Looking back now it makes me laugh: we were growing our hair; we were cutting class.
Great words by singer Kenny Chesney, they describe the feelings I've been having as I grow toward my last year of college. It's hard to believe that it was three years ago that I was first heading to Florida State University. Fresh out of high school, I thought I was all that. Oh how wrong I was. At a fresh 17-years-old I was heading to college, not knowing what to expect, what changes I would go through, what experiences were about to be had.
Looking back, I can easily say that my time (so far; remember I'm only three fourths done) at Florida State has been the best time of my life. I've grown in so many ways. I've learned about myself, learned about life, learned about love, learned about truth, lies, friendship, and so many other things. It's hard to adequately explain all that I've learned in the last three years at FSU.
I started in June of 2008. It's not June of 2011 and I am looking forward to going back as an RA (Resident Assistant/babysitter) for the CARE program. I'll be in Landis Hall--one building and three floors away from where I began my collegiate career three years earlier. Gilchrist 101. Those six weeks held memories that have partially shaped my times at FSU. I met people I would lose touch with, I met some of my best friends. I grew as a person. I learned what it meant to truly have freedom: the ability to go out and come back home as you please without answering to anyone.
I thought I knew freedom back in high school; my parents were very relaxed and open, while being very strict and parental at the same time. It's hard to explain my relationship with my parents, save to say it's the best relationship I think parents and their son can have. I learned at college that it's my life, compiled of my decisions (good, bad and ugly), my thoughts, my emotions. MY life. That's the crucial part that far too few people understand. It's your life. The only person you have the ability to make happy is you. I know too many people who live their lives to please those around them.
Forget that. A poet, who happens to be my grandfather -- the man I get all of my writing ability from -- once said that this life "is about all said and done. I realize it won't be my only one." This life isn't our only one, but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend this one working for someone else.
Back to the point. I've come so far in the last three years. June 2008--I had no idea what I was going to study in college. If even then you had told me I'd be an English major I'd have told you that you're nuts. That being said, here I am writing my thoughts. I even got an "A" in my advanced writing course. There are so many things that can be learned in college.
As many before me have said, "you learn more in college outside of the classroom than you do in the classroom." This is absolutely true. While colleges focus you on taking this class or that class, or what your major is and your GPA, they all realize that you're going to learn more about yourself than you could ever learn about biology or chemistry or psychology or any other -ology.
Selfology. That's what any college really sells. The learning of your self. You can learn how you think politically, socially, emotionally, psychologically and methodically. People think in different ways. Some like it blunt; some like it to be sugar-coated. Your parents can only do so much molding of your character. It's up to you, who you become. You can follow the rules, dot all of your i's, cross all of your t's. Or you can rebel and be that which all parents fear: the free-spirited thinker. Know this though, society never progresses without rebels at the head. Do you think Martin Luther King, Jr. crossed his t's? Do you think Maya Angelou dotted all of her i's (metaphorically of course. She's a writer so she dotted her i's literally)? Do you think John Fitzgerald Kennedy just followed the status quo?
I'm not telling you to be the change you see in the world, but be the change you see in your world, that's all you can do.
24 May 2011
29 April 2011
A bit of Pingüi
So, as a reporter I very rarely take part in any publication of a "cause," but in light of the recent twister devastation that hit much of the American South, it's hard for me to let it just pass me by. The best way I know to help is to tell the story; what can I say, I'm a story teller at heart.
This disaster hit FAR too close to home. Tuscaloosa, Alabama is the town where my little sister goes to school. There is video on the web of a tornado hitting Bryant-Denny Stadium at the University of Alabama. After seeing that video, I realized that she lives in Ridgecrest South, a mere 3/4 mile away from the stadium.
This supercell thunderstorm spawned over 173 tornadoes in one night. Over 300 people in five states are dead, and at least three 'Bama students are dead. 87 people are dead in Tuscaloosa alone.
This is one of the deadliest storms in Southern history. This supercell is compared to a storm that hit back in the 1930s that killed 332 people. There are bodies still missing, which could make this storm even more deadly than the 1932 storm.
Finals at 'Bama were canceled and students were told to head home if they can. My parents and I are heading up there this weekend to pack my little sister's things up to bring her home. We'll stay for a few days to help wherever we can, knowing that we truly dodged a bullet.
Prayers are being ferociously sent to this part of the country and to all of those affected by this horrifying tragedy.
This disaster hit FAR too close to home. Tuscaloosa, Alabama is the town where my little sister goes to school. There is video on the web of a tornado hitting Bryant-Denny Stadium at the University of Alabama. After seeing that video, I realized that she lives in Ridgecrest South, a mere 3/4 mile away from the stadium.
This supercell thunderstorm spawned over 173 tornadoes in one night. Over 300 people in five states are dead, and at least three 'Bama students are dead. 87 people are dead in Tuscaloosa alone.
This is one of the deadliest storms in Southern history. This supercell is compared to a storm that hit back in the 1930s that killed 332 people. There are bodies still missing, which could make this storm even more deadly than the 1932 storm.
Finals at 'Bama were canceled and students were told to head home if they can. My parents and I are heading up there this weekend to pack my little sister's things up to bring her home. We'll stay for a few days to help wherever we can, knowing that we truly dodged a bullet.
Prayers are being ferociously sent to this part of the country and to all of those affected by this horrifying tragedy.
27 April 2011
Life
The other day I got a text message from my mom:
This got me to thinking. Life has ups, downs, lefts and rights. Life has loops, twists, curves, tunnels and bridges. There's no denying that life is hard. As my little sister says "Life is a bitch because if it was a whore it'd be too easy." Ain't that the truth? I'll be the first to admit that life has its challenges, but I'll be damned if it's not worth every single struggle. Life has its way of teaching you exactly what it wanted to. Something my mom told me on a different occasion is that you need the downs to truly appreciate the ups. Without the sad we wouldn't know the happy.
Learning this wasn't easy to do. It took some failures; it took some pain; most of all it took some triumph. That sweet, sweet taste of self-pride. Knowing that someone saying "I'm proud of you" can't even hold a candle to the pride you feel in yourself is one of the greatest feelings you can ever feel.
Pride may be a sin, but it's a necessary one. We must take pride in the work we do. If my dad didn't take pride in his (what he calls) "grease-job landings," all the passengers would readily know it. Having the pride in his work shows in the work he does. The same holds true for a writer. If a writer doesn't take pride in their work then the reader can tell. You get writing that's unpleasant or hard to read. When a writer takes pride in their writing they will put their heart and soul into the work, and (as with the prideless writer) the reader can tell.
If life gets you in a funk, don't worry. It happens to the best of us. It happens to presidents; it happens to CEOs; it happens to poets; it happens to parents. There is no one who can avoid a funk once in a while. As bizarre as it sounds, enjoy your funk.
You'll come out on top in the end, but learn the lessons that you're meant to while you are at rock bottom.
"Life is great, ain't it?"
"Every second of it," I replied.
"Every damn one," she said.
This got me to thinking. Life has ups, downs, lefts and rights. Life has loops, twists, curves, tunnels and bridges. There's no denying that life is hard. As my little sister says "Life is a bitch because if it was a whore it'd be too easy." Ain't that the truth? I'll be the first to admit that life has its challenges, but I'll be damned if it's not worth every single struggle. Life has its way of teaching you exactly what it wanted to. Something my mom told me on a different occasion is that you need the downs to truly appreciate the ups. Without the sad we wouldn't know the happy.
Learning this wasn't easy to do. It took some failures; it took some pain; most of all it took some triumph. That sweet, sweet taste of self-pride. Knowing that someone saying "I'm proud of you" can't even hold a candle to the pride you feel in yourself is one of the greatest feelings you can ever feel.
Pride may be a sin, but it's a necessary one. We must take pride in the work we do. If my dad didn't take pride in his (what he calls) "grease-job landings," all the passengers would readily know it. Having the pride in his work shows in the work he does. The same holds true for a writer. If a writer doesn't take pride in their work then the reader can tell. You get writing that's unpleasant or hard to read. When a writer takes pride in their writing they will put their heart and soul into the work, and (as with the prideless writer) the reader can tell.
If life gets you in a funk, don't worry. It happens to the best of us. It happens to presidents; it happens to CEOs; it happens to poets; it happens to parents. There is no one who can avoid a funk once in a while. As bizarre as it sounds, enjoy your funk.
You'll come out on top in the end, but learn the lessons that you're meant to while you are at rock bottom.
02 April 2011
Award
Yesterday I received my first of (hopefully) many awards for my work. I was invited to the Society of Professional Journalists' Mark of Excellence award luncheon in Birmingham. This luncheon started the SPJ Region 3 conference. Of course, I went. I drove from Tallahassee to Tuscaloosa -- where my little sister goes to school. My mom, dad and grandmother were there visiting her. The four of us (everyone minus my sister) drove the next day to Birmingham for the luncheon. On our way there, I was thinking about this award and what it might mean... I knew I had received an award, but wasn't sure what place I got.
I found out that I got first place in the radio in-depth award reporting category. This means that I will continue onto the national competition. I have a hard time believing that my story received first place. I'm amazed and awestruck. I was proud of that work when I submitted, but I had no idea that it might actually win.
The piece was about the transfer of authority between two college presidents: one past, one present. Dr. Thomas Kent (TK) Wetherell retired and allowed Dr. Eric Barron to assume responsibility of FSU President. I interviewed both men and compiled bits and pieces of the interviews into one long (15 minutes long) piece for the radio.
This Mark of Excellence award has only deepened my passion for journalism. This is just affirmation that I'm actually GOOD at what I do. That's a good feeling. It only pushes me to do better work, find deeper meaning in stories and work harder.
I found out that I got first place in the radio in-depth award reporting category. This means that I will continue onto the national competition. I have a hard time believing that my story received first place. I'm amazed and awestruck. I was proud of that work when I submitted, but I had no idea that it might actually win.
The piece was about the transfer of authority between two college presidents: one past, one present. Dr. Thomas Kent (TK) Wetherell retired and allowed Dr. Eric Barron to assume responsibility of FSU President. I interviewed both men and compiled bits and pieces of the interviews into one long (15 minutes long) piece for the radio.
This Mark of Excellence award has only deepened my passion for journalism. This is just affirmation that I'm actually GOOD at what I do. That's a good feeling. It only pushes me to do better work, find deeper meaning in stories and work harder.
05 March 2011
Poetry
I knew poetry could be moving; I really did. I've never been an extreme fan of poetry. In fact, I rather disliked it back in high school. However, I know that there can be real meaning behind the words of a poem.
I may have just learned this first-hand from longhand. I decided I wanted to write -- copy, rather -- Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise" poem. It is, without question, my favorite poem of all time. It's much longer than most people realize. I got out an unlined piece of printer paper, took my pad of lined paper and set it underneath, and began to write.
The very first stanza, complete with 26 words, ties words together in a formula that produces extreme results. Without reading the rest of the poem, you still understand what is going on.
These next two stanzas compliment each other.
Skipping ahead a bit, we reach my favorite stanza in the entire poem.
Never before have I cried while I wrote something. It was not a sad cry -- no, not at all. It was more of crying because I thought of how powerful -- really powerful those words were. Those words, as they flowed out of my hand, hit me. Not like a high school bully punch, but like a freight train barreling down the tracks. As Maya herself says, words are things. They can get into your wallpaper, underneath your rugs and deep in your skin. Be careful the words you use, and make sure they're the words you mean to use.
I may have just learned this first-hand from longhand. I decided I wanted to write -- copy, rather -- Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise" poem. It is, without question, my favorite poem of all time. It's much longer than most people realize. I got out an unlined piece of printer paper, took my pad of lined paper and set it underneath, and began to write.
"You may write me down in history
with your bitter, twisted lies.
You may trod me in the very dirt,
but just like dust, I'll rise."
The very first stanza, complete with 26 words, ties words together in a formula that produces extreme results. Without reading the rest of the poem, you still understand what is going on.
"Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom,
just 'cause I walk as if I have oil wells
pumping in my living room?
Just like suns and like moons,
with the certainty of tides,
just like hope springing high,
still I'll rise."
These next two stanzas compliment each other.
Skipping ahead a bit, we reach my favorite stanza in the entire poem.
"You can shoot me with your words.
You can cut me with your lies.
You can kill me with your hatefulness,
but just like life, I'll rise!"
This stanza, to me, has some of the most powerful language in the entire poem. What it says, to me, is that no matter what you try to do to me, no matter how much you bring me down, no matter how cruel you can be, I'll still rise. I'll still be me and I'll still be the person I've always been and the person I'll always be.
As I was writing, I was learning. I could hear the words spoken in my own head. I had heard the words pass over my lips, through my teeth and over my tongue before, but never had I felt them through my hands and out of my fingertips. As I reached the following stanza (I'll underline the particular line), I began to tear up.
"Out of the huts of history's shame,
I rise.
Up from a past rooted in pain,
I rise.
A black ocean leaping and wide,
welling and swelling, I bear in the tide."
Never before have I cried while I wrote something. It was not a sad cry -- no, not at all. It was more of crying because I thought of how powerful -- really powerful those words were. Those words, as they flowed out of my hand, hit me. Not like a high school bully punch, but like a freight train barreling down the tracks. As Maya herself says, words are things. They can get into your wallpaper, underneath your rugs and deep in your skin. Be careful the words you use, and make sure they're the words you mean to use.
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