Sunday, April 7, 2013

We Are What We Are


An old man who has lived with obsessive-compulsive disorder for the past sixty-five years meticulously avoids the cracks in his driveway as he rolls his trash and recycle bins to the street. He spends three minutes carefully placing the bins an equal distance from a tree that stands a foot from the edge of the road. Opening and shutting, then reopening the bins, until they are to his satisfaction. Then he saunters back up his driveway, never stepping on a single crack.

 A group of college boys stand in an ally, passing a football back and forth. Each of them wears a tight tee shirt to show off the muscles they have been working on all winter and are ready to show in the summer sun. As they throw the ball, they brag loudly of the “chicks” they have been spending their time with, the parties they have attended, and the classes they have skipped all in hopes that someone is listening.

A woman, who lives alone in her one bedroom apartment, has always been an introvert to a debilitating degree. She rarely leaves the confines of her home and gets nervous when people talk to her in the checkout lane at the grocery store. She has a self-imposed challenge to place herself in social situations. Today she went to the science museum. She performs the experiment displays with child-like wonder, always looking around nervously, very aware of anyone who may notice her. As a group of school children on a field trip run by, she sinks into a dark corner hoping no one will detect her presence.

A man speed walks at an alarming rate down the street with a package from the post office held delicately at chest height, elbows drawn in to his sides. The package remains unmoving as his body bounces with each quick, jerky step. He hopes when he gets home to his wife it will be the answer they’ve been waiting for.

A young woman who has recently dropped out of school reminds herself every day that she deserves better than what she has allowed herself to become. When she is alone, the self-doubt and fear creeps in, often times rendering her useless. She is afraid to attempt to reach her potential. She is afraid to fail. Around her friends she tells a story of progress and exciting opportunity, a story of her desires not of reality. She sits on her porch, staring up at the clouds, feeling a warm breeze, and wishing she could be blown away.

As different as we all may be as individuals, we are all inherently part of this larger body called humanity. Since the beginning of time we have all spent our lives seeking out each other in one way or another. A friendly word to a stranger on the street, going out on a first date, posting a YouTube video, writing a book, reading a book, listening to music, learning history…
There are billions of us, all living on this one planetary body that hurls through space at an alarming rate. As different as we are, as often as we are unaware of each other, as much as we may fight, at the end of the day we can all look up and see the same stars. 




*Artwork by the other benefactor of my parents' benevolence and hard-earned money...my sister, Carsen.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Father Dearest

Recently, my dad and I have both been going through challenging times in our lives. It is in these moments that I truly realize how much alike we are and how much I appreciate everything I have gained from him throughout my life. In addition to having the exact same Myers-Briggs personality type, similar strengths and weaknesses, and comparable interests, my dad has also taught me lessons of patience, adaptability, grace, and love that have prepared me for the life I now lead.
One of my favorite earliest Dad memories is the day I got to meet my baby sister. Not only was he dealing with a tired wife and a new baby, but also a sick three year old. The morning I got to meet Carsen, my dad was helping me put on my pretty dress, my tights and shoes, do my hair, and pick out my jewelry. This sounds like a simple task, but if you knew three year old me, you would realize that this was quite a tall order.  My dad put my tights on with the seam perfectly straight across my toes, tied my dress just right, redid my hair probably ten times, and made it through my tiny child anal-retentive insanity. I have continued throughout my life to learn about patience and acceptance from my father.
During my childhood, one of my favorite weekend activities was to accompany my dad and his speech and debate team to their tournaments. There is no doubt that this, along with the innate abilities I inherited from him, led to my later successes on the same debate team. However, before all of that, I was a little girl who only wore “soft pants.” I would have rather died than wear jeans. My dad made the rule when I was seven or eight, that in order to be a part of speech and debate tournaments, I had to wear jeans. It killed me, but it taught me that sometimes to get what you want, it is necessary to be able to adapt.

When I was about eight years old, we had a snow day. While my mom and sister were outside in their snowsuits making snowmen and snow angels, I was stuck inside because my dad said I had to clean my disaster of a room before I could join them. I was devastated. There was no way I was going to get my room cleaned before my family was back inside drinking hot chocolate and uninterested in returning to the cold outside. I could barely see what I was doing I was crying so hard. However, at that moment, my dad came in the room and told me to get my snow clothes on and go outside. He would clean my room for me. I was speechless. This was NOT something my dad did…that day my father taught me about grace.

My dad also gave me a love for reading, a strong yearning for greater knowledge, an appreciation for adventure, the enjoyment of public speaking, and an ambition and persistence to accomplish my most challenging goals. Throughout my twenty-two years of life, my dad has taught me so much and provided me with the tools that have made me who I am and have gotten me to where I am today. He has helped me to open my mind and my heart to the world around me. I owe much of what I am, what I have done, and where I will continue to go in great part to my father. 

Thanks, Daddy, for everything.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Justice

I was in the Puppy Corral at the Humane Society. I promised I would feed and walk her every day. Holding that perfect little yellow lab mutt in my arms, I would have promised anything. So, on September 23, 1995 I came home with my new best friend, Justice. From that moment, my most loyal and accepting friend accompanied me throughout my childhood. 

When we were younger, Justice and I did everything together. We played in the sprinkler, had tea with the Loch Ness Monster, went on treasure hunts, exercised, explored, wrestled, and napped together. Justice was there the first time I was asked out by a boy, and after I rejected him Justice and I freaked out together in nervous, giddy disbelief. Every night she kissed me goodnight, front paws on a step stool, tongue just reaching my face. When it was stormy out, she slept under my bed. She brought me her bowl when she was hungry, fetched the newspaper every morning, talked, and danced.  Most importantly, she always loved her family and her girl.

As we grew older, I ran off to explore my life and took Justice more and more for granted. Throughout middle school, high school, and college, no matter what I did, she never judged or resented me. All she did was love me unconditionally. 

In a few hours I have to say goodbye to my friend and loyal companion. As I set in this moment next to one of my oldest friends, I can’t shake the feeling of imminent doom and the end of days…I guess in some ways it is the end of days as I have known them for nearly my entire remembered life. My friend, my constant, my giver of unrestricted love will not be here anymore. However, for over sixteen years I was her girl and she was my dog. I couldn’t have asked for a greater gift.
















Justice
July 4, 1995-December 21, 2011

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

A Philanthropic Seed

I read an article for one of my nonprofit classes called "On the Modern Meaning of Philanthropy." In reading this article I learned that the word philanthrĂ´pĂ­a was first translated into English as a term describing plants "whose seeds stick rather too readily to people." Throughout the next few centuries the definition evolved, and in the 17th century was described as the moral obligation of benevolence toward all of mankind and "the whole human family." Some of the more recent definitions are the "voluntary giving of time and money aimed (however imperfectly) toward the needs of charity." This last definition of philanthropy goes on to explain that an individual is considered a philanthropist even if they only express intent to donate to a charitable cause.

That boring explanation leads me to the point I want to make. As humankind, we have moved from feeling morally obligated to show compassion to our fellow humans, to being considered philanthropic just by expressing an intent at compassion….what the what?

This summer I had to go the the DMV to replace my lost drivers license. When my number was called, I approached the counter. As the grumpy employee asked me the routine questions about the information on my profile, he clicked the answer he expected me to say before I verbally confirmed his assumptions. After asking about my address, height, and weight, the man asked me if I wanted to be an organ donor. His arrow clicked "no" before all of the words were even out of his mouth. I stared at him as I firmly replied, "Yes, actually, I would like to be an organ donor."

I'm guessing his automatic assumption was based on thousands of Missouri drivers that had sat in that chair before me, and without thinking had decided that after their death no one would have the opportunity to benefit from their organs for which they would no longer have a need.

This infuriated me. When did such selfishness in our society become, not only accepted, but expected? When did we forget that we are, in fact, a member of a community called humanity...or any community for that matter? When did we begin praising people for intending to do good rather than feeling compelled by a moral obligation of unselfish compassion towards others?

My friend, Daniel, said that one of the greatest illnesses of mankind is our modern individualistic mindset. I believe he hit the nail right on the head. In the western hemisphere we have this idea that is perpetuated by our culture of living for, and only for, our own interests. We are so engrossed in our own media and entertainment induced comas that we don't have the time nor the desire to give a shit. Not only that, but all too often it is seen as an inconvenience when anyone asks you do something for someone else without receiving anything in return.


Don't get me wrong, I am definitely guilty of acting this way…but wouldn't it be cool if we all tried to show some compassion?If we were all like plants whose seeds stuck to the people around us and infected our world with a love for the people around us? I think that would be pretty sweet.




*Artwork by the other benefactor of my parents' benevolence and hard-earned money...my sister, Carsen.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Dear Nicaragua,

I love being with you. You make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. You're beautiful and nice. There are so many interesting and attractive qualities about you. I love each and every moment I share with you. From the very first moment I laid eyes on you I knew we were destined to be together someday. In fact, I think I might want to spend a good portion of the rest of my life with you…but here's the thing…every time I leave you, bad things happen to me. 

Last time I left you I was torn up. I cried and thought of you longingly. Then I had to spend the night on a hard floor in the Atlanta airport cold, hungry, devastated, and alone. I "woke up" (I never really slept) to find my gate assignment had changed and I forgot Atlanta is an hour ahead of Springfield and ran crying through the airport to arrive right as they were getting ready to close the gate for my flight. This time, I had the scariest plane experience of my life. 

Our plane was over the Gulf of Mexico when we hit some turbulence. I have flown quite a few times in my life, so I wasn't bothered by it until we started abruptly falling good distances through the air (the kind where you're rear end isn't actually in contact with your seat anymore) while shaking pretty violently until we jerked back into a normal flying position. This happened several times, but the real kicker was when it felt like an engine failed or part of the wing broke off the left side and the plane twisted hard to the right throwing all loose objects (including people) across the cabin. Of course this was the one time I had decided to get V8 instead of my usual water. My V8 along with my neighbor's coke ended up all over my lap and bag. People were screaming and crying hysterically. I reacted in my usual normal manner by laughing…uncontrollably. I was doing the hardcore ugly laugh. I'm sure everyone around me was seriously questioning my sanity. After getting the terrorizing flashbacks of LOST out of my head, our plane landed and sat on the tarmac for an hour. Now, I am gate hopping trying to follow my flight changes with a beautiful brownish-red stain on my pants....

Nicaragua, please realize I'm not leaving you for good, I just have other things I have to do before I can make the sort of commitment you deserve. No matter how many rivers, mountains, volcanoes, and countries separate us, nothing will stop me from returning to you. I just hope next time I don't have to suffer more than just the feeling of loss I get from our separation.


Thinking of you always,

Me

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Life. It's a beautiful thing.

Today I opened my computer to find a conversation on facebook about the decision of whether or not to put down my dog, Justice. This dog has been my loyal companion and one of my best friends since I was five years old. Needless to say, the idea of putting an end to her life made me cry. I really can't remember my life before her and I can't imagine my life knowing she's not there.

This weekend at the beach I met a guy, Manuel, from Puerto Rico. We were discussing traveling and different lifestyles around the world and he said that in life there are different levels of life that each person lives depending on location, economic standing, and opportunity. These levels are bad, okay, good, and excellent. No matter at what level you live your life, that becomes the norm. So, if we always live a good life its not seen as good anymore, it's just normal. If you always live at the level of excellence, you miss out because you're at the top and to experience anything below excellent is a dissapointment. He also said that if you live at a higher norm you are less able to see the beauty of life and appreciate the experiences you have. 

My life is good. Good has become my norm, so sometimes I experience things that initially just hurt. It hurt when I left for college the first time. It hurt when I made mistakes in my life. It hurt when my grandpa got sick. It hurt when I found out one of my best friends is moving away. It hurt when my family went out of town. It hurt when I left Nagarote. It hurt when I found out my friend of sixteen years is probably going to be put down within the next few weeks. Because my life is good, it sometimes takes me a while to find the beauty in the experience.

Life is hard. It can't always be good or excellent. That is absolutely impossible. What I want to do is change my mindset where I can see the beauty in nearly any situation. I always try to tell myself I can do this, but when it comes down to it, most of the things that initially hurt me, still hurt deep down and I tend to hold a tiny glimmer of frustration or resentment for those things that aren't "good" in my life.


I absolutely do not want to condone putting my dog down. The idea of that hurts deep. But she has lived a wonderful, long life and brought incomprehensible joy to me throughout our years together….and that is a beautiful thing.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Los Gusanos

Nicaragua has taught me a lot of things, but more than anything this time Nicaragua has taught me how to laugh. I have not laughed this hard so many days in a row since I was a child. This week I have laughed so hard I have cried multiple times. These people laugh at everything. They're such happy people.

Today, Luis and I went to Comedor Leti in Ojo de Agua. We both ordered fried chicken with plantain chips. I was talking to Luis about the health codes in the US and how a restaurant like that one would not fly in the States because it is someone's house with a dirt floor. That's when Leti came out with our food. It smelled great and I was starving, so I dug in. I ate a few big bites before I saw the meat moving….I took a closer look and there were maggots crawling all over my food….the food I had just ingested. 

It took everything I had to not vomit all over the place. I had just eaten maggots. I felt like they were stuck in my teeth, crawling down my throat, and writhing in my stomach. Leti brought me a new plate of food, but I had definitely lost my appetite.
                                                                                                                                                      
Luis and I just kept laughing in disbelief at what had just happened. On our way back to Las Pilas he made up a song that went "I will neber forget what happen today. I will neber go back to eat the food of Leti again." This made us laugh even harder. That's when Luis said that all you can do is laugh. When life is hard or difficult situations arise, there is nothing to do but laugh.