Downtown, I would watch those people pass me by and it felt like it would be an eternity before I could walk like them — independently, alone, and with some kind of purpose. The yearning to let go of my guardian’s hand and take off fearlessly to cross those busy streets and explore always found its way to me.

In October 2010, I couldn’t help but remember that crazy yearning I always had in me to just let go, to explore whatever was out there, even if it meant getting lost. But now, some might say that I am more of an adult than a child, and that crazy desire to run is still there…was still there in October when I took to the dirty streets with a camera strapped around my neck and under one arm.

When you say “downtown” I think of poverty, of people in ragged clothes walking along ancient brick walls that will likely never be restored to the smoothness they once were so long ago. I see graffiti everywhere. I see the a big building with its newly painted mural on the east-facing wall, next to a fire escape ladder that is almost too rusted and old to trust. As I walk by I wonder how many feet have actually used its steps.

Keep walking down the busy street, find the Fox theater. No one talks about it, because of the alleged waste of taxpayers’ dollars it took to restore it…and all for nothing. For though it is attractive on the outside (and oh, a beautiful sight at night when surrounded by hundreds of flashy lights), few people actually care enough to wander into its large doors. It’s kind of a grave marker that’s been beautified — a kind of whitewashed tomb that represents a failed downtown district.

I keep walking, unable to hear my own footsteps for the sound of the rushing traffic and the loudly speaking voices of native people who know this territory so much better than I. Keep walking, past the worn down bus stops where tired people sit, regardless of whether they’re waiting for the bus or not. Keep walking, and there’s Superior  Court. Whenever I pass it, I can never help but think to myself, “If walls could talk.” Maybe I’m just too visionary, if such a thing exists…though I doubt it does. We need all the imagination, all the vision we can conjure in order to get through this life and through this world.

All these thoughts pummel my mind as I turn north and reach out to touch the white outer wall that loosely encloses the courthouse. I think of the story I was told last time I went there, of a woman’s trial for killing a boy as she drove drunk. I touch the warm wall. Somewhere inside, ten years ago, a boy’s father stood up and yelled, “She killed my boy!” causing many loud whispers and an immediate mistrial. Somewhere inside, the word “guilty” has been said so many times. Somewhere inside, so many  lies have been told. Somewhere inside, a person has had the opportunity to come face to face with their loved one’s killer. Suddenly, the warmth of the textured wall disappears from my hand, and the courthouse is behind me.

And then, I stop. And I know, this is exactly what I’ve been looking for. I’ve walked these streets looking for art, looking for inspiration, but not knowing exactly where I’ll  find it. As I approach the blank wall and see the spray cans lined up along the ground, this is most definitely it. As I look at the tall man standing there, his back turned against me and a a tool in his hand, this is most definitely the place. And as I look up at the old, nearly dilapidated wall I smile at the word inexpertly painted there. Yes, this is exactly why I’m here.

What if we were able to learn everything we wanted to? Can you even begin to imagine what a life that would be?

I sat there, contemplating that perhaps the happiest we can be is when we learn something we have been wanting to. Perhaps some of the greatest fulfillment we can experience here on earth can be in reaching those goals. Not the major ones, like exploring New Zealand for a summer or campaigning for the presidency. I  mean the things we’ve always wanted to know and to learn but have never done, either from laziness or lack of resources. I mean your more achievable goals, like learning to ride a horse, learning to paint, or learning to play those drums. Maybe the satisfaction we love in life comes not from achieving the biggest goals on our agendas, but getting a grasp and experiencing the things we’ve wanted to — the things that seem so near yet so far — yet never have. I encourage everyone, myself included, to write down just a thing or two that you want to achieve before the year ends. And next year, add a small handful of things to your list that you want to learn. Yes, you can lose 10 pounds or commit to spending more time with your family…but what do you want to learn through all that?

It’s cliche, but life goes by so quickly. Please don’t take a year for granted without experiencing the joy and satisfaction that can come from a life where everything we wanted to learn, was.

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College. It takes its toll on all of us.

Just the other day in Target I came across two roommates trying to figure out which dish soap to buy. “Are you sure this is the right one?” the first guy asked credulously, looking at the box.

The second guy answered in frustration, “Dude, it’s the only kind I know how to use!”

Those of us who have experienced the glory and the drudging of college life know that sanity can easily become lost just a few short weeks into a semester.  As the homework piles up and the social life begins to fall down, keeping your priorities straight and your sanity on a leash is something we all struggle with. Personally, I do whatever it takes to remember that report that’s due tomorrow, to take that trip to city hall, and to feed those turtles or else they’ll be used for ashtrays. I use a planner and place stickers on all the super important dates. I wallpaper my room with sticky notes if I’m in a “remember this or die” situation. And I use a dry erase marker to write on my bedroom mirror of things that must be done right now.

So what do you do to stay organized?

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Summertime. I can’t stand it. Not just in the, “O, it’s simply not my favorite season” kind of way; I mean I literally feel terrible in it. Not only does the heat take its toll on me (I prefer 32 degrees), but also the intensity of the sunlight that bothers me so much. I mean, I cannot tolerate direct sunlight for a long period of time before I feel angry and frustrated. Whatever I’m in the middle of, if the sun is shining, my task is going to that much more difficult.

Now flip the coin.

If it’s cloudy outside, I feel like a completely different person — no exaggeration. My mood entirely changes — you almost wouldn’t recognize me. Social situations become so much easier for me to handle. My confidence gets a big boost. I feel creative, energetic, and far more optimistic. I feel like my decision-making is so much better too. I feel like a completely different person on a cloudy/rainy day, and I like who I am when it happens. On those rare days here in Arizona, I think to myself, I wish I could always feel this way, could always stay this way…
On Labor Day, I spent my afternoon high up on a mountaintop where forest abounds and temperatures are 30 degrees cooler. It’s always lovely. But on this particular day, it was clouding over quickly, and when I left a few hours later, the sky was very dark — not a glimpse of direct sunlight could saturate through its denseness. As I rode back down the mountain, 40 mph, windows rolled down and eyes to the skies, I could not remember the last time I felt so well. I thought, This is what my heaven is going to be like. It was perfection, and for the first time in a long time, I felt so much better. It was a mental and emotional boost like I have not felt since I don’t know when. And it was all due to a lack of the very sunlight some people pay to find.

Years ago, when a friend explained to me that some people become so depressed without sunlight in the wintertime that they have to undergo special “light therapy” in order to feel better, I thought that was absurd. I cannot imagine wanting to pay for a therapy that simulates natural sunlight…who could possibly feel good with that? They told me this depressive condition due to the lack of sunlight is called SAD (awwwww) — Seasonal Affective Disorder. Interesting, me thinks, and I forget about it and years pass by.

Recently this interesting disorder (but I can’t call it that!) has been brought to my attention again, but this time a different form was mentioned: Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder. Whoooaaa now, what? Reverse? You mean, like, wait, like, depression and frustration felt in sunlight?

Supposedly, yes, such a thing exists. There are other weirdos out there who not only like a rainy day from time to time, but actually feel better and healthier when such weather occurs. They stay indoors as much as humanly possible, constantly avoid direct sunlight, prefer colder temperatures, and like to climb out of their caves preferably only at night. But is this possible? Is this really a “disorder”? Can there really be other people out there who feel the same way? Take me to their leader!

And no, I don’t sparkle in the sun.

There’s just one problem. Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t spot it in the word ‘journalism’.

When I first started this collegiate career, I knew what I wanted, knew what I was good at, and knew that my honed talents of writing and being nosy would mold perfectly into a journalism career. And they have — I have no regrets at the major I have chosen. I have learned so much, and my experience in college has well payed off in developing who I am today. Every step has been a worthwhile one.

But as I entered my junior year, I was becoming more and more aware at just how little I had researched this career’s fiscal profitability. I wasn’t going to sweat it, I knew what I wanted. Then came present-day senior year, where some of my brightest professors in journalism are started to very soberly warn us reporters-in-training of the dire circumstances ahead of us. “Journalism is dying,” is of course the familiar warning we all hear. We know, and we blow it off every time — it’s like hearing someone say “The sky is blue.” Why, yes it is, let’s move on.

Finally when I took media law in the Spring, my professor hit me hard with a truth I had never wanted to acknowledge: Standing in front of his 70 students, he gruffly announced, “Let’s just say you get a raise when you become a public school teacher.”

My friend glanced at me uncomfortably and whispered, “I didn’t know it was that bad!”

I winced and nodded. O, I had known. And more than ever I knew I needed to formulate a backup plan.

Professor went on: “How many of you have had second thoughts since entering the School of Journalism?”

My hand was only one of at least a dozen that slowly, reluctantly rose. I looked down at my notes. I need a backup plan.

This is it, I’m a senior. I’ve been given some options. Next Fall, I’ve decided to continue my education, likely with a Master’s degree. I want an MBA, but whooo eeeee doggy, economics scare me. I think maybe I could pursue another Bachelor’s, but it would have to be something very worthwhile, like nursing or medicine. I don’t know if I’m up to that, yet I don’t know what’s holding me back, and I’m trying not to let self-doubt, economics, and microbiology interfere with any hopes for the future.

What say you? Do you acknowledge your weaknesses and know your limits, or do you bite the bullet and push yourself harder to achieve?

* In Germany, Hitler banned the marriage of two redheaded people, saying that any children they had together would be deviant offspring.

*In Corsica, if you see a red haired individual, you must instantly spit and turn around.

*In Greek mythology, redheads were said to become vampires after they died. I’ll have to wait and see about that one.

*Eve is often depicted as having red hair. Yes, blame the hair for the irrational decision, whydontcha? And Judas is often thought of as a redhead. Double whammy.

*In Poland, you can win the state lottery if you happen to pass by three redheads. Come again, Hitler?

*Scientists have discovered that red hair color is caused by a genetic mutation. IMMA FREAK?! Xavier Institute, here I come.

*Between the 15th and 18th centuries, women were burned at the stake and drowned since their red hair represented a connection to witchcraft. Their hair color and freckles were perceived as marks of the devil.

*Redheads usually require up to 20% more anesthetic during medical procedures.

*In Denmark, it is an honor to have a redheaded baby. I’m going to go over there and see if I can find a redheaded guy.

Aaaannnd…

*Legends in Liverpool say that if you encounter a redhead at the beginning of your travels, it’s best just to stop right there and go back home.

How do you like them apples? Just make sure to spit and turn around before you leave my page.

I spent my Fourth simply chilling. I shopped online, listened to music, and in the evening invited family over for burgers and potato salad. You know, doing the things an American’s expected to. And unfortunately, my neighbors from somewhere nearby were acting just like some rednecks are expected to. Shooting off fireworks from the backyard and all, but in total daylight while the sun is still above the horizon. I think, Seriously? You go through all that trouble of buying those things under the table and then you shoot them off in daylight? Alright then.

Now, I’m all for getting into the holiday spirit, but there are some people who seem to be possessed by it. I guess every neighborhood has someone like that. That one person who goes all out and dresses up their front yard like it’s going to be featured in some Macy’s parade. You know who you are. During Easter, you place little white bunnies on every possible patch of bare ground and hang elaborate wreaths on your door. On Christmas, you’re known to be the one who bought that enormous inflatable snow globe with the Santa trapped inside, the exterior of your home burdened with so many thousands of lights that the roof is in danger of collapsing. And on Valentine’s Day your lawn is staked with a sea of countless scattered red hearts with cardboard cupids dangling from the tree,  while  banners proclaiming some warm message of love are hung from your front window, nauseating enough to give everyone a reason to think twice before looking for that perfect someone.

There’s one in my neighborhood. I’ve never actually seen or met her (or GASP — him), and all this seasonal stuff seems to magically change in their yard almost overnight. There are figurines and masses of potted plants and wreaths and little cute statues and all that nice fluff galore, but I’ve never actually seen the person responsible for all this. Perhaps it’s because I simply can’t see anything beyond their driveway due to all the clutter. Sometimes we drive by and I search for a head or some sign of life within their maze of seasonal bliss, but all to no avail.

Do you have a neighborhood holiday lover?

I don’t enjoy Walmart, and I’m willing to wager that the majority of America doesn’t either. So shouldn’t it be a piece of cake for me to stay out and avoid it for a whole year? Yes, if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s conveniently located just 6 minutes from my house and is so easy to get to when (forgive me) I need that package of Pepperidge Farms Nantucket chocolate chunk cookies. So when I made the resolution, I gave up the cookies for a whole year too. Alas, the sacrifices we must make in life.

And yes, 2009 WAS the year without a Walmart. I am proud to say I detoxed myself for a full 12 months and felt a lot better for not shopping in the land of “always low prices”, where dirty diapers can easily be found in the parking lot right next to your vehicle and a fridge full of worms in Styrofoam cups greets you in the back of the store.

The tales I could tell, just like you can too, I’m sure. The scary-looking children, the dead fish floating in the aquariums, McDonald’s food wrappers littered on the ground, and that same flock of sickly-looking crows encircling the entire building like vultures just waiting to prey on the weak. Yes, 2009 was a good year where I chose to instead shop in a pleasant little place called Target where the grass is always greener and the birds sing happily. Ah.

Enter 2010. It’s been six months into the year, and I STILL have not journeyed back into that miserable place. Last year’s resolution has long outlived itself, and I’m feeling good. Until last Thursday.

That was when I came home from school to an excited little sister who told me the neighbor had found a turtle in their driveway and had given it to us. It’s in the box over there, she says. I peek into the pink shoebox, hoping it’s a tortoise or a box turtle, since we have plenty of experience caring for such critters. But alas, it’s a red-eared slider, and I need to get it into a wet habitat right away. My mom volunteers to go to the local pet store, and asks that I go with her. After browsing a couple aisles of pricey glass habitats and the three muy expensive lights that need to go with it, she decides we should look some place where the prices are always cheap.

Now, they say that mother always knows best, but last Thursday night was not one of these occasions. Kicking and screaming, I’m dragged through the doors of the unhappiest shopping place on earth, careful not to step on the discarded food wrappers and other refuse that almost seems to greet me with a warm “welcome back!”

I am instantly blinded by the ballpark figure of around 3,000 fluorescent lights that shine down on me harshly, exposing before my eyes once again the grimy floors, scary-looking children, and signs that scream “ROLLBACK!” Instantly, memories of horror overcome me, and I whimper like a child that I want to go home.

“Let’s just find the pet aisle and get out of here,” Mom pulls me toward the back of the store, grimacing at the sights ahead of her. We walk as quickly as we can, dodging shoppers wearing crocs and suspenders, until we finally see the aisle of glowing fish tanks ahead, a few floating casualties already visible inside the grungy aquariums.

And, much to my horror, the pet aisle has changed completely since the last time I visited it, going from several long rows of pet supplies to one small wall of plastic fish bowls and dog and cat food. Nothing at all that can be used for my new turtle friend — including those pricey lights I was hoping to find for some kind of a deal. Desperately we peak behind misplaced items on the shelves, hoping there’s something there that we can use that’s just not in plain sight. Then, dejectedly, we turn to leave. My pain was far greater than hers, knowing that I had just broken my record of Walmart-less-ness for a freakin’ turtle and would have to start all over again. After almost stumbling over something in the parking lot (it was too dark to see what), I slide back into the car and sigh. All this way for nothing. Such waste.

The next day I arrive at an oasis not far from home, the teeny turtle swimming placidly in a wide plastic cup I’ve brought. This oasis is home to more red-eared sliders than I can count, and as my new friend swims off to join them, I am already starting on a new resolution. Though it be the middle of June, it is never too soon to resolve to stay away from some places. And next time, I will not be persuaded by any turtle’s cuteness to walk back in there.

So this is what I did.

(1). Get your old pair and lay them on a hard surface. (O, and a big thank-you to my sister for taking these pics!).

Now, I’ve always liked these jeans, so I just kind of stared at them a while deciding if I really wanted to harm them. I quickly decided that yes, I would. No formal measuring was involved; I kinda of eyeballed it and they came out looking pretty even. You may want to lay your favorite pair of shorts beside them to give you an idea of what length you’d like best. After they were cut, I also decided I wanted to cuff the bottoms instead of stitching a hem. Voila!

(2) Now for the real fun: destruction via bleach. Take you new shorts and dampen them. I sprayed them with the hose and that worked fine, just make sure they’re not dripping wet or completely soaked. Next, lay them on a trash bag on the ground outside. And yes, do this outside or the smell of bleach will kill you. Make sure you don’t have any dark clothing on for this step, or if you do, make sure it’s you wouldn’t freak out over if you got some Clorox on it. I forgot to do this and came close to destroying my favorite Batman tee. Lesson learned.

When laying them on the trash bag, I like to scrunch them up a bit and make them wrinkly to create a neat effect when you’re bleaching them.

Perfect.

(3). Now for the bleach. Take the cap of your container of bleach (I used Clorox) and fill it just a bit. Then pour it onto the areas you want to show them most destruction.

Depending on how much you pour on, the results should show up within several minutes to half an hour. I was impatient so I added enough to see it start to work within 10 minutes. See the difference?

And put extra emphasis on the cuffs and back pockets to make them look well worn.

(4.) After the perfect amount of fading has taken place according to your liking, you need to rinse the bleach out right away. I did this with the hose, and just kept rinsing till the water ran clear. Then flip over your trash bag to the dry, unbleached side and lay your shorts in them to dry. After they’re dry, you’ll be able to see if you like the effect.

(5.) Now toss them in the washing machine, and if you must put other laundry in there with them, make sure it’s only white clothes in case there’s any bleach left over in the shorts. After mine had been rinsed and dried, they looked something like this:

(6.) Now, if you want to give them a dirty denim look, I’m told that soaking them in coffee grinds or a strong brew of tea works great. Personally, I ran mine over with a car but didn’t see much difference. I might still go for the coffee look though. Also, if you cuff your new pair of shorts like I did, it may be best to stitch vertically from the bottom to the top on opposite sides of each cuff to keep them from unrolling when you wash them. Other than that, looks like you’re done!

If you’re going to bleach, run over, or simmer your new creation in coffee, I would love to see pics of how it turned out.

Music rivals, if not surpasses, the inspiration that photography instills in me. I feel safe to say some songs have changed the way I see things, have helped me cope with life and learn how to handle it. There are some songs that have helped me to hang on, and many of them don’t even have words. There can be so much power there, there is so much potential for something wonderful to happen within those composed lines…

I often combine my two passions in one setting, playing the latest song that speaks to me while pursuing my love affair with the lens…

None of it is perfection…it’s just me, today. Right now.

I think in years from now I’ll have become a much better artist and will be able to express myself more clearly. I look forward to every photograph that will be taken, every shot that represents a step closer to who I can become as an artist later in life. I can already look back over the last few years and see how ridiculously far I’ve come in my perception and construction of art. Every shot has been worth it, no matter the degree of imperfection it carries.