R A C E D A Y

When I was sitting on the grass, lacing up my spikes yesterday, the reality that I was about to run one of the last collegiate cross country races of my life finally hit me. 

It was so cold as I stepped to the line with my teammates; we were all wearing our tiny little spandex uniforms. I wanted to jump around and do my stride outs just to get my mind off the fact that my blood felt like it was chilling in a refrigerator and I had lost feeling in my right big toe. I loved the beginning of every race though. We were all together, every team from all the colleges I never managed to keep track of. They were just as cold and jittery as we were, but we all tried to look intimidating, pretending to be oblivious to each other, and acting as runners do by shaking, bouncing, stretching, and swinging our arms and legs around.    

Then, an anonymous man bundled in five layers of clothing holding a megaphone announced something, stepped in the middle of the course about one hundred meters ahead of us, raised both arms, and fired the gun. 

The clock started. I didn't think about what I had for breakfast that morning, or the hours of homework I had done and had yet to do, or what the heck I was supposed to do with my life after I graduated in the spring. 

The herd was set in motion and we were moving fast. I felt like an animal, like a deer maybe. The course took us down a dirt path through the woods, away from the spectators. As we stretched and thinned, space opened, ebbing and flowing like water, providing room to cut the tangents. Sounds of heavy breathing and pounding feet surrounded me.

  

I just ran; not away from anything or after anything either. I had no idea where I was going; we came to a fork and the leaders hesitated, pranced around for a second and made panicked, questioning eye contact with the runners coming up behind them. We wordlessly decided to take the left path, and the leaders took off again. 

The first two miles were a blur. We looped around the course twice (or was it three times?), bounding over roots, leaves, and soft, black dirt. I suppose the trees were beautiful in all their glorious climactic grandeur of color, but I didn't really see them. By the third mile, I went numb; not from the cold, but just because that is what happens. It's difficult to think, and feel, and navigate, and run simultaneously. The finishing stretch was the longest and most painful. At that point, it didn't seem to matter how in shape I was, it came down to how uncomfortable I determined to make myself, and how conscious I still was to decide. 

When I crossed the finish line, all I could do was slap both hands over my forehead and say, "Oh my GOD, oh my GOD..." My brain was buzzing on a high of endorphins and my legs were rubbery and wiggled unsteadily at the knees. Behind me, someone droned, "Stay in a line, stay in a line...just keep walking." We were led down a flagged corral like cattle. I concentrated on breathing and rationalizing and walking in a straight line. Somehow I couldn't stop repeating "Oh wow..." and "Oh my GOD..." (a phrase I never otherwise used).  

I was smiling like an idiot. The park had suddenly become an incredibly warm and euphoric place. Colors were popping from the trees, the cars were clean and artistic in the orderly parking lots, the spectator's faces were glassed over with a shared, kindred happiness. Carissa was there, looking just great, saying something so nice I couldn't quite interpret it. My parents were there, too. My mom was even jumping, clapping her hands together. I could've hugged the man writing down our numbers. I could've walked around offering to shake everyone's hand, giving out high fives, slapping people merrily on the back, and repeating, "Oh wow..." with one or both hands slapped across my forehead. 

Just when I thought the high was settling down, I looked up and saw Leah running down to the finish; the first finish of her collegiate carrier. Color fringed her face; she was determined, fixed on the line as her arms and legs propelled her forward. Giddy excitement stirred up tears in my eyes as our whole team ran to circle around her even before she could walk out of the corral. I felt the warm breath and bodies of my teammate all around. We forgot everyone else in the park. With tears brimming, she looked at me. I'll never forget her eyes in that moment. The clock stopped, and I can only remember feeling completely filled.     

..

October 25, 2013

Can I even express how thankful I am for this team?

I'm so glad to know them; to grow, cry, laugh, and run with them. 

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A Pinterest Post

Well friends,

The words are flowing (trust me), but they're going into papers for grades rather than posts for the blog at the moment. Instead, I thought I'd give a preview of my recent pins.

Enjoy! 

/ l i v i n g  s p a c e s /

/ s t y l e /

/ t r a v e l /

/ a c c e s s o r i e s /

/ d e c o r / 

/ f i t n e s s /

/ h a i r / 

/ i n s p i r a t i o n /

/ b o o k s /

/ c e l e b s / 

/ c r e a t e / 

S e e  m o r e : 

 pinterest.com/danaedracht/boards/

Have a great week(end) everyone! 

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Greatness: A Poem

Here's what I was learning: there was no such thing as greatness. I sat content enough with Crime and Punishment in my hand in the back seat with a beautiful person. She looked so small and perfect, her seatbelt crossed her chest, her toes floated above the floor. She was timeless. That spark, that delightful glint of something secret had never left. I was a part of her. I was a part of her dark eyes, the soft wrinkles dancing on her face, part of her shoulders, the way she laid her hands...those were my hands. A man was driving, wrinkles graced his face too, and his hair was touched with gray strands. He held the steering wheel; I saw a part of me in his hands, too.

These two people sitting with me had been everything--and in an instant they could be gone. One wrong move would send us rolling, weightless, into the ditch, the unforgiving lawn. And as I sat there, I had to put the book down. From the book's topic, I looked outside and wondered how anyone like them could die. No one could take such lives away, I would do anything to preserve them. But soon I was far away, in another life already. I had dreams to chase and memories, and something important and steady. God only knew I'd have bills to pay and a real job and more schedules and somehow less time and the rent overdue.

I was looking out the window and thinking how glad I was to be moving...anything that wouldn't keep me still. I would do anything to preserve them. But if there's no such thing as greatness, even great acts of saving lives is nothing. Is it anything to die for someone? For her? To die, no. She lived. She lived and breathed...for me...for all of us. How is it that I could die for her, but I couldn't call her on a Sunday afternoon? Or write her something; tell her yes, I would be coming home to visit soon? How is it that I could die for her? A great act? Hardly. To die is nothing new. She lived...for me. The desire to preserve her was real sincere, but the desire to push away was too.

And then the man, humming quietly to an old song I didn't know, was a whole world within another world, like a book of answers to so many questions never written down. And underneath my apprehension, I could never write those questions. I'd die for this man, but I think I was more afraid of the rest. Fear of what? Of what? I wouldn't say out loud, I certainly could never write it down. Only, I thought it was best to keep the distance long, the conversations short. For years I wouldn't come around. But with time, with how it just keeps on going, never stoping once for me to catch my breath, I realized I don't have many answers. And maybe dad does, he knows an awful lot.

Here is what I was learning: there was no such thing as greatness. Greatness distinguishes and promotes; it makes one famous. Isn't it obvious? Repute, high standing...none of those things are truly greatness. If greatness existed, it would be only in the anonymous, in the faceless. It would exist in waking up one day at a time for other human beings: people perhaps incapable of seeing any greatness at all, who couldn't understand such meanings. It would exist in small, unnoticed things, in being ignored, overlooked, and disregarded for a lifetime; and it would be timeless. It would be that spark, that delightful glint of something secret that had never left.

...

September 16, 2013

 
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Walden on Wheels: On the Open Road from Debt to Freedom

Challenging one to grapple with the status-quo and rethink the college doubter's plight, Walden on Wheels offers a delightful and unarguably insightful read as Ken Ilgunas retells his journey from average indebted graduate to liberated vandweller. Yet, it's about more than just living in a van. Through experiences and intentional introspection, Ilgunas single-mindedly cultivates a subculture of his own, devoid of society's expectation and unnecessary material assets to choke him down.

// Some highlighted quotes // 

{they're long but absolutely worth reading. please, do!}

"The voyage was teaching me how unexceptional I was and how exceptional the human mind and body is. What wonders the human mind and body are capable of achieving! How so few know how much we can do! Our limits are merely mirages on the far side of the lake--we can see them ahead, but that's all the are: mirages. Our real limits are beyond the scope of our vision, beyond the horizon, a boundary worthy of our exploration" (p. 117).

"When we accept a gift, I thought, sometimes we don't just acquire a debt but an identity. Taking a gift can be like taking a sizzling-hot brand to the backside. The giver gives us a marking, a bubbling scar that only the brander and branded can see. It's a mark of dependence" (p. 222).

"Reading sixteenth-century French poetry, suffering through Kant, and studying the finer points of the Jay Treaty may seem to be, on first appearance, completely, utterly, irrefutably pointless, yet somehow in studying, discussing, and writing about these 'pointless' subjects, the liberal arts have the capacity to turn on a certain part of the brain that makes us ask ourselves questions like: 

Who am I?  What's worth fighting for? Who's lying to us? What's my purpose? What's the point of it all? 

Perhaps many students would rather not be irritated with these questions, yet being compelled to grapple with them, it seems, can make us far less likely to be among those who'll conform, remain complacent, or seek jobs with morally ambiguous employers" (p. 243).

"Discomforts are only discomforting when they're an unexpected inconvenience, an unusual annoyance, an unplanned-for irritant. Discomforts are only discomforting when we aren't used to them. But when we deal with the same discomforts every day, they become expected and part of the routine, and we are no longer afflicted with them the way we were...Give your body the chance to harden, your blood to thicken, and your skin to toughen, and you'll find that the human body carries with it a weightless wardrobe. When we're hardy in mind and body, we can select from an array of outfits to comfortably bear most any climate" (p. 255).

Ken Ilgunas

"We need so little to be happy. Happiness does not come from things. Happiness comes from living a full and exciting life" (p. 258).

"Envy is a bitter fruit, but one that only grows when we water it with the nourishment of society. Remove society, and it will wither on the vine" (p. 258-259).

"[O]ne must confront the very beasts and chasms that haunt our dreams, block our paths, and muffle the voice of the wild man howling in all of us, who calls for you to become you--the you who culture cannot shape, the you who is unalterable, uncivilizable, pure. You" (p. 272). 

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Zen Things

“One day, a long time from now you’ll cease to care anymore whom you please or what anybody has to say about you. That’s when you’ll finally produce the work you’re capable of.” — J.D. Salinger

Transitions are hard. The innate human resistance to the unknown make leaving and moving onto something else alluring yet also terrifying.

Graduating from college/moving out of the parents' home is one of the biggest transitions a young person will make. Finding a job, a place to live, and the right people to love are choices we all face. Sometimes they seem less like choices though and more like ultimatums. I don't know where I'm going to be in less than a year and that worries me.

Is following dreams just too unrealistic in today's world? As far as my major goes, I chose what I enjoy doing most, English Writing. Yet, the cold realities of unemployment prompts my uncertainty. Am I like the little kid who wants to be a fireman because he gets to drive the big red trucks with flashing lights and screaming sirens?  

These are the questions I pondered while washing dishes for hours in a grungy kitchen in the back of a restaurant.

I was soaked up to my elbows in brown dishwater and my shift wasn't even half over. As I plunged my hands into the oversized sink and loaded dishes onto a rack, I thought about happiness. I carried the loaded try over to the dishwasher and ran them through a washing cycle. As I waited, I unloaded some clean trays. I had developed a technique for stacking the trays; I could take them off the rack four at a time, which I found impressive.

As gross as the job could be at times, in a strange way I had come to appreciate it. It was physical labor. I was active and on my feet, constantly moving. I liked that. I also liked the people I worked with. I liked being an essential part of a larger enterprise.

I began rinsing the silverware, squinting so the high-pressured stream of water wouldn't gush into my eyes, although it was soaking me everywhere else. At that moment, I realized I was happy. I knew exactly what I was supposed to do, and I knew I was doing it well. It was an incredibly simple, thankless task but the rest of the cafe needed me in order to operate.

It's in these instances that I realize I'm going to be okay. Perhaps it doesn't matter what we do, so much as the attitude in which we do it.

Maybe I'll never become a writer, save for the thoughts I share here. Or, maybe I'll go on to start my own publishing company, who am I to say? Perhaps the importance lies in not valuing titles too much; as if becoming a CEO or earning a Ph. D. will bring more happiness, guaranteed. I don't plan on washing dishes for the rest of my life, but that kitchen has taught me that happiness doesn't necessarily hide in a corporate office or a perfectly furnished apartment in New York.

Being less can actually fulfill us more. You have little, but then again, you have little to lose. If people look down on you or call you lazy or inept, they simply haven't realized the value in doing less and living simply and being simple.

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How to Flirt With an Introvert

DISCLAIMER: While meant to inform, this excerpt is also intended to entertain. So, while all the information is valid, please, if/when put into practice, use common sense and understand every circumstance is different.

Ladies, feel free to laugh and comment with any of your own insight. And if you're interested in a fella, much of this advice applies to you, too.

Is She an Introvert 

Okay, sir, congratulations! You're interested in a lady. You want to get to know her. Here's one of the first things you need to do: figure out if she's introverted or extraverted.

Introverts tend to enjoy quiet concentration, listen more than they talk, think before they speak, and have a more circumspect and cautious approach to risk. Introverts think more, are less reckless and focus on what really matters—relationships and meaningful work.  

Extroverts are energized by social situations and tend to be assertive, multi-taskers who think out loud and on their feet (Susan Cain). 

At first, discerning your prospective lady might be difficult, so I'll give you a guideline to follow.

You'll know she's an introvert when:

1. She's not very witty. 

If she doesn't chuck some serious sass your way after one of your sarcastic remarks, it's a strong indication. Instead, she might do a half-hearted laugh, softly punch you on the shoulder and mutter something absurd like, "Oh...you..."

Don't panic. She's actually not stupid.

There's a lot going on in her head. She's processing at lightning speed. Anything from the tone of your voice, your body posture, another person or other people in the room and what they're thinking, the way you're perceiving her at that moment, something she said previously, what your comment actually meant...is being analyzed. That takes a lot of brain power, thus, no comeback. Now if you gave her a couple minutes...

2. She seems quiet. 

That's rough. You want to get to know her but she's not giving you much to go on. Bro, you're dealing with the tip of her iceberg. Depending on who you are and how far you're willing/able to dive, her depth could be good or bad.

Every girl is different, but if she's highly introverted, even after knowing her for years she'll still have long lapses of quiet. She's thinking, duh.

3. She doesn't flirt back. 

Okay, okay, this is tricky. One reason for no reciprocation could actually be total disinterest; if this is the case, you really don't have a chance. Move on as soon as possible. Like an iceberg, she ain't gonna budge.

However, you might be looking for the wrong signs. Yes, I did just say "signs." By nature, she's cautious when taking risks. You're a risk. Remember that. She's not going to put herself out there, or if she does, it will be as subtle as humanly possible. For example, two seconds of outrageously bold eye-contact from across the room. Wow. That's good. And if it's any more than four seconds, she basically just screamed, "Holy [expletive], I LOVE YOU!!"

Another reason she's not flirting could be due to her inability to think on her feet (observation #1). She's not good at those light, get-to-know-you conversations (they both exhaust and bore her).

4. She takes everything you say seriously. 

Your extroverted lady friends will unashamedly bash you and compete with your most brutal sarcasm. Your prospective introvert, however, probably won't. If she tries, you'll see right away it's unnatural.

5. She's indirect. 

She's going to worry about how she presents herself, whether she likes you or not. If there's no interest, she also doesn't want to hurt your feelings. It's possible she might say one thing but mean another. The reason for this boils down to her innate desire to avoid conflict. You get to be the idiot who tries to figure out what's really being communicated.

A note: As an introvert, she probably should come out of her shell more and it sucks for you if she doesn't.

..

If You're an Introvert 

You might also fall into the introverted category. Assume the development of the relationship will move much slower. If you marry the girl before either of you turn forty, I congratulate you.

Also, for the sake of the relationship, be prepared (as best you can) to muster insane courage. To approach her and strike up a conversation is absolutely mad, I get it. However, vulnerability and chance of utter embarrassment are necessary.

Please, don't try to be coy and discreet. Making momentary eye contact from across the room only gets you so far. If you're interested but not sure she is, don't pretend you aren't to protect your ego (just in case she lets you down). If you do, I promise nothing is going to happen.

Don't half-heartedly throw phases out there like, "We should hang out sometime." This translates to, "I have no balls to actually ask you out."

When asking her out, watch out for replies like, "Yeah, for sure." "For sure" without specific times and dates, equals "heck no."

Other Tips to Success 

1. Location, location, location. You'll want to take her out. Avoid busy places with a lot of noise. Think quiet, minimally stimulating environments.

2. Ask her deep questions; not necessarily about herself, but her opinions on something. If you work her up to a topic she cares about, she'll forget about over-analyzing and start running her mouth.

3. Understand you're constantly being analyzed; everything from the way you part your hair, down to the brand of shoes you wear, is telling her something about you. Not only your physique, but most of what you do and say is under critical evaluation. She wants to know, are you worth her time?

4. She likes genuine, meaningful conversations. When you aren't serious, make sure that's understood.

5. Be patient. She's not about to rush into anything. Pressure her and she'll shut down and emotionally extract herself altogether.

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More You Should Know

1. Many introverts hide their identity. Generally, outgoing individuals make more friends, gain more rapport, and experience more opportunities while the quiet ones are overlooked by default. In other words, you're lady could be obligated to fake it. This is not to say the above points never apply, it's just an indication that she's better at pretending they don't.

2. Getting to really know an introvert can be a lot of work. Distracted by her overpowering mental processor, an introvert will often seem superficial. It's hard for her to get into the moment. There will probably be some mental barriers to break through.

3. She might not want to "get out" much. A fun, fulfilling evening to her could consist of sitting in a room together. This is favorable since it takes a lot of pressure off you and your budget.

4. Your prospective lady might not know she's an introvert. However, in a culture strongly bent toward valuing an extroverted ideal, she might feel out of place. Self-absorption and insecurity are typically mistaken for an introvert's tendency to withdrawal. On the contrary, quietude is often simply her means of escape, a short break, from a fast-pace, talkative, overwhelming world.

..

Resources

If you're serious about understanding the essence of introversion, read Susan Cain's Quiet. Here's a quick summary from goodreads:

Passionately argued, impressively researched, and filled with indelible stories of real people, Quiet shows how dramatically we undervalue introverts, and how much we lose in doing so...Susan Cain charts the rise of the Extrovert Ideal in the twentieth century and explores its far-reaching effects. She talks to Asian-American students who feel alienated from the brash, backslapping atmosphere of American schools. She questions the dominant values of American business culture, where forced collaboration can stand in the way of innovation, and where the leadership potential of introverts is often overlooked. And she draws on cutting-edge research in psychology and neuroscience to reveal the surprising differences between extroverts and introverts. more

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Good luck. You may need it.

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The Good Girl's Guide to Getting Lost: A Memoir

"What happens when we lose the things that anchor us? What if, instead of grasping at something to hold on to, we pull up our roots and walk away? Instead of trying to find the way back, we walk deeper and deeper into the woods, willing ourselves to get lost. In this place where nothing is recognizable, not the people or the language or the food, we are truly on our own. Eventually, we find ourselves unencumbered by the past or the future. Here is a fleeting glimpse of our truest self, our self in the present moment. After that, maybe we can finally go home--or maybe not."

"What I found on the road was a tiny piece of myself, the one I kept unknowingly shuttered for so long in order to play the many roles I thought were mine. It was no cyclone, but these past few years I had survived my own personal disasters and realized I was strong enough. I was on the other side. In this new place, I could hear the whispering voice inside my head growing louder, my voice--not those of my parents or teachers...--telling me to live my life without fear or worry or doubt that nothing was going according to plan, as though such a plan ever existed in the first place." 

A Good Girl's Guide to Getting Lost, p. 286-287

By Rachel Friedman 

Published 2011

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If you're worrying about your place in the world... 

don't. 

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“Trust whatever He has for you. It will be better than anything you can plan for yourself.”

—	Francis Chan (Crazy Love)

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