Leadership

Went to a leadership retreat/conference this weekend. I enjoyed it more than I expected, and was greatly encouraged in many ways. One of which is this: a great deal of what the speakers were saying about leadership makes perfect sense to me. Some things I've thought of before; some I've just never put into words. But most things are intuitive to me; if I were to lead, that's how I'd do it. Does this make me a natural leader? Because I don't like that idea. But I do know that if I led, it would be in those ways that all the speakers said were good. And I would instinctively avoid those methods and characteristics that they said were bad.

I like to think that I'm not crazy, that my reactions to leading styles are reasonable, and this weekend was so nice in that it confirmed that I am indeed not crazy. And of course, I met people! That's always a plus for me.

And I played fuseball. Mwahaha!

Movies like Enchanted don't make me hope; they make me despair.

Why don't they ever make a realistic movie? What's with the perpetual happy endings? Why don't they make a movie in which they don't ever fall in love?

...and smile!

Wednesday was good. Extremely happy news, and encouraging conversation, and a good show. And my homework didn't take as long as I expected.

Then, today, the temperature climbed to nearly 70 degrees. It was beautiful. I wore sandals. The sun felt good.

I won't sleep much tonight, and I'll be frantically finishing my journal right before class, but who cares? I know where I'm living next year, and what classes I'm taking, and even though my summer is still the great unknown, the known's happiness factor far outweighs the summer's uncertainty factor to equal... SMILE.

This poem is actually from March 2. I'm not sure exactly where it came from...

If ever I lose your name
somewhere in the coils of my mind,
If ever your face fades
to blurs of color in my eyes,
If ever my ears forget
the sounds and songs of your voice,
And is becomes as if
I had never met you,
My poems will cease to write
their words upon the page,
My dreams will collapse into
confusion every time I sleep,
My music will stumble as
my fingers displace their skill,
And my heart will beat -
if still it can -
with anguish and slow rhythmic decay.

Breathing Life

Oy. It's April already. The air smells thoroughly of Spring, the birds sing loud and joyful, the crocuses defy the remaining chill in the air to open their hearts to the still-strained sunlight. I saw a baby beaver today. I touched some trees. I heard the water lap, and I breathed life. There is something to be said for a cold and white winter: the change into Spring is better appreciated.

School, of course, goes. I'm registered for classes for the fall, although they might (i.e., hopefully) change. I need to figure out next year's living situation, which might prove tricky and will demand careful thought. This summer is still an unknown which daunts me. I need to listen to music more.

I watched The Count of Monte Cristo this evening; I liked it very much. They made it a happy ending, with a good moral, which is fine, just not what I expected. I need to re-read the book, because I remember so little.

I feel a little like a shadow, insubstantial and vague. Perhaps the piercing light of spring is driving through the mist and facades to reveal the truth lack of solidity. Perhaps something else. I don't know, and at the moment, I don't mind. Funny how a good dose of breathing clears everything up just enough to continue.