Doug: Quiet Optimism

I recline in front of Denny hall watching the leaves fall. Today is Thursday. Thursday is my holy day of rest. I have skipped War and Society in order to be properly prepared for Hebrew, and I find myself with fifteen spare minutes before that class. Hebrew is my hardest class. It's an entirely different language with entirely different everything. No vowels, kind of, two completely different scripts, and a completely screwed up way of pronouncing everything. EVERYTHING.

Still, my prof makes it entertaining. She's a loudmouthed Israeli who doesn't seem to believe in personal space or volume control. Best part is she's also a law student. I cannot imagine dad ever going to school with anyone like this, but then again, Tucker Max got a law degree, so I guess anything can happen. Her name is Hadar (pronounced Haddoh)and she's pretty awesome.

But none of that is on my mind right now. Right now I'm relaxing on the steps of Denny hall, watching the leaves fall and thinking about how beautiful fall is. The rain of dying leaves is just so pretty that it's hard to remember that winter is coming, though the temperature outside makes that fact pretty obvious. I am struck with a fragment of inspiration for my Bigstory and I file it in the back of my head where I've been keeping all my fragments. It'll come together, not now because i'm busy, but it will. I've got faith.

I've got a lot of faith recently. Not the 'Jesus loves me' type faith, because I don't get that. But the 'This is life, and no matter how dark it gets it'll be okay." kind of faith. I'm good with that. Quiet optimism. These leaves and the squirrels raiding the trees for food and the people walking by to and from class give me a quiet optimism. I guess that's the word for it.

There's a lot going on in and around me. But right now, right here, I've got a quiet moment all to myself. Sometimes that's all you can ask for.

-Doug

"Westward from the Davis straight t'is there t'was said to lie,
The sea route to the orient for which so many died,
Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones,
And a long forgotten lonely cairn of stones."
Stan Rodgers "Northwest Passage"