Readjust To Center

Let me just begin the forthcoming metaphor by saying I am not a strong swimmer, and by not a strong swimmer, I mean I can’t swim. That said, these days I feel like I am barely treading water.

Life in general is great. It’s beautiful out here in California, I have an amazing apartment, and am building some quality friendships. School is going well too, and while the work load is hefty it’s satisfying. But the great expanse of pages are the waves crashing down on me. To be fair, this is my Type-A personality coming out. I am by no means failing or struggling, but succeeding isn’t as easy at it used to be. And I can handle the work load. There’s a strange system to how I get all that reading done, so that’s not really the problem. No, the problem is that in the midst of all this work I’m loosing my sense of inner balance.

I need to get better at taking time to do something small for myself on a day-to-day basis. The schoolwork is important and takes up a lot of time, so that’s why I’m emphasizing the small action, almost like a daily affirmation of the self. Something like snapping a picture of a beautiful flower on the walk to school. Or painting my nails (I did this today and felt more put together). Or baking cookies. Frivolous things to be sure, but sometimes a little frivolity leads to a lot of sanity.

I also miss non-academic writing, so I’m going to try to rededicate myself to this blog. And I want to pick up writing poetry again. I have a notebook where all my first drafts of poetry gets scribbled down, and it has been buried in my desk drawer since the move. Poetry is such a catharsis for me, and in a way, I think I’ve been afraid of that recently. After my relationship recently ended I’ve been scared to delve too deep into emotions that might cripple me while I try to start something new. But I realized this afternoon how much I miss writing poetry. So in the midst of scholastic reading, blogging, scholarship hunting, and daily frivolousness I’m going to try to work in some poetry. Maybe I’ll even get ambitious and submit my writing to journals.

I may not be a strong swimmer but I’m strapping on the goggles, cinching on the life-preserver, and piling on the floaties. Eventually, I’ll learn how to figuratively swim.

Backyard Amateur

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Even before digital cameras were found in nearly every home (Egads, I’m dating myself at 22) I have been captivated by photography. Getting a point and shoot, disposable camera back in the day was a gateway for fun. Our gifted and talented class took several field trips to downtown St. Louis over the years. We’d be taught the basics of centering, aligning left. or right, and then set loose into the botanical gardens or given a guided tour of the architecture. We would have an entire role of film to take whatever pictures we desired. I relished those days and looked forward to the creative freedom. Those cameras were point and shoots as well but that never felt like a limitation.

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Nowadays I’ve got a Canon Powershot camera of my own, and my little digital does a great job. But today is more about using my very first professional level camera. Mom has always shared my love of photography and has been curious about using a higher level camera. She found a Canon EOS 5d camera at an estate sale for a fraction of the cost. Playtime!

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I’m no pro. I’m a happy little amateur who got to play with a serious toy. I had to fiddle around with the thing for about thirty minutes to learn how to focus and zoom. I still have no idea what most of the settings do. I’m too stubborn to read the manual and would rather learn by experimenting. So today I tramped out to my backyard and started snapping.

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These pictures are my favorites. I didn’t do any rearranging. Everything I photographed naturally occurs in my backyard. But I did do some minor editing on the computer using Windows Live Photo Gallery. Just some cropping and a few color alterations.

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In this weather, I was a feast for the mosquitoes. But I had fun running around the backyard with my dogs, Sadie and Oliver. Mom loves birdhouses and fairy elements, and those were my favorite to photograph.

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I love how the old iron chair feels like a found moment. There were a lot of little treasures like this in the backyard. I had completely forgotten that my Uncle Rob made the birdhouse below for my mom.  Today was all about rediscovering what’s behind my house.

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After my little photography adventure, I’m excited to play with this camera elsewhere. Perhaps I’ll tackle the front yard next?

June, July, and August

These days, the thing that is consuming my life beyond measure is graduate school. I’ll be heading out to Chapman University at the end of the summer to begin working on my masters degree in film studies. If only it were as simple as showing up and studying. I’ve got to find an apartment, find a job, and mostly move my entire existence out of Saint Louis, Missouri and into Orange, California. It’s a hectic process, one you’ll probably be hearing a lot about in the next few weeks.

In tearing through my life here and this small house I’ve called home, I have managed to dredge up so many memories, particularly ones from high school. I’ve been thinking back to those teachers that really changed my life and helped me get to where I am now. Honestly, there were several. I was very lucky to go to Webster Groves High School. In 1999, Time Magazine put WGHS on its cover, the centerfold story describing a week at the high school. The article pegged us as the quintessential middle American high school, but if you ask any of the teachers who were there for the journalist’s interviews, the piece isn’t entirely true to the WGHS experience. My time there was served from 2004-2008, but I knew many of the teachers featured in the magazine.

I could not be more grateful to have gone to Webster Groves as a high school student. Was it perfect? God, no! High school in and of itself is a rare form of hell, a gauntlet which all teens must pass. But what makes me glad to be a Statesman (yep, that was our mascot. Top hat and a cane. Fear us.) is the opportunities I had as a student. WGHS is home to some classes that wouldn’t make the cut at most high schools. Forensic science, personal finance, psychology, Latin, creative writing, and film appreciation were all things I took in high school.

Today, it’s the last two on that list that concern me. Creative writing and film appreciation have become driving forces in my life since high school. Both were taught by one man, Mr. Leftridge. He was one of my favorite teachers. Leftridge was young, delightfully loud, with a born announcer’s voice, and blessedly quirky. He once told me there are three reasons people become teachers: June, July, and August. I can honestly say that this nutter of a man changed my life in a major way.

Poetry had been something I loved writing since about sixth grade (another fantastic teacher there, Mr. Waters), but I guess I didn’t see much of a future in being a poet at the time. Leftridge’s creative writing class drastically changed all that. Not only did he get me to value my abilities as a writer and think of myself as a poet, but he forced me to try other styles. In that class we wrote it all, we were even required to submit a weekly blog of 500 words or more. I lay this impulse to blog even now at Leftridge’s door. He also introduced me to the idea of writing a one-act play. My piece “Advising the Afterlife” about a demon and an angel fighting over a soul to fulfill their quotas has been performed twice since 2008; I started that one-act after taking his creative writing class. Me being a creative writing major in college is due in large part to Leftridge’s influence.

But it’s his film appreciation course that really did me in. Mr. Leftridge told everyone straight up that this would not be an easy A just because it involved film. Challenge accepted. And he threw down. There were weekly quizzes about the material covered, minutiae level stuff that you could not get if you didn’t study, and two big movie reviews. But I was in heaven. We started with clips of early films: Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927), Alan Crosland’s The Jazz Singer (1927), and D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation (1915). We also covered all the major genres, and worked our way up from the classics to modern day. That class was absolutely phenomenal. I got introduced to some of my favorite movies like Casablanca and Singing In the Rain. It was really the first time I thought about film and its relevance–movies as more than just a blockbuster experience. Yet, it wasn’t until college that I actually believed I could build my life around my two biggest passions, writing and film. Now, I’m going to be working towards a degree in film studies. Sometimes that still blows my mind.

I’ve had so many awe inspiring teachers and professors along the way, and will likely know more as I continue my education. But I give special credit to Mr. Leftridge for fostering my two loves in life and giving me the opportunity to experience them. If you couldn’t tell, I’m an immensely sentimental person. So as I sit here starting a new blog and headed towards a new life, I couldn’t help but think about what got me to this place. Too often we forget those teachers or professors that inspired us along the way. I sent Mr. Leftridge an email today thanking him for all that he has done. There were so many educators from WGHS in particular who helped me become me, that I don’t think it will be my last email or letter of thanks.