Breakfast in Bed

I am eating Toppers pizza in bed. It is 11:46 AM. The cardboard box containing the remains –  or rather, what used to contain the remains as of approximately 22 seconds ago – of the medium-sized Hawaiian pie I was coerced into buying (ok, it didn’t take much effort from the guy working behind the counter to convince me to get a medium instead of a small) is sitting on the ground next to my bed. I just ate the last couple of slices upon waking up. It is 11:46 AM. I’m cute.

But life is stressful sometimes, you have to treat yourself, right? Ok, I know what you’re thinking. What could be stressful in your life right now, Caitlin? It’s summer, you’re 21, you’re intelligent, you’re gorgeous, you’ve got that quality about you that makes you just quirky enough to be unique and cool but not awkward and weird, you never do anything wrong, you have millions of guys pining for your affection, you’re a role model, everyone wants to be your friend, the list goes on and on. I know, I get it, I’m amazing. But the perfect people always have it the hardest, I swear! To prove it, read one of my absolute favorite articles on the critically-acclaimed, award-winning news outlet, Thought Catalog. Shoutout to my practically-as-beautiful-as-me-but-not-quite friend Kelsey Arneson for sharing. #SoRelatable #PrettyGirlRock

Side note – if you’re new here, I like to consider myself well-versed in sarcasm. Welcome to the inner oddities of my mind.

The stresses in my life derive from my tendency to take on way more than the recommended serving size (example A – the Toppers pizza). I don’t want to bore you with the gory details – perhaps I will save them for another blog post – but in short, this summer I am attempting to complete an internship at a local nonprofit, research and analyze Sylvia Plath’s archives, study for the LSAT, prepare a workshop on voluntourism for NJSLC, plan the CSU Fall Conference, etc. And, in typical Caitlin Wright fashion, I have been trying my darnedest to avoid all responsibilities. It’s working quite splendidly, if I do say so myself.

Truly, I can’t wait to share the results of these summer pursuits, but right now, they’re all quite daunting. I’m staring into the depths of an incredibly incomplete list, and each item is sharply and distinctly punching me in the face until I’m left gasping for air à la Jon Snow beating Ramsay Bolton’s face in S6 E9 (spoiler alert…sorry).

Summers are meant for freedom, though. They’re meant for driving down Dodge with the windows rolled down, the sun setting in its “I’m the prettiest sunset in the world which doesn’t make any sense because it’s Nebraska but hey it’s true” kind of way, and blasting First Aid Kit’s “Stay Gold” album on the way to another College World Series game. Even though I should be staying home and staring at a computer screen for the rest of the night until my eyes are permanently crossed (in my childhood, my mom actually told me that if I crossed my eyes for too long, they would get stuck. And even though it’s a horrendously false threat, I plan on telling my future children the exact same), I am headed for the championship of the greatest game on dirt. My cousin goes to Coastal Carolina, I have to go.

So, what have we learned from this? That you should always keep a pizza near your sleeping quarters and you should never rely on Caitlin to conceal GoT spoilers, that’s what. Hold the door, those don’t seem like rational life lessons. Yeah, well, life’s not fair. Sometimes you expect to actually get something out of your reading, and sometimes you question why you even learned to read in the first place (dear God, I hope you never actually question your own literacy, it’s a gift #ReadLeadAchieve). What I want to share is this: don’t take your summer for granted. Hang out with your friends at all times, make them see an indie movie at FilmStreams called The Lobster that they think is a documentary about lobsters (hint: it’s not), attend the concert of a small band at a small venue, roast marshmallows over the eternal flame on Creighton’s campus, host a book club, blast the Hamilton soundtrack on repeat (I’m begging you), buy a bus ticket to New York City, call your best friend from home, plan a road trip to the Twin Cities, wear a bralette, inform yourself on political issues, sing Disney songs with your roommate on the ukulele, empower yourself and others, and live a little. Not to say the serious stuff like internships, research, and conferences aren’t extremely important and exciting, too, because they most definitely are, but there are also times to not take life too seriously.

Here’s my lesson: Life’s too short to cry over the coffee I spilled in my car this morning.

Yours,

C.W.

 

Required Reading – Summer 2016

Last night, at approximately 2:06 AM, I tweeted the following: “who wants to be in a summer book club anyone please I promise literature is fun and awesome and all the cool kids are doing it.” Please interpret my lack of punctuation or any sort of grammatical form as a call for urgency. This is important stuff, people.

I did not expect a response, but it seems like people are down with the idea, so if you want to be in my summer book club, hmu txt it😉😉😉. No but seriously, I created a Facebook event. The first novel we will be discussing over coffee, tea, mimosas, and dainty French pastries (or, more likely, Cheerios and burnt toast) is The Sympathizer by Viet Thanh Nguyen. It won the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Might as well start big, right?

But if you cannot make it to my book club (a fate of which I will resent you forever), I am providing a summer reading list below. Many of my loyal followers – ugh, er – friends have asked for suggestions, so I figured I should give the people what they want. Most of these novels were once required reading for me (shoutout to my beloved English teachers in good ol’ PL, you guys are rockstars), and though they seemed burdensome at the time, they are some of the most important pieces of literature I have encountered over summers past. Whether mandatory for my brilliant public education or not, they are each riveting and significant and will challenge your way of thinking in one way or another (hopefully). You’re welcome.

1. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card
2. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
3. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
4. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer
5. Night by Elie Wiesel
6. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
7. The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros
8. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chobsky
9. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
10. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
    • Ok, I didn’t technically read this one over the summer, but you should read it immediately because if I don’t already talk about Plath enough, her words will be pouring out of my mouth like wine out of a narrow-mouthed bottle this summer (name that Shakespearean reference).

Yours,

C.W.

Para Mi Amiga, Míriam

A gaggle of privileged college students, including myself, sat in a dusty classroom in Sector 2 of Villa El Salvador, Perú, an urban slum on the outskirts of the metropolis of Lima. It was 9:15 am. Most of us had a cup of black coffee or coca tea perched on our desks and were dressed in sweatpants and sweatshirts, having just woken up half an hour before to shower quickly and eat a breakfast consisting of bread, butter, and eggs. While listening to the hustle and bustle outside – an assortment of car horns, screaming school children, and M1 bus drivers – I observed the sky. Today, it was nothing but a solid sheet of grey, but it was always grey, and the air was saturated with the odor of fish and burning trash. The ocean was not far from here, but we could not see it, even from the rooftop, because the smog was too thick from the fires in the streets and the nearby factories.

We had been in Villa for a couple of weeks now, but to most, it had felt much longer than that. Our expectations were shattered the moment we stepped on the bus after leaving the Lima airport. We sat in silence as we cruised down the highway, watching the immaculate beach chateaus become graffiti-covered shacks propped up in the sand with an assortment of cardboard and tin.

When I exited the bus after the hour-long drive, I walked hesitantly through the gates of our retreat center. Then, I heard the dogs for the first time. They barked and howled and scuffled into the night, throughout the early morning, and were only drowned out when the inhabitants of Villa arose to begin their daily tasks. Throughout the day, the mutts ran alongside the hundreds of battered cars, nipped at the ankles of children on their way to school, and sat outside the many dingy storefronts, hoping for someone to drop a scrap of chicken or bread.

When I tried to fall asleep last night, I heard the dogs, and strained once again to determine how I would describe my experience thus far. Most of us did not know how we felt about our journey, not yet. We missed home in the United States where we were guaranteed comfort and safety, rather than a place where two of our student leaders were robbed at gunpoint on the first Sunday after our arrival. But we were adventurous, passionate, curious, and inspired by the idea that we could create a better environment in this solemn place through our academics and our volunteer work. We needed to remind ourselves of this constantly so that we did not spend our entire six weeks resenting the expensive decision.

When asked why we chose to study abroad in Villa El Salvador, Perú, the initial response from many of the students was something along the lines of, “I want to help people.” Coming from a Jesuit university, it was no surprise that this was the common sentiment. We were trained to think of others, to think of the greater good of humanity, and to think of changing the world. We were raised to have big dreams for the future, and why wouldn’t we? The society we grew up in allowed and encouraged us to do so, because with enough “hard work” and “determination”, we could achieve anything.

Dr. Kyle Woolley, my sociology professor, decided to demolish these preconceptions in our class today. He opened the door to the classroom with his Nalgene thermos in hand, plugged his laptop into the single wall outlet, and promptly started his lecture.

“If you think that you, as an individual, can change the world, you are mistaken. And this program is not going to be successful or serve any kind of purpose to you if you continue to think this way.”

I was dumbfounded. Being the argumentative and self-righteous student that I am, I raised my hand immediately.

“Excuse me, Kyle, but what do you mean? Aren’t we all supposed to have a mission for change? If not, what are we all doing here? How do we achieve progress?”

Kyle shook his head, set down his water bottle, and explained.

“You are one person – a privileged student from the United States. You exist in the class for the wealthy, while the Peruvian citizens here, do not. We are all members of a class system because humans cling to some sort of hierarchal structure. It’s in our nature, and we cannot survive without it. We, as single entities, cannot break this class system. Let’s talk about Marx.”

In The Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels famously began their dialogue by stating, “The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles” (Marx and Engels 21). In the early- to mid-1800s, Marx and Engels noted the ever-increasing division between what they deemed the Bourgeoisie and the Proletariat. The Bourgeoisie consisted of lords, patricians, masters, and/or any man with wealth. The Proletariat consisted of plebeians, serfs, laborers, and/or any man who had to work hard for little wages. Most simply, this division represented the conflict between rich and poor.

Because money determines power and power determines social change, the Bourgeoisie historically has been the class to rule. They became the oppressors, and the Proletariat became the oppressed. This left no room for the Proletariat to succeed, unless they chose to revolt. Marx and Engels analyzed the society rooted in oppression and concluded that in the history of this kind of opposition, a “fight” always arose, “a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes” (Marx and Engels 21). Marx and Engels argued that revolution was inevitable if the Proletariat wanted to rise. So, where was the revolution in Perú?

In the early 1980s, a communist group in the mountains of Perú began to gain power. Sendero Luminoso, or Shining Path, was led by a college professor by the name of Abimael Guzmán. A Marxist himself, Guzmán convinced his classes that the impoverished indigenous peoples of Perú were being mistreated and deserved better. Together, they rose up, and gained a multitude of followers, most of who were in the working class. Guzmán took advantage of the large, misinformed population of indigenous citizens in the mountains, only to turn against them. He began slaughtering anyone he did not consider a worthy and pure Peruvian, the very people he had originally been advocating for. He turned against them, a traitor, but became dictator of the nation of Perú (Informe Comisión Verdad Perú). The revolution Marx described had been stolen from the working class and made to benefit the rich.

Millions of individuals and families fled from the mountains to escape the genocide, but Lima was not suited to hold the large masses. Villa El Salvador was formed as a means of temporary living (Informe Comisión Verdad Perú). The crowded shacks I first witnessed from the coach bus were not supposed to be permanent residences, but they stayed, and expanded, for twenty years. Little progress was made. A few of the major roads were paved, but most of the streets were still only sand. Just five years ago, Villa El Salvador received a system of running water. Why were things moving so slowly? Why had the conditions been accepted for what they were? Where were the leaders? Where was the advocacy?

Kyle, again, addressed Marx.

“These classes, the Bourgeoisie and the Proletariat, are engrained in our societal structure. Not only is it historically impossible to live without them, we rely on them. From where you stand, as an affluent American citizen, you have no power to change the lives of the people here. A revolution must occur from the bottom, not from the top.”

My head was pounding. I raised my hand again.

“So…why are we here? If I can’t do anything…if I can’t change anyone’s life at all…if I can’t change the world, what’s the point?”

Many of the students in the class looked as puzzled as I did. We were under the impression that because we were educated, because we had opportunities others did not or could not afford to have, it was our civic duty to do something with our privilege. Kyle continued.

“Charity versus justice. Think about it.  Right now, you all believe that you need to ‘help’ some poor group you’ve labeled as a ‘them’. With this in mind, you’re only worsening the divide Marx defined. You think of yourselves as superior. Right now, you’re voluntourists, watching, but not actually seeing the human worth in the people here. You want to ‘help’ them instead of ‘serve’ them. You need to get out of this mindset. Charity does not create change, justice creates change.”

I wondered what voluntourism was comprised of and began to do some research. I found that most voluntourist groups are comprised of members of the same social class. The travelers are wealthy citizens, easily able to spend money on an international excursion. They also share a desire to help or serve others to some degree. This commonality provides a falsified perception of poverty that “may be reinforced by their experiences if they are not encouraged to question the broader processes behind such issues” (Raymond and Hall 533). In addition, “some theorists explain that the reason why voluntourism may be purported as positive is because researchers focus primarily on the individual’s motivations, experience, and perspectives, while neglecting the opinions of the host communities” (Sin 984; Connan 1454). These perceptions and neglect only lead to further ignorance that sustains the separation between the “us” (the West) and the “them” (the Orient).

Most voluntourism programs focus on the voluntourist’s desire to “make a difference” and “may neglect local desires (such as what the community defines as its needs) and focus on creating what ‘outsiders’ claim as progress in the host community, while generating profit for the sending organization” (Guttentag 541). Sustainable development cannot be achieved because those involved are not aware of the needs of the community. Most of the participants have no previous knowledge of the people or their social situation. This knowledge is essential to creating actual progress. How can a person create solutions if he/she is unaware of the problems? Instead, “voluntourism can act as an artificial support, but it does not address larger structural issues that can create long-term positive change” (Guttentag 546).  Most of the “volunteering” on these excursions, as previously mentioned, comes in the form of donations or labor. If a child is hungry, the voluntourist provides a meal. If a family’s house needs repair, the voluntourist builds a new one. Though this aid is still very important, the fix is similar to continually placing duct tape over a leak when water trickles out; it is easy, quick, temporary, and ultimately, the problem still remains. This is evident in the fact that, “it is widely accepted that foreign aid provided by wealthy nations during the past five decades has failed to reverse global patterns of poverty and inequality” (Ovaska).

The ideas of “helping” and “giving” are some of the greatest problems within voluntourism. Barbara Vodopivec, a researcher who studied voluntourism in Latin America, tells Dobrovolny, “Voluntourism has popularized the idea of how we have to change the so-called ‘other’ and not actually critically reflect on our own behaviors and lifestyles” (Dobrovolny 59). The concept of the privileged giving to the marginalized serves only to extend and foster class inequality. Advantaged individuals believe it is their duty to give to the less fortunate, but essentially “reinforce negative stereotypes about other cultures as simple, primitive or less developed” (Guttentag 546) because “voluntourism agencies have sold us on the idea that there are people ‘out there’ who need our help, overshadowing the question of how modifying our own lifestyles might equally bring about positive change” (Dobrovolny 59).

Though they may not originally recognize it themselves, the harsh reality conveys that the intentions of voluntourists are fairly selfish in nature. The individual tends to receive personal benefits and self-gratification through his/her experience, creating social egoism (Coghlan and Fennell 393). Instead of questioning the matrix of domination, voluntourists are typically proud and self-satisfied with the experience. One particular participant commented that the family she served, “seemed very grateful for the help we were giving them and tried to accommodate us as best they could” (Palacios 867).  “Help” and “giving” do not create sustainability or solidarity, but rather support the idea that the “giver” is the superior being and the “receiver” is the inferior being. “Help” and “giving” encourage Marx’s idea of the “iron cage” of rationality in which we are all trapped. The girl felt good about herself for “making a difference,” but did not provide any discussion toward equality and class-consciousness.

Ultimately, to achieve true change toward global justice, a community must attain class-consciousness, or an understanding of their position in society and how to take action toward upward mobility. This is an undeniably difficult task, because “people cannot simply be told to change; they have to discover change through personal experiences” (Gordon).

I was absolutely overwhelmed.  I was a voluntourist? I did not know what to do other than take notes on what Kyle told me, close my notebook, and move on with my day. We would be leaving for the Association soon enough, and then I would forget all of the trivial matters of schoolwork.

The Association did not look like much. It was a two-story brick building with a gated entrance. On the left side were two kitchens, one to feed adults of the community and the other to feed the children. On the right side were classrooms, three on the ground floor and one on the top accompanied by a dance studio. Behind the Association sat the Pronoei, a preschool with four classrooms and a limited amount of teachers that came and went frequently. We came to the Association every day, and each of us had a routine.

When I stepped off the M1 bus and made the trek up the sand to the Association, I thought about visiting Míriam first. Míriam was my best friend. She was five years old.  Whenever I entered a room, she would reveal a toothy grin and squeal, “¡Mi amiga, Catalina!” while running to leap into my arms. Yesterday, she wrote her name on my arm as I snuck a piece of candy into her pencil box. We talked about her siblings and pretended to be doctors. Her teacher brought balloons, and we crammed one under my shirt. Míriam was my midwife, and I was going to have a baby (well, a balloon, that is). Oh, how we laughed. I laid on the floor and pushed the balloon out from under my shirt over and over, Míriam giggling louder and louder each time. Then, we would tickle each other until we were both crying and our stomachs hurt from cackling and I had to go back to our retreat center for the night.

But in those moments, I would not and could not say truthfully that Míriam was happy. She shared a small home with five siblings and both of her parents. She did not have her own room. She wore dirty clothes every day and her shoes did not fit properly. Sure, she smiled and laughed and did well on her math and reading worksheets, but her reality was much different than our precious moments in the Association. If she grew up to be like many of the other young girls in Villa, she would not go to college. She might not even go to high school. It was likely that she would have her first child by age eighteen. She would rely on the Association for basic necessities like food and clothing for the rest of her life. She would live in a home similar to the one she currently resided in, and she would never leave Villa El Salvador.

That night during our reflection at the retreat center, I began to cry. I held back my tears for as long as I could until the lump in the back of my throat throbbed. I wept over my horrible guilt. It wasn’t fair; life just wasn’t fair. If our roles had been reversed, if Míriam had been born to a well-endowed family in the United States, she could be happy! She could go to school and start a career and make a life for herself instead of wondering whether she was going to have food the next day. Why couldn’t I just give her money? Why couldn’t I just adopt her and bring her to the United States? I felt so much frustration and anxiety that I lost the ability to express my feelings verbally. I couldn’t stop crying. Never before had a felt so entirely helpless.

Kyle pulled me aside after our reflection.

“Caitlin, I understand that you feel guilty, but look at me. Guilt is a selfish feeling. It is useless and unnecessary to feel guilty, because feeling guilty means you are only thinking of yourself, once again, dividing the classes. You have no control over the fact that you were born into privilege and Míriam was not. It is not your fault, and it is nothing you can fix.”

I sniffled, “But why not? What am I doing here, Kyle? What’s the point?”

Kyle looked away from my face, rubbed his eyes, and turned back toward me.

“How do you feel about Míriam?”

I furrowed my eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, how do you feel about Míriam?”

I paused, looked down and said, “Well, she’s five, but she’s my best friend here. I think of her as the little sister I never had. I love her.”

Kyle smiled.

“Exactly, that’s what we’re doing. We’re building relationships with people. We’re learning for and with others, in solidarity. We’re not here to create change, we’re here to love and support and learn from one another. Because that’s what life is about, right? Life is not about failures and successes and having unattainable goals. It’s about doing the best with what you have. It’s about learning and understanding the world for what it is. Because when we all recognize the oppression, recognize the unfairness, and recognize the injustices, that’s when change occurs: in the recognition process itself. Class-consciousness, that’s what we’re aiming for.”

I paused, took a deep breath, shook my head, and smirked.

“So I’m not a voluntourist?”

Kyle laughed.

“No, you are not a voluntourist. The fact that you are asking the big questions proves why you are not a voluntourist. Voluntourists only think of themselves. You are thinking about the class system Marx describes, why it is in place, and how it must transform so that we can achieve equality. Those are not the thoughts of a voluntourist.”

I sighed.

“I guess you’re right. Thanks, Kyle. I just have one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“So if I can’t change the world the way I initially thought, how can I make strides toward achieving justice?”

Kyle shrugged and gestured toward me.

“Do exactly what you’re doing right now. Create a dialogue. Share your experiences and prompt people about their thoughts. Sparking a discussion about our society is the most important step right now. Injustice continues because of ignorance. If people take the time to learn, take the time to teach themselves and others, the next steps toward action are easy. It’s the awareness that is difficult to accomplish.”

I walked back to my bedroom, changed into my pajamas, climbed into my bed, pulled the alpaca blanket over my head, and closed my eyes. This, I thought, was how I could attain the progress I so desperately desired. I needed to share my story and apply it to the rest of my studies.

I listened to the dogs barking once more as I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Míriam and the brightly colored balloons that we would play with once more tomorrow. Though she was only five, she was the future. She could learn from me, and I could learn from her. Together, hand-in-hand, side-by-side, we could represent solidarity and advocate for justice. This is why I decided to travel to Perú, this is why I would stay, and this is why I would most likely return. For Míriam.

Works Cited

Coghlan, Alexandra, and David Fennell. “Myth or Substance: An Examination of Altruism as the Basis of Volunteer Tourism.” Annals of Leisure Research 12.3-4 (2009): 377-402. Web.

Conran, Mary. “They Really Love Me! Intimacy in Volunteer Tourism.” Annals of Tourism Research (2011): 1454-1473.

Dobrovolny, M. “Confessions of a voluntourist.” New Internationalist (2012). 58-59.

Gordon, L. “Social Movements, Leadership, and Democracy: Toward More Utopian Mistakes.” Journal of Women’s History (2002): 117.

Guttentag, Daniel A. “The Possible Negative Impacts of Volunteer Tourism.” International Journal of Tourism Research (2009): 537-551.

“Informe Comisión Verdad Perú: EL PARTIDO COMUNISTA DEL PERÚ SENDERO LUMINOSO.” Informe Comisión Verdad Perú: EL PARTIDO COMUNISTA DEL PERÚ SENDERO LUMINOSO. N.p., n.d. Web. 17 Dec. 2015. <http://www.derechos.org/nizkor/peru/libros/cv/ii/ori.html&gt;.

Marx, Karl, Friedrich Engels, and Paul M. Sweezy. The Communist Manifesto. New York: Monthly Review, 1964. Print.

Ovaska, T. “The failure of development aid.” Cato Journal (2003): 175-188.

Palacios, C. “Volunteer tourism, development and education in a postcolonial world: conceiving global connections beyond aid.” Journal of Sustainable Tourism (2010): 861-878.

Raymond, E., Hall, C. “The Development of Cross-Cultural (Mis)Understanding Through Volunteer Tourism.” Journal Of Sustainable Tourism (2008): 530-543.

Sin. Hamg Luh. “Who are we responsible to? Locals’ tales of volunteer tourism.” Geoforum (2010): 983-992.

Songs of Springtime

I told myself that if I went to Urban Abbey and spent $3 on parking and $10 on food when I have absolutely no money, I would actually concentrate on important matters like final projects, essays, and LSAT prep. It’s cute how I lie to myself. While I’m laughing at my pathetic existence, here are the songs I’ll be listening to.

1. “Tokyo Sunrise” – LP
2. “Trndsttr (Lucian Remix)[feat. M. Maggie]” – Black Coast, M. Maggie, Lucian
   • I’m notorious for pulling people aside in Skutt and making them listen to this track. It’s also the best road trip song ever, as proved on #SprangBreak2k16 to Albuquerque.
3. “The Motherlode” – The Staves
4. “Empress” – Morningsiders
5. “More Heart, Less Attack” – NEEDTOBREATHE
6. “My Neck, My Back – Live” – Elle King
   • Listen to Elle when she declares at the beginning of the recording, “If you don’t want to hear a filthy song, get the f*** out please.” She’s not kidding, this song is astonishingly obscene, but it makes me happy. Idk, man.
7. “Kickin’ da Leaves” – Judah & the Lion
8. “Bad Idea” – Jessie Mueller, Drew Gehling
   • Surprise, surprise, Caitlin put a Broadway song on this list. But Sara Bareilles wrote the score for a new musical called Waitress and it’s beautiful and romantic and fun and I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for at least 1,000 of the views that the Broadway.com video has. Go watch it right now, you’ll be hooked.
9. “Candyman” – Zedd, Aloe Blac
   • Amanda’s taste in music is clearly rubbing off on me considering there are two EDM-esque songs on this list. I don’t even know what genre they’re technically classified as, and I guess I could look it up, but then I would have to put in effort. *flips hair and scoffs*
10. “Angela” – The Lumineers
    • The Lumineers haven’t released anything since 2012, so I have been waiting for this since before my high school graduation. That’s a long time considering I’m 21 now and still listening to music instead of doing my homework. Give their newest album, “Cleopatra,” a listen.

And what would a blog post by Caitlin be without some narcissistic self-promotion? Go follow me on Spotify, or let me get onto your Spotify account and hit that “follow” button before you even know what’s happening.

Oscar Predictions 2016

Well, it’s been quite the journey to get to this point. I’d like to thank my family, my friends, and my Twitter followers for always standing by my side (minus the 12 of you that unfollow me every year at this time, but that’s irrelevant). I couldn’t do any of this without you. It’s time for…THE ACADEMY AWARDS. Turn your iPhone flashlight on and off vigorously to amp yourself up, because this year’s a doozy, so let’s get started.

My prediction for the winner is bolded and my favorite nominee is marked with an asterisk in each category.

Be sure to check out http://www.indiewire.com and http://www.russellreviews.com for better commentary. They’re the experts.

Best Picture

•  Spotlight
• The Big Short
• The Revenant
• Mad Max: Fury Road
• The Martian
• Bridge of Spies
• Brooklyn*
• Room

Many people are predicting The Revenant because it has done well at the Golden Globes, BAFTA, etc., but I’m going to take a bit of a risk (especially because I was wrong in this category last year…not like I’m bitter or anything). If Spotlight does not win, The Revenant will.

Best Director

• Tom McCarthy (Spotlight)
• Adam McKay (The Big Short)
• George Miller (Mad Max: Fury Road)
• Alejandro González Iñárritu (The Revenant)
• Lenny Abrahamson (Room)*

If Miller doesn’t win, Iñárritu may bring home his second consecutive award.

Best Actor

• Bryan Cranston (Trumbo)
• Matt Damon (The Martian)
• Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant)
• Michael Fassbender (Steve Jobs)
• Eddie Redmayne (The Danish Girl)

Will Leo finally get his Oscar? I sure hope so, mostly because people will be forced to stop complaining about his losing streak.

Best Actress

• Cate Blanchett (Carol)
• Brie Larson (Room)*
• Jennifer Lawrence (Joy)
• Charlotte Rampling (45 Years)
• Saoirse Ronan (Brooklyn)

I am a huge fangirl of both Brie and Saoirse, who are the frontrunners in this category, so even if I am wrong and it goes to Saoirse, I will most likely still be weeping tears of joy.

Best Supporting Actor

• Christian Bale (The Big Short)
• Tom Hardy (The Revenant)
• Mark Ruffalo (Spotlight)
• Mark Rylance (Bridge of Spies)
• Sylvester Stallone (Creed)

If Stallone doesn’t win, Hardy will.

Best Supporting Actress

• Jennifer Jason Leigh (The Hateful Eight)
• Rooney Mara (Carol)
• Rachel McAdams (Spotlight)
• Alicia Vikander (The Danish Girl)
• Kate Winslet (Steve Jobs)

If Vikander doesn’t win, Winslet will.

Best Animated Feature

• Anomalisa
• Boy and the World
• Inside Out*
• When Marnie Was There
• Shaun the Sheep

This is the prediction I am most sure of, and so well deserved. Side note – the parallels between Inside Out and my own life are uncanny.

Best Original Screenplay

• Matt Charman, Joel & Ethan Coen (Bridge of Spies)
• Pete Docter, Meg LeFauve, Josh Cooley (Inside Out)*
• Tom McCarthy and Josh Singer (Spotlight)
• Alex Garland (Ex Machina)
• Jonathan Herman, Andrea Berloff, S. Leigh Savidge and Alan Wenkus (Straight Outta Compton)

I’m guessing the Academy doesn’t have the guts to give this award to an animated film this year, so I’m going to predict Spotlight, but if Spotlight doesn’t win, it will be Inside Out.

Best Adapted Screenplay

• Emma Donoghue (Room)
• Drew Goddard (The Martian)
• Nick Hornby (Brooklyn)*
• Adam McKay and Charles Randolph (The Big Short)
• Phyllis Nagy (Carol)

The folks at Indiewire think The Martian is a potential spoiler, but if The Martian wins I will throw my popcorn at the wall. Great film, but nothing special.

Best Cinematography

• Carol (Ed Lachman)
• The Hateful Eight (Robert Richardson)
• Mad Max: Fury Road (John Seale)*
• The Revenant (Emmanuel Lubezki)
• Sicario (Roger Deakins)

I think Lubezki has a good shot at the three-peat (winning the past two years for Gravity and Birdman), which would be incredible, but the cinematography in Mad Max is phenomenal and deserves the recognition, too.

Wistful Winter

It’s 11:06 pm on a Sunday night (Sunday bloody Sunday), but it’s not just any Sunday night. It’s Valentine’s Day. Earlier this afternoon, I gazed out of my window at the masses of suitors lined up at my front door (they’ve been standing in the cold for hours, poor things) and listened to some of my favorite winter tracks while they shuffled around Gifford Park waiting for me to make an appearance. I never did satisfy their wishes, but hey,  sometimes you just can’t get what you want. There’s always next year, boys. But while you wait, I encourage you to check out the songs I was listening to while you attempted to toss rocks at my window. Maybe the tunes will mend your broken hearts until next Valentine’s Day.

All jokes aside, these songs are amazing. Follow me on Spotify if you’re into that sort of thing: https://open.spotify.com/user/1221683022.

1. “Home” – Dan Croll
2. “Between the Bars” – Elliot Smith (fun fact – this song is featured in two of my all-time favorite films even though they were released 15 years apart)
3. “My Love Took Me Down to the River to Silence Me” – Green Cars
4. “It’s Strange (feat. K.Flay)” – Louis the Child, K.Flay
5. “Wait for Me” – Motopony
6. “Not Your Way” – Misterwives
7. “Windows” – Prinze George
8. “Thank You” – Bombadil
9. “Ophelia” – The Lumineers
10. “Trouble Comes in Threes” – Bridget Davis and the Viking Kings

21 things I’ve learned in 21 years.

Two of my best friends, Karlie Kloss and Alexa Losey, posted videos of what they’ve learned in their years whilst inhabiting the Earth, and they BEGGED me to make a list, too. I reminded them as I do my millions of followers, I never take requests, but after they sobbed for several hours, I said sure. Ugh, they are so annoying sometimes…just kidding. Karlie Kloss is a model and Alexa Losey is a YouTuber and both of them are WAY too cool to be friends with me, but hey, maybe one day they’ll fall from grace and have to join the ranks of the lowly plebeians like me, who in five years, will most likely still be consuming Lunchables for breakfast and sleeping with a baby blanket. Though they are not actually my friends (tears for years), they did, in fact, make said YouTube videos (23 Things I’ve Learned in 23 Years and 21 Things I’ve Learned at 21), and, in the spirit of NYE, inspired me to make and share a list as well.  So, without further ado, here are 21 things I’ve learned in my 21 years.

1. If you’re going to spend money, spend it on experiences rather than things. My best purchases have included concert tickets, registration fees for service and justice trips, and sorority dues.
2. Though people will tell you to choose, chocolate is not better than cheese and cheese is not better than chocolate. They coexist as the two finest delicacies the culinary world has to offer.
3. Go on road trips with your best friends and scream the lyrics to your favorite middle school jamz, every Taylor Swift album, scores of Broadway musicals, “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen, and all the weird indie stuff you have your Spotify playlists.
4. Never buy expensive sunglasses or earrings, you will undoubtedly lose/break them.
5. Keep memorabilia from events or activities you have been involved in – whether it’s your first engraved nametag from Welcome Week (I swea) or a candle from a retreat (#LiveTheFourth #Encounter31). Your mom will probably accuse you of developing hoarding habits, but hey, if they hold a special place in your heart, keep them anyway.
6. Though sharing time with friends and family is incredibly valuable and important, it’s ok to be alone sometimes. In fact, you should revel in your alone time. Your young adult years are brief, but vital. Process your thoughts and feelings completely on your own. Figure yourself out. You do you.
7. Read literature. Read poetry. Read scholarly essays. Read the newspaper. Read everything.
8. Lay in a field in the middle of Iowa or northern Minnesota or Ayacucho, Perú and marvel at the immeasurable beauty and expanse of the stars.
9. You don’t have to have your entire life mapped out at age 15, 18, or 21 for that matter. Let the journey mold you rather than the destination.                                             Number 9 and 3/4 – read and watch Harry Potter. Bloody hell, if you haven’t done this already, get your act together.
10. ” Write, ‘fart in front of your friends to establish dominance.'” – Adrienne Pyle
11. Stay up until 4:00 am discussing the big stuff – the infiniteness of the universe, the obscurity of individual human life, etc. These conversations can lead to some cool conclusions.
12. Write about things that make you feel. Write about things that matter.
13. Download Flashgap and make all of your friends download it, too (am I rep for Flashgap? Probably). Just do it.
14. Never go to bed angry. It sucks to wake up and remember you’re fighting about something with someone. It’s all irrelevant in the end.
15. You will make mistakes, but the important thing is to not dwell on the past. Be the best person you can be in the present and for the future.
16. If you genuinely and wholeheartedly find enjoyment in something, whether it’s wearing socks with your Birkenstocks, participating in competitive speaking, or writing a blog (lol), don’t let anyone ruin your perception of it. It’s all yours.
17. Finding friends who genuinely love and support you and live-tweet the Oscars with you and quote Spongebob for hours and convince you to hang out when you should be studying is the most special thing in the entire world. Find the people that make your heart happy.
18. Things change. People change. And that’s ok. In fact, maybe it should be encouraged.
19. The only person you have control over is yourself.
20. Play the song “Ribs” by Lorde at full volume in your car on a summer night with all of the windows rolled down. It’s a euphoric experience.
21. Make this your mantra: “If you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has  been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. Follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.” ― Joseph Campbell

Goodbye and thank you, 2015. It’s been real.

C.W.

You win every so often, you lose the majority of the time.

After much thought and deliberation, I’ve decided that my life motto at the ripe young age of 21 is a slight moderation of the common phrase, “You win some, you lose some.” Instead, I prefer the expression, “You win every so often, you lose the majority of the time.” The typical response I receive after saying this is a gasp, a giggle, and something along the lines of, “Caitlin, that’s super cynical. Stop.” The way I see it, I’ve simply learned to accept the fact that I am not always going to get what I want. I’m going to make mistakes. I’m going to fail. I’m going to fall into the deep end, but you better believe I’m going to paddle like hell to get back to shore. And you know what? That’s ok. Failure is ok, because sometimes, the biggest blessings come from what may seem like the biggest disappointments.

Prepare yourselves, I’m about to crack open the yearbook, because one of the most pivotal moments of my life occurred in my senior year of high school. And even though high school feels like ages ago, in actuality, it’s only been a little over two years since I graduated. Before I begin, let me set the record straight. I could be that person that rants about being so happy to be out of the hellhole that is high school, but I was that loser that really enjoyed high school. I’m grateful for the four years I spent at PLHS, and I’m very fond of the memories. But there were also moments of pain, as there always are, and in March of my senior year, I thought my life had ended (dramatic, I know).

In 2012, I was applying to colleges across the country, but everyone (and I mean everyone) knew I really only had one institution on my radar: the University of Notre Dame. Though he’ll tell you he didn’t doing anything to influence my ardor for ND, my Domer dad raised me to love the Irish just as much as he does. We took family trips to South Bend every summer, wore Irish onesies as infants, and cheered on the blue and gold every fall during football season. My brother Steven had a piggy bank as a child that was engraved with the phrase, “Notre Dame Tuition.” My brother Zach, who is nearing 20 and attends Saint Louis University, still has Notre Dame wall decor in his room. When I was in the third grade, I told my mom I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up, and she replied that she would not pay for me to go to Notre Dame to become a teacher. I was eight years old. That’s a little messed up.

In most regards, I am thankful I grew up with aspirations for South Bend. It made me work hard. It gave me motivation to push myself. But it also made me unbelievably anxious. I had panic attacks over my class rank, the honor societies I was inducted into, the leadership positions I held in every club the high school had to offer, etc. I told myself that if I did not do well on an exam, I wouldn’t get into Notre Dame. I told myself that if I did not compete at the state tournament for speech, Notre Dame wouldn’t want me. I watched clips of Rudy to pump myself up to write essays. I set pictures of Touchdown Jesus as my laptop wallpaper to remind myself to study instead of browse the Internet. To say I was obsessed would be an understatement. For the majority of my life, Notre Dame seemed like the only thing that actually mattered. I told myself I was worthless as a person if I didn’t succeed to the highest degree, because I would be worthless to Notre Dame.

Now, because I’ve told you this is a story about failure, you’ve probably already guessed what happened. Or, you know the grand finale of my sob story simply by the fact that I do not attend the University of Notre Dame. Toward the end of March in 2013, I raced home every day to check the mailbox. I was waiting on my final collegiate letter, the acceptance to make a perfect 7/7. I knew it would be tricky, I knew that the chances were slim, but I still thought I had an incredible shot. I want you to picture Rachel Berry from the hit TV show “Glee”, except not quite so extreme. That was me. I was the epitome of an over-achiever, and proud of it. I scoured online forums like College Confidential to review my chances. Reading post after post detailing the stats of students who were admitted and students who were not admitted, I was hopeful, especially as a legacy. That fateful day in March, right before Spring Break, I opened the mailbox, and low and behold, there was the letter I had been anticipating since I could comprehend the words “Notre Dame”. I stared at it, too afraid to pick it up, and the only thought that raced through my mind was, “Maybe acceptance letters don’t have to come in large packages.”

It was a small envelope, but I didn’t want to make assumptions. I didn’t want my dreams to be crushed simply by the dimensions of an envelope. Soon, I came to find that size does indeed matter. Hands shaking, heart pounding, I carefully tore open the letter. My eyes darted across the page for one word to confirm everything I had ever worked for, but the “Congratulations!” I so desperately coveted was nowhere to be found.

I began sobbing and crumbled into a fetal position. I didn’t know what else to do. Everything I had ever worked for, everything I had ever dreamed of, everything I had thought my future would entail had just been crushed in a one-page rejection letter. I couldn’t stop weeping. What would my family think? What would my friends think? What would my teachers think? I would have to tell them, they would all ask, and I would have to tell them that I failed. My life was over.

Please note, I am not looking for any sort of pity out of this, because alas, I came to find that my life was not over. Oh no, my life was far from over. A few weeks later, after a great deal of prayer and reflection, I chose the university I would attend for the next four years. I moped dejectedly for a week, but then I realized how pathetically I was acting. This rejection letter could not and would not define me! I stood up with my shoulders back and head held high. I was strong and smart and ambitious and brave and I would not let Notre Dame tell me I wasn’t, damn it! I would make my dreams come true no matter where I went to college, because I believed in myself.

To this day, I can’t explain why I chose Creighton University. Usually when people ask, I just tell them, “I came to Creighton by the Grace of God” because He knew I was incapable of deciding to move to Omaha, Nebraska on my own. The true story goes something like this: Somehow, Creighton kept popping up on my radar. I toured the school on a whim, I applied to the university on a whim, I applied to the Honors Program on a whim, I auditioned for the speech team on a whim, etc., and astonishingly, everything worked out in my favor. Over Spring Break, while gallivanting around Harry Potter World in Universal Studios, I tweeted a picture of Hogwarts with the caption “I’m home.” Soon after, Creighton replied with a picture of St. John’s and said, “We know it’s not Hogwarts, but St. John’s could be part of your new home at Creighton.” I’m not kidding, I practically made my decision on the spot (and practically peed my pants because Admissions is bloody brilliant. Seriously, kudos). I mean, is that magical or what? At that point, I was down to three schools, but something (God) was pulling me toward Creighton, I could feel it. I threw my arms up in the air, called my mom, and said, “Creighton’s it.”

Creighton has given me so much throughout the two and a half years I have been blessed to be a member of the community. From the greatest friends I’ve ever known, to passionate professors, to the Honors Program, to my sorority (lol disaffiliation), to Welcome Week, to my study abroad program in Perú, to SCSJ Service and Justice Trips, to Encounter, to music ministry, to the English Department, and to everything in between, I am beyond grateful. Creighton has taught me about life, and not just the how-tos of getting by, but why my existence, and the existence of all humans, matters. Creighton has taught me about forming real relationships. Creighton has taught me about the significance of solidarity. Creighton has taught me about cohesively working toward something greater (yo yo yo whaddup magis). Ultimately, Creighton has given me a place to call “home”. I don’t know what I did to deserve all of this, and, quite frankly, I don’t deserve any of it, but I thank God every single day for the pure and absolute joy that Creighton has given to me. I only hope that I have been and will be able to give even a portion of that bliss and service in return. And to think, I came to find all of this because of a one-page, flimsy little rejection letter. I would consider that a win.

See, folks, I told you this would have a happy ending! Now go out and eat a cake or something, you deserve it for getting through this long-winded and frantic piece of bitter disdain and momentous jubilation. And always remember, go Jays!

Most sincerely yours,

C.W.

P.S. Don’t you dare mention the fact that I am going into my second semester of junior year. I still feel like a freshman! I start to hyperventilate when I think about how quickly the time is passing. I’ve already thought about it too much just writing this. I need to stop, otherwise convulsions will ensue.

Acoustic Autumn

I think the title alone proves why I should work for Spotify. It sounds exactly like one of their pre-made playlists (probably because it is but I’m not going to check even though I have Spotify pulled up right now #JustLazyGirlThings).

Because I have absolutely superb music taste and I am a talented blogger (from Norway…inside joke, but if you want to be in on it watch this video: A Butter message to the USA!) and not conceited at all, I thought I would list a few slow jams that I have been crying to studying to this Fall.

1. “On the Frame” – Beta Radio
2. “Georgia” – Vance Joy (I saw this live when he opened for T. Swift and swooned so hard.)
3. “Saint Valentine” – Gregory Alan Isakov
4. “Carry Me” – Family of the Year
5. “Bella” – Angus and Julia Stone
6. “Lonely People” – America (This song needs to be in a film.)
7. “Ships in the Rain” – Lanterns on the Lake
8. “Ghost Inside Our House – Live” – Cloud Cult (This quite possibly may be my favorite song of all time. But no formal contracts have been made yet, so keep it on the DL.)
9. “Sedona” – Houndmouth
10. “All is Well” – Austin Basham

Twenty-fun-day (because 21 + fun + Sunday).

Sunday was a momentous day in the life of Caitlin Wright (aka me), but it was soon overshadowed by an even more dignified and sacred event: Columbus Day. Barf me a river. Honestly, I detest Columbus Day. I mean yeah, let’s celebrate a man who killed numerous indigenous peoples and then was like, “This land is (not) your land, this land is my land. Imma just take it. TY.” That sounds like a good idea. Happy October 12, ya’ll.

October 11, though, that day was a beaut. Honestly, the weather was fantastic and warm and the sun was shining and the birds were…not singing, but maybe they were, I can’t remember. C’mon, I’m a Midwesterner, did you really think I was going to get through this entire post without mentioning the weather? Aside from the weather, October 11, 2015 was amazing because it marked a significant time in a young girl’s life when she finally becomes a woman. Because to fully blossom into adulthood, one must be able to legally purchase and consume alcohol. That’s the only requirement. Everyone knows that. This is what gives me full privilege to walk around and do stupid things and yell, “I’m an adult!” Because I am.

Actually though, this weekend was spectacular, but mainly because I have the coolest friends on the entire planet. Seriously, major shout out to all of my beloved companions, because ya’ll are rockstars. But my mom has also made the joke that she pays for you to be friends with me far too many times to still be funny, so I am actually a bit concerned and uncomfortable. I guess I’ll just shake it off.

And on that note, I was privileged enough to see my queen, Taylor Swift, on Saturday night and let me tell you, my wildest dreams became reality. Well, I didn’t get to touch her face or play with her cats, but I got pretty close.  Dressed in 1989 apparel (or what I considered 1989 apparel), we were spastically dancing in the lower bowl of CenturyLink when Andrea Swift, Taylor Swift’s procreator, passed us. We leaned out and yelled, “Hi Andrea!” She smiled at us and said, “Come with me!” We screamed and ran down the stairs to the pit where I had the most sweaty, tear-inducing, euphoric experience of my life. Thank you, God, for making this possible. You da real MVP (side note – is it sacrilegious to call Our Lord “da real MVP”? I will have to ask Fr. Hendrickson the next time I see him).

All in all, I think my feelings about this weekend can best be summed up in a quote from one of my favorite philosophers: “I’m not lucky, I’m blessed, yes.” – Nicki Minaj

Peace and blessings,

C.W.