When Greetings Are No Longer As Simple As A Handshake

Okay, this next post is dedicated to my friend Jonathan.
A few words about Jonathan: Jonathan is one of my best friends. He is (almost) like a brother to me. Also, he is probably one of my number one fans, so I feel like owe this to him. Here’s to you Jonathan.

Discernment can be quite the challenge for some people. I find discernment even more challenging when you approach someone and they stick their hand out at you. Back in the olden days this would make for a simple exchange, you know, a simple handshake. However, this no longer suffices. Now when someone sticks their hand out at you, this can mean a multitude of things.

A Simple Handshake

No tricks, just a handshake.

The Not So Simple Handshake

This is where the tricks come into play. You know when you go in to give someone the Simple Handshake, but they have something else in mind? They want to make up some special handshake with you with all these different steps that you are supposed to remember. You just have to sit there and let them guide you in the steps, and smile and nod when they tell you that this is special between the two of you. You know you are not going to remember this, but you have to let them think you are.

The High Five (or the dreaded low five)

The simple extended hand can turn into a high five.

Unfortunately, it can also turn into the low five, which is totally awkward. Who low fives these days?

The Embrace

This is your simple full-frontal hug. Both arms are wrapped around the other person’s shoulders as an embrace.

The Bro Hug

This is the one-armed hug, not to be mistaken with the "Christian Side Hug." This is where only one arm fully embraces you because the other hand is normally holding something, for example, a can of beer.

The Frat Snap

This is the newest and possibly the most complicated of them all. I have yet to master this one. You know the flick of the hand that the fraternity brothers often exchange? Yes, this is the Frat Snap. Ask them how to do this. You probably won’t be exposed to this particular move unless you are around Frat brothers.

All of these begin with the simple gesture of extending your hand. The problem with having all these options is that you never know which one to expect, which leads to awkward encounters. I have had many a problem with discerning which one to use, and I am normally wrong.

I have gone for The Embrace when the other person was just looking for a high-five. This makes the other person think you are too touchy-feely, which leads to a very awkward exchange. I have also extended my hand for the handshake, when the other person went in for the hug. This makes the other person think you are standoffish. Also a very awkward encounter.

Now, I don’t consider myself touchy-feely or standoffish, it is just so hard to discern these days with all the different exchanges that come from an extended hand.

What’s a girl to do?

An Ode to Airports

I am not much of an Atlanta fan. It is just very meh to me. I will stop there, lest people start jumping all over my back about my dislike of Atlanta (which they do).

You want to know what my favorite part of Atlanta is though?

The Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport.

I think I have a love affair with the Atlanta airport. Actually, I think I have a love affair with all airports. They are like long-distance relationships. (Ahh, see what I did there?) We don’t get to see each other all the time, but when we do it is like a lovers’ reunion.

I get this excitement. I am so fascinated by everything going on in airports. I love all the different people you see and where they are all going or coming from. I like to explore the different stores and restaurants. I even love all the parts people don’t enjoy so much, like going through security. I love the whole experience, flying included! Airports are interesting to compare too because for example, in London you see all the high-end stores like Gucci, but in Atlanta you see touristy stores that sell “I’m a Georgia Peach” t-shirts. 

Each airport is unique, like all the people in it.

I think the Atlanta airport is to me what King’s Cross is to Harry Potter. King’s Cross was the threshold that took Harry to the place he belonged. The place he loved and called home. It took him to Hogwarts. The Atlanta Airport is my threshold that takes me to where I belong. Abroad.

Each airport is unique like each culture I want to experience and each person I want to meet.

A Gift Just For Me

God sent me dolphins today.

Not a couple of dolphins. He sent me a whole pod of them. I would say there were at least 12 of them. They were super close to the shore too. I was squealing with delight when I saw them because they were exactly what I asked for. No, not exactly. They were more than what I asked for.
I kept telling God it would be great if he gave me a dolphin. Even just one, jumping in the distance. I would look in the horizon, and I would not see the dolphin I asked for. Today I took a walk on the beach. I got back to our umbrella, and I parked myself down. Then I saw a dolphin right up in the shallow water on the beach. Then another and another. I jumped up with delight. There were so many of them, and I knew in that moment they were just for me. It was God's special gift for me. I asked, and he gave me more than what I asked for. It was so much better than what I asked for.

God knows my heart. He knows me to the very core. I mean of course he does, he created me. And if you know me, you know I love dolphins. Dolphins swimming free in the ocean. God knows that too, and that is exactly what he gave me today. In that moment I knew what God was giving to me. It was his special gift to me for the heck of it. Not because I deserved a gift or anything, but just because he wanted to show his immense love for me. And it was almost as if he was saying to me, "Hey, I know you. I know what you love. I know your heart. You ask, and I will give you something so much better than what you asked for because I love you that much and more."

His gift for me today was so personal. More than what I asked for. It was a simple reminder of his love and beauty.

The Curse

I have a confession to make.

My name is Kathleen Prengaman, and I'm a ginger.
I know what you may be thinking, "She doesn't have red hair."
But rest-assured my friends, you can be a ginger without having red hair.

Allow me to explain myself.
If you know me, you know how pale I am. I prefer the terms "Ivory Beauty" and "Snow White," but alas, I don't hear those terms often. I guess those are terms I only hear from myself, but I digress.
Yes, I know not everybody with fair skin is a ginger, but I am not done yet.
But before I go on, let me tell you that I love my Snow White skin. I think I am actually the only girl in the world that actually prefers to be as pale as I am. So do I consider my skin a blessing? Yes, very much so. I like my complexion.

Now for the curse part
I have freckles. They are on my face and my shoulders. The ones on my face have faded, so they are much less prominent, but they are there. The ones on my shoulders, they are very prominent. You can't miss them. I swear, when I get out in the sun, they appear on my shoulders right before my very eyes. Now normally, I don't mind the freckles. For the most part I forget that they are even there, but when I am exposed to the sunlight, I am very much aware of them. (Exposed to the sunlight? I sound like I am writing Vampire fiction.)

Freckles: The Mark of the Ginger.
So what does this mean for me?
When I am exposed to the sunlight, I get more freckly. Not only do I get more freckly, but I burn. Oh boy, do I burn. If I miss one spot, I am screwed. And I always miss one spot. It never fails.

Today I went out on the beach sporting my SPF 30 Coppertone Sport sun lotion. I was excited, I get to enjoy my time in the sun, and not burn. I don't know why I always let myself believe that I am not going to burn because I always do. So now I am sitting here, writing this blog, splotchy and red.

But I have developed a theory about the Curse of the Gingers. Gingers are actually vampires. Why do I say this?
Exhibit A:
They are pale and white.
Exhibit B:
They burn in the sun.
Exhibit C:
They have no souls.
Vampires right?

I guess this makes me a vampire.

Hipsters vs. Indie Kids: The Fine Line and How to Tell the Difference

I have noticed that Hipsters and Indie Kids have been used synonymously, as if they are the same thing. I understand the mistake is easy to make because they dress similarly and sometimes listen to the same music, but due to my utmost respect for Independent (indie, if you will) kids, I feel it is my duty to explain the difference to the world.

Hipsters.

Oh Hipsters. Where to begin?

I feel sorry for them actually. They are deceived. They have deceived themselves into thinking they are Independent kids. Their main goal is to isolate themselves away from status quo. They want to get away from the kids smoking Malboro cigarettes and drinking Budlight at the “main stream.” They want to go to that small creek nobody has ever heard of and smoke their Natural Spirit cigarettes and drink PBR. They are obsessed with being different. Their favorite type of music is “indie.” (They act like indie is a genre of music. Deceived, much?) You know the underground music that you probably have never heard of? Yeah, that’s what they like, and they don’t actually like it. They just like it because nobody else has ever heard of it. None of that stuff they listen to at the “main stream.” No Lady Gaga, no Jack Johnson, especially not Mumford and Sons. Mumford and Sons used to be good, and then their music started playing on the radio. What sell-outs. I would tell you what they listen to at the creek, but it is pointless because you probably have never heard of it. They will tell you they belong to the indie scene. “Don’t mind me, I am an indie kid.” If a person ever says that to you, you should know right then and there that they indeed are a Hipster. Hipsters have an unjustified sense of propriety.

Independent Kids

These kids are just really cool. They like what they like and they are who they are. They don’t really care what other people think. They listen to the music they like, not the music that nobody else has ever heard of. Sometimes the music they like happens to be obscure, but that is not why they like it. They don’t feel the need to walk around and tell people that they have probably never heard of their favorite band. They understand that “indie” is not a genre of music. If you ask indie kids if they are hipsters, they will probably laugh, but not a mocking laugh, but just a knowing laugh. Then they will respond by saying, “Whatever you think, man. It doesn’t really mean much to me.”  I respect Indie kids so much because they like what they like and they believe what they believe no matter what people think of them. They understand, that in the long run, it doesn’t really matter. It is just important to be firm in your own personal tastes and convictions.

The main difference between Hipsters and Indie kids is that the Hipsters care about how people perceive them, and Indie kids don’t.

Those Independent kids, making everyone else look the fool. Sorry Hipsters, but the joke’s on you!

May My Wild Heart Beat

Call me a free spirit, but I always want to be on the move. I always want to try something new.
I don't want comfort, I want experience.
I don't want routine, I want life.
I want to experience culture. Real culture. I want truth and grit.
Give me people to learn from. Give me cities to explore.
Let me love those people. Let me serve those people.
May each of those cities teach me something new about humanity. About myself. About my place in humanity.
I wasn't made to be stationary.
I was given a wild heart. A wild heart that will not beat unless I experience the world and the people in it. A wild heart that beats to love and serve people.
May my wild heart beat. May my spirit be free to explore.