Failure.

I did something today I've never done before.  I walked out of class without doing the test I was supposed to have written.  It will mean I will fail.  However, in so many ways I'm okay with it now.  Failing this course has taught me more than the course itself.  Because of it...

I learned it's okay to admit you're failing.

Not everyone is good at everything.  Although I understood this before, I have realized I never applied it to me.  There are things I can't do as well as others, and then there are things I really struggle with.  Failing doesn't mean you're a bad person or that you will never accomplish your dreams.  It doesn't even mean you won't finish the task or goal you started.  All it means is that you're gonna have to try a little harder.

I learned that you constantly need to evaluate yourself and your progress.

When I started economics, the first lecture was easy and interesting.  The next was a little more difficult but I could still do the homework without fully understanding the material.  By the time I realized how far behind I actually was, it was not without consequence.  If I had been honest with myself about how much I really knew, things would have been better.

Sometimes, you just have to put extra work in.

My professor, bless his heart, is very intelligent.  He's also stronger in mathematics than myself, and is Bangladeshi.  This means that his mathematical thought process is both faster than mine, and occasionally difficult to understand.  

For me, this meant I rarely got anything out of lecture.  Between trying to decipher his speech, watch his examples, and take the notes, I often found myself hopelessly confused and frustrated.  Later on in the course I stopped trying to follow him and just told myself I'd read the book, which I did understand.

I did read some of the book, but not all of it.  Also, some things needed to be read more than once for me to grasp the concept.  I found it all very boring, but through failing I have come to appreciate the delayed benefit of tedious, hard work.  Failing doesn't feel very good.  I know now that I have to be able to motivate myself better, and this will be a good reminder as to why.

Once in awhile, things actually do create more stress than they're worth.

Yes, I could have put more effort in.  Yes, I could've, should've, would've... Done this, done that... Hindsight, right?  But I didn't, and what I did do wasn't enough.  When I hit the floor last night in frustrated, bored agony because I didn't understand what I was trying to study for today, I realized that sometimes, some things are just not worth it.  I was sitting at 50.5% before today's test, which is worth 10% of my total mark.  For the amount of time studying and stress it continued to cause, trying to save myself was just not in the cards anymore.  On that note...

It's okay to try again.

Sometimes it just doesn't work out.  Despite your best efforts, or lack thereof, the ball drops.  You fail. But it happens to everyone.  Hundreds of people experience failure every day.  You will live through it and it is okay to try again!  Failure doesn't mean you can't.  It just means you didn't this time.

You have to forgive yourself and move on.

Last night, I was very disappointed in myself.  For not realizing sooner that I wasn't getting it, for not doing as much reading as I should have, for a hundred different small things.  I felt guilty for wanting to quit, for wasting the time and money on the course when - if I just studied realllllllly hard all night - I might pass.  

But I don't want to just pass.  I want to succeed.  I want to be proud of myself and cramming for a 53% isn't what I want.  I also didn't want the extreme moodiness, exhaustion, and sickness that comes the next day with a stressful all nighter.  So I chose to try again.  I left that homework and study material on the corner of the bed and moved on to other things that needed doing for other courses in which I was still earning good marks. I had to stop feeling guilty for prioritizing, which is what I was actually doing.  

So I did.  I let it all go and I quit.  I forgave myself for being stupid this time around and promised myself I'd do better next time.  Forgiveness is not an excuse to repeat the mistake you've made, but rather an allowance of grace to attempt again.  Don't forget that.

Lastly, I learned that even though it's still hard, I can learn math.

This course was difficult for me, even when I did understand the material.  But there was some that I understood!  Math and math related subjects (ie economics) have always been the most difficult subject matter for my art and writing wired brain.  This course proved to me something I never believed:  I can learn math.  I can do math.  So maybe it takes a little longer and a lot more effort... I am never telling myself I suck at math again, because I don't.  

Math is a challenge, and it's now a challenge I believe I can overcome with the right mix of effort and motivation.  This is a huge confidence boost for me.

So, really...

Yes, I failed.  No, I probably didn't have to.  I will try again.  And I'm actually okay with it.  I know this experience will guide and shape my failures in the future, of which there are bound to be some.  As long as I know that it doesn't shape me, I'm ready to keep trying till I succeed.  For that, I'm grateful for economics.

Nobody Reads These Anymore.

I'm having an epiphany.  I'm in a stage, a season, a whatever you feel like calling it, but a time of change.  Or maybe, an end to a time of change.  I'm not really sure.  I'll have to think about it.

What I am sure of, though, is that in some ways I feel like I'm losing myself.  The last year has been a time of trying a lot of new things, challenging myself, and bursting my bubble, pushing my limits... Is there another conventional way to say that?  I don't know.  Oh well.  Anyways, I am, and have been, and will keep doing so, but maybe differently or less.

I've really learned the benefits to change and to challenge, and whereas I was afraid of them before and felt safer in familiarity, I'm proud to say that although sometimes nerves still show up, they never get the best of me any more.  I'm not afraid to try or to find the answer to the question of 'what if'?  It's been great.  It really has.  But I've also realized that the familiarity that I tried to leave behind wasn't just routine or appearances.  Those can stay behind, I don't need them again.  What I do need that I have to find somewhere along the past's dusty roads is the parts of what keep me satisfied within my... Creative headspace, for lack of a better word, or term.  

Before, I needed to fill the part of me that longed to be free of fear and try adventure, change up the perspective in life to see what became of me.  And I did, and I'm happy.  But the part that was comfortable, that lived in a shell surrounded by introverted exploits like books and puzzles has been ignored, and now I'm hungry for that again.  I find it comforting in a way that nothing else can be, and therefore an important part of my personality.

I used to be a voracious reader, especially of classical romance or children's literature.  It just gets me, right there, and... Oh, how do I explain it... You know how when you read a book, sometimes you know you're just reading and it holds very little meaning or influence over you?  Other times, when you're reading a really good book with developed characters and setting and you can empathize to the extent where you feel like you're in the story... Those are the good ones.  I like to live in a dreamworld of fairies, magical forests, gloomy moors, and giant English stone manor houses with upper class ladies and different spoons for dessert.  Where there is a different, measurable quality, and you feel with the character and somehow when they struggle, you do as well, and likewise when they triumph you've also overcome and accomplished something significant.  You can take life lessons from these people, cry with them, laugh with the, and learn from them because they're not just stories.  They're literature.

Hopefully that makes sense.  I just finished the first half of Jane Eyre and I remembered why I love reading, and how fulfilling it is.  It also makes me think of other important things I gain satisfaction from that I haven't done in so long, like writing.  I often feel like people don't know the real me, which is what this post was supposed to be about but I guess I wasn't meant to go there, so maybe it will have to wait.  Maybe I'll write it after, but for now, this is what you get.  Sometimes I write these for an audience, but sometimes I write them for me, because I know I'll come back some day and read them and I want to know how I felt.  When I'm forty and my kids are teenagers and going through personal identity crises, I want them to know I struggled with that at times too, and maybe going back to activities they've been neglecting, but that make them happy, might be part of the answer.  I don't know.  There's a lot I don't know.  What I do know is that after having read half of that book, I feel much more satisfied in an area that was feeling empty three hours ago.  Pick up a book, kids.  Maybe it will change your life... Some have changed mine.

I'm A Jerk.

So.  My mother has told me twice in the last week and a half that I am not a compassionate person.  Upon further thought and review, I have to agree.  There's some conditions attached, but I have a very difficult time feeling sorry for someone.  Anyone.  

See, I'm all about the moving forward version of life.  Everyone's seen some version of the "Lord, give me strength to change what I can and wisdom to accept what I cannot" mantra.  I have been highly influenced by people and statements aligning to that view of life and therefore, if someone has an issue or problem, I'm not the one you should go to in order to have a good cry.  Because if it's a problem that can't be solved, I'll tell you to walk away.  If there's any hope, I will go through the options to solve it with you.  That's just how I work.

Now, that isn't true for every single thing that comes my way.  Friends who lose a beloved pet, have a family member pass, break up with a significant other... I can empathize with those people and the is a grace period for grief.  But even with them, after a few weeks if they haven't started working on the healing process and keep sitting in self pity I get frustrated.  I've always been good at pointing out what's wrong with a given situation; in years of late, I've become good at producing ideas for solutions.  If people don't want solutions, and just want to be sad but still talk to someone, I just don't understand.  Sometimes I want to be sad, but from my understanding of talking to people, you do it to get your feelings out.  Organized, put together, begin the feeling better.  If you want to mope, why would you talk to someone?  At least, that's how I feel.  If you're going to talk to me, provided there was no major calamity, you're going to get suggestions for changing your situation, solving your problem, or simply accepting life the way it is if you aren't willing to change.  

I deal with a lot of things internally, so I guess I expect others to as well.  But after my mom's calling me out on the lack of empathy and compassion, I'm realizing that I do look like a jerk.  Which, to be completely honest, doesn't bother me too much.  Maybe, though, it bothers other people.  So I'm thinking I should start practicing being nicer.  Listening without suggesting even if I don't see the point of it.  Maybe other people need that sort of thing more than I do.  So I'm gonna try and see where it goes.  Maybe I'll look like a jerk my whole life.  Let's hope not... Here's to practice. 

If I Die Young...

-
If I die young
Bury me in satin.
Lay me down
On a bed of roses.
Sink me in the river, at dawn.
Send me away with the
Words of a love song.

~ The Band Perry
-

Mortality is a fact of life. Some people think about it. Some don't. I do.

In our petty North American culture of speak-your-mind-without-offending-people-or-pushing-your-belief-system-or-generally-disturbing-the-facade-of-peaceful-rich-white-life that we spend millions of dollars and thousands of hours trying to keep strong, subjects like death and sex have no room to be anything but scary topics banished to the broom closet only to be dragged out at 'appropriate' times like premarital counseling and writing of wills. In other cultures (thinking Europe here), they take on an entirely different connotation and people *gasp* ACTUALLY TALK ABOUT THEM.

Several unfortunate and sad recent events have, however, brought the fragility of life to the forefront of public discussion. It is becoming apparent to everyone that your perfectly scripted and manicured existence can be irrevocably shattered in an instant, and sometimes there is nothing you can do but stare death in the face. Do we know how to handle it? Do YOU know how to handle it? I really don't think most of us are ready to face that reality ahead of time... I also think 'ahead of time' is the best time to be ready.

Confession time: I have, for the past (almost) decade, believed...and still do... that I will die young. Of course that term is relative, so let's say before I'm forty. There is no particular reason, although there are contributing factors - namely that I have diabetes (which I will admit that I often manage much more poorly than I should... But that's another story. Message me) and also that I am pursuing a career that will quite likely take me to places where I will become a target of unnamed groups with guns and keys to the local impoverished, torturous jail. Mostly though, it's just a gut feeling.

I'm not bothered by the fact that I'll die. Everyone does, and I'd rather die early fighting for justice and showing love to troubled people than in my eighties or nineties never having lived the life I dream about now. Ever since I can remember, even before choosing journalism as a career, I decided I wanted to die saving someone else's life. I have watched hundreds of crime fighting shows and action movies imagining myself jumping in front of the bullet or pushing the character out of the way just as the car hits me. Maybe that's weird, but if the opportunity ever arose where it was my life against someone else's, I'd rather die for them and by imagining it I figured I wouldn't feel afraid when the time came.

What does bother me are the people I know who I (metaphorically speaking, of course) would miss. You always hear about people who lived wishing they could've spoken to the person who passed just one more time, said that one more thing... What if we reverse it? What if the person dying never got the chance to say everything they needed or wanted to say before their life ended? Terminal patients talk about this often, but I'm thinking more along the lines of a drive by shooting or a car accident. Or even if you, or someone you love, just relocates or circumstances change and you don't get to tell them how much they meant to you. What then?

My dilemma.

Especially in the wake of the shootings and the bombing in the States over the past year... I've made the decision to take every chance I have to let people know I love them and why I do. Because things happen, and if my gut feelings are true and I do die 'before my time' I want those people to know beyond a shadow of a doubt how I feel about them. Why is that a dilemma? I know you're asking. In itself, it is not; the dilemma is how much is too much? One text a week saying I love you? A Facebook message after a month or two telling you how amazing you are and that I'm proud of you and proud to be your friend? If you're going through a rough time, is a daily reminder of why you're a blessing going to get annoying? What about a letter once or twice a year detailing what you mean to me and why?

I have done all of these. Some were well received, others weren't. Some have no reply, even months after I pressed the Send button. Other people... and these are the ones I'm most worried about... Seem to appreciate them less and less over time. I try not to get overwhelming or annoying, but there are just times where I feel really strongly that I need to let my loved ones know that I love them; to confirm that they matter in case something happens to me or the relationship, in case it's Game Over and I don't get another turn. Maybe it's because I need to be validated in my friendships and by validating others I hope to get it in return. Maybe it's because I believe I won't last. Maybe it's something else entirely that drives this message madness... Maybe it's a combination of all of those.

Maybe it's good, maybe it's bad... but I'm done with maybes. So if you're out there and I annoy you, I'm sorry... and I'm not sorry. You see, I'd rather err on the side of you knowing then for me to walk out the door tomorrow and tragically die, not having told you how much I love you.