Chicks Rule

I guess you could sort of, maybe, call me a little bit of a feminist. I guess. Maybe not the riot at your doorstep feminist, but the one that holds feminist's beliefs high. And, one of those beliefs is that as women, we our the owners of our bodies. We are in control of what does and does not happen to them. And because i hold that belief, i also believe that we have the right to make our own decision on whether or not we should abort or birth a child. Sometimes men seem to think that they have an input in the situation, however, in my opinion i dont think that they really do. Yes, i believe that if a women is impregnated with a mans child, then he should be aware of the decision she ultimately makes, but i dont think that he should have a say in what she chooses to do. I think that a mother should want to have a child, should be able to support a child, or be willing to give the child up for someone else to raise. And if she feels as though she doesnt meet any of those requirements, then it is her decision to abort it. In "The Hills Like White Elephants", the man manipulates the women into deciding what to do. He attempts to persuade her to give up the child by saying that he would love her and stay with her as long as she did. The girl struggles with idea of giving up the child, and i think that ultimately she chose to keep it even though the author didnt quite say that she did. If she did though, did she have a right to? Yeah, she did. It's HER child, that SHE has to bare, raise, and nurture for the rest of HER life.If she believes the she is capable of doing so then regardless of the man's desires, SHE ultimately has the choice. So its HER decision to keep the child. or not to. I think that women are often persuaded into doing things that they dont want to do or that they do because society makes them feel like they dont have a choice. But just like we have fought for so often throughout history, we are ALL EQUALS. Women can just as easily perform the same mental and physical tasks as men, sometimes even better then men themselves. And women are the rightful owners of their body. Making them the rightful judges as to what occurs with their body.

"For Better or For Liverwurst"

One thing that never fails to revitalize my love for writing is the freedom that writers have. The freedom for me to write whatever i want to write. However i want to write it. To pour my heart onto paper, or to jot down random words the make me laugh. To choose to make a point, persuade, or to simply just express. I love the freedom that writing gives you. I love the there are no rules. Sure, you're supposed to me grammatically correct, and indent, and put periods. where. they. belong. i guess. but in reality, writing is art. and there is no right or wrong way to do it. so so so many works of writing are creatively done. They are punctuated where they want to be, and they say whatever they want to say, even if the reader perceives it all kinds of wrong. That's why i've never understood the statement "I don't like to write", or "I'm not a good writer." What's there to not like? What's there to be good about? Who's to say what is good and what is bad? I guess that's the issue with all art. Someone can look at something, read something, and not get anything from it. But another person, may look at it, may read it, and it mat change their life. Art is funny that way. It's all about perspective. And we are out biggest critics. I write because writing never fails me. I always learn from it, grow from it, or just release steam. Writing helps me to channel a lot of emotions, useless thoughts, and opinions. No one really has to read it. And really, Sweeney you're probably the only one who will ever read this blog, but sometimes it's not about who reads it, who thinks its "good". Writing is your mark in the world. Its your words, your thoughts and ideas, opinions. Its your style, how you choose to put those words onto paper. Writing is art. And like all art, it is an expression of self. So there is nothing to not like. There is no "good" or "bad" writer. Whether youre all over the place, full of grammatical errors, lacking plot and structure, you're still a writer. And youre free to write however you want, whatever you want. wherever and whenever. Writing is a freedom, not a duty. There are no rules on "How to become a writer" because anyone can be a writer. anything can be considered literature. Writing never fails to instill my love.

Live Free, Die Hard

"Do not go gentle into that good night." "Rage, Rage against the dying of the light." Do not go gentle into that good night. What does that mean? Rage against the dying of the light. What is that really saying? Honestly, i don't know. But it can be perceived numerous different ways. As i first read it, i read it as though it meant for me to fight death. To not go out without a battle. To live free and die hard. ha ha ha. No but seriously, that's what i got from it. It spoke to me, saying that i needed to make life worth the death i would ultimately face. Is what i lived for worth dieing for? that's a loaded question. One that religious people would have LOADS to speak on. But even I question it. Is what i do today, going to be remembered if i died tomorrow? So far, i tried sushi for the first time today. Unfortunately, I doubt that will go into the history books. Although anyone who knows me, would agree that it should. But in all seriousness, nothing i've done today would make a difference if i left tomorrow. So if i shouldnt go gentle into the good night, then i need to make life changes. Every day i should fight death. Fight it by living. Really living. Not just surviving, but LIVING. Making a difference. Impacting something, someone, somewhere. Doing. Saying. Being. Creating a life that will live on after death. That's really what it's about. Maybe i wont be in the history books. and maybe i wont win The Nobel Peace Prize.  But if my life is worth something, and i define my worth, if my life is really worth something than ive lived. and ive raged against the dying of the light. And even though i may not be "famous" for what ive accomplished, my life was worth the death i faced as long as i lived.

 I want people to feel an immediate happiness around me. a closeness. a safeness. to make a difference in someone's life. i want to make such an impression on something so that even though i may be delicate and fragile, my footprints will be permanent in the places, things, and hearts i have touched. when ive accomplished that every day, ive lived. and ive conquered death.

There Is No Truth In Impossible

I make a wish everytime. Everytime i see a well, and toss a penny in. I make a wish. I think that's important. To put your faith into things that are seemingly impossible. To keep your hopes alive, and feed your dreams. That's important. Because really, without hopes, dreams,faith, aspirations, what do we have? What do we live for? Strive for? What is there to keep our motivation? I've always been that person whose dreams are way wilder than anyone could imagine. That girl in in kindergarten who said she would be an astronaut and she would find the first alien on another planet. The girl who not only dreamed she could do it, but believed she could. And since then, my dreams have continued to grow and change along side of me. Continued to become bigger, even more wilder, and more difficult to obtain. Ha, you thought being a female astronaut that found an alien was a big dream? You've got no idea what runs through my head daily. But i think thats a good thing. Some people say that making realistic dreams, goals that are easily obtained is the best way to go. But not me. I say if youre gonna dream, you better dream big. We've been told it since we could comprehend. "You can be anything you want to be." "You can do anything you dream you can do." So why dream inside of a box? Those aren't really dreams if you already know they are reachable. You're not putting your faith into something, if you  KNOW it's going to happen. Dreams are dreams because they aren't easily reached, they seldom remain dormant, and they are often deferred. But we've all go them. We need them. We put our faith into dreams, we feed our hope to keep it alive. Because they give us meaning. They provide reason. It a reason to get out of bed in the morning. It's motivation. Motivation to be more, to strive for more, to hope for more, even when it seems impossible. Don't let dreams be deferred. Dreams are meant to fester. To explode. To be made reality. Never to be carried like a heavy load. Never to dry up. Allow yourself to dream. As wild and extravagant as you can. Let your dreams run free, and then catch them. Make them happen. Continue each day to make new dreams for yourself, for others, for the world. Its a good thing. Its important. Hope matters. Faith does big things. And dreams come true.

Cinnamon Toast Crunch

We're all faced with decisions. Every one of us. Every day. I mean, i wake up and decide whether to eat cinnamon toast crunch or cheerios. Its a decision, its a small one yes, but its a decision that could possibly alter the rest of my day. I think about things a lot. All sorts of things. But one thing that i always focus my attention on, is really taking time to think about something before i decide to do it. I think that's important. Weighing options before jumping to conclusions. Some will beg to differ. Those that are far more spontaneous than I. I envy those types of people because i tend to describe myself as someone that is far too analytical. Yet, some see that as a strength. I believe that the things you chose to do and say define who you are. Our thoughts, motives, words, actions, etc are all building blocks that make up our character. So, i find it immensely difficult to not over think things, to not analyze every possible outcome. Because in essence, we are what we are, we are what we do, we are what we say. America is known for it's freedom. We're all free to be who we want to be. To do and say what we want to say. But that doesn't mean that we still don't have decisions to make. We do. We have decide to speak out against or for certain things. We have to decide to act upon certain things or to not to.  And yes, for some, those things are easily decided. Yet, for others, its an entire different battle. Some decisions we have to make are tough, they arnt decisions that we want to make, that we want to be a part of. But they're necessary. Where would we be if someone had not made the decision that whites and blacks should be equal? Sure, that was by no means and easy decision. It was by no means something that people wanted to be a part of. But, what if they hadnt? What if people didnt boycott those buses. What if people didnt lose their lives for the benefit of others? Where would we be? Sometimes in life, we have to choose to take the road less traveled. To take the road full of thorns, rocks, bumps, and obstacles. We have to choose to take the harder road. The longer road. Not because it's easy, it wont be, but because it will be worth it. And we as whole will be stronger because of the things we faced on that road. Those who settle for the easy and the comfortable are those that crumble when faced with difficulty. With decisions not easily made. However, those that chose the more difficult route, with an ultimate destination in mind, it is those that succeed, that grow. They choose the road less traveled, and that makes all of the difference.

Spread Your Wings

Sometimes I really feel like escaping. Like taking the easy way out. Just leaving, leave everything and everyone behind. Go to a new place, with new things, new people, new opportunities. Sometimes I get so tired of seeing the same faces, hearing the same things, and doing all of the same activities. Go to school. Go to work. Go back to school. Study. Look out a window. Take A walk. Go to work. Eat. Go to sleep. Go to school. Work. Lay in bed awake all night thinking about work and school. It never ends. The same patterned routine over and over. Sure, each day holds a few new things, a few glimpses of what my life COULD be. But overall, its the same day to day theme. I'm doing what im supposed to do though right? That's what i've been told since I started Kindergarten. "Go to school, so you can get an education and a job to take care of your family." Do this, and do that, do all of the things they never got to do and they are suffering because of. So that's what im doing. The first in my family to attend college, the only one that can manage to hold a steady job, the only one that has their life together. I guess. In the eyes of others im doing all of the right things and it'g going to pay off in the end. But will it really? Do i really want to be in college, striving for a PhD in psychology that could just as easily land me on the streets as not going to college could. Do i really want to be working at friendlys, making money to support myself at the age of 18, to support all of my financial needs and then some, yet, dreading to go every single day. but, its what im "supposed" to do isnt it? And man, am i making mama and daddy proud. Going through the motions. each and every day. Doing things that most dream of, and never achieve. i should be proud of myself, my accomplishments, and i mean i am, but how can you be proud of yourself when you know you are capable of SO. MUCH. MORE.

We read "The Glass Menagerie" in class this semester. And although I HATED the play, i could really connect to one of the characters, Tom. Tom too went through the motions. He worked, took care of his family, helped with his crippled sister, and educated himself. Yet, he was unhappy. He was doing all the right things, but in reality he wanted to join the merchant marines. He wanted more. Dont we all? He wanted to see things, do things. be more. do more. be what he knew he was capable of being. but that meant leaving everyone behind. leaving everything behind. abandoning those that loved and cared for him and about him. Being made out to look like the bad guy, the one that gave up all that he had for his own selfish wants. But did he really? or did he just decide that enough was enough and he needed to strive to be all that he was capable of being? I suppose its up to the reader to decide what really happened. But for me, as the reader, i envy Tom. I envy his tenacity to leave. His bravery to separate himself from all that tied him down. He knew he needed to jump, to take the next step. because jumping separates us from those that settle with the comfortable and the safe. It's funny that one of the life lessons I have always been taught, "Never settle", is now contradicting itself with everything else ive been taught. Keep pushing through the motions. Never settle. Do whats right. Do what you believe is right. So many things ive always been told, so many lessons i have been taught. all just contradictions.

Sometimes i look up, and i see hundreds of birds just sitting in a tree. and i wonder to myself, "why do they just sit there, when they can fly anywhere in the world?", but then i ask myself the same question.

Free Bird

Throughout our lives, we as humans, constantly seek freedom. Whether traveling to discover new worlds, fighting to gain equal rights for all races, or speaking out for same sex marriage, humans are always on a mission to find freedom. However, for some, we seek a different kind of freedom. Like the wife in Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s story “The Yellow Wallpaper”, we seek freedom from ourselves and from our minds. Although most are not familiar with this idea, I can easily relate to the not-so-normal hopes and aspirations of the ill-minded house wife in “The Yellow Wallpaper.” Regardless that her and I’s way of thinking may not be the most popular way, we each are in our own battle for freedom.

Possibly suffering from post-partum depression, equally suffering from the lack of sunlight, the narrator of “The Yellow Wallpaper” has a unique way of thinking about things. Her husband, a respected doctor, has diagnosed her with an illness that he believes rest will cure. Yet, little did he know that the room she would spend most of her healing process in was, in fact, the room that would eventually cause her death. This room had a “modern” look to it. The room’s genetic makeup consisted of barred windows, tattered yellow wallpaper, and a bed that was bound to the floor. But somehow, considering all of that, the narrator seemed to like the room and even went on to say, “I’m getting really fond of the room in spite of the wallpaper. Perhaps because of the wallpaper.” This statement, I believe, was Gilman’s first attempt at foreshadowing what was to come. The hours spent “resting” in the room allowed the narrator to aimlessly stare at, trace over, and analyze every corner of the walls. Ultimately, she began to see what she believed was a woman behind bars inside of the walls. After being trapped inside the parasitic room for months on end, she finally snapped and decided to “free” the woman in the walls. She locked herself inside the room and then violently stripped all of the wallpaper off. In the midst of doing so, her husband frantically tried to open the door, yet when he finally did, he passed out at the sight of his dead wife.

The average reader would analyze the story as a crazy lady who was really ill and needed to be hospitalized. However, I’m not the average reader, and my opinion differs. At one point in the story the narrator says, “Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch.” She is excited because she is intrigued by the thoughts that the wallpaper provokes. Before being kept in the room, her husband was gone frequently on “business trips”, she was treated child-like, and she often had nothing worth experiencing in her life. Now that she was able to see the things she saw in the wallpaper, her depression gave in and shed a little light of hope on her life. She had hours to spend with her thoughts, and in my opinion, she began to seek freedom from not only her lifestyle and depression, but from her thoughts as well. The yellow wallpaper began to symbolize her life. She felt like a woman, trapped behind bars, trapped in her thoughts, and trapped in her depression. However, the more she thought, the more the solution became evident to her. She decided that by ripping the wallpaper off the wall, she would free the women made of shadows behind the bars. Yet, if there is no wallpaper, there are no women. So by ripping the wallpaper off of the wall, she was killing the shadowed women, but that was the solution. Sometimes the only way to gain freedom is to stop trying to gain freedom. The narrator sought freedom from her life. She sought freedom from the depression that consumed her and from the thoughts that drowned her mind. The only way to gain that freedom was by ending her life. And by doing so, she set herself free.

We all desire freedom in some form or another.  Although we all do not travel the same paths, we all are on the same journey. I relate to Gilman’s character in more ways than one. Not only do I understand her mindset and her logic behind her ultimate demise, but I too think some of the same thoughts. In a world that is constantly evolving, it becomes difficult to remain content with how things are. People can have zillions of dollars in their bank account and be miserable. Yet, some can live in a box and be the happiest people to walk the green hills. I struggle with the idea of being satisfied with who I am. I believe that every day I should strive to be better than the person I was yesterday. However, because I am human, I have faults. My mind is a constant Ferris wheel of ideas that continuously spin and never become solved. The question “what if?” is permanently rooted into my brain. At times, I find it difficult to be content with what I have accomplished and what my life consists of thus far. My thoughts consume me. There is no such thing as “analyzing” anymore because over-analyzing is my native language. However, these ideas that I struggle with, I have struggled with my entire life. These ideas that I struggle with do not cease. And, just like the narrator in “The Yellow Wallpaper”, I seek freedom from my thoughts. I seek freedom from my lifestyle. I seek freedom from my anxiety. But the road I am on has not led me to an answer. Little pieces of wallpaper shed glimpses of light on me to give me hope, but none have given me freedom. Regardless though, like the rest of us, I will continue my battle for the freedom I believe in until I am able to set myself free.

Freedom is not easily gained. Ships may sink, races may be killed by the millions, and homosexuals may always be persecuted, but we as humans will never stop fighting. The narrator in Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” sought freedom and ultimately gained it. Although her way unique, we all will travel our own road in hopes to set ourselves free.  

Crazy Ol Lady

A bit kooky, maybe even a little senile, but definitely big hearted, the grandmother in “A Good Man Is Hard To Find” is a complex character. With a story plot as twisted and unpredictable as the one Flannery O’Connor writes, the grandmother’s character is even more profound and important. Not only is the character a key character, but she is also easily relatable to.

Flannery O’Connor begins the story by introducing a family of characters, each character seeming to hold a very pronounced personality. The family speaks of a road trip they are planning to take to Florida however; the bold grandmother has a different trip in mind. She blatantly states that she would much rather go to Tennessee because there is a misfit out on the loose and she doesn’t want to run into him. Her effort at persuading her son to change his vacation plans failed miserably and left them packed up and headed towards the sunny south. The trip down consisted of the grandmother constantly nagging, telling stories, and reminiscing of old times. Yet, one memory caused her to lead her family blindly down an old dirt road to what she had remembered containing an old plantation home at the end of. Halfway down the road though, she remembered that the house she was thinking of was in fact in a different state. Her memory jolted her from her seat, sending her cat flying and the car into a chaotic mess. The family ended up stranded on the road after their accident, only to be met by three burly men, one which happened to be the misfit. The misfit then proceeded to one by one kill off the entire family, only leaving the cat as a survivor.

The grandmother, although a bit off of her rocker, seemed to be the key component in the story. O'Connor spends a good portion of the story describing her, using her dialect, and making the reader aware of her profound personality. At the introduction of the story the two grandchildren June and John carried on a conversation with their grandmother about why she didn’t want to go to Florida. John tells her that if she doesn’t want to go that she should just stay home. However June makes a remark that really lets the reader into the type of personality the grandmother has when she says; “She wouldn’t stay at home to be queen for a day.” While on their way to the sunshine state, the grandmother talks about all the things she has seen, reminiscing, and pointing out what she considers to be important landmarks. A majority of the time, the children have toned her out or are sleeping, yet the resilient grandmother continues to talk and talk. All the while she’s reminding her son of the correct speed limit, and chastising the children when they begin to act foolish. Her personality is very domineering, yet caring all the same. Finally she begins telling a story that sparks the attention of the two young ones. She talks about a plantation house that she thought was beautiful. However, knowing that her son would never take a detour to see it, the manipulative grandma embellishes the story by adding that the house had a secret panel that may contain something behind it. The kids became ecstatic to see the house and would not take no as an answer. The father unwillingly turned the car around and started driving towards the old road. The grandmother obviously showed her pride in her accomplishment. However, after her sudden memory and the car accident that left them stranded, the grandmother’s personality begins to slightly change. When she encounters the misfit, she immediately tries to be the strong one for the family, begging and coaxing the misfit out of his evil ways. She even tries to make the misfit believe that he is a good person so that he may spare her family. At one point she begs, “You shouldn’t call yourself the misfit because I know you’re a good man at heart. I can just look at you and tell.” When faced with possible death, her personality went from very reassuring and confident, to weary and fragile. As her family one by one went into the woods with the men to be killed, she became more and more frantic. Losing her calm and collected mindset, the grandmother opted for spontaneously saying anything that came to her mind, reaching out, begging and pleading. She even screams out multiple times for her only son. At her last attempt to change the misfits mind, she makes the mistake of touching him, resulting ultimately in her death by gunshot.

O’Connor has a way of portraying characters so that they seem one way and when faced with dilemmas they reach a moment of grace.  The grandmother in the story is portrayed as a very strong and bold-minded character. However, by the end of the story, her strength seems to be broken because of the demise of her family. The grandmother in the story is easily related to my grandmother. Both women very witty, manipulative, and controlling; yet, each of them care about their families whole heartedly. I can remember taking a trip to New York two summers back. My mom, my grandpa, my sister, and my grandma were all packed up into one car. All nine hours to the city, my grandmother didn’t stop talking unless it was to take a breath and then she continued again. She told all the stories she could think about just like the grandmother in the story did. When we drove through certain states she began reminiscing. We reached Delaware and she spent the entire drive through the state telling a story about a man she had met in Delaware. By the time we stopped for lunch, every single one of us was bleeding from the ears at the sound of my grandmother’s voice. Yet, because of her strong minded and controlling personality, none of us dared stop her from speaking. The grandmother in the story talked endlessly regardless that nobody was listening a majority of the time, as did my grandmother. But just like the grandchildren in the story, there is always one story that my grandmother tells that catches my attention. When she began talking about her grandmother that we were going to visit in New York and how long it had been since she had seen her, my grandmothers strength began to weaken. She talked about her grandfather who had died before I could meet him; and, she explained how excited she was for me to meet her grandmother. She took my hand and began quivering a little, describing how big of a moment it would be for her. Just like the grandmother in the story, when faced with life changing moments, her personality took a turn. She became quieter and calmer. She spoke less and when she did speak it was almost impossible to make out what she was saying. Like the women in the story, my grandmother seemed to be in a trance. Whether my grandmother or the grandmother in the story though, both are strong and self-reliant women with big hearts for the ones they care about.

The plot in “A Good Man Is Hard To Find” sets the perfect scene for the character of the grandmother. O’Connor does an amazing job of describing the grandmother and obviously showing her shift in personality when faced with a difficult situation. Not only is the plot a perfect story line for the grandmother, but the grandmother herself is a key component to the story. Her character leads the story around every corner. She narrates her memories and tells of every state the family passes through. She also sets up each big event in the story. Regardless of her unique personality though, she is easily related to my grandmother. Each grandmother, theirs and mine,  possess the same type of key personality traits and huge heart. O’Connor does an incredible job of writing a not so typical story with a really not so typical character. 

White Elephants

When I say that I think almost every women can in some way relate to "Hills Like White Elephants", I mean almost EVERY women. At first, the short story is read without much thought or effort. However, after analyzing it and hearing others' opinions on the story, my view was completely changed.

The story begins by introducing two main characters, the American and Jig. The characters go on to have an elaborate discussion about whether or not they should go about having a procedure done. It is up to the reader to decide what procedure they're talking about but I chose to believe that they were discussing an abortion. Jig, the girl, is very hesitant and resisting the idea. Yet, when the american begins to describe how much better their lives would be and how much more he would love her, she begins to agree.

I think that in more ways than one, I can relate to this story. At one point in my life I was willing to do just about anything for someone that I truly cared for. Jig seems very naiive and easily manipulated. She is in a relationship with a man she believes loves her and is telling her all the things she has always wanted to hear. However, she is battling with herself for what she wants and what her morals may be. I can relate to that because sometimes in life, we forget who we are and what we stand for because of trivial things.

I think that Jig, although possibly young, should have known that she is the keeper of her body and has the right to keep the baby if she wanted. But because of the American influencing her otherwise, she chose not to. Unfortunately women get put in positions like this on a daily basis all over the world and may not believe that they have the power of their word and power over their bodies.

Belonging

What does it really mean to "belong"? Does it mean that you made the cheerleading squad, or that everyone in school is your friend, or maybe even that you have the new IPhone 5? Everyone interprets "belonging" a different way. I feel like its human nature that we all strive to belong to something, or to some place, or to some one. But why? Why is belonging something that we each so desperately want yet so often struggle to obtain?

The main character in "The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven"  struggles to feel a sense of belonging himself. As a Native American, he is "supposed" to belong to a reservation, be part of a tribe, and contribute to the Native American Lifestyle. However, by doing this, he becomes a minority to the rest of the country. Hoping to be able to belong to the majority, he left the reservation and went to college, got a girlfriend, and a job. Yet, nothing he did made him feel like he belonged. He and his girlfriend constantly argued, eventually leading to a break up. While driving around to blow off steam, he was always profiled for being in the wrong parts of the neighborhood. Even the white guy at the 7-11 was weary of his dark skin and long black hair. Everywhere he went he was viewed as nothing more than an Indian, never as just a human being.

The story really spoke to me in a lot of different ways: I really connected with the main character. At one point in the story the main character says, "I'd drive for hours, searching for something familiar. Seems like id spent my whole life that way, looking for anything i recognized." I can relate to that idea more than I knew I could. The idea that you dont feel like you belong anywhere, you cant quite find your purpose or place so you just search for anything that makes sense to you, anything that can give you hope or remind you of where youve been and where you are now.

The main character also talks about Muhammad Ali. He said that Muhammad knew the power of his fists, but more importantly, he knew the power of his words too. That also struck me as a very powerful sentence. To be strong in the physical sense is a good tool, however to be intellectually strong and brilliant with words is an even better tool. Words, when used correctly, can be the most powerful tool a human has.

Humans are the only species that can do a good handful of things that other species can not. We are constantly growing, changing,  creating, and learning. We have the power of language, words, and communication. We have the ability to decide to what we do and do not belong to. We also have the ability to choose what "belonging" means to each of us as individuals. For me,  striving to belong to someone, something, or somewhere only takes away from my individuality. Yet, as human nature, there will always be something, somewhere, or someone I'll want to belong to.