Frog soup.

Delicious right? The first time I heard the term I was utterly dumbfounded and was certain the person mentioning it had gone of the deep end, seeing as we had just priorly been speaking life, the universe and everything. And while frogs are in the universe and everything does include them, I find they are not usually so high on lists of that nature. Anyway...

That dish, or rather its metaphorical meaning, has helped put my life into perspective.
Frog soup, not so eloquently explained to me just recently, is the advice that, to cook a frog, you must place the frog in tepid water and turn on the burner, letting it slowly heat up. That way, the frog doesn't notice the water is boiling until it's too late.

For the last fours years, I was that frog, time slowly slipped by as I stumbled groggily through the motions of high school. I moaned and complained to the few people I could stand in that place, (which after all my upperclassmen had graduated, shrank to a miniscule amount. (I still don't quite understand why they put up with me.)) dreaming of graduation with the same hopelessness that a man who has been lost for weeks in a desert has to suddenly reach a hilltop and find Vegas staring back at him. I may be exaggerating, but just a bit.

But freedom finally did arrive, in a flurry of caps and gowns and voila'! the next day I had moved. And since that sunny friday, a mere 2 months ago, my life has been a tumultuous whirlwind of experiences, people, excitement, and some more hopelessness.

I was suddenly the frog thrown into the boiling pot, lid clamped shut, drowning in water that seared my skin. Alright, maybe it wasn't as gruesome as all that, but it was different and strange and wonderful and terrifying. I met people I would never have imagined, went places, saw things and realized how small the world I'd been living in truly was. I was challenged by this fast-paced city life without knowing how to reply. There may have indeed been a bit of drowning at first, but somehow I discovered the secrets of surviving this wild, maddening, concrete jungle.

It could be said that at my young age I shouldn't have a perspective on life, but that kind of thinking seems absurd to me. At the age of 8 I had perspective on life. Of course it was that school days and play time were close to synonymous and that when I grew up I would be told all the secrets of the world, as though being an adult was some kind of club.
Nevertheless, I had fixed ideas about life, and as time went on, or as 'the water boiled,' those ideas shifted and grew or fell apart completely. (Like the club.)

Rereading all that I don't think I really define what I believe my perspective of life actually is...

But I know it's there and that's what matters.


And also, these last two days have reaffirmed my passion for art. It was like an epiphany or the kiss of a muse.

Odd to just tack on at the end, I know, but it feels damn good.