I am officially done with my first semester of college! Oh, there were times when I thought this day would never come. I have never lived as fast and as hard as I have lived in the past four months. I have never learned so much in such a short time. If inner growth manifested itself in outer growth, I would have gone through about 6 shoe sizes and many, many pairs of jeans.
Statistically, it looks like I have lost more than I gained. I lived in a nice house, now I have half a room with the communal bathroom down the hall and nothing to cook in but a very tiny microwave. All my earthly positions can and will fit in a van. Many of my high school friends, some who I really thought cared about me, and who I actually thought I cared about, have fallen by the wayside. Only a couple of friends have stuck around.
Since getting drunk is not my idea of a good time, my Friday nights rival those of a middle schooler's. N64, movies, decorating rooms and playing your neighbor's hair, yes! I used to know a lot about the world, and then I took philosophy and religion courses, and starting following politics. I used to eat well and sleep through the night, now 7 hours is a treat and a hot dog is good red meat.
I have learned that life is hard and painful, I have learned that nothing stays the same, I have learned that people are people and that nothing is what you expect. I have learned that I am a tiny spec that knows nothing, I have learned that I don't have enough time. So why do I feel like I just swam the 50 free in 20 seconds flat? Why do I feel like I've climbed Everest? Why do I feel like climbing to the roof of the tallest building on campus just to scream my head off?
Because I know who I am, and I'm still me. I still wake up and hope that today is better than yesterday, I still go to bed knowing something that I didn't 24 hours earlier. I love my true friends and my family more than ever. I know that life is hard, and I'm excited about it anyways, I dream anyways. There is still plenty in this world to love, still plenty to fight for. And for the first time there is this underlying feeling that I'm going somewhere, that I'm doing something really good.
I suppose the word for it is confidence. I'm afraid of many more things than I ever have been, but I am confident that I can handle it. Even if I'm just hanging on by a thread, I can hang on. I'm confident that what I have to say is worth saying, and on occasion, worth hearing. I'm confident that if I work, I can get where I want. And I'm confident that time and space is no match for a good relationship. My environment, my circumstances, my status in life have all changed, and I am still me.
I'll just say it. I kicked ass.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
football....must....resist...
My plan was to hit the books hard right after lunch. But... it's a bad weather, playoff-deciding Bills game, and I cannot resist, I just can't. I am a Green Bay fan, but I still love the Bills. And they're playing in a blizzard and I love, love, love bad weather games.
So, I can watch the game while I write up my math exam cheat sheet, and finish clipping and assembling my newspaper portfolio, and outlining some religion notes. I can start on philosophy afterwards.
This is OK, since I already spent two hours on philosophy before lunch. It's OK.
Don't look at me like that.
So, I can watch the game while I write up my math exam cheat sheet, and finish clipping and assembling my newspaper portfolio, and outlining some religion notes. I can start on philosophy afterwards.
This is OK, since I already spent two hours on philosophy before lunch. It's OK.
Don't look at me like that.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Saturday before Finals
I woke up at 11:00 this morning. This was pretty much my thought process: "11:00, I hate sleeping this late. My head is going to hurt....Wait! My head doesn't hurt!" *sits up* "Ow, ok, never mind. Ugh."
I put on sweatpants and a hoodie and headed off to brunch. I ate a delicious waffle, and poked half-heartedly at an egg to make me feel at least a little bit healthy. I went back to the dorm for a shower, and was clean and dry, and moisturized by 1:00.
I made coffee and watched half of Wednesday night's Republican debate on Youtube, in ten-minute intervals, while I waited for the caffeine to kick in. After I was properly awake, and had more new questions than answers about this election, I borrowed my neighbor's vacuum. I vacuumed what I like to call the "high-traffic area," (the strip of carpet not buried by furniture running down the middle of the room) under my desk, and under my bed. Then I shifted the vacuum into dust-buster mode, and vacuumed off the top of my comforter. Then I vacuumed Gus, my bear, because I remembered something about mites and stuffed animals and vacuuming. Gus is now incredibly poofy.
I washed out my coffee mug and returned the vacuum, and settled into studying. I'm writing up essays for my poli sci final - never have six questions been so painful or time-consuming. Here is the first bit answering the second question:
"The difference between a philosopher and a poet is the difference between the words "hypothetical" and "fictional," which is to say, not much of a difference at all. Both explore human nature, human interaction, and the meanings of these studies at their most complex and abstract levels."
Impressive, huh? After two hours of that, I'm taking a blogging break to avoid the TV or Facebook, which would suck me in for hours. Now my goal is to finish two other questions by 6:00, then break for dinner. After that, I have a couple of hours of studying the histories of the three major religions before I can, in good conscience, call it a day.
I put on sweatpants and a hoodie and headed off to brunch. I ate a delicious waffle, and poked half-heartedly at an egg to make me feel at least a little bit healthy. I went back to the dorm for a shower, and was clean and dry, and moisturized by 1:00.
I made coffee and watched half of Wednesday night's Republican debate on Youtube, in ten-minute intervals, while I waited for the caffeine to kick in. After I was properly awake, and had more new questions than answers about this election, I borrowed my neighbor's vacuum. I vacuumed what I like to call the "high-traffic area," (the strip of carpet not buried by furniture running down the middle of the room) under my desk, and under my bed. Then I shifted the vacuum into dust-buster mode, and vacuumed off the top of my comforter. Then I vacuumed Gus, my bear, because I remembered something about mites and stuffed animals and vacuuming. Gus is now incredibly poofy.
I washed out my coffee mug and returned the vacuum, and settled into studying. I'm writing up essays for my poli sci final - never have six questions been so painful or time-consuming. Here is the first bit answering the second question:
"The difference between a philosopher and a poet is the difference between the words "hypothetical" and "fictional," which is to say, not much of a difference at all. Both explore human nature, human interaction, and the meanings of these studies at their most complex and abstract levels."
Impressive, huh? After two hours of that, I'm taking a blogging break to avoid the TV or Facebook, which would suck me in for hours. Now my goal is to finish two other questions by 6:00, then break for dinner. After that, I have a couple of hours of studying the histories of the three major religions before I can, in good conscience, call it a day.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Livin' By My Own Rules!
I have edge. I have a dark side, everyone does. For two days in a row, I have had not one, but two cups of coffee. And that's knowing full well that it would make me jittery and irritated. On occasion, I curse. Some of you may be shocked, but I'm afraid it's true. Just now, I sent in an article four hours late. Once, I woke up and didn't feel like going to my English class. So I didn't.
On weekends, I will sleep until 10:00, sometimes 11:00 even. That's wasting half a day's sunlight. I associate with people who drink on a regular basis, and even do drugs from time to time. I haven't been to the gym since last week...but I'm studying for finals so I guess it doesn't count.
I put crayon on my walls, even though it wasn't allowed, and I have an illegal sandwich griller in my closet. Take right now, I should be studying, but I'm blogging. Ooh. Sometimes I'll go out into the rain without a jacket or umbrella. Sometimes I'll yell at the girls in my hall for being loud, instead of gently reprimanding them in love. I threaten actual violence to all who mock my Green Bay fanhood. I don't always record my purchases in my checkbook, and I don't usually take out my garbage until it smells.
I look sweet and innocent. But I'm dangerous, I'm on the edge. Look out, world!
On weekends, I will sleep until 10:00, sometimes 11:00 even. That's wasting half a day's sunlight. I associate with people who drink on a regular basis, and even do drugs from time to time. I haven't been to the gym since last week...but I'm studying for finals so I guess it doesn't count.
I put crayon on my walls, even though it wasn't allowed, and I have an illegal sandwich griller in my closet. Take right now, I should be studying, but I'm blogging. Ooh. Sometimes I'll go out into the rain without a jacket or umbrella. Sometimes I'll yell at the girls in my hall for being loud, instead of gently reprimanding them in love. I threaten actual violence to all who mock my Green Bay fanhood. I don't always record my purchases in my checkbook, and I don't usually take out my garbage until it smells.
I look sweet and innocent. But I'm dangerous, I'm on the edge. Look out, world!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Sympathy
I want to live an R-rated life. I want to live the kind of life that you would not want to show to your 13-year old. I want to be disturbed, and pursue the source of that uneasiness until I meet it head-on.
I was reading the paper this morning, and I was wondering if I could stomach some of the things that some journalists report on. Kids in Afghanistan who will die because they don't have medical care, human slaves in Cambodia, orphans in Africa. Am I capable of bearing witness to these horrific tragedies? Do I really need to take on so much pain that isn't my own, isn't life hard enough already?
I am a 21 century American woman - that is as lucky as it gets. But I could just as easily be the front page of the New York Times. What makes me different from the living, breathing tragedies on the other side of the world? What were the chances that I would be born into such freedom and security? I do think that I was born into this privilege to keep it all to myself. I was not made to run away and hide from the nasty things- I was made, and enabled, and commanded to defend those who cannot defend themselves.
So many people try so hard to keep ugliness out of their lives. They are so afraid to be touched by this evil. But we don't live in a perfect world, and ignoring the cruel things will not make them go away. But I do think that when we face trauma that is not our own, something happens. I think that when we let ugliness into our lives with the intention of fighting it, something changes. And I think that all of the cruelty in this world is not enough for the willing adversary.
Today, I make the biggest decision in my life. I decide to see things that will give me nightmares. I decide to find a pain that is bigger than my own, and take it on. I decide to be uncomfortable. I am not going to live so that I can complete a checklist upon my deathbed. I am going to live so that when someone else is on their deathbed, things have been different for them. The life that they reflect on has been better.
I was reading the paper this morning, and I was wondering if I could stomach some of the things that some journalists report on. Kids in Afghanistan who will die because they don't have medical care, human slaves in Cambodia, orphans in Africa. Am I capable of bearing witness to these horrific tragedies? Do I really need to take on so much pain that isn't my own, isn't life hard enough already?
I am a 21 century American woman - that is as lucky as it gets. But I could just as easily be the front page of the New York Times. What makes me different from the living, breathing tragedies on the other side of the world? What were the chances that I would be born into such freedom and security? I do think that I was born into this privilege to keep it all to myself. I was not made to run away and hide from the nasty things- I was made, and enabled, and commanded to defend those who cannot defend themselves.
So many people try so hard to keep ugliness out of their lives. They are so afraid to be touched by this evil. But we don't live in a perfect world, and ignoring the cruel things will not make them go away. But I do think that when we face trauma that is not our own, something happens. I think that when we let ugliness into our lives with the intention of fighting it, something changes. And I think that all of the cruelty in this world is not enough for the willing adversary.
Today, I make the biggest decision in my life. I decide to see things that will give me nightmares. I decide to find a pain that is bigger than my own, and take it on. I decide to be uncomfortable. I am not going to live so that I can complete a checklist upon my deathbed. I am going to live so that when someone else is on their deathbed, things have been different for them. The life that they reflect on has been better.
On Plans:
I have contrived a plan, hopefully squeezing 600 years into one lifetime.
I will major in journalism and minor in education. I will graduate and be a foreign correspondent for 5-8 years, travel to the Congo and Russia and everything. Then I will settle down and work for a small-city newspaper while I raise some kids. After the kids are moved out, and journalism has burned me out, I'll go back to complete my education degree. Then I'll teach middle school and be the crazy old teacher that everybody loves. Over the summers, I can write my books and kick around with the grandkids.
Some plan, huh? After the past few months, I don't know why I bother making plans anymore- nothing ever goes like I expect it to. For all my intentions I'll end up opening a bakery or a hot dog stand, or become President. Who can say?
If coming to college has taught me one thing - life is bigger than me. The best I can do is what I love, and do it well, and see where it takes me. Because if you had told me one year ago that I would be a journalism major in Erie, PA, I would have laughed my head off. I would have not believed what friendships would stick and which ones would fall by the wayside. If you had said that living at a public state school is not as nice as being home, I probably would have run away with my fingers in my ears.
And it's not what I planned, and sometimes it's not what I had hoped. But it is real, and there is hope within it. For the first time I feel elbow-deep in life, like I'm getting my hands dirty and I'm finally seeing what it's all about. I'm finding out what is most important to me, and who I really am. And the truth is that it hurts to grow, usually. But there is nothing like coming home and standing in your room and feeling...big. Like you are in color, and the room is in black and white.
So, I'll keep making plans, and maybe a fraction of them will actually carry out. But then how sad would it be if your life went exactly according to plan? If you weren't forced to grow and become more than you were yesterday, or last month, or last year? No, all things considered, I like this way better. I am not afraid of the growing pains.
I will major in journalism and minor in education. I will graduate and be a foreign correspondent for 5-8 years, travel to the Congo and Russia and everything. Then I will settle down and work for a small-city newspaper while I raise some kids. After the kids are moved out, and journalism has burned me out, I'll go back to complete my education degree. Then I'll teach middle school and be the crazy old teacher that everybody loves. Over the summers, I can write my books and kick around with the grandkids.
Some plan, huh? After the past few months, I don't know why I bother making plans anymore- nothing ever goes like I expect it to. For all my intentions I'll end up opening a bakery or a hot dog stand, or become President. Who can say?
If coming to college has taught me one thing - life is bigger than me. The best I can do is what I love, and do it well, and see where it takes me. Because if you had told me one year ago that I would be a journalism major in Erie, PA, I would have laughed my head off. I would have not believed what friendships would stick and which ones would fall by the wayside. If you had said that living at a public state school is not as nice as being home, I probably would have run away with my fingers in my ears.
And it's not what I planned, and sometimes it's not what I had hoped. But it is real, and there is hope within it. For the first time I feel elbow-deep in life, like I'm getting my hands dirty and I'm finally seeing what it's all about. I'm finding out what is most important to me, and who I really am. And the truth is that it hurts to grow, usually. But there is nothing like coming home and standing in your room and feeling...big. Like you are in color, and the room is in black and white.
So, I'll keep making plans, and maybe a fraction of them will actually carry out. But then how sad would it be if your life went exactly according to plan? If you weren't forced to grow and become more than you were yesterday, or last month, or last year? No, all things considered, I like this way better. I am not afraid of the growing pains.
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