Thank you Peter from writing class

We had just finished editing each other's resumes and cover letters and were discussing the daunting subject of post-graduation plans. It was at the end of our short discussion at the top of the JFSB stairs that I happened to state my dilemma, a dilemma I've been struggling with for the past six months and hadn't been able to articulate. My problem is that I have too many interests. I would be happy going into academia. I would be happy going into law. I would be happy going into business. I would be happy working with a non-profit. And I would be happy teaching high school.

This dilemma has been troubling and frustrating and stifling me all summer, but upon hearing it Peter simply stated, "Well isn't that a great problem to have. If you know you'll be happy in all of those fields, then you know whatever decision you make you'll be happy." Wow, it was really that easy the entire time. Granted, I still haven't made a decision. But now I realize that I should chill out because whatever happens it's going to be alright and I'll be happy. So thank you Peter from writing class, I really needed that reality check. 

First day of school

It's one of my last first days of school. Such a strange feeling. I've only been a student for almost 80% of my life, you know? When you take into account that I don't remember very much from the other 20%, which all occurs before the age of 5, that becomes even more significant.The first day of school was always such an exciting and nervous day. It was fun to see all of my friends and meet the new teachers. There was a lot of thought and often some shopping put into the first day outfit. And somehow everything felt fresh, probably nothing to do with the crispening autumn air. Definitely not in Vegas, where that crisp autumn air was only a figment of your imagination supplied by plenty of teen high school movies.

Maybe I've just done this too often, maybe it's due to the fact that I've stayed here all summer, but this year I don't really have the same excitement. I'm just tired. However, I think this semester is going to be good for me. I think I need more direction and incentive to complete my goals. I think having the variety of a lot of different classes will be better than just working with the same people all day every day. And I think I'll be happy, because school usually makes me happy.

I think the reason first days are so exciting, iconic, important... to us is that they are new beginnings, and as humans we love new beginnings. For instance, today I put on my ring. A ring I haven't worn all summer for a random and insignificant reason. But today when I saw it, I put it back on. Why? I don't know. Somehow I'm prepared to switch up my life today in ways that I wasn't yesterday. And I guess for that reason alone, the first day of class is a good thing. It's a day to make us braver and more adventurous and bolder and anything else we've wanted to be. So even though this is one of my last firsts when it comes to the school year. I hope I find more new beginnings, because I think as humans we need them to grow and progress and BECOME.

Memories of Chico

Chico is a town in Northern California known for its party university, but known to me as the place where Grandma and Grandpa live. In my memory it is the place of a big backyard, three pianos, and a swimming pool with a slide. I went back to Chico for the first time in ten years just a few weeks ago. I did see my grandparents during those 10 years, just not in Chico.

It was fun going back. Everything was exactly the same in my Grandmother's house, just lower down on the wall than I remember. Like the duck clock in the guest bathroom and the cupboard of cereal. It's strange how life goes on, and we change so much, but some things are so much the same. And maybe it's just my memories that infuse the present with that sameness, but either way, I think the nostalgia is healthy. As long as we can move forward into the present.

Grandpa

My grandfather likes to come off a little gruff sometimes, but he’s always been one of the most supportive people in my life. I remember as a child going over to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for Sunday dinner. My grandfather patiently taught me how to play chess, and even let me win occasionally. To this day, I think of him when I see a chess board. Especially the small wood ones that can fold in half and store the pieces inside, just like the one we always used. Grandpa Jerry is the definition of a homebody, but whenever there was a birthday or a graduation or a holiday he always made sure he was there. By example, he taught me that family is important, and you make sure you are there for the important moment.

He also taught me that when you care about someone, you help them any way you can. I have seen him offer spare bedrooms to grandchildren that needed a place to stay for a while, pick up my brother from school every day for months, and take me out driving the day before my driving test just because I was nervous and wanted some extra practice. I’m sure I drove through an entire tank of gas practicing for that test, but he never said anything. He just let me drive around in his car and took me to lunch afterwards.

Ever since I was a little girl, we would run up to Grandpa’s front door, ring the bell and wait. After a few second we would hear him coming and he would put on a rough voice and say, “We don’t want any.” Maybe someone will read this and think, children don’t understand this kind of teasing. But we did. We would always laugh and say, “It’s us” and he would open the door and give us a big hug. Somehow even as a child I knew that “We don’t want any” meant “I love you.”

Comfortable in your own skin

 As I sit on my couch trying to think of what to write about I stare blankly at the wall. My heads aching from a head cold and I'm feeling uninspired. But through the fog of head ache and un-inspiration I can hear my roommate pack her bags. She's about to embark on an epic adventure. But really, it's Brazilianly epic. As she packs, she is singing softly to some music playing lightly on her computer, not really caring how it sounds. I always feel like that's a sign of comfort; when I start singing, not to be heard, but because I was thinking about a song and I wanted to make it into sound. That means I'm happy. It means I'm comfortable with the people I'm around. It means I'm confident in who I am in that moment.

I remember the last time I caught myself singing like that. Somehow, dishes are the most organic time for comfort singing. Maybe that's why I've come to like doing dishes. Because it's a task you can often do with other people. And often the comfort singing is very linked to the people I'm with. People that I love and trust completely. Somehow, the singing is my subconscious was of saying "You make me happy. I love you." It's funny how the littlest things, can mean the most.

Life in transition

When I got home from Poland all I could say the first week is, "This is so weird. This is so weird." Like a broken record. I was commenting on how everything felt exactly the same, and yet fundamentally different. It was such a weird feeling.

Transitions are messy. Transition creates new categories, or puts old things in new situations. You have to analyze them, or re-analyze them, and in essence re-define what they are and how they apply to you. Transition means change, and hopefully progress.

I came back almost six months ago. I know that seems like a long time-- definitely sufficient to get over all the confusion of transition and be fully integrated into life again, but  I still feel like I'm figuring everything out. It doesn't feel quite as weird as it did at first, but there's so much I just don't have a clear direction for. I have to re-process my life in the context of a year and a half of new experience and decide what I want to do and be and focus on.

I feel like everything is waiting in a queue inside my brain for me to re-think and re-decide about. Every week I take down a couple and see if I have any answers about them. See if my new self knows what the make of them. Sometimes I do and we move on, but frustratingly often, I have no idea. I just throw it back into the queue to see if I might have more insight at some later date.

In essence, it's been kind of a messy transition for me. If not outwardly, inside everything still feels somewhat unsettled. I think that's part of the reason I haven't been writing on here. Because who wants to write down and publish all the jumble in their mind? However, one of the things I keep pushing to the end of the queue that keeps cutting in line right up to the front is writing. I think I need to write. I think, I'm running away from it for some odd reason, but that it's a part of me from before my mission that needs to come back. And so I'm going to try for the change part of the process I just described and change my habits. I'm going to write.

Opera Week

This is opera week for me. I started yesterday and I'm already at 7 hours of opera. You're probably wondering why it's opera week. Well, that's a good question. You see, I procrastinate, and that's bad. And I didn't realize how many practice hours I DON'T have for my private lessons. And it's graded and I don't want to get my lowest college grade on a half credit music class. So I'm trying to make it all up at the last minute. I can get the hours from actually practicing, going to performances, and listening to opera. So I'm singing all the time. Me and the HFAC have never been better friends. Andwhen I'm at work I'm allowed to listen to music, so I just listen to opera ALL DAY LONG. My co-workers think it's  funny because I'm always humming the songs I'm listening to. So when you're feeling down just think of me humming Carmen under her breath in a library basement surrounded by old stuff,with a coat on, because it's really cold down there. It seems like a funny image to me, maybe it'll brighten your day.

Pop-culture with a social commentary

The Hunger Games. I wonder how many blogs, facebook statuses and tweets have already been posted on this topic. They really have become the next Twilight, haven't they? Social phenomena that everyone seems to want a piece of; and now they can in two and a half hours without even devoting a weekend to reading the books. I'm going to be honest. I enjoyed the books, they're a little bit addicting. They are actually well written for teen fiction. I like the complexity of the characters and the well laid out plot. But ultimately I'm conflicted about them. And it's not for the reason you're thinking. I'm not conflicted about joining the pop-culture bandwagon.

The novel actually has some interesting social commentaries: the relationship between the first and third worlds, revolution psychology, and an analysis of the role of violence in entertainment. All are worth discussion, but I'd like to focus on the brilliance of the last one. She strikes out against violent entertainment by writing the most horrifying and violent games imaginable. So smart; there's something A Modest Proposal-ish to it. But as I was sitting in the theatre thinking about the movie and its argument against violent media I also wondered about the thousands of others who have seen it this weekend. And I wanted to know how many of them understood the point, and how many of them just wanted a "good show". And that's when I got scared. Because without understanding the point, if you just walk out saying, "That was a really good movie, didn't you jump with that dog jumped out of the forest" without also saying, "How much of what I saw today is present in my media and entertainment. What precautions should I take to not desensitize myself?" Then what's the point besides making money and entertaining people. Because, in viewing The Hunger Games don't we become the Capitol? The ones who are watching it merely for entertainment value. Scary, right?

The Widow of Nain

A couple of weeks ago I walked into my New Testament class as usual on Mondays and Wednesdays at 1:00 pm. I had done the reading, but sometimes I have a hard time really internalizing the magnificence of the New Testament. There are so many commandments and miracles and sermons and more miracles jammed into a few pages that I get lost in it all and the individual stories loose their meaning.

It was that way with the Widow of Nain. It's a shorter story in which Jesus raises a widow's son from the dead. It's relatively brief, and is often overshadowed by the Daughter of Jarius. But I'm really grateful for an insightful religion professor who took the time to teach me about this woman.

What you need to know about the Widow of Nain is that in Jewish culture, if you were a widow then your son was responsible to take care of you. With the death of this woman's only son, she now had absolutely nothing and no way to take care of herself. That is why everyone in the little village came out to the funeral- they felt so bad for her and her desperate situation. She was at rock bottom and wondering what she had ever done to deserve this.

What you need to know about Jesus is that he was miles away in a city called Capernaum. There was no really direct route to Nain. He would have had to be meaning to go to Nain to be in Nain. It's a town several miles off the beaten path. He did not know the Widow personally. But somehow in the middle of the night he woke up, got dressed, and started walking. He walked all night long so that he would reach Nain at the time of the funeral so he could raise this widow's son from the dead. Somehow he knew her situation and her faith and did everything in order to bless her.

What an amazing testimony to the character of Jesus. I know that even when I feel like I'm cut off from everything, alone, and desperate he knows where I am and what I'm feeling and will come to me.