It's been awhile since I felt like writing...

I was going through my computer, and stumbled across this little file. I wrote it in an elementary education class (three changed majors and four years ago). The assignment was to write our mission statement for our life and how we want to be remembered some day. It's kind of ironic how time can pass, but I would still say that everything I wrote in that class my freshman year of undergrad still holds true. Without further ado: my mission statement (ahem).

My mission is to leave the world a little different than I found it...to leave my fingerprints on a little slice of the earth...to leave a mark on my country, county, town, family, friends, and all with whom I come into contact...to brighten each morning with a smile and to tuck the world into bed with an embrace and a soft, warm blanket.

Family is the most important anything to me. I want to be there to mother and father my mother and father, to raise children who become mothers and fathers, and to be cared for by my children when I can no longer care for myself. I want to be remembered the way that I am seen through the eyes of my mother and the way that my children will see me.

When I am gone, I hope that people will remember me. This being said, I do not want people to remember the good times; I want people to remember the good times and the bad. Cherish the mistakes that I made in my life because this is what shapes the true character of an individual. Let my children learn to make mistakes and then to love their shortcomings and blossom into beautiful human beings.

Remember me as a beautiful landscape. I may change with the seasons and with time, but my key elements cannot be shaken. Remember me when you hear a child laugh; for I am a child at heart. Remember me in the beautiful, unmemorable intracacies of every day life...in the gentle whispers in a breath of wind, in the waltz of the cascading autumn leaf, in the warm rays of the summer sun, in the gentle meekness of the moon...for I will be there.

Running is my Prozac.

There's something about the feeling of putting on a pair of running shoes - the sleak way the shoe seems to mold to the person's foot as it glides into its position, cradling the arch; the power behind the pull as the laces are tied, and then double-knotted (keep those bunny ears tight). The seduction of running seems to mount as she stands up, ready to walk outside, and put her legs to good use.
I've never been a runner. I played sports all through school, but running was always used as a punishment when we messed up or played bad as a team. I came to dread the words, "Get on the line!". However, sometime last summer, that all changed. Over the course of this past year, I have learned to love, to even - dare I say - crave - running. As soon as my feet hit pavement (or the treadmill), the control center mentality of my mind shuts off. For three miles, I am free to be just me, not a president of a club, not a frazzled biology major, not a friend, not a daughter...I'm just Kari. My feet are free to dance with my unregulated thoughts. My calf muscles, instead of my shoulders, bear the weight of my world for thirty minutes.
I've come to understand this part of my day as my Prozac for that 24-hours. Instead of popping a pill, I put on my yellow and pink Nike Lunarglide running shoes and take a little break from reality for thirty minutes. I may not run a six-minute mile, but to me, it doesn't really matter. I'm a runner.

The final countdown.

Well, the dreaded day is quickly approaching. Since August, I have been completely pushing the thought of graduating out of my mind. As of today, I have two months and three days left at Quincy University...my home for the past 4 years. And when I say "home", I mean "home". Everytime I step through those big, old, heavy doors of main campus or slip into my chair in NCA 208, I can breathe a sigh of relief and feel comfort, because I am home. Everytime I look around my classroom and see the faces of my classmates who have become my best friends, I am home. I am completely terrified of packing up my bags and leaving this safe-haven. I am afraid of opening the door of my new life, and I can't help but wonder if I will ever be able to feel at home, really and truly at home, on the next little bus stop of my life. I have no idea where I will be in five years. Absolutely no idea (this is beautifully frightening). But, I have to believe that because of the time I have spent at my home in Quincy and because of the warm smiles that have blessed every single day of my time here, wherever I am in five years, I will be happy and making others feel at home. Regardless, these have been my best days...of that I have no doubt in my mind. As someone else put much better than I can articulate, "Let's make the best of tonight; here comes the rest of our lives."

How are the acoustics?

So I'm really excited! In fourth grade I was able to take guitar lessons for a few months from my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Schmidt. However, she got pregnant and her priorities changed and she stopped giving lessons. Anyways, while in Garner recently, someone had her guitar out, and I was able to strum a few chords. This made me realize how much I've missed having music in my life. I love to sing, whether in my car, in the shower, or in front of tons of people. However, I also love playing the piano (I took lessons for six years), the clarinet, and the tenor sax. I was telling my mom about this today, and she said, "You know what? I don't think I ever did get rid of one of your guitars. Actually, I think it may be in the basement." Five minutes later, she reappeared with my old acoustic guitar in hand. Although a plyer was neccessary to tune one of the strings and the neck was a little dusty, she still played. A few hours and sore fingertips later, I'm still smiling. How wonderful it is to rediscover an old passion.

Writer's Block's Got Me Tongue-Tied

The words, they're in my soul, you know?

I think I've got them figured out.

But once my pen hits a fresh piece of paper,

My head, it clouds with doubt.

Emotions racing towards my hands, seeking absolution,

Reaching my determined fingertips now face a persecution.

Funny how that's the way I get whenever I see your face.

But my lips instead of my fingertips seem strange and out of place.

I think of clever things to say to see your smile - perfection.

But silence is all I can portray, so afraid of your rejection.

So I'll just keep being what I am to you and live my hidden lie.

Only wishing someday the way I feel would echo in your eyes.

Back to the Q.

Well, it's been awhile since my last post! I just got back to Quincy, and woke up yesterday thinking that this would be the very last time I would ever move back to Quincy. This makes me...well, sad. Many people who attend QU seem to harbor bad feelings towards it, but I have had quite the opposite experience. The thought of this being my last semester literally makes me cry. At Quincy, I have found my best friends, a love of learning, and a new view of the world and the importance of embracing others and their differences. Although I'm excited to see where the future will lead me, the memories and experiences that I have had at QU have definitely shaped the person that I am today, and I will treasure these four years in my heart forever. Okay, enough of that. Too depressing.

I have made a New Years resolution...like the rest of the world. Celie will vouch for me when I say that I am not the world's most organized person. I'm clean, but I'm messy. I can't ever seem to keep my room neat for an entire day, and I have yet to see the value of an assignment notebook...or a folder for that matter. This being said, my New Years resolution is to be more organized! I purchased an assignment notebook and I'm going to get a folder to put all of my papers in. This sounds really stupid, I know, but I think making these little changes might make a big difference! I'm also going to attempt to keep my room a little cleaner (maybe Celie won't have to tell me where my phone or lost left shoe is anymore ;) ).

Also, I will be selecting the winner of my blog following this week. And Tanner, I already owe you some cookies :) .

In the Spirit of Giving

I just got into a rather heated argument with someone today, so I'm about ready to vent. I am so, so, so excited about becoming an occupational therapist. What drew me to this career is that I will have the ability to spend every single day of my life making a difference in other people's lives, especially working with those with disabilities. My best friend in high school has a sister named Jessi that has Down Syndrome. Jessi is one of the most amazing people that I have ever met. She constantly has a smile on her face, a positive outlook, and somehow seeks out only the good in people. What amazing and valuable characteristics for a person to have! For some reason, people like Jessi seem to get lost in the system, whether this be in school, in work, or in life. They seem to become devalued as people. I want to spend my life being an advocate for these people. I want to somehow make their world a better place, because they have blessed my world just by being a part of it. Some people do not seem to understand the value of spending time and money on helping those who may not have any other avenues of help. These people think that taxes spent on getting occupational therapists into school systems to work with people with disabilities and autism is not a useful way to spend money. What a shame. I understand that, yes, in an ideal world the parents of children who are struggling should be helping these students. BUT, even in this case, why should we not give a child every single advantage that he can possibly get! A child should not be punished because they live in a home with parents who are not actively involved in his life. There is no better way to spend money than by using it to help people! And this person also thinks that "I'll understand once I start working and all of my money is being spent on taxes". However, if my viewpoint about the worthiness of the cause of giving time and money to the oppressed ever changes, then I have become a person that I am ashamed to be. I believe that the only way to spend a life is to live life to the fullest, and with living life to the fullest comes living life in the spirit of making other people's lives the best that it can possibly be. So, here's a big cheer to those who believe that giving is the most important thing of all.