8 Things I Wish I Could Have Told Myself at 18

Oftentimes nowadays, I find myself reminiscing on the glory days, those years when I first began my college journey and the road towards finding myself. Looking back, I remember the invincibility that engulfed every portion of my life in those days and I also remember thinking I knew it all- that there was no person in any better place with any better life knowledge or any better understanding of the world than I had then. But, as we generally find when hindsight becomes 20/20, I couldn’t have been more wrong or miscalculated my maneuvers any more than I did. If only my naïve self, at age 18, knew then what I know now.

#1. The people who truly matter the most will always be around, despite any challenges you may face in your life.

                For years, I tended to focus my life around people who only came around when it was convenient or who only were my friends/love interests/acquaintances for a short time. I didn’t realize that life is a natural progression and that it is okay to lose touch with people who once entertained your every thought. I didn’t understand that if someone wasn’t strong enough to help you through a situation, that generally meant they didn’t love you as you deserved to be loved. Some people are only meant to be in our lives for a short period of time. They teach us about ourselves, about life, and about loss; and that is perfectly okay.

#2. There will come a time, no matter how much you may resent it, when you will have to look your parents in the eye and say three little words: “You.were.right.”

                When I first traveled to college, I had my heart set on a career in Public Relations. In the months leading up to my departure and during every single break that occurred during freshman and sophomore years, my dad would lecture me on how I should have chosen teaching as a profession. “Summers off! Nothing better!” he would say, followed by, “If only I could put my 48-year-old head on your 18-year-old body.” My God, I was irked by him then. And of course, today, I am planning on going back to school to pursue a degree in Elementary Education.

#3. Take ownership for your past mistakes. That is the only way anything will ever get better.

                For a while, whenever I screwed up I found it infinitely easier to run away from the problem than to actually face it head on. And you know what I realized? People can only help you solve problems if you admit that they occurred. 100% of human beings fuck up somewhere along the way. Do not be embarrassed or ashamed to admit that you are one of them.

#4. Do things that scare you.

                I have found over time that some of the greatest memories of my life have resulted from gigantic leaps of faith: applying for that dream internship I feared I could never get, allowing myself to be vulnerable and to fall in love, jumping out of an airplane on a hot summer day, telling the person I loved exactly how I felt even though I was terrified. These are the grand and bold gestures; these have the capabilities to change your life. Never be afraid to take an insane risk.

#5. Life is 10,000 times more difficult when you sit back and compare yourself to others.

                It’s normal, especially for females, to compare themselves to other people: to weigh your weight against someone else, your attractiveness, your talents and skill sets. I was no different, particularly where my family was concerned. As the youngest of four girls, I constantly compared myself to the amazing individuals that my sisters are and guess what? One day, when I wasn’t even expecting it, I was hit in the face with a magnificent realization: my sisters and I, much like all of us, are cut from the same cloth. We care, we react, we work hard, we love. How many of us are alike at the core when you strip it all down? Comparisons are for the insecure and the weak and let’s get real- you are neither of those things.

#6. It’s okay to lose your way. In fact, it’s abnormal not to.

                For a while, I was sure of where I was going and what I was doing- until I wasn’t anymore. I got so freaked out by my inability to wrap my head around my own life that, I won’t lie, I spiraled a bit out of control. But the most amazing thing happened in the midst of the struggle. I found myself. I found strength that I never would have found without those problems and I triumphed through them. At the end of the day, those triumphs will always mark an unbelievable time in my life.

#7. Your worth is not defined by another human being.

                There were times in my life where I found myself caught in webs, completely entrapped by other people. I so desperately desired their approval and so urgently needed their love that I allowed these people to walk all over me. I allowed them to belittle me with their words and their actions. I allowed them to break my heart. I allowed them to see me cry.  At the end of the day, how did I feel? Worthless. Empty. Under-appreciated. How did I get to the point where I let another human being make me feel that way? And why did I let it continue? If there’s one thing I know for damn sure right now in my 20s, it is that this will never happen again.

#8. Find courage and solace in the tiny moments.

                Over time, I have come to realize that it really is the little things in life that matter the most: when we’re sitting with our family around the dinner table, when we’re watching our nephew laugh, when we’re crying on our friends’ shoulders, when we’re drinking beers on porches in the summer. These are the times we’ll remember when our worlds are crumbling down. These are the memories we will lean on to find ourselves again. Embrace them, enjoy them, allow them to define you.

To all of you 18s out there on the edge of something new and for all you 20 somethings who may have found yourselves again through spurts of courage: You are beautiful. You are resilient. You are resounding. And the echoes that await you and the echoes that you leave behind you are, without a doubt, going to mark the pavement of an absolutely fulfilling life.

Happy Father's Day, Jimbo

Growing up, days like Father's Day, Mother's Day, Memorial Day, Veteran's Day all seemed unnecessary. In my narrow little mind I was oftentimes confused. Why is there one specific day to appreciate these people? Shouldn't we be telling them every single day how much we love them and how grateful we are for their presence in our lives? Now granted, my view was a little skewed because, as the youngest of four girls, I grew up in a very affectionate household and have always been quick to give a hug, blurt out a small praise or drop many "I love yous" in quick succession without even realizing it. Despite my upbringing, however, and the fact that I continue to and will always persistently wear my heart on my sleeve, days much like today have begun to take on a deeper meaning for me as I get older. I now understand that, on Father's Day, it's not about just telling Daddy how much I love him- it's about showing the world too. It's about standing up, taking pride in an individual, their uniqueness and their influence on your life. So that it exactly what I plan on doing from here on out.

My parents got married young, though by the standards of the 1980s that wasn't necessarily the case. By the time my mom was my age now (22, for anyone who is interested), she had three children in diapers. That's a terrifying concept in my young and immature mind, and one that is hard for me to fathom. How, exactly, did my parents do it? I'm still not sure I could give anyone a positive answer. By the time my mom was 27 and my dad was 29, I was born and completed our family of six. My mom was a stay-at-home mom, necessary I believe in the case, and my dad, without a college education and backed by so much love for his family, worked diligently day in and day out to put food on the table. Working his way up the ladder in the field of steamfitting, my dad somehow saved up enough money at a time to: a). buy his first home in Delaware County, succeeded 11 years later by our family's second home in Chester County; b). send all of his daughters through Catholic grade school, private Catholic high schools and then through college; c). purchase the home of his and my mom's dreams in Sea Isle City, NJ (after he had successfully rented a home every summer in Sea Isle so my sisters and my mom could spend our entire summers at the shore). Along the way, he started a business with his father and his siblings that began to slowly thrive. Throughout all of the years, as my dad continued to work for his family, I never once heard him complain.

Yes, this is an impressive feat by any standard. I've always had a certain appreciation for the underdogs, the people who start out with nothing and through hard work, commitment and faith somehow find it all. My dad fits this mold for me and despite everything that he has done financially for my family, it is the little things I am finding as I grow up that tend to mean more to me.

My earliest memory of my father comes from a family vacation, I'm not sure what year. My sisters and I were all in Cape May, NJ with our parents for a night of shopping and fun. I can't remember why exactly, but my dad had to go to the car to retrieve something and my sister Bridget and I began fighting over who got to go with him. It's a simple, silly memory but there was something about my dad, even then, that made him so magnetic. It's hard to spend even an hour with my father and not fall in love with the person that he is. He's enthusiastic and hilarious and driven and patient and successful. He's the kind of person that you meet and instantly hope that the best parts of him will somehow appear in you. After all, it takes a special man to grow up in a house with five women, and a female cat, while constantly maintaining a mega-watt smile.

My dad is the most hard-working man I know, but above all, he is a family man. Not only does he love my mother, my sisters and myself so much, but his love shines everywhere he goes. He lights up around his parents, his siblings, his grandson and all of his nieces and nephews. And all of the love that he gives wherever he goes is received back in tenfold.

A few years ago, at a college party, I was talking to a guy about our backgrounds and this specific person asked me about my dad. It's a little embarrassing and yes, I did have alcohol in my system, but as I began to describe my father, I also began to cry. There isn't a single day that passes, no matter how annoying he is being in an attempt to be funny, no matter how much I've disappointed him, that I don't feel blessed when I wake up in the morning to be my father's daughter.

 

My dad is goofy. He's an awkward dancer, a terrible listener, a Judge Judy appreciator, the changer of the channel when you're really into a TV show. He can be pretty bad at correctly matching his clothing, he listens to talk radio more often than normal, and he always teases you if you don't put a $1 bill in his birthday cards. He's the torturer of our cat, the Guns N' Roses enthusiast and the man who met my mom while flushing his foot down a toilet at a party. He pretends to know lyrics to songs when he doesn't, he always buys unique TastyKakes that no one will end up eating, and he tucks his t-shirts into his mesh shorts before he works out.

But he's the first one to purchase concert tickets just to make his kids smile, he's the 2002 Father of the Year at Merion Mercy Academy, and the former president of the Home and School Board at Holy Cross School. He's the president of the Board of Trustees at Delaware County Community College, he organizes the golf outing for the Inglis Foundation every year, he is the first one to stop if he sees a THON canner on the street. He can cook the best pasta around, fix just about anything that has been broken and stay patient under the most difficult circumstances. He's the best public speaker I know and can make someone laugh so hard that they cry. He makes little sacrifices for the people he loves every single day and makes us all better just by simply being who he is.

This past fall, after successfully being offered an internship with the Philadelphia Flyers, my dad was driving me home. Feeling like the whole world was directly in front of me, I couldn't stop smiling or babbling. I asked my dad that day what he had wanted to be when he grew up. His answer was simple, and it caught me by surprise.

"A good father."

Well, Daddy, today and every day you deserve to know that you succeeded. You aren't just a good one; you're the best.

It's Almost That Time of Year Again...

This time one year ago, I was preparing to venture back to State College for spring semester of my first senior year at Penn State University. While the prospect of returning home was certainly one that filled me with excitement, the majority of the anxious pit in my stomach could be accredited to only one thing: THON 2012. Prior to leaving for winter break, my THON organization FutuRES (of which I was the president and THON chair at the time) had selected myself and one of our Family Relations chairs, Stephen Kohler, as our organization's dancers. I was beyond ecstatic and also a bit nervous as THON slowly crept up on us through the cold winter days at University Park. Before I knew it, Dancer Meeting #1 was all around myself and my partner in Rec Hall. We met our moralers, we wore in our sneakers, I pretended that I was exercising (though, let's get real- if you know me, you know that was certainly not the case). Everything was going swimmingly leading up to a weekend that was bound to be the most life-changing one in my 21 years.

Steve and Me With Our Friend Reilley at Color Wars Kickoff

Before I knew it, THON weekend was in high gear. I learned the complete irony of telling a dancer to get a good night's sleep the night before THON kicks off. People who have danced before: am I right or am I right? How do you sleep at all before something that is equivalent to the night before Christmas? Anyway, that's beside the point. The entire Friday of THON weekend before arriving at the All Sports Complex for Dancer Meeting #2, my partner and I texted each other in flurries of excitement. "This can't be happening!" "This isn't real!" "I can't believe it's finally here!" Now let me tell you that I was a Morale committee member for three years. I was used to a lot of time on the floor and I had even been by my sister's side when she danced in THON 2004. Nothing, I repeat NOTHING, could have prepared me what was about to come. I'm not sure I fully understood this until the human tunnel began.

Throughout my time at Penn State, I had been one of the students lining the human tunnel at THON each year. The feeling that was in my heart, however, from the other side as a dancer is impossible to convey or describe. My first favorite memory of THON weekend happened in that very same Human Tunnel that I thought I understood. I always believed it was there to get the dancers pumped up, but if people only knew how much it inspires. That day, as I walked through the tunnel near to the BJC, I caught a glimpse of the families. Each of the parents or children that I passed, some holding signs of encouragement, thanked me. They were thanking me? I wish I had been able to stop and hug each and every one of them because in all sincerity, the thank yous belonged to them. Their struggles, their strength and their optimism had changed me so much during my time as a Penn State student. Those children with their bald heads and their big smiles had made me the person I was at that very moment. How could they possibly be thanking me when this was the truth of it all?

Human Tunnel Time!

Upon entering the BJC with Steve, the magnitude of THON began to sink in. We sat on the floor after dropping our belongings and looked around at the entire BJC. We talked about how amazing it was, we marveled over all of the people with similar visions, we joked around as we waited for the first of our THON families to arrive. Then, through the midst of the crowd we saw the Bonners (Amy with her sons Wes and Joey) weaving their way through the colors wearing our purple dinosaur t-shirts. Amy was carrying two gift bags, one for myself and one for Steve. As she sat down next to me on the floor of the BJC, I had my second most revered THON memory. Amy and the boys had made glittery picture frames with a picture of them and their soon-to-be step brothers, Gabe and Drew. Above the photograph of the boys shone the words "Thank You For Brightening Our Journey." Steve and I exchanged smiles and even though the gesture was very thoughtful, that was not the moment that stuck with me throughout the weekend. Amy began to whisper to me in the sea of the loud and brazen. She began to tell me a story.

"I just saw a woman who I haven't seen in ages," she said. "When Wes was in treatment, he had a friend who was always in the hospital at the same time. The woman I just saw was that little boy's mother. Wes survived, and he did not. This weekend, not only think of Wes but think of that little boy and his mom. They will help you through."

My eyes filled up with tears as Amy and I shared a knowing glance and a nod. There was no way in the world that I would give up. I would fight through the pain I would feel over the coming days, and I would fight it for the kids.

Almost Time to Dance!

Now, there's something you should know about me. It's not something that I'm proud of, but I am a very emotional human being. Seriously, the slightest thing makes me bawl like a baby. I told my dance partner if I cried before the total was revealed at the end of the weekend to punch me in the face. Thank God he didn't listen because, if he had, I would have needed plastic surgery. And the first punch would have been thrown when we stood.

"10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1! GET UP!" Yupp, I lost it. Right there.

Something people always ask me when they ask me about THON weekend is how people do it, how they stay awake for two days straight. I'm sure any other dancer can agree with me when I say this: there was not a single portion of that weekend where it felt like two days. I knew what time it was the entire weekend (highly discouraged by most, so I never said that), but it felt like a series of really phenomenal moments strung together into one long, beautiful, chaotic day.

More moments began to occur like the ones I had had with the families in the Human Tunnel and with Amy:

*My dad is fifty-two and has a poor back, but THON weekend you never would have known that. He carried me around more often than he walked around without holding my weight. Right before the final four hours began, my mom and dad were on the floor and Steve was really starting to fade. My dad looked exhausted and was holding me on his back when he turned around and asked me if I could stand on my own for a little while. I instantly jumped down, believing my dad needed a rest. The second my feet hit the floor, by dad approached Steve and I watched as my dad bent down and put my dance partner's weight on his back. My dad's strength for the sake of keeping us strong kept me going.

*My mom is tiny. She is 5'2" on a good day and that weekend she seemed smaller than ever. But she never hesitated to take on my weight and make it her own. And, when my dad had me on his back, she was always there with a simultaneous back rub or foot massage. My mom's love for me kept me going.

*As the youngest of four girls, I was very lucky THON weekend to have all of my sisters with me. My sister Shannon I was looking forward to especially, as it was my first time seeing her since I found out she was pregnant. She stood on the floor next to me and I rubbed her belly as my brother-in-law piggybacked me around like a pro. I couldn't help smiling at the thought of that baby (who just so happens to now be the cutest nephew a girl could ask for). My sister and her little family kept me going.

*My sister Meghan knows what to do when it comes to morale, so it comes as no surprise that she was incredibly helpful. After Mail Call, my first breakdown began. I was emotional and crying for no reason and what frustrated me even more was knowing I didn't have a reason to be crying. My sister took me into a back hallway of dancer storage, where she had me kneel and massaged my feet as I leaned against a wall. The entire time, she never hesitated to whisper her encouragements to me or help me find my best friends on the floor. My sister's protectiveness kept me going.

*After Mail Call, prior to being in the back hallway of Dancer Storage with my sister Meghan, I spent time with both her and my sister Bridget on the floor. While in my emotional stage, Meghan encouraged me to cry while Bridget understood that I needed a distraction to be happy again. She pulled out these little inspirational note cards with quotes on them and then placed me on her back. Together, we fought our way through the crowd and found every struggling dancer we could. Each time that we saw a dancer who looked tired, we gave them some inspiration. Bridget understood that in order to be moraled I needed to morale other people. Her wisdom kept me going.

*That weekend, I had a best friend who was also dancing with his organization. Any time that I struggled, I sought him out and he did not hesitate to make me laugh or put a smile on my face. His humor in the face of achy feet kept me going. The same could also be said for my buddy Lindsay Beth who seemed to be my own personal Morale Captain, despite having other dancers and committee members to look out for. Right as Lindsay was about to take her committee off of the THON floor for the final time, she found me and my parents. Immediately, we hugged and she cried on me. The fact that my best friend allowed me to help her after helping me the entire weekend kept me going. 

*I am obsessed with my cat, as I'm sure you know. When my parents asked me what I wanted them to bring THON weekend, I confidently told them I wanted Cece there. Since she couldn't be, my mom improvised and made a GIANT sign of my cat. On one side it was her awake, on the other it was her sleeping with a giant red line through her face. My mom mounted it for me and I proudly carried her through the crowd. It was a definite conversation starter for sure, but one conversation sticks out in my mind. My sister Bridget was with me and I was simultaneously holding Cece and playing kickball to keep my feet moving. A man approached us and started asking us questions about the sign. Within five minutes, we were sharing all sorts of information with him as he told us how THON never ceases to amaze him. With that, he pointed behind him to a young man. He proceeded to tell my sister and me that his son had been cancer-free for twelve years and they had been coming to THON ever since. He shook my hand and then he was gone. I didn't see him for the rest of the weekend, but I can still visualize him as clear as day. His honesty in that moment kept me going.

*During the final four hours, Charles Millard made his way through the crowd to speak to the dancers. Luckily, I was one of the students who was able to spend a moment with him. Both himself and his daughter encouraged me to keep going. I imagined what it must feel like knowing that your family's heartache could bring so much joy to the world. Mr. Millard's courage kept me going.

These moments all blended together in no sequential order as the weekend rushed by all around me. I couldn't believe my eyes when it was finally Family Hour and there I was, with our tiny organization's circle, surrounded by all of Penn State's love and compassion. I couldn't help but smile to myself as our THON child Wes continued to ricochet exercise balls off of my face throughout the duration of the family speeches, and smiled even wider when prior to Angels Among Us, he screamed "I CALL MIDDLE" and jumped into the center of the circle. That day also, our THON family grew as we were finally able to meet the second family that had been paired with our organization that year, the Espinoza Family. Having Wes and Tony there that day, seeing them both healthy, reminded me of what this had all been for and why THON would continue to be worth it until cancer was eradicated.

And then, just like that, it was all over. The water gun fights, the sore toes, the baby powder lingering in the air, the countless hugs of encouragement were all gone. Steve and I sat and hugged and we held on for dear life and didn't let go for a while. There were $10,686, 924.83 reasons to celebrate, laugh, cry tears of joy and appreciate one another. We went home but we didn't want to. We slept when we all of a sudden weren't tired. And later that week, we got dinner and pored over every single minute of every single hour. It was THAT powerful of an experience.

To the THON 2013 Dancers:
I envy you. I cannot wait to watch you make new memories of your own. Please allow your heart to remain completely open, no matter how much your legs may begin to shake from your weight and no matter how much your arches in your feet may begin to flatten. If you find yourself fading, look for those who seem to be a bit more weary than you feel- make them smile, delight with them, remind them of the feeling of friendship that envelopes THON so tightly. And for once in your life, I will tell you to keep your head down. Keep your head down and see the little ones, the ones who only come up to your knee but understand more about life than you do despite the height and age difference. Look for the siblings who are carrying water guns. Look for the rubber exercise balls that any given child will be willing to play with at any given time. Despite what people may tell you, THON has nothing to do with your physical strength and everything to do with the size of your heart. Trust yourself, trust your vision of a world with no cancer and have the GREATEST WEEKEND OF YOUR LIFE. Seriously, nothing can prepare you for what's to come but believe me when I say that you will never experience a better time in your life.

And lastly, a very special thanks to everyone who helped brighten my journey at THON 2012. I am so thankful for you. Now it's time to Inspire Tomorrow's Miracles!

Social Media + Political Views = DO NOT MIX

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say with absolute conviction that I am incredibly happy that this year’s presidential election is over. Do not get me wrong, there is a certain excitement that hovers around televised debates, shameless advertisements and waiting up late into the night watching states slowly turn either red or blue. But along with the end of the election disappears the endless stream of solicitation calls in favor of each party and the complete ignorance that constantly appears in my social media feeds.

I cared about the election way too much at first, as every American should in his or her own right. I followed as much information as I could, tried to gauge which candidate was the best fit and oftentimes thought about how both myself and the people I know could be affected by the election turnout. That’s how it was for me for a long time leading up to the election of 2012. I can remember watching the Republican candidate debate back in September of 2011 in an attempt to familiarize myself with the people and opinions of the Republican Party. I was interested, fully immersed and thrilled about finally coming into my own as a voter in America (to tell you the truth, my vote in the 2008 election went to John McCain only because my father told me who I should vote for). And then social media exploded. I don’t mean just exploded. I mean that it erupted into a series of ignorant comments, racist remarks and people so completely off base that I wanted to rip my hair out sometimes. With each of these comments and every bit of negative energy I saw put forth through the internet airwaves, I began to lose a certain level of interest. I can say with absolute frankness that last night as I awaited the results of the election, a gigantic part of me wondered if it would make a difference either way. People were going to be infuriated on either end of the victory and I knew those people would make their voices heard.

Let me be completely honest with you. I was raised in a very Conservative family. I used to identify more with the Republican Party than the Democratic Party. I’m not sure if this was because I understood or because I didn’t know anything else. There have been many changes in recent months that I have noticed, however. I was a member of the pro-life club in high school, but still believe that sometimes a woman has no choice but to abort her child, particularly in certain medical scenarios. I have the utmost respect for the LGBTA community and want them to have the same right to marry that my parents had. I believe in birth control, especially that many American women have access to it under Obama Care. I do not think a person’s worth is defined by their skin tone, their religion or their relationships. While I wanted desperately to support Mitt Romney for my father, my grandparents and the sake of everything familiar, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. This primarily came into play the first time I ever heard Paul Ryan open his mouth. It continued when I heard him say that rape is just "another form of conception."

I do not care that Romney and Ryan’s radical plans would never have come to pass had they been elected. I knew that, I understood that. For me it came down to the simple fact that a leader of today could even BELIEVE in these ideals, ones that were so old-fashioned and misplaced. Did I want someone so set in his ways, someone who didn’t believe in the equal worth of each human being, in the White House running our country? No. I didn’t.

I blame my time at Penn State for a lot of my rationale here. All I need to do to prove this is look at how I acted in the first presidential election when I had only been on campus for three months. That was before I joined Residence Life, experienced the LeaderShape Institute or developed some very close friendships and bonds with people who identify as gay. My time at Penn State taught me the importance of diversity and appreciation of others. Above all else, it taught me that positive change can only be enacted when we take away everything of face value and place ourselves all on an even playing field. My grandparents knew this was my belief as they liked to tell me that I "got sent to that big school and brainwashed," but I didn’t mind. True peace and a true unity in this country is dependent upon making ourselves "colorblind," not only in terms of skin color but of every difference we possess. If believing this is a product of my Penn State experiences, derived from Sociology 119 and personal relationships, then so be it.

There was still an issue for me though as a voter. There were other sides to see, other angles to pursue and I grappled for quite some time. While I thoroughly respect Barack Obama as a human being, I wasn’t so sure how I felt about Barack Obama as the president. While his social views are astoundingly awesome, I still am not sure (even post-election) I necessarily agree with his plan for America’s economy. My dad’s company has taken a hard hit since Obama’s first term began and I am aware of this. I knew my parents had been affected by Obama Care. It hurt me to see my family struggling some months simply because my father’s hard-earned dollars were being given to those less fortunate, even though I never ONCE heard him complain. And as I played all of these thoughts over and over again in my mind, I finally came to the conclusion I had been searching for.

Nobody is perfect. No one can be the perfect person or please everyone or be EXACTLY what each person in this country needs. That’s part of the fun, that’s part of the democracy and like it or not, that’s part of America.

Last night, as I scrolled through my Twitter feed I could not allow myself to take it seriously. I re-tweeted election jokes and tried to stay as moderate as I could be, a place I’ve come to find quite comfortable in recent weeks. I saw white people use the N word to describe our president. I saw black people saying that if Romney had been elected, slavery would have returned. I saw first-time voters spewing out insults while making it screamingly obvious that they were EXACTLY where I had been when I was in their shoes four years ago: too absorbed in their parents’ beliefs to make any of their own. I ignored it because I realized that what America needs more than ever is a person to unite us all. The president is that person, whether we necessarily like who was elected or not. Insulting him or hurling obscenities at him or cursing the day he was ever born doesn’t do anything but bring us FURTHER away from the future we need. With that in mind, here is my response to what I saw last night on the internet and have continued to see today.

Note: The ending of this may have been different had Romney won, as most of the negative comments I saw last night were from angry Republicans disappointed in their loss. I do not mean to offend here but please let me end with this note to you, all of the angry people who flooded my social media networks last night citing specific rationale:

Trust me, I understand your frustrations. I’ve agonized over conversations with my father, grandparents, aunts and uncles more times than I count. I support many of your beliefs, but there is no place in 2012 for your ignorance.

We are in college. We are not rich. Some of our parents may have money, but the fact of the matter is that we are up to our elbows in student debt, we spend our paychecks as they come (on food and alcohol most likely) and we’re trying to make something of ourselves. If you’re whining about Obama taking your parent’s money to provide healthcare to those who are poor, check yourself: It is exactly that. Your PARENT’S money. They can be upset all they want, but it’s not your place to care so much about their finances. Unless, of course, you are used to a spoiled existence and are afraid that Obama is taking money out of their pockets that could be spent on you. If that’s the case, I feel sorry for you.


Most of the Republicans I know are either excruciatingly wealthy or in the upper middle-class. Not everyone is afforded the same liberties as you. The most important thing that we can do for those who are not as lucky as we are is to give back. Does this mean more money for the well-off sometimes? Yes. But when you put your head on the pillow at night, remind yourself that someone is sleeping better and is a little bit healthier because of the finances of your family.


These people receiving your support are not necessarily "lazy." These are people who work hard but don’t make a lot of money. If you don’t believe me, I invite you to take a trip on the Septa bus with me on any given weekday in the Philadelphia suburbs. These people pile onto the bus at 6 am with their lunches in plastic Acme bags. They know what tired feels like, they know the importance of working, but they weren’t born into the same lifestyle as many of us. They did not or do not have the means to go to college. They wear tattered clothes and don’t speak as articulately as my friends, but damned if they don’t gather themselves and go to work every day (doing jobs that no one I know would be caught dead doing, for that matter). Celebrate them and their struggles, celebrate their worth.


For the record, a few idle people in each state who do not work by choice does not define the majority; it just allows people the leniency to perpetuate a stereotype.


For those of you claiming Obama only won the election because of the color of his skin, you’re wrong. He won because of his belief in the equality of all Americans. He won because he supports the rights of women. He won because he does not define a man’s worth by the person said man loves. He won because he supports education. He won because he supports unions. He won because he spent the week prior to the election visiting states in complete disarray. Though I have some friends who are of different nationalities, a majority of my friends are Caucasian males and females. And guess what, racists of America? Every single one that I spoke to about the election voted for Obama. Obama won because in our age group, ages 18-24, we understand the importance of acceptance.


I will graduate from the greatest university in the world in May. I will struggle with the adjustment as all do. I am not afraid for ONE MINUTE that I will not be able to find a job. Jobs are everywhere and the way I see it, if you are a good person and market yourself correctly, you are indispensable to any employer. My self-worth and my talent are not indicative of anyone but me and nothing, not even who was elected as the President of the United States, will ever change that.

To those wanting that map to be filled with red in 2016 (and in some ways, I am even one of those people), I tell you this: the Republican Party has a long way to go in their terms of thinking. Find a candidate with Mitt Romney’s economic plan and the social sentiments of Barack Obama and you’re golden. I would applaud such a candidate. In the meantime, I hope we all can learn to respect one another, promote peace and value the significance of every single person we meet. Last time I checked, the Civil Rights Movement happened for a reason. It’s about time to get off of social media and learn to take note.

Spiritual Happiness: Where To Find It

               I wish that I could articulate into words the way my heart feels when I am surrounded by unconditional love and support. The cries of jubilation, the voices shrill with charisma, the contagious, seemingly perfect smiles and the apparent tears of pure happiness- these are the types of people and moments and surroundings that I live for; these have helped shape every piece of who I am.
                My sister and I often discuss the thought of “spiritual happiness.” If you’ve experienced it, you know what I’m talking about. Spiritual happiness makes you ache in a good way: it makes you feel invincible and so sure of yourself that you not only THINK you can take on the world, you KNOW you can. Spiritual happiness first found me when I was a child and today, as an adult, I look for it as often as I can. Where can I find this happiness I speak of? Well, finding it is very easy. It’s all about where you look.



Light the Night Chester County 2012



                It wasn’t until I was a college student that I became aware of what these moments of happiness can do to your life. They can change it. They can completely alter your life plan. They can irrevocably weave into your heart and make you wonder how you ever knew a life of a different sort. This appeared to me as a college freshman when I first experienced THON. I won’t try to explain to you what THON is because words simply cannot do it justice. But, for those completely unaware, it is a 46 hour no-sitting, no-sleeping dance marathon that benefits the Four Diamonds Fund at Hershey Children’s Hospital. THON’s mission is simple: to eradicate pediatric cancer while ensuring that the families feel the warmth, love and support of students at Penn State University. I was never happier than I had been while getting ambushed with water guns; or shaking a father of a cancer survivor’s hand to forget my achy feet; or crying out of pure exhaustion and immeasurable happiness with 15,000 of my friends each time we saw an amazing number. Insurmountable laughs accompanied $7,490,133.87. Goosebumps came along with $7,838,054.36. Tears and hugs emerged with $9,563,016.09. And right next to $10,686,924.83, the emotional tidal wave of an entire year turned into nothing more than those numbers and those kids; a sheer appreciation as the magnitude of everything disappeared under a giant blanket of selfless LOVE. What a gift I was given. What a gift to all of us.

                This joy that was felt during my time as a Penn State student involved with THON was incomparable to anything else, and led me to where I am now: a PR/Marketing Intern for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Eastern Pennsylvania. I experienced another one of those THON-like, spiritually happy moments this past weekend while attending the Light the Night Walk in Chester County. Each of the walkers is given an illuminated balloon and they literally LIGHT the night. Some walk with red balloons to show they are supporters. Some walk proudly with their white balloons to tell the world that they beat cancer. And then, there are those who walk quietly with their gold balloons- a constant reminder that cancer stole someone too soon. Yet, it wasn’t just the sight of these balloons that caused my heart to ache, in both good and bad ways I might add. It was the PEOPLE. Their rawness, their vulnerability, their excitement. These people were different from my world of THON. They were not my friends, they were strangers; but I felt like I knew them. I had seen their faces in those  of children and siblings and parents too many times before.

                Sitting there Saturday night, the whole point of my presence snapped into focus in one striking, awe-inspiring moment. Two little kids approached the t-shirt tent to collect their survivor tees. Both were timid and both needed the encouragement of their parents in the form of a hand on their shoulder. One of the volunteers in the t-shirt tent yelled that there were survivors present and all of a sudden, the hustle and bustle of the volunteers in the tent stopped. They all congregated towards the side of the tent where the children were and together, in unison, their VOICES (rather than the balloons) lit the perfect September night. “SURVIVORS ARE THE REAL CHAMPIONS!” My heart leapt into my throat as I grappled with the beauty of what I had just witnessed. A connection of the human spirit. A moment that would probably stay with those young survivors for the rest of their life. THAT moment would be tied to their cancer battle, and that would be a good memory. There is always beauty, I was reminded, even in the ugliest parts of our world.

                As I drove home from the walk with my dad that night, we rode in silence as my mind was racing (something that you will know is very normal occurrence if you know me well). I thought about THON. I thought about LLS. I thought about spiritual happiness. I thought about those happy moments and then I realized something.

                 I am only ever SPIRITUALLY happy when I am doing something for someone else.

                This is my call to action for our generation, one that is liberal and unique and so vastly different from others that it is hard to necessarily explain. We have the power and the ability to make the world a better place. We have the relationships to enact change. We have the brains to come across new discoveries. We have the smiles to brighten bad days. We have the voices to remind everyone of their importance. Do not waste your talent. Make a difference. Help people every chance you get. As I often hear from people “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are, while you are here.” It may be the tiniest of gestures (like those volunteers cheering those survivors, like college students giving up a few hours of sleep), but to someone else it will truly mean the world.

               And you never know, you just might benefit too. Spiritual happiness? You might want to try it.

Sports: Reputations in Social Media

Philadelphia is a city unlike any other where sports is concerned, at least to anyone who is familiar with the atmosphere. Philadelphia fans are both loyal and ruthless, kind and horrific, supportive and so quick to turn the other cheek. This has been existant forever, but in an age where social media is a booming industry it appears to be more prevalant; and Philadelphia is not the only guilty party. The carnage that is left in the wake of a terrible performance by a professional athlete is no longer just left behind in the stadium upon the completion of the game. It lurks on the internet and seeps into the social media accounts of the despondent athletes, rubbing salt in an already palpable wound.

Take, for example, the Eagles quarterback Michael Vick. In the opening game of the season today, Vick seemed to disappoint Eagles fans in the worst way. Each year the Eagles fans anticipate the "dream team" and each year they are immediately reminded not to buy into it. Michael Vick kept this streak alive when he threw four interceptions during the first game. Not only were these interceptions thrown, but they were thrown directly into the arms of a weak Cleveland Browns defense (the Eagles were predicted to win 34-16, but actually only pulled away with a narrow 17-16 victory). The insults and the upset of the performance are clearly still resonating in Vick's mind, not only on account of his pressure on himself, but also through the wonderful world of Twitter. Some of the most popular tweets at the moment are as follows:

@FauxJohnMadden: This is one of the worst days Mike Vick has had in a "dawg pound" ever.

@EvilMikeTomlin: Mike Vick went to throw DeSean Jackson a towel in the locker room after the game, but it was intercepted and returned for a TD

@noahrosenfeldt: As for mike Vick 4 ints is Unacceptable and Andy Reid Doing his old thing bein a moron throwing the ball 56 times

And let's not even get started on the bombardment of insults that rained upon Penn State's kicker Sam Ficken after missing four field goal attempts in this weekend's match up against Virginia. Much of it resembled this:

@dakotadebellis: Sam ficken shouldn't even come back to state college because he's going to get lynched

While you feel for the players in the times of grief, fans also use Twitter to shower them with affection and compliments. David Akers, a kicker for San Francisco, hit a 63 yard field goal today and was blown away with support from his fans.

The basic principle I am attempting to reach is this: The world of professional sports is intimidating for the athletes, especially the rookies. They play on a terribly large platform and the world of social media has made a seemingly gigantic platform even larger; even those who are not able to watch the game can instantly see just what has happened. Clear proof of this lies in the way in which the United States seemed to know the outcome of most Olympic events before they had aired on prime time television.Yet this is both a blessing and a curse, and I'm sure the world of social media will only grow more impactful as time progresses. Hopefully, for the athletes' sake, with this sure to come growth also comes a more positive era of fanship through the internet airwaves.

After all, everyone should take a lesson from Penn State's punter Alex Butterworth, who took to the internet last night:

@alexxxbutters: I would trust @sficken1 with any kick in any game anytime and from every distance he's gonna win us a lot of games this year and beyond

Maybe one day, all sports-related tweets will be this positive. Something does tell me, however, that this is wishful thinking on the part of my naive mind.

My Message to the Penn State Community and the Ignorants

For a girl who “blogs” about life on a daily basis in some form or another (though not publicly), I have struggled to find my footing this whole year to write a commentary about The Jerry Sandusky Scandal that has rocked Happy Valley, my home. (Notice that I refer to the scandal as “The Jerry Sandusky” scandal because it is not, as the world seems to believe, a Penn State Football Scandal.) With so many thoughts and opinions to wrap my head around, words didn’t seem to come easy to me and then today happened. Every thought that I have about my university will be dispensed now.

I entered Penn State University as a college freshman in the fall of 2008. I arrived on campus with zero independence, a willingness to learn and excitement for the journey ahead. As the first three years of my undergrad flew by, my happiness grew seemingly on a daily basis because of the atmosphere in which I found myself. With amazing philanthropies, world-renowned professors, fun sporting events, interesting class loads and the greatest group of people I will ever meet in my life, it was hard to ever leave State College for more than two weeks at a time. My heart ached when I was away from this University and I always anticipated my return to a town that had slowly turned into my one true home.

                Throughout the first three years of my undergrad experience, some of my most revered memories involved football coach Joe Paterno. My first night at Penn State, as I stood amongst my fellow classmates at Be A Part From The Start, I marveled over him. Joe Paterno had this amazing capability that most do not possess- he could enter a room of college students (thousands of them) and somehow turn the entire room quiet. In his unique voice, he would grumble at us about the importance of education and making a difference  while using his hands to silence anyone who dared praise him in a lone “We love you, Joe!” chant. If anyone who is not a Penn Stater doubts this, I urge you to search the video of the night of Joe Pa’s 409^th win. Not only did he silence a student body, but an entire football arena hung on his every word as he stood next to Sue beaming with his humble pride. Though both of these moments are cherished memories of Joe Paterno, the one that leaves the most lasting impact occurred in February of 2009 when Joe stopped by THON. Joe never told people when he was going to come to THON, he just showed up to ensure that the attention was only his for a few minutes. Joe Pa, standing right in front of me as I stood beside my sister alongside the stage, described the efforts of Penn State students perfectly: “I wish the whole world could see and feel what is in this room right now. I have never been more proud of Penn State than I am.” That was the kind of man Joe Paterno was: humble, quiet, intelligent and wanting the best for every student, faculty member and alumnus of this university. Penn State undergrads didn’t need to know him personally to recognize this; his actions confirmed it every day and in turn, he became like Penn State’s grandfather, imparting wisdom and preaching “success with honor.”

                In November, however, three months in to my first senior year at Penn State, the protective bubble around Happy Valley was popped with the news of Jerry Sandusky’s horrid actions and the supposed cover up by well-known campus officials. One of the safest college towns in America remained safe in a criminal sense, but could not escape the omnipresence of the media, egging students on and causing the pain to hover like a thick blanket over the place we love. And that is when Penn Staters began defending our school to the ground and the defense continues.

                Let me point out two things: first, Jerry Sandusky is despised in this community. Most of us didn’t even know he existed until the tragic events came to light. Yet, we as Penn Staters are now generalized as being “child rapists” and “people who support child molestation.” How that ignorance exists is something I will never comprehend. Secondly, just because we support Joe Paterno does not mean that we support his moral oversight by not reporting what he knew. Penn Staters support Joe Paterno because he made this school into what it is. He built numerous academic buildings, funded academic programs, supported students maintaining a close relationship with their religion on campus and taught us what success with honor truly means. He may not have practiced what he preached at all times, but he still preached it and in turn made this university what it is today.

                As long as I live, I will never forget the feeling that existed when he was fired without remorse by a corrupt board; or how it felt to stand next to my friends and watch as the Penn State football bus, with Sue Pa in Joe’s seat, followed his hearse down Curtin Road on a cold January day. That day, thousands of Penn Staters came together and cried on one another, strangers became family, and the heart of Penn State seemed to be broken completely as we mourned what once was; that protective bubble I mentioned that had once been. Where happiness had existed in my heart where Penn State was concerned, I now saw emotional snapshots of my senior year and tried to block them out: Sitting in the G-Man and hearing ESPN announce that Joe would most likely be fired; riding on a bus home, tears streaming down my face, reading the grand jury presentment; watching the final football game of the  year and knowing that half of that staff would be gone in due time; seeing the look in Sue Paterno’s eyes as she told the THON dancers at dancer meeting number one how proud Joe would have been of our efforts. The days of naivety were gone for me at school, and Penn State University was once again growing me up (though not necessarily in ways that I would have hoped for).

                This entire Sandusky scandal and the anguish and heartache should focus around one thing: the victims of the child sexual abuse by Jerry Sandusky. Yet the media seems to have forgotten that this man is in jail for the crimes as they, along with the popular opinion, have thrown Penn State and its family under the bus more times than I can count. They say we don’t care about the victims, despite candlelight vigils, blue outs at games and raising an extensive amount of money for RAINN. They say we don’t care about kids when we devote most of our year to putting efforts towards THON. They say we support child abuse because we defend Paterno. In actuality we are struggling to see a man we loved as exactly that, a flawed man, and one who has been the media’s scapegoat (despite more guilt by men such as Graham Spanier, Tim Curley, Gary Schultz, the Board of Trustees and even our own governor, Tom Corbett.) The entire situation truly makes me sick to my stomach.

                Today, however, the enormity and unfairness of the entire situation crashed down on me with the announcement of the NCAA sanctions. These men who committed these acts are not being held accountable, and isn’t that accountability what will aid these victims? Joe Paterno was the only man hung out to dry while men like Tim Curley, who appears to be the most guilty party in the cover-up (at least if any part of The Freeh Report is reliable), remain on paid administrative leave. Yet, the Penn State players, the students, who through all of this have been the TRUE embodiment of what it means to be a Penn Stater, are being punished on the administration’s behalf? These men were seven years old (at most) when Sandusky’s time at Penn State came to an end. You’re going to hurt their hard work and take away their scholarships? Hasn’t this football team been through enough? When will this end? 

I saw those men walking through my apartment complex in their letterman jackets in January, right after Joe Paterno’s death was announced. They walked in silence in clusters, some crying. Inflicting pain on innocent people is not the way to solve the problem. Doesn’t the NCAA realize that they are only creating more victims in response to The Jerry Sandusky scandal by handling it this way?

                And, my response to the media who supports the decision is this: Back in November, when Joe Pa and Graham Spanier were fired before a lengthy investigation, a victim’s attorney released a statement saying that the victim and their family were disappointed in the decision by the BoT. The victim said that the attention was taken away from the crime and placed rather on the firing of two men which would be sure to bring national media coverage. To the news stations and to the NCAA, can’t you see that you have made the same mistake as the Board of Trustees? You want to draw attention to the victims, correct? But what have you done to raise awareness for child abuse in comparison to what the Penn State student body (and many members of the football program, both current and past) have done since the allegations first surfaced?  You ought to be ashamed of yourself, but congratulations- you certainly received your fifteen minutes and the news stories that you so desperately search for to sensationalize.

                My message to Penn Staters is this: We know who WE ARE. We know where we’ve been and what we’ve seen and how we need to move forward. We know that we will never allow this to happen again. We know that we will fight child sexual abuse with all that we have and that we will continue to fundraise for RAINN. We know that we will say prayers for the victims and try to forget the name of Jerry Sandusky, the man who was actually responsible for tarnishing the reputation of our school. We will not listen to or react to the ignorance of outsiders. We understand that they will never know what it is like to be a part of something bigger than themselves like Penn State’s family is. We will continue to maintain our academic excellence. We will remember Joe Paterno for the good that he did, and not just for a mistake or two which he admitted to making. Wewill  stand by the Paterno family during their time of grief to remind them that even though Joe is gone, they are not alone. We will recognize the Paterno legacy on this campus every day. We will purchase football tickets and Penn State clothing to support our students athletes who do not deserve the punishment of our leaders. We will stand, arms around one another, during the Alma Mater and we will sing together with tears in our eyes. We will not riot. We will band together, we will rise about this and we will emerge as a stronger university because of this. We will re-create the protective bubble around Happy Valley and ensure that it remains a happy place for our future children (who we will force into coming here one day). We will never forget what we have learned. We will stay proud. We will show the world that they cannot break us. We will embrace the uncertainty of the future with our love of the past. And we will do all of this because WE ARE and always will be Penn State.