I’m not much of a fan of New Year’s resolutions. They just don’t really fit my calendar. I mean, think about it: each new year starts just a week after Christmas Day, at the end of a two-month-long holiday spree, and (if you live in the northern hemisphere as I…
Nastia Liukin, Dana Torres, and of course, Michael Phelps — just a few of the incredible American Olympians with awe-inspiring stories. But as moving and amazing as their paths to Olympic medals might be, the one that has touched my heart most has to be that of Shawn Johnson.
Though I’m no where near being any sort of Olympian, and anyone who knows me personally knows I am anything but graceful — my sister got my share of those genes — there’s just something about Shawn’s silver “rut” that I could identify with. Throughout grade school and high school, I managed one second place finish after another, from PTA Cultural Arts contests to being chosen as an “alternate” for Governor’s School to my graduation as salutatorian. And even as my “little” sister made her own way through school, I came to feel that really, she was better than I as well, in terms of the “importance” of her degree and the degree of her faith, among other things.
Don’t misunderstand, I was proud of my red ribbons (this was a public school system — there were no silver medals to be won). And I did manage to win a blue ribbon here and there. But to me, where it really counted, it felt that I would never be better than second best. I can’t tell you how hard I cried when I wasn’t chosen for Governor’s School. As sad as it is, it still makes me sick to my stomach. Likewise, in college I felt like I “copped out” by changing my degree from a BFA to a BA, backing out of so many art classes. Though I blamed my decision on a professor, I realize now that the problem was really me — whether it was a fear of failure or a simple lack of ambition.
So, enough self-psychoanalysis and back to Shawn Johnson. It seems I could have and still can learn a lot from her. All I’ve read about her has mentioned just how sunny and positive she has been, even in the wake of falling short of a goal. Where my “not quite first place” finishes have jaded me and eaten away my ambition, Shawn has continued to cheer on teammates while savoring her silver and setting her sights on gold for “next time.” I truly believe that it was that attitude that led her to “finally” earn her elusive gold on the balance beam today.
This morning, my 4-year-old informed me he was going to be a mail carrier when he grows up. He then asked me, “Mommy, what are you going to be when you grow up?”
It’s a valid question. Especially since I still haven’t decided. At this point in my life, I feel like I’m ready to climb a mountain (metaphorically, of course). The problem is that I don’t know which one.
But while I continue my soul searching and prayers to help me find my path, I will keep “Make it Mine” as my morning alarm ringtone, and I’ll take a tip from Shawn Johnson (and Norman Vincent Peale) and practice a bit more positive thinking.
It’s kinda funny. I have been so inconsistent with keeping any kind of journal/blog/etc. that in the ~24 hours since I decided I’m going to do this, I’ve had a half-dozen posts I’ve wanted to make. Besides not having the opportunity to sit down & write them out, I haven’t posted them all because, well, I’m rationing them. I know I’m prone to writer’s block, so having a few good starters later will hopefully keep me from abandoning this when the words don’t flow so readily later.
No matter what the project is — Christmas cards (that I flat-out just didn’t get to this year), cleaning out the office, laying out the most recent issue of SMR — my biggest hurdle to overcome is figuring out a plan of action. Don’t get me wrong — I am a pro at making lists. However, sometimes it seems I get lost in deciding where to start. Or where to take the project once I’ve started. I have goal-ADD. Each new idea is shinier than the last, distracting me from the projects on the table. And should I do something as unheard of as temporarily shelving the new idea to finish an existing project, I just get antsy and don’t get anything done.
This is where my product proposal comes in: Google Life-Maps. It would work on the same basis as Google Maps, but it’d be like an automated life-coach. Just type in where you’re at and where you want to be, and Google provides a step-by-step list of instructions on how to get there. And if something comes up — anything from a bad day at work to a pregnancy — just drag the line to allow the detour and follow the new set of directions.
I can follow specific instructions. I swear I can.
Heck, I’d even pay for the service.
It would likely be especially popular this time of year with all the new year’s resolutions being made. But it’d also be pretty darn popular with new graduates (“Start: BS in Business, End: Dream job on Wall St…”), brides-to-be (“…detour: the dress was hemmed too short!”), and expectant parents (“Start: DINKs, End: family of 3 on a paycheck of one”). If anyone could do this, it’d be Google.
Hmm… maybe I should talk to my cousin-in-law on the inside…
So since I posted my “hello” in the general forum, I’ve been thinking of things I didn’t say that maybe might have been worth mentioning. Or not. Either way, here’s more dirt on me.
I prefer LONG hot showers over baths.
I am lazy and procrastinate and sleep too much.
As a little kid, I thought I wanted to be a doctor. It sounded like a good answer. I’d never heard anyone say they wanted to be an “artist” when they grew up. Then I learned I don’t handle blood well. Kinda threw a kink in the works.
I liked chemistry in high school. I also liked and did well in geometry and trig. Physics was ok, calculus beat me up. History, well, let’s just leave it as that. However, I do often enjoy that channel.
I am not convinced that GW is the worst president in history, nor is he the best. He is human.
I am registered Republican. I am pro-life and pro-woman. I subscribe completely to the beliefs and causes of Feminists For Life and believe that the founders of feminism would be appalled at where the movement has gone. In theory, I am opposed to the death penalty. I believe in small government, low taxes, capitalism, and that we all need to take responsibility for our own actions. Sometimes for our ancestors’ actions, sometimes for our children’s. But not always.
I believe in private and individual charity, because sometimes the ends WON’T meet. But I also believe in hard work and in dealing with the consequences of the lack of it. I feel guilty for my tenancy towards slacking.
I believe in God, Christ, a “Catholic” (universal) church, and the rest of the Apostles Creed. I do not worship Mary, though I do honor her. I believe in the virgin birth of Christ, but struggle with “The Immaculate Conception” of Mary. I also am not completely convinced that Jesus was the only son of Mary. But I don’t think it’s worth arguing against.
It took an agnostic boyfriend to help me fully claim my Catholic faith. I meant enough to him that he came to Mass with me. We wrote bad poetry to each other in a journal we passed back and forth. Considering how poorly matched we were, it really was a pretty healthy relationship. He is still a dear friend with whom I wish I were in better touch.
I hate severing relationships. To a fault. I hate double standards but can understand occasional exceptions to rules. I have high standards for people, especially in terms of respect. You have my respect until you lose it — not the other way around. It takes a lot for me to write someone off. I forgive easily and often. But I am highly offended by consistent inconsiderations.
I consider creativity a spiritual language. I identify with GOD as Creator and Artist. The concept that we are all intentional creations, pieces of artwork, makes me feel warm inside. I treat others better, I think, when I remember this.
My mother says she knew I would be an artist when I made slippers for my doll out of paperboard and a little stapler when I was three. Why a 3-year-old had a stapler is beyond me, but it was one of my favorite art-tools. I made a series of paper “marionettes” with jointed limbs sometime around age 5. I wrote my first poem when I was 8.
I applied to the PA Governor’s School of the Arts for Visual Art in my Sophomore year in HS. I was accepted as an alternate but never called. The following year, I applied in both Art and Creative Writing. I made it to the “final” interview for both but was not accepted for either. I cried so hard when I found out. I felt a failure. I’m still pissed off about it.
*Correction, I forgive easily and often, except for myself.
I went to college 500 miles from home on an academic scholarship with an a small art scholarship supplement. I got a BA in art, not a BFA. Most people don’t know the difference. I am angry with myself about that too, though, the fact that I did not get the BFA. Mostly because I let a particular professor get to me. Also because I was dealing with “mild” depression.
I do believe there is a place for drugs in treating depression, but I also believe they are overused.
There is one nude picture of me on the internet. As far as I know, it’s the only nude picture that’s ever been taken of me, aside from my infancy. The picture is not hard to find, nor is it flattering. Yet, I approve of it. It is a self-portrait.
I currently work at a job that I liked better when I started it. I now feel it is a waste of my time and their money, but I still need their money, so I won’t tell them that yet.
I love my husband. I LOVE my husband. I love him deeply and completely, and it amazes me that it took me so long to consider giving him a chance. I realize he is not perfect. But he is a perfect partner. He is supportive, understanding, patient, and goofy. There are things I’d like to change about him, I think, but I know I can’t, so I don’t try. I think we are both happier for that. He is a fantastic daddy.
Even before realizing I didn’t want to be a doctor when I grew up, I knew I wanted to be a mother. I had never considered otherwise. Being a mother has been the most fulfilling experience of my existence so far.
However, I don’t know if it’s the predominant influence in my writing yet. I think that role is divided between two experiences: the death of my maternal grandmother when I was nine, and a less-than-favorable prematurely physical relationship when I was 18.
I had my first kiss too early and too late at 18. I have had intercourse with only my husband.
I enjoy pretzel sticks with my vanilla ice cream, french fries with my Wendy’s Frosty: salty-sweet makes me happy.
I love my cats, but I don’t know if I’ll adopt more when they’re gone.
Dreams weigh heavily on me. I hold onto them for years afterward, if I can remember them at all. I still remember a nightmare I had in preschool or kindergarten. I remember going to my parents’ bed because of it. It was something about great big dancing hamburgers.
I don’t read as much as I’d like. I forget most that I do read. But I do enjoy reading. I admire JK Rowling.
In middle school I had decided my life career goal was to win both the Caldecott and Newberry awards. I still consider that. But my focus is elsewhere.
For now, I am happy to spend time watching VeggieTales with my son, writing during his naptimes.