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...