33

Now usually this whole thing goes the other way around, a mother saying how proud she is of her son, but I feel like my mom deserves some recognition for doing what she did.

About a month ago my mom retired. At the age of 57 years young she was able to walk away from the career she started over three decades ago. That is absolutely incredible to think about. My mom spent nearly 60% of her life as a teacher at Montour. Over the course of her teaching career she saw over 6,000 students pass through from freshman to seniors, and for a large portion of that time she was in charge of their graduation projects. She was an English teacher, head of the graduation projects, and in her earlier years of teaching the volleyball coach and head of prom planning.

My mom has run the gamut when it comes to being a teacher. She's seen every type of student this world has to offer. The underachiever, the overachiever, the goody two-shoes, the stoner, and everyone in between.

For as long as I can remember I always wanted to be a school teacher like my mom. I would tell her, "Mom I want to be a teacher like you!" And when she asked why that was I would exclaim, 'Because I'd still get every summer off!" As I grew older I realized that there is so much more to being a teacher than having your summers off from work. I'm not sure, but it seems like making a difference in someone's life would far surpass spending summers at the pool. Even if it's just one kid whose outlook on life or literature changes as a result of your teaching it seems like it would be worth it. I'm sure my mom would agree. One really passionate student with a thirst for knowledge makes up for a hundred of his less enthused peers.

I know that in my life I had a handful of teachers who made a significant impact in my life, and I'm sure that my mom had that very same impact on some students over the past 33 years.

And yet, somehow, we don't give teachers nearly the recognition and respect they deserve. Without teachers what would this world be? I imagine that for the most part it would be barbaric. We'd be a society of illiterate, unknowledgeable fools. Teachers are there to lead us on a path to discovery. They are there to wow us and show us things we never knew could exist. They rule over us and guide us to be the best versions of ourselves that we can be. In a lot of cases they believe in us more than we believe in ourselves. They expose us to so much about the world. They make us question the truths we initially viewed as absolute, and they encourage us to never stop learning through constant questioning. In layman's terms, teachers make us think for ourselves when we'd rather blindly follow. Teachers in America aren't compensated the way they should be. That's my honest opinion. They deserve so much more than we give them.

And yet, a select few continue to choose to educate us.

Somewhere amidst all the teaching, coaching, and planning she was doing, my mom managed to meet my dad. Then soon after they were married she got to embark on the greatest teaching plan of her life...becoming a mom. I can say from first hand experience that even though I never sat in my mom's classroom as a legitimate student she is the best teacher in the world. Her teaching prepared her for motherhood, there is no doubt about it. I can't even begin to recount the numerous lessons she's taught me. Or the number of times she has edited a paper for me. Or the multiple occasions where she would also serve as a geometry tutor. My mom is a jack of all trades and master of a few. One of her masteries is her love of and ability to read books. It's also a something that she's passed on to Jenny and I over the years. When I see Jenny crack open a book or pull out her Nook, I see a little part of my mom shining through. It's a beautiful thing to see.

I remember take your child to work day in elementary school consisted of switching off year after year. One year I'd be with my dad at Alliance Retail and the next year I'd be wandering around the halls of Montour High School. I remember that when I went to work with my dad I would do things like walk around from office to office collecting what I considered "goodies" (in reality they were just paper clips and different pens, but I thought they were the bees knees). But when I went to school with mom I would watch her teach her classes. It was like 7 year old me actually belonged in a class with kids over twice my age. I would spend part of the day playing games on her computer, and when no kids were in the room I would throw a bouncy ball off the walls and desks. But the thing I looked forward to most were the times my mom would ask a question to her class and nobody would know the answer, so I would raise my little hand as high as I could and she would call on me. See I always knew the answers because I heard it from her a class period earlier. Mom would look over at me and I'd answer the question with a huge grin on my face, as if I had just outwitted one of the world's greatest minds. And she'd smile and me and make a quick quip at her class about how even I knew the answer. Funny how you remember little things like that.

Also, for as long as I've been alive my mom has had a stack of papers to grade. It doesn't seem to matter what time of year or day of the week, she always had a stack of papers to read or tests to grade. And each and every paper, without fail, was graded with the same brand and style of red pen. They're her favorite pens. And even though she always seemed to have some work to do, she managed to make time for family first. If it meant reading papers at one of my soccer or baseball games she would do it. Family always, ALWAYS came first.

In her last few years as a teacher mom grew tired of the new, "fun" environment she was supposed to be creating for her students. She felt like as time passed more and more kids were beginning to care less and less about school. The general level of apathy seemed to skyrocket. Over and over again she was dealing with parents of students who said, "why did my son get this grade? He didn't deserve that!" And I know my mom coolly gave each parent the same levelheaded answer, when she deserved to tell those parents to go to hell. Because honestly is there anything worse than a high school senior who needs his/her mom or dad to go fight with a teacher about a grade?

'The truth of the matter, ma'am, is that your son/daughter is a lazy, incompetent, unmotivated slob."

But she never got to say that, and frankly it isn't her style to behave like that. She's much to elegant and formal to ever stoop to that level of behavior.

And that's just another reason why I'm so proud of her. She's much more diplomatic than I'll ever be.

There aren't enough words in my head or heart to explain how proud I am of my mom.

She could probably help me out with selecting some more stirring words, but that would ruin the sentiment. I'll just stick to the basics and let her tell me ways I could've spiced it up. She'll also probably read through this later on and make a mental note of the number of commas I misused or omitted.

Luckily for me she'll be reading it on her iPad so she can't use that damned red pen to correct me.

So here's to my favorite teacher, who was also my first teacher, who is also my mom. I love you mom, and I've very grateful for everything you've done for our family.

NP: Hey Mama - Kanye

Lucky Part 2

So last time I blogged I wrote about how I was feeling lucky. But what isn't fair is that I didn't specifically mention one of the biggest reasons I feel so lucky. I sort of lumped this reason in with friends and family, never taking the time to specify what it was. Or who is was, rather. 

I know that not writing about her had made her upset. Not because she ever expected a blog specifically about her but because she had read blogs from the past that were aimed at specific individuals. Time and time again I would blog about things that came to mind, and yet I never specifically mentioned her by name. I know that made her question things between us. So this blog is for the girl who's made the past 11 months of my life some of the best. This one's for you, Allison.

There's not really a right place to start this, I don't think. I guess it could start was back in January of 2014 when I first met her. If there's one thing the Pi has given me it's her. She was sitting in the crowd listening to me talk about why someone should join our coed fraternity. I never got to talk to her that night, and I don't think our first real interaction came until the interview process. I remember exactly where we sat in Market for our interview. I remember I ate a salad and then texted her after the interview because there were Lucky Charms. (I don't remember who was asking about the cereal, me or her, but for some reason that has resonated with me.) Aside from our interview I never got to talk to her because of the whole "fear of hazing" thing. But when April rolled around and she was officially a brother we dove head first into really getting to know each other. Before long I was spending time in Holland and she was coming over to my jank apartment to have me cook her spaghetti...I guess I should've known then that she was a keeper since she didn't flee from that hell hole.

But then summer came around. And as much as we said, "we'll visit," I honestly wasn't sure what would happen. I had only really been talking to her for two weeks. But summer came and went and saw us visiting each other four or five times. On one excursion to Hershey I decided I didn't want to wait any longer and I asked her to be my girlfriend. She probably thought it was the corniest thing ever since it came right after watching "The Fault in Our Stars," but she said yes. (On second thought that's a pretty depressing movie to choose as the one you ask a girl out after.) I forgot to mention that somewhere between the start of summer and me asking her out she was lucky enough to meet my crazy family and vice versa. She warned me about how dysfunctional hers was and I warned her about mine (more specifically about my dad). But things went better than expected and I like to think both families genuinely enjoy the others company. 

Then the school year rolled around and I had zero idea what to expect from it. I didn't know what it would be like to have a girlfriend that goes to school with me. 

It turned out to be one of the best things I could ever ask for. I was instantly given another study buddy, a new proof reader, a movie companion, someone to workout with, and someone to go out with. Now we're over a year into a relationship and I can look back and say I wouldn't change any of it. We've had our ups and downs like anyone, but those have only helped us to better understand one another. 

I wish I would've wrote this blog sooner because honestly she deserves it. I guess I was just too caught up in the moment. See I used feel like writing a blog was the only way to get people to notice me. That's the honest to god truth. People responded to blogs. It made me more interesting or more appealing because I was spilling it all on some website and people got to pick me apart and see what I was all about. But with Ally I didn't need a blog. I just needed to be myself. So the blog took a backseat and I only wrote when something really pressing came to mind. But it's high time I gave her something to look at. 

She's done so much for me I can't even begin to thank her for it. But I think the number one thing I need to thank her for isn't helping me win a scholarship for next year. (Which she did. She told me about it and helped me write my essays.) In fact the bigger thing I have to thank her for is for being the most honest and loyal friend someone could ever ask for. She transcends what it means to be a girlfriend because she's honestly my best friend too. She's the one I want to talk to morning and night and the one I plan my adventures with. And through all of it she makes me a better version of myself. More than anyone else in college she's opened my eyes to the effects some words can have on people. Things I took for granted I now see the full weight of. And even though we bicker back and forth about politics, she's opened my eyes to other viewpoints that I previously discredited. 

She's so many things to me. Documentary aficionado. Movie critic. Political complement. Ice cream lover.  My better half, my girlfriend, and my best friend. 

And because of that, I feel like I'm the luckiest guy I know. 

NP: You Had Me at Hello - ADTR

3/4 of the way there

As my third year of college comes to a close I've come to some conclusions. I guess recently I've been feeling especially fortunate and I just wanted to comment on it all. 

First and foremost is the realization that I've been blessed with an overwhelmingly supportive and loving family. If their support wasn't obvious in weekly trips to the grocery store maybe it is even more exaggerated in repeated "good luck on finals" texts in the family group message. Or maybe I have the best family because they show up in State College to watch me play after I tell them countless times not to bother. I think it's apparent that I've been given one of the greatest gifts in life: a family who wants nothing more than for me to succeed and be there to see it happen. 

The second realization is something I've been reluctant to admit, and that's the fact that I'm a fairly lucky person. For the longest time I said I didn't believe in luck, but I don't think I can say I firmly believe that's the case anymore. How could I have so much good in my life if I weren't, to some degree or another, a lucky person? Maybe it's true that to a certain point you make your own luck. I don't think I could make this  much luck in this life of mine. I've been afforded so many great opportunities while in college and can't pretend that there isn't some hint of luck involved. I'm not necessarily talking about luck in a "hit the lottery" type of sense, but more like having such a loving family and incomparable friends. If there is some greater force at work I'm grateful to him or her or it. 

Friends are the third realization I've had. It's not that I was unaware of how good I had it, but sometimes it takes a memorable trip to remind me just how special a bond I have with so many people. I've been "lucky" to not only keep my best friends from high school but to also make a new group of friends in college. Whether it's a group of them in the Bronx, in Oakland, or even in Charlottesville I can't help but smile when I think about the number of people who have had an impact on my life since I started college. I don't know what I did to deserve such a great group of people who take me in and love me, but whatever it is I hope it never fades away. The defining moment of our most recent trip to Charlottesville came at the tail end of the trip. It was a moment that showed me how powerful friendships and genuine laughs can be. We had just got milkshakes and prepared to drop Amanda and her roommate Kara off at the apartment before heading home. As we said our goodbyes Kara started to tear up. At first she seemed to be doing it jokingly, but after a minute or so she was full on crying. Now Kara has only met our group of friends a few times, which made her crying even more surprising. Her crying made my day and broke my heart. It made me sad that we had to leave, but it showed me that even though our group of friends is seemingly just a group of potty mouthed jagoffs, we have the ability to sincerely connect with people. I guess amidst all our dysfunction is an immeasurable level of genuine caring. We bicker a lot, we might even full on fight, but at the end of the day we give a damn about each other and the world at large. And honestly I'm not sure you can say that about everyone you'll meet. 

I doubt I deserve everything that I've come into in my three years of college, but I'm not about to complain. This luck is my luck. I've made some of it, and I've been gifted some of it. I'm aware that there are people out there who don't have what I do. I wish they did, though. 

Everyone deserves those friendships that make the complexities and difficulties of life seen much less daunting. The type of friends you truly feel alive with. The ones you'd kill for and die for. I have that, and I'm eternally thankful for it. 

I guess these three points aren't so much conclusions or realizations as they are acknowledgments, but I still felt the need to get them out there. I don't write all that often anymore, but after this weekend I felt it was necessary to express how blessed I feel. 

NP: Bright - Echosmith

The Best Man

I wrote this blog the day after Pap's birthday this year. I'm not sure what took me a month and a half to post it, but here it is...

January 30, 1936. 

That is the day that the best man I've ever known was born. 

That man is my grandfather, Richard Charles Spine. 

Although I've mentioned Pap quite a lot in previous posts I don't believe I've ever written one specifically about him, which is shameful seeing as he's one of the more influential men in my life. So here's to you, Pap. Hopefully this post can capture even a fraction of how grateful and inspired I am by you.

I can't say I remember the first time I was consciously aware of Pap being my grandfather. You know how sometimes you're able to recount your first memory with a person? I can't do that with him, but maybe that's because in my 20 (almost 21) years of life I've been through so much with him. 

I do remember some of the earliest memories coming from Herbst Road, though. Memories filled with the smell of roses, the taste of lemonade, and the sight of my beautiful grandmother, Nan. I remember the tennis ball hanging in the garage to show the previous generation's drivers how far to pull in. I remember the glass kitchen table where we'd play go fish, the backyard where we'd play wiffle ball from time to time, and I remember the basement. Herbst Road was a magical place. It wasn't anything grand or gaudy, it was old-fashioned and comforting. 

Perhaps my first memory with Pap comes from watching "The Pink Panther" movies together. (The old ones with Peter Sellers not Steve Martin.) Every time I came over he would tell me to pick what movie I wanted to watch, so little me would walk over to the movie cabinet behind the couches and come back with one of the Pink Panther movies. We had to have watched those movies 50 times, but Pap was a good sport. He'd never tell me to pick something else. Instead, he'd sit on the floral couch while I sprawled out on the floor, and tougher we would laugh until we cried at the bumbling Chief Inspector Jacques Clouseau. 

If there is one thing in this world Pap enjoys, it's a good movie. 

Aside from memories of Herbst Road I remember my first (and really my only) golf instructor being my grandpa. I'm sure I remember having a set of those plastic golf clubs as a young child. And as soon as I was old enough to be trusted with metal clubs, I had them. Thanks to him. He would take my small, childish self out to Chartiers in the early evening some afternoons, after the other golfers had finished, and we would walk a few holes and he'd let me play. He never got frustrated with me at that age. 

However, as I've grown I've seen him become perturbed when I get upset on the course. I'm very much like my grandfather in the sense that I want to be the best and I expect to do well every time I step on the course. However, when you only get to play a few rounds of golf a year you can't expect to break 80, but I still expect that. So I get mad and then Pap gets upset. And that's the worst. On another note, it blows my mind how I can manage to outdrive him by 100 yards and still finish a stroke behind him on every hole. I guess it comes down to, "Drive for show, putt for go," as he always says. 

In Chartiers there's a plaque with his name on it for winning some sort of event that the club has. I love looking at that plaque because even though Pap isn't the flashiest golfer, he is one of the hardest working golfers, and that plaque gives him his due credit. Each time we meet up in the summer he has at least one article clipped from a golf magazine that he thinks will help me. (They never seem to, but that's my fault not his.)

It's our little bond, golf that is, and I hope I never take it for granted. Because I know that one day I won't be able to play with him anymore. And I expect that'll be one of the saddest days of my life. 

But sad days and Pap don't really go together. 

Only happy days. 

If there's anybody on this earth who deserved true love it's Pap. And he found it in Nan. And even in losing her he found it again a short time later with Joyce. I think that some remarriages are meant specifically to fill a void, but that isn't Pap and Joyce. They don't pretend to always get along. They're real. They bicker and fight and make up and love and laugh. They also golf together which provides some comic relief when Pap hits a rogue shot and it's Joyce's fault for not knowing where it went. Joyce can take it though. She just rolls her eyes at him and drives off in search of the missing ball. 

If there are two things Pap has taught me in life it's how to work hard and how to joke around.

Pap has always had at least two jobs. He's told me stories about hitchhiking to work at 5 in the morning and not getting home until 12 am the next day. Even in college, with a wife and kid, he managed to work a job to help support them. Pap has accumulated a lot of wealth in his years, and yet he manages to be frugal and never forget how things were when money was tight.

Pap enjoys his money, don't get me wrong. He enjoys taking wonderful vacations all across the world, but he deserves at least that for everything he's done. But he'll never hesitate to bring a coupon for a dollar off a loaf of bread. (Maybe it's just the business man inside him.) I guess he just doesn't see the point in spending more than you have to. Especially since you worked for that money. 

You know that plaque I mentioned earlier? There's another plaque, or maybe even two of them. They're in the basement of the house on Bayard. They're plaques thanking him for his philanthropy. One is complete with a drawing from the Make-a-Wish kid who's wish Pap helped grant. 

He taught me that too. Give back to people who need it.

But I digress from my earlier point about jokes. Pap LOVES jokes. He loves telling "dirty" jokes like this one... "Wanna hear a dirty joke?" ..."a pig fell in the mud."

Now granted, that is by far one of his cheesiest jokes, but you get the point. Pap lives to make people laugh. 

Pap's laugh isn't one of those over-the-top, feigned laughs. It's just a chuckle. Short, sweet, sincere, and honest. Pap won't pretend like your jokes are funnier than the are. He's not here to butter you up. He's here to give you his honest opinion of things. 

Like his honest, totally unbiased opinions of his grandkids and they skill sets...okay so maybe I'm not the best outfielder he's ever seen play, but I'll be damned if he's ever said that to me. In his eyes I'm the best there is, just like Maura's the best field hockey player in the nation, Jenny the best cheerleader, Jarrett the best runner, John the best goalie, Emily the best singer, Joey the best mind. The point is that none of us are actually the best, but Pap would never let you think that way. His unwavering support is seen in his attendance of sporting events (no matter what the weather) and in his words of encouragement. Pap is a realist, but he'll never crush your dreams. 

I remember how excited he was when I got into Fordham and how understanding he was when I said I wanted to leave. 

He wasn't disappointed in me. He just wanted what was best for me, whatever would make me happiest. 

And now as I near 21 I'll be able to partake in one of Pap's other great passions, drinking wine. To Pap wine is a complement to food, it's a history, it's a talking point, and it's an investment. Whenever I get a chance I go over and help him sort and take inventory of his wine I always go.  I'll ask him about wine that I already know the story of just because I like to hear him tell it again. His stories, no matter how many times he tells them, always come with the same passion and excitement they did the first time. Pap's wine comes from far and wide. Some bought before I was born, some gifted to him from winery owners, and others, well others we don't even know how they got there. 

Pap has taught me so much that I can't even begin to relay it all to you in this blog. But I'll give you a few lessons I've learned from my experiences with him.

I've learned that a shot from the rough isn't a hindrance, it's an adventure. I've learned that a tap in putt still needs to be taken as seriously as a 25 footer. I've learned that you can shoot a 95 and still have a great day on the course. I've learned that convenience=cost. And I've learned that an old man can still whoop his grandson by just being smarter.

This blog is scrambled and it isn't pretty, but it is from the heart. 

I'll leave you with a quote I think describes to my grandfather and a song that always reminds me of him.

Of him... the best man I've ever known.

“If you wish to glimpse inside a human soul and get to know a man, don't bother analyzing his ways of being silent, of talking, of weeping, of seeing how much he is moved by noble ideas; you will get better results if you just watch him laugh. If he laughs well, he's a good man.” 

NP: My Way-Frank Sinatra

a death in the family

Even though this title might have given you the impression that a person in my family has died, that is not the case. However, a special part of my family is gone, and even though it probably seems a little silly it's the truth. A few days ago my parents had to put down our dog, Nikki, and I couldn't be more heartbroken.

Even though Nikki was just a dog she was a part of our family. She came into our lives at a tumultuous time. We got her as a puppy about nine months before my dad went away to rehab. She was with us for around 7 years and for the most part she brought us all together a little better than before we had her. 

To me, Nikki was a dog, but she was also a reminder of how I had to grow up. When dad was away at rehab I would be the one to wake up early and take her out to pee. That was a special time between Nikki and I. My dad was always her favorite and while he was gone you could tell she was a little bit let down. 

I'd be lying if i said there weren't times I wanted to strangle Nikki because there definitely were. Like the times you'd take her out to pee in the dead of winter and she'd roll around in the snow for 25 minutes while you'd freeze your ass off. Or the times she'd pee in the house when you really needed to leave but couldn't leave because you had to clean up her mess. 

But the good far outweighed the bad. That's for sure. 

Like the times you'd be having a bad day and be pissed off at the world and she'd come up to you and rest her head on your lap with that innocent look on her face. Or when she'd jump up on the couch and cuddle up next to you despite you telling her not to. 

In a lot of ways a dog is like a child of yours. You watch them grow up and eventually you have to say goodbye. Nikki started out a tiny little puppy who was scared of everything from thunder to her puppy gate, and as she grew up she became more mature and learned what she could and couldn't do. And as she got older she became sick. And as sad as that was for my family I wish I could've been around more for it because I knew she didn't have much left in the tank. I said bye to her before we left for Florida, and honestly I wasn't sure if I'd see her again or not. It turns out that that was the last time I got to see my baby. 

It's right now that I wish I had spent more time with her. All the times I rushed out the door without petting her a few extra times or the times I could've just laid with her and chose not to. I guess that dogs are family, and sometimes you don't really know what you'll be missing until you've lost it. I guess all pets are like that. You sort of take them for granted, never fully realizing the impact they have on your life until much later. 

For me Nikki impacted my life everyday. From taking her out to pee to stepping over the baby gates that kept her from running upstairs she was always a part of my day. I now realize how big a part she was. I wish I could ease some of the pain that my dad is feeling because Nikki was his best friend. She brought out the truly loving side of him. He loved that dog to pieces and would've done anything for her. Hell, he did everything he could up until the last days of her life. Towards the end of her life he would pick her up and take her out to pee, and the night before they put her down he laid on the floor in the sun room with her to keep her from crying, and when he knew it was her time to go he had her put down. 

My dad loved that dog the way any person should love someone else. He loved her selflessly. He put in everything he could and never expected anything in return. The only thing he got back was a little friend that stood about 3 feet tall. He did everything he could and he knew when she needed to go that he had to say goodbye. I know everyone in my family will be hurting for a while, but if there is such a thing as heaven then I know Nikki is up there right now. Probably eating food and rolling around in the snow. That's when she was the happiest.

I miss my dog, but I know she's better off now. And I know that to some degree she helped shape not only me but my family, and for that I'm eternally thankful. 

NP: Kids - Of Monsters and Men Cover

apathy and my ever-uncertain world-view

So here's the deal...I'n going to blog about something other than my life. It's your choice whether you read it or not, and I'll warn you that there are some political views tied into this piece. That means if you're totally against hearing my views then you should close your browser now.

...

Still here? Okay then. I'll begin.

So earlier today I watched a video of a Jordanian pilot being burned alive by members of ISIS. The video is unsettling to say the least. I won't go into too much detail, but it shows the pilot in a cage being surrounded/covered in petrol before being burned alive. To put it simply the video showed just how barbaric human beings can act.

If you haven't been following the news for the past several months, this is just the most recent in a string of video-recorded executions by ISIS. I won't pretend to be some foreign policy expert or resident scholar of international conduct, but what ISIS is doing is beyond disgusting. Videotaping your executions and broadcasting them in an attempt to scare or humiliate the masses is a cowardly thing to do.

So how do we respond to these acts of violence and savagery? Send ground troops? Attack with drones? Sit back and wait? I surely don't know the answer, but I like to think that answer doesn't involve sitting around waiting for more innocent people to die. This world is chock-full of horrible ways for innocent people to die and being beheaded on video should not be one of them. Things like poverty and malnutrition kill thousands upon thousands every single day, so why is it that we (or maybe just I) get so upset when something like this comes into the spotlight? The obvious answer is that we're taught from an early age what is right and what is wrong, and those core values are shook when a video surfaces like the one that did today.

Maybe the reason we get so worked up over these acts of violence is because we don't have video of kids dying from malnutrition, or maybe it's because armies don't stop poverty. People old and young alike love to have something to bicker about. Like, "What should Obama do in reaction to ISIS?!" News stations thrive on controversy like that. And yet, we barely heard anything when Boko Haram wiped out an entire village in Nigeria? Why? A very visible (no video evidence but plenty of proof) crime that is horrific to read about or just think about received very little attention in the media.

I believe we don't hear about things of that nature because we don't have any economic interest in places like Nigeria. ISIS, on the other hand, is terrorizing the Middle East, an area of the world very few can actually describe geographically, yet a place where we as Americans feel an affinity towards because of things like The War in Iraq. I hate to think of lives in an economic sense, but what happened in Iraq and Afghanistan from 2001-whenever you believe we ended our ties there can be seen as a sunk cost. The resources have been spent. The lives, may they rest in peace, have been lost. And further involving ourselves there from this point on has to be viewed independently of what has already transpired.

The US's largest military crusades in Africa subsided 70 years ago when WWII ended. And since we haven't lost resources or lives there in so long, on the whole, we Americans do not care. Then again we have things like AIDs and clean drinking water and genocide to rally behind and support. But do Americans really care? I like to think, perhaps incorrectly, we do, but in my heart of hearts I believe that  people's support of things like clean drinking water and AIDs can be seen as nothing more than fads. They're fun to talk about and support for a while, but after a while they fizzle out and lose their mass appeal. That's not to say there aren't people who who dedicate their lives to those causes because there are. And god bless them. Somebody has to. Everybody doesn't have to, but it would be nice if some did.

I think that each person has a predetermined, maximum amount of caring they can put forth. And each person's particular level is different. Some people care a hell of a lot more than others, and that is just how the world works. Some save it for personal matters while others use it for global problems they themselves have never experienced. I'm not here to say one is better than the other because honestly I don't always take interest or care about half the things I should.

All I know is that the world can be a dark, disturbing place, and you have to decide what and who you're going to care about. So whatever you choose, do it with your entire being. Don't half ass a bunch of things, whole ass one or two. If you're going to stand for something then stand for it until it's resolved. Hell we all remember how well the "Kony 2012" campaign went. Don't let things like that become the norm. Demand answers and solutions to the world's problems. Shine a light on the things people don't want to talk about. Make those around you uncomfortable with the realities of the world.

Avoid apathy at all costs.

Give a shit.

NP: Ain't No Sunshine- Bill Withers

year 3 part 2

I've got a lot to say and I'm not sure I'll get it all out right now. Not because I don't want to, but rather because I'm not sure how well I'll string it together. If you're here, great, bear with me because there's bound to be some nonsensical blabbering shoved in your face in the next five-hundred words or so. Just try to find what's worthwhile and take it with you.

So I am, and for the past two weeks have been, a second semester college junior. That means another full year has passed...(remember to date papers 2015 not 2014). 2014 was an eventful year of my life. I'd rank it right up there with 2012 as far as most productive/most defining years. In 2014 I solidified a great new friend group, maintained a high grade point average, helped pay for my schooling with a job, landed the internship I've wanted since freshman year, played a good amount of baseball with my favorite team, began living with a few of my best friends, met my girlfriend, spent too much time worrying about insignificant things, made plenty of (non-life changing) mistakes, and still ended up right where I was at the end of 2013...wondering where the hell this life I'm living is actually going.

Sure I've made some strides towards solidifying a future for myself. An internship is a great start. Even more than that my job with the football team is a push in the right direction as far as future debt goes. But even with all this good going on around me I feel like an owl, my head spinning 180 degrees, asking who? Who? Who? Who am I? And more than that, where am I going?

No matter how "together" your life seems, there is always an undeniable, unmeasurable amount of uncertainty present.

As I lay in bed listening to my roommates banter, looking up at the stick-on, glow in the dark stars scattered across my ceiling I can't help but feel small. Somehow my queen size bed consumes my entire being and for a moment I realize how minuscule  I am in relation to the world at large. But in that moment I also realize how fortunate I am to have walked/stumbled/crawled my way into the current life I have.

I close my eyes and drown out the noise of the house with my own breathing. It reminds me that I have a lot of life left to give to this world and that there is an unbelievable amount out there for me to experience.

Not to jump around but back to the whole "where am I going idea."

I think I've figured out part of why so many people spend so much of their lives being miserable. Bear in mind this is just my view of the matter, and I'm in no way contesting that it's any more right than anyone else's view.

I think the reason we all worry so much about what we're doing and where we're going is because we feel like, to one degree or another, we have to do something remarkable with our lives. We're so consumed and overwhelmed with the idea of being something else, something that we aren't, that we ignore who we really are. We ignore the things that make us tick. Instead of doing what makes us happy we do what we think will be remembered by those around us.

That's not to say that greatness is something you should shy away from. For god's sake you'd have to be an idiot to ignore greatness. But what I'm saying is this: you don't have to cure polio, you don't have to write another of Beethoven's symphonies, and you don't have to the first person on the moon. Salk already cured polio, Beethoven is long gone, and Neil Armstrong already beat you. So sorry, but you can't do any of that. And even more than that, YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO ANY OF THAT.

You don't have to cure cancer.

You don't have to hit 74 home runs in a season.

And you don't have to be whatever it is you think you have to be because someone told you that you can't be that thing.

Be what you want, and measure success however you see fit.

Instead of measuring success in how many years after your life you're talked about, why not measure it in how fondly people remember you? You know, like curing cancer would be one hell of a rush, wouldn't it? But would it really be any better than seeing a smiling face of hundreds of little kids you help as a pediatrician? Maybe for you it would be. For me, it wouldn't. (Not saying cancer is good. That would be idiotic. Just trying to make the point that monumental discoveries don't define a person.)

See success isn't measured in dollars or in notoriety. I promise you that. Just look up the definition. Success is defined as "the favorable or prosperous termination of attempts or endeavors; the accomplishment of one's goals." 

So don't get caught up being what someone else wants you to be. Or what someone told you that you can't be. Be who you want to be. And be the best damn you that you can. Our time on this spinning sphere is too dmm short to be anything else. 

Do what you love. And do it as often as you can. 

Be an artist or a songwriter. Be an architect or a teacher. 

But before you worry about being anything else, be happy. 

This has gone on long enough. Hopefully I'll see you all again soon.

NP: Chocolate- The 1975