with their own small families. The setting of the memory has changed, thanks to countless remodels on the house. But regardless of these differences, the magic of the tradition remains, and my heart still warms.
And so this was my evening. I listened to the "shoulds" of my soul, rather than the "shoulds" of society. And that my friends, is always a good idea.
