Today I Appreciate Potential

My basil plant is growing. The stem leans towards the sunlight, absorbing, sucking up energy to get stronger and healthier. Needless to say, I'm a proud Basil Mommy. Of course, I'm not quite as proud of my own writing lately; sure, I've been attempting to learn towards my own proverbial sun, sucking up the energy of blogs and books and magazines (I officially subscribed to The New Yorker!), but while absorbing said sunlight, I have forgotten to "water" my writing energy daily and, as such, am still a seedling, and am not producing sweet pieces of writing like the large, sweet leaves of my basil plant.

OK, so this metaphor has probably gone a little too far already, but reflecting back upon this past year, I realize that I have missed out on a lot of opportunities to appreciate, truly appreciate, what's around me. From the time I've started this blog, I've made several changes to my life that I think have truly made me a healthier, happier, better person.

First, I've provided more time for me - just me - to relax. Of course, this is somewhat facilitated by the fact that I live by myself in a studio apartment (which is glorious), and I try to read something pleasurable every night before I go to bed to unwind.

I've also decided not to get frustrated when a particular interaction does not go the way I intended it. Rather than grasping and desperately hanging on to unsuccessful acquaintances/friendships/relationships, I try and let the weak connection pass, not attempting to make something fruitful our of something barren. That's not to say I've been dismissing all uncomfortable social interactions, blaming them on an intrinsic lack of connection that must be immediately eliminated, but I no longer waste energy on people that I know simply don't work with who I am. It's OK if not everyone likes me. Really.

With that said, however, I have refused to pass up novel situations. I try to talk to people, break through my initial insecurities about how others will perceive me, and ask questions. In my interview class, my instructor told us that when he is at cocktail parties, he plays a game with himself where he finds one person and tries to ask that person as many questions as possible before the person asks him something. I've tried to adopt the strategy for myself, and it has eased me into a somewhat more comfortable social state. That's not to say that I am - by any means- an any more socially comfortable person, but I've at least found an avenue through which I may be able to better understand people and take some more risks.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm not afraid of the potential for growth and change. I may still drag my feet on accomplishing certain tasks because I'm afraid of failure or I'm afraid of abandoning something and feeling disappointed with the final product, but I appreciate, today, that there's so much more potential for me to fulfill what I want to fulfill, find people who will truly fulfill me, and continue to live a more grateful and joy-filled life.

Here's to watering the writing spirit with hope, excitement, and possibility.

Today I Appreciate Time to Breathe

Almost two weeks have passed without an entry posted here. What that reflects is a combination of laziness, apathy, and - well - a certain degree of negativity.

It's ironic that the latter point is a reason for not writing, for not reflecting. After all, this blog is a way to help rid myself of those negative feelings and thoughts and emotions, right? This should be the time where I'm recording and thinking more. Yet I've been stagnant and I don't really have much of an excuse for it other than the fact that one car crash, one scare over an ex-boyfriend in the hospital, and a conglomeration of other depressed feelings later, I come away with no record of what I was thinking and feeling and what I found that could potentially make me feel better.

If you ask any college student how he or she is doing, the result is inevitably, 1. "tired" and/or 2. "busy." Hence, I hate saying that lately I've been "tired" and "busy" because I feel like that adheres to this cliche of someone who likes to claim: "I HAVE SO MANY MIDTERMS AND I GO TO SLEEP AT 2:00 AM AND WAKE UP AT 10:00 AM MY LIFE IS SO TERRIBLE."

Yet if you were to ask me how I've been doing, I'd probably give you one, if not both, of the above stereotyped responses. Typically, I'm content with the "busy" part of the equation and tend to prefer a day full of class and professor meetings and club meetings and tutoring because it keeps me active and excited about the one real reason I'm even at UCLA: to learn. That business must, of course, be tempered by relaxation time and I chronically find myself unable to really strike that balance without feeling either antsy and unproductive or completely overwhelmed. This, of course, is an entirely psychologically and easily remedied issue: do less stuff and come to realize that you DO need time to relax, to breathe, to live.

This "living" is not always easy for me. In fact, I find relaxing often more difficult than I do working because it allows me time to think about emotional concerns or worry about my future. Ultimately what helps me, I suppose (and I'm still trying to figure this out every day when my tongue isn't wagging out of my mouth), is to remind myself that all of my temporary problems, all of my concerns about what other people think about me, all of my concerns about how I spend my time, about who I spend my time with, will ultimately fade with moments of companionship and reassurance that yes, I guess I'm an OK kind of girl.

For example, I saw my parents this weekend. I saw a great elementary school friend this weekend. I spent time with my roommates. It's all going to be OK.

So, today, I appreciate the time to collect myself (thank goodness for Monday holidays), to reflect upon what I could do differently than I have done these past few weeks, and to remind myself - once more - that I am capable of balance and happiness and peace.

Today I Appreciate You

Yearly, I planned to keep some sort of journal. Fancy notebooks with floral print covers and neat, lined pages remain the only partially-filled testaments to my attempts at “practicing” writing and attempting to be a “good writer.” Every “how to be a writer” book I read told me that the best writers keep journals, so that’s what I tried to do: keep a journal.

I sparingly wrote in those journals, however, because I lacked meaningful purpose for writing in them. I only occasionally wrote because I thought that’s what you were supposed to do if you had any love of language. Alas, the entries fell into the trap of “I hate mom,” “I hate dad,” and “I hate mom AND dad” and, thus, became my platform for complaining rather than for observation. That’s not to say that complaining doesn’t have its place in literature, but it shouldn’t be the predominant emotion driving one’s work.

As Robert Root writes in The Nonfictionist’s Guide, a writer needs “a sense of commitment to the subject matter, a sense of involvement that is not simply a desire to communicate something but is instead – or in addition – a willingness to discover and accommodate whatever emerges from the writing” (26). Basically, if you have a goal in mind and you want to communicate, go and do it, but expect to learn something from the process, too.

So, this project is really twofold: I expect to not only learn a little about my life experiences by reflecting upon them in an optimistic way, but also to discover something about what it means to be appreciate what you have and through this appreciation, to become a happier, fuller, healthier person.

Today, then, I appreciate you, whoever you are, reading this beginning. You are probably among only a few who have either a.) been referred here by me, b.) stumbled upon this by accident or c.) are my family (who fall under the subcategory of a., but whatever). Happiness can only be achieved with the help of others. It’s impossible to be a complete lonely misanthrope, sulking through life incapable of finding love and appreciation from others. After all, many write to be immortal; words transcend life and being.

So, why do you need to be involved in this? Well, writing for me is a wholly beneficial process and I could easily keep this tucked away in a hidden folder, but I’m only compelled – really compelled – to write this if I know someone out there cares or is affected by anything here. That’s cliché (and, boy, do I hate that it’s cliché), but clichés exist because they are so firmly based in truth. I write this, these observations, these thoughts, these desires to share, because I wish to stir something in you. It doesn’t really matter what.

After all, it’s impossible to communicate until you discover something you need to communicate. For me, I need to communicate what brings me levity, what brings me hope, and what brings me inspiration because, without that reflection and without that understanding, it’s impossible to really appreciate and love what’s open and available in the world.