Change

When the leaves begin to

 

f

a

l

l

 

and the colors start to change, we catch ourselves looking around and thinking that

 

Nothing feels the same.

Things seem to be different this time of year.
Time s l o w s down; time keeps slipping.

We have no control over the seasons. We need to learn to let go of the things that we cannot control. It is a bittersweet time for everyone.

Just
         look
                   around.

There is a certain swiftness to the way things change. What we need not forget is just because things are ending, better things are coming our way. It is a cycle that has been going on for years and years.

If we choose to look at it in the proper light, we can find contentment in the fact that we have absolutely no idea what is going to happen to us. It is terrifying and exciting and absolutely beautiful.

With new changes comes time for us to reflect on the people we would like to become. It is a chance for us to grow as individuals and move on from the past.

If we change the way we look at things, the things we look at will change .

The seasons are changing,

we are changing;

life is truly miraculous.

 

Superhero

Ever since I could remember, I have always thought of my dad as a superhero. To this day, if I ever need something fixed, he puts it back together. Whether it is a pair of sunglasses, furniture, or a broken heart.

My father is a builder, as well as book lover. It amazes me how he spends so much time in the toolshed, making something out of nothing. I remember when I was a child; I would just watch him for hours on end—and if I ever got bored, I would go through his book collection.

One day in particular, when I was sifting through his library and came across Walter Benjamin’s “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”, I asked him if he envisions his art before it is built.

He laughed, pointing out a half finished piece of his wood art, and replied, “I was making something. It wasn't always an important something, sometimes just the piece of metal that holds something bigger in place.”

These words have stuck with me throughout my life. When times get particularly hard, I think about my father, and how he has the ability to create something beautiful out of the most unusual of things.

My father is not only an inspiration, but he is without a doubt my superhero. 

How far would you go?

It was freshman year of high school and I would have done just about anything to get the senior boy in my class to notice me.

He was the most popular kid in school-- with a gang of boys following him around at all times-- as if he were The Great Victor Kelly from Resurrection Man.

Every day I would stare at him in fourth period, dozing off into a
                            
                                d
                                  a
                                    y
                                      d
                                         r
                                           e
                                             a
                                               m.

A few weeks later, my girlfriends and I get invited to an "upperclassmen" party. We were so excited to finally get a chance to meet the cool, older kids.

My friends were nervously chatting about what clothes they were going to wear; how they should style their hair for the night.

I could barely hear them over my thoughts. I knew that this was it. I was going to finally talk to him tonight.


F  l   a   s   h     f o r w a r d :

 We just walked into the party. It reeks of booze and poor judgement.

I let my friends trail off, as I had my own goal for the night. I finally find him near the most insane amount of alcohol I have ever laid eyes on.

He smiles and says, "Hi. You're in my math class. Do you want a shot?"

MyMindWasRacing. MyHeadWasSpinning.

I hadn't even begun drinking yet. 



F  l   a   s   h     f o r w a r d : 

The room is unsteady. Like water. F l o w i n g. You notice everything is humorous, you laugh and laugh at at every other word spoken to you. You cant Walk. You are Stumbling. Everywhere. No turning back now. You are too far gone.

The last thing I remember is blowing chunks on his new pair of Converse.



 [ I switched out of my fourth period class that Monday. ]

It's the journey

“I want my world to be filled with travels, destinations are not what I care about, it's the characters in the narrative of my life and the places that I visit that interest me because they in turn decide what kind of person I am going to become.”

 

 

In 2009, I had the fortunate opportunity to go on the school trip of a lifetime.  

In just 

two

short

weeks,

we would visit Italy, France, and Holland.

Just as any seventeen year old would be, I was absolutely psyched. 
However, I was still in high school, and it was an intimidating 
thought that out of the thirty people going on the trip, I only
knew three or four. Most of the students were seniors, a 
year older than I was at the time, and I couldn’t help
but   w  o  n  d  e  r   if they would like me.

Boarding the plane, I was equally as excited as I was nervous.

Within the first two days, my mind was at ease.
Everyone got along well, and I began
 to make some awesome friends.

Over the next two weeks,
I would walk around with different
people each day. We were all so comfortable  
around each other. We would sing on the subways, 
take goofy pictures together, make up funny dance routines, 
and talk for hours on end.

I honestly had no idea
how much fun I could have 
with people that were ultimately  
strangers to me a week prior.

Our last stop was France, 
and although it was the one place
I was the most excited about the entire time-- 
once we got there I couldn’t help but get choked up.

The countries, historical landmarks, and museums were all 
so amazing, but I realized it was never about that. I had truly 
bonded with these people, and I was fearful for it all to come to an end.

Once we were back in school, my fears were put to rest yet again. 

Although the trip could only be replayed 
in the form of memories and photos;
our journey together was 
something that could
never be erased.

Home

 It was Friday at sundown, which marks the beginning of Shabbat.

Shabbat is very important in the Jewish religion. It means a day of rest, and occurs weekly. The majority of Israel shuts down on Shabbat. No cars are on the road, no cell phones are used, no technology whatsoever.

Walking the streets of Jerusalem, lost, I asked a man for directions. I was running late to Shabbat dinner, very flustered.

The man left his family at home to walk me two miles to my destination. Along the way, a young man came up to us. He asked if we knew of anywhere to have Shabbat dinner, because his friends never showed up.

The man guiding me said, “Yes, I do. Come with me. We’ll eat dinner at my home.”

Just like that. I was shocked.

This was my first trip to Israel, and honestly, I was a bit nervous to enter a country that is constantly at war. I had just figured that the people’s attitudes must be rotten due to their living situations.

But this; this I had not expected.

Picking up a man off the street? With so much kindness and respect towards one another? Inviting him into your home? I’ve never seen anything like it.

Finally, we reached the house where I would eat. As I thanked them both for their generosity, they asked when I had arrived. I told them just last week. The two men smiled and replied, “Welcome home.”