We all seek to find our place in the world. Or in our world, whatever that may be. Our high school friends, our college environments, or even the guys we meet up with at the bar.
We make sure we're the best we can be or, at least, the best we can be in our own microcosms. While this isn't a bad thing in itself, I'd like to challenge this line of thinking. It can cause us to do things we don't like, for a time far longer than we'd prefer, to impress people we generally cannot stand. It's a phase we all go through.
Eventually, though, we face the idea that the miniature world we live in will eventually end for us. We graduate, find a new group of friends, start frequenting a different bar, going to a different gym...and making major changes in our lives. Of course, this revelation tends to come later rather than sooner for most. When it does, a radical shift occurs (hopefully).
That organization you've devoted ludicrous amounts of time to suddenly falls from its pedestal into the superfluous areas of your life. That girl you tried so desperately to chase, impress, and win over instantly becomes just another relatively unimportant human being. That person whose achievements struck you with awe, overnight, loses that luster in your eyes.
The illusions we built for ourselves instantaneously vanish as we come to understand what our true desires are, freed from our narrowed perceptions. We regard ourselves as the oft-maligned #1 that we have so grievously neglected to satisfy the wants of those around us. We can understand that our egos have been malnourished; our desires improperly fed.
We then recall every instance where we held back for fear of offending another with our brilliance, overshadowing another with our talent, upstaging our peers with our own excellence. Perhaps we'll feel anger and resentment toward ourselves; perhaps we will regard these memories as learning experiences.
Regardless, we begin a period of apathy and rejecting everything that isn't aligned with our pursuits. It's empowering, and it makes us realize, once again, just how far we can go beyond our perceived limits. We no longer will undertake a project that we are uninterested in. We refuse to change ourselves so egregiously to be acceptable to another. We cease to censor, by others' standards, our own personalities and gifts.
Then, we feel that the world is at our feet. From that moment, we are forced to answer the questions we have put off for so long:
What do I want in life?
What dreams do I want to pursue? Can I pursue more than one of them?
When these questions (and vastly more of them) are answered, then begins the road to our own futures.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Ole Miss: The Delayed Response (Or, things I learned outside the classroom this year).
This one comes a few weeks late. If you're looking to read this in its entirety, settle in—it's a long one. In the first part, I will be addressing lessons I've learned and experiences I've had. Then, I will address everything not specifically related to me. This post is brought to you by brewing thoughts I've had over the past few weeks. Don't worry if it sounds gloomy. A more upbeat post comes next week.
-----
This past year has been filled with lessons and experiences that I will not soon forget. The people and events I came across, was involved with, and learned from are more numerous than in previous years.
Beginning with this past fall; I had my first brush with "celebrity." Being widely recognized by people with whom I am unfamiliar is a new concept. I prefer to know, personally, everyone who knows anything about me. Having been one of the faces to welcome new students to Ole Miss, however, I am forced to admit that I could not be reasonably tasked with remembering everyone I came across—try as I might. Even into the end of the spring semester, I still "met" people to whom I was previously introduced. But it does speak to the impact one person can have on another. What I learned is that when you make an impression on someone, it obviously sticks. Make a strong enough impression, and you gain someone who will admire you. While not one to actively seek admiration, I count myself successful if I can make a difference to someone.
I have learned what falls within my limits of tolerance. I understand my impatience for the whimsical. I do not mean, by whimsical, the idea of being spontaneous in action and in life. What I do mean to address is the idea of being capricious with human relationships. More specifically, I demand consistency, loyalty, and honesty of myself. Therefore, to a lesser degree, I require it from others and refuse to entertain any lapses in these qualities.
The friendships I developed have shaped me even further. When I say developed, I don't exclusively mean the new ones that formed. I also refer to the ones that were strengthened. I decline to name these people primarily because they may identify themselves. From them, I've gained a better sense of maturity, of self, and that we are not limited to one road before us.
The greatest gains I have made are from my friends. I have a greater sense and appreciation for culture, the ability to truly sympathize with others, the ability to listen and just be a friend, and how to offer guidance when needed.
The most critical lesson I have learned, and probably the most incensing for some readers, is to never place my own needs and desires in submission to the desires of another; especially if they do not run parallel. I used to be a selfish human being, but I managed to reverse that—to the extreme. I even went so far as to designate last year as the year of not ever saying "no." Because I honored most any request made of me, I overcommitted myself. Sure, I made a decent income for a full-time college student, but I found myself on the receiving end of complaints far too often. The reasons were as varied as they were valid. I am grateful for the experience but, to be brutally honest, I might have made a different decision if I had to replay this past year. Overall, I blame myself for that. My commitment, added to my traits of always seeing something through to the end, not yielding when a situation becomes difficult, and even not standing up to unnecessary demands, stressed me more than usual. I was disappointed with the lack of reasonable mediation as I bore the brunt of every single complaint. Though I made adequate time for every commitment I had, it just wasn't at the time of day that others would have preferred. Regardless, I did learn valuable skills and ways to deal with people, so I would not trade that experience for much else.
I came in contact with a handful of interesting people who have, in one way or another, introduced me to another part of myself. I grew substantially more comfortable with myself and came to understand my desires, dreams, goals, and personality. This is also a universal reminder that everyone that enters my life (or yours) does so for a reason. That reason may be to teach one lesson. That reason may be to accompany me through a phase. It may even be that they have entered my life with the ultimate purpose to stay permanently. The challenge is to sort out which it is and not hold on to the wrong ones.
I have also learned the valuable lesson to not judge anyone by my own standards. My standards are my own and apply only to me. When I look at another person, I judge them by their own values. I have found that this eliminates the feeling of being unimpressed with others. It should—humans are, by design, impressive creatures. What we are individually capable of is astronomical. Through this, I have enjoyed being far more patient with people than I ever have in the past.
I have learned to forgive. Having dealt with so much disappointment and anger in the past, I have made the final step in my growth in this area. Simply forgiving someone is cathartic, prevents defensiveness, and fosters growth in both me and the one I perceive to have wronged me. Simply put, I don't hold grudges. Remembering—holding obsessively to—a past grievance is debilitating, prohibits natural human interaction, and is downright silly. The other party probably doesn't even remember the perceived offense.
I've learned to be happy with myself. I had always wanted to be always wildly outgoing (I am, at times), but my personality just isn't engineered that way. And for good reason—I can relate to both extreme introverts and extreme extroverts. I've got the best of both worlds, here. This lesson is critical, too: you simply cannot be happy with another person if you aren't happy with yourself. You'll search the other person for what's "missing," and still won't truly appreciate them. I've seen this happen far too often—not with myself, though.
The last lesson—which I'm still kinda working on—is to seize what you want, and chase it until it's yours. Enough said. The measure of devotion with which you pursue anything determines your success. Too little is nonchalant and doomed to fail. Too much is obsessive and, while perhaps somewhat successful, is ultimately unhealthy.
-----
Next up: Everything else. [DISCLAIMER: While I might sound like I'm writing with an air of being above all that follows, I'm simply not. My writing style here is to be as detached as possible. And it's my opinion. You don't have to read this section.]
The most disappointing things I've seen this year are laced with complacency, pettiness, and being unwilling to live by what is known to be "right."
Personal vendettas seemed to be highly prevalent. I've seen actions taken by those who they would not affect, just to spite those whom they would. To be so vindictive and to hold such a grudge is childish, unprofessional, and indicative of immaturity. Unfortunately, malicious intent can and does breed anger all around, marring whatever noble intentions were originally held.
Competition, arguably, brings out the best and the worst in all of us. It is irresponsible to cast aspersions, as the terms "clean," "dirty," "respectable," and "questionable" are highly suggestive. In an arena where there are limited rules of engagement and the use of intangible assets are uninhibited by nature, "doing what it takes to win" takes on an ambiguous meaning. Being victorious just might mean a competitor draws upon everything at their disposal; which is ingenious in the end. "Shrewd" is synonymous with resourceful. Granted, there are moral debates that may still rage on, but to detract from the victorious for using perceived tactics that another may have been unable to capitalize on is, sadly, to decry the legitimacy of triumph. Character assassination, while theoretically not an illegitimate tactic, does (ironically) speak to the character of the "assassin." This is where I end my synopsis of competition; as this can easily drag out into an extended entry of its own (actually...it already had a few months ago).
I'll be blunt here. In my field of study, it is generally accepted as a holy tenet that knowledge is to be investigated and, following careful dissection and deliberation, disseminated for public approval. Here is where the deadly force of complacency rears its head. Being unwilling to pursue what might have been a career-building move denotes fear of pulling the trigger on an action that must be taken. Fear of repercussion (for self or others), immobilizing as it may be, may draw suspicion. Such decisions separate the adequate from the excellent.
At the end of the day, however, it isn't what others do that should be important to us. What should remain in importance are our own aspirations and our own journeys to reach our goals.
-----
2011-2012 have been very formative years for us all. I've always been someone who looks for life lessons in everything; especially as they pertain to me. Some sort of discerning wisdom I inherited, I suppose.
In other news, I've nearly finished my first month of Insanity. It rocks.
-----
This past year has been filled with lessons and experiences that I will not soon forget. The people and events I came across, was involved with, and learned from are more numerous than in previous years.
Beginning with this past fall; I had my first brush with "celebrity." Being widely recognized by people with whom I am unfamiliar is a new concept. I prefer to know, personally, everyone who knows anything about me. Having been one of the faces to welcome new students to Ole Miss, however, I am forced to admit that I could not be reasonably tasked with remembering everyone I came across—try as I might. Even into the end of the spring semester, I still "met" people to whom I was previously introduced. But it does speak to the impact one person can have on another. What I learned is that when you make an impression on someone, it obviously sticks. Make a strong enough impression, and you gain someone who will admire you. While not one to actively seek admiration, I count myself successful if I can make a difference to someone.
I have learned what falls within my limits of tolerance. I understand my impatience for the whimsical. I do not mean, by whimsical, the idea of being spontaneous in action and in life. What I do mean to address is the idea of being capricious with human relationships. More specifically, I demand consistency, loyalty, and honesty of myself. Therefore, to a lesser degree, I require it from others and refuse to entertain any lapses in these qualities.
The friendships I developed have shaped me even further. When I say developed, I don't exclusively mean the new ones that formed. I also refer to the ones that were strengthened. I decline to name these people primarily because they may identify themselves. From them, I've gained a better sense of maturity, of self, and that we are not limited to one road before us.
The greatest gains I have made are from my friends. I have a greater sense and appreciation for culture, the ability to truly sympathize with others, the ability to listen and just be a friend, and how to offer guidance when needed.
The most critical lesson I have learned, and probably the most incensing for some readers, is to never place my own needs and desires in submission to the desires of another; especially if they do not run parallel. I used to be a selfish human being, but I managed to reverse that—to the extreme. I even went so far as to designate last year as the year of not ever saying "no." Because I honored most any request made of me, I overcommitted myself. Sure, I made a decent income for a full-time college student, but I found myself on the receiving end of complaints far too often. The reasons were as varied as they were valid. I am grateful for the experience but, to be brutally honest, I might have made a different decision if I had to replay this past year. Overall, I blame myself for that. My commitment, added to my traits of always seeing something through to the end, not yielding when a situation becomes difficult, and even not standing up to unnecessary demands, stressed me more than usual. I was disappointed with the lack of reasonable mediation as I bore the brunt of every single complaint. Though I made adequate time for every commitment I had, it just wasn't at the time of day that others would have preferred. Regardless, I did learn valuable skills and ways to deal with people, so I would not trade that experience for much else.
Again, that is the lesson: Do not place others' desires before your needs, especially if they do not line up.
I came in contact with a handful of interesting people who have, in one way or another, introduced me to another part of myself. I grew substantially more comfortable with myself and came to understand my desires, dreams, goals, and personality. This is also a universal reminder that everyone that enters my life (or yours) does so for a reason. That reason may be to teach one lesson. That reason may be to accompany me through a phase. It may even be that they have entered my life with the ultimate purpose to stay permanently. The challenge is to sort out which it is and not hold on to the wrong ones.
I have also learned the valuable lesson to not judge anyone by my own standards. My standards are my own and apply only to me. When I look at another person, I judge them by their own values. I have found that this eliminates the feeling of being unimpressed with others. It should—humans are, by design, impressive creatures. What we are individually capable of is astronomical. Through this, I have enjoyed being far more patient with people than I ever have in the past.
I have learned to forgive. Having dealt with so much disappointment and anger in the past, I have made the final step in my growth in this area. Simply forgiving someone is cathartic, prevents defensiveness, and fosters growth in both me and the one I perceive to have wronged me. Simply put, I don't hold grudges. Remembering—holding obsessively to—a past grievance is debilitating, prohibits natural human interaction, and is downright silly. The other party probably doesn't even remember the perceived offense.
I've learned to be happy with myself. I had always wanted to be always wildly outgoing (I am, at times), but my personality just isn't engineered that way. And for good reason—I can relate to both extreme introverts and extreme extroverts. I've got the best of both worlds, here. This lesson is critical, too: you simply cannot be happy with another person if you aren't happy with yourself. You'll search the other person for what's "missing," and still won't truly appreciate them. I've seen this happen far too often—not with myself, though.
The last lesson—which I'm still kinda working on—is to seize what you want, and chase it until it's yours. Enough said. The measure of devotion with which you pursue anything determines your success. Too little is nonchalant and doomed to fail. Too much is obsessive and, while perhaps somewhat successful, is ultimately unhealthy.
-----
Next up: Everything else. [DISCLAIMER: While I might sound like I'm writing with an air of being above all that follows, I'm simply not. My writing style here is to be as detached as possible. And it's my opinion. You don't have to read this section.]
The most disappointing things I've seen this year are laced with complacency, pettiness, and being unwilling to live by what is known to be "right."
Personal vendettas seemed to be highly prevalent. I've seen actions taken by those who they would not affect, just to spite those whom they would. To be so vindictive and to hold such a grudge is childish, unprofessional, and indicative of immaturity. Unfortunately, malicious intent can and does breed anger all around, marring whatever noble intentions were originally held.
Competition, arguably, brings out the best and the worst in all of us. It is irresponsible to cast aspersions, as the terms "clean," "dirty," "respectable," and "questionable" are highly suggestive. In an arena where there are limited rules of engagement and the use of intangible assets are uninhibited by nature, "doing what it takes to win" takes on an ambiguous meaning. Being victorious just might mean a competitor draws upon everything at their disposal; which is ingenious in the end. "Shrewd" is synonymous with resourceful. Granted, there are moral debates that may still rage on, but to detract from the victorious for using perceived tactics that another may have been unable to capitalize on is, sadly, to decry the legitimacy of triumph. Character assassination, while theoretically not an illegitimate tactic, does (ironically) speak to the character of the "assassin." This is where I end my synopsis of competition; as this can easily drag out into an extended entry of its own (actually...it already had a few months ago).
I'll be blunt here. In my field of study, it is generally accepted as a holy tenet that knowledge is to be investigated and, following careful dissection and deliberation, disseminated for public approval. Here is where the deadly force of complacency rears its head. Being unwilling to pursue what might have been a career-building move denotes fear of pulling the trigger on an action that must be taken. Fear of repercussion (for self or others), immobilizing as it may be, may draw suspicion. Such decisions separate the adequate from the excellent.
At the end of the day, however, it isn't what others do that should be important to us. What should remain in importance are our own aspirations and our own journeys to reach our goals.
-----
2011-2012 have been very formative years for us all. I've always been someone who looks for life lessons in everything; especially as they pertain to me. Some sort of discerning wisdom I inherited, I suppose.
In other news, I've nearly finished my first month of Insanity. It rocks.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Music. Art. Life.
I'm back into music making. Today, I just put together a slow song, having been studying beatmakers T-Minus and 40. I especially like how 40 uses sevenths in his beats; not overly complicated, but not too simplistic, either. He tends to use low-pass filters on instrumentation, outlined with an evocative drum track. Here's the result of my study.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Impasse.
I'm currently fighting a battle of point/counterpoint. From birth, I've been immersed in music. I played violin in my early days, so much so that even after severely traumatic damage to my arm, I can still play. Though I suffered extensive muscle damage and atrophy, muscle memory had not totally faded. I've been in choirs, singing at graduations, and even learned to also play the saxophone. And I have ventured into music making.
The other side of this is that I have been studying journalism for the past few years. And one of the tenets of journalism is objectivity and independence. Though I am good at what I do, there is still the draw back to music. Often, I find myself glued to my laptop, weaving harmonies and beats; ever evolving with the styles employed.
Following my instincts, I would love to pursue performance. But I don't come without a measure of noncommittal; I prefer to always have a backup plan. For journalism to be a backup to performance is a dangerous gambit, since journalistic credibility is more often than not eviscerated by attempts at glory.
What is to be done in such a situation? Pursue a dream rooted in genetic ability? Relent?
Should I pursue journalism, my time may be so consumed that I may be hard pressed to pursue musicianship further. Venturing into music may very well assassinate my career before I even begin.
I do know that there is power in these vocal chords of mine. My intent is to use them, in one capacity or another.
The other side of this is that I have been studying journalism for the past few years. And one of the tenets of journalism is objectivity and independence. Though I am good at what I do, there is still the draw back to music. Often, I find myself glued to my laptop, weaving harmonies and beats; ever evolving with the styles employed.
Following my instincts, I would love to pursue performance. But I don't come without a measure of noncommittal; I prefer to always have a backup plan. For journalism to be a backup to performance is a dangerous gambit, since journalistic credibility is more often than not eviscerated by attempts at glory.
What is to be done in such a situation? Pursue a dream rooted in genetic ability? Relent?
Should I pursue journalism, my time may be so consumed that I may be hard pressed to pursue musicianship further. Venturing into music may very well assassinate my career before I even begin.
I do know that there is power in these vocal chords of mine. My intent is to use them, in one capacity or another.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
On Being Performance-Driven.
I write this post in hopes that others may benefit from my experience.
Coming off the high of winning, I sit back and evaluate myself. Though I began to walk around the casino floor with my usual confident swagger, it was only hours beforehand that I was highly apprehensive. My first time gambling, and I had no idea what I was getting into yet.
I had $200 to play with; that was my limit. After surveying the money pits that were slot machines, craps, and Blackjack, I finally settled on the game that required more than just "luck." Even though I had played so much 2 years ago and gotten sick of it, I decided to come out of self-imposed retirement to play Texas Hold 'Em.
I bought in for $100, sat down, ordered a Heineken, and just watched the game. It was much faster than I was used to. Adding to my nervousness was the fact that all the other players were older and that I, wearing a blazer and tie, looked like the perfect mark.
Here's where it gets interesting: Rather than fold under pressure (see what I did there?), I channeled my fears into my performance. The emotionless face that I'm rather notorious for went on full display, and my proclivity for deception—only used in poker, I promise—began to take over. Even though I was uncomfortable, I used it to my advantage. The uneasy, pretentious-looking kid cleaned up after winning two big hands (full house and flush, respectively). Knowing that I hadn't been betting aggressively before, I had to let the older men bully me a little, letting them push me all in before revealing the winning hand. Needless to say, they were impressed/shocked/congratulatory. After making such a killing (a 200% return, no less), I decided to cash out and quit playing for the rest of the day.
That story is an illustration of how I tend to handle situations, as I've come to realize. Any negative feelings (fear, panic, nervousness, anger, etc) are just used to fuel my drive to succeed. I do this in everyday life. Got an essay that I haven't started yet? Panic for 5 minutes, then use that panic to churn out the greatest hastily-written paper anyone has ever seen. I usually succeed there. Need to interview a high-profile person? March straight up to them, making eye contact. This isn't to prevent them from having a way to back down, but it's to prevent myself from having a way to back down.
In the end, knowing that there is no place for the negative is the perfect channel. There's no time to be starstruck when interviewing a celebrity. There's no time to be afraid when the stakes are high. There's no time at all to panic when academia calls.
This is my method: Any time I am stressed for any reason about anything, I force myself to understand that the stress alone is unhelpful. When it prompts you to rise to a challenge, however, it becomes a driving force. I then remove all paths of escape. When you can't run from a problem, allow your will to succeed and the best in you to surface to help push through it.
I'm buying at least one more blazer.
Coming off the high of winning, I sit back and evaluate myself. Though I began to walk around the casino floor with my usual confident swagger, it was only hours beforehand that I was highly apprehensive. My first time gambling, and I had no idea what I was getting into yet.
I had $200 to play with; that was my limit. After surveying the money pits that were slot machines, craps, and Blackjack, I finally settled on the game that required more than just "luck." Even though I had played so much 2 years ago and gotten sick of it, I decided to come out of self-imposed retirement to play Texas Hold 'Em.
I bought in for $100, sat down, ordered a Heineken, and just watched the game. It was much faster than I was used to. Adding to my nervousness was the fact that all the other players were older and that I, wearing a blazer and tie, looked like the perfect mark.
Here's where it gets interesting: Rather than fold under pressure (see what I did there?), I channeled my fears into my performance. The emotionless face that I'm rather notorious for went on full display, and my proclivity for deception—only used in poker, I promise—began to take over. Even though I was uncomfortable, I used it to my advantage. The uneasy, pretentious-looking kid cleaned up after winning two big hands (full house and flush, respectively). Knowing that I hadn't been betting aggressively before, I had to let the older men bully me a little, letting them push me all in before revealing the winning hand. Needless to say, they were impressed/shocked/congratulatory. After making such a killing (a 200% return, no less), I decided to cash out and quit playing for the rest of the day.
That story is an illustration of how I tend to handle situations, as I've come to realize. Any negative feelings (fear, panic, nervousness, anger, etc) are just used to fuel my drive to succeed. I do this in everyday life. Got an essay that I haven't started yet? Panic for 5 minutes, then use that panic to churn out the greatest hastily-written paper anyone has ever seen. I usually succeed there. Need to interview a high-profile person? March straight up to them, making eye contact. This isn't to prevent them from having a way to back down, but it's to prevent myself from having a way to back down.
In the end, knowing that there is no place for the negative is the perfect channel. There's no time to be starstruck when interviewing a celebrity. There's no time to be afraid when the stakes are high. There's no time at all to panic when academia calls.
This is my method: Any time I am stressed for any reason about anything, I force myself to understand that the stress alone is unhelpful. When it prompts you to rise to a challenge, however, it becomes a driving force. I then remove all paths of escape. When you can't run from a problem, allow your will to succeed and the best in you to surface to help push through it.
I'm buying at least one more blazer.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
My (30 Second) Interview with New Ole Miss Athletic Director Ross Bjork
Pardon the blatant SEO'd headline (Search Engine Optimization).
Monday night, April 16th, was the Rebels' Choice Awards. I was out on the red carpet in front of the Gertrude C. Ford Center with my fellow Athletic Department Productions interns, preparing to interview some predetermined figures. Of the interviewers, I was the only male. Which is fine with me; I got to track down and interview candidates for coach of the year.
Side note—I find that I'm not too bothered by women standing taller than me. Most of my co-interns are my height or shorter (there is one exception, and she's pretty tall anyway). Now, I'm 5'10", 21 years old, and having growing pains again, but it was a change of pace to see things from the view of my *ahem* shorter friends.
Anyway, in between locating and interviewing coaches, and operating the camera for the ladies as they also interview, one of the other cameramen spots our new AD. He lets me know and, of course, I man up and approach the man dead-on.
...Okay, sort of.
He was in conversation, so I just stood within earshot, close enough for him to look me in the eye before continuing to talk. I stood for a moment, then decided to come back later. I moseyed around the carpet before noticing that he was done talking, then approached him again.
Within about 10 seconds of actually meeting Ross Bjork, I was elated that Ole Miss had chosen a strong leader for our athletic department.
Firm handshake, strong voice, eye contact...all things you would expect from a professional. But you can also notice his resolve. He's around my height, and has a powerful presence. It made me even more confident in our athletic program.
The interview went solidly. It was his first time ever being at the awards show, and he had only arrived in Oxford the night before. He told me that he understands why no one ever wants to leave Ole Miss (I'll update this post with video when it becomes available).
In the end, I was again overjoyed that the University found a strong leader for the job and has avoided charges of nepotism in hiring him.
Monday night, April 16th, was the Rebels' Choice Awards. I was out on the red carpet in front of the Gertrude C. Ford Center with my fellow Athletic Department Productions interns, preparing to interview some predetermined figures. Of the interviewers, I was the only male. Which is fine with me; I got to track down and interview candidates for coach of the year.
Side note—I find that I'm not too bothered by women standing taller than me. Most of my co-interns are my height or shorter (there is one exception, and she's pretty tall anyway). Now, I'm 5'10", 21 years old, and having growing pains again, but it was a change of pace to see things from the view of my *ahem* shorter friends.
Anyway, in between locating and interviewing coaches, and operating the camera for the ladies as they also interview, one of the other cameramen spots our new AD. He lets me know and, of course, I man up and approach the man dead-on.
...Okay, sort of.
He was in conversation, so I just stood within earshot, close enough for him to look me in the eye before continuing to talk. I stood for a moment, then decided to come back later. I moseyed around the carpet before noticing that he was done talking, then approached him again.
Within about 10 seconds of actually meeting Ross Bjork, I was elated that Ole Miss had chosen a strong leader for our athletic department.
Firm handshake, strong voice, eye contact...all things you would expect from a professional. But you can also notice his resolve. He's around my height, and has a powerful presence. It made me even more confident in our athletic program.
The interview went solidly. It was his first time ever being at the awards show, and he had only arrived in Oxford the night before. He told me that he understands why no one ever wants to leave Ole Miss (I'll update this post with video when it becomes available).
In the end, I was again overjoyed that the University found a strong leader for the job and has avoided charges of nepotism in hiring him.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Togo Update
The first meeting happened today (at least the first one involving me). Engineers Without Borders is elated to have a journalism student with them. I've been corrected; we will be in Africa from August 6th to the 13th, approximately. EWB has committed about 10-15 years to Togo. French will be most commonly spoken when we go. My linguistic horizon goes to Latin and Spanish, with a little cognition into related languages. The village we visit will be friendly to Americans and photography. It is very clear how pivotal my role is. I will be documenting everything. I'm taking 1st-person notes during meetings, planning shots (odd, since I have no idea what to look for), and thinking of documentary angles.
More updates as they become available.
More updates as they become available.
Monday, April 9, 2012
And Here It Goes.
One day, after class, my journalism professor asked me to stay behind to discuss something. It turns out that the journalism school wants to send me as an attaché to engineering students who are working through Engineers Without Borders.
Destination: Togo. Located in West Africa, this country has everything that will outright kill any perfectly sheltered, first-world American (read: don't touch anything).
And I'm excited. My job will be to work with my professor to produce both a documentary and a photo series about what these students are doing.
Travel has always been one of my favorite things, and I'm looking forward to it. We'll be there during the first two weeks of August.
Along with the projects, I will also be writing a book. (Now that I've published this statement, I'm holding myself to doing it.)
More details as they come.
Destination: Togo. Located in West Africa, this country has everything that will outright kill any perfectly sheltered, first-world American (read: don't touch anything).
And I'm excited. My job will be to work with my professor to produce both a documentary and a photo series about what these students are doing.
Travel has always been one of my favorite things, and I'm looking forward to it. We'll be there during the first two weeks of August.
Along with the projects, I will also be writing a book. (Now that I've published this statement, I'm holding myself to doing it.)
More details as they come.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Journalism 330 Assignment: Leadership
For this assignment, I was to interview a student leader about their thoughts on leadership. I chose Cortez Moss, director of Ole Miss' "The Big Event," a day dedicated to community service.
A New Age.
I regularly take time to retreat from the world and spend some time with my own thoughts; an exercise that I find most beneficial in my life. This time, however, it's different. I am about to be declared legal by the state. I am about to register for classes as a senior student. The sun is beginning to set on my undergraduate career as it prepares to rise for my brother.
At every birthday, I stop and look back over the past year. Obviously, we all grow and change over the course of a year, but the magnitude of change in me is tremendously greater than any other year. I've forged, tested, solidified, and broken a number of relationships. It makes me appreciate the ones I keep close; the ones who I communicate with almost daily, the ones upon whom I won't hesitate to dump the contents of my mind.
I delved into a number of first-time experiences; the kind of which will permanently alter a man. And I walked away from them, irreversibly changed, having learned lessons that have only improved me as a person.
I overcame a seafood allergy (THANK GOD). Shrimp, lobster and crab are amazing. I can't believe what I've been missing for 20 years.
I gave myself freely—needlessly so, at times—and learned that while doing so is a good thing, prudence is the best way to avoid being hurt while doing so. Furthermore, I learned that pain is a part of life, and the best way to deal with it is to not run from it.
I learned that nobody can just divine what you feel—they have to be told point-blank. Not everybody is on the same wavelength (or, more accurately, everyone is not on the same wavelength).
I can approach just about anything with the foolish determination to overcome it and enjoy it. Would I have fearlessly thrown myself at the ground from 50 feet in the air, skimmed waves (and gotten thrown across the water) at speeds in excess of 50mph, or had the audacity to open myself to an absolute stranger this time last year? Most likely not.
Would I have been able to consider everything with an open mind a year ago? Not so much.
Would I have had the ability to shamelessly accept the person I am last year? I can't even say for sure.
These days, I have begun to actually live. When I say "I'll try anything once," I mean it (reasonably). I've embodied that sentiment. Fear of life, in turn, causes a man to be unable to live. I learned that lesson.
Now, as I spend my final hours as a 20-year-old, and my final months as a college junior, I can remain confident in my ability to enjoy life—regardless of anything else—and enjoy it even more as life goes on.
At every birthday, I stop and look back over the past year. Obviously, we all grow and change over the course of a year, but the magnitude of change in me is tremendously greater than any other year. I've forged, tested, solidified, and broken a number of relationships. It makes me appreciate the ones I keep close; the ones who I communicate with almost daily, the ones upon whom I won't hesitate to dump the contents of my mind.
I delved into a number of first-time experiences; the kind of which will permanently alter a man. And I walked away from them, irreversibly changed, having learned lessons that have only improved me as a person.
I overcame a seafood allergy (THANK GOD). Shrimp, lobster and crab are amazing. I can't believe what I've been missing for 20 years.
I gave myself freely—needlessly so, at times—and learned that while doing so is a good thing, prudence is the best way to avoid being hurt while doing so. Furthermore, I learned that pain is a part of life, and the best way to deal with it is to not run from it.
I learned that nobody can just divine what you feel—they have to be told point-blank. Not everybody is on the same wavelength (or, more accurately, everyone is not on the same wavelength).
I can approach just about anything with the foolish determination to overcome it and enjoy it. Would I have fearlessly thrown myself at the ground from 50 feet in the air, skimmed waves (and gotten thrown across the water) at speeds in excess of 50mph, or had the audacity to open myself to an absolute stranger this time last year? Most likely not.
Would I have been able to consider everything with an open mind a year ago? Not so much.
Would I have had the ability to shamelessly accept the person I am last year? I can't even say for sure.
These days, I have begun to actually live. When I say "I'll try anything once," I mean it (reasonably). I've embodied that sentiment. Fear of life, in turn, causes a man to be unable to live. I learned that lesson.
Now, as I spend my final hours as a 20-year-old, and my final months as a college junior, I can remain confident in my ability to enjoy life—regardless of anything else—and enjoy it even more as life goes on.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Journalism 330: Assignment 4 (Scene Setters)
For this assignment, I had to pick 2 historic locations in Oxford and talk about them. Here we are: Rowan Oak and the Confederate Cemetary.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Eyewear: Stylish, Cheap, and Durable.
I just ordered some wayfarer-style sunglasses from Knockaround. The company is a San Diego-based startup that appears to be doing well for itself. According to its about page, Adam Moyer started making eyewear that catered to classic design, featuring a wide color spectrum, at a low price.
I was delighted by the large selection.
These are wayfarers, make no mistake about it, but they are unique. Every pair comes with the Knockaround logo on the outer frame with the company mantra, "Ace On Base," on the inside. The original $14 line, called the Premiums, are available in 24 colors, and the color selection is increased every few months. Simplistic designs are offered at $7 for a quick and cheap selection.
Seasonal offerings are also available, as well as models made from material that is 53% plant-based. At $16, these are slightly more expensive. The limited edition models, ranging from $28–$35, usually feature more exotic color combinations. I was even tempted to shell out for some aviator-style models.
The $25 Fort Knocks style (which I ordered), are inspired by the US Gold Bullion Depository in the great state of Kentucky. They feature gold bar accents on the face of the frame, a subtle yet distinctive addition. Because I'm such a fan of black and blue, I ordered these.
For the daringly creative, Knockaround even offers a Custom option. Here, you can go all out. Want a translucent grey face, blue left arm, green right arm, and orange lenses? Go right ahead. For $35, you can hack together the most outlandish pair of sunglasses at your heart's desire.
I will update this post when my new eyewear arrives. These.
I was delighted by the large selection.
These are wayfarers, make no mistake about it, but they are unique. Every pair comes with the Knockaround logo on the outer frame with the company mantra, "Ace On Base," on the inside. The original $14 line, called the Premiums, are available in 24 colors, and the color selection is increased every few months. Simplistic designs are offered at $7 for a quick and cheap selection.
Seasonal offerings are also available, as well as models made from material that is 53% plant-based. At $16, these are slightly more expensive. The limited edition models, ranging from $28–$35, usually feature more exotic color combinations. I was even tempted to shell out for some aviator-style models.
The $25 Fort Knocks style (which I ordered), are inspired by the US Gold Bullion Depository in the great state of Kentucky. They feature gold bar accents on the face of the frame, a subtle yet distinctive addition. Because I'm such a fan of black and blue, I ordered these.
For the daringly creative, Knockaround even offers a Custom option. Here, you can go all out. Want a translucent grey face, blue left arm, green right arm, and orange lenses? Go right ahead. For $35, you can hack together the most outlandish pair of sunglasses at your heart's desire.
I will update this post when my new eyewear arrives. These.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Journalism 330: Assignment 3 (Or, Ruben Teaches Me How to Dance)
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Sunlight.
As the sunlight draws you back to consciousness, causing you to resurface from the sea of dreams, it streams memories to you.
This bright light illuminates the darkness in you, allowing you to clearly visualize your immediate past in holistic detail.
You look, and you perceive, and you can see, by the beaming light, the faults in you. The faults, like cracks in a mirror, that don't let you see things as they should be, but as they are. Reality is reflected in a form of twisted honesty, and the illusion you perpetuated is exposed for the farce it is.
The sun, ever-present and unchanging, hands down upon the earth the same light. At times, the sun is welcomed as an illuminating and warming agent. At others, it is cursed as a tortuous, unrelenting force.
But it is constant.
Examining one fault closely, man can see what his actions have brought him. He believes he is doing good for himself, but sharply realizes that all he does is only bringing him strife. Yet he persists, thinking he will be rewarded; doing the same thing and expecting different results is, of course, insanity. This revelation is also cast upon him.
This shattered visage also reveals to him that, while he may believe—rightly or not—that he caused himself such agony, he is not to blame.
Perhaps he perceives this glass wrong. Perhaps there is some detail that he has overlooked. But maybe, just maybe, this broken view isn't even helpful to have in front of him. Acting on this, he removes the pane—his pain follows—and gets to see the sun, feel the sun, without the unhelpful barrier that has occluded its gaze.
He refuses to continue in futility, he refuses to pity himself, and he refuses to slow down. He would much rather push forward, even stronger than yesterday, and take everything that actually was meant for him, and not torture himself over what just may not be for him.
And yet, there is that small hope, rooted so gently, which suggests that he not leave behind this damaged view, and suggests the possibility of repairing it.
He does not violently uproot it, however, but he leaves it in the sun. The celestial object will turn its eye upon the plant and either nurture it or destroy it permanently.
He finds solace in the sun, as the solstice has given him his answer.
This bright light illuminates the darkness in you, allowing you to clearly visualize your immediate past in holistic detail.
You look, and you perceive, and you can see, by the beaming light, the faults in you. The faults, like cracks in a mirror, that don't let you see things as they should be, but as they are. Reality is reflected in a form of twisted honesty, and the illusion you perpetuated is exposed for the farce it is.
The sun, ever-present and unchanging, hands down upon the earth the same light. At times, the sun is welcomed as an illuminating and warming agent. At others, it is cursed as a tortuous, unrelenting force.
But it is constant.
Examining one fault closely, man can see what his actions have brought him. He believes he is doing good for himself, but sharply realizes that all he does is only bringing him strife. Yet he persists, thinking he will be rewarded; doing the same thing and expecting different results is, of course, insanity. This revelation is also cast upon him.
This shattered visage also reveals to him that, while he may believe—rightly or not—that he caused himself such agony, he is not to blame.
Perhaps he perceives this glass wrong. Perhaps there is some detail that he has overlooked. But maybe, just maybe, this broken view isn't even helpful to have in front of him. Acting on this, he removes the pane—his pain follows—and gets to see the sun, feel the sun, without the unhelpful barrier that has occluded its gaze.
He refuses to continue in futility, he refuses to pity himself, and he refuses to slow down. He would much rather push forward, even stronger than yesterday, and take everything that actually was meant for him, and not torture himself over what just may not be for him.
And yet, there is that small hope, rooted so gently, which suggests that he not leave behind this damaged view, and suggests the possibility of repairing it.
He does not violently uproot it, however, but he leaves it in the sun. The celestial object will turn its eye upon the plant and either nurture it or destroy it permanently.
He finds solace in the sun, as the solstice has given him his answer.
Friday, February 10, 2012
#TSUN and #MSU (Or: Why I Don't Unilaterally Hate All Mississippi State Fans)
At last nights disheartening loss to the Dogs in Starkville, there were at least 90 Rebels at The Hump, with about 60 of us concentrated exactly opposite from the student section. Of course we, being Rebels, were more than happy to raise merry hell in Starkvegas, screaming out the Hotty Toddy cheer every time it was quiet enough inside to hear us.
Understandably, every "Are You Ready" was immediately met with the roaring, hatred-laced disapproval of every State fan within earshot. We expected and welcomed this, because we know that every time we set foot in Starkpatch, there's a high chance of drawing the ire of every Bulldog in sight (except the mascot, who decided to grace us with his presence—no idea why).
We enjoy the rivalry, of course. It is clearly a time-honored tradition that Bulldogs and Rebels never get along. I shared a laugh with an elderly State fan who, following our Hotty Toddy cheers, would retort with "Flim Flam, Bim Bam, who the hell gives a damn!?" But it's all in the sport of competition.
This clearly drunk couple, however, made the experience slightly unbearable (but a whole lot more fun to watch).
1: That haircut (as one of my female friends so eloquently explained to me) would only be requested by someone who is currently drunk. Ouch.
2: Classless. Sure, we trailed the entire game. Sure, we didn't play so well. It isn't necessary, however, to turn around after every play, call us bears (we're still Rebels, ma'am), and flip us off.
2 (continued): At one point, this woman screamed:
Speaking of this man:
1: He's too old to be irresponsibly hammered at a sporting event. Yes, this opinion comes from students at a school where, stereotypically, drinking heavily for sporting events is expected (read: required).
2: He was looking for a fight. His unstable feet struggled to turn him around every time he wanted to jeer at the "basketbears," in our faces. He wanted a fight with nearly 60 young, sprightly bodies. I have no idea why.
3: Seriously, in a blackout, light this man's hair. If you searched anywhere in Starkghanistan for hair product, you won't find any. Because of this man.
4: The high point of this man was him screaming:
Interestingly enough, after the game, we shared a laugh with the other State fans who apologized for the behavior of their drunken compatriots.
So, while still paying no mind to "The School Beneath Us," I can confidently say that we have a begrudged human respect for each other.
Understandably, every "Are You Ready" was immediately met with the roaring, hatred-laced disapproval of every State fan within earshot. We expected and welcomed this, because we know that every time we set foot in Starkpatch, there's a high chance of drawing the ire of every Bulldog in sight (except the mascot, who decided to grace us with his presence—no idea why).
We enjoy the rivalry, of course. It is clearly a time-honored tradition that Bulldogs and Rebels never get along. I shared a laugh with an elderly State fan who, following our Hotty Toddy cheers, would retort with "Flim Flam, Bim Bam, who the hell gives a damn!?" But it's all in the sport of competition.
This clearly drunk couple, however, made the experience slightly unbearable (but a whole lot more fun to watch).
We'll start in on the woman.
1: That haircut (as one of my female friends so eloquently explained to me) would only be requested by someone who is currently drunk. Ouch.
2: Classless. Sure, we trailed the entire game. Sure, we didn't play so well. It isn't necessary, however, to turn around after every play, call us bears (we're still Rebels, ma'am), and flip us off.
2 (continued): At one point, this woman screamed:
"I make more money than you!"Ma'am, you are clearly approaching your forties, so it is expected that you generate an income that is substantially larger than a college student in their early 20s. And she seemed so proud of herself while hugging up on her man (seen to her right), whose hair could truthfully be violently detonated with the obscene amount of ozone-layer-destroying product he had slopped into it.
Speaking of this man:
1: He's too old to be irresponsibly hammered at a sporting event. Yes, this opinion comes from students at a school where, stereotypically, drinking heavily for sporting events is expected (read: required).
2: He was looking for a fight. His unstable feet struggled to turn him around every time he wanted to jeer at the "basketbears," in our faces. He wanted a fight with nearly 60 young, sprightly bodies. I have no idea why.
3: Seriously, in a blackout, light this man's hair. If you searched anywhere in Starkghanistan for hair product, you won't find any. Because of this man.
4: The high point of this man was him screaming:
"Go to hell, Ole Miss!"Still in our faces, mind you. We "politely" reminded him that, "sir, this is Starkhole. We are, in fact, in hell. Unlike you, sir, we're just visitng."
Interestingly enough, after the game, we shared a laugh with the other State fans who apologized for the behavior of their drunken compatriots.
So, while still paying no mind to "The School Beneath Us," I can confidently say that we have a begrudged human respect for each other.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Journalism 330 Assignment 2-2 (Or, why Former Mississippi Governor Haley Barbour's pardons are insane)
Mississippi Haley Barbour made an altogether confusing move when, near the end of his term as Governor, pardoned nearly 200 people; ten of whom were still in prison.
Because of the relatively vast amount of pardons, Barbour raised a number of eyebrows, questioning whether or not his move was valid. Barbour said the pardons are based on his Christian faith and the principle of giving second chances.
Most of these pardons were given to people who committed relatively minor crimes and have already served their sentences. What has the public frightened, however, is that Barbour has released 8 convicted murderers, and one who had just been charged with a DUI.
The principle of giving second chances is a pillar to live by. However, there are consequences for our actions, and these should not be ignored. We do deserve second chances for our mistakes, but we also should learn from them.
If we don’t study for an exam, we fail it. If we come unprepared to give a speech, it will show. These are natural consequences that we must learn from. We get our second chance with the next exam or the next speech.
Regardless of Barbour’s intentions, good or bad, it is an irresponsible move to let people off the hook for committing crimes that are considered dangerous to society. Aside from the questionable morality of doing so, there is a stigma attached to convicted felons, and they only worsen when the convicted are arbitrarily set free.
Because of the relatively vast amount of pardons, Barbour raised a number of eyebrows, questioning whether or not his move was valid. Barbour said the pardons are based on his Christian faith and the principle of giving second chances.
Most of these pardons were given to people who committed relatively minor crimes and have already served their sentences. What has the public frightened, however, is that Barbour has released 8 convicted murderers, and one who had just been charged with a DUI.
The principle of giving second chances is a pillar to live by. However, there are consequences for our actions, and these should not be ignored. We do deserve second chances for our mistakes, but we also should learn from them.
If we don’t study for an exam, we fail it. If we come unprepared to give a speech, it will show. These are natural consequences that we must learn from. We get our second chance with the next exam or the next speech.
Regardless of Barbour’s intentions, good or bad, it is an irresponsible move to let people off the hook for committing crimes that are considered dangerous to society. Aside from the questionable morality of doing so, there is a stigma attached to convicted felons, and they only worsen when the convicted are arbitrarily set free.
Journalism 330: Assignment 2
This is assignment two. The goal is to persuade a high school senior to come to Ole Miss. Simple, right?
Journalism 330 Introduction
For a while, this blog will be performing double-duty. It's 1) my personal venting ground and 2) used in conjunction with a journalism class I'm taking. This here is assignment 1.
Assignment one was to talk about myself. I am able to talk about pretty much anything, but I have the most trouble talking about myself. Call it leftover shyness, extreme modesty...
Monday, February 6, 2012
Creation.
The ultimate show human expression is creation. For us to give a part of our soul and transliterate it into something that can be experienced by human senses is to show our absolute nature. The written word gives sufficient description which, while comprehensible, is also limited by literacy. Visual artistry renders perception which, more often than not, is skewed and influenced by ideas planted in the mind of the creator or that of the viewer.
Music, however, is universal. Rhythm is an innate form of order most easily recognized by the human body. The heartbeat is rhythmic. Walking and breathing have their own cadences. The eyes blink in time with each other. Speech is rendered in it's own timing. Everything is in synchrony.
Melodies are created in sequences, much like human DNA. Like the body has systems that work complementary to each other, basslines, percussion, and harmonies back each other.
In short, I've revived (again) my musical creations.
Music, however, is universal. Rhythm is an innate form of order most easily recognized by the human body. The heartbeat is rhythmic. Walking and breathing have their own cadences. The eyes blink in time with each other. Speech is rendered in it's own timing. Everything is in synchrony.
Melodies are created in sequences, much like human DNA. Like the body has systems that work complementary to each other, basslines, percussion, and harmonies back each other.
In short, I've revived (again) my musical creations.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Reintegration.
Woke up this morning at 9:30. Probably the earliest I'll ever wake up before class. Did my usual morning ritual of cleaning myself up, furiously scouring emails, marking appointments, sending emails, responding to text messages, reading asinine facebook comments, and generally stalling.
Class at 11am. Geology 102. Because I need one more science class (without a lab), and this was it. That class is packed. Kids come in late, climbing over everyone because the room is filled to capacity. Me? I'm just contemplating today's blog post.
Queen (the professor) reminds us of the rumor that, last year during tornado season, professors would hold students hostage with an assignment that must be done. Can't leave until it's finished, and it cannot be made up. She goes on to remark how 1) it's sociopathic, 2) dangerous, and 3) completely against university policy—if that really did happen.
Side note: should that ever happen, leave and seek safety, then file a grievance against the professor.
I find out that the exams are structured such that of the four (including the final), only the top three will count. And one falls on the day right after my birthday. Any college student in this situation creates this predicament: "do I prepare to nurse the inevitable hangover resulting from turning 21? Or suck it up, wait a day, and ace every exam so I can choose not to take the final?"
I'm a future-minded guy in academic cases, so I'll be a responsible human, thank you.
Queen (the professor) let us out 20 minutes after class began. And that's the end of my school day.
Of course, the life of being busy is never that simple. Meetings upon meetings, making time to kill time, and not being a recluse is the order of the day.
Class at 11am. Geology 102. Because I need one more science class (without a lab), and this was it. That class is packed. Kids come in late, climbing over everyone because the room is filled to capacity. Me? I'm just contemplating today's blog post.
Queen (the professor) reminds us of the rumor that, last year during tornado season, professors would hold students hostage with an assignment that must be done. Can't leave until it's finished, and it cannot be made up. She goes on to remark how 1) it's sociopathic, 2) dangerous, and 3) completely against university policy—if that really did happen.
Side note: should that ever happen, leave and seek safety, then file a grievance against the professor.
I find out that the exams are structured such that of the four (including the final), only the top three will count. And one falls on the day right after my birthday. Any college student in this situation creates this predicament: "do I prepare to nurse the inevitable hangover resulting from turning 21? Or suck it up, wait a day, and ace every exam so I can choose not to take the final?"
I'm a future-minded guy in academic cases, so I'll be a responsible human, thank you.
Queen (the professor) let us out 20 minutes after class began. And that's the end of my school day.
Of course, the life of being busy is never that simple. Meetings upon meetings, making time to kill time, and not being a recluse is the order of the day.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
#RebelInAuburn, Part III
Returning to my home campus today. I enjoyed the visit and had quite a bit of fun. I'm a huge fan of leaving comfort zones far behind, which is why I decided to make this trip.
Now, don't get me wrong. There is nothing that would cause me to leave Ole Miss, especially for another school. "All the fine girls go to Ole Miss" (so true), it's the best-looking campus, has the friendliest people, and who could forget that I was once hired to reinforce all of these facts.
I would be lying, however, if I said I would never come to Auburn again. Just don't ever expect me to chant anything that has to do with combat and birds.
I've enjoyed myself thoroughly.
Now, don't get me wrong. There is nothing that would cause me to leave Ole Miss, especially for another school. "All the fine girls go to Ole Miss" (so true), it's the best-looking campus, has the friendliest people, and who could forget that I was once hired to reinforce all of these facts.
I would be lying, however, if I said I would never come to Auburn again. Just don't ever expect me to chant anything that has to do with combat and birds.
I've enjoyed myself thoroughly.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
#RebelInAuburn, Part II
Having spent a full 24 hours here, I've found Auburn to be quite an interesting city. First, the best barbecue I've ever had. Hands down. Because this isn't Mississippi, it is perfectly reasonable to assume that your neighbor in your dorm is female. Greek life...is intense (that's all I'm saying about that). I've met some pretty interesting characters so far.
Downtown is very much like Oxford's square, though generally no dancing happens, and everything stays open until 2AM.
They listen to the same music I do...which pleases me to no end. Yes, there's only so much Skrillex I can handle, and I'd much prefer to jam to Pitbull or Drake.
Today, I went to an Auburn Tigers basketball game, in which they spanked South Carolina (I'm sure you can find some innuendo in there somewhere). It was their letterman's day, so they had basketball alumni return, including one Sir Charles Barkley. I sat not far from him.
And that's all for this unusually short post.
Downtown is very much like Oxford's square, though generally no dancing happens, and everything stays open until 2AM.
They listen to the same music I do...which pleases me to no end. Yes, there's only so much Skrillex I can handle, and I'd much prefer to jam to Pitbull or Drake.
Today, I went to an Auburn Tigers basketball game, in which they spanked South Carolina (I'm sure you can find some innuendo in there somewhere). It was their letterman's day, so they had basketball alumni return, including one Sir Charles Barkley. I sat not far from him.
And that's all for this unusually short post.
Friday, January 20, 2012
#RebelInAuburn
In lieu of returning to beloved Ole Miss, I have just arrived in scenic Auburn, Alabama...undertaking a completely new experience.
Yes, although I've always loved Ole Miss since setting foot on campus, and would love nothing more to return, circumstances have mandated that I go to Auburn University. It's abrupt, and happened without warning, I know.
I've had to make drastic decisions for myself and what's best for my life, and I just needed to have a change of scenery.
I will miss everyone deeply and wish everyone all the best.
Yes, although I've always loved Ole Miss since setting foot on campus, and would love nothing more to return, circumstances have mandated that I go to Auburn University. It's abrupt, and happened without warning, I know.
I've had to make drastic decisions for myself and what's best for my life, and I just needed to have a change of scenery.
I will miss everyone deeply and wish everyone all the best.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Politics and Rebels
Here comes the season of student government elections. You've got the camp supporting one candidate, the camp supporting another, and yet another camp who adamantly declares that they are not voting for whatever reason.
I've never been an overly politically-minded person; I keep up with national (and sometimes international) politics, but I grew up knowing that I didn't want to be a politician. Being a journalist, ironically, is the closest thing to it.
Politicians have to be charismatic, demagogues, and able to espouse beliefs that they will unwaveringly stand upon. And they generally have my respect.
If you're someone who may have exposure to a large number of people, expect to be tapped for them. And be flattered that someone saw you as important enough to their campaign that they want your face attached to it.
Running a campaign, as I have come to learn, is an arduous process. The candidate and campaign team fight to appeal to the undecided voter, while not alienating their own supporters (guess what I learned in political science).
As I was elected to serve as the president for the building I live in, I got to see what happens when politics are applied to a college community.
In the fall, during the personality elections, the public forum for our building was a bit of a nightmare. Candidate promotions (a bit excessively pushed by supporters) were suddenly met with a tremendous outcry. The building itself became hostile overall. Unsurprisingly, my attempts at mediation were not well-received.
The other residents, not realizing that their inherently neutrality in the context of campus election made them a prime audience for electioneers, believed themselves assailed in an election which they felt had no real gravity.
It wasn't the apathy that was the problem; it was the aggressive nature of said apathy. Obviously, not voting is as much a right as voting is, but campaign teams are formed to ask, not demand, for support.
Interestingly enough, despite such a belligerent stance against the election, the candidates who generated the most support in the building were the ones who literally went door-to-door, personally asking for support.
As for our online forum, our cabinet has dealt with ways to prevent such a violent reaction. All is basically well.
Of course, we still have the ones who will campaign for nobody at all. It's humorous to watch.
I've never been an overly politically-minded person; I keep up with national (and sometimes international) politics, but I grew up knowing that I didn't want to be a politician. Being a journalist, ironically, is the closest thing to it.
Politicians have to be charismatic, demagogues, and able to espouse beliefs that they will unwaveringly stand upon. And they generally have my respect.
If you're someone who may have exposure to a large number of people, expect to be tapped for them. And be flattered that someone saw you as important enough to their campaign that they want your face attached to it.
Running a campaign, as I have come to learn, is an arduous process. The candidate and campaign team fight to appeal to the undecided voter, while not alienating their own supporters (guess what I learned in political science).
As I was elected to serve as the president for the building I live in, I got to see what happens when politics are applied to a college community.
In the fall, during the personality elections, the public forum for our building was a bit of a nightmare. Candidate promotions (a bit excessively pushed by supporters) were suddenly met with a tremendous outcry. The building itself became hostile overall. Unsurprisingly, my attempts at mediation were not well-received.
This is why I am not suited for politics.
The other residents, not realizing that their inherently neutrality in the context of campus election made them a prime audience for electioneers, believed themselves assailed in an election which they felt had no real gravity.
It wasn't the apathy that was the problem; it was the aggressive nature of said apathy. Obviously, not voting is as much a right as voting is, but campaign teams are formed to ask, not demand, for support.
Interestingly enough, despite such a belligerent stance against the election, the candidates who generated the most support in the building were the ones who literally went door-to-door, personally asking for support.
As for our online forum, our cabinet has dealt with ways to prevent such a violent reaction. All is basically well.
Of course, we still have the ones who will campaign for nobody at all. It's humorous to watch.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Think With Me For A Few Minutes.
Today's is a personal post [Now Listening to: Marching On by Flo Rida & Aaron London]. After living the good life in college, sometimes it's a surreal experience to return home for a little while every now and then. You face everything you left behind, for better or worse. You get to reflect on old experiences and how they made you who you are; and how that fits into your future. You compare yourself to your peers—not in a haughty or proud sense, but more in recognition. Having taken the same path to the graduation stage, you see the divergence between yourself and the girl you had an English course with.
From my perspective; I saw the ones who left home as I did, and the ones who stayed, and I could remember the only directive in my mind. Going to college was a given for me, but I mandated for myself that I would be going out of state. So set was I on this, that I applied to no schools within 100 miles of home. The average distance of schools from home was about 600 miles. I considered schools in New York, D.C., Boston, Ohio, and of course Mississippi.
I saw classmates and friends who had found their life parters, and have either engaged to be married, or have been married since high school. I remember my insistence on avoiding being married until after I had lived a good portion of my young life. I knew I wanted my life to be filled with experiences long before undertaking one so incredible. And yet, I can also feel a kind of happiness for those who have found the one who didn't consider them perfect, but saw fit to wade through their shortcomings to find the heart best suited for them.
I saw what used to be sources of heartbreak. What surprised me was myself. I had let go. This is surprising because I like to claim I have a superb memory, meaning I remember not only what happened, but how I felt. It then dawned on me that through my growth—while remembering vaguely what happened—I had forgotten the pain.
I saw some who are living their dreams, and others living in contentment. This was most striking, as it brought to my mind my own ravenous desires. I have always wanted a life not necessarily bound inexorably to one place. While home is a place to be established, I also want much more than to have property to my name. I want to see the most exotic, the best, the worst, the most emotionally moving, and the most exciting that this world has to offer. But in order to achieve any of this, I knew I'd have to dream, then wake up and live it.
Having seen what I had left behind, however, made me understand and appreciate what I actually have found.
Most prominently, I've found more of myself than I had ever truly known. There are people (family included) for whom I would give almost anything, and I have an unusual way of making that known. I've found myself to be unusually protective of, as well as being willing to check in on, people important to me. I'm empathetic toward them, almost to a fault, and I suffer when I believe I've somehow lost them.
I've learned to trust myself, and somehow avoid pursuing all the wrong things. Sure, I'll make a mistake every now and then (but, as I've said before, I don't believe in mistakes; just things to learn from).
I've found the will to take control of my life, and the ability to accept what is beyond my control.
Although I still appear to be the same stoic, emotionally detached kid from years ago, I still have a massive range of emotion that still gets wildly out of hand (only at appropriate times). I've found that being so self-controlled (in general) is my own way of dealing with these emotions, rarely sharing them until prodded severely enough.
I can shed the shield of self-control and enjoy life at present, caring little for the next day.
I can wake up in the morning, decide that today is a good day, and run with it, unwilling to be upset. I can sleep at night, satisfied with what I did during the day, yet wanting to do more tomorrow.
Heck, I've even become so comfortable with myself that I'm willing to just blindly talk about myself.
From my perspective; I saw the ones who left home as I did, and the ones who stayed, and I could remember the only directive in my mind. Going to college was a given for me, but I mandated for myself that I would be going out of state. So set was I on this, that I applied to no schools within 100 miles of home. The average distance of schools from home was about 600 miles. I considered schools in New York, D.C., Boston, Ohio, and of course Mississippi.
I saw classmates and friends who had found their life parters, and have either engaged to be married, or have been married since high school. I remember my insistence on avoiding being married until after I had lived a good portion of my young life. I knew I wanted my life to be filled with experiences long before undertaking one so incredible. And yet, I can also feel a kind of happiness for those who have found the one who didn't consider them perfect, but saw fit to wade through their shortcomings to find the heart best suited for them.
I saw what used to be sources of heartbreak. What surprised me was myself. I had let go. This is surprising because I like to claim I have a superb memory, meaning I remember not only what happened, but how I felt. It then dawned on me that through my growth—while remembering vaguely what happened—I had forgotten the pain.
I saw some who are living their dreams, and others living in contentment. This was most striking, as it brought to my mind my own ravenous desires. I have always wanted a life not necessarily bound inexorably to one place. While home is a place to be established, I also want much more than to have property to my name. I want to see the most exotic, the best, the worst, the most emotionally moving, and the most exciting that this world has to offer. But in order to achieve any of this, I knew I'd have to dream, then wake up and live it.
Dreams are effortless. You close your eyes, and you're there in some scenario of your design. There's always that one minute element, impossible to miss, that reminds you that this simulation of life is only a mental construct, not the reality that you have shaped. Yet.
Having seen what I had left behind, however, made me understand and appreciate what I actually have found.
Most prominently, I've found more of myself than I had ever truly known. There are people (family included) for whom I would give almost anything, and I have an unusual way of making that known. I've found myself to be unusually protective of, as well as being willing to check in on, people important to me. I'm empathetic toward them, almost to a fault, and I suffer when I believe I've somehow lost them.
I've learned to trust myself, and somehow avoid pursuing all the wrong things. Sure, I'll make a mistake every now and then (but, as I've said before, I don't believe in mistakes; just things to learn from).
I've found the will to take control of my life, and the ability to accept what is beyond my control.
Although I still appear to be the same stoic, emotionally detached kid from years ago, I still have a massive range of emotion that still gets wildly out of hand (only at appropriate times). I've found that being so self-controlled (in general) is my own way of dealing with these emotions, rarely sharing them until prodded severely enough.
I can shed the shield of self-control and enjoy life at present, caring little for the next day.
I can wake up in the morning, decide that today is a good day, and run with it, unwilling to be upset. I can sleep at night, satisfied with what I did during the day, yet wanting to do more tomorrow.
Heck, I've even become so comfortable with myself that I'm willing to just blindly talk about myself.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Child Pornography...In Our Own Backyard??
For most of my readers: I'm from Indiana. Just recently, there was a man arrested for child pornography. That's always disturbing. What's more disturbing is how he was caught. Even more disturbing was his day job. This raises massive concerns, of course.
Stephen J. Brockman, 48, is a freelance photographer for newspapers, with a website catering to children's sporting events—giving him unusually high access to children.
Our intrepid photographer was caught—asleep at McDonald's, laptop open, displaying pictures of nude children—by Harrison County Police Department Officer Nicholas Smith, who was in all likelihood casually strolling in for a Quarter Pounder. This almost sounds too ludicrous to even make any sense.
Brockman consented to a warrantless search almost immediately. Unsurprisingly, Indiana State Police uncovered hundreds of images of child pornography, with at least one depicting a child performing sexual acts.
Brockman is facing six months to three years in prison for each of nine counts of a Class D felony for possession of child pornography.
There's a serious concern for who we allow near our children. This man photographed your young basketball player. The worst part about sex offenders is that they're not always who you'd expect.
Stephen J. Brockman, 48, is a freelance photographer for newspapers, with a website catering to children's sporting events—giving him unusually high access to children.
Our intrepid photographer was caught—asleep at McDonald's, laptop open, displaying pictures of nude children—by Harrison County Police Department Officer Nicholas Smith, who was in all likelihood casually strolling in for a Quarter Pounder. This almost sounds too ludicrous to even make any sense.
Brockman consented to a warrantless search almost immediately. Unsurprisingly, Indiana State Police uncovered hundreds of images of child pornography, with at least one depicting a child performing sexual acts.
Brockman is facing six months to three years in prison for each of nine counts of a Class D felony for possession of child pornography.
There's a serious concern for who we allow near our children. This man photographed your young basketball player. The worst part about sex offenders is that they're not always who you'd expect.
Is That You In This Photo? Yes. Yes It Is.
A bit unorthodox in design, but this interesting device captures all available light. It allows the user to focus on whatever they want to—after taking the picture. Guess what that means? Oh yeah.
Think your face is indistinguishable in that photo that clearly came from The Hangover? Not only are you in clear focus, but so is that tattoo Mom would kill you for.
This isn't as much of a product review as it is a very cautious musing.
For the photographer (and having an SLR doesn't automatically make you a photographer), this completely obliterates the rules of composition. This is a high-definition point-and-shoot camera that nudges the art of actually focusing on the subject into a thing of the past. I wouldn't quite call it the death-knell for professional photography, though.
For a consumer, however, this is a godsend. The intricacies of a professional camera may frustrate the average shutterbug, but deciding retroactively what the subject was can be a much better idea.
Partygoers beware. This thing just might let the folks back home know what you're really up to. Bet you thought you wouldn't be tagged in that photo, right?
This lovely, odd-shaped box is a double-edged sword for photography, but undeniably convenient. I can't say I'd get one, though. They're up for pre-order.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Apparently, This Is How to Cook Crack.
This guy, according to Florida's Sun Sentinel, showed up in court with this jacket, "humorously" depicting a cartoonish recipe for cooking crack, complete with the quote, "stack paper say nothing."
He was in court on drug trafficking charges, believe it or not. Joshua Rydell, his attorney, called it "freedom of expression," but he probably didn't even believe that himself. It's better than admitting that your client is an idiot and deserves every bit of the sentence the judge is about to hand to him. Rydell admits that many of his clients come to court wearing drug-related clothing.
Curiously, Rydell said he didn't take the jacket to actually be a recipe for cooking crack. Although that's clearly what it is. Playing dumb isn't the best way to navigate a courtroom.
Broward Circuit Court Judge Michael Usan simply said, "no comment." Yeah, this guy is screwed. Have fun in prison.
Pageant Mother: Sociopath.
1) This woman probably isn't too concerned with her own health.
2) Likewise, she probably cares just as little about her daughter's health.
3) Doping your child with near-lethal doses of caffeine should have probably prompted child protective agencies to run right into that home and run out as fast as possible, child in tow.
I mean, listen to the girl! She doesn't even like pageants. It would be one thing if she wanted to participate, but "it's boring" can't possibly mean "yes, Mom, I'd love to live your tragically unfulfilled dreams."
"The Coupon Queen!?" Really? Not even commenting on that. Just LOOK AT ALL THAT TOILET PAPER. Why? For what earthly reason did she justify buying reckless amounts of toilet paper in bulk? For toys??
The "Diva Beauty Queen" is already shaping up to be in contention with Jersey Shore for sheer sociopathy. Her very first sound bite is a mess of poorly-chosen, heavily-drawled slang that her mother has likely pushed onto her. This poor girl, through no fault of her own, has been nearly lobotomized by levels of caffeine and sugar that could easily denote premeditated murder. Forget early-onset diabetes, she might have actually developed ADD. Just look at her go. That isn't a little girl having fun. That's a seizure.
And the producer opted to use subtitles, because
Okay, back to that house. If, for some reason, the economy collapsed, that family would be set for life.
6-year-old Alana is waltzing blissfully around the house with the grace of a crack addict and the unfettered greed of a child who doesn't know what money is, but knows that Mommy wants it.
"A dolla makes me holla, honey boo-boo." Any responsible parent who heard that from a child would be alarmed. Nobody actually wants to raise a stripper, and that sounds just like a stripper. But look at her giggle. She has no idea what she's even saying. Mom fed it to her, and she says it to look cute.
"Special juice." Any rational person would assume, right away that whiskey was somehow involved. Listen to what Alana says about "special juice." Better yet...look at how she says it. I don't care what Mom says, if your child is barely functioning without your probably-laced-with-alcohol mess, and believes she will win by using it, she'll be graduating from Kindergarten right into rehab.
"Beauty is so boring. I don't want to do it." My heart sank when I heard that. Yet, in the next scene, 3 hours of makeup and 3 lines of Mom's cocaine later, that veneered smile is ready to get out there and win Momma some money.
...And now Mom wants her to show off the effects of childhood obesity on America. And her future plans are: not school, not running a Fortune 500 company, not politics, but "couponing" just like her mother. Well done, Mother. You have spawned a child who will come to resent you between rehab stints and hustling for money.
Look at this woman again...forcing that torturous mess down her child's throat.
"It's to help her stand out." Sure, a 6-year-old with a heart attack is bound to stand out.
Listen to how Alana describes it! The stuff makes her psychotic, and she knows it.
And she doesn't even have a great base of values BECAUSE HER MOTHER DOESN'T EITHER. Alana got third place in the pageant, and she was sad because she didn't get the biggest trophy or the crown.
I have nothing against pageants. Children's pageants are a bit of a different story. These unfortunate children get to learn to be one thing for the rest of their lives: fake. I blame the mothers and their severely deranged dreams.
Here's to the Wild Ones.
Here's to those who live life as if tomorrow will never come. The ones who, in their early twenties, feel like we own the world and nothing can hold us back. The crazy ones. The ones who, despite their well-crafted professional appearance, break loose like nobody's watching. Like nobody will remember. Like nobody cares.
The generation that, despite being ruled by social media, still flies under the radar while somehow avoiding the ever-watchful eye of the smartphone. The ones who may have grown up too fast or, perhaps more fittingly, haven't grown up at all. To us, maturity is our signal to the world that we can adapt to society while remaining unrestrained by it.
The ones who wake up wondering if they are doing the right thing or, more likely, wondering exactly what they did.
The reckless yet pseudo-responsible ones who know they shouldn't, but do it anyway, ever-vigilant to avoid as many consequences as possible.
The ones that, in an era where love is undefined and pursued in every way possible, don't seek it, but let it find them when they're ready—whenever that is.
The ones that live right now, and let the future handle itself.
The ambitious ones who believe in themselves, and don't you dare tell them what they can't do.
The individuals, who completely disregard how others perceive them, and live by their own standards.
Here's to the wild ones, who have yet to be tamed. Here's to us.
The generation that, despite being ruled by social media, still flies under the radar while somehow avoiding the ever-watchful eye of the smartphone. The ones who may have grown up too fast or, perhaps more fittingly, haven't grown up at all. To us, maturity is our signal to the world that we can adapt to society while remaining unrestrained by it.
The ones who wake up wondering if they are doing the right thing or, more likely, wondering exactly what they did.
The reckless yet pseudo-responsible ones who know they shouldn't, but do it anyway, ever-vigilant to avoid as many consequences as possible.
The ones that, in an era where love is undefined and pursued in every way possible, don't seek it, but let it find them when they're ready—whenever that is.
The ones that live right now, and let the future handle itself.
The ambitious ones who believe in themselves, and don't you dare tell them what they can't do.
The individuals, who completely disregard how others perceive them, and live by their own standards.
Here's to the wild ones, who have yet to be tamed. Here's to us.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Why Rebel #83?
Seems like an arbitrary title, but I have a perfectly logical explanation for why I titled my blog "Rebel #83."
#83 was a split end receiver (on full scholarship, mind you) for the Ole Miss Rebels who graduated in 1982. He was well-known during his tenure at Ole Miss, and I've even run into people who remember this outstanding college student.
He taught me a little about football but, since the earlier schools I had gone to didn't have football programs, I never developed the early desire to play. Had my schools had football teams, I might have been inclined to play. You only live once, so I'm not really worried about what might have been.
It's funny, really, that aside from the obvious difference (he was a football player, I am not), our lives as college students seem to run parallel to each other. I've been known to play DJ for house parties. Guess who else did? I've made CRAZY decisions (I don't believe in mistakes)...and he made some of the same ones. I'm shooting for sports broadcasting, and guess who was a color commentator during a season in which he was injured?
My namesake. My father. Funny how that works, right?
Now you know.
Faithful Rebels.
I live in Indiana. Many people I know here have no idea what Ole Miss is. All they see is our dismal football record and tend to just dismiss us. When I try to explain how and why we are so strangely passionate, all I get are confused looks, and then I'm redirected to our football record.
And then it hit me.
This confused sports fan *often* goes where the wins are—regardless of the school—just to be proud to stand behind something he probably doesn't even understand.
Ole Miss fans tend to encompass everything. Ask an Ole Miss fan their favorite thing about their beloved school, and you'll get answers ranging from "the grove" to "the people," "Oxford," and "we know how to have a good time." We don't just love a single sport; we know better than to hinge all of our happiness on one aspect of the university.
We love everything. Consider a typical game day. We're in the grove all day, regardless of when the game is. We enjoy each other's company. Yes, even if you're from LSU. Just don't overstay your welcome. Oh, what about Mississippi State, you ask? No, we don't talk about them.
We'll then file into the stadium, probably drunk, but nonetheless overjoyed to see our team take the field, hear the band play the well-known anthems of football season, watch the expertly crafted promo videos that put fire in our eyes, and jeer at the infinitely-less-classy-in-our-minds visiting fans—all in good fun, mind you, as we go back to our friendly selves after the 4th quarter (or whenever we have decided to leave the stadium).
Game day is all about pure enjoyment. Some leave the game early under the pretense of preparing for after-dark activities. We're ecstatic when we realize that even though it's Saturday, the bars have elected to remain open an hour later. Visitors decry our establishments closing so "early," but it's just right for us. We'll find other ways, without fail, to enjoy ourselves after 1:30am.
Our campus is beautiful. Don't try to tell us otherwise, or you'll get an earful about careful groundskeeping. See any cigarette butts on our campus? Never. How about you?
Our past, present, and future students are, overall, the nicest people you'll ever meet. Don't believe me? Come to Oxford and I'll put money on the fact that someone will make you feel right at home. Not even on game days, either, where you'll outright feel like family.
But I have to resign myself to realize the fact that it just doesn't make sense to some.
My favorite thing is just sharing experiences, like watching the clearly-jaded Oxford police department deal with college student antics. A girl had fallen on her face one night in a bar. The cops detained her outside. Between her face streaming blood, and her drunken sobbing about God-knows-what, the officers threatened to cart her off to jail just because she was just aggravating them. Oh, and the officers had to deal with other bar-goers trying to take pictures with their camera phones.
Non-sequitur aside, we love everything about our school. Good, bad, and ugly. If it looks like their's nothing to love about Ole Miss, you're not even looking at Ole Miss.
As long as the SEC wins, we're happy.
Geaux (to hell) Tigers. Roll (to hell) Tide... Pretty much sums up the roar on newsfeeds and timelines. We can agree that the BCS champion (and runner-up...whatever that's worth) comes from the SEC. Yeah, we like that. The next best thing to a localized apocalypse depends on which bandwagon we just hopped on (and right back off again).
It's cause for a debate that Jarrett Lee was benched during this match, as he might have saved a little face for LSU. Yes, Les, it's Jefferson's last season. He had an impressive season. Lee floundered in the last meeting with the Tide. But when something isn't working...It isn't working. There's something to be said for letting a savior finish his final season at the BCS championship, but it simply isn't winning at all costs by exhausting all options. Granted, Miles would have taken heat either way, so it's open to debate as to whether or not he should have played Lee.
The Tiger defense performed...just fine, all things considered, forcing the Tide to rely on field goals to take and hold the lead. We take solace in the fact that, although LSU decisively asked us who our daddy was—and proceeded to show us—we at least managed to eke out a field goal. They can't say that about this match.
Yes, the very same team that showed it's rear end by intentionally turning the ball over on downs to let the defense run over the suspension-crippled Ole Miss line has just been spanked by an equally cocky team ("We beat ourselves" isn't a valid excuse in the SEC). Not to say the ego is completely unjustified—look at their seasons...
The point is, we're just (im)patiently waiting (read: salivating at the chance) to let loose a bear on the sideline for our own shot at the BCS title. Please?
Monday, January 9, 2012
A Haircut.
The humble haircut. Simple, innocuous, and a symbol of renewal. Shedding and revealing new growth underneath. It offers a feeling of rejuvenation and new confidence. At least that's how I see it.
For me, right now, it's a capstone. I've been on the road of recovery for 18 months, dealing with physical damage that tore straight through my confidence. During that time, I had to accept that my body had taken irreversible damage, leaving behind a permanent reminder. The scars are visible, yet only I can feel the metal within.
Mind and body are inextricable, and damage to one can also draw the other toward ruin. Confidence suffers, then fitness suffers, which becomes just a cyclical torment. Here, now, just before this rudimentary haircut, I've returned for the most part to the level of fitness I enjoyed before being so woefully injured. This fitness, fueled by the surge of confidence I claimed 6 months ago, will now feed the cycle positively.
Pushing forward, I now stand at the edge of the best time of my life, prepared to continue.
The last 12 months have been a whirlwind, bringing me so many first-time experiences and bonds with people that may never be broken. A new chapter in my life has been written, punctuated with all the fun I've had so far.
I've also come to realize that when you're at the high point, and everything seems to be going your way, watch out. You could be blindsided. It's a lesson I've been taught time and time again, but it appears that I'm failing to actually learn it.
I'm one of those people that feels unstoppable when life goes my way. For the most part, it works just fine. Being brought back to reality, predictably, is always humbling.
It's pointless then to wonder: "What went wrong? What mistakes did I make?" Because I'll then come to find that the word "mistake" is just a misnomer. There are no mistakes, just experiences to learn from. Where lives intersect is a grey area where no one person ever has control.
It brings life back into perspective. What you can control, you find that you have near-absolute mastery of. What you cannot control, however, you can learn from. It's nothing to fret about, but something to accept. Don't hold on to them, just let them go.
When you actually learn to love again is when you become vulnerable again. But, then again, isn't it worth the risk?
After such episodes, the big picture appears again. Passions that I had neglected presented themselves to me again, begging for my attention once more. Through them, I find enjoyment that I thought I had lost completely.
When I look back, I see a great change. When I would keep what I feel private, I now can share it. I've gained compassion, trust, friendliness, strength, and heart.
Time for that haircut now.
For me, right now, it's a capstone. I've been on the road of recovery for 18 months, dealing with physical damage that tore straight through my confidence. During that time, I had to accept that my body had taken irreversible damage, leaving behind a permanent reminder. The scars are visible, yet only I can feel the metal within.
Mind and body are inextricable, and damage to one can also draw the other toward ruin. Confidence suffers, then fitness suffers, which becomes just a cyclical torment. Here, now, just before this rudimentary haircut, I've returned for the most part to the level of fitness I enjoyed before being so woefully injured. This fitness, fueled by the surge of confidence I claimed 6 months ago, will now feed the cycle positively.
Pushing forward, I now stand at the edge of the best time of my life, prepared to continue.
The last 12 months have been a whirlwind, bringing me so many first-time experiences and bonds with people that may never be broken. A new chapter in my life has been written, punctuated with all the fun I've had so far.
I've also come to realize that when you're at the high point, and everything seems to be going your way, watch out. You could be blindsided. It's a lesson I've been taught time and time again, but it appears that I'm failing to actually learn it.
I'm one of those people that feels unstoppable when life goes my way. For the most part, it works just fine. Being brought back to reality, predictably, is always humbling.
It's pointless then to wonder: "What went wrong? What mistakes did I make?" Because I'll then come to find that the word "mistake" is just a misnomer. There are no mistakes, just experiences to learn from. Where lives intersect is a grey area where no one person ever has control.
It brings life back into perspective. What you can control, you find that you have near-absolute mastery of. What you cannot control, however, you can learn from. It's nothing to fret about, but something to accept. Don't hold on to them, just let them go.
When you actually learn to love again is when you become vulnerable again. But, then again, isn't it worth the risk?
After such episodes, the big picture appears again. Passions that I had neglected presented themselves to me again, begging for my attention once more. Through them, I find enjoyment that I thought I had lost completely.
When I look back, I see a great change. When I would keep what I feel private, I now can share it. I've gained compassion, trust, friendliness, strength, and heart.
Time for that haircut now.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Forgotten Passions
When you forget your passions, it becomes difficult to take them up again. You realize how you loved them, and you also realize that they have been obscured by everything else.
Music: my first passion. The one thing that made me who I am. It keeps me grounded.
Music: my first passion. The one thing that made me who I am. It keeps me grounded.
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