Sunday, May 23, 2010

Attitude of Gratitude.

Today, I'm grateful.
I am so grateful.

I'm grateful for good friends.
I'm grateful for good food.
I'm grateful for laughter.
I'm grateful for memories.
I'm grateful for green grass and blue skies.
I'm grateful for family, extended and immediate.
I'm grateful for water, in every sense.
I'm grateful for my mini van.
I'm grateful for my music.
I'm grateful for my beliefs.

I'm just grateful.

I look at the life I've lead, and I wonder, "was it worth it?"
I think that question to myself at the end of every notable occurrence in my life.

Was it worth it?

Well. This school year is ending. My junior year in high school is over as I know it.
I'm going to be a senior. And I couldn't be more thrilled.
But I do wonder.
Was it worth it?

I think there are a lot of things I could have done better. There are surely a lot of things I missed out on, and a lot of things I should have missed out on.
But I wouldn't be who I am today if I didn't live my life exactly the way that I did.
Does that make any sense?
I learn from every mistake. And I don't regret anything, because I've learned from everything.

And I'm grateful.
I'm grateful for my careless mistakes.
I'm grateful for my silent victories.
I'm grateful for who I am.
Even though I don't always like that person, I'm still grateful for her.

I'm grateful for every person that has helped me on the way.
I owe so much to so many people.

That's the beautiful thing about this life. We become who we are through other people.
Other people are so necessary; so vital.
We need them.
In the past, I've been too self righteous to see that.
It wasn't until last night that I realized I need other people.

At the end of every year, the drama department at my school has a banquet. Everyone gets dressed up and we eat dinner and rent out a really nice skyroom and the drama council gives awards and our teacher sings to us, and everyone cries. It's really great.
Last night we had our drama banquet.
And I looked across the table at my really close friend, Lauren Tucker, and I watched her cry. And I realized that there's no way i could ever have gone through this year without her. And I realized that as I looked around me at all the people graduating. And I wasn't ready to let them go.
But, alas, all involuntary separation must happen.
And I must become ready to watch Lauren and everyone else go.
I must be ready. Because I know that nothing would happen to me unless I were ready for it.

So here we go.
I'm ready.
I'm not necessarily happy to say goodbye. But I'm happy.
And I'm grateful for the time that I had with Lauren Tucker, or whoever.
I'm so grateful.
Because I don't think I deserved as much of the time from all of these people as I recieved.

I'm grateful.
Because I'm not always the nicest of people.
But, somehow, I lucked out with some of the most incredible influences in my life.
And I couldn't possibly be more grateful.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

green grass.

the turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the core of strength within you that survives all hurt.

sometimes i panic.
because a lot of times everything goes out of control.
you see, in my current life, there really isn't much i'm in charge of. i like to be in control of everything i can because there's a lot that i can't be in control of.
this is a tale of three important thoughts that resulted from non-panicked moments.

over spring break, i went to main street with my mommy. we walked up and down, stopping to go into every art gallery.
i stood in front of a sketch by chagall and everything was quiet.
i peered at a $32,000 dollar picasso sketch.
i was inspired by a simple painting by a local woman.
and then a blue, shiny thought came into my mind, and it said, "this is your passion".
this is my passion.

another day, i went to my friend's concert with his little sister. i stood outside and talked with her. i watched the band play and i listened. and then i realized that no thoughts had come into my mind. just peace and calm.
peace and calm.

yesterday i was panicking a little bit. but then i found myself sitting in a circle on the cool, long, green grass with a lot of new friends. and i realized that i hadn't thought about anything panicky the whole time that i was there. and then a clean little thought came into my mind, and it said, "the worst is over".
the worst is over.
thank goodness.

By: Hannah

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Astronaut of the Year

I'm pathetic.

It's been a month and a half since my last post, and Hannah has seemed to do a decent job at continuing with posts and such. But I have been quite the busy bee.

Let me begin with informing you that I took a lovely vacation to New York City about a month ago. It was absolutely divine. New York City will surely be seeing me again. VERY soon. Perhaps even permanently. (photos are coming. Fear not) There is something about that city that makes me forget myself and feel like I'm part of the earth. Part of the world. Part of something bigger than myself.
I have a drama teacher, the most wonderful man on the earth, named Mr. Johnson. We call him "J." He's my teacher, mentor, and very, very good friend. Before performing, he always says that being a part of a show is "an opportunity to be a part of something bigger than yourself." I never really understood entirely what that meant. Until I went to the city. And felt like I was a part of it. I haven't felt like I was a part of something in a terribly long time. Most of the time, I feel like an outsider looking in. And I generally prefer it that way. But in that city, with all those people, and all those lights, and all those pieces of gum, blackened and permanently stuck to the pavement, I was a piece of it. I wasn't a visitor, or an outsider. I was a part of something so much bigger than myself. And that city became a part of me. And I know I'll go back. I'll find an excuse to go back. I have to. Because I'm a part of it. And without me, it's not whole. Although, no one else would ever know that...

Less than a week after returning from the city that never sleeps, I took a vacation to the opposite end of the country, and found my self in San Fransisco. Wow. What a great thing. Traveling across the entire country in less than a week, that is. San Fran was also lovely. I wish that I wouldn't have slacked off my freshman year, or I may have had a shot at attending Stanford. The campus is absolutely beautiful. But perhaps it isn't really my scene.

This country sure is something. And someday, I'll leave it. And be able to say "This world sure is something." Oh, I have big plans after high school. Big, big plans....

Anyway. I've also been busy with various family affairs. And I nearly forgot about the blog, until Hannah Dearest informed me that my very favorite blogger, Meg, posted a quote that she found on our blog on to her blog. Though it is nothing necessarily notable at all, it was still pretty exciting to me.

And here I am.
Back on this lovely little blog Hannah Dearest and I started a few months ago.

I love blogs. They're sort of great.

Well. That's all aside from what I wanted to get to in this post.

What I actually wanted to say was that I have been inspired by a Disney Pixar film.
I grew up watching Toy Story. I've loved that movie for as long as I can remember. I actually haven't watched it for probably over a year. But my dear younger brother, Daniel, age 9, reminded me of the movie today.

In the best Buzz Lightyear imitation he could produce, he stood on top of the couch, in a Buzz Lighyear sort of stance, and said "Buzz Lightyear, to the rescue." And then he jumped off, and ran around, making flying sound effects. And then he said something brilliant. Something I'd never thought deeply about before. He said,
"This isn't flying. It's falling. With style."
I fell in love with those 7 words at that very moment.
Because I realized that we won't always fly.
In fact, we almost never will. But we will fall. We'll fall often. In fact, falling is generally part of everyone's daily routine.
But we should fall with style. Because that's almost better than flying. It's like the "fail brilliantly" quote by Tom Robbins that Hannah once posted.
Fail with Brilliance. Fall with Style.
Buzz Lightyear has a way with words, I tell you.
He's a brilliant man. And he's also an astronaut. What more could you want out of anyone?

I'm going to fall. In fact, I currently am. But I'm making the executive decision to do so with style.

Because falling without style is more terrible than not falling at all.

So fall. Fall often. Let yourself fall. But do so with style. And always pick yourself back up.
A stylish fall is only worth something if it is followed by a second try. Or third. Or fourth. Or eighty-ninth.

Falling isn't optional.
But style is.

By: Mallory

Monday, May 10, 2010

the future.

there's two subjects that get me into a weird, excited, ramble-y state of mind. those two subjects are art and the future.
lately, all i've been thinking about is now, today, what i have to do, will i ever get it done? which is no wonder considering the abundance of finals and projects and ap study sessions that fill my days.
but here's a shocking fact i've been forgetting:
there IS a future!
the saturday before last, i was driving home from salt lake city with my mom and the rain was pouring and i remembered this fact. we had just been at a cinco de mayo party, and at those kind of things i always end up talking to adults, (some say i'm good at talking to adults. i don't know if i am. but i like it a lot; they've already been all the ages i have and more. sometimes i feel like adults are amused by me and my aspirations. other times i think they might be jealous because they forgot to do everything they loved when they were younger. anyway.) and i started talking about where i might want to go to college and that i want to be an art history major and such things. i don't think the lady i was talking to was all that interested in this, but hearing myself say it out loud reminded me that i WILL be doing it someday.
although at this very moment i am hannah, 16 years old, in preparation for her ap art history test on wednesday, hannah who's life has finally settled down a little bit, i won't always be this way. yeah, the now is important, it's true.
but we hear it so much: live in the now! appreciate life at this very moment! someday you will be old and wish you were young!
and that has a point, i mean, the only time to be happy IS now, but this now mindset can be a little bit dangerous, i think.
sometimes when i forget that this moment isn't the only thing that matters in the grand scheme of things, i have a tendency to get prideful, or unforgiving, or selfish.
the tests and stress that surrounds me now will someday be replaced by different kinds of tests and stress. but there is something special that lies in the future, and that is hope. sure, there will be more hard things to endure, but there will be a lot of happy ones too. why can't we appreciate the now while also remembering to prepare and hope for the glorious future we all dream about?
does this make any sense? probably not.
thinking about the future makes me happy. i like to lay in my bed when it rains and think about things. how i'll meet my husband (in front of a matisse), where i'll live (seattle), my house (a smallish 40's white cottage), my job (curator at a museum), my children (almah? lilah? levi? aiden? rumi?), my husband (tall, handsome, marine biologist), things we'll do (eat chinese on christmas eve eve, go see movies in our pajamas, dance in the kitchen, paint the walls)...
regardless if these things actually come to pass, that hope for the future will always be intact.
things may be hard right now. but it won't go on forever. reality is difficult. but isn't okay for me to wish that chemistry class was just over? or that my family will just be okay?
maybe i'm wrong for wishing away the present difficulties of life. but i'm hopeful for a beautiful future.
whatever my past, i have a spotless future.
we are all faced with a series of great opportunities-- brilliantly disguised as insoluble problems.
for my part i know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.-vincent van gogh