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Sunday, April 3, 2016

This I Believe #11

Same as last week, please post your essay here before class on Tuesday. Please also remember to bring a printed copy of your essay to class and be prepared to read it aloud.

18 comments:

  1. I live two buildings away from my grandma. Tonight my roommate and I went to her apartment for cake. I worked on a puzzle while my grandma told us where the inspiration for all of her children’s names came from.

    My mother, Kathy, not Katherine, was named for a soap opera character played over the radio. Young and the Restless is a constant in her life. It is comforting to know that she has always took solace in soap operas.

    Clayton was named for the Lone Ranger, and because my grandpa’s brother said that no one in those parts had that name. But I think more emphasis was placed on the whole Lone Ranger thing.

    Mark Edward was given two family names. Again, through the assistance of grandpa’s brothers. She took their suggestions seriously, wanting to honor their involvement.

    Bill was named for the bible, seen in his middle name, Matthew, a companion piece to his brother, Mark. Uncle Ansel, the self proclaimed, “International Killer” of WWII, helped in the picking of William.

    She had liked the name Lori long before Lori was born. Lori Lynn was almost a Loretta, but my grandma’s mother-in-law and sister both already shared that name. My grandma has met several Lori Lynns in her life since then but she found the name on her own long before that happened.

    My sisters, Tannis and Chance, have names so much different from mine and my brother’s (Ben and Katie). I wonder what went into the two different sets- why they are so drastically different. I don’t think I believe in my name or anything. I’ve never cared for it much, but knowing the care, the circumstance that went into my grandma choosing a name for each of her five children makes me feel sort of more tender than I have before for the concept of picking a name. Perhaps there is more to my name than I give it credit for.

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  2. In my backyard lies a snake: sunning itself on the warmed shell of an unglazed ceramic turtle nestled amongst large Hostas. In my front yard lies a half-finished poster from a lemonade stand: tossed to the ground between decorative grass lining the sidewalk and a driveway defined by an irregular transition from blacktop to cracked mud, and cracked mud to grass filled with broad-leaf weeds. Children run back and forth between the two: trying to capture a customer by barking “buy some lemonade right now, you are thirsty” at an ear-splitting volume while also keeping track of the “16 foot-long snake” sticking its tongue out upon command of the vampire who lives beneath the back porch.

    Conveniently for our neighbor girls the vampire’s name is “The Devil” and they both believe they can conjure him to do their bidding: they cast curses upon my children so the vampire bids the snakes to bite them each time they come into the back yard.

    My son has learned many times that these girls—blessed with a garage converted into an unmonitored playhouse complete with a fridge-full of generic soda and ice-cream sandwiches—are as trustworthy and honest as they are thin. My daughter is more concerned about their two kittens attacking than she is about the web of lies they spin to capture her: as spiders wrap a bug for storage and future consumption.

    Spiders vanish as the wind changes direction: their sticky webs pulsate and fade toward stillness. My children moan about cleaning the yard and collapsing their lemonade stand, a dream never realized. We sit on the porch, drinking, as the rain rolls in. I believe in lemonade.

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  3. As you are hopefully aware, I am a girl. Girls have to comply with the patriarchy and follow every ridiculous rule that the man has imposed; such as change their last name when they get married, wear skirts, wear bras, cook, raise the children, blah, blah, blah. Some of these things are changing, thankfully, and now we are able to work outside the house and be independent. However, there are some issues I still have with this patriarchal society: pockets. Today’s jeans have pockets the size of my pinky—and it gets worse when you try to get stylish jeans—, skirts don’t have pockets, and dresses don’t have pockets. When you find a piece of clothing with such amenities, it feels like you just won the lottery, because rarely anything. Has. Pockets.

    I believe in sticking money into bras. This really sounds like being at a strip club, but no: neatly folding your dollar bills and placing them nicely between your skin and the fabric is a habit that a lot of Panamanian women have. I don’t particularly have it, because money is gross, but I smile every time a lady whacks out a five and softly slams it on the counter at the convenience store. Finding a purse that can hold only the necessary is rare and with the lack of pockets in the women’s clothing industry, brassieres are apparently our only hope.

    Back in high school, our Panamanian Folk Dance club would have a huge performance at the end of the year—my senior year would be the time when our choreographer decided to also put on a short drama to open the show. There would be some ladies gossiping about the neighborhood cutie, an old man selling mangoes, drunk people enjoying their lives; it was basically a party. Everyone was dressed in old-fashioned, traditional Panamanian dresses. The boys wore “Pinta’o” hats, “cutarras” (leather sandals), and chácaras (basically mini-man purses made or string); meanwhile, us girls wore long, flowy skirts and “tembleques” (hair ornaments that tremble when you move). Guess what: out skirts didn’t have pockets! How do you carry money for the mango man if you don’t have where to put it? My friends and I stuffed our fake dollar bills into our bras and carried on with the show until we found our mango guy. My friend Isabella was the first to pull out her dollar to buy tasty, fake, plastic mangoes. The crowd burst out laughing at the sight of such common, but unspoken thing. One by one we handed the boob money to our classmate and soon the opening theatre act would be over.

    Ever since then, my friends and I would joke around; putting money in our bras and dramatically pulling it out when we went to the school kiosk. We didn’t have pockets, but hey at least we had our breasts, I guess. I would like to say I believe in pockets, but seeing that those things are still to be developed some more, I’ll stick to believing in stuffing money into bras.

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  4. Has anyone ever wondered, “Why do we drink water?” Honestly it is such a strange concept that we rely on water to keep our bodies alive. As an exercise science major I can tell you our bodies are made up of mainly water so we obviously are drinking water to replace the fluids that we lose with daily functioning, a large amount just through sweat alone. However it is still such a strange concept to me that however many years ago a scientist decided that if we did not drink water our bodies would not be able to function properly.

    As a very health conscious human I will tell you this strange idea of drinking water is very important. It has been a long time since I drank soda on a daily basis. However in my high school days I could not make it through a shift at my family restaurant without a Dr. Pepper. After deciding to quit drinking soda I went through slight caffeine and sugar withdrawals. Everyone’s bodies are different. Personally if I went back to drinking a soda every day and not much water I would barely make it through a day. However there are many people who live off of 3 or more mountain dews a day and maybe one bottle of water- and they feel just fine. That is what makes me question this idea of why water was determined as the main fluid for humans to survive if many individuals are able to function off soda as their main drink. While this thought was very random and off the wall, you could say I am a lover of water and I believe in the importance of water to survive.

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  5. I believe in blocking shots in a basketball game. I like to play basketball with a group of people. Basketball is one of my favourite sports. I practiced a lot and watched a lot of basketball almost everyday. I am able to do a lot of moves, to dribble, to shoot, to do some cross overs, to do lay ups and to play defense.
    I like to play defense all the time in a basketball. I always look for a chance to block other people’s shoots. Every time when I block a shoot, I feel so excited. There is nothing feels better than blocking a shoot in a basketball game. It’s a feeling that only people who plays a lot of basketball will know. Last week, when I was playing basketball with my roommate and some other friends. I was doing pretty bad in the basketball game, I missed a lot of shoots and did not score at all. In the middle of the game, my roommate thought he crossed me over and passed me. He was trying to make a lay up. However, I blocked his shoot from the back and hit the ball far away from the basket. Everyone on the court got so excited with that block, and they starting to cheer for me. I feel so confidence and strong after that block. It feels like I am a different person.
    People started to pass the ball to me more often. I became a scoring machine after that block. I feel that I am so strong, I can do anything in the game. I had my second block in the end of the game. The biggest guy in the game was trying to make a lay up in the game. He passed one of my teammate, when he almost put the ball in the basket, I jumped and block him. I was waiting for this moment. It was a great block.
    I believe in blocking people in the basketball game.

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  6. I remember always smiling when Jerry was around. That’s probably because of his bizarre sense of humor and lack of a filter. The guy would say some stuff that was so far out there, we never even knew what he was talking about, but we’d laugh and play along. He always kept things interesting for us, and he had this crazy enthusiasm for everything that was so contagious. I remember one Summer we were housesitting for my aunt and uncle for a week, so we would all hang out there and goof off all day. Jerry was a staple of the crew. We were playing Frisbee in the front yard and somebody launched the thing way up on the roof of the house. We quit playing and forgot about it, but early the next morning I got up to see Jerry watching the sun rise on the front porch holding the Frisbee in his lap. Then he turned around and gave me this funny smile.
    I’ve never met anyone like Jerry before in my life. Now that he’s gone I’m pretty sure I never will. I didn’t always treat Jerry nicely. The last thing I said to him was that I didn’t want to come out to his field party, even though he begged and pleaded with me earlier that day. I was just too tired. He was upset but I figured he would get over it. The next day when I woke up I learned that he died. He was crushed when the tractor he was riding flipped over a hill.
    Jerry always supported my artistic endeavors, and told me I would be famous some day. I don’t really think that’s true, but I think of Jerry every time I pick up a pen. I think about him every single day, and the ache of his absence never really seems to go away, but it serves as a reminder to me to cherish my friends, and to never take them for granted. I believe in the life of Jared Arlinghaus.

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  7. I live on the first floor of my building. My window is facing what used to be back circle and people are always walking by--whether they are on the way to class or just walking to or from the next place on their schedule. It’s good for people watching, but I can never keep my blinds open. Unless I want the whole campus to be able to see every detail inside of my room. When it comes to choosing where I live, the amount of windows a building has is very important to me. Had I realized we would be living in a dark, dimly lit room in which we couldn’t open the windows, I probably would have begged my roommate to let us live somewhere else. But, being the people pleaser I am, I blindly agreed to live anywhere (just to clarify, I love my roommate and this is nothing against her). Sunlight, even through glass, has many benefits. It kills bacteria in the room, aligns your circadian rhythm, and even helps your mood! My house in Alabama has windows everywhere. I guess I take after my parents in that I LOVE natural lighting. From what I can remember, our house has 16 windows just on the first floor--and it’s not like our house is huge...it’s a pretty average size. In the library, I like to study in the stacks because, if you sit on the right side, you are right next to big windows with sunlight streaming in. Third Street Stuff is great, especially if you go in early, because you can sit in the window and study as the sun rises and shines in. Sunlight makes me more effective and a happier person in general and, because of this, I believe in windows that let in sunlight.

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  8. I believe in slow days. I very rarely get sick, but I woke up yesterday feeling off. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, so I took some cold medicine and went to ceramics. By lifetime, by lungs hurt to breathe, and I found out we were retesting our 1.5 mile speed. For some reason unknown to me now, I decided to forge ahead. I cheated a lap, still 2 minutes past my original time, and exhausted. Hannah helped me back to my room and put me to bed before our next class; I couldn’t skip, I’d been gone two days already. I went in a big sweater, still freezing. By the time we finished that class, my bones ached, my head was clouded, and every movement was a task. I managed to get to my car and back to Max’s apartment, and slept through the whole afternoon.

    As I sit here in bed after almost 24 hours of skipping things, hardly moving, and suddenly changing from cold to hot, I believe in slow days. I still feel like shit—it hasn’t been fun; being sick never is. But Max showed up here with Powerade, somehow the only thing I wanted to drink, and watched nature documentaries with me all evening; we watched a giraffe give birth and learned that orangutan males can suddenly get a surge of testosterone, double in size, and become orangutan kings. Max moved close to me when I was cold, away when I was hot, and never for a second acted like he was inconvenienced or grossed out by me, which I appreciated. He just treated me with kindness and understanding, and despite feeling terrible, I had a pretty lovely night. While I wouldn’t recommend catching the flu, I would recommend slowing down, skipping a few things, and spending time doing nothing with someone you care about.

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  9. I believe in hand-me-downs. All my life I have hated shopping. When I was younger my friends would plan all day trips to the mall to get ready for the upcoming school year. I rarely went and if I did it was only for the company. When I outgrew my clothes my mother would take me to the store and drag from one display to another, trying to gauge my opinion. My favorite clothes were always hand-me-downs. They’re soft and worn and sometimes stained but they always felt more right to me. When I was a toddler, my mother stuffed me into one fluffy pink dress after another. For my fourth birthday, she dressed me in a particularly heinous lace concoction and much to her dismay, I went upstairs in the middle of my party and changed into my brother’s old Lion King pajamas. All of the photos of this elaborately planned affair feature a little Elly in her pajamas, happy as can be. Now that nobody really gives me hand-me-downs, I have to face buying my own clothes. Don’t get me wrong, I find great satisfaction in finding just the right pair of jeans or some perfect shoes, but I will never have any affection for the mall. The clothes there are so often overpriced, stiff, and poorly made. I shop at Goodwill, the Salvation Army, antique stores, and consignment shops. The clothes there have history. They tell a story that no top from Abercrombie could ever tell. My prom dress came from an antique store. It was handmade in the 1950’s. Whoever made that dress really loved the person who wore it first. I love making up stories to go along with pieces, it’s my favorite part of shopping. I believe that what you wear should make you feel comfortable, happy, and secure. I find that in pieces that have history. I believe in hand-me-downs.

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  10. I believe in neighbors. To the right of my house lives the Bradley’s. They have lived there as long as we have. There are two daughters that are about the same age as my sister and I. So inevitably we started to play together when we were in play pins. As we grew up our play dates began to change. I can remember playing mountain lion in my backyard and we would run around and jump from play set to play set trying to avoid my lab Gracie, the mountain lion. We were always making up dances and showing our parents. I still can do the dance moves to the Spice Girls song “Stop.” We always were outside, and wanted to spend time with our neighbors. They always had daily chores that needed to be completed before they could play with us, so my sister and I would help. Well sometimes. One time the girls had to pull weeds and plant flowers. My sister and I got our lawn chairs out, put them on our side of the driveway and just watched them work. We all still laugh about that today. Our experiences weren’t always the best. We fought like sisters, because we all basically are. I can remember pushing Cavitt, the youngest down the stairs, or throwing toys at each other. After our fights we would be “grounded” from each other for about a week and then we would make up real quick and get back to playing. Another favorite memory of mine is getting upset with Cavitt and taking the best friend necklace I got her and I and throwing it out of her window. I left right after that, and as I walked home I picked up my necklace because obviously I still wanted it. The funny part is that Cavitt saw me, and the next time we saw each other and made up she made fun of me for it. We went from playing, to selling lemonade, to cops and robbers, to spending hours on AIM together, to walking downtown for food, to playing Rock band, and now chilling on the couch watching Netflix. Our friendship got to the point where I just walk in their house instead of knocking. I know that if I call them asking what they are having for dinner, they will invite me. We don’t see each other much anymore because of college and being in different towns, but when we come home on breaks and see each other, it is like nothing has changed. Devon and Cavitt are more than just neighbor/friends, they are like sisters to me, and hopefully neither one of us moves away from Elm Street.

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  11. It’s not the smell of salt water, waves ebbing and flowing in a rhythm as predictable as the sun’s rising. When we arrive, I inhale summer. “I no longer notice it,” Patricia responds. A Floridian native, she is accustomed to the ocean’s fragrance.

    It’s not the smell of rain about to water a small grove of mothers’ tongues and the turtles that find shade near it. I am told it rains most afternoons in the summer. Ours is unusual weather for spring time. Beach combers thread the green waves as small drops of wetness settle upon us us.

    It’s not the whiff of heated sand or the perfume of pearl shells. Shark teeth have no smell either. Conch shells transmit ocean sounds, but they don’t emit odor. I collect them for how they feel against my cool palm.

    It’s not the fragrance of coffee sipped under early-morning sunshine, the sun still not hot enough to require lotion. Or so I tell myself. I sit on the wooden deck which was added to the house 10 years ago, small lizards playing hide-and-seek between its trellises.

    Iguanas have no smell. If they do, I am never near enough to catch it or even get a glimpse of them. I am told they look like 2-foot long lizards, diminutive versions of dinosaurs. I wonder what dinosaurs smelled like.

    It’s the scent of the liquid hand soap in the small bathroom, one half of my beach home. It infuses my Florida days and nights: cucumber-and-thyme contained in plastic. “Instant hand cleansing and lubrication,” the label reads. Cucumber and thyme: the smell of Florida for me.

    I believe in smells.


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  12. Apparently computers hate me today.... Finally am able to get this posted!

    The smell of the ocean, the sounds of birds, the feeling of a horse underneath, the taste of fresh air from a recent rain, and the sight of the beautiful mountains are all things with which God has blessed us. The senses are such a key in nature, and the serenity that results is only an added blessing of a factor.

    I feel that nature can tell us a lot about not only our existence, but also who we are as a person. The calming effect of being outside and with nature takes away pain, provides insight into the mind, levels emotions, and allows the soul to reset itself. I hate how society has gone to rely so much on technology, but it is still necessary in order to fall into any of the niches available. Any moment to escape, though, is beyond rewarding.

    Being able to take a hike alone and sit and think, looking at the beauty of God’s creation, is incomprehensible. I cannot remember how many times I have gone outside to sit on the gazebo with my dog, just to get away and look at the stars. I try to refrain from staying in and watching TV and becoming a prisoner to my own house. Nature is so beautiful and reviving, so why waste such a short life being cooped up?

    Animals are a fantastic to watch and have for company. They listen, and enjoy being in the natural environment, just as I do. I think this is part of why I love being at the barn so much and going riding on the trails and across creeks. I am able to become one with an animal and enjoy the world as it was meant to be rather than how man has made it.

    I hate how the industries and cities have polluted our world. The excessive waste from households, especially in the United States, is insane, and the cares of those who are alive today are almost nonexistent. What about our children and grandchildren? Will they even have nature to look at and turn to for comfort? We, as a society, really need to think about that.

    Nature has so much to offer. We are constantly finding new organisms and new discoveries of ways we can use plants and animals for medications and treatments. It provides therapy for the mind and emotional basis. It provides a place to live. It provides the air we breathe. We should really treat it and appreciate it much more than we do. I believe in nature. I believe we should not be taking advantage of it in a negative fashion, but rather take advantage of it as it was meant to be.

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  13. I believe in Bacteria (Alt. title:Guess who is sick?)
    The human eye, efficient of a sensory system as it can be, is not up to snuff for the true vision of the world. We can see our friends, the sky, the insects, and dogs but we seem to forget but our best friend and worst enemy at the same time: Bacteria. They are the cheesemakers, the beer fermentators, and also what brings pestilence upon humans and other animals. I sing praise for you to keep my body in check but is it really beneficial for some of you all evolutionary to make a human feel like garbage? I mean, I guess having people sneeze and cough allows you to spread and thrive as a living thing but c’mon…. E. coli, why can’t you be like B. animalis and help with intestinal problems instead of causing involuntary diarrhea? And I should not lump you all up as bringers of death and annoying sniffles when most of you all are benign or even beneficial.
    I want to know more about you, bacteria. I can’t see you with my eyes which might be beneficial since you are everywhere but, I can atleast see you through a microscope. I might have spoken as ill about you as how ill I feel right now, you can at least take some pride that you all are actually living unlike your asshole cousin viruses who are essentially zombies in the micro world. I won’t feel as bad about you a week from now when this wretched cold is now but I just had to vent in the most anthropomorphic way. I believe in bacteria

    *P.S. If this is a viral infection and not bacterial, you suck. Get yourself some cells.

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  14. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is tell the truth. Behind all of our actions, behind everything we say, there is always a truth stemming from how we choose to interpret the world. I have often found myself distorting that truth in the things I say, lacking integrity in what I do. Sometimes I can have the “right” beliefs about something, but I’ll find myself in situations where I either suspend that belief, or don’t practice with conviction what I believe. Life has always been a delicate balance between what I think and how I interact with reality.
    Yet, honesty has always stood firmly as something that carries much more stock in hindsight than times when I compromised what I thought. I’m certainly not advocating for any sort of extremist beliefs, those often strive individuals in the wrong way. I think what I’m appreciating is the faithfulness some have to honesty. I greatly admire the way that some people throughout my life have trusted truth to guide them, instead of asserting some sort of certainty when ambiguous situations arise. I believe that tenacity to truth is powerful.
    Truth stems from our essence of the world. The way we interact with it. Our emotions are so powerful that they tend to contrive the truth out of fear of what might happen; when we are infants we let our cry be our truth, our testament to the discomfort we may experience in hope that someone can remedy what we feel. As we age, expressing that level of honesty becomes muddled by all of the attachments experience comes with. I am at a point in my life where I have far more questions than I can possibly produce answers to, but I know that I want to pursue life without fear. I wish to embrace all that life has to offer in the most sincere way possible. Because of this, I have found throughout my life that I believe in honesty.

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  15. Rain falls down hard onto my dirty car window as I pull into one of Transy’s designated ‘General’ parking spots. Baby doesn’t fit in with these cars, even though they are from the mid 2000’s, not like the other rows where the richer kids park their Audi’s. I watch the green field turn to mush as the downpour hits harder and harder. I think of all of those neighborhood cats that seem to roam Lexington and wonder if someone was kind enough to bring them inside.
    It’s not the rain itself that bothers me, it’s the reaction from the streets, where everything is picked up by the streams of water and floats downhill into sewers or forms clots on level streets. I think it’s just that constant motion of ‘down’ that gets to me. Not to mention, that any kind of weather sends Kentuckians into hissy fits.
    To grab an umbrella or not? That is the most pressing question. The walk isn’t long but do I want to fumble for my Crimson card, drenched, while someone lurking in front lobby lets me into Forrer? Do I want that extra human contact? The answer is no, as per usual.
    I open the umbrella, lock the car and get to walking. The umbrella doesn’t keep me dry from the rainfall and that’s okay. My shoes will probably have water in them, my socks are pretty already soaked, but my upper body won’t be.
    Walking illegally across the street towards the Forrer dorm, cars pass by and I realize how easily a vehicle could fly by and hit one of those pockets of water, spraying me from head to toe. The umbrella wouldn’t help; it might cover my face and that’s about it.
    I do the inevitable song-and-dance with the Crimson card, shaking the umbrella outside while someone stares at me from the other glass as I struggle to close the damn thing and swipe my card. The door unlocks and I drag myself to my room (which, thankfully, isn’t far from the entrance). I set my shoes outside of my door and the umbrella and get ready to shower.
    I believe that umbrellas won’t prevent you from getting wet. They’re one of those inventions that makes you feel better but doesn’t help all that much. And like rain, I do believe that the overwhelming aspects of life will always come down. You can choose whether to believe in the umbrella or not.

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  16. I believe in structuring structures predisposed to structure as structures. It’s the idea that the majority of what we do is predominantly pre determined by structures that we have created. Ones that will ultimately construct us, it’s a scary thing to think about, but supposedly a lot of anthropologists and theorists believe it to be relatively true. Pierre Bourdieu, just some dude who talks with such inaccessible language that it is more of a puzzle that something you can really learn off of. But today I was structuring up some ideas during and a little after one of classes, trying to organize my thoughts. It was nice, warming and calming knowing I had a few ideas despite sometimes suffering from self-doubt. Then I thought about my ideas and how predetermined I was to have them. Sure they’re interesting but they are determined by me, an agent, but my ideas and my way of making since of the world is very non agentic. As in we make sense of the world through a lens predetermined by our wealth, race, social status and general experiences etc. It was calming and frustrating. But then I remembered that I’m an agent in the most powerful nation in the world!! one where the college degree I’m getting makes me more powerful than the vast majority of humans. I’d like to use that power for good, but I’m contemplating if my disposition at its current state doesn’t allow me to, or that my knowledge, where I was raised already has predetermined what I’ll end up doing. I don’t like that idea, I mean it’s rational on one hand but irritating, irrational and reducing on the other, so I’ve decided I’d rather not believe it.

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  17. I believe in healthy detachment.

    Not the kind that makes you apathetic towards everything in life. But the kind that helps you cope with change.

    It's nice to enjoy good times as they come. But it's also nice to be able to handle the time when they're over.

    Self-monitoring has its downsides.

    Every time I find myself enjoying something, I think “wow, won't I feel terrible when this is over?” or “what if this important person died? wouldn't I be so messed up? my life would be ruined.” It's very hard for me to feel safe enjoying something freely. I feel that I don't want to be tricked into enjoying something that's going to be taken away suddenly.

    Being with friends, loving a partner, joking with family... I love doing those things. But I'm afraid I've tricked my mind into never being able to enjoy anything for what it is. Because if I'm enjoying something...that means I'm vulnerable. I'll be destroyed once it's gone.

    My healthy detachment is still a work in progress.

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  18. (Oops posted this on the wrong week):

    I freaking love high heels. I love the way I feel in them and I love the way look in them. Don’t get me wrong, if I wear the wrong pair for more than two hours, my feet start to swell and I feel more like I’m walking on glass than a cloud. But it’s totally worth it. I know that the pain is all in the pursuit of a more feminine stance than I can usually sport.
    But when I really think about it, the reason I love high heeled shoes so much is that unmistakable click-clack noise my steps make on uncarpeted floors. Every click and clack is telling. The echo of my steps precede me in every room I enter, essentially announcing my impending arrival. Oh and every click and clack adds such rhythm and emphasis in my walk. I may never be a musician but if you listen, to the way a pair of my heels sound walking on a gradient floor, I might as well be Beyoncé.
    Speaking of Beyoncé, that’s how I feel in heels. I feel strong, powerful, and intelligent because you know who wears heels and walks on gradient floors? Senators, CEOs, business women, educated women.
    But what’s sad about heels, is that for some reason most men and women under average height are offended by me wearing heels. As if, because I’m a taller average woman, I’m not allowed to be even an inch taller, or as they feel, make them an inch smaller. This behavior is obviously born out of some kind jealousy or self-consciousness these people harbor. Yes, I’m aware when I heels, I am over 6 feet tall but who cares! It makes me tower over people, literally! It’s part of why I wear them. They make me look like I’m important, like I have the presence of a strong authority figure. So I don’t care what the short people say. I love heels because I believe in being over six feet tall… at least some days.

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