The Genius of Foer

The leaves are falling. The wind chill is below freezing. My appendages are in a constant state of numbness. Pumpkin seeds are baking in the oven. It is autumn. And I am overjoyed.

I love reading books, especially during the chilly seasons. Tonight I should be doing school work of some sort, but as has become a regular occurence, I cracked open a book just for fun. This evening I was glancing through one of my all time favorites Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by my all-time favorite author Jonathan Safran Foer. He is brilliant. I can read his works over and over, and yet somehow I find new meanings each time. That is rare. If you have not read Everything is Illuminated or the aforementioned book, then I would highly advise it.

...together and separately, out loud and silently, we were determined to ignore whatever needed to be ignored, to build a new world from nothing if nothing in our world could be salvaged, it was one of the best days of my life, a day during which I lived my life and didn't think about my life at all.

He makes me want to be an author.

Sueno

I daydream. Usually it has to do with some far off adventure that appears unattainable and distant. Yet somehow, if I dream enough, I usually get there.

I am not reading about the pre-WWII Japanese attempt at imperialism in the Pacific as required of me by my favorite professor, but I am researching organic farming internships in Oregon. I do this. I so easily get lost in a world of possibilities and potential. I develop these thoughts that take me out of my dorm room and put in places where I get to be outside, I get to cook and I get to live life with other people. Not that I don't live life with people here... I do. But I'm not outside nearly enough as I would like. And the oven in our kitchen set the fire alarm off consistently.


It is not that I am dissatisfied with my life here at Jewell. In fact, I just had an incredible fall break filled with corn mazes, backcountry driving, sushi, oversized margaritas and Mexican men who wink too much, best friends from DC, glitter glue and camping. It was perfect. And I even got to read a whole book. Really, I could not have asked for a better break. So why do I daydream so much?

Maybe it's the age- I am nearly 22 (on Friday!)... I feel like I matured more this summer, and now I am ready to move on with my life. I love college. Too much sometimes. But now I feel like it is time for the next stage. I want a life now. Oh to have a house (or a treehouse on someone's farm)! To be able to read a book that I won't be tested on. To be able to actually start working on issues that I believe in. To study more, but also to do.


I will live in Amsterdam. I will garden and live on a farm in Oregon. I will bake bread in Boston. I will work with prostitutes in San Francisco. I will do microlending in Africa. I will write a book in Montana. And I will drink tea and sit on a big, wrap-around porch on 39th Street.


But until then, I will study sustainable development in Central America. And I will continue daydreaming because it is the dreaming that inspires the action. So dream on, my virtual friends, dream on.

This is my friend Julie. Not only does she work at an art gallery in our nation's capital, but she also gave me bangs. And made me paint my fingernails.

She came to visit me. We took walks and painted. We camped outside in the cold- but I made sure we took vitamins before we braved the weather. We talked about life and love and God. Now I am refreshed.

She dreams too.

Blog-worthy Bill

Bill leisurely walked into the bookstore at his normal time; 8:20 am. He was wearing his matching William Jewell College trucker hat and windbreaker along with his black sneakers and oversized reading glasses. I gave him the typical, "Good morning, Bill! How are you doing?" And he very intentionally walked over to give me a pat on the back while flashing his contagious grin. He asked, "Now, Molly... what were you? Director of Homecoming?" That's right- let me mention that I never told Bill this, it is simply that By the Book gossip spreads like wildfire. "Did you know that I was Homecoming Director at Jewell in.... what was the year? I think it was 1947." Verdad? How cool. Who could have guessed that Bill would walk into a coffee shop every morning to greet a barista that held the same stressful role as HC director of his own college 61 years later!

Maybe that's why I'm a history major. I love stories and connections. I love to see how things begin and how they reconnect. I love that Bill who buys his $1.50 cup of coffee every morning and I have something in common. I love his stories and I love giving him reason to share them.

Bill also always fills out the NY Times Crossword Puzzle (one of my everyday activities, as well). Today I was waiting to do it until the afternoon so Bill took that opportunity to use me. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. So he would read them off and I would try to answer them. My favorite came about three clues in. He said, "Molly, you're young. Which 'rapper' co-owns the NJ Nets? 4 letters, second letter A." I know that I am out of touch with the rap world- surprising, no?- but one rapper always stands out above the rest. My fav.
"Jay-Z."
"Well, who the hell is Jay-Z? How do you spell that? Are you sure?"
"Bill, don't question my knowledge of hip hop."
"Okay, us Homecoming directors have to stick together."

Bill is blog-worthy. Just when I thought he was predictable, he gives me another story.

Homecoming Teaser

Merely 4 hours ago, I finished my duties as William Jewell College's 2008 Homecoming Director (with my now dear friend Kate). It was the most stressful and busy week of my life, hands down. Beforehand, I thought that I knew what those two words actually meant (stressful and busy); however, this week those definitions held a completely new meaning. I cannot write about it yet, though it is worthy of some major blogging. First I need to be alone for a while. I need to not hear "Molly! Molly! I have a question!" I need to have a conversation with one person at a time. I need to not have 1,200 people scrutinizing my every decision. I need to not have those 1,200 people constantly looking at me for direction. I need to debrief and to catch up on my much neglected school work.

So tonight, I put on a dress, drank a margarita and tried to enjoy my newfound freedom. Homecoming is over... now what am I going to do?

This week I...
... yelled at someone and used the word "damn" in my first bonafide argument (btw, I won)
... talked on a loudspeaker at a football game that I did not watch
... shook Joe Biden's hand (a very ironic story follows this someday soon)
... cursed a lot
... laughed a lot

Really, it's just Homecoming. Not all that interesting, I understand, but it's probably the biggest leadership position to date. In the words of Beyonce, "I'm a surivor, I'm gonna make it, I'm a survivor who keeps on survivin'." Inspirational. True.

It's 8:28 pm. I am going to sleep.

Jamaica Me Come Home...

Last semester, I was suckered into being the Homecoming Director for Jewell. In fact, I was told "you have no choice." Totally untrue and not a good way to convince me to do something, but I nonetheless took the job. Ironic, considering how I have little to no school spirit, I am not in a sorority and I find myself saying often to people overinvolved in the event "it's only Homecoming!" Anyway, from what I hear it's the most stressful thing you can do at Jewell, but I am doing fine. I am usually a pretty relaxed person, and I have found myself staying calm under the intense pressure of angry Greeks, bitter Independents and frazzled faculty members. However, when I look at the planner that depressingly holds the activities of my life in 7 small boxes a week, I feel slightly overwhelmed. On top of directing Homecoming, I am working at my coffee shop AND doing hours as an RA. Yet, I just have to take it day by day and the craziness of life seems to subside.

Bethanie and Bhadri (my sibs) are leaving for Costa Rica on Saturday. We had a coffee date via Skype this morning, and it made me ever more jealous that they get to go farm while I will be here in Liberty. I want to farm! When I get tired of life here in Missouri, I dream. I even do research to follow-up my dreams. I found a farm in Oregon that is run by a vegan couple who have treehouses for their interns' living quarters. I could move there, harvest food, cook dinners, read books in the evenings, climb mountains, surf in the summers, hike through canyons and the list goes on. Yet, I know that even if I did that, I wouldn't be completely satisfied. I would have another dream to chase. Always chasing, never catching- that's the fun of it! So for now, I will be alright with studying WWII, contributing to others' caffeine addictions, watching Flight of the Conchords, and embroidering pictures of animals for friends. Oh, and directing Homecoming.

When I ever get a little sad or annoyed with life, I just take a glance at this beauty...

The Sisters of Carmel

I would like to admit something that I have never discussed prior to this entry. My blog is in an indiscernable Slavic language. I always click on "Utworz bloga" when I should click on "Zaloguj sie" for a new post. Why is it in a foreign language? I do not know. I have a love/hate relationship with it. In a way, it's annoying- but it's also a challenge. And you know I love challenges.

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"I sometimes imagine that I long for the seclusion of a nunnery. But I know that I must seek You among people, out in the world." Etty Hillesum, my new hero

When I went to California this summer, I stayed at a Carmelite Monastery on the side of a cliff overlooking the city. It was set in a normal San Diego neighborhood, but once in the monastery, a whole new world appeared to me. The moment I walked into the quiet, dark and somewhat mysterious home of 14 Catholic sisters, I immediately became overwhelmed by the purity of it all. The women were genuine, their love clear and their hospitality inspirational. I got to spend some time with a darling nun named Sister Yvonne. We discussed my life, her life, the mission of the Carmelites, their struggles, my struggles, their need to find a place in the world, my need to find a place in the world, and our unified love for God.

It was special, yes, and I knew that at the time... but I look back on those few days with some of the most incredible and dedicated women I have ever met and my heart is tender. You know that feeling? It's relatively the same feeling I get when I think about my brothers and sisters in Africa (to a smaller extent)- but it's the feeling that there is something very sacred about that place, those people and that time. Sacred. Set apart. Holy. My heart aches to return.

And I'm not saying that I will become a nun- although let's be honest, it is possible- but I will say that I long to be a part of something like that. Something that is so community oriented, but not just community for community's sake- real, genuine desire to be a family with the common goal of Christ. The unified acceptance that our purpose is not our own. We are not made for the world or for our desires, but for something greater. Something more meaningful. Harder. Beyond ourselves.

Although I did have to dance around the fact that I was traveling with a boy, the nuns accepted me as the Protestant wanderer that I am. And Sister Yvonne... oh Sister Yvonne, she was genuinely interested in my life and the places God has taken me. We prayed together, and actually cried together- albeit most of the crying was from yours truly but they were tears of joy and relief- and something very beautiful developed in that monastery and in our conversations.

I do not know why I felt like writing a blog about the Carmelites of San Diego, but I do know that they now hold a special place in my heart. And I want to write a book about them or about my experience with them. Because they are wonderful. And beautiful. And inspirational. And sacred.

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Coffeehouse Altercations

Racism.

To me, that has always seemed like an out of date, Southern, ignorant perspective only seen in the movies or read in books. It has never really presented itself to me up close and personal... until last night. I know that racism exists, but to actually be in the midst of people who think that hate can be justified is bewildering. Absolutely inconceivable to me.

Where to begin? One of my co-workers who has been especially hard for me to get along with just so happens to be in 11th grade. I love high school boys; they are so charming. He has made comments that make me cringe on mulitiple occasions, and last night was my breaking point. He jokingly made a racist comment, not uncommon in the least for him. I could no longer roll my eyes and simply tell him that he was acting like an asshole. No, this was our time to hash it out. What proceeded was an hour and half conversation about why he feels like it is acceptable to say and ultimately, think a certain way. It was somewhat productive. He learned that he feels superior to minorities, and that society has trained him to believe that money makes a person more valuable. But when I would ask him what he believes and not what society believes, he had no clue.

This kid is an extremely intelligent, albeit extremely annoying, young boy. I told him that I expected him to be able to back up his comments. He couldn't. He repeated, "I can say it because it's the truth!" To me, that is not an argument. And he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that simply saying something is true or right doesn't actually make it true or right, and that generalizations amount to nothing. And at one point I asked him what he valued, how he decided one person was superior than another. Was it money? Race? Affluence? Intelligence? And he admitted that he did not know what he valued. He wanted to know, but he had never thought about it.

It was frustrating. It was mind-blowing. But it was needed. He asked me all kinds of questions about why I believe the way I do. Why I don't care about money like he does, why I value certain things about others, etc. It was good. And I had the opportunity to give him my raw perspective on life. On my struggles with judging people who are rich, who are ungrateful, who wear mini-skirts and who pop their collars. We learned from each other.

Oswald Chambers said in today's devotional, "When we come into contact with things that create confusion... we find to our amazement that we have the power to stay wonderfully poised even in the center of it all." He was not speaking about racism, but I will take it as a sign that my words were not my own. I was a well full of questions, answers, comments that were surprisingly genuine and non-aggressive. I was astouned at the conversation because although it was intense, we were respectful of each other. God was bringing to mind things I have learned and experiences I've had that had relevance to the topic. It was strange how beautifully it all come out and how it all fit together to shed light on the heart of the topic.

And then all hell broke loose. Another co-worker came in. The high schooler and I were mid-conversation, learning from each other, beginning to get somewhere... and then she walked in. I expected an ally. I expected decent human kindness. And all I got was a whole new battle.

This girl asked what we were talking about and I said, "(insert boys name here) made another racist comment and we are talking about why he thinks its okay and I think its wrong." And she looked at me and said, "Hail Hitler." I laughed an uncomfortable laugh. She had to be joking, right? And then she said, "I think racism is okay." I wanted to cry- out of frustration, out of disappointment, out of loneliness, out of brokeness.

The one who I thought would be my ally became my toughest opponent. I let her explain to me and I tried to listen with respect. But it was lost on me. First of all, the reasons and arguments that these two co-workers proceeded to berade me with sounded very unintelligent to me. Maybe it's the fact that they haven't been to college and have never had to give a real argument. I told them that a professor would tear them apart if they ever wrote a paper with those kind of generalizations, opinions, statements and absolutely nothing to back them up. No evidence. Nothing. But secondly, here were two young people who are justifying their hatred and superiority toward other humans. It was utterly heart-breaking. I kept thinking not only about the people that they are expressing superiority over but about them. What is it like to live with a hatred toward your fellow humans? Real, honest hate.

I left work with a feeling of utter disgust. I called my dear friend Caitlin, a non-racist like m'self, and she let me rant and cuss and scream about the night. We talked a long time about racism. About how we were raised and how racism creeps into everyday life in America. And she eloquently stated that "hatred can never be healthy." Where there is hatred, there is no health. And that is the root of it all. Hatred can never and should never be justified.

I cannot get that conversation out of my mind- maybe because I need to think about it more. But I have literally had tears well up in my eyes as I replay certain aspects of that conversation. The hatred disgusts me. The lack of love and complete disregard for humanity makes me heart hurt. Racism is real. It is not so uncommon as I once thought. And it slapped me in the face.