Abby

On a sweltering summer day in July 2009, I got in the car with sporadic air conditioning for a fairly long road trip. It was freaking 104 degrees or so outside. Did I mention it was hot? But today, I barely felt the heat. Instead, I felt the joy of getting a new dog.

The only other family dog we had had was a mixed breed that we affectionately called Frankie. Frankie was a spunky, homogeneously reddish-brown dog with only the tips of her paws a different color, a shade of off white. Frankie was the family dog since before I was born up until I was 9 or 10. She got into so much trouble. But she was so incredibly lovable and definitely returned the love she received. Then, she began to have seizures and her health declined very quickly. It was so painful to watch her in pain, confusion, and probably knowing that her life was near the end. The decision was made to put her to sleep to allow her to escape her misery, although the misery only intensified for me even after that dreadful day.

I loved Frankie so much that it genuinely felt like I had been shot a couple of times when she left this world. As is the case with anyone you love, really.

Needless to say, it took quite a few years to recover from losing her. She was the only dog I ever really knew, and my family really felt the loss as well. 

But on that smoking hot day in July, the decision had already been made that it was time to start again. We were to meet at a bookstore. The dog we had picked out was a 3 or 4 year old German Shepherd named Greta (German dog, German name). She was currently part of a German Shepherd rescue group which consisted of 25 other dogs living on a farm out in the country somewhere. Greta had been horribly abused as a puppy, and to make matters worse, while she was acclimating to life on the rescue farm, she was attacked by a Rottweiler who ripped off her right ear. The ear was surgically reattached, but her negative outlook toward most people and other dogs could never be repaired.

Perhaps many potential dog owners would be worried about adopting a dog with so many issues. But I knew she was perfect from just reading her own little biography on the web page. It said adorable things like "she enjoys sitting on the couch watching tv" and "dunking her head underwater", but I think I just inherently knew she was the right dog.

That first moment I saw Greta walk up, sniffing along the grass outside and briskly wagging her tail, I fell in love. Excitation was an understatement. We met up with her and the rescue worker, and discussed a few things. I petted Greta for the first time, but she acted like she didn't even notice. Probably typical for new dogs, I thought. 

Soon after we brought her home. Veryyyy comfortable.

So, Greta was brought home. Also, her name was promptly changed to "Abby" because my mom thought it fit her and because that was the real name of the German Shepherd who starred in I Am Legend. For three days, Abby nervously wandered around the house, test driving out different corners and spaces. She was incredibly skittish and afraid, and it only made matters worse when we tried to pet her or acknowledge her. She spent two entire days outside panting profusely in the heat. I was genuinely concerned that she would never want to come inside or like her new family. But she seemed to be more comfortable alone, so we let it be.

On the third day, I brought a bowl of water out to her. She saw me and thumped her tail twice. Those subtle thumps of acknowledgement made me so happy because I knew that we would get along after all. What a relief!

Two weeks later, she acted like she had lived in this house forever. Abby ran the show. She began barking at delivery guys and people and dogs who walked by the house. She greeted us whenever we came downstairs in the morning. In return, I spent hours brushing her matted fur and meticulously picking ticks off of her and depositing them into a jar filled with alcohol, vinegar, and basically the strongest chemicals we had in the house. Gosh, she was a mess. Not to mention, ticks are wholly disgusting. She was also drastically underweight, so she was fed like a queen for a very, very long time. Eventually, she gained 20 pounds. Now she is a sturdy 64 pounds.

That was five years ago, but honestly it felt like yesterday. Today, Abby is 8 or 9 years old and still thinks she is in charge of everyone. She continues to bark at just about everyone, but in reality she is the sweetest animal to have ever existed. The memories I've made with her--such as when she walked straight into a sprinkler or walked into a stop sign (I still think that is the most ironic thing ever)--are truly some of the best experiences I've ever had. Also, anyone who has ever had a dog will know what I mean when I say that it is so crazy amazing that an animal can you love you so much. She's happy when I am. She senses when something is wrong. She cries when I do and is always there to give me a reassuring lick. As the saying goes, anyone who says diamonds are a girl's best friend never had a dog.

Role Model Roles

I've mentioned this a little before, but I was the highest level artistic gymnast at my gym. What does that mean? There were hundreds of little girls (and boys) looking up to me and watching my every move. Usually, I wasn't even aware of it. But they were definitely analyzing everything I did.

I didn't realize I was some sort of celebrity in the gym until I was 14. I noticed that sometimes when I finished a skill, I would see a child who had obviously been watching me stopped in his or her tracks and just staring. It was simultaneously a warm and strange feeling knowing that someone thought what I was doing was cool enough to stop whatever he or she was doing. It was also something of necessary positive reaction I needed on lethargic and dreary days (and there were manyyyyyyyyy of those days). 

As the years passed by and I rose in the levels, these occurrences happened more and more often. Daily. A couple of times per day. Most gymnasts at my level wouldn't really care at that point, but I did. Because it reminded me that at least one child looked up to me. And I took my role seriously.

When I first arrived at my gym, the "role models" I had were anything but. Sure, they were a few levels above me, but they only wanted to work on the skills they liked. They also weren't particularly receiving to younger gymnastics like me. 

I knew that I didn't ever want to be like that to any of the younger gymnasts. For that reason, I was kind to everyone. I made sure to always try my hardest on everything I did. On the most exhausting days which made me question why I didn't choose an easier sport, I pushed myself to appear mentally present. I tried my best to not complain about doing skills I didn't want to. When it came to conditioning, usually the area that everyone hates, I kept silent and did everything I was told to do without complaining. I consistently kept a positive attitude, and encouraged others often. When it came to topics outside of gymnastics, I further encouraged kids in their school life and future dreams. I ensured that they knew I studied and worked hard in school, and that they should too.

I can tell you that it took a tremendous amount of effort to do all of that. Every. Single. Day. It was immensely important to me though, because I knew that no matter what, I was looked up to by quite a few young children. And the influence of a role model at a young age is often beyond comprehension, so it needs to be a pretty darn good influence.

So I did this for years and years. It didn't really hit me how much I had impacted these kids until I had quit gymnastics. They had made me a card and wrote messages in it that absolutely melted my heart. 

"You have made such an impact on my life."

"You have been such a great friend to me."

"You've been really nice to me since 2009."

Quitting gymnastics didn't directly make me cry, but those words did. Then came the final blow.

I was at my team's annual banquet a few weeks ago. A girl who I had been particularly close to was leaving, and her dad lingered behind and tapped me on the shoulder. "I just wanted to tell you that she really looks up to you," he said earnestly. "Thank you for being such a great leader."

I could have died happy right then and there. That was exactly who I wanted to be, and I had achieved it. Those few words were confirmation that I had done something right, at least for one girl. All of those difficult actions I had instigated on myself felt so incredibly worth it.

I would encourage anyone to always act as positively and wisely as possible in everything you do. Even if you don't necessarily think anyone is caring about what you're doing, you never know who is quietly looking up to you. You never know what kind of dream you're inspiring in others, and sometimes, unwittingly, you are a key part of the equation of keeping that dream alive. 

Not Fitting In

"But I realized A players like working with other A players; they just don't like working with C players." - Steve Jobs

Even though that quote sounds mildly arrogant, it is true. I don't believe that I am necessarily an A player. But I feel that statement on a deep level.

All my life I have struggled to fit in. I have always struggled to fit the molds that accompany different social situations and activities. Preschool - didn't fit it. Dance - didn't fit in. High school - didn't fit in. And now, a new addition: my job - not fitting in.

All of these things have something in common: I have felt and feel largely uninspired when doing them. Boredom and frustration lead me to just seeing the task differently than everyone else. Perhaps I could chalk it all up to that and feel better. But I don't.

Is there something wrong with me? Am I too nice? Am I too shy or quiet? Is my sense of humor weird? Do people just not like me? Those are the questions that bother me whenever I get this unsettling feeling of being the odd one out, the black sheep, the ugly duckling, and so on. And it is one of the biggest hurdles for me to block out these questions and focus on moving past them and start trying to get more interested in whatever I'm doing. This has never worked though, and usually whatever it was that I didn't fit into is over pretty soon.

However, when I fit into something, I can feel it immediately. Gymnastics, certain friends throughout my life, engineering activities, physics, volunteering at the animal shelter--these are all things that I have connected very, very well with. I can feel it on an equally deep level as I do when I don't fit in. Except, they make me truly happy. They stimulate me by inspiring passion and thought. Creativity and ingenuity. A profound intellectual satisfaction.

Some people seem to have a knack for fitting into almost all the little social molds. They always know the right thing to say and do in a wide variety of situations. They can enjoy doing the extremely repetitive. And I truly envy them for their flawless social navigation.

But I realize that I am not like that. I'm mildly awkward so I can't deal with people "the correct way" sometimes. I rarely know the right thing to say. I am also a firm believer in repetition being the death of an individual, as I experienced in gymnastics.

I suppose I generally just fit better into other kinds of molds. The molds that promote a heck of a lot of thinking and problem solving. Perhaps that's just who I am by nature, and I just need to accept that. But it's so hard to when you feel so different from almost everyone you meet, and you're not really proud of it.

That is actually the main reason I am so looking forward to college and praying that I will find my place to belong there. I am wishing so badly that I can finally feel like I fit in. Last summer, I went to some engineering summer camps, and I have never felt like I connected with everyone around me as well as I did then in my whole life. I was surrounded by people my age who had the same interests and dreams as I did, and because of that, I felt like I was definitely in the right place just for a precious moment in time.

I suppose everyone is not going to fit into something, but it just seems like practically everything new I do feels wrong. It is an extremely difficult feeling to stomach over and over again. You definitely know when you don't share other people's attitudes and you know it affects a lot of things. I see a lot of quotes encouraging us to "stand alone in the crowd" and it's okay to not fit in because "you are your own unique self" and blah blah blah. Here's the truth: it hurts to not fit in. It hurts more recognizing that you don't fit in, and will never fit into what you're doing currently. It hurts that you are trapped in this thing for some time, and that this is yet another example of why you almost never fit into anything.

I am actually dreaming of the day that I can go to a job I love every day and 100%, completely, wholly, truly, happily fit in. Until that day, there will probably be a lot more misses, and the only things that are going to keep me going are the few things I do fit into and that sacred day I dream of. After all, the quality of my life depends on this dream being a reality.

Life Advice: Don't Sell Your Childhood

It's not Monday, but I felt this post was necessary. Necessary for me to feel better.

One of my most-used "toys" as a child was my coral pink Nintendo DS Lite. Ahhhh throwback to 2006, right? I had that puppy since I was about 11 years old. I remember excitedly going to GameStop after saving for weeks (my weekly salary was a whopping $3) and proudly telling the the associate at the counter that I wanted the pink DS Lite behind her. I felt loaded with cash and on top of the world. Well, the cash was gone pretty fast, but that on top of the world feeling didn't leave so fast.

I brought it home and set up my PictoChat name and message. I clicked in my first game, Animal Crossing: Wild World, and began my new virtual life. That game would be played for a couple hours per day, every day, for about 3 years straight. The virtual life was my life.

By the way, if you're an Animal Crossing fan, I caught every fish, insect, and fossil. I also had millions of Bells and the most expensive furniture and Gracie clothes and...you get the idea. I had it all, as I should if I spent almost every waking hour with the game. Okay, bragging over.

My DS Lite went everywhere. To gymnastics meets. To gym sleepovers. To normal sleepovers. To the doctor's office. To the 6 hour car trips. My friends usually had one too, and we would all giddily send weird drawings and one-word handwritten messages to each other over PictoChat. At one sleepover, we were supposed to be sleeping, but really we were all under our sleeping bags communicating with our DS Lites. Little did we know that the bright lights were not completely blocked out by our cheap sleeping bags, as we soon realized as my friend's parents walked in and confiscated them all from us and firmly ordered us to sleep "for real". We were all experiencing that crappy feeling you get after getting in trouble, but it was so much fun thinking we were so badass for communicating with our little gaming devices.

My brother also had a DS Lite, so you can imagine how much we played together. We would even talk over PictoChat after we were tucked in at night. Our code was for one of us to cough really loudly so that the other could hear it through the walls between our rooms, and we would both turn on our DS Lites and send messages and bad drawings to each other. I don't even know what we talked about. It doesn't matter though, because those risky times were the best.

Well a couple of years went by, and eventually the DS had to be set aside with the incoming homework torpedo that accompanied high school. It sat quietly in the top drawer in my closet. Just waiting patiently to be played with again. My Animal Crossing town was probably overflowing with weeds.

Then, one day a few months ago, I opened the drawer. I got my DS out just for kicks, just to selfishly relive my childhood a little. I felt almost nothing. None of that joy and anticipation I had for years every time I eagerly slid the power button upwards. I only smiled a little, thinking about those glory days, but that was about it.

So the only logical solution to me was to sell it. Because I wasn't using it, right? I mean, it had been sitting in a drawer untouched for years. Also, I'm 18 years old, going to college, I was probably never going to play any games on it again, and I might as well make some cash on it.

So yesterday I got the DS Lite ready to sell. I erased my PictoChat name and custom settings. I spent a painful 20 minutes hovering over the "Erase Town Data" button on Animal Crossing, but eventually did it. I put everything it its original box and headed off to GameStop. I knew exactly what I was doing. I was feeling a little sad about selling it, but I kept telling myself I didn't need it. I didn't use it. It didn't matter.

I dumped everything out on the GameStop counter and the associate tiredly tested everything. He fumbled around with it, trying to find the power button. "It's on the right side, and you need to slide it upwards," I quickly said, as I realized how much I knew that console inside and out. It was taking quite a while for him to check it all, and with every passing second, I began to feel worse and worse. Another customer walked in asking for help, and I stepped aside for a second. I took an absent-minded glance at the counter with my DS and games strewn all over it, and suddenly it hit me: that was really my childhood on my counter. All the memories and emotions flooded back to me in that moment, and my heart wanted to passionately yell "NEVER MIND I DON'T WANT TO SELL THESE" and run out and play some Animal Crossing. But I realized how pathetic it would look for me to say I wanted them back, so I bit my lip. I felt so weak. I felt so powerless. I felt like I was in the process of losing some of my life, and it was too late to turn back now. The associate handed me the relatively small amount of cash, and I walked out. Feeling horrible.

I still don't feel that great. Really, I shouldn't feel so sad about selling an obsolete gaming system and games. But that's not what they were. They were years and years of fun. Of laughter and good times. They were essentially a few precious years of my childhood disguised as kid's games and an old device. And I sold that.

Here's the moral of the story: don't sell anything that played a major positive role in your childhood for any amount of money or any reason. No matter how much you need cash, no matter how little you use it. Your heart is always going to tell you to not do it, and don't let your mental discipline tell you otherwise, because your mental discipline is really untrustworthy sometimes. Nostalgia is truly a matter of the heart, and it deserves to be carefully listened to.

Lack of Inspiration

So I've been faithfully trying to come up with a great idea for a post for about 3 weeks now. And I've still got nothing. My only explanation for this is just a general lack of inspiration. Perhaps this is the infamous writer's block at work.

So what's this post going to be about if I have no ideas for a post? A discussion about possible explanations for this situation. Just kidding. I'm going to ramble.

I think I can safely say that I have been quite busy recently. Well, I wasn't for that one week after I finished school where I had nothing to do except lie around the house and aimlessly stare at the walls. And in a way, that did feel really nice. I've never had such minimal stress in my life. After being in school for 2 years straight and having almost no time to relax, it was comforting to know that it was perfectly okay to do nothing. Except, it got boring really fast.

I'm the kind of person who always needs something to do or else I get really restless. So I was really amping up my job searching at this point. And then I got offered a job. And that's basically all I've been doing ever since.

So how's my job? It's pretty good. I'm a lowly sales associate at a somewhat popular retail store. Learning the ropes was very painful at first. For example, associates have to be able to physically CTRL-F the store for certain clothes with certain 7 digit codes on them. In other words, you have to know where absolutely everything is at all times. It's a lot more difficult than you'd think to learn that skill. I've gotten pretty good at it as I've frantically wandered the store for ages just to put one piece of clothing back.

Also my people skills have already improved dramatically. You get used to saying "Hi, how are you?" to people and them not responding. Over and over again. Eventually it doesn't even make a dent in you.

I made my first sale at the register the other day without screwing up. Yayyyyyy. It only took about 30 sales for nothing to go wrong. I consider myself pretty good at learning new technology, but the software in the registers is extremely confusing and outdated. I'm sure it would be very, very costly to instill a massive update in all the registers, but it could easily take 2 weeks out of associates' training if it was made to be more intuitive and less complicated.

Well, that's all I've got for now. I half promise I'll be back next week with something marginally better. At least.