There's a Time and a Place

These last few days I have been pondering a response to the idea that, basically, everything has its place. I may not like something, but, in the scheme of things, it serves an important purpose. I recently argued that literature has lost its beauty and become too simple and commercialized. I realize, however, that we cannot have just perfectly written books or just scary movies. Without the ugly to compare, we cannot appreciate the beauty. Furthermore, just because something is "ugly" doesn't mean it cannot serve an important purpose. I often catch myself reading the simple thrillers just to escape my world without having to use brain power to decipher language. I do, however, value the classics and the eloquent language of the past a bit more. So, where does that leave me? In the balance. As always we must find a place between the trashy news magazines and the Vogues of the world. A little bit of both while still maintaining standards. -Or, at least that is my theory for now.

Bizarrely Unanticipated Revelations

I know I have a good friend when a person can tell my emotion before I realize what it is. Now maybe my face and mannerisms are and open book, but a certain level of friendship and compassion is required for a person to care enough to decipher me. I recently had the pleasure of experiencing an ambush by two of my favorite people. We were sitting around a camp fire discussing black holes, string theory, and philosophy. I must have made repeated hints and physical cues that told them both I had something to say. I, meanwhile, stared at the stars and chopped wood oblivious to my own "apparent" need.
Considering I was dating one of the people and have an intriguingly close friendship with the other, their knowledge of me came as no big surprise. However, the force with which they used such knowledge was a shock. I understood that I needed to talk, but did not know what to say. They both proceeded to yield peer pressure as a weapon of choice in a quest to make me talk. One might think speaking my mind comes easily. Those who have met me call me talkative, and those who have read this blog realize that I enjoy writing. Talking about my "real" feelings, that is a completely different ball game.
Long story short, my friends eventually uncorked my emotions. I ranted and cried in a whirlwind that felt more like the torrential storm unleashed by Odysseus' crew when they were so close to home. But even then, amidst the hyperventilating sobs, they were calm. Somehow they knew that right then, that is what I needed. I fell, they caught me in an understanding web of reassurance, and they gently placed me back on my feet.
I believe a moment can change a person and a smile can help the world; a friendship like that is what keeps you going long enough to experience those moments and exchange such smiles.

(As a side note, that was one of my shortest posts. Why use more words that you have to right? Did I get the job done in a smaller context?)

What Happened to Writing

In these times, writing has lost its majesty. The drudgery and meticulous formation remains, but the eloquence of the final result has evaporated for the sake of condensing ideas into modern trends. These trends lean towards action, fiction, or tales of each writer’s struggle in the modern world; their struggles to find love, peace, or god prevail amongst the majority. I mean prevail only in the financial, goal oriented sense. With intelligence and the right insight to people’s enjoyment, a best seller is the perfect combination of those two things and an entertaining plot put forth in more basic terms for the general public. But, what of the best sellers of the past? Why do we no longer see many writers with comparable skill the Jane Austens or Machiavellis of the past? It is the same concept that provides the basis for mob mentality. The masses learn to agree with each other, willingly or not. They begin to accept the entertainment of today despite the incredible decrease in talent. Any average Joe can write to entertain the masses. Who among them, or standing aloft, can grasp the masses? Who can engross the average in disputes of morality, conscience, and pure debate of language? Then, what skillful individual can tie these talents with the desires of the mob that is comprised of modern consumers? Such a writer puts the writing first and the desires of a reader second, instead of the other way around.
I walk into a bookstore these days. Self-help, how-to, books drabbled with everyday struggles in simple language line the bookstores. They are not small, nor do they lack funds to thrive in the business, yet, they can’t afford to dedicate more than a tenth of their stores to classic literature, beautiful pros, and spillings of brilliant minds on to simple ivory colored pages. They may only afford the space for such talents if they are internationally acclaimed, or maintain a tale entertaining enough to feed the dogs that have demanded such “entertainment” for a few years now. Now, Jane Austen and Anne Hathaway can grace the shelves of most any bookstore, but what of the unsung authors? What of the literature with equal talent and deliberate eloquence? The answer lies in the content. They speak of “boring” issues of years past. But have we lost all respect for pure elegance of writing? I believe so. Thus we must slowly pull it back from the gentle hands of unimportance. Quietly, secretly, we can combine the supposed “drudgery” of late English with the demands of society. But it is, of course, only for the sake of literature that we must seek, only after putting intelligence, wit, and brilliance of language first, to appease the masses.
May we stimulate a higher level of discussion? May we encourage the importance of intelligent debate by weaving such literary techniques into everyday works?

Didn't Clean My Room Today

I didn’t clean my room today. Despite days of request and a threatening note that my mother strung across my door with masking tape, I guess I chose to do other things. It’s funny how that happens; we choose things without really choosing. I didn’t make a conscious decision NOT to clean my room. Yet, I clearly failed to do so.
We do this every day: prioritize. I heard that our generation, the baby boomers, makes on average 1000-2000 decisions before leaving the house in the morning. If I think about the options my mother decided between, there is an enormous difference. She asked herself which of her 7 or 8 outfits she wanted to wear that day. Sure, she had summer clothes and winter clothes, but I decided what “look” I wanted. I had clothes that could be preppy, sporty, punk-rock, or gothic (that was a short phase in 8th grade). She merely elected one of a few dresses her mother made or a pair of pants.
Upon failure to heed the days of request to clean my room, my mother left what seemed to be a threatening note. She wrote, “clean up your room and put away your clothes or you’ll LOSE them.” To her, this probably seemed fairly extreme. The note was by no means nice, but for me it didn’t provide the incentive she hoped. I could clean my room and lose an hour of my day, or, I could rent a movie with my boyfriend and potentially lose a hamper of clothes that I would only miss every other week.
I took the second option. I guess the note proved unsuccessful in two ways: I had enough clothes to get by without a basket of recently cleaned ones, and I didn’t actually end up losing my clothes.
She cuts me slack a lot, my mom that is. I take on many activities while attempting a social life so I can definitely use the breaks. I still wonder, however, whether it’s worth it. Is it worth it for her to request I clean my room if it almost never happens? Or, is it worth fighting with someone about their priorities when decisions come down to pure incentives and logic? Every day we make decisions for this or that, and we automatically weigh the benefits and costs of each choice. Today I started thinking about choices with my room and my laundry, but what about bigger choices. When is something no longer “worth it?’ And, how much do we account for other people’s needs when we make decisions. If we disregard others, there will be no volunteers, community service, or unexpected kind deeds unless the person can receive some tangible benefit. On the flip side, if we only think about those around us we can create so much stress in the absence of self-care that we leave our bodies in tatters. So, yet again, we must find a balance. We must try each, the selfish and selfless deeds. We can weigh the results and then choose “what’s best” for ourselves. In the end, that is how we end up with people who only work for money and some who dedicate life times to volunteer. For each of them, they chose what they thought was the best fit.
Today I watched a movie. I left my clothes and my untidy room to escape for a few hours in a romantic comedy. Today, that was the right choice. But, tomorrow I think I’ll clean my room.

Making the Best of it

Someone told me that whatever happens in life is your fault. It’s not a mean statement; sure, it errs on the harsh side, but it is realistic way of saying life is what you make it. As coach gathered us all around after a team barbeque one night, he relayed these words, put down his guard for a moment, and told us the secrets he had learned through life. Those words, the unplanned passionate sentences that travel between people are priceless. He told us his 7 rules of life. First, he said, “whatever happens in your life is your fault. No one screwed you,” he said with affirmation.
He told us, almost demanded that we find our passions. "Get passionate about something," he said, find a dream and accomplish it. No one can stop you. No one cares what it is you want to do. "No one cares if you like, theater, or sports, or school." Find something and go after it.
He asked us if we thought life was short. Some said yes, and he said he didn’t, “life is a long fucking time.” At that moment, we had time, we were not the coach telling young men and women to live. We were the young men and women. Life is long. We can take advantage of each moment, create so many memories that it is hard to remember them all. Or, we can do the same thing each day without passion or meaning and we will only have the memory of one day to suffice for years of a lifetime. I hope to do the first. Make every day slightly different. Make something unforgettable and make my every days memorable.
I think, no, I know loving those around us helps achieve that. When we love the people around us or “near” to us in thought, we can enjoy every action. With the knowledge that someone else is thinking about us, we can be more proud of the things we do with the hope that somehow they see. Somehow they will know, and we become more accountable. We become better citizens, sisters, partners, fathers. We begin to act with others in mind, and our actions transform into things of worth and things worthy of pride.
So choose your life, and be proud of the choices.