I Appreciate You.

Remember when you were little and your parents prompted you with, “What do you say?” after someone complimented you on anything? Or when you had to write a note to the person who gave you a birthday or Christmas present to say how great you thought their present was and that you’ll use it everyday for the rest of your life?

Thank You. I’ve always been obsessed with saying “Thank You”.

UNC Dance Marathon has taken this obsession to a new level because people are constantly helping me do things that I simply wouldn’t be able to do alone. Like collecting donations at a football game. Like attending a committee meeting. Like agreeing to help roll hundreds of coins. Like when someone brings you lunch every Tuesday and Thursday because they know otherwise you wouldn’t eat between 9a.m. and 6p.m.

Needless to say, I am a bit blessed to have all this wonderful support and love thrown in my direction. And I’m constantly writing notes thanking people for their sweet actions that make my day so much better.

But sometimes “thank you” doesn’t seem like it’s enough. Sometimes I feel like it doesn’t begin to touch how much their time and energy means to me. Kind of like how a friend and I were talking about how much people toss around “I love you.” Like it means nothing, but you intend for it to mean so much. Ultimately, if you say it enough it’s going to lose its glory.

My favorite blogger, Kelle Hampton, recently wrote about how her daughter looked at her one day and said, “I like you”. She talked about how her daughter seemed to carefully choose her words, trying to express the fact that not only did she love her for being her mom, she also liked spending time with her.

I dig that concept.

(The point of these pictures? I appreciate their weirdness.)

So last weekend while I was canning, an older man walked up to chat about UNC Dance Marathon. He wanted to know about the cause and where the money went. He wanted to know how we stood for 24 hours and what hard work it must be to put something like the marathon together. People say these things all the time, but I’ll never forget what he said afterwards. He said, “My grandson is in the hospital right now. And I appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you.” How thoughtful are those words? They have so much more meaning than “thank you”.

The last few weeks have flown by with the many canning adventures, the classes, the meetings and other things that fill my day to the brim. And yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I appreciate everything about my life. My cup runneth over.

But more than anything, I appreciate those in my life. I appreciate the constant love and the sweet moments. I appreciate the nights going out and the uncontrollable laughter. I appreciate friendships and their meaning. I appreciate this beautiful campus and every single one of its students who work to make this world a better place. And I appreciate the hard work people have put in to make my life better.

"Appreciation is a wonderful thing. It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well." - Voltaire

I appreciate you.

Hello World

I've taken up running. Mostly because I like the way it makes me feel afterward. Like I've just accomplished something so great. I love the way it forces me to breathe in and out rhythmically. I love that it lets me think. Think about what I need to do. Think about my future. Think about lyrics to the songs on my i Pod.

It's my time and it makes me happy.

I typically run at night, just when the sun is setting and the Carolina blue sky fades to a mixture of pinks, reds and oranges. A time when the stickiness of the summer air and the temperatures begin to decrease. One day this past week, however, the sky quickly changed from the beautiful evening sunset to a dismal gray. The winds picked up and they blew every which-way and it seemed like Mother Nature was blowing me in the direction of home as if to warn me. But I just kept running. As I was about to turn onto the road that leads to my house, the sky opened up. Torrential downpour.

At first, I was timid from the rain and I ran a bit quicker, stuffing my iPod away where I hoped it wouldn't get wet. Then I stopped in my tracks. I began to walk slowly. I didn't run from the rain-- I just embraced it.  It only took two minutes for my already damp clothes to turn soaking wet. But it was oddly wonderful. As I walked, I spread my hands out opening them up to the sky. Such a great feeling. Unbeknown to me, I was being watched through a screened in porch by two guys who were laughing at my childishness. But they didn't faze me. 

As I walked into my house, my housemate just starred. "How was your day?" she asked sarcastically.

It was beautiful, actually.

There's something wonderful about being caught in the rain. I didn't mind being soaking wet because I had had a deeper reaction to this downpour.

For a second, you are forced to be a child again. To forget your thoughts of getting into graduate school or finishing that laundry list of tasks or studying for that exam. In that moment, you focus on the world and its vastness. It's a reminder that you are small.

Lady Antebellum sang about in their recent song, "Hello World".

Hello world
How've you been?
Good to see you, my old friend
Sometimes I feel as cold as steel
And broken like I'm never going to heal
I see a light
A little grace, a little faith unfurled
Hello world

Sometimes I forget what living's for
And I hear my life through my front door
And I'll be there
Oh I'm home again

I wouldn't have changed that run for anything. Sometimes you need a reminder about how small you are. Sometimes you need a wake-up call to tell you there's a bigger power above.

Sometimes you need to be prompted to say Hello World.

A Decade

It was a typical Tuesday. I was sitting in Mrs.Gaston's sixth grade science class learning about the life cycle. I remember that so vividly because looking back it seemed so... ironic. Mrs. Gaston was pregnant and her growing belly would barely let her move around the classroom of 30 kids. I remember what I was wearing was ironic: a denim skirt and a red t-shirt. It was supposed to be a typical Tuesday.

I remember the announcement over the intercom for everyone to "remain calm". Remain calm for what? I was still at the age where adults talked about politics and I had nothing to say, except that I knew I was supposed to dislike the president because his intelligence level was low. I was still at the age where America was such a huge country and it seemed quite indestructible. I said the pledge every morning, but I had no idea what it really meant. Remain calm?

Mrs. Gaston turned on the radio and then on the T.V., stopping the lesson on life cycles. I remember being scared. Wanting my mom. What was going on? People were still talking above us. Never to us. I saw the planes go into the buildings on the T.V. and I heard words like "war" and "attack" and I saw the reactions of the president over and over again. But it had no meaning. What was a terrorist? I remember wanting someone to explain.  Then they turned off the T.V. sets and radios and continued teaching and the only thing you heard all day were whispers. Teachers whispering above you. I remember several of my friends got picked up from school that day by their parents.

Then I carpooled home. Unlocked the front door and scurried over to our comfy couch and I planted myself in front of that T.V., listening to every word they said and only understanding bits and pieces. My mom came home from her school, but I didn't budge. I couldn't understand why someone would want to hurt America. (And I didn't understand why people killed people either-- and to an extent, I still don't).

I had piano that night and I remember we didn't learn any new songs because all I could do was talk to her about it.

It wasn't really until this summer that I saw the vastness of the destruction and that I heard stories of people who were actually in some capacity there. A lady at my internship told me that she worked in the financial district right next door to the twin towers. She watched as the tower fell. I heard stories of how the city went into lockdown. I saw the space where two towers stood and where new ones were going to take its place. I saw the memorials of the police officers who lost their lives. And I saw families by the memorial explaining to their kids, who were born after September 11th, what had happened. I remember thinking to myself, "They'll never fully understand."

Today, I know what happened that awful Tuesday. I'm knowledgeable about politics. I understand that there's bad in the world. I know what the pledge means. I hear songs like "I'm Proud to be an American" and I feel that pride. And yesterday, when I found out for the first time that six UNC alumni died in those towers ten years ago, I got chills.

Ten years ago today, we lost a lot of lives in those terrorists attacks and we're still counting lost lives through the war we're currently fighting. The terrorists changed how we look at everything--safety, religion, war, our country. But I feel pride today because we are a strong country, despite our political battles and drawn party lines. We are a country that no matter our differences, we can still say that we have pride to be Americans.  And if anything, that day and the reminder each year on that date has taught me that your life cycle can be cut short at any moment and to make the best of everyday in this country.

We will always remember.