It's been a wild weekend, but I'm feeling existentially refreshed. Which could be a lifesaver.
I woke up on Friday morning slowly, looked out the window and thought, "For a warm, sunny day, I am getting out of bed far too reluctantly." This kind of thing is a red flag for people who have had Januaries like mine. Or non-Januaries, for that matter. I dragged through the day and finally begged to go back-to-school shopping with my mom and my brother, just so I could get out of the house.
Mainly, it was a slow realization that I need to do something I like. I haven't been going out; mixing drinks; talking to anyone, really; riding bike; hanging out in public social spaces, or spending any time in the sun. So I convinced my mom to pull over and stop at the farmers' market on Limestone Blvd. -- my first step out of the Shadow of the Valley of Death. (Never fear -- I am being dramatic. But it has seemed relatively dark around here lately. Maybe just because fall is coming, or maybe because I'm definitely less satisfied with the state of things these days.)
But here's why: my classmates and I are, according to a complex set of expectations, biting off more than anyone can comfortably chew. It's like popping a whole pack of Bubblicious into our mouths at one time instead of just one piece. All at once, we are shoved out of the Great Nest on The Hill and asked to secure housing, employment, independence, a healthy lifestyle, and the ability to navigate a new environment comfortably and successfully. It's not realistic. And again, I find that my frustration stems from a mismatch of expectations. Sophomore year of college was pretty rocky largely due to me feeling that I was being expected to do things that just weren't going to happen; I hit a spike in performance at the winery this summer after agonizing aloud about the fact that I felt I could never do my job well enough to satisfy anyone, and Alicia simply replied, "Yeah, it sucks, but that's the way it is around here a lot of the time." Wow. It just is. All I can do is my best, and I do that. Thus the agony of feeling inadequate, because I really, really care whether I'm doing a good job or not.
So, it's time to take baby steps. At my mom's urging, I took a vacation. (Even my vacations these days usually involve half an hour or so of looking at jobs on the internet, but we'll just casually overlook that for now. I really need a job.) My brother and I climbed up into the chestnut tree in our front yard and roped up my hammock between two wide-set branches. I finished the amaretto that's been idling in my duffel bag since I left St. Croix, whipped up a sour and read all afternoon. And said hi to the approximately 4,000,000,000 people that drove/walked/ran/biked past throughout the course of the day. Some neighbors from up the street even walked over expressly to meet me and my sisters -- which is significant since, as we have found, neighborhood is not the same now as it used to be.
What I'm thinking now is, yeahh -- I've still got it!
You might be rolling your eyes, but I firmly believe that everyone needs to have moments like that from time to time simply in order to keep going.
That evening Thomas and I packed his stuff into the back of my car and [relatively] early the next morning headed out of town toward Boston. I think the trip was good for both of us -- we'd both been wallowing a bit, not sure how to handle ourselves or this new unfathomable place and living arrangement. So we finally had some time to chat. And let me just say, what a cool guy. My first best friend ever -- thank you, Alice, for pointing that out back at high school graduation.
It was also really good for me to see him in his element. I may never have seen him walk any roads so confidently as he does the streets of Boston; never seen him as excited to enter any room as he is to set foot inside the architecture studio; never witnessed him taking so much initiative to be healthy and happy as he does with the minutiae of his lifestyle at Northeastern. I'm so, so glad for him, and for everyone else who is as happy at their institution as he is.
On the way up we stopped in New Haven, Connecticut, to have lunch with his good friend Dan and to pick up my good friend Audrey, who lives in the most wonderful neighborhood. I didn't realize New Haven was such a city. So Audrey helped us move all Thom's stuff into his rockin' apartment -- I felt maybe for the first time weird that I'm not going back to school right now. We met one of his suitemates and ate dinner in the dining hall in his old building. Granted, yes, St. Olaf recently achieved #1 standing for best college food -- but Audrey and I were in awe of the dining at Northeastern's International Village.
Around 8pm (two hours later than our conservative estimate) we left Boston by way of the worst-marked interstate ramp I have ever seen, destination: Queens, New York. We reached the convent where Karin, part III of CAKE, lives around midnight, collected ourselves, and walked half an hour to an Irish Pub where we heard the third round is free. It apparently wasn't, but we met a seasoned local named Brian, and we all laughed hard for the first time in weeks. This is how I gauge my happiness.
We got back to the convent 23 hours after I'd woken up Sunday morning to drive my personal longest day of driving ever: a record 10 hours. But it was so worth it, so good to see my research counterparts and the places they now call home. I think we all needed hugs from friends. (Sounds like a nonprofit org...? I've found my life's calling!) In the morning we went to a classic NYC bagel shop with at least 25 different kinds of cream cheese and an orange juice machine. I have been to the City several times, but really only stayed around Manhattan, and I have never quite understood the appeal it has to thousands/millions of people all over the world.
Now that I have been to Queens, I've joined the club. I'm thinking maybe that's the beauty of it: there's something for everyone.
I've overdone myself since the last entry, so I'll cut it short now. But I'm sure you'll be hearing more about some conversations and realizations I had over the course of the weekend, conversations about service and fulfillment and community. What I'll leave you with is a recap of a realization I need to have again every so often, reminiscient of the dinner party scene in To The Lighthouse: we are not alone. Even in my family home, there are reservoirs of things that go unsaid, and there are people who understand what I'm missing scattered all over the world. And there are people I'm missing. But none of us are ever really alone;
I woke up on Friday morning slowly, looked out the window and thought, "For a warm, sunny day, I am getting out of bed far too reluctantly." This kind of thing is a red flag for people who have had Januaries like mine. Or non-Januaries, for that matter. I dragged through the day and finally begged to go back-to-school shopping with my mom and my brother, just so I could get out of the house.
Mainly, it was a slow realization that I need to do something I like. I haven't been going out; mixing drinks; talking to anyone, really; riding bike; hanging out in public social spaces, or spending any time in the sun. So I convinced my mom to pull over and stop at the farmers' market on Limestone Blvd. -- my first step out of the Shadow of the Valley of Death. (Never fear -- I am being dramatic. But it has seemed relatively dark around here lately. Maybe just because fall is coming, or maybe because I'm definitely less satisfied with the state of things these days.)
But here's why: my classmates and I are, according to a complex set of expectations, biting off more than anyone can comfortably chew. It's like popping a whole pack of Bubblicious into our mouths at one time instead of just one piece. All at once, we are shoved out of the Great Nest on The Hill and asked to secure housing, employment, independence, a healthy lifestyle, and the ability to navigate a new environment comfortably and successfully. It's not realistic. And again, I find that my frustration stems from a mismatch of expectations. Sophomore year of college was pretty rocky largely due to me feeling that I was being expected to do things that just weren't going to happen; I hit a spike in performance at the winery this summer after agonizing aloud about the fact that I felt I could never do my job well enough to satisfy anyone, and Alicia simply replied, "Yeah, it sucks, but that's the way it is around here a lot of the time." Wow. It just is. All I can do is my best, and I do that. Thus the agony of feeling inadequate, because I really, really care whether I'm doing a good job or not.
So, it's time to take baby steps. At my mom's urging, I took a vacation. (Even my vacations these days usually involve half an hour or so of looking at jobs on the internet, but we'll just casually overlook that for now. I really need a job.) My brother and I climbed up into the chestnut tree in our front yard and roped up my hammock between two wide-set branches. I finished the amaretto that's been idling in my duffel bag since I left St. Croix, whipped up a sour and read all afternoon. And said hi to the approximately 4,000,000,000 people that drove/walked/ran/biked past throughout the course of the day. Some neighbors from up the street even walked over expressly to meet me and my sisters -- which is significant since, as we have found, neighborhood is not the same now as it used to be.
What I'm thinking now is, yeahh -- I've still got it!
You might be rolling your eyes, but I firmly believe that everyone needs to have moments like that from time to time simply in order to keep going.
That evening Thomas and I packed his stuff into the back of my car and [relatively] early the next morning headed out of town toward Boston. I think the trip was good for both of us -- we'd both been wallowing a bit, not sure how to handle ourselves or this new unfathomable place and living arrangement. So we finally had some time to chat. And let me just say, what a cool guy. My first best friend ever -- thank you, Alice, for pointing that out back at high school graduation.
It was also really good for me to see him in his element. I may never have seen him walk any roads so confidently as he does the streets of Boston; never seen him as excited to enter any room as he is to set foot inside the architecture studio; never witnessed him taking so much initiative to be healthy and happy as he does with the minutiae of his lifestyle at Northeastern. I'm so, so glad for him, and for everyone else who is as happy at their institution as he is.
On the way up we stopped in New Haven, Connecticut, to have lunch with his good friend Dan and to pick up my good friend Audrey, who lives in the most wonderful neighborhood. I didn't realize New Haven was such a city. So Audrey helped us move all Thom's stuff into his rockin' apartment -- I felt maybe for the first time weird that I'm not going back to school right now. We met one of his suitemates and ate dinner in the dining hall in his old building. Granted, yes, St. Olaf recently achieved #1 standing for best college food -- but Audrey and I were in awe of the dining at Northeastern's International Village.
Around 8pm (two hours later than our conservative estimate) we left Boston by way of the worst-marked interstate ramp I have ever seen, destination: Queens, New York. We reached the convent where Karin, part III of CAKE, lives around midnight, collected ourselves, and walked half an hour to an Irish Pub where we heard the third round is free. It apparently wasn't, but we met a seasoned local named Brian, and we all laughed hard for the first time in weeks. This is how I gauge my happiness.
We got back to the convent 23 hours after I'd woken up Sunday morning to drive my personal longest day of driving ever: a record 10 hours. But it was so worth it, so good to see my research counterparts and the places they now call home. I think we all needed hugs from friends. (Sounds like a nonprofit org...? I've found my life's calling!) In the morning we went to a classic NYC bagel shop with at least 25 different kinds of cream cheese and an orange juice machine. I have been to the City several times, but really only stayed around Manhattan, and I have never quite understood the appeal it has to thousands/millions of people all over the world.
Now that I have been to Queens, I've joined the club. I'm thinking maybe that's the beauty of it: there's something for everyone.
I've overdone myself since the last entry, so I'll cut it short now. But I'm sure you'll be hearing more about some conversations and realizations I had over the course of the weekend, conversations about service and fulfillment and community. What I'll leave you with is a recap of a realization I need to have again every so often, reminiscient of the dinner party scene in To The Lighthouse: we are not alone. Even in my family home, there are reservoirs of things that go unsaid, and there are people who understand what I'm missing scattered all over the world. And there are people I'm missing. But none of us are ever really alone;
"As long as I'm in your life -- as long as you know my name --
you will not die, and you will not be forgotten."
-James Doyle
No comments:
Post a Comment