That time of year has come when the Oatka Running Club embarks on their annual journey to the depths of New York State. In other words, a bunch of runner kids pile into vans and go run around NYC for three days.
This year it'll be a lot different, which I'm pretty disappointed about, but I can't really complain; I have the chance to visit a beautiful city during a beautiful season with a bunch of my best friends. So, I'm choosing to try to see the good in this year being so different, and I hope I'll succeed.
I'm not sure if I could live in a city. While it's kind of nice to get lost in the whole anonymity of being one of a million in this little hub of activity, it's also kind of scary. You feel very much on your own, and I don't know if I like that. I'm not too good at being alone yet.
Some might argue that the same is true of living in the country, if you're talking about the true country; the my-nearest-neighbor-is-two-miles-thataway kind of country. It sounds paradoxical, but for me, being immersed in thousands of people who care nothing for you, know nothing about you, and frankly don't want to, the sense of isolation is much greater than simply really being by yourself.
I guess it's all about perception, and I guess I should start packing now.
Here's to a great weekend in NYC, spent alone, surrounded by tons of people; it'll be a good opportunity to have company and do a little introspective thinking.
11.27.2008
11.25.2008
yet another essay to be written
I'm in the process of writing my personal essay for my application to Colgate University, and right now the going is anything but easy.
The prompt has to do with the best piece of advice I've ever been given, and how I've employed said advice in my life. At first glance, this seemed exceedingly easy; deceivingly so, as I now realize. The short answer to this question is simple enough, and came to me as soon as I read the application. I knew I would write about what Coach says to his runners before every meet - "Take care of the little things ahead of time, and the big things will take care of themselves." But when I sat down and actually started to write, I found this statement to be a little closer to my heart than I expected. It's become something of a second nature to me, constantly at the forefront of my mind during everything from day-to-day life to important events. How do you write about something like that?
I tried to start with my interpretation of the advice, but that led to a cringe-worthy near-replica of a tenth-grade English class critical lens paper. I tried to begin with a dramatic story about an exam and a cross country race to detail an example of how I used the advice, but I imagined an admissions staff member staring at the somewhat cheesy anecdote wide-eyed in horror that this person bothered to apply to their university at all, and that idea was promptly discarded. So now I'm stuck.
Maybe what I'm afraid of is being completely honest in this essay. I'm a little wary of writing something for entry to a prestigious college that will basically impart to the reader that this advice facilitates and justifies my OCD to a most satisfying degree, or that I use it so often that I really can't think of a prime example of when I used it, or that it's easy to follow simply because, well, it's common sense.
I know this entry was a bit of a pointless rambler, and I'm sorry for making you all suffer through this for my personal cause of sparking my own thought process. But thank you for reading it anyhow, and please let me know if you have any ideas for me. The next one won't be like this. Promise.
The prompt has to do with the best piece of advice I've ever been given, and how I've employed said advice in my life. At first glance, this seemed exceedingly easy; deceivingly so, as I now realize. The short answer to this question is simple enough, and came to me as soon as I read the application. I knew I would write about what Coach says to his runners before every meet - "Take care of the little things ahead of time, and the big things will take care of themselves." But when I sat down and actually started to write, I found this statement to be a little closer to my heart than I expected. It's become something of a second nature to me, constantly at the forefront of my mind during everything from day-to-day life to important events. How do you write about something like that?
I tried to start with my interpretation of the advice, but that led to a cringe-worthy near-replica of a tenth-grade English class critical lens paper. I tried to begin with a dramatic story about an exam and a cross country race to detail an example of how I used the advice, but I imagined an admissions staff member staring at the somewhat cheesy anecdote wide-eyed in horror that this person bothered to apply to their university at all, and that idea was promptly discarded. So now I'm stuck.
Maybe what I'm afraid of is being completely honest in this essay. I'm a little wary of writing something for entry to a prestigious college that will basically impart to the reader that this advice facilitates and justifies my OCD to a most satisfying degree, or that I use it so often that I really can't think of a prime example of when I used it, or that it's easy to follow simply because, well, it's common sense.
I know this entry was a bit of a pointless rambler, and I'm sorry for making you all suffer through this for my personal cause of sparking my own thought process. But thank you for reading it anyhow, and please let me know if you have any ideas for me. The next one won't be like this. Promise.
11.04.2008
Change We Can Believe In
What I am:Breathing a huge sigh of relief. Excited that such an intelligent man is going to lead our nation. Truly hopeful for America's future for the first time in a long time. Thankful for voters' good decisions. Glad that a Democrat will be in office this time. Still hearing the poll results coming in, and still getting as excited every time Obama takes yet another state. Impatient for the next four years to begin. Committed to actually following politics this time around, because I actually care now. Able to let go of the terrifying prospect that Sarah Palin could be our President at some point during the next four to eight years.
So, so proud to be an Obama supporter.
11.02.2008
one by one all day
Lately, I've been feeling like there is way too much on my plate. I'm sure you know the feeling; that hopeless, underwater daze of perpetual frustration, anxiety, and tension. If you don't, you must've never gone to high school. I'm not saying high school is the most difficult thing you'll ever encounter in your life, because it's not. What I am saying is that when the lesser issues encompassed in the experience that is high school are combined with all of the other things going on in life, everything becomes pretty overwhelming.
Just when I felt like I was going to break under the seemingly-endless amounts of pressures and anxieties that were being heaped on, I suddenly gave myself some slack. I'm not sure how. It certainly wasn't intended on my part to find that I really could live with that irritatingly bad AP Calculus grade, or that stupid, stupid mistake I made on the AP Bio quiz. I was fully intending to beat the proverbial horse to death. I was prepared to brood over my shortcomings for the weekend, going back to school on Monday with strengthened resolve and a massive headache, simply because that's what I do. So sue me.
But, I surprised myself. Sometime in between running in full Amy Winehouse makeup during practice (believe me, the hair and eyeliner is not easily reversed) and driving over to Molly's for the last spaghetti dinner of the cross country season, I gave up on it. I flat out forgave myself my dumb mistakes. When I absentmindedly groped for that oh, no feeling that commonly resides in the pit of my stomach after such an episode, it simply wasn't there.
What's more, this trend continued. I really was and am pleased with my last-ever high school cross country race at sectionals. And on the long bus ride home, looking around at my very best friends and thinking about the race, I felt my other worries loosen their grip, even if only for a few minutes. It was the happiest I've felt in a very, very long time.
It didn't last, of course; life continues, new worries emerge, and there's always something to think over. Cross country, the best sport ever invented, is over, yes. A few other great things in my life are over, too; it's true. But there's a trip to New York City coming up fast, a chance to spend three days with some of the people I love most. There's a chance to spend more time on that frustrating Calc. Above all, there's the new knowledge that I really can get over that trivial little stuff I encounter in my academic life. That's pretty priceless.
Just when I felt like I was going to break under the seemingly-endless amounts of pressures and anxieties that were being heaped on, I suddenly gave myself some slack. I'm not sure how. It certainly wasn't intended on my part to find that I really could live with that irritatingly bad AP Calculus grade, or that stupid, stupid mistake I made on the AP Bio quiz. I was fully intending to beat the proverbial horse to death. I was prepared to brood over my shortcomings for the weekend, going back to school on Monday with strengthened resolve and a massive headache, simply because that's what I do. So sue me.
But, I surprised myself. Sometime in between running in full Amy Winehouse makeup during practice (believe me, the hair and eyeliner is not easily reversed) and driving over to Molly's for the last spaghetti dinner of the cross country season, I gave up on it. I flat out forgave myself my dumb mistakes. When I absentmindedly groped for that oh, no feeling that commonly resides in the pit of my stomach after such an episode, it simply wasn't there.
What's more, this trend continued. I really was and am pleased with my last-ever high school cross country race at sectionals. And on the long bus ride home, looking around at my very best friends and thinking about the race, I felt my other worries loosen their grip, even if only for a few minutes. It was the happiest I've felt in a very, very long time.
It didn't last, of course; life continues, new worries emerge, and there's always something to think over. Cross country, the best sport ever invented, is over, yes. A few other great things in my life are over, too; it's true. But there's a trip to New York City coming up fast, a chance to spend three days with some of the people I love most. There's a chance to spend more time on that frustrating Calc. Above all, there's the new knowledge that I really can get over that trivial little stuff I encounter in my academic life. That's pretty priceless.
10.26.2008
must love dragons (an actual title)
When I should've been reading Catcher in the Rye this weekend, I was instead reading horribly exaggerated and cheesy romance novels. Four of them, to be exact. You may wonder why I would choose to gorge myself on bad writing and brain-cell-killing-plots, and actually, so am I. All it gave me was a headache and a reason to pout.
Not to sound cynical or anything, but whoever created romance novels, perfect man, scenic setting, and all, are full of crap. I always take the time to read the author's biography in the back for some reason, and inevitably I find out that they are "living happily in [insert obscure small town here] with their own prince charming" or some such cutesy thing. What fresh hell is that? How did they divine this fantastical, completely unrealistic idea of love and devotion from such a normal little life? That is really what I would pay money to know, because I can assure you that their husbands probably spend more time working in a dimly-lit cubicle then courting them with four dozen red roses a day, and I'm pretty sure none of their names are ridiculously manly-sounding, like Jed or Blaine or Sterling.
When you combine these ideals with fantasy, it gets even worse. Dragons can actually morph into your perfect soul mate, according to these books. So can vampires, who are in fact unbelievably sensitive about your abhorrence of blood, according to these books. And if a rugged, darkly-handsome man tries to kill you in an alley one night, he is probably some poor member of an ancient race of supernatural warriors with a tortured soul and a soft heart, again, according to these fine pieces of literature.
What I'm getting at here is that fantasy romance novels are pure drivel, and should probably be avoided at all costs. Save yourself from an aching head and unrealistic expectations about love. Just read Catcher in the Rye and call it a day.
Not to sound cynical or anything, but whoever created romance novels, perfect man, scenic setting, and all, are full of crap. I always take the time to read the author's biography in the back for some reason, and inevitably I find out that they are "living happily in [insert obscure small town here] with their own prince charming" or some such cutesy thing. What fresh hell is that? How did they divine this fantastical, completely unrealistic idea of love and devotion from such a normal little life? That is really what I would pay money to know, because I can assure you that their husbands probably spend more time working in a dimly-lit cubicle then courting them with four dozen red roses a day, and I'm pretty sure none of their names are ridiculously manly-sounding, like Jed or Blaine or Sterling.
When you combine these ideals with fantasy, it gets even worse. Dragons can actually morph into your perfect soul mate, according to these books. So can vampires, who are in fact unbelievably sensitive about your abhorrence of blood, according to these books. And if a rugged, darkly-handsome man tries to kill you in an alley one night, he is probably some poor member of an ancient race of supernatural warriors with a tortured soul and a soft heart, again, according to these fine pieces of literature.
What I'm getting at here is that fantasy romance novels are pure drivel, and should probably be avoided at all costs. Save yourself from an aching head and unrealistic expectations about love. Just read Catcher in the Rye and call it a day.
10.22.2008
electioneering
I've just recently realized that I really, really like politics. It took me by surprise. Up until a few months ago, I was one of those people - the ones that are simultaneously annoyed at and bored with any mention of anything remotely political. Whenever anyone around me would try to interject a sneaky, politically-toned comment into everyday conversation, I would basically do the cover-your-ears-and-go-la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you thing.
Looking back, I guess my initial attitude towards politics was one of exasperation, and I don't think I'm alone in that. My limited understanding of it all gave me the impression that politics automatically equaled snide, trivial backstabbing, rifts between friends, and shouting. And then in came Patrick. Not that he immediately canceled my knee-jerk reaction to politics, unfortunately for him (he really likes talking about politics...sorry for all the eye rolls of the past), but he did eventually get me to absorb a little bit of what really went on in politics. The more I knew, the more I liked it, the more I wanted to talk to other people about it and see what they thought.
I hope it's obvious that I don't fancy myself completely knowledgeable in politics, because I'm definitely not. But, I do have more solidly-based opinions, and a shockingly strong interest in all things political. What most surprises me is how much I look forward to reading those crazy Time magazine articles, or how much time I find myself spending on watching the debates, or, most surprising of all, how much I actually do care about it all.
This small epiphany has probably been fueled by the hugeness that is this election of 2008. There's really no way to go about your daily business without hearing something - anything - about it. Hopefully, it helps spark the same interest in younger people in this country that formerly resided within the select few. It'd be awfully nice if the otherwise-screwed (think about our economy, our environment, our foreign relations...and the predicted paths of space debris) Generation X and younger started to collectively care about what goes on.
Looking back, I guess my initial attitude towards politics was one of exasperation, and I don't think I'm alone in that. My limited understanding of it all gave me the impression that politics automatically equaled snide, trivial backstabbing, rifts between friends, and shouting. And then in came Patrick. Not that he immediately canceled my knee-jerk reaction to politics, unfortunately for him (he really likes talking about politics...sorry for all the eye rolls of the past), but he did eventually get me to absorb a little bit of what really went on in politics. The more I knew, the more I liked it, the more I wanted to talk to other people about it and see what they thought.
I hope it's obvious that I don't fancy myself completely knowledgeable in politics, because I'm definitely not. But, I do have more solidly-based opinions, and a shockingly strong interest in all things political. What most surprises me is how much I look forward to reading those crazy Time magazine articles, or how much time I find myself spending on watching the debates, or, most surprising of all, how much I actually do care about it all.
This small epiphany has probably been fueled by the hugeness that is this election of 2008. There's really no way to go about your daily business without hearing something - anything - about it. Hopefully, it helps spark the same interest in younger people in this country that formerly resided within the select few. It'd be awfully nice if the otherwise-screwed (think about our economy, our environment, our foreign relations...and the predicted paths of space debris) Generation X and younger started to collectively care about what goes on.
10.13.2008
it's hard to leave all these moments behind
I am not used to being on my own. As awful as it sounds, it's the truth - for right now, at least. I'm lucky (or cursed, depending on how you look at it) enough to have a load of crutches in my life. My family, my closest friends, and someone who has been extremely close to me for about three years now. I lean on them shamelessly. When I have a crap day, I call them and whine. I cry on their shoulders. I blow up at them because I'm stressed. I look to them for encouragement. And, they are never absent. Even if I've been on my own two feet for a while, when the going gets tough, I hobble rather quickly back to my crutches.
Since you're reading this, you know me, and I'm pretty sure you know that recently one of my constant crutches has bitten the dust. It's broken. I guess you could say I'm okay with keeping that splintered one around, in a case maybe, so I'm not tempted to try to repair it too well. So it's great to still have it nearby, and maybe in the future I'll be able to delicately lean on it again, but it's not quite the same. I have been almost exclusively leaning on that crutch for the past few years, and I always had the greatest of faith that it would and could hold me up. But things change, and now I find myself staggering on my feet a little bit. I'm weaker now without my crutch. There are times when I regain my balance and take a few tottering steps, but there are also the days when I fall flat on my face because I realize it's gone for good. Those are the tough days.
One benefit to losing this primary crutch, if there indeed are any at all, is that my other crutches have proven to be just as sturdy - if not more. They refuse to let me fall, and they were all right there to support me when the other one busted. For that, I love them eternally and am indebted to them.
It's not such a bad thing to have crutches at all, come to think of it. I guess I'm just worried that I depend on them a bit too much, especially as of late. Soon, it'll be high time for me to stop letting them bear my weight. I know they will still be there just in case of a slight relapse, but I don't want to burden them any more.
I'd like to be independent again. I'd like to feel secure, even without that crutch that I let define who I was. I'd like to be somewhat happy on my own.
Since you're reading this, you know me, and I'm pretty sure you know that recently one of my constant crutches has bitten the dust. It's broken. I guess you could say I'm okay with keeping that splintered one around, in a case maybe, so I'm not tempted to try to repair it too well. So it's great to still have it nearby, and maybe in the future I'll be able to delicately lean on it again, but it's not quite the same. I have been almost exclusively leaning on that crutch for the past few years, and I always had the greatest of faith that it would and could hold me up. But things change, and now I find myself staggering on my feet a little bit. I'm weaker now without my crutch. There are times when I regain my balance and take a few tottering steps, but there are also the days when I fall flat on my face because I realize it's gone for good. Those are the tough days.
One benefit to losing this primary crutch, if there indeed are any at all, is that my other crutches have proven to be just as sturdy - if not more. They refuse to let me fall, and they were all right there to support me when the other one busted. For that, I love them eternally and am indebted to them.
It's not such a bad thing to have crutches at all, come to think of it. I guess I'm just worried that I depend on them a bit too much, especially as of late. Soon, it'll be high time for me to stop letting them bear my weight. I know they will still be there just in case of a slight relapse, but I don't want to burden them any more.
I'd like to be independent again. I'd like to feel secure, even without that crutch that I let define who I was. I'd like to be somewhat happy on my own.
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