Hello Hypocrisy

Well if I felt God tapping on my shoulder recently, He basically shoved me today.

It starts with yesterday. I was walking over to one of the campus buildings for a meeting when I ran into an old acquaintance. His name is Rusty, and he is perhaps one of the kindest, humblest guys you will ever meet. He's tall with brownish red hair, is very genuine and 100% country. He is also one of the strongest Christians I know.

We said nothing more than "hi, how are you?" but I felt an instant blush of embarrassment and guilt. I hadn't seen nor talked to him in a long time, and the last time we had talked I was still this innocent Christian girl who was in her first year of college. It was long before I had ever touched alcohol or sacrificed any of my morals. And while I have no clue as to whether he was passing any judgment on me, part of me couldn't help but think that somewhere inside he was shaking his head. I still keep the innocent facade, but that's all that it is.

And then today, only a few moments ago. I was sitting outside the library, trying to catch up on the chapters I need to read for my magazine management class. While I was lost in the "top 10 tips to being the best editor" I heard voice near me. "Excuse me, ma'am? Can we ask you a few questions about spirituality?"

I couldn't say no. Not to sound too narcissistic, but I'm always the one asking people questions when in reality I do love to talk about myself (who doesn't?). Also, it was about spirituality. My spirituality. What kind of person would I be if I couldn't talk about the one thing I am trying to put as my number one priority?

So I was introduced to the three there, the videographer, an assistant, and the guy interviewing me. The questions began.

I knew as soon as they decided to interview me that this was going to be something for Campus Crusades for Life, aka Cru. I've been here long enough to know which religious group is out doing what. Navigators are the laid-back, relaxed group (I love Navs). Cru is the "get out there and spread the word" group! Usually this is intimidating and scares people off. But you know what? They're doing what they feel is right, what they feel will bring people to God. I have nothing against them.

Anyways, I answered my questions, as honestly and as intelligently as I possibly could. My first answer to the first question was probably the best. He asked me what I felt was the most important thing in life. I didn't say God or my faith, or anything like that. I said what was probably the most honest answer I could give: love. And that's the truth. To love my family, my friends, my boyfriend, even strangers, to the best of my ability. I can't say I excel at this...but it is the most important thing to me.

The rest of the questions were more directed towards God, and I answered as honestly as I could. And while I believe the words that were coming from my mouth, I felt like a liar the entire time. How do you get to know God? I gave them my answer. What I didn't tell them was that I wasn't even taking my own advice. I barely go to church. I haven't picked up my Bible in months. And the only time I pray is when I'm struggling and I need help. Religion has become a device I use when I need it. And that wasn't the impression I gave to my interviewers.

There was a particular answer asked in which the guilt really set in. The one girl asked me how my relationship with God affects me in college. I gave a generic answer...going on about how it's tough because there are so many temptations in college. And that's when she did it. She rolled her eyes and nodded her head. It was that look of "yeah, there are too many temptations in college, it's so ridiculous." And I wanted to stop. Because that expression made me realize what I had just done. I had just convinced my interviewers that I was the innocent Christian girl I wanted to portray. If I had let on earlier that I wasn't, she wouldn't have felt comfortable giving that expression. Or maybe she would. But from my experience, when someone tells you about all the sins they've committed, you don't roll your eyes and nod your head in exasperation when you talk of people giving into temptation.

I know what's going to happen. They're going to take clips from that interview and put it up on that giant screen in Pruis and there's going to be my face talking about how great a relationship with God is and why all college students should pursue it. I should start taking my own advice.

I don't know what to make of this. How can I talk to people, allow them to use my opinions on God when I can't even be held accountable for them? There are going to be people in that audience who know me and are going to realize that I am the biggest hypocrite alive.

Why couldn't I just admit that I haven't given God any time recently? Why couldn't I admit that I don't pray like I use to, go to church like I use to? Why couldn't I have been honest and just say, "Look, I am a Christian. I believe in God the Father and Jesus, His one and only son. I love God and I put my faith and trust in Him. But I am a horrible Christian. I sin and fall into temptation all the time. I do things that a Christian shouldn't do. I wish I could give you an answer on why this is and how to get out of it. But I don't even know myself. I know I'm not your "model" Christian. But I am a Christian. Flaws and all. Take it or leave it. This is the reality of being a Christian and college."

I'll tell you why. Because that's not what they wanted to hear. That's not what's going to bring people in. Though I'm beginning to believe if we were all just a little more humble and a whole lot more honest, Christianity wouldn't be what it is today.

I still love that Gandhi quote. "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." I could be the poster child for that.

The Cat's In the Cradle and the Silver Spoon

I am one of those people who don't believe in regrets. I believe that everything happens for a reason, and that every mistake we make has a lesson to be learned from, and therefore is not worth regretting. But this past weekend, all of that belief went right out the window. Because I know I made my biggest regret.

It starts with Friday. I left a little after 3pm to go home. My mission for this trip home, seeing as I had only been there two weekends before, was to talk to my parents about my financial situation. You see, I am literally the definition of a poor-college student. Even though I saved up money in high school and saved room and board last year by working as an RA, I still ended up blowing all of my money on my travels in England. Now people say that you don't regret spending money on traveling, because it is always worth the experience. I'm beginning to think that I beg to differ.

Anyways, once I let my Mom in on my financial struggles she informed my Dad who suggested one weekend I come home and talk about how much I have and and how much I need. I was misinformed. I thought my Dad meant to come home as soon as I could. What he meant was the next weekend I come home we'd talk about it; I didn't have to make a trip home just for this. But it was too late now. I had made my decision to go home earlier that week and so I arrived just a little after 5pm. But my trip would be short; I had planned to come back on Saturday and I promised my boyfriend I would. I told my parents this as well. It seemed like it was going to be a good weekend.

Well, Saturday evening rolls around and I'm once again gathering up my things to go back to Ball State, when my Dad comes and says, "You know, you don't have to go back tonight. You can stay." I knew what this meant. It was my Dad's way of saying that he didn't want me to leave just yet. I went on packing though, wondering whether it was just an offer or if he seriously wanted me to stay. At this point I couldn't tell.

As my time of departure inched closer my Mom chimed in on her wishes. She didn't feel comfortable with me driving alone at night, especially on the back country roads I take. I knew this was an excuse as well, seeing as how last year they had no problem with my driving home for winter break at night alone in the middle of a snow storm. So then I blatantly asked them, "Do you want me to stay?"

My Dad said that we could have a camp fire, I could stay the night and have coffee and Krispy Kreme donuts in the morning (I had earlier mentioned my craving for Krispy Kreme). By then it didn't need to be said. My parents wanted me to stay. Plain and simple.

But I felt stuck. I had promised my boyfriend I would be back, and he had text me earlier that day saying how he missed me and was looking forward to seeing me that night. I was in a corner, and the outcome would be guilt either way. If I stayed, I would be a bad girlfriend. If I left, I would be a bad daughter. There was no win.

My parents helped me decide. Since I had made a promise that I would be back, they told me I couldn't break my promise and started helping me pack my car. The whole while I was fighting back tears. I knew before I even left what I was doing. I was choosing my boyfriend over my family. I felt like I was breaking my own heart.

As soon as I pulled out of the driveway and waved goodbye, the tears broke free. I started crying, silently cursing myself for the decision I had just made. 20 minutes later I was still crying. 30 minutes later, still crying. An hour into my drive the tears were still flowing, while all the while the voice in my head kept saying, "Turn around, go back, it's not too late!" I don't know why I didn't turn around. It would've been so easy to go back, apologize and spend some time with my family, call up my boyfriend tell him the situation and apologize to him as well. I knew he would've understood. But I was in a daze. Too disappointed with myself to try to make it right. I felt numb, and so I kept driving.

I arrived in Muncie and called my parents to let them know I made it. They thanked me for the text messages I sent (John Mayer's "Say" came on while I was at a stop light and so I sent them texts saying I loved them) and were happy to hear I made it. I went inside to my boyfriend's and kept my cool. Until of course, as always, Joe was able to pick up that something that was wrong. When he asked me, the tears started flowing and I ran into the bathroom and poured out how mad I was at myself. After everything my parents have done for me, after all they've given, I was too selfish to stay for just one extra night. The one thing that I could give them was my time, and I couldn't even give them that.

Joe held me as I cried again for another hour. Once the tears stopped and I calmed down, something happened that I certainly didn't see coming.

Joe turned to me, and although I can't remember everything he said, it was something along the lines of how seeing me react this way, seeing how much I care about my family, gave him the chance to see the real me. And then, the words I had been longing to hear for six months were finally said..."I love you."

Really?

Ironically, in the moments in which I hated myself my boyfriend was able to see that he loves me. Which, in a way, reaffirmed my faith in love. Because love is steadfast; you should feel the same love for someone when they're at their worst as when they are at they're best. It was comforting to know that despite my horrendous mistake, my boyfriend was able to see my intentions.

My parents also still love me, even though I left them at the one moment I should have stayed. I told them I was sorry I had not stayed and that I wish I had. They were already over it. Which is also comforting. A parent's love is unconditional.

As I look back on that night I can't help but wonder if that was suppose to happen. Because if I had never chose my boyfriend over my parents, would my boyfriend have ever seen how much I care and realize that he loves me? And if not, how much longer would it have taken? I wished to those words so badly. I guess the saying's true; be careful what you wish for.

In the end, I still do regret leaving my family, despite how happy I am to know that my boyfriend and I are on the same page. I can't help but think that one day when they're gone and I'm not going to have the choice to spend my time with them, I'm going to look back on this day and really hate myself for it. I know it's a little morbid, but that's the reality of life. Putting it in that perspective, tears are still coming to my eyes.

There is a race next Sunday that my Dad is going to. My run club usually goes to this race, but that weekend we'll be in Chicago. But since our race is on a Saturday, and that race is on a Sunday, I can still make the drive to Minster, OH and cheer my Dad on. I'll get to see my parents, and even though no matter how much time I spend with them in the future will never make up for what I've missed in the past, I hope this will at least show them that I do love them and that I do care.

Until then, the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon. Little boy blue and the man on the moon. "When you coming home, daughter?" "Dad I don't know when, but we'll get together then. You know we'll have a good time then."

Love is Patient...

Love is patient. And I am horrible at it.

This weekend was the test for patience on pretty much every level I could think of. I lost patience with my boyfriend. I lost patience with myself. I lost patience with my professor, an editor, friends, and... am I forgetting anyone? Oh, well, I did lose patience with my Mom today. Oh and Ball State. I lost patience with the university too.

I thought I learned patience when I was in England. Mainly because it was forced. In a country where waitresses don't take your order until 15 minutes after you're seated and where transportation was relied on trains and buses, I did my fair share of waiting. I also thought I learned a deeper level of patience. I wasn't able to see my family, friends, and boyfriend for six weeks. I had to wait until the afternoon before I could contact them due to time difference. I had to wait til certain scheduled days and times to skype with my boyfriend. I had to be patient in most aspects of communication.

And if all of that wasn't enough, those three days of Birmingham hell should've done the trick. When you are stuck in a city and literally just waiting three days for a flight to get you home, you learn patience. Well, sort of. I was forced to be patient but I bitched about it every minute I was there and hated those 72 hours. So maybe that's why I'm this way. I learned patience only to lose it.

But regardless of the patience I experienced in England, I am back in America and am having to pursue this virtue again. And it would be great if I learned it very quickly.

This past weekend when I went camping I did more than just argue with my friends about alcohol. I also was able to open up to them and let them know some things they didn't already know. One thing they learned: after 11 months, my boyfriend still hasn't said he loves me.

I'm not a relationship expert, but I know how I feel and I can't forget my friends expressions when I confessed this little secret to them. They were shocked. Literally. They seemed worried and concerned. After finding out I said it six months ago and that nothing has been said, I got the sympathetic, "How do you feel?" "Are you okay?"

Which of course tore me up for the rest of the weekend. After realizing again that how I feel towards my boyfriend isn't the same way he feels towards me, it just ate away at me. So after talking to several friends and thinking more on it I realized it was time to have a talk.

I talked to him today. I feel better, even though I'm still confused. I'm not afraid of my relationship falling apart, but I am wondering when he is going to be on the same page as me. I can't help but wonder, where is the line between being patient and being hopeful?

Am I just hoping one day he'll wake up and realize he loves me? Or am I being a good girlfriend who is patiently waiting?

I sound a little pathetic either way. But I think most people "in love" seem a little pathetic anyway.

At the end of the day, I'd like to think I'm both. I'd like that I have high hopes for the future of my relationship. I also like to think that I'm learning the patience it takes to love someone.

Love is patient. I'm hoping God will help teach me that.

The Ugly Truth

If I felt any temptation of breaking my one year of no alcohol, that ended this weekend.

It was Saturday night and my friends "kidnapped" me to go back to their camp ground at Mounds State Park. I didn't protest to this. Joe was out of town for a wedding, half of my friends were at a football game, and the rest were at this camping trip. I chose to have fun and enjoy a night out with my friends and bond with them without having to worry about the boy. So I went.

Before leaving though, two of my friends decided to hit up the liquor store and asked me what I liked. I won't lie; there was this moment of "Joe's not in town, he's not going to know nor care, what's the big deal if I enjoy a drink with my friends." But as I pondered over whether I really want to break my one-year commitment after only one month of alcohol freedom, another friend told me he wasn't going to drink. I explained the pledge I had made to myself (a pledge I hadn't told anyone about because ironically in my case when I tell people about my goals I have a tendency not to go through with them. I need to prove things to myself on my own). But I told him about my pledge and he agreed that we would be non-drinking buddies and hold one another accountable for a sober night. Awesome.

So when we arrived at the camp ground I didn't expect (but wasn't surprised) to have an opened bottle of woodchuck placed in my hand. I wasn't sure whether to be upset with my friends or flattered. One on hand they wanted be to have a good time and were giving me this bottle of alcohol as a gift. On the other hand, they knew I had told them I didn't want to drink for the night, and offering me alcohol wasn't very supportive. To be fair, these friends didn't know about my pledge either and they are very well aware that I have had no problem downing a beer or two in the past. In their eyes, what they did was nice. I just unfortunately could not accept it.

In my defense I explained my one year alcohol ban to help Joe, which of course required explaining how Joe has considered actually drinking alcohol. What I expected out of my friends was sympathy towards Joe and concern for his well-being and health. Instead I found looks of excitement on their faces, particularly one of my friends, knowing that Joe might be jumping on the college bandwagon and would finally get to experience a so-called "good time".

This both pissed me the hell off and scared the living daylights out of me.

After seeing their reaction, or really the one friend's reaction that sent my blood pressure soaring, I immediately jumped into my explanation of reasons why Joe shouldn't drink. The history of family alcoholism (which they were aware of). The fact that because it is so prominent in his family, his chances of becoming an alcoholic are higher. The fact that I talked to my health professor who agreed I should be concerned, the fact that I listened to alcoholics discussing their struggle when I had to attend an AA meeting for my Drugs and Health class...it's an ugly road I don't want to see anyone go down, especially the person I love.

But my friends wouldn't believe it. "It's situational" they say. Sure, just because Joe's chances of becoming an alcoholic are higher doesn't mean that he'll become one. And I don't disagree with that. But I do think that it's not worth the risk. I do think that it's honestly stupid of my friends to want my boyfriend to drink because they want him to have a "better time" than he's been having when it's possibly putting him in harm's way. I think my friends downplay alcohol and forget that it is an actual DRUG that for some people can be very ADDICTIVE. It's not just some beverage that you drink to feel happy.

And what upsets me even more is not the fact that they're not supporting me, but they're not supporting Joe. This whole time I thought my friends thought higher of him, respected him because for three years of college he's been able to go without the one drug most students try. I thought they understood his reasoning for not drinking and they were supportive and understanding of that. I thought they were on his side.

Now because of my stupid mouth, I feel like I've just made things even more difficult for my boyfriend. Now I'm afraid at the next party we'll go to my friends will be pushing drinks into both our hands. I thought my friends were different than most college students. I know they drink and they like it, but at the end of the day I really thought they believed you didn't need a drink in your hand in order to have a good time. Realizing how wrong I am just makes me heart a sink a little. I honestly feel sorry for them.

Before I was thinking that this year was going to be my struggle. Over this past month I have considered breaking my promise and I began to realize that I first needed to convince myself that alcohol isn't that great if I wanted to convince Joe that. Well, fortunately it didn't take a year, it only took a month. Never before have I been more certain how pathetic it is for college students to rely on alcohol. And never before have I felt so damn determined to prove them wrong.

Memories...what to do with you

I don't know why I want to write about this.

I've been contemplating about writing about this topic since, well, forever. I attempted it my freshman year in my English class. I wouldn't say it was a complete failure, but when I went to talk to my prof, she asked me some deep, personal questions concerning the situation. Questions no one but counselor has asked me. Looking back on the responses I gave her, I realize I wasn't separated enough from the situation to really understand it.

Now I finally feel far enough from the memories and negative feelings to be able to write about it. Thing is, I don't know if I really want to.

There's something about writing about this situation that feels like I'm still dwelling on it. Like there's more to understand, more to figure out. But I understand everything. I understand what happened, why it affected me the way it did, how it has both helped me and hurt me, and how I've moved on past it. What's the point in going down that dark path when my life is so much better with it off my mind?

Then there's this other part of me that feels that it's necessary. Something about it makes sense. Like, if I can write about it and be able to analyze everything and be realistic about it all, then it will only prove to myself that I've moved on. Not to mention, maybe it'll help me let go of any old feelings (if there are any) and put a final seal on the envelope of closure. Maybe it'll give credit to the poor girl I once was, or prove some self-triumph over it all. Or maybe someone else could take something away from it.

Or maybe I'm just being a drama queen and it wasn't really that big of a deal. I mean, will my friends roll their eyes when they hear that I'm bringing this back up again? Or maybe they're wrong. Maybe in this situation, I can't care about how they feel. Maybe it was a big deal. But hell, how do I know what's worth freaking out over and what's not? How do I know what's worth bringing up from the past and what's better left untouched?

I guess I don't. But I also know that I could be logical about it, make a pro and con list, talk to others, try to figure out what's "right". That won't work out either. I'm an emotional person and that pours into every aspect of my life. If I don't feel an emotional connection to something, whether it's good or bad, I usually stay away from it. Nothing bothers me more than committing to something I find mundane.

Well, I guess I just answered part of my problem: I have to be emotionally invested in this if I really want to write about it. Now the question is, do I have the strength to write about something that I associate as a bad experience? Will I be able to handle the negative emotions that are going to come along with it?

I've been thinking about it and I guess the only way to find out is to give it a try. I guess I'll just have to find out for myself. Maybe I'll start and then stop immediately. Maybe I'll find myself trying to pull away from it. Maybe I'll explain everything, find a moral in the story, get to the end and then immediately drag it to my trash can icon. I don't know. I don't know whether it's worth writing about or not. All I do know is that it did affect my life and I owe it to myself to find out what I can do with these memories. Whether it's to let them die or find a positive way to bring them back up.

Now, where do I begin...

The Best of What's Around

I admit that I feel a little pathetic saying that I think that some of the best advice I've ever been given has come from a song. Particularly because there's this stereotype that these songs were written by people who were on drugs, or have shallow superegos who thrive off of fortune and fame. Or of course because most of the songs you hear on the radio aren't even written by the people singing them. Nevertheless, I like to think at the end of the day that musicians are still normal people dealing with all the problems that everyone else faces, and their songs are their simple way of working those problems out.

With that said, Dave Matthews recently gave me some excellent advice when he popped up on my ipod the other day. You see I have been struggling with something that everybody struggles with in life, particularly people my age who are at the end of their college career. Something we're all desperately trying to grab at and hold onto while at the same time are terrified of even going near. I'm talking about that looming little thing called the future.

I've probably said this before, but I guess I see no harm in repeating it again. I am the type of person that either dwells in the past and too often goes down memory lane, or is constantly daydreaming about the future and all the possibilities it holds. My attention for the here and now has always been lacking, but I think out of my fear for the future and my sensitive past that I've grown an appreciation for living in the moment. Still, some things never change, and with this year being the supposed last year of college, the future is all I can think about.

In the past I've dreamed and I've always dreamed big. It was always a mix of emotions, wondering where it was I really wanted to live, who I really wanted to be, what I really wanted to do with my life. Well, I'm only 21 so maybe I don't have that all completely figured out, but I do feel confident saying that I want to be a writer. (I think) I finally have my heart settled on a career. Where I'm going to live, who I'm going to be surrounded by, what kind of writer I will be...well, those are all still mysteries.

The future got even more complicated when someone else got thrown in the mix. Aka, the boy. I can't say that we're going to end up together forever, especially when we haven't even reached a year yet (less than 2 months away, but still). And I don't have my heart set on being with him together forever. We both understand that we're too young for any serious commitment (aka marriage). In fact, I don't even think I would be comfortable with an engagement, even if it were to happen after we graduate and are continuing on with the rest of our lives. I may be pretty impatient, but when it comes to love I take my time.

This doesn't help my problem though, because even though I'm not expecting a ring in any future I could ever imagine, I'm still a girl. I still have hopes for a happily-ever-after. I'm not in this relationship for it to end after college, I'm in this relationship because I think it can turn into something much more serious and permanent. If I didn't believe in marriage, why even date? But that's an issue I'll get into some other time. The point I'm trying to get at is that I'm not about to leave this relationship for no reason. Hence, I plan to include it in my future plans.

There is a problem with this though. You see, once upon a time I fell in love with something else I could see spending the rest of my life with, a relationship I've wanted to pursue long before I met my boyfriend. It's called New York, and I am obsessed. The idea of the big apple and its fast-paced insanity swept me off my feet before I knew it. Sadly the closest I've ever gotten to this dream city was in Newark. But ever since I saw that view, that perfect view of the skyline surrounded in a pink glow as the sun set from my little airplane window, everything I ever imagined was confirmed. It was love at first sight.

Unfortunately my love for NYC has become an annoyance to the bf. He believes that if I'm not in NYC living the big dream, then I'll never be happy. I've disagreed with him up until now. Now I'm questioning myself; if I'm not sure I'll be with him, am I just wasting my time and losing out on my big dreams?

It's crazy to think this but once upon a time I almost gave up my dreams for a guy. Details aren't worth going into because it makes me sick to think I was willing to give up so much for him. Since I nearly missed that mistake, I swore I would never let a guy come between me and my dreams again.

And so it started, the great inner battle I've been facing and avoiding on a daily basis. I feel like I've been pushed into a corner, given an ultimatum by no one other than myself. It's either choose my boyfriend or choose New York. I hate it.

And here is where Dave Matthews steps in, to remind me of all that I had learned this summer. Spending six weeks in England was a dream come true; England has been a dream long before New York. I can still remember the excitement I felt bubbling through me when I got off the phone with my mom, who had confirmed that I could go. But during those six weeks, as happy as I was to be there, I still wasn't completely satisified. I felt lonely, and I missed the boy like crazy. No matter what awesome sites I was getting see, I still missed him, and every skype date was something to look forward to. I was in my dream country...and couldn't wait to return to the states to see him.

After being here in Muncie, seeing him everyday, I've forgotten about all that. My memories of England are not about homesickness and missing people, but all the awesome stuff that happened. Fortunately though, Dave's gentle lyrics helped me remember.

In his song Best of What's Around off of the album Under the Table and Dreaming, he sings "turns out not where but who you're with is all that really matters" and "hurts not much when you're around." What a beautiful little truth. It doesn't matter if I'm in New York or in Muncie, IN. If I'm not with him, I'm going to be unhappy. Cities are just cities. Careers are just careers. You can pour all that you care about into them, but they will never love you back.

So even if I'm not in my dream city, I'll be happy just being with him. Even if I'm not in NYC, I'll still make the best of what's around.