I *hope* you all had a great Thanksgiving! I *dream* that next year you'll be able to fly and explode things with your mind. A girl can dream, right? Speaking of which, what does dream even mean? How does it differ from hope? Well, I'm glad you asked!
Dream--an involuntary vision occurring to a person when awake. (As a verb) To see or imagine in a vision. Also, a vision voluntary indulged in while awake. Key word here being awake.
Hope--(as the verb) to look forward to with desire and reasonable confidence; to place trust, rely; to feel that something desired may happen. (As a noun) The feeling that what is wanted can be had.
I didn't just make this up either; I found this in the dictionary. "So why, Paityn," you're asking yourself, "are you telling us the denotative meanings of dream and hope? Don't you know what break is? How about you look that up?" And then you begin laughing to yourself at that wonderful joke you just made because you're so clever.
Well, I told you this so I can explain why I love Gatsby so much. It takes a lot of courage to hope for something and hardly any at all to dream. I'm scared to tell people of my hopes because what if they don't happen? What if I can't reach them? It's terrifying, but we all know how to "dream big." Anyone can want something they'll never have, but not everyone is brave enough to live their entire life in the *hope* that something will happen. One of my biggest hopes is that I won't get stuck here. In America. There are a thousand places to go and see, and I will not allow myself to be anchored. I believe with a reasonable confidence this will happen. I can't think it won't. I just can't. One of my biggest dreams is to go to space. I understand that it will probably never happen, but I still want to. If I was on a space engineering team, maybe I would hope to go to space, but until then, it's just a dream. You see the difference?
Gatsby hoped so much. He hoped in an unabashed, innocent way. The way a child hopes for Christmas; the way an army brat hopes their parent will come home; the way a lost child hopes they'll be found. It's an all consuming hope, so much that you can't imagine it won't happen. There is no way. You have to be extremely brave to hope and work and strive for something so out of your control. You have to be insane to base your life on something that you can only hope for. Gatsby may have done a lot of shady things, he may have had a good deal of secrets, but he was brave, in it, he hoped for more. I understand why a lot of people may not like Gatsby, but he was my favorite character. He was hope itself in every definition of it. What's your biggest hope? You don't have to tell me, just think about it. Don't think about how absurd or scary or unlikely it may seem, just what is it? Now, think about you never being able to do it; you never being able to succeed. Scary, right? You have to be brave to embrace it anyway and go for it. I'm not asking you to become a bootlegger to make all your dreams come true, but imagine how Gatsby felt, faced with seemingly insurmountable obstacles and all he could do was hope for the best. So he did. And maybe that's the most important part.
Okay, just so no one says, "Well look where that got him. Did you even finish the book?"
I understand that "...he must have felt that he had lost the warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream" (pg 161). Also notice how he said "dream." I'm not going to analyze when Daisy switched from a hope to a dream, but it's not that he died, or how he died or why he died or anything. It's that he hoped so much with so little of a chance for return, but he did so anyway. And that's one of the bravest things I can imagine.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Friday, November 22, 2013
The Team
Man is inhumane towards man. Okay, I can go with that. The Savannah is vanishing; sanctuary is receding. Okay, I guess that's true too. Man kills and hurts innocent people that are unfortunate enough to be less than them, sort of like a skewed survival of the fittest if half the world was never given a chance to survie. Yes, that too, is sadly true. There is no hope and no where to turn; we will only survive is someone is willing to sacrifice themself. Well...
If any of y'all hadn't noticed, I'm on a swim team. Team being the key word. When I have a rough day, I have my team to fall back on. If I have a rough swim, my team has "got me." And same goes for them. My team and I, well, we're a team. (I don't care how awful that pun was.) Being on a team is a sanctuary within a sanctuary. It's a beautiful mob mentality of acceptance. It's a beautiful sense of conformity; even though we are all different, we are the same as a team.
When I'm having a bad meet, I don't race for myself, I race for my team. If I can't do well for me, I can do well for them. When I count (laps) for my friends, I get just as caught up in the race as them. There's that wonderful sense of comradery which has no equal. You see them coming into the wall, racing, breathing hard, pulling...pushing...fighting for air and position and then they're at the flags. And then you're shaking the counter up...down...side to side. You hold your breath and wait. They wait to hold their breath. You're pushing for them to win and they're pushing for them to win and everyone is cheering; your heart races and you can't breathe and they are just so close. Keep going! You scream. GO GO GO GO GO, even though they are going. They are going so fast and in this moment they--you--have to decide, "Do I want to win?" "Am I willing to push myself to win; am I willing to experience this pain?" And they--you--have to. There isn't a choice to try when you're on a team. And when they touch the wall, regardless of how they do, it's...everything. Voila! It's done and over. From the practice to the block, from the workouts and the training to the pool and the race, from everyone one and everything to one single, defining race; it's done.
That's how I felt counting for, and swimming, my 500 free. How I did isn't important (but I did do pretty awesome), what's important is why I did it. For my team and they did what they did for the team. Man may be pretty inhumane towards man, our sanctuary from harm may be receding. This struggle is real, but it's nice to lose yourself in the team. In the team, we don't have to be exposed to that inhumanity. As for sacrifice, I sacrifice and they sacrifice for the team. If this is sounding a little 1984, so be it. In the team (I promise I'll stop saying team), I am protected from it all and I protect them and we protect each other. It's exhilarating to be with each other and part of each other and in this way we escape that inhumanity.
If any of y'all hadn't noticed, I'm on a swim team. Team being the key word. When I have a rough day, I have my team to fall back on. If I have a rough swim, my team has "got me." And same goes for them. My team and I, well, we're a team. (I don't care how awful that pun was.) Being on a team is a sanctuary within a sanctuary. It's a beautiful mob mentality of acceptance. It's a beautiful sense of conformity; even though we are all different, we are the same as a team.
When I'm having a bad meet, I don't race for myself, I race for my team. If I can't do well for me, I can do well for them. When I count (laps) for my friends, I get just as caught up in the race as them. There's that wonderful sense of comradery which has no equal. You see them coming into the wall, racing, breathing hard, pulling...pushing...fighting for air and position and then they're at the flags. And then you're shaking the counter up...down...side to side. You hold your breath and wait. They wait to hold their breath. You're pushing for them to win and they're pushing for them to win and everyone is cheering; your heart races and you can't breathe and they are just so close. Keep going! You scream. GO GO GO GO GO, even though they are going. They are going so fast and in this moment they--you--have to decide, "Do I want to win?" "Am I willing to push myself to win; am I willing to experience this pain?" And they--you--have to. There isn't a choice to try when you're on a team. And when they touch the wall, regardless of how they do, it's...everything. Voila! It's done and over. From the practice to the block, from the workouts and the training to the pool and the race, from everyone one and everything to one single, defining race; it's done.
That's how I felt counting for, and swimming, my 500 free. How I did isn't important (but I did do pretty awesome), what's important is why I did it. For my team and they did what they did for the team. Man may be pretty inhumane towards man, our sanctuary from harm may be receding. This struggle is real, but it's nice to lose yourself in the team. In the team, we don't have to be exposed to that inhumanity. As for sacrifice, I sacrifice and they sacrifice for the team. If this is sounding a little 1984, so be it. In the team (I promise I'll stop saying team), I am protected from it all and I protect them and we protect each other. It's exhilarating to be with each other and part of each other and in this way we escape that inhumanity.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
FISH and NOT A FISH: Which Category are You?
There two categories for everything. My brother and I sat down one day to hammer this out. The first category is FISH. The second category is NOT A FISH. I know for a fact which category everything fits into (I'll wait while you race to the comments to point out something so confusing that I wouldn't know which category it belongs to....okay...all right....I assume you're done). Now obviously, there are subcategories. Lion and berry both fall under NOT A FISH, but they're not the same thing. Just like there are two categories for everything, they're are usually two types of people for everything.
"Introducing in corner one: THE MORBIDLY CURIOUS!!!!" (One exclamation mark just didn't cut it.)
"Introducing in corner two: THE NOT MORBIDLY CURIOUS!!!!!"
The morbidly curious are the people that think about death; the people that personify death; the people that don't let it be a passing thought, but ruminate about death. When death comes up, they think about their death, other people's deaths, what it means, how will it feel, where do I go, what does any of this mean then. They're not necessarily depressed or fangirls for death, but they can't help but think about it. Also, it's not just a passing thought. I'd say to fall under this category, you would have to think about death about 6 or 7 times a day for 3-5 minutes at a time. Or maybe for 35 minutes one time. Just more than a passing thought.
The not morbidly curious category is for everyone else; it's a much less exclusive group. It's the Members Only jacket of groups. These are the people that, when the topic of death comes up, think about it for a second, and then move on. They may push the thought away, but they don't genuinely think about it. They acknowledge it, then it's gone. Death is just a part of life. Why think about something so...definite? It's not like the 200 fly where you can scratch once you realize how painful it is. Some not morbidly curious people think it's stupid to think about something so out of our control.
So, before I connect this to literature, which category do you fit in? No, do not say somewhere in between. Either you think about it or you push it away and move on. Don't take my time parameters too seriously. Go ahead, you can tell me. I won't judge.
If you hadn't figured out where I was going with this, you're in the same boat as me, because I just did. Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman represent both boxers in the ring. Dickinson is in corner one. Whitman: in two (Where would you put them?). Maybe it's because I haven't read much of Whitman, but just from the homework, I saw that when he thought of death, he said it doesn't really exist and moved on. Dickinson had an entire poem about her carriage ride with Death. But just because I put Whitman in the not morbidly curious category, doesn't mean he isn't. Maybe I'll see him change over. And just because you're in the morbidly curious, doesn't mean you don't think about life. They're not mutually exclusive. In fact, there are two categories for people and life...but that's a blog for a different time.
"Introducing in corner one: THE MORBIDLY CURIOUS!!!!" (One exclamation mark just didn't cut it.)
"Introducing in corner two: THE NOT MORBIDLY CURIOUS!!!!!"
The morbidly curious are the people that think about death; the people that personify death; the people that don't let it be a passing thought, but ruminate about death. When death comes up, they think about their death, other people's deaths, what it means, how will it feel, where do I go, what does any of this mean then. They're not necessarily depressed or fangirls for death, but they can't help but think about it. Also, it's not just a passing thought. I'd say to fall under this category, you would have to think about death about 6 or 7 times a day for 3-5 minutes at a time. Or maybe for 35 minutes one time. Just more than a passing thought.
The not morbidly curious category is for everyone else; it's a much less exclusive group. It's the Members Only jacket of groups. These are the people that, when the topic of death comes up, think about it for a second, and then move on. They may push the thought away, but they don't genuinely think about it. They acknowledge it, then it's gone. Death is just a part of life. Why think about something so...definite? It's not like the 200 fly where you can scratch once you realize how painful it is. Some not morbidly curious people think it's stupid to think about something so out of our control.
So, before I connect this to literature, which category do you fit in? No, do not say somewhere in between. Either you think about it or you push it away and move on. Don't take my time parameters too seriously. Go ahead, you can tell me. I won't judge.
If you hadn't figured out where I was going with this, you're in the same boat as me, because I just did. Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman represent both boxers in the ring. Dickinson is in corner one. Whitman: in two (Where would you put them?). Maybe it's because I haven't read much of Whitman, but just from the homework, I saw that when he thought of death, he said it doesn't really exist and moved on. Dickinson had an entire poem about her carriage ride with Death. But just because I put Whitman in the not morbidly curious category, doesn't mean he isn't. Maybe I'll see him change over. And just because you're in the morbidly curious, doesn't mean you don't think about life. They're not mutually exclusive. In fact, there are two categories for people and life...but that's a blog for a different time.
Friday, November 8, 2013
"They're A Bunch of Weirdos"
True or false: There are a thousand other people just like you.
Well, maybe not exactly just like you, but they share similar interests, dislikes, personality quirks, tendencies, etc.
So, true or false: There are a hundred people just like you. No, you're saying, I'm original; I'm unique. There's just me, no one else like me, one in a million, a beautiful snowflake, and so on.
Last time. True or false: There are ten people just like you. If you're still saying false, for whatever reason, you may want to reconsider. I believe that there are at least 10 people more or less just like me. I may not be able to tell who exactly, but I could name a few off the top of my head.
"So why, Paityn" (No, Google, my name is not spelled wrong), "are you telling us this? You must want us to not feel special." Not in the least, you beautiful, special snowflakes. Let's do this first:
You wake up one morning, and everyone that is more or less like you now has a glowing dot above their head. And now they know you're more or less like them. Now, all of a sudden, you can relate with them, right? You'll be best friends forever! Maybe. Perhaps some of them also share your love of pretending to be a slug at 3am, but maybe the others are like you for a more sinister reason. What if you could tell- would you still want to be with them, or would they want to be with you? You're the same, after all.
What I'm trying to say is that Hester was surrounded by people more or less the same as her. They all knew what she had done, but for some, and only some, she could tell what they had done. She wasn't alone--lonely, yes, but not alone. So, and I am legitimately asking, why didn't they approach Hester? My guess is because then the others would know what they'd all done, respectively.
So, this leads me to wonder: if everyone could relate to some sin that at least one other person had done, wouldn't that mean they all knew they were all sinners? And if they all knew, why were they all so judgmental? Besides the obvious, "everyone loves a scapegoat," I'm seriously asking. Let me know what you think.
To answer your question, I'm telling you this, my opinion, because next time you do something awful or wonderful or kick yourself for telling the waitress "you too" when she tells you to enjoy your meal, or you mirror the person's trying to pass you movements or you false start or get a best time or eat all of the food or barely touch dinner because it's just one of those days, but you're "fine," I think you should remember to take a deep breath, and look around at everyone near you and realize they're not so different after all.
Well, maybe not exactly just like you, but they share similar interests, dislikes, personality quirks, tendencies, etc.
So, true or false: There are a hundred people just like you. No, you're saying, I'm original; I'm unique. There's just me, no one else like me, one in a million, a beautiful snowflake, and so on.
Last time. True or false: There are ten people just like you. If you're still saying false, for whatever reason, you may want to reconsider. I believe that there are at least 10 people more or less just like me. I may not be able to tell who exactly, but I could name a few off the top of my head.
"So why, Paityn" (No, Google, my name is not spelled wrong), "are you telling us this? You must want us to not feel special." Not in the least, you beautiful, special snowflakes. Let's do this first:
You wake up one morning, and everyone that is more or less like you now has a glowing dot above their head. And now they know you're more or less like them. Now, all of a sudden, you can relate with them, right? You'll be best friends forever! Maybe. Perhaps some of them also share your love of pretending to be a slug at 3am, but maybe the others are like you for a more sinister reason. What if you could tell- would you still want to be with them, or would they want to be with you? You're the same, after all.
What I'm trying to say is that Hester was surrounded by people more or less the same as her. They all knew what she had done, but for some, and only some, she could tell what they had done. She wasn't alone--lonely, yes, but not alone. So, and I am legitimately asking, why didn't they approach Hester? My guess is because then the others would know what they'd all done, respectively.
So, this leads me to wonder: if everyone could relate to some sin that at least one other person had done, wouldn't that mean they all knew they were all sinners? And if they all knew, why were they all so judgmental? Besides the obvious, "everyone loves a scapegoat," I'm seriously asking. Let me know what you think.
To answer your question, I'm telling you this, my opinion, because next time you do something awful or wonderful or kick yourself for telling the waitress "you too" when she tells you to enjoy your meal, or you mirror the person's trying to pass you movements or you false start or get a best time or eat all of the food or barely touch dinner because it's just one of those days, but you're "fine," I think you should remember to take a deep breath, and look around at everyone near you and realize they're not so different after all.
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