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I recently got an e-mail from a
good friend about a research project
she was working on. It was a ques
tionnaire to fill out and send back.
The-'interesting thing about this
particular questionnaire wasthatft ■
wasn’t about how I feel about the
environment or how much I liked the
state of our country or even about
what I do when I get up in the morn
ing (which is good; my process for
preparing for the day could frighten
pro wrestlers). It was a survey about
herself.
I know. You’re thinking: “A sur
vey about herself? How does that
work?” Well, it’s basically self
explanatory. She came up with ques
tions about her personality type, her
reactions to certain situations and
herself in general. All of the ques
tions centered around things that peo
ple think about themselves that their
friends sometimes see differently.
“Wow!” I thought. “What abril
liant concept!” A brilliant concept
from a brilliant person, but that’s
beside the point. The point is that I
thought it was brilliant.
It also got me to thinking. I start
ed wondering how it is possible to
totally gauge your own personality. I
mean, there are obviously some
things about yourself that absolutely
no one will know unless you tell
diem. On the other hand, everyone
has some things that go totally unno
ticed to ourselves. And if they’re not
unnoticed, we definitely perceive
them differently than die wonderful
world outside our brain.
— It is, however, possible to look at
yourself objectively. You just have to
partially step out of yourself for a
while. I know, I know, that’s a big step
for some of us, but it’s not impossi
ble, you can’t step totally out of your
self, though. If you did that you
would cease to be yourself- either
. that or you’ll spontaneously implode,
but that doesn’t happen very often.
To step out of yourself you have
to focus on yourself. And I don’t
mean start relating every single detail
of the day back to you in order to get
the attention of others. That’s not how
itworks.
I mean pay attention to yourself
sometimes. Listen to what you say to
others and how you say it That’s not
so bad, is it? You just might realize
that when you say something you
think is positive or very simple, that
it’s not. Think about it. Did you ever
say something, and everyone took it
the wrong way? Well, think about
what you said and how you said it,
and you just might realize that you
would have taken it the wrong way,
too.
You have to pay attention to what
you do, as well. Study your actions
and body positions when reacting to
certain statements, occurrences and
even certain people. You.just might
discover that when you thought you
weren’t reading at all; you were
telling everyone else youhate the
idea simply through yotir actions.
languages tell others? There’s a the
ater class about it. You might want to
ch©' JL
you, though, doing these
things can cause great stress on die
niind. You could discover things
about yourself you never thought you
were capable of doing. Trust me, I
know. There was a long period of
time when I thought there was no
way I ctmld think or say racist
thoughts.
Then I started listening to the
things I said regarding certain situa
tions and people. 1 scared die hell oul
«-——
There was a long period of time when I
thought there was no way I could think or
say racist thoughts.
of myself. I did, however, adjust
myself to what I thought was right,
but it wasn’t an easy task.
It took months of paying attention
to what I said and second-guessing
myself before I found myself saying
and thinking the way I thought was
proper.
/' Don’t get me wrong, I still have
thoughts I prefer not to have. In fact,
I really don’t think I’ll ever be up to
par by my own standards, but I’ve
changed a lot. I’ve learned to think
through things before I say them.
I also have to constantly remind
myself how I’d feel if someone said
similar things to me. And it’s not just
about race, either. I’ve had to re-eval
uate many of my feelings in the past
few years because I started listening
to myself, and I realized how out of it
I was. Yes, it’s a difficult process, and
sometimes you want to just go back
to the old way, but you can’t.
You can’t because the act of lis
tening to yourself and evaluating
what you believe is a sign of growing
up. Yes, we all still have some grow
ing up to do. Everyone, I think, grows
up a little more each day. And not just
because we get a day older but
because we get a day wiser as well.
Paying attention to yourself is
very important in knowing who you
are. You may think you know who
you are at first, but you only really
know who you are after you think
about it. And just because my friend
decided to use her friends in the
process doesn’t mean that everyone
has to. That was simply her choice.
I will say that friends are a won
derful source of information about
you. Why do you think they find
someone that was close to you to
speak at your funeral (aside from the
fact there is absolutely no way you
can speak for yourself)?
And to the wonderful lady that
sent me that e-mail, thanks for stim
ulating my thought process once
again.
jl>s— • sr* - - &*•
Andrew Z). Wfcfts is a freshman theater major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist
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\it_JiSS.*- #3Sr»*:iaK3rar •. • '■>.
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f>3 dream
i \; ™ r
Living v 'etime of excellence
There is another world out there,
and it is better than this one.
No, it’s not “outer space,” but it is
full of stars.
This world exists in us all and
can be found if you have the ability
to lose yourself for minute scraps of
time and become someone different,
new, horrible or fantastic.
I don’t know about you,_hnt Fm _
not that exciting. I usually try to be,
but things always seem to fall into
place too easily after awhile.
I’m afraid of relationships
because I fear patterns and routines
like the plague.
I can’t talk to my parents on the
phone because it seems I have noth
ing new to say, even though we speak
rather sparsely.
I need to enter into different
realms of existence in order to
quench my insecurities that exist in
this life; at least for a little while.
T?_ a*_• __x_i I I_
i ui me, uicic id a tuiiduuu uiui
ring of fantasy and reality in life.
This is probably because I daydream
more than I should.
I lie awake at night because there,
in my room, I can be anyone I desire.
Nothing sick and twisted, just an
escape from the life that wears me
down, because sometimes life ain’t
no fun.
Of Course, you always have to
yrakeup and face the crowdTbut—. "
there is always another night and
more daydreaming to be had.
This past week, for instance, I
was a rock star. PartDf die Indigo
Girls, to be exact ^
Watching them perform on stage,
• - my mind started to s$p, and soon, I
was up there with them, performing
the way I know ! could if only I knew
how to play the guitar and write pro
found lyrics to make 5,000 girls
swoon (and about 10 boys).
But I can’t do these things, and I
probably won’t ever get off my butt
and do the things I only dream of, so
I’m going to live their lives for a
couple of hours.
I was also an outlaw this week,
even though my mother would say
I’ve always been one.
I spent 12 hours on Sunday
watching the likes of John Wayne,
Clint Eastwood and Jimmy Stewart
tear it up on the TV screen.
I’ve always turned my nose up at
Western movies. I’ve had a disposi
tion to think they are boring;
Now, after seeing how tough
Clint Eastwood used to be, I want to
"live in the mid-19th century. Give me
saloons, whores and dust, dust, dust.
I shiver uncontrollably while
hearing that lonely, whistle-like
sound that is indicative of a duel at
high noon.
Only in this Western world can I
ride on the brink of danger, not
knowing whether to let civilization
take hold, or to go ahead and kill as a
way of settlin’ an argument.
Only in the West (the one that
seems too good to have been true)
can i noia a wincnester in my nanas
and shoot Liberty Valance right
between the eyes as I grip my stogie
tighter between my unbrushed teeth.
But, of course, all this is happen
ing on screen and in my mind,
because real life is full of automo
biles and interstates, not horses and
dirt roads.
In “real” life, I would never touch
a gun to save my hide. Maybe a
machine gun, but only for fishing,
_and that sort of takes the “sport” out
of the sport.
Perhaps the most enticing
moment to let go this week was the
night I saw “The Nutcracker” at the
Orpheum Theatre, in Omaha.
My brother’s wife, Sarah Brown,
is a most superb ballerina (if it’s cool
to call them ballerinas) for the
Omaha Theater Co. Ballet. Maybe,
instead of ballerina, they prefer to be
called “pristine astronomical machi
nations of excellency.” Who knows?
I had never seen “The
Nutcracker,” and nary did I know the
plot.
Talk about one trippy tale. I think.
I missed the part about how Clara
falls asleep, thus providing an even
stranger premise.
I could have assumed that it
was all a dream, but I didn’t want *
to know for sure. I didn’t ask for J
clarity of plot from my brother
for the same reason why I didn’t §
ask my parents if Santa Claus ij
was real when I was a child. 1
A child? Hardly, I suppose. I \
think I was 11 when I finally had
to be told that the big, round man
in the red suit and beard was not
real but was indeed my father.
Anyway, during the ballet, I
couldn’t figure out why giant
mice were trying on tutus and
what would possess a tin of candy
to come alive and show us her
“treats.” f
I didn’t know snowflakes /
could be so big and non-melt- ^
ing and why an Arabian *j>
dancer just floated on the stage ;
out of nowhere. /
All this surely must have gj
frightened the children in the V
audience, but as I looked around, *
there was nothing but joy and
laughter.
I was so enchanted that I ^
thought I was Clara the
whole night. J^^Sk
I hate intermis
sions because they
disrupt the surreal
flow “The
Nutcracker”
breeds in peo
ple’s hearts
and thoughts.
I can’t
believe 1
Sarah does
this for a
living.
She lives
and breathes ballet, but I don’t know
if she realizes how electrified I was
in the audience and how jealous.
I wish I could have the grace she
possesses and the ability to overlook
the countless nights rehearsing just *
for the few hours to get up on
z stage and dance.
I scare myself by
thinking I am
already too old to
,, be truly great at
something -
0L. anything. But
Iftf I’m content
KV, withday
WaL dreaming and
living vicari
¥1 ously through
/j thousands of
r# other people.
/ Alter ail, they
/ don’t know that
/ I’m, say, being John
Malkovich for an after
noon.
I know I can’t escape
the real world all
the time.
Especially not
right now. I have
tonsofhome
% work to do this
^ A* week.
J h
Megan Cody/DN *
< Karen Brown is a junior English and film studies major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist