Shadows in the Painting

I met someone today in chapel. His name is Lyle and he graduated from Concordia 60 years ago. While chapel was engaging today, the message I took away from it came from Lyle afterwards.

After chit-chatting for a while, Lyle and mine's conversation soon became a deep conversation. We began to talk about the imperfections in life and the difficulties that ensue. Here's what he told me:
Think of a good oil painting. Every good painting has shadows that bring out the light. Keep the paint wet and the painter can change what is on the canvas. Too many shadows, the painting has no depth. Not enough shadows and the brilliance of the colors and lighting is lost. Shadows are necessary but one cannot let it take over.

This past year has been the hardest yet for me, as I have said before. The shadows of my life ruled my picture for months. But, like an oil painting, I can remove some of the paint and paint more light into it. I have tried and tried to forget everything that happened and begin anew with not much success; but Lyle's words now ring true.

The shadows are nothing to be afraid of; sure, they suck. They are terrible and I wish they didn't happen but they did. But now, I can paint more light into my life portrait, utilizing the shadows to my benefit. As Lyle said, I can learn from them - both the shadows and the light - and see what picture they can create by themselves. Together, they are beautiful. A bit of a mess up close with valleys and ridges of paint, but what oil painting isn't a mess close up? The greater picture, though, can be simply stunning.

Peace.

-Nicole

Slowing Down Time

I am currently in the library because I had to print something off an "old school" computer because, for some reason, my laptop is not able to send print jobs to the on-campus printing system. And goodness me, was I annoyed. I still have copious amounts of readings to do before tomorrow and I have to do the dishes!

I often get asked what the biggest difference between Spain and the US and I almost always answer with, "The schedule." The Spanish get up late, eat late (try 9am, 3pm, and 10pm), and always nap. It was certainly weird, but gosh did I love it after a while.

The schedule is a certain mindset, where time is valued above being productive. Dinner at a restaurant was a three hour affair; a walk down to the park would be nearly a day's event. It wasn't that the service was terrible or the park was a ridiculous distance away; conversation and enjoyment of the area was the reason. Time in Spain operates differently than time in the US. Time's goal in Spain is not to get as much done as possible; time's goal is to provide happiness and fulfillment.

So, back to the library. I was going to use this time in the library to the maximum by replying to emails, texting people back, and doing things while I waited for the slower-than-my-laptop computer to log me on so I could print and get the heck out of here. After groaning about how dumb it this was, I came to realize how different my concept of time is from when I was in Spain. So, instead, to slow my time down, I put my phone down, refused to check my emails, and sat and enjoyed the time by people watching and admiring the artwork.

Although it may be difficult in the US and especially on a college campus to allow three hours for a meal or a day to hang at a park, it is possible to slow time down. Productivity may decrease, sure, but the quality of what is produced and the fulfillment gained from it, at least for me, far outweighs the loss of the productivity. I need to slow my time down and maybe there will be no need to hit a pause button or fast-forward. I will have used my time in ways in which I need it, by taking the long route home or not doing anything while waiting for the microwave to be done or the computer to load. Maybe if I slow down, life won't feel so overwhelming in stress-inducing or anxiety-ridden times.

Go Spanish Time! Peace!

-Nicole

Proving It To Myself

I broke down crying in the library last night. The hours previous had been great - dinner and pie with some friends, productivity with homework, beautiful weather - but I found it all to be proof of what I lack. With my hair as a shield from passing stares, I cried about having no one who cares, no one who checks in on my well being, about how unmotivated I was feeling.

As I was journaling last night, my main thing was about how I am not "on the front line" important in anyone's life. As of late, I have been waiting for life to prove me wrong, instead of doing what I was taught to do and prove those thoughts wrong myself.

After I got back from the library, I finally figured out what was the truth and what was my head getting the best of me. I do have friends and I know that I am important in people's lives, even if they haven't told me directly. And I do have people check in on me, but the thing is, I have to do the same. If I am sitting in my room or hiding in the library, how are people supposed to connect with me?

Yes, I did have to start over on making friends and had to seriously re-connect with people, but because I lost one of the most important relationships in my life, does not mean I have no value in anyone else's life. And that is what I have to tell myself over and over again. I do have value and it isn't the world's job to prove it to me. I have to prove it myself.

Peace!

-Nicole

My Anxiety's Dismay & My Complete Joy

I just ate so much food. Two plates of Mongolian grill and then a very large bowl of frozen yogurt. Orientation Core 1 made a huge mess of our table (nearing 20 empty plates with 9 of us) and were the loudest people in the whole place, receiving many glares of disdain. I probably used up more gas than I should have to go eat. However, the laughter, the pure joy, and the lessons I got out of the evening were so worth the stomach discomfort and the use of gas.

In the car on the way to get some fro-yo.

As I have mentioned before, this past year has been the hardest year of my life. I lost a lot and felt broken beyond repair; my social anxiety, along with the adjustment back, got the best of me. I was petrified of how senior year would go. I was scared that I would have absolutely no friends, that I would be utterly rejected by a lot of people (and for good reason), and that I would have to muck through my last year in undergrad by myself.

Much to my anxiety's dismay and my complete joy, those predictions I told myself have not come true. Relationships with old friends have been rekindled, even if it was (and continues to be) tough to do. I have made new friends in people I have admired for a good while and I have found a group of people via Orientation who I enjoy being with and who truly give me life. Not to mention, I have a group of first years who I admire for their excitement about starting a new chapter in life.

These past two weeks or so have been a lesson for me: no matter the past or what heartache and anxiety I bring, it is possible to find a new place in old situations. I know Concordia, but I have found a new place to stand in it and more people to stand with. And that is very awesome.

So here is my thanks to all who have been with me the last two weeks in any capacity - even if the only interaction we had was an introduction: I appreciate you all and I hope you know how important you are to me. I truly admire each of you and I hope that there will be more opportunities for my appreciation and admiration to grow. Thank you.

Peace.

-Nicole

Life-Giving

At Concordia, all of the first-year students go through orientation a couple of days before the first day of classes. And at Concordia, orientation is taken very seriously. My orientation experience freshman year was fabulous; it was exhausting, as my first blog posts pointed out, but a great experience. I felt at home and I learned so much about myself and who I wanted to be in college (hence, the blog).

Preparing for Orientation: Round 2 has proved to me yet again the changing experience it can be - for anyone involved. We started training today and I have gained more bruises today than I had all summer from the games we played and I have lost a few pounds from how much I have laughed because of it. I'm doing what I love and I feel like I know what I'm doing, but I know I have a lot to learn and I'm going to learn it. It, as my mother would say, is "living-giving". (Gosh Mom. Your little catch phrases are coming in handy lately.)

As I get older and especially as I enter my final year of undergrad, I am beginning to notice more and more about my reactions and emotions I have when I am in a certain group. There are things that feel like work but then there are those things - like orientation, speech, and theatre - that give so much life to me that I cannot fathom a life without experiences like this.

My last blog post pointed out that doing something life-giving is what I need in my life. And although I have no idea what my career will be or what my plan is for after I graduate in May, days like this prove to me how much my life journey needs these experiences.

Peace!

-Nicole

Meaningful Adventure

I sat in my closet for two hours today. I got home from a decently good day, put sweatpants on, along with my infamous kitty sweater, and then crawled into my closet. I cannot tell you why; it's just been that sort of life as of late.

I certainly have been feeling off for a while. It's the type of feeling that makes my bed more appealing than the world outside of my room, where the worst that could happen is falling off the bed or my computer dying. It's the feeling that seems to come out of no where.

I have a lot to be angry, sad, and scared about. I have relationships to mourn, to repair, and a lot to make; I have to mourn the loss of a country and a life there, plus I am still walking the path of bereavement with the passing of my dad. I have a slough of other things on my list of "Anger, Sadness, and Terror" that may or may not bring me healing if I were to list them all.

No matter what that list contains, I catch myself saying, "Adventure awaits". However, this time, I have to add something to that saying: "Meaningful adventure awaits." As I was sitting in my closet today, staring up into my shirts, I realized I have lacked meaning in my life. I have many a story to tell you of the great adventures I have had this summer; not many have given much meaning to my life. They are still worth telling - they are a part of my life story. But right now, maybe what I need to get this feeling of not wanting to leave my room is to find something meaningful to do. Maybe I need to find something life-giving that is an adventure at the same time.

Life is terrifying and tough, especially when my list of "Anger, Sadness, and Terror" is as long as it is. But adventure awaits me and maybe life won't be so terrifying with some meaningful adventure in my life.

Paz.

-Nicole

Aventura

I just got a tattoo. I decided before I left for Spain that I would most definitely get a tattoo during my study abroad. My cousin Kathryn, who studied in Segovia five years ago, got one of her first tattoos in Spain, so why not me? So, on Monday, I walked to a tattoo parlor and laid on a table for 7 minutes and there it was, a very permanent thing of ink on my left calf.

The word is "aventura" which translates to "adventure". The word adventure has been following me since the day I got to college. Heck, it was even said in the first sentence of my first blog post. And my fortune cookie spoke to me about a great adventure and change just before I left. "Adventure is out there," says the movie Up.

Just before I got my tattoo, I thought a lot about what qualifies an adventure. When I was younger, I thought it was about doing things that people would find extraordinary; things that would cause a ruckus if I told people about it. But recently, the definition has changed for me. It has become more about changing my perspective on the world and changing who I am in it. When I got to Spain, my adventure was adjusting to life. It definitely had been done before and it isn't anything too extraordinary - something most people wouldn't consider an adventure. However, to me, it was one of the hardest adventures I've ever gone through. It was new to me - new emotions, new people, new language - and I came out as a slightly different person, with a new perspective on life in Spain.

Adventure doesn't have to adhere to any standards except your own. I had an adventure last week roaming around a part of Sevilla I hadn't yet seen. It wasn't grand, it was the funnest things I've ever done, but at the end, I had learned something new about the city I have been living in for a couple of months and I discovered that I have so much more to explore in Sevilla.

The quotation, "Adventure is out there" is very, very true. One just has to look for it. And maybe get a tattoo to remind them of it.

Peace!

Nicole

In Chefchaouen, Morocco

I rode a camel in the pouring rain.

My mother, who recently visited, and me in Granda.

During Semana Santa in Sevilla

Adventure in the Expo area of Sevilla. Who knew?

Disconnected

I rode a horse for the first time on Saturday and I took a total of three photos. (Did I mention it was on a beach?) I didn’t take that many photos partly because I was afraid of dropping my phone and directing my horse where I didn’t want it to go, but mostly, it was because I didn’t feel it necessary to message anyone or send anyone a photo. Everyone I would want to message was with me or I knew wouldn’t get the message until much later, so, I just save the few photos I took and kept on riding.

I never thought of myself as technology addicted or even remotely close to it. I had gone on so many trips where a cell phone wasn’t permitted and I had done fine. Once I got here, though, I discovered just how connected I am. Granted, the first few weeks here were rough and did require communicating with people back home. But, even though I was more comfortable weeks later, my level of communication stayed the same. I soon discovered how little I was experiencing when my phone was in my hand at all times. I was constantly check my BlackBerry for messages from home, from friends here in Spain, for anything.

I told myself when I was on the plane here that I would come back with so many stories. The first few weeks in, though, I felt like I had absolutely none. I was always jealous of those people who could tell story after story and never run out. I have discovered that it isn’t because they live such an extravagant, crazy life (well, maybe just a little); it is because they live in the moment and no one, except for the people who were present, knows what comes next. No one saw the live-feed of what was happening on Facebook, no one got text message after text message of what was being said and thought. The story is new, except for the storyteller. That’s why it’s so exciting - because everyone anticipates the next part and the storyteller is often telling it for the first time.

Maybe it took adjusting to Spanish time, where no time is set in stone and plans are made in the moment, or maybe it was forcing myself to put my phone away and not allowing myself to check it every few minutes, but let me tell you, I have so many stories to tell now that I’ve disconnected  a bit.

Peace!

-Nicole

Photo #1

Photo #2 (turns out they were pretty much the same)

Photo #3: My horse Andalus

Feeling at Home

As I was sitting on my computer this afternoon, I had a very odd thought cross my mind: I'm glad I'm home. I stayed out pretty late last night, as is normal in Spain, and so it was nice to be in my room, relaxing. But what was odd about it is that I referred to this small apartment I once hated be in as my home.

When got to Sevilla, I refused to call this small apartment "home". I only referred to it as "the apartment" or "Ana's place" (Ana is my host mom). I was so miserable and wishing I could go home that I did not want to adjust to the differences of my living situations. I knew I could adjust; I just didn't want to. Adjusting meant I was here for a while and it meant that I had to make a life for myself here.

Let's just say I've come a long way. I am now thoroughly enjoying my time in Spain. I've stopped counting the days I've been in Spain. I finally put up my pictures I brought with on my bulletin board (the photos don't make me sad anymore). I have a bus pass and I know the system pretty well. I have my favorite places to shop and my favorite places to hang out. I've discovered that Spanish coffee makes my heart feel like it's about to explode and that I should probably stick to tea. Heck, I even made friends.

So I'm home. I have fallen in love with Spain and what it has to offer. Looking at my calendar, I'm starting to feel like there isn't enough time here. So, I guess I should starting living it large, right?

Peace!

-Nicole

Here are some photos from the past few weeks.

Roaming around Aracena

In Granada

Cathedral in Sevilla

Cathedral in Córdoba

Time Won't Go to Waste

My first week here in Spain was anything but perfect. Yes, I enjoyed my first few days of class, but nothing else felt right. I had the usual complaints: my feet hurt from all the walking, I knew nobody in the program, the food was new. Those things I knew I could soon get over. But, as some know, I have social anxiety. For the past few years, I have been in therapy and have had it well controlled. However, when I got to Spain, any little thing that didn't fit my usual pattern made me quite uncomfortable and beyond anxious. Normally, I know what to do - talk to someone I trust, make an appointment with my psychologist, jump into activities. But here, I had no idea what to do. I couldn't talk to anyone I trusted, because there was no one. I could call someone back home, but phone calls are expensive and I didn't have internet at my host home to Skype anyone. I also couldn't make an appointment because, well, I'm in Spain. And there were no activities to speak of and no one I could do things with.

I knew the first week would be rough - it always is, no matter where you are. The same thing happened to me last summer when I started to work at camp. This 'being uncomfortable' thing was not new. But what really got me was my anxiety. I eventually called my mom and talked with people who work at the Center. After a few days of planning and a few more days of adjusting, things are better.

Discomfort is easy to handle by oneself, which is why I think trips are easy to do. A study abroad, however, goes beyond discomfort. Granted, I have anxiety, but I still believe everyone has that one thing that makes it harder.

I have discovered something new: what was a great plan for one thing may be terrible for another. I had come in with the plan of jumping into things, which is what I usually do, but found it to be a terrible idea. My friend Malyn gave me some of the best advice: "Start small. It's okay not to be okay sometimes. Do whatever feels good to you - don't feel pressure to 'make the most of it'... [time] won't go to waste."

So although my first week was terrible, it wasn't wasted time. Yes, I still have to say to myself, "You made it 10 days!" but those are 10 days I proved to myself that I can do this. 10 days I stuck to my adventure. And I will only have more.

Peace, friends.

-Nicole

Hola from Spain!

¡Hola! I have safely made it to Sevilla, Spain and have pretty much settled in. I flew into Sevilla around 4:30 yesterday and then waited around for my roommate Emily to arrive. Although I am thankful my luggage did not get lost, Emily was not so fortunate. She, however, has taken it all in stride. Hopefully her luggage will arrive tonight sometime, like the airport said.

My biggest worry about coming to Spain was, naturally, speaking the language. And so far, the worry is justified. Thankfully, I have been saved by Emily, who is fairly fluent and not afraid to talk. I, however, have always found it difficult to speak, even in English. But, after an evening with Ana, my host mother, and orientation today, I have discovered two things. One: I can understand pretty much everything and two: my Spanish voice does not feel like my own.

When I speak English, it is comfortable and when words get jumbled up in my mouth, it is easy for me to untangle them. In Spanish, though, I do not recognize my voice. It feels like it has been poorly recorded and is playing back through a speaker that isn't connected quite right. And I have always believed it would be like this.

Today, during the afternoon siesta, Emily and I took a quick walk around our neighborhood (which is stunning; see below for some pictures), and our conversation ended up being half in English and half in Spanish. She commented toward the end of our walk that I was talking more and seem to be more comfortable. I realized that I was, in fact, comfortable begun to recognize my Spanish voice. I have begun to realize that I can be myself in both languages and I can have a confident voice.

Well that's all I have for now. Peace, my friends. Here are some photos from around the neighborhood.

-Nicole

An old church next to a modern building.

The front of the apartment building I stay in.

Some of the tile in the Center.

Near the apartment, about a block or so. In the background, you can see the soccer stadium. Crazy close.

My Fortune Cookie Is Speaking To Me

I ordered Chinese last night. Doesn’t seem to be a too significant event, but I swear my fortune cookie was speaking to me: “Sometimes travel to new places leads to great transformation.” Recently, I have started to question my decision to leave the States for four months to study in a different country and speak a language I don’t fully know. I am scared out my mind sometimes. So when a fortune cookie starts to make sense, maybe I should think things through more.

I recently flew to Oklahoma for Thanksgiving and I realized that the next time I would be going through the Minneapolis airport, I would be boarding a plane for a semester in Spain. I teared up, knowing I would be saying goodbye to my family and friends and I wouldn’t be able to hug them for about four months; I would only be able to see them across a computer screen. I haven’t spoken Spanish in a few months and I have never had to go more than a few hours only speaking Spanish. What am I, crazy? But, as my plane took off, I also realized that, yes, once I walked through the gate at the airport, I will be leaving those I love and my comfortable life, but I also will be heading off to Spain to learn language and culture, and gain a global perspective. I will be learning to love a new life, a new country, and new friends. I will learn so much more about myself than I could ever imagine possible.

I have taken many transformational trips in my life, ranging from two day trips to four week trips. But all of those trips were taken when I was in middle school and high school. Being a near-adult, maybe it is time for me to take another adventure. Going to college was the last adventure I took and so far it has been good, but I am getting a bit too comfortable. I am getting antsy and I need to stretch my legs. Why not stretch them across to another continent, another country?

So Fortune Cookie, although you are not always right, this time I think you are. Yes, I may be scared out of my mind, but transformation is not always bad. In fact, I have found it to be, well, great fortune.

Peace!

-Nicole

I'm Going to Spain!

Did you know I'm studying abroad starting in January? I bet not. For five months, I will be in Seville, Spain, studying culture and the language. It's been hard for me to be excited about this idea and for the longest time, I couldn't figure out why.

I was talking with Megan the other night and feeling sorry for myself. I told her I didn't want to go to Spain anymore, how I didn't want to spend five months on the greatest adventure I would have yet. No one seemed to care I was going away for five months and I felt like they were inconsiderate of my situation - lots of amazing speakers and lots of events were happening during that period and I am going to miss out on it all. I felt like people were just rubbing it in that they were going to experience it all and I was not. Megan, after consoling me for a bit, said that I rarely talk about myself in conversation anymore and rarely anyone knows I'm going to be gone, so how can they be excited for me?

It was a revelation. I don't know if I have tried to be selfless to the point no one knows who I am or what, but Megan was right. How can people be excited for me if no one knows? And how I can be excited for other people if I'm not excited for my own experience? If I'm not excited for my own, I am only jealous of others.

It's time for me to get excited about my five month adventure and time for others to know about it.

Cathedral in Seville

Peace!

-Nicole

Not What I Wanted, But What I Needed

I've been going to camp since I was in third grade. It was a dream of mine to work as a camp counselor and be the absolute best at it. My plan was to graduate high school, have my first year of college, and then start working at my camp for many years to come. Then came time for such things to happen and it simply didn't for one reason or another. This summer came rolling around and since I didn't seem to have anything else in mind, I decided to return to my younger self's plan and work at camp.

I started staff training in May and I hated my decision pretty quickly. I was cold, I was wet, and I was forced to interact with people I typically would never interact with normally. I worked nearly every hour of every day with less than minimum wage. I never knew the schedule for the next day, let alone the next week. I was not a happy camper (or counselor, I should say).

I had expected things to go my way and I had expected things to go along with my plan I had created so long ago. What I now realize was that my plan was created when I was in 5th grade or so, when I never would expect life to change so much. After two years of attending a liberal arts college, my life plans and my goals had dramatically changed even from when I was a senior in high school. My plan for working at camp was trying to fit my old self, instead of my new.

Although my wants of the summer never fully seemed to be met, my summer ended up being exactly what I needed. Here are a few examples.

• My uncle Oliver, who passed away in February, lived in the same area as the camp. Everywhere I looked around camp, I saw Oliver. He built nearly every building on camp and I felt him near throughout the summer.
• Oliver was also to be my "adoptive family" during the summer, but I was "adopted" by Joileen and Roger, dear friends of my late grandma Sis. I was able to re-connect to the side of my family I rarely talk to.
• Every summer, the staff puts on a short musical relating to the summer's theme. It is written and performed by the staff and they perform it every week for the campers and their families. I was graciously allowed to have the lead (plus I got a "Heavenly Nicole" shirt out of it).
• I spent a week or so with my sister and my niece and nephew. And got paid for it.
• I spent nearly every weekend with Angie, my sister's mom. She lived only 10 minutes away from camp and it became my weekend home where I got a hot shower and a house I could rule for a few days.

The list could be much more extensive if I were to continue. My summer, the one I hated with all my being in the beginning, ended up being exactly what I needed. I needed closure with Oliver's passing and camp allowed it to happen. I needed to be able to become closer to Ashly, my sister, and Angie and camp allowed that to happen as well. I needed to be able to fulfill my last "life goal" and camp was it. It truly allowed everything that needed to happen in my life to happen. I didn't particularly grow in who I was, but it helped me realize who I was in that particular moment, since so much change had occurred in the years before.

Change is good, but sometimes being able to reflect on who you are and what makes you who you are is a blessing as well. Sometimes, life doesn't give you what you want, but exactly what you need.

Peace.

-Nicole

Change, People, and Self

Welcome back to Dorm Room 718! It is now junior year and goodness, have the changes been great. I am no longer a theatre major and am instead a psychology major. I have added two more minors besides Spanish (religion and women's studies). Speaking of that Spanish minor, I will be in Spain this coming Spring for a study away program. I've had two different summer jobs, both working with children. I now live in an apartment with my freshman floor-mate Melissa. My niece and nephew are no longer babies, but instead toddlers. I hold two jobs and am involved in multiple on-campus clubs. Change is good, but sometimes it looks a bit different than expected.

I've always thought of myself as innocent and positive. Sometimes it had a bad connotation and sometimes it was a fabulous descriptor. No matter what meaning it held, I still thought of myself as innocent. Someone close to my heart told me last night that recently, they had failed to see that innocence and that I've become almost... cynical. They have missed the part of me that saw the best in people and if I did see something no so favorable, I didn't focus on it or bring it up. The more I thought about their words, the more it seemed to ring true. Yes, I have started to fail to see the good in people and I immediately believe the bad. The cause and root of this, though, I cannot seem to figure out.

My last year has been an odd one. I have said before I strive to be the one who is always growing in who she is. It seems I have not been able to say that in the last year. Important relationships have changed and become strained and my summer job as a camp counselor has challenged how I interact with people and life situations. I have discovered my limitations and shortcomings instead of my strengths. This isn't to say finding out such limitations and shortcomings is a terrible thing, but it is a bit of a downer after a long period of time.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I have failed to see the good in myself, which causes me to skip over the good in others. I have always said I'm a people-person and I thrive off of human interaction. Rather than thrive, I seem to diminish in who I am. I am still not sure what will remedy this undesirable change and maybe all I need is time, but it can't but help my situation if I actively search out a solution.

Until next,

peace.

-Nicole

Perfect

"Aim at perfection in everything, though in most things it is unattainable. However, they who aim at it, and persevere, will come much nearer to it than those whose laziness and despondency make them give it up at unattainable." -Lord Chesterfield

Yesterday, Nicole and I were talking about identity formation: how in adolescence you have to figure yourself out and work through the conflicts and events holding you back before you can move forward and focus on other parts of your life experience. In a stroke of luck, this conversation coincided with an episode of Grey's Anatomy I just watched (Grey's Anatomy is my new thing, don't judge.) The idea is there are a lot of things in life that you have to handle in sequential order. It's all a process.

I find the concept of perfection to be so strange. It doesn't exist, and I'm not even sure we could conceptualize something that is truly perfect. I mean, there's a reason why the Islamic traditions maintains that  Allah is the sole perfect being. I dislike the word "perfect." I never want it to be used to describe me by anyone I know, not by my family members, not by my friends, not by someone I'm dating, not even by a stranger on a street. I don't want to hear that I'm perfect. I want to hear that I am flawed, but that I am using my flaws to every advantage I can, that I'm learning and growing because of them. I'm never going to wake up, look in the mirror, and tell myself I'm perfect. However, I may tell myself that I've made some pretty great progress, that I can handle a situation better today than I was able to the day before.

I don't necessarily think conceptualizing perfection as the goal is helpful. To have a perfect state be the end stop everyone's fighting for removes emphasis from the sheer process of improving, and I think everyone should be constantly striving for improvement in all that they do. That doesn't mandate being discontent in everything you've done, it's actually being content with the level of effort you've put in. It's finding contentment in accepting where you're at and knowing you've got work to do, but that you're actually doing the work. If everyone looked around and thought, "Well, everything's perfect, nothing left to do but go home," we wouldn't have innovation! I don't think people should see themselves in a similar way.

At the end of the day, our value lies not in that we can attain perfection, (we can't) but that we can identify opportunities for change and improvement, and that's a pretty cool thing.

Peace and love,

-Megan

Cooking and Baking

I miss my kitchen and being able to bake and cook as much as I want and whenever I want to. When I got home on Monday after spending a few days with my sister Ashly, I asked my mom if I could cook this week. Being as busy as she is, she happily said yes. I spent around 50 dollars on a ton of veggies, cheese, and pasta. Tuesday night I made an Asian noodle salad and tomorrow I'm making a spinach and cheese lasagna. Plus, I just made homemade brownies with Hersey frosting. Tomorrow, after making the lasagna, I'm hoping to bake some cookies for the play I'm in, since our characters eat through the whole show. I am thrilled to be able to have a stocked kitchen and time to do it. Plus, I get to use my new apron I got for Christmas.

Today while prepping the lasagna, I realized just how different cooking and baking are. I remember once when I was cooking with my mom as a young girl, I was haphazardly measuring out flour for cookies. My mom quickly stopped me and said I had to be sure I was perfectly measuring out what was stated in the recipe, otherwise the cookies wouldn't turn out right. Cooking, on the other hand, is a sort of "anything goes" sort of food preparation. Too much of one spice? Add another to balance it out! Too little broth? Add more water and spices! Most of the time, I would rather bake than cook. Baking, I know if I follow the directions, the outcome will be fabulous. Cooking, on the other hand, is some what of a gamble.

My life is like cooking right now. I know the base of what the end-product will be, but I don't know what flavors to add and what ones will work together and balance out. It's a great cacophony of flavors, but it feels like the pan is getting too hot and I don't know how to slow it down. I'd much rather be baking - I know the exact amount of everything and there is a bit of room to add something else, like vanilla or peanut butter. But vanilla and peanut butter aren't exciting flavors. Sure, they do add sweetness, but not a kick of flavor like a jalapeño would have.

Maybe instead of viewing my life as chaotic and frustrating, I should see it as exciting. My cookies are already in the oven baking - maybe it's time to create some exciting new flavors and try a few new things in my life and see what happens. Who knows? Maybe it's something people would want to try themselves.

Peace!

-Nicole

Wandering

Today is my niece Presley's first birthday and can I just say I am flabbergasted it has been a year since she came into the world. I searched for the post I made last year around this time and I saw the picture attached to it. It's funny to look at myself. In the past year, my hair has been 4 colors, I had two semesters more of school, I spent a summer working, and multiple other things. Life has changed a lot and I along with it.

Although I haven't changed a lot physically in a year, I have in every other way. I am more confident, know a lot more, and have learned a lot more about who I am. But, in turn, I am less sure of my future and am more of a wanderer than ever. Just today I've noticed how much of a wanderer I am. I am constantly moving my place of residency - home, dorm, and this summer, camp. I don't even really what I'm going to do even in the next week, let alone in a year or four.

As you all know, I need a schedule. I need to know what's going on, but being in a theatre production and various other activities makes my schedule hard to predict. I'm becoming more frustrated with my life because of this fact. I need to know what is coming next and what my destination is and what my ultimate goal is. Let's just say I'm wandering all over the place.

But isn't that part of the adventure? The adventure of college - even life in general - is to feel uncomfortable and try new things. George Watsky last Friday told us that this was his last college show because he was moving onto play music instead. "I was getting comfortable with it and I figured I better move on," he said because he said life is about trying new things. Maybe that's what I'm missing - new things. I am certainly uncomfortable enough, but I don't really have anything new going on. I'm wandering around in a desert right now when I could (and should) go wandering in a big city and explore what it has to offer.

So here is to wandering and trying exciting things! Getting lost may happen, but at least I'll figure out a new path and new ideas and new adventures.

Peace!

-Nicole

Stories

I am currently writing from the Maize, the burger-joint we have here on campus, enjoying a strawberry banana smoothie. In about an hour, I will be entertained by George Watsky. I know Watsky mainly from his slam poetry, which is powerful, emotional, and funny. Slam poetry has a ton of variations, but it almost always revolves around a story and the stories are often very powerful and ridden with emotion.

My classes this semester seem to be about stories. In my religion class that focuses on interfaith, stories is what makes connections and builds bridges. Stories make people real and it puts a face on things. Psychology statistics often uses in-depth examples of people. My cognitive psychology focuses a lot on memory and what enhances it; stories help in remembering the information and one often pays attention to a story over a lecture. Finally, on the first day of my classical mythology class the professor said, "Things are best told through stories." I think he meant it in terms of mythology, but it got me thinking.

Our life is a story - we are writing it every day and we are the main character. But we also are the supporting character in someone else's life story. Heck, we might even be the antagonist. Our actions dictate what role we take up. And depending on what our story contains, our story might be told for a really long time. And I want mine to be very epic and for people to find adventure, love, pain, and acceptance within it.

Peace!

-Nicole

Uncle Oliver

Although it is cheesy, I have to say I love Valentine's Day. I declared that last year and I am going to say it again. I love handing out paper Valentine's to my friends and strangers and yes, they are the kiddie kind. I love having a reason to wear as many pinks and reds as possible and to look as cute as possible. My mother even came to campus today to give me two boxes of Girl Scout Cookies and a new book. Today is a good day.

Last week was also full of love, although the circumstances weren't as happy as Valentine's Day. My great uncle Oliver passed away about two weeks ago and his funeral was last Friday. He was one of my favorite people on Earth and I will greatly miss him. Most of my aunts and uncles (Teresa, Kerry, Arlyce, Richard, Lisa, and Lenny) can up for the funeral, along with Oliver's kids and grandkids. Despite the sadness, it was amazing to have most of my family around the same table. We told stories about Oliver, who always seemed to be involved in some sort of odd escapade which often included his nieces and nephews it seemed. The one red thread through all the stories was how loving Oliver was. Everything he did was out of utter compassion and love and by nature, he was a gentle man.

My mom, Oliver, and I this past summer.

Today on Valentine's Day, I hope to continue my uncle Oliver's amazing legacy of love and maybe his legacy of crazy escapades.

Peace!

-Nicole