Midwest Gypsy

Home - Page 20 << 1 2 … 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 >>

Here We Go Again

Posted on May 27, 2014 by Maria Russell

My husband shocked me Sunday afternoon when, while eating Blizzards at a DQ near Lake Barkley, he suggested in all seriousness that we sell our house and go back to RVing full-time, something we did for a few years starting in 2005. I did not see that one coming.

I actually felt my stomach twinge a little when I first heard his suggestion, and in no time at all my mind was being bombarded with one crazy thought after another: What does he mean “sell the house?” I don’t know that I want to sell our house…I love it. How about my job? I love it. What if our son-in-law gets orders for Fort Campbell next year and our kids come back to Kentucky? Our grandkids would be just down the street. What are going to do with all of our stuff? Yard sale or tag sale? How are we going to get our mail? What about the El Camino we’re restoring? It was the last thing I thought about that night and it was the first thing I thought of when I awoke yesterday morning.

And here I thought our life was pretty good, all things considered. We are semi-retired, the kids have families of their own and it’s just the two of us and our pups, Victor and Biscuit, and we’re blessed beyond measure to be financially free. My garden is in bloom with tomatoes, peppers, strawberries, lettuce, herbs and flowers. We’ve renovated and updated the old house we call “home” to our liking. I’ve got a life here, damn it! To be perfectly honest, my first reaction was to dig in my heels and resist, but then my husband said something that totally brought the idea home. He said, “We can do it now; we might not be able to physically do it in five or ten years.”

How true! I vividly recalled an instance when we were cruising the ICW (the Intracoastal Waterway that hugs the eastern coast of the United States) in the spring of 1994. We had run all day and were approaching the marina where we would spend the night as the sun was beginning to set. A cruising sailboat with two older people aboard was also docking for the night–the wife was attempting to lasso the piling with the bow line as her husband, the helmsman, tried and tried again to get her and the boat as close to the piling without hitting it, a feat made even more challenging with the outgoing tide. They looked to be in their seventies, at the very least. My heart went out to the woman, because I was responsible for the lines, too, and I knew how tired, frustrated and angry she must have been, trying to secure the line around the piling. I remember my husband and I giving each other that knowing look that seemed to say what we were both thinking: Some people wait too long for “some day.” Sometimes it never comes. That memory alone caused me to at least consider the idea of ultimate downsizing and hitting the road.

Though all of the steps in a 12-step program are important, I am making a deliberate effort to actualize the Eleventh Step which states that we “sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for the knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.” And so, even though no one was around to hear, I said aloud, “OK, you take it from here. You know what’s best.”

Immediately, a weight seemed to be lifted, and I felt a noticeable sense of peace. The liberation was welcomed and it was almost as if my attitude instantly switched from thinking about all about the “what ifs” to “just put one foot in the front of the other and see what happens.” Certainly, we have a LOT that we still need to talk about, and nothing has been set in concrete. If absolutely nothing else comes of this conversation, it has inspired me to start on something I’ve been procrastinating (actually, a couple of things): sort through and organize all of our files and paperwork, and our closets, too, and get rid of stuff that no longer serves us. And, contrary to my usual modus operandi, I didn’t put off getting started; last night I cleaned out one of my dresser drawers, and that action in and of itself catapulted me into a process whose ultimate result is uncertain.

Only time will tell if whether or not we are headed once again to an alternative lifestyle. But one thing is for sure: this is going to be one interesting journey!

…And Where It Stops, Nobody Knows…

Posted on May 21, 2014 by Maria Russell

At the risk of being compared to a bulldog that just won’t release something until its owner commands, I find myself continuing to research various aspects of social media even after not only “breaking up” with Facebook six weeks ago (as it was referred to in a couple of previous posts) but going so far as to delete the app from my iPhone and iPad. I love doing research, and working in a college-setting provides the perfect environment in which to partake in one of my most favorite hobbies. Besides, traffic in the Writing Center slows down considerably during the summer, so until a student comes in to be tutored, I’ll blog. It’s more fun and way cheaper in the long-run than perusing eBay and Amazon anyway.

As it turns out, Internet addiction is no longer joked about; it is very real and as debilitating as any other addiction. Mental health professionals are treating more and more Americans whose daily lives are consumed by their obsession to being connected 24/7 to their digital devices and businesses catering to “digital detoxing” are springing up in the form of rehabs and weekend campouts where participants learn (re-learn?) how to build real connections.

One participant at one such camp situated in Navarro, California admitted to following as many as 1,200 Twitter users and skimming nearly two hundred RSS feeds DAILY when he was the editor of a news blog. He refers to it as an “ever-accelerating conveyor belt of content that would have made Lucy and Ethel choke,” citing the indelible episode of “I Love Lucy” in which the two comediennes try their best to keep up with the candy on the conveyor belt that needed to be individually wrapped. This camper’s work-life crises–which he compared to Walter White’s, the meth kingpin of “Breaking Bad”–culminated when his hands became numb and his doctor officially pronounced him “burned out.” Similar to AA’s first step in which an alcoholic admits that his life has become unmanageable, the diagnosis prompted this camper to seek help.

If a user’s addiction is not as severe as to warrant being admitted to an Internet rehab such as the one at Bradford Regional Medical Center in rural Pennsylvania, eighty miles south of Buffalo, New York, or to attend a detox camp, then perhaps any one of a number of “anti-social” apps might help to wean one from the lure of constant connection. The app, Anti-Social, blocks sites that make users unproductive, such as Facebook and Twitter, for periods of as little as fifteen minutes to as much as eight hours. Designed to enhance one’s productivity, Anti-Social promises “you’ll be amazed how much you get done when you turn off your friends.”

And for those who have “friends” that they prefer to avoid, apps such as “Cloak,” “Split,” and “Hell Is Other People” may be appealing. This inevitable backlash to bullies, flamers, and otherwise unscrupulous people sends alerts to users when exes, nosy neighbors, and other undesirables pass within a preset radius. Of course, social check-ins and other geo-location information is required for the apps to work successfully, but it will only be a matter of time before these anti-social apps are sufficiently tweaked.

While social media certainly encourages connection and bridges communication, its darker aspects are emerging, especially among our youth, in reports of cyber bullying, increased depression and suicide. As businesses and organizations attempt to figure out how to harness and leverage social media for constructive purposes, they are also keeping in mind that organizational reputations can be destroyed in a split-tweeting- second. As a former teacher of emotionally disturbed children and teenagers, I cannot help but be intrigued by how this will all play out in the future. The most interesting days are surely ahead.

Breaking Up Is Not That Hard to Do

Posted on May 9, 2014 by Maria Russell

I have always considered the phrase, “for all intents and purposes,” unnecessary, much like the phrase, “that being said.” Being one to pretty much call ’em like I see ’em, I’ve never quite understood why some people can’t just get to the point and say what they want to say. Being like this, for the most part, has served me well, although there was one particular incident that my directness was both stunning and shocking, even to those who knew me fairly well.

The setting was the 1983 company Christmas party. My husband’s employer had a contract with the U.S. Army at Fort Rucker, Alabama. Unless you’ve been there, you might not know that Fort Rucker is located in the southeastern corner of Alabama and, save for the fact that it’s eighty miles from Florida’s Gulf coast, there is not much to do. This probably figured into why only two people on the staff–my husband and the secretary, who were, ironically, the only employees in the research-oriented environment without a Ph.D.–hadn’t been issued DUI’s; indeed, we chauffered four of them to the party that night because their licenses had been revoked.

Needless to say, the alcohol flowed liberally, much like it does at many Christmas parties. After dinner was served, my husband’s boss gathered everyone in a circle and announced that it was time to distribute presents. But these weren’t your typical Christmas presents. In fact, they weren’t even tangible. As only those who-think-higher-thoughts can understand (or so they think), these were “mental Christmas presents.”

My husband’s boss got in the center of the circle of roughly thirty or so reluctant participants and directed all of us to try to guess who was the recipient of his “mental Christmas present,” and proceeded to give vaguely encrypted clues–no doubt alcohol-influenced–that were meant to describe a supposed gift that a particular individual might benefit from receiving. (If you are having a hard time keeping up with this, imagine the difficulty inebriated people were having that night.)

After a couple of futile efforts on both the boss’s part (to articulate adequate clues) and the staff’s attempt to follow, it was obvious that this charade was going nowhere fast. The natives were getting restless; more specifically, they were anxious to get back to partying and mindless socializing. For my part, it was getting late, and I just wanted to go home. Annoyed that everyone else was staring blankly at the boss clue after clue, I commented (not blurted…that would have been rude), “This is stupid.”

For a few seconds, a dropped pin could have been heard. I felt the heat of my husband’s glare that seemed to say, “There goes my job,” and for a brief moment I wished I hadn’t been so quick to point out that the Emporor had no clothes. But then one his co-workers said, “Yeah!” and then applause erupted. It took one person to state the obvious. But I digress; I wanted to write about what it’s been like not having Facebook in my life.

There is supposedly something magical about thirty days when it comes to making a change; the general consensus is that the intended change becomes a habit after thirty days. Well, my experience of wanting to get Facebook out of my life leads me to believe that this is true; after thirty days I no longer have the urge to open the app. In fact, I’m going to delete it as soon as I delete my account (not merely “deactivate” it; that’s something entirely different.)

Sure, during the first few days of the break-up I was curious about whether or not any comments had been made about my decision (ego can be so big, can’t it?), and I also wondered if anyone had written a personal message to me. But then I remembered that I included my email address in my last post, so between that and the fact that my friends have my cell number, I was assured that if anyone really wanted to contact me, they could, one way or another.

After the first week I stopped thinking about Facebook altogether; I was fully ensconced in Life. Instead of waking up and checking to see what had transpired on Facebook while I slept, I took the dogs on a two-mile walk every morning. I focused on the three magazine articles whose deadlines were looming. With the spring semester winding down and final research papers having to be submitted, there were plenty of students in the Writing Center to be helped. And I prepared for my daughter’s and grandchildren’s week-long visit. I actually wondered how much time I had apparently wasted on Facebook, and that really enforced my resolve to quit absolutely.

The number of articles written about quitting Facebook is staggering; there is even the website, quitfacebooknow.org. According to one Huffington Post article, quitting Facebook is the ‘hip new lifestyle promise’ that is discussed at cocktail parties and Starbucks nowadays. And here I thought I was the only one (Damn you, ego!)

No less than half a dozen of my friends (my “real” friends, that is) confided that they wished they could quit Facebook, but for one lame reason or another just couldn’t bring themselves to pulling the plug. Granted, a few primal instincts are satisfied by Facebook and social media in general, like wanting to belong, a bit of vanity and narcissism, and more than just a little voyeurism. But when one considers the trade-off of posting tidbits of one’s life for all the world to see 24/7 (by the way, this is called “data,” something that Facebook collects massive amounts of and then distributes to the highest bidders. And Edward Snowden is the bad guy??) quitting Facebook shouldn’t be a difficult choice.

In addition to cyber-bullying, easy access to porn (see what happens when you search “girls” the next time you’re on Facebook), and research indicating that there is evidence that social media correlates with poor self-image and eating disorders among college-age women, Facebook has made it even easier for stalkers with its “Nearby Friends” feature. Users who have opted in will be able to receive notices on their mobile app that their “friends” are near; it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to surmise that this feature will probably figure into countless tragic episodes in the near future. I don’t know about you, but this is more than just a little creepy for me.

If reading this has peeked your interest about quitting Facebook, then I would highly recommend that you do some research and find out more. The implications of posting on Facebook are very scary. And what’s even scarier is that our children and grandchildren are at risk; after all, to join Facebook one only has to click that they are 13 years of age, whether they are or not.

So, after posting this link on Facebook, I will delete my account forever. If you’re ready to do the same, here is the step-by-step: http://quitfacebooknow.org/how-to-delete-facebook/

Good-bye, Facebook, and good riddance.

A Grandparent’s Legacy

Posted on May 4, 2014 by Maria Russell

Some birthdays, like 16, 21, and the decade birthdays mark significant events in one’s life. Being able to drive, drink alcohol and vote legally are usually anticipated eagerly, while 30, 40, 50 and beyond are seen by most as benchmarks. For some reason, these birthdays signal the time for a critical self-appraisal to be done because decade birthdays are typically dreaded. This is the year I turn 60, and with the help of guided questions in a Hallmark gift book entitled “A Grandparent’s Legacy,” I am writing my story for my grandchildren.

Currently I am on page 76, and most of the questions have been easy to answer like, “Where did your family live at the time of your birth and during your early years?” and “What are your early memories of your grandparents?” Some questions have been a bit more challenging; I had to search the Internet for the answer to “Who were the celebrities that teens admired then?” Some I just flat out couldn’t remember, like what my first kiss was like. (I quickly jotted “it was probably very tentative and clumsy at best.”)

“Who was your first love?” really took me back. I thought this question rather needless, but reluctantly and truthfully answered it nonetheless. It was the follow-up question that prompted an effortless stream of consciousness, the likes of which I haven’t had in quite some time: “What did you learn from that or other early romantic relationships?” Plenty!

1. Confusing lust for love can be a disaster.
2. Hormones suck.
3. Respect yourself.
4. Just be yourself. And always be true to yourself.
5. Listen to what your family and friends say about those you date; lust/love really is blind.
6. When you are doing more to maintain the relationship than the other person is, Wake Up!
7. Beware of drugs and alcohol.
8. Parents can be a pain sometimes, but believe that they only want the best for you.
9. Just be yourself. I know I’ve already mentioned this, but it’s important.
10. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

It’s taking quite a bit of time, but I’m really glad that I am writing my story and sharing these memories with my grandkids. Although I am not thrilled with some of the questions that are asked, I have to keep in mind that there is a chance that my answers might spare them from being hurt or going through the angst that teenagers so often endure. Ultimately, all of us have the exact, same destination….it’s our individual journeys and the lessons we learn that matter and help us become the people we are. Because of this, I’m more than happy to pass my legacy on.

Goodbye, Facebook

Posted on April 10, 2014 by Maria Russell

At my daughter’s urging, I joined Facebook a few years ago. As I recall, I really didn’t want to at first; I figured my friends already knew how to reach me if they had something to tell me. But despite my reluctant debut, I quickly got sucked into social networking.

At first, I really liked reconnecting with long lost friends and making new ones, whether I actually knew them or not. It was fun to see who was doing what. I found myself caring, perhaps a little too much, about how many “Likes” something I posted received, and I looked forward to getting “notifications” of comments or messages. Checking Facebook throughout the day became downright addicting! However, after giving it a lot of thought, I think I’m ready to bail.

There are numerous reasons why I’m on the verge of deleting my account. I’m tired of people posting selfies, or letting the world know what they’re eating for breakfast/lunch/dinner, or sending messages publicly to people they’re related to and oftentimes living under the same roof with, or posting something ridiculous like “I flashed my boobs today to get out of getting a ticket” to garner support for any one of a number of health or social woes (how that works, I will never know, and in fact, it probably doesn’t), or just general posting ad nauseam. I’m tired of egos and flamers and politics. A lot is too much, and I guess the bottom line is that I just don’t care anymore.

I began backing away from Facebook a couple of months ago and found that not only did I not really miss it, but I was more focused and attentive to what was actually happening in front of me at any particular time…as in, Reality. Passing students in the hallway who were glued to their phones, or being at a restaurant observing people at the same table being uncommunicative with each other but “checking in” on Facebook or texting or playing games also made me realize just how often we aren’t “present” to real life. I think the saddest example of how seductive social networking has become is when I see parents at their kids’ ball games and their focus is not on their child, but on their phone instead. We often tell our kids to pay attention when we’re not even doing it ourselves.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not completely against social networking. In fact, I am 100% for networking. Networking and forging associations are integral components of both personal and business relationships, and I absolutely love–and need–the relationships I have nurtured over time. And perhaps “time” is the key.

Being truly connected with others involves actual communication, not just mindless postings. It takes time, and it takes a certain degree of thought. Come to think of it, those are concepts I can truthfully “Like.” It’ll be nice coming back to the real world.

Accessorize My WHAT?

Posted on March 24, 2014 by Maria Russell

The “gypsy” part of this website’s name was supposed to imply that I’d pretty much seen and done a lot. Not everything, but a lot. After the past few days, however, I’m beginning to
wonder.

Ever since last Friday, I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around something that I find truly hard to believe. And all I can say is that I am beginning to feel every bit of my chronological age because I find this particular idea peculiarly twisted; such discoveries stun me into silence, something I am not accustomed to.

Despite my rigid Catholic upbringing–or possibly as rebellion to it–I used to be quite liberal and even had a very cavalier attitude towards most every unorthodox notion. In fact, my modus operandi as far as Life was concerned was not just live and let live, but the unabashed willingness and desire to try everything once. And sometimes twice. I have had to rethink this attitude recently as a result of becoming educated about a trend involving a special kind of glue, rhinestones, and one’s nether regions.

You read right; some individuals are purposely put glue on their privates for the sake of accessorizing it? Really??? When I think of bling I think of gaudy, dangly earrings or a bigger-than-all-get-out bauble of some sort. But this goes waaaay beyond bling. “Vagazzling,” as it’s called, appears to be another asinine attempt on the part of women to be attractive to men. And apparently it isn’t limited to the female of the species; “pejazzling” is the male correlation of this “hot” not-all-that-new trend.

Several questions raced through my mind upon initially learning about this practice like, who in the world would have such an idea in the first place? Having had multiple run-ins during my life with all types of glue–not there–I can’t help but wonder what kind of person actually thought that this was a good idea. Who was the first person to try it? Is it a one-person venture, or is a “spotter” required? Are the designs thought up as one goes along, or are stencils available? How does clothing fit into the picture? Is it discovered by TSA when one goes through airport security? Personal hygiene is whole other ball of wax that is just too complex to even address here. And last but not least by a long shot, how was this originally pitched as a business, because there are honest-to-goodness salons that offer this “beauty treatment.”

Not surprisingly, emergency rooms in this country, the UK, and Australia (and, no doubt, the world over) are being overrun with disillusioned souls who had nowhere else to turn for relief. I can’t even imagine the embarrassment and humiliation. But conjuring up a mental picture of the entire scenario is pretty hysterical.

God love my younger friends! Conversations with them keep me young and I need not be tempted to speed-read through the latest issue of Cosmo while waiting in the check out lane. And, they introduce me to things that are intriguing, even if they are a bit disgusting. After this particular conversation, though, one thing remains absolutely certain: all that glitters definitely is not gold.

When Less is More

Posted on March 3, 2014 by Maria Russell

I just had dinner with a friend who is moving back to North Carolina after living in Hoptown for three years. She is overwhelmed at the thought of having to downsize enough and fast enough to impact the weight of what the movers will have to transport, which ultimately translates into money. She is a collector: clothes, shoes, purses, books of all genres, DVDs and CDs, antiques, furniture. You name it, she has it, and probably several. She’s had two yard sales and has had countless appointments with individuals to give private viewings. She is exhausted. Time is running short; the movers are coming next week.

I credit relocating more than a dozen times to various parts of the U.S., living on a boat, and going through a hurricane with blessing me with a common sense attitude towards material possessions. I just don’t own a lot of stuff. Yet I have everything I need.

Stuff ties one down. Stuff insidiously multiplies and fills drawers, closets, and shelves, and when those are overflowing, basements, garages and attics are next. Owners of storage facilities are getting rich off of people who just can’t seem to let go of their stuff.

To be truthful, while living on a boat, our out-of-season clothing was housed in a storage facility. However, not once was something longed for so much that it necessitated a trip to the storage unit to be retrieved. And only once in the eight years since it happened have I found myself wishing for something that was blown away by Hurricane Katrina…an inexpensive kitchen gadget that would have been handy in a particular instance which I have since forgotten.

Not being tied down by a lot of material possessions is wonderfully liberating. While advertising and marketing companies would rather we be always wanting for the latest (fill-in-the-blank), it might be to our advantage to not take the bait quite so fast. After all, when it comes to stuff, having less can mean having more.

Say What?

Posted on March 2, 2014 by Maria Russell

As far back as I can remember, incorrect grammar usage and pronunciation massacres have been primary pet peeves of mine. While I have never gone so far as to correct an offender publicly, I do admit to sometimes silently wondering why some people who ought to know better–i.e. business people or community leaders–blatantly say certain words wrong.

How can a non-word be used interchangeably for a real one, as in “pacifically” for “specifically?” Why is “fiscal” sometimes mispronounced “physical?” And why, oh why, do some people just make up a completely incorrect substitution of a word, insert it into some type of correspondence or Internet post, as was the case today, and expect others to know what they’re saying? Is the culprit ignorance, laziness, the desire to be cool, or what?

The subjects of my blogs, random as they are, usually are the result of an incident that initiates a cascade of thoughts that build and build inside my head, begging to be set free by way of writing. I know myself well enough to release those thoughts at the earliest opportunity so that they just quit bothering me. It’s probably saved me thousands of dollars in therapy.

Today began innocently enough. An impending winter storm determined that the day would be spent indoors, and since it was Sunday, I decided to bake. I was raised to believe that “(good) food is love,” and with an ice storm bearing down on Kentucky, I couldn’t think of a more lovely thought than comfort food. I decided to try a bacon cheddar bread that would take several hours to make, and today, time was definitely on my side.

While I waited for the dough to rise, I checked Facebook. Someone who was answering a question someone else posed posted, “it’s prolly because…” I’m not sure what was wider when I re-read that: my eyes or my gaping mouth. Really? Was the word “probably” that difficult to type? Hell, I’d even give the person the benefit of the doubt if she had misspelled it as “probly!”

Perhaps it is the fact that I teach English as a second language that makes me keenly sensitive to outright errors such as this. But if being understood is the hallmark of communication, then speaking correctly should be everyone’s aspiration. After all, it takes no more effort to pronounce words correctly than it does to pronounce them incorrectly.

Of course, slang and vernacular language have their place in certain situations, but when applicants almost always outnumber available jobs, being articulate is a definite advantage. And with countries like Japan, Korea and China vigorously encouraging their citizens to learn our native language at all costs, it should be obvious that our own people speak correctly. There’s no good reason not to.

The Simple Art of Writing Thank You’s

Posted on February 22, 2014 by Maria Russell

My granddaughter, Maeby is five years old, and already she regularly practices a habit that will take her far in life, a habit that will set her apart from her peers: she writes “thank you” notes. She writes them for everything: major occasions, like birthdays and holidays, of course. She writes them for the packages of little somethings Papa and I occasionally send. And yesterday she wrote one to each of her customers who bought Girl Scout cookies from her.

Like her mother, Maeby loves to write. Sometimes my daughter is annoyed by Maeby’s attention to detail which manifests itself by “How do you spell …” questions. But I would bet, that deep down, Kate realizes not only how important written expression is generally, but that articulating gratitude in this way is hugely beneficial to the writer.

Indeed, research shows that practicing gratitude positively affects one’s psychological well-being, physical health, and relationships. The same can be said for practicing habits like like exercise, developing and nurturing hobbies, and volunteering. The question is, “if it’s so beneficial, why doesn’t everyone do it?”

Any habit, good or bad, requires effort. After all, energy flows where attention goes. I am not a scientist, but it seems that anyone is capable of doing anything if one puts forth consistent effort.

I have resigned myself to the fact that, unfortunately, I won’t receive a thank you note for every single gift I give. Not everyone has developed, or intends to develop, that particular good habit. Likewise, I refuse to accept that writing thank you notes is passé. Rather, I choose to view it the same way I view being able to parallel park: you can do it if you want. And, boy oh boy, will others notice.

Perspective

Posted on February 8, 2014 by Maria Russell

The few counseling courses I took in graduate school oh-so-long ago have served me well over the years. I sometimes compare being a writing tutor to being a bartender without the alcohol, and yesterday was one of those days. One patron lingered for so long that my quitting time came and went without notice until a full hour and a half later; sometimes I just can’t help getting involved.

Most teachers, I suspect, have “that one student” that holds a special place in their hearts. This student is distinct for any number of reasons: their crappy home life; their dogged determination to succeed in spite of the odds; their talent which is obvious to everyone but oblivious to them. My pet-project happens to fall into the last category.

When I first met her two years ago, it was plain to see that writing was not her forte. After all, she had come to the Writing Center for help. But unlike the majority of students who came in for tutoring, her composition was unique in the way it read. Or rather, how it didn’t read. It was as though her thought process was happening at lightning speed and her writing ability was pathetically stuck somewhere between first- and second-grade level.

She disliked writing so much that she always procrastinated until the last minute to start her assignments. When students want help when it’s virtually too late, I remind them that I’m a tutor, not a magician. I’m being truthful, and it seems to get the point across. At least they know to come in earlier next time.

Her verbal articulation was superb, and she spoke with such self-assuredness and with outstanding eye contact…but her written expression was miserable. And she was, too, especially since she had her heart set on becoming a counselor, a profession that requires lots and lots of note-taking, not to mention report writing.

What was so refreshing about her was her sense of style. A plus-size woman, she was so put-together she turned heads. That is not an exaggeration. One day, after an extremely frustrating attempt at completing a written assignment, I tried to lighten the mood by listing her strengths–self-confidence, verbal communication, and fashion sense–and tossed out the idea that possibly a degree in counseling might be a long shot…but did she ever consider becoming a fashion stylist?

Oh, was she mad with me! I did not see her for a couple of weeks, but when she finally returned to the Writing Center, it was not for help with an assignment. It was just to talk, much like a bar patron saddles up to a stool in the bartender’s “office” to spill his guts. She said she had been giving thought to my suggestion, and asked if I honestly thought she could be a stylist. Dressed in my typical work clothes, boring jeans and a T-shirt (albeit, spruced up with a scarf), I remarked, “Of course, you can! That is your talent!” We even discussed how working with people and their wardrobe could even be considered a form of counseling; helping people is helping people, no matter how you look at it.

Fast forward nearly two years and many “bar talks” later. One idea she talked about time and time again was to have the school’s Humanities Club put on a fashion show as a fund-raiser. She fantasized about it a lot, so much so, in fact, that she apparently had given the idea to another member of the club. That person, in turn, had presented the idea to the club’s sponsor who thought it was a marvelous suggestion and gave his blessing. My protégé was furious! She ranted and raved about how the other student had stolen her idea.

I let her vent for however long it took her to get it out of her system, and then I said, “Well, maybe this other person’s talent is organizing, and she thought that your idea was so wonderful she decided to help it along by getting the ball rolling.” I almost saw the light bulb flicker a bit at first, and then eventually glow brightly as my friend replied with newfound understanding, “She IS a good organizer, Miss Maria! I guess she got tired of me just talking about it and decided to do something to move it along.”

The fashion show is in six weeks, and my friend is in charge of assembling work-to-evening outfits for half a dozen real-life models of both sexes, some of whom are faculty and staff, and some of whom are students. ALL of whom immediately said “Yes!” when she approached them about whether or not they would consider allowing her to dress them. And when accepting her offer she received comments like, “Girl! I’ve been noticing how you dress. You are SO pulled together.” I have never seen her so happy.

I guess this only goes to show that a situation can be viewed in more than just one way, and that looking at something from another person’s perspective can change our perception dramatically. I think it also illustrates how much happier we are when we’re doing something we really love. Helping others is one of my passions; doing so, after all, did make me lose all track of time!

Each has a particular gift from God, one having one kind and another a different kind.—1 Corinthians 7:7