I will be the big spoon
When you need me to.
I will pick the acne from your back,
And pluck your eyebrows
(But never tell anybody.)
I will pick you up
When you don’t want to drive.
Sometimes I won’t even complain.
I will wake you up for church on Sundays,
Calling a dozen times
To rouse you from your dreams,
And wait
While you pull on a t-shirt
And forget to brush your teeth.
I will pray for you
When I don’t know how to help you,
And also when I do.
And I will ask God to allow us to grow old together.
I will wear that shirt
That I don’t really care for, but you picked out
So I love it.
I’ll even shave my legs.
And when I am the big spoon,
I will take on the world for you
So I can worry
And you can sleep.
The Blog that Launched a Thousand Ships
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Thursday, November 1, 2012
College? What's that?
I wrote this fantastic (okay, I think it's fantastic) essay for my UTK application. Apparently I'm ill prepared for college, though, because I didn't read the directions and the essay was way too long. In the end, I took the portion about camp to submit to UT and the rest of it is just sitting in my computer taking up 10,656 characters of space. (It was supposed to be 4,000 characters. Oops.) So, naturally, I thought I'd share it with the world. (Or at least my blog that approximately no one reads.)
Last year I ended up taking a developmental psychology and a sociology course simultaneously. I would go to one class and learn about the inner workings of my mind, then go to the next and learn about how they corresponded to society. This is when I began to wonder about people who cannot function in neurotypical society. As a college freshman, I was still unsure of what I wanted to study, but I knew what I loved. This became clear in Sociology, when my professor had us participate in a master status test. Each student took a few minutes to write down ten roles that they played in their lives. When we were finished, we shared our results and the professor told us that we had just defined ourselves in terms of our roles in society. My top three roles were Unitarian Universalist, camp counselor, and student, and I believe that these roles that I most eagerly define myself by are the most telling of my ambitions, character, and worth.
Unitarian Universalism is a religion made up of individuals. With no creed or doctrine, we work toward spiritual enlightenment by supporting one another and learning from all religions. In my church, an atheist can sit in between an agnostic and a Christian with no tension. In the Unitarian Universalist church, the specific details of what you believe matter far less than your character and deeds.
As a Unitarian Universalist, I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people, without contingency or question. The sense of belonging that comes with joining a UU church is unparalleled. Before my first visit was over I was eager to return. It has now been two years since I began my spiritual journey at Westside and I am certain that there is not another place on earth where my soul could feel more nurtured or secure. Growing up in the Bible Belt, I have heard many times that I will face eternal punishment for not conforming to the predominant religion, but I know I will never hear such words within the walls of my church. My church has become my sanctuary and spiritual home, a center of gravity from which I can draw the strength to trust God and live my life fully.
One of the most rewarding parts of my spiritual journey has been the opportunity to teach Religious Education. My small class of second to fifth graders are arguably the most brilliant, compassionate children I have ever met. They do not see the color of other peoples' skin or understand the cruelties or injustices of the world. They are the kind of people who will change the world one day, and I cannot wait to see it happen. Together, my class and I have learned about many other beliefs and religions, all the while reaffirming our own. The Hindu festival Ganesha Chaturthi taught us about unfailing love, and Rosh Hashanah about forgiveness. Because our religion has no creed, we depend on the principles of good character, kindness, and righteousness to direct our actions. I think it is beautiful that my students learn these characteristics from all religions, giving them an appreciation for diversity and respect for the many cultures around them.
I have worked with Tate's Day Camp for three years, and when I tell people that I am a camp counselor, I do so with pride. In the summer, I spend eight hours a day, five days a week, living and breathing dirt, dodgeball, and drama. For the past two years I have worked exclusively with seven and eight year olds. These rising second and third graders are bright, witty, and eager to befriend and learn from their counselors. It is an intimidating thing to be charged with the task of caring for and nurturing other people's children, but at Tate's, we learn from the best.
During training week, while camp directors prepare the counselors to take on the immense task before us, they tell us to assume a confidence we do not feel. What they fail to tell us, however, is that with enough time, enough encouragement, and enough hugs and "I love yous" from our campers, that confidence will become very real, and will seep into all corners of our lives. For my first two years of employment, I believed that this confidence was the single greatest benefit that I had gained from Tate's. I had graduated from being a shy, reclusive high schooler to a confident, exuberant, and loud college student who would gladly lead a crowd in a song or in protest, no matter who was looking. The confidence I have gained from Tate's is invaluable, but the sense of purpose is somehow more important.
We are not supposed to have favorites at camp, but for the past two years the children I have bonded with and who have inspired me the most have been children who have faced cognitive challenges. Two boys in particular have touched my heart. Ben* was diagnosed with ADHD and James* with Asperger's syndrome, but I would never say that either suffered from their diagnosis. Where other counselors saw them as difficult, I saw them as absolute blessings. Every day, Ben, who was a hyper, stereotypical little boy, would walk beside me and announce, "Miss Helen, I need a ride!" and proceed to grab onto my hand until we reached our destination. Ben and I worked together to help him navigate his camp day, and despite the extra effort, he was easily one of my best campers. He needed a little extra patience, a little extra time, and a little extra love, but I desired so strongly for him to be happy and have an enriching camp experience that it was absolutely worth it.
James was another influential camper in my camp experience. He was pleasant, polite, and easily able to tell me about every episode of Tom and Jerry in explicit detail. Much like Ben, James needed a little extra. Asperger's is an Autism Spectrum Disorder that leaves patients both brilliant and hypersensitive. Asperger's patients have difficulty understanding social interactions and have senses so heightened that they live in a world of constant overstimulation. Some patients have reported being able to hear insects dying, when in fact some insects do emit high-pitched moans usually inaudible to the human ear upon death. In order to cope with the world, Asperger's patients depend on routine and structure, and can easily lose control of themselves when a routine is disturbed. As one could imagine, going from school to vacation to camp with a lot of new people and new rules can be very difficult for such a patient, so I did my best to help James transition easily. James had an assigned seat for every activity, not because he couldn't behave if he chose his own, but because he needed to know where to be and what was going on. He was in my group for about five weeks, and over that time I began to research his condition in order to find ways to help him thrive. By the end of the summer, I was not only confident that Jackson had had a productive, enriching camp experience, but I also finally knew what I wanted to do with my life.
Occupational Therapy is a profession that works to enable challenged individuals to navigate through life by performing everyday duties and tasks. Occupational Therapy is commonly recommended as part of a treatment plan for individuals with autism. Autism research is constantly getting closer to finding meaningful treatments and even a cure, but until the final piece of that puzzle is found, I know that I am supposed to be working with children affected by Autism. This understanding of my purpose is the most important thing that I have gained from my time at Tate's.
For the past fourteen years, I have been a student of the academic realm. I have moved through grade levels and passed benchmarks, taken state tests and the ACT. I walked across the stage at my high school graduation, high fived my principal and left with a diploma and no plan for my future. Fourteen years of tests and textbooks could not teach me what four years of working with children did, but I am still thankful for every minute of it.
This semester, necessity has taught me to be a student of the world. Financial limitations left me with a semester out of school to learn, live, and work. Living in my very small version of the "real world," I have realized the incredible value of a college education and a career. Right now, I have a job. It pays my bills and gives me something to do, but I do not believe that I will have a lasting passion for serving Italian food and rolling silverware. I am thankful for the opportunities that I have, but my career and my passions lie in the future. I am passionate about helping people, specifically children. I've said for a few years that if I could find a way, I would be a professional camp counselor for the rest of my life. That is a dream, and I am still hoping it will come true, but if it doesn't and I am able to spend my working years as an occupational therapist for autistic and other challenged children, that will do just as well.
The first step on my path is a degree in Psychology concentrating on human growth and development. It is well known that the University of Tennessee's Psychology program is unmatched in the state, and if I am to volunteer the rest of my life to helping others, what better place to start than the home of the Vols? I have spent my entire life in Knoxville, wearing orange every Saturday and seeing the huge buildings on campus become less and less daunting as the years went by. They are no longer intimidating, but welcoming, and I know I am ready for my time there to begin.
At nineteen, I have seen a lot, but not enough. I have seen Italy, I have seen the Pope speak from his balcony, blessing the people of the world in many foreign tongues. I have seen a five year old spend a summer learning to tie her shoes, and celebrated with her when she succeeded. I have seen a victim of a horrible hate crime rise above her circumstances and find joy in life despite obstacles. I have seen people succeed and achieve their happily ever after, and I have seen people fall from grace. I have seen things that amaze me, depress me, and inspire me. I have never seen something bad enough to break my spirit, only things that push me to keep going. Some things will never fail to inspire me, such as the love of my family, my passion for teaching, or the humanity of mankind as a whole. No matter how difficult life seems, there will always be something to remind you that life is good, people is good, and good deeds are worthwhile. I am determined to be one of the good things, one of the good people, and I wish for my good deeds to inspire others. I believe this is the definition of the Volunteer spirit, and there is no better place for me than the University of Tennessee.
*Names changed
Last year I ended up taking a developmental psychology and a sociology course simultaneously. I would go to one class and learn about the inner workings of my mind, then go to the next and learn about how they corresponded to society. This is when I began to wonder about people who cannot function in neurotypical society. As a college freshman, I was still unsure of what I wanted to study, but I knew what I loved. This became clear in Sociology, when my professor had us participate in a master status test. Each student took a few minutes to write down ten roles that they played in their lives. When we were finished, we shared our results and the professor told us that we had just defined ourselves in terms of our roles in society. My top three roles were Unitarian Universalist, camp counselor, and student, and I believe that these roles that I most eagerly define myself by are the most telling of my ambitions, character, and worth.
Unitarian Universalism is a religion made up of individuals. With no creed or doctrine, we work toward spiritual enlightenment by supporting one another and learning from all religions. In my church, an atheist can sit in between an agnostic and a Christian with no tension. In the Unitarian Universalist church, the specific details of what you believe matter far less than your character and deeds.
As a Unitarian Universalist, I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people, without contingency or question. The sense of belonging that comes with joining a UU church is unparalleled. Before my first visit was over I was eager to return. It has now been two years since I began my spiritual journey at Westside and I am certain that there is not another place on earth where my soul could feel more nurtured or secure. Growing up in the Bible Belt, I have heard many times that I will face eternal punishment for not conforming to the predominant religion, but I know I will never hear such words within the walls of my church. My church has become my sanctuary and spiritual home, a center of gravity from which I can draw the strength to trust God and live my life fully.
One of the most rewarding parts of my spiritual journey has been the opportunity to teach Religious Education. My small class of second to fifth graders are arguably the most brilliant, compassionate children I have ever met. They do not see the color of other peoples' skin or understand the cruelties or injustices of the world. They are the kind of people who will change the world one day, and I cannot wait to see it happen. Together, my class and I have learned about many other beliefs and religions, all the while reaffirming our own. The Hindu festival Ganesha Chaturthi taught us about unfailing love, and Rosh Hashanah about forgiveness. Because our religion has no creed, we depend on the principles of good character, kindness, and righteousness to direct our actions. I think it is beautiful that my students learn these characteristics from all religions, giving them an appreciation for diversity and respect for the many cultures around them.
I have worked with Tate's Day Camp for three years, and when I tell people that I am a camp counselor, I do so with pride. In the summer, I spend eight hours a day, five days a week, living and breathing dirt, dodgeball, and drama. For the past two years I have worked exclusively with seven and eight year olds. These rising second and third graders are bright, witty, and eager to befriend and learn from their counselors. It is an intimidating thing to be charged with the task of caring for and nurturing other people's children, but at Tate's, we learn from the best.
During training week, while camp directors prepare the counselors to take on the immense task before us, they tell us to assume a confidence we do not feel. What they fail to tell us, however, is that with enough time, enough encouragement, and enough hugs and "I love yous" from our campers, that confidence will become very real, and will seep into all corners of our lives. For my first two years of employment, I believed that this confidence was the single greatest benefit that I had gained from Tate's. I had graduated from being a shy, reclusive high schooler to a confident, exuberant, and loud college student who would gladly lead a crowd in a song or in protest, no matter who was looking. The confidence I have gained from Tate's is invaluable, but the sense of purpose is somehow more important.
We are not supposed to have favorites at camp, but for the past two years the children I have bonded with and who have inspired me the most have been children who have faced cognitive challenges. Two boys in particular have touched my heart. Ben* was diagnosed with ADHD and James* with Asperger's syndrome, but I would never say that either suffered from their diagnosis. Where other counselors saw them as difficult, I saw them as absolute blessings. Every day, Ben, who was a hyper, stereotypical little boy, would walk beside me and announce, "Miss Helen, I need a ride!" and proceed to grab onto my hand until we reached our destination. Ben and I worked together to help him navigate his camp day, and despite the extra effort, he was easily one of my best campers. He needed a little extra patience, a little extra time, and a little extra love, but I desired so strongly for him to be happy and have an enriching camp experience that it was absolutely worth it.
James was another influential camper in my camp experience. He was pleasant, polite, and easily able to tell me about every episode of Tom and Jerry in explicit detail. Much like Ben, James needed a little extra. Asperger's is an Autism Spectrum Disorder that leaves patients both brilliant and hypersensitive. Asperger's patients have difficulty understanding social interactions and have senses so heightened that they live in a world of constant overstimulation. Some patients have reported being able to hear insects dying, when in fact some insects do emit high-pitched moans usually inaudible to the human ear upon death. In order to cope with the world, Asperger's patients depend on routine and structure, and can easily lose control of themselves when a routine is disturbed. As one could imagine, going from school to vacation to camp with a lot of new people and new rules can be very difficult for such a patient, so I did my best to help James transition easily. James had an assigned seat for every activity, not because he couldn't behave if he chose his own, but because he needed to know where to be and what was going on. He was in my group for about five weeks, and over that time I began to research his condition in order to find ways to help him thrive. By the end of the summer, I was not only confident that Jackson had had a productive, enriching camp experience, but I also finally knew what I wanted to do with my life.
Occupational Therapy is a profession that works to enable challenged individuals to navigate through life by performing everyday duties and tasks. Occupational Therapy is commonly recommended as part of a treatment plan for individuals with autism. Autism research is constantly getting closer to finding meaningful treatments and even a cure, but until the final piece of that puzzle is found, I know that I am supposed to be working with children affected by Autism. This understanding of my purpose is the most important thing that I have gained from my time at Tate's.
For the past fourteen years, I have been a student of the academic realm. I have moved through grade levels and passed benchmarks, taken state tests and the ACT. I walked across the stage at my high school graduation, high fived my principal and left with a diploma and no plan for my future. Fourteen years of tests and textbooks could not teach me what four years of working with children did, but I am still thankful for every minute of it.
This semester, necessity has taught me to be a student of the world. Financial limitations left me with a semester out of school to learn, live, and work. Living in my very small version of the "real world," I have realized the incredible value of a college education and a career. Right now, I have a job. It pays my bills and gives me something to do, but I do not believe that I will have a lasting passion for serving Italian food and rolling silverware. I am thankful for the opportunities that I have, but my career and my passions lie in the future. I am passionate about helping people, specifically children. I've said for a few years that if I could find a way, I would be a professional camp counselor for the rest of my life. That is a dream, and I am still hoping it will come true, but if it doesn't and I am able to spend my working years as an occupational therapist for autistic and other challenged children, that will do just as well.
The first step on my path is a degree in Psychology concentrating on human growth and development. It is well known that the University of Tennessee's Psychology program is unmatched in the state, and if I am to volunteer the rest of my life to helping others, what better place to start than the home of the Vols? I have spent my entire life in Knoxville, wearing orange every Saturday and seeing the huge buildings on campus become less and less daunting as the years went by. They are no longer intimidating, but welcoming, and I know I am ready for my time there to begin.
At nineteen, I have seen a lot, but not enough. I have seen Italy, I have seen the Pope speak from his balcony, blessing the people of the world in many foreign tongues. I have seen a five year old spend a summer learning to tie her shoes, and celebrated with her when she succeeded. I have seen a victim of a horrible hate crime rise above her circumstances and find joy in life despite obstacles. I have seen people succeed and achieve their happily ever after, and I have seen people fall from grace. I have seen things that amaze me, depress me, and inspire me. I have never seen something bad enough to break my spirit, only things that push me to keep going. Some things will never fail to inspire me, such as the love of my family, my passion for teaching, or the humanity of mankind as a whole. No matter how difficult life seems, there will always be something to remind you that life is good, people is good, and good deeds are worthwhile. I am determined to be one of the good things, one of the good people, and I wish for my good deeds to inspire others. I believe this is the definition of the Volunteer spirit, and there is no better place for me than the University of Tennessee.
*Names changed
Friday, October 19, 2012
Some words to love by
Love prospers when a fault is forgiven,
but dwelling on it separates close friends.
A cheerful heart is good medicine,
but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength.
Fire tests the purity of silver and gold, but the Lord tests the heart.
Deceit fills hearts that are plotting evil; joy fills hearts that are planning peace!
Do not let mercy and truth leave you.
Fasten them around your neck.
Write them on the tablet of your heart.
Don’t say, “I will get even for this wrong.”
Wait for the Lord to handle the matter.
but dwelling on it separates close friends.
A cheerful heart is good medicine,
but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength.
Fire tests the purity of silver and gold, but the Lord tests the heart.
Deceit fills hearts that are plotting evil; joy fills hearts that are planning peace!
Do not let mercy and truth leave you.
Fasten them around your neck.
Write them on the tablet of your heart.
Don’t say, “I will get even for this wrong.”
Wait for the Lord to handle the matter.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
"Do not let mercy and truth leave you. Fasten them around your neck. Write them on the tablet of your heart."
It is hard to believe that I have never been alone.
It is hard to understand that something that loves me has seen every tear and waited until now to give me hope.
But I suppose I wasn't ready for it until now.
I suppose I finally pissed God off enough that he took action.
First, he took everything from me. My motivation to go to school, to manage my life with grace. Two of my closest friends, one several months ago and another just a few days ago. My trust for my parents. The love of my life, who I took for granted and treated horribly, who my heart aches for because I fear I will never get the opportunity to set things right. My happiness has been gone for a long time, as has my faith in myself and self-esteem.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and saw a sad, ugly, unloved, useless person.
Today I see something forgivable. I see someone whose pride and fear has reigned supreme, who has driven away love of all kinds for fear of hurt and rejection. I see someone who is foolish to a fault, prideful to destruction, and hurt beyond understanding. I have pushed people away, judged them, and favored myself a superior being. But all of these things can be healed.
Until now, I've been too proud, too scared to truly trust God with my life.
Last night, God told me to read the Bible, and I did. He told me to read the Proverbs, and I did. Let me be clear that I am still a committed Unitarian Universalist. I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people, and I believe that all religions have some truth and much wisdom to share. I believe that God wanted me to read the Bible because he knew it would bring me comfort, and it did.
I haven't read much, and I would not consider myself knowledgeable on this topic by any means. That being said, I think I understand now where my issues lie.
My troubles are rooted in pride. I have always been too strong to ask for or accept help. I pride myself on being independent, but have never realized that I simply cannot get through life alone. I have believed myself wise, intelligent, beautiful, and superior for all of my life. By these thoughts, I have distanced myself from other people, resulting in shallow relationships and an empty heart.
I can't say I am, as of this moment, done, but I am ready to cease being proud. I need not rely of material things or the praise of man to feel complete. I need other people. I need them to know my heart and I need to know theirs. I need to care and to see them as whole individuals, divinely created and inherently good.
I need to ask for help and let it come to me. I need to let fear of loss of power or respect disappear and allow myself to be vulnerable. I need to give my time, money, love, and emotions freely and without hesitation. I need to be a living example of compassion and love. My life is not for me alone.
My life is for me to live in the service and love of others, to be spent in the sunshine of compassion and joy. I will no longer let depression rule me. It is a medical issue that can be treated with medicine and healed by surrounding myself with light and giving myself wholly to good works and love.
God has blessed me immensely with this understanding. If it helps me to repair the damage I have done in my past I will be happy, but if I must let those bridges burn I will eventually be happy too, because nothing happens that is not God's will. If I trust in him I will one day be complete, and happier than I could ever imagine.
It is hard to understand that something that loves me has seen every tear and waited until now to give me hope.
But I suppose I wasn't ready for it until now.
I suppose I finally pissed God off enough that he took action.
First, he took everything from me. My motivation to go to school, to manage my life with grace. Two of my closest friends, one several months ago and another just a few days ago. My trust for my parents. The love of my life, who I took for granted and treated horribly, who my heart aches for because I fear I will never get the opportunity to set things right. My happiness has been gone for a long time, as has my faith in myself and self-esteem.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and saw a sad, ugly, unloved, useless person.
Today I see something forgivable. I see someone whose pride and fear has reigned supreme, who has driven away love of all kinds for fear of hurt and rejection. I see someone who is foolish to a fault, prideful to destruction, and hurt beyond understanding. I have pushed people away, judged them, and favored myself a superior being. But all of these things can be healed.
Until now, I've been too proud, too scared to truly trust God with my life.
Last night, God told me to read the Bible, and I did. He told me to read the Proverbs, and I did. Let me be clear that I am still a committed Unitarian Universalist. I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people, and I believe that all religions have some truth and much wisdom to share. I believe that God wanted me to read the Bible because he knew it would bring me comfort, and it did.
I haven't read much, and I would not consider myself knowledgeable on this topic by any means. That being said, I think I understand now where my issues lie.
My troubles are rooted in pride. I have always been too strong to ask for or accept help. I pride myself on being independent, but have never realized that I simply cannot get through life alone. I have believed myself wise, intelligent, beautiful, and superior for all of my life. By these thoughts, I have distanced myself from other people, resulting in shallow relationships and an empty heart.
I can't say I am, as of this moment, done, but I am ready to cease being proud. I need not rely of material things or the praise of man to feel complete. I need other people. I need them to know my heart and I need to know theirs. I need to care and to see them as whole individuals, divinely created and inherently good.
I need to ask for help and let it come to me. I need to let fear of loss of power or respect disappear and allow myself to be vulnerable. I need to give my time, money, love, and emotions freely and without hesitation. I need to be a living example of compassion and love. My life is not for me alone.
My life is for me to live in the service and love of others, to be spent in the sunshine of compassion and joy. I will no longer let depression rule me. It is a medical issue that can be treated with medicine and healed by surrounding myself with light and giving myself wholly to good works and love.
God has blessed me immensely with this understanding. If it helps me to repair the damage I have done in my past I will be happy, but if I must let those bridges burn I will eventually be happy too, because nothing happens that is not God's will. If I trust in him I will one day be complete, and happier than I could ever imagine.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Alter
She stood in the back. He didn’t have a hope of catching her eye. He was only the opening act, barely a name, and yet the music moved through her, shaking her to the core like a hurricane rattles a fragile foundation of bones and mortar. She took a long drag from her cigarette and let it fall to the ground, heading for the exit. The night was young, but she was weary and unwilling to bear witness as the crowd around her departed from its state of righteous music-loving to one of drunken disorder. She slipped out the front door and past the line of hopefuls waiting to gain entrance. How young they all seemed.
The blocks stretched out before her as she headed toward her car. The streets were full of people, but she seemed to see through them, caring only for her destination. She did not know where she was going after she reached her destination, but it suddenly became extremely important that she reach it with haste. The parking garage came into view after several hurried moments. She climbed what seemed to be a hundred stairs before finally reaching the upper level.
On the horizon, buildings grew from the ground, great vines and weeds breaking through the concrete to form the skyline, a breathtaking sight that she had never before been eager to leave behind. She lived and breathed for the city, for the bustle and the crisp air. She dreamed of monumental street signs and faceless crowds, glamour and power and all the rest. She dreamed of dreams long left abandoned.
He leaned casually against the railing at the side of the garage, as if the industrial wires separating him from sure death were a suitable replacement for caution. With a ragged mane of curly hair, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he was a sight to behold. His gentle smile could almost convince her that everything was okay.
“You look good,” he said, nodding to her platform heels and low top. She didn’t even dream of dressing like that anymore.
“Got a light?” she replied, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bra.
“Classy as ever, love,” he said, lighting her cigarette with his own.
“I do what I can.” She breathed in deeply, appreciating the tender way the smoke tickled her throat and lungs, teasing her with release. “How have you been?”
“Dreadful at best, wretched at worst.” She nodded, leaning against the railing next to him. She refused to make eye contact. “You?”
“Wretched at best,” she replied. From the corner of her eye, she took a short look at him. He hadn’t shaved in days and looked dreadfully thin. Smoke poured from his mouth when he spoke and his eyes were rimmed with black.
“You get what you deserve, I guess.”
She turned her head, staring directly at him. “What,” she spat, “is that supposed to mean?”
“Look,” he turned his body to face her, casting his cigarette aside, “you had your problems and I had mine, but the difference is that I faced mine and you ran away.”
“What exactly did I run away from?” she asked. “Was it your perpetual childhood or your inability to bathe?”
“No,” his voice became very low, “you ran away from the only person who will love you for who you are, not who you think you want to be.”
She stood still. In the distance, she heard laughter and the low engine of a semi truck. His face was completely emotionless as he stared at her, as if he had been planning this moment for a long time. She wildly thought that he must have practiced before the mirror to achieve such solemnity, for he used to laugh inappropriately in tense situations.
“I ran away,” she said carefully, “from an overgrown child who would never stop chasing pipedreams to act like a grown up.”
“And I got away from a shallow pipedream who pretended to be whatever she had to be to earn her MRS degree before graduation,” he replied. “Tell me, are you happy now, or are you still faking it?”
“I don’t know why I came here,” she whispered. She threw her cigarette to the ground and watched it glow in the darkness. She hated smoke. She hated what it did to her teeth and how she always smelled like burned coffee after a cigarette. She hated the way it polluted the air and made things that were once beautiful shrivel under its influence.
“You came here,” he started. His voice was even, but his hands shook madly. Years of emotion poured through him as he addressed her coldly. “You came here to see what your life could have been. I’ll tell you what it could have been. I would have married you and done anything to make you happy. I would have quit music and done something practical. I would have left the city, left my family, left everything behind for you. I would have done anything. And you didn’t let me.”
“You would have done anything.” She rolled the words about on her tongue, tasting them and trying them on. They were words she had heard before, but they now took on new meaning. “You would have done anything, left anything, become anything. And you would have been miserable. We both would.”
“And I’m not miserable now?”
“I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”
She moved away from the railing, crushing the abandoned cigarette beneath her heel. She crossed the lot and he followed, stopping just short of her car. She started the engine and rolled down the window, gazing at him one last time.
“We would have been happy,” he said softly, a sad smile playing on his lips. He considered her carefully, taking in the paleness of her skin and the few grey hairs mixing with her blonde. Her lipstick had long faded, leaving only her thin, cracked lips and the moonlight cast shadows upon her face that showed the toll the years had taken on her. Still, she was beautiful, and his heart soared when their eyes met, though somewhere deep he knew it was for the last time.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she pleaded, hurt to see the pain upon his face.
“Like what?” he asked, as if he did not already know.
“Like you want to kiss me.” She put the car in gear and backed up, leaving him to be a reflection in her rearview mirror.
“Can you blame me?” he replied, but she was already gone.
As the city fell behind her, the reality of her life lay ahead. Every mile that spanned between her and the love she left behind brought new relief, and by the time she reached her home she could almost breathe again.
She tiptoed across the darkened halls, past the fine furniture and family portraits, up several stairs and into the safety of her bedroom. Her heels were soon discarded on the floor and she slipped into bed, pulling the linens up around her and consenting to fall restlessly into sleep.
In his slumber, her husband turned to wrap himself around her, placing a tender kiss upon her cheek. “I missed you,” he mumbled, his speech muffled by sleep.
“I missed you too,” she replied, settling into his embrace. “I’m glad to be home.”
The blocks stretched out before her as she headed toward her car. The streets were full of people, but she seemed to see through them, caring only for her destination. She did not know where she was going after she reached her destination, but it suddenly became extremely important that she reach it with haste. The parking garage came into view after several hurried moments. She climbed what seemed to be a hundred stairs before finally reaching the upper level.
On the horizon, buildings grew from the ground, great vines and weeds breaking through the concrete to form the skyline, a breathtaking sight that she had never before been eager to leave behind. She lived and breathed for the city, for the bustle and the crisp air. She dreamed of monumental street signs and faceless crowds, glamour and power and all the rest. She dreamed of dreams long left abandoned.
He leaned casually against the railing at the side of the garage, as if the industrial wires separating him from sure death were a suitable replacement for caution. With a ragged mane of curly hair, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he was a sight to behold. His gentle smile could almost convince her that everything was okay.
“You look good,” he said, nodding to her platform heels and low top. She didn’t even dream of dressing like that anymore.
“Got a light?” she replied, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bra.
“Classy as ever, love,” he said, lighting her cigarette with his own.
“I do what I can.” She breathed in deeply, appreciating the tender way the smoke tickled her throat and lungs, teasing her with release. “How have you been?”
“Dreadful at best, wretched at worst.” She nodded, leaning against the railing next to him. She refused to make eye contact. “You?”
“Wretched at best,” she replied. From the corner of her eye, she took a short look at him. He hadn’t shaved in days and looked dreadfully thin. Smoke poured from his mouth when he spoke and his eyes were rimmed with black.
“You get what you deserve, I guess.”
She turned her head, staring directly at him. “What,” she spat, “is that supposed to mean?”
“Look,” he turned his body to face her, casting his cigarette aside, “you had your problems and I had mine, but the difference is that I faced mine and you ran away.”
“What exactly did I run away from?” she asked. “Was it your perpetual childhood or your inability to bathe?”
“No,” his voice became very low, “you ran away from the only person who will love you for who you are, not who you think you want to be.”
She stood still. In the distance, she heard laughter and the low engine of a semi truck. His face was completely emotionless as he stared at her, as if he had been planning this moment for a long time. She wildly thought that he must have practiced before the mirror to achieve such solemnity, for he used to laugh inappropriately in tense situations.
“I ran away,” she said carefully, “from an overgrown child who would never stop chasing pipedreams to act like a grown up.”
“And I got away from a shallow pipedream who pretended to be whatever she had to be to earn her MRS degree before graduation,” he replied. “Tell me, are you happy now, or are you still faking it?”
“I don’t know why I came here,” she whispered. She threw her cigarette to the ground and watched it glow in the darkness. She hated smoke. She hated what it did to her teeth and how she always smelled like burned coffee after a cigarette. She hated the way it polluted the air and made things that were once beautiful shrivel under its influence.
“You came here,” he started. His voice was even, but his hands shook madly. Years of emotion poured through him as he addressed her coldly. “You came here to see what your life could have been. I’ll tell you what it could have been. I would have married you and done anything to make you happy. I would have quit music and done something practical. I would have left the city, left my family, left everything behind for you. I would have done anything. And you didn’t let me.”
“You would have done anything.” She rolled the words about on her tongue, tasting them and trying them on. They were words she had heard before, but they now took on new meaning. “You would have done anything, left anything, become anything. And you would have been miserable. We both would.”
“And I’m not miserable now?”
“I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”
She moved away from the railing, crushing the abandoned cigarette beneath her heel. She crossed the lot and he followed, stopping just short of her car. She started the engine and rolled down the window, gazing at him one last time.
“We would have been happy,” he said softly, a sad smile playing on his lips. He considered her carefully, taking in the paleness of her skin and the few grey hairs mixing with her blonde. Her lipstick had long faded, leaving only her thin, cracked lips and the moonlight cast shadows upon her face that showed the toll the years had taken on her. Still, she was beautiful, and his heart soared when their eyes met, though somewhere deep he knew it was for the last time.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she pleaded, hurt to see the pain upon his face.
“Like what?” he asked, as if he did not already know.
“Like you want to kiss me.” She put the car in gear and backed up, leaving him to be a reflection in her rearview mirror.
“Can you blame me?” he replied, but she was already gone.
As the city fell behind her, the reality of her life lay ahead. Every mile that spanned between her and the love she left behind brought new relief, and by the time she reached her home she could almost breathe again.
She tiptoed across the darkened halls, past the fine furniture and family portraits, up several stairs and into the safety of her bedroom. Her heels were soon discarded on the floor and she slipped into bed, pulling the linens up around her and consenting to fall restlessly into sleep.
In his slumber, her husband turned to wrap himself around her, placing a tender kiss upon her cheek. “I missed you,” he mumbled, his speech muffled by sleep.
“I missed you too,” she replied, settling into his embrace. “I’m glad to be home.”
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Morning
Darling, I hate to wake you
But I just need to say
I love the way you dream
The way you meet the day
Dear, I hate to wake you
But truly, we must go
There are trains to catch
And time to waste
Lives to live
And dreams to Chase
Songs to write
And ways to be
Beauty to find
And love to leave
Love, I hate to wake you
But day has come too fast
The stars forever fading
Too beautiful to last
Darling, I hate to wake you
But I simply need to say
I love you more, and more again
With every passing day
But I just need to say
I love the way you dream
The way you meet the day
Dear, I hate to wake you
But truly, we must go
There are trains to catch
And time to waste
Lives to live
And dreams to Chase
Songs to write
And ways to be
Beauty to find
And love to leave
Love, I hate to wake you
But day has come too fast
The stars forever fading
Too beautiful to last
Darling, I hate to wake you
But I simply need to say
I love you more, and more again
With every passing day
Sunday, January 2, 2011
"Hominem, memento te."
A lot of people seek religious, mainly Bible where I'm from, quotes to guide and inspire them. Words are powerful things, and so are religions. Personally, I have seen beauty and hatred sparked from both, and my experiences have led to my prolonged religious conflict both internally and externally.
I was never told by my parents what to believe. Though I was baptized in the Catholic church and my earlier religious views were notably based in Catholicism, I never believed it. When my parents took me to various Baptist and Nondenominational Christian churches as I grew older and I eventually attended a Lutheran church briefly when asked by a friend, I never felt comfortable. I didn't know what I believed, but I knew subconsciously that I didn't believe in Christianity.
I think I started to realize that I just wasn't Christian in ninth Honors Ancient History. We were studying the origins of Christianity and the thought occurred to me: "What if Jesus was just a bored teenager that made it all up?"
While I am fairly certain that the origins of such a major world religion could not be so simple, the thought stayed with me, and slowly grew into doubt, and then the realization almost two years later that I simply was not Christian.
As I grew to understand my beliefs, I gave myself many titles. First Agnostic, and then briefly Atheist at a time when I was particularly adverse to religion, and then back to Agnostic. However, until a few months ago, I was scared to say exactly what I believe, and until very recently, I didn't feel that what I am is okay and the labels were unnecessary.
I can say that I have been genuinely hurt because of my religious beliefs. I have lost a handful of relationships, engaged in heated arguments with my parents, defended myself to classmates, felt sadness, longing, rage, and shame because of what I believe. Or, rather, what I don't.
I used to hope that religious topics would simply not come up so I would not have to talk about my views. I would meekly accept the Bibles that people presented to me while I worked in the grocery store (yeah, they do that), pretend not to be home when Jehovah's Witnesses came to the door, and even lie when people asked me where I attended church so not to stir up any controversy. It was not that I wasn't strong in my convictions, but rather that I did not expect acceptance for my beliefs and did not wish to have to defend them.
Now, I've realized that I should never have to defend them. If people are going to judge me because of what I believe, I will put them in the same category as the racists and sexists and refuse to associate with them. I am more than my religious beliefs. I am more than what I do on Sunday morning. I am a person, and my religious views are only a small part of the whole. What I am is fine. If the Creator was personally offended with the way I was living my life, I would have already been struck down by lightening.
Well, I'm still here. I must be doing something right.
I should not be ashamed to declare my beliefs. If people can come to my doorstep asking to share their faith, if my obnoxious manager can say "Merry Christmas" over the intercom, if religiously based groups can speak in my school, if this is truly a country based on freedom of religion (and it is, I wrote a paper on it), then I should be free to declare my beliefs without need to justify them. So I will:
I am not Christian. I am not Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, or anything else, and that is okay.
I believe in openness of heart and mind. I believe that no one religion is right, but they all have some Truth and something to offer. I believe there is a God and an afterlife. I believe in Fate. I believe in happiness. I believe in love. I believe that I can achieve enlightenment and eternal bliss from simply being the best person I can be and practicing compassion at every opportunity. This is what I believe, and this is what works for me.
To those who believe that their religion is right for you, proceed. If you don't stand for something you will fall for anything. Faith is a beautiful thing that is often envied by those without it, believe me. Share what you believe and stick firmly to it, but only if in return you have an open mind and are brave enough to examine why believe what you do. Sometimes, being told something by our parents is not enough. Parents have the right to share their religion with their children, but children also have the right to explore other faiths and decide what we believe. Parents have more influence than anyone upon their children, but we must remember that in the end, we all end up ultimately alone, and the grave would be an awful place to begin to wonder why you believe what you do.
However, to those who believe that their religion is the only way to Truth, I beseech you to have an open mind. Religion is about being in touch with your beliefs and spirituality and having an individual relationship with God. And to those who are quick to judge the Muslim woman in a headscarf, the Wiccan wearing a pentagram, the Catholic carrying rosary beads, or the quiet Atheist who has never done a thing to offend you but not believing in your God, I beg you remember that you are not God. You are man, and you have no divine right to judge. Every person you encounter has something unique to offer and a reason for being in your life, but if you deny them the opportunity to offer it because of difference in beliefs, you can never grow spiritually.
We are all one. Every single person, regardless of age, gender, race, sexual orientation, religion, or football team allegiance bleeds red. I have no authority to speak of what any Creator wanted or planned for humanity, but I feel confident that He/She would grieve to see His/Her children fighting, killing, and isolating one another over the best way to worship. Ultimately, we don't know. We have no solid answers, so why divide ourselves?
-Helen Keller
Today, I burned my past. Literally. I attended a service at the Westside Unitarian Universalist Church. (My computer insists that 'universalist' is not a word, but I promise I didn't make it up.) This was only the second time I attended, but I felt very accepted and responded well to the message. I think this will be the place or worship for me, but I'm not making any commitments yet.
A longtime member led the service. The theme of the day was a letting go. He spoke about embracing the future and moving on from past regrets. He spoke for about twenty minutes, using poetry and Buddhist-based texts as well as his own words to get the point across. When he was done, he told everyone to get a piece of paper and pencil.
He told us to write down our regrets of 2010, the things we wished we'd done, the things we wanted to forget, and what we wished to move on from. Then, one by one, we went to the altar and dropped our paper into a small fire in an urn, symbolically erasing our regrets and vowing to move on. It was strangely therapeutic, and now I feel like I will be able to move on from my list of regrets.
I came out of the service today feeling very happy. I'm sad to admit that I have not felt very happy in quite some time. However, the incredibly welcoming community at WUUC and the prospect of a clean slate cheered me. Maybe that's the power of religion. Maybe having a place where you are welcome, accepted, and inspired to be your personal best is more healing than the touch of any prophet or messiah. Maybe if everyone could realize this monumental power of acceptance and togetherness, the world would be a better place. Maybe.
-U2, "One"
Happy New Year
May you go in peace
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