Maybe she’s got a hat on too...

"If you hear a voice within you say, 'You are not a painter,' then by all means paint…and that voice will be silenced." –– Vincent Van Gogh

She’s “Gothic,” if they still call themselves that. A girl with dyed black hair, shoulder-length, and a shiny chain belt hanging diagonally around her hips. I’m always amazed how many of them look Mormon.

Another girl. This one with almost no hips, low rise jeans and a flash of pink underwear. High shoes (loud when she walks). She has an overweight friend, which seems somehow symbolic. I decide she’s impatient and overconfident. Unconscious perhaps, I’m disgusted.

I see Jeff and Halina. Halina has been in the coffee shop for a while, but I don’t notice her until Jeff walks in. Neither of them see me, and I don’t feel like talking to anyone so I don’t “see” them either. Even though I like Jeff and Halina.

I came to the coffee shop to work on a story and do a few train-of-thought exercises. But I’m distracted. Not writing much.

It could be the idea of school; I’ve just started my first semester of graduate school and I’ve maybe been to one or two classes. Even then I had a strong feeling that I don’t want to be in grad school.

Or maybe it’s work. There’s been a bubbling tension at work for a while. Thing’s haven’t come to the surface yet, but they do shortly after this night in the coffee shop. Then too I’ve been working on copy for a new client. A lip gloss that builds volume, collagen, naturally.

But it isn’t any of these things. I’m waiting for a phone call. A “no,” likely, but any response would do.

This was the first time that I really put myself “out there” with Rachel. When I made a gesture that couldn’t be shrugged off as some minor social thing. And when I didn’t know what to expect.

I called her to ask her if she’d like to meet me for a cup of coffee. But I didn’t have her home phone number at the time. Just her cell phone.

I had a fair idea that she liked me. Yet, no one can ever know for sure. Not until you know, that is.

I learned later that her phone was mostly broken. (She feel on her phone when she was skateboarding and cracked the LCD. So she could still make and receive calls, but the caller ID didn’t work.) And that she rarely checks for messages.

Of course, this is all history now. Everything with Rachel worked out spectacularly. Knowing this, I may not have been stressed that night. But probably I still would have. Silencing that voice is never without worry.

This post may seem to say that I completely agree with the Van Gogh quote. But I don’t know that I do.

Lately, I’m thinking about when it’s right to listen to that voice that tells you that you are not this. Sometimes it’s right.

I had that thought about graduate school since before I started applying for writing programs. It just took me a year to admit that I am NOT someone who wants to be involved in the academy.

The question then, is when to push ahead and silence the voice, and when to listen.

This doesn’t seem like a question you answer.