As the world is supposedly ending soon, the end of the year 2012 is not ending quite like any of the others (except all the other "The End" scares, but I was hardly old enough to care then.) I don't necessarily believe the world will end tomorrow. Or tonight, depending on who you ask. I feel like I'd be okay if it did though.
The thing is, even though I don't believe the world will end, I think my subconscious does. I've been acting oddly friendly and helpful and happy lately, and though that could be explained by the holiday spirit, those who know the holiday me would tell you otherwise. I'm usually cynical and cross once the shoppers get to bustling and the bells start to jingle in every store and most intersections. And even in the years that I catch the Fa-la-la Fever, it's usually an anxious, energetic sort of infection. But not this year. This year, I'm at peace.
This year, I'm not sad for another year passing. I'm not mad at the drivers on the road. I'm not wishing ill on the Lexus crossovers that cut me off. I'm not even saying horrible things in my head about the customers who ask me ridiculous questions. In fact, I'm wishing well on everyone and everything. I'm singing along to all the carols and dressing in sweaters and scarves. And I'm loving every minute of it. I'm not doing it ironically, I'm not doing it out of obligation to tradition.
The thing is, if the world were to end tomorrow, I wouldn't want to go out as a cynical Grinch. I'd rather go out as contented as can be. I wouldn't want to go out angry at all things and people and humanity. I'd want to go out full of hope.
At the risk of sounding like an idealist, I really believe that if there were more people with this mindset, we'd be a better race. When the Mayans predicted the end of the world, maybe they weren't talking about the asteroids or the zombies. Maybe they meant the end of humanity. Maybe they meant the end of the way of humanity. With all the shootings and the doomsayers and the malice, I'd easily believe that. But I'm not willing to accept it.
If meteors start falling from the sky and the world starts burning, I'll be happy to die like the rest of the world, I'd rather hug Erika through the bars of a prison like Seeking a Friend than to be like Will Smith in I Am Legend. But if it's the morality we're arguing, I'll fight that tooth and nail. We are good people.
With that being said, go spend time with loved ones. I am.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
That 4 Letter Semi-Word
While the first posts were meandering thought, I genuinely hope to spark some discussion with this one.
I was in the airport on Wednesday and after having a movie moment (think opening scene from Love, Actually) with my very first best friend, we went to the gift shop for postcards for her to take back to the poor souls of Indiana who don’t know what mountains are. It was there that it happened, an assault on my very identity.
Any Coloradan knows what the vintage license plates look like, the green mountains with the white sky, and that now there’s a line of bumper stickers featuring said design, flaunting a characteristic of the driver. Really, anyone who’s driven near the 303 in their lifetime has seen RUNNER or NATIVE on the back of a Subaru at one point; they’re ubiquitous, but more importantly, they’re marketable. Colorado is a state to be proud of. It’s like “Oh, you run? I run at a mile high.” or “When I learned state history in 4th grade, I drew a rectangle and got full credit. Your move, Texas.”
I was admiring the wall of adhesive self-advertisements when a new one caught my eye (a rarity, like I said, they’re ubiquitous) and it made me cry a little on the inside.
Semi-Native.
First of all, what does that even mean, semi-native? I challenge you, reader. Google “native definition” and see that I am not lying. A person born in a specified place or associated with a place by birth, whether subsequently resident there or not. One more time: A person BORN IN a specified place or associated with a place BY BIRTH. Really, how can someone be semi-born in a specified place? Challenge #2, google how many babies are born mid air, then try to figure out how many of those births happen in Colorado airspace. By definition, only that number of bumper stickers should be made, and honestly, should be bought by the airline responsible for the safe delivery as congratulatory gifts to the newborns.
Maybe I’m putting too much influence on the preposition. But that means someone must be semi-born. That one is harder to explain, and much messier, and slightly more gruesome depending on how deeply you think about it. So I’m moving on from that. But feel free to hypothesize in your own time.
That leaves the final option, and the most likely, which I must therefore accept by the principle of charity. People disregard the true definition, nay, the etymology of the word native (Google challenge #3) and think it refers to the rearing and raising, the life lived. Fine. They’re wrong, but I’ll play along for the sake of the post.
I understand feeling like you belong somewhere even though you weren’t born there. Colorado is an awesome state, it makes sense to want to be a part of it. But we have a word for people who move here. It’s called transplant. Put that on the back of your car, not this ridiculous excuse for a word. Semi-native... Pah!
So maybe I’m a little possessive of my nativity. Just a little. But the truth is, I am damn proud to be from Colorado. I love my sports teams, I love my sunrises and sunsets, I love all four of my seasons, I love my state history and my state’s future. So yes, it bothers me that people call themselves “semi-natives”. That’s like Benedict Cumberbatch calling himself a semi-brunette even though it’s a dye job. You weren’t born that way. It’s okay, we accept you for it. Just call yourself a transplant and (as long as you don’t admit to being from Texas) you’ll be welcomed into the family. (If you’re from California, don’t bother lying about it, your driving will betray you in the end.)
That being said, please let me hold onto this small piece of pride, and don’t dilute it with your four-letter qualification. I am a Colorado native. The only “semis” that belong here are on the highways. I don't normally feel inherent dislike towards people or things or ideas. This is just one of the times that reminds me occasionally that I have raw nerves. Please don't hate me. Especially not when I duplicate this sentiment after a day of skiing.
I was in the airport on Wednesday and after having a movie moment (think opening scene from Love, Actually) with my very first best friend, we went to the gift shop for postcards for her to take back to the poor souls of Indiana who don’t know what mountains are. It was there that it happened, an assault on my very identity.
Any Coloradan knows what the vintage license plates look like, the green mountains with the white sky, and that now there’s a line of bumper stickers featuring said design, flaunting a characteristic of the driver. Really, anyone who’s driven near the 303 in their lifetime has seen RUNNER or NATIVE on the back of a Subaru at one point; they’re ubiquitous, but more importantly, they’re marketable. Colorado is a state to be proud of. It’s like “Oh, you run? I run at a mile high.” or “When I learned state history in 4th grade, I drew a rectangle and got full credit. Your move, Texas.”
I was admiring the wall of adhesive self-advertisements when a new one caught my eye (a rarity, like I said, they’re ubiquitous) and it made me cry a little on the inside.
Semi-Native.
First of all, what does that even mean, semi-native? I challenge you, reader. Google “native definition” and see that I am not lying. A person born in a specified place or associated with a place by birth, whether subsequently resident there or not. One more time: A person BORN IN a specified place or associated with a place BY BIRTH. Really, how can someone be semi-born in a specified place? Challenge #2, google how many babies are born mid air, then try to figure out how many of those births happen in Colorado airspace. By definition, only that number of bumper stickers should be made, and honestly, should be bought by the airline responsible for the safe delivery as congratulatory gifts to the newborns.
Maybe I’m putting too much influence on the preposition. But that means someone must be semi-born. That one is harder to explain, and much messier, and slightly more gruesome depending on how deeply you think about it. So I’m moving on from that. But feel free to hypothesize in your own time.
That leaves the final option, and the most likely, which I must therefore accept by the principle of charity. People disregard the true definition, nay, the etymology of the word native (Google challenge #3) and think it refers to the rearing and raising, the life lived. Fine. They’re wrong, but I’ll play along for the sake of the post.
I understand feeling like you belong somewhere even though you weren’t born there. Colorado is an awesome state, it makes sense to want to be a part of it. But we have a word for people who move here. It’s called transplant. Put that on the back of your car, not this ridiculous excuse for a word. Semi-native... Pah!
So maybe I’m a little possessive of my nativity. Just a little. But the truth is, I am damn proud to be from Colorado. I love my sports teams, I love my sunrises and sunsets, I love all four of my seasons, I love my state history and my state’s future. So yes, it bothers me that people call themselves “semi-natives”. That’s like Benedict Cumberbatch calling himself a semi-brunette even though it’s a dye job. You weren’t born that way. It’s okay, we accept you for it. Just call yourself a transplant and (as long as you don’t admit to being from Texas) you’ll be welcomed into the family. (If you’re from California, don’t bother lying about it, your driving will betray you in the end.)
That being said, please let me hold onto this small piece of pride, and don’t dilute it with your four-letter qualification. I am a Colorado native. The only “semis” that belong here are on the highways. I don't normally feel inherent dislike towards people or things or ideas. This is just one of the times that reminds me occasionally that I have raw nerves. Please don't hate me. Especially not when I duplicate this sentiment after a day of skiing.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Super, Heroes.
Originally, I was planning on posting something about Pinterest or dog leashes (or one particularly offensive bumper sticker) but then some mentally unstable man in Connecticut reminded me that choosing a direction for your life affects more than just yourself. So this came out instead. And quite honestly, it feels better than posting about crafts or shih tzus. Here goes.
Most little girls grow up believing in princesses and fairy tales. Not me, no. I grew up believing in superheroes. The Men in Tights who fought for everything good in humanity. As unlivable as the world became, as awful and treacherous as we made it, they would see something worth fighting for, and they would. Fight for it, that is.
How accursed they must feel, to bear such a heavy burden, to protect all the little children in the world from growing up too soon, to preserve the good in humanity. But the truth is, that’s something we are all charged with. It’s the responsibility of every human being to make the best society they can. No one is exempt from this, not the hipsters, not the atheists, not you or me, not anyone.
I’ve grown up in Colorado. I was 4 when Columbine happened down the street. I had just gotten back from the mountains when the gunman attacked the school in Bailey. I worked the phones at a movie theatre on July 20, 2012. I’m no stranger to shootings. That’s not to say that they don’t rattle the foundation of my being every time one occurs, but rather that I have had a lot of opportunities to learn from them.
I went to a friend’s house to watch coverage of the elementary school massacre because whenever tragedy strikes, I need a hug. The recurring thought in my head all day was “Why would I ever want to raise a child in this world?”. Then she said something that woke me out of my KBO mentality: “We need to work harder to make a world we can raise our kids in.”
That’s the truth of it, honestly. Here I am, my adult life before me, the possibility of having a career and a family shimmering just over the horizon. This is the precipice. It’s a golden opportunity we have at this age. I think I’ll never have as much potential in my life as I do right now, and that goes for the entire generation. Most of us haven’t started a career or family yet. We still have so much control over where our lives can go, so much we can determine for ourselves and society by choosing. There’s the old standby, that some are born great while others have greatness thrust upon them. I believe there’s a third group: those that choose greatness.
Right now, we get to decide what kind of world we’re going to create down the line. It’s a little scary to think that the hipsters will soon be of the age to run companies and countries. What’s scarier is to think that soon we all will be of the age to run more than just our own lives. We get to make decisions, we get to have influence. But we’ll get back to that, because I want to talk about superheroes again.
I need to qualify my belief. I’ve always had a good grasp of fiction, I never believed they existed, but rather in what they stood for. They stood for good triumphant, for sacrifice in the face of tragedy, for simply BEING THE HERO. I think sometimes the world forgets what it’s like to have a hero, because everyone is looking to someone else. We ALL need to be heroes. True, I’m not acting as a mild-mannered blogger while waiting for my red phone to ring, I am simply just a girl with a computer. But sometimes I like to think that if I say the right thing at the right time in someone’s day, I can be their hero. I think everyone can be somebody’s hero. And truly, I believe that all evil in this world stems from people who had no hero.
I really believe my friend is right.This is America, for crying out loud. We are not a society of malice and hatred, of turmoil and destruction. We are a community. It’s our responsibility to each other to maintain peace. The influence that each individual has on a society (told you I’d get back to that) is all just a piece of the whole. It’s our responsibility to make the network a livable place, where we can see movies and go to school and work without fearing for our lives. Somewhere along the line, someone screwed up. Someone that somebody else looked up to, or counted on. Super job, heroes.Now this domino effect of killings has resulted, and the community, instead of strengthening, has begun to panic, to point blame at everything but itself.
On that note, in response to Morgan Freeman’s opinion regarding sensationalist media (see link below), I don’t think he’s entirely wrong. Especially not the end, when he calls to action every person. He did that in just over 270 words (or at least he’s been credited with that), I’m so sorry that mine is so much longer.
Abridged Version: Be a good person. Help other people to be good people. Be a community, not a group of individuals. Be a hero. Be super.
I’m a nerd.
Link to “MF” response: http://www.reddit.com/r/politics/comments/14wyhp/morgan_freemans_response_to_the_shootings/
Most little girls grow up believing in princesses and fairy tales. Not me, no. I grew up believing in superheroes. The Men in Tights who fought for everything good in humanity. As unlivable as the world became, as awful and treacherous as we made it, they would see something worth fighting for, and they would. Fight for it, that is.
How accursed they must feel, to bear such a heavy burden, to protect all the little children in the world from growing up too soon, to preserve the good in humanity. But the truth is, that’s something we are all charged with. It’s the responsibility of every human being to make the best society they can. No one is exempt from this, not the hipsters, not the atheists, not you or me, not anyone.
I’ve grown up in Colorado. I was 4 when Columbine happened down the street. I had just gotten back from the mountains when the gunman attacked the school in Bailey. I worked the phones at a movie theatre on July 20, 2012. I’m no stranger to shootings. That’s not to say that they don’t rattle the foundation of my being every time one occurs, but rather that I have had a lot of opportunities to learn from them.
I went to a friend’s house to watch coverage of the elementary school massacre because whenever tragedy strikes, I need a hug. The recurring thought in my head all day was “Why would I ever want to raise a child in this world?”. Then she said something that woke me out of my KBO mentality: “We need to work harder to make a world we can raise our kids in.”
That’s the truth of it, honestly. Here I am, my adult life before me, the possibility of having a career and a family shimmering just over the horizon. This is the precipice. It’s a golden opportunity we have at this age. I think I’ll never have as much potential in my life as I do right now, and that goes for the entire generation. Most of us haven’t started a career or family yet. We still have so much control over where our lives can go, so much we can determine for ourselves and society by choosing. There’s the old standby, that some are born great while others have greatness thrust upon them. I believe there’s a third group: those that choose greatness.
Right now, we get to decide what kind of world we’re going to create down the line. It’s a little scary to think that the hipsters will soon be of the age to run companies and countries. What’s scarier is to think that soon we all will be of the age to run more than just our own lives. We get to make decisions, we get to have influence. But we’ll get back to that, because I want to talk about superheroes again.
I need to qualify my belief. I’ve always had a good grasp of fiction, I never believed they existed, but rather in what they stood for. They stood for good triumphant, for sacrifice in the face of tragedy, for simply BEING THE HERO. I think sometimes the world forgets what it’s like to have a hero, because everyone is looking to someone else. We ALL need to be heroes. True, I’m not acting as a mild-mannered blogger while waiting for my red phone to ring, I am simply just a girl with a computer. But sometimes I like to think that if I say the right thing at the right time in someone’s day, I can be their hero. I think everyone can be somebody’s hero. And truly, I believe that all evil in this world stems from people who had no hero.
I really believe my friend is right.This is America, for crying out loud. We are not a society of malice and hatred, of turmoil and destruction. We are a community. It’s our responsibility to each other to maintain peace. The influence that each individual has on a society (told you I’d get back to that) is all just a piece of the whole. It’s our responsibility to make the network a livable place, where we can see movies and go to school and work without fearing for our lives. Somewhere along the line, someone screwed up. Someone that somebody else looked up to, or counted on. Super job, heroes.Now this domino effect of killings has resulted, and the community, instead of strengthening, has begun to panic, to point blame at everything but itself.
On that note, in response to Morgan Freeman’s opinion regarding sensationalist media (see link below), I don’t think he’s entirely wrong. Especially not the end, when he calls to action every person. He did that in just over 270 words (or at least he’s been credited with that), I’m so sorry that mine is so much longer.
Abridged Version: Be a good person. Help other people to be good people. Be a community, not a group of individuals. Be a hero. Be super.
I’m a nerd.
Link to “MF” response: http://www.reddit.com/r/politics/comments/14wyhp/morgan_freemans_response_to_the_shootings/
Thursday, December 13, 2012
My Betta is a Pacifist
I learned some time ago that pet stores place the bettas close to each other so they flare up in self defense. It shows them off better, I guess. It’s ingenious really, turning instinct to profit. I don’t remember when I learned it, but I remember my brothers decided to test it out, and we’d hold a mirror up to the fish tank in the living room. Year after year, the swimming gems would puff up at their own reflection.
I bought my own betta, finally. It was a step I decided to take towards adulthood (RAWR, independent college spirit!) It took me some time, but I finally decided he would be named Cooper; it seemed like a good, shy name for a good, shy fish. That should have been my first clue, that Cooper was the name that fit him.
I passed Coopers tank the other day, and on a whim brought back a mirror. I’m a nostalgic person, I’ll admit, and there was something comforting in reliving the memories from my childhood. I wanted to see my fish get angry and aggravated, to see his blues turn to greens as he shimmered and quivered in place as he stared down the fish in the mirror. It was going to be one of those moments of the day that just made me happy.
Until he swam away.
Until he swam away.
In the moments of instinct between grabbing the mirror and holding it up to the glass, I built up an exorbitant amount of expectation. I didn’t realize this, of course, until Cooper let me down. Leave it to me to pick the one Japanese fighting fish without killer instinct. I had to face the fact, mine would be the one to get eaten in the real world. I chose the loser.
I had no way of knowing this in the store of course. Well, I could have if I had put every fish in a Battle Royale, but then I might have wound up with the pasty white fish with the ugly, small fins. Tomboy instincts aside, I am a girl, and in all matters piscatorial beauty trumps brawn. Except sharks. But that’s a different story.
I guess what really struck me is that I was disappointed. Really, it’s not that big of a deal. I like Cooper, he’s pretty and he makes me smile when he swims around his little tank and chews his pellets before he swallows. So why was I disappointed?
Honestly, I’d run away from conflict, too. I do, in fact. In some ways it’s defined my life, that I avoid conflict. I may be reading myself too much into Cooper’s reaction to the mirror, but that doesn’t change the thought process. In a fight or flight scenario, I’d be a flight-er. It doesn’t even have to be an adrenaline infused situation; I run from tense situations and uncomfortable conversations. But I’m not like Cooper, I’m not a part of a species where the one who flinches first fails. Right?
Maybe that’s why I was disappointed. I think life is a lot like that. It kinda is all about staring down what scares you, like the future, and decisions, and hard work and cranky roommates and breaking up and apologizing and forgiving. I’m not disappointed in Cooper. I’m disappointed that I know I run away.
I want to be a trauma doctor. I want to be the one to react when shit hits the fan. I want to be the one to fight the inevitable. I want to be the fighter. But I’m a runner. And not even in the healthy, marathon kind of way. I mean in the ‘locks herself in her room with a computer when her roommates are home’ kind of way, which is closely related to ‘I missed PT 3 weeks in a row so I’m gonna let that number keep getting bigger because I’m embarrassed to show my face there now’ kind of way. Running and hiding, when did that become my identity? When did I let that start defining my life? When did I start letting other people see my instincts? (Probably about the same time I decided it would be a good idea to post inner-monologues on a blog.) But those questions don’t matter. What matters is how can I fix that? How can I fight that instinct?
Maybe that’s how, just fighting the instinct will make me a fighter all around. Nothing is going to change until I decide to change myself. My roommate will still move out unless I can convince her to stay, and I can't do that from my room, or my computer. My hips will still hurt unless I suck it up and go back in for therapy. It's a scary thought, but it's a scary world. Maybe I am more like a betta than I thought. I have to fight for my life every day, but I'll be fighting myself. And so long as I'm associating my subconscious with my fish's instincts (alas, it has come to this...) I hope one day I can look in the mirror and not want to look away from what's in front of me. My tank's too small to be unhappy with myself.
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