The Sherpa’s Second Serve: Love life, but work for something better

I love riding the Green Line with my Greg Brady headphones and a big, silly grin. People tend to think something must be wrong with you if you smile on the train. In the midst of zombies, only the crazies smile, or even make eye contact, during the morning commute.

I love counting the piercings on the B-Line. Before this venture into grad school, I’d had no idea that so many young people were pierced. Nose and eyebrow piercings once considered somewhat edgy are now casually worn by future soccer moms and young Republicans. Who knew?

I love Storrow Drive and the Citgo sign, especially at night. They’re beautiful.

I love driving through snow and watching the individual flakes land on the windshield. When you really look at them, it’s amazing how similar their unique shapes are to the flakes we cut out of paper in kindergarten. Some are formed so perfectly and symmetrically, but by the time you really notice it, they’ve melted away and disappeared. It’s wonderful.

I love bobblehead dolls, but I don’t know why. I’m just a sucker for them.

I love the older bald guy who rings up my coffee at Campus Convenience. I love the pride he takes in welcoming his customers with genuine happiness. I hope he has a very happy holiday.

I love Sheryl Jackson-Holliday who works in the journalism office. We should all be that friendly.

I love watching the downtrodden COM 101 freshmen fill the seats of Morse Auditorium. Despite their bed heads, half-closed eyes and apparent exhaustion, they have so much youthful energy. It’s really adorable. I’m so glad I got the opportunity to be a TA and learn that 19-year olds aren’t all as dumb as they look on TV. I envy their youth though. Sitting amongst them makes me feel really old.

I’m starting to like if not love getting older. It’s not nearly as boring as you’d think. I’m now much closer to 30 than 20, and the aging process is beginning to make subtle changes in my appearance. I have two distinct wrinkles on my left cheek that weren’t there two years ago. They’re OK, I guess, because they mark the creases my smile makes on my face. Scars to remind me of years and years of laughter. But I could do without the increasing amount of hair I lose in the shower.

I love the shower.

I love the end of a hectic and productive day when you finally get to go to bed. That peaceful, rewarding 10 minutes between the time you lie down and the time you fall to sleep. I love when you wake up before the alarm clock and then get to sleep a little longer.

I love the Internet. How did anyone function before its existence? Without the Internet, I don’t know how I could possibly follow the news, complete my schoolwork, stalk ex-girlfriends or maintain friendships. It’s such an astonishing scientific feat even bigger than the hype that surrounds it.

I love it when someone takes the time to write you a funny, thoughtful email. I love creative subject headings.

I love finding a good parking spot. I love when it’s freezing out and the sidewalks are dead quiet because everyone’s wholly focused on staying warm, rather than speaking. I love when good conversation with a cab driver makes the fare worthwhile.

I love the feeling of good fortune after you open the door to a university toilet stall and find that the water’s blue and you’re the first one to use it since it was cleaned. That’s the best. And even better when there’s interesting yet non-hateful dialog scrawled on the walls.

I love making grilled cheese sandwiches. The process and payoff are somehow therapeutic for me. I love completing simple tasks. Paying bills, emptying the dishwasher, mowing the lawn. I don’t have a lawn, but I did at home in New Jersey.

I love New Jersey.

I love going back there on holidays. I love small trips to the hometown Charlie Brown’s with the Sherpa. I love when my mom mails me clips from the local paper about people I barely knew who are off making families and receiving prestigious degrees. I love Mom and Dad. They’re nice.

I love waking up on Sunday morning and watching ‘Meet the Press’ while trying to figure out what to write about. I love watching Ashlee paint while I procrastinate. I love when I finally finish the column, even if it stinks. It’s done, and that’s what matters, dammit.

But what I don’t love is Monday afternoon when people tell me they saw my column and then call me cynical or advise me to relax. ‘It’s not that big of a deal, man!’ While I appreciate the time those people took to read the column and offer their feedback, I really hate being called a cynic.

I truly love the tiny moments and characters that make life so enjoyable. I’m so happy and grateful for each day I’m alive. Living is fun. Even the bad parts. I’m not satisfied, though. And I don’t think you should be either.

There are a lot of things to get angry about, and that anger is healthy. I don’t like the Abercrombization of American youth. I don’t like the dangerous culture of binge drinking on college campuses. I loathe Vince McMahon and Ja Rule’s $100,000 watch and 24-hour news networks and people who think their schedule is important enough to endanger lives by running through the light as it turns red. I hate those people. I’m enraged and frustrated by just how disconnected Americans have become from their government.

There’s just cause for anger. And there are fights that can actually be won. But they won’t be won by checking your cell phone messages 30 times a day or by sitting in a catatonic state watching ABC’s ‘Extreme Makeover.’ Some people are going to have to step up.

As you return home for a month of hibernation, I hope you’ll take the time to recognize all the beauty and goodness that our simple brief existence has to offer. We are so lucky. But with a new year, I also hope you’ll re-energize your dedication to improving our surroundings.

We need to look around once in a while and actually use our brains and get pissed off. It’s OK. It’s necessary. And it can be done while still living a happy and fulfilling life.