- I’d like to stick with my photography passion blog. I really enjoy looking at the iconic pictures and digging for the true story behind the image. Sometimes that’s a little tough because the reality isn’t always what you want to hear about such a famous picture, but in some ways I feel that makes the image even more artistic. There seems to be a secret behind every picture I’ve researched, and it’s fascinating to work to uncover that hidden truth.
- If I had to pick a different topic… I suppose I could follow in my sister’s footsteps and create a Gratitude Blog. My sister is incredibly humble, kind, and wise beyond her years, and I admire her ability to turn any situation into a learning experience. Her blog focuses on stories that eventually lead her to feeling immense gratitude, and I know that it is almost therapeutic for her. I’d still rather stay with Picture This, but gratitude is another option if needed.
- For my Civic Issues blog, I want to work within the Politics category. Though I don’t have it completely narrowed down, I have a couple ideas floating around. One idea is to do a broad U.S. Foreign Policy blog. Though it’s not exactly focused, it would give me the chance to talk about and explore the many complicated aspects of foreign policy and the expectations/requirements/mistakes of the U.S. in terms of international affairs.
- My other idea involved really narrowing it down to discussing the politics of war, or even the politics of international terrorism. I think there is a depth to the reasonings behind U.S. wars and the way the government handles terrorism that the public often ignores. It is not easy to decide to go to war or to react to a terrorist attack, and the people in government are not (believe it or not) all blubbering idiots. There is strategy and discussion involved, and politics come into play so much more than the public realizes. It’s not simply fighting the “bad guys”. The government has to consider the ramifications of combat and invasion, both in the U.S. (such as the effect on the economy) and in the world (such as creating potential future enemies).
This I Believe:
In high school, I wrote “I Believe in Phone Calls” and described how much I loved phone calls as a child and then grew to shy away from conversations over the phone. I realized how much I missed the excitement of getting to talk to my siblings while they were at college. Those are small, generally unnoticed feelings, but it took writing the essay to realize how important they had been to me. So I want to focus on something small again, a moment or feeling that would seem insignificant to others, but one that holds a lot of weight for me.
- “I Believe in the Fireman’s Carry”
- I also had to write an autobiography once (at the age of 16), and I recently read over a part in it in which I talked about my dad throwing (much younger) me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. One time, my dad picked me up and commented that I was getting big and that he wouldn’t be able to do that much longer. I remember thinking in that moment that maybe I didn’t want to grow up… that if your dad couldn’t throw you over his shoulder and carry you, maybe being a “big kid” wasn’t so great. What I didn’t know then but know now is that my dad continues to carry me, but in a different way. My dad supports me and uplifts me, and he has figuratively carried me more times than I can count… and that’s okay. It’s okay to grow up, and it’s okay to still be carried sometimes.
- “I Believe in Not Asking if You’re Okay”
- Last semester, when there was a ceremony held for 9/11 out front of Old Main. On my way back from class, I saw a girl sitting on the steps, crying. I didn’t know her, and I had no idea why she was crying, but I decided to stop and sit with her. Something told me to just… sit. I didn’t ask if she was okay; for some reason, I felt it wasn’t my place to ask. In that moment, I felt that she didn’t need to talk. She didn’t need to tell her story. Or, at least, I shouldn’t force her to tell me unless she wanted to share. She just needed someone to sit quietly with her so she wasn’t alone. She hugged me and thanked me, and we parted ways.