He knows he's a beautiful man.
You can tell by the way he speaks.
In between every few words, a smile spreads. That stupid sexy grin appears, incongruent to the subject matter falling out of his mouth. He could be talking about water heaters, dust bunnies, washing dishes-- no matter what he has to say, that slyly smug smile comes out to play. His smile says, "Hey world, I'm saying words. Listen to my voice. Look at my face."
And the world obeys.
It can't be denied; his features fall somewhere between that of a classic movie star and a demigod. But why does he have to know that? His eyes sparkle with satisfaction; the apples of his cheeks are raised, always ready to help him grin at the beauty of his existence.
Why does his reaction to everything seem to point your attention back to his striking features? It's intentional. Isn't it? It must be.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Hushed Whispers
This is just some stream-of-consciousness I wrote last night as my mind wandered during a symposium I attended for extra credit.
Hushed whispers float to the tall, tall ceiling.
It's Friday night; what am I doing here?
What would I be doing if I wasn't here?
At least I'm somewhere.
Company.
This company is a 1.5 on a scale from boringdryspeechprofessor to Lady GaGa.
So many 1/3 bald heads.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.6.7.8.
9.10.11...
It's an epidemic!
If I wasn't here, where would I want to be?
I would be warm. I would be sitting by a fire, the flames jumping delicately as I turn the pages of a cherished book.
Steaming hot cocoa in hand, I give no thought to the whirlwind of intricacies which weave together the fibers of my existence, my world.
For I am immersed, absorbed, engulfed in the world of my novel.
Hushed whispers float to the tall, tall ceiling.
It's Friday night; what am I doing here?
What would I be doing if I wasn't here?
At least I'm somewhere.
Company.
This company is a 1.5 on a scale from boringdryspeechprofessor to Lady GaGa.
So many 1/3 bald heads.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.6.7.8.
9.10.11...
It's an epidemic!
If I wasn't here, where would I want to be?
I would be warm. I would be sitting by a fire, the flames jumping delicately as I turn the pages of a cherished book.
Steaming hot cocoa in hand, I give no thought to the whirlwind of intricacies which weave together the fibers of my existence, my world.
For I am immersed, absorbed, engulfed in the world of my novel.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
HEY MICKEY
OH MICKEY YOU'RE SO FINE, YOU'RE SO FINE, YOU BLOW MY MIND, HEY MICKEY.
Her little legs, rainbow striped leggings and all, move her swiftly around the living room. Everything is happening right now. Why wait to live? She twirls and twirls and twirls. She dances around and around on the huge rugged oval blue carpet, to which she is tiny in comparison.
This rug is her stage; the world is her audience.
The warm light gleaming through the fingerprint-smudged door,
the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen,
the excitingly abrasive feel of her tiny soft feet meeting the rough carpet for fractions of a second at a time;
it's all part of her performance.
Everything is her audience, everything is part of her act.
OH MICKEY, YOU'RE SO PRETTY, CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND? IT'S GUYS LIKE YOU MICKEY! OH WHAT YOU DO MICKEY, DO MICKEY. DON'T BREAK MY HEART MICKEY.
This song is the anthem of her existence. It moves her, breathes life into her, charges her with some unknown and previously unchanneled energy.
Who cares what the words mean? Right now, she struggles to write even her name on a piece of paper without writing the "a" backwards. Words don't need to mean too much yet. She'll have plenty of time to get caught up in those later.
Right now, she lives. Alive in the music, she lives fully, completely, unapologetically.
OH MICKEY WHAT A PITY, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. YOU TAKE ME BY THE HEART WHEN YOU TAKE ME BY THE HAND.
Her mother, relentlessly scrubbing a casserole dish in the kitchen, takes a break and smiles at the living room scene as she takes it in. She looks at her daughter. Her blonde, stringy hair is wild as it suspends in the air. She moves deliberately, with no self-awareness at all. She dances fearlessly, unconscious of her audience. Nothing is held back. Perhaps she knows her mom is there watching, perhaps she doesn't. It does not matter to her either way. She is alive.
Her little legs, rainbow striped leggings and all, move her swiftly around the living room. Everything is happening right now. Why wait to live? She twirls and twirls and twirls. She dances around and around on the huge rugged oval blue carpet, to which she is tiny in comparison.
This rug is her stage; the world is her audience.
The warm light gleaming through the fingerprint-smudged door,
the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen,
the excitingly abrasive feel of her tiny soft feet meeting the rough carpet for fractions of a second at a time;
it's all part of her performance.
Everything is her audience, everything is part of her act.
OH MICKEY, YOU'RE SO PRETTY, CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND? IT'S GUYS LIKE YOU MICKEY! OH WHAT YOU DO MICKEY, DO MICKEY. DON'T BREAK MY HEART MICKEY.
This song is the anthem of her existence. It moves her, breathes life into her, charges her with some unknown and previously unchanneled energy.
Who cares what the words mean? Right now, she struggles to write even her name on a piece of paper without writing the "a" backwards. Words don't need to mean too much yet. She'll have plenty of time to get caught up in those later.
Right now, she lives. Alive in the music, she lives fully, completely, unapologetically.
OH MICKEY WHAT A PITY, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. YOU TAKE ME BY THE HEART WHEN YOU TAKE ME BY THE HAND.
Her mother, relentlessly scrubbing a casserole dish in the kitchen, takes a break and smiles at the living room scene as she takes it in. She looks at her daughter. Her blonde, stringy hair is wild as it suspends in the air. She moves deliberately, with no self-awareness at all. She dances fearlessly, unconscious of her audience. Nothing is held back. Perhaps she knows her mom is there watching, perhaps she doesn't. It does not matter to her either way. She is alive.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Three Words
"How are you?"
[These aren't real people or scenarios]
#1
Sarah stumbles out of bed. Sometimes "sleeping on it" doesn't make any difference at all. Her thoughts are just as scrambled as the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Times of clarity and peace of mind are fuzzed in the back of her brain. But Sarah couldn't care less about her mind's inner workings right now. Her heart hurts. She knows she has truths to sort out in her mind, and she will get to this task. All in due time. Right now, she doesn't think. She feels.
Sarah steps into her first class of the day. She inhales deeply and exhales gradually as she searches for an open seat. She finds one in the back, and sits down. For the next 50 minutes, she lets the professor's hollow words float over her tangled hair. Sarah's not really there. Flurries of feelings furrow her brow, weigh down on her chest, melt her into the dirty floor.
As if cotton is being pulled out of her ears, Sarah slowly re-enters reality. "Alright, that's it for today," her professor rambles. As the rest of the students jump like jack-rabbits out of their seats, Sarah slowly makes her way to the door.
"Oh hey, Sarah! How are you?" It's a familiar face, one from a study group last semester.
"Good. How are you?" Sarah's lip quivers for a second, but the familiar face doesn't see.
"I'm great. Gotta get to class. See ya!"
And they go on with life.
----------------------------------------------------------
#2
Steven struggles to smile. It's picture day. All the other first graders seem to be enjoying themselves. They flirt innocently, tease playfully, converse meaninglessly. They are carefree and content; they are currently oblivious to the evils and misfortunes which life will later present them. Steven recalls times that he felt as blissfully oblivious and carefree as his peers did. He yearns for regression; he wishes he knew less about the world than he now does. Unfortunately, this option is unavailable.
Steven wonders how it is at home for the other kids. He wonders if the walls are as thin at their houses. He wonders if their moms patiently endure as their dads yell and yell and yell. He wonders if the other kids can see the secret tears that mom lets fall when she thinks no one is looking. He wonders if the other kids can tell that mom and dad are only pretending to be happy for them when they do family things together. Like when they go to Denny's and all they talk about is how the weather's getting colder and "We really do need to buy you a new jacket, Stevie" and how dad's missing his game on TV and then a whisper about how dad needs to be more involved in his son's life and "That's great that you got an A on your spelling test, honey" and then more whispered angry arguing.
Steven wonders if the other kids' parents are still together. Or if, the morning of picture day, their moms slicked their hair for them, gave them a crooked smile, said "I love you, baby," and tried to conceal her tears as she walked away, towards a big stack of papers on the kitchen table. Steven wonders if the other kids asked their moms what the papers meant, and if she said that the papers meant she and dad wouldn't be she and dad anymore.
"Hey! It's your turn, kid. Kid!" An impatient photographer's yell brings Steven back to here and now.
Steven takes a seat on the stone-hard stool and positions himself to be photographed.
The photographer comes close to adjust his chin's angle.
"How are you?" The photographer feels obligated to ask.
"Good." Steven's little lips manage to mutter this one lonely word.
"Great. Smile!"
FLASH.
And they go on with life.
----------------------------------------------------------
#3
Sadie shops for groceries. It's a normal thing to do. So why does it feel so strange and inconceivably inappropriate now? It's been 6 weeks. Jacob's dead Jacob's dead Jacob's dead. She has come to accept that. She should be able to live life like a normal human being now. Shouldn't she?
She can't think about this. Not here, not now. She realizes her hand has gone numb from extended contact with a bag of frozen vegetables; her fingers refuse to loosen their grip. When did she pick those up? How long has she been holding them? These questions float in and out of her mind as she tries to focus on the task at hand: buying her groceries.
All she came for was eggs, milk, and peaches. Eggs milk peaches eggs milk peaches eggs milk peaches. Focus. She replays the mantra in her head: eggsmilkpeacheseggsmilkpeaches...She nearly succeeds in numbing her mind when a woman in her late 60's approaches her.
"I'm so sorry to bug you dear, but I can't reach that loaf of bread for the life of me. Can you help me out?"
"Yeah sure." Sadie places the bread in the elderly woman's cart.
"How are you today?" The woman seems sincere enough, but Sadie doesn't want to be honest right now.
"Good. You?" Sadie says these simple words with a feigned smile and empty eyes.
The woman looks at Sadie's eyes tenderly.
"How are you?" The woman persists.
Sadie looks back at her with eyes full of pain and gratitude.
A single tear drop falls.
[These aren't real people or scenarios]
#1
Sarah stumbles out of bed. Sometimes "sleeping on it" doesn't make any difference at all. Her thoughts are just as scrambled as the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Times of clarity and peace of mind are fuzzed in the back of her brain. But Sarah couldn't care less about her mind's inner workings right now. Her heart hurts. She knows she has truths to sort out in her mind, and she will get to this task. All in due time. Right now, she doesn't think. She feels.
Sarah steps into her first class of the day. She inhales deeply and exhales gradually as she searches for an open seat. She finds one in the back, and sits down. For the next 50 minutes, she lets the professor's hollow words float over her tangled hair. Sarah's not really there. Flurries of feelings furrow her brow, weigh down on her chest, melt her into the dirty floor.
As if cotton is being pulled out of her ears, Sarah slowly re-enters reality. "Alright, that's it for today," her professor rambles. As the rest of the students jump like jack-rabbits out of their seats, Sarah slowly makes her way to the door.
"Oh hey, Sarah! How are you?" It's a familiar face, one from a study group last semester.
"Good. How are you?" Sarah's lip quivers for a second, but the familiar face doesn't see.
"I'm great. Gotta get to class. See ya!"
And they go on with life.
----------------------------------------------------------
#2
Steven struggles to smile. It's picture day. All the other first graders seem to be enjoying themselves. They flirt innocently, tease playfully, converse meaninglessly. They are carefree and content; they are currently oblivious to the evils and misfortunes which life will later present them. Steven recalls times that he felt as blissfully oblivious and carefree as his peers did. He yearns for regression; he wishes he knew less about the world than he now does. Unfortunately, this option is unavailable.
Steven wonders how it is at home for the other kids. He wonders if the walls are as thin at their houses. He wonders if their moms patiently endure as their dads yell and yell and yell. He wonders if the other kids can see the secret tears that mom lets fall when she thinks no one is looking. He wonders if the other kids can tell that mom and dad are only pretending to be happy for them when they do family things together. Like when they go to Denny's and all they talk about is how the weather's getting colder and "We really do need to buy you a new jacket, Stevie" and how dad's missing his game on TV and then a whisper about how dad needs to be more involved in his son's life and "That's great that you got an A on your spelling test, honey" and then more whispered angry arguing.
Steven wonders if the other kids' parents are still together. Or if, the morning of picture day, their moms slicked their hair for them, gave them a crooked smile, said "I love you, baby," and tried to conceal her tears as she walked away, towards a big stack of papers on the kitchen table. Steven wonders if the other kids asked their moms what the papers meant, and if she said that the papers meant she and dad wouldn't be she and dad anymore.
"Hey! It's your turn, kid. Kid!" An impatient photographer's yell brings Steven back to here and now.
Steven takes a seat on the stone-hard stool and positions himself to be photographed.
The photographer comes close to adjust his chin's angle.
"How are you?" The photographer feels obligated to ask.
"Good." Steven's little lips manage to mutter this one lonely word.
"Great. Smile!"
FLASH.
And they go on with life.
----------------------------------------------------------
#3
Sadie shops for groceries. It's a normal thing to do. So why does it feel so strange and inconceivably inappropriate now? It's been 6 weeks. Jacob's dead Jacob's dead Jacob's dead. She has come to accept that. She should be able to live life like a normal human being now. Shouldn't she?
She can't think about this. Not here, not now. She realizes her hand has gone numb from extended contact with a bag of frozen vegetables; her fingers refuse to loosen their grip. When did she pick those up? How long has she been holding them? These questions float in and out of her mind as she tries to focus on the task at hand: buying her groceries.
All she came for was eggs, milk, and peaches. Eggs milk peaches eggs milk peaches eggs milk peaches. Focus. She replays the mantra in her head: eggsmilkpeacheseggsmilkpeaches...She nearly succeeds in numbing her mind when a woman in her late 60's approaches her.
"I'm so sorry to bug you dear, but I can't reach that loaf of bread for the life of me. Can you help me out?"
"Yeah sure." Sadie places the bread in the elderly woman's cart.
"How are you today?" The woman seems sincere enough, but Sadie doesn't want to be honest right now.
"Good. You?" Sadie says these simple words with a feigned smile and empty eyes.
The woman looks at Sadie's eyes tenderly.
"How are you?" The woman persists.
Sadie looks back at her with eyes full of pain and gratitude.
A single tear drop falls.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
A Walk Down Memory Lane (Cheesy sentimental title? Check.)
A few days ago I took the time to read through tons of old letters and notes. It was definitely a whirlwind of memories. I'll share with you some of my favorite one-liners and quotes. These quotes will likely be a healthy combination of sentimental and silly. Here we go.
-A purple construction paper note I once found on my bed freshman year:
"Kristina...I love your face. But...he is all mine! I saw him first! (Jk, you can have him, he was probably drunk.)" <3 always, Kiffyn
-A note left on my bed after my Uncle Tony & Aunt Jessy stayed in my room once:
"It was really fun to see you- good luck with the rest of the school year. I don't even know if you like this candy, but next time you see me just pretend you did and I'll be happy." -Tony
-"If I could offer you some advice from my college days...Put studying before girls. I mean boys."
-Zach Cipriano
-"Life with the opposite gender is like what you described. You can always get what you don't want and have to work hard for what you do want."
-Cody Hansen
-A letter from Chantal Hopper listing things she loves about me:
#9: She's as sweet as candy! (even though she doesn't eat it)
#13: She will most likely appreciate this scratch and sniff sticker...
#15: Her addiction to water makes her pee clear
#17: She likes skulls "in moderation"
#34: She's kind of like a white Asian
-"I decided not to write expletives all over your locker. You are so lucky."
-Josh Osborne
-"There might be people that upset you, but if you just love them, then it doesn't matter."
-Ben Dyas
-"I'm sure you will have music in your future home. Someday you will rock a tiny infant in your arms and sing it to sleep and be filled with so much joy."
-Molly Rowan
-"Though I know I have limitations and weaknesses as a mom and teacher, I hope my testimony comes through."
-My mom, Eva Smith---note to you, mom: Your testimony DOES come through by the way you live your life. Thank you :)
-"Thank you for being my mentor, peace of mind, long lost sister, walking dictionary, and most importantly-- my best friend."
-Sierra Schaefer
-"I'd just like to say, although I publicly proclaimed it, that I am NOT a flaming homo!"
-Daniel Squires
-"Every day you walk out of your room, I immediately regret the outfit I put on."
-Bridget Funk
-But the funny part is that you have it totally backwards, Bridget.
-The last birthday card that Juliana Duran made me:
"I hope you like the cover because it took a lot of ink...I was going to put your head &the guy from August Rush's head on top of pictures of people like you did for my card, but I figured you would show it to your mom and soil my good name in the Smith household."
- "Dear Kristina, Thanks for the sweet, groovy, awesome, killer, cool, terrific, spectacular, mind-boggling, stellar, great, super birthday card. Thanks for taking your time to make me a special card. I love you.
Love, Spencer"
-The tiniest note made out of a philosophy bbq handout from class:
"Dear Krishna, Wow! Thanks for the barbeque! It made my bday awesome!
I ALL the love you!
<3 Kitten"
^That's Taj :)
-A few excerpts from a letter from Grammy (Grandma Smith) :
-"Remember when we danced and twirled on the front lawn in the wind to dry our freshly polished finger nails?"
-"One fall when the family was gathered at our home, I overheard a little conversation between you and Jason:
Kristina: 'How ode ahh you?'
Jason: 'I'm foe.'
Kristina: 'I'm foe, too!'"
-"Once when you were a little older, you told your mother you needed to spend more 'quality time' with Grammy. I was very flattered."
-"Understanding the Atonement of Christ will probably take a lifetime, but I can testify that believing in Him and trying to live like He did helped me find peace and happiness. As a little reminder I got you this little statue of Christ. No...it is not for your dashboard."
-Kim Romero-- Thank you so so much, Kim. I still keep that little statue on my desk today. Not only does it remind me of Christ, but it reminds me of you and all the valuable things you taught me as my YW leader and my friend. I love you!
-A purple construction paper note I once found on my bed freshman year:
"Kristina...I love your face. But...he is all mine! I saw him first! (Jk, you can have him, he was probably drunk.)" <3 always, Kiffyn
-A note left on my bed after my Uncle Tony & Aunt Jessy stayed in my room once:
"It was really fun to see you- good luck with the rest of the school year. I don't even know if you like this candy, but next time you see me just pretend you did and I'll be happy." -Tony
-"If I could offer you some advice from my college days...Put studying before girls. I mean boys."
-Zach Cipriano
-"Life with the opposite gender is like what you described. You can always get what you don't want and have to work hard for what you do want."
-Cody Hansen
-A letter from Chantal Hopper listing things she loves about me:
#9: She's as sweet as candy! (even though she doesn't eat it)
#13: She will most likely appreciate this scratch and sniff sticker...
#15: Her addiction to water makes her pee clear
#17: She likes skulls "in moderation"
#34: She's kind of like a white Asian
-"I decided not to write expletives all over your locker. You are so lucky."
-Josh Osborne
-"There might be people that upset you, but if you just love them, then it doesn't matter."
-Ben Dyas
-"I'm sure you will have music in your future home. Someday you will rock a tiny infant in your arms and sing it to sleep and be filled with so much joy."
-Molly Rowan
-"Though I know I have limitations and weaknesses as a mom and teacher, I hope my testimony comes through."
-My mom, Eva Smith---note to you, mom: Your testimony DOES come through by the way you live your life. Thank you :)
-"Thank you for being my mentor, peace of mind, long lost sister, walking dictionary, and most importantly-- my best friend."
-Sierra Schaefer
-"I'd just like to say, although I publicly proclaimed it, that I am NOT a flaming homo!"
-Daniel Squires
-"Every day you walk out of your room, I immediately regret the outfit I put on."
-Bridget Funk
-But the funny part is that you have it totally backwards, Bridget.
-The last birthday card that Juliana Duran made me:
"I hope you like the cover because it took a lot of ink...I was going to put your head &the guy from August Rush's head on top of pictures of people like you did for my card, but I figured you would show it to your mom and soil my good name in the Smith household."
- "Dear Kristina, Thanks for the sweet, groovy, awesome, killer, cool, terrific, spectacular, mind-boggling, stellar, great, super birthday card. Thanks for taking your time to make me a special card. I love you.
Love, Spencer"
-The tiniest note made out of a philosophy bbq handout from class:
"Dear Krishna, Wow! Thanks for the barbeque! It made my bday awesome!
I ALL the love you!
<3 Kitten"
^That's Taj :)
-A few excerpts from a letter from Grammy (Grandma Smith) :
-"Remember when we danced and twirled on the front lawn in the wind to dry our freshly polished finger nails?"
-"One fall when the family was gathered at our home, I overheard a little conversation between you and Jason:
Kristina: 'How ode ahh you?'
Jason: 'I'm foe.'
Kristina: 'I'm foe, too!'"
-"Once when you were a little older, you told your mother you needed to spend more 'quality time' with Grammy. I was very flattered."
-"Understanding the Atonement of Christ will probably take a lifetime, but I can testify that believing in Him and trying to live like He did helped me find peace and happiness. As a little reminder I got you this little statue of Christ. No...it is not for your dashboard."
-Kim Romero-- Thank you so so much, Kim. I still keep that little statue on my desk today. Not only does it remind me of Christ, but it reminds me of you and all the valuable things you taught me as my YW leader and my friend. I love you!
Friday, October 5, 2012
Hot Cocoa and Zombies
What is it like to be Roger Cook? What does his life entail beyond teaching Philosophy of Religion? I cannot imagine Professor Cook speaking or thinking any differently than he does in class. I cannot imagine him ever recklessly abandoning the logic, the inquisitiveness, the formality which dictate his behavior whenever I see him. If you look up the word "scholarly" in the dictionary, I assure you his picture will be there. How could he ever act differently?
When his wife makes a yummy breakfast, how does he compliment it? "Thank you dear, that was a stunning meal. Simply exquisite."
What about when his kids were young, and they begged him for sugar-saturated cereal at the store?
When his wife makes a yummy breakfast, how does he compliment it? "Thank you dear, that was a stunning meal. Simply exquisite."
What about when his kids were young, and they begged him for sugar-saturated cereal at the store?
Child: "I want it Dad, I want it!!"
Professor Cook: "Now, children, you must forward a more compelling argument which consists of more than the fact that you want it. What is the true meaning of want anyway?"
How does he get his kicks? I already know that he gets giddy from reading dense philosophical and religious texts; he annotates them until the pages thin from the impact of his excited pen. But what else is he passionate about? What else gets his adrenaline going? Perhaps a perfectly golden slice of toast. He was comparing a philosophical principle to a toaster today after all. Or perhaps he enjoys hot cocoa by the fire, accompanied by some light reading- Moby Dick or the Encyclopedia.
Or, maybe he spends his free time on XBOX-Live, slaughtering zombies while downing energy drinks and listening to Lil Wayne's most explicit hit singles. I will never know.
Professor Cook: "Now, children, you must forward a more compelling argument which consists of more than the fact that you want it. What is the true meaning of want anyway?"
How does he get his kicks? I already know that he gets giddy from reading dense philosophical and religious texts; he annotates them until the pages thin from the impact of his excited pen. But what else is he passionate about? What else gets his adrenaline going? Perhaps a perfectly golden slice of toast. He was comparing a philosophical principle to a toaster today after all. Or perhaps he enjoys hot cocoa by the fire, accompanied by some light reading- Moby Dick or the Encyclopedia.
Or, maybe he spends his free time on XBOX-Live, slaughtering zombies while downing energy drinks and listening to Lil Wayne's most explicit hit singles. I will never know.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Be a Filter, Not a Sponge
Hello, world.
So blogging is one of those things I swore I would never do. Along with joining Pinterest, talking to my parents about my love life, and befriending people who like things like Justin Bieber and Jersey Shore. But I've done all those things now, so I figured I could give blogging a try.
My main reason for starting this blog is to organize my thoughts. I LOVE WRITING. I always have. It's therapeutic. I have come to realize that it is the most thorough and productive way for me to sift through my thoughts and discover little golden nuggets of truth. I love it.
For my first post, I thought I'd share one of my favorite quotes ever. It's from the book "The Perks of Being a Wallflower." Here it is:
"Be a filter, not a sponge."
In this book, the main character is named Charlie. This quote is advice given to Charlie from a phenomenal teacher. The teacher specifically intends for Charlie to utilize this advice when reading books. I firmly believe that this advice applies to books we read, along with everything else we're exposed to; this including opinions of human beings we respect.
It is so important to develop a way to sense what actually resonates with you, as opposed to instances when something simply shocks you into thinking you believe it.
Authors of novels are such interesting and insightful people. I love reading books and gleaning pieces of wisdom that the authors have nestled within the pages. I always write down quotes as I go, and I try to apply those things which resonate most with me to my daily life. However, there have definitely been instances when I have read something, been floored by its peculiarity, and taken it for life doctrine simply because the idea was so original and captivating. Just because something shocks you and alters your perspective doesn't mean that it is truth.
In regards to written stimuli, the main point is that I've learned I cannot simply soak up everything I read and let it all affect me equally. I'm all for being exposed to as many aspects of life as I possibly can and letting everything I do in life influence me and shape who I am; however, letting something shape who you are doesn't necessarily equate to including it in your worldview. Letting something shape who you are often means that you're exposed to something, it shocks you, and you decide to reject it and move on.
I believe this also applies to the opinions of people you interact with. Often, a conflict of interest arises when someone I have a lot of respect for forwards an opinion with which I blatantly disagree. I'm not saying I'm more right, or they're more right; that's not the point. The point is that people possess opinions, and just because you revere someone as a person doesn't mean you need to mirror their views of what is truth and what is not. Don't passively let people change you. Be a filter, not a sponge.
Picture a water filter. I'm obsessed with those things.
The unfiltered water is everything you're exposed to. The filtered water is the things that you let affect and change you. The filter is the important part. Here you choose what you let change you. It might seem tedious to refine your filter, because it often takes a lifetime to fully develop. However, I believe it's something worth working on. Realize what things resonate with you, and what things don't. Life is so much more fulfilling when you realize how in control you are of who you become. So do it! Be a filter, not a sponge.
So blogging is one of those things I swore I would never do. Along with joining Pinterest, talking to my parents about my love life, and befriending people who like things like Justin Bieber and Jersey Shore. But I've done all those things now, so I figured I could give blogging a try.
My main reason for starting this blog is to organize my thoughts. I LOVE WRITING. I always have. It's therapeutic. I have come to realize that it is the most thorough and productive way for me to sift through my thoughts and discover little golden nuggets of truth. I love it.
For my first post, I thought I'd share one of my favorite quotes ever. It's from the book "The Perks of Being a Wallflower." Here it is:
"Be a filter, not a sponge."
In this book, the main character is named Charlie. This quote is advice given to Charlie from a phenomenal teacher. The teacher specifically intends for Charlie to utilize this advice when reading books. I firmly believe that this advice applies to books we read, along with everything else we're exposed to; this including opinions of human beings we respect.
It is so important to develop a way to sense what actually resonates with you, as opposed to instances when something simply shocks you into thinking you believe it.
Authors of novels are such interesting and insightful people. I love reading books and gleaning pieces of wisdom that the authors have nestled within the pages. I always write down quotes as I go, and I try to apply those things which resonate most with me to my daily life. However, there have definitely been instances when I have read something, been floored by its peculiarity, and taken it for life doctrine simply because the idea was so original and captivating. Just because something shocks you and alters your perspective doesn't mean that it is truth.
In regards to written stimuli, the main point is that I've learned I cannot simply soak up everything I read and let it all affect me equally. I'm all for being exposed to as many aspects of life as I possibly can and letting everything I do in life influence me and shape who I am; however, letting something shape who you are doesn't necessarily equate to including it in your worldview. Letting something shape who you are often means that you're exposed to something, it shocks you, and you decide to reject it and move on.
I believe this also applies to the opinions of people you interact with. Often, a conflict of interest arises when someone I have a lot of respect for forwards an opinion with which I blatantly disagree. I'm not saying I'm more right, or they're more right; that's not the point. The point is that people possess opinions, and just because you revere someone as a person doesn't mean you need to mirror their views of what is truth and what is not. Don't passively let people change you. Be a filter, not a sponge.
Picture a water filter. I'm obsessed with those things.
The unfiltered water is everything you're exposed to. The filtered water is the things that you let affect and change you. The filter is the important part. Here you choose what you let change you. It might seem tedious to refine your filter, because it often takes a lifetime to fully develop. However, I believe it's something worth working on. Realize what things resonate with you, and what things don't. Life is so much more fulfilling when you realize how in control you are of who you become. So do it! Be a filter, not a sponge.
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