A Bowl of Stupid

Apparently it’s “Existentialism Week” here at The Bowl. For the second time in almost as many days, I’m posting about some personal crap affecting my world rather than events affecting the world around me. Perhaps it’s because I’ve had a bunch of garbage rattling around in the attic for a number of weeks that I can finally put into words. Perhaps a couple days in the water is starting to clear my head a bit. Perhaps I’m just trying to pass the time. Regardless, this week, we are a true ‘web-log’ again.

Several years ago, my aunt and I got to discussing how my cousins, my sister and I have changed since we were kids. I told her how, in my mind, I saw us all completely altered from the people we were when we were younger. My aunt disagreed. Having witnessed all of us growing up from her adult perspective, she thought that, but for such growth that life throws upon us, we’re all essentially the same personalities as when we were kids.

After thinking on that comment for a couple years now, I’m beginning to think she was right in some respect, but wrong in another.

With respect to my sister and I, our personalities have always been radically different — she the pragmatic, studious, responsible older sister … and I, the eccentric, searching, risk-taking younger brother.

Our life paths — especially right now — tend to reflect that underlying truth. My sister is happily married, has two (2) gorgeous little girls, a good job, and a nice house in an upper-middle class neighborhood. I obviously have none of those things at the moment, as I wander randomly throughout the bowels of Southeast Asia.

And while we almost always enjoy each others company, the conversations admittedly tend to drag whenever one of us tries talking to the other about what constitutes a meaningful event in our respective lives. She obviously (and rightly so) loves talking about her family, while I obviously love talking about myself the places, people and philosophies I’ve encountered.

But this is where my aunt is wrong, I think. Because every so often, my sister and I expose a depth to our personalities that often goes undetected, even by others in our immediate family.

Yesterday was one of those times.

Yesterday my sister blindsided me with a piece of eccentric profundity I never saw coming from her. And while it was fairly simplistic (sorry Sis), it struck a chord with me because it was perfectly suited to my current state of mind, and it served as proof that she knows me far better than I give her credit for.

I don’t see her enough. And I don’t talk to her enough. But she may very well know me (if not fully understand me) better than anyone. She is the strongest link to my past (even including my parents with respect to some things). And I miss her.