I Celebrate Myself: My Version of Walt Whitman's Poem

I celebrate myself. Or at least I accept myself. Some days I feel as though I know myself well, others I am incredibly suprised. Those are the days when I hear something incredibly cutting and uncalled for come out of my mouth or when I notice my own biases and prejudices. Those are also the days when I look in the mirror and think "Wow, I am beautiful" or beat a personal record. I am far beyond perfect. I like to believe that I am queen but I know the extent of my power and I try to use it well. I am smart, or so my IQ tests would have me believe, but I don't believe in grades. I am afraid of being judged and yet I judge. I act confident, as though I know the answer to all the problems, and yet I always mess up when I am the one stuck in the quicksand. Oftentimes, I do know the answer to the problems of the people around me. I have a good feel for humans and I like to believe that I believe that they are innatley good, but sometimes I am suprised by the smallest things. I try to do random acts of kindness and yet it is on those days, the days when I am nicest to other people, that I am meanest to my family. I love colors. I cannot let go of anything because I know that someday I will need it and often I find that, if I have waited long enough, I do find a use for that little plastic box or that awful hat. I believe in beauty and I do see it in people. I see it in the curve of a hand or the way someone smiles. I am arrogant and yet oh so self-concious and I despise arrogant people. Someone once told me that we hate the people who are most like ourselves. I try to have an open mind but there are days when I get the urge to just force people to do things. I am interested in almost everything and a lot of the time, I do things just to prove that I can. I was that girl in elementary school who would do pushups every day until I finally got good enough to do more than the boys just to prove to my P.E. teacher that girls CAN be just as strong as boys. I am Miss Independent and yet I still ask my parents to walk me to the door. I am a romantic, an idealist and a realist. I used to be an optimist. I love drama, maybe because I hate focusing on myself or maybe because it is terribly interesting to me to watch other people. The truth is, I love myself and I think that this is a good thing because if I hated myself, life would truly not be worth living. I am this person who is so mature and sensible and yet some days I know it is just an act. I am taller now, leaner, muscler. I have dark brown eyes, long eyelashes and beautiful lips. I hold my head high like a queen and I have that strong chin that is said to be the mark of one. I pierced my nose last summer, I have long curly black hair that has a mind of its own and the fingernail finally grew back to replace the one that fell off after I slammed it in my locker. I smile less and laugh less now, I feel more serious but I try to remember not to overthink things. I love my singing voice and the little heart shaped mole on my left arm. I have long fingers and square hands, earth hands I think. I am a Leo and show all traits of it. I feel so young, so helpless sometimes and in those moments I have to remind myself that I need to be strong, that I can be strong, because I am all that I have but I don't think that this is really true. I love characters, people who can make me laugh. My favorite person is my grandfather and my second favorite person is that boy I loved. I am strong and independent and head strong but I love people and I love helping people and I love that sense that I get when someone finally feels good about themself. Lately I haven't been able to cry, but today I cried while watching TV. I believe that every human, EVERY human has the right to life, the right to be. I don't believe in the death penalty because, at least for me, leaving someone alive with the same thing to eat, the same bed, the same room and no variance, that, THAT would be worse than death. Death is the only thing I do not fear. I am me. I am this, this person who is growing and changing and shifting every day, this person who has such a terribly strong desire to change the world, to make it better than the one that I live in today. I know that it can be better because I believe that people care what happens to those around them. I am this young girl of a generation that has grown up with computers and color television, DVDs and personal cell phones, global warming and growing gaps between people of different color and race and gender and nationality. I am this person who sees and feels the pain and I know, I have to know, that I can help this, that I can make this better, whether it be by smiling at someone or spending an hour donating free rice online. So I will move forward, through this fear, this pain, this darkness because I carry in my soul, in my heart, hope. That is the light that guides me. And if I can share that light, share that understanding, that belief that things can be better, that this life doesn't have to be a chore, than that is exactly what I will do. And that is why I celebrate myself.

Nervous Anticipation

I spent the whole day, literally 24 hours, thinking about when I was going to see him. I told myself I was going to deliver brownies to Lazy Boy, a mutual friend. And maybe I was, and I did, but I needed to see him. I felt so nervous all day and I believed that I was going to pee in my pants when we got to the field where their lax game was. And then I went and stood by the fence, they were just coming out of their huddle, and there he was. The only one without his helmet, that team mohawk sticking straight up. And that was it. He walked away and I stood there and realized that I was still breathing. I hadn't combusted or fallen over. My heart was still beating. He was on one side of the fence and I was on the other (maybe that means something, but it was just how it was). And I am alive and glad I went. Would it have been different if he saw me? Is THAT when the world would have stopped? Or will the world keep turning regardless. Probably the latter. All that nervous anticipation and nothing. And that is how I prefer it. Because that boy I knew, he's still alive, he's still around. I can't swoon every time I see him.

Vulnerability

What is it that makes humans so afraid of being protectionless, of being vulnerable? Is it that incredible fear of being hurt that makes us put up barriers between ourselves and others? Or do we just like being mysterious? Is this the reason that, usually, the people who can see right through those thick layers of protection scare us so much? Or are we secretly, if subconciously, glad that someone has finally decided to take the time to discover us and the amazing person that we are? So, why do we do this? Why do we put up barriers between ourselves and other people when the vulnerability of someone else is what makes them so attractive? That rawness, that freshness, isn't that what makes us feel so strongly about someone? Is it really that we are terrified of one another and what they might see or is it that we are terrified of ourselves and what might be revealed to us if we stop hiding from ourselves? Is fear of vulnerability what makes us cry ourselves to sleep instead of crying in front of the person that pains us? Do we fear that showing that weakness will only give them strength? What if that is exactly what we need for them to see us for what we really are: people. What if that callousness is what pushes us further and further away from other people of our species? What if the only cure is to be vulnerable and raw and fresh because that is what we are meant to be? What if our mysteries were made public and we were able to cry in the faces of our enemies and laugh at whatever we thought was funny? Would we then be more open and less horribly afraid of love or would we just crumple at the slightest breeze? Would we be able to be free, released from the chains of what society says, of what we are supposed to be, do, say, free to be ourselves without inhibitions? Is freedom really that frightening to us? So, however hypocritical I am, I say, why not be vulnerable, why not show that vulnerableness. For me, the person I try hardest to block is the one who can strip me down (mentally not physically haha) in a time so small there is no word for it. The person who I try to protect myself from with baggy clothes and sarcasm knows me. He sees me. He doesn't see that me that I dress in the morning and send off to school, he sees the me who is still at home enjoying a book that she doesn't understand and yet loves anyways. He sees the me who thinks too much, the me who is. The essence of me, my core. I'm not sure he knows that. Yesterday I was feeling more raw than ever and a friend, J., told me to show him that vulnerable side. And I was...am...terrified. Because that is it. That is ME. I will have no more excuses, no more protections and what if that is not enough? Not enough for what, I wonder. Not enough for him to feel the way I feel, or think I feel or something. I will have nothing left to give. But maybe, maybe that is all I should ever give. Because I don't think I would ever really be happy if he accepted that facade. That facade is not me. In my vulnerability, I am pure, bare, free. Terrified, shaking like a wet cat and hoping to whoever hears me that he will...that he will love me as much as I loved that boy I knew.

A Bit of Heartache

I have these days when I'm fine, I just live my life with an occasional thought that has nothing to do with the moment. But then I have these other days, days when I feel.....when I feel like I am being tugged at by everything and that the only person I really want to talk to, who could just make me feel like thats ok and that everything will be ok, is the one who is the furthest away from me. And I know that I could call him, email him, text him...but then I also know that I won't. These are the days when I can feel my heart ache. I sigh and feel the weight of missing him. I am dramatic I know. I am also probably obsessed or a stalker, or whatever people would say that this feeling makes me. Maybe part of me thought, hoped, that after so long I would be able to let go. But still, every now and then I get this heart ache for that boy I knew. I know better than anyone, though, that when you are wishing this hard for someone to show up or something to happen, that is when it doesn't. It is only when you have stopped wishing and have given up hope, have finally decided that wishing is nothing compared to living, that your wish gets granted. But telling myself those things doesn't stop the pain or the sadness and I end up crying again over someone who is not here in this moment. Maybe tomorrow it will go away again and I will have forgotten about that boy I knew. I will use my time to help other people and this, whatever this is, will be gone, pushed away. But maybe it means something that it is so difficult for me to keep all of this out of my mind, my heart and my soul. Maybe it means something that I still write him letters and talk about him and miss him so much it hurts. Maybe it means something strong...and maybe not.

Thoughts of the Day

I want to try to match the amount of time I spend on facebook or my email accounts with the amount of time that I spend on the "Click to donte" websites. This is a very easy, quick way to help the world and I can certainly spare that time.
I want to try to keep my friends aware and thinking. I want to speak up for what I believe in, but not in a negative way. I want to take action NOW.
I want to redefine the word sexy for myself. Being sexy is being strong, standing tall, believing in yourself. That does not necessarily imply being skinny, showing skin and wearing tons of makeup.
I want to follow my dreams and to be passionate and to NO LONGER LET FEAR GET IN MY WAY. I want to try to do a random act of kindness everyday.
I want to tell the truth about everything and everyone and to never say things about someone that I can't say to them. I want to believe that kindness and goodness reside in everyone. I want to try to broaden my mind and to never allow it to close. Closed minds breed hate and fear. I want to be the best person that I can be and to help the world as much as I can. I want to spend less time watching TV and more time reading and keeping up news. I want to break stereotypes just to show that I can. I want to learn everything and anything possible and to really take full advantage of all the resources that I have. I want to address my own prejudices and biases, out loud and without fear.
And you know what?
I will.
As my friend A. says, START A REVOLUTION!!!

On Women's Sports

Anybody seen the new group on facebook called P.A.W.s? No, no, nobody? Whether as a joke or not, the description of this group is as follows:
P.A.W.S. is for those sports fans who just cannot stand women's sports. When watching sports center and the women's highlights come on, you just laugh. Sports were made for men. women are sometimes acceptable in volley ball, tennis, and cooking.
Anybody offended yet? No? Well, weirdly enough, I am. This is an ironic time to find this group because I am just getting revved up for my off-season training. Ok, yeah, this group has 33 people in it. But, I mean, come on. That is pathetic. I guess it would be petty and small to start a group like P.A.M.S. (People Against Men's Sports). Or would it be? Yeah, its the principle of the thing. The amount of women in sports now is fantastic. I mean Title IX was NOT implemented all that long ago. Talk about sexist. You don't have to enjoy women's sports, but at least respect them for what they are. I mean, they liberate women, even if for a blissful hour, from the stereotypes that society puts on them. When I am out there on the playing field, I am, thankfully, at peace with myself. I don't care what I look like because there is something graceful and strengthening in just playing a sport. But maybe these guys (cause yeah, it is mainly guys except for one girl who joined to tell them to GO DIE) make a good point. Women's sports are not ANYWHERE close to where they could be. Professional leagues, yeah, they say, they are laughable. No one watches women's lacrosse or soccer or basketball on television (or at least only a select few). Many women's sports aren't even professional. The only reason people know about professional women's volleyball is because they wear next to nothing. Thats pathetic and sad. This group is pathetic and sad. Is it cliche to suggest that these guys are so uncomfortable with the idea of girls gaining equality in what is usually thought of as THEIR sphere of sports that they ACTUALLY have to start a group commenting on the ridiculousness of women doing anything more than cooking? Maybe, then, the problem is not women's sports. Maybe its ideas about women. Oh yes, sexism is still around.

So theres this guy...

Or there was this guy. Four years ago. But...we were like best friends. Not the best friends of calling every night. We will call him the Green Eyed Demon. The best friends of just being there and seeing the others worst moments. I guess I kinda expected that the two would mix. He...his fault was a bad memory. I would invite him to things (I was always initiating it) and he would call me five minutes before whatever it was started and would tell me that he had forgotten, he had community service, or he had lacrosse practice. So...I did the worst thing I have ever done. I simultaneously told him I might be in love with him and that I didn't want him to talk to me anymore. And I didn't hear from him for a while. Then he wanted to talk cause he said things were getting bad. I called him and he told me to get on AIM then blew me off. He just left. There is much more to the story. I just still miss him.
I decided a bit ago that I couldn't spend all my time thinking about him. He is not here in this moment and there are other people who are. I cannot wallow.
I still miss him.
I don't know what love is. I haven't lived very far. I can only guess based on what I've heard and read and seen. So why would I have thought I was in love with him? I got butterflies whenever I talked to him. I could always sense when he was around. I loved being with him more than anything in the world. I miss him after 8 months of fights and anger and hurt and not seeing him. I would do just about anything for him. He treats me as an equal. When things happen, I want to share them with him. I have never cried so much for someone.
Reasons I think I don't love him: I get butterflies in my stomach. I don't feel like I am ME. I feel shy and quiet and that is NOT me. I sometimes felt a bit used by him. I felt like I got too obsessed with him.
So this is where I stand. Trying not to think about him. But man I still miss him like hell. I don't know where to go, up or down, from here. But I guess sometimes direction doesn't matter unless you know where you want to go...

The Fifth of March

This blog has been created so that I can express opinions and thoughts that I would like to share with other people or to at least have out in the world. This is not by any means a personal diary or a total explanation of the way I think or feel. I do not believe that I am always right. All I can do is guess, I'm blundering around as much as everyone else is. I can simply draw on past experiences and hope that my knowledge from times past will help me on my forward journey. I will generalize. I am human.
The objectifying of women: Lately, it seems to me that magazines such as Seventeen and Cosmogirl have really tried to help girls learn how to become confident, strong young women. I think this is amazing. This is not an easy thing to do by any means. But I do find that their methods are flawed. I mean, sure, the magazines are supported by advertising and I really have no knowledge of how choosy a magazine can be about who they pick to advertise. But if you look through these magazines, all of them are FILLED with PERFECT people. I mean that is a Duh. They are definitley magazines more about fashion and makeup than changing the world although I see many attempts on their part to find a good balance. I'm not saying modeling is bad. I'm just saying the way women models pose...is not great. The prone, vulnerable, save me look....well I mean, if you see these attractive people who are posing like that and you can see or know that they are getting whatever they want because of it, its hard not to want to pose and look like that. Go on facebook. In the pictures, girls pose the same way. They pout, they look sad, they look vulnerable, they say come hither with their eyes (haha). They imitate all those styles in the magazines in order to look attractive. Honestly I just think they look stupid. Why is it that girls take so many pictures? Is it so that they can show off themselves? Or is it a phenomena that is not gender specific. But not only do I think that magazines are flawed in THAT way, I also think that they give girls the wrong idea about guys. They objectify men as well!!!! The only guys who are in the magazine are the "cute ones". The only ones who are in pinups are slathered with oil and have fabulous abs and arms. These magazines teach us to have not only a high standard for women but also for men. All the men are either giving a gorgeous grin or are staring coldly. What are we supposed to think? Even when we DO think about these problems, how can we not help feeling influenced by them?