It hasn’t been a good morning so far.
When my alarm sounded at 5:15 a.m., I just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my warm bed. I decided to hold my workout off 45 minutes and tried to gain just an ounce more of rest. At 6 a.m. I held another debate with myself about getting up, but decided there wasn’t going to be another good opportunity to exercise today and got out of bed.
First, I needed to check my email, which contained my stringing schedule for the next two weeks. Overwhelmed from a 2,800 word story and three-games-a-week schedule, I’ve wanted to cut my hours back. Without saying a word, he took me down to 10 hours a week. Although that is what I wanted, I was still upset about it, enough to put me in a bad mood heading to the gym.
My room is an utter mess, which makes finding anything impossible. I’ve been meaning to clean it and do laundry for weeks, but there never seems to be enough time to do so. Not really caring that my sleeping roommate was only separated from me by a thin piece of sheetrock, I started throwing clothes, shoes and bags around until my running shoes were located.
The warmer temperatures left a nice sheet of frost on my window, but I didn’t bother to scrape it off. I was already in bad mood, and didn’t have patience for that. So, I bobbed and weaved in my car, trying to get the best sight I could amidst the tiny snow flakes plastered to my windshield. Each car that passed, I prayed that it wasn’t a police officer with the ability to give me a $70 obstruction of view ticket.
It took 30 minutes to get into the flow of my workout, and I never did reach my usual energy level. I tried to distract the time with CNN’s coverage of the inaugural, but each person they interviewed depressed me more.
Barack Obama will be sworn in as president tomorrow, and despite the economy, environment and skepticism, he still has faith in dreams and hopes. My hopes and dreams don’t even motivate me to get out of bed.
Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. News anchors spoke of his service to this country and his undying fight for peace. Instead of being inspired, all I could think about was my lack of fight and leadership to do anything even remotely similar to what King accomplished.
The most demoralizing story was about Washington D.C. cab drivers who talked about handling the crowds during tomorrow’s inauguration. These were men from all parts of the world who moved to D.C. to find a new peace. They believe in Obama because they believe in America, the reason they left their native country in search of a better life. These men have more courage than I’ll ever understand. I’ll probably never posses that type of audacity and it shatters me to pieces.
At the tail end of my workout, I tried to work through some of these feelings. What made me so unhappy? I have a wonderful job, great friends and loving family, so why all the unrest in my soul? I still don’t have the answer to that question, but I did make one small realization.
I never forgave myself for leaving the newspaper business.
It’s been about a year since I’ve left my full-time job as a newspaper reporter, a hard but wise decision. I still wonder if I did make the right choice, knowing my passions for writing and conversing with people. But sitting in that gym this morning, I know that I am much happier where I am than where I was. I just haven’t let myself believe that.
So, I took a look at myself in the mirror and said “Heather, you are forgiven. You are meant to be where you are.”
At that moment, it was time to leave. I gathered my belongings from the locker room and headed into the cold to my car. As I stepped out of the gym, taking in the campus scenery, I vowed to have a good day at work. I promised myself to take on all projects and tasks with vigor and be the employee that I was hired to be.
I can’t always be the person I expect myself to be, but I owe it to myself to be happy. It’s exhausting to look at life with “what if” glasses. I might dream about big adventures and living a different life, but today is what I have and I am never guaranteed another. So, what’s the point of holding grudges and being unsatisfied with what I do have?
The courage I have will help me accomplish my dreams, but today, I will be the best that I can be. That’s all I really know how to do, and that takes more courage than I really understand.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
A t-shirts and jeans girls
So, like most women in the country, I got caught up in Sex and the City movement. However, my admiration for the show didn’t come until it had been off air for a few years and was syndicated on TBS or some other channel that thrives on reruns. Sure, the clothes and steamy story lines were pleasing, but the show’s real appeal was lust for Carrie Bradshaw’s job and the suitable writing. Carrie’s monologues, usually in the beginning and ending of the episode, are quite excellent and usually fitting to my single, undefined life. One of my favorite quotes in the show is quite applicable to my current state in life, so much that it cross my thought pattern at least once a week.
“Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.” – Carrie Bradshaw
Each day, I seem to discover some new characteristic or attribute that I bear. Sometimes, these are not good things. I think most of us know that we posses less-than-pleasing qualities, but we tend to forget about them because that’s easier than looking at the problem in the face. In the last few months, I’ve tried to examine those flaws, categorizing those that are fixable and those that are just part of my makeup. It’s a painful process that’s brought me to tears on a few occasions, but at the end the day I feel stronger about who I am.
There are also those features that I love about myself, things I’ve picked out in other people as traits that I want to shine within me. These are the fun moments of getting to know myself because I learn to love myself and trust myself just a bit more. This weekend, I learned something truly inspirational about myself.
A group of friends decided to spend an evening out in Sioux Falls (we rescheduled the trip from last week.) As my friends were deciding on tops, perfume and eye makeup, I tried to keep up with their cuteness. To add spice to my usual outing attire, I picked out a normal black three-quarter sleeved shirt and paired it with a green tank top, dark jeans and black boots. To tie the ensemble together, I wore eye shadow and lipstick. Still, I was the most dressed down. But that is me.
As I was applying the eye shadow, I realized that I rarely dress up to go out for a night and this was my best attempt. Granted the bars in Sioux Falls are a bit classier than ones in Brookings, yet many girls go to great lengths to make themselves over for an evening out. Not me. Most times, I wear t-shirts and jeans with my hair pulled back. Sometimes, I do like to dress up with my friends for special occasions, but I’ve never felt like I had to get dolled up just to have a beer with a friend.
When it comes to appearance, I’m extremely low maintenance. It takes me twenty minutes to get ready in the morning. I rarely buy designer clothes, and I can’t give you the names of five top designers. I tend to dress like a hippie or hobo or a hippie hobo. I buy little makeup and usually throw gel in my hair and call it good.
Maybe it comes from growing up with two brothers and playing wiffle ball and two-hand touch football in my boy-dominated neighborhood, but I am a bad girl. I’ve had my nails done once and have sweared off tanning salons. My favorite pair of shoes is flip flops and my favorite jeans have holes in the knees. I’m the girl that hangs back with boys at the sports bar to watch the end of Twins game and becomes giddying discussing SDSU Football prospects.
I love that about myself. Some women may call it laziness. My friends who dress more girly do get more attention from guys, but that doesn’t really bother me. I wear what makes me comfortable, whether it is a skirt or dirty t-shirt.
I have nothing against girls that like to dress up, with cute clothes and makeup. I think many of them are knockouts, and I am envious of their sexiness. But that isn’t me and I’ve realized it’s OK to be just me. The people and things that matter most in my life will eventually realize that that is part of me, and I love me the way I am.
“Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.” – Carrie Bradshaw
Each day, I seem to discover some new characteristic or attribute that I bear. Sometimes, these are not good things. I think most of us know that we posses less-than-pleasing qualities, but we tend to forget about them because that’s easier than looking at the problem in the face. In the last few months, I’ve tried to examine those flaws, categorizing those that are fixable and those that are just part of my makeup. It’s a painful process that’s brought me to tears on a few occasions, but at the end the day I feel stronger about who I am.
There are also those features that I love about myself, things I’ve picked out in other people as traits that I want to shine within me. These are the fun moments of getting to know myself because I learn to love myself and trust myself just a bit more. This weekend, I learned something truly inspirational about myself.
A group of friends decided to spend an evening out in Sioux Falls (we rescheduled the trip from last week.) As my friends were deciding on tops, perfume and eye makeup, I tried to keep up with their cuteness. To add spice to my usual outing attire, I picked out a normal black three-quarter sleeved shirt and paired it with a green tank top, dark jeans and black boots. To tie the ensemble together, I wore eye shadow and lipstick. Still, I was the most dressed down. But that is me.
As I was applying the eye shadow, I realized that I rarely dress up to go out for a night and this was my best attempt. Granted the bars in Sioux Falls are a bit classier than ones in Brookings, yet many girls go to great lengths to make themselves over for an evening out. Not me. Most times, I wear t-shirts and jeans with my hair pulled back. Sometimes, I do like to dress up with my friends for special occasions, but I’ve never felt like I had to get dolled up just to have a beer with a friend.
When it comes to appearance, I’m extremely low maintenance. It takes me twenty minutes to get ready in the morning. I rarely buy designer clothes, and I can’t give you the names of five top designers. I tend to dress like a hippie or hobo or a hippie hobo. I buy little makeup and usually throw gel in my hair and call it good.
Maybe it comes from growing up with two brothers and playing wiffle ball and two-hand touch football in my boy-dominated neighborhood, but I am a bad girl. I’ve had my nails done once and have sweared off tanning salons. My favorite pair of shoes is flip flops and my favorite jeans have holes in the knees. I’m the girl that hangs back with boys at the sports bar to watch the end of Twins game and becomes giddying discussing SDSU Football prospects.
I love that about myself. Some women may call it laziness. My friends who dress more girly do get more attention from guys, but that doesn’t really bother me. I wear what makes me comfortable, whether it is a skirt or dirty t-shirt.
I have nothing against girls that like to dress up, with cute clothes and makeup. I think many of them are knockouts, and I am envious of their sexiness. But that isn’t me and I’ve realized it’s OK to be just me. The people and things that matter most in my life will eventually realize that that is part of me, and I love me the way I am.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Progress
When you are trying to accomplish a lofty goal or break a nasty habit, even the slightest hint of progress can feel like a mountain has moved.
Today, I moved a mountain.
Like most people, I made it a New Year’s resolution to lose a few pounds. Actually, I proclaimed to take on a healthier lifestyle with more sleep, better food choices and regular exercise.
Right now, I am probably at the heaviest I’ve ever been. It’s not a great feeling, especially when my favorite jeans feel a bit more than snug. Actually, nothing really looks great on me and I prefer people to only take photos from my shoulders up.
I’ve been really trying to make healthier choices about food and hit the gym as often as I can, but those are not easy habits to infuse in your lifestyle.
This morning, I hit a rugged emotional state. Life was arguing with me and getting out of bed was a struggle. To combat that feeling, I ate. A friend and I already planned to have lunch that day and we met at pizza place for buffet. I chose a less fat salad dressing, skipped the fried stuff and passed on the desert. Yet, I still had my share of greasy calories.
My ah-ha moment came after we left the restaurant. The feeling of disgust settled in and my body began to itch like ants were crawling in my skin. This feeling come usually after I eat too much. The normal response is to go throw all the consumed food back up. But not this time.
“You are better than that, Heather,” I reminded myself.
Many of my friends and family know that I’ve been battling an eating disorder since I was a high school senior. I’ve been able to control it through counseling and will power, but that doesn’t mean it’s cured. No, I suspect to live with that temptation for the rest of my life. There is flare ups during stress full times or bad relationships, but I can usually come out of it. And when I am trying to lose weight, it always seems like a quick fix.
But not this time. This time I am going to be healthy, this time I am going to do it the right way.
It will take months for me to reach my healthy goals, but I can be patient. If I have to wait years to reach it and never throw up another piece of food, then I am OK with it. This disease may be a part of my past but it will not be a part of my future.
So, today, I said no to a bad habit and yes to healthy. It might not seem much to someone else, but to me, it’s one less mountain.
Today, I moved a mountain.
Like most people, I made it a New Year’s resolution to lose a few pounds. Actually, I proclaimed to take on a healthier lifestyle with more sleep, better food choices and regular exercise.
Right now, I am probably at the heaviest I’ve ever been. It’s not a great feeling, especially when my favorite jeans feel a bit more than snug. Actually, nothing really looks great on me and I prefer people to only take photos from my shoulders up.
I’ve been really trying to make healthier choices about food and hit the gym as often as I can, but those are not easy habits to infuse in your lifestyle.
This morning, I hit a rugged emotional state. Life was arguing with me and getting out of bed was a struggle. To combat that feeling, I ate. A friend and I already planned to have lunch that day and we met at pizza place for buffet. I chose a less fat salad dressing, skipped the fried stuff and passed on the desert. Yet, I still had my share of greasy calories.
My ah-ha moment came after we left the restaurant. The feeling of disgust settled in and my body began to itch like ants were crawling in my skin. This feeling come usually after I eat too much. The normal response is to go throw all the consumed food back up. But not this time.
“You are better than that, Heather,” I reminded myself.
Many of my friends and family know that I’ve been battling an eating disorder since I was a high school senior. I’ve been able to control it through counseling and will power, but that doesn’t mean it’s cured. No, I suspect to live with that temptation for the rest of my life. There is flare ups during stress full times or bad relationships, but I can usually come out of it. And when I am trying to lose weight, it always seems like a quick fix.
But not this time. This time I am going to be healthy, this time I am going to do it the right way.
It will take months for me to reach my healthy goals, but I can be patient. If I have to wait years to reach it and never throw up another piece of food, then I am OK with it. This disease may be a part of my past but it will not be a part of my future.
So, today, I said no to a bad habit and yes to healthy. It might not seem much to someone else, but to me, it’s one less mountain.
Man in the restaurant
He walked into the restaurant and found a booth across the room from where a friend and I are sitting. I assumed he was meeting a friend because we’ve had simultaneous lunch dates at Brookings establishments before.
Just a minute after seating, he made his way to the buffet and filled a plate. Less than 15 minutes later, he returned for another helping. That’s when I noticed he was alone.
Another 15 minutes later, he got up, paid his ticket and proceeded with his Sunday afternoon.
We were casual acquaintances at most and we never did make eye contact, but I couldn’t help wondering about him.
In a few weeks, he’ll jet off to a two and half year tour with the Peace Corps in Africa. That was probably the last time I’ll ever seem him.
Maybe he wanted to enjoy one last meal at one of Brookings best eateries, a locally owned pizza place that is known for its Italian pies as much as its unique selection of Greek food. Maybe he savored each bite of pizza knowing it’ll be two years before he gets the chance to taste the cheesy goodness again.
He knows that his days in Brookings are numbered, a feeling I know and one I wanted to feel again. But moving a few states away is different than moving to a third world country for two years. I tried to picture his thought process and what that normal Sunday meal meant to him.
Maybe this lunch it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe he was just hungry and pizza seemed like the ideal cure.
But I tend to believe he was very conscious of all the things that were coming to an end. His life will drastically change soon, and it’s probably a dramatic thought to take in.
And I was envious.
I couldn’t help but wonder what if that was me. I applied to the Peace Corps and it didn’t work out. But what if it did? What if I was the one leaving in a few days?
I would probably be enjoying that pizza as the last one I’ll ever taste. I would relish each moment with my friends and jam pack my schedule with social events in order to do it.
My heart dropped a bit when I realized that it wasn’t me. Remember, the Peace Corps turned my application down. Yet, big adventures are still in store for me.
At that lunch, my friend and I discussed the big ideas I had in mind and what I would have to do to accomplish them. It makes me excited thinking of all the limitless opportunities that are available at my fingertips.
When I saw him walk out of the restaurant, I wished him a silent good luck. He’ll be a great volunteer, I am sure.
I looked back at my friend and smiled. It was good to be there with her. And as much as I complain, it is good to live this life. My future will be laden with great adventures and sparkling moments, but I can’t concentrate on that when marvelous things happen around me all day.
Seeing him reminded me that me I have what I have for a reason. It’s a rotten life to see it through “What If” goggles. My big adventure will come, until then, I’ll just enjoy the life I’ve already landed.
Just a minute after seating, he made his way to the buffet and filled a plate. Less than 15 minutes later, he returned for another helping. That’s when I noticed he was alone.
Another 15 minutes later, he got up, paid his ticket and proceeded with his Sunday afternoon.
We were casual acquaintances at most and we never did make eye contact, but I couldn’t help wondering about him.
In a few weeks, he’ll jet off to a two and half year tour with the Peace Corps in Africa. That was probably the last time I’ll ever seem him.
Maybe he wanted to enjoy one last meal at one of Brookings best eateries, a locally owned pizza place that is known for its Italian pies as much as its unique selection of Greek food. Maybe he savored each bite of pizza knowing it’ll be two years before he gets the chance to taste the cheesy goodness again.
He knows that his days in Brookings are numbered, a feeling I know and one I wanted to feel again. But moving a few states away is different than moving to a third world country for two years. I tried to picture his thought process and what that normal Sunday meal meant to him.
Maybe this lunch it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe he was just hungry and pizza seemed like the ideal cure.
But I tend to believe he was very conscious of all the things that were coming to an end. His life will drastically change soon, and it’s probably a dramatic thought to take in.
And I was envious.
I couldn’t help but wonder what if that was me. I applied to the Peace Corps and it didn’t work out. But what if it did? What if I was the one leaving in a few days?
I would probably be enjoying that pizza as the last one I’ll ever taste. I would relish each moment with my friends and jam pack my schedule with social events in order to do it.
My heart dropped a bit when I realized that it wasn’t me. Remember, the Peace Corps turned my application down. Yet, big adventures are still in store for me.
At that lunch, my friend and I discussed the big ideas I had in mind and what I would have to do to accomplish them. It makes me excited thinking of all the limitless opportunities that are available at my fingertips.
When I saw him walk out of the restaurant, I wished him a silent good luck. He’ll be a great volunteer, I am sure.
I looked back at my friend and smiled. It was good to be there with her. And as much as I complain, it is good to live this life. My future will be laden with great adventures and sparkling moments, but I can’t concentrate on that when marvelous things happen around me all day.
Seeing him reminded me that me I have what I have for a reason. It’s a rotten life to see it through “What If” goggles. My big adventure will come, until then, I’ll just enjoy the life I’ve already landed.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Saturday Night
It’s almost 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday night and I am sitting on my couch wrapped up in a blanket. After scanning several channels, nothing intrigues. I should probably do some writing, but my motivation is dried up. I stare at my phone, hoping to see a tiny orange envelope on my phone containing a message from someone who wants to be with me at this moment.
Nothing comes. I scour Facebook just in case there was something I missed. That site seems to bring nothing but life frustrations, envy and disappointment anymore. You would think that would deter me from checking my account 86 times a day, but I’ve always been a gluten for a punishment.
Earlier this week, friends suggested the idea of spending the night in Sioux Falls and checking out that scene. One of our friends will be heading back to Whales soon and this was on her to-do list while in the States. The idea of getting away for a night was quite appealing, away from all of my life’s usual stigmas and depressants.
Initially, I thought we would leave late afternoon, early evening. Around 8 p.m., I tried to get the scoop on the night’s plans. One text was unanswered and the other didn’t seem to have any answers. Now, my mind can’t quit.
“Do they not want to go?” “Do they not want me to go with them?” “Are they annoyed with me?” “Is there something they are not telling me?”
Ridiculous, I understand.
Between working two jobs, teaching at my church, volunteering at the shelter and various social appointments, I probably need a night in. I haven’t had more than six hours of sleep each night this week. A friend scolded me for not taking care of myself and getting enough sleep. I haven’t been able to workout much this week and writing, well, there is never time for that anymore.
Yesterday, I hit a wall. Exhausted and mentally spent, I bawled for the first time in months. My life seemed like an ending list of places to be and things to do without any actual living time. All I wanted to do was slow down and start doing the things I want. I want to read the stack of books I keep putting off. I want to watch the TV I pay for but never get the chance to watch. I want to finally unpack from last weekend’s ski trip. I want to write all the stories I’ve meant to in the last month.
Now, I can actually take a breath and hold on to that stillness and I hate it.
In college, I couldn’t stand spending a Friday or Saturday night in. My thoughts would beat me up, forcing me to believe that I was a loser without any friends. Because, if I had friends who thought I was great, then surely I would be doing something that evening instead of watching a movie by myself. The thoughts abused me and created this black, sticky whole inside my stomach. My body shook and nothing could calm me enough to concentrate on one thing for more than five minutes.
Tonight wasn’t any different. As soon as the panic resides, loneliness comes on duty and it takes everything I have to not bawl.
I want to be able to learn to enjoy a night at home by myself, but every time I am presented with the opportunity I freak. I tell myself staying in is nothing to be ashamed of and it’s actually healthy for me, but the crazy side convinces me otherwise.
To stop myself from breaking down, I opened up a word document and just started typing. I forced myself to do this. Words don’t usually seem to flow easy when I am this state, but I needed an outlet. Once again, writing rescued me. It calmed me, it freed me from these suffocating thoughts.
My phone just beeped. The plans are probably called off for the evening, and that is just fine by me. I like the idea of staying in, now that I know that is what is going on.
Before I received the message, I actually hit calm. Why? I just wrote two pages. All those thoughts and the ugly black hole were spilled on to my computer screen and that seemed to be all I needed to smother the panic.
This social insecurity is something I’ve tried to work on, but seems to remain as a problem. Yet, I realized writing is there for me. It’s always there for me. In my weakest moments, in my glory moments, it will be the tool that allows me to find my core.
My hopes of dressing up and flirting with cute men have subsided to a greater idea – spending the night writing. The blog post ideas and excitement are flowing. This might turn out to be a great Saturday evening after all.
Nothing comes. I scour Facebook just in case there was something I missed. That site seems to bring nothing but life frustrations, envy and disappointment anymore. You would think that would deter me from checking my account 86 times a day, but I’ve always been a gluten for a punishment.
Earlier this week, friends suggested the idea of spending the night in Sioux Falls and checking out that scene. One of our friends will be heading back to Whales soon and this was on her to-do list while in the States. The idea of getting away for a night was quite appealing, away from all of my life’s usual stigmas and depressants.
Initially, I thought we would leave late afternoon, early evening. Around 8 p.m., I tried to get the scoop on the night’s plans. One text was unanswered and the other didn’t seem to have any answers. Now, my mind can’t quit.
“Do they not want to go?” “Do they not want me to go with them?” “Are they annoyed with me?” “Is there something they are not telling me?”
Ridiculous, I understand.
Between working two jobs, teaching at my church, volunteering at the shelter and various social appointments, I probably need a night in. I haven’t had more than six hours of sleep each night this week. A friend scolded me for not taking care of myself and getting enough sleep. I haven’t been able to workout much this week and writing, well, there is never time for that anymore.
Yesterday, I hit a wall. Exhausted and mentally spent, I bawled for the first time in months. My life seemed like an ending list of places to be and things to do without any actual living time. All I wanted to do was slow down and start doing the things I want. I want to read the stack of books I keep putting off. I want to watch the TV I pay for but never get the chance to watch. I want to finally unpack from last weekend’s ski trip. I want to write all the stories I’ve meant to in the last month.
Now, I can actually take a breath and hold on to that stillness and I hate it.
In college, I couldn’t stand spending a Friday or Saturday night in. My thoughts would beat me up, forcing me to believe that I was a loser without any friends. Because, if I had friends who thought I was great, then surely I would be doing something that evening instead of watching a movie by myself. The thoughts abused me and created this black, sticky whole inside my stomach. My body shook and nothing could calm me enough to concentrate on one thing for more than five minutes.
Tonight wasn’t any different. As soon as the panic resides, loneliness comes on duty and it takes everything I have to not bawl.
I want to be able to learn to enjoy a night at home by myself, but every time I am presented with the opportunity I freak. I tell myself staying in is nothing to be ashamed of and it’s actually healthy for me, but the crazy side convinces me otherwise.
To stop myself from breaking down, I opened up a word document and just started typing. I forced myself to do this. Words don’t usually seem to flow easy when I am this state, but I needed an outlet. Once again, writing rescued me. It calmed me, it freed me from these suffocating thoughts.
My phone just beeped. The plans are probably called off for the evening, and that is just fine by me. I like the idea of staying in, now that I know that is what is going on.
Before I received the message, I actually hit calm. Why? I just wrote two pages. All those thoughts and the ugly black hole were spilled on to my computer screen and that seemed to be all I needed to smother the panic.
This social insecurity is something I’ve tried to work on, but seems to remain as a problem. Yet, I realized writing is there for me. It’s always there for me. In my weakest moments, in my glory moments, it will be the tool that allows me to find my core.
My hopes of dressing up and flirting with cute men have subsided to a greater idea – spending the night writing. The blog post ideas and excitement are flowing. This might turn out to be a great Saturday evening after all.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
... And the year that will be
Good day in 2009!
A new year is upon us with new adventures ahead. The unmarked year gives us hope that any despair from the previous year will evaporate and only good tidings will embark. Like any other dreamer, I resolve today that this will be the year where it all happens for me. But the realist in me knows that challenges will rise, tears will be shed and not all of my dreams will transpire, but for one day it’s nice to believe that.
In the spirit of January 1, I’ve made a list of resolutions. However, I feel this list is more mature than my previous resolutions. Sure, I would like to lose weight and save money like the best of them, but this is the year I learn to love myself. My resolutions are centered on bringing out the best of myself. As Ann Curry once said “It’s time to be a bold version of your self.”
The biggest resolution of all is to take risks and step out of my comfort zone as much as possible. I’ll never know out far I can go unless I push myself. I seem to always plan things accordingly and take safe chances, but that is not the type of life I want to live. In order to be my best self, I need to be bold.
Other than that, I want to make myself more of a priority and learn to really appreciate the people and things around me. All I want is to be truly happy.
The year is off to a good start. For the first time since high school, I had a good New Year’s eve and I spent the next day playing games and lounging with friends.
Already, it feels, like this could be there.
Wishing you the best of 2009 to you and yours.
A new year is upon us with new adventures ahead. The unmarked year gives us hope that any despair from the previous year will evaporate and only good tidings will embark. Like any other dreamer, I resolve today that this will be the year where it all happens for me. But the realist in me knows that challenges will rise, tears will be shed and not all of my dreams will transpire, but for one day it’s nice to believe that.
In the spirit of January 1, I’ve made a list of resolutions. However, I feel this list is more mature than my previous resolutions. Sure, I would like to lose weight and save money like the best of them, but this is the year I learn to love myself. My resolutions are centered on bringing out the best of myself. As Ann Curry once said “It’s time to be a bold version of your self.”
The biggest resolution of all is to take risks and step out of my comfort zone as much as possible. I’ll never know out far I can go unless I push myself. I seem to always plan things accordingly and take safe chances, but that is not the type of life I want to live. In order to be my best self, I need to be bold.
Other than that, I want to make myself more of a priority and learn to really appreciate the people and things around me. All I want is to be truly happy.
The year is off to a good start. For the first time since high school, I had a good New Year’s eve and I spent the next day playing games and lounging with friends.
Already, it feels, like this could be there.
Wishing you the best of 2009 to you and yours.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
The year that was ...
Oh, 2008.
It’s hard to describe this past year in a word or two. It’s unfair to nail the year down to one defining characteristic, but if I must, it would be personal growth.
On this December, 31, 2008, I feel like I know myself better than I ever have. My journey in self realization is far from over, but I covered a lot of ground in the last 12 months. Little things have changed, such as the music I listen to, the food I eat and the clothes I wear. Big things too, such as my outlook on life and the person that I want to be.
Tomorrow, 2009 will begin and new opportunities and new experiences will arrive. But before then, I feel that is only appropriate to take a look back at the year that was.
…..
When 2008 arrived, I was stuck in a corner of smoky Pocatello bar. I didn’t have a person to smooch at the stroke of midnight, but it didn’t matter at that moment. Jan.1 meant that I had only 14 more days to make life-changing decision. And each one of those 14 days was filled with pro and con lists, tears and constant analyzing. It will forever be one of the most challenging decision’s I’ve ever made.
Then Jan. 14 came and I had to make a phone call. I left Pocatello city limits on a highway taking me west, toward Boise, Idaho, when I called Sherry and gave her my answer.
You all know how the story goes. Two weeks later, I finished my job at the Idaho State Journal and packed everything I owned into a U-Haul, saying goodbye to some wonderful people and this new life I created for myself. All the dreams I had chased to Idaho vanished as I left Bannock County on I-15, coincidentally listening to Daughtry’s ‘Home’ on the radio.
For two days, I drove the U-Haul, pulling my car behind it, through the mountains in a blizzard. My stubborn independence refused any help in this situation. I was determined to do this all by myself, which I did, and will forever be a shining moment of my strength.
At first, it didn’t feel real. It felt like a normal visit to South Dakota, not a permanent stay. I started my job on Feb. 4 and it immediately felt right. My coworkers were welcoming and appreciative. The work was challenging, rewarding and fun. It was a good fit from the beginning.
Just a week after my new job started, I took a much needed vacation with friends to the Virgin Islands. The beach, mixed with tropical cocktails and familiar company, helped me focus on what had happed in the last month. Between the decision making, moving and starting a new job, I really needed a week-long vacation. I took a boat ride at sunset, fed a pig non-alcoholic beer and nearly lost my life to ferocious waves.
Back in Brookings, I settled into a familiar town as a different person. I made new friends and redefined friendships, letting some go and strengthening others. I took several mini-trips to visit friends in their new lives. Still, thoughts of failure loomed. Like a brokenhearted girl, I used to cry at night over Pocatello and my Idaho friends as if they were an ex-boyfriend.
The spring brought unusual amounts of snow and more confirmation that I was where I was supposed to be. At work, I lost myself in a project that proved my importance to the organization. And my friends never let me forget they were happy I was back.
Soon, I began thinking about the next step in my life. I was convinced that it was the Peace Corps. After a few months of teasing with the idea, I applied. A few more months and I was rejected, but not discouraged. I did cry the day my recruiter told me he couldn’t accept me at this point, but I later realized it wasn’t the step I was supposed to take.
In the summer, I drove 3,000-miles by myself to Idaho and Montana to visit friends. The solitary was enlightening and did quite a bit of thinking. Being with my Idaho friends reminded me how much I miss them in my South Dakota life, but still, in the back of my head I knew I still made the right decision. Just driving those same streets and visiting those same places, the move was right. I was afraid remorse would hit while I was in Idaho, but it didn’t. In Montana, I visited college friends and fell in love with the Big Sky state. We spent some time in Glacier National Park, camped under the stars and drank home-brewed beer in a yarn store. During that trip, I decided that I would move back West eventually, even if that mean west of the Missouri.
It was the year of weddings as I was invited to 12, and attended half of those. Since I began dating, this is the first year I’ve remained completely single the entire 12 months. Sure, there were a few crushes and a couple dates, but nothing aspired. And that is OK. I’ve finally realized how important being single is right now. In order to ever have a happy marriage, there are a few things I need to straighten out with myself and I want to do it now before another person is involved.
As the fall emerged, students began to repopulate the town and I found it harder to find an identity in this community/college town. To not be a student or to not have a family is the greatest struggle of surviving this town. Some days, it’s unbearable, but other’s I can kick butt. The struggle will never disappear but I can, and am, diminish its toll on my attitude.
Besides being closer to my friends and family, one wonderful thing about coming back to Brookings is SDSU football. It wasn’t always a wonderful season, but I did visit a Big 12 stadium (Jack Trice Stadium in Ames, Iowa) and witnessed history as the Jacks beat NDSU in the FargoDome with the help of quarterback Ryan Berry who came back from a concussion to throw a touchdown and a two-point conversion to win.
I also took in a bit of pro football as my family and I attended a Vikings/Packers game in the Metro Dome. I’m not a fan of either team, but who doesn’t love a good rivalry game? Plus, it my family hadn’t spent that much time together in years.
Winter brought yet more snow and some clarity. For months, I’d been planning to go back to school for counseling. With the help of a counselor, I realized my true dreams and aspirations are writing focused. What I really want to do with life still remains a mystery, but I want writing involved.
Here it is, the end of the year, and I look back at all of those experiences feeling very blessed. The job I came home for has been more rewarding than I could’ve ever imagined. I work a second job writing sports for the local newspaper, teach religious education at my church and volunteer at the domestic abuse shelter in town. My family is healthy and close by. My friends continue to bring the best out of me and I have good friends in all parts of the world to visit. I’m healthy, fed, sheltered and happy.
2008 was indeed a good year.
It’s hard to describe this past year in a word or two. It’s unfair to nail the year down to one defining characteristic, but if I must, it would be personal growth.
On this December, 31, 2008, I feel like I know myself better than I ever have. My journey in self realization is far from over, but I covered a lot of ground in the last 12 months. Little things have changed, such as the music I listen to, the food I eat and the clothes I wear. Big things too, such as my outlook on life and the person that I want to be.
Tomorrow, 2009 will begin and new opportunities and new experiences will arrive. But before then, I feel that is only appropriate to take a look back at the year that was.
…..
When 2008 arrived, I was stuck in a corner of smoky Pocatello bar. I didn’t have a person to smooch at the stroke of midnight, but it didn’t matter at that moment. Jan.1 meant that I had only 14 more days to make life-changing decision. And each one of those 14 days was filled with pro and con lists, tears and constant analyzing. It will forever be one of the most challenging decision’s I’ve ever made.
Then Jan. 14 came and I had to make a phone call. I left Pocatello city limits on a highway taking me west, toward Boise, Idaho, when I called Sherry and gave her my answer.
You all know how the story goes. Two weeks later, I finished my job at the Idaho State Journal and packed everything I owned into a U-Haul, saying goodbye to some wonderful people and this new life I created for myself. All the dreams I had chased to Idaho vanished as I left Bannock County on I-15, coincidentally listening to Daughtry’s ‘Home’ on the radio.
For two days, I drove the U-Haul, pulling my car behind it, through the mountains in a blizzard. My stubborn independence refused any help in this situation. I was determined to do this all by myself, which I did, and will forever be a shining moment of my strength.
At first, it didn’t feel real. It felt like a normal visit to South Dakota, not a permanent stay. I started my job on Feb. 4 and it immediately felt right. My coworkers were welcoming and appreciative. The work was challenging, rewarding and fun. It was a good fit from the beginning.
Just a week after my new job started, I took a much needed vacation with friends to the Virgin Islands. The beach, mixed with tropical cocktails and familiar company, helped me focus on what had happed in the last month. Between the decision making, moving and starting a new job, I really needed a week-long vacation. I took a boat ride at sunset, fed a pig non-alcoholic beer and nearly lost my life to ferocious waves.
Back in Brookings, I settled into a familiar town as a different person. I made new friends and redefined friendships, letting some go and strengthening others. I took several mini-trips to visit friends in their new lives. Still, thoughts of failure loomed. Like a brokenhearted girl, I used to cry at night over Pocatello and my Idaho friends as if they were an ex-boyfriend.
The spring brought unusual amounts of snow and more confirmation that I was where I was supposed to be. At work, I lost myself in a project that proved my importance to the organization. And my friends never let me forget they were happy I was back.
Soon, I began thinking about the next step in my life. I was convinced that it was the Peace Corps. After a few months of teasing with the idea, I applied. A few more months and I was rejected, but not discouraged. I did cry the day my recruiter told me he couldn’t accept me at this point, but I later realized it wasn’t the step I was supposed to take.
In the summer, I drove 3,000-miles by myself to Idaho and Montana to visit friends. The solitary was enlightening and did quite a bit of thinking. Being with my Idaho friends reminded me how much I miss them in my South Dakota life, but still, in the back of my head I knew I still made the right decision. Just driving those same streets and visiting those same places, the move was right. I was afraid remorse would hit while I was in Idaho, but it didn’t. In Montana, I visited college friends and fell in love with the Big Sky state. We spent some time in Glacier National Park, camped under the stars and drank home-brewed beer in a yarn store. During that trip, I decided that I would move back West eventually, even if that mean west of the Missouri.
It was the year of weddings as I was invited to 12, and attended half of those. Since I began dating, this is the first year I’ve remained completely single the entire 12 months. Sure, there were a few crushes and a couple dates, but nothing aspired. And that is OK. I’ve finally realized how important being single is right now. In order to ever have a happy marriage, there are a few things I need to straighten out with myself and I want to do it now before another person is involved.
As the fall emerged, students began to repopulate the town and I found it harder to find an identity in this community/college town. To not be a student or to not have a family is the greatest struggle of surviving this town. Some days, it’s unbearable, but other’s I can kick butt. The struggle will never disappear but I can, and am, diminish its toll on my attitude.
Besides being closer to my friends and family, one wonderful thing about coming back to Brookings is SDSU football. It wasn’t always a wonderful season, but I did visit a Big 12 stadium (Jack Trice Stadium in Ames, Iowa) and witnessed history as the Jacks beat NDSU in the FargoDome with the help of quarterback Ryan Berry who came back from a concussion to throw a touchdown and a two-point conversion to win.
I also took in a bit of pro football as my family and I attended a Vikings/Packers game in the Metro Dome. I’m not a fan of either team, but who doesn’t love a good rivalry game? Plus, it my family hadn’t spent that much time together in years.
Winter brought yet more snow and some clarity. For months, I’d been planning to go back to school for counseling. With the help of a counselor, I realized my true dreams and aspirations are writing focused. What I really want to do with life still remains a mystery, but I want writing involved.
Here it is, the end of the year, and I look back at all of those experiences feeling very blessed. The job I came home for has been more rewarding than I could’ve ever imagined. I work a second job writing sports for the local newspaper, teach religious education at my church and volunteer at the domestic abuse shelter in town. My family is healthy and close by. My friends continue to bring the best out of me and I have good friends in all parts of the world to visit. I’m healthy, fed, sheltered and happy.
2008 was indeed a good year.
Resolutions
Tomorrow, people all over the world will make list of resolutions for 2009. I’m just as guilty as many of not sticking to those goals. So, with just a few hours left in 2008, I thought I would look at the ones I did accomplish.
- Become a Vegetarian I resolved to not eat meat for an entire year, but didn’t know what exactly being a vegetarian meant. Well, not only did I not consume any meat products, I found strength in this self-control lifestyle. I plan on staying a vegetarian in 2009.
- Only let people into my life that prove they deserve to be there I did do that with one person in particular. She was not good for my growth and only made me feel bad about myself. She is still a part of my life, but in a limited role. That was a really hard resolution, but one I hope to continue in the next year.
- Write more The stress of being a full-time reporter put a strain on my relationship with writing. However, I have found new hope in writing and try to write as much as I can. I have a part-time job at a newspaper and try to blog when I get the chance. But, I know write for me more than I’ve ever have. I get lost in my words and my stories. I’m more passionate about writing than I’ve ever been.
- Read more I’ve finished more books this past year than I did in my four years of colleges. I even have a preferred genre: memoirs.
- Take up yoga I didn’t do this as much as I wanted to because of my work schedule, but I did go to yoga once a week for most of the summer. I am switching gyms this year and hope to go more regularly.
- Take more weekend trips I did a lot of this in the last 12 months, mostly to visit friends. It’s so nice just to get a way without spending a fortune to do so.
- Recycle more I have recycling bins in my apartment and make any waste that can go there does.
- Volunteer I teach at my church and spend Thursday nights at the domestic abuse shelter, so I think I accomplished this one
Sure, there are others I wish I had accomplished, but I am really proud of these. Look back tomorrow to see my resolutions for 2009.
- Become a Vegetarian I resolved to not eat meat for an entire year, but didn’t know what exactly being a vegetarian meant. Well, not only did I not consume any meat products, I found strength in this self-control lifestyle. I plan on staying a vegetarian in 2009.
- Only let people into my life that prove they deserve to be there I did do that with one person in particular. She was not good for my growth and only made me feel bad about myself. She is still a part of my life, but in a limited role. That was a really hard resolution, but one I hope to continue in the next year.
- Write more The stress of being a full-time reporter put a strain on my relationship with writing. However, I have found new hope in writing and try to write as much as I can. I have a part-time job at a newspaper and try to blog when I get the chance. But, I know write for me more than I’ve ever have. I get lost in my words and my stories. I’m more passionate about writing than I’ve ever been.
- Read more I’ve finished more books this past year than I did in my four years of colleges. I even have a preferred genre: memoirs.
- Take up yoga I didn’t do this as much as I wanted to because of my work schedule, but I did go to yoga once a week for most of the summer. I am switching gyms this year and hope to go more regularly.
- Take more weekend trips I did a lot of this in the last 12 months, mostly to visit friends. It’s so nice just to get a way without spending a fortune to do so.
- Recycle more I have recycling bins in my apartment and make any waste that can go there does.
- Volunteer I teach at my church and spend Thursday nights at the domestic abuse shelter, so I think I accomplished this one
Sure, there are others I wish I had accomplished, but I am really proud of these. Look back tomorrow to see my resolutions for 2009.
The best of 2008
Here are my favorite headlines and newsmakers of 2008:
The Best parts of 2008 in my humble opinion:
1. Americans taking a chance on change and voting a black man into the American Presidency.
2. The All-American boy next door defining what it means to be a true Olympian.
3. SDSU breaking a 60-year long record and earning a win the FargoDome.
4. Young people around the nation realizing the power of voting.
5. The barriers one Republican and one Democratic woman broke in order to one day have a female in the oval office.
6. The idea that we need to take care of this Earth becoming more of a way of life than a fad.
7. Bicycles becoming more of a preferred mode of transportation.
8. The rest of the world finally looking at America in a better light after the outcome Nov. 4, 2008.
9. A country marked by criticism, control and despair proving to the world that it can be the ultimate host to the ultimate athletic contest.
10. People from all walks of life and race uniting for two weeks in August for the sake of humanity.
The Best parts of 2008 in my humble opinion:
1. Americans taking a chance on change and voting a black man into the American Presidency.
2. The All-American boy next door defining what it means to be a true Olympian.
3. SDSU breaking a 60-year long record and earning a win the FargoDome.
4. Young people around the nation realizing the power of voting.
5. The barriers one Republican and one Democratic woman broke in order to one day have a female in the oval office.
6. The idea that we need to take care of this Earth becoming more of a way of life than a fad.
7. Bicycles becoming more of a preferred mode of transportation.
8. The rest of the world finally looking at America in a better light after the outcome Nov. 4, 2008.
9. A country marked by criticism, control and despair proving to the world that it can be the ultimate host to the ultimate athletic contest.
10. People from all walks of life and race uniting for two weeks in August for the sake of humanity.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Not my time
A few weeks ago, I found the man of my dreams.
His name is John Favreau and he is the 27-year-old mastermind behind all of Barack Obama’s speeches. He is the one who pieces each magical word, each captivating phrase that the President Elect says.
Despite his Washington good looks, I was drawn to Favreau because of his writing. He has spent so much time listening to Obama and picking up on his lingo that Favreau can actually write speeches the way Obama naturally speaks. That talent is attractive.
Like many of my celebrity crushes (Michael Phelps, Josh Hartnett), I’ll never marry Favreau or probably even meet him. But what makes me sadder is that I am not sure I’ll ever find a job that I am that good at. And I’ll probably never be that successful.
I sent an article about Favreau to a friend of mine, who I could see actually being a speech writer for a president someday. He called me a few days later and we were discussing Favreau.
That day had been a particular hard one for me. I felt as if everyone around me was moving on to wonderful, spectacular things and I was just staying still. I wasn’t doing anything meaningful or beautiful. I wrote this feeling to my friend in an email:
Do you ever feel like you are standing still and everyone else around you is moving on to great and better things? You want to get out of the rut, but it just seems like the walls are too high and life refuses to lend you any support. All you can do is stay where you are and watch everyone else accomplish their dreams.
Whatever point of misery that is, I am there.
He decided a response should be made by the phone so he called me later that day. He knows how I feel, he’s been there.
“It’s not your time, Heather.”
He brought up Favreau and how it’s somewhat painful to see someone similar to our age winning the race and we can’t get past the starting line. But what we need to realize, he said, is that this is his time to blossom and that doesn’t have anything to do with us. We just haven’t blossomed yet.
I guess haven’t blossomed yet, and that is a bittersweet feeling. I feel like I should have, that I should already be out conquering the world. But I know that right know I am figuring myself out, recognizing my good and bad qualities and that is painful.
Sometimes, I feel that I wasn’t ready to move to Idaho. That I was too unexperienced and naïve. I know that that isn’t true because I wouldn’t have gone if that was the case. I learned a lot of my from experience out there and it played a part in the person I am. Plus, I would never exchange those few months and those friendships for anything else in this world.
Being back in Brookings has been a sobering time in my life. I have really depicted each part of my life and have had to look at my fears and dysfunctions straight in the face. And that is incredibly painful. I’ve had to work through a lot of insecurities, and I am still not done.
In the end, I am only producing a better version of myself. Each day, I try to figure out a path. My mind runs constantly, rethinking decisions and options and it can be exhausting.
Yet, what keeps me going each day is knowing that my time hasn’t come. And when it does, it will be out of this world.
His name is John Favreau and he is the 27-year-old mastermind behind all of Barack Obama’s speeches. He is the one who pieces each magical word, each captivating phrase that the President Elect says.
Despite his Washington good looks, I was drawn to Favreau because of his writing. He has spent so much time listening to Obama and picking up on his lingo that Favreau can actually write speeches the way Obama naturally speaks. That talent is attractive.
Like many of my celebrity crushes (Michael Phelps, Josh Hartnett), I’ll never marry Favreau or probably even meet him. But what makes me sadder is that I am not sure I’ll ever find a job that I am that good at. And I’ll probably never be that successful.
I sent an article about Favreau to a friend of mine, who I could see actually being a speech writer for a president someday. He called me a few days later and we were discussing Favreau.
That day had been a particular hard one for me. I felt as if everyone around me was moving on to wonderful, spectacular things and I was just staying still. I wasn’t doing anything meaningful or beautiful. I wrote this feeling to my friend in an email:
Do you ever feel like you are standing still and everyone else around you is moving on to great and better things? You want to get out of the rut, but it just seems like the walls are too high and life refuses to lend you any support. All you can do is stay where you are and watch everyone else accomplish their dreams.
Whatever point of misery that is, I am there.
He decided a response should be made by the phone so he called me later that day. He knows how I feel, he’s been there.
“It’s not your time, Heather.”
He brought up Favreau and how it’s somewhat painful to see someone similar to our age winning the race and we can’t get past the starting line. But what we need to realize, he said, is that this is his time to blossom and that doesn’t have anything to do with us. We just haven’t blossomed yet.
I guess haven’t blossomed yet, and that is a bittersweet feeling. I feel like I should have, that I should already be out conquering the world. But I know that right know I am figuring myself out, recognizing my good and bad qualities and that is painful.
Sometimes, I feel that I wasn’t ready to move to Idaho. That I was too unexperienced and naïve. I know that that isn’t true because I wouldn’t have gone if that was the case. I learned a lot of my from experience out there and it played a part in the person I am. Plus, I would never exchange those few months and those friendships for anything else in this world.
Being back in Brookings has been a sobering time in my life. I have really depicted each part of my life and have had to look at my fears and dysfunctions straight in the face. And that is incredibly painful. I’ve had to work through a lot of insecurities, and I am still not done.
In the end, I am only producing a better version of myself. Each day, I try to figure out a path. My mind runs constantly, rethinking decisions and options and it can be exhausting.
Yet, what keeps me going each day is knowing that my time hasn’t come. And when it does, it will be out of this world.
It's been a while ...
Hello darlings,
I've received a few reminders that my blog is long overdue for an update. Life has been insanely busy leading up to the holidays. With two jobs, two volunteer projects and an active social life, my writing time was limited. Dedication to this blog took a big hit when I received a feature assignment from the Register. The piece - about a 14-year-old boy who has had a stroke and cancer and now only operates half a kidney but still decided to go out for the wrestling team - ended up costing me 15 hours of writing time. The two-part series turned out just as I hoped so the stress and time was worth it. And, most importantly, his family loved it.
Anyway, the piece is over and I can return to my blog. I know I always say this, but I will really try to be better about updating on a consistent basis. The next posts will mostly be thoughts about what I've been feeling the last couple of weeks and comments of the year that was and the year that will be now.
Thanks for checking in and harassing me about my outdated blog. I appreciate that more than you'll ever know.
With love,
Heather
I've received a few reminders that my blog is long overdue for an update. Life has been insanely busy leading up to the holidays. With two jobs, two volunteer projects and an active social life, my writing time was limited. Dedication to this blog took a big hit when I received a feature assignment from the Register. The piece - about a 14-year-old boy who has had a stroke and cancer and now only operates half a kidney but still decided to go out for the wrestling team - ended up costing me 15 hours of writing time. The two-part series turned out just as I hoped so the stress and time was worth it. And, most importantly, his family loved it.
Anyway, the piece is over and I can return to my blog. I know I always say this, but I will really try to be better about updating on a consistent basis. The next posts will mostly be thoughts about what I've been feeling the last couple of weeks and comments of the year that was and the year that will be now.
Thanks for checking in and harassing me about my outdated blog. I appreciate that more than you'll ever know.
With love,
Heather
Monday, December 01, 2008
Quarterlife
Three years ago, I was asked to write a column to fill some space in The Collegian. Only because a recent email sparked an idea, I agreed. In a short time, I hammered out a piece about quarter-life crises.
Three years later, the column still resonates with my attitude toward life. If I wrote a similar column today, it would probably be a bit more eloquent and descriptive but would have a similar message. Last year, David Brooks of the New York Times wrote a column supporting my life theories. ”Quarterlife”, a TV show spun from a website, aired last year and just today I found several books on this very topic.
As I stand trying to find meaning and hope in each new day, I realize I’m not alone in this storm of emotion. Not only do writers find this worthy of books and columns, I see my own friends struggle with the same questions and what-ifs I do. There is so much reassuring beauty in knowing that we all in this together.
Some days, this so-called life crisis can shatter me, bring me to my knees and tears to my eyes. Yet, it’s a beautiful mess that I am happy to go through. There is so much to discover and I am glad I get the chance to explore. To find yourself, to find your path is probably the greatest journey we as humans can experience. The bumps along the way bring strength and the jumped hurdles bring faith, things needed to make it to the end of life with a smile.
When my stay on Earth is over, I have a feeling I’ll look back on my 20s and smile, thanking God for allowing me to be a wander.
Three years later, I am still going through a crisis. Happily, of course.
Growing up difficult
Quarter-life crisis? You are not alone
By: Heather Mangan
Posted: 11/29/05
I am having a crisis.
A quarter-life crisis to be exact. And I know I'm not the only 20-something college student that feels this way.
It's like a mid-life crisis, but it comes earlier. You don't know when it will hit, or how long it will last. Symptoms of the quarter-life crisis vary, but the most common are:
-Being unaware of who you are or what you believe in.
-Not knowing where you will be in a year.
-Realizing that not everyone is a nice person.
-Being scared of the future.
-Realizing the people who you thought were friends, really aren't.
-Realizing that the simplest decisions are getting harder to make.
-Looking at life completely differently.
-Realizing that some of your dreams and/or goals may not come true.
-Realizing that people back at home don't care what you have been up to for the last four years.
-Laying awake at night wondering, analyzing your life.
-Wondering if you will ever find The One.
-Realizing that you probably won't be making $100,000, or even $40,000 your first year out of college.
-Realizing that although those refund checks are nice, you'll have to pay them back someday.
-Realizing that it really isn't exciting to get drunk three to four times a week.
-Realizing that wearing a little makeup and some flashy clothes isn't going to find you a spouse any quicker.
-Realizing there is more to life than MSN and facebook.com.
-Realizing life isn't like the movies.
-Realizing that random hookups and one nights stands aren't that great after all.
-Realizing your past is past.
-Realizing this is the only chance you get.
-Realizing that you parents were right.
These are hard feelings to deal with, and sometimes it seems like they will never pass. But like your first heartbreak, or the skinned knee you got from falling off your bike, this too will pass. Before long, life will seem good again, and you will be on the right track.
Just remember that you aren't the only one who feels like this. Your friends and classmates have the same mixed emotions and feelings. So when someone may be short or irritated, they are probably just confused with life.
We are all trying to work through this, making decisions and mistakes. They say these are the best years of our lives, although they may seem like the worst. Enjoy being young and at your prime. Live today and worry about tomorrow when it comes. Life is too short to worry it away.
© Copyright 2008 SDSU Collegian
Three years later, the column still resonates with my attitude toward life. If I wrote a similar column today, it would probably be a bit more eloquent and descriptive but would have a similar message. Last year, David Brooks of the New York Times wrote a column supporting my life theories. ”Quarterlife”, a TV show spun from a website, aired last year and just today I found several books on this very topic.
As I stand trying to find meaning and hope in each new day, I realize I’m not alone in this storm of emotion. Not only do writers find this worthy of books and columns, I see my own friends struggle with the same questions and what-ifs I do. There is so much reassuring beauty in knowing that we all in this together.
Some days, this so-called life crisis can shatter me, bring me to my knees and tears to my eyes. Yet, it’s a beautiful mess that I am happy to go through. There is so much to discover and I am glad I get the chance to explore. To find yourself, to find your path is probably the greatest journey we as humans can experience. The bumps along the way bring strength and the jumped hurdles bring faith, things needed to make it to the end of life with a smile.
When my stay on Earth is over, I have a feeling I’ll look back on my 20s and smile, thanking God for allowing me to be a wander.
Three years later, I am still going through a crisis. Happily, of course.
Growing up difficult
Quarter-life crisis? You are not alone
By: Heather Mangan
Posted: 11/29/05
I am having a crisis.
A quarter-life crisis to be exact. And I know I'm not the only 20-something college student that feels this way.
It's like a mid-life crisis, but it comes earlier. You don't know when it will hit, or how long it will last. Symptoms of the quarter-life crisis vary, but the most common are:
-Being unaware of who you are or what you believe in.
-Not knowing where you will be in a year.
-Realizing that not everyone is a nice person.
-Being scared of the future.
-Realizing the people who you thought were friends, really aren't.
-Realizing that the simplest decisions are getting harder to make.
-Looking at life completely differently.
-Realizing that some of your dreams and/or goals may not come true.
-Realizing that people back at home don't care what you have been up to for the last four years.
-Laying awake at night wondering, analyzing your life.
-Wondering if you will ever find The One.
-Realizing that you probably won't be making $100,000, or even $40,000 your first year out of college.
-Realizing that although those refund checks are nice, you'll have to pay them back someday.
-Realizing that it really isn't exciting to get drunk three to four times a week.
-Realizing that wearing a little makeup and some flashy clothes isn't going to find you a spouse any quicker.
-Realizing there is more to life than MSN and facebook.com.
-Realizing life isn't like the movies.
-Realizing that random hookups and one nights stands aren't that great after all.
-Realizing your past is past.
-Realizing this is the only chance you get.
-Realizing that you parents were right.
These are hard feelings to deal with, and sometimes it seems like they will never pass. But like your first heartbreak, or the skinned knee you got from falling off your bike, this too will pass. Before long, life will seem good again, and you will be on the right track.
Just remember that you aren't the only one who feels like this. Your friends and classmates have the same mixed emotions and feelings. So when someone may be short or irritated, they are probably just confused with life.
We are all trying to work through this, making decisions and mistakes. They say these are the best years of our lives, although they may seem like the worst. Enjoy being young and at your prime. Live today and worry about tomorrow when it comes. Life is too short to worry it away.
© Copyright 2008 SDSU Collegian
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Failing
We met for coffee -- at my request -- at a Starbucks on the north-end of town. Still dressed for church, my black and white skirt paired with knee-high boots was a bit ornate for the casual coffee atmosphere. Most of the makeup I put on that morning was washed away from by my tears. My hair was in a tangle mess and nothing could make me smile, not even the company of a friend.
We order the hoity-toity drinks Starbucks built its empire on and sat in black leather couches near the corner. He knew what I wanted to talk about and gave his best performance as a supportive friend. We went through the details of the decision and benefits of going for it. He sat back, one leg propped on the coffee table and a dark stocking cap hiding his brown locks, making mental lists of what I was saying. Not seeing a red flag, he asked “So, what is the biggest drawback?”
Holding back the inevitable tears, I choked, “I would feel like a failure.”
“Then stay, Heather. If you are going to feel like a failure, don’t go.”
It’s been almost 11 months since that conversation with my friend Dan and I still can’t let go.
I left anyway, believing that the benefits of moving were bigger than feeling like a failure. I moved and took the job anyway, believing that I was taking a step forward and those feelings of failure would eventually go away because they weren’t true.
Yet, they didn’t.
A few weeks ago, I started seeing a career counselor in hopes of getting some insight into what I should/want to do with my life. Naturally, the job and the move were mentioned as background information, yet we spent much of the session discussing it. She seemed to be concerned as to why I feel like I failed by moving back to family and friends for a great job. I tried to explain her that I didn’t really, but it was more of perception, but she wasn’t satisfied.
Truthfully, I didn’t realize this was still an issue until I met with her. Maybe I suppressed those feelings or just became used to them, but deep down I still felt like I failed somehow.
There is no good reason for me to feel this way. I have a great job that I am happy to go to every day. I’m closer to my family and I have good friends just blocks away. Brookings is a great community and many are happy to be here. My life is less disoriented and, generally, better than it was in Idaho. So, how could I feel failure?
I spent Thanksgiving at home in Pierre and those feelings were stronger than ever. When I lived in Idaho and came home for a holiday, I could proudly say that I left. Life might be hard, but I was making something of myself. Idaho might not be glamorous, but it was a hell of a lot better than Pierre.
This holiday was different.
Now, I am just three hours away, living in my college town. And that reason alone signifies failure. I was ashamed to tell people where I lived and cringed while answering “Are you still in Idaho?” Anything great in my life seemed to be clogged by this disappointment.
When I felt so alone in middle school and high school, I promised myself that I would go somewhere more fantastic than anyone could imagine and I would do something nobody thought was possible but me. In college, when long days were the norm and life never seemed to hit the brakes, I reminded myself that this hard work was going to take me somewhere special. It was my piece of retaliation to those people who never thought much of me.
For most, Idaho doesn’t seem like a special place, but to me it was. It was the beginning of a dream come true. It was just the starting point as I chased a dream, which would lead me to other great places. It was the doorway to somewhere fantastic and it didn’t come with a 605 area code. The loneliness and unhappiness were never a match for the pride I felt for being somewhere else.
When I came back, that was shattered. The other parts of my life improved, but that crutch was gone.
It hurts to feel this way. My friends and family, who were thrilled to see me move back, don’t deserve this. My organization doesn’t deserve this. My community, which has given me more than I give it, doesn’t deserve this. I can’t help but feel selfish, whiny and thankless.
This sense of failure, I realized, was that I am not where I said I would be. There were two life plans I had mapped out: moving to a big city and writing pieces that moved, inspired peopled or settling down in a comfortable job with the man of my dreams. Neither path came true and I can’t help but ask why. There’s not a good or simple answer.
But, I am not a failure for being in Brookings or even leaving Idaho. If I am a failure at all, it’s because I don’t believe I can actually fulfill those dreams.
The opposition reminds me I don’t have the talent or the courage to be a great writer. The past presents the idea the that maybe I’m not good enough or don’t deserve a loving husband. Maybe my dreams are too far beyond the reality of my life.
That is my failure.
My life is at a good spot, it’s transitional, but it’s good. Sure, they are other things I want to do and be, but any thoughts of failure of self inflicted. I’ve been caught up in what I assume are perceptions of my life, but paranoia is not a becoming element of life.
The other day a friend of mine told me that I’m never going to know what I want to do with my life, and that is far from failure. I have options and whatever I choose, he said, I’ll be successful.
What I’ve come to understand is that I’ll make mistakes and I’ll hit bumps, but if I fail, it’s because I let myself. It’s up to me to make sure I don’t fail. So far, I’m, doing a pretty good job, and it only took me 11 months to realize it.
We order the hoity-toity drinks Starbucks built its empire on and sat in black leather couches near the corner. He knew what I wanted to talk about and gave his best performance as a supportive friend. We went through the details of the decision and benefits of going for it. He sat back, one leg propped on the coffee table and a dark stocking cap hiding his brown locks, making mental lists of what I was saying. Not seeing a red flag, he asked “So, what is the biggest drawback?”
Holding back the inevitable tears, I choked, “I would feel like a failure.”
“Then stay, Heather. If you are going to feel like a failure, don’t go.”
It’s been almost 11 months since that conversation with my friend Dan and I still can’t let go.
I left anyway, believing that the benefits of moving were bigger than feeling like a failure. I moved and took the job anyway, believing that I was taking a step forward and those feelings of failure would eventually go away because they weren’t true.
Yet, they didn’t.
A few weeks ago, I started seeing a career counselor in hopes of getting some insight into what I should/want to do with my life. Naturally, the job and the move were mentioned as background information, yet we spent much of the session discussing it. She seemed to be concerned as to why I feel like I failed by moving back to family and friends for a great job. I tried to explain her that I didn’t really, but it was more of perception, but she wasn’t satisfied.
Truthfully, I didn’t realize this was still an issue until I met with her. Maybe I suppressed those feelings or just became used to them, but deep down I still felt like I failed somehow.
There is no good reason for me to feel this way. I have a great job that I am happy to go to every day. I’m closer to my family and I have good friends just blocks away. Brookings is a great community and many are happy to be here. My life is less disoriented and, generally, better than it was in Idaho. So, how could I feel failure?
I spent Thanksgiving at home in Pierre and those feelings were stronger than ever. When I lived in Idaho and came home for a holiday, I could proudly say that I left. Life might be hard, but I was making something of myself. Idaho might not be glamorous, but it was a hell of a lot better than Pierre.
This holiday was different.
Now, I am just three hours away, living in my college town. And that reason alone signifies failure. I was ashamed to tell people where I lived and cringed while answering “Are you still in Idaho?” Anything great in my life seemed to be clogged by this disappointment.
When I felt so alone in middle school and high school, I promised myself that I would go somewhere more fantastic than anyone could imagine and I would do something nobody thought was possible but me. In college, when long days were the norm and life never seemed to hit the brakes, I reminded myself that this hard work was going to take me somewhere special. It was my piece of retaliation to those people who never thought much of me.
For most, Idaho doesn’t seem like a special place, but to me it was. It was the beginning of a dream come true. It was just the starting point as I chased a dream, which would lead me to other great places. It was the doorway to somewhere fantastic and it didn’t come with a 605 area code. The loneliness and unhappiness were never a match for the pride I felt for being somewhere else.
When I came back, that was shattered. The other parts of my life improved, but that crutch was gone.
It hurts to feel this way. My friends and family, who were thrilled to see me move back, don’t deserve this. My organization doesn’t deserve this. My community, which has given me more than I give it, doesn’t deserve this. I can’t help but feel selfish, whiny and thankless.
This sense of failure, I realized, was that I am not where I said I would be. There were two life plans I had mapped out: moving to a big city and writing pieces that moved, inspired peopled or settling down in a comfortable job with the man of my dreams. Neither path came true and I can’t help but ask why. There’s not a good or simple answer.
But, I am not a failure for being in Brookings or even leaving Idaho. If I am a failure at all, it’s because I don’t believe I can actually fulfill those dreams.
The opposition reminds me I don’t have the talent or the courage to be a great writer. The past presents the idea the that maybe I’m not good enough or don’t deserve a loving husband. Maybe my dreams are too far beyond the reality of my life.
That is my failure.
My life is at a good spot, it’s transitional, but it’s good. Sure, they are other things I want to do and be, but any thoughts of failure of self inflicted. I’ve been caught up in what I assume are perceptions of my life, but paranoia is not a becoming element of life.
The other day a friend of mine told me that I’m never going to know what I want to do with my life, and that is far from failure. I have options and whatever I choose, he said, I’ll be successful.
What I’ve come to understand is that I’ll make mistakes and I’ll hit bumps, but if I fail, it’s because I let myself. It’s up to me to make sure I don’t fail. So far, I’m, doing a pretty good job, and it only took me 11 months to realize it.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thankful
This morning, I got up early to participate in Pierre’s annual Turkey Trot 5K run. As I was about half of a mile from the finish line, a song came across my iPod that began “Be thankful for the life you got.” The wide grin on my face proved that I was.
Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday. There are no gift expectations or need for social plans. Commercialism doesn’t hit this day as hard and good food is just as important as good company. But more importantly, I adore Thanksgiving for the simplicity of just being thankful. It’s an entire day dedicated to remembering the blessings in our life.
I cherish this day by making a list of just a few of things that I am thankful for and remembering to thank those most important in my life. A simple thank you can go along way, so remember to say it often and honestly. I just want to thank all of you that read this blog. It’s usually an incoherent mess, but I have a few wonderful and faithful followers and I couldn’t be more thankful. I honestly discover myself through this blog and I appreciate anyone who finds that interesting enough to visit once and while. Thank you and I am still working on that redesign I promised.
In the spirit of the holiday, here is a list of things that I’m thankful for. Enjoy the day and may you remember God’s blessings everyday.
I am thankful for …
God’s presence in my life
A healthy family that is responsible for the person I am today
Good friendships that keep each day exciting
When someone makes a comment about my writing
Tea in the morning
Going to a job that I love
The relationship with my body during a run
Unexpected text messages
The way my muscles hurt after yoga
Being reminded of Idaho in South Dakota
A night of dancing
Being silly for the point of being silly
Well-written stories
Pandora
Restaurants that cater to vegetarians
Friends who bring out the true me
Designing something worth showing off
Unanswered prayers
Road trips to visit friends
Phone calls from my parents
Half-priced apps at O’Hares
Exploring a new place
A person’s life story
Sharing my journalism passion with Chris
Dinner parties with strangers
Singing in church
Joking around with Jason
My seventh-grade CCD class
Email pals
Not knowing where I am going, but knowing I am going somewhere
Four seasons
The sight of the yellow house atop Euclid Avenue
Water
Knowing I can move anywhere and meet wonderful people
Scarves
The environment of a Jackrabbit football game
Lunch dates
Hearing God speak to me
Micah’s Halloween Sweatshirt
Hearing I have job security
Unexpected adventures
My mom’s ability to make everything seem alright
Being invited to two Thanksgivings
Wearing the same clothes I did in high school
Lyrics that give me goosebumps
The chance to still write sports
Getting that feeling when seeing Campanile for the first time in months every day.
A supervisor who believed in me so much that she asked me to make the hardest decision of my life
Believing I still made the right decision even though I miss what I left behind
Learning about myself through the words I write
A smile from a stranger
Giggling
The kids at the shelter who taught me that no matter how bad life can be, you still know how to smile
The mountains
Good conversation accompanied with a good mocha
When people tell me “You will go places”
Receiving mail with an 83201 zip code
Shaking hands with the next great leader of our country
Wine and cheese parties
Having so many options for a life path
Friendships that don’t die, no matter distance or time
Seeing a familiar face at the grocery store
Group prayers
Pictures
Prairie sunsets
Being knocked over a cliff by a large wave and living to tell the story
Inheriting my dad’s optimism
Having flaws
Social engagements most nights of the week, but at least one night to myself
The Office
The Minnesota Twins
But most of all, I am thankful for:
My health
Owning a bachelor’s degree
A roof over my head
Food in the cupboards
A car to get me from place to place
A way to pay the bills
Clothes in the closet
A good childhood
Wonderful friends
An amazing family
God’s love
Being happy
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
"No one is immune"
Somewhere in a box at my parent’s house is a yellowed, poorly cut newspaper article. It was from a 1999 or 2000 fall issue of The Argus Leader. The article, a column that ran every Sunday, was a tribute to high school cross country and each beautiful bump and bruise that comes with the sport. As a young girl falling hopelessly in love with running, I cut it out as inspiration before every season and each big meet.
To most people, that article was a nice piece for a sport that rarely gets covered. To me, it was almost a calling. Each word was a new addiction and another reason to mimic the man behind the pen. After reading the column, I thought to myself, “I want to write like him.”
The he is Terry Woster. Before this particular column, to me, Terry was the guy who lived in the big red house that gave out great candy at Halloween and the guitarist in the church choir. I knew he was a writer, but my knowledge of his career ended there. To the rest of the state, he was one of the best political writers in the state, not to mention one of the best writers. He came from a family of talented writers and there aren’t many people in the state who don’t know the Wosters.
After the cross country column, I made it a habit to read Terry’s Life column each Sunday. He can arrange words so that they just fall right to your heart as if you were having a real face-to-face conversation with him. The column is Terry’s side bit. When it comes to covering the South Dakota state government, there really isn’t anyone better. He is the sole member of The Argus Leader’s Pierre bureau, but has been covering this state for decades for various newspapers. He has stories about each South Dakota politician and every big moment in the state’s history. Terry really has a story about everything.
It didn’t take long for this budding journalist to realize that Terry was a good reporter to look up to. He, my father and a couple of other local reporters were my true journalism inspirations. Not only could Terry write, he could report. He asks the tough questions and isn’t afraid to call the good guys out.
When I interned with the SDNA at the Legislature, I shared a newsroom with Terry. Watching him work was better training than any text book. He rarely wrote notes, but had his finger on almost every issue. He could quote almost any rock song from the 60s and usually fashioned a Beatles tie. He was fierce, but not intimidating. Never once did he shoo away a 21-year-old intern who was trying to get her arms around tax laws. Each day, Terry was motivation to be the best reporter that I could be. He was just that kind of journalist and that kind of person.
The afternoon of 2008 election, The Argus Leader informed Terry that he would be let go. After decades of serving the South Dakota public, Terry will close the bureau and say goodbye in December.
For those of us that know the newspaper business, this is another lost solider. Another dedicated, tenured, respected journalist, whose salary has become too big for suffering newspapers to handle. When Gannett told The Argus it needed to make a 10 percent cut, the biggest expenses had to go. Unfortunately, that happens to be the newspaper’s best reporter.
My boss called me about this today, and as a former newspaper woman married to a newspaper man, she was disgusted. “No one is immune,” she said. She told me that I made the best decision by getting out of the biz. She told me to tell my friend, who was sitting next to me at the time and a reporter for The Rapid City Journal, to get out. It’s not a safe business to be anymore. Each day great employees are being cut because of budgets, such as my former coworker at the ISJ. Or extremely talented reporters are leaving because the future is so dark and clouded.
From the moment I left ISJ, I wondered if I made the right decision leaving newspapers. Today, I realized that I did. My heart will always belong to newspapers, but my future wouldn’t survive.
It will be weird not to see Terry’s byline in The Argus anymore, especially with the next Legislative session just a few months away. My hope is that he writes a book. I don’t care the topic, I’ll buy copy. This is a tragic end to such a great career, but as he writes his final piece, I hope he knows how much he has touched his readers and the people around this state. No matter what career path I take, every time I think of Terry Woster I will think, “I want to write like him.”
To most people, that article was a nice piece for a sport that rarely gets covered. To me, it was almost a calling. Each word was a new addiction and another reason to mimic the man behind the pen. After reading the column, I thought to myself, “I want to write like him.”
The he is Terry Woster. Before this particular column, to me, Terry was the guy who lived in the big red house that gave out great candy at Halloween and the guitarist in the church choir. I knew he was a writer, but my knowledge of his career ended there. To the rest of the state, he was one of the best political writers in the state, not to mention one of the best writers. He came from a family of talented writers and there aren’t many people in the state who don’t know the Wosters.
After the cross country column, I made it a habit to read Terry’s Life column each Sunday. He can arrange words so that they just fall right to your heart as if you were having a real face-to-face conversation with him. The column is Terry’s side bit. When it comes to covering the South Dakota state government, there really isn’t anyone better. He is the sole member of The Argus Leader’s Pierre bureau, but has been covering this state for decades for various newspapers. He has stories about each South Dakota politician and every big moment in the state’s history. Terry really has a story about everything.
It didn’t take long for this budding journalist to realize that Terry was a good reporter to look up to. He, my father and a couple of other local reporters were my true journalism inspirations. Not only could Terry write, he could report. He asks the tough questions and isn’t afraid to call the good guys out.
When I interned with the SDNA at the Legislature, I shared a newsroom with Terry. Watching him work was better training than any text book. He rarely wrote notes, but had his finger on almost every issue. He could quote almost any rock song from the 60s and usually fashioned a Beatles tie. He was fierce, but not intimidating. Never once did he shoo away a 21-year-old intern who was trying to get her arms around tax laws. Each day, Terry was motivation to be the best reporter that I could be. He was just that kind of journalist and that kind of person.
The afternoon of 2008 election, The Argus Leader informed Terry that he would be let go. After decades of serving the South Dakota public, Terry will close the bureau and say goodbye in December.
For those of us that know the newspaper business, this is another lost solider. Another dedicated, tenured, respected journalist, whose salary has become too big for suffering newspapers to handle. When Gannett told The Argus it needed to make a 10 percent cut, the biggest expenses had to go. Unfortunately, that happens to be the newspaper’s best reporter.
My boss called me about this today, and as a former newspaper woman married to a newspaper man, she was disgusted. “No one is immune,” she said. She told me that I made the best decision by getting out of the biz. She told me to tell my friend, who was sitting next to me at the time and a reporter for The Rapid City Journal, to get out. It’s not a safe business to be anymore. Each day great employees are being cut because of budgets, such as my former coworker at the ISJ. Or extremely talented reporters are leaving because the future is so dark and clouded.
From the moment I left ISJ, I wondered if I made the right decision leaving newspapers. Today, I realized that I did. My heart will always belong to newspapers, but my future wouldn’t survive.
It will be weird not to see Terry’s byline in The Argus anymore, especially with the next Legislative session just a few months away. My hope is that he writes a book. I don’t care the topic, I’ll buy copy. This is a tragic end to such a great career, but as he writes his final piece, I hope he knows how much he has touched his readers and the people around this state. No matter what career path I take, every time I think of Terry Woster I will think, “I want to write like him.”
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
The Chief
Less than four years ago, I was on a train from Paris to Rome. In our rail car was a young, well-educated man who was living in France, but an Italian citizen. He told us his life story and the political strife that forced him to France. At a lull in the conversation, he looked at us, four Americans, and said “How could your country vote George Bush into a second term?”
I was speechless. Struggling to find a convincing answer, we explained to him American’s voting patterns and the weak Democratic candidate in John Kerry. It was the first time I was truly disgraced to be an American.
In the long, long months leading up to this campaign, I’ve thought of that Italian man. I imagined him reading American newspapers and just hoping we could get it right this time. Tonight, I believe, that Italian man is happy to see American make the right choice.
Not everyone loves Barack Obama and I don’t believe in all of his policies. He isn’t perfect, but he is the right man for this job. With President Obama, America is going to soar. He is what American needs, more than anything. As he walked on to the stage at Grant Park, you could tell in his face that this is a man who loves this country more than anything and is truly grateful for this opportunity. That is the type of president America needs.
Obama is not always going to create policies and make decisions we agree with, but in four years, we will be a better country because of him. “Change has come to America.”
I was speechless. Struggling to find a convincing answer, we explained to him American’s voting patterns and the weak Democratic candidate in John Kerry. It was the first time I was truly disgraced to be an American.
In the long, long months leading up to this campaign, I’ve thought of that Italian man. I imagined him reading American newspapers and just hoping we could get it right this time. Tonight, I believe, that Italian man is happy to see American make the right choice.
Not everyone loves Barack Obama and I don’t believe in all of his policies. He isn’t perfect, but he is the right man for this job. With President Obama, America is going to soar. He is what American needs, more than anything. As he walked on to the stage at Grant Park, you could tell in his face that this is a man who loves this country more than anything and is truly grateful for this opportunity. That is the type of president America needs.
Obama is not always going to create policies and make decisions we agree with, but in four years, we will be a better country because of him. “Change has come to America.”
Happy Election Day
I know I said I was taking a break from the blog, but it's Election Day! Please remember to get out and vote today. Voice your opinion in this extremely historic election. Today, a person's race, gender, religion, class and sexuality do not matter. We all have the chance to be heard. As you can tell, I'm not shy about who I would like to see in the Oval office :)But, please just vote, it doesn't matter for who or if you check yes or no. Just do it.
God Bless America, and enjoy Election Day.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Hiatus
Hello readers,
I am taking a two-week break from my blog, not that I am a regular poster, to continue studying for the GRE. This test is pretty difficult and I need every second of studying, especially since the last time I did math was my freshman year of college. I hate taking a break from writing (I write many things that aren't posted on here), but this needs to be my primary focus. Once the GRE is over, I plan to revamp my blog, making it more focused with more updates. So, sorry about the break, but wish me luck. See you in two weeks.
I am taking a two-week break from my blog, not that I am a regular poster, to continue studying for the GRE. This test is pretty difficult and I need every second of studying, especially since the last time I did math was my freshman year of college. I hate taking a break from writing (I write many things that aren't posted on here), but this needs to be my primary focus. Once the GRE is over, I plan to revamp my blog, making it more focused with more updates. So, sorry about the break, but wish me luck. See you in two weeks.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
The Human Experience
Some once asked me what I am passionate and I told him, “People.” Tonight, I saw a film that adds to that passion.
The film, The Human Experience, is about the journey of two brothers and their search to find the meaning of a human life. The travel to remote parts of the world, interviewing people society rejects.
The Newman Center on campus sponsored a prescreening of the film. One of the main characters in the film and one of the producers also attended the screening to answer questions and collect feedback.
This filmed touched me in so many ways as evident by the number of tears I shed. As a 20-something trying to find her mark on this world, this filmed moved me to be a better person and to always remember the power of love. It makes me want to help people more and just to enjoy all the gifts God has given us, large or small.
I don’t buy movies, but I would buy this one. The group is currently working on distribution, and when they have it available on DVD, I plan to purchase a copy. I urge you all to check out the trailer and attend a screening if you get the chance. This movie will move you.
The film, The Human Experience, is about the journey of two brothers and their search to find the meaning of a human life. The travel to remote parts of the world, interviewing people society rejects.
The Newman Center on campus sponsored a prescreening of the film. One of the main characters in the film and one of the producers also attended the screening to answer questions and collect feedback.
This filmed touched me in so many ways as evident by the number of tears I shed. As a 20-something trying to find her mark on this world, this filmed moved me to be a better person and to always remember the power of love. It makes me want to help people more and just to enjoy all the gifts God has given us, large or small.
I don’t buy movies, but I would buy this one. The group is currently working on distribution, and when they have it available on DVD, I plan to purchase a copy. I urge you all to check out the trailer and attend a screening if you get the chance. This movie will move you.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Reality
Today, reality slapped me in the face. Without getting into too much detail, I saw first hand how shitty some people have to live. They’ve been dealt some horrible cards in life, and for them, not much hope exists. The first chance I got, I called my mom tonight to thank her for the wonderful childhood I had.
Sure, it wasn’t perfect but it was a childhood some kids only can dream about. Food was always on the table. I fell asleep each night in a warm bed and woke up each morning to take a hot shower and put on fresh clothes. My dad never hit my mom or my brothers and I. My parents are still together and are both healthy along with my brothers who are both currently pursuing degrees. I learned to read, write, do arithmetic and eventually got a college education. I got my first car at 14, my first cell phone at 15 and have a closet full of clothes. I’ve been to four different countries and have seen each coastline. I have wonderful friends to turn to each day. I’ve got a job that I love and that takes care of my bills. I can see, hear, talk, walk, hug someone, love someone. To some, what I have isn’t a lot, but to others it’s more than enough. Please remember that any time you think life is unfair. No matter who much I complain about things, my life probably looks pretty great to someone else and it’s my goal to appreciate these blessings with each breath I take.
Sure, it wasn’t perfect but it was a childhood some kids only can dream about. Food was always on the table. I fell asleep each night in a warm bed and woke up each morning to take a hot shower and put on fresh clothes. My dad never hit my mom or my brothers and I. My parents are still together and are both healthy along with my brothers who are both currently pursuing degrees. I learned to read, write, do arithmetic and eventually got a college education. I got my first car at 14, my first cell phone at 15 and have a closet full of clothes. I’ve been to four different countries and have seen each coastline. I have wonderful friends to turn to each day. I’ve got a job that I love and that takes care of my bills. I can see, hear, talk, walk, hug someone, love someone. To some, what I have isn’t a lot, but to others it’s more than enough. Please remember that any time you think life is unfair. No matter who much I complain about things, my life probably looks pretty great to someone else and it’s my goal to appreciate these blessings with each breath I take.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Fall
In some of my posts, I rag on Brookings pretty hard. Truth is, Brookings is a wonderful community with some wonderful attributes. One of my favorite things about this little town is fall. Growing up in a river valley, there weren't many trees around. When I came here, fall brought an entire different color palette.
Here are a few photos I snapped today at McCrory Gardens. Enjoy.
Friday, October 10, 2008
The 24th revolution
Today, I’m 24. It doesn’t seem like much time has passed since I wrote about being 23, but events in my life say otherwise. Now single with a different job in a different state, my future appears to be cloggier than ever before. Still, on this 10th day of October, I can say that I am truly happy.
Birthdays are usually a weird time for me. In the days leading up to my day, I am usually depressed by the thoughts and reflection that comes with turning a year older. Usually, my bad attitude comes from wishing for what I don’t have. Then, my birthday comes and I’m reminded that I have all that I need. I don’t need gifts or parties to have a good birthday, just a few simple “Happy Birthdays” from family and friends.
This year has been a bit different. All week long, a wide smile has taken up residence on my face. I get up in the morning, look in the mirror and giggle. It’s almost as if I was hooked up to an IV of joy throughout the night. At work, I smile and greet people. The bliss continues on when I put on my street clothes for the evening. I can still feel it when I say my nightly prayer and thank God for this life.
Today, I woke up dancing and singing. I went for a run before eating a chocolate breakfast, putting on the eye makeup I save for special occasions and going to work for a mere three hours. Now, I am writing at my favorite coffee shop before doing some shopping for my party tonight. Running, writing, friends, family – all of my favorite things rolled into one day. I can’t ask for more.
I can’t help wonder where this happiness has come from. It’s more than a birthday, it’s a birth week. Maybe it’s the affects of two long weeks at work. Maybe it’s me fulfilling my promise to God to live in the moment. Or maybe it’s me allowing myself to be happy.
For once in my life, I feel like I am truly going with the flow. I don’t seem to be envious or sadden with each engagement or baby announcement anymore. Instead, I smile and remember my time will come when it’s right. Till then, I’ll just work on loving me. Each day, I think about a new city I could move to. Instead of hitting the web looking for jobs in that area, I remind myself things will figure themselves out and soon I’ll know where I am supposed to be. And the big to-go-back-to-school-or-not-debacle takes a new turn each day. Instead of fretting about what I am going to do, I take it one step at a time, knowing I will feel the right answer at the right time.
This new laid-approach to life is invigorating. All the worry and stress is left in God’s hands, where it is meant to be. One thing that I love about birthday is they are a beginning, a chance to make a change. I hope to make the 24th year the one that I learned to let go and just live.
To predict where I’ll be and what’ll be doing when 25 comes is foolish and boring. I honestly have no idea, and that is what makes it fun. All I know is that I am a very blessed woman with great family, friends, job and life. There isn’t much else to ask for and all that is left is just to embrace. I’m sure they’ll be tears in the next 12 months, but also a lot of fun and laughs. Next year, I want to be able to look back at 24 and say “That was fun, and I did the best I could.” All I want is to be the best person I can.
I’ve been worried about turning 24, it sounds so much older than 23 and older is not what you want to be in a town that is forever 21. But if my day as 24-year-old is any indication what the rest of the year will be like, and I think it is, it will be one good year.
Here’s to my next trip around the sun.
Birthdays are usually a weird time for me. In the days leading up to my day, I am usually depressed by the thoughts and reflection that comes with turning a year older. Usually, my bad attitude comes from wishing for what I don’t have. Then, my birthday comes and I’m reminded that I have all that I need. I don’t need gifts or parties to have a good birthday, just a few simple “Happy Birthdays” from family and friends.
This year has been a bit different. All week long, a wide smile has taken up residence on my face. I get up in the morning, look in the mirror and giggle. It’s almost as if I was hooked up to an IV of joy throughout the night. At work, I smile and greet people. The bliss continues on when I put on my street clothes for the evening. I can still feel it when I say my nightly prayer and thank God for this life.
Today, I woke up dancing and singing. I went for a run before eating a chocolate breakfast, putting on the eye makeup I save for special occasions and going to work for a mere three hours. Now, I am writing at my favorite coffee shop before doing some shopping for my party tonight. Running, writing, friends, family – all of my favorite things rolled into one day. I can’t ask for more.
I can’t help wonder where this happiness has come from. It’s more than a birthday, it’s a birth week. Maybe it’s the affects of two long weeks at work. Maybe it’s me fulfilling my promise to God to live in the moment. Or maybe it’s me allowing myself to be happy.
For once in my life, I feel like I am truly going with the flow. I don’t seem to be envious or sadden with each engagement or baby announcement anymore. Instead, I smile and remember my time will come when it’s right. Till then, I’ll just work on loving me. Each day, I think about a new city I could move to. Instead of hitting the web looking for jobs in that area, I remind myself things will figure themselves out and soon I’ll know where I am supposed to be. And the big to-go-back-to-school-or-not-debacle takes a new turn each day. Instead of fretting about what I am going to do, I take it one step at a time, knowing I will feel the right answer at the right time.
This new laid-approach to life is invigorating. All the worry and stress is left in God’s hands, where it is meant to be. One thing that I love about birthday is they are a beginning, a chance to make a change. I hope to make the 24th year the one that I learned to let go and just live.
To predict where I’ll be and what’ll be doing when 25 comes is foolish and boring. I honestly have no idea, and that is what makes it fun. All I know is that I am a very blessed woman with great family, friends, job and life. There isn’t much else to ask for and all that is left is just to embrace. I’m sure they’ll be tears in the next 12 months, but also a lot of fun and laughs. Next year, I want to be able to look back at 24 and say “That was fun, and I did the best I could.” All I want is to be the best person I can.
I’ve been worried about turning 24, it sounds so much older than 23 and older is not what you want to be in a town that is forever 21. But if my day as 24-year-old is any indication what the rest of the year will be like, and I think it is, it will be one good year.
Here’s to my next trip around the sun.
Monday, October 06, 2008
My dream jobs
When I was in kindergarten, Mrs. Tenyck asked everyone in the class what they wanted to be when they grow up. My friend Heather (yes, I realize we have the same name) said she wanted to be a cop, just like her dad. Chris, another child of a cop, wanted to be like his dad too. Not me. Not fully understanding what my father did, a journalist did, I declared that I wanted to be an actress. At the ripe age of 6, I liked the idea of pretending to be someone else.
A few years later, about third grade, my ambitions of being an actress died. Knowing I would probably fail in Hollywood, I decided that I wanted to be a teacher, like my aunt Mary Jo, who lives in California. I liked school and the idea of bossing other people around. It seemed to be a reasonable, yet secure, profession.
In middle school, my career attentions turned toward psychology. I liked studying people and their behaviors. The little bit of psychology education I had was enough to convince me I should go into the profession. My grandmother said our family would be great practice. It wasn’t until recently that I realized how right she was.
Then, as a 17-year-old, I found my calling – journalism. At the encouragement of my father, I began writing for the school newspaper. I fell in love immediately and decided that I wanted to be like my father after all. I can guess that I was probably one of a few high school juniors who had their major picked out before they chose the university they would receive that education from. In college, I decided that was a blessing.
In college, my journalism professors would ask us what our career goals were. Mine changed every semester. Answers ranged from a metro newspaper reporter, a magazine writer, a media lawyer, a publicist, a public relations specialist for a non-profit, a copy writer for an ad agency and metro newspaper reporter.
If you’re a follower of this blog, you know the story. After seven months as a newspaper woman, I realized I hated it. Now, I use my journalistic skills in a different way, one that makes me happier. As a frequent reader, you also know that I am struggling to define the next stage of my life. The options are there, just not very many decisions.
To try and reach some of those decisions, I’ve been looking at my current list of dreams jobs and how to get there. Nope, an actress, psychologist and teacher don’t make the list. But I think the creativity and human interaction in each of those professions is something I am looking for.
For today, these are the jobs I would like to do when I grow up:
The guy from the Kleenex commercials
I adore the Kleenex commercials where a guy pulls a big blue couch on to a sidewalk of some busy sitting. With a Kleenex box in hand, he invites people to sit down and just chat. They tell him their life stories. They laugh. They cry. They reveal all that is beautiful about the human spirit. As long as I knew my bills were covered, I would do this gig for free. I love people. I love hearing their stories and watching their emotions unfold. I enjoy uncovering what makes them tick. If I could switch jobs with anyone just for a day, it would be the Kleenex guy.
Carrie Bradshaw’s Job
I’ve been watching a lot of Sex and the City lately and am envious of Carrie Bradshaw, the lead character. Not so much for the gorgeous men she dates or the fabulous clothes she wears, but for her incredible job. In the show, she has a weekly column where she writes about relationships and their meaning. I understand that this is a television show and she probably couldn’t afford all those designer shoes on her salary and she probably didn’t just fall into the job, but I could write about relationships any day. Relationships fascinate me, platonic or romantic. I read pretty much anything about relationships and enjoy analyzing them with my friends for hours. I’m even working on blog about a certain type of guy (look for that post later. I am currently conducting research.) So, yeah, I could do that job.
Reviving Charles Kuralt’s Dream
I was pretty young when I first saw Charles Kuralt’s segment “On the Road Again” on CBS’s “Sunday Morning.” Charles believed that every town and every person had a story to tell. So, he threw a dart at a map and found that place to tell that story. Since I first saw him on TV, I wanted to do just that. Charles drove the country by RV and highways only. He didn’t believe in the Interstate because the real beauty was along back roads. This nation is full of interesting, remarkable people and I want to tell their story. Sometimes, I feel like I should have done this right out of college. I then tell myself it might have to wait until retirement or when my bank account explodes. Still, this dream is in the top portion of my buck list. Sounds like a pretty good book, if I say so myself.
So those are my dream jobs. Maybe I will land one of those gigs or maybe I’ll find something that similar. But in the end, my ultimate dream job is one that makes me happy. If I can find that, I guess there isn’t much else to ask for.
A few years later, about third grade, my ambitions of being an actress died. Knowing I would probably fail in Hollywood, I decided that I wanted to be a teacher, like my aunt Mary Jo, who lives in California. I liked school and the idea of bossing other people around. It seemed to be a reasonable, yet secure, profession.
In middle school, my career attentions turned toward psychology. I liked studying people and their behaviors. The little bit of psychology education I had was enough to convince me I should go into the profession. My grandmother said our family would be great practice. It wasn’t until recently that I realized how right she was.
Then, as a 17-year-old, I found my calling – journalism. At the encouragement of my father, I began writing for the school newspaper. I fell in love immediately and decided that I wanted to be like my father after all. I can guess that I was probably one of a few high school juniors who had their major picked out before they chose the university they would receive that education from. In college, I decided that was a blessing.
In college, my journalism professors would ask us what our career goals were. Mine changed every semester. Answers ranged from a metro newspaper reporter, a magazine writer, a media lawyer, a publicist, a public relations specialist for a non-profit, a copy writer for an ad agency and metro newspaper reporter.
If you’re a follower of this blog, you know the story. After seven months as a newspaper woman, I realized I hated it. Now, I use my journalistic skills in a different way, one that makes me happier. As a frequent reader, you also know that I am struggling to define the next stage of my life. The options are there, just not very many decisions.
To try and reach some of those decisions, I’ve been looking at my current list of dreams jobs and how to get there. Nope, an actress, psychologist and teacher don’t make the list. But I think the creativity and human interaction in each of those professions is something I am looking for.
For today, these are the jobs I would like to do when I grow up:
The guy from the Kleenex commercials
I adore the Kleenex commercials where a guy pulls a big blue couch on to a sidewalk of some busy sitting. With a Kleenex box in hand, he invites people to sit down and just chat. They tell him their life stories. They laugh. They cry. They reveal all that is beautiful about the human spirit. As long as I knew my bills were covered, I would do this gig for free. I love people. I love hearing their stories and watching their emotions unfold. I enjoy uncovering what makes them tick. If I could switch jobs with anyone just for a day, it would be the Kleenex guy.
Carrie Bradshaw’s Job
I’ve been watching a lot of Sex and the City lately and am envious of Carrie Bradshaw, the lead character. Not so much for the gorgeous men she dates or the fabulous clothes she wears, but for her incredible job. In the show, she has a weekly column where she writes about relationships and their meaning. I understand that this is a television show and she probably couldn’t afford all those designer shoes on her salary and she probably didn’t just fall into the job, but I could write about relationships any day. Relationships fascinate me, platonic or romantic. I read pretty much anything about relationships and enjoy analyzing them with my friends for hours. I’m even working on blog about a certain type of guy (look for that post later. I am currently conducting research.) So, yeah, I could do that job.
Reviving Charles Kuralt’s Dream
I was pretty young when I first saw Charles Kuralt’s segment “On the Road Again” on CBS’s “Sunday Morning.” Charles believed that every town and every person had a story to tell. So, he threw a dart at a map and found that place to tell that story. Since I first saw him on TV, I wanted to do just that. Charles drove the country by RV and highways only. He didn’t believe in the Interstate because the real beauty was along back roads. This nation is full of interesting, remarkable people and I want to tell their story. Sometimes, I feel like I should have done this right out of college. I then tell myself it might have to wait until retirement or when my bank account explodes. Still, this dream is in the top portion of my buck list. Sounds like a pretty good book, if I say so myself.
So those are my dream jobs. Maybe I will land one of those gigs or maybe I’ll find something that similar. But in the end, my ultimate dream job is one that makes me happy. If I can find that, I guess there isn’t much else to ask for.
Kieara
My favorite photo of Kieara and I. This is from our spring break trip to Dominican Republic.
Here are 10 things you should know about Kieara Robinson (She is sitting beside me right now and has NO idea that I am writing a blog post about her. Sneaky, I'm aware.)
10. Her hair naturally forms a side pony. This is a talent that I wish my hair possessed.
9. Her mother wouldn’t let her go to Girl Scouts. Do not bring this up; it’s a very touchy subject. Nonetheless, she knows how to camp, cook and sew without ever wearing the green uniform. I think she turned out OK.
8. She has a weird obsession for Maroon 5’s “If I Never See Your Face Again.” It’s her current ring tone.
7. Her favorite movie is “You’ve Got Mail.”
6. She is from Vernon, Vermont. She knows how to draw maple from a tree and seems to have the same tin can of maple syrup since she moved to South Dakota.
5. Her middle name is Janece. It’s really fun to say her whole name, with emphasis on the “JA-nece.”
4. She used to be a dancer. From time to time, you can catch her frolicking in my living room.
3. In elementary school, she was on a jump roping team. Probably the main reason I became friends with her.
2. She doesn’t have a king-sized bed, or even a queen. She has a full-sized bed for very specific reasons.
1. She thought I was super annoying when she first met me. Now, she can’t get enough of me.
Kieara, you are now officially on my blog.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Dancing in the Rain
Rain is popping against my window. It’s a sweet sound, a calming one. It makes me think of when I was younger and would run out into the middle of the road and dance in circles. I would let my skin, hair and clothes absorb the drops until I was dripping. Nothing mattered in those moments. It was just me and the rain.
These days, I forget to notice the rain. It rained last Sunday, but only I cared to notice it the next day on my way to work.
In an effort to figure out my life, I’ve lost the feeling of life. I’m annoyed by the friend who calls just to say hi. My apartment is uninviting and disorganized. The cold days are too cold and the warm ones are too warm. Nothing is worth the time anymore and each morning is greeted by my grumpy attitude.
How did I get in this rut? Usually, I would blame Brookings and its lack of stimulation on my restless soul. Truth is, I probably would feel this way wherever I was. I’m never satisfied with what’s in front of me.
It seems that these blog posts repeat themselves. I hate Brookings, but I am glad I’m here. I miss journalism, but I don’t. I like being single, but I hate being alone. When did my life because so boring and, well, emo?
Then it hit me. I was sitting in my comfortably warm apartment, whining about my life and thinking about how I need to dance in the rain more. Once again, I was only writing about what I wanted to do.
I closed my laptop and left my apartment. I walked down the two flights of stairs and stared out the glass doors. The rain was still vigorously pounding against the brown cement, and I took a deep breath and walked outside.
At first it felt weird, the rain against my skin. I walked to the middle of the street and twirled about, but only succeeded in making myself dizzy. If I was going to do this, I needed to really let myself enjoy the moment.
The high school track is across street and is currently being remolded. The once dirt landscape was now mud, and the rain bounced on the newly tarred track to form bubbles. I stepped over the mud to get to the track and decided to try my dance moves there. Still, it was uncomfortable.
Looking up at the sky, I asked God to help me find answers and meaning. I decided to least walk around the track one time before I called it quits. Off to the side of the track, was a small puddle. As I debated about jumping into it, I thought of all the harmful things that could be in the brown, opaque water. “Stop thinking,” I said to myself and jumped right in.
The clumpy mud found its way between my toes. The cool sludge refreshed my intentions and I forgot about the fall night’s chill or that one of my neighbors could be watching me from their window. I didn’t care much as I kicked the water around like it was a soccer ball. I jumped in and out of the puddles as if there were my personal wadding pool.
Soon, I was twirling, leaping, jumping and moving my body anyway it would let me. Then I began to sing, mostly just a few lines from the songs I can remember off the top of my head, but I didn’t hold much back. It was just me and the rain.
Then a prayer came from in my heart and I knelt down. I promised God that I wouldn’t worry anymore about my future or what I will do next. I wouldn’t complain about Brookings or the lack of eligible guys. I am going to let him take care of all of that. I told Him that I might need help at times, but He is the one in control, not me. While I wait for Him to unveil the plans to me, I promised to dance in the rain, to just live.
When I stood up, I smiled. I guess all I needed was to dance in the rain.
These days, I forget to notice the rain. It rained last Sunday, but only I cared to notice it the next day on my way to work.
In an effort to figure out my life, I’ve lost the feeling of life. I’m annoyed by the friend who calls just to say hi. My apartment is uninviting and disorganized. The cold days are too cold and the warm ones are too warm. Nothing is worth the time anymore and each morning is greeted by my grumpy attitude.
How did I get in this rut? Usually, I would blame Brookings and its lack of stimulation on my restless soul. Truth is, I probably would feel this way wherever I was. I’m never satisfied with what’s in front of me.
It seems that these blog posts repeat themselves. I hate Brookings, but I am glad I’m here. I miss journalism, but I don’t. I like being single, but I hate being alone. When did my life because so boring and, well, emo?
Then it hit me. I was sitting in my comfortably warm apartment, whining about my life and thinking about how I need to dance in the rain more. Once again, I was only writing about what I wanted to do.
I closed my laptop and left my apartment. I walked down the two flights of stairs and stared out the glass doors. The rain was still vigorously pounding against the brown cement, and I took a deep breath and walked outside.
At first it felt weird, the rain against my skin. I walked to the middle of the street and twirled about, but only succeeded in making myself dizzy. If I was going to do this, I needed to really let myself enjoy the moment.
The high school track is across street and is currently being remolded. The once dirt landscape was now mud, and the rain bounced on the newly tarred track to form bubbles. I stepped over the mud to get to the track and decided to try my dance moves there. Still, it was uncomfortable.
Looking up at the sky, I asked God to help me find answers and meaning. I decided to least walk around the track one time before I called it quits. Off to the side of the track, was a small puddle. As I debated about jumping into it, I thought of all the harmful things that could be in the brown, opaque water. “Stop thinking,” I said to myself and jumped right in.
The clumpy mud found its way between my toes. The cool sludge refreshed my intentions and I forgot about the fall night’s chill or that one of my neighbors could be watching me from their window. I didn’t care much as I kicked the water around like it was a soccer ball. I jumped in and out of the puddles as if there were my personal wadding pool.
Soon, I was twirling, leaping, jumping and moving my body anyway it would let me. Then I began to sing, mostly just a few lines from the songs I can remember off the top of my head, but I didn’t hold much back. It was just me and the rain.
Then a prayer came from in my heart and I knelt down. I promised God that I wouldn’t worry anymore about my future or what I will do next. I wouldn’t complain about Brookings or the lack of eligible guys. I am going to let him take care of all of that. I told Him that I might need help at times, but He is the one in control, not me. While I wait for Him to unveil the plans to me, I promised to dance in the rain, to just live.
When I stood up, I smiled. I guess all I needed was to dance in the rain.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
To be four again
A few weeks ago I began volunteering at the local women’s shelter with a children’s group. One day a week, a few hours of my time is dedicated to children of various ages who’ve been put in some pretty rough situations. My job, though, is to give them a bit of time and place to let them forget about their problems, family or school related. Without judgment or repercussion, they are allowed just to be kids.
My initial reason to work at the shelter was to gain experience for the Peace Corps. Now that that appears not to be an option in my list of future plans, I go there to help someone who might need it. But after each session, I probably gain more than I gave.
The first few times I visited the shelter, I worked with the older group. We completed worksheets that forced the importance of honesty and truth, moving on to arts projects far above my craft skills. This time was a nice change of pace from a demanding job, busy social life and consistent worry about my future. With the children, I was able to stop and enjoy what was in front of me for a change.
This week, the entire group played together outside and made Chex mix. After the children finished making their salty-sweet treats, the older kids went to the park to play softball while the little ones stayed behind to munch on their snacks and entertain themselves on the shelter’s jungle gym. I decided to join a pair of four-year-old girls in a sand box. Soon, others joined us and a small group formed. Any internal struggles or over-dramatized problems were put on hold. Just for a few minutes, I was four again.
We dug through the sand as if we were creating a world greater than our own. From their snack mix, they offered M&Ms as a way of saying I was one of them. They boosted myself esteem by calling me cute, saying I wasn’t fat and thinking I was much younger than I actually am.
Life seems to shatter me lately. It’s hard to live in a town that is constantly 21. The women are young, beautiful and appear to hold more potential than I. The men are immature, boring and uninterested in women like me. I feel much older than I actually am and like a constant failure for not really being able to step outside of Brookings’ grasp. Each day is a battle to smile.
But the children at the shelter showed me something I refused to see for sometime. They reminded me that I am a wonderful person with so much in store. They let me be me and didn’t judge. In fact, they wanted to be around me because I was me.
Having children is something I always though about, but after Thursday, I realized how much I want that. It was something my mother always knew she wanted, but it took longer for me to see that in my future plans. And, now I can see why it meant so much to her. It probably won’t happen anytime soon, but it will. Breathe easy, Mom .
My initial reason to work at the shelter was to gain experience for the Peace Corps. Now that that appears not to be an option in my list of future plans, I go there to help someone who might need it. But after each session, I probably gain more than I gave.
The first few times I visited the shelter, I worked with the older group. We completed worksheets that forced the importance of honesty and truth, moving on to arts projects far above my craft skills. This time was a nice change of pace from a demanding job, busy social life and consistent worry about my future. With the children, I was able to stop and enjoy what was in front of me for a change.
This week, the entire group played together outside and made Chex mix. After the children finished making their salty-sweet treats, the older kids went to the park to play softball while the little ones stayed behind to munch on their snacks and entertain themselves on the shelter’s jungle gym. I decided to join a pair of four-year-old girls in a sand box. Soon, others joined us and a small group formed. Any internal struggles or over-dramatized problems were put on hold. Just for a few minutes, I was four again.
We dug through the sand as if we were creating a world greater than our own. From their snack mix, they offered M&Ms as a way of saying I was one of them. They boosted myself esteem by calling me cute, saying I wasn’t fat and thinking I was much younger than I actually am.
Life seems to shatter me lately. It’s hard to live in a town that is constantly 21. The women are young, beautiful and appear to hold more potential than I. The men are immature, boring and uninterested in women like me. I feel much older than I actually am and like a constant failure for not really being able to step outside of Brookings’ grasp. Each day is a battle to smile.
But the children at the shelter showed me something I refused to see for sometime. They reminded me that I am a wonderful person with so much in store. They let me be me and didn’t judge. In fact, they wanted to be around me because I was me.
Having children is something I always though about, but after Thursday, I realized how much I want that. It was something my mother always knew she wanted, but it took longer for me to see that in my future plans. And, now I can see why it meant so much to her. It probably won’t happen anytime soon, but it will. Breathe easy, Mom .
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Me
“I don't know if I continue, even today, always liking myself. But what I learned to do many years ago was to forgive myself. It is very important for every human being to forgive herself or himself because if you live, you will make mistakes- it is inevitable. But once you do and you see the mistake, then you forgive yourself and say, 'well, if I'd known better I'd have done better,' that's all. So you say to people who you think you may have injured, 'I'm sorry,' and then you say to yourself, 'I'm sorry.' If we all hold on to the mistake, we can't see our own glory in the mirror because we have the mistake between our faces and the mirror; we can't see what we're capable of being. You can ask forgiveness of others, but in the end the real forgiveness is in one's own self. I think that young men and women are so caught by the way they see themselves. Now mind you. When a larger society sees them as unattractive, as threats, as too black or too white or too poor or too fat or too thin or too sexual or too asexual, that's rough. But you can overcome that. The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself. If we don't have that we never grow, we never learn, and sure as hell we should never teach.” – Maya Angelou
One defining characteristic about me that has never changed is my attitude towards myself. Teachers, friends and employers have all commented, in a nice way of course, that I’m way too hard on myself. Admittedly, I do beat myself up. I’m never good enough, in my eye own eyes.
With my eating disorder making its way back into my life lately, I realized I need to take care of me and the one relationship that needs the most attention is the one with myself. I’ve tried to do that by indulging: eating foods I crave, reading instead of doing chores, sleeping in when I should be working out, paying more attention to my appearance and flirting with the wrong kind of boy. Although these satisfactions lift my spirits, I need something deeper to help me make it from week to week.
I am making a pact to myself to put me ahead of every one else. I am only going to do the things I want and the things I need. Sure, that sounds selfish, but too many times I sacrifice my own happiness for someone else’s, and that isn’t a way to live.
Before I can truly love another person, I need to love myself. I guess I am fortunate that I figured this out as a single 20-something than a woman in a loveless marriage with two children. It’s time for me to fall in love with myself.
“Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.” – Sex and the City
One defining characteristic about me that has never changed is my attitude towards myself. Teachers, friends and employers have all commented, in a nice way of course, that I’m way too hard on myself. Admittedly, I do beat myself up. I’m never good enough, in my eye own eyes.
With my eating disorder making its way back into my life lately, I realized I need to take care of me and the one relationship that needs the most attention is the one with myself. I’ve tried to do that by indulging: eating foods I crave, reading instead of doing chores, sleeping in when I should be working out, paying more attention to my appearance and flirting with the wrong kind of boy. Although these satisfactions lift my spirits, I need something deeper to help me make it from week to week.
I am making a pact to myself to put me ahead of every one else. I am only going to do the things I want and the things I need. Sure, that sounds selfish, but too many times I sacrifice my own happiness for someone else’s, and that isn’t a way to live.
Before I can truly love another person, I need to love myself. I guess I am fortunate that I figured this out as a single 20-something than a woman in a loveless marriage with two children. It’s time for me to fall in love with myself.
“Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.” – Sex and the City
Finding New York City
In college, I met two girls, Ali and Lindsey, who became fast friends because of shared interests. Both journalism majors with more interest in copy editing than reporting, they enjoyed coffee, Death Cab for Cutie and urban fashion trends. As curly-haired loyal democrats, they could be considered strong feminists on a land-grant university campus. Despite all the matching characteristics, I identified them together by one major thing: their common goal to move to Seattle.
From the moment I met Ali and Lindsey each one proclaimed their love for the city and the fact they would one day be its residents. Each had family in the area and visited the city on several occasions, so it was never a dart-thrown-at-a-map situation. Still, being the cynic I am, I never believed they would actually do it. Everyone talks a big game when planning their future in college, but many rarely follow through with those dreams.
Well, they proved me wrong, although my skepticism was never known to them (or at least I don’t think it was.) Lindsey and her boyfriend, Randy moved to Seattle in December after Randy graduated. Lindsey graduated the semester before, but it was always their plan to leave once they both finished their undergrads. Ali stayed in town for a year and half after she finished her degree. She needed a bit more time to save money and develop a plan. Her last day at the transition job was Wednesday and she heads westward tomorrow. Lindsey found a place to live and a job in less than two weeks after arriving to the city and I image the same will be true for Ali.
Ali and Lindsey are good examples of how stubbornness, persistence and courage can accomplish anything. They never took no for an answer and they both did what they said they were going to.
A friend of mine mentioned that Seattle is New York City for Ali and Lindsey. It’s the same story line. A girl from the Midwest dreams about life in the city and all of her dreams coming true under the city’s lights. But instead of the Big Apple, it’s the Emerald City.
Later in the conversation, the friend and I were talking about another mutual friend who left for grad school in Oxford. Upon landing in the United Kingdom, he said “I've learned over the years that I'm much more alive outside of South Dakota for whatever reason.” We decided that Oxford was his New York City.
Which, of course, leads me to think, what is my New York City? When I graduated, I knew I needed to leave South Dakota. I thirsted for the big city life, but it doesn’t always work that way, and Pocatello is anything but a city. Poky sometimes appears to be more of a small town than Brookings, despite a 40,000 edge in population. Needless to say, although I still get a fuzzy feeling when thinking about Pocatello, it didn’t satisfy and I can’t seem to fight these cravings. I want to live in a city.
Maybe my New York City is NYC. I can’t remember when or why I developed a fascination for that city, but I did and I always told myself I would be the one person in my high school class who would actually move there, unlike the rest who just said they would. Some days, I tell myself I should move to the city just for my dream’s sake.
I once was fond of San Diego. The beach and constant sunny weather seemed like an ideal alternative next to unnatural cold South Dakota weathers. But after a bit of growing up, the ritzy life of southern California doesn’t seem so appealing.
After my short life in Idaho, I’ve grown fond of the west. The hippie, laid-back attitude of those living in the mountains enticed me and I find myself dreaming about Portland, Seattle and Denver.
I’ve put a time limit on my Brookings life. Despite how much I love my job, this town is intoxicating and I need to dance somewhere else. By this time next year, I hope to be somewhere else or on my where to that somewhere else.
Where I am going to go and what I am going to do are still question marks, but I owe it myself to take a chance on that big city dream. It’s what I’ve always wanted, and if I never do it, I will always regret it. And that alone is reason worth chasing the dream.
From the moment I met Ali and Lindsey each one proclaimed their love for the city and the fact they would one day be its residents. Each had family in the area and visited the city on several occasions, so it was never a dart-thrown-at-a-map situation. Still, being the cynic I am, I never believed they would actually do it. Everyone talks a big game when planning their future in college, but many rarely follow through with those dreams.
Well, they proved me wrong, although my skepticism was never known to them (or at least I don’t think it was.) Lindsey and her boyfriend, Randy moved to Seattle in December after Randy graduated. Lindsey graduated the semester before, but it was always their plan to leave once they both finished their undergrads. Ali stayed in town for a year and half after she finished her degree. She needed a bit more time to save money and develop a plan. Her last day at the transition job was Wednesday and she heads westward tomorrow. Lindsey found a place to live and a job in less than two weeks after arriving to the city and I image the same will be true for Ali.
Ali and Lindsey are good examples of how stubbornness, persistence and courage can accomplish anything. They never took no for an answer and they both did what they said they were going to.
A friend of mine mentioned that Seattle is New York City for Ali and Lindsey. It’s the same story line. A girl from the Midwest dreams about life in the city and all of her dreams coming true under the city’s lights. But instead of the Big Apple, it’s the Emerald City.
Later in the conversation, the friend and I were talking about another mutual friend who left for grad school in Oxford. Upon landing in the United Kingdom, he said “I've learned over the years that I'm much more alive outside of South Dakota for whatever reason.” We decided that Oxford was his New York City.
Which, of course, leads me to think, what is my New York City? When I graduated, I knew I needed to leave South Dakota. I thirsted for the big city life, but it doesn’t always work that way, and Pocatello is anything but a city. Poky sometimes appears to be more of a small town than Brookings, despite a 40,000 edge in population. Needless to say, although I still get a fuzzy feeling when thinking about Pocatello, it didn’t satisfy and I can’t seem to fight these cravings. I want to live in a city.
Maybe my New York City is NYC. I can’t remember when or why I developed a fascination for that city, but I did and I always told myself I would be the one person in my high school class who would actually move there, unlike the rest who just said they would. Some days, I tell myself I should move to the city just for my dream’s sake.
I once was fond of San Diego. The beach and constant sunny weather seemed like an ideal alternative next to unnatural cold South Dakota weathers. But after a bit of growing up, the ritzy life of southern California doesn’t seem so appealing.
After my short life in Idaho, I’ve grown fond of the west. The hippie, laid-back attitude of those living in the mountains enticed me and I find myself dreaming about Portland, Seattle and Denver.
I’ve put a time limit on my Brookings life. Despite how much I love my job, this town is intoxicating and I need to dance somewhere else. By this time next year, I hope to be somewhere else or on my where to that somewhere else.
Where I am going to go and what I am going to do are still question marks, but I owe it myself to take a chance on that big city dream. It’s what I’ve always wanted, and if I never do it, I will always regret it. And that alone is reason worth chasing the dream.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Life's manual
Every human who has graced this Earth has probably, at one time or another, wished life came with a manual. A document in which we could turn to for answers, directions, guidance. It would be there on page 97 exactly what you are supposed to do with your life.
But the unfortunate joy of life is that there is no manual. We are our own tour guides and the path is strictly up to us. Installed in all of us is the power and talent to achieve even the loftiest of dreams.
For me, this is where a life manual could come in use. If only I knew what my dreams were, then I would surely do everything in my power to see that they were achieved. I just need the ending point and I will take care of the hard work to get there.
My life goals seem to change with the season. One day I want to be a reporter who travels the country telling the greatest stories ever told. The next day, I want to travel the world doing whatever I can to save it. Tomorrow, I might want to use my love for writing and designing to help a non-profit somewhere raise the money it needs to function. Next week, I am struck by the idea of returning to school and getting a master’s in counseling. The week after, well, I will want to be a reporter who travels the country telling the greatest stories ever told.
When I settle on a dream to achieve, I usually change my mind or something occurs that forces me to change my mind. Months ago, I planned on the Peace Corps as my next move, but a phone call from my recruiter the other day shattered that plan. Now, I staring at a blank canvas labeled “Heather’s Future.”
This back and forth debate about my future drives me to tears. In fact, it’s having a physical effect. Lately, I can’t sleep through the night and am awaken by nightmares of mine or someone in my family’s death. My stomach usually aches and my mind rests in a seemingly permanent fog. I worry that if I don’t figure something out my health will continue to slip.
So I’ve derived a plan to have no plans at all. My whole life I’ve schemed and planned what I thought my life should look like without any consideration that those plans would fall through. But they usually do. No matter how many times I cried myself to sleep while living in Idaho I never imagined that I would be back in South Dakota eight months later. I didn’t plan to be happily single at 23. And I certainly didn’t plan to have so much uncertainty in my life.
It’s time to surrender any and all plans and just live in the now. I find that when I do have plans, I invest everything in them. Whenever I find a snag in life, I assure that myself that all will be calm once I am in the new life I planned. I assumed peace would come once I moved to Idaho. It didn’t. I figured I would find it in Brookings when I moved back. I didn’t. It’s probably a good thing the Peace Corps route fell through. I was already beginning to put too much hope into that life.
The best thing for me now is to find happiness in the life I currently live. It won’t be easy, and I imagine shedding a few tears along with creating a few laughs. But I might just find what I am looking for.
If life came with a manual, I would have to burn it. What my life needs now is no script, no direction, no ending point. That’s equally scaring and exciting, and probably the reason God didn’t draft a manual when he created life. This is more fun.
But the unfortunate joy of life is that there is no manual. We are our own tour guides and the path is strictly up to us. Installed in all of us is the power and talent to achieve even the loftiest of dreams.
For me, this is where a life manual could come in use. If only I knew what my dreams were, then I would surely do everything in my power to see that they were achieved. I just need the ending point and I will take care of the hard work to get there.
My life goals seem to change with the season. One day I want to be a reporter who travels the country telling the greatest stories ever told. The next day, I want to travel the world doing whatever I can to save it. Tomorrow, I might want to use my love for writing and designing to help a non-profit somewhere raise the money it needs to function. Next week, I am struck by the idea of returning to school and getting a master’s in counseling. The week after, well, I will want to be a reporter who travels the country telling the greatest stories ever told.
When I settle on a dream to achieve, I usually change my mind or something occurs that forces me to change my mind. Months ago, I planned on the Peace Corps as my next move, but a phone call from my recruiter the other day shattered that plan. Now, I staring at a blank canvas labeled “Heather’s Future.”
This back and forth debate about my future drives me to tears. In fact, it’s having a physical effect. Lately, I can’t sleep through the night and am awaken by nightmares of mine or someone in my family’s death. My stomach usually aches and my mind rests in a seemingly permanent fog. I worry that if I don’t figure something out my health will continue to slip.
So I’ve derived a plan to have no plans at all. My whole life I’ve schemed and planned what I thought my life should look like without any consideration that those plans would fall through. But they usually do. No matter how many times I cried myself to sleep while living in Idaho I never imagined that I would be back in South Dakota eight months later. I didn’t plan to be happily single at 23. And I certainly didn’t plan to have so much uncertainty in my life.
It’s time to surrender any and all plans and just live in the now. I find that when I do have plans, I invest everything in them. Whenever I find a snag in life, I assure that myself that all will be calm once I am in the new life I planned. I assumed peace would come once I moved to Idaho. It didn’t. I figured I would find it in Brookings when I moved back. I didn’t. It’s probably a good thing the Peace Corps route fell through. I was already beginning to put too much hope into that life.
The best thing for me now is to find happiness in the life I currently live. It won’t be easy, and I imagine shedding a few tears along with creating a few laughs. But I might just find what I am looking for.
If life came with a manual, I would have to burn it. What my life needs now is no script, no direction, no ending point. That’s equally scaring and exciting, and probably the reason God didn’t draft a manual when he created life. This is more fun.
Dreamers love other Dreamers
I've followed Michael Phelps' career since we were both 15. Many people time and again ask me why. It's not because of his tremendous accomplishments or his fame. Instead, I saw something in him that other athletes don't possess. This is why I will always be a Phelps Phan.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The Olympics
My father and brother swear by baseball. Each year, they eagerly await the day that pitchers and catchers report to spring training. Their enthusiasm doesn’t wane much through the long summer days and the ups and downs each team endures. But once October hits, the post-season month, their love for baseball hits its peak, especially if their team is a World Series contender. If you love baseball, you love October.
Men around the country practically put their entire lives on hold every Sunday from August through January. The NFL captures Americans unlike anything else in this country. Grown men cry when the Jets beat the Giants and wear plastic hats in the shape of cheese when the Vikings host the Packers. Sports bars around the country are packed each Sunday with several televisions featuring a different game. For some, football is life.
I enjoy a good football game every now and then and the Minnesota Twins have my attention during the MLB season, but only one athletic competition has captured me into a true sports fanatic.
During the summer of 1996, I was eleven years old, an age where dreams have no limits and still seemed accomplishable. At that time, it was my dream to be an Olympian. I was spending close to three hours in the pool, with motivation fueled by my Olympic dream. I began to idolize Jenny Thompson and Janet Evans, despite the fact that my times couldn’t even earn me a berth to the South Dakota State Swim Meet.
The Olympic dream was inspired by the anticipation of that summer’s games in Atlanta, Geo. It was beginning of my love for the Olympic games.
Each day, after my noon practice, I would race home, greet the television and spend the afternoon watching the world’s top athletes compete for a piece of gold. At the time, I stuck with more popular sports swimming, track and field and gymnastics, but athletes from various sports motivated me to be something more than I actually could be. I teared up when the yellow-cubed clocked flashed a 19.32 and sprinter Michael Johnson set a new 200-meter world record in his gold Nikes. I swam my breast stroke sets without goggles, because that is what Olympian Amanda Beard did. And I held my breath with the rest of the world when gymnast Kerry Strug landed the vault on one foot and won U.S.’s first women’s gymnastics team gold.
In school that year, I covered my desk in pictures of Janet Evans, Michael Johnson and Dominique Moceanu.
From that games on, I have been addicted. The summer games hold a bigger piece of my heart, but Shaun White and downhill skiing give me reason to watch the winter games. During each summer games, I’ve tried to take in more of the Olympics as my dream to be an Olympian faded.
In 2000 in Sydney, a fifteen-year-old swimmer struck a particular cord with me. He was my age in my sport, and I was intrigued. He didn’t take home a medal, but I knew there was something special about him. As my swim teammates gushed over Aussi Ian Thorpe, I told them to watch out. “Michael Phelps is going to be amazing someday,” I proclaimed. And, well, I was right.
In 2004, I cheered as Phelps won eight medals, six gold and started on his quest to be the best swimmer of all time. Last year, at the World Championships, Phelps won seven gold medals. I protested the significance to my editor and was able to give Phelps a small spot on our front page. It was on the rail, but I happy to see a color photo of my teenage-idol in my newspaper.
This year, the entire world is watching Phelps try accomplish to hefty goals – become the most decorated Olympian of all time and win a record eight golds in one Olympics. Leading up to the games, I have devoured every TV spot, article and commercial featuring Phelps. Not am I only attracted to him, I am captivated with his work ethic, his focus, his determination.
Many claim that Phelps can’t do it and that he is overrated, but each race I am cheering for him. One article claimed Phelps to be the true definition of Olympian and I want that to reign through as he tries to complete his goals. Watching him chase his dreams has made me think about mine.
I look back and laugh at my dreams to be an Olympian. I never had a chance. But after watching two days of Beijing Olympic coverage, I realized there are other dreams I can accomplish. It’s time to put check marks next to those goals. I can’t explain where I will begin and what I will cross off first, but it’s time to accomplish dreams.
I will never compete in the Olympics, but it is my dream to attend the games. So, I have decided to start saving so I can be in London in 2012. I want to take it all in and feel all the passion around me just for instant. It will be a dream that I will cross off. Another one I hope to cross off is Michael Phelps. I’ll probably never marry him like I proclaim, but it’s my goal just to see him swim. Just once.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Fairytales
We all meet couples that we can’t help but envy. They seem so happy together, so in love that it mocks the single folks. They are so well matched that the greatest of cynics can’t help but feel a bit of jealousy.
They started dating in the early years of high school. He graduated a year ahead of her and went on to play college ball. She followed him. Their high school romance endured the awkward college transition years, and in their final year, he proposed. A few months after graduation, they were married and started a new life close to both their families.
I only know them by face and name, but lately I find myself imagining what their relationship was like. They probably were giddy teenagers in love and the object of jealousy for other high school girls. He probably took her to dances and she probably cheered his name proudly at games. Even in high school, their friends probably guessed they would eventually get married. They probably did too.
Then they took their relationship into a different world during college. Maybe at times it wasn’t easy. Maybe he was enticed by the buffet of college girls and wonder what life would be like as a single man.
She may have let her eye wander a time or two as new people came into her life. Or maybe she was ready to settle down with him and frustrated that he may never want to take their relationship to the next level.
Maybe they fought and sometimes doubted if their love would actually work. Maybe they weren’t sure if they could persevere through all the changes and self discovery that comes with college. They’ve may even took a break at one point during their relationship.
Or maybe, they never doubted. Maybe they always knew that they would spend the rest of eternity together. They may have never thought anyone else could compare.
Whatever bumps and bruises their relationship endured, it wasn’t enough to break it. One summer night, they stood before God, family and friends and planned to be together as long as they both shall live. I’ve seen pictures of this event, and he wore that look in his eyes – the look that told the world he was the happiest man on the planet.
They might have been made for each other, but they were not destined to spend forever together. Just about two weeks before their one-year anniversary, the man was tragically killed in an accident. This perfect couple didn’t even have a year at marriage.
This was two great people who wanted nothing more than to be with each other, and they didn’t get that. They only had 11 months, and now that poor girl must rebuild her entire life.
At times like this, it’s hard to believe in fairytales. When you see two people ripped at the seams like that, even a stranger can’t help but shed a few tears. It breaks the heart.
Although nothing that heartbreaking has ever happened to me, the only thing I can conclude is that everything does happen for a reason. We may not know answers, but we know the lessons. We can’t change life’s unfairness, we just have to accept it.
When tragedy does strike, all we can remember is the blessings we had. Maybe fairytales are real. They might not last forever, but they have shining moments, even if those moments only last 11 months.
They started dating in the early years of high school. He graduated a year ahead of her and went on to play college ball. She followed him. Their high school romance endured the awkward college transition years, and in their final year, he proposed. A few months after graduation, they were married and started a new life close to both their families.
I only know them by face and name, but lately I find myself imagining what their relationship was like. They probably were giddy teenagers in love and the object of jealousy for other high school girls. He probably took her to dances and she probably cheered his name proudly at games. Even in high school, their friends probably guessed they would eventually get married. They probably did too.
Then they took their relationship into a different world during college. Maybe at times it wasn’t easy. Maybe he was enticed by the buffet of college girls and wonder what life would be like as a single man.
She may have let her eye wander a time or two as new people came into her life. Or maybe she was ready to settle down with him and frustrated that he may never want to take their relationship to the next level.
Maybe they fought and sometimes doubted if their love would actually work. Maybe they weren’t sure if they could persevere through all the changes and self discovery that comes with college. They’ve may even took a break at one point during their relationship.
Or maybe, they never doubted. Maybe they always knew that they would spend the rest of eternity together. They may have never thought anyone else could compare.
Whatever bumps and bruises their relationship endured, it wasn’t enough to break it. One summer night, they stood before God, family and friends and planned to be together as long as they both shall live. I’ve seen pictures of this event, and he wore that look in his eyes – the look that told the world he was the happiest man on the planet.
They might have been made for each other, but they were not destined to spend forever together. Just about two weeks before their one-year anniversary, the man was tragically killed in an accident. This perfect couple didn’t even have a year at marriage.
This was two great people who wanted nothing more than to be with each other, and they didn’t get that. They only had 11 months, and now that poor girl must rebuild her entire life.
At times like this, it’s hard to believe in fairytales. When you see two people ripped at the seams like that, even a stranger can’t help but shed a few tears. It breaks the heart.
Although nothing that heartbreaking has ever happened to me, the only thing I can conclude is that everything does happen for a reason. We may not know answers, but we know the lessons. We can’t change life’s unfairness, we just have to accept it.
When tragedy does strike, all we can remember is the blessings we had. Maybe fairytales are real. They might not last forever, but they have shining moments, even if those moments only last 11 months.
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