I'm currently parked in the side of the road on olive branch road, as I have been for the last 15 minutes. I'm sitting here waiting for a funeral procession to pass. Today, I had forgotten, was the funeral of a young man who passed away over the weekend. He went to my high school, but I didn't know him.
As I was waiting for the procession to pass, I was absentmindedly searching for a song on my iPod, looking up occasionally to see if traffic had cleared. I glanced up again, and was struck by what I saw. It was a young girl in her car, alone. The look on her face was of complete and total heart-wrenching horror. She looked like someone who had absolutely no idea where to go or what to do. Tears glazed her face and her hands gripped the steering wheel for dear life; it was as though that wheel were the only anchor holding her at the moment.
It made me wonder...had he known her? If so, did he know her well? Perhaps it was his girlfriend. Or his best girl friend. I began to watch the procession with interest. The adults bore a weary look upon their faces; it was as though they were simply exhausted with emotion. It was the school-age kids, though whose' faces told the story. Each kid's face held that same look of utter heartbreak and desperation. Desperation for some kind, any kind of answer as to why this happened.
Children are supposed to be the more resilient ones; the ones who bounce back easily after a tragedy. It's part of our youthful essence. But these teenagers that I was witnessing; they looked as though they had lived a thousand lifetimes.
But we must carry our grief. It mustn't shape us, but we must shape it into something that we can deal with. It's the way that our dearly departed loved ones would have wanted it.
I sit back in my parked car and watch the clouds for a moment. They move rapidly across the sky. Time is a forward march...it doesn't stop for anyone or anything. Even though time isn't a static entity; we must value it. Make our choices wisely. Realize that there's always a tomorrow. And not push ourselves to edges we can't come back from.
Life is short, and we must make the most of it. But we also must realize that even though you only have one life to live, you've got to take care of that one you have. It's the only one you're ever going to get. And it's not just your life. It's your mom's, your dad's, your brother's, your best friend's, your pastor's, etc. Everyone you love has a stake in your life.
So take care. You don't want to be that girl, heartbroken, torn up, feeling like the world just might stop turning because you've lost someone you love so deeply.
Live your life, but treat it well. And never forget that there is always, always someone out there who cares enough to worry about you. <3
Monday, February 28, 2011
Come Pick Me Up
As I sit here in an empty parking lot at 2:39 AM smoking a cigarette, I smile to myself as I think that the younger me would have never done any of the above.
The younger me was such a different person; so cautious and nervous and afraid she was going to make a mistake. Now I'm older, more jaded, less cautious, less afraid of pissing people off. Less of everything good and more of everything I shouldn't be. But would I trade it for the world? Absolutely not.
Do I wish I were more fiscally responsible? More aware? Less emotional? Do I wish I didn't have a heart of glass I wore on my sleeve? All of the above.
I can learn. I can change, I can get better at these things. But in the meantime, the pain of my mistakes from these emotional missteps pierces my insides like hot swords.
I'm bad at loving. Terrible. I love too hard, too intensely. I'm much too passionate. I cling fiercely onto things until I don't, them that fiery passion ignites once again and I push things away too far.
Sometimes I get so angry at myself. So angry for being so self-aware, yet doing nothing. So angry for making mistakes. Angry for still being so in love with someone who wants nothing to do with me. Angry for still caring so much.
But, again, I wouldn't change it. My passion is who I am; it defines me in the best and worst way. At the end of the day, you've gotta love yourself and be happy with who you are. And I know that deep down in my heart, I at the very least try to be the best person I can be. And that's all I need. I can move on and accept decisions I don't necessarily agree with because I know that I gave my 110% every single day. I know I never gave up. I know I never quit fighting for what I believed in. But most importantly, I never changed who I was.
Because you must love yourself. And more importantly, you must find someone to love the you that you love. It's been a long time coming, but I can 100% say I love myself. I'm good with who I am. My own skin finally feels like mine.
And for all the girls out there who hate what they see in the mirror, or kick themselves for silly things they did or said, don't worry. There is someone out there who loves that girl who isn't perfect, whose hair is sometimes a mess. A girl who sometimes gets more emotional than she means to. There's someone out there who deserves you; every bit of you.
I light another cigarette. Ben Folds comes on my CD player. "Come pick me up, I've landed," Ben sings in his velvety lilt.
Indeed, Mr. Folds: I've landed.
The younger me was such a different person; so cautious and nervous and afraid she was going to make a mistake. Now I'm older, more jaded, less cautious, less afraid of pissing people off. Less of everything good and more of everything I shouldn't be. But would I trade it for the world? Absolutely not.
Do I wish I were more fiscally responsible? More aware? Less emotional? Do I wish I didn't have a heart of glass I wore on my sleeve? All of the above.
I can learn. I can change, I can get better at these things. But in the meantime, the pain of my mistakes from these emotional missteps pierces my insides like hot swords.
I'm bad at loving. Terrible. I love too hard, too intensely. I'm much too passionate. I cling fiercely onto things until I don't, them that fiery passion ignites once again and I push things away too far.
Sometimes I get so angry at myself. So angry for being so self-aware, yet doing nothing. So angry for making mistakes. Angry for still being so in love with someone who wants nothing to do with me. Angry for still caring so much.
But, again, I wouldn't change it. My passion is who I am; it defines me in the best and worst way. At the end of the day, you've gotta love yourself and be happy with who you are. And I know that deep down in my heart, I at the very least try to be the best person I can be. And that's all I need. I can move on and accept decisions I don't necessarily agree with because I know that I gave my 110% every single day. I know I never gave up. I know I never quit fighting for what I believed in. But most importantly, I never changed who I was.
Because you must love yourself. And more importantly, you must find someone to love the you that you love. It's been a long time coming, but I can 100% say I love myself. I'm good with who I am. My own skin finally feels like mine.
And for all the girls out there who hate what they see in the mirror, or kick themselves for silly things they did or said, don't worry. There is someone out there who loves that girl who isn't perfect, whose hair is sometimes a mess. A girl who sometimes gets more emotional than she means to. There's someone out there who deserves you; every bit of you.
I light another cigarette. Ben Folds comes on my CD player. "Come pick me up, I've landed," Ben sings in his velvety lilt.
Indeed, Mr. Folds: I've landed.
A Life Well Lived
Heaven gets a good one today.
He was a man who was loved, so very deeply, by everyone he knew.
I walk into the funeral home. The line is wrapped around the room, it goes out the door, and is almost all the way out to the main door. I look at the faces. There are people of every age, young, old, middle-aged, teenaged.
Inside the room, flowers cover every availible surface.
I look at the picture boards and they tell a rich story. A life lived to the very fullest; pictures of a handsome young boy and his younger brother, a man in his army greens, a young couple happy on their wedding day so many years ago. A father walking his youngest daughter down the aisle; she happily kisses his cheek. A grandfather holding a happy, smiling baby girl.
I walk to the casket, and hug his wife. I tell her how sorry I am. She smiles, but I see a sadness behind her eyes that I will never understand. Sixty-four years with the same person. A lifetime in itself. Nearly 70 years of laughter and tears, hugs and kisses, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Waking up next to the same person for 23,000 days, everyday.
What if you never got to say all of the things you wanted to say to the one you loved? What if they never knew how much you truly loved them? What if they never knew just how greatly appreciated, how cared for, how admired they really were?
Go hug your mother. Tell your dad he's awesome. Hold the door for a stranger. Make a difference in someone's life, make them smile. Brighten their life just a little bit. Those little moments make the difference between living your life and a life well lived.
A man holds up a fish in a picture, grinning widely. He and his wife glow with pride as their beloved granddaughter graduates from high school. He hugs his wife as they celebrate 40 years together.
I glance back at the family members. Their eyes hold pain, but tiny smiles curl at the corners of their lips.
It was not a life lost. Today, we celebrated the long, happy prosperous life of a man who always, always knew how much he was loved.
He was a man who was loved, so very deeply, by everyone he knew.
I walk into the funeral home. The line is wrapped around the room, it goes out the door, and is almost all the way out to the main door. I look at the faces. There are people of every age, young, old, middle-aged, teenaged.
Inside the room, flowers cover every availible surface.
I look at the picture boards and they tell a rich story. A life lived to the very fullest; pictures of a handsome young boy and his younger brother, a man in his army greens, a young couple happy on their wedding day so many years ago. A father walking his youngest daughter down the aisle; she happily kisses his cheek. A grandfather holding a happy, smiling baby girl.
I walk to the casket, and hug his wife. I tell her how sorry I am. She smiles, but I see a sadness behind her eyes that I will never understand. Sixty-four years with the same person. A lifetime in itself. Nearly 70 years of laughter and tears, hugs and kisses, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Waking up next to the same person for 23,000 days, everyday.
What if you never got to say all of the things you wanted to say to the one you loved? What if they never knew how much you truly loved them? What if they never knew just how greatly appreciated, how cared for, how admired they really were?
Go hug your mother. Tell your dad he's awesome. Hold the door for a stranger. Make a difference in someone's life, make them smile. Brighten their life just a little bit. Those little moments make the difference between living your life and a life well lived.
A man holds up a fish in a picture, grinning widely. He and his wife glow with pride as their beloved granddaughter graduates from high school. He hugs his wife as they celebrate 40 years together.
I glance back at the family members. Their eyes hold pain, but tiny smiles curl at the corners of their lips.
It was not a life lost. Today, we celebrated the long, happy prosperous life of a man who always, always knew how much he was loved.
I Think I'll Try Defying Gravity
I realized that I have this problem sometimes; looking people in the eye. I realized that I can't properly look people in the eye when I'm lying or not quite telling the truth. Quite a common problem, I know. But I never realized it about myself until I found myself face-down in a position no self-respecting girl wants to find herself in.
Why exactly do we feel the need to please people we know won't give us what we need in return? I think it's that intrinsic need to feel accepted, no matter how undesirable the task is. The need to help, to maybe make those people feel just as good as they make you feel.
I know I'm not crazy. Famous words from a crazy person, right? I used to think that what I felt in my heart was so true, that nothing could shake my beliefs. Now I'm not so sure.
I met someone. Fell hard, let my hair down, and let them in. I know my walls are often made of marshmallow fluff, but still. I let them in, trusted them. Gave them a bit of myself. No matter how small that piece of yourself is, you still gave it away. You are all you have. Everything about you is special and beautiful and unique, and when you let someone have a little bit of that shining wonderfulness, it's like giving them a precious diamond. Once you give it to them however, it's out of your hands. What they do with it is what matters. Some put it up on a shelf, some trade it in the black market. Some take that diamond and turn it into a necklace and give it back to you. For those of you not quite so good with metaphors, what I mean by that is sometimes, the good ones, take that little bit of yourself that you gave them and turn it into something more. They make you a better person just by being with them. And I think that's what everyone is looking for.
Is this what I found? No. Is that a bad thing? No. I think the problem here was that I gave that diamond to an amateur. Someone who has had chunks of mud in their hands for far too long. This person simply didn't know what to do with me. That's ok.
But what about me? I'm not ok.
All we want in life is to be loved, really. Humans are quite simple creatures. Feed us, water us, love us. That's all we really need. We want to feel special, needed, wanted.
We are supposed to believe that everything happens for a reason. I once read the quote, "good things fall apart so better things can come together." Is this always true? I think it is.
But the interim is the very hardest part. It's the four AM, the loneliness, the cold that hurts. It's the looking back on the good things that makes the 'better' part seem so far away. It's remembering the way they made you feel special and safe. It's remembering getting butterflies every time they texted you. It's remembering the way how badly you wanted to kiss them on that first date. It's knowing that the shell you've built around yourself; they were the ones who pushed it aside and warmed you back up. It's knowing that you had one of those rare connections when you thought they weren't possible anymore. It's knowing that no matter how hard you try, you'll never forget the way they made you feel. It's knowing that they made you feel like absolutely nothing in the world mattered when you were together.
They say that our pain shapes us. But why does it have to hurt so damn much when we're being molded into place? This pain is real. It's raw, it's ugly. But it doesn't go away overnight. I know it will someday be a thing of beauty.
Are we always going to fight this love/hate battle in our lives? I hate that I fell so hard. But I'm grateful that I did, because of the lessons that I learned. Are those special shining moments in our lives always going to be dampened with mascara-soaked tears? I think so. And I think I'm ok with that.
Losing someone I cared about so much has made me realize that I'm that much more appreciative of those people I still do have in my life. I don't tell my best friends and my parents that I love them nearly enough. They're all I've got. And most importantly, they're the ones who didn't run out on me when the going got tough. They're the ones that are there no matter what, wherever, whenever. They're the people handing me tissues to wipe away those mascara tears.
Defying gravity doesn't mean that no one can bring me down. It means I've found the strength to admit that sometimes I need to be picked back up. And that, to me, is the true meaning of magic.
Why exactly do we feel the need to please people we know won't give us what we need in return? I think it's that intrinsic need to feel accepted, no matter how undesirable the task is. The need to help, to maybe make those people feel just as good as they make you feel.
I know I'm not crazy. Famous words from a crazy person, right? I used to think that what I felt in my heart was so true, that nothing could shake my beliefs. Now I'm not so sure.
I met someone. Fell hard, let my hair down, and let them in. I know my walls are often made of marshmallow fluff, but still. I let them in, trusted them. Gave them a bit of myself. No matter how small that piece of yourself is, you still gave it away. You are all you have. Everything about you is special and beautiful and unique, and when you let someone have a little bit of that shining wonderfulness, it's like giving them a precious diamond. Once you give it to them however, it's out of your hands. What they do with it is what matters. Some put it up on a shelf, some trade it in the black market. Some take that diamond and turn it into a necklace and give it back to you. For those of you not quite so good with metaphors, what I mean by that is sometimes, the good ones, take that little bit of yourself that you gave them and turn it into something more. They make you a better person just by being with them. And I think that's what everyone is looking for.
Is this what I found? No. Is that a bad thing? No. I think the problem here was that I gave that diamond to an amateur. Someone who has had chunks of mud in their hands for far too long. This person simply didn't know what to do with me. That's ok.
But what about me? I'm not ok.
All we want in life is to be loved, really. Humans are quite simple creatures. Feed us, water us, love us. That's all we really need. We want to feel special, needed, wanted.
We are supposed to believe that everything happens for a reason. I once read the quote, "good things fall apart so better things can come together." Is this always true? I think it is.
But the interim is the very hardest part. It's the four AM, the loneliness, the cold that hurts. It's the looking back on the good things that makes the 'better' part seem so far away. It's remembering the way they made you feel special and safe. It's remembering getting butterflies every time they texted you. It's remembering the way how badly you wanted to kiss them on that first date. It's knowing that the shell you've built around yourself; they were the ones who pushed it aside and warmed you back up. It's knowing that you had one of those rare connections when you thought they weren't possible anymore. It's knowing that no matter how hard you try, you'll never forget the way they made you feel. It's knowing that they made you feel like absolutely nothing in the world mattered when you were together.
They say that our pain shapes us. But why does it have to hurt so damn much when we're being molded into place? This pain is real. It's raw, it's ugly. But it doesn't go away overnight. I know it will someday be a thing of beauty.
Are we always going to fight this love/hate battle in our lives? I hate that I fell so hard. But I'm grateful that I did, because of the lessons that I learned. Are those special shining moments in our lives always going to be dampened with mascara-soaked tears? I think so. And I think I'm ok with that.
Losing someone I cared about so much has made me realize that I'm that much more appreciative of those people I still do have in my life. I don't tell my best friends and my parents that I love them nearly enough. They're all I've got. And most importantly, they're the ones who didn't run out on me when the going got tough. They're the ones that are there no matter what, wherever, whenever. They're the people handing me tissues to wipe away those mascara tears.
Defying gravity doesn't mean that no one can bring me down. It means I've found the strength to admit that sometimes I need to be picked back up. And that, to me, is the true meaning of magic.
My New Year's Resolution 2011
There are so many things I don't understand about this world.
I do not, and will never, understand all the hatred that exists in our world. Is it just me, or are people meaner than they were years ago? Is it just more sensationalized now? Have people just found new and improved ways to be mean and hurtful to each other? Fifty years ago, it was just as commonplace to hear someone call a black person the "N word" as it is today to hear them referred to as an "African American". Nowadays, this is considered the highest form of insult. Simply saying the word evokes images of Bull Connor and his fire hoses and police dogs and George Wallace's infamous proclamation of "segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever!". In short, ignorance and fear.
Are the insults we call each other today going to be as repulsive in the future?
A teenager falls down on the football field. His teammate walks over to him. "C'mon get up, fag," he says. Teachers and parents and lawmakers are running around ripping their hair out trying to figure out why gay middle schoolers are killing themselves. Well, I wonder why. Shit.
We're letting students get away with far too much. I don't want to sit here and sound old, because I'll assure you that when I was 13 years old and my gym teacher (Mr. Weatherford!) made the rule that referring to something as "gay" was punishable by a grade deduction, I was sniggering right along with everyone else. Why would we stop doing that? We would just say it when he was out of earshot. But when I was 13, I knew nothing about the world. Like everyone in my bleach-white world, I was sheltered and naive and insensitive to the general human condition. On top of that, I was a privileged, spoiled only child who never knew a single hardship in her life. Let me give you an example: Honest to God, this is true, until I was like 14 years old, I thought that ChemLawn was a complimentary service. I thought that lawn fertilization was a free thing that everyone received. It's funny to laugh about it now, but it's also kind of sad that I (and I assure you many children like me) was that naive.
Sure, psychologists and psychotherapists and other psycho-babbling idiots will assure you that the reason children bully and name-call is because it is a projection of their own fears about themselves. In short: bullies bully because they secretly hate themselves or hate characteristics about themselves. Think Karovski picking on Kurt for being gay when he's secretly gay himself (sorry, totally couldn't resist a Glee reference). I think this is true, but I also think that kids bully because they're ignorant. As every single person who attended Center Grove will tell you, Keith Hawkins is amazing. He is a motivational speaker based out of California, but he always manages to make the trek out to Indiana every August for freshman orientation. I was a freshman ambassador, so I got to hear Keith Hawkins speak not only on my own orientation, but also my junior and senior years. Something he said to my freshman class has stuck with me all of these years: "you can't hate someone if you know their story."
Think about that for a minute. Think about something you say you hate on a regular basis. For me, Sarah Palin. My constant refrain when I see her on the TV is "God, I hate Sarah Palin." But let me put the shoe on the other foot for a minute. Here is a woman who went to five different state colleges, working every odd job to put herself through school. Despite her limited experience, she managed to get elected not only the governorship of Alaska, but the vice presidential nomination of her party. She did this all while raising five children and maintaining a happy marriage. Despite being denounced by nearly every left-leaning politician and pundit, she still comes out smelling like roses: two New York Times best-selling books, regular appearances on major news networks, and almost unanimous support from her Tea Party constituents. If not for anything, you've got to admire her for all of that. But really put yourself in her shoes. How would you like to wake up every single day to people making fun of you? People questioning everything from your intelligence to your parenting skills to your leadership capabilities? How would you like to be a running joke for late night TV? It would suck. If it were me, I'd probably spend equal parts of the day being heavily sedated and crying. You may not like Sarah Palin, but when you try to understand her story, you really can't hate her. I really don't want to give her accolades and say that I admire her, but I do admire the way that she stands up to scrutiny. In all fairness, Palin puts herself out on the roasting spit. She constantly takes to her twitter and Facebook page, and has a reality show. You can't deny that she likes to stir the shitpot, albeit just a little bit. But that's where Palin gets us again: she knows that being a shitstirrer is what's keeping her alive in the minds of Americans until the straw polls start to happen. She knows that she has to keep herself relevant somehow. Those who think Sarah Palin is not smart are rather ignorant themselves; she's a very smart person in the sense that she's self-aware.
This brings me back to "not being able to hate someone if you know their story." Like I said, kids that age are ignorant. They know nothing of the world around them, they know nothing of themselves. They AREN'T self-aware; they can't fully comprehend the consequences of their actions (as our friend Sarah can). They call each other "fag" and "queer" and "gay" because they have no idea that many years before they were even thought of, a young boy named Matthew Sheppard was hunted down like an animal, tied to a barbed wire fence, and beaten to death simply because he was gay. They make fun of a kid who is different because they have no idea that particular kid wakes up every single day and wishes he were someone, anyone else. Who cries, because he doesn't think he can take one more day of being picked on. Maybe if these kids understood what it was like to receive the punches that they so willingly dish out, they wouldn't wield their fists quite so often. Yeah, I know the "walk a mile in their shoes" euphemism isn't exactly a new concept, but it isn't utilized nearly as much as it should be.
With age comes awareness, and awareness means that we better understand our surroundings and how the world around us works. I think of awareness as being the moment that one realizes the world rotates around the sun, not themselves. I can tell you at age 22 I am far and away more sensitive to the human condition than I was at say, age 18. I used to tell people the chief reason I hated vacationing in San Francisco was because of the staggering amount of homeless people there. They literally line the streets. They line up down the block, wrapped around the building at nights trying to get a coveted spot in a shelter. 10 years ago, this disgusted me. Today, it saddens me. I want to do something about it. The difference between now and then is that I didn't care to try and understand the plight of homelessness. Now, I realize that there are those less fortunate than me, and I should be thankful for what I have and try and give back in whatever way I possibly can. This is somehow a lesson we seem to have lost along the way.
I wasn't really old enough to understand what was going on during the 1993 child molestation case of Michael Jackson. I was only slightly more knowledgeable in 2001. Today, as I read back on some of the coverage of the trials, it never fails to shock me as to the lengths the press went to to vilify Jackson. In 1993, when he entered rehab for addiction to painkillers (an addiction he says was spurred by needing an escape from the terrible things being written about him) the Daily Mirror ran a "Spot the Jacko" contest, offering a free trip to Disney World to whomever correctly guessed where he would be next. I have racked my brains and done exhaustive research, but really have found nothing that Michael Jackson did in his life that would make the press hate him so. Yes, he was accused of child abuse, but he was acquitted. Other than that, he really did nothing but try and make the world a better place. He donated millions and millions of dollars to charity, made music that was loved by the world over, and what's more, you're hard pressed to find a person who knew him that has anything bad to say about him. Everyone who personally knew him can only say that he was kind, selfless, and caring. Director of This Is It Kenny Ortega said of him, "no matter how hard the world came down on Michael, he only came back with more love." I don't want to lionize him simply because he's dead, but no matter what he did, the press always found a way to pick on Michael Jackson. He may have been the world's most bullied person. Brother Marlon tearfully said at his funeral, "maybe now, Michael, they will leave you alone."
When did we start treating each other like such shit? It has got to stop. Next time you go to make fun of someone, just don't. Because you don't know anything about them. You don't know their struggles, their unhappiness, their misery. For one thing, you're old enough to know better. For another, you haven't walked a mile in their shoes; you haven't even walked two feet. Stop and take a second and ask yourself why you're so willing to make fun of this person. Also realize that making fun of that person will do absolutely nothing for you. Maybe it'll get a laugh out of someone for a few minutes. But it doesn't enhance you in any way whatsoever. We all need to become better human beings. Starting with this.
As for middle schoolers, this is where it needs to begin. No longer can we use the excuse that "they're too young to know better." Well, if they don't know better, then they need to. It's time we start teaching them. They need to know the depth and breadth of their seemingly harmless insults. They need to start learning perspective at a younger age. They need to learn to put themselves in others' shoes. They need to know that their words are just as bad of a weapon as their fists or any other physical object. It needs to stop before it can really begin, because kids who bully with words in middle school turn into the adults that bully with their vicious, more sophisticated weapons.
It is sad beyond words that kids in this day and age feel the need to commit suicide for being different. Are we that backwards? And, where are the parents of these children who bully? Why aren't they teaching them to be nice? Why aren't they teaching them respect? Why aren't they teaching them that there's something out there that's bigger than them, and that they need to be humble and appreciate things for what they are, not point them out because they're different?
I don't really believe in New Year's resolutions, but for once, let's make one we can all keep. Let's make 2011 the year we all try and be a little bit nicer to each other. Let's quit calling each other names. Let's hold the door for someone, even if they're far away from it. Let's help someone out with something, anything. Walk your neighbor's dog, fold the laundry for your mom, let dad listen to his favorite radio station for a change. Let's think less about ourselves and more about what we can do to make our planet a better place. I'm not saying go out and buy a Toyota Prius and save the Sunday Times for the compost heap, I'm saying make the earth have a better emotional tone. There needs to be less ignorance, and more understanding. Less intolerance and more acceptance. We need to celebrate our differences, not let them divide us. America is supposed to be a great melting pot, but it seems like now more than ever, we are just a bunch of different ingredients floating around in a pot with no real cohesion. Everyone needs to try and work together a little bit more. Join hands with the person next to you. It doesn't matter if they're black or white, gay or straight, religious or not. What matters is that you're both human beings and you're alive and well and both have every right in the world to be as happy as can be. But you're not happy if you're making fun of someone, and you're certainly not happy if someone is making fun of you.
So, this year, let's put our pointing fingers down. Let's stop focusing so much on what we don't like and be thankful for the stuff we have that we do like. Let's think of our own happiness, but also think what we could do to make others happy, as well. Let's teach the younger generation about being aware and knowledgeable. Let's teach them that words indeed hurt worse than they could possibly imagine. Perhaps the most important lesson in that is punishing the kids who bully only reinforces the negativity of their actions. We need to teach them with love. Yes, we must pity the bullied, but we also need to understand why the bully acted out in the first place. We need to quit enforcing anger. Hatred is always going to exist in the world, but if we can lessen it just a little bit, then we've more than done a favor for later generations.
So this year, instead of vowing to lose weight, join the gym, or quit smoking, just pledge to make yourself a better, nicer, more loving individual. This world's gotta keep spinning on something. And it ain't gonna be hate, honey.
L-O-V-E.
I do not, and will never, understand all the hatred that exists in our world. Is it just me, or are people meaner than they were years ago? Is it just more sensationalized now? Have people just found new and improved ways to be mean and hurtful to each other? Fifty years ago, it was just as commonplace to hear someone call a black person the "N word" as it is today to hear them referred to as an "African American". Nowadays, this is considered the highest form of insult. Simply saying the word evokes images of Bull Connor and his fire hoses and police dogs and George Wallace's infamous proclamation of "segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever!". In short, ignorance and fear.
Are the insults we call each other today going to be as repulsive in the future?
A teenager falls down on the football field. His teammate walks over to him. "C'mon get up, fag," he says. Teachers and parents and lawmakers are running around ripping their hair out trying to figure out why gay middle schoolers are killing themselves. Well, I wonder why. Shit.
We're letting students get away with far too much. I don't want to sit here and sound old, because I'll assure you that when I was 13 years old and my gym teacher (Mr. Weatherford!) made the rule that referring to something as "gay" was punishable by a grade deduction, I was sniggering right along with everyone else. Why would we stop doing that? We would just say it when he was out of earshot. But when I was 13, I knew nothing about the world. Like everyone in my bleach-white world, I was sheltered and naive and insensitive to the general human condition. On top of that, I was a privileged, spoiled only child who never knew a single hardship in her life. Let me give you an example: Honest to God, this is true, until I was like 14 years old, I thought that ChemLawn was a complimentary service. I thought that lawn fertilization was a free thing that everyone received. It's funny to laugh about it now, but it's also kind of sad that I (and I assure you many children like me) was that naive.
Sure, psychologists and psychotherapists and other psycho-babbling idiots will assure you that the reason children bully and name-call is because it is a projection of their own fears about themselves. In short: bullies bully because they secretly hate themselves or hate characteristics about themselves. Think Karovski picking on Kurt for being gay when he's secretly gay himself (sorry, totally couldn't resist a Glee reference). I think this is true, but I also think that kids bully because they're ignorant. As every single person who attended Center Grove will tell you, Keith Hawkins is amazing. He is a motivational speaker based out of California, but he always manages to make the trek out to Indiana every August for freshman orientation. I was a freshman ambassador, so I got to hear Keith Hawkins speak not only on my own orientation, but also my junior and senior years. Something he said to my freshman class has stuck with me all of these years: "you can't hate someone if you know their story."
Think about that for a minute. Think about something you say you hate on a regular basis. For me, Sarah Palin. My constant refrain when I see her on the TV is "God, I hate Sarah Palin." But let me put the shoe on the other foot for a minute. Here is a woman who went to five different state colleges, working every odd job to put herself through school. Despite her limited experience, she managed to get elected not only the governorship of Alaska, but the vice presidential nomination of her party. She did this all while raising five children and maintaining a happy marriage. Despite being denounced by nearly every left-leaning politician and pundit, she still comes out smelling like roses: two New York Times best-selling books, regular appearances on major news networks, and almost unanimous support from her Tea Party constituents. If not for anything, you've got to admire her for all of that. But really put yourself in her shoes. How would you like to wake up every single day to people making fun of you? People questioning everything from your intelligence to your parenting skills to your leadership capabilities? How would you like to be a running joke for late night TV? It would suck. If it were me, I'd probably spend equal parts of the day being heavily sedated and crying. You may not like Sarah Palin, but when you try to understand her story, you really can't hate her. I really don't want to give her accolades and say that I admire her, but I do admire the way that she stands up to scrutiny. In all fairness, Palin puts herself out on the roasting spit. She constantly takes to her twitter and Facebook page, and has a reality show. You can't deny that she likes to stir the shitpot, albeit just a little bit. But that's where Palin gets us again: she knows that being a shitstirrer is what's keeping her alive in the minds of Americans until the straw polls start to happen. She knows that she has to keep herself relevant somehow. Those who think Sarah Palin is not smart are rather ignorant themselves; she's a very smart person in the sense that she's self-aware.
This brings me back to "not being able to hate someone if you know their story." Like I said, kids that age are ignorant. They know nothing of the world around them, they know nothing of themselves. They AREN'T self-aware; they can't fully comprehend the consequences of their actions (as our friend Sarah can). They call each other "fag" and "queer" and "gay" because they have no idea that many years before they were even thought of, a young boy named Matthew Sheppard was hunted down like an animal, tied to a barbed wire fence, and beaten to death simply because he was gay. They make fun of a kid who is different because they have no idea that particular kid wakes up every single day and wishes he were someone, anyone else. Who cries, because he doesn't think he can take one more day of being picked on. Maybe if these kids understood what it was like to receive the punches that they so willingly dish out, they wouldn't wield their fists quite so often. Yeah, I know the "walk a mile in their shoes" euphemism isn't exactly a new concept, but it isn't utilized nearly as much as it should be.
With age comes awareness, and awareness means that we better understand our surroundings and how the world around us works. I think of awareness as being the moment that one realizes the world rotates around the sun, not themselves. I can tell you at age 22 I am far and away more sensitive to the human condition than I was at say, age 18. I used to tell people the chief reason I hated vacationing in San Francisco was because of the staggering amount of homeless people there. They literally line the streets. They line up down the block, wrapped around the building at nights trying to get a coveted spot in a shelter. 10 years ago, this disgusted me. Today, it saddens me. I want to do something about it. The difference between now and then is that I didn't care to try and understand the plight of homelessness. Now, I realize that there are those less fortunate than me, and I should be thankful for what I have and try and give back in whatever way I possibly can. This is somehow a lesson we seem to have lost along the way.
I wasn't really old enough to understand what was going on during the 1993 child molestation case of Michael Jackson. I was only slightly more knowledgeable in 2001. Today, as I read back on some of the coverage of the trials, it never fails to shock me as to the lengths the press went to to vilify Jackson. In 1993, when he entered rehab for addiction to painkillers (an addiction he says was spurred by needing an escape from the terrible things being written about him) the Daily Mirror ran a "Spot the Jacko" contest, offering a free trip to Disney World to whomever correctly guessed where he would be next. I have racked my brains and done exhaustive research, but really have found nothing that Michael Jackson did in his life that would make the press hate him so. Yes, he was accused of child abuse, but he was acquitted. Other than that, he really did nothing but try and make the world a better place. He donated millions and millions of dollars to charity, made music that was loved by the world over, and what's more, you're hard pressed to find a person who knew him that has anything bad to say about him. Everyone who personally knew him can only say that he was kind, selfless, and caring. Director of This Is It Kenny Ortega said of him, "no matter how hard the world came down on Michael, he only came back with more love." I don't want to lionize him simply because he's dead, but no matter what he did, the press always found a way to pick on Michael Jackson. He may have been the world's most bullied person. Brother Marlon tearfully said at his funeral, "maybe now, Michael, they will leave you alone."
When did we start treating each other like such shit? It has got to stop. Next time you go to make fun of someone, just don't. Because you don't know anything about them. You don't know their struggles, their unhappiness, their misery. For one thing, you're old enough to know better. For another, you haven't walked a mile in their shoes; you haven't even walked two feet. Stop and take a second and ask yourself why you're so willing to make fun of this person. Also realize that making fun of that person will do absolutely nothing for you. Maybe it'll get a laugh out of someone for a few minutes. But it doesn't enhance you in any way whatsoever. We all need to become better human beings. Starting with this.
As for middle schoolers, this is where it needs to begin. No longer can we use the excuse that "they're too young to know better." Well, if they don't know better, then they need to. It's time we start teaching them. They need to know the depth and breadth of their seemingly harmless insults. They need to start learning perspective at a younger age. They need to learn to put themselves in others' shoes. They need to know that their words are just as bad of a weapon as their fists or any other physical object. It needs to stop before it can really begin, because kids who bully with words in middle school turn into the adults that bully with their vicious, more sophisticated weapons.
It is sad beyond words that kids in this day and age feel the need to commit suicide for being different. Are we that backwards? And, where are the parents of these children who bully? Why aren't they teaching them to be nice? Why aren't they teaching them respect? Why aren't they teaching them that there's something out there that's bigger than them, and that they need to be humble and appreciate things for what they are, not point them out because they're different?
I don't really believe in New Year's resolutions, but for once, let's make one we can all keep. Let's make 2011 the year we all try and be a little bit nicer to each other. Let's quit calling each other names. Let's hold the door for someone, even if they're far away from it. Let's help someone out with something, anything. Walk your neighbor's dog, fold the laundry for your mom, let dad listen to his favorite radio station for a change. Let's think less about ourselves and more about what we can do to make our planet a better place. I'm not saying go out and buy a Toyota Prius and save the Sunday Times for the compost heap, I'm saying make the earth have a better emotional tone. There needs to be less ignorance, and more understanding. Less intolerance and more acceptance. We need to celebrate our differences, not let them divide us. America is supposed to be a great melting pot, but it seems like now more than ever, we are just a bunch of different ingredients floating around in a pot with no real cohesion. Everyone needs to try and work together a little bit more. Join hands with the person next to you. It doesn't matter if they're black or white, gay or straight, religious or not. What matters is that you're both human beings and you're alive and well and both have every right in the world to be as happy as can be. But you're not happy if you're making fun of someone, and you're certainly not happy if someone is making fun of you.
So, this year, let's put our pointing fingers down. Let's stop focusing so much on what we don't like and be thankful for the stuff we have that we do like. Let's think of our own happiness, but also think what we could do to make others happy, as well. Let's teach the younger generation about being aware and knowledgeable. Let's teach them that words indeed hurt worse than they could possibly imagine. Perhaps the most important lesson in that is punishing the kids who bully only reinforces the negativity of their actions. We need to teach them with love. Yes, we must pity the bullied, but we also need to understand why the bully acted out in the first place. We need to quit enforcing anger. Hatred is always going to exist in the world, but if we can lessen it just a little bit, then we've more than done a favor for later generations.
So this year, instead of vowing to lose weight, join the gym, or quit smoking, just pledge to make yourself a better, nicer, more loving individual. This world's gotta keep spinning on something. And it ain't gonna be hate, honey.
L-O-V-E.
21st Century Nostalgia: Remembering the days of Mix CDs and Videocassette Tapes
I get in the car, put on my seatbelt, and check my rearview mirror to make sure that it’s straight. I put the key in the ignition, and I turn the radio on. Sometimes it’s the satellite radio. But most of the time it’s a CD. Not just any CD, a mix CD.
It’s a dying phenomenon, and it’s about time we had a funeral for it.
Actually, I think what it’s more apt to have a funeral for is the death of “the way it used to be”. Technology has dealt the last blow, but the final nail in the coffin of the 20th century. We have become a one-click society, an instant gratification nation that can’t get what they want fast enough. Computers don’t boot up quickly enough. It takes too long to receive a text message; it takes too long for a YouTube video to load. These are chief complaints. Really? Five years ago, YouTube didn’t even exist. Ten years ago, there weren’t iPods and iPhones and iPads and Droids. There wasn’t Facebook and MySpace, and instant messenger was in its infancy. Like Brooks in The Shawshank Redemption said, “the world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.”
Let me assure you that I like modern times. “The good old days” might have been thus, but they also had polio, segregation, and lead in the paint. Modern advances are good. I know that I’m only 22 and I’m already complaining about “the way things used to be.” But in my defense, when I was growing up, things were FAR different compared to the kids that are growing up now. Kids today will never understand what it was like to come of age at the same time that technology was.
It has been widely acknowledged that my generation is the last to be born “without” technology. Sure, there were cell phones and the internet when I was born. But back then, cell phones weighed about 2 lbs. and had so many parts that they came in a pouch. They were referred to as “bag phones.” The internet connected through your phone line and it took about 10 minutes just to log on. Don’t get me wrong. I love having the world at my fingertips. I love being able to have a mobile internet in my pocket. If I wanted to, I could purchase a swimming pool, watch a video of a dog with two legs, check the weather forecast in Orange County, or book a flight to Christchurch, New Zealand…all from my phone. I love that. I think that’s the coolest thing in the whole world, actually. Who doesn’t want that kind of ease in their lives? I sure do.
While it’s hard to imagine a life without the prevalence of the Internet, I suppose what I'm mourning is the loss of pure, innocent childhood. I can remember waking up at about 8 AM on summer mornings, and staying outside and playing until the sun went down. The mosquitoes would be eating us alive, we would be starting to get cold, and our mothers would have to scream at the top of their lungs to get us to come inside. The only time I went indoors was when my mom took me to the library. Nowadays, when I go outside in the summer, I have to wonder if possibly every single child in the neighborhood failed their grade and is at summer school, for there is hardly anyone out playing. I simply can’t understand why kids don’t want to play outdoors when the weather is perfectly fine and they have no school obligations whatsoever.
Have things really changed that much in say, fifteen years?
Honestly, do kids read books anymore? Do they write letters, or use a landline phone? Do they still go outside and simply toss a baseball, or swing, without wondering who is going to text them or what Wii game they’re going to play next?
I hope pure childhood isn’t lost. I hope that it has simply evolved. Maybe children will text their friends to come over instead of riding their bikes to their house, maybe they will read books on their iPads instead of checking them out at the library, and maybe they will friend someone on Facebook before they become friends with them in real life.
But I will be stubborn. I will fill out job applications by hand; I will mail things through the US Postal Service. I will buy things in a real store, and order my pizza on the phone. I will buy books in a bookstore, and read the newspaper, not online. I will remember glass ketchup bottles, Disney movies (videocassettes!) that came in those huge white plastic cases, and life before 3-D movies. I will remember when you had to wait to have a roll of film developed, and when Polaroid pictures still existed. I will recall when the only thing viral was the rhinovirus, when twitter was the sound a bird made, and when a reading a text meant opening your textbook at school.
A thirteen year old wonders why I painstakingly take the time to pick songs out, get a CD, and burn it for my car. She wonders why I just don’t put a playlist on my iPod. Well, I don’t really have a good answer to that. But I will tell her to go home and ask her mom if she remembers when video killed the radio star. Because I know one day I’ll tell my daughter that I remember when iTunes killed the video star.
;)
It’s a dying phenomenon, and it’s about time we had a funeral for it.
Actually, I think what it’s more apt to have a funeral for is the death of “the way it used to be”. Technology has dealt the last blow, but the final nail in the coffin of the 20th century. We have become a one-click society, an instant gratification nation that can’t get what they want fast enough. Computers don’t boot up quickly enough. It takes too long to receive a text message; it takes too long for a YouTube video to load. These are chief complaints. Really? Five years ago, YouTube didn’t even exist. Ten years ago, there weren’t iPods and iPhones and iPads and Droids. There wasn’t Facebook and MySpace, and instant messenger was in its infancy. Like Brooks in The Shawshank Redemption said, “the world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.”
Let me assure you that I like modern times. “The good old days” might have been thus, but they also had polio, segregation, and lead in the paint. Modern advances are good. I know that I’m only 22 and I’m already complaining about “the way things used to be.” But in my defense, when I was growing up, things were FAR different compared to the kids that are growing up now. Kids today will never understand what it was like to come of age at the same time that technology was.
It has been widely acknowledged that my generation is the last to be born “without” technology. Sure, there were cell phones and the internet when I was born. But back then, cell phones weighed about 2 lbs. and had so many parts that they came in a pouch. They were referred to as “bag phones.” The internet connected through your phone line and it took about 10 minutes just to log on. Don’t get me wrong. I love having the world at my fingertips. I love being able to have a mobile internet in my pocket. If I wanted to, I could purchase a swimming pool, watch a video of a dog with two legs, check the weather forecast in Orange County, or book a flight to Christchurch, New Zealand…all from my phone. I love that. I think that’s the coolest thing in the whole world, actually. Who doesn’t want that kind of ease in their lives? I sure do.
While it’s hard to imagine a life without the prevalence of the Internet, I suppose what I'm mourning is the loss of pure, innocent childhood. I can remember waking up at about 8 AM on summer mornings, and staying outside and playing until the sun went down. The mosquitoes would be eating us alive, we would be starting to get cold, and our mothers would have to scream at the top of their lungs to get us to come inside. The only time I went indoors was when my mom took me to the library. Nowadays, when I go outside in the summer, I have to wonder if possibly every single child in the neighborhood failed their grade and is at summer school, for there is hardly anyone out playing. I simply can’t understand why kids don’t want to play outdoors when the weather is perfectly fine and they have no school obligations whatsoever.
Have things really changed that much in say, fifteen years?
Honestly, do kids read books anymore? Do they write letters, or use a landline phone? Do they still go outside and simply toss a baseball, or swing, without wondering who is going to text them or what Wii game they’re going to play next?
I hope pure childhood isn’t lost. I hope that it has simply evolved. Maybe children will text their friends to come over instead of riding their bikes to their house, maybe they will read books on their iPads instead of checking them out at the library, and maybe they will friend someone on Facebook before they become friends with them in real life.
But I will be stubborn. I will fill out job applications by hand; I will mail things through the US Postal Service. I will buy things in a real store, and order my pizza on the phone. I will buy books in a bookstore, and read the newspaper, not online. I will remember glass ketchup bottles, Disney movies (videocassettes!) that came in those huge white plastic cases, and life before 3-D movies. I will remember when you had to wait to have a roll of film developed, and when Polaroid pictures still existed. I will recall when the only thing viral was the rhinovirus, when twitter was the sound a bird made, and when a reading a text meant opening your textbook at school.
A thirteen year old wonders why I painstakingly take the time to pick songs out, get a CD, and burn it for my car. She wonders why I just don’t put a playlist on my iPod. Well, I don’t really have a good answer to that. But I will tell her to go home and ask her mom if she remembers when video killed the radio star. Because I know one day I’ll tell my daughter that I remember when iTunes killed the video star.
;)
Never Did
A year.
365 Days.
8,760 Hours.
525,600 Minutes.
31,536,000 Seconds.
As Jonathon Larson asked the MTV generation, "How do you measure a year?" Do you measure it in birth and death, in laughter and tears? In seasons, changes of weather, changing holidays? In good and bad grades, failed midterms and passed classes? In love and hope, pain and despair? However we choose to measure our year, we mustn't ignore any part of it. Because you have to take the good with the bad. You have to realize that good things can come from tragedy, and that even the best of things can fall apart. So much can change in a year, but a year can also stand to prove how far we have to go.
365 Days.
8,760 Hours.
525,600 Minutes.
31,536,000 Seconds.
As Jonathon Larson asked the MTV generation, "How do you measure a year?" Do you measure it in birth and death, in laughter and tears? In seasons, changes of weather, changing holidays? In good and bad grades, failed midterms and passed classes? In love and hope, pain and despair? However we choose to measure our year, we mustn't ignore any part of it. Because you have to take the good with the bad. You have to realize that good things can come from tragedy, and that even the best of things can fall apart. So much can change in a year, but a year can also stand to prove how far we have to go.
I look back and can't believe it's been a year. It's kind of funny to think that a few simple actions would have made for an entirely different year. If I would have just stayed in that night, I might not be writing this at all. I would be asleep right now. My mind wouldn't be plagued with memories that stab the heart like a knife.
Whatever.
A year, and I still have absolutely nothing to prove. Same shit, different year. Right where I started. Still taking 1 step forward and 8 steps back. But I guess the difference between this year and last is that I know a lost cause when I see one. So this is me giving up, throwing my towel in, punching the time clock. This is me walking away. I'm still here. Always will be, but I'm not making an idiot out of myself anymore.
It's like the man who always gets his car rained on right after he washes it. It doesn't matter how often he checks the weather, or how much he hopes it won't pour on his wax job, it always does. See where being the optimist gets you? Just shit on. I'm not going to be the one standing there with a big-ass grin on my face, hoping for the best anymore. Because 9 times out of 10, you don't get the best. They say you only get as let down as much as you build yourself up, but I think that's bullshit. Because no matter how little I expect, I always get disappointed. I just don't know why it's so hard for me to give up when the other side so clearly doesn't care.
That's the hardest part. I feel so much emotion I could explode, but the other person could care less. If I disappeared forever tomorrow, their life would just go right on as though nothing happened. How are the feelings so disproportionate? How did I let this happen? Why am I doing this to myself?
No matter what I wish for, it's selfish. And I know it is. So therefore, I don't wish for myself, but for them. For them to find what they are looking for. For them to find the happiness that they seek. I honestly want nothing but the best for them, because that is exactly what they deserve.
But I want them to know that I never gave up on what I believed in, not for one single minute of this whole year. I never stopped wishing and hoping, never stopped believing. I want them to know that I'm keeping my promise; I'll always be there for them. But I'm finally realizing that the feeling that I thought was there was in my head all along. Never a connection, nothing special. I've always just been as random to them as any other girl.
I'll never forget the way they made me feel. That's something that I know was never in my head. That's something I know was real; albeit based on a false connection. I've finally realized that I'm not special. I never was. I was just in the right place at the right time. I could have been any girl that night.
It does hurt. I won't lie. But the sooner I realize how cold and bitter this world can be, the better. It's not always rainbows and butterflies. In fact, it almost never is.
I wish I could open my eyes up right now and realize it was all a dream. Some elaborate, continuous dream that I've been having for a year. Something, anything to make me feel less stupid for feeling the way I did. Some magic pill that I could swallow to make me forget all the things that made me smile. To make me forget every memory, every conversation, every encounter that I remember. I would snort that shit if such a pill existed. Kind of like in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
A year gone by. A year in which I thought that I changed so much, yet only to find out I haven't really changed at all. A year that could be simmered down into a simple fact: I'm just that random girl at some party. That's what I need to accept- that's who I've always been. All that's left to do now is drown the moments of a year in that cup of beer I should have finished.
It all means nothing. It never did.
Whatever.
A year, and I still have absolutely nothing to prove. Same shit, different year. Right where I started. Still taking 1 step forward and 8 steps back. But I guess the difference between this year and last is that I know a lost cause when I see one. So this is me giving up, throwing my towel in, punching the time clock. This is me walking away. I'm still here. Always will be, but I'm not making an idiot out of myself anymore.
It's like the man who always gets his car rained on right after he washes it. It doesn't matter how often he checks the weather, or how much he hopes it won't pour on his wax job, it always does. See where being the optimist gets you? Just shit on. I'm not going to be the one standing there with a big-ass grin on my face, hoping for the best anymore. Because 9 times out of 10, you don't get the best. They say you only get as let down as much as you build yourself up, but I think that's bullshit. Because no matter how little I expect, I always get disappointed. I just don't know why it's so hard for me to give up when the other side so clearly doesn't care.
That's the hardest part. I feel so much emotion I could explode, but the other person could care less. If I disappeared forever tomorrow, their life would just go right on as though nothing happened. How are the feelings so disproportionate? How did I let this happen? Why am I doing this to myself?
No matter what I wish for, it's selfish. And I know it is. So therefore, I don't wish for myself, but for them. For them to find what they are looking for. For them to find the happiness that they seek. I honestly want nothing but the best for them, because that is exactly what they deserve.
But I want them to know that I never gave up on what I believed in, not for one single minute of this whole year. I never stopped wishing and hoping, never stopped believing. I want them to know that I'm keeping my promise; I'll always be there for them. But I'm finally realizing that the feeling that I thought was there was in my head all along. Never a connection, nothing special. I've always just been as random to them as any other girl.
I'll never forget the way they made me feel. That's something that I know was never in my head. That's something I know was real; albeit based on a false connection. I've finally realized that I'm not special. I never was. I was just in the right place at the right time. I could have been any girl that night.
It does hurt. I won't lie. But the sooner I realize how cold and bitter this world can be, the better. It's not always rainbows and butterflies. In fact, it almost never is.
I wish I could open my eyes up right now and realize it was all a dream. Some elaborate, continuous dream that I've been having for a year. Something, anything to make me feel less stupid for feeling the way I did. Some magic pill that I could swallow to make me forget all the things that made me smile. To make me forget every memory, every conversation, every encounter that I remember. I would snort that shit if such a pill existed. Kind of like in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
A year gone by. A year in which I thought that I changed so much, yet only to find out I haven't really changed at all. A year that could be simmered down into a simple fact: I'm just that random girl at some party. That's what I need to accept- that's who I've always been. All that's left to do now is drown the moments of a year in that cup of beer I should have finished.
It all means nothing. It never did.
Believing in the only thing I've Got
- What we put on it isn't really what we think or feel, generally. It's what we want people to think that we think and feel. For instance, if someone is very religious, they proclaim it loudly on their Facebook. "I Love Jesus!!!" and "Proud Christian!!!" dot some of the religion tabs of my friends' profiles. But others who I know are not terribly religious either put down a random denomination, or just omit the tab entirely from their profiles. Considering religion isn't usually a topic that's discussed in polite conversation, it's very surprising that it's one of the first things Facebook asks you to display for the world. Mine is a quote, from Abraham Lincoln, that simply says: "When I do good, I feel good. When I do bad, I feel bad. That is my religion." Truer words haven't been spoken. Perfectly ambiguous.
I do believe in God. Or at least some kind of higher power. I'm more inclined to believe that Earth was some random cosmic accident instead of "God's great creation". Or whatever. It would be very ignorant to assume that we are the only intelligent beings in the universe. I don't believe in miracles, or healing a person with just the touch of a hand. I don't believe that cancer can be cured by simply praying hard enough.
But what I do believe in is the power of my heart. I believe in love. I believe that I'm not alone in the way that I feel. I believe in the future. I believe in patience, holding on and never letting go. I believe in always being there, never breaking a promise, never letting someone down. I believe in laughter and tears, joys and sorrows, all coming together. I believe in the pain that shapes us, the light in our hearts that guides us, and the love that blinds us. I believe in those rare connection that you only make once or twice in your life. I believe this so strongly that it is almost a tangible, palpable thing that I can reach out and touch. It's an eternal flame that burns within me; that keeps me going on even the darkest of days.
Not just in terms of religion, but everything. I can wake up in the morning because I know that despite the war, hunger, disease, and deprivation that exists, along side it exists peace, full tummies, good health and good fortune. I can accept death because I know that a new life is just around the corner. I can take cold, lonely nights because I know that the sun will always rise for a better tomorrow.
Fuck me for being the eternal optimist, but I don't care. The glass will always be half-full for me. That is my religion. Optimism. Love. Hope. Especially hope. "Hope is what guides me. It is what gets me through the day and especially through the night."
I will never give up my hope. It is the only thing we have that is truly ours, but can also be shared by so many millions of others. Hope unites us. It also divides us, but its powers of divisibility only prove that deep down within each of us, there burns a passion that we cannot let go of. We must never give up that hope, ever. It is the axis upon which this earth rotates. The blood that courses through our veins. It is the stars winking at us in the night sky with the promise of a sunrise. It is the bitter winter snow from which spring flowers will soon bloom.
Our hope is all we have, so never take it for granted. Live each day to the fullest. Live a life you can be proud of. Because we know that this life is all too fickle. Life can be cruel, so one must find the beauty even where you can see nothing but ugly. Seek the rose among the thorns. Find the ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. Let your heart beat; and take a deep breath of the air all around you. We know all too well that each day could be our last. So treasure every moment. Find the beauty and the happiness and laughter of each and every shining moment. Because if all you ever had are those moments, then it'll be alright. It'll be ok because you never gave up. You never stopped believing and hoping and wishing. You never failed to see the beauty of everyday life.
Whomever reads this, I want you to be happy and healthy. I want for you to never have another broken heart, to never experience more hardships than you can handle. For good times and smiles and pleasures to always come your way. For you to be safe and warm, well-fed and always loved. But most of all, I wish for you to have hope. I wish that no matter what religion you practice, believe in, or put on your Facebook profile, that you'll always have hope. And if you do have that hope, I hope that that fire never burns out for you. I hope you always have something to believe in.
I'd put this on my Facebook, but there's a 450 character limit on the "Religion" tab.
Moments
I pulled out of sydney's driveway and took a puff on my just-lit cigarette. [just for the record, i don't smoke. only about one cigarette a month when i'm feeling particularly rebellious] the glow of the bright orange embers made a striking contrast with the inky black of the night. my parents don't exactly condone smoking or the stench of cigarettes in my car, so i rolled down the windows and took off down runyon road. it occured to me that i hadn't driven down the road since attending a bonfire at nate zimmerly's house my junior year of high school. turned on to smith valley. and then 135. i was headed toward olive branch, but still had half the cigarette left. i turned down curry road, a path that i beat probably at least once or twice a day. i was on autopilot. i don't exactly pay attention when i drive, as everyone who's ever ridden in a car with me can vouch for. i sped down the road, angry about the price of gas (who isn't, i ask?), tired, pissed for not taking advice everyone from God on down has given me, and just generally irritable and aggravated. a light flashed in my mirror. fearful of a cop, i slammed on the brakes. i generally fly down honey creek at about 55, even though the limit is 30. as i glanced out the window, i noticed the view.
it's not much.
it's the flat, rolling landscape of Indiana farmland, dotted with the occasional silo, silhouetted against the night sky. the colors were so beautiful it might have been from a watercolor painting. a deep, deep blue sky and the midnight black of the trees, silos, and houses. but this landscape, to me at that very moment, was the most beautiful thing i'd seen in a long time. it literally took my breath away. i slowed down considerably, taking in the rest of the scenery. i'd driven down this same road hundreds of times, but had never noticed how pretty it looked at night. i crawled down the rest of the road, seeing things i'd never seen before. it was as though i were on a completely different road. i turned onto smokey row road and experienced the same sensation of discovering a whole landscape i never knew about, or more likely, never noticed at all.
i was completely absorbed in the moment. my mind was incredibly lucid. i wasn't worrying about gas prices, ex-boyfriends, money, anything. all i could fathom at that moment was the beauty of the world around me.
i've always generally regarded greenwood, indiana a rather lackluster town. it is a typical midwestern suburb; moms drive their minivans with jesus fish stick-ons and sports bumper stickers around streets lined with every franchise known to man. crime rates are low. for every bank, there are 2 churches and for every gas station there are 3 mcdonalds. a mall. a handful of real, honest-to-goodness farms, and a smattering of parks. it's the kind of town that's small enough for everyone to know everyone's business. i used to dream of living in a big, important city, but i now love greenwood for those very same small-town nuances. even though i love the town i call home, i take it for granted. i drive down roads with my foot to the floor, concentrating on nothing but the quickest way to reach my destination. i don't often enough, as the expression goes, stop and smell the roses. in fact, i leave them in the dust of my tailwind. i don't stop and take in the beauty of everything around me. i don't just savor the feeling of being alive often enough.
i draw in a breath of the crisp summer air and decide to take the shortcut through willow lakes. everyone who has attended center grove high school that has a driver's license can drive this shortcut blindfolded. i usually swerve through the neighborhood at fast speeds, tapping my breaks at stop signs, and the like. [in case you haven't noticed, i kind of regard traffic laws as helpful suggestions rather than actual laws.] today i drove through very slowly, taking in breaths of air as though someone were going to turn off the oxygen soon. the crickets chirp. i turn off the radio so i can turn up the soundtrack i really want to listen to. the soundtrack of summer. crickets chirping, gentle breezes rustling the leaves of the trees, the occasional hum of an air conditioner. at a stop sign, i close my eyes for a moment, trying to remember everything about that very moment. the sounds, smells, colors, everything.
i try for one last puff on the cigarette, but it's gone out. they never last, i say to myself. then i realized that's what a moment is all about. savor it. savor those times where you are all alone and there's nothing but you and the wide, vast world. take in deep breaths of air, drive slowly and take in things you've never noticed before. thank god you're alive, healthy, and happy. don't shout it. think it, feel it. moments like those are far too rare to cheapen with heavy-handed words.
i get to my neighborhood and suddenly snap out of my reverie. the air is still, the air conditioner now sounds like a machine gun. i'm startled to find out that it's 12:45. i've never lost myself like that. i step out of my car and try to lose myself once more, but it's over.
those moments, they never last.
it's not much.
it's the flat, rolling landscape of Indiana farmland, dotted with the occasional silo, silhouetted against the night sky. the colors were so beautiful it might have been from a watercolor painting. a deep, deep blue sky and the midnight black of the trees, silos, and houses. but this landscape, to me at that very moment, was the most beautiful thing i'd seen in a long time. it literally took my breath away. i slowed down considerably, taking in the rest of the scenery. i'd driven down this same road hundreds of times, but had never noticed how pretty it looked at night. i crawled down the rest of the road, seeing things i'd never seen before. it was as though i were on a completely different road. i turned onto smokey row road and experienced the same sensation of discovering a whole landscape i never knew about, or more likely, never noticed at all.
i was completely absorbed in the moment. my mind was incredibly lucid. i wasn't worrying about gas prices, ex-boyfriends, money, anything. all i could fathom at that moment was the beauty of the world around me.
i've always generally regarded greenwood, indiana a rather lackluster town. it is a typical midwestern suburb; moms drive their minivans with jesus fish stick-ons and sports bumper stickers around streets lined with every franchise known to man. crime rates are low. for every bank, there are 2 churches and for every gas station there are 3 mcdonalds. a mall. a handful of real, honest-to-goodness farms, and a smattering of parks. it's the kind of town that's small enough for everyone to know everyone's business. i used to dream of living in a big, important city, but i now love greenwood for those very same small-town nuances. even though i love the town i call home, i take it for granted. i drive down roads with my foot to the floor, concentrating on nothing but the quickest way to reach my destination. i don't often enough, as the expression goes, stop and smell the roses. in fact, i leave them in the dust of my tailwind. i don't stop and take in the beauty of everything around me. i don't just savor the feeling of being alive often enough.
i draw in a breath of the crisp summer air and decide to take the shortcut through willow lakes. everyone who has attended center grove high school that has a driver's license can drive this shortcut blindfolded. i usually swerve through the neighborhood at fast speeds, tapping my breaks at stop signs, and the like. [in case you haven't noticed, i kind of regard traffic laws as helpful suggestions rather than actual laws.] today i drove through very slowly, taking in breaths of air as though someone were going to turn off the oxygen soon. the crickets chirp. i turn off the radio so i can turn up the soundtrack i really want to listen to. the soundtrack of summer. crickets chirping, gentle breezes rustling the leaves of the trees, the occasional hum of an air conditioner. at a stop sign, i close my eyes for a moment, trying to remember everything about that very moment. the sounds, smells, colors, everything.
i try for one last puff on the cigarette, but it's gone out. they never last, i say to myself. then i realized that's what a moment is all about. savor it. savor those times where you are all alone and there's nothing but you and the wide, vast world. take in deep breaths of air, drive slowly and take in things you've never noticed before. thank god you're alive, healthy, and happy. don't shout it. think it, feel it. moments like those are far too rare to cheapen with heavy-handed words.
i get to my neighborhood and suddenly snap out of my reverie. the air is still, the air conditioner now sounds like a machine gun. i'm startled to find out that it's 12:45. i've never lost myself like that. i step out of my car and try to lose myself once more, but it's over.
those moments, they never last.
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