"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.”

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 .

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Mission Statements

Companies and organizations use mission statements to promote their purpose. It's their identification, their reason for existence.

At work, I am part of a committee that is dedicated to finding a mission statement for our organization. I have poured of several mission statements, depicting each word and phrase. I have broken down what our organization actually does and why we are an important entity.

Yesterday, I took a walk around campus to truly understand my our organization. I stopped at different buildings, hoping their presence would shed light some light on my task. I examined people that I passed, hoping to find meaning in their faces. At the end of my walk, it hit me. I realized what we were about and why we do what we do. I headed back to the office and presented my realizations to the group. We hammered out a mission statement and sent an email to our CEO, explaining each word.

Mission statements are an everlasting guiding light. They remind us of our purpose when we have lost of sight of it. They keep us moving forward when it seems so much is keeping us still. Companies and organizations are almost chaotic without one.

So why shouldn't our lives have mission statements, a reminder of why we are really here on this earth? I have decided to write a mission statement for my life. It will be my guide when I come to a cross roads and maybe it will help figure out what the heck I want to do with my life.

I think I am gonna play around with this for a few weeks and let you know how it goes. I need to really look at what's important to me and how I want to live my life. So much is coming to me right now that I am not sure I can verbalize it all. With that, I am gonna start thinking about this and, hopefully soon, I will have a mission for my-so-called life

Election Madness

With a black man and white woman facing off each day for the Democratic Party nod, the 2008 presidential election will be an exciting chapter in future U.S. history classes. Not only has the race for America’s top job expanded its usual race and gender, more Americans than ever are deeply interested in the outcome. And rightfully so with two on-going wars, an economy that gets worse by the day, an environment that is stretched to its limit, several foreign enemies and eight previous years of awfulness.

This election will also have a specific imprint on South Dakota’s history, because for once, our voice matters. South Dakota is one of the last state’s to host both its Republican and Democratic primaries. Usually, both parties have selected their go-to-guy (or in this case, woman) and have turned their attention towards November. But not this year.

Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton are still waging daily wars for the Democratic nomination. Although Obama leads in delegates and the popular vote, he hasn’t clinched the nomination and Clinton refuses to give up. Most people are fed up with this race and a ready to move on, but South Dakotans are enjoying their moment in the spotlight.

Leading up to tomorrow’s primary, at least one of the Clintons – Hillary, Bill, Chelsea – have been campaigning in South Dakota. Obama has also made several stops throughout the major regions of the state. It’s not very often that our little state receives so much attention from a presidential candidate, or the national media, and frankly, it’s pretty cool.

Until the last few weeks, I have paid some but not much attention to the election. I had an extremely general idea of where each candidate stood, but for the most part, I was out of the loop. I tried to change that when the focus to turned to South Dakota. I was unable to make Clinton’s or Obama’s first stops to South Dakota. I did watch both speeches online and was more intrigued by Clinton’s policies and promises.

I had the opportunity to see Hillary in Brookings a few weeks ago, but because PR is often more important than true public service, I didn’t actually get to see her. They hosted her in an aluminum shed, about 400 yards from my sophomore on-campus apartment. Roughly 200 people were able to squeeze into this shed, while another 150 tried to get a glimpse of her from the outside. Lee and I didn’t plan accordingly so we were in the back and unable to see or hear anything.

I also made plans to see Bill and Chelsea in Flandrea, about 20 minutes south of Brookings this week, but those fell through when my brother came to visit.

On Sunday, I had one last opportunity to see Obama in Mitchell but wasn’t sure I was going to make the two-hour drive, until my father called. “This might be your only opportunity to see the next president of the United States,” he said. I took his advice and invited a friend along. The trip was an absolute success. I sat five feet away from him, shook his hand, received a hearty “Thank you” and smile from him and even got his autograph. I met some great Obama supporters and got a good close up of the unbelievably cute secret service men. Most importantly his speech was so incredibly inspiring that I got goosebumps. I truly believe that he is the man with plan. There is something so magnetic about him that you just believe he can change the nation.

Unfortunately, tomorrow is the primary and I cannot vote. South Dakota has closed primaries, and independent, that leaves me out. Some have asked me why I didn’t just change my party, but that would go against my morals. I refuse to belong to either party and would rather sit this primary out then associate myself to an elephant or a donkey.

Instead, I will encourage my fellow South Dakotas who can vote to make the choice they feel is right. No matter who wins tomorrow, Obama or Clinton, I will support him or her into November.

Around the 5th minute, you can see me


The Man with the Plan



Beck and I getting ready to see the future President of the United States of America