Saturday, June 13, 2009

possession is nine tenths of the law

What drives you? What essence pulls you through the days that always appear the darkest? What is your motivation?

As a writer, it should be assumed that I would know the answer to my own questions. As a writer, I should have some muse or outlet of inspiration. The only problem—I haven’t the foggiest idea what that is.

Perhaps, without a muse, I am simply a girl with access to a keyboard.

There are people out there all the time who think they are something simply because they possess or have access to a tool that provides the essence of that something they think they are.

For instance, a man could own a camera and take a few family photographs and truly believe himself to be a photographer. And at the end of the day, the only question remains, what differentiates him from any other photographer?

That same adage could be applied to athletics. A man could own a basketball, install a net and then proclaim himself to be a basketball player. He could be 5’2” and never be able to touch the rim and miss 98 percent of every shot he throws, but he is out there. He is attempting to dribble the ball and make a basket. Who is to tell that man he is not a basketball player? You don’t always have to be Shack or Michael, do you?

But in today’s world, to be anything you must be the best. You cannot add the “ist” or “er” or “ian” to an activity if you simply attempt.

Just because I can play the bassoon, doesn’t make me a bassoonist. I lack the theory behind the music to be a musician.

I can shoot a basket better than the man described above, but no one is asking me to sign up for the WNBA or inviting me to join their school’s team. No one is calling me a basketball player. I am simply a girl who can dribble a ball and sometimes make a basket.

The thing that differentiates that man who owns a camera and the society proclaimed photographer is not a college education. It is a passion. An element of art that transcends through his photography that only he can capture.

Michael is basketball player not because he stands a few feet taller than the average Joe, but because he has a drive and a passion.

No one can touch the magic Mozart created, but often people try. People want to be something great. To feel that passion in their own hearts and minds and souls.

So they think because they possess a tool, it defines who they are. Passion has become confused and entangled with the simplicity of possession.

Perhaps the constant misuse of vocabulary is the reason behind the lack of Picasso’s and Mozart’s and Michael’s in the world.

Perhaps I have truly become a member of society and have confused possession and passion. Perhaps I am no more a writer than I am a basketball player.

Maybe at the end of the day, I am just like that man who owns a camera or that man who owns a ball. I am simply a girl who owns a tool hoping that someday it could define who I am.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Teacher Crush

I am not an active dater. I don’t go out of my way to lore guys in. On most days, I don’t even try.

But there is something hot about a successful man. A man who has all his ducks in a row and appears genuinely happy and satisfied with life.

For a little while now, the subject of teacher crushes has come to mind. Everyone at one time has seen or had a teacher who is more than pleasing to the eye—Now it is just if people are willing to admit it is a different story completely.

Sometimes he is the hot or cute teacher you and your friends call “Dr. Cutie” when his back is turned. But sometimes he is a little more.

Sometimes he is a man who treats you as a peer and as an adult. He is the man you can hold real conversations with. No awkward pauses, no discomfort, just a genuinely good conversation.

The thing about teacher crushes…the attraction isn’t necessarily lust. It is a completely different type of attraction than you would typically have. The attraction is not necessarily centered on the person as a whole but rather what the person represents.

Not necessarily the romantic “F” word, but everything else it entails.

The FUTURE is a scary word and idea. It is completely nerve-wracking.

But when you sit across from that teacher crush, the “F” word does not seem so scary.

Conversing with a confidant, successful man who is passionate about what he does and who he is very comforting. It makes tomorrow less intimidating.

For that one brief moment, you can almost see yourself in the future with a different man having a similar conversation. In the back of your mind you can see yourself past classes and exams and projects. For just a moment while you are engaged with conversation you like who are and who you might become.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

just a test







(Just trying to see if this will work to do analytics for my blog)

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Who is John Galt?

I am staring at the blank page before me wishing with all my heart I could find the words to say to prove my point. Defend my case. But I can’t.

All I can do is sit and think of how much I have failed.

There is always a better way to do things, and it seems like I keep missing that path along the journey. I have always been the kid to take the hard road, and it is starting to bite me in the ass.

I am reminded daily how I have failed, and sometimes you just get tired of being told you suck.

I don’t know what to say or do to make it better anymore. The lack of control over the situation is eating me away. I can’t sleep. I am hardly hungry. All I want to do is find the answers to a question that cannot be answered.

Tomorrow I turn in my application for the EIC position, and all I can think is what if I am not good enough. All I see are the flaws, and I wish with all my heart I could look past that.

I have strived to find the “purple lining” throughout the past two years, but I think all I managed to do is join a race.

The destination: unknown. The speed: unstoppable.

In a world where everyone seems to be rock stars, super heroes, Pulitzer Prize winners and Mozarts, it is hard to be strong. It is hard to not bend when the wind grows strong, and it is even harder to not collapse when the world resides on your shoulders.

At the end of the day, the only question left to ask is,

“Who is John Galt?”

Monday, March 23, 2009

Leadership

Ha. The role of leader is one usually underestimated.

So many times people jump into the position with the hopes of making something better, being a part of something bigger or maybe leading a group of people into tomorrow.

The realism of what the title entails is usually forgotten in the whoo-ha, but let it not be forgotten.

So many times as a leader you aren't the one who will receive the praises of your work, but beware. You are the one who will face all the consequences. 

When something bad happens either internally or externally, you are the one the room looks to. You are the one who should have all the answers.

I just feel sorry for the son of a b who can't answer them.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Food for Thought

There are things in this world I can let pass without throwing a huge fit.

I have gotten used to the fact that Vics/Iberville/Grill 151 will either deep fry my veggie burgers or choose to cook them in the gross, nasty beef fat/grease.

I have gotten used to the fact that the only vegetarian options available with Sodexho are veggie burgers (and we just learned how vegetarian they can be), meatless pasta and cheese sandwiches.

I have even gotten used to the fact most the employees insist on charging me extra even though the only thing that is on my pasta is sauce and whatever veggies they might have or the only thing on my sandwich is cheese, a piece of lettuce, maybe a pickle and maybe a tomato.

There are some things you just cannot fix. That I have gotten used to.

What I cannot get used to is the C-Store charging me 3 dollars for a little thing of cookies that expired a month ago. Or the fact that the C-Store sells me wilted salad for 5 bucks. Or the fact that Vics sells old scones for the same price as the fresh ones. Or that even after I told them, Sodexho continued to sell expired, by at least a few months, Coca-Cola.

I expect better from our food providers and our campus.

But sometimes there are things in the world you can fix and then other times you just learn a lesson.

Lesson for this week--Learn to read the expiration date on EVERYTHING and question when things were made before purchasing.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Crowned Beauty

There appeared to be some disputes about my column this week, and it got me to ponder--maybe people just don't understand.

In no way do I have any lack of respect for anyone who wears a crown (or bracelet). They went through hell and back to wear it--and some paid a pretty penny.

I don't have a problem with beauty queens, I have a problem with the society that encourages women to change themselves to become one.

It takes a phenomenal woman to participate in a beauty pageant, and I am not a phenomenal woman.

I don't have what it takes to fit society's mold, I never have, nor do I desire what it takes.

I have no hurt feelings about the pageant. At the end of the day, she is a woman who wears a bracelet and hopefully does good things.

A woman's beauty is not exclusive. It is not simply her looks or her mind.

A woman is not a disgrace if she is not a size 4 or 0 or whatever the PC terminology might be. Just because a girl isn't the skinniest does not make her unhealthy or nasty or irresponsible.

If the essence of a beauty pageant is a game, then why play? And just because something is a tradition does not mean that it is good. There are lists of occurrences throughout history where tradition didn't prove to be the best idea.

A beauty queen can be a beauty queen without playing someone else's game.

Women shouldn't look toward a panel of judges to find the beauty they posses or to receive acknowledgement for it.

And this formula is not good, and it is shocking that someone's grandmother could compete for the LOB title 60 years ago when it is only 50 years old.

As far as a woman being looked down on for receiving a crown, perhaps they should evaluate the steps taken to receive the crown. Perhaps it is not the individual that is being looked down on, but the path she took to get where she is.

No one at the pageant was 150 pounds overweight and extra weight does not qualify anyone for anything other than maybe some lifestyle changes.

That's all I can say for now. Please enlighten me if there is any other clarification needed.

Friday, January 2, 2009

waiting

I have spent the past few weeks slaving over my column. What should I write? What message do I want my readers to receive? How do I want to attempt to perhaps impact their lives?

For the past few weeks I have contemplated endlessly the words to say to start the year right. The best foot to begin the semester. A way to attempt to create a legacy.

The thing about writing, while you might be familiar with the dictionary, it isn’t that easy creating sentences and paragraphs.

Many people have attempted to tell me to just sit down and write. The venture is made. But is it?

I am 22 years old and don’t know what I want out of life. I spent the last semester waltzing through my classes while I watched my peers sweat, struggle and lose sleep.

As editor of a publication, it would be assumed that my life be overwhelmed with endless responsibility and stress. For the exception of a few additional lost nights of sleep, it has felt like any other semester.

I don’t know what I want from life. I don’t know what I am doing in Natchitoches, La., but for some reason I am still here waiting for the answers.

Please allow me to clarify one thought. I don’t sit still for anything. Me waiting is not a simple process, and it often includes a journey of my own.

While waiting to find my place in life, I have successfully thrown myself into everything: the bassoon, the conta, the Potpourri, The Current Sauce, PRAL, Catechism, classes and now a beauty pageant.

I am not a beauty queen. I am the farthest thing from the stereotypical beauty. I don’t wear crowns or practice poise. I don’t spend hours in front of a mirror in attempts to look just perfect for my 8 a.m. class. I don’t say the right things or even try half the time.

I am who I am.

That’s not a lady, or someone deserving of a crown or bracelet.

But here I am. Waiting.

Waiting to find my place in the world and testing every avenue in which to discover it.

The ball dropped in New York, and millions of people slaved in deciding what resolution they needed to make to perfect themselves and their lives.

Fire works shot off and the eyes of children lit up at the glory and the excitement of surpassing their bedtimes and welcoming the new year.

Loved ones kissed. Friends clanged their glasses together as they indulged in a New Year’s shot.

The world celebrated another new year. Thanked whomever that they survived the old. And crossed their toes that they could surpass the new.

All around people know what they want. All around people are thankful for the blessings that have come their way.

All around me, people know their place in the world.

While I wish I could say it was comforting or encouraging, it isn’t. In actuality, it is the contrary. It is discouraging.

This new year I have no resolutions. I still have no clue about the message my column should send, and I am in the same place I was last year. Waiting.