Miriam

For the last year-and-a-half I have had the privilege of building a very close relationship with one of my professors. First I was in a living community based on her class, then took another class with her, and now work as her TA for that same living community program. I have both laughed and cried hysterically with her, and at her. We had a conversation last spring about how she is not a "maternal type" figure. It's true, she isn't, but that hasn't made me any less close with her. In fact, in that conversation I expressed some level of surprise, noting that she was the first teacher I'd ever goten very close to without getting a mom-vibe from them. Professors are kind of like your academic grandparents, not as close as mom and dad, but generally really looking out for your best interests even if they;re a bit crazy. So this certainly-not-a-grandmother, never-could-be-a-mother professor gave me a christmas card the other day. And it was adorable and heartfelt and lovely. And was adressed to me with my initials, just the way my mom does, and in exactly my mom's handwriting. 

Dearth

As you may be able to tell from the more limited postings recently, the end of the semester has come. In addition to moderately higher stress levels, I have encountered a distinct lack of things I find profound lately. This is either a result of being jaded, or of lack of sleep. As we get deep into finals I start blogging more as a heightened form of procrastination, so expect an uptick soon. 

525,600 Minutes

I just listened to "Seasons of Love" all the way through for the first time in six years without crying at all. At first, I freaked out that I was forgetting, or becoming jaded. As it sinks in, though, and I talk to someone who very much shaped my past, I'm realizing it was because for the first time in six years I'm listening to it in the context of a love that isn't bittersweet. To do no discredit to people I have loved, I enjoyed it very much, but I always thought of love as deep and passionate, yes, but also mysteriously somber. I valued that kind of love over one that was light and carefree. I get to sit here now in the context of a love that is playful and light, even silly (okay, let's get real, frequently silly) and it is just as deep and passionate and genuine as anything I've ever experienced. 525,000 seasons of love and I've only seen a few. 

I Voted Sticker

The almighty "I voted" sticker is the manifestation of your promise to society that you care, are involved, take and interest, and take action. It is your proof that you engaged in the largest interaction with our government many of us will ever have. On my 18th birthday, the only thing I really wanted to accomplish was to register to vote. I did. I've spent a lot of my life knowing that the first election I would be able to vote in would be presidential and that was exciting to me. But in the past few days I have found myself not excited that I got to re-elect a president who, yes, is faulted, but who has done a reasonably good job doing what he thinks is right to take care of his country, but tremendously excited to get to tell the social conservatives, bigots, and homophobes of my state that my best friend can get married and that I could marry whoever I want if I wanted. It wasn't a privilege to vote for the Obama Biden ticket, but it was a privilege to vote for same-sex marriage and the dream act. Except the second I realized how excited I was that those were the questions I got to vote on in my first election, I realized how depressed I was that those were the questions I had to vote on in my first election. In the 21st century we, as a society, are still contemplating whether or not to give a significant portions of the population basic rights to education and legal marriage. One of my biggest pet peeves is people who say that I/we/Americans should not complain since we have it so much better off than other parts of the world. Just because my country is better than some others at some things I can't push for it to improve at all? I think those individuals assume that I/we/Americans are not sufficiently appreciative of what The United States of America offers us, or that we do not love our country enough. Love is never a term I would ascribe to a nation, so no, I don't love my county. I like it a damn lot though, and I certainly appreciate it. But why on earth does that mean I can't critique it. I think it is ridiculous that this country I am supposed to love actively disenfranchises people I love. I voted, I made that commitment to my community, and I was excited about, but I will vote to push it as hard as I can towards progress, maybe even to a breaking point. 

"Our Song"

I like this business of couples having songs, though probably only because I'm constantly listening to a song and extrapolating to my own life. I thus draw connections where they are probably relatively invalid. Whatever. I've never been terribly concerned with music meaning the same thing to me that it did to the artist that made it. It means anything they wanted to them and can mean anything I want to. Anyway, this means that, when in a relationship, I choose and re-choose  what our "song" is with ridiculous frequency, usually without telling the other 50 percent of the equation what's going on. (I have since revised to a more this-is-my-song-for-us-right-now attitude in a futile attempt to respect their right to have a say in the song selection.) So I phase through these songs, in the past three months I've gone through three really solid ones, and some other fleeting ideas. But I realized today that in the context of every love interest I've ever had, I've considered the relevance of "Swing Life Away" by Rise Against. It's always been a different line or stanza that's appealed to me, but somehow it's a song I keep coming back to.

"Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse."

"Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words."

"If love is a labor, I'll slave till the end."

"I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand."

Never Walk Away Angry

Let me preface this discussion with the disclaimer that I have indeed regretted fights before. I have regretted things I said to people I cared about and wished I could take them back. I have apologized.

Far to often I hear the cliché, never walk away angry. And I always thought it was kind of stupid. Most often, I've heard it in the context of loosing a loved one (or potentially losing them) and having the last words you exchanged be ones of anger. It was ridiculous to me that any person I loved that much wouldn't know it. I'm under the impression that even when I yell at my mom because I'm being a bitchy teenager she still knows I love her, but I base that assumption off the personal knowledge that when I'm being yelled at I still know I am loved.

But everything's changing. A few days ago I walked away angry, well, ok, frustrated. And was miserable the second that person was out of sight, not because I'm not confident that they know I love them, I am, but because I have no desire to be mad at them, because there is nothing more important that I love them, no argument outweighs that.

So, new policy: never walk away angry. 

The Socratic Method

Questions are a tricky business. According to Merriam Webster: an act or instance of asking. My English professor today, in a discussion of how to enter an academic conversation, encouraged us to not answer a question without first asking one. It took me about two seconds to realize this is how I should be living my entire life, not just my academic conversation entering (like that'll ever happen). We discussed the concept of argumentation as conversation as opposed to the popular notion of argumentation as battle. I've lost one of my closest friends because she thought all arguments were a battle to be won by the best tactics and weaponry, and for far to long I played the game. Now that I'm "out in the world," the connections I make with people are often far more ephemeral and somehow far more dear to me and I'm far more interested in what those people can say to me than what I could possibly communicate to them. My closest friend right now I spend a ridiculous amount of time just silently listening to, since I know everything he says is precious to me. Challenge: always ask a question before you answer one. Try to understand the perspective of the inquirer and what they're really getting at. Be quiet. Receive.