Finals wrapped up, and for some reason this year I had very little energy to complete everything I had to do. Instead of powering through, I seemed to drag myself through the week limply. Maybe it was the plethora of boring classes this semester, the numerous horrible teachers or the fact that I had just been accepted to graduate school and therefore felt the pressure to exert all my energy and wellbeing for the slim chance of a slight grade increase to be unnecessary.
Either way, it’s done. I’m home. And I couldn’t be happier.
The highlight of my week though was dinner at my thesis advisor, Jesse’s, house. The three other students in my research group and I all headed over there Wednesday night; thank you card and gift certificate in hand. We drank some wine, met his wife, and enjoyed a delicious vegetarian curry dinner that he made himself (I had no idea he was such a cook!). He showed us his pets; two Chilean mice-squirrel-like creatures (who knew this guy was into small fluffy rodents?); as well as his home brewed beer collection (he apparently is an avid mead fan). He talked about his days playing ultimate Frisbee, our research, the current budget cuts and the education system in general. He then introduced us to a new board game, Ticket to Ride, which was incredibly fun. I’m disappointed to say that I came in second. My competitive nature is still bothered- I only lost by one point!
We left late, and as a result I had very little study time left before my test the next morning. However the evening was very enjoyable. Call me a nerd, but it probably ranks up there as one of my top favorite nights that I’ve had over at WSU. I got to really enjoy time with my research group and with Jesse. I got to see him outside of a school environment, and I really enjoyed his company, discussions and insight (ok, and his delicious cooking- I forgot to mention he made the most amazing carrot cake for dessert!)
For those of you whom I’ve talked to regarding my thesis I’m working on, you know how passionate I have become about my topic. I love Reformation era history- learning about Calvin, Luther and other religious leaders and why they championed for theological reform in the church. And I love the issue of religious toleration- how it is achieved and maintained in spite of persisting discrimination. However what many may not realize is the immense appreciation I have gained for Jesse himself, the professor that introduced me to this topic. And after having dinner with him last week, I want to reflect on him and how he truly has changed me; as a student, prospective teacher and person.
I met Jesse three years ago, and was in his class my first semester in college. It was an Honors history class; Religious Tolerance and Persecution in Western Europe: 1400-1750. Immediately, I felt overmatched. The class conversations were way above my head and when he stated that our entire grade would be solely based on a semester long research paper and class discussions on required readings, I panicked. Never before had I felt so unprepared for a class; never before had I felt “not smart enough”.
Within the first few classes, I decided it was too much to handle. I wasn’t even a huge history fan to begin with, nor was I ready for such an intense class in which I knew nothing about. I went to his office to explain to him that I had to drop the class; not that I didn’t find the topic interesting nor him interesting, but I explained that the reason rest in my feeling inadequate.
Looking back, I’m disappointed that in that moment I gave up in myself. For someone who has always been confident and so sure of herself and her capabilities, I’m embarrassed that I succumbed to the fear of failure. Luckily, Jesse, a professor I had known for but a week, at that moment, had more faith in me than I had in myself. He told me he respected my decision, but to take the time to really think about it before I officially withdrew from the class. He assured me that I would have no trouble succeeding in the class, as long as I was willing to put forth the effort. He told me that by no means was I academically deficient compared to the 14 other students in the class; while they may have had prior knowledge on the subject, it did not put them at an advantage in the class. He then told me that he would always be there to help; and that at times if I felt I was struggling, I could always come talk to him about it.
I remember leaving his office with a complete new sense of confidence. If this professor, who didn’t even know me, trusted I could handle this course, why was I doubting myself? And furthermore, I immediately got a sense of genuineness in this professor. He seemed not only impassioned in this subject, but committed to his students. Wasn’t this the type of professor one dreams of? I sensed something special about him. I stayed in the class. It challenged me; I knew little to nothing about religious history, nor how to write a college-level research paper. I was in his office nearly every week, and, as promised, he was always willing to help me, whether it was grappling with my understanding of the weeks reading, helping me analyze my primary sources or tinkering with my wording when it actually came to writing my paper.
By the end of the semester, I left with a solid A in the class, a new confidence in myself and a passion for history that I had not previously had. Last spring, when I begun my thesis, I knew exactly what I wanted to do, but, even more so, I knew exactly who I wanted to work with.
As a student, he has pushed me to challenge myself. He has constantly placed me out of my comfort zone, making me think deeply, read actively and write purposefully. Sometimes, in discussions with him, I’d say something, and he’d look at me and say “I don’t understand. Try again”. Looking at him, I knew he sometimes knew exactly what I meant. However I myself didn’t know what I meant. I needed clarity, and he recognized and demanded it. When I turn in drafts of my papers to him, he rips them apart, not because they are necessarily bad, but because he expects excellence. Mediocrity is unacceptable. Good is even unacceptable. I no longer read, research or write the same way I did four years ago, and, despite the dozens of other professors I have had, I entirely credit that to him, and him alone.
As a future teacher, I can only dream to be as inspiring as he is. Sometimes I think the only thing he loves more than the topic of religious toleration is sharing this love with others. His passion when he talks about it is contagious and his enthusiasm shines through in his teaching. When he talks, his arms flail, his face lights up and his voice fills with joy. He must teach similar lessons, year after year, yet you wouldn’t know it by watching him; by how excited he gets, one would think he was discovering these fascinating tidbits of history for the first time, when in fact the man has studied religious history for years. I want to teach with his level of excitement and zeal. I also want to teach with his intrinsically supportive nature. I want to instill confidence in my students, like he has done with me, and help them reach their full potential. I want to make them be the best they can be, and I want them to know that I genuinely believe in them. Because belief, as I have learned in regards to religious history, is a powerful thing, though not always productively powerful. Belief in your students can prove equally influential; equally strong. Because belief in a student, can translate to belief in that student’s self, as it did with me.
Academics aside, I have learned one immensely important thing from Jesse, that has nothing to do with research, reading, writing or even history itself. When discussing the Reformation leaders Martin Luther and John Calvin, and other religious radicals, he stated that he supposed he studied them because he didn’t understand or necessarily agree with them.
This I will never forget.
Because isn’t that, as people, what we should always do? When something’s unclear to us, before blindly disagreeing shouldn’t we be knowledgeable about what exactly we are disagreeing with? We all know those in politics who seem to detest the opposing viewpoint on an issue, but do so only because of the political title they claim. Or those who still to this day despise other religions simply because the person they worship may have a different name.
I may not agree with creationism, but I want to learn about it. I may not agree with privatization of social security, but again, I want to learn about it. Because instead of calling myself a Democrat or an Agnostic/Athiest, I want to know what those words mean. And to do that, I need to know the opposing view point, to fully formulate and support my stance. If you don’t have knowledge about the opposing side, how can you reputably disagree with it? Knowledge is necessary for debate. To fully grasp who we are and what we believe in, we need to turn to our resources and try to gain an understanding of the entire world around us. As Jesse has taught me, we need to learn to place ourselves in context.
(Apologies for the ramble; I will bid you farewell as I now must submerge myself in more thesis-ing)
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Elizabeth Edwards, Freedom of Speech and Handling Death
Thankfully, protester turnout at Elizabeth Edwards funeral was minimal, and rather anti-climatic for the Westboro Baptist Church who led it. However, five protesters did indeed show up, and we unfortunately know that this won’t be the last time a bunch of lunatics will attempt to make an already sad day even more tragic for the friends and families who have lost a loved one.
When did it become ok to disrupt funerals; days typically reserved for mourning and respect? When did we, as people, become that tactless and insensitive?
This issue raises two corresponding points in my mind: freedom of speech and reactions to death. Both equally polarized; both equally concerning.
Freedom of speech is unquestionably a beautiful luxury. Journalists have enjoyed this privilege. Some have even died for this privilege, in an attempt to preserve its importance. (To digress, if any are interested, I highly recommend the book Disappeared, a biography about Irma Flaquer, a Guatemalan journalist who refused to be silent and thus paid the price). But laypeople additionally enjoy this privilege, and many would never want to relinquish this gift.
However, when does freedom of speech become too “free”? How do we circumvent the danger and distress that this freedom unfortunately causes? I truly have no answer to this question, as it is difficult to find a solution to. Surely, some entities have successfully reigned in freedom of speech. Take, for instance, sexual harassment policies. One is not allowed to make sexual comments to their coworkers without facing punishment or even termination. However, how do we extend this? How do we make it so that it is not ok for a child to bully another child; calling them hurtful names and tormenting them? While the one child has a right to speech, doesn’t the other have a right to happiness? Isn’t that an equally engrained right in our countries foundation? Does that mean that freedom of speech and entitlement to the pursuit of happiness are sometimes mutually exclusive? Are they contradictory?
Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing. However, when it causes direct harm to others, it becomes destructive, and embarrassing. This privilege ends up in the wrong hands too often, and proves that we cannot trust everyone to handle it with the responsibility and respect that it dictates.
I simply don’t believe we as people have the right to go protest a stranger’s funeral .I think it is tasteless, and removes the glamour from freedom of speech. One should be able to express their beliefs, but only to an extent in which it refrains from harming others. These crazed religious fanatics are no longer standing up for what they believe in; they are infringing on others simply for attention and the hope they can cause (unnecessary) additional pain.
This brings me to my second point, which involves how people handle death. For those who have experienced death of a close one, we know the pain that surrounds the experience. Therefore, the time proceeding death has no place for chastisement, criticism and disrespect.
Even if you despised the person, is it necessary to condemn them after their passing? When Michael Jackson died, people everywhere seized the opportunity to tear him to shreds. Now, I clearly did not know the man personally, but I think we all would agree that to some extent he was off his rocker. However does that negate the fact that a man (a father, a brother, a son and a friend) died too early? Death is not the time for public criticism. Think what you want, but do not broadcast your thoughts to people, including the family and friends of the one who passed, just in order to get your self-motivated agenda a glimpse of publicity.
The same goes for those picketing the deaths of soldiers. Do I agree with this war? No, not at all. However I respect and appreciate everyone who has gone and fought for our country, despite how I felt about the executive decision to enter the war. Despite political beliefs, I know that these are brave men and women, and I honor and respect their commitment and willingness to die for their country. Protest against the war; don’t protest against those who have already died because of it.
Similarly, to the Baptist psychos: go flaunt your close minded beliefs to an abortion clinic. Go stand on a street corner with a sign stating fetus’s have heartbeats too. Go hold a sign that says “God Hates Gays”. Go put a cute baby up on a billboard with the words “PRO-LIFE” stamped across it. Vocalize your beliefs in a way in which will still retain you a grain of decency and respect. Do not go to the funeral of someone who supported a constitutional, legal right and ruin this already heartbreaking day.
Elizabeth Edwards passing is a hard one to swallow, as many saw her as a wonderful, strong woman. I wish her death and funeral could have gone without controversy, for she deserved to be honored for the reputable person she was. Her level of tolerance and open-mindedness should have been celebrated, not defamed; however it highlighted her amazing level of class, which, as evident by the Westboro Church, is unfortunately unmatched by many in this country.
When did it become ok to disrupt funerals; days typically reserved for mourning and respect? When did we, as people, become that tactless and insensitive?
This issue raises two corresponding points in my mind: freedom of speech and reactions to death. Both equally polarized; both equally concerning.
Freedom of speech is unquestionably a beautiful luxury. Journalists have enjoyed this privilege. Some have even died for this privilege, in an attempt to preserve its importance. (To digress, if any are interested, I highly recommend the book Disappeared, a biography about Irma Flaquer, a Guatemalan journalist who refused to be silent and thus paid the price). But laypeople additionally enjoy this privilege, and many would never want to relinquish this gift.
However, when does freedom of speech become too “free”? How do we circumvent the danger and distress that this freedom unfortunately causes? I truly have no answer to this question, as it is difficult to find a solution to. Surely, some entities have successfully reigned in freedom of speech. Take, for instance, sexual harassment policies. One is not allowed to make sexual comments to their coworkers without facing punishment or even termination. However, how do we extend this? How do we make it so that it is not ok for a child to bully another child; calling them hurtful names and tormenting them? While the one child has a right to speech, doesn’t the other have a right to happiness? Isn’t that an equally engrained right in our countries foundation? Does that mean that freedom of speech and entitlement to the pursuit of happiness are sometimes mutually exclusive? Are they contradictory?
Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing. However, when it causes direct harm to others, it becomes destructive, and embarrassing. This privilege ends up in the wrong hands too often, and proves that we cannot trust everyone to handle it with the responsibility and respect that it dictates.
I simply don’t believe we as people have the right to go protest a stranger’s funeral .I think it is tasteless, and removes the glamour from freedom of speech. One should be able to express their beliefs, but only to an extent in which it refrains from harming others. These crazed religious fanatics are no longer standing up for what they believe in; they are infringing on others simply for attention and the hope they can cause (unnecessary) additional pain.
This brings me to my second point, which involves how people handle death. For those who have experienced death of a close one, we know the pain that surrounds the experience. Therefore, the time proceeding death has no place for chastisement, criticism and disrespect.
Even if you despised the person, is it necessary to condemn them after their passing? When Michael Jackson died, people everywhere seized the opportunity to tear him to shreds. Now, I clearly did not know the man personally, but I think we all would agree that to some extent he was off his rocker. However does that negate the fact that a man (a father, a brother, a son and a friend) died too early? Death is not the time for public criticism. Think what you want, but do not broadcast your thoughts to people, including the family and friends of the one who passed, just in order to get your self-motivated agenda a glimpse of publicity.
The same goes for those picketing the deaths of soldiers. Do I agree with this war? No, not at all. However I respect and appreciate everyone who has gone and fought for our country, despite how I felt about the executive decision to enter the war. Despite political beliefs, I know that these are brave men and women, and I honor and respect their commitment and willingness to die for their country. Protest against the war; don’t protest against those who have already died because of it.
Similarly, to the Baptist psychos: go flaunt your close minded beliefs to an abortion clinic. Go stand on a street corner with a sign stating fetus’s have heartbeats too. Go hold a sign that says “God Hates Gays”. Go put a cute baby up on a billboard with the words “PRO-LIFE” stamped across it. Vocalize your beliefs in a way in which will still retain you a grain of decency and respect. Do not go to the funeral of someone who supported a constitutional, legal right and ruin this already heartbreaking day.
Elizabeth Edwards passing is a hard one to swallow, as many saw her as a wonderful, strong woman. I wish her death and funeral could have gone without controversy, for she deserved to be honored for the reputable person she was. Her level of tolerance and open-mindedness should have been celebrated, not defamed; however it highlighted her amazing level of class, which, as evident by the Westboro Church, is unfortunately unmatched by many in this country.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
"A Friend to All is a Friend to None"
Does it make me a fatalist to admit my love of and belief in that quote? Does it make me an unhopeful cynist who believes that, when it comes down to it, true and real friendship is extremely rare to find?
I don't think so.
To vindicate myself, let me make clear that I appreciate all the friendships I have, or have ever had, even the ones that I've come to admit are, or were, merely superficial. And I am by no means ungrateful to those that I have previously and currently refer to by the generic title of "friend".
However, friendship, to me, in its truest and purest form, is worth more than we commonly give it credit for. A friend is not simply someone with whom you can laugh. It's not someone you go to dinner with once a month. It's often not even that person you feel comfortable enough to cry to.
No, a true friend is more than that. Yes, you may still indulge in the frivalence of friendship with your friends; the jokes, the outings, the confidential conversations. But a true friend, provides more than companionship.
A true friend has unconditional love for you. Their love is not impeeded by bumps in your relationship, and instead continues to grow stronger. This is someone who believes in you and finds perfection in all of your imperfections. Does this mean a friend never gets upset with you? No, of course not. Annoyance and irritation is often unavoidable. The distinction is still being able to love the person with the same intensity.
A friend also devotes the time into a friendship. This is someone who values you and stands by you not only at your best, but at your absolute worst. They aren't there for you 90% of the time, or only when it is convenient for them, but are there for you even at the most inopportune times. This does not imply one must see and talk to their friend 24/7. Life is busy, and true friends realize this. But it is keeping contact, not only when you want it, but when you know the other person needs it. More importantly, it is carving out the time and place in your heart to carry your friends with you at all times; keeping them in your thoughts and subsequent life. Friendships aren't easy to maintain, but true ones are worth the effort.
Lastly, a true friendship takes desire. Life, for many of us, is about figuring out who we are and finding our identity. For I am of the belief that there is no greater relationship than the one we have with ourselves. However, a true friend wants in on that intimacy. A true friend knows you sometimes even better than you know yourself. And, if they don't yet, they want to get to know you to that extent. Do you ever notice how mothers seem to know everything about you? They always know when you are upset, angry or nervous- no matter how hard you try to hide it. Mothers, like my own, are proven true friends because they often know their children better than anyone. A true friend wants to learn everything about you, because, once they have, they know how to best serve you in your friendship. They know what you need, what you want, and how to make you happy.
Now, why is a friend to all a friend to none? Because no one, in reality, has enough love, time and desire to give everyone the type of friendship I have just described. It is physically impossible to have those feelings and make that inseperable commitment to everyone. To foster lasting, true friendships is strenuous, and not easy. But then again, nothing worth working for is easy.
Again, this is not to say that those other "friendships" we have are not enjoyable, or even valuable. My peripheral groups of friends play an important role in my life, and I am priveleged to have them. However, realistically, those groups of people may come and go, physically or emotionally. And while it may be disheartening to lose a "friend", I find solace in knowing that my true friends will always be there.
Friendship is rare, but the rarest things in life are often the most beautiful.
So to all my true friends, thank you for making my world a better and more beautiful place for me.
I don't think so.
To vindicate myself, let me make clear that I appreciate all the friendships I have, or have ever had, even the ones that I've come to admit are, or were, merely superficial. And I am by no means ungrateful to those that I have previously and currently refer to by the generic title of "friend".
However, friendship, to me, in its truest and purest form, is worth more than we commonly give it credit for. A friend is not simply someone with whom you can laugh. It's not someone you go to dinner with once a month. It's often not even that person you feel comfortable enough to cry to.
No, a true friend is more than that. Yes, you may still indulge in the frivalence of friendship with your friends; the jokes, the outings, the confidential conversations. But a true friend, provides more than companionship.
A true friend has unconditional love for you. Their love is not impeeded by bumps in your relationship, and instead continues to grow stronger. This is someone who believes in you and finds perfection in all of your imperfections. Does this mean a friend never gets upset with you? No, of course not. Annoyance and irritation is often unavoidable. The distinction is still being able to love the person with the same intensity.
A friend also devotes the time into a friendship. This is someone who values you and stands by you not only at your best, but at your absolute worst. They aren't there for you 90% of the time, or only when it is convenient for them, but are there for you even at the most inopportune times. This does not imply one must see and talk to their friend 24/7. Life is busy, and true friends realize this. But it is keeping contact, not only when you want it, but when you know the other person needs it. More importantly, it is carving out the time and place in your heart to carry your friends with you at all times; keeping them in your thoughts and subsequent life. Friendships aren't easy to maintain, but true ones are worth the effort.
Lastly, a true friendship takes desire. Life, for many of us, is about figuring out who we are and finding our identity. For I am of the belief that there is no greater relationship than the one we have with ourselves. However, a true friend wants in on that intimacy. A true friend knows you sometimes even better than you know yourself. And, if they don't yet, they want to get to know you to that extent. Do you ever notice how mothers seem to know everything about you? They always know when you are upset, angry or nervous- no matter how hard you try to hide it. Mothers, like my own, are proven true friends because they often know their children better than anyone. A true friend wants to learn everything about you, because, once they have, they know how to best serve you in your friendship. They know what you need, what you want, and how to make you happy.
Now, why is a friend to all a friend to none? Because no one, in reality, has enough love, time and desire to give everyone the type of friendship I have just described. It is physically impossible to have those feelings and make that inseperable commitment to everyone. To foster lasting, true friendships is strenuous, and not easy. But then again, nothing worth working for is easy.
Again, this is not to say that those other "friendships" we have are not enjoyable, or even valuable. My peripheral groups of friends play an important role in my life, and I am priveleged to have them. However, realistically, those groups of people may come and go, physically or emotionally. And while it may be disheartening to lose a "friend", I find solace in knowing that my true friends will always be there.
Friendship is rare, but the rarest things in life are often the most beautiful.
So to all my true friends, thank you for making my world a better and more beautiful place for me.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
A big thanks to UW
I got into grad school, and needless to say, I am unbelievably excited and relieved. My master’s degree is thus not just a dream; it is becoming a reality. For that, I am thankful.
However, since it is the day we typically allow ourselves to gush about all the things we love in our life, let me take this opportunity to reflect on some other things I am thankful for. After all, tis the season for thanks!
I am thankful…
For my kitty Tigger, who is at the moment curled up next to me, resting his head on my arm.
That Thanksgiving gives me an excuse to eat my body weight in food and not feel guilty about it.
For the little things in life that make me smile; like tea, playing board games, cozy blankets, the smell of coffee (and taste for that matter), the sound of rain on a roof and black and white photographs.
That I live in a place that is so accepting, culturally stimulating and beautiful. I love that I can enjoy the benefits and awe of a big city, yet can escape to the mountains for a peaceful getaway, without traveling more than two hours from my front door.
That although the Republican Party took control of the House this past election, I can still retain hope in our country. Because I know that for many parts of the world, hope in ones government is a highly desired commodity.
For all hardships I have faced, for they only made me a better person and helped to get me where I am now.
For all the wonderful teachers I have had in my life; the ones that encouraged, supported and believed in me. And, I am again thankful for the opportunity to become one of those wonderful teachers someday.
Most importantly, for all the wonderful people in my life. For my family and friends have always been there for me, and have given me so much joy and love throughout the years.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Go load up your plates with food (then pour gravy on EVERYTHING) and enjoy being with your loved ones.
However, since it is the day we typically allow ourselves to gush about all the things we love in our life, let me take this opportunity to reflect on some other things I am thankful for. After all, tis the season for thanks!
I am thankful…
For my kitty Tigger, who is at the moment curled up next to me, resting his head on my arm.
That Thanksgiving gives me an excuse to eat my body weight in food and not feel guilty about it.
For the little things in life that make me smile; like tea, playing board games, cozy blankets, the smell of coffee (and taste for that matter), the sound of rain on a roof and black and white photographs.
That I live in a place that is so accepting, culturally stimulating and beautiful. I love that I can enjoy the benefits and awe of a big city, yet can escape to the mountains for a peaceful getaway, without traveling more than two hours from my front door.
That although the Republican Party took control of the House this past election, I can still retain hope in our country. Because I know that for many parts of the world, hope in ones government is a highly desired commodity.
For all hardships I have faced, for they only made me a better person and helped to get me where I am now.
For all the wonderful teachers I have had in my life; the ones that encouraged, supported and believed in me. And, I am again thankful for the opportunity to become one of those wonderful teachers someday.
Most importantly, for all the wonderful people in my life. For my family and friends have always been there for me, and have given me so much joy and love throughout the years.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Go load up your plates with food (then pour gravy on EVERYTHING) and enjoy being with your loved ones.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Wondrous Words
It has been so stormy here the last few days; rain, wind, hail. It makes me want to curl up on the couch with a blanket and a cup of warm tea and read for hours on end. However unfortunately, school prevents me from indulging in such a pleasure. But for now, I am taking a break from paper writing and am indulging in some writing; writing about reading and the words we read, but, more importantly, the words we say.
I love reading of all sorts. Getting lost in a book is one of the best ways one could spend ones time (I almost said waste, but then slapped myself on the wrist, because reading is never a WASTE of time). While I love novels and long, non-fiction books, as many of you know, I have a certain soft spot for short stories. Hand me a collection of Joyce Carol Oates, and you may not see me for the rest of the day.
But why do I like short stories? I think the answer boils down to the conciseness of them; their ability to make an impact in such a small way and in such a short time. Skip a single page in a novel, and you most likely won’t have missed anything from the books meaning. Skip a page from a short story, and the entire message of the story may be altered. In a short story, every sentence matters. Every word matters. The emphasis a short story puts on words and their meaning is extraordinary. Words have unbelievable power in a short story, and that is why I love them.
Words are important. Words are powerful.
The saying “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me” has always bugged me. Did whoever say that honestly believe that words do not have the potential to cause harm? I have a problem with the hateful words that have entered the vocabulary of millions (such as the n-word, a term I still refuse to utter). People use words so ignorantly, and most of the time, when confronted about it, they try to justify their usage by claiming they weren’t intended to be hurtful. Words carry meaning, and if they didn’t, then why must we need so many of them?
One word I utterly abhor is “retarded”. I have deducted, from personal observation, that many use it as a synonym for “stupid”, ignoring the true meaning of the word. I don’t mean to champion political correctness here, but if “stupid” is what one means to say, why not just say that? Why must one have to revert to a word that, by definition, has nothing to do with unintelligence? We’ve all heard someone say “you’re so retarded!” as a joke, but what does that even mean? If it is a reference to mental retardation, then why is it funny? Linking the pieces together, does this mean that those that have a sort of mental retardation are funny and/or stupid? Retardation has become such a negative term, one that is equated to stupidity and hilarity, and it's all because of people’s ignorance.
For anyone that has been called a name or been gossiped about, you know the pain words can cause. Anyone who thinks words are just empty combinations of letters should look at the epidemic of bullying across our country. Words are no longer hurting. For many young kids we can see that unfortunately, words are now killing, as many are taking their own lives because of teasing and taunting by peers.
There is a less somber side to words too though. Because as hurtful as words can be and as much pain as they can cause, they can do the opposite as well. Words can convey compassion, joy and love. As much as we remember words that have injured us, we remember words that made us feel happy, wanted or loved. Words of encouragement or kindness can often be the best gift we can give a person. During a bad day, who doesn’t appreciate hearing a friend or family member simply say “I love you”?
My point in all of this is that we all need to recognize the strength of what we say. Our words might stay with a person forever, and we must therefore choose and apply them wisely. Ignorance, anger and hate shouldn’t interfere what we say or how we say it. Words, once said, cannot be taken back. Words aren't reversible.
Words are complex, and often problematic.
But words are wonderful. And we could all stand a reminder to use them productively.
I love reading of all sorts. Getting lost in a book is one of the best ways one could spend ones time (I almost said waste, but then slapped myself on the wrist, because reading is never a WASTE of time). While I love novels and long, non-fiction books, as many of you know, I have a certain soft spot for short stories. Hand me a collection of Joyce Carol Oates, and you may not see me for the rest of the day.
But why do I like short stories? I think the answer boils down to the conciseness of them; their ability to make an impact in such a small way and in such a short time. Skip a single page in a novel, and you most likely won’t have missed anything from the books meaning. Skip a page from a short story, and the entire message of the story may be altered. In a short story, every sentence matters. Every word matters. The emphasis a short story puts on words and their meaning is extraordinary. Words have unbelievable power in a short story, and that is why I love them.
Words are important. Words are powerful.
The saying “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me” has always bugged me. Did whoever say that honestly believe that words do not have the potential to cause harm? I have a problem with the hateful words that have entered the vocabulary of millions (such as the n-word, a term I still refuse to utter). People use words so ignorantly, and most of the time, when confronted about it, they try to justify their usage by claiming they weren’t intended to be hurtful. Words carry meaning, and if they didn’t, then why must we need so many of them?
One word I utterly abhor is “retarded”. I have deducted, from personal observation, that many use it as a synonym for “stupid”, ignoring the true meaning of the word. I don’t mean to champion political correctness here, but if “stupid” is what one means to say, why not just say that? Why must one have to revert to a word that, by definition, has nothing to do with unintelligence? We’ve all heard someone say “you’re so retarded!” as a joke, but what does that even mean? If it is a reference to mental retardation, then why is it funny? Linking the pieces together, does this mean that those that have a sort of mental retardation are funny and/or stupid? Retardation has become such a negative term, one that is equated to stupidity and hilarity, and it's all because of people’s ignorance.
For anyone that has been called a name or been gossiped about, you know the pain words can cause. Anyone who thinks words are just empty combinations of letters should look at the epidemic of bullying across our country. Words are no longer hurting. For many young kids we can see that unfortunately, words are now killing, as many are taking their own lives because of teasing and taunting by peers.
There is a less somber side to words too though. Because as hurtful as words can be and as much pain as they can cause, they can do the opposite as well. Words can convey compassion, joy and love. As much as we remember words that have injured us, we remember words that made us feel happy, wanted or loved. Words of encouragement or kindness can often be the best gift we can give a person. During a bad day, who doesn’t appreciate hearing a friend or family member simply say “I love you”?
My point in all of this is that we all need to recognize the strength of what we say. Our words might stay with a person forever, and we must therefore choose and apply them wisely. Ignorance, anger and hate shouldn’t interfere what we say or how we say it. Words, once said, cannot be taken back. Words aren't reversible.
Words are complex, and often problematic.
But words are wonderful. And we could all stand a reminder to use them productively.
Monday, November 15, 2010
The World Waits
It's a busy week. The last week before I get a week off to go home for Thanksgiving. Therefore, time is limited, and although I have a lot to say, they will have to wait for a less busy time. Keep on the lookout though...two posts are around the corner; one dealing with how relationships (romantic and platonic) and the term "easy" relate to each other, and one about words and their meaning. For now though, here is an old poem I dug up, written a few years ago. I still believe in every word.
Inundating our lives, complacency reigns
And generation to generation, the ambivalence sustains
It’s easier to nod, say yes and agree
Then to open our eyes, let our beliefs run free
For in this dire time when action is needed
Our passion, our fight, is easily ceded
We will strengthen the levy, after the flood
And we’ll stop the killings, after the blood
We’ll feed the hungry, after millions die
But it will have taken decades, before we ever even tried
We can live, laugh and play and never really know
We can hate, or love, and never let it show
Sit back, relax and wait for others to make the first step
Not realizing that at decisions, the others are inept
Days, months and years may go by
Until it hits us; we’re not where we want to be and we don’t know why
Our vision for the future, our hopes and our desire
Ignited by a match named inaction, it caught on fire
Finally after years of ambivalence seizing our minds
The coulda’s, shoulda’s and woulda’s catch us from behind
We want to help those that have already failed
Rewrite the letter that has already been mailed
Make real an idea that has already been done
Pardon the man that has already been hung
And worse, we want back what we let go
And try to demonstrate what we once couldn’t show
Now simply left to wallow in self-regret
Of all those dreams we never met
And even through deliberation and reflection
Blame is dealt with by simple deflection
We’re all guilty of misplaying this game
In the issue of avoidance and evasion, we’re all the same
We would love to destroy the inattentiveness and neglect
But first’s the hard part; admitting to the errors we must correct
For it’s in our blood, out hearts, and our fate
The whole world waits
Until it’s too late
Monday, November 8, 2010
New Me= New Layout
Yes, I recently broke up with my boyfriend of two years. Yes, he was the man I wanted to marry. Yes, I am still trying to come to terms with it. And no, I'm not completely over him.
However, I am surprisingly doing ok. Better than I even imagined I would be doing back when we split up.
In all honesty, I felt totally ruined when it happened (which I suppose is normal when you've thought you've found "the one"). However my view on it has changed: I am looking at this as a very positive thing that happened. I am refinding myself through this experience. I am redefining my future, with ME as the main component, not US. I got lost in plans, idealistic fantasies and the security that he represented. But now, at this point in my life, I am reveling in the idea of being my own first priority. I get to be selfish, do things I want to do, be who I want to be and learn how to be ALONE.
Alone.
It's a scary word. We all know those people who are utterly terrified of it. The people who jump from relationship to relationship because they can't stand on their own two feet. Not to make judgments, but at that point, is there really validity in their relationships? Do they truly "love" that ever rotating void they call their "signficant other"? Or are they just spineless; afraid that they couldn't survive without someone by their side.
I am wary of the word. I think we all are, to an extent. It's hard not to be, the media, our friends and life around us tells us that security only comes with a partner.
However, I do not fear it in the way that some do. I'm confident in the fact that I am, and have always been, an incredibly independent person. When I first entered into a relationship with someone who wanted me to be more dependent on him, I initially refused. However after a few months, I slowly came around, and he trained me to become less of an individual but more as a component of a couple. I lost a little of my independence. I became someone I hated; someone that was trying to depend on someone else to make them happy. And, when ultimately, he stopped making me happy, I was unable to do it for myself.
Sure, I miss having someone there. I miss having that constant person to cry to, to listen to me complain, to laugh with, to snuggle with at night. But I also missed many things when I was with him; like reading a book without the TV blaring in the background, or talking about politics without having to endure a blank stare by the other person, or eating dinner at the table, and not the couch.
Being with someone doesn't make you happy. Furthermore, being single doesn't equate to unhappiness. And sometimes, it takes being alone to realize this. Sometimes, you need to remind yourself what makes you happy and realize that you can never be happy in the presence of others unless you are happy with yourself. And happiness truly does have to come from within.
I am excited about regaining control of myself. And I think it's good, for everyone, to experience being alone. One needs to know how to make oneself happy, and to know how to enjoy life without someone holding your hand along the way. I've got a wonderful family and group of friends, but, at the end of the day, I'm the only one I can forever count on.
The new Katherine can do whatever she wants. She can go away for the weekend without checking with the other person. She can go to bed when she wants, wake up when she wants and cook whatever she wants (and if that means ice cream for breakfast, so be it!). She can pack up and move to China on a whim (although lets face it, she's not THAT adventerous).
The new layout reflects the new me. There's some pictures from various backpacking trips. As many know, love the outdoors and I love being active, however I had to often force my significant other into doing these things with me. I want to regain this love of mine, because it's not something I feel I should have to compromise.
Because in actuality, I shouldn't have to compromise who I am at all for another person. Sure, relationships are about compromise, but one's identity should never have to change for someone elses approval. I deserve to be loved for exactly who I am; even if that girl is a little off her rocker at times.
This process has let me rediscover and reappreciate myself, and I absolutely love it.
(PS, for your fellow hippies out there, I hope you appreciated my Bob Dylan quote that described my blog. I think it sums up perfectly my intent for starting this blog. Well said Bob, well said.)
However, I am surprisingly doing ok. Better than I even imagined I would be doing back when we split up.
In all honesty, I felt totally ruined when it happened (which I suppose is normal when you've thought you've found "the one"). However my view on it has changed: I am looking at this as a very positive thing that happened. I am refinding myself through this experience. I am redefining my future, with ME as the main component, not US. I got lost in plans, idealistic fantasies and the security that he represented. But now, at this point in my life, I am reveling in the idea of being my own first priority. I get to be selfish, do things I want to do, be who I want to be and learn how to be ALONE.
Alone.
It's a scary word. We all know those people who are utterly terrified of it. The people who jump from relationship to relationship because they can't stand on their own two feet. Not to make judgments, but at that point, is there really validity in their relationships? Do they truly "love" that ever rotating void they call their "signficant other"? Or are they just spineless; afraid that they couldn't survive without someone by their side.
I am wary of the word. I think we all are, to an extent. It's hard not to be, the media, our friends and life around us tells us that security only comes with a partner.
However, I do not fear it in the way that some do. I'm confident in the fact that I am, and have always been, an incredibly independent person. When I first entered into a relationship with someone who wanted me to be more dependent on him, I initially refused. However after a few months, I slowly came around, and he trained me to become less of an individual but more as a component of a couple. I lost a little of my independence. I became someone I hated; someone that was trying to depend on someone else to make them happy. And, when ultimately, he stopped making me happy, I was unable to do it for myself.
Sure, I miss having someone there. I miss having that constant person to cry to, to listen to me complain, to laugh with, to snuggle with at night. But I also missed many things when I was with him; like reading a book without the TV blaring in the background, or talking about politics without having to endure a blank stare by the other person, or eating dinner at the table, and not the couch.
Being with someone doesn't make you happy. Furthermore, being single doesn't equate to unhappiness. And sometimes, it takes being alone to realize this. Sometimes, you need to remind yourself what makes you happy and realize that you can never be happy in the presence of others unless you are happy with yourself. And happiness truly does have to come from within.
I am excited about regaining control of myself. And I think it's good, for everyone, to experience being alone. One needs to know how to make oneself happy, and to know how to enjoy life without someone holding your hand along the way. I've got a wonderful family and group of friends, but, at the end of the day, I'm the only one I can forever count on.
The new Katherine can do whatever she wants. She can go away for the weekend without checking with the other person. She can go to bed when she wants, wake up when she wants and cook whatever she wants (and if that means ice cream for breakfast, so be it!). She can pack up and move to China on a whim (although lets face it, she's not THAT adventerous).
The new layout reflects the new me. There's some pictures from various backpacking trips. As many know, love the outdoors and I love being active, however I had to often force my significant other into doing these things with me. I want to regain this love of mine, because it's not something I feel I should have to compromise.
Because in actuality, I shouldn't have to compromise who I am at all for another person. Sure, relationships are about compromise, but one's identity should never have to change for someone elses approval. I deserve to be loved for exactly who I am; even if that girl is a little off her rocker at times.
This process has let me rediscover and reappreciate myself, and I absolutely love it.
(PS, for your fellow hippies out there, I hope you appreciated my Bob Dylan quote that described my blog. I think it sums up perfectly my intent for starting this blog. Well said Bob, well said.)
Friday, November 5, 2010
Toleration
Toleration is tricky. It carries so many different meanings, to so many different people and yet, when true toleration comes around, regardless of its form, we thrust it into this broad, umbrella category.
The first disclaimer I want to make, is that toleration is not the opposite of intolerance. To tolerate something is to endure it; not exactly to accept or encourage it. Is toleration a bad thing? No, in many instances it is perfectly acceptable to “tolerate” things without accepting them. Is it a good thing though? In the terms in which we most associate toleration with (ethnic, racial, religious, etc) it is not. Toleration becomes a mask that we hide behind. A white flag, so to speak, that we throw up as if to claim we have done enough, and need not go further.
Acceptance, appreciation, freedom, encouragement. Those are all distinct entities from toleration. However those are the type of attributes the idealists of the world attribute to this vague, elitist word.
As many know, I am writing my thesis dealing with religious toleration. Most notably Jewish toleration in seventeenth century England. I won’t bore you with the details (I shall save that little gem for another post) however it has opened my eyes to truly consider what the word means, it its true form. In my research group, we discussed a certain book concerning this topic this week. That, combined with the recent election we had, posed the question of tolerance in regards to political thought.
In as unbiased terms as a leftward leaning hippie can denote, let me delve into my thoughts:
There are two types of toleration that people, throughout history, have professed. One embodies toleration of thought. In this sector, people tolerate differences in their mind. Mentally, they endure knowing that differences exist. Historically, many claimed themselves to be religiously tolerant; a Puritan would accept that Catholicism and Judaism existed, and they allowed those of such faiths to live amongst them. However, open practice of such religions, any public places of worship and any cemeteries were forbidden. Yet, this was, at that time and to those people, tolerant practices.
The other type of toleration is toleration as an action. This wasn’t the concept that pluralism was alright; it was the accepting of this principle through physical and concrete acts. Those that allowed Lutherans and Catholics to coexist, who allowed public churches and rights to all occupations regardless of religion. Toleration, in this sense was not imagined; it was felt.
We’ve come along way since the times of religious wars and conflict surrounding the Reformation. However, toleration is still an issue that we grapple with to this day, not only in our personal lives but in the public sphere. Religion, race and sexual orientation are contentious topics, and although politicians from both sides have their views on such issues, each group firmly protests themselves to be of a tolerant mind.
Not to get bogged down in a political gripe here, but I would argue that tolerance is a political idea, one that is quite interesting. When reviewing current US political parties, it cane be seen that rightward leaning people tend to sway more to the first definition of toleration; leftward-leaning people to the second. Conservatives (in all of their gun-holding, tax-hating glory) tout their tolerance, yet refuse to let it have legs; refuse to give mobility to it. The idea of toleration, to them, is well and good; they accept gays, they just do not want them to have equal rights. They feel sorry for and appreciate minorities; they just don’t want to play a role in helping them advance. They feel compassion for the single mother raising a family, yet they’ll be damned if their tax dollars go towards helping them. It’s all too familiar a cycle. People hide behind the belief that toleration is alive and good, yet intolerance, persecution and discrimination is all too common. Toleration, as an idea, is simply not good enough.
We, as people, can say one thing and do another. Clearly, the age-old adage “actions speak louder than words” is valid. However, I want to take this to the next level, and argue that actions speak louder than beliefs. Anyone can believe in tolerance, but few truly practice it in the way our world deserves.
The first disclaimer I want to make, is that toleration is not the opposite of intolerance. To tolerate something is to endure it; not exactly to accept or encourage it. Is toleration a bad thing? No, in many instances it is perfectly acceptable to “tolerate” things without accepting them. Is it a good thing though? In the terms in which we most associate toleration with (ethnic, racial, religious, etc) it is not. Toleration becomes a mask that we hide behind. A white flag, so to speak, that we throw up as if to claim we have done enough, and need not go further.
Acceptance, appreciation, freedom, encouragement. Those are all distinct entities from toleration. However those are the type of attributes the idealists of the world attribute to this vague, elitist word.
As many know, I am writing my thesis dealing with religious toleration. Most notably Jewish toleration in seventeenth century England. I won’t bore you with the details (I shall save that little gem for another post) however it has opened my eyes to truly consider what the word means, it its true form. In my research group, we discussed a certain book concerning this topic this week. That, combined with the recent election we had, posed the question of tolerance in regards to political thought.
In as unbiased terms as a leftward leaning hippie can denote, let me delve into my thoughts:
There are two types of toleration that people, throughout history, have professed. One embodies toleration of thought. In this sector, people tolerate differences in their mind. Mentally, they endure knowing that differences exist. Historically, many claimed themselves to be religiously tolerant; a Puritan would accept that Catholicism and Judaism existed, and they allowed those of such faiths to live amongst them. However, open practice of such religions, any public places of worship and any cemeteries were forbidden. Yet, this was, at that time and to those people, tolerant practices.
The other type of toleration is toleration as an action. This wasn’t the concept that pluralism was alright; it was the accepting of this principle through physical and concrete acts. Those that allowed Lutherans and Catholics to coexist, who allowed public churches and rights to all occupations regardless of religion. Toleration, in this sense was not imagined; it was felt.
We’ve come along way since the times of religious wars and conflict surrounding the Reformation. However, toleration is still an issue that we grapple with to this day, not only in our personal lives but in the public sphere. Religion, race and sexual orientation are contentious topics, and although politicians from both sides have their views on such issues, each group firmly protests themselves to be of a tolerant mind.
Not to get bogged down in a political gripe here, but I would argue that tolerance is a political idea, one that is quite interesting. When reviewing current US political parties, it cane be seen that rightward leaning people tend to sway more to the first definition of toleration; leftward-leaning people to the second. Conservatives (in all of their gun-holding, tax-hating glory) tout their tolerance, yet refuse to let it have legs; refuse to give mobility to it. The idea of toleration, to them, is well and good; they accept gays, they just do not want them to have equal rights. They feel sorry for and appreciate minorities; they just don’t want to play a role in helping them advance. They feel compassion for the single mother raising a family, yet they’ll be damned if their tax dollars go towards helping them. It’s all too familiar a cycle. People hide behind the belief that toleration is alive and good, yet intolerance, persecution and discrimination is all too common. Toleration, as an idea, is simply not good enough.
We, as people, can say one thing and do another. Clearly, the age-old adage “actions speak louder than words” is valid. However, I want to take this to the next level, and argue that actions speak louder than beliefs. Anyone can believe in tolerance, but few truly practice it in the way our world deserves.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Who is Katherine?
I have chosen to go by an alias in my blog; Katherine.
Why? I don’t know really. I mean, it’s not like a whole bunch of people are reading this, and it’s not as if I am going to be writing anything that I don’t want to be associated with.
I guess, for me, the reason I chose to slap a different name in the title is two-fold. I first wanted to remind myself to be objective. I want to be personal and true to myself of course, and by no means do I want to become detached from my writing. But I want to look and learn about the world and myself without my preconceptions bogging me down (although a little bogging down is, ultimately, inevitable). I want to be personal, but universally applicable.
The second reason I am going by an alias is to remind myself who I want to be in the future. I love myself, I really do. However I am a believer that there is always room for improvement. We can all be a little kinder, patient, dedicated, etc. I may not always know who I want to be, but I do know who I don’t want to be. When I write, I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to betray my beliefs. I don’t want to write fearing what other people will think. I don’t want to hold back. Katherine proves that there is another side of me, a better side that I sometimes lose track of. She is, in short, me at my best.
Why? I don’t know really. I mean, it’s not like a whole bunch of people are reading this, and it’s not as if I am going to be writing anything that I don’t want to be associated with.
I guess, for me, the reason I chose to slap a different name in the title is two-fold. I first wanted to remind myself to be objective. I want to be personal and true to myself of course, and by no means do I want to become detached from my writing. But I want to look and learn about the world and myself without my preconceptions bogging me down (although a little bogging down is, ultimately, inevitable). I want to be personal, but universally applicable.
The second reason I am going by an alias is to remind myself who I want to be in the future. I love myself, I really do. However I am a believer that there is always room for improvement. We can all be a little kinder, patient, dedicated, etc. I may not always know who I want to be, but I do know who I don’t want to be. When I write, I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to betray my beliefs. I don’t want to write fearing what other people will think. I don’t want to hold back. Katherine proves that there is another side of me, a better side that I sometimes lose track of. She is, in short, me at my best.
Welcome
Welcome to my blog.
I've been wanting to blog for a while now. Share my thoughts, my stories, my life with someone, or shall I say, something.
I follow a couple of blogs; friends of mine. One in particular has really forced me to join the blogging world.
Moe is a dear family friend, and about a year ago she was diagnosed with cancer. Lung cancer.
I deduct that her current state has caused her to revisit her life, and over the past year, I have read countless personal stories of hers. I have learned things I never knew about this women.
It's made me realize: do we all need a tragedy to make us look back on our life? Does retrospection require misfortune as a precursor?
I fear for too many of us reflection only occurs when faced with "an end".
I don't want that to be me. I don't want to look at life (mine, yours, ours) only when I see it running out. I want to see life in the moment. I want to grow. I want to learn.
Join me.
I've been wanting to blog for a while now. Share my thoughts, my stories, my life with someone, or shall I say, something.
I follow a couple of blogs; friends of mine. One in particular has really forced me to join the blogging world.
Moe is a dear family friend, and about a year ago she was diagnosed with cancer. Lung cancer.
I deduct that her current state has caused her to revisit her life, and over the past year, I have read countless personal stories of hers. I have learned things I never knew about this women.
It's made me realize: do we all need a tragedy to make us look back on our life? Does retrospection require misfortune as a precursor?
I fear for too many of us reflection only occurs when faced with "an end".
I don't want that to be me. I don't want to look at life (mine, yours, ours) only when I see it running out. I want to see life in the moment. I want to grow. I want to learn.
Join me.
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