Some people in this life really do bring out our inner butterfly, don’t they?
Who knows what that magic is, or how it comes about, but I have a feeling it’s made with that thing we all have in common.
Sometimes, when two spirits meet, the union is harmonious. Something is said—or not said— and the message is simply understood. Maybe words were used to transfer the message. Or maybe just a smile. A touch.
But what happens when two spirits jar? What happens when they rub up against each other with razor blades bared and hearts tight shut to reason.
Inner chaos. That’s what happens.
Which brings me to a source of my own inner chaos, an old English teacher of mine. She was awful. And don’t get me wrong. I don’t necessarily think that she was a bad person (especially not now that I look back at her with wide-open adult eyes).
I just didn’t understand her.
And she sure didn’t understand me.
I was a dreamer, a free-spirit who thrived using my intuition to solve problems, rather than the obvious tool of western culture: the brain. Of course, my brain was still there to supervise. To pull the wildest parts of my spirit back in line so I could get my work done in some sort of orderly fashion.
I wasn’t a thinker. I wasn’t a planner.
And that teacher—she was both.
No wonder we clashed. Thinker versus feeler? Teen Brooke wouldn’t have known about the delicate balance of soul on soul, yet. And something tells me that teacher hadn’t figured it out either.
Now, though, I finally understand.
It wasn’t her that was the problem.
It was us.
Enter the darling of today. Adult me flipping through my high school journal, only to discover the most deliciously scathing burst of teenage sass you ever did see.
You can read it below.
BROOKE’S DIARY: 23RD JULY 1999
Mum talked to my English teacher today. She just said to plan more. Blah, blah, blah.
Just a short one today.