Perspective

With the blinds on my bedroom window only open from the bottom enough to let a smallish cat sit in the sill, I still only see mounds of white.  But outside, slowly, the ground is appearing in places that it hasn't been seen since I moved into this apartment.  The painted yellow numbers in the parking spaces are still not visible, though.  When this deep freeze relents for a few days, maybe I'll find out that I've been parking in the wrong space all this time. 

Taking a course on the main campus, away from the college of vet med, has been an experience.  Going to a very small university for undergrad, I liked the "small campus" feel to staying at the college of vet med.  Knowing that I would be forced to navigate through thoroughfares and buildings that were completely unfamiliar was a daunting idea to me before the semester began.  I learned the interlocking squares of vet med within the first month or so of classes.  I really was not in the mood for yet another new experience. 

It's all about having perspective, though.  The situation is not even half as overwhelming as I thought it might be before classes started.  I just leave my apartment a little earlier, go to vet med (and get a great parking space), get on a bus, and a few minutes later, I'm dropped off right in front of the building that I need to go to for my class.  Better yet, the class is right inside the front doors. 

During the ride, I listen to something on my iPod that wakes me up.  I notice the little things, like the color of the shoes on the person standing in front of me, who happens to be wearing what look like pajamas anyway.  I notice the number of students with cell phones attached to their ears, which prompts me to slip mine out of my pocket and make sure that it's set to "manner mode."  I notice the person sitting across from me, who seems to be engaging the bus driver with idle talk about the weather, which happens to be rather gloomy, with a side of wetness, at the outset of the day.  I notice the person next to me, who holds a copy of the paper.  I glance at the headlines on the front page while Switchfoot's guitar melodies fill my ears, and decide that I don't need to waste the paper by picking one up later.  The bus stops, and I walk in the street, around another bus, and a pile of snow, to get to the sidewalk.  With cautious steps, the treads of my Nikes take me across the icy sidewalk, neglected from a salt or gravel treatment by the mystery men and women that do that sort of thing on college campuses. 

Sliding my hands out of my black fleece gloves, I once again slip my cell phone out of my pocket and see the same three numbers on the screen that I've seen there the past three times I have made this short journey from vet med to main campus.  7 - 5 - 4.  Six minutes to spare.  And fifty-six minutes later, I'm leaving the classroom, chatting with a classmate, and watching the signs on the top of the buses, looking for the one that is orange and goes back to vet med.

It's all about perspective.  On the trip back, I sit on the opposite side of the bus from where I have sat before.  Instead of looking at people and their clothing or what they were doing to occupy their own few minutes on the bus, I look out the windows.  I see buildings that I have not seen before within the confines of the main campus.  What I suppose is called a "quad" at most universities was open, with only a few people walking on the sidewalks that border it.  The snow is receding in places, no longer making the landscape all white, but a dirty white with interspersed pale green and brown.  It is a quiet and relaxing ride back to vet med, and I feel like I have visually learned something new.

Sipping an energy drink filled with addictive taurine, I connect to the internet, and check my email.  Blah, blah, blah and 508 spam messages.  After about a half-hour, I find myself sitting in the same uncomfortable orange swivel chairs that I sat in the day before, listening to case discussions and scribbling notes on a bright yellow pad.  My hand feels jittery, but it's an awake and alive feeling that I do not discourage. 

Leaving the building, I think about my own perspective on life, not just about navigating my way into unfamiliar territory or seeing something other than the legs and bookbags of people on the bus.  I think about how having a positive perspective, despite perhaps a less than positive situation, can have a tremendous impact on day to day events.  Adapting my own perspective is something that I continue to do on a daily basis.  I am noticing the benefits of this already.  I am enjoying my classes, even the subject of black and white images that I've always found difficult.  I am enjoying my life outside of class, even if most of it is studying and writing notecards that are colored with a green highlighter. 

Maintenance of this perspective is the key. 

                              

In other news, MP was online for a few minutes today from someplace cold in Iraq.  Even as we sent messages back and forth, he said he was freezing.  I want to send him something to stay warm, but he hasn't even received the package that I sent him a couple days after Christmas yet.  I know the military has more important things to do than deliver the mail, but the mail is important too.  It boosts the morale of our soldiers, for sure.  MP has received letters from his grandma and his cousin, and I know for sure he appreciates those.  I certainly was elated to have even just a few minutes to talk to him, even if it wasn't his voice, assuring me that, for now, he's still all right.

 

Comments

[Aaron]

Great writing hun, as usual. Class doesn't seem to be too fun right now. Belize (or any other place warm) would be a lot better!

Enjoy the notecards.

[Jack]

See, there's more to life than people in pajamas on a bus; it's a big world out there. BTW, what in hell is a Switchfoot? That's a band? Are there no normal band names left?