The Battle Between My Brain & My Heart

Boys. I love them and I hate them. Not in a feminist ideology, equality-of-the-sexes way. In a "I've loved them and hated them since middle school for all the joy and pain they've brought me" way.

A handful of them have left marks on my life at different times, and undoubtedly, this has changed who I am as well as how I go about living my life afterward. I love it at the time; the excitement and the schoolgirl squeals and the butterflies in my tummy and all that jazz. But god, looking back at it, I can't help but roll my eyes and laugh. Why? Because I'm a cynic or a pessimist? No, I don't think so.

More likely it is because every time I have started with those squeals and that excitement, I have immediately imagined this perfect fantasy in my head, and once my heart is on-board with it, I am doomed. Doomed, because the actual relationship in reality has no chance of ever living up to the scenario in my head. So I laugh and roll my eyes afterward, because not a single one of those boys, just as young and inexperienced as me, had a prayer for giving me the perfection I didn't even realize I wanted.

One of the mind's favorite games to play is thinking without ever having the intention of acting. My brain loves to sit idly and fantasize about an imaginary future where everything is easy and things go perfectly according to plan. I like to dream up alternate universes where boys do exactly what I want them to do, and I have all the time and money in the world to make everything perfect. But I am a smart girl, and I know in reality, that's not how any of this works. Real life is not a Taylor Swift song. Time and money do not facilitate a perfect relationship. Manipulating others into doing what you want them to do, does not cultivate love and respect. It would be so easy if that's how things worked, but unfortunately it would not be even half as rewarding.

I have felt the highs and exciting squeals, and soon thereafter, the lows and the disappointed eye-rolls. I have played it cool and I have internally freaked out. I have played along in the game, just as I have been taught to do, and it worked out pretty well for me at first. But then my brain caught up to my heart and it metaphorically bitch-slapped it back into reality where it belongs. What am I thinking? What am I doing? This stuff is exhausting.

I am at odds with myself, and I have been for what often feels like forever; because my heart is busy painting big pictures and dancing around in the same euphoria it always demands, while my brain is scrambling to keep up as it files these grand ideals away neatly in their proper, alphabetized, places. I have always been a dreamer with a big imagination and enough ideas to never worry about coming back down to earth. That's why it has always been a less-than-graceful face-plant when I do come crashing down. I haven't ever really been bothered with the necessary planning that is required to build the steps on which I climb so high in the first place. But the existence of those steps is crucial for when the clouds of joy and excitement eventually fade away and I need something solid on which to support myself until my imagination can take off again.

I have always, for as long as I can remember, relished my individuality. I enjoyed alone time long before I ever enjoyed time spent with boys. My solitude means so much to me, that no obscene amount of money could ever compete. That's why I hate that I ever let a boy change that about me. There have been times in my life -- multiple in fact -- when I have felt myself lost, consumed almost entirely by someone else's being. Almost completely gone, I don't know if I would have been able to recognize who I am today in a mirror. It was a nightmare for someone like me, whose independent spirit demands to be recognized. I wondered how I ever allowed myself to get to that awful place. It is paramount that my individuality, my independence, remain untouched and intact, throughout every relationship with anyone that I ever have. I have known the feeling of losing myself in someone else before, and that is exactly why I now understand the importance of finding myself and never letting go again.

But it is so tough sometimes, when my dreamer's heart takes hold. It's like a kite caught by a strong northern wind, and all I can do is clutch helplessly onto the handle at the end of the string, holding on and being dragged along wherever it takes me until the wind dies down and all is calm again. My childlike heart does not care about the times it has been hurt before; it does not count the stitches in it or the scars it has collected over time. My heart has amnesia when it comes to the bruises and contusions it has suffered from all the times when I have lost myself in another. All it knows is, cute boy + possibility = grand illusions. My heart never paid attention to anything past this in math class.

My brain, on the other hand, gets it. My brain loves my independence more than almost everything else. Once the alcohol from the night before has worn off and the sunlight is streaming in through my window, my brain is awake and fully alert, demanding answers from my heart as if it is the main murder suspect sitting in an interrogation room. "What were you thinking? What were you doing? Didn't you learn anything from last time?" My brain is hesitant about making big commitments now, after what they have done to it in the past.  It understands that commitment to another person comes with the possibility of sacrificing a part of the whole person I already am. And my brain won't stand for such a betrayal of self anymore.

These two quarrel back and forth time and again, garnering experience and wisdom very slowly over time. My heart, throwing all caution to the wind and ordering just one more drink at the end of the night; and my brain chasing my heart frantically around, wagging its finger in its face like a disapproving mother. When will I learn?

I guess I will learn when I am ready to sacrifice a piece of my individuality for a piece of someone else, again. Out of unsolicited desire, rather than implied necessity. It will probably happen when the idea of taming my wild heart is no longer an option at all. Likely when someone else comes along and scoffs at the idea with the same disdain as I do. Someone who is appalled at the mere notion of me ever reigning my heartfelt ideals into the boxed-in framework of logic. I will finally know better when my brain draws a blank because my heart has already found the answers it seeks reflected in that of another.

But who knows when that day will be? Who knows what I will have to go through and experience in order to prepare myself for that opportunity? I sure as hell don't. So until that day arrives and hits me in the face like a ton of bricks, I guess I can just keep on dreamin', doing all the things that make me wonderfully myself. I can keep wearing my heart on my sleeve and gaining glorious experiences and having my hopes shattered time and again. Because really, it all adds up to the net sum of myself in the end, anyway. And none of it is so bad that it cannot eventually be overcome. I've got twenty-one-and-a-half years of empirical proof of that.

I'm not ready just yet to give up any part of myself or my freedom just because I like someone else. Yeah, I may like them, but I love myself more. This is something I have learned through experience over the years. And the way I see it, if someone is stupid enough to ask me to like them more than I like myself, well... they're just not a good fit for me. The day my brain draws a blank and doesn't know what to tell my heart to do, will be the day when someone comes along and tells me, "Don't you dare change any part of who you are for me. I love you for you, not for being a reflection of me." My brain will be perplexed by such an idea, and it won't have a file to reference. But my heart will finally understand.

Hitler, Voldemort, Fear, Love, and Terrorism

You know what I think? I think terrorists like it when countries are so occupied with fighting against themselves that they can’t work together to present a unified front for combating terrorism. I believe that they count on all of us, as individual citizens, feeling isolated, terrified, and angry. Their success depends on our failure to act cohesively against them. How do you take out one of the most powerful threats to your cause? You break them down into their individual, weakest links, and dissolve their hopeful morale so much until the unified hatred you can offer them is the best option for solace they have – from the very fear which you manufactured and instilled in them in the first place. United we stand, divided we fall.

That’s what Hitler did. He showed the German populace that the Nazi regime was a valiant cause to protect German nationalism and the best interests of the people. He told the citizens of a fearful, war-torn country that he would help pull them out of the wreckage left behind from World War I. He gave the hopeless, vulnerable people something they could believe in. Then he twisted their well-meaning faith into brainwashing and persuaded many to support a message which was contrary to his original rhetoric.

He conveniently provided the German people with a scapegoat for their woes; an entire group of people where they could place the blame. He focused his arguments around how these people were different from the Germans – they were “others,” they were inferior, and they were most certainly worthy of hatred. Hitler stripped the Jewish people of their humanity, and he made doing so seem so trendy, that an entire country jumped on the bandwagon. And in case they weren’t so easily convinced, he had a militant regime of weapons-yielding marionettes ready to help enforce his hatred.

Hitler preyed on the Germans’ fear; he hooked them with illusions of a better life, showed them the actions they could take to make it a reality, and then he manipulated masses of people into fighting his cause for him – his cause, of violence and bigotry, convincing the German population to turn against themselves and fight their own brothers and sisters, resulting in the most death the world has ever seen from a single war – a war which dragged nearly every country in the world into violent death and despair. A war, started out of manufactured fear, and after which, FDR eloquently pointed out, "The only thing we've got to fear is fear itself."

Hitler was a real bad guy. He actually existed, he lived and breathed, and walked among places we can still visit today. But since Hitler’s time, fictitious bad guys have been based off of some of his qualities – his authoritative leadership, his implicit coercion and explicit threats, his dependence on fear and isolation among the masses. Take for instance, Voldemort.

Voldemort did much the same thing as Hitler, though Voldemort is a fictional character in Harry Potter. The reason why so many fans love Harry Potter and its characters is because it is so relatable – Voldemort is to the wizarding world what Hitler is to ours.

There is a scene, in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, toward the end of the movie, where the always-wise and unconventional Luna Lovegood tells Harry, “If I were You-Know-Who, I'd want you to feel cut off from everyone else. Because if it's just you alone, you're not as much of a threat.” And that’s exactly it. People like Voldemort (referred to as “You-Know-Who because people feared him that much) and Hitler understand this fact better than anyone else, because it worked for them. If a dictator – a terrorist – can successfully isolate the people whom they wish to target, then it is suddenly much easier to manipulate them. How does a terrorist successfully isolate people whom they wish to target, you ask? Well, historically speaking, it seems fear tactics are a pretty good place to start.

Voldemort murdered hundreds of thousands of people needlessly; he enslaved others to do his bidding for him; he held others hostage and tortured them for information. He was a pretty bad guy, in general. But how did he get to such a position of power? Fear.

He spouted rhetoric to the Pureblood witches and wizards of the world that they were superior creatures. He provided this fictional Aryan Race with a scapegoat of their own – the Muggles, and well, anyone with a blood status less than Pureblood. He focused on how people were different, strategically ignoring (and actually not even knowing) the humanity common to all. Voldemort told the masses that these people were “others,” they were inferior, and they were most certainly worthy of hatred. Sound familiar? He also had his very own legion of loyal, militant puppets with weapons (okay, wands) ready to enforce his hatred.

Voldemort showed the Pureblood witches and wizards of the world how Half-Bloods, Muggleborns, Muggles, house elves, centaurs, and pretty much every other living creature on the planet contributed to the bane of their existence. He promised the Purebloods their lives would be better if only they could wipe out these inferior creatures – do his bidding for him – and those most loyal to him (who committed the most war crimes) felt the safest from his own dangerous power. In hurting others, they felt they were protecting themselves from becoming targets. In fact, he invoked so much fear, that people were actually afraid of even saying Voldemort's name. However, as our beloved Hermione Granger points out, "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

Voldemort reduced the wizarding world to fighting against itself. He distracted great, intelligent witches and wizards from fighting the true evil – hatred, fear, and bigotry – by emphasizing differences among themselves and telling one group they were better than the rest. He robbed his scapegoats of their humanity, just as Hitler did with the Jews, and he taught the aggressors that they would finally have the power and respect they deserved, if only they could eradicate the world of its scourge of Muggles.

He did all of this by preying on the fear of Purebloods. He was able to convince one half of the population to murder the other by simply playing into the things that scared them most – losing their lives, their loved ones, their power, their reputation. Whatever the individual feared, Voldemort worked on a personal level to threaten, in order to rise to power. He did so by strategically disintegrating any remaining sense of community among witches and wizards. He made sure everyone felt alone and vulnerable, untrusting of those around them, and concerned only with protecting their own self interests. By fostering a toxic environment rife with uncertainty, fear, and hatred, Voldemort was able to manipulate full-grown adults into waging a war against themselves, against humanity.

Why is any of this relevant? Why am I sitting at my keyboard, passionately typing away in a blaze of fury about Hitler and Voldemort, drawing comparisons between the two and their fear tactics? I’ll tell you: Hitler and Voldemort were dictators, yes. They were also terrorists. They struck fear and hatred into the hearts and minds of millions. They both began wars with their respective worlds, born out of their own prejudices and bigotry. They manufactured fear in large groups of people, fear that did not exist before, and then they conveniently provided a solution to the problem they just created.

They told their audiences: “Look at how miserable you are! Aren’t you miserable? I know why. You are miserable because of this other group of people. They are different from you, and you are better than them. Your life is worth more than theirs. In fact, your life would be better if theirs ceased to exist. They are the cause of all of your problems. Hate them. Kill them. Follow me. I will help you in this cause, and together we will be happier without them.” They preyed on the fear of their audiences and brainwashed them into fighting an imaginary war which had real consequences.

This is what terrorists do. They terrorize. They create fear in others that never would have grown organically. They plant the seed of doubt in the minds of so many; and they water it occasionally, fertilizing it with hatred, bigotry, xenophobia, and transferring blame and responsibility to someone else. They tend to this garden regularly, and eventually, fear has grown to its full size. Then they harvest this fear they’ve created and nurtured from conception, and just like a vegetable, they use it to nourish themselves, to further their cause. Fear provides nutrients to terrorists. It is what they depend on to survive.

If you fear another group of people, who don’t look like you, speak like you, dress like you, or come from the same place as you, then you will likely turn to what is more familiar and comfortable to you. And what is easier and more comfortable for us than blaming someone else, who we already fear, for the problems we think we have?

Don’t let the terrorists win. They’ve already won too many battles before. Don’t let them create a feeling of fear inside of you that doesn’t need to exist. The best way to do this is by reaching out, facing that supposed fear. If you would only take a moment to recognize the humanity which resides in all of us, you would realize that people who are different from us are nothing to be feared. If you do not allow the terrorists to cultivate a shadow of doubt within you, then you will understand that we are all one common, human race; and that in hating our sisters and brothers, we are, in fact, hating ourselves.

The terrorists have planted the seed. They are encouraging it to grow. They’re counting on it for their harvest in order to survive. We can choose to believe their fear tactics and water the seed, or we can remain resilient in our faith in humanity, and resolve to be as hard to crack as the Kansas earth in the planting season.

There’s another scene in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix which comes to mind. Upon realizing the seriousness of the impending war, Harry remarks, “Even though we've got a fight ahead of us, we've got one thing that Voldemort doesn't have… Something worth fighting for.” Harry knows that unity among all is the answer, and he knows that Voldemort literally cannot feel love. That is why he strives so hard to achieve power through hatred and evil. But Harry understands that the solution for winning a war against terrorists like Voldemort is not fighting against a cause or a group of people. It's not fighting among ourselves which will win. The answer is fighting for all the things and people you love, with all of the differences between you which make up a united, differentiated front. Fear of others never had a chance to blossom inside of Harry, because he was too busy nurturing love for all.

Turning our backs on those who need help and lumping entire groups of people together as scapegoats is not only morally irresponsible, but it is playing directly into the hands of the terrorists. Fear in the hearts of the masses is the best tool they have for succeeding, and they know it. They're bloodthirsty for it. Holding love in our hearts, in place of fear, is our best weapon against them.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 19 (Five Fears You Have)

Day 19: Five fears that you have

This one might be a little tough, because I don't really go around thinking about my fears very often. I don't know that I really have a lot of them, at least not from examining my thoughts on the surface. But I know fear is nothing more than an emotion, and I've got a full range of those, so I will do the best I can.

1. Being alone. Like in the creepy way when you walk into a place like a large house or a shopping center that is normally noisy and full of life, but it's actually empty and silent now. The kind of alone that scares me is when I am physically alone, and I can hear every small creak of a wooden floor or draft whistling through the crack between the door and its frame. I don't like it because I have watched entirely too much television and read way too many books, and my imagination goes wild with ideas of serial killers and seventy-year-old ghosts, and suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck are on edge and a simple gust of wind gives me a heart attack.

2. Being shot. You may laugh at this one, but it is very real. There have been times when I am walking somewhere in a very open, public space and a car drives past me and I think, "I would be really easy to gun down right now." I know that sounds awful, that I think about things like that... But is it really so awful that I think about it, or is it awful that other people actually do it? I have a strong enough dislike for guns in the hands of everyone, that I fear them. I spend most of my time on a college campus located in the middle of one of the most under-served, poverty-stricken, urban areas of the largest city (the only city) in Kansas. When I read national headlines on a regular basis about shootings in movie theaters, on college campuses, and in elementary schools, I start to get scared. Even more so when the state government announces a plan to make carrying guns on campus perfectly legal for everyone. (No lie. Google it.)

3. Losing a loved one. This one is pretty self-explanatory, I think. I have always been afraid of loving my loved ones since I can remember waking up from a nightmare at a young age and fighting back tears to tell my mom I had a dream that she died. (Analyze that for what it's worth.) I think as soon as my childlike brain was able to comprehend the adult idea of never seeing someone again, I realized that it could happen -- that it was in fact, going to happen -- to people I know and love. And that's a tough pill to swallow; one that I don't know if anyone ever really learns to get over.

4. Being left. That's a pretty real fear that I think most people have, but they are too afraid to admit it, or maybe they just can't articulate it because they don't even consciously realize it. The thing is, for many serial monogamists, or even for someone whose parent accidentally forgot them at the grocery store once, being left by someone you care about is frightening. It's frightening because it is such a real possibility; because you know, deep down, that it has a chance of actually happening... again. Not to get too terribly spiritual, but one of the main lessons of Buddhism is that "attachment leads to suffering". That's the whole game of life. You can't get hurt if you don't get attached. But, like so many others in the world, I get attached. It's only human to do so, after all. Getting attached is literally what makes us human. (That, and opposable thumbs.) Getting attached can be a beautiful thing! But like most other beautiful things, it also deserves respect for the danger of hurting you that it carries with it. Being left scares me because it has happened to me more than once before, and I know it will probably happen again. But that's okay. It cuts deep and it makes you examine yourself at the core of your being. And my goodness, do you ever grow from facing that fear.

5. Failure. Not the baby kind of failure, like getting an F on a midterm and crying about it then eating junk food all weekend long. That kind of failure I've experienced and I have recovered from before. I accept that that kind of failure happens on occasion. I mean the kind of failure where you grossly disappoint someone you admire, like your parents, your friends, your mentor, or yourself. I am afraid of the kind of failure where you have nothing to show for your effort except for a tough lesson learned and some scarring life experience. Failure like "I dropped out of college because I just couldn't be bothered to try," or "I moved halfway across the country and couldn't find a job that would hire me after graduation, so now I have nowhere to stay". I think everyone is a little bit afraid of failure, because like it or not, avoiding it is often what keeps you motivated to succeed. I am fairly confident in my ability to succeed, through whatever resourceful means are necessary, though, so I don't know that this fear is very realistic for me. It's more like encountering a serial killer: the chances that it'll happen are slim, but dire, and the only way to survive is to use what's around you to get out alive.

College Friendships & International Exposure

I think back to August of 2012 when I made that first drive to Wichita all by myself, with my belongings all packed up and ready to move to college with me. I was only relocating an hour north, but at 18 years old, I was simultaneously thrilled and terrified. I can remember feeling excited to finally live on my own and be able to go anywhere and do anything, at any time of the day or night without having to answer to my mother. I remember thinking what a huge, vast place Wichita was and how I was probably never going to learn how to get around or remember where anything was located. I also remember feeling like my heart had been ripped straight out of my chest when I drove out of my mom's driveway after kissing my three-year-old baby brother good-bye. I remember feeling so guilty because I just knew he was going to forget all about me and things were never going to be the same again (he didn't, and they were).

I was so sad and scared for many reasons which I was leaving behind, but it quickly occurred to me that I was also scared for a few reasons looking forward. I didn't have a job secured yet and I was unsure of just how long the money I'd made at my summer job would sustain my new college lifestyle. I was moving to a place with a higher crime rate and I couldn't help but imagine being mugged in the bad neighborhoods of the city I would now call home. But perhaps most daunting of all, now that I look back at that moment in my life, is a fear which is far less tangible and  much more realistic: I did not know a single person in Wichita. I was the only one from my graduating class to be going to WSU as a freshman, and while I was very excited about getting away from the people I'd long ago outgrown, it also momentarily paralyzed me with panic.

I had no one. The realization really hit me that first night when I went to bed in my dark new dorm room, all by myself, without my Mommy, my baby brother, my best friend, or my boyfriend. I only had myself. My roommate hadn't arrived yet and there was no guarantee I'd like her when she did (I didn't). I was just going to have to make friends in my classes and cross my fingers that I'd eventually find some people who would understand me.

It took some time at first, but eventually I did find my own little tribe of various misfits and weirdos.

Freshman year was rough, and I really only still speak to one person who I knew at that time. I like to think of that first year as the awkward freshman year that a lot of people experience, where you try your hand at a lot of different things just to find out what you like and see what sticks. My roommate and I didn't have much in common and we lived in an unhealthy silence for the entire year. This greatly shaped my outlook on making new friends. My suitemate and I, however, banded together for a while, but towards the end of the year that began to disintegrate as our paths went in separate directions. I'd made a few other friends through work (I actually ended up getting a job before August was even over, and I stayed there for a year) and various other activities. At the end of the year, though, I left Wichita to go home for the summer still feeling pretty alone.

The following year was really the turning point in my college career. You always hear stories where people say "we met in college" or they talk about how they went to college with their best friends/bridesmaids/groomsmen. This is the really profound part of my journey where I first encountered those kinds of characters in my life's story. I moved into a different residence hall, partially by choice, and partially because the university's administration kicked returning students out of where I'd previously lived. It doesn't really matter now how my path led me there, because I ended up exactly where I was meant to be. I was at Brennan.

I cannot count on both my hands all of the countries represented in Brennan. There are a lot. Within the first week of living there, I had made new friends from all over the world; from places I'd never known anyone from before; and certainly from places I could not identify on a map. Brennan was a hodge-podge of so many different ethnicities and nationalities, due in part to its close location to the International Education office, and also because it had the cheapest housing rates available. Throwing so many international students and domestic students together in two buildings certainly had its quirks.

Although we came from many different cultures individually, the combined culture of Brennan was one rich in brutal honesty, immense sexual innuendo, racist jokes, and mild sexism. We all spent entirely too much time together, frequently invaded one another's personal space, knew terrible truths about each other, and at some point everyone had been pissed off at someone else. Despite all of our various differences, what kept us together were the things we had in common. We were one giant, usually loving, always misbehaving, slightly dysfunctional, multi-colored family.

I have this big world map on my wall right above my bed this year, where I put little adhesive tags with the names of my loved ones on it. I am a visual learner and seeing my friends spread out geographically like that really puts it into context for me. There are some tabs on the map which represent people who I did not meet through Brennan, and I cherish those international friendships just as dearly. I know by my age, plenty of people have accomplished much more. But I'm quite proud of being twenty-one-and-a-half years old and having friends from six out of seven continents. (Does anyone really live in Antarctica anyway?)

The Brennan residence hall has since been shut down by the administration, and we dispersed in different directions. We all feel collectively pretty sad and even a little bitter about it, but I remember what a friend told me last year: "Brennan's not a building. It's a community." A group of us moved together into another residence hall after it closed, and we still hang out regularly. It's not quite the same as it was before, but just like anything else in life, it has evolved as time has gone on. A few of the members of my Brennan family have since returned back to their home countries, and while I always hate it when the international students leave, Facebook does help keep us close. And I doubt if they know this, but I assume that I have a place to stay in any of their home countries if ever I should need it.

I look at this map on my wall, and I think back to my freshman year in Wichita. I spent that first lonely night in my empty dorm room, just a few doors down in the very hall where I sleep now. I didn't know a single person when I moved to (what I thought was) a big city three years ago. Wichita seemed cold and lonely and truly terrifying to even the most headstrong of eighteen-year-old girls.

Apart from my time spent cultivating international relationships at Brennan, I did travel abroad for the first time in college, which inspired me to take a solo trip to check out an even bigger city later. When I look at my map of friends and see how far away the places I've been are located from the tag that says "Mom & Zane", I realize that the one hour drive from home to Wichita in 2012 was not so far, afterall.

I have grown an incredible amount in such a short span of time during my college years. I know I'm responsible for most of it myself, but I don't pretend that at least part of that growth has been due to them; those little adhesive tags littered all over my map, which represent living, breathing people, with whom I've lived, slept, ate, argued, and known on a very real level. Without even one of those people in my life, I would not be the very person I am today. Nobody can do everything in this world on their own, least of all grow.

Three years ago when I made that interminable drive to Wichita with all my belongings, the thought never once crossed my mind that I was driving toward such meaningful friendships and such varied cultural exposure. I felt so alone in a city of 380,000. I knew no one. Now, a short time later, I feel so at home all over the world; and it all changed within the same city limits.

Now I feel I'm outgrowing Wichita, just as I felt when I outgrew Ark City. I made a big girl leap into a bigger city 50 miles away, even though I was scared. It took some time and adjustment, but I now know I survived. Having that knowledge and experience under my belt, I am now much more fearless to do it again, on a larger scale.

It's strange to think that so much has changed in such a short amount of time. But meeting so many people from so many places (along with my own traveling experience) has taught me that I can indeed go anywhere and do anything, because I now know I can make a home and find friends anywhere at all in this world, no matter how scared and alone I might feel when I first arrive. I've just got to look around to find my own little tribe of misfits and weirdos, wherever I may be. They look different and they come from different places, but no matter where I may go, they're there: friendships waiting to be made.

"Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open." - Albus Dumbledore

You Will Actually Have To Work Hard To Get There

"I don't want to move all the way there, have no job, and have to live in my car!"

"I did."

"But it's so far away -- halfway across the country -- and it scares me sometimes."

"Excuse me? Do you know who you're talking to? And when I moved here, there was no Internet!"

Arguing with Kate has never proven itself to be a very successful, worthwhile activity to me. Especially not when I know that she's right (which accounts for about nine out of every ten of our arguments). Kate and I have both come to know that eventually, a few weeks after she suggests something to me, I will usually decide she was right and do whatever it was she told me to do.

I usually call Kate "my academic advisor" when people ask me who she is, but my rightful academic advisor is really some person who sits in an office in the basement of the business school and tells freshmen what classes they need to take. I honestly couldn't even tell you which advisor is assigned to my student ID number. That's because over the course of the last three years, every time I've had a question pertaining to the university, my major, or any future career options I may have, I've always just sent Kate a Facebook message immediately after the question occurs to me. (Usually there is an abundance of follow-up questions included, and the questions always seem to come to me frantically sometime after midnight.)

In reality, when I met Kate, she was the Assistant Dean of the business school. She has a long list of esteemed credentials and titles to her name, but most importantly to me, Kate is the woman who saw some flicker of potential in me as a sassy, seventeen-year-old high school senior when I entered a scholarship competition all the way back in 2011; and she is one of the people responsible for choosing me as the recipient of an extremely helpful sum of scholarship money to finance my college education. In essence, one could reasonably say Kate is the reason why I am at WSU.

As I mentioned, Kate has known me since I was seventeen. I am now closing in on twenty-two. I cannot emphasize enough how much a person changes over the span of those five years. I will also say, that for better or for worse, Kate is at least partially responsible for some of those changes. As I have grown and changed since the day we met in November 2011, so too, has our relationship.

The one constant that I secretly hope will never change, however, is that Kate doesn't put up with any of my shit. She has heard all of my excuses about how I am afraid of being a real adult, how I despise math and hated all of those required business calculus and statistics classes, how I love my on-campus job and don't want to push myself to find an internship which will pay better. And she has tolerated absolutely zero of all of it. There have been times when I have been highly irritated with her pushing me to do something I was simply too lazy or unwilling to do, just as I know there have been times when she has rolled her eyes at my lazy unwillingness and known, to herself, that at some point in the future when I finally decided to agree with her, I would do it. She is one of the only people I've ever met, besides perhaps my own mother, whose stubbornness contends with my own.

The particular conversation we were having on this day was one we have had many times, in many forms: what am I going to do after I graduate? I can tell you what I want to do after I graduate. And Kate has told me endless times that she knows I can do what I want to do after I graduate. The only remaining piece of the puzzle is connecting point A to point B, crossing my fingers, and hoping it all works out.

I want to move to Boston. I want to work for a publication -- no particular one, but one that fits my views, naturally, be it writing about feminism, travel, international peace and humanitarianism, or be it researching consumer behavior and target markets in the publication production industry. Beyond those two goals, I really just want to be able to afford an apartment (probably with a roommate), buy cute clothes at Target, and maybe visit my family in Kansas on Christmas. They are certainly not uncommon or grandiose goals, but from the perspective of a recent college graduate moving alone 1,625 miles away from her birthplace with relatively little money saved and impending student loan payments due in six months, every day these goals feel daunting. The goals are simple: Move to Boston. Work for a publication. Simple, although not easy.

You know how earlier I said Kate is sort of like my academic advisor? Well, she's also sort of like my free therapist. For the umpteenth time, I was whining and crying to her about how I was terrified of being poor and alone with no job prospects in my dream city, and she ruthlessly shut me down. You see, one thing I also forgot to mention earlier about Kate is that she was born in Taiwan. In addition to naturally possessing a high amount of tough love, she further feels no pity for me moving a few states away to Massachusetts because she moved halfway across the world to another country and learned another language, while working multiple jobs and putting herself through college to eventually become a professional businesswoman -- all by herself. So I guess it really comes as no surprise that she wants to smack me sometimes. I would have done it by now, if I were her.

So, this discussion we were having about me moving to Boston was going in about the same circles as usual:

"I want to move to Boston."

"Then move!"

"But I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Being poor."

"Then get a big girl job now and save your money."

"But I love my job."

"Then get another."

"But I don't have time for one!"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you."

"Ugghhh but Kate!"

*silently purses lips and gives me motherly side-eye*

And this is how it goes. See? I told you I would've smacked me by now.

That conversation is actually what sparked me writing this very blog. When I told her I was afraid of having no money and having to live in my car, she told me that she had done that very thing before, as if it were just an expected part of the struggle I was knowingly signing myself up for by falling in love with a big city. Then, when I started complaining about being so far away from my family and friends, she was rightfully appalled, because she also did that very thing back in 1990 (pre-Internet, as she reminded me). Then she said, "Write about that! Talk about your struggle, because I promise you, there are a lot of other college students standing in your shoes right now. They will relate!"

We had this conversation two weeks ago. And here I am now, delayed long enough to make the decision on my own, typing away because Kate told me to. Just like clockwork. (Although, the blog intended to be about the college struggle has actually materialized as a blog about Kate, instead.)

When I think about the situation from Kate's perspective, I shake my head at myself because I realize just how privileged and lazy I am. Kate worked much harder to get where she is today than I am working to get to Boston by this time next year. I think that's just it though: I didn't realize that I am going to have to actually work hard for it. Of course it's going to be hard. If it were easy, it wouldn't mean as much. If it were comfortable, it wouldn't make me grow.

Kate chose me as a finalist so many years ago because I demonstrated something to her that made her feel I was a good investment. I have never asked her what that was, and I don't plan on doing so. I prefer it remain a mystery for my own imagination. But I can tell you this: whatever it was that I had, I'm sure glad I had it. I am so grateful that Kate liked what she saw and that she extended her hand to me, on the behalf of some very generous scholarship donors, to pull me up and help me through college, thus making possible all the experiences that come with it.

Now I don't know this for sure, and I don't want to put words into anyone's mouth, but I'm betting that Kate didn't have a Kate when she was in college. Most people are not lucky enough to have a Kate in college, someone whose tough love and persistence supports and pushes them throughout the entire process. I would wager to guess that she was not the recipient of such a benevolent gesture as I was when I was awarded that scholarship package. I don't think she has ever had anything handed to her. That's not to imply that I have had things handed to me, or to say that I haven't known my own fair share of struggles, either. But it certainly puts things into perspective for me and makes me think hard about how badly I want to move to Boston and what I will have to do to get there.

There comes a point in time when a flower outgrows its limited environment, and it needs to be transplanted from its small pot into a bigger garden so its roots can continue to expand, stretching out like cramped legs to gather nutrients to provide the plant with life, otherwise it faces a slow and painful death. If I don't take advantage of my opportunity to grow and develop in a bigger environment, staying where I am will stifle my desire to leave and eventually it will permanently stunt my growth. My roots are smothered and crowded and itching to break free of the pot into which I have been crammed for so long. I need to find nutrients in a bigger garden in order to sustain my life.

I want to move to Boston. I have to move to Boston. I need to get out of Kansas. I know that I am capable of feeling more fulfilled than I do here. I know that people are capable of better understanding me than they do here. I want to reach the high of euphoria again that being in a place I love so much brings with it, and which is impossible for me to ascertain here. I have to go explore what is out there waiting for me, otherwise I will never know.

I have always been one to do what I want. The more I want it, the more likely I am to do it -- and more quickly. I will do anything I have to in order to get what I want. Both of my parents can attest that I have been this way since I was a child. It is intrinsic to who I am.

Even with my vast vocabulary, I cannot adequately explain how badly I want to move to Boston. So, if working hard is what it takes to get me what I want, then I am going to do it, quick and with a passion. Especially when I stop and think about how much harder Kate worked when she was in similar shoes.

I remember during one of the presentations at that scholarship competition in 2011, somebody told us, "Kate is here to help you. But she doesn't come to you. If you need help, you go to Kate." Well, I've gone to Kate for help more times than I can count. And she has endlessly given me her help when I've asked for it. She has shared her knowledge and experience with me for years, trying to guide a stubborn girl in the right direction.

And now, eight months from graduation, I guess it would be a pretty good time for me to think about doing what she tells me. After all, I wasn't selected as a finalist because she thought I wouldn't listen or work hard for what I want. She knows what she's talking about when it comes to all of this, because not too long ago, she worked hard to make it on her own very similar journey. Thankfully, I will still have a Facebook connection for when I run into late night identity crises and career catastrophes in Boston.