Mercurial

My Mind

David Grey
Sep 4, 2018 · 4 min read

My early childhood was the summer of my life. I saw everything through pale golden sunglasses, and the world seemed more magical because of it. The deafening crunch of dead grass under my feet seemed louder. Skinned knees were mortal wounds. My friends and I would play in this field until we could no longer see our deformed ball hurtling through the crisp evening air, or until it was dinner time. This field is representative of my childhood and identity because it embodies the quicksilver nature of my kaleidoscope soul. Fields are ever-changing, vast expanses of life and death. This field is where important games were won. My childhood saw me rejoicing with my soccer team over a winning goal. I am a winner. This field is where I played. My childhood saw me spend countless hours bathed in golden light, running through the uneven terrain as fast as a tiger in the thrill of a chase. I am free. This field is where animals have killed each other. My childhood saw me put down by others, leaving me silently killing off parts of myself to better fit in. I am vulnerable. It is through these interactions that I became the person I am today. I still feel the same wavering within myself, but I have stopped changing things about myself to appease others. People tell me I’m independent and strong, and I know it is because I stopped acting like an animal that was trying to survive in a field.

Cell phones are the ultimate extensions of who we are as people. My phone is related to my identity in that it understands my mercurial mind more than any person ever could. My phone knows who I talk to the most, and places their names at the top of my FaceTime directory. I am social. My phone knows I lack commitment, as it has sat idly by as I rearranged the order of my apps, changed the style of my contact names on Snapchat, or deleted apps to further streamline my device. I am chaotic. My phone knows how I feel at any given moment, as it plays whatever music I want it to based on the emotions I experience. Whether I’m listening to a happy or sad playlist, my phone knows what I’m in the mood for, and plays what I want to hear as if it were my own personal DJ. I am emotional. My phone knows how I talk, as it immediately inserts words I frequently use into my text messages. I am predictable. My phone is essentially my mind translated in metal and plastic, and yet I don’t love it. I find myself waxing poetic about the good old days, when Instagram and Snapchat didn’t rule our lives. I wonder what kids growing up today will have to be nostalgic about.

I took this photo when I was in London during the summer of 2017. Initially, I was going to take a picture of a goblet of red wine or a square of chocolate to symbolize satisfaction, but that seemed extremely vague. When I asked myself what would make me satisfied with my life decades from now, I realized that I want to experience all that life has to offer. This photo exudes my energy in a number of ways. For one, it is vivid. The buses appear to be seconds away from colliding, and you can see the movement of the horse’s hooves trapped in the pixels. This photo is striking. The reds contrast beautifully with the whites of the horses, and the brown background is relatively neutral. All attention is where I intended it to be. Furthermore, this photo has one very important quality. Between the two buses, the balconied buildings, the carriage, and my shaky tourist hands, this moment in time is completely and unequivocally mine, forever. That is what satisfies me. I was able to go to a new country for two weeks, and without even realizing it, photograph an image that can never be recreated. I still see aspects of life through the pale golden sunglasses of my childhood, and I want to see parts of my world like that for as long as I live. No matter how old I get, I want to be me.

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