Sunday, December 27, 2009

Socks



I feel compelled to  recount my Christmas experience. I love Christmas. I love the magic the season brings, and I love the forced family gatherings. I love the Christmas cookies, and I love the Christmas tree. There is not much about Christmas I don't like, except that it is changing.

Christmas, as I know it, is becoming something with which I am unfamiliar. Time has changed things; I am older, my brother is engaged, my grandparents are suffering from the effects of aging. No matter how hard I try, I cannot capture the youthful excitement Christmas once brought. I understand there is no way to go back in time. I can only move forward, and realistically, that is best for me. I struggle with change, but I must surrender to the unstoppable passing of time. I will never win the battle; chronology will overcome me. I am nostalgic for a phase of life that has long since been over, a time when Santa and his reindeer brought the newest toys, a time when I was at peace with the world.

This year, Santa brought me no toys; I got socks, lots and lots of socks. This year, I worried about the cruelness of the world; I worried about the economy, and I worried about my family's health. A veil of happy arrogance did not shield me from fear on Christmas morning. I must be maturing. In fact, I was not even unhappy about the socks; I am definitely maturing. The oft-joked about dull present of inner-footwear did not dampen my day, so something within me has obviously been affected by the progression of my life. Actually, I asked my parents for nothing, and that is likely why I got socks. I told my mom I just wanted to be with family because that would be enough -- and it was.

People make Christmas magical, not toys, not cookies, not tree trimmings -- it's people. So, while I will never feel that same rush my first-grade version felt at the thought of presents, I will always be able to share the holiday with people whom love me. I will probably never again feel the type of solstice I once felt during the holiday season, yet I will always have peace knowing I have support in this world. Traditions may change, but I will always have my people. That thought alone makes the world more manageable. Oh, and the warm feet will also be a plus.


Sunday, December 20, 2009

Friendship


Yesterday, I felt compelled to travel to the airport to greet my friend, Alissa, as she returned home for winter break after her first semester away at college in Hawaii. I went to the airport with a group of girls, my best friends since the age of five. We were all overjoyed to reunite with Alissa. We were all overjoyed to be together, period.

The transition to college was difficult for our group. There were times I doubted whether or not I would be able to make it without these girls by my side. All of my memories include them because the greatest times of my life are spent with these people. They have helped me through hardships and I have talked them through traumas.

Our choice to split our separate ways for school may seem surprising, but it is actually a great representation of our relationship. We support each other, no matter what. No barrier of distance can break our bond, nor can any measure of time strain our love. Okay, I must admit that technology has helped us out quite a bit. Without Skype and Facebook, we would not be able to keep up on all the juicy gossip that is so essential to our lives. (We are girls after all.) However, it must be said that it takes motivation to use that technology. We are inspired to maintain our friendship because all of our lives so highly revolve around the support our companionship provides.

I could not live without my friends. That's cliche and cheesy, but it's true. For so long, I thought I was independent of my friends. I thought our interactions existed solely outside of the scope of my inner being -- I was so wrong. These people have molded me. It is undeniable that we shape each other. I love my friends, plain and simple; nothing will ever change that.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Barbara Walters

I feel compelled to express my love for Barbara Walters. Tonight, the Barbara Walters Special "10 Most Fascinating People of 2009" will air; televisions across the nation will display the wonderful woman interviewing ten extraordinary individuals. However, I think that Barbara may be the most entertaining of them all.

Honestly, I cannot think of a more fascinating person than Barbara Walters. She has paved the way for female journalists with her daring undertakings. Barbara has interviewed people from all walks of life: presidents, celebrities, criminals, octo-moms -- she has done it all. Maybe I am biased. After all, I am an aspiring female journalist, yet I cannot resist the temptation to celebrate this phenomenal lady. I read Walters' autobiography Audition, and I enjoyed every page of it. I think everyone should read this book, or at least skim the summary.

Barbara's life is one definitely worthy of note. She has traveled the globe for the scoop and has exposed the nation to colorful stories. Most impressively, she has worked with all kinds of pompous fools, and has managed to remain classy. Yes, Barbara Walters is a classy lady. In four minutes, I will be completely divulged in the elegance of Barbara's ways, and I will enjoy it entirely. Hooray for Barbara!

Monday, December 7, 2009

I am Not a Doctor

A few days ago, I felt compelled to organize my kitchen pantry. Since I have been home on winter break, I have organized my closet, the refrigerator, the freezer, and the laundry room. Not to mention, I partake in general housekeeping duties on a daily basis, and I also plan on re-evaluating my entire wardrobe. I have come to the conclusion that I am obsessed with order. In fact, I have been using these recent activities of mine as a basis for a self-diagnosis; it is time for me to come to terms with the fact that I may indeed truly have obsessive compulsive disorder. No, I don't have rituals -- okay, I don't have many rituals. I like to refer to my rituals as habits. However, I know that I secretly believe the success of my day depends upon the completion of these "habits."

So, am I truly a sufferer of OCD? Well, my closet needed adjusting , the kitchen called for sprucing up, and the laundry room was begging for a makeover. I am not going to count re-evaluating my wardrobe as an OCD action because I plan on donating the clothes that I no longer want to charity. If my self-diagnosis was a tax form, then the evaluation of my wardrobe would be written off as community service -- but back to the issue of my issues. Why am I so obsessed with cleanliness? Why can I not live in chaos? Wait, maybe that's it. Maybe I seek consistency and exactness in my surroundings because there is no conformity in the events of my life. All the time, I feel overwhelmed with stress. (I am a college student, after all.) It seems that everything is always changing, and plans cannot be created without moments later being broken.

Life is full of surprises -- I hate surprises. I like routine. That is why I endlessly organize and sort; I manage the craziness of life by eliminating all craziness in the tangible aspects of my world. I clean my room instead of pulling out my hair. Normal? probably not. Harmful? not yet. Until my daily life begins to resemble a major leaguer's pre-game routine, chock-full of rituals and charms, then I am going to be okay with my insane desire to be tidy. If cleaning is my escape, then so be it. After all, it could be worse. As for that self-diagnosis, I need to seek a second opinion before I draw any conclusions.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

The First Entry

This is my first blog entry. I feel like there should be some sort of ceremony for this type of thing. I guess I have built a blog up to be more than it is. I have thought for months of the creation of this journal. I have deliberated endlessly over what it would be about, what it would be called, and most importantly, what would finally get me to start this thing. My journalism professor at Ohio University said that it was imperative for all prospective journalists to start a blog. Instantly, compelling thoughts filled my head. I began to think that my entire future depended upon this blog. That somehow, my ramblings would make or break my prospective career. Yet, my professor said that months ago, and I did not start this blog until today. What really compelled me to start this blog? Why did I actually follow through on my plan? It can only be one thing -- my desire to write. I love writing, plain and simple. I retract my earlier statement; I have not built a blog up to be more than it is. Actually, I have not given blogs credit enough. This blog is the official forum for my thoughts, the designated outlet for the products of my restless mind. So there it is; I am officially a blogger.
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