{we shall not cease from exploration}

Merry almost Christmas!

Done with school (or more accurately, done with exams) for three and a half wonderful weeks. I have a stack of books, a list of movies, a mental file-folder full of recipes to try, miles of running routes, and a sunny house filled with family. This is going to be a quiet break, which is exactly what I need—nothing as exotic as last year (seriously, who goes to Hawaii for Christmas with their best friends?)

About three-quarters of my bucket list involves travel. Hiking Kilimanjaro, seeing the Northern Lights, yachting off Capri, hiking to Macchu Picchu (actually, come to think of it, most of my bucket list also involves hiking…hmm).

 

I speculate that this stems from a pre-emptive strike against my fear that I will end up living in the suburbs for the rest of my life and never get to see what else is on this pale blue dot we call home.

I started this blog at the beginning of the summer because even with a full-time job, I had more free time than ever before. The name “A Life Explored” was more wishful than anything. I didn’t feel like I was doing a whole lot of exploration. Everything in my life was familiar, and not that exciting. That was a concept especially hard to swallow when my original plan for the summer had been to go to Japan, to learn about and explore a place entirely different from what I knew. And granted, it ended up better than expected—I reconnected with old friends and found little pockets of happiness that lightened the tone of the whole summer back into positive territory. But that summer has ended, and now a new chapter of life is on the horizon.

Well, 2012 is already looking up to be a more geographical kind of exploration-based year. On the docket (so far): Honduras, Israel, Turkey, Greece, Italy, and Sweden. Three separate trips I’m equal parts excited and thankful for. And I’m determined that this isn’t going to become ‘that year in college when I traveled’, but the beginning of a lifetime of travel, of exploring creation, of living my life to the fullest out of gratitude for the fact that I did not do anything to deserve or earn this life but was given it, out of God’s grace.

Here’s to adventure. Here’s to exploration. Here’s to life.

Now let's get off the Internet and go live it.  

Why I will yell at you if you tell me I look like Taylor Swift

Every couple weeks (without a new album of hers out, its getting less and less frequent), someone comes up to me and goes "Hey! You look like Taylor Swift!"

These occurrences fall into one of two categories: strangers and friends/acquaintances. 

The ones from strangers are funny and I generally take them in stride and just use them as anecdote fodder. Check-out people at Target, random pre-teen girls at Starbucks, lots of moms, waiters--all feel the need to tell me that I look like Taylor Swift. The best ones are the people who look at me and go, "You look familiar..." but can't place it. Or better yet, the people who ask me if I am Taylor Swift. Doesn't happen that often, but its so, so funny when it does. Yes, Taylor Swift lives in a suburb in Atlanta and nannies in her free time. 

The worst is people who ask me, "Has anyone ever told you you look like Taylor Swift?", as if they've just had this really unique epiphany about my appearance. I read this article by a journalist who resembles Harry Potter, or I guess technically Daniel Radcliffe, and resonated with it at pretty much every point,  (read it here: http://www.observer.com/2011/07/regarding-harry), one of the main ones being the general public's lack of creativity with this observation. Or even more tiring, their utter unawareness of their lack of creativity. If someone ever came up to me and quoted song lyrics, I would think that was hilarious.  

The ones from friends/acquaintances, however, are not funny. I literally give people extra points mentally if they never bring it up. Its a small list, and its always groan-inducing when someone I've met a few times is so close to being good enough friends with me I would assume we'd talked about it already

and then they go and say it. C'mon man. 

So, why do I object so strongly to being told I look like T-Swift or even being associated with her? 

Here is my exhaustive, comprehensive, and conclusive opinion on the subject. For anyone whose ever been subjected to my pouting after trying to pay me a compliment, most likely, here's why:

[1.] I don't look like Taylor Swift.

Hear me out. Do I fall into the same type category as Taylor Swift? Absolutely. We are both 5'10 and have similar hair. And, granted, there was one time I saw a picture and went, "Whoa, I totally don't remember being here--" and then realizing that it was actually a picture of her. But it was this picture:

Taken from far away. Could've happened to anyone. 

Back to my point. We look similar, from some aspects. But our face structures are completely different. And generally I would say one's face is one's most distinguishing aspect. Also, no one ever told me I looked liked her when I used to straighten the heck out of my hair, so more accurately people should say that my hair looks like her hair, not me generally.

[2.]  I don't really like being associated with her.
Originally I liked Taylor Swift. When her first album came out and she was the new face out of Nashville, I loved her music. It was relatable, original country-pop and it wasn't overplayed. However, the third album is an entirely different story. Its one thing to be singing about boys who done you wrong and mean girls at your high school from the perspective of an up-and-coming artist, its another to act the victim when you're one of the most successful artists in the world. Using your number one album to chronicle every terrible awful thing anyone else has ever done to you is petty. And she knows it, otherwise the song "Better Than Revenge" wouldn't exist. Also, I'm unconvinced that she deserves the immense amount of fame she has. There are better technical and more acclaimed singers out there who should be winning those best album/best artist Grammys. And in her interviews she always seems kind of neurotic to me. 

Caveat: Once I decide I dislike something, or really someone, everything they do is viewed through that perspective. If someone else had given the same interview I probably wouldn't even have noticed. I realize I'm probably being a little harsh. 

[3.] Reason three is less legitimate (reason four is better, bear with me). Like most teenage girls, I relate to her song lyrics. (A friend of mine once said, "you cannot have an emotion that Taylor Swift hasn't written about," which is relatively true, especially on relationship issues). So of course when I was experiencing those emotions when Speak Now dropped, I listened to those corresponding songs. So "Sparks Fly" and "Enchanted" remind me of a guy that I really liked. And then when things fell apart with him, I maybe overdosed a little bit on "Story of Us", "Haunted", etc. So Taylor Swift now reminds me of that part of last year, which isn't something I particularly like to be reminded of. However...that's really not her fault. 

Back to the legitimate reasons why I don't like being told I look like Taylor Swift:

[4.] I really, really resent being "the girl who looks like Taylor Swift".
This, more than anything else, is the core of why the whole thing bothers me. Its like my identity has been reduced to looking like someone famous. People I've never met refer to me as the GWLLTS. Friends describe me to other people as the GWLLTS because its that, over my name, major, activities, who I'm friends with, that sparks recognition. At one point last year, I had a crush on someone and was talking to friend about it and she said, "Oh, he definitely likes you." When I asked how she knew, she said, "Because he has like a huge thing for Taylor Swift." 

Um. 

Well, thanks Taylor. Apparently you and my resemblance to you is the only thing getting me guys. Glad to know that my personality's irrelevant. 

And yes, I realize that people are usually trying to compliment me. But it would be a lot more thoughtful to actually compliment me, because its not even calling me pretty, its just telling me I look like someone who is pretty. It reduces my identity to my appearance--and not even my appearance, but its similarity to someone else's. 

And this has actually become a fear. That when guys I don't know introduce themselves that they just want to meet the Taylor Swift lookalike. And why I start getting nervous when I notice the posters and calendars in the room, the listening to Fearless on Spotify, the fact that I'm in their phone as "Taylor Swift".... (true story. that's really happened.). 

I haven't done the best job handling the whole situation. I definitely complicate the issue by sometimes going along with it. Mostly because when you meet someone and they say, "Hey, you're the girl who looks like Taylor Swift!", as annoying as it is, I don't really want to launch into my diatribe of Lauren's Fourteen Long-Winded Reasons Why You Shouldn't Have Said That. This was especially true during freshmen orientation. People could have called me whatever they wanted, I was just happy they remembered me. Also, I sometimes do things like change my profile picture to her during Celebrity Doppelganger Week on Facebook or dress up like her on Halloween. That really doesn't help. 

I should probably be more gracious about the whole thing. But what I'm really trying to avoid is going from "The Girl Who Looks Like Taylor Swift" to "The Girl Who Thinks She Looks Like Taylor Swift". I figured vehemently fighting against the comparison would be the best way to avoid the second nickname. Or printing this out and distributing it as leaflets.

The other complicated thing is that if you are good friends with me, it doesn't bother me. I know that sounds really weird after like four pages of whining about the issue, but if we're buds, I know its a joke. With acquaintances, I'm never completely sure. So don't feel like I'm going to punch you in the face if you make a Kanye joke or slip a little TSwift nickname in somewhere. I'll probably laugh. I would just prefer something more original, thats all.
I think that about says it all.

Anyone else besides the Harry Potter guy have celebrity lookalike issues?

BLD

This post is a little overdue. But better late than never.

Last Saturday there was a blacklight dance.

That normally wouldn't be too out of the ordinary. Except that Wheaton for many years was essentially Footloose University and dancing wasn't allowed. Eventually that was changed, but there could only be four dances a year and they were hosted by one on-campus group, College Union. It was a dance monopoly, if you will. These dances have been the same for the last two or three decades and involve things like square-dancing, swing-dancing, and roller skating. Fun, but not exactly up to date.

This summer, that changed. If you were a group on campus, you could request to hold a dance. 

Our class council decided, after much debate, decided to make it a blacklight dance. And as events coordinator, I was in charge. And more than a little nervous. 

This should not have gone well.

The administration was skeptical.

The students were worried it would get out of hand.

We're only sophomores and we don't have even close to the resources College Union does.

But we did it. And after months of planning, stress, worry, and prayer (And I mean constant, please-God-let-this-go-well prayer) it happened. And it absolutely rocked. That "BLD" title could just as easily be "BFD" because it is a big freaking deal that this happened.

So to the tear-down editorials filled with snarky comments that all we did was take away some of the "nastier elements" that go along with the connotation this kind of event (i.e. drinking, drugs, a "hyper-sexualized environment")--then what exactly is the problem? I understand the concern that this kind of a thing is trying to be too much a part of the world, and that's valid. Our primary goal shouldn't be to be "cool". But I fail to see how providing a safe environment for people to have fun on campus damages our credibility as Christians. And I think the fact that the author of that editorial said she herself had fun--even while on the lookout for any hint of immorality or misdirected intentions--proves our point.
I think people were afraid because this was new. Because yes, we were playing the same music played in clubs. But this is a classic example of high/low culture preferences. No one at all has problems with a salsa dance (I guess no one's seen Dirty Dancing), probably because it has more of a set form and its part of many people's cultural heritage. Well, for a lot of our generation, house music is cultural. And making blanket statements about culture is narrow-minded. Condemnation leads very, very easily into legalism. This is okay, this is not. If you listen to this song, if you go to that club--ooh, you must be struggling with your faith, huh?
Yes, there are elements of that scene, that culture, that don't line up with our morals--but for me at least, it comes down to intent. If you really wanted to, you could make the Charleston inappropriate. And I fully understand the point that if something is a stumbling block for some, then the rest of us need to be sensitive to that and not provide temptation. After all, that's really what the Community Covenant is for.We are told that "everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial". So if for you going to the Blacklight Dance was a pseudo version of a club scene that went against what you believe is beneficial for you, then I apologize. Truly, that was not our intent.
Maybe because they didn't get to see all the work that went into this. They saw flashing lights, heard pounding bass, saw a sea of jumping people. They had no idea that this was a showcase of so many different people's talents--the technical expertise behind the sound, the technological wizardry behind the lights show, the artistry behind a perfectly delivered setlist. 

To the 99% of you who saw this as a positive thing, thank you. This is my little Internet shout-out to everyone who helped. You all are incredible. I am so proud to be friends with you, to work with you, to share this with you. Last Saturday, you showed the campus and the administration something incredibly important. We can dance without getting out of control. We can move into this century without compromising our morals. We proved that really what Wheaton wants when we go to clubs is time to hang out with our friends in a new setting, let our hair down, have fun, de-stress and go crazy in the best sense of the word. We proved that house and club music is not inherently bad, that blacklights do not signify sketchiness.

The pure joy that showed through your dancing, jumping, laughing, singing, smiling and DJ-ing made it all worth it.

I am incredibly proud to be a member of the Class of 2014, in so many more things than this. We're movers and shakers. We're revolution starters. We're passionate. And this is just the beginning.

Addendum: my grandmother, Wheaton Class of 1962, just saw the video for the blacklight dance (http://vimeo.com/31673252) and said "Oh my, those kids look like they're having fun. Wow I wish we had had stuff like that." 

up in the air

A word on airports.

I’ve spent a lot of time in airports. I’m kind of like an airport anthropologist, constantly people watching and analyzing ‘air world’ culture. Not as exciting as it sounds though. In the last year I’ve clocked sixteen separate flights on the Chicago-Atlanta route alone. So while I’m fairly well-traveled, I often spend most of my time “traveling” sitting in terminal E12 of O’Hare International.

Airports fall into a pretty definite dichotomy. There are the airports with energy, and then there are the other airports. Airports with energy, that je ne se quoi of excitement and the promise of world travel, are awesome. Businessmen striding purposefully off to make multi-million dollar deals and bragging about their frequent flyer miles, people from every country walking around, dramatic send-offs for loved ones. Great for people-watching and for the feeling that at any moment your life could change: you could swap out your boring domestic ticket for Berlin, Paris, Shanghai or Sydney. You could sit down on the plane and your seatmate could be a media mogul, an actor, an international jetsetter. This has a lot to do with what kind of city its in. LA, New York, London all have it. The Dallas and Atlanta airports, surprisingly enough, have it. Major train stations in Europe have it. That feeling that you are somewhere where things are happening.

But then there are all the other airports. They mainly do domestic routes. They are filled with families with small children, people going to routine business meetings and people from the suburbs going to visit their relatives in Ohio. The airport is lackluster. You sit down next to a mid-level businessman from a small company somewhere in the flyover states. It is utterly predictable and utterly devoid of anything interesting after about the fourth time you fly. This only gets worse if, like me, you end up in the same gate of the same airport two out of three times.

Also, the show Pan-Am has been ruined for me. Don’t get me wrong, its entertaining and I’m kind of hooked but after growing up with my dad in the industry I can’t really romanticize being a flight attendant.

The upside is, I rock those airports. Spending that much time anywhere, you start to figure out how things work. 

williston.

hi georgia friends.

this is my home for the year.

It's kind of historic.

This is my little side door that I go in to get to our corner room on the first floor.

Because its so cozy and tucked away, we have christened it "The Hideaway".

No one calls it that except us.

And when its nice and clean and has good lighting, it looks like this:

{flowers drying from the birthday}

My cluttered desk (Emily, I have no idea how your room is so awesomely minimalist. Teach me.)

So basically, Williston is adorable. Its also over a hundred years old, which means its "quirky". Like the power sometimes randomly goes out. And the layout of the rooms is really hard to work with. To make everything else fit, we triple bunked our beds. One of my roommates' dads said we looked like an orphanage.

So this is home for the year. Its sometimes really cute and most of the time really messy and I sometimes want to just donate all of my stuff to Goodwill except my laptop, bible, and some clothes and start fresh. I'm incredibly blessed to be living with friends and even though I complain about dorms, delaying the onslaught of "real life" is nothing to sneeze at. 

twenty.

I'm not a birthday person. I'm kind of obnoxious about it too. Wish me a happy twentieth and you'll most likely be treated to a rant about how I haven't done anything in the last two decades or (even worse) how birthdays are overrated and if you're friends with someone you shouldn't need a date on the calendar to tell you to celebrate them. Cherish your friends everyday and all that jazz. I should really be more gracious about that.

Twenty, though. That sounds so removed from me. I'm not this twenty year old. Twenty year olds have apartments and cool jobs and pay bills and live in cities. I'm not there yet. I live in a dorm room. I'm on a meal plan. I don't have a job during the year. Heck, I don't even have a car. The only thing that makes me "independent" is the fact that I'm not physically living under my parents' roof. But I'm still wholly dependent on them in most other ways. I haven't done enough to be twenty. Twenty year olds have done stuff. Important stuff.

Its like how when you were little, high school students seemed so, so cool. And then when you got there, it never felt as cool or exciting as you were sure it would be. Twenty has this connotation of sophistication and independence and energy that I might never live up to.

Believe it or not, my friends still want to be friends with me after having their ears bent out of shape with this constant whinging refrain of mine. And they very sweetly brought me flowers, something I love getting but have few excuses to do so. 

So thank you for everyone who helped celebrate. Thank you especially to the bouquet-bearing Mary, CJ, Harry, Kristi, and Maggie. 

Locked out

Its 3:53 AM. You know, because when you woke up with your throat hurting you knew it was obscenely early so you checked. You blearily stumble out of your room, grabbing a Nalgene on the way. You walk down the hall and into the lobby where the water fountain is, nudging a wooden wedge into the space between the door frame and the door, shutting it a split second after you realize that the wedge is too short. But its too late. The door has locked. You have no phone, no ID. You are locked out. 

There is a blank moment before the panic sweeps over and the gravity of the situation hits you. In that instant, you feel like you've been marooned on a desert island, left behind at a gas station on a family road trip, a dozen other scenarios far more serious than the predicament you are currently facing. 

Not life-threatening in any way, that moment of stupidity has far reaching consequences. You try the door several times, knowing even as you do that it will remain firmly in place unless you have that magic strip of plastic that proclaims you to be a Wheaton student. It's not that bad, you reason, you'll find a way in. 

But one by one, your plans and options fail. You need a key card to get into the basement, to any of the other floors. There is no night watch staff at Williston. Its an (early) Sunday morning, so no four AM cleaning crew. There are only sixty people in your dorm, and its a little too late for anyone to just be getting home and far too early for anyone to be up. The GRA's room has a discouraging sign telling you that between the hours of 11PM and 8AM, you're on your own. Call Public Safety. (Yeah, I would do that but I don't have a phone.) The other helpful suggestions ("Call your roommates!" "Call the RA on duty!") are not so helpful, for obvious reasons.

You pace the lobby. You memorize the decor, the dedication plaque, the bios of the UCC staff. You run through plans. Maybe if I go over to Mac-Evans, there are more people there and a Night Watch staff, you think. But that would mean getting through two ID card swipe only entry doors. Too risky. Better to stay inside your dorm than get stuck outside. 

You bang on every hall door, cursing the Victorian structure and its thick, thick walls that you once found so charming. Surely someone will hear you through the door, the closet, the bathroom, and their living room and come help.

You consider just starting to scream really loud. Or pull the fire alarm. Then decide that this is your own fault and that all of these solutions would cause more problems than they'd solve. So you go curl up on the lobby couch and wait. Doze off, have dreams about being let in by various people (the cleaning crew, someone's mom, an exchange student) which end with you back in bed but as soon as you go to sleep in the dream you wake up in real life and realize all over again that you are still stuck outside. 

You pace some more. Go get some more water. 

Time passes differently. You stare at the clock for a while, 4:46, 4:47...then you fall asleep and its 5:23 (Almost thirty minutes! Time's flying!) 

Finally, finally, at 7:58 an early bird comes down for church. You jump on her.

"Hi! Canyouletmeinokaygreat!! HowlonghaveIbeenhere? Uh..."

You stomp back inside, very tired, to your still open door, lights blaring inside. (How did your roommates not notice? How? I could have been lying in a ditch, or kidnapped.) 

The next day, after the grumpiness has worn off, you tell a few people. Then regret it when they start saying things like:

"Aw why didn't you call us? We have a couch!"

"Why couldn't the RA let you in?"

"You should have just gone to Mac or something."

Or, my favorite, (and for context, our room is a story off the ground and our windows face an alley that is contained by a ten foot fence)

"You should have gone behind Williston and thrown rocks at the window so your roommates would let you in!"

Always bring your IDs, kiddos.