I've never managed to keep a journal, no matter how many times I tried during my childhood. But I have a drawer full of spirals, which are filled with poems and stories and musings. They cover so much of my life, they serve the purpose of journals.
I was just flipping through one of my more recent ones, and this is the last thing in it. If I'm correct, I wrote it the day I took my last college final, about 7 months ago.
I was done. Free. And I looked up at the sky, considering what came next, and the clouds had never seemed so far away. The sky stretched from one infinity to another, and there was nowhere I couldn't go.
I so clearly remember looking up at the spring sky that day. And maybe the notion of that paragraph is a bit cliche, but I always want to remember that moment. I always want to remember that there is nothing too far beyond our grasp, nothing we can't dream.
I'm not a big New Years Eve person. Growing up, I spent most of them with family friends playing cards into the early hours of the morning, only pausing for a few minutes to acknowledge the clock striking midnight.
And I don't believe much in New Year's resolutions, because I believe that if someone wants to change something enough, the turning of a calendar page isn't going to matter. All the power to everyone who makes resolutions and keeps them -- they're just not for me.
So I'm excited about 2012, but only because I'm excited about life in general and not because I'll write a new year at the end of dates.
I'll always remember 2011 as the year I graduated from college and started life in the real world. The year my Rangers came within a strike of winning the World Series -- twice -- and broke my sports-heart instead. They had me sliding down a couch to the floor with my hands on my head shouting with my dad in disbelief, and I couldn't forget that even if I wanted to. Even if I tried. Because it was one of the greatest games in the history of baseball and they'll talk about it for decades to come.
It is the year I read more books than any other. A year I learned important things about my writing and took some major strides.
But there's one thing I like to learn anew every year. Something Stephen Colbert reminded me of in his commencement speech (which I talked about here). And that's the importance of dreams. To always dream about something, always strive for something. To take every failure, put it in your back pocket, and declare that you'll never give up.
So on that note, I want to share this song by one of my favorite bands:
Happy New Year everyone. I hope you keep on dreaming, even if it breaks your heart.
I was lucky enough to have Stephen Colbert, a Northwestern alum, as the commencement speaker at my graduation. He did a great job of making it very Northwestern focused for the graduates while having a solid, concise greater message at the end and, of course, cracking everyone up.
Here's the speech, if you want to watch it:
Part of his "message" portion of his speech included this line:
"You have been told to follow your dreams. But, what if it's a stupid dream?"
He went on to say, "Whatever your dream is now, if you don't achieve it, that does not mean you've failed."
In my room in high school, I had a framed puzzle I'd put together of Times Square. It was a cool picture, sure. But I hung it there as a symbol of my dream to live in New York City someday. I'd loved my visits there, and I loved the picture of myself I'd imagined time and again of what my life there would be. At that point, I'd only ever lived in one house in Dallas, TX. New York was far, far away from everything I'd ever known.
The first step, in my mind, was attending college there. So my parents and I went on a college visit, where I discovered I didn't quite like the idea of NYU not having that stereotypical college campus feel, and Columbia, while having a campus, didn't actually have my major for undergrads (thanks, internet, for not telling me that before I flew there).
Eventually I decided I didn't even want to major in journalism, so Columbia was once again an option. But I had to expand my search, so I thought, how about another large city? And I began to research all of the colleges in Chicago. I discovered Northwestern and the fact that they had a creative writing program. I applied early decision and, well, the rest is history.
But this story isn't really about my college decision. It's about how, the longer I was at Northwestern, the more I knew what I'd always suspected -- I needed Texas. I missed all my family that was there, the random karaoke parties they held that I couldn't attend because I was 900 miles away. I missed people saying y'all and the ridiculously hot summers and the Dallas highways that made everything so accessible, plus countless other tiny things that make it what I love.
I had my experience of a big, lively downtown by being so close to Chicago, and rather quickly I knew that was enough for me. I still had this idyllic vision of what life in New York City would be, but I also knew that, ultimately, it wasn't what I wanted.
So that dream that I'd had for years, that several people knew about -- I just let it go. It wasn't a stupid dream, but, as Colbert said, "Dreams change, and that's okay."
I'm getting settled in my new apartment now. My real world, grown up, have a full-time job, apartment... in Dallas. And I'm incredibly happy, and satisfied, and don't feel like I've failed at all. The other day my mom came over to help me decorate. We've moved since I graduated high school, and that puzzle of NYC wasn't hanging in my room in the new house. I had her search my closet and several boxes until she found it, then I had her bring it with her. And now, once more, it's hanging in my bedroom.
It's my tribute to Stephen Colbert. To dreams. A reminder that my dream has changed once before, and I'm glad I didn't pursue it just so not attaining it wouldn't make me feel like a failure. A reminder that in high school I wasn't afraid to dream big, so I shouldn't be afraid to dream big now, either. And hey, it's still a pretty picture.
Anyone have any dreams that changed for the better? Any pearls of wisdom from your commencement speakers? I'd love to hear it!
Despite the fact that my cognitive psychology class is currently making me question every memory I think I have, there is one conversation with an aunt of mine I remember very clearly. We were discussing what I wanted to be when I grew up, and when I said an author, she said, "But what if you don't become an author?"
I was probably 12 or so at the time, so I was old enough to know that becoming an author was by no means a laid out career plan, but still young enough that I was idealistic. I didn't want to be asked such a realistic follow-up question. Later that day, I wrote about it in one of my many spirals. But I didn't write about the conversation. I wrote, "How am I ever supposed to achieve my dreams if I'm planning for when I fail?"
It wasn't my aunt's intention to crush my dreams or anything. She was just being practical. And though my reaction was that of an idealistic kid, I think it has some practicality to it, too. To someday achieve a dream, you have to believe in it enough to make it Plan A. That doesn't mean it's become an author or be homeless. It's not either or.
Never has this whole conundrum been more apparent to me than now, as my college graduation nears. I think I'm more excited than most of my peers (I hate that word, but it's the best description) for graduating, but I'm not set with a job and a plan and a career all laid out like some of them are. And it's okay. Because at some point when I decided to major in Creative Writing instead of something more practical, I knew this day would come.
And being an author is still my dream. Still Plan A. But what I'm realizing is that pursuing Plan B isn't about giving up, or about failure. It's about practicality. It's about acknowledging that the only way to pursue Plan A is to first find another way to provide for myself. It is not either or. It's Plan B and keeping at Plan A, just at the same time. I haven't failed yet. The only point at which I'll have failed is the moment I stop trying.
I'm that person who has a list of life goals on a piece of paper in a special box in a certain drawer in my room. One of those goals is to be a published author. One is to find all the numbers from 1 to 999 on license plates in order. (This statement always confuses people, so here is how I can best describe it - I see a car that has a license plate H1Y 42G, for example. Well, on that I could find 1, 2, 4, 12, 14, 41, 21, 142, 412, 214, 241.... etc, depending on where I was in the game.)
At any point of any day, I could tell you what number I was on. And at some point I lost count of the years I had spent on it, but my best guess is between 7 and 10 years. Now, when you're 21, that's a commitment. Especially when most people look at you, stare for a moment, and try to find the nicest way to say, "Why in the world are you doing this?"
My dad wasn't one of those. Maybe it's because he was always driving, and he needed something to do. He'd help me look at the passing cars and point out my number if he found it. But he went beyond that.
Every summer weekend growing up my family made an hour and a half trip from Dallas to Lake Texoma, and at about a halfway point was the mile stretch of highway of all mile stretches. First, when on the way home, was the Dairy Queen. Ice cream for everyone! Second: three truck stops all next to each other. Now, Texas license plates aren't very nice. The vast majority have only two numbers. Very few had three. So my task was much more difficult once I got past 100.
But semi-truck license plates have lots of numbers, and they were my savior. So nearly every weekend, after we had our ice cream, my dad would drive around all three truck stops slowly enough for me to glance at each license plate. (Fun Fact: the license plates are different on the front and back of these trucks, which made the stop even more productive.) My mom and sister would roll their eyes, but my dad and I knew the invaluable help the truck stops gave to my project. In about the ten minutes it took to stop and drive around, I could usually get about 30 numbers nearer to my goal.
When I finally got to 999, I was in college and walking around with a friend. I jumped and screamed and maybe even clicked my heels out of excitement, while my friend - who knew about my goal - thought I'd lost my mind. And then I called my dad.
If not for my dad, I'd still be many numbers away from being able to cross that goal off of my life list. But more importantly, all the people who tried to convince me my goal was futile might have actually succeeded. He believed in me. He helped me. He was there, every time we were in a car, asking, "What number are you at now?"
My goal for being a published author someday, which might also be a goal of yours, is sure to take time, perseverance, and a whole lot of effort. But having someone who thinks it's worthwhile, and who believes I can do it, will be an invaluable resource.
So I guess I just want to say, whatever your goal is, whatever your dream - even one as crazy as license plates numbers - find a shoulder. One you can lean on, cry on, and use as a pushing off point when you're jumping for glee at that moment you can finally check it off your list.
Anyone have any crazy odd dreams and goals of their own? I want to hear!
Okay, so it's not so grand. But I haven't blogged in a very long time (you may or may not have noticed) and after much deliberation, I'm resolving to return.
While I wasn't blogging, I had many thoughts about blogging. Such as, "That would make a good post," or, "I have thoughts about this, where could I share them?" But I also had thoughts such as, "Surely plenty of other writers have blogged about the same topic in a much more profound way," and, "I don't have time to write/revise and blog, so I'll skip the blogging."
But here's the truth - if I worried less about whether what I have to say is groundbreaking, and instead just share my writing related thoughts, inspirations, and endeavors, blogging would be a much less stressful and time consuming activity.
And I devour others blogs on a daily basis (like yours!) that motivate me, inspire me, and make me laugh. So mine might just be another one of a hundred in your google readers, but that's okay. I'm going to give it my best shot.
For my writing major, I have to take a class called "The Situation of Writing," which I guarantee will leave me wanting to rip my hair out when I am encouraged to believe that a career as a "literary" writer is the only respectable way to be a writer, but I digress...
I had to read a piece for class by Clarence Major, "Afterthoughts on Becoming a Writer," and I really identified with this part:
"If there were disadvantages in being out of step, there were just as many advantages. I was beginning to engage myself passionately in painting and writing, and this passion would carry me through a lot of difficulties and disappointments--simply because I had it. I saw many people with no passionate interest in anything. Too many of them perished for lack of a passionate dream long before I thought possible."
So here's to passion, dreams, and following them! (Oh, and Happy New Year!)
"'Write to save yourself,' Athos said, 'and someday you'll write because you've been saved.'" -From Fugitive Pieces, by Anne Michaels
I came across this quote while reading for class, and it struck me as very true to my life. I used to say that I wrote to understand my world, and I read books to escape it. In large part, that is still true. But I think my "someday" is closer, or maybe even now.
I have a shelf of spirals at home filled with angsty poems and paragraphs of random musings that I am embarrassed of, but I wouldn't wish them to not exist. There were so many times I didn't know how I felt about a situation until I read what I'd just written. The words in those spirals got me through many years in which I felt lost, confused, and sometimes even unloved.
And all the books on my shelves gave me insight into worlds I couldn't be a part of in my own life, while letting me escape my life for as long as it took to read the words on the pages I held.
I always knew I wanted to be an author, from the time I was five years old. But I spent most of my life writing things that weren't even remotely close to novels or even publishable poems. And that's okay, because writing made me the person I am and got me through everything I encountered in life.
But most of what I write now isn't musings on my life. It's not random observations or lines about the boy I have a crush on. Somewhere along the way, my notebook became filled with short stories and novel ideas. My focus changed to writing something that will ideally allow a teenager to become engrossed in a book for a while instead of whatever is going on in life.
That, more than anything, is my dream. Because words saved me.
Why do you write? Can you identify with that quote, too?
So I'm home for a few days before my SENIOR YEAR begins (I can't really believe it, even though I am beyond ready for it), and thus today's fun fact will be just that - only one.
Every time I'm home I like to look through my spirals that I wrote in growing up, both to laugh at myself and inspire myself. Every single one of them mentions numerous times how being an author is my dream and why it is my dream, and it's always fun to know that my 10 year-old self and 21 year-old self agree.
But anyway, ONWARDS with the fun fact!
In one of my spirals, I have a list of 188 questions I have about the world (which is by no means a comprehensive list). 188 questions which, by the way, are all written in mirror writing. Mirror writing. I faintly remember teaching myself how to do that when I was bored in class in high school (I think because Leonardo da Vinci wrote like that, and I was all inspired).
The problem? I never really taught myself how to read it, and it takes way too much energy. But I did make out question #188... How long before humans will become obsolete?
Okay, no, bugs are not the epitome of my hopes and dreams. They aren't things I've carefully crafted and spent my time on. But when I pressed "send" on my first query letter, I jumped back from my computer and shuddered a little. Just like after I squash a bug.
Here's the thing - once you kill a bug, that's it. It's not coming back to life even if you want it to. (Okay, I have had bugs jump back out of the kleenex when I was peeking to make sure it had died, but that's rare.)
Once you've sent your query letter, you can't retract it. It's out there for someone to read and judge. Everything I've ever wanted since I was five is in that query letter even though I haven't explicitly told the agent that.
So, now I wait. I do believe my email checking is about to significantly increase. I'm sticking with that tried and true saying, "Prepare for the worst, hope for the best."Because even if I get only form rejections in return, I'm moving forward. I'm putting myself out there and not letting fear keep me from pursuing my dream. Easier said than done, right?
What did it feel like when you sent your first query letter? Or are you hesitant to start querying? Let me know!
I love reading, writing, and Texas Rangers baseball. Also Texas, and baseball in general, and books. I really love books. I believe in smiling, kindness, perseverance, and following dreams. And if one must wear socks, they should probably be colorful and not match.
