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.

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.

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

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.)

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.