I wanna know...
In light of having done a class project last year on how natural disaster relief and social networking are growing more and more entertwined, I've decided to do an investigative effort of my own.
Japan has been hit by yet another quake - this time a massive aftershock from what occurred earlier this month. I simply cannot phathom what it would be like to live through the sheer terror of not knowing when disaster might strike again.
I don't have the resources or capability right now to go directly to Japan to help out, but I also know that I can't sit back and watch as these people struggle helplessly through surviving these difficult times. So what I do have is a little money. I don't have the ability to send thousands of dollars, but I do have a job that provides me with enough that I can give back.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm posting this blog to Facebook and Twitter. For each person that comments on it, "likes" it, retweets it, etc. from now until Easter, I'm going to donate $1 to the Red Cross for relief efforts in Japan. You can comment, "like," retweet as many times as you want until then, and I'll post it once every morning at 10 a.m. CT. I'll keep up with how much money I've raised and post that daily, as well. I may not be able to give the grand total right away, but I'll donate a little at a time until I've covered it.
Social networking is an incredible thing, and I hope this will make use of it in the best way I know how.
If anyone is interested in contributing, let me know.
Keep Japan and its people in your thoughts in prayers...they've seen the rain, and the storms still aren't through...
"When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day...I know...Shining down like water..."
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Changing Channels
For as many lighthearted, carefree and fun songs as Jimmy Buffett has written, there are a handful that stick out for their incredible poignancy. Changing Channels is one of those songs.
Jimmy always catches me at the seemingly wrong time...
I should be studying for a huge test on grammar, punctuation and word usage, so I figured if I wrote this blog I could attempt to self-edit, and that would be good enough. As a matter of fact, I just correctly hyphenated "self-edit." Moving on.
Speaking of moving on, I've been puzzled lately as to exactly how one goes about moving on...from anything. I'm quickly discovering that I'm at a time in my life where things are changing as rapidly as they first occur. I'm not the most adapt when it comes to change. It doesn't terrify me, but I don't always welcome it with open arms either.
A few minutes ago, I sat down to check for an e-mail and opened iTunes. Changing Channels came on...
"There's an island in the ocean / where the people stay in motion / somewhere on the old Gulf Stream / do they live or did I dream
They were changing channels / waiting for their sails to fill / they'll be changing channels / always will."
I don't know exactly what Jimmy meant when he wrote that, but I've created my own idea about it that suits me well. No matter the exact meaning, I'd like to think the people he's referring to are good at adapting to change. I think of them as calm sailors behind the helm. I don't think they care whether they are in control. They aren't worried about the winds shifting. They have no particular destination. They are content to "change channels" and see where they end up.
If only I could be more like those people...whoever they are...
Jimmy always catches me at the seemingly wrong time...
I should be studying for a huge test on grammar, punctuation and word usage, so I figured if I wrote this blog I could attempt to self-edit, and that would be good enough. As a matter of fact, I just correctly hyphenated "self-edit." Moving on.
Speaking of moving on, I've been puzzled lately as to exactly how one goes about moving on...from anything. I'm quickly discovering that I'm at a time in my life where things are changing as rapidly as they first occur. I'm not the most adapt when it comes to change. It doesn't terrify me, but I don't always welcome it with open arms either.
A few minutes ago, I sat down to check for an e-mail and opened iTunes. Changing Channels came on...
"There's an island in the ocean / where the people stay in motion / somewhere on the old Gulf Stream / do they live or did I dream
They were changing channels / waiting for their sails to fill / they'll be changing channels / always will."
I don't know exactly what Jimmy meant when he wrote that, but I've created my own idea about it that suits me well. No matter the exact meaning, I'd like to think the people he's referring to are good at adapting to change. I think of them as calm sailors behind the helm. I don't think they care whether they are in control. They aren't worried about the winds shifting. They have no particular destination. They are content to "change channels" and see where they end up.
If only I could be more like those people...whoever they are...
Friday, February 4, 2011
I can only pick three?
Today in my Persuasive Discourse class, our first assignment was to write down three things that we felt strongly about and who or what influenced our feelings about the them.
For anyone that knows me well, you know that this is a very difficult task. My mind started to get ahead of me as I tried to think of the three biggest things that I felt strongly about. But is biggest the best word? Maybe most important things? I couldn't decide.
Our teacher urged us to finish up so we could get started, so I quickly jotted down three things that I felt like were a good representation of the types of things I feel strongly about. I decided on Auburn, global aid/relief, and following your goals/dreams. They ranged from the practical, everyday things that I actually encounter regularly, to things that were of a much larger scope and more on the civil rights end of the spectrum, to things that are better described as ideas, concepts or intangibles.
As our teacher asked for volunteers to share their three things, I listened to some of the lists that the other students were giving. Some of the things were somewhat predictable like gay rights, abortion, drinking, etc. Others were original and lighthearted like cooking and reading, but yet the reasons behind them gave them real purpose and meaning. Still others were personal and deep like their religious beliefs, personal faith journeys and relationships with family and friends.
When I shared mine, I wondered if anyone in the room had struggled to make their list like I did. It wasn't going to be taken for a grade or anything of the sort, but I knew that my list was a representation of myself and the things I valued most. I questioned if someone might judge me for not saying, "My relationship with Christ," or think I was too naive and had my head in the clouds for saying that I was fed up with complacency and wanted people to follow their dreams.
At the end of the exercise, I finally figured out that it didn't matter. To be honest, I don't remember the point of the assignment as it related to the class, but the lesson I took away was probably more important anyway.
I don't think it matters what were on the lists. No matter how much or little importance any of us might have given to any various item, it only matters that the item mattered to that one person. Everything needs someone to care about it. How boring would the world be if we all only cared about the same three things? It's because we all have different passions and points of interest that the world is filled with amazing people trying to do amazing things.
I'm pretty sure almost everyone knows the story of the boy on the beach and the starfish. The boy was walking along the shoreline and came across hundreds of starfish that had washed up on the shore and were dying. One by one, he began to carefully pick them up and throw them back into the water. A man noticed what the boy was doing, and he turned to the boy and said, "What are you doing? There is no way you'll be able to save all those starfish. Just leave it alone. It doesn't matter." But as the boy picked up another starfish and tossed it back into the waves, he replied, "It matters to that one."
That story has taught me a lot about always supporting the things you believe in, regardless of whether other people think it matters. Who knows? I might even put "starfish" at no. 4 on my list...
For anyone that knows me well, you know that this is a very difficult task. My mind started to get ahead of me as I tried to think of the three biggest things that I felt strongly about. But is biggest the best word? Maybe most important things? I couldn't decide.
Our teacher urged us to finish up so we could get started, so I quickly jotted down three things that I felt like were a good representation of the types of things I feel strongly about. I decided on Auburn, global aid/relief, and following your goals/dreams. They ranged from the practical, everyday things that I actually encounter regularly, to things that were of a much larger scope and more on the civil rights end of the spectrum, to things that are better described as ideas, concepts or intangibles.
As our teacher asked for volunteers to share their three things, I listened to some of the lists that the other students were giving. Some of the things were somewhat predictable like gay rights, abortion, drinking, etc. Others were original and lighthearted like cooking and reading, but yet the reasons behind them gave them real purpose and meaning. Still others were personal and deep like their religious beliefs, personal faith journeys and relationships with family and friends.
When I shared mine, I wondered if anyone in the room had struggled to make their list like I did. It wasn't going to be taken for a grade or anything of the sort, but I knew that my list was a representation of myself and the things I valued most. I questioned if someone might judge me for not saying, "My relationship with Christ," or think I was too naive and had my head in the clouds for saying that I was fed up with complacency and wanted people to follow their dreams.
At the end of the exercise, I finally figured out that it didn't matter. To be honest, I don't remember the point of the assignment as it related to the class, but the lesson I took away was probably more important anyway.
I don't think it matters what were on the lists. No matter how much or little importance any of us might have given to any various item, it only matters that the item mattered to that one person. Everything needs someone to care about it. How boring would the world be if we all only cared about the same three things? It's because we all have different passions and points of interest that the world is filled with amazing people trying to do amazing things.
I'm pretty sure almost everyone knows the story of the boy on the beach and the starfish. The boy was walking along the shoreline and came across hundreds of starfish that had washed up on the shore and were dying. One by one, he began to carefully pick them up and throw them back into the water. A man noticed what the boy was doing, and he turned to the boy and said, "What are you doing? There is no way you'll be able to save all those starfish. Just leave it alone. It doesn't matter." But as the boy picked up another starfish and tossed it back into the waves, he replied, "It matters to that one."
That story has taught me a lot about always supporting the things you believe in, regardless of whether other people think it matters. Who knows? I might even put "starfish" at no. 4 on my list...
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
A sixty dollar promise
I realize it's been a while since I've written anything. I could come up with some excuse about how busy I've been, which definitely wouldn't be a lie, but that's not to say I haven't had time to write. I just haven't wanted to. I've had something on my mind for a while now, but every time I sat down to write, it didn't feel right. But something about tonight gave me inspiration and I'm ready.
I'm sitting here in my cozy little room listening to the rain hit the rocks outside my bedroom window. Alison Krauss' smooth and mellow voice is coming through the speakers, and I'm content. I like that word, "content." It doesn't force you to be happy, it just asks that you not be anxious, upset, etc. At this very moment, I'm content.
This past month taught me a lot about myself in a lot of different ways. I was very happy to wave goodbye to 2010. It had its bright moments, but all-in-all, it wasn't so much my year. I embraced the start of 2011 and was determined to make it a better year. Nine days in, I embarked on a trip that would leave an incredible mark on my life for multiple reasons.
I'm not going to do a full recap of how amazing the trip was. Words truly cannot describe it. Let's just say that every time I go to work and walk past the Rane Room, I get chills when I see that crystal trophy sparkling in its case.
That being said, I'll set the stage a little bit to get to where this story really needs to go...
After the game, as the clean-up crews took over (those people SO don't make enough money), I still didn't want to leave. I walked down to the railing by the field and was lucky enough to see a friend who grabbed a handful of confetti and threw it into my bag (Thanks Bo!). My roommate and I left the stadium and wandered aimlessly in a state something between "Oh-my-gosh-it-is-SO-COLD" and "Did-we-really-just-win-that-game?" We called our amazing cab driver, Jay (more on him in a little bit), who said he'd come get us, and finally made it back to the hotel hours after the game had ended. Too exhausted to even think about going out, we passed out almost immediately.
We had already made plans with Jay for him to take us to the airport the next morning. It was going to be a little more expensive than we would have liked, but he was reliable and we knew it was the safest option to make our flights on time.
When we woke up Tuesday morning, it was another gorgeous Arizona day. Jay was right on time (20 minutes early, in fact), and there was a huge part of me that wanted so badly to stay in that beautiful place. With a flight to catch, we showered and packed and headed downstairs to meet Jay.
This is a good opportunity to tell you a little bit about Jay. Jay is a talker. More so than me (no sarcastic comments please), I'm not even kidding. He took us to and from the game Monday and talked the ENTIRE way there and back. He told us a lot about his life, jobs he'd had, his family...anything and everything. We listened politely and nodded and said "Uh huh" at the appropriate times, but let him do most of the talking. Jay also sounded as though he had been smoking a pack a day since he was old enough to hold a cigarette. He was a little rough around the edges. He was a big man, tall, broad-shouldered, a little scruffy on the face. He had a head full of dark brown hair, and weathered tan skin. Nothing unapproachable, but not the most clean-cut either.
One of the things I had picked up on throughout Jay's stories was that he had spent a good portion of time mentoring juveniles that had been placed in detention centers or who had been in trouble with drugs, alcohol, crime, etc. I had an immense amount of respect for him and his ability to help kids with those kinds of problems. Until Tuesday morning, I didn't think much of it other than that.
The ride to the airport that morning was pretty uneventful. Jay talked some more, we listened, and watched the beautiful Arizona mountains out our windows for the last time. We were getting closer to the terminal, and Jay was remarking on how much less crowded it was than it had been earlier in the morning. I drew my attention back to him as he pulled up to the curb. He parked the car and before we could reach for the door handles, he looked into the rear view mirror and spoke to us one last time.
Jay's message was pretty simple. He issued us a challenge. He told us that he wanted us to take some time once a week, a few times a month, just however often we could to do something to change the life of young people in our community. His words warmed my heart and brought a smile to my face. But Jay wasn't done.
"Here's what I'm going to do," he said, so matter-of-factly I thought it might be a joke. "If you can promise me that you're going to do that," he said, "that you're going to take some time to help these kids, then your cab ride is free. You don't owe me a thing. But if you don't do it, then we may not see each other again, but if you don't do it, you're going to know that you have a debt to me until the day you die."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to think. The man had just forfeited $60 on nothing more than a promise to do something good for someone else. I'm pretty sure I stood there with my mouth hanging open for a good 10 seconds before I could come up with a reply. Meanwhile, Jay just got out of the car, lifted our bags from the trunk, and placed them on the sidewalk. I thanked him profusely and we promised him we would honor his request. He smiled, told us to have a safe trip home, and drove away.
As I headed inside, a lump rose in my throat and I choked back tears at the kindness and true goodness I had just experienced. It was more than just not having to pay for a cab ride. I began to realize that that was one of times that I knew a person had been put into my life for a reason.
I've thought about Jay several times since then and I often wonder if he wonders if we're going to honor his promise. I hope someday I'll be able to find Jay and tell him that I've been able to. I don't have anything concrete in place yet, but I've started putting together some ideas for things I could do to fulfill my promise and repay my debt.
I made another promise of my own, and one that Jay doesn't know anything about. I promised to no one in particular that I would never let Jay's story die. It's a simple "pay it forward" concept, but one that we don't get to witness often enough.
If you have ideas of your own on ways to "repay the debt" or want to be a part of fulfilling Jay's promise, let me know. In the coming months, I'm going to have something in the works, and something that I hope is as meaningful to someone else's life as Jay was to mine.
Oh yeah...Jay said he was pulling for Auburn too...go figure...
I'm sitting here in my cozy little room listening to the rain hit the rocks outside my bedroom window. Alison Krauss' smooth and mellow voice is coming through the speakers, and I'm content. I like that word, "content." It doesn't force you to be happy, it just asks that you not be anxious, upset, etc. At this very moment, I'm content.
This past month taught me a lot about myself in a lot of different ways. I was very happy to wave goodbye to 2010. It had its bright moments, but all-in-all, it wasn't so much my year. I embraced the start of 2011 and was determined to make it a better year. Nine days in, I embarked on a trip that would leave an incredible mark on my life for multiple reasons.
I'm not going to do a full recap of how amazing the trip was. Words truly cannot describe it. Let's just say that every time I go to work and walk past the Rane Room, I get chills when I see that crystal trophy sparkling in its case.
That being said, I'll set the stage a little bit to get to where this story really needs to go...
After the game, as the clean-up crews took over (those people SO don't make enough money), I still didn't want to leave. I walked down to the railing by the field and was lucky enough to see a friend who grabbed a handful of confetti and threw it into my bag (Thanks Bo!). My roommate and I left the stadium and wandered aimlessly in a state something between "Oh-my-gosh-it-is-SO-COLD" and "Did-we-really-just-win-that-game?" We called our amazing cab driver, Jay (more on him in a little bit), who said he'd come get us, and finally made it back to the hotel hours after the game had ended. Too exhausted to even think about going out, we passed out almost immediately.
We had already made plans with Jay for him to take us to the airport the next morning. It was going to be a little more expensive than we would have liked, but he was reliable and we knew it was the safest option to make our flights on time.
When we woke up Tuesday morning, it was another gorgeous Arizona day. Jay was right on time (20 minutes early, in fact), and there was a huge part of me that wanted so badly to stay in that beautiful place. With a flight to catch, we showered and packed and headed downstairs to meet Jay.
This is a good opportunity to tell you a little bit about Jay. Jay is a talker. More so than me (no sarcastic comments please), I'm not even kidding. He took us to and from the game Monday and talked the ENTIRE way there and back. He told us a lot about his life, jobs he'd had, his family...anything and everything. We listened politely and nodded and said "Uh huh" at the appropriate times, but let him do most of the talking. Jay also sounded as though he had been smoking a pack a day since he was old enough to hold a cigarette. He was a little rough around the edges. He was a big man, tall, broad-shouldered, a little scruffy on the face. He had a head full of dark brown hair, and weathered tan skin. Nothing unapproachable, but not the most clean-cut either.
One of the things I had picked up on throughout Jay's stories was that he had spent a good portion of time mentoring juveniles that had been placed in detention centers or who had been in trouble with drugs, alcohol, crime, etc. I had an immense amount of respect for him and his ability to help kids with those kinds of problems. Until Tuesday morning, I didn't think much of it other than that.
The ride to the airport that morning was pretty uneventful. Jay talked some more, we listened, and watched the beautiful Arizona mountains out our windows for the last time. We were getting closer to the terminal, and Jay was remarking on how much less crowded it was than it had been earlier in the morning. I drew my attention back to him as he pulled up to the curb. He parked the car and before we could reach for the door handles, he looked into the rear view mirror and spoke to us one last time.
Jay's message was pretty simple. He issued us a challenge. He told us that he wanted us to take some time once a week, a few times a month, just however often we could to do something to change the life of young people in our community. His words warmed my heart and brought a smile to my face. But Jay wasn't done.
"Here's what I'm going to do," he said, so matter-of-factly I thought it might be a joke. "If you can promise me that you're going to do that," he said, "that you're going to take some time to help these kids, then your cab ride is free. You don't owe me a thing. But if you don't do it, then we may not see each other again, but if you don't do it, you're going to know that you have a debt to me until the day you die."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to think. The man had just forfeited $60 on nothing more than a promise to do something good for someone else. I'm pretty sure I stood there with my mouth hanging open for a good 10 seconds before I could come up with a reply. Meanwhile, Jay just got out of the car, lifted our bags from the trunk, and placed them on the sidewalk. I thanked him profusely and we promised him we would honor his request. He smiled, told us to have a safe trip home, and drove away.
As I headed inside, a lump rose in my throat and I choked back tears at the kindness and true goodness I had just experienced. It was more than just not having to pay for a cab ride. I began to realize that that was one of times that I knew a person had been put into my life for a reason.
I've thought about Jay several times since then and I often wonder if he wonders if we're going to honor his promise. I hope someday I'll be able to find Jay and tell him that I've been able to. I don't have anything concrete in place yet, but I've started putting together some ideas for things I could do to fulfill my promise and repay my debt.
I made another promise of my own, and one that Jay doesn't know anything about. I promised to no one in particular that I would never let Jay's story die. It's a simple "pay it forward" concept, but one that we don't get to witness often enough.
If you have ideas of your own on ways to "repay the debt" or want to be a part of fulfilling Jay's promise, let me know. In the coming months, I'm going to have something in the works, and something that I hope is as meaningful to someone else's life as Jay was to mine.
Oh yeah...Jay said he was pulling for Auburn too...go figure...
Friday, October 1, 2010
Fifteen really is the big one
I don't know what it is, but lately my rear-view mirror has been providing a lot of insight.
I was driving home this afternoon and stopped at a red light. I fidgeted with my iPod for a second or two to change the song, and then went back to watching cars pass by around me while I waited for the light to change. A car pulled up behind me, so I glanced into the rear-view mirror to check out who was behind me. I don't really know why I do that, I guess just out of curiosity to see who's traveling the same path. It just so happened to be a mom and her daughter - mom in the passenger seat, and daughter behind the wheel. The daughter looked to be about 15, and the look on her mom's face confirmed it. I looked at the car and noticed it was a Honda minivan. I immediately smiled to myself.
Coming up on my 21st birthday, I thought back to this time six short years ago. I was so excited to turn 15. I could FINALLY drive a car. Granted, I couldn't drive by myself, but it was my first oh-so-miniscule glimpse of freedom, and I couldn't wait. I remember going to get my permit, waiting forever in line, and finally stepping up to fill out all of the information and get my little slip of paper that said "YES! YOU CAN DRIVE!" At least, it might as well have said that.
That first year was rocky at times. I thought I knew everything and couldn't stand it when Mom or Dad tried to correct me. I learned how to drive the minivan - the Honda minivan - and though awkward at times, I became pretty good at maneuvering a bus up and down Memorial Parkway. Then came the BIG birthday, or so I thought. I turned 16 and convinced my parents to let me skip school that morning to go get my license. I grinned as the lady behind the desk looked at my date of birth and smiled and said, "Well happy birthday, young lady."
I went to dinner that night with my parents and my sister. Mom, Annie and I came from the house to meet my dad at the restaurant after he got off of work. When we were finished, I nervously asked if I could drive one of the cars home. Reluctantly, knowing they didn't have a good reason to say no, Mom and Dad said yes and I took that big ol' minivan to the house. But here's the funny part. I was terrified. For as long as I'd spent complaining about having my parents in the car correcting my every move, something about having them there felt safer. It was as if I knew that if something bad happened, they could just jump behind the wheel, fix it, and everything would be OK. Sitting in the driver's seat alone and about to leave the restaurant, it suddenly became glaringly obvious to me that this was it; if something bad happened, it was me and the minivan to fend for ourselves. Of course, I made it home just fine and saw the look of relief on my mom's face as I pulled into the driveway.
As I looked behind me today and saw that girl and her mom, I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking. As the light turned green and I started to pull away, I offered up a wish for that girl. I wished that she would cherish these days with her mom in the car. I wished that she would never have to go through the awful experience of a wreck. I wished that she wouldn't speed and face the embarrassment of telling her parents about her first ticket. And I wished that when her 16th birthday rolls around and she can't wait to be on her own, that she would appreciate the safety and comfort offered from her mom's presence today.
Fifteen really is the big birthday. It's the last year we truly have safety and comfort. We all grow up. We have to be big kids. We move out and have to learn how to do things all on our own. And I, for one, have never been more thankful for that safety and comfort that annoyed me so much for so long.
I was driving home this afternoon and stopped at a red light. I fidgeted with my iPod for a second or two to change the song, and then went back to watching cars pass by around me while I waited for the light to change. A car pulled up behind me, so I glanced into the rear-view mirror to check out who was behind me. I don't really know why I do that, I guess just out of curiosity to see who's traveling the same path. It just so happened to be a mom and her daughter - mom in the passenger seat, and daughter behind the wheel. The daughter looked to be about 15, and the look on her mom's face confirmed it. I looked at the car and noticed it was a Honda minivan. I immediately smiled to myself.
Coming up on my 21st birthday, I thought back to this time six short years ago. I was so excited to turn 15. I could FINALLY drive a car. Granted, I couldn't drive by myself, but it was my first oh-so-miniscule glimpse of freedom, and I couldn't wait. I remember going to get my permit, waiting forever in line, and finally stepping up to fill out all of the information and get my little slip of paper that said "YES! YOU CAN DRIVE!" At least, it might as well have said that.
That first year was rocky at times. I thought I knew everything and couldn't stand it when Mom or Dad tried to correct me. I learned how to drive the minivan - the Honda minivan - and though awkward at times, I became pretty good at maneuvering a bus up and down Memorial Parkway. Then came the BIG birthday, or so I thought. I turned 16 and convinced my parents to let me skip school that morning to go get my license. I grinned as the lady behind the desk looked at my date of birth and smiled and said, "Well happy birthday, young lady."
I went to dinner that night with my parents and my sister. Mom, Annie and I came from the house to meet my dad at the restaurant after he got off of work. When we were finished, I nervously asked if I could drive one of the cars home. Reluctantly, knowing they didn't have a good reason to say no, Mom and Dad said yes and I took that big ol' minivan to the house. But here's the funny part. I was terrified. For as long as I'd spent complaining about having my parents in the car correcting my every move, something about having them there felt safer. It was as if I knew that if something bad happened, they could just jump behind the wheel, fix it, and everything would be OK. Sitting in the driver's seat alone and about to leave the restaurant, it suddenly became glaringly obvious to me that this was it; if something bad happened, it was me and the minivan to fend for ourselves. Of course, I made it home just fine and saw the look of relief on my mom's face as I pulled into the driveway.
As I looked behind me today and saw that girl and her mom, I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking. As the light turned green and I started to pull away, I offered up a wish for that girl. I wished that she would cherish these days with her mom in the car. I wished that she would never have to go through the awful experience of a wreck. I wished that she wouldn't speed and face the embarrassment of telling her parents about her first ticket. And I wished that when her 16th birthday rolls around and she can't wait to be on her own, that she would appreciate the safety and comfort offered from her mom's presence today.
Fifteen really is the big birthday. It's the last year we truly have safety and comfort. We all grow up. We have to be big kids. We move out and have to learn how to do things all on our own. And I, for one, have never been more thankful for that safety and comfort that annoyed me so much for so long.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
a perspective on perspective
We're often told that we shouldn't look back. We're supposed to live for the moment. Look toward the future. Forget about the past. It's dead and gone and there isn't anything you can do about what's already done. I suppose all of that is true enough. However, I was reminded today that there is something to be said for looking over your shoulder; for looking backward; for looking behind you to see what you might have missed the first time.
This afternoon was pretty normal. I went to work, went to class, and came home. I had decided that I was going to try to be productive today instead of sitting on my oh-so-uncomfortable couch and watching 8 hours of TV that would serve no purpose than to ultimately make me a little fatter and lazier. Having made up my mind, I wrote a pretty lengthy to-do list and began diligently trying to check off the said items. Around 5:00 I decided to go out and run a few errands. I went to Tiger Town and then ran by the pharmacy, but by the time my prescription was ready, I got back into my car and realized that it had gotten a little later than I thought. I had to be back at work by the time football practice was over to make sure I caught a couple of the guys on the way out (who I ended up missing, by the way, but that's entirely beside the point). SO. I immediately entered into what I like to call "Mae Margaret Time Stress." This basically means that I start obsessing over everything I have to get done in an extremely short period of time. I pulled out of the parking space, quickly analyzed the fastest way to get home from the pharmacy (for those of you non-Auburn folks, there are a million ways to get from one place to another in Auburn, and sometimes choosing the quickest route proves harder than you'd think), and sped off down the road. My mind was swarming with thoughts of exactly what to do when I got home. It went something like "take the bags inside, no wait, they could stay. Well why wait? You have time. No, maybe leave them and just run in and grab some food really quick, you might be at practice awhile. Well, I could take them inside and then drive thru somewhere and get food and take it with me. Or I guess I could eat later. I'm going to get really hungry though if this takes longer than I'm thinking." You get the idea.
Before I knew it, I was at my apartment wondering if I ran any stop signs or red lights on my way home, as I didn't really remember anything about the trip except for the argument with myself. I jumped out, having decided on taking everything inside, and hastily made my way in the house to throw everything down and dash back out the door again. I headed for Zaxby's, figuring a salad would be quick, easy, semi-healthy, and cheap. I pulled in line at the drive-thru, ordered, paid, grabbed my food and continued on toward the Complex. As I was about to turn onto Donahue from College, I glanced in my rear-view mirror and what I saw made me do a double-take. I glanced back, wondering if a light had just caught my eye in a weird way. Nope. I was right the first time.
The sky behind me looked like a watercolor painting. It was pink and orange and yellow, mixed with a little blue and it looked like someone had taken a big bucket and splashed color on the sky. I looked back in front of me, but all I saw then was black. I turned my attention back to the "painting" and couldn't believe the same night sky could look so different in two places at once. And the "painting" was behind me, out of my direct line of sight, and about to disappear for good. Yet, something in it caught my attention.
As the sun went all the way down on the Plains and the Fall air became a little cooler, I started to wonder if looking behind me was really all that bad. Maybe there's something to be said for appreciating the past and what it will offer for the future. After all, I'd venture to guess that tomorrow's sunrise might look just as wonderful.
Monday, September 27, 2010
I think Tom Petty got it right
There's a pretty famous quote from Tom Petty that says:
"You have four years to be irresponsible here. Relax. Work is for people with jobs. You'll never remember class time, but you'll remember time you wasted hanging out with your friends. So, stay out late. Go out on a Tuesday with your friends when you have a paper due Wednesday. Spend money you don't have. Drink 'til sunrise. The work never ends, but college does."
Tonight, I took his advice.
I'm a notorious procrastinator when it comes to schoolwork. I wait to do everything until the last possible second, and every time I say to myself "If I would just start on this earlier, I'd be better off." You'd think I would've learned by now, but you'd be wrong.
The paper due for my World Lit II class in less than 13 hours has been no different. I've known about the paper since the beginning of the semester and the topics have been posted for about 2-3 weeks now. Naturally, I waited until this past week to even look at the topics, then bs'd my way through the mandatory student-professor conference to discuss my paper, and now I'm sitting here writing this blog at 1 a.m. instead of writing the paper. So what's the point?
Well I spent most of the day today at work. Most of the time my priorities are really messed up and I feel like my job (which I absolutely love) is my number one responsibility when I know that I really should focus on school first. That said, I worked a volleyball match today at 1 and then left and went straight to soccer where I stood for a good 2 hours in the rain and watched as our team desperately fought to find a way to win and then sadly lost in the final minutes. I returned home soaking wet, really cold, and not at all ready to write a paper. After placing an order with Pizza Hut, I stood in a steaming hot shower for about 15 minutes and slowly climbed out to towel off and face, what I thought at the time was, the inevitable. Alas, it was not so. I went in the living room to find that a Law & Order: SVU marathon was on. I knew this meant trouble. It was approximately 7:00. Next thing I knew, it was 10:00 and I'd been watching Elliot and Olivia catch the bad guys for a little over three hours. My roommates both had tests to study for as well, and were equally convinced that as soon as the marathon was over we were all going to go about our business and get our acts together and study. As "Executive Producer: Dick Wolf" scrolled across the screen to the sounds of the closing "Duh duh duh duh dummmmm..." no one moved. We all looked at each other as if to say "Do we have to?" the way a five-year-old does when his mom tells him it's time for bed. Laura finally broke the silence and seemingly-jokingly asked "So what's on next?" We laughed, but I had happened to see that The Bourne Ultimatum was about to start so I piped up. Laura's next words were "So who wants to watch this and then pull an all-nighter?"
Three hands went up in the air, popcorn was made, and we retired back to our most-uncomfortable couch for another few hours of laziness.
Now, I realize this all seems pretty innocent. It isn't scandalous or thrilling, and nothing about it is original or revolutionary. But then I think back to Tom Petty's quote.
I just spent about six hours with two of my best friends. We laughed at each other's corny jokes, we talked about how hot Matt Damon was, about the weather this week, about how much we didn't want to study. It was relaxing, it was fun, and it was care-free. And for every minute that I spend worrying about school or work or how I'm going to balance the two, I need at least five minutes of fun, relaxing, and care-free time to remind me that there are more important things in life.
So yes, I'm going to be up pretty late tonight. And no, this probably won't be the best paper I've ever written. But as cheesy as it might be, five years from now I won't be able to tell you what this paper was about, but I'll damn sure be able to tell you about how much fun I had with my best friends watching TV and laughing and enjoying each other's company. And at the end of the day, isn't that what we really want to remember anyway?
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