Comparison: The most insincere form of flattery

How many times have I come across a post or article entitled something like"27 things every twenty something needs to hear" is far too many to count. In every single one of those posts and articles one of those "things to hear" is how not to compare you or your life to others around your age. They say 'everyone progresses in different ways and takes different paths. Don't weigh your self worth on where you think you should be in comparison to others! You rock the path you are walking now and be proud!'. Well, random articles targeted to the 20-something population, you can kiss my ass.

I know the sentiment is true. Yes, it's true that you shouldn't compare where you are in life to others. There is no right or wrong way to which path you chose to take, or how long that path may be, however I'd love to hear that from someone who's not getting paid to write such things. As a twenty-something who's currently experiencing feelings of great envy towards others who "have their shit together" I can't stand to read those articles.

It's frustrating being in one place and desperately wanting to change your situation but feel as though you cant do anything about it. I'm about to start my last year of graduate school, and it's going to be an stressful year. I'm required for my program to complete two, unpaid, internships; one part time, the second full time. This means at least for the second internship, I will not be able to work a job that brings me any income of significance. This fact alone was stressful enough, but now I have, at most, 10 weeks in the current job that I hold due to the company going out of business. Meaning, if I can't find another job within 10 weeks or so, I may not have any active income...yay.

I've had this post sitting in edit mode for a little while now. I start looking at it and adding to it, and then stopping because it feels so negative, and I hate being overly negative. However, I think I need to just let it be said. Thinking about all of this is stressful; a great understatement really. I'm very much at a point in my life where I am ready to take the next step into adulthood, in a few ways actually. I'm ready to start my career, but I feel so much apprehension, and even a bit of bitterness towards it now. When it feels like you've been working and doing all of these things to get you through to the next step, and then you trip. You trip, and suddenly instead of looking at the finish line straight ahead, you are seeing it from the ground, and getting back up hurts, it's embarrassing, and the other runners are passing you by. It makes it difficult to see why you should finish the race at all, I mean it doesn't seem like you are going to win, so why keep running?

All that being said, I know I will 'finish the race' as it were. I've come to far and have done too much work not to, however these past few weeks have not been easy. Trying not to compare yourself to others is hard, especially when you feel like you are working towards a goal. I know I will get through this time and, if anything, learn more about myself than I would have, had I not been faced with this challenge. I'm attempting to hold on to that idea, and waiting to see this thing through. Let's hope the final goal is all worth the wait.

1 year, 52 stories: Story 2

"Some weather we've been having, eh?"

Richard closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He had hoped he could avoid Carl considering the long day he had, and was in no mood to try and pretend to be cordial. He closed the mail box and looked up and said "Yeah, something isn't it?" Richard had hoped he would pick up on the rhetorical nature of the question. He didn't.

Richard always thought Carl was an odd person. He never seemed to have much company, and always walked about in a quiet stupor which Richard found odd. He often took to referring to Carl as Boo Radley in private, though one day he did let the nickname slip in one of their brief conversations, but he didn't think Carl noticed. If he could, he would avoid talking with him. Richard would have no problem going about his day completely ignoring Carl, but for some reason he also struck up some short, insignificant conversation, and he felt obligated to respond.

"Oh well," Carl responded "at least the rain will help water our lawns."

"Uh, yeah, sure. It will make them super green and, uh, stuff."

When Carl had stepped out of his house to retrieve his mail, he had not seen Richard. He wished he had the forethought to look since he did not particularly enjoy conversing with his neighbors, but he especially did not enjoy talking to Richard. Richard was the kind of guy who had a air of privilege, and lacked a general understanding human decency. He swore Richard had referred to him as Boo Radley once, which he was surprised at the literary reference, but did not feel complemented by the comparison. On several occasions Carl had overheard Richard make snide comments over the few lawn gnomes Carl kept in his yard. He wouldn't have taken it so personally had he not once explained to roger as to why he had the gnomes.

"You know lawn gnomes are designated for like, old hippy broads and those short guys with hairy feet, right?" Richard said with a chuckle.

"Do you mean hobbits?" Carl asked.

"Ha! Yeah, hobbits. You would be the kind of dude who knew that."

Laughing politely "Yeah, well I keep them as a kind of inside joke." Carl replied.

"Well, that's one ugly inside joke." he said in an hypercritical tone.

Carl paused and forced a slight chuckle, though he thought the comment was anything but funny.

"eh, yeah, well, it's something that my wife and I joked about before we got married. It's a long story, but that's why I keep them."

Richard, with a raised eyebrow, sensitively responded with "Whoa, how are you married and I'm still going though every receptionist at work? Ha!"

"Because you're a total ass waffle, who wouldn't know how to treat a girl even if she gave you
 step by step instructions with pictures to help." Is what Carl thought.

"Just lucky I guess." Is what he said.

"Well, did she leave you or something? I've never seen anyone else over here except for you."

"Uh, no. She passed away a few years ago."

"Oh,' Richard replied. 'that sucks."

Since that time, Carl did not look forward to interactions with Richard. However, he never could find it within himself to be outwardly rude to Richard, so he always tried to engage in polite, but brief, conversation.

As he walked towards the mailbox, he politely called out to Richard, "some weather we've been having, eh?"

1 Year, 52 Stories: Story 1

He opened the door to the men's restroom expecting to see some dilapidated, not cleaned in the last two weeks, run of the mill, middle of nowhere gas station bathroom. The kind where the actual bathroom is attached around the back side of the building, and the lock is not so much a lock, as it is just a heavy door with a with a bit of metal attached to the opposite side that once resembled a regular bathroom stall lock. Well, that's exactly what Roger found when he walked into the bathroom of the Gas and Go gas station. A rather duplicitous name when he came to think about it considering the last time he had visited a Gas and Go, he left with a hot dog that did not agree with his stomach and that required him to roll down his car window about 15 minutes after leaving the parking lot. He decided to forgo getting a hot dog on this trip.

As Roger went to relieve himself of the breakfast burrito that he had consumed earlier that day, he was very much reminded that he was no longer a young 20 something who could eat whatever he wanted, and not worry about the havoc it would reap upon his bowels. He had just turned 50 at the end of April, and he was starting to realize he was no longer the man he once was. More than just the obvious signs of aging, grey hair, wrinkled skin, and more nose and hear hair than evolution should really allow to grow on a person, but the things that you could not view from the outside. This change was more personal because he was facing the reality of the fact that he, at his core, had become a different person, and he wasn't all too sure if he liked the person he had become.

As he turned and sat down, expecting to be upon the throne for some time, he wiped the sweat from his brow because there was no escaping the feeling of being slightly damp in Arizona in late July. The air conditioning in his car has gone out a few months ago but he never had it fixed because when one lives in San Francisco, air conditioning for your car, or your home for that matter, are not necessities. He was very much regretting this decision now. The Arizona heat had caused Rogers legs to sweat so much that even his shorts stuck to him, a sensation he was not too fond of as he was preparing to take a seat.

After a moment, he began to scan the room, waiting for nature to take its course. There wasn't anything special about the restroom. It was apparent at one point the Gas and Go owners made an attempt to liven the place up with a basket of potpourri on the bathroom sink, but its sent had gone long ago. However, it is the thought that counts. As he continued to look about the room he noted the the walls of the bathroom were etched with the writings of passersby. He never really understood what prompted a person to write on a bathroom stall, but it provided something to do while he waited, so for that he was grateful.

A few minutes passed by, and Roger now with his hands clasped together in such a way that it looked as though he was praying, was almost finished when he looked to his left and saw a piece of travelers graffiti that caught his eye. It read 'How much of human life is lost in waiting? -RWE'.

"RWE", he thought as he scratched his head. He could not place the initials, and was searching his memory for the name that corresponded to them. He recognized the words, but could not place where or why he had known them.

"RWE" he said.

Then, like striking a match, he remembered. Ralph Waldo Emerson, a writer he had become rather enamored with back during his college days. Like an incoming wave, memories flooded Roger's mind. He was suddenly reminded of a time where his worries were minimal and is world of opportunity was wide open. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips thinking about a time were he and his college roommate decided to take it upon themselves to remove all of their dorm room furniture and place on the roof of their residence hall. He remembered telling the building director that his astronomy professor urged them to 'examine the stars' as often as possible, and they just saw it as a means of being devoted to their studies. One could not adequately study the sky from the small confines of their dorm room after-all.

Roger smiled, reminiscing of a time when he felt unlimited. A life that was very much contradictory to the one that he was currently living. He thought about how little 'waiting' he did back then, and how much of his life now was consumed by it. Suddenly he was overwhelmed with this scribbling on the wall; all of what it meant and all of what it could mean.

With his mind racing, Roger gathered himself and walked to the half way clean sink, and began to wash his hands. Moving his hands under the water, lathering them with soap, he found himself in a daze. Confused about what these new unearthed feelings, a fluttering of excitement and intimidation, with the realization that if he waited now, he would keep waiting for the rest of his life. He would keep on on the road he was currently taking and would never be able to turn back around.

Before exiting the bathroom, Roger collected a small pool of water in his hands, and splashed his face. In need of some relief not only from the heat, but now from a decision he felt as though he had to make.

As he walked out the door and back to his car, Roger knew now what he had to do, what he felt propelled to do. He reached the door of is 2010 Honda Civic, and as he opened the door and sat down, he knew what he was about to do was going against everything his brain was telling him to do, but was thumping to the same beat that his heart was playing. He started up the engine and turned on the radio. He hadn't realized what was playing before he arrived, but now he flipped through the stations until he landed on David Bowie's Major Tom. He had forgotten how much he liked this song, and with his tunes set for the journey that now lay ahead, he began to drive a way from the Gas and Go. As he reached the road he paused, looking towards the direction he should have been going. He should have been going home, back to San Francisco, however that was not the direction he would be going. Instead, he was turning around, going back the way he had come. He was going back, and as he turned out of the parking lot, he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

_________________________________________________________________________________

To see my boyfriends response to his first prompt of the 1 year, 52 stories challenge, click here.

I year and 52 stories: A challenge

So over the past few years, my boyfriend and I have taken to serving up a little friendly competition between the two of us. On average, actually every challenge, he has bested me! While this year we are still continuing some of our traditional challenges, this year we decided to add a new one to the mix. We each had been discussing how we have felt to be in a bit of a creative slump when it comes to writing, made very clear by the state of my blog (sorry to anyone who may actually read it!). So, to remedy this situation we have come up with a bit of a push to get our creative juices flowing.

For this year's challenge he and I will be sending each other a writing prompt of our choosing every Wednesday morning. Then, the other will have a week to write a response to the prompt that we have been given. The prompts I will be giving him will be coming from the 642 Things to Write Journal, and the prompts he will be giving me are from the 712 Things to Write Journal. 

Now, whether or not there will be consequences if we do not fulfill the prompt on time, has yet to be discussed, along with some other little bits, but has that is defined I will update you here. If you would like to follow my boyfriends postings, which I highly suggest, he will be posting them to his Tumblr which you can find here. I may also post my responses to my tumblr in addition to my blog here, but that has yet to be decided.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the posts to come, and let the writing begin!

Penny & Sparrow- Heroes and Monsters

This song. On repeat.


P.S. I promise to have an actual post sometime soon. Pinky promise.

On Being Restless, and Other Random Tales.

On more than one occasion in the past few weeks I have found myself in this very position. Sitting on my bed, comforter wrapped around my legs and waist, something playing in the background, waiting for the right words to flow through my hands, to the keys of my computer to shape and form a written document of what exactly has been streaming through my thoughts. It's as if I can't organize my thoughts into one coherent, free flowing idea . There is a buzzing of ideas, thoughts, and images that if they were to be expressed in sound it would equate to that of a colony of bees. I find myself drifting off, daydreaming of what my future has in store for me; jumping from thought to thought. 

A few weeks ago I took my neighbors dog out for a run. It was fairly early, maybe 8am or so, and the weather best described as glum by most. The clouds were grey, hiding the newly risen sun, a slight fog hung in the air, with rain misting ever so slightly. As we came around a corner of the path that passes by a series of small ponds, I could not help but smile. It was strange, and I was glad that no one else was around to see me because I felt so strange to have a kind of sudden rush of misfit emotion. For a brief moment, I had a flash of what I want my future to be like. The idea that someday, I would be able to take my dog (my future pup) out for an early morning run, in a place that was quiet, and surrounded by sights and smells that make me feel at ease. I know that's strange, and I recognized it at the time as well. 

Since that day, it seems as if my mind just won't quiet. I keep thinking about things I want to do, the way I want to live, the goals I want to accomplish, and it's all caused me to feel very restless. I keep wondering if what I am doing now is going to help lead me to all of those things. Am I going in the right direction, or do I need to change my course? I've always been a very nostalgic person, longing for either the past or future, even though I feel like as if I also live in the moment, so this kind of thing isn't completely unusual for me. However, when I am feeling particularly restless, these things flair up. 

I recognize that I need a change. Now, in what form I'm not completely sure. I do have some idea, and that might be a blog post for a later date, once it's better formed, and if I deem it acceptable for the internet to know. 

Noah Gundersen- "Ledges"

Donate.

I gave blood today. It's a simple statement, and a simple action. I've done it several times without too much thought to it. I give anytime I can because it's a simple process that will help someone in the future. I also give blood because of my blood type. O+. It's not the all powerful O- , but it can still help any other positive blood type, so I feel like I should help if I can.

I met a woman today after giving blood. We were sat at the refreshments table, taking the time to sit, drink some apple juice, and chow down on a doughnut. I was making simple conversation with the others at the table and one of the volunteers, and we came to the subject of how many people actually go and donate blood. If you didn't know, it's not a large amount. For the amount of blood that hospitals need, there is a large lack of donations to cover that demand. This woman, who's name I failed to get, started to tell me that she can't even count the number of times she has given blood. She goes every 8 weeks if time allows. She explained to me that the reason she goes so often is that several years ago her son had surgery for a routine tonsillectomy. During the surgery, the doctors came out to her holding her sons clothes. Very confused, she asked why they had his clothes. They proceeded to tell her that what was a routine surgery, had gone wrong and that her son had started to lose a large amount of blood and had to be rushed to the O.R, and that the outlook did not look good. Without a real explanation, the doctors started handing her paperwork. You know, they scary papers of DNR's and waivers and such. She told me that she had never known the kind of fear that she went through that day. She had never really planned for the worst, because it was a surgery that was done all the time. What did she have to be worried about?  

Luckly, her son made it through the surgery, and spent a week in the hospital for recovery. She told me that ever since that day, she has given blood at every opportunity that she has had. Her son received a lot of blood to make it through the surgery, which means that someone had to take the time to donate it. She wants to be able to do that for someone else, and that is why she donates.

If you have time folks, please go and donate. It means more than you think. 

“In the depths of my soul, I longed to be a part of something large and good; something that required all of me; something dangerous and worth dying for.”

—	John & Stasi Eldredge, Captivating