I have always hoped to find a neighborhood where everyone knew each other, where everyone genuinely cared for one another. Most of the time neighbors just make small talk, but every once in a while a glimpse of who someone really is comes out during one of those conversations.
Last night I met Rita, Susan and a couple of other neighbors while they were sitting by the pool enjoying a couple of drinks to let off steam from the hard work-week. Stepping out onto my patio, they greeted me warmly, surprising me a little bit with their shouting. "Hi neighbor!" And, "Yes! Hello neighbor how are you tonight?"
I had a towel on my head-- having just stepped out of a long shower, and wore only a black tee-shirt. When I realized I wasn't alone on this steamy August night, I made sure nothing was revealed from the bottom of my tee and replied with a warm, "Good evening! I'm just fine, how are you doing?"
And then came the small talk; the exchanging names, apartment locations, etc. I knew I would see them again so I didn't try my best to remember their buzzed and slurred names. They asked me about Merlin, and I told them he was my husky, staying for the night. Mentioning how much they all loved dogs, they promised mum was the word when it came to the Leasing office. And so our bonding began.
Leaving them to their evening, I couldn't help but smile as I stepped back into my apartment, the cool air conditioning sweeping over my face. Little did I know that the next afternoon I would see Susan and Miss Rita tanning by the pool as I taught Evan how to dive. More small talk was exchanged but the surface layers rubbed off and I found out Miss Rita and her family had been here for almost seven years and each member was brought over one by one by her brother, from Lebanon.
I've never known much about Lebanon and I felt humbled talking to a woman who I had assumed to be of Latin or Hispanic backgrounds. After she taught me about Lebanese children learning multiple languages from a very young age, Miss Rita asked me if I was American, American. Of course I said yes, and then that I was born in Saint Louis. A wide smile took over her face as Miss Rita giggled and excitedly said, "Oh my goodness a real American, that's so great!" I have never in all my life seen such a wonderful reaction when I've simply said I was born and raised in America.
It's probably hard for me to understand where she was coming from because I was born in the suburbs, never had to immigrate and I didn't grow up in an area with a ton of immigrants. Needless to say, I felt honored that Miss Rita was so excited to meet a born-and-raised-in-the-States American.
I'm not sure how much I will see Miss Rita, her sister Susan, and the rest of the family, but I can be sure that when I do, I'll say hi and ask how her niece is doing with her ping-pong competitions and if she's met any more "pure-blood" Americans.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
It's all in the fun.
The trick is to merely soft-boil the eggs. If you over boil them, then there is very little point to using le coquetier. To the French, hard-boiled eggs are actually just American eggs. What we call hard-boiled or diced eggs topped with salt and butter, they just consider another American "delicacy".
The real art rests with the soft-boiled egg. It's really very simple if you think about it.
1. Boil water.
2. Place egg into boiling water.
3. Wait 2-3 minutes.
4. Remove newly soft-boiled egg.
5. Place newly soft-boiled egg into le coquetier.
But then the fun begins. This is one of the first meals a child is able to eat all by themselves, fork and knife in hand. Once the hot egg is placed in its holder, you cut off le chapeau, or the hat of the egg as the French call it, and eat the top of the egg white off the inside. With most of the egg white still concealing the inner yolk, a small piece of baguette is used to break the seal and dip its way into the core--soaking up the runny yolk.
Now it's not just any old baguette. This baguette has been thoroughly salted and buttered and ripped into many small pieces...and is usually just placed on the bare table for anyone to share. Crumbs litter the table top and bits of salt find their way to the floor. But as soon as the baguette bit hits the yolk, the butter melts into the heated center and the process continues until the liquid center has been absorbed.
Luckily, the coquetier holds the egg in place. I'm sure one reason Americans choose to hard-boiled their eggs and then smash them to bits is so that parents don't have to worry about their children handling a hot, rolling egg shell. Or maybe French children, like Julien-Francois are just more sophisticated than their American peers.
As a nineteen year old exchange student, learning this common mealtime activity was very humbling to say the least. But Madame Dru walked me through every step, showing me how to cut the chapeau, prepare the baguette, and even explaining to me that because bread was once impossible to find, it is now for everyone...a major reason they just break bread and pass it all over the table. I found it a little funny when comparing it to the American practice of everyone having their own Pilsbury croissant sans another's germs.
After soaking up the precious yolk, a thin delicate spoon is used to remove the insides from the shell. The pieces of egg-white along with the occasional over-cooked egg yolk are scooped up, sometimes placed on more pieces of baguettes and slipped into the mouth.
Want to know what the typical first joke a French child tells?
When they have finished their soft-boiled egg, and all that is left inside le coquetier is an empty egg shell, they will wait until their mother's back is turned. Quickly, they flip the egg shell over, hiding the open top, revealing an unbroken side and yell out to their mother,
"Regarde maman, je n'ai pas mange mon oeuf!!"
(Look momma, I didn't eat my egg!)
And of course the mother plays along saying,
"Oh lala, c'est mal. Pourquoi est-ce que tu n'as pas mange ton oeuf?"
(Oh no, that's bad, Why didn't you eat your egg?)
Giggling with every word uttered, the child takes the small spoon and cracks open the shell, shouting with excitement,
"Je blague!"
(Just kidding!)
Well thought out, kid. Sure makes Why did the chicken cross the road? look a little silly, doesn't it?
The real art rests with the soft-boiled egg. It's really very simple if you think about it.
1. Boil water.
2. Place egg into boiling water.
3. Wait 2-3 minutes.
4. Remove newly soft-boiled egg.
5. Place newly soft-boiled egg into le coquetier.
But then the fun begins. This is one of the first meals a child is able to eat all by themselves, fork and knife in hand. Once the hot egg is placed in its holder, you cut off le chapeau, or the hat of the egg as the French call it, and eat the top of the egg white off the inside. With most of the egg white still concealing the inner yolk, a small piece of baguette is used to break the seal and dip its way into the core--soaking up the runny yolk.
Now it's not just any old baguette. This baguette has been thoroughly salted and buttered and ripped into many small pieces...and is usually just placed on the bare table for anyone to share. Crumbs litter the table top and bits of salt find their way to the floor. But as soon as the baguette bit hits the yolk, the butter melts into the heated center and the process continues until the liquid center has been absorbed.
Luckily, the coquetier holds the egg in place. I'm sure one reason Americans choose to hard-boiled their eggs and then smash them to bits is so that parents don't have to worry about their children handling a hot, rolling egg shell. Or maybe French children, like Julien-Francois are just more sophisticated than their American peers.
As a nineteen year old exchange student, learning this common mealtime activity was very humbling to say the least. But Madame Dru walked me through every step, showing me how to cut the chapeau, prepare the baguette, and even explaining to me that because bread was once impossible to find, it is now for everyone...a major reason they just break bread and pass it all over the table. I found it a little funny when comparing it to the American practice of everyone having their own Pilsbury croissant sans another's germs.
After soaking up the precious yolk, a thin delicate spoon is used to remove the insides from the shell. The pieces of egg-white along with the occasional over-cooked egg yolk are scooped up, sometimes placed on more pieces of baguettes and slipped into the mouth.
Want to know what the typical first joke a French child tells?
When they have finished their soft-boiled egg, and all that is left inside le coquetier is an empty egg shell, they will wait until their mother's back is turned. Quickly, they flip the egg shell over, hiding the open top, revealing an unbroken side and yell out to their mother,
"Regarde maman, je n'ai pas mange mon oeuf!!"
(Look momma, I didn't eat my egg!)
And of course the mother plays along saying,
"Oh lala, c'est mal. Pourquoi est-ce que tu n'as pas mange ton oeuf?"
(Oh no, that's bad, Why didn't you eat your egg?)
Giggling with every word uttered, the child takes the small spoon and cracks open the shell, shouting with excitement,
"Je blague!"
(Just kidding!)
Well thought out, kid. Sure makes Why did the chicken cross the road? look a little silly, doesn't it?
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Thessalonian Mornings
Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody. --1 Thessalonians 4:11-12
I must admit, I don't know much about the Thessalonian Scripture, but I think this piece of it pulls a lot of weight in today's world. Too often people concern themselves with gaining the respect of others without realizing exactly what it means to gain someone's respect. Acts of kindness lose their beauty when the doer shouts about them in the streets. Quiet acts of kindness go much further and are probably more often noticed by outsiders than anyone realizes.
What interests me about this scripture is the beginning where the ambition should be to remain quiet in the background, hard at work, and in turn a profitable life will be led. There is no mention of happiness following the hard work, but in my mind, if you gain the respect of others for being a hard worker, then happiness should take care of itself. Hard work leads to high productivity, which leads to a prosperous outcome. And I don't think many people are unhappy with an outcome such as that.
The final words so that you will no be dependent on anybody sticks with me as well because too often in today's world people depend on one another to get through life. We are first born alone in this world, and while we may die with people sitting at our bedside, we physically die alone as well. I think that during their lifetime, people take advantage of the help others are willing to give. An act of kindness turns into years of aid. People take niceness for granted and independence has taken on a new meaning. Today, people think independence means making your own decisions, taking control of your life, but not necessarily being independent from others when it comes to the necessities of life. But if a person works hard, and maintains their own life before helping others, they won't need aid when it comes to food, water, shelter, and transportation.
I think the beginning and end of the passage speak loudly in many realms of everyday life. Obviously it applies to working hard at a job, but I think it also can apply to getting an education. If you study hard and make sure you do what you need to do to succeed, it will pay off. Helping others can only come after you've helped yourself. Having only worked in a middle school for two semesters, I have very little experience with today's secondary students. From the observations I have noted, I see students who depend on their teachers to give them every answer, form the words in their mouths before they utter them aloud, and expect their aid on exams and written assignments. There is very little autonomy among today's youth and I'm not sure what caused this change in the world. Simple writing and arithmetic skills have been lost, and asking for manual labor is completely out of the question.
I am all for helping people in need, for helping people who are too far lost to help themselves, or who have felt so low for so long, but I am disgusted when I see people begging for help when all that is required is a bit of thinking on their part. If we can't help ourselves when life is easy, how can we expect to get anywhere when life gives us lemons?
I must admit, I don't know much about the Thessalonian Scripture, but I think this piece of it pulls a lot of weight in today's world. Too often people concern themselves with gaining the respect of others without realizing exactly what it means to gain someone's respect. Acts of kindness lose their beauty when the doer shouts about them in the streets. Quiet acts of kindness go much further and are probably more often noticed by outsiders than anyone realizes.
What interests me about this scripture is the beginning where the ambition should be to remain quiet in the background, hard at work, and in turn a profitable life will be led. There is no mention of happiness following the hard work, but in my mind, if you gain the respect of others for being a hard worker, then happiness should take care of itself. Hard work leads to high productivity, which leads to a prosperous outcome. And I don't think many people are unhappy with an outcome such as that.
The final words so that you will no be dependent on anybody sticks with me as well because too often in today's world people depend on one another to get through life. We are first born alone in this world, and while we may die with people sitting at our bedside, we physically die alone as well. I think that during their lifetime, people take advantage of the help others are willing to give. An act of kindness turns into years of aid. People take niceness for granted and independence has taken on a new meaning. Today, people think independence means making your own decisions, taking control of your life, but not necessarily being independent from others when it comes to the necessities of life. But if a person works hard, and maintains their own life before helping others, they won't need aid when it comes to food, water, shelter, and transportation.
I think the beginning and end of the passage speak loudly in many realms of everyday life. Obviously it applies to working hard at a job, but I think it also can apply to getting an education. If you study hard and make sure you do what you need to do to succeed, it will pay off. Helping others can only come after you've helped yourself. Having only worked in a middle school for two semesters, I have very little experience with today's secondary students. From the observations I have noted, I see students who depend on their teachers to give them every answer, form the words in their mouths before they utter them aloud, and expect their aid on exams and written assignments. There is very little autonomy among today's youth and I'm not sure what caused this change in the world. Simple writing and arithmetic skills have been lost, and asking for manual labor is completely out of the question.
I am all for helping people in need, for helping people who are too far lost to help themselves, or who have felt so low for so long, but I am disgusted when I see people begging for help when all that is required is a bit of thinking on their part. If we can't help ourselves when life is easy, how can we expect to get anywhere when life gives us lemons?
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The differences between a 5 year old and a 20 year old?
As it turns out, there aren't too many. The only one I can think of is age. Sure, fifteen years is a big difference, but the mentality isn't different at all.
Last night I watched my niece, Faith, despite my seemingly "adult" age paired with my long list of aspirations and life goals, our thrill for simple things in life is the exact same. She showed me her first Build-A-Bear animal and pulled me up the stairs to show me the computer game that went with it. I have many Build-A-Bear bears, but the computer game is something I'd never had. So I sat on her pink beanbag chair while she showed me her interactive world. I could almost see the wheels spinning in her mind, much like mine when I'm hard at work.
Then we jumped into her room where she pulled out her Nintendo DS and starting working her magic on the twisted levels of Bolt. She showed me how he jumped and kicked, laughing at her own little jokes the whole time. But then she suddenly threw down the Nintendo and jumped through the air yelling "Tickle time!!!" and started clawing my face, chest and legs. I laughed through the scratching and managed to flip her over and start tickling away. Jason and Sophia were downstairs getting ready for their date and I'm sure our giggles echoed in every room.
We must have heard someone coming up the stairs because we both snapped to attention, found the Nintendo and laid on our stomachs facing forward, pretending to be locked in on the game. Jason came in the room and asked us what we were doing...Faith and I just glanced over at each other, hair a mess, bed sheets all crumpled up, and we started laughing out loud. Not everything Daddy's Little Girl does with Aunt Lauren has to be shared with Daddy does it?
Faith batted her eyelashes and brushed some of her tickle-soiled hair from her face and asked Jason to get her past a level on Bolt. She then told him he and Mommy could stay out as long as they wanted cause we'd be playing a long time. So as soon as the door shut downstairs, Faith jumped up in the air and said "You're all mine now! Tickle fight!!" And away we went.
But then the tickle fight game morphed into something different, something a little challenging and scary for Faith. She climbed on my feet to fly in the air like a helicopter. She had a death grip around my hands which helped her overcome her fear of heights. "I won't let you fall sweetie, I promise" I told her, so she started to take her hands off for a photograph. Then suddenly she wrapped her arms around my legs and a look of fear took over. I grabbed her little face and told her she could trust her Aunt Lauren and that I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. The smile creeped back on her face and she asked if I could crash the airplane onto her bed. So suddenly her fear of heights vanished and she was ready to fall from three feet in the air.
We must have played that game for a while because suddenly it was dinner time and we were both hungry. But Faith wanted to keep falling, asking to be tossed off my feet faster and faster, and I just wanted to see her keep laughing and facing her fears.
But we agreed it was probably time for dinner so we ran downstairs and I made some delicious microwaveable chicken nuggets for Faith and some oatmeal for myself. Sitting on the island we talked about how to make sure the food wasn't too hot and what we would do next. The new Scooby Doo movie was on the list so we popped it in and I did my best to figure out the sound system. About fifteen minutes later we were watching the movie, Faith had a freeze pop and was comfortably sitting on my stomach.
But after the ghosts and goblins were all gone, and the mystery was solved, Faith wanted to play again. So I cranked up the music and we started a dance party in the kitchen. Dancing by ourselves in the beginning I noticed she and I were spinning the same way, hands in the air, smiling and bopping along to the beat. I picked her up and we spun around the kitchen giggling and yelling. Faith wanted the music louder so I chased her into the living room and she jumped up on the couch so we could dance at eye level. I held her hands to make sure she didn't fall off but soon the couch dancing turned to couch bouncing and then we were spinning around and around again. Still wanting the music louder, we moved the dancing out onto the deck and Faith wanted me to teach her some dances. So we slowed danced a bit, and then an early 70's song came on so I showed her my best hippie dancing skills, locking hands and spinning in a circle while throwing our heads back.
"This is the best day ever Aunt Lauren!" rang through the air.
Once the bugs got to us we moved back inside and this time we danced while playing volleyball with a balloon. Ah, the never boring game of "DON'T LET IT HIT THE FLOOR!!" was played until Jason, Sophia & Ayven came back. The fiesta, as Faith called it, was in full motion, and we were both diving to the ground so as not to let the balloon fall.
Telling Sophia all the fun things we did, I realized that I wasn't just doing them because Faith wanted to. I helped come up with what we did too, and enjoyed them myself. Faith and I grew closer while I maintained my child-amusement. After Jason & Sophia wished me luck on another school year, I got into my car and blasted the radio, continuing the Fiest-Dance-Party all the way home.
Last night I watched my niece, Faith, despite my seemingly "adult" age paired with my long list of aspirations and life goals, our thrill for simple things in life is the exact same. She showed me her first Build-A-Bear animal and pulled me up the stairs to show me the computer game that went with it. I have many Build-A-Bear bears, but the computer game is something I'd never had. So I sat on her pink beanbag chair while she showed me her interactive world. I could almost see the wheels spinning in her mind, much like mine when I'm hard at work.
Then we jumped into her room where she pulled out her Nintendo DS and starting working her magic on the twisted levels of Bolt. She showed me how he jumped and kicked, laughing at her own little jokes the whole time. But then she suddenly threw down the Nintendo and jumped through the air yelling "Tickle time!!!" and started clawing my face, chest and legs. I laughed through the scratching and managed to flip her over and start tickling away. Jason and Sophia were downstairs getting ready for their date and I'm sure our giggles echoed in every room.
We must have heard someone coming up the stairs because we both snapped to attention, found the Nintendo and laid on our stomachs facing forward, pretending to be locked in on the game. Jason came in the room and asked us what we were doing...Faith and I just glanced over at each other, hair a mess, bed sheets all crumpled up, and we started laughing out loud. Not everything Daddy's Little Girl does with Aunt Lauren has to be shared with Daddy does it?
Faith batted her eyelashes and brushed some of her tickle-soiled hair from her face and asked Jason to get her past a level on Bolt. She then told him he and Mommy could stay out as long as they wanted cause we'd be playing a long time. So as soon as the door shut downstairs, Faith jumped up in the air and said "You're all mine now! Tickle fight!!" And away we went.
But then the tickle fight game morphed into something different, something a little challenging and scary for Faith. She climbed on my feet to fly in the air like a helicopter. She had a death grip around my hands which helped her overcome her fear of heights. "I won't let you fall sweetie, I promise" I told her, so she started to take her hands off for a photograph. Then suddenly she wrapped her arms around my legs and a look of fear took over. I grabbed her little face and told her she could trust her Aunt Lauren and that I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. The smile creeped back on her face and she asked if I could crash the airplane onto her bed. So suddenly her fear of heights vanished and she was ready to fall from three feet in the air.
We must have played that game for a while because suddenly it was dinner time and we were both hungry. But Faith wanted to keep falling, asking to be tossed off my feet faster and faster, and I just wanted to see her keep laughing and facing her fears.
But we agreed it was probably time for dinner so we ran downstairs and I made some delicious microwaveable chicken nuggets for Faith and some oatmeal for myself. Sitting on the island we talked about how to make sure the food wasn't too hot and what we would do next. The new Scooby Doo movie was on the list so we popped it in and I did my best to figure out the sound system. About fifteen minutes later we were watching the movie, Faith had a freeze pop and was comfortably sitting on my stomach.
But after the ghosts and goblins were all gone, and the mystery was solved, Faith wanted to play again. So I cranked up the music and we started a dance party in the kitchen. Dancing by ourselves in the beginning I noticed she and I were spinning the same way, hands in the air, smiling and bopping along to the beat. I picked her up and we spun around the kitchen giggling and yelling. Faith wanted the music louder so I chased her into the living room and she jumped up on the couch so we could dance at eye level. I held her hands to make sure she didn't fall off but soon the couch dancing turned to couch bouncing and then we were spinning around and around again. Still wanting the music louder, we moved the dancing out onto the deck and Faith wanted me to teach her some dances. So we slowed danced a bit, and then an early 70's song came on so I showed her my best hippie dancing skills, locking hands and spinning in a circle while throwing our heads back.
"This is the best day ever Aunt Lauren!" rang through the air.
Once the bugs got to us we moved back inside and this time we danced while playing volleyball with a balloon. Ah, the never boring game of "DON'T LET IT HIT THE FLOOR!!" was played until Jason, Sophia & Ayven came back. The fiesta, as Faith called it, was in full motion, and we were both diving to the ground so as not to let the balloon fall.
Telling Sophia all the fun things we did, I realized that I wasn't just doing them because Faith wanted to. I helped come up with what we did too, and enjoyed them myself. Faith and I grew closer while I maintained my child-amusement. After Jason & Sophia wished me luck on another school year, I got into my car and blasted the radio, continuing the Fiest-Dance-Party all the way home.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I could find beauty anywhere.
Today after the rainstorm ended I decided to jump in the car and use the DSLR to take a few pictures at Creve Coeur Park. I'm not sure what I plan to do with them but I had a great time walking on and off the trails, snapping life as I see it through a lens.
So here's just a few sample photos from my walk through the beautiful park this afternoon. I know this isn't a "photoblog" but I thought I'd share some of my work. Enjoy.
"Calm After the Storm", Creve Coeur Park, 2010
"The Power of a Broken Heart", Creve Coeur Park, 2010
"Natural contrast at its finest moments." Creve Coeur Park, 2010
"A Daydreamer in Motion" Creve Coeur Park, 2010
So here's just a few sample photos from my walk through the beautiful park this afternoon. I know this isn't a "photoblog" but I thought I'd share some of my work. Enjoy.
"Calm After the Storm", Creve Coeur Park, 2010
"The Power of a Broken Heart", Creve Coeur Park, 2010
"Natural contrast at its finest moments." Creve Coeur Park, 2010
"A Daydreamer in Motion" Creve Coeur Park, 2010
Life will pass you by if you don't have the antidote to the toxin.
I find it insane how much of our life we spend worrying about nothing, about everything. Minutes turn to hours of worrying everyday, and so much of life's beauty is forgotten. The idea of not having enough money blocks out the thought of how warm a kiss on the cheek feels, how pleasant the sound of a baby giggling can be. Everyday sights and sounds become blurred into the background as life's major concerns take us over cell by cell.
Of course I can't sit on a high horse and judge everyone around me, because I too find myself over thinking, worrying about finances, the future, and how to maintain the certain happyness and childlike wonder I hold so very deep in my soul. What I've realized the past few weeks is just how viral such thinking can be. It seeps into my skin, attaches to my cells and soon enters my bloodstream. From there I can feel my temperature rise, my breathing strain and a sense of anxiety enters my mind. The twisted, sick feeling sits in my chest, stomach and brain for hours upon hours, consuming my every thought. Sometimes it is easier to just fall asleep and hope that when you open your eyes, those feelings will have resided, and the world will once again find equilibrium.
We all know viruses never go away. There is no cure for a virus that enters the body, the risk of it coming back is always there-- lurking in the background.
But my question to the world, to myself, Why do we let such a virus enter our system? What happened to the days when all we worried about was getting to stay up late in the summertime, sneak an extra dessert after dinner, or getting that first kiss without our parents finding out? What happened to the days when childlike wonder flowed through our mind, making the world seem brighter, happier and full of possibilities with very few heartaches? There was no worry over money, jobs, living conditions, or transportation. There was no fear of being heartbroken and alone for life. None of that was relevant. Why does it have to be now?
I can try to deny the lurking fears that I've allowed to enter my body, but I know that sooner or later they will surface. Instead of masking them with bad decisions, impulsive buying, or even rash decision making, I try to find the simple things that make me happy; baking, reading, writing, petting an animal, helping someone find their way (whether it's physically finding their way on the road or metaphorically speaking in life), listening to music, and taking walks.
Some people choose to call this 'therapy', but I just call it living. Ooh, there's a radical idea. Go out and do the things I love to do, seek the finer/beautiful things in life instead of laying in bed late at night, worrying about the mysteries of my private student loan, wondering if I will be able to find my next place to live by the time my Lease is up in 10 months.
Babies laugh. The sky burns blue in the daytime. The sun sets in the West, rises in the East. Flowers bloom. The eyes of a broke street performers light up when a few cents are dropped in their hat.
Musicians put their heart and soul into every piece of music.
(Artists put their heart and soul into every work of art.)
[Authors put their heart and soul into every piece of writing.]
Lovers hold hands at 2 years old, 10 years old, 24 years old, 50 years old, and even 90 years old.
(Lovers kiss in public at 2 years old, 10 years old, 24 years old, 50 years old, and even 90 years old.)
[Love never dies.]
People may live their lives when they want to, when things are easy and fun. But it is very seldom to see people living their lives when they need to; when life gives them lemons, which is really just a nice way to say when life beats them over the head with a frying pan.
Two mottos to try to follow.
(Peace.Love.Happiness.)
[Peace.Love.World.]
One modifies the other, and vice versa.
(Change the world one heart at a time.)
[Starting with your own.]
From there, spread the joy to every plant, animal, and human being on this Earth. If we're all put here together there must be a reason for it, and what better reason than to share life with one another? What better reason than to not let life pass us by because of solitary worries?
Of course I can't sit on a high horse and judge everyone around me, because I too find myself over thinking, worrying about finances, the future, and how to maintain the certain happyness and childlike wonder I hold so very deep in my soul. What I've realized the past few weeks is just how viral such thinking can be. It seeps into my skin, attaches to my cells and soon enters my bloodstream. From there I can feel my temperature rise, my breathing strain and a sense of anxiety enters my mind. The twisted, sick feeling sits in my chest, stomach and brain for hours upon hours, consuming my every thought. Sometimes it is easier to just fall asleep and hope that when you open your eyes, those feelings will have resided, and the world will once again find equilibrium.
We all know viruses never go away. There is no cure for a virus that enters the body, the risk of it coming back is always there-- lurking in the background.
But my question to the world, to myself, Why do we let such a virus enter our system? What happened to the days when all we worried about was getting to stay up late in the summertime, sneak an extra dessert after dinner, or getting that first kiss without our parents finding out? What happened to the days when childlike wonder flowed through our mind, making the world seem brighter, happier and full of possibilities with very few heartaches? There was no worry over money, jobs, living conditions, or transportation. There was no fear of being heartbroken and alone for life. None of that was relevant. Why does it have to be now?
I can try to deny the lurking fears that I've allowed to enter my body, but I know that sooner or later they will surface. Instead of masking them with bad decisions, impulsive buying, or even rash decision making, I try to find the simple things that make me happy; baking, reading, writing, petting an animal, helping someone find their way (whether it's physically finding their way on the road or metaphorically speaking in life), listening to music, and taking walks.
Some people choose to call this 'therapy', but I just call it living. Ooh, there's a radical idea. Go out and do the things I love to do, seek the finer/beautiful things in life instead of laying in bed late at night, worrying about the mysteries of my private student loan, wondering if I will be able to find my next place to live by the time my Lease is up in 10 months.
Babies laugh. The sky burns blue in the daytime. The sun sets in the West, rises in the East. Flowers bloom. The eyes of a broke street performers light up when a few cents are dropped in their hat.
Musicians put their heart and soul into every piece of music.
(Artists put their heart and soul into every work of art.)
[Authors put their heart and soul into every piece of writing.]
Lovers hold hands at 2 years old, 10 years old, 24 years old, 50 years old, and even 90 years old.
(Lovers kiss in public at 2 years old, 10 years old, 24 years old, 50 years old, and even 90 years old.)
[Love never dies.]
People may live their lives when they want to, when things are easy and fun. But it is very seldom to see people living their lives when they need to; when life gives them lemons, which is really just a nice way to say when life beats them over the head with a frying pan.
Two mottos to try to follow.
(Peace.Love.Happiness.)
[Peace.Love.World.]
One modifies the other, and vice versa.
(Change the world one heart at a time.)
[Starting with your own.]
From there, spread the joy to every plant, animal, and human being on this Earth. If we're all put here together there must be a reason for it, and what better reason than to share life with one another? What better reason than to not let life pass us by because of solitary worries?
Friday, July 9, 2010
Just an empty weightroom.
There's something very peaceful about an empty weightroom. It's not just the sound of the metal clanging against itself after a set, and it's not the fact that the mirror is vacant from all wandering eyes. Usually I wear headphones while I workout to drown out the heavy breathing of other lifters, or to keep their small-talk out of my thoughts.
Today I walked into the weightroom and noticed it was empty. Not a single person had a towel on a seat, weights on the bar, or a med-ball misplaced. Everything was where it should be and there was a beam of sunshine coming into the room, landing in scattered spots on the floor.
Not knowing where I should start first, I put my headphones in and stand in front of the mirror where the same rack of dumbbells exists in every weightroom worldwide. Deciding that it was too early for hard rock or gangster rap to get me through a workout, I slide on some Bob Marley for my warm-up. Most people assume that headphones should only blast very powerful music during workouts, in order to ensure that motivation levels stay high. But who's to say that Bob Marley isn't powerful enough?
So I grabbed a set of dumbbells and warmed up my rotator cuffs and shoulder blades. "Ya see, in life I know there's lots of grief, but your love is my relief." The song played on and I did some body-weight squats to wake my legs up. And as the music played on, the mood in the room picked up. No longer just a room full of metal, but suddenly a moving workshop had come alive.
I felt myself ease into the workout, knowing I could take it anywhere I wanted next. So I did a few hanging leg lifts, moved over to bench and set up my squat rack at the same time. But now I was ready for a little more music, so I turned to Mariana's Trench. Not quite a hardcore, punch someone in the face kind of sound but it was good enough to get me through the four sets of bench and three sets of squats that lay ahead of me.
"And I can feel the water changing me, it's changing me for good." A drop of sweat falls on the floor and I know its time to towel off. Even though nobody is there to scoff at a girl who actually perspires, it's still common courtesy in case somebody else walks in.
Feeling brave enough to workout without my headphones, I take a whack at going solo-- without the help of any genre. The calmness of the room overtook me a little bit. I felt like I was back in high school when our coaches didn't play music so that we could concentrate on the new lifts we were trying to master. But suddenly my focus sharpened and I was only thinking about my lifts, feeling every movement of each muscle. For the first time in a long time I could feel the benefits of my work right then and there, and not twenty minutes after when I am sore and trying to relax. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be so focused in on one act that it brings out all of these small details in the work.
Lunges with 60 pounds on my back. Suddenly, instead of just feeling my quads get tired, I felt my shoulder blades tense up to help my back stand me back up. I could hear my own breathing and how it changed with each movement. The serenity of the room elevated every sound I made.
I miss the days when I lifted alone, concentrating only on myself and not on the teammates surrounding me. Sure, we all help each other get through our grueling practices, but it's nice to just take it one lift at a time and dig deep into my own heart and soul and find that inner strength to finish on my own.
Today I walked into the weightroom and noticed it was empty. Not a single person had a towel on a seat, weights on the bar, or a med-ball misplaced. Everything was where it should be and there was a beam of sunshine coming into the room, landing in scattered spots on the floor.
Not knowing where I should start first, I put my headphones in and stand in front of the mirror where the same rack of dumbbells exists in every weightroom worldwide. Deciding that it was too early for hard rock or gangster rap to get me through a workout, I slide on some Bob Marley for my warm-up. Most people assume that headphones should only blast very powerful music during workouts, in order to ensure that motivation levels stay high. But who's to say that Bob Marley isn't powerful enough?
So I grabbed a set of dumbbells and warmed up my rotator cuffs and shoulder blades. "Ya see, in life I know there's lots of grief, but your love is my relief." The song played on and I did some body-weight squats to wake my legs up. And as the music played on, the mood in the room picked up. No longer just a room full of metal, but suddenly a moving workshop had come alive.
I felt myself ease into the workout, knowing I could take it anywhere I wanted next. So I did a few hanging leg lifts, moved over to bench and set up my squat rack at the same time. But now I was ready for a little more music, so I turned to Mariana's Trench. Not quite a hardcore, punch someone in the face kind of sound but it was good enough to get me through the four sets of bench and three sets of squats that lay ahead of me.
"And I can feel the water changing me, it's changing me for good." A drop of sweat falls on the floor and I know its time to towel off. Even though nobody is there to scoff at a girl who actually perspires, it's still common courtesy in case somebody else walks in.
Feeling brave enough to workout without my headphones, I take a whack at going solo-- without the help of any genre. The calmness of the room overtook me a little bit. I felt like I was back in high school when our coaches didn't play music so that we could concentrate on the new lifts we were trying to master. But suddenly my focus sharpened and I was only thinking about my lifts, feeling every movement of each muscle. For the first time in a long time I could feel the benefits of my work right then and there, and not twenty minutes after when I am sore and trying to relax. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be so focused in on one act that it brings out all of these small details in the work.
Lunges with 60 pounds on my back. Suddenly, instead of just feeling my quads get tired, I felt my shoulder blades tense up to help my back stand me back up. I could hear my own breathing and how it changed with each movement. The serenity of the room elevated every sound I made.
I miss the days when I lifted alone, concentrating only on myself and not on the teammates surrounding me. Sure, we all help each other get through our grueling practices, but it's nice to just take it one lift at a time and dig deep into my own heart and soul and find that inner strength to finish on my own.
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