In honor of this chilly day, I will sit here on my couch, cuddled with my pups, and reflect on some of the best things in life, right at this exact moment:
1. The aforementioned pups - my best friends, the best friends a girl could ask for...even when they drive me insane with stubborn antics. They have been a true constant in an otherwise topsy-turvy year, there beside me in both times of wild joy and deep heartache. Here's to you Emma and Gracie - what would I ever do without you?
2. The elusive, maybe-stray Beagle (dubbed "Hannah" by me) who is a carbon of our little Gracie. She has appeared randomly in yards adjacent ours and then, just 2 days ago, right in the middle of our driveway. Does she want to join our family? Has she been drawn to our home by some canine force? Does she belong to anyone? Whatever the answers, she fascinates me and I hope to get to know her better. Here's to a possible new playmate for the pooches!
3. Friends flocking to our doorstep to visit. After almost 2 years here in the south, some of my best human girlfriends have decided to descend upon us to bring updates from our "old home" and some serious girl-time. It has been a wonderul break and is truly appreciated. Here's to the trend continuing!
4. Penguins hockey, deep into the Spring/early Summer. How long can these "young Pens" continue without losing? Let's hope all the way to a Stanley Cup. What a better way to celebrate the franchise staying in place! It is a bit sad not to be close enough to the 'Burgh to share in the frenzied atmosphere of the city, but I hope my cheers of "Let's Go Pens!" resonate clearly. Here's to Sid the Kid and the rest of the talented up-and-comers!
Well, enough of all that. The pups and I will anticipate another visit from "Hannah" while looking forward to visitors and re-playing the best goals from this Pens/Rangers series on the TiVo - until it warms up enough to go outside and play!! Here's to a lovely life!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Believe It - 'Cause It's For Real!
When I moved from West Virginia to North Carolina, I knew things were going to be different. I prepared for the differences in culture, in topography, in availability of Target stores in proximity to my house. I left myself unprepared for the bigger changes - the inner differences and shifts in my perception. Still, I was drawn to the area, felt connected in some bigger way - for those who believe in such things. I could not have accounted for how this would allow me to grow as a person. I am most astounded by how this move would allow me to grow as a writer.
Right out of the gate, I became surrounded with fellow wordsmiths. It appeared that each encounter with a new someone led to a conversation about writing. It was a sign - for those who believe in such things. It only took a glimmer of time before I was reading my own work in front of a group of women gathered for just that reason - my first true connection to people in my new home. And also the very first time I had ever shared my writing with strangers - hell, with anyone, really. It was terrific. I was hooked.
And here I am, scarcely two years later, blogging about my life and really taking a chance. I know it doesn't seem like much, these random tidbits posted about my life. But to me, to someone not accustomed to even this much openness, it is really a start. I can see already the impact it will have on my writing.
A friend mentioned to me once that in order to become the best writer, you have to write about that which most intimidates and scares you. You have to go to that space which holds the most pain, the darkest secrets, and you must explore it and unfold it onto the page. Nothing could be more terrifying. But even this small step, this blog, is enabling me to begin that journey. Because I want to be the best writer I can be. I want to be considered "a writer" - not entirely in a professional capacity, just as part of my identity.
Most importantly, I want to consider myself in that way. Maybe it is my destiny - for those who believe in such things.
Right out of the gate, I became surrounded with fellow wordsmiths. It appeared that each encounter with a new someone led to a conversation about writing. It was a sign - for those who believe in such things. It only took a glimmer of time before I was reading my own work in front of a group of women gathered for just that reason - my first true connection to people in my new home. And also the very first time I had ever shared my writing with strangers - hell, with anyone, really. It was terrific. I was hooked.
And here I am, scarcely two years later, blogging about my life and really taking a chance. I know it doesn't seem like much, these random tidbits posted about my life. But to me, to someone not accustomed to even this much openness, it is really a start. I can see already the impact it will have on my writing.
A friend mentioned to me once that in order to become the best writer, you have to write about that which most intimidates and scares you. You have to go to that space which holds the most pain, the darkest secrets, and you must explore it and unfold it onto the page. Nothing could be more terrifying. But even this small step, this blog, is enabling me to begin that journey. Because I want to be the best writer I can be. I want to be considered "a writer" - not entirely in a professional capacity, just as part of my identity.
Most importantly, I want to consider myself in that way. Maybe it is my destiny - for those who believe in such things.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Will You Please Shut Up?!
When considering the whole "blogging thing" I did not want to be that person who blogs just to put words on the page - I only wanted to write if I had something to contribute. I realize that is a pretty subjective standard, set by one who has always had a problem knowing exactly when to cease speaking. However, it is totally different when it comes to the written word...
In elementary school I recall getting shushed a lot for talking too much. I think a note to my mother read "too chatty at times." This has not changed a whole lot in the past 20-some years. Now, I can jabber on for hours, with only my husband for company. This pleases him to no end, let me tell you.
I identify a whole lot with Amy Adams' character in "Junebug" - flighty and talkative to anyone willing to lend an ear. We both sometimes are written off as silly, I think, because it may seem our priorities and outlook on the world are simple. We appear to be amused easily.
And I am amused easily, to an extent. However, just like Junebug, I find that all my talking is a ruse. Ironically, I keep most of the important stuff guarded pretty tightly. It's highly strategical what I allow you to hear. I am not good with saying the deep and meaningful. I am better with the light and breezy, the gossip, the pop culture.
But, I don't consider myself simple. There is a lot going on here, underneath that which I choose to say. (And I know that my words flow freely.) For the rest, the spoken word can't do justice to what I actually wish to get across, for the points I want to make, for the imprint of myself I long to leave behind.
For that, I have to write.
In elementary school I recall getting shushed a lot for talking too much. I think a note to my mother read "too chatty at times." This has not changed a whole lot in the past 20-some years. Now, I can jabber on for hours, with only my husband for company. This pleases him to no end, let me tell you.
I identify a whole lot with Amy Adams' character in "Junebug" - flighty and talkative to anyone willing to lend an ear. We both sometimes are written off as silly, I think, because it may seem our priorities and outlook on the world are simple. We appear to be amused easily.
And I am amused easily, to an extent. However, just like Junebug, I find that all my talking is a ruse. Ironically, I keep most of the important stuff guarded pretty tightly. It's highly strategical what I allow you to hear. I am not good with saying the deep and meaningful. I am better with the light and breezy, the gossip, the pop culture.
But, I don't consider myself simple. There is a lot going on here, underneath that which I choose to say. (And I know that my words flow freely.) For the rest, the spoken word can't do justice to what I actually wish to get across, for the points I want to make, for the imprint of myself I long to leave behind.
For that, I have to write.
Monday, April 14, 2008
l Choose to Delete...
One time, I made a pact to write something everyday - okay, I said that in January at my writer's group and I just now started the blog in April, but at least I did start the blog before the next set of New Year's resolutions rolled around so...
This morning, I opened my e-mail to discover yet another highly offensive, hate-filled forward that boiled my blood and prompted me to finally hit "reply" and just let this person know I do NOT appreciate the insinuation that I believe this way. I so wanted to fill that empty e-mail box with all the anger I feel each time I see those ludicrous contentions sent to me, the ignorance of such a costly assumption that I somehow would appreciate being informed about one lie or another, jotted in some poorly-written, grammatically incorrect way. I carefully wrote that reply, a self-considered eloquent rendering of my hope that I might be left off the future forwards, as my political/social/religious/human beliefs were in direct odds to the content of said forwards.
I proofread and spell-checked my reply and then, I just deleted the whole darn thing. I decided it is more powerful to explore the anger than to ignite some battle in which I do not wish to engage. I am not naive enough to believe to change that person's mind - in fact, they would only form a similar opinion of me as I have recently formed of them. Plus, it is only a slew of e-mail forwards and, as my husband once told me in the middle of a rant about this very issue, "Don't take it so personally."
But, when your beliefs are insulted, even through the anonymity of made-up e-mails purporting to be truth, it does feel personal. When the person on the other end of that e-mail is a person you once considered a good friend, a com padre who shared your view of the world, it is hard to reject it as completely impersonal. It hurts to know that people may have changed in a way that leaves you out - or that, at the very least, your perception has been shaken.
And all because of a string of e-mails. How ridiculous, really. If we never had the computer connection, I could continue believing this friendship had not changed, outside of the obvious logistical alterations. I would not need to have this conversation with myself at all - in fact, I would just go on my merry way.
But, without the computer connection, I would not have this blog or the topic for this blog post, and thus would not have met my goal for this day - at least not in this way. And I do not know that it would be the best thing for me, were that true. Sometimes we need to take our perceptions of a thing, and throw those perceptions head-long into the reality of the thing, and see how it all mashes up together. This is how we grow and learn and move past anger - how we can go beyond simple rants to a dialogue, even if only with ourselves.
At least, that is how I choose to do so.
This morning, I opened my e-mail to discover yet another highly offensive, hate-filled forward that boiled my blood and prompted me to finally hit "reply" and just let this person know I do NOT appreciate the insinuation that I believe this way. I so wanted to fill that empty e-mail box with all the anger I feel each time I see those ludicrous contentions sent to me, the ignorance of such a costly assumption that I somehow would appreciate being informed about one lie or another, jotted in some poorly-written, grammatically incorrect way. I carefully wrote that reply, a self-considered eloquent rendering of my hope that I might be left off the future forwards, as my political/social/religious/human beliefs were in direct odds to the content of said forwards.
I proofread and spell-checked my reply and then, I just deleted the whole darn thing. I decided it is more powerful to explore the anger than to ignite some battle in which I do not wish to engage. I am not naive enough to believe to change that person's mind - in fact, they would only form a similar opinion of me as I have recently formed of them. Plus, it is only a slew of e-mail forwards and, as my husband once told me in the middle of a rant about this very issue, "Don't take it so personally."
But, when your beliefs are insulted, even through the anonymity of made-up e-mails purporting to be truth, it does feel personal. When the person on the other end of that e-mail is a person you once considered a good friend, a com padre who shared your view of the world, it is hard to reject it as completely impersonal. It hurts to know that people may have changed in a way that leaves you out - or that, at the very least, your perception has been shaken.
And all because of a string of e-mails. How ridiculous, really. If we never had the computer connection, I could continue believing this friendship had not changed, outside of the obvious logistical alterations. I would not need to have this conversation with myself at all - in fact, I would just go on my merry way.
But, without the computer connection, I would not have this blog or the topic for this blog post, and thus would not have met my goal for this day - at least not in this way. And I do not know that it would be the best thing for me, were that true. Sometimes we need to take our perceptions of a thing, and throw those perceptions head-long into the reality of the thing, and see how it all mashes up together. This is how we grow and learn and move past anger - how we can go beyond simple rants to a dialogue, even if only with ourselves.
At least, that is how I choose to do so.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Blog Your Way to Sanity, If You Dare...
Another day with the blogging - I like the instant nostalgia factor of it for sure. Other than that, I think I’m still a bit undecided...
One of the benefits (and trust me when I say it is only one of many - another might be that I have time to do this blog post...) of working mainly from home is that I can watch tv while I work. For someone like me, who enjoys the companion factor of television more than the actual content, this is heavenly. It can be lonely at times, but mostly it is just awesome.
Right now, however, it is surprisingly more than just a companion - and I don’t even know if I would call it awesome. Flipping around for some comfort food version of television, I have discovered "To Kill a Mockingbird" is playing on a Cinemax and it is right at the tumkultuous trial scene, with Mr. Ewell’s ignorant outburst and May Ellen’s screaming and Atticus’ thoughtful treatment of Tom Robinson. It has reminded me of the first time I saw this movie, sitting in my parents’ living room with my mom (who gets the credit for introducing me to both heartfelt legal drama and the glorious Gregory Peck) transfixed by all the inter-weaving relationships and poweful social commentary. It is now one of my favorite movies of all time and a classic connection between my sister and me and my parents.
But it is more than that, too. I would love to credit Atticus Finch with my becoming a lawyer, with my deeply-engrained desire to fight injustice and stand up for those upon whom the system has tread heavily. I wish I could pinpoint that first viewing of the movie with my first idealistic thought of defending my own wrongly-accused criminal defendant - but it would be a "creative reimagining" of the past if I did. It is only after enrolling in law school that I began to envision a day when I could channel such brilliance into my own career.
But, that idea to work fervently for justice has been outed as its own sort of "creative reimagining" - of reality. It is hard on me to be a cog in the wheel of injustice our legal system spins. I know people do it all the time. I guess I did it myself. I felt sufficiently guilty about it - guilty enough, I suppose, that I am struggling every day to remove myself from it if at all possible.
But then, watching Atticus Finch stand so firmly and unmovingly on his convictions, suspecting that even he had a pain in his heart but soldiered on to fight for what is right, I feel a heaviness - a sad feeling for this world and for those people I so wanted to help and for myself, for wanting to quit so easily and so quickly into my legal foray.
It is this internal conflict, that most dramatic of literary themes, that causes the heaviness in my chest. I want to make the right decisions and fight the "good fight" but I don’t know if I am strong enough to take it.
Then again, did Atticus himself know? Did he go home and, while sitting on that porch swing after Scout and Jem were asleep, doubt his motives and whether he was actually making a difference? Maybe he did. Maybe everyone does. Maybe I would do better to just start working forward, standing on my convictions, rather than trying to take the easy way out.
Maybe so...
One of the benefits (and trust me when I say it is only one of many - another might be that I have time to do this blog post...) of working mainly from home is that I can watch tv while I work. For someone like me, who enjoys the companion factor of television more than the actual content, this is heavenly. It can be lonely at times, but mostly it is just awesome.
Right now, however, it is surprisingly more than just a companion - and I don’t even know if I would call it awesome. Flipping around for some comfort food version of television, I have discovered "To Kill a Mockingbird" is playing on a Cinemax and it is right at the tumkultuous trial scene, with Mr. Ewell’s ignorant outburst and May Ellen’s screaming and Atticus’ thoughtful treatment of Tom Robinson. It has reminded me of the first time I saw this movie, sitting in my parents’ living room with my mom (who gets the credit for introducing me to both heartfelt legal drama and the glorious Gregory Peck) transfixed by all the inter-weaving relationships and poweful social commentary. It is now one of my favorite movies of all time and a classic connection between my sister and me and my parents.
But it is more than that, too. I would love to credit Atticus Finch with my becoming a lawyer, with my deeply-engrained desire to fight injustice and stand up for those upon whom the system has tread heavily. I wish I could pinpoint that first viewing of the movie with my first idealistic thought of defending my own wrongly-accused criminal defendant - but it would be a "creative reimagining" of the past if I did. It is only after enrolling in law school that I began to envision a day when I could channel such brilliance into my own career.
But, that idea to work fervently for justice has been outed as its own sort of "creative reimagining" - of reality. It is hard on me to be a cog in the wheel of injustice our legal system spins. I know people do it all the time. I guess I did it myself. I felt sufficiently guilty about it - guilty enough, I suppose, that I am struggling every day to remove myself from it if at all possible.
But then, watching Atticus Finch stand so firmly and unmovingly on his convictions, suspecting that even he had a pain in his heart but soldiered on to fight for what is right, I feel a heaviness - a sad feeling for this world and for those people I so wanted to help and for myself, for wanting to quit so easily and so quickly into my legal foray.
It is this internal conflict, that most dramatic of literary themes, that causes the heaviness in my chest. I want to make the right decisions and fight the "good fight" but I don’t know if I am strong enough to take it.
Then again, did Atticus himself know? Did he go home and, while sitting on that porch swing after Scout and Jem were asleep, doubt his motives and whether he was actually making a difference? Maybe he did. Maybe everyone does. Maybe I would do better to just start working forward, standing on my convictions, rather than trying to take the easy way out.
Maybe so...
Everyone Is Doing It...
Well, this is my attempt at blogging. Everyone has a blog - lots of people ask me if I have a blog - some folks have expressed surprised disdain that I do not have a blog, as I am a writer with an apparent reputation for focusing on myself...go figure!! So, I will try to write a blog and we’ll just see how it goes from here...
As usual, I am struggling with the constant uncertainty regarding my place in the world. Last night, after framing some photos and before settling in with my popcorn to watch the last NCAA hoops game of the year, I was tearing apart my "drawer of memories" in search of all my old DMB ticket stubs - yeah, this is kind of how I spend my free time. Scandalous. Anyhow, I only found about half of them (I’ll find them all, rest assured) but I did find, like, 15 years’ worth of reminders that I have never been certain of my future goals or plans. One scrap of paper after another showed me that this current feeling of aimlessness is my baseline - for better or worse, I just don’t have a clue what I want for myself, besides that I want to be happy and have scores of relaxing moments in the sun.
Following this head-scratching revelation, I decided to do something about it: I dragged out the copy of my law school graduation, fast-forwarded through the boring speeches, and watched myself as I walked across the stage to collect my prize for 3 years of pain and roughly $50,000 of borrowed money. I sure looked happy - I was smiling and laughing, I was waving at my family, I was cutting up with the old guys doling out the diplomas. However, even at that moment I knew that law was not my calling.
Trouble is, at that moment I did not know what my calling was - sort of like I don’t know yet. Oh well - I’ve made it this far wandering in my goalless state, so what is one more night? Besides, it was almost 9:00 and the basketball game was about to start.
While I may not have goals, per se, I do have priorities you know.
As usual, I am struggling with the constant uncertainty regarding my place in the world. Last night, after framing some photos and before settling in with my popcorn to watch the last NCAA hoops game of the year, I was tearing apart my "drawer of memories" in search of all my old DMB ticket stubs - yeah, this is kind of how I spend my free time. Scandalous. Anyhow, I only found about half of them (I’ll find them all, rest assured) but I did find, like, 15 years’ worth of reminders that I have never been certain of my future goals or plans. One scrap of paper after another showed me that this current feeling of aimlessness is my baseline - for better or worse, I just don’t have a clue what I want for myself, besides that I want to be happy and have scores of relaxing moments in the sun.
Following this head-scratching revelation, I decided to do something about it: I dragged out the copy of my law school graduation, fast-forwarded through the boring speeches, and watched myself as I walked across the stage to collect my prize for 3 years of pain and roughly $50,000 of borrowed money. I sure looked happy - I was smiling and laughing, I was waving at my family, I was cutting up with the old guys doling out the diplomas. However, even at that moment I knew that law was not my calling.
Trouble is, at that moment I did not know what my calling was - sort of like I don’t know yet. Oh well - I’ve made it this far wandering in my goalless state, so what is one more night? Besides, it was almost 9:00 and the basketball game was about to start.
While I may not have goals, per se, I do have priorities you know.
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About Me
- Stephanie Stark Poling
- Steph's days are complete with little Franco/Mr. Buddy Pants, Pittsburgh Steelers football, Penguins hockey, all things WVU, cold beverages, new handbags, shoe-shopping, pups, and lots and lots of movies. And, of course, her glorious, nutty family.