To The Readers Of My Blog

To my millions of readers (okay, okay, so there are only a small handful of you. Shhh),

With Rosh Hashana nearly upon us, I'd just like to apologize for anything I might have posted or commented or otherwise expressed to anyone that was in any way offensive, upsetting, or unfair. It is especially common on the internet for people to be misunderstood because, as useful and amazing as this medium is for communication, it is lacking some crucial things like tone of voice, facial expression, and the like. Therefore, I know that I have misunderstood some of you, and I have also felt misunderstood at times, and I would like to put those misunderstandings behind us. I also hope that we can all, myself included, try harder in the future to look at things from another person's point of view instead of being so quick to contradict.

I would also like to wish all of you a kesiva v'chasima tova and a shana tova and just a really meaningful, but also fun, yom tov filled with raisin challah, honey, and weird fruit. May this coming year bring with it only good things for you all and for Klal Yisrael as a whole, and, also, I hope I continue in friendship with those I have become close with over this past year.

Shana tova!

Sincerely,

Erachet

I Forgive Me

Although, truthfully, I haven't heard it at all this year (yet), generally when it gets close to Rosh Hashana, hallways, sidewalks, gchats, facebook messages, cell phones all ring with the token phrase: "are you mochel me?"

There are so many times throughout the year that we wrong each other, both intentionally and unintentionally. It's actually quite comforting to know there's a designated time each year for both forgiving and for getting forgiven. Getting forgiven, not just by God, but by our friends and family, as well.

But there's another important person to remember to forgive. Yourself. How many times do we think lowly of ourselves or don't give ourselves enough credit? How many times do we do something to our own detriment? How many times do we pass up opportunities or fail to rise to our potential? How many times do we not trust ourselves? And how many times do we feel frustrated about all of these things, which only makes us feel even worse?

Yet how many times do we actually give ourselves a break? How many times do we accept our faults and struggles and difficulties from the year not as things which make us bad but just as things we, as good people, have to work through? How many times do we actually forgive ourselves?

I think it's about time we did.

When it's been a long day and it's only half-way done --

...Sometimes we could all use one.

Ordinary

The thing about being ordinary is that there's more than one way to do it. People confused unique with "extraordinary" but it's not true. Most people I know are ordinary, yet they are also all different and I appreciate them all for their differences. But if you asked them, they would say they were completely ordinary and nothing special. Except they are special. Even though they're perfectly ordinary.

The thing about being perfect is that it's impossible and, those who come near to achieving it...no one likes those people. Those people are threatening and patronizing because they live up to these high standards that most ordinary people can't reach. It's better to be an accepted part of society who other people can relate to and, because of that, who can make a difference on most other people, than to live on another plane that no one else can understand. You don't want to be viewed from a distance, even if you're viewed with awe. I think being perfect must be a sort of social/emotional handicap because you can't relate to others and others can't relate to you. So I think we should all be happy with our imperfections and ordinariness that enable us to actually be a part of the rest of society. Maybe then we can have a real impact.

Windows

Sometimes you look into mirrors and see yourself, but there are other people in the background. Sometimes you look into windows to see someone else, but there it is again, your reflection, very dim but still there. You can "walk in someone else's shoes," you can take a look from someone else's point of view, but you are still yourself. You will always be yourself. You can't not be you.

Events happen in your life, yet you are still you. You try to understand other people, but you do it with a bias called "yourself." Even if you look straight into someone else's eyes, your reflection will still be there.

I guess we have a choice. Do we see things as merely reflections of ourselves or are we able to see them as windows to someone else, or somewhere else, or something else.

Maybe this is reserving judgment. We can't get rid of ourselves, but we can see past ourselves. The world does not have to be a mirror. It can be a window, with just our dim reflection in the background - there, but not impeding on our vision to the rest of everything.

What One Does Not Wish To Be Doing On The Night Before Her Birthday

(Hat tip: The Apple)

The Problem With Bad Poetry: Revised

(This is what we call the process of revision. Some people don't believe in revising poetry because they think true poetry is just an immediate expression of your deep, inner soul and that's what makes it art. I, on the other hand, highly disagree. Poetry is a craft. And this is why this version of the poem is better than the one I posted earlier. Enjoy!)

Poetry conceits.
Claiming she understands the world
By throwing around words like love, eternity, desire, darkness, soul
When really she knows nothing at all
Except abstraction
And pompous generalization that passes for wisdom
Because it leaves room for every contradictory answer
In the vastness of those weak, empty words.
But what does she know about the ache of an arm raised in the air
As the student waits too long to be called on?
Or the grating of a teacher's voice
As he lectures his pupils to sleep
Or the burn of a paper cut
The suffocating claustrophobia of knowing that no matter what
You won't go to bed before three
And you have nine o'clock class the next morning
Hearing your friends laugh in the next room
When you have a paper to write
The favorite color of the three-year-old you babysit
The fact that your brother puts ketchup on everything
The way chocolate erupts in a milky-sweet lava on your tongue
The gripping panic of startling awake in the night when the light's burned out
The tremulous anxiety of messing up (a test? a friendship? both at once?)
The shaky relief of discovering you haven't
For some poets
Do not partake in the world of ants in your kitchen, ink on your hands, sand in your socks
Some poets
Dismiss the little things
Cracker crumbs
Muddy footprints
Overstuffed planners
For some poets
There is only love, eternity, desire, darkness, soul
Forever.