Drew Zandolla Stannard's article, What We Have Going for Us, speaks to the fears, regimes, and constructed labyrinths we've created in our minds. It speaks to how to get past these roadblocks enough to appreciate the special time we exist within.
Reading it gave me goosebumps; I am a believer in those 'weird' feelings, like the ones that make your nose tingle. There are aching feelings of love, tired feelings of accomplishment, passionate feelings of dreaming, and gnawing feelings of instinct––of gut. This gnawing feeling is telling us that––above all daily problems or nostalgic fears––the life we live now is special. The day that we have before us today, right now, in this very moment, is worth more than the one that passed or the one yet to come, if only because it is tangible, in our hands, and impermeable.
That gnawing feeling is also telling me not to waste time. It's telling me that something about my my life now, my 20s, is unique and worth exploring, savoring, pondering. We, as the rising adults, are caught in a limbo: not quite 'there' yet, but we are beginning to outline where 'there' really is. I, myself, am caught up in the speed of transitions, yet this article slowed me down for a moment. Stannard's words are validating in that they reassure me: how I feel must be universal––universal enough to warrant a published article.
Reading it gave me goosebumps; I am a believer in those 'weird' feelings, like the ones that make your nose tingle. There are aching feelings of love, tired feelings of accomplishment, passionate feelings of dreaming, and gnawing feelings of instinct––of gut. This gnawing feeling is telling us that––above all daily problems or nostalgic fears––the life we live now is special. The day that we have before us today, right now, in this very moment, is worth more than the one that passed or the one yet to come, if only because it is tangible, in our hands, and impermeable.
That gnawing feeling is also telling me not to waste time. It's telling me that something about my my life now, my 20s, is unique and worth exploring, savoring, pondering. We, as the rising adults, are caught in a limbo: not quite 'there' yet, but we are beginning to outline where 'there' really is. I, myself, am caught up in the speed of transitions, yet this article slowed me down for a moment. Stannard's words are validating in that they reassure me: how I feel must be universal––universal enough to warrant a published article.
We are not so mysterious. If you want to get to know someone infinitely better, meet their parents for five minutes. We are attracted to people who were loved in the ways we were loved as children. We are attracted to people who are lacking in ways we understand.Her words are not only insightful, but prophetic. Listing off with ease the things we already know about ourselves allows us to open up and be honest with our minds. We often feel lost in the mystery of our thoughts, preoccupied sometimes with the very basic marvels of communication or with the complexities of neuroplasticity and quantum mechanics. Often lost, but "not so mysterious." I used this article, and the moments of tranquil thoughts that followed to unravel why I am so scared of grabbing onto the pool's edge and treading water.
We are social but we are not social media… Sometimes being passive consumers of content works against us. If you don’t do it today you’ll put if off and then it will be awkward when you decide you really, really want to email this person. So do it today. Or don’t do it. Or maybe do it tomorrow, but if you don’t do it today you definitely won’t do it tomorrow. Again, make a list. Wash your face.In one page, Stannard outlined how I feel about daily life, friends, and the future. Now, I will go restrospectively add 'Finish my book' to my to-do list just so that I can cross it off (indeed, I just finished reading a book and I must feel like I did something today). And then I will add 'Shower' so that I can cross it off in 10 minutes when I finally get up from my pillow and blanket laden expanse of sleepy wondering.
