has it really been 3 years?

People work too hard to figure out the meaning of their lives. Why me, why now. The truth is, sometimes things don’t happen to you for a reason. Sometimes it’s just about being in the right place at the right time for someone else.” –Jodi Picoult, Second Glance

Some items on the to-do list get marked off right away, other items hover waiting for the to-list maker to have the will power, the courage or the ability to complete them. it's so easy to think about someone or something and let it pass by without action. though i don't usually post really personal stuff on my blog, i think that this is important, so stick with me. 

certain memories in my life stand out very clear, like they happened yesterday. i was standing in this small hotel bathroom in Odessa, Texas staring at myself in the mirror with a steaming hot curling iron in hand. my reverie was broken by what i thought was an extra precautionary alarm going off again. to my surprise, i looked down at the phone and i was receiving a phone call from a dear friend of mine at the time. thinking that she just wanted to wish my luck for the brutal day ahead, i answered. she sternly told me to sit down. all i could think was, "i'm burying my mother today, what the hell is she going to tell me that's going to make this day any worse?!" and that's when she explained that a horrible plane crash took the life of one of my best friends. this girl had been one of the first people i met in the horrid week called Sorority Recruitment. she had laughed at everything and had an incredible attitude. we clicked. she was one of the first people i told at alabama that my mom had cancer because she found me crying in the dorm room hall. we listened to Dave together. we went to fraternity parties and had our red solo cups filled by pledges with delicious pink panty pulldowns. all summer, she had kept up with me and how my mom was doing. she was going to book her flight to atlanta to come visit as soon as she got back from alabama. In fact, when I got back from Texas, I had flowers waiting for me at my house that she had sent the day she died.

i think about Lauren everyday. not only do i miss the ability to pick up the phone and call her, i wonder if she would be graduating with me on Saturday, i wished for her as a refuge in harder times this past year and i am graciously reminded of her fun-loving spirit, how loving of a friend she was and her incredible zeal for life every time i pass her picture on my dresser and every time i call my dog by her full name, named after Lauren's last name and nickname. 

Graduation next week is going to be bittersweet because it was suppose to be in May but this little f5 tornado ruined that. graduation is going to be odd because close friends that were planning to come in May will no longer be able to attend. it will be odd to be in tuscaloosa without a home. i already have my diploma. but most importantly, graduation is going to be bittersweet because in the last three years, I have lost two people that meant so much to me. And no matter what, it's going to be weird without them there.

I have been meaning to call Lauren's family since... well, since, May. On several occasions I've spoken to her mother and she is an incredible woman. For no good reason, something less important has gotten in the way of making that phone call. Walking Grey Brue today, i pulled out my phone and dialed Mrs. Brue. The call only lasted 17 minutes, but it was perfect. Just touching base felt amazing. Letting her know that I still think about Lauren, that I still think about her, I could tell meant a lot to her. And she told me the same. That this picture of Lauren and I is sitting on her dresser. 

Sometimes you don't do things for yourself, you do them for someone else. Sometimes you get a nice mix of both. All this to say, the next time the idea of doing something nice for someone else crosses your mind, don't let it go. Force yourself to do it, no matter how tough it seems. Make reminding someone that you care about them a priority. You may find that doing something selfLESS has incredibly selfISH rewards. Thanks for reading, I hope you found it inspiring, or at least something like it.

how it all fits together. your love, i mean, AND your life.

“Let me tell you a little something about love. It’s different every time. It’s nothing more than a chemical reaction, an arrow over an equation, but the elements change. The most fragile kind of love is that between a man and a woman. Chemistry, again; if you introduce a new element, you never know how stable the original bond is. You may wind up with a new union, with something left behind. I believe you can fall in love many times with many different people. However I don’t think that you can fall in love the same way twice. One type of relationship may be steady. Another can be fire and brimstone. Who is to say if one of these is better than the other? The deciding factor is how it all fits together. Your love, I mean, and your life.” –Jodi Picoult, Songs of The Humpback Wale (Joley)

This is something I've been thinking about recently. Combining talents and passions in a way that glorifies the One who gave them to you. Combining your talents and passions in a way that brings happiness but that doesn't involve waiting around until something better comes around. I don't have anything figured out really. I believe that that's okay. I think I will always be growing and learning. But I think that what I am passionate about, what I love has been revealed to me and now it's my job to figure out whatever path I end up on, I am putting the pieces together in a way that fits my love into my life. Because after all, what more is there? (yes, that was a Dave reference to Pig) I'm not talking about a romantic love. I'm not really in love like that right now, per se. I haven't been in love in a long time. But I love a lot of things. I love a lot of people. Sometimes I shouldn't love the things that I do (ie Vodka/Sprite) and sometimes I shouldn't love the people that I do. Yet, at the end of the day, I depend on people doing the same for me. I'm rambling, so I'll get to the point. One more piece of inspiration: what you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. it will decide what gets you out of bed in the mornings, what you do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you. fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything. - pedro arrupe

This is what I want you to think about. Please share. What do you love? Who do you love? And how are you combining the two? Do one thing every day to ensure that love is driving your life in order to ensure that it's one worth living. 

Does it ever go away? No... it changes though.

it is rare to see grief accurately described. Rabbit Hole was excellent. Simply, beautifully done. Highly recommend.

Blanche Devereaux was my idol for like, six straight years.

“Memories are like a still life painted by ten different student artists: some will be blue-based; others red; some will be as stark as Picasso and others as rich as Rembrandt; some will be foreshortened and others distant. Recollections are in the eye of the beholder; no two held up side by side will ever quite match.” –Jodi Picoult, Vanishing Acts

“There’s nothing wrong

with holding onto a memory. 

Sometimes, its all we have to hold onto.”

 –Golden Girls 

This is a quote by one of my favorite authors that came to mind when I was reading the pages of ethnographic reflection on the “intimate ethnography” conducted on Waterson and Rylko-Bauer’s parents. Memories have always been a particularly interesting concept to me because I have experienced a significant amount of loss in my short 21 years. I have always found refuge in pictures to recall memories and held onto memories because its okay if they’re all you have left to hold onto. Since Mom died two years ago, I have adopted the idea that a memory is yours, and only yours. There is significance in remembering details or events “incorrectly” because to you- it’s your own truth. Only your version really matters. 
I think a historian’s job is to collect accurate details, but an ethnographer’s main concern should be of the details conveyed by the subjects or the details witnessed first hand. There really is no true subjectivity. And I agree with these authors that this is where ethnography becomes art. To some degree, I think everyone has a significant story that they can offer regarding their unique life experiences and lessons learned. I believe this is one of the reasons why blogs have become so popular. The Internet offers a venue for a person to relay their memories, stories, advice, opinion, and photos to tell whoever wishes to read with very little likelihood of a harsh critique for “truthfulness” or accuracy. Of course there are blogs where truth plays a large role- for example a blog promoting a certain product for a business or a political blog would both require scrutiny for truth. However, the majority of blogs are just average people recording their thoughts and longing for their story to be told. In this, I am just like all the other bloggers out there, seeking validation, recourse or rejection for the thoughts I have and the things that I feel.

"And I tell myself that whoever says he has finished a painting is terribly arrogant. Finished means complete, perfect, and I am working hard without moving ahead, searching, feeling my way without achieving much..."

--Claude Monet

identity crisis.

I wrote this in response to the question "Is Identity real?" after a series of discussions on identity, power, cultural capital, character and agency.

“Alex thought of all the parties she’d ever gone to where the first question she was asked was What do you do? as if that was enough to define you. Nobody ever asked you who you really were, because that changed. You might be a judge or a mother or a dreamer. You might be a loner or a visionary or a pessimist. You might be the victim, and you might be the bully. You could be the parent, and also the child. You might wound one day and heal the next.” –Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

            This is a quote I have saved in a growing document of favorite quotes from one of my favorite authors. What you do, who you know, what you like, etc IS enough to define you, but that doesn’t mean it should be.

I have decided that Identity is like a Subway sandwich. There is no “real” subway sandwich. Let’s say that your Subway sandwich favorite is the meatball sub. But in reality, every single Subway meatball sub is going to be different. It might be the same ingredients, but the person who made it is different, the Subway you bought it at is different, the ingredients were prepared differently or may even come from somewhere different.

            I made a laundry list of all the nouns and adjectives that I have ever been, am currently and could possibly be. I was surprised to see how many of those nouns directly contradicted themselves- a believer and a doubter, a student and a teacher, a girlfriend and an ex-girlfriend, an advice-giver and advice-receiver.

Identity is relative. Identity is evolving and changing. Identity is contextual. In part, your identity is your mold. The perception of your identity is more powerful than your performance because you are always either living up to it or trying to escape it. The nouns in my identity that I was, for example, a private school student, are just as important to my identity as the nouns I am currently and the nouns I will become. In one sense, I will no longer have “student” in my line as employment, but I will always be a learner and someone will always be teaching me. Perhaps the portions of my identity from my past are more relevant than the portions in my present… they both play significant roles in where my identity is going to be in the future.

Some of the words I wrote down I realized were arguable depending on who saw the list. For example, to someone who doesn’t drink, is a former alcoholic or is against drinking- I could be considered a borderline alcoholic. To most college students, I don’t drink enough. Does that mean I am a borderline alcoholic or a college student? I wrote down “drinker” just to settle my internal dispute. In this sense, identity is extremely sensitive to perception and opinion in terms of the degree. This makes the importance of the perception that much more powerful.

This laundry list I created coexists simultaneously meaning something different in each different context and time, meaning something different to everyone who knows you, including yourself. So yes, its “real,” but its abstract, fleeting, and constantly changing.