A Plea to the Artisans

I feel scared. And I feel silly for being scared. Shouldn’t there be a certain amount of time that needs to pass before a college graduate begins to fear about her future?

As children, we watched grown-ups run the world. They produce entertainment, come up with inventions, save lives, make money, make music, etc. Basically, they have jobs and they contribute something to society somehow. As we grow older, we begin to understand that our time will come too, and from then on, we begin to fantasize about our adult lives will be like. Will we be rich? Will we be famous? Will we be successful? Never once did we consider the possibility of failing or facing hardships to get to where we want to be. Then again, did we even consider what our first steps would actually be?

I don’t believe I did. I think I always assumed I’d find a job, start my life, and that would be that. Instead, I find myself stressed about my capabilities and my skills, wondering why after sending two dozen resumes I have not gotten a single call back.

How many people are in this boat with me?

I can’t decide who’s to blame here. Is it us, for not choosing a more practical career path, or is it society and the monetary system (something I despise, which you’ll come to learn) for demanding a certain way of life. We are conditioned to go to school, then take our place in society with the role of our choosing, and make money from it so that we may live.

And without getting off track too much, why is our quality of life determined by how much money we make? Isn’t enough that we’re alive on this planet, that we live and breathe the same air?

Regardless of whom I want to blame (society) I can’t help now but to blame myself. I’m an artisan. I have a craft, and I need to do it. It’s the only thing I can do. It’s the only thing I want to do. It’s the only thing that makes me happy. Why should I put myself through the torture of having to do something I don’t want to do to so I can live a decent quality of life?

I’m scared now because I don’t like the answer to that question. I don’t like the options available to me. I spent my childhood years believing that when I was finally “grown-up” I’d be happy. I could focus on what I wanted to do and what I was good at, and I could be happy. And while I know that this is only the beginning, and this is just a minor setback, I feel smothered from the get go.

But this is what I have. These words. My words. My ideas and my craft. And I speak to those who relate; you know who you are. I wont give up. I wont sacrifice my happiness or my quality of life. I will do what I do best and I will be successful because I will be happy. My quality of life will be superb.

I urge you to do the same.

One Is Silver And The Other Is Gold

Last week, I met with an old friend from high school. It had been five years since the last time we spoke, and it seemed like no time had passed at all. Our friendship picked up exactly where we left off. The same happened two years ago with another friend, and we are tighter now than we have ever been. It brings to mind an aphorism I once heard, "true friendship is not measure by how much time you spend with each other, but by being apart, and coming together like no time has passed."

This couldn't be more accurate, but there's more to true friendship than being separated and then reuniting. It's about who you're excited to see and talk to. In high school, a friend is someone you hang out with, but I've learned that you don't to have an excess amount of time with someone in order to call them a friend. For example, Scott* is someone that I only saw on the way to class, each of us pausing for a only a minute during our busy say to say hey. We'd invite each other to do thing over the weekend, but we never did. We also never held that against one another. Four years later, I looked forward to running into Scott and telling him the latest news in my life.

Scott also liked to listen, which brings me to another point. A friend will hear what you say and remember it. Another friend of mine forgets everything I've told him, and I've reached the point where I tell him very little, because I know he'll never remember the next time we talk. As a result, I'm not as eager to see him, and when we do get together, we have long moments of awkward silence.

Of course, short of listing all the way that someone can be a good friend, versus how someone can be a bad friend, there's no real guideline. A friendship is what you make of it. If you have a friend who you see multiple times a week, but can't hold to the plans that have been made, what does that say for the relationship itself? Then compare that friend to someone you only see a few times a year, but values what time you do have together; who is the better companion?

To treat someone the way you want to be treated in an age-old criterion that everyone would do well to remember. It's a standard that portrays to your peers the level of respect you demand. If a friend can't live up to that expectation, what is there to salvage? This answer varies depending on who you ask, and who is being judged. Each person is different, as is each relationship, and it's difficult to put any sort of label on it. Regardless, a friendship, good or bad, is only what you determine it to be.

*Name has been changed

An Amazing Thing Called Scotch Tape

The first thing I did was shed my childhood. Or most of it anyway. I performed an all-out therapeutic cleaning of my room. From wall to wall, floor to ceiling, every nook and cranny. I had things stashed away from my elementary days and earlier. My entire life had been kept stuffed under the bed, hidden away in drawers, and and high up on closet shelves.

I had games, books, unfinished arts and crafts projects, packets and packets of notebook paper, office supplies. There were clothes I haven't worn since middle school, books I haven't touched since Pre-K, and stuffed animals like you wouldn't believe.

The entire process took three weeks. My floor became a dumping ground. I filled three trash bags with trash, and two with items to be donated. I took down old posters and stashed away my stuff animals. And of course there were the things I never used. Like this frog candle.



I kept a fair amount. Some of it was turned into keepsake material, and everything else just found a new home amongst my shelves. A majority of the books were kept, including my paperback collection, and now reside on the shelves on my wall. Plus, I have an actual desk and workspace now.

Cleaning my room was more than just getting rid of old stuff. It was clearing my head and letting go of my past. I'm moving forward, as I rightly should, and in that I'm letting go of who I used to be. It's lot less clutter to deal with.

Chapter One

About a year ago, a college adviser told me I should start a blog. I followed that advice and created one. The only problem was I didn't know what to write. I spent a year trying to come up with something, a theme perhaps, but I couldn't think of anything good.

So here I am, doing what I do best. Thinking, reflecting, and writing. I graduated in May, just spent the summer being a camp counselor, and I'm about to begin a new chapter in my life. I still don't know what to blog about, but I know that I no longer care.

I'll write whatever I want - no themes. I'll reflect verbally, and document the beginning changes of my life as I see fit. I may have no audience, but that doesn't affect me. My purpose is to write what I think, and see where it takes me.