Follow Your Dreams Because They're What You Want

WARNING: This blog is a little more of a rant than an actual blog, but I still make a point.

Acting has always been a passion of mine. (The following is not bragging, it is an introduction. I swear)I believe I was in my first real play in 4th grade, but I do not remember what it was. The plays that hold the fondest memories for me are Once Upon a Shoe and the musical You're a Good Man Charlie Brown. I have won awards for acting and backstage work in various productions. I act, I am a stage manager, I can push buttons (may not be able to tell you what the buttons mean), and I have directed a few small productions. Everyone agrees that I am good at it. But it's not what I want to do in my life. (Introduction over)

As a student going off to college, I am facing a time in my life where I will be discovering who I am and what I want. I already have a few goals. I want to major in math, another passion of mine, and find out if I really have the mental capacity to do it. I want to minor in something, probably psychology, because it seems like a useful thing to have. I want to explore new options. Hopefully, I can join some sort of book club. I want to play the flute. Acting, is not the highest priority. 

People that know me will often ask, "Are you going to do drama in college?" I tell them I might but I do not have any plans to do it right now. Their response is always, without fail, "You should do it. You're so good at it." Maybe I am wrong, but I feel like their logic there is a bit flawed. Just because someone is good at something does not mean they want to do it. Take any movie about a person forced into following their parents dreams. They most likely have a huge talent for whatever their parents want them to do, but the child does not want to do it. 

I believe that wanting to do something should have nothing to do with your ability to do it. The idea of "people should want to do things they're good at" seems to stem from the idea that "everyone wants to be successful." The problem with connecting those two concepts is that success means something different for everyone. For one person, success could mean successfully raising a child without ever being called by the police. For another person, success could mean having a six figure salary. For the man whose goal is to be a father, being good at singing certainly does not mean he should try to keep doing it. For the woman who wants to be rich, singing could very well be the best option if she is talented enough.

So everyone thinks that I should keep acting even if I do not want to right now. I think that a part of me will always belong with the theatre, but my goals in life lie elsewhere. I will never lose the respect I have for people that participate in any aspect of drama, but I am ok not being the one who is receiving respect. Following your dreams is all about knowing what you want to achieve and figuring out how to do it. It is not about knowing what you want and doing things you're good at that may have nothing to do with your goal. So when you encourage people to follow their dreams, make sure you are encouraging them to do what they want, not what you think they enjoy. 

Taking Risks

I have always been a very cautious person physically. I was never the type of child to jump off a wall or try to climb a tree. I think that my caution stemmed from the fact that there were never any jumping walls or climbing trees around me when I was growing up. My parents did not shelter me from pain nor did they ignore me when I cried. I was just never in situations where I could do something obviously dangerous and risk getting hurt. My worst injury acquired was when I broke my collarbone after a window fell on me. My strangest injury was when I somehow managed to badly scrape the area right under my nose while racing my father up the driveway. And of course, my first stitches were given to me when I split my chin open on the bathroom floor when I slipped while crawling around pretending to be a dog.
All of these injuries happened pretty early on, and while they did hurt me, they didn't really discourage me from running and playing. I was still a healthy, active child, just not one who was likely to jump off a high place or climb anywhere at all. I was perfectly content on the ground and I still am. Despite my injuries, I am not particularly scared around construction sites or in the bathroom or when running on the road. However, I am terrified when it comes to emotional pain.
Before middle school, I lived a perfectly happy, peaceful life. Like most children, I dreamed of something more because I was unable to see the wonders I already had. I was not content with a dog; I dreamed of having a miniature horse that would wear horse tennis shoes in the house too. I dreamed of going on adventures like the characters I loved to read about in my books. Little did I know the emotional strife that can follow those adventures. In sixth grade, I faced the biggest challenge of my life when my parents got divorced and my family tried to reform itself into something better.
As a child, I could not understand why my parents did not love each other or why they were doing this to me. It hurt me and the stress of the adjustments being made in my life along with the pressures and dramas of middle school caused me to go into a deep depression. It was one of those depressions you do not realize you're in until you are back out. Once I finally managed to return to my old, happy self around freshmen year, I was only a little more cautious than before. I had learned to be more careful about telling people everything. I learned what facts to hide and which to expose early on, just like any other kid.
Then, everything took another nose dive my junior year. I went deeper into depression than I ever had been before, coming out of it just in time to start my senior year in high school. By then, I had learned that stress caused my depressions. Unfortunately, I let my grades slip, unwilling to go study the extra hour in fear that it would cause stress and I would dive right back into the black bit I had just climbed out of. I became extremely emotionally cautious, hiding myself behind a fake smile and untold stories.
Only recently have I begun realizing that being so emotionally guarded will never get me anywhere in life. I have never played Tetris because I heard it was addicting and didn't want to get addicted. I never played Flappy Bird for the same reason. And up until last night, I had not read The Fault in Our Stars because I heard that it was heart breaking. Let me tell you, that book is painful, but also beautiful. It made me realize that taking risks in life doesn't just mean jumping out of a plane or dropping out of college to pursue your life long dream of being an artist. It means allowing yourself to do something that you know can hurt you no matter how minor the pain.
In The Fault in Our Stars (I don't like calling it TFIOS for some reason. It looks wrong) the two main characters take the biggest risk of all, falling in love. Now, I know it may sound cheesy to say that falling in love is the biggest risk ever and some of you may roll your eyes and say "Wouldn't jumping off of a cliff with no way to slow your momentum or cushion your fall be a bigger risk" and in some ways you would be right. If we are talking physically, jumping off that cliff would definitely be more dangerous and you probably shouldn't do that. But in my opinion, falling in love is one of the most risky things you can do emotionally.
Think about it. When you fall in love with someone, you are giving them the power to hurt you. For some people that may not hit home as much, but others will hopefully be able to emphasize with me here. But falling in love is not really the point of the blog here. I am talking about taking risks with your emotions.
Take the risk of reading a book that makes everyone cry or watching a movie in which you know the dog dies (almost rhymed!). These experiences are what drives life. You are a boring person if you can't talk about something that really made you feel emotionally. If you're reading this and thinking to yourself "I might be boring..." go out there and find something you are passionate about. It could be a good passion or a bad passion, but it is feeling. Our emotions make us alive and, some may argue, human.
You cannot find these passions if you do not take risks. For me, it is easy to decide to take time out of my day to try something new. It is when it comes to emotional risks that I close up. Everyone is different. We all have risks that we are less willing to take. I am less willing to allow myself to care for someone deeply whereas someone else may be less willing to try bungee jumping. Find that thing that is hard for you to do and do it. I promise, having that experience will make your life all the better.

5 Things I Do Not Understand About Women in the Bathroom

Ok, I have to warn you, this might get a bit gross. I mean, I'm talking about bathroom stuff here and we all know that bathroom stuff is not all that pleasant. Also, I am a woman and I'm not even going to pretend I know what men do in the bathroom. Sorry boys, I can't critique your peeing stance today. Alright, onto the list of things.

Issue #1: Missing the toilet

We are women. We sit down when we pee or poop, so how come it does not all end up in the toilet. And don't even say it's because you squat instead of sitting. Everything should still be going in the same direction and you should not be hovering that far above the toilet. If you don't want to touch it, don't touch it, but don't stand above the seat! I mean, you have to have some seriously bad aim to get it on the back of the toilet or on the floor. Please, please, please, fix this!

Issue #2: Not throwing things away

Seriously, do you think I want to see all that junk? And I'm not talking about bloody pads or tampons or anything. I'm talking about their wrappers. Just because it's not covered in blood does not mean you don't have to throw it away. And for goodness sake, please, do not flush it! You know very well that only toilet paper and your waste should venture down that toilet pipe.

Issue #3: Shy pee-ers

It all makes the same sound. It's water falling into water. You hear it when you're filling a cup at the sink. So why the heck is it suddenly so scandalous when it is coming out of your body? Even pooping! It all makes the same sound! Maybe I can understand not wanting people to hear vocals, but those aren't necessary. Just let it all fall into the water. It's not like we all haven't heard it in our own bathroom at home.

Issue #4: Mirror-Hoggers

So what if your boyfriend is out there waiting for you and you want to look good? I want to clean the ick off my hands!

Issue #5: Flush the toilet!

I'm not talking about when women go to the bathroom and don't flush their own toilet, although that's gross too. I'm talking about when a woman walks into a stall and sees waste in the toilet and walks back out of the stall instead of flushing. I have stood in lines to get into the bathroom only to find that there has been an empty stall that no one wanted to flush this whole time! And maybe you have something against flushing more than once. That's fine. Do your thing then flush it all. I promise you, it's not going to jump back up into your butt.

The thing about these things is that they are really common. I know women who openly say, "ya, I won't flush a gross toilet" or "ya, I won't go to the bathroom unless there's noise." I've known friends to get stuck in the bathroom for an hour because they just can't let it out where someone else can hear. I don't understand it. I used to be this way once too. Except I never missed or left my trash everywhere. But I wouldn't go in a stall with a filled toilet and I would hold my bladder shut until I was alone. Then one day, I thought, "That toilet just needed to be flushed and now I'm here waiting for ten more minutes to go because I didn't flush it." So what did I do? I flushed the toilet. And if I can do it, so can you.

Disclaimer: I understand that it is difficult to get out of the habit or being a shy pee-er or not wanting to flush an icky toilet. I don't mean to offend anyone, merely point out the problems that face women in the bathroom. Also, mirror-hogging is ok when there are not people waiting behind you to wash their hands. By all means, keep staring at yourself.  

Transfer

Here is the story I promised to write in my previous blog. There are parts that I feel could be more well written, but I do not usually write stories like this so it was an interesting challenge for me. Overall I feel that I did a good job in getting the words on the paper and making sure they mean something. So without further ado, Transfer: 

“There has to be some mistake,” I insisted. “I know for a fact that I ordered an 18 year old body, not a 13 year old one.”

“We have looked over your file, Ms. Grace and found no error. Perhaps you miswrote.”

I grabbed the clipboard from the doctor’s outstretched hand and skimmed it quickly.

Desired Age:     13    Variation:   none  

The variation was correct but the desired age was wrong. There was no way I could ever make this sort of mistake.

“Someone has obviously been tampering with this form I did not write this,” I told the doctor as I handed the papers back. “Now, can we discuss getting me a loaner body until this one is properly aged?”

“Unfortunately, your entry forms state explicitly that you do not wish to participate in any different DNA tests. Any loaner body would have DNA different from yours and until we discover how much effect the DNA has on the personality, we are unable to loan you a body. You may request the creation of your own loaner for a future time, but we cannot offer you one now. It seems your only choice is to let yourself age naturally.”

“No, no, no!” I exclaimed. “You don’t understand! I thought I was coming here to receive a full grown body! I did not fill out any of the forms necessary for occupying a minor! I will have to go back to school! I’ll be put in boarding school or some other care system until I am legally old enough to take care of myself! I won’t be allowed to... oh my goodness, Nate!”

I ran out of the room as quickly as I could, looking for my partner of 200 years. We had been through more body swaps than most couples stay together for, but we had never experienced an error like this. Could he really wait for me for three more years? Any physical interaction between us before then would be considered illegal since I had not filled out the forms stating that my body is minor but I am a legal adult. I will be considered a minor until the day this new body turns 18 and I will not reach the age of consent until it is 16. Even then our relationship will be judged by the public. I knew how much Nate hated attracting the attention of others.

I burst into the room where he stood, 18 and testing out his new, youthful body. He looked just as he had every other time, but he still managed to take my breath away.

“Nate,” I said quietly to get his attention.

He turned to face me and his mouth fell open.

“Grace, you didn’t tell me you were going for so... young...”

“I-” I tried to say, but he interrupted.

“Is this your way of trying to spice things up? I know we haven’t been doing as well as usual lately, but I thought we agreed the transfer would help that. You know I’m not into that prepubescent thing.”

“Nate, listen, they messed up my form. Someone changed the number. They’re saying I’m stuck like this until my body ages naturally.”

“So you’re...”

“A minor, yes. A legal minor.”

Nate took a few steps back and sat on the low table behind him.

“Who will take care of you?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t have any family that would be willing to take on that role. I will probably end up going to one of the foster families.”

“You can’t do that, Grace, you’ll hate it there.”

I didn’t respond. He was right.

“What if... what if I took care of you?”

“You? I don’t think they would allow that considering our past. We are registered as partners, you know.”

“We were registered,” Nate reminded me. “All of that became invalid once you became a minor. Grace, you’ll have to relive your whole life. All your education, those doctorates your earned, they’re all invalid.”

“I know,” I said, quietly.

The purpose of the Minor Laws was to give people a way to begin life fresh. The idea was that living life forever would get boring eventually so in order to give people a way to keep it interesting the Minor Laws were created so that a person may transfer into a minor body and lose everything except their identity, which can be changed upon transfer. If the proper forms are filled out, a person might keep all of their past achievements or apply to be legalized as an adult early if they wanted to live life in a young body, but not a young style. Unfortunately all of this needed to be done pre-transfer. I had done none of it. They were  probably erasing my files as we spoke.

There were other people like me who had been turned minor by mistake. There were protests out there trying to overturn the Minor Laws or to allow someone to apply for legal adulthood after transfer. The problem was, I had the undeveloped brain of a 13 year old. When transferred into a body 18 or older, the brain is fully matured before the transfer occurs. They can mature the brain for minor bodies too, but the person has to apply for legal adulthood prior to the transfer. There was no way to mature any part of the body after it had been activated.

“I will apply for guardianship over you, Grace. At least that way we can stay together,” Nate insisted.

“That’s not fair to you, Nate. You deserve to be with someone that can actually be with you. Besides, you said so yourself that we weren’t doing well before. Maybe this transfer is a chance to leave each other and try new things,” I said.

“Grace, you aren’t seriously thinking about starting over completely, are you?”

“I am, actually” I replied, holding my head up a little bit.

“Don’t be hasty in this decision. It’s life changing,” he reminded me, but I didn’t need reminding.

“I know that. It was me that just got put in a minor body. I think I should take advantage of this opportunity and if life brings us back together again when I am older, so be it.”

Nate took my hands in his.

“Will you at least tell me what name you will change to?” he asked.

“Rose,” I replied. “It was my grandmothers. She lived a very successful and happy life. Maybe it will grant me luck too.”

Nate drew my hands up to his lips and kissed them lightly before allowing me to drop them at my sides.

“Good luck, Rose,” he said.

“Good luck, Nate,” I responded, turning around and walking out of his room and back into mine where I began the process of changing my name and the history of my life.

My Plant the Escape Artist

For years it has been debated whether or not plants have the ability to think or scheme. Scientists claim that it cannot be proven and so far all attempts have failed. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am here today to tell you that I own a plant that has cognitive ability and uses it on a daily basis. You see, my plant is, and has been for a full year, trying to escape.
This is my plant:

As you can see, it is trying to climb out of the door. Unfortunately, the lighting is not great in this picture, but it you look closely you can see the part of the plant that is growing down towards the door knob. I'm telling you, this plant wants out. 

So where did this smart plant come from, you ask? My mother gave it to me for Christmas last year (2013). It looked like this: 

(I did not take that picture)

And a week or two later it looked like this: 

(didn't take that one either) 

When my mom gave it to me, she expected it to grow to say I love you and then die and I thought it would too, but it kept growing. The bulb part that says "I love you" split open and a stem grew out of it. It eventually grew too tall to support itself so my mother and I tied it to a chopstick to help it stand up straight.d up straight. For a while it wound up the chop stick, but eventually it grew too tall.
At this point, I was in love with this plant. I had never had a plant of my own that actually had a chance of lasting in this world. Not to mention we still had no clue what type of plant it was. So, I convinced my mom to buy a new pot and help me re-pot it. The process was terrifying. We had to cut off the can. My mom warned me about a million times that this might not work and that my plant might die. (it didn't)
We gave it a new chopstick tied onto the top of the old one, but the plant wanted to grow outwards. It was tired of just growing up so we bought it the black fence thing.

My mom began to worry about how big this plant would get so we finally looked it up and discovered that it was a Sword Bean plant. Sword beans are inedible, but they're huge and look cool. I don't have any pictures of mine before they dried, but they're easy to find online. I have a picture of when the beans were just beginning and the plant was still flowering.

Of course, it was not always easy going taking care of this plant. It got infested at one point and some of the leaves looked like this:

A bit of bug spray fixed that right up. I think the leaf in that image has since dried up. The plant hardly made it through the winter. We all thought it was going to die even though we kept it happy and watered. It didn't die. Again. 

Anyways, summer came around and I guess the plant got tired of hanging out inside. It has been trying to escape ever since. It grew to the door and latched onto a pointless hook by the frame. And of course that new branch is reaching for the knob. My mom will probably insist on me tying it back soon, but I am enjoying its escape. It is truly the smartest plant I have ever known.