:)

I am a happy, happy camper lately.

Why? ... Why not?

I have spent so much of my life mulling over the past and worrying about the future.

For now... I just want to enjoy the journey.

Could it be?

What is this odd feeling coming over me lately? It couldn't be...no, surely not...there's just no way that it's productivity!?

I was so rundown last year, between the two jobs and the five classes and the service fraternity and the feeble attempt to still have a social life, that I reverted to MSM: Major Slacker Mode. I totally forgot, until very recently, the rush I get from actually accomplishing something. Even small things — returning an email, using my thirty minutes between classes to work on my design, or (get this) actually reading those textbooks I spend hundreds of dollars on.

I don't want to get too ahead of myself here. It's only the fourth week, after all. But perhaps (dare I say it?) senior year might not swallow me up whole after all? I can only hope.

The dreaded question

The first week of my senior year is in the books. Let's ignore my quarter-life crisis and clinical senioritis at the moment and focus on The Dreaded Question that I've been asked at least thirty times this week: "What are you going to do after graduation?"

Translation: who's going to be giving you a paycheck?

I loathe that question. Mainly because when I say, truthfully, "I have no idea," I get that look reserved for aimless losers — the mortal enemy of Type A journalism students the world over. But I really don't have any idea. I want to do a hundred different things... get my MBA and start my own business, or maybe my MFA and become an English professor; go into counseling; work for a non-profit or a sports team; be a professional substitute teacher. Heck, maybe I'll go crazy and actually use my journalism degree to get a job at a magazine.

I know I'll find a job. And I'm not trying to be an overly-confident product of my generation, because I'm fully aware that the world of employment isn't as peachy as we'd like it to be. But I'm fine with starting at the bottom and working my way up, and I enjoy enough things that I'm pretty sure I'll be able to pay the bills one way or another.

What I'm more concerned with is not what I'm going to do, but who I'm going to be. And isn't that the more important question?

I know who I want to be: A woman of God. A woman of integrity and compassion. The kind of person who puts others first and stops to smell the roses. I want to be bold, peaceful, happy. So for now, and perhaps for a bit after graduation, I'd much rather focus on setting the tone for the rest of my life and working on who I want to be — not what.

May 22, 2011: The final day and hour

I haven't had much to say lately. Well, I've had a lot to say actually, just not via my ultra-public blog. When the storm of the century (or at least I hope it was) tears through your hometown and kills, destroys, and breaks hearts all over, what is there to say?

I was grateful that the Missourian let me come home and cover the tragedy through first-person dispatches. I'm back now working on a multimedia project over it all. My reporting class ends July 6th, and then I'll be back for the rest of the summer. I don't feel like there's a lot I can do, but I can't imagine being anywhere else right now.

I've been curled up on the couch all morning, perusing Facebook and Twitter, when I came across both of Will Norton's Twitter accounts. The last tweet on the first account said, "I'm graduating today!" which was heartbreaking in itself. Then I started scrolling through the tweets on his second account. They were mostly happy, celebratory messages to his friends who had graduated with him also, just hours before his death. But on May 20th, two days earlier, he had retweeted a Bible verse: "But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. -Matthew 24:36"

I know this verse pertains to apocalyptic claims, but I think in this case, it pertained to Will's last day and hour. And I'd like to think that God used that verse to speak to Will's heart and prepare him for what was to come. I know he's in a happier place now, as are the rest of those we lost on that day, and I can only hope that when my times comes, I go out with that much grace.

So here's to living like Will, and soaking in every moment we have left.

Finals shminals

No earth shattering lesson today (har har). Just a high five to everyone suffering through finals week like yours truly. I sincerely hope you have more motivation than I do.

Two finals to go. I got this!

P.S. Really funny conversation with Marcela today.

Marcela (with a big smile on her face): Sometimes when Mommy goes to work I feel like she doesn't love me anymore.

Me: You don't really mean that, do you?

Marcela: Yeah huh.

Me: Are you sure?

Marcela: Well I have to say that to get attention.

For a 4-year old, she really knows how to work it. I fear for her parents during her teenage years.

A lesson in gratefulness

I've been rifling through my old writing lately, trying to get my creative wheels moving and gear up for the manuscript(s) I need to pump out this summer, and I came across something I wrote my junior year of high school. Let me preface it by saying the assignment was a tragedy, but we weren't allowed to explicitly say what it was. I chose my grandmother's recent Alzheimer's diagnosis. Here's a little (depressing) excerpt ... we'll get to the upbeat part in a bit:

"I am my grandmother's pride and joy, her baby grand. I cry as I realize that soon she won't even remember my name. The name she gushed to anyone and everyone who would listen. I weep as it soaks in--soon she will not recognize my face. The same cheeks she squeezed and the forehead she kissed good night. I will cling to the memories as she forgets. She will forget every moment until I am nothing. She will forget every moment until she is nothing. She will lose me, and I will lose her, twice over."

Like I said, I wrote that my junior year of high school. I'm now wrapping up my junior year of college... and she still remembers me. I look different everyday -- I get triple IDed every time I go out because I don't resemble my license or my student ID, and half the time my own friends don't even recognize me when they pass me on campus -- but I can stroll into her place unannounced after being gone for months, and she knows me. She may not remember quite how much she loved me, but she still loves me. And she may ask me how school is 15 times in one sitting, but at least she remembers where I am.

I'm not naive. I know the bad times are still going to come eventually. But they're not here yet, and I am so lucky to have had these four unexpectedly good years -- and who knows how many more. I'm so grateful for that.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there... and especially to my amazing mother and grandmother, without whom I would not have the honor to walk this earth.

A lesson in being unapologetic

I recently came across the blog of The Single Woman, a real life Carrie Bradshaw. While I do enjoy the daily dose of girl power, I think I can scrounge that up myself. That being said, I will unabashedly admit that one of her (somewhat cheesy) quotes resounded with me:

"You are never more captivating than when you are wildly, beautifully, unapologetically YOU."

It was the unapologetically that got me. I am constantly apologizing for myself. For my mood swings and my occasionally overwhelming emotions and my temper. For my opinions and my habit of speaking my mind, even when what I have to say isn't very nice. For calling up my friends just to complain for a solid 15 minutes. For changing my mind twenty times a day or canceling plans because I just really need to stay home in my pajamas and veg out for the night. For stringing someone along, or shutting them out. For putting too much on someone. For keeping secrets, for spilling them.

I think you get the idea.

The point is, while a sincere apology is of course necessary in some instances, I'm going to try to curb the constant apologizing for being me. Yes, I am kind of a head case, and I'm practically impossible to put up with at times -- but aren't we all? Don't apologize for being you. Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.

(Thank you, Dr. Seuss, for still teaching me invaluable lessons even in my adulthood.)

A lesson in listening

I was 11 years old when the Twin Towers were attacked. I watched it at school and knew somehow that the world would never quite be the same. Still, months later, I had grown tired of all the coverage and couldn't help wondering when the media would move on. When we would move on. But we never really did, did we?

This war on terrorism is different than WWII or Vietnam, but it's still a war that my generation has grown up in. So I wasn't surprised when there was a street riot in Greektown when news came that bin Laden had been killed. I stayed holed up in the student center finishing a project while 3,000 students shot off fireworks and chanted "U-S-A!" all night long.

I still feel for families who lost loved ones on 9/11. For anyone who lost a loved one at bin Laden's hands, for that matter. I just don't have it in me to celebrate someone being killed. Relief, maybe, that he can't hurt anyone else... but you won't find me in any of the photos on CNN from Mizzou's riots. I'm a little embarrassed that we made the top 10 celebrations, to be honest.

I wasn't going to write this post. I've been trying to keep my mouth shut about the whole situation. It's touchy. It's something everyone and their dog has an opinion about, and everyone is certain that they're right. So I took it upon myself to bite my tongue and listen to everyone else, take a lesson in respecting opinions that aren't like mine. I think we could all take a lesson in that.

This is the most I will say on the matter, but I'll sum this post up with words from an incredibly wise soul:

"Returning hate for hate only multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Let's all be friends, shall we?

I rolled out of bed this morning at 5:30 a.m. for Easter sunrise services with my great-aunt, miles and miles away in the middle of the boonies. Growing up, this was one of our few traditions, but I won't lie when I say I'm not a fan of being an "adult" now and having to drive myself instead of getting another half hour of sleep in the backseat.

It's a Presbyterian church--it's also haunted, but let's not get into that now--with a pretty old congregation. I think I was one of five people in my twenties. We sat in pews, sang hymns, recited prayers...your typical traditional Easter service. Then I went to Woodcrest, a nondenominational church back in town. My ears were ringing from the rock music and I sympathized for parents who rushed their children out during the odd and incredibly intense dance routine.

I don't have much of a point here, except that it was interesting to see the different ways people worship. I haven't exactly settled on my own style yet, but I'll find it eventually.

When I got home (after a much needed nap), I started checking out my Twitter and Facebook feeds. You had your typical Bible verses, and your typical angry people denouncing "holiday Christians" for being hypocrites. I hate to sound like a peace sign-waving hippie here, but why can't we all get along? Why does religion have to be such a weapon? Maybe a person who only goes to church on Christmas and Easter isn't a hypocrite... maybe they're just doing the best they can. Or trying to hang on to something that once brought them comfort. Just because you're devout doesn't mean you should point a finger at those who aren't, and vice versa. To each their own. We're all fighting the same battle.

Which reminds me of my group thesis for the paper I'm currently working on: "we are all shaped by our common desire for a sense of belonging, a sense of purpose -- our common humanity."

Probably time to get back to that paper. For those celebrating, happy Easter. And to those who aren't, happy Sunday. Let's all be friends, shall we?

Zzzzzzz

"Any idiot can survive a crisis -- it's day to day living that wears you out."

-Anton Chekhov

Is it July 7th yet!? Must. Have. Breather.

What a hoppin' Saturday night

My biggest insecurity is not meeting up to people's expectations. So when I was recently informed that I did not, in fact, live up to a particular person's expectations of me, I didn't take it so well. (Luna the lemon beagle is staring at me with knowing eyes. She's the sole soul who knows just how calmly I took it.)

I was talking it over with my friend Andrea, and this is what she said: "We're all three people--the person we are, the person we want to be, and the person we pretend to be."

I'll just let that sink in.........

Obviously, I need to come to terms with the fact that I'm human, and while it's super flattering that said person had such an ideal expectation of me, it wasn't realistic. I can be okay with that. I think.

Something interesting I saw on Twitter today:

GODISNOWHERE!

A pessimist sees, "God is nowhere."

An optimist sees, "God is now here."

Which did you see?

P.S. Got my rose tattoo, finally. Still limping. But it's pretty.

Newsflash: the bald spots are worth it

I am a self-professed whinebag, and a bit of a drama queen.

So I'm sure it was no surprise to my mother when I called her up wailing last night with the usual, "I'm too tired, I'm going to drop out!" schpeel. To be fair, I'd been busting my butt all week to wrap up the rough draft of our (300-page) group project for Cross Cultural Journalism, and I was couched with an increasingly painful kidney infection that kicked in Monday morning. I'd pretty much hit a wall, and proceeded to have my usual pity party right on schedule.

But I was walking across campus today, our pretty pretty campus (even on crappy overcast days like today), and I realized: I'm so lucky to be here. I'm so lucky to get to learn, and from really intelligent people. I'm lucky to be able to further myself, and put off the real world for as long as possible. To meet new people and gain extraordinary experiences. (OK, extraordinary might be a stretch, but you know what I mean.) It's worth the sleepless nights, the bald spots I have from pulling my hair out, the headaches and the stress and the tears.

Someday they'll kick me out of here and I'll have to be a grown up. But until then, I'm going to enjoy myself. These are the best years of my life, right?

Lovebug, loveblog

My apologies in advance for this G-rated Sex and the City/relationship column, but since this blog has inadvertently turned into me sharing unsolicited insights (eye-opening ones at that), I feel the need to share with you my latest dating experience.

Three weeks ago -- give or take, the concept of the calendar eludes me -- I met a boy at a party. I know what you're thinking, parties are no place to meet boys. But this wasn't one of "those" parties...I avoid "those" parties at all cost. For instance, I have never set foot inside a fraternity house. (Except on another campus at New Year's to say hi to a friend. But it wasn't one of "those" frat houses.) This particular boy randomly struck up a conversation with me, which is odd in itself as I am rarely approached when I'm out. (According to my friends, I give off some sort of "don't even bother" air. If that's true, it's purely accidental.) We had a nice little chat while my friends lost brilliantly at beer pong. (Just because they aren't "those" parties doesn't mean we don't play beer pong.)

(I'm really enjoying the parenthesis today, eh?)

A coffee date, a dinner date, a movie date, and a party date later... things got complicated, as they always do. Let me preface this by saying that I am in no way searching for another half. I am devoted solely to my whole and keeping my head above water. Frankly I just don't have the energy to date. That being said, I decided not to stamp an expiration date on this thing too early, as I have a habit of doing. I'm getting lost in my thoughts here. Let's get to the point, shall we?

A few days ago, some complications rose to the surface and I received a pretty confrontational phone call. While I'm not going to spill anything personal on the world wide web, let me just share this: it was like speaking to myself. It was legitimately one of the strangest experiences I've ever had -- everything he was saying, nearly word for word, were things I've said to others... and I didn't like what I was hearing. But it wasn't until I heard it coming from someone else, directed right at me, that I really heard what I'd been saying (or yelling, in some instances).

My meandering point is this: would you date yourself? We're supposed to follow the Golden Rule, right? Treat others as you want to be treated, all that jazz. Is it too far of a stretch to apply that rule to our dating lives? Be the other half you'd want to have. You want to be spoiled? Don't forget to do a little spoiling yourself. You want understanding? You better be understanding, too. And if you think THEY have a lot of crazy, you should probably examine your own crazy.

Just don't forget -- we're all human. We're kind of silly that way.

To answer my own question... no way. I wouldn't date myself. Not now at least. I'm still far too insecure, selfish, moody -- I could go on. But someday. Someday I'll subject myself to another human being. Until then, I'm still a work in progress. Don't mind the construction.

Hold on to the good

"With all things considered, I suppose I should be bitter, but I just find myself fortunate to have loved at all. Oh the beauty is not in the ending, but the times that are worth remembering."

-The Radiance Effect

It happens every year. Someone asks me for the date, and when I say it out loud a giant lump instantly appears in my throat. It's easy to forget about it, especially the older I get. When I was little, I'd pull on the t-shirt I was wearing the day it happened (dolphins, of course), skip school, and basically plan on being miserable for the day.

Now, fourteen years later, it's midday until I realize the significance of the date. I still take the time to put on a sad song and cry a little bit. But life goes on, doesn't it? It's a battle at times, and it would be so easy to be bitter... but that would be such a waste. I may have only had five years, but there was so much good in those five years. All things must come to an end... just remember to hold on to the good.

In other news:

-Coach Anderson left us (in a very tactless way, I might add). My heart was broken for a little bit but now I'm just biting my nails (along with the rest of Mizzou) to see who takes his place. (Shaka Smart, please?)

-It's spring break and I don't think it's gone over 40 degrees. Awesome.

-The crappy weather has prompted my search for my post-graduation location. Top three prospects are Seattle, Dallas, and northern California.

-Luna the lemon beagle is back. I'm considering signing her up for good citizen/therapy training...I think she would make quite the saint.

-I took the girls to Chuck E Cheese's today and taught them the finer points of skee ball. I'm a retired pro. I'm also freakishly good at darts... I spent a lot of time in bars and bowling alleys growing up. (Oh, hey Mom!)

-I got a great idea for my next writing project. Now if only I could find the time to work on it...

I shall frame this and hang it next to my diploma

"We all start out the same way, and then life happens. One of the great powers of journalism is to record that. There is no such thing as "the other." It's more important to write about the sameness than the things that divide us."

-Jacqui Banaszynski

And that's why I'm in j-school.

Cheer up, buttercup!

Today has been comically awful. It's just been one of those days where anything that could go wrong inevitably went wrong.

I got chewed out bright and early this morning by my future editor. (I cried.) Found out our basketball coach is leaving. (Cried.) Got my first F on a test that I actually, believe it or not, studied for. (Didn't cry, but I did have a minor freak out session.) I got a nice fat bill from the University for I have no idea what, since I thought everything was paid up at the beginning of the semester. Between that, a torn contact, five stubbed toes, being late to absolutely everything and now having a mountainous pile of studying facing me... you would think that I wouldn't be a happy camper right now.

But I am a smiling fool today. At first I did it on purpose. I read an article in "O" (it's my therapy, I'm telling you) that just the act of smiling, even when you don't feel like it, releases endorphins that will cheer you up. It talked about the power of optimism, too. So what started out as a forced effort accumulated into me dancing in my living room for 15 minutes, and laughing hysterically when I got that hefty bill ten minutes ago. Maybe I'm just finally having a nervous breakdown from all the stress, but I'd like to think that this positivity thing is working.

Can I get a mulligan on today? Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

Time to put my big girl pants on

When I sat down behind the wheel of my car yesterday, I got a sudden whim to drive through my old part of town, where my mom and I lived, oh, ten years ago. I've been back here for a little over a year now, but I'd just never felt the urge to swing by before. I guess I was having a nostalgic moment. So without even thinking about it I wound up in my old stomping grounds and was greeted with the most warm and fuzzy feeling I've ever experienced in my life.

Only not really.

What a wreck! Our quaint little street now looks like the backdrop for a drug deal scene in a sketchy movie. I actually felt a tad nervous cruising around, and booked it out of there pretty quickly. Maybe I just had rose-colored glasses on when I was ten and saw happiness and sunshine everywhere I turned. Who knows. We've never been wealthy by any means, but I still consider myself privileged -- I got a used but decent car when I turned sixteen and I always knew I would go to college, even if I had to pay for it with loans. So maybe we didn't live in the Hamptons, but I'm not complaining. My childhood was unorthodox but a good one.

I'll admit that this wasn't the first time I'd explored an old abode. A few years ago when I just so happened to be in Kansas City, conveniently close to my earlier childhood home, I might have swung by. It might have been abandoned and I might have let myself in and laughed hysterically because my old bedroom still looked like an insane asylum -- white walls, floor and all. I also might have taken a piece of the siding on my way out which my mother claims is likely contaminated with asbestos. (If the first place looks like the backdrop for a drug deal scene, this place would be the prime locale for a post-apocalyptic flick.)

Anyway, as I was leaving yesterday (hurriedly), I glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed something: my scar.

When I was six or so, we were in the middle of K-Mart and I jumped up to give my sister a hug. Long story short: chin met forehead, and we both wound up in the hospital for stitches. So I've had this pretty noticeable scar on my forehead (not Harry Potter worthy, but a forehead scar nonetheless) for the majority of my life, and I'm totally blind to it. Seriously haven't noticed that thing in years. But here I am in my old neighborhood, realizing my adulthood sight is quite different from my childhood sight, when I see it again. Isn't it funny how time and age blind us to certain things?

It was an eye-opening moment for me at any rate...one of those, "oh crap, I'm growing up" realizations. Which conveniently came on the same day that a speaker advised my class on job hunting -- and warned us to get started NOW. Yikes. Time to put my big girl pants on.

Basketball and my new weekly therapy

I am still catching up on sleep and reminiscing about the Big 12 Tournament last week. Basketball, cool people, and free food... what else can a girl ask for?

That kid in the photo was definitely the number one fan of the tournament. People gave him a lot of crap because he was cheering for a different team every night (Mizzou first, I might add), but he was having the most fun out of anyone there. I had to laugh at myself at one point; I was seriously considering ending my relationship with basketball because it causes me to experience more emotions in a two-hour time period than most menopausal women, and the stress alone could kill me. Then I realized that there were tens of thousands of people (possibly more, I never won those things that made you guess how many jelly beans were in a jar) crowded into this building and screaming their heads off while a bunch of college kids tossed a ball around and tried to get it through a hoop. Sometimes I feel like we really haven't evolved that much as a species.

But I digress. I'm attempting to get back into the swing of things after several glorious days away from work and school. If my entire semester GPA doesn't plummet from this one week of professional slacking, I'll be highly surprised.

Yesterday I read a couple articles in "O" -- the Oprah magazine -- and decided it's going to have to be my weekly (or daily? hourly?) therapy. I had such an "aha!" moment...but more on that later. For now I'm going to enjoy this gorgeous 65-degree weather we're having...while studying for my meteorology exam tomorrow. (Can someone please explain to me why I need to know meteorology to be a magazine journalist?) Marcela and I went on a walk around the block today -- do you have any idea how long it takes a 4-year-old to walk around the block? -- and it was just one of those days that's so peaceful and quiet it feels like nothing has ever been or ever will go wrong. I love those days.

(By the way...for all you basketball fans out there: Can we just agree that Colorado not getting picked for the tournament was the biggest snub ever!?! Ugh. Sunshine and daises...I'm totally zen.)

The good in flowers and mayonnaise

(Photo from Life.com. It's an awesome website. Check it out.)

Isn't it crazy how life can just be going on as normal, and the next second it's up in flames? A massive earthquake that destroys your home. Or that look a doctor gives you when he has bad news. I once read a story about a man who was killed when a plane crashed into his living room while he watched TV. I'm not trying to be morbid; it just reminds you of how fragile life is. I think all you can do is enjoy the little things, and be in constant appreciation for the good in your life.

When I moved away in January of last year, my best friend and I decided to email each other everyday with five good things that happened that day. Sometimes I struggle and only come up with things like, "Saw some pretty flowers." Or "I thought I was out of mayonnaise, but I wasn't." Other days I can't help from gushing and my five good things turn into fifteen. But it all counts. We've been keeping it up for over a year now. And even when my day is crazy and I forget to email her, it still helps me notice the good in the flowers and the mayonnaise.

And really, that's the best we can do.

In the words of Marcela, "I have too much to do!!! I need a break!!!"

Today Marcela was sitting on the living room floor surrounded by a pile of blocks, an unfinished puzzle, and a basket of toys. She looked around at everything, got a horrified look on her face, and yelled, "I have too much to do!!! I need a break!!!" and flopped down on the floor. Oh, to be four again.

I joined the Annoying Reporter Club tonight when I blocked 40 people in a barn while interviewing the founder of Cedar Creek Therapeutic Center after their volunteer training. Oops. I've never gotten so many loathsome looks at once... which is somewhat surprising after the high school I went to. Better get used to it I guess -- Reporting this summer! Woo!

I'm attempting to complete my entire list of work for the week in only two days as I'm leaving for Kansas City tomorrow evening for some Big 12 basketball action. But my thoughts will be with my lovely, BA cousin going through a double mastectomy in the morning. Have I mentioned cancer messes with the wrong people? At least she will be one step closer to kicking this thing in the ass. Excuse my French. Cancer deserves it.

My mother just sent me a picture message of her and my sister eating burgers in the movie theatre. Not. Nice.