Day 1 "He punched the highlights out of her HAIR!"

Thus far, veganism is both harder and easier than I thought. It's difficult because animal by-products are in EVERYTHING. EVERYONE tests on animals. And for the first time in my life, I'm reading the label of everything I eat. It's easy because it rests well on my soul. I have no guilt. The changes to my diet are only helping my own health, the environment, animals, and my conscience. I always hated dieting because being fit was not quite enough of a motivator. But the ethical treatment of animals is pretty important to me. I don't mind going out of my way to read a label or give away a granola bar (you'll see) if it's going to make a difference in my life. For the first time I'm entirely conscious of what I'm eating. Not just the caloric content (although that's a side-effect of all this research) but of hormones and chemicals used and the way we treat animals. Every time I eat I feel better about my decision. It's not that hard. I can't unsee the images I've seen. But it's not quite the same. I've been exposed to those images before, but I was neutralized to them--the were just the way things are. But looking at them as a whole person, including my compassion and sense of reason (something we all have), I cannot resolve it within myself to be any part of that kind of abuse. Now. What will I do after these forty days? I'm not positive yet. Right now I'm thinking about a stricter vegetarian diet with a few vegan months of the year. But for right now, I got this. Plus. Vegans have superpowers. Says so in a movie.

"Vegans are just better than most people."

My next promise, to exercise every day has started off strong. I had PE which kind of kicked my butt anyway and then skipped to the gym to keep working out. I owe it to myself. In PE we did Jillian Michaels's workout DVD. Ripped in 30 days. Well here's the thing. It depends on where you're starting if you'll actually be ripped in 30 days. Like. I don't think I'm gonna look like the girls on that screen by the time Lent ends... but progress will be made. The video was great. It was possible but challenging. I'll go as far as to suggest it. I left PE feeling better than I went in, and practically floated to the gym. I met Shannon there. I did 100 sit ups on the sit up bench. Comparing that to my high school records (400 crunches), it felt kind of weak. I needed a little Eminem in my life amIright? Anywho. After that I moved on to weight machines, mostly for arms, shoulders, and abs. Then I rode the stationary bike for 3 miles. I put it on an aerobic circuit which SUCKED but was AWESOME. Come here and feel my legs. Do it.

All of these dudes started Ripped in 30 Days 30 days ago.

Last promise was to journal every day. Here's what I had in my journal:
Today, for myself, I will start off strong on all my challenges.
Today, for someone else, I will add onto that panhellenic valentine. I saw huge bags and boxes of chocolate, and I made a measly card. So I took in a little something extra.
Today I'm excited for new changes!
*Today I'm mostly worried about messing up everything I said earlier.

Today I'm thankful for all the people giving me support, advice, and encouragement.

FOODS! I know you want to know what I've been eating all day. It's all you thought about all day long when you were enjoying bacon and burgers. :P Here it is:

Breakfast: I went to LQ on The Run. There weren't many options there. I couldn't think of much. And the bananas were like 70s bathtub pea green. So I got a grape fruit. I've never actually just eaten grape fruit just to eat it before. But it wasn't bad. I also had a small cup of granola with raisins. (Yeah. I'd have appreciated a bigger cup, but it was only there to supplement the yogurt I don't eat.) And apple juice. Good ole' 100% juice. It wasn't the best vegan breakfast, but it was a start. I'm going to work on incorporating some soy and water oatmeal, vegan breakfast bars, and seeds.

Lunch: I went to lunch with Grandma and a man from the foundation. I was in sweats because I'd just finished a PE class and directly after this lunch would attend another. But we went to a fancy new spot in the Commons now. I can dig. There was a buffet, but ingredients and nutritional information were above each dish. I had water and lemon to drink, and vegetable soup made with vegetable broth. I had a big leafy salad with spinach, mushrooms, broccoli, raisins, cucumbers, and olive oil.YUM. And that glob of grey you see was some pretty yummy rice-consistency thing (I later found out it was not actually rice). It had cranberries and walnuts in it.

Snack: Naked Green Monster smoothie, raspberry water, and that oats 'n honey thing that I had to give away. Let us not forget that bees make honey. :(

Emergency-I'm-Gonna-Die-If-I-Don't-Eat-Now: Another Naked drink. This one was a little fruitier. I also had a Peanut Crunch Cliff Bar. I couldn't have any others because they had chocolate. And then some roasted almonds. Not pictured were some pretty delicious sunflower seeds.

 Dinner: I came home tonight and Jim made me an incredible dinner with kous kous made with peppers, mushrooms, edamame, celery, carrots, and onions. Slightly off-topic. Funny story. One time I went to Baesler's Market to get some kous kous. And I was supposed to get like a pound. But Mom said "Just fill a bag to the top!" Well, only giant huge-normous bags were lefts so I came home with 10 pounds of kous kous. We had to research new ways to cook it. Whoops. Anyway. I also had a vegan Bocca Burger on a whole wheat bun with Grey Poupon Mustard. You're looking at this picture saying "MILK! BLASPHEMY!" Because it looks remarkably white in this picture. But it's almond milk. Fuggin yum.

So. That has been my day. Pretty full of exciting. How are your Lenten challenges going?

*Highlighting means the concern was not validated.
Note from the editor: check out those links. If your interested in eliminating cruelty-free products from your household, check out the list of products and companies tested on animals. If you're looking for a good work out video, I suggest that one because everything else we've done in PE has sucked ass. And you should probably watch that Eminem video because... well... it's badass. And Baesler's is a pretty cool market in Terre Haute. It's the closest we'll come to a Trader Joe's.

Justin Bieber Overrated and Exploited

I have plenty of problems with popular music. It's fine for dance music, I think, but I cannot take it seriously. There are musicians who know how to read music and don't need complicated equipment to cover their inability to carry a tune. Those musicians can't get ahead because our music industry is shallow. It's unfair, and that's what bothers me.

So I'm not a Bieber fan. He's not as horrible as some say. But he's certainly not worth his popularity level either. I just watched a special on Justin and his mom on television (another reason this shit is terrible for us). He was serenading her (dripping with cheese), and he got so sharp he changed key. Jesus Christ. How do people like this get famous for their "talent?" *sex, cough cough* He's an attractive kid. Girls freak out (in utterly irrational and creepy ways) about him. They're selling his sex appeal, whether or not people realize they're buying into it.

So, on this show, they were focusing on the trials his mother had faced in her childhood. When I still watched TV (took it seriously, at least) I would have found it a very moving program. She was molested, she was an addict, she attempted suicide, she became pregnant with Justin when she was a teenager, yadda yadda. First issue: They turned it into an issue of pro-life/pro-choice. She was encouraged to abort Justin and chose not to, and now he's such a big deal. I think it's pretty clear that I'm pro-choice (just look at the rest of this blog). I was offended that they used her heartache as a conservative promo.

I'm sure this woman was encouraged to give all this up. At one point in my life, I would have said she was an advocate. She was telling young people that you can come out of addiction, and to get help after sexual abuse... but now I know better. Justin Bieber's mom isn't going to make our youth feel better about their own heartaches. Justin's music is becoming more serious as his PR people are trying to convince the public he isn't still 14 (even if he looks it), because songs like Baby are already getting old. His fans are growing up. And just as his music is attempting a more mature feel, they're trying to do the same with his personal life. They're going to do anything to push that new image, including exploiting his mother's past (or lying about it).

Justin didn't do such a good job on the program. His singing was only the beginning. He was clearly uncomfortable being present for his mother discussing her history of sexual abuse, and the thought of aborting the child that now sat next to her. When the subject of her suicide attempt arose, he said, "everyone makes mistakes." Is there not a more politically correct response? How about, "I'm so happy she's here now. She means the world to me." or "I know my mom had a lot going on, and I'm so inspired by her ability to turn her life around." Not... it was a mistake. I guess we all do that. What the hell, bro? Aren't you coached better than this? Or perhaps they shouldn't have subjected the poor kid to that horribly uncomfortable situation in the first place.

I don't read magazines for the same reason. I don't care what anyone says about someone famous. I don't know them personally, so I don't care if they broke up with their boyfriend, or if they're pregnant, or anything really. Not unless someone endorses something I believe in or has a performance that speaks to me will I be interested in that person as an individual. And I sure as hell won't use television or magazines to gather the information I'm seeking.

The exploitation of our big "stars," is disgusting. It's unfair to them. That environment cannot be healthy, which is why we end up with girls like Lindsay Lohan--she is a product of our sick fascination. I won't be surprised when Bieber comes out the same way. We've created this world in which we admire images of famous people who have been edited to look a specific way, and have resources to trainers and dietitians that most of us don't have. We want to be them... and then we make jokes of the people we once admired--the ones who have broken. And we take pleasure from it. Because when someone we're jealous of fails, it feels good. We celebrate their successes, just as we make comedy of their downfalls. Check yourself, people.

Allegory of the Song

If a song had been playing in your head since the development of reasonable thought—taught thought—and it followed you everywhere, would you feel free when you heard it, or trapped? It seems like the same 5 or so different songs play in everyone’s heads, and even though the lyrics are written down, no one agrees on the words. You yourself had your own lyrics, because those that were written down did not speak to you. We are all so different. It seems odd that the same song would appeal to all of us; and it doesn’t! That explains all the adaptions and arrangements of the original texts.

Although the originals of these songs songs are similar in certain ways, the melodies are so, so different, that they cannot be played all at the same time—chaos. Those with exceptionally flexible (and disillusioned) personalities can play them all at once. But those who hold too closely to their own music, cannot do this. That is most people.

Most People

At different times in your life, the words were louder than others. There were times you found comfort in the words, and others that the words only confused you. You didn’t know how to turn it off (if you’d even know that to be an option), and the lyrics didn’t always fit in your alto line. You only picked the important ones. But then you met some people without the music. You didn’t even know that existed away from darkness and emptiness. But these people were writing their own lyrics, to their own tunes.

Sometimes they lined up with one another, and sometimes they didn’t, but it didn’t really matter. The point was, they were writing their own songs, and they were beautiful. They didn’t have to make beauty out of an original piece that wasn’t that good in the first place.
It didn’t take long for the song to disappear from your own mind. For a while there was blackness, but quickly you began to compose your own symphony of purpose and ethics.

The first song: Did you lose it? Or did you leave it behind?

Lost or Left

Lord I'm 500 miles from my home.

I'm really sad today. I'm just sad in general right now. I'm thinking about a lot of things--dwelling really. I think I'm getting depressed again. I want to fight it, but I'm getting to that place where fighting it hurts more than living it. All I can do is keep going and keep on top of the things that need done. I'm kind of happy I have Chi Omega right now, because I have a reason to wake up and actually shower and take care of myself. Through recruitment we need to represent Chi Omega well. All I want to do is sleep.

So, apparently I wasn't a rebound. But the fact of the matter is I was too much for him. Right now he needs someone that doesn't need to be taken care of because he needs to take care of himself... whatever. It made me think, though: am I just too messed up for a relationship? I've already cut myself off from boys for a while now. I know how bad they are for me, and I know I was looking, which is never good. Love should come to me, I think. Today James said, "My grandma used to say that we live to find love, we don't love to find life. I think that's what you need." He's so right. And that resonated with me after a little time in the car gave me time to process that. I was looking. But I couldn't help but wonder if I am just too much for someone else to take care of. Am I so difficult that I'm one of those project relationships--will people take me on to try to fix me? Because I know how poorly those turn out. So, after that thought, the first thing I considered was just waiting. Maybe in time I'll have my life better together and I'll be good for someone. But then that disquieting word--maybe--slapped me in the face. What if I'm never better than I am right now? What if my whole life will be this roller coaster of ups and downs? What if when I need medication adjustments I become too much to take? What if I always struggle with self harm? What if I spend my whole life falling in love with people who are scared of me?

I thought of all these things as I was driving away from camp with NPR playing quietly in the background, only to make me feel less alone. I've never known someone with bipolar that had a positive, healthy romantic relationship. Bipolar people are great for some things. They are writers and actors. They're movers and shakers... but they never seem to have love. And that thought scares me. I'm working on being okay alone, which is hard, but I can't help but try to look to the future and hope that I find someone. I can't help but hope that I'll have that camp wedding I always dream of, and that I'll have babies that don't have to have bipolar disorder. I wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone right now.

He wanted me back Friday, after he dumped me Thursday. He told me that he missed me, Madeline Webster, Queen of the Gollywhops. He said I made him believe in love again. He said he'd made a terrible mistake, and he couldn't believe he'd let me go. But Wednesday night... he was with someone else. So I knew those feelings had to have a parallel conflict he didn't want me to see. So, against the calls of my heart, I said no. I said no even though he wanted me to believe that he wanted me. And today, Labor Day, four days later, he again doesn't want me. I see it was a wise decision to hold strong. Because no matter how much he "loves me," he doesn't love me enough to withstand my bipolar disorder. And maybe it's just the place he is in his life--I can accept that. But when love is real, none of that matters. When love is real, you can't imagine your life without someone. When love is real, you don't even consider loving someone else. When love is real, you're willing to take anything thrown your way: distance, stress, mental illness...

So, he dumped me Thursday. I'd planned on meeting his family this weekend, and so I hadn't signed up to work at Waycross for Family Camp. But when it happened, I knew I needed camp. I knew that I needed support, distraction, exercise, and music. So I emailed Eric, and he let me work, but I didn't get paid. I spent a total of $65 dollars in gas to get there and back and make my runs in Brown County. But I didn't even care. I was just so happy to be there. It was so good for me. The thought of Jacob still hurt a lot, but I managed to make it through the weekend with growth and a greater sense of peace. I think it'll take a while to heal now. I'm still very hateful towards him.

I'm maddest because he was the one that wanted to look so far ahead. Somehow that assured me, because he was willing to believe in long term when Drew wouldn't even commit to now. We seemed so good for each other. He promised to love me despite everything I was afraid he'd leave me for; everything I'm still afraid I'll be left for. And after rushing so quickly into things, he dumped me so quickly. I'm mad because even after he played on my emotions trying to get me back, he managed to change his mind so quickly again. I can exist as a fleeting thing. He can want me and not want me three times in the course of a weekend. I was mad because I felt deceived. But I have to catch myself when I'm mad at him for not wanting me. That really isn't fair. In that instance I'm not mad at him. I'm mad at my fear that no one will look far enough past my crazy to love me. Because honestly, at this point I'm not grieving him.

If he doesn't want me, he doesn't. And I have almost entirely retrained my brain to not want him anymore too. I can't even imagine myself ever being desperate enough to make that mistake. But I am grieving the hope I've lost. I think when I was looking, like I'd said before, I was looking for assurance that I was lovable despite my mood swings, and my scars, and my depression... and I thought I'd found that in Jacob. But I was wrong. And that's why it hurt so much. Because the very thing I was looking for in love, was the very reason I lost it.

I'm getting sick. My throat is sore, my head hurts... I'm just miserable really. I'm disgusting and I need a shower. I miss camp. But here I am, back at school, fretting about this homework I need to scan and email, and looking at the mess in my room fearing that I don't have the will to pick it up. It's going to take everything I have to shower and get to the library. I'm listening to Peter Paul & Mary, which is practically my camp soundtrack. 500 Miles just played. And I think it's true. I have no idea how many miles camp is from me right now, but it's too many. And not just camp, but those people who make camp what it is. They're my home too. And it's all so far away that it physically hurts. I feel it in my bones that there is where I belong. And soon I'll return to clear trails, or fix bikes, or work on the new archery field... and I'll find peace again. And maybe someday I'll learn to bring that peace home.

Met an old friend on the street yesterday...

Sing a song for the good times that still lie ahead.

I had an excellent last two weeks of camp. I found myself in ways I've never before been able to do. I've felt the shaking body of a sobbing girl in my shoulder--truer tears than I've ever been entrusted with; than I've ever been responsible for catching. The tears from the loss of an uncle to the sensitive words of Michael, Oh Michael. Those words have played the strings of campers' and counselors' hearts for years.

"Some folks look back on a lifetime of yesterdays thinking of what might have been, while others they dwell on the thrill of today; they don't care if they lose or they win."

A fourteen year-old boy who has seen hardships I'll never know held my hand and cried. He said to me, "it doesn't matter that I'm going back to camp Sunday... A camp, Sunday... it isn't Waycross. Waycross is different. I'm not ready to go." And holding back my own tears I said, "I'm not ready either. But we've got next summer, and the next, and the next. That's what matters."

I brought Bri to Waycross. On the way home she said, "This has been the best summer of my life." That's it folks. Waycross has the arms to cradle the hearts of the hundreds who have danced to "will the circle be unbroken!" and swayed to "both sides now." It's a warmth we hold; a power we posses. We are One Body. We each make Waycross what it is: a haven for anyone willing to be vulnerable enough for that body to feel the genuineness in their hearts, to accept them and rejoice in their strengths.

I broke Friday night. I cried and cried. I just broke. During serenades I was useless. I didn't want to sing because I had no voice left anyway. But even more than that, I felt that lump in my throat. I knew that if I tried to make noise, my voice would break, and I would cry, and I wouldn't be able to stop. And that's what happened. I just sobbed. I kept thinking, "I'm just not ready. I can't do it yet." Things at home aren't awesome right now. My family is struggling with the loss of a parent, the metaphorical (and alarmingly possible) loss of my brother, and the intensity of my family's work. At Waycross, I was comfortable with my vulnerability to those matters. But I was safe there. At home things kept happening, but camp kept going--camp was still magic. I'm starting to learn that all those things are really all the same. Those little upsets are all the exact same. I can still live in a bubble, reflecting those painful things back to where they came. I can deal with them on my own time. And happiness is nothing more than a deep breath of sanity away.

Met an old friend on the street yesterday, got to talkin' bout days gone by. The summer camp stories we told made us laugh. But a campfire song made us cry.

Music of the Moment

I just made two playlists. The first is gospel and the second is titled Windows Down, which was designed for nice, long, summer road trips.

Gospel:

1. I'll Fly Away--Alison Krauss
2. What Wondrous Love is This--Blue Highway
3. Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing--Fiddlesticks
4. Me and God--Avett Brothers
5. Po Lazarus--James Carter and the Prisoners
6. I Am Weary (Let Me Rest)-Cox Family
7. Will the Circle Be Unbroken--Mavis Staples
8. Long Time Traveler--The Wailing Jennys
9. Babylon--Don McLean live
10. Down to the River to Pray--Alison Krauss

Windows Down:

1. Black-Eyed Susan--Town Mountain
2. Picture Show--John Prine
3. Blister in the Sun--Violent Femmes
4. Wagon Wheel--Old Crow Medicine Show
5. Half Moon Rising--Yonder Mountain String Band
6. Rocky Top--Osbourne Brothers
7. Home--Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes
8. You Are My Sunshine--Norman Blake
9. Old Plank Road--Guy's All-Star Shoe Band
10. Union Maid--Old Crow Medicine Show
11. Distraction #74--Avett Brothers
12. Let it Rock--Catham County Line
13. Graceland--Paul Simon
14. How Sweet it is (To Be Loved by You)--James Taylor
15. Old Blue--The Byrds
16. Dawg's Rag--David Grisman Quintet
17. Sweet Potato Pie--Ray Charles & James Taylor
18. American Pie--Don McLean

Go purchase (or illegally obtain) these keepers. The order was considered carefully, also. I think you guys might like them, even if folk isn't your thing. These are kind of classics, or may be someday. Let me know how you feel about them. :)

Peace

The hills meet leftist city girls

Top 50: You know you're a Waycross counselor when...

year 2

1. you know there's more than one bible.
2. you have a go-to boogaloo.
3. you've done something that could make other people vomit.
4. you know what a Camp Kid is.
5. you know playing guitar is worthy of a pay raise.
6. you seriously wonder if life guarding is worth the pay raise.
7. at the end of meals you feel compelled to put all the silverware in cups.
8. someone wants to make an announcement and you want to sing a song about it.
9. air conditioning is too cold.
10. you sing the mail song on the way to the mailbox.
11. Oreos are directly associated to a certain chaplain.
12. you have eaten a bug or kissed a toad.
13. you own a watch.
14. you know all too well what Barking Spiders are.
15. "Go to bed," is way more than a request: it's a plea of desperation.
16. you are equally terrified of and thankful for cinnamon roll hugs.
17. Waycross eggs are very fine eggs, but Springfield eggs are better.
18. Michael Oh Michael never gets old.
19. makeup and hair are a waste of time.
20. you accept that showers are a privilege not a right.
21. you groan if you hear "OOOOOOHHHH!" before a meal.
22. the thought of The Austrian makes you tired.
23. you know the difference between a creek hike and a rock hike of 2012.
24. when someone says "that's my favorite song," and a little voice in your head says, "it's my favorite song TOO someone!"
25. Rise and Shine makes you want to go back to bed.
26. coffee is a legal addictive stimulant invented solely for our job.
27. burn bans actually affect you.
28. you've made tea from sassafras roots.
29. camouflage is more than a pattern.
30. serenades aren't just singing; they're a spiritual experience.
31. "say what?" "ohhhh."
32. the ability to french braid is more than a talent.
33. having half a beard makes you cool.
34. you can take someone seriously at staff meetings with a uni-brow and creeper mustache drawn on their face.
35. if you have been identified as a character both from the Harry Potter series and from Wet Hot American Summer.
36. donk.
37. you've witnessed an hour long debate over fanny packs.
38. you can describe your day as a sandwich with all the seriousness of an important staff meeting.
39. you can actually recite the contemporary Lord's Prayer.
40. you know the significance of Page 18.
41. seat check means nothing.
42. you are proud of bruises.
43. you put up the Birdman Block when someone says your name.
44. you know better than to leave your stomach or thighs unprotected.
45. you know alternate lyrics to Both Sides Now.
46. you have seen a Gollywop.
47. you accept that getting drenched is never a choice; it's a reality.
48. you throw up your spoons if someone is in danger of falling.
49. you laugh maliciously at the words Romans and Christians.
50. camp is on your mind all year.

war and peace

Man is made of dreams and bones.

Spirit gnome

And it began. First, with staff training; a well-designed method of the development of chemistry where none should have existed before. The frat-rat and the nerd, the queen bee and the philosophy major.

It began with late nights talking to Sara about finding ourselves, liking ourselves, and overcoming the palpable fear that no one will like the person we find ourselves to be. We talked about the validity of feelings, regardless of their origin--one we still haven't settled, I think. But something I didn't think about until the conversation had passed was that I know that despite the issues I've had with my dad in the past, and despite the pain I feel when I watch as my brother self-destructs... despite all of that, I think my most impressive heartache has come from overcoming a very real self-hatred. Internal battles tend to leave us far more broken than those things that happen to us.

Alpaca

 It began with unshaven legs and accepting that no idol is perfect--except Wonder Woman. I learned lessons. I learned that going without a shower for a while can make you feel human in a way that a civilized kind of life denies me. No one smells good all the time. Everyone farts (although apparently not everyone has the weird urge to smell them even when they don't want to). Girls are just as nasty as boys. Mud pits are the great equalizer. Not everyone can sing well, but absolutely everyone can sing. There are few places safe enough to discover all of this.

Sun hats and our Sunday Best

 It began with tears I never thought I'd be capable of shedding in public. But it wasn't really public, I suppose. Reflections: A loud, a soft, and if my day were a sandwich… I cried for fear and helplessness--feelings I'm not as fond of expressing. And I earned myself a cinnamon roll hug. I felt so naked in chapel that night. I'd gotten lost that day. I was still recovering. But that day proved to me twice over how much my camp family is willing to do for me. Even if they can't understand the heartaches I have, and I cannot comprehend theirs, I know they will catch me if I fall, and I would do the same for them. Although, I know there are people with whom I can express my feelings about those things that have happened to me, and there are a different group of people with whom I can share those things I have done to myself. I learned that these people, of both ends, felt legitimate fear when I was gone for an hour and fifteen minutes--I didn't know I'd meant that much. I am vital there--as vital as anyone else. But without any one of us, this summer would suffer for it. We are one body.

Staff 2012 minus the brilliant Nathan Stewart

 It began with the sweet reminder that a single location can hold magic and comfort in hammocks, cots, cabins, and hills; in the International Birdman Society, EpiPens, slack-jaw-dance, and belly slaps hard enough to make you vomit a little in your mouth. In the sound of a cabin-mate's snores and the smell of Waycross cookies, I find comfort I have yet to recreate elsewhere.

Early Arrivals

My first week was a nice one. The ladies in my cabin were wonderful. I laughed a lot. Quotes like "I don't care if I hunger to death, I don't care if I thirst to death, I just care that I have my bunny!" and "I like myself as I am. I don't want to be a tree." still make me snort. And there are moments that tightened my chest and brought tears to my eyes. Confessions of a little girl without a daddy, with whom I couldn't help but relate to, and somehow the sight of Harry Potter books tucked in with teddy bears choked me up. Seven year-olds can teach you a lot about yourself and the world as a greater whole. Experience has taught me much, but age and arrogance has allowed me to forget some of the greater truths in life: that music and story books are significant methods of therapy, that saying what rests on your heart should not deny you any friendships—and if it does, you have chosen poorly, and finally that if you can learn to forgive yourself on a daily basis, then you can learn to forgive others as liberally. Everyone deserves the chance to change themselves.

Canoe Bruise

My second session was with some ten and eleven year-olds with the token 9 and 12 year-old. They really were a great cabin. They made me a birthday gift--a mason jar candle--that I used for reflections with them. I’ll have to post a picture sometime soon. They taught me that bullying exists and that children often lack the experience to see it. I learned that when kids are insecure, they will either make themselves into someone they think people will like, becoming all too comfortable with manipulation, or they will allow themselves to be used. The strongest people legitimately don’t care what people think of them—such a cliché, such a brilliant truth. My cabin took a hold of my heart. A little girl with a life more challenging than I can even begin to understand had the best attitude of any child I've ever met, and a girl who has had a history of bad behavior who "decided to be good," this year... nothing is more meaningful to me. I'm so proud of Waycross. I'm so proud that we can provide an environment where neither socioeconomic status nor history can deny a child the chance to be loved--to make friends.

Too perfect

 My third session was on support, which was dotted with its own miracles. It was defined by late nights talking, laughing, and sighing at those things which we cannot change. It was defined by Dark Angel in the Main House, grazing out of the serving bowls, forgetting the laptop at lunch, leading songs and skits, making mistakes into something amazing. I won't forget being a little proud of Sara for bruising me. I won't forget learning that Chantel has way more to offer than just Mama Bear. I won't forget when James tore off his toenail trying to hide from Natalie... and then ate it to make Sara throw up, (she didn’t by the way). I learned that putting basil in your water makes it better. I learned that Wagon Wheel will never get old. I met people from South Sudan and Brazil. They taught me about walking, they taught me about Gollywop relatives. Oreos, Reese’s, bath house steps, cinnamon roll hugs, little dots of light bobbing ahead of me held by tiny hands belonging to tear-stained faces, Zumba, (not) hoola-hooping, and Mr. Plum in the Rec Hall with the Climbing Rope…

Rainbow Connection

 I'll miss you, Waycross. Thank you to the land on which it rests, thank you to the Gollywops who let us keep it, and thank you to those who have made this year as full of magic as the week I first felt it when I was nine years-old.

Chanteezy

Deciding to Be Happy

It's that easy really. It's no different than deciding to wear flats as opposed to flip flops or to read instead of play video games. We spend a lot of time convincing ourselves that emotion is a matter of conditions and that God helps us to find happiness. Only through Him can we find true happiness. And I believed that. I really did. I thought spirituality and fixing everything in my life would make me happy. So I tried to always get things right. I tried to get everything done all the time on time, I tried to be on-time everywhere I went, I tried to make everyone happy, I tried to be perfect.

Now I call bull shit.

Happiness came from within me. It was just a realization. I cannot base it on God; because of that I'm uncertain. I need something a little more substantial. The God that could make me happy was also the God that put me in a position in which I felt the pain for which I was asking relief. That was too complex a circular argument for me to really see the light at the end of the tunnel.

And perfection? It's impossible. The people I wanted to emulate were also imperfect. And many of my "imperfections" were rather insecurities. Every person has a purpose. Every person is unique and important. And I don't need a divine plan to believe that. I just do. I assert that every person wants to do the right thing. Perhaps I'm too optimistic, but it's a genuine belief of mine. And it's one I cannot abandon, no matter what system of Truth I do or do not adhere to. I have chosen to love without condition--especially those who have felt the slap of condition in play. It's stupid. I love you, dammit. I do. All of you, because you're all important.

And so am I. I cannot believe that every person has importance and value and include the greatest offenders yet not include myself. And on that point: I said without condition, and I meant it. But I do not mean that I do not get angry. I get angry all the time. I get sad all the time. But I'm careful about what I choose to be angry or sad about. I choose to be angry when someone has purposefully hurt me or another. I choose to be sad when I see suffering. I think we need to be angry and sad. But again, I choose to be. I could be numb instead, but I don't think that accomplishes much. Maybe nothing accomplishes anything. Maybe there is some "divine plan" that will play out no matter my decisions. But I have no reason to believe that. So instead I focus on what I can do to make the world a better place. I focus on being just angry enough to be a soldier on the side of good. I am just sad enough to empathize with people in pain. (<--Those apply to myself as well. Things happen to me to make me angry and sad. Obviously.) But I am happy enough to grasp tightly to that weighted word, the word of the moment: hope. I am happy enough to believe that happiness is possible for everyone who is informed enough to see it.

I love everyone because I want everyone to find this palpable happiness as I have. I genuinely care that everyone gets there. Even the hardest people to love... it is no effort. I've simply decided to love them in spite of their flaws. Because who ever got better by being sad? Who ever got better by condemnation? Hm?! The world won't get better until we love regardless of a person's flaws... especially those "flaws" that are unimportant: "She stole my boyfriend." "She wore the same prom dress as me." "He likes Justin Bieber?!" "He was lookin' at my girl." <--I believe those are just distractions. They are distractions from a person's own unhappiness. They are not problems that really mean anything to a person's life or happiness. It's so easy to pick on those things that don't matter to give your life a little more meaning--to make yourself right and better in some capacity; when all you've done is harm yourself. You've distracted yourself from self-discovery, afraid of what you might find.

And here's a little secret from a former-self-loathing-depressed-chica: You are just fine. If you really look at yourself, there's nothing there that's that scary. If you decide before you walk in, that you're going to love yourself regardless of what you find, and that fixing anything you aren't proud of is as easy as putting on a damn pair of flip flops, then you're going to be okay. Addiction is as easy as treatment and self-love. Arrogance is as easy as humility... and a greater sense of self-love. (I have a theory that most arrogant people pretty much hate themselves as much as most people.) Everything is as easy as a decision, and the decision is as hard as you make it.

You know. I used to say I was a humanist and a realist. I used to think those contradicted, which was hard on me, because I believed two things that put me at war with myself. But I wasn't sure how to define that contradiction, so in order to prove my point, I looked up humanism in the dictionary.

"A variety of ethical theory and practice that emphasizes reason, scientific inquiry, and human fulfillment in the natural world and often rejects the importance of a belief in God."

I kind of laughed when I read it. I don't think I'd ever actually known what all of that really meant. I just agreed with a lot of humanists whom I'd read quotes by on captioned photos on the internet. I seriously need to do my homework more. But it wasn't funny because I hadn't really known the definition. It was funny because I didn't fit the description until I'd felt unsure enough to look it up. There was a special kind of irony there that I simply could not overlook.

I had initially decided not to look up the definition of realism, but later went back to do that. I found this:

"Interest or concern for the actual or real, as distinguished from the abstract, speculative, etc."

So, as I understand it, it's completely semantics as to whether or not these can coexist harmoniously. So I'm still going to say I'm both. Because I believe that things are as they are. They are not cosmically inspired or magically created to pave a road to a greater life. I believe firmly that things occur in our life not for any reason, but that reason comes from things that occur. God did not make Kairyn born without fingers. Genetics did. There was no good reason for that. But now that she has her beautiful, scarred fingers to show us, she's going to teach us a lot about strength, acceptance, and the capacity for cruelty in our elementary school children. I choose to believe that she has given us a gift with her trials, and not that her trials were a gift.

And that is the secret of happiness. I don't look for a reason for occurrences. I don't look to a plan for the future. I focus on here and now. One foot in front of the other. I'm worried about where I am and the people I'm with. I'm interested in what they have to teach me. I'm interested in what these people say and believe and do in spite of those. I want to make people happy, not by altering myself, but by showing them how easy that decision is. I want to introduce hope to a blind populace. That is my responsibility and I accept it wholeheartedly.

"Oh, and people who think knowing Wagon Wheel makes them folk fans..."

We all have things we’re great at and things we could improve upon. But there’s always that list of things that we’re just utter shit at and we will never be better at, no matter how hard we try. My list is embarrassingly long because I’m no good at being a grown up, but here is the Top 16 Things I’m Bad At:

1. Following directions
2. Calming the fuck down
3. Observation
4. Mingling
5. Losing
6. Beginning to cry and ceasing to cry
7. Rational thinking
8. Being alone in my house
9. Tolerating homophobes
10. Math
11. Tests
12. Math tests
13. Finishing projects
14. Liking those people who have never read Harry Potter
15. Or who think they’re fun. fans because they know We Are Young
16. Oh, and people who think knowing Wagon Wheel makes them folk fans. I have a hard time liking them, too. I like Old Crow Medicine Show, but y’all haven’t been looking much deeper than any of your other hipster friends. Let me make you a playlist. Everyone knows that song.
17. I’m also terrible at getting over my bitchiness about things that matter a little as people who think they know music despite the fact they know only what MTV and the radio have exposed them to. Even that sounded bitchy. I should really get off my pedestal. People will start to hate me.