Okay. So, some of you might remember what happened last time I got my hair cut. Just reading that post makes me shudder. I've only recently gotten to where I like the length of my hair. Yeah, a 10-minute hair cut took me six months to recover from.
And today, I have an appointment. Hair cut.
I used to be terrified of getting my hair cut, then I loved it, then that little disaster in February happened and now I'm terrified again. Even more than usual this time, because--guess what?
I'm going to get side bangs.
I think.
I know it's a little late to be having second thoughts. My appointment is in--LESS THAN TWO HOURS? D: But yeah. Side bangs. I think.
I think I'd look fine with them, and I've always wanted to try it. But at the same time, so much could go wrong. Soooooooooooooo much.
They could be infinitely annoying. Whenever I dance, they might fly in my face. Whenever I get sweaty, my hair gets curly, and is there anything worse-looking than a piece of hair two inches long going out of control around your eyes? NO. They could also just get in my eyes all the freaking time. During school, when I'm writing, when I'm talking to people, just living life in general.
I'd have to keep them straightened. All the time. No exceptions. My hair isn't the kind of hair that will be okay with side bangs unless it's straightened. True, straightening side bands takes all of three seconds, but I'll eventually totally fry that little piece of hair. And it might look weird to have ONLY my side bangs straightened, which means I'll ALWAYS have to straighten ALL of my hair. Which definitely takes a lot more than three seconds.
I could look really bad with them. That's completely possible. It could draw attention to my big nose. (That's something my February Disaster did. With short hair, you just see this face and then the NOSE and then...yeah, it's bad). This is a fear I just thought of. And it's now a big fear. I have a big nose. Don't try to tell me otherwise. Sometimes it's not so bad, but certain things I do to my hair make it a lot worse. What if this is one of those things?
So you see, I'm a bit petrified about my appointment. And I know most of you are in school, but if you're not and you happen to be reading this, please, please leave me your thoughts.
I think I'm going to get them. I've always wanted to try them, and after all, hair grows back. But I'm soo nervous, and if you think I shouldn't, I'll definitely reconsider...
I just need help XD
~Kendra
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Perfection vs. Perseverance
I have a confession to make:
I am a perfectionist.
What? You already knew that? It's painfully obvious? Oh. Okay. That's cool, too XD
Being a perfectionist has its pros and cons. Unfortunately, it has mostly cons. As humans, we're always going to fall short of perfection, and beating ourselves up about it isn't a good way to live.
Sure, when you're a perfectionist you are always (well, mostly XD) striving to be perfect and do your best. That's a good, right? Doing your best? Absolutely! God calls us to do our best. He wants us to use our minds and bodies and talents to the best of our ability to serve Him. If we don't use our gifts, we're like the servant in the parable who buries the money he's entrusted with. That's really poor stewardship of what God has given us. So, doing your best is good.
But then there comes a point where it's just too extreme. And that's where I am most of the time. Lots of times, I get to the point where my line of thinking is "If I can't be perfect, I won't do it at all."
You can imagine how many things I've passed up, decided not to go for, chickened out of, and otherwise refused to try, all because I was afraid of failing. That's when perfectionism goes too far: when it stops us from trying things altogether, simply because we might not excel right at first.
Like all opposites, "perfection" and "failure" go hand in hand. You can't really know one until you've experienced the other.
Making mistakes is going to happen. Failure is going to happen. Failure twice at same thing will probably happen. The real honor is not in never failing, but in trying until you do get it right. That's not perfectionism, that's perseverance, and that's really twice as good!
Next time you're hesitating to try something, remind yourself that it's okay to fail. Perfectionism is for the temporarily lucky, perseverance is for the strong at heart.
“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotion, spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have never tasted victory or defeat.” ~ Theodore Roosevelt
I am a perfectionist.
What? You already knew that? It's painfully obvious? Oh. Okay. That's cool, too XD
Being a perfectionist has its pros and cons. Unfortunately, it has mostly cons. As humans, we're always going to fall short of perfection, and beating ourselves up about it isn't a good way to live.
Sure, when you're a perfectionist you are always (well, mostly XD) striving to be perfect and do your best. That's a good, right? Doing your best? Absolutely! God calls us to do our best. He wants us to use our minds and bodies and talents to the best of our ability to serve Him. If we don't use our gifts, we're like the servant in the parable who buries the money he's entrusted with. That's really poor stewardship of what God has given us. So, doing your best is good.
But then there comes a point where it's just too extreme. And that's where I am most of the time. Lots of times, I get to the point where my line of thinking is "If I can't be perfect, I won't do it at all."
You can imagine how many things I've passed up, decided not to go for, chickened out of, and otherwise refused to try, all because I was afraid of failing. That's when perfectionism goes too far: when it stops us from trying things altogether, simply because we might not excel right at first.
Like all opposites, "perfection" and "failure" go hand in hand. You can't really know one until you've experienced the other.
Making mistakes is going to happen. Failure is going to happen. Failure twice at same thing will probably happen. The real honor is not in never failing, but in trying until you do get it right. That's not perfectionism, that's perseverance, and that's really twice as good!
Next time you're hesitating to try something, remind yourself that it's okay to fail. Perfectionism is for the temporarily lucky, perseverance is for the strong at heart.
“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotion, spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have never tasted victory or defeat.” ~ Theodore Roosevelt
Monday, September 28, 2009
Control
Thanks for following, Eruanna!!!
--------------------------
So, I'm trying to decide if I want to ditch the schedule thing. I dunno. I made a poll about it, so if you want, you can vote about it. For today, at least, I'm going to skip Advice Day and just post something I've been thinking about:
Control.
It might be like this for everyone, but I've been thinking a lot about how I am deep down, what I want deep down, how I feel deep down, and you know what it all comes down to? Control. I like to be in control; I hate it when I am not.
Think about my top three fears. What do I say they are?
#1: Losing people close to me
#2: Disease
#3: Change
What do those three things all revolve around? Me not being in control.
Remember how I said that episode of Alias freaked me out a couple of days ago? Because it was about a creepy insane asylum?
As I laid in bed that night, I tried to figure out why it scared me. (That's another control-freak-y thing about myself. There is a reason for everything, and I have to know what it is.)
I was kind of disgusted with myself. Kendra: not afraid of blood or needles or death or panic, but freaked out by people with mental problems?? Not only is it a bit embarassing, it's mean! I felt horrible as I realized that I didn't want to be around or think about people who were crazy (really crazy, not the fun kind of crazy). It was judgmental and wrong, but the deep-seated terror remained.
I thought about it for a while. Why does that scare me? What about crazy people is so terrifying and unsettling to me? Other people I know don't have a problem with this. I decided to take it one step at a time.
Crazy people are not masters of their own minds. That freaks me out. But why?
Crazy people see, hear, and feel things that are not there, that are not real. Freaky again. But why?
Crazy people see, hear and feel things that I cannot see, hear or feel. Now we're getting somewhere. It bothers me that they experience things that I don't. Why does that bother me?
If I can't see it, I can't stop it. Ah, getting even farther! But what they see doesn't bother me, so why should I care that I can't see it? I'm not this amazing person who only wants to see imaginary things to help the person.
Back to the people not being able to control their own minds. No matter how much I DO NOT see what they see, crazy people still see/hear/feel things that aren't there, and I cannot convince them otherwise. Big AH-HA moment.
What is so terrifying to me about crazy people?
I cannot persuade crazy people.
Yeah. Wow.
I feel like I can usually convince people of what I want, but crazy people don't appeal to reason, to logic. Reason, truth, and logic mean nothing to them. They believe what they see, and I can't see what they see, so I can't use it to persuade them.
Basically, it circles back to Control. I like control. When I'm not in control, I freak out. I can't persuade (control) crazy people, and it scares me.
I can't control when I lose people. That scares me.
I can't control disease. That scares me.
I can't control change. That scares me.
When it all comes down to it, my life is just about control. Either I have it, and I'm using it, or I don't have it, and I'm trying to gain it.
I believe this is why I have such a hard time with my faith. God is in control, not me, and that's hard for me.
What is your life all about? As complex as people are, I'm beginning to think that deep down, we're simpler than I thought.
--------------------------
So, I'm trying to decide if I want to ditch the schedule thing. I dunno. I made a poll about it, so if you want, you can vote about it. For today, at least, I'm going to skip Advice Day and just post something I've been thinking about:
Control.
It might be like this for everyone, but I've been thinking a lot about how I am deep down, what I want deep down, how I feel deep down, and you know what it all comes down to? Control. I like to be in control; I hate it when I am not.
Think about my top three fears. What do I say they are?
#1: Losing people close to me
#2: Disease
#3: Change
What do those three things all revolve around? Me not being in control.
Remember how I said that episode of Alias freaked me out a couple of days ago? Because it was about a creepy insane asylum?
As I laid in bed that night, I tried to figure out why it scared me. (That's another control-freak-y thing about myself. There is a reason for everything, and I have to know what it is.)
I was kind of disgusted with myself. Kendra: not afraid of blood or needles or death or panic, but freaked out by people with mental problems?? Not only is it a bit embarassing, it's mean! I felt horrible as I realized that I didn't want to be around or think about people who were crazy (really crazy, not the fun kind of crazy). It was judgmental and wrong, but the deep-seated terror remained.
I thought about it for a while. Why does that scare me? What about crazy people is so terrifying and unsettling to me? Other people I know don't have a problem with this. I decided to take it one step at a time.
Crazy people are not masters of their own minds. That freaks me out. But why?
Crazy people see, hear, and feel things that are not there, that are not real. Freaky again. But why?
Crazy people see, hear and feel things that I cannot see, hear or feel. Now we're getting somewhere. It bothers me that they experience things that I don't. Why does that bother me?
If I can't see it, I can't stop it. Ah, getting even farther! But what they see doesn't bother me, so why should I care that I can't see it? I'm not this amazing person who only wants to see imaginary things to help the person.
Back to the people not being able to control their own minds. No matter how much I DO NOT see what they see, crazy people still see/hear/feel things that aren't there, and I cannot convince them otherwise. Big AH-HA moment.
What is so terrifying to me about crazy people?
I cannot persuade crazy people.
Yeah. Wow.
I feel like I can usually convince people of what I want, but crazy people don't appeal to reason, to logic. Reason, truth, and logic mean nothing to them. They believe what they see, and I can't see what they see, so I can't use it to persuade them.
Basically, it circles back to Control. I like control. When I'm not in control, I freak out. I can't persuade (control) crazy people, and it scares me.
I can't control when I lose people. That scares me.
I can't control disease. That scares me.
I can't control change. That scares me.
When it all comes down to it, my life is just about control. Either I have it, and I'm using it, or I don't have it, and I'm trying to gain it.
I believe this is why I have such a hard time with my faith. God is in control, not me, and that's hard for me.
What is your life all about? As complex as people are, I'm beginning to think that deep down, we're simpler than I thought.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
My Life, the Pscho Mystery Story?!
So...today was...weird to say the least. Wow. Just really weird.
The weirdness started last night. I mean, I guess. I don't remember. Which is the weirdest part! Okay, so apparently last night went just like any other night pretty much. I went to bed, and then read Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports for a really, really long time. I went to the bathroom right before turning off the light, and on my way back to my room, I heard this creepy hissing noise, so real and so close that my blood ran cold. I whirled around, hoping I wouldn't actually see anything, but in the middle of the big downstairs room, is a tall something. More blood running cold. The thing hissed again, and this time it sounded like, "Hey."
It was Lizzy.
I was pretty ticked off at her for freaking me out. I was only half conscious anyway because I'd been reading Max like a fiend trying to get as far into it as I could before I passed out asleep. My mind was working in creepy ways, going about bird kids and mutants and evil scientists and sneaky Erasers and junk like that, so having Lizzy sneaking around the house at night really didn't help the situation much.
But, I digress.
I went to sleep after a while of lying in bed, wondering why I was still awake. When I finally went to sleep, I had millions and millions of very fast, very flashy, very creepy, very intense dreams. They had to do with everything from twin brothers who fought to air vents flying off to big spiders to my friend Gabrielle evangelizing. And a **TON** of stuff that I can't clearly remember.
I woke up with a jolt, kind of warm and cozy and disoriented. Then, my stomach hurt like crap. Not like I was gonna be sick, like someone was cutting open my insides. It hurt really bad. But I must have dozed off again because I woke up when my mom came in and opened the blinds saying, "I'm so sorry, I forgot, you have soccer practice at 10 and it's five till right now." I opened my eyes and was once again greeted by the knife-in-the-gut sensation.
"My stomach hurts," I said. My mom was sympathetic, but still kind of hurrying me to get to soccer. I went to the bathroom, but my stomach still hurt really bad. I wondered if my mom had overslept or something since she and my dad hadn't gotten back until really late the night before. They'd been helping at a wedding rehearsal and hadn't gotten back until 12:34. Funny time, isn't it?
Well, my stomach was still slicing itself up even as I tried to get ready for soccer. It really hurt, and I didn't think I'd be a very good addition to the team, so I ended up calling the coach and leaving a message explaining why I didn't go to practice.
After a while, my stomach felt better, and I read some Max (finished it actually) before lunch.
The day went on pretty usual from there. Lots of reading and talking, though no computer at all, which was weird.
At 4:45 I started getting ready to go to this wedding we had to go to tonight (I just got back from it). I put on my new dress (you saw it yesterday) and all that good stuff. We went to the wedding. On the way, I started having really weird feelings about my parents getting home so late. It almost seemed like they didn't get home late, and that was just a dream. I had dreamed so much...I couldn't be sure. So, I asked.
"What time did you guys get home last night? Was it really late?"
Daddy sort of shrugged, eyes on the road. "It was a little after 8, I guess." He turned to my mom. "Wouldn't you say?" She agreed.
For the second time that day, my blood ran cold. What?? They hadn't gotten home at 12:34? But...but I had been so sure! I remember it! I remebered them--Wait, I remembered them coming home at 12:34, but I didn't remember anything else...
"Uhm, so you didn't come home at 12:34?" I asked. Daddy frowned.
"Uh, no," he said. I was getting a little weirded out.
"Oh....'kay...Well, what did we do last night?" I asked.
The whole family kind of looked at me.
"Momma and Daddy brought home those strawberry popsicle things..." Lizzy prompted. That faintly ran a bell...
"We watched about an hour of What Not to Wear," my mom reminded me.
"And that new episode of Phineas and Ferb," Daddy said.
I know I was looking at them like they were speaking Russian, but I didn't remember any of that! They had to be kidding me. Or maybe I was kidding me...but how can you kid yourself?
"You don't remember this?" Daddy asked. I stared at him and shook my head. He went on, "I was downstairs in the unfinished part of the basement, trying to fix the air conditioning? You said goodnight to me, then went into your room and closed the door?"
I frowned and nodded slowly, "Now that you mention it, I remember that."
My mom nodded. "Is it starting to come back now?"
Still, frowning, I had to answer, "Uh...no, not really."
They didn't seem nearly as alarmed about this whole thing as I was.
The wedding was beautiful, and the food was good, but I didn't get enough, so I'm still hungry, which for some reason is the best feeling to me. One of my favorite feelings is to be really tired and really hungry when I'm going to bed in the summer. I have NO IDEA why.
I also have no idea what happened last night, or why I had such insane, fast-flashing dreams, or why I don't remember anything that happened last night except strawberry popsicles and my dad fixing the air conditioning. I'm kind of scared.
Why can't I remember that random little piece of time?
Did the dreams mean anything?
Will I remember what happened tonight when I wake up?
Did my stomach pains this morning have anything to do with it all?
I know this probably sounds like some insane mystery book and not at all like real life, but that's me for you, I guess. Even though this is creepy and freaky, it's kind of...well...exciting, too. I hope this turns out to be something really awesome and not just a random brain fart or something. Hmm...
But then again, I hope it's not something serious, like brain failure...
Just keep me in your thoughts...and hopefully tonight will keep itself in my thoughts, too...
The weirdness started last night. I mean, I guess. I don't remember. Which is the weirdest part! Okay, so apparently last night went just like any other night pretty much. I went to bed, and then read Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports for a really, really long time. I went to the bathroom right before turning off the light, and on my way back to my room, I heard this creepy hissing noise, so real and so close that my blood ran cold. I whirled around, hoping I wouldn't actually see anything, but in the middle of the big downstairs room, is a tall something. More blood running cold. The thing hissed again, and this time it sounded like, "Hey."
It was Lizzy.
I was pretty ticked off at her for freaking me out. I was only half conscious anyway because I'd been reading Max like a fiend trying to get as far into it as I could before I passed out asleep. My mind was working in creepy ways, going about bird kids and mutants and evil scientists and sneaky Erasers and junk like that, so having Lizzy sneaking around the house at night really didn't help the situation much.
But, I digress.
I went to sleep after a while of lying in bed, wondering why I was still awake. When I finally went to sleep, I had millions and millions of very fast, very flashy, very creepy, very intense dreams. They had to do with everything from twin brothers who fought to air vents flying off to big spiders to my friend Gabrielle evangelizing. And a **TON** of stuff that I can't clearly remember.
I woke up with a jolt, kind of warm and cozy and disoriented. Then, my stomach hurt like crap. Not like I was gonna be sick, like someone was cutting open my insides. It hurt really bad. But I must have dozed off again because I woke up when my mom came in and opened the blinds saying, "I'm so sorry, I forgot, you have soccer practice at 10 and it's five till right now." I opened my eyes and was once again greeted by the knife-in-the-gut sensation.
"My stomach hurts," I said. My mom was sympathetic, but still kind of hurrying me to get to soccer. I went to the bathroom, but my stomach still hurt really bad. I wondered if my mom had overslept or something since she and my dad hadn't gotten back until really late the night before. They'd been helping at a wedding rehearsal and hadn't gotten back until 12:34. Funny time, isn't it?
Well, my stomach was still slicing itself up even as I tried to get ready for soccer. It really hurt, and I didn't think I'd be a very good addition to the team, so I ended up calling the coach and leaving a message explaining why I didn't go to practice.
After a while, my stomach felt better, and I read some Max (finished it actually) before lunch.
The day went on pretty usual from there. Lots of reading and talking, though no computer at all, which was weird.
At 4:45 I started getting ready to go to this wedding we had to go to tonight (I just got back from it). I put on my new dress (you saw it yesterday) and all that good stuff. We went to the wedding. On the way, I started having really weird feelings about my parents getting home so late. It almost seemed like they didn't get home late, and that was just a dream. I had dreamed so much...I couldn't be sure. So, I asked.
"What time did you guys get home last night? Was it really late?"
Daddy sort of shrugged, eyes on the road. "It was a little after 8, I guess." He turned to my mom. "Wouldn't you say?" She agreed.
For the second time that day, my blood ran cold. What?? They hadn't gotten home at 12:34? But...but I had been so sure! I remember it! I remebered them--Wait, I remembered them coming home at 12:34, but I didn't remember anything else...
"Uhm, so you didn't come home at 12:34?" I asked. Daddy frowned.
"Uh, no," he said. I was getting a little weirded out.
"Oh....'kay...Well, what did we do last night?" I asked.
The whole family kind of looked at me.
"Momma and Daddy brought home those strawberry popsicle things..." Lizzy prompted. That faintly ran a bell...
"We watched about an hour of What Not to Wear," my mom reminded me.
"And that new episode of Phineas and Ferb," Daddy said.
I know I was looking at them like they were speaking Russian, but I didn't remember any of that! They had to be kidding me. Or maybe I was kidding me...but how can you kid yourself?
"You don't remember this?" Daddy asked. I stared at him and shook my head. He went on, "I was downstairs in the unfinished part of the basement, trying to fix the air conditioning? You said goodnight to me, then went into your room and closed the door?"
I frowned and nodded slowly, "Now that you mention it, I remember that."
My mom nodded. "Is it starting to come back now?"
Still, frowning, I had to answer, "Uh...no, not really."
They didn't seem nearly as alarmed about this whole thing as I was.
The wedding was beautiful, and the food was good, but I didn't get enough, so I'm still hungry, which for some reason is the best feeling to me. One of my favorite feelings is to be really tired and really hungry when I'm going to bed in the summer. I have NO IDEA why.
I also have no idea what happened last night, or why I had such insane, fast-flashing dreams, or why I don't remember anything that happened last night except strawberry popsicles and my dad fixing the air conditioning. I'm kind of scared.
Why can't I remember that random little piece of time?
Did the dreams mean anything?
Will I remember what happened tonight when I wake up?
Did my stomach pains this morning have anything to do with it all?
I know this probably sounds like some insane mystery book and not at all like real life, but that's me for you, I guess. Even though this is creepy and freaky, it's kind of...well...exciting, too. I hope this turns out to be something really awesome and not just a random brain fart or something. Hmm...
But then again, I hope it's not something serious, like brain failure...
Just keep me in your thoughts...and hopefully tonight will keep itself in my thoughts, too...
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Carpe Noctem Day: Being Great
This is going to be a quick post, but hopefully still thought-provoking.
Some of you may have heard of Ralph Waldo Emerson. He wrote many essays, the most famous of which is “Self Reliance.” In his essay, he basically tells the reader than people need to depend on themselves. They need to be confident, but not cocky, and respect themselves. If you don’t respect yourself, how can you expect others to?
The most famous statement in the essay is “To be great is to be misunderstood.” When you first hear it, you probably thinking “okay, sounds cool, whatever.” Don’t dismiss it yet! Do you even understand what it means? I had to write a paper analyzing this for school, and at first, I came up with the stupid generic response: the greater someone is, the fewer people there are like them. The fewer people that think the way they do. Therefore, they’re misunderstood.
Wasn’t that just so enlightening?
Here’s another way of thinking about it: if one thinks about all the “geniuses” in history, it appears that all of them were misunderstood (Einstein, Newton, Jesus, Columbus, etc.). Why is that? It certainly has something to do with their thinking being far above others, but also, “to be great” almost by definition is to be strange. People who are considered great pushed the boundaries of their society. They tried new things. They looked at things in new ways. Anyone who is great will be misunderstood, because to be great, one must challenge the common thinking.
I would like to be great. Wouldn’t you? But who wants to be misunderstood? I think that’s what holds a lot of people back: the fear of being misunderstood. When you think outside the box, you’re usually labeled “weird”. Maybe that’s why today’s young people don’t do as many great things as we could.
Yeah; ’cause we’re SCARED.
So, I challenge you. Think outside the box. Challenge common thinking. Be misunderstood.
Be great.
Some of you may have heard of Ralph Waldo Emerson. He wrote many essays, the most famous of which is “Self Reliance.” In his essay, he basically tells the reader than people need to depend on themselves. They need to be confident, but not cocky, and respect themselves. If you don’t respect yourself, how can you expect others to?
The most famous statement in the essay is “To be great is to be misunderstood.” When you first hear it, you probably thinking “okay, sounds cool, whatever.” Don’t dismiss it yet! Do you even understand what it means? I had to write a paper analyzing this for school, and at first, I came up with the stupid generic response: the greater someone is, the fewer people there are like them. The fewer people that think the way they do. Therefore, they’re misunderstood.
Wasn’t that just so enlightening?
Here’s another way of thinking about it: if one thinks about all the “geniuses” in history, it appears that all of them were misunderstood (Einstein, Newton, Jesus, Columbus, etc.). Why is that? It certainly has something to do with their thinking being far above others, but also, “to be great” almost by definition is to be strange. People who are considered great pushed the boundaries of their society. They tried new things. They looked at things in new ways. Anyone who is great will be misunderstood, because to be great, one must challenge the common thinking.
I would like to be great. Wouldn’t you? But who wants to be misunderstood? I think that’s what holds a lot of people back: the fear of being misunderstood. When you think outside the box, you’re usually labeled “weird”. Maybe that’s why today’s young people don’t do as many great things as we could.
Yeah; ’cause we’re SCARED.
So, I challenge you. Think outside the box. Challenge common thinking. Be misunderstood.
Be great.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
