A Writer's Confession

It’s been awhile since I’ve written and for that I am truly sorry. I’ve been a pathetic excuse of a writer as of late. I haven’t been writing.

                I haven’t been writing because I haven’t been reading and I haven’t been reading because, I think, sometime over the past year my sense of wonder and imagination has started to die. I hate to admit it, but there’s been times that I’ve thought of giving up writing all together. What good is it doing me anyway? It’s not paying the bills.

                Luckily, I continually come back to my senses, or it’s more like I’m dragged back to them because I get so stressed out that my lungs fill with lead and I wake up gasping. It’s on those nights that I clutch my journal the tightest. Because, really, words are what keep me grounded. Without them I am just a ship without an anchor lost in a sea of chaos. This sea of chaos –this sea of life –isn’t one you should sail without an anchor. Yet, I keep cutting mine off, only to mend it when I realize what a terrible mistake I’ve made.

                It’s not always because I don’t want to write –though a lot of the time nowadays it is –but because I feel like I shouldn’t have to force it. Writing is an art, a craft, a trade…that’s why we’re called wordsmiths; because we shape sentences like a blacksmith shapes a sword. We choose our content as carefully as he chooses his metal. But what good is a craft if you don’t have the passion for it? There should be some kind of emotion attached to it. I don’t care what anyone says, there has to be some kind of raw emotion or else you don’t have a story. You’d only have a clump of letters. Not even letters, just a clump of meaningless lines.

                The thing is, I do have the passion. I just seem to misplace it sometimes. It drives me crazy because every fiber of my being wants to write, but I’ve been ignoring their wishes. Why? Because, “Writing will get you nowhere.”

                What am I accomplishing by writing? That’s time I could be using to do something productive like looking for a second job or getting my foot in the door to start apartment hunting. It’s time I could spend sculpting my life. Even now, as I sit here on my black duvet with the pretty white vines creeping up it, and with three fans complaining about overuse since the air conditioner went out, I’m thinking about how today was my last day of summer work and how I don’t go back to work until August, and how even with all the subbing I’ll be doing I need to get a second job because I’ve got student loans to pay off. Which I took out for a school that I don’t even know was worth my time anymore.

                So, I stop writing.

                I have more important things to do than weave tales of wonder.

                Then I get stressed. The atmosphere feels off. The world turns grey. I get depressed and irritated. I start dreaming that I’m dying and wake up at three or four in the morning because I can’t breathe. It’s pathetic and painful.

                It’s only because of a good friend that I’ve kept writing. He’s encouraged me daily to reply to the story we’re writing together. Most days that’s the only writing I do. It’s writing at least, and often times it’s just what I need. It keeps me sane. Without it I’d be lost. I need that escape. I need the fictional worlds and characters.

                Just a couple hours ago, I picked up a book I’ve been meaning to read for a while now. And why? Because it actually felt physically painful to be away from the word of literature. I got lost in thought the other day, thinking about writing and all the stories I’ve started and never finished, and all the stories I’ve started and have, and I started crying.

                I cried because I thought back to the first stories I ever wrote. The first multi chapter story I ever finished. I thought back to the characters, the planets, the events…and I felt homesick. Truly, deeply, homesick.

                I miss them.

                Skyler, Onna, Christopher, Kristy, Tobias, Alexandria, Rianna, Aaron…I miss all of them. Villain and hero alike, I miss them.  

                I took a few moments to think about where each of those characters would be. I ended up falling asleep. I dreamt of them and then I wanted to cry some more, because the lives I saw for them were not the lives I wanted for them. It made me want to sit down and write more of their story. To tell what happened after. Where they all went. If they had families. Those sort of things.

                I didn’t though. I felt like I couldn’t. My writing style has changed so much from when I wrote them into existence that I fear that retouching their stories would only ruin them. Complexity is not the nature of their tales. Words like ostentatious and circumlocution don’t belong in their works. They’re supposed to be simple and I’m afraid that touching them with a mind that’s been shaped by English courses would destroy their purpose. So, I leave them be and weep in nostalgia.

                If studying English has taught me anything it’s that:

1)      Literary critics don’t know what they’re talking about.

2)      Professors put more thought into novels than the actual author did. (Seriously, sometimes the curtain isn’t red because it’s foreshadowing a death, but because the curtain is just freaking red.)

3)      Sometimes simple is better.

4)      No one ever truly reads the same story as another person.

5)      And the best way to learn about writing isn’t to sit in a dusty old classroom with broken windows and a faulty projector, while reading Emerson or making jokes about Thoreau, or discussing the importance of a falcon and a spiral. The best way to learn is to write.

In all honesty, my English classes –the ones designed to teach about literature, its purpose, and its connection to the human condition –made me hate reading and, in turn, made me not want to write. Sad to say, but it’s true.

There was a time, not too long ago, that I had forgotten how to read without over analyzing a book. How to read just for fun and not to pass some dumb quiz about absurd details that matter very little when compared to the overall story. I’m working on that now. On fixing my reading habits. So far I’ve started reading five books and have finished none of them. I eventually decided that if I want to write something worth my time then I better read something worth my time. So I closed all the books I was reading, because I’m not going to read something that I can’t get into, and picked up a new one.

I had a professor once –he was actually my favorite English teacher –that said that he gave every book he read fifty pages. If after fifty pages it couldn’t keep his interest then he’d move on to something else because either the story wasn’t worth his time or it just wasn’t the right time to read the story. I’ve picked up that rule.

I’m currently reading a book that a friend recommended to me. It’s called Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller. I’m only in the third chapter but so far it’s been nothing short of amazing. I found myself in it within the first few pages. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that connected to a story. It feels great.

I only hope that as I read it I start to write more. Because I really want to finish writing Refracted and actually get all those ideas I have down on paper into the story. I want to get lost again in a sea of words. I want to feel the tranquil waters of the vision wash over me. Surround me and wrap me in a silky cocoon, so that when I’m done writing and reading I’ll have left the stories impacted. Left them with new wings. That’s my hope. 

The Last Momment

I've come to the conclusion that I like my movies humorous and my books tragic. If I'm in a mood to watch a movie its probably because all I want to do is relax and not think or ponder great ideas and concepts. When I read, though, I expect to be challenged. I want to come across something that makes me question things or see life in a different light. I find laughter in movies and myself in books.

That's how it seems to go. How it's always seemed to go.

I've been pondering my reading habits lately. Thinking over the things I like to read and why I read them. Wondering why I've become obsessed with John Green's books and why young adult lit seems to be my favorite lit.

After much thought I've come back to the answer I gave my World Literature professor at the beginning of the semester, when he asked the class what kind of readers we were. I had told him that I was a contemplative reader. That I liked reading things that dealt with the big questions in life. I don't necessarily like books that answer the big questions -those tend to be theology or philosophy books -but books that toy with them. After all, the big questions in life, the stuff that really matters, aren't easily answered. They're things we have to wrestle with. Things we have to reach our own conclusions on. We can do research and ask people, we can even be taught what to believe, but really it comes down to us finding those answers for ourselves.

What happens after death? Does God exist? Why is there so much suffering in the world? How do we overcome the suffering? What do we do when all hope is lost? How do we change our destiny? Does destiny exist? Is there a group of old lades planning out our every move? Our every kiss, tear, and laugh? What's the meaning of all this? What's the meaning of life? Why are we here?

There are so many big questions. So many thoughts and ideas we have to wrestle with and literature can be the ring we wrestle them in.

My newest obsession -my newest Big Question that I've been wrestling with -is the idea of the last moment. It's not really a question; more of a concept. Every single person on earth experiences the last moment. That is to say that before a person dies they must first go through their last moment of living.

It takes only a split second for a life to end. The human life is as fragile and fleeting as the flame of a candle. A simple burst of air and it's gone; poofed out. The Greek story teller, Home, once stated that, "Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed." It is mortality that makes the light that is our lives burn brightly. If we lived forever, if there was no death, where would the meaning be? What would be the point of existing?

We all expect to die, but some of us don't get the chance to die of natural causes. Whether you're murdered, killed in an accident, or suffering of an illness, whether you die of old age or because you've decided you no longer wish to live, there is still one last experience you have to go through. It is the last event every living person must experience. There is no getting out of it. And it is living the last moment you are alive.

I'm not obsessed with death. I'm obsessed with life before and after death. I'm obsessed with how death can take the burning light of a human life and smother it. I'm obsessed with the moments that death cuts short. I'm obsessed with mortality.

This last January, a girl at my university died. They say she was driving in a car with her brother when a truck hit them. This tragedy hit the heart of our campus heart. I never knew the girl, nto personally, but I had known of her and just that fact that a member of our beloved community was gone hurt. To think, to know, that a life so young was ended just like that...it was..I couldn't help but wonder where she and her brother were going. What they were doing.

I wondered if they were listening to music. Singing along to the radio. Maybe he was texting someone. Maybe she was talking about Christmas. Maybe they were discussing school or having one of those all so important sibling bonding moments.

Only a few months later, in March, I got a call from my dad saying that an elderly lady of our church had passed away. He told me that they (who I assume were the doctors or the people that found her) thought she died looking for something. That she appeared to be looking for something and that her heart just failed. That she died instantly. One second she was there and the next gone.

It makes one wonder, what will we be doing when we die? What moment of ours will be cut short? What moment will be our last?

We don't always know when we are experiencing our last moments. Sometimes we do. Some people stare death in the face knowing that in a few seconds he'll take them to eternity. Most don't though. The average person does not know when they are going to die.

The Sad Reality Of A Time Deprived Writer

I've opened Refracted's document on my computer and stared at it blankly more times in the last week than I can possibly count. I have no excuse, really, for not working on it. I have the plot, I know where it's going, the characters are talking to me, I love the story itself...what I lack though is motivation. Or, maybe, motivation is the wrong word. What I lack is passion.

More and more often nowadays I find myself not wanting to write.  

I don't want to write. 

There. I said it...and I'm pretty sure a part of my soul just died doing so. 

That's the sad reality of it though. I want to write. I really, truly do. It's not like I've completely lost my passion for it. I mean, I've been writing since my mom taught me how to form the letter 'A'. By now, I can't not write. My brain gets so cluttered when I don't. My fingers itch for the familiar feeling of an ink pen and the beauty of words on paper. Yet, when I sit down to write I want to cry. 

Why? 

Because I can't bring myself to write with an impending feeling of doom hanging over my head. An impending feeling that I should be doing something else. That's what makes me want to bawl my eyes out in frustration. 

Writing is my coping mechanism. For the longest time, writing was the only thing I thought I was good at. It's what made me me; what allowed me to be me. It's completely me. It's everything I've gone through, am going through, and may go through, It's my life.

Writing is as necessary to me as breathing and, darlings, right now I'm suffocating. 

It hurts so bad not being able to sit down and write without feeling like I'm being a bad student because there are a dozen projects I could be working on in that moment. But then it hurts even more when I think about where my life is going and I wonder if I'll ever have time to write after graduation at all. 

Have time to write...scoff...did you hear what I just said? I just broke one of the commandments of writing. "Thou shalt make time to write even when thou hast none to give." 

My roomate asked me the other night how I could stare at a computer for so long. I didn't say anything, primarily because I was in a grumpy mood,  but I thought, "Lots of practice." I used to be happy to get to the computer and write. I used to rush to it. I'd try to beat my siblings to it. Now I'm on it all the time checking emails, moodle pages, writing papers, doing interviews and research, working on journalistic stories for the school newspaper/my reporting class which no where satisfies my craving for creative writing. 

I'm never on my computer working on my novel or that selection of short stories (which I'm actully in the process of turning into a blog series) I've been meaning to put together, or that children's book series based on my childhood teddy bear that I think would be a great idea, or any of the stories I've started strictly for DeviantArt purposes...and I HATE it. I LOATH it with a fiery passion. 

I just want my characters back. I want to be able to sit down and write without feeling guilty. Even now, as I am writing this, I can name five different assignments I could be working on. The thought of them makes my gut twist in such a way that I'm tempted to stop writing right here and now, but if I did there would be no way I'd be able to sleep tonight. 

My mind is heavy with thoughts and facts that I'm supposed to memorize, and a list of tasks I have to get done, and I fear that if I stop writing I may be reduced to a puddle of anxiety induced tears. 

I've spent the last couple of weeks praying myself to sleep or listening to my detox playlist until I succumb to slumber. And every dream I've had has been nothing near restful. I've had work dreams, school dreams, dreams of horrible scenarios involving my family and friends that literally have me waking up wanting to puke...I'd like a dreamless night. Sadly, stress doesn't grant such requests and instead I just keep putting on a brave face and going about my day trying to keep my complaining to a minimum. 

I mean, I'm dealing. I haven't had an anxiety attack or anything yet, thankfully, but I am more than a little peeved at life right now. I'm especially peeved at certain people who seem to think that I should be doing more or putting more effort in. Yeah, sure, cause you know I came to this school with the ultimate goal to burn myself out before I hit middle age. 

Life demands more time than I have, but I'm trying really hard to make my own sunshine here.

A week ago, nearly two, I was back in Nebraska for spring break and one afternoon I was on my way home from Walmart with my mom and a van full of my siblings. One of my foster brothers said something about life not being fair and I responded to him by saying, "Life isn't fair. Life will give you lemons, but it's up to you to find the sugar to make the lemonade."

Finding the sugar is sort of my goal right now. Staying positive in a stressful time. Because a pitcher of bitter lemonade may still quench thirst but it doesn't completely satisfy and I want a life that I'm satisfied with. I want a life that when I'm old and grey I can look back on and say, "Yeah, not that was some good lemonade."  

I don't even want just the lemonade. I want the whole freaking garden party. 

I'm human and a human's life is as fragile as a candle's flame. It can go out at a moment's notice. It's short lived. Fleeting. It's mortal and I don't want the stress of my life to ruin it for me; to dictate whether or not I enjoy myself writing. 

I've made some pretty big decisions lately. Some decisions that are kind of expected for someone my age but were pretty big deals to me because -would you know -I'm not a huge fan of change. In fact, i despise change and love organization. Lists, cell alerts, calendars, and planners are the only way I can get stuff done. I love time management. Probably a little too much. 

I'll admit that I'm a bit of a control freak when it comes to my time. Which is probably one of the main reasons I'm so stressed lately. Kinks keep getting thrown into my schedules and I don't like it. It makes me irritated.

Just a couple days ago, I was complaining to my roommate (Yeah, I mention her a lot. We live together and we're friends. Deal. With. It)  because I got on Facebook to send a message to someone about an assignment (yes, I was actually doing homework while on Facebook. It can be done) when I received four different requests from people wanting to hang out. 

I groaned and said something like, "As much as I love so-and-so I just don't have time for this." 

My roommate responded, and I applaud her for this because I really did need to hear it that day, by saying, "Yeah, it's sooooooooo horrible that you have friends who care about you and want to go out and do things with you. Friends are such a burden."

I was a bit taken aback at first but she forced me to stop for a minute and think about just how lucky I am. I mean, I do have some pretty awesome friends. The best, actually. And I'd rather hangout with them than stress about that one person that just won't respond to any of my messages but is essential to the assignment I'm working on.

You know what's funny? As soon as I acknowledged that my roommate was right and that I was overreacting, everything worked itself out. 

It worked itself out so well that I actually got a couple hours of free time that day, which I used to play the Lego Batman 2 game I just bought for myself. I wanted to write, but I couldn't, due to previously mentioned reasons. So I opted to spend those two house vegging in front of the TV and guess what else. I even got to see one of my best friends and former roommates who was in town.

Okay. So, yeah. I'm stressed. Yeah, I'm a bit more than peeved at life right now. Yeah, I'm wishing I was doing more creative writing. But you know, life's not all that bad. There still is some sugar left in this life. 

I've made it my goal tonight to not go to bed until I've completely exhausted myself from writing. I've written the whole next part of Refracted and am planning on editing and posting it before I hit the hay. I don't care how early I have to get up in the morning. I'm going to write to my heart's content tonight. 

And that, darlings, is all I have to say for now. 

Every Triangle has a Point...So I Guess this Post is a Circle.

It's 10:40 at night when I'm writing this, though it'll probably be a much different time when it's published, and I don't really know how I feel tonight. So, more than likely you're just going to get some of my rambling. Okay, yeah, you are. There's no real point behind this post. I just really felt like writing.

There's a group of people playing sand vollyball right outside my dorm window and I've spent the better part of this night watching them, because, you know, I have almost zero athletic capabilities. Plus, I learned back in high school that vollyball wasn't my sport. I'm more of a yoga doing runner, who's being forced to learn karate to meet her PE requirement for graduation. I'd sooner learn to swim then play vollyball...and I have a rational fear of water. Retract that. I have a rational fear of drowning. I have nothing against water itself. In fact, water and I are best buds. I quite enjoy showers,  a cool glass of water on a hot day, and a hot glass of water to make hot chocolate or coffee out of on a cold day. However, I've never quite gotten over almost drowning as a child. So there's that. Yet, even though I don't play vollyball I still enjoy watching. The same goes for basketball. Not so much football, unless I'm actually at the field. Football on TV is boring...any sport on TV is boring. I like the excitement of actually being there when it's being played. 

Watching those people play vollyball, though, makes me long for summer. I could really go for a bonfire or fish fry right now. It's been so gorgeous here lately that all I've wanted to do is find a lake with a rickety dock to sit on while I write and sip at a tall glass of supper sweetened ice tea. 

Can you tell that I'm really ready for break? I seriously need one. Thank heaven spring break starts tomorrow. Though, I don't actually get to go home until Sunday because my car decided to give up on life again in the Walmart parking lot. That seems to be it's go to place to die. It really does handle stress a lot worse than I do (Which is saying something because I'm not exactly the best person when it comes to dealing with stress. There's a reason I journal so much.). I wish it'd put on it's big girl panties and just suck it up. I can't slow down to take even a day off. Why should it be able to throw a temper tantrum like a two-year-old? Lame. It's just lame. 

On a side note, going back to our previous topic of sports, I had a karate midterm today. I didn't exactly do terrible. In fact, I found the written part to be extremely easy and the blocks, kicks, punches, stances, and self defense sets were fine...my kata though....yeah...

You see, I've spent the last week working my butt off to get that kata down. I looked it up online, found a diagram of the steps taken in it, made sure my stances were correct, that I was punching correctly, that my turns were correct, and that I was turning in the right direction. I was doing so well, too, on the midterm today...until I looked away from my fist and caught sight of the teacher. I may have also saw a certain guy -who shall remain nameless but has made his way onto my 'threat' list...that is a list of people I find to be threats. Not a list of people I intend on threatening -and I choked. I don't really know how it happened but my mind went blank. Half way through the kata and I forgot everything. 

I was so lost that I ended up literally throwing my hands in the air and saying to the professor, "I give up. I'm lost." And he just nodded at me like he had expected it. Anyway, I'm really hoping that didn't effect my score too badly. I had everything else down. I had that down too, until I actually had to do it in front of him and the class. 

Well, I don't really know what else to tell you, and I kind of want to read some more of Will Grayson, Will Grayson before I hit the hay. So I guess I'll let you go for the night, so I can go read instead of sleeping, which is what I should be doing because I have a 9 o'clock sociology class that I have to go to. I'll go to it no matter how tired I am. Because A) I need to go. Notes are important in that class. And B) I actually like the class. 

Chaos Precedes Change

“All great changes are preceded by chaos.”

~Deepak Chopra

                Friday night, March 6, 2015 started out like most weekends for my roommate and I. Our minds and bodies were utterly exhausted from the week we had just finished and, though we still had a weekend of work and papers that needed to be done ahead of us, we found ourselves sitting down in front of the television. She on her black bean bag chair, me on my lime green yoga ball, both of us with our phones in our hands and only half paying attention to the comedy we had playing on one of the two TVs that sit on our make-shift entertainment center.

             

   Being both mentally and physically exhausted, we talked about nothing while absentmindedly playing games on our phones. Everything from our current relationships to the exams we were currently studying for came up, and eventually the movie we were watching invoked a new topic of conversation.

                I, being bored, had popped my copy of Son-In-Law in the DVD player. My roommate, who had never seen it before, made a comment about co-ed housing. We chatted about our opinions on the idea of it for a few minutes before one of the main characters in the movie, Becky, made a remark about how even though she was at college she wasn’t going to change. Off handedly, I stated, “Something always changes when you go to college. If it doesn’t, then you’re doing it wrong.”

                “Yeah, seriously,” replied my roommate, who was now grinning while she made virtual salads on her phone.

                Being high level college students, we’re able to look back on our last few years here at the university we attend and see just how much we’ve changed. She, in her junior year, and I, in my senior, have experienced much over our college career. We started talking about it. About how we went from those shy, awkward freshmen pictured on our student IDs to the women we are today. How we went from thinking we knew everything and really knowing nothing to thinking we know nothing but constantly amaze ourselves with just how much stuff we really do know from our classes.

                They say middle school and high school are the most difficult times of your life and that college is the best time of your life. Well, let me tell you something, even those best times come with a few rain showers. Not everything is all peachy keen when you get to college.

             

   When you’re in high school you think, “Oh, college is going to be great! It’s going to be like having an apartment and I’ll be able to do whatever the heck I want.”

                The reality of it is that you realize just how much you really kind of liked living with your parents…then you develop a sense of independence. You get used to living away from them and then, when you return home for break –for the first time, and every other time after that –you are conflicted. Conflicted because you feel like you need to check-in with your parents while you’re home but know that you are more than capable of doing what you want, when you please. Knowing that you don’t need curfews or check-in calls…yet, secretly you do actually kind of like when mom or dad calls to ask, “Where are you?” Even though you may be living over six hours away and your answer to that question doesn’t really matter because they can’t really do anything about where you’re at in that moment any way.

                College is a journey. There’s no doubt about it. Sometimes you even feel like you’re Gilgamesh slaying Humbaba, or Odysseus escaping Polyphemus. Other times you feel like superman with a bunch of kryptonite stuffed down your pants.

                When you first enter college you’re like Mike, from Monster’s University, on his first day at campus. You’re in awe. You’re amazed at everything around you. You feel like you just stepped into an entirely new world and, in some cases, you have. The main thing on your mind is that you finally made it out of high school and that you’re now officially a college student.

               

                Going in you have such high expectations. You think everything’s going to be perfect. I mean, you’re away from home. Away from mom and dad. Away from whatever place you’ve been saying for the past four or so years that you couldn’t wait to get out of. How could it not be perfect?

                In your dreams, you see college like it’s your kingdom. You think that your dorm room will be your palace. Like you’ll finally have all this space to spread your wings.  

               

                But then you unlock that dorm door and you quickly realize that it’s more like this:

             

                So you start your job search so you can create that luxury life you want. Yet, between tuition payments, the upkeep of your car, and social events, you’re consistently broke. So you resign to surviving off cafeteria food for as long as possible.

          

      However, you soon realize that eating a sandwich every day for lunch gets old. So you go on an ultimate hide-and-seek game with the spare change you know is lying somewhere in your room and you end up taking everything you find to Burger King/McDonalds.

           

     

                And slowly, over the course of your first semester, you start to change and people back home start asking what happened to you. Some people even seem confused as to who you are at first.

               

                And you don’t know if you should care or not, because you are finally starting to feel comfortable in your own skin.

                You start developing this confidence that you didn’t even know you had before. Suddenly you feel like you could take on the world and become some sort of superstar activist. Felling like you could start some kind of ultimate awesome revolution against ‘the man’.

But then you realize the people you really want to start a revolution against are the ones questioning your major. So what if you chose one of the ‘worthless’ majors? Those people telling you how hard it’s going to be for you to get a job after graduation, how little the content of your classes matter, and keep asking, “So what exactly are you planning on doing with that degree?” are nothing but peasants anyway. They don’t know what they’re talking about and you feel the need to inform them of just how valuable your area of study is. So you shoot off random facts about how it ties into humanity and everyday life and they just stand there like, “Is she crazy?” or “Did I break her?”

                So you buckle down to show people just what you can do and how you’re not wasting your time...

              

                …but then you overwork yourself and get so stressed out that you realize your best friend isn’t your roommate, or that guy you think you might like, but is really the precious cup of coffee that keeps you awake through all those hours of studying.

          

                And eventually you reach a point where you’re just like: (Pardon the cursing in this)

               

                So you reason with yourself that you’ll be fine if you skip that one class or don’t take that one exam. And you end up getting into a funk where you give up and have reached the conclusion that you’re not going to make anything of yourself…and you’re okay with that…but then a friend intervenes and forces you to get your act together.

               

                You create a study group because if you’re going to do this then you aren’t going to do it alone. Besides, you know you’re better at English than that one person, but that one person happens to be better at history, and then there’s that kid that never misses a math problem…and boom, the A-Team of study groups is created.

                

                Then you push through, take your tests, and make it through all those courses required for your major. So you come out like:

            

                And then you blink and you realize time’s gone by faster than you could have ever anticipated and you’ve reached the end of your college career.

                Somewhere between all the pain, tears, late nights, bad quiz grades because you chose to socialize instead of study, and the lost friendships because you chose to study instead of socialize, and the deterioration of your mental state, and all the money you gave to the school in order to go through all your courses, you created a bunch of good memories and came out a changed person with friendships that will last a life time.

                You look in the mirror and you’re like, “Woah, look what I’ve become.” Because you’re no longer that awkward little freshman. You’re not even the same person you were four years prior. You’re not the same person you ever were. You’ve developed into something better; something brighter.

       

        

College is a rollercoaster of a ride, but it’s worth it in the end. When it all comes down to it, and you’re getting ready to graduate, you realize that even though you still don’t have your life completely together you have the means to make it where ever you want to go. Because you’re a confident new creature who knows she doesn’t know as much as she originally thought and is okay with that.

25 Important things My Mother Taught Me

Mother's are important, there is no doubt about it. They're there for our first cries, our first laughs, our first words, and our first heartbreaks. They are the ones to wipe away our tear streaked mascara and they always support us. A mother's love is unconditional and her words are wisdom.

My mother has taught me so many things over the years. She is someone I will always respect and look up to. I feel guilty when I hold something back from her. I have to tell her everything. I'm not capable of not telling her everything. Especially when she has this sixth sense of knowing when something's wrong. I love her for that. And for many more reasons.

Over the years, though, I've learned much from my mother. She's taught me everything from the basics to the complex. She's taught me how to talk and walk, and how to pray. She's a warrior.

There's a little trend in my family -well, among my siblings -where we like to give people we're close to superhero and Greek god names. We try to match people up to who they're most like. My brother's Green Arrow/Apollo and my youngest sister is Flash/Hermes. We each have a superhero and Greek god name, but giving our parents names have always been the hardest. It seems like there is no super hero or Greek god out there good enough for them to have the names of. However, we did eventually settle on a superhero name for our mother.

Our mother is...Wonder Woman. Why? Because she's a strong, confident woman who stands up for what she believes in and protects those around her. She's our hero.

This past weekend I had the opportunity to go to a retreat with my Mother, sister, and a good friend. While there we learned a lot and had a blast. And I got to see my mother at her peak. She out partied my sister and I. She out partied a 23 and 19 year old. Now, when I say party I don't mean drinking party. This was a Christian retreat with no alcohol. But, dang, my mother stayed up so late that my sister and I feel asleep waiting for her. She was a hyperactive social butterfly this weekend. The embodiment of everything she's ever taught my siblings and I...with the exception of when she went to find my hair tie and only 'Kind of looked for it,' When I was a kid, if we 'kind of looked' for anything we would get a lecture on how you actually move things when you're looking for something, not just glance at places. We gave her a bit of a hard time about this, but she took it well and joked along with us.

Like I said, she was the embodiment of everything she ever taught us this weekend and that got me to thinking. I laid awake last night thinking about all the things she had taught my siblings and I and I made a list of 25 of them. There soooooo many more things she's taught us, but these are among the most important.


1. Never lend someone something you expect to get back. If you give someone money to help out, it's a gift, not a loan.


2. Always take time to stop and pray with a person instead of just saying that you'll pray for them.


3. A lady always has tea in the house (whether she likes it or not).


4. It doesn't matter how busy you are, if someone calls or drops by to chat you make sure to talk to them.


5. A woman always supports her man.


6. When visiting someone you always offer to help clean up after the meal.


7. Cookies. If you don't have time for a complex dessert, cake mix cookies are always a favorite go to. It takes 15 minutes and guests will love them. 


8. If you do something, no mater what it is, alwasy give it your all. 


9. The french Braid. It's like a rite of passage.


10. A lady should know how to properly set a table. 


11. If your gut tells you something is wrong, then more than likely it is. 


12. There's no need to pay someone to clean your carpets. A capable woman will roll up her sleeves and do it herself to save a few bucks. 


13. It's okay to treat yourself every once in a while...


14...but family ALWAYS comes first. 


15. If a sister has fallen you don't kick her and run. You kneel and help her up, no matter how much you may dislike her. 


16. Please and thank you are critical words.


17. Make up is not important. Inner beauty matters more...


18...but a lady should know how to properly apply makeup. You're not a clown, dear. 


19. Be kind, but sassy. Don't let people walk over you.


20. Be well read.


21. Traditions are important.


22. Be a pioneer woman. Know how to sew, cook, garden, host, and pray. 


23. Love everyone. Even your enemies. 


24.The best accessory is a smile. 


25. Always be yourself. You're not a reflection, you're the original. 

A Moment of Mortality

I'm not going to sugar coat this. Life has been crappy lately. One good thing happens and then something equally bad occurs. It's been getting really tiring and it's caused my friends and I to partake in the age old habit of talking about it. We've discussed a lot lately. We've talked about mortality, life, growing up...about how all our teachers seem to keep saying, "It doesn't get any better," and how we just wish one person would tell us not that it would get better but that we're going to be alright. 

Anyway, I've taken these conversations we've had and used them to write up a little piece of creative nonfiction, which I've titled A Moment of Mortality. I was particularly alive today and decided I'd use my good mood to create this. Read and enjoy...or don't...I mean, whatever floats your boat. 


A Moment of Mortality 

“We should crossover.”

“But I’m not ready to yet.”

“There’s a car behind us! If we don’t cross now then we really will be crossing over.”

“Aw, but I want to die.”

“I want to die too, but that doesn’t mean I want to die now. I still have a lot I want to do first. A lot of places to see...”

“A lot of things I want to draw…”

“To write…”

“To do…”

“To try…”

“But death would be easy.”

“It really would be. Think about it. If we died now all our problems would be solved. No more Walmart trips, no more scrounging for loose change to buy a pop, no more pain, no more trying to find the right guy, no more heartache, no more tears, no more stress…no more student loans or trying to fight the unknown.”

“We’d be embracing the unknown.” 

“It’s not unknown. I know where I’ll end up…I’ve heard Heaven’s lovely this time of the year…but it’s not time. I’ve got my ticket, I’m just not ready to board the plane. You know?” 

“Yeah. I know what you mean. Can I tell you a secret though? Sometimes I play with my knife and think about how easy it’d be to slide it across my wrist. I bet the blood would look pretty. It’d make things easier….”

“Easier isn’t always better. You really ready to go now?”

“Hmmm, no…not unless I could haunt a few people. That might be worth cutting my time short. You think when we die we’ll get a chance to haunt someone?” 

“I don’t know. Don’t think I’d take it if we do.” 

“There’s a few people I’d like to haunt. A few that deserve it.”

“If I haunted someone it’d be someone I know really well. Someone I like to mess with.”

“You’d pull pranks on them.”

“Yep. It’d be the only reason to stay.”

“What about unfinished business?”

“What about it?”

“Wouldn’t you want to finish it?”

“Would you want to finish a term paper over summer vacation?”

“I guess you’re right…I bet Heaven’s lovely.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

“A lot better than school. I’m getting really tiered of staring at brick walls.”

“Enjoy it. In a few years people are going to be asking you, ‘What’s next?’ and you won’t have an answer.”

“You really don’t know?”

“I didn’t become a Lit. Major for an easy life. I never really knew what I’d do with the degree but I always knew that writers never have it easy. The history of our career is full of violence, and blood, and alcohol. But we’re needed. We have a job to do, you know? The world needs us.”

“Yeah, I know. You haven’t resorted to alcohol yet, though.”

“I think about it every once in a while. I’ve had wine before, you know. It was actually pretty good.”

“Then why don’t you drink it regularly? Alcohol numbs. It’d make life easier.”

“I doubt that. Besides, there’s history between my family and wine. I’ve heard some horror stories.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“We can’t die…we can’t drink…we can’t sleep around…there’s really nothing we can do to escape, is there?”

“…that’s why I write…”

“To escape?”

“No, because it’s a better alternative. It’s a healthy coping mechanism…some writer once said that you have to stay drunk on writing so reality won’t destroy you. He really hit the nail on the head. There’s just so much bad in the world. So much stress. Someone has to write about it. To let future generations know that there’s still hope. You want to know what’s worse, though?”

“What?”

“We’ll never really know just how bad it can get. I can write about all the crap the world throws at me and I can hope that it’ll help give someone else hope, but while we’re sitting here in a Walmart parking lot, drinking cheap bottles of pop, complaining about how tough our lives are and how easy it’d be to die, there are millions of other people out there that have it so much worse than us. Our problems are kind of petty, in retrospect.” 

“Maybe we just like the idea of flirting with death.”

“Maybe we’re just highly aware of our mortality. I mean, yeah, death would be easy, but seriously…I’m fine with my life right now.”

“Really? Even after all the crap that’s happened this week? This month?”

“Yeah. Even after all that. You know why?”

“Why?” 

“Because I may not know where I’m going in life but I know I have the means to make it. I’ve got a full tank of gas, enough money to make a trip home this next weekend, and I know who I am.”

“I wish I could say that. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Girl, take it from me. I know I don’t have too many years on you, but in my experience one has to lose themselves before they can find them.”

“Endure the rain to get the sun.”

“Exactly.”

“Speaking of rain. Those clouds look pretty bad.”

“Yeah, we should get back before the storm rolls in.” 

“Procrastination party?”

“Can’t afford one. The time’s come to stop loitering in parking lots and to start writing about the impact the Fine Arts has on campus.”

“I hate having responsibilities.”

“It’s part of growing up.” 

“Growing up sucks.”

“Ha! Yes, it does. As much as I’m okay with my life, if I had known it’d be like this, I would have taken sometime to slow down and enjoy all those stupid sleepovers more…all those bike accidents…nights babysitting to buy that new Star Wars book…hey, listen to me, alright? This time, next year, you’re going to be here studying away and I’m going to be back in Nebraska doing God knows what –And that’s not cursing. He’s really the only one who knows what I’ll be doing right now –so listen up. I know you’re not that big of a people person, but take some time to pretend you’re a socialite. Take some time to slow down by hoping into the fast lane. Some of the greatest nights I’ve had here I didn’t say a word during, but sometimes words aren’t needed.”

“That’s real rich coming from a writer. Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“Do you even hear what I’m saying? The moments I’ve felt the most alive have been the ones where I took time to go out for a good time with a group of people. I may not have said much, but when you’re driving through Kansas City at night and the lights of the Plaza light up the street like a runway, and there’s good music blaring from the stereo, and you’re surrounded by good people, it’s not the words that mater. It’s the almost overwhelming feeling of living. Death might be easy, but I’m pretty damn sure that life’s worth it.”