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.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
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.
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