[From] a Different Perspective

In grade 10, I wrote a short story about “not being true to ourselves”.  I called it On a Different Perspective and it was part of a portfolio of pieces based on my experience reading The Catcher in the Rye (to be honest, I can’t remember anything about the book). One of the symbols I used from the novel was the carousel.

The reason I still have this portfolio lying around is because it was the first time that a teacher had ever told me that my project was one of the best she’d ever received. I really put heart and feeling into this particular piece of work and for once, somebody recognized that. 

Where am I going with this?  Well, as I’m doing some exploring down Notre Dame street the other week, I stroll across a vacant storefront and notice behind the grimy display, a lone, creepy ass carousel horse.

I was immediately brought back to the short story I wrote as a 16-year old:

The handcrafted horse […] is branded with a look of fright.  To assure I mean no harm, I caress its tarnished mane.  Slowly, the world begins to revolve around me, the melodious notes [of the carousel] grow louder at each turn […] Faster the world moves, and I grasp […] the pair of ears in front of me, basking in pure joy.  The inanimate creature seems to cringe in utter pain, but I remain unaware.

Not long after, the carousel suddenly halts and I’m jolted to the ground.  It’s cold and unwelcoming.  I can still hear the faint music coming from the cursed merry-go-round.  An eternity seems to pass.  I’m left unrescued and unredeemed as fright begins to close in around me, seemingly never able to recover from such a harsh fall.

The carousel represents the world of our own that we enter when [we lose sight of reality and are not being true to ourselves], and the pony [represents] the collective of people that surround us in our everyday lives. As the world slowly begins to revolve around us, meaning, as we become more self-centered, we unintentionally hurt the people we love without taking notice.

I look back at my teenage self and want to rush over to her with a blanket, wrap her up in it, and put my arms around her.  As a 16-year-old, there seems to be so much confusion and sadness about just wanting to be myself, yet causing so much discomfort and pain to those around me.  

I suppose what’s most haunting about the timing of this recent storefront encounter is how much the allegory of the carousel and horse still holds true.  The carousel is the world we pretend to be a part of for the sake of fitting in and the horse is our truth, our reality.  Sitting atop the horse, it cringes under the weight of the part of ourselves that tries so hard to find joy in the spinning merry-go-round.  But on this day, the horse stands alone.  It’s still branded with a look of fear, but at least it’s free and no longer carries the burden of any weight. 

So as I stand there and observe my own truth from the other side of the window, the only thing I can feel is a sense of awe and admiration.  It asks me to reflect on how much things have changed over the years — how my perspective has evolved from observing the world while sitting atop the horse to objectively observing from a distance.  Is there still fear? Yes. But there has been so much progress.    

 

Ms. Fogel, wherever you are, thank you for being that teacher who made me feel heard.