"There's a poem in that..."

I was thinking recently.  About poetry.  Specifically the writing of it.

I've been having difficulty coming up with new ideas for each day's poem, and it's been enough of a struggle that I'm pretty sure I've written about the carpet in my apartment at least twice, and cornfields more times than I can count.  This lack of variety strikes me as disturbing if only because in my first year of The Poem-A-Day Project, I stumbled upon some new topic every single day and that created some sort of variety in and of itself.  Maybe it's because my life has settled into some sort of routine that doesn't allow for exciting poem topics, so I have to make them up myself.

Or maybe I'm just not paying attention.

That first year of my poetry writing, I was surrounded by people who would stop mid-conversation and say, "There's a poem in that..."  Maybe not surrounded, but I definitely spent a good amount of time with the small number of people who would make that observation.  Of course there was a poem in that.  There was a poem in the epic battle between humans and zombies, there was a poem in the dining hall's lack of Sunday dinner, there was a poem in the sidewalk cracks between my dorm room and my first class of the morning.  Sure I revisited some of the same topics over and over again, but the images that showed up in each new poem were different because I was doing something different almost every day.

Now that I'm not physically around people who can make observations about finding poems for me, I'm coming to the slow realization that I have two options:
1.  I can go glue myself to the sides of the people who can find poems for me in conversations and daily life.
2.  I can start paying attention.
Part of my willingness to glue myself to the side of poem observers comes from missing them so much, but I think there's also a level of laziness there too.  So that leads me to conclude that paying attention is really my only option for writing some wonderful poem that isn't about how Nebraska isn't Chicago, because let's face it, that's been done about eighty times, and people are going to start to get bored if they ever read my Project from beginning to end (then again, won't they get bored with parking lot poems or "It's my senior year of college" poems?  Oh well.).

So here it goes, my mid-October resolution to pay attention in order to write more interesting poems.

Ready?  GO!

"Every day you play with the light of the universe."

- Pablo Neruda

Dependent

I'm having a problem.

I feel like I depend on other people far too much.  I have a couple examples, but the most glaring example is at work.  Yes, I'm learning how to do things and I'm getting into the groove of things, but I feel like I'm probably asking questions before trying to figure out the answer on my own because it's easier to ask the question first.

I spent a lot of my first semester of my senior year of college asking my boss what I should do in nearly every situation.  Having trouble with a desk aide?  I asked my boss what I should do.  Hearing RA gossip?  Talked to my boss, asked her what to do.  Not sure if it's a date?  Asked my boss.  I'm not kidding.  And every single time I came to her with a question, her answer was, "Brianna, what do you think you should do?"  I don't know if it's because she secretly didn't have the answer, but I like to believe that my boss knew exactly what should be done, but she wanted to see if I could figure it out for myself.  Because that question irritated me so much and because I got frustrated every time I had to tell her, "I don't know..." I started coming into meetings with my boss saying, "So I'm having this problem, I'm thinking of doing this, is that right, or am I missing something?"

This might have something to do with my need to have the right answer.  It's not that I need to be right, it's that I need to get an A on that paper, and get every quiz question right.  For some reason, I depend on the people around me to affirm my actions and pat me on the back.  I'm not sure if this is a normal thing or if it's some form of self-esteem issue, but I'd really like to pretend that I don't have self-esteem issues.

I'm not saying that I don't want people in my life, it's just that lately I'm starting to feel like I put a lot of stock into the opinions of others.

Which feels like a bad thing.

Right now, I have a Post-It stuck to my office computer monitor that asks me: "Brianna, what do YOU think you should do?"  I kinda feel like I'm starting from scratch again here, but I'm hoping that this Post-It and my awareness is going to help me figure things out.  And I know that sounds silly or trite, but there it is.

---------------------------------------------

I'm still doing my Poem-A-Day Project.  This should come as no surprise considering I've gotten into the habit of writing every day, and now it's a habit I haven't yet broken.  Strange enough, I wrote today's poem yesterday.  Which is almost virtually unheard of...but I still feel like I need to write right now, so there may be two October 1st poems.  Unfortunately I don't have a challenge for this month, but I'm sure I could tackle more Halloween poetry if the occasion calls for it.  So yeah.  Poetry.

Lame Brianna.  The end.

"You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy.  So let them go, let go of them.  I tie no weights to my ankles."

- C. JoyBell C.

Painkillers

"I haven't seen one of those in forever," she said, smiling and pointing at the neon orange and cream bead gecko I had attached to my car keys.

I stopped fumbling in my purse for my wallet and the correct change for my Tylenol and looked up to smile back.  I explained that I just found the gecko buried in a closet, but I loved it, which was true.

"I used to make those all the time," she continued, taking the ten dollar bill, the only thing I had in my wallet under twenty and above one.  She was quick about ringing up the change and handing it over, not even glancing at my penguin boxer shorts or the pink and white socks I had chosen to wear with my black clicky flats.  "Have a good night!"

I pushed the door open and left the building, shaking my head.  At 1:30 in the morning, this woman was not only awake, but smiling as she worked the front counter of a gas station and served nacho creations to the night owls in town who made comments about how a "pog would really make my day right about now."  As I turned the key in the ignition of my beat up mini van, I shook my head, still awestruck that I hadn't been judged for my strange apparel, my appearance in a gas station well after daylight hours purchasing only painkillers, or the fact that I was quite clearly not from around here.  Pulling up to the parking spot labelled specifically for me, I thanked whatever guardian angel had chosen to watch over me on this not-so-great night, sending me someone cheerful, positive, and even a little nostalgic.  Because just as much as the Tylenol, that was something I needed.

Things I've Learned and Some Things I'm Grateful for...

There's a lot that's been going on in my life right now, which would be a pretty good reason why I haven't written a blog post in about a week.  I'd say that it was because I got a job, but unfortunately that would be a falsehood.  But really, lots of good things and lots of just things have been going on, and so it feels about time for another list.  I have a list of things I've learned at home...but I'm thinking I'll post that after I've been here for six months.  One more month to go.  Well, half a month.

Anyway.  Here's a list of things that I've learned recently, and a couple of things that I'm grateful for.

1.  Everyone in the Chicago artists community knows one another.  I'm convinced that if I mention the name of somebody artistic and based in Chicago, my boss at Here's the Story will know them.  (See: Robbie Q. Telfer)
2.  You really should drink that super tall glass of water and swallow some sort of painkiller after a night of drinking, and then your hangover will magically either not exist or be manageable.
3.  Superior is the name of an ambulance company and they like putting their name on the backs of their EMTs.
4.  You shouldn't be surprised if you make someone feel/look awkward if you ask them if you can write a poem about them.  This is not a normal question!
5.  The most actively energetic booth at a street festival will be the one that performs literary related things rather than the people selling books.  Go figure.
6.  "Where are all the college aged people?"  Oh wait.  It's summer.
7.  Knowing that someone (for example, your boss) appreciates your writing abilities is really awesome.
8.  Apparently Tuesday evening is a popular time for traveling by train.
9.  It doesn't matter what it's for, being asked for an autograph will always make me feel like a rock star.
10.  Oh, you want me to read the poem I wrote aloud?  Why yes, I will do that for you.
11.  Poetry dispensed from a gumball/vending machine will be the most popular poetry.
12.  "I read your poem yesterday, and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever read.  And I'm a librarian!"
13.  You will get hugs when your poetry is deemed good.
14.  The most terrifying experience is watching someone read your poem while you're standing right there.  ("Do I watch their face for a reaction?  Do I pretend I'm not here?  Do I ask them about it when they're done?")
15.  There are some people that you make friends with and you just want to punch your fist into the air over your head in triumph when you succeed.
16.  Third party outsiders are usually the best for relationship advice.  Even better when the asking for this advice or the venting doesn't make them feel awkward.
17.  Spontaneity.
18.  You have no idea how many different interpretations can result from the instructions of "eat lunch with a stranger."
19.  I am not hitting on you if I ask how old you are.
20.  When you manage to pack three days worth of clothes in your purse that can apparently eat the world...this will be a gigantic accomplishment, and you have full rights to gloat.

So Saturday and Sunday I participated in the Printers Row Lit Fest where I stood at the Here's the Story table and sold poems from my Poem-A-Day Project out of this gumball/vending machine that I'll have pictures of soon.  It was a really neat experience because so many people walked by and commented about how cute the idea was, and a TON of people stopped to buy poems.  Some of them asked me to read them aloud, so the performer in my obliged, and some asked me to sign them in case I ever get famous.  I was overwhelmed by the people who told me they were good or beautiful or fun or funny because, well, for some reason I didn't expect to get much except a couple quarters.  I set my expectations low so I don't get disappointed.  Another thing that came out of Lit Fest was the experience of hanging out with other people from Here's the Story, and talking to them really made me feel more a part of the Here's the Story family.  Strange how hours under the sun out on the street can bring you closer to people.  Shared experiences for the win.

One thing that disappointed me was a father tugging on his son's hand at Lit Fest and telling the little boy, "No, those aren't candy, they're poems.  You don't want those."  I'm not saying that because I wanted to sell a poem to a small child, I mean to say that I was disappointed because to me, being at a lit fest means exploring new literature, new ways of reading, or creating written work.  If an 8-year old kid wants to buy a poem out of a gumball machine, he should.  If he wants to read a poem at all, he should.  It's stuff like that comment, that tugging arm, that make me sad.  I was surrounded all weekend by people who love the written word and who love writing or reading, and so to stop someone from reading something feels like one of the worst and most violent actions you can take towards a person.  We're not really talking literally, so we're ignoring maim and torture.  I just kept thinking that if that kid had bought a poem, what would have happened?  Maybe he would have thrown it out at the next trash can (though I would hope he would recycle).  Maybe he would tear it up and use it as confetti.  But maybe he would have read it and it would have inspired him to write something, whether it be a poem, an essay, a story, or a grocery list.  Maybe, just maybe, that little kid was a writer in the making but he had a father telling him that he "doesn't want those" poems.

"My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody."

- Wilkie Collins

Guest Post: Elizabeth vs. Miss Hudson

Ok, so, Brianna offered me the chance to do a guest post on her blog. Now, Brianna is epic, which makes her blog pretty epic, so really any posts on her blog should also be epic. I have to live up to transitive property.

(Am I off to an awesome start?)

In any case, I spent all day trying to figure out what I wanted to blog about. And while I was helping various students, I was struck by the realization that, while my friends know me as Elizabeth Hudson, they haven't met "Miss Hudson" -high school English teacher at Lowpoint-Washburn High School.  And just as my friends don't know Miss Hudson, my students don't know Elizabeth.

So who is Elizabeth, and who is Miss Hudson?

Elizabeth (n): 1). a reflective, introverted individual who opens up to people over an extended amount of time. 2) a middle child with a strange sense of humor but fantastic laugh. 3) a surprisingly morbid individual with more talents than what meets the eye. 4) an perceptive listener who weighs words wisely before offering advice. 5) a great lover of sleep, cats, books, and the color blue. 6) http://ehudson24.blogspot.com/ 7) me.

Miss Hudson (n): 1) first-year LWHS English teacher (10th-12th grade). 2) A supporter of dreams, artisan of intellect, and innovator of minds. 3) a weirdo with a creepy/awesome obsession with death, cats, and purple pens. 4) A beautiful individual in a skirt whom all the boys try to impress. See also: THE QUEEN. 5) A hilarious individual with a contagious laugh. 6) a stressed individual who tries to take everything in stride. 7) me.

And it's interesting to me to see the balance between the two.

(NOTE: I rarely if EVER refer to myself in the 3rd person, so don't judge me too harshly for the rest of this entry.)

I'm Elizabeth when I wake up and wish that I could still be sleeping. I stay in that mode while I put on make-up and dress professionally in preparation of being Miss Hudson (yes, I have purple and silver eye-shadow on, and hell DIDN'T freeze over. What. has. happened?!!??) The entire drive to school, I'm singing and waking up to my music, which brings me to the first clash of selves. Allow me to explain:

There is a male student who lives in Peoria with his mother, and has the same drive to school as I do. He's one of my favorites, but I'm fairly convinced that he has a crush on me (who tells their teacher that they "<3" them?). And since I'm still Elizabeth while driving to school, I find it really awkward to acknowledge his presence in any way. But since he's so used to Miss Hudson, capable of being beckoned simply by raising a hand, being ignored is totally weird...which is no doubt why he honked at me the other day. To get my attention. "I was waving like crazy but you were just singing away to your music with your little sunglasses on!" When he told me this, I smiled. What I didn't say was that I HAD noticed, but chose to speed up instead of wave back. (Which is why I also have to keep an eye out for cops as well as students).

This clash continues when I first get to school. The kids all stand in a line outside of the building before the bell rings at 7:50. They chat and mess around and whatnot...but they also have a tendency to STARE and maintain eye contact as you walk up towards the building. I find this to be especially true if I'm wearing a skirt or a dress. And, being an introvert, I like to have a little bit of time to mentally prepare for conversations. I can't tell you how many times a student has tried to greet me in the morning, only to get a half mumbled grunt back.

But the moment I enter my classroom, my domain, Miss Hudson is in control. Somehow I can make quick, witty comments on the fly. I can make small talk like none other. The boys try to impress me, the girls love talking to me, and they all try to make me laugh and smile (which, let's be honest, really isn't that hard). I make fun of myself, which they find fantastic. I'm patient and caring and genuinely concerned. They call me beautiful and a good teacher, and they truly believe it.


As of late,I believe it as well. It feels like my two selves are coming together as one. Maybe this is just what growing up and becoming an adult feels like. Teaching as Miss Hudson has done wonders for Elizabeth's self-esteem, which shouldn't surprise me as much as it does. My self and personality existed before I started teaching, so clearly it was in me all along.

I remember taking an education night class with a professor/high school teacher whom I wasn't too fond of during my time at IWU. What really destroyed my respect for her was a conversation in which she told me that she was surprised that I did so well in her class, since she thought I would be "too quiet" to become an effective teacher. And that's not the first time I've heard that comment. When I first applied to be a RA, I was put on the waiting list, because they didn't think that my personality was forceful enough to take control over a stressful situation.


If there's any point to my ramblings, I guess it's just this: don't underestimate the introvert. When they do finally speak, you'd best believe that they have something worth listening to.


And this introvert has had her voice all along.

Kaleidoscope Heart

I learned recently that one of my readers recently (how many times can I use that word in a sentence...) is an attorney, or at least works at an attorney's office, so their name links back to that website.  You know who you are if you're reading this now!  And I find it interesting that they commented on one of my posts to stress legality and getting everything down in "black and white."  Just wanted to take a moment to thank that commenter, and assure them that my Last Will and Testament post was a draft, I'll be working out the kinks soon, and when I'm closer to my deathbed.

Moving on to today's prompt which I pulled from my box (yes, I'm going to announce that every time I pull a prompt from the box, you'll probably get irritated, but you'll have to either deal with it or...deal with it, thank you!).

Today's prompt:  What music album would be used for a movie about your life?

I was just thinking about this fairly recently (it's that word again...).  I'm actually making a list of all the songs that are out now or that I'm hearing played on the radio right now that apply to my post-graduation "real world" life.  So I've got a couple songs on that list, but it's not a whole album.  One that I'd just like to mention because a friend shared it with me and I feel like it suddenly applies with "22 is like the worst idea that I have ever had..." is Paramore's "Hello Cold World."  It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

What's strange is that there's one album that would be pretty good for a movie about my life right now.  Or at least, how my life is right now, and that's Sara Bareilles' "Kaleidoscope Heart."  I shamelessly borrowed the CD from my local library so I could familiarize myself with the music, because my same friend who sent me Paramore's song also sent me "Uncharted."

There was a good week when I played this song on loop.  It was in December, and I was trying to figure out what I was going to do with my life when I got home from Florida.  If there was a movie montage to go with this song in the movie of my life, it would be me puttering around the apartment, playing on my computer, and writing stacks of poetry.  Which is interesting in that that's exactly what I'm doing right now since I've been back from Florida.  But this is how I've found myself approaching my life right now.  It's uncharted.  I'm the one making my decisions and determining my own future, drawing the lines on my own map, and I don't want to listen to other people telling me how "to get started."

Then there's "Gonna Get Over You," which makes me love Sara Bareilles all the more, because the music video is so fun.  I don't really know what to say about this.  I'm not sure it's making a promise that I can keep, but I don't know.  "I'm not the girl I intend to be."  This is something I want to live, I want to be the girl that I do intend to be.  Just...need to figure that one out.

"King of Anything."  The song that I've heard on the radio and sung along with.  This would be perfect for the movie of my life because the movie of my life is going to be a romantic comedy of some sort, and I'm going to sing this to someone in a diner.  At least, that's how I'm imagining it.

I'm not really feeling coherent right now, but my feeling is that this album as a whole pretty accurately paints my life as it is right now.  I'm still figuring things out, feeling like there's potential for everything, and yet having no idea how I'm going to get there.  I feel like I want everything but I don't have enough room in my arms to carry it all to the check-out counter.  So there's a lot of reflection needed, but I'm going to be playing this beauty on loop for the next couple forevers because Sara Bareilles is keeping me sane right now.

"Each day, countin' up the minutes, till I get alone, 'cause I can't stay

in the middle of it all, it's nobody's fault, but I'm

so low, never knew how much I didn't know, 

oh, everything is uncharted.

I know I'm getting nowhere, when I only sit and stare..."

- Sara Bareilles, "Uncharted"

Advice

Q:  Hey, so what's up?

A:  Not much, just hanging out with people who are younger than me.

Q:  Oh yeah?  Can't find too many friends your own age, eh?

A:  You have no idea how severely unfunny that is.  In fact, these teenagers are actually pretty cool.  I've known them for a while.

Q:  So what's up with the title?

A:  I'm getting there!  Sheesh!

Last night I was giving advice to a friend.  Specifically, I was giving advice to a teenaged friend about boys.  Via text message.  While I was sitting in Baker's Square with a friend who I've known since high school.  Because I'm incredibly rude.  (I'd say you probably wouldn't believe how often I text other people when I'm out with real people...but like I said, you probably wouldn't believe it.)  Anyway, I'm not saying I know a lot, but I have good instincts, and I care about people.  So that's where all my texting was coming from.

My friend who I was eating pie with made the observation that I've been doing this for a long time.  I almost wish that I could have asked him dubiously what he was talking about, but I already knew what he was saying.  I've been collecting friends and surrounding myself with people who could benefit from my advice.  In high school, I "adopted" freshmen, and in college, I was adamant about wanting to work in a first year hall as an RA.  And now that I'm out of school, I'm helping out with my local Girl Scout troop.  My friend made the comment that I can be the "cool and hip" adult person in old TV shows that picks up the main character from the police station, gives them a lecture in the car about responsibility, and then the credits roll.  I immediately thought of Full House.  But I'm not really sure I can be Uncle Jesse.

This realization isn't really something that should come as a surprise to me.  It's just something that I do, kinda like breathing.  And obsessively checking Facebook even though I know that nothing interesting could have happened in the span of five minutes.

So I find myself thinking that this is something I'd like to do with my life.  In The Future, maybe.  I want to be able to give people advice, or help them when they're struggling with something.  And I think that's what draws me to residential life at universities, because I had such a great mentor while I was at school, and I'd like to serve as the same type of person for another student.  When I say I want to "help people," this is the capacity in which I want to help them.  I want to get on their level or be able to say, "I've been there," or "I care about you" and mean it.

And this is when I realize that this tendency toward "mentoring" the young is exactly why people think I would make a good teacher.  Not just because of the formal teaching aspect that would come as a function of my own knowledge and studies, but because I could also be that teacher that the students could confide in.

I'm not really sure where this takes me, but I do know that self-reflection is a big part of the job search.  At least, that's what What Color Is Your Parachute? tells me.  Because I'm a nerd.  Not the point.  Anyway, I'm sitting here thinking about it, and residential life just seems to make more and more sense.  It just feels like it could be a natural extension of the person I already am.  Hm.

"I always pass on good advice.  It is the only thing to do with it.  It is never of any use to oneself."

- Oscar Wilde

A Very Potter Reflection

Yesterday I settled in front of my laptop with a mug of tea and donned a set of headphones to watch Team Starkid's A Very Potter Senior Year, the very last in the Harry Potter parody trilogy.  And I realized, it's the end of an era.

It's been a long time.  The Harry Potter craze.  But it felt like AVPSY was a salute to the end.  We're told that it's okay to let things go and move on.  And "okay" is definitely good enough.

Move on, eh?

Reflecting back on Harry Potter instead of moving on for the purposes of this post, I remember in maybe 4th grade, my elementary school librarian held up the book and gave us a concise summary while I thought to myself, "That looks weird..."  This coming from the only girl in her class who wore tights after the age of six.  It wasn't until one of my friends talked it up and lent me the first two books that I really got into it.  I remember reading Chamber of Secrets at night and shivering at the voice in the walls, and I remember asking for my own copies of the first three books for Christmas.  I didn't read the third one until I had my own copy.  I remember being at a birthday party when the fourth book came out and my dad and grandpa going at midnight to get me my copy.  Books 5 through 7 were delivered straight to my house through Amazon.  I never went to a release party, and looking back on it, I regret that.

But I think a big part of why I wanted to write when I was younger was because I was reading good books. I used to write about witches and magic all the time, and reading Harry Potter was fuel for that, I think.  At that time I wanted to write a book.  A novel.  Right now, I'm not so sure, the only thing I'm sure about is that I want to keep writing.

It's probably been said a ton, but I think the magic of Harry Potter is the effect it has on its readers.  That a series of young adult books could inspire a group of college kids to write a series of parody musicals, that a movement of poets and musicians are out there creating wizard rock, and that the Harry Potter Alliance is making love, not horcruxes.  It's amazing to me that I can look at all that a boy wizard and his friends have done for us and realize that Harry's part of the reason we knew "okay" was good enough.  So even though we're growing up and some of us are graduating college or adventuring off into the real world, we still carry Hogwarts with us.

I'm not really sure what I'm going to read next, and I'm not really sure that it'll have the same impact on me that Harry Potter did, but I'm kinda hoping that it does.  I'd hate to go through the rest of my life reading things that are any less than magical.

"I do not read for I have renounced life, I read because one life is just not enough for me."

- Abbas Al-Akkad

Guest Post: Claire!

Well isn't this intimidating.

Hey there, blogosphere. Or...Brianna's followers, whoever you might be. Today is the first ever (and possibly last depending on how well I manage this) edition of the GUEST BLOG!!!! (Cue Applause).

My name is Claire, and I have the unique privilege of being a dear friend to our favorite blogger. Which is why, when sitting on my couch this morning, she said, "Claiiiiirrrreeee....., I don't want to write my blog post today. Do it for me." I turned to her, shrugged, and said "why not?" Hope you're cool with that.

First, just because I want to be your friend, and friends tell each other things, I'm gonna do one of these lame about me surveys. I'll try to spice it up a bit for you.

Two names you go by:
1. Claire-Bear

2. Shoupie /Shapooopie (both plays on my last name. Endearing, no?)

Two things you are wearing right now:

1. A kelly green shirt with an Irish Flag. Happy St. Patty's week.
2. Jeans that are so long that I often trip myself. Being short is a problem for me. I can never find jeans that are the right length.

How old are you?
23, but most of the time I feel like I'm still 15. I wonder if this will ever change. 

What are your favorite things to do?
1. Read
2. Go on long drives with the windows down and music blaring. There's nothing better to clear your mind.

What are two things you want very badly at the moment?

1. a full time job, so I can pay off my student loans more quickly, and so I can quit one of my three part time jobs.
2. to fall in love

First thoughts waking up?

Probably "Dear God why am I awake right now," followed closely by, "if I reset my alarm for ten minutes from now, will I still have time to get ready before I have to be at work? Yes? YES." My half asleep brain is very good at convincing me that there is always more time to sleep.

Last song you've listened to?

Misguided Ghosts by Paramore - It's completely unlike most of their music, but it's still hauntingly beautiful and I absolutely love that.

Last movie you watched?

Perks of Being a Wallflower. Just as good as the book and still gives me goosebumps. I've seen it four times.

What were you doing at midnight last night?

Playing World of Warcraft. Yep, I'm one of those people. I can see your judging eyes, internet. But I'm such a nerd, and I've accepted that about myself.

What's a word that you say a lot? Ooooo. champ, dear, cheese and crackers.
If you were a crayon, what colour would you be? cerulean

What are you afraid of?
being alone
failure
extreme heights
being rejected by people I love because of being gay
and a whole bunch of other things that are more difficult to sum up in succinct phrases.

Telling people stuff is important. I want you to feel like you can trust me, internet. I want you to understand that I'm not just a bunch of words on a screen or a bunch of pixels mashed together, but I'm a living breathing person. A living breathing person you can trust. Because now I'm gonna talk about some serious shit. Today, I wonder about homophobia. I work with elementary school kids. One of my friends works at the same school that I do, and she was having a bad day. When she was leaving, I shouted after her "I love you," and two of my female students (both third graders) responded by saying "ewwwwww."

  I was astounded. Normally when the kids say things I disagree with, I can either tune them out or find small ways to make them question their own assumptions. Since this statement hit me closer to home, I decided a more direct approach might be helpful. I asked one girl if she loved her best friend.

"Well of course I do. She's my best friend."

"Ms. --------- is my friend too, and I care about her. So tell me, then, why is saying I love her is a bad thing?"

"Well I don't love love my best friend."

"I don't love love my friend either, but that doesn't mean I can't tell her I love her. Do you see what I mean?"

"Oh. I guess. But it's still weird. Because you're a girl and she's a girl. And that's just not okay."

It makes me wonder, internet, why homophobia seems to come so easily, especially to children. It seems to me that kids are supposed to be the ones who can see people without bias, and who can understand love in its purest form without succombing to hate or prejudice. But maybe we're not doing enough. Maybe even by the time they're in third or fourth grade the world has made them believe that loving someone of the same sex is wrong. Things like this still happen. How many little girls are afraid to tell their female friends they love them because they're afraid they'll be called a dyke? And how many more lgbt youth have to suffer through understanding who they are while at the same time suffering through the hate of those around them? I wish I had more answers. I'm just one person. I can help my students question they're own views, but that isn't going to be enough. And I'm still not sure what to do about that.

That's all, internet. Hope to see you crazy kids soon.

-Claire

Theatrical and Writing Concerns

So I started this post during my last semester of college and left it as a draft.  It kinda feels like I should finish it.

...

This morning I awoke at my usual 7 AM (today to the sounds of the Tangled soundtrack) because I'm participating in the 24 hour theatre fest.  It's exactly what it sounds like.  In 24 hours, a bunch of people write, direct and act in a series of short plays.  The most intense part (I think) is that the writers stayed up for quite a long time last night writing our plays.  Today is the first day that I'm thankful I'm not a writer.  Today I'm just an actor, so I can take directions and do what I'm told and get feedback, no worries about people misinterpreting what I write or butchering my lines.

It's a glorious feeling.  I feel free.

But the real fact of the matter is that I am a writer.  Maybe not for this show, but for the show of life, I'm writing the script, and half of the lines need to be cut.  They're not that good.  I've been writing a lot.  As my loyal readers know, I've been writing a poem a day since the beginning of September, and there's no end it sight quite yet.  I've noticed that a lot of my poems are influenced by what's going on in my life at the time of writing.  I had a whole series of zombie related poems when my university was playing a game called Humans versus Zombies, and I have a short bunch of poems that feature or are indirectly related to the boy I started seeing about two days after I started the Poem-a-Day project.

A good many of my poems are products of my distress.  I frequently get flustered or stressed out, and instead of buckling down and committing to doing my homework, I write poetry.  If you're friends with me, chances are you've shown up in my writing in some capacity, though I try my best not to consciously do that.  But a lot of times I'm worried/concerned/hurt/stressed/distressed, so I have to get the words down on paper.  And I can't help but wonder if there will ever be a time when it would be appropriate to show the objects of these poems the poetry that was written about them.  Mostly because I'm at this stage in my writing where I want to show everyone everything, dance around and sing, "Aren't I brilliant?"  Even though I would never admit to it if they told me I was.  The answer I've come to is "probably not, Brianna" because I can't for certain determine what the objects of poetry might read in the piece, and I don't want to create awkward situations.

...

Now that I've gotten to a point where there have been distinctive shifts in my life and situation, I've been writing a lot about my daily life which isn't too thrilling.  And I've learned that a break up can be really great fodder for ideas, even though you have to jump over the cliche hurdles to get to anything good.  So I find myself thinking...would I want to show anyone those poems much less the person they're about?  Yeah, I think it would be safe to say that that would be awkward.  Even if I wasn't purposely writing about a person, if I wrote something that they could interpret as about them...emotional distress.  I know this partially from experience and partially because I'm self-centered.

So it all boils down to even though I can crow, "Oh the cleverness of me!" I can't show the subjects of my poetry those poems.  I just can't.  So if I'm looking for feedback...I better pray that those feedback givers don't show up in my poetry because I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable unnecessarily   All uncomfortability must come from necessity, naturally!  Gosh!  When it's all over, when I'm done being broken up about a break up or done feeling betrayed or abandoned by close friends or done being over the moon excited about an unpaid internship, even when the feelings are gone, they're still going to be stuck to the page of the poem, so even if I say, "Hey, I don't feel this miserable/happy/whateveremotionapplies anymore," the reader could still read into it.  And then misunderstanding.  Or worse, understanding.  Understanding that maybe they made me feel that way, and then guilt.  And no one wants that.  Well, at least I don't want people to feel guilty.

Decision: Choose your audience wisely, Brianna.  The end.

"Poetry is an act of peace.  Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread."

- Pablo Neruda

Bored? Never!

This morning the radio told me, "If you're bored then you're boring."  And because being boring has got to be the worst and most terrible insult that I could ever receive...and it would probably make me cry if someone called me boring...I remembered that I'm doing lots of things, and therefore not bored!  Step one!  When I say that I'm doing a lot of things, I mean that I'm working on revising poetry, I'm reading a lot of novels, I'm watching a lot of movies, and I'm knitting.  A lot.  Part of me suspects this is in preparation of my becoming a grandmother one day.  I need to learn how to knit sweaters...

It also astounds me that anyone could ever be bored.  There are about a million and one things that you can do whether you stay at home or go out and have adventures.  I know this because I've found and done the majority of these things with my new found free time.  And I have plans to add more things.  But right now I'm just compiling a list of things I can/would like to do solo so the next time I get into my "I have no friends" funk, I'll do something exciting and make friends through telling people about it!  Ready?  GO!

Things I Want To Do While At Home:

-  make 5 Pinterest crafts, otherwise I'm just talk
-  learn how to make 5 Pinterest dishes, so I don't starve)
-  learn how to do a card trick (or multiple card tricks...)
-  learn new juggling techniques and/or tricks
-  finish moving pictures from the old computer onto CDs for my father
-  read a wider variety of books (genres I need to try: biography, horror, and possibly western)
-  experiment with make-up and see if I can learn how to do fancy things, just for fun
-  see a movie on my own because I hear it's a totally different experience
-  Random Acts of Kindness
-  go to a public place and people watch shamelessly
-  learn how to knit something that's not flat and square
-  memorize Hamlet's "To be or not to be" speech because I've got the first five lines and I might as well
-  memorize my nerd poem because that's going to be useful one of these days
-  revise poetry!  Lots of poetry revisions!
-  send snail mail
-  go forth and do tourist-y things because I can
-  write something that's fiction and prose, preferably a short story!
-  use the "bored?  don't be!" deck of cards
-  clean the entire house
-  organize my personal library
-  play dress up

"She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn't boring."

- Zelda Fitzgerald

Things I'm Bad At

Well, that was a very near thing.  The thing to which I'm referring being nearly forgetting to write a blog post for today.  I was all tucked up in my reading corner to read a book (V Is for Vengeance, my grandpa lent it to me), and I suddenly had a light bulb moment and I was reminded that I hadn't written a post yet for today, and I was doing so well with my Lenten promise, I couldn't quite get myself to slack.  Darn.

So without further ado...things I'm bad at, inspired by Jenna Marbles' video that my friend posted on my Facebook this morning!  Whoohoo!

1.  Remembering things -- I'm notorious for forgetting things, which is the number one reason I use Post-Its as if my life depends on them because let's face it.  My life depends on those little paper squares.

2.  Speaking -- Too many thoughts, not enough coherence to get them out into the air.  Practice, I guess?

3.  Sports --  All of them.  Typically things that require physical exertion of any kind...I'm bad at.  Take my fencing class for instance, I was the class punching bag.  Basically.  I helped boost the ego of every one of my classmates by losing every bout.  Except for that one...and I'm very disappointed that I've forgotten who I beat.

4.  Backing my car down the driveway -- My brother and my mom just zip down the driveway no problem, but swinging into the driveway and then inching along that length of concrete is just plain difficult for me.

5.  Making popcorn -- Although this is a matter of opinion.  I'm perfectly good at making popcorn for myself...because I like it slightly burnt.

6.  Small talk -- I'm not really a fan of small talk, so I think my lack of enthusiasm may show through here.  Again, practice, that would help...

7.  Hearing -- I'm good at listening, but I occasionally mishear things.

8.  Using my desk for what it's actually meant for -- I tend to use my desk as a storage space.  I like stacking things on top of my desk.

9.  Wearing ugly socks -- The end.

10.  Finishing creative projects -- I start these grandiose projects or have these great ideas, but the follow-through...need more follow-through.

"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad.  People are either charming or tedious."

- Oscar Wilde

Oz

Q:  So we're talking about Wizard of Oz today?  I knew you liked it, but not as much as you like Wicked...

A:  We're not talking about Wizard of Oz.

Q:  But--but--really?  Why not?

A:  Because we're talking about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Q:  We--uh--what?

A:  Just shut up and listen, okay.  But in all fairness, anyone who hasn't seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer might want to skip this post, there are spoilers.  Kind of.  I mean, there are things that you could probably figure out all on your own, but yeah.  I really just want an excuse to use ***SPOILER ALERT*** in a real live blog post.  That's right.

Okay, so I've always known that if I were a character in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I would be Willow.

Willow's the bookworm.  She's awkward, cheerful, usually looks on the bright side and harbors a gigantic crush on one of her best friends.  She's also the one who discovers she's a lesbian later on in the series, but when I'm talking about my being Willow, I'm talking about the high school Willow.  The awkward adorable one.  The one who wears strange sweaters and tights when her classmates are wearing mini skirts and belly shirts.  Yeah.  I'm Willow in her days before she becomes cool in college and before she comes into her own as a witch.

A large part of why I was okay with being Willow was the fact that in high school she ends up with Oz for a while.

If I had a favorite character on Buffy, hands down it would be Oz.  He is my absolute favorite because though he doesn't talk much, when he does, he's clever and sweet.  Basically he's perfect for Willow because he's smart, he adores her awkwardness, and he's super kind to her.  He's matter-of-fact and unapologetic about his affection for her, and he's just so cool.  Maybe that seems like a lame reason to like a character, but I love Oz.  Like a lot.

While Angel is all "I'll love you until the day I day, oh wait, I'm immortal, so basically I'll love you forever," Oz says things like "I'm going to ask you to go out with me tomorrow night, and I'm kinda nervous about it actually.  It's interesting."  Love.  So much love.

So I'm spending a lot of my time being Willow and not really worrying about things like boys, when I'm really secretly waiting for my Oz.

But what I conveniently forget is that even if I end up getting an Oz, he's going to end up leaving not only me but Sunnydale so he can tame the wolf.  Yeah, he's a werewolf.  And basically he leaves to protect Willow and everyone from the wolf, doing "what's best" for everyone around him.  And when I watched the show, I wanted to punch him in the face for hurting Willow like that, just leaving her on the curb as he drives away.  She's stuck broken-hearted and in Sunnydale where all she really gets to do is play second fiddle to Buffy when before that she actually mattered to someone like Oz.  But at the same time, the me who saw herself as Awkward Willow understood why Oz was taking off.  It made sense that he had to figure things out.  At the same time, I didn't realize that Willow had things to figure out too.  Though she was starting to come into her own and do more than be a sidekick, she really needed to step up.  But there were the beginnings of that that I didn't realize until I looked back on it.

Right about now, I'm not sure where I am in the Willow continuum, but I'd like to think that I'm a little less awkward if a little more adorable.  Maybe I should just take up witchcraft and see what happens.  :^P

"Sometimes, when I'm sitting in class--you know, I'm not thinking about class, 'cause that would never happen--I think about kissing you. And, it's like everything stops. It's like, it's like...freeze frame. Willow kissage. (pauses) Oh, I'm not gonna kiss you."

- Oz

Competition

Writers are, by nature, competitive.  That's just the fact of the matter.  It doesn't matter how many times writing instructors or professors say "Don't compare your work to other people," they do it anyway.  Doesn't matter how many times a writer reassures their friend "Oh no, I don't compare my work to your's, it's cool," it's a lie.

I suspect this is because writers are artists, and like most artists, they need reassurance.  Well, if we're going to be completely honest, as humans we need reassurance, but you know what I'm saying, so go with it, will you?  What I'm saying is a writer needs reassurance that their writing is worthwhile.  They need major ego-stroking because they're self-conscious.  They're throwing their lives on the page and taking a risk by exposing their scars, and they need affirmation that it was worth doing and that they did it well.  I know this because I am a victim of this.  Or at least someone who needs affirmation that my work is good.  Right.  That.

So because of this self-consciousness, we find ourselves comparing our work to others.  I'm not saying that every writer reads Shakespeare and then quietly retires to a corner and slowly breaks all their pens because Shakespeare and the classics are always going to be considered "better" in some respects and "old-fashioned" in others, so he's not even on the table of "others" to whom a writer's work can be compared.  I'm saying that in a workshop or classroom setting or even in just being friends with other writers, a writer will relentlessly compare their work without meaning to.  Because there's going to be the idea that "Oh, I could have done this with this poem better" or "This is so good, I could never write something like this."  I don't think that we realize we're doing it, but we do because that's where so much of the bad feelings between writers can come from with one writer acting all superior and the other one being depressed and feeling worthless.

This needs to stop.  I don't necessarily think that it's a light switch that we can just turn off and say "Nope, not comparing today," but I do think that once we realize we're doing it, we can keep these negative feelings in check.  Because 1) a huge ego isn't good for anyone and 2) an inferior ego isn't happy either.  Besides, the writing suffers if you think you're so good you're untouchable as well as if you think you're so bad you shouldn't bother writing anyway.

Yes, we're artists.  Yes, there will always be someone who writes better than me, but I can only hope that they don't lord it over me when they realize that they do.  Yes, there will always be someone who's still learning and who you write better than.  For now.  So this is a good reason just to keep writing because who knows what's going to come about and who knows how good it will be, and who really cares?  Because ultimately, we should be writing for ourselves anyway.  If someone else wants to read it, great, but if we're writing for readers...I'm not sure that's writing anymore.  At least not in the same way.

I've found recently (though you would think I wouldn't have to keep re-realizing this) that writing is a really great way of sorting out things.  I say "things" because I've decided I'm going to be purposely vague and it's entertaining to me.  I spent the majority of my senior year at university writing my Poem-A-Day Project, and a lot of those poems had to do with my anxiety toward The Future.  Not that those poems have gone away, but I've settled into a more comfortable place with them.  Just like I have a friend who's still "poeming out" their heartbreak, and another who memorializes their family.  I'm not really sure what it is about writing that makes us feel better in times of distress, but I get the feeling that it has to do with trying to find the words to communicate those feelings that are confused and jumbled up.  So many times we answer "How are you doing?" with "I'm fine," but the poems say differently.

And this is why I'm thinking that the competition and the comparisons are silly.  Because if we're trying to figure things out, sorting out emotions, landmarks, and experiences, how can we even form a basis for comparison?  Basically, by comparing we're not being fair to either writer due to the fact that no one has the exact same experiences or reactions as another person, so therefore...flawed comparison.  I mean, my friend and I can write about the same conference we went to while we were at college or the same movie we saw over the weekend, but we could never write the same poem about it because we didn't have the same experience.  Sure we might have bought our movie tickets together and shared a bag of popcorn, but we wouldn't have seen the same things in the movie or tasted the popcorn the same way.

I freely admit that I'm guilty of the comparisons, but I'm trying to stop doing that, or at least remind myself continuously that I write differently than my friends, and "different" is neither better nor worse.  So I implore the writing community to stop the comparisons, or at least don't let them negatively influence anybody.  Thank you.

"If it's bad, I'll hate it. If it's good, then I'll be envious and hate it even more. You don't want the opinion of another writer.  Writers are competitive.  If you're a writer, declare yourself the best writer.  But you're not as long as I'm around unless you want to put the gloves on and settle it."

- Ernest Hemingway, 'Midnight in Paris'

Life as a Pixar Movie

There was a time when my friend posed the question:

If your life was a Pixar movie, what movie would your's be?

I struggled with this question mostly because the best Pixar movies had been taken, and I couldn't think of a way to relate my life to Toy Story or Up, which was sad.  And there was no way I was going to use A Bug's Life.

The conclusion I came to was that my life is Ratatouille. 

And now is when I put up the obligatory ***SPOILER ALERT*** because I'm going to talk about plot, characters, and other things.  And though I'm not sure if there are people who would care if I spoil...but you know...just making sure.

Anyway.

I definitely feel like Remy in that I feel like I have a talent, but I'm in an environment that isn't exactly fostering that talent or encouraging it.  One might say that I feel creatively stifled by where I am in my life.  So in that way, I'm faced with the challenge of finding a means through which I can use my gifts.

Then again, I also feel like Linguini because I don't always have Remy's confidence in my own talents, and sometimes I just feel like everything I'm doing is going wrong and subsequently leading me in the completely wrong direction.  But I'm eager to learn and develop as an artist, I just need a mentor of sorts.

Plus I feel like I'm surrounded by Colettes, the people who know exactly what they're doing and where they're going.  They're unflappable, and they're so staggeringly confident in themselves that I fall over myself to please them or prove that I'm even a little okay.  Then again, when I do that, I'm less true to myself and I end up coming up with art that's not too great because I'm making it for someone that's not me.  Some of my best friends are Colettes.  Or I feel like they're Colettes because I have a huge inferiority [hush] complex.

And that's all I really have because I need to think more.  Basically the gist is that I'm still coming to terms with my own talent and gifts, so I'm mixing things up a bit as I figure things out.

"I know this sounds insane, but... well, the truth sounds insane sometimes, but that doesn't mean it's not. Uh, the, the truth. And the truth is, I have no talent at all." 

- Linguini, 'Ratatouille'

Poetical Anniversary

It's official.  Today marks the one year anniversary of my Poem-A-Day Project.  Exactly one year ago, I was walking with a friend and we decided to write one poem a day for the month of September.  The rest, as they say, is history.

Actually, all through the project, I've spent every month going back and forth about whether I would continue on.  Would I write more than one month or would it stop after September?  Would I do more than six months?  Might as well finish up the school year, should I continue over the summer?  I'm not sure where all this indecision comes from, but if I had to guess it would be because of the endless doubt in my ability to produce more poems.  Because some months are just altogether rotten, and some of those months I'd really like to forget.  Oh, that and the fact that continuing the project always sounded crazy.

Stranger:  You've been writing daily poems for how long?
Me:  A year.
Stranger:  (wide eyes)  No way.

A professor at the university I just graduated from told me that he was considering creating a class around the idea of writing one poem a day with the thought of producing sheer quantity of material to work with.  He said that he wasn't sure that a college student could handle it with all their other commitments and things, but that hearing I had been maintaining the project for months on end, he thought that maybe he could create a class like that after all.  These are the things that make me happy.

Additionally, I'm trying to get my friends to pick up on a Poem-A-Day Project of their own.  I've sent out a challenge to my poetically minded friends to write one poem a day for the month of September, just like how I started out a year ago.  If they continue after this month will be up to them, but I'm hoping the experience in and of itself will be as good for them as it was for me.

Stranger:  But what are you going to do with those over 300 poems and poem scraps that you've written?

Well, like any good writer, I'm going to keep them.  I plan on also revising them, but since I'm miles and miles away from my collection of poems, that's going to have to wait until I return home.  I'm excited about the prospect of revision, but I'm not quite sure where I'm going to get feedback and critique.  We shall see.

Stranger:  What now?

Since I'm still participating in the Disney College Program, and there are still tons of poems to be written about that experience as well as the experience of living away from home for the first time out of college and all of that, I'm going to continue the Poem-A-Day Project into the rest of 2012.  Once January 1st rolls around, I'll probably go back to flip-flopping about whether I'll continue after that, but for now I want to keep going and that excitement for the project will hopefully keep me going for the next couple months.

This month my Poem-A-Day Project challenge will be to revise 2 poems a week from either my freshman year Creative Writing class or my sophomore year Writing Poetry class.  The first being when I was still grumpy about writing poetry, and the second being when I started thinking that poetry was a little bit better than "okay."  My style has changed quite a bit since both of those classes, so I'm excited to go back and read what I wrote originally and also to see what the new revisions will look like.

No matter what this project has in store for me, I know it's going to be an adventure, that's for sure.

"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn."

- Thomas Gray

A Reflection (from HS Senior Brianna)

Guess what, I'm still cleaning my room.  It's becoming increasingly clearer that it's going to be a summer project that's going to take approximately forever.  Well, hopefully just the summer, but forever is an option, I suppose.

Senior year of high school, I took a class called Justice Seminar.  It was one of the choices for a religion class senior year, and it was the only time we got to choose something different in the religion department.  It was either Justice Seminar or Theology Quest (in which everyone was placed by default if they didn't "get into" Justice).  Though Theology Quest sounds like it would be a really cool video game that has you searching for Jesus and gaining lives by collecting the host or Catholic artifacts...I thought that Justice would be more fun.  It was really heavy on reflection and discussion, and there was also a service aspect.  Today I found my "reader" with all the articles we read, and I'm finally coming to grips with the fact that I should probably recycle it because all it's doing is gathering dust.  Inside this reader I discovered that I had bookmarked my reflections on some of the articles.  So I'm going to share one of those here.

This is a reflection based on a chapter from Henri Nouwen's Out of Solitude called "Care" and also Henri Nouwen's "Report on the Possibility and Desirability of Love."

As Mr. Nouwen said, it seems as if our expression of indifference has been the only time we use the word "care," and even then, we are using it incorrectly.  A person who cares is a person who "instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand."  Maybe it's arrogant to say that this statement along with the remainder of the paragraph convinced me that I am a caring person, but it did.  Either that, or extremely inarticulate.  Whenever my closest friends are having trouble, or just having a really bad day, I'm the friend that they go to who will listen to them, and just be there.  Maybe it's because I can never think of what to say at those moments, but sitting there feeling helpless along with the best of my friends is one of the main ways that I can express my love for them, and how much I care.  By offering to split an entire container of ice cream between the two or three of us, I feel like I'm doing something, even if I'm not offering the sage advice that I sometimes get.  It's the friends who are willing to just sit on the phone and listen to me rant that I really appreciate because I can tell they care about me, even if they don't know what to tell me to "make me feel better."  It's not really something I can explain, because I have a feeling if I did, it wouldn't have nearly the same impact upon me as it does right now.  A friend allows you to be yourself.


The quote, "...that it was better to suffer than to lose self-respect by accepting a gift out of a non-caring hand," confuses me.  It sounds a heck of a lot like charity, but I'm not completely certain.  It sounds like the explanation of the poor refusing help because they're "too proud," and I never really understood that.  Seems I still don't.


I agree that our society is preoccupied with "taking" and "power," because we are afraid of each other.  We're nervous about someone stabbing us in the back because if they figure out our deep dark secret, they'll use it against us.  And that makes sense.  Every man for himself, right?  But it isolates us.  It distances us from each other.  We have to constantly look over our shoulder to make sure that we're not being followed, and we never feel safe.

"When a man cries, when the walls of his self composure break down and he is able to express his deepest despair, weakness, hate and jealousy, his meanness and inner division, he somewhere believes that we will not take and destroy him as if a voice told him, 'Don't be afraid to tell.'"

This quote really stuck out to me because it's kind of like revealing your complete self and just announcing, "Here I am, take me or leave me."  Nouwen seems to be saying that we have to let ourselves be vulnerable before we can love and be loved.  I mean, the most repeated advice you get before, after, and during Kairos is "don't be afraid to open up."  And I wrote a reflection about the importance of opening up before.  Really, opening yourself up to feeling other people's hurt, and allowing for the possibility of yourself getting hurt, that's what love is.  We have to open up that oyster shell of our's, as Nouwen puts it, and let our loved ones see the pearl within.  But we are afraid of what others will say about our pearl.  We are afraid that we'll intimidate people by our willingness to share, or the gleam of our pearl in comparison to someone else's.  But just as Marianne Williamson said:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.' We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

We really have to learn to love ourselves, and open up in order to allow the people around us to do the same.  If one person turns on their light, then the others can't help but follow, because how can you be afraid of the dark if all the lights are on?  If one person opens up, and loves, then the people around them will learn to love by example.  Maybe that's idealistic, or completely off the point, but it would be such a valuable change from taking love to giving love or sharing love.


So it seems that senior year of high school Brianna was pretty profound.  Interesting.

"Somehow we know that strength is often hidden in weakness and it is exactly there, where love becomes visible."

- Henri Nouwen, "Report on the Possibility and Desirability of Love"

Modern

This morning when I saw the prompt from Sunday Scribblings was "modern," the first thing I thought was of "Thoroughly Modern Millie," a musical set in 1922, an extremely modern age.

I really like this musical because it's so silly.  I've seen it twice, each time it was a high school production, and they were both fantastic.  I've never been in it, and I'm not really sure who I would play if I were in it...so it's probably better this way.

The dictionary tells me that "modern" has to do with present and recent time.  But another definition says that "modern" is everything after the Middle Ages.  I find this really amusing if only because sure, today is a time after the Middle Ages, but "everything after the Middle Ages" covers quite a bit of time, if I'm remembering correctly.  So that means that yes, Jane Austen is modern.

That means Shakespeare is modern too, right?  Hm.  I have a couple classmates who would argue differently because they don't understand what the man's trying to say in all that language dripping with imagery.  But my classmates would probably lose this argument because Shakespeare's English is actually considered "modern English."  Everyone who says that Shakespeare is "Old English" is not only wrong, but has never heard old English before and how not like today's English it sounds. I'm going to see if I can find a video recording of old English to illustrate my point...I tried to find a video that didn't have a creepy voice...I'm not sure I succeeded.  Heh.

So does that sound like English to you?  Heck, does that even sound like Shakespeare?  Does that sound like Hamlet?  What's kinda neat is that Middle English (as opposed to Old English) sounds a little bit more like modern English.  I know this because last spring I took a class on Geoffrey Chaucer and read a bunch of The Canterbury Tales in Middle English.  It was pretty awesome.  But Middle English has more of a melodic sound than modern English does, it reminds me of a mix of Gaelic with the musicality of the language and of French with the pronunciation of some of the words.

Point being, as much as people would like to think otherwise and it's crazy, but Shakespeare?  He's modern.

Thank you to Sunday Scribblings for the prompt: Modern

"Everything today is thoroughly modern,

check your personality,

everything today makes yesterday slow,

better face reality..."

- "Thoroughly Modern Millie"

Valentine's Day?

So tomorrow's Valentine's Day.  I'm not really a fan of the holiday, and so part of me thinks I have an obligation to unpack that dislike for it so I can can square things away.

Thanks, Google!

Okay, so what's the point of Valentine's Day?  It's a Hallmark holiday meant to sell candy and cards and encourage people to deck out their homes in pink and red (two colors that clash on normal days...) in order to express their affection for the people that are important in their lives.  Most commonly affection for a significant other.  All those left single during this day spend their time burning teddy bears or complaining about how disgusting Valentine's Day is.  Am I right?  Let's not forget that Valentine's Day is also the day in history when the St. Valentine's Day Massacre took place in Chicago.  Isn't that happy?

I've spent the majority of my life being single.  I never really had a problem with that.  I didn't need a boy to make me happy, and I didn't want to have to deal with the drama that inevitably would surround a high school relationship.  So Valentine's Day wasn't a big deal.  I maybe gave cards to my friends.  Maybe.  I don't remember.  I do remember wearing either red or pink on that day just because it was fun to dress up.  Point being, Valentine's Day didn't really have a meaning for me.  Sure, I'll admit it was fun playing the cynic and bashing the heart shaped cards and those gross conversation hearts (they really taste nasty, I don't understand why they exist...) and the couples who were all lovey-dovey in the hallways.  I honestly wanted to puke.  Partially because I hate people, mostly because I felt like they were playing into cliche.  Which is sad.

This year I find myself in a relationship with Valentine's Day right around the corner (that being a relative term, we all know it's tomorrow).  It's really hard to not bash the day, and every time I do I have friends surrounding me who remind me that I have a boyfriend, so I should be happy.  Melbourne even went so far as to remind me that I have a boyfriend while also telling me that I'm not allowed to do the cynical bashy thing or else I'm a hypocrite.  Which is a fair statement, but hurts.

I don't understand why Valentine's Day exists outside of the idea that Hallmark needs to make a profit.  "So you can express your love to your loved ones."  That's just silly.  Come on now, you can express your love to your friends and lovers and husbands and mothers without having a special day that says you're supposed to. In fact, you probably should be continually expressing love, affection, and admiration on a daily basis anyway because it's good for you like vegetables.  There's nothing stopping you from saying, "Hey, I really appreciate you and everything you do for me" or "Hey, those are kick ass boots," or even "Hey, I love you" on any day outside of February 14th.  What means more: a gift from someone who you know cares about you on a day that necessitates gift giving and chocolate eating or a hug, a kiss, a gift or a well wish when that person isn't required to give you one?

What I'm saying is Valentine's Day makes people feel like they're required to show affection on that specific day.  They can spend all other days of the year giving people the finger for cutting them off on the highway, jumping strangers in line, and scowling when that other person takes the last French fry.  Really world?  That's not how this is supposed to work.  Call me optimistic for the remaining 364 (or 365 because this year's a leap year) days of the year, but I feel that people should be able to show their loved ones that they care every day.  What's stopping them?  Is it because they don't have time or the inclination?  They already love each other, why can't they just say it?  Why do they need a special little card that Hallmark sells you at Walgreens once a year to say something punny and ridiculous and ultimately trite when something far simpler would suffice on any other day of the year?

Valentine's Day might be a day for grand gestures, but I still think that people can pull out all the stops on any other day.  I believe in the power of positive thinking, the importance of a kind word on a rough day, and the effects of a smile from a stranger.  No one should feel alone on Valentine's Day if during the rest of the year they surround themselves by people who care for them and who make sure that they know.  So it ultimately shouldn't matter whether you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, lover or spouse on Valentine's Day because maybe you don't have one during the rest of the year, but you're still happy.  So why be miserable for one day out of the year when you have so many people around you who want what's best for you and would do just about anything to help you out ALL THE TIME?

Parting words:
Couples, I know this day is technically yours, all the commercials say so, but please don't make out and grope each other in public, it's neither cute nor charming, it really just annoys and disgusts people.  Don't let Valentine's Day be your excuse.

Singletons (or all the single ladies...(I had to make that reference at some point)), don't let Valentine's Day get you down.  You've got a whole network of people who love and care about you during the entire year, so don't let the thought of being without a significant other taint your day.  It's really just another day.

World, try a little tenderness.  All I'm asking is for a little respect and some kindness to strangers and acquaintances alike.  Every day.  Not just on Valentine's Day, alright?  Start today.

"Love is not to be purchased, and affection has no price."

- St. Jerome

Omen

"That's a good omen."

"It must be an omen."

"Bad omen."

Omens.  Based on the Oxford English Dictionary, and the random quotes that I put above, I've learned that "omen," is a really sort of ambiguous word.  It can mean whatever you need it to mean.  Okay, you probably couldn't replace "kerfuffle" with "omen," but you know what I mean.  When something has "prophetic significance," it can be an omen.  Which is interesting.  How many other words have that fluidity?  Sure, you can have a good dog and you can have a bad dog, but it doesn't hold the same sort of significance that "omen" does.  We know that an omen is something that happens that is supposed to predict good or evil happening, but the word has to be modified by an adjective.  Otherwise, it's just a "I'm not really sure if this is a good or bad thing" omen.  Which works too.

It's probably a matter of interpretation.

I also learned a little bit about "omen-animals," which is to say that I learned that they exist.  They're animals whose behavior or body parts are used in methods of divination.  Which is pretty cool.  And then there's also a specific entry for "omen-birds" which are probably different from regular omen-animals in some way, though I'm not really sure.  [This calls for more research.]

Thanks Google!  Oh Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet...surely a rock star pairing!

OH!  And this reminds me that I have Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's book, Good Omens, sitting on my bookshelf at school.  There it will sit until I move out.  I know it.  I've never read it, but it's on one of my immediate "READ ME" lists because of the fact that I own it.  [Actually, funny (not really funny) story, I went to Borders with a gift card that I discovered randomly in one of my purses, and I was all ready to spend this $15 I thought I had.  I bought Good Omens and Witch and Wizard because they were random, cheap, and I needed to own some Neil Gaiman.  I get to the register and the gift card only has a couple cents on it, and Borders hadn't started their "going out of business" sales.  Paid for them out of my birthday money.]  I'm really excited about reading it though because I have a friend who enjoyed it and was going to attend the Printer's Ball as a character from it...but that fell through.

So omens.  Definitely something that I could think more about.  Poetically?

Thank you to Sunday Scribblings for the prompt: Omen.

"There is no such thing as an omen.  Destiny does not send us heralds.  She is too wise or too cruel for that."

- Oscar Wilde