Let's take a closer look, shall we?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Old Beyond Years
...Tears For Fears.
I told someone the other day that something I said was an inside joke with myself and they thought it was weird. Is that weird? I have LOTS of those.
Anyway, it feels like forever since I had the writing bug, and here it is! Probably very boring for most people but here are the thoughts of late:
I'm finding that life is a simple process of turning into one big cliche. When you're a kid, you don't sit back and wish for the good ol' days. When you're still a kid but old enough to know what people mean when they wish for the good ol' days, you swear you'll never be like that. At some point, major life milestones start happening, and no amount of proclaiming them weird or surreal changes the fact that you are indeed growing older, and you are in fact living all those scenarios you most surrealy imagined.
Point is, I feel old. Some great shift has taken place in the last year or so, and suddenly I'm remarking that summers feel shorter than they used to; good friends don't keep in touch like they used to; my body doesn't happily take a beating like it used to.
I'm 26.
26 isn't old, by logical standards. By 14-year-old mentality standards, however, it's ancient. And while I claim a certain amount that immaturity, I never anticipated that at age 26 I would pull a muscle doing routine things like, say...shopping. Or that I would gaze at a toddler and be overcome with amazement--and jealousy--at the amount of energy they possess.
I never dreamed I'd so unmistakably notice things changing.
I've watched my father, over the years, become more emotional, more appreciative, more drink-in-the-moments minded. Maybe it was his heart attack--Maybe it's the increase in grandchildren. Maybe it's just plain aging. Whatever it is, it seems that we soften as we go. Things mean more. I feel it more profoundly when I am hurt, or when someone I love is hurt. I have less tolerance for the violence and cruelty I see in the world around me. I wonder more often if I'm doing what I should and being someone who matters. I am so keenly aware of the moments that result in happy memories...and of those that will teach me something difficult.
If I feel like this at 26, I can't imagine 46, 66, and beyond. I'll probably spend all my time remarking about how strange it is that I'm 46, 66, and beyond. Or about those days when gas was $4.25 a gallon. Or about how weird it is that I used to never think I'd find it exhausting to sleep in a tent and hike and eat granola bars and get sunburned but now I do.
I want the wisdom of age and the vitality of youth. I guess that's what everybody wants, but that's not the plan. Maye I'll settle for the ability to do the splits. And stay up all night for fun. And work a minimum wage job with summers off.
Maybe you grow old and look back on your life and wonder if it all really happened. And a small part of you wonders if it was all really that short, that amazing, and that meaningful. In truth, it probably wasn't. But age lends meaning to everything.
So I guess I welcome the rose-colored lenses.
I told someone the other day that something I said was an inside joke with myself and they thought it was weird. Is that weird? I have LOTS of those.
Anyway, it feels like forever since I had the writing bug, and here it is! Probably very boring for most people but here are the thoughts of late:
I'm finding that life is a simple process of turning into one big cliche. When you're a kid, you don't sit back and wish for the good ol' days. When you're still a kid but old enough to know what people mean when they wish for the good ol' days, you swear you'll never be like that. At some point, major life milestones start happening, and no amount of proclaiming them weird or surreal changes the fact that you are indeed growing older, and you are in fact living all those scenarios you most surrealy imagined.
Point is, I feel old. Some great shift has taken place in the last year or so, and suddenly I'm remarking that summers feel shorter than they used to; good friends don't keep in touch like they used to; my body doesn't happily take a beating like it used to.
I'm 26.
26 isn't old, by logical standards. By 14-year-old mentality standards, however, it's ancient. And while I claim a certain amount that immaturity, I never anticipated that at age 26 I would pull a muscle doing routine things like, say...shopping. Or that I would gaze at a toddler and be overcome with amazement--and jealousy--at the amount of energy they possess.
I never dreamed I'd so unmistakably notice things changing.
I've watched my father, over the years, become more emotional, more appreciative, more drink-in-the-moments minded. Maybe it was his heart attack--Maybe it's the increase in grandchildren. Maybe it's just plain aging. Whatever it is, it seems that we soften as we go. Things mean more. I feel it more profoundly when I am hurt, or when someone I love is hurt. I have less tolerance for the violence and cruelty I see in the world around me. I wonder more often if I'm doing what I should and being someone who matters. I am so keenly aware of the moments that result in happy memories...and of those that will teach me something difficult.
If I feel like this at 26, I can't imagine 46, 66, and beyond. I'll probably spend all my time remarking about how strange it is that I'm 46, 66, and beyond. Or about those days when gas was $4.25 a gallon. Or about how weird it is that I used to never think I'd find it exhausting to sleep in a tent and hike and eat granola bars and get sunburned but now I do.
I want the wisdom of age and the vitality of youth. I guess that's what everybody wants, but that's not the plan. Maye I'll settle for the ability to do the splits. And stay up all night for fun. And work a minimum wage job with summers off.
Maybe you grow old and look back on your life and wonder if it all really happened. And a small part of you wonders if it was all really that short, that amazing, and that meaningful. In truth, it probably wasn't. But age lends meaning to everything.
So I guess I welcome the rose-colored lenses.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Holga
Whoa, look out--2 posts in one day. It's a seriously lame-o day at work. On Saturday.
Anyway, I mentioned once that I received a Holga for my birthday. Many of you don't know what that is. Hullo! I'm here to tell you.
It's a fantastic little camera, and it looks like it was made in the 60s...or for little kids. Or both.
The great part is that I have virtually no control over how my pictures come out with this little gem, so every image is a surprise. Good surprise! I skimmed the instructions when I got it because I was too impatient to really read them, and I started jamming film in it and went to town. After some strange symbols started appearing in the film viewer and the back just popped off at one point, totally exposing a section of the film, I realized I may need to actually try to do it right and pretty much wrote off that whole first roll of film. Well, happy surprises abound! I got my film developed and scanned it myself and was delighted to find 16 images! And I even liked some! Here are my faves:
And don't think I don't know what you're thinking: "Those pictures aren't that awesome. They just look...old and crappy." Well, you're wrong. Dead wrong. These are awesome and I'm very excited to get more and more awesome with this crappy little camera.
PS All these pictures are from Greece Lightning.
Saturday's Warriors
Well, it's Saturday. And I'm working. Correction: I'm at work, but doing very little actual work.
This business might kill me. I love my job and the people with whom I work, but I don't know how long I can stand working in this volatile advertising world. There's absolutely no security, no predictability, and the clients control your lives.
Maybe I'm just not cut out for work. The problem, though, is that everybody my age says that. We all think we're somehow above the 9-5. How does one gain the work ethic that seems to come naturally in older generations? My Peter Pan complex has seriously inhibited my productivity.
On that note, I'm craving a slip n' slide. On my lunch break. Today. Which is Saturday. Anybody up for it?
This business might kill me. I love my job and the people with whom I work, but I don't know how long I can stand working in this volatile advertising world. There's absolutely no security, no predictability, and the clients control your lives.
Maybe I'm just not cut out for work. The problem, though, is that everybody my age says that. We all think we're somehow above the 9-5. How does one gain the work ethic that seems to come naturally in older generations? My Peter Pan complex has seriously inhibited my productivity.
On that note, I'm craving a slip n' slide. On my lunch break. Today. Which is Saturday. Anybody up for it?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A Pittance
Write whatever I'm thinking: 3..2..1....contact:
1) The clouds are bleeding today. I know that sounds like some sort of poetic attempt at describing rain, but it's not. They looked like jellyfish--all poofy on top and droopy-streaky on the bottom. That I've never seen before, or maybe noticed. I wonder if it's normal to think everything strange I see is a sign of some sort. Bleeding clouds=freaky Utah storm, the likes of which we've never known=End of The World.
2) I did laundry a week ago. It's still sitting on my floor. I'm pretty sure after that long you just give up and declare the clean laundry dirty laundry and start over. Except I don't think I can let my jeans get any tighter. I mean, they're tight enough after one wash. Imagine a double wash. Just imagine!
3) My superior sense of smell has kicked into high gear lately, and I can't get enough of the smells of summer. Sprinklers on grass in the sun? Man. I'm nearly drunk from it.
4) I won (aka lost) credit card roulette the other day. I can no longer say I never win anything.
5) I'm currently amazed at how quickly peoples' lives can change. It helps us stay sane to think that there's any measure of security in the lives we lead, that each day will be relatively similar to the last. But occasionally a wake up call cuts through all of that and drives home the idea that existence is fragile. Routine is fragile. And foresight can only take you so far.
6) Pretending to be sad makes you actually sad. Take my word for it.
7) I'm kind of done with blogging sometimes. Not today times, but sometimes.
1) The clouds are bleeding today. I know that sounds like some sort of poetic attempt at describing rain, but it's not. They looked like jellyfish--all poofy on top and droopy-streaky on the bottom. That I've never seen before, or maybe noticed. I wonder if it's normal to think everything strange I see is a sign of some sort. Bleeding clouds=freaky Utah storm, the likes of which we've never known=End of The World.
2) I did laundry a week ago. It's still sitting on my floor. I'm pretty sure after that long you just give up and declare the clean laundry dirty laundry and start over. Except I don't think I can let my jeans get any tighter. I mean, they're tight enough after one wash. Imagine a double wash. Just imagine!
3) My superior sense of smell has kicked into high gear lately, and I can't get enough of the smells of summer. Sprinklers on grass in the sun? Man. I'm nearly drunk from it.
4) I won (aka lost) credit card roulette the other day. I can no longer say I never win anything.
5) I'm currently amazed at how quickly peoples' lives can change. It helps us stay sane to think that there's any measure of security in the lives we lead, that each day will be relatively similar to the last. But occasionally a wake up call cuts through all of that and drives home the idea that existence is fragile. Routine is fragile. And foresight can only take you so far.
6) Pretending to be sad makes you actually sad. Take my word for it.
7) I'm kind of done with blogging sometimes. Not today times, but sometimes.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Best Days
Warning: Long post. Long, worth-it post.
For the last several years I've been able to name the best day of my life. The day changes periodically, but I always have one in mind. In 2006 it was June 1st--Just an overall good day. I ran 7 miles, water skied, floated the Provo River, went to a winning Real Soccer game, and wrapped it all up by breaking up a highschool gang fight at Molca Salsa.
2007 trumped 2006 in many ways, but mostly in the beginning of July (exact day undetermined), on a day known as Truck Pool Day. I don't think I've simultaneously laughed and drowned so enjoyably in my life. We emptied 3 pools with our very scary neighborhood driving and went through the Del Taco drive-in.
These days have several things in common, most importantly a) A vague idea of some activities for the day; b) Nowhere important to be; c) No limits on time; d) Beautiful weather; and e) Good friends. And my most current Best Day of My Life? No different.
May 24, 2008
We awoke early in our skimpy hotel rooms; we feasted early on our skimpy hotel breakfast. We had a plan and Freedom was its name. Across the street waited 3 beautiful machines for that purpose, and we had only to sign our lives over to the man who never changed clothes or positions in his little shop. 3 quick lessons and 6 helmets later, we were off.
My partner was Katherine,
and she gave me the glory of driving first. Our little chain wound its way to the south-western peninsula of Santorini. We had a destination in mind, but soon realized that we didn't care where we went, so long as we were in control... The wind whipped through our hair and Katherine and I found ourselves singing anything and everything we could think of at the tops of our lungs. After several days and several cities worth of relying on public transportation, we were just now realizing what we'd been missing. We made a few scenic stops and then arrived triumphant at the Lighthouse, destination #1. Small hike, small cave, small doll found in bushes, the end.
Then we cruised to Red Beach. The cliffs in this particular part of the volcanic island are slightly red, from whatever crazy gases were emitted in the eruption. The red mixes with black and makes for a pretty cool background to blue-green water. We swam, we tried clinging to a rock (Mermaid-style), and I spent long moments listening to the water tossing rocks onto the shore--I think I have a favorite sound, and I can't believe I haven't heard it before.
Next stop: Peruvilos Beach (spelling uncertain). You know how you see a Corona commercial and think "what beach really looks like that?" Well...I have an idea. We ate lunch at a beach front restaurant and a few girls fell in love with our scrawny 12-year-old server. Then we each found a beach chair with accompanying thatch umbrella and took naps, read, whatever. I took a walk and spent some delicious alone time, applying what I'm certain should be a new spa treatment: Black Sand Scrub. Despite the occasional naked person who slightly ruined the view, this beach was super paradise. We attempted to crash a volleyball game full of Greek male models with laughable sports skills but ended up spectating instead.
Then we explored a few random villages, which satisfied my craving for the Santorini of my imagination. We walked around Pyrgos, and after being invited into a creepy old lady's house and repeatedly offered a donkey ride by a cute old man, we happened across a hilltop church with an all-too-accessible bell. I, thus challenged, decided that the bell tolls for me and gave it a healthy clang. Actually, it was a surprisingly loud CLANG that sounded out over the whole valley. Figuring the bell police were surely after us, we took off running and laughing our way down the hill. This whole event was captured on video, only to be suspiciously destroyed later...thus entering it in the realm of myth. You can tell your grandchildren that you know the girls who unwittingly mobilized the Greek troops to defend the castle against the encroaching pirates by sounding the Pirate Bell...if you want.
We raced back victorious to our skimpy hotel and transformed into beautiful goddesses so we could head to Fira for the sunset. All the restaurants overlooking the caldera (read: huge watery basin in the middle of the ring of islands) are super expensive so we grabbed cheap gyros and jumped on a roof with an amazing view. I will forever love the guy from the restaurant right next to us who saw us, contemplated, and then decided to let us enjoy our illegal selves. After some shopping and some amazing desserts, we retired for the evening.
This, my friends, was the pinnacle of the trip for me. I may or may not document the rest of it, but this gives an adequate picture of how it felt to be free in Greece for 10 days. Until something tops it, May 24th was the best day of my life.
For the last several years I've been able to name the best day of my life. The day changes periodically, but I always have one in mind. In 2006 it was June 1st--Just an overall good day. I ran 7 miles, water skied, floated the Provo River, went to a winning Real Soccer game, and wrapped it all up by breaking up a highschool gang fight at Molca Salsa.
2007 trumped 2006 in many ways, but mostly in the beginning of July (exact day undetermined), on a day known as Truck Pool Day. I don't think I've simultaneously laughed and drowned so enjoyably in my life. We emptied 3 pools with our very scary neighborhood driving and went through the Del Taco drive-in.
These days have several things in common, most importantly a) A vague idea of some activities for the day; b) Nowhere important to be; c) No limits on time; d) Beautiful weather; and e) Good friends. And my most current Best Day of My Life? No different.
May 24, 2008
We awoke early in our skimpy hotel rooms; we feasted early on our skimpy hotel breakfast. We had a plan and Freedom was its name. Across the street waited 3 beautiful machines for that purpose, and we had only to sign our lives over to the man who never changed clothes or positions in his little shop. 3 quick lessons and 6 helmets later, we were off.
My partner was Katherine,
and she gave me the glory of driving first. Our little chain wound its way to the south-western peninsula of Santorini. We had a destination in mind, but soon realized that we didn't care where we went, so long as we were in control... The wind whipped through our hair and Katherine and I found ourselves singing anything and everything we could think of at the tops of our lungs. After several days and several cities worth of relying on public transportation, we were just now realizing what we'd been missing. We made a few scenic stops and then arrived triumphant at the Lighthouse, destination #1. Small hike, small cave, small doll found in bushes, the end.
Then we cruised to Red Beach. The cliffs in this particular part of the volcanic island are slightly red, from whatever crazy gases were emitted in the eruption. The red mixes with black and makes for a pretty cool background to blue-green water. We swam, we tried clinging to a rock (Mermaid-style), and I spent long moments listening to the water tossing rocks onto the shore--I think I have a favorite sound, and I can't believe I haven't heard it before.
Next stop: Peruvilos Beach (spelling uncertain). You know how you see a Corona commercial and think "what beach really looks like that?" Well...I have an idea. We ate lunch at a beach front restaurant and a few girls fell in love with our scrawny 12-year-old server. Then we each found a beach chair with accompanying thatch umbrella and took naps, read, whatever. I took a walk and spent some delicious alone time, applying what I'm certain should be a new spa treatment: Black Sand Scrub. Despite the occasional naked person who slightly ruined the view, this beach was super paradise. We attempted to crash a volleyball game full of Greek male models with laughable sports skills but ended up spectating instead.
Then we explored a few random villages, which satisfied my craving for the Santorini of my imagination. We walked around Pyrgos, and after being invited into a creepy old lady's house and repeatedly offered a donkey ride by a cute old man, we happened across a hilltop church with an all-too-accessible bell. I, thus challenged, decided that the bell tolls for me and gave it a healthy clang. Actually, it was a surprisingly loud CLANG that sounded out over the whole valley. Figuring the bell police were surely after us, we took off running and laughing our way down the hill. This whole event was captured on video, only to be suspiciously destroyed later...thus entering it in the realm of myth. You can tell your grandchildren that you know the girls who unwittingly mobilized the Greek troops to defend the castle against the encroaching pirates by sounding the Pirate Bell...if you want.
We raced back victorious to our skimpy hotel and transformed into beautiful goddesses so we could head to Fira for the sunset. All the restaurants overlooking the caldera (read: huge watery basin in the middle of the ring of islands) are super expensive so we grabbed cheap gyros and jumped on a roof with an amazing view. I will forever love the guy from the restaurant right next to us who saw us, contemplated, and then decided to let us enjoy our illegal selves. After some shopping and some amazing desserts, we retired for the evening.
This, my friends, was the pinnacle of the trip for me. I may or may not document the rest of it, but this gives an adequate picture of how it felt to be free in Greece for 10 days. Until something tops it, May 24th was the best day of my life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.JPG)