Fire and Brimstone and Not Getting Upset

[Warning for one slur, included as a quote.]

     Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve probably seen people standing out by the street with signs declaring in big letters that “Gays are going to hell!” and “God hates sin!” and other such exclamations. If you haven’t seen them in person, you’ve probably at least seen them on TV or on the internet. 

     Every week, there is a man at my school who stands on a box somewhere on campus, with his sign and his flyers, who yells about how God is a judge, and how we all sin, etc. I have fondly dubbed him “Mister Preacher Man”. The nice thing about Mister Preacher Man is that, as far as I know, he doesn’t call people out individually and tell them they’re going to hell. He invites people to stand on a box and have a discussion with him. Granted, it’s a discussion mostly consisting of yelling about how you’re going to hell, but at least he lets people talk. (Although he did call a friend of mine a “faggot”, so he loses some points there. Not cool, Mister Preacher Man. Not cool at all.)

     Sometimes, however, Mister Preacher Man brings his friends along. Mister Preacher Man’s friends are a tad more obnoxious than Mister Preacher Man. Mister Preacher Man’s friends bring lots of signs, and Bibles, and like to yell about people going to hell. I call them the Fire and Brimstone People, or the Hellfire Guys. They usually have a large crowd of people around them (99% of whom are probably there for the entertainment value.), and there’s the usual back and forth one expects from a crowd of college students and people yelling about damnation.

     The Hellfire Guys were outside by the union earlier this week, and I overheard some conversations and saw some Facebook posts indicating that some people were offended by what the Hellfire Guys had to say.

     This is completely understandable. The stuff they say is pretty offensive. They have a sign with a list of kinds of people who are going to hell. There’s the usual “homosexuals”, “abortionists” (Which, what is an “abortionist” anyway?), “liars”, etc. Then there are some gems like “Feminists”, and “lukewarm hypocrites”, and “immodest women”. (Those are my personal favorites.) So, yeah. Pretty offensive.

     The funny thing is, I don’t get offended. I was, of course, upset for my friend when Mister Preacher Man called her what he did, and of course I’m a little sad that they seem to have missed a big part of what I think Jesus taught. (Love, forgiveness, and the like.) I’m not offended, however, when they tell me I’m going to hell because I’m a feminist and feminists go to hell. I’m not offended when their list includes immodest women, but says nothing about immodest men. I’m not offended when they say anything.  I don’t get upset. I just laugh.

     One of the things I remind myself of when I walk past Mister Preacher Man, or the Fire and Brimstone People is that they truly thing they’re doing the right thing. They truly believe that they are helping people. It’s not coming from a place of hate. They truly believe that this is what they need to do to save people. Once I remember that it’s not malicious, it doesn’t bother me so much.

Sometimes I’m tempted to get a to-go box from the cafeteria and sit outside and just listen to them, because some of the stuff they say is so outrageous. It’s so far off from the message of love and forgiveness and acceptance that I grew up with that I stand there and think “where are y’all getting this stuff?”  Once you stop expecting anything different from them, they become quite entertaining. 

Why Leaving Fandom Was The Best Decision of the Year

     Just a few weeks ago, my tumblr celebrated its third birthday. That’s three years of reblogging and liking, of fanart and fanfiction and social justice and self-discovery. Three years, it seems, is enough. Just before the three-year mark, I deleted the tumblr app from my phone, and made the tentative decision to stop watching my favorite show. It’s been almost three weeks, and with the exception of trying to find specific things, I’ve been tumblr-free. And it’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time. 

     One of the beautiful things about tumblr, and one of the things that I think is the most appealing about it, is that it’s a (mostly) safe place for people to express things that they can’t express in “real life”. (The legitimacy of that safety can be debated, but that’s not what this post is about.) Tumblr is a place where people can be themselves, where people can find other people like them, where unbreakable friendships are formed. A lot of times, this expression is negative.

     I want to preface this next part by saying that in no way am I saying people should stop doing what they’re doing. I’m not saying that people on tumblr are bad people for doing what they do.

There is lot of anger on tumblr. Much of that anger is justified. There are legitimate issues with television shows and movies that need to be addressed and fixed. There is change that needs to happen. For me, the anger and negativity became too much.

     The day I decided to take a step back from tumblr, one of my favorite authors made some comment that tumblr took issue with. The speed with which tumblr turned on him was, quite frankly, terrifying. He was much beloved by tumblr, and suddenly people were saying “how often do you think [he] sucks his own dick?” (He later apologized for his comment, and I have no idea if tumblr went back to loving him as they did before.) Tumblr’s reaction to this comment scared me. I saw how quickly public opinion could change, and I decided I didn’t want to be part of that anymore. I didn’t want to risk getting caught up in that any more than I already had.

     This incident was not the first indication that it was time for me to leave, however. It was merely the tipping point. I’d already been unhappy with tumblr for some time.

     As anyone who knows me knows, I’ve been a huge fan of the MTV show “Teen Wolf” for a couple of years. I watched it almost religiously, read massive amounts of fanfiction, and became increasingly involved in lurking in the fandom.  After a while, I found myself becoming too involved in both the show and the fandom. It eventually got to the point where it was controlling my life. Most of my time and energy was devoted to thinking about Teen Wolf. Instead of being comforted by Teen Wolf, it became one of the main stressors in my life.

     There is a lot of negativity in the Teen Wolf fandom, primarily surrounding the wildly popular ship “Sterek”. I’m not going to get into the details of the negativity, because they’re not important to this post. The important thing is that most of what I saw on tumblr was negativity, and I’d been increasingly unhappy with it. I’d found myself getting caught up in the negativity, and got to the point where I was so unhappy that I couldn’t enjoy the show anymore.

     This negativity, mixed with the fact that the show started going in a direction I didn’t like, lead to some doubts as to whether I should continue with the show or not.

     One of the issues I encountered when debating leaving Teen Wolf was that I had spent a couple of years with the show. I’d invested massive amounts of time and energy into the show, and it seemed silly to give up on it now. I felt guilty for wanting to stop watching the show, feeling like I was betraying the actors.

I then realized something very important: I didn’t owe the show anything. I didn’t owe the actors, I didn’t owe Jeff Davis, I didn’t owe anyone. The fact was that Teen Wolf was no longer something that brought me joy. Once I realized that, the decision was easy. I no longer felt guilty for not watching.

     The decision to leave tumblr and the decision to stop watching Teen Wolf were probably two of the best decisions I’ve made all year. They’ve been incredibly beneficial to my mental health and well-being, and my self-esteem. I’m better able to focus on actually living my life and preparing for the future. I have more time to focus on school and work.

     There are, of course, things about tumblr that I miss. I miss the witty text posts and I’m missing out on the yearly Fourth of July take over where people make jokes and hilariously obnoxious edits about freedom. And yes, a small part of me misses the drama of the Teen Wolf fandom and the Jeff Davis vs. Sterek battle. I miss talking to my friends about the latest episode of Teen Wolf, and I miss the spectacular meta and headcannons people come up with.

     Maybe one day I’ll go back. Maybe I’ll make a completely new blog and stay away from fandom, instead sticking with anxiety help and writing tips, and things that I’m less likely to get wrapped up in. But right now, it’s still too fresh. It’s too soon for me to safely jump back in. So I’ll bid adieu to tumblr and Teen Wolf, at least for now. 

An Open Letter to an Unnamed Teacher

Usually, when a student writes a letter to a former teacher, it’s a letter of thanks, expressing gratitude for great life lessons learned. Such letters usually open with a story of the Life Changing Event that lead to the Great Lesson. Then, the story is followed by an explanation, a testimony of how that Life Changing Event had a positive impact on the former student, with examples of how that lesson was used in the student’s life. These letters usually end with thanks, and a sentence or two declaring that the former student will always remember what they learned, and how the lesson will stay with them for the rest of their lives.

This is not one of those letters.

The things expressed in this letter do not indicate that you are a bad teacher. Just that perhaps your preferred method of teaching doesn’t quite work for some students. It certainly didn’t work for me.

Your chosen method of motivation is criticism.

Not constructive criticism, not guiding criticism, but plain, negative criticism. You seem to think that by telling students only the things they did wrong, that will inspire them to change and do better. For some students, this works.

High school students are notorious for having self-esteem issues. It’s practically a requirement to be a teenager. And with so much pressure from society and the media and each other, it’s no wonder. There are varying levels of low self-esteem, of course, and some people’s self-esteem is much lower than others. I am one of those people.

Now, I’m not asking you to cater to every single student’s needs and emotional state, and baby those students whose self-esteem is lower. That’s impossible, impractical, and it’s not actually helping anyone. What I am asking you to do is perhaps consider a different way of offering criticism and critique.

One of the things I had the most trouble with in theater was giving a performance my all. I was afraid of looking stupid in front of my peers, and as a result, my acting was very reserved. I didn’t take risks in my performances, I kept everything safe. One teacher I had called this “being afraid to go for it”.

You called it “being a wimp.”

I knew what you meant, of course. I was well aware of my reluctance to take chances. Shoot, I even joked about it. You’d say “And Grace, what’s your problem?” and I’d laughingly reply “I’m a wimp!”

I wasn’t laughing in my head. No, instead I was wondering, “Am I really a wimp?”

After a while, it stopped being a joke, and started to become the truth. Or at least, the truth as I saw it. I started to internalize it, and it became another thing on the list of criticisms running through my head.

You carry too much stuff.

They probably thing you’re annoying.

You don’t fit in here.

You’re a wimp.

It’s not like I could ask you to stop. You were the teacher, the adult. Obviously you knew best. If you said it, it must be true. So I sat there, and you’d say it, and I’d repeat it, and I’d believe it.

“What’s your problem, Gracie?”

“I’m a wimp.”

I’m a wimp.

This kind of criticism, this name calling, can be incredibly hurtful for some students. Beyond the lack of positive reinforcement found in your classroom, calling students names like “wimp”, however jokingly, however well-intentioned, may not always have the desired effect. Sometimes, it may actually have the opposite effect.

I want to tell you (and myself) that I am not a wimp, and that I’ve never been a wimp. I am stronger than you or I give myself credit for.

I’m not grateful for what you said. Calling me a wimp didn’t motivate me. It didn’t inspire me to change, it didn’t teach me to be strong, and it didn’t improve my acting.  Calling me a wimp only caused me to feel worse about myself. Calling me a wimp only gave the tiny little voice of criticism one more thing to whisper in my ear, and I can’t thank you for that. I won’t thank you for that.

Everything Happens for A Reason?

“Everything happens for a reason.”

I've always hated that phrase. It’s a phrase often offered up as a comfort to people when bad things happen. It’s a way of finding the silver lining in things, finding the good in bad situations. It’s meant to make people feel better. Yes, this hurts, but you’ll grow from it. You’ll become a better person. It’ll all work out in the end.

                I can see that idea being comforting to someone whose boyfriend or girlfriend has just broken up with them, or to someone who didn't get that part in the play they wanted, or that promotion they were after. I can see everything having a reason being comforting to someone in that kind of a situation. Those are the kinds of things that are more easily dealt with. But what about situations that involve death? What about situations like the Boston Marathon, or the numerous shootings that have happened? Were those for a reason?

If I were to operate under that mindset, that everything that happens has a reason, that would mean that there’s a reason there are people living on the streets. That would mean that there’s a reason that people are starving. There’s a reason that children die.

Along with that idea that everything happens for a reason comes the idea that, if you’re a religious person, there’s some lesson from God in the bad things. There is a lesson hidden in every bad experience, and if we look hard enough, we can find it.

There was no message in the bombs in Boston. There was no message in the shooting in Newtown. There was no message on September 11, 2001. There was only senseless, meaningless death and violence.

            To me, that kind of mindset, that idea that everything has a reason and an intended lesson, is an insult to the people who died in these events. That’s devaluing their lives. That little boy, that eight year old boy who died at the Boston Marathon, did not lose his life so that someone else could learn a lesson. His life was worth so much more than that. He was not killed so that God could send a message to someone else. He died because there are cruel people in the world. He died because sometimes bad things just happen.  

                That’s a more comforting thought, for me. That there are bad people in the world, and sometimes they do bad things, and sometimes we can’t stop it.

That’s a lot less frightening. 

A Realization, Of Sorts...

     I want to write. I want to make sentences that flow from my brain to the page in unexpected ways. I want to create beauty. I want to take an idea and make it so that it’s tangible. I want to inspire. I want to be inspired.  I want to rearrange the same twenty six letters in ways that touch people, and more importantly, I want to rearrange the same twenty-six letters in ways that touch me.

     I have a way with written words, I know this. But it seems that I can only write when feeling particularly inspired.

      I want to be challenged. I want to find something that’s difficult, and I want to fight it and get angry at it, and yell at it and swear off writing forever until I come back five minutes later to face it again.

     I want time. I want the time to write freely, without the pressure of life.

     I want my fingers to keep up with my brain. I want to not lose ideas because the human part of me just couldn't keep up with the sporadic musings that run wild (untamed, rampant) in my mind. I want to not leave sentences half-finished because my thoughts skipped the end of a sentence to start a new paragraph.

     I want to use words. Not just words, beautiful, complex, words. Words that, by themselves, are works of art. Words like “incandescently”, and “spasmodic”, and “existential".

     I want to use written words to express what I can’t articulate out loud. I want to take complex ideas and turn them into something that can be understood. I want to be heard. I want to be heard on the pages that I write on. I want to be heard on the keys that I type on. I want to be heard on screens that you read. I want someone to hear me.

     I want to get my point across in a way that makes sense. I want to turn abstract thought into concrete expression, something tangible.

     I want to create something that’s mine. I want to write every day, because I want to, not because I have to.  I want to write every day because I can. (I just don’t know how.)

     I want to create. I want to create visions. I want to create laughter. I want to create something that makes me indefinitely happy. I want to create something that I can look back on and say “I made that.” “That came from me. That came from my mind.”

     I don’t want to just write. I want to use twenty-six letters to create something beautiful. 

Why 204 Talk Is So Important To Me

The video blog “204 Talk”, featuring my roommate and myself has had an odd impact on me. We've only been doing this for about a week, only filmed about five or six videos, and only uploaded three, and yet in eight or so days, this video blog has had a huge effect on several aspects of my life.

                The biggest aspect is my self-esteem. I have anxiety issues, so much so that I’m on medication, so naturally, I see a therapist. I see her on a weekly basis, and one of the things we've talked a lot about is my sense of self-efficacy. Self-efficacy, for those not taking Psychology, is one’s perception of their own abilities to do things. My sense of self-efficacy in most aspects of my life is pretty low. (The exception being dance.) I don’t really know why my self-esteem is so low. My parents have always been immensely supportive of me, in everything I do, and I can’t really recall any severe bullying or teasing growing up. (There apparently was a case at my summer camp, but I don’t actually remember it.) Nevertheless, I've always felt different from everyone else, and never quite fit in. (I realize that probably every single person in the history of forever has felt like this at some point in their life.) I've always second-guessed myself, and not believed in myself as much as the people around me believed in me. Instead of saying “no, you can’t cheat off of my math homework”, I’d tell my classmates, “What makes you think I understand this? I don’t know what’s going on.”, and at some point in my growing up, I started to believe it.

                It wasn't until I got to college, and started seeing a therapist on a weekly basis instead of a semi-monthly basis that I realized just how low my self-esteem was. It took a year of dealing with just anxiety to figure out that maybe most of the anxiety I was feeling stemmed from my belief that I couldn't do the things that were expected of me. I believed that I wasn't qualified to do the things I needed to do.  I don’t know how to make my own schedule, what if I mess things up? What if I need a form or a piece of paper, and I don’t have it? Those “what if’s” turned into “I cant’s”, and I found that I was living my life in fear of always doing something wrong.

                And then my roommate and I got this bright idea. After watching the Streamy awards, an awards show for web video, we thought, “what if we made our own videos? We've got things to talk about, why not?” So we did. We brainstormed until 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, coming up with idea after idea, writing down everything we could think of. We made a separate e-mail, a separate tumblr, a separate youtube account, just for this video blog we hadn't started yet. And then, we started filming. Our first video wasn't the greatest thing to ever hit the internet. The original video was a little over sixteen minutes. Sixteen minutes of awkward, just the two of us, sitting on the floor, talking about some of our favorite books.  But it was fun, so we filmed some more videos, just because we could. Because it was late, and we were on our own, and neither of us felt like going to sleep.

                It was then that I found that I had a bit of a talent when it came to videos. I guess you could say that between the two of us, I’m the resident “techie”, which I find absolutely hilarious, because I don’t feel very tech-savvy at all. (I was once put in charge of the web page for my high school beta club, not because I was good with computers, but because my mom was good with computers. Needless to say, I ‘resigned’ as web master very quickly.) And yet, I was able to turn sixteen minuets of awkward into only seven minutes of slightly less awkward, with a shiny new intro and everything. I was able to objectively cut out unnecessary parts, the edits were actually pretty good, and I was really proud of what I had done.  We only got a few views those first few days, and while it was a slight disappointment, we weren't really that bothered. We weren't doing these videos for anyone else. We were doing them because we wanted to.

                We filmed a few more videos the next week, and I edited them and uploaded them, and felt pretty good about myself. We were both a little more comfortable with the camera, and were a great deal less awkward than in our first video.  Our favorite video is a video called “We Talk Web Series”, where we both discuss some of our favorite web shows. That was easily our best video. It was the third one we had shot that day, so we had time to warm up to the camera, and we were talking about things we felt really passionate about.  I realized, while watching that video, that this was a big thing for me. Here’s this kid (because in my mind, I’m still a kid) with social anxiety so bad that she spent several months essentially hiding in her dorm room, only leaving for class and certain meals, and she’s recording herself and putting it up on youtube? For the entire world to see? WHAT? It blew my mind. Don’t get me wrong, my issues with social anxiousness haven’t magically disappeared. I’m still on medication, and I still have to gear myself up for strange social situations, but for some reason, when my roommate and I turn the camera on, when I’m editing and uploading these videos, I feel good about myself. I feel, for lack of a better word, cool. I go back and watch those videos and I think “Hey, I like what I see in this video. That chick’s cool!”

                These feelings of confidence only got better when we got our first comment. It was on our first video, our least favorite, one where we were still getting used to talking to a tiny lens on the computer. But it was a comment, and honest-to-goodness real comment, and a nice one at that! One of our subscribers (ok, our ONLY subscriber) had commented, saying that they liked the books we talked about, and actually made a recommendation. The first thing I did, after getting my thoughts for a response written down, was text my roommate.

“We got  a comment on We Talk Books!” I said.

“Hell yes!” she replied. “What does it say?”

                So I told her what it said, and mentioned that I’d already typed up a response, and then I had another epiphany. I realized that I had a way with words. Since I’m the one who actually uploads the videos to youtube, I’m the one who types up the little summary in the little box under the video. I (mostly) come up with the titles, I write the summary, and I’d just typed up a response to a comment from another human being. A human being who had watched our video, and liked it, and actually cared enough to respond to it. I realized, then, that I had a job in this web show thing we have going, and that I enjoyed it, and that I was good at it. That I was doing something that other people can’t.  And that did wonders for my self-esteem. Because when I’m editing videos, when I’m sitting in front of my computer, with my headphones in, and I’m cutting and slicing and rearranging, I don’t feel like that little girl in elementary school, who felt so different from the kids in her class, who was so scared that she didn't talk to her classmates. I don’t feel like I don’t fit in. I feel cool. I feel qualified. I feel capable. And that’s a big thing for me. 

"It's Not Really Goodbye, After All"

     As you probably know, the summer of 2011 marked the end of the much beloved Harry Potter series. On July 15, 2011, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 premiered in the United States at midnight. I don’t know how many fans attended the midnight screenings, but I know that I was one of them. My mom, two of my friends, and I all stood in line for who knows how long, dressed up in whatever Harry Potter gear we could find, and waited eagerly for the doors to open.

    It was a bit of an emotional night for me. I literally grew up reading Harry Potter. I can remember my mom reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to me before I was able to read chapter books. I had grown up with Harry, and he with me. So it’s no surprise that I spent the entire 130 minutes of the movie leaning on my mom, in tears.

     Probably the most emotional part of the movie, for me at least, was the epilogue. See, I’m a huge soundtrack nerd. The majority of my iPod is probably movie scores, and TV soundtracks. So when “Leaving Hogwarts” from the first movie started playing at the end of the last movie, I completely lost it. The significance of that music choice hit me, in the middle of the theater, and I realized that this is over. Harry Potter is over. This is it. And then I cried even harder.

     At the end of the movie, after the last line of the closing credits, everyone in the theater stood up and clapped. We all gave a standing ovation to a movie screen. The writers couldn’t see us. The actors couldn’t see us. No one except the person who runs the projector, and the other fans, could see what we were doing. And yet, we still did it. Because Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Jo gave us a something special. They didn’t just give us movies and a set of books. For many fans, they gave us a childhood.

     After the initial sadness had worn off, life returned to normal for me. Or as normal as it could be. The spring before the release of the final Harry Potter film, I “officially” exited the world of childhood, and entered to world of adulthood. On May 19, 2011, I graduated from high school. I had already been accepted to my college of choice, a smaller college not too far from home, and was eagerly anticipating the world of learning I was about to enter.

     Graduating high school was not as bitter sweet for me as it was for others. Yes, I would miss my friends, but I was much more excited about college than I had ever been about high school. You see, I didn’t really fit in in grade school. I enjoyed learning too much. I employed a Hermione-esque focus on my studies, and was often seen with three or four “fun” books in my backpack. Perhaps that’s why Hermione was always my favorite character.

     As the premier of Deathly Hallows Part 2 drew nearer, so did the start of my first semester in college, and my anxiety about moving out increased. The library in my house was filled with boxes of things to bring to college; lamps, trash cans, sheets, pillows, and far too many books than I could fit in a tiny dorm room. (Among them, the seven Potters, of course.)  

    2011 was a big year for me. I became a legal adult, graduated from high school, started college, and saw the ending of a series that defined my childhood. But as J.K. Rowling herself said, “Those who love us never truly leave us.” I knew that Harry would be with me for the rest of my life. And so, my sadness about the ending of the series leveled out, and it was no longer as big a deal as it had been. I’d survived, and things were fine.

Then, during the early summer after my freshman year in college, while I was listening to what’s known as “Wizard Rock”, I began to experience something fans call “Post-Potter Depression”. 

     Post-Potter Depression, for those who don’t know, is a period of sadness or depression, following the completion of the Harry Potter series. (The name is pretty self-explanatory, to  be honest.)  It might sound silly to some, but for fans of Harry Potter, it’s very real.

    I began to realize that the series was truly over. The summer of 2012 was the first summer in ten years, where there was no new Harry Potter. The books were finished, the movies were done, and J.K. Rowling and the actors had moved on to new things. While it’s true that we still have Pottermore, and with it a mass of new information, and possibly a Harry Potter Encyclopedia (written by J.K. Rowling herself), the fact is: Harry’s story is over. The Dark Lord was defeated. We won. And no amount of fanfiction, headcannons, speculating, or wishing, is going to change that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely thankful for Pottermore. (Although I’d much rather be in Ravenclaw than Gryffindor, but oh well.) I find the backstories and new information absolutely fascinating.

     Still, there will be no more midnight book releases, where everyone is dressed up, and stands in line an hour before midnight, trying to be the first to get the book. No more midnight movie premiers, with people standing outside for hours, in all sorts of weather, ready for those opening notes. No more staying up until all hours of the morning on the day the book came out, because you can’t stop reading.

     Nothing can replace the Harry Potter series. There will be other series that may touch people, and may mean a lot to people, but for the Harry Potter Generation, for those who grew with Harry, who learned from Harry, for those of us for whom Harry was a priceless friend, nothing can compare. Harry will be with us forever.

So I want to say thank-you, Jo, for giving us Harry. Thank-you for giving me a friend, who was always there for me. Thank-you for giving me a world to which I could escape when life got too difficult and too scary. Thank-you for giving me Harry, who didn’t always know exactly what to do, but who did the job anyway. Thank-you for giving me Hermione, a character I could look up to, a girl who liked books, who liked to study, who was smart, and who never changed who she was, because other people didn’t like it Thank-you for giving me Ron, who showed me that it’s ok to not always get it right, and who showed me the lighter side of life. For Luna, who taught me that it’s ok to just be yourself, no matter what, and for Ginny, who taught me that girls can be strong, and are perfectly capable of standing up for themselves.  And most of all, thank-you, Jo Rowling, for my childhood.