Leap Into Life
Loyal Readers:
Saltare Into Life has moved to Justafirstdraft.com, where I'll be blogging about reading, writing, and life. Those of you who were Saltare Subscribers, I can't say how thankful I am for your readership and support! I'd highly encourage you to head over to my new blog and subscribe. The left side of the home page should have a pop up box prompting you to subscribe. You can also click HERE. As a previous subscriber, you're kind of an expert in knowing how important it is to click the confirmation link they send you, so please, don't forget! Those of you who have randomly stumbled upon this blog, welcome! Feel free to check out some of my old posts (the most popular ones being: learning to drive, what middle school taught me, and the jar of ocean water by my bed, but feel free to scroll through the ramblings of my thirteen year old self). When you've reached your heart's content, head over to Justafirstdraft.com and please, subscribe! Saltare Into Life has been a part of my life for the past two years and I can't emphasize enough how grateful I am for all of you who have been readers and subscribers since the beginning. I'm onto my next adventure and I sincerely hope you'll join me! Emily The Quote of the Day is from Oprah Winfrey: "You get in life what you have the courage to ask for."
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Since forever, I've had this dream of changing the world. I think a lot of people do, too. But life is crazy. It's busy and messy. We have to focus a lot of our energy on "adult things". My to-do list is so often packed with homework and projects that need doing--- drivers ed, that novel that needs plotting, trying to start a slam poetry team. I like doing them, mostly. Although, Drivers Ed is a little stressful- I mean, do you know what to do if your car stalls on train tracks and a train is coming in your direction? (Abandon your car, run in the direction the train is coming from, and shield yourself from flying debris) The point is, we don't have a whole lot of time to change the world. That's where quote bombing comes in. If you're wondering exactly what Quote Bombing is, don't worry. I've got you covered. You see, I've been a devoted quoter for a while now. In eighth grade, I started a Quote of the Day Text, among my friends. One year later, fifteen people receive inspiration three times a week from me. I think 10% of people actually read them.... I also have this thing about writing quotes on tests. In fact, I'm convinced that I passed my Physics Exam because I wrote "I can do this" at the top of the page. Ever since, I've been filling Latin Tests and geography quizzes with quotes and a few days ago, one of my teachers thought my "made up on the spot quote" was said by someone famous! Needless to say, I like leaving quotes for friends and family, but what about strangers...? I needed an excuse to put quotes in library books, on tables, and in backpacks. Quote Bombing offered the perfect reason. Quote Bombing is a movement of good people doing good things. It involves leaving little bits of inspiration in everyday places, knowing that someone who's meant to find it will. Trusting that it has the power to change a life. It's kind of beautiful, when you think about it... a world filled with quotes and inspiration. And I know that a lot of people will argue that one person can't change the world, much less one quote. But let's show the doubters that one quote can make a difference! Tonight, sit down with some index cards, a pad of sticky notes, or some paper. Write a quote, an encouraging pep talk, a reminder of why this life is awesome. Add an explanation of quote bombing, tell the person to pass it on. Bring it to work or school tomorrow. Slip quotes into books and folders. Put pep talks into briefcases and backpacks. Spread the inspiration. Let's inspire the world. Together! #Quotebombed If the idea of changing the world appeals to you, subscribing to Saltare Into Life could be an awesome life decision! Click HERE to subscribe. Be sure to check your email and click the confirm link, in order to start receiving emails!
I started High School in August. (Welcome to busier stairways, more homework, and a whole lot of people worrying about college transcripts...) Now, before I began this crazy endeavor that we call High School, I wrote a Bucket List. A long one with a few good, reasonable things and then a lot of random things my pre-9th grade self felt needed to be completed before graduation. One High School trimester down and I still stand by my list. I'll share it with you... uncensored! High School Bucket List:
Go out there and have the adventure! Laugh loudly, smile. Be alive. Live with no regrets. Love strongly! Let go of fear. Trust the universe. Take risks. Be HAPPY! So that's my High School bucket list. I printed this out for myself before High School started and I still have it on my desk, as a reminder. Going into High School, I didn't know what to expect. Now, I do. For the most part. I know what my schedule is, where to go for free period, the email address of my math teacher, what location friends will congregate in before lunch. But if I've learned anything from Middle School, it's that just when things start to make sense, life will throw a curveball. But my pre-high school self seemed to be ready for it- what, with the whole "do things that AREN'T on this list" bullet point. As we enter the coming year, I encourage you to come up with your Bucket List or your Resolutions or Mantras or whatever you plan on committing to paper. But as you do this, don't just expect uncertainty. Dream of it, hope for it. Work with it, not against it. Happy New Year! Did you see that one of my goals is to get 1,000 blog subscribers? It's a crazy ambition but you can help make the dream become reality by subscribing to Saltare Into Life! Click HERE to join the email list- you'll be updated when I post! And please, please, please don't forget to click the confirmation link in the email from Feedburner. Oh and don't forget to share this post with your friends and family (I know you'll make a GREAT recruiter for new subscribers). So how are those November mountains coming? If you don't know what I'm talking about, you can check out last month's Nanowrimo post, here. I know, I know. It's hard to make climbs, whether it's for National Novel Month or life.
I'm struggling with the novel but I wanted to share with you something a little shorter... and more achievable: a personal narrative. The Pier by Emily Vennart Nielson I wasn't there but I know it burned. Grandma points out the pier every time we visit Maine, telling us that it used to extend miles farther into the ocean. She often comments on the carousel that’s replaced the original, one that’s intricately painted horses had burned, too, in the fire of 1969- the same year Dad was born. Standing at the edge of the water, just as Grandma was forty-six years ago when the fire struck, I can imagine the feeble wooden structure burning into the Atlantic. The year is 2015. Ashes from the Old Orchard Beach Pier extension are buried deep under the sea. It hasn’t been lucky. Countless disasters have hit this shore, but the pier is still standing more than a hundred years after it was built. That’s what counts. “There it is,” Grandma says, breaking the silence. Just fifteen minutes before, when we started our walk down the beach, Grandma had silenced my sister, Anna, and me. “This,” she said, “is the only place in the world where you can walk on the beach without sinking into the sand.” Grandma has walked on many beaches, enough to notice the difference. I hadn’t but, I too felt the hard sand beneath my feet. We step onto the boardwalk and dust sand off our feet. I’d only been to the pier twice, but all the stories I’d heard and photos I’d seen created a collage in my head. They were like shared memories: roller coasters ridden together instead of years apart. It’s a clear evening and the sun is still hanging over the ocean.The boardwalk is busy with visitors and vendors calling out their overpriced product. Bright colors, mismatched buildings, and scattered rides line the way. People of every age socialize. I can’t help but wonder if they’re adults, coming to relive a beautiful childhood, like my dad, who wanders behind us photographing things still standing from forty years ago. We pass a doughnut shop, then a homemade candy stand. I’ve eaten at the oceanside cafe and ridden the new carousel that has replaced the old one. “There’s the race car track,” I say, remembering the first time, just two years ago when I drove by myself. “It’s been here since I was a boy,” Dad tells us, taking a photo, “Gladys used to give my cousin Eric and I money to ride in a two- person car. Seventy five cents: three shiny quarters from her money jar.” Gladys was my Dad’s grandma and her youthful spirit, even at an old age, had been remembered by the whole family. According to Grandma, Gladys would always say, “ride the race cars for me.” Gladys's death years ago had been hard on both of them, but in a strange way, she seemed to be here with us. By the cottage we’d driven by a few hours back, at the family- favorite seafood restaurant, Huots, at the beach. Gladys was intertwined with the stories I’d been hearing my whole life: the hurricane they’d survived even after ignoring evacuation orders, games of Monopoly and cards on rainy days, picnics and outdoor showers. Gladys was there and more importantly, Gladys was here, at the Pier. “Watch out!” Someone calls, pulling me out of my thoughts. I immediately recognize the familiar bump on the boardwalk and whip my head around to catch a glance of the surrey before it turns back onto the dusty Maine road. Surrey's, also known as multi- person bikes- are an old time favorite of the Vennart Family. “You know,” dad starts and I know he’s about to go down memory lane, “The cousins and I broke a surrey, one summer.” With so many summers spent in Maine, I don’t know how he remembers everything. Somehow, though, Dad manages. Grandma smiles. “I paid the man for it and he let me keep it. You guys fixed the surrey up that next summer, remember?” “One of these days,” Dad says to no one in particular, “all the cousins, grandparents, friends, everyone, we’re going to come back here. Rent the whole row of cottages: have cook outs, show the kids how to walk to the beach, memorize the tide schedule, come to the pier... We’re going to remember the good ol’ days and then sit back and let the kids have some of their own.” Being at the pier, I feel a strong sense of peace. I am fourteen years old. The year is 2015, but below me the ground is that of the past. My family has walked this Pier; some parts still standing, some burned down. They rode these rides and swam in the ocean, just as I do, and as future generations will. Being here– up north, in Maine– I feel strong. My roots are here. My family is here. This is home. Like what you see? Be sure to subscribe to Saltare Into Life by clicking... Here! And share this post with your friends, too!! National Novel Month......
Caffeine, loud music, and rushed writing. An expedited version of the writing process. No boundaries and limits until you start editing. A bunch of (potentially) crazy people trying to write 50,000 words. Why would anyone do this? National Novel Month, also known as Nanowrimo, is a movement of people trying to write a novel in November (like 50,000 words). It's a crazy endeavor, one that I've participated in for the past three years- with a lower word count goal. This year, I'm taking on 50,000 words and want you to do it with me! Why? Let me give you a few random reasons in no particular order....
Still not convinced? Let me put it simply: you need a novel in your life! You need a challenge that you can conquer. And what better time to do it than November. Yes, I know that more than half of the people that read this, won't write for National Novel Month. But the one person that reads this and thinks, "Hey I think I could do. That sounds pretty cool." I'm talking to you. Write the novel. Plan excessively or just wing it. Write late into the night or before the world wakes up. Update your word count goal when you remember. Create flawed characters and ones the reader falls in love with. Build intense situations with no way out except the one you think of halfway through. November is your month. Go online to the Nanowrimo Website and make an account. Start your adventure and join me for the journey. I'll be updating frequently with tips and encouragement, so you might as well write that novel you're scared to write and be sure to subscribe here. Last year, I compared Nanowrimo to an ocean. But this year, as I'm changing my strategy to reach 50,000, I'm taking a different approach. In November, I'll be climbing a mountain. It's a little daunting but slowly, I'm packing my backpack and filling my water bottle. I know that it'll be a hard climb but we both know that the view at the top will be stunning. Completely worth it! Whether it's a novel or something else, let's conquer our mountains this November! By the time fall reached Texas in seventh grade, I was convinced I was a demigod. I was on the lookout for protectors and had a bag packed and ready to go.... you know, in case I had to leave for Camp Half Blood on a moment's notice. My friends and I were in the midst of a battle over my godly parent (Goddess of Rainbows vs. Powerful God of the Sea). Why? You may be wondering. I was halfway through the Percy Jackson and the Olympians Series. For years, I'd seen trailers and nodded along when someone brought up Percy Jackson, but it wasn't until seventh grade that I finally agreed to read the Lightning Thief (which is actually a well done example of the Heroes Journey with a compelling idea, if nothing else). I'm so thankful that my friends convinced me! You see, Percy Jackson was probably the first series I ever fell in love with. I got a late start on reading and while I read books, I never fell in love with them. Because of that, I owe it to Rick Riordan, who wrote the series in hopes of inspiring kids to love reading. He clearly was a success. Next Tuesday, Magnus Chase and the Sword of Summer (also by Riordan) comes out. I have my doubts about how it'll stand up next to the Greek Mythology equivalent. But with that I've found even greater appreciation for the first series. Percy Jackson not only made me love reading but also let me fall in love with the idea behind the story. I didn't just fall in love with Percy, I fell in love with the fact that a scrawny Middle Schooler can become a chosen hero, meant to save the world. I fell in love- not just with the plot lines and plot twists but- with Camp Half Blood, the safe haven for demigods. Maybe all the quotes painted on the walls of libraries are right. Books are magical. They stay with us and change us. The Percy Jackson Series came into my life almost two years ago, and while I might not be a demigod, I've journeyed along with Percy and his friends. I've been inspired to find the quest-worthy excitement in every day life. I've made a goal of getting ONE HUNDRED BLOG SUBSCRIBERS by November 23rd. Yes, I realize I'm ambitious.... but I'm going to try anyway! If every person that reads this, sends this to two people and everyone involved subscribes, we'd be at a hundred subscribers by Friday! I'm aware that I sound like an annoying fundraising campaign, but if you're ready to receive Saltare Into Life Updates every time I post..... click here! It's free. Did you not click that first link? You have a second chance. Click here. Love is complicated. It's perfectly imperfect. It's joyfully messy. It's indescribable. I think. Because other than the strong, amazing love I know and give to family and friends, I have no idea what the stereotypical "fall in love" feels like. I just have really good examples for it! My grandparents had their fiftieth wedding anniversary dinner just last night. It was kind of emotional for me (being a cryer), but so, so beautiful. FIFTY YEARS! Together they've sewn this quilt (that they're still adding onto) of memories. The thread is gold and holds all us of together. My grandparent's quilt hangs on so many of our beds, on couches around the world. Tonight, my parents took my sister and I to their favorite date night spot in college. Just imagining them sitting by the window, chatting about classes and jobs... never did they imagine they'd be sitting at the same restaurant twenty six years later with their two daughters! My parents are also sewing a quilt. It has squares for every year, every adventure, every loved one. It too hangs in so many places. At age fourteen, it's scary to think about who I'll fall in love with, who I'll sew my quilt with. Questions can't help but buzz around in my head: When will we meet? Will I know I've met my soulmate? What adventures will we go on? How will we live this amazing life together? But then I look at the love I have around me. Love came to both my parents and grandparents in surprising ways. My grandparents met when my grandfather picked my grandmother's shoe in a game played at a college mixer. My parents met in college, went on their own paths, and were reunited later because my dad overheard a phone conversation. Love comes when we least expect it. So I guess the best thing we can do is accept it. We can accept that the universe seems to know what it's doing and from there we can just live. What we need (whether it be love or something else) will come when it's meant to. Yes, we might be a little surprised (scared or shocked...), but maybe that's the point. Love is complicated. It's perfectly imperfect. It's joyfully messy. It's indescribable. And I think that's what makes love beautiful. A few days ago, I turned to my family and said, "I'm going to try and get 100 subscribers by my birthday on November 23rd!" I realize now (needing 73 more subscribers) that this will be difficult, but I'm not giving up! Instead, I'm asking for your help. You have the power to help me reach 100, so PLEASE click the below link and subscribe! Already a subscriber? I am so grateful for your support and encourage you to share this post with friends and family! YOU CAN HELP ME REACH 100 SUBSCRIBERS BY CLICKING THIS LINK! Most people learn to drive from a parent or an instructor. They take a drivers ed course and after some degree of hands on experience, earn their driver's license ("yay, freedom"). And while of course, I'll take some version on the path listed above. My initiation to driving was given to me by my grandparents. Legally- for the most part. It started in Burlington, Vermont with my grandfather Tom, who agreed to take me for a drive. SCORE! So there we were: me in the drivers seat, him in the passenger seat. Tom started by explaining the gear shift, then something about how the engine worked and also the ignition. I was in over my head just a little, so Tom let me jump right in. We drove down their neighborhood/ complex's parking lot, went around the mini cul-de-sac, and turned around in someone's driveway. Needless to say, my first introduction to driving went extremely well! Okay, other than the fact that Tom wouldn't let me use both feet to hit stuff. But that's probably a good thing because before Tom noticed, I accidentally hit the gas and brake at the same time....Oops. But it wasn't over. My next driving experience was with my grandfather, Opa, in East Thetford, Vermont. Now, I love Opa dearly, but just as we discovered quite recently that we clash on stage, we also occasionally clash in the car. Or maybe it's just hard to be a self- taught driving instructor. Here's just one example of our driving dialogue.... Opa: BRAKE! Me: (hits acceleration) Opa: That's the acceleration. Me: Sorry (slams on brake). Opa: (sigh) Me: (looks around) Huh, I'm having deja vu. I feel like I've been in this same place before. Opa: You have... three times. Me: (buries face in hands and dies of laughter) Oh wait.... did I mention that Opa's teaching me to drive in a 30 year old wagoneer? There's a third seat in the front seat (handy for emergency brake slams which Opa hasn't had to do yet) and the gear shift isn't labelled so you have to feel around with the handle to know whether you're in reverse or forward! I'm so thankful for my grandparents who were brave enough to teach me how to drive! Driving is certainly an adventure, and it's definitely good that they give us lots of training. Kind of like life. .....ENTERING METAPHOR ZONE..... During the teenage years, we're being trained for more than just driving: we're being trained for adulthood, for life. We learn from tough situations, conflict, and new experiences. There's no set curriculum (unlike with driver's ed) and we learn what we need to know to be successful- or at least pick ourselves up from failure and try again. I'm on the road to independence- soon I'll be driving my own car! What road are you on? And as always: please subscribe! The average teen blogger's blog lasts about 18 months- I'm at 15. Help me defy my (guessed) odds and keep blogging by subscribing and spreading the word! Click Here to Subscribe! These days, blogging is extra complicated because my computer thinks Weebly should automatically translate to German. It's a hassle getting here.... but totally worth it.
Just like Middle School! Which by the way, I graduated from almost eleven days ago. And yes, I've spent the past eleven days trying to find a metaphor or some piece of inspiration to blog about.... Middle School is messy. It's yellow folders covered in doodles, planners filled to the brim with due dates, papers shoved to the back of a locker, and required books with messy annotations. Middle School is notes taken in the wrong notebook and flashcards scattered around. It's a bunch of awkward social situations and laughing about them afterwards. Middle School is a messy binder, a messy locker, a messy room, and a messy life. And that's okay. Because there's beauty in the messy: supportive and amazing friends and family, finding passions, a few great adventures, and memories. And while I leave Middle School and start High School, I will carry all these beauties with me and the lessons learned from Middle School. I think the truth is...Middle School is so much more than quadratic equations and semi colons and the Latin words you'll decline. It's more than the books you'll read (even though some of them will stay with you forever). It's learning to be surprised. It's learning that you can't control everything. You can't control your grade in algebra (even if you spent hours studying for the final exam), the universe's ability to put your improv tournament on the same day as your grade's flight to DC, and losing Mock Trial. But Middle School also teaches you something else: that you choose your reaction. You choose your reaction. Always. You don't choose your grade but you control studying next time. You don't choose what comes out of someone's mouth but you control how you deal with it. So wherever you are in life and whatever is next, remember what you learned in Middle School. And I'm not talking about a foreign language or algebra. Middle School gave me the mess, showed me the beauty, and taught that amidst our crazy lives filled with uncontrollable variables, we can always choose how we respond. *After that ending, all that's left to do it encourage you to subscribe. Help me beat the estimated 18 months that the average teen blogger's blog lasts!* **Now that I think of it, this blog post could (potentially) be inspired by one or both of the following quotes** I just finished a major 8th grade project called the Bio Journal. It involved writing down the story of your life from the point of view of other people. Now, it wasn't my favorite project, but three months of work culminated when I turned in my manilla- folder cover with six (unique) entries, an introduction, and a conclusion. Now I can finally take a sigh of relief: no more Bio Journal! You'd think after three months of work, I'd have some really great stuff, slap it into a folder, and call it a day, right? No. As I sat at the kitchen table (desks are overrated)- listening to bad pop music- I had no idea what to write for the final entry: my life story according to me. I wasn't at a lack of ideas, no I had tons of those. But "how to bring together unrelated thoughts in a beautiful way?" I wondered. Then it hit me: a poem. So, yes, I wrote a poem. And after three weeks of trying to figure out how to do powerpoint and audio and all that stuff, I present to you: What I Carry with Me (the poem I turned in for my bio journal). *** Keep in mind that, you know, this video IS the property of Saltare Into Life, and although I have no idea how to copyright things, I will find you if you steal this and take you to court (probably representing myself)! ***
So finally, as I write this is at 9:08 PM, I propose my super important question to you: what do YOU carry around with you? |