Black Diamonds

Before it was known as "The Saturday Before" it was just a Saturday, known as nothing but a compilation of sunny hours to start off the weekend.

I had promised to go swimming at a friends house a few hours before the usual call of "Come outside I want to show you something," kept me home a few hours more. Following as one always did unless feeling daring or disrespectful, I found my way behind the large green trees purposely planted to shield our houses from the wind's harsh dusting of farmland residue.

On the other side of these trees were scattered blackberry bushes still rooted in the same sandy soil they were planted in twenty-something years ago. The blackberries -- a by-product of one man's appreciation for nature -- were now a pathway for others to gain a similar admiration, and also a pathway to him. How weird it was, I thought, to be picking blackberries from the same plants my great uncle had planted long before I was born. A bittersweet taste swished in my mouth and a bittersweet feeling crept through my body as I wondered all the ways those in heaven are still with us on Earth.

My dad walked further down the dirt path, called out to me during this reflection, and motioned me towards the patches of corn his farmer friend had recently planted in the distance.

And soon that Saturday before became the Sunday of. The day I would remember the blackberry bushes and look around in the distance to once again wonder the connection between that of Earth and of heaven. The peaceful feeling I would once again receive knowing that things so deeply rooted would always remain.

How low can you go?

Doing the "Limbo Rock" is a bit fun and a bit terrorizing. When you can maneuver your way under the stick and show off your ability to be the most bendable of the bunch, it's great fun. When you're the uncoordinated and inflexible kid with really tall parents, it ends in embarrassment and possibly a broken wrist.

I was lucky enough to be the short and bendable type back when doing the limbo really meant something at fourth grade birthday parties. It felt glorious to adapt to each new stick-y circumstance with such ease.

I continued to maneuver my way under life's most memorable limbo sticks with adaptivity. I entered kindergarten with little more than my purple Beauty and the Beast backpack, matching vinyl lunchbox, and a small fear of "Teacher." I had graduated on from 8th grade into high school, applying too much black eye liner that to my luck was perfect for my new surroundings. And most recently, I had moved away and graduated from college with good grades and a good attitude.

But now that I am approaching the limbo stick that's stopping me from fully entering adulthood, I find myself falling backwards, unable to "limbo lowa now."

The day I graduated college I was excited to come home. I had been away, met new people, taken classes on everything from Descartes to Da Vinci, and felt like I had really "grown up". Returning home felt like a comforting and congratulating hug that would help ease the pain of job hunting.

I figured I would have a little more time, maybe a month or two, before I was whisked away to the job I had always dreamed of in New York City. The one that would give me enough funds to cover rent in a spacious loft downtown, a career-girl wardrobe, and a few nights out on the town.

It's been ten months since graduation, and although I'd say we did a great job at redecorating, the room I share with my sister is a far cry from the loft I was imagining.

Hadn’t I "grown up"? Didn’t a degree from college mean I had reached a degree of adulthood? I learned to cook my own dinner, schedule my own appointments, and leave a room without explaining where I was going. I was qualified to have a full-time job, although some of my interviewers thought otherwise, move out, and continue the independent lifestyle I had started in college. But the more I stayed home, the more I felt like I was falling on my back unable to pass under the bar to adulthood.

During this time waiting in limbo, I began to carry a weight of expectations around with me wherever I went. I couldn't keep up with the ones I had set out for myself, and I couldn't break through the ones my family and friends had already set in their minds.

With little arm muscle, it took a while for me to build up the strength to toss this dumbbell of expectations aside and find my way under that darn limbo stick.

Watching an episode of Oprah's Master Class this weekend on Maya Angelou was like a trip to the gym. She said something that changed my perspective of my whole situation. She said "love doesn't hold, it liberates; to hold is just ego."

Hammonton in particular seems to have a tight hold on all if its residents. Family and friends are just smaller counterparts of this hold. For so long I thought I had to leave in order to grow and be who I really am. But I realize now it only had a tight grasp because I let it. I was the only one holding myself back from being and doing what I want. It is hard to break through others', not to mention your own, expectations of who you are. But even though it's hard, it is possible.

And maybe I was holding Hammonton, my family, and my friends to expectations they didn't really meet. Maybe I was doing the same underestimating and assuming about them that I had not wanted them to do about me. Maybe I hadn't loved them enough to let them show me who they really are either.

When I looked at it that way I began to appreciate this state of lying on my back in limbo a little more. Maybe I wasn't meant to pass under the limbo stick just yet.  Maybe to pass under this stick into adulthood I have to learn that escaping and running around the bar does not really put you on the other side. Maybe growing as an adult, and as a human being, requires you to stay and realize there is still a lot to learn about the people, and places, you thought you already knew (including yourself).

My Way

"I've lived a life that's full. I've traveled each and every highway. But, more much more than this, I did it my way. "

They are quite possibly Frank Sinatra's most famous lyrics, and part of my dad's morbid request for his future headstone inscription— the words of "My Way" always seemed a little arrogant to me. Not everyone gets it to do it their way Mr. Sinatra. And although my dad seems to think he has it his way in our household, he never can have full control living with four women and a female dog.

But as I get older I think I've come to understand what ol' blue eyes was really bragging about. Through recent personal developments (i.e. the spare time between writing cover letters and checking Facebook), I've come to realize how incredibly important, and not always selfish, it is to do things your way.

Doing things your way doesn't necessarily mean being selfish—it means owning who you are in the truest sense and being completely honest and genuine in your actions. And anyone, not just those with a celebrity lifestyle like Frank Sinatra, is capable of that.

"What is a man? What has he got? If not himself, than he has naught."

Because, really, what are you if not yourself? Being who you truly are and living accordingly not only requires you to do the things you truly know are right for you, but it also requires you to own up to your mistakes.

"There are times, I'm sure you knew, when I bit off more than I could chew. But through it all, when there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way."

Imagine if we could cut through the b.s. that infliltrates our daily activities and did what our true selves really desired? I've always been a believer that everyone's true self has good intentions, which makes this concept even more enticing.

It seems the public is enticed by this idea as well since it has been reflected in everything from shows like Jersey Shore, which has exposed us to the honest, sometimes vile, activities of actual 20-(and for The Situation 30-) somethings, to technology like Facebook, which has helped to tear down the walls between us and our "friends,"

Although I don't think Jersey Shore reflects the truest selves of its cast, and I realize these mediums leave room for inauthenticity just like anything else, I do think they have helped lay the foundation for, and show a collective public desire for, transparency and honesty.

It's as if we are asking for, and are starting to create, a world where honesty is cherished over secrecy. Where the examination of actions is no longer saved for the confessional booth or for deathbeds, but in our lives every single day. Where we can admit to our mistakes and insecurities to help others dealing with the same issues. Where we can all agree that the truth does indeed set you free.

Although I am not certain that 100% honesty is always the best policy or zero privacy is a good thing, I do think being honest with yourself opens the doors for you to connect with others, which in turn helps to spread a sense of community, friendship, and love.

Oprah's initials serendipitously help to spell out the name of her new network OWN—a word and idea she embraces as part of her life's mission. On the network's show Master Class both Oprah and the featured guest Diane Sawyer praised the importance of being their true selves and surrounding themselves with people that continually bring out who they are in the truest sense.

Diane, who has helped expose and resolve the plights of many through her investigative journalism, and Oprah who has been exceedingly generous with her sharing of self and her assets, both attribute their success for helping others to this very quality of authenticity.

Who knew doing it your way could actually help so many others?

Despite my previous assumptions, I now know why my dad aspires to have this written on his headstone, and I hope one day I too will look back and say: "Yes, it was my way."