Regrets

My life has taken a slight turn in a different direction, with me left to decide if it was for the better or worse.  And while I have yet to discover which, I know one thing for sure: I do know that I don't regret any of what happened. 

After all,

"Never regret anything that makes you smile" -Mark Twain

And I smiled a lot.  In fact, I have been smiling uncontrollably the last few days.  And so, even if other people tell me I made a mistake and even if I did, I will not regret. 

So when a friend of mine told me that he thought I had made a huge mistake and was surprised when I told him I had no regrets about it, I go to thinking about that small yet monumental word which could make or break our life.

Regrets.

They seem to follow us everywhere. 

'I should have done this.  I could have done that.  I wish I had never done this.  Why did I ever do that?'

But honestly, what is the point in regretting a moment or a word or a mistake when every single piece of our lives makes us who we are?  It is self-destructive to regret who we are, so:

Why do we regret?

Until someone finally invents a time machine that allows us to travel back in time and correct mistakes, regrets can only hurt us. 

And to the next person who tells me I should regret a moment that I am perfectly happy with, I can only say I feel sorry for you.  You have not reached the level of self-content I have reached.  I can only hope someday you do, and realize that

"As you grow older, you will find the only things you regret are the things you did not do" -Zachary Scott

I Have Returned

About two weeks ago, I opened my laptop, I clicked the search box, and I typed in almost automatically, "sixteenandcluelss.blogspot.com", as I do every day.

But my blog wasn't there.  The bright orange colors I had become so accoustomed to lighting up my screen never appeared, and I was only left with a succint message from Google notifying me that my blog had been deleted.  I had no idea why; there was no explanation or warning, no goodbye's or time to save any of my posts, just a non-existent blog where there once was a place for me to pour out my hopes and dreams.

At first, I was shocked.  And then, I was it with a blast of complete and utter sadness, confusion, hurt, and anger.  I had poured an endless amount of time into this blog, so much so that I even shed a few tears, devastated that what I had used so much energy for was gone in the blink of an eye.

It's been two weeks, and I had slowly come to terms with the fact that it was gone, it wasn't coming back.  However, I still hadn't quite given up, and so I checked every once and a while, and was always met with the same Google message that broke my heart.

Until yesterday.  I still have no idea how or why, but somehow my blog has come back to life and I can return to the writing I love so dearly. 

Does anyone have any idea why my blog was deleted?  I am extremely terrified of it happening again, of me losing all of this tremendous work in the blink of an eye, so I will be very careful from now on.  And thank you to all of you who are reading this blog- you should know that it is a part of me, an essential part that I hope to never lose again.

Question Number 12: Overachievement

o·ver·a·chieve [oh-ver-uh-cheev]

to perform better or achieve more than expected, especially by others.

The last few days, I have just been so very tired.

I know that I do too much to handle.  I take every opportunity, participating in everything available to me and more.  This wouldn't be so detrimental if I didn't push myself to the absolute breaking point in everything, no matter how seemingly insignifcant, as I attempt to reach that unnattainable goal: perfection.

My list of things to do seems to grow with each passing day-On top of my honors classes and National Honors Society, I run cross country, I swim competitively, I am in my school musical, I have an after-school job as a lifeguard, and I volunteer as a tutor.  Oh, and I am forgetting the most important activity, the one that I am constantly reminded is my main focus, the one takes up hours and hours of my time: I study.  A lot.  I study so much that I lose sleep.  Which brings me back to the ever-present fact that I am so very tired.

And while I love everything I do with all my heart and throw my entire being to each activity, I can't help but ask myself:

 

When does achievement become overachievement?  When does it all become too much to handle?

 

Many would say that "too much to handle" is the point when you wake with a start and find your face stuck in the glossy pages of a text book in the late hours of the night.  But instead of sleeping, you go right back to studying.  And yet, this is a scene that has taken place in my room too many times to count. 

 

Again, I cannot stress enough that I do all that I do because I love it.  However, it often becomes less enjoyable when I am trying so hard to be the best at it.  I always have been a little too competitive.  For me, perfection is the goal, and anything less is only acceptable.  I do this to myself; I am my biggest critic.  I only allow myself praise when I have reached that stage that seems as close to perfect as I will ever be.

 

Madonna once said, “I became an overachiever to get approval from the world”
In my case, I became an overachiever to get approval from myself.

Question Number 11: Painful Beauty

Today, I had an appointment to pierce my cartilage.

I did it because I love quirks; I love having qualities-however seemingly insignificant-that become part of who I am.  Also, I simply love the way it looks.

Yes, I will admit it was painful.  And for the next week or so, I will not be able to sleep with my pillow against my left ear.  And every time I push my hair behind my ear, it stings for a moment, reminding me of the new, tender hole in through my cartilage.

Is it worth it?  I think so.  I love it.  After all, beauty is often painful.  But the lingering pain forced me to ask myself a question:

Why do we inflict pain on ourselves to achieve 'beauty'?

I will be the first to admit that getting my eyebrows waxed may be one of the most miserable experiences imaginable- and yet I, along with millions of other women, have an appointment to do just that every other month.

Walking in heels could be considered torture for your feet- and yet for special occasions I shove my feet into the most uncomforatble shoes imaginable and walk with my head held high and my feet throbbing, tripping every other time I take a step. 

As women, many of us pluck, pull, remove, improve, and alter endless aspects of our appearances to achieve that ever-desired point: beauty.

Sometimes, I wonder what 'beauty' would be if we all simply crawled out of bed in the mornings and walked out the door.

Question Number 10: Truly Knowing Someone

“Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realize you're really strangers.” -Mary Tyler Moore

An elderly couple plods carefully around the streets of a bustling city, linking arms and smiling at each other every once and a while.  They have been married for 71 years.  It seems as though they have said everything they will ever need to say to each other, and so they walk silently.  But the silence isn't uncomfortable, it's filled with unspoken and implied words that they have already heard. 

Do these people know absolutely everything about each other?  

The simple answer would be yes-they have spent almost their entire lives together, shared their thoughts, their memories, and themselves.  However, is the realistic answer no? 

Is it possible to know everything about another person?

Even the people you are incredibly close to, the ones you can confide in about everything and know they can do the same-They must have some secrets, even if they aren't purposely kept a secret, right?  And then there are the secrets they do keep on purpose- after all, we all need a part of us that belongs to only us.

Each of us has our own inner thoughts and desires, ones that we might never share with any other human being.  Those secret thoughts that we keep covertly hidden beneath our exterior smile are part of who we are.  And if no one ever sees those unreachable thoughts, does anyone really know us?

Does the common saying "he/she knows me more than I know myself" have any truth to it?  Or is that an unreachable impossiblity?

Question Number 9: Defining Ourselves

“Care about what other people think and you will always be their prisoner.” ― Lao Tzu

The truth of this quote rings louder than I can comprehend.  So why is it so hard to live out in every day life?

I know I am not the only one out there who tries on an outfit for some special occassion and must first send a picture of it to a friend with the caption, "Does this look okay?" before I can actually wear it.  But if I like the outfit, if I think it looks okay, why do I need someone else's approval?

Have you ever noticed that a single sincere compliment suddenly makes your day seem that much better?  And yet in contrast, a snide or condescending remark from someone else forces all that self-confidence to fly out the window.  Of course, this is something I am constantly working on.  How many times have I heard advice from parents and peers, "It doesnt matter what other people think."  And I agree-I try every day to be my own person, define who I am by what I desire, not what others do. 

And yet, when someone says,

"You are beautiful"

 I believe them.  And suddenly I am soaring-I am beautiful.

But then, when someone says,

"I don't like you"

I am heartbroken, and I wonder dejectedley if anyone does.

Why do we define ourselves by how others see us?

I write an essay for Language Arts class that I have poured my heart and soul into, one that I spent hours perfecting and feel as if a part of me lies within the words.  And yet, I must wait for the "A" written on the top of the page in red pen before I can truly feel as if it was a success.

Hearing people say great things about me makes me smile uncontrollably, while rumors or critiscm hurt more than I could ever describe. 

However, with each passing day, I am beginning to feel more and more comfortable in my own skin.  I am starting to completely belive that it truly doesn't matter what other people think, because it doesn't. 

I will define myself by how I see myself.
I will receive compliments with a smile and a sincere "Thank you", but I will not let them shape my entire day.
I will not allow criticism to tear down any of my self confidence.
I will be me.

And everyone else should do the same.

Question Number 8: High Expectations

Four seemingly harmless words are constantly falling out of people's mouths: "Give him a chance."

While they are seemingly harmless, I despise hearing them.  I want to scream to them and the rest of the world, "Why?! Why should I have to?"

My best friend counters their advice with words of her own, ones that she repeats to me when she knows I need to hear them.  She tells me, "You should never have to settle."  And I shoudn't, right? 

Right?

It's almost comical to think that somewhere, a beautiful girl sits in her room dreaming of a beautiful boy whom she loves with all her heart.  And somewhere, that very beautiful boy is dreaming about someone else-someone else that isn't her.  And in another room, there sits another boy who dreams of the beautiful girl-the same beautiful girl who dreams of the beautiful boy.

And the cycle continues.  I suppose the real question is, which one should 'give it a chance', essentially settling for what they do not truly want?  Should anyone have to settle?  Or is settling part of finding true love?

People tell me that my problem is that I have extremely high expectations.  I would have to agree.  I know who I like and I refuse to settle for anything else.  But I'm beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, settling is essential in the ways of love.  Isn't it a fact that loving someone means loving their flaws as well?

When it comes to love, is having high exectations benificial or detrimental? 

Somewhere, there is the boy that I dream of.  But he dreams of someone else.
And somewhere else, there is another boy I know is dreaming of me.  Should I settle?  Should I unwillingly follow the advice that people have been pounding into me since boys first became a part of my life? 

I guess I'll never know.

Question Number 7: We used to be friends

Hallways. High school. 100's of people.

You smile at those that you know and ignore those that you don't.  And what about those that you used to know, but don't know now?

I remember when I was a freshman, so wrapped up in the beginnings of high school and the unknown of whatever might lay ahead. A senior offered to drive me home from school one day, and  on that solitary car ride, we talked about life. We talked about school, we talked about boys, we talked about our futures, and we talked about friends.  She said to me knowingly, "The friends that you have your freshman year will drastically change.  I haven't even spoken to my freshman best friend in 3 years."

I looked at this girl, this 18-year-old girl who had lived only a few years more than I had but had experienced what felt like a life-time more, and I nodded agreeingly.  But inside, I was calling her a liar.  Because I knew that my best friends that I had at that moment, the ones I relied on for everything and went to before anyone else when I needed someone to talk to or spend time with, would always be my best friends.  I would never be this girl, who untangled herself from her freshman friends as she grew older.  I would never be her.

I was wrong.

As I flip through the scrap book I made the summer after freshman year, the one I spent hours sorting through my digital camera and 1000's of memories to create, I can count at least 10 faces of smiling people who I have not had a decent conversation with since the bell rang on the final day of freshman year.  And as much as it pains me to say it, the senior with the knowing glint in her eyes who drove me home from school one day was completely right.  Friends change.  And it really is heart-breaking. 

Yesterday at scool, I walked by a sweeter-than-sugar girl in the hallways who I spent hours on end laughing with last year.  We didn't even smile at each other as we walked by.  So much has changed in one year that it is as if we do not even recognize one another.  It is as if we were never friends.  Were we?

What does it take for a friend to become a stranger?

Some of those friends strangers I miss more than anything.  Some of them I don't, silently wondering how we were ever friends in the first place.  Either way, there was a time when I could have gone to them for anything, told them anything, asked them anything.  And now, I can't even smile at them in the hallways without feeling strange and out of place.  Was it me who changed, or was it them?  Was it time that tore us apart, or was it us? 

I once read a quote that stuck with me forever: "Strangers are just friends waiting to happen."

But what if certain friends are just strangers waiting to happen?

Question Number 6: Valentine's Day

I'll try.
I'll try to ignore the heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, the heart-shaped cookies, the heart-shaped cards, and the teddy bears holding hearts.  I'll try to remember it's just another day.  I'll try.

Why is it that being alone feels so much worse on Valentine's Day?

Question Number 5: Fashion repeats itself

I will be the first to admit that I do not know very much know absolutely nothing about fashion.

On a typical day, I just throw on whatever looks okay and go with it.  My style is extremely casual-jeans, uggs, and a cute shirt.  So I will be the last person to blog about fashion on a regular basis.  However, today is different.

I bought a new shirt at Nordstroms while shopping with a friend.  I fell in love with it instantly, it was bright and unique- flashes of orange and blue and yellow and an understated tribal design.  I wore it home, and was excited to show my mother.  However, as soon as I walked in the door, she claimed the shirt was, and I quote, "ugly as sin".

This was shocking to say the least, considering the fact that we usually have a similar taste in fashion.  When I dejectedly asked her why, she said it was because it reminded her of the 70's-a fashion disaster in her mind that should never be repeated.

So I got to thinking-

When something goes out of style, should it stay out of style?

It's a common fact that fashions repeat themselves- the oversized shirts and legwarmers of the 80's have reappeared and modernized themselves today.  Saddle shoes from the 50's have found their way back to the feet of teenagers in the halls of my school. And apparently, the bright colored disasters from the 70's have come back to haunt the teens this decade.

However, I know for a fact that my mother herself wore shirts similar to the one she called "ugly as sin" when she was a kid in the 70's.  Then, it was beautiful.  Now, it's so ugly she can't bear to look at it?  Of course, there are numerous articles of clothing stuffed in the back of my closet that I cringe to admit I ever wore.  Yet in 20 years, I might be digging that god-awful vest from 7th grade out of my drawer to wear again. 

Fashion repeats itself...is this for the better or for the worse?

Question Number 4: Friendship

And speaking of 80's movies-

"When Harry Met Sally" poses a questions that has flashed through the minds of every human being on this planet-

Can men and women ever be "just friends"?

This question truly has no answer- I'd like to say yes, but as I run through every close friendship I've had with boys, I find that at some point I have caught myself silenty wondering what it would be like if suddenly our friendship took off.  Of course, the musing disappears and I forget about it, returning willingly to the friendship that will never be more.  But those fleeting moments mean that maybe "just friends" is an illusion.  There might always be that part of you, however small, that asks the forbidden question: "what if?"

 My mother always told me that falling in love with a friend is the best way to find true love.  She says that true love stems from friendship.  And I honestly don't see how that can't be true-after all, isn't being in love somewhat similar to having a best friend?  Someone there for you in every moment who loves you despite your flaws?  Maybe we should all stop asking our guy friends advice on how to find love and look right in front of us at the love that has been there all along.

Or maybe we shouldn't risk it. 

I guess we will never know.

Fairy Tales for Teenagers

80s movies are how I get through tough days.

All of my favorite movies, the ones that I watch over and over again and never get tired of, were made in the 80's.  "The Breakfast Club", "Ferris Bueller's Day Off", "Back to The Future", "Sixteen Candles","Dirty Dancing", "When Harry Met Sally", and the list goes on.  They're so touching, so wonderfully brillant, so very relatable and wonderful.  They are like fairy-tales for teenagers.  I cry real tears of happiness at the end of each one, when the princess and prince are united, when friendships are mended, when problems are solved, when the happy ending is reached, and all is well, if only for a moment.

If only life were an 80's movie.
We'd make friends with people we'd never even dream of talking to on a typical day.
We'd have the courage to live life to the fullest, forget the rules that define our lives, and be crazy when we have the chance to.
We'd do things we'd never imagine possible.
We'd defy all the odds and win the prince charming that every girl wants.
We'd figure out we who truly are and meet the man of our dreams while we are at it.
We'd realize our love for that friend who's always been there, and he'd love us back, not despite our flaws, but because of them.

Question Number Three: Simon Says

Simon says, “Raise your hand.”

Simon says, “Touch your toes.” 

Simon says, “Clap your hands.”

And so, you jump up and down, and so you touch your toes, and so you clap your hands.

Because that is what Simon says.

All your life, Simon says, “Do this.”

Simon says, “Say that.”

Simon says, “Believe in this.”

Simon says, “Be that.”

Simon tells you what to do and where to go, he tells you how to live and how to act, he tells you who you are and who to be.

There will always be a Simon in your life- at least, that's how it seems to me now.  There is constantly someone telling me what to do.  I know that sometimes, that is for the best.  But sometimes, it's not.  Because if someone else is always Simon, when will I be Simon?  When will I be the controller of my own life, directing it wherever I may want to go?

When you are young, and children’s games don’t appear to mean a thing, listening to Simon seems to be the best-the only-option.  However, when you grow up, suddenly you realize that the game isn’t fun anymore.  Suddenly, you find yourself longing to drift from the circle of people raising their hand, touching their toes, and clapping their hands.  You find that you no longer choose to listen to Simon.  Instead, you listen to yourself.

This brings me to my question for today:

When is it acceptable to stop doing what Simon

says, and become Simon youself?

Question Number Two: Apples on Trees

I once read a quote that stuck in mind like super glue and never seemed to leave.  I think about it sometimes before I fall asleep.  It flys unwillingly into my mind as I daydream.  I repeat it to myself when I'm feeling lonely.

"Girls are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. The boys don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just get the rotten
apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right boy to come along, the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree."

I would like so much to believe that this quote is true.  But more times that not, I believe that it is a lie, a trick meant to spark hope in the hearts of young girls who feel alone.  And if this quote really is true, I suppose it brings me to my question for the week:

When will the boy with the ladder come along?

I see it happen all the time.  A perfectly perfect girl willing to give everything to any boy willing to give something to her, and yet she is tossed aside.  She has nothing but goodness in her heart, and yet she is ignored.  When will she ever get the chance she deserves?  Why is she seemingly nothing compared to the other girls standing beside her?  When will her time come?  Will it ever come?

Question Number One: Practicality vs. Passion

I have always wondered how and why so many millions of people end up settling for an occupation that they despise.  Somewhere, there is an accountant who once dreamed of touring the world and singing her songs for millions of screaming fans.  Somewhere, there is a store owner who secretly writes pages to a novel that he will never bother to get published.  Somewhere, there is a little girl who auditions for a musical with a huge dream in her heart, and when she is told "no", she will give up forever.  She will become something "practical"- a lawyer, a businesswoman, a nurse.  She will make money and live comfortably, but she will not dream.

This brings me to my question for the week:

Is it always better to choose practicality over passion?

The typical and ideal picture of a content, happy life consists of a few basic components:
a nice house, a steady income, and a happy family.  To achieve this picture, it seems as if many make the decision to forget "nonsense dreams" and settle for a job that pays well and can support a family-even if that means detesting your job and everything about it.  However, an occupation is more than an income.  It is what you wake up every morning to, it is how you spend each and every one of your days, it is your entire life.  Essentially, it is who you are.  So why would anyone who has a choice choose to settle?

Too often, our passions in life are not practical.  And what is practical is not our passion.   

My passion is writing.  I have wanted to write for almost my entire life, but too many times have I heard the word "practical" from family, friends, and teachers.  Writers may not always receive a steady income.  Writers do not have guaranteed job opportunities lined up at every corner.  Aspiring to be a writer may not be the most practical idea.  I know that I could be anything I put my mind to-I could be a lawyer, I could be an engineer, I could be a doctor.  But I do not want to be any of those things.  My passion is fabricating letters and making them words, stringing words together to make sentences, manipulating sentences to create a story. 
There is no way of knowing for sure if I should follow the path that my passion wants to lead me, or if I should follow the practical path that leads me to a steady income and a typical life.

Unanswerable Questions

"Life is an unanswered question, but let's still believe in the dignity and importance of the question."

-Tennessee Williams

 

Today, I made a decision completely out of the blue.  I woke up with a distinct desire prodding at my very being like an itch I could not scratch.  It would not evade me, even as I began my hectic day.  For the first time in my life, I had an overpowering longing to start a blog. 

My goal from the start was to focus on life’s everlasting questions.  Every day as I experience everything life has to offer-both the torments and the moments of utter happiness-new questions seem to arise with every fleeting moment.  These questions all have one thing in common: They are all virtually unanswerable.

I will probably never be able to provide an answer to any of these questions that constantly stream through my mind.  However, I will be able to ask them.  Of course, maybe there is no reason to ask a question that has no answer.  Or maybe, just maybe, there is. 

My name is Madison.  I'm sixteen years old and as clueless about life as one can get.  The perpetual list of questions that seem to follow me everywhere I go might never disappear.  I might always be clueless.  But my hope is that as my life progresses and as each new day passes, I'll be a little less clueless than I was the day before.

And so begins my blogging journey-with Question Number One.