So it’s kind of come to my attention that the human race is flawed.  I know, news flash, right?  There’s something somewhat specific that I’m talking about, though.  More and more I’ve really noticed that we as humans expect something out of life.  We expect it to work.  We expect it to be what we dream.  We expect to be happy and have everything work out for us.  And when it doesn’t, we get pissed.  I mean, seriously pissed.  It’s like we expect the world to cater to us, to revolve around us.  And I’m pretty sure that almost every human suffers from this problem.

I would have to say that I have probably noticed this problem is probably the most evident when in traffic.  Think about it.  Every day someone cuts you off, honks at you because you are turning too slow, wants you to let them in even though it’s their own fault they pulled into the wrong lane and are now holding up traffic… can you tell I have encountered people with this issue?  And that I suffer from it myself?  Do we think that we own the road?  We don’t, the government does and allows us to drive on it, allow with millions of other drivers.  And everyone thinks they know how to drive and thinks that they are the only one that really knows the right way to drive.  Do we even realize that everyone else has learned to drive somehow and probably thinks that they are doing it the right way as well?  Do we ever stop to consider that maybe we are the ones in the wrong, or that maybe there is more than one correct way to drive?  Or maybe we shouldn’t just think that since we pulled out first in the line of traffic that we shouldn’t let someone else in, that they don’t deserve it.  We come first… and we’re entitled to be upset if anyone dares get in our way.

And thus comes out the root of all of it.  Entitlement.  We were born in the U.S. – the land of the free and the brave, right?  So we automatically inherit the right to have a job, money, a house, a car, a significant other, and these days a computer, a cell phone, and a TV.  Well, sure – we do inherit that right.  But does that mean we are entitled to have these things, that because of who we are, they should just be ours?  Honestly, a lot of people seem to think so.  But guess what?  Not everyone has them.  Not even everyone in the United States has them.  And why is that?  Well, a lot of it has to do with where and how they happened to grow up.

I grew up in a small town, part of a lower middle-class family.  So I had everything I needed.  We struggled at times, sure, but we always had a place to live and food on the table.  But really, not too much more than that.  My parents bought me things when they could, and we took trips when we could, but there were definitely plenty of times when we were hurting for cash.  My dad, when he had a stroke several years ago and became unable to work, had to sell off his entire business just to be able to continue to support himself and my mom.  So growing up… well, we were kind of only really a few steps away from the poor house at times.  Well, I grew up, and got myself through college, and landed a good job and have really just moved forward since then.  I don’t struggle financially usually, I’m able to pay all my bills, and have done pretty decent for myself.  But what if I had wound up in a different situation?  What if I hadn’t been interested in and good at something that could get me a job making decent money?  What if I hadn’t been able to find a job?  What if I’d been in a situation that made it harder to be able to go to college?  I could’ve easily found myself there – plenty of people are.  Would I still feel like I deserve everything that I have?

One of the reasons I started volunteering at Outreach, Inc. was because I knew that I was just one circumstance away from being in the same position the kids they serve are.  What if I’d grown up differently, being around people that maybe were in a gang and that was the norm, or with parents that mistreated or neglected me, or with a mental disability that left me unable to understand what I really needed to do to survive?  What if I’d been born to a single mom that had no money?  Any of those things could’ve been very possible and would’ve put me into a very different situation.  Why should I think I’m any better than anyone else around me or entitled to anything more than they have?  Obviously they aren’t entitled to all that I have, or they would have it, right?  But if I could be in their situation – if that’s a possibility – then why do I have all of this and they don’t?  Maybe I’m not really entitled to anything at all.  Maybe I’m really no better than the guy that cut me off in traffic, or the beggar on the street downtown that I just pass up with looking at.

So really, what are we entitled to?  Anything?  Certainly there are people both born in the United States and other countries that are born into poverty with pretty much nothing to their name.  Is it by any act of our own that we weren’t born that way?  I’d say no, it’s really not.  So maybe we need to think about that some more.  Look around you at all that you have.  I know it’s cliché, saying we should be grateful for all we have, and that’s not what I’m getting at, really.  What I want you to examine is your attitude more than anything.  Sure, be grateful you have things and people in your life that you enjoy.  But I advise you to take a long hard look at how you behave, what you expect from the world and the people around you.  Do you expect them to cater to you?  Do you expect to get that good parking spot close to the door because you deserve it?  Take a look at how you’re living and the attitude you have when you walk into a restaurant or store somewhere, or even when you’re with your friends.  Do you expect things from them?  Do you expect the world – your servers, your fellow drivers, your friends – to cater to you just because you are you?  Maybe you shouldn’t.  Maybe, instead, you should sprinkle your attitude with a bit more humility and realize that you could’ve ended up someone completely different.  You could’ve ended up being that person next to you, with their problems and blessings instead of yours – so maybe you’d better be a bit more thoughtful about how you treat them.

This is a difficult blog post to write because it is very personal.  Sometimes I wonder if the posts I make aren’t too personal, but really, in a lot of ways, I am willing to share a lot about myself if someone asks.  I consider myself a pretty open person.  Sure, there are plenty of things that people don’t know about me, but the only real reason I don’t share those things is because of the person listening and knowing that they are different than me and feeling like they probably wouldn’t understand.  It’s not because I don’t want to be open with people.

I know I’ve posted on here about my difficulties sometimes since my dad died.  I mean, I don’t know that that’s where it starts, or that there even really is a starting point.  I could look at it as having started before that if I chose to – my grandparents both died a few years before my dad.  I remember once going to the Indy Star website and searching for my dad’s obituary only to realize that my grandpa’s came up as well (my dad was a “Jr”).  Then less than two years before my dad died, one of my best friends for the last ten years or so basically had a heart attack and wound up in the hospital in a coma.  He survived and made a full recovery, thankfully, but then about a month later my cousin had something similar happen and did not survive.  Then about six months after that, my uncle passed away as well.  And only a few weeks after my dad died last year, I lost another cousin to breast cancer.  ALL of these family members I would consider close.  I do have family that I rarely see, but these were all people that I grew up with and remember very well.  I could go into each one of my relationships with all of these people so you could see what I mean, but that’s not what this post is really about.

It’s not all just death that has affected me.  I tend to really feel things when stuff goes on with my friends, and there has been miscellaneous drama there that I won’t go fully into.  People I considered family went through things and went their separate ways.  Friends betrayed friends.  People that I considered friends and sought after for friendship denied it.  I guess all of these things have affected me more than I’m sometimes willing to admit.  I just really hate playing the victim.  I don’t want to say “oh, look what I’m going through” because I know there is always someone out there going through something worse.  So I mostly just take it all on myself, deal with my feelings on my own as they come.

So where has this left me?  Wow, what a loaded question.  And a tricky one to answer.  I’ve made some mistakes.  I’ve taken on some new things.  Grad school has been more difficult than expected at times.  All of this death, drama with friends, my own mistakes, and my own shortcomings have left me feeling very unworthy.  Worthless, pretty much.  Don’t get me wrong, I know deep down I’m not.  And sometimes I believe it.  But the slightest thing can set me off, leave me feeling like I’m nothing.  I can’t seem to battle it very well, and it has caused me off and on periods of depression for a while now.  I seem to just see all the things I do wrong – I’m not good enough at work, I’m not good enough at school, I’m not a good enough friend, I’m not a good enough girlfriend, my house isn’t clean enough, my body’s not skinny enough… I could go on for a while.

I saw a counselor for a few weeks, something offered from my school.  It helped a little having someone to talk to, but 1) it was awkward telling everything to someone that didn’t really know me, and 2) I always seemed to go in on the days I was feeling good and they wondered why I was even there, and 3) on the one day I wasn’t “on”, I didn’t want to talk and couldn’t explain why I felt down, so that felt awkward too.  I’m taking a break from it for now since my counselor finished her practicum, but I might go back at some point.  We’ll see.

I’m not really sure how this post ends, because I’m still at this part in the story.  I’m still struggling, still feeling not good enough pretty frequently.  I guess I just wanted to share it so my friends might have some idea how I’m feeling.  Deep down, I have plenty of confidence and I know who I am.  But I’m having a hard time keeping a hold on that lately.  So I guess I just write this to ask for your help.  Not your sympathy, really, just your help in remembering who I am.  If I seem like I have it all together, I don’t.  No one does.  We all need support and encouragement sometimes, and reminders of who we really are and what’s good about us.  That’s one thing I learned as a part of Beyond Your Best… that everyone really is some kind of gift to the world, and that a lot of us never see ourselves that way.  I knew it about myself at one point, but now I’m not really feeling it much anymore.  It may sound cheesy, but consider your actions and words, towards anyone… encouraging someone instead of ignoring them or tearing them down might just make a much bigger difference than you realize.

Yep.  One of my heroes is a dog.  Weird, huh?  Well, there’s a reason for it.  I mean, seriously… tell me that after coming home to this face every day for two years, it wouldn’t make YOUR life better too:

I grew up always having a dog around.  My parents had a dog when I was born, a Chihuahua named Teddy.  Teddy actually ended up living mostly on our front porch (enclosed, not outside) after I was born because he became jealous having a baby in the house.  He had been the baby, and then all of a sudden there was this new tiny person in the house getting more attention than him.  I can understand him not being too happy about that.  Teddy died when I was about eleven, and my parents decided that it would be okay for us to get another furry four-legged pet.  (And it would NOT be a cat.  My dad had a huge vendetta against cats.  One had killed his pet chicken when he was a kid and he never quite got over it, thus we were by default determined to be “dog people”.)   I definitely owe my love of dogs and other animals to my parents… we even owned a pet shop when I was growing up.  Between all of the fish in the shop and at home as well as the hamsters we bred at one point (we named them after candy bars – think Hershey, Snickers, and Zero), our house was never without some kind of pet.

So when we decided to get another dog, we found someone that had just had a litter of mixed terriers and visited their home to see if one of them might fit in and be the newest member of our family.  I remember going to this family’s house and meeting the four dogs that were in the litter.  There was one white/light one that was quite rambunctious and lively, almost a bit too lively.  And there were two black ones that were pretty quiet, one of them being the runt.  And then there was one that was black and white with even a little bit of brown mixed in, with a kind of “in-between” personality, not too quiet and not too hyper, either.  This is the one we took home with us – a little girl puppy that we ended up naming Missie.

Missie was with us for quite a long time, up until after I had graduated from college with my bachelors degree.  And she was a part of a two-dog household for a while, after I grew up and moved out on my own and decided that I also wanted a furry roommate (guys with chest hair definitely not an option) of my own.  I searched the local Freecycle Network and found a dog that had been abandoned on the south side, an all-black cocker spaniel named Chase.  I adopted him and brought him home, only to discover that poor Chase had very severe separation anxiety.  He barked a LOT whenever I would leave him, enough that my neighbors complained.  And if I didn’t leave him confined to a crate, he tore things up.  I ended up really being too busy to take care of him since I was a full-time student and working part-time at that point as well, so my parents took him in.  He joined Missie until she passed away just a few years ago.  Now Chase—who is totally a very sweet, gentle dog—keeps my mom company.

That brings us to the present day, or at least two years ago.  Two years ago yesterday—July 19, 2008—I decided that I wanted to try to get another dog.  (Well, really, I decided a few days before that when I was searching on Petfinder, but I actually got her on July 19.)  I found a dog that had been at Southside Animal Shelter in Indianapolis, but she had heartworm and was staying with a “foster family” while she was being treated for it.  I came across a picture of Sophie on the Petfinder site and decided that she might be a good fit for me.  So I sent some emails to find out more about her, as well as making a visit to the family she was staying with to meet her.  Sophie seemed to take a liking to me right away, as she ran right to me when I called her name.

It’s been an interesting two years.  Sophie has now been through a lot with me, including some escape attempts where she went swimming in the apartment pond as well as one that ended up with her head stuck in her crate and a trip to get stitches in her neck.  We had to learn to adjust to each other’s ways, and we have.  I’m glad she got to meet and know my dad.  He loved her, even though she is a bit wild and definitely more rambunctious than Chase.  What’s even funnier is that Ricky loves her too.  And he pretty much hates dogs.  (I think they just get along so well because they both love attention, so they feed off of each other.)

So yes… Sophie is one of my heroes.  When I have a bad day, I flip through the pictures on my phone and see the face, big dark eyes, and wet nose that I get to home to and cuddle with (and no, I don’t mean Ricky) and it makes me smile.  When I’m down or when I cry, she is always there to let me know I am loved unconditionally.  I rescued her, but some days I feel like she rescues me.  If you’ve adopted a pet, you know what I mean.  She’s my kid, and my life would have never been the same without her.