Who we are today...

So I wrote this for my pop-culture class. We discuss a lot in class and have been reading the book No Impact Man- a self proclaimed liberal book about a family trying to live as environmentally friendly as possible in the middle of NYC. Luckily my teacher doesn't care about grammar or any of that- all he wants are my thoughts and I have many of those to give.

It is very easy to place a label on a person or group of people. It is however, a heck-of-a-lot harder to be accurate with that label. I have heard it said so many times that Americans are lazy, selfish and uncaring. I don’t believe any of those things are true to the nature of most Americans. I think Americans are hard-working, self-motivated, and very giving. But I do believe we as a culture suffer from a rather large problem. We go through life wearing blinders.

When my sister played basketball in High School, her coach gave her these special glasses to wear that blinded the bottom half of her vision. When she was wearing them she was forced to look up at the players around her and where it was she was going instead of focusing on her feet or the ground in front of her. This worked wonders for her ability to find the open teammate, fake out her opponent and dribble flawlessly with ease. Being my cool big sister, I would watch her practice. I never saw her trip and fall while wearing those glasses but I still wondered: What would happen if her shoe-lace came untied, or a twig fell in the driveway under her feet and she couldn’t see the potential danger? When she was only wearing those basketball blinders for 30 minutes of practice, it was a long shot that anything tragic would actually happen. But imagine wearing those all day- everyday- walking down the street, in a crowded mall, while doing your homework, watching TV, or trying to eat. It seems the blinders worked wonders in relation to basketball when worn during practice but might severely inhibit other essential activities.

This is how I see many Americans today- myself included. We put on blinders to help us focus- to achieve a task but we never take them off. We see fathers wearing work blinders at home, politicians wearing money blinders when talking to the needy, and individuals wearing success blinders while trying to measure their worth. We may not be forced to wear these blinders but we may not see the alternative. There might not be a gun to our heads demanding negligence to all the rest but it might feel like it most times.

There are three main things I think these blinders do that I would like to dissect. First off, I think these blinders keep us looking at the big problem and not our part in it. When we discussed this a little in class I brought up the idea of personal responsibility. Where has it gone? This is one of the ways the book convicts me. Colin continually points out that his eco footprint is less than 1% of 1% of the problem (not his words but mine) yet he embarks on the project anyway. One man. One woman. One kid. One dog. Each living the life they think is good and right. Despite the hardships. Despite the looks and comments. That is what I call personal responsibility. Just because one person cannot fix the problem- whatever the problem may be- doesn’t mean that person should add to it again and again, day after day. The book also talks about what I call the blame game. We as Americans tend to be excellent at sitting back and complaining about problems. We are even pretty decent at throwing out half-hearted, half-assed solutions. But we are absolutely terrible at writing letters, signing petitions or heaven forbid- talking to someone productively who has legitimate power to affect change on whatever scale you are seeking. We much prefer to sit in our car drinking from our plastic water bottle complaining about pollution. This is also why I was utterly unsurprised by some of the stats about young America. We don’t follow politics because it is bigger than we are. We don’t care who our mayor, governor or senator is because they don’t really represent the individual. And we don’t vote because our vote doesn’t matter. So we walk around wearing our blinders that lead us to believe our ship is sinking but there is nothing we can do about it with just one bucket.

Blinders also keep us focused on quantity not quality. In class we talked about how many more things there are to do in our busy lives. Someone even mentioned that we do things poorly so that we can do more things. That sounds terrible to hear but it is very true. I just have to think about the last time I threw my shirt on the chair in my room because I couldn’t spare 30 seconds to hang it up…I had to check my email, my facebook, do my homework, exercise and eat dinner! As a nation, we are in to progress. But we struggle with the idea of progress for the sake of progress. A great example in my mind is the Apple IPad. This is an electronic device that practically functions as a computer but without the storage space and more focused on entertainment. Not even a year after this much hailed bit of technology was launched, a second model came out. What was wrong with the first? I bet most customers hadn’t even figured out how to use all the features on the first one. What’s wrong with a two-slice toaster? Nothing, but let’s make a 12-slice toaster anyways! It seems that America’s motto is: When everything is running smoothly, let’s try to make it hover above the surface instead (just to see if we can). Something I read on the page 4 summary really struck a cord with me, especially in regards to this push for progress and quantity over quality mentality. “And, the results of wrong solutions will be larger and possibly more lethal.” That is a scary thought. In the movie FOOD Inc it talks about the mass production of ground beef. It makes me ill just thinking about that segment. As a nation we want lots of meat and we want it cheap, so we mass produce it. In our hurry for quantity we leave quality by the wayside and end up with poisonous beef. And then with our blinders of progress on, instead of asking why the meat is making us sick, we ask what we can do to kill the germs. So we end up with beef that has been treated and zapped so much that it is no longer a meat appropriate color so we add dye by the bucket loads (because hey, we have SO MUCH meat!). What happened to feeding and caring for Bessy until you thoughtfully slaughtered her for high quality meat? I guess Bessy doesn’t deserve that kind of quality- I guess Americans don’t deserve that kind of quality either. At least that is the message mass production sends. The curly light bulbs are very similar. We have more light for longer but someday we might have to face mercury poisoning or send it all to space and watch the solar system disintegrate. My hope is that catastrophe doesn’t strike while we wear these blinders; that when we make things hover because we can, we don’t blow ourselves up in the process.

Finally, these damn (sorry but I think damn it appropriate) blinders that we wear keep us providing for a family we are neglecting. As a society we have a collective mindset that having a lot means we are happy and healthy and gosh darn it, people will like us. So we work ourselves to the bone to get money to spend. I know many parents that say they want their children to be better off than they were. But sadly that only seems to translate to having more money and more stuff. It is out of love that we want to provide but with these blinders on we forget what, or who, we are providing for. So many families have more TVs than members, a number of shoes to match their age, and eat whatever food is hip, in, convenient, or just plain tasty; but they talk to each other- actually talk- less than 15 minutes a day. It is no mystery to me why marriage rates are declining. That handout didn’t shock me. But I do wonder why people are up in arms wondering what’s wrong with kids these days. Offspring are a direct result of their raising. So you ask why kids rely on so much stuff and why they are rude and ignorant of life. Well, open your eyes- you bought them that, you taught them that or you didn’t teach them that. And maybe even worse, because you didn’t, someone else did. In our good-intentioned blindness, we have done away with the family unit. And in doing away with the family unit we have eradicated the power and pleasure it once brought.

I know this all sounds very cynical, and maybe it is. But, who are we today, you ask? We are not as dark and cold as I paint it. I spin it that way as a warning. We as a people, as a culture, are good. We are loving, hardworking and passionate. But we are wearing blinders. And if we can’t manage to remove them, open our eyes and recapture what life is all about, it will be very simple to label America. That label will be loser- because we will have lost what we are trying so hard to live for.

Eng&101 Free Writing

Is it appropriate to talk to strangers in the public restroom? I think this question is open to interpretation. There are times when it might be considered okay. Most people would see that question and, like my neighbor across from me, regard it as creepy. It seems like the easy answer is no. No, it is never appropriate to talk to strangers in the public restroom. I will admit however, that I have done it. I talk to friends and family all the time in the bathroom- weird? Well maybe not weird for family but talking to friends in the bathroom- so weird. Not for me. Not on Reach where you live in such close quarters that you quickly become family to people who were complete strangers. But this isn't even really getting to the heart of the situation. The heart of the situation asks about strangers. I still think that there are times when it is appropriate - well at least times when it is not completely inappropriate. Especially for women- I mean come on- we talk constantly. We go to the bathroom in groups. There are couches in many ladies rooms for crying out loud! Are we supposed to sit there together silently. Sorry, back to the whole stranger issue. So maybe you can talk to a stranger in a public restroom at certain times. What's a good time? When you are washing your hands, drying your hands or making sure your face is on straight. Can we all except that? What about when a restroom is crowded? Is it okay to talk to another restroom goer (haha goer- bathroom-potty- haha) while waiting in line? Sure, I think. Just watch your content. Nobody wants to hear in depth about just how badly you need to go. And nobody wants description on urine color or scent. And certainly nobody cares if you have a killer bladder infection. I have also decided that making verbal notes on smells or sounds while in a public restroom should be frowned upon. Same thing goes for laughing or snickering too. Okay, so we have established that talking to strangers can be okay sometimes and about certain things. Now I have a story I would like to share. The story that sparked this whole question. Yesterday I wore no shoes all day. It was in support of TOMS One Day Without Shoes campaign promoting awareness of kids in foreign countries without the luxury of even a single pair of shoes. It was pretty cool overall. I felt blessed to be a part of it. It hurt a little, was very cold, and a little gross when I had to go into the bathroom to do my duty. (haha duty sounds like...oh never mind) Anyways, there were two other girls in the restroom. One of them was from my speech class. I do not know her name and all I remember of her is that she likes to party and can't make guacamole in 3-5 minutes like she apparently thought she could. All this I learned in a 5+ minute speech minutes before. So my point is that I would consider her a stranger. Maybe even more strange than some because I don't really want to get to know her- the party thing I can handle but not if you can't whip me up some guac in an acceptable time frame. Sorry- back on track. I enter my stall to do my thing. Then I hear: "You should be my speech tutor." (tutor...tooter sheesh what am I a 7 year old boy?) Well, since I am in her speech class and that other lady presumably isn't, I figure she must be talking to me. I hope I illustrated in my previous ranting that when one party is in the stall, talking to strangers is not appropriate. Major fopaux- or to use a term she would get "party foul!" But me being the wonderfully sweet and kind and giving and caring and self-conscious person I am, I feel horribly obligated to answer. I say something to the effect of just keep practicing and checking your time. I thought that was a good concise answer to give that would allow me to get back to my silent stall job. Silence. It worked. Crap! (...crap...too easy) Next thing I know I hear: " I do have one question for you- why are you not wearing shoes?" Good question, bad timing. You see, by this point the guac-failure girl is done washing her hands, drying her hands and even checking her face- if she does that sort of thing. And now she is simply standing directly outside my stall door waiting for an answer. There is no eloquent way out. So I take a deep annoyed breath and give her the abridged version of the TOMS mission. And because God really does love me, that was enough. "Cool, " she replied and left the bathroom. Cool? All that awkwardness for cool. I think TOMS should give me a medal for that -interrupting my mission to share theirs...I guess I can sacrifice for the greater good. But I have left out the real hero of this story. That third lady. I think we could all learn a lesson from that third lady, who through it all stayed quiet in her stall, observing the unspoken rules of the public restroom. Here's to you silent stall women! If I happen to meet you again I might even thank you for the example you set- let's just hope I remember to wait until the appropriate time.

Random thoughts

What is wrong with me that I can be totally intrigued by a show staring an ego-maniac like sister wives but almost totally appalled by one that delves into the life of a woman who sleeps with her blow dryer and another who eats toilet paper. (I say almost totally appalled because I did leave the TV on long enough to hear each of their opening sob stories.) I crack myself up. I tell these jokes or make these comments that no one gets but when I read or think back on them I feel so proud. I would like to think that I am just highly intelligent and not many people can think with such depth and implied meaning. But that sentence also cracks me up because... yeah right! Mostly I think I crack myself up because I am a weirdo who spent too much time alone as a kid. I had to find myself entertaining or I was going to face death by boredom. Same train station, different track- Why do I find sarcasm so funny? Is is wrong that I can have entire conversations without saying one thing about how I truly feel about a subject. Furthermore, is is wrong that I can tell someone how I truly feel about a subject by expressing the opposite in great depth? Again, I like to think that that is a show of skill not one that proves I lack a human heart. Can you make a tree grow into the shape of a heart? I had time to think about that question today as I sat at a stop light on my way to school. It was a long thought too...why the tree limb I saw was shaped like it was...if the people who lived there sat on it...I would sit on it if it was my tree...I would take pictures on it if it were my tree...tree limbs are cool...can you shape a tree like a heart...I would definitely take pictures in that tree...would it break the mold as it grew because trees are so strong...what if you used steel...or that stuff that Wolverine has infused in his system...I bet I could get lots of people to pay me to take pictures in my heart shaped tree...a lovers tree...business idea...the car in front of me is moving. I'm not sure if that was the longest red light in the world or if I set some kind of record for the most complete thoughts in such a short time frame. I have to go to class soon. I am sure glad the library gives us students unlimited Internet access so that between classes I can work on homework, practice a speech, study for my Spanish quiz- wait who am I fooling, I didn't do any of those things. Instead I checked my email- more private notes from "Hot Single Mama" and news on the latest implants. Then I checked facebook where I saw someone liked one of my comments proving that at least one other person has a brain that can function as well as mine. Then I wrote this. And I believe this goes to show that going to college is very important.

ENG&101 Think Tank

I sat in my English class this morning and I missed something- here me out. I missed high school. It is a long thought and not nearly as judgmental of others as it may sound so that is why I say here me out. In high school I was on the accelerated track for many classes. They were more challenging- much less boring- and they were with kids I had known for years and trusted. So I sat there and missed high school and thought that besides a few required classes, I could take more challenging classes. I could search out the teachers who are more difficult or the subject matter that is more intense and then I wouldn't be so bored. But then I got scared. I thought about being in a hard class with a bunch of strangers and feeling overwhelmed and scared and doomed. In high school I trusted that my friends were feeling the same as they sat in the harder classes. I knew if we did group work we all cared about the grade. Stepping up academically was stepping up with a group- a family you trusted and had little reason to fear failure. Okay, so it is not the people. Although I did have pretty awesome high school classmates and friends, but I am sure there are great people at YVCC too. It is all in my head really. It's also probably all excuses. But before I go on and berate myself I will admit that many of the classes for the subjects I am interested in are in fact very easy and therefore kind of boring. So back to me and my nasty human nature that I should want to battle more violently... I don't want to be bored in class but I don't want to take a class that I could fail and by fail I mean get a B. I don't want to live under my potential but I want to ensure that I excel. I want the challenge but I don't want the possible pain. I could be a Doctor but I don't want to go to school for 8 years. Okay so the Doctor thing is a stretch- it's more of an illustration than truth. I would hate being a Doctor because I don't like needles and germs and people in pain. BUT... Sometimes I just stop and think about potential and then I feel this agonizing fear that I have never truly reached it and may never truly reach it because I desire simplicity and peace at the same time. Can I be simply the best at something? Can I have peace while fighting to reach top? What separates people with dreams from people who are living those dreams? What if you are living some...some that take less talent and hard work? Does that make you less of a true liver of life? If you think you can does that mean you should? If you say you don't regret the past because you are happy with who you are now does that mean it was okay not to push yourself to be the best you could? I don't really study. I don't really have to. But what if I did? I don't really try to learn how to be a better writer. I like most of what I write and people say they enjoy it. But what if I did? I don't try to train for a marathon because I am proud enough of the 5K I can run. But what if I did? What if I did all the things that don't interest me in the interest of being the best me- what the heck kind of life would that be? I can't do it all. I can't be a best selling author, a marathon icon, a doctor or scientist, the best mother in the world, a 5 star chef, an inventor, and a million dollar event planner all in one. I can't be the best at everything I am good at- so how do I still be the best me? Love matters- loving to my greatest ability is key I know. But after that? Where do peace and unrest fit into the rigors of being the best at any given thing? What do I do with these feelings in the face of living for today and working with what God is placing in front of me? Wow that is a lot of questions and a whole lot of woe-is-me-whiny-ramblings. But it feels good to write.

Oops I did it again...

Why is it always so hard for me to write when I am supposed to. When I say, "write everyday," I never do. I can't even manage to write in this once a week. I just really hate pressure. Pressure to perform or be something or someone. When I played basketball, I remember my coach getting so mad at me because I would try to get rid of the ball as soon as I got it. The pressure was just too much when it was in my hands. And in soccer, I was a wreck until the other team scored the first goal- then the pressure was off. But life is full of pressure so I should probably just grow up and deal with it.
So I drove to Othello today to visit an awesome friend and it was a great time to think. A little over 3 hours of desolate road. I thought about lots of stuff but one of the random things was this...it would be really easy to be crazy. All you have to do to go crazy is give in. Just give in when you feel worthless. When you have those little thoughts that seem crazy, enter in and let them wash over you. Never use logic. Don't believe rational thinking. Also- have zero faith. Zero faith in yourself. Zero faith in God. Zero faith in others.
Now that I think about it- that sounds kind of hard. Nasty feelings take a lot of nasty energy.
Weird.

Stuff

Sometimes stuff happens that you really don't understand. You don't understanding the timing of it. You don't understand why it happens. And you don't even really understand what exactly is happening. But stuff happens anyways- around you, to you, inside of you. About two years ago, stuff happened. Scary stuff. Confusing stuff. Stuff on top of stuff that led to other stuff.

Three years ago, this time of the year, I was depressed. I was tired, unmotivated, lonely even with my best friends, confused, irritated, and empty. I would attempt to fill up with exciting things but it was like eating air- unsatisfying, unhealthy, and leaving me with a belly-ache. I have all these sad little self-portrait-memories in my head: Me sitting on the counter and crying in front of my family; Me sitting on the coffee table crying in front of my friends; Me laying on the couch, not crying because I couldn't muster anymore tears; Me with glazed-over eyes, seeing the world through fog; Me without a smile, monotone and grey; And me, sick so often and for such long periods of time because I had no reason to want to get better. That stuff was painful. For a whole year, I dealt with that stuff. I went to counseling, I got help, I started to get better. Then stuff happened on top of that stuff.

The phone rang one day and I answered. The man laughed and I was confused. I hung up and shrugged it off until it happened again and again. Then he left me messages, then he told me what was coming, he warned me what I would get. I called the police, I carried mace, I drove laps around town before going home. I was scared. I thought, "bad things really do just happen for no reason." And just when I was starting to remember that it didn't, I was shown: life sucks.

I had good friends, and good people who took good care of me. But all that good on the outside just mocked all the bad I was feeling on the inside. I quit the job that brought that man closer to me and I hid myself away. I went from house to house, spare room to couch to spare room. I smiled a little and pretended but every time I saw a mirror I knew- there was hardly anything left inside of me. There were a lot of mirrors after a while. It seemed like every true friend was holding one up as I passed by. So I started staring deep at the little that I saw and willed myself to find something to fight for. Something glimmered and I'm not sure it was hope- maybe more the shiny gloss of an illusion. An imaged future that glows simply because it is not the dingy tinge of here and now. So I packed my things and moved west to a place I didn't really know. But my heart was never in the "dream" I was following. My heart was still scared, and empty- and now it was lonely too. I watched a lot of movies. I read ridiculous books. I went to a lot of happy hours. And pretended I could have a relationship. There were really only two good things that I did regularly in the few short months that I lived over the mountains. The first lightened my heavy spirits and the second saved my life. I watched my one and a half year old niece. We'd watch PBS together and walk to the library. She'd knock on my bedroom door after nap time and sometimes she would fall sleep in my bed while I read. I taught her some colors and pushed her on the swing until she was too worn out to hold her little head up. And the best was pretending she was my own to other moms and dads at the park. It's hard to hate everything with a little tiny person, holding on to you with their little tiny hand and telling you with their little tiny voice that she loves you. It lightened- it lifted, when I was weighed down. It prepared my heart for what would save me in the end.

The other thing of value- rather more invaluable: Every morning I woke up; put on layers of clothes and left the house when it was barely light. In the snow and in the rain, I walked two miles to church- up a horrible hill that I hated. I went to mass, prayed the rosary and read the words of the saints who loved Mary more than I knew how. Then I walked back home. Every day I did this -even though I didn't want to. I guess I didn't know what else to do. It wasn't fun. Or even very peaceful. It was hard. It was empty. My heart was as cold to the joy and consolation of prayer as the winter air that I walked through each morning. But still I walked and still I prayed.

I didn't know it at the time but stuff was happening inside of me. Each day as I journeyed I was growing stronger. I was formulating a desire. I was sparking and ever so slightly giving oxygen to a fire. A fire that would warm my cold heart and fill my empty soul. After 3 months, I moved back to town. I found a new home and job that I loved. I made some friends that took me into their hearts like a lost hungry puppy. They gave me the nourishment and affection I needed to venture wagging my tail once more. One friend in particular held me close. She asked of me and encouraged me to explore. She pointed out my new strength and helped me understand my growing desire. It was simple really. Simple yet complex. All I really wanted- all I needed- all this time- was something real. Something true. In this world of fakes- fake happiness, fake love, fake people- all I desired was something truly real.

...TO BE CONTINUED...(as soon as I can figure out a way to make a story about not pooping for 9 days sound as monumental and earth shatteringly important as it was.)

Breaking up is hard to do...

They say that breaking up is hard to do...but breaking down- breaking down is very easy.

I could describe the feeling so many ways...

Like you're going too fast on a merry-go-round. Everything is spinning past and you just have to hold on. But your palms are sweaty, you can't feel your fingers, you're a little bit nauseous and you wonder for just a second if letting go is so bad. If flying off this out of control ride and landing in the field far off is really so bad.

Like you're running a race but never getting closer to the finish. You just want to catch your breath and stop that constant stitch in your side. You're moving but your feet are numb. You just want to stop for a minute- hunch over or lay on the ground and heave until the pain goes away- but you know you'll never start again.

Like fighting sleep in a moving car. The motion, the hum, the mesmerizing lines, the heat blowing on your face, the heavy eyelids, and the lazy-swaying thoughts. Everything inside you wants to give in. Your own body is revolting against you. All you have is the will- the will to keep open your eyes. But you know the will is weak and the ride is long.

Like swimming in the ocean with the current pushing you back. Moving your arms and kicking your feet and fighting, fighting, fighting for forward motion. But your muscles just grow weak and your body just gets cold. You're veins get full of lead and you almost want to sink.

Breaking down is very easy. So is letting go, and laying down, giving in, and going under.

But going under is to drown. Giving in means you crash. Laying down is giving up. Letting go is shattering. And breaking down is one step closer to losing your mind.

Sometimes I want to lose my mind. I want to give up, drown, crash and shatter- all at once. And I can only describe that feeling one way- like my heart is about to burst.

(insert here a whole list of why. an overflowing basket of reasons for pain. show a world in need and one small silhouette of a person trying to handle it all. add self-centered shame and guilt and pity. words words words. blah blah blah. it matters little why.)

But somehow, I close my eyes and breath through the bursting. I keep moving...my eyes open. I keep running towards the finish...holding on tight. And when I feel like breaking down, somewhere in my mind I find it's not worth losing it after all.