Today's post is an excerpt from my favorite book, The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you. . ."
"Yes that is so", said the fox.
"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.
"Yes that is so" said the fox.
"Then it has done you no good at all!"
"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added: "go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. "You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made a friend, and now he is unique in all the world." And the roses were very much embarrassed. "You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you -- the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is MY rose."
And he went back to meet the fox. "Goodbye" he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose-- "said the little prince so he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Grandma's Hands
My Grandmother was sick for years. In fact, for the past eight years it was a given that I could expect a phone call once every three months or so, explaining that she was on the way out, and that I needed to come see her to say goodbye. Even in the year when I lived in New York, I made two trips back to Florida to pay my "final respects." You see, my Grandmother had been suffering from severe diabetes as long as I'd known her. She had to test her blood sugar and give herself shots at least twice a day for the past fifteen to twenty years, and somewhere around when I turned eighteen, she started bleeding internally and began visiting the hospital every few months to have the excess liquid drained from her stomach.
You may be thinking, it doesn't seem normal or plausible for someone to bleed internally for eight years, and in normal situations you'd be correct. Normally that sort of thing is a sure and immediate death sentence. But here's the key: my Grandmother was horribly afraid of death. She was so afraid of dying that she consciously chose not to. Instead, she opted to defy the odds, and laugh in the face of eternal darkness. She opted to visit the hospital constantly and withstand immense amounts of discomfort and pain, all for the sake of gaining a little extra time.
I have to admit, I never understood why she chose to hang on as long as she did. My Grandmother, along with being a kind, incredibly personable, southern woman, was also a devout Mormon. She raised all of her children in the temple, and never drank alcohol (save for a sip of champagne on New Year's Eve), swore, or smoked. She believed in Heaven, and she knew in her heart that she had secured a front row seat there. Now, I am not a religious person at all, and my desire to live as long as possible is due, in part, to the fact that I genuinely don't believe that there is life after death; I have to make as much out of this time as I possibly can. However, I have always thought that if someone truly loved God and believed in the Eternal Kingdom they would be anxious to get there, and would not want to waste any more time on this plane than they had to. Clearly, this was not true of my Grandmother. I don't know if it was due to religious doubt or some other factor, but, despite the constant warnings from my family that 'this time was the time," she wasn't ever going anywhere.
I hadn't seen or spoken to my Grandmother in months, prior to receiving the call from my mother this morning. Three months ago, as expected, I'd received a message saying that my Grandmother was on her way out and that I should come see her to say goodbye if I could afford to. Well, truth be told, I really couldn't afford to, and I honestly (and rightly at the time) didn't believe that she was actually going to die. I had heard it too many times before. My mother could, in these situations, be easily compared to the boy who cried wolf; she was the mother who cried "Grandma's dying." And, like always, in that situation Grandma was taken to the hospital, drained, fixed up with a spinal surgery that "she was sure not to survive" and sent home nearly right-as-rain.
This morning's call was different. Normally, when my Grandmother is ill she immediately opts to visit the doctor, willing to suffer any surgery that might keep her alive. This time she didn't. This time she decided to stay home.
This time she actually died.
I am not angry or resentful about my Grandmother's death, but I am upset about how I was trained to view her life. My Grandmother was loved by hundreds of people. I have never, in my life, known anyone who received more letters and phone calls from people she barely knew. She would stay in contact with the same acquaintances and friends for upwards of forty years. So many people were able to love her unconditionally, because they could see the good in her heart and her genuine interest in their lives. Even her children's ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends would continue to call and write her long after the breakups. She was a genuinely wonderful, caring woman... and I've spent most of my life waiting for her to die.
It is my fault that I did not know her better. There were so many opportunities to spend time with her that I didn't take, and for that I do have some regrets. However, I loved her with all my heart, as every grandchild loves their grandma, and I will never again be able to eat a toasted coconut marshmallow or watch an episode of "Yee Haw" without thinking of her.
Rest in Peace, Golda Christine Kadel - aka, Memaw. You will be forever missed.
You may be thinking, it doesn't seem normal or plausible for someone to bleed internally for eight years, and in normal situations you'd be correct. Normally that sort of thing is a sure and immediate death sentence. But here's the key: my Grandmother was horribly afraid of death. She was so afraid of dying that she consciously chose not to. Instead, she opted to defy the odds, and laugh in the face of eternal darkness. She opted to visit the hospital constantly and withstand immense amounts of discomfort and pain, all for the sake of gaining a little extra time.
I have to admit, I never understood why she chose to hang on as long as she did. My Grandmother, along with being a kind, incredibly personable, southern woman, was also a devout Mormon. She raised all of her children in the temple, and never drank alcohol (save for a sip of champagne on New Year's Eve), swore, or smoked. She believed in Heaven, and she knew in her heart that she had secured a front row seat there. Now, I am not a religious person at all, and my desire to live as long as possible is due, in part, to the fact that I genuinely don't believe that there is life after death; I have to make as much out of this time as I possibly can. However, I have always thought that if someone truly loved God and believed in the Eternal Kingdom they would be anxious to get there, and would not want to waste any more time on this plane than they had to. Clearly, this was not true of my Grandmother. I don't know if it was due to religious doubt or some other factor, but, despite the constant warnings from my family that 'this time was the time," she wasn't ever going anywhere.
I hadn't seen or spoken to my Grandmother in months, prior to receiving the call from my mother this morning. Three months ago, as expected, I'd received a message saying that my Grandmother was on her way out and that I should come see her to say goodbye if I could afford to. Well, truth be told, I really couldn't afford to, and I honestly (and rightly at the time) didn't believe that she was actually going to die. I had heard it too many times before. My mother could, in these situations, be easily compared to the boy who cried wolf; she was the mother who cried "Grandma's dying." And, like always, in that situation Grandma was taken to the hospital, drained, fixed up with a spinal surgery that "she was sure not to survive" and sent home nearly right-as-rain.
This morning's call was different. Normally, when my Grandmother is ill she immediately opts to visit the doctor, willing to suffer any surgery that might keep her alive. This time she didn't. This time she decided to stay home.
This time she actually died.
I am not angry or resentful about my Grandmother's death, but I am upset about how I was trained to view her life. My Grandmother was loved by hundreds of people. I have never, in my life, known anyone who received more letters and phone calls from people she barely knew. She would stay in contact with the same acquaintances and friends for upwards of forty years. So many people were able to love her unconditionally, because they could see the good in her heart and her genuine interest in their lives. Even her children's ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends would continue to call and write her long after the breakups. She was a genuinely wonderful, caring woman... and I've spent most of my life waiting for her to die.
It is my fault that I did not know her better. There were so many opportunities to spend time with her that I didn't take, and for that I do have some regrets. However, I loved her with all my heart, as every grandchild loves their grandma, and I will never again be able to eat a toasted coconut marshmallow or watch an episode of "Yee Haw" without thinking of her.
Rest in Peace, Golda Christine Kadel - aka, Memaw. You will be forever missed.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Crazy
I was going to write an entry about the Community Psychology conference that I attended in Washington this past weekend, but, since I had to write a synopsis of it anyhow, I've decided to just post the paper. Enjoy! This is riveting stuff! ;)
Having never been to a psychology conference, I was unsure of what to expect when our car pulled in to the parking garage of the Washington-Bothell campus. However, when we walked in to the North Creek Events center, I was pleasantly surprised by the informal and supportive atmosphere that greeted us. I carefully perused the day's program, and struggled to choose only three presentations to attend, as everything seemed so interesting. My choices were Ethics and Community Psychology: Creating Space for Dialogue about Graduate Training and Research with Vulnerable Populations, Responding Creatively to Cultural Diversity through Case Stories, and Community Art and Music for Health. I then spent the next few minutes observing and discussing the poster presentations, until the opening ceremony was prepared to begin.
Immediately following the morning introductions was the VERA Project's presentation. I was completely blown away by the mission and business model of this organization, which I had never previously heard of. V.E.R.A. is an acronym for Veri Et Recti Amici, which translates to “true and sincere friends.” Ten years ago, it was the goal of Shannon Stewart and James Kablas to create an all-ages music venue; an extention of the VERA Project that they had seen while attending college in The Netherlands. The Seattle-based installment of this program was an effective counter to the Teen Dance Ordinance, which outlawed the “mixing of people of different ages where there is dancing or music” (www.theveraproject.org). This organization encourages all-ages participation at every business level – administration, event coordinating, concert execution, recording, marketing, and finance. Despite the fact that the founders of the project were not community psychologists, the VERA Project impliments many of the goals and ideas therein, including action research, qualitative data, quantitative data, focus groups, community empowerment, and observation/participation. One of the most difficult issues faced by this organization is ageism/adultism, because the cultural norm is often to assume that adults know more than children, and children have less to offer. I asked them how they handle this problem, and they seemed excited to describe their techniques, which included one-on-one conversations, integration workshops, and a preexisting supportive, unbiased environment. The VERA Project's presentation was well organized and very informative. I thoroughly enjoyed learning about their efforts, and, as a former musician, I appreciate the VERA Project's community contributions, and I wish an organization like this one had existed in my hometown.
After lunch, I attended a workshop which was created by five Portland State University graduate students, titled Ethics and Community Psychology: Creating Space for Dialogue about Graduate Training and Research with Vulnerable Populations. Fortunately for me, but unfortunately for them, I was the only attendee. This, of course, meant that I was able to spend more time asking them questions about their experiences, positive impressions, and negative attitudes regarding PSU's graduate program. The purpose of the workshop was to read a hypothetical story of a grad student who is having trouble balancing her roles and responsibilities, and then answer questions regarding ways in which she and her advisor could make her experience less stressful. Through listening to the others' answers, I was able to learn valuable, honest information about issues, such as: the awkwardness and ethical struggle of seeing your participants in 'real world' settings; the time factors involved in changing your focus once you are already committed to a project; the stress of balancing the roles of student, teaching assistant, research partner, and student advisor; and learning to negotiate with professors when you have to miss classes to conduct research. Having this sort of informal setting to discuss these issues openly and honestly was extremely beneficial to me. Because of this workshop, I now feel far more confident in my abilities regarding my educational future.
The next workshop I attended was titled Responding Creatively to Cultural Diversity through Case Stories, and was conducted by Dr. Diane Gillespie and five graduate students from the University of Washington. In this group, we were asked to read the case study of a young woman named Abby, who, inspired by her psychology professor, confronted her racist family during dinner. In the study, Abby's debate with her kind, strongheaded uncle came to an abrupt halt when he stormed out of the house, leaving both Abby and her mother distressed. Abby's inner conflict between pride for addressing her uncle's bigotry head-on and her guilt over creating family strife caused her to blurt out her story in the middle of class the next day, interrupting another student who had been sharing a painful anecdote about her Latino family's unfortunate living situation. Because of this outburst, Abby was not provided the support that she had craved, but, rather, was ostracized by her teacher and fellow students. This case study provided our group the opportunity to address each character in the story individually. We analyzed the strengths of the uncle, the mother, Abby, the professor, and the classmates. One of the highlights of the group discussion was when Dr. Gillespie leaned over to me and said, “Isn't it interesting that the list of strengths is longer for the uncle than any other character? I wonder why that is?” That question, more than anything else in the discussion, really helped to expand my understanding of the benefits of learning through case studies.
Finally, I attended a presentation of two papers regarding Community Art and Music for Health. The first paper/powerpoint addressed the up-and-coming field of Expressive Art. This field is fundamentally different from art therapy for one important reason: no psychological training is needed in order to practice it. Patients are not diagnosed and prescribed specific artistic goals to assist their needs, but, rather, are encouraged to express their feelings through any form of art that feels comfortable to them. This can include, and is not limited to, painting, music, sculpture, cooking, knitting, and acting. Expressive art is mainly used to assist patients who are recovering from chemical dependencies, and patients have the freedom to decide whether or not their work will be made public (most art pieces are kept confidential). Participants are also encouraged to keep a journal, in which they should record their own deep thoughts and feelings for three days, at least 20 minutes per day. This technique has been medically proven to increase health and healing for individuals. The second paper addressed music therapy, specifically within the Bailey Boushay House, which is a group home for HIV patients. The house contains 35 patient beds, and also provides a day health program, which can treat upwards of 200 patients per day. The Bailey Boushay House uses music as a social participation tool, to address some of the issues that AIDS patients face – e.g., social isolation, dementia, discrimination, and depression. The music therapist, David, learns a multitude of songs (in various languages) so that he may engage each resident on a personal, emotional level. Some of the patients prefer only to listen, but he attempts to involve each individual through techniques, such as sing-alongs, sing-and-respond, and “teaching” (in which the resident teaches him one of their favorite songs). I wanted to attend this presentation, because when I first decided to persue psychology, music and/or art therapy seemed the natural choice, as that was my previous career. I quickly moved away from that focus, but I am still extremely interested in the fields, as I have always felt art to be the best method for emotional catharsis.
I am incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity to attend the Northwest Eco/Community Psychology Conference. The amount of knowledge gained and professionals met were irreplaceable. I learned a multitude of interesting facts, perspectives, and facets of community psychology, and, as an undergraduate, I gained the opportunity to speak informally to professionals and graduate students in my chosen field. Next year, I fully intend to attend this conference again, and I am excited for the opportunity to, potentially (hopefully), share my own research there.
Having never been to a psychology conference, I was unsure of what to expect when our car pulled in to the parking garage of the Washington-Bothell campus. However, when we walked in to the North Creek Events center, I was pleasantly surprised by the informal and supportive atmosphere that greeted us. I carefully perused the day's program, and struggled to choose only three presentations to attend, as everything seemed so interesting. My choices were Ethics and Community Psychology: Creating Space for Dialogue about Graduate Training and Research with Vulnerable Populations, Responding Creatively to Cultural Diversity through Case Stories, and Community Art and Music for Health. I then spent the next few minutes observing and discussing the poster presentations, until the opening ceremony was prepared to begin.
Immediately following the morning introductions was the VERA Project's presentation. I was completely blown away by the mission and business model of this organization, which I had never previously heard of. V.E.R.A. is an acronym for Veri Et Recti Amici, which translates to “true and sincere friends.” Ten years ago, it was the goal of Shannon Stewart and James Kablas to create an all-ages music venue; an extention of the VERA Project that they had seen while attending college in The Netherlands. The Seattle-based installment of this program was an effective counter to the Teen Dance Ordinance, which outlawed the “mixing of people of different ages where there is dancing or music” (www.theveraproject.org). This organization encourages all-ages participation at every business level – administration, event coordinating, concert execution, recording, marketing, and finance. Despite the fact that the founders of the project were not community psychologists, the VERA Project impliments many of the goals and ideas therein, including action research, qualitative data, quantitative data, focus groups, community empowerment, and observation/participation. One of the most difficult issues faced by this organization is ageism/adultism, because the cultural norm is often to assume that adults know more than children, and children have less to offer. I asked them how they handle this problem, and they seemed excited to describe their techniques, which included one-on-one conversations, integration workshops, and a preexisting supportive, unbiased environment. The VERA Project's presentation was well organized and very informative. I thoroughly enjoyed learning about their efforts, and, as a former musician, I appreciate the VERA Project's community contributions, and I wish an organization like this one had existed in my hometown.
After lunch, I attended a workshop which was created by five Portland State University graduate students, titled Ethics and Community Psychology: Creating Space for Dialogue about Graduate Training and Research with Vulnerable Populations. Fortunately for me, but unfortunately for them, I was the only attendee. This, of course, meant that I was able to spend more time asking them questions about their experiences, positive impressions, and negative attitudes regarding PSU's graduate program. The purpose of the workshop was to read a hypothetical story of a grad student who is having trouble balancing her roles and responsibilities, and then answer questions regarding ways in which she and her advisor could make her experience less stressful. Through listening to the others' answers, I was able to learn valuable, honest information about issues, such as: the awkwardness and ethical struggle of seeing your participants in 'real world' settings; the time factors involved in changing your focus once you are already committed to a project; the stress of balancing the roles of student, teaching assistant, research partner, and student advisor; and learning to negotiate with professors when you have to miss classes to conduct research. Having this sort of informal setting to discuss these issues openly and honestly was extremely beneficial to me. Because of this workshop, I now feel far more confident in my abilities regarding my educational future.
The next workshop I attended was titled Responding Creatively to Cultural Diversity through Case Stories, and was conducted by Dr. Diane Gillespie and five graduate students from the University of Washington. In this group, we were asked to read the case study of a young woman named Abby, who, inspired by her psychology professor, confronted her racist family during dinner. In the study, Abby's debate with her kind, strongheaded uncle came to an abrupt halt when he stormed out of the house, leaving both Abby and her mother distressed. Abby's inner conflict between pride for addressing her uncle's bigotry head-on and her guilt over creating family strife caused her to blurt out her story in the middle of class the next day, interrupting another student who had been sharing a painful anecdote about her Latino family's unfortunate living situation. Because of this outburst, Abby was not provided the support that she had craved, but, rather, was ostracized by her teacher and fellow students. This case study provided our group the opportunity to address each character in the story individually. We analyzed the strengths of the uncle, the mother, Abby, the professor, and the classmates. One of the highlights of the group discussion was when Dr. Gillespie leaned over to me and said, “Isn't it interesting that the list of strengths is longer for the uncle than any other character? I wonder why that is?” That question, more than anything else in the discussion, really helped to expand my understanding of the benefits of learning through case studies.
Finally, I attended a presentation of two papers regarding Community Art and Music for Health. The first paper/powerpoint addressed the up-and-coming field of Expressive Art. This field is fundamentally different from art therapy for one important reason: no psychological training is needed in order to practice it. Patients are not diagnosed and prescribed specific artistic goals to assist their needs, but, rather, are encouraged to express their feelings through any form of art that feels comfortable to them. This can include, and is not limited to, painting, music, sculpture, cooking, knitting, and acting. Expressive art is mainly used to assist patients who are recovering from chemical dependencies, and patients have the freedom to decide whether or not their work will be made public (most art pieces are kept confidential). Participants are also encouraged to keep a journal, in which they should record their own deep thoughts and feelings for three days, at least 20 minutes per day. This technique has been medically proven to increase health and healing for individuals. The second paper addressed music therapy, specifically within the Bailey Boushay House, which is a group home for HIV patients. The house contains 35 patient beds, and also provides a day health program, which can treat upwards of 200 patients per day. The Bailey Boushay House uses music as a social participation tool, to address some of the issues that AIDS patients face – e.g., social isolation, dementia, discrimination, and depression. The music therapist, David, learns a multitude of songs (in various languages) so that he may engage each resident on a personal, emotional level. Some of the patients prefer only to listen, but he attempts to involve each individual through techniques, such as sing-alongs, sing-and-respond, and “teaching” (in which the resident teaches him one of their favorite songs). I wanted to attend this presentation, because when I first decided to persue psychology, music and/or art therapy seemed the natural choice, as that was my previous career. I quickly moved away from that focus, but I am still extremely interested in the fields, as I have always felt art to be the best method for emotional catharsis.
I am incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity to attend the Northwest Eco/Community Psychology Conference. The amount of knowledge gained and professionals met were irreplaceable. I learned a multitude of interesting facts, perspectives, and facets of community psychology, and, as an undergraduate, I gained the opportunity to speak informally to professionals and graduate students in my chosen field. Next year, I fully intend to attend this conference again, and I am excited for the opportunity to, potentially (hopefully), share my own research there.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Total Eclipse of the Heart
I had an epiphany tonight, after laying in bed most of the day, eating far too many candy corn and watching old television reruns. There's an aspect of my personality which I've been trying to put my finger on for a long time now; a part of me which makes it difficult to maintain friendships, excel in workplaces, and fully enjoy my educational experience. It feels odd talking about this online, but I promised myself that this blog would act as a diary, so I'm going to disclose my realization to the internet public, in the hopes that I will achieve a catharsis (and hopefully a limited amount of embarrassment and self-doubt). Basically, I am not selfless enough. I am far more selfish a person than I give myself credit for. I realize that it is impossible to truly be selfless; even if one is not expecting a positive outcome from committing a charitable act, one will still receive some sense of happiness and well-being as a result, which could arguably be considered a benefit for oneself. Ere go, you can never truly give without receiving something in return. However, I do believe that I need to make more of an effort to give, without expectations and/or perceived positive outcomes. This applies to all aspects of my life.
As I've previously mentioned, I am majoring in Psychology, with the hopes of pursuing a PhD in Social Psychology. This career goal, in and of itself, implies a certain amount of wanting to help people, and the point of discovering one's personal focus should be to serve as a motivator for working within a community. However, I have been so concerned with getting the 'right' grades, meeting the 'right' people, and saying the 'right' things, that I haven't really done anything. Not anything substantial, at least. I've gotten great grades, and I've met amazing people, but I've been saying all of the wrong things. I've been speaking with the intent to impress, and directing the conversation in ways which I perceive that the speaker will enjoy. I have not been speaking from my heart, and I haven't been honest with anyone. My advisors' inability to help me hasn't been a flaw in them or the school, which I had previously concluded, but rather a problem with my inability to communicate my positions effectively. They couldn't have known how to help me, because, really, they have no idea who I am or what I am really about.
Likewise, my execution of goals has been flawed from the start. I have been learning about people, communities, and the problems therein, but I haven't been volunteering in or helping my community in any way, yet. I have been gaining all of this knowledge, and complaining about the lack of opportunities to apply it in a research setting, yet there are dozens of "helping" organizations in the Portland area, and I haven't visited any of them. It is easy to sit in class and debate the reasons and solutions for the homelessness situation in Portland, but I could have been learning so much more by volunteering in chemical dependency counseling centers and shelters. If I truly plan to someday help people and communities, then I need to start now. I need to start committing selfless acts, and learn more from the people around me.
All of this time I've been waiting to be discovered for all of the 'great' things I've been doing, but none of that really matters. It shouldn't be about me or what I've done at all, but about what I'm doing without the intention of being noticed for it. I need to take myself out of the equation entirely and focus on others for a change. I need to judge less and listen more, but mostly I need to stop trying to impress people and let them see who I really am, flaws and all.
As I've previously mentioned, I am majoring in Psychology, with the hopes of pursuing a PhD in Social Psychology. This career goal, in and of itself, implies a certain amount of wanting to help people, and the point of discovering one's personal focus should be to serve as a motivator for working within a community. However, I have been so concerned with getting the 'right' grades, meeting the 'right' people, and saying the 'right' things, that I haven't really done anything. Not anything substantial, at least. I've gotten great grades, and I've met amazing people, but I've been saying all of the wrong things. I've been speaking with the intent to impress, and directing the conversation in ways which I perceive that the speaker will enjoy. I have not been speaking from my heart, and I haven't been honest with anyone. My advisors' inability to help me hasn't been a flaw in them or the school, which I had previously concluded, but rather a problem with my inability to communicate my positions effectively. They couldn't have known how to help me, because, really, they have no idea who I am or what I am really about.
Likewise, my execution of goals has been flawed from the start. I have been learning about people, communities, and the problems therein, but I haven't been volunteering in or helping my community in any way, yet. I have been gaining all of this knowledge, and complaining about the lack of opportunities to apply it in a research setting, yet there are dozens of "helping" organizations in the Portland area, and I haven't visited any of them. It is easy to sit in class and debate the reasons and solutions for the homelessness situation in Portland, but I could have been learning so much more by volunteering in chemical dependency counseling centers and shelters. If I truly plan to someday help people and communities, then I need to start now. I need to start committing selfless acts, and learn more from the people around me.
All of this time I've been waiting to be discovered for all of the 'great' things I've been doing, but none of that really matters. It shouldn't be about me or what I've done at all, but about what I'm doing without the intention of being noticed for it. I need to take myself out of the equation entirely and focus on others for a change. I need to judge less and listen more, but mostly I need to stop trying to impress people and let them see who I really am, flaws and all.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Help!
I had a meeting with one of my professors today, in the hopes of honing down my interests into one tangible focus. One of the great and tricky things about studying Psychology is that any phenomena in the human experience is available for studying. This, of course, makes the field both rich with opportunities and inspiration, and also hard to find specific focus in. When I first entered the program, there were two phenomena that I was interested in studying: computer mediated communication and political psychology. I have since lost interest in studying politics, but the computer angle still intrigues me. Basically computer mediated communication deals with the understanding of how sites like Facebook, Myspace, and various other online communities affect the way that we act in our relationships. Do these sites strengthen our friendships, deteriorate them, alter them, or leave them unaffected? This field dabbles in both Communication and Psychology, depending upon the researcher's angles and interests.
I have also acquired two newly-inspired interests since entering the program, both of which are inspired by my personal experiences. The first of which involves the relationship between friends before and after marriage. It seems, based on my own story and those that I've heard from my friends, colleagues, and family, that an unconscious rift is created between friends and married couples after the wedding. Often, as early as two weeks or as long as a month after the ceremony, the married couple finds itself wondering, "where did everybody go?" Whether this phenomena is a result of the learned understanding of 'marriage' as something that demands privacy, or an assumption that a married couple is no longer interested in late-night fun (which is sometimes true), or even the married couple unconsciously removing itself from it's previous relationships... I just don't know, but I find it fascinating. If anyone has similar stories or feedback about this, I'd love to hear it!
My third interest is one that has not yet been studied in depth within a psychological concept, but I feel it absolutely should. It concerns food allergies and their impact on self-esteem. It may seem like an odd concept, but anyone who suffers from some sort of food allergy has, often on a regular basis, been subject to comments such as: "Oh, that's terrible," "I'm so sorry for you," or my personal favorite, "This is delicious... oh, wait... I forgot that you can't eat this. You're really missing out!" I have only been dealing with my allergy for two years, but the people I've known who have suffered from some sort of intolerance their whole lives seem greatly effected by (and often overly defensive about) comments such as these. Through a Community Psychology setting, I could not only study the relevance of this phenomena, but also potentially set up support groups, information centers, and self-help lines to create a sense of community and support for people like myself and many others.
I have not yet decided which of these areas to focus on for my graduate research, but I am definitely leaning toward the latter two. Again, any feedback or personal stories would be wonderful to hear and take into consideration. Help is always appreciated! Thanks!
I have also acquired two newly-inspired interests since entering the program, both of which are inspired by my personal experiences. The first of which involves the relationship between friends before and after marriage. It seems, based on my own story and those that I've heard from my friends, colleagues, and family, that an unconscious rift is created between friends and married couples after the wedding. Often, as early as two weeks or as long as a month after the ceremony, the married couple finds itself wondering, "where did everybody go?" Whether this phenomena is a result of the learned understanding of 'marriage' as something that demands privacy, or an assumption that a married couple is no longer interested in late-night fun (which is sometimes true), or even the married couple unconsciously removing itself from it's previous relationships... I just don't know, but I find it fascinating. If anyone has similar stories or feedback about this, I'd love to hear it!
My third interest is one that has not yet been studied in depth within a psychological concept, but I feel it absolutely should. It concerns food allergies and their impact on self-esteem. It may seem like an odd concept, but anyone who suffers from some sort of food allergy has, often on a regular basis, been subject to comments such as: "Oh, that's terrible," "I'm so sorry for you," or my personal favorite, "This is delicious... oh, wait... I forgot that you can't eat this. You're really missing out!" I have only been dealing with my allergy for two years, but the people I've known who have suffered from some sort of intolerance their whole lives seem greatly effected by (and often overly defensive about) comments such as these. Through a Community Psychology setting, I could not only study the relevance of this phenomena, but also potentially set up support groups, information centers, and self-help lines to create a sense of community and support for people like myself and many others.
I have not yet decided which of these areas to focus on for my graduate research, but I am definitely leaning toward the latter two. Again, any feedback or personal stories would be wonderful to hear and take into consideration. Help is always appreciated! Thanks!
Monday, October 12, 2009
Headache
So, the pumpkin patch trip has been postponed, due to the WORST HEADACHE EVER. Seriously, as someone who very rarely gets headaches at all, migraines equal death. I was in bed, half-asleep, for the better part of Saturday and Sunday. There must have been something in the air, because Chris was feeling the same pains Sunday morning. Either that or we're hitting that married couple stride where we literally share each others feelings. Hmm... weird.
Anyway, for those who don't know, I babysit three fantastic (and sometimes mentally-challenging) children every Monday and Friday afternoon. Well, this past Friday the boy (we'll call him JJ) had a sore throat and cough and, being a child, rarely remembered to cover his mouth. Every now and then I wonder if I have a touch of hypochondriac in me, because I tend to jump to the worst conclusions first and then work backwards from that. Case in point, I woke up Saturday morning with the headache gods drilling a hole in my brain, and my first thought was, "oh no! JJ must have the swine flu, and he gave it to me. ARG! Now I have to miss school, and I won't be able to study, and I'll get Chris sick, etc. etc." Then, about 27 seconds later I thought, "Oh yeah. Chris and I went out last night, and I had my first glass of wine in weeks, and it was a bold, red wine. I guess I'll be okay. Stupid hangover!" Although, in retrospect I think the headache was due not just to the wine, but also to the fact that I ate some gluten at the kids house Friday afternoon (homemade butterscotch pancakes! How can you not eat something that you're cooking, and smelling, and drooling over?!). Today my arm has rough patches all over it, and my head is still a little fuzzy. I need to put a little more forethought into my meals when I'm over there from now on.
So, last night Chris and I finally got tired of laying around the dark apartment and decided that it was time to bust out. We drove up the Historic Columbia River Highway, and enjoyed the beginnings of the Fall color-change along the gorge. That drive is by far one of my favorite activities in this area! It's supposed to rain almost everyday this week, but I don't mind. The rain makes the grass green and the flowers grow, and that is a small price to pay to live in such a beautiful city. Plus, I'm hoping that eventually these drizzles turn into snow flurries. Then life would be perfecto!
Speaking of perfecto, I made a delicious Pumpkin Soup the other day! Here's the recipe:
1 can Organic Pumpkin
1 1/2 cups water
1/3 cup Orange Pineapple juice (I like Simply Orange brand, but I'm sure others would be equally yummy)
1/4 cup cream (I used MimicCream, which is a nut/rice based non-dairy creamer. Regular or soy creamer would work as well)
2 tbsp All Spice
1 tbsp salt (then more to taste at the end)
1 tbsp pepper
1 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic
1/4 red onion, chopped
1) Melt your chopped onion, garlic, olive oil, and salt in the bottom of a medium saucepan, until soft.
2) Add the Orange Pineapple Juice and All Spice. Bring to a light boil.
3) Add the water. Continue boiling.
4) Add the pumpkin, and stir in completely.
5) Add the pepper.
6) Use an immersion blender to break down the onions and garlic, until the soup is smooth.
7) Turn off the heat, and stir in the cream. Taste and re-season if needed.
That's it! Super easy! The whole process took me about 10-15 minutes, and Christopher (who hates soup) had two helpings. Enjoy!
Anyway, for those who don't know, I babysit three fantastic (and sometimes mentally-challenging) children every Monday and Friday afternoon. Well, this past Friday the boy (we'll call him JJ) had a sore throat and cough and, being a child, rarely remembered to cover his mouth. Every now and then I wonder if I have a touch of hypochondriac in me, because I tend to jump to the worst conclusions first and then work backwards from that. Case in point, I woke up Saturday morning with the headache gods drilling a hole in my brain, and my first thought was, "oh no! JJ must have the swine flu, and he gave it to me. ARG! Now I have to miss school, and I won't be able to study, and I'll get Chris sick, etc. etc." Then, about 27 seconds later I thought, "Oh yeah. Chris and I went out last night, and I had my first glass of wine in weeks, and it was a bold, red wine. I guess I'll be okay. Stupid hangover!" Although, in retrospect I think the headache was due not just to the wine, but also to the fact that I ate some gluten at the kids house Friday afternoon (homemade butterscotch pancakes! How can you not eat something that you're cooking, and smelling, and drooling over?!). Today my arm has rough patches all over it, and my head is still a little fuzzy. I need to put a little more forethought into my meals when I'm over there from now on.
So, last night Chris and I finally got tired of laying around the dark apartment and decided that it was time to bust out. We drove up the Historic Columbia River Highway, and enjoyed the beginnings of the Fall color-change along the gorge. That drive is by far one of my favorite activities in this area! It's supposed to rain almost everyday this week, but I don't mind. The rain makes the grass green and the flowers grow, and that is a small price to pay to live in such a beautiful city. Plus, I'm hoping that eventually these drizzles turn into snow flurries. Then life would be perfecto!
Speaking of perfecto, I made a delicious Pumpkin Soup the other day! Here's the recipe:
1 can Organic Pumpkin
1 1/2 cups water
1/3 cup Orange Pineapple juice (I like Simply Orange brand, but I'm sure others would be equally yummy)
1/4 cup cream (I used MimicCream, which is a nut/rice based non-dairy creamer. Regular or soy creamer would work as well)
2 tbsp All Spice
1 tbsp salt (then more to taste at the end)
1 tbsp pepper
1 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic
1/4 red onion, chopped
1) Melt your chopped onion, garlic, olive oil, and salt in the bottom of a medium saucepan, until soft.
2) Add the Orange Pineapple Juice and All Spice. Bring to a light boil.
3) Add the water. Continue boiling.
4) Add the pumpkin, and stir in completely.
5) Add the pepper.
6) Use an immersion blender to break down the onions and garlic, until the soup is smooth.
7) Turn off the heat, and stir in the cream. Taste and re-season if needed.
That's it! Super easy! The whole process took me about 10-15 minutes, and Christopher (who hates soup) had two helpings. Enjoy!
Thursday, October 8, 2009
You Light Up My Life
I'm having a love affair, and I don't even feel guilty about it. My heart fills with joy and satisfaction every time the thought of this 'other' drifts into my mind. I can't even pass a store without secretly craving another rendezvous. Who is this mysterious third party? Angelina's White Rice Sandwich Bread.
As one of the "unfortunate" gluten-intolerant citizens of the world, I will be the first to admit that a delicious bread is hard to come by. And one that doesn't turn rock-hard overnight... impossible. Angelina's defies all of the typical GF bread stereotypes. It is deliciously moist, survives for weeks in the refrigerator, and, when toasted with butter, closely resembles my grandmother's pound cake.
Unfortunately for those of you who don't live in the NW, Angelina's bakery is still a locally-distributed item. However, it can be shipped nationwide for the low price of $36/case, which translates to $6.50/loaf. In addition, the bakery offers scones, cookies, and various other baked delights. If you get the chance and inclination, you should absolutely try this brand. Adultery never tasted so good.
As one of the "unfortunate" gluten-intolerant citizens of the world, I will be the first to admit that a delicious bread is hard to come by. And one that doesn't turn rock-hard overnight... impossible. Angelina's defies all of the typical GF bread stereotypes. It is deliciously moist, survives for weeks in the refrigerator, and, when toasted with butter, closely resembles my grandmother's pound cake.
Unfortunately for those of you who don't live in the NW, Angelina's bakery is still a locally-distributed item. However, it can be shipped nationwide for the low price of $36/case, which translates to $6.50/loaf. In addition, the bakery offers scones, cookies, and various other baked delights. If you get the chance and inclination, you should absolutely try this brand. Adultery never tasted so good.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Reality
I'd like to use today's blogpost to give a shout-out to my incredibly talented husband, Christopher. He's been working really hard with our friends Chris and Tim over the past few months to create a hilarious, and visually impressive short film, titled "James vs. Reality." Check out the trailer!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
It's a Beautiful Morning
Perfection. Today is sheer perfection. Well, weather-wise, at least. I slept in much later than I should have today. My plan was to be on campus by 8am so that I could read and review my notes before my 12:00 class, but I actually got out of bed at 12:30, missed my noon class, and strolled in 5 minutes late for my 2:00 class. Whoops! This is an insignificant tangent, however, because the real star of this story was the beautiful, clear blue sky and 62 degree temperature that greeted me when I finally did leave my apartment.
You see, I hate to feel rushed. There is nothing that can ruin my day faster than that stomach-in-the-throat feeling you get from knowing that you're running late (because of this I tend to be 5-10 minutes early for everything). I should have felt that today, but as soon as I walked out the door of my apartment building, the cool, crisp air filled my senses and diffused whatever worries I may have had. I patiently sat at my bus stop, unworried about the 20 minute wait [as I had just missed the previous bus while hunting for my keys]. I just sat and watched the world around me. I watched the people pass by me, I watched the leaves blowing in the slight breeze, I felt the warm touch of the sun through the chill in the air... it was sheer perfection. I do not at all regret sleeping in and missing class today. In fact, I'm kicking myself for attending my other two classes, as all I'd like to do is go on a long walk around the streets of Portland. Days like this are not uncommon in this city, but for some reason today really spoke to me. It reminded me of how happy I am to live here, and how wonderful life really is.
How's that for waxing poetic?
You see, I hate to feel rushed. There is nothing that can ruin my day faster than that stomach-in-the-throat feeling you get from knowing that you're running late (because of this I tend to be 5-10 minutes early for everything). I should have felt that today, but as soon as I walked out the door of my apartment building, the cool, crisp air filled my senses and diffused whatever worries I may have had. I patiently sat at my bus stop, unworried about the 20 minute wait [as I had just missed the previous bus while hunting for my keys]. I just sat and watched the world around me. I watched the people pass by me, I watched the leaves blowing in the slight breeze, I felt the warm touch of the sun through the chill in the air... it was sheer perfection. I do not at all regret sleeping in and missing class today. In fact, I'm kicking myself for attending my other two classes, as all I'd like to do is go on a long walk around the streets of Portland. Days like this are not uncommon in this city, but for some reason today really spoke to me. It reminded me of how happy I am to live here, and how wonderful life really is.
How's that for waxing poetic?
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Monster Mash
Fall has always been my favorite time of year. Having grown up in Florida, where seasons are 87% imaginary (there's a few chilly days here and there), I always looked forward to that first "cold" day of the year. I affectionately named this "Park Day," and would roll down my car windows, crank up some deliciously comfy folk music, and smile all the way to my favorite swing set. There were always a few friends who were willing to humor my made-up holiday, and every time I experience a chilly day here in Portland, I inevitably think of them: Alan, Lauren, Ben, and Natalia.
This week, my favorite season started to rear it's head, and, for the first time in my life, I am actually living somewhere where I'll be able to experience a real color change. As a matter of fact, it's already started. The tips of several trees in my neighborhood are turning beautiful hues of pink, yellow, and red. All I can think to do is drink as much hot cocoa as possible and walk around the streets of Ladd's Addition, staring affectionately at the Fall foliage.
There is one thing which I'm looking forward to above all else, though. You see, Portland is surrounded by pumpkin patches. The most sincere pumpkin patches you've ever seen! And this year is the first year of my life that I have the opportunity to cut my own pumpkin off of its vine. I'm not sure why, but in my mind this one singular event epitomizes the feeling of Fall/Halloween. This weekend Chris and I are making the trek to Sauvie Island, and I will be sure to post lots of pictures!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Summer Nights
March 30, 2009 was my first day back in school, and I was so motivated. I was finally going to finish my B.S. degree (a name that I will never stop chuckling at), and to make things even more exciting I was attending my first University. Up until that point I had bounced around between community colleges, determined not to pay for a "real" education until I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Portland State seemed like a dream come true; it held that "real" college prestige, but the classrooms were still small and intimate, and the teachers all seemed so friendly and helpful. I jammed through my first two semesters with all the ease of an honor student. I looked forward to coming home and reading/studying every night away, and I asked my teachers for extra homework assignments just to insure my 'A' standing.
Then came summer.
I am the kind of person who requires busy work. I am psychologically incapable of having nothing to do for extended periods of time. Sure, if I'd been employed summer would have been a snap. I could have worked longer hours, and kept my brain and body motivated. But, of course, I was unemployed, and, post summer term, I had no classes for one full month. The first two weeks proved extremely difficult; I was battling sheer boredom with The Harry Potter series, and I forced myself to leave the apartment at least once a day to get coffee or hang out with people. However, by week four (the week before last), I was well used to having no responsibilities. So, just as I had begun to settle into a completely care-free existence...
Then came the first day of school, all over again.
I am having a lot of trouble motivating myself to read and do homework this time around. Being back in school seems almost surreal. The hamster in my brain has been enjoying his time off, and is hesitant to jump back in his spinny-wheel just yet. This weekend (translation: RIGHT NOW), I need to read 70 pages and write a 500 word essay for one class, and read a combined 75 pages for my other two classes. I haven't even started yet. As a matter of fact, writing this blog was an excellent stalling technique.
...And writing that last sentence was an excellent motivator for signing off and picking up a text book. I think I'll head up to Palio for some coffee and quiet reading time. Until we meet again!
Friday, October 2, 2009
Try to Remember
I make no claims to being psychic. Personally, I believe that everyone has an instinct which is sometimes more accurate than others, and I've watched enough suspense thrillers to know that when someone says, "I've got a funny feeling..." you should always trust it. I do, however, have one special ability that falls comfortably into the realm of the semi-psychic. It involves music... oldies, to be more specific. When something bad is happening, or soon to be happening, I will be haunted by one song until the issue is resolved. Case in point, when I was in my previous long-term relationship with a man who (in retrospect) I never really loved (mostly he just annoyed me and made me feel terrible), "What's Love Got to Do With It" played on the radio every time I listened to music for one entire year. Seriously. It didn't matter where I was - my car, at home, online, in the grocery store - Tina Turner was singing my woes at every turn for 365 days. It may sound like I'm bullshitting you, but I promise that I am speaking the complete and honest truth.
For whatever reason, last month was really hard on Christopher and me. I'm not sure what the issue was - the stress of unemployment, the pressure of our anniversaries, the constant contact that comes from living in a small studio - but we fought quite a bit. In case you hadn't guessed, we hardly ever fight. I mean, almost never. So, to come full circle with this story, the entire month of September I had one very strange, obscure song, from a musical which I have NEVER seen, stuck in my head. The only time I had ever heard this song was in my 7th grade choir, when I auditioned to sing it for our Broadway Medley concert. The song is called "Try to Remember," and these are the lyrics:
Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow.
Now, obviously these lyrics aren't terribly impressive or interesting, really. But I caught myself singing this song in the shower almost every morning for the past 30 days. If not in the shower, I promise you I was humming it while walking down the street. Sure, this may not seem like such a big deal, but "Try to Remember" is basically about remembering the Septembers when life was easier, and 'no one weeped except the willow.' I mean, that's poignant! That's almost as impressive as "Don't Dream it's Over" (Crowded House) randomly playing on the radio every time I'm about to give up on something that I care about.
Sure, this doesn't qualify as a super power. It's not even that helpful, except in retrospect, but I think it's pretty neat!
For whatever reason, last month was really hard on Christopher and me. I'm not sure what the issue was - the stress of unemployment, the pressure of our anniversaries, the constant contact that comes from living in a small studio - but we fought quite a bit. In case you hadn't guessed, we hardly ever fight. I mean, almost never. So, to come full circle with this story, the entire month of September I had one very strange, obscure song, from a musical which I have NEVER seen, stuck in my head. The only time I had ever heard this song was in my 7th grade choir, when I auditioned to sing it for our Broadway Medley concert. The song is called "Try to Remember," and these are the lyrics:
Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow.
Now, obviously these lyrics aren't terribly impressive or interesting, really. But I caught myself singing this song in the shower almost every morning for the past 30 days. If not in the shower, I promise you I was humming it while walking down the street. Sure, this may not seem like such a big deal, but "Try to Remember" is basically about remembering the Septembers when life was easier, and 'no one weeped except the willow.' I mean, that's poignant! That's almost as impressive as "Don't Dream it's Over" (Crowded House) randomly playing on the radio every time I'm about to give up on something that I care about.
Sure, this doesn't qualify as a super power. It's not even that helpful, except in retrospect, but I think it's pretty neat!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Anyone Need to Pee?
I took this picture in Washington. Everything about this moment seemed both so wrong and oh so right.
Tonight
Have you ever had an itch that you can't scratch? Or an idea that, despite your high levels of enthusiasm, you just can't seem to bring to fruition? Well, I have. As a matter of fact I've had loads of them. The itches are my reason for still being awake at 4:20am, while my husband quietly snores by the light of my Macbook keyboard. The ideas are a consistent, unrelenting reminder of my so-far unfulfilled potential. Take, for instance, blogging. I enjoy the idea of keeping a blog. When I was growing up I had a big-time crush on journals. It would be fair to call me a collector, as I had about 20 beautiful, handcrafted journals adorning my shelves by the time I turned 25. The problem: I never wrote in any of them. At least not consistently. I merely enjoyed the idea of keeping a journal, but the writing part always seemed too daunting. I mean, my handwriting has never been nice enough for those gorgeous, rice paper pages. Silly? Yes. Absolutely.
Fast forward to the first days of fall, 2009. I am now 27 years old. I live with my overwhelmingly handsome, though often inscrutable, husband and our two insane(ly cute) cats. I am [finally] finishing my undergraduate degree, after many years of time off in the name of 'self-discovery.' At this point in my life there are three things that I definitely know for sure, and they are as follows:
1. Age is cyclical. At 24, I was as self-assured and confident in my understanding of the world as I was at 17. Now that I'm 27, I'm as unsure of the future and as self-referential as I was at 20. Clearly the interval for me is 7 years, give or take a few months.
2. Health is our most important asset. Since becoming vegetarian, and later discovering my gluten allergy, I have been healthier than I ever was as an omnivore. I research and take the appropriate vitamins and enzymes for my diet. I purchase as many locally grown and/or produced food items as possible. Let me tell you, I have never felt more energetic, clear-headed, or, well, healthy in my life!
3. A smile really will brighten your day. It's true! And, you know what? If your smile is genuine, it can also be contagious. That, my friends, is a psychological fact.
That being said, I haven't yet decided what direction to take this blog in. Honestly, my biggest issue with blogs is that they always seem too self-involved. Who really needs to know the inner-workings of my brain? But, I suppose if you didn't want to know, you probably wouldn't read this anyhow... Okay, here goes:
This blog will be about me. It will be my outlet when I am drowning in emotional pitfalls. It will be a place where I can share my funny stories and dreams. It will be a way for the world to see me more clearly. Lastly, it will be updated every day, guaranteed. I am going to stick with this one. Wish me luck!
Fast forward to the first days of fall, 2009. I am now 27 years old. I live with my overwhelmingly handsome, though often inscrutable, husband and our two insane(ly cute) cats. I am [finally] finishing my undergraduate degree, after many years of time off in the name of 'self-discovery.' At this point in my life there are three things that I definitely know for sure, and they are as follows:
1. Age is cyclical. At 24, I was as self-assured and confident in my understanding of the world as I was at 17. Now that I'm 27, I'm as unsure of the future and as self-referential as I was at 20. Clearly the interval for me is 7 years, give or take a few months.
2. Health is our most important asset. Since becoming vegetarian, and later discovering my gluten allergy, I have been healthier than I ever was as an omnivore. I research and take the appropriate vitamins and enzymes for my diet. I purchase as many locally grown and/or produced food items as possible. Let me tell you, I have never felt more energetic, clear-headed, or, well, healthy in my life!
3. A smile really will brighten your day. It's true! And, you know what? If your smile is genuine, it can also be contagious. That, my friends, is a psychological fact.
That being said, I haven't yet decided what direction to take this blog in. Honestly, my biggest issue with blogs is that they always seem too self-involved. Who really needs to know the inner-workings of my brain? But, I suppose if you didn't want to know, you probably wouldn't read this anyhow... Okay, here goes:
This blog will be about me. It will be my outlet when I am drowning in emotional pitfalls. It will be a place where I can share my funny stories and dreams. It will be a way for the world to see me more clearly. Lastly, it will be updated every day, guaranteed. I am going to stick with this one. Wish me luck!
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