May Day

Realized that in addition to being the anniversary of both my mom's birth and my parents' wedding, today, May 2nd, is also the day I got the call from Vandy (when they were in the midst of a flood, no less.) Trying extra hard to be thankful despite the uncertainty that lies ahead.

I Was a Millennium Teenager

Reflections on September of 2001

Ten years ago this month, I left girlhood. Note that I didn't write "began adulthood," because that implies growth and almost some sort of finality, which is not at all what I mean to say. Rather, ten years ago this month, I left behind that elusive, youthful, unwavering acceptance and moved on to the decidedly adolescent state filled with torrential questions, occasionally sprinkled with inklings of answers.

Admittedly, my reflections on the tenth anniversary of a particular September day had a part in inspiring me to write this, but that day is not my only reason for earmarking this month. I was twelve years old when September of 2001 began. I was beginning the eighth grade in the same small town that I'd always lived in. Though we were in the same building as the previous year, we were now upstairs, freed from the tiny underground dungeon-like back corner. It was exciting to have more space to occupy and further to travel between classes as we roamed what had formerly been the high school hallways.

Around the beginning of the school year, tryouts for the eighth grade soccer team began. I had grown up playing town soccer in the fall, so playing in school once it was possible seemed like the next logical step. I joined many of the girls I grew up with in this cohort, and most of us had played together for years. So, was I worried? The thought didn’t even cross my mind. I had no reason to be. Plus, I hardly knew what worrying was.

We've all (well, anyone older than three at the time) got our flashbulb memories from September 11, 2001. I was in shop class sitting at a tall drafting table when someone came in late from a doctor's appointment with news of the outside world and the skeleton story of the news started to spread: a plane had crashed in New York. We were dismissed from school early, no afterschool activities, not even the seemingly paramount soccer tryouts. Surrounded by never-before-seen fear in adults’ eyes, I wasn’t sure what to do. As the sun went down and indelible nauseating images danced in the family room, it seemed much too real, even on our small outdated TV, even when I knew that my family was safe.  For days and weeks, the news continued to disturb, confuse, and occasionally inspire as our Boston suburb filled with both heartbreaking and miracle stories surrounding the people and planes from Logan. Any anger or pessimism that erupts in me from viewing artifacts of that day are, perhaps selfishly, overshadowed by the hopeful frustration of wondering what I will do to negate the evil and sadness that will always exist in the world.

Sometime in the three days between September 11th and my birthday, I got cut from the soccer team. After recent events, I'd gained some perspective and saw that, in the grand scheme of things, getting cut from a team was virtually meaningless. Or that's what I should have realized. In actuality, I was devastated. Things hadn’t settled enough for my young mind to even begin to gain the experience-born skill of perspective; the seeds of a sense of something larger than my sole person were just beginning to incubate. Meanwhile, I was focused on my immediate self.  Having generally succeeded in the activities that I spent time on (primarily my education), I had never faced such a blatant and seemingly important failure. I struggled with my identity too: I had always been whatever the childhood equivalent of an athlete is, but what was I now? As painful as the embarrassment and confusion was, a new feeling of individuation—the realization that I was a separate person from everyone I had grown up doing the same things with—jolted me.

Four days later after September 11th, still in the thick of discussion and emotions, came my birthday. I was officially a teenager, and how fitting it was to be entering such a classically turbulent time when this whole world I was just beginning to know was also shaken. I have another flashbulb memory of my family gathering around and lighting the candles on my ice cream cake, singing and pretending this was just like any other year, while I thought, "This isn't right."

That September, I learned a basic lesson that I now realize opened the door for self-actualization: I am an individual part of a very big world. Now, I'm pretty sure that had I not learned this fable then, I would have been forced to learn it soon enough. After all, it’s a pretty inevitable understanding for someone lucky enough to have the time and resources to do any sitting around and pondering. So yes, maybe the events of September of 2001 forced me out of girlhood too soon or too suddenly. I’m sure there’s a gentler, more romantic way to realize the wider wide—I’m thinking a trip to Paris—but that wasn’t how it would be for me. No, for me, it was attacks on my self-identity and my country that illuminated all the smoke and light, ash and color of the world I had been living in.

On many days, I’m still overwhelmed by the world that I discovered that month, the world I still live in. I realized the two pieces of the puzzle that September: myself and my world. The panic that comes from not knowing how to fit these pieces together only grows stronger with time. Had I not realized the terrifyingly vast and occasionally terrifying fullness of the world that September, I wouldn’t know this motivating frustration. I’d probably still be in that haze, bogged down by the near-sighted bubble of anger and sadness. Instead, ten years ago, I began to emerge out of a sparkling smoke that I could only see from the skies above. Seeing that cloud for the first time, pasted on a blue background, was both disturbing and comforting—terrifying because I had to see it, but comforting because I could see it.

Memories of the Ugly

I recently stumbled upon some old journal entries. From my first couple weeks at Bates:

Who will be my "friends"? When will I feel more comfortable and able to eat 3 meals a day? I hope I gain the freshman fifteen because then I will have been able to eat. 

Thankful every day for all those who helped me get through this time. And reading these old entries is reminding me just how many people there were who helped me, majorly or minorly, knowingly or not. Thank you all.

Also, a few days ago, I suddenly remembered LiveJournal and went to look at it. Much of it is highly embarrassing, but telling. Also, I talked way too much about school -- I guess that was my life then, but it's funny to think about how hard I was studying for a test that I now remember nothing about. So I've accidentally re-earthed thoughts from two timepoints in my life over the course of a couple days. Funny.

Self-Actualization

It's come to my attention yet again that nobody really knows me. That includes me.

Another slow time has come to leave me to think about my life's future and all that sort of high-level-Maslow-order stuff. Whenever these times come, I'm not sure if I should be worried that I don't have these thoughts all the time, or worried that I have them at all. In other words, one of the age-old questions of someone with a psychological difference: which one is the real me? Regardless, the thoughts are with me now, so let's explore the question that has been plaguing me:

What comes next?

I went through high school knowing that (hopefully) college would come next and I could figure out my career path then. I thought I was slightly narrowing things down in college, and decided to go off and get my first real job in the very very very broad field that I thought I was interested. Great. But now I've been here for over a year and only feel fulfilled on rare occasion. I never intended to stay here forever -- a year ago, two years seemed like an eternity -- but now the end of the eternity seems near and I'm more confused than I was before. Isn't that always how it goes?

I took the advice of some career advice blog and started a list of things that I love. I know I've done this before, but maybe I have to start from scratch. Mine is a plain piece of computer paper (stolen from work...ironic?) sitting on my coaching clipboard. It's lying next to me now, silently mocking me. It's a long list, though some of them have question marks by them. See, I'm not sure if I'm really passionate enough about some of these things. I know I love them but I don't know if I'd love doing them, you know? I underlined the words entertaining, creating, and learning. Education, traveling, simplifying, and pictorializing also make prominent appearances in these notes. But is this because these are the things that I'm not getting enough of now? If I switched to doing something more right-brainy, I'd probably go crazy for the skills I use now. I feel like I'm on a seesaw getting closer to the fulcrum so I can steady myself -- balance myself -- but I'm definitely not there yet. In fact, I'm not even sure the fulcrum exists. Maybe I'm just on a ruler vibrating off the side of a bored student's desk.

I have two vivid memories of my "what I want to be when I grow up" artwork. In first grade, I wanted to be "the first girl baseball player." Aim for the stars and you'll fall among the steroids, I guess. Then, in fifth grade, for the opening of the new school, I went for "animal scientist / writer" but remember thinking when I saw it hanging up on display, though probably in kinder terms, "Why the fuck did I write animal scientist? I hate animals." Definitely gave into peer pressure on that one when adding the "animal" adjective. Anyway, I think of this piece of work, with it's seemingly definitive but only pencil-thin diagonal slash through portrait-oriented paper, often when I ponder my future -- such a vibrant indication that the left-right brain battle was already in full standstill.

I've been thinking about writing and entertainment a lot. Not sure where I'll land.

Country Songs I Like

First in a potential series. This first one is a depressingly accurate portrayal of Alzheimer's / dementia.

Brett Eldredge - Raymond

Homesick

Having another homesick bout (I'm gonna go ahead and guess that this happens about once a month -- yay hormones) and taking it out on the South / Nashville. Gonna put my nasty thoughts here so that no one here hears me, seeing as that probably wouldn't help the whole no friends situation...
- I want to scream whenever anyone says "y'all." It's not a real word. I would give a lot of money to hear a Boston or Maine or Canadian accent right now. I guess there's YouTube.
- Can we talk about the lack of diversity? And not just racial diversity (though that is sad as well.) I mean just people diversity. KD was talking about the quirky people in MN, and I realized that there appears to be a complete lack of quirky people here. Where are the interesting people hiding?
- I've given the finger (under the steering wheel so it's unseen by others, but still) to countless drivers here. It's so hard to explain, but seriously nobody signals but they drive so slow that it's actually more annoying because you have to wait an hour for approaching cars to decide where they're going.
- I am 7 hours' drive from the nearest significant body of water. I am craving a watery horizon. Even Southern California sounds like a haven compared to here. Never thought I would think that. Hormones, I hear you loud and clear.
- I am so incredibly sick of failing at socializing. I am so awful at getting to know new people, and it is a million times harder when you have no one sharing your experience with you (like other freshmen at college or people in a training program at work.) I've been sitting with the Master's students recently, who are all really young (two even just graduated in May as well), and they're nice and all, but of course they're always talking (complaining, really) about school, in classes together, etc., so what motivation do they have for getting to know me? I've gotten so frustrated that I think it's now a learned helplessness situation, so basically now I've given up and am screwed. Great.

- Relatedly, where the hell am I supposed to meet someone in between the endpoints of "at a bar" and "at church"??
- Side thought: I wouldn't mind having no friends (well, except for safety purposes maybe) if I were traveling around to fun places, but I'm stuck here. Who wants to buy me an around the world plane ticket (and/or fast forward a year or two)?

Sorry, this is not a good example of a good open-minded Batesie -- I swear I usually am, just once a month everything gets to me. And, again, I realize these things have absolutely nothing to do with the South or Nashville being bad places -- they're just things that remind that I'm not anywhere near where I belong, so I get sad/angry.

Teething

At the ripe old age of 22, I am teething. A wisdom tooth that I thought was done coming in is clearly not, and is now cutting into my gums painfully. The whole right side of my mouth/jaw/head is being affected -- trouble swallowing, headaches -- lots of fun stuff has come along with it. I have trouble falling asleep and it's worst when I first wake up. I'm popping ibuprofen and taking teething tablets for babies. I'm even currently chewing on a half-frozen paper towel. If anyone has any other remedies please share. Hoping this goes away soon, but a reminder that I should be thankful to have dental insurance for the first time in a long time. Now to find a dentist here...or some Vicatin...