Christmas in Connecticut~

I left my New York last night, finally finished with finals and free to trot off to the country for a double hitter holiday, first with my dad in New Hampshire and then in CT with mom. I’m sitting on the sofa now, twenty to twelve on a Tuesday night with nowhere to go and no homework to do, and trying to de-activate the critically conditioned lens that my course load last semester demanded of me. Normally such is easy, as this sofa is a judgment free zone, a place where I am wholly myself, at liberty to sit around in sweats and stuff my face. But not so much tonight as with the onset of Christmas comes the arrival of family...which is fine but also feels a little like a real life reflection of a semester full of the judgment I've read, responded to and yes, even made myself. Where the opinions and critiques I encounter in an educational environment are limited to the page, or contained by the classroom, the perceptions, comments or raised eyebrows of certain Christmastime company are less easily controlled.

It feels to me like the more criticism I am around, the more I apply to myself and that makes me uncomfortable. Last night, before I jetted out, I met my best friend for a quick cocktail at Coffee Shop. We laughed and swapped stories about final exams and the men who distracted our attention from them. The personal quality of our conversation was effortless and based on an unspoken trust that is rooted in freedom; the freedom to be oneself, to have independent thoughts, and to do things knowing that the other person will support you, regardless of whether they would do the same themselves. Not so at Christmas in Clinton CT where, “now why did you do it that way?” is a question commonly posed in accordance with a seemingly curious facial expression that belies the certitude of the inevitable explanation as to why whatever you are doing is being executed inefficiently, and is therefore proof positive of your utter incompetence.

If that last sentence sounded like a lot, it was meant as a mirror to the overwhelming nature that constant critique of one's actions, be they spoken or just implied, can incite in an otherwise relaxed person such as myself. Makes me miss New York, where everyone is their own little island, affixed to an Ipod and intent upon minding their own business.