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:

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!!!

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.

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.

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.

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 Adams

I 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.

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.

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?

Requesting permission to fail:

When I was 6 or 7 years old, there was this time when my dad picked me up from a friends house at night and it was snowing. As we were driving home, he said he had something cool to show me. Because I was a skeptical person even then, I questioned him: "huh?"

He waited till a car passed us, then he turned on the bright headlights.

At this time, our family drove a 1986 Isuzu Trooper. The thing always felt like it was two speed bumps away from a rusty metal grave, and as it hurtled into the darkness that night when dad had something to show me that only the bright setting of the headlights could make possible, it felt like we weren't in a car at all. Maybe a time travel machine, or a b-wing starfighter.

When he turned on the brights, the snowflakes that only moments before had appeared to be gently floating through the night sky and coming to rest softly on the windshield turned into terrifying stars hurtling toward us at the speed of light, comet-like tails streaming behind them.

I was enchanted.

It took me a while to realize that turning on the brights wasn't going into warp speed, we weren't really moving any faster and neither was the snow, we could just see the flakes more clearly when the lights were at full power. Enchantment slightly abated.

I feel a little silly about it now, but then again, who didn't believe something ridiculous when they were a kid? Santa, the Easter Bunny, the monsters in the closet, the idea that fire fighters do nothing but hang out with dalmations and slide down poles and save cats from trees, and that cookies are good for you.

One of the things that was nice about being a kid was that you had permission to fail. As a very small and still-developing (physically and cognitively) person, one was granted permission to believe crazy things, dream impossible dreams, make grand plans, try new and unusual things - and with that permission went the clause that said: "Since you're small, we won't hold you to this. You have permission to fail. You can say you want to be an astronaut and decide to be a chef two weeks later, you can get bad grades on tests, you can accidentally mess up friendships (sorry I took your legos) - and you can recover." That's what children are told, at least ideally, and I have to confess that I want to be told the same thing.

I want permission to fail.

And I think a lot of people want the same thing. Having permission to fail means having permission to try crazy things, dream crazy dreams, and live a life that won't leave you wondering "what if I had done ____."  We give kids that permission, who decided that adults shouldn't have the same freedom? Yes, adults have more responsibility and it gets harder to recover from failure the older you get - but I think we're all more afraid of failure than we should be. There is no real success without some element of risk.

All that said, I'm not waiting to get permission from you, friend.

I don't want YOUR permission to fail.

I have to give it to myself, because ultimately I'm the one who has to live with me and my successes and my failures.

Just a thought.