Sunday, February 24, 2013

A Magical Moment

            You know those moments when something you have dreamed of manifests itself in front of your eyes? The moment I desired was neither clear nor specific, but I had worked all my life to get to it. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to excel academically and be in the presence of the great scholars who I admired.
            It happened during my short-lived Spring Semester at Berkeley. I was taking a European History class, which delightfully surprised me in how much I enjoyed it.
            One of my most beloved spots on campus is the North Reading Room inside Doe Library. It is everything a students needs to be inspired:  Ornate decorations, gilded crown molding, and abundant natural light. Another feature of this great space is the list of names of significant authors throughout history that borders the walls.
            I had some spare time between classes, so I decided to tackle some assigned reading from The Prince. I looked up from where I was sitting to get a brief break and my eyes caught Machiavelli’s name.
            I smiled. Time seemed to stop. My surroundings became a bit blurry. I got a warm feeling inside. THIS is what I had worked so hard for. THIS moment to immerse myself in great knowledge and meet one of the great scholars of our time.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

No Valentine For This Ginger

Twenty years now and no real valentine. I’m not complaining. My dad is and always has been my valentine, with the exception of the year I was in Berkeley:  Not going to lie that was kind of disappointing. Anyways, I have always been satisfied with the card and candy or stuffed animal that my dad left for me at the kitchen table.

My Junior year of high school I was working on a charity event after school and my crush of multiple years just so happened to ask me who my valentine was. I kind of sheepishly answered, “my dad.” He burst into chuckles and started telling a buddy of his how funny it was that this girl had her dad as a valentine.

So guys, if you aren’t going to go out of your way to make tomorrow special for a girl, at the very least don’t do something to make this celebration of love any worse for her.

Monday, February 4, 2013

Title Explanation

There have been many questions and controversy surrounding the title I chose for my blog:  “I Lost My Boots In Berkeley.” I first stated that the title is true both literally and figuratively. I quickly learned that this led to many mis-interpretations. So, now that this blog is nearly a month old with almost 300 pageviews (THANK YOU!), I am going to attempt to steer all my readers/followers in the correct direction for interpretation and understanding. Obviously, the literal meaning is that my precious pair of cowboy boots was lost in shipping during the move from Berkeley to back home, in Carrollton. They were special to me because a dear family friend had given them to me after she was no longer able to use them. They were worn in just the right amount:  Not too much, not too little, and they fit pretty well. Plus, they had a history, a story, to accompany them. I was absolutely devastated when I learned that one of the three large boxes my mom and I shipped did not make it to its destination. I felt I had lost who I was mentally, personally, and emotionally, and now that a significant portion of my physical belongings were lost, I didn’t even have material things to use as a crutch. Even more unfortunate was that this box also contained all of my schoolwork and Cal gear, making it almost as if I never completed a semester at Berkeley (relatively successfully) let alone attempted a second semester. In my very confused and distraught mind, my college experience seemed simply like a whispy image, a memory that I couldn’t bring any real manifestation to.

Now to tackle the confusing and controversial figurative meaning of the title. I meant it to come off as losing my mind, my personality, my being, what I had thought made me, me. No, it has nothing to do with the phrase “knocking boots;” and no, I have no intentions of trying to be the next Carrie Bradshaw.

I chose not to listen to those who suggested to change the title because I fell in love with it, and if you know me, you know that if I have my mind, or even more dangerous, heart, set on something, I will do everything in my power to make it happen.

Originally, I wanted to have a title based off of Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken” because it was introduced to me by a teacher who had a great significance on my education and who I admire as a person to this day. Well, it turns out that I was far from the first person to want to use Frost’s title for inspiration. Basically every domain related to roads not taken, ironically, had been taken. Then, one day while I wasn’t directly thinking about blog titles, the idea of “I Lost My Boots In Berkeley” came to me, and I was head over heels! (Punny, I know.)

I would like to thank Tess, Keith, Carolyn, and Jean for supporting and sometimes pushing me to start this blog.

I realize it probably would have been more appropriate to share this piece as my first post, but in case you haven’t noticed I am no longer devoted to “doing things the way they are supposed to be done.”

Unnecessary Complexity

I was going through some of the work I did in high school and came across this poem I wrote about poetry for my Sophomore English class. It made me smile, and I hope it brings you a similar reaction.

What makes a poem great?
It has to be confusing and commence debate
Heaven forbid it makes sense
It's entertaining to the author,
At the reader's expense
Who are these authors?
The great ones are on some kind of drug
They don't have any real job; they're nothing but a big lug
A poem does not convey any real thought
Try searching for one and you will end up distraught
If you think about it, poets are conceited
They write about themselves, leaving everyone else cheated
The only benefit I can see
Would be if you want to leave this world for awhile, and just flee