A friend-of-a-friend did this, and the idea has been passed on and around in emails with my girls. I think that having learned at least 21 things in a year is a good goal to aim for--if you haven't learned something-anything-what is the point? I admit that my list here has been somewhat edited from my original. Sorry--but the general populace just doesn't get the same info as my Circle of Trust. (I think that's fair.) 2010 was a wacky year for many people I know (and for me, oy), but wacky isn't bad. You can't change the past--you can only alter your perception, learn from it, and grow.
May 2011 bring all of us personal fulfillment, unbridled joy, few struggles, and many lessons.
1. Growth comes from conflict. You have to put it out there and struggle to shed your skin and grow one anew.
2. Keeping stuff bottled up will eventually kill you. It's amazing how much better I feel when I just say it--whatever it is. It's terrifying most of the time--you're setting yourself up for rejection or worse--but after the initial shock wears off, a weight is lifted.
3. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. So does drinking lots of water, getting a lot of sleep, exercising, etc.
4. My mottos for the year: "It is what it is" and "Try different; different can be good."
5. I am borrowing this one: like what you like, and like it with abandon. I like Ke$sha/crappy pop music, crime drama tv shows, Glee, clipping coupons, having short, unpainted nails, drinking my tea with a straw, and going to bed at a decent hour. I spent so much of my life trying to pretend that I liked the "right" things, etc. Screw it. If you hate "Tik Tok" you don't have to listen to it with me, but I am going to dance in my bathroom when it comes on the radio, dammit.
6. Vodka + lemonade + fake eyelashes + Revertigo = broken glass and a bandaged ass. And one of the funniest videos ever. My high school besties-KH, JD, BT-bring out my wild, uninhibited, carefree side (yes, even while sober). This is a side I would show more if I weren't such a weenie. I thank my lucky stars for them--they repair, reinvigorate, recenter, and refresh me on a daily basis. A toast to the future residents of the beach side Wisteria Lane. I love you, girls.
7. It is pretty remarkable how feeling satisfied in your personal and professional life leads directly to a more zen feeling about material things. I am making below poverty level money and am happier than I have been in years. Sure, I still love shopping and new clothes (I'm broke, not dead), but I'm no longer trying to substitute one happiness for another.
8. How to jump start a car.
9. Concerts tend to be disappointing.
10. I really, really like going to the movies. Alone, with friends, with strangers, with a date. Artsy-fartsy indie films, Ben Affleck blockbusters, musicals, animated, documentaries, you name it. Theaters with the movable arm rests are the best, and the kid's meal deal is the perfect amount of popcorn and soda. I even like watching tv in a movie theater (I watched most of The Walking Dead here.)
11. In a pinch, a piece of spaghetti can serve as a toothpick to dip homemade candy in chocolate.
12. I can eat the same thing for dinner for about a month before I can't stand to see it ever again.
13. You really get to know who your friends are when you go through a crisis, move away, and make choices that could be considered less than stellar. The best friends simultaneously call you on your bullshit, support you through it, and love you anyway. Or hell, because of it.
14. I look better with shorter hair. Sorry, ponytail--not gonna happen. And fine, I like how it looks when I use a diffuser like my stylist suggested. (Thanks, Mom, for trading hair dryers with me.)
15. As for Kitty: My mom and I have gotten to that wonderful point in a mother-daughter relationship where we are friends; she knows more about me than I would like to admit, and I can talk to her about things that I never thought would come out of my mouth. That said, it's also nice to have her cook me dinner and send me $20 in the mail "just because." I am still her kid, and she likes to treat me that way, too.
16. This year I was introduced to Dan Savage and chugged the Kool-Aid. The two most important things I learned from him are that a) sex is important, at least to me, and that's totally acceptable, and b) that sex isn't about intercourse. You can fuck and make love to someone and technically be abstinent. Health educators, teachers, parents, even youth ministers need to emphasize this. It would probably reduce the teen pregnancy rate. (Let me be clear: I am absolutely NOT advocating for abstinence only education; that is laughably ineffective and a dangerous byproduct of the influence the "moral" majority has on public policy. I am saying that all types of sexual activities--aka, "everything except"--can carry the emotional weight and overall fun/hotness that the general public--especially those who are beating the wait-til-you're-married horse--seems to think is limited to penetrative intercourse.)
17. It's easy to give up on love. Don't.
18. Republicans/social conservatives can raise my blood pressure in nanoseconds. I really do try to respect everyone's opinion and their right to express it, but there are just some beliefs that will make me think less of you. Sorry.
19. The heart is resilient in a way that most people can't believe. It can also handle far more than we think--just when I think "I can't take even one more crack" another appears and I say it all over again. It might shatter like an icy pond eventually, but it's stronger than I thought.
20. A great pair of jeans, tall black boots, good hair, some mascara and lip color = instasexy on almost everyone, me included. I actually think I look hot sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. This is new to me.
21. Life is a big, gray polka-dotted rug. There will hopefully be lots and lots of happy pink dots, few blue sad dots and just the right mix of green wacky dots. But the rest of it, the gray, is what we live day in, day out. Commuting, showering, grocery shopping, scooping cat poop, getting the mail, reading news online. Most of us aren't going to solve the world's crises, but most of us aren't going to cause great destruction, either. You should try to be a good friend, partner, child, neighbor, pet owner, employee or boss most of the time. If you have kids, you should try to be a good parent most of the time, too. We won't always be: we'll hurt feelings, forget, fight, ignore, insult. Hopefully not too many of these turn into permanent blue dots. Some days we'll excel: we'll inspire, console, laugh with, (laugh at), truly show our love and appreciation. Hopefully lots of these will become pink dots (or, with my friends, the green wacky dots). But life is mostly made up of the gray background--and that's ok. The point is to try to find the people you want on the rug with you and then buckle up for a carpet ride.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
Do What You Like; Like What You Do
This phrase from the "Life is Good" company is on a blue mug that currently serves to hold my extra Splenda. I think I bought it last year at REI with a gift card or something. It may be a trite slogan imprinted on a piece of dyed ceramic, but I believe it.
There are countless pithy sayings about work blazoned across stickers and mugs, but this one I agree with the most. My mom raised me to care less about salary and status, and more about enjoying what you do every day. Because, unless I were to win the lottery, marry a millionaire, or inherit a killing, I am going to have to work nearly every day of my life. Nearly one third of my life will be spent at work; another third I'll be asleep, and the remaining third is spent in "other." For this reason, I believe strongly in enjoying your work (and having a comfortable mattress).
Not everyone agrees with this. I know lots of people see work as the vehicle for earning the money to be able to enjoy that other third. And sure, that helps. But I don't think it helps enough to do something you hate in exchange for more money, or to do something that kills you slowly, thus rendering that "other'" third useless anyway. Of course, some consider it a privilege to be able to quit a job to follow a dream, or to turn down a job you're over qualified for, and I would agree to an extent. Tough times call for tough measures, or so they say, and if I had to feed myself and my family, well, you "do what you gotta do." Luckily, my mom saved her pennies for me to go to college; the government was kind enough to loan me a bunch to go to graduate school, and I am qualified for a job I can "always fall back on" provided I'm willing to work where needed.
Prior to taking a leave of absence, I hadn't loved my job in quite a while, and I missed that feeling. I couldn't put my finger on it until I removed myself from the situation, but teaching was not for me any longer. It didn't allow me to utilize my strengths, made a mockery of my weaknesses, and I felt like I was a cog in a philosophical machine that made me fight an internal battle every day. Sure, I got up and did my job as best I could (most days), and some days I even enjoyed it, but a house divided cannot stand. I wasn't happy. I wasn't pleasant to be around. I noticed; my (soon-to-be ex) spouse noticed; I think even the kids and my colleagues noticed.
Even though lots of people told me I was crazy for giving up a great salary and health insurance during these "tough economic times," and leaving a stable you-can-have-this-til-you-retire job in one of the best school districts in the state of Pennsylvania, I just had to. And I haven't looked back (ok, so maybe I miss that salary). I have not missed teaching for one second. I miss my kids and their energy and wackiness. I miss my colleagues and their friendship and the general feeling of camaraderie. I miss feeling like part of a community and going to things like pep rallies, school plays, etc. I miss running my Model UN club and coaching volleyball (though the team did far better without me this year). But I do not miss teaching itself. I'm technically on a leave of absence, which means my job is mine if I want it back, but let's be honest. I'm not going back.
My job at Ohio State, however, is fantastic. It pays a pittance, but it's a good fit. I am far better as a teacher-resource/teacher-on-the-side/teacher-supporter. I have a great group of student interns who are doing really good work. I help with lesson planning, classroom management issues and ideas, general teaching worries. I observe them, give them feedback, talk with them through their struggles. I am part counselor, part leader, part quasi guru. (I do not claim to have the how-to-teach market cornered, but I have seven more years of experience than they do, and the difference is significant.) I like what I do, and I do it well (or at least, their feedback suggests this). It leaves me with life left at the end of the day and doesn't eat away at my soul.
Of course, my other "job" is to be a student, and that is the best part. Even though she's not very formally educated, my mother has always said she could go to school for the rest of her life; I feel the same. Reading articles and books, thinking about them, discussing them with peers and classmates, and yes, even writing papers about them is interesting to me. It's fun. It gets my brain going, which I need. And, as stupid as it sounds to say, I'm sort of good at it. Not that grades are the be-all, end-all, and there is totally grade inflation at the graduate level (arguably at all levels, but that's for another time), but I do well, and have always done well, in school. I care about it and try to do my best because it matters to me. I was recently accepted to present at my first conference, and I didn't come down off my academic, brain-based high for an entire day. This was someone who has never met me, who doesn't know how often I raise my hand to comment or ask a question, who never had me visit office hours tell me "hey, we think this is interesting and we want to hear more." It's a huge compliment--which, of course, just makes me worry that I'm a fraud and that I actually have no idea what I'm doing. But, for the moments in between the fear, it's a total ego boost.
Of course, I'm doing all of this--writing papers, applying for conferences, living on a measly budget in my early 30s and probably accruing more debt--in order to hopefully be a professor. I am in a little niche market in academia (there are only 5 Ph.D programs for my subject in the country, though lots of Master's programs) but it is under the bigger umbrella of education. That said, there is a complete and utter likelihood that I won't be employed in that fashion. What then? What if you work your ass off and aim for this and it doesn't work out right away? Well, I don't know. I could adjunct, though it's hard to live alone that way. I could consult for school districts, I guess. I hope to write children's and YA books some day (I have the basic idea for a YA series loosely based on my high school experience with my best friends). I could maybe somehow work for a publisher, or do reviews? I don't exactly know.
For now, I am going to sort of tuck that away and focus on next quarter, and the next. I'm waiting to hear back from another conference. I have to write a paper over this break so I can apply for an award at the first conference. I have to figure out how to negotiate taking more-than-the-recommended credits, working, and tutoring during my least favorite, least productive season of the year. I would love to be able to say that winter will leave me unscathed this year because my professional life is vastly improved, but that's just not how brain chemicals work. But, as always, I'll get through it, and then it will be Spring.
Even though I had to close a door (a big door) for this window to open, it's one of the best things I have ever done for myself. Some people can just show up for a job they hate every day and then leave it at the door. I actually admire these people--how much easier would my life be if I could do that? Maybe it's a character flaw that I can't do that, but I don't think so. Don't get me wrong--I'm not out there solving world hunger, or educating people about rape and domestic abuse like one of my best friends does. I'm not helping the Democrats negotiate tax breaks for the middle class, preventing suicides in gay teenagers, or nursing people back to health. What I'm doing in the grand scheme of things isn't all that important to the world (well, ok; having kids and teenagers love to read is important), but it allows me to be a kinder person (even to strangers), a better friend, someday a better partner, a more pleasant daughter, a more loving cat-mom. I will never make a ton of money, will always have to work hard, and I can't retire til I'm pretty stinkin' old. But to me, it has been worth it.
As Confucius said, find a job you love, and you'll never work a day in your life.
There are countless pithy sayings about work blazoned across stickers and mugs, but this one I agree with the most. My mom raised me to care less about salary and status, and more about enjoying what you do every day. Because, unless I were to win the lottery, marry a millionaire, or inherit a killing, I am going to have to work nearly every day of my life. Nearly one third of my life will be spent at work; another third I'll be asleep, and the remaining third is spent in "other." For this reason, I believe strongly in enjoying your work (and having a comfortable mattress).
Not everyone agrees with this. I know lots of people see work as the vehicle for earning the money to be able to enjoy that other third. And sure, that helps. But I don't think it helps enough to do something you hate in exchange for more money, or to do something that kills you slowly, thus rendering that "other'" third useless anyway. Of course, some consider it a privilege to be able to quit a job to follow a dream, or to turn down a job you're over qualified for, and I would agree to an extent. Tough times call for tough measures, or so they say, and if I had to feed myself and my family, well, you "do what you gotta do." Luckily, my mom saved her pennies for me to go to college; the government was kind enough to loan me a bunch to go to graduate school, and I am qualified for a job I can "always fall back on" provided I'm willing to work where needed.
Prior to taking a leave of absence, I hadn't loved my job in quite a while, and I missed that feeling. I couldn't put my finger on it until I removed myself from the situation, but teaching was not for me any longer. It didn't allow me to utilize my strengths, made a mockery of my weaknesses, and I felt like I was a cog in a philosophical machine that made me fight an internal battle every day. Sure, I got up and did my job as best I could (most days), and some days I even enjoyed it, but a house divided cannot stand. I wasn't happy. I wasn't pleasant to be around. I noticed; my (soon-to-be ex) spouse noticed; I think even the kids and my colleagues noticed.
Even though lots of people told me I was crazy for giving up a great salary and health insurance during these "tough economic times," and leaving a stable you-can-have-this-til-you-retire job in one of the best school districts in the state of Pennsylvania, I just had to. And I haven't looked back (ok, so maybe I miss that salary). I have not missed teaching for one second. I miss my kids and their energy and wackiness. I miss my colleagues and their friendship and the general feeling of camaraderie. I miss feeling like part of a community and going to things like pep rallies, school plays, etc. I miss running my Model UN club and coaching volleyball (though the team did far better without me this year). But I do not miss teaching itself. I'm technically on a leave of absence, which means my job is mine if I want it back, but let's be honest. I'm not going back.
My job at Ohio State, however, is fantastic. It pays a pittance, but it's a good fit. I am far better as a teacher-resource/teacher-on-the-side/teacher-supporter. I have a great group of student interns who are doing really good work. I help with lesson planning, classroom management issues and ideas, general teaching worries. I observe them, give them feedback, talk with them through their struggles. I am part counselor, part leader, part quasi guru. (I do not claim to have the how-to-teach market cornered, but I have seven more years of experience than they do, and the difference is significant.) I like what I do, and I do it well (or at least, their feedback suggests this). It leaves me with life left at the end of the day and doesn't eat away at my soul.
Of course, my other "job" is to be a student, and that is the best part. Even though she's not very formally educated, my mother has always said she could go to school for the rest of her life; I feel the same. Reading articles and books, thinking about them, discussing them with peers and classmates, and yes, even writing papers about them is interesting to me. It's fun. It gets my brain going, which I need. And, as stupid as it sounds to say, I'm sort of good at it. Not that grades are the be-all, end-all, and there is totally grade inflation at the graduate level (arguably at all levels, but that's for another time), but I do well, and have always done well, in school. I care about it and try to do my best because it matters to me. I was recently accepted to present at my first conference, and I didn't come down off my academic, brain-based high for an entire day. This was someone who has never met me, who doesn't know how often I raise my hand to comment or ask a question, who never had me visit office hours tell me "hey, we think this is interesting and we want to hear more." It's a huge compliment--which, of course, just makes me worry that I'm a fraud and that I actually have no idea what I'm doing. But, for the moments in between the fear, it's a total ego boost.
Of course, I'm doing all of this--writing papers, applying for conferences, living on a measly budget in my early 30s and probably accruing more debt--in order to hopefully be a professor. I am in a little niche market in academia (there are only 5 Ph.D programs for my subject in the country, though lots of Master's programs) but it is under the bigger umbrella of education. That said, there is a complete and utter likelihood that I won't be employed in that fashion. What then? What if you work your ass off and aim for this and it doesn't work out right away? Well, I don't know. I could adjunct, though it's hard to live alone that way. I could consult for school districts, I guess. I hope to write children's and YA books some day (I have the basic idea for a YA series loosely based on my high school experience with my best friends). I could maybe somehow work for a publisher, or do reviews? I don't exactly know.
For now, I am going to sort of tuck that away and focus on next quarter, and the next. I'm waiting to hear back from another conference. I have to write a paper over this break so I can apply for an award at the first conference. I have to figure out how to negotiate taking more-than-the-recommended credits, working, and tutoring during my least favorite, least productive season of the year. I would love to be able to say that winter will leave me unscathed this year because my professional life is vastly improved, but that's just not how brain chemicals work. But, as always, I'll get through it, and then it will be Spring.
Even though I had to close a door (a big door) for this window to open, it's one of the best things I have ever done for myself. Some people can just show up for a job they hate every day and then leave it at the door. I actually admire these people--how much easier would my life be if I could do that? Maybe it's a character flaw that I can't do that, but I don't think so. Don't get me wrong--I'm not out there solving world hunger, or educating people about rape and domestic abuse like one of my best friends does. I'm not helping the Democrats negotiate tax breaks for the middle class, preventing suicides in gay teenagers, or nursing people back to health. What I'm doing in the grand scheme of things isn't all that important to the world (well, ok; having kids and teenagers love to read is important), but it allows me to be a kinder person (even to strangers), a better friend, someday a better partner, a more pleasant daughter, a more loving cat-mom. I will never make a ton of money, will always have to work hard, and I can't retire til I'm pretty stinkin' old. But to me, it has been worth it.
As Confucius said, find a job you love, and you'll never work a day in your life.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
25 Days of Thank You
I've been inspired by the new Facebook trend to post one thing a day from now until Thanksgiving, but I don't want to do it via status updates. Instead, I'd rather keep the list going here, and publish it when I'm finished. I don't like to over-update on the old FB, and what if I had something else that just had to be alerted to the general populace? (I realize I'm not that important, but still.) Also, I'd like to focus on the smaller, often overlooked aspects of life--of course I'm thankful for my friends and family, for my health, for the freedoms and rights afforded me by living in America. Of course. I have some of the best friends on the Earth who have seen me through it all; my mom (as I blogged earlier) is easily one of my favorite people, and America, for all its issues and flaws, is still a great place to live. No, I want to think about the cliched "little things."
In no particular order...
1. I am thankful for crisp, but not uncomfortably cold, fall days when the sky is blue, the leaves have turned, the sun is out and the squirrels are scampering.
2. That 7 years ago I found an ad on petfinder.com for a deaf orange cat on the verge of being put down because no one wanted him (what with the deafness and all) and that I took a chance on this pathetic sounding little guy. Morris is the cutest, snuggliest, friendliest cat and enriches my life every day, despite his myriad health issues (no eardrums, pee crystals...). Sometimes I just look at him and burst with how much I love him. I love how he snores; I love how he gets this curious, quizzical look on his face when he's watching the squirrels. I could go on, but I'd probably disgust you.
3. That there are people willing to and keenly capable at doing jobs that benefit me (and most other people) without being especially glamorous. I'm thinking car mechanics, nail technicians, seamstresses, plumbers, heating and cooling maintenance, pet groomers, bus drivers, mail delivery persons, gas station attendants (in New Jersey), supermarket bakery and meat counter workers, the overnight custodians who make the places I visit look nice in the secret of night, etc. Thank you for all you do that makes my life, and the lives of others, a lot easier and more pleasant.
4. I'm grateful for being pleasantly surprised. One of my student teachers totally "got us" all in class today as part of a lesson and it was so great I couldn't stop smiling afterward. I don't love all surprises, actually--especially if it's one of the "I have something for you but I can't give it to you yet"--variety, but when you least expect something to happen, and then it does, and it's a good thing...awesome. And I'm glad the world has moments like these and that I am occasionally privy to them.
5. For first impressions, second chances, three strikes. These are all important things to live by, at least sometimes. (I also go for third chances, 2 strikes, etc. )
6. For summer weather, fall food, winter wonderlands and spring cleaning. I have lived in a place that is pretty monoseasonal, and it's just not as enjoyable as having all four cycle through the year in a relatively predictable fashion. Sure, last year it was 90 in early April and 50 in May and we got a near apocalyptic amount of snow, but the changes are worth it. Football season is better with hoodies and chili, baseball is better with sunshine and burgers. (It is currently warmish for early November; someone remind me to reread this in mid-February when it's grey and bleak and I haven't left the house in 4 days and am eating rice pudding every night as Seasonal Affective Disorder self-medication.)
7. For well written books, well-directed films, beautiful art, well-composed music....basically, I am so grateful that our world contains a wide variety of things that are artistic and beautiful. The world and my life would be so depressing without Monet, Renoir, Mozart, Darren Aronofsky, Phillip Glass, Joss Whedon, Picasso, Vivaldi, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Toni Morrison, Julia Alvarez,..oh my. I could go on. Of course, taste is subjective and the same art does not appeal to everyone, but I for one am glad for "Waterlilies."
8. That being said, I'm also thankful that movies like "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" and shows like Sex and the City and songs like "Bad Romance" and books like The Mortal Instruments exist. Maybe not high quality but fun and brainless and easy to enjoy.
9. I'm thankful that "all" I have to do is pay someone some money and I get a roof over my head and hot water in my shower. Sure, at the moment my current economic state renders the space small and the cost about 50% of my monthly take home pay, but I am far, far luckier than those who do not have access to shelter and who cannot take a hot shower every day, if ever.
10. I also have the luxury of paying money and walking out of a store with nutritious food to bring home and prepare. I don't have to scrounge, hunt or gather (unless I so choose), nor do I worry where my next meal will come from. I wake up every day knowing I will eat. Most of the time, I eat a lot. How lucky!
11. I am thankful that, despite going to a high school that was pretty consistently ranked near the bottom of the pile, I had some really good teachers whose lessons and instruction were so good that I still remember the content 12 plus years later. I recently tutored a girl in Honors Geometry and remember almost everything about triangles and exterior angles and how to solve to find them, etc. I learned this stuff when I was 14! And, to be fair, haven't really used it much, except to take the SAT and GRE. Sure, I'm a relatively intelligent person, but my teachers were also pretty darn good, apparently.
12. I am grateful for the train that runs near my apartment. It sounds so hauntingly beautiful, especially at night.
13. I am thankful for competent, caring medical professionals who treated my friend Joel who is now hopefully in full remission and won't have to go through surgery that would remove some pretty important body parts. My mom also had a simple procedure recently (and had pretty intense surgery a few years ago) and she was well cared for. Doctors, nurses, NPs, PAs, techs, EMTs who care about their patients, listen well and are thoughtful and precise with their treatments and diagnoses are irreplaceable. (My mom is one of these people, as is my friend Jennie.)
14. I am thankful for group fitness classes and the people who teach them! No matter where I have lived or on what salary, one of the first things I do is join a gym. I can't help it--I'm crazy that way. And all of my self-motivation gets exhausted by work or school, so I need the help to work out. Out of desperation, I'll use the elliptical or treadmill or bike or something, but I live for BodyAttack, BodyPump, BodyStep, Cardio-Strength and (back in PA) Kettlebell. My BodyAttack class even feels like a mini-family since we all stand in the same place every time and have gotten to sort of know each other. I need the specific time slot and the presence of others to keep me accountable.
15. I am thankful for the kindness of strangers. Today, a girl and I were waiting for the women's restroom to open up after cleaning. We were both sort of doing the pee dance, and so I offered to watch the door of the men's room while she used it if she would return the favor. Two days ago I had the most cheerful bus driver I've ever met, and you could tell that she had struck up a friendship with a woman in a wheelchair who is a "regular" on her route. I do believe that people are inherently good and these little moments remind me of that.
16. It sounds dumb, but I am grateful for technology and the Internet. I know I was a anti Facebook for a while (and am now addicted), but it has allowed me to not only stay in contact with my friends and reacquaint with old ones, but I've even gotten to know my half siblings whom I have never met in person. Gchat is a lifeline, as is my cell phone, and I love reading personal blogs. I am in a place in my life where I need human contact and without Mark Zuckerberg or the team at Google, my life would be much emptier. Or at least seem that way. And for all the criticism it gets, I now have a wee bit of income thanks to Craigslist. I am also grateful for my cellphone, DVR, and even the fancy alarm clock I have that sets itself when the power goes out. Because of the internet, I can listen to my weekly podcasts and be seated comfortably in a cozy chair doing research for a class.
17. If I am thankful for the people who do unappreciated behind the scenes work (#3), I am also thankful for those people in the limelight who are well paid to bring some brilliance and insight in our world. People like Jon Stewart, Rachel Maddow, Dan Savage, Anderson Cooper and the rest of the liberal news media tend to make my day. Don't get me wrong, I fully appreciate that their conservative counterparts have a venue too (ok, maybe I'm not thankful for Fox itself...) but those are not the people bringing the sunshine into my life.
18. I'm not a foodie by any means, but man oh man, am I grateful for the beet dip at The Burgundy Room here in Columbus. Honestly the best thing I've ever eaten. They also had this amazing roasted asparagus dish that was to die for, but they just got a new chef and it is no longer on their menu. Sigh. At least I had it once. Other foodstuffs that make me melt include the harvest roll at Haiku, the (now unavailable) pineapple coconut cake at Margaritaville (I know, a chain, how lame of me), and the cream of caramelized onion soup at my former place of employment, The King George Inn in Allentown. The chef was a jerk, but man. That soup.
19. I am also not too big of a drinker, but I also get in a tizzy for the peach sangria at Barcelona, the flirtinis at Landmark, the margaritas at El Vez in Philly and Doc Loosen riesling (which I get at The Burgundy Room with my beet dip). Some days you just "need a drink" and one sip of any of these...well, I am grateful for them!
20. This Thanksgiving, I am a little bit unmoored, both physically and emotionally, and I am thankful that really, I always have a place to go. I can't be home with my mom and my home in PA is no longer an option, but I have friends who invited me to celebrate with them, new classmates who did the same, and OSU opens its doors to students who have no other place to go as well. People do want you to feel "at home" even when you don't really have one.
21. Though I've only really ever had cats, I love dogs, too, and I love sleeping with my friend Matt's dog, Milo. He curls up under the blankets at my feet and is my personal four-legged toaster oven. He's also pretty snuggly on the couch and a nice excuse to go outside for a walk.
22. You know what? I'll be so bold as to say I am thankful for hot men. I have been chastised for having odd taste, but seriously, there are some good looking people in the world. Some of my personal favorites include Jason Segel, Jon Stewart, Andy Samberg, Jake Gyllenhaal, Matthew Gray Gubler, Shemar Moore, Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Jon Hamm, Hugh Jackman, Andy Roddick, John Krasinski...again, taste is totally subjective, but these guys? Yowza. And, hey, I won't be so sexually rigid that I can't name some hot women, too: Reese Witherspoon, Julianne Moore, Tina Fey, the girl who does the Aveeno ads, Zooey Deschanel, Natalie Portman, Mila Kunis, Jennifer Aniston, Bar Rafaeli...gorgeous. Of course, I have hot friends (male and female) too, but it's far safer to name the famous people.
23. I am thankful for little rituals and traditions, be they big or small, public or private. The beloved hippie dj on my favorite Philadelphia radio station always plays "Alice's Restaurant" on Thanksgiving--all 18+ minutes of it--three times. ABC family has the "25 Days of Christmas" on tv for our holiday movie viewing pleasure. My friend Ali always hosts a holiday party that is one of my favorite things all year. I am sure everyone has family rituals, especially around this time of year, that bring them a little bit of extra happiness. My mom and I usually work at a soup kitchen; some people play football, others have board games, parade viewings, a Turkey Trot, even the 5 am Black Friday trip to the mall with a coffee run first.
24. While I do enjoy the comfortably crisp fall days (#1), I also very much enjoy the non-politically correct named Indian Summer. It was almost 70 out the other day--in late November! I won't spout off on whether this is a result of global warming or what have you, but I'll certainly take it.
25. Lastly, I am glad for grief, happiness, disappointment, jealousy, empathy, joy, love, heartache....all of these emotions and feelings that make us so utterly, inescapably human. Without them, we would all be flatlining our way through life. Sure, some of those are terrible feelings, but they don't last forever. When you've come out on the other side of those, the good ones--joy, happiness, gratitude, love--seem that much richer. I am so, so glad I have all of them.
In no particular order...
1. I am thankful for crisp, but not uncomfortably cold, fall days when the sky is blue, the leaves have turned, the sun is out and the squirrels are scampering.
2. That 7 years ago I found an ad on petfinder.com for a deaf orange cat on the verge of being put down because no one wanted him (what with the deafness and all) and that I took a chance on this pathetic sounding little guy. Morris is the cutest, snuggliest, friendliest cat and enriches my life every day, despite his myriad health issues (no eardrums, pee crystals...). Sometimes I just look at him and burst with how much I love him. I love how he snores; I love how he gets this curious, quizzical look on his face when he's watching the squirrels. I could go on, but I'd probably disgust you.
3. That there are people willing to and keenly capable at doing jobs that benefit me (and most other people) without being especially glamorous. I'm thinking car mechanics, nail technicians, seamstresses, plumbers, heating and cooling maintenance, pet groomers, bus drivers, mail delivery persons, gas station attendants (in New Jersey), supermarket bakery and meat counter workers, the overnight custodians who make the places I visit look nice in the secret of night, etc. Thank you for all you do that makes my life, and the lives of others, a lot easier and more pleasant.
4. I'm grateful for being pleasantly surprised. One of my student teachers totally "got us" all in class today as part of a lesson and it was so great I couldn't stop smiling afterward. I don't love all surprises, actually--especially if it's one of the "I have something for you but I can't give it to you yet"--variety, but when you least expect something to happen, and then it does, and it's a good thing...awesome. And I'm glad the world has moments like these and that I am occasionally privy to them.
5. For first impressions, second chances, three strikes. These are all important things to live by, at least sometimes. (I also go for third chances, 2 strikes, etc. )
6. For summer weather, fall food, winter wonderlands and spring cleaning. I have lived in a place that is pretty monoseasonal, and it's just not as enjoyable as having all four cycle through the year in a relatively predictable fashion. Sure, last year it was 90 in early April and 50 in May and we got a near apocalyptic amount of snow, but the changes are worth it. Football season is better with hoodies and chili, baseball is better with sunshine and burgers. (It is currently warmish for early November; someone remind me to reread this in mid-February when it's grey and bleak and I haven't left the house in 4 days and am eating rice pudding every night as Seasonal Affective Disorder self-medication.)
7. For well written books, well-directed films, beautiful art, well-composed music....basically, I am so grateful that our world contains a wide variety of things that are artistic and beautiful. The world and my life would be so depressing without Monet, Renoir, Mozart, Darren Aronofsky, Phillip Glass, Joss Whedon, Picasso, Vivaldi, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Toni Morrison, Julia Alvarez,..oh my. I could go on. Of course, taste is subjective and the same art does not appeal to everyone, but I for one am glad for "Waterlilies."
8. That being said, I'm also thankful that movies like "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" and shows like Sex and the City and songs like "Bad Romance" and books like The Mortal Instruments exist. Maybe not high quality but fun and brainless and easy to enjoy.
9. I'm thankful that "all" I have to do is pay someone some money and I get a roof over my head and hot water in my shower. Sure, at the moment my current economic state renders the space small and the cost about 50% of my monthly take home pay, but I am far, far luckier than those who do not have access to shelter and who cannot take a hot shower every day, if ever.
10. I also have the luxury of paying money and walking out of a store with nutritious food to bring home and prepare. I don't have to scrounge, hunt or gather (unless I so choose), nor do I worry where my next meal will come from. I wake up every day knowing I will eat. Most of the time, I eat a lot. How lucky!
11. I am thankful that, despite going to a high school that was pretty consistently ranked near the bottom of the pile, I had some really good teachers whose lessons and instruction were so good that I still remember the content 12 plus years later. I recently tutored a girl in Honors Geometry and remember almost everything about triangles and exterior angles and how to solve to find them, etc. I learned this stuff when I was 14! And, to be fair, haven't really used it much, except to take the SAT and GRE. Sure, I'm a relatively intelligent person, but my teachers were also pretty darn good, apparently.
12. I am grateful for the train that runs near my apartment. It sounds so hauntingly beautiful, especially at night.
13. I am thankful for competent, caring medical professionals who treated my friend Joel who is now hopefully in full remission and won't have to go through surgery that would remove some pretty important body parts. My mom also had a simple procedure recently (and had pretty intense surgery a few years ago) and she was well cared for. Doctors, nurses, NPs, PAs, techs, EMTs who care about their patients, listen well and are thoughtful and precise with their treatments and diagnoses are irreplaceable. (My mom is one of these people, as is my friend Jennie.)
14. I am thankful for group fitness classes and the people who teach them! No matter where I have lived or on what salary, one of the first things I do is join a gym. I can't help it--I'm crazy that way. And all of my self-motivation gets exhausted by work or school, so I need the help to work out. Out of desperation, I'll use the elliptical or treadmill or bike or something, but I live for BodyAttack, BodyPump, BodyStep, Cardio-Strength and (back in PA) Kettlebell. My BodyAttack class even feels like a mini-family since we all stand in the same place every time and have gotten to sort of know each other. I need the specific time slot and the presence of others to keep me accountable.
15. I am thankful for the kindness of strangers. Today, a girl and I were waiting for the women's restroom to open up after cleaning. We were both sort of doing the pee dance, and so I offered to watch the door of the men's room while she used it if she would return the favor. Two days ago I had the most cheerful bus driver I've ever met, and you could tell that she had struck up a friendship with a woman in a wheelchair who is a "regular" on her route. I do believe that people are inherently good and these little moments remind me of that.
16. It sounds dumb, but I am grateful for technology and the Internet. I know I was a anti Facebook for a while (and am now addicted), but it has allowed me to not only stay in contact with my friends and reacquaint with old ones, but I've even gotten to know my half siblings whom I have never met in person. Gchat is a lifeline, as is my cell phone, and I love reading personal blogs. I am in a place in my life where I need human contact and without Mark Zuckerberg or the team at Google, my life would be much emptier. Or at least seem that way. And for all the criticism it gets, I now have a wee bit of income thanks to Craigslist. I am also grateful for my cellphone, DVR, and even the fancy alarm clock I have that sets itself when the power goes out. Because of the internet, I can listen to my weekly podcasts and be seated comfortably in a cozy chair doing research for a class.
17. If I am thankful for the people who do unappreciated behind the scenes work (#3), I am also thankful for those people in the limelight who are well paid to bring some brilliance and insight in our world. People like Jon Stewart, Rachel Maddow, Dan Savage, Anderson Cooper and the rest of the liberal news media tend to make my day. Don't get me wrong, I fully appreciate that their conservative counterparts have a venue too (ok, maybe I'm not thankful for Fox itself...) but those are not the people bringing the sunshine into my life.
18. I'm not a foodie by any means, but man oh man, am I grateful for the beet dip at The Burgundy Room here in Columbus. Honestly the best thing I've ever eaten. They also had this amazing roasted asparagus dish that was to die for, but they just got a new chef and it is no longer on their menu. Sigh. At least I had it once. Other foodstuffs that make me melt include the harvest roll at Haiku, the (now unavailable) pineapple coconut cake at Margaritaville (I know, a chain, how lame of me), and the cream of caramelized onion soup at my former place of employment, The King George Inn in Allentown. The chef was a jerk, but man. That soup.
19. I am also not too big of a drinker, but I also get in a tizzy for the peach sangria at Barcelona, the flirtinis at Landmark, the margaritas at El Vez in Philly and Doc Loosen riesling (which I get at The Burgundy Room with my beet dip). Some days you just "need a drink" and one sip of any of these...well, I am grateful for them!
20. This Thanksgiving, I am a little bit unmoored, both physically and emotionally, and I am thankful that really, I always have a place to go. I can't be home with my mom and my home in PA is no longer an option, but I have friends who invited me to celebrate with them, new classmates who did the same, and OSU opens its doors to students who have no other place to go as well. People do want you to feel "at home" even when you don't really have one.
21. Though I've only really ever had cats, I love dogs, too, and I love sleeping with my friend Matt's dog, Milo. He curls up under the blankets at my feet and is my personal four-legged toaster oven. He's also pretty snuggly on the couch and a nice excuse to go outside for a walk.
22. You know what? I'll be so bold as to say I am thankful for hot men. I have been chastised for having odd taste, but seriously, there are some good looking people in the world. Some of my personal favorites include Jason Segel, Jon Stewart, Andy Samberg, Jake Gyllenhaal, Matthew Gray Gubler, Shemar Moore, Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Jon Hamm, Hugh Jackman, Andy Roddick, John Krasinski...again, taste is totally subjective, but these guys? Yowza. And, hey, I won't be so sexually rigid that I can't name some hot women, too: Reese Witherspoon, Julianne Moore, Tina Fey, the girl who does the Aveeno ads, Zooey Deschanel, Natalie Portman, Mila Kunis, Jennifer Aniston, Bar Rafaeli...gorgeous. Of course, I have hot friends (male and female) too, but it's far safer to name the famous people.
23. I am thankful for little rituals and traditions, be they big or small, public or private. The beloved hippie dj on my favorite Philadelphia radio station always plays "Alice's Restaurant" on Thanksgiving--all 18+ minutes of it--three times. ABC family has the "25 Days of Christmas" on tv for our holiday movie viewing pleasure. My friend Ali always hosts a holiday party that is one of my favorite things all year. I am sure everyone has family rituals, especially around this time of year, that bring them a little bit of extra happiness. My mom and I usually work at a soup kitchen; some people play football, others have board games, parade viewings, a Turkey Trot, even the 5 am Black Friday trip to the mall with a coffee run first.
24. While I do enjoy the comfortably crisp fall days (#1), I also very much enjoy the non-politically correct named Indian Summer. It was almost 70 out the other day--in late November! I won't spout off on whether this is a result of global warming or what have you, but I'll certainly take it.
25. Lastly, I am glad for grief, happiness, disappointment, jealousy, empathy, joy, love, heartache....all of these emotions and feelings that make us so utterly, inescapably human. Without them, we would all be flatlining our way through life. Sure, some of those are terrible feelings, but they don't last forever. When you've come out on the other side of those, the good ones--joy, happiness, gratitude, love--seem that much richer. I am so, so glad I have all of them.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
I am my mother's daughter
I haven't blogged in a while because not a lot has been going on. Well, that's not entirely true. There is a lot of schoolwork going on (but that's not exactly an enticing blog topic) and some personal things going on (but I don't like to use this as a therapeutic vehicle) so I guess what's more accurate is that I haven't felt like there is anything blog-worthy going on in my life. Except that my mom came to visit.
My mother and I have an...interesting relationship. I am her only child; she is my only parent. We were alone together for most of my life, minus a brief, wretched hiatus when we merged temporarily with her new husband and child to form one of those "blended" family that got so much attention in the 90s. (A disaster. "Nuff said.) Because she waited until "later" to have me, I was going through puberty while she was going through menopause--as if the mother-daughter relationship isn't difficult enough! All sorts of factors combined during those years to make life difficult for both of us, but eventually we got to the point we are now. We respect each other as adult females who are not just mother and daughter, but also sort of friends.
She came to Columbus for nearly a week, and I joked with friends that we would kill each other after only a few days: teeny, tiny apartment, two big personalities. But we did ok. I was more patient with her than I probably used to be (living alone does help with that as I don't have to mediate another relationship in the house), and she was more easy-going than I remember her. We did all sorts of things--on her dime, thanks very much!--visited campus, went to the art museum, toured the gardens at a Conservatory, ate and shopped at the North Market. She cooked me three delicious dinners, helped me with my temporary car crisis, adored Morris ("my only grandchild, probably," she sighed), and saw a movie with my friend Matt. Sure, she drove me nuts a few times--in the grocery store, every night when we tried to sleep in my bed (we're both tiny but take up tons of space while sleeping), and each time I drove us somewhere. But generally, we had a great time together.
What probably helps is that my mom is "young at heart" and I am an "old soul" so we sort of average out our 35 year age difference. She has tons of friends, many of whom are closer to my age than hers. She is physically active and hikes, bikes, and kayaks. She religiously goes to yoga on Saturday mornings, walks the "rail trail" a couple times of week no matter the weather, and has taken up both cross-country and downhill skiing since she turned 60. She is constantly out to dinner with this friend or that, participates in various community activities like the library book sale, choir, and church bazaar, volunteers with the Humane Society and for the hospital migrant outreach program, and the list goes on. She is wildly popular, fantastic at her job, kind, generous with others (though frugal with herself), takes care of the neighborhood feral cats, and would feed the birds with her last dollar. She reads voraciously, takes herself to watch the opera on the big-screen, and considers a head of broccoli with melted cheese and a glass of wine dinner.
Don't get me wrong, my mother is certainly not fault free. She hovers, nags, is super overprotective-still-and impulsive. I mean, the woman won't spend $20 on a pair of jeans, but she'll decide on a whim to buy a car even though she lost the ability to drive on a highway around 1990. She is technologically challenged--she still calls it 'the email'--and as someone who has spent most of her adult life taking care of herself and living alone, she has moments of selfishness (I mean, who doesn't, but still). I joke that she's a hoarder, but it's more honest to say that she's a pack-rat who enjoys "decorative clutter."
I hope that people believe I embody many of my mother's positive traits. I do tend to spend money on others before myself, like to be active in various things, have the need to work out frequently (though I head to the gym instead of the great outdoors), and graze for my meals. I'm also impulsive and clearly can be selfish. Though we look nothing alike, our body types and mannerisms are practically identical. We're both tiny-waisted and generally petite, but we carry our weight in our lower halves. We have wide rib cages but narrow hips, short legs and small breasts. We talk with our hands, double over when we laugh and even show excitement the same way, with sort of a whole body electricity. We're both liberal animal lovers who listen to NPR and love being in love. We both enjoy sending magazine articles or funny comics to our friends and need to eat all the time. Seriously. An ex-boyfriend once said that he had never seen someone my mother's size eat like that after she devoured every food you can find at a fair.
Oscar Wilde wrote "[a]ll women become like their mothers. That's their tragedy." With some, maybe. But not for me.
My mother and I have an...interesting relationship. I am her only child; she is my only parent. We were alone together for most of my life, minus a brief, wretched hiatus when we merged temporarily with her new husband and child to form one of those "blended" family that got so much attention in the 90s. (A disaster. "Nuff said.) Because she waited until "later" to have me, I was going through puberty while she was going through menopause--as if the mother-daughter relationship isn't difficult enough! All sorts of factors combined during those years to make life difficult for both of us, but eventually we got to the point we are now. We respect each other as adult females who are not just mother and daughter, but also sort of friends.
She came to Columbus for nearly a week, and I joked with friends that we would kill each other after only a few days: teeny, tiny apartment, two big personalities. But we did ok. I was more patient with her than I probably used to be (living alone does help with that as I don't have to mediate another relationship in the house), and she was more easy-going than I remember her. We did all sorts of things--on her dime, thanks very much!--visited campus, went to the art museum, toured the gardens at a Conservatory, ate and shopped at the North Market. She cooked me three delicious dinners, helped me with my temporary car crisis, adored Morris ("my only grandchild, probably," she sighed), and saw a movie with my friend Matt. Sure, she drove me nuts a few times--in the grocery store, every night when we tried to sleep in my bed (we're both tiny but take up tons of space while sleeping), and each time I drove us somewhere. But generally, we had a great time together.
What probably helps is that my mom is "young at heart" and I am an "old soul" so we sort of average out our 35 year age difference. She has tons of friends, many of whom are closer to my age than hers. She is physically active and hikes, bikes, and kayaks. She religiously goes to yoga on Saturday mornings, walks the "rail trail" a couple times of week no matter the weather, and has taken up both cross-country and downhill skiing since she turned 60. She is constantly out to dinner with this friend or that, participates in various community activities like the library book sale, choir, and church bazaar, volunteers with the Humane Society and for the hospital migrant outreach program, and the list goes on. She is wildly popular, fantastic at her job, kind, generous with others (though frugal with herself), takes care of the neighborhood feral cats, and would feed the birds with her last dollar. She reads voraciously, takes herself to watch the opera on the big-screen, and considers a head of broccoli with melted cheese and a glass of wine dinner.
Don't get me wrong, my mother is certainly not fault free. She hovers, nags, is super overprotective-still-and impulsive. I mean, the woman won't spend $20 on a pair of jeans, but she'll decide on a whim to buy a car even though she lost the ability to drive on a highway around 1990. She is technologically challenged--she still calls it 'the email'--and as someone who has spent most of her adult life taking care of herself and living alone, she has moments of selfishness (I mean, who doesn't, but still). I joke that she's a hoarder, but it's more honest to say that she's a pack-rat who enjoys "decorative clutter."
I hope that people believe I embody many of my mother's positive traits. I do tend to spend money on others before myself, like to be active in various things, have the need to work out frequently (though I head to the gym instead of the great outdoors), and graze for my meals. I'm also impulsive and clearly can be selfish. Though we look nothing alike, our body types and mannerisms are practically identical. We're both tiny-waisted and generally petite, but we carry our weight in our lower halves. We have wide rib cages but narrow hips, short legs and small breasts. We talk with our hands, double over when we laugh and even show excitement the same way, with sort of a whole body electricity. We're both liberal animal lovers who listen to NPR and love being in love. We both enjoy sending magazine articles or funny comics to our friends and need to eat all the time. Seriously. An ex-boyfriend once said that he had never seen someone my mother's size eat like that after she devoured every food you can find at a fair.
Oscar Wilde wrote "[a]ll women become like their mothers. That's their tragedy." With some, maybe. But not for me.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Finding My Way
Spatial relations are not my strong suit. And, unfortunately, this includes maps and directions.
When I first learned to drive, I had a hard time figuring out how to get around my teeny town. When Claire and I went to Europe for our month long sojourn, we made a perfect team: she did the maps, I did the communicating with non English speakers (unlike spatial relations, languages are a strong suit). I'm not so idiotic that I can't ever read a map, it just takes me a while. I can't be handed a map a quarter mile away from a possible exit on the freeway and be expected to get us around the traffic jam. I won't be able to do it, and it will lead to yelling and probably crying. I can do it, I just need a minute. I don't have that intuitive sense of direction or where places are in relation to one another. I can get from A to B. I can get from B to C. But I often have trouble getting from A to C without going directly through B.
But I am doubly cursed because I hate this about myself. I hate asking for directions. I hate appearing as though I don't know where I am going or how I plan to get there. So, with grad school orientation beginning next week, I knew I had to do something. I couldn't risk getting lost on my first day, thereby showing up both Late and Flustered and probably Sweaty. Even at Muhlenberg, I wasn't always sure how to get from one building to another my first year, and Ohio State can fit the entirety of Muhlenberg in its Oval alone. So I decided to do a Trial Run.
In addition to finding my way around campus, I also needed to learn to navigate the bus system. The public bus is free with my "Buck-I-D"--parking on campus is not so free. But how long is the ride? What stop do I get off? Do they announce the stops, or do I have to pay close attention? There is a bus stop very close to my apartment, so I consulted COTA's online schedule, but my stop wasn't listed! Wha? In a near panic, I called the nice lady at Customer Service and she told me that the #18 would be there at :01 after the hour. I couldn't imagine that the bus was running precisely on schedule, but I wasn't about to risk it.
In the intervening time, I took a quick shower, got dressed, brewed tea for my to go mug and packed a bag with a book, water, and wallet. As I stepped out of my building door, I checked my cell phone so I could time the walk to the stop. At a very leisurely pace, it took me 7 minutes, but I also didn't have to wait to cross Kenny, a pretty busy road, so I made a mental note to leave at least 10 minutes for this portion of the trip.
I was purposefully early, so I sat on the bench and waited, feeling pretty silly that I was the only one there. Much to my surprise, at 12:02, the bus arrived. I flashed the driver my red ID, and chose a seat. Google maps had said the ride would take 40 minutes, but we rounded the corner onto High Street in nearly half the time. I had overheard a conversation that we were somewhat rerouted due to Game Day--the two roads nearest the Horseshoe get closed, I assume--but nevertheless, campus was looming in the foreground. Someone pulled the little string and got off near the building most of my classes are in, so I took note but stayed on, since at the moment I was headed for the Union.
I got off at the next stop--I didn't want to overshoot the Union--and walked along the street, watching the hordes of undergrads dressed in red jerseys find the nearest bar to watch the game with their friends. Once I got inside, I walked up to the Help Desk and declared proudly "I don't want to sound like a lame-o, but...do you have a map?" The nice work study girl opened it up for me, and I turned down her request to help me find my destination. "I'll try to do it myself," I said with a not so confident smile. I found a seat and began the process of searching for the necessary buildings by name, number and location on the map's grid. Confident I had figured it out, I folded the map and walked out the back door of the Union, muttering encouraging words to myself.
About 10 minutes later, I was already lost.
Despite wanting to end up at the library (a positively gorgeous building with a beautiful view from the eleventh floor), I ended up near Mirror Lake--the once spring-fed lake on campus which you're supposed to jump into the night before the Michigan game. I had some pretty choice words to say to myself, but then I realized that it wasn't a huge deal. So what? I sat down on a pretty bench, consulted my map, corrected my mistake and continued on, this time successfully finding both the library and the building I need for my first orientation meeting.
On my walk back to catch the bus home, I was smiling. The sun was out, but it wasn't hot. I heard OSU score a touchdown, heard the pep band playing the fight song, the fans cheering. A few campus squirrels scampered about. I called my mom and left a message that she should come to visit before early December so she can see how nice it is while the weather is still pleasant. I was smiling and proud of myself.
Of course, on the bus ride home, I jumped the gun and got off one stop early. But, you know, I was close.
When I first learned to drive, I had a hard time figuring out how to get around my teeny town. When Claire and I went to Europe for our month long sojourn, we made a perfect team: she did the maps, I did the communicating with non English speakers (unlike spatial relations, languages are a strong suit). I'm not so idiotic that I can't ever read a map, it just takes me a while. I can't be handed a map a quarter mile away from a possible exit on the freeway and be expected to get us around the traffic jam. I won't be able to do it, and it will lead to yelling and probably crying. I can do it, I just need a minute. I don't have that intuitive sense of direction or where places are in relation to one another. I can get from A to B. I can get from B to C. But I often have trouble getting from A to C without going directly through B.
But I am doubly cursed because I hate this about myself. I hate asking for directions. I hate appearing as though I don't know where I am going or how I plan to get there. So, with grad school orientation beginning next week, I knew I had to do something. I couldn't risk getting lost on my first day, thereby showing up both Late and Flustered and probably Sweaty. Even at Muhlenberg, I wasn't always sure how to get from one building to another my first year, and Ohio State can fit the entirety of Muhlenberg in its Oval alone. So I decided to do a Trial Run.
In addition to finding my way around campus, I also needed to learn to navigate the bus system. The public bus is free with my "Buck-I-D"--parking on campus is not so free. But how long is the ride? What stop do I get off? Do they announce the stops, or do I have to pay close attention? There is a bus stop very close to my apartment, so I consulted COTA's online schedule, but my stop wasn't listed! Wha? In a near panic, I called the nice lady at Customer Service and she told me that the #18 would be there at :01 after the hour. I couldn't imagine that the bus was running precisely on schedule, but I wasn't about to risk it.
In the intervening time, I took a quick shower, got dressed, brewed tea for my to go mug and packed a bag with a book, water, and wallet. As I stepped out of my building door, I checked my cell phone so I could time the walk to the stop. At a very leisurely pace, it took me 7 minutes, but I also didn't have to wait to cross Kenny, a pretty busy road, so I made a mental note to leave at least 10 minutes for this portion of the trip.
I was purposefully early, so I sat on the bench and waited, feeling pretty silly that I was the only one there. Much to my surprise, at 12:02, the bus arrived. I flashed the driver my red ID, and chose a seat. Google maps had said the ride would take 40 minutes, but we rounded the corner onto High Street in nearly half the time. I had overheard a conversation that we were somewhat rerouted due to Game Day--the two roads nearest the Horseshoe get closed, I assume--but nevertheless, campus was looming in the foreground. Someone pulled the little string and got off near the building most of my classes are in, so I took note but stayed on, since at the moment I was headed for the Union.
I got off at the next stop--I didn't want to overshoot the Union--and walked along the street, watching the hordes of undergrads dressed in red jerseys find the nearest bar to watch the game with their friends. Once I got inside, I walked up to the Help Desk and declared proudly "I don't want to sound like a lame-o, but...do you have a map?" The nice work study girl opened it up for me, and I turned down her request to help me find my destination. "I'll try to do it myself," I said with a not so confident smile. I found a seat and began the process of searching for the necessary buildings by name, number and location on the map's grid. Confident I had figured it out, I folded the map and walked out the back door of the Union, muttering encouraging words to myself.
About 10 minutes later, I was already lost.
Despite wanting to end up at the library (a positively gorgeous building with a beautiful view from the eleventh floor), I ended up near Mirror Lake--the once spring-fed lake on campus which you're supposed to jump into the night before the Michigan game. I had some pretty choice words to say to myself, but then I realized that it wasn't a huge deal. So what? I sat down on a pretty bench, consulted my map, corrected my mistake and continued on, this time successfully finding both the library and the building I need for my first orientation meeting.
On my walk back to catch the bus home, I was smiling. The sun was out, but it wasn't hot. I heard OSU score a touchdown, heard the pep band playing the fight song, the fans cheering. A few campus squirrels scampered about. I called my mom and left a message that she should come to visit before early December so she can see how nice it is while the weather is still pleasant. I was smiling and proud of myself.
Of course, on the bus ride home, I jumped the gun and got off one stop early. But, you know, I was close.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The Physics of the Quest
When it first came out, I read Elizabeth Gilbert's memoir Eat Pray Love with abandon, alternating between laughing, crying and nodding in agreement with her sentiments. Although Gilbert has received quite a bit of criticism for her selfishness, her story resonated with me. After reading, I had a gravitational pull to travel to Indonesia (I have already been to Italy and despite my relatively decent yoga practice, India kind of scares me), but resisted. I realized on a logical level that her experience would not directly translate into my experience and that I would not automatically achieve inner peace by seeking out her medicine man or raising money for her healer.
Because Hollywood seems to be out of ideas, of course a studio bought the rights to make the movie, and I went with my girlfriends to see it this past week. I was a bit dubious, having heard mixed reviews about the movie based either on the fidelity to its original text or just that "it sucked." Yet, we popped our own corn, shared a $5 Diet Coke and settled into the perfect seats--not too close, not too far back, center of the row--to live vicariously through Julia Roberts. Despite my original misgivings about the casting, I thoroughly enjoyed her performance, and, me-ow, Javier Bardem could not have been sexier. Other than a few little additions to the start of the story, like inventing the persona of her agent friend who tries to talk her out of the idea, I thought it was pretty close to Gilbert's depiction of her journey as outlined in the memoir, though my friends and I did spend a bit of time whispering back and forth "wait, did that really happen?" but that is due mostly to the time-lapse between having read it and watching the movie.
Of course, Gilbert'st story rings even more true now. In these "tough economic times" I gave up a tenured teaching job at a well respected suburban high school--whose salaries are among the highest in the state--for a stipend that puts me below the poverty line for the next five years. I left a very lovely 1900 square foot townhouse with 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, a deck, a loft, and eat-in kitchen for a 722 square foot one bedroom apartment with a stained hall carpet, noisy upstairs neighbors and so few kitchen cabinets that I had to get really, really creative with storage. I left colleagues and friends to live in a city where I know one single person--who is leaving in June. And, of course, let's not forget the swirling maelstrom of emotional shit that is my personal life. I packed my books, my KitchenAid mixer, and the cat to move to a place that is no where near as exotic as Indonesia, to live off my savings account while I bust my intellectual ass for five years to hopefully earn a Ph.D in a discipline that typically gets the "huh!" with raised eye brows response. (No one ever quite knows what to say about Literature for Children and Young Adults except "what, um, do you plan to do with that?")
My move to Ohio for graduate school is anything but sexy, unlike Gilbert's triple-I year long voyage, but at least it's mine. It makes my stomach churn knowing that peace-seeking has been turned into a media conglomerate--QVC has its own line of "EPL" inspired body lotions and scrubs. Travel agencies are taking hoards of women (and men?) on "EPL" themed excursions to meet the real Ketut, profiting not only from a very personal one-woman journey, but deluding hundreds into thinking that a flight-and-hotel package will ease their troubled minds. And, of course, I can't begin to estimate how many women have tried to replicate her journey solo, expecting to have the same inspiring results, complete with meeting their own version of Felipe. (Ok, the real Felipe is also quite sexy.) If Elizabeth Gilbert did it, why can't I?
I'm not surprised at this, of course, and it's surely increasing tourism to Indonesia, but this copy-cat mentality ignores the basic premise Gilbert tried to portray and that she came to accept by year's end:
Because Hollywood seems to be out of ideas, of course a studio bought the rights to make the movie, and I went with my girlfriends to see it this past week. I was a bit dubious, having heard mixed reviews about the movie based either on the fidelity to its original text or just that "it sucked." Yet, we popped our own corn, shared a $5 Diet Coke and settled into the perfect seats--not too close, not too far back, center of the row--to live vicariously through Julia Roberts. Despite my original misgivings about the casting, I thoroughly enjoyed her performance, and, me-ow, Javier Bardem could not have been sexier. Other than a few little additions to the start of the story, like inventing the persona of her agent friend who tries to talk her out of the idea, I thought it was pretty close to Gilbert's depiction of her journey as outlined in the memoir, though my friends and I did spend a bit of time whispering back and forth "wait, did that really happen?" but that is due mostly to the time-lapse between having read it and watching the movie.
Of course, Gilbert'st story rings even more true now. In these "tough economic times" I gave up a tenured teaching job at a well respected suburban high school--whose salaries are among the highest in the state--for a stipend that puts me below the poverty line for the next five years. I left a very lovely 1900 square foot townhouse with 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, a deck, a loft, and eat-in kitchen for a 722 square foot one bedroom apartment with a stained hall carpet, noisy upstairs neighbors and so few kitchen cabinets that I had to get really, really creative with storage. I left colleagues and friends to live in a city where I know one single person--who is leaving in June. And, of course, let's not forget the swirling maelstrom of emotional shit that is my personal life. I packed my books, my KitchenAid mixer, and the cat to move to a place that is no where near as exotic as Indonesia, to live off my savings account while I bust my intellectual ass for five years to hopefully earn a Ph.D in a discipline that typically gets the "huh!" with raised eye brows response. (No one ever quite knows what to say about Literature for Children and Young Adults except "what, um, do you plan to do with that?")
My move to Ohio for graduate school is anything but sexy, unlike Gilbert's triple-I year long voyage, but at least it's mine. It makes my stomach churn knowing that peace-seeking has been turned into a media conglomerate--QVC has its own line of "EPL" inspired body lotions and scrubs. Travel agencies are taking hoards of women (and men?) on "EPL" themed excursions to meet the real Ketut, profiting not only from a very personal one-woman journey, but deluding hundreds into thinking that a flight-and-hotel package will ease their troubled minds. And, of course, I can't begin to estimate how many women have tried to replicate her journey solo, expecting to have the same inspiring results, complete with meeting their own version of Felipe. (Ok, the real Felipe is also quite sexy.) If Elizabeth Gilbert did it, why can't I?
I'm not surprised at this, of course, and it's surely increasing tourism to Indonesia, but this copy-cat mentality ignores the basic premise Gilbert tried to portray and that she came to accept by year's end:
“…I’ve come to believe that there exists in the universe something I call “The Physics of The Quest” – a force of nature governed by laws as real as the laws gravity or momentum. And the rule of Quest Physics maybe goes like this: “If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting (which can be anything from your house to your bitter old resentments) and set out on a truth-seeking journey (either externally or internally), and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, and if you are prepared – most of all – to face (and forgive) some very difficult realities about yourself….then truth will not be withheld from you.” Or so I’ve come to believe.”
Gelato, ashrams and biking through Bali are not going to solve your problems. A sexy Brazilian man is not waiting at the dock for everyone woman who leaves behind her comfortable suburban life. We don't all have publishing houses funding our travels (yet). But we can all shed the familiar, seek out clues from the Universe, and forgive ourselves in order to grow as humans.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Cold-Can Activated Bull$&@!
I am getting sick of beer commercials.
Now, to be fair: I am not the target audience for these products (or ESPN, the channel I tend to see them on most frequently). I am also an unapologetic feminist who can often make the jump onto her soapbox too quickly. And I also recognize that these commercials are working, since I remember them and am reacting to their content. Grr, advertising.
Take this one:
They seem to be a couple that has been together a while (she treats the words "why do you love me?" pretty casually, suggesting the "L" word is part of their vernacular) and says without hesitation at the end that this bumbling beer-loving idiot is her "soulmate" (before putting on a grumpy hurt-feelings face). And yet he can only respond with her hair and her teeth?
Or this one:
The couple is enjoying a lovely evening out, laughing and talking. She decides this is the most opportune moment to tell him how she feels about him--clearly she should work on her timing, but that's another story--finds it cute that he's having trouble saying it back, then is able to order his beer with the sought-after L word. He compliments her appearance at the end, instead, and she merely gives him an "are you serious?" face.
The list could go on. The Coors Light "cold activated can" one where the beautiful black woman has gone to great lengths to create a romantic setting, complete with sexy lingerie, and when asked if her partner "likes what he sees" he goes gaga over the cans in the fridge. The new Miller Lite one where we watch a series of images suggesting that a couple is in love, that the guy has "found The One" and instead of it being his gorgeous girlfriend, it's the new Vortex bottle. The one in which the girlfriend has come up with a series of inane questions regarding who her boyfriend would save from a cliff's edge--Buster, his bulldog, and his own mother lose out--but he'd save his beer instead of her. (This says nothing of the light beer commercials in which the male subject is told to "man up" or "not get his panties in a bunch" as if caring about your caloric content is worthy of having your heterosexuality challenged.)
So ha ha, we're all supposed to sit and watch these ads during the breaks during SportsCenter or College Game Day and laugh and say "oh, how cute. Men love their beer more than their romantic partners!" and giggle and then go get a case of the new and improved can/bottle or gasp! the new quasi keg-for-your-fridge. Or, of course, get up off the couch and go get one from the fridge having already fallen victim to their nefarious marketing ploys. (Seriously--how many ridiculous ways can they improve beer? Crappy beer at that?)
Seriously?
They reinforce the stereotypes that men cannot (nor should not) be able to express their emotions, and that it's acceptable when they don't or can't. Only the girl in the "me or Buster?" example gets up and leaves him at the table (after which of course he mocks her to said dog). They also portray women as being emotionally needy ("tell me why you love me!" "Would you save me over your dog from a cliff?"), though why wanting or needing the occasional moment of romantic affirmation is hardly something to feel ashamed about. In addition to being insulting to women, it's insulting to men. These commercials make them look stupid--really? You didn't notice the strewn rose petals and candles?--mean, and uncaring.
As my friends will attest, I have a "thing" for frat brothers, guys' guys who wear baseball hats, watch sports, and play beer pong with their friends. I have a generalized crush on the target audience for these infuriating commercials. If the Ad Men for MillerBuschCoorsHeineken are to be taken at face value, then I should expect nothing more from this sub sector of the male population than for them to be emotionally stunted. I think it's sad and pathetic and that both women and men should expect more.
Now, to be fair: I am not the target audience for these products (or ESPN, the channel I tend to see them on most frequently). I am also an unapologetic feminist who can often make the jump onto her soapbox too quickly. And I also recognize that these commercials are working, since I remember them and am reacting to their content. Grr, advertising.
Take this one:
They seem to be a couple that has been together a while (she treats the words "why do you love me?" pretty casually, suggesting the "L" word is part of their vernacular) and says without hesitation at the end that this bumbling beer-loving idiot is her "soulmate" (before putting on a grumpy hurt-feelings face). And yet he can only respond with her hair and her teeth?
Or this one:
The couple is enjoying a lovely evening out, laughing and talking. She decides this is the most opportune moment to tell him how she feels about him--clearly she should work on her timing, but that's another story--finds it cute that he's having trouble saying it back, then is able to order his beer with the sought-after L word. He compliments her appearance at the end, instead, and she merely gives him an "are you serious?" face.
The list could go on. The Coors Light "cold activated can" one where the beautiful black woman has gone to great lengths to create a romantic setting, complete with sexy lingerie, and when asked if her partner "likes what he sees" he goes gaga over the cans in the fridge. The new Miller Lite one where we watch a series of images suggesting that a couple is in love, that the guy has "found The One" and instead of it being his gorgeous girlfriend, it's the new Vortex bottle. The one in which the girlfriend has come up with a series of inane questions regarding who her boyfriend would save from a cliff's edge--Buster, his bulldog, and his own mother lose out--but he'd save his beer instead of her. (This says nothing of the light beer commercials in which the male subject is told to "man up" or "not get his panties in a bunch" as if caring about your caloric content is worthy of having your heterosexuality challenged.)
So ha ha, we're all supposed to sit and watch these ads during the breaks during SportsCenter or College Game Day and laugh and say "oh, how cute. Men love their beer more than their romantic partners!" and giggle and then go get a case of the new and improved can/bottle or gasp! the new quasi keg-for-your-fridge. Or, of course, get up off the couch and go get one from the fridge having already fallen victim to their nefarious marketing ploys. (Seriously--how many ridiculous ways can they improve beer? Crappy beer at that?)
Seriously?
They reinforce the stereotypes that men cannot (nor should not) be able to express their emotions, and that it's acceptable when they don't or can't. Only the girl in the "me or Buster?" example gets up and leaves him at the table (after which of course he mocks her to said dog). They also portray women as being emotionally needy ("tell me why you love me!" "Would you save me over your dog from a cliff?"), though why wanting or needing the occasional moment of romantic affirmation is hardly something to feel ashamed about. In addition to being insulting to women, it's insulting to men. These commercials make them look stupid--really? You didn't notice the strewn rose petals and candles?--mean, and uncaring.
As my friends will attest, I have a "thing" for frat brothers, guys' guys who wear baseball hats, watch sports, and play beer pong with their friends. I have a generalized crush on the target audience for these infuriating commercials. If the Ad Men for MillerBuschCoorsHeineken are to be taken at face value, then I should expect nothing more from this sub sector of the male population than for them to be emotionally stunted. I think it's sad and pathetic and that both women and men should expect more.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Normal is Boring
To my handful of readers:
For reasons that I will discuss in length at a later date (though, let's face it...it's kinda obvious), I have a new blog name. The title comes from my favorite quote by Arlene Storeby, and I first read it on a notecard my mother sent me during a(nother) wacky time in my life. I have sort of leaned on this concept since and it has become one of the mantras in my little world.
I think it's poignant and all too true. We all try to fit in, to be "normal." How much of our energy is dedicated to this facade? Instead, we should give up on our attempts to do this and instead relish and enjoy life as ourselves--mask free. I have fully embraced the fact that I am a "crazy person"* and it's pretty freeing. I am who I am and have stopped apologizing for it, or trying to cover it up. This does not mean I have permission to be a jerk, mean, inconsiderate, rude or belligerent in the name of "being myself." (These tend not to be traits of mine, anyway). What I mean is that I am going to come to terms with the little quirks and oddities that make up the DNA of my personality and love myself because of them, not despite them. And so should you. About me, others, strangers, yourself.
*I of course mean no disrespect to those individuals and their families living with legitimate mental illnesses. As someone who graduated with a psychology degree and who tends to root for the underserved in our world, I don't mean "crazy" to be the technical term for chemical imbalances and other mental disorders.
For reasons that I will discuss in length at a later date (though, let's face it...it's kinda obvious), I have a new blog name. The title comes from my favorite quote by Arlene Storeby, and I first read it on a notecard my mother sent me during a(nother) wacky time in my life. I have sort of leaned on this concept since and it has become one of the mantras in my little world.
I think it's poignant and all too true. We all try to fit in, to be "normal." How much of our energy is dedicated to this facade? Instead, we should give up on our attempts to do this and instead relish and enjoy life as ourselves--mask free. I have fully embraced the fact that I am a "crazy person"* and it's pretty freeing. I am who I am and have stopped apologizing for it, or trying to cover it up. This does not mean I have permission to be a jerk, mean, inconsiderate, rude or belligerent in the name of "being myself." (These tend not to be traits of mine, anyway). What I mean is that I am going to come to terms with the little quirks and oddities that make up the DNA of my personality and love myself because of them, not despite them. And so should you. About me, others, strangers, yourself.
*I of course mean no disrespect to those individuals and their families living with legitimate mental illnesses. As someone who graduated with a psychology degree and who tends to root for the underserved in our world, I don't mean "crazy" to be the technical term for chemical imbalances and other mental disorders.
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