This is not something I ever thought I would write, but I am aiming to write a B essay tonight.
I'll explain that statement by explaining why I never thought I would say it. While I don't have a type A personality and I'm not a perfectionist (or maybe I'm just in denial), I am very competitive, especially in academic environments. My goal for this year is to graduate with a 3.9 GPA, because I know I can do it, and it is hard for me to accept anything less than the very best I can do. This is not inherently a character flaw (at least in my mind... or maybe that's the type A personality I don't have talking).
However, I am not great with the art of balancing one's life. When I'm in school, I am a great student. I'm not a great friend, or co-worker, or most other things. I have a hard time being wholly present anywhere because I am always thinking about school. I disappear from the lives of my friends and family, buried beneath textbooks, notebooks, and assorted Apple products. While it may just look like I have a great work ethic, what I am actually doing is fusing my self-esteem with my grades. This is not healthy and not something I'm proud of.
I am trying really hard not to do that this year.
The reason why is as follows:
My grandma died just over a month ago. While we were going through boxes and boxes of her things, we found many pictures and documents that'd we never seen - or paid attention to - before. We found her diploma from George Fox (then) College, where she graduated with honors. We also found boxes of old cards she had sent and received, almost a dozen photo albums, even collections of recipes. We pored over the cards and photos and clippings, and we loved it because we were seeing things that mattered to us as a family. However, no one gave the diploma more than a brief glance. Truthfully, I don't even remember what level of honors she graduated with.
Now, I am one of the last people in the world who would degrade college education, or graduating with honors. I want to go to graduate school, so I know that grades really matter.
However, so does life.
I realized that when I'm dead, my dozens of grandchildren won't really be concerned with my GPA or what's on my diploma. They will be far more interested in pictures, in my stories, in what I did with my degree - with my life.
I think everyone is going to school for different reasons, so this state of mind that I have somehow ended up in may sound straight-up crazy to you. That is okay. My goal with confessing these things is to encourage you, as a student, to take a second to reflect on why you're going to school, how you're living your life right now, and what will matter in years to come. Take breaks, go for walks, spend time with friends, eat grilled cheese sandwiches and watch sports once in a while without kicking yourself for it afterwards. Our college experience are, after all, 4 years of our lives - I for one don't want to hate it.
Just an thought.
Much love, and good luck with midterms.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
"Our well-intentioned destruction of history" and other thoughts from the first week of school.
This is straight out of a class assignment, but it sums up nicely where my head has been for a few days. Feedback and/or questions welcome.
After one of my classes this morning, I started thinking about how
the discovery of some element of history – whether it is a site, an idea, or a
people group – is often the first step in its eventual destruction. I began to
wonder if it is unavoidable that humankind’s attempts to appreciate and
understand history would end up destroying it. I have seen this pattern repeat
in multiple ways. Physically, it manifests itself in the destruction of
Mesoamerican historical sites that stood for centuries before tourists started
visiting. Figuratively, it is shown in white America’s attempts to “remember”
and “honor” Native American culture, succeeding only in propagating images of
the censored version we are comfortable with.
In
Steinbeck’s piece “The Leader of the People,” he painfully describes
Grandfather’s repeated attempts to inspire his family to appreciate and
sympathize with his journey Westward. Carl’s angry outburst: “That time’s done.
Why can’t he forget it, now it’s done?”(p.890) caused Grandfather to see that
his eager retellings were only defiling the overarching story for the people he
most wanted to understand it. He sought to use specific incidents (Piutes and
the 35 horses) to illustrate what it felt like to surge Westward, he
desperately wanted the “movement” (p. 891) to be as emotionally meaningful to
them as it was, and is, to him. It was not until he sadly recognized that
“Westering isn’t a hunger anymore” (p. 891) that he could see his experiences
as the others saw them. I cannot help but wonder what the reaction would have
been if he had only told the story once. But who has the self-control or
humility to tell a story only once? Who can take only one picture of a
beautiful scene, who has been to only one museum? When we see something we
like, we want more, whether it is good for us or not. However, it is that
overexposure, that rabid appreciation, that does not enhance our enjoyment but
rather makes it mundane, untrue, or even damaged.
I
suppose it is an innate human urge, to cling to or draw near the stories and
experiences that move us, though that often means that we will defile or
corrupt them. It is almost as if we are small children with candy bars, holding
onto them so tightly and eagerly that we
melt them with our hot little hands, ruining it for ourselves or anyone else who
may have enjoyed it.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Is there a metaphor for trying to create a metaphor for a metaphor?
Perspective is a funny thing.
I become so used to my own, 5'4" from the ground (give or take 1/4" depending on how worn my TOMS are), looking through young blue grey green eyes that have seen sunlight nearly every day of their 20 years.
My outlook on life and my worldview are shaped by my perspective, by the things I've experienced and seen. My perspective is unique because no one else has lived my life.
Explaining how one's perspective, thinking patterns, ideas, and understanding are/have been/will be changing is like trying to explain swimming to someone who has lived in a desert their entire life.
The reason I started thinking about this is as follows: today I found myself in the theoretical but very real trap of creating a metaphor for a metaphor.
I tried to think of a way to relate the bizarre impression of vertigo I felt when the rearview mirror in my car fell off while I was driving to something else - but how can the feeling of suddenly not being able to see in two directions at once while moving be explained? I can't think of another way to explain it. It just is what it is. Like in math class with those pesky algebra problems, this answer cannot be simplified.
What is a metaphor for the way water soaks into dry land? How do you describe a description?
How do I explain what it looks like to have a room filled with sunlight coming through a window that has been blocked for years?
I can't.
Maybe we can all imagine a sort of picture of what those things may look like, but that's because we've seen them before. If you haven't seen something before, you can't really understand what it looks like.
Your perspective can't account for things that you haven't experienced or learned, and when your perspective changes it can be as foreign to someone else as the concept of mp3's would be to someone who had only ever listened to records.
Perspective is a funny thing. And when it changes, slowly or dramatically, it can be as hard to rationalize or explain as the sudden loss of the assurance of a rearview mirror. And if no one else has ever driven the type of car that tends to have things like the rearview mirror fall off, it's possible that no one will know what I'm talking about.
So I suppose, by my own explanation, no one will understand this post. It won't resonate in your bones or change your lifestyle. But still, my wish is that we'd all have our perspective widened a little bit. If you need to stop revisiting the past, I hope your rearview mirror falls off. If you feel thirsty and dry, I hope you get the refreshment you need. If you're in the dark, I hope you find a window.
And when you do, and your perspective changes, I hope you remember what it was like to look back, be thirsty, or be in the dark. Because our perspectives are best used to understand other people.
I become so used to my own, 5'4" from the ground (give or take 1/4" depending on how worn my TOMS are), looking through young blue grey green eyes that have seen sunlight nearly every day of their 20 years.
My outlook on life and my worldview are shaped by my perspective, by the things I've experienced and seen. My perspective is unique because no one else has lived my life.
Explaining how one's perspective, thinking patterns, ideas, and understanding are/have been/will be changing is like trying to explain swimming to someone who has lived in a desert their entire life.
The reason I started thinking about this is as follows: today I found myself in the theoretical but very real trap of creating a metaphor for a metaphor.
I tried to think of a way to relate the bizarre impression of vertigo I felt when the rearview mirror in my car fell off while I was driving to something else - but how can the feeling of suddenly not being able to see in two directions at once while moving be explained? I can't think of another way to explain it. It just is what it is. Like in math class with those pesky algebra problems, this answer cannot be simplified.
What is a metaphor for the way water soaks into dry land? How do you describe a description?
How do I explain what it looks like to have a room filled with sunlight coming through a window that has been blocked for years?
I can't.
Maybe we can all imagine a sort of picture of what those things may look like, but that's because we've seen them before. If you haven't seen something before, you can't really understand what it looks like.
Your perspective can't account for things that you haven't experienced or learned, and when your perspective changes it can be as foreign to someone else as the concept of mp3's would be to someone who had only ever listened to records.
Perspective is a funny thing. And when it changes, slowly or dramatically, it can be as hard to rationalize or explain as the sudden loss of the assurance of a rearview mirror. And if no one else has ever driven the type of car that tends to have things like the rearview mirror fall off, it's possible that no one will know what I'm talking about.
So I suppose, by my own explanation, no one will understand this post. It won't resonate in your bones or change your lifestyle. But still, my wish is that we'd all have our perspective widened a little bit. If you need to stop revisiting the past, I hope your rearview mirror falls off. If you feel thirsty and dry, I hope you get the refreshment you need. If you're in the dark, I hope you find a window.
And when you do, and your perspective changes, I hope you remember what it was like to look back, be thirsty, or be in the dark. Because our perspectives are best used to understand other people.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
A tribute to the Thunder to the tune of "Oklahoma"
Oklahoma!
Where Durant comes driving down the court,
And Chris Bosh will weep
When the Thunder sweeps
While Lebron and Wade fin'ly retire!
Oklahoma!
Better than the Lakers or the Spurs,
So they won the West,
Soon they’ll be the best
When they win the finals and the rings!
We know that the Thunder is king,
And so this is the song that we sing,
And when we say: ah yip ah oh ee ayy,
We’re only saying “You’re gonna win, Oklahoma,"
Oklahoma,
O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A:
NNNN BBBB AAAA finals!
(Song begins at :52)
Where Durant comes driving down the court,
And Chris Bosh will weep
When the Thunder sweeps
While Lebron and Wade fin'ly retire!
Oklahoma!
Better than the Lakers or the Spurs,
So they won the West,
Soon they’ll be the best
When they win the finals and the rings!
We know that the Thunder is king,
And so this is the song that we sing,
And when we say: ah yip ah oh ee ayy,
We’re only saying “You’re gonna win, Oklahoma,"
Oklahoma,
O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A:
NNNN BBBB AAAA finals!
(Song begins at :52)
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Summer to-do list: working draft
1. Memorize the list of logical fallacies and mention every one I see/hear (AKA: be obnoxious all the time)
2. Purge my vocabulary of unnecessary abbreviations. Yeah guys, I know it's hilarious and charming when I say "totes perf" but no more.
3. Movie marathon list:
A. Scorsese
B. Wes Anderson
C. Ellen Page
D. Brad Pitt
E. Emma Stone
F. Christian Bale (censored, most likely)
4. Get really good at bocce ball
5. Improve frisbee skills from level 'arm amputee' to '12 year old boy'
6. Climb a mountain
2. Purge my vocabulary of unnecessary abbreviations. Yeah guys, I know it's hilarious and charming when I say "totes perf" but no more.
3. Movie marathon list:
A. Scorsese
B. Wes Anderson
C. Ellen Page
D. Brad Pitt
E. Emma Stone
F. Christian Bale (censored, most likely)
4. Get really good at bocce ball
5. Improve frisbee skills from level 'arm amputee' to '12 year old boy'
6. Climb a mountain
Sunday, May 13, 2012
In defense of #eavesdropping
Urban Dictionary defines "eavesdropping" as:
To spy on something or somebody.
Two federal intelligence agents were charged of eavesdropping on behalf of Russia.
Related Words: espionage, whistle-blowing, nosing.
The Online Etymology Dictionary states that an "eavesdropper" is:
"mid-15c., from M.E. eavesdrop, from O.E. yfesdrype "place around a house where the rainwater drips off the roof," from eave (q.v.) + drip. Technically, "one who stands at walls or windows to overhear what's going on inside."
The ever-lovely Miriam-Webster Dictionary describes "eavesdropping" as:
"to listen secretly to what is said in private "
And the incorrigible (do you need an definition for that, too?) Jazmin Miller (dare you to click that hyperlink) defines "eavesdropping," at least for my purposes, as:
"I heard you."
--------------------------------
I've always been of the opinion that if you are going to say something that you don't want "other people" to hear, you better darn well say it when "other people" aren't around. If other people are around, it's fair game for them to hear it, because let's face it: only 7 year old's can pull off selective hearing with any semblance of grace.
A "private" conversation held in public is no longer private.
Again, for my purposes, the part B to that phrase is: "therefore I will post whatever you say on Twitter."
Part of me is trying to make you laugh and get excited about my new favorite hashtag, but the other part of me is serious enough to be repetitive: if you want privacy, then keep your personal business private. Remember the delicacy of being discreet and verbally conservative, before Facebook and (ironically) Twitter brought our feelings and words to the public and un-erasable diary of the internet? Back when we whispered and spoke in confidence?
In a way, this new hashtag is a plea for you (not necessarily you the reader, I am speaking to the ambiguous, vague, societal "you") to watch what you say.
Because, if I hear you, I'll probably take it out of context and paste it on the internet.
NOTE: I am totally open to differing opinions on the idea of "eavesdropping." Just to be clear, I am not following people into their homes or taping microphones into restaurant booths, everything I post I hear in painfully public places.
Also, if you like, you can stay updated and follow me on Twitter here.
Also, if you like, you can stay updated and follow me on Twitter here.
Monday, April 16, 2012
The pink door (BONUS: new DiCaprio-inspired life goal)
Tonight, walking up the driveway to my house with leash and dog in hand, I decided to actually open this door.
This is the door to the shed on the property next to my parent's house. If you've ever been out to my house, I'm sure you've noticed it, because my dad hasn't yet found a way to get our lilac bushes to grow into an adequate divider and vision-blocker (think: Berlin wall). Maybe it's the expired Pepto-Bismol pink color or the endearingly dilapidated fence, but we've never found the view particularly appealing. Nobody lives inside the shed or the house in front of it, and nobody has for a long time. I have vague childhood memories of people living there, and even of being inside the house. I remember watching movies and eating delivered pizza, and noticing for the first time that the little white things they put inside the pizza box look like tables for very small people, or mice.
Let me step back and mention that I've mentioned the shed door in my mind a hundred times, each time finding some new illicit drug growing in the floorboards or rogue bandits planning their next heist.
But even though the house and shed have been empty (allegedly) for years, and I've looked at that door every day of the 20 years of my life, I've never opened it.
So tonight was the night that I actually saw the door for what it was, something I've always wondered about but never committed to exploring. There was always a better time, or a better pair of shoes, or a better soundtrack.
Until tonight.
I'm not sure what I was expecting. Maybe it was some Narnia-like moment of opening the door and discovering fairies and living garden gnomes inside, or a secret treasure, or even just some old relic that reminded me of my childhood.
A strong tug on the latch gave only resistance - I used both hands only to find that it still wouldn't budge. I peeked into the crack behind the door to see... more wood. The shed had been boarded up from the inside.
To ward off any attacks on the anticlimactic-ness of this non-adventure, I will address the "point" of this blog.
Sometimes the door to your next adventure doesn't open, and that's okay, because that just gives you more time for another one.
I feel like I'm in a place in my life where I could go in a dozen different directions and open a hundred different doors, and I know that statistically not all of them will open. I want me to know that it's okay, because there are other doors. I think I want you to know that, too.
------------------
Also. I saw Titanic for the first time (!!!!!) in the theater last week, and it was definitely life changing. Especially Leonardo DiCaprio, who deserves a high-five for being so classy and talented. This experience was so moving that I'm now inspired to do two things.
(1. Watch every movie that Leonardo DiCaprio is in. I'm beginning tonight with This Boy's Life, and am accepting offers from anyone who wants to watch Gangs of New York with me.
(2. Do something before the age of 23 (which is how old Leo was when during the filming of Titanic, fun fact) that will make me memorable. Maybe not movie-poster and fan club memorable, but something worth talking about in 20 years.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Movies Ryan Gosling shouldn't be in.
1. Bambi, for obvious reasons. Even though it would be truly awesome to hear him say "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything else at all" because I'm sure it would resonate straight down to the heart of even the most jaded cynic, it would significantly reduce his street cred.
2. The Hobbit, mostly because he would be limited to a dwarf, a wizard, shady guys from Lake Town, or a dragon. Though dwarfs are notorious for being surprisingly charming, I can't bear the thought of him being half my height.
3. High School Musical. Even though he's great when he sings (Blue Valentine, anybody?), he would be a teacher that bursts into song and choreographed dance about his feelings - nobody wants to see him ruined like that. Not even choir and a capella geeks, and I am a diehard a capella fan.
4. The Brady Bunch. Fighting over hairbrushes, attics, or who has to wash the dog? Nooooo thank you. Or he could be Mr. Brady in his flared corduroy pants... actually, maybe that's not such a terrible idea.
5. Fiddler on the Roof. Mostly because it physically pains me to imagine him 75 lbs heavier singing "If I were a rich man..."
Monday, March 19, 2012
For when you intentionally show up late to a final (bonus: Aragorn's version of a finals pep talk)
Say you're in this Psychology class that normally meets at 8:25 AM. That has been going as well as can be expected all term long, but now it's finals week. Because of some cruel, sadist person out there, occasionally the times of the finals are different than the normal class meeting times. If your Psychology class was to be stricken by this cruel, sadist person, your final may be rescheduled to take place, at, oh, say 8AM.
But, of course, you know this. You remember this 25 minute time promotion like you remember to make your socks always match. So, when you're in your bathroom barely dressed with wet hair and you see the clock strike 8:01, of course you are not plunged into a mind-numbing panic when you realize that you should leave about 20 minutes ago.
Because, as you coolly reassure yourself, today we're only hearing more presentations. I have to make an appearance, but (just like at local concerts) who wants to actually show up on time?
So you casually blow dry your bangs (priorities) and nonchalantly stuff your makeup bag into your purse as you snatch a granola bar and saunter (quickly) out to your car. Secretly you are relieved that you get to maintain your street cred by breezing confidently into the room after the suckers all showed up on time.
But first you have to get there, and you know you can't look like you accidentally forgot what time the final started. You scoff at the very idea! So you have to work some magic with the single bobby pin you can find and the makeup you can put on with one hand. The one hand part is important because Psychology finals do not deserve to be died over, so for heavens sake keep a hand on the wheel, at least one eye on the road, and don't speed. Besides, you planned for this to happen.
Blush is quick and easy and will help you maintain your "cool" image. Mascara is a little harder but not impossible. If you're a newbie, only do this at stoplights. Put on foundation if you have a kabuki brush but avoid (repeat: avoid) liquid foundation. There isn't ever a casual explanation for getting it all over your shirt. Also, though eyeliner may seem like a good idea, it's not. Do not doubt that theory.
While driving, it's best to give yourself a pep talk. It'll help you focus and get into the zone, even though you don't really need any help because obviously this is going according to plan!
The pep talk should look something like this:
You will show up barely in time to catch the 2 presentations that you need to evaluate, and not even your professor will care that your hair is still wet.
But, of course, you know this. You remember this 25 minute time promotion like you remember to make your socks always match. So, when you're in your bathroom barely dressed with wet hair and you see the clock strike 8:01, of course you are not plunged into a mind-numbing panic when you realize that you should leave about 20 minutes ago.
Because, as you coolly reassure yourself, today we're only hearing more presentations. I have to make an appearance, but (just like at local concerts) who wants to actually show up on time?
So you casually blow dry your bangs (priorities) and nonchalantly stuff your makeup bag into your purse as you snatch a granola bar and saunter (quickly) out to your car. Secretly you are relieved that you get to maintain your street cred by breezing confidently into the room after the suckers all showed up on time.
But first you have to get there, and you know you can't look like you accidentally forgot what time the final started. You scoff at the very idea! So you have to work some magic with the single bobby pin you can find and the makeup you can put on with one hand. The one hand part is important because Psychology finals do not deserve to be died over, so for heavens sake keep a hand on the wheel, at least one eye on the road, and don't speed. Besides, you planned for this to happen.
Blush is quick and easy and will help you maintain your "cool" image. Mascara is a little harder but not impossible. If you're a newbie, only do this at stoplights. Put on foundation if you have a kabuki brush but avoid (repeat: avoid) liquid foundation. There isn't ever a casual explanation for getting it all over your shirt. Also, though eyeliner may seem like a good idea, it's not. Do not doubt that theory.
While driving, it's best to give yourself a pep talk. It'll help you focus and get into the zone, even though you don't really need any help because obviously this is going according to plan!
The pep talk should look something like this:
I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me.
A day may come when you curse the very institution known as college,
when we forsake our finals
and break your impressive record of class attendance,
but it is not this day!
An hour of stoplights and slow pedestrians,
when you can see your GPA come crashing down,
but it is not this day!
This day we WILL make it to the final!!
By the power of the impending spring break,
I bid you stand, poor college student!!!
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Soap box of the day: "gay"
I just wanted to say that I'm really glad the decent social world has started to see that racist jokes, music, etc. are not funny or appropriate ever. It may seem like a common-sense thing, because we're all just people, but I'm still glad to see that change.
And I can't wait until homophobic, disability, or sexist jokes are also recognized as 100% inappropriate and aren't laughed at anymore.
I've heard it said that calling something "gay" isn't homophobic or offensive, because it's just a word and it doesn't mean something, but it is offensive and it does mean something. I don't want to make this an emotional rant or a thesis, but this is an issue that drives me absolutely crazy.
Using words like "gay" or "retarded" in a negative way is dehumanizing to homosexual and disabled individuals because it attaches that negativity to definitions of people. I know there is a better way to explain that but I'm really worked up so I can't.
Gay people are just that, people, and using the word "gay" as a negative or derogatory term is incredibly calloused and offensive.
There are so many other words to use that aren't demeaning to groups of people.
And that's why I turn into a big jerk when someone does use the word "gay," because I figure that if I make the user feel as uncomfortable as possible they might think twice the next time.
And I can't wait until homophobic, disability, or sexist jokes are also recognized as 100% inappropriate and aren't laughed at anymore.
I've heard it said that calling something "gay" isn't homophobic or offensive, because it's just a word and it doesn't mean something, but it is offensive and it does mean something. I don't want to make this an emotional rant or a thesis, but this is an issue that drives me absolutely crazy.
Using words like "gay" or "retarded" in a negative way is dehumanizing to homosexual and disabled individuals because it attaches that negativity to definitions of people. I know there is a better way to explain that but I'm really worked up so I can't.
Gay people are just that, people, and using the word "gay" as a negative or derogatory term is incredibly calloused and offensive.
There are so many other words to use that aren't demeaning to groups of people.
And that's why I turn into a big jerk when someone does use the word "gay," because I figure that if I make the user feel as uncomfortable as possible they might think twice the next time.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
If you ever wanted to see the feeding of the 5,000...
I heartily recommend spending some time at your local community center.
Well, I guess I can't say this for EVERY community center out there, but at the one here in Bend offers up a miracle every Sunday. The community center, or BCC for short, runs a program every Sunday called "Feed the Hungry." Volunteers and a few staff come together before 7am to prepare breakfast, sack lunches, and a full meal. Typically 100-200 homeless and hungry are served. BCC also offers other services on Sundays, including a shower truck and occasionally a dental service, as well as a space to get out of the cold for a while. Most if not all of the food is DONATED by local businesses, churches, organizations, and individuals. Volunteers and staff work hard to meet the individual needs of the community and to avoid wasting any food.
I've only spent a few hours volunteering at the BCC, but it's pretty amazing to watch the food and the volunteers to prepare and serve it come out of nowhere every week. And okay, maybe it's not the equivalent of the feeding of the 5,000, but it's still a miracle for people who really need it.
If you have time between church services on Sundays or if you don't go to church or if you're just looking for something to do that benefits the members of your community, email Diane at volunteer@bendscommunitycenter.org.
Learn more about the community center at http://www.bendscommunitycenter.org.
Well, I guess I can't say this for EVERY community center out there, but at the one here in Bend offers up a miracle every Sunday. The community center, or BCC for short, runs a program every Sunday called "Feed the Hungry." Volunteers and a few staff come together before 7am to prepare breakfast, sack lunches, and a full meal. Typically 100-200 homeless and hungry are served. BCC also offers other services on Sundays, including a shower truck and occasionally a dental service, as well as a space to get out of the cold for a while. Most if not all of the food is DONATED by local businesses, churches, organizations, and individuals. Volunteers and staff work hard to meet the individual needs of the community and to avoid wasting any food.
I've only spent a few hours volunteering at the BCC, but it's pretty amazing to watch the food and the volunteers to prepare and serve it come out of nowhere every week. And okay, maybe it's not the equivalent of the feeding of the 5,000, but it's still a miracle for people who really need it.
If you have time between church services on Sundays or if you don't go to church or if you're just looking for something to do that benefits the members of your community, email Diane at volunteer@bendscommunitycenter.org.
Learn more about the community center at http://www.bendscommunitycenter.org.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Of course I would create a library metaphor
I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be. - Douglas AdamsI believe that whenever you end up anywhere you have a story to tell about how you got there.
And I believe in sharing your story.
Today I was really struck by the beauty that can be found in that, even if it's just small moments and chapters that are shared. Because when you've made the journey and your story is bound, there isn't anything worse than locking it up and pretending like those footsteps never happened. Your memories should be like a library, ready to share and be made new in someone else's eyes. A journey made is wisdom gained, you can't pull the difficult books off of the shelf just because the covers are worn.
And that is as far as I will even attempt to push that metaphor, it stops well before past due fines and the Dewey decimal system.
I feel a little bit like a fortune cookie, but I'm serious: Take every good opportunity to kindly, wisely, and meaningfully share the moments and the chapters of your story.
Friday, February 17, 2012
What I love even more than bucket lists...
"I am so glad that I did this" lists.
"I can't wait to tell my grandchildren about this" lists.
"I will never regret this" lists.
And "I never would have thought to put this on a bucket list" lists.
Think about it!
Bucket lists became a big part of pop culture after that movie came out - what was it called? (just kidding)
And they're popular because they're great! I have written out many a bucket list in my time (which is almost embarrassingly short, yes I am aware). Seasonal bucket lists, before I get married bucket lists, before I graduate bucket lists. Sure, I know the real idea behind the thing is things to do before you die, but when you're young you have so many other milestones ahead of you- who wants to wait for the last one?
How many bucket lists have I completed? Ummm...
How many listed experiences have changed as my tastes and comfort levels and dreams change?
In my mind, bucket lists should be inspirational outlines at best. They should be a starting point but not a roadmap.
Because what I've also discovered in my time is that often the best experiences in life are the ones you never had on a to-do list.
That's where the whole idea for "I am so glad that I did this" list came from. I'm a believer in the power of reflection and of knowing the paths you have already walked over and learned from. There is hope and inspiration and magic to be gained from remembering the times that you took a chance, embraced the crazy, or stayed true. The things you never planned on doing but changed you anyway.
Here's part of mine.
The things I am excited to tell my grandchildren:
- I took the reins hat were offered to me in downtown St Louis in 2007 and drove a horse drawn carriage down the street
- I played a fateful game of red rover in which I took a hard fall and went back in to keep playing, and my foot was broken he whole time
- I emailed my favorite professor about a tv show and ended up starting an independent study that could change the course of my education and career
- I wrote back to the boy in Seattle who would end up changing everything
- I went to Shari's at 3am in a formal dress and heels just for kicks with three of my best friends
- I played twister in an elevator
- I sent my grandpa a joke
- I listened to my father when he told me that I was only 18 and closed minded and he thought it was sad
--- and all those times when I answered the phone, said "sure I'll go!", almost drowned, got sunburned, didn't finish the book, and drove too fast.
Even if this doesn't make you look at bucket lists differently, I hope you are able to look back on the beautiful moments in your life and take note of the lists you've already conquered.
With love, Jaz.
"I can't wait to tell my grandchildren about this" lists.
"I will never regret this" lists.
And "I never would have thought to put this on a bucket list" lists.
Think about it!
Bucket lists became a big part of pop culture after that movie came out - what was it called? (just kidding)
And they're popular because they're great! I have written out many a bucket list in my time (which is almost embarrassingly short, yes I am aware). Seasonal bucket lists, before I get married bucket lists, before I graduate bucket lists. Sure, I know the real idea behind the thing is things to do before you die, but when you're young you have so many other milestones ahead of you- who wants to wait for the last one?
How many bucket lists have I completed? Ummm...
How many listed experiences have changed as my tastes and comfort levels and dreams change?
In my mind, bucket lists should be inspirational outlines at best. They should be a starting point but not a roadmap.
Because what I've also discovered in my time is that often the best experiences in life are the ones you never had on a to-do list.
That's where the whole idea for "I am so glad that I did this" list came from. I'm a believer in the power of reflection and of knowing the paths you have already walked over and learned from. There is hope and inspiration and magic to be gained from remembering the times that you took a chance, embraced the crazy, or stayed true. The things you never planned on doing but changed you anyway.
Here's part of mine.
The things I am excited to tell my grandchildren:
- I took the reins hat were offered to me in downtown St Louis in 2007 and drove a horse drawn carriage down the street
- I played a fateful game of red rover in which I took a hard fall and went back in to keep playing, and my foot was broken he whole time
- I emailed my favorite professor about a tv show and ended up starting an independent study that could change the course of my education and career
- I wrote back to the boy in Seattle who would end up changing everything
- I went to Shari's at 3am in a formal dress and heels just for kicks with three of my best friends
- I played twister in an elevator
- I sent my grandpa a joke
- I listened to my father when he told me that I was only 18 and closed minded and he thought it was sad
--- and all those times when I answered the phone, said "sure I'll go!", almost drowned, got sunburned, didn't finish the book, and drove too fast.
Even if this doesn't make you look at bucket lists differently, I hope you are able to look back on the beautiful moments in your life and take note of the lists you've already conquered.
With love, Jaz.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Alright, so it's been a few days
But I don't want to waste typing energy on excuses that you and I don't care about anyway.
Most people have habits. Little quirks or strategies or systems that they put into place in order to live the way they want to, or think they should. Some people drive the same way to work every day, some people always draw a line through their 7's, others tie their right shoe before their left. Me, well I clean my room.
Sure, it's about as often as I blog, but I clean it. And when I do, I usually blog about it.
Please don't make any rash judgements about the psychological implications of following cleaning my physical space with cleaning my mental and emotional space.
This time I went deep, I dug through every drawer and box and old container that once held cheap stationary and purged. Purging is hard for me because, let me just admit it right now, I am a hoarder. A 20 year old hoarder. About a dozen five year old magazines, movie tickets from 2001, too many notebooks with only one page of writing in them to count, and just about everything else you could think of.
Literally, everything you could think of.
Napkins from special restaurants, baggage tags from trips, notes, every birthday card I've received in the last 10 years. If I ever babysat you and you colored me a picture, I still had it. Pictures of people I don't know, event flyers, bottle caps, even my wisdom teeth.
I have no shame.
But as I think I've attempted to explain before, I'm a believer in remembering. I believe in the power of memories you can touch. I love the idea of having a physical legacy to leave behind. I love the idea that, someday after grad school when I have children and after they have children, they will have a piece of my life to look at that isn't an iPad or digital photo frame.
I found this red-violet Crayola crayon that I found while I was dancing in the leaves in Drake Park the morning of my last day as a 17 year old. With Kaitlyn.
I also found this little journal with 4 pages that I made with paper and bound with ribbon when I was 8. I wrote about camping and Star Wars and popcicles, which I really spelled like that. I also wrote about the time when my parents were busy playing an intense game of Sequence, and it happened to be during dinnertime, and I happened to be hungry, and they told me to eat marshmallows for dinner. The journal ends with "Life is full of departure, isn't it?"
I had pen pal in the Philippines eleven years ago that I had completely forgotten about. In one letter she said "You asked me if our country is really good. Yes, it's good because God made it" and in the other she said her birthday was coming soon - on January 17. I discovered that letter in my room-cleaning... ON JANUARY 17.
This is the beautiful, weird stuff in life that you just can't make up, you don't even want to make it up. Because really, who wants to find their wisdom teeth in a box of cards?
Most people have habits. Little quirks or strategies or systems that they put into place in order to live the way they want to, or think they should. Some people drive the same way to work every day, some people always draw a line through their 7's, others tie their right shoe before their left. Me, well I clean my room.
Sure, it's about as often as I blog, but I clean it. And when I do, I usually blog about it.
Please don't make any rash judgements about the psychological implications of following cleaning my physical space with cleaning my mental and emotional space.
This time I went deep, I dug through every drawer and box and old container that once held cheap stationary and purged. Purging is hard for me because, let me just admit it right now, I am a hoarder. A 20 year old hoarder. About a dozen five year old magazines, movie tickets from 2001, too many notebooks with only one page of writing in them to count, and just about everything else you could think of.
Literally, everything you could think of.
Napkins from special restaurants, baggage tags from trips, notes, every birthday card I've received in the last 10 years. If I ever babysat you and you colored me a picture, I still had it. Pictures of people I don't know, event flyers, bottle caps, even my wisdom teeth.
I have no shame.
But as I think I've attempted to explain before, I'm a believer in remembering. I believe in the power of memories you can touch. I love the idea of having a physical legacy to leave behind. I love the idea that, someday after grad school when I have children and after they have children, they will have a piece of my life to look at that isn't an iPad or digital photo frame.
I found this red-violet Crayola crayon that I found while I was dancing in the leaves in Drake Park the morning of my last day as a 17 year old. With Kaitlyn.
I also found this little journal with 4 pages that I made with paper and bound with ribbon when I was 8. I wrote about camping and Star Wars and popcicles, which I really spelled like that. I also wrote about the time when my parents were busy playing an intense game of Sequence, and it happened to be during dinnertime, and I happened to be hungry, and they told me to eat marshmallows for dinner. The journal ends with "Life is full of departure, isn't it?"
I had pen pal in the Philippines eleven years ago that I had completely forgotten about. In one letter she said "You asked me if our country is really good. Yes, it's good because God made it" and in the other she said her birthday was coming soon - on January 17. I discovered that letter in my room-cleaning... ON JANUARY 17.
This is the beautiful, weird stuff in life that you just can't make up, you don't even want to make it up. Because really, who wants to find their wisdom teeth in a box of cards?
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