The Empathy Deficit

I have been quiet for the last month, juggling finals, end of the semester events, and my transition home for break. However, the events of last Friday in Newtown, CT warrant words.

Let me start by saying that this was one of the first stories in a long time that actually made me nauseous. As I was watching the first reports live on television, I almost felt the need to sprint for the bathroom. (This is coming from someone who cries during sad commercials). To say that I was devastated would be an understatement. Most of us are.

That being said, I have waited about a week to write about these events because I personally felt that I could not even bear to sit down and reflect on them. I have so many children in my life, children I love like I will love my own. That is why it is so upsetting for me to hear from a mom whose twelve-year-old daughter I have babysat since she was just five. A little girl who declared that she "wants to be home-schooled" because of the shooting. I cannot imagine these kids leaving my life, my world, as suddenly as the children at Sandy Hook were taken away from those who love them.

This is not a post about the gun debate. There are enough of those out there. However, I must say one thing. The other day, I actually read a status on Facebook that stated, "F*ck you, every last gun owner."

Now here's the thing. I have read several nasty posts in the last six days, posts from people on both sides of the issue. And they all hurt.

There is a gun in my house. This gun is completely locked away, and is not loaded. I do not know where it is. I did not even know it existed until a couple of years ago. My dad had to go through extensive background checks and tests to even be in possession of it. For someone to make such a blanket insult so blindly...it stings.

Debate is healthy. We are completely free to do so in this country, which makes our homeland so special. But sometimes, we need to think about a different kind of ammunition, a kind that can also pierce hearts and spirits: our words.

I highly doubt the students and adults killed at Sandy Hook would want us to be so nasty towards each other. In fact, I have read the stories of each child and adult murdered. Some common themes emerged.

For one, these people were selfless. One little girl broke her piggy bank last Christmas to give money to the poor. The principal of the school knew almost each of the 600+ students by name. And of course, there is the heroic teacher who shielded her own students from harm.

Now I know several special elementary school teachers, two being my own cousins. They are in their mid-twenties, only slightly younger than this celebrated teacher at Sandy Hook. And there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that they too would die for their students. They embody compassion to the utmost degree.

I have been thinking a lot about empathy. Empathy is defined as, "The power of understanding and imaginatively entering into another person's feelings." I read an article online from the Boston Globe the other day called "The Empathy Deficit." In it, a researcher from the University of Michigan states that he has found that young adults (and probably people of all ages) are about forty percent less empathetic than they were about thirty years ago.

Empathy is difficult to measure. But I don't doubt his research. He speculates on all sorts of reasons for this, one being the dramatic rise of technology. (He brings up Facebook. We say things on Facebook that we would never say in person. We always know where people "are," but aren't connected to them).

However, I have seen too much kindness for me to be seriously jaded by these findings. People have shown unparalleled compassion and love for my family in the last few years. I have no doubts that human beings are inherently good.

But we need to remember the lives lost. We need to remember that while it's okay to debate and be passionate, biting remarks and a lack of empathy will only fuel the flames.

In the coming weeks, I am challenging myself to acts of kindness. Because while I can't control a crazy gunman, I CAN control how I live out my life on earth. And I want to make the fallen angels proud.

The End of a Chapter

Today, my thesis is officially completed. As in, I have my grade and my professor signed it. Done.

I never thought I would be so moved by the completion of a paper. Jubilant? Yes. Relived? Yes. But not touched.

I think it has to do with the content. Not to be dramatic, but I really put my heart and soul into this thing. I can honestly say, 110%. Yes, it was research.

But I was indirectly talking about myself.

And that's the thing. In writing this paper (research, execution, all of that) I was facing head-on struggles that began almost four years ago. Around the time I started here.

Writing about these times, even through research and indirect means, is like composing a summary of what I've learned about myself and life in general. It's the closing of a chapter.

Quite literally as I am writing this, I just ran into a professor I had my entire first year at UMass. She means a lot to me, and has been instrumental in me getting to know myself. Funny I would randomly meet up with her now, as I have not seen her since last fall before I left for Italy. I just told her about my thesis and the whole last year of my life, which has turned into one of the most meaningful yet. I swear she had a tear in her eye as she put her hand on my shoulder and spoke with her German accent: "This is beautiful, really. Everyone is getting older and wiser."

And it's true. Every experience is a growing experience. And growing, with all of the pain and realizations and joy that comes with it, is pretty incredible. Funny how a paper can show you that.

Thankful #20. My Own Bed.

Not much to say about this, other than I'm thankful for warm beds, blankets, and my favorite stuffed animals. All from my real "home," Cape Cod. Doesn't get much better than this.

Thankful #19. Dreams.

Ever since returning home in May, I have found myself in a bit of a rut. Routines seem to get in the way of the dreamer side of me. Part of this is somewhat unavoidable, as for much of that time I've had school and work commitments to attend to. But I cannot let that be an excuse for being stagnate.

There are some moments that convince me that I am still in a state of reverse culture shock, nearly seven months after the fact. As I was told before I left, an effective way to ease the effects of this dreaded phenomenon is to create new experiences at home, to become a "tourist" in a familiar place. This is a concept that I've been trying to put into practice.

In the end, I want to be adventurous. I have huge dreams. But I am also the kind of person that dreams like no other and then gets stuck on execution. The details. In some cases this is due to anxiety, but in others I just don't follow through. I can look at inspiration for a giant photo collage all I want, for example, but when it comes to actually going and printing out hundreds of said photos, I'm lazy. But I'm trying to change that.

I am thankful that I have big dreams. And I am thankful that I am learning to fulfill them. One step at a time.

Thankful #18. Sunny Days.

Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for the occasional rainy day too. But there was something about the sun shining this weekend that brightened my mood.

Which gets me thinking about how amazing it is that a star can shine so brightly. And warm a whole planet.

Thank goodness it does!

Thankful #17. Reunions.

On Friday night, I was able to reunite with a few friends I studied with in Perugia. One flew in from Minnesota, one goes to Harvard and drove out to UMass, and the third goes to UMass with me already.

It was a relatively simple affair. We ate a big Italian dinner and drank wine and laughed and retold stories of our time abroad. But what surprised me was how natural it felt having us all in one room, one room that was not in Italy.

It's coming on a year since I left for Europe. But I love how connected I still feel to the experience. Part of me misses it every single day, and I still feel sad when I realize that it's all over. But another part of me is so amazed at how the impacts of the experience on me are becoming clearer everyday. One impact, of course, involves the friendships I formed there. (I'm really thinking of my roommates when I say this).

So while I may not see these people often, it makes me all the more grateful when we can reunite. After all, we shared a life-changing experience and that will never go away.

Thankful #16. Books.

Today for fun I went to the Eric Carle Picture Book Museum in Amherst. Very Hungry Caterpillar, anyone? The work that goes into creating this type of art is unreal. For his illustrations, Carle actually used tissue paper collages. So cool. The museum has some of his original artwork from his books (as well as the work of many other children's authors).

I was certainly able to indulge my inner child. I saw my old favorites: Madeline, Strega Nona, Nancy Drew, The Wizard of Oz. Books transport me to another time and place.

And I am thankful for these opportunities to dream.

Thankful #15. Wisdom. (Especially when it speaks to me).

I read this piece of wisdom from Michael J. Fox the other day. Literally exactly in the moment I needed to read it. Coincidence?

There's a rule in acting called, 'Don't play the result." If you have a character who is going to end up in a certain place, don't play that until you get there. Play each scene and each beat as it comes. And that's what you do in life. You don't play the result.

Thankful #14. Stars.

On my walk back from my car to my apartment, a few of the street lamps were out. Well that's inconvenient, I thought to my self as I stubbed my toe for the second time.

But then I looked up.

Stars, beautiful stars. I felt so small. I could only see these stars so clearly because of the darkness.

And that could be a lesson for anything, I think. Sometimes when we're in the dark, clarity is right there.

Thankful #13. Encouragement.

I would not be where I am today without the people who have guided me along the way. That's not an opinion. That's a fact. This guidance includes encouragement.

A recent friend eased my self-consciousness and assured me that I am "not selfish" for wanting to write about my experiences. My professor told me that in fact my thesis is "impressive," and stated that my most recent draft could be my final. Both instances increased my confidence tenfold. But there was long term encouragement as well...those who supported me from home, emotionally, financially and otherwise, while I was abroad. And my mom, who always seems to exhibit the perfect balance of worrying for me and letting me fly.

So thank you, thank you. As someone who occasionally needs a healthy push, your encouragement has changed my life.

Thankful #12. Babies.

On Saturday, one of my best friends gave birth to her first child, a baby boy. Ashley and her husband Chris are like family to me, so the whole event was incredibly special. I kept joking that the baby was holding off for me, as I was home for the long weekend and could therefore visit them both in the hospital (he was actually supposed to be born early last week!)

Yesterday, it dawned on me that this little guy is the first baby I've visited in the hospital since my brother Joey was born in 1999. I have a whole tribe of cousins, but none of them are young enough for me to remember seeing them as babies. Most of them were born within a few years of me. And Ash is the first of my friends to give birth (thankfully, since she's older).

I forgot how tiny newborns are. (Joey was actually a beast, but that's another story). I remember visiting Joey so many years ago, and thinking in my eight-year-old way about how miraculous birth really is. A new little human being arrives and has wants and needs. It's so hard to explain, but I was so moved...maybe that's why it is called a miracle.

At eight, I still had very little understanding about childbirth (and no knowledge whatsoever about what has to happen first). But I found myself just as floored this past weekend as I was back then. Perhaps even more so, actually, because now I do know.

It's crazy how significantly life changed for my friend in just a matter of hours. Sure, you build up to the moment during your whole pregnancy. But nothing can prepare you for the unconditional love you feel for your child. (I'm not a parent yet, so I'm speaking through observation).

I have awhile until it's my time, but for now, I am so excited to have a new little guy to love!

Thankful #11. Veterans.

Whenever life feels overwhelming, I think of the men and women fighting for this country all over the world, past and present. And I am humbled. 

These men and women include people very near and dear to my heart.

These people include my grandfather who dodged bullets on the beaches of Normandy, several cousins, and family friends. And I cannot thank them enough for their sacrifices. I can only pray for the safety of all those who represent the United States so courageously. 

So thank you, veterans. 

Thankful #10. Kitchens.

At the moment, the downstairs of my Cape house is in shambles. And I don't mean this as an exaggeration. It actually is.

When I say shambles, I mean there is a toilet in the living room. . Spices all over the dining room in a bin on the floor. Anything that was previously in the kitchen next to the microwave (school pictures, magazines, etc) are stacked wherever there's room. I can't walk to the family computer without nearly breaking a leg as I trip over assorted chairs and more bins of more stuff.

Let me explain: Our kitchen is being redone.

Beautiful ceramic tile on the floor, new granite counters and updated cabinets. A new sink even. Every single part of our kitchen (except for the appliances like the fridge) is stripped away. It looks like we don't even live here. And the downstairs bathroom next to the kitchen is being made over as well (which explains the toilet in the living room).

If Jules wasn't having panic attacks over the current state of our home, I would post pictures of the chaos to memorialize it for all time. However, as she apparently reads my blog, I will spare her further anxiety.

But trust me.

(For example, Jules, who is so meticulous about locking the doors even if she's only gone for a short time, left said doors unlocked on a run to a grocery store the other day. Her reasoning? "If anyone looked in the windows at the state of our house right now, they would be too horrified to try to rob the place.")

 Needless to say, it's a time of transition, paper plates and all (we can't wash dishes for the few weeks that this is all happening). And the whole shabang is reminding me why I love my kitchen.

It's not just a room in my house. It's a gathering place. It's the heart of it all. I'm blessed with a mother who is an amazing cook, so that's probably part of it.

I don't know if this kitchen business stems from my Italian heritage (kitchens seem to be important here), but it's always been that way. At family gatherings, it doesn't matter if there are twenty-five people inhabiting one room. That room always seems to be the kitchen.

My family was always big on eating dinner together. This has become slightly more difficult as my brothers and I have gotten older, but we've still been able to sit down as a family for at least over half the week (I'm of course talking about before Robbie and I both left for college, or when we are home on vacations). Even if we are not all in the house, the people who are in the house at a given time eat together. That's just how it's been. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

So while our updated kitchen will look differently from the one I grew up in, it's still the same room. The heart of my house.

Thankful #9. Quiet Time.

While I like school, it can be difficult for me to be around so many people so regularly. Even when I'm alone in my apartment, I can still usually hear people outside or in the hall. I just miss being.

Therefore, the occasional long weekend home is definitely most welcome. This morning, I took an early drive to the beach and just wrote. And I was still. I could hear only the waves (and the occasional seagull). No people. Just me, my thoughts, a pen, my journal, and my beating heart.

Some people don't like to be quiet with themselves, because they are afraid of what revelations or thoughts might come up when they aren't running around from one place to another. It's funny though, because I'm almost the opposite; I thrive on this introspection to keep me going.

That definitely doesn't mean that I always like what I find. But being quiet is the first step in figuring out how to move forward.

And forward is good.

Thankful #8. Heat.

It is getting chilly in these parts. I will never understand the weather in Massachusetts, and I don't pretend to. But it seems like it turned cold overnight this year.

Which, of course, means turning on the heat.

I think a lot of people take heat for granted. I know I do. It actually got to the point where I was hot in my apartment the other night. And yet it was about twenty-five degrees outside.

So really, I'm just grateful to be warm.

Thankful #7. Decisions.

The unknown scares me. That's a fact. But lately, I've actually been finding myself, dare I say it....excited. I am excited about what the future could bring. Some days, I still have my fears and anxieties. What if no opportunities come about, and I don't even have a decision to make? What if I have too many decisions? I honestly don't know which scenario scares me more. If I actually have to make a choice, well, I risk making the wrong choice.

But hey, no pressure.

I attended two separate fairs/workshops today for two very different life paths. Should I go to grad school this coming year, or put it off until the next? (Leaning towards putting it off at the moment). What do I even want?

But when I look back, I've never undergone an experience, positive or negative, that didn't teach me something. So I'm going to keep an open mind and continue to work on have several plans available. Because one of them will pan out. I'm putting my faith and trust in life to work on that for me.

For now, I am grateful that I actually have these decisions to make. The world is my oyster, really.

Cool.

Thankful #6. Voting.

Just that I have that right. That's all.

Thankful #5. Teachers.

I have been blessed with several inspiring teachers in my lifetime. There was my fifth grade teacher, who I still think of when I write a paragraph or essay. My eighth grade history teacher sparked a passion for the subject that resides in me to this day. Learning was engaging in her class; we watched Civil War movies and designed our own election brochures. I still remember how she had us memorize the preamble to the Constitution. I can still recite it. (Just did the other day...don't ask).

The point is, teachers can have a lifelong impact that far extends the time they physically spend with a class. Good teachers don't just teach you academic material; maybe they provide personal guidance, or teach you something special about yourself. Maybe they believed in you when you were about to give up. Maybe they taught you to love learning for learning, and not for grades.

I have also had some brilliant college professors. My current psychology thesis seminar professor was a former president of the American Psychological Association (APA). She fought for civil rights in the 60s and met Martin Luther King, Jr. All over the country, she has used her expertise for good.

You might expect someone with this kind of track record to be mildly intimidating. But this woman is the opposite. She is approachable, kind, and cares that you do well. And she really wants that connection with her students.

Tonight, for example, she had my class over to her house for dinner. All of us. Chips, pizza, and dessert. So informal, and the conversation just flowed.

We met her poodle and her nineteen-year-old cat (who liked to hiss, but was adorable all the same). We toured her stunning home. Her partner showed us old family albums (admitting she had no idea who some of the people in them were). And at the end, we received a beautiful pep talk from my professor and her partner:

"Sometimes, I worry about the future. But meeting you guys and watching you interact, I have hope now. You will go out and change the world. And it's the small things that make a difference."

I think some of us were getting teary. Just they way they said those things. With meaning and conviction. Just that statement alone gave us confidence going forward.

And that, in my opinion, is a great teacher.

Thankful #4. Music.

Music has always been a part of my life. I have been playing piano since I was five. Unfortunately, I stopped lessons when I went to college. But I still play whenever I can. Learning to play an instrument is actually a beautiful process because progress is tangible. When I first started at five, my hands were hardly big or strong enough to even press a note. My piano teacher (who would go on to teach me for the next twelve years) saw the determination in my eyes, and waived his policy of not taking children younger than reading age. (But then again, I had already taught myself to read). I remember playing Old McDonald that year. A Lion King songbook followed when I was around nine. When I was about fourteen, I began playing authentic classical pieces as written by composers like Mozart or Bach (not simplified...the originals). It took me about five or six months to perfect one of these masterpieces, but when I did (although I did not love practicing), I cannot explain how proud I felt. I was of the music.

Besides making my own music, I have always found songs to be expressions of my innermost thoughts. Sometimes, I hear a song and feel like it was written by me or for me. We have all had that experience at one point in time, I'm sure. My family laughs at me because I can hear certain songs on the radio and remember how old I was or what I was doing when it came out.

But it all really began at the beginning. I remember my mom would sing me "You Are My Sunshine" every night when she tucked me in. I also remember the song "Butterfly Kisses," very well, which seems particularly poignant now.

In third grade, Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys were my soundtrack. I know, I wasn't very original. But who could resist "Ooops I Did It Again" on cassette?! Recess was spent devising new choreography that would make B-Spears jealous. (Note: I sadly remember most of it).

More recently, I have found myself playing and replaying songs that remind me of the clubs in Italy. Some of these songs are ones that I didn't even like before I went abroad, but now remind me of a glorious time in my life so I can't help but enjoy them. Others were new to me when I heard them in Italy, such as one popular club song in a language I'm unfamiliar with that just puts a smile on my face every time.

But isn't that what music does? It stirs up our emotions, our souls. It propels us into the past, to a euphoric or depressing time or place. It gives us the beat and words that make our deepest thoughts more tangible. And, in a way, music is just what I need to keep me sane.

Thankful #3. Laptops. (Even when they suck).

This morning, as I went to plug my dying MacBook in for a day of work, I noticed that the charging light failed to turn on.

Yup, the charger was shot.

I took a few deep breaths. I tried again. Nothing.

This wouldn't have been so much of a problem if the second half of my thesis wasn't due this upcoming week. Or if I didn't totally rely on a working computer for almost everything related to my academic career.

I called Jules in a panic, just like I always do when something happens. It doesn't matter that she's three hours away on the Cape, and can do very little to help me from there. Calling Mom just always feels like the right thing to do. If nothing else, she's still forced to love me while I have a breakdown.

As an aside, I should be very thankful; I have had my computer for almost 3.5 years now, and this is the very first time I've ever had a problem with any part of it. And it's just the charger, not the computer itself. But a few hours have passed since that initial phone call; I certainly wasn't filled with optimistic thoughts at the time.

"Mom-my-charger-died-and-I-have-my-thesis-due-and-now-I-have-to-drive-to-the-mall-to-the-Apple-store-and-just-why-did-this-happen-nowwwww!" My voice was wobbling.

Jules was so sympathetic. She always says just the right words to calm me down. After I was done sniffling, she started with, "Hunny, when you are an adult, sometimes things malfunction at inopportune times. Like a car. Or even the furnace."

"BUT I HAVE A PAPER DUE AND THIS IS HIGH STAKES!" I exclaim.

.....Yeah. Bratty, right?

I think we're all guilty of occasionally overreacting to situations. I certainly am. It could have been so much worse. This could have happened during a school day, when I couldn't afford to drive a half hour to the Holyoke mall to buy a new charger. It could have been my whole computer. This could have happened during the hurricane, and not on a beautiful day. Yeah, it set me back eighty bucks...but I have so much to be thankful for.

When we're stressed, it is tough to focus on the positive. But after I calmed down and was driving home with a new charger in a bag on my front seat (heck, I was even able to pop into a few stores)  I could really reflect. Reflect on how blessed I am to even have a computer. Which then encouraged thoughts of how blessed I am to be able to go to school and receive an education. I bet ninety-nine percent of young adults my age throughout the world cannot say the same.

So I'll take a crapped out charger if it gives me a eureka moment of thankfulness. And now, I'll settle down and work.

Thankful #2. Starbucks.

Okay, so this thankful post isn't so much about coffee or gingerbread lattes or mocha fraps (although of course, I appreciate all of the above).

It's more about what happens in the four walls of Starbucks in Amherst, MA.

My very close friend and I began our Friday Starbucks dates during our freshman year. At that point, Starbucks was just a destination of walkable distance. Without our cars on campus, we needed some fresh air and a change of scenery. So nearly every Friday, we would walk twenty minutes, rain or shine, and be rewarded with either an icy drink or steaming hot beverage (depending on our moods or the weather). But again, it's not so much about the coffee. It's the time spent together.

Freshman year blurred into sophomore year. She was no longer down the hall, but in the next building. The Starbucks tradition continued. Some difficult conversations were had over our coffees that year. But we worked through them.

Junior year, our dates were more cherished than ever. My friend moved off-campus, so Fridays represented our scheduled chances to catch up. She started clinical for nursing. I was preparing for my semester in Italy. Big changes were afoot.

For the first time, Skype dates replaced Starbucks dates for five months. She heard about my life across the Atlantic. I was told gripping tales of her time in the maternity ward.

Now, we are roommates. But our being in close proximity couldn't stop the coffee tradition. We still find our  seats by the window almost every week. The conversations are different, but the time together is a constant.

And for that, I am thankful.

Thankful #1. Rocky.

(As today is November 1st, I'm starting my own "thankful" exercise to last until Thanksgiving. Every year I say I'm going to do this, but I don't. I'm a very thankful person in general, so all month, I will be expressing my gratitude). 

When I was seventeen, the Papapietro family got our first dog. And this wasn't your normal excursion to the breeder or a pound. Our neighbor's Golden Retriever became pregnant just as she turned a year old (woops). In October of 2008, Rocky came into the world. My brother was at the neighbor's house just as the birthing process was complete. In that sense, Rocky has been ours since day one. 

I still call Rocky my puppy. He's a teenager now (actually, probably in his 20s. I'm not good with dog years as they involve math). The point is, he is still as playful and free-spirited as the day he came home. 

And by playful, we're talking playful on crack. If anyone reading has ever had the pleasure of entering my home during these recent Rocky years, you have likely been greeted by an eighty-pound black furry creature. Actually, "greeted" is probably the wrong word here. More likely, you were nearly knocked to the ground by said creature and his licking. 

Rocky doesn't discriminate. He gives you his full attention, whoever you are. The second he sees you smiling at him, he will (in this order): perk his ears, run to the nearest toy (likely a stuffed animal minus the stuffing) and place it at your feet. I've never met a dog with a stamina like Rocky's. "Catch" could last for hours. 

I know I describe some of Rocky's traits as if he was almost human. Human or not, my family would not be complete without him. 

Today during a phone call with my mom, I learned that Rocky had a severe seizure last last night. Unfortunately my brother, awake with a stomachache courtesy of excessive amounts of Halloween candy, had to witness the episode. My mom explained her helplessness as she watched Rocky crash into objects, banging his head on the floor.  (Note: He is completely fine today. Ate his dinner, played outside. Chewed up another toy). 

Sometimes, I think about why I feel so attached to Rocky. And it doesn't take me long to figure it out. It's unconditional love.

All I have to do is think back to a day almost two years ago now. On this day, the weight of what felt like a thousand worlds on my shoulders, I sat on the floor of my empty house and cried. 

And then...the patter of feet.

Rocky, who had been napping in another room, must have heard me. He wandered over, eyes wide. As I continued to sniffle, I was moved as this dog scooted next to me, collapsed his body to the ground, and rested his head in my lap. He continued to watch over me as I released my bottled-up tension and sadness. In this moment, Rocky was my guardian. And I felt safe. 

I talked to Rocky like I would talk to God. I just spilled it out. Gave it all to him. And what did he do?

He listened. 

Thinking Errors

Courtesy of psych, some maladaptive thoughts that I think we are all guilty of at one point or another:


Mental Filter - Dwelling on one negative thought, and losing sight of the whole picture

Discounting the Positive - Positive qualities or experiences don't matter to you. Only the negative.

Fortune Telling - Making predictions of future catastrophic life events (no matter how likely or unlikely they may be).


...and one of my favorites: "All or nothing thinking." I do this. Viewing things as black or white, amazing or horrible, instead of on a continuum or spectrum. College will be amazing and I'll be obsessed with it. College will suck and I'll want to leave after the first day. I never thought of a gray area, that my college years would be filled with both happy and not-so-happy moments.


It feels nice to have names for these things. My class agreed that we are all very anxious and guilty of the above thoughts. Recognizing maladaptive thoughts is the first step in overcoming them and focusing on the positive.

Try it!

Dreams

I learned an amazing fact recently: In our dreams, no one is a stranger. What I mean by that is that every face in our dreams, we have seen before at some time in our lives. So for example, the face of the dwarf in my dream about Snow White (yes, I am dreaming in Disney) could be the same face of a man who was standing next two me in line at the grocery store last month. Or, to be slightly more dramatic and less Disney-ish, the creepy serial killer in my hostage nightmare a few years ago could actually be the face of the man who pumped gas into my mom's car when I was four.

Crazy, huh?

A face that our minds have long forgotten, or a face that passed so quickly it was just a blip in the grand scheme of things, can actually turn up years later in our dreams.

As a psych major, I know that dreams are essentially the results of neurons firing randomly in every such way. Okay, that's cool.

But dreams are so much more than that. They have an almost spiritual quality.

Okay, you say. But what does a dream about Snow White mean to humanity? Okay, you have a point. Not every dream necessarily has some life-altering message or meaning behind it. But some definitely provide immense clarity.

Or closure.

I have dreamed about deceased loved ones many times. I love when those faces pop up. And they can be faces from many years ago. But just when I thought I had forgotten the shape of a nose or a laugh or the rise and fall of a voice...

There it is. Right there.

And then I wake up.

It's kind of ironic that our brain cells almost get in the way of memory. But every once in awhile, you have that dream that clears the fog, reminding you of what's important.

Good Enough

One moment, she is making a passionate attempt at twisting her seven-year-old body around a giant monkey bar on the playground. But the next, after steadying herself on two feet, she is in tears. Her shiny eyes look up at me, her words piercing:

I'm not talented enough, she whispers.

I'm genuinely surprised. I thought you were incredible. I could never do that now. But these words of comfort aren't enough. The tears still fall and my heart actually drops.

First of all, I'm impressed that she knows the word "talented." But what really stings is her use of the word enough. Enough for what? I realize what at least partly fueled the fire; she thinks that the ten-year-old before her was better.

But I don't think that's true, I reply. And even if you think it is, it's because she's older and her body is stronger. 

This doesn't work either.

So I try again.

My heart is talking now. You're not talented? I exclaim. You just showed me the elaborate wind chime you created on the branch of that tree next to the swings. You used leaves and sticks, and tied the two together with pieces of grass. And you explained to me how your creation will tell us which way the wind is blowing.

And you garden. You know the name of every type of tree on this field. You tell me about flowers and which ones can survive best during the winter months.

And you tell stories that would make the Grimm Brothers jealous. About fairies and castles and knights and a purple snake and a giant tornado. You even act them out for me. 

I am speaking in my mind now: how dare you believe you aren't good enough?

At my mention of her many gifts, her head comes up out of her hands. She picks at her black tights. I even see a half-smile.

What else am I good at? 

And the list goes on.

I'm not sure how this little girl will feel about herself tomorrow, but she seems happier for today. She skips off to the slide, and I am left praying that she will one day discover her self-worth.

I'm having the same kind of day today. The kind of day that makes me feel...well, not good enough.

For example, there's that midterm looming over my head that should be fun (diagnosing a fictional patient with mental illness and composing a treatment plan). Instead, I find myself lacking the energy and motivation to start. Which is strange, because I got over eight hours of sleep last night. I'm just drained. And those new black sneakers (see last post) still haven't been used. Frankly, I just don't feel like running.

And the list goes on.

For now, I'm trying to push these taunting thoughts aside and focus on my strengths and where they can lead me.  Writing it out definitely helps.

I think that sometimes, we are all that little girl on the playground. I know I am. But in these instances, I remember a phrase from one of my favorite novels: She was all of these things and something more...it was what God puts into each soul that is given life, the one different thing such as that which makes no two fingerprints on the face of the earth alike..

So little girl, (and I don't now which "little girl" I'm talking to here): You ARE good enough. Actually, you are far more than that. You are miraculous.

Time

It is a well-known fact that time goes by more quickly when we don't want it to. My four months in Italy still feel like a blur. Summers seem to end as soon as they start.

Anyone else who is a senior in college (or ever has been) can probably attest to this. I'm not saying that I don't want to leave. In fact, while I love learning itself, I'm totally over college and ready for something bigger. But then again, I'm not. And that's probably why this semester is about halfway over and I still feel like I just arrived.

This time around, my being busy is taking on different forms. Last fall, I was quite literally bombarded with work (taking the equivalent of seven classes between research, TAing and actual classes). And applying to study abroad (including acquiring a visa, which I still have nightmares about to this day) was the icing on the cake. This semester, I actually have hours of free time. But I'm also writing my thesis in three months.

Twelve weeks. That's about how long I have for the entire process. It is just insane to think that something so meaningful to my college career (and me personally) is being completed in less than three months. While I normally don't enjoy technical writing so much, I am realizing that a thesis is something to be proud of. But for now, it is taking up many hours. (We were told last Thursday that we had to write half of it in a week. Talk about dropping the bomb).

But that week is over, and I now have almost half of my culminating project on paper. (Doesn't mean it sounds like anything Jane Austen ever produced, but it's a start).

I'm definitely neglecting certain things in this whirlwind of a month. I've been looking at my chipped nail polish for the last two weeks, thinking that I should probably take ten minutes to repaint them. Too bad I have these thoughts during busy moments (read: during a seminar or lecture), and not during the more relaxing ones.

And my new black Nikes have yet to hit the pavement. Getting good grades and a healthy amount of sleep have pushed running to the side. It's unfortunate, because the foliage is stunning right now.

But I'm realizing that it is important to make time for enjoyable activities. Like writing. Or going to Starbucks (you can kill two birds with one stone there). Or catching up on Grey's.

Because during those moments, time slows down a little. Even if just for an hour, I am back to writing in my diary at age five, or coffee trips with my friend on our morning drives to high school. Or that summer years ago when I discovered Grey's, fell in love with Patrick Dempsey, and watched three seasons in a month.

Life doesn't pause, but I still can. And I'm trying to take it all in as I go.

Columbus Day Snapshots

A few themes emerged from this past weekend at home:

1. College hasn't taken away my beach obsession.

2. Joey is supah cute. And good at everything. (Soccer? Basketball? Call of Duty? Piano? Voted most promising leader of the seventh grade? What can this kid NOT do?) Yeah, I'm bragging...

3. I love ice cream. (Ate it twice a day. Even better? Mom justified it. "You're on vacation." Not that I needed her opinion).

4. Pumpkin spice lattes = manic episode. As in, I go shopping and don't stop.


5. A day trip to Wellfleet is just as stunning in October.

Happy fall, ya'll!!

What I Couldn't Say

Yesterday we had two guest speakers in my seminar, a husband and wife. One is a psychiatric nurse, the other a psychiatrist. The husband told us a certain story that really resonated with me.

A few years back, he worked at some kind of mental care facility in Northampton. One particular patient at the facility passed Jay almost daily; he would always say hello, but only get a blank stare in return. Unsure if the patient even understood him, he continued to say hello each day anyway.

After several months of this (or longer, I don't remember), Jay was saying his daily "hello" one day to another blank stare. But after a few minutes, he felt something behind him (literally).

The woman had walked up and slapped his butt.

I bet you weren't expecting that. But aside from being mildly hilarious, there is a larger point here.

The woman was saying "I am here." I am a person. I can joke. I am a woman. She was saying these things in the only way she knew how at that particular moment.

This story had me thinking. How many times have we tried to express an emotion or need without explicitly saying it? Maybe we're in denial, and don't want to admit that we're hurting. Or maybe we don't want to "burden" others by expressing our feelings. We act in these ways even though the signs of pain are present anyway, recognizable to those closest to us.

Along the same lines, sometimes we knowingly or unknowingly leave a trail for others to follow, hoping that they will somehow find out our truths. This is an extreme example, but I remember the story of one of my friends whose other friend had attempted suicide a few days before my friend had gone over to her house (unknown to my friend at the time). Her friend was in the shower, and had told my friend to "hang out in her room" while she was waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. On her bed in her room was her journal, opened up to the page the detailed her actions just days prior. I imagine that suicidal thoughts are extremely painful to discuss, and maybe this was her friend's way of crying for help. Or maybe the journal was just left there accidently. The point is, her friend received the help she needed.

Is someone acting out of the ordinary? Do we sense that there is more underneath than meets the eye? Maybe we should be more aware of those silent screams, those ropes being tossed in our direction, in whatever form they come.

Capacidad

During my first two years at UMass, I volunteered at an after school program called Capacidad. I had to take last year off due to my busy schedule and going abroad. Not expecting to go back this year, the opportunity arose to do so as I am completing a mini-practicum for my thesis course. I've had three weeks back at Capacidad so far, and it's been enlightening.

Maybe I wasn't in the best state of mind in Spring 2011, my last semester at Capacidad before my break. Actually, I definitely wasn't in a good place. But I didn't realize until three weeks ago the extent of my distorted head space at that time (although warranted, I believe).

Something felt different when I walked in this time. I'm more confident in a way. I haven't really put my finger on it yet. But this isn't the only change...

Man, these kids GREW. I am not accustomed to leaving children for a long period of time with no picture updates, so imagine my surprise when the little boy from almost two years ago suddenly has a good three or four inches on me. It's actually quite a moving experience, one that I will probably be getting used to as I get older.

And of course, there are those kids say the darnedest things moments. One of the seven-year-olds who is attached to my hip after remembering me from two years ago gave me a social commentary the other day: "You know what? I saw kids fighting at recess today and it's bad. Violence is never in English." Of course she meant to say "violence is never the answer" but I think I like her way better!

Kids can also have a way of letting you into their "other" lives, whether it's intended or not. For example, it is not normal for a previously lighthearted conversation to take a sudden turn. One such conversation two weeks back between me and one of the little girls went from Disney Channel to "My dad is in jail" in a span of four seconds. She's very young, so I'm not completely sure that she knows what that means. Nevertheless, it inspires me to be the best role model I can possibly be for these kids, some of whom may not have that at home.

Lots of stories to come, but for now I'm enjoying spending my Wednesdays becoming acquainted (or reacquainted, depending) with fifty or so energetic kiddos.

Stringing the Positives

As Bailey said in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, "Being happy isn't having everything in your life be perfect. Maybe it's about stringing together all the little things." My little things this week:


Three (yup) peanut butter sandwiches after two long classes.

More Perugia storytelling in my cross-cultural seminar.

A letter in the mail from my "little" at Comfort Zone Camp.

A Band-Aid for a bee sting (yes, I got a yellow jacket right in the arm).

Apple picking with a close friend and our families.

The fact that artists can put their pain into music, and it resonates with me.

Studying that really paid off.

More shopping for a special baby's upcoming arrival.

God knowing me better than I know myself.

Honey-Nut Cheerios.

"The Goldfish Went on Vacation." A beautiful book about childhood grief lent to me for my thesis paper.

Making some progress on said paper, exploring a topic so close to my heart.

Things working out the way they are supposed to. Leading to...

A perfect new job/internship (more about that later).

Joey turns thirteen. And he still thinks I'm the best sister ever.

An (almost) uneventful drive home to the Cape.

moreloveletters.com (look it up).

Thinking of a loved one in the midst of a painful anniversary...but smiling.

Roommates that I care about.

A comfy sweatshirt and my own bed.

The chance for a "next week."

Noticing

"We are here to witness the creation and abet it. We are here to notice each thing so each thing gets noticed. Together we notice not only each mountain shadow and each stone on the beach but, especially, we notice the beautiful faces and complex natures of each other. We are here to bring to consciousness the beauty and power that are around us and to praise the people who are here with us. We witness our generation and our times. We watch the weather. Otherwise, creation would be playing to an empty house."

-Annie Dillard

THE Rules

In my psychotherapy capstone course (through which I am writing my thesis) our professor has four rules. As we are a very small group and share intimate parts of our lives, struggles, and experiences, these things need to happen:

Listen. Self-explanatory. But "hearing" and "listening" are two very different concepts. You listen with your heart.

Be in the moment. If there are any outside issues affecting someone's ability to focus, we have the permission to seek advice and deal with the problem. It is only then that we can concentrate on learning effectively.

Speak the truth without blame. Everyone has a story. Some are painful. Some seem unfair. But stressing how they have given us a caretaker's spirit rather than placing blame (if blame is due) is what matters, and that attitude will keep us present.

Don't be attached to the outcome. My favorite. It's the process.


I think these rules can apply to life too, no?

Trials and Tribulations of the Vertically Challenged

For the last week or so, I have not been thinking so much about school. Or the future. Or the Redsox (Okay. Maybe a little).

I've been thinking about being short.

Maybe it's because my height has indirectly come up several times recently. My apartment is a great kind of symmetry of blondes and brunettes, tall, average, and short. Of course, I am the shortest. But the first time I ever realized I was small? Kindergarten. The fourth graders were doing some kind of math project on measurement, and decided to use my kindergarten class as data. So they measured each of us against the wall, and later the week, came in to announce the results. Two students, a boy and a girl, tied for tallest. And guess who was the shortest. "Maria Papapietro." The kids laughed. I came home at the end of the day and cried. Yes, I can remember this. I am still only mildly scarred from the experience.

But my stature has its perks. Hide and seek? I always won. Those smalls spaces. And then there were all those years of soccer. In my case, short = speed. I certainly wasn't the most aggressive player. But if I had a breakaway, a goal was almost guaranteed because no one could catch me. A few weeks back, I bought a dress from Gap Kids. Yup. Kind of embarrassing, but considering the selection in the women's section has been lacking in my opinion for the last couple of years, this opens up a whole new world for me on the shopping front. And it's a dang cute dress.

But there are the downsides. At the bars. They scan my ID. They look at me. They scan it again. Look at me again. Scan again. About two more looks. What do they expect me to do, morph into a toddler? Yes, I am twenty-one. And 5'1. It happens.

Sometimes, being short compromises my safety. Particularly in situations involving squishing many people into one car. "Maria can just lie across everyone in the back." Essentially, this means I end up in some kind of bent headstand position.

And tonight, my roomie of average height was trying to reach glasses in the cabinet. "Dang, Maesie (my other lovely, 5'10 roommate) must have put these away!" she panted. For a minute, she understood my life as a bottom shelf-er.

But being short is only a piece of my puzzle. And I'm embracing it. I encourage all of you to love yourselves today, however you are!

First Week and the Little Things

It sounds like a Thursday night outside of my apartment. Oh, the joys of college.

But to be honest, this place has never felt more like home.

I was worried about coming back, but it has been quite alright. More than alright. Sure, there have been some hiccups this week. For example, I had an issue with parking my car. And that thesis won't write itself. And I have to find an internship-y placement in the next seven days or so. Or less...

Yet there are those moments that help keep me grounded, content, and in the moment.

Tonight, I was able to talk about my study abroad experience for over an hour with sophomores who are on the same path. That felt amazing. It completely brought me back to the city that stole my heart, my other "home."

And my real home here? Well that has been the best surprise of all.

One major blessing(s) right now is (are) my three roommates. Just three nights in, and walking into this apartment at the end of a long day is the best feeling in the world. We all actually sit down and have conversations. Even if it's just typing on the couch together or laughing about our days, there is a sort of unspoken unity.

It's the little things, really. The communal bowl of candy corn on our coffee table in the living room. The yellow flowers in the kitchen. Pictures of our families and posters on the walls. A blending of four different worlds into one.

As this is our senior year, this living arrangement is particularly important. Not to sound overly dramatic, but a whole lot will be happening in the next eight months in the confines of these walls. I'm sure one of us will burst in at dinnertime later this spring with job news. Or grad school news. Or just another funny story.

As a plaque in our living room states, "Enjoy the little things in life, for someday you will realize they were the big things."

Words to live by.

Home

"I believe we feel safest when we go inside ourselves and find home, a place where we belong and maybe the only place we really do..."

Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter

Full Circle

Yesterday morning, we moved Robbie in at UMass. Never thought I'd say that, but there it is. It actually didn't feel nearly as strange as I thought it would; shuffling my brother's totes around and unpacking his life had a strange air of familiarity. Maybe that is because he happens to reside in the same dorm that was my housing for 1.5 years. Yes, that could be it. However, my move-in was different in so many ways, some distinct and some subtle. The short list:

1. The day I moved in my freshman year, is was ninety-four degrees. Yesterday, it was a comfortable seventy-two or so. (Sidenote: My friend and I to this day still talk about the horrendous memories we have of lugging a year's worth of belongings up three flights of stairs in the heat. I actually don't remember much. Pretty sure I blocked that whole day out).

2. I cried at least a few times a week the whole summer before college. Completely terrified. Robbie seems a little calmer, but was still definitely sad to see Mom and Joey go. Maybe having a fabulous older sister at the same school has eased that transition...

3. Robbie has about half the amount of stuff that I did. Although he did bring his Wii. Priorities, priorities. Although as a bio major, he'll have to release the stress somehow and I would rather him play that than resort to illegal drugs or gang behavior. (I forget that not everyone that reads this knows Robbie. If you don't, that's a really funny joke).

4. My dad was present on my move-in day. Definitely felt that hole yesterday.

5. Greenough (Robbie's new dorm and my old one) now has a really high-tech Brita water filter thingy built into the wall. That's really the only way I can describe it. It is the coolest thing ever (and a huge improvement over a water fountain that worked only half the time).

And these aren't the only differences; my life is evolving to reflect the years to come. On Wednesday night, I slept in my new apartment. After living in a beautiful place in Perugia, I don't think I could ever not have my own space again.

In fact, this whole year is about the unfamiliar in so many ways; much time will be spent applying to jobs, figuring out plans, and writing my thesis. In the name of honesty, I am very anxious. Not because I don't want to leave college. I actually think I need a new chapter, a chapter that started with Perugia. That was a fresh start like no other, and I've never felt more alive that I did there. But lately, the reverse culture shock has been horrible, maybe even worse than when I first returned. Despite these feelings, I am so determined to bring my "Perugia-self" back with me to school this year, and I am really excited to see how that beautiful four month journey will influence my future plans.

Despite nervousness and uncertainty, there are still some beautiful constants. The main one being my new roommate, Jen. She's been a very close friend since about the third day of freshman year, but certain circumstances have always prevented us from living together. I can't think of a better person to spend the majority of my senior year with. We have two other great roommates as well. With a new housing situation comes a calming, familiar presence.

It is this balance between the familiar and the unknown that is slowly giving me the courage to have new experiences, and the spark necessary to continue to live the best way I know how at any given moment. I often still feel like I am in a weird in-between, somewhere over the chasm that separates my life for so many years with the officially "grown-up" world I am about to enter. But one of the best feelings? When the unfamiliar and scary eventually becomes the blessing you never knew you needed. And that's what I'm praying for.

It's Not My Timing

Have you ever had a moment or experience that reaffirmed your belief in miracles? After just spending my second weekend at Comfort Zone Camp, or CZC (see this post for an overview of the organization/a summary of my first weekend back in June) I am brimming with the peace and hope that can only come from spending less than forty-eight hours with some of the most courageous and inspiring kids and adults on the planet.

To further the "miracle" argument, I should probably mention how I originally found out about Comfort Zone in the first place. I saw a story about the organization on the Today Show exactly two years ago now, a month before my own loss. (It's worth mentioning that I hardly ever watch the morning news in the summer, so this was a very isolated incident). I was so deeply moved by the organization's mission that I made getting involved a goal for my impending post-loss self.  I made the nearly two hour drive to Waltham for the day long training, despite intense nervousness. I had no idea what to expect, but after that day, my desire to go to camp increased exponentially.

This is the perfect example of how a moment can change your life (in this case, a four minute news story). This weekend, I heard countless other involvement stories from other volunteers. Each of us heard about CZC in vastly different, and yet similarly incredible ways.  Another college student in my group, who lost her dad when she was five, saw the same Today Show story while on vacation in Myrtle Beach. Still another heard from a friend who had just lost his own parent, and randomly saw a CZC billboard in New York City.

Along with my recent realizations of the inherent goodness of so many, I have come to appreciate timing. In this case, "timing" is referring to life's timing. I am the first to admit that sometimes I can get so caught up in the "what-ifs" (a theme I can almost guarantee will define many entries in the coming year) that I forget that I am not in control and just have to trust that what is meant to happen will happen. And that's that.

My "little buddy" at CZC and I were originally matched for my first camp last August. We had even spoken on the phone two days before camp, and her sweet, angelic voice moved me in a way I could not explain. I was so anxiously awaiting the privilege of meeting her and sharing in her grief journey.

Fast-forward twenty-four hours later: I receive an email from CZC that the weekend had to be cancelled due to the foreboding Hurricane Irene that was making her way up the coast. Devastated is not a strong enough word to describe how I felt in that moment. I already felt such a such a strong connection to this little girl, and believed that she was "lost" forever.

Now, just over a week ago, I receive my match assignment: the name from last August appears in my file. I was matched in August 2012 with the same girl.

No way, I thought. Just the odds of being matched for a weekend are relatively slim, as the number of volunteers far exceeds the fifty-five or so campers that can attend any one weekend. Not only was I matched with this girl once again, but I later found out that she almost didn't come this weekend; she was one of the very few accepted off of the wait list.

Someone wanted us together.

And as the weekend progressed, it became clear why. My little and I are so similar, it is downright frightening. She even speaks some Italian (which was not on her profile, or mine that I submitted originally). We are both goofy in the same offbeat way.

Because of her and CZC, I am beginning to trust in timing again. Why did I have to wait until 2012 to meet my little? Why couldn't it have happened earlier? I'll never know. Perhaps I was not ready to fully support a grieving child a year ago, when I was still in a state of emotional turmoil myself. I am sure it still would have been fine, but helping others when we need help ourselves presents its own set of challenges, challenges that may have been better met alone at that time.

But what is meant to be, will be.

So tonight, I am grateful for connections. Those connections that give me the comforting feeling of holding the end of a bunch of strings extending in infinite directions, a type of never-ending spiderweb. It is a small world out there, and the world in my eyes seems to grow smaller as I get older. I am choosing the be reassured by the fact that so many unseen forces are at work in my life, forces that may come to light in an hour or tomorrow or ten years from now. I am choosing to trust that I am in the right season, a season of waiting and anxious anticipation and millions of unknown possibilities. I can only pray that the kids at CZC will trust in their own timing, timing that will not always involve the frantic uncertainty that comes with grief, but will eventually lead to a life of wisdom and fulfillment that can only come with learning to live.

Maryland Weekend

It's already been a week since my trip to Maryland. Having not been down South since my Grandma's funeral in June 2010 (which wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs) it was nice to take a celebratory trip for a change. It was a pretty last minute excursion (story of my life this year), and, due to flight delays (see last entry) I only had just over thirty-six hours with my family in the end. But time with us all together is a special treat that distance does not always allow for.

My Maryland family (Papa, aunt, cousin) lives in an adorable suburb of Baltimore. We have many wonderful memories of weeks spent there in the past. I love that grandparent homes are like time capsules; there are so many photo treasures (including blackmail-worthy pictures of Jules in the 70's).

Part of the epic picture wall. See if you can spot little Maria. (Hint: 3).

My aunt is basically a rock star now. We essentially made the trip down to see her perform with her band she plays with on the side. They were amazing! I arrived halfway through, but was still able to enjoy most of the show (and thoroughly reap the benefits of being legal).

Four of my cousins were also present, including my cousin Kelly. We are less than three months apart, and spent our childhoods writing letters back and forth (Lisa Frank stationary, anyone?)

We spent Saturday at the Inner Harbor in the hot sun. What a cool place! To further cement my nerd status, I have to admit that the most exciting discovery was a massive Barnes and Noble housed in an old factory.

But the rest of the place was great, too.

I so almost did this

The ride back on Sunday was actually very peaceful (except for the fact that I hate New Jersey). Joey no longer has to pee every five seconds during long car rides (those of you lucky enough to have heard the "bottle story" understand this) and it gave us an excuse to consume both Dunkin Donuts and McDonald's on the same day (I have to say, I sure as heck love the occasional Chicken McNuggets). Unhealthy eating and drinking aside, we arrived home refreshed and revitalized.

Gotta love family.

Lessons in Patience. Courtesy of Logan Airport.

Let me start by stating the following: I know I'm lucky. In twenty-one years worth of air travel, I have never experienced a delay. Not one. I realize that some people may want to smack me whilst reading this declaration (I have heard countless travel horror stories from so many). But I can assure you, my luck changed this weekend. I experienced my first significant travel delay in the form of my flight to Baltimore. And it wasn't pretty.

When you've been fortunate in a certain area of life, it is easy to think "that will never happen." For example, since I've never been delayed before, I don't normally walk into airports thinking, "I hope I'm not delayed." Not even under the dark, threatening skies looming over me on Friday as I rolled through the automatic doors and into the air-conditioning.

Then I saw the board. My 5:45 flight had been delayed until 6:55. No matter, I thought. What's one hour? I have my laptop. There is a beautiful bookstore right over there. No matter.

After perusing said bookstore for over and hour (and I could have easily stayed longer), I went to the board again just to double-check before going through security. I saw my flight number. I blinked. I looked again. But it was true. My flight was delayed another three hours.

You know that split second when you are in the process of receiving bad news? And you think, wow, everything is changing in this split second. I wish I could have been myself three seconds ago when I wasn't being informed of this news. That's how I felt. I knew this meant that I would be missing the first half of my aunt's show (she and her band had a gig that night, and I had yet to ever see her play). I knew that I would miss the big family dinner with my cousins.

But there was nothing I could do about it.

Nothing I could do. After my initial moments of frustration including a frantic call to Mom (who was already in Maryland), I realized that no matter what, the delay would happen. Regardless of my attitude. So I might as well be positive.

This may sound strange, because people don't often think of airports as brimming with good will and calming energy. But there were so many great things going on around me.

I'm sitting in a seat at the gate next to one of only a few coveted wall outlets in the area. A young man in a suit frantically runs towards me, coffee already in hand. "Will you be here for twenty minutes or so?" Yes, I reply. A whole lot longer, actually. "Do you mind if I plug in my iPhone and leave it with you?" No, I don't mind at all. He gives me a smile and says, "It is so wonderful to be in a place where people trust each other." He then walks away to go do whatever he had to do, and I am left with his phone and my thoughts. I didn't have the heart to ask him if he was out of his ever loving mind, or where the heck he came from before to make him feel that way. While I certainly do not distrust people on the whole, I would never leave my expensive electronics with strangers. But hey, if he was paying me a compliment somewhere in there, I'll take it. Sometimes, it is nice to meet someone who is not a cynic.

For the record, the nice man came back for his phone. I did not steal it. He had just come from ROME and thus began a long conversation about my Italy travels, the Red Sox (he's a fan), his accent and how he came to the US (he's from Spain). He showed me a picture of his daughter on his iPhone that I did not steal.

(Speaking of daughters, I have to sidetrack and give major props to the people I saw traveling with children under the age of eight. Let's just say that while I can't wait to have kids someday, I am enjoying my solo travel right now. Because some of those airport child-pushing devices are bigger than me. I now know why long-distance travel in my family ceased exponentially after my brother was born. My parents traveled a lot with me when I was an only child; we would go to Houston, California, etc. to visit family. I guess it's easier when the parents still outnumber the children, although for someone with a strong immune system, I always seemed to pick up pink-eye and ear infections on every trip. But two+ kids is a whole different ball game, as I witnessed. One needs to be fed, the other is throwing a tantrum, and still another is sprinting away with toilet paper stuck to his shoe).

As I am listening to Spanish man tell an amusing story about his daughter that involves silly string and her cat, I can't help but notice that spirits are unusually high at the gate. I am not the only one in an upbeat conversation. The delay seemed to create a united team of sorts. We're all in the same boat, so let's drink our coffee and care or not care together.

And people did rally to the occasion. Almost every flight at Logan was delayed that night due to weather. As we found out, however, our flight crew was not the original crew; they had scrambled a group together so that we would not have to wait even longer. These people had probably already worked a full day, but they were flying us to Baltimore anyway. And I am so thankful.

Annoying doesn't have to be the end of the world. It may just teach you something. There were other family dinners to be had that weekend. And as I hugged and kissed my relatives and had drinks with my cousins and danced through the second half of my aunt's show, the frustrations of the day evaporated into thin air. Everything was fine. Just like it always is. And that's all I can ask for.

Then and Now

Over the last week or so, I've been lucky to spend some time with people who were such a strong presence in my life growing up (and still are). I think that what's special about having childhood/very close family friends is that these people know you over a long period of time; they've witnessed your growth and increased independence, but will still always remember you as the little girl with long flowing locks (down to my hips in my case) or the missing front tooth.

With all of these meetings and milestones, I've been feeling pretty nostalgic lately. Take last night, for example. We visited our really close family friends who have two daughters. I started babysitting for these cuties when I was eleven. In fact, I accidently locked this one in her bedroom on one of my first jobs ever (Jules had to come bail me out by swiping a credit card through the door). Luckily, she was asleep at the time and had no idea what was happening. Therefore, the little trooper (and my guinea pig in the babysitting world) suffered no lasting psychological damage from this experience. The incredibly scary part? She is now eleven herself.

On Friday, my childhood best friend's older brother got married. Laurie and I met when we were four. I'll spare her the picture I'm tempted to post of us at my sixth birthday party (I am wearing a hideous daisy dress, she is sporting a purple tank top with shorts pulled up to her stomach and a thick yellow 90s style headband). Many frightening fashion choices later, here we are just a few days back.

If I'm talking milestones, it's worth mentioning that I was at Laurie's ninth birthday party when Joey was born. I didn't find out until after the party, when her family drove me home and she was by my side as I welcomed my new sibling into the world ("Wait, his middle name is Giovanni? Seriously?" I exclaimed to her). In the same way (though not), I am honored to be a part of her upcoming wedding next year. Our drastic height difference does nothing to our shared values and experiences.

 Someday, there will be more graduations and weddings and kids and jobs. But for now, I'm just relishing in some touching memories with those who are special enough to continue to stick around for the ride.

Not Just a Ballpark

Last Friday, I attended my first Redsox game in a few years with my very close friends. While my team lost that night, I was reminded of the reasons I fell in love with the Sox so many years ago. On my ride home in the back seat, somewhere between awake and asleep, a flood of memories overwhelmed me. Memories of a bitterly cold night in late October, 2004.

I am thirteen, a few inches shorter back then. My three cousins and I are a few paces short of a slow jog, striving to keep up with Dad who knows the bustling streets of Boston like the back of his hand. Almost as well as he knows me.

"That was a good idear, pahking the cah there," he says to us with a sideways glance. By this point in our lives, we are used to decoding our Dads and their heavy Boston accents. The accents sound like home, just like the noises on Yawkey Way that could only come with eighty-six years of built-up energy; Redsox Nation had been pulling for this moment for generations. A World Series. We took our seats.

I am so ready for this. A die-hard fan, I have spent the better part of the last week saying Hail Mary's and Our Fathers in my bathroom, hardly able to take a peek at the television screen that was broadcasting a feat that screamed divine miracle: the Sox, originally being down three games to none, had just won the American League pennant. I guess I didn't think that God had anything else to worry about in that moment. And then came the announcer's cry, every ounce of professionalism gone: "AND REDSOX NATION CAN REJOICE TONIGHT!" We are all children now. Jumping and hugging, a tangle of arms and legs. We can hear the neighborhood's collective cheering. It is a school night for Robbie and I, but for once, nobody cares.

Nearly a week later, I still have the same raw energy. But I also have pneumonia. "I will NOT be missing this game," I announced to my concerned mother earlier that day as she took my temperature for what seemed like the millionth time. If Curt Shilling could pitch with an injured ankle and a sock saturated with blood, then I could certainly brace the cold for my beloved team. And so, with a heavy dose of Tylenol in my system and two thick coats on my back, I brave the weather and my failing immune system to watch history unfold before my eyes.

Wow, there are so many families here, I thought. A toddler in her mother's arms. A grandfather with his arm around his grandson's shoulder, pointing out the various plays. Four generations of fans compose one family sitting behind us.

In true Rob Papapietro fashion, Dad has already made friends with at least five people in every direction. I love that about him. His easygoing nature, his smile that stretches from the park to his childhood home in the East Boston projects a few miles away. He and a fellow Bostonian are exchanging life stories in the eighth inning when he breaks away for a moment, watching my face grow increasingly pale. He knows I am slipping away.

The coughs start. Coughs that seem to rattle my bones. Not now, the Sox are making their comeback, I think to myself. But I have to go get warm somehow. Without a second thought, Dad takes me inside the stadium as we stand, father and daughter, in a spot that allows us to still hear every play.

The Sox win. In fact, they win four games straight. The title of "World Champions" belongs to them.

I think anyone who is a Sox fan will agree that the 2004 team had an unparalleled magic. The players meshed; they had handshakes and shaggy hair and a shared resolve. And the fans united too. From all different walks of life, the fans at Fenway that night had a common passion for the game and for their team.

It's funny though. Because Fenway is just a ballpark. It is just a century old building, with tens of thousands of seats and a giant Citgo sign. But it's so much more than that. It represents priceless memories for so many.

More specifically, it is a century of memories between children and their parents.

And I am no exception.

It's amazing what you remember when your parent is no longer with you, at least in the physical sense. The moments you remember when, at least in this life, you won't get any more "moments."

But this realization only makes those memories that much more vivid, like a dream that you never want to lose. I have never remembered Dad's strong hand so well as I held it in mine. Or the smell of peanuts. Or his deep brown eyes, eyes that are reflected in my own.

It is now, at twenty-one, eight more years of love and life under my belt, that I can lie in the back seat and smile, waves of joy seeping through all corners of my heart, remembering a night of unconditional love in the form of a team that gave me hope, and a father who I will always be infinitely proud to call my own.

It's the Thought

A few weeks back, we had a returning camper in our class. This little boy has hit a bit of a rough patch in his young life, a rough patch that his behavior certainly reflected. To make a long story short, he and his mother came in this morning to us counselors with an apology and a bag of cookies.

To further set the scene: the boy who was downright disobedient for three weeks was now cowering behind his mother's legs, looking fragile and embarrassed.

His mother explained that it was very difficult for him to come to apologize for his behavior, but that it is an important lesson that he has to learn. Owning up to his mistakes, and setting things right. Or at least taking the first step.

And those chocolate chip cookies were some of the best I've ever tasted.

I've learned that people show their feelings in highly varied ways. Some people apologize through words, others through actions. When you love someone, you learn how they tick.

Or let's go beyond apologies entirely. Another related lesson? Different people can be there for you in different ways (and you for them). Some people may let you lean on their shoulder and just cry. Others may listen while you try to work through your feelings out loud. Or on the phone. Or through emails. Still others are blessed with knowing just what to say at just the right time. Still others don't do emotions so well, but will bake you a cake and deliver it with a hug.

In my opinion, no one act of love outdoes another. It is the intention behind the action. If the apology is sincere, what does it matter if it is through a letter or through baked goods?

When you have special people in your life who love you, you learn that this love is all around you. No matter what form it comes in.

It's really about acceptance. From accepting an apology to accepting help. And realizing that everyone is in a different stage in life. And we all have unique strengths regarding caring for others or relating our feelings.

When we know better, we do better.

And that realization tastes pretty sweet. Kind of like gooey chocolate chip cookies.

You and You Alone

At church this morning, I sat next to an elderly woman sitting alone. On her other side sat a beautiful Vera Bradley purse. While I am constantly smiling at complete strangers, I'm not typically inclined to actually begin conversations due to my moderate level of shyness. But some voice kept prodding me to talk to this woman. Have you ever had those really out-of-nowhere inclinations that you can't explain? So I complimented her purse. She sounded so appreciative, and then went on a joking rant about how it weighs 100 pounds because she stuffs everything inside (I sympathized). Then mass started. And that was it.

Or was it?

This is just a guess, but my "voice"  this morning may have stemmed from a very recent event. The word "event" doesn't seem to fit, actually. But whatever you want to call it, I cannot pretend that I am not utterly horrified by the tragic shooting in Colorado. My heart skipped several beats as I heard the details while sitting in traffic on my way to the Sox game Friday night.

As the traffic jam continued for a good half hour, my mind wandered. Though the two tragedies are very different, I could not help but be reminded of the shooting at Columbine High School in 1999. Yes, I was only a second grader at the time. But I remember that day vividly, though teachers and parents were able to shield many of us from the gory details.

 Many years later, I would read a book written by the parents of one of the Columbine victims, a sixteen-year-old girl named Rachel Joy Scott. It is not an overstatement to say that this one book drastically altered the way I view my time here. "Rachel's Tears" features Rachel's own profound journal entries and drawings, many reflecting her intense drive to live a life of compassion. This girl exemplified the mantra "practice what you preach." As expressed in her writings, she always had this strange feeling that she would die young. Her journal would be retrieved from her backpack after her death, a bullet hole piercing the cover. Written on it? "I will not be labeled as average."

I have this theory, that if one person can go out of their way to show compassion, then it will start a chain reaction of the same; people never know how far a little kindness can go.
-Rachel's Tears

I remember reading an article around the tenth anniversary of the Columbine shooting. It spoke of a "Columbine Generation," referring to those children and adolescents who attended high school during the shooting or anytime later. This generation (that includes me), according to many, is characterized by highly protective parents and anxious school climates. In a way, people would be looking over their shoulders for years to come.

And who can blame us? Take Columbine. Rachel sitting in the courtyard eating her lunch? Dead. Students eating in the cafeteria? Alive. Or the movie theater in Colorado. Some of those sitting in front of the big screen in Aurora? Dead. Those watching Batman ten minutes down the road? Alive.

Cafeteria, courtyard, this movie or that one...whether directly or indirectly, realized or unknown, our "life paths" involve being in the right (or wrong) place at the right (or wrong) time.

But we cannot worry about that.

Heck, someone could have started shooting at the Sox game I attended this weekend. But it's not about scaring anyone. It's about taking the time to reflect on why we're here. What are our dreams? What do we want to give to the world today?

That's the real point. Life is full of everyday activities: eating lunch, watching a movie, doing our best job at work, playing peek-a-boo with the chubby cheeked baby sitting two pews in front. When I hear people tell stories of others who've changed their lives, it is rarely the celebrity. More often than not, it is the parent, the teacher, the stranger, the friend.

We don't need to be Superman or accomplish some feat from another universe. We just need to live intentionally, and create lives that are uniquely ours. Whatever your job, whatever your age, whatever your place in life...do your best and use everyday to do good. No one else can fulfill your special purpose in life. Because there will never, ever be another you. 

Just some food for thought on this beautiful Sunday.