essay take 2

my core is thinking. i think too much sometimes, but i think it has made me a better version of me.

i used to get angry a lot, but now i just think about why things make me mad. small things, like kids who ask to many questions in class, they just make me mad because they are just wasting time. i can step back and see why i react the way i do has made me a happier person. i can let things go. i can make my self happy, i am happy hanging out with my dad because he wants to know more about me and i want to know more about him and we can talk and that is great.

i think this has made me more sympathetic to people. i am more willing to listen to both sides of a story, to form my opinion on, small things like arguments, or big political  things. i listen to both and find the answer that best aligns with me, one or the other or  maybe a mix of both.

it has also made me kind of sad. i see things i do not agree with, and i cannot understand how a person can think like that. and maybe it is just my frame of reference, but if people thought more they would be kinder. but not everyone wants to questions themselves, and that is ok.

not everything has a "bad guy" that is what separates life from fiction

 i need more clear thoughts on this essay;  to much thinking about thinking. i need a story.

  in my 8th grade English class, we read a story about how people think. divided in to 2 categories: pictures vs words. no person can think in just pictures or just words, but it was interesting to think about.

how do i think?

even though i love to draw and daydream, i think mostly in words, now i am planing parses and letters./\ when people talk to me i can picture the type scrolling like a stock clicker. 

when i asked my grandmother "how do you think" she said she never thought about it. something you live with everyday, the voice and images in your head, never speaking about themselves.

but there is so much more to thoughts than words and pictures. that persons frame and pen are different than mine. even if we seem the same we are so different. 

even if we think in pictures and words, people are so different, and no one will truly understand where you think. i will never know how men think. narrower, i will never know how grown white men think. smaller, my father thinks. but i can try to know him, and learn why he reacts the way he does. trying to  understand people, to see where they come from is me.

a form of solidarity. not sympathy. not pity.  i cannot know how you feel, but i try to see why you are the way you are. Thinking has made me a better version of me.. i can step back and see why i react the way i do. i am less angry, thinking than i was fighting with blind bias. i now myself deeply, knowing how i am, i can make myself happy, but i also get more frustrated, when i fall through my own cracks