Say it, do it, live it.

Quotes of the Week

"She needs to sort out her priorities." ~Ron Weasley 

"Say what you mean and mean what you say, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." ~Dr. Seuss

"Please make sure to secure your mask before assisting others." ~Airline Stewardesses Everywhere

Songs of the Week

1. Belle of the Boulevard by Dashboard Confessional

2. Beautiful Disaster by Jon McLaughlin

3. Strip Me by Natasha Bedingfield

I've been taught for as long as I can remember to put other people before myself. I like to think that I've done a pretty good job so far in my life. I've kept quiet about the small things, let a lot of bygones be bygones without speaking up and generally made life as easy as possible for those around me. If someone made a comment that rubbed me the wrong way, I avoided eye contact, smiled and got over it. If I disagreed with someone's opinion, I smiled and nodded, not saying anything so as not to make waves. If the waitress gave me the wrong kind of food, I shushed my family and insisted that spaghetti instead of stuffed shells was perfectly fine. My goal was to be as quiet as possible, fly under the radar and cause as few problems as possible. I succeeded. For about the first sixteen years of my life, I played it cool about everything. And while that's served me very well, getting favors and many pats on the head for being a good girl, it's simply not the way life is meant to be lived. People walked all over me, took advantage of my silence and benefited from my selfless mantra. Yes, I was putting their needs in front of my own, but I was also putting myself in last place, behind even the stinkbugs I refused to kill.

I'll be clear about one thing: the last thing in the world I wish to communicate here is to be selfish, self centered and self absorbed. But, as a very random person once pointed out to me, sometimes, you need to be selfish. Never lose sight of the rest of the world, but keep in mind that you matter to. I spent far too long pretending that nothing mattered to me and that I was ok with whatever everyone else was ok with. When being selfless crosses a line and starts becoming self-destructive, stop.

Take a step back, a deep breath and a leap of faith in yourself. Have an opinion, even if it's the wrong one. Take a stance, if not for an issue, for yourself. If someone says something you disagree with, say so. Don't hide it. If you get a regular soda instead of a diet decaffeinated one, grab the waitress and change it out for what you wanted. It's ok to think about yourself. It's ok to make sure your mask is secure before helping others.

I finally figured that out. It took me a lot of biting my lip, changing to be what people wanted me to be and living in fear of the opinions of others, but I finally broke free. I am the person I want to be. I have opinions, most of which you'd probably disagree with. I do what I want, and I make good choices that won't hurt others, but that also won't hurt me. No one has a say over my beliefs except for me. And that's not to say that I won't change my mind if you present a good case. And let me assure you, I'm much happier now. I'm not going out of my way to make life difficult for people by any means, but nobody can just push my opinion aside and run me over. I've compromised, and it has changed the way I look at the world.

Make waves. Change things that you don't think are right. Make a difference in the world, for better or for status quo. Say what you mean to say. Cut down on the amount of times a day you say "That's fine." Or "It doesn't matter to me." Or "Whatever you want; it's up to you." Say it, do it, live it.

Some Second Person Fun

~Just a thought I had in math class, scribbled down and expanded upon later. Enjoy!~

Imagine yourself walking through a dark cave. 

People have told you that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but you’ve been walking for so long in the darkness that you don’t believe it anymore. You’ve actually come to embrace the darkness- it’s comfortable, familiar. You feel safe knowing that it’s the same dangerous unknown you’ve been walking through for as long as you can remember. You don’t even know how to think about the possibility of seeing light anymore. It’s incomprehensible. You know somewhere in the back of your mind that there’s a chance, but you know more that you’re too far gone. You yearn for the darkness. You trip through, stumbling over unexpected rocks and boulders that pop up when you least anticipate them. Every once in a while, a haunting echo of the way things used to be sneaks into your ear, reminding you of how fantastic life in the light once was. You try to ignore the occasional dampness from the reality that seeps into your shoes. It’s easy to shove that in the back of your mind. After all, you’re not sure what’s really real anymore. Why not question your sense of touch too? 

All of the sudden, a burst of realization comes bursting through the cave. It’s the strongest feeling you’ve had in a while. It scares you. It hurts you. You find yourself crying at the rawness inside of you that has suddenly burst outward. And yet, as the pain is tearing through the cave, you feel a little something beginning to bubble forth. You start to run- anything away to get away from this sensation. As you run forward, you trip and go sprawling onto the floor of the cave. But where you expected to find a rock and a hard place, there is only the shock of water. Instead of an abrasion and the continuation of your journey, you find that falling into this pool may be the worst injury the cave has brought to you. You sink towards where the bottom is supposed to be, feeling as empty as you’ve ever felt. 

But just as you begin to close your eyes and succumb, there’s a burst of light, and something dives into the pool after you. You realize the rescuer itself is the light. It reaches out, grabs you and pulls you upwards, away from the darkness and into the bright, shocking light. It’s an unknown force that rescued you and it remains unknowable as it energizes you, dries you off and injects you with the golden light. As you are taking your first cleansing breath in ages, it zips away as fast as it appeared. As it does, in the brilliant trail of hope left behind, you notice a glow coming in the distance. You think back, remembering sinking into the cold water. It felt like the world was ending. Now, watching the glow approach, you see: it’s just beginning. 

Your eyes grow wide, your heart pounds with anticipation and the glow washes over you. With a dazzling burst of color, the cave of darkness you’ve been wandering through for so long explodes into color and life. You see that the cave is no cave at all, but rather a tropical paradise with waterfalls, flowers so exquisite they look fake and birds of every hue imaginable. It’s the world, the whole wide world, and it is good, and it is open to you, and it is yours to take. You realize that this hasn’t been hidden from you, no. Your own blindness has been holding you back; you were blind but now you see. And what you see. It’s paradise, it’s Eden, it’s heaven. It’s free and there for you. Music blasts through the sweet, fragrant air as you vow never to close your eyes again. Your face tilts up to meet the sun as you smile with sheer joy, spread your arms wide in triumph and take your first step forward into the light of the new world. You are ready to live.

This is what it’s like to get over someone. 

A Secret Story

Quotes of the Week

"People don't want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown." ~Chuck Palahniuk

"A lot of compelling stories in the world aren't being told." ~Anderson Cooper

"I actually think that secrets are just a part of human nature and that everybody should have some." ~Elizabeth Banks

Songs of the Week

1. The Ballad of You and I by Melee

2. Swing Life Away by Rise Against

3. Closer to Fine by The Indigo Girls

Recently, I stumbled upon Smith Magazine’s Six Word Memoirs project. It’s pretty self-explanatory: you write a story using only six words and submit it. Needless to say, this website is now my obsession. I’m positively riveted by how many confessions people can make online. It’s as if the anonymity of the website injects a dose of bravery into the writer. I mean, sitting across a table from your best friend, it’s hard, sometimes impossible to spit out the secret story you have to share. But somehow, putting it out there for a world of strangers to read is as easy as typing six words and hitting publish. The same phenomenon occurs on PostSecret, another favorite. Who has the courage to write their deepest, darkest secret on a post card and mail it in for possible online publication? Hundreds upon hundreds of people, apparently. And billions of people flock to the website every Sunday to read the newest batch of 20 secrets. It’s irresistible to toy with the idea of sending in a secret of your own, publishing your own six word memoir or even just whispering something in your friend’s ear during lunch. Why? 

Because everyone, every single person on this blessed Earth, has a story. Whether “I stay at home and play Wii” or “I had the best adventure ever,” these stories are truly a part of us. These stories, these experiences and adventures and mundane everyday events, they make us who we are. To get through life, we have to tell stories. We tell stories to make sure they’re heard. And when presented with the opportunity to share even the most precious of those stories with complete anonymity, the majority of people cave to the pressure. I certainly did. It’s a gift to share the tale that we have. The teller is imparting a part of themselves to the listener. When you tell someone a secret or a story, it’s a fantastic gift that you’re giving the listener. You’re sharing a part of yourself with them.

But maybe, just maybe, when you share that part of yourself with them, it dilutes the power of that story. Not by a lot, just a tad. What happens when three people know? Your whole lunch table? All of the sudden, that secret or story isn’t yours anymore; it’s everybody’s. This is always something that makes me hesitate the minute that my story is on the tip of my tongue, ready to come spilling out and cause a reaction. I absolutely love telling stories and secrets, but there will always be that handful of stories I can’t bear to tell. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I want to keep those ones to myself. They’re mine and they’re special to me. I know what I was feeling at that moment, and I don’t want to have that diluted by my addiction to telling stories.  

And yet…I’ve already made PostSecret cards and drafted six word memoirs about those secrets. Sharing the secret or story with the whole world doesn’t dilute it in the same way that sharing it with just a few friends does. Perhaps it’s because the secrecy makes you bold. Perhaps it’s because you know that you’re doing it anonymously but there’s a chance someone could read it and recognize it as yours. Is it for the risk or is it for the sake of telling your story? You decide.

Visit these fantastic websites and see for yourself: PostSecret and Six Word Memoirs

Je ne regrette pas.

Quotes of the Week:

"Forget regret, or life is yours to miss." ~Jonathan Larson

"Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind." ~C.S. Lewis

"If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world." ~Mercedes Lackey

Songs of the Week

1. Bluebird by Christina Perri

2. Little Wonders by Rob Thomas

3. That's Some Dream by Good Old War

Regrets are against my personal beliefs. The past is the past. It's behind you, and it's set in stone. Unless you stumble upon Doc Brown (and if you do, call me right then and there), the past is unchangeable. It's forever. That's kind of scary. Actually, it's really scary. Hindsight is the most terrible curse of all. Being able to look back through your life as if you're watching a movie is torturous. While you're watching the movie, you're positive that the ending will work out. Sure, the characters are making hilarious and excruciatingly embarrassing mistakes, but they'll all be forgotten in an instant. The mistakes and blunders will only make the end of the movie that much more endearing and perfect. But this is real life. Those regrets will be playing on your mental television for the rest of your life. For forever.

Forever is an awfully long time. And if you have regrets, you'll be thinking about those forever. Worrying forever? That's like volunteering your life to be Satan's personal slave for all eternity. The questions that plague your mind at 3 o'clock in the morning, chasing away sleep, are the ones that can drive you over the edge with "what ifs." You simply can't allow yourself to get caught up or bogged down in the details when you could be enjoying the big picture. What you did in the past isn't only over, it's what made you the person you are today. And you should be proud o f that. Embrace it, own it, make it yours. Don't shrink from the truth. The past is over, and the future is now. Live your life so that the small, insignificant regrets pale in comparison to the grand, fantastic adventure that is today.

As senior year dawns...

~This is a writing assignment for which we had to describe the beginning of our senior year and our feelings about being a senior. Enjoy!~ 

The first few days, driving to school was an awesome responsibility. She could barely fathom the trust that parents, administrators and her passengers put into her. Getting to school on time was easy to take for granted. But they could crash. The car could break down. She could decide to skip first period and sleep in the car. They could drive right past the school and off into the sunrise, never to be heard from again. The possibilities were endless, exciting and terrifying, and it was good.

And yet every day, at an ungodly hour, they arrived. Walking into the school from the back parking lot, carrying car keys that jangled merrily to contrast the morning grumbles and a thermos cup full of hot tea, she felt so adult, so grown up, so mature and capable. It was a new feeling, and it was good.

Then, as always happens, new and exciting became routine. Now, when the car was in the shop and she was forced to sit on the gross seats of the bus, tainted by idiocy, spilled juice and God knows what else, it soured the whole day. But even in the backseats of the bus, that entitlement, that special feeling was still there. She was a senior, and it was good.

Those first few days of school, the honeymoon phase, she wasn’t sure she ever stopped smiling. Dorky as it was, from the fifteen minutes of social time before the first bell rang to the last, torturous moments of the endless eighth period, she savored every second. Everyone was tan and still riding on a summer high; the teachers were primarily ones she knew and loved. The friends she’d missed over the summer were there. Classes that she had chosen to take filled her day, and a delicious taste of college life lay in the senior study hall in the cafeteria. 

She promised herself that she would make this the best year yet.  And she believed it too. There was still a feeling, a current of electricity, a relaxed vibe that hinted at a year even better than the last. A year that would last forever and yet seem no longer than a heartbeat. A year that would stand out from all the others as the shining jewel on the crown of high school.  And if she was being honest with herself, after the near-disaster that had been last May and June, anything would appear wonderful and enchanting.  So with not a doubt or shred of bad attitude, she marched into senior year to conquer and take it for her own.

It was second period on the first day of school when she felt it: a pang of a frown, a missing part of her day. She checked herself over mentally. No stomach ache, no headache, not even a desire to go home yet. What was this sudden unsatisfied attitude? She felt it again, but after a minute it passed and she went back to her Journalism work.  As the first round of story ideas for that year were filling the screen, she thought back to last year and the fun she’d had. 

Her eyes drifted to the side of the screen and stared into the past as a soft, pure smile curved her lips upward. It was the kind of smile that transported you back into time, into a memory. It was then she realized that the pangs she was feeling were for those who had graduated. She missed her best friends, the ones who made her laugh and want to get up the next morning. She missed her friends who had taught her how to be herself and how to live unafraid of the opinions of others.

The smile faded and was replaced with the first hint of a frown. A wave of almost crying swept over her, leaving the shores of her mind scrambled, like sand. But just as every grain of sand found its place after a monstrous wave passed over it, so her thoughts settled back into place. She looked back, thought once more about how fantastic last year had been to her and then closed the door. It was over. 

But as she turned from the door of last year, she faced the golden gate that was this year. And as the gates swung open to welcome a new believer, she finally understood the meaning of senior year. It was collecting everything your teachers had crammed into your brain in the last twelve years, every memory of crazy times with friends, every tear, every giggle, every broken piece of lead, every tattered school book, every dented locker door, every ounce of coffee and every prom dress and condensing it. Condensing it until you had only the essence of high school. And that lump of goodness that was left, that nugget of pure gold, that was senior year. Nothing could go wrong because there was no plan. Nothing could come as a surprise because no one had the script to this play. It was literally the year of perfection. And it hadn’t even happened yet. 

She looked back to her computer screen and resumed her typing, with a new kind of smile on her face, one that appeared only when you looked into the sun. She was ready for senior year, and it was going to be good.

Much Ado About A Midsummer Night

Quotes of the Week

"When I read Shakespeare I am struck with wonder
That such trivial people should muse and thunder
In such lovely language."

~D. H. Lawrence

"We shall never overestimate Shakespeare, because we can not."

~William A. Quayle

"He was not of an age, but for all time!"

~Ben Jonson

Songs of the Week

1. Pirates by Francois-Paul Aiche and H. Scott Salinas

2. Paradise by Coldplay

3. Remembering You by Steven Curtis Chapman

 

When I was little, I wanted nothing more than to be a princess just like Elizabeth I of England. (It was also in the works to be a fantastic queen, as well.) Then, somebody saw fit to approach me and tell me just how disgusting medieval life truly was, which promptly trumped all dreams of going back in time to cavort in the Elizabethan court. Life went on, surprisingly, and I eventually ended up as an eighth grade student who had rather forgotten how to cavort at all. Then, that summer, my cousin and I went to see a production of Much Ado About Nothing.  Modernized to Cuba post-WWI, this play began my long standing love affair with the Bard. The following summer, we returned to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Every summer since, we’ve gone to see a Shakespeare production at the Chautauqua Theatre Company, sitting enthralled through A Winter’s Tale, Macbeth, and, most recently, Love’s Labour’s Lost.  Never once have I walked out of that theatre remotely disappointed.

Why am I so attached to dear old William? I think in part, these plays allow me to escape to a dream that hasn’t been crushed. Yes, I’m aware that it’s a tad unrealistic to expect a glorious, magical band of fairies to come tripping through my life. I’m also fully conscious of the fact that the odds of me and three of my best friends stumbling upon four royal gentlemen not only well versed in politics, but unusually dedicated to their studies is highly unlikely. I know for a fact that I’m not going to find out that the boy I’m in love with is actually a prince from another country. But what is there to stop me from living these whimsical dreams while I sleep or daydream? When I drift off in midwinter, imagining the far off summer nights that await me, if there’s suddenly an explosion of glitter and Puck tumbles onto my front porch, all that’s doing is allowing my rusty imagination to go for a much needed spin around the block. Because in the small room of my crowded brain reserved for Shakespeare, those things can and sure will happen. And when life gets too real too quickly, it’s nice to be able to retreat to that room where I can sit back and watch three witches concoct potions (or deadly martinis, as per Chautauqua’s show) in the dead of night and listen to Beatrice and Benedict flirt madly via arguments. Somehow, Shakespeare has the ability to completely captivate and entrance me.

And though I abuse him to avoid reality at times, Shakespeare’s works are incredibly relatable. Though it sounds foolish, I can really connect to these fictional characters through ages of time, and in some cases, across the boundaries of worlds. I thought Helena was the whiniest brat in all of the kingdom, I like (and relate to) her a lot more now that I’ve been dumped by someone…for my best friend. Her monologue, which I’m already partial to, it being my first audition piece, became my life story, and I can to this day recite it, most specifically the line: “Oh teach me how you look and with what art you sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.” I learned how not to make a fool out of myself just because the course to true love wasn’t smooth. Watching Much Ado About Nothing made me think fondly of my own troupe of friends, always picking at each other with affection, always making bets and encouraging friendly competition. The same went for the play within a play scene from Love’s Labour’s Lost. Though time and a different dialect stand between the characters in my life today and the characters in Shakespeare’s plays, I can’t help but identify with the colorful casts.

The biggest reason I jump at the chance to sit and watch Shakespeare, though, is that he makes me believe in magic. Sure, I’ve given up on Hogwarts, moving to Avonlea, and meeting a sparkling vampire boy (just kidding), I refuse to give up on the ideas that he presents in the plays that have been my favorite: Midsummer and Love’s Labour’s Lost. The little girl who wanted to be a princess can live again through the whimsical worlds of utopia that Shakespeare created. The timelessness of both works sweep me up into a Forbidden Forest where fairies sweep by, causing mischief and giving me goosebumps with Puckish monologues, bumbling players trip over tree roots dressed as girls, and boys court girls by dressing as traveling gypsies. That’s the pure reason for my love, because I still believe that one day, I’ll find the magic that Shakespeare saw in the world. And until then, I can glimpse it through his brilliant plays.

The End

 Quotes of the Week

“True goodbyes are the ones never said or explained.” ~Author Unknown

“Never part without loving words to think of during your absence. It may be that you will not meet again in this life.” 

and

 “Man's feelings are always purest and most glowing in the hour of meeting and of farewell.~Jean Paul Richter

Songs of the Week

1. Sooner or Later, Mat Kearney

2. Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons

3. Goodbye by Secondhand Serenade

Sometimes, I honestly just think the French get it more than we do. The words that make up their language just capture in a clearer, purer way the emotions that they convey with them. The best example I can give you of this is how they bid each other goodbye. There are two ways to say it: adieu and au revoir. The other day in French class, my teacher told us the difference between these two phrases, which, until then, I had considered interchangeable. "Au revoir translates into 'Until I see you next'," she said. "Adieu is what you say when you know you'll never see that person again. When you say adieu, you're saying goodbye forever."


Goodbye forever. That hit me hard. The first thing I thought about was how to bid adieu to someone who was going to die. How often do people regret their last words to a late relative or friend? I know I do. The last conversation I had with my grandmother consisted mainly of me giggling and watching TV while she tried to extract details of our vacation from my unwilling lips. I remember being in a hurry to get off the phone. I was going to a friend's house and didn't have time to waste by talking to her. The next day, we got a phone call: Grandma had had a major stroke, and she would never walk, talk, live independently or have a phone conversation with me ever again. Though we got to see and talk to her every Sunday for the next three years while she lived at the nursing home, I didn't feel that that made up for the fact that the last conversation I had with her would be forever tainted by my immaturity and flat out rudeness. I said goodbye to her many a time through those three years, but everytime I kissed her withered cheek and whispered Iloveyou in her ear, I was haunted by our last conversation. I prayed that she could understand me now, enough to know that I was sorry for treating her the way I did. I wanted a do-over. Because even though every Sunday, I wished her the English equivalent of 'au revoir', until I see you again, I wasn't talking to my grandma. Just the shell she had left behind. I wanted to talk to her on that June day, back when I was fresh out of sixth grade. I wanted to give her a genuine 'adieu,' a genuine goodbye forever. Though it's impossible for me to go back in time and bid my dear grandmother adieu, I make sure that every time I talk to a grandparent, cousin, aunt, uncle or best friend, I say goodbye like it's the last time I'll speak with them. I tell them I love them, and make sure I feel at peace with the way our conversation ended. Because you never know when that untilthenexttimeIseeyou goodbye will turn into a goodbyeforever goodbye. And that can haunt you for life, just as long as the forever that you'll be without that person.


But what about the adieus not caused by death? The ones that are voluntary. The ones that you regret later. The ones you wish you could take back. These are the goodbyes forever that I'd beg you to reconsider. Saying goodbye forever, burning that bridge may seem like the only fitting way to get that person out of your life. It's not. Say goodbye for a while, not an eternity. Don't throw out the opportunity to say hello again by letting your in the moment feelings get caught up with you. If you're that passionate about the person, chances are you'll want to talk to them again. Why send someone out of your life forever when you've only spent such a small fraction of that time with them?

Think about your goodbyes. There are the ones that you'll always regret, and there are the ones that you don't have to. From now on, when you tell someone "Until the next time I see you," make sure that you would feel satisifed having that be the way you bid them "Adieu."