Revisiting the story of my old apartment last night really got me mulling over my beliefs about life after death. I've hit a real fork in the road of my theories over the past couple of years. I heard a really intriguing quote (from a television show amazingly enough) that said the closer you look at something, the more you lose your faith in it. That statement really hit home for me. You'll find that most science-minded people tend to not have much faith, living in a world of facts and reason. I've found that of myself, but certain things in my past collide with reason, making me question everything I know.
When I was younger, I believed in life after death without a shadow of a doubt. I never believed in a singular God or heaven or hell but I always had faith that there was something waiting for us at the end. The experiences I had in my apartment only solidified my faith.
As I grew older however and the story of my apartment faded to a memory as opposed to a reality, I learned more and more about the universe and the creation of each of us. I slowly began to lose faith in anything after death and lived my life day to day, expecting nothing. I remember the day that was the pivotal turning point for my faith. I worked in a veterinary clinic as a kennel hand and that day I helped with my first euthanasia. Still believing at that time, I expected something to happen when the dog passed. I obviously wasn't expecting to see bright lights or floating spirits but I at least expected to feel something. There was nothing. One minute the animal was alive, then it was gone. It was on that day that I lost my faith entirely. We really do just die and that's all.
But if we do just die and that is all, how do I explain my past experiences with paranormal activity? I have thought many times that I may have had a nervous breakdown or even that I worked myself into the story that a ghost lived in my apartment that I began to honestly believe it and live in it. If it weren't for my family members and even others in the community I didn't know at all to confirm my experiences, I would be quick to explain it as a mental hiccup. It would almost be easier for me to fall back on that reasoning rather than be questioning everything I thought knew. I can explain a breakdown and make peace with it.
Try as I might, I still just can't believe that there are ghosts, spectral beings, walking around and living among us. If I don't believe in an afterlife, I can't believe in ghosts. So what was it then? Recently I've come up with a theory that caters to my factual mind. We've found that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed or redirected. humans are a buzzing hub of energy so when we die, that energy has to go somewhere. What if the energy doesn't end up going anywhere but instead ends up jumping around searching for a new host, landing itself in buildings, objects and even people leading to a belief in paranormal activity. People feel this over abundance of energy, what still fells like the energy from a human being, and assume it is the person's ghost or spirit. My theory is far fetched, I know, but it's the only way I can explain everything I have been through without having to revisit the prospect of faith.
It would be nice to have faith in life after death and I completely understand why people do believe it. There would be no reason to fear death knowing that there are only more adventures to come. It would be a very comforting faith to have. I would be quick to believe, being the optimist I am, but I have looked too closely at the world too many times to remain having faith in anything without solid, scientific proof.
I don't live my life with a complete lack of faith, however. I've made my own type of religion to have faith in. I leave my life in the hands of the people around me. I have faith in them making the right decisions and taking responsibility for everything they do. When people say that something happened for a reason, I believe that, but not in the same way they do. It did happen for a reason because every single decision anyone has ever made lead to this very moment. It's almost like and enormous ripple effect, a chain reaction of decisions that molds everyone's life into the daily routine they know.
I'd love to hear from anyone about your thoughts, beliefs, or anything really! Feel free to contact me privately as well ( I understand these types of topics can be touchy). Thanks for reading and diving into my mind!
my email: cookie_monster_002@hotmail.com
Friday, December 21, 2012
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Paranormal Activity
Today I'm going to write about something very important to me. It's something that I'm wary sharing with most people due to the risk of being ridiculed with a solid head shaking, but it's also something I feel needs to be told. Today I'm going to tell the story of my first apartment.
I was eighteen when I began searching for my very first apartment for my own. My mom had pointed out an advertisement for a single bedroom place in town with a damn good price tag on her. We made the arrangements to have a look that same week. It was odd how it had just fallen right into my lap. The moment I set foot in the little flat, I was completely in love.
It was an enormous old house that had later been turned into nine apartments. Only a short walk from both the main shops of downtown and the vast and notorious park, it sat quietly nestled in trees right on the river. The location was more than any boastful owner could ask for, let alone a first-timer like myself. The apartment itself was no less spectacular. It was the absolute penthouse of the three story building, what had been the attic many, many years ago. Being chopped up from a larger house, the layout was one of a kind. Nooks and crannies littered each corner and each room had an individual shape, giving the home deep character. The most breathtaking feature was the balcony, peering over the calmly flowing river two stories below.
I needed no time to decide; it would be mine by the end of the month. With no current tenants to impede my arrival I could move in yesterday, and I did just that. Although the uneven, fumbling three flights of stair up to my new home were draining, it just made the experience that much more unique. I took great pride looking at the golden, shining number nine posted on the door. I was swift to call my little place 'Cloud Nine'.
A nervous excitement grew in me as the day drew on and I readied myself for my first solo night. I clicked off each light and buried myself in my blankets with a satisfied grin spread over my face. No sooner had I shifted my body to the comfy sleep position did the grin begin to fade. I couldn't tell why, but I suddenly became very nervous. A hot ball of nerves swelled in my gut driving me more and more on edge until I leaped four feet in the air each time the old house creaked. I decided putting on some music on maybe a night light wouldn't be too bad of an idea for my first night. I plugged in the light beside my bed and turned the radio on to a low mumble. I was just scared because it was my first night alone in a new place. It would all be fine tomorrow.
Each day and long night I spent in that apartment, it became more and more evident that I wasn't just afraid because I was alone. I was afraid because I WASN'T alone. I had always believed in ghosts and the afterlife and all that jazz, but honestly had never had an experiences until then. To be entirely honest, I was quite excited, cautious, but excited nonetheless. And with each day that passed the presence became softer and softer. I wasn't afraid at night anymore, but more that I felt comforted that I wasn't alone. It got to the point where I felt like I was coming home to someone who had been waiting for me all day long. I slowly began to recognize the presence as a 'he'. I couldn't tell you why, I suppose it's the same way pregnant women refer to their unborn child by sex.
I had kept the whole story of him a secret, even from my parents. I didn't think anyone would really understand how I felt. I had no evidence that there was a spirit in my apartment, only my feelings to support me. I would have rather kept him to myself than be laughed at, told to get more sleep, or to stop watching so much television.
He and I really came to appreciate each other. Although I never saw or heard him once, I could feel him enter the room and that was enough. He especially like it when I played my guitar or piano in the back room, where he seemed to spend most of his time. The whole room would buzz when I composed. I even wrote a song for him, knowing that he listened. I never spoke to him aloud, not once. It never felt like I had to. I would've almost felt silly actually speaking to him.
I brought home two little white puffball kittens from my aunt's cat's new litter; the third and fourth tenants of the little flat. Much to my dismay, this was not a happy union. I was certainly not the only one who could feel his presence but I sure was the only one that appreciated it. Jack, the smaller of my two cats would tear out of the room whenever he would come in. Bootstrap, the big guy, would stalk around quietly growling, ears pinned, before exiting the room as well. It was an unsettling turn of events, but I ignored my cats. They would get used to him.
I had noticed over time that he also never came out to visit when I had company over. Several times I had invited members of my family to come for dinner and had waited for him to make an entrance, but he never showed up. I had pegged him as a shy little ghost.
It wasn't until many months into my residence there that I decided to tell my family about him. I cautiously breached the subject and much to my surprise, they all responded with a resonating joy. One exception stood out; my sister. She continually told me that she didn't understand how I could live in an apartment I knew was haunted. I explained to her time and time again that he was fine and I didn't feel frightened at all. She was not won over.
I was a very antisocial individual, working all day and spending all night with my cats and him. But everyone goes through changes in their lives, and mine was in a more outward direction. I began spending my evenings out with my sister and our friend and even spending nights at my sister's place for slumber parties. I spent very little time at home anymore, and it reflected in his attitude. I had noticed that he wasn't coming out to say hello to me as often and sometimes not showing up for days at a time.
One night, while out with the girls, we decided to make a pit stop at my apartment before continuing on our cruise Myself, my sister and our friend all climbed the rickety stairs up to my apartment and took our turn using the washroom, starting with me. I stood at the sink washing my hands when I felt him enter. I could feel him right at my back. I looked up in the mirror, expecting to see him I saw nothing, but I knew he was there. It was very strange for him to come out when there were other people around. His presence was different, too. It was almost a taunting feel. I opened the bathroom door to find my sister and friend wide eyed with their backs to the bedroom wall. They both protested that they didn't need to use the washroom anymore and we should just carry on.
I said nothing about his appearance until we were in the car and several blocks away. Immediately both my sister and friend leaped on the subject. They too had felt him, and what they felt was nothing like how I had described in the previous months. Their story fit more to my first night in the apartment; uncomfortable, jumpy, hot fear. They explained that they had felt and uncomfortable itching sensation on their spine at the base of their necks, feeling the need to push their backs against the wall. The entire situation confused and disturbed me. Why would he do that?
The passing days were no more simpler. He continued to disappear and upset the cats until he went away entirely. He had been gone for nearly two weeks when I had a horrible dream. In the dream he got so angry I had to leave my apartment all together. In my dream he was a dark, twisted figure sitting on the balcony looming over at me. The dream did nothing to settle my nerves, but I told myself if it was just a silly dream and he would return and all would be normal again...I have never been more wrong in my life.
I tucked myself into bed like any other night when I heard an odd scratching sound coming from the back room. I lifted my head and heard it again and again. I slipped out of bed and went to investigate and found that I was coming from the window, but there was nothing there to create the noise. There were no branches near the window and the wind was still. I heard a creaking noise come from the bedroom. I cautiously followed it to find my closet door had swung open. I shut to door and snapped the latch tightly. The scratching stopped and I slowly curled back into bed, keeping my eyes fixed on the closet door. I watched for only a short minute when right before my eyes it opened. The closet door had never opened on its own and I had ensured I sealed the latch. The scratching sound returned as I lay paralyzed in my bed. I sick fear had washed all over my body as I felt his presence enter, angry and dark. Bootstrap came stalking into the room growling low in his throat. I called to my disturbed cat and he looked up at me but his eyes were vacant, like he was looking at me but focusing somewhere else.
I did the only thing my body made possible for me; I ran. I ran down the stairs, an uncomfortable itching starting in my neck, and aimed straight for my car. As I cleared the first few feet from the building's door I felt it in the back of my neck, which was now facing the balcony. It felt like he was reaching right through my neck and into my spine, pulling. I stumbled into my car and drove like a bat out of hell to my mom's house and showed up a sobbing, shaking mess.
I told her everything, barely catching my breath, but begged that my cats were still inside that hellhole and I needed to get them out immediately. I had fled in such a fury I hadn't even thought to grab them. The thought of them alone with him up there was horrifying. My Mom called my Dad over and the three of us headed back to the apartment to rescue the cats. We pulled up to the building and I stepped out of the van, looking up to the balcony. My knees gave out and I was on the verge of vomiting instantly. The horrifying emotion I felt that night can not even be described by words. It was the most terrifying, depressing, angry fear I had ever felt in my entire life and will ever feel. It was the definition of terror.
My mother and father got my cats safely out of the apartment that night and I was moved out the next day. I had only lived there for five months but had signed a yearly lease, so the empty, haunted apartment sat in my hands. My family had gone to collect my things for me as I had explained to them that I could not bring myself to climb those stairs ever again. Without me saying a word about the itching in my neck, after moving out my belongs, each one of my family members testified to feeling it. My father, being a man of science and reason, said that when he opened my closet he felt a wave of goosebumps flood over him.
When I had contacted my landlord and informed him that I would not be living in the apartment, but would continue to pay rent until my lease was up, he quietly accepted my story. He was a tough, hardworking man and he asked me one solitary question...what kind of presence I felt. I spared him the gory details but enforced that it was not a good place be in. I got the feeling that he had had this conversation before. His tone was not mocking or even irritated; he was stone serious and concerned.
Many months passed while I lived with my mother and the apartment sat empty with me still holding the key. My brother approached me one day, asking a very difficult question. He wanted to set up a microphone in the apartment over night to see if he could capture anything. My immediate reaction was a definite no. I didn't want any one of my family members going near that place. He continued to ask, with the support of the rest of my family, until I finally let in. I had told him that when he went up to set up his laptop and microphone I would go with him. If anything were to happen, I wanted it to happen to me. His girlfriend and my sister also came along, strength in numbers. I told my brother that if anything were to be captured, which I had severely doubted, it would be in the back room where he appeared the most. I stayed in the living room with my sister as my brother and his girlfriend venture to the back room to set up.
As we sat in the living room in silence, I assured my sister that I didn't feel him, therefore he wasn't there at the time. The moment on tranquil relief didn't last long. I felt his presence enter the apartment and the crippling fear worked its way up my legs and into my chest. I looked to my sister and saw her face, fear stricken as well. We called for my brother, screaming for him to hurry up. We needed to get out immediately. We didn't know why, but we had a great urgency about getting away. The four of us, thundered down the rickety stairs, I made sure I was bringing up the rear. I felt the itching in my neck again as I felt a push at the back of my knees, sending me stumbling into the wall at the first landing. I could feel a definite pushing sensation with each step I took. It felt like someone was trying to push me down the stairs. I gripped the railing tightly. Finally we broke out of the building, leaped into the car and drove away safely.
My brother returned the next morning with his girlfriend to retrieve his laptop, without me; he assured me he would be fine. He reported back that while they were up there, they felt nothing and that after listening to the recording, he heard nothing more than a couple non-noteworthy clicks. I had refused to listen to the recording, terrified I would hear something the others couldn't. Even thinking about the sound of the empty apartment, the white noise, sent shivers up my spine. That was the last time any of my family, including myself, visited that apartment.
Since leaving, I have heard three separate stories about other tenants living in that apartment, none of them with happy endings. Most of the fellow tenants are amazed that I stayed as long as I did. One of the story tellers also accounted for the itching at the back of the neck and the backroom being a hot spot. Occasionally when I drive by, I'll see the lights on in that old attic penthouse as new tenants move in but they never last very long.
I assure you that everything I have stated here is the honest truth. You may chose to believe it or not, but ultimately the moral of the story is; let your cats be the judge of your new apartment! Thank you so much for reading, and feel free to give me any feedback or tell me your stories! I'd love to hear!
Thank you!
I was eighteen when I began searching for my very first apartment for my own. My mom had pointed out an advertisement for a single bedroom place in town with a damn good price tag on her. We made the arrangements to have a look that same week. It was odd how it had just fallen right into my lap. The moment I set foot in the little flat, I was completely in love.
It was an enormous old house that had later been turned into nine apartments. Only a short walk from both the main shops of downtown and the vast and notorious park, it sat quietly nestled in trees right on the river. The location was more than any boastful owner could ask for, let alone a first-timer like myself. The apartment itself was no less spectacular. It was the absolute penthouse of the three story building, what had been the attic many, many years ago. Being chopped up from a larger house, the layout was one of a kind. Nooks and crannies littered each corner and each room had an individual shape, giving the home deep character. The most breathtaking feature was the balcony, peering over the calmly flowing river two stories below.
I needed no time to decide; it would be mine by the end of the month. With no current tenants to impede my arrival I could move in yesterday, and I did just that. Although the uneven, fumbling three flights of stair up to my new home were draining, it just made the experience that much more unique. I took great pride looking at the golden, shining number nine posted on the door. I was swift to call my little place 'Cloud Nine'.
A nervous excitement grew in me as the day drew on and I readied myself for my first solo night. I clicked off each light and buried myself in my blankets with a satisfied grin spread over my face. No sooner had I shifted my body to the comfy sleep position did the grin begin to fade. I couldn't tell why, but I suddenly became very nervous. A hot ball of nerves swelled in my gut driving me more and more on edge until I leaped four feet in the air each time the old house creaked. I decided putting on some music on maybe a night light wouldn't be too bad of an idea for my first night. I plugged in the light beside my bed and turned the radio on to a low mumble. I was just scared because it was my first night alone in a new place. It would all be fine tomorrow.
Each day and long night I spent in that apartment, it became more and more evident that I wasn't just afraid because I was alone. I was afraid because I WASN'T alone. I had always believed in ghosts and the afterlife and all that jazz, but honestly had never had an experiences until then. To be entirely honest, I was quite excited, cautious, but excited nonetheless. And with each day that passed the presence became softer and softer. I wasn't afraid at night anymore, but more that I felt comforted that I wasn't alone. It got to the point where I felt like I was coming home to someone who had been waiting for me all day long. I slowly began to recognize the presence as a 'he'. I couldn't tell you why, I suppose it's the same way pregnant women refer to their unborn child by sex.
I had kept the whole story of him a secret, even from my parents. I didn't think anyone would really understand how I felt. I had no evidence that there was a spirit in my apartment, only my feelings to support me. I would have rather kept him to myself than be laughed at, told to get more sleep, or to stop watching so much television.
He and I really came to appreciate each other. Although I never saw or heard him once, I could feel him enter the room and that was enough. He especially like it when I played my guitar or piano in the back room, where he seemed to spend most of his time. The whole room would buzz when I composed. I even wrote a song for him, knowing that he listened. I never spoke to him aloud, not once. It never felt like I had to. I would've almost felt silly actually speaking to him.
I brought home two little white puffball kittens from my aunt's cat's new litter; the third and fourth tenants of the little flat. Much to my dismay, this was not a happy union. I was certainly not the only one who could feel his presence but I sure was the only one that appreciated it. Jack, the smaller of my two cats would tear out of the room whenever he would come in. Bootstrap, the big guy, would stalk around quietly growling, ears pinned, before exiting the room as well. It was an unsettling turn of events, but I ignored my cats. They would get used to him.
I had noticed over time that he also never came out to visit when I had company over. Several times I had invited members of my family to come for dinner and had waited for him to make an entrance, but he never showed up. I had pegged him as a shy little ghost.
It wasn't until many months into my residence there that I decided to tell my family about him. I cautiously breached the subject and much to my surprise, they all responded with a resonating joy. One exception stood out; my sister. She continually told me that she didn't understand how I could live in an apartment I knew was haunted. I explained to her time and time again that he was fine and I didn't feel frightened at all. She was not won over.
I was a very antisocial individual, working all day and spending all night with my cats and him. But everyone goes through changes in their lives, and mine was in a more outward direction. I began spending my evenings out with my sister and our friend and even spending nights at my sister's place for slumber parties. I spent very little time at home anymore, and it reflected in his attitude. I had noticed that he wasn't coming out to say hello to me as often and sometimes not showing up for days at a time.
One night, while out with the girls, we decided to make a pit stop at my apartment before continuing on our cruise Myself, my sister and our friend all climbed the rickety stairs up to my apartment and took our turn using the washroom, starting with me. I stood at the sink washing my hands when I felt him enter. I could feel him right at my back. I looked up in the mirror, expecting to see him I saw nothing, but I knew he was there. It was very strange for him to come out when there were other people around. His presence was different, too. It was almost a taunting feel. I opened the bathroom door to find my sister and friend wide eyed with their backs to the bedroom wall. They both protested that they didn't need to use the washroom anymore and we should just carry on.
I said nothing about his appearance until we were in the car and several blocks away. Immediately both my sister and friend leaped on the subject. They too had felt him, and what they felt was nothing like how I had described in the previous months. Their story fit more to my first night in the apartment; uncomfortable, jumpy, hot fear. They explained that they had felt and uncomfortable itching sensation on their spine at the base of their necks, feeling the need to push their backs against the wall. The entire situation confused and disturbed me. Why would he do that?
The passing days were no more simpler. He continued to disappear and upset the cats until he went away entirely. He had been gone for nearly two weeks when I had a horrible dream. In the dream he got so angry I had to leave my apartment all together. In my dream he was a dark, twisted figure sitting on the balcony looming over at me. The dream did nothing to settle my nerves, but I told myself if it was just a silly dream and he would return and all would be normal again...I have never been more wrong in my life.
I tucked myself into bed like any other night when I heard an odd scratching sound coming from the back room. I lifted my head and heard it again and again. I slipped out of bed and went to investigate and found that I was coming from the window, but there was nothing there to create the noise. There were no branches near the window and the wind was still. I heard a creaking noise come from the bedroom. I cautiously followed it to find my closet door had swung open. I shut to door and snapped the latch tightly. The scratching stopped and I slowly curled back into bed, keeping my eyes fixed on the closet door. I watched for only a short minute when right before my eyes it opened. The closet door had never opened on its own and I had ensured I sealed the latch. The scratching sound returned as I lay paralyzed in my bed. I sick fear had washed all over my body as I felt his presence enter, angry and dark. Bootstrap came stalking into the room growling low in his throat. I called to my disturbed cat and he looked up at me but his eyes were vacant, like he was looking at me but focusing somewhere else.
I did the only thing my body made possible for me; I ran. I ran down the stairs, an uncomfortable itching starting in my neck, and aimed straight for my car. As I cleared the first few feet from the building's door I felt it in the back of my neck, which was now facing the balcony. It felt like he was reaching right through my neck and into my spine, pulling. I stumbled into my car and drove like a bat out of hell to my mom's house and showed up a sobbing, shaking mess.
I told her everything, barely catching my breath, but begged that my cats were still inside that hellhole and I needed to get them out immediately. I had fled in such a fury I hadn't even thought to grab them. The thought of them alone with him up there was horrifying. My Mom called my Dad over and the three of us headed back to the apartment to rescue the cats. We pulled up to the building and I stepped out of the van, looking up to the balcony. My knees gave out and I was on the verge of vomiting instantly. The horrifying emotion I felt that night can not even be described by words. It was the most terrifying, depressing, angry fear I had ever felt in my entire life and will ever feel. It was the definition of terror.
My mother and father got my cats safely out of the apartment that night and I was moved out the next day. I had only lived there for five months but had signed a yearly lease, so the empty, haunted apartment sat in my hands. My family had gone to collect my things for me as I had explained to them that I could not bring myself to climb those stairs ever again. Without me saying a word about the itching in my neck, after moving out my belongs, each one of my family members testified to feeling it. My father, being a man of science and reason, said that when he opened my closet he felt a wave of goosebumps flood over him.
When I had contacted my landlord and informed him that I would not be living in the apartment, but would continue to pay rent until my lease was up, he quietly accepted my story. He was a tough, hardworking man and he asked me one solitary question...what kind of presence I felt. I spared him the gory details but enforced that it was not a good place be in. I got the feeling that he had had this conversation before. His tone was not mocking or even irritated; he was stone serious and concerned.
Many months passed while I lived with my mother and the apartment sat empty with me still holding the key. My brother approached me one day, asking a very difficult question. He wanted to set up a microphone in the apartment over night to see if he could capture anything. My immediate reaction was a definite no. I didn't want any one of my family members going near that place. He continued to ask, with the support of the rest of my family, until I finally let in. I had told him that when he went up to set up his laptop and microphone I would go with him. If anything were to happen, I wanted it to happen to me. His girlfriend and my sister also came along, strength in numbers. I told my brother that if anything were to be captured, which I had severely doubted, it would be in the back room where he appeared the most. I stayed in the living room with my sister as my brother and his girlfriend venture to the back room to set up.
As we sat in the living room in silence, I assured my sister that I didn't feel him, therefore he wasn't there at the time. The moment on tranquil relief didn't last long. I felt his presence enter the apartment and the crippling fear worked its way up my legs and into my chest. I looked to my sister and saw her face, fear stricken as well. We called for my brother, screaming for him to hurry up. We needed to get out immediately. We didn't know why, but we had a great urgency about getting away. The four of us, thundered down the rickety stairs, I made sure I was bringing up the rear. I felt the itching in my neck again as I felt a push at the back of my knees, sending me stumbling into the wall at the first landing. I could feel a definite pushing sensation with each step I took. It felt like someone was trying to push me down the stairs. I gripped the railing tightly. Finally we broke out of the building, leaped into the car and drove away safely.
My brother returned the next morning with his girlfriend to retrieve his laptop, without me; he assured me he would be fine. He reported back that while they were up there, they felt nothing and that after listening to the recording, he heard nothing more than a couple non-noteworthy clicks. I had refused to listen to the recording, terrified I would hear something the others couldn't. Even thinking about the sound of the empty apartment, the white noise, sent shivers up my spine. That was the last time any of my family, including myself, visited that apartment.
Since leaving, I have heard three separate stories about other tenants living in that apartment, none of them with happy endings. Most of the fellow tenants are amazed that I stayed as long as I did. One of the story tellers also accounted for the itching at the back of the neck and the backroom being a hot spot. Occasionally when I drive by, I'll see the lights on in that old attic penthouse as new tenants move in but they never last very long.
I assure you that everything I have stated here is the honest truth. You may chose to believe it or not, but ultimately the moral of the story is; let your cats be the judge of your new apartment! Thank you so much for reading, and feel free to give me any feedback or tell me your stories! I'd love to hear!
Thank you!
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Yes, actually you CAN...
I woke up this morning, checked my Facebook and found this link posted by a friend. http://www.cracked.com/blog/6-harsh-truths-that-will-make-you-better-person/ It's pretty harsh, but honestly, I like that kind of truth. I've never felt so small and beaten down, but so motivated to be useful at the same time. It also got me thinking about something I've thought about many, many times that honestly grates against every one of my nerves.
"I CAN'T paint to save my life." Yes, you can.
"I CAN'T cook worth crap." Mmmmm yeah, you can.
"I just CAN'T hold onto my money." Sorry, but.......
"I just CAN'T bring myself to sit down and read a whole book." This one is personal...YES I CAN.
People always say that they can't do certain things, some more than others, as if they are completely incapable of doing so. The reality of it is, yes you can. How, you might ask? It's simple...you're a human. You've been genetically tweaked for hundreds of thousands of years to evolve into the higher brain powered creature you are today. So, to say that you can't do something, is a direct slap in the face to nature's hard work over all those years. Today we are capable of things we couldn't have even imagined to be possible, and not only because we've evolved larger brains and opposable thumbs, but because we've put time towards it.
What makes humans the most resilient creatures is our capacity for learning. For the first time, our younger generations are actually teaching their parents. This directly shows that the human race is continuing to evolve into more intelligent beings with each generation. With top speed information sharing at our fingertips, what's to stop each and every one of us from being rocket scientists? If you want to learn to do anything, I can guarantee there's a YouTube video out there to teach you how. Want to know more about a topic? There's a Google search for that. Our minds are literally unstoppable.
To think of it in a less worldly way, if you say you just simply can't paint, you could if you dedicated hours at a time each and every single day. Sure, it may take years for your art to be considered "good", but you could do it if you really put your mind to it. I know I could be a real reader if I actually made myself sit down with a book each and everyday until it became habit. My reading would become faster, my vocabulary would increase and who knows all the new and wonderful things I would learn, until my mind would start to crave it all on its own. The human brain feeds off of new information like a drug. I know that each and every one of you can say that at least once in your life, whether you've been in school or reading or just having a discussion with a friend, you've had a real realization of something after learning its whole truth. You can feel the light flooding into your dark brain as the information unfurls into a full blown info-map. It's a good feeling, a very good feeling in fact. You can't help but thinking about it more and more, relating specific times in your life that connect the dots to this very moment of knowledge. We NEED to learn, because genetically, we live for it. We've proven as a species that we are the intellects in this wild world.
So, if it's truly is in our heritage to learn, and it is indeed VERY possible to do anything, why do people say they can't do something? This is also very simple. Being the most intelligent creatures on our planet doesn't come without consequence. Being intelligent we have created hundreds of systems and gadgets simply to make our life easier, thus making us lazy. Very few people realize their potential as a human and those that do, don't want to face the reasons why they can't do something they may even want to do. Accepting the fact that you can't do something simply because you don't want to put your time or money into it or just because you don't want to get off the couch to do so is hard for anyone to do. So, they just simply say, they can't do it. Crisis averted.
Another reason why people will say they can't do something is because they don't enjoy doing the activity, but when faced by someone who enjoys it and is very good at it, it's much easier for us to say we're unable to rather than risk insulting them by saying their favourite pass time they've put so much time into is not enjoyable. Even though you don't enjoy something, doesn't mean you can't do it (I'm sure school proved that for many of you). You don't enjoy it, therefore you're not willing to put the time into perfecting it. Let's say, you tell me you can't play a musical instrument. The reality is you have no interest in playing one, therefore never bothered to gather the skills to do so. Let's say you even argue that you're tone deaf and have no musical sense. Who said playing music has anything to do with sound? If someone hands you a sheet of music and an instrument and you put the time into learning each note, you could play that piece of music perfectly, given the right time. That's not to say you'll enjoy it, or even that you can recognize that it sounds perfect, but it's in your blood to be ABLE to.
Let's move away from the mental field and talk about physical goals. "I can't play basketball because I can't jump higher than a foot". Physical commands run directly from your brain to your muscles. It's biomechanics, knowing where muscle groups are, what they are used for and how to use them properly. If you learn the physics of jumping, all that's left to do is to put the time in effort into practicing and building the correct muscle groups. You can't jump when you're a baby right? But you crawl, walk and eventually build enough muscle to run and jump. Learn, practice, evolve. Boom. Now you're an excellent jumper.
I do also realize that certain mental a physical disabilities prevent some people from doing certain things. That does NOT make you broken. Clearly evolution has separate plans in store for you. Stephen Hawking, Christopher Reeve, Helen Keller, Beethoven, Thomas Edison, just name a few. There have been countless people of all walks of life with mental or physical disabilities who continue to contribute. You are not broken and I don't mean for that to sound insensitive. I understand it's harder for people with disabilities to achieve their goals, but it just makes it more incredible when they do. The day you are deemed broken is the day you're in a wooden box six feet under (escape artists and magicians excluded).
Next time you tell yourself you can't do something, think about why you tell yourself that. Yes, it does mean facing some uncomfortable truths about your true motives, but the more you understand yourself, the more control you'll have over everything you do. You are a human; an elite, powerful intellect. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't do something, even yourself. Evolution begs to differ.
Do you guys have something you tell yourself you can't do? Do you know why you don't do it? Do you think I'm out of place? I encourage any feedback you may have! Evolving our minds further starts with the sharing of information and opinions!
Thanks for reading! :D
"I CAN'T paint to save my life." Yes, you can.
"I CAN'T cook worth crap." Mmmmm yeah, you can.
"I just CAN'T hold onto my money." Sorry, but.......
"I just CAN'T bring myself to sit down and read a whole book." This one is personal...YES I CAN.
People always say that they can't do certain things, some more than others, as if they are completely incapable of doing so. The reality of it is, yes you can. How, you might ask? It's simple...you're a human. You've been genetically tweaked for hundreds of thousands of years to evolve into the higher brain powered creature you are today. So, to say that you can't do something, is a direct slap in the face to nature's hard work over all those years. Today we are capable of things we couldn't have even imagined to be possible, and not only because we've evolved larger brains and opposable thumbs, but because we've put time towards it.
What makes humans the most resilient creatures is our capacity for learning. For the first time, our younger generations are actually teaching their parents. This directly shows that the human race is continuing to evolve into more intelligent beings with each generation. With top speed information sharing at our fingertips, what's to stop each and every one of us from being rocket scientists? If you want to learn to do anything, I can guarantee there's a YouTube video out there to teach you how. Want to know more about a topic? There's a Google search for that. Our minds are literally unstoppable.
To think of it in a less worldly way, if you say you just simply can't paint, you could if you dedicated hours at a time each and every single day. Sure, it may take years for your art to be considered "good", but you could do it if you really put your mind to it. I know I could be a real reader if I actually made myself sit down with a book each and everyday until it became habit. My reading would become faster, my vocabulary would increase and who knows all the new and wonderful things I would learn, until my mind would start to crave it all on its own. The human brain feeds off of new information like a drug. I know that each and every one of you can say that at least once in your life, whether you've been in school or reading or just having a discussion with a friend, you've had a real realization of something after learning its whole truth. You can feel the light flooding into your dark brain as the information unfurls into a full blown info-map. It's a good feeling, a very good feeling in fact. You can't help but thinking about it more and more, relating specific times in your life that connect the dots to this very moment of knowledge. We NEED to learn, because genetically, we live for it. We've proven as a species that we are the intellects in this wild world.
So, if it's truly is in our heritage to learn, and it is indeed VERY possible to do anything, why do people say they can't do something? This is also very simple. Being the most intelligent creatures on our planet doesn't come without consequence. Being intelligent we have created hundreds of systems and gadgets simply to make our life easier, thus making us lazy. Very few people realize their potential as a human and those that do, don't want to face the reasons why they can't do something they may even want to do. Accepting the fact that you can't do something simply because you don't want to put your time or money into it or just because you don't want to get off the couch to do so is hard for anyone to do. So, they just simply say, they can't do it. Crisis averted.
Another reason why people will say they can't do something is because they don't enjoy doing the activity, but when faced by someone who enjoys it and is very good at it, it's much easier for us to say we're unable to rather than risk insulting them by saying their favourite pass time they've put so much time into is not enjoyable. Even though you don't enjoy something, doesn't mean you can't do it (I'm sure school proved that for many of you). You don't enjoy it, therefore you're not willing to put the time into perfecting it. Let's say, you tell me you can't play a musical instrument. The reality is you have no interest in playing one, therefore never bothered to gather the skills to do so. Let's say you even argue that you're tone deaf and have no musical sense. Who said playing music has anything to do with sound? If someone hands you a sheet of music and an instrument and you put the time into learning each note, you could play that piece of music perfectly, given the right time. That's not to say you'll enjoy it, or even that you can recognize that it sounds perfect, but it's in your blood to be ABLE to.
Let's move away from the mental field and talk about physical goals. "I can't play basketball because I can't jump higher than a foot". Physical commands run directly from your brain to your muscles. It's biomechanics, knowing where muscle groups are, what they are used for and how to use them properly. If you learn the physics of jumping, all that's left to do is to put the time in effort into practicing and building the correct muscle groups. You can't jump when you're a baby right? But you crawl, walk and eventually build enough muscle to run and jump. Learn, practice, evolve. Boom. Now you're an excellent jumper.
I do also realize that certain mental a physical disabilities prevent some people from doing certain things. That does NOT make you broken. Clearly evolution has separate plans in store for you. Stephen Hawking, Christopher Reeve, Helen Keller, Beethoven, Thomas Edison, just name a few. There have been countless people of all walks of life with mental or physical disabilities who continue to contribute. You are not broken and I don't mean for that to sound insensitive. I understand it's harder for people with disabilities to achieve their goals, but it just makes it more incredible when they do. The day you are deemed broken is the day you're in a wooden box six feet under (escape artists and magicians excluded).
Next time you tell yourself you can't do something, think about why you tell yourself that. Yes, it does mean facing some uncomfortable truths about your true motives, but the more you understand yourself, the more control you'll have over everything you do. You are a human; an elite, powerful intellect. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't do something, even yourself. Evolution begs to differ.
Do you guys have something you tell yourself you can't do? Do you know why you don't do it? Do you think I'm out of place? I encourage any feedback you may have! Evolving our minds further starts with the sharing of information and opinions!
Thanks for reading! :D
Monday, December 17, 2012
Animal Children
"Ooohhh there's my little baby!" Cooed the woman to her cat as she rubbed her nose in his face. I've had pets my entire life and I've never understood it- pets being the owner's babies or kids. I love animals, generally more than people, but by no stretch of my imagination (which is saying something) are my cats my children.
Yes, I live with them, feed them, snuggle them and would give anything for them, but they feel more like really good friends to me. I was there from the very second they were born, comforting their mother through the birth, and I watched them grow from tiny puffballs to the majestic adults they are today and our bond is undoubtedly unbreakable. So, by all reason, I should feel like their mother, or at least their adoptive mother, right? But, the simple fact is I don't. To me, I am their provider, protector and playmate.
Now, that's not to say I don't feel ANY maternal instinct for them, but I feel that with a lot of people as well who I DEFINITELY don't consider my children. A couple years ago I lived with a few men, some the same age as me, some younger and some even older than me and I was very maternal with them. I slid into the role of "mom" very quickly and easily. Even while I'm busy at work, if I hear a little newborn baby cry (you know the ones that are still pink and stuff), I feel a tweak in my stomach and I feel like running over to comfort it. To be brutally honest, I REALLY don't like children. I don't feel like I can communicate with them, or that I'll break them or something ridiculous like that. And yet, I still want to comfort the little ones. It's just that instinct that every woman has to run to the rescue of a newborn.
So, if I do in fact have a maternal instinct, why do I feel that my cats are not my children? I've thought that maybe it's a species thing, but then you read stories about dogs adopting tiger cubs, or gorillas adopting kittens. Clearly, nature doesn't mind inter-species parenthood.
I've also thought that maybe, I'm not mature enough to feel like a mother all the time. It has been brought to light that even from very young ages, girls care for their stuffed toys like children, and that "true" maternal instincts take effect after puberty hits from age 10-14.....whelp, I'm going to be 23 soon, so clearly I'm old enough to instinctively be a mother (theoretically).
Maybe my maternal instinct just isn't as strong with me as it is with most women. So far, this seems to be my most plausible conclusion, but it is by far, the hardest to admit. What if by me having a quieter maternal instinct, it means I won't be as good of a mother when the day comes? As much as I don't like children now, I do wish to have my own someday. I guess that's my little squeaky maternal instinct speaking up.
And, I don't mean to make this sound sexist, being all about maternal instincts and not mentioning anything about paternal instincts. Sorry men of the internet. It's not that I don't believe you have a parent-child relationship with your pet, I just can't relate to paternal instincts...you know, not being a man and all...and to be entirely honest, it does seem to be less heard of for a man to behave this way than a woman.
I'm tired of being thought of as cold because I don't see my cats as my children AND that I don't like children in general. Neither of those qualities work to my favour, especially when talking to other women about it. I really hope I'm not alone on this one. What do you guys think? Are your pets your children? Do you have any theories as to why I feel the way I do? Any amount of feedback is appreciated!
Thanks for reading! :D
my email: cookie_monster_002@hotmail.com
Yes, I live with them, feed them, snuggle them and would give anything for them, but they feel more like really good friends to me. I was there from the very second they were born, comforting their mother through the birth, and I watched them grow from tiny puffballs to the majestic adults they are today and our bond is undoubtedly unbreakable. So, by all reason, I should feel like their mother, or at least their adoptive mother, right? But, the simple fact is I don't. To me, I am their provider, protector and playmate.
Now, that's not to say I don't feel ANY maternal instinct for them, but I feel that with a lot of people as well who I DEFINITELY don't consider my children. A couple years ago I lived with a few men, some the same age as me, some younger and some even older than me and I was very maternal with them. I slid into the role of "mom" very quickly and easily. Even while I'm busy at work, if I hear a little newborn baby cry (you know the ones that are still pink and stuff), I feel a tweak in my stomach and I feel like running over to comfort it. To be brutally honest, I REALLY don't like children. I don't feel like I can communicate with them, or that I'll break them or something ridiculous like that. And yet, I still want to comfort the little ones. It's just that instinct that every woman has to run to the rescue of a newborn.
So, if I do in fact have a maternal instinct, why do I feel that my cats are not my children? I've thought that maybe it's a species thing, but then you read stories about dogs adopting tiger cubs, or gorillas adopting kittens. Clearly, nature doesn't mind inter-species parenthood.
Maybe my maternal instinct just isn't as strong with me as it is with most women. So far, this seems to be my most plausible conclusion, but it is by far, the hardest to admit. What if by me having a quieter maternal instinct, it means I won't be as good of a mother when the day comes? As much as I don't like children now, I do wish to have my own someday. I guess that's my little squeaky maternal instinct speaking up.
And, I don't mean to make this sound sexist, being all about maternal instincts and not mentioning anything about paternal instincts. Sorry men of the internet. It's not that I don't believe you have a parent-child relationship with your pet, I just can't relate to paternal instincts...you know, not being a man and all...and to be entirely honest, it does seem to be less heard of for a man to behave this way than a woman.
I'm tired of being thought of as cold because I don't see my cats as my children AND that I don't like children in general. Neither of those qualities work to my favour, especially when talking to other women about it. I really hope I'm not alone on this one. What do you guys think? Are your pets your children? Do you have any theories as to why I feel the way I do? Any amount of feedback is appreciated!
Thanks for reading! :D
my email: cookie_monster_002@hotmail.com
OH HAAAAY
Well, hello there internet! :D I've decided to start a blog, basically to help satiate my curious and wandering mind about anything and everything. Day in and day out, I find myself thinking about the most random things, and not just casually pondering about it, but REALLY exploring every one of its dark corners.
This blog will not only help me to get all of these meddlesome inklings out of my head and onto the internet, but I am also going to encourage anyone who happens to stumble upon my blog to contact and share their thoughts with me. I mean, isn't that what the internet was originally intended for, sharing information? I do also realize that sharing information can be pretty risky on the internet, though. Opinions tend to get all tangled up in the discussions and then everyone gets hurt. So, I'm going to try and clear up some fuzzy lines before we begin our pondering.
I am a very open-minded person. Whatever beliefs you may have, I don't have a problem with it. Although I never intend to be controversial, I may occasionally have a slip of the tongue and come across opinionated or offensive. For any time this may happen, I apologize. But like I said, I would love for anyone to contact me and tell me their thoughts. My personal e-mail address is listed below. I love to learn new information and points of view, so don't be afraid of me! :)
I look forward to sharing my brain with you guys! Chiao for now! n_n
my email: cookie_monster_002@hotmail.com
This blog will not only help me to get all of these meddlesome inklings out of my head and onto the internet, but I am also going to encourage anyone who happens to stumble upon my blog to contact and share their thoughts with me. I mean, isn't that what the internet was originally intended for, sharing information? I do also realize that sharing information can be pretty risky on the internet, though. Opinions tend to get all tangled up in the discussions and then everyone gets hurt. So, I'm going to try and clear up some fuzzy lines before we begin our pondering.
I am a very open-minded person. Whatever beliefs you may have, I don't have a problem with it. Although I never intend to be controversial, I may occasionally have a slip of the tongue and come across opinionated or offensive. For any time this may happen, I apologize. But like I said, I would love for anyone to contact me and tell me their thoughts. My personal e-mail address is listed below. I love to learn new information and points of view, so don't be afraid of me! :)
I look forward to sharing my brain with you guys! Chiao for now! n_n
my email: cookie_monster_002@hotmail.com
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