So I have to get this out.
I'm pissed off right now. Big time. And no one is helping!!!!
This is why my best friend is who she is, because she knows what response I want when i have news that TO ME is really obnoxious and terrible. She knows that I DO NOT want advice, no matter how truthful, because I CAN FIGURE IT OUT MYSELF and that I just want a kind ear and pity. Yes, folks, I am having a pity party for myself right now, and only Harry Potter has been invited because my best friend happens to be, oh so conveniently out of the country.
I resent the fact that I dwell in anger here and that it seems to block my creativity. I resent the fact that I have done very little, if anything to change this, although I think I am trying. I feel like I am wasting my life away while great ideas leave my muddled and angry mind. I should be anywhere else, thinking and writing, but instead, I am here.
Okay I'll stop now.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Role Reversal
Remember when you were little and you wanted to be just like your parents? You had good reason to, after all they had been around longer than you and had gained more experience, know-how, and most importantly, money than you would see for a long time. I remember thinking that I would never own anything as high-tech as my dad's waterproof camera...
Well now the tables are turning. Our parents, seeing the ways we spend our money, are turning to us for inspiration. Again, this makes sense, as we now have money and know what is new and trendy. The Internet has made up for experience and know-how in that we now know how to use message boards and reviews to decipher which products are best and which prices are lowest.
Exhibit A: Josh bought me my cotton-candy pink, flowered beach cruiser for Valentine's Day two years ago. Since then it has been enhanced with a matching bell and basket. I bought him a black cruiser for Christmas, with foam grips, a headlight, and a cup holder. As Josh's parents live nearby, we ride them over to their house often. They borrowed our bikes and took them to the beach, only to show up two weeks later with bikes of their own. His mom, on a cherry red version of my bike with matching bell and his dad on a black and silver bike like Josh's with the same headlight and cup holder. I thought how cute it was that his parents are now looking to him for stylish advice.
Then I received my wonderful camera for my birthday. My dad loves photography but has not owned a nice camera of his own in ages. He also loves digital photography and understands it quite well for his generation. He has bought my mom nice cameras and has been disappointed that she didn't get more involved in learning their unique and pricey features. He seemed impressed by my camera, and more impressed that I was learning to use it so well. He loved pictures that I took on a weekend trip with the family and his praise was substantial--for him. Now he has bought himself one. I am quite proud, actually. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, as they say...
Well now the tables are turning. Our parents, seeing the ways we spend our money, are turning to us for inspiration. Again, this makes sense, as we now have money and know what is new and trendy. The Internet has made up for experience and know-how in that we now know how to use message boards and reviews to decipher which products are best and which prices are lowest.
Exhibit A: Josh bought me my cotton-candy pink, flowered beach cruiser for Valentine's Day two years ago. Since then it has been enhanced with a matching bell and basket. I bought him a black cruiser for Christmas, with foam grips, a headlight, and a cup holder. As Josh's parents live nearby, we ride them over to their house often. They borrowed our bikes and took them to the beach, only to show up two weeks later with bikes of their own. His mom, on a cherry red version of my bike with matching bell and his dad on a black and silver bike like Josh's with the same headlight and cup holder. I thought how cute it was that his parents are now looking to him for stylish advice.
Then I received my wonderful camera for my birthday. My dad loves photography but has not owned a nice camera of his own in ages. He also loves digital photography and understands it quite well for his generation. He has bought my mom nice cameras and has been disappointed that she didn't get more involved in learning their unique and pricey features. He seemed impressed by my camera, and more impressed that I was learning to use it so well. He loved pictures that I took on a weekend trip with the family and his praise was substantial--for him. Now he has bought himself one. I am quite proud, actually. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, as they say...
Friday, July 27, 2007
Just like a child
Why was it so much easier for us to utilize our creativity as children? When did we develop the crippling inhibitions that prevent us from living and loving art?
When I was young, I would have described myself as an artist and nothing more. Now, I am intimidated. I feel as though I am not worthy. It is this feeling that has given me the terrible writer's block I have been suffering through for years now. It wasn't always this way. There have been times in my life when I was able to sit and write, when ideas overflowed my brain and I couldn't write them down fast enough. This led me to become a faster typist and a more composed speaker. I embraced the speed of the ideas and learned to cope with them and later use them to my advantage.
It is not as though I lack ideas. My mind is always creating stories, both imagined and true. I pull from the experiences around me and tell myself stories constantly. So why don't I write them down? I have been embarrassed and nervous about what I would create. I have this feeling as I go along that what I am writing is not good enough. I wonder constantly what type of audience I am writing for, if my words were published, what kind of person would buy them, where would it be reviewed? I am stopped from creating by the thought that what I will create will not be good enough. This is completely wrong. I need to write for myself, because the stories are inside me and need to be let out. The stories themselves deserve to be written and I deserve to empty my head of them. I need to create simply for the pure joy of the creation process and the feeling that I get from it.
Last night I painted two pictures, not to create something worthy of a museum or of accolades from friends and family, but simply to enjoy color and the pure tactile feeling of the brushes in hand. I had a difficult time doing this, I'll admit, and my self-consciousness almost go the better of me, but I fought through it. I definitely need to work on letting go of my obsession with creating something that meets the standards of others and simply enjoy the process. This is true art creation.
The best part was that when Josh called me to say that he was on his way home, he asked me what I was doing, and I was able to tell him that I was painting. He was happy for me. He was tickled at the paintings I made, and wanted to hang them up. He was genuinely happy that I was doing something that made me happy. It was just the support and affirmation that I needed. I went to bed with a smile.
When I was young, I would have described myself as an artist and nothing more. Now, I am intimidated. I feel as though I am not worthy. It is this feeling that has given me the terrible writer's block I have been suffering through for years now. It wasn't always this way. There have been times in my life when I was able to sit and write, when ideas overflowed my brain and I couldn't write them down fast enough. This led me to become a faster typist and a more composed speaker. I embraced the speed of the ideas and learned to cope with them and later use them to my advantage.
It is not as though I lack ideas. My mind is always creating stories, both imagined and true. I pull from the experiences around me and tell myself stories constantly. So why don't I write them down? I have been embarrassed and nervous about what I would create. I have this feeling as I go along that what I am writing is not good enough. I wonder constantly what type of audience I am writing for, if my words were published, what kind of person would buy them, where would it be reviewed? I am stopped from creating by the thought that what I will create will not be good enough. This is completely wrong. I need to write for myself, because the stories are inside me and need to be let out. The stories themselves deserve to be written and I deserve to empty my head of them. I need to create simply for the pure joy of the creation process and the feeling that I get from it.
Last night I painted two pictures, not to create something worthy of a museum or of accolades from friends and family, but simply to enjoy color and the pure tactile feeling of the brushes in hand. I had a difficult time doing this, I'll admit, and my self-consciousness almost go the better of me, but I fought through it. I definitely need to work on letting go of my obsession with creating something that meets the standards of others and simply enjoy the process. This is true art creation.
The best part was that when Josh called me to say that he was on his way home, he asked me what I was doing, and I was able to tell him that I was painting. He was happy for me. He was tickled at the paintings I made, and wanted to hang them up. He was genuinely happy that I was doing something that made me happy. It was just the support and affirmation that I needed. I went to bed with a smile.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Storyteller
This morning I was told that I should write my stories down.
Krysta had an idea last night that I should write stories. I didn't tell her that when i was little my family called me "Korey Story" because I always had stories to tell. For me, the line between truth and fiction was blurred and inconsequential. I knew, even then, intuitively, what people wanted to hear, and I delivered. I have written many stories, but not recently. I need to work on writing more of them again.
A while back I had this idea for a book that I was going to write. It was going to be about America, the people that make it up, the formation of families and the stories they have to tell. It would not all be pretty, but it would not all be Gothic either (despite the fact that Southern Gothic is my favorite style of literature, and anything I write is tainted with it). My view of America is a multicolored, ever-changing, beautiful nation, akin to the very American quilt. As simple a metaphor as it is, it works perfectly. The fabric of our lives are of different colors, textures, and qualities. Some of the pieces are worse for wear, some new and untouched by love, anguish, or emotion. Up close, a true quilt of scraps and leftovers is a cacophony of noisy prints and gaudy colors, but from afar it is beautiful. I would like to write my American family quilt and piece it together with the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly.
If ever a person was suited to write about the inhabitants of this great nation, it would be me. of course, it could be anyone here. This is not a country club or a church where length of membership qualifies you for anything more than what every other member enjoys. An American for life, for generations, or for one day is as much as American as any other. This is what makes me love this nation; the diversity and the beauty. I have to focus on what I love about the country because there are so many things I dislike. When it becomes time to write about the dynamics of American people; their families, their work ethic, their diversions, and their sagas, I draw from my experiences and those of the people around me, as well as the rich traditions and lessons offered up by some of the most stunning literature that has ever been written. Ecstatic at times, elegiac at others, American literature is vast, diverse, noisy, and ugly, but taken in context it is honest and beautiful. This is what intimidates me about writing anything in the tradition of the great American authors.
Of course, if I don't try I'll certainly never succeed...
Krysta had an idea last night that I should write stories. I didn't tell her that when i was little my family called me "Korey Story" because I always had stories to tell. For me, the line between truth and fiction was blurred and inconsequential. I knew, even then, intuitively, what people wanted to hear, and I delivered. I have written many stories, but not recently. I need to work on writing more of them again.
A while back I had this idea for a book that I was going to write. It was going to be about America, the people that make it up, the formation of families and the stories they have to tell. It would not all be pretty, but it would not all be Gothic either (despite the fact that Southern Gothic is my favorite style of literature, and anything I write is tainted with it). My view of America is a multicolored, ever-changing, beautiful nation, akin to the very American quilt. As simple a metaphor as it is, it works perfectly. The fabric of our lives are of different colors, textures, and qualities. Some of the pieces are worse for wear, some new and untouched by love, anguish, or emotion. Up close, a true quilt of scraps and leftovers is a cacophony of noisy prints and gaudy colors, but from afar it is beautiful. I would like to write my American family quilt and piece it together with the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly.
If ever a person was suited to write about the inhabitants of this great nation, it would be me. of course, it could be anyone here. This is not a country club or a church where length of membership qualifies you for anything more than what every other member enjoys. An American for life, for generations, or for one day is as much as American as any other. This is what makes me love this nation; the diversity and the beauty. I have to focus on what I love about the country because there are so many things I dislike. When it becomes time to write about the dynamics of American people; their families, their work ethic, their diversions, and their sagas, I draw from my experiences and those of the people around me, as well as the rich traditions and lessons offered up by some of the most stunning literature that has ever been written. Ecstatic at times, elegiac at others, American literature is vast, diverse, noisy, and ugly, but taken in context it is honest and beautiful. This is what intimidates me about writing anything in the tradition of the great American authors.
Of course, if I don't try I'll certainly never succeed...
Monday, July 23, 2007
Do you have something to contribute?
Saturday night I cooked dinner for friends, invented a recipe, played a board game and held a three-month old child. I felt at remarkably at ease, sitting amongst friends, a baby balanced on my lap, shouting out answers and laughing hysterically into the night. It made me crave to have a child of my own.
I have been at odds with the idea of becoming a parent for most of my life. In high school I decided that I certainly would not become one. I was angered by the accidental pregnancies and lackadaisical parenting I witnessed in my society, and I decided that unless you were predestined for parenting, you should smartly stay away from it. I was also pretty angry with the way the world was heading and my view of the future was somber at best. Why should I raise another human being to travail in this world when i did not have much hope for its future? I believed that I was too selfish to be a parent, and that procreation was too pointless. I thought the best, most mature and selfless thing I could do would be to own up to my inability and avoid having children. I still believe that this is a very mature decision, and one that should be highly respected. I believed then, and still believe now, that being a parent does not make you a saint, a respectable member of society, or even a good person. it only makes you a parent. In fact, some of the most despicable people in our society are people that were ill-suited for parenthood. I was determined not to be one of these.
In a college theology course we studied theological perspectives on procreation. Of course there was the Catholic view of God's plan for us, ad that doing anything to prevent His natural order was a sin. I disagreed. Later on, we studied a theologian with a refreshingly honest view of procreation. His idea was that anyone who denied to bring life into the world was hopeless and pessimistic. He said that to bring a child into the world was to believe that there is something here worth attending to. To have a child meant that you believed in a redeemable quality of life, that you felt there was something here worth noting, worth appreciating, and you wanted to bring life into this world to find that quality. I found myself pondering the things about life that were truly breathtaking. How could I deny a potential life the smell of wet grass after a sudden rain? How could I deny this life the first sight of the sun sinking behind the ocean? How could I deny him or her the exquisite and masterful sounds of Beethoven or the nuances of Milton?
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
-Shakespeare, Sonnet I
In college, I also found something else: an appreciation for myself. As Shakespeare says, a child is a reflection of one's youth after it has passed. I always avoided those who had children in some attempt to be reborn and to live life again. There are those who have children only to see themselves in the face of a child, a selfish desire to live on past death, or a vain ideal of maintaining the height of one's beauty by recreating it in a child. However persuasive the arguments of Shakespeare, I like the idea of passing something on to your children, of believing that there are things on earth worth being born for. In college I discovered many things about myself. I discovered that I have a unique contribution to this world, and I now feel as though I have a duty to pass this along to another generation. As this is the case, I do not feel tied to a biological string, although I look forward to the experience of being pregnant; I know that I could contribute to a life that bears no resemblance to my biological background.
I have only recently put this into words, only because the words have been provided for me. But I know now that these words explain the way I feel. The stirring in my being, the desire to parent a child, to raise, teach and foster the growth of another living being.
I suppose all things have a season, and the season that I could not have seen as a headstrong fifteen-year old is approaching, closer now than I could ever have imagined. I walk toward it with confidence.
I have been at odds with the idea of becoming a parent for most of my life. In high school I decided that I certainly would not become one. I was angered by the accidental pregnancies and lackadaisical parenting I witnessed in my society, and I decided that unless you were predestined for parenting, you should smartly stay away from it. I was also pretty angry with the way the world was heading and my view of the future was somber at best. Why should I raise another human being to travail in this world when i did not have much hope for its future? I believed that I was too selfish to be a parent, and that procreation was too pointless. I thought the best, most mature and selfless thing I could do would be to own up to my inability and avoid having children. I still believe that this is a very mature decision, and one that should be highly respected. I believed then, and still believe now, that being a parent does not make you a saint, a respectable member of society, or even a good person. it only makes you a parent. In fact, some of the most despicable people in our society are people that were ill-suited for parenthood. I was determined not to be one of these.
In a college theology course we studied theological perspectives on procreation. Of course there was the Catholic view of God's plan for us, ad that doing anything to prevent His natural order was a sin. I disagreed. Later on, we studied a theologian with a refreshingly honest view of procreation. His idea was that anyone who denied to bring life into the world was hopeless and pessimistic. He said that to bring a child into the world was to believe that there is something here worth attending to. To have a child meant that you believed in a redeemable quality of life, that you felt there was something here worth noting, worth appreciating, and you wanted to bring life into this world to find that quality. I found myself pondering the things about life that were truly breathtaking. How could I deny a potential life the smell of wet grass after a sudden rain? How could I deny this life the first sight of the sun sinking behind the ocean? How could I deny him or her the exquisite and masterful sounds of Beethoven or the nuances of Milton?
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
-Shakespeare, Sonnet I
In college, I also found something else: an appreciation for myself. As Shakespeare says, a child is a reflection of one's youth after it has passed. I always avoided those who had children in some attempt to be reborn and to live life again. There are those who have children only to see themselves in the face of a child, a selfish desire to live on past death, or a vain ideal of maintaining the height of one's beauty by recreating it in a child. However persuasive the arguments of Shakespeare, I like the idea of passing something on to your children, of believing that there are things on earth worth being born for. In college I discovered many things about myself. I discovered that I have a unique contribution to this world, and I now feel as though I have a duty to pass this along to another generation. As this is the case, I do not feel tied to a biological string, although I look forward to the experience of being pregnant; I know that I could contribute to a life that bears no resemblance to my biological background.
I have only recently put this into words, only because the words have been provided for me. But I know now that these words explain the way I feel. The stirring in my being, the desire to parent a child, to raise, teach and foster the growth of another living being.
I suppose all things have a season, and the season that I could not have seen as a headstrong fifteen-year old is approaching, closer now than I could ever have imagined. I walk toward it with confidence.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Journaling
I suppose "journaling" is not a word, but I like it.
I am going to try and record my thoughts and goals in a journal which will remain in my purse. Wish me luck!
I am not particularly skilled at crafting goals for myself. For one thing, I am pretty adaptable. I don't have a place where I MUST see myself in ten or twenty years. Another thing is that I know how often i change my mind, and I don't want to tie myself down. I don't want to create a goal and then feel as though it has become an obligation. I should work on the visual goal board suggested in The Secret, but I haven't had time. Maybe that should be a goal!
My main "goal" in life is to be happy. I know it is very vague and I am comfortable with that. The upside of this goal is that it doesn't require any one life path, but any one that I follow which brings fulfillment to my life. Some people want to be rich, but if I am happy without money, why would I need it? When it comes down to it, aren't most goals intended to help a person reach a place in which he is happy?
I am going to try and record my thoughts and goals in a journal which will remain in my purse. Wish me luck!
I am not particularly skilled at crafting goals for myself. For one thing, I am pretty adaptable. I don't have a place where I MUST see myself in ten or twenty years. Another thing is that I know how often i change my mind, and I don't want to tie myself down. I don't want to create a goal and then feel as though it has become an obligation. I should work on the visual goal board suggested in The Secret, but I haven't had time. Maybe that should be a goal!
My main "goal" in life is to be happy. I know it is very vague and I am comfortable with that. The upside of this goal is that it doesn't require any one life path, but any one that I follow which brings fulfillment to my life. Some people want to be rich, but if I am happy without money, why would I need it? When it comes down to it, aren't most goals intended to help a person reach a place in which he is happy?
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Weakness Finder 2.0
Hi friends. I know we love to discover our strengths and work on them, and it does make a certain amount of sense to focus on ones strengths rather than his weaknesses, but that has not stoppered my curiosity about my weaker points. So I present: weakness finder 2.0.
Do you have underacheiver?
Perhaps naivete?
Or my personal favorite, judgemental!
Here are mine, according to weakness finder 2.0:
1. Retrospective
2. Negativity
3. Self-Doubt
4. Judgemental
5. Undisciplined
Let me know what yours are!
Do you have underacheiver?
Perhaps naivete?
Or my personal favorite, judgemental!
Here are mine, according to weakness finder 2.0:
1. Retrospective
2. Negativity
3. Self-Doubt
4. Judgemental
5. Undisciplined
Let me know what yours are!
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