As 2011 prepares to become just a page in our collective memory, I'm inspired to take a few moments to remember the good, the bad, and the unexpected about the past year. As I reviewed my New Year's blog post from last year (Better Days), I am actually impressed that my resolution to search for better days did, in fact, succeed. All in all, 2011 will be considered a pretty decent year in my book.
This past spring, I began the exhilirating, treacherous, and stressful journey of graduate school. I have been blessed with the most phenomenal advisor I could ask for, friends who share my anguish and my joy, and some fantastic books added to my bookshelf. Grad school has certainly been a transition, and I'm still in the process of emerging from the Baylor Bubble. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity to expand my worldview and garner as much life experience as possible, and it's been a road lined with challenging growth.
I'm also amazed by how much my family has grown this year. It's been a tough year for many of us, especially due to my grandpa's stroke over the summer. While it's forced all of us to experience the aging process in an in-your-face sort of way, I truly think it has been an unlikely blessing. Watching my grandfather struggle to relearn basic skills through physical therapy has filled me with inspiration and reminded me that we continue to grow and learn until our very last breaths. I have gained a newfound appreciation for his quiet demeanor, and I have loved spending more one-on-one time with both my grandparents. Seeing my family members come together and sacrifice for each other has been a beautiful experience, and in some ways, I am thankful for this family crisis. We may not always get along or see eye-to-eye, but I am certain that we are a passionate family: rich in love, opinions, and a strong will to survive.
It would be a mistake not to reflect on my volunteering experiences with the Behavioral Care unit at ACH Child and Family Services in Fort Worth. For the small price of two hours a week, I'm filled up with joy, hope, and appreciation by the children in residence at ACH. I felt called to begin volunteering with children with behavioral concerns in May, and I truly look forward to my time with these kiddos as the best part of my week. Some of these children carry with them sad stories from their past, but all of them exude this brilliance that can only come from resilience. Truly, I have learned so much from them about the ability to find joy in the smallest of happenings, the ability to love despite maltreatment, and the courage to overcome difficult circumstances.
With that in mind, I'm ready to leave 2011 behind, not with a sense of spitefulness or discouragement, but with hope and excitement for the new things that 2012 will bring. My song for this year is Never Be Ready by Mat Kearney.
Come on lay down these arms, all our best defenses
We're taking our chances here on the run
The fear is an anchor, time is a stranger,
Love isn't borrowed, we aren't promised tomorrow
How true is that? Nothing is guaranteed in life, not even tomorrow. I want to enjoy every morsel of each day. Okay, that might be a tad unrealistic (after all, who enjoys sitting in tedious traffic or waiting in line at the grocery store?). Nevertheless, my goal for this year is to enjoy life a little more. Love a little more. Hug a little more. Blog a little more. Pray a little more Do yoga a little more. Smile a little more. Breathe deeply a little more.
I'm not looking for huge changes in 2012, but I'm looking for that elusive happiness in small happenings. If I focus on all the wonderful things that happen on a daily basis, I'm a lot less likely to focus on the things that aren't quite so wonderful. One things I know about myself is that I put off a lot things because I'm waiting to be "ready," but honestly, we all know the perfect moment isn't just going to drop into our laps. Tomorrow isn't promised, and sometimes, today is all we have. Every once in a while, you just have to take a leap of faith. So here's to leaping into 2012!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
On Fire
Greetings, friends! It's been quite a while since I've visited here. At first, I just didn't have anything exciting enough to write about, so I waited for inspiration to enter my thoughts. Then, I was too busy with writing papers for school. And now, here we are. Finally, something has shaken me out of a blogging writer's block. Have you ever had one of those weeks where you just couldn't wait for it to be over? Maybe you got a phone call with some tragic news, or maybe you lost your job. Maybe you had a bad break-up, or maybe you failed a test. The point is, we've all experienced that sense of exhaustion at the end of a difficult, madness-inducing week. The week isn't quite over yet, so I'm a bit hesitant to say this, but...I have survived a ridiculous week.
Earlier in the week, our house was broken into. It happened in broad daylight, and it happened even though the doors were locked. It happened even though we were careful and not flashy with all of our amazing wealth (please note the sarcasm). It happened even though we hadn't stolen anything from anyone else, and it happened even though we thought we had guarded our home against an invasion. It happened. Someone foreign was in our home, someone took our things, and someone chose to act selfishly. It was sad, it was scary, and it still feels surreal. I could talk about a sense of violation or a sense of fear, but in all honesty, those feelings faded away the moment I realized how thankful I am. I am safe, my family is safe, and the things stolen were just earthly things. In a strange way, I'm almost grateful to have had the experience. Don't get me wrong; I certainly won't be writing this burglar a thank-you card or sending him a batch of cupcakes. Instead of living in fear of another invasion, though, I'm taking this as an opporunity to remember the important things in life. At the end of the day, I get to call the most wonderful man I know and tell him I love him. I get to tell my beautiful Mama how lucky I am to have her, and I get to tell my brother how proud I am of him. That's something no burglar gets to take away.
I guess God decided that I needed an extra wake-up call, because today, one of my neighbor's houses caught on fire. With those Texas winds blowing strongly, there was a strong concern that the fire could spread to our own house. I have never been near a fire like that before, and I couldn't have predicted how smoky the atmosphere would be. As we stood outside watching the firefighters work to put out the fire, my lungs burned with the ash in the air, and my heart ached for the family whose home went up in flames. When they woke up this morning, I doubt that they thought, "Hmm I bet I'm going to lose most of what I own today, so I'd better eat a good breakfast." The inside of my own house still smells like smoke, and even though I've showered, I can still smell the smoke on my skin and in my hair. In a weird way, I don't want that to go away. Yes, it probably causes cancer, but what a reminder that we can rise from ashes. We can take those ashes to remember the crucial things in life, the things that make life worth living. In my opinion, that doesn't include flatscreen TVs, expensive shoes, computers, or family antiques. The crucial things in life are our relationships, and like it or not, those aren't permanent either. We're all living on borrowed time, so why not make the most of it?
Life is scary sometimes, but it can be a beautiful wake-up call. Wake up, and do something meaningful with your life today. Are you who you want to be? I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I only get one chance at this crazy life, and I don't want to waste it.
Earlier in the week, our house was broken into. It happened in broad daylight, and it happened even though the doors were locked. It happened even though we were careful and not flashy with all of our amazing wealth (please note the sarcasm). It happened even though we hadn't stolen anything from anyone else, and it happened even though we thought we had guarded our home against an invasion. It happened. Someone foreign was in our home, someone took our things, and someone chose to act selfishly. It was sad, it was scary, and it still feels surreal. I could talk about a sense of violation or a sense of fear, but in all honesty, those feelings faded away the moment I realized how thankful I am. I am safe, my family is safe, and the things stolen were just earthly things. In a strange way, I'm almost grateful to have had the experience. Don't get me wrong; I certainly won't be writing this burglar a thank-you card or sending him a batch of cupcakes. Instead of living in fear of another invasion, though, I'm taking this as an opporunity to remember the important things in life. At the end of the day, I get to call the most wonderful man I know and tell him I love him. I get to tell my beautiful Mama how lucky I am to have her, and I get to tell my brother how proud I am of him. That's something no burglar gets to take away.
I guess God decided that I needed an extra wake-up call, because today, one of my neighbor's houses caught on fire. With those Texas winds blowing strongly, there was a strong concern that the fire could spread to our own house. I have never been near a fire like that before, and I couldn't have predicted how smoky the atmosphere would be. As we stood outside watching the firefighters work to put out the fire, my lungs burned with the ash in the air, and my heart ached for the family whose home went up in flames. When they woke up this morning, I doubt that they thought, "Hmm I bet I'm going to lose most of what I own today, so I'd better eat a good breakfast." The inside of my own house still smells like smoke, and even though I've showered, I can still smell the smoke on my skin and in my hair. In a weird way, I don't want that to go away. Yes, it probably causes cancer, but what a reminder that we can rise from ashes. We can take those ashes to remember the crucial things in life, the things that make life worth living. In my opinion, that doesn't include flatscreen TVs, expensive shoes, computers, or family antiques. The crucial things in life are our relationships, and like it or not, those aren't permanent either. We're all living on borrowed time, so why not make the most of it?
Life is scary sometimes, but it can be a beautiful wake-up call. Wake up, and do something meaningful with your life today. Are you who you want to be? I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I only get one chance at this crazy life, and I don't want to waste it.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Waiting on the World to Change
As far as John Mayer fans go, I'm probably in that top tier of crazies. He's one of those artists I can listen to on repeat, and I hardly ever get sick of his music. BUT there is one song that I absolutely cannot stand: Waiting on the World to Change. Perhaps you're familiar with it. The actual music is fine, but the lyrics make me cringe, and I skip over it every time my iTunes shuffles to it.
Waiting on the world to change. I would argue that that mentality is exactly what's wrong with society. Too often, we wait for someone else to make the first move. We wait for someone to apologize before we forgive them. We wait to change our behavior until someone calls us out on it. We wait for a family member to get sick before we make those sacrifices to see them more often. We wait for others to change so we can have a stronger, happier relationship. We wait for someone to write a law or cite a Scripture verse that tells us the "right" thing to do. In a society that promotes impulsivity and immediate gratification, I find all this waiting paradoxical. Beautiful and heart-sickening, isn't it?
Now, I realize that when you point a finger at someone else, you're pointing three fingers back at yourself. I will readily admit, I'm guilty of this, too.
My question to myself is, "Why wait? Why not be that force that sets more change in motion?" In the vast amounts of wisdom I've accumulated since turning 22 (please note the sarcasm in that), I've realized that the world doesn't wait for anyone, so why would you wait for the entire world to change? You can't change the rest of the world; you can only change yourself. When you change yourself, you change your world.
It's easy to get caught up in the madness of trying to be an exceptional (or even an adequate) student, employee, spouse, parent, or friend. Being a human is hard enough without all the roles we adopt for ourselves. But why not make it worth your while by spicing things up? Do something different today, and see how it changes your world.
Waiting on the world to change. I would argue that that mentality is exactly what's wrong with society. Too often, we wait for someone else to make the first move. We wait for someone to apologize before we forgive them. We wait to change our behavior until someone calls us out on it. We wait for a family member to get sick before we make those sacrifices to see them more often. We wait for others to change so we can have a stronger, happier relationship. We wait for someone to write a law or cite a Scripture verse that tells us the "right" thing to do. In a society that promotes impulsivity and immediate gratification, I find all this waiting paradoxical. Beautiful and heart-sickening, isn't it?
Now, I realize that when you point a finger at someone else, you're pointing three fingers back at yourself. I will readily admit, I'm guilty of this, too.
My question to myself is, "Why wait? Why not be that force that sets more change in motion?" In the vast amounts of wisdom I've accumulated since turning 22 (please note the sarcasm in that), I've realized that the world doesn't wait for anyone, so why would you wait for the entire world to change? You can't change the rest of the world; you can only change yourself. When you change yourself, you change your world.
It's easy to get caught up in the madness of trying to be an exceptional (or even an adequate) student, employee, spouse, parent, or friend. Being a human is hard enough without all the roles we adopt for ourselves. But why not make it worth your while by spicing things up? Do something different today, and see how it changes your world.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Who am I?
Recently, I've rediscovered my love for the show House. You know, the one with the not-so-nice doctor who habitually gulps down Vicodin and then saves people's lives. Yes, I'm aware that this is a hallmark example of ridiculous prime time television that is not at all congruent with the actual practice of medicine. Yes, I realize that acting that way in real life will most certainly end in a malpractice suit...take note, med school friends. I must admit, though, I find the character of Dr. House fascinating. He's cantankerous at best, overly self-involved, and brilliant at diagnostics. He's a soul in torment, haunted by his own health issues and the ghosts of his past relationships. In one episode, another character on the show commented that House is afraid to let himself be happy in a relationship because he's afraid that his misery is what makes him who he is. He's afraid that if he allows himself to be happy, he'll lose that edge that identifies him as special, that keeps him objective, and what makes him known in his field. At first, I thought something along the lines of "that's ridiculous," and then I realized that I can see that in myself, at times.
I worry. I could waste lines and lines here listing the things of the past, present, and future that I dedicate worrying to, but I won't. I'm learning to let go, and I'm realizing that this has to be self-taught. No matter how many people tell me, "Don't worry, it'll be ok," that doesn't change me. That doesn't change the roots of my worry, and that doesn't change the way that I respond to my worries. Worry can be protective in some ways; it can lead to planning and action, which could lead to a path of future success, or it could save someone's life in an emergency situation. When worry ceases to be protective, however, is when it does not lead to action. Worrying without limits is like weeds in a garden; it eventually chokes out the goodness.
I'm coming to realize that I often tend to over-identify with my worries as a core part of who I am. Part of me wants this to change, and the other part of me isn't ready to give it up yet (homeostasis, anyone?). I feel comfortable with my worry, and giving up that worry means trusting others and God....which is a whole other blog topic. Whenever I'm feeling overwhelmed with my endless search for finding ways to manage my worries, I remind myself that it's a process. It takes time. Worry has plagued humanity since ancient times. I am more than my worry, and it's simply a piece of the puzzle of me.
What are you hesitant to give up about yourself?
I worry. I could waste lines and lines here listing the things of the past, present, and future that I dedicate worrying to, but I won't. I'm learning to let go, and I'm realizing that this has to be self-taught. No matter how many people tell me, "Don't worry, it'll be ok," that doesn't change me. That doesn't change the roots of my worry, and that doesn't change the way that I respond to my worries. Worry can be protective in some ways; it can lead to planning and action, which could lead to a path of future success, or it could save someone's life in an emergency situation. When worry ceases to be protective, however, is when it does not lead to action. Worrying without limits is like weeds in a garden; it eventually chokes out the goodness.
I'm coming to realize that I often tend to over-identify with my worries as a core part of who I am. Part of me wants this to change, and the other part of me isn't ready to give it up yet (homeostasis, anyone?). I feel comfortable with my worry, and giving up that worry means trusting others and God....which is a whole other blog topic. Whenever I'm feeling overwhelmed with my endless search for finding ways to manage my worries, I remind myself that it's a process. It takes time. Worry has plagued humanity since ancient times. I am more than my worry, and it's simply a piece of the puzzle of me.
What are you hesitant to give up about yourself?
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Self Discovery
Greetings, friends! It's taken me quite a while to get back into blogging. The last part of the summer semester became quite busy, and I spent the vast majority of my free time reading and researching for several papers and final exams. All went well, and now I have two weeks off. What am I going to be doing with my two weeks off, you're wondering? Reading, of course! This time, I'll be reading a few books for personal enjoyment. For a book nerd like me, this sounds like perfection :) Don't judge.
Over the past few weeks, I feel like I've been rediscovering all these wonderful parts of myself that I had forgotten existed. Somewhere along the way, I began to define myself primarily on the basis of my academic achievements and my dedication to responsible behavior. More often than not, it's easy for me to forget the importance of relaxing and not taking things too seriously. It's like a knee-jerk reaction for me to save money, to stay on schedule, and to keep studying even when I don't feel like it. Lucky for me, I have some wonderful people in my life that complement my restricting impulses and remind me not to take life too seriously. After all, no one gets out alive. For the times that I've forgotten to show you appreciation, thank you.
Lately, I've been getting more in touch with my creative side. Growing up, I always described my brother as getting all the creative genes. He was better than me at creating music, drawing, singing, and analyzing movies. He's still probably better than me at all those things, but I've realized that an enjoyment of my own natural creativity isn't necessarily contingent on my actual ability. One of the best gifts I've ever received was a camera for my college graduation. Over the past few months, I have become even more enamored with the everyday delights of nature and daily life. Life is beautiful. When I can't find the words to express my sentiments, my camera lens is my voice. I may not be an Ansel Adams or an Annie Leibovitz. My work will probably not be feautured on the front page of Time Magazine. That won't stop me from enjoying photography. It's a fun way capture memories, and it's a way for me to continuously savor nature's goodness.
I've also learned to embrace physical exercise and my (slight) competitive streak. I believe physical activity is an important part of a balanced life, but I'm not always the best example of that. However, I do try to instill that value in the children with whom I work and volunteer. Honestly, they've re-taught me that working out can be fun and a way to bond. We do yoga nearly every day, and we play soccer, basketball, and kickball. It's been a blast, and it's one of those moments when you realize that for a moment, you stop being the teacher and the kids take the initiative. I didn't play a lot of sports growing up, and I'm not sure I'll push organized sports on my own children someday. I do believe in the power of activities that teach teamwork and encourage movement, though. Besides, a backyard game of basketball seems much more preferable to sitting inside and playing videogames.
I feel like this a time of growth for me. In a way, that makes me feel like I'm "on track," since lots of people say that personal growth is the purpose of your twenties. I do try to remind myself, though, that it's not about being "on time" or "behind" or "ahead of the game." It's about loving yourself, and it's about soaking up the simple things in life. I'm excited for all the growth that the rest of my twenties has in store, and I'm looking forward to all the other pieces of myself that I have yet to discover. What can you still learn about yourselves, dear friends?
Over the past few weeks, I feel like I've been rediscovering all these wonderful parts of myself that I had forgotten existed. Somewhere along the way, I began to define myself primarily on the basis of my academic achievements and my dedication to responsible behavior. More often than not, it's easy for me to forget the importance of relaxing and not taking things too seriously. It's like a knee-jerk reaction for me to save money, to stay on schedule, and to keep studying even when I don't feel like it. Lucky for me, I have some wonderful people in my life that complement my restricting impulses and remind me not to take life too seriously. After all, no one gets out alive. For the times that I've forgotten to show you appreciation, thank you.
Lately, I've been getting more in touch with my creative side. Growing up, I always described my brother as getting all the creative genes. He was better than me at creating music, drawing, singing, and analyzing movies. He's still probably better than me at all those things, but I've realized that an enjoyment of my own natural creativity isn't necessarily contingent on my actual ability. One of the best gifts I've ever received was a camera for my college graduation. Over the past few months, I have become even more enamored with the everyday delights of nature and daily life. Life is beautiful. When I can't find the words to express my sentiments, my camera lens is my voice. I may not be an Ansel Adams or an Annie Leibovitz. My work will probably not be feautured on the front page of Time Magazine. That won't stop me from enjoying photography. It's a fun way capture memories, and it's a way for me to continuously savor nature's goodness.
I've also learned to embrace physical exercise and my (slight) competitive streak. I believe physical activity is an important part of a balanced life, but I'm not always the best example of that. However, I do try to instill that value in the children with whom I work and volunteer. Honestly, they've re-taught me that working out can be fun and a way to bond. We do yoga nearly every day, and we play soccer, basketball, and kickball. It's been a blast, and it's one of those moments when you realize that for a moment, you stop being the teacher and the kids take the initiative. I didn't play a lot of sports growing up, and I'm not sure I'll push organized sports on my own children someday. I do believe in the power of activities that teach teamwork and encourage movement, though. Besides, a backyard game of basketball seems much more preferable to sitting inside and playing videogames.
I feel like this a time of growth for me. In a way, that makes me feel like I'm "on track," since lots of people say that personal growth is the purpose of your twenties. I do try to remind myself, though, that it's not about being "on time" or "behind" or "ahead of the game." It's about loving yourself, and it's about soaking up the simple things in life. I'm excited for all the growth that the rest of my twenties has in store, and I'm looking forward to all the other pieces of myself that I have yet to discover. What can you still learn about yourselves, dear friends?
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Top Eight Ways to Know.... Grad Student Edition
Top eight ways to know you're a graduate student:
- Your eyes don't work as well when they're not starting at a computer screen.
- You don't ever leave home without at least one book...just in case you have time to study somewhere.
- You spend a ridiculous amount of time on the phone with classmates debating about endless possibilities for assignments, only to decide you really have no idea.
- Your scrapbook should probably contain words like "literature review," "hypotheses," "theory," and "clinical implications."
- You work late into the night, and at some point, you think about going to bed then decide against it because an extra hour of sleep isn't really going to make that much of a difference anyways.
- You actually decide to get excited about writing a thesis.
- You decide you need smaller handwriting to fit everything into the boxes on your planner.
- Your daily mantra consists of "I chose to do more school, I chose to do more school..."
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Staring at a Car Crash
We've all had that experience. You're driving along, taking a sip of a drink or singing along to the radio or talking to your best friend. You're on the interstate, and traffic is light. That's a cause for celebration enough as it is. Suddenly, traffic screeches to a halt. I don't know about you, but that certainly fills me with at least a mild sense of irritation. As you become re-acquainted with your brake pedal, you think "there had better be a reason for all this traffic..." Sometimes there isn't. It's just an inexplainable feat of nature that cars like to stop on the highway for no apparent reason. Usually, though, there's an explanation.
Today, I was reminded of that reason. I was on my way home, wondering why traffic seemed to stop so suddenly. Luckily, I was one of the first cars in the slowdown, so I quickly assessed the situation and realized why cars on both sides of the highway were slowed down to almost 20. On the opposite side, about five cars were pulled over to the shoulder. Several people were running down the side of the road, and others were standing next to their cars making phone calls. One truck had a shattered windshield and a door that was crushed into its core. I thought to myself, "Wow, this must have been a really bad accident to involve so many cars." Then, I was confused because none of the other cars seemed damaged. Suddenly, a realization burst into my head. All these people weren't in the accident themselves; they had stopped to help someone who was trapped in the car.
What a sobering thought. Immediately, it filled me with warmth that a stranger, a modern day Good Samaritan, would stop to help someone in trouble. With all the stories of pain and anguish we're pummeled with each day, it's hard to remember that our world is still filled with such good. What kindness, what love, and what selflessness it must take to get out of your car on a 102-degree day in Texas to help someone in trouble. I consider myself a "nice" person, and I'm almost always willing to lend a helping hand, but I think I'd be stretching it if I said that I would jump out of my car to help someone. Wow.
Then, another thought rocked my brain. It seems to be the obligatory question I find myself asking whenever I witness an accident scene: What if that was me? Would I even be aware of all the people desperate to help me? Would I myself be desperate and fight to live, or would I be tired of pain and let myself slip away? Who would notice if I was gone? How long would my family mourn? What sort of legacy would I leave? In ten years, would my friends remember that I had once walked this earth? What would I miss the most?
You see, people that die in immediate accidents don't even have the luxury of a diagnosis where the doctor says, "You have six months to live." There is no time to mend broken relationships, visit dream destinations, or enjoy a long-awaited book. The end can be long and drawn out and filled with pain, but it can also be immediate, shocking, and irreversible. All endings have the potential to be tragic. Even if I am meant to end in a terrible accident, I don't want to be a tragic story of someone who lived their life for "If only..."
I have so many plans for my life, and yes: I make lists. I know that I won't mark off everything on my to-do list, and I know that I won't accomplish every goal I set. In my mind, I can have a happy ending without all that. At the end of the day, I count it as a happy ending if I smiled even once and if I told (and showed) at least one person that I love them. If I can do those two things, I consider the day to be just what it is: a beautiful piece of life. And that's good enough for me.
Stay safe, friends.
Today, I was reminded of that reason. I was on my way home, wondering why traffic seemed to stop so suddenly. Luckily, I was one of the first cars in the slowdown, so I quickly assessed the situation and realized why cars on both sides of the highway were slowed down to almost 20. On the opposite side, about five cars were pulled over to the shoulder. Several people were running down the side of the road, and others were standing next to their cars making phone calls. One truck had a shattered windshield and a door that was crushed into its core. I thought to myself, "Wow, this must have been a really bad accident to involve so many cars." Then, I was confused because none of the other cars seemed damaged. Suddenly, a realization burst into my head. All these people weren't in the accident themselves; they had stopped to help someone who was trapped in the car.
What a sobering thought. Immediately, it filled me with warmth that a stranger, a modern day Good Samaritan, would stop to help someone in trouble. With all the stories of pain and anguish we're pummeled with each day, it's hard to remember that our world is still filled with such good. What kindness, what love, and what selflessness it must take to get out of your car on a 102-degree day in Texas to help someone in trouble. I consider myself a "nice" person, and I'm almost always willing to lend a helping hand, but I think I'd be stretching it if I said that I would jump out of my car to help someone. Wow.
Then, another thought rocked my brain. It seems to be the obligatory question I find myself asking whenever I witness an accident scene: What if that was me? Would I even be aware of all the people desperate to help me? Would I myself be desperate and fight to live, or would I be tired of pain and let myself slip away? Who would notice if I was gone? How long would my family mourn? What sort of legacy would I leave? In ten years, would my friends remember that I had once walked this earth? What would I miss the most?
You see, people that die in immediate accidents don't even have the luxury of a diagnosis where the doctor says, "You have six months to live." There is no time to mend broken relationships, visit dream destinations, or enjoy a long-awaited book. The end can be long and drawn out and filled with pain, but it can also be immediate, shocking, and irreversible. All endings have the potential to be tragic. Even if I am meant to end in a terrible accident, I don't want to be a tragic story of someone who lived their life for "If only..."
I have so many plans for my life, and yes: I make lists. I know that I won't mark off everything on my to-do list, and I know that I won't accomplish every goal I set. In my mind, I can have a happy ending without all that. At the end of the day, I count it as a happy ending if I smiled even once and if I told (and showed) at least one person that I love them. If I can do those two things, I consider the day to be just what it is: a beautiful piece of life. And that's good enough for me.
Stay safe, friends.
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Loss of Innocence
Picture a world like this: Families eat meals in front of the television, and drive through dinners between soccer games and ballet practice are the norm. Six year-olds have iPods, and many ten year-olds have their own cell phones. Texting becomes more popular than actually talking to friends in person, and twelve year olds aspire to be tattoo artists. It's either too hot or too cold to play outside, and children would prefer to play a video game, anyways. Reading is boring, and math isn't necessary. College is seen as a waste of time, and some children have seen more R-rated movies than adults. Half of children spend time living in a one-parent household, and eight year-olds know what a threesome is.
Sound like some sort of classic literary dystopia? Nope. Welcome to modern day America.
To be fair, that description above doesn't fit every family, and it doesn't fit every community. As a teacher, it's heartbreaking how many families that does apply to, and it's disconcerting to think about the future of America's children. "A loss of innocence" comes to mind, and at times, I wonder if some children ever even had a chance to be innocent?
It seems like madness, and it's all too easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of confusion and blame. One simple question is repeatedly raised: Who is to blame for this mess?? Is it parents, who are overly stressed and overworked and exhausted? Is it teachers, who don't have adequate training and are expected to supervise and teach excessive numbers of children? Is it school counselors, who are assigned more students than they can possibly manage? What about pastors of churches, who don't serve as adequate role models? Is it celebrities, who set bad examples? Is it politicians, who ignore education initiatives and cut funding in valuable programs?
The answer is probably yes, all the above. I grew up with the mantra, "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem." No one can "fix" the issue, and no one can "save" a family or a child at risk. Small steps are all we can do, but what an impact small steps can make in a world that just needs some sunshine. Make an investment in a child today, and commit to filling them with hope, one day at a time.
Sound like some sort of classic literary dystopia? Nope. Welcome to modern day America.
To be fair, that description above doesn't fit every family, and it doesn't fit every community. As a teacher, it's heartbreaking how many families that does apply to, and it's disconcerting to think about the future of America's children. "A loss of innocence" comes to mind, and at times, I wonder if some children ever even had a chance to be innocent?
It seems like madness, and it's all too easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of confusion and blame. One simple question is repeatedly raised: Who is to blame for this mess?? Is it parents, who are overly stressed and overworked and exhausted? Is it teachers, who don't have adequate training and are expected to supervise and teach excessive numbers of children? Is it school counselors, who are assigned more students than they can possibly manage? What about pastors of churches, who don't serve as adequate role models? Is it celebrities, who set bad examples? Is it politicians, who ignore education initiatives and cut funding in valuable programs?
The answer is probably yes, all the above. I grew up with the mantra, "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem." No one can "fix" the issue, and no one can "save" a family or a child at risk. Small steps are all we can do, but what an impact small steps can make in a world that just needs some sunshine. Make an investment in a child today, and commit to filling them with hope, one day at a time.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Top Five Ways to Know....
Top five ways to know you're frugal:
- You alternate between A/C and just the fan in the car to get better gas mileage - I swear it works!.
- You think it's ridiculous to pay $1 for Sonic Happy Hour when you can pay less than that for a 2 liter of soda at the grocery store.
- You decide between buying generic or name brand vegetables by the fact that generic saves you 7 cents.
- You do homework with the ceiling fan lights off and just a desk lamp because it probably saves more electricity.
- You keep the house thermostat at 80 and freeze in places where it's kept at under 78.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
No Other Way
I have this song. This song calms me when I'm troubled and when my heart has grown weary. Sometimes, it's my only source of solace on the days when I'm painfully reminded that I don't have all the answers. This song fills a void in me, and it quiets my thoughts so I can sleep. The melody is so achingly beautiful, and it makes me want to smile and cry at the same time. If my soul had a sound, it would be this song. This song wraps up all the pieces of my thoughts and makes them okay. This song reminds me that words can fall short sometimes, and sometimes, there's no other way than the hard way.
Friday, July 8, 2011
The Journey of All Journeys
Dear friends, I must like you an awful lot. Why, you ask? It's simple. When I asked for suggestions about what to write my next post about, you provided me with a variety of...eclectic....topics to choose from. Rather than pick just one topic that jumped out at me, I've taken on the immense task of incorporating all suggested topics into a short story. This is certainly a genre that I have not ventured into for quite some time, so please pardon the amateurism. Nevertheless, I hope it makes the corners of your mouth crinkle into a small smile :) Happy Friday!
Over the years, Lottie, Jeannie, and Sammy began to spend less of their time sneaking roast beef sandwiches and more time practicing their soccer skills. They were recruited by university teams, and they ultimately joined the USA Women's National Team. Their fans went wild at their games, watching them streak across the field as if they were sparks of lightning. They seemed unstoppable, and they found all eyes upon them during the 2011 Women's World Cup. They were elated when they realized that the tournament would be held in their hometown of Dallas. The three little mice were sure this was a good sign.
Lottie decided that if she was going to think of a plan to get them out of this mess, she was going to need a snack. She took a peanut butter sandwich out of her backpack and took a gigantic bite. By the time the peanut butter touched her tongue, she had already spit it out. "This is NOT my natural peanut butter!!!! I cannot eat this hydrogenated excuse for food! Who switched my sandwich??" Jeannie looked sheepish, and mumbled, "I'm sorry, I was hungry..." Sammy reminded everyone to just take a deep breath and remember that they were teammates and friends. They would get through this together.
Once upon a time, there were three little mice: Lottie, Jeannie, and Sammy. Now, these were no ordinary mice. These mice were superstars in the world of rodents, for they had set out on an incredible journey. They had been best friends since they were in elementary school in Dallas, TX, and they had bonded over their mutual love of roast beef sandwiches. They were, in fact, known for their habit of concocting rather elaborate schemes to skip class and sneak into the school cafeteria. They would hide behind the lunch counter, nibbling on bits of roast beef and telling of their dreams of greatness. In their P.E. class, they had all realized that they had an unusual talent for the sport of soccer.
Over the years, Lottie, Jeannie, and Sammy began to spend less of their time sneaking roast beef sandwiches and more time practicing their soccer skills. They were recruited by university teams, and they ultimately joined the USA Women's National Team. Their fans went wild at their games, watching them streak across the field as if they were sparks of lightning. They seemed unstoppable, and they found all eyes upon them during the 2011 Women's World Cup. They were elated when they realized that the tournament would be held in their hometown of Dallas. The three little mice were sure this was a good sign.
On the morning of the big game against Brazil, Lottie, Jeannie, and Sammy piled into Lottie's little mousemobile. The game was scheduled to begin at 11 am, and they left Lottie's house at 7 am. Surely, they thought, this will give us enough time. They pulled out onto the interstate, their hearts light and their thoughts focused. Suddenly, the traffic screeched to a halt. "Not to worry," Lottie reassured her dear friends. "We have plenty of time, and we left early." Jeannie and Sammy didn't worry, and they continued to chatter about the upcoming game. After about ten minutes and 0.1 miles, Lottie felt a lump tighten in her throat. On the side of the road, there was the most ominous looking sign she had ever seen. She read aloud, "Travel time to I-635 from this point: 4.5 hours." The three little mice gasped, and their hearts began to pound in their chests. Sammy whimpered, "Now we'll never make it on-time! What are we going to do??"
Jeannie tried to lighten the mood with a joke. "Hey guys, how many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?" Lottie and Sammy looked at her warily. "None. The light bulb has to change itself!" Jeannie, the littlest mouse, cracked up, but Lottie and Sammy didn't seem to find it funny.
Lottie decided that if she was going to think of a plan to get them out of this mess, she was going to need a snack. She took a peanut butter sandwich out of her backpack and took a gigantic bite. By the time the peanut butter touched her tongue, she had already spit it out. "This is NOT my natural peanut butter!!!! I cannot eat this hydrogenated excuse for food! Who switched my sandwich??" Jeannie looked sheepish, and mumbled, "I'm sorry, I was hungry..." Sammy reminded everyone to just take a deep breath and remember that they were teammates and friends. They would get through this together.
Eventually, Lottie found a way to detour around the mounds of traffic, and they made it to the game with two hours to spare. They dominated Brazil, and they found themselves national heroes, once again. They were adored by their fans, and they were even invited to lead an expedition into outer space. In space, they discovered a brand new kind of flea powder that was made from moon rocks, and they made sure to bring plenty of natural peanut butter sandwiches to feed Lottie’s addiction. After spending a few years on the moon, they decided they missed Earth, and maybe even the Dallas traffic. They began their journey home, and they lived happily ever after.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
The Potential Problem
Friends, "potential" is a funny word. Funny how, you may ask? Think about the word. Potential. It just rolls off your tongue, and it sounds smooth. But how do we know what "potential" means? My guess is, it's a smooth sounding word with a rather rough meaning.
I grew up going to private schools, so I heard the word "potential" a lot. I have a mom who told me I was blessed with so much "potential" and that I should find something to do to put all that "potential" to use. I had teachers who told me I had so many "potential" options, and I got to the point where I picked a "potential" option to showcase my "potential," and I didn't look back. This word became so ingrained in my self, I've realized I spend an inordinate amount of time patiently trying to teach 6 year-olds what the word means. Potential.
In some cases, potential is easy to measure. We can measure how many trophies we win, how many journal articles we publish, how many children we have, how many miles we run, and how many countries we visit. Especially if you're scientifically-minded, you can probably measure (or at least try to measure) everything in God's great creation, and you just might reach your potential goal. But how do you know when you're done? How do you know when you've fully developed your potential? How do you know when you've accomplished all you can potentially accomplish?
This has been bothering me for the better part of the afternoon. There's some magnificent thought lurking in the shadows of my consciousness, and I can't quite draw it out of hiding. Maybe it's the fact that "reaching your potential" implies that you know exactly what you're capable of. I would argue that you don't know what you're capable of until you actually do it. You don't know how fast you can run until you surpass your previous record. You don't know how much hate you're capable of until you surprise even yourself. You don't know how much love you're capable of until you exceed the greatest amount of love you thought you could ever have.
And so, my solution is to keep on striving to reach that unknown constant: potential. You never know what you're capable of until you actually do it, so never give up.
I grew up going to private schools, so I heard the word "potential" a lot. I have a mom who told me I was blessed with so much "potential" and that I should find something to do to put all that "potential" to use. I had teachers who told me I had so many "potential" options, and I got to the point where I picked a "potential" option to showcase my "potential," and I didn't look back. This word became so ingrained in my self, I've realized I spend an inordinate amount of time patiently trying to teach 6 year-olds what the word means. Potential.
In some cases, potential is easy to measure. We can measure how many trophies we win, how many journal articles we publish, how many children we have, how many miles we run, and how many countries we visit. Especially if you're scientifically-minded, you can probably measure (or at least try to measure) everything in God's great creation, and you just might reach your potential goal. But how do you know when you're done? How do you know when you've fully developed your potential? How do you know when you've accomplished all you can potentially accomplish?
This has been bothering me for the better part of the afternoon. There's some magnificent thought lurking in the shadows of my consciousness, and I can't quite draw it out of hiding. Maybe it's the fact that "reaching your potential" implies that you know exactly what you're capable of. I would argue that you don't know what you're capable of until you actually do it. You don't know how fast you can run until you surpass your previous record. You don't know how much hate you're capable of until you surprise even yourself. You don't know how much love you're capable of until you exceed the greatest amount of love you thought you could ever have.
And so, my solution is to keep on striving to reach that unknown constant: potential. You never know what you're capable of until you actually do it, so never give up.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
God Bless Americupcakes
For a blog entitled "Cupcakes and Musings," I've realized how pitifully scant my posts about cupcakes are. This is my attempt to remedy that. To cupcakes out there that I've failed to acknowledge, I apologize. I won't let it happen again. And to everyone else, happy early 4th of July :)
Saturday, June 25, 2011
The Calculation of Risk
Hello, dear friends! It's been a few weeks since I last posted here. The Texas summer heat has certainly arrived, bringing along hot breezes, mosquitos, and beautiful sunsets. For some lucky souls, summer is a time of refuge - days are spent at the pool, on vacation, or simply on the couch in the a/c. This summer, however, I'm working, volunteering, and taking 3 summer classes. Sound easy? A few months ago when I registered for classes, I thought so, too. Don't get me wrong; I love what I'm studying, and I'm eager to learn more. Still, I'm counting down the days til my last final of the summer: 48!
Today's topic is centered around the idea of risk. Andrew and I had a fun conversation about this today, and it really sparked my thoughts. Just how much risk is too much, and how much is too little? I'm sure there are people who would love to argue that there's no such thing as too much risk, and there's probably those of you who would love to say that risk is just too risky, and any bit is too much. There's so many thoughts churning through my poor graduate studies-drenched brain right now, it's hard to keep them all straight.
What motivates us to take risks? Before I could begin to ponder this, I felt that I needed a solid definition of "risk." According to Mr. Webster, risk is "the possibility of loss or injury, someone or something that creates or suggests a hazard," and several other ominous sounding things. I read these definitions, and I found myself wondering, why on earth would anyone want to take a risk if they're going to lose something? And then I realized the subtle cleverness of this definition: risk is the possibility of loss or injury. It's not a promise of a negative side effect, but the mere possibility. People don't take risks unless they feel like they have something to gain. People who take risks are dreamers; they probably know what's at stake, and they probably know the consequences of their actions if they fail. But if you succeed in reaching insert-your-personal-goal-here, the risk is worth it.
Some of us like to think that we're invincible, and we take lots of risks. We think, that'll never happen to me. And maybe it doesn't. Maybe we're lucky, and we live another day and another after that. Some of us like to think that we're incredibly vulnerable, and we shy away from risks. We worry about what could happen and what might happen. We live safe lives, but we probably always wonder what's out there.
Risk is everywhere. It's so easily apparent, it's easy to miss. How's that for a paradox? We take a risk when we fall in love, when we drive in a car, when we walk on the sidewalk. We take a risk when we sit on our couch (because all that sedentary activity might lead to obesity), and we take a risk when we go running outside (because you might overwork yourself and give yourself a heart attack). We take a risk when we learn to walk, and we take a risk when we apply for a job. We take a risk when we climb a mountain, and we take a risk when we share a secret with someone. Life is full of risk. Maybe life even is risk itself. (At this point, I've typed 'risk' so many types, it's looking like a made-up word)
And so, my friends, I have no answer for you. I don't know how much risk is too much, or if there is such a thing as too much. I can only say what I know to be true for myself. I can't avoid risk, so I must embrace it and all the possibilities it brings. I think 5 steps ahead, even though I know my plans will change. Still, I'd rather take a few risks than wait for life to develop on its own. I don't want to miss out just because I'm afraid of a possibility. As the great Michelangelo once said, "The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark.”
Today's topic is centered around the idea of risk. Andrew and I had a fun conversation about this today, and it really sparked my thoughts. Just how much risk is too much, and how much is too little? I'm sure there are people who would love to argue that there's no such thing as too much risk, and there's probably those of you who would love to say that risk is just too risky, and any bit is too much. There's so many thoughts churning through my poor graduate studies-drenched brain right now, it's hard to keep them all straight.
What motivates us to take risks? Before I could begin to ponder this, I felt that I needed a solid definition of "risk." According to Mr. Webster, risk is "the possibility of loss or injury, someone or something that creates or suggests a hazard," and several other ominous sounding things. I read these definitions, and I found myself wondering, why on earth would anyone want to take a risk if they're going to lose something? And then I realized the subtle cleverness of this definition: risk is the possibility of loss or injury. It's not a promise of a negative side effect, but the mere possibility. People don't take risks unless they feel like they have something to gain. People who take risks are dreamers; they probably know what's at stake, and they probably know the consequences of their actions if they fail. But if you succeed in reaching insert-your-personal-goal-here, the risk is worth it.
Some of us like to think that we're invincible, and we take lots of risks. We think, that'll never happen to me. And maybe it doesn't. Maybe we're lucky, and we live another day and another after that. Some of us like to think that we're incredibly vulnerable, and we shy away from risks. We worry about what could happen and what might happen. We live safe lives, but we probably always wonder what's out there.
Risk is everywhere. It's so easily apparent, it's easy to miss. How's that for a paradox? We take a risk when we fall in love, when we drive in a car, when we walk on the sidewalk. We take a risk when we sit on our couch (because all that sedentary activity might lead to obesity), and we take a risk when we go running outside (because you might overwork yourself and give yourself a heart attack). We take a risk when we learn to walk, and we take a risk when we apply for a job. We take a risk when we climb a mountain, and we take a risk when we share a secret with someone. Life is full of risk. Maybe life even is risk itself. (At this point, I've typed 'risk' so many types, it's looking like a made-up word)
And so, my friends, I have no answer for you. I don't know how much risk is too much, or if there is such a thing as too much. I can only say what I know to be true for myself. I can't avoid risk, so I must embrace it and all the possibilities it brings. I think 5 steps ahead, even though I know my plans will change. Still, I'd rather take a few risks than wait for life to develop on its own. I don't want to miss out just because I'm afraid of a possibility. As the great Michelangelo once said, "The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark.”
Sunday, June 5, 2011
A Bird's Eye View
I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine. (You know I'm desperate to get a puppy when I start naming the neighborhood wildlife... But that's another story for another time.) Today, I learned some unexpected lessons in family life from some mockingbirds.
About two weeks ago, two mockingbirds began building a nest in the woodwork above my backyard patio. I began to doubt that there would be any eggs waiting in this nest because it seemed so quiet, but the two birds busily continued to add twigs and weeds to their home. Days went by, and I kept checking for signs of baby birds to fawn over, but there was no such luck.
This morning, I awoke to the sounds of excited chirping from the backyard. The baby birds had finally arrived! All day, I've been fascinated with watching them through the window and from below on the patio. There's a tangible tingle of excitement in the air; I'm not even in the same species as these birds, and I can tell they're excited.
Like I said, I've been enamored with these birds all day. The mama and daddy birds were very clever with the placement of the nest - it's nearly impossible to get a good look at the new little birds. Being my curious, troublesome self, I was determined to get a long glimpse of these new babies, and I wanted to snap a photo. So I stood on a patio chair to get a closer look, making sure that the parent birds weren't in sight. Just when I was about to take a picture of the three most precious baby birds, one of the angry parents swooped at my head with lots of angry cries as the other watched closely nearby. Of course, I screamed and jumped off the chair and ran away. Really brave, right? As I retreated to the other corner of the patio to catch my breath, I realized that I had just witnessed some stellar parenting skills.
These mockingbirds are fierce protectors of their young, as I learned today. They plan ahead, and they're not impulsive. They're not helicopter parents, and they don't hover over the nest needlessly. They return every so often with some food for their little ones, and they strike swiftly at the first sign of trouble. The two parents work together as a team, and they both seem to have each other's back. I have to say, I admire that. Not being a parent myself, I can only imagine how difficult it is to strike that balance between protection and smothering. It seems like these mockingbirds have it right, though, and it's only their first day of parenting. Pretty impressive, I think.
About two weeks ago, two mockingbirds began building a nest in the woodwork above my backyard patio. I began to doubt that there would be any eggs waiting in this nest because it seemed so quiet, but the two birds busily continued to add twigs and weeds to their home. Days went by, and I kept checking for signs of baby birds to fawn over, but there was no such luck.
This morning, I awoke to the sounds of excited chirping from the backyard. The baby birds had finally arrived! All day, I've been fascinated with watching them through the window and from below on the patio. There's a tangible tingle of excitement in the air; I'm not even in the same species as these birds, and I can tell they're excited.
Like I said, I've been enamored with these birds all day. The mama and daddy birds were very clever with the placement of the nest - it's nearly impossible to get a good look at the new little birds. Being my curious, troublesome self, I was determined to get a long glimpse of these new babies, and I wanted to snap a photo. So I stood on a patio chair to get a closer look, making sure that the parent birds weren't in sight. Just when I was about to take a picture of the three most precious baby birds, one of the angry parents swooped at my head with lots of angry cries as the other watched closely nearby. Of course, I screamed and jumped off the chair and ran away. Really brave, right? As I retreated to the other corner of the patio to catch my breath, I realized that I had just witnessed some stellar parenting skills.
These mockingbirds are fierce protectors of their young, as I learned today. They plan ahead, and they're not impulsive. They're not helicopter parents, and they don't hover over the nest needlessly. They return every so often with some food for their little ones, and they strike swiftly at the first sign of trouble. The two parents work together as a team, and they both seem to have each other's back. I have to say, I admire that. Not being a parent myself, I can only imagine how difficult it is to strike that balance between protection and smothering. It seems like these mockingbirds have it right, though, and it's only their first day of parenting. Pretty impressive, I think.
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| Baby birds' nest (this was the closest I was allowed to get, haha) |
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| Mama Bird - "Scout" |
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| Daddy Bird - "Felix" |
Friday, May 27, 2011
Change of Plans
Have you ever thought about how one little thing can change the entire rest of your life? For some reason, I've been thinking about this concept a lot lately. As I reminisce about the plans I've had for myself over the past several years, I simply have to laugh. In my senior year of high school, I was sure I would enroll the following year in one of the new Ivy League schools. I was confident that I would continue dating the same guy through the summer and into the first year of college. I couldn't imagine not coming home for holidays to my house on Crowley Road. I resolved to no longer be an overachiever; I was going to be a "normal" college kid, and I wasn't going to get involved in extracurricular activities. I think we all know how that one turned out...
In an ironic way, I'm so thankful for all the plans that were foiled and all the "important" things I missed out on. Life is full of "what if" questions, and I rarely allow myself to entertain these thoughts. What if my mom and dad had only had one child? Though we may not always see eye to eye, my brother and I are what keep each other from crumbling in tough times. What if I hadn't gone to Baylor? I wouldn't have met some of my best friends and most valuable mentors. What if I hadn't allowed myself to be an overachiever and become a leader in Baylor Students for Social Justice? I may not have met my college sweetheart, and I may not have discovered my passion for compassion.
And of course, I must give credit where credit is due. This is the song that inspired me to write this post:
It's amazing to think how all the stoplights I missed, the positions I accepted, and the choices I've made have played such a role in defining my life story. I'm only 21, and I hope my story still has hundreds of pages more: full of delicious surprises, aching disappointments, exhilarating celebrations, and moments of contentment. I hope you''ll consider...how has your story changed from the original draft?
In an ironic way, I'm so thankful for all the plans that were foiled and all the "important" things I missed out on. Life is full of "what if" questions, and I rarely allow myself to entertain these thoughts. What if my mom and dad had only had one child? Though we may not always see eye to eye, my brother and I are what keep each other from crumbling in tough times. What if I hadn't gone to Baylor? I wouldn't have met some of my best friends and most valuable mentors. What if I hadn't allowed myself to be an overachiever and become a leader in Baylor Students for Social Justice? I may not have met my college sweetheart, and I may not have discovered my passion for compassion.
And of course, I must give credit where credit is due. This is the song that inspired me to write this post:
It's amazing to think how all the stoplights I missed, the positions I accepted, and the choices I've made have played such a role in defining my life story. I'm only 21, and I hope my story still has hundreds of pages more: full of delicious surprises, aching disappointments, exhilarating celebrations, and moments of contentment. I hope you''ll consider...how has your story changed from the original draft?
Monday, May 23, 2011
Does permanency exist?
Over the weekend, Andrew and I visited the Menil Collection in Houston; if you get a chance, I strongly recommend visiting! Part of the collection includes preserved artifacts from ancient empires, and even some pieces from the paleolithic era. It was incredible to see so many fragments of bowls, tapestries, and sculptures from a time nearly forgotten. Perhaps what really struck me was how well preserved some of them were. Sure, they were a little chipped and showed signs of a few centuries of age. For the most part, though, it was hard to believe how remarkably they had survived. Of course, that led me to an important question of my own: what will be left of our time?
One of today's common complaints is that "they just don't make things like they used to." In today's world, you can expect your new pair of jeans to last maybe a year before holes appear in the knees. You can expect your latest iFill-in-the-Blank-with-the-Latest-Gadget to become obsolete when a new, improved version comes out in a few years. You can expect your car to need more maintenance work sooner than in the past, and you can expect your bachelor's degree to soon be deemed "not enough," in favor of a job candidate with a graduate degree. I won't even venture into the realm of speculating about the political and economic reasons why these things seem to be the case, but I think it's a question worth asking. We've made so much progress; what's the price?
In a few hundred years, will people come to museums to see "what people were like in 2011?" What will they see? What could we possibly display that will still be around, for posterity's sake? Will our poetry and our New York Times best sellers be displayed next to Shakespeare and Dickens?
What do you think? For now, I'm going to revel in some nature - who knows how long until that, too, becomes obsolete.
One of today's common complaints is that "they just don't make things like they used to." In today's world, you can expect your new pair of jeans to last maybe a year before holes appear in the knees. You can expect your latest iFill-in-the-Blank-with-the-Latest-Gadget to become obsolete when a new, improved version comes out in a few years. You can expect your car to need more maintenance work sooner than in the past, and you can expect your bachelor's degree to soon be deemed "not enough," in favor of a job candidate with a graduate degree. I won't even venture into the realm of speculating about the political and economic reasons why these things seem to be the case, but I think it's a question worth asking. We've made so much progress; what's the price?
In a few hundred years, will people come to museums to see "what people were like in 2011?" What will they see? What could we possibly display that will still be around, for posterity's sake? Will our poetry and our New York Times best sellers be displayed next to Shakespeare and Dickens?
What do you think? For now, I'm going to revel in some nature - who knows how long until that, too, becomes obsolete.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Return to Paradise
On our way home from College Station, my brother Mattie and I stopped in Waco to visit an old friend. Cameron Park. I am convinced that this place is basically a piece of heaven on earth. It stretches for miles along the Brazos River, and it's full of treasures one would never expect just 5 minutes from downtown Waco, of all places. Thousands of trees stretch their ancient limbs up toward the sky. Hyperactive squirrels dart in and out along the roads, and friendly birds guide visitors' journeys from above.
Cameron Park held such an important place in my heart for a few years while I was at Baylor. It was at this park that I came alive. I've studied there, cried there, adventured there. On lazy afternoons, I'd simply lay in the grass and take in all the sights, sounds, and smells of God's great creation. It's been an important part of my relationship with Andrew, and it's a place I seek solace and refuge when I desperately need a reminder that life is full of beauty.
As Mattie and I drove along the winding roads, I realized with fondness that, like a lover, I know every inch and every curve of those roads. I remember how the sunlight flits through the trees in late fall, and I remember how the woods begin bursting with life in early spring. I remember this part of my identity, and it fills me with joy. I'm so thankful for all the people I've gotten to share this place with over the years.
Cameron Park held such an important place in my heart for a few years while I was at Baylor. It was at this park that I came alive. I've studied there, cried there, adventured there. On lazy afternoons, I'd simply lay in the grass and take in all the sights, sounds, and smells of God's great creation. It's been an important part of my relationship with Andrew, and it's a place I seek solace and refuge when I desperately need a reminder that life is full of beauty.
As Mattie and I drove along the winding roads, I realized with fondness that, like a lover, I know every inch and every curve of those roads. I remember how the sunlight flits through the trees in late fall, and I remember how the woods begin bursting with life in early spring. I remember this part of my identity, and it fills me with joy. I'm so thankful for all the people I've gotten to share this place with over the years.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Wildflowers
As I drove home from Denton today, I just had to marvel at the beauty of Texas wildflowers. They make that hour-long drive infinitely more pleasant, and they're on my top 5 list right now of things I'm thanking Baby Jesus for. There's just something about these beautiful wildflowers swaying in the heavy breeze, reaching up to kiss a periwinkle sky. I probably shouldn't admit this, but I warned you: I have an active imagination. I had to get lost in my own thoughts for a while (at least, as much as I could while navigating out of the way of crazy Texas drivers). I found myself wondering what it feels like to be a wildflower. What stories must they see unfold on these roads? Is their short life, just a season of spring, bittersweet? Do they greet each bumblebee and butterfly with cheer? And then, it hit me...
..No, not another car. A thought. I am a wildflower. I accept that I'm not a delicate lily, and I'm not a thorny rose. I'm not an exotic orchid, and I'm not a simple carnation. I embrace my identity as a wildflower. Wildflowers are often called "hardy." This isn't the prettiest word, but it describes me quite well. I'm tough, and I can survive exhaustion, unpleasant circumstances, and the nastiest of weather. I'm resilient, rain or shine. Wildflowers come in a million colors. Sometimes, I'm a sunny yellow, and other times, I'm a pensive purple. My goal is to paint life in a golden hue, and I want to embrace sunshine, truly living in a daze of light. Wildflowers definitely see plenty of Texas sun. They may not grace the Texas grasslands with their presence for long, but they bring so much joy to others.
So if you're a wildflower, own your hardiness. You can only imagine the joy you'll bring to this earth.
..No, not another car. A thought. I am a wildflower. I accept that I'm not a delicate lily, and I'm not a thorny rose. I'm not an exotic orchid, and I'm not a simple carnation. I embrace my identity as a wildflower. Wildflowers are often called "hardy." This isn't the prettiest word, but it describes me quite well. I'm tough, and I can survive exhaustion, unpleasant circumstances, and the nastiest of weather. I'm resilient, rain or shine. Wildflowers come in a million colors. Sometimes, I'm a sunny yellow, and other times, I'm a pensive purple. My goal is to paint life in a golden hue, and I want to embrace sunshine, truly living in a daze of light. Wildflowers definitely see plenty of Texas sun. They may not grace the Texas grasslands with their presence for long, but they bring so much joy to others.
So if you're a wildflower, own your hardiness. You can only imagine the joy you'll bring to this earth.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Contradictions
Today, I'm realizing how contradictions seem to permeate our sense of the world. I'm reminded of the quote "Do what you will. This world's a fiction and is made up of contradiction" from William Blake. So many times, it seems that just when we think that we have adequately defined the "problem," other factors slink into our awareness. Thus, the process of searching for clarity continues: endless, maddening, and invigorating.
Family therapy is a field of study that is quite influenced by postmodern thought. How do we define reality? Is it really that surprising that each of us can only truly experience the world as we, as an individual, know it? We can never truly know what it means to see the world through another's eyes because perhaps there is no singular objective Truth known to all. I only know what I myself know. There is only the truth that we ourselves choose. We choose the meanings that we give to other people, life circumstances, and ourselves.
Contradictions. They're everywhere. Though we profess that we are "one nation under God," much of our country rejoices today over the death of a feared terrorist. Though we have mocked other countries who have done the same, we justify our actions in the name of justice. We claim that children are our future, yet we do little to actively secure a future of hope for them. Though we are exhausted by the many demands placed on our time and our resources, we keep working harder and adding to our "to do" lists. Though I'm probably more liberal than many of my friends, I love country music down to the roots of my soul, and I don't think that will ever change.
I'm not saying that all contradictions are bad. There are wonderful contradictions, too. For example, people say all the time, "I'm just going to take care of myself from now on. I'm not going to worry about anyone else." That rarely lasts for an extended period of time. There is so much good in the world, and there's an infinite amount of beauty ready to be painted into each other's lives. Get out your paintbrush, and start making this world a more beautiful place. Be love to those around you, even when it seems like a contradiction.
Family therapy is a field of study that is quite influenced by postmodern thought. How do we define reality? Is it really that surprising that each of us can only truly experience the world as we, as an individual, know it? We can never truly know what it means to see the world through another's eyes because perhaps there is no singular objective Truth known to all. I only know what I myself know. There is only the truth that we ourselves choose. We choose the meanings that we give to other people, life circumstances, and ourselves.
Contradictions. They're everywhere. Though we profess that we are "one nation under God," much of our country rejoices today over the death of a feared terrorist. Though we have mocked other countries who have done the same, we justify our actions in the name of justice. We claim that children are our future, yet we do little to actively secure a future of hope for them. Though we are exhausted by the many demands placed on our time and our resources, we keep working harder and adding to our "to do" lists. Though I'm probably more liberal than many of my friends, I love country music down to the roots of my soul, and I don't think that will ever change.
I'm not saying that all contradictions are bad. There are wonderful contradictions, too. For example, people say all the time, "I'm just going to take care of myself from now on. I'm not going to worry about anyone else." That rarely lasts for an extended period of time. There is so much good in the world, and there's an infinite amount of beauty ready to be painted into each other's lives. Get out your paintbrush, and start making this world a more beautiful place. Be love to those around you, even when it seems like a contradiction.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
I Am
I like stories. And today, I read about a story that really jolted something awake inside of me. In the early 20th century, The Times in London posed a question: "What is wrong with our world?" Many of the great writers of the time period were invited to compose an essay on the topic, and one wrote a letter in response. "Dear Sirs, I am. Sincerely yours, G.K. Chesterton."
Wow. Even though this story takes up all of 3 lines, it sparked a flurry of thoughts in my head (yes, someone has definitely had their coffee this morning). First, I had to marvel that this question of "What's wrong with our world?" has been asked for centuries, and probably even longer than that. Still, our society in general doesn't seem to have an answer for it. We tend to blame the world's faults on the economy, the media, the government, the celebrities, the drug users, our ex-lovers, our family, the prostitutes, the unemployed, the poor, the rich, the teachers, the scientists, Wall Street, the Christians, the Muslims, the atheists, the gays, the politicians, the young people, and the old people...but who actually stops to think, "Maybe it's me." Who actually has an ego strong enough to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, we are creating our own problems? Who is brave enough to point the finger back at themselves? Judging by the state of our world, clearly not enough of us.
It is so much easier to blame others, especially those who we don't know personally. That is so much easier than entertaining the dark, terrifying, powerful thought that each person can make a difference. Now that I'm in my twenties, I think I'm starting to lose that youthful glow that comes from thinking that "one person can change the world." That young idea has transformed into my belief that maybe one person can't change the entire world, but one person can be an instrument of peace to the people around them. After all, that is our world. There are ripple effects, and we often don't know how we affect others. Humanity is incredibly connected in this wonderful net of solidarity (thank you, 10th grade religion teacher for that word; it's one of my favorites).
Today, I'm challenging myself to take responsibility. I'll ask myself the hard questions of what role I play in this crazy world, and I hope you'll do the same.
Wow. Even though this story takes up all of 3 lines, it sparked a flurry of thoughts in my head (yes, someone has definitely had their coffee this morning). First, I had to marvel that this question of "What's wrong with our world?" has been asked for centuries, and probably even longer than that. Still, our society in general doesn't seem to have an answer for it. We tend to blame the world's faults on the economy, the media, the government, the celebrities, the drug users, our ex-lovers, our family, the prostitutes, the unemployed, the poor, the rich, the teachers, the scientists, Wall Street, the Christians, the Muslims, the atheists, the gays, the politicians, the young people, and the old people...but who actually stops to think, "Maybe it's me." Who actually has an ego strong enough to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, we are creating our own problems? Who is brave enough to point the finger back at themselves? Judging by the state of our world, clearly not enough of us.
It is so much easier to blame others, especially those who we don't know personally. That is so much easier than entertaining the dark, terrifying, powerful thought that each person can make a difference. Now that I'm in my twenties, I think I'm starting to lose that youthful glow that comes from thinking that "one person can change the world." That young idea has transformed into my belief that maybe one person can't change the entire world, but one person can be an instrument of peace to the people around them. After all, that is our world. There are ripple effects, and we often don't know how we affect others. Humanity is incredibly connected in this wonderful net of solidarity (thank you, 10th grade religion teacher for that word; it's one of my favorites).
Today, I'm challenging myself to take responsibility. I'll ask myself the hard questions of what role I play in this crazy world, and I hope you'll do the same.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Sacred Night
The day is done,
And the storm rolls in.
Resurrection is on the horizon,
Like a long lost friend.
Outside, the sky darkens,
Deepening into endless abyss.
The distant heavens tinker with
My wonder-hungry imagination.
A desert landscape in the sky, perhaps?
The sun is aching to retire
Into sleep, but the dark
Clouds continuously pull back the curtains.
The air is heavy with
Late spring humidity and
The smell of honeysuckle.
Sweet, tempting, lethargic.
Disobedient raindrops tickle my toes.
Lightning is both fleeting and sweeping,
Electrifying the earth with its long fingers.
Thunder shudders throughout my veins.
And above our red door,
A purple martin abides.
He keeps watch with me: waiting
On this enchanted night.
And the storm rolls in.
Resurrection is on the horizon,
Like a long lost friend.
Outside, the sky darkens,
Deepening into endless abyss.
The distant heavens tinker with
My wonder-hungry imagination.
A desert landscape in the sky, perhaps?
The sun is aching to retire
Into sleep, but the dark
Clouds continuously pull back the curtains.
The air is heavy with
Late spring humidity and
The smell of honeysuckle.
Sweet, tempting, lethargic.
Disobedient raindrops tickle my toes.
Lightning is both fleeting and sweeping,
Electrifying the earth with its long fingers.
Thunder shudders throughout my veins.
And above our red door,
A purple martin abides.
He keeps watch with me: waiting
On this enchanted night.
 |
| Apparently, this is what my camera thinks lightning looks like. |
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Return to Childhood
I'm so incredibly lucky to have a job where I work with children. Seriously. Every child I meet seems to be more precious than the last, and their warm hugs just absolutely make my life so sweet. To be fair, I do have an imperative, immediate need to change my shirt after work most days... (Be creative; if you can imagine it, it's probably been wiped on my shirt at some point. I know, I know - ewwwwww) Still, children are such creators of true joy. Maybe it's because they're so honest, or maybe it's because they're so full of questions. Maybe it's because when I try to think back to my own early childhood, I find myself unable to sort out the memories. Family drama over the past few years has made it hard to filter out what I know now, and what I simply felt and experienced then. Intuitively, I know that my childhood was filled with happiness - long walks to the park, feeding ducks with my aunt, and lazy afternoons forcing my brother to play Barbies (sorry, Mattiekins!). Sometimes, I forget to remember all that happiness. Watching my students play today reminded me of just a few of the wonderful parts of childhood that I'd forgotten to remember.
Best parts of childhood I didn't realize I would miss:
1. Finger painting: Seriously, how did I just rediscover the amazingness of finger painting?? Mixing colors together into limitless swirls, feeling the paint just soak into your fingers. Pure bliss.
2. Naps: Now, I know that I certainly took these for granted when I was a kid. I was the kid who perpetually popped up from my nap spot to check and see if my mom was watching or if she was asleep yet. Inevitably, she knew that I wasn't sleeping, so she'd tell me to put my head back down .This would last for maybe 30 seconds, and then the cycle would repeat. These days, naps seem so comforting, but like a distant possibility in a heavily scheduled day.
3. Animal crackers: No judging. There are few snacks more delicious than animal crackers - except cupcakes, of course!
4. Puzzles: I seem to recall that I hated puzzles when I was a kid. I think I wasn't very patient (anyone suprised by that?), and I got frustrated too easily - I just wanted to see what picture it made! Now, I think they're pretty fun stress relief!
5. Viewing hand washing as part of playtime: How many adults do you know of that think hand washing is delightful? Clearly, most adults try to finish up washing hands as quickly as possible and find any reason to skip a trip to the sink. And children? My pre-k kids are absolutely enamored with the idea of running to the sink any chance they get to wash their hands, and they want to wash their hands not just once, but two or three times. Precious.
There you have it, friends. Go out, and find a way to remember your childhood today!
Best parts of childhood I didn't realize I would miss:
1. Finger painting: Seriously, how did I just rediscover the amazingness of finger painting?? Mixing colors together into limitless swirls, feeling the paint just soak into your fingers. Pure bliss.
2. Naps: Now, I know that I certainly took these for granted when I was a kid. I was the kid who perpetually popped up from my nap spot to check and see if my mom was watching or if she was asleep yet. Inevitably, she knew that I wasn't sleeping, so she'd tell me to put my head back down .This would last for maybe 30 seconds, and then the cycle would repeat. These days, naps seem so comforting, but like a distant possibility in a heavily scheduled day.
3. Animal crackers: No judging. There are few snacks more delicious than animal crackers - except cupcakes, of course!
4. Puzzles: I seem to recall that I hated puzzles when I was a kid. I think I wasn't very patient (anyone suprised by that?), and I got frustrated too easily - I just wanted to see what picture it made! Now, I think they're pretty fun stress relief!
5. Viewing hand washing as part of playtime: How many adults do you know of that think hand washing is delightful? Clearly, most adults try to finish up washing hands as quickly as possible and find any reason to skip a trip to the sink. And children? My pre-k kids are absolutely enamored with the idea of running to the sink any chance they get to wash their hands, and they want to wash their hands not just once, but two or three times. Precious.
There you have it, friends. Go out, and find a way to remember your childhood today!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Obsessed with Fun
Today, I'm feeling pensive. Maybe it's because it's the beginning of Holy Week, or maybe it's because I had two cups of coffee. It could be that I have too much time on my hands these days. I suppose the reason doesn't matter, but I find myself asking those troublesome questions that I spoke of in a blog post about a week ago.
Today, I'm wondering about our culture's questionable preoccupation with FUN. It's everywhere you look. Turn on the TV, and you'll see an ad about a beer that will supposedly help you have more fun than all the other beers you could drink. Drive down the highway, and you'll see billboards advertising travel agencies promising a fun getaway trip. Companies seem to be engaging in an endless search to find ways to make work fun for employees, instituting countless new programs to disguise the fact that work is being done in the workplace. Go to the car dealership, and you can watch a fun tv show while you wait for an oil change. (Don't even get me started talking about the idea that too many people can't sit still for an hour without watching television... That's another story for another time.)
Fun seems to be a priority. I know people who forego buying health insurance because they don't want to give up going out to movies or their daily cup of overpriced coffee. Many are constantly in search of a church that is fun and makes them feel warm and fuzzy inside. There are others who don't send their children to an adequate school because then, they might not have money for a fun summer vacation at the beach. Some children can barely find the motivation to learn because they'd rather be playing a fun videogame. Still others let their houses collect dust and their yards go unmaintained because housework and yardwork simply aren't fun.
I find myself fascinated by this, what I view as our culture's obsession with having fun. I wonder, where did this come from? Has this preoccupation always been so prevalent, or did a recent cultural shift play a role? How did we get to a point where we feel entitled not just to have basic human rights, but to live in a world that is fun as well? This viewpoint probably isn't popular with most people, but that's not my goal here. Now, I'm not arguing that life can't be fun or that fun is a terrible, evil sin. I'm just wondering, why do we feel entitled to have fun? When did we begin to think that hard work is something to be avoided? Fun has become an expectation that colors our daily living.
Perhaps this just wasn't the way that I was raised, or at least, it's not the way I've come to view the world. Personally, I expect that life is going to be hard work. I expect that I'm going to work to the best of my ability, and if fun happens to enter the picture, then that's fantastic! I'll soak up the fun when it happens to spontaneously enter my life, but I honestly don't think I seek out this fun. I prefer to be pleasantly surprised by it. Maybe that makes me boring, and maybe that labels me a borderline workaholic. You know what? I'm ok with that. That's who I am.
Today, I'm wondering about our culture's questionable preoccupation with FUN. It's everywhere you look. Turn on the TV, and you'll see an ad about a beer that will supposedly help you have more fun than all the other beers you could drink. Drive down the highway, and you'll see billboards advertising travel agencies promising a fun getaway trip. Companies seem to be engaging in an endless search to find ways to make work fun for employees, instituting countless new programs to disguise the fact that work is being done in the workplace. Go to the car dealership, and you can watch a fun tv show while you wait for an oil change. (Don't even get me started talking about the idea that too many people can't sit still for an hour without watching television... That's another story for another time.)
Fun seems to be a priority. I know people who forego buying health insurance because they don't want to give up going out to movies or their daily cup of overpriced coffee. Many are constantly in search of a church that is fun and makes them feel warm and fuzzy inside. There are others who don't send their children to an adequate school because then, they might not have money for a fun summer vacation at the beach. Some children can barely find the motivation to learn because they'd rather be playing a fun videogame. Still others let their houses collect dust and their yards go unmaintained because housework and yardwork simply aren't fun.
I find myself fascinated by this, what I view as our culture's obsession with having fun. I wonder, where did this come from? Has this preoccupation always been so prevalent, or did a recent cultural shift play a role? How did we get to a point where we feel entitled not just to have basic human rights, but to live in a world that is fun as well? This viewpoint probably isn't popular with most people, but that's not my goal here. Now, I'm not arguing that life can't be fun or that fun is a terrible, evil sin. I'm just wondering, why do we feel entitled to have fun? When did we begin to think that hard work is something to be avoided? Fun has become an expectation that colors our daily living.
Perhaps this just wasn't the way that I was raised, or at least, it's not the way I've come to view the world. Personally, I expect that life is going to be hard work. I expect that I'm going to work to the best of my ability, and if fun happens to enter the picture, then that's fantastic! I'll soak up the fun when it happens to spontaneously enter my life, but I honestly don't think I seek out this fun. I prefer to be pleasantly surprised by it. Maybe that makes me boring, and maybe that labels me a borderline workaholic. You know what? I'm ok with that. That's who I am.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
A Tribute to Love
Tonight, one of my professors (who pronounces himself "crazy" and urges us not to try to change that), invited his wife to join our class. He encouraged us to ask her any questions about him that we were just dying to know the answers to, and she proved to be a captivating storyteller. In my opinion, I think there are few things more precious than a couple who's been married for many years and still loves each other with a burning passion.
As I watched the two of them interact, I realized that true love does, in fact, exist. This runs contrary to the heartbreaking stories that invade so many of our lives. I'll admit, I can be pretty skeptical of lasting love, and it's taken me a long time to learn to hope. Every once in a while, I meet couples that absolutely boggle my mind. I still can't quite comprehend what it's like to be married to someone for 50 years, to intimately know all of their faults and their merits, and to love them more with each day that comes to a close. I think that love must be the most beautiful gift life has to offer, and maybe the most elusive, too. So many people spend so much of their lives searching for someone with whom they can connect. Some people find that love and give it up for whatever reason, and some people seek without finding. And some lucky few find that deep, treasured love and don't let go. Smart choice.
This husband and wife had so many stories to share from their 54 years of marriage. I was struck by how playful they were, and how they seemed to just be wrapped in each other's goodness. They seemed to shine when they talked about how spectactular their mate was, and it almost brought tears to my eyes. In my own family, it's tough for me to find examples of people who seem truly happy in their marriages. Maybe that's why I can so appreciate those couples that are truly better for being together. At times, it's easier to believe that "true" love doesn't exist, because that kind of love implies vulnerability, intimacy, and commitment. That can be terrifying. But tonight, I realized (again) that all those fears are worth setting aside, just to have someone look at you the way that my professor and his wife look at each other. What a tribute to love.
Our homework, as usually dictated by this professor, is simple: "Go love yourself and everyone that gets in your way." I think I'll get started now...
As I watched the two of them interact, I realized that true love does, in fact, exist. This runs contrary to the heartbreaking stories that invade so many of our lives. I'll admit, I can be pretty skeptical of lasting love, and it's taken me a long time to learn to hope. Every once in a while, I meet couples that absolutely boggle my mind. I still can't quite comprehend what it's like to be married to someone for 50 years, to intimately know all of their faults and their merits, and to love them more with each day that comes to a close. I think that love must be the most beautiful gift life has to offer, and maybe the most elusive, too. So many people spend so much of their lives searching for someone with whom they can connect. Some people find that love and give it up for whatever reason, and some people seek without finding. And some lucky few find that deep, treasured love and don't let go. Smart choice.
This husband and wife had so many stories to share from their 54 years of marriage. I was struck by how playful they were, and how they seemed to just be wrapped in each other's goodness. They seemed to shine when they talked about how spectactular their mate was, and it almost brought tears to my eyes. In my own family, it's tough for me to find examples of people who seem truly happy in their marriages. Maybe that's why I can so appreciate those couples that are truly better for being together. At times, it's easier to believe that "true" love doesn't exist, because that kind of love implies vulnerability, intimacy, and commitment. That can be terrifying. But tonight, I realized (again) that all those fears are worth setting aside, just to have someone look at you the way that my professor and his wife look at each other. What a tribute to love.
Our homework, as usually dictated by this professor, is simple: "Go love yourself and everyone that gets in your way." I think I'll get started now...
Friday, April 8, 2011
The Origin of Musings
Hello, all! Spring is truly upon us, so I hope you're enjoying the season and taking your allergy medicines. Today, I had a friend request a topic for me to write about. Usually, I don't like doing what others tell me (that originated in an obstinate childhood, I'm sure), but I rather liked the topic he suggested. Something about the question sparked this immediate need for my fingers to touch the keyboard and start writing. My style of writing is almost compulsive, at times. I'll be doing something, and a thought will hide in the fringes of my brain, slowly coming into focus. As I allow myself to think about it more, I can literally almost feel an aching yearning in my fingers to write it out. Sometimes, I indulge this need immediately, and sometimes, I make myself practice waiting. It sounds a bit ascetic, but I challenge myself to hold these wavering thoughts in my mind, savoring them until they're ripe for writing.
Today's topic: what inspires my musings. The short answer is that just about everything life's made of inspires me. Now, we all know that I'm not exactly a "short, get to the point" kind of writer; perhaps that shortness is something I reserve for my physical height :) Knowing that, you can deduce that I'm probably going to give a longer answer than you asked for, and that, my friends, is correct.
Giving some more thought to the issue, I think at the core, it's questions that inspire me to give in to my musings. Ever since I can remember, I've always had an active imagination, although the realistic part of my self usually keeps me from unveiling that to most people. In my head, there's an endless scroll of questions. These questions are always sparked by everyday things. Life is ordinary, no matter how hard we try to make it extraordinary.
Often, these questions draw from my unabashed love affair with nature. I see a bird, and I wonder what it would be like to fly and feel the wind between the feathers on my wings. I wonder what trees would say if they could talk and what it feels like when raindrops hit their leaves. I wonder what it would be like to spend an entire day laying in the grass and listening to the sway of the weeds. I wonder how fast sunshine streams through the clouds. I wonder what it feels like to be a ripple in the water.
As much as I love nature, I adore people. Simply and truly, and not always. People fascinate me. People don't make sense, and yet, they can be so predictable. And when we can't predict each other's movements, there's such beauty in that chaos. I find myself wondering about the history of just about everyone I meet. How did they get to look like they do today, and what darkness have they experienced? What makes people react so differently to similar circumstances? What do people dream for themselves? How do people know they are loved? These questions are endless, and I'll spend the rest of my life wondering them.
Photographs are my latest source of inspiration, I believe. I love photos because they often lack context. What we see is only what the photographer captures through the lens. We're given a frame to look through, and the rest, we decide for ourselves. What else is out there?
I rejoice in questions. My thoughts are constantly racing, and that feels peaceful to me. Questions make me feel alive. I've long since given up in trying to answer all the questions. As Earl Grey Stevens said, "Confidence, like art, never comes from having all the answers; it comes from being open to all the questions."
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Right Where I Need to Be
Have you ever had one of those moments when you realize that you're right where you're meant to be? I had that sudden sensation today at work. You may already know that until I finish grad school, I'm working at a child care center as a teacher. Some days, I come home exhausted and feeling a bit discouraged. I find myself saying, "Kids these days just aren't the same as they used to be when I was a kid..." (Nevermind that I swore to myself before taking the job that I would never say that; I've long since broken that resolution)
Today was a wonderful day, though. Chaotic to be sure, but filled with this pride in my students and a sense of calm in the storm. Through it all - the good days and the not-so-good, I know that I am intensely lucky. I have the incredible honor of watching beautiful children grow up. I've worked at the center for almost two years now. In two years, a lot can happen in a child's life. I've watched children learn how to read, ride a bike, think about others' perspectives, experience their first crush, and calm themselves when they're upset. I never cease to be amazed at what a gift I've been given through this job. I truly think that my children teach me just as much, if not more, than I teach them. They've given me a lot of practice in calming my own anxiety, and they've taught me what it means to love without fear. One of my favorite things to hear is, "Ms. Alex, you're my best friend." I've decided that means so much more to me coming from a six year old than someone my age. You see, a six year old doesn't have a hidden motivation for telling you that, and they often don't know what to expect from a best friend. All they know is that they have a feeling of being loved and cared for, and the best label they know of is "best friend." I'm a proud "best friend" of so many of my precious students, and it's just as special every time I hear it.
My students have helped me realize my primary philosophy in life: we all just need some encouragement. I think the world just needs a hug. Life is tough, no matter who you are. A warm smile and some kind words from someone else have such an impact. As a teacher, I try to lead by example. If I can't use "please" and "thank you" myself, how can I expect my students to learn kindness?
Today, I'm feeling luckier than any Irish leprechaun - what makes you lucky?
Today was a wonderful day, though. Chaotic to be sure, but filled with this pride in my students and a sense of calm in the storm. Through it all - the good days and the not-so-good, I know that I am intensely lucky. I have the incredible honor of watching beautiful children grow up. I've worked at the center for almost two years now. In two years, a lot can happen in a child's life. I've watched children learn how to read, ride a bike, think about others' perspectives, experience their first crush, and calm themselves when they're upset. I never cease to be amazed at what a gift I've been given through this job. I truly think that my children teach me just as much, if not more, than I teach them. They've given me a lot of practice in calming my own anxiety, and they've taught me what it means to love without fear. One of my favorite things to hear is, "Ms. Alex, you're my best friend." I've decided that means so much more to me coming from a six year old than someone my age. You see, a six year old doesn't have a hidden motivation for telling you that, and they often don't know what to expect from a best friend. All they know is that they have a feeling of being loved and cared for, and the best label they know of is "best friend." I'm a proud "best friend" of so many of my precious students, and it's just as special every time I hear it.
My students have helped me realize my primary philosophy in life: we all just need some encouragement. I think the world just needs a hug. Life is tough, no matter who you are. A warm smile and some kind words from someone else have such an impact. As a teacher, I try to lead by example. If I can't use "please" and "thank you" myself, how can I expect my students to learn kindness?
Today, I'm feeling luckier than any Irish leprechaun - what makes you lucky?
Sunday, March 13, 2011
War on Weeds
Right now, my hands are tingling with the promise of blisters, my palms seem to be permanently stained by dirt, my shoulders are aching , and my heart is content. I've never considered myself to be much of a gardener. That's best left to my mom, who has a sure-fire green thumb. I have, however, found a good use for my OCD-like tendencies: weed-pulling! This has taken up a good portion of my last two weekends, and I'm now mostly satisfied by the appearance of our yard. It was rather embarassing before we started; it's by no means immaculate now, but it is a marked improvement.
Lately, I've been struggling with this search for an adult identity (anyone else feeling that their 20s are tougher than expected?), and I was really needing a boost to help me regain a sense of competence I suppose I'd taken for granted. I'm slowly but surely realizing that this sense of accomplishment shouldn't come from others' validation, but through my own pride in achieving something. Today, I am proud of the war I have waged upon the treacherous weeds invading our home. No more shall my feet be attacked by the ridiculously belligerent burrs, and no more shall my grass be choked out. Enough is enough.
I suppose there's also a metaphor somewhere in there about pulling out the "weeds" that plague our daily lives. These "weeds" are sure to return, but with perseverance, we can keep fighting the good fight. Eventually, they grow back less and less, but it takes time and patience. I'm going to keep pulling those "weeds" out, and I'm not going to give up. How's that for stubborn persistence?
Lately, I've been struggling with this search for an adult identity (anyone else feeling that their 20s are tougher than expected?), and I was really needing a boost to help me regain a sense of competence I suppose I'd taken for granted. I'm slowly but surely realizing that this sense of accomplishment shouldn't come from others' validation, but through my own pride in achieving something. Today, I am proud of the war I have waged upon the treacherous weeds invading our home. No more shall my feet be attacked by the ridiculously belligerent burrs, and no more shall my grass be choked out. Enough is enough.
I suppose there's also a metaphor somewhere in there about pulling out the "weeds" that plague our daily lives. These "weeds" are sure to return, but with perseverance, we can keep fighting the good fight. Eventually, they grow back less and less, but it takes time and patience. I'm going to keep pulling those "weeds" out, and I'm not going to give up. How's that for stubborn persistence?
Friday, March 11, 2011
Ode to the Little Things
Today, I'm in a mood to be thankful. As far as I know of, there's no turkey or cranberry sauce on my dinner table tonight, but I'm not going to pass up the opportunity to reflect on the little things from today that caught my attention. So, here's my ode to the little things in life:
1. Dried apricots. They are such a simple, tasty snack, and they keep me from getting cranky when I'm sitting in downtown Fort Worth traffic. On that note...
2. People who actually use their blinker to signal they're going to change lanes. When I first began driving nearly seven years ago, I didn't imagine that I would actually come to appreciate something people are supposed to do to stay safe! I'm finding that it seems to be the norm for people to not signal changing lanes, so I'm now pleasantly surprised when people give me a heads-up. Yay defensive driving!
3. The fact that I have the opportunity to be in grad school right now. Many people don't like school and choose not to pursue additional education, and many more would like to but can't afford to because of time, money, family commitments, etc. I'm incredibly lucky to be in a program that I love and learning alongside some wonderful people.
4. The fact that my Mattiekins is coming home for spring break tomorrow! Ever since he was born, we've been inseparable, and people used to think we were twins. It's been years since that's happened, though; I think the 12 inches of height difference gave something away... We've both grown up a lot over the years, and I'd like to think we're better for having each other's company.
5. I have a new favorite quote. For those of you who know about my obsession with word choice and quotes, you may understand the impact this has in brightening my day. "Of course there is no formula for success except perhaps an unconditional acceptance of life and what it brings." - Arthur Rubinstein
Dear friends, I hope you find a little something to be thankful for today :)
1. Dried apricots. They are such a simple, tasty snack, and they keep me from getting cranky when I'm sitting in downtown Fort Worth traffic. On that note...
2. People who actually use their blinker to signal they're going to change lanes. When I first began driving nearly seven years ago, I didn't imagine that I would actually come to appreciate something people are supposed to do to stay safe! I'm finding that it seems to be the norm for people to not signal changing lanes, so I'm now pleasantly surprised when people give me a heads-up. Yay defensive driving!
3. The fact that I have the opportunity to be in grad school right now. Many people don't like school and choose not to pursue additional education, and many more would like to but can't afford to because of time, money, family commitments, etc. I'm incredibly lucky to be in a program that I love and learning alongside some wonderful people.
4. The fact that my Mattiekins is coming home for spring break tomorrow! Ever since he was born, we've been inseparable, and people used to think we were twins. It's been years since that's happened, though; I think the 12 inches of height difference gave something away... We've both grown up a lot over the years, and I'd like to think we're better for having each other's company.
5. I have a new favorite quote. For those of you who know about my obsession with word choice and quotes, you may understand the impact this has in brightening my day. "Of course there is no formula for success except perhaps an unconditional acceptance of life and what it brings." - Arthur Rubinstein
Dear friends, I hope you find a little something to be thankful for today :)
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Let It Be
Greetings, blog readers! It has been brought to my attention that I haven't written here in a while. I guess we could think of it like television shows: they have new episodes for a while, then they take a break and show re-runs, and then they come back with new episodes. Consider this a long-awaited new episode :)
The past few weeks have been challenging, and they've prompted me to spend a lot of time in introspection. I spend most of my time driving (the commute to Denton is pretty significant!), reading and writing papers for classes, and taking care of babies at work. I've realized that someday, I'm going to be ecstatic to be a mom. I'm in no hurry to make that happen, though, so for now, I'm perfectly content spoiling my babies with affection at work. I enjoy doing each of these things, and in general, I can't complain too much about life right now. Still, I can't shake this feeling that something is missing.
In reflecting on the Ash Wednesday Mass yesterday, I remembered that Lent is truly my favorite season of the year. Lent is a time to discern what sacrifices we can make for the one who made the ultimate sacrifice for us. It's a time of spiritual preparation, like "spring cleaning" for your heart and mind...and we all know how much I love cleaning. It's a time to figure out who you are, what you want, and how to get to where you want to be. Lent doesn't feel rushed to me, and some may argue it drags on far too long, but I intend to savor each day. For me, Lent isn't something I'm obligated to observe. Rather, I intend to use this gift to its full benefit. Lent is a time to re-center ourselves and figure out how to live our calling.
A few years ago, I decided that I wasn't getting the most out of giving up things for Lent like soda and chocolate, and I decided to focus on either giving up something more meaningful to me or adding something that would truly help me become a more loving child of God. In last week's readings at church, Jesus warned his disciples not to make money a god that we serve; one cannot serve two masters. I realized that money may not be something I put on a pedastal, but I certainly spend an excessive amount of time worrying. I worry about my grades in grad school. I worry about sky-rocketing gas prices, and I worry about saving money for the future. I worry about the children I teach. I worry about my family's functioning, and I worry about how I'm going to get a job someday. I worry about not losing connection with old friends, and I worry that I'm worrying too much. It's exhausting sometimes, and if you can relate to those worries, I empathize with you. Anxiety is such a burden, and it needlessly consumes so much of our energy.
As a Christian, I'm lucky, because I can now say the obligatory phrase that "I just need to learn to trust in God more and put things in His hands." It's so much easier to turn things over to God than to try to take it upon ourselves. Ah, how easy this is to say, and how much more difficult to live. I've said this countless times, and I mean it every time. Still, there's always something that gets in the way. This Lent, I've decided not to let my worries get the best of me. I'm not so unrealistic to think I'm going to be perfectly worry-free by Easter, and I'm not narcissistic enough to think I can do it alone with my own will-power. But I do believe it's possible, and I believe it's part of my purpose in life to learn to manage my own anxiety. This skill will come in handy someday when I'm a therapist, too; so many family issues stem from anxiety management, and I won't expect something of clients that I can't do myself. Until then, I'm going to "let it be."
So. In whatever way you prepare your hearts for Easter or springtime, I hope you give yourself the chance to discover the best in you, who you are meant to be. Maybe if we could all just "let it be" in our times of darkness, we could help each other mend our broken hearts and live a better life. The good life's all around us.
The past few weeks have been challenging, and they've prompted me to spend a lot of time in introspection. I spend most of my time driving (the commute to Denton is pretty significant!), reading and writing papers for classes, and taking care of babies at work. I've realized that someday, I'm going to be ecstatic to be a mom. I'm in no hurry to make that happen, though, so for now, I'm perfectly content spoiling my babies with affection at work. I enjoy doing each of these things, and in general, I can't complain too much about life right now. Still, I can't shake this feeling that something is missing.
In reflecting on the Ash Wednesday Mass yesterday, I remembered that Lent is truly my favorite season of the year. Lent is a time to discern what sacrifices we can make for the one who made the ultimate sacrifice for us. It's a time of spiritual preparation, like "spring cleaning" for your heart and mind...and we all know how much I love cleaning. It's a time to figure out who you are, what you want, and how to get to where you want to be. Lent doesn't feel rushed to me, and some may argue it drags on far too long, but I intend to savor each day. For me, Lent isn't something I'm obligated to observe. Rather, I intend to use this gift to its full benefit. Lent is a time to re-center ourselves and figure out how to live our calling.
A few years ago, I decided that I wasn't getting the most out of giving up things for Lent like soda and chocolate, and I decided to focus on either giving up something more meaningful to me or adding something that would truly help me become a more loving child of God. In last week's readings at church, Jesus warned his disciples not to make money a god that we serve; one cannot serve two masters. I realized that money may not be something I put on a pedastal, but I certainly spend an excessive amount of time worrying. I worry about my grades in grad school. I worry about sky-rocketing gas prices, and I worry about saving money for the future. I worry about the children I teach. I worry about my family's functioning, and I worry about how I'm going to get a job someday. I worry about not losing connection with old friends, and I worry that I'm worrying too much. It's exhausting sometimes, and if you can relate to those worries, I empathize with you. Anxiety is such a burden, and it needlessly consumes so much of our energy.
As a Christian, I'm lucky, because I can now say the obligatory phrase that "I just need to learn to trust in God more and put things in His hands." It's so much easier to turn things over to God than to try to take it upon ourselves. Ah, how easy this is to say, and how much more difficult to live. I've said this countless times, and I mean it every time. Still, there's always something that gets in the way. This Lent, I've decided not to let my worries get the best of me. I'm not so unrealistic to think I'm going to be perfectly worry-free by Easter, and I'm not narcissistic enough to think I can do it alone with my own will-power. But I do believe it's possible, and I believe it's part of my purpose in life to learn to manage my own anxiety. This skill will come in handy someday when I'm a therapist, too; so many family issues stem from anxiety management, and I won't expect something of clients that I can't do myself. Until then, I'm going to "let it be."
So. In whatever way you prepare your hearts for Easter or springtime, I hope you give yourself the chance to discover the best in you, who you are meant to be. Maybe if we could all just "let it be" in our times of darkness, we could help each other mend our broken hearts and live a better life. The good life's all around us.
Friday, January 21, 2011
A Whole New World...Just Kidding
So I'm finishing up my first week as a graduate student, and it's basically a whole new world, people. Yes, feel free to sing along with me. Okay, just kidding. Guess what....being a grad student feels eerily similar to being an undergrad student. There have been no major life changes, no ground-breaking epiphanies, and no moments where I felt like I was on another planet.
All in all though, it's been pretty great. I only had one night class this week (go ahead and hate, all you who have class/responsibilities every day of the week). So what do I do during the rest of my time, you ask? Basically, I've become a stay-at-home mom with no children. I wake up, I drink my coffee, I do my yoga (indoors now, since the weather has hit below freezing; thanks, Texas), and I check my email. Then, I get down to the nitty-gritty: reading. Yes, if you're longing to know just what the life of a grad school student is about, this is it. READING. And lots of it. I usually take a break for lunch and cleaning up around the house, and then I...you guessed it.....get back to reading. I read endless articles from endless journals about marriage and family therapy, and so far, I'm loving it! It feels slightly weird not to be able to speed read through these articles, but I'm really trying to process them and imagine what role this plays in my training as a marriage and family therapist. At night, I make dinner, and I do dishes, and then I close the day by reading. In between, of course, I make time for little breaks, so don't worry, all those who think I'm a workaholic :)
These are my confessions: I haven't left the house since Tuesday, and I barely even go outside to check the mail. I wear countless amounts of sweatpants and old Baylor t-shirts, and I've probably forgotten how to interact with other people. My hair is constantly in a ponytail, and make-up just seems silly at this point. The most exciting thing that happened to me all week occurred today. I'd been waiting anxiously for a textbook to come in, and I thought it wasn't going to arrive til next week. The website said the order was still being processed, and my stress levels were rising, when lo and behold, the book shows up on my doorstep, care of the nice UPS man. I literally danced around my house. God is so great! It really is the little things that count.
I am the proverbial stay-at-home mom. I'm 21 without children, and I keep telling myself that I'm too young for this. I find it rather humorous, actually, but in all seriousness, I think these past three weeks of being cooped up at home have taught me a valuable lesson. And so, I dedicate this blog post to all you stay-at-home moms (and dads) out there. I salute you. You are far braver than I am.
Deep down, I know I needed these past few weeks as a break from the constant energy I had to expend the past few years. I had forgotten what it was like not to be excessively working, studying, and leading organizations. I haven't had a break from work or school in a few years. Vacations are non-existent. It's kinda scary, but it's also kinda nice to be able to breathe. Next week promises to be much busier, with more classes and part-time work, but I have tons of energy stored up :)
All in all though, it's been pretty great. I only had one night class this week (go ahead and hate, all you who have class/responsibilities every day of the week). So what do I do during the rest of my time, you ask? Basically, I've become a stay-at-home mom with no children. I wake up, I drink my coffee, I do my yoga (indoors now, since the weather has hit below freezing; thanks, Texas), and I check my email. Then, I get down to the nitty-gritty: reading. Yes, if you're longing to know just what the life of a grad school student is about, this is it. READING. And lots of it. I usually take a break for lunch and cleaning up around the house, and then I...you guessed it.....get back to reading. I read endless articles from endless journals about marriage and family therapy, and so far, I'm loving it! It feels slightly weird not to be able to speed read through these articles, but I'm really trying to process them and imagine what role this plays in my training as a marriage and family therapist. At night, I make dinner, and I do dishes, and then I close the day by reading. In between, of course, I make time for little breaks, so don't worry, all those who think I'm a workaholic :)
These are my confessions: I haven't left the house since Tuesday, and I barely even go outside to check the mail. I wear countless amounts of sweatpants and old Baylor t-shirts, and I've probably forgotten how to interact with other people. My hair is constantly in a ponytail, and make-up just seems silly at this point. The most exciting thing that happened to me all week occurred today. I'd been waiting anxiously for a textbook to come in, and I thought it wasn't going to arrive til next week. The website said the order was still being processed, and my stress levels were rising, when lo and behold, the book shows up on my doorstep, care of the nice UPS man. I literally danced around my house. God is so great! It really is the little things that count.
I am the proverbial stay-at-home mom. I'm 21 without children, and I keep telling myself that I'm too young for this. I find it rather humorous, actually, but in all seriousness, I think these past three weeks of being cooped up at home have taught me a valuable lesson. And so, I dedicate this blog post to all you stay-at-home moms (and dads) out there. I salute you. You are far braver than I am.
Deep down, I know I needed these past few weeks as a break from the constant energy I had to expend the past few years. I had forgotten what it was like not to be excessively working, studying, and leading organizations. I haven't had a break from work or school in a few years. Vacations are non-existent. It's kinda scary, but it's also kinda nice to be able to breathe. Next week promises to be much busier, with more classes and part-time work, but I have tons of energy stored up :)
Monday, January 10, 2011
Photographs and memories
Today is the first day of classes at Baylor, and I'm not there. It's such a bittersweet feeling. I feel like I should be running into old friends walking around Fountain Mall, and I feel like I should be going to the SUB to print off all my new syllabi, and I feel like I should be with my favorite people that are always in my psychology classes. Instead, I'm sitting in my house, still in my pajamas, and I'm looking through my scrapbook of college memories. Part of me is excited to have moved on past college, and the rest of me is caught in this terrible longing to be back. I expected this feeling, and I almost welcome it. It's a growing pain, and I know it's going to be ok. I'm grateful that I have grad school classes starting next week, and I'm ready to be busy studying! College was only a piece of life, and it was wonderful. There's more to look forward to.
I finished my scrapbook last week, and I have to admit, it fills me with a sense of warmth looking at it. I love looking back to freshman year, the year I fell in love with Baylor and the boy who's now my other (and better) half. I remember sophomore year, the year I learned just how little sleep I could live on and just how many organizations I could possibly join. And I look back to junior year, the year I baked endless amounts of cupcakes and learned how to tailor my passions into a manageable mess that allowed time for sleep. And of course, I remember senior year: stressful, restful, eternal, and all too fleeting. It all flew by so quickly, and I'm so grateful for every single moment, especially the ordinary ones that are lost somewhere in my subconscious mind. For all the moments I remember, and even the ones I don't, I'm so thankful for the photographs and memories.
I finished my scrapbook last week, and I have to admit, it fills me with a sense of warmth looking at it. I love looking back to freshman year, the year I fell in love with Baylor and the boy who's now my other (and better) half. I remember sophomore year, the year I learned just how little sleep I could live on and just how many organizations I could possibly join. And I look back to junior year, the year I baked endless amounts of cupcakes and learned how to tailor my passions into a manageable mess that allowed time for sleep. And of course, I remember senior year: stressful, restful, eternal, and all too fleeting. It all flew by so quickly, and I'm so grateful for every single moment, especially the ordinary ones that are lost somewhere in my subconscious mind. For all the moments I remember, and even the ones I don't, I'm so thankful for the photographs and memories.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Outdoor yoga
Warning: this post may contain granola-like thoughts :)
I've been practicing yoga for about two years now, and somehow, the thought had never occurred to me to practice yoga outside until yesterday. Now that I've experienced this little piece of heaven, I'm almost embarassed to admit that it took me so long to get here. I'm an avid nature fan, and I always feel more at peace after spending some time outside, nestled in trees' shadows and ruffled by the wind's fingers. Yoga has been an important part of my life since I first took a class at Baylor, and I've come to rely on it as one of the few pieces of my life that's "just for me." I've come to adore this time of relaxation as sacred and a crucial part of keeping myself centered. I love serving others and helping in any way I can, but who among us doesn't need a little time to themselves?
Outside yoga somehow adds a new dimension to this practice. While often unpredictable, this week's Texas "winter" weather has been in the refreshing 60-degree range. My morning routine now includes a cup of coffee (I don't think I'll ever kick that caffeine habit) and bringing my yoga mat out to the back patio. The poses blend perfectly with cool breezes rippling over my skin and sunbeams piercing through my relaxed eyelids. When I close my eyes, I can even make out these amazing rays of sunlight that play with my imagination. Shapes and beams of light take form, and it all adds to my love of nature and my love of yoga. Add in the New Age Ambient station on Pandora, and I do believe, my friends, it's a small piece of heaven. So, don't just take my word for it. If you're looking for something new to add to your life in 2011, try a little outdoor yoga. Namaste.
I've been practicing yoga for about two years now, and somehow, the thought had never occurred to me to practice yoga outside until yesterday. Now that I've experienced this little piece of heaven, I'm almost embarassed to admit that it took me so long to get here. I'm an avid nature fan, and I always feel more at peace after spending some time outside, nestled in trees' shadows and ruffled by the wind's fingers. Yoga has been an important part of my life since I first took a class at Baylor, and I've come to rely on it as one of the few pieces of my life that's "just for me." I've come to adore this time of relaxation as sacred and a crucial part of keeping myself centered. I love serving others and helping in any way I can, but who among us doesn't need a little time to themselves?
Outside yoga somehow adds a new dimension to this practice. While often unpredictable, this week's Texas "winter" weather has been in the refreshing 60-degree range. My morning routine now includes a cup of coffee (I don't think I'll ever kick that caffeine habit) and bringing my yoga mat out to the back patio. The poses blend perfectly with cool breezes rippling over my skin and sunbeams piercing through my relaxed eyelids. When I close my eyes, I can even make out these amazing rays of sunlight that play with my imagination. Shapes and beams of light take form, and it all adds to my love of nature and my love of yoga. Add in the New Age Ambient station on Pandora, and I do believe, my friends, it's a small piece of heaven. So, don't just take my word for it. If you're looking for something new to add to your life in 2011, try a little outdoor yoga. Namaste.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Better Days
Happy New Year, everyone! It's so hard to believe it's already 2011! I've said that to a few people over the past week or so, and I've gotten a similar response from several of them: "Thank God 2010 is over!" I feel like "good riddance" is probably a pretty common sentiment to hear at the end of any year, but it seems like I've heard it a lot more now than in the past. Could it be that 2010 was a particularly treacherous year? Possibly. Could it be that people are just exhausted and tired of trying so hard? Possibly. Could it be true that 2011 will be filled with better days? Possibly. No one knows.
"And you asked me what I want this year,
And I try to make this kind and clear.
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days."
"And you asked me what I want this year,
And I try to make this kind and clear.
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days."
As we enter into the next decade, I can't help but think back to the Goo Goo Dolls song "Better Days." This song is on a playlist that always fills me with inspiration when I'm writing or just mulling over some elusive thoughts. I think it's the perfect song to begin a new year. There's just something about this song that fills me with hope, even if I know that halfway through the year, I'll be wondering where all that hopefulness went. I really do think that 2011 will be better, but only if we keep searching for those better days. As a teacher, I tell my kids, "You find what you're looking for. If you look for the good, you'll see it, and if you look for the bad, you'll see that, too." If you think about it, this song isn't asking for days that are actually better. It's about the chance for better days. If we drag all our baggage from 2010 with us, how can we expect to have better days? It's time to let go of what holds us back, and it's time to give ourselves the chance for better days.
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