This I believe

The first time I ran from my house to the roundabout and back without stopping, I came home, and I threw up.

I was 14. I’d never even run a straight mile before, and the distance of that loop was 2.5.

The next day I was so sore that I couldn’t even walk, but 3 days later I went out again and this time I ran 3 miles.

3 days every week that summer, I pulled myself out of bed at 5:30 in the morning to run. And every week I would add another mile.

By the end I was running 10 miles a day.

See, if you’re going to run, RUN. Run until your body screams and it’s hard to breath, and then clench your teeth and go another mile.

The first day I played guitar, after learning TAB I sat in front of a computer for 7 hours figuring out how to play the Beetle’s original, “Here comes the Sun”. By the time I was done my fingers hurt so much that I couldn’t even text, but in the following months I started writing and playing must guitar on street corners.

See, if you’re going to play music, PLAY MUSIC. Pound into the piano so hard that the walls shake, and then go so quiet that you aren’t even sure if you’re still playing. Close your eyes, tune the world out, and play.

The first time I kissed, it was a make out. And it was nasty.

But this isn’t about 15 year olds trying to kiss and this isn’t about “working hard to accomplish your goals.” This is about personal investment. And passion.

There’s nothing I hate more than a public high school PE class. The coach says to run for 10 minutes, and everyone slow jobs. The coach says we’re playing dodge ball, and the game ends up being 1 part holding a ball and standing in a corner, 1 part chilling in the ‘out’ line, 4 parts wall hugging, and half a part actually throwing balls.

I want to see sprinting. I want to hear people cussing when they get out in dodgeball because even though it was just a ‘high school game’ that ‘doesn’t mean anything’ they cared. I want to actually sweat in PE class.

Everyone says you get out what you put in, and when we have such a limited amount of time anyways, why not put everything in? When you dance, take your elbows off your hips. When you play music in your car, turn it all the way up and sing along. It can take the same amount of time to go 3 miles slow of 5 miles fast, but down the line, the outputs are completely different. This I believe- when you run, go as fast and far as you can.

NOSE-stalga, smells of my life

Sophomore Year 

So much cologne and perfume you could taste it 

I'm not sure why we ate lunch in the PE hallway every day

My carrots smell like apples because ever since kindergarten my mom has sent me to school with a plastic baggy of veggies and half an apple.

The dusty roof of the Saturn that releases particles every time it is rubbed 

Chicken nuggets on car trips, the smell that never comes out of the seats, especially when there's a chicken nugget shoved between seats that everyone forgets about for 3 months 

And then I became a veterinarian

The 2nd time I kissed someone, and he smells like pizza. 

The 3rd time I kissed someone, and he smells like chlorine 

The 4th time I kissed someone, and he smells like my car. 

Very dusty.

My flute smells like copper, it was only $30 off of KSL 

My work pants smell like the ranch dressing from Pizza Pie Cafe 

New Orleans smells like cigarettes and salt 

I use sunflower perfume

Junior year 

Got a car that never had the new car smell 

It smells like all the trash that is pilling up in my back seat. Plastic and sugar. 

I love it 

I wear the same blazer to every debate tournament, it has no button, and it smells like Cheetos  

Literally all my pants smell like the pizza sauce from Pizza Pie Cafe 

The piccolo smells like oil 

The guitar smells like campfire 

The 7th boy I kiss smells like smoke

The 8th boy I kiss smells like dandruff 

And his jacket. And his hat. And I would sleep with his jacket next to me, and it smelled just like him.

Early morning classes. The smell of morning air makes me feel sick

But at 3 am, the world smells clean

 

Santa Monica pier smells like sweat 

I use Euphoria perfume 

Senior Year 

I manage at work now. My pants smell like flour 

The pianos in the practice room smell stale 

I haven't bought cloths from anywhere but a thrift shop in over 7 months 

The family crisis center smells like it was built in the 18th century 

Traffic Court smells like Marijuana

Kilby Court smells like Marijuana 

My friends smell like Marijuana 

The waffle fries of Jack and Jill's bowling lane smell good until you've ordered them 5 times in the past 2 weeks 

The 9th boy I kiss smells like mint. And it smells wrong. 

Oregon smells like sponges. 

I  use Baiser Vole perfume

Blaze. Tribute to 4:20

4:20- snap chat it

4:20 blaze it

4:20 Praise it

"April 20th today- guess what I'll be doing!"

                                          Retweetx235
Make sure everyone knows you're a cool kid


I hope you can find your way back to your parent's house tonight when the only light you have is a spark from the end of your joint.

Fires blaze whether they are burning down a chapel, keeping women from freezing or warming a pot

and

Pot
Blazes
And who's to say what it's doing?

It gives both the 'cancer kid' and the 'druggie kid' relief after all



4:20 blaze it tweets the kid who has never touched MJ in his life

4:20 praise it shouts the preacher and he reads John 4:20

4:20

Blaze

It

The Most Important Thing I'll Write all Year. Really.

"Happiness is not  unlike the Emperor's Clothes; no one really experiences it. Yet everyone pretends to be it for fear of being the only one who doesn't have it, when in reality, it doesn't exist at all." 

-Anna Cvetko, 2013

Let me be clear on one thing, I am happy. Sometimes when I'm alone in my car driving or at work or even walking between classes, I'm so happy I can hardly even believe it. I'm excited about life. I love who I am. But this is 2016. And it hasn't always been that way.

In a way, I'm glad that I'm writing this with a real name. Because hopefully it will mean more this way, even if it's harder to type. This is going to be a back-space-less piece. 



I want to write about Depression, and some of my opinions may not be overly popular. And if you disagree, that's quite fine. I won't be offended if you say so in the comments. 




Depression crept in slowly for me. Little things stopped having value. My family and friends became unimportant and I lost them all. It was an intense feeling of detachment for the rest of the world, like I was watching my life unfold in front of me in a movie. And I was the only one in the theater.

Depression was grey skies on sunny days and the holidays were the worst time because it made no sense that I was so sad when everyone was so happy. Like what was even wrong with me?

For me, depression was silence. A disappearing personality-I lost everything about myself because how can you hold it all in when your skin is starved and frail? You can hardly hold on to life how can you be expected to hold onto your favorite music, political opinions, or friends? 

It was sleeping while being awake, and silently crying for an hour every day before I could get out of bed, praying to a God I was sure had abandoned me for the strength to go to school.

But I always went to school. And work. And debate. And symphony. And church. Even through the worst of it I never wanted anyone to know.

And it was bad. It was months of my theory and deep fresh cuts across my stomach and left arm every single night for months turning into years. Long selves on warm days. It was my therapist begging me to take a prescription and the constant phrase "I'm fine."


It was the very fact that I didn't even want to be happy after a while. Sadness was comfortable.


. ...................................................................................................................................................................
That was a long introduction. The important thing I talked about in my title is how I beat it. Because that was a process that started as recent as 5 months ago.


I love nonfiction books. And I'm a left-brain, so none of this ooey-gooey "find happiness in your relationships and rainbows." I needed specifics.


***CAUTION- the next few paragraphs are science. If you don't want to read, skip down to the asterisks.

At this point I had stopped going to therapy. It wasn't doing anything for me to sit around and talk about my feelings. So naturally, I looked for an answer in science. Dr. Brian Hanson's "Hard wiring Happiness" changed my life.  His thesis was all about Cognitive Neuroplasticy in the Brain. He argued that evolution has created a human brain that is wired to focus more on the negative and ere on the side of caution. An overly reactive amydala and an implicit memory that takes in bad things naturally, are the result of the unforgiving world of early humans, where optimism got you killed.

Cognitive Neuroplasticity is the theory that the way you think can fundamentally change the biological patterns of your brain.
Your brain is composed of neurons, and a thought nothing more then a specific pattern of neurons sending and sharing a single electrical pulse. It's like an empty field. The more a specific path is walked, the deeper into the ground that path is dug, and the easier it is to follow that path over its alternatives. The biology of our brain simply makes it easier to think negative. Once those paths are dug, they are much easier to follow than paths of positivity, which in turn, only carbe the negative paths deeper. These paths are called neural networks.

His book was ultimately about how it's  easier to be sad than happy, but by changing the way we think, we can cognitivly shape our brain.

*****


Empowered with this new knowledge, I created a strategy. Literally, I mapped out a plan on paper of how I was going to fix this problem of clinical depression without the pills or therapy.
This was what it looked like:

1. Physical 
1. Get at least 5 hours of sleep every night 
2. Exercise at least 30 minutes every day 
3. Eat Healthy 
1. If needed, end vegetarianism to increase B12 vitamins in my body 
2. Mental 
1. Tell friends how you feel
2. Play music for at least 1 hour every day, (guitar and piano) 
3. Start talking to your family 
3. Misc. 
1. Start volunteering at the Family Crisis Center 
2. Hike all the time 
3. STAY BUSY- plan your week in advance so that you're always doing something productive. 

All helped, but it turns out 3.3 was the key. To this day, I have every moment of my week planned out, because I've discovered that the moment I feel like I have nothing to do, I become sad. The analogy I use is running on water. Because I always have to be moving, always have to be DOING SOMETHING, otherwise I plunge into darkness and it's hard to get back up.

But as a result, I became happy. Obviously everyday has its ups and downs, and that's normal. But as of January, 2016, I've stopped considering myself depressed for the first time in 3 years. And I never want to go back. 

And I'm not naive enough to think that anyone's depression can be fixed this way. But I don't think self-harm scars are "beautiful signs of strength" because I'm never going to show them to my 3 year old sister with pride.
But all I want to say, coming from my heart as honest and as empirical as possible, is that we have more control over our minds than we often give ourselves credit for.  And I think, in a both scientific and personal way, that it's beautiful.

See, they say the debate is between nature and nurture: the canvas you are given and the colors you have. But I've got to believe that even if that canvas is morphed, you hold the paintbrush, even when you can't pick your colors. 


And that's the most important thing I could write.


http://iheartintelligence.com/2016/01/22/stephen-hawking-advice/

My Story- How I became the Best Driver in all of Utah

            So apparently in Utah, street racing is a class B misdemeanor with a $2000 penalty. That’s in addition to the actual speeding ticket, which in itself is a class c misdemeanor with a penalty of $750.

            These were the charges I found myself facing as I saw in the Utah Country Civil Court last December.            

            I’ve always had a bit of a problem with speeding. I just listen to my jams as loud as possible and get so pumped up and excited that before I know it, I’ve got the gas pedal floored and my windows rolled down and am singing along with my music as I race down the street. I was a notoriously bad driver among my people. I didn’t even know how to turn the cruise control in my car ON until a few months ago.

            On evening when the deed was done, I topped of at 125, and luckily wasn’t clocked until I started to slow down. 105. Not too bad.

            Now was I street racing..? Usually when I tell this story, I like to make it sound like I was, because being a street racer automatically raises your street cred like 5000%.

Like “hey yeah the cops caught me with my marijuana and now I’m facing all these fines.” “Ah man, I know what you mean. I was in court a few months ago for street racing, and ah, dat legal system am I right?”

            And they’re all like, “hey Anna’s one of us.”

            But I’m being honest with you, I was just driving really fast. Don’t know why the cop charged me with the other things.

            But yeah, there’s the back story, pulled over, he yelled at me a little bit, threatened to arrest me and impound the car, and then gave me my ticket and sent me on my way.

            When I looked up the charges to prepare for my mandatory court date, I was shocked to learn that not only was I facing a $2750 penalty, I was facing things like the revoking of my license, mandatory 24 hours in jail, and crazy insurance stuff.

            That freaked me out. I had 4 weeks until my court date, and in that time I went crazy studying Utah traffic law. A traffic lawyer is like $500, and I make minimum wage. So, being the debate president and I, I figured I could just talk my way out of the ticket if I knew enough about the legal system. So I absorbed every part of the traffic laws surrounding Title 41 Chapter 6a  Part 6  Section 606, Utah exhibition of speed.

            The court date rolled up. Getting ready that morning was a very strategic part of the game. If I showed up like, this, (mangy, rebel) the judge gonna be all like, “dang, that kid’s a rebel, gotta whip them into shape.” So I wore black jeans, a light pink blouse, a black blazer, and pulled my hair back into a neat bun with little pearl earrings. Anything to give the aurora of sweet, intellectual, feminine innocence.

            And the moment I walked into the building, I knew I had made the right choice with my clothing. All the people that were also going to court that day were all ripped jeans, leather jacket, an ‘F the police shift’ and surprisingly, had a very prominent smell of marijuana. I don’t know who thinks it’s a good idea to smoke weed before court. Apparently everyone there.  

            I had everything planned out. They called me up, read my charges, and I plead not guilty. I rescheduled a court date to come back and negotiate my charges.

            I came back a week later with the same air of professional, feminine, humbled. I was ushered in to a room where I sat alone with a nice lady from the state department to discuss the ground of my charges. I smiled and shook her hand and turned on the charm.

            I was, very sorry for the inappropriate and risky behavior I had exhibited on the road and could not believe that I put my friend’s lives in danger.

            -here it is important to note, that even though I beefed it up big time in court, I really did feel bad. Speeding is stupid, especially that fast.

            BUT- after a long discussion, she decided to drop my street racing charge, and lower my speeding ticket my 3 brackets.

            I met with the judge, plead guilty to the speeding, and walked away with a $300 ticket.

OH- but it’s not over there. A few weeks later, I found out that I also walked away with 75 points on my driving record, enough to get my license taken away. So I had the opportunity to meet with state public safety office, who put me on probation.

            Probation means that I can still drive, but if I get another ticket, even for something as little as 1 mph over the limit, I lose my license.

TO THIS DAY, I have my probation papers stuck on my dashboard, sticking up right where they are always in my vision when I drive. That, combined with the fact that as of 3 weeks ago, I no longer has a physical copy of my driver’s license, means that I am THE SAFTEST driver you will ever ride with.

Yellow light, can maybe make it? STOPS.

Back road, can probably go how fast you want? CUISE CONTROL THE SPEED LIMIT

I am not the crazy person I once was. And I almost feel bad about how easily the legal system took me down. 

Why So Serious? Who I am

I am a left brain- don't get me wrong, I love writing music and all, but music theory is extremely mathematical.

I am political. So political that my car is the only one at Lone Peak with a Bernie Sanders bumper sticker and on my 18th Birthday I had a ceremony where I officially registered as a Democrat. I wait in line for hours to go to political rallies, watch every single presidential debate, read the news like the Bible, and am a Utah State Democratic Delegate.

I am a manager at Pizza Pie Cafe and President of the Lone Peak Debate Team and run the Street Music Club and it's taken me years to finally realize that being nice doesn't always mean you have to be passive. 

I do a lot of things. 

I don't smile unless I actually mean it and I flip people off way too often ah

And in all honesty, I'm not the red-type-personality-robotic-work-machine-untouchable-brick of emotion" that I usually pretend to be. 

My biggest fear isn't failing, it's succeeding and being lonely at the top.

(ALSO-I swear I had the timing and everything perfect on my video editing program, but then when I converted it to MP4, suddenly it got all screwed up, so sorry that I repeat some phrases in this short film during transitions. Movies are not my thing.) 

 

Liberal Mormon

Most people I interact with are surprised to learn I am a Mormon and the people in my church were shocked when they realized the car with the "Bernie Sanders" bumper sticker was mine. 

I don't quite know what to say when my transgender friend is home from college and starts talking about the intolerance of religious people, and how much it hurts them.

I completely support them, but at the same time I

I don't really know what to think when the leadership of my church talks about the role of women in the home, and when my bishop disapproves that I don't want to marry until I have a PHD.

I want to be a mother and all, but I have huge career ambitions and I

I don't always know how to react when my favorite politicians are so pro choice and the my church doesn't even want marriage equality and I still don't understand why Christians are generally more fiscally conservative and if Ted Cruz believes in the Bible so strongly why does he hate immigrants so much and when I go to political conventions I'm the only one from my family the only one from my neighborhood and one of the only ones there to go to seminary and I just



Most of my friends are atheists.

(I hate super delegates as much as I love Bernie. 2K16!!!)



But I am Liberal despite the fact I am Mormon the way I am happy despite the markings on my body. I am proud to call myself American but that doesn't mean I forget my Slovenian. I am a left brained despite the obscure political art I do and the songs I write.


Categories are not always boxes you fit yourself into, but paths that you create.






And this probably gave away who I am but that's ok.

If I met the male equivalent of my personality- a theoretical love story about myself.

At first I thought he was a bit of a player.
His personality was a bit flirty, and all his friends were girls.

That was kind of a turnoff at first

But then we got into an argument over macroeconomics in 3rd period and I knew that we had to be friends
All my friends are guys anyways so it works


We very easily could have stayed just friends.



But then we were hanging out and decided to go to a concert for a band we had never heard of before. When we drove back, you rolled down the windows of your car, played your music as loud as possible, and sang along with the artist-even though my voice is definitely sub-par.

We drove up the mountains and played guitar together. We wrote songs about social issues because writing about your feelings is too cliche.

We'd make eye contact.






The day after he kissed me, I greatly regretted letting you do it. When we passed each other in the halls, our eyes hit the floor, and we pretended not to see each other because being vulnerable was scary to him.
It could have ended there. We easily could have never talked again. That happens a lot.

We liked each other, obviously, but we were both far too scared of commitment.

So we continued to go on dates.

We were both so incredibly busy. He drove to my house at 1 in the morning when I was sad, and I worked 15 hours on Saturday so that I would be free to spend time with him on Thursday.
I never cancelled plans on with him, because he knew how sad it made me when people did that.

We loved to listen to music and go on hikes in the middle of the night. We'd free climb and cliff jump and color on walls of abandoned houses and not say a word-- but that's ok because we didn't need to.

But our friends never wanted to take us to movies because we'd talk the entire time.

We'd talk about weird deep things, and make fun of the world-but never the people in it. 
We understood each other's humor- cynical and sarcastic. With lots of puns.

When I told him about the sad things in my life he held my hand and said that he understood exactly how I felt. And when he was sad, his personality disappeared, but I knew how to bring it back

Everyone said we should just date. But he was pragmatic, and when he asked about it, I said that there was no point because it would have to end after high school, and he said that made sense.

Setting ourselves up for heart break was scary. And he didn't want to get hurt. So I never made a move to become more.

But it was great while it lasted.


When high school ended, we parted ways, promising that we'd stay in touch. But he hates texting. I thought relationships kept intact solely with electronics were toxic.

We texted for a week. Neither of us asked about each other's love lives, even though we both wanted to know. He played it cool. I pretended like the separation didn't have as big of an impact on me as it did. But then both of us sent "goodnight" at the same time one night, and because he didn't want to be the first one to send a message after he was already the last one, I never texted him again.

Test your humanity with one question

When was the last time you gave money or food to a starving person begging for it on the streets?










My personal philosophy in 7 words or less is "I hate humans, but I love people"

Menstrual Cycle- A Guide to Being Socially Acceptable when on Your Period.

You'd think it was a drug exchange.

Handed under desks, slipped between hands, you can find them anywhere but in conversations 

Tampons. TAMPONS?!!

 Pads. Midol. Ibuprofen. 

Bleeding, emotional, food craving mess, right? 

WARNING AVOID THE EMOTIONAL GIRL SHE IS PROBABLY ON HER PERIOD. Approach with caution. Throw chocolate from a safe distance. And whatever you do- DON'T TALK ABOUT PERIODS

(Note- it tends to make people uncomfortable when you compare menstrual cycles to food.)

Oh, you're on your period and needing a tampon? Don't you dare ask for it in a way that people will hear, because the topic makes them feel uncomfortable. Use hushed voices. Don't let them see when you pass them.

Feeling in pain and just need some ibuprofen? If you ask for it, make up a problem other then your period to justify your purist. A period is just as normal as a headache, but only one of those two seem to make people feel uncomfortable.

In fact even mentioning period cramps and pain will get you raised eyebrows and a "TMI girl". Girl, that's gross.


If you are on your period. Suffer in silence. It may be normal occurrence, but it certainly does not appear in normal conversation.

Want to be socially acceptable while on your period? Don't mention it, no matter the pain or need.


There's something hinting at misogyny when females have to shut up about the pain that will never be felt by a man, because it will make them uncomfortable. 

The Butterflies of the Sensitive Kid

The day my butterflies left my stomach

I didn't even notice



They didn't leave all at once. It was pretty slow actually.

One by one they flew out, bid adieu to my heart on their way up, and delicately left me. They didn't even have to force my mouth open.

I don't blame them for leaving. That is, after all, what starving things tend to do.





Their absence wasn't noticed until the day I realized I no longer had any fear of speaking for a large crowed of people. The day I no longer had to worry about my hands being too slippery to play my flute and the first time I wore an over sized DI sweater to school.

The day I sat indifferently in an awards ceremony, not caring if they called my name or not. The day I did away with my filter.

The day I stopped feeling nervous when someone was going to kiss me.
The day I stopped feeling excited when someone was going to kiss me.

The day I didn't care if I won because I wouldn't care if I lost.






And I still don't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing when that last butterfly flew out of my stomach

That's going to end up in the ocean you know

The thing about plastic is that it doesn't biodegrade. 
It becomes brittle. Breaks up into thousands of pieces.
But it stays around. Even when we throw it out because it has lost its.

It doesn't just disappear even though you can not see it

Plastic consumption and production is only increasing. Hundred of millions of tons of plastic are being used every year.

Water bottles, cheap packaging, dollar toys.

Plastic is cheap

To buy.

But the toll it has taken on the environment is a debt that cries for relief.

The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, (pictured above) is twice the size of Texas.


Oh how differently our reaction would be if it affected humans in the same way it did animals



Or if it affected us as much as it affects them

But there's something horribly biting about reality when those who cause the problems are rarely the ones to suffer it's effects 

We don't have to see the large scale effects of our wasteful environmental exploitation. We don't see ecosystems and communities ruined by our trash. We pay people to remove the dirty surplus of our consumerism.

What we do see, everyday, is small pieces of plastic on the ground.

We see bottles littering the sophomore parking lot, cups in the streets, plastic bags blowing around the mountains.

What we do see, is recycling bins devastatingly empty.

Plastic is cheap, but it does not go away. 
BUT IT IS TOXIC 

We have one planet. And plastic has only been around for little over 100 years.

It's not just plastic though. It's natural gas. Forests. Minerals.
It's what we take from our planet that we can't give back.

We turn our back to so much of the harms that come from our luxurious and plush lifestyle. 90% of consumer goods made in sweatshops. Oppressive factory farms. Undocumented and underpaid immigrants picking our vegetables. Consumerism leaves a footprint everywhere it steps.

But plastic, at least, can be recycled. Easily. All it takes is is to bend down, pick up the water bottle on the ground, and toss it in the nearest recycling bin.

3 moments that changed my life

1. Riding alone on a front runner train from Salt Lake city at age 15. I was very tired.
College kid sits next to me. Shaggy hair and downward eyes he says- can you read something for me?
Out from his backpack he pulls out an essay titled "love".
He hands it to me.
I read.
His words paint an abusive childhood and a little boy with Shaggy hair and wet eyes running away from parents who did anything but parent him.
They draw a loving couple who takes him in and takes him on drives through the mountain. Who love him very much.

But who can never adopt him.
Who can never marry.
Because both members are men.

I stop reading.
He says he still doesn't know why.
His eyes are on the ground

2. My friend's entire family except for a little brother and older brother on a mission were killed in plane crash.

I sat in the crowed at the funeral.

My friend gets up and speaks.

17 going on 30 ; there is so much pain on his face

But his words are woven with hope. And God.

 3. I sit on a rock in a beach in california. And for the first time in over a year, felt peace and realized how beautiful the world was.

I remember that really well actually.

My Great Grandfather: The Tester

Grandfather Erwin kept a jar of candy tantalizingly on the top of the kitchen counter.

The sweets inside the jar tantalized the many children that would come to his house.
Colorful hard candy, peppermint sticks, gobstoppers.
Any child's dream
The best part: the jar wasn't off limits

He never handed out a single piece of candy























Erwin Henderson was a carpenter. He and his wife Twila built their own home in Downy, Idaho. A small, cozy, wooden house with yellow wallpaper and a flowerbed by the green door. Erwin had a large woodshed where he would do his work. Tables, chairs, and his signature work- building blocks for the neighborhood kids

He was a practical man who worked hard
With calluses that never softened
With wrinkles that were wooden
With a mind was sharp as a blade

And he would sit in his straight backed chair, a product of his hands And he would watch the jar

And he would watch the children
Silently preforming his test

For candy out of reach is still obtainable to a clever whit

No chairs or stools in the kitchen- yet to the innovative candy seeker a world of possibility of open
For the innovative candy seeker knows that candy out of reach becomes possible when the towel drawer below is pulled out and used as a stool

The innovative candy seeker knows the cloth under the jar can be pulled

The innovative candy seeker gets the candy



Year after year he watched his great grandchildren preform the test.

Some passed. Some failed.

He never told us who.


But Great Grandfather Erwin was gone just before I could be tested. The jar of sweets, locked away

All that was left was the small house, dozens of straight backed chairs, and boxes of wooden building blocks 

Substantially less cynical then usual: Flow

F L O W

f l o w   i s   t h e   m e n t a l   s t a t e   o f   o p e r a t i o n   i n   w h i c h   a   p e r s o n   i s            f u l l y    i m m e r s e d   i n   a   f e e l i n g   o f   e n e r g i z e d   f o c u s,   f u l l      i n v o l v e m e n t,  a n d   e n j o y m e n t. 

  

I want to talk about engagement.

Mental/emotional/logical
engagement
stimulation
simulation
situation

I want to talk about my most poignant and intense passion.

I want to talk about music.





As it turns out, music has basically always been a thing. Egypt has harps and flutes 4000 BCE. Before that, different types of drums had a prominent place in many religious ceremonies. We don't know who was the first primitive human to bang 2 items together for enjoyment rather then function. And that hardly matters anyway.

Although music has little to no actual functional use, (excluding war drums or signaling horns), it developed all over the world. Unlike "agriculture," "animal domestication," or religion, it cannot be traced back to a specific region where it originated and then spread. Because where there were humans, there was music.

It's particularly interesting to note the significance of this phenomenon. Something of minimal survival value, developing all over the world at a time where there was no time for fooling around.

It's actually quite amazing.

Music must really just be such a natural part of being human. I can think of no other explanation.



When you play music, it engages such an enormous part of your brain. It's one of the few activities that stimulates both the left brain, (as the player has to take note of chords, rhythm, accidentals, scales, etc) and right, (musical expression and interpretation, dynamics, timing), that it strengthens the layer of tissue, the corpus calloson that connects the 2. Well practiced musicians have great inner-brain connectivity.

It effects the way we feel.  In 2009, the University of London conducted a study, playing different moods of music for different people, and monitoring the results. Predictably, those who listened to sad music were more likely to see sadness in a neutral face, and those whose music was happy were more likely to see joy.

People of all types are drawn to it. Friedrich Nietzsche famously said, "Without music, life would be a mistake." There's a huge overlap in those who are musicians with those who do math. Religious people are spiritually moved by music. Young rebellious youth are drawn to different sounds. It has always been a way for those in pain to express themselves. Jazz in the Harlem Renascence. Rap now.  Classical. Rock. Folk. Country. Independent. Alternative. Hip Hop

It is extraordinary




F L O W

Playing music has been the biggest passion I've had from the moment I took my first piano lesson 11 years ago. But even back then, playing music was more of an obligation then a pleasure.

It honestly wasn't  until I picked up a guitar for the first time 3 years ago that I fell in love.

Cutting the callouses hurt. Bar chords were a joke.


But I kept playing.

I taught myself "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles, and to this day, whenever I pick up a guitar, that is the first song that comes out.
It's natural.

But then I fell in love again.

I am convinced that guitar was meant to be with. Simple knowledge of music theory and technique open up unlimited possibilities.
 And as a sophomore, I wrote my first song.
It's a song that I look back on with a smile and a small shake of my head.
It has no key signature, no pattern, just a random melody finger picked on whatever chord sounded good.
I never wrote it down. But I will never forget it.

You see, I fell in love with music that day because I realized how extraordinary writing music is.
That little makeshift melody had never been played before in the entire world.
Maybe something similar to it, but it had never been played the way I played it.
Literally the first time that tune was ever played, it was in my hands, in my room.

And I was the only one to hear it.

This may seem selfish, but I find so much satisfaction in laying on my hammock, picking out a melody until I am satisfied, internalizing it, and then forgetting it. Never writing it down. Being the only person in the world to hear it.

This is flow for me.

My guitar goes where ever I go, because it is my soul. I'm not an overly expressive or emotional person as is, but a guitar tugs my soul out of my body and lays it on the table for all to see.

The truly amazing thing, is it's not just music that does this.
 It's like the air around us is surrounded with strings of color and emotion and when you create something, whether that is piece of writing or abstract art, a photo or a tweet, you are pulling the colorful strings out of air and weaving them into a unique tapestry that is the first and last of it's kind.
Because we have the power of creation.
To actually put something in the world that wasn't there before.
That blows my mind.


Without me, that little awkward sophomore plucked out guitar melody would never have been played.
Those combinations of color on my latest abstract painting would never come together in that particular way.
The words of this very post would have never been woven together.

That blows my mind.

It's an empowering thought.


Ah right now I am 'tsk tsk tsk'ing myself for not having a thesis statement. This post has been all over the place, from 4000 BCE to my bedroom. It drives me crazy when there is no thesis statement. I better make one up really quick. 

It may not be music for you. But everyone has something that gives their mind 'flow'. Something exciting, stimulating, engaging. Something that, when they do, releases them from all worries and fears.

I can't play guitar as much as I'd like. I'm too busy.

Maybe it's time we all took a step out of life, if even for just a moment, and did what we loved. Create things. Bring art into this world.

I feel like that is what 'transcendentalism' which is honestly the whole theme of my blog, is about. Simplifying life to what makes you excited to be alive.

So that's my thesis. Do what you love.

F L O W

But what about her? Anthem of the heart breaker.

This piece is going to swear. Just once though. I usually abstain from crude language, but in the context of the thoughts going through my mind, there was not a better word. 



And the stage is set. 

Scene 1: Boy likes girl.

It's the girl he's been in love with all his life, the girl next door, who never seems to notice that he even exists, but she smiled at him that one time.

It's the girl who has been his best friend for 3 years. He's seen her without makeup, in tears, sun burnt, acne covered, then though puberty when she suddenly became gorgeous to the world; but he's known she's beautiful throughout the entire journey.

It's the girl who sits next to him in math. She jokes with him and helps him with his homework.

It's the girl who has freckles. The girl with white blond hair or curly black locks. The girl with straight As or the girl with a rebellious streak. The girl who wear tee-shirts. The girl who wears dresses. IT DOESN'T MATTER.

Because he loves her. He loves her so much and when he sees her he gets butterflies. He loves her because of her soul, not her body. And she makes him so happy.

Beautiful.

Day after day her watches her, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she feels the same way.

Except she doesn't. 

He texts her everyday with "I miss you" text messages. He asks her out and hopes she says yes. He buys her flowers and chocolate, knows all of her favorite songs, he can tell when she's feeling sad when no one else can, and it gives him so much pain that no matter what he does she does not retaliate the feelings. 

Because she doesn't miss him. She doesn't want to go out with him. She doesn't care about what he says or does it will not change the way she feels.  She keeps saying no.


And he and his friends look at her with daggers of hatred because what a cold-hearted, condescending, insensitive, obviously insecure, BITCH. Sorry. She's not even pretty. She's not good enough for him anyway. She's a brat and he's lucky he sure dogged a bullet. 

Her friends shake their heads at her as they ask how she can be so heartless, and "why can't you just give him a chance, and he's such a good guy.  And it would make him so happy if you went out with him. And look at how you torture him. You're the reason people kill themselves. SMH SMH SMH "

Scene ends with the heart broken. The "why doesn't she return my love?" The "how can she be so cruel?" Boy is sad. Boy doesn't know how he will ever get over her, if it's even worth it. Poor boy.

And here the audience cries. They have all felt heartbreak. They feel for boy.

They all ask "why?" They all ask "why is love so empty?" No one cares to ask, "what about her?"


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Scene 2: Her

She has no idea he feels this way. She tries to be kind to everyone, smile at strangers, help classmates out with math. She has lots of friends that are guys that she's known since forever. When she sees him, he's sad, and she doesn't know why. She tries to help him, but this seems to only make him sadder.

"Ignorance is bliss." -Thomas Gray

BUT SOMETIMES SHE DOES KNOW.

She hears every dagger and feels every every word spoken. She has a heart and it's breaking but not because someone doesn't love her back, but because she cannot possibly return the value of love that has been invested in her and the debt she feels grows everyday. She sees the boy, broken-hearted and broke, spending his love on something that was never for sale. She wants to shake the boy and scream stop! The love you pour falls into a bucket with a crack; a bucket that will never fill and when it's done you will find your rivers dry and vegetation crumbling because you have thrown your most valuable resource onto the dry desert ground. 

No amount of feelings he has for her can create feelings in her for him. 

It kills her that she hurts him. And it kills her that she has no control over it. Her heart isn't cold, it's alive and beating and just as important as his.

The more he pushes the more it hurts. He tells her she is the only thing that can make him happy. He tells her that she makes life meaningful and without her he doesn't know if he wants to live. He tells her she's beautiful and thinks that's enough to win her over. 

But she just doesn't like him. Her friends shake their heads at her indifference.

But she just doesn't like him. He could be the most brilliant, attractive, funny guy, but it would not change the way she feels.

Scene closes with the heart breaker. Guilt driven loneliness. Ashamed for feeling a way that should not be shameful. Girl is sorry. She really is. But girl can't change.

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It's not just him and her. It's her and him. It's the gay guy who falls for the straight one or other way around. It's every love sick human who has ever found their love sold and every person who can't be bought.

It hurts to be heart broken. But don't forget the pain of the heart breaker. Because both have a heart.

And loving someone never guarantees love.

Close scene.
Roll credits. 

Stop telling me to take off my hat

When a baby is born, the one of the first things you do is put a hat on its head.

The head is the area of intense blood flow, and the vessels of the scalp are particularly vulnerable to external cooling. The blood drops in temperature, lowering the core body temperature.

A baby's head is also larger in proportion to the rest of its body, and often doesn't have hair to insulate the delicate skin; thus exacerbating the process of hypothermia.

It is very important that their head is protected.

Hats from the moment we are born.  Both physical and social. After all, baby girls get pink hats and baby boys get blue. Categorized from the beginning.

People who are Construction workers. Bicyclists. Fire fighters. They wear hats to protect them.  Obviously a construction worker is more then a construction worker, and can have dreams and aspirations and personify traits that have nothing to do with building buildings.

But the hat keeps that worker safe.

Call me fake if you want, but just because I don't show the sad parts of my personality often does not mean the happy parts I do show are fake. I wear my musician's hat. My artist's hat. My "I love calculus" hat.
My happy hat when I'm sad.
My intimidating hat when I'm scared.

Because sometimes hats protect the parts of us that are most vulnerable. Sometimes you just have to suit up and do the job.

Wearing a hat doesn't make you fake. How can it? It's yours, and you choose to wear it.

I don't care about the hats others put on me. I only have one head. And I choose what's on it.

Stop telling me to take my hat off. Because of I took it off just to appease people, that would be the fake part.

The Cry of the Millennials

"5 STEPS BACK" The cry of the kids at the concert

"5" They yell

"STEPS" They chant

"Back"

But it's general admission. And everyone wants to get to the front.

It's a constant tug-of-war between the sheer mass of people you pushing back, those behind you pushing you forward, and your own desires to get to the front row of the concert; the prime location, success, status, recognition, pride

"5 STEPS BACK" The kids at the concert
They plead for relief, their feet don't touch the ground and the forces pushing them forward rip the air from their lungs and there are people passing out, and no matter what you do don't fall because if you fall at this concert you aren't getting back up.

"5 STEPS BACK" But even those who chant this weightless anthem have no intention of taking 5 steps back to relive the pressure on the crowd. Those who give up and take 5 steps back will be replaced by those who didn't and the pressure stays and the crowd still cries but those who gave up are only 5 steps farther from success.

"5 STEPS BACK" We could all just sit and enjoy the music if everyone stopped pushing. But even those who chant push to the front.

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5 more minutes. The cry of an overworked student.

5. A whisper.

More. A prayer

Minutes.

Everyday a competition and everyone pushing to get to the top.

An average of 3 hours of sleep a night for the last 3 weeks may keep adrenaline pumping through your veins but blood is only skin deep and though physical survival hardly parallels the slow chipping away of your spirit as the world isn't even black and white anymore; it's just grey. Everyday looks the same, but a moment of peace is a moment of neutrality and this is the kind of world where if you fall you can't come back up.

5 more minutes. The glow of a desk light keeps us up and the alarm clock rips us out and the time between the two occurrences continues to shirk with each generation. You know it's a problem when free time makes you stressed out because why aren't you accomplishing something and the problem with running on water is that you can't slow down.

5 more minutes. The most mentally ill, diagnosed, self medicating, pill taking, well faking generation this country has seen cries for relief. The pressure of competition and what it takes to succeed grows everyday. Levels of  stress that would justify visit to an asylum in the 70s are now normal in high school students. Everyone has anxiety. Everyone has depression. And the millennials silently scream for relief.

               A fraction of the sleep needed, satisfied.

               A college education that only a few generations ago was an option is now a requirement to succeed in the big world, to get to the front of the concert, the front of the line.

               A new policy for wall street interns requiring them to go home at midnight and take a weekend off once a month to see family because too many of the interns, overworked by choice, were taking their own lives in a desperate attempt to escape the pressure of trying to get success.


5 more minutes. We could slow down if we wanted to. Sleep more. Love more. But somethimes even those who desire this the most are the ones who push to the front most aggressively.

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I scream silently everyday as my alarm goes off. Maybe I should slow down. 5 more minutes. "5 STEPS BACK". But there is always someone to take your spot.

5 STEPS BACK. I chant with the crowed. But that's Utopian. And I keep pushing forward.

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More reads
Deaths Draw Attention to Wall Street- New York Times
Mental Illness in Millennials

I'm going to try extremely hard not to make this cliche

The "backspace" button is by far the most overused key on the keyboard. 

Actually the " " button might be.

Whatever. 

While the " " button is probably necessary, the "backspace" button is not. 

Except for spelling errors. I have a lot of those.

Whatever.

Honestly though, that "backspace" is used far too often. Personally, for every 25 words I've write, I've deleted 5 of them. Either I think what I said could be said in a different way, or, more likely then not, I want to take back what I've said. 

Or there is a spelling error. That's probably the number one reason actually.

Whatever.

5:20 words. Deleted:kept. That's a lot. Not counting spelling.

In a year, I probably type 300 pages. Assuming I write in double space, that's 75,000 words. That means I've deleted 18,750 words. That's 75 imperfect pages I've deleted in order to produce 300 pages that I think are pristine. 

That's a lot of pages. 1,350 pages in my entire life.

Expect I wasn't typing pages when I was 0 or 2 I guess. So a few less then 1,350 pages I've deleted. But that's still a lot of pages.

Assuming everyone is as meticulous with their writing as me, 525,000,000,000 pages are deleted every year. 


That's assuming that everyone writes double space. Also that everyone writes. But I guess there are people who don't write at all. But there are also people who write for a living. So I'll say it averages out. I might be off by a few billion.

Whatever.

It's still a lot of pages. It's like Atlas Shrugged times 450 million. 

Shoot. 

I hope some of those pages weren't as good and revolutionary as Atlas Shrugged. 

Some probably were. 

Whatever. 

That's a lot of ideas. A lot of revolution and passion deleted because it wasn't "good enough" or could be "said better." Or because we wanted to take them back. 

Imagine all those text messages typed but not sent. Letters and emails written in anger and frustration, or love and adoration- words deleted and papers ripped, for fear of what the reader would think if they knew what we thought. 

Every 'politically controversial' topic or 'offensive phrase' that we have used that "backspace" button on. Every comment we've typed on Facebook that we've never posted because what will they THINK and I don't know if I can STAND UP for what I BELIEVE like that and what if they think I'm STUPID or IGNORANT and I don't want anyone to FEEL that way about me and I CARE so much about what everyone THINKS about me and I want my writing to be PERFECT because I HAVE TO BE PERFECT.

I mean, or there's just spelling errors. 

I have a lot of those.

I'm really bad at spelling. 

Whatever.

So I have been writing this introduction without using the backspace.

Except for spelling .

Whatever. 

Honestly, you have no idea how much pressure there is to type everything right the first time. I've probably wanted to restart this introduction like 5 times and talk about something a little more germane. Maybe talk about something deep and typical like how dark life is, I kind of feel like that's how a lot of the writing in this class is going to be. Not that it's bad. I just really don't want to be cliche I guess. 

Shoot I feel like I maybe offended someone by just saying those things about how been deep and philosophical is cliche. ahh I'm sorry

No backspace though  

Only forward 

Whatever. 

I choose the name I did "aa Jack Napier" for some deep philosophical reason that my intro may or may not allude to.

Secretly the "aa" is literally just because I wanted my name to be listed first on the alphabetical list on writers. 

Maybe that in itself is a deep and philosophical reason. 

Whatever. 

I want this blog to be about what I actually think. That's why for not only this post, but for every post I make, I will not be using the backspace. If there's anyplace for raw and imperfect writing, it's probably this class. I want to be real. 

Except for spelling. 

I'm really bad at spelling.