Vampire Academy

Before I even begin, I know you are thinking “Chloe, weren’t you reading the Gone series?” Why yes, I was, but I got bored and read a different book instead.

First of all, I absolutely despise this title. This is the stupidest title the author could have chosen. Seriously, it’s so awful and clingy it pains me to say it out loud. It sounds like a children’s book about vampires and it is NOT appropriate for children. The title could have been anything, ANYTHING, else and I would have preferred it.

Anyways, in great contrast to the title, I love this book. It’s so good. There is so much passion here, and so much love. I feel as if it displays such beautiful friendship. The main character, rose, is one of the few main characters I have adored entirely. She is this hardcore, determined teenage who will do anything to protect her friend Lisa. I also really enjoyed the authors views on vampires.

In this book there are living vampires, Moroi, who have control over the elements, and the dead vampires, Strigoi, who are cursed by the earth itself. Moroi are born, strigoi are made. Stigoi want to kill Moroi and so they need protectors. These protectors are called dhampires. Half human-half Moroi. They make great warriors, but can not reproduce together, kinda like mules. The only wya they can have children is if they have children with Moroi vampires. This means that if they don’t live, the dhampires die out too.

This is what causes them to want to protect the Moroi. If they die, so do they, so the protection of them is crucial. Strigoi want to kill Moroi, and they lurk in the shadows, waiting for their time to strike.

There is honestly so much going on in this book. So much is happening, so much foreshadowing and so many questions the reader begs to know the answer to. There is love and hate and war and violence and sweetness and super powers. It’s so cool and I enjoyed this book so much.

The way it ended made me. So. Mad. There is a love story in this book that is like forbidden because he isn’t older for her and they are both dhampires and guardians so that can’t be together. But you know , they really could. Come on. Guys, you know you won’t to.

That’s besides the point, but there was so many crazy up and down moments in this book and there are so many questions that have yet to be answered , and I cannot wait to read the next book. I’ve read reviews that it is even better than the first one. I know I promised I’d let you guys know what happened in the next book, and then I didn’t, but this time I think I May have some things to report on the next book: Frostbite

 

 

This is Water Messed Me Up

I wrote this for Letters for Literature, and this speech is really incredible, so I thought I would use this as my blog.

(Here’s the link, if you want to listen to it.)

November 9, 2018

Dear Mr. David Foster Wallace,

How could you? In This is Water, you open our minds to breaking the boundaries of our brains, of shifting perspective of life and the little inconsistencies we find in our everyday routines-you speak of hope. This 2005 public speech at Kenyon University would later go on to be one of your most influential pieces, a speech that would leave all generations open mouthed and in awe of their own existence. And yet, police found you hanging from the rafters in your home not three years later. You hung yourself on September 12, 2008, you killed your ideals when you killed yourself and that, Mr. Wallace, makes you a hypocrite.
This is Water is a piece that reflects on human self-perseverance through seeing life’s negative attributes as a gift to each of us. You suggest within it a self-discipline, a mind-over-matter way of seeing the world. It is a piece meant to remind us of the “water” all around us, of our lives that are more beautiful than we now can comprehend, and of the self-awareness we all should have towards our external experiences and through our communications with others. And I knew as I listened in my bed and cried to this piece, that you must be a forever lonely man, having thoughts such as these. It is a very daunting task to chase intellect and nearly worship it, you said it yourself, so how could you let this same idea ruin you?
After hearing this speech, I noticed my shoes fit different. I watched my words fall from my mouth and found myself able to touch them with my fingers, to feel the power each syllable had once spoken into the air. I imagined my life and walked with open hands into it, palms outstretched and ready to gratefully tackle any obstacle. Shortly after practicing this lifestyle, I learned too of your death. Of your major-depressive disorder and the electroshock therapy. Of your struggles and your internal pain, though I had initially pictured you as this impenetrable force, a man with a more resilient mind than anyone I had the privilege to listen to before.
Mr. Wallace, I will forever be in awe of you, but you are a hypocrite, you are a liar. You cheated me, giving me false hope where even you couldn’t find any. You said once that “writing is what it means to be a f****** human being”, that writing has the potential to make the writer and reader “less alone inside.” Still, there was a hole in you-the writing wasn’t enough, the people you touched with your spirit through poetry, essays, and speeches was not enough for you. The hole was your heart and head aching in a constant and never-ending battle, depressive episodes racking through your bones and choking these sentimental, humble phrases from your mouth. You let your brain eat you from the inside out, and I don’t know if I can forgive you for it.
What did you worship, Mr. Wallace? Was it intellect, as I first imagined, that drove you? Perhaps not, as you did say it was incredibly useless to do so, but I still have notions that you said this knowing you would always return to look for more intellect, that you secret did in fact worship knowledge and knowingly let it break you into little pieces, running to a finish line that never existed.
As you said, “The one thing that is Capital T- true, is that you decide how you’re going to see it.” You were talking about life when you let these words tumble from your mouth. Maybe you were more selfish than I knew, only talking of your own life, but Mr. Wallace, when you said this, I considered my life and the lives of my friends, of my family, of strangers I would meet in the next. It was universal, and your words hit home. As a fish in water, as my seventeen-year-old self, I was hooked to this quote, and it still carries me through days. But, Mr. Wallace, can it even hold the weight it once did in my mind after discovering that you never fully invested into the idea yourself? You had chances, you have choices, and though your words were brilliant, I have trouble coming to terms with your death and simultaneously believing in them. I can barely believe in you anymore.
Mr. Wallace, I hope you found peace through your decision, but I also hope you know that because of your decision, I do not believe peace is something I will have for a very long time.

Best wishes, wherever you are,

Katherine Dian Westbrook

Story of (some) Literary Progression

Welcome to the story of Tyler Renee, a literary artist.

So about 10 years ago, eight year old me sat down on a beige couch with a speckled composition book in my pink “writer’s robe” (a bathrobe that I only wore when writing at home) and wrote a 20 page story about three girls and a dolphin. Now, looking back on that story, I can honestly tell you that it was trash. But it succeeded in helping me find my passion for writing.

After  that, I started writing poetry. I filled many composition books with rhyming poems (I was a fan on the ABAB CDCD rhyme scheme at the time.)  It became more often that one would find me scribbling away in a composition book writing than reading AR books or doing my math homework. This of course caused some problems and for a couple years or so I didn’t write at all.

When I got to be 12 or 13, I picked up the  habit again (this time abandoning the rhyme scheme all together). I would write short fiction stories and create characters in my free time. I wrote about my religious beliefs and societal problems. I wrote of depression and happiness.

But then I started going through a hard time getting anywhere with my stories and would throw most away as soon as I broke away from them. I would tear pages upon pages of writing out of my notebooks before throwing them away because at the time I didn’t believe in my writing in the slightest bit.

Then when I was 15, I learned about Mississippi School of the Arts and I was once again inspired to write and I started to really believe that I could be a poet and write for a living. I practiced create several portfolios for the application for Mississippi School of the Arts. I was fully prepared to apply. But the year of my application, I was not in the best of mindsets. I lost full belief in my writing and myself. I threw away all of my poetry and fiction pieces that I had cultivated. I gave up writing and any dreams that I had that I could live the life of a literary artist.

However, my friend, Nakiejah Hickman, talked me into rewriting my pieces and applying anyways. The day I received my acceptance letter was the day that I fully accepted that my writing was not the trash I believed it to be. From that day forward, I have written many poems and fiction pieces. I have written plays and monologues (I mean they were not the best but they didn’t suck too bad).

I am proud to call myself a literary artist. And I am proud to say that I have come a long way from the 8 year old in a pink robe writing about dolphins. And while I lost years of my earliest works, I am proud to have struggled the way I had. It taught me to fully embrace my creativity and my art.

So here’s to a new year of literary growth.

Post Modern Trauma

Hey. If you’re reading this then you might need some cheering up in your life. Maybe you need something that makes getting up in the morning a little more worth it. Or something a little more soothing before work, school, or any other activities that vary throughout the day. Anyway, back to the topic at hand -inspiration, and my tangle with the people of the world.

Ever since my early childhood, my family has always found me a little odd. Not because of really anything out of the ordinary, it was mainly because I was a little shyer than my siblings. When they would openly greet people and shake strangers hands, I would hide behind my mom or dad’s legs and pray that I was small enough to go unnoticed.

This became my regular schedule despite reaching an age where that would be considered a little too much. Even at the thought of being in front of a crowd would send me into a shaking frenzy. My eyes would go big my legs would tremor my stomach would drop. It was like the very thought of dealing with anything like that was something that would put me in the grave. My fear seemed to grow as grew. It took up almost every single last bit of my life. So as you can imagine middle school was a living nightmare.

I’m going to skip any parts of elementary because my mom would warn the teachers of my fear and convince them not to force me in-front of the class for any reason.

But in middle school it was different. I can only assume she thought I was prepared to go through life without aide at this point. she thought wrong in this regard. Every single teacher assumed I was like any other student that had stage fright. That I could do it if they could, but alas that hardly happened. The second I was called tot he fronts I would attempt to refuse. or I would stay still and close my eyes and pray that they ignored me. Like a
T-rex to its prey. But on the more confident days of mine, I would actually make it tot he front of the class. I even at times stuttered out a word or two before my body went through its usual routine. I would freeze, the words on my page would blur, the floor would open up, everyone was nothing but giants pairs of judging eyes peering down at me. I was nothing but as insignificant bug ready to be squashed under their shoes.

Then came the shaking.

Some people would call it seizure-like, others demon possession for a short period of time. I went into overdrive, everything became too much or not enough, I could hear a pin drop in Africa, but someone could be shouting in my ear and they would only pick up static and the occasional mumble. Any attempt to pick me up would result in my body seizing and the shaking to get worse. So I would be left until someone called a nurse or a principle, or a friend to help me off the floor, they had things to present this was becoming a common occurrence. But why?  Anyone would think that the teachers would have stopped calling on me, or forcing me to do anything after all of that, and you would be correct. I stopped being called on. Teachers hardly looked at me when I meekly put up my hand to answer questions. surprisingly enough I was the one that persisted. I was the one that told them I was capable of during the presentation, or answering the question or reading out-loud. It was possible, it was completely possible, but only to me. No one else saw that after a period so I became my own hype man. I’d practice speaking in the mirror. I’d practice speaking in my room to my stuffed animals, I’d practice while I was laying in bed half asleep. I didn’t stop and I didn’t quit. Because I had a  goal. I wanted to stand in front of a class and give a presentation and finish one. Not even make it half way but to finish one in its entirety.

This took my years, literal years, but there is a reason I started it in middle school because it was the first time I actually did it. It was the very first time I stood in front of a class of people and spoke. This was major.  Yes I still shook and I still cried and I still needed to be comforted after but I finished that power point and it felt like the whole world had been lifted off my shoulders. I physically wanted to jump up and down and scream out of pure joy.

(I think the only reason really that I finished the power point was because I made a mistake and said “Koo Koo Klan” instead of “Ku Klux Klan” and couldn’t stop laughing.)

That was my very first step into improving my confidence, social skills, and communicative skills as well. 6th to 8th grade was the dawn of a new era for Timera Gaston and I still roll with it today. Yes, i do still have my downfalls and my bad days but overall I think I’ve down way better now that I ever had in the past, and I know for a fact that if little me ever met me now she would be proud, and we’d fist-bump and I’d show her BTS videos so she could have a head start. What I’m saying is that sometimes you have to fail a lot to make an improvement, sometimes you have to inspire yourself to keep reaching for your goals and sometimes all you need is a little misstep down a cliff to find a pot of gold.

advice

You see those words blaring at you, the blue screen illuminating, trying to irritate your eyes even more, “I love you, but I can’t be with you anymore.” It feels like you’re being crushed. Like your surroundings are being sucked into a black hole, and you’re in the center of it. It’s dramatic, and you feel dramatic, but it’s okay. Let yourself feel. Let yourself have the biggest cry session you’ve ever had. Cry in your bed alone with the lights off, cry in your best friends car, cry on your mom’s shoulder; just cry whenever the feelings start to seep and overflow. Reminisce, but don’t linger. Detox your life for all traces of them, so that when a sinking sense of false reality hits, you don’t go back to try and re-feel. Leave the past in the past. Realize you’re not a bad person for needing to be distant. Also realize you’re not a bad person when you’re ready to let that past sneak back in. Just make sure you’re not wearing rose colored goggles. Don’t make demons out of angels. Do deeper delving before you place blame. But also don’t make angels out of demons. When months go by and you’re still in the same pit of missing them, don’t get frustrated. It’s easy to get frustrated over the fact it’s been two months and you still can’t shake the thought of them. Maybe it will be that third month that you start to bloom out of that cocoon of brokenness. Some days you will wake up with them on the mind, and go to bed in the same state. Any then suddenly one day, you wake up, and you’re thoughts are focused on the day ahead, not the person left behind. It’s gradual. Become aware that this process can’t be forced. Trust the process. You can’t make yourself unlove someone, simply because they don’t love you anymore. That’s the cruel nature of it. But eventually, it will hit, that you do not love them anymore. It could be weeks, maybe months, but it will come. You will hear this from a million people and not believe them; not until it happens to you. It might still hurt to hear their name, or see pictures, but your love for them will have fallen with the autumn leaves. Don’t feel bad if they’re trying to wiggle back into your life, and you’re not ready. If you are ready, be polite, but don’t be overtly giving. Your time is up and that isn’t your job anymore. You’re the CEO of your own life. You call the shots. Be fearless and fearful at the same time about new prospective relationships. Be honest and open about how you feel with that new person. Don’t have the mindset of “Am I ready to do this again?” This new relationship is not the old one. It may have similarities, and it may not have any. Realize over and over again that you are in control. You decide what happens next. You may have not been in control with the break-up, the aftermath is all you. The ball is in your court.

second guess

I remember constantly being worried about how others felt about me. Whether I was funny, if my shoes were nice, or whether people thought I was the kindergarten equivalent to cool at that time. A five year old me was so worried about being accepted that I developed the habit of second guessing myself no matter what I did. If I thought someone else wouldn’t like it, I refused to continue. And that habit affected me in everything I did. The habit developed and got worse and it became my worst enemy when I started to write.

In middle school, I obsessed over writing novels and I had composition notebooks filled with different story ideas and starts to the novels I had in mind to write. I was inspired by so many authors like James Patters and Sarah Dessen. However, I didn’t write necessarily based on what I liked. Instead of just self-critiquing and figuring out what I wanted in it or out of it, I would consistently ask my classmates and teachers to read over it. I was in need of approval and a say-so from people. I had never thought about how I wanted the reader to feel or the general audience I was looking for. I just wanted it to seem good enough so that I could get a pat on the back and a well done.

So what if they didn’t like it? I’d throw away ideas that I had. Even if I got the approval that I wanted from those people, I would irrationally think of all the worst possible outcomes if I were to continue on with the work. That’s when I just gave up. Many pages that had brilliant ideas and great starting points were pushed aside and abandoned all because I second guessed myself and doubted my abilities.

As an artist, a part of our job and the future of it is, sometimes, based on people’s opinions about you. Given. However, there is a completely fine line between making your work okay for yourself and others and just making work specifically for everyone else and not giving yourself a chance to incorporate risky, original ideas. It’s not fair and you’re robbing yourself. Writing or any other art is based off of what you feel is right. It’s a form of self expression. Meaning it belongs to you and what is yours is yours.

Consistently wondering whether millions of people read or see what you’ve created can lead to so many hinderances. That’s where second guessing often occurs. You continue to throw out ideas and work that seemed perfect to you at first but just because a couple people didn’t enjoy it, you decided to throw it away. You shouldn’t throw away art that easily. Whether many people like it or just a handful of them do, what matters is if you feel content. Does it make you feel happy? Does it make you feel sad? Does it strike the intended audience the way you wanted it to? You are apart of that intended audience, regardless of if you realize it or not. Never second guess yourself if you feel in your heart that your work has served its purpose to you. Just continue to edit, push, and release.

revelations

this isn’t really a story, but a series of personal revelations.

i’m just gonna get this out of the way now: existence is exhausting. it’s not really me trying to be hashtag-edgy or whatever else anyone may want to cast unto me, more of just a general fact of nature. i’m tired all the time, humanity is in shambles all the time, and i really just dislike being confined to this single physical plane all the time. if my outlook on life is so bleak and horrible, then what’s the point, right? well let me tell you, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows (she says, meaning not quite the opposite, but landing somewhere in the middle).

lesson one: it’ll all be alright, probably, and here’s why.

believe it or not, i’m actually a bit of an optimist. okay, let me clarify: when it comes to a general outlook on the world as a whole, i’m pretty sure things will all work out in the end. i essentially feel the same way about my own life specifically, but it’s a little more convoluted and wonky to get to those conclusions. i go back and forth between bouts of idealism and realism, pessimism and optimism – some of the few things i don’t actually have hard opinions on. i have days where i feel like there’s no real hope for the state of the world we live in just as much as i feel like there’s so much hope for it.

overall, i think our world is growing and changing so much and so quickly, and nine times out of ten, i think it’s for the better. but our lovely little friend social media really really knows just how to put a damper on things. i see so much good and creation and innovation all through this little electronic window into the rest of humanity, but it seems like there’s a new tragedy every time i refresh the page. is this awareness of world news and events important? absolutely. does that mean i need to immediately hear about 30 dead in such-and-such or five dead in so-and-so? not in the slightest.

lesson two: it’s the little things that count, i guess.

rest assured, there are some big things, too. new technologies are being developed every day to cure diseases, provide clean drinking water, and over all just improve the quality of living for people all over the world. i put my name on that probe nasa just sent to the sun – just because i could! just because it felt cool to say something with my name on it is currently in space! studying the sun! tell me that’s not at least a little cool, i dare you.

i place a lot of extra value in things that subjectively don’t matter. i save knick knacks and trinkets that probably would find a better home finally being thrown away, which is part of why it’s so hard for me to keep my room clean for very long. but i like having the memories of the little moments, like a friend’s prop from when we presented student plays in my oral communication class freshman year. they’re nice little reminders of the times when i didn’t worry about anything, the times when i was just having a laugh without having to be burdened by, y’know, that crushing weight of existence.

lesson three: there is good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.

let me just say, it’s hard to be an optimist in the face of all the turmoil.

but i do it, because i have to believe there is something to tether me here and make all of this aforementioned peril of existence actually worth it. when i’m not feeling up for so much heavy reading about rising death counts, the next story is a dog seeing snow for the first time. remember what i said about the little things?

and there are big things too, of course. the new technologies and whatnot. so you have to fight for them both. fight for the sunsets just as much as you fight for revolution (now talk about opposite ends of the spectrum). while it’s really easy to just get caught up in all the sad nastiness of the world, it’s so much more worth it to look for all of the good in it.

from daydreaming guitarist to daydreaming poet

i grew up surrounded by music – not your typical childhood tunes, though. my dad raised me in a pool of heavy metal and classic rock, throwing me in before i could swim, and my mom cheered him along from the sidelines as my older sister shook her head with distaste. to this day, if you mention a child listening to rock music, my dad will grin and tell you about the time he looked in the backseat and saw me in my booster seat, headbanging to the Metallica song he had playing.

so, naturally, i listened to music any chance i got: on the bus, sitting at home, during car rides, while waiting at the dentist’s office. i grew to admire the guitarists of each band i listened to and aspired to be like them – to be in a band of my own as the lead guitarist and travel the world, meet countless new people. i even began to learn how to play the instrument in fifth grade but never kept up with it.

one year prior, though, my teacher, mrs. scott, gave the class a writing assignment. i cannot remember the exact prompt she gave, given my terrible memory and the fact that this occurred over eight years ago, but i do remember that the assignment required a horror/mystery-inspired theme (i believe it was october at the time). being the natural reader i was, many different plots swam in my brain, and i had a difficult time choosing which to write out. eventually, i finished my paragraph or two and turned it in. later that day, my teacher approached me and told me how much she loved my writing and the use of the phrase “blood-curdling scream.” in retrospect, she probably just admired that a fourth-grader even knew the term “blood-curdling,” but being the nine-year-old i was, i did not know that; for the next few days or so, i was beaming with pride, doing everything i could to mention to others that mrs. scott had liked it so much and that she had also displayed it for everyone in the school to see on the wall in the hallway outside of her classroom (which she also did with a few other students’ works, but i had never made it there before). i also can recall her showing the paper to other teachers, discussing how well i had written for an elementary student.

from that moment on, i decided to start writing. but i still wanted to play in a band. as the years passed, though, i never really learned how to play the guitar, and i began writing more and more as the days went by. eventually (around eighth or ninth grade), my guitar went to my sister because i stopped wanting to play it for a living, and my dreams transitioned to ones of keyboards, ink pens, and loose notebook paper. so much so that i applied to an arts high school in my tenth grade year, specifically with the purpose of going for writing, and got in.

my dreams are nowhere near the general vicinity of my future, but i never imagined i would be where i am now, especially when i was in fourth grade, proud of the use of “blood-curdling scream” in a paragraph-long story. but to this day, i do not know how to play the guitar, but i will never give up on my dreams of writing.

Inspiration

There are some lessons I learned in 2018 that I would like to share.

____________________________________________

#1: Deal with things no matter how difficult they may seem. The longer you go without dealing with the negative things in your life, you not only hurt yourself, but the people who have done nothing to you. Take the time to deal with things before the issue(s) becomes bigger/deeper than it needs to.

#2: Always have something or someone you can always vent to. It is nice to think that we are strong enough to deal with everything on our own, but that is just not true. We can try, but it won’t work. Life was not made to walk alone. I suggest having an older and wiser to person to vent to and to believe in some form of a higher power. That higher power can be anything you just whole-heartedly believe in. Those who things alone will get you a long way.

#3: Trust your gut. Nobody knows and understands you like you do and nobody ever will. With that being said, you have to trust yourself enough to allow yourself not to put yourself in the wrong situations. (Read that last sentence slowly, it makes sense, lol.)

#4: Think your mind, not your heart. Everybody is not in your life for the long run. Some people are placed in your life just to teach you something, whether it be positive or negative. Take the lesson and let them go. Do NOT repeatedly try to keep someone around who isn’t supposed to be. Accept it, deal with it, grow from it, and move on.

#5: Don’t let other people’s problems stress you out. You have your own life to live. Just because that is your friend does not mean that their problems are your problems. Support and love is not always shown with inserting yourself into the problem. The best thing you can do is offer your advice or opinion and support whatever they decide to do, as long as it doesn’t go against the morals you have set for yourself.

#6: You literally have ONE life. Do not spend it worrying about how the next person feels about you. People are going to like or dislike you for one reason or another and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. No matter how much you do or change, they will always have their own feeling about you.

#7: The things that happen in your life happen for a reason. Most of the time, they are to make you either emotionally stronger or wiser. Depending on the situation, it can enhance both. Try your hardest to not break down as much because believe it or not, it is all happening for a reason. I know sometimes it feels like your world is falling a part and there is nothing more you can do but break down, and that is okay. And if or when you do breakdown, know that once the pieces fall back in line, you will look and feel better than ever before.

#8: Live to learn! Learn to love! Love life! Any other type of love will come later on. Let it happen naturally.

________________________________________________________________________________________

I strongly believe that 2018 was the year of losses and lessons. 2019 will be the year of applying those lessons and success-ing. No matter what, keep your head up high. I was listening to a song by Heather Headley. It;s called “In My Mind”. It’s somewhat of a love song about a man leaving a woman and her thinking “in her mind”, she’ll always be his. Well, I had the song on repeat because it was something about the song that just made me think. Then I realized what it was. There’s a part in the song that says,

____________________________________________

“They say if you love something, you’ve got to let it go.
And if it comes back, then it means so much more.
Fine if it never does, at least you will know,
that it was something you had to go through to grow.”

____________________________________________

Yes, it fits the idea of the song, but my interpretation of this was so much different. Now, I live by this. I’m not saying you should to, but just consider it.

And I Think That it’s Fair This is my Second Attempt Writing This

Where would they place you in a shopping market?

I ask this hoping that you can be open-minded about it. If you were a product on a shelf in some corner store, what would you be? An avocado? Perhaps a pair of socks, or chewing gum, or even a bag of Jolly Ranchers?

Think to yourself about what you would be and write down your initial answer. The very first thing that comes to mind. It’s important.

Now, go back and actually think about what I’m asking.

In what part of a shopping market do you fit in?

This question could mean multiple things. I could be asking what you relate to, whether it’s Almond Milk because you’re lactose intolerant, or white bread because you’re simple and straightforward, a common component, a staple food.

Or maybe it is that I’m asking for setting. Where in a super market should you be? The back stall of the girl’s bathroom, smoking the last cigarette from your mother’s purse? Do you see yourself in line for checkout, frantically searching for thirty cents? In between packages of toilet paper, playing hide and seek with your little sister?

Or maybe still I am asking what aisle you belong on. Is it with the baking goods, you with your powdery personality, or by the spices, all turmeric and cardamom, or picking through the frozen shellfish in the front?

The first answer you gave would seem irrelevant now, or at least it did to me when I was asked this question. I went back and I changed my mind. Initially I said with the dairy products, and I was thinking of nothing more than the fact that I love strawberry yogurt, but once I began considering every factor, I decided I belong more in the gardening area with the mixed potting soil, and this came with the tedious thoughts of both location, my personality relating to potting soil, and how the workers and customers interact different in that section of most supermarkets. It’s like it is another store completely back there. I would most certainly fit in.

I might have lost you by now. How is this inspiring in any way, you ask?

Just wait, we are headed in the right direction. This blog is going to be about “second times”. In other words, second-attempts at “first time” things, a rethinking on the things you might have already been through. This blog is about stepping out of the picture to look at yourself in whole. Stay with me.

My life moves faster than I can keep up with it most of the time. Two weeks ago I was thirteen and now I am graduating in just five months. My hands and feet somehow  have always kept up, but my brain has trouble doing the same on occasion.

In my junior year, I was determined to have as many “firsts” as possible, whether they be good experiences or absolute terrible memories. In the excitement of the moments in which I was experiencing all of my “firsts”, it never really mattered how I felt after, or who I hurt in the process. I ended up having a beautifully destructive year because of this, and I am so thankful for that, because I learned a good bit about my own person and others through it. And if there is one thing I can say in this post that sticks with anyone, my hope is that it will be this: Life is about revisions. It has never, and will never be about first times, although those are very important. No, I think I’ve come to realize, life is about second times, and third times, and the continuation of new experiences that become an eventual rhythm in our daily lives. Life is about doing things that are hard for days- days that turn into months, that turn into years. It’s about choosing the right thing every time, not just that one time when you were feeling brave. It is about becoming consistent in finding your fear and fulfilling that fear until you aren’t afraid of it anymore.

In my life right now, I am working every day to make friends with my insecurities, my discomforts, my secret dreams and hopes that I have not fully whispered into the world.

I take the time to sit down and make decisions now, to actually ask myself questions and follow through with the answers, whether they be about grocery stores or college options.

I still go with my gut when it feels right, though. There are some things in life that work out in the most amazing ways the first time, things that don’t need polishing or revisions. These are our “Perfect Things”-we keep them close to our heart.

These perfect things are like pebbles. Imagine yourself,walking down a stretch of the beach, picking up pebbles as you go. Each one is beautiful in its own way, carved by the ocean and almost asking you to snatch them from the sand. Lets say you begin filling your pockets, and you walk, and you continue this exercise of finding the pebbles and filling your pockets with them the entire time. What happens when your pockets fill entirely?

Another thing I have recently dealt with is my issue with not being able to let people and things leave my life if they were once a part of it. This is how I see those pebbles, as individual people and memories that are pieces of myself in some way, due to my obsessive attachment to them. When people leave my life without me having a choice in the matter, I seem to forget every other pebble down the stretch of beach, ahead of me-my future people, experiences, memories.

I’ve begun to be very selective in which things I keep close to my heart, the things I fill my pockets with. I put many hours into a few choice pebbles, I keep a small few close to me, and I give them 100%, rather than expend a half-hearted energy on many separate moments and feel equally attached to all of them.

I hope I’m making a clear point, but if not, this is what I am basically trying to say: Cultivate yourself and the people that care about you, and cultivate your life with them. Remember that all good things eventually do end and be grateful for the experiences you get. Never take what you have now for granted, even if you once had better, or could have better. Don’t forget about the life ahead of you, or even the present life you have. Do not be too focused on your past that you miss out on everything now.

At this point, I know you’re still at a loss for exactly how this post is supposed to invigorate you, to inspire you.

The truth is- and let me warn you, this is going to suck- the truth is that nothing I put in this blog, no matter how eloquently written, will ever be enough to inspire you if you do not first see the potential to be inspired in yourself.

Professional hypnotists begin all of their sessions by telling their clients, the audience, etc. , that the hypnotism will not work if you are not open to be hypnotized. You have to actually tell yourself that you can and will be hypnotized for the process to make any change in you. Basically, you must trick yourself into believing it, and at that point, the hypnotists job is easy- they have already won you over because you have won yourself over.

Life is the same in this sense, and inspiration. If your brain is not willing to be “tricked” into its own happiness, then you won’t be happy.

There is a choice in your head that you must make to cause movement in your legs, your arms, your knees. Your brain tells them to move to put you in a different place, right? We move to survive, to leave bad places, to run away or stand and fight. These choices propel our well being.

Movement in terms of mindset is exactly like the movements in your body, and other people notice this as well.

Have a frown in the waiting room because the nurse hasn’t called you back yet? Maybe you got impatient and didn’t hold the door open for the man behind you in a wheelchair?  The lady taking phone calls in the front, yes- she noticed, and she makes choices about how to treat you because of it. She might just have a thirty minute conversation with your doctor about his upcoming trip to Sweden in a few minutes because of it.  This is just one example of how our actions have reactions and are intertwined, and everyone’s lives are substantially connected in this way as well.

In other words, everything effects everything. It’s like we’ve all got the flu and can’t help but cough on one another.

For me, being inspired is like believing in God. You don’t need proof, you need faith, and sometimes, you need to challenge your reality and perspective.

Faith that things can and will get better, despite how it looks now. Faith in your feet and hands that you know where you’re headed, knowing there will be obstacles in your future. Faith to make the right choice in general, even when you’re tired, even when it’s so hard to.

It’s calling rejection an opportunity to receive feedback and improve work for the second time around. It is actually taking the time to revise your life, and knowing that the greatest thing you can do with it is give every day to your and other’s betterment.

It’s going to bed having failed, and having failed in the most costly ways, and still being able to call the day a trial and error process. You are the only person in the world that can tell yourself how to think and what to believe, and every choice you make reflects who you are, no matter how insignificant you think the decision is.

Life is a series of first drafts, and it’s up to you to find the files and edit.