We Are Young.

We are young. We are frustrated. We are uncertain. We are even confused. We are angry. We are disappointed. We are constantly finding things are not as we had hoped.

We are young. We are exhausted. We are overwhelmed. We are overworked. We are unappreciated.

We are young. We are discouraged. We are saddened. We are continuosly seeing the world is filled with cruelty.

We are young. We are spirited. We are, despite it all, optimistic. We are young. We find energy. We are hopeful. We are determined.

We are young.

We will change the world.

Being a teenager is hard. College, tuition- these are impending time bombs ticking from the time you meet your guidance counselor freshman year. Of course college is always the goal, the dream, the target in the sky. Of course from the very beginning everyone says, "I'm so ready to get out on my own, so ready to find my own way." We beg for Independence. If its denied, sometimes we take it anyway. We argue, we defy, we oppose, sometimes for no other reason than to show ourselves and those around us that we are capable of doing these things.

But we try. So hard. Everyday. We crave people telling us we're doing it, making it, being our best self. We try so hard and sometimes this trying is exhausting, overwhelming, confusing.

People say these are the best times of our life and sometimes we believe them- when we're with our friends on something that feels like an adventure. When we laugh so hard that nothing else seems to matter and when we wake up to find we were smiling the entire time we were asleep.

But usually we hope this isn't true. Because we 15, 16, 17. Because we hope to live to be 85, 86, 87. Because we don't want the best times of our life to be over before our life is even 1/4 gone.

And somehow I think we all understand, realize that the best times in our life, they're always before us. Because the best day of our life should be the one we are living at that moment. Because each day truly is a wonder, each night an escape and each new day more wonderful than the last.

My l...o...n...g Day

Today was a long day. This morning feels like a year ago and its only four o'clock.

Usually when I say this it's an extraordinarily exciting day: I started at five thirty and my head didn't hit my pillow until midnight. Sometimes I travelled, hit up an event, hung out with friends, and accomplished something major all on the same day.

Today was a long day.

Sometimes I mean it was an emotionally trying day. I felt drained. I was excited, demoralized, disappointed, and relieved. Sometimes it means this.

Today was a long day.

And I really don't know why. It was a good day- not an overwhelmingly exciting day. It was a consistant day- no remarkable dissapointments or excitements. It was just a long day.

Looking back on this long day I can't help but smile. It didn't look like an important day but it was a good day. I got to school early and helped plan an upcoming event. We went to service. I got back a test I thought was difficult (and did okay) and took a test that really was difficult (and hoped I did okay). I ate lunch with great friends, learned a couple of new things, came home and worked on NETwork stuff and sat down trying to think of something to blog about.

So yeah- today was a long day. It wasn't exceptionally exciting or exceptionally emotionally trying, but it WAS exceptional- because I had fun and learned and suceeded and struggled and accomplished and laughed and just loved being me today.

And the funny thing: its only four o'clock.

My Ironic Dog

My dog's name is ironic. Actually, that's how I learned that word.
"Nice dog," someone would say. "What's his name?"
"Snowman," I'd say while beaming at the black dog. "It's ironic."
The truth is, anyone who said that my dog was a "nice dog" was really just a nice person. He was horrible.
I was in third grade with a border collie mix who knew not only that he was a heck of a lot stronger than me, he was a heck of a lot smarter to. We did 4-H together and he'd drag me from one tree to the next as the rest of the class heeled beautifully in a ring.
Around this time we were introduced to the gentle lead which I equate to a horse halter. It looks like a muzzle giving some ill-informed people the idea that at any moment the dog may attack. I could guide him by his snout and whenever he pulled it brought his head back to the right place.
Have you ever seen the movie Spirit? Ok. That movie. 8 year old girl. Giant dog. It didn't end well. He threw his head back in forth, ran in circles while we walked and made quite a spectacle of himself. Come to think of it, I can't really blame anyone for being distrustful of such a beast.
Eventually I gave up on the whole gentle lead thing. I still kept training him and working with him and laughing at him and loving him and thinking in general that I had the best, smartest, most beautiful dog whoever lived. And honestly- who's to say that I didn't.
The rest of the world didn't agree. Although he's ten now, he really hasn't calmed down that much. He's perfectly behaved when he wants to be and my increased body weight gives a little more resistance. We qualified for the state 4-H dog show because he decided one day he may as well cooperate.
When I'm trying to explain my dog to someone who thinks this crazy creature is unpleasant I tell them this story. Snowy chases anything that moves. Its his hearding drive- his instinct (not to mention his greatest passion in life). Anyway one day I come into the backyard to let him in and a mother and two baby possums are walking around our backyard. Snow is not chasing them or staring at them with his intent "I would chase you if I knew it would cost me in future pieces of string cheese" look. No. The babies would come within a few feet of my "untame" beast and he looked up at them curiously.

My point is this. Everyone- even crazy dogs- has a great heart. Lots of people missed the opportunity to adopt Snow from the shelter or get to know him later because they took one look at him and said, "No thank you!" But my advice is this- weather its a person, dog, elephant, or volunteer project, give them a chance. Odds are if you don't, you'll miss out on a great experience or, in my case, a best friend.

Never Under Appreciate

While frantically searching for notes from my sophomore year, I found my old box of grade school memories under my bed. I smiled at the ridiculous smiling alien-giraffe-bus thingy staring up at me and sat down on the floor. It was late and nothing I needed to do that night was going to go away, but that didn't really matter. I pulled out the "best" stories I had written. Most of them were written on "T0-DO" pads and scraps of napkins. I saw my first ever fast facts test that I finished and got them all correct on. My teacher had failed to put on a sticker, so I had drawn one on myself. I saw some ridiculous looking people, objects that were either flowers or balls, poems, projects, and tests. However, most of the things I pulled out were gifts.

They were thank you cards from my teachers, birthday cards from my grandparents, and "artwork" from my sisters. They were pictures of me and friends glued onto construction paper, short poems that rhymed my curly hair with things like chair, and lots butterflies and dogs. Once each person in my class wrote me "Get Well Soon" cards and I laughed at all the creative was to spell simple words.

Even- no especially- when I was little I understood the value of notes and thoughtful gifts. I'm sure some of those people gave me stuffed animals at birthday parties, but those weren't the things I had the foresight to keep. Even then it was the simple things that really mattered.

So here's my point. Every person out there can make a card. Every person out there can do one simple thing to make someone's life better. As I put away all the stuff and kept searching for those darn notes I was grateful that I had this box filled with meaningful things from people who cared for me. I hoped that someone had something from me in a box. I hoped I taken the time to make sure someone else knew how much I cared for them.
This is my challenge to you and myself. Fill as many "boxes" for as many people as you can. It doesn't have to be posters or artwork. Just let them know that you care.

My Dad's Favorite Tie

My dad just might be the most "boring man." He only wears blue or black shirts, wears the same pants in rotation, and prefers to stay home than go out. For Christmas, he gave my sisters and I a tie and said, "This is what I want." We walked into the store where they said they hadn't carried that tie for years.

My dad is pretty darn one of a kind. I don't really know how to explain that. Come to my house sometime, observe and you'll know right away.

My point is this, even my dad's predictabilities make him unique. His clothes, his ties, his laughs, his jokes- sometimes he annoys me and purposely embarrasses me. Mostly I'm proud of him and love him and laugh at him.

Sometimes we all appear to be boring and sometimes we appear extraordinary. But even the boring part is truly extraordinary. Because we are so "darn one of a kind" we each have something unique to offer.

So what can you do with your something?

That Time

It’s come. That dreaded time I’ve been warned about since freshman year- the time you have to fill in the blanks, check the boxes, and list volunteer hours/ extracurricular activities. That time has come and believe me some amazingly negative attitudes have followed. Some people race around school signing their names to lists and attending the bare minimum of meetings just so they can add it to their resume.

And I’m here to tell you something before this time comes to you.

Don’t make those people’s dumb mistakes. Work hard every year and do your best, because I promise that will be good enough.

If you want to enjoy high school, don’t do something to write it down. Do it because you love it. Don’t volunteer to tally hours; volunteer to make the hours meaningful.

3:45 in The Morning Early

The first day of school is stressful for everyone. There is no one in the world who can honestly say that they don’t even feel a little nervous as they walk through the doors to the first class. This year I woke up early-really early-3:45 in the morning early. At first I tried to go back to bed, but I realized that I was too antsy to do that. So, I got up and walked around my dark, lonely house. Not even my dogs got up with me. The sun had not risen yet and I could see the moon out off the glass door to my deck. I thought about watching t-v, but I decided that would ruin the perfect peace of half-night. I sat on the lazy-boy in my family room watching the moon make its journey across the night sky. There is something indescribably wonderful about being the only up in the house. I got dressed for the day around 5:30, but my family was still a couple of hours away from waking up, so I read a chapter from the novel I’d been working on, and gazed as the moon disappeared and the sun started to fill the morning with light. If you have never seen the sunrise I encourage you to set your alarm just one day, and then you can go back to sleep. It is defiantly worth seeing at least once in full consciousness. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed, but also one of the saddest. As the sun begins to hoist itself into the air, it forces the mystery of the night away. I wanted that night to last as long as possible. There is something so magical about the night that I have always loved. Watching the sun rise is sort of like watching a superhero triumph over a much lesser villain that never really had a chance: you always think that you would want the superhero to win, but when the time comes you realize it was never a fair fight. You wind up feeling sorry for the little villain and secretly hope that he wins.