On Writing.

I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. Most of that time, I wanted to be an novelist, specifically. A writer of books, of fiction. A creator of worlds either drastically different from our own or perhaps not so different at all.

I don’t talk about this particular dream much these days, largely because I’ve all but given up on it. I barely write fiction anymore, and when I do, I can’t seem to fill more than 3 or 4 typed pages. This would be fine if I were capable of writing short stories, but alas, every idea I’ve ever come up with has been for a novel. The number of wasted notebooks, half-filled with abandoned novels, makes the environmentalist in me shudder. “This time,” I would always promise myself, “this time I’ll actually finish it.” I never have.

The most I’ve ever written on one story was for NaNoWriMo 2010. It was a story I’d come up with 5 years earlier and I managed to get down about 27,000 words. I still have the story in my mind; I know what happens. But somehow I can’t manage to put the rest of it down on paper (or in this case, in type). The same goes for multiple other stories that I have started on. I just can’t seem to put them down. To get them out.

I keep thinking that with all the free time I’ll be having soon (what do people do from 6pm to bedtime??) I’ll start writing again. I hope I do. I hope the city sparks in me the creativity that I’ve been searching for for the last three years. I hope that it inspires me. I miss writing. Really writing, not just blogging (although I enjoy this, too).

In my life, I’ve always written as an escape. I lived vicariously through characters in the books I read and by writing, I could live a life that I designed specifically to free me from my fears and to bring me a happy ending of some kind (usually with a hot dude). I was never so opaque as to write myself directly into my stories, but I often made characters that were who I wanted to be, or who shared a trait or two with me.

I’m not sure if this blog has actually helped or hindered my creativity. Instead of using fiction as an escape, I come here, or to my private journal and wax philosophical about life and anxieties and really just a lot of self-reflective, self-important bullshit. This is my outlet, but it’s hardly a creative one.

I think that maybe I’m at the point in my life when I’ve experienced enough that big, grandeur dreams aren’t quite so necessary – I’m no longer the trapped 15-year-old struggling with her identity, but where I still don’t know enough about life, love, and all other miscellany to “write what I know.” Without the dreams to draw on, or the knowledge to inform me, I just don’t seem to have anything to write about.

Reflections

I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about a great many things. I’ve said all my goodbyes and though many of them still sting, there’s not much I can do about it. I’m gone from Bloomington, but I miss it. I spent the weekend in Columbus, Ohio with friends from high school, and oddly, I missed Bloomington more there than I did when I first arrived at my parents house. Perhaps the fact that I graduated a week ago was setting in… Columbus is nice. It’s a big city, but it’s very spread out. It’s not really feasible to walk anywhere, at least from my friends’ place, and it took us 30 minutes on the bus to get downtown.

Seeing the OSU campus just reminded me of why I went to IU. IU is GORGEOUS. The trees, the limestone, the flowers that seem to magically appear but which are really planted by landscaping workers at 6:30 in the morning at the beginning of spring… Bloomington is this lovely, idyllic town with friendly people and fairly quiet streets. It’s a utopia of forward-thinking, patient, and genuinely kind people. OSU is mangey and dark. Also, they renamed the street that their football stadium is on “12 and 0 row.” I know that IU is a bit preoccupied with sports, but really? Really? Ugh.

I have nothing against people that go or went to Ohio State. We all go to different places for different reasons. Still, seeing that campus for the first time in 7 or 8 years made me so glad that I decided on Indiana. Not that I ever even considered attending Ohio State – I didn’t even apply there. Nonetheless, it made me happier in my decision, and it was that happiness, I think, that made me miss the place even more.

Hanging out with friends from high school made me realize how changed I am since I started college. I was this shy girl, who’d never done much. I was afraid of everything – of failure, of rejection, of making too many mistakes, of making the wrong decisions, of misbehaving… I spent my time reading and living vicariously through fictional characters who were far braver than I. Even then, I had an intense desire to travel, having already visited England on an AP Lit tour and several islands in the Caribbean on two cruises. The interest in travel was there then, but the need hadn’t developed yet.

I was bad at meeting people – too afraid of rejection to put myself out there. I like to think I’ve changed from that, but I know that at heart I still fear rejection more than almost anything else. It has lessened, but it’s still there. I was once afraid to speak my mind – that has changed significantly… now, good luck to anyone who wants to get me to shut up! I’ll rant about my beliefs for as long as I have a captive audience.

For many years, I was preoccupied with the notion that I was waiting for my life to begin. I was waiting for things to happen to me. In the past 12 months, I’ve realized that my life has been here all along. Waiting around isn’t what makes a life worth living – doing things is. If all you do is sit back and wait for things to happen, nothing will. When I went to England to study abroad, and travelled, and made friends with people from all over Europe… That’s when I realized that they only way to live is to do so on purpose. Sometimes, okay, most of the time, it’s difficult. There’s a reason that most people do not end up very far from their hometown. Family brings them there, and comfort prevents them from leaving. It’s certainly easier to stay at home and watch movies than to walk or drive across town or the state to see a friend. I am guilty of doing so on more occasions that I would like to admit.

I want to keep challenging myself. To do the scary things. To remember that no reward comes without risk.

I guess that’s what moving to DC is really all about.

Going, going, gone.

Well I’m here. I’m at my parents’ house. I won’t call it home, because it’s not. It hasn’t been home for a while now.. I left my home this morning and who knows when I’ll find a new one. Hopefully, I’ll at least have a residence by the time I start my job…

I promise that when I get to DC, this blog will morph in to something more interesting than me being sad about the end of college. That’s pretty much all this thing has been since January. But for now, I’m stuck in Ohio, and there’s not much to do but sit at home on my computer. I may as well do something mildy productive, and write…

This morning was rough. It took far longer to move all of my stuff down the three and a half flights of stairs to my car than I expected. I lost track of how many trips it took, but my legs are sore now, only 4 hours later, so let’s just say there were many.

As predicted, I reenacted the Tenth Doctor’s regeneration scene:

There were considerably more tears though.. In fact, it would be fair to say I looked more like this:

Or even this:

Yeah, definitely that last one.

I’ve calmed down now though. I had a three hour drive to dry my tears and gather my thoughts. College is behind me now. In time, and in space (if you consider a place west of you as being “behind” you, Indiana is west of Ohio).

College was everything I wanted it to be in none of the ways I expected. And it sucks, it sucks to have left that place behind. College is the best thing I’ve done so far, but I’m only 22 – I haven’t done that much. The best years of my life are ahead of me.

I’m about to embark on this huge adventure and, yes, I do think I’m being brave. I’m scared as shit, but I’m going. I never, for even a minute, seriously considered not going after the decision had been made. There were moments when I wished I weren’t going. Or times when I wished I had more time… but I always knew I would go.

College was where I learned to love myself. Sometimes we still get in arguments and there are certainly times when I hate myself, but for the most part, we’re pretty happy together. It was where I learned to rely on other people instead of always being independent and shut off. It was where I learned to ask for help when I needed it. I also learned more than I care to explain about the Indians of Indiana, Dante’s Inferno, oh, and finite math. Well, I’m not actually sure I learned anything about finite, now that I think about it…

The fact that I am so sad to have left Bloomington and the people I love in Indiana is just a testament to how happy I was there. It’s only sad to leave a place you liked, a place that is attached to happy memories. I daren’t quote Dr. Seuss, but it’s true… I’m so grateful that it simply happened.

I’ll see you again.

This isn’t goodbye, not really.

I love you, keep in touch.

End Times

So I missed April altogether. It was a busy month, full of trying to make the best of the time I had left and stressing out from massive amounts of school work.

I’m moving in a month, and I still don’t have a place to live. I went to DC last weekend and looked at places, but as of today, officially, none of them worked out. I’m trying to convince myself that the trip wasn’t a waste, that it helped me get to know the city and know where I want to be and where I don’t, but I can’t help but regret not having spent that last weekend in Bloomington with everyone, especially since nothing panned out as I wanted it to.

I had this post planned about how finding an apartment is like dating, only way worse, but I’m going to wait to write it until I’m a little distanced from the process. It’s probably an overused metaphor anyway, so maybe I won’t even bother. Basically this: dating someone is really nice but having a place to live is considerably more important. Therefore, when you’re rejected from a place to live it stings about 10x as much being rejected by a date. But hey, maybe knowing that will make dating in the city easier…

Somehow two days before graduation, it’s almost 11 at night and I’m sitting alone in my apartment. I should be packing, but all I can do is mope – partly because of having been rejected yet again from an apartment and partly because I’m alone when I should be spending time with friends – after all, it’s my last chance to do so.

Leaving is hard. Leaving here is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and I’m still a few days away from actually going. I just can’t deal with the fact that I’ll never see most of these people again. Yes, I’ll stay in touch with the most important people. I’ve promised myself that much. But it won’t be the same. I won’t see them on my way to class, or run in to them in Collins. I won’t chat with them and ask them how their semester is going.

I keep seeing incoming Freshmen on tours and I’m so jealous of them it makes me angry. “ENJOY IT” I want to yell at them, “IT WILL GO FAR FASTER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE!”

I know that I will get over this. I know that I will move on and grow up and someday it won’t hurt anymore. Probably sooner than I think. But in the mean time, it hurts so fucking much.

Sometimes I think, “oh, I’m not ready to leave, I can’t do this.” But that’s not true. I am ready. I’ve been ready for a while now. It’s time to regenerate. I know I have to do it, and I’m fairly sure that I’ll make it out alive. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be crying and screaming, “I don’t want to go,” a la The Tenth Doctor.

I’m moving (theoretically) to a huge city where things are always happening and there are MILLIONS of people, so, statistically, there must be at least a few people I could be friends with. And I have a job, which is more than many people my age can say.

It’s going to be an adventure, and I’m excited for it. I am, I swear. Don’t let the tears fool you.

Why Society Blames the Victim

Disclaimer: This is my opinion. I, in no way, advocate victim-blaming. But I think it’s important that we try to understand why rape is the only violent crime for which victim-blaming is prevalent.

Anyway.

So first off, I want to consider the small victory that was the conviction of these boys. They were not let off (though their punishment could have been more severe…)  This serves as an example to young men and young women. Women – you can press charges and you can have those charges taken seriously.  So many cases of rape go unreported because of confusion about the situation, or fear that pressing charges would be fruitless. Well here is a high profile example of reporting a rape making something happen. And for men – yep, you sure can get thrown in jail for rape. Even if you’re the star of the football team, even if you’re “going places.” Guess what, you’re not anymore.

The result of this trial is a good thing. It means that our justice system is making strides and that change could really be coming. I highly doubt that fifty, even twenty years ago, the trial would have had this result.

The bad thing, as we all know, is the news media’s coverage of this trial. Victim blaming, releasing the name of the girl (which has resulted in her receiving threats), worrying more about the well-being of the young men than the victim… all of these are things that news media did wrong.

But why do people blame the victim? I think it’s because of fear. It’s because we want to believe that rape isn’t as common as it really is. We victim-blame as a form of self-preservation. This person was raped because she was too drunk – well, I don’t get as drunk as she does. This person was raped because she dressed too provocatively – I don’t dress that way, so I won’t get raped. This person was raped because someone dropped something in her drink – I watch my drink at all times, so that won’t happen to me.

We come up with situations that place blame on the victim, because it gives us the illusion of control. “If I behave differently than the girl who was raped, then I won’t get raped.” We want to have control over the situation. We want to believe that if we act the right way and dress the right way, we will be invulnerable. To accept that it is not the victim’s fault, is to acknowledge that we have no control over other peoples’ actions, that we have no true agency in determining whether or not we will be a victim of rape.

The only way to protect ourselves is by avoiding ‘risky’ behaviors. And even that doesn’t always work. The reality of the situation is that women constantly live their lives in fear of being rape. Women choose to not to live on the ground floor, so someone doesn’t break in and attack us. We don’t walk home alone at night, so that we don’t get attacked. We don’t make eye-contact with strangers, because we don’t want them to pay too much attention to us. The fact of the matter is that over 50% of rapes occur in daylight hours. Avoiding walking home alone at night does not make you invulnerable to rape.

I’m not excusing victim-blaming. It’s incredibly destructive. Rape victims are less likely to report rape if they think they will be held responsible, and when they do, being blamed can cause serious psychological problems, in addition to the ones that result from the rape itself . It’s disgusting to think that the person being violated could be held responsible for such an act.

Blaming the victim can make us feel safer. But it does not actually make us any safer.

The only solution to rape is to change the culture.

 

 

Changing Perspective

I’ve been looking at things the wrong way.

For the past month, I’ve been sad when I should be happy. I’ve been so worried about leaving that I haven’t considered the fact that I’m going. Yes, it’s true. I have loved my time in Bloomington and at IU. I will be saying goodbye to lots of friends and meaningful places.

Things are going to be different, and I’m scared. But since when has being scared of something ever been a good reason not to do it, not to run towards it? It’s like when you jump off something high – you have to get a running start.

I’m moving to a city. A huge, important city, with history, and people that matter. Maybe I’ll get lost in the shuffle, but wasn’t I afraid of the same thing when I came to IU? I know that, just as I did here, I will find my way out. I’ll find my niche, even if it takes a while.

I’ve always had this problem… I get stuck in the past, stuck thinking about all the things I’m going to miss instead of all the new things I’m going to love. I’ll meet new people, make new friends. And it will be hard. But I will feel that much stronger for having done so.

There are concerts in DC, and bars, and a fast-paced lifestyle. Public transportation that doesn’t suck. There are museums that I vow not to take for granted. I’ll go to the Smithsonian once a week for the first month. I’ll go on the White House tour until I get on one that’s surprised by the President and the First Lady. I’ll go to NPR Tiny Desk Concerts. I’ll go see live comedy, and live music and plays. I’ll take a train to New York City, or Boston, or Philly or wherever. I’ll rent a car and go to Polyface Farms for freshly slaughtered chicken (I’ll try not to think about it when I’m eating).

For the first time since the beginning of January when I was offered the job, I am really and truly excited to move. It’s going to be scary, and it’s going to be difficult. Saying goodbye is going to suck. But if I plan to enjoy all of the time I’ve got left (and I do) it will be a lot easier if I’m not moody and sad half of the time.

Narcissism.

I think it’s possible that I’m a narcissist. For what other reason would I be sharing all of these rants and raves and personal anxieties with whoever chooses to read them? Why would I want strangers or acquaintances to know that I’m both scared and excited to graduate? That no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop being sad in advance?

Of course, there are some (a very few) people who read this blog occasionally and who deserve to or want to know the things I say. Or at least I tell myself that there are. There are certainly people who I want to read it. In many entries, I’m writing with these specific people in mind.

A blog is a nice way to send out your thoughts, and never know if the person you meant them for received them, but still feel comforted by the effort. Even if you don’t read it today or tomorrow. Even if you never do, at least the things I wanted to say were sent out in to the cosmos. The interwebz.

If you think I get personal on this blog, well damn, you should see my actual journal… Not to worry though, you never will.

In which Allison is sad and perhaps a bit overdramatic.

There will come a time when I no longer know you. Maybe it will take longer than it did in our parents’ era – what with Facebook and social media making it so much easier to keep track of people you barely know… but at some point I will grow up enough that I will no longer feel a desire to check Facebook everyday. My life will be filled with work and maybe family and hopefully crazy beautiful places and dear friends. But in all likelihood, you won’t be in it.

I’m not trying to be an asshole here. I’m just being realistic. You won’t be in my life anymore. We’ll each have moved so many times that somehow we lost track of who was where and doing what. Maybe I’ll get invited to your wedding. Maybe I’ll be able to take off work to go. I hope so – I really want to go to your wedding. I bet it’ll be a kickass party. Maybe I’ll see the status update that announces you’re having a kid or maybe you’ll have long since deleted your Facebook and I’ll only think of you when I remember the time we spent together.

Is this what growing up means? Does it mean that people who have been in your life and been the most important people in your life for so long suddenly disappear? That you start over somewhere else and meet new people who are the most important to you. But then you go somewhere else and you have start over again…

I don’t want to stay in one place for my whole life. The thought of that is just… not fun. But if I commit to keep moving around, then I am basically promising everyone I meet that someday, they will no longer be in my life.

I’ll remember you. In some ways, you’ll be impossible to forget, even if I wanted to… You’ll always be important. You’re part of why I am who I am and why I will be who I will be.

But you won’t be there.

I want you to be there.

I hate this. I hate that leaving means leaving people behind. I want to get out of here and make a change and do things differently but the fact that soon we will all be going our separate ways just makes me terribly, terribly sad. I am not good at keeping in touch with people. Sometimes, it takes a significant effort to remember to text you. Even if I’m thinking about you a lot, I’ll either assume that you’re busy or just won’t have anything particular to say. I’m awful about that. And I’m sorry for it, but I think I’ll be even more sorry soon. When you’re gone. When I’m gone.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I didn’t want to be sad today.

Nostalgia for a place I haven’t left yet.

What a weird place I’m in at the moment. Mere months away from graduating college, I’m facing the biggest change of my entire life so far. I’ve got a job lined up – that’s the exciting bit. That’s the huge sigh of relief at the end of every day. That’s the weight that would have broken me down but instead reminds me that things are going to work out. Don’t worry. I’m completely aware of how lucky I am.

But because of this, I find I’m in this strange flux of wishing time away but also wishing it to slow. I’ve been wishing for the weather to warm, for things to hurry up and happen. I spend more and more time thinking about moving, and how I am I going to move, and where will I live, and who will I live with, and will I actually like the job I’ve been offered?

But shit. I don’t want to be wishing away my last semester of university. And fuck, I’m going to miss Bloomington. I already do. I miss the autumn Farmer’s Market, though I rarely woke early enough to attend. I miss the red and orange leaves. I miss walking around on surprisingly mild fall days and seeing so many people. I’m going to miss not buying tickets for Lotus Fest, but going anyway, to see the street performers. I’m going to miss watching huge packs of Freshman walking around at night, searching for a party to attend.  I’m going to miss how on the first truly warm day of Spring semester, everyone suddenly wakes up from their hibernation to play frisbee or football or just to lay in the sun. I’m going to miss the pure joy I feel, walking around campus on a sunny day, iPod spouting my favorite songs.

I almost wish that I were looking toward graduation with dread. At least then, maybe I’d be taking advantage of what little time I’ve got left. I’d be squeezing Bloomington and the surrounding area of every potential memory or experience. I haven’t been. I regret it already. Why did I sit inside most of this long weekend??  Regret doesn’t change the past, but it can inspire you to change the way you behave in the future.

I want to go outside more. I want to take more walks. I want to talk to more people. Yes, it’s pretty fucking cold. But it’s going to get warmer.

I always make these giant claims, these promises to myself. I’ve promised myself to start running, to spend less time on the computer, to read as much as I used to, to write more. I’m not very good at holding myself to things, which is one reason why my New Years’ Resolutions were/are so vague. I don’t know. I’ll try at this, at least.

Bloomington was the first place I’ve lived that felt as alive as I did… do.

 

Should old acquaintance be forgot…

Some people moan and groan at the thought of the New Year. Another year, another batch of failed resolutions and dashed hopes. Well, I’m not so jaded yet.

I love the New Year. I love the optimism. I love the hope that the coming year will bring you all the things that the previous one did not. I love the excuse to take a step back and look at the world with fresher eyes, to analyze the things we’ve done and maybe try and do things differently the next time around.

I won’t pretend to believe that we get a Clean Slate at the strike of midnight each New Year’s Eve. The things we said and did in the past year still have meaning. We’re still accountable for that mean thing we said without thinking, and the fact that the Father’s Day gift we gave left quite a bit to be desired. Although we’ve long since been forgiven for those things, we still remember our failings from the past year. So though the New Year doesn’t equal Clean Slate, it does offer a chance to start again, to do things better this time around. We all need that chance, every now and then.

We remember the good things too, though. The New Year is a perfect opportunity to see how far we’ve come in the last twelve months. For instance, a year ago, I was only just preparing to move out of country for the semester. Before that trip, I’d never travelled alone. I’d never spelled ‘travelled’ with two ‘L’s… Before that trip, most of the people I knew had been brought up in a way and in a place very similar to myself.  Now, I have friends from all over the country and the world. I’ve grown so much as a person in the past twelve months, but I’m not done yet – I have so much more to see and learn and I’m beginning to think that I’ll never be finished.

Lots of people hate making resolutions. There’s too much pressure or a fear of failure. Some kinds of New Year’s Resolutions are easy to fail. Lose weight. Go out more. Go out less. Wake up earlier. Give up Diet Coke… Once you mess up once or twice you think, “Well, I’ve already failed the resolution, so why bother?” But other resolutions, the kind I plan on making this year, are a little more vague. You can’t fail at them because they aren’t concrete goals; they’re more like mantras:

Do what scares you.
Be more authentic.
Take more risks.

I’ll let you know how those work out this time next year…

Here’s wishing you a Happy New Year. May it be full of fresh opportunities, beautiful places, and friends new and old. 

“Now I have a lot to learn and I’m starting tonight,
got to stop looking at things like they’re black and they’re white.
Got to write more songs, love a little more, treat my friends better.
Got to stop worrying about everything to the letter.
And sometimes when it’s too hard to get on,
it just might be you that I’ll call upon.”

-New Years Eve by First Aid Kit