...from my new macbook pro.
though the many other st louisans are currently complaining about the month-long downpour we've been experiencing, I am not. I like the rain, even if it is a bit out of the norm and even though it's forcing the trees to drop their leaves before I've visually witnessed the full glory of fall. I mention this simply because I wouldn't want you to think that this post has anything to do with the weather.
***
the way I see it, a person generally has one of two statements running through the back of their head at all times. both statements are usually said with some degree of disbelief and can be adjusted - through the inflection and intonation of one's internal monologue - to reflect exactly how they feel. these statments become the audible expression of one's mood, reflecting that person's true attitude toward a situation, and I think that they do a much better job of revealing one's general disposition than any half-empty or half-full glass ever will.
these statements are:
1. this is my life.
2. this is not my life.
it is my current opinion that a person uses the same statement - one or the other above - to describe every situation. they just happen to change their expression of it to match what's going on in their head. and it sounds simple, but generally, the inclusion or exclusion of that commonplace three-letter-word is the deciding factor between one having a pessimistic or an optimistic view on life.
I bring this up because last night I realized that, after years of pretending to be an optimist, trying to emulate that kind of disposition and the likable traits that go along with it, my general disposition is one of pessimism. that three-letter-word is always present, even in those moments when I've been truly happy about something. my tone just vacillates between one of elated disbelief instead of defeated disbelief (or just defeat).
it's just ironic that it has taken me this long to admit it. afterall, I write a blog "dedicated to finding the good in everything." and I write posts wherein I seek an uplifting ending. if that doesn't scream 'fighting a natural pessimistic streak,' I don't know what else does.
the social scientist in me wonders if pretending to be optimistic is a social coping mechanism akin to people emulating extroverts. hmm...
win mcnamee/getty imagesmost mornings, if I leave for the office on time, I am witness to a neighborhood full of kids walking to the pretty brick elementary school in the center of my neighborhood. each of these mornings I am struck with a bit of envy for their simpler lives.
my mind wanders back to my days spent walking the six blocks to my elementary school with my brother and a random assortment of friends. I get a laugh when the older ones are walking with parents, because I just don't get the over-protective behavior displayed by parents of late. I get a bigger laugh out of their backpacks, bigger than they are, and the differing levels of excitement/dread/fear on their faces.
I don't remember not wanting to go to school when I was that young. I enjoyed reading and writing and spelling and coloring and all of it so much that, coupled with the socialization with my small group of friends, each day seemed pretty excting. while I do remember not wanting to do the homework, I generally remember being happy to be there. I picture myself in each little dark-haired girl I see walking by, and wonder if adults driving past me as a kid could tell that I was quietly happy, in my own world, on my way to a favorite place.
fifth grade is when the look of dread settled on my face. I was a bit of a wreck, actually. I stopped doing my homework and stopped wanting to go to school in general.
at one point that year I learned to forge my mom's signature so that I could hand in late homework assignments and would skip recess to work on extra credit projects for my teacher to make up for it. I had a group of friends to play with on recess when I did go, and I enjoyed art class and sometimes gym. the only time I was happy sitting through regular class was when we were creating things with our hands or reading. but generally, I spent quite a bit of time staring out the large windows at the younger kids on recess or gym classes, wishing I was out there.
sometimes I think I was a pretty normal kid, that this sort of ick settles over all kids around the age of ten or eleven. sometimes I wonder if I wasn't just a little too weird for my own good, that I'd had a hard time adjusting to a new school and socializing. and sometimes I wonder if I was just experiencing my first dip in a lifetime of mild dysthymia, but one can never be sure.
throughout this rough year, I remember regularly thinking that I envied my mother for being an adult, for working in a tall building with high windows and mazes of cubicles, for wearing nice grown-up clothes, and for not having to be in school anymore. I revisited this feeling - this thought that being an adult was simple, because there was no homework, there were no teachers, and you got paid! - throughout the rest of my schooling, all the way up through grad school. I spent many a night holed up in my bedroom in tempe writing papers and resenting my roommates for having nothing better to do but watch tivo, get drunk, slam doors, and laugh.
if added up, I'm sure I've spent days of my life wishing I were an adult working in an office.
which is ironic, seeing that for the better part of two years - the time I've worked in a "typical" office setting, wearing business casual clothes and yearning for a window to gaze out of - I have spent numerous stolen moments wishing I were outside walking to school or laughing with my friends.
it makes me wonder what I missed by not being fully present all those years, and if I'm missing anything by not being fully present now.
the only conclusion I have so far is: I miss art class.
according to wikipedia, "chicago" is sufjan stevens' most well-known song. according to me, it didn't exist until my paternal grandfather died.
I just spent two and a half hours working on a project in illustrator. it was an ambitious project. there multiple layers, a specific spectrum of colors, quite a few circles... it was an attempt to do justice to a doodle that is my current twitter background, to make it look less like a scanned pdf and more like a real digital image. but it became more than that, since that scanned image is a doodle that I used for quite a few things this year, one that is very representative of my artistic style. so I spent quite a bit of time trying to get the stroke weights and colors and sizes and layout to match perfectly, and I'd imagine I made a good 200 circles of all sizes. I grouped layers, I moved things around, I found a brushstroke that didn't look super trite or tacky. I only broke for quick emails and questions from my boss' admin.
the file, my little homage to my favorite 2D piece to-date!, ended up being 65MB.
SIXTY. FIVE. MEGABYTES.
obviously lacking the computer memory to even pretend to make it into something I could save in any form, and currently lacking the know-how to drastically reduce such a file without a) starting over or b) chopping it up like hell, I printed it and deleted the illustrator file outright.
a simple fix; a simple, depressing, defeating fix.
I will frame the fucking print-out.
I justify time spent on such a project because, while the serious job paid for me to learn some photoshop and indesign basics, illustrator has been an adventure in projects at the silly job and self-teaching. I've come pretty far for a year, but it feels like I don't actually learn things in a productive way, or at least in a style I would need (classroom) to actually learn the basics. it's been rather piecemeal to this point. but, again, I justify completing online tuts and creating random stuff because illustrator entirely more useful for what I'm often asked to do here... and it's also usually a nice break.
but this deleted project is absolutely the most work I've done all day. I'm not hungover, I'm not sick, I'm not all that tired, I'm not hungry. I'm just not mentally here. I have things I definitely should be doing, but I'm already in the weekend. or at least the weekend-prep stage.
the thing is, I feel like today is the [low point, turning point, outlier] in a journey of a few weeks. somewhere in the last six weeks I have retreated. (regressed? no. probably not. I think.) the best way I can describe it is that I have become smaller, like somewhere the bounce in my step flattened and my shoulders sank with it. like somewhere all of my ambitious steps, no matter how big or small, are being met as above.
and I can't quite come up with a simple fix; a simple, uplifting, encouraging fix.
I find myself without direction or concentration enough to write a coherent paragraph, let alone an entire blog, today. so I am taking a cue from a lovely friend who also writes blogs... and rambling emails... and just making a list:
oh, today.
so the list of random things that have happened in the last 24 hours is long... add to it the fact that gmail is down and now you've just got me laughing. but my blackberry's telling me no one's emailed me anyway... which is more than likely because the top ten people I email also have gmail.
go figure.
funny thing is that not two hours ago I was hoping for a power outage in the central west end. they've happened before, so why not now? why can't I go home on sans guilt on such a glorious day? were I employed at the st louis chess club like some fabulous person I know, I'd probably have at least a shot at excusing myself from work, what with our email being out and all. but WU is a devil of a place, and the CWE is as electronically advanced as ever.
so, even though I could follow my gut instincts... which would involve me running from the building, fleeing all technology and avowing a live as a recluse (why should I bother without my beloved gmail?!??)... I will use this time to finish a blog started yesterday... (see below.)
neat.
[open post script to one matt lodge: don't think I didn't notice that wilmering got hired at the chess club. you do have your ways of getting good people into places you love so they can keep hanging out with you, don't you?]
I realize that I have a bit of a roundabout style... that I realize has affected where I am in life at the moment.
correction: I have a roundabout style of talking and writing. I have a straightforward style of doing, at least when it comes to doing things that I know need to happen and want to happen.
clarification: I think that 'straightforward' is commonly used with the idea that not only does one make something happen in a continuous forward motion, but that one does so quickly. no definition I could find of the word states this latter assumption, so I reject that implication for the use of this blog... and for the rest of my life.
let me explain:
psychology today, by far one of my favorite magazines out there, came out with a cover story about 9 or 10 months ago about people who move continuously forward throughout their lives only to end up in random, unexpected places. specifically for the case of this article, they ended up in random careers. the best example I can remember is the woman who did office work for years only to go back to medical school in her late thirties.
I remember reading that article and thinking, why not?
correction: why not me?
clarification: not two years ago, I wouldn't have dared to think that thought.
I finished college and grad school in my early twenties because I thought it was what I had to do. sure, it's what I wanted to do, but I also didn't want to be that 30-something in class. I despised those people. so I simply had to be the one of median age, then to be the young one (I was the third-youngest MSW grad in ASU's Class of 2005...). it made me feel better about how much I'd already achieved, and like I had a path that I was on...
correction: it made me feel like I was on a path and the people who were older than me weren't.
clarification: I know the day my life when went off-path. 13 august 2005. the day after leadership conference ended, and I decided continue my summer and stay at miniwanca for the fall. that decision was nowhere to be found in the best-laid-plans.
but like I said, not two years ago would I have admitted that was the moment. I knew what came next: job, two years of it. apply to UW in the meantime. get my PhD. teach social work. make things better.
it wasn't until about two years ago, when I was out of work in a field I realized I didn't really like anymore, just before I started this blog, that I realized that my path actually follows me, instead of the other way around.
correction: I still like social work, and did then, though I wouldn't admit it.
clarification: I'm still not convinced that it's being done the way it should be, on both micro or macro levels. I'll work on that... eventually.
my path, which has been the subject of quite a few posts here, is something I found myself thinking about this morning... as I sat on this awful bus ride that took entirely longer than it should have. I reflected on the fact that I am allowing myself to take more chances than I used to, at least in terms of things that I do.
for example: I wouldn't take an art class in college for fear of not being as good as the rest of the class. I took social work because I already knew I was good at it. but I was and still remain as curious and hungry as ever for art - for architecture, for illustration, for jewelrymaking, for design! - and I'm only lately allowing that to come forward.
correction: I was always the artsy one in college, I just thought it more a hidden talent than an outward expression. I started allowing those tendencies to be expressed during a particularly bleak summer, the one after the off-path moment started.
clarification: I am grateful for the off-path moment... or at least, the thought thereof... and for all that has followed.
I think the point is that I have been, whether I thought to acknowledge it earlier than today or not, on a straightforward path my entire life. one that has lead me to this very moment right here... and to the one on the bus this morning that made me want to get on with my life in the way I always pictured... when I was drawing things on paper plates as a kid.
the explanation ends with this: I think the strangest steps, the ones that others might see as roundabout but are actually full of purpose and quite straightforward in nature, are the key to a path most enjoyed.
in the last twenty four hours, I've had two different people rightfully accuse me of slacking in life as a whole.
at first it was just a conversation about how I could ever be okay for settling on a life course that's safe. and then it was the mention of an interpersonal holding pattern I've been in for a while.
my response as of right now is: somewhere I confused inflexible and immobile safety with good, solid, rightfully cautious but ever-bold judgment. the latter is something that I am apt to exhibit. the former is something I never saw myself as. and the holding pattern can only be explained by the falling back on safety as an excuse, and allowing that safe feeling to shelter me where I stand.
to be fair, I needed a moment to regroup... to figure out life after I'd completed my best laid plans that trailed off into that 25 year span of "be an adult" (that part's somewhere between "graduate" and "retire" for most people, in case you were wondering.), and to heal after my first few attempts at my "be an adult" plan kind of fizzled. but while I am a firm believer in needing time to slow down and reflect, I know I took it a little too far. I became complacent, and consequently crabby with myself over my complacency, and even crabbier over the fact that I cannot seem to push myself to counteract it.
I'm pretty much through with being on hold in my safe spot, though.
ironically, I'm a person who believes steadily that things happen in patterns of three. usually I'm left wondering what the third sign in the pattern will be, and what the whole pattern will mean. this time, I'm waiting for it... because I can already guess what it will mean. it's almost like I'm waiting for the universe's permission to get on with it. so...
...I guess it's time I realized that the lifelist that started this blog may no longer be in use, but the steady fire within me that lit such a thing into being is still very much alive.
I didn't take a single picture while I was at camp this year. for two weeks of my life, my camera - frantically charged and packed before departing st louis - lived in my purse, on my dresser, in my room, in seay.
my old camp self would have been undeniably upset about this. how else would I remember these people? how else would I document how cute he was or how dirty we got or how silly they could be?!
the most important answer to this question, early-aughts self, is that going to camp with the anxiety of a new position, after a summer off and two years of pushing away, and many years after most of the people with whom I'd formed cliques had stopped coming back was bad enough. I didn't even send in my final confirmation for attending until a month before I was set to go, because I wasn't sure if I could bring myself to face it. but bringing the camera out and reclaiming my space as the photographic soccer mom of the group felt like too much. my kids are staff; my friends are gone. I was ready to fade into the background.
sure, I can make lighter excuses: my memory card is still full of pictures from 2007 (sad truth); my camera still acts up as a result of my photo shoot with lodge and the powerwasher in 2006; I'm too old for pictures; I'll just get them from everyone else once they're posted on facebook; etc.
but in actuality, after I realized that this lack of shuttering was happening, my only answer was that I needed to rely solely on my memory. I surmised that such a thing would allow me to remember the week only as I saw it. if I didn't make a single new friend, only I would know. if I loved every minute of it, only I would know. being absolutely in the present at each moment was the easiest way for me to realize such things. and so I justified it this way: that every second I spent posing for a picture or pressing a button was another second I spent somewhere in the past or the future, instead of in the moment that was happening.
it was very freeing.
***
I used to think that pictures did the work of forming such a memory. until I realized that sometimes pictures make no sense in as little as days after they've been taken, and that my most vivid memories are just outside of the pictures I've taken at those moments:
whole rolls were used in glen arbor on those debaucherous post-conference trips to the lake; one moment of life spent riding directly into the wind and sun on the boat of a guy whose face I'll never remember stays with me more.
unnecessary amounts of money and stress were spent trying to develop pictures after high school football games or dances, just so I could dully relive those moments, but I would rather remember the feeling of safety in glenn's giant old car than shuffle through all of that.
years of playing a game of "what was I doing at this time last week/month/year" in my head always brings me back to being a 16-year-old, dozing on a beach in florida, but you'll never see a picture of that moment.
fry's entire puppyhood is captured and catalogued digitally, though the conversations I had with him while we took two hour walks through a dark, wintry south st louis are so much better.
I could go on...
***
I asked a new friend at one point last week if he could distinctly tell in his head when he was forming a true memory. I meant to ask if he could tell the difference between moments captured on film and moments captured with his whole being. I know I didn't verbalize this question well enough (nor did I ask it at a time conducive to having a solid conversation about it), so it was sort of dropped... but I still wonder: is it just me, or do other people know when they're experiencing a moment they'll remember forever? can they recognize those moments of presence where they live until the next moment, and do they know that everything else - including all of the pictures they can't wait to post in oh-so-many places - is filler? that nothing else matters, save that moment of relief known as right now?
***
I recognize now that most of my anxiety stems from being too positively or negatively attached to moments - often including the pictorial representation thereof - and that I consequently miss out on being fully present in them. ironically, my favorite moment of anxiety is not only one of my favorite moments of presence, but also one that was captured on film by my mom. I was sixteen, sitting on a beach in petoskey, dreading going to camp for the first time.
[picture to be inserted soon enough]
I can remember how it felt to sit on those rocks, in those short shorts, the humidity heavy in the air; the barrage of thoughts I was having about missing another week of summer socializing, about not making any friends, about not fitting in, about not knowing what I was doing or why I was going.
sounds familiar, right?
and while I ended up documenting the hell out of most of my weeks at camp, including that dreaded first one, I survived the first two weeks in august this year without a single shot. I was just there. I was just an observer. I was just taking it all in, and making the present moment happen. that's all I needed. and no picture will ever compare to that.
admittedly, I stopped because her dog was staring at me.
from across the awkward right-turn lane onto southbound brentwood, just as you leave the whole foods parking lot, the staring face of a pitbull that was much like fry's, was too much for me to pass up. I'd even gotten into my car - the only one at the bottom of the parking lot, parked entirely too close to the store for weekend standards - and started it, but turned off the engine when she looked at me again.
her owner looked at me only once before I approached them. but penny, whom I was about to meet, kept staring. she had fry's white patch down her nose and a white belly. she was just smaller than him, and when I walked up, she was just as shy. her owner, whose name I caught as sylvia, warned that penny wasn't good with new people. but I just treated her as I would my bubba when he's scared (get low, offer a paw, talk sweetly, and smile), and to sylvia's surprise, penny was very friendly and approachable back.
sylvia's cardboard sign said that she and penny had run out of gas while traveling and were stranded in st louis. what sylvia and I had next was a conversation akin to those I had when I would come upon true transients while interning with the homeless outreach project in phoenix. she tried at first to make it sound like she'd stumbled into st louis, like this hadn't happened before or she wasn't used to it. but then a certain amount of pride took over as she compared the treatment she received from brentwood police versus that of those in new orleans and california; and she seemed wary of me in a way that I'd seen from transients who'd become hardened to the conversational outreach approach. she was happy to accept money and food from anyone who would give and go while she put up defenses, veiled by a false front of vagabond spirit and wandering goodwill, to anyone who stopped to ask real questions.
I stayed for only a few moments after I could see that she was mildly uncomfortable with answering my questions. one of the last things she asked was if I knew anyone who was hiring, and of course, the answer was no. I rubbed the side of penny's face the way I rub bubba's when I'm leaving, got in my car, and left.
again, her dog is why I stopped. her dog is why I was visibly shaken and upset as I was leaving, to the point of planting myself on a good friend's doorstep to demand a hug before I went home to an empty apartment. the thought of an animal or a child suffering while living in such an unstable way should be enough for any capable adult to be outraged, or at least overcome by emotion. but while I stopped for her dog, the entirety of her situation is what made me think:
we don't deserve what's coming.
we, the good little humans who are striving to be creative and true to ourselves, who would give anything to survive in a way that made us and others happy, who have compassion for and take care of other sentient beings even when they are difficult, don't deserve the current and coming years of unrest, uncertainty, and unlivable economic conditions. she, sylvia, no matter her reasons for possibly being chronically homeless, should at least have the opportunity to make her situation better, and others among us teetering on that brink should not have to learn how to survive like she does.
we deserve options, we deserve optimism. we deserve the right to make ourselves happy in the most organic and personal ways we know how. we deserve to help others feel this kind of happy, and to expect that they would do the same for us. we deserve to rest easy knowing that this kind of organic happy is made possible by people who give great and genuine care to the economic situation of all of us, because that's what makes them happy.
but I can't help but wonder what comes next.
the lovely people at the st. louis craft alliance have been so kind as to let me pay them to take their metalworking course for six weeks. so far I've made a copper ring that no one should ever wear (it's big, unruly, and has a few edges that might poke or get caught in things, but it was a feat in soldering and hammering, if I do say so myself!), and these:
UPDATE on 16 march: behold the better picture!
the first picture I put up was crap; my digital point-and-shoot did them no justice.
anyway, they're sterling silver earrings - about an inch tall in real life - filed, sanded, and soldered to perfection. I had quite a bit of help on them from my instructor, simply because I almost burnt my hand off with the soldering torch in last week's class. but I think that once I get used to the finer points of adjusting the gas-to-oxygen ratio, and remember that I'm pretty ambidextrous, I'll be an earring-making fool once again!
taking this class comes from the realization that I'd had a rough beginning of the year and needed an outlet. and I've also wanted to take a jewelry/metals class of some kind for quite some time, so I feel like spending my monday nights sawing and filing and playing with fire is entirely healthier than spending them sitting and drinking and playing with social fire at some south city bar.
I've been a pretty frustrated person in the last few months, but I feel like that is turning around. having a creative outlet helps... finally signing a lease and having a move-out date helps... being busy at washu helps, though I wouldn't want to repeat last week for a while... improving my communication with my friends and nick helps... and while I, as a proud dog lover and cat allergy sufferer, hate to admit it, taking care of fissell's cat helps. these are all things that make me feel like I'm finding my way back to a balance, which is what I think I've been missing for a while.
this weekend, I learned a few things about the state of the world I live in:
people still leave notes if they bumped your car in the parking lot. a guy hit my car in the parking lot over the weekend, and actually left me a real note about it. over the course of talking about repairs with him, I thanked him four times for the note. I even expressed gratitude to his insurance claims rep, and amazement to my claim rep. I mean, it makes me wonder if I, or other people I know, would do the same in that situation...
you are not a true hockey fan if you... knock over a crabby middle-aged man's soda while trying to get to your seat; he will mutter such a thing to his wife if this occurs. actually, I'm absolutely positive that the guy was griping over a friend's poor choice of leading us to our seats in the middle of the play. this friend is a baseball fan, and knows better sports ettiquette than this, but I think he was just excited to be there. anyway, I happened to knock over a guy's soda, and he happened to get crabby about it. I then happened to get crabby over the somewhat strange culture of missouri hockey fans, but at least I knew what was going on during the game.
women my age are paranoid about being preggers. four of us(!) at whole foods experienced winter weight gain in the month of january and had a moment of scare about something possibly growing in our lady parts. we all laughed about it on saturday, as we learned that we'd all been having similar conversations separately (and that none of us was actually with child, but were just feeling the woes of winter). internally, I couldn't help but think, "did we learn nothing about unprotected sex in all of our years?" I guess not...
I'll let you know what else I learn later.
this is, hands-down, how I like my politicians and my president:
as the quirky, thoughtful, smart, next-door-neighbor-type who can make the most ordinary things seem f'ing awesome
and
simple, understated, to the point, and open to an eight-year possibility.
I still can't believe how good it feels to have to correct myself in my own thoughts when I think about bush, when I get to say "former president" in front of his name. I don't groan at and/or block out news about the federal government and international relations! it's like a huge mental weight has lifted!
I know I can't be too in awe, or too optimistic. I know I have to be a realist - I've studied government and know how long it all can take. but it's amazing how even a simply change in inner dialogue can help my mood and my view of the world.
just thought I'd weigh in, since I hadn't said much since the election...
january 4 marked month fifteen (15!) of holding down a part-time and a full-time job. month fifteen of sitting in a dark office, trying to avoid most of my co-workers for 37.5 hours a week. month fifteen of playing nice with quirky customers who can't tell me what kind of granola they grabbed in out of the bulk bin. month fifteen of working all but (maybe) one day per month, without guaranteed weekends or time for good sleep or travel.
month fifteen of ignoring my degrees and my extended family and just "working."
this realization built slowly in december, until I left both jobs crying in one week and had a panic attack at my favorite bar.
I don't really need the double-income anymore. I think I have finally come to grips with paying back my $50k in school loans. I think I can finally manage my money without being anxiety-stricken at the end of the month. however, I continue to show up to both jobs because I tell myself that they are a compliment to each other: one pays me very little but provides some needed social stimulation, the other pays me more than can intially be expected for someone with my degrees but keeps me cut-off from my peers.
I could survive on the latter, I tell myself, if I saw my friends enough. but I can't seem to make or keep friends without the former, nor can I afford to hang out with the ones I already have without its supplemental income. but I can't bring myself to quit either outright.
so what do I do?
I spend my spare time as a possibility junkie, hooked on the idea of another degree, another career, an artistic lifestyle, or a ticket out of the midwest. I know I can't pick up and leave like I imagine I would, but I can still manage to fantasize on the commute. friends say I need to maintain the search for something good in the present, but I'm too busy commuting and working and making up new lives or excuses to do it.
in the meantime, I've resolved that I need to find a job where people spell my name right. while they haven't added the "e" to the end of my name on the roster at the store in the fifteen months I've been working there, at least they know how to spell it when they leave me notes or reference me in emails... except that I don't get those emails because I don't have an email account... because the first time they went to set it up (four months ago), they dropped the "e" and have yet to fix it.
and today, my boss's boss at the university didn't add the "e" to the end of my name of an official letter she drafted for the dean of the school of engineering. a letter I had input on, and even corrected my name in (in both the letter and the email to which the letter was attached!), earlier this week. how hard is it, when I give you all the necessary tools, and/or when you hit "reply" on an email, to notice this? really?!
I'd like to say that neither of these slights to my second "e" matters. that I could continue to pretend that I am valued for all that I can do at either job simply because they want to keep me around and they tell me that I'm wonderful at them. but I would be lying to myself.
two seconds of that little courtesy - two seconds in the roster spreadsheet in excel, or two seconds of double-checking in a reply - and I would keep plugging along at both jobs. it would mean that someone noticed and gave a shit.
at the end of this work week, I've got homework: my résumé.
just a note:
I have another blog through salon.com. I am not giving up this blog, for it is my personal communication with those who know about it. but I thought I'd give blogging out in the great-wide-open a try. when I post there, I will also post it here, since y'all should be reading anything I put out there for the masses. I will also continue to post more personal things here.
look for the tag "open salon" at the bottom of my posts to see if it's been double-posted or not. or, come find me out there: carolinwonder
happy 2009!
I was nine when my mom attended her 15 year high school reunion. for my mom, a single mother without much of a social life at that time, this was a rare event. I don't know that she was especially excited about it, but I think she was curious and that was enough for her. to my knowledge, she hasn't attended one since that summer - more out of lack of interest than anything else.
at that age I still envisioned high school as the point in my life when I earned the title by which I would be known. forever. my peers and I would be defined and that definition would guide the rest of our lives. I was still watching afterschool specials wondering about my first kiss and envisioning dances with big dresses with even bigger sleeves, and making magic moments at lockers. these are the important things at the impressionable age of nine.
so when I anxiously asked my mom if she had fun at her reunion, I was mildly disappointed when she flatly stated:
it wasn't that interesting. all the girls got prettier. all the boys got fat and bald. otherwise, everyone stayed the same.
I wanted to hear more! I wanted stories of rekindling a crush over the punch bowl! and about class awards! and pranks! and dancing! and other people's lives! and all of the other things that really mattered!
regardless of my childhood disappointment, I held that quip in mind as I navigated and graduated from high school. would I really get prettier? would all the boys I crushed on get fat and bald? would everyone stay just as they were? (even what's-her-face, who hated me??)
ten years later, in these months leading up to my first official reunion, there are less surprises than I had hoped. not because people didn't live up to or exceed what I had expected, but simply because I know more about those people than I should. social networking websites have allowed me to forge all of the same alliances I had back then (which is sad in its own way) and have basically allowed me the early preview of what I am going to see this summer. while I am slightly saddened that I already know so much, I realize that this is a consequence of putting my information out there and internet-friending so many of these shadows of friends.
my friend meredith and I sat on my couch before going out on new year's eve and together discussed this phenomenon. we are both satisfied with pieces and parts of the lives we've chosen: we are both unmarried, without children, in transitional jobs, and still experiencing high-school-esque social drama from time to time. we've moved about the country with a certain amount of wanderlust and only occasionally stop by our hometowns. with a certain amount of reassurance, we realized that though the people we used to know once made up our peer group - whether in primary school, high school, college or beyond - many are no longer our true peer groups. in those cases, their lives filled with things opposite mine (and/or hers) and cannot therefore be the yardstick against which we measure our lives.
thanks to sites like facebook, my reunion will be less of a surprise. but thanks to real conversation and real friends like meredith, I think I am more prepared for the moment . I am finally learning how to separate myself from that defining mentality. despite the availability of the yardstick of 1999, I am judging myself less by the standards of my 18-year-old peers and more by the standards of those actually around me.
I may still be trying to decide if I'm headed in the right direction overall, but at least my measurement is true.
