Blessed Are The Curious

I once read something that described each year as a chapter in the book of our lives, with each of the 365 days as pages in which we choose which direction our book will unfold. And while that may sound rather cliche, I quite like the idea of having each day to decide what I'm going to do, where I'm going to go, and who I'm going to be.

This past year, I've had more time than usual to think about my future. I'm graduating from college in a year and I've yet to see the world outside my own. I'm 20 years old and I can't help but feel like I am so small in comparison to the rest of the outside world. Oh sure, I've made plans to travel, to soak up as much culture and experience as I can before I'm too old and busy to think about big adventures. But the more I think about what lies ahead, the more anxious I become about all of my dreams and aspirations slipping out of my ambitious fingers.

I say that because we've been taught since we were toddlers that our main concern in life should be "getting a good job with benefits" and "finding the right person" and "becoming a contributing member of society." Our elders want what's best for us, of course, but who decided that settling was the ultimate goal? What happened to the American Dream, the idea that everyone who is well and able should do whatever it takes to chase their dreams and find their own success?

Well, Uncle Sam and the rest of society can go take a flying leap. Because in all honesty, thinking about the future is depressing. And depressed isn't how I want to feel when I make plans or consider what might be coming next. I don't want to have a 5-year plan, or think about 401k plans, or worry about just paying the bills. And while I understand that survival in this fast-paced world takes responsibility and hard work, I've always felt that there is something more to life than just existing day by day (or paycheck to paycheck). 

Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of security. But I don't think having a plan is all it's cracked up to be. After all, planning for the future can only get you so far. Life is uncertain and ever-changing. And while I don't recommend completely living on the edge (since living is technically the goal), I think life deserves more spontaneity, more adventure.

Have you ever been going about your business shopping for groceries or reading a book or chatting with your friends and you suddenly get a longing deep in your bones to drop everything, get on a plane, and just go somewhere? I have. Many times. So many times, in fact, that my thirst for adventure can finally be made into a reality. So I'm planning a trip to Ireland in May of 2016. I've saved and planned and researched for almost two years and the fact that the number one item on my bucket list is about to be crossed off makes all of my hard work and anticipation worthwhile. 

I'm not telling you this to make you envious, but rather, to let you know that adventure is possible, regardless of what others say or what you may see as your limitations. When I tell people about my dreams of traveling and exploring, I often get told to stop wishing my life away. And while it's rather annoying that so many people don't understand why I want the things that I want, I know that I don't have to validate myself (especially my goals) for anyone. 

So I want to let you know that it's okay to want adventure and excitement. It's okay to have doubts about what society "wants" for you. It's okay to be a dreamer. And it's okay to live your life exactly like you want. Maybe for you, adventure is becoming a CEO of an important company. Or maybe it's paragliding in South Africa. Or maybe it's preforming brain surgery. Or maybe it's getting married and starting a family. Regardless of what it is that you dream of, please don't be afraid to step outside your comfort zone (and the opinions of others) and truly go for it. Whatever it may be.

I think that more often than not, we pack away our big dreams and fantasies into neat little boxes and shove them under our metaphorical beds because we've been tricked into thinking adventure is what irresponsible/flighty/unpredictable people want. But I think it can't be stressed enough how short life really is. After all, when you're  97 years old and your great-grandson asks you what you did in your lifetime, what are you going to have to say for yourself? So do whatever it takes to make your dreams come true. Because your adventure is out there and it is just as achievable as anyone else's.

"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known"

-Carl Sagan

How To Be Happy

We've all seen them. We've all picked them up and looked them over. We might have even skimmed one a time or two, furtively looking around to make sure no one sees us doing so.

Self-help books are what I'm creatively trying to allude to; those cliche, heartbreaking excuses for literature that are worth about as much as an umbrella in a wind storm (which isn't much, in case you were curious). You know, the ones you see when you're waiting in the checkout line at the grocery store with titles like "So You Want to Be Successful?" and "How to Create a More Beautiful You" or even "Optimism for Dummies." These books take in millions of suckers every year, each with the ultimate goal of making people happier. 

I fully understand that wanting to be happy is a basic human desire. Almost everything we do as a society is intended to make us okay, joyful even, with who we are and what we do. And wanting that blissful contentment can be a wonderful source of motivation to better ourselves in different ways. What is dangerous about happiness, however, is the obsession people have with it. Our culture thinks that plastic surgery, material objects, a doctorate degree, popularity, or even love are finite ways of securing happiness in our lives. And while some may actually find delight in these things, there are, when you really consider it, no concrete steps to finding (and keeping) happiness. After all, at its most basic definition, happiness is relative to a person's individual characteristics. 

This past summer, I suffered with anxiety and panic attacks. While I think the majority of my problem was stress-related, I decided to try an app that is "scientifically proven" to retrain your brain into being happier. I thought technology might for once actually solve my problem. But while the activities and assignments on the app are wired to produce positivity and proactive thoughts, I saw no difference in the way I approached life. And one day, while I was playing one of the app's games (in which you pop balloons with positive messages written on them), I realized that what I was doing was incredibly stupid. Because tapping digital balloons isn't going to make me any happier. Listening to encouraging messages isn't going to make me a more positive person. And trying to convince myself that I'm okay isn't going to make me more content.

The very next day, I decided to do more of what makes me happy. And as cliche as it sounds, it actually worked. I took more walks. I read cheesy romance novels. I bought a giant slice of turtle cheesecake and chose to deliberately ignore the amount of calories I was ingesting. I wrote poetry. I had a Lord of the Rings marathon...twice. And I realized, perhaps for the first time, that the little things in life are often the most capable of bringing us true joy. So in keeping with the theme of self-help, I've listed three "little things" that I've found have taught me (and will hopefully teach you) how to be happy, if only for a moment.

1. Eat Good Food
You're probably thinking "Uhm, what?" But hear me out: think about the last time you ate a truly amazing cheeseburger. Picture the sesame seed bun and the melted cheese and the crisp lettuce and the juiciness of the meat. You savored it. You licked your fingers. You took a picture of it for Instagram. And for one small moment, you were engrossed by that cheeseburger. Food has the power to lift our spirits. It can turn a terrible day around. And if you can learn to take the time to relish your food, whether that be a filet mignon or a turkey sandwich, you might find that you appreciate what you have (food-related or otherwise) a little more.

2. Be Curious

Curiosity is one of my favorite traits in a person. People who ask questions, who aren't afraid to make mistakes, who find joy in literature and culture and art, are the type of people I love to be around. When you're a naturally inquisitive person, every experience you have becomes a mini-adventure. I want to know why Van Gogh cut off his ear and how the brain responds to pain and where exactly north meets south. Realizing that there are infinite things to know and learn in this life is exciting; asserting your curiosity can create opportunities that would otherwise never be made available and just like if Liam Hemsworth were to ask for your hand in marriage, you embrace it.

3. Invest in Humanity 
I read an article yesterday that showed where a moron person of  my generation asked the question, "Is Ebola a country?" After I asked God if he intentionally wanted me to lose my faith in humanity, I realized that ignorance is not a fault, it's an epidemic. It's important (imperative, actually) to know and understand world issues. Keep up with the news. Voice your political opinions. Make getting an education a priority. Just being aware of what is happening around me has given me a perspective on what is truly important. And while coulds and shoulds are subjective, if only a fraction of humanity invested their time and talents into making the world a better, smarter, place, perhaps happiness wouldn't be so hard to come by.  

I want you to think about what makes you happy. And aside from becoming a serial killer or sampling LSD, I want you to go out and do whatever it is that brings you joy. Because when you purposely seek out life's little pleasures, you'll see that finding happiness isn't so hard after all.

For me, happiness comes in many forms. Reading the newspaper in my favorite coffee shop, latte in hand. Taking a bubble bath with scented candles and a large glass of wine. Lying in bed with my mother, listening to her recount stories from the "good ol' days" (aka...the seventies). Laughing with my friends in a noodle-shop, pleasantly unaware of how loud we really are. Listening to vinyl records on Sunday afternoons, smug in my knowledge of 60's R&B. Discovering a new place I want to visit, pinning a flag to my oversized world map. What's important is not that I've been everywhere or have seen everything. Rather, I am content knowing that I alone am responsible for my own happiness. 

You don't need a book, or an app, or a life-coach, or even me to tell you how to be happy. You only need yourself and a knowledge of what you love. You do you...and it will only go up from there.

"And I think to myself, what a wonderful world"

-Louis Armstrong

Single Shaming

Slut-shaming, the act of making someone feel ashamed for specific sexual acts or behavior, is becoming one of the most talked-about social issues of the Millennial generation. Its backlash is a cultural phenomenon dedicated to giving humans the freedom to act as they please, without the fear of being ostracized or criticized in a world obsessed with judgment. And while I agree that we, as the young people responsible for the future of society, should take it upon ourselves to undo as much of the damage the media has caused as possible, there is an issue of discrimination that I believe deserves just as much attention: single shaming.

I’m just like any other young female college student. I pull all-nighters during finals week. I think too much about what outfit I’m going to wear the next day. I go out on the weekends more often than I probably should. I obsess over Instagram and worry about social media. I have aspirations of traveling the world and settling into the perfect career. And I dream about finding that one person who is perfect for me in every way, a man who will support, encourage, and love me despite all of my flaws and shortcomings and will bring me my favorite flowers (hint: tulips) just because he wants to. 

However, I haven’t found Mr. Right just yet. And for the most part, romance isn't at the top of my priority list. I have important things to do, important places to go, and important people to meet.

But my nonchalance in the love department is not a sentiment that is often shared or understood. In fact, I’ve been asked on countless occasions “Don’t you hate being single?” And next to being asked if blonde is my natural hair color (for the record, it is...), being grilled about my relationship status is one of my most-hated annoyances. I’m tired of being condemned for not obsessing over boys. I’m tired of being judged for going to parties alone. I’m tired of being criticized for worrying about classes more than I do about getting a date for Friday night. And I’m tired of my talents and accomplishments being overshadowed by the fact that I’m single.  

Because here’s the thing: a person’s relationship status shouldn't define who they are. Aren’t a person’s stories, experiences, and aspirations incredibly more interesting to discuss than whether or not he or she has a significant other? I’m well aware that I’m “not getting any younger.”  But who decided that being single was taboo? Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against people in serious relationships. In fact, I applaud them for being selfless enough and strong enough to devote their precious time and attention to another person. But it is incredibly easy to become discouraged when you find yourself seeing one couple engaged on Monday and another couple married on Friday. However, regardless of whether or not a person is single, why does society put so much emphasis on having a relationship?

It frightens me that people are legitimately confused by the fact that I want to be a writer and travel the world instead of actively look for a man. Isn’t it scary that in an age of so much personal freedom, we are still repressed by the idea that marriage is the ultimate goal? Isn’t it sad that young people are so obsessed with having a significant other that they will sacrifice every part of themselves for someone else? Isn't it a crime that our culture is totally defined by who we romantically associate ourselves with?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

I’m approaching that point in life where the first question a person asks after the expected “How are you?” is “So…do you have anyone special in your life?” For what seems like an hour (though realistically, it’s only for a split second), my brain debates whether or not to tell the truth. If I say yes, they’ll ask questions. If I say no, I’ll be gifted with a pitiful look, a pat on the shoulder, and the dreaded “You’ll find someone eventually” or the even worse “Really? Well, I have the perfect guy to set you up with!” Underneath the guise of sympathetic concern is an immediate judgment that I am incapable of love and secretly crying out for someone to help me.

I’m 20 years old for God’s sake. I’m young. I’m curious. I’m adventurous. I’m ambitious. I’m self-sufficient. I’m independent. And most importantly, I’m not the type of person who feels the need to validate who I am. I’m not in a rush to do anything, most especially tie myself down. And the truth of the matter is, it’s hurtful when others take it upon themselves to try and “fix” me.

I don’t think it’s even occurred to people that there might be a difference between being single and being lonely. I’m not sure if people realize that by focusing on someone’s relationship status, they are essentially erasing any potential that person might have had to do or be something other than “the single friend.”  There is no one right way to live; so why can’t we be happy for our friends? Why can’t we appreciate the differences that make our society so unique? Why don’t we encourage people to pursue their passions instead of pressure them into misery? 

I love who I am. I won’t apologize for my choices. And when the time comes, I will be more than happy to devote myself to another person and give them all of the love I have to offer. But in the meantime, stop asking if I have a boyfriend. Stop assuming I’m crippled by my lack of one. Stop offering solutions to my “problem.” Stop with the single-shaming.

It’s okay to be single. It’s okay to be in a relationship. It's okay to be anything you choose. 

But I’m just happy to be.  

"Don't be scared to walk alone. Don't be scared to like it"

-John Mayer

You're More Than A Number

Now before you say to yourself, “not another body confidence spiel…” I want you to know that I get it. We all know the media makes us feel like crap. We all know that it’s unhealthy to pine for an unattainable shape. We all know that we should be comfortable with who we are and what we look like. And we all know that being constantly bombarded with coulds and shoulds is just plain annoying, especially when all we’re trying to do is find out who we are. And that’s why I feel like it’s okay, necessary even, to let you know that being a woman is hard enough without feeling like you have to submit to the warped, misogynistic standards of a few big-shot Hollywood a-holes with the moral principles of Satan’s underworld army. Because you don’t.

Easier said than done, right? Exactly. It’s going to be a challenge to separate yourself from what you’ve been brainwashed into thinking since you were a toddler. If society had it their way, we would all pop out of our mothers’ uterus as size 2 blondes with pouty lips, smoky eyes, legs for days, waists the envy of Scarlett O’Hara, and the intelligence of a flea. Essentially beautiful, brain-dead robots. And if that doesn’t terrify you more than any horror movie you’ve ever seen, feel free to join the media’s sin parade. God speed.

However, if you are half as disturbed by what we’ve been unwillingly subjected to for decades as I am, listen up. I know just as much as the next girl what it’s like to feel completely inadequate. I was taught that my body is a “temple” and that I was “bought with a price.” And that’s a wonderful message. But it’s also one that is incredibly difficult to adhere to when you live in a world like ours. I went through 12 years of education feeling like I was somehow defective because I didn’t look like our culture’s definition of “beautiful.” And trust me, it put a damper on everything I wanted to do and accomplish. I can’t be a cheerleader; I’m a size 8. He’ll never like me; I have elephant thighs. I can’t go out tonight; I have a zit the size of Jupiter on my forehead. Thus, I came to college thinking I’d be ostracized for my curves and imperfections.

And boy was I wrong. Here’s the thing about college: nobody cares. About anything. People are worried about getting an education. They couldn’t care less if I felt like I couldn’t wear a crop top. In fact, if I complained about my body instead of next week’s World Literature final, they would stare at me as if I had pronounced that I was the supreme overlord of the Illuminati. Finding out that I could finally feel okay, confident even, in my body was one of the most freeing experiences of my life. I have always liked shopping; clothing was and is a way to express myself without feeling emotionally exposed. But now, I could enjoy the experience of buying clothing even more because a whole new world of possibilities was now open to me. I bought a crop top, several in fact. I bought leggings. And wore them as pants! I bought things that showcased my curves, not hid them. And for the first time, I didn’t care what anybody would think of me. This new attitude soon carried over into other areas of my life. I spoke up more often in class. I told people what I really thought about books, movies, and politics. I felt comfortable going out of my comfort zone and trying new things like eating sushi and going parasailing. 

And while this new-found freedom is incredibly empowering, I feel the need to share it with as many women as possible. I realize that the way I came about feeling comfortable in my own skin was unorthodox and that waiting until college to maybe feel better about yourself isn’t an appealing or especially realistic option. What I’m suggesting is that you consider what it truly means to not care about the opinions of others. You’re going to have to train your mind and body into loving yourself. You going to have to get up in the morning, look in the mirror and say, “I may not be perfect, but today I’m going to do what I want.” You’re going to have to put down the Vogue magazine and throw away the bottle of kale juice. You’re going to have to stop second-guessing yourself and stop analyzing every “imperfection” you see. You’re going to have to legitimately try to be happy with what life has given you. If you’re anything like me, it won’t come easy but it will come. 

And when you’ve finally come to the conclusion that society’s opinion of you is worth about as much as a master’s degree in Pig Latin, you’ll be free to live your life exactly how you’ve always envisioned it. I’m not suggesting a feminist march down the streets of Hollywood. I’m not suggesting you write angry letters to your congressmen. I’m not suggesting you stop exercising or stop taking care of your body (after all, it does sustain you). I’m not even suggesting that you overhaul your entire outlook on life. I’m simply suggesting we, as women of sound mind, take control of how we let others affect us. Opinions are just that: opinions. And as soon as we realize how utterly unimportant they are in the grand scheme of things, the better off we’ll be.   

"There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself" 

-Steve Maraboli 

She Is Clothed With Strength and Dignity

For You, my sweet friend.

When I was little, I was told that honoring your mother and father (i.e. not stealing from the cookie jar or sticking your tongue out when you’re told you can’t have that $125 Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse) will give you a longer life. At the age of 6, I couldn’t see past tomorrow so obeying my parents to gain a few more years on Earth wasn’t at the top of my priority list. But as I grew older, I slowly began to realize just how precious life really is. I saw deaths by the hundreds on the news, watched documentaries about genocide in school, and read stories about bloody battles in the Bible and my history textbooks. In my adolescent mind, I observed that so much of what I was seeing was incredibly unfair. After all, bad things couldn’t happen to truly good people, right?

As an only child, I had to make a lot of friends to make up for the lack of childhood comradery I was lacking at home. I looked for cohorts similar to me: mischievous, funny, imaginative, and independent. I found this dream companion in a girl a few years older than me, a girl named Sally who was a little different than other children. She and her family attended the same church as mine and in the most uncomplicated of ways, we began to form a close bond. Sally was often sick and would miss church for a few weeks in a row. Concerned, I asked my mother if Sally was okay. She sat me down and explained that “Sally has cancer. And sometimes, she has to stay home and rest.” Not fully understanding, I accepted my mother’s words and waited for Sally to come back. When she did, we didn’t speak of her absence or her illness; we simply continued in our companionship. Thus, the routine was established. Sally would come to church, become sick, miss church, and eventually return and act like nothing had happened. Of course, Sally’s condition was fussed over by others (doctors, friends, members of the church) but it was never spoken of between the two of us.

As children are wont to do, Sally and I grew up and developed different interests but we remained very close. We sat together in church, drawing elaborate cartoon scenes on the back of the weekly bulletin, giggling about particularly awful choir solos, sharing candy and Carolina Tarheel paraphernalia, and simply enjoying each other’s company. Sally had a very dry sense of humor, with sarcastic barbs and self-deprecating remarks coming out of her mouth with hilarious speed. She could make me laugh with just a nudge or a look and I regarded her as one of the most honest people I had ever met. While she never explicitly told me, I knew she loved me and that our friendship was of the purest kind. There were no judgments, no questions, only a connection based on mutual understanding.

As we graduated high school and moved into the collegiate world, Sally seemed to be getting sicker. I knew she went through periods of “relapse” and as always, I patiently waited for her to get better. But this time, she only seemed to be getting worse. I was concerned but not worried; Sally had pulled through for 21 years and I had no doubt that she would do the same this time. But before I knew it, she was hospitalized and eventually placed in Hospice. We continued to text and Facebook message each other. She posted pictures of her family and crafts she had made. I knew Sally’s condition was precarious, but I always assumed we would be friends for a long time, that we would become adults together and share things just as we always had. However, in December of 2013, Sally passed away. In spite of everything she had been through, her death was a shock to me. I had lost several grandparents and was familiar with the feeling one gets when a loved one is gone, but I wasn’t prepared for just how crippling my grief for Sally would be.

I had lost a best friend, someone I had known my entire life. I couldn’t send her funny pictures. We couldn’t watch basketball together. She couldn’t sit with me at church. Just knowing that she had suffered and was gone was incredibly hard to process, let alone accept. I suppose being away at college sheltered me from the severity of her last days. I hadn’t visited her at the hospital nor had I ever asked her if she was okay. Just like when we were children, we both acted like her illness was non-existent. And while the guilt of not being with her before she passed was difficult to accept, I know Sally appreciated that I never treated her any differently, that I never let her condition color our friendship. I knew Sally wanted normalcy, and even up until her very last breath, I tried to give her that.

I was an absolute wreck on the day of the funeral. I couldn’t look at her family, her casket, the flowers, or the funeral attendees without breaking down. For the first time in my life, I was legitimately sobbing with indescribable sorrow. And for weeks after, seeing the comments and eulogies people left on her Facebook wall, seeing the sadness in the faces of the people she loved caused a fresh and debilitating wave of grief to come over me. I still have days where even the mention of her name forces me into solitude.

However, while Sally is no longer physically beside me, she is forever with me in my heart. Sometimes, when I’m praying at night, I’ll say to God, “Lord? Can I talk to Sally for a minute?” and I’ll imagine she’s there next to God, listening and nodding her head. I see and hear Sally everywhere I go and I am comforted knowing that we’ll see each other again someday. Our friendship was beautiful and innocent and her memory lingers in everything that is pure and good. So while Sally’s death seemed unfair, her purpose in life was fulfilled. She never complained. She never blamed God or anyone else. She never asked “Why me?” She simply did the best with what she had. I miss her every single day but Sally’s spirit continues to remind me that nothing is impossible with God.  

"Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything" 

-C.S. Lewis