Compassion is Revolution

I love stickers. I love bumper stickers, laptop stickers, stars for good grades, decals... ALL the stickers. This summer I bought several stickers to put on my laptop. One of them says "Compassion is Revolution." I liked it at the time because I really like the word compassion. It's under-utilized, I think. It is a pretty-sounding word, and its relative connotations give me a warm feeling. Compassion. It's great. But the sticker didn't mean much more to me than that word. I was happy with that word and hadn't really put meaningful thought into is revolution.

But wow is that a powerful statement.

The other day my professor saw it on my laptop in class and said she liked it. As is expected, when someone draws attention to something, you see it again when your eyes had become too accustomed to its presence. And so I looked at it, smiled at her, and said thank you. I began to think about those words, because a part of me was very interested in what had drawn her attention to it. Perhaps she too has a bit of an attachment to the word compassion. Or maybe she had really considered the whole body of the sentence. So I decided the latter was probably more accurate because, really?, she is a nazi grader and the woman misses nothing.

So I felt the need to reevaluate that yellow and purple sticker. Compassion is Revolution. I wanted to know what exactly that meant to me.

At first I thought of a pay-it-forward kind of response, but somehow that felt too obvious and novel to be right. So I reconsidered my interpretation. What I decided on was this: Compassion is more than an individual act. Compassion is not just being kind to someone when you know they're struggling. Compassion is being a whole person who is in touch with their inter-connectedness with the world. Compassion is feeling pain because someone--anyone--else is suffering. Compassion is knowing a person's crimes and loving them without condition. Compassion is pain and it is joy. It is the pain of accepting the evils of the world. It is the joy of feeling connected to all other beings. It's a comfort. Each of us is compassionate, but not each of us is in touch without our compassion or ready to act upon it for whatever reason. The inability to express compassion is a sickness.

Enlightenment is a kind of revolution. When I make a lifestyle change, I have called for revolution within my own self as an individual. But if each of us is connected. If we are a greater being as residents of this big, blue planet... then that revolution within me is a revolution within all. Now, when I first had that thought, I was quick to correct myself. Just because I have done something kind does not mean that someone else will choose not to rape or murder or assault. I am smart enough to know that a single action does not save the world, no matter how we wish it would. But then I chose a different angle. When I commit an act of kindness, I am acknowledging that I have that capacity. That is the revolution.

Compassion is revolution only when you become aware that it is. You are revolutionizing yourself, which in turn creates a tiny revolution in this greater world. Each act of compassion will affect someone new. And if, now that we've dug a litter deeper, you would like to implement pay-it-forward into the theory, feel free. Feel free to do so, loves. Because honestly, there isn't much hope in the statement as I have perceived it. It is more of a demand or expectation than a soft statement. Revolution is personal, but our interconnectedness means it matters to the whole world. Perhaps for every door I hold or smile I wear, I will spur revolution within someone else. There is hope in that. There is hope in thinking that we can fix the world with individual acts of compassion. I'm not sure I really believe that. There will always be evil. There will always be debilitating pain that sickens a person and creates evil within their heart. Always always. But there will always be goodness in the world if we can find it within ourselves. It is our human responsibility to revolutionize our hearts to compassion.

Plant-Based Diet: Why and How for Naysayers

A conversation with Mom I had only a few minutes ago prompted this post. For the noobs, I had been a pescetarian (which is a word Mr. Spellcheck!) for about five and a half years. A camp friend of mine inspired the idea. We were 14 at the time. She told me she saw pigs in a trailer on the highway, thought about where they were going, and gave up land animals altogether. Honestly, I was trying to assert myself as a liberal in a very conservative small town. I was about to enter my first year of high school. I made the decision in September or November. Jim gave me shit (as is common and will be the topic of this post), and so in order to prove him wrong, I dove into it.
Granted. I'd never been much of a meat-eater. My lifestyle didn't change all that much. I was still eating fish which can be found at any fast food restaurant. And being surrounded by conservatives I got a lot of grief about it, which I took in stride. However, the response made me less sure in my decision. I was a really self-conscious high schooler (who isn't?) and took these things to heart. Out of pride I continued, but I don't know if I had any real reason in my heart to continue at the time. I hadn't done any research. I wasn't receiving the health benefits because I still relied on fish and cheese as my primary protein sources. But I kept on.

For lent this year I decided to go vegan. Wow. It sounded overwhelming (and still kind of does). Even to me, vegans were extremists--crazies--comparable to conservative Christians in their intensity and arrogance. But it had been on my mind, and I knew I had to try. I wanted to be healthy when I did it, so I did all the research I hadn't done when I'd initially picked up pescetarianism. I learned plenty about eating healthily as a vegan (actually a very healthy, protein-filled diet contrary to popular belief) but I also learned the reality of the meat industry. It shocked and disgusted me.
I was raised in a liberal household, but in college I've changed ideas and beliefs (as one should) and I've become far more liberal than the rest of my family. When it comes to animal rights, my family has a much more conservative viewpoint which I've grown to disagree with. Before I talk about this any more, I'd like to make it clear that I respect my family greatly. Their liberal upbringing gave me a strong foundation of a life based on compassion and inclusivity. From that, I've developed more liberal beliefs, just as they are more liberal than their parents, and their grandparents before them. With each new generation, revolution inspires progress. We fight injustice because it matters to us. We are the educated, passionate, liberal masses of Generation Y.

So, I promised a why and how regarding my vegan/vegetarianism. I'm going to try to stick to comprehensive facts and to cite my sources so you can check up on me or gain more information if you're interested. Before I get started, though, I'm going to define veganism. I've been surprised at how few people actually know what it is. A vegan is someone who does not buy or consume any product that has any substance from an animal. That includes, of course, all meats, eggs, milk, honey, some food dyes, and other things you may be surprised to learn have animal by-products. Okidoke.

It's healthier for the environment to eat less meat. An ignorant science teacher of mine in high school once said, "vegetarians are actually hurting the earth. If cow farts are to blame, then they aren't helping by not eating them." Oh, yes. This happened. If you were thinking along the same lines, it's important to remember that cows are severely over-bred to meet the extremely high demands of beef in our country. "A University of Chicago study found that the ‘typical’ US diet generates the equivalent of nearly 1.5 tonnes more carbon dioxide per person per year than a vegan diet. The livestock industry is responsible for 18% of global greenhouse gas emissions, more than the entire transport sector (which produces 13.5%), including aviation." Link here. Plant-based diets require 1/3 of the land used to house animals bred for food. The animals that we kill actually consume more protein and minerals than they produce. Plants are also a far more-sustainable food source. It makes way more sense to eat the plants we feed to farmed animals ourselves in a world with such precious and limited resources. Picture a world where the food used to feed over-bred farm animals went to feed impoverished families around the planet. We take this planet for granted. By 2050 our population is expected to have reached 9 million which is entirely unsustainable based on the average, meat-eater's diet today. Check it. 

It's a lifestyle choice rooted in compassion. This is where much debate arises. People bring up plants as living beings, blah blah blah. Plants are not sentient beings which is the basis of many who choose a plant-based diet. Most don't like to hear that pigs are more intelligent that our beloved dogs. "Man's best friend." Because we don't eat dogs, that would be barbaric, right? This is a state of ignorance that we have chosen as a society. No one wants to know what happens in those factory farms. The conditions are despicable. It's a lot easier to say, "don't tell me, I don't even want to know!" as I have in the past. But I care deeply about animals--mine, as well as the ones that man has designated as inferior. And so now, when I'm exposed to horrible truths about the industry, I feel a deep-rooted sense of shame when I turn away from it. If it makes you so sad that you can't even look at these images, then why do you support it? That was a question I really had to look at.

a rebuttal

I was discussing it with Mom earlier this week, and another misconception that many don't consider rose to the surface. She pushed my liberal buttons with this one: "If you're saying that eating eggs is wrong, then you're saying abortion is wrong." There are a few things wrong with this statement. Most obvious is that I don't care about the life that egg could have had. It was not a sentient being. I care about the hen who made these eggs, and is doubtless still doing so under inhumane circumstances. Many people I know who have been raised around farms will say, "no one did that to animals that I saw." There's also a problem with that statement. More than 99% of all farmed animals come from factory farms.Yup. Why? Because they produce cheap meat. They can house thousands of animals on one property. Because they aren't given special attention, there are no vet bills to pay for, and workers are paid as little as the industry can get away with. Local meats are far more expensive and won't be found at your local Wal Mart anymore. This quote summed it up beautifully:

"The disturbing nature of these problems can make it difficult for many people to accept the truth about factory farming when they are first confronted with it: “Surely,” one is tempted to say, “it can’t be that bad.” But once the scale of the devastation that this industry is wreaking on our health, the environment, and animals becomes clear, the most surprising aspect of factory farming is how effectively these problems have been hidden from the public in the first place.

It's healthy. When people picture vegans this is what comes to mind:

 

 

Rarely do these, more accurate pictures come to mind:

Lea Michele

Venus and Serena

Ellen and Portia

Emily Deschanel

Bob Harper

Jane Lynch

AmIRight? Some people have claimed vegan diets have helped with things like asthma, allergies, arthritis, indigestion, and migraines. Not to mention the obvious: lower cholesterol, considerable improvement in diabetics, and help for symptoms of IBS. Here is a seriously long list of personal testimonies to healthier bodies and minds. Commonly, people worry about my protein intake. What they don't realize is that the average American eats twice as much protein as is necessary for a healthy diet. Getting your protein from beans and grains is healthier and can even reduce your risk for osteoporosis. Also, the human body is not designed to process cow milk. 75% of the population may be lactose intolerant and live with undiagnosed milk allergies. A lot of people find cramps and constipation are alleviated with a vegan diet, simply because what they had been eating was poison to their bodies unbeknownst to them.
One woman said that when people ask her where she gets her protein, she answers, "where do you get your fiber?" Fiber leads to healthier bowel movements which can help prevent colon cancer. A vegan diet is beneficial to prevention of many diseases. Cardiovascular disease, high cholesterol, arthritis and many more. We are told to drink lots of milk to prevent things like arthritis. Ironically, a dairy-free diet has shown substantial benefits for arthritis symptoms. I could go on and on, but the link above has a really great list from a nursing website.

Finally my favorite argument: evolution. Another liberal button. As I've said, vegans are often compared to religious zealots. However, most vegans are left-leaners (as one might imagine), and this is an unfounded theory regarding human consumption of animals that naysayers like to torture us with. I do believe in evolution. Of course I do. We are a highly developed species. But that does not give us the right to eat all animals for a few reasons. First of all, these aren't animals we're hunting. They're bred in captivity and shipped out. All we have to do is pay for it. Other species have to fight for meat--have to chase it. Unless we can kill it with our own hands, we have no right to be eating it, and we aren't expending the calories necessary to get that food, which is another reason humans suffer from weight problems. Secondly, we are using dairy from cows which was never made for humans. Do we feed other creatures human breast milk? Better yet, who continues to drink milk into adulthood? It's unnatural. And here is the completely scientifically irrelevant point I'll make. Along with our evolution has come a refined evolution of compassion. We have the brilliant gift of speech, which has aided human emotional development (linguistics for ya). The fact that so many people turn away from images of the industry they support is because of guilt. But here's the good news. How about you try a Meatless Monday in your house? Maybe cut out red meats and buy soy milk when you can? You'll feel good about your decision not to support a capitalist, immoral industry even if only once a week. And of course you can reap the health benefits. You can make a difference. It's hard to be vegan. Worth it, but hard. I'm not asking everyone to make that life change. But I would like for people to know where I'm coming from now that I have. This post wasn't written to shame anyone about their diets. But I can tell you that I don't really find your meat jokes funny, nor do I find rape jokes funny, or child abuse... injustice should be taken seriously. Y'all will take from this what you will. If I've convinced someone to just give up red meat, I've done something. These are hard things to hear, but as compassionate, sentient beings, it's our responsibility to care for those who are least among us.

Maddie writes conversationally? ;)

It's been a while and I'm real sorry about that. I've been doing more reading than writing. I seem to cycle that way. When I really write I need to be feeling terribly antisocial so I can hole up in some corner. (Today that is an empty Union Board office.) But when I read I fill my brain with new and exciting ideas to share with you.

New Glasses

Today I woke up early to get ready. I have new glasses by the way! So I was up, and I was singing, because I like to sound less like a diesel truck on a gravel road when I open my mouth to someone else. Lately I've been singing "The Parting Glass" by The Wailin' Jennys. Suggested by Ellen, a camp friend. I want to bring it together for something. For what? I'm not sure. But I miss performing. I want to sing.

And as I was singing by myself, wishing for someone to sing the alto part, I realized I was pretty content by myself right then. This doesn't seem like a big revelation, but it is for me. I've always been an extreme extrovert; at least I thought I was. I'm starting to question that. I think I'm more of a talking machine and I'm an external processor. My own insecurities have called me to question myself constantly. Are these shoes cool? Would someone be offended if I tweeted this? Is this too dorky? I needed someone to reassure me. For the longest time I never let anyone read my writing.

But being the external processor I was, I still wrote it like I was talking to someone. I know, Maddie writes conversationally?! What?! Anyway, the older I've gotten, the less fucks I've given, and the less company has been a necessity.  I talk to myself a little more deeply. I've been too afraid to consider my own personality, my uniqueness, and my interpersonal skills (they're often awkward at best). And the more I accept them, the less I really need company. I keep company because I'm interested in people, but that creates a completely different dynamic in my friendships. I don't need friends to talk to; I need friends to talk to me. I've been reading, because I need books to talk to me. I need to find myself in books. They're the best friends.

And this semester has been kind to my new-found sensibilities. My homework is reading. Reading, reading, reading. And I do some on my own, because I'm learning so much about humanity. They're things I need to know about why people get their hearts broken, and why bad things happen to good people. And I suppose no one really knows. No one has the answers, but everyone has ideas, and these ideas make me feel less alone in my quest for understanding.

Being alone doesn't make me scared anymore. I'm never really alone. I'm not alone if I have a book. I'm never alone if I have myself, because there are certainly things I've haven't learned about me yet, and that is just as important as the knowledge I have gained from my friends.

Peace.

Unrestrained Hope--A Post on Living Without Fear

It's been awhile, friends. The week of Homecoming and the week prior to homecoming was packed full for Greeks and the enthusiastically involved like myself. I had the Chi Omega tent to worry about and affiliated alumnae events, I had Sycamore Sync, and Trike, and The Walk.I'm not old enough to participate yet, but I have to worry about not hitting drunk college students in matching shirts saying things like, "Walk Hard, Play Hard," and "Keep Calm and Walk On." It's kind of like an unsupervised herd of children walking down Wabash--except hyper-sexual and profane.

Sunday, work took me to Indianapolis with Kyle. Pleasantly, Mom brought Kairyn along, and I spent some time with them. I took pictures for Tanglewood Press. It was a good Sunday day after a long, long, long two weeks.

Last night I had my date. Some of you may notice that I removed my last post. I did so because I was asking questions I've managed to answer myself, now. This is something I never used to do... but the recentness of the post made the contrast to this post uncomfortable and confusing to those who follow me faithfully.

Last night I went on my date with Drew. I'm guessing a number of you didn't even know that was happening. Dinner, movie, and conversation. In one way or another I'm guarding myself from an acca-awkward situation in the future. Here I'm going to define my feelings on the past of that relationship, my fears regarding it, and how I picture it working. *Deep breath* Here we go.

Drew caused me a lot of heartache over the last year. I was pathetically and unrelentingly in love with him, and he did not love me. I'm not the type to have a million crushes on boys and fall in love willy-nilly. I've only said it about three boys now. And Drew was the second. Honestly he led me on. On the surface, he didn't. He never made any promises he couldn't keep. He never did anything directly unkind to me. But when I look back--he was leading me on. Because he still paid attention to me. For whatever reason, he let me love him. He could have shut me down, and he didn't. It was hard for a long time. But this summer, I did a lot of processing, and when the truth of that relationship revealed itself to me, I cut ties. It was a kind of passive decision. I was uninterested in talking to someone who was uninterested in me. It's a decision I made just in time for him to silently change his mind about me. When my only contact with him was via text messages that he sometimes responded to hours later, any interest he'd ever had felt distant and vague. He's not one to talk about his feelings.

In this time I dated Jacob--a jumbled kind of affair. And due to misunderstanding, Drew and I had no contact for two months. Acca-awkward.

In an odd series of events, we began speaking again. And this time there was actual speaking. With calls instead of texts and with long-winded Skype sessions. He apologized an awful lot.

So... fears.

• I'm afraid he wants to be with be because he's lonely. And that it doesn't really have anything to do with me.
• I'm afraid my history will confuse our relationship--that was a not-so-subtle topic last night.
• I'm afraid he'll be too scared. And this will all be a repeat of last year.

If we were to make this work. what would it look like?

• No commitments. Nothing is ever in stone.
• Personal academic achievement and work always come first--even if that calls for an end to all of it.
• There would be an equal contribution on the part of both parties to see one another. I don't like the idea of "make it work." This shouldn't be work. I know long distance is rough. It never lasts, whatever. I've seen in work with mature adults before. But I still have those same fears of long distance. But honestly? Haven't we been doing that for a year? Just with a paralyzing fear of the assumed commitment that walks hand-in-hand with labels. What I dream of? It's close. Just with a greater effort to spend time together. Just with a level of temporary commitment, which doesn't dictate decisions for the future, but rather enriches the experiences we have in that moment... those moments.
• I'm a realist. My level of idealism has shrunk more as I've grown and seen the exploits and failures of those in my life, (and my own, I suppose). I'm expecting nothing more than acknowledgment of love.

If those things do not happen, I can be okay with that. But I can be nothing more than a good friend. I refuse to chase. I'm over chasing. I'm over looking. If love wants me, love will find me. and I will give myself wholly to that feeling in that moment with no care of what lays before me. Endings are as natural as beginnings. I live without fear. Love cannot exist one-way, and it cannot exist if it is unspoken. Something as intangible as a feeling doesn't really mean anything unless it's expressed. It isn't even there. Think about that for a minute.


I won't have my heart broken if it never becomes something, and I won't have my heart broken if something develops, then fades. That's just life. Sadness over such things is inevitable--but I'm beyond the mess I used to live in. I'm just as happy by myself. But hope is as unrestrained as love in it's imaginary place in our minds. I'm giving it substance by saying it here. I hope something happens. I do.

It is what it is.

The Consequence and Magnificence

I'm having such a difficult time defining where I am emotionally right now. I've been starting on posts like this a lot lately, then reverting back to some social issue that pisses me off. There's been a lot of that lately, partially because I'm becoming more informed and I'm interested in the things I'm learning, but also because I'm defining myself. I'm in this watery state right now. I'm trying to shape myself; to stand up straight.

In that place it's kind of hard to define myself. I think I need to define my beliefs and values before I begin to define myself. Those are the things that define me, and without them I am shallow water.

This is my third week out of therapy. My counselor must be really sick. I suppose I could see someone in his absence, but I'm a picky client. I want someone good. And I want someone who I have a relationship with. I'm going to have to play catch up when he gets back anyway. And there's plenty of catching up to do. I was still dating Jacob (barely) when we last talked. Everything's changed since then. For better or for worse? Perhaps it was a neutral kind of change. I liked where I was at that time, but if it was a lie, then I don't want to be living there anyway, if that makes sense.

I'd say I'm generally happy where I am. I do stupid things still, and I regret a lot. But I'm better about finding perspective necessary to learn and move on. This attempt to define myself has helped to hold me responsible. I'm creating this person--or being true to this person--who expresses assertions to which I had not always adhered. But it's constantly on my mind now, and I'm fond of the person I'm discovering within myself. I want to be her. And I will.

So where am I emotionally? I think that those posts bitching about social issues are a pretty accurate picture. It's questions, it's (dis)beliefs, it's music... that's where I am. Those are all good things. I can't always be there. But that's the consequence and magnificence of sitting on the edge of the window sill.

Tbird's Window Sill

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

On Compassion, Self Love, and Roadkill

The air smells of pleasant decay—the pleasant smell of dying trees. I often say road kill smells good. I get looks. It’s not that I want to bottle it and replace my Chanel, no. I just acknowledge the inevitability of death. I don’t think it’s gross. It doesn’t even make me that sad anymore (although I still hold a soft spot for cats), because that animal meant nothing to me in its life, and it doesn’t mean anything to me in its death. That comes up often in my mind. 9/11 was no exception to my confusion. So, distorted faces and that quickly drawn air held tightly in our lungs comes from… nothing real. Breathe it in. I breathe that body in the same way I take in the smell of drying leaves. Neither could have lived forever, and that would be an exhausting life indeed.

Roadkill

 I have to remind myself constantly that much of what I “hate,” or “dislike,” or “find unattractive,” is culturally instilled and doesn’t much reflect the way I really feel. Culture is inescapable—we are influenced by where we come from and who has ever meant anything to us. That is part of what makes all of us so interesting. There is a culture within my household that can never be replicated anywhere. That’s brilliant. But yet: I find that I’m getting to a point in my life in which the harm of value judgments is becoming apparent. Just as culture is inescapable, so is judgment. But for years I used that as an excuse for being an insecure bitch. (I was pretty normal in that regard.) That insecurity was masked by my ability to focus the attention on someone else; on someone with pants that are too tight, or someone who is awkward, or even someone who is unkind to others. That’s an interesting concept. Two wrongs, eh?

 Judgment isn’t all that inescapable—it’s just really fucking hard. It’s that hard for three reasons, I think. 1) I do it all the time, and it’s hard to catch. 2) I’m mortified at how often I do it. 3) I force myself to consider why I was thinking or saying that—about others or myself.

I’d say number three is the hardest. It’s exhausting to delve into my insecurities all the time. It’s exhausting to figure out where they come from. And more than exhausting it’s painful.

I’m trying really hard. It’s going to make me a better, happier person. Just like deciding road kill doesn’t actually smell that bad and daddy longlegs are acceptable snacks, and that I should not be sad for the loss of someone I don’t know; most of the parts of our world that we think are bad, are not a big deal, and we'd be happier if we stopped hating. I assert that everyone is good. Every single person is good. Everyone does bad things. Sometimes those bad things are unforgiveable—that’s the nature of human relationships: feelings get hurt. But behind those bad things are feelings of inadequacy or pain. You can’t tell me that in a moment of sadness you’ve never lashed out at someone. Sometimes that’s all I ever see of someone. That happens to all of us. We have one interaction with someone, and it was bad—so we assume we don’t like them, right? And it’s not that I pity them. I don’t pity my “enemies.” I just acknowledge their goodness. I’d want someone to do the same for me.

I hate what religion does to people oftentimes. I hate that the goodness of a person is masked by the hate they’ve been taught. And you know what? That is a lot bigger than ignorance. There are things I know nothing about, that I’m ignorant to, but because compassion is already within us, I can be kind to them. Ignorance isn’t the problem—it’s learning the wrong thing. And still. I don’t pity those people. I will still be kind to them, as hard as it is for me. I will be kind to the goodness in them, and as it arises, I will be honest about my distaste for what I know is incorrect in them. Hate is taught.

Lately this has been on my mind. Actually, it’s on my mind all the time, because apparently I am ruthless in there. And I wanted to share it. I know I talk about this a lot in a lot of different ways. But it took a few different takes for me to finally understand what it means to be compassionate. And I’ve made it clear that I believe we all have it in us. Based on your culture of home, it’s harder for some to get there, but I know it’s possible. And compassion towards others and yourself is the only way to learn to love yourself. The only way. I repeat that statement with an emphasis I can’t give you with the written word.

Love the shit out of yourself. Look (really, really hard if necessary) for the good in others. Tell that voice that tells you that you look fat in that dress you love to shut the hell up. Because you know that hearing it from someone else does nothing. You have to believe it yourself. I just talked to Sara about this, which is why I decided to make a post. I think Sara and I are kicking our own asses, and one another’s. Let me know if you want in on the love.

JUST LAUGH FOR THE SAKE OF PETE!

HAHAHAHAH! Get it??

I obviously can't maintain my "Love a Day" while I'm at camp as I'm completely without Internet. But I can promise to post one when it's available to me. So here goes: I love life exactly as it is. There are things I want to change, and so I do it. There are things beyond my power, and I struggle to accept that. But if I were to allow everything that makes me sad hold my attention in ways that are unproductive, then I have lost purpose. I will choose ways to make my life and the lives around me better. That is my definition of purpose, I think. And so I choose to find things that used to make me nervous, funny. There is certainly more humor in life than we give it credit for.

Knocked-over orange barrels can make you nervous, or they can make you giggle. Soaking yourself by accident with your garden hose can piss you off, or give you an excuse to smile. We always say, "you'll look back on that and laugh." And it's true. Those silly, embarrassing, and near-mishaps will be funny in a few days, weeks, months... years? We can laugh at them. But... but... why wait? What the hell people?! Imagine how much grief you'd save yourself if you accepted the wisdom you can already acknowledge your future self will posses. This is where this philosophy gets tricky, so Imma break it down.

You do something ridiculous.

You freak out.

You know that you'll find it funny in time.

Looking back on it...

But you choose to leave the laughing to your future self.

But two seconds post any embarrassing moment makes it history. If you know it's going to be funny to a wiser you, then you already posses the wisdom necessary to laugh it off. Right? It's so easy to panic when your car starts to sound its own panic alarm, but it's a hell of a lot easier to laugh at it. Laugh louder than that horn! Go for it! Because you cannot let a damned car horn ruin your vacation! You just can't. Enough crap in this world will bring you down. You don't need to sweat the small stuff. I know I'm not the first person to say that. But it's more than brushing silly things off your shoulder. It's about allowing yourself to fall in love with it.

Someone calls you a mean name. What's the real meaning of that name? Our choice of curse words is absolutely hysterical. Someone calls you fat? Why? Why did they feel the need to waste their breath telling you something you already know (and have accepted as the beautiful you, yeah?)?  Shoot. They got more mess in their brain than you do. Someone calls you a bitch? Female dog. Don't tell me that isn't funny. And who doesn't love dogs? When someone says it, picture yourself as a schnauzer or yorkiepoo. Those are precious. I can say that because I own those two. When I was little, my mom told me I could be anything when I grew up. Before I'd considered the unlikelihood of my dreams, I wanted to be a dog when I grew up (specifically with a good home and fur that's easy to brush). I wanted to be a bitch when I grew up.

That last paragraph got kind of out of hand. but I think my point is clear. There are things that are out of our control. There are things that will break your heart. But an orange barrel shouldn't be one of those things. All of you. Right now. Take a deep breath, and when you let it out, just laugh your ass off. Laugh so hard you start to cry. Start to think of everything that's ever made you laugh hard enough to pee on your camp cabin floor. READYSETGO!

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.