Yes Philosophy

According to my mother, my first response to anything is “no.” I think she’s been misinformed. Well, ok, maybe she just has antiquated information. Growing up (and probably straight through most of college), maybe I was overly cautious and leaned toward a negative response to most things. Maybe I was a bit of a pessimist, though I maintain that I was (and am) a realist. However, Mom should reconsider my new position and prepare herself for a changed opinion regarding my perspective.

You see, of late I have developed a new philosophy – a philosophy of “yes.” I think this philosophy has been slowly growing in me for a few years. Will you work 16-18 hour days for a once in a lifetime, historical experience? “Sure.” Will you drive to NYC over Thanksgiving break? “Ok.” Will you spend as much time in New Orleans as humanly possible? “Yup.” Will you quit a paying job for an unpaid internship? “Yes.” Will you study abroad in Tanzania? “Yes!”

I think somewhere along the way I made a subconscious decision to stop saying no. I got to the point where I was trying so hard to make the plan I had in my head work that I was choosing way too discriminately. So I began choosing based on experiential prospects instead.

Have I said “yes” when “no” would have been a better option? Maybe. Maybe the past 4-6 months have been a little hectic because I’ve said “yes” on all fronts of life. Maybe my philosophy of yes has gotten a little out of control. Seriously, you can ask me for nearly anything. Should I balance my life with a little bit of “no”? Probably.

But, overall my yes philosophy has been a source of fabulous (or at least learning) experiences, outside of one ill-fated dinner. Even that dinner makes a pretty good story, though. (If you ask me to tell you about it, I’ll probably say yes.) So, right now, I will embrace this new philosophy. Will I go to Tanzania? “Yes.” And who knows what “yes” will bring me there.

And you see, this yes philosophy extends to saying “yes” to my own challenges. The current challenge: journal everyday while I’m on my trip so that I can blog the journey upon my return. (And hopefully revitalize my blogging this summer.) Will I do it? “Yes.”

Boxed in

Do you ever feel like you are stuck in a box? Do you ever feel like the people around you expect you to behave a certain way – to like this and not that, to go here and not there, to hold this belief and not that? I suppose we are, for the most part, predictable humans with the notable exception of a few – namely my mother who is predictably unpredictable.

But, do you ever feel like you want to do things that are unpredictable for your nature? Do you ever feel like if you did the things you wanted to do, people might just feel like they don’t know you anymore? I’m for sure in a box. I presume my box has an open top. I see that I could possibly get out, the top is certainly open, but there is the matter of climbing out. It seems just out of reach.

I am aware that I made this box, climbed in voluntarily, and quite frankly have been comfortable in its cozy corners. It’s inconspicuous, and I like that. I don’t necessarily want to destroy it. Maybe I can make a door or window so I can come and go as I please. Inside my box, I feel safe and complete and calm and contented – though perhaps a bit frustrated at the limited room that is there, the limited activity that occurs. Outside of my box, apprehension and trepidation lurk. There are too many choices to make, too much activity to engage in.

All I want to do is go dancing. It’s not like I’m trying to change myself to the core. But everyone knows that I don’t go dancing – at least not in the continental U.S., or at least only near international waters. And really, I don’t know that anyone I know wants to go dancing. But maybe I have put people in boxes as well. Or perhaps people are just respecting the boundaries of the box that I have built for myself. Or maybe, it’s just who has time to go dancing anymore?

“Check your pulse it’s proof that you’re not listening to
The call your life’s been issuing you
The rhythm of a line of idle days” – John Mayer

Shine

If you only ever spent five minutes with me, then you know that I think too much. But I must say, I’ve been doing pretty well at quelling that tendency toward that too-much-thought-thing lately. Well, let me rephrase that. I’ve been thinking a lot, but I linger less. I linger a lot less. Perhaps it is because my time is limited, so thinking too much about any one subject is highly impractical. And if there is one other thing that you should know about me it is that I am practical. I mean, I wander, I make decisions on whims, I believe in experiences, but I am certainly practical most of all.

I’m rambling. What is my point? I have been thinking. As a graduate student, as an intern, as a person who is looking forward (only a little), I am thinking about my future. I am thinking about how the choices I make today might affect my future. I am thinking about what I want from my future. I am thinking about how I can make the most of this moment and parlay that moment into a future. I am thinking about how I can shine.

My fellow students and interns seem to have that whole shine thing down, at least in that polished, presentable sort of way. They have all done some really cool things. They purport to have career goals and ambitions and plans. They seem to know what they are doing. And some of them are so young! How do you shine among others who shine so brilliantly, and in such bright colors? (I have learned at this point though that appearances, above all, are deceiving.)

As I look around me at a wider scope, though, I find people who really do shine – people who are successful and charming and captivating and bright. People who exude confidence but present it without superiority. How does one achieve humility with such confidence? I must admit, unpretentious confidence intimidates the hell out of me. But it is certainly something I would hope to achieve in my life. To simply be sure of oneself without arrogance is an accomplishment worth aspiring to.

I would say that to this stage in my life I have fallen short of shining. I sometimes feel as if the image I present is reflected from an antique mirror with the original glass in tact. The image may be murky and distorted, but there is genuineness to it. The glass needs replacing, that is true. This is the task at hand. This is the moment to work on those repairs and polish as necessary. And then, shine. Surely.




“Feeling like a star, you can’t stop my shine……” Yep, I just quoted a cheesy, pop-py hip hop song. I don’t know what that’s about.

Peace with the world

I left a paying job, that by all standards was good and fulfilling, to take an unpaid internship – at the advice of some and the dismay of a blessed few. Why do I do these things? It has something to do with the betterment and challenge of myself; and (hopefully) it will move me toward accomplishing my goal of doing my damnedest to leave this world maybe a little better than it was when I came into it. Although, my cynicism tells me I must be a masochist because clearly the world has the upper hand and a bitch of a whip. (You see, because the world is the sadist in that scenario – but you got that, right?)

I guess my point is that it seems counterintuitive to take an unpaid internship at this point in my life, when I could be working for money while also doing good things; when a lot of people are seeking paying jobs of any kind; when it has made a cliché of my 26-year-old-grad school-living with the parents-life. It might seem crazy. What solidifies this assumption of insanity? I haven’t been this happy in quite a long time.

I’m hella busy, I’m penniless (sort of), I have no security for my future. But, I’m more than satisfied with the work I’m doing, I have the best friends I could possibly ask for (though there are some I miss terribly), I am truly learning every single day from some part of my life. I want for nothing. I have good food, fun, wine, chocolate. I’m attempting to do my best at living a better life – socially, healthfully, spiritually – wholly, balanced. I’m making plans to go to f-ing Africa in a few months. I mean, honestly, there are few complaints from this humble part of the world tonight.

To think about where I’ve been, what might have been, what could be – these things are maybe to be considered, but not for long. After a while these things are like cement slowly yielding immobility to your body and soul. Several months ago, two different people from two very different parts of my life told me within a few weeks of one another that I seemed “at peace” (or something to that effect anyway). Now notwithstanding the phrasing, that is usually associated with a corpse in a coffin, I thought the statement was perceptive at that moment. I was, at the time, in the process of choosing a new path and embarking on it with my own version of zeal.

I can’t say that I have been “at peace” continuously since then, nor will I ever be continuously, but I am finding more and more evidence that contentedness lies in accepting the moment for what it is and also accepting that it will soon pass. Moment to moment, life is wonderful – or at least bearable, for the beauty of a moment is that it will soon succumb to a new one. Be at peace with the world, despite that bitch of a whip it holds. Despite all the circumstances and hardships and downright horridness, stand and be strong, even with tears in your eyes for all that is wrong. Be at peace in the face of it all. Embrace it even. Love. Do. Seek. Be.

It may also help that I am currently working in the “Peace Pavilion,” which makes me smile.

Drive

I rolled down the windows to feel the sunshine and wind as I drove around town yesterday. Yes, there was slowly melting snow on the ground and ice in the shady turning lanes. What’s your point?

Every once in a while when it rains that cool kind of rain – you know, big droplets, straight downward and the sun is still shining – I roll down the window to feel the rain on my hand as I drive. (I can never own a car with a nice, new interior. It would only be ruined.) This is probably strange, made stranger still by the fact that my driver’s side window now requires that I push it up while simultaneously pressing the button in order for it to close completely.

I love driving with the windows down. Yesterday, wrapped in scarf in jacket, it was particularly nice to breathe fresh air and feel the coldness on my skin. To be out of the house for the fourth day in a row – I feel a little like I’m returning, slowly, back into society – after being detained in doors for as many days, imprisoned by a steep, icy driveway.

Life and 2011 seems to have been put on hold, first by the holiday, and then by an unusual act of nature – and our respectful, unprepared, patience of it. I feel like this pause has made life seem unreal. Like busy-ness, productivity, and ambitions were packed up on the top shelf with the Christmas decorations, to be used at a later date.

Well, that’s not good. How am I supposed to do all this learning and adventuring with those things so out of reach, out of sight? I need to reactivate, jolt out of this hibernation, reclaim that energy and drive.

Drive, with the windows down, forward with a little caution for the lingering ice. Life has not stopped, has begun again even now – catch up! Oh but napping was so nice. Caffeine, that is the solution, surely.

Apple, Tree

Thinking about all I’ve blogged about, I seem to discuss fears quite a bit. I think that may be because fear comes into play in so many different aspects of life. Or because fear is a struggle that requires exploration to overcome. Or because I feel that fear is a powerful equalizer. So, a fear . . .

There is one universal fear that is so powerful and so terrifying that the fullness of this fright cannot be explained by mere words. That fear is a revelation that most everyone experiences at least once in their lives. It goes like this . . .

“Oh. My. GOD. I am just like my mother. How the *!?%&*! did that happen?”

Pure terror ensues from that singular thought.

It’s not that we don’t love our mothers. It’s not even that we don’t like our mothers – we do, most of the time. It’s just that we know our mothers, very, very, well. We’ve lived with them for a large portion of our lives. We’ve seen all of their weaknesses that they failed to hide. We’ve seen their meltdowns and outbursts at their very worst. We’re intimately aware of their struggles and their tendency to take them out on those closest to them. We know, too, that they themselves want more for us than their own mistakes.

And most importantly, in our childhood innocence, we saw all those things that adults don’t think children see or understand. And in our adolescence, we turned that childlike sense of knowledge into a “know-it-all” attitude and vowed NEVER to be like our blessed mothers. And though, in adulthood, we’ve learned to appreciate all that our mothers are, the sentiment of adolescence is deeply rooted in our minds.

So, several weeks ago, when this realization struck me, I was shocked and appalled. I was simply looking over my calendar trying to fit everything in, when I realized that I was very busy. And you know what, I like that. I really like being so busy that I barely have time to think about all I have to do.

“Holy Crap! I am just like my MOTHER. How the hell did that happen?”

And what in the world am I supposed to do about it? I’m pretty sure there is nothing to do about it. Maybe I can develop my mother’s positive attitude towards life and somehow see this as a good thing. But, this is something I don’t get from my mom.

Acceptance. Apple, you lie just beneath the tree that bore you. And when you go to seed, and grow, you will resemble that tree with maybe a couple of distinct qualities. But the end product will be the same, surely. Deal with it. But, man, it really is scary.

Scary thrills

I don’t listen to the radio often, mainly because my car radio rarely picks up any stations outside of major city limits. Basically I can’t pick up any Atlanta stations beyond exit 104 on I-85. As a result, I only listen to the radio twice a week, when I go to class. But, really that’s enough. Not only do I feel that I am sufficiently exposed to all five songs that they currently play on pop radio, I also have the seasonal commercials memorized.

There is one ad in particular that catches my attention. It’s for this major haunted house that is apparently ranked among the best haunted houses in the nation. (Whose job is it to rank haunted houses in America?) Now, I’m not into haunted houses, or horror movies, or ghost stories. They just don’t appeal to me. But, this commercial is intriguing – a GPS voice is giving you directions and then it says, “You have arrived at the point of no return.” Huh? And then a devilish voice repeats the phrase.

“The point of no return” – why is that so frightening? It actually sounds kind of exciting. But then, fear and excitement are interrelated, aren’t they. A friend recently told me that “fear is the worst of all emotions.” And yet, people seek it out constantly! The entire Halloween industry hinges on the fact that people want to be scared. Amusement parks play with our tendency toward acrophobia, claustrophobia, and nyctophobia as if they were dolls and Legos…for “amusement!”

Aren’t we supposed to avoid fear? Isn’t that why it exists – to alert us to danger? To initiate the fight-or-flight mechanism? Ah ha! It’s all about adrenaline, yes?

Yes. So, we’re all rushed up – and then what? And then, well, nothing. Because this manufactured fear has that bit of security to it. It’s all fake. Some engineer somewhere made sure that machine is safe, right? Most of the time anyway, otherwise someone is getting a lawsuit.

Ok then, our inclination for fear is balanced by our faith in someone else – someone out there has our backs. It’s actually about trust and support, huh? Even if we can’t see them or don’t know them, they are out there, so going into this dark, scary place is ok. “At the point of no return,” ok, I’m not looking back – onward! Somebody better make sure this is all going to work out. Hold my hand! Push me along. Tell me it’s going to be alright, that we’ll make it to the other end. Ok, good, we’re fine, see? (Relief)

“At the point of no return,” for my car radio that’s exit 104! Oh well. I go on.

Happy Halloween!