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Thoughts on Roswell June 14, 2011

Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011, Thoughts on People.
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In the grand scheme of things, why is it important for the government to keep an alien spaceship under wraps? The world is divided by believers and non-believers, but what makes one group believe and one group not? The few people who saw the crash, the few people who saw the debris, and the few people who actually had access to the craft itself — all were discredited in one fashion or another and yet some still believe. Is it an ingrained distrust of the government? Or did the distrust for government come after Roswell? And if it came afterwards, what did the government gain?

In the grand scheme of things, why did it matter? So aliens came to our planet. Not only came here but crash landed here. Did the government believe the population would be so disturbed by this event that it needed to be covered up with so much crap that even governmental officials didn’t know what to think? Had the government been more open about the event, how would that have changed the world? How different would the world be today?

The world at large has long looked for signs of extraterrestrial life…some indication we are not alone and that there is a way of life outside our own. When that extraterrestrial life appeared before us we…denied its existence? That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. I understand keeping information from people to protect them–this is a concept I grasp easily. I’m a mom and I don’t tell my kids everything. But, I suppose I struggle to understand the harm in knowing about the very life we all search for.

In a way, I’m glad I wasn’t around in 1947 to become consumed with this debacle. To have hope, to have that hope crushed, to have my entire life and reputation crushed. But how long should we sit back with a shrug and let it go? Where is our evolution? Where is our human growth? Are we never going to have intergalactic travel? We should be there already. Does the delay have anything to do with governmental fear? Are we more afraid than we are curious?

Where has our cowboy spirit gone? Pony up people.

 

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Letting Go June 11, 2011

Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011.
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Verb 1: let go of – release, as from one’s grip

Until today I don’t think I ever really understood the significance of letting go. I hear people say ‘let it go’ all the time when something is upsetting or annoying. Topically speaking, it just means ‘don’t worry about it’. Or when something bothers me I say I’m just going to let it go. Again, so as not to worry and stress over it. But this almost always means that whatever that something is, it is small. Insignificant.

Letting go, is entirely different.

Today I wandered around my house thinking about the past. The past equals all things that have effected me up to this point in my life. 32-years worth of little somethings that create a larger whole picture of Sarah. Some of those little things I no longer remember and it doesn’t mean that those things were bad things or boring things…they’ve just faded away. Some of those little things are happy memories I cherish all the time…things that have followed me through the many days, weeks, months, and years of my time here in this life.

Other things, though, are bad things. Sad things. Angering things. And today I thought about the sad things. One thing, in particular. I had this person in my life for years who I built so many dreams around and he was (in my mind) someone very special. Special to me. Special in this world. Just special. And I kept trying to find a way to fit him into my life even though no matter what I tried, I failed. And I’m not a quitter so I kept trying. For years. I simply could not let go of that dream. It’s like growing up with the plan to go to Harvard, or Julliard, or to be an actress or quarterback. It’s a dream for your future that you work towards in a lifelong commitment of smaller plans that lead up to the great plan.

But I’m the quarterback who sustained a life-altering knee injury in the game. And just like that, the dream died. Stubborn and unready to give up on the dream, I worked out and stretched the injury, slapped band-aids on it, fought back the tears. But eventually I came to realize the dream was over.

And still I fought against it. I’ve lived in my own mind now for a long time, sequestering myself and my future in and around this dream. Until today. Today I realized that no matter how much I still want that dream and no matter how much I think those band-aids might eventually turn into wound-altering sutures, I have to let it go. The idea of taking something I love with my whole soul, tying it to an invisible balloon and letting it float away on the breeze, is terrifying. Heartbreaking.

That’s how I know letting go of something is significantly different from letting something go.

Holes June 9, 2011

Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011.
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“One must desire something, to be alive.”-Margaret Deland

I am 32-years old and have always loved a man. Not always the same man. When my heart has been broken, it has taken the desire of a new man in order to heal my heart and move on. Therefore, even though it’s not always been the same man, I’ve always loved a man.

Until now.

The difference in my mood, behavior, and train of thought is obvious to me. I find very little funny, very little interesting, and very little worth the effort of any effort whatsoever. It’s deadening. I’ve been sitting here thinking tonight about the feeling…trying to figure it all out because I’m an overly-analytic person. And what I’ve realized is that Margaret is right…you have to desire something in order to be alive. Even if your desire isn’t a mate, you need the feeling of excitement — those butterflies, the breathless anticipation of whatever it is.

For me it is the breathless anticipation of the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin. When you desire someone, the whole world fades into insignificance, disappearing altogether until the moment of his arrival and suddenly the hills really are alive with the sound of music. It’s like that scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy steps out the front door of her black and white existence and into techni-color munchkin land.

I try not to be so stupid about love, I honestly do. And sometimes I’m fine. But other times, seems more and more frequently now while I’m in this hole, I wonder why I bother painting my face, artfully securing my long hair back, and changing out of sweats. Why do anything more exotic than rolling over in my bed and returning to sleep. Because the dreams are currently better than reality.

It’s pathetic I know. I just…I’ve never experienced this hole before. It’s as boring as this blog.

Resistance is Futile? June 3, 2011

Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011, Thoughts on People.
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Tonight I attended my oldest nephew's high school graduation commencement. While I was too pregnant to attend my own high school graduation, today I sat in a coliseum chair beside hundreds of spectators and was instantly transported to the year I was eighteen years old. You think, at eighteen, that you have seen so much of life. I believe, no matter what people say, the first eighteen years of your life drag by at such a pace one will never experience a second time. Every moment of school, the friends made, the friends lost, the experience with bullies, the inspirational teachers, the parent drama...is so fresh in mind and so important. At eighteen, I felt my entire life had been one long struggle. Graduating high school and becoming an adult was akin to having an ankle chain unlocked...I was free. Free to do whatever I wanted, be whoever I wanted, go...wherever I wanted. It was my second cleaned slate. The theories, or hopes, I had at eighteen were much like the ones I heard in the coliseum tonight. Big career, special life, impacting the world...all things that were possible upon my eighteenth birthday. Man, the things I would do. And as I sat in that chair watching the hundred plus seniors walk across the stage, grinning at each other, so proud of their achievements thus far and full of dreams and hopes for the future, I tried to remain optimistic. It was strange how easily that feeling returned to me. That bubble of excitement in my chest, the butterflies of the unknown in my stomach, the sensation that this great big world I live in just became a little more available to me. I tried not to think about the dreams those kids have and how they'll shatter one day to be rebuilt into another dream that will also be shattered, only to be rebuilt, etc. Nothing ever turns out how you think it will turn out. At eighteen you think you know a thing or two about life -- it's why they really don't listen to anyone when someone tries to offer caution, which is why I keep my thoughts to myself. I also remain silent because I don't want to steal that feeling from anyone. Not ever. That feeling of overwhelming possibility will dissipate soon enough on its own and need not be hampered by any well-intentioned remarks from me.One of the valedictorians said her message to her fellow classmates was simple. Be. Just be. Be something, someone to anyone. It need not change the face of the world, impact society, or be some impossible feat. Just be. Most of what she said afterwards flew over my head because I stared unseeingly into the mass of spectators around me wondering when it was that I became so caught up in the day-to-day mundane existence of a whole while forgetting to be me. An individual. When I stopped dreaming. When I stopped attempting to be whoever I wanted, do whatever I wanted, go wherever I wanted. When did I lose sight of the eighteen-year old me? Somewhere along the road since high school graduation I forgot that I meant to do something. I didn't even remember enough to be aware that I forgot.

I know there are innumerable ways to merge knowledge from Star Trek with real life…but here is one more way. The Borg, whom no one envies, are a collective hive of workers geared towards one common goal, moving in tandem at some unspoken command, without question, without dreams, without individuality. And sometime in the last 14 years I became one of the hive. I know there are circumstances and explanation aplenty about how and when I came to be where I am today but I hope, having remembered for just the smallest of moments who I used to be, that there is still a chance for me. I hope it is not too late to rediscover the old me. To discover those dreams and hopes. To live this free adult life the way I imagined I would, once upon a time.

More than that, I hope the Borg are wrong about resistance.

The Smell of Grass June 1, 2011

Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011.
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When I was a little girl I used to sit outside in my grandmother’s yard while she talked to me of things of old and I’d lose myself in the smell of grass. I spent hours lying on my back in the grass, staring up at the blue sky and lazily drifting puff clouds, daydreaming and losing myself in the smell of grass.

What is it about the tangy scent of a freshly mowed lawn to capture the senses? Those thin blades are so vibrant, so green, and testify by their very existence the continuity of life. Even if that life is nature. How long has grass existed on Earth? Longer than I have. Longer than any of us have. And still its here. You may not see it in the city where people have chosen to live sans landscape, but in the country the grass grows wild in a haven of unencumbered life. It’s unrestrained, undemanding and, if left alone, will branch out in an untethered blanket of billowing green.

It’s beautiful. I love driving through the country with my windows down so I can inhale the crisp scent…there is nothing else like it. And while I love the smell intensely and might wonder (for the smallest of moments) why it remains unbottled…I suppose I would rather smell perfume on my skin…perhaps Noir, which I find desperately lovely, rather than ode de grass.

But…it’s a thought.