For as long as I can remember, every year my parents have asked me what I want for Christmas, my first response has always been, "snow". Growing up in Florida, my Christmas' have always been decorated with beach sand and palm trees; I have always been envious of Northerners making their snow angels and sledding on Christmas day. Since I had spent the last decade of my life, unsuccessfully coercing my family into heading to Colorado for the holidays, I gave up on the idea of having a white Christmas anytime soon. In the back of my mind, I had reserved this bucket list experience for my future family sitting on our porch in some place like Vermont. But, the universe decided to have the last laugh while simultaneously granting my wish last night. The midwestern states were dumped on with snow all day yesterday causing widespread holiday traveling difficulties, which left me at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport.
As much as I wanted to be woken up on Christmas day by the family dogs jumping into my bed, be opening stockings with the family right now and eating my mom's cookies-- this entire experience made me strangely, extremely thankful. Rather than your typical airport scene, I saw thousands of strangers form an immediate bond last night that was completely in line with the true Christmas spirit. Due to the roads being iced over, hotel shuttles were not coming to the airport and therefor, the vast majority was forced to spend the night here and ring in Christmas at DFW. It was no longer about getting presents and a commercialized Christmas, it was families from different states, different religions, different political backgrounds inviting one another to dinner... and even though that dinners only options included Chili's or McDonald's, there was compassionate conversation, life stories and unconditional sharing. There were people volunteering to watch bags or entertain children while someone went to the bathroom, there were people grabbing hands full of sleeping cots to pass out, buying extra blankets for one another or lending jackets for pillows... it was honestly one of the most beautiful experience among strangers that I have ever been fortunate enough to be a part of.
I experienced another Christmas miracle from a good friend in Dallas, who braved the icy roads and picked me up so I could spend the night in a warm bed. His family was absolutely amazing, showering me with hospitality (and cookies!), while we all sat around watching It's A Wonderful Life and telling stories. At one point, I even went in the yard to make a snowball on Christmas!! I never would have imagined this life list event to come true in 2009. I'd be lieing if I didn't say I am really itching to get home now and hoping I get on my standby flight, but I am also walking away with an unforgettable experience of Christmas love and my life long wish granted. Hope you all are enjoying what Christmas is truly about, surrounded by the people you love... Merry Christmas, with love from the Dallas airport :)
This quote from Love Actually (one of my favorite holiday movies!) seemed so fitting right now...
Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion... love actually is all around.
One of the reasons I adore holidays so much is for their custom traditions. I relish in creating rituals with great people and celebrating every holiday, as fully as possible; To the extent that when I was little, my friends and I went so far as to make pseudo-countries and decorate our own flags because we weren't quite sure how people were customarily expected to celebrate Flag Day. So you can imagine my excitement when, thanks to CNNiReport, I discovered another tradition to add to the books. Recently, they posted a simple challenge on their website: make a video of your entire year in half a minute. The outcome-- some adorable, often creative and very captivating 30 second videos worth checking out! I decided to take the challenge, but ultimately failed on the time limit when I doubled 30 seconds. Nonetheless, I love the idea of a short, sweet and to the point scrapbook style video of a year. I definitely intend to keep this a tradition for as long as there is life in my years. Hope you enjoy and/or catch a glimpse of yourself in 'How I spent 2009 in ONE minute'... or as it should be more appropriately named, everyone and everything I was grateful for in 2009!
Around 4 am last night, I awoke to a loud dripping noise. My initial reaction was, “why in the world is my dog peeing inside?!” Upon seeing Skala snuggled at the foot of my bed, I thought a faucet was running. Sleepily, I drug myself around to inspect the shower and sinks, but the mystery remained unsolved. It took a good 10 minutes for me to finally realize the unthinkable! A gutter on the side of my house was pouring out water because it was... raining. Oh, the horror!
I was warned about a lot of things before moving out here, but I feel one stereotype the east coast has not been informed of is southern Californian’s ridiculous reactions to variations in weather. Rain (or even a one degree alteration in temperature) becomes the topic of everyone's conversation and noticeably alters their routines; the typically bustling promenade area of Santa Monica resembled more a ghost town. I read there was even a 300% increase in car accidents today due to the drizzle! And I really cannot emphasize the word drizzle enough to the skeptics that may think I'm exaggerating. On typical days, I contemplate if I am secretly living on a Pleasantville set (see 1:51-1:56 of this clip, especially), where some movie producer has directed the sky to be constantly sunny and nearly cloudless. As beautiful as this may seem, this repetitive perfection gets a little monotonous. It definitely does not snow here, cold is a very lax term reserved for the hours that the sun is down, drizzles of rain are far and few in between and I've yet to encounter these boasted earthquakes (I probably just jinxed myself and am going to wake up to a category 5 quake tonight).
pretty certain if anyone in SoCal saw this, they would seek immediate refuge in a bomb shelter
I may be a bit of a self-acclaimed weather snob, but after growing up with daily summer rain showers in Florida, not to mention the routine evacuations from hurricanes and having to go to class in North Carolina even when our parking lot resembled an ice skating rink; I can’t help but sit on the outside and laugh at the panic from natives due to one day of light rain.
My description does not do nearly as much comical justice to the SoCal reactions as the video below, enjoy!
In the 6 years that I have known my friend being mentioned in this story, I could probably count on one hand the amount of times I have heard her curse. So when she exclaimed to me that Ray LaMontagne in concert is, “f*cking amazing”, I felt that no financial constraints should hold me back from attending his upcoming performance. At the time I found out he would be playing in Los Angeles, I was still unemployed, which led me to spend my time frantically scouring the internet for discounted tickets. Major thanks to my gracious mother and her unprompted gift, I was able to attend his show last night! The Orpheum Theater was the setting, which was an architecturally gorgeous show all in itself with a history to match; boasting the likes of Judy Garland and Ella Fitzgerald as previous performers on its esteemed stage. After wandering in a mesmerized state past gigantic, antique chandeliers, intricate floral paintings with gold trimmings and a winding marble staircase, I found myself with a fabulous view for the actual concert. I’m pretty certain it would be hard to have terrible seats in this venue.
Through many a grape vine, I’ve been told his concerts focus solely on the music and Ray tends to say little more than three words outside of his songs. Going in with this expectation, I was thrilled when after a few rounds of my beloved favorites (including the first song I ever heard by him, Hold You In My Arms- featured below), he decided to go into a personal story.
The crowd fell completely silent to the point where you could eerily hear people breathing. He began his story telling with one that seemed humorously befitting of his personality, as he said something to the like of “I’m really annoyed by pre-teens singing today about… well about anything. They think they have all this experience and understand so much about the world. I just want to say, you don’t know pain, you don’t know shit… I guess all my heroes are old”. I found myself amusingly reminiscing on my own poetry stint at a young age where I genuinely thought I knew so much about life and its struggles... which slightly stopped me in my tracks and had me ponder if future Macon would laugh at the naïveté’s of her 24 year old self.
Unfortunately, as he was beginning to go into length about his personal heroes in the music world and the memories he shared of crossing paths with these giants, he was cut off by a girl sitting about 2 rows away from me, who felt the need at that exact moment to scream, “SING!” Apparently Kanye West style entitlement is seeping into our every day culture. Until this moment, I can't say I’ve ever felt the desire to start a fight with a complete stranger. This man rarely shares stories and when he does you can feel the raw emotion in every solitary word... did she really just interrupt and demand him, much like a circus animal to perform for her? LaMontagne raised his eyebrows in a seemingly shocked manner and politely, yet assertively replied, “yes ma’am” and immediately went into his next song. I could not help, but feel a bit of bitterness and clear division amongst the crowd from that point on. He never once said a single word after her comment and continued to play song after song without break, until finally announcing he was done and appreciated our attendance.
Though this elusive girl will forever remain in my thoughts as an idiot, overall the show was a remarkable experience. He is one of the few artists that I can most assuredly announce sounds even better live, he simply comes to life in his songs. You can genuinely feel every heartache and passion deeply illustrated in his voice, more so than on any CD. This simple solo concert with no help from background music, played on a lone rug with the occasional backdrop of black and white vintage photos on a small screen gave the show a very private atmosphere. I felt like I was just hanging out in an old friend’s living room exchanging life stories, which made this show very unique. I will personally back up the words and sign the petition that Ray LaMontagne live is ‘f*cking awesome’.
“I am pleased to extend you an offer to join the Teach For America 2010 corps! This offer to join Teach For America reflects your outstanding accomplishments, leadership potential, and commitment to expanding educational opportunities for children in low-income communities."
Little did this innocent bunch of words know the amount of emotions and confrontations they were thrusting upon me when I received them in an email on November 10th. After more than 3 months of essays, phone interviews, critical thinking exams, lesson plans, a day long in-person interview and a series of grueling questions always at hand, I was accepted into Teach for America. For those of you who do not know about the program, essentially it is a non-profit organization whose mission is to recruit the brightest, most passionate, idealistic college graduates and send them to the poorest, most disadvantaged areas of the country, where for two years they will teach in an effort to close the educational achievement gap.
My reaction to this invitation went something like… WOW I GOT IN (picture jumping, screaming and ridiculous enthusiasm)… Las Vegas Valley? (Insert extremely quizzical glare while conjuring up images of casinos and strippers)… but it does say ‘Valley’ at the end… I’m going to hang on to that valley word really tightly and romanticize it... And my assignment is Pre-K… as in Dr. Seuss,If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, play doh, legos, Goodnight Moon- YES PLEASE!!.... But those words… Las Vegas… it’s still lingering in my thoughts and it does not sound good.
In the selection process, you rate all the regions from 1- 100 (I threw 100 out there, I don’t remember how many total regions there actually are). I remember Denver, San Francisco & Washington DC being some of my top picks and I remember Memphis was my very last pick (sorry Memphis, I hope you don’t take offense), but Vegas… where the heck had I ranked Vegas? I was going through my catalogue memory trying to put my finger on the number that Vegas had fallen under… nothing. It didn’t matter, there was no sway in this; if I committed I would be headed to Vegas. view of Lake Mead & the mountains just outside Vegas
It was time to share this information with friends and family. As I eagerly sent out overzealous texts and phone calls to announce my news, I was met with a crushing amount of condemnation. Most of the disapproval was stemmed in my assigned location… You will NOT be happy in Vegas... Do you know how hot it is there? You will be in the desert!... Why teaching- didn’t you study psychology?... Why are you putting your life on hold?... Do you know anyone in Nevada?... And so on… I was utterly shocked. Not what I was expecting at all, however they all had their valid points and their intentions were good. But, something in my gut told me not to deny it just yet. And I did have two wonderful friends who flooded me with support.
Now to get a little off track, but follow me, there’s a connection… I love NPR. It is my drug. It is my start up internet page and my IPOD is full of podcasts. I have always eaten up their stories and advice. Awhile back, I read an article entitled “How A Professor Taught Me To Consult My Stomach”, a good read I recommend, especially for it’s sequence on dealing with death. The former professor, Fred Stocking described how he determined a student’s grade; a logical process he followed based on your typical averaging of exams. But in the end, he always consulted his stomach. The simple line from Stocking made an impression on the NPR author’s life, as much as it did mine. One of my good friends unknowingly furthered Stocking's thoughts by giving me advice via a psychology theory that felt logic without emotions is detrimental.
So I did just that, I logically wrote the pros and cons, what I would gain and what I would lose. I even drove the 4 hour trek to Las Vegas to survey the scene. Logically, I was at a very neutral medium. But, that stomach line, it was really getting to me. So after looking at my paper charts and letting my brain take hold of the logical way to handle this, I invited my emotions to come in. And boy did they come in. To the point where I got teary eyed and in that moment everything in my stomach begged me to not even consider saying no.
Maybe it was the fact that accepting this position would be in line with the foundation of many of my principles and passions. It could have been the fact that 80% of the Pre-K students will be English language learners and I felt as if I owed it to my patient teachers in France who never gave up on me. It may have been the realization that the basic things we learned in Pre-K like counting, lining up and colors are things we effortlessly carry with us on a daily bases; that idea is a bittersweet tangible impact. It might have been my first hand views of the affects of poverty and the inequalities dropped upon a group of individuals that have no say on the social injustices they are handed. Maybe it was my graduate school research project that brought to light in a life-altering manner just how much your socioeconomic status and geographical location plays into your opportunities throughout life. It was likely all of that and a lot more, but quite frankly, I knew my stomach would be pissed if I said no.
I’m not going to romanticize this. I’ve heard the horror stories. Absolutely no books or supplies in the classroom, violence often ever present, children throwing very derogative criticisms at the teachers, parents that have no possibility to be involved with the students education, language barriers, continued absences, unsupportive principles and the list goes on. Sure a bunch of people who have done studies and research on what the best possible candidate looks like felt I fit the mold. But, they never once told me it would be easy. In fact, they told me the exact opposite. From conversations with alumni of the program and some very insightful books, I have realized I am about to willingly throw myself into a very challenging position for the next two years. One that will open my eyes wider than they ever have been to this inequality and undoubtedly shatter me emotionally on some days. But you know what? My stomach could not be happier.
I may be able to relate to my Pre-K kids a little too well
Anticipation. It’s the interim period of emotions. A mélange of overwhelmingly eager and desperately anxious. It’s one of the few emotions that is suggestively positive that we try to rush through as quickly as possible… in our hopes to land upon the foreseen event that is causing anticipation. Whether the supposed event is a job offer, a cross country move, an engagement, a school admissions letter or even a live show of your favorite band-- for the most part we are doing everything in our power to control time, to force past the present state of anticipation in order to arrive at our expected event.
When you’re in it, anticipation can be an agonizing state of purgatory. But when we recollect on past moments of anticipation, they are often the most exhilarating, beautiful and pleasing states… sometimes even more so than the reality of the event. In the anticipation state, the possibilities are endless, our creative options of how the event will actually take life in our favour are infinite and the nervous giddiness that keeps us up through half the night is exhilarating because few events in life give you quite the same ‘high’ as anticipation. And though we are constantly working toward the arrival of the event, personally, I’m kind of partial to the anticipation.
I am not on my lonesome with these affectionate feelings towards anticipation. An embarrassingly, but undeniably true fact from my high school years was my love for Dawson’s Creek. And though I always felt I could relate to it in my teenage angst in terms of relationships, I never thought six something years down the road it’s quotes would be haunting me yet again. There is a scene where one of the main characters, Joey & her English professor are discussing the ending to books…
Joey: so what is the best ending in all of literature? Don’t say Ulysses. Everyone says Ulysses.
Prof Wilder: that's easy. Sentimental Education by Flaubert
Joey: and what happens?
Prof Wilder: nothing really. just two old friends sitting around remembering the best thing that never happened to them.
Joey: how do you remember something that never happened?
Prof Wilder: fondly. you see, Flaubert believed that anticipation was the purest form of pleasure … and the most reliable. and that while the things that actually happen to you would invariably disappoint, the things that never happened to you would never dim. never fade. they would always be engraved in your heart with a sort of sweet sadness …
My one solace in the fact that I actually just quoted (almost by heart) a teenage soap opera in my blog is the fact that Wilder’s thoughts were based off an excerpt from a highly regarded book, however Dawson's Creek goes on in the episode to actually mess up which book they were quoting. They stated it was in Flaubert's Sentimental Education, which does in fact dance around the idea of anticipation being the purest form of pleasure, however it was actually Julian Barnes’ book Flaubert's Parrot, which directly said…
“Isn’t the most reliable form of pleasure, Flaubert implies, the pleasure of anticipation? Who needs to burst into fulfillment’s desolate attic?"
No matter who it is glorifying anticipation or what outcomes may come from predicted events, I have found myself right smack in the midst of this emotion and I will stay here for the next 30-ish hours. There’s no denying I want answers; ones that could send me (in six months) anywhere from Hawaii to New York or just a few blocks down the street to Los Angeles and ones that will unquestionably have a large impact on my future. They will shed some light on questions ranging from career, to the people I will interact with for the next two years, to possibly the place I might finally call home and ultimately an answer to the maddening ‘what next’ question. But, for now I’m going to wander in my anticipation and throw out all the picturesque ways this event might really turn out. And enjoy the fact that I have been granted a little over a day to soak up the purest form of desire.
*ktmac & anna- if you're reading this, I hope you're soaking it up as well :)
I have foreseen this moment ever since my arrival in southern California. And to fully justify my thoughts, it was not the sort of waiting you dream about with lustful anticipation, but rather the awareness of an inevitable arrival that was beyond your control. Before this moment, I always felt out of the loop with longtime residents of the area who had received their official stamp and had stories to tell about it. I supposed it would happen on a night out at some chic bar or possibly early in the morning at a trendy coffee shop. Before you go thinking I’m doing drugs or got knocked up, I’m referring to my first celebrity spotting.
Furthermore, I had predicted this spotting would either involve someone I was terrified of like Lindsay Lohan or some foreign model, who's name I'd be unable to pronounce and would quite frankly have no idea who they were until I got home to do a google search. But no, the celebrity gods were on my side tonight as I headed to the Beverly Hills niketown for a group run. After mingling with a few runner hotties, I was content enough. My satisfaction went up a few more notches upon receiving free subway sandwiches, fruit cups annnnd sobe drinks. All of the aforementioned was enough to swear me off as one of niketown’s newest overenthusiastic running groupies. However, as I was headed for the door I noticed a stage emblazoned with 26.2, people hovering around as if expecting a concert and DJ’s blaring some terrible rap mix. Over a speaker, I heard something to the effect of ‘your favorite marathoner will be here shortly to answer questions.’ No way, Kara Goucher!? I wish. Let’s not be greedy, the celebrity gods were not on my side that much. But, none other than Meb Keflezighi comes waltzing up to the stage. And by waltzing I mean very humbly walked up with a shy smile, he seems like a pretty chill guy to say the least.
Now all of the non-runners reading this who are wondering who this dude is… he just won the NYC marathon this past Sunday (which he at one point did whip the medal out of his pocket for all to see). To further brag for my humble celebrity, he was the first American to win the NYC marathon since 1982 and ran a personal best time of 2:09.15 on a very challenging course (essentially he was running 4:55 mile pace for 26.2 miles!) The NYC marathon is a high profile race, which Americans tend to lag behind their African counterparts. By winning this marathon, along with 6 other Americans placing in the top 10, American distance running is back on the map as a force to be reckoned with. After personally suffering through marathons, I have extreme respect and admiration for anyone who is a ballar at them.
Now when the socal locals are bragging about seeing Britney Spears or Brad Pitt, my chips will have won that hand in my humble opinion. I’m sure with a last name like Keflezighi, they will have the same quizzical expressions as I would with the foreign model scenario. But, I must say I’d be pretty pumped if that was my first and last celebrity spotting here.
the ability to do a pushup post-marathon... not normal.
*Can't get it to upload on here, but worth checking out: Meb on David Letterman stating the 'top 10 thoughts going through your mind during the NYC marathon.'
Description: I stole this from a book, but it just seemed so fitting... "amusing tales of outrageous mistakes, haunting uncertainty, and the never-ending struggle to stay true to her heart"
As much as I wanted to be woken up on Christmas day by the family dogs jumping into my bed, be opening stockings with the family right now and eating my mom's cookies-- this entire experience made me strangely, extremely thankful. Rather than your typical airport scene, I saw thousands of strangers form an immediate bond last night that was completely in line with the true Christmas spirit. Due to the roads being iced over, hotel shuttles were not coming to the airport and therefor, the vast majority was forced to spend the night here and ring in Christmas at DFW. It was no longer about getting presents and a commercialized Christmas, it was families from different states, different religions, different political backgrounds inviting one another to dinner... and even though that dinners only options included Chili's or McDonald's, there was compassionate conversation, life stories and unconditional sharing. There were people volunteering to watch bags or entertain children while someone went to the bathroom, there were people grabbing hands full of sleeping cots to pass out, buying extra blankets for one another or lending jackets for pillows... it was honestly one of the most beautiful experience among strangers that I have ever been fortunate enough to be a part of.
