Like a telescope into the past

For a long time, the word perspective was one dimensional to me. I didn't think about it very much, or fully understand what it meant. But after bumping into it several times lately, I've realized that it builds our daily lives almost single-handedly.

Perspective is that lens you see the world through. Some people may use a lens that only sees what they want it to see. Other people may see everything clearly because they are able ignore their personal bias (their upbringing, experiences, education, etc.) Of course, I’d love to be that last person, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get there. And I don’t know how far I am along in the journey to get there. But I do know some stuff. Here we go.

I know that I don’t know much.

I know that we humans are often too short sighted to know where we are going next when we are in the midst of something. We don’t realize the relationships we are in the midst of building until they are noticeably complete.

An example: I have been friends with a kid since 5^th grade. Casual friends; our conversation rarely scraping the surface. But suddenly this year, we became a lot closer. I wonder if every encounter since 5^th grade has led up to this friendship, or if it is simply something that has shaped up recently because of circumstance.  But I do know that I wasn't thinking about every interaction with him as a building block of sorts, it’s only looking back now that I can imagine the progression.

How many great relationships am unknowingly building in my life right now?  Maybe the kid I sit next to in AP History will become my best friend senior year, or maybe he won’t. We know so little about the way the universe is spinning life into existence. But I know nearly nothing is a coincidence. As Sherlock Holmes once said, “the universe is rarely so lazy.”  

Now that's a quote

“What’s the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?” 

-John Green 

I found this quote swimming in the time-wasting sludge that is the internet and I’ve decided that I like it. When I saw it, I thought, “that’s what I want to do.” That’s what I’m going to do. But, unfortunately I had a massive realization.

I have done absolutely nothing extraordinary in my life.

Usually, I’m of the assumption that I am rather above all the idiots I feel I am surrounded by in most places I go. I’m constantly pondering what I need to be and what I need to do, and somehow that makes me feel like I am grander than everyone else.

But, the truth is, I have no idea what everyone around me is thinking. I can’t assume that what’s happening in my head, coming out of my mouth, or playing out on my face is anything more brilliant than those around me.

I began to wonder if I have ever done anything that would actually warrant my holier-than-thou outlook on the world. Okay…I sound like a total snob now. But, I don’t know if my recognizing my snotty-ness makes me more or less so. But that’s too much to think about.

Again, back to the point I was trying to make. What have I ever done that is extraordinary? Have I ever achieved anything that would actually set me apart from my peers in the real world? I’ve decided to take a glimpse at everything I’ve done and everything I considered an accomplishment.

None of the things I came up with have helped save a life or made one better. They were just certificates or publications that really only matter to me. And I don’t feel that it really falls into the category of “something remarkable”

How about you? Do you feel that you have done something remarkable in your life? Pursued something you had always dreamed of or created something wonderful?

And if not, why? And is doing the remarkable something you want to pursue?

Those are all the questions I’m asking myself, and trudging along trying to find answers to. It’s especially telling though, that all of these questions are yes or no, supposedly the simplest type of question, but they seem so gosh darn difficult. 

Now that's a quote

I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody. -J.D. Salinger

*Just a little before I get started note*  I first heard this quote during one of John Green's Question Tuesdays on his YouTube channel VlogBrothers. I'd never heard anything like it, and it had a set of ideas behind it that were completely new to me. So this is what I thought. 

There are some that are just thrown into this world with spirit. In second grade, when the teacher asks them what they want to be when they grow up, they already know. Of course, the ideas change practically every day, but they always seem to be going somewhere, doing something. I wonder where it comes from, and what it actually means. Do those kids who are President of every freakin club under the sun actually care? Or do they just want to be known? Do they want to be able to look back in 10 years and say that were that person? And it means that those kids feel purposeless if they aren't recognized. They simply don't have the courage to be a nobody. 

It takes a heck of a lot of courage to be an absolute nobody, to work behind the scenes, or on something that isn't universally known to be brilliant. 

Everybody likes to do good work. Though the motivation behind each person's help is different. For the courageous absolute nobody, they help, learn, and love without much public recognition. But it seems that love themselves enough to know what they are doing, or not doing, is important, without a reporter telling them so. 

Which goes back to why do we help? Do I help because the other person needs it, or because I want to feel like some sort of hero at that time? For most of us, me included, whether or not i help someone depends way to much on my mood. Which goes back to the fact that I'm only helping for myself, not for the other person. I don't know...I don't know if the whole idea of community service in itself is selfish. If, we really only help other for the satisfaction that it brings us. And that sounds bad, wrong even, but that can be seen in a positive light. If knowing that we will get satisfaction moves us to donate our time, then so be it really.  

"Do I know you?...." The Story of Celebrities

          Zac Efron. John Green. Nash Grier. Shailene Woodley. Oprah for goodness sake! The world is full of celebrities. Obviously not as many as there are normal people, but still, tons. And we idolize them, they are the faces on our t-shirts, the reason we spend hours on YouTube, you might even know that they wear argyle socks (as I happen to about John Green...it was in a YouTube video.) See?! I know tons of useless information  just from watching his videos, which, by the way, are brilliantly funny, sometime punny, and totally demonstrate why he could write such an amazing book. But the thing is, John Green doesn't even know I exist. He probably never will. Yet I sit there watching his videos and crying over his book. 

          Its a funny relationship really. We feel like we know a celebrity, invest time and money into seeing them, meeting them, and they forget us within a second. Not that its their fault, no body is at fault in this crazy loop. I'm just trying to understand how it works. How even though I know that the "relationship" doesn't even meet minimum requirements that say, being friends with a kid in math class would, I still feel like I'm friends with the collection of pixels on my computer screen. 

          I guess it's sort of humbling, to realize how infinitely tiny you are in just one man's fan base. Imagine how much of a speck you are compared to the rest of the world. Just goes back to not taking yourself too seriously. There's not much wrong with our whole celebrity system, as long as its still in perspective. Remember that we are not personally responsible when Justin Beiber ends up in jail, yet I can still find insane happiness in every episode of Sherlock (or anything featuring Benedict Cumberbatch). It's all in the balance, as always. 

Everyone in their boxes..

  People are confusing creatures. There are the obnoxious ones that everyone loves, the quiet ones that never speak but everyone still hates for no reason, the listeners, the talkers, and everyone has a little piece of each type in them. At least I do.

 I listened as my friend told me about how many gosh darn rants he listens to a day, and how he himself never rants (not entirely true, but that’s not the point.) I realized, we all end up in our own little box with each person, whether we put ourselves their or they put us there. Our box defines us and everyone’s expectation of us. It’s like when the know-it-all kid cracks a joke in class, nobody thinks it’s funny. But when the popular kid says the same thing, it’s suddenly hilarious. It’s because the know-it-all is stuck in a shipping box labeled "annoying and dorky", while the popular kid's box says "cool and always funny." It’s only with the people we’re really close with that we can stick every limb in a different box and not seem two-faced.
At the beginning of this post I had it in me that we could change this boxed system. But as I wrote, I realized it would probably take years of evolution for the brain to rewire like that, since it’s such a universal human trait. Either way, if we all stopped believing that each person belongs in one personality box, then we would be appreciated more easily, and would have freedom to be whomever we wanted. The first step is individually listening to the content, and not where it’s coming from. Maybe the dorky kid will surprise you.

Impromptu Poem

These are 4 Truths of Life. 

Imagination is a powerful tool.

Without it, phones would look like refrigerators,

and we would be locked into reality

Clichés stomp out creativity.

Why contaminate our own writing with second-hand ideas?

Self-consciousness is detrimental.

We hate being addressed with demands, or commands,

But every day,

We allow others control our lives,

With their opinions.

Drama does not find us, we invite it.

*This is not meant to be a full poem, just a few observations. 

An Open Letter to Genetically Modified Foods

Dearest raspberries, strawberries, assorted meats and vegetables, I find it alarming how fake you really are. Oh, but alas! I do not wish to bestow any of the blame on you, my friends, you just bear the brunt of the trickery ruining our nation. I am not ignorant enough to forget about the sly chemist or manufacturers conjuring up these atrocities. I find both the creator, and the suppliers pitiful, disgusting, and manipulative. They are not happy with the size of a natural raspberry, you are constantly undergoing test after test to make you appealing to the human eye. The fact that I can now purchase raspberries the size of my big toe, watermelon sized grapefruit, and “whole wheat” bread the color of a blank sheet of paper is appalling to me. The natural look is simply not the style any longer.

Every orange is seedless and “made for little hands.” They are admitting to us right in the commercial that you are not real! You were engineered in a lab! You are a fake! A counterfeit! I do not know how to escape the mayhem! I wonder what I am really eating, because you are not the produce God intended for this Earth. It has come to the sad truth that I would rather eat a Jolly Rancher, because it is not trying to trick me with some empty health claim. I know that it is bad for me, I know what I am getting into. When I eat a strawberry, I have no idea what I’m putting in my body.

Sincerely,
Sharon.

*If you too are deeply troubled by the abnormal size of fruit lately, or have a take on genetically modified foods in general, share or comment on this post to let me know.

Trinidad: Lakes filled with water? How boring.

Have you ever heard of a Pitch Lake? Nope, neither had I. Here’s a little historical/science knowledge for you then. The Pitch Lake is an enormous natural deposit of natural asphalt bubbling and building its way from the Earth’s core. Imagine this, in Trinidad, an insanely tiny island which I didn't think I would ever go to, is the world’s largest pitch lake! And that was one of our day trips during our visit to Trini and Tobago a few summers ago. 

After walking for a few minutes on worn paths and through tall grasses, the Pitch Lake began to appear. The area seemed more like an enormous playground black top than a lake, but nobody planning on living through the experience would try and play kick ball on it. There were areas that were completely liquid, and insanely dangerous. Our guide told us the story of a local farmer’s cow who wandered onto the Pitch Lake at night and accidently walked into one of the areas of fresh pitch and was swallowed alive. We had to be careful. Most of the lake was hardened, or hard enough to keep us from plunging into the Earth’s core, though we do have pictures of depressions our flip flips made in some areas of softer pitch. It was absolutely sweltering hot, but I can’t remember if it was humid or just dry. It felt like I was frying in a cast iron skillet. Wow, there’s so many great similes I could use under that comparison…

A few times through the tour, the guide took a long wooden rod and pulled up fresh, liquid, pitch from the open areas of the lake. It looked a bit like melted chocolate, or pancake batter if you let it ooze from your spatula to the pan. 

At one point a group from a local girl’s school walked past, we made room for them, waiting on the edge of a path. The girls walked one in front of the other and were probably only 10 or 11. As they walked past, every one of them said hello to us, complete strangers, happily and politely. They didn't look up when they greeted us, but kept their heads down and smiled. At home, a group of children on a field trip would never be walking in a straight line, more like a huge clump washing through an area. Second, children are taught to be weary of strangers, especially adults, and never address them. In Trinidad it was the opposite, and seemed natural and expected. Just an interesting cultural difference. 

The Pitch Lake was a really neat experience…much cooler than posing stiffly in front of some monument somewhere. Not to say that we haven’t done our fair share of that though!

Why the chicken crossed the road

Let’s admit it; we've all wondered from time to time, what was it that motivated a simple farm-raised chicken to haphazardly cross a road one day? And why in the name of Pete did someone decide to make a joke out of it?

The sun was setting, slowly oozing behind the flat horizon here in Kansas. It was summer; most people avoided leaving their homes all together. It’s not like there’s much to do even if they did leave, its Kansas after all. But even if they did, it was simply too hot to do much other than sit and hope their faces didn’t melt off or crisp like a pie crust.

 Needless to say, I didn’t get out much in the summer, except to the pool maybe. But of course, since this is intended to be a page-turner, there is a twist.

That summer of ’09 was the first time I went down to the Kettleump’s farm. I have always hated nature and there I was stumbling around a muddy farm pretending to be useful.  I mean, dogs bite, bees sting, and it makes me sad. But when I tried to remember my favorite things, I realized that I was standing in a pile of manure with a farmer’s tan that could go toe-to-toe with any redneck, and I didn’t feel any better. Thanks for that Julie Andrews.

Anyway, I think nature just brings out the worst in me, so let’s redirect this story in a way that will eventually lead to the chicken that so fatefully crossed the street.

On my third morning at the Kettleump’s, raking seemed like the job that required the least work, so I started  pushing  dead leaves  scorched from the sun around the front yard in a sad attempt to accomplish something. Then there was a sneaky crunching noise from behind me. I gripped that rake for dear life and swung around, expecting to heroically knock out a bear. Though I don’t know if bears even live in Kansas, maybe a muskrat or prairie dog would have been more accurate. Either way, that wasn’t the case.  Instead, the little Kettleump boy, Ronald, had collapsed, unharmed, but in a mound from sheer fright.

Good thing Ron was the quiet one; if it was Stacy I would have heard an ear-full from Mrs. Kettleump the next morning. I apologized at least 11 times. And then I saw the most interesting thing I’d seen the whole summer. There was a fat, squawking chicken projectile crossing the coop in midair.  I felt that it was my job as a dutiful farm hand who always sought to provide help, to go investigate.  With another sorry, I dropped poor Ronald again, and took off like Usain Bolt toward the coop. Just as I was starting my powerful scolding about child-like behavior to the group of chickens, I realized that the one I was addressing was gone. Taking a sweep of the land, I saw him, waddling like the wind through the field.  “Oh Jesus that chicken can run.” And so I followed him.

That chicken ran until he got to Haymarket road, which was just a gravel back road that only tractors and cows used. But of course, the one time a run-away chicken from the Kettleump’s was trying to cross the street, an enormous John Deere tractor was barreling down the road like it had somewhere to be. Just as I extended my fingers to grab the little chicken, he hit the gas and bolted forward. That’s when I saw it. A beautiful coppery-gold chicken waiting for him on the other side,  wing feathers perfectly clipped and daintily pecking at some old sunflower seeds on the road. “Well okay, now I got it” Somehow he made it to the other side of the road, I guess the poultry gods were shining down on him that day. Ever since that life-changing day that little chicken was named Romeo, and I enjoyed working at the Kettleump’s, because I knew something no one else did about why the chicken crossed the road.