Merry Christmas!

Celebrating Thanksgiving a few weeks ago and Christmas today got me thinking, along with millions of other Americans every year, what I have to be thankful for. 


Spend one week in a sorority house and you'll think we're all a bunch of deprived, miserable, sad, little girls. We complain about unfair teachers, the skank that stole someone's boyfriend, or the three pounds we gained that day. Don't mind the Louis Vuitton purses, Tory Burch ballet flats, and various designer dresses hanging out of every closet. It's crazy how easily we forget how truly blessed we are. I wish I could make everyone see the more important things in life, but unfortunately I think that attitude is something that begins at a very young age. All I have to do is look around at the kids I babysit in Buckhead whose mothers barely spend any time with them but make up for it with toddler-sized cashmere sweaters, matching Lilly outfits and anything else their little hearts don't even know they desire yet. Today's youth are taught to be thankful for material things and yet still aren't happy once they have them.

In today's society, it's so easy to get caught up in the "what have you done for me lately?" mindset. When a friend is short with me or a my boyfriend doesn't love the dress I spent 200 bucks on, I find myself feeling insecure, critical and defensive. When I start to feel those nasty thoughts creeping in, it's helpful to think of all the wonderful things that happened to me that month, that week or even that day. I know it sounds cheesy, but it really puts things in perspective. 

In light of this, one of my New Year's resolutions is to be more thankful for the deeper things in my life. More thankful for my health, more thankful for my loving family, and more thankful for all the opportunities that stand in front of me, that so many other 20 somethings don't have simply because of the color of their skin, their parents' income, or the country they were born in.

Lesson Learned: "Be thankful for what you have; you'll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don't have, you will never, ever have enough." -- Oprah Winfrey 

I'm a Poet and I Didn't Know It

Ok I lied. I kind of already knew it. I used to love to write poetry when I was younger, and some of it wasn't half bad. But then as soon as I grew out of my preteen-angst years and became a well adjusted high school social butterfly, I found I didn't have as much to write about.


Well if it didn't completely shock me to find out Georgia Tech had a poetry program, I don't know what would. So, now I'm part of this kind of amazing poetry program at Tech, taught by this semi-famous poet, Thomas Lux (look him up! He's so talented: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/115 ), and I'm writing poetry again and turns out non-angsty me is pretty good at it too.


Now I know poetry evokes very strong feelings in people -- as in they either love it or hate it. I happen to have always been on the loving it side, something I credit to my scholarly father. For birthdays, Christmases, graduations and anniversaries, my dad always writes and gives poems to members of our family, along with the expected material gift. The amazing thing is, the poem often outdoes the jewelry, knick-knack or whatever store-bought gift is given. The true gift in my dad's poems is this: he can tell us through poetry what is so hard for him to say in person.


One thing I've discovered this year is that there is a huge leap from liking to read poetry to being able to write it. I've learned important terms such as the "dense thingness of poetry" and that you never get credit for what you don't write, meaning that no one will ever appreciate the fact that you cut a tacky cliche out in the third draft of a poem.


Apparently I've been doing my homework correctly though, because in the last class of the year, I read a poem I'd written just like any other class. And just like any other class my professor ripped it to shreds, but then something magical happened: he said that once I re-worked my poem, he wanted me to send it off to be published. Publish a poem? Me? I don't think I've ever been so excited to call my dad about something that happened in school. It even beat the time I found out I was going to pass computer science. 


So now I've started to collect some of my poems to be sent off and I'm being pretty secretive about it. Even though some of the greatest poets have been produced in the South, college students, members of the Greek community in particular (as in fraternities and sororities -- not the race of people), don't seem to appreciate the art of poetry. The most commonly asked question I get when people find out I'm taking a poetry class is, "Does it all, like, rhyme?" Heaven help them. 


Anyways, I've decided to sprinkle in a few of my own poems throughout this blog, along with the regular posts. Here is the one that caught my teacher's eye:

SELLING SOMEONE ELSE'S LIFE

Pictures of curly brown hair, turned to grey, to white,

limp mink stoles with little claws and noses

still attached, miniature spoons that bounce light

off of their handles laden with roses.

All part of my grandmother's estate,

but it looks more like a junk sale. I watch

as people pick through it. My father shows up late –

it's hard for him to be here long – and sighs,

I remember that teapot. The young woman

promptly puts it down. I want

to say, It's not your fault. My father, angry

at ghosts, looks around at the goods. His gaunt

eyes betray him and I see it:

the dolls, the books, and his uncertainty.

Lesson Learned: "Poetry is what gets lost in translation." -- Robert Frost 

When the Leaves Begin to Change...

What is it about Fall that's so magical? Maybe it's forgetting the craziness of summer, or being able to wear cashmere, or having an excuse to snuggle up to someone. In all honesty, I'm a warm weather girl (like any good Southerner). My dad's Minnesota tolerance for cold was not passed on to me. But there's something about the colors of Fall and the hint of holidays that just gets to me. Plus the Gingerbread lattes at Starbucks don't hurt either! Well don't hurt anything except my hips, that is.


Normally I absolutely dread the cold but this year I've decided to develop a new approach: whenever I'm walking through campus, hands stuffed in the pockets of my jacket, neck buried in my scarf, I look around me, appreciate the rich colors and the clear blue of the sky, and -- here's the most important part -- I pretend I'm in New York. Don't tell my fraternity boys! I'm pretty sure they would disown me on the grounds of liking anything above the Mason-Dixon line. No matter how much I love Atlanta and love the South, there's just something about pretending I'm strolling down Park Avenue or Greenwich Village that makes me feel a little tougher and the air temperature a little more bearable. I mean, true New Yorkers would consider what I call cold to be downright pleasant.


One of my favorite things about fall is the change in style. By the the time September rolls around, I'm thoroughly sick of wearing maxi-dresses, sandals and jean shorts and ready to embrace the cozy fashion associated with cold weather.


Here are some of the things that are inspiring me this fall:

One can never have too many sweaters. There are an endless array of styles, but cardigans like this are my favorite right now. I love the colors and print of this one -- perfect to throw on with some jeans and boots and always feel good in. This gorgeous cardi can be found at Anthropologie.

Glitter. I don't know if it's the dancer (those costumes always had so many damn rhinestones on them!) or the secret diva in me, but I adore all the sparkly dresses, shoes, watches and everything else that are so popular right now. They just scream party-time and what good college student doesn't love a party?

The one thing I love more than sweaters are boots, and these are just so classic. I love the rich reddish brown color; it makes them wearable with brown or black. No boot is ever the same to me and every one fufills a different purpose. I'm constantly on the search for my next pair (it's really becoming unhealthy; I have more boots than anyone would ever need) and they're definitely at the top of my Christmas list this year. These beauties are from Madewell, a.k.a. boot heaven.

Vintage lace is so delicate yet interesting. It can be ladylike or sexy, old fashioned or trendy. From long-forgotten wedding dresses, to my grandmother's gloves, to a pretty negligee, lace is incredibly romantic to me -- it tells a story, especially when it's found on vintage pieces. Personally, I gravitate towards pieces with small details or little hints of lace and it always has to be cream, yellowed or otherwise vintage-ey colored. Stark white lace is so 80s wedding.

I'm not normally crazy about grey, but this handbag is irresistible. I think leather in subdued tones like dusty rose or mustard yellow are so gorgeous and they go with everything. This bag is Prada...hey, a girl can dream, right?

So I already mentioned I love sparkle, but you should also know I adore anything brown, olive, cream, or any variation on earthy colors. These shoes are the perfect marriage of those two obsessions. Most people would shy away from brown as a staple wardrobe color, but my closet is full of it. There's something so warm and comforting about the colors in this shoe that I might have to run over to J.Crew right now and get them...

Lesson Learned: Our dreams can take us places outside of our physical location, lift our spirits and make the world a little brighter.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

My dad has been writing a book...for about 30 years now. At least. Ever since I was little, he's has been working on this mysterious project and every few years he'll announce he's made a breakthrough and his book is going to be amazing and then...nothing happens. The thing about my dad is, he's kind of genius but he's trapped by his own self criticism. He puts so much pressure on himself to be perfect, to write the perfect book, that it never happens because nothing he writes is ever good enough in his eyes.


I seemed to have inherited this little trait from dear old dad. The perfectionism gene is a hard one to shake and I've been struggling with it my whole life. I have lots of different interests but many of the projects I start are never completed because of my obsession with creating something perfect. I once turned an art project in 2 months late, knowing that I would recieve a zero as a grade. The zero was worth it though because I wasn't ready to turn it in until it was flawless-- kind of crazy, right? My art teacher definitely thought so.


A fortune teller told my mom when she was pregnant with me that one day I would be a famous author and live in Europe -- talk about pressure. It doesn't help that everything else she told my mom has come true. It may sound silly, but I'm afraid I can't live up to some probable cuckoo's prediction, so I've just avoided it.


This is a mindset that has brought down entire corporations: the Bank Crisis of the 1930s? Could have been avoided entirely. At the beginning of 1932 there was nothing actually wrong with banks but when anxious Americans withdrew all their money and began to hoard their cash, 9,000 banks failed within just a few months. Then, of course, Americans believed they had done the right thing by withdrawing their money before banks started closing their doors, not recognizing that they had actually been the cause of the crisis that they believed they had narrowly avoided.


Today I am making a promise to myself that I will not become a self-fulfilling prophecy; I will not fail because of fear of failing. The point is, I am writing this blog just for the fun of writing, not because I expect to become the next Elizabeth Gilbert (although people have always told me I look like Julia Roberts...). Some things may be serious, some funny, some entertaining and some just plain boring. Besides, it's not like anyone's actually reading it, right? Cough, cough that's your cue to click the "Follow" button if you're out there. Mom, you don't count.


The irony in this post? It took me forever to finish it.


Lesson Learned: "Just Do It." -- Nike