raison d'être.

College feels like a million miles away. It feels so far that it nearly feels like it didn't happen, or barely happened. I don't remember it. I didn't drink heavily. I didn't party hard. Sometimes I'm shocked by the amount of "doing" that I just didn't. I went to class; I auditioned for one play (and got so embarrassed by forgetting my monologue that I dropped out of the theater school entirely); I wrote for the Daily Iowan; I hosted a weekly radio show for three years on KRUI 89.7. I  called it "The Early Morning Airstrike."

Higher education — it's supposed to be this time of self-discovery, learning, adventure, finding out what you're good at, trying things — but I don't really think I did those overarching things. I was busy doing this and then that, creating friendships that when looked at closely these days aren't all that close (at least not anymore). Both of my college roommates ended up in Los Angeles post graduation, yet we seldom get together. It's no ones specific fault. We just lead different lives, have different interests, different priorities. We're different, after all. When I really think about it, it's unbelievable that we've made it this far because we are so different.

This time last year, I was just ending a sub-chapter back in a University setting. I was behind a desk, working in an office, watching students linger outside classrooms, skateboard past signs that say "No Skateboarding," and wear business suits as an assignment — And now a full year after that, I'm left wondering, where did it all go? Even if you're in the same decade, it's unbelievable how different a 20-year-old is from a 29-year-old. The incremental change each day of those 365 days from 29 to 30 hits you the day before your birthday. It isn't incremental at all. And now that keep hitting these painful numbers, it feels like I've somehow moved further away from something rather than toward something else. I don't think I'll ever feel my age again. Maybe when I'm 80. By then my hips, knees and eyes won't let me skip past the truth like they do now.

I'm not old. I'm not. I'm really not. But, I feel old. I feel left behind. I have this overwhelming sense that my life is passing me by. I'm sure I'm not alone in this. Like I didn't just waste a couple decades. It seems that for most people their job is where they find their satisfaction, their reason to be, "raison d'être." And as a performer, it's tough to know that my career is somewhat in the hands of others. Yes, I can create my work — I can write for myself — I can join teams and perform shows, and so on, and on, and on; I can do all of these things, and that is amazing. But what does it matter if no one sees it. If no one thinks it's good enough to pay for. Where is my worth? I have so much control, but what is control anyway?

Google defines it as "the power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events." But this is only a half definition to me. Control can direct, sure, but when you're out of control there is also a direction, and it's not always down. The relationship between control and success is a lie.

I have so much less "control" than I think. I can do what I can to direct the course of my life, but life will do what it wants, and other people in their lives are doing the same, and my life will intersect with theirs, and there will be "right time and right place," and then the less popular, but more common, "wrong time and wrong place," followed by the confusing, "wrong time and right place," and then of course, the ever frustrating "right time and wrong place." If we're looking at life as a Punnett Square based on life situations: Time and Place as the main variables — "right time and right place" accounts for just 25 percent of what life hands you, the rest, darlings, is unfortunately 75 percent the mismatching of everything else. We cannot control time. So inevitably control is for nothing.

If I want to make any money at my creative craft, that alleged control I love to have so much, goes to the birds. Others write my paycheck. It's incredibly tough.

Where does that leave me?

It leaves time as the constant variable that won't allow itself to be controlled.

dear you, my friend, my confidante, my pen-pals.

I have a lot of pen-pals. You know? Pen pals — those people who your third grade teacher somehow arranged for you to write to so that you, the youth of America, could get to know the intricate lives of other kids in other towns. So you could spread your mind. Expand your universe. Realize you're not so alone. Those. Those are the pen-pals, I speak of.

As I've continued on this seemingly endless journey, I've managed to keep a running list of friends who have become better friends as a result of letter writing, far beyond the bounds of that elementary tradition. As I continue to move and change and grow and live, people drop off and pick up — and it's fun. Sometimes I forget who I wrote to and what I wrote them until I get a letter back...like a little treat. I keep them all, the letters/cards/notes. I put them in a shoebox and every now and again, I pull them out, remember the moments that went into them. I reread over and over. They're reflections of the lives we were leading in that moment, however far apart, however close together.

I think there's something truly exciting about writing someone a letter. The reality that there is only one copy, that once the envelope is open and its contents delivered, that sensational anticipation withers until the next go-around. The struggle of a hand cramping, a tear smudging, the USPS seemingly dousing the whole thing in a bunch of dirt...

Sometimes I write long notes, sometimes short, but I sort of like not knowing exactly what I wrote once it's stamped, sealed and sent.

It's so easy to write and rewrite and go back and clarify things on a computer, that sometimes I wonder if it even matters — my life edited is not my life. There's something to be said about the intention that goes into writing a letter, hoping to remember exactly what I told someone, remembering the questions I asked, the thoughts swirling in my mind at the time.

With computers and email and texting and comment threads and message boards and all these different ways to "drop a quick note," I revel in the one-on-one correspondence of it all. I revel in having only their responses to go off of, like a Best Friend necklace, we each have our sides, even if we're not best friends.

A few weeks ago a friend sent me a letter that detailed his life.

We've known one another for years now, peripherally, but letter writing has since made it more apparent how similar our overall experiences and thoughts are, while also showing how incredibly different our day-to-day lives actually are. We started at the same University at the same time, wrote for the same college paper, and though we didn't know each other well — well enough to say, "Hi," to befriend one another on social media, to feel comfortable "liking" a photo on Facebook, or thoughtfully responding to a status update — we've struck up a friendship born from our mutual desire to share.

Putting our minds, our worries, our thoughts of the moment, to page in specific correspondence with one another — I don't know — it feels more real than some of my daily relationships.

At the moment I have three regular pen-pals, and a harbor stocked with friends I write regular emails to, and even more who read this blog (the ultimate one-way pen-pal situation, so I guess just pen?).

Sometimes depending on the pen-pal, it feels as if I'm reading the book of their life, and they're reading mine, like a memoir unedited, unabridged and unending. It's a delight, and I hope it doesn't ever stop. As friends come and go from my life, as in-person relationships fade with distance and time, I'm glad that however arcane it might be to grab a ballpoint and a college-ruled piece of paper, I have people who's addresses I can send to knowing they're excited to hear from me.

Write more, everyone.

The Peace Out Explanation

Left: Photo of Iowa earth post my weekend trip to Iowa City





I went to Iowa City over the weekend to catch up and slow down at the same time. Ever since the culmination of my latter educational years, I've felt a bit of a mess. Internships, deadend retail jobs, family happiness on repeat, etc. has been a bit draining. So, I headed back to what had been my homeland for real growth and change, and it was a joy.

The best part of Iowa City is you never really know who will be there, when, and for what. I know things will change even more in the next year, because then I really won't know anyone anymore because we'll all have moved on, but it will still be the same. The thing is, once you accept that a place is fluid, that people are interchangeable, and visiting is always the correct antidote, it's fine. Iowa City can stand on its own in my mind. This morning before my favorite shop opened, a good friend of mine (Sarah) and I grabbed a warm beverage and chatted up one another about what this town has meant to us, how we are or were ready to move on from it, and how we're going to embrace everything it gives us. College towns do that. They have this warm, cozy up next to it feel, just as much as they have a cyclical, "get outta here and see the world" vibe. And we love it.

The only down beat is that the weather is cyclical too, and to really enjoy Iowa you have to remember and accept that it might snow at the end of March two weeks before Easter. It's a cruel weather world out there, regardless of which Midwestern town you've stumbled upon.

jim ward. post-graduates. holidays.

I usually forget about music in the morning. But it's a great way to rev up the day. So, today I woke up, read a few chapters in Nick Hornby's "Slam" and flipped on my iTunes. Jim Ward, didn't even realize I had the man on my computer, but wow, yeah me for putting this on. I'm sure it was a last minute snatch from KRUI before I headed out those doors into post-grad life. Post-grad life is kind of like being a Post-Op patient at a hospital. Everyone wants to know how you're life has or will change thanks to the operation/graduation, they want to know what you're up to, how and if they can help, maybe make a casserole to bear the brunt of the no-job front. Well, that last part's mostly for post-graduates. Anyway, my parents had a gathering at our home last night, so I caught up with all of their friends, filled them in on me, ask questions about them and theirs; it was good. I enjoy that sort of thing. Asking questions, learning about others, filling in the blanks. Perhaps that's why I like journalism and news. But these days I'm heading in all directions. Aiming for anything and everything, but not loosing sight of what I want myself to look like at the end of the day. So, we'll see how this all pans out. I'll fill in all the rest later.

Snowing & Snowing

A dreary February full of snow and no sunshine is not really what I'm up for these days. It's no fun to walk around Iowa City and feel like I may die at any turn. It's impossible to navigate the sidewalks and roads. I wish I had a collapsable shovel that I could carry around with me in order to dig my way out. Mayhem.


This kid knows what's up.

***

Anyway, I've been back to listening to loads of Ryan Adams due to a magical instrument called Copy Pod! Adams' melancholy lullaby "La Cienega Just Smiled" on 2001's "Gold" is me. "And I hold you close in the back of my mind/Feels so good but damn it makes me hurt/And I'm too scared to know to how I feel about you now/How I feel about you now."

A Bitter Sweet Semester

So, the year's started. Classes are into their second week, and homework has already been a burden. While I'm graduating with degrees in Journalism with Honors and English, I still feel like I somehow missed out on some of my education.

Example, last night famed whistle blower Dr. Daniel Ellsberg came to Hancher Auditorium at the UI to speak about his role in the greatest act of defense of the 1st Amendment, and I missed it. I was busy learning about dead poet and puritan, Milton. Granted, the class only meets once weekly and it was the first one, but nonetheless, I feel I've missed out on something truly remarkable.

I must add, however, that I did get to meet Ellsberg in my Writing Across Cultures class, which was pretty sweet. It would have been wonderful to see him in front of a large audience though.

But in keeping with this talk of education and earnestness for knowledge, I should get started on my various reading and response papers due for tomorrow.

Although I only have class Monday through Wednesday, those days are full, but so are Thursday and Friday. The nice part of only having class three days per week, is that there is outside work that I can complete on my own schedule the other four days. I thought 19 hours was going to be impossible while I balanced my duties at The Daily Iowan, Content Magazine and KRUI 89.7, but I am looking forward to a really wonderful semester.

Along with all of that, since it's my last here at Iowa, I'm simply looking forward to spending time with my friends, not killing myself too much, and meeting new people and having new experiences every day.

Explanations

First thing's first. The photos in the previous post are of France. 1. Laura, Jenna, & Ben 2. View from a medieval chateau 3. Omaha Beach, Normandy 4. Apartments in Pau 5. St. Nicholas church, Pau

[Change in subject here]

After three weeks at home, I'm back in Iowa City. I'm back writing for The Daily Iowan. I'm back drinking coffee at The Java House. I'm back with the people I feel so comfortable with. But it's strange. Now that I'm here the one person I felt most comfortable with in Iowa City isn't here anymore. I know it may sound stupid and/or cliche, but that's how it is. Anyway, I got a new camera before I left for France (was stolen), then got another camera three months in, so I think I'm going to take pictures of Iowa City and the UI like I did while abroad. It seems sort of hilarious to take photos of the things that have become surprisingly familiar, but I want those shots anyway.

In other news, I begin my first DI stories for this coming week. One on the IC Yacht Club's 5th year anniversary and another on a bluegrass group headed for The Mill. It feels good to be back in the swing of things, but it feels different because things here are different, I'm different, and I miss that feeling of contentment.

accents

I always found it so strange that the United States is such a potluck of people. We have all heard the term "melting pot," but I guess I never kind of paid attention to the fact that people come here, to the US to live. They leave their roots, cultures--lives behind. And for what? To live here.

Currently U2's "The Refugee" is playing on my iTunes. It goes something like this:
Oh, Oh
She's the refugee.
I see your face,
I see you staring back at me.
Oh, Oh
She's the refugee
Her mama say one day she's gonna
live in America.

In the morning,
She is waiting,
Waiting for the ship to sail,
Sail away.

Her papa go to war.
He gonna fight,
But he don't know what for.
Her papa go to war
Her mama say one day he's
gonna come back from far away.

Help me.
How can you help me?
In the evening,
She is waiting,
Waiting for her man to come.
And take her by her hand.
And take her to this promise land.

She's a pretty face,
But at the wrong time and at the wrong place.
She's a pretty face.
Her mama say one days she's gonna live in America.
Yeah, America.

She's a refugee.
She's coming back, she's coming for company.
She's a refugee.
Her mama say one day she's gonna live in America.

The concept of an American going to live abroad, I feel, more than in other countries, is seen as kind of unpatriotic. "We've got it so good here--Why live anywhere else?" I think that's part of a problem in America. People only want to do what's comfortable, and if you're born in U2's so-called "promised land" should there be anywhere else worthy of living in? Personally, I'm all about understanding the lives and cultures of other human beings. To me, it's really unfortunate when I hear of someone who has no desire to go beyond these boarders. For those who are akin to traveling I can really see that lifestyle as appealing. Maybe not forever, but enough, enough to satisfy.

If this isn't making any sense, then fine, but I just started thinking about how my country is seen in the world, and I wonder so much if I would feel this way if I lived outside of here. Then there's always the accents. However aware I am of my Chicago sound, I still think its rather humorous when I hear the accent of someone else. There's this moment when you realize that we both sound kind of cool to the other. It just doesn't always seem that when in Iowa, where there's an international student maybe 1 in 100, if not less.

Really, that's it. All I have really thought about so far.

Where Everyone Knows Your Name

Going home has become such a strange concept to me. One of the people I interviewed this semester told me something intriguing. Upon retrospect its of the Garden State influence. He said, "It's weird. You find a home in whatever [place] you're in." When I was a freshman I could feel it kind of sting my parents every time I 'accidentally' called my university home. Now its just sort of understood that I have these two places, these two lives, where I do stuff and every now and again they intersect. I remember feeling bad though every time I would say "I'm going home" in reference to my dorm room. One day I even, however haphazardly vowed to never call school home. Of course that's now out the window, but still. Anyway, friends in the two locations has been a tricky matter. My friends from growing up will always be there no matter how badly we keep in contact. I sort of wonder if that will be the case for my college friends after this is all said and done. Because the whole time we are here at this university in this place we know that in four years we won't be here anymore. We have more of a future-driven mindset, perhaps that has to do with the constant anxiety over getting a job or internship. I'd like to think everyone I know now will be with me like those friends I had before, but sometimes I'm uncertain. It doesn't help that every day I feel like I see someone that I know, but not really, but sort of do-ish-ness. Its like you do the 1/2 wave/smile and if they return it you don't feel like an idiot still living in freshman year dorm life. I guess I'm thinking about this all because this year seems like a lot of ends are happening, but then again there have been many beginnings. Its times like these when Colleen Marshall is absolutely necessary but completely unable.

On a side note (sort of), here's a list of 10 "Must-Go-To"s I've compiled:
1. France
2. Ireland
3. Greece
4. Switzerland
5. The Netherlands
6. Spain
7. Great Britain
8. Scotland
9. India
10. South Africa

Already Been's:
1. Italy
2. Mexico
3. Costa Rica
4. Canada
5. And 28 out of 50 States

I've got a travel itch that must be scratched. I think it has something to do with this need in me to see the world before I can comment on it. Sort of important for a journalist-in-the-making.

Voltaire Speaks

When I was growing up I listened to the sounds of everything around me. Staying hip at seven wasn't hard when you had 5 siblings to lean on musically and parents willing to turn on the radio.

Over the past three years there has been a battle over what's ok for some performers to say. Scratch that--over the past, since musicians have been around people have argued over their place and what is and isn't appropriate.

Friday Nov. 10, The Dixie Chicks' documentary "Shut Up & Sing" is coming out nationally. It debuted in NY and LA October 27th, but now is coming to the masses. Perhaps it's even going places unwelcome.

I voted today in Johnson County, Iowa's 21st Precinct. I had a hard time getting to my polling place and made a wrong stop along the way. At the place I mumbled audibly that they, meaning the government, don't make it easy for students to vote. They always complain about low voter turn out among young people. To me, its simply baffling. Obviously there's going to be low voter turn out if the candidate rarely if ever addresses their up-and-coming "Real" citizens. Most of the time as a student I feel like I don't matter. Partially it's my fault. Althought I write for my paper, I don't read the Metro section very much. It's not to say that politics are uninteresting, it's to say that for me they seem irrelevent. In an argument I would probably lose saying that if matched against a poly-sci major. Anyway, I was struck this afternoon when I said that the reason I was going to vote is not because I'm all that interested in the Iowa political system, it's that I have the right to vote. I am allowed to vote. My vote counts.

Going back to my original idea about The Dixie Chicks, I realized again the importance of freedoms given in our country specifically speech. Although I may not agree or even if I do, I have to protect their right to say whatever they want. They are on an international platform and given the chance, I would have said whatever I wanted as well. It doesn't matter if they offended people. Freedom of speech exists to protect the minority voice.

"I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it."
-Voltaire.

That is exactly what, as a country, we stand for.

As a fan of the female vocalists and a voter for Bush (many because of the abortion issue), it doesn't matter that they said what they did. In fact, I'm glad they said it because it begs the question: when and where is sharing an opinion appropriate? The answer is simple: anywhere, because opinions shouldn't hurt people. Would the citizens offended rather live in fear of sharing a voice in certain touchy issues or live in a country free of that sort of oppression?

They may not have liked it, but screw it. Freedom is allowed. Deal. Stay informed, and next time there's an amendment dealing with freedom of speech/expression vote against the right for people to say/act how they feel. I just think its ridiculous for people to criticize their neighbors who think differently.

For all the cases that deal with the freedom at hand go to www.findlaw.com
Papish v. University of MO curators, O'Brien v. United States, Cohen v. California, Tinker v. Des Moines, etc.