The Greatest Gift of All

As some of you may know, my grandfather passed away as the dusk of the year 2011 hastened toward us. In the remaining moments before his light was extinguished, I took it upon myself to examine his abode. The clouds outside were melancholy, their weeping encroaching upon the silence as my mother slept beneath his bed covers. I had been awake, mostly conscious, for nearly thirty-six hours. Bouts of energy interrupted my attempts at reposal, despite my brain's desperate demands for rest. In an effort to satiate my restlessness, I surrendered to its will.

I kept my salivating curiosity confined to the limits of the living area. I saw the small couch in which I have slept on in my past excursions to visit my grandpa, Howie. There was a stack of newspapers from the last two days Grandpa was at the apartment neatly folded and piled upon one cushion. I wondered if he put them there last, or if one of his late wife's daughters put them there. Something about knowing what he had touched last gave me a sense of comfort, thinking that he still had a very recent impact upon the items in his life that represented normalcy.

There was his tan recliner, facing the television that was always on a news channel when brought to life. The dining room table with his laptop where he used to listen to his favorite songs from the '40s and '50s, like Doris Day's first number 1 hit, A Sentimental Journey. Letters and bills were stacked neatly on the table. Photographs of family and loved ones were framed and situated along the bookshelves.

My gaze glided across the photographs of Grandpa's late wife, Lela, beautiful and always shining with a brilliant smile. There was one that I found particularly breathtaking and that I thought was the photo that most encapsulated Lela's spirit. You could see in the reflection of her smile the love that my grandfather shared with her. There were photographs of Lela and Howie together, dressed all snazzy, one of her arms delicately looped around his arm as though they were a couple of teenagers posing for a picture before the prom. There were also photographs of their cherished pet, Pepper. He was a scraggly little chihuahua/terrier with the sweetest propensity. There was a little memorial or shrine built in his honor, including a cast of his paw print and a few bits of his fur.

Among the shelves was a retired tobacco pipe, a grey-haired pipe-smoking wooden figure, a rock with the word "Love" etched into its surface, a beer stein dedicated to Howie from Heidelberg, Germany, and numerous other trinkets that represented the love and connection they held dear to their hearts.

Lastly, the things that embraced most of my attention and caressed my curiosity the most were their books. As an avid reader and admirer of books, I found that this was the best avenue of energy dispensing. Not only that, but I find that searching through the bookshelves of one's home is perhaps the most interesting and accurate method of determining what a man or woman is made of. So the saying goes that one cannot judge a book by its cover. Beneath the book's binding is where you will find an abundance of information. I believe that an individual's bookshelf will allow you an intimate gaze beneath their own cover. Now, this is not limited to the books and their authors or their authors' ideas. One can own a collection of books that they have never peered inside for themselves, exploring the reaches of the author's perception of life. One can also own and read a plethora of books whose ideas or beliefs do not coincide with that of the owner's, though may themselves express the owner's character of openness to new or different viewpoints.

What I am more interested in than the obvious book titles, their themes, or their creators are the stories that the books themselves exude about their keepers. Many of the observations I glean from the shape that the books are in may be based mostly on speculation, but I like to think that the character of the book is in some way a reflection of the character of the owner.

What binding of ideas do they prefer? Is it a new hardback, paperback, previously owned, or the ephemeral library copy? Are the pages handled with care? Were they dog-eared on the corners? Is there writing in the margins expressing the reader's thoughts? Did they defile the pages with pen or pencil? Are certain lines or words underlined or highlighted? If so, what ideas did the reader feel were the most important or that may have resonated very strongly with them?

Sometimes I can tell by the edges of the pages when certain sections of the book have been handled. The edges of the pages will be slightly discolored as the reader takes her time exploring its contents. If there is no bookmark or if she has taken care to not sully the pages with folded corners, I can often count of this unforeseen blemish to tell me how far she got in the book, and perhaps what pages were the last ones whose words filled her mind.

Moreover, I romanticize books as intimate and personal extensions of its readers. Even if she did not particularly enjoy or agree with the book's content or with the creator's point of view, once she has read it, the book becomes an extension of herself, however minute that extension may be. She opens her mind, the portal to her being, and invites the printed words inside, connecting with them, breathing them in, and integrating them into her essence. She shares hers time and energy with this book, at one point in her life making it a priority in her life. It becomes a part of her that she obviously cherishes enough to keep and store so that it is visible to her visitors, allowing them an opportunity to peek inside of her mind and heart.

So I peeked. Some of the more aged and most handled books are those that most piqued my interest. One small book in particular caught my eye. The hard binding was well worn, torn and stained from storage and use. The pages were yellowed and the edges deckled. The cover of the spine was ripped away, revealing bits of the blued textblock. The cover was dark and water stained, its dingy appearance punctuated by a debossed gold and silver-colored image of a hand mirror. In the mirror's shiny reflection were the words "Rousseau's Confessions." The inside revealed the copyright date as 1901. Immediately upon cracking open the cover, I was greeted with a handwritten note written for the original recipient of the book:

A very merry Christmas to Georgi(?), in remembrance of many very happy hours. Lovingly, Lou - 1907 -

 Some others that caught my fancy were a leather-bound 1907 copyrighted version of Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, the paged yellow from age, but otherwise far more clean and well-cared for than Confessions; and a hardbacked 1911 copy of Guy de Maupassant's Pierre & Jean & Other Stories in a condition similar to that of Rousseau's Confessions, though slightly more deplorable as the cover clings on for dear life. Interestingly, though equally as confounding, de Maupassant's signature is scrawled in one of the first few pages. This was interesting to me because of who the author was. Confounding because Guy de Maupassant perished approximately eighteen years prior to this book's copyright date. Sadly, it's more than likely a forgery.

Within the water stained, yellowing, and deckled pages of Pierre and Jean I find a glaringly modern bookmark. Slid in between pages 44 and 45 is a shining, glittery bookmark with the words "Downtown Plaza - Sacramento, CA" on one side, and a note on the other:

To Lela (my grandmother, Howard's second wife), the writer - 1994 - from your friend, Helen.

This bookmark served as a snapshot of time, like a photo, yet slightly more personal. This was a snapshot into a woman's, my late grandmother's, mind, the space that is the most intimate and personal property of any human being. Seeing this bookmark made me feel a little closer with her.

My grandfather, Howard Eitel, died later that following week.

A month and a half later, just last weekend, I received a box full of these books that I had been ogling during Grandpa Howie's final days of life as he was confined to his hospital bed. Confessions, Pierre and Jean, A Tale of Two Cities, a 1935 version of The Tale of Genji, an aged (copyright unknown) Victor Hugo's By Order of the King, an 1864 printing of Washington Irving's The Sketchbook, and four Historical Tales: The Romance of Reality books (King Arthur Vol.1, German, English, and Scandinavian -- from 1908).

I feel honored and humbled when I behold these books. They smell like time immortalized. I can feel the history as I touch the pages. I imagine the hands these must have passed through, the minds they must have molded, the thoughts they must have inspired, the smiles they may have encouraged, and the relationships that have been strengthened in their gifting. These books have been a part of other people's lives. They carry with them hints and pieces of their previous owners. I am now capable of being an intimate part of those lives as I embrace these works of art. And now I am able to contribute to these works by taking them into myself and, eventually, sharing them with someone else who will hopefully understand the beauty that they seek to share.

I am forever grateful for the gift of books.

“It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it.”
― Oscar Wilde

“In a good bookroom you feel in some mysterious way that you are absorbing the wisdom contained in all the books through your skin, without even opening them.”
― Mark Twain

“A great book should leave you with many experiences, and slightly exhausted at the end. You live several lives while reading.”
― William Styron

“A room without books is like a body without a soul.”
― Marcus Tullius Cicero

“So many books, so little time.”
― Frank Zappa

 

Grandpa Howie

Grandma Lela

R.I.P. Pepper

 

Openness Invites Everything -- Good and Bad

I'm currently learning how to open my heart to other people. It's a beautiful experience, enriching my days with love and an openness to exploring new possibilities. It has given me an opportunity to envelope myself in joy, awe, and goodness as I invest time in satiating my curiosities. It has also opened me up to the negativity many people exude on a very consistent basis. I don't know if they are aware of all the negativity they radiate and all the needless stress they build in themselves and in others around them. It's like they have made negativity such a habit, they don't even realize that they are directly contributing to their own misery and to the unfortunate things that they think is happening to them instead of being an active participant in these unwanted circumstances or situations. Based on my history of doing the same thing, they probably don't realize it.

I'm glad that I am more conscious of the good and of the negativity in others. I feel like I may be more susceptible to the influence of the negativity now that I'm more aware of it, but this is not true. Just because I'm more aware of it, this doesn't mean that I am more prone to its influence on my own positivity levels and on my perspective. I was just as prone to it before. Perhaps more so, since I was unable to recognize it and work to eliminate it from my life. I allowed it to wrap my mood up in its spiny clutches and infect my perception of life. Now that I can see it, I am more capable of halting it and avoiding it.

What is quite difficult to manage is working at a news station. For eight hours a day, five days a week, I am surrounded by negativity -- the type that is impossible to escape. Every day has a story about people dying or being maimed -- fiery car wrecks, being shot, stabbed, beaten, tortured, suicide, double murders, triple murders, murder sprees, little girls stabbing other little girls to death because they "wanted to know what it felt like." Everywhere are stories of animal abuse, child abuse, rape, child molestation, theft, burglary, fires, arson, political scandals, government failures, corporate bailouts, weather woes, national disasters, suicide bombings, floods, drug busts... I used to deal with this stress by numbing myself, focusing on the task at hand (making or playing computer graphics), talking to my coworkers about something else if we can multitask, trying to find something humorous about the story, or trying to find a way to justify the pain someone else must be experiencing. None of it worked and some of it was even damaging to my character. I would numb up at the sight of pain and make fun of it. My coping mechanisms could not deter the negativity and stress from affecting me in very resounding ways. I frequently lashed out at people for minor mistakes, always carrying with me a weighty load of anger, resentment and negativity. It's exhausting hauling all that around and then trying to find a way to be happy when I was around other people that I care about.

Now that I am more open, I feel the negativity hit that much harder. I have so much love and compassion for all these people and animals who suffer, and I must witness their suffering several times a day, sometimes several times a week, that I feel that much more exhausted following a work day.

I want nothing more than to flee. However, I have important payments to keep making. Should I just stick it out until my debts are settled and see this as a challenge to be able to face negativity with more resolve?

I hope I can.

The Deliciousness of Simplicity

Almost nothing is as beautiful or enjoyable as the simple things in life.

Like a good snug lounge

Or yummy oranges outside on an unusually warm January day

Mmmmm, goodness incarnate

Or bird watching

Or waiting (im)patiently to be let outside for a little romp in the grass

Or an afternoon nap in your box fort

Nationalism is a Disease

I do not love my country.

What I love are the people who care for others despite the glaring differences that attempt to deprive them of a spiritual and very real connection. If those people happen to reside in my nation, my state, or my city, then  it is only by coincidence that I love them as well.

Compassion for every living being should be fostered because we are all one, not because we share superficial commonalities.

Nationalism promotes the "us vs. them" mentality. It's a symptom of the negative mindset that seeks to belong through the method of defining differences between us all. It seeks to narrow our vision of who to include in our lives and it constrains our love as it seeks to exclude the majority of life on earth. It's a survival technique that our very social species has developed in order to increase the changes of our tribe's success. But it does nothing for our thriving. I believe we can survive and indeed thrive more efficiently now if we expand our tribe, the "us," to include all of humanity -- indeed, all of life in general. All of us are capable of gifting that much love. It's more of a matter of whether or not we are all willing to gift that much love and doing so despite it being somewhat socially unacceptable.

If you do not believe that you could ever see through the "other's" differences, take note from research conducted by psychologist, Barbara L. Fredrickson, Ph.D. According to her "broaden-and-build" theory of positive emotions, incorporating positivity in your life helps to close the gap formed in our minds between "me" and "them," whether the others are those who are already close to you in your life or complete strangers.

Nationalism, xenophobia, us vs. them, tribalism -- all of these methods of closing off other human beings from our lives due to our differences that we happened to be born with destroy our potential for greatness in our global community.

Resolutions

Positivity has been my main focus thus far since the end of last year (2011) and has been integrated into my New Year's Resolutions. I typically forgo making resolutions, since the statistical probability of keeping them is so low. This year, however, I recognize that this is not a resolution that will be traditionally started at the dawn of the New Year only to fade with the waning enthusiasm most people are all too familiar with. I think that if you are going to resolve to change something about yourself for the better, it should be a day-by-day lifetime goal. In other words, you should strive to make your resolutions something tangible, realistic, active, and something that you can focus on every day while maintaining the notion that this is something that will last you for the rest of your life.We should strive to make Life Resolutions.

Positivity is something that I have intertwined with every variable of my existence. Being more positive, while leaving myself enough room to be human, is my Life Resolution. All other resolutions stem from this one. Positivity is like the roots and trunk of a tree. My other goals are the branches, emerald leaves, and eventually the white buds in full bloom.

One of my branching resolutions is creating and maintaining more interests. That includes learning how to play the piano, writing creative nonfiction (my favorite form of literature), painting glass dishware, taking more creative photos, reading and learning more about the world and other people, and learning how to cook, to name a few. All of these interests will be naturally maintained and built upon and expanded as time goes on, just like how answering one question spurs a whole new set of questions to be investigated. I will follow my curiosity and play with a childlike heart.

Another branch concerns my physical well-being. Speaking with friends and family, I have been introduced to several key factors to creating a more physically healthy lifestyle. For instance, my friend Larry explained to me what he does for his body, eating two healthy meals a day, eating like a diabetic and avoiding all (absolutely ALL) fried foods. Whole grains, fruits, vegetables, and a helping of fish was recommended. I enjoy the notion of eating like a diabetic before the potential onset of diabetes. What better way to prevent a slightly quality-deficient life than to behave like you already have that illness? (Thank you for your helpful advice, Larry!)

Of course, it's not just about food. It's also about avoiding the plague of sedentariness with a healthy dose of enjoyable exercise. For me, that would be walking at a pace of 3.5-4mph at an incline (or outside) for 20-45 minutes every day. It puts my muscles to work, it boosts my cardiovascular health, it helps prevent illness, it increases blood flow to the brain, it revs up my energy for the rest of the day, and it provides me with the opportunity to meditate (also another branch). When I treat exercise with the mindset that weight loss is a bonus, I find that I become far less frustrated with the activity, which then creates a positive association with exercise, and I find that I am more likely to do it far more often.

As mentioned above, another branch that I am working on is my spiritual growth.

Yeah, I know, I'm an atheist. I think it's very unlikely that actual "spirits" exist, as defined as a supernatural entity, or a "soul." "Spiritual" is a term that I use loosely, mostly in the emotional sense, attempting to balance my emotions and experience that connection with other people, the world and the universe. Here's something that Michael Shermer wrote regarding an atheist's spiritual nature.

This resolution to pay more attention to my spirituality, focusing on my connection with everything and everyone else outside of my concept of "me," takes place when I read about or watch documentaries concerning the universe. I find that the science behind much of what we do understand and what we still have yet to understand to be a fascinating and flavorful method to feeling more in touch with life. As well as this, when I exercise, I meditate. I focus on my body's movements, on my breathing, on the music, and on the good things in my life and all the goods things that I hope will come. That, on top of the endorphins raging through my brain, always makes me feel incredible after a good walk.

There are so many more branches of resolutions that I'm working on right now, that it would take so long for me to name them all.

I think it's very important to have a sturdy foundation when resolving to change your life for the better. If your changes are based on fleeting, superficial desires or on an unreasonable expectation of what you think you can achieve, I think it would be more difficult for you to keep or enhance your determination for a better life. Basing it on something as simple and overreaching as positivity, I think, seems pretty realistic and stable. It's something that connects all of my resolutions together beautifully, and it doesn't demand anything from me that I cannot give.

One of the branches of resolutions includes incorporating this in my daily routine! As I progress, I would love to share my images with all of you! :-)

Today is a Good Day

Yesterday did not bode so well for me. It was dark, dreary, and enmeshed with a negativity that I find repulsive. Despite my best efforts, like focusing on reading, taking a walk, practicing the piano a bit, and trying to think of good things, I could not escape the boundaries of negativity. The culprit? Not enough sleep. I think I achieved snoozing for maybe about three hours tops before laying awake in a seemingly perpetual state of anxiety. I even started feeling nauseous when dawn broke. So the no-Z's coupled with the prolonged anxiety attack led to a most disappointing day.

This morning, however, I woke up to my kitty, Bowie, resting at my side and the sun streaming in on an unusually warm January day. Immediately, and without forced provocation, a smile danced lazily on my lips. I felt so rejuvenated! I propped myself up in bed and read/contemplated on my book "Positivity" for about half an hour. While looking up and out my window in a contemplative state, I could see the wooden fence in the backyard. Beyond the fence is a well-traveled back road that I sometimes take walks on and beyond that is a large field where cows occasionally come to graze. At that moment, I witnessed a man between the fence posts in shorts and a white T-shirt jog along the back road through the spaces. I got that feeling that one gets when spring crests on the blustery winter horizon. I felt a shift, and I decided to embrace it. I bounced out of bed, careful not to disturb Bowie, kissed him on his furry forehead, and changed clothes to mimic that of the jogger's. With iPod ear buds secured in my ears, I walked my treadmill on an incline at a pace of around 4mph for half an hour. I never regret a morning sweat session, but I find that I always dearly regret not taking the effort upon myself to exercise.

Everything else feels more manageable. Problems to be worried about become challenges to learn from. Energy seems boundless. Beauty more readily reveals itself. I have a better, more healthy grasp on myself and how I react to events outside and within myself. Since I regularly suffer from bouts of depression and anxiety, these shifts are esential for my mental, physical, emotional, and social well-being.

Rescued

There is something deeply rejuvenating about diving into a task or a hobby, becoming completely enveloped in the activity. These are the moments when time is only recognized as "now," and when space is a concept that is foreign outside of what you are doing. Sometimes when I feel my mind wander into territories all to familiar and painful, territories that are bereft of any real warmth or spark and laden with pitfalls and traps, I find it difficult to escape. I find myself circling this territory within its terrifying boundaries, afraid of what's going to happen, what already did happen and wondering how the hell I'm going to get out. All I need to do is look up, take a good look around, and see the things that I have to be grateful for. If I just looked up, I would notice a clear path toward a more calm and giving environment. It is in these moments of losing myself totally to the activity that I am impassioned about that I find myself walking on that path and escaping this never-ending sense of dread and anxiety.

I paint, I write, I walk, I'm teaching myself how to play the piano on an electric keyboard. I just finished a lesson in Harmonic 4ths and 5ths. The piece chosen for the lesson? Jingle Bells.

I remember when I was learning how to type on a keyboard in elementary school. I was the fastest in the class to get it down pat. I breezed through all the lessons instructed by the computer program and reached the point where I could look up at a sentence away from the keyboard and type quickly and efficiently. While everyone else whiled away at their lessons, I was stuck in the classroom, playing some old detective game while the rest of the students caught up.

I've been typing like a mad woman ever since. But now that I've come across a different kind of keyboard -- one composed of a different kind of harmony -- I have to repeat those lessons again. I'm brought back to those first days in that typing class when I was first learning where the "Home Base" for my fingers went, where all the other keys were positioned, the most efficient ways of reaching the other keys and still knowing where my hands were, and using both hands at the same time to type. I completely forgot how hard it was to first learn to type with both hands. I can thank Jingle Bells for reminding me.

My point is, though, that I had a blast learning it! It's new and challenging and it rescues me from this unwelcoming place in my mind where havoc wreaks on the daily. This anxiety wants to pull me down into a darkness that will eat me alive. But I have my curiosity about the world and a growing sense of positivity to help yank me from the darker depths of my weird, twisted little mind.

Satisfaction

I am a deeply conflicted individual. On the one hand, I feel as though I must experience a struggle in order to create and that I must suffer through these days for the purpose of coming to some deeper understanding of life and my lonely place in it. On the other, I feel as though none of it really matters at all, that I would much rather be in a state of bliss complete with minor delusions, to create based on the whims of my fleeting emotions instead of through sheer will. John Stuart Mill, a man that I most admire for his intelligence, once said in his work, Utilitarianism: "it is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, are of a different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question." My concern is that I have only this one life to live and to give. Should I extinguish satisfaction in favor of the higher form of being, the Socrates instead of the fool, even if the latter could guarantee a more emotionally fulfilling existence? I feel like I should want to be intellectually fulfilled, but I also feel like doing so may compromise my deeply rooted wish for a satisfactory lifestyle. What, ultimately, determines the factors of the "fool?"  Is it like being the individual chained to the walls of Plato's cave, content with considering the playful images dancing along the wall reality instead of freeing herself to explore the wild and terrifyingly unpredictable world outside of said cave?

Every time I'm happy, I recognize it and become fearful of losing this pleasure. It's not a baser instinctive pleasure, the bodily pleasure, that Mill so condemned in favor of the higher form, the intellectual form. It's also not in the category of the stagnating contentment that so often corrupts a person's potential greatness. This happiness is one of discovering a fulfilling pleasure in life, in just being, in learning and experiencing the joys and challenges presented by circumstances. The struggles and difficulties become like a wave cresting the surface of the ocean that I meet with open arms and allow to carry me to new places. I do not overthink things. I just breathe and experience them with an active mind. I paint, I write, I play, I read, I walk, I listen, I smile, I learn, I accept new challenges, I connect with a rhythm that isn't noticed when the volume of the mind is turned up so loud, I feel a connection with everything and everyone, I let go, I relinquish my incessant need to control in favor of enjoying the ride. I do not stand still. I continue moving at a leisurely pace, pausing occasionally to appreciate the moment, and then move on again.

The problem is when this ceases. It's like I become so aware of it that it suddenly flees like a startled animal, afraid of being pinned down and caged to be studied. It's like an image that you notice in your peripheral vision that disappears when you turn to look closer at it. It defies labeling and evades the snare of analysis, both being tools of controlling the world within and around us. When I try to understand it, that's when a compulsive anxiety flaps in my chest like a frightened bird in a cage. The wonder mutates into worry, the awe shifting into this ghastly vision of fear. Problems arise where none had been before, created in my own mind out of an anxious need to understand things to death. Everything stills as I try to pin things down with my mind. The bird panics and all I can hear is the high-pitched squawking that drowns out the rhythm that was once so clear to me. I feel like I deserve this version of reality, that this is the way it should be if I am to get anywhere in life. I know this is not true. My heart stagnates when my mind is aflutter like this. Every time. I know it is wrong and that I should try to shush the incessant bleating that beats away at my calm, but it cripples me.

I don't wish to calm the waters. I only wish to swim better. This intense anxiety makes me feel like I'm trying to stand up straight and still in thrusting waves.

I wonder...do you have to be dissatisfied in order to be like Socrates?

Improvement

"Your self does not end where you flesh ends, but suffuses and blends with the world, including other beings. Moreover this annexed personal space is not static. It is elastic. It morphs every time you put on or take off your clothes, wear skis or scuba gear, or wield any tool. When you eat with a knife or a fork, your peripersonal space grows to envelop them. Brain cells that normally represent space no farther out than your fingertips expand their fields of awareness along the length of each utensil, making them part of you."  - The Body Has a Mind of Its Own, by Sandra Blakeslee & Matthew Blakeslee

 I'm currently reading through the book Think Smart: A Neuroscientist's Prescription for Improving Your Brain's Performance, written by Richard Restak, M.D. Within the crisp pages and embedded in the third chapter, "Specific Steps for Enhancing Your Brain's Performance," is a section on enhancing your body's innate peripersonal space (or PPS). PPS is the "force field" around our body's skin that can extend our body's boundaries. This is what helps us to navigate our bodies through crowded sidewalks without bumping in to other people. When we manipulate other objects, such as our vehicles, our PPS includes them, making it easier to park in tight spaces. Musicians extend their PPS to their instruments when they're playing them.

What I find very interesting is when we extend that PPS to include other people. Our close friends, our relatives, our partners, and even our pets become a part of us, an extension of who we are and how we perceive their existence. It's no wonder that we grieve the way we do when a person who is close to us is injured, ill, or, worse, perishes. Though we may care about the person in general and objectively find value in their being alive, we also tend to focus on them as being a part of ourselves. When the other is harmed, we are, in effect, harmed as well. When the other is ill, we are ill. When the other dies, a part of us dies along with them. We are not separate from the other people in our lives. We aren't even separate from the other people and things in the world, despite our not being aware of their existence. We all share something and are in some ways connected. When they are closer to our hearts and our bodies, we are simply more aware of them as being an extension of ourselves.

For the longest time, I've believed myself to be misanthropic, yet despite this notion, I continually fell in love with people. Now I realize that I was never particularly misanthropic, but that I was unhappy with some parts of myself, and it was only when other people revealed those parts to me that I disliked them. Being more honest and at peace with myself has allowed me to be more honest and at peace with other people. It's still allowing me to find something beautiful in everyone and to appreciate their existence more so than before. They're all a part of me, and I think that's great. I'm a part of them, and I think that's even better.

Practicality and Creativity Will Save the Day...and Some Cash

I would consider myself a fairly practical gal. I own few possessions, and the item I own the most of are books, which I have recently began purchasing on the cheap at thrift stores or for free on the Kindle or borrowed from friends and the library. I have a select few clothes that I wear regularly, like a few pairs of jeans, some simple shirts/tops, a couple pairs of shoes that I will wear to the bone, and some hats or scarves bought for $0.50/each at my favorite thrift store. I don't wear much jewelry, I shave my own hair in a GI Jane-style buzzcut, and I tend to enjoy the simple things in life, like learning a musical instrument, writing, reading, taking walks, painting, playing Nerf Wars, and sitting around a bonfire with some cheap alcohol and good company.

Damn... I'm gonna need a bigger eraser!

And yet, I still haven't managed to pay off my debts. I'm approximately a whole $6,000 in the hole with credit cards and a loan, used for a couple of surgeries. $1,700 here, $2,000 there, another $2,300 over there, and that's not including my approximately $5,000 school loans that are still in deferment. A lack of brutal budgeting has led to my seemingly permanent procrastination in paying off these debts. Though I know there are thousands of other individuals and families who are in far deeper debt, the debt that I have accrued still holds me under just enough to occasionally gasp for breath. I keep kicking and flailing, trying to break free of this hold that bars me from doing the things that I think will add to the quality of my life -- travel, see new places, visit the people that I adore.

I also had a CoxHealth bill that was preventing me from working toward paying off my credit card and loan debts. Recently, I went ahead and paid the rest of the $300+ bill off and scratched it off my seemingly eternal "To-Do" list. Immediately, I noticed a shift of the burden on my shoulders. I felt lighter, a little closer to the surface of the ocean of debt. I liked it.

I liked it so much that I decided I would budget my income and place paying these bills off as my number one priority. I will attempt to use $500 of my monthly income (roughly half of what I make per month) to put towards paying off my debts, one at a time. In order to do this, I need to go out less (for drinks and food) and buy basic foods in bulk for home-cooked meals. In a time of microwavable meals in a matter of a few minutes, this will be a challenge for me. I've spoiled myself with expensive daily trips to the supermarket for Steamables, Rockstars, and 6-packs of Carona or Boulevard Wheat. My cooking skills consist mainly of tossing a pre-cooked meal in the microwave and waiting impatiently for 2-5 minutes for my steaming soggy supper.

I have become complacent with how I indulge most of my whims when it concerns food and drink. Now I have to relearn how I think about food its preparation. This will be difficult at first, but I think it will be beneficial overall. On top of saving money, I will probably end up losing some of the weight that I've gained while satisfying my urges to drink anything except cheap coffee and tap water.

Grains and legumes in bulk, my new best friends

This should prove to be an interesting and most inventive journey. If anyone has any tips on cheap, healthy food recipes where I can buy the ingredients in bulk, I would be ever so grateful for your shared wisdom!