Delayed Friday

This is the post that would have been up last Friday, but got delayed by my EP/music video announcement:

Yet another week over. Yet another week closer to Christmas. Three weeks left! Three weeks of waiting in anticipation. Three weeks of trying to keep my big mouth shut. Three weeks still that I might spoil the surprise. But enough about Christmas— today is Friday!

Earlier this week, I spent my night discussing the "Clobber Passages," verses in Scripture that are used to "prove" that homosexuality is a sin. In all honesty, I had no interest in going to the discussion. I've had my fair share of debates about whether God thinks homosexuality is okay, and I'm over it. I'm over debates. You have to choose your battles, and I'm just not into battling Christians over a couple lines in the Bible. So much so that I was actually pretty annoyed that we were going to spend an entire evening trying to "arm" ourselves to "fight bigotry." To me, it felt a bit like heterophobia.

Maybe it's just me, but I've never felt particularly comfortable in homogeneous groups. It freaks me out. Whether I "fit in" with the group or not, it bugs me. When everyone is of the same race or sex or religious belief or profession or anything else you could think of, I start feeling like anyone who doesn't have that common factor wouldn't be accepted. When I found out that someone who identified as straight wouldn't be allowed in the group about affirming and integrating spirituality and sexuality, my red alert went off. The reasoning is that we wouldn't want someone who was just an observer, due to how personal a lot of the things people have shared are, and I totally get that, but it bugs me.

We didn't discuss the Clobber Passages to fight anyone though, it turned out. Despite my anxiety, the discussion made me realise that I had turned myself from caring about the Bible at all after hearing over and over about how the Bible condemned homosexuality. The God I knew would never do that, so the Bible wasn't the "Word of God" in my mind. It was just a bunch of stories, maybe influenced by God, but screwed up by humans. After discussing how each of the Clobber Passages had been twisted to fit a homophobic belief system and how, taken in context and translated better, they were condemnations of things like rape, promiscuity, and inhospitality, not homosexuality, I felt liberated.

The point of the group is to make peace with our sexuality and our spirituality, and that happened for me suddenly. I hadn't even realised how much in turmoil I was over a couple sentences in that massive book, and I definitely had no idea how badly I wanted to believe in the Bible like I had as a kid, but our discussion finally freed me of that conundrum which had been plaguing me for so many years without my even knowing it. So it turned out that it wasn't heterophobia in the least. It was about solving that inner turmoil which I'm sure most, if not all, members of the group faced on some level. It was about showing that you can take the Bible and God seriously and still be an open, tolerant human being.

It still bugs me that someone identifying as straight wouldn't be allowed in the group though. It feels so black and white. Who are we to say whether straight people struggle with making peace between their spiritual beliefs and their beliefs about sexuality? The debate about homosexuality is all around us and in everyone's lives nowadays. It seems almost idiotic that we wouldn't allow straight people into a group which is about, in a lot of ways, accepting homosexuality as okay and natural and totally fine in the eyes of God. We all could benefit from some open discussion.

Buried Treasure

Okay, I'll admit it: I miss blogging daily. I should focus on NaNo, but I need to blog. It makes me think and reflect even when I don't want to. Blogging, as annoying as it gets sometimes, is fun. It's freeing, liberating—it understands me. You understand me. Even if you don't.

When I blog, I explore a little corner of my mind, find some buried treasures, and re-organise everything so I can find those treasures more easily next time. Blogging, for me, is a never-ending process of cleaning and discovering and re-organising what's in my head. And translating. Somehow, the clutter must be turned into coherent words for others to understand, and the process of doing so helps me to appreciate my own self more.

I cannot stay mad when I blog. If I'm angry or upset or unhappy in anyway, blogging helps me see what's bothering me, and then, more importantly, find a way out. Blogging gives me solutions to the problems lost within my cluttered head, even if it never spells anything out for me.

Without blogging, I don't think I would have made it to today, to the point I am at right now. I wouldn't be able to hold the weight of all the things I hold if I did not take time every day to make sense of everything. Because what I do is not just narrate, but analyse. I have to analyse. I'm incredibly analytical, even if, for those who know me beyond this blog, I'm also incredibly emotional.

Blogging has helped me come to realise who I am, in a way. I've learned to throw out the either or definitions and embrace my own definitions of fluidity. Because nothing is black and white. I'm not only analytical or only emotional; I'm not only feminine or only masculine; I'm not only extroverted or introverted—I am all that and more.

I like those silly "How male/female are you?" checkbox tests, actually. I mean, the criteria for being male and the criteria for being female are both incredibly stupid, but a high "male" score doesn't mean a low "female" score, nor does a low male score mean a high female score. You could be anywhere from 0% male and 0% female to 100% male and 100% female. Masculinity does not mean the absence of femininity just as femininity does not mean the absence of masculinity. Nor does introspection mean a lack of extroversion or emotion a lack of logic.

I know this instinctively. It's in my nature to recognise this. Blogging has helped me dig this inborn instinct out from underneath all the learned ideas about society and human nature from my environment and culture. With every moment I spend blogging, I am digging up more and more buried treasures, all the things I knew before society burdened me with conflicting knowledge.

I'm back to blogging every day already.

TGIF

It's Friday. Thank GOD. It has been an incredibly long week. From actors dropping out of the play to tedious class periods spent sanding the floor, from frantically trying to get scripts printed to a body which felt like it had been hit by a large semi about 37 times before being put through all sorts of other pain, from the sudden onslaught of previously nonexistent "love life" to frantic pre-NaNo planning. Boy, has it been a long week.

I learn more every day than I could ever put into a weekly blog post. And hell, why should I put everything into a blog post? I can't learn lessons for you. I learn things I already know all the time. Being told things doesn't make it intuition, doesn't make it instinct. To think that I could somehow put the knowledge life experience has taught me into your brain is ridiculous; it won't happen.

Not that you can't learn from reading. Maybe this is just me, but one of the things I love about books is being able to learn from the character's mistakes. Hell, acting does this too. It's weird. You put yourself so deeply into the life of someone else, live out their life somehow, and then you step away and still have the lessons you learned as that character.

But stepping into the shoes of another will not teach you everything. Reading, as incredible as it can be, is not the same as doing. The best writers can take you very, very, very close to experiencing and learning with the characters, but it still can't beat reality.

So instead of trying to tell you what I've learned this week, I'm just going to tell you to go live life a little, make some mistakes, and learn from them. Nothing you read can come close to teaching you what living can.

Those Who Can't . . .

You learn by teaching. Or so I've been told many times.

This week was intense. It's Thursday night, and I have a midterm tomorrow morning, but I feel like the week is over. A little Spanish test is nothing. Not after this week. After this month! Hell, it's been over a year now of this never-ending pressure to learn everything in seconds. My body aches; my head groans. I've been fighting mild depression for nearly a month.

But it's over. Sure, I still have a massive paper hanging over my head that I have to get written. Sure, I've got months of directing to conquer. Sure, my test tomorrow is a freaking midterm. And sure, I don't know that my car really is going to be here before 10AM today. But all that, save for the directing, will be over very soon, and directing? That's easy compared to this week.

Last Friday, I got a call from one of the high school students. The drama teacher at the school had been out on "administrative leave" all week, and the class had literally fallen apart. It was chaos. Hell. The Advanced Drama students left in charge of the class couldn't keep the Beginning Drama students under control, and no one would listen to any substitute teacher. The principal had come in to try to address the situation, and it was clear they needed someone to lead the class. Some students suggested I do it, and so they called me.

Had I known what I was getting myself into then, I might not have agreed. In my perfect-world head, no one knew enough about theatre to run the class. Theatre? I know enough about theatre to run a drama class for a few days! I literally ran out my door and biked down to the school immediately. I talked with the student who had called me and the principal, and it was decided that I'd come in on Monday to run the class. I was ecstatic!

I got there Monday to find that there was no real lesson plan, and no one seemed to agree on what they were supposed to be doing. The reality that teaching a class was going to be way harder than I thought hit me, and I felt my insides start turning to mush. So what did I do? Faked it until I made it. The class stayed under considerable control for the period, the bell rang, and they were off.

And then I found myself standing in front of my cast only minutes later. It was time for our first meeting/"rehearsal". Once again, I could feel my insides doing a dance of terror, and once again, I acted completely in control. Whatever I said, they listened. My word was law. That was scary. Much scarier than rebellious teenagers questioning my authority. I could trust them not to let me lead them wrong, but now? No, I had trust, and the idea of losing that trust was terrifying.

By four thirty, when the rehearsal was scheduled to be over, everyone was having too much fun to care. I made sure those who had to leave knew what time it was, and then let the cast keep doing the "bonding exercise" they had been playing. I finally had to kick them out because I had to go and couldn't leave them unsupervised in the room. I went home with my heart soaring. I did it. I really did it! I kept control without being tyrannical. I was a leader, and a good one too. I stuck to the plans I had and accomplished more than I intended. I can't wait to do the read-through with the cast on Monday.

And then I walked into the drama class on Tuesday, and it was chaos. The "Little Theatre" where the class normally convenes wasn't available, and I was unprepared to work on anything in desks.  The lesson plans I'd made called for standing up and moving around and the use of the theatre. So we went outside. Where it was all wet and gloomy and the class was easily distracted. I lost half the class, and there was no way I could keep control of all of them. It was terrible. I got the names of all the students who chose to stay focused and told them I'd let their teacher know they were wonderful when he came back. I gave up on trying to teach and got them doing improv games until class ended.

So I walked in on Wednesday with new determination. I knew the theatre wouldn't be available again, so I made up lesson plans that would work within the classroom: vocal exercises. It wasn't a perfect class period, but it was leagues better than Tuesday. I was happy enough with it, and ready to do even better the next day.

So when I went in yesterday, the teacher was back. I was a little disappointed, to be honest, especially after biking over in the "rain", but the class was glad he was back. And then I started hearing the stories about what the class had been like the first week. I knew it was bad, but in my perfect-world head, it was just teenagers talking and not paying attention. A free period.

There were fights breaking out. The students who wanted to learn couldn't. The responsibility to lead and keep things under control was on the Advanced Drama students who had no idea how to keep their peers under control. No one was happy about the situation, not even the "problem" students. People were ending up on the floor in ridiculous wrestling matches of teenage angst, likely only worsened by the loss of their teacher for an indefinite amount of time. No one knew when he'd be back, and no one had any authority.

It had little to do with me personally, but when I came in on Monday, I changed things. I convinced them that I had authority, and they believed me. They told their teacher that I had "saved" the class, and he thanked me for it. The students thanked me for it. And I couldn't be more thankful for the week I had, learning first hand how very hard it is to be a teacher. It's not as easy as it looks.

Which makes it all the more appealing.

Dearest Loyal Readers,

For the past few weeks, I've been pretty whiny and irresponsible. I've been moody and lazy and feel like most of my posts have just been me rambling on about stupid things. And it's not just my blog. I've missed classes, not done homework, laid around a lot, and gotten others to do stuff for me because I couldn't be bothered. In other words, I've sucked. Admitting how much I've sucked these past few weeks is hard; I'm fighting the urge to delete this with every word.

My sucky self would like you to know that this is only because my body is sore and stiff and I have no decent way around any more. It wants you to know that this isn't how I "usually" am, that I'm "normally" a much better person, truly incredible and all.

But my sucky self makes a lot of excuses and doesn't do anything to change. I'm not a fan of my sucky self. On the surface, it's a lot easier to be my sucky self, but it always ends up being miserable. And misery leads to suckiness.

So I've decided I want to be more, be better. I'm swearing right here, up on the internet for the whole world to see, that I am going to man up and deal with the stupid "problem" I've turned into my excuse. I'm going to make a doctor's appointment, save up money, buy lights for my bike, and get used to biking around my hilly hometown in the meantime. My parents can't afford to get another car, and our insurance company is so bogged down that it'll likely be months before we see a penny, so it's on me to pay. So what if my lack-of-car is, by law, 0% my fault? It's not my parents' fault either.

Loyal readers, I promise you that I'm taking ownership of my actions over the past few weeks and I'm going to do something about me. I can't possibly think I deserve the right to lead or influence anyone when I cannot lead my own self. Please hold me to my words; I'm going to take care of myself and stop letting stupid excuses stop me from doing the things I must.

Thank God it's Friday. Only one class today, a long-needed a visit with a good friend, and then free time to write the 10-page paper due in less than a week that I haven't even started researching. And I'll set up my doctor's appointment.

Back in May, I wrote (and didn't post) a blog about how anxious I was to get out of high school and the terrible public school system. California is one of the worst states, as far as public education goes, in a country of failing public education systems. And, of course, my hometown is home to one of the worst in the state. In other words, the high school I went to was pretty horrible.

It all goes back to the civil rights movement, actually. The east side of my town was the richer, white side, and the west side was the poorer, coloured side. Because of how the school zoning works, everyone went to the school closest to them. In other words, the rich, white kids went to the school with rich, white kids, and the poor, coloured kids went to the schools with poor, coloured kids. Then someone had this brilliant idea: let's force the kids from the east to go to school with those from the west and vice versa!

It was the worst decision in my town's history; it destroyed the public education system. Parents freaked, private schools popped up, and anyone who had any interest in their child's education found a way to get them into a private school. So the public schools were left with parents who didn't care or couldn't afford to do anything about their child's education. There are 59 million different private schools around here. Everyone goes to private school. Even I went to private school up until I started high school.

I came to the conclusion, back in May, that, though I sought safety from the crumbling public school system in graduating and beginning college, I would not escape it. I was so desperate to get away, to run from the problem, but I knew it couldn't happen. I knew escape was not plausible, that its effects on me were inevitable.

Our education system effects every single one of us. The private school kids and public school kids alike. Parents, teachers, and dentists alike. Today's youth are tomorrow's leaders. If only some of them are educated properly, if only those whose parents had the money to pay for a private school education learn what's necessary to compete in and contribute to our society, what good is everyone else? We all know murder is wrong, but by not educating today's youth, we are taking away the future they deserve and making survival that much harder. Starving your child will get the Child Protective Services after you, so why aren't we sending the CPS after our education systems?

But it's more than that selflessness bull. I want everyone's ideas. I want an advanced society. I want someone else to invent the things I need to do the things I want to do. I need educated peers, educated elders, and educated youth. I need to live in an educated world so that I can learn and strive for even better. You cannot soar like an eagle when you're hanging out with turkeys. I want some more eagles in this world.

So try as I might to run from the atrocious education system, I can't escape the starved turkeys. I'm surrounded by starved turkeys. And that is why I work at such a terrible high school. I pity the poor turkeys, and I want to help them, but I also need them. It's a win-win situation, no matter how frustrating dealing with bureaucracy is or how hard it hope can become when I see all the problems with our education system. I love my job not because it's easy or pays well or particularly fun,  but because I believe in it. I believe in what I'm doing. Even when it gets hard and frustrating and tedious and miserable, I still love it because I know that I'm teaching starved turkeys how to soar like eagles and sing like songbirds and eat like high school pigs.

(Yes, I know it's Friday. Figure out the lesson yourself.)

Empowered

There is so very much in this world one may fight for. An endless litany of causes, movements, revolutions, struggles, hopes, dreams, and passions. We live in a sea of politics, conflicting ideas, and endless confusion. Who is right? Who is wrong? What is right? What is wrong? It's enough to make anyone feel helpless.

I feel helpless a lot. For all the moments I feel strong and empowered, there are still plenty of moments when I feel like nothing more than one of the billions of humans, simply one species of millions on this plant, simply a pale blue dot in the vastness of the endless space around the tiny planet we call home. When I consider how tiny we really are, how incredibly unimportant and powerless we are in the vastness of the multiverse, every thing we do and value just seems to ridiculous. Every day, we kill each other over irrelevant differences, but does the multiverse even notice or care?

But one human in 7 billion can change our society. It's happened many times. When I consider that, I can feel powerful again, like what I do might truly have an effect. If one person can change humanity, maybe one species truly can have an impact on our planet and even beyond our atmosphere, somewhere in the wide reaches of space.

But I don't think we're ready. I have so much faith in humanity, but it's the future I believe in, not now. I cannot help anyone unless I can help myself first, nor can humanity ever help our world until we learn to help our own species, to help each other. And so the never-ending debate of morals comes in, making it so hard to know where the defining lines of right and wrong truly lie.

We all know, of course, that killing someone without "good" cause is most definitely wrong, but what is a "good" cause? Is there any good cause? Is there any good reason to kill someone? My answer is no. But then someone always has to ask me, "What if killing one person would save hundreds/thousands/millions/everyone?" Our classic example is Hitler. If I could have killed Hitler before the Holocaust, would I? And, somehow, I know the answer is no. Given the hypothetical chance to save the lives of millions of people by taking one life, I couldn't do it.

I don't want to justify my morals. That's not my point. I believe something, and I know I could be wrong. Perhaps the right thing to do, given that chance, is to kill the man who, like me, once dreamed of being an artist. I don't think I have the right to ever take another human life no matter what, but perhaps I'm wrong. I could be wrong. That is the trouble with trying to "do the right thing." It's not that the act of doing something right is so hard or wrong is so tempting; it's that we don't know for sure what's right or wrong. And that is where the helplessness truly comes from.

Knowledge is power, but we can never know. We can only believe. We can only have faith. I have been fighting to have faith for a very long time, and I will always have times of struggle, but I've learned that I cannot ever know, and that I just have to have faith. Faith is my power.

And though I wish I could know (So much for the Tree of Knowledge; what a misnomer.) instead of just believing, I almost like not knowing. Every day, I wonder who is right, and sometimes, my definition of right changes. I learn. It doesn't feel so bad to be wrong, because I can learn. Though I am wrong today, perhaps tomorrow I will learn what is right and become right.

I was not the best director a year ago. I know I wasn't. I did things wrong, morally wrong, by the definition of right and wrong I hold today. And in another year, I will look back again and see all the things I did wrong this year. But each year, I will learn. Each year, I will get closer to bringing our species to that ideal of forever helping each other, getting along, respecting each other, and at last being ready to fight for more than just our own selves, our own little worlds, but for the multiverse.

This blog post, to my amazement, will influence someone. It will make a change in the world, no matter how small, because it will make the tiniest change in at least one person's life, heart, mind, soul. Somehow, with my words alone, I have that power. I am not helpless; I am empowered. You are not helpless either.

An Unforgiving Teacher

Injuries suck. I mean, they really suck.

You're going full-speed, doing everything, making things happen, on top of the world, nothing can stop you. And then you get a stupid injury. It hurts like all hell, but you think, "Hey, nothing can stop me! Why should this stupid injury stop me?" And then you make it worse. And, stubbornly, you insist again on your invincibility. Until your spinal cord snaps and you're paralyzed for life.

I'm stubborn. I don't let anything stand in my way. Ever. You'd have better luck convincing a brick wall to tango. So when I got my most inhibiting injury ever, my initial instinct was, "To hell with being injured. My spine doesn't want to move? I'll make it move!" Or better yet, "Doctors? Who needs 'em! All I got to do is toughen up, and I'll be fine." Thankfully, however, logic has been winning out mostly. Logic has a pretty good argument: "Not moving around much right now sucks. A lot. I know. But if you keep moving around, trying to be unstoppable, you are going to be permanently injured. Or dead. DEAD. DO YOU WANT TO DIE?? No? Well, rest up, and you'll be good as new soon. With over 9000 toughness points for overcoming your injury. So over 9000 or DEATH? Which will it be?"

Logic has learned how to appeal to the illogical: hyperbole. I've been enduring the psychological misery of not being able to do all the things I want with logic's ridiculous reasoning. Don't tell the illogical, but this isn't a video game; toughness isn't measured numerically. Whatever points I think I'm winning by recovering from an injury don't really exist. Or, at least, no one else cares about them. Even I don't.

What I care about is being able to go full-speed, do everything, make things happen, on top of the world, nothing can stop me again. As soon as possible. In one week, a bunch of nervous teenagers will all one by one stand up on a stage, speak for less than a minute, and desperately hope they managed to somehow blow me away in such a short time frame. Little do they know, I'm just as nervous. Casting is the most terrifying part of production. But then production will begin. Little old injured me will need to be ready for the physical demands.

Did you know directing is physically demanding? Sure, it can be done from a chair, but that's not the kind of director I want to be. I want to be that director the cast always remembers for all the passion and positive energy she put into the production every single day, come rain, sleet, snow, or hail. I want to be that director that makes everyone in the production say, "Hey, this is fun!" I want to be that director who isn't the boss, but the role model. I want to be that director whose love for everyone involved in the production is obvious. I want to be that director who fits John Quincy Adams' definition of a leader: "If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader." I want to inspire.

I hate being less than 100% right now, but I know the rest right now is necessary. I have to let my body heal so that I may be around as long as I can to learn how to become the person I dream of being. I have to learn patience, and I have to learn to take care of myself before I can be worthy of taking care of others.

Injuries suck, but they're one of those "either you learn, or you die" situations. Either you learn to swallow your pride and listen to your body's needs, or you run your body straight into the ground and destroy yourself. Injuries are unforgiving teachers.

Dearest readers,

I have a confession to make: I am a procrastinator. There. I said it! Despite my wondrous ability to get myself ahead of schedule and write the week's post early in the week, I do procrastinate. My name is Elizabeth, and I am a procrastiholic. I have searched and searched for a cure, but found none. I have looked high and scoured low. I have dug through the earth and sailed through the sky. I have spent lifetimes probing for the cure to procrastination, and still could not find one.

There is no such thing as a cure, for procrastination does exist because everything is procrastination. It's Thursday night, and I had a snarky post written up, but got home too exhausted to draw the pictures that it needed. I had nearly all week to draw them, but I did other things instead and never got to drawing them. That's what we call procrastination.

Right now, I am procrastinating on much needed sleep. And yet I am completing a task I deem important: writing up my usual blog post. Every time I write these posts, I am procrastinating; there is something else "more important" that I could be doing. Always. I have never done the most important thing ever. Never have, never will. I don't even know what it is, but I am sure as heck procrastinating on it. I'm taking classes and getting a college degree when I could be building up my community arts company and "jump-starting my career." I'm learning to play guitar when I could be learning how to perform CPR. I'm writing and directing for high schoolers when I could be mailing off manuscripts to publishers. Everything I do is a procrastination of some kind. I think procrastination is a wonderful thing. I don't want a cure. If I stopped procrastinating, just imagine all the things I wouldn't do!

But procrastination is dangerous. You have to use it wisely. Handle with care. Procrastination can be not only unproductive, but even destructive. And boy, do my brain cells die when that darn TV is on and my distraction-seeking mind clings to it and leaves behind whatever procrastination I had previously been busying myself with. Procrastination can also lend itself to things like not sleeping, not eating, or too much of one or both, and that's not healthy.

So this week's lesson, dear readers, is to recognise that you are procrastinating. Always. Embrace procrastination. Happily declare that you are, in fact, a procrastinator! Buy a "Proud Procrastinator" T-shirt!* Never again feel shame for procrastinating!

But of course, be sure to stick to the good, productive, nondestructive procrastination. Easy, right?

*I was kidding about the T-shirts, unless people actually wanted them. The design will be up Sunday, and that'll be the new poll. Unless you guys give me strong feedback before then.

Liberation Day

I always feel so arrogant when I sit down to write these "Things I've Learned" posts. It seems ridiculous that I, some mixed-up and fatally flawed eighteen-year-old kid, should have "lessons" to share with others. Who am I to think I can teach total strangers?

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." — from A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson

This is a tough lesson to learn. It's something I know in words, but don't understand, as my old Physics teacher always asked us to, deep in my gut. It's not intuitive in our culture. We thrive on self-depreciation and shrinking. Confidence is arrogance and egotism. To love oneself is to be selfish.

Who am I to think I am so great that others may learn from me? Who am I to believe I possess any desirable qualities?

Lately, I've been getting a lot more views a day. It was exciting for one day, and then it started becoming scary. Who am I to have so many people read what I write? Who am I to believe that I deserve the attention? I've been feeling a bit paranoid. Like maybe this is just some prank. Or maybe people will figure out that my blog is not worth reading, and my views will drop back down.

Our culture perpetuates this problem. Our culture embraces and encourages fear. We live in a world full of terror and immobilising fear. And I don't like it. I don't want the world my children grow up in to be one governed by fear. I want my children unafraid of their own greatness. "And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

You know what? Who am I not to teach? Who am I not to share my thoughts, my ideas, the things I learn and find valuable? I let go of my fear, started this blog, and made it as easy to find as I could. And you know what happened? Other friends of mine started to do the same. As I was liberated from my fear, so were those around me.

I want to liberate the whole world from fear. Help me? All you have to do is liberate yourself.

Old Friends

Hello, friends! Happy Friday! Has it been a good week? It's been a great week here!

What have I learned this week? Maybe some appreciation for keeping this blog, actually. It's such a pain just about all of the time, but it teaches me a lot every day.

But that's not my lesson today. I think the biggest thing I've learned recently isn't so much a lesson, but just a conclusion I've come to: nothing beats old friends.

I love new friends. You need new friends from time to time. But still there is nothing like an old friend. An old friend knows you. With an old friend, there's no need to count off your siblings, pets, favourite colour, or childhood dreams. That's the best thing about an old friend. No backstory necessary. No need to take up precious time explaining why something is or isn't important to you. Old friend don't need you to tell them who you are; they already know.

But still, new friends can become old friends. And new friends give you new opinions, new insight, new perspective. New friends let you reinvent yourself. New friends allow you to be an entirely new person if you want.

I like my new friends and my old friends both, but it's been really nice to have old friends amongst all the new that comes with beginning a new chapter if my life: college. It's not much of a lesson, other than "appreciate your friends," but it's all I've got other than all this art history fogging up my brain.

Have a good weekend!

On Crashing Classes

We've made it to Friday. Rejoice! Week one of classes (for me and my classmates, at least), is finally at it's end. A sense of regularity and calm is starting to fall over campus, contrasting dramatically with the confusion and chaos we faced at the beginning of the week. Classes are filled, and teachers are beginning to push past their "Don't cheat, plagiarise, or slap each other in my class" and "This class is called Spanish; if you thought you were going to learn how to juggle, now is the time to leave" dummy talk and into the real class. It's exciting.

But today is Friday, and I said I'd talk about crashing classes this week. So I will!

I didn't really end up crashing much. It was actually really easy for me. The classes I was already signed up for were pretty much what I wanted, except that the Wednesday night class needed to go. So I found Women in American Society and, through the Art of Knowing the Right People, I got my add code the first day, avoided the risky lottery, and dropped my Wednesday night class before Wednesday even came about.

So my number one piece of advice for course crashing is this: stand out. And I don't mean just sit around and play the amplified cactus on the street corner every night. What I mean is walk up to your professor, introduce yourself, and let him/her know you want to be in his/her class. Show them.

Don't show up late. I know some schools have it so if you want to add, you come after class, but you know what? Come before class. Get there early, talk to the professor, and if you're told to come by at the end of class, make sure you're there right away. Don't harass the professor, but stand out by proving that you care and you want this class.

Friendliness is such an important trait to have too, and it's something I know I need to work on. But when you can be both serious/determined and still friendly and cheerful, it's not just professors who will remember you. And being remembered (for good qualities, not bad) is beyond value; when someone knows, respects, and likes you, they're much more willing to do favours for you. Like put in a good word for you or recommend you.

You want classes? Prove why you, of all the people fighting for a spot, should have the spot. That, or either get really lucky on the lottery draw or just kill off students until there's room for you.

Bryce Avary: A Role Model

Happy Friday! I haven't learned a thing today, so I thought I'd talk about Bryce Avary.

Bryce Avary, also known as The Rocket Summer, is one of the two people who most inspired me to teach myself piano and finally get (back) into music at the rather chaotic age of sixteen. Bryce Avary (and Alison Sudol, also known as A Fine Frenzy) saved me.

Sixteen, for me, was the beginning of huge changes in my life. I went through a lot st sixteen. In early 2008, I fell in love with "My Typical Angel" as I lamented my oh-so-tragic "lost love". Soon, I was searching through CDs at Best Buy to find The Rocket Summer. Having fallen in love with both Bryce's piano-driven rock and Alison Sudol's much more ethereal piano music, I started teaching myself piano that same summer.

And then my entire world was turned upside down: a friend of mine, who had been like an brother to me while we were in school together, committed suicide, and whatever semblance of faith in God I had left was completely shattered. Piano, The Rocket Summer, and A Fine Frenzy were the only means I had to cope with and try to wrap my head around the death of a friend.

I clung to Bryce's music especially that summer. He had all the faith I didn't, all the faith I wished I could still have. But I knew I would never be the same; my faith was forever changed at sixteen: first utterly destroyed, and then slowly brought to life as a different kind of faith through Bryce's own faith.

And boy does Bryce Avary has faith. He questions God, questions life and meaning, and through it all, he continues to have faith. I hated God, hated Christianity and Christians for lying to me my whole life, but here was this Christian who I could not hate. I could not believe God, but I could believe in Bryce Avary. On my darkest days, Bryce Avary's never-ending faith could still somehow light my day.

Bryce Avary pushed me to believe in something greater than myself, to believe that I was important and owed it to the world to be the best I could be. I don't believe in a God who sits up on a throne in the clouds, playing puppeteer or even simply watching, but I do believe in something: humanity. That every person is capable of good, of being "saved" if only they can believe.

Music, and not just Bryce Avary, has completely changed my life. Because it is art, and art is the universal language, the language of our hearts. When I was 16, Bryce Avary showed me the kind of person I wished I could be. I grew weary of dark, fearful, faithless hate and longed to instead fearlessly light the world with love and faith.

Bryce Avary plays every single instrument in his music: guitars, piano, bass, drums, and vocals. He writes it all and makes it all happen. And he's been doing it since he was a teenager. Maybe one day I'll be able to do that too.

Bryce Avary, you are my hero. <3

Grabbed a Wild Beast by the Horns

Oh, the pressure is on now. Life lesson? Have I learned anything cool enough?

Um, ACTUALLY, I had a pretty awesome Thursday which was a very good learning experience: I auditioned to be the lead singer of a band.

Let me first say that I got in contact with this band over craigslist. Oh, craigslist, how you make me feel as if I'm covered in a very thin, mildly sticky, and definitely disconcerting film! But I won't deny that craigslist, despite some weirdos, creeps, and scammers, can be good. It's just matter of being careful. So yes, I am careful about who I meet on craigslist.

I saw an ad looking for a female lead singer of a band with a litany of influences. I skimmed the list, and, lo and behold, there were bands like New Order, U2, Joy Division, The Cure, The Smiths, Depeche Mode, etc. Combined with proper English and a very clear and professional-seeming ad (not professional spam; just thought-out), I gathered up the courage to send an email.

The email I got back came from a human being, hurrah! But it turned out the band was two guys: one who was 32, and one who described himself as "older" which could mean anything! They couldn't possibly want an 18-year-old college student, could they? I replied mentioned that I was only a college student, and could understand if they didn't want to work with someone so young, but assured them that I felt ready to handle being a band like an adult rather than a flaky teenager.

The guitarist (the "older" guy) and I arranged to meet at a nearby coffee shop Thursday. I was nervous, of course, but was soon talking with him almost as if I wasn't meeting some guy off craigslist. Very nice guy, and after awhile of talking I felt pretty sure that I really wanted to be part of the band, and he seemed pretty sure that, at least personality-wise, I would be a good fit. Except there was one major problem: he hadn't heard me sing yet. And I was endlessly nervous about singing.

Let me make this clear: I do not audition. Ever. Especially not singing. I probably haven't had an audition for anything since I was 11. And singing? HELL NO. I am a shower singer, a car singer, and only sometimes a choir singer. But I wanted this; I was not going to mess this up. I could do it, I assured myself.

We went to his house a few blocks away (I took my own car, of course, duh. Warning kids: don't go to strangers houses in their cars. BAD IDEA.) where I'd be able to sing with the rough tracks he had already laid out. Their old vocalist could hit notes, and I listened to the rough tracks with her singing a few times before trying to remember the words and sing myself. As I got ready to sing, I looked at my hands: shaking, of course. Heart? Racing. Palms? Sweating profusely. Boy was I nervous. Who was I kidding, trying to audition to be a lead singer when I couldn't sing? My scratchy voice against their old vocalist? No way.

And then I was singing. I was improvising stuff because I forgot the words. I was jamming vocally. I let my voice do what it felt like. And I could hear it back, amplified and echoing. Holy crap, was that my voice? Joe, the guitarist, had this look like, "Wow. We found our vocalist." My heart soared. I sang some more, he recorded it, and then I got to listen to my singing played back, guitars and drums included.

And then it hit me: I wasn't just passable, I was better than the old vocalist. My voice may not have been prettier, but my voice had something hers lacked: emotion. Mind you, hearing your own voice is always just a weird feeling, but in the matter of a few minutes, I went from sure I couldn't sing, to sure I couldn't NOT sing.

I looked my fear and self-doubt straight in the eyes, grabbed that irritating little voice in the back of my head which tells me I can't, and I said no. I took that fear and anxiety and, instead of letting it rule me, I ruled it. Like my acting coach once taught me, I channeled my energy. And I discovered once again that I wasn't giving myself enough credit.

So the lesson? To grab fear by the horns, and ride that wild beast until you are master. That's what I learned today.