Someone to be admired (19)

When I was younger, I was a hard-core basketball player.  I lived basketball, I breathed basketball.  It was my life.  Every day after school, I went to practice, and almost every weekend there was a tournament to play in.  During the summer, I went to basketball camps.  It wasn't just a hobby, it was a passion.  I was a part of a traveling team in the state.  An elite team that you didn't try out for, but rather that you were recruited for.  It was an honor to be a part of the team.  Not because of the accomplishment that it was, but rather because it was the significant thing that shaped who I grew up to be.  That had a large part to do with my coach.  I started playing for the team when I was in fifth grade.  There were only a few of us fifth graders. The league went all the way up to eighth grade.  So from the fifth grade, all the way to the eighth grade, I was fortunate enough to have the same coach.  I know that many people can write essays upon essays about why they admire their coaches, but in my case, the situation is different.  The thing about my coach was that he was almost entirely paralyzed.  He had a little bit of movement in his arms, but most certainly wheel-chair bound.  Now, coaching basketball is an incredibly difficult feat for someone who does not have the luxury of conventional mobility.  However, there wasn't another coach in the world that I would have rather had. 
Many of the coaches that we went up against taught their players that the key to happiness was winning and that you must win at ANY cost necessary.  My coach took the road less traveled.  He taught us that basketball wasn't the only way to happiness, in fact, he taught us that to truly appreciate the game, we had to have our priorities straight.  He told us every day that he didn't care if we won the first place trophy.  He cared that we won the sportsmanship trophy.  He had high expectations of how we worked as a team.  Rather than scoring the point, we had to make sure that everyone from our team on the floor was passed the ball first.  We weren't allowed to play dirty.  It wasn't tolorated.  But it was mandetory that win or lose, we talked with the other team at the end of the game, and found something to compliment them on.  On my basketball team, we had a mandetory hour-long study hall before practice.  We were expected to be on time and we weren't able to let our grades drop if we were hoping to start in the next game. 
Now, you might be wondering if we were a team worth mentioning.  We won tournaments, we even placed at state.  I cherish those memories, but even more so, I cherish the life lessons that I learned from my coach.  I cherish the fact that at the end of every practice, our entire team sat in a semi circle around our coach's wheel chair and talked about our highs and lows of the day.  I admire my coach for taking the road less traveled, and I hope that when it is my turn to pass along wisdom, I remember the core truths that he lived by.  That everyone can cross the finish line.  Some people are first, and they might seem important, but it is the ones who help their fellow runner across the line that are remembered. 
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My Breath of Fresh Air (18)

I spend quite a bit of my waking hours indoors, looking out at an incredible view of utter beauty.  Outside the doors of my work, I have the most spectacular view of the mountains.  Some might say that I was lucky to have that view, but I don't know if I agree.  By nature, I LOVE to be outdoors.  There is nothing in comparison to the full breath of fresh air that you get out in the middle of no-where.  That breath isn't congested with to-do lists, or phone calls, or e-mails or alarm clocks or bills.  That breath flows through you, clearing the clutter of everyday life that has accumulated inside.  So when I look out the window at work, I don't see a beautiful view, I see what I am missing out on. 
One of my hobbies is hiking.  I love escaping into the wilderness and embarking on an adventure.  I love escaping the mass-hysteria of constant movement in the city and finding myself enjoying the moment of a close group of fellow hikers.  All of us, experiencing a new perspective in a monotonous world. 
The anticipation of accomplishment from completing a hike or the moment of relaxation when resting at the top of a mountain top.  There is no greater way to spend a day. What's more, I am a poor college student, and I can spend a day completely happy, without spending a dime.  I can walk out of my house and find myself on a hike in a matter of minutes. 
The beauty of a hike is that no two hikes will ever be the same.  I have hiked the same trails multiple times, and each time there is something new to see.  Nature doesn't stay the same.  Seasons change and aspects of nature come and go.  You learn to appreciate them in that moment, but not expect them in the future. 
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Sterotypes (16)

The way that I look at sterotypes has changed drastically over the past five years.  I have come to realize, almost instantaneous, when I sterotype people, whereas, years ago, I didn't always notice.  It all started when I was on the road.  We traveled on average to six new cities every week.  With those new cities, came a wide variety of new people.  At first,  I didn't always see the "wide-variety".  I saw the jock, the brain, the princess...heck I saw the whole Breakfast Club.  I saw people how I thought I was supposed to see them.  It wasn't until I spent time with people that I considered to be so "alike" because of how they looked or how they carried themselves that I realized just how different they actually were. That is the only reason that I could assume that sterotypes exist.  The reason being that certain individuals register as the same because of similar surface characteristics.    The SURFACE.  What we see.  Not what we experience from being around the individuals.  To prove a point, I would like to share an encounter I had with two girls, twins actually.  From the outside, they didn't look like they cared about besides what people wore or who they were friends with.  In Hollywood, these girls would have been written into the story as the sterotypical "dumb blonds".  You know, the ones who twirl their hair and who don't speak with words, but simply with letters, like OMG or BRB.  In fact, that is what I expected from these girls.  The set of them.  Suprisingly enough, this couldn't be further from the truth.  These two girls couldn't be more different.  And even more suprisingly, they couldn't be more different from one another.  One was deeply philosophical and one was obsessed with sports.  The girls I ended up meeting were polar opposite to what I had expected.  It was in that moment, that I realized I needed to meet people before I presumed to know them.  I needed to have a conversation with them and allow them to be who they were and not who I expected them to be.  After all, that is what I would hope people who do for me.  This has significantly changed the people and the blessings that have walked into my life, and that is why I am so thankful for being so painfully aware of sterotypes. 

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It's a Mystery! (Blog #12)

I have always been a big fan of mystery novels.  More specifically, I love the whodunit novels.  I have been told that I have a very peculiar taste in literature.  One of my all time favorite authors is Agatha Christie.  Not many people my age even know who Agatha Christie is, but I could spend countless hours reading her stories.  In fact, I have.  My mom was a librarian when I was growing up, so she was always pushing us to discover authors that we didn't know anything about, and one day, I stumbled upon Agatha.  I was in the fifth grade when I first picked up one of her books.  Agatha Christie is not typically on a fifth grader's reading list, but after the first novel, I was hooked. 
It is said that some tastes are acquired, and this was the case with this particular author.  Her books have never been ones that grab me right from the start.  In fact, it took quite a bit of time to really get into the first story.  But by the end, I was engrossed in the scandals, mystery and suspense that was an Agatha Christie story.   I have noticed that there are hardly any hardcore Agatha Christie fans out there, but I believe that there should be many, many more.  Many of her works have been made into movies, but very few people realize that these movies are based off of books. 
If I had to recommend just one of Agatha Christie's books, I would have to recommend And Then There Were None.  It is by far one of her better known pieces, and a good first taste of who Agatha Christie is as a writer.  There is plenty of mystery and intrigue and even more so, there are so many twists and turns, and once the murderer is announced, you will be shocked that you didn't see it coming. 
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Boarderline Obsessive (Blog # 10)

I work in a clothing store, so I am very particular with my closet.  This may sound shallow, or pointless to some, but to me it is a boarderline compulsion. I am a stickler to my laundry guidelines, not because I take any pride in my wardrobe, but because it is as if someone was ringing a bell, and I was Pavlov's dog.  I spend a majority of my day working with clothing, and one thing I do is color coordinate and straighten the store, so that it looks its best.  With this said, I have an incredibly hard time doing laundry in the normal sense.  In general, I don't consider myself obsessively neat, but when it comes to my closet, it is as if I am a completely different person.  My obsessiveness starts after the articles of clothing have been smothered in soap, drowned in water, and tumbled in the dryer. 
First, I have to take the items out of the dryer, and seperate them by category.  The five categories that I really pay attention to are the categories that I hang in my closet.  These are long sleeved tops, short sleeved tops, dresses, dress pants, and finally skirts.  The categories are in order of the frequency I wear them.  Dresses are farthest back.  I have never been much of a girlie-girl, and on most days would rather pretend that they don't exist, but I am aware of the fact that every once in awhile, dresses are required, so I have a few for such emergencies.  After dresses, skirts follow close behind.  I think if told I had to chose dresses or skirts, I think I would pick skirts.  I don't really know why, but for some reason, they seem less threatening.  Dress pants follow skirts, mostly because I have very few occasions that I really need to wear them.  Since it is winter weather still, I have less demand for short sleeved tops, so I tuck those in after dress pants.  Lastly, I have my stock of long sleeved tops at the very beginning of my closet. 
Now I wouldn't feel quite so rediculous if it stopped there, but oh no.  My compulsion goes much, much further.  Every hanger in my closet, all my hangers are white.  It has been engrained into me that hangers must compliment the article of clothing it carries.  Through all my years of experience, the one thing I have picked up on is that a white hanger goes with just about anything, and it has become my go-to hanger by default. 
After I have finished inspecting my hangers, I must make sure that each category of clothing is color coordinated. Where one category finishes, another category picks up on the same color, so it is a continual flow of color.  Once the wave of color has been complete, my last task is to make sure that all buttons are buttoned and all zippers are zipped. 
Everytime I do laundry, it seems to become quite the production, and I am sad to say that I may never get over this compulsion.  Retail has ruined my abilities to be lazy....at least with my closet anyways...
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