The Detroit Comeback: Is it real?

"You lived in Detroit? Get out. No you didn't. You mean you lived in one of the nice suburbs around Detroit? No? So, actually like, inside Detroit Detroit. Wow, well, tell me about it. I read this article the other day... I mean, I've been hearing a lot about Detroit lately..."

So have I.

Over the last couple of years or so, "The Detroit Comeback" has become a staple headline across news media outlets all around the globe. From small local newspapers to the BBC, the headline has been recycled eagerly over and over again. And quite frankly, that headline is really starting to upset me.

Now, before any of you proud Detroiters start throwing your coney dogs at me, let me first say this: I love Detroit! I just have a bone to pick with Detroit's new trademark "The Detroit Comeback" headline.

First, this headline has created a shockingly polarized population. The headline talks about Detroit's Comeback as if it were a thing, an object. An issue you can agree with or disagree with, rather than as an action or a process. A person's reaction to the headline now indicates whether they are for Detroit, or against. It seems that you're either "I heart Detroit" or you're a "hater." You either run around waving your Detroit D flag around in everyone's faces, or you're seen as skeptical, pessimistic. A non-believer.

This polarization is unhealthy. It says that those who live in the city are not welcome to acknowledge the problems and imperfections of the city, an acknowledgement that must take place before any solutions can take form. Those who are ballsy enough to notice issues are shamed into leaving the city. The proud Detroiters boo them out of the city, screaming, "and take your negativity with you!" This will not help the city grow.

Another problem with this headline is that it attracts perhaps the wrong crowd to the city, or at least an unbalanced one. If Detroit advertises itself as the new, hip city to be in, she's going to attract people who are concerned about being hip. We need to attract more. We need to attract hard workers and smart, educated individuals. The current headline brings in people who want what Detroit has promised to give them, but we need people who want to give to Detroit.

Oh yes, there are terribly wonderful things happening in Detroit right now. Certain neighborhoods are indeed developing and growing. Midtown, Downtown, and Lafayette Park are becoming increasingly nicer and safer places to live. There are truly exciting new opportunities available throughout the city. Inventive new local businesses are opening up. The Riverfront is more beautiful, the Dequindre Cut, cleaner. These were some of the things I experienced when I first moved to Detroit. Why, then, two years later, did I, like so many others, find myself struggling with feelings of disappointment and disillusionment about our beloved city? Why did it feel like a let-down?

Again, I partially blame the headlines. I think that the buzz and the hype created by the headlines are not helping her cause. In fact, it may be hurting the effort. If, instead of "The Detroit Comeback," the headlines read "Detroit is Coming Back," emphasis on the -ing, the people who find themselves hurriedly migrating to Detroit might be better prepared for what their lives will look like for a long time to come, and what types of efforts and commitment are truly required if they are to indeed, become a part of this "comeback."

The comeback is real, but it's been packaged and marketed inaccurately. It's a small city that keeps boasting, screaming at everyone, "DEEEEEEEEETROIT. WE ARE HERE. WE ARE COMING BACK. COME AND WATCH US BOOM!!!" With these flashy headlines and grandiose promises, our small, broken city has managed to convince a new slew of energetic families and eager young adults to make the move. But, the reality is that many of us feel tricked by the headlines. So many have become disillusioned by the hefty promises. Popular buzzwords like innovative, creative, entrepreneurial, design-thinking, forward-looking, super hip, trendy, and spirited get thrown at us from every direction, covering up the truth that the city still doesn't offer recycling or public transportation. The "Detroit Hustles Harder" and "Haters Gon' Hate" t-shirts almost seem tired now, riddled with mockery. And finally, we begin to realize that pure defiance won't bring Detroit "back."

But that isn't a bad thing! It's just a realistic thing.

The truth is, I believe Detroit is coming back. But what most people don't understand before making the move to Detroit is that the city's "comeback" is not necessarily the kind of movement that you can feel. While living in Detroit for the past two years, I did not feel on a daily basis the ground shaking beneath me with growth and improvement. I was not trembling with excitement of fresh change every moment in the city. Now, whenever I see another "The Detroit Comeback" headline, I feel that it has about as much effect on me as if I were to see a headline that read "The World is Spinning." Yes, it's true that the earth is rotating on its axis, every single moment of every single day. Thanks to science, we all know that. But even though the earth is spinning at nearly 1,040 miles/hour(!!!), we don't feel it spinning beneath our feet. No one seems to be disappointed about that, though!

In the same way, I think that if Detroit stopped relying on hype to draw people to the city, people would stop relying on hype to keep them there. We don't feel the earth moving, but we know that it is, because with every passing 24 hours, we see daylight and then we see night. People need to watch and experience Detroit's comeback with that same type of patience and faith. I believe that Detroit is coming back, but it hasn't been happening overnight. And it won't necessarily happen in the next year, two years, or three years. This doesn't have to be seen in a negative light, though. As long as people stop expecting everything to be fixed overnight, they may find the endurance and hope they need to truly witness and contribute to the long-term growth of what promises to be a beautiful city again.

Detroit is coming back, but don't hold your breath. You'll burn out, give up, pack up and leave, disheartened and disappointed by the problems, poverty, dirtiness, and brokenness that still exist in Detroit today. Instead, come, settle down, and stay awhile. Detroit makes no promises to you. She still has a long way to go. There will still be things about the city that frustrate and annoy you. You may be discouraged at times by how slowly change is coming about. But, take heart! With steady steps, Detroit is moving forward. And one day, as surely as the earth is spinning today, we will celebrate when the headlines finally read, "Detroit Came Back."

To the D,
bcl.

I wish I were a terrible writer

Dear Blogosphere,

Today, I wish I were a terrible writer.

If I were a terrible writer, I would never want to write.

If I were a terrible writer, I would never want to write for even just a meager living.

If I were a terrible writer, I would never want to write for even just a meager living only to find cause to consider responding to a "job offer" with the following:

Dear Every Editor Who Has Ever Asked Me To Work For Free, by Stephanie Rice

I owe you an apology.

Somehow I have given you the impression that I value my work at approximately zero dollars.

It must have been something I said. Maybe when I mentioned my seven years of professional experience, you heard me say that I was so desperate for “exposure” that I valued it over a currency that would pay my rent.

The most recent version of you emailed just this past weekend that you were interested in using a 2,500-word essay I had submitted. No, you could not afford to pay but not to worry—there were “perks” to replace that boring old cash that’s really only good for eating food and paying student loans. One of them, you said, was “editor friends.”
Friends. You literally offered to be my friend if I would hand you my work for nothing. Doesn’t this feel a little like we’re in middle school, and you’re offering me a place at the cool kids’ lunch table if I’ll write your book report?

I don’t mean to be harsh. I know you mean well. I know you’re probably a perfectly nice human who doesn’t make the rules of the organization for which you work and has no idea how offensive it is to suggest that I give you my words for free. The words that begin rolling through my mind in the morning as the caffeine seeps into my brain. The words that sometimes make me forget to eat lunch as I furiously type. The words that I try to recapture from my scrawled notes and my dreams.

It’s not your fault that somehow we have gotten to a place where it’s socially acceptable to expect me to work for exactly nothing. It’s not your fault that others before me have probably taken you up on this offer of friendship payment, cementing in your mind that not only is it OK but maybe even helpful. You’re getting people published, getting them that valuable “exposure” that will definitely lead to the New York Times calling sometime next week.

And to be fair, you did also promise the chance to be part of an “awesome mission” and to occasionally receive “free stuff.” I didn’t ask about the free stuff, but I don’t think it includes the groceries I didn’t buy with the money you didn’t pay me.

One of my closest friends is a dentist. I bet you wouldn’t ask her to do a tooth extraction for free. If you hired a chef for a dinner party, would you tell that person that unfortunately the chef budget is a little thin right now—but this gig will be really great exposure and totally worth it anyway?

Sometimes I think it would be convenient if I didn’t have to pay the lady who cleans the apartments in my building. But I admit I feel a bit awkward about asking if she might accept my gratitude instead. Or maybe my saying some nice things about her to the building owner once in a while? Oh, I think I’ll just keep giving her cash. She probably likes feeding her kids.

We can probably all agree that it wouldn’t be fair to expect that our dentist or cleaning lady or personal trainer or pizza delivery guy work for free. So what is it exactly about writers and photographers and freelancers of any stripe really? Are we all walking around with a “tell me I am worth nothing” sign slapped to our collective back?

Would you even have been willing to send the “we can’t afford to pay at this time” email if you weren’t getting paid for the minutes you spent typing?

And let me be clear: I’m not even 100 percent against working for free. I’m probably 98.7 percent against it. But I do think that there are times when it can be a reasonable thing to do.

In college, I wrote two unpaid stories for a neighborhood paper with ties to the journalism department. Also in college, I worked for practically nothing for an investigative reporter who taught me how to dig into public records and build a network of sources. I learned more from him than I had in any college class and would do it again despite the fact that my $150/byline contract probably worked out to cents per hour.

So yes, I understand that when you’re just starting out, sometimes it makes sense to take a little “exposure” or “mentoring” in place of cash. When you’re at that point in your career, there is some value in those things.

But here’s the problem: We’ve come to a point where even those of us who have been doing this longer than a semester are also expected to be grateful just to see our words in print.

I don’t have any answers—I would have put them up top if I did—but I know we’ve got to find a way to change this. Because you want to be my friend, and I just want to be paid for my work.

All the best, Stephanie

P.S. Full disclosure: I was paid $100 to write you this letter.

(Here's the Source!)

This day

Dear Today,

I am writing down everything that you did to me today so that one day, I can look back on you and either laugh or cry. 

Leave house.
Approach car.
Discover driver's seat door is locked and jammed.
Unlock trunk manually.
Climb in through trunk to unlock passenger door.
Climb out of trunk.
Climb into passenger seat to crawl into driver's seat.
Discover driver's door is still locked and jammed. Cannot open from inside.
Attempt to start car to no avail.
Crawl back out through passenger door.
Slam passenger door behind me.
Passenger door bounces back out.
Passenger lock stuck. Cannot close.
Go home.
Reheat leftovers in microwave.
Microwave stops 15 seconds in.
Microwave error message: This machine is no longer functioning properly. It can no longer be used. Please call Jen Hall ###-#### for assistance.
Eff you, futuristic appliances.
Attempt to adjust time on watch.
Watch dial is missing. Has fallen off. Nowhere to be found.
Fully potty-trained puppy jumps onto couch and pees out 20 seconds worth of pee.
Skype with dad.
Call dropped.
Skype with dad.
Call dropped.
Skype with dad.
Call dropped.
Skype with dad.
Call dropped.
Skype with dad.
Call dropped.
Skype with dad.
Call dropped.
Skype with dad.
Call dropped.
Decide to call it a night.
Reach for phone to set alarm.
Alarm clock widget suddenly broken.
Respond with frustration and ?!?!!
Until I realized that it was still today.
Then it made sense.

I bite my thumb at you, Today. You were so weird.
- bcl. 

The mug warmer

I don't really understand how it is decided what is cool. Like, piercing your ears and getting fringe bangs is cool, but wearing a fanny pack and using a mug warmer is not.

Recently, as I was packing to move, I was digging around the kitchen looking for cool mugs and tumblers to take with me when I suddenly came across a mug warmer. I kind of scoffed at it, put it back in its drawer, and then continued rummaging. But then I thought about it some more. These two things I know to be true about me: 1) I am almost obsessed with hot beverages, and 2) I am one of the slowest drinkers of all my social circles combined. Which sucks, because I never get to finish a hot beverage. I usually get the steamy mug placed into my hands, happy as a bee, and that first sip is like THIS IS THE BEST every single time. But three sips in, and I'm like ice inside. You know what might fix this tragedy? Oh. Yes. An effing mug warmer.

I sneakily put the mug warmer into my boxes.

This morning, I was sitting at my table, enjoying my breakfast of ginger snap cookies and coffee when I decided to try my mug warmer. It changed everything.

But it also got me thinking about why mug warmers weren't more "in"/trendy/hip/awesome. I mean, man, if everyone who drinks hot drinks bought one of these $3 hot plates, everyone would always have hot hot drinks.

Alas, dear blogosphere, I have come to the conclusion that the culprit this time is again, our people's preoccupation with appearances.

Let's take the aforementioned examples: ear piercings = cool. Fanny packs = uncool. Fringe bangs = cool. Mug warmers = uncool. You know that. I know that. Everybody knows that. But like, why?

Currently, I have 3 piercings between my 2 ears (oh yes, asymmetry is suuuuuper hip) and I used to have fringe bangs. I feel very cool about that, but I also know that the very awesome ability to wear earrings just means that I paid someone a lot of money to pierce my flesh with a needle and then I spent some painful months twisting the metal around the newly formed bloody hole so that I could make the totally unnatural hole stay open permanently. WHAT. And fringe bangs! Well, let me just say this. They look good for like 30 seconds (which is shorter than the length of time my hot drinks stay hot without a mug warmer). You have to trim them all the time, and comb them, and if you ever step outside on a windy day -- or just move your head at all -- they will be blown away and they will look crazy. If you cut them like a centimeter too short, you look a fool, and when they're grown out a centimeter, you've got millions of tiny hairs just stabbing you in the eyes all day. Disgusting. (Unless you buy these, omg: Fashion Girls New Clip-On Front Neat Bang Fringe Hair Extensions)

On the other hand, fanny packs. They're light, they conveniently free up your hands, and they are harder to rob than backpacks and purses. And mug warmers? See above.

So haha. I will probably continue to like my earrings and think fringe bangs are great. I just also feel like it is a funny thing that I do. Let me end this post with a short list of more cool and uncool things that you should really think about.

WHY are these things cool?
drawing in your eyebrows
pistachios
camelbak water bottles (seriously, that straw that you can never ever wash...)
rain kissing

Why don't people like these more?
wearing knee + elbow pads while roller blading
roller blading
dino nuggets
scrunchies

Except for hipsters.

Stay cool,
bcl.

Beginner

When it comes to using the web, I am sad to report, that I am at a mere beginner's level.

At this very moment, I own the following:
bithiahlee.blogspot.com
bithiahlee.wordpress.com
bithiahlee.com

And I don't know how to use any of them! To be frank, I don't even know why I have all of them. But people kept telling me that I should hurry up and get them all before it's too late (for what?), and then I panicked and now I just feel a little bit like a greedy fool.

All my pictures are blurry, the margins don't fit, and I don't know how to change any of the colors.

Hahaha. Wish me luck, everyone, as I attempt to make all my blogs amazing.

- bcl.

The Chronicles of "Bithiah" (Part 2)

Dear Blogosphere,

About a year ago, I wrote this blog post titled The Chronicles of "Bithiah" (Part 1), and it was obviously a huge hit. At the time, I titled it Part 1 because I thought that I had enough stories to write a Part 2. While that is certainly true, I think that today's time will be much better spent discussing the root cause of many of my gender-confused, name-related chronicles instead.

All my life, I have had to live with a name that isn't feminine. Whenever someone meets me in person and hears my name, they always respond with something along the lines of, "Oh, wow. What a beautiful name! It's so pretty and unique." But for those who read my name before seeing me in person, they are usually left scratching their heads, wondering all sorts of things about this "Bithiah". And sometimes, they think I'm a boy.

I used to think that it was because when my name is pronounced correctly, the words "big" and "thigh" can be heard. And let's face it, thighs are boyish things. And big thighs are manly things.

But then, in recent times, I have had to reconsider this supposition of mine. That's because I realized that when people read my name before they hear me say it, they're just guessing at its pronunciation... and they always guess wrong. So, when they're saying "Bith-thee-ah" in their heads, the "big" and "thigh" are totally lost. What then, I asked myself, is the cause of the consistent guessing that I'm O--> ?

The root cause, I have discovered, is this theory that I have named "The Feminine A and Masculine Consonants Theory". I think the title is sufficiently self-explanatory, but let me break it down into two parts for you anyway. The theory supposes that names ending in the letter A appear feminine, and names ending in consonants appear more masculine.

To demonstrate the first half of the theory, I shall conduct this brief experiment.

Classic Boy Names:
Michael
Alex
Daniel
Samuel
Bithiah

When you add an A to the end, they become:
Michaela
Alexa
Daniela
Samuela
Bithia

And to demonstrate the second half of the theory, see...

Classic Boy Names:
Daniel
Aidan
Brian
Jon
Bithiah

When you drop the consonant at the end, they become:
Danie
Aida
Bria
Jo
Bithia

Don't they look girly?

Welp. Thanks for coming here to learn today! I look forward to the day when children will be reading about the "The Feminine A and Masculine Consonants Theory" in textbooks in schools all around the world.

- bcl.

Finish to finish

My dear Blogosphere,

I woke up today thinking about this blog of mine. I know that you all think it's genius, but the truth is, all my very best stuff is the stuff that you have no idea about.

A little while back, I came across this article about writers, and it made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. It is SPOT - the freak - ON. It's a pretty lengthy article (understandably so, since it is an article written by a writer about writers writing), so if you don't want to read the whole article (which you should), I will summarize it for you: Writers are all, to some degree or another, neurotic perfectionists, and they procrastinate indefinitely because things they write never seem to be perfect enough to publish. The only reason why any writers ever get any writing done ever is because their fear of missing a deadline overpowers their neurotic perfectionism.

[Okay, there was other stuff, too, and if you really cared about understanding the psyche of the writers around you, please go learn. But for this post, let us focus on just my summary.]

Today, I woke up feeling pissed about the whole thing.

I looked at my unpublished drafts box, and I realized that all of my very best posts/topics/discussions were still sitting there. I have more unfinished posts than I do actual posts, and I know that it's because I wanted to make sure that each of those posts were perfect enough before I published them. And since they never reached that level of perfection, I refused to send them forth into the wide open world.

But when I return to finish these drafts months and years later, I realize all too often that now it's too late, and the subject is no longer timely, current, or relevant. So then, they just stay there -- rotting away in my "drafts box" stinking of decay.

I first read the aforementioned article on February 14, 2014. I know because I copied the link and saved it as one of those stupid drafts on that date. But since I woke up so angry about it all today, ("it" being my drafts box), I decided to shut up, suck it up, and start clearing it out.

I'm the only one who cares about whether or not my blog post is perfect. You wouldn't know better anyway, since you aren't privy to my brain (which is too bad for you, since my mind is a wonder of brilliance and hilarity and great sass).

Sometimes, when it comes to writing -- and probably other things -- you just have to do it. And finish it. And move forward. And throw it all against the wall and see what sticks.

I don't think I'm going to edit this post. I think I'm going to push the orange "publish" button now.

This is monumental, guys.

- bcl.

People who suck

Dear Blogosphere,

Iiiiiiiii'm back! I knew that since I've been silent for so long, my return post had to be a good one. Believe me, I've thought about you guys a lot. All 8 of my beloved followers! And I have often wanted to reach out to you, to speak to you, to update you on how my summer in Los Angeles has been going. But, every time I would sit down to write, I'd realize halfway through the post that the subject matter really wasn't worthy of you.

I wanted to hold out for a soul mate of an idea.

Drumroll, please.

Okay, that's enough drumroll. Put your hands down.

Socially awkward people exhaust me, and I do not like them.

But it's not because I don't like them. I don't mind the idea of them. If socially awkward people were just socially awkward, then everybody's fine. I don't like them because their ineptitude is uncontainable.

Their social incompetence is highly contagious, and no one is immune. You could put the smoothest, most well-spoken person on the face of the planet in a room with a socially awkward person (or, S.A.P., to save time for the purposes of this blog) and your cool friend would suddenly find himself sputtering at the floor, casting nervous glances around the room. Seriously, think about it. By definition, the word "social" implies that there are 2 or more people involved in the situation at hand. Which means that in order for a S.A.P. to be socially awkward, he or she must be in a social environment with another person other than him or herself. Ipso facto, the same must be true for socially awesome people.

See it yet? The awkwardness and awesomeness of a person in a social setting is completely dependent on the people surrounding them. You could be like, totally great in secret, but if no one's there to witness your greatness, it doesn't count! No points for you! Luckily for you, the equation plays fair on both sides; if you suck in private, you also don't lose points. God is just.

Where the equation loses its balance, however, is the weight of A versus a.

Consider the following:

A = AWKWARD
a = awesome

A + A = A

a + a = a

A + a = AA!

The first two scenarios are pretty self-explanatory. If you're reading my blog, you're obviously genius, so I won't insult your intelligence by expounding.

Let's focus, instead, on the third scenario. To help illustrate, let me restate the original thesis-- Socially awkward people exhaust me, and I do not like them. 

This is because of the aforementioned third situation! Do you know what makes a cool person cool? The fact that other people think he or she is cool. A person is funny because you laugh at his joke. He is good-looking because you're attracted to him. He is a great story-teller because you're paying attention to him as he tells it. E'rgo, when someone is too socially unaware to laugh at your joke, to know that she should be attracted to you because you're so undeniably good-looking, or to pay attention to your story, your a is automatically nullified, turning you into one big, ugly A. If the person you're talking to doesn't register that you're awesome, you aren't awesome.

Elodie: Hey, girl. Suuuuuuper cute outfit!
Imogen: Aw, thanks. It's from the 60's. I got it at a thrift store.
Elodie: Oh man, that makes it even better. You're so great at finding all these gorgeous, vintage pieces of fashion art.
Imogen: You're too sweet! I'm Imogen, by the way.
Elodie: Omg, I love that! It's so beautiful and unique.
Imogen: (flips hair) Thanks, I totally picked it out myself.
Elodie: Hahahahahahahahaha!

Imogen: Hey, Phoebe!
Phoebe: Oh. Uh, yes. Hi.
Imogen: How are you?
Phoebe: Good. Your dress looks really old.
Imogen: Oh, umm... yeah, it's vintage. I got it from a thrift store! I love thrifting!
Phoebe: Is it because you're poor?
Imogen: What? No, I just... I like it, and it's hip... and trendy. I'm Imogen, by the way, just in case you forgot.
Phoebe: I remember because your name is weird.
Imogen: Ha, well, I can't help it. I didn't pick my own name, you know?
Phoebe: Yes, I know that. I'm not blaming you or anything.

DO YOU SEE IT?? This is why I don't like socially awkward people. Because they suck by making you-- and everyone around them-- suck too.

And they totally don't care that I'm hilarious and great to everyone else. They are immune to my powers, while I am at all times, susceptible to their severely infectious strain of A. Alas, they ruin even the very best people, including, but not limited to, me.

I know that many of you, like I once was, foolishly believed that being socially awkward was a bad thing, and that if you were socially awesome, you were obviously better off in life. But, I hope that this gorgeous blog post has totally destroyed that lie for you. The S.A.P.s have always had the upper hand, and they will ultimately win over the world.

Thanks a lot for ruining everything, S.A.P.s,
- bcl.

Happy Canada Day!

HAPPY CANADA DAY!

Have some poutine and apologize a lot today.

And, maybe think of your favourite Canadian friends today and tell them you miss them.

love,
bcl.

They are waiting for you where you most want to be

For those of you who have ever felt very alone in a decision that you've made. For those of you who sometimes think that you must be the only person in the world who acts or thinks a certain way. For those of you who have ever found yourself insecure, doubtful about a choice you've made. This is for you.

Humans were not made to live life alone. Community and relationships are desired by everyone. Some may be able to survive with less of both, but nevertheless, they, too, will suffer through times of longing for companionship and understanding.

For those who find that they are more often progressing down a path off the beaten track than they seem to be moving with the masses, it can be a tired journey. They may wander off the main path, braving the unknown with nothing more than a flashlight in one hand and a secret dream in the other, hoping-- praying-- that they'll like what they find or that they'll find what they like. Right before veering away from the familiar, these individuals pause at the edge of the trail, turning around to wave one last goodbye to their family and friends, smiling to reassure their peers as well as themselves that they're going to be fine on their own. "I'll survive. Don't worry about me," they say, "I chose this. This way is better for me." And with one final, determined turn of their heads, they're gone.

Alone, they battle true horrors. Doubts creep in. They begin to feel cheated. "I left the main path because someone promised me that if I came this way, I would find a treasure infinitely more valuable than the one everyone else I left behind will come across." They think to themselves, "I was told my courage would be rewarded. But is this truly better? Maybe I should head back." But by the time they realize these fears, it's too late to change their minds; the trail and the people are too far behind. That's just a distant memory now.

For many years now, I have been waiting to jump off the main path. That life just never appealed to me. I didn't crave a traditional career, success, or wealth. But please believe me when I say that I don't think that I'm better than tradition. Far from being above all of that, I grew up in middle-class suburban neighborhoods, took piano and violin lessons, played soccer and basketball, got a dog, went to church, graduated from the University of Michigan with honors, and then immediately began working full-time. I played along for all that time. But, after a year of working a corporate desk job, I was bored. I had the most terrible itch to ditch the 9-to-5 and to try something new. And so I decided to quit my job, and to travel and adventure for a year instead. At the time, I was enthusiastic and proud of my decision. I thought everyone around me would feel the same way, too. And they did.. but only partially.

Me: "I quit my job, and I'm going to travel and see beautiful things this year."

Friend: "Oh, that's so amazing! I'm so excited for you. You're going to have such an amazing time. I'm totally jealous of you. You're so lucky!"

Me: "Well, hey, you don't have to be jealous of me. You can do it too! You should come travel with me."

Friend: "Oh... I really wish that I could, but I have to work."

Me: "But, I thought--"

Friend:"I also don't have any money to travel. Oh, you are just so lucky!"

Me: "I don't have any more money than you do to travel... I just decided that it was worth it for me to spend my money trying something new at this time, you know."

Friend: "Oh yeah.. that's great! That's really great for you."

And there it is. For you, but not for me. So with abundant applause and good wishes, they sent me away. With bags packed and tickets purchased, I set off for Thailand. I had a 23-hour flight to ask myself lots of questions. "Since all of my friends and family are busy working, no one wanted to travel with me. Am I crazy for wanting to do this? If this was really as great as everyone claims to think it is, why am I on this plane by myself? Am I being irresponsible? Do I really want this, or am I just running away from something? Am I the only person who has decided that this temporary "sacrifice" of a career and paycheck is worthwhile? Is there anyone else who thinks this too? Where are all of the other adventurers?"

The answer: ADVENTURING.

One of the very best things about traveling to Thailand is that I got to spend time with so many like-minded individuals. I found courage and assurance in them. While I was there, no one ever asked me to explain myself, like so many back home did. No one asked me how I was paying for the trip, exactly how long I was going to travel for, or what I was going to do afterwards. No one asked me to justify my decisions to them. Among the travelers, the only question that seemed to pass was, what's your story? Together, we enjoyed and celebrated life and adventure. Surrounded by complete strangers, I felt strangely at home. Like I was among friends. We shared about how we arrived in Thailand, how many miles our backpacks have endured, which restaurants we enjoyed, and whether or not it was better to travel around Thailand in a clockwise or counterclockwise direction. We shared our own fears and doubts about relationships and unemployment, sure, but there was no condemnation. We understood. The relief I enjoyed in Thailand was refreshing. I no longer worried that I was the only idiot who took a break from work to play. I was looking for other travelers, and I found them traveling.

I don't believe that any one is truly alone in their decisions. You don't have to feel insecure about your choices. You are not the only person in the world who acts or feels this way-- whichever way it is; there are people who understand. And they are waiting for you where you most want to be.

Go join them!

- bcl.

Far more shameful a thing than being wrong

"Pride probably isn't the best reason behind making a decision."

I didn't tell her at the time, but my friend had just tapped a nerve. Her slight tap sent an uncomfortable twinge shooting up from the very bottom tip of my heart up into the tangles of my brain, causing a deafening echo of "PRIDE... Pride... pri ...pr..." to reverberate throughout my body. The word traveled down to my stomach, leaving acid along its path. I hurt on the inside. 

I finished the rest of our conversation with as much grace as I normally manage, silently applauding myself for an acting job well done. After hanging up, I was left very much alone with my aching, twisting insides. I had the house to myself, and I focused only on the silence around me. The only noise that could be heard was the hum escaping the air vents as heat poured into the house. I became very aware of how loud the heat was; the hum moved quickly into a low growl, and then into a raging roar-- aggressive, almost. And then, suddenly, when I feared that the heat coming out of the vents would burst into a red-hot fire, it all stopped. And then it really became silent. 

I rose to refill my mug, hoping that a hot beverage would help to ease the chill that I suddenly felt against me. I returned to my chair, hot tea in hand. I was sitting alone with my pride. 

I don't normally refer to myself as a particularly prideful individual. I guess I just thought that the word pride seems too direct. Too easy. I am prideful, but I prefer to call it a fear of failure, or a need to please people. Somehow I thought it sounded better that way. 

My fear of failure is true, even sincere. But I am only afraid that the failure will be seen by someone else. I have no problem handling failures when they are committed in secret. It's almost like they don't really count. Maybe they didn't even happen. And the need to please people is true, too. I am prepared to bend in almost every which way in order to live up to the expectations of those around me because in truth, that seems much easier to do than to face any of the alternatives-- disappointment. Embarrassment. Pity. 

I never like to disclose my goals or dreams. Lying dormant and hidden within my own head is where they are safe. I have very little chance at success when my ideas remain available only for my own occasional viewing pleasure, but there is also no risk of people finding out about the parts of me that have lost a fight. I don't like to share my plans until I know they are solid because I'm weary of inviting an audience to my clumsy performance of changing my mind over and over and over and over. When doubts and anxiety arise about my publicized decisions, I fight them with every ounce of will that I have at my disposal. I become stubborn and defensive and frail. I don't want anyone else to witness my journey, I say, I only need you to see the start and the finish line. Never you mind how, or what it really took for me to get there. 

But the problem with all of this arises on the day when you realize that you've signed yourself up for a performance that will last forever and the ending is ugly. You don’t get a break, and there’s no way you can win. In fact, you’ve already lost. You realize that this moment of catching yourself bowing on your knees before your pride is far more shameful a thing than not winning a race you trained for, or for admitting that you are young and insecure, or for being flexible to changing circumstances.

So I’m owning up to it. Friends, I am really afraid of disappointing you. I’m sorry that I’ve given you power over me that you certainly never asked for or want. I’m sorry that I’ve turned you into my own greatest enemy. On most occasions, I wish so badly that I knew the answer to your questions that I pretend that I do. I’m old and I’m young, insecure about most things, and unsure about my plans. I know that you can relate and I know that you have grace enough to show me, and I am asking for it. I’m going to keep changing my mind about most things. In my attempt at staying humble, I often stumble, crashing for a moment into pride on the left, and then self-deprecation on the right. Forgive me for my pride, and I’m sorry about the lies. If you want, I’ll let you help me through my decisions and my changes. I’ll tell you about when I’m embarrassed, and the times that I get broken. I’ll share with you when I’m happy, too.

"Pride probably isn't the best reason behind making a decision."

You are right. 

Thankful that you finally said it straight at me, 

bcl.

Beep, #%!&

Dear Blogosphere,

Today, as I was driving home on the freeway, I crossed into some traffic congestion. A few short miles away from my exit, I tried to switch lanes, but found it a difficult task since the next lane was taken up by a continuous flow of cars. With my turn signal blinking rapidly, I looked desperately for a break in the stream of moving steel and rubber. After some time, I thought I saw a small gap; the car next to me appeared to be slowing down, or at least maintaining his speed, perhaps trying to let me pass in front of him. Unsure, I hesitated to cut him off. The driver then gave me a light honk, which allowed me to confidently switch into his lane. I waved thank you, and continued the drive home, pondering his kind gesture.

Or rather, pondering about the wonder that is car horns.

You see, the thing is, car horns are like really actually just one noise. But for some reason, they can still sound different depending on what each honk is trying to signal.

A mean, "HEY YOU SUCK" honk and a friendly "go ahead" beep are both produced from the very same flat, circular steel diaphragm from within the vehicle horn. But its range of emotion and its versatility are impressive, to say the least.

When I'm raging at the road, the stupid horn seems insufficient. But when I'm just stopped at a pedestrian crossing and there's a little old lady struggling to decide whether or not she should walk and I want to encourage her with a cute little gentle beep, it is far too loud and aggressive.

Therefore, I propose that automobile makers should create different horns for different moods. Think of the possibilities!

- #%!& you! honk
- friendly, Go ahead honk
- crude, Holler at that hottie honk (this one will be a hit for sure. It will make everything so much easier for the cat callers and whistlers who normally have to like, go through all the extra and unnecessary effort of actually rolling down their window and sticking their faces out of the window to scream)
- kind, but stern Move out of the way honk, available in various animal languages
- omg, HEY! honk for when you see your friends and want to get their attention so you can wave very enthusiastically at them until the light finally changes so that you can drive away and then text them about how hilarious and crazy it was that you'd run into them at that intersection, of all places!

You're welcome, Motor City. This is your ticket back to the top. Think on it.

Beeeeep,
-bcl.