Trying my Heart Out

Yesterday, the official School Spelling Bee was held in my classroom.  All three participants were there.

Clearly, it was thrilling.

Afterwards, I sat and watched the third place girl with the shiny eyes and the quivering lip. A nine year old at a school desk, body shaking with the pressure of holding back sobs.  Elementary life is awful.  To a child, life is black and white.  How can they understand losing not because they were bad, but just because someone else was better?  To them, it's only interpreted as one thing: ultimate failure.

One co-worker went up to her. Instead of sympathetic hugs and empty words of "you did great!," this teacher offered a firm handshake and some wise words:

If we don't try, then we don't know what we can do.

Never trying is as tempting option. No criticism.  No defeat.  No disappointment.

But there's the other side of the coin. No admiration.  No victory.  No success.

My own decision to try has led me here:

There might be tea in that harbor!*
*note: that is not "Boston Harbor."  There is no tea.  Don't be ridiculous. 

Behold.  As of this August, that dreamscape of history and culture will be my home.  And this lovely institution will be my new alma mater:

Boston University, baby!

It's exhilarating.  It's terrifying.  I'm gearing myself up for the greatest failures, criticisms, and embarrassments I've ever had.    But I'm also ready to work harder, be more passionate, and experience the fruition of my dreams more than I imagined possible.  It's all going to happen.

In preparing for the world of Boston, I've started making a Boston movie playlist, something I can chip away at over the summer months.  It's surprising how many Boston-set movies revolve around crime and despair.  Is there something in the water?  Does the Revolution-inspired air of freedom encourage people to flout societal laws?  I mean, I know that I'm planning on joining the Irish mob and causing some mayhem once I get there, but I didn't think that was the norm.  I just thought Boston was full of preppy Harvard types and tweed-clad intellectuals.

"Happy" Boston Movies

Fever Pitch

Legally Blonde

Ted

"Depressing, Gritty, often Crime-related" Boston Movies

The Departed

The Social Network

The Town

Boondock Saints

Gone Baby Gone

Mystic River

Shutter Island

Does my quest to watch Boston movies mean I'm relegating myself to a summer of drama?  Or are there quality offerings that make the city sparkle?  You know, other than things like 1776, because I seriously cannot handle any more Revolutionary War songs.  Leave our Founding Fathers and their vocal chords alone.

My Kind of Valentine

Behold, the fruits of my morning's labors:

To you, dear blog world, with all the sincere love I can muster.

Butterfly Wings

According to chaos theory, even the slightest diversion off a course can spiral, leading to completely unforeseen results.  I'm no mathematician--far from it, with my love of words and fear of numbers--but the theory makes sense.  I've had too many math problems go awry depending on where I put a negative, or whether I inverted such and such fraction.  After that, it becomes a matter of carefully hunting, tracking down the one moment that set it all off.

Too confusing?  Try history.  One of Ben Franklin's maxims states that, "little strokes fell great oaks."  What seems like a small start can blossom into something magnificent.  While it may feel inconsequential at the time, sooner or later that tree will be felled.  The mighty task will be finished.  Those results?  Bigger than thought possible.

Two years ago today, I unknowingly tested those theories.  Like the proverbial butterfly in Brazil, I fluttered my wings.  Thirteen months and six days later, a tornado happened.  In a small white room in Bountiful, that tornado picked me up and transported me to the Oz-like wonderland I now inhabit.

I didn't know that this is where my life would lead.  If I had known, I probably wouldn't have made that phone call, watched that movie, or let my heart move on.  How was I to know that the vastness of the world was so comfortable?  How was I to know that I would be safe and warm, as long as he was there?

But now.  Now I know.

I Don't Date Often...

...but when I do, it's a smashing success.

Nothing like wool pea coats, the perfect drink from Starbucks (raspberry white hot chocolate with soy), Queen Anne, and Groundhog's Day at the Uptown with guest Stephen Tobolowsky to make a girl feel special.  Oh, and the perfect date, of course.  Taylor is pretty rad.

BING!

"That's what film is--a visual poem."  -Stephen Tobolowsky

Shut it Down!

30 Rock is not the show it once was.  In fact, it hasn't even been a ghost of the show it was.  Season six was downright cringe-worthy, and while season seven has been slightly better, it's still only provided a few weak smiles instead of the belly laughs of old.

But I have to admit.  That finale.  It blew me out of the water, sucking me into the Rock hilarity of olden days.  

For the first time in a while, it didn't feel forced.  The show didn't feel like they were trying to betray characters, or build up to something, or change focus.  It felt honest.  They touched on all the greats--the crazy catch phrases, the dynamic in the writer's room (something I have sorely missed over the past couple of seasons), Jenna's insecurity and Tracy's insanity, the sudden reappearance of Pete (PETE!  How I've missed thee), and a return to NBC power dynamics, this time with Kenneth in a new role.  30 Rock was always at it's finest when it was grounded in reality, and somehow, inconceivably, it regained that dynamic in this last episode.  Whether it was dealing with the difficulties in negotiating with networks or the struggles in producing a workable show, Fey was at her best when the madcap moments had a logical jumping off point.  But that same madcappery took over the show as of late, making it almost a chore to watch.

And I felt that way through most of this last, fateful season.  I could not have cared less about Jenna's unwindulaxing, or if Jack was going to tank NBC.  There was no reality in it, so there was no investment.  And of all the insane plot devices, nothing was more irksome than Liz's relationship with Criss.  As played by James Marsden, Criss came off as a completely false character.  It was difficult to believe that his relationship with Liz even happened, and not only because Tina Fey and Marsden had absolutely no chemistry.

And then they got married.  And for the first 75% of the episode, I was a seething ball of rage.  This made no sense!  What a lazy way to get a point across!  What betrayal, to take the depth that was once Liz Lemon and make her into this harp-tastic poster model for the worst kind of feminist, the kind who kicked against all typical gender roles in an attempt to make the playing field more even.  And as I rolled my own eyes at her sweatshirt wedding, with it's overly-conscientious rebuttal against tradition, something unexpected happened. 

Liz softened, bending to the fairy tale, but wishing to make it uniquely hers.  She realized that she wanted something that spoke to her, that didn't celebrate her as a bride, but her as a wonderful beautiful person that was making a significant change in her life.  She looked at Criss with questioning in her eyes, until he said, “Liz, it’s okay to be a human woman!”  I cheered.  I might have teared up a little bit.  I definitely was won back over to the 30 Rock side of life.  Finally, after too long in the world of the bizarre, it was back with some truth.  Some plain, unforced truth that made me fall in love with Tina Fey all over again.

After that, it was easier to say goodbye.  There was no longer bitterness about the show that had once been, but only fond memories of what it was and how it ended.  Perfectly, drifting on a boat to find itself, but back again in those last few moments.  Wrapped up neatly, but with loving nods to what came before.  Just like Fey herself, the finale carved out it's own niche while retaining a respect for the medium, but all while acknowledging the things that made it great--both in the greater TV sphere (snow globe, anyone?) and in it's own unique mythology (Rural Juror!).  Well done, 30 Rock.  I'll slow clap that ending out.

It's Okay

"I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset.  And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have.  Good and bad.  Just like what my sister said when I had been in the hospital for a while.  She said that she was really worried about going to college, and considering what I was going through, she felt really dumb about it.  But I don't know why she would feel dumb.  I'd be worried, too.  And really, I don't think I have it any better or worse than she does.  I don't know.  It's just different.  Maybe it's good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there.  Like Sam said.  Because it's okay to feel things.  And be who you are about them."

-Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, pg. 211-212

Caspar David Friedrich, Wanderer above the Sea of Fog

Over the Whelm

While carpooling to work today, I became embroiled in one of those retrospective conversations.  The topic on today's menu?  College.  As my carpooling compatriot and I swapped stories from the underbelly of our undergraduate years, told stories of nightmare professors and all-nighters, something happened.  My heart gained weight, became a grenade with the pin half-pulled, ready to either explode or lie dormant.

I'm pretty sure this image is from Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life, the first book in the series.

The wheels are in motion for me to go to grad school.  Applications are in order or almost in order. I've detached from Seattle and allowed myself to experience the sweet taste of wanderlust, my feet and possessions becoming eager to see a new location.  I've made my intentions clear at work, gently side-stepping possible/likely job advancements.  And I'm ready.  I'm ready to push my life further.

But then.  The memories of being a student.  The apathetic lethargy that came with my university experience. The feelings of being drained, being frustrated, being uninspired.  One of the things that encouraged me to return to school was a recent burst of inspiration, a desire to investigate things, to create things.  I'm starting to worry that school will once again sap me of passion.

So yeah.  Tl;dr (which means too long; didn't read for all you non-Reddit initiated folk)(I learned Reddit abbreviations recently and I'm really excited about it, that's all)(no judgement)?  Blah blah blah nervous fear blah.

Luckily I've found solace by looking at pictures of deserts, listening to this ad nauseum, and watching a whole ton of this: