NEW YEAR'S

Oh, New Year's resolutions. So easy to make, so difficult to keep. This year, I'm not going to try juggling like I did in the fourth grade. Or "never thinking a mean thought again" like I attempted in the fifth grade. Good idea, but that one was just. Don't try it at home. And then there was becoming a master chef like I dreamed of in the seventh grade. So crazy, but you know what? These weren't stupid resolutions. At least, they didn't seem to be at the time when I made them in my ever-curious, never-fully-in-reality head. They all were born of good intentions. But I was simply too uncoordinated or too human to fulfill them.

So this year? You probably expect me to say something about New York City. About going there more or being there for some big event or perhaps even living there (due to college) in the coming year. But I'm not.

Here's my real one:

I'm obsessed with observing people. With noticing how they work, how they act, how they talk, how they walk, how they think, how they feel. Especially when they don't really know anyone is watching. Creepy, right? But it's FASCINATING. Thus, it is my goal this year, 2013, to help more people become infatuated with noticing, with observing, with soaking in, with peering, with perusing, with contemplating. For that reason, I am going to start a people watching club. I've talked about it before, but mostly as a joke. However, I've decided that if it's done with class and innocence and a little bit of curiosity, I don't see anything wrong with actually doing it.

I feel as though it's the closest thing there is to seeing the world without ever purchasing a plane ticket or a passport. Hop on board if you'd like.

The Fault in Our...Selves

I just finished the best book of my life. The funny thing is, I have this perpetual tendency to deem the book I've read most recently "the best book of my life." Even so, this one is definitely in my top five. The Fault in Our Stars. By the brilliant, uncannily well-spoken Mr. John Green. And as much as I would thoroughly enjoy writing a brief but duly beautiful review of this faultless work, I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to ransack even a moment of what could potentially be a life-altering, new-perspective-impelling experience for you, as a prospective reader. Or more accurately put, as a prospective indulger.

What I am going to do is zero in on a quote that I found particularly alluring. You see, I have this theory that John Green is perhaps the most quotable author of our era. Of course, there are undoubtedly dozens who would emphatically and ruthlessly argue with my statement. But I'm just going to throw this one out on the table. I'm usually an extremely open-minded person. But in regards to this argument, I know for a fact that I am right. Sorry; that was rude. But I digress.

Let us back to the quote at the beginning of this post. Oh, the sweet, unbearably valid words. I'll just break down my interpretation for you. In this world, it is our natural inclination to want to leave a mark, to create a legacy, to outlive our lives in the hearts and minds of hundreds and thousands and millions of people. We are arbitrarily set on a pursuit of showing the world our immense value, and yet, in the process, we relinquish our hold on the love that actually matters, on the recognition that truly counts. Indeed, just as John Green points out in this book, we focus on being loved widely, but not deeply. We are so consumed by "making it big," by becoming a household name, by being named a hero. And I'll admit that I am one of the worst offenders. I often focus on the mere quantity of my impact rather than the quality of my impact. I mean, it's not totally wrong to yearn for fame and renown. But it is totally wrong to let them become your reason for living. Look around you. I guarantee that there is at least one person who loves you beyond reason, who sees what you do and says, "That's what I want to do. That's what I want to be," who knows the unthinkable promise you hold, and in turn, holds fast to you. And my advice? Sustain this; uphold this; never take it for granted. You may not be known vastly and widely. But you are known lovingly. And trust me, you couldn't - and shouldn't - ask for more.

A difficult lesson, but a lesson nonetheless.

Jingle Blog. (This title is in no way indicative of the content.)

Christmas. For those who know me best, it's quite apparent that I kind of like this holiday. Actually, I am head over heels in love with it. I dream about it every day of the year. I feel like I'm on top of the world every time the mere thought of Christmas enters my mind, which isn't too often. Only like 10 times a minute. I drool at the thought of the day. Not really; that would be nasty. But almost. Needless to say, Christmas is perfect. In each and every sense of that beautiful word.

But today I had the opportunity to see that this is not the case for all people, as our present-clouded, filthy-rich, "the-value-of-Christmas-rests-in-the-value-on-the-price-tag" minds so often attempt to convince ourselves that it is. Not everyone anticipates Christmas as the greatest time of year. Not everyone dreams about it. Not everyone has a Christmas tree to be rockin' around. Not everyone can say, "I'll be home for Christmas." Because that home doesn't exist. You see, today I worked at an inner-city soup kitchen. There were hundreds of people there who had nothing but the thin filthy tatters of "clothing" upon their backs. They had no reason to anticipate the big day to come. And you know what? They were the most joyous, visibly blessed people in the world. There were men without teeth who had the fullest smiles I had ever laid eyes on. There were children without toys who played with great ease and happiness, simply because they were in a warm place for the first time in days. There were bone-skinny people who had the warmest hugs and the biggest hearts I've ever encountered. There were others who could be smelled from ten feet away and yet still exuded the sweetest, most contagious air of peace and beauty. Yes. It was perhaps the most picturesque scene of my life. Amidst the rugged exteriors shone the most pristine of interiors. And that's Christmas for you.

That's Christ for you. He was nothing. He didn't have anything special in His outward appearance. He came as a lowly baby. Yes; He was indeed nothing. And yet He was everything. Dare I say it again? That's Christmas for you.

So live gratefully. Recognize the fact that if you're reading this, you have a computer or an iPad or a smart phone or something else. And if you have one of those, then you have far more than you need. So, by the commutative property, it's safe to say you, as a reader, are so unbelievably overly blessed. But don't feel guilty. Do something about it.

And most of all. Celebrate gratefully. Eat gratefully. Unwrap gratefully. Sing gratefully. Laugh gratefully. Relish gratefully. And take heed of the fact that you are blessed beyond reason. Gratefully.

Merry Christmas.

P.S. Shout out to the boy who was overcome with happiness when he was allowed to take an extra chocolate milk today at the soup kitchen. May blessings abound.

Exam Studying Postponed. Other Things Are More Important.

I just finished perhaps one of the greatest, most eye-opening conversations of my life with an incredible friend of mine a few minutes ago. We, both strong Christian women, got to talking about religion a little bit, what it's all about, what it may or may not entail. Indeed, before I begin here, I must boldly proclaim that I am an unshakeable believer in Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. I hold fast to Him each and every day of my life; He is my rock; He is my solace; He is my fortress; He is my hope; He is my guide; He is my best friend. There you have it. 

So, there we were (my friend and I), talking about this idea of faith and about our reason for living and about our pursuit of Christ - and then, about how heck this beautiful, seemingly perfect relationship with a selfless Savior does not appeal to everyone, why so many people are turned off by the Christian church. And then it hit us. WE are doing it all wrong. We, as the church of Christ, are doing it all wrong. We spend so much time trying to play up every potential weakness and difference and "wrong-doing" of those outside the church, as if, somehow, that might draw these people in and prompt them to surrender their lives to Christ. We fight battles that do not need to be fought, battles that could see their end with even a mere a twinkling of love's promise of beginning. And I hate to break it to you, but this is so unbelievably, grossly, devastatingly wrong. And as much as I wish I could change the perception of unbelievers and motivate everyone in the church to focus more on the people themselves than on their lifestyle choices or backgrounds or current beliefs, I cannot. But no way am I defeated. No way am I leaving it at that. No way will I be ashamed of something that I want everyone to experience for themselves.

You see, I'm not ashamed. Frankly, I know what I believe, and I know for a fact that it does not always line up with every last teaching of the church. And that's okay. It's about loving Christ so much so that He permeates every aspect of your life. Thus, judging is absolutely futile. It gets you nowhere. It's about recognizing the fact that you are loved beyond your wildest imagination, and in turn, letting others - regardless of choice or background or lifestyle - feel the exact same way. No way, no how is there such thing as being too accepting. That's called being like Jesus. It called altering lives - for the better. And it is a beautiful, mind-boggling, earth-shattering, hand-trembling thing that our finite minds are not meant to comprehend. And each and every day, I am becoming more and more okay with that.

P.S. Shout out to Jesus, the guy who loved everyone.

Learning to Love Learning

I have always tried so desperately to convince myself that I do not love learning. After all, an uncontainable love of learning could potentially make me a bit nerdy, and, frankly, I am already treading far too close to that line as it is. However, I am discovering more and more that I have this strange quality where the thoughts of others are simply inconsequential in my grand scheme of things, and boy, am I ever indebted to this strange quality of mine. You see, I used to live in perpetual fear of the scrutiny of others and the incessant desire to be accepted. Turns out, this didn't really work out for me, so I've taken a different approach towards life, an approach quite the opposite, if I do say so myself. Now, I'm not afraid to say that I love learning. I am deeply, passionately, madly in love with learning. Alright, maybe that is a bit much. Wait, no it's not.

Learning is breathtaking. I can barely catch my breath as I’m sitting here just thinking about its limitless possibilities. Yet, this is not to say that I love each and every thing that I am forced to study and learn within the walls of my microscopic high school. Call me crazy, but I don't necessarily want to scream "YEAH, THIS IS SO NEAT," every time I learn a new mind-boggling, kind of grossly complex lesson in calculus. In fact, sometimes, I want to be sick or break something. To put it simply, I love learning, but I'm not a freak. No; that was kind of harsh. What I actually am trying to say here is that we all have certain things that spark our interests, that leave us so far on the edges of our seats that we will most likely fall off sooner or later. And that's when true learning takes place: when we plummet ever so freely into the unknown, into the curiosity-inducing, into a world where familiarity and obscurity feed off of one another. And this is life. Without learning, life itself is unbelievably pointless. I believe it was Winston Churchill who said, "It's what you learn after you know it all that really counts." In other words, we do not grow out of learning. It is a lifelong treasure that even the most reluctant of geniuses must admit to still practicing. And undoubtedly, thoroughly enjoying.

For me, the most beautiful learning comes in the form of writing. I can write and write and write some more, but I will never become a truly perfect and universally-adored writer. That's unheard of; it's not possible. And that is what I like about writing. As I learn more about its alluring craft and brilliant components, my readers can learn right along with me. In watching me grow, they too can spring to new heights. Yes; I like that very much. I mean, let’s imagine for a moment that I could create my own dream school, overflowing with none other than all of my dream courses. They would be vastly different from the “standard” school, but they would not necessarily have to pertain to writing alone. At least, not all of them. That would be unrealistic. Rather, it would go a little something like this:

Course 1: Writing Outside and Making the Life of Nature Exude From the Pages So Much So That They Are Dripping. Literally.

Course 2: Writing Inside By Something Inspiring Like a Warm Fire

Course 3: Learning to Let Jesus Christ Rock Your World and Turn Your Life Inside Out and Outside In and Here and There and Everywhere, Preferably

Course 4: Writing Poetry In Such A Way That It Makes The Readers Tremble And Question Whether They Are Trembling Out of Joy or Passion-Saturated Empowerment, or Maybe Something Else

Course 5: Script Writing for Renowned Shows Like Saturday Night Live or How I Met Your Mother

Course 6: Writing Carefully Crafted Works for Friends and Loved Ones Because You Are Terribly Inept At Saying How You Truly Feel

Course 7: Reading Every Classic Novel Ever Written, Just For Kicks and Most Likely For a Tremendous Literary Snack

Course 8: Discovering the Secret to Making Every Person Around You Feel as Though They are the Most Precious, Beautiful, Extraordinary, Gifted Thing You Have Ever Encountered in Your Entire Life

Sorry for the extensive course titles, but I figured the names could speak for themselves if I went about it this way. If I could set up the perfect classroom setting, it would be completely void of any classroom whatsoever. The classroom would be that huge tree in the park or a crowded cafe or a bustling studio or a pleasantly simple window seat or a large and quaintly awkward family gathering or the smallest hut in a third world country. Those sound like the most incredible classrooms to me, the only true classrooms in all actuality. Indeed, I would be happiest if learning was no longer a thing that happened within walls. Yes; if learning happened only when these walls came crashing down.

P.S. Shout out to the person who asked for a shout a pretty long time ago. You are loved.

This Isn't Mine, But I Sure Wish It Was

For starters, I did not write the passage below, even though I wish with all that is in me that I could take credit for its beautiful craft. I simply happened upon it the other day and had to share its intoxicating wisdom with all of you. Just read it. Soak it in. Love it. Live it. Breathe it. Revel in it. Dance with the thought of it. And DO IT.

That is my prayer and hope for this cluttered and consumed generation of ours. To de-clutter just a bit. And replace it with people and places and experiences. REAL experiences. In other words, throw out your tv and your computer and your phone and do something meaningful. Nah; I'm totally kidding. But maybe, just maybe, consider reevaluating where the true treasures of life lie. And enjoy.

Thanksgiving Without Thanks

Now, I could sit here and rant about how I am so tremendously appalled by the selfish mentality we have here in the United States or how it disgusts me that we somehow think that giving thanks once every 365 days (or perhaps 366) is pleasantly adequate. Key word in that last sentence was could. I could rant. But I won't. After all, if I chose that topic, this post would be quite negative. Actually totally, completely, wholeheartedly, downright pessimistic. And who the heck would want to read that on their annual day of giving thanks? I know I wouldn't. So I've decided to take a different route here, to let you in on a little Thanksgiving secret of my own, in all its unadulterated legitimacy.

You see, for a little while now, thanks has been my least favorite word. Any form of it: thankful, thanking, thanksgiving, etc. It's not that I hate giving thanks; in fact, it's quite the opposite. But I've been getting upset when I do things for others and then don't receive the thanks that I believe I deserve in response to these oh so "praise-worthy" acts of mine. Sometimes, I only do things in the hope of the onslaught of gratitude I'll receive in return for them. In other words, I can sometimes be a self-absorbed, greedy, egocentric loser, to put it kindly, who does the right things for all the wrong reasons.

And I'm so incredibly glad that I've realized this. It hit me one day as I read a quote by John Wooden. Sorry I mention him quite a bit, and sorry also because I will continue to mention him quite a bit, but he's just awesome. He brings life to life with his gentle, yet wisdom-saturated words. Words that cannot go unnoticed. Words that should not and cannot be taken for granted. This particular quote of his goes a little something like this: "Well, your greatest joy definitely comes from doing something for another, especially when it was done with no thought of something in return." Something tells me that this is a tad easier said than done. I mean, is he really telling me that I should hold the door open for that person behind me and not be a little upset if that person doesn't throw a sincere thanks my way? Yes; pretty much. And I should help that person with all 120 of their math problems and not be overcome with angry regret when they forget to drop even one measly thank you? Well, you bet.

It suddenly doesn't sound so fun. But that's not really what it's all about, "fun." Fun. is a band (a darn good one); but it's not the guaranteed result of giving. It can be. It definitely can be. But it's not always going to be. So what exactly am I getting at here? And how is this not the negative post that I promised to avoid at all costs?

Well, here it goes. I've decided to put John Wooden's words into practice, to make them a reality in my own life this Thanksgiving. And every other day of the year for that matter. You see, most of the time my thoughts on Thanksgiving become clouded with thoughts of mashed potatoes, [organic] turkey, pumpkin pie, and a bunch of other stuff that is unidentifiable because it is smothered with so much butter. Don't get me wrong; it is all very yummy. Indulge away. But don't let it get the best of you. Instead, try to focus on a thanksgiving without thanks. You see what I did there? It would just be giving. I'm not saying that we should not express our utmost gratitude on this day. I'm just saying that perhaps some more emphasis should be placed on the giving. Giving without expecting. Investing without anticipating a monstrous amount of interest. It sounds kind of really beautiful.

So. Happy Giving (with a heaping side of thanks).

P.S. Shout out to Gobbles, the turkey.

High on High School

           "High School is like a spork: it's a crappy spoon and a crappy fork, so in the end it's

just plain useless."  -John Mayer

 

Now, I must start out by saying that I in no way, shape, or form have hard feelings toward my high school. In fact, I have absolutely loved most of my experiences within its well-seasoned walls. I love the people I've met, the relationships I've cultivated, the experiences I've relished. To put it simply, I have no complaints. I don't believe high school is useless by any stretch of the imagination.

But I do believe that high school must come to an end, and we all come to grips with this fact at different points in our lives. Some realize it early on. I'm talking far before high school actually ends. Some realize it as they clasp their diploma in their sweaty hands on graduation day. And still others remain high on high school far into their twenties. I'm not here to say that one response is more correct than the others, or that one response is something to be ashamed of. Because neither of those things would be correct, and neither would be my decision to make. I'm simply here to state where I'm at on my own personal journey.

My friend and I talk about this all the time at lunch. And I loved what she said about it the other day. "If you had told me last year at this time that I was going to miss my Senior Homecoming, Senior Retreat, and countless important games, I honestly would have freaked out. But I'm okay with it. It doesn't bother me that much because I feel like I'm ready to move on." Well, hey. I'm 100% with you, sister. It's not that I'm fed up with high school. I'm simply ready to press onward. To move forward. To encounter a new, alluring, chill-inducing adventure. I want to see new things. I want to try new things. Heck, I want to eat new things. And I just believe that you can only live in this small of a world for so long. There comes a point where you have to face the idea that there is more to this world than the bubble we try to convince ourselves that it is.

Maybe it's because I know what I want to do with my life or maybe it's just because I am uncannily restless. I hate monotony. Either way, I feel as though I'm becoming less and less high on high school. I like learning, but only when I don't have to. I LOVE writing, but not about things that don't pull at my heart strings or spark my interests. I like spending time with great people, but sometimes meeting new ones sounds like Christmas. In other words, I'm ready for change. I'm ready to live my own life.

The other day, I read an article about some of my favorite famous people - writers, comedians, actors, actresses. It was all about how they were the farthest thing from popular in their high school days. Some of them were made fun of, some were ignored, some were known only for their out-of-the-norm antics. And then it hit me. Sometimes, I think the key to doing tremendous things is to not be the envy of everyone in your high school. You would have to be too normal, too mainstream to be that. Different is what captivates. Strange is what makes hilarity. Uncommon thoughts are what make for good writing. High school is not the end-all, be-all. It does not define where you go in life. So, in that sense, yes, I do believe that high school can be considered useless.

But I'm not going to let it be. I'll soak in the moments of this last year. I'll take some lessons with me. And then I'll go do some damage in the world. Thank you, high school. For being gracious to me and for prompting me to do something much bigger. For prompting me to leave.

Lifeless Life?

Toward the end of this past summer, I received a handwritten letter from one of my best friends. My initial reaction was somewhere along the lines of, "Whoa. What the heck is this? What do I have to click to open it?" Alright. My reaction wasn't really quite this severe. But basically. And I must say that I am forever indebted to this friend of mine. I mean, sure I receive an uncannily large amount of college mail, but so does everyone. It's not the same. It's not alluring. It's not heartfelt. It's as close to being impersonal as personal can get. No, this letter was different. It took me back to the days of pen pals and stationery and vivacious anticipation. Indeed, that very day, I rediscovered how enamored I am with the simple, with the tangible, with the sheer reality of it all. And it got me thinking.

This generation is imprisoned by the computer screen, by the smartphone, by addictive texting. Look at me, I'm preaching about excessive computer use as I sit here, clicking away at my own computer keys. But it's serious. It's so serious. We're trying to better our lives so much that we are no longer truly living. Essentially, we're too busy with our faulty idea of life to live. And it's frightening to think about. 

What is face-to-face interaction? Is that even a real thing anymore? Honestly, I couldn't tell you if I tried. Now, don't get me wrong here. I think technology can do absolute wonders for the world we live in. It has already, and I am confident that it will continue to do so. It's this technology that has opened so many doors for us as humans, from treating diseases to becoming much more efficient in terms of production. And I'm not totally against social media sites either. That's not where I'm coming from. I believe that they are crucial for keeping touch with people you would ordinarily lose track of altogether.  Or for contacting family members who are too far to reach any other way. Like my sister who lives in Rwanda. Without facebook and skype, my family would have no idea what was going on in the life of my sister for two-and-a-half years. Yikes. Clearly, social media sites are not the problem.

However, the way we use them can be. They begin to take over our lives. We care more about uploading pictures to facebook or instagram than reveling in the moment itself. We're more worried about how many retweets or favorites our tweet will get than we are about how we're actually affecting people in real life, how we're meeting their needs, how we're making them feel treasured and valued. And it kind of upsets me. Don't worry; I'm upset with myself as well.

But I've decided to change my approach a bit. Actually, completely. I've taken this new perspective. My goal is to write at least one letter per month. Not a big deal at all. It will be to a different person each time, detailing my intentions to revamp and revitalize REAL life, one person at a time. I've started to kind of really love when people take a long time to text me back. Heck, they could just not be texting me back, but I like to think that they are so busy savoring life, so busy soaking in the insurmountable joy of the moment that lies before them, that they simply do not have the time to respond right away. Yes, I like that idea very much.

You see, a successful life does not rest in one's amount of facebook friends or twitter followers or frequent texting conversations. Life exists and thrives only when one is able to relinquish any and all dependence on such things. When that persons recognizes the awesome beauty of the world around them, the unbelievable pleasure that comes from the spontaneity of the moment, the sweet music of actual laughter in the air, the intrigue of a face-to-face conversation, filled with deep thought, human touch, and spoken - not hastily typed - words.

Embrace this. Embrace reality. Embrace letters. Embrace the outdoors. Embrace touch. Embrace laughter. Embrace nature. Embrace physical contact. Embrace singing. Embrace dancing. Embrace phone calls. Embrace coffee dates. Embrace spontaneous road trips. Embrace impromptu walks through the park. Embrace nights beneath the stars. Embrace life.

Time for a Change

          As I sat reading the powerful and moving words of Martin Luther King in his "Letter from Birmingham Jail," there were dozens upon dozens of quotes that jumped out at me. Some brought me encouragement, some brought me hope, some brought me absolute grief. I could have easily chose one of those, but I thought, “Nah.” Instead, I went with a rather obscure quote, a quote that many readers would pass over and dismiss without a second thought – and rightly so. It is plain. It’s nothing extraordinary. It’s not a quote of King’s that one looks at and says, “Wow, that is one for the record books.” Perhaps that’s why I love it. I can relate to it. I can feel what he is feeling. I can taste his disappointment. Here it is: “…I must honestly reiterate that I have been disappointed with the church. I do not say this as one of those negative critics who can always find something wrong with the church.” 

Dr. King, I agree completely.

        Now although a bit unorthodox, I am going to begin by speaking about the second half of his quote. I want to make it clear that I am not some incessant critic of the Christian church. Actually, I am an active and happy member of this church. I have such a huge passion for Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, and I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t a blessing to have a church home that allows me to enter an environment where everyone has this same conviction. Plus, the Christian church consistently does tremendous and often time-consuming work for people who are in need. There are countless outreach missions, soup kitchens, fundraisers, and mission trips to distant third world countries. Clearly, the church does not sit back and bask in its own glory.

        However, I do believe that the church often becomes wrapped up in its own agenda. At the time of King, the churches were too concerned about losing a large portion of their white members to stand up for the rights of a mistreated and broken group of people, a group ripped to pieces each day due to the color of their skin. While today this is not really the case, the church still manages to turn potential believers away, and it makes me furious. The other day in Ethics class, we were talking about excommunication from the church and what causes there may be for this. The examples given were of an unmarried couple who was living together and someone who was homosexual. Many denominations in the Christian church see it as their job to remove these members from the congregation, as though they’re protecting their other members from some sort of infectious disease. Try as I might, I cannot for the life of me make sense of this logic. Is this not the exact opposite of what Jesus Christ would have done? He hung out with tax collectors and prostitutes and thieves and traitors. So by calling Christ their example and then turning “sinners” away, the church appears to be nothing but a bunch of hypocrites, a bunch of self-righteous judges. And it’s sad. It’s sad because the message of Christianity is an astounding one of incomparable hope, and we’re turning people off. We’re pointing fingers instead of pointing out the way. We’re calling names instead of calling to Christ. We’re making people feel like outsiders instead of making people feel welcome. We’re emphasizing the Law instead of emphasizing the Gospel. And it has got to stop.

       I may be disappointed in the church – myself included in this church – but in the same breath, I must say that I am a firm believer that change is possible. Heck, change is pivotal. Though the times have changed a great deal since King’s quote, the message is still applicable. It is time for a change, a revolution. Swallow the selfish pride and move forward in unwavering love.

Love for all.

Pulchritudinous

Pulchritudinous. It means beautiful. Ravishing. Treasured. Admirable. In other words, pulchritudinous is the exact opposite of what the world and the media and society make you believe that you are. Wait, that's wrong. You are worthy of that title if you do what the world says you're supposed to do. If you show a little more. If you have one more. If you go a little further. If you make a couple more people feel bad. But, lately, I've found out that none of this works for me. None of it seems satisfying or uplifting or worthwhile - or even intriguing.

It's not worth it. It will never be worth it. To me.

And I started to feel totally and completely hopeless. How do I live in a world and a generation that puts so much emphasis on things that I have absolutely no desire to be a part of? How do I live in a generation that is fixated on nothing but this generation? It's a scary thought for me. I wanted so badly for so long to be accepted and to be popular and to be that "it" girl. But I couldn't do what was necessary to accomplish that coveted title.

I'm not an ignorant person by any stretch of the imagination, but I do have morals and standards and boundaries that many of my peers would look at and literally laugh out loud. I'm not the "norm". But before I get too far ahead of myself, I have to stop and say that this by no means gives me the right to judge anyone else. It's not my life. It's not my choice. Therefore, it is not my place to judge. Plus, I'm the farthest thing from a saint myself. I am a poor, miserable, stupid, selfish, lost sinner. But I will not budge for one moment when it comes to my convictions. And that's the truth.

C.S. Lewis once said something along the lines of, "If nothing on earth can ever satisfy your desire fully, then you know you were made for something more." Well said, I think. You see, we get so wrapped up in nothing but sheer, utter clutter that we lose sight of what we're pursuing. Essentially, by living for these things, we forget what we're living for. We forget what we'd even die for. And I thought these verses below described my situation perfectly. In a world where, sadly, active Christian has become a scrutinized, heckled minority.

1 Corinthians 9:24-27: Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air. No, I strike a blow to my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.

Right on, Paul. I may not be seen as a "catch" in this world, but I am positive that I am a "catch" in the arms of my Savior. Heck, maybe even a little pulchritudinous.

Music to Note

I'm sorry that there hasn't been a "Music to Note" post on my blog in quite some time. Truth be told, I forgot all about it. But I won't forget from now on because there is so much incredible - and totally unknown - music to be discovered and enjoyed.

This is Nina Nesbitt, and she's covering a song by Example entitled "Stay Awake". She's from Edinburgh in the UK and has a pretty crazy style that we, unfortunately, don't get much here in the U.S. But let me tell you, her voice is to-die-for. And it's totally real.

She was undiscovered until she happened to run into Ed Sheeran one day, and he asked her to play a song for him. She did. He liked it. And the rest is history. She was asked to open on Sheeran's European tour and actually was a part of his music video for the song "Drunk".

You won't hear a voice like hers everyday. So feel free to fall in love with it.

Quotes Worth Quoting

I don't know why, but lately I have been really into quotes. Simple quotes. Profound quotes. Short quotes. Long quotes. Laugh-inducing quotes. Serious quotes. Quotes. I just can't get enough of them. And I don't want to keep them all to myself because that would just be crime. So I thought I'd share a week's worth of pretty incredible quotes. Feel free to read them all at once, or even keep the suspense going by reading one at a time. Whatever floats your boat. And then try to make that quote a reality for you on that day, or perhaps, from that day forward. A couple quotes may mess with your head, but I hope and pray that all of them mess with your heart.

Day 1: "Time you enjoyed wasting is not wasted time." -T.S. Elliot

Day 2: "If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If YOU want to be happy, practice compassion." -Dalai Lama

Day 3: "In skating over thin ice, our safety is in our speed." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Day 4: "A great social success is a pretty girl who plays her cards as carefully as if she were plain." -F. Scott Fitzgerald

Day 5: "Talent is God-given. Be humble. Fame is man-given. Be grateful. Conceit is self-given. Be careful." -John Wooden

Day 6: "Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." -Mark Twain

Day 7: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?" -Jesus Christ

Take(n) For Granted

You know that overused saying about not knowing what you've got until it's gone? I've always hated it. And I don't hate it because it's overused or because it doesn't make sense. I hate it because it's so utterly, unbelievably, undeniably, in-your-face valid. It's true. And I know what it's like to experience both sides of the situation: the taking for granted and the taken for granted. But I've found that neither side is enjoyable. At least, not for an extended period of time.

I guess for the longest time I found it so easy to notice when I was the one being taken for granted. So easy to feel sorry for myself. So easy to desperately want others to feel sorry for me too. But I couldn't for the life of me ever notice when I was the one causing someone around me to feel that same way. I took for granted the fact that they felt taken for granted. And I didn't care.

But recently, I have found myself extremely humbled. I realize what a selfish, ignorant, big-headed person I can be when I let myself become a selfish, ignorant, big-headed person. And I'm sad to say that it took losing touch with a friend for me to realize it. It took their absence to prove to me what a tremendous presence they had in my life. And here's what other conclusions I've come to:

Everything that person used to do that you classified as "annoying" just doesn't seem as annoying anymore. Conversations that once seemed dragged out or useless start to seem pretty darn worthwhile. Jokes that once seemed lame or tired seem like hilarious, fun-filled mood boosters. All the times and the talks and the laughs have been taken for granted. Taken so much for granted that when that person is no longer there, your life will not be the same for quite some time. If ever.

And you start to feel bad for yourself. So bad for yourself. When in reality, this pain that you're feeling is nothing more than a consequence of your stupid, careless, self-absorbed actions.

So what do you do? You learn from it. That's about all that you can do. You open up your blind eyes and decide then and there that you will never make anyone feel like they are not a valued piece of your life ever again. You spend more time talking with people than about them. You spend more time giving people positive reinforcement than tearing them down. You spend more time relishing the presence of others than you do relishing trivial, materialistic clutter. You spend more time forgiving than holding onto mistakes. You spend more time looking at faces than at screens. You spend more time letting people know how much they mean to you than you do bottling it inside. You invest.

And you never, ever, ever take a person for granted.

Dating: An Endangered Concept

Sometimes - actually, a lot of times - I have these incredible revelations. I realize things. Things about myself, things about others, things about this out-of-this-world world we live in. And truthfully, I would say over half of these so-called revelations hit me not when I'm in a classroom or watching television or reading something intelligent. Rather, they hit me while I'm sitting in a retirement home near my house, visiting my "adopted grandparents". Sweet little, crackly-voiced Verna and her well-seasoned, dry-humored husband Bill. They're old. But oh, they are some of my favorite people to talk with, to share with, to laugh with, to listen to, to hug and love and cherish. In other words, they're pretty darn cool.

And I've always been enamored with old couples like Bill and Verna. I find them weirdly inspiring. Maybe it's because they've spent so many years together. And lasted. Maybe it's because they have a genuine and sincere love for one another. Maybe it's because they prove the superficial, shallow, impulsive mentality of my generation way wrong. And I like it.

When I did a biography about Verna for a class awhile ago, she insisted that we include boys as a part of her story. As she recounted it all for me, she spoke of boyfriend after boyfriend, and soon I was sitting there thinking, Here we go again. Even my "grandma" knows more about boys than me. What is this, some kind of joke? Perhaps it was the funny look on my face or perhaps it was the fact that she just wanted to clarify. Either way, she felt the need to let me know what her idea of a boyfriend entailed. She said, "You're probably thinking, "Oh my," but let me tell ya, our boyfriends back then weren't anything real serious. Boyfriend had a different meaning. We just kind of looked at each other with special eyes. And sometimes we'd see a picture show together." And that was the extent of it. It's a concept called dating. And call me crazy, but it sounds intriguing.

Now, you're probably thinking I don't get out much. You're thinking that I'm some ignorant loser for having never heard of dating. But I'm talking real dating. Not the "you're my girlfriend/boyfriend so now we can go on a date" thing. Or the one time little fling from the bar. That's not the dating I mean.

Why is it so wrong to go on a couple of dates here and there without being exclusive? It's not. And why is it so difficult to keep it a little wholesome and fall in love with their personality first? It doesn't have to be. The problem is due to the fact that we're either too afraid or too rushed. We worry that people will assume that our casual date is something more than casual before we've decided that for ourselves. Or we rush. We justify skipping the "getting to know each other" part by trying to get to know each other in all the wrong ways. And then the potential relationship is based on a whole bunch of potential nothing.

But who cares. This is the present, right? That's how it is now. And for many people, that works. But my wish is that dating could be like fashion. You know, where the old stuff comes back in style later? Yes; that's what I would like. I mean, a girl can dream. And for an old-fashioned girl like me, that's a heck of a lot of dreaming.

So. Here goes nothing.

There's No Such Thing as Being Bored

Boredom. Is it real or just a made up thing that makes us think that we have nothing to do except think we are bored? I'm going to go with the second one, but I won't repeat it because that was an extremely long concept. In my mind, it's a lot like high-definition TV. Now I know most people think I'm weird when I say this, but I like to believe that HD TV does not exist. It's all simply a figment of our imaginations. We think that the picture is going to be way clearer, so naturally, it seems way clearer. Does HD really exist? Probably. But it just makes me so much happier to think that it doesn't.

So, back to being bored. I think that if you don't want boredom to be real, then it never has to become a reality for you. But this post is not some scientific breakdown of what makes some people bored and other people not bored. It's about what to do when you feel like boredom is closing in on you. Trust me; there's hope.

Say, you and your friends are stuck in line for a huge rollercoaster. And you're going to be stuck there for quite awhile. Don't panic and get bored. Just get busy. My personal favorite anti-boredom remedy in this type of situation is a little game I like to call "Hey Guys! That Looks Like _______" The title of the game pretty much explains it all, but in case you're still not understanding, the object of the game is to look all around you and attempt to find someone who looks a lot like someone you and your friends already know. Just try not to be too mean. I've also found that this one is great to play on a long subway ride in New York. So feel free to use it in any potentially boring and crowded place.

And if you are on a long roadtrip and aren't lucky enough to own car bingo, this next game is a great time-waster. I call it "Wait, Wait, Wait, Is That A Boy Or A Girl?" All you have to do is look in the windows of the cars as they pass you or you pass them and wait for one that fits the scenario. Sometimes you can even add hints as to which gender you're leaning toward, such as "Hint: The name's Pat." Although if you think about it, that really isn't much of a hint at all.

Then there's the initial game. I never gave this one a fancy name. So that's why it's just called the initial game. In this one, the first person starts by saying a person's first and last name. It could be someone famous or someone that everyone in the group knows or has heard of. Then, the next person has to take the last letter of that person's last name and think of a name that starts with that letter. For example, I could begin the game by saying, "Nicki Minaj." And then the next person would say, "Joseph Gordon-Levitt." And then the next person would say, "Tina Fey." And so on. And don't forget that you can use non-famous names too.

But if all else fails, there's always the standard "Here's A Movie or TV Show Quote And It's Your Job To Guess What Movie or TV Show This Is From" game. This is where you think of a quote from a great movie or  tv show and then have your friends or family members guess what great movie or tv show that quote is from. Pretty self-explanatory. For example, I might say, "I want all of you, forever, you and me, everyday." And then everyone would yell, "The Notebook, yeah!" It's really a fun time.

So, the point of this post is to show that you never have to be the b-word. Bored, that is. Just learn to make nothing, something.

I'm Indecisive...Or Am I?

Decisions, decisions, decisions. There are so many decisions. So many choices. So many picks. So many "this one's" or "that one's". So many potential game-changers. And for a person like me, this is terrifying. Absolutely, sickeningly, terrifyingly terrifying.

And maybe that's partly due to the fact that I am a straight up, stage five incapable of making a decision-er. Yeah; you heard me correctly. I am incapable of making a decision to save my life. It's the perfectionist in me that won't allow me to decide on something until I believe it is sheer perfection. And nothing less. I don't care if it takes me 5 minutes to decide or 5 weeks, I want it to be right. Which can makes things pretty complicated when you're deciding on something as simple as where to go to dinner.

But then there are things that are a little bit bigger. A little bit more potentially life-changing. And when these things are approaching, it's hard to keep dodging the what-ifs, the coulda-shoulda-woulda's, the looming doubts. If I go to this university, it will be the best launching pad for my planned career in  journalism. But if I go here, I'll be able to keep more in tune with my faith life. Oh, but wait. If I go there, the location will allow me to step outside my comfort zone and enter uncharted waters. Oh my gosh, but this place offers the best study abroad opportunity in London. But hey, this one's close to my  family. AHHH.

It's insane. It's nuts. It's impossible. So I've decided that I'm just going to have to sit this next part of my life out and live in my parents' basement. Umm. NO. People don't do that. People with any sort of ambition or drive don't do that. They can't do that. You can't let life's attempts to intimidate you, intimidate you. And for heaven's sake, stop trying to please everyone. Stop trying to be that person that you're expected to be, and start being that person that you were made to be. You know, the "you" that is actually you?

And when you strip away all of these expectations and the outside "help" and the desire to impress and the stupid input that really has no place in your life at all and the pressure and the questions and the what-ifs and, oh, how could I forget? The opinions of your peers. Wait. Where was I? Oh yes. When you strip away all of this no-good nonsense, decisions really aren't that big of a deal. In fact, the decision has already been made. Because it depends on you. And what is good for you. And what is right for you. And what is wonderful - and wanderfull - for you. Now, is that so bad?

In all honesty, I'm still deciding for myself.

FARAH AND RUPP, RUPP AND FARAH

Mo Farah. Galen Rupp. History making Olympic 10k. Gold and silver. Undeniably inspiring. Well done. Well done. Well done. Enough Said.

The Book Thief Has Stolen My Heart

To say that this book has stolen my heart is an understatement. The understatement of the century, to be more specific. Truth be told, this book has taken my heart and moved it and molded it and prodded it and battered it and then tried with all its might to piece it back together again. Forget the Backstreet Boys, Markus Zusak is the true master when it comes to "playing games with my heart". Millions of hearts for that matter.

Now I'm one of those people who tries desperately to convince myself that I don't like reading. I've always been that way, and I hate it. Because not only do I not not like reading, I also love it. Quite a bit. I guess all these years I've just tried to tell myself otherwise because when it comes to books, I have a serious problem. Once I pick one up, I can't put it back down. Until it's done. Otherwise I worry about all of the characters, and I feel like a busy mother who's always missing milestones in the lives of her children. I seriously whole-heartedly miss them when I'm not reading about them.

But when a good book rolls around, I'm willing to sacrifice a couple of days and a little bit of heartache for the cause. So when everyone in my house was raving about this book for days on end, I knew I had to take the plunge. A plunge that I will never forget. Or regret.

The Book Thief is written in an inexplicable way. I've never seen it done quite the same, which obviously makes it pretty inexplicable. It's so saturated with detail that the pages are literally dripping. In a totally figurative way. At first, you'll probably be a little intimidated by the whole thing, but I can guarantee that after this initial onslaught of hesitance, you will begin to crave each detail. And then revel in it.

Now to the story itself. It's set in Nazi Germany. I know what you're thinking, Been there, read that. No you haven't. You hear the gruesome stories from the concentration camps. The lives of the Jewish prisoners and the Nazis themselves. But you never hear the story of what life was like for the average, small-village German. Not a hardcore Nazi. Not a Jew. And that's what this story is about. Pretty simple, aside from the fact that it's told from the perspective of Death. You got it, Death himself is the narrator.

Little Leisel Meminger, the star of the show, is a young German girl who is taken to live with foster parents in order to protect her from the ravages surrounding her communist parents. But on the journey to this foster home, Death visits Leisel and her little brother for the first time. And so begins their relationship. Leisel and Death, that is. But there was no way she could know at that time that it was the first of many visits. The many times in her life where she would cheat death. And then be left with nothing but the grief.

And I really want to tell you so much more, but that would make me feel like a criminal for stealing what could potentially be an unforgettable experience for you.

So I dare you to read this. I dare you to fall in love with the characters. I dare you to let your perspective on reading, or perhaps your life itself be forever changed. I dare you to embark on the most challenging, emotional, moving journey of your life. I dare you.

Time in a Capsule

The other day my brother and I were watching Full House, which is absolutely no surprise to those who know us best. This daily watching was a one time occurrence about a year and a half ago that quickly became a tradition in the summer. In fact, it's a pretty easy tradition to keep up with considering I have every season from 1 to 8 on DVD. All 192 gloriously action-packed, effortlessly family-friendly, heart-warmingly classic episodes. To put it simply, I like the show. I like it a lot. So much so that I have a friend who calls it "Bethany House". It's gotten to the point where Bob Saget is not Bob Saget. He's Danny Tanner. Heck, he's Mr. T. Mary-Kate and Ashley aren't overly-dressed, sad-looking "fashion designers", they're still Michelle Tanner. But wait a second, I've just realized that this is not at all what this post is about. Sorry, but once I start talking about the Tanners, I just can't stop.

Anyway, the other day, we were watching an episode where you see little Danny and little Joey (via flashback) bury a time capsule. And then twenty years later (present time on the show) they dig it up and rediscover their baseball cap and insult joke book from ages before. And as I watched them and took it all in, it hit me. I want to construct a time capsule. But I'm not going to put a cap and a joke book it in. That would be weird.

Since this is my senior year of high school, I thought, "Perfect. Forget about going out with a bang. We're going out with a capsule." And not just any old capsule. Due to the fact that there are almost 100 people to account for (50 of which will be enthusiastic about it), that would take up an ungodly amount of space. Which would call for a big time capsule. Which would call for a big chunk of money. Which would not happen.

So then, with the help of my mom of course, I hit the jackpot. Figuratively. How about instead of having each person contribute something huge like a tuba or a beanbag chair to remember them by, we just revamp and revitalize the whole idea?

I'm talking, each person contributes a small sheet of paper that includes their name and one other thing: where they picture themselves ten years from that day. What are their hopes. Their dreams. Their career aspirations. Do they want four kids and a cat and a top-of-the-line minivan? Do they picture themselves on Broadway, in a faraway land, or still in high school? Would they like to be married to a certain person or, more importantly, have a certain kind of dog? Where will they live? What will they live in? Does that young man really plan on being as immature as he was all throughout high school? I could sit here and list ideas all day long.

But my point is that it would be absolutely incredible to do. It would be amazing to dig that thing up and bust that thing out during the tenth anniversary reunion of my high school class. We'd see who followed their plan to a "t". We'd see who failed miserably but still managed to have the highest salary of the bunch. We'd see that guy who was indeed just as immature as he was in high school. Man, we would see it all. And I think it would be great.

So that's what I'm going to do. It will making growing ten years older a little bit easier and a little bit more wanderfull.

I Love Love

Sorry to disappoint, but as you can probably guess from the picture above, this juicy love story is by no means juicy at all. But it is real. And it is undoubtedly the greatest love I will ever know. The love of a Savior who did the unthinkable. Who was the unthinkable.

Lately, I've really been struggling in regards to making my faith something other than a Sunday morning fling. I've been trying to compartmentalize my life so much, and it seems like in the process, my faith has ended up in the smallest, most insignificant compartment. So two days ago, I decided to make a change.

You see, daily devotion books have never been my strong point. The excitement and curiosity abounding from their pages lasts me about a week, and then I find myself dreading the devotional time instead of yearning for it. I read the words, but it always seems like I've heard something like them before. And soon enough, the devotional becomes just another book on my bookshelf that I happen to revisit a couple times each year. Try as I might, I haven't been able to find one that captivates both my hard-to-please interests and my longing to cultivate and nourish a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ.

So, two days ago I came to the conclusion that my inability to enjoy a devotion book does not mean that I'm some doomed Christian. It simply means that I have to be seeking Christ in other ways.

I've begun reading well-known or hugely empowering verses from the Word each day. And then I sit and I dwell on it. And then, right then and there, I ask myself how I'm going to allow that verse to become life-altering and how I can use that verse to allow Christ's light to shine through me in my everyday life. And in all honesty, it has been an absolutely amazing experience. 

Delving into the Bible on a daily basis without the structure of a set plan has become not only a boost to my spiritual life but also an unbelievable source of excitement. When you come across verses like the one above, you can't help but stand in awe of it all. Sheer, utter awe.

The love of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is so wide and so long and so high and so deep that I can't even fathom it. It's totally beyond our earthly, finite comprehension skills. But it's true. And in a world filled with struggles and disappointment and rejection and hatred and worry and fear and doubt and difficulty and need, what better way to face it then with a Friend who's faced it all before. A Friend whose love surpasses human understanding. A Friend whose ever-present presence cannot be hindered.

Now, that's what I call life-altering.   

Abbrevs

Yes; even the title of this post is an abbreviation because you simply cannot condone abbreviations without calling them abbrevs. That would be hypocritical. And I also cannot start this post without thanking my brother James. He was the one who first introduced me to the wonderful world of abbrevs. And shortly after this first encounter, I myself became addicted.

Now, it's important to establish the fact that not all abbrevs are okay. For example, they're just not as cool if they've been done b4. Excuse me, I mean before. When I say that, I mean things like lol, g2g, ik, or the worst offenders, r and u. Here's where it becomes a little confusing though. You see, it's not that cool to type those abbrevs, but it's totally acceptable to say them. As long as it's in a pretty sarcastic tone. If a friend tells a joke in class just go for it and say, "Nice one. LOL." Don't write it. Say it. And then obviously, saying "r" and "u" doesn't sound any different than "are" and "you", so feel free to let 'em fly whenever you'd like.

Alright, now that the most difficult part of the lesson is behind us, onward and upward we go. "Nbd" has to have a little paragraph of its own. It used to be uncool, but then people began tossing it around in such a funny and exaggerated way that it slowly but surely became acceptable at certain moments. For example: I just found a million dollar bill. nbd. It is the only cliche abbrev that can be both written and voiced. On occasion.

Next comes the fun part. The lesser-known abbrevs. My personal favorite: nast. Derived from the word nasty. Example: "Wow, your feet are nast." Another neat one is awk. Stemming from the word awkward. Example: "Your heavy breathing is making everyone in the room feel awk." The last one I will mention (though there are so many more available) is supes. As in super. Example: "You look supes fancy in your plaid shirt/pants combo." You see, the possibilities are limitless. I mean, my brother's favorite is cords, a way shorter version of corduroy pants. LIMITLESS.

And then sometimes, if you get extremely good at it, you can just drop the word altogether and only leave its first letter. "I found your b in my l so I decided to bring it back to y." (Hint: I found your book in my locker so I decided to bring it back to you.)

Abbrevs obvs can add so much spice to life, especially when you use them correctly. After all, a's are the b.

Music to Note

I've decided that the "Music to Note" portion of this blog will be making a frequent appearance. Each time it will feature everything from lesser known musicians who are on the verge of hitting it big like Ed Sheeran (from the previous "Music to Note") to musicians you wouldn't really know unless you knew them personally. Whatever the case may be, they all have one thing in common: talent. Genuine, passionate, inspiring, sick talent.

This evening's choice is Fox and the Hound. Jared DeMeester, the one tearin' up the vocals in this video like it's nobody's business, just so happens to be my brother's college roommate. So, chances are, you probably haven't heard of him. But holy cow; you're missing out.

So sit back, relax, and enjoy this musical snack. 

 

Care Less

"Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are."

John Wooden knows what's up.

And I could sit here all day and do the ever-popular, "I don't care what anyone else thinks about me" act, but at the end of the day, the truth of the matter is that I do. Not nearly as much as I used to, but I do care. It's not that I want to care; I don't think anyone ever wakes up in the morning and says, "Boy, I sure hope I'm influenced by the thoughts of the people around me today. I'm just really in the mood to live with a perpetual fear of being scrutinized." No; that would be absolutely ridiculous and completely unrealistic because we, as humans, have this undeniable longing to be accepted and to avoid judgment. We want to be cool. We want to be liked. We want to be wanted.

But then I thought about it. And then I thought some more. And then I took a break because that was a heck of a lot of deep thinking. In the end, here's what I came up with.

Character and reputation are about as similar as good and bad. Do you get what I'm saying? They're polar opposites. Your character is you, apart from any stereotype or rumor or judgment. Your reputation is nothing more than a perception. It could be you, but oftentimes it's not. Perception is not fact; it's not ever 100% true. It couldn't be or else it would in fact be a fact.

So essentially, caring about what other people think is nothing more than hoping that they will not make a rude or rushed educated guess about who you are and what you live for. And when you put it that way, caring less doesn't seem quite so insurmountable. Actually, it seems kind of nice. Kind of really, really freeing.

As much as I'd like to say that I've mastered the "care less" art, that would be a lie. It would be a big lie. But I am working on it. Have you ever gone shopping for new clothes and thought, I wonder which one of these shirts will get me more compliments? Been there, done that. I'm not afraid to admit it. Except now I've changed it to, I wonder. Wait, no I don't. I personally like this one better. It's so much easier when you only have to satisfy one person's interests (your own) as opposed to trying to shop for 400 people.

And that's just one small, superficial example. Your friends and family know your true character. And obviously they like what's going on with it. So, why on earth does it matter what he says or what she says or what those people over there say? It doesn't. That's their perception.

Use your reputation as an opportunity to prove your reputation wrong. That's all that a reputation will ever be good for. And if all else fails, just, care less.

New York, New York

You know how everyone goes through that stage where they either want to be an astronaut or a dolphin trainer? Yeah, for some reason, I skipped that stage. The only thing that could have possibly made me want to become an astronaut was if New York City was located on the moon. I wanted nothing more than to go there, to soak it all in, and to become the greatest actress of all time. Well, New York City is still part of my plan. The acting? Not so much. I found that if at the age of 13, you still haven't been in a single play or pursued a single audition, you don't have a great deal of promise or competitive edge in the acting industry.

So I moved on. To what, you ask? At the time, I couldn't have told you if I tried. I knew one thing for sure. It would not be anything related to English or writing. I had this great grade school English teacher, but the only bad thing was that we were never allowed to use "be" verbs. I'm talking "am, is, are, was, were". Good luck with that. And then we would have intense, pretty-much-run-on-without-being-run-on sentences that we would have to dissect and label and diagram. Moreover, since it was at that time when people were still pretending to be concerned about childhood obesity before giving up on the issue altogether, our teachers were trying to sneak any sort of physical activity into the classroom that they could. So, depending on  how many parts of the sentence we failed to properly diagram, we would have to do that many push-ups. Needless to say, I hated English. But secretly (you have to promise not to tell anyone), I loved every stinking minute of it.

And when high school came along, my love for writing grew and I became reacquainted with words that I had forced myself to believe were no longer a part of the English language. Do you have any idea how great it is to write is? Oh. So great, let me tell you.

I was in love. With words. With the way words could flow so simply and so smoothly. With the way words could paint a detailed, intricate portrait. With the way words were merely letters who had friends. And with the fact that I could write in fragments and still be successful, just as I'm doing now. And I couldn't think of any better place to unleash my writing than in New York City, that glorious city that never sleeps. The Big Apple.

I'm still in love with writing, that's for sure. But I'm also in love with New York. The hustle, the bustle, the sheer wonder of it all. Thankfully, I've come to find that writing, NYC, and I will be very happy together.

Life is just so beautiful. Don't be afraid of letting it be just that. Beautiful.

Hair

I'm sorry that this post has an extremely bland and short title. It's just that my hair is so big and frizzy that it essentially took up the whole title area. Not really of course, but pretty much. I have huge hair. Sometimes I'm even afraid that it may offend people or make them feel uncomfortable. But then I think, "Nah." They should feel honored.

You're still probably thinking, who writes a blog post solely about their own hair? Hmm. Me. It wasn't really anything I've been planning to do, but then yesterday, it hit me. It hit me when I was talking to my brother about something, and his response was, "Are you going to do something to that?" Yes; I soon discovered that the "that" he was referring to was my hair. And I can say without a doubt that it was the best, most uplifting insult I have ever received. Nope; I'm not going to do something to it.

However, that wasn't always the case. Before, when I was supposedly too little to own my own straightener, I used to live for the days when my sister would leave the house or even just leave her room, and then that blessed straightener would be all mine. I would literally dream about it. There was always something intriguing about being able to brush my hair. Without losing the brush. And then one year, I purchased a straightener of my very own, and my hair and I never looked back. It was shiny. It was straight. It was beautiful. And my hair wasn't half bad either.

But the more I straightened my hair, the more I wished that I hadn't straightened my hair. It would just lay flat, like I had put a huge glob of Elmer's glue in between it and my head. But I hadn't. Honest. It was in those moments that I realized I was deathly afraid of flat hair. It gave me nightmares. Not really, that would make me kind of weird.

But it still changed me. I decided to embrace my natural hair, embrace each person's stare, embrace my stylish flare. I liked it because no one looked like me (except on those rare occasions where I did straighten my hair). However, most mornings, I simply didn't have 4 hours to spare. That might be exaggerating; it might not be. You can take your pick. After all, it doesn't matter much anymore. Plus, if 80s hairstyles come around again, I'm way ahead of the trend.

And if you ask me, without my hair, my life would not be nearly as wanderFULL.

P.S. Shout out to my good buddy, humidity.

Music to Note

Ed Sheeran. The man of the hour. An English dream. He's cool now; he's hip now; he's notable now. But I can guarantee that a month or two from now, the whole world will realize this too, and then he will no longer be quite as extraordinary. After all, no singer ever is once you begin to hear them 20+ times on a "light" day. So here's my one piece of advice: Get him while he's hot. Make that, pretty much on fire.

And good luck, Mr. Sheeran. May you never become fully discovered.

I Want to Ban Bad Facebook-ers

Now, I'm not the biggest lover of facebook to begin with. I'm more of a twitter person. Sure, facebook is a great tool for connecting with old friends or posting pictures from a major trip every now and then, but sometimes, I see some of the things people do on there and I can't decide if I should be confused, mad, or concerned. And I'll explain to you why that is.

First of all, the names. I've always been a fan of the classic first and last name route, and I can even handle the middle name too. But that's about it. I mean, chances are, if your name is BigBooty Judy, and you request me as a friend or poke me, I'm not going to be super stoked about it. And then there are those other people who try to be a little more sneaky and just add a weird middle name like Tyrone GotMySwagOn Jones. Yeah, that's still not okay.

Then we've got the status issue. Don't get me wrong, it's totally cool if you enjoy cuddling, but I don't need a play by play. And I understand if you're really bored. What I don't understand is why that prompts you to post a "Truth is..." status. It's great to hear that you think everyone is pretty and you want to hang out with them sometime soon, but after the 38th post, it's just not as great. Plus, if you "bet I won't respond to your status with how we first met", I'm just going to have to let you win that bet. But holy cow, can you really read that paragraph even when all the letters have been jumbled around? That's impressive.

And then there are the pictures. Oh, the pictures, the pictures, the pictures. They usually speak for themselves. Sometimes, I feel like I know more about that person's bathroom than they do. I can see if they leave the toilet seat up, if they have a cool shower curtain, or if their mirror needs to be cleaned. And then I can tell if they're the type of person who likes to look happy in pictures or look injured. Or my personal favorite, "No makeup, all natural, *insert song lyrics." Wow, you have very luxurious lashes, naturally of course.

But sometimes, I feel bad. I'm really sorry, but I just won't be able to help you with your farm at the moment. And that sounds like it's going to be an awesome aquarium, but I think I'm going to have to pass this time. Anyway, good luck with your next game of online paddle ball.

Nevertheless, as much as I like to complain about these facebook issues, I still get a kick out of them. So, along with banning these violators, I would also like to extend a thank you. Thank you for the laughs. Thank you so much for the laughs. But now, please stop.

Throwback: Reliving the Daze of 90's Entertainment

Although some of us were still just toddling around at the turn of the millennium, the laughter and curiosity brought on by the entertainment of the 1990’s has not been soon forgotten – even sneaking into our world today through countless reruns and replays. Perhaps it was the timeless quality of the decade, the sheer innocence of it all, the fact that not every song and show was centered upon “mature themes and adult situations”. The 1990’s ushered in an age of excitement and discovery, activity and amazement, wonder and enjoyment. And I would guess that the proceeding information may not only be familiar to you, but may also allow you to become reacquainted with some dear old friends from what may seem like a lifetime ago.

One source of entertainment from the 90’s seems to be made fun of quite often today, but in a love-to-hate-it, hate-to-love-it sort of way. And that’s music.

Who could forget Aaron Carter? Some attempt to call him the “Justin Beiber” of his time, but many 90’s kids would beg to differ. His catchy tunes and easy-to-follow storylines had the ladies swooning, especially with songs like “Aaron’s Party” and “I Want Candy”.

But Aaron had some competition for the teen crowd’s attention, mostly coming from boy bands like the Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC. They “played games with our hearts”, made us “want it that way”, and left us with “no strings attached”, never wanting to say “bye, bye, bye.”

Yet, as much as the musicians thrived, they did not at all steal the show, the television show that is. Nickelodeon and Disney both introduced shows with characters who stole our hearts because not only were they fun to watch, they were also relatable.

There was Hey Arnold, the story of an awkward, football-headed fourth grader who had to deal with bullies, a girl named Helga who showed her affection for him by beating him up, and a friend named Gerald who had an afro that was obtrusively tall.

Then came the adventures of The Wild Thornberry’s, a quirky family who earned a paycheck by traveling around in their RV, all the while filming rare animals. Eliza, one of the daughters, had the ability to talk to animals and because of this, became best friends with her pet monkey.

Another show that captivated audiences was Rugrats, the story of Tommy Pickles, Chuckie Finster, and twins Phil and Lil as they went on “adventures” that were made possible when Tommy removed a screwdriver from his diaper to unlock the playpen.

For younger folks, maybe Blue’s Clues is a little bit more familiar. The story centered on a dog that helped her owner solve mysteries by placing her paw prints on “clues”. Perhaps the question of the ages that resulted from this show was, “Did Steve really go to college?” Probably not.

For more mature viewers, shows like Sister, Sister made it onto the scene, detailing the life of twins who were separated at birth and then reunited in a shoe store at the mall at the age of thirteen. Or there was Boy Meets World, following the life of the All-American boy Cory Matthews and his uniquely-named girlfriend Topanga. Viewers watched him grow from scrappy middle-schooler to married man.

And last, but certainly not least, came the Disney classics.

The Lion King was the story of Simba, a lion cub whose father was killed by his own brother. Thankfully, Simba was able to defeat this evil uncle (Scar) and became king of the Pride Lands.

Peter Pan was the story of a boy who could fly and could help others to fly too, leading them forth onto Never Land, a child’s dream.

The Little Mermaid told the story of Ariel, a mermaid who was willing to exchange her mermaid status for legs and land living so that she could be in the presence of a handsome prince named Eric.

Indeed, all of these shows and musicians have left a lasting impression on our hearts. An occasional walk down memory lane brings us back to a simpler time, a time when it didn’t seem weird that the parents didn’t notice when all of their children had left the gated play area, when talking to animals wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, when Aaron Carter truly did want Candy. Looking back on it now, it may seem a little funny or hard to believe, but that’s the beauty of childhood: imagination.

Living in an Instant Gratification Nation

It's so easy to point fingers, so easy to say that I exude selflessness and empathy, but I know in my heart that that's not always the case and I am just as much to blame for this increasingly self-absorbed nation as any other selfish, possession-consumed, superficial citizen of the United States. However, I do think that I am a bit different now, seeing as I actually recognize that I am a selfish, possession-consumed, superficial person. And if it hadn't been for my sister, I honestly have no idea if I ever would have realized that. That there are far greater struggles in the world than losing a contact or getting a B on a test that I had studied pretty hard for. Well, it's true. It may sound like I used to be some ignorant fool, but think about it. How many times have you gotten stuck in traffic or ruined a pricey shirt and literally thought the world was ending? Yeah, not even close to ending. Do you have any idea how incredibly blessed you are? Probably not. I just hope it doesn't take your sister moving to Rwanda for two and half years with the Peace Corps for you to come to grips with it.

For me, it did. That's my sister there in the picture, and I'm pretty sure you can figure out which one she is. She lives in a part of Africa (Rwanda) that's best known for the extreme genocide they experienced in the 90's. You know the one I'm talking about? The one where the United States pretended not to notice. Hundreds of thousands of people were brutally murdered, and families were torn apart and left with nothing more to live for. To this day, feelings regarding this incident are raw, and many struggling souls are still looking for a sense of direction and a source of healing. Clearly, I do not know struggle; they do. They've seen images that no horror film could ever even begin to depict. And yet, they press onward. They don't let it get them down. Instead they live, and they live to the fullest.

And they live life to the fullest despite having no running water and no sturdy, reliable home. Oh and how could I forgot? No grossly overabundant supply of food to hoard. Rather than living for all of these amenities, they live for each other and for the moment that lies right in front of them. To them, instant gratification is that overwhelming sense of satisfaction that comes from seeing someone else benefit from something you've done for them. Wow, that's humbling.

We could really learn something from these delicate people. From the gentle hands of the elderly, to the excitement of the small children who want nothing more than to be loved or noticed by anyone who visits their villages. My sister learned this as soon as she walked through her village the first time and found a line of children parading behind her with such a tremendous sense of pride and joy, especially when she would take the time to look back at them and flash them a smile or even stop and play a quick game with them. Yes; life can be simple, if we let it be. But we have to be willing to struggle.

Sleep: A Waste of Time

If I could write my own dictionary (hypothetically speaking of course), sleep would most assuredly be defined as just that: a waste of time. To some, I sound crazy, while to a small group of others, I probably sound like Gandhi. But for me, not sleeping has proven to be the best decision I've ever made. A decision that I didn't make. A decision that made me.

Confusing, am I right? Well, let me break it down for you. I used to hate it. Not being able to fall asleep until some ungodly hour and then still being forced to wake up at 6:47 AM for school every morning. It was terrible. Whenever September rolled around after a simply heavenly summer of being able to get at least 6 hours of sleep a night, I would dread those first school days, or to be more accurate, school nights. It's not that I hated school. I hated the idea of going to school on 2 hours and 30 minutes of sleep.

And then. I got over it. Out  of the blue, I got over it. I got WAY over it. I got so over it that I fell in love with it. You know how some people become really goofy and slap-happy the later into the night it gets? Yeah, that happens to me too. But then I made an incredible discovery. Amidst these momentary lapses of intelligence, I actually did my best thinking. Because not only did I brainstorm better than at any other time of day, but I was also able to combine this brain power with that middle-of-the-night, somehow-dry-and-saturated-at-the-same-time wit that we've all encountered at some point or another in our lives. And bam, the rest is history. Essentially, this pleasant insomnia chose me, and I owe it so many many thanks, especially for sticking with me despite all my efforts to move on. I mean, I never run out of time, I never feel the pressure to construct a bedtime schedule, and I basically have lived longer than most of my peers. Now, that's what I call a storybook life.

Have a great afternoon. The day is young.

P.S. Shout out to coffee.