Farewell For Now, WordPressers

I started my own YouTube channel to document the beginning of my career in the military, and posted my latest video which you can view here.

My hair is cut, bags are packed and I’m ready to depart for basic. With that said, my blog won’t be updated for awhile. My phone won’t even see the light of day until the end of July. I feel as if I’m about to vanish from society, but I’m a little relieved to unplug and start from scratch.

Writing has been my creative outlet, my source of venting, and my way of offering a new perspective. My education had a huge influence on my love for writing, so has writing in a journal every day since I started college. I threw some journals away, too embarrassed by my terrible grammar and spelling. I also couldn’t stand reading about my past relationships or crushes.

When I noticed how pathetic my written voice was, I bought new journals and directed my writing on topics and people who mattered. I wrote about friends and family who deserved to be in my pages. They were worth my time and energy. I wasted too many pieces of paper on the same guys throughout college. It was no wonder I made the same mistakes over and over again. By definition, I was crazy; doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome. It was my journaling and introspection that made me see where I went wrong, so I started to change my behavior.

Blogging has been an interesting transition from the journal. I took a Writing in the Public Sphere class in my last quarter of college, and learned how to use WordPress. We worked in groups to name our blogs and what issues we would cover. My group of two other young ladies was wonderful. I loved working with them. We had similar interests and anger towards the mistreatment of women in the Middle East, and were intrigued by the power of citizen journalism. We didn’t realize it at the time, but that’s exactly what we were.

Every single one of us is a citizen journalist. What we witness, what we post, and what we share makes us a small part of the media. Newsrooms receive their information from many sources and press releases. Most often, that source comes from an ordinary citizen who just so happens to be in the middle of the action.

I know it’s a cliche, but it’s incredible how rapid information spreads, and it’s not slowing down anytime soon. If anything, it’s only spreading faster.

It’s exciting to think that I will be in the center of military communication and corresponding information to the public. Blogging has been an effective way to practice my thinking and how I speak publicly.

This has been my writing sphere. I am enthusiastic to reach that next level of writing and spread important news.

Until then, it’s time to kick ass.

Healing Through Community

Tragedies around the world can put us down, even when we’re hundreds of miles away. Turn on the news and we find out about the catastrophes in Ecuador and Texas. Families and communities were lost in minutes. We feel their pain, their sorrow, and their loss. Who are they going to for help?

Maybe you reach out and try to help through Red Cross. Or maybe you continue on your way, move through your day and place the tragedy at the back of your mind, not knowing how to help. Sometimes, we have too much of our own baggage that we simply must carry on. That’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. How can we help someone else when we’re still figuring out our own lives? We are accustomed to dealing with our own battles and the problems we already have on our own plate. What we don’t see is that there are hands around us in our community to help lessen that weight.

For some of us, our plate is heavy. Too heavy. Some of that weight is invisible to the rest of the world. Many people don’t know that you went through some serious stuff and you’re still learning how to talk about it to those around you. You want to connect with people and not allow the memory, the trauma, to completely take over your life.

Turning off the memory takes therapeutic recovery. Memory is a powerful weapon that we often use against ourselves. Sometimes, it’s the main reason why we find it difficult to function. We’re hit with our memories, like one bullet after another, but we fail to realize that we’re the one pulling the trigger.

That is the effect of trauma. Many know that it resides in the mind, but some don’t know that it also rests deep in the body. In my internship with LA YOGA Magazine, I interviewed a survivor of human trafficking who confirmed that the assaults left a scar not just in her subconscious, but in her tissues and in her bones. The body is extremely sensitive. It doesn’t forget. It’s the one holding all of the stress and anxiety.

It hurts to revisit the sight of pain and band-aid it over and over again. We just want it to be healed, already, and not have to deal with it anymore. But the band-aid falls off. It’s not strong enough to hold you together.

The metaphors are tiresome, I know, but stick with me.

Perhaps you begin to truly heal by taking a little extra time to talk about it with your husband, sister, or someone close to you. You start to maybe even realize that your problems are manageable once you face them with another person by your side. For some, speaking to a counselor or a psychologist isn’t therapeutic at all; it might even bring on more anxiety. On the other hand, it may be the best thing for you to talk to someone outside of your family. Whoever that person is, they are stronger than that band-aid you used to cover up and forget the scars.

It’s not a cliche to say that ‘you are not alone’, because it’s the truth. You have an abundance of love, care and support around you. You are not weak or selfish by asking for help.

When you feel more than strong and ready, maybe you can volunteer to help lift someone else up. Slowly but surely, you will be able to see just how weightless that plate is and how unified your community is.

Watch the love for yourself and others grow. When that happens, you’re the hero in your own story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Doing the YouTube thing.

So I decided to make a quick YouTube video shout out to the people who’ve been incredibly supportive in my new journey to enlist in the U.S Army. I caved, and joined the video-autobio fad.

I keep it under 5 minutes to give you just a bit of me and some love I want to give to those who mean the most to me. I don’t know how many videos I intend on making, but I can assure you that I’m looking forward to trying this out.

Here yuh go! Thanks for watching!

Click below:

Joining the U.S Army

 

50 more tomorrows

Being on countdown is a weird paradox of indulging in small luxuries while training for military life.

It’s almost discomforting settling into sleep with the thought that it’s another day crossed off the calendar. All I seem to think about are the days looming ahead that need to be more exciting while also productive.

It feels like preparing for a marathon and every day is one step closer to that start line. Before I go to bed, my inner critic screams in my ear that I could’ve done more to prepare, but I chose to spend my time watching an episode of Friends or enjoying another glass of wine.    

Waking up is a battle between deciding to enjoy doing nothing or going to an intense bootcamp class.

This is why I’m looking forward to someone telling me what to do every day…

I’m also told that there is no preparing for the military. Nothing can prepare me for the amount of training, learning and major life changes that will happen 50 days from now. Inevitably, the only thing to do is adapt, especially to the “hurry up and wait” shenanigans.

One of my buddies partied it up before he left for basic. I’m almost envious of him. I think about how much he lived his final days as a civilian, and how he must have shipped off feeling no regrets…. besides the withdrawals and realization that he’s an idiot for not training harder….

Partying every night before basic training may not be the smartest decision. While celebrating is on my to-do list, so is time with family and appreciating every moment before there are none left.

I take my future career in the military seriously. I put a lot of stress on myself to reach a high level of expectation, but also remind myself that I need to calm down and remember to enjoy that glass of wine. I’m seeking to find that balance to grow into a strong woman and, one day, a strong warrior.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Apologetic Robot

I used to be that girl on sorry turrets – the type to apologize for every single thing when it wasn’t necessary. I still catch myself sometimes saying sorry too much.

Growing up, I learned that saying sorry was the easy way out of a conflict. There were times when fighting back helped neutralize the situation, but majority of the time, I needed to either apologize or stay out of it.

I was good at working in food service because of this flaw. The customer wasn’t always right. Actually, the customer was usually a jerk, but we were paid to bite our tongue and own up to no fault of our own. So it became second nature, even more so, to apologize multiple times a day and it was easy to believe that I continuously messed up even when I did my job well. By the end of the day, I remember going home feeling defeated and hating myself.

It wasn’t brought to my attention until two awesome regulars who were advisers at RCC came into Starbucks and told me that I said sorry a lot. I laughed it off, but realized throughout the day how many times I caught myself saying it. No ‘excuse me’ or ‘woops’ or ‘my bad.’ I was always…. sorry.

I hear this word now and cringe. I’m fed up with it. What the hell am I sorry for? Hearing Bieber’s song on the radio every freaking day doesn’t help either…

Yesterday, I went to physical training for the first time with five army recruits. Even before the training started, I knew that many guys would hate getting partnered with a female. That is another issue in itself which I might come back to later, but for now, I’ll let it be. We had to flip a massive tire across an entire parking lot. I apologized to the guys for being stuck with me… There was no need to apologize, because we got the job done. So what the hell was I sorry for? I did the job well and did my part.

When the tire reached the end of the lot, we immediately dropped and did 25 burpees. The smaller guy got to number 18 and nearly passed out. I finished my set and actually had enough energy to do more. The other guys were done as well, and standing around the little guy encouraging him. It wasn’t enough to help him and we weren’t moving on until everyone completed the exercise.

I knew he wasn’t going to let a girl beat him, so I went over and said, “I’ll do 7 with you right now. Let’s go. You ready?”

I wasn’t trying to act tough or competitive. I knew that this was going to work. We got through it together, but it didn’t occur to me until later that I had probably embarrassed the guy among the other males… Even though he was thankful for my help, he wouldn’t look me in the eye after that. His demeanor changed completely, and the other guys grew quiet around me. I made him feel uncomfortable.

Once again, I felt apologetic. This time, I KNEW it was my fault. I wanted to say I was sorry if I had done anything to embarrass him or if I had crossed a line.

But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut and continued the workout to my best ability. It would’ve been appropriate to apologize if he approached me about feeling embarrassed, but he didn’t. Even then, what do I apologize for? For trying to help? For motivating him?

I met and interviewed similar people who’ve been conditioned to feel responsible for someone else’s problems, when they in fact had the best intention and never did anything to cause them.

Apology and knowing when to own up to your action or inaction is important, but so is knowing when others decide not to take responsibility for theirs.

Stop being the old me. Take cues from this guy:

Something Bigger.

I always had direction in my life. My supportive parents encouraged me to follow the path to college, get a job and discover my independence.

Before college, I had other plans in mind: enlisting in the military. In 2009, my senior year of high school, I had a classmate (also a massive crush of mine) who was going into the military after graduation. I followed him around school like a little lost puppy, asking about the training he was doing (my strange mind said that an interest in enlisting would somehow impress him).

Besides my girlish fantasies, the military was a path I genuinely considered taking. My crush finally took me seriously and brought me along to one of their physical training sessions. I was at a park in the cold, early morning with only one other girl and fifty guys our age, all training to go into the marines. I nearly blacked out by the end of the training.

When I mentioned going into the marines to my mom, she gently convinced me to look into less life-threatening careers. Who could blame her? My mom was protecting me and opening my eyes to exploring more options. I love and appreciate her for that.

As I write today, I reflect on that deep, inner desire to enlist. Now that I know better, I am glad that I waited to go through college and get a degree first.

But now I’m struggling. I’m in debt with two jobs – serving at a restaurant and working the front desk at a local gym – barely making ends meet while living at home. I’ve chosen not to go into teaching, and I decided not to go back for my master’s degree, yet. For the first time in seven years, I have no direction.

I am stuck at part 2 and 3: get a job and live independently.

A coworker of mine at the gym, a veteran marine, recently brought it to my attention that a 4-year degree is valuable for the military, and I am qualified to train to be an officer. Ever since that conversation, the wheels have been turning. I did some research on the army and air force which offers a public affairs career, a field that will allow me to use my English degree and journalism experience to grow into a more advanced position.

In high school, I wanted to join the military for the wrong reason. To impress a boy. I just thought it would make me a bad ass in general, too.

Today, I want to join the army for several different reasons. For one, it’ll give me a competitive edge in journalism and phenomenal job training experience. Who knows? I might publish articles in a military magazine, or write for an important newspaper. It could lead to working in Washington and publicity. At the very least, the army will give me a kick in the ass to live independently, pay bills, and gain benefits. It’s stability and reassurance for my future. The military will also be an opportunity to travel and see life from a completely new angle. Plus, I have friends and family in the army who have inspired me to join.

Every time I see an officer or soldier in uniform, I cannot help but to feel both intimidation and admiration. I feel intimidated by what they know, what they are capable of. Yet, I admire them for the exact same reasons. I want to wear that uniform and a sense of pride that comes with it. I know people say, “be careful for what you wish for,” but if we were all careful, we would be living in a bubble. I’m more than ready to break out of mine.

Self-confidence has never been in my character. I have insecurities through the roof about how I look, how I talk and how I behave. I’m socially awkward. I’m not saying that enlisting will completely reshape my confidence. It will diminish it, actually, since they break you down bit by grueling bit in order to build you up. But remembering that moment when I blacked out from training, I know I can do better now that I am older, stronger, faster and smarter. I want to stand tall with assurance that nobody can hurt me, not even myself.

It sounds obnoxiously patriotic, but there is a deep longing to serve my country and do something bigger than myself. I want to do more than just give back to my community and the Inland Empire. I want to serve this nation which has given women in my generation that right with more to come. I may not be on the front lines, but at least it will be a step towards personal and professional growth.

This time, it’s not about impressing anyone or proving anything. It’s about getting past part 2 and 3, and finally doing what I’ve wanted to do for years.

 

Now What?

Graduating college is both liberating and disorienting. It is reaching a milestone that has me feeling unstoppable, credentialed, and like I have no freaking clue what to do next, who I will become or what jobs I’m qualified for.

I’m the girl who overly plans everything. Trust me, you don’t want to see that side of me. For your sake, I will keep that Amanda at bay… But I will tell you that I sat down a week ago and mapped out a five-year diagram, starting from this summer into 2020. I found myself making two diverging roads: graduate school or the job market route. If you have been following me on Facebook or speaking to me in person, you know that this is something I have been battling with even before graduation. I received a ton of positive feedback and encouragement from you all, and I can hardly voice my gratitude.

Alas, I am still standing at a crossroads.

When the map was completed, I realized that this summer would be about job applications, submitting writing samples, resumes, and aiming for interviews. A part of me doesn’t want to leave Riverside, the place I am most comfortable living in. I still want to find jobs that I am capable of working from the place in which I am surrounded by the people I love. That would make me happy.

What if August rolls around and I receive only rejection letters? Or worse, what if I hear not a single word from editors or employers? I hate “what if” scenarios, but they are entirely necessary in pre-planning stages. I need to think objectively and consider the alternative as much as it pains me to imagine leaving Southern California.

Journalism is an evermore growing competitive field. Though I am confident in my social networking strategies, I have doubts about my worth on paper. A bachelor’s degree in English doesn’t guarantee an entry-level position, despite my editorial experience at a student literary journal and LA YOGA Magazine. An M.A degree in journalism from a prestigious east coast university seems like a no-brainer. Editors of large companies don’t give a damn about a bachelor’s. They look for the graduates who have gone above and beyond their basic college education. When hiring assistants, editors expect years of education, experience in editorial, and specializations in a specific area. I have merely dipped my toes in all three.

Visiting Boston and Northeastern University, the graduate school I have been accepted into, ignited a fiery ambition that I haven’t felt since starting my undergrad. The beautiful campus, and its rich history – the college of journalism, and its prolific, individualized training – the city and all of its glory. I’ll stop rambling, but you understand how major this would be. Enrolling next year in 2016 and living in Boston on my own would be the steepest uphill battle, but I cannot negate my love for a good challenge.

Which road do I choose, you ask?

I choose to take it one step at a time. There are certain things I cannot control – like whether my resume gets reviewed or tossed into a pile of hundred other applicants and never sees the light of day. I can only control the steps I take in order to reach a job and live in a place that makes me happy.

If college has taught me one thing about myself, it’s that I’m an organized, well-prepared and proactive thinker. I can imagine that this post-graduation phase will teach me great patience, open-mindedness, and autonomy. A five-year plan seems almost silly to me realizing that I, Amanda Ridder, create my own journey.

I didn’t even touch upon the other deep desire of mine which is marriage and children. I know that women are resisting the traditional road and seeking more and more independence, but will that truly bring them happiness? I am a daughter to an American middle-class Christian mother and (Atheist) father who have modeled a beautiful, long and healthy marriage. They have imprinted the idea of long-lasting trust and commitment upon me that I am so thankful for. I can only hope that I can be as devoted and caring to my future husband as my mother has been to hers.

Concluding thoughts about destiny, I have never believed in a higher power or practiced any sort of religion throughout my life. Even though my mother attended church on occasion and read the Bible, the teachings of Buddhism and Hinduism appealed to me the most. I accept all types of higher powers, but I mainly accept my own inner power. The choices I make are my responsibility and I leave it to no deity or idol. Not to offend my fellow believers, but in my opinion, to say that “God has a plan for me” seems like a cop-out for personal obligation. Nobody else needs to make a plan for me; I got that part covered. Much obliged.

I need to believe in myself, trust the decisions I make and follow through with them.

To be nobody but yourself in a world that’s doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting.

-E.E Cummings

Taking a Look Back

Cleaning out my drawer of term papers, exams and class notes, I came across several things I wrote during my first quarter as an undergraduate that surprised me. I even came across a few papers from high school. I’d like to share with you an unedited poem describing how I felt about being at a new school after finishing my general education from Riverside City College.

Mental Block

Cold Campus Classroom

Chilling College Careers

Filling distorted agenda,

Why the unknown feared?

Undress your loaded bag

Let Goosebumps expose

Compressed inside a Box,

For how long? Clock only knows.

Chilling Campus Classroom

Echoes play the walls

Challenge the bass of This new place,

It dares you to walk its halls.

-October 2nd, 2012

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A week later, I wrote this poem about being a Barista at Starbucks. It gives me chills reading this, because two months later the robbery took place.

Green Apron

Wanted: pure humans

To tie on the green apron. Spotless

Greet with cheery faces.

Wanted: pure humans

Shirt tucked in, tattoos hidden.

Espresso intoxicating your hands. Rush

Spill scorching coffee

Smile. You’re faultless

Serve Muffins. Extra Caramel Frappuccinos. Add shots.

50 Cent Refills. Caffeine. Sugar. Addiction

The homeless sleep on the patio.

Bathe in the bathroom. Beg for money.

Wanted: pure humans

Starbucks beckons you.

-October 9th, 2012

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I’ll share one more poem with you that I wrote in light of Robert Frost and his use of nature to convey emotions and meaning. “California Confusion” is inspired by his poem called “My November Guest.”

California Confusion

October beneath blazing illumination

Trees green with height, frail and brittle.

Stubborn to drop leaves in absolution

this is the Fall of California

The unseen autumn, or most of it little.

Constricted oxygen. Cannot get out

No cold crisp of sunrise

Scarecrows hang with looks of doubt

No piles of leaves to jump about

Only sweat and heavy sighs.

Dear California, Confused and Insane

Close away the light

The burning seasons of migraines

Don’t make me travel to Maine

All I ask for is raging rain.

-November 1st, 2012

Internship Recap and Wrap-Up

I started on this journey with LA YOGA Magazine as an Editorial Assistant on January 9^th, 2015. I had no idea what was is in store for me, except that I would be researching human trafficking and yoga therapy. I also knew that I was in good hands with Felicia Tomasko, the Editor-in-Chief, who would help me construct the article for the magazine and serve as my mentor for journalism.

On the first day as an intern, I knew that this was going to be enriching and unique experience. Felicia invited me to have lunch in Santa Monica with her and other professionals who discussed films that centered on yogic journeys and spiritual messages. This wasn’t the meeting I had imagined. I imagined Felicia and I having discussing my research and the format of the article. However, because I had the opportunity to meet accomplished people in the yoga community, I gained more connections and, more importantly, an open mind.

Between the months of January and March, I found myself taking part in more unique events with Felicia that would lead to greater opportunities in journalism. For instance, I attended a yoga therapist training at Loyola Marymount University on January 11^th and learned more about what it would take to help survivors of human trafficking heal wounds of psychological, emotional and physical trauma.

Not only did this event help me to better understand a yoga therapist’s perspective, it helped me to better understand why I was even interested in trauma in the first place. As I say in a journal entry on January 15^th, “In December 2012, I was as a barista at Starbucks in downtown Riverside, California, when we were robbed at gunpoint. Luckily, no one was severely hurt …. But the psychological trauma impacted me more than I realized. Unexpected anxiety didn’t ‘bubble-up’ until 2014 when I was sitting in an English classroom discussing the ways trauma affects the subconscious mind in Toni Morrison’s Sula.” I understood why this internship, this research was so important to me as someone who has experienced trauma and found healing through dance and yoga.

I started outlining my article and met with Felicia to figure out how this piece should be constructed. In addition to this article, she gave me the opportunity of writing a 200-word book review for the March issue. She loaned me Richard Miller’s The iRest Program for Healing PTSD to write about. Reading his guidebook for victims of PTSD was not only necessary for writing the book review, it was helpful for writing the human trafficking and yoga therapy article. I even interviewed Richard over the phone, and learned that he helps women survivors of sexual exploitation through iRest (Integrative Restoration).

Felicia also introduced me to two organizations that help victims of human trafficking and prostitution: Unlikely Heroes and UpRising Yoga. Unlikely Heroes, founded by Erica Greve, rescues children in the Philippines, Mexico and Thailand from captivity and sexual slavery, providing them with shelter and an education. I was able to interview Erica and her Program Director over the phone to include their story in the article. UpRising Yoga has slightly different goals, because they provide yoga to incarcerated youth in Los Angeles. On February 22^nd, I attended a teacher training led by founder Jill Ippolito. This experience in particular helped with the construction of the article, since I learned more about yoga as a form of therapy for more than victims of sexual slavery and PTSD. Yoga is able to change the lives of troubled youth and help steer them down the path to a brighter future.

When Felicia and I got down to writing the article, she brought it to my attention that my piece was missing a very important part: a story about a person. In magazine writing, Felicia taught me that a good article begins by focusing on the story of a survivor. Luckily, I was introduced to D’Lita Miller, a survivor of sexual exploitation. After interviewing her and meeting her at the UpRising Yoga teacher training, I wrote the article using D’Lita’s inspirational story as my focal point to talk about yoga therapy and the modern-day slavery. Felicia helped me construct the piece to come full circle and end with her living a free life.

Being an Editorial Assistant for LA YOGA Magazine gave me a glimpse of what it would be like to work in the journalism field. With the article going to print in the April issue, I saw how long the process of writing quality content takes. The original intention was publishing the article in March, but I needed more time to focus on writing a solid piece that would go in my portfolio as I’m hunting for freelance writing jobs which is the next step after graduating in June. I have also been accepted into Northeastern University’s Master’s program in Journalism, so I’m starting to look around for freelance writing positions in Boston. Because I took part in this internship, I feel confident about landing a job in editorial, writing and publication.

The Final Sprint

I can almost feel that smooth piece of paper between my fingertips, declaring the end of a two-year quest to earn my Bachelor’s Degree in English. Declaring that I am worth something in the literary field.

Two years of writing under time constraint. Two years of sitting on my butt in a chair listening to someone teach me how to think critically. Nearly 730 days later, I am finally at the end.

You probably already know this, but I’m going to say it anyway: It took commitment. It took patience. Most of all, it took sacrifice.

I didn’t want to postpone that lunch date or dance class, but I needed to. I want to say that I’m sorry, and I probably already did. But the truth is that I can’t take back that time. I can only move forward from here.

Until that piece of paper lands into my hand, I am finishing these last assignments with a fierce amount of dedication; the sprint before the finish line. A finish line that won’t actually be a finish line.

Confession time.

I have been saying to my friends that I cannot wait until school is done, so I can spend more time with them. I want to believe this is true. I want to believe that the finish line truly means a finish line, and I can kick off my shoes, get a massage, go back to dancing and spending time with the people I care about.

There’s more to the race than the final sprint. Another race is coming called Graduate School. The end of the beginning is near, but this is just the beginning.

I’ve been accepted into Northeastern University’s Journalism Graduate School in Boston. I want to be there by August for their three-week “boot camp” course that helps the new journalism students get up to speed.

Even though I am on the edge of my undergrad seat about to celebrate the conclusion of this trek, I am keeping my gaze on a greater journey that will increase my chances of working in print media.

But it’s March 18th, for crying out loud! I am still on this final leg and trying not to let finals get the best of me. My mantra has been: “Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.”