Bird Diseases

The other day, I had a realization:

It's so easy to be afraid of everything.

I mean, I used to think panophobics were just people who needed  serious help, but maybe they're on to something.

We can't predict anything for sure. Nothing in this world is 100%, get your money back satisfaction guaranteed. You would probably give someone a weird look if they asked you how the victims of 9/11 knew there was going to be a terrorist attack on their country. No one says things like, "I just knew the twin towers were going to fall. I just felt it." Because no one did.

You don't always get "gut feelings." Your body can't magically sense whether this is going to be your last day on earth, or if you'll live to see another sunrise.

But then there are the times when you do get that churny, butterfly feeling in your stomach. Something is going to happen. You just know it.

And usually, nothing does.

So how are you supposed to tell when you're going to be right and when you're going to be wrong? How do you know if you're going to get hit by a bus, or walk freely across the street without a scratch on your face? You can't know. 

You just can't.

I don't know the exact probability or anything, but it is a fact: things can and will go wrong.

And you never know when, where, how or why.

So why get up in the morning? As soon as you open your eyes, a bug might fly into one and blind you. Or if you make it past that, if you try to get out of your bed and fall accidentally, you could break a bone. Or be paralyzed, or even die. Every time you put a foot in front of another, you run the risk of falling down and hurting or even killing yourself.

Why do we ever walk out on the street? That's where drive-by shootings occur. Any Tom, Dick or Harry could come up to you and punch you in the nose. Heck, a plane could come and make a crater right where you were just standing.

If you acted under the realization that anything could happen at any moment, you may never move a muscle. You might not speak, blink. You may even stop breathing.

But you don't.

We don't.

Why?

We know that all of this is possible. People are murdered, children are lost, acts of terrorism are being committed, planes crash, boats sink, people die from just falling down or hitting their heads in the shower.

So why don't we run screaming for our mothers and fathers? Why don't we hide under our covers until we're 90?

I call it the Bird Disease Phenomenon.

When a child sees a feather on the ground, he will inevitably pick it up. Why shouldn't he? Feathers are beautiful and elegant and children especially love them. But adults nearby usually respond to the feather-collecting with a, "Don't pick that up." When the child asks why, the adult will usually say, "It has all sorts of...bird diseases on it or something." The child doesn't care. He will rub the brightly colored barbs of the feather with his short, grubby fingers. He might even stick it into his cap.

We know that terrible things happen in the world. The majority of us know that these things could happen to us. But we also know that every day a baby is born. A child laughs, people get married. Someone pays off their debt or buys their dream house. Some Hollywood film or another inspires the next Meryl Streep. Every day people fall in love.

There has to be a balance. We can't live our lives like nothing can ever touch us, nor can we sit and wait to be shot or robbed or mugged. We have to live aware of what we have, of what we want and what we need. We have to be careful, but not too much so that we can't enjoy anything.

We have to live with hope.

Graduation

I feel like I'm getting stuck on lasts. This is the last time I'll ever hug that friend. The last time I'll sign an MCS yearbook...my last in-school brunch. I don't want to keep thinking, every time I do some normal or generic thing, that it's the last time I'll ever do it. I don't want to give a final speech or eat a closing dinner. I don't want to say goodbye.

Suddenly, every small thing I do, every person I shake hands with, every joke I laugh at, seems to hold a heavier weight. I'm burdened with the realization of the importance of every move I make, smile I crack or face I pull. Everything I do is a last. I will never do what I'm doing right now ever again. 

Throughout tonight, I felt weighted by this discovery. No inside joke or picture of a teacher as their younger, wilder self could incorporate the same lightness it had previously possessed. My mind flitted back to the fact that I would never again share a moment just like this. I felt I was losing something. 

Maybe I felt that I was losing friendships. That maybe keeping in touch with everyone wasn't going to be as easy as I thought. Or maybe I was afraid of losing the uniqueness I feel my graduating class exudes. Mostly, I think I was afraid of losing the moment. 

Moments fly by so fast you might not even see one pass you by. Think about the first time you ever ate cheesecake (or any other delectable dessert). Were you astounded? Amazed by its deliciousness? Probably not. But wouldn't you give anything to go back to the first time you ate that cheesecake, knowing that it would be the only time you would ever get to taste it as you'd never tasted it before? 

Tonight, as I mingled and laughed and stuffed my face, I kept watching the moments pass me by while I was unable to do anything but observe. A friend across from me at the table would laugh, and I would look up to the ceiling, watching her chuckle float up into the air, never to be seen or heard from again. I might have even tried to catch it once or twice. 

But by the end of my graduation dinner tonight, I realized something. It wasn't just this day that was a last. It was every day. Every day we experience "lasts." Every day we experience a completely different set of challenges, successes and social drama. No snowflake is exactly alike, and neither is any day, hour, minute or second. 

But every last is also a first. Every time you experience something, you are experiencing it for the last time. Because there will never be another time when you are in the exact same place, in the exact same time, doing the exact same things with the exact same people. But because of this, every time you experience something, you are experiencing something for the first time. 

Imagine that. 

Go back to the cheesecake example. Don't you yearn for the day when you could taste cheesecake for the first time again? Can't you almost imagine how delighted your tastebuds would feel if they knew fully well they would never taste cheesecake like this again? 

Well, now imagine everything you do, everything you say, is like eating cheesecake for the first time. Think of how extraordinary that is. Everything you experience is totally unique to you, and doesn't exist anywhere else. 

The only way you can truly enjoy something, and I mean enjoy a moment through and through, is if you are fully aware that it is the first (and last) time you will ever experience it. And that's what I learned tonight. 

NEW BLOG

So a friend and I decided we were going to co-own a picture blog!!! We're gonna try to post at least one picture every day. Some of them will be mine, some of them will be hers....

Check it out: Night Owl

Hopefully you'll subscribe so you can see every time we post!!!!

Butterflies

For the past three days I've been camping, and 18 hours of those three days I was completely alone in the woods (in the mountains) with nothing but water, two tarps, rope, and a wet sleeping bag.

And it wasn't profound. Or spectacular. Or even horrible (even though it hailed). 

But because I was camping, I was unable to be on the internet, post any posts, write any fanfiction, read anyone else's (amazingwonderfulthankyousoverymuch) blog posts....

And so I'm doing all that now. 

I don't really know what this post was supposed to be about originally....or if it was supposed to be about anything at all. 

Just thank you, I guess. THANKS EVERYONE!!!

Especially people with angel-eyes who are part of the universe's big, mysterious plan. Plan A, to be exact.

ONE MORE THING:

This is a song I wrote and recorded: 

Now I have to go work on a birthday present.