My family's 2011 Christmas card photo looks flawless. My brother is wearing a starched, collared shirt and my sister and I both have on elegant blouses that match in color. We are huddled in front of the Christmas tree, embracing each other lovingly, bright, shining eyes radiating the essence of holiday cheer. Looking at this photo, one would think we were the ideal family. That is why photographs can be so deceiving. They capture one infinitely small place in time and betray the nature of the surrounding environment. If the camera could have portrayed my mother barking orders from behind the viewfinder and the intermittent complaining from my siblings, the card would have been much less appealing.
A photo can help us reminisce about the good times of the past, but how trustworthy is that image? The picture tells us what clothes we were wearing, who we were with, and where we were, but it neglects to accurately portray the emotion of the scene. Of course everyone is smiling amongst linked arms; it's a photo! But how are we to remember that that was the night we got grounded or we fought with our best friends? We use photos to capture only what we want to preserve in our memory and the smiling faces in the photos are not always honest.
Photography is a deceptive art. The goal of photography is to create the most appealing image possible by manipulating angles and lighting. It is an art that conflicts with the nature of existence. Everything is constantly moving, changing, growing, but a photograph freezes one instant of time and removes it from the context of the universe. Modern technology makes the photograph even less trustworthy. Fish-eye lenses, lighting effects, and photoshop have destroyed my faith in the honesty of photography. There is no way to discern which images are raw and trustworthy from those that have been altered to do the bidding of a photographer.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Defeat
Defeat is not a stinging pain; it is a lead blanket that descends upon your chest when the final buzzer sounds. The fiery anger that fueled your motions on the field is extinguished and you suddenly become aware of how difficult it is to move your limbs. The adrenaline drains. The spirit shatters. The impossible hope that your team could score ten goals to catch up in the last quarter of the game seems childish and you hate yourself for even considering it. Eye contact with teammates is rare, and if it does occur, it is unintentional. The turf beneath your feet dominates your field of vision as you fight the moisture gathering at the corners of your eyes.
Then the coach speaks. He speaks softly, but there is heartbreak and disappointment in each syllable. It is more painful to hear than furious screaming. You shrink at his words as a taunting slideshow of your mistakes runs on loop in your mind: you missed the ground ball, you let your opponent race by, you shot wide on the free position. That lead blanket keeps gaining mass and breathing becomes a strained and voluntary action. If only the earth would split beneath your feet and swallow you so that this pain and disappointment could end. But it wont.
You sleep. You rise. It is a new day and a new game. The defeat still exists, but the pain doesn't have to. In lacrosse and in life, you can carry your defeat with you into the next day, or you can leave it on the field and grow stronger for the next battle. Throw off the lead blanket and prepare for victory.
Then the coach speaks. He speaks softly, but there is heartbreak and disappointment in each syllable. It is more painful to hear than furious screaming. You shrink at his words as a taunting slideshow of your mistakes runs on loop in your mind: you missed the ground ball, you let your opponent race by, you shot wide on the free position. That lead blanket keeps gaining mass and breathing becomes a strained and voluntary action. If only the earth would split beneath your feet and swallow you so that this pain and disappointment could end. But it wont.
You sleep. You rise. It is a new day and a new game. The defeat still exists, but the pain doesn't have to. In lacrosse and in life, you can carry your defeat with you into the next day, or you can leave it on the field and grow stronger for the next battle. Throw off the lead blanket and prepare for victory.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Expectation vs. Reality
CALCULUS FINAL
EXPECTATION:
When I got home from lacrosse practice, I continued singing the song on the radio that had been cut short when I had taken the key out of the ignition of my car. My calculus book rested peacefully on my nightstand; I wouldn't be needing it anymore. Tomorrow was the final and I felt fully prepared for the three hour exam. Instead of unneeded cramming, I flipped on Modern Family and laughed cheerfully alongside my parents as we enjoyed the subtle comedy. At 10:30, I climbed sleepily into bed for a good night's sleep so that my brain would be at full power tomorrow morning as I took the future-defining test.
The gentle harp music sounded from my phone alarm and I was filled with an invigorating excitement. I confidently climbed behind the wheel of my car and began the commute to Chattahoochee. I was going to ace this test.
REALITY:
The cheerful, upbeat music playing on the radio was in such contrast with my mood, that it only added to my agitation and stress. I quickly shut off the radio and endured the ride home in silence. The second I got home, I snatched my calculus book from my beside table and ripped through the pages until the equations blurred together and I was more confused than before. As my mom passed my room, she invited me to watch the latest Modern Family episode with her. After noticing my deranged expression, she scurried along down the hallway and left me in solitude as I continued my desperate cramming. A glance at the clock told me that only six hours remained until the exam. Admitting defeat, I tossed the book aside, switched off the light, and stared at the dark ceiling until my exhaustion overpowered my nerves.
I woke with a start as my phone alarm blared with incredible force; I had carelessly set the volume way too loud the night before. I forced my shaking body behind the wheel of my car and began the drive to school. I was going to bomb this test.
EXPECTATION:
When I got home from lacrosse practice, I continued singing the song on the radio that had been cut short when I had taken the key out of the ignition of my car. My calculus book rested peacefully on my nightstand; I wouldn't be needing it anymore. Tomorrow was the final and I felt fully prepared for the three hour exam. Instead of unneeded cramming, I flipped on Modern Family and laughed cheerfully alongside my parents as we enjoyed the subtle comedy. At 10:30, I climbed sleepily into bed for a good night's sleep so that my brain would be at full power tomorrow morning as I took the future-defining test.
The gentle harp music sounded from my phone alarm and I was filled with an invigorating excitement. I confidently climbed behind the wheel of my car and began the commute to Chattahoochee. I was going to ace this test.
REALITY:
The cheerful, upbeat music playing on the radio was in such contrast with my mood, that it only added to my agitation and stress. I quickly shut off the radio and endured the ride home in silence. The second I got home, I snatched my calculus book from my beside table and ripped through the pages until the equations blurred together and I was more confused than before. As my mom passed my room, she invited me to watch the latest Modern Family episode with her. After noticing my deranged expression, she scurried along down the hallway and left me in solitude as I continued my desperate cramming. A glance at the clock told me that only six hours remained until the exam. Admitting defeat, I tossed the book aside, switched off the light, and stared at the dark ceiling until my exhaustion overpowered my nerves.
I woke with a start as my phone alarm blared with incredible force; I had carelessly set the volume way too loud the night before. I forced my shaking body behind the wheel of my car and began the drive to school. I was going to bomb this test.
I Should Have Listened to the Angel
Only an hour and a half remain of this stressful and nerve-racking week of AP Calculus exams, AP Lang quizzes, and AP Chem death. About three minutes ago, I sighed contently, reliving the horrors of my academic week and reminding myself that those horrors were all behind me now. That was when I snapped up at the realization that the week was 99% over and I was still two blog posts short of my weekly quota of two.
The assignment had lingered in the back of mind since the day the assignment sheet was distributed (as usual, my row was one short, and as the caboose of the row, it was my job to snag one from Sam's desk while he was preoccupied with throwing something at Kapil). That afternoon at lacrosse practice, as I tuned out the belligerent bellowing of my coaches, the online journal project drifted into focus. Had I been in the presence of a computer, it would have been done then and there, but considering that I was stranded in the middle of Taylor Road's dusty excuse of a practice field, the image in my brain of the assignment sheet faded as I shifted my focus back to the Coach Mac's barking instruction.
When I arrived home, the glow of my laptop beckoned me into my room. As I sat down to face the sleek screen, the cliche angel and demon versions of myself appeared on each of my shoulders.
Angel: "Just one tiny journal entry, hit the books, and then off to dreamland where you can repair your mind and prepare for a new day!"
Devil: "Facebook."
Angel: "Besides, the sooner you complete the entry, the more time you have to better your mind and soul with knowledge. The calculus final is approaching, after all."
Devil: "Twitter."
Angel: "The journal project is 10% of your semester grade, and all you have to do is type three short paragraphs. On Sunday night, you will be free as a bird and happy knowing that the work is done."
Devil: "YouTube."
Seeing as the clock now reads 10:51 PM, 4/22/2012, who do you think I listened to?
The assignment had lingered in the back of mind since the day the assignment sheet was distributed (as usual, my row was one short, and as the caboose of the row, it was my job to snag one from Sam's desk while he was preoccupied with throwing something at Kapil). That afternoon at lacrosse practice, as I tuned out the belligerent bellowing of my coaches, the online journal project drifted into focus. Had I been in the presence of a computer, it would have been done then and there, but considering that I was stranded in the middle of Taylor Road's dusty excuse of a practice field, the image in my brain of the assignment sheet faded as I shifted my focus back to the Coach Mac's barking instruction.
When I arrived home, the glow of my laptop beckoned me into my room. As I sat down to face the sleek screen, the cliche angel and demon versions of myself appeared on each of my shoulders.
Angel: "Just one tiny journal entry, hit the books, and then off to dreamland where you can repair your mind and prepare for a new day!"
Devil: "Facebook."
Angel: "Besides, the sooner you complete the entry, the more time you have to better your mind and soul with knowledge. The calculus final is approaching, after all."
Devil: "Twitter."
Angel: "The journal project is 10% of your semester grade, and all you have to do is type three short paragraphs. On Sunday night, you will be free as a bird and happy knowing that the work is done."
Devil: "YouTube."
Seeing as the clock now reads 10:51 PM, 4/22/2012, who do you think I listened to?
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