In the last year(ish), many of my best friends moved into the big and scary real world while I stayed behind in the small and safe world of college. But somehow, I was the one who was scared. How was I supposed to navigate this? We, who had been riding the same train for four years, who had each others' backs through heartbreaks and loss, term papers and auditions, were suddenly separated. It was as if I had slept through the station where everyone else switched trains--I missed my ride. And we stayed in touch with phone calls and Skype and the beauty of 21st century technology, but I felt left out. I had nothing to offer--no pieces of advice, no empathetic anecdote. Because I was just sitting in Flagstaff, continuing class work and feeling sorry for myself.
And then I realized that was stupid.
I was only a year behind them, and what is a year really in the scheme of things? We all loved each other and still had each others' backs, and nothing else mattered. So I started celebrating their struggles with them: "Isn't it exciting not knowing what's going to happen?" "How fun that you had a crappy job for a while. What good stories you have!" They became the carrot I was chasing. Because in a few short months, I will join the uncertainty party, and it will be a terrifying super fun time.
In the mean time, I tackled every project in front of me with as much dedication and courage as I could muster (and trust me, I needed a lot of it). The people I had surrounded myself with stuck by me and got me through some of the most grueling and rewarding experiences of my life. It was like God reminding me that I was where I was supposed to be. A reminder that I love what I do, and I happen to be pretty good at it (How's that for humility?).
As a bonus to all this growth I was going through, I also got a boyfriend. Woo-hoo! He is kind and caring and reminds me not to take myself so seriously all the time. We laugh often and dance in the kitchen and have intellectual conversations over bowls of ice cream. He stays up with me while I work on one of the many projects to which I probably should have said no. He makes copies and collates like a pro and then tells me when it's time to go to bed. He buys me coloring books so I have something fun to do. He is supremely great.
I continue to mourn the loss of my Grandpa. He died suddenly and without warning on November 11, 2013. His memorial service was beautiful and painful. I am so blessed to have such a wonderfully artistic family so that on such a sad day I was surrounded by beautiful music and happy memories. I think of him often and hope he is proud of me. I try to live my happiest life for him, because I know he liked it better when I smiled. Sometimes I make a joke and hope it brings a twinkle to his eyes. That man was full of magic. I hope when we are reunited he says something along the lines of, "My darling granddaughter, you did a good job with most of it, but you were a real dumbass about a lot of things." Then he'll laugh and give me a hug. That's how I'll know my life was a success.
And now I'm just waiting to get a student teaching placement. I'm trying to reorganize my room in Phoenix so that it is livable for a 23-year-old. I am brainstorming ways I can change the world. (Isn't that what 20-somethings are supposed to do?) I am trying to figure out a way to gracefully transition into a conversation about Ferguson and #YesAllWomen, but that's not happening, so let's just dive in.
The riots taking place in Ferguson should be a wake-up call for all of us. I truly believe that there are more honest, wonderful police officers than not. But the fact that good cops read as an exception rather than the rule to any group of people in this country is not okay. I don't agree with what people are doing on both sides of the issue, but here is what I know: all lives matter. Black, white, purple, green--it doesn't matter. Every single person has value and something to offer this world. Sometimes they get lost along the way, and it's disheartening. But we have to be better. And I really think that starts with kindness. Listen to each other. And listen to understand, not to respond. Treat each other with respect. Remember that everyone is someone's child. Everyone matters to someone. Treat each other accordingly.
#YesAllWomen This year was huge for feminism, and there is much to celebrate. And here is what I want to say about it. #YesAllWomen does not mean #YesAllMen. Just like not all cops are racists. Just like not all Christians are homophobes. Just like not all Muslims are terrorists. Just like not everyone likes chocolate! I know that's shocking to some of you, but it's true; not all men are misogynists. I know a lot of men who treat women with respect. Every single one of my friends treat women with respect, because I don't like to associate with anyone who thinks less of me. I hang out with people who think I'm awesome and smart and funny and cool. We should strive to make everyone feel like that.
Here's what Ferguson and #YesAllWomen have in common: a group of people, who make up a significant percentage of this country's population, are feeling isolated, disrespected, and unheard. That's not okay. Stop listening in order to form a response that proves you're right. Start listening to understand where the other person is coming from. Stop listening and hear a personal attack on you. Start listening and hear a request for help. A plea that says, "Please hear where I'm coming from. Please acknowledge my feelings and recognize that they are valid. Please walk with me as I navigate this."
Just be kind to one another.
I wish you peace, laughter, joy, surprises, challenges, and success in the coming year.
With much love,
J
