Stories

Last weekend, I shared my 'story' with someone. My life story; the whole thing, birth to present. It took a long time, honestly, more than an hour and a half. I had never before done it all in one go. This person had specifically set up our lunch date to hear my story - no one had ever asked before, and I found myself eager to share it.

I'm not really sure where this eagerness came from. Maybe it's a secret fear that (I hope) we all have, that we'll be forgotten after our moment in time is over. We're all just blinks in the universe's eye. Are we making an impact? Does anyone or anything care? I have answered those questions for myself, but it is still daunting and overwhelming to ponder upon your potential legacy. What will you leave behind? Who will remember? Will your name still be known in three generations?

Telling my story was an emotional drain. Not because I find my story particularly dramatic, but because I was processing my entire life as I was telling it. The most interesting part for me was realizing later who and what I included, and who and what I left out. There are parts of my life that have felt mountain-shattering, that have ripped me apart and made me feel like I would never be able to tell which way was 'up' ever again. There have been times of extremely negative and overwhelmingly positive emotions; there have been times I have given up; there have been moments of triumph and pride; there have been people I have loved, I have betrayed, and others who have done the same to me. Some of these things and people didn't even get a footnote in my story the way I told it. Others, unexpectedly, got full chapters.

Listening to my own story unfold (through my own eyes, I should add) reminded me that maturity is a long road, and I hesitate to say I'll ever be an upstanding human specimen at the rate I am going. I don't say that in a self-depreciating way; I say that because I really believe there are always things one can be doing to better oneself.  Listening to my story reminded me of where I came from and who I have been. It reminded me how I have already grown quite a bit, sometimes by leaps and bounds over short periods of time. I think I'm closer to the person I would like to become than I was five years ago. Hopefully I'll continue in the right direction as my life progresses. I wonder what changes will occur in the way I tell my story as it continues.

A day later, I sat on the bus. It was a long ride to my destination, so I brought my book. I was clearly engrossed (or so I thought), when someone asked to sit next to me. He was probably in his mid- to late-thirties, and although he didn't look disheveled he gave the vibe of someone who was probably on the outskirts of society. Someone who had probably been put there against his own wishes, I would also guess. He started asking me about the weather. I nodded and smiled my appreciation of the sun on my face. He asked about the Seattle Public Library. I said I liked it. He mentioned his Kindle. I smiled. After each of these brief interactions, I put my head back down into my book. He quietly moved away from me to an adjacent seat just a few stops before I got off the bus.

As I exited, I realized how selfish I had been. I am not saying that I should have dropped everything and engaged this man in conversation...but why not? Why didn't I? He was clearly looking for someone to talk to. Maybe he has no one to talk to. Maybe no one has ever asked his story.

I think never telling your story to anyone, because they don't want to listen, is probably as draining as telling your story. Except the former hurts more, because those questions of what your life means in the universe are probably (erroneously) pointing towards one thing: nothing.

If this post comes off as depressing, I apologize. I just found it odd how these two, mirrored events occurred within 36 hours of each other. This post is really meant to say that your story is important, and you should tell it. In pieces, all at one time, whatever you want. Just share it with others. It's what connects us as humans, and it is what reminds us that we're all struggling with the same problems: selfishness, pride, control, fear, love, heartbreak, greed, lust, and the great unknown.

Before the end of the year, I would like to really challenge you all to ask someone their story. Maybe a parent or a friend, maybe a stranger. Maybe they will not know what to say and laugh it off, maybe they will get defensive and ask why, but maybe they will tell you. And we should listen.

Thankful for all of your beautiful souls. Thankful that you've all been a part of my life so far. Stick around, ok?

"Modern" life: slowing down and considering the lilies

Is it comforting or unsettling:
That we've been discussing this topic for nearly 150 years and that we're still worried about it?
That we have always idealized the past, while simultaneously accepting and adapting to the newest technology?

I recommend the full xkcd (bigger and easier to read) with mouseover: http://xkcd.com/1227/

I really liked this xkcd post. It comforted me that humans (Americans?) have always been fighting against, or at least cognizant of, our inability and unwillingness to slow down and have real conversations with people. However, it disappointed me that although our Luddite rantings about bicycles, tricycles, trains, boats, and telegrams existed, we now have technology like those ridiculous Google glasses, cell phones, smartphones, and email. 

Were these arguments raised to fight back against technology? Or were they raised simply to state a point: that technology is ruining our ability to communicate and think effectively? I also wonder what these authors did in their spare time. Did they ride their bike anyways? Did they give in to their mentioned technology after a few years? I'm sure they said "it can't get any worse". Were these articles warnings or admonitions to society? 

Brave New World here we come...?

Thoughts from the Nuts Chapel Hill Nomad, and a Chapel Hill Resolution

Hey folks,

Two words, one summer: Absolut trip.

In all senses of the two words.

Now it's my turn to get mushy and friend-centric.

It really was refreshing to see you who I saw. After I left, I realized where a lot of my own behaviors since graduation come from. Somehow my stories seem to come out like Kevin (I'm a rookie, so so far they're hit or miss) and I actually ate a piece of sausage while in LA (call me Unclean Bhatti). Recently I've charged like a Golden Michael Retriever toward a loved one. I read slate.com, am becoming excited by economics (to the chagrin of my anthropologist buddies), and throw my hat at the Red Sox when they lose. I have started to hand hug everyone I meet, eat completely vegetarian weeks, and devote myself to enable others in understanding what seems complex.

Over the course of the trip, Kevin's #4 became a reality before my eyes. I really am not who I am without Elise saying that I would get lost on Telegraph Street (which I almost did... or maybe I'm still there O.O), or Kevin laughing (in half joy and half agony) as he watched my partner self-plunk on the first shot of our die game in NH. The pieces of myself that I tossed, hugged, cried, laughed, and iced with you all thrived when I was around you. The times we spent this summer helped me love the symphony of your pieces, and yet continued to create new arias for me to still close my eyes and get hopelessly lost in your music.

There was a saying I used to say when I was abroad in India (and up until recently in my meditation sessions): I am me.


But it's old and needs a replacement, and so it goes now, freshly and with new purpose: I am us.


For all I did not see, you're on the list. Beware: I am lethal with a cell phone, internet access, and excess funds.

Until then, as most of you know, I'm going to be living in Chapel Hill for the next half a year, and I'm going to be busy. I'm moving away from the parental home, taking a part time class in fiction/poetry writing at UNC, working various educational jobs during the week to put money in the bank, and continuing the rootsie/granola-y oral history community activist work at the history research lab I've been working with.

What I will be doing on the side (and only as often as I can): dialogue workshops on social change (getting ordinary people together to talk through their own impressions of social issues, create relationships with others that significantly disagree with their viewpoints, and starting to create coalitions across the board as opposed to with your own allies) both in the community and at my synagogue (about Israel... Oy va voy does my congregation need to start talking Israel), co-leading creative writing workshops at the homeless shelter, aiding two homeless/underemployed Chapel Hillians in helping themselves obtain opportunity and success, and, most importantly, having a buttload of fun. I'm going to write, sing, dance, swim through whatever shakes and shudders if it's what it takes to be merry.

Which brings me to the next portion. Last year I had a goal, but I never wrote it down, and I almost lost my direction. This year I'm going to put it down, publicly. This year, I will put words to further cement my passions, encourage myself to idle away an afternoon, and make music out of the mud bubbles. It won't be complete unless I look back with my hands caked with the dirt and sweat of life and my eyes dead set on unveiling the beauty and justice that this world holds through education, conflict resolution, and underprivileged empowerment.

Last year was for healing. This year is for strengthening.

And next year? I have some clearer grad school leanings. Or perhaps a teaching fellowship is what's tugging at my leg. Community organizing? Abroad social justice? Masters in Fine--ah, f*** it, that tension's for mid-October. I'm here, August 22nd, 2012, and I'm ready to do me.

But, go ahead; try and outdate me. I dare you.

I@mbNuT$


PS: Aldaily led me to this site about the crisis in Psychology/Psychiatry that we all discussed on our way back from Georgia in 2010. Good piece of random bar-conversation: http://lareviewofbooks.org/article.php?type=&id=812&fulltext=1&media=#

Highs and Lows: Starting with a blank book

I just spent over an hour getting sucked into this blog instead of doing the other things I meant to be doing. It is so wonderful to read what you are all thinking and finding interesting, and I wish that I had been more regularly involved with reading, commenting, and posting. I miss you all. I miss Colby less and less as I carve out places for myself elsewhere, but I still miss all of you lots.
__________________
Last you all heard from me here was that I was embarking on a crazy cross country trip with no real destination. Really observant/devoted TDT contributors may have noticed a post I started that has languished in the drafts section of this blog since December, unfinished. That trip started out so buoyant with excitement and promise that didn't even last me through the Rockies. It turns out that traveling alone--driving 6,300 miles in about a month--without a set plan, objective, or idea of where I was going, was really really really really hard. Had I thought about it more, that would have been an obvious conclusion, but I was so excited to get out of the rut I was feeling in Boston and NH and to go on this adventure that it never occurred to me to stop and say "why yes, Emma, of course driving across the country by yourself with minimal planning is going to get lonely, boring, and discouraging REALLY fast." That's not to say in any way that the trip was a total loss or that I didn't have any fun. 'Cause it wasn't, I did, and it was fantastic to see so many of my scattered friends along the way. I'm glad I went, and had I realized how hard it was going to be before I left, I may never have done it.

My last journal entry from that trip was written late at night on November 25th while curled up on Isaac's couch in Palo Alto, mind whirring and stressing and definitely not sleeping. It was less than a week before I got the call from Snowmass that they wanted to interview me; I was hired and off to Oregon and then to my new job by December 1st. But that night, watching headlights sweep across the darkened living room, I didn't know that yet. That journal entry is full of pain and confusion. I was so lost and alone. Yes, I could find myself on a map, and throwing things at Isaac down the hall would have given me a (sleepy, slightly grumpy, but awake) companion, but my loss and loneliness was on a different scale. It's a sloppy (I can barely read my own handwriting) rant about my previous years' failed relationships, lack of community, lack of purpose, inability to get the type of job I wanted or figure out where I wanted to live/what I wanted to do, and uncertainty about what I was doing and who I wanted to be. I ended by saying "basically, I'm not happy, don't know what I need to do to become happy, and should probably stop whining to myself and go to sleep."

This past six months have been a study in figuring out what makes me happy, becoming stronger and more stable, and not writing in my journal almost at all. I've realized that when I'm busy and happy, I don't write. For me, writing is a way to channel stress and uncertainty, to process and reflect what's going on around me. That's not to say that I don't enjoy writing--I do, very much so, but the moments that bring pen to paper are the ones where I am lost, confused, lonely, and have too much time on my hands to ponder. As you may imagine, this means that my journal is usually a dark and depressing story. In fact, when I unpacked it from the box of books that came home with me from Colorado this spring, the last thing written there was the command to myself to go to sleep. I ended up sitting there and reading the journal, which starts in May 2011 and goes until November 2011, cover to cover and deciding that, despite the clump of blank pages still left at the end of it, it was time to start over, to start fresh. I wrote a brief concluding entry: basically, that I moved to CO soon after the last entry was written, that I found a job that I love (for now), a place with friends, coworkers, and a boyfriend who are great, and that I am about to go back to the huts (which, of course, I love) in a new role and feel like a better, stronger, more stable version of myself. With that, I closed the journal and stuck it on the bookshelf of the room that I grew up in but barely live in anymore.

I have a new journal, sitting on my bed at 4,220 ft on Mt. Lafayette. In it, I've reflected on what it's been like to have a formal leadership role in my hut, made lists of things to talk about with my croo, realized just how much I miss my friends in Colorado and how quickly I made strong ties there, commented on the changing social dynamic of a hut system with 28 new croo members this year (as opposed to the usual 7-9 per year), and much more. To be honest, my journal still gets a bit whiny and ranty at times, but that's because writing is still the most effective tool I've found for processing things that I'm struggling with (second only to whining incessantly at anyone who'll listen, which is an absolutely terrible processing tool that I went cold turkey on at some point in middle school. Or maybe not cold turkey, but I significantly scaled back its usage.) Aside from the fact that I am now so much happier than I was then, the difference with this journal is a new tradition that I started with myself on a rainy day during huts training when everyone was playing a game that I couldn't play 'cause of a partially torn MCL and recent tonsillectomy: as part of each entry, I add a highlights section. Sometimes, the highlights are simple, short comments ("going out to sunset rocks with Nick before dinner" or "Johannes' bacon tree joke is really terrible"), but there are other times when writing the highlights of my day leads me to explain it more, and then to elaborate on it and think more about what made the specific moment or exchange so special.


By forcing myself to write about highlights, I have found myself appreciating and processing the positives in life as much as I do the negatives. Yes, things that we struggle with demand our attention and focus, but all too often they monopolize our attentions, making it so much harder to give the same priority to the things that make us happy. As you all know, I've always been an optimist, a silver linings type of person. Recognizing the highlights as well as the lowlights has helped me to bring that optimism inside my own head in an much more intentional and focused way. In lives as busy as chaotic as ours, taking a few minutes to reflect on the positives in our lives is so rewarding and can teach us so much about ourselves and what makes--and keeps--us happy. So give it a try, whether it be here in a plink or a post, in a secret word document on your computer, or in fountain pen in a handmade journal: set aside time to reflect on the positives. You never know where it might take you. 


Love and miss you all. Come visit me in NH this summer or CO starting this fall. My couch/floor are always yours.

Life Update

Hello friends! Ahhh, it feels good to finally stretch my fingers in a way that involves me not mindlessly word-vomiting onto a document that I will turn in for a grade. It feels really, really nice to have gotten this term over with, and I sincerely hope that everything will get a little bit better from here on out. My next two terms involve less classes as well as less difficult classes, meaning that I can spend more time at practicum (where I am based at an elementary school) and at my research assistant position (which I mostly enjoy). It’s been a really difficult term, so thank you all for being patient about my inability to reach and contact you. I miss you all—hopefully I will be able to still count you as a friend =)

Speaking of friends, I have had two recent, whirlwind visits from two of the authors of thishere blog (Emma and Elise), which have both prompted some life observations.

Something that I had struggled with all of last year (and to less of an extent, this year) was starting the whole making-new-friends-cause-you’re-in-a-new-place process. An obvious issue with these new friends is a general lack of history that is shared with new people. Gradually, that history will develop over time, especially as you figure out your sense of place.

Another obvious issue is the idea of community (as an aside, I’m starting into Community, the tv show, and all of you would find it hilarious). This sense of community and involvement also gradually develops. But what has been difficult for me, as a result of being in the Eug, is that I am so incredibly used to having a community built around me. My place, and my comfort within a place, has been easier for me to find and enjoy in the past (rather than the present), because I have been going to small schools in small towns for a while. But since I’ve been removed from these (beautiful) places and have been foisted upon the “real world,” community has been hard for me to develop.

Now, part of this is inevitably the result of being in graduate school. It is harder to get involved when the time to get involved has (felt like it has) hardly existed. The counter-argument to this is that time should be made to keep those things that you love in place. But, for me, it is harder to find motivation to do these things when I have other lists of things-to-do to do. (Let it be noted that ultimate, after not playing a lot of it last year, is booked on my Sunday schedule; when soccer is happening, that, too, is booked). Most of the time, it is easier for me to relax by lying in bed and catching up on How I Met Your Mother or other TV shows. Yet despite my poor efforts, I can feel a sense of community growing. I live with a good friend, I see another good friend in a different program on a daily basis, and I feel comfortable with people from a variety of programs in the broader College of Education.

On the other hand, it doesn’t have the same “level” of meaning that my relationships with all of you mean to me. To an extent, most people (here in Oregon) have other priorities: some people have partners, some people have family, and some people have their own business to attend to. I guess my rambling leads me to conclude that I haven’t quite figured it out here and I still miss all of you whole-heartedly.

Naturally, I am inclined to live in the present. This has happened at each of the places where I have had a big transition: middle school, high school, college. Since I’ve been here, I find myself looking more to the past. Is this a healthy thing? I’m not sure yet.

For now, I will focus on going home, unplugging, writing, reading, exploring, puppying, Christmasing, and socializing. Inevitably, there will be days where I won’t want to do anything outside of vegging on the couch. But I am also hoping to make this time off productive, especially since the last ten weeks haven’t felt like it.