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Prompt Page 0024: Proud

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“When was the last time someone
told you they were proud of you?“

Pride and I have a funny relationship. I feel there are two types of pride: internal, and external.

I am proud of myself, of the things I do. For the changes I have made, am in the process of making, and for the growth I have been able to achieve.

Most of the relationships I have been in were unsupportive, and I had to claw my way out of some fairly dark times. I am proud that I was able to accomplish it, and I am proud that I am able to stand as tall and strong today as I am able to.

I remember being 16 and feeling weak internally. Lost. Vulnerable. Unsure of who I was because what I was being told I should be wasn’t what I felt was right. There was a disconnect, and at 16 I didn’t know how to cope with that. For almost 10 years I floundered, trying to find myself. My self-worth. My pride.

Personal pride and I get along swimmingly now. There are times where I falter, stumble, and maintaining pride in myself can be hard.

Sometimes I’m not always proud of my actions, reactions, choices. But I am proud that I make it through the situations I am faced with, and more often than not that is enough.

Personal pride is something that I have discovered only recently in the scheme of my life, and it was a major factor in learning to be ok with myself.

I do not need others to be proud of me as long as I am proud of myself.

That being said, there is external pride, the affirmation of others, which used to, and in some ways still does, pull at me.

It used to be what I lived for. Pride from my dad. Pride from my teachers. Pride from my peers. This all consuming need to fit in because without it I was a failure. Without people being proud of me for my grades, my art, my performances I was nothing. Worthless.

I do not have the same relationship with external pride anymore. It is not as toxic and does not rule my life to the extent that it used to.

There is part of me who still enjoys being able to make others proud of my actions. Especially my mom.

She sacrificed so much for my brothers and I, and has always been there for me. She has helped guide me to being the person I am, and I feel making her proud is a way to affirm her actions over the years. That I was worth the time and effort she gave up for me.

I like making my co-works proud of my through the projects I work on and the things I feel are worth investing time into.

There is a part of me who enjoys the admiration, which may be shallow. It is motivating, though. I see that I inspire people and that makes me want to continue. To be a light for others. Lead by example.

There is another part of me who dislikes it, though. The attention. The expectations. It makes me fear failure, which is where most learning occurs. Failing is how we grow.

It reminds me of a quote I recently was exposed to through my class.

“What is required in our field, more than anything else, is the continuous transgression. Professionalism does not allow for that because transgression has to encompass the possibility of failure and if you are professional your instinct is not to fail, it is to repeat success.”

– Milton Glaser

I cannot grow the way I want and need to if I am worried about conforming and meeting the expectations of others. But if I want to continue to have their pride then I need to meet their expectations, otherwise I fall short and fail.

It is an interesting loop to be caught inside of. And as I type that I realize how selfish external pride is.

Looking at it now, I see how it falls in the Buddhist philosophy.

I want.

I want acknowledgement for something I have done. Wanting is longing, it is wishing for something that is in the future. It is not being present in the moment. It is not accepting reality as it is.

The fear of not receiving praise or acknowledgement is again looking to the future. What might be, not what is.

And so once again my mind is the source of the imbalance that pride brings.

Maybe that is why internal pride feels good, solid, while external pride causes strife and discord within me.

Internal pride is in the moment. In the present, aligning with that I am doing, not with what I have done, or will do.

External pride is a want, a desire. I allow it to take away the peace that I naturally give myself by caring more about what others think of me than what I think of myself.

Prompt Page 0023: Computer Animation for Dummies

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“Take a complicated subject you know more about than most people, and explain it to a friend who knows nothing about it at all.”

Not that you all are dummies… I really dislike this title… but my field is a bit more involved than most people realize.

I graduated from Full Sail University with a Bachelor of Science in Computer Animation in August of 2011.

Basically think of Dreamworks, Pixar, Halo, World of Warcraft, Grand Theft Auto.

Movies and video games.

Most people don’t realize just how complicated and involved the process is to make CG stuff.

It’s not a one person team.

It’s literally hundreds of people coming together on a single project. And most of those people are specialized in one specific area for the project.

You have modelers, who make all of the things you see. Characters, the environment, cars, guns, swords. Even the pencil and stack paper sitting on a desk have to be created.

Hundreds, thousands, of objects need to be modeled. Literally, everything you ‘see’ has to be created by someone. And that falls in the realm of very specific people.

Then you have people like me. The setup artist.

A 3D model is just a really awesome statue without me. Seriously. Nothing can move unless I give it the ability to do so.

This is where my evil, world dominating tyrant side comes out.

You want your character to walk? I have to give them leg joints that bend in the right direction.

You want him to talk? I have to give him a jaw and make sure that it doesn’t affect the upper portion of his face.

Finger movement? Let me get on that so he can curl his hand into a fist for you.

I basically give everything a skeletal structure and tell the model that it is supposed to bend when a joint bends. You can check out my demo reel here if you’re interested.

Even things like a desk lamp with a bendy neck, a ceiling fan that spins, a door that can swing open… If it has the ability to move, I or someone on my team, has touched it.

Then you have the animators.

These are the people who take my work, the rig, and have it move around. Think of the rig like a marionette puppet, and the animator is the puppet master pulling the strings.

An art director normally has a storyboard or some 2D representation of what the characters should be doing in the shot, or sequence. It’s the animators job to take the 2D sketches and translate them into the 3D scene.

They’re basically kindergarteners playing with dolls. They get to have all the fun.

Then you have all of the people who do the textures.

Without these guys all of the CG elements would be this icky gray color. Nothing would be pretty, colorful, shiny, or rusted. Nothing would look like cloth, or glass, or metal. It would all look the same and be very boring.

Then there’s the people who handle lighting.

Without them the scene would be completely black and you wouldn’t be able to see anything at all. No matter how cool the textures or animations were.

These guys come in and literally turn on the lights for the CG world. They set up the sun, they set up the overhead lights in a room. They set up the street lamps, and the neon signs.

Like me, they are an unsung hero because no one things about lights when they’re watching a movie or playing a game.

You accept that you can ‘see’ the environment, just like in the real world, and that’s it. You don’t think, “Hey, that’s really awesome lighting. I bet someone worked super hard to do that.”

Or, “Wow! That’s really awesome facial deformation, I bet a setup artist spent hours weight painting to get the face to be that expressive.”

You accept it. You suspend disbelief, and accept that this could be a reality. This works like the real world, so I’ll pretend that it’s real for a little while.

After animation, there’s another facet of my area that gets to come in. Dynamics.

Things like realistic hair, cloth, muscles. Davy Jones’ tentacle face of doom. The snow systems in Frozen. The feather systems for Rio. The fur system for Sully. The motion capture facial deformation from Avatar.

All of those super crazy, high tech things, that again people don’t think about. The break throughs that push the level of realism to ever higher and higher standards.

That’s part of my area. And that comes after the base animation has been checked off. We go back in and add the physics to the world essentially.

“Hey, that character is moving really fast, so the cloth should be moving like this.”

For me, dynamics is where the fun really is. It’s a cause and effect. There is a reaction in the scene, in the character, and something else ‘should’ be behaving a certain way. And we use numbers, math, physics, to get that reaction.

We use the computer to make a believable world. And that makes something in my brain really, really happy when it comes out right.

Then you have the VFX guys. These are your pyromaniacs who found a safe outlet.

These are the guys who blow stuff up, set things on fire, have meteors crash into the ground and form craters and giant dust clouds. These are the guys to create oceans and giant waves that crash into New York City.

These are the guys who make the rain, and have glass shatter, or paint splash and splatter. Milk pour into glasses, sweat drip from foreheads. Drool run down the maw of a snarling dog.

Another level of physics. Art through math.

And those are just the main parts. There are still so many sublevels in all of those areas. So many people who have to come together to make a single master piece.

It’s a giant group effort and I love every second of it. I love being a part of it. And I love teaching other people how to love it just as much as I do.

Prompt Page 0022: Morton’s Fork

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“If you had to choose between being able to write a blog (but not read others’) and being able to read others’ blogs (but not write your own), which would you pick? Why?“

I suppose this is where I seem selfish.

If I had to choose, I would rather write. More so for the fact that writing has become my outlet, my way of staying sane, and communicating with my inner self.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to figure out the tangled mess inside my head. The thoughts keep moving, squirming, darting away as I try to understand them. Especially when emotions are involved.

Writing helps me find the peace, the calm that I sometimes lose sight of.

I love reading other’s thoughts. I love communicating with other people and seeing different perspectives. I love the connections I have made through blogging, and I feel this is something new that I have gained and a crucial aspect to this experience.

It is not merely the writing that I enjoy, but the reading as well. Reading other blogs, other comments. Other perspectives.

Before, while I was simply writing journal pages on my Google Drive I didn’t have the benefit of connecting, communicating, with others. I was stuck with only my perspective, only my thoughts, and if I wanted a different outlook on the situation I had to call a friend, my mom, or talk with a co-worker.

Blogging has given me a way to broaden my understanding of myself, and to have the opportunity to see how others view my interactions. How I may not be seeing all sides of a situation, which is important to me.

Or how others understand where I am coming from. That I’m not being ‘overly emotional’ and that my feelings are justified. Which, again, is important to me.

The thought of being illogical is one of my biggest fears, and is the main reason I reach out to others for feedback and perspective.

I feel I strive extremely hard to be fair, open, honest, and understanding. But sometimes the emotions are so strong that I feel blinded. I fear making the ‘wrong choice’ or doing something out of spite and hatefulness due to my lack of clarity on a situation.

Sometimes I just need to write and let all of the frustration and hurt out so I can see clearly on my own, rather than trying to bottle everything up and pretending that I’m ok.

Sometimes I’m not ok. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Not everything can be happy all the time. That’s part of life. And that’s part of my blog.

It’s the good and bad.

This isn’t my ‘highlight blog’. It’s not just the shiny, pretty things that I’m proud of. It’s not just about my accomplishments and the things I ‘want’ to show. It’s not just the good.

It’s the bad, too. The hard. It’s the uncomfortable things that we hide where they fester away inside ourselves; eating us alive.

I refuse to do that to myself anymore. So no. The bad deserves to have it’s place just as much as the good. And I will write about it.

I will write about my dirty palms, my scraped knees, my tears of hurt and shame.

This blog is everything.

It’s me. Imperfections, shortcomings, flaws, and all.

It’s my reminder that I’m human. That yeah, bad stuff happens, and sometimes people aren’t fair, and I still make a not smart choice now and again, and life can sort of suck every once in a while. But there is so much good that happens to me as well, if only I would stop to remember it. To look back and actually acknowledge the events, all of the events, in my life.

I don’t think it’s fair to say, “Pick writing or reading,” when both are such a huge factor in this experience for me.

While I might not ‘need’ to read other blogs as much as I need to write my own thoughts out, reading is still a necessity for me. It is still part of the equation and without it the experience isn’t whole.

This blog, any blog, is a way to communicate. And you cannot communicate effectively if all you do is talk, write, express.

You must listen as well. You must pause, wait, and breathe. You must be open to information, however it may come to you.

You need to be open to the idea that your words might not be the only words out there. And that sometimes, if you listen, even to the softest whisper, you can hear things that will change your world.

Prompt Page 0021: Teacher’s Pet

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“Tell us about a teacher who had a real impact on your life, either for the better or the worse. How is your life different today because of him or her?“

I have been fortunate enough to have had several amazing teachers in my life.

The ones I remember most clearly are from high school.

There was one teacher, an English teacher, who would talk with me after class about whatever books I was reading. We would have in-depth conversations about Lord of the Flies, and she shared in my frustration about Romeo and Juliet. How I didn’t like the story and found it childish.

She talked to me like a person, like an equal, and that made me feel real and seen. It made me feel connected in a place where I didn’t really fit in.

Another English teacher was just an amazing person in general. She was younger and really knew how to connect with the class. There was one day where she mentioned an issue going on in her home life, and how she didn’t know how she was going to get through the situation.

I asked my mom if she would mind going to the store and getting a card for me. I wanted my teacher to know that even though things were rough, that we, or at least I, cared, and that things would get better.

The next day in class she said that ‘a student’ had gotten her a card, and that since that moment things seemed to be going right. It made me so happy. I will never forget her kindness and every time I think of her I wish her well and hope the best for her.

Another teacher, this time US History, was absolutely amazing. He was a football coach, and so we all naturally thought the class would be a joke. He would be more interested in planning out games than teaching the class.

When we got to WWII we were told that we had to do a project. We could literally do whatever we wanted as long as it in some way related to WWII.

One of my friends wanted to be a composer, and so he wrote a musical composition in which the woodwind instruments represented members of a Jewish family, and the brass represented the invading Nazi army. As the song progressed the woodwind instruments died off as the members of the family were killed, until only one instrument was left, the youngest boy in the family.

It was so heartbreakingly moving, and so much an expression of himself. Who else in our class could have written such an elegant piece of music and tell such a story behind the notes? What other teacher would allow for such an expression of self?

Another classmate was extremely into animation and created a flash animation. We weren’t allowed to see it since it was violent, but again, no one else in our class could have created something like that. It was purely himself.

I wrote a speech. Why as an introvert I would do that to myself was beyond me at the time. I think it was because I was able to use words. That I could write out what I had in my head.

And write I did. I became immersed in my head, pouring out the story that I saw. Shaping, molding, using words as my clay, drawing out the emotions from myself and sharing them with others so that they too could feel the experience.

I gave the speech to the class and everyone said that they were so moved by it. I still have it posted here. I fully believe that I was the only one in the class who could have word smithed something like this speech.

As a side note, all of the stories I have posted on Writing.com were written when I was roughly 16. So about 10 years ago now.

Writing comes naturally to me. And speaking on a topic that I fully believe in gives me the conviction I need to express the emotions in the words.

My band instructor played a huge part in helping me survive high school. In a sea of endless conformity, routine, and fakeness, band gave me a way to express myself. Band gave me something to be part of, something real, and something that I cared about and wanted to do well in. And again, I let myself drown in it.

Marching band, concert band, percussion ensemble, jazz band, even clarinet choir my senior year.

Band was about a larger whole, but it was also an individual endeavor. I could practice alone, making myself better, and then come back to the larger group and carry my own weight.

I could feel the music flowing through me, becoming a part of me.

As a percussionist I normally had a crucial part. If I didn’t play my piece there wasn’t 6 other people with the same part. My part was unique and if I didn’t play it, no one else would. I had to be there or the music wasn’t whole. It made me feel like I belonged, like I was important.

There was also a professor at the community college I went to before Full Sail. I was taking a Visual Basic class for my IT program. I really didn’t know what I wanted to do with life, but this program had computers and that seemed cool. At least it was better than the Accounting path I had been entertaining during high school.

There was one class where he pulled me aside and said that I was so far ahead of the class that I didn’t have to come next time.

He met with me one time to set up a game plan for transferring my credits to a local University so I could participate in the Air Force ROTC and go into the Air Force as an officer.

He is also the person who gave me the referral to the temp job at The Citadel, which landed me a permanent position there, which is what led to my journey of attending Full Sail and moving to Florida.

And I feel like an awful person, because that one teacher had the most impact on my life, and I cannot remember his name. I have no way of thanking him for everything that he helped me unknowingly achieve.

Then there are the countless teachers from Full Sail who helped me. Who took the time to show me things outside of the class curriculum. Who felt like I was worth their time. Who thought so highly of me that they labeled me as the Advanced Achiever of my class; the person most likely to succeed after graduation.

And now they are my co-workers and friends.

There were teachers who didn’t get me, who thought I was underachieving. I had teachers who I clashed with, and who made me frustrated every time I was in their classroom because I felt stifled. That no matter what I did I was never going to please them because they didn’t like inherently who I was and how I did things, how I learned and wanted to express myself.

I didn’t conform and they didn’t like that.

And then there are the teachers who let me be myself and shine in my own quiet, unique way. I am grateful for everyone who has helped shape my life, but I feel without my teachers, I wouldn’t be half the person I am today.

Prompt Page 0020: Playlist of the Week

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“Tell us how your week went by putting together a playlist of  five songs that represent it.“

Fascinating. I like this prompt since most of the time I think in music. This the the over arching playlist for this past week.

Monday : Between Us and Them by Ulrich Schnauss
Tuesday : Dictaphone’s Lament by Tycho
Wednesday : Medusa by GEMS
Thursday : Easy by John Newman
Friday : Life – Remastered by Solar Fields

Prompt Page 0019: Burnt

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“Remember the prompt from yesterday when your home was on fire and you got to save five items? That means you left a lot of stuff behind. What are the things you wish you could have taken, but had to leave behind?

I wish I had been able to take my ‘box of memories’.

I know it’s silly, but every card my mom has sent me since I have moved away from home I’ve kept. I have graduation cards, little notes students have written in my notebook while my back was turned. Doodles on napkins and scrap paper that people did just to be cute. The booklets for every graduation I have attended to support one of my students (read friends) as they walked across stage to get their diploma.

I even highlighted their name in the booklet so I would remember who I was there for.

It has some of my fortune cookies, too.

Again, silly maybe, but sometimes they mean a lot to me. Sometimes they speak to me, and remind me of something. Sometimes it’s about who I was with when I got the cookie. The moment we shared something together. Sometimes those slips of paper are important to me, and I keep them along with my cards and notes.

All of the different badges that I have had through school and work. My IT badge while I worked at the Citadel. My student badge for Full Sail. My tour badge from before I was even a student. My lab monitor badge, and then my intern badge when I was finally a graduate. And I’m sure if I ever leave the school my faculty badge will be added to the collection.

All of these little tokens are important to me. I want to keep them with me. But if faced with a fire, a life and death choice, I have to think about what will help me best afterwards, and as much as my heart would ache for those memories, they would not help me as much as the items that I took with me in my last post.

I would long for my cross stitchings. All of the hours I have stitched, Scarlet curled by my side while I listened to a book, creating art out of random, seemingly meaningless threads. Burned to ashes. Dust to run through my fingers. I would be sad, but again, they would not help me rebuild my life.

My sketchbooks. I have ones from middle school still. The first pictures I really put thought behind. The first time I sat down and said, “I want to be an artist. I want to ‘learn’ how to draw”.

Those are my records. My reminders of where I started at so I can see how far I have come. They are my history. Hours of my life, again, nothing but ashes. Scattered into the wind as I stand in the center of destruction.

And my books. Both school, work, and personal. Gone.

My cutting board, which was a gift from my younger bother. All of the spices I have gathered over the years for cooking.

The first set of plates I have ever bought, A dark, rich purple set; unlike anything I have been able to find before or since.

My coffee table. The only piece of furniture I have from when I originally moved to Florida. I bought it from Goodwill. It’s nothing special, and the paint is flaking off, and most people would probably tell me to get rid of it anyway.

But it’s mine and I love it. I love that the paint is flaking off and that it has character. That it isn’t prefect. I love it because it’s been one of the consistent things in my life these past 5 years. Just like my plates.

All of these silly things that wouldn’t help me rebuild my life. But all things that I would cry for. Hurt over. Mourn.

I would lose my desktop computer, a $2000 investment. I would lose my new tablet, I would lose my computer desks which were a gift from Mother Earth. I would lose my bookcase from my mom. I would lose clothing and shoes. I would lose all of my possessions.

But I wouldn’t mourn for those things. I wouldn’t care about my technology melting and sizzling.

I would cry and feel like a terrible person because my cutting board was gone. Because I would no longer have that reminder of my brother who is so far away in Germany.

I would cry because I would never have the same purple glass plates. I would feel like a failure because I couldn’t protect the cards that my mom bought for me out of love, to help ease the transition from living at home to living on my own.

I don’t have much, and not everything is important to me. But something are. And they’re important for sentimental reasons.

You can’t replace sentiment.

I would lose irreplaceable items and I would need time to grieve. Not for the expensive things, but for the small things.

The unimportant things.

The real things.

Prompt Page 0018: Burning Down the House

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“Your home is on fire. Grab five items (assume all people and animals are safe). What did you grab?“

I have to admit, this one is sort of hard.

I don’t have many things, and a lot of the stuff I have I’m not overly attached to.

I have a lock box full of important papers like my passport, warranties, and such that I would want to grab. Just so I could have all of that information and not have to start from square one after the fire.

My cell phone. So I would be able to let people know what was going on. So my family could still be in touch with me. And so my work and freelance clients wouldn’t be left wondering if I fell off the face of the planet.

My car keys so at the very least I could sleep in my car. I would still be able to get back and forth to work, and finding a new place would be easier since I would still be able to rely on myself for transportation.

My backpack, which is sort of like my survival kit.

It has my laptop, which has all of my work files, and most of my personal files. It has my portable hard drive, so I would have the backups of the files from my desktop computer. It has one of my sketchbooks, the one I am using for class, so I would have all of my current homework. It has a small range of art supplies, my chargers for my laptop and phone, as well as a toiletry bag complete with toothbrush, floss, toothpaste, and deodorant, among other things.

I would have made a better boy scout then my brother…

And as silly as this is, over everything else that I have, everything else that I have spent money on. Over my desktop, my external hard drive. Over my tablet, my cloths, over all of the cross stitchings that I have done. Over food and kitchen gadgets (except maybe my fry cutter… ) Over my sketch books and my box of cards and notes from friends and family.

The last item I would take would be my plushy dragon. My gift from my Mother Earth. I think I could be able to handle losing all of my technology better than I would be able to handle losing my little stuffed animal.

Everything else is a tool. Something to make my life easier, to make me function better. But this plushy is a sign of love and affection and I would be devastated if I were to lose it.

Prompt Page 0017: Embrace the Ick

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“Think of something that truly repulses you. Hold that thought until your skin squirms. Now, write a glowing puff piece about its amazing merits.“

I feel sort of lame for not having much motivation for the prompts recently. There’s just not much coming to mind when I read them.

Maybe that’s a lack of imagination on my part. But regardless of the reason I just haven’t been feeling all that inspired.

The title of this prompt interests me more than the actual prompt itself, and so, as I feel it has become the norm for me, I’m going to go off in a totally different direction than what is intended. : D

When I read the title “Embrace the Ick” I think about life.

All those moments that you don’t want to go through at the time, but feel accomplished for later.

There was an instructor at my gym who always pushed our class really hard. She was fantastic.

She retired about a year ago, but I’ll never, ever forget her.

She always had this saying, “Get comfortable with uncomfortable.”

I would always be so motivated by that simple phrase.

We can’t experience growth or change by remaining where we’re at, safe, comfortable, and complacent.

There has to be a little bit of uncomfortable, a little bit of ‘ick’ in order to propel us into action.

Even with the start of this freelance project I’m about to undergo, or the podcasts I create, stepping into a class I haven’t been to before, posting a new script online, posting a new piece of artwork… Even with things I have done over and over again in past and have been successful at, there’s this moment of fear, anxiousness, breathless excitement.

What will happen?

It is the unknown that causes fear, yet at the same time entices.

Things that we dread, are repulsed by, and pointedly avoid tend to be the things that if we confront makes us stronger. Which gives us a larger sense of accomplishment and purpose.

We overcame something. We were victorious. We DID something.

Screw the rest of the world and what they think. I conquered something I didn’t want to face. I’m a badass.

Without the ‘ick’ we don’t really appreciate the good when we have it.

Embrace all of life, ick and all.

Prompt Page 0016: Easy Fix

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 “Write a post about any topic you wish, but make sure it ends with “And all was right in the world.””

“Draw me a picture.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. Anything. You’re the artist. Make something up.”

Could you give me a bigger artist block? With all of the stuff I have going on in my head you want me to magically pull something out of it to be a master piece? How am I supposed to choose out of thousands of ideas?

Give some direction at least.

Should there be happy trees in it? Sad trees? No trees? How about a nuclear explosion as an expression of my frustration? Is that cool? Frustration destroying your happy trees? Gah!

This topic is kind of like that.

“Do whatever you want.”

I don’t know what I want. I’m left looking internally at the vast expanse that is my mind. There is so much that it becomes white noise. Nothing is distinct. It is all part of a calm sea. Thousands and thousands of drops of water merging together.

I have so many things going on. So many thoughts, feelings. Opinions, beliefs.

“Just pick something.”

Fine. Make me think at 9 in the morning when I haven’t even finished my coffee yet… Grouchy dragon incoming.

So I’ve been thinking about the situation with Ari a lot. I’ve been looking at a lot of the interactions I have with people.

I’ve been thinking about my students. About Jarrett. Sir. All sorts of people. Specific people in my life. And then the broader scope of people in general.

I feel there is one thing that most people today have in common.

I think a lot of people have self worth issues. And that bothers me.

Finding self-acceptance is not easy. There is no ‘easy fix’ for it.

In my personal experience it’s a lot of hard work. Lots of icky emotions, which have been floating around inside of our heads for years. Thoughts which have been contaminating our way of thinking. It’s a lot of baggage that needs to be shifted through.

Boxes need to be unpacked. Beliefs need to be examined and held up against core values. Sometimes there’s healing involved which always sucks. Being injured is never fun, and the last thing you want to do when you’re hurting is be the one to clean out the wound.

There’s all this work and effort that goes into finding happiness.

And it’s like no one wants to do it. Everyone ‘wants’ to be happy, but only if it’s handed to them. They won’t want to work for it. And it’s frustrating.

I can’t love you for you. You have to love yourself and then I can love you with you.

Ari was awesome in the beginning of our friendship. I felt like I was safe around her. Like I could be myself and open up. I didn’t have to be guarded and I could talk about all of things that bothered me because there would be no judgment.

And she felt the same way. I was the first person she came out to. Even before her parents, before any of her life long childhood friends.

Me. A lowly co-worker whom she had known for maybe 6 months at the time. It was a huge step for her, and she chose me. It meant a lot.

And it was a huge step in a positive direction for her.

But she has so much self-loathing, so much self-deprecation inside of her.

Anymore our conversations are negative. How she doesn’t feel good on the inside. But she isn’t doing much to change. At least in our conversations she doesn’t mention anything. Maybe it’s because she needs to vent and expel the negative, and so the positive is overlooked.

This is all I have to go off of though.

She is unhappy, and isn’t working to change it. I can’t make her happy. But she’s looking for me to fix that unhappiness. She looking to me to fix her.

I can’t do that if you’re constantly tearing yourself down on the inside. It doesn’t matter how much me, or anyone else tries to build you up. It doesn’t matter how many bricks we lay down if you constantly knock them over when we leave.

Several of my students are like that, too.

“My work will never be good enough. I’m so far behind. If I was only half as good as [insert name here].”

It drives me crazy. Batshit insane. Because I know what they are feeling on the inside.

I had those feelings, too. For the longest time I felt worthless. Inadequate. And not just with work. But with my relationships, too. There was always something ‘wrong’ with me, and so I couldn’t accept myself. I wasn’t worthy of being happy.

And then one day I woke up and seriously had a thought. One little thought.

“I’m tired of being unhappy.”

And that’s where it started for me.

I was tired of feeling lame, and that I was never good enough for the people around me. I was tired of my own brain being my enemy. And so I made the effort to change.

That was about 2 years ago.

Two years of being consciously aware of the things I tell myself inside my head. Two years of working through painful memories. Two years of purging negativity out of my life.

A lot of it sucked. A lot of it made me cry. Standing in front of the mirror and telling myself, “You are worthy,” made me break down because the last time I had felt ‘worthy’ was when my parents had been together.

I had felt unworthy for over half my life. My grades were never good enough. I wasn’t the best musician. I wasn’t as good at art as my brother. I wasn’t a good enough daughter. Any number of things, all things, I fell short of in some way.

Changing a mentality that you have had for 15 years isn’t easy. This was the mentality I grew up with. This was all I had ever known.

“You’re bad, and you’ll always be bad. Get used to feeling bad. Bad, bad, bad.”

I didn’t want those words in my head anymore. I didn’t want to think that about myself.

Other people said I was awesome. Amazing. That I was a great person. That I was kind, caring. Warm.

But that’s not what I was telling myself. And so all of those positive things people said, all of those times people tried to build me up didn’t matter because as soon as I was alone I tore myself to pieces.

Changing that habit, that mentality, was one of the best things I have ever done for myself.

Knowledge is different from wisdom.

We ‘know’ something is right, or wrong. We know scrolling through Facebook while in class isn’t the best move. Taking notes would be way more beneficial.

If we are wise, we apply that information.

The same rule applies with happiness.

We know all of these things. Talking down to ourselves is bad. We shouldn’t try to make everyone happy, only ourselves. We should… we aught…

All of these things that we ‘know’.

But how many people actually apply that knowledge? How many people are wise enough to go through the trials and tribulations to actually obtain happiness?

I haven’t met many people. And that saddens me. Everyone deserves to be happy, and I hate that in most cases it is the person, not the world, not the situations we find ourselves in, but they themselves that refuse to allow themselves to be happy.

There is no easy fix. It’s hard. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes you have to break down crumbling into tiny pieces. Sometimes you need to tear down the old, so something new and stronger can be raised.

I wish everyone saw it that way. That yeah, it’s a lot of work, but the reward is so worth it. Being happy in your own skin, with your own mind; being your own friend is worth it.

I learned to love myself, and all was right in the world.

Prompt Page 0015: Fireside Chat

Link

“What person whom you don’t know very well in real life — it could be a blogger whose writing you enjoy, a friend you just recently made, etc. — would you like to have over for a long chat in which they tell you their life story?”

There’s so many people.

I love hearing people’s stories. The tale of their adventures.

What hardships have they faced? What loves have they lost? Where have they been and where do they want to go?

Who are they?

Listening to people is one of the things that makes me feel connected the most.

They are trusting me. A lot of the time the stories are extremely personal, leaving them vulnerable, and they are showing faith, respect, to me by sharing.

It makes me feel honored. Valued.

Our experiences make us who we are. They define and structure the way we think. They determine what we’re sensitive to, what we fear, what we enjoy.

Everyone is different. Everyone’s mind functions in a slightly different way.

I love listening and learning about those differences.

I love getting to actually ‘know’ a person.

And I feel the way you do that is through sharing. Talking. Conversation.

To truly know someone they have to expose the very core of who they are, what built them up, tore them down, and sculpted them into the wonderful, fantastic person they are today.

I want to hear everyone’s story, and if they talk, I listen, which is why I am so close with so many of my students, co-workers, and friends.

For the sake of this post, a handful of people I would like to talk with more would be:

My Mother Earth
Her fiancé, J
James
Tre
My mom
Frank

I feel there are chapters in those stories that I still haven’t heard, and people I feel I could talk with for hours, days, years, and still not get enough of their stories.