Live and Let Live seems to be the only answer

"To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down." 

- Woody Allen -

Back like Batman

So I fell off of the Rooftop for a while—a long while.

But I’ve got my grappling hook! Now I can say I’m back and confused as ever with some new adjustments in my life:

1)      I got caramel highlights and five inches cut off my hair

2)      I started running, bought a yoga mat and have lost two pounds

3)      I’m eating soy chocolate pudding ( ok not an adjustment, just thought you should know)

4)      Oh, and I graduated from college

Alright I guess I can’t exactly skim over the last one but it was less major of a major event that I thought it would be. I looked more forward to the dinner after the ceremony than the actual ceremony itself. I can sum up my last hours in three words : long, hot, boring,

I may seem unappreciative of my education but I had reached the point where I wanted to scream “JUST GIVE ME MY DAMN DIPLOMA!” and then have a glass of wine. 

Our wise and sensible graduation speaker left us with a comforting message of “sorry my generation screwed up this world, now please fix it”. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around and our elders handed us a perfect world and told us not to screw it up. At least they aren’t wearing rose colored glasses.

Despite the latest ‘major event’ in my life, all of the changes that I have listed so far are surface level and by no means are the reason I fell off of the Rooftop. The reason I fell off is because I had come to the realization that a person like me wasn’t made to function in the world as it is, but I had better learn to adjust or I am just going to be depressed the rest of my life.

Therefore, I have a job interview for the non-profit that I interned at before and will take the job when it is offered. My mom thinks I just don’t like change, but I’m really just taking my time. All around me people are rushing off to their jobs in New York and moving away, buying houses, and getting married while the ones without jobs are depressed. Like me.

I just took one look around and went “whoa!” what the fuck is happening?

I decided to grab my grappling hook out of my utility belt and get back on the freakin Rooftop because I just now realized that I fell off!  People had me thinking that I was just settling with a job like the one I am interviewing for and that I am not doing things to make myself happy.  To them, I would only be happy traveling abroad and working at some international institution because of my degree in International Studies. I don’t know where people got that idea about me because I have the ability to be happy right where I am.

It’s good to be back.

Daffodilion Muse

Two hundred cheery yellow daffodils bloomed in my backyard the first spring in my family’s new house—about 10 years ago.

The next spring less bloomed.

The spring after…even less.

Many mulchings and rakings later, a few brave daffodils still push their heads through the caked mulch. My backyard is the same, but different. 

When my family first moved into the large white house on the corner of a cul-de sac in the suburbs, I found a few surprises from the previous family.

First I discovered a set of woman’s golf clubs in the attic that would later fall into my possession as I set out to become a recreational golfer in my late teens.

I also found a BB gun and the most complicated exercise machine that I have ever seen.  The many weights and settings looked as if you could work out any part of your body that you could imagine.

 My brother laid claim on the gun. I, on the other hand, refused to let my mom put the machine to the curb.  I never used the machine, I just sat on it. It made me feel rich to own a piece of complicated equipment.

Perhaps I felt that if I sat on it long enough, I would become stronger. Yet I quickly tired of it and the machine lay idle and lonely in our unfinished basement until finally my mom put it to the curb—it was broken anyway.

I didn’t find the daffodils until the spring. Hundreds poked up from our manicured islands of mulch and trees. The daffodils grew every which way and I would pick the best for my mom and put them in vases to surprise her when she got home.

That was 10 years ago.

Outside my window I see the heads of the few brave buds left, beginning to push through.

Scratch "Bus Driver" Off that List

Theme of the week: what could have been.

And here I was thinking that the cool thing in life was to live without regrets.

No, I have not spiraled into the dreary depths of regret and stare longingly out my window every night. I am, however, curious as to what path I may have been on if I continued with my Major track in English.

This sudden curiosity did not spontaneously spring up out of the dusty corners of the filing cabinet labeled “Career Aspirations” in my brain. I had a lovely little discussion with a Professor of the Classics (Greek that is), when my ASC SC club had him in for dinner. I listened to him deliriously ooze his love of English and literature.

Ah…to be passionate. I was like that once about English—but then I listened to the voice in my head that said:

 “ You won’t make money. You couldn’t support yourself! All you can do with an English degree is become a teacher or go to law school…Be smart Amanda!! Don’t waste money on that kind of degree”.

I probably should have punched that snide little voice in the face and continued, perhaps with a dual degree in what I study now.

Stupid, snarky voice.

So is it I regret? You know what? I don’t think that’s what I will call it—it’s really just another realization I have come to towards the end of my college career. Not just because I hate the idea of having a 'regret'...it most definitely doesn't mean the end of that potential path. I do dearly enjoy what I study now and still love literature. I am only 22 and have plenty of time to continue what I love.

After all, that filing cabinet labeled “Career Aspirations” in my brain does hold a file that says “school bus driver”.

I’m not really regretting that one.

Salt and Bruises

I may be just too clumsy to keep my footing on the metaphorical rooftop.  Maybe I should invest in some metaphorical rock salt (non-corrosive of course) and metal cleats. Now where do I get those?

This past week has been a whirlwind of absentmindedness and clumsiness. The beginning of this unfortunately physically painful week started Friday night—at a party. After a round of margaritas, wine tasting at Whole Foods, a few beers at my place, one at a Mexican restaurant, I made it to a party at 10:00 p.m. 

I went around yelling at the guys using the side of the house as a urinal, sabotaged a 100 piece puzzle featuring puppies and flowers and had a conversation in Spanish with someone who clearly didn’t speak Spanish. I left him and burst through the front door just in time to here a guy ask “Where’s that saucy friend of yours?” Then BOOM. I was on the ground. “There she is,” my friend said.

That Monday, poor navigational skills caused me to miss the first writer’s meeting for a newspaper that recently asked me to do freelance. A few days later I slipped down 15 icy steps that lead from my backdoor and bruised my hip. I sliced my finger open while opening a bottle of wine and then again when opening a bottle of heart-shaped sprinkles. 

Oh, and I have a double eye infection.

It’s important to be able to laugh at yourself and perhaps learn from your mistakes. The events of last Friday reminded me why I do not drink to that degree often and usually just enjoy a glass of wine with dinner. I used to be completely against drinking and I started mostly due to boredom at the small Jesuit college I first attended. Sometimes I wonder what college would have been like without drinking?

I am not classified as a college binge drinker nor do I wish to be. I actually do not enjoy parties and rarely bars. I do prefer a small gatherings with a few good friends and a board game. I guess realizing this is part of maturing, and unfortunately I had to experience many instances of this ‘realization’. I'm turning 22 next week and the social drinking chapter of my life is slowly closing. I just don't enjoy it.

Ah, but its not healthy to dwell on failures. In other news I have successfully been a vegetarian for a week! You didn’t know I was trying did you? I’ll be sure to update more on that soon. I also have successfully cut my bangs into a stylish ‘side-sweep’ thanks to the wonders of instructional YouTube videos. Last time I tried to cut my bangs it was an utter failure. 

Luckily bruises disappear, cuts heal and bangs grow back.

I'll leave you with an interesting thought: Self-sabotage is the smartest thing you can do if you're sabotaging a self that is not really you. ARMAND DEMELE