I wish I were a faerie. Powerful, mischevious, full of endless light, complete with shimmering wings and a bright glittering aura. Faeries have been viewed in so many different lights, the possibilities are quite endless- from J.M. Barrie's speechless flickering light, to Amy Brown's elegant fae, even the powerful lost elven relations. Faeries have inspired histories, music, stories, and I'm sure, countless hours of make-believe.
To truly be a faerie, to be able to create, to be the force behind colors and rain, lightning, snow, and wind. To be beautiful and graceful, faeries never seem to trip or stumble. Not a pint-sized faerie, I'd wish to be quite the same size as regular people, however, it may be nice to live in a city carved of tree limbs and vines, every surface etched in inteiracte design, everything giving off a faint glow at night, as if brushed with thousands of tiny stars.
And what to do with a life made of pure energy? The obvious battle between good and evil, I'm sure I'd find a balance of doing good and causing trouble. I think I'd enjoy the ability to break from the realities I face today. Maybe I'd have a tea-party on the bottom of the ocean, or create a sunny escape of an island paradise when I push back my shower curtain. Literally - the possibilities would be endless.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Wisdom vs Knowledge
Wisdom and knowledge are two of the most powerful tools at human disposal. With these tools, virtually any problem can be solved, any riddle broken, and any decision dissected. But what differentiates the two? Where does knowledge stop and wisdom begin? Is there a line of division? A grey area? And who decides what is knowledge and what is wisdom? Here is my decision.
Knowledge is something taught to us. It can come from books, from teachers themselves, friends, neighbors, passers-by. It is handed down to us from another source. There is a definite truth in knowledge; there is no arguing that the moon orbits the Earth, that two plus two will always equal four. We obtain knowledge from everything, we absorb it from the atmosphere in a process similar to diffusion. It is brought to us from another source, a person, a book, a television show, an experiment.
Wisdom is not handed down to us, it is not common. Wisdom does not come from books or models. Wisdom comes from personal experience. It is the lesson one learns when he alone has lived something and learned from his own life experience. Wisdom is neither given from nor gained through another; it comes from within one's self as a decision or revelation brought on by an event in one's own life.
How is the knowledge of an experiment different from the wisdom of an event? An experiment is randomized, one never truly knows what the outcome will be, just as with an event, right? Perhaps not. In an experiment everything is controlled, calculated, formulated, and pretty much beaten into the ground before, during, and after its course. Give 100 people the exact problem, directions and equipment, and 90% of them will produce the same result. (My belief is that 5% of those people didn't care to read the directions, and another 3% read them and chose not to follow them.) When faced with an experiment, a basic level of research, sometimes even a good guess, will lead one to a result fairly close to the true result of the experiment. Experiments are contained, safe, rationed. One knows what to expect. Wisdom blindsides people. The outcome nails you in the face like a brick. Usually one obtains wisdom from an event- something usually painful, physically or otherwise, a loss, a heartache, a defeat, perhaps a victory. The lesson of wisdom is not taught to us, it is earned through the trials faced every day. If 100 people all took part in the same event, they may each walk away with a different lesson learned, a different grain of wisdom was embedded to each of them. In the same instance, 100 people could all experience completely different events, but all gain the same wisdom.
Can one learn wisdom? I don't think so. I believe people can learn from the wisdom of others, but we must each earn the truth behind the wisdom for ourselves. Great philosophers, powerful leaders, even our grandparents have lent us their wisdom, what their own life journey has taught them, but we can only take the lesson and try to understand what brought them to it. Knowledge is freely given, taking only our time and determination to set it to memory. Wisdom does not require something of us, it simply requires us. To earn wisdom one must take a leap, a plunge, a fall; somebody has to make a move, make a mistake, make a discovery. For wisdom to be bestowed upon a person, he must do something to earn it. His own life choices, and the consequences and repercussions of those choices teach him the lesson of wisdom, whereas other people, books, a sign on the street can pass along knowledge. "The Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776," is an example of knowledge. The simple fact can be read, heard, remembered, even verified. It can be passed along in a variety of ways, from textbooks to television shows, even a text message on a phone (though why people would send a text message such as that escapes me). "Don't give up, you never know what you can do until you try," is an example of wisdom. While that seems common knowledge to some, (no pun intended) that simple quote is a lesson learned though some body's personal struggle. Thomas Edison, for example, tried over 20,000 different materials for the filament to light his incandescent lamp before finding one that worked. When asked how it felt to fail 20,000 times, he responded, (and I paraphrase badly) that he didn't fail at all; finding the proper material was just a 20,000-step process. His own trials and errors, his facing defeat literally thousands of times is what taught him not to give up. Somebody saying, "Don't give up," doesn't quite hold the same validity as learning the lesson for one's self. So my answer is no, wisdom cannot be learned, nor can it be taught. It can be experienced.
On the other side, knowledge is not a level playing field. My former example of 2+2=4 can be disputed, refuted, and disproved by thousands of people in the world, several of which I know personally. My brain's capacity of understanding and being able to learn and comprehend knowledge is quite different from every other person on the planet. I doubt I will ever be able to match the knowledge of nuclear physicists or astronauts. Although, I am sure there are some people in the world who will never be my match for knowledge of English grammar (which I don't always use) or classical music. Different people have different mental strengths and abilities, which will aid them or limit the rates and levels of difficulty at which they can fully understand certain knowledge. I myself cannot manage to remember historical dates and names as well as my 9-year old niece, but I can memorize the melody and lyrics to a song on the radio after casually hearing it twice in an afternoon spent running errands in the car. Knowledge is difficult to learn, more so for some than others. Wisdom seemingly falls into one's lap after the day is done, while knowledge has to be worked for, even practiced.
Knowledge and wisdom are two very different, but very important keys we hold. When used properly and together, they are a dynamic combination. Though different, I believe wisdom and knowledge share a few threads, perhaps they've played a few rounds of golf together and bonded a bit. There is a point where knowledge and wisdom separate, but there are also several points where they overlap from time to time. Without one, the other is pretty useless. But that is a different rant and must be saved for another day.
Knowledge is something taught to us. It can come from books, from teachers themselves, friends, neighbors, passers-by. It is handed down to us from another source. There is a definite truth in knowledge; there is no arguing that the moon orbits the Earth, that two plus two will always equal four. We obtain knowledge from everything, we absorb it from the atmosphere in a process similar to diffusion. It is brought to us from another source, a person, a book, a television show, an experiment.
Wisdom is not handed down to us, it is not common. Wisdom does not come from books or models. Wisdom comes from personal experience. It is the lesson one learns when he alone has lived something and learned from his own life experience. Wisdom is neither given from nor gained through another; it comes from within one's self as a decision or revelation brought on by an event in one's own life.
How is the knowledge of an experiment different from the wisdom of an event? An experiment is randomized, one never truly knows what the outcome will be, just as with an event, right? Perhaps not. In an experiment everything is controlled, calculated, formulated, and pretty much beaten into the ground before, during, and after its course. Give 100 people the exact problem, directions and equipment, and 90% of them will produce the same result. (My belief is that 5% of those people didn't care to read the directions, and another 3% read them and chose not to follow them.) When faced with an experiment, a basic level of research, sometimes even a good guess, will lead one to a result fairly close to the true result of the experiment. Experiments are contained, safe, rationed. One knows what to expect. Wisdom blindsides people. The outcome nails you in the face like a brick. Usually one obtains wisdom from an event- something usually painful, physically or otherwise, a loss, a heartache, a defeat, perhaps a victory. The lesson of wisdom is not taught to us, it is earned through the trials faced every day. If 100 people all took part in the same event, they may each walk away with a different lesson learned, a different grain of wisdom was embedded to each of them. In the same instance, 100 people could all experience completely different events, but all gain the same wisdom.
Can one learn wisdom? I don't think so. I believe people can learn from the wisdom of others, but we must each earn the truth behind the wisdom for ourselves. Great philosophers, powerful leaders, even our grandparents have lent us their wisdom, what their own life journey has taught them, but we can only take the lesson and try to understand what brought them to it. Knowledge is freely given, taking only our time and determination to set it to memory. Wisdom does not require something of us, it simply requires us. To earn wisdom one must take a leap, a plunge, a fall; somebody has to make a move, make a mistake, make a discovery. For wisdom to be bestowed upon a person, he must do something to earn it. His own life choices, and the consequences and repercussions of those choices teach him the lesson of wisdom, whereas other people, books, a sign on the street can pass along knowledge. "The Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776," is an example of knowledge. The simple fact can be read, heard, remembered, even verified. It can be passed along in a variety of ways, from textbooks to television shows, even a text message on a phone (though why people would send a text message such as that escapes me). "Don't give up, you never know what you can do until you try," is an example of wisdom. While that seems common knowledge to some, (no pun intended) that simple quote is a lesson learned though some body's personal struggle. Thomas Edison, for example, tried over 20,000 different materials for the filament to light his incandescent lamp before finding one that worked. When asked how it felt to fail 20,000 times, he responded, (and I paraphrase badly) that he didn't fail at all; finding the proper material was just a 20,000-step process. His own trials and errors, his facing defeat literally thousands of times is what taught him not to give up. Somebody saying, "Don't give up," doesn't quite hold the same validity as learning the lesson for one's self. So my answer is no, wisdom cannot be learned, nor can it be taught. It can be experienced.
On the other side, knowledge is not a level playing field. My former example of 2+2=4 can be disputed, refuted, and disproved by thousands of people in the world, several of which I know personally. My brain's capacity of understanding and being able to learn and comprehend knowledge is quite different from every other person on the planet. I doubt I will ever be able to match the knowledge of nuclear physicists or astronauts. Although, I am sure there are some people in the world who will never be my match for knowledge of English grammar (which I don't always use) or classical music. Different people have different mental strengths and abilities, which will aid them or limit the rates and levels of difficulty at which they can fully understand certain knowledge. I myself cannot manage to remember historical dates and names as well as my 9-year old niece, but I can memorize the melody and lyrics to a song on the radio after casually hearing it twice in an afternoon spent running errands in the car. Knowledge is difficult to learn, more so for some than others. Wisdom seemingly falls into one's lap after the day is done, while knowledge has to be worked for, even practiced.
Knowledge and wisdom are two very different, but very important keys we hold. When used properly and together, they are a dynamic combination. Though different, I believe wisdom and knowledge share a few threads, perhaps they've played a few rounds of golf together and bonded a bit. There is a point where knowledge and wisdom separate, but there are also several points where they overlap from time to time. Without one, the other is pretty useless. But that is a different rant and must be saved for another day.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
A typo led me to find that you were not only still around, but that I lurked at the faded edges of your memory...
It's strange to know he still thinks of me, and with such hatred, such regret. It all seemed light years ago, but it could have happened yesterday. A stronger self would approach him, indirectly, perhaps on an instant messenger, it's less intrusive. I'd speak to him, find out what it is that won't allow him to let go of all that hate. If he'd respond. His words dripped with disdain, the kind that one worries will ruin shoes. If he refused to speak to me I'd mull it over for a day or so; some things never change.
If he lashed out instead in anger, in hatred, I'd feel quite the same as before. But to sit and hear him speak his mind, to be able to listen, to lessen that burden, ease the trouble in his mind, his heart; it would be strange indeed.
But I am not that strong of self, and such hatred would afflict me greatly. I managed to overcome him once; I will not allow myself into that dreary and troubled world once more. So I perch, ironically, tapping out the same keys that both eased him and caused him such distress, and let it float away. Perhaps I am not strong enough to respond to his words, his truth. On the contrary, perhaps I am stronger still in not needing to.
If he lashed out instead in anger, in hatred, I'd feel quite the same as before. But to sit and hear him speak his mind, to be able to listen, to lessen that burden, ease the trouble in his mind, his heart; it would be strange indeed.
But I am not that strong of self, and such hatred would afflict me greatly. I managed to overcome him once; I will not allow myself into that dreary and troubled world once more. So I perch, ironically, tapping out the same keys that both eased him and caused him such distress, and let it float away. Perhaps I am not strong enough to respond to his words, his truth. On the contrary, perhaps I am stronger still in not needing to.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Getting Personal
I wish I'd gone fishing with my dad. Spent more time listening to him and less time arguing with him. I wish I'd taken an interest in who my family is, followed the histories, written them down before they were washed away by confusion and self-doubt. I wish I could go back and spend a while in my past, knowing what I do now. I would have cleaned my room and set the table more, and tried a little less in school. Being labeled "wicked smart" in high school really set me up for disappointment later in life. Constantly.
I wish I hadn't wasted so much time chasing after boys. Most of them weren't worth it, and the ones who were I didn't have to chase. They became permanent fixtures in my life. I call them friends, and that word expressed in its true form is more powerful than 100 dates and roses and broken promises, broken hearts.
The old saying is true, hindsight is 20/20. I'm not saying my entire life was a screw-up and I wish I could do the whole thing over. I've had a beautiful life, and I intend on making it last as long as possible. I've made more mistakes that most like to admit, most of which were stupid and their consequences more than lenient.
I keep myself from doing a lot of things I dream of, simple things and extreme, for reasons I don't even understand. Part of me feels like I have to stay close to home, waiting for something monumental to happen where I have to jump in and save everybody. Maybe I'm just scared. But I've never really traveled. I want to see the Greek Islands, the black sand beaches. I want to see the world from the top of a mountain, breathe air that's damp and smells like pine and cedar. I want to visit all the oceans, prove they're all actually one. I want to see the constellations from another angle, a different hemisphere. To see the Northern Lights. Instead I recreate the music of the places I wish to be, collecting instruments and halfway learning them all. I read books of adventures I won't go on and drink warm beverages from incredibly large mugs.
I took a "big trip" about a year ago. I went vertically across the country to visit a friend for a week. I lounged on a couch for week and watched ice hockey. I did visit the ocean for the first time. It was beautiful. We went at night. The stars and the waves and the salty air and the shells that you never seem to fully realize are there until you step on a broken one. My first trip alone. No parents, no friends traveling along, no chaperon. I didn't even ask permission. I planned it, saved for it, and went for it. The fact that a 4-hour flight is the highlight of my "worldly" travels concerns me greatly.
I think I've fallen into a serious rut lately. Completely scatterbrained, easily frustrated, absolutely no interest in anything, a random trip is exactly what I need. Someplace new, something to make me feel alive and confident again. To restore the beauty of the world to my senses. I think I'm drowning in my own world, choked by time clocks, dress pants, bed pans, dog toys, and pancake mix. I need to get back to the real world, with air and a breeze and light not coming from glass tubes in the ceiling.
I can't even keep my room clean. It never makes it to the standard of clean. Every now and then I perform a mass overhaul and produce something close to "severely cluttered." Never has my bedroom been "clean." I can't think in a perfectly pin-straight room. There's nothing inspiring, nothing creative or unusual. In a messy room there's always something going on. A bright splash of yellow from a shirt on the floor in the corner. The orange tip of a glue bottle on the desk. A braid of pink, blue, and green hair ribbons staining the otherwise pale backdrop of a closet door.Granted, there is a peace and airiness associated with a clean room. Room to grow, space for air to flow, room for the sun to shine in. And walking from the door to the closet without tripping on something or shuffling through piles of unsorted papers would be amazing. I think the basis for not having a clean room is the fact that my mother always cleaned it when I was younger. She said it was so she could check to see if the mail man had come by yet, since my window had a perfect view of the flag on the mail box. I felt that the entire family having access to my bedroom to "check the mailbox flag" was a little invasive. So even as a child of 7, I stopped cleaning my room. It kept people out. If it was uninviting and possibly hazardous to health, it would keep people out. And maybe I still want to keep people out. I have a completely different room now, no view of the mail box, but nonetheless, I want my privacy. I don't know if it's that I like to be able to jump on my bed singing into a hairbrush wearing an old homecoming dress, or if I just don't want other people to see what matters in my life, I want them out. If my room is clean, only the important things are left out. Photos are clearly visible, mementos are displayed prominently. It's like my books, it reveals too much. Well, there's one mystery solved.
I wish I had more time. I want to know who my family was, to be able to answer the time-honored question, "Where are you from?" without a 5-minute explanation. I want to be able to travel and grow, but I want to be home for all the events that may not even happen. I want to paint a picture that doesn't suck, meet somebody who only has a basic grasp of English and a remarkably comforting smile. I want to feel what the rain feels like in Ireland, and see what the stars look like in Greece. I'd go fishing off those black sand beaches, and wish with my whole existence that my dad was with me.
I wish I hadn't wasted so much time chasing after boys. Most of them weren't worth it, and the ones who were I didn't have to chase. They became permanent fixtures in my life. I call them friends, and that word expressed in its true form is more powerful than 100 dates and roses and broken promises, broken hearts.
The old saying is true, hindsight is 20/20. I'm not saying my entire life was a screw-up and I wish I could do the whole thing over. I've had a beautiful life, and I intend on making it last as long as possible. I've made more mistakes that most like to admit, most of which were stupid and their consequences more than lenient.
I keep myself from doing a lot of things I dream of, simple things and extreme, for reasons I don't even understand. Part of me feels like I have to stay close to home, waiting for something monumental to happen where I have to jump in and save everybody. Maybe I'm just scared. But I've never really traveled. I want to see the Greek Islands, the black sand beaches. I want to see the world from the top of a mountain, breathe air that's damp and smells like pine and cedar. I want to visit all the oceans, prove they're all actually one. I want to see the constellations from another angle, a different hemisphere. To see the Northern Lights. Instead I recreate the music of the places I wish to be, collecting instruments and halfway learning them all. I read books of adventures I won't go on and drink warm beverages from incredibly large mugs.
I took a "big trip" about a year ago. I went vertically across the country to visit a friend for a week. I lounged on a couch for week and watched ice hockey. I did visit the ocean for the first time. It was beautiful. We went at night. The stars and the waves and the salty air and the shells that you never seem to fully realize are there until you step on a broken one. My first trip alone. No parents, no friends traveling along, no chaperon. I didn't even ask permission. I planned it, saved for it, and went for it. The fact that a 4-hour flight is the highlight of my "worldly" travels concerns me greatly.
I think I've fallen into a serious rut lately. Completely scatterbrained, easily frustrated, absolutely no interest in anything, a random trip is exactly what I need. Someplace new, something to make me feel alive and confident again. To restore the beauty of the world to my senses. I think I'm drowning in my own world, choked by time clocks, dress pants, bed pans, dog toys, and pancake mix. I need to get back to the real world, with air and a breeze and light not coming from glass tubes in the ceiling.
I can't even keep my room clean. It never makes it to the standard of clean. Every now and then I perform a mass overhaul and produce something close to "severely cluttered." Never has my bedroom been "clean." I can't think in a perfectly pin-straight room. There's nothing inspiring, nothing creative or unusual. In a messy room there's always something going on. A bright splash of yellow from a shirt on the floor in the corner. The orange tip of a glue bottle on the desk. A braid of pink, blue, and green hair ribbons staining the otherwise pale backdrop of a closet door.Granted, there is a peace and airiness associated with a clean room. Room to grow, space for air to flow, room for the sun to shine in. And walking from the door to the closet without tripping on something or shuffling through piles of unsorted papers would be amazing. I think the basis for not having a clean room is the fact that my mother always cleaned it when I was younger. She said it was so she could check to see if the mail man had come by yet, since my window had a perfect view of the flag on the mail box. I felt that the entire family having access to my bedroom to "check the mailbox flag" was a little invasive. So even as a child of 7, I stopped cleaning my room. It kept people out. If it was uninviting and possibly hazardous to health, it would keep people out. And maybe I still want to keep people out. I have a completely different room now, no view of the mail box, but nonetheless, I want my privacy. I don't know if it's that I like to be able to jump on my bed singing into a hairbrush wearing an old homecoming dress, or if I just don't want other people to see what matters in my life, I want them out. If my room is clean, only the important things are left out. Photos are clearly visible, mementos are displayed prominently. It's like my books, it reveals too much. Well, there's one mystery solved.
I wish I had more time. I want to know who my family was, to be able to answer the time-honored question, "Where are you from?" without a 5-minute explanation. I want to be able to travel and grow, but I want to be home for all the events that may not even happen. I want to paint a picture that doesn't suck, meet somebody who only has a basic grasp of English and a remarkably comforting smile. I want to feel what the rain feels like in Ireland, and see what the stars look like in Greece. I'd go fishing off those black sand beaches, and wish with my whole existence that my dad was with me.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Attempting to update monthly. Short and pointless.
Everybody has a certain place in their life that feels like a part of them. More than "feels like home," the mere thought of this place fills the body with excitement and anticipation and one can't help but smile. A question to regular readers, lurkers, and stumblers-upon: Can one have a memory feel like more than home, or is it destined to be a place that fills one with a feeling of content and peace?
I have both places and memories that ease my soul, shake the cobwebs from my thoughts, and clear the tears from my eyes. I often wonder, is it the memories that make the place, or the place that makes the memories?
My family has held a plot of land of generations, a summer retreat, if you will. I spent most of my youth running wild among the Queen Anne's Lace and clover with Summer rays warming my bare legs and arms. There's a large, steep hill that bottoms out at a creek, and my siblings and I used to take turns flying down the hill on a bike without breaks and catching each other at the bottom before we tumbled into the chilly, swift-moving water. Several times we kids found ourselves explaining our dripping clothes to our displeased mother. At the top of the hill, beside the house, is a garage, seemingly so modern and out-of-place in the rustic, wooded setting, boasting its existence with a rolling garage door that competed with the grass for the brighter shade of green. Within that garage was a treasure-trove of forbidden access. Old tractors, snowmobile runners, batteries, shovels, plows, the left-over mechanics of generations of forgotten projects. We had carved into the hillside room to grow raspberries, pumpkins, zucchini, and sunflowers that towered above our home whose heads weighed 15 pounds at least. Behind the house was a flat plain, perfect for circling four-wheelers, flying kites, setting off fireworks, and staring into the stars. Every summer we dug out a pit and roasted hot dogs, corn, and marshmallows for dinner. A small apple orchard rests hidden in a dip of the hillside like a secret, the apples small, but sweet. Two ponds round out the property, muck-laden and riddled with the "plop," of frogs escaping our eager grasp. No matter how long we sat at the water's edge with our lines and nets, not one fish ever went after our impromptu fishing poles. Tucked beside the road, behind a tall stand of trees, my father built a swing set. He shaved the branches and roots off a fallen tree, wedged and lashed it to the forks of two standing trees, and hung various tires from the top with sturdy rope. Many hours were given to swinging in the tires, sloshing rainwater from their insides, fleeing from a wasp nest, and shrieking as caterpillars dropped from the willow branches and into our hair. As the family aged and we kids began being too busy for vacations, parents too old to make the trip, the property fell into a neglected hideaway. Nearly a dozen years later I made the trip to the old place to investigate reports of a sagging roof from nearby neighbors. I'm sure my traveling companion was appalled by the 1970's style furnishings and lack of a phone and television, but if that's the case I never noticed. I tore through the property shrieking like a child. Was the old log bridge still over the creek? Did the deer still walk right up to the windows at dawn? Was the apple orchard still filled with the scent of blossoms? Did the tires fall from their perch, ropes rotted out after all these years? I spent my entire day smiling and exploring, spending so long in that cold, clear creek that my feet numbed. I picked apples until my hands were sticky with fragrant juice and stared up at the stars until the sun streaked the sky and chased them away.
Am I attached to this place because of the memories, or are my memories so powerful because this place is so magnificent? Why didn't the field mice in the garage and the lack of heat in the house deter me? Was I shrouded by my love and memories? Or is this place so charming that I fell in love all over again?
I have both places and memories that ease my soul, shake the cobwebs from my thoughts, and clear the tears from my eyes. I often wonder, is it the memories that make the place, or the place that makes the memories?
My family has held a plot of land of generations, a summer retreat, if you will. I spent most of my youth running wild among the Queen Anne's Lace and clover with Summer rays warming my bare legs and arms. There's a large, steep hill that bottoms out at a creek, and my siblings and I used to take turns flying down the hill on a bike without breaks and catching each other at the bottom before we tumbled into the chilly, swift-moving water. Several times we kids found ourselves explaining our dripping clothes to our displeased mother. At the top of the hill, beside the house, is a garage, seemingly so modern and out-of-place in the rustic, wooded setting, boasting its existence with a rolling garage door that competed with the grass for the brighter shade of green. Within that garage was a treasure-trove of forbidden access. Old tractors, snowmobile runners, batteries, shovels, plows, the left-over mechanics of generations of forgotten projects. We had carved into the hillside room to grow raspberries, pumpkins, zucchini, and sunflowers that towered above our home whose heads weighed 15 pounds at least. Behind the house was a flat plain, perfect for circling four-wheelers, flying kites, setting off fireworks, and staring into the stars. Every summer we dug out a pit and roasted hot dogs, corn, and marshmallows for dinner. A small apple orchard rests hidden in a dip of the hillside like a secret, the apples small, but sweet. Two ponds round out the property, muck-laden and riddled with the "plop," of frogs escaping our eager grasp. No matter how long we sat at the water's edge with our lines and nets, not one fish ever went after our impromptu fishing poles. Tucked beside the road, behind a tall stand of trees, my father built a swing set. He shaved the branches and roots off a fallen tree, wedged and lashed it to the forks of two standing trees, and hung various tires from the top with sturdy rope. Many hours were given to swinging in the tires, sloshing rainwater from their insides, fleeing from a wasp nest, and shrieking as caterpillars dropped from the willow branches and into our hair. As the family aged and we kids began being too busy for vacations, parents too old to make the trip, the property fell into a neglected hideaway. Nearly a dozen years later I made the trip to the old place to investigate reports of a sagging roof from nearby neighbors. I'm sure my traveling companion was appalled by the 1970's style furnishings and lack of a phone and television, but if that's the case I never noticed. I tore through the property shrieking like a child. Was the old log bridge still over the creek? Did the deer still walk right up to the windows at dawn? Was the apple orchard still filled with the scent of blossoms? Did the tires fall from their perch, ropes rotted out after all these years? I spent my entire day smiling and exploring, spending so long in that cold, clear creek that my feet numbed. I picked apples until my hands were sticky with fragrant juice and stared up at the stars until the sun streaked the sky and chased them away.
Am I attached to this place because of the memories, or are my memories so powerful because this place is so magnificent? Why didn't the field mice in the garage and the lack of heat in the house deter me? Was I shrouded by my love and memories? Or is this place so charming that I fell in love all over again?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
A Gift
I recently had a birthday. For me, birthdays are a monumental occasion. It does not matter to me that I'm an adult, I decorate my friends' rooms with streamers and bake them cakes; I call and sing to them until they start ignoring my calls- then I leave voicemails. I make banners, goofy hats, and usually sport a tiara or glowing piece of jewelry. Birthdays are an addiction. I love my birthday so much that I celebrate it twice a year. I have a party with family and friends on my actual birthday (which just passed), but I also celebrate the six-month mark past (and before since it's the same thing) my birthday. I can even tell you how it all began.
I have a winter birthday, the only one in my family. Even aunts, uncles, and cousins have birthdays in the summer. When I was very young, my family used to have a large Christmas party with the entire family sometime after Christmas, but before January was over. It was at this party that I received both my Christmas and birthday gifts. As a child, I never understood why everybody got presents for my birthday (as we all know, those were actually their Christmas presents) when I never got any presents in the summer, when their birthdays were. To pacify me, I assume, my parents began celebrating my "half birthday," the day that falls 6 months after and before my birthday. This day fell in the summer, when I would have cupcakes and singing and the occasional pool party to celebrate. The tradition never died, and now I'm addicted to birthdays. The comment has been made that if I aged every time I celebrated a birthday I'd be well over 85. As one well under the age of 30, I was more than a little offended, yet not offended enough to stop celebrating a birthday every chance I got.
For my actual birthday this year I was blessed with many things. My family is still with me, which I am thankful for. There were times when I was afraid of losing members of my family to accident, illness, age, or argument. I have friends who care about me. I see the proof of this daily, through my outrageous phone bill to being bleary-eyed from a late-night chat with a friend over the Internet. The SD Card in my digital camera is constantly over-filled, and I'm always printing pictures with friends and buying frames to hang on my walls. One friend threw me a party this year; several of my friends attended. Other friends called, sent cards, left me messages online or through email, and a variety of other things. While my family and friends surprised me with unexpected recognition and gifts, I'm most pleased by one particular gift- the gift I gave myself.
For my birthday I decided to give myself a present. Not a video game or a movie like I normally splurge on; this year I gave myself a gift that is with me always. I decided I was going to stop letting myself get frustrated and upset over things that I cannot change, or that aren't really worth getting upset over. In the past I've convinced myself that my emotions are not controlled by a light switch- I cannot turn them on or off at will. But now I've given myself the ability to see which events are worth getting upset over. I decided I was going to laugh at things that normally frustrated me. For example, at work I knocked over a shelf, sending about 100 aspirin bottles raining upon my head. Normally I'd sigh, mentally kick myself for being stupid, and continue to mentally abuse myself until I'd cleaned it all up, which is more than enough fuel to start a very bad mood, which I'm likely to take out on friends, family, and coworkers. But that didn't happen. I looked from the shelf to the mess on the floor and back to the shelf... and I laughed. I laughed at how funny it must have looked, and how I'd ironically been conked on the head by bottles of headache relief. I smiled, and I felt good about it. And when I took my break later that evening I had a great conversation with a good friend, something that wouldn't have happened if I'd been brooding.
I've been having troubles with a friend- recent arguments, some bad blood between us. I had been blaming myself for their catty remarks and obvious attempts to hurt me. By obsessing over the "why" and "what if" questions, I was miserable and cranky. After my self-given gift, I looked at my situation in a new light. What good would getting upset and downtrodden do me? Yes, some of the words stung, and yes, it still hurt, but what good was it to dwell on it? I looked at the stupid fights and at the way I'd been treating myself because of somebody else's decision- something I cannot control- and I laughed. If somebody has their mind set in one particular direction, nothing short of an oncoming train or a meteor is going to stop them. Why even bother? So I smiled knowing that I'm going to be just fine. I've got good friends, and one person's false accusations and poor judgements of me do not define who I am to the rest of the world. So I laughed at it. Everybody has fights, everybody gets hurt. R.E.M. has an entire song and music video dedicated to the theme. I laughed when I imagined myself re-writing all the subtitles in the music video. And I moved on.
The change has been amazing. In less than a week's time I've noticed a significant difference in myself. I smile more, and I don't even really care for my smile. I take better care of myself. I eat healthier, stand straighter, sleep better. I let cars into my lane instead of riding the bumper of the car in front of me. I don't yell at red lights anymore, I sing to the radio. I get along better with my boss at work. I even get along better with my mother. My friendships are growing stronger, and I'm making new friends every day. My clothing style changed. I let go of the protective layer of hoodies and shapeless jeans. My closet has slowly changed colors, from maroons, greys, and black to pinks, purples, blues, greens, and yellows. My hair, usually pulled back in a severe ponytail, finds itself loose or left curly. I'm happier with who I am, and I'm not afraid to let the world see it.
Being able to laugh at my life has given me a beautiful new outlook. I don't feel like any person, thing, or force is against me anymore. My bed was usually buried under seven pillows, three quilts, and two blankets. If I turned my head at just the right angle, nobody could tell if I was even in the room at all. Now my currently unmade bed sports a pillow, a blanket, and a quilt. I'm not hiding from the world, I don't need that fortress anymore. I love being comfortable, so a few blankets my creep back on the bed as the nights grow colder, but I don't feel like I'm fighting my way through the day, retreating to a safe haven of pillows and blankets on my bed, and resting up for tomorrow's battle. Now I feel like I'm taking the world on my storm, throwing smiles and peace signs like candy in a parade.
Some say that this new outlook will fade like many people's New Year's Resolutions. I don't make New Year's Resolutions. I feel that they're an excuse to put something off for 11 months because you "have all year to work on it," and I also feel that it's a setup for disappointment. Most resolutions are too demanding, unrealistic, and stressful to keep. I'm finding very little stress in my life since I've started laughing more. I feel less demand to be perfect for the world, yet I find that people are more pleased with me. I'm using less effort to do greater work. It's like one of those machines that produces more energy than it operates on.
It's a beautiful gift, and I feel that I was encouraged to bestow it upon myself by several very close friends. These people are constantly in contact with me. They're the reason I upgraded my cell phone plan and continue to pay outrageous prices for Internet service. These individuals always make me smile, and now I can see how many times they've tried to get me to see that there are some things in life that I cannot change; I was never even close to being able to change them. I'm not the center of the universe- every event that happens isn't directly because of me, or directly effecting me. Sometimes things happen that I don't like and I had absolutely nothing to do with. So now I laugh. It's not my cosmic responsibility to solve the problems of the universe. It's my choice to listen, help, and encourage my friends in every way I can, but I am in no way accountable for the actions and reactions of every single person I know. Sometimes my opinion, or myself in general, does not matter. And that's when I laugh. So I knocked something over. I made a huge mess. Some guy thinks I'm a stooge. My boss under appreciates me. Who really cares? Eventually something shattering will happen in my life. That's a part of life; disappointment, sadness, grief. But when it comes, I don't want it to be another downspout in my life. I want to be able to look at the smiles I've shared and the laughs I've had, and smile because of those, even while tears may fall. I think I've managed to come up with a way to tell you the gift I gave myself.
When life gives me the choice between laughter and tears, I'm going to laugh. Someday God isn't going to give me the choice, and I'm going to wish I'd smiled more.
I'll blog directly on that quote another day. It's going to get its own post. For now, I wish you good night, and many happy returns.
I have a winter birthday, the only one in my family. Even aunts, uncles, and cousins have birthdays in the summer. When I was very young, my family used to have a large Christmas party with the entire family sometime after Christmas, but before January was over. It was at this party that I received both my Christmas and birthday gifts. As a child, I never understood why everybody got presents for my birthday (as we all know, those were actually their Christmas presents) when I never got any presents in the summer, when their birthdays were. To pacify me, I assume, my parents began celebrating my "half birthday," the day that falls 6 months after and before my birthday. This day fell in the summer, when I would have cupcakes and singing and the occasional pool party to celebrate. The tradition never died, and now I'm addicted to birthdays. The comment has been made that if I aged every time I celebrated a birthday I'd be well over 85. As one well under the age of 30, I was more than a little offended, yet not offended enough to stop celebrating a birthday every chance I got.
For my actual birthday this year I was blessed with many things. My family is still with me, which I am thankful for. There were times when I was afraid of losing members of my family to accident, illness, age, or argument. I have friends who care about me. I see the proof of this daily, through my outrageous phone bill to being bleary-eyed from a late-night chat with a friend over the Internet. The SD Card in my digital camera is constantly over-filled, and I'm always printing pictures with friends and buying frames to hang on my walls. One friend threw me a party this year; several of my friends attended. Other friends called, sent cards, left me messages online or through email, and a variety of other things. While my family and friends surprised me with unexpected recognition and gifts, I'm most pleased by one particular gift- the gift I gave myself.
For my birthday I decided to give myself a present. Not a video game or a movie like I normally splurge on; this year I gave myself a gift that is with me always. I decided I was going to stop letting myself get frustrated and upset over things that I cannot change, or that aren't really worth getting upset over. In the past I've convinced myself that my emotions are not controlled by a light switch- I cannot turn them on or off at will. But now I've given myself the ability to see which events are worth getting upset over. I decided I was going to laugh at things that normally frustrated me. For example, at work I knocked over a shelf, sending about 100 aspirin bottles raining upon my head. Normally I'd sigh, mentally kick myself for being stupid, and continue to mentally abuse myself until I'd cleaned it all up, which is more than enough fuel to start a very bad mood, which I'm likely to take out on friends, family, and coworkers. But that didn't happen. I looked from the shelf to the mess on the floor and back to the shelf... and I laughed. I laughed at how funny it must have looked, and how I'd ironically been conked on the head by bottles of headache relief. I smiled, and I felt good about it. And when I took my break later that evening I had a great conversation with a good friend, something that wouldn't have happened if I'd been brooding.
I've been having troubles with a friend- recent arguments, some bad blood between us. I had been blaming myself for their catty remarks and obvious attempts to hurt me. By obsessing over the "why" and "what if" questions, I was miserable and cranky. After my self-given gift, I looked at my situation in a new light. What good would getting upset and downtrodden do me? Yes, some of the words stung, and yes, it still hurt, but what good was it to dwell on it? I looked at the stupid fights and at the way I'd been treating myself because of somebody else's decision- something I cannot control- and I laughed. If somebody has their mind set in one particular direction, nothing short of an oncoming train or a meteor is going to stop them. Why even bother? So I smiled knowing that I'm going to be just fine. I've got good friends, and one person's false accusations and poor judgements of me do not define who I am to the rest of the world. So I laughed at it. Everybody has fights, everybody gets hurt. R.E.M. has an entire song and music video dedicated to the theme. I laughed when I imagined myself re-writing all the subtitles in the music video. And I moved on.
The change has been amazing. In less than a week's time I've noticed a significant difference in myself. I smile more, and I don't even really care for my smile. I take better care of myself. I eat healthier, stand straighter, sleep better. I let cars into my lane instead of riding the bumper of the car in front of me. I don't yell at red lights anymore, I sing to the radio. I get along better with my boss at work. I even get along better with my mother. My friendships are growing stronger, and I'm making new friends every day. My clothing style changed. I let go of the protective layer of hoodies and shapeless jeans. My closet has slowly changed colors, from maroons, greys, and black to pinks, purples, blues, greens, and yellows. My hair, usually pulled back in a severe ponytail, finds itself loose or left curly. I'm happier with who I am, and I'm not afraid to let the world see it.
Being able to laugh at my life has given me a beautiful new outlook. I don't feel like any person, thing, or force is against me anymore. My bed was usually buried under seven pillows, three quilts, and two blankets. If I turned my head at just the right angle, nobody could tell if I was even in the room at all. Now my currently unmade bed sports a pillow, a blanket, and a quilt. I'm not hiding from the world, I don't need that fortress anymore. I love being comfortable, so a few blankets my creep back on the bed as the nights grow colder, but I don't feel like I'm fighting my way through the day, retreating to a safe haven of pillows and blankets on my bed, and resting up for tomorrow's battle. Now I feel like I'm taking the world on my storm, throwing smiles and peace signs like candy in a parade.
Some say that this new outlook will fade like many people's New Year's Resolutions. I don't make New Year's Resolutions. I feel that they're an excuse to put something off for 11 months because you "have all year to work on it," and I also feel that it's a setup for disappointment. Most resolutions are too demanding, unrealistic, and stressful to keep. I'm finding very little stress in my life since I've started laughing more. I feel less demand to be perfect for the world, yet I find that people are more pleased with me. I'm using less effort to do greater work. It's like one of those machines that produces more energy than it operates on.
It's a beautiful gift, and I feel that I was encouraged to bestow it upon myself by several very close friends. These people are constantly in contact with me. They're the reason I upgraded my cell phone plan and continue to pay outrageous prices for Internet service. These individuals always make me smile, and now I can see how many times they've tried to get me to see that there are some things in life that I cannot change; I was never even close to being able to change them. I'm not the center of the universe- every event that happens isn't directly because of me, or directly effecting me. Sometimes things happen that I don't like and I had absolutely nothing to do with. So now I laugh. It's not my cosmic responsibility to solve the problems of the universe. It's my choice to listen, help, and encourage my friends in every way I can, but I am in no way accountable for the actions and reactions of every single person I know. Sometimes my opinion, or myself in general, does not matter. And that's when I laugh. So I knocked something over. I made a huge mess. Some guy thinks I'm a stooge. My boss under appreciates me. Who really cares? Eventually something shattering will happen in my life. That's a part of life; disappointment, sadness, grief. But when it comes, I don't want it to be another downspout in my life. I want to be able to look at the smiles I've shared and the laughs I've had, and smile because of those, even while tears may fall. I think I've managed to come up with a way to tell you the gift I gave myself.
When life gives me the choice between laughter and tears, I'm going to laugh. Someday God isn't going to give me the choice, and I'm going to wish I'd smiled more.
I'll blog directly on that quote another day. It's going to get its own post. For now, I wish you good night, and many happy returns.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Oliver's Fig Newton Twist
Since high school and before, Newton's Laws of Motion have been drilled into my head like the chants from overly-perky cheerleaders at a pep rally; the ones you hope fall off the pyramid so they finally shut up. I can spell "aggressive," on my own, thanks. Call me a geek, but Newton's Laws apply to life in more than scientific ways. Sure, Murphy's Laws are wittier and more relevant to real-life situations, but Newton's Laws... apply to the *drum roll please* dating world *cymbal crash*. That bittersweet place of lust and loss. I know it well. I hope my attempts at warping science into something else amuse you.
Newton's First Law of Motion: An object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.
In English (also known as "human speak,"): Something is going to keep doing what it's doing unless something comes along and makes it change.
Relevance to Relationships: Nothing in a relationship is going to change unless some outside person or event changes it. Tom and Lisa will keep dating. They will hold hands in the hallway. They will go to a movie on Friday night and kiss in his car before he drives her home. It's like mashed potatoes and gravy. You know what to expect. Then an outside event changes everything. Tom "accidentally" falls on Kerry, the head cheerleader, and her lips happen to soften the blow. Lisa doesn't like this, and now Tom and Lisa don't go to the movies, and they aren't holding hands anymore. Looks like that one turned around 180°.
Newton's Second Law of Motion: The acceleration of an object as produced by a net force is directly proportional to the magnitude of the net force, in the same direction as the net force, and inversely proportional to the mass of the object.
In English: Something travels (or "accelerates") in the direction you push it. If you push it twice as hard, it accelerates twice as much. If it has twice the mass, it accelerates half as much. (Big things go slower than littler things.)
Relevance to Relationships: If you bring Kerry flowers, or take Mike to the big game, things will continue to go well. If you give her flowers while you're out to dinner, or take Mike to the big game with court side seats, things will go even better! The big events take longer to plan than something little, like giving them a sick of gum you found in your coat from last winter.
Newton's Third Law of Motion: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
In English: For every action, there is an equal (in size) and opposite (in direction) reaction force. When you push, something is pushing back just as hard in the opposite direction.
Relevance to Relationships: Everything you do to your significant other will come back to you from him/her. If you do something nice for Eric, he will do something nice for you. If you slash Adam's tires, he's going to call the police. Whatever you do to him/her, he/she will give back to you.*
For those science enthusiasts, as well as romance enthusiasts, please do not take my comparisons, definitions, or explanations to heart. We all know I'm paraphrasing, dramatising, and possibly hallucinating most of the things I've written. My random cranial wanderings are not to be used for educational purposes, not even pointing out my atrocious grammar or how badly I butchered Newton's Laws.
In conclusion, I know nothing of either science or romance. I have no experience other than an unfinished college degree, a few years working in a scientific field, some former boyfriends and love interests, and endless episodes of Mythbusters on TiVo. I take no responsibility for your belief or disbelieving the above statements. I hope you were as amused reading as I found myself while I was typing. And be grateful I didn't end with a witty remark involving a play on the word "chemistry."
*A note about the above statement. Human emotion and free will can and will pull things out of proportion. If Heather goes to the movies with Kevin, Jordan may sleep with Leslie to get even. Not the same severity, but that's where emotions come into play. As humans we are fatally flawed with emotions that rule over us all. If a mountain could hover over us like a storm cloud, that is the feeling of emotions lurking within our veins. Waiting for that emotional bubble to burst and for fury, sorrow, comedy, or God knows what else to spew out.
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