Today’s Writing Goal
Today, my writing goal here at Wyvia, according to my Ideament:
Sand pouring; containers? colors?
But before I explore our wedding sand ceremony, I want to check in with my feelings; see where I’m at with the mortifying fear I experienced two days ago.
Today’s Headspace ✅ Remembering My First Community College Class
The first college class I took was interpersonal communications. I was seventeen years old, paralyzed by math phobia, unable to continue through trigonometry, and withdrawing from the honors program—so as a senior in high school, I only had three classes left to graduate.
This meant I could attend first through third period, then dodge campus before lunch period to take two classes at the community college across the street. And to avoid actually taking two classes, I could enroll for one class during the weekdays, and the other on Saturdays—then never attend the Saturday sessions and eat a failing grade.
I had a strange relationship with the concept of grading very early. Knowing I’d attend community college—never university—gave me the liberty to think like this. (Later, towards the end of my community college years, my relationship with grades would change—I left graduate school with a 4.0—but that deviates too far from the story.)
I valued interpersonal communications because it structured a skill I was meant to naturally learn (but never did)—how to socialize—and broke it down to essential steps. I read the textbook several times, far ahead of the assigned reading schedule. I highlighted, practiced, and developed immensely as a social-emotional creature.
I also had a good teacher; I cannot imagine the horrors interpersonal communications class could exact on an autistic person, if they had a trigger-happy, trolling teacher; if they had a teacher who thought learning happened by inciting someone, or punishing someone, rather than enchanting them—easing around their heart.
Today, even though I teach English—not interpersonal communications—I feel this teacher rise out of me, like a gentle ghost; I absorbed his values of nurturing versus laboring—of healing a student’s curiosity, rather than challenging a student’s defenses—and so I’m doubly grateful; in my first community college class, I learned how to finally build communicative bridges to neurotypical people, and I learned how to dispel fear from my students; I learned two life-changing superpowers.
I’d been reflecting on this miracle while taking a bath. I think many miracles happened throughout my twenties, but they’ve been buried by anxiety and depression. The good news is, as I wash anxiety and depression away, I find memories crystallized into opalescence—memories I haven’t been able to touch, change, or harm, so in my thirties, I can enjoy them in their purest form, through the lens of ten years of depression-clad wisdom.
Wedding Sand Ceremony
In addition to the betta splenden decorations Chase and I bought at Michaels Arts & Crafts yesterday, we also picked up some natural-tone, pearlescent sand—I love sand with hyperbolic colors, like those charcoal black or bone white beaches!—and a mermaid turquoise sand tone; they’re for our sand ceremony.
Chase’s dad suggested the sand ceremony months ago, which triggered fond memories I’d held of watch my friends’ sand ceremony, and now we’re at this point where we have our sand; we just need to select a container.
I love freestanding glass containers for sand ceremonies. Here are a few I found:
- Melon-ball genie bottle—pockets of sand would slip-and-slide with this shape;
- Early 1900s apothecary bottle—we could make a lid… (I like antiques!—I fell in love with a teacher perfume bottle!—I need to escape this section of Etsy—)
- Breathtaking stained glass—look at the magic of all the textures!
But I’m equally in love with box frames that combine artful wedding photography with the sand container:
And I’m inclined towards the latter option because Chase’s dad is a professional framer and photographer, and his sister is also a professional photographer, and Chase learned professional framing skills from his dad—it’s like a bunch of neon signs: Option B.
Then I yoyo to the former option, since in my glassblowing class, I fell in love with glass art—and what better functional art than the container for a sand ceremony?—so Option A, obviously!—Option A!
I think I would like either way. I like both options equally.