For as long as I could remember ‘til about five years ago I envied the girl who could juggle her blessedly hectic lifestyle of school, work, friends, family and play like she had been born with magical powers. All I wanted was to be able to successfully maintain just two of those.
Although now I might look like I have it “together” sometimes, most of the times it’s only by accident. It might be because I’m no longer forced to shop at a second-hand store. But I swear it’s just cause I was born looking like a preppy spoiled little blonde, when in fact I feel like my soul and intellect resembles a more frazzled, sleepy, neglected-looking nerd.
Most of the time growing up, I had more free time then I knew what to do with. Of course there were always sleepovers at friend’s houses, video games, hide-and-seek with my hoards of cousins, tea parties, and riding bikes or having water-balloon wars with my brothers.
But I wanted so badly to be super-involved with EVERYTHING, however my reality constantly reminded me that we couldn’t afford for me to participate in sports, field trips took money, hobbies took money, and our regular moves disconnected me from holding on to a great group of friends for too long.
Instead, when I was young, I would read until I got in trouble, seriously. My mom would come in to turn off my light at midnight and find me still reading. She would be so exasperated, because she knew she’d be dragging me out of bed in the morning. So she’d turn off my light, and close the door. I’d wait five minutes . . . and turn it back on to continue for a few more hours.
As desperately as I wanted a routine, a busy schedule that would keep me occupied all day, and friends that I could count on having for longer than a year, I realize that the time I spent alone and frustrated gave me so much more than I could’ve realized.
I spent gloriously irresponsible amounts of time reading, writing, and reflecting on everything under the sun. I established myself. I was such a better person then.
Maybe that’s why people keep so busy. They realize that if they slowed down they’d have to reckon with who they’ve become, and where they’re going. If I remember correctly, the little demon in C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters didn’t even have to TRY and thwart the silly humans, as long as the humans were keeping shamefully busy- they did his job for him.
Or I’m sure there are those who’ve NEVER lacked a demanding schedule, and once they finally stop, they realize that they never had any goals to begin with- for the ideal person they want to become or what they want to accomplish and how (beyond getting through the day).
Just going with the flow can be a terrifyingly soul-stunting choice (or lack thereof). It’s easy for people to tell you who THEY want you to be. Who your parents, your friends, your teacher, your lover wants you to be. It’s scary when you have to determine who YOU want you to be.
Now that I have become this professional juggler of activities and relationships (whether I perform well at it or not) I’ve come to understand- the joke’s on me. I have turned into a clown that is juggling so many things I don’t know what’s what and who’s who. These once-coveted fillers of time have effectively robbed me of my identity, or at least my time to attempt to discover it.
You might think of Thoreau’s infamous escape from civilization as a mental instability or a social experiment. I think it’s heroic. After a clear view of both sides of the fence, I still find myself riding it. Despite my ever-increasing desire to regress back into that little introspective bookworm I started as, I am still drawn to interaction. It’s almost addicting- busyness.
Even if I try to turn off my phone and schedule a day off for myself, commanding myself in my FIRMEST of (mental) tones to read and journal- I don’t. I end up simply doing errands that I’d been neglecting. Frustrated with my seeming lack of control in my own life, I think “I just need to do it, I’ll get a campsite at the beach for a week without telling anybody, and just BE.”
Since the cool kids in the psychology department let Briggs-Meyers tell them who they are, I gave it a shot. I was 50 percent introvert, 50 percent extrovert . . . who DOES that? No wonder I’m so torn.
It might be unrealistic of me to expect that I could keep the identity I had come to know so well, without accounting for the future variable of constant interactions thrown in. Is it naïve to think that I could remain unwavering regardless of new experiences and relationships? Only a fool thinks they aren’t changed by the company they keep. If Gandhi ever chilled with Hitler, I guarantee he’d end up a hater.
But don’t they say that Character is what you do when no one is watching? Then why isn’t it that Identity is who you are when no one is around? I guess we never allow ourselves a chance to figure it out, to prove ourselves. Perhaps it's true that the real " duty is ... to achieve authenticity for oneself" (SARTRE).
There is something so inspiring about one’s solitude in nature that is completely irreplaceable. The fulfillment cannot be gotten from a completed To Do List, an attended party, or even a satisfied familial obligation. In this sense I envy a completely different group, what they’ve done and their ability to remove themselves from busyness, obligation, shallow ambition, and human interactions only to BE. Like Ansel Adams, John Krakauer, Thoreau, and the list goes on.
The journey through the desolate dessert of sin was a necessary evil for many. To simplify, to identify, to prioritize.
I assert that our unadulterated identity and peace comes from honest, intentional pursuit of active and committed thought and prayer in solitude. But more importantly we need to learn to BE . . . . still.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Excerpt
I walked into the room and everyone looked up. I smirked as I realized literally half the girls were wearing different variations of pink. I wonder if they’d planned it. Of course there was a small faction of “scene-sters.” But who are they kidding. With their incongruous style they sometimes seem even more desperate for attention than the preps, the only difference is they’re quieter.
I took my seat in the middle of the classroom. I know they’d expect someone like me to sit in the back, but a girl’s got to get the grade. There’s an undeniable bias teachers have against people who sit in the back. As long as they can see you’re paying attention or, in my case, making intermittent eye-contact, you’re ensured a better grade.
I threw my bag on the floor. It was a rough, black book bag I used as a laptop bag. Pretty manly, but it had been free. I slumped into my chair and took out my folder. I’d have to look especially interested today to make up for my arrival.
It’s not that I came in late. I just came in later. The professor had gotten so used to the ruling coterie’s habit of arriving ridiculously early, that he’d taken to starting class ten minutes in advance. Ugh, just like them- inveterate suck ups. I suppose I’d become notorious for my (apparently mortifying) practice of arriving on time.
I zoned out as some 19 year old boy spouted erroneous theologies he’d no doubt been hand fed by his parents or youth group. I’m sure he’d never questioned them. I almost felt bad for him as I pictured his certain disillusionment when he finally realizes the world isn’t rainbows and candy canes. I suppose we were all like that at one point. Some of us just pop the bubble sooner than others . . . or someone pops it for us.
I took my seat in the middle of the classroom. I know they’d expect someone like me to sit in the back, but a girl’s got to get the grade. There’s an undeniable bias teachers have against people who sit in the back. As long as they can see you’re paying attention or, in my case, making intermittent eye-contact, you’re ensured a better grade.
I threw my bag on the floor. It was a rough, black book bag I used as a laptop bag. Pretty manly, but it had been free. I slumped into my chair and took out my folder. I’d have to look especially interested today to make up for my arrival.
It’s not that I came in late. I just came in later. The professor had gotten so used to the ruling coterie’s habit of arriving ridiculously early, that he’d taken to starting class ten minutes in advance. Ugh, just like them- inveterate suck ups. I suppose I’d become notorious for my (apparently mortifying) practice of arriving on time.
I zoned out as some 19 year old boy spouted erroneous theologies he’d no doubt been hand fed by his parents or youth group. I’m sure he’d never questioned them. I almost felt bad for him as I pictured his certain disillusionment when he finally realizes the world isn’t rainbows and candy canes. I suppose we were all like that at one point. Some of us just pop the bubble sooner than others . . . or someone pops it for us.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Ahead of the Curve- Teaching Yourself to Surf
If Blue Crush is your all-time favorite movie, Kelly Slater is your all-time favorite crush, you don’t mind severely chapped lips, and you consider yourself adventurous then it may be time to try your skills at surfing. But let’s face it girls, times are tight, and the probability of some talented surfer offering up his expertise cost-free is slim. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Step 1: SLEEP TIGHT Getting a good night’s sleep will do wonders for your energy and determination the next day- don’t underestimate it. Eat a light, but filling breakfast, like a bowl of oatmeal or some eggs and whole wheat toast. Don’t forget to grab some bottled water for hydration.
Step 2: GEAR UP Find appropriate gear. Along the coast, there’s bound to be a handful of rental stores you can choose from. You need a wet suit, rash guard, and a surfboard with a leash. A foamy long board is the equivalent of training wheels, and will give you the best chance to catch a wave.
Step 3: WARM UP If you are alone, make sure your gear is stashed in a safe place so you can go for a short 10 minute run. Afterwards it’s time to get down and dirty in the sand for a good stretching session. Cramping up when you finally get past the break is kryptonite.
Step 4: DRY RUN Lay your board in soft sand so as not to tweak the fins. Then position yourself on your board slightly edged towards the front. Practice some paddling strokes by digging out the sand directly to your side, keep fingers closed together with an open palm to create a sort of cup. Getting out there when the waves are fighting you is often the hardest part.
Step 5: POP UP Brace yourself by grabbing the rails (sides) of the board just behind your shoulders. After you’ve found your balance, do a quick push-up into standing position with one foot in front. Don’t worry about which foot should be your lead, whichever is most natural for you is the way to go. It must be a quick motion, otherwise you’ll lose energy quicker and just end up on your knees.
Step 6: FINAL WORDS When you feel comfortable popping up, it’s time to go for the real thing. Don your wetsuit, attach your leash, and head out. The only difference between practice and the real thing is, well … the water! But remember: it’s a crazy variable that must be respected.
QUICK TIPS:
• Always know your water before you surf. Go in for a swim first and familiarize yourself with the depth and any rocks or coral that could be dangerous.
• Don’t turn your back to a wave unless you’ve committed to catching it. Otherwise you’re in for nice tumble.
• Use your common sense when it comes to getting past the break. If a wave is already starting to curl, use a “turtle roll” and flip onto your back holding your surfboard tightly to your body. Essentially diving under the wave. If you can make it, paddle as quickly as you can to get over the wave.
• If you have difficulty popping up, try arching your back first with your hands gripping the rails, chest off the board-which gets you halfway there and helps to center your balance.
Step 1: SLEEP TIGHT Getting a good night’s sleep will do wonders for your energy and determination the next day- don’t underestimate it. Eat a light, but filling breakfast, like a bowl of oatmeal or some eggs and whole wheat toast. Don’t forget to grab some bottled water for hydration.
Step 2: GEAR UP Find appropriate gear. Along the coast, there’s bound to be a handful of rental stores you can choose from. You need a wet suit, rash guard, and a surfboard with a leash. A foamy long board is the equivalent of training wheels, and will give you the best chance to catch a wave.
Step 3: WARM UP If you are alone, make sure your gear is stashed in a safe place so you can go for a short 10 minute run. Afterwards it’s time to get down and dirty in the sand for a good stretching session. Cramping up when you finally get past the break is kryptonite.
Step 4: DRY RUN Lay your board in soft sand so as not to tweak the fins. Then position yourself on your board slightly edged towards the front. Practice some paddling strokes by digging out the sand directly to your side, keep fingers closed together with an open palm to create a sort of cup. Getting out there when the waves are fighting you is often the hardest part.
Step 5: POP UP Brace yourself by grabbing the rails (sides) of the board just behind your shoulders. After you’ve found your balance, do a quick push-up into standing position with one foot in front. Don’t worry about which foot should be your lead, whichever is most natural for you is the way to go. It must be a quick motion, otherwise you’ll lose energy quicker and just end up on your knees.
Step 6: FINAL WORDS When you feel comfortable popping up, it’s time to go for the real thing. Don your wetsuit, attach your leash, and head out. The only difference between practice and the real thing is, well … the water! But remember: it’s a crazy variable that must be respected.
QUICK TIPS:
• Always know your water before you surf. Go in for a swim first and familiarize yourself with the depth and any rocks or coral that could be dangerous.
• Don’t turn your back to a wave unless you’ve committed to catching it. Otherwise you’re in for nice tumble.
• Use your common sense when it comes to getting past the break. If a wave is already starting to curl, use a “turtle roll” and flip onto your back holding your surfboard tightly to your body. Essentially diving under the wave. If you can make it, paddle as quickly as you can to get over the wave.
• If you have difficulty popping up, try arching your back first with your hands gripping the rails, chest off the board-which gets you halfway there and helps to center your balance.
Media: The Two-Headed Monster
Between YouTube, reality shows and the paparazzi, it seems that anyone can become an overnight celebrity. With global media “shrinking” the size of the world and opening more doors than once thought possible, is privacy a thing of the past?
While some willingly offer themselves up as a sacrifice to the reality TV gods (also known as producers), some are inadvertently thrust into the limelight due to public curiosity. It’s actually unnerving to think that because of some odd thing may have occurred in your life, complete strangers feel as if they have the RIGHT to know what’s going on.
However, the line is becoming increasingly blurred between innocent victim of media infringement and profiteer. Although it has only been 17 years since the premiere of the first reality TV show, MTV’s The Real World, people have gotten wise to the lucrative act of exposing the most intimate moments of life to the entire world (www.reality-tv-online.com). Some stop at nothing to get their 15 minutes, and accordingly, a large paycheck.
Along with every other topic that we, as the public, feel is necessary to cast judgment, we are also charged with determine the individuals’ intent. Was this just a scheme to sell the pictures at outrageous cost to the local rag? Was this a coincidence that this happened within a week of their new business opening? I suppose the general public has elected itself judge and jury in these matters.
Whatever the speculations, the investigative media serves a dual role. Initially the individual is exposed for whatever golden ticket they might possess; then the media proceeds to scavenge for any information that would insight the public’s adoration or hatred.
Of course the most recent example of this frenzy would be the woman dubbed “Octo-Mom.” It was amazing to me how quickly the public opinion shifted from amazement to outrage. When the first details were released about the rare birth of octuplets, there was a minimal amount of hype involved. After all, there are plenty of reality shows that covered this particular curiosity.
Attitudes certainly changed when further inspection of the mother’s situation uncovered some disturbing details. Attempting this kind of multiple birth is a difficult undertaking for any couple, let alone a single mother. When her lack of income and reliance on government assistance was revealed, it was opposed with the sort of passion that only those in extreme financial crisis could emit. Why should someone so blatantly irresponsible and so obviously taking advantage of the system be supported?
For me, the final nail in the coffin of Octo-Mom’s credibility was the attack by her own mother. Already overwhelmed with the burdens her daughter was laying on her shoulders, Angela Suleman related that she’d “never understand” her daughter’s decision in the matter ( www.news.aol.com). This may have been discounted as a bitter mother- daughter relationship, but when Nadya’s father asserted that his daughter is “absolutely irresponsible” and questioned her mental health, the cat was out of the bag (www.news.aol.com).
While some willingly offer themselves up as a sacrifice to the reality TV gods (also known as producers), some are inadvertently thrust into the limelight due to public curiosity. It’s actually unnerving to think that because of some odd thing may have occurred in your life, complete strangers feel as if they have the RIGHT to know what’s going on.
However, the line is becoming increasingly blurred between innocent victim of media infringement and profiteer. Although it has only been 17 years since the premiere of the first reality TV show, MTV’s The Real World, people have gotten wise to the lucrative act of exposing the most intimate moments of life to the entire world (www.reality-tv-online.com). Some stop at nothing to get their 15 minutes, and accordingly, a large paycheck.
Along with every other topic that we, as the public, feel is necessary to cast judgment, we are also charged with determine the individuals’ intent. Was this just a scheme to sell the pictures at outrageous cost to the local rag? Was this a coincidence that this happened within a week of their new business opening? I suppose the general public has elected itself judge and jury in these matters.
Whatever the speculations, the investigative media serves a dual role. Initially the individual is exposed for whatever golden ticket they might possess; then the media proceeds to scavenge for any information that would insight the public’s adoration or hatred.
Of course the most recent example of this frenzy would be the woman dubbed “Octo-Mom.” It was amazing to me how quickly the public opinion shifted from amazement to outrage. When the first details were released about the rare birth of octuplets, there was a minimal amount of hype involved. After all, there are plenty of reality shows that covered this particular curiosity.
Attitudes certainly changed when further inspection of the mother’s situation uncovered some disturbing details. Attempting this kind of multiple birth is a difficult undertaking for any couple, let alone a single mother. When her lack of income and reliance on government assistance was revealed, it was opposed with the sort of passion that only those in extreme financial crisis could emit. Why should someone so blatantly irresponsible and so obviously taking advantage of the system be supported?
For me, the final nail in the coffin of Octo-Mom’s credibility was the attack by her own mother. Already overwhelmed with the burdens her daughter was laying on her shoulders, Angela Suleman related that she’d “never understand” her daughter’s decision in the matter ( www.news.aol.com). This may have been discounted as a bitter mother- daughter relationship, but when Nadya’s father asserted that his daughter is “absolutely irresponsible” and questioned her mental health, the cat was out of the bag (www.news.aol.com).
Friday, January 16, 2009
Tune In To: 'The Discovery Channel'
In a country in an age of relativism, one begins to wonder if there are really any absolutes. It prompts an examination of one’s beliefs, ideals, and definitions of the everyday things: “How did I get that?” “Why do I think like this?” “Did I come to this conclusion on my own, or was I hand-fed?”
Before the beginning of my own self-examination and self-definition, I could be offended quite easily. I would constantly hear those older than me, college students mostly, call out young Christians. “The only reason you think that way is because you’re parents do, you’ve never questioned it,” they would say. Of course they applied this statement not only to religious views, but also political, social, racial, educational, and the list goes on.
I think anyone, when initially questioned about his or her beliefs, will respond in a very defensive manner, which of course I did. Sometimes, this can be almost unreasonable (although understandable). But hopefully, there is a second reaction, regardless of how much later it takes effect. Words are incredibly powerful, and despite the intelligence of the person wielding them, sometimes you can’t help but let them seep in.
I tend to be very introspective, and although opinions flow as freely as the extortionist-priced fuel we inevitably consume, sometimes I feel the need to actually stop . . . and listen.
After I allowed my pride to take enough of a hit to truly consider my beliefs and their original source, I began a fulfilling (while at times confusing and frustrating) pursuit. It led me through theological discussions, environmental research, many different schools, and even- many different friends.
I realize now that instead of a pursuing “truth,” I was really pursuing identity. Not that I didn’t have one to begin with, but just that I was so horrified with being . . . that person. That person that is so incredibly passive about their receipt of knowledge and opinion, that it’s difficult to take them seriously.
Please don’t misunderstand, it’s not even that I necessarily disagree with these types of people or their opinions at all, but often it appears that what they mistake for passion and personal conviction is actually just a desperate attempt to hold on to their safety blanket. AKA: pre-established ideas that were covertly passed off as their own since childhood.
However, I do respect a certain amount of teaching and instruction. Parents instill particular notions and beliefs in their child because they believe they’re right. Can you ever imagine raising your child with beliefs opposing your own? Not going to happen.
I suppose my issue is just with: never questioning anything. I’m not encouraging a complete upheaval of your personal world (or that of your parents). Because to me, that is just simply: rebellion.
Of course, there are rare cases of those who really discover themselves, by accident, in those situations. However, I feel like those decisions are made more in the frantic pursuit of independence rather than true identity. (Which is normal, but I want to distinguish the difference in motives, though subconsciously determined).
I feel like a line from the Bright Eyes song, lover I don’t have to love, completely exposes our need for purpose, even if it’s not our own: “I need some meaning I can memorize.”
So many go through life unmoved by a life-altering individual discovery, because it’s easier that way. I understand. When you begin the process of questioning, it feels like a slippery slope. Where will it stop? Will you end up an empty shell of the person you used to be? Will you end up a cynic, consumed with doubt? It can be daunting.
You would indeed be opening yourself up to the possibility that this whole time, you were wrong. Yet, if you sincerely believe in your opinions- then research, discussion, and examination will only strengthen your convictions. You can hold your head high, and say with certainty: this is MY story.
When have you EVER heard an inspiring story or a moving testimony, one that wrenched your gut from your body and left goose bumps in its wake, that began with “My parents told me . . .” No, it is the stories of personal mistakes, trial and error, zealous pursuit of self or God that led to knowledge, redemption, and true passion.
So the next time you hear a testimony lacking inspiration, an opinion lacking conviction, a person lacking self- you can just smile knowing they haven’t taken the plunge . . . yet; Unless, of course, that person is you.
Before the beginning of my own self-examination and self-definition, I could be offended quite easily. I would constantly hear those older than me, college students mostly, call out young Christians. “The only reason you think that way is because you’re parents do, you’ve never questioned it,” they would say. Of course they applied this statement not only to religious views, but also political, social, racial, educational, and the list goes on.
I think anyone, when initially questioned about his or her beliefs, will respond in a very defensive manner, which of course I did. Sometimes, this can be almost unreasonable (although understandable). But hopefully, there is a second reaction, regardless of how much later it takes effect. Words are incredibly powerful, and despite the intelligence of the person wielding them, sometimes you can’t help but let them seep in.
I tend to be very introspective, and although opinions flow as freely as the extortionist-priced fuel we inevitably consume, sometimes I feel the need to actually stop . . . and listen.
After I allowed my pride to take enough of a hit to truly consider my beliefs and their original source, I began a fulfilling (while at times confusing and frustrating) pursuit. It led me through theological discussions, environmental research, many different schools, and even- many different friends.
I realize now that instead of a pursuing “truth,” I was really pursuing identity. Not that I didn’t have one to begin with, but just that I was so horrified with being . . . that person. That person that is so incredibly passive about their receipt of knowledge and opinion, that it’s difficult to take them seriously.
Please don’t misunderstand, it’s not even that I necessarily disagree with these types of people or their opinions at all, but often it appears that what they mistake for passion and personal conviction is actually just a desperate attempt to hold on to their safety blanket. AKA: pre-established ideas that were covertly passed off as their own since childhood.
However, I do respect a certain amount of teaching and instruction. Parents instill particular notions and beliefs in their child because they believe they’re right. Can you ever imagine raising your child with beliefs opposing your own? Not going to happen.
I suppose my issue is just with: never questioning anything. I’m not encouraging a complete upheaval of your personal world (or that of your parents). Because to me, that is just simply: rebellion.
Of course, there are rare cases of those who really discover themselves, by accident, in those situations. However, I feel like those decisions are made more in the frantic pursuit of independence rather than true identity. (Which is normal, but I want to distinguish the difference in motives, though subconsciously determined).
I feel like a line from the Bright Eyes song, lover I don’t have to love, completely exposes our need for purpose, even if it’s not our own: “I need some meaning I can memorize.”
So many go through life unmoved by a life-altering individual discovery, because it’s easier that way. I understand. When you begin the process of questioning, it feels like a slippery slope. Where will it stop? Will you end up an empty shell of the person you used to be? Will you end up a cynic, consumed with doubt? It can be daunting.
You would indeed be opening yourself up to the possibility that this whole time, you were wrong. Yet, if you sincerely believe in your opinions- then research, discussion, and examination will only strengthen your convictions. You can hold your head high, and say with certainty: this is MY story.
When have you EVER heard an inspiring story or a moving testimony, one that wrenched your gut from your body and left goose bumps in its wake, that began with “My parents told me . . .” No, it is the stories of personal mistakes, trial and error, zealous pursuit of self or God that led to knowledge, redemption, and true passion.
So the next time you hear a testimony lacking inspiration, an opinion lacking conviction, a person lacking self- you can just smile knowing they haven’t taken the plunge . . . yet; Unless, of course, that person is you.
Friday, December 12, 2008
The Difference Between Write and Wrong
I've learned a lot about myself during the process of writing this semester, perhaps too much. In my opinion, journalists are confronted with numerous challenges when developing an article: from the broadest, most common predicament to the journalist faces their specialty problems which seem tailor-made to inhibit their progress. As is my case.
The most humbling is accepting an assignment in which you do not yet see the significance. Another challenge is one that relates to personal standards: research the heck out of your story, don't ask obvious questions, don't take the easy angle. The last challenge that is often the most difficult for many writers is the process of editing. There is a certain amount of objectivity required to discern, out of the hundreds of facts you may have, which are truly interesting and relevant.
Organization is such an essential part of developing any written piece. After changing my major from English to journalism, I ran with the possibilities and options that this new creativity allowed. However, I might have gone a tad overboard in creative license and completely forgotten any sort of standard or restrictions in writing, leaving me wandering in the overwhelming clutter of my mind.
Writing for me is a necessity. I really couldn't imagine how insane I would go if I couldn't organize my thoughts on paper. I'm such a visual person, that anything auditory is just gibberish. It's almost a handicap, I swear. My friend had the same work schedule for years, but he'd never written it down, so I'd always ask him- "when do you work again?" Thankfully he's quite patient ( :
Almost three-quarters of the paperwork I have in my house consist of lists: To-do lists, To-call lists, Homework lists, To-buy, To-save for, etc. I suppose I need to get all my worries and nonsense out of my head in order to focus on more pertinent issues.
I never recognize the significance of my thoughts until they're in writing; it's like they don't exist. If you don't think I'm crazy yet, just wait. Most of the time, I'm incredibly busy. I get so caught up in everyday tasks and obligations that I don't have time to get lost in my thoughts, let alone write them down.
This unfortunately comes with its own little quirky consequences. If I haven't written for a while I start to think in narrative. That's right- I begin to NARRATE my own life, like I'm a character in a book. It's pretty weird, especially when I don't realize I'm doing it!
"She walked to her car, trying her best not to think about him. Focusing instead of the cold weather she shivered. 'It's FINALLY winter!' she sighed. Immediately she began a mental inventory of her closet. 'Ugh, I don't have any winter clothes,' she thought. Growing up in Southern California all she ever really needed was a coat to put over her summer clothes.
'Hmmm, I probably need to invest in some actual winter stuff. She watched a professor walk by wrapped in a cozy-looking scarf with chic boots that came up to her calf. 'Adults have winter clothes. Adults are organized and put together. I wonder if I'll every feel like an adult?' She shook her head and thought 'most adults probably ALSO have decent bank accounts to allow for such expenses.' Just a few more months and she'd be done with school. Maybe then, she’d leave the world as she knows it behind . . . and finally grow up."
If you've seen Stranger Than Fiction you could better understand my dilemma. To fix this problem, I force myself to keep writing tools with me at all times- to prevent a complete psychotic break institutionalization:
"Hey what's she in here for?"
"Oh her? She thinks she's living in a book, she only talks in third person."
"Oh that's terrible!"
"Yeah, if only she would've taken the time to write...."
Another important habit I've found useful (which I'm sure almost everyone has discovered before me and has been keeping it a secret) is simple goals. I have a tendency when writing, whether journaling or writing for assignment, to digress on a whim. Especially during journaling, which is usually completely without direction, I jump from subject to subject in more of a rant than anything.
On bad days, all I want to do is to spill my guts without inflicting harm on another human being. But in the future, when I go back and read my entries, it's as if another person had written it. In the chaos of pure passion my writing is reduced to a fifth grade level, with horrible grammar, misspellings, and the occasional profanity. If nothing, it's incredibly amusing. But it has also served another purpose in revealing to me the pitfalls of chaotic writing.
As an experiment, I begin to give myself "assignments" - focus for my scattered musings. The results blew me away. Most of my thoughts on the specified subject magically condensed, clarified, and flowed to create a coherent article.
Being such a disorganized wreck for so long, I finally discovered for myself the secret everyone had been keeping from me (or so I thought): FOCUS.
The most humbling is accepting an assignment in which you do not yet see the significance. Another challenge is one that relates to personal standards: research the heck out of your story, don't ask obvious questions, don't take the easy angle. The last challenge that is often the most difficult for many writers is the process of editing. There is a certain amount of objectivity required to discern, out of the hundreds of facts you may have, which are truly interesting and relevant.
Organization is such an essential part of developing any written piece. After changing my major from English to journalism, I ran with the possibilities and options that this new creativity allowed. However, I might have gone a tad overboard in creative license and completely forgotten any sort of standard or restrictions in writing, leaving me wandering in the overwhelming clutter of my mind.
Writing for me is a necessity. I really couldn't imagine how insane I would go if I couldn't organize my thoughts on paper. I'm such a visual person, that anything auditory is just gibberish. It's almost a handicap, I swear. My friend had the same work schedule for years, but he'd never written it down, so I'd always ask him- "when do you work again?" Thankfully he's quite patient ( :
Almost three-quarters of the paperwork I have in my house consist of lists: To-do lists, To-call lists, Homework lists, To-buy, To-save for, etc. I suppose I need to get all my worries and nonsense out of my head in order to focus on more pertinent issues.
I never recognize the significance of my thoughts until they're in writing; it's like they don't exist. If you don't think I'm crazy yet, just wait. Most of the time, I'm incredibly busy. I get so caught up in everyday tasks and obligations that I don't have time to get lost in my thoughts, let alone write them down.
This unfortunately comes with its own little quirky consequences. If I haven't written for a while I start to think in narrative. That's right- I begin to NARRATE my own life, like I'm a character in a book. It's pretty weird, especially when I don't realize I'm doing it!
"She walked to her car, trying her best not to think about him. Focusing instead of the cold weather she shivered. 'It's FINALLY winter!' she sighed. Immediately she began a mental inventory of her closet. 'Ugh, I don't have any winter clothes,' she thought. Growing up in Southern California all she ever really needed was a coat to put over her summer clothes.
'Hmmm, I probably need to invest in some actual winter stuff. She watched a professor walk by wrapped in a cozy-looking scarf with chic boots that came up to her calf. 'Adults have winter clothes. Adults are organized and put together. I wonder if I'll every feel like an adult?' She shook her head and thought 'most adults probably ALSO have decent bank accounts to allow for such expenses.' Just a few more months and she'd be done with school. Maybe then, she’d leave the world as she knows it behind . . . and finally grow up."
If you've seen Stranger Than Fiction you could better understand my dilemma. To fix this problem, I force myself to keep writing tools with me at all times- to prevent a complete psychotic break institutionalization:
"Hey what's she in here for?"
"Oh her? She thinks she's living in a book, she only talks in third person."
"Oh that's terrible!"
"Yeah, if only she would've taken the time to write...."
Another important habit I've found useful (which I'm sure almost everyone has discovered before me and has been keeping it a secret) is simple goals. I have a tendency when writing, whether journaling or writing for assignment, to digress on a whim. Especially during journaling, which is usually completely without direction, I jump from subject to subject in more of a rant than anything.
On bad days, all I want to do is to spill my guts without inflicting harm on another human being. But in the future, when I go back and read my entries, it's as if another person had written it. In the chaos of pure passion my writing is reduced to a fifth grade level, with horrible grammar, misspellings, and the occasional profanity. If nothing, it's incredibly amusing. But it has also served another purpose in revealing to me the pitfalls of chaotic writing.
As an experiment, I begin to give myself "assignments" - focus for my scattered musings. The results blew me away. Most of my thoughts on the specified subject magically condensed, clarified, and flowed to create a coherent article.
Being such a disorganized wreck for so long, I finally discovered for myself the secret everyone had been keeping from me (or so I thought): FOCUS.
Monday, November 24, 2008
I Need Africa.....
“I need Africa more than Africa needs me” The thought of a contributor needing the cause more than the cause needs a contributor seems to be more common occurrence; especially considering the fad of celebrity-endorsed charities, international adoptions, and every student on campus trumpeting some sort of cause.
It appears that in an attempt to define oneself, portray an image, or sincerely help out another human being there is actually … progress. Does it matter what one’s intentions are? Or is it the outcome alone that should motivate our participation?
For so many, the opportunity to get involved and “make a difference” awakes a warm fuzzy side that reminds us of the glowing look on our mother’s face when we “shared.” Now that we are out of strollers, pigtails, and elementary school, has the need for approval of good deeds subsided?
I should think not. But I have come to the conclusion that it does not reduce the result of the gift, action, etc. The only thing it affects is the deep advantages it bestows on the giver. Of course, praise, admiration and respect among other things will accompany “good deeds.” However, the general “high” that many seek from giving of themselves can fade quickly, and they’re left with nothing.
Although in my opinion, selfish intentions do not negate the “good deed,” it sucks the core out of the action. I’m here to tell you about the mocha club.
This isn’t about fasting from your mocha cravings twice a month so that you can whine to your friends about how you’re such a martyr. This is about the knowledge that in other countries, your donation makes a significant difference. It is the realization that your excessive addiction to the habitual Starbucks run is just that, excessive. You have excess while others don’t necessities.
The mocha-club is a community based organization where members donate $7 a month, the cost of two mochas, to help a variety of causes in Africa. Whether or not your intentions are pure, that for you to decide, but know that you have an obligation… to reject ignorance, and accept responsibility.
For more info check out mochaclub.org
It appears that in an attempt to define oneself, portray an image, or sincerely help out another human being there is actually … progress. Does it matter what one’s intentions are? Or is it the outcome alone that should motivate our participation?
For so many, the opportunity to get involved and “make a difference” awakes a warm fuzzy side that reminds us of the glowing look on our mother’s face when we “shared.” Now that we are out of strollers, pigtails, and elementary school, has the need for approval of good deeds subsided?
I should think not. But I have come to the conclusion that it does not reduce the result of the gift, action, etc. The only thing it affects is the deep advantages it bestows on the giver. Of course, praise, admiration and respect among other things will accompany “good deeds.” However, the general “high” that many seek from giving of themselves can fade quickly, and they’re left with nothing.
Although in my opinion, selfish intentions do not negate the “good deed,” it sucks the core out of the action. I’m here to tell you about the mocha club.
This isn’t about fasting from your mocha cravings twice a month so that you can whine to your friends about how you’re such a martyr. This is about the knowledge that in other countries, your donation makes a significant difference. It is the realization that your excessive addiction to the habitual Starbucks run is just that, excessive. You have excess while others don’t necessities.
The mocha-club is a community based organization where members donate $7 a month, the cost of two mochas, to help a variety of causes in Africa. Whether or not your intentions are pure, that for you to decide, but know that you have an obligation… to reject ignorance, and accept responsibility.
For more info check out mochaclub.org
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)