The Boy Who Forgot His Birthday

I once knew a guy who forgot his own birthday. He told me this right after we discovered that we shared the same birthday. Here I was excited for this insignificant date that marked another year of me being on this planet, and he had gone a whole day without noticing that he had been around that much longer. I don’t mean to say that birthdays aren’t important. It’s a way of being thankful for another year, and it is a time of celebration. But maybe it’s not all about me. I didn’t trump God and put myself on this planet. I wasn’t involved in my conception—thank God. And I had nothing to do with the day that I showed up on this planet.

So if for one day a year, I get to celebrate the day I was born, I realized now that it shouldn’t be all “me, me, me.” Me, myself, and I can only do so much. In a whirlwind of events I found myself displaced and emotionally bankrupt. My mess multiplied and grew so out of control that I had mistaken it for a mental tumor—not a brain tumor, but a mental one. It wasn’t a physical mass in brain that was causing me physical harm; I thought my conglomeration of problems had amounted into something causing me to not function properly. Instead, I diagnosed myself with a bad case of self-pity. My dad said something that really stuck with me tonight: there are other people that have it worse than you.

I know. I dedicate my time to helping people in need and seeing what I can do to truly make a difference. Yet I had lost sight of that. I had been lazy and forgotten about my faith and, most importantly, I had forgotten about what was important to me. It’s easy to be upset, and it’s easy to wallow in all of the things that are wrong with your life and the world. The guy who’s going 25 in a 45 seems like an idiot. The woman who rams into our cart in an impatient temper-tantrum seems like an evil witch. Or what about the guy who makes it his personal mission to be a jerk to everyone he comes into contact with all day. There will always be those people. Your car will break down. Your bill will be overdue. And you will be ok.

Simply put, there are problems in the world and there are mean people. Said like a second grader, but it is the clearest way to put it. Sometimes it’s ok to forget about all of that. In life, there are times when we have to suck it up and realize that life isn’t always about us—there are bigger plans in store. The battles we face don’t seem small until we have overcome them. Just like our birthdays don’t seem that insignificant until we have forgotten them.

You have to decide what’s important in your life. Is this really the “worst possible case scenario?” Were you the only person born on that day of the year? The boy who forgot his birthday reminded me that I’m not, and that there are more important things in life. He may have just forgotten his birthday because he’s a boy and maybe he just has a really bad memory. But maybe, just maybe, he finds value in other days, and not just the ones revolved around him. I can admire that.

As for my dad goes, well let’s just say I don’t always give him the credit he deserves. So here’s to hoping to that he knows just how much I appreciate him and everything he does, even if I have trouble showing it sometimes.

Just another day from Life in the Lost and Found Bin. 

Turn It Up

There’s nothing quite like a good Pandora playlist. Today at work my boss and I kept raving over the playlist he found, because some of our favorite songs were coming on. It made the day so much more enjoyable.

There are only a few words in the English language that I can’t seem to comprehend no matter how many times I hear them: “I. Don’t. Like. Music.” Excuse me, what? It sounded like you just said that you don’t like music, but I know I was mistaken because how can you not like music? With so many genres and artists, how can you not find something to like? It must so far beyond comprehension for me, because I am so insanely in love with it.

Music can change your mood, enhance your day, help you cope, teach you lessons, confirm your feelings, make you feel like you belong, and the list is endless. There is a song for everything. People have literally written songs about their cats… I mean, if you haven’t found a song to relate to, you clearly aren’t looking—or listening.

I wrote a blog post about a year and half ago about Sara Barielles—and how much I want to be her (which hasn’t changed, just for the record). Since then, she has grown even more as an artist, and I have grown to admire her even more. I truly believe that she is under-recognized and under-appreciated.  From her lyrics to dancing, she is outstanding, and I’m so impressed with her latest album, “The Blessed Unrest.”

If you haven’t seen the video for her hit single “Brave,” CHECK IT OUT HERE.

And seriously, if you are one of those non-believer in music, please check out my side links. Pandora and Spotify are my favorite for finding new music. There is something out there for everyone! So listen closely, and turn it up. 

This Heart is Burning Up

The Cities 97 Basilica Block Party is an event that you don’t want to miss. It’s filled with live music, fair-style food, and inspiration that you can’t get anywhere else. Last year Mat Kearney and Train left me in awe with engaging and beautiful performances. If you have been even semi-browsing my blog, it shouldn’t come as a shock that I’m a music-junky. It’s a rush that I can’t resist.

After seeing the band Walk the Moon was heading back to Minneapolis for the second time this year, I was thrilled to see them again. Just six months earlier I was with some of my best friends at the Fine Line Café listening to a band that I had never heard of before and couldn’t get enough of after that night. Without a shadow of doubt it was the best concert that I had been to—and with music as my drug of choice, I’ve been to more than a concert or two.

The headliners of last nights Basilica Block Party were Kate Earl, The Goo Goo Dolls, and Matchbox Twenty—all performing on the Sun Country Stage. But when Walk the Moon overlapped with The Goo Goo Dolls, there was no question about bailing on the Dolls. We stayed just long enough to hear “Rebel Beat”, which didn’t meet my expectations live (partially because the older crowd around us wasn’t all that into it, and partially because they weren’t the same live unfortunately).

From the time Walk the Moon hit the stage with “Next in Line” to the time they left the packed yard of the Jefferson Stage with “Anna Sun”, the crowd clapped and danced more than any concert I have ever been to. And when the main singer, Nicholas Petricca, told everyone to put all their troubles into a ball in their heart and release all the negative energy, there wasn’t a soul there that didn’t believe that they could lift a car up all by themselves.

The energy and excitement the band exudes electrifies their audiences in a way that most groups can’t achieve. They bring young love to life, singing about exhilarating experiences and the feeling the girl they like gives them every time they see her. Iscariot tells a story of betrayal, with the title being a Biblical reference. As previously mentioned, “I Can Lift a Car” inspires listeners to believe in how strong they are. (In January, I wrote two blog posts inspired by that song.)

Two of the best musical experiences that I have ever had were created because of Walk the Moon. Their crazy dancing and unbelievable energy far surpasses any Top 40 “Hit.” If you haven’t listened to these guys before, I don’t know what you’re waiting for. Seriously, check them out.

If you are a dedicated fan, I know your heart is burning up, too, because these guys are really something else. This year they started ended their tour with Minneapolis, as they set off back to Ohio to write music for the rest of the summer. And I couldn’t be more thrilled that I got to see them for both of those concerts.

They are wild. They are weird. They are Walk the Moon. 

Photo Cred: Lauren 

Red. White. And Boring.

The 4th of July means something different to everyone. For some it's filled with lake water and mosquito repellent. Others spend it closer to home, perhaps with an assortment of grilled meat and fruit medleys. And then there is those of us who are confined in an empty room, making meager earnings and praying for more customers. Saying the week of the 4th was a slow week, would be like saying the White House is a mansion. I spent more time cleaning than I did serving ice cream. As you can imagine, the night of the 4th was no exception. But as we approached closing time, I grew more and more hopeful that we might actually get out of there by the time we were supposed to close. 

Our already-small crowd of customers dwindled to a single couple, who seemed in no hurry to end their night, lingering in the dining room. The sun was setting, and the rumbling of do-it-yourself fireworks had begun. "We Will Rock You" was playing softly in the distance; would it be America if it wasn't? And I was more anxious then ever to get out of there. 

After work, I had a twenty minute drive to let a dog out for the people I babysit for. So it wasn't like I was in a rush to see fireworks, but I knew that I would at least catch a glimpse of a few on the road. And I did. They were all in the distance, and I couldn't hear any of them (This may be partially due to the fact that I cranked the radio the second I hit the highway), but that didn't cloud the magic. I was less than a mile from my destination, and I looked around me. There were fireworks all around me. On the right. On the left. And in front of me. Three separate shows, all coming together as one for me in that moment. It was like my very own finale. 

Like I said, the 4th of July means something different to everyone. For me, it doesn't have to mean barbecues and boating. Just seeing the fireworks creates a shimmer of hope that there really are things that forceful and incredible in the world, and that beauty can originate in the most simple of places. 

God bless America. 

Welcome to the New Age

It’s just a little bit humid. The sun is setting, the cars are accelerating, and the night is just beginning. The conversation gets heavy, reminding all of us of the drama of yesterdays that feel so far away. Finally, we arrive at our destination and the guards ask to see our IDs to verify we’re old enough to be here. The guy who takes mine rips it out of my hand, holds it up to the light and says “Oh boy, yeah. We’ve got a fake.” I roll my eyes and let out a soft laugh, trying not to insult him, because clearly he thinks he is pretty funny—only it was the kind of funny that your uncle tries to be around the holidays, when everyone throws out pity laughs and stiff smiles.

We’re greeted by heavy smoke and a mixture of dinging and bells. The sound of people winning money and losing time—or for some losing money and winning entertainment—crowds the casino. We wander around, looking for a place to eat and contemplating whether or not we are actually old enough to be in here. The results are in, and our IDs actually say we are allowed to participate in these festivities, but when did we get this old? 

After wasting some time with a hodgepodge of chow, we exchange our dollars for the sliver of hope that it will transform into more instead of watching it disappear. As the lines roll by, our hearts beat faster, our palms become sweaty, and the “cash out” button starts to look bigger and bigger. Do we cut our losses or do we risk burying ourselves further? It’s a constant struggle between greed and rationalization. 

When we finally find a $1 blackjack table, the guy next to us starts to shell out advice and we graciously accept it, showcasing our ignorance to the game. The man later reveals he plays every Sunday night. He calls it “therapy.” So one of the guys across the table says, “Just make sure you don’t need therapy for your therapy,” and the regular gambler lets out a hardy laugh. 

But I learn an important lesson from playing blackjack: I shouldn’t play blackjack. Luckily, I only forfeit four dollars as I walk away with a single chip. As we head for the door, I stop to cash-in my one dollar. “It’s not much, but it’s all I got,” I say. The lady behind the glass chuckles, and says “Do you need an escort?” I raise an eyebrow, and my friend explains that people with a lot of money might need someone so their money doesn’t get stolen on the way out. I smile and shake my head at my sad excuse of a dollar. Sticking it back in my purse, I find another ticket worth two dollars and rejoice in the fact that I’m leaving only seven dollars in the hole. 

And with the bass rattling the car, the music turned up so loud that my eardrums feel like they might burst at any moment, and four voices screaming our favorite song lyrics at the top of lungs, we are welcomed to the new age. 

Here’s to being an adult.

Can’t Hold Us*

The shimmering lights illuminated the late night sky as we headed to the “undisclosed location”—which is actually the same place every year. We were jacked up on adrenaline and motivated by our growling stomachs and our enduring desire to have one last crazy adventure with some people we knew we may never see again.

The bus driver either tried to amp us up or shut us up, but whatever he intended, as he turned on the music we were filled with more excitement.

Here we go back, this is the moment
Tonight is the night, we’ll fight 'til it’s over

So we put our hands up…

As Macklemore blasted through the speakers, a bus full of graduates harmonized on the first line—like we simultaneously felt the bass flood through our veins.

Y’all can’t stop me, go hard like I got an 808 in my heart beat
And I’m eating at the beat like you gave a little speed to a great white shark on shark week
Raw. Tell me go up. Gone!

It was both electrifying and calming because, in that moment, I knew—like Chbosky** so wonderfully put it—we were infinite. I was sitting next to one of my favorite people in the world, sharing my granola bar—which made me feel a little bit like a kindergartner. Yet we had just spent the last five hours in caps and gowns. We chatted over how excited we were that we just graduated and how much fun the party would be. But something was different. As we sat on one of the last busses of our high school career, we passed buildings on the campus that she would reside in next year.

In my moment of reflection, I realized that I wasn’t going to have her next year. Sure, we will be able to Skype and talk on the phone. But this is someone that I have spent the last three years with, and the more time we spend together, the better we get along. She told me last time we hung out, that even with all the time we had been spending together that she never got sick of me, and I knew I felt the same way. 

This is such a crazy time in our lives full of mystery and opportunity, and I’m so thrilled to be going to college. But with good change comes scary change. In a few months, the long talks in our cars, and the overdose of time spent together will be gone. Instead, in its place will be new friends and campus adventures. 

Yet as we sat on that bus, only the night mattered. For one night only, 

Here we go back, this is the moment
Tonight is the night, we’ll fight 'til it’s over
So we put our hands up like the ceiling can’t hold us
Like the ceiling can’t hold us.

*“Can’t Hold Us” by Macklemore

**Stephen Chbosky wrote The Perks of Being a Wallflower. This is a reference to this amazing book, and if you don’t get it, you need to read this book as soon as possible.

Lost and Found Bin

“Found Facts”

Candy: Sour Patch Kids

Book: The Great Gatsby

Song: “No Faith In Brooklyn” Hoodie Allen (Currently)

Actor: Joseph Gordon-Levitt

TV: One Tree Hill

Movie: Inception (Or most other movies that include JGL) And Pitch Perfect (Skylar Astin is perfect)

Quote: “Passion unattended is a flame that burns to its own destruction.”           

Singer: Jason Mraz      

Dream Job: TV Show host or SNL comedian (assuming I would be funny in this alternate reality)   

Ice Cream: Classic—Peppermint Bon Bon

Fun flavor—Basically anything Ben & Jerry’s or Häagen-Dazs

Album I fall asleep to: “In Between Dreams” Jack Johnson

Place: California—specifically by the beach (really anywhere by the ocean is where I want to be)

Sweet: Old Fashion Chocolate Chip Cookies

Radio station: Cities 97s

Junk Food: Good French fries

Activity: Going to Concerts

Concert: Walk the Moon

Pinterest recipe: Refer to favorite sweet (above)

Calming music: John Mayer

 Favorite SNL: When Joseph Gordon-Levitt hosted...duh

“Lost”

Major: Undecided

Future friends: Undecided

Occupation: Undecided

Place in this world: Undecided

Future destination: Undecided

College Study music: Undecided

Study Abroad: Undecided

Say What?

All year people have been asking the dreaded questions, “Where are you going to school?” and “What are you going to major in?” Thankfully, as you could tell from previous posts, I have that all figured out. In fact, today was National College Declaration today. I am officially going to be a Badger. However, this other question is a little trickier. It’s basically asking if I have extrasensory perception. I can’t tell what the future holds. Everyone has already told me that I’ll probably change my major a few times. So I don’t know if I have that answer right now.

What I do know is what I like, and what I think I should do. Unfortunately, they are two different things. Breaking news: I like to write. I know, I know—it was shocking for all of you. It surprised me, too. In other news, it’s back to the old “Head vs. Heart” argument that I struggled with in deciding between my colleges. Ultimately, I went with my heart. But April changed a few things for me.

 As my classmates began getting back their letters from some of the “harder to get into” schools, I started questioning my decisions. I wondered if I made the wrong decision as I saw people declare their commitment to colleges in places like New York and LA. When I saw someone confirm to Tisch the School of Performing Arts in NYU, my heart sunk a little bit. While my experience in New York wasn’t what I had been dreaming of, I wondered what my career in the film industry could have been like. As I sift through majors and possible future careers, I have trouble finding something that doesn’t sound mundane or simply completely uninteresting to me. 

The truth is I don’t know what I will major in as of now. I can scroll through major requirements and career opportunities all night, but I don’t know what I will be like four years from now. So how could I possibly know what I’ll be like ten years from now or twenty? How could I know what I want to spend—what could potentially be—the rest of my life doing? 

So my heart is with the writing—I JUST WANT TO MAJOR IN ENGLISH AND CALL IT A DAY. 

However, my head is saying YOU WON’T MAKE ANY MONEY—GOOD LUCK FINDING A JOB.

. 

And yes, it’s in all caps—all the time—in my head. It’s not yelling; it’s just my thoughts going in a million different directions all the time. So this year I tried to pair it with psychology, hoping that would improve my options. But I’ve heard so much about psychology that makes me wonder whether or not I would find a job there either. On the other hand, I have even read articles from professors saying to stop thinking about all that stuff and “pursue your passion.”

While I would love nothing more than to pursue my passion, if  I’m living out of a box or pursuing a life similar to Lars Eighner (AP Comp reference—in case, you were wondering), will the writing be worth it? I’m not so sure dumpster diving is my thing, despite the previous post on dumpster diving in Madison. 

You heard it here first, folks: I’m having issues finding myself, again. It’s just another day out of the Lost and Found Bin.