In the vein of http://1000awesomethings.com/ and Mama Cass's Gushing with Gratitude, here are the 10 things I'm thankful for this week. I encourage everyone to participate in the practice of saying thank you (it doesn't really matter to whom you say it -- just projecting it is a good thing), because I've realized that even when you feel like you're living in a land of suck, there are always things, no matter how small (and some of mine are small), that make the world a better place.
Without further ado, my 10 good things of the week:
10. I just turned on the TV to my favorite part of Caddyshack. I changed the channel and landed on my favorite episode of Friends. Changed the channel again to find my favorite scene of Top Gun.
09. There is a beautiful tree outside the window of my cube at work. It's been steadily changing colors, from green to gold, to orange, and now it's a rich burgandy. Tomorrow I fully expect the leaves to begin to disappear -- but it's been absolutely gorgeous while it's lasted. Seeing it makes my day brighter, more colorful.
08. Because I haven't been to the grocery store in about two-three weeks, I've been forced to be really creative about what I cook in the past week. And the results have been generally tastey. I'm proud of my ingenuity and impressed by my cooking skills.
07. I'm finally, finally, going to send my friend a care package. I'm thankful for finally finding motivation to just send it!
06. I figured out an awesome Halloween costume that is the right blend of creative, funny, clever and scary (with a bit more modification).
05. I got one of those coupon inserts from the paper in my mailbox yesterday, upon looking through it, about 1/2 of the coupons were for things that I need to buy in the next few days/weeks. I've estimated that I'll probably save more than $15 simply because I got some junk mail that I took the time to look at before I tossed it in the recycle bin.
04. I made it safely to and from Elon this weekend. The car survived and so did I.
03. I had lunch with my 91-year-old Grandma.
02. My yoga instructor's topic of guided mediation made me recognize a need to refocus, realign and rebuild. Her message: Surrendering to what is, is not the same as giving up, rather it's a realization and acceptance of a situation with the intent to move forward toward the better; and finding the courage and strength to surrender is an incredible and powerful ability.
01. I'm convinced I have the best friends in the world.
Showing posts with label growing up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label growing up. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
into the bin
I moved this past Saturday. Unlike all the moves I've done before, to and from college, this move was particularly special. I moved into my own place. A place that I pay for with my own money, without help from anyone else. This is a big deal for a number of reasons. For me, it means insurmountable increases in independence that had be lost since moving home after graduation. It means learning about unclogging toilets, hammering nails, painting walls and calling Pepco when our power is out. And it means that never again in my life is my parents' home "my home." I will, in all likelihood, never again live with my parents for longer than a week.
And that, in so many ways, is incredibly bittersweet.
I could go into all the sappiness about how I feel about being left to my own accord with rent payments and such, but that's not really what this post is about. What it's about is all the stuff that I found when I started packing up the bedroom I've occupied since I was 8 years old.
We moved to the house we live in now the summer after I was in fourth grade. I think this is significant because I feel like the age of 8 is sort of when, developmentally, you start to have things that are significant to you on a new level. Sure when you're little you have your pacifier, or your special blankie, or pilly if you're my cousin Melanie, but I think after about fourth grade, you start to have things that you collect that are significant because of things that happened to you.
Now, I'm not a scrap-booker. I never have been, and I sort of never want to be. But I do save things. Most of them end up on bulletin boards or in boxes. My anti-scrapbooking mentality has nothing to do with any lack of creativity, it has more to do with a lack of time and a desire to allow the objects and things that I save to speak for themselves. I've always felt like I was a photo/memory minimalist. Let it stand for itself. No frills, lace or goofy catch-phrases needed.
Now, let me clarify. I am, by no means, a hoarder, a pack-rat or anything else along those lines. Things that I save are things that would normally go into a scrapbook, like a Charlie card from a visit to Boston. A button from a march in DC. A drawing a friend gave me in seventh grade. Random things that hold value and importance to me.
So this past week, as I was packing up, I started uncovering the stuff. The bits and pieces of my life that I'd saved for who knows what reason. The cool thing is that most of the stuff, I could tell you right away where it came from.
But then came the hard part: I had to get rid of it. It couldn't come with me to my little apartment, and at some point, my mom would want "my room" back to use for something else. It'll all have to go eventually.
I had to physically throw away the odds and ends, trinkets and stubs, of my childhood and adolescence. And the weirdest part of it all was that for the most part, I was OK with it. There were some things I kept, just because they were very, very significant. But most things ended up in the trash bin with the old pair of flip flops, the broken picture frame and the other refuse that had been collecting dust in my room since the 1990s.
I'm sure there are somethings I'll never be OK with tossing, and I think that's normal.
And that, in so many ways, is incredibly bittersweet.
I could go into all the sappiness about how I feel about being left to my own accord with rent payments and such, but that's not really what this post is about. What it's about is all the stuff that I found when I started packing up the bedroom I've occupied since I was 8 years old.
We moved to the house we live in now the summer after I was in fourth grade. I think this is significant because I feel like the age of 8 is sort of when, developmentally, you start to have things that are significant to you on a new level. Sure when you're little you have your pacifier, or your special blankie, or pilly if you're my cousin Melanie, but I think after about fourth grade, you start to have things that you collect that are significant because of things that happened to you.
Now, I'm not a scrap-booker. I never have been, and I sort of never want to be. But I do save things. Most of them end up on bulletin boards or in boxes. My anti-scrapbooking mentality has nothing to do with any lack of creativity, it has more to do with a lack of time and a desire to allow the objects and things that I save to speak for themselves. I've always felt like I was a photo/memory minimalist. Let it stand for itself. No frills, lace or goofy catch-phrases needed.
Now, let me clarify. I am, by no means, a hoarder, a pack-rat or anything else along those lines. Things that I save are things that would normally go into a scrapbook, like a Charlie card from a visit to Boston. A button from a march in DC. A drawing a friend gave me in seventh grade. Random things that hold value and importance to me.
So this past week, as I was packing up, I started uncovering the stuff. The bits and pieces of my life that I'd saved for who knows what reason. The cool thing is that most of the stuff, I could tell you right away where it came from.
But then came the hard part: I had to get rid of it. It couldn't come with me to my little apartment, and at some point, my mom would want "my room" back to use for something else. It'll all have to go eventually.
I had to physically throw away the odds and ends, trinkets and stubs, of my childhood and adolescence. And the weirdest part of it all was that for the most part, I was OK with it. There were some things I kept, just because they were very, very significant. But most things ended up in the trash bin with the old pair of flip flops, the broken picture frame and the other refuse that had been collecting dust in my room since the 1990s.
I'm sure there are somethings I'll never be OK with tossing, and I think that's normal.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
cubed in silence
Since starting my job about a week ago, I've learned, among many important lessons, how to sit in silence for extended periods of time. This is an impressive feat for me -- I like to talk. A lot.
Let me clarify, I have absolutely no problems with periods of quiet. Like the silence you get when you're on a car ride and everyone's listening to the radio or watching the cars and scenery fly by. I like the quiet you get when you eat with someone and you're so hungry, three words of any sort just get in the way of the fork. I like being so comfortable with someone you can sit in silence next to each other and read a book. That silence isn't really silence to me. It's active quiet -- usually there's some sort of background noise, or some sort of shared appreciation of the void. You aren't partitioned by the silence.
This is the reason why I can't study in libraries, why I write best in cacophanous newsrooms, and why unless there's someone who absolutely needs quiet, quiet it shouldn't be. I actually think better when I have to tune things out. When it's already tuned out, when I'm surrounded by silence, that's when my mind starts to wander, my thoughts start to drift and ten minutes later I realize that I've lost track completely.
I'm currently working the most silent office I've ever been in. The floor is carpeted, the space too large and too spread out, and everyone is cubed.
I've been cubed in silence.
I'm learning to make do. I'm learning ways to be productive like everyone else while surrounded by two walls and no sound. I can't even hear the click of somone else's keyboard.
Then something strange happened yesterday, I looked to the bottom right corner of my screen and realized three hours had gone by. I was so busy, so focused despite the silence, that time had flown and the day was progressing.
Perhaps I was just focusing on the wrong thing?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
being launched
So here I am, a little less than a month from graduation and I'm beginning to feel the tug. Anyone who's waited for inevitable change (it sounds like an oxymoron, but it's not, trust me) knows what that feels like.
I'm sure it's similar to the feeling a pregnant woman has about 3 weeks before her due date -- there's still so much growing to do. But time is running out, and you're happy, because you're ready to go into the next stage of life, but you're also terrified. Will I be good at it? Can I do this?
And so, that slow tug back on the catapult begins. It's the pull on the bow strings before the release. The tension buzzes in the strings and the urge to let go is so strong, but the arrow will just fall from the ground without that extra tug at the end.
And so here I am. In that last little tug. My strings are tight and I'm buzzing pretty hard. I've got a lot to do between now and the end.
The string just gets tighter and tighter. The funny thing is, I know I'm going to make it a few more weeks before what I'm moving toward will actually become real. Like I said, there's other things to do first.
I've been reading a lot about Buddhism lately. One of the practices is present-mindedness, or being completely invested in the current. You can't focus on how far you want the arrow to fly, all you can do is focus on the tightening of the strings. If the strings are tight, then what happens happens.
And that's all I can do. Wait for the launch.
I'm sure it's similar to the feeling a pregnant woman has about 3 weeks before her due date -- there's still so much growing to do. But time is running out, and you're happy, because you're ready to go into the next stage of life, but you're also terrified. Will I be good at it? Can I do this?
And so, that slow tug back on the catapult begins. It's the pull on the bow strings before the release. The tension buzzes in the strings and the urge to let go is so strong, but the arrow will just fall from the ground without that extra tug at the end.
And so here I am. In that last little tug. My strings are tight and I'm buzzing pretty hard. I've got a lot to do between now and the end.
The string just gets tighter and tighter. The funny thing is, I know I'm going to make it a few more weeks before what I'm moving toward will actually become real. Like I said, there's other things to do first.
I've been reading a lot about Buddhism lately. One of the practices is present-mindedness, or being completely invested in the current. You can't focus on how far you want the arrow to fly, all you can do is focus on the tightening of the strings. If the strings are tight, then what happens happens.
And that's all I can do. Wait for the launch.
Friday, March 27, 2009
learning to be alone
"Will you be OK?" she asked as I left their apartment to go to my own empty one.
"Oh yeah, I'll be fine," I responded, I know I can be alone and be OK.
I'm not sure why, but I used to hate being alone. I would always call someone, anyone, to avoid the silence of solitude. I'm an extrovert by nature, conversation and people keep me going. I'll always feel happier with others than without them, but since going to college, I've learned the value of spending time with myself and my thoughts.
I've encountered an odd situation this week -- every single person who I would consider a good friend or acquaintance at Elon, who I would feel willing to call to spend time with, is away on spring break. I came back early from our week at the beach because my best friend here had to be back to present at a conference in Georgia. Her roommates, my other great friends, are away at a concert in the southern part of the state. My friend Lesley is in Maryland. Mandy and Olivia, Florida. My roommate, on a cruise in the Caribbean. And the list goes on, leaving me to myself. Alone.
Someone asked me a few days ago, what's one thing outside of your coursework that you have learned while at school? My response: I've learned to love being alone. I think when you spend 24 hours a day in a dorm for two years, then 4 months in a tiny flat with 7 other women, then in a busy apartment building, in a newspaper office... when you're constantly surrounded by people, even the most extraordinary extrovert would find themselves seeking some silence.
And so I've learned to value those hours when my roommate is at meetings. Or when I have to take that 15 minute walk across campus to work. Or when no one is free to go grocery shopping.
I think it all really started when I was in London. I liked to take walks around the city by myself. Don't worry, it was only ever during the day. But I found that I would walk slower, thinking about the things I was seeing, the people I was passing, the smells I was smelling. I wasn't distracted by someone asking me about my internship, or complaining about a paper to be written for our class. I could take it all in. I could absorb.
I've learned that my mind can be stimulated by the world itself, without others, that thoughts themselves can be loud enough. And that it's OK to enjoy moments of calm or evenings filled not by the voices of others, but by the tapping of my fingers on my computer keys or the scribblings of a pen on paper.
Maybe it's all part of growing up, knowing that you can survive the quiet. But not only survive it, learn to revel in it.
"Oh yeah, I'll be fine," I responded, I know I can be alone and be OK.
I'm not sure why, but I used to hate being alone. I would always call someone, anyone, to avoid the silence of solitude. I'm an extrovert by nature, conversation and people keep me going. I'll always feel happier with others than without them, but since going to college, I've learned the value of spending time with myself and my thoughts.
I've encountered an odd situation this week -- every single person who I would consider a good friend or acquaintance at Elon, who I would feel willing to call to spend time with, is away on spring break. I came back early from our week at the beach because my best friend here had to be back to present at a conference in Georgia. Her roommates, my other great friends, are away at a concert in the southern part of the state. My friend Lesley is in Maryland. Mandy and Olivia, Florida. My roommate, on a cruise in the Caribbean. And the list goes on, leaving me to myself. Alone.
Someone asked me a few days ago, what's one thing outside of your coursework that you have learned while at school? My response: I've learned to love being alone. I think when you spend 24 hours a day in a dorm for two years, then 4 months in a tiny flat with 7 other women, then in a busy apartment building, in a newspaper office... when you're constantly surrounded by people, even the most extraordinary extrovert would find themselves seeking some silence.
And so I've learned to value those hours when my roommate is at meetings. Or when I have to take that 15 minute walk across campus to work. Or when no one is free to go grocery shopping.
I think it all really started when I was in London. I liked to take walks around the city by myself. Don't worry, it was only ever during the day. But I found that I would walk slower, thinking about the things I was seeing, the people I was passing, the smells I was smelling. I wasn't distracted by someone asking me about my internship, or complaining about a paper to be written for our class. I could take it all in. I could absorb.
I've learned that my mind can be stimulated by the world itself, without others, that thoughts themselves can be loud enough. And that it's OK to enjoy moments of calm or evenings filled not by the voices of others, but by the tapping of my fingers on my computer keys or the scribblings of a pen on paper.
Maybe it's all part of growing up, knowing that you can survive the quiet. But not only survive it, learn to revel in it.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
gulp
It's striking to me how being a college student is essentially like being impoverished. The two are practically synonyms. Except that it's actually nothing like being impoverished, because most of us have a meal plan and all of us have a roof. So really, we're asset rich and penny poor. Or something like that.
I'm mentioning all of this because I had to turn down going to the Ben Folds concert because it was $50 a ticket. I just couldn't do it. Not since I haven't been paid since May. And not since I've seen him four times already. He's pretty fantastic in concert, probably one of the best I've ever seen. But I just couldn't do it, and neither could my equally impoverished friends.
I think college students have an odd outlook on money. Since we're not quite adults and for most of us, our parents foot the bill for the big stuff (car payment, tuition, room and board) our big purchases are frivolous things. My most recent big purchase was a $200 plane ticket. But $50 for Ben. Can't do it! Priorities...
I'm finding it hard to believe that in eight short months the big ticket purchases, the rent, the food, will all be mine. Insert sarcastic gleeful exclamation here.
We had a meeting for the senior class yesterday. It was all colored lights and spectacle -- the university and student government association's attempt at making graduating sound less scary. That was until the Registrar stood up and listed on his two hands the number of steps (there are eight) we are away from graduating. Two and two-thirds semesters, a few meetings with advisers, the registrar, and a $70 graduation fee. Um. What? Does someone want to explain to me where the last four years have gone?
After the registrar had thoroughly petrified us, our president, Leo Lambert, got up and announced that in eight short months, he'd be addressing us again as graduates. No amount of orange balloons, fake red carpet or flashing lights will make that sound less scary.
I've been saying for a while now that I'm ready to not be in school any more, and that's true. That's as true today as it was yesterday before the Nickelodeon-themed senior survival extravaganza. I think my anxiety comes less from my fear of going out into the world and "growing up" and more about the change associated with saying goodbye to friends and faculty members who've become my family. But I have a while, eight "short" months actually, to get used to the idea of turning the page to the next chapter.
Look out world, here I come, tentatively.
I'm mentioning all of this because I had to turn down going to the Ben Folds concert because it was $50 a ticket. I just couldn't do it. Not since I haven't been paid since May. And not since I've seen him four times already. He's pretty fantastic in concert, probably one of the best I've ever seen. But I just couldn't do it, and neither could my equally impoverished friends.
I think college students have an odd outlook on money. Since we're not quite adults and for most of us, our parents foot the bill for the big stuff (car payment, tuition, room and board) our big purchases are frivolous things. My most recent big purchase was a $200 plane ticket. But $50 for Ben. Can't do it! Priorities...
I'm finding it hard to believe that in eight short months the big ticket purchases, the rent, the food, will all be mine. Insert sarcastic gleeful exclamation here.
We had a meeting for the senior class yesterday. It was all colored lights and spectacle -- the university and student government association's attempt at making graduating sound less scary. That was until the Registrar stood up and listed on his two hands the number of steps (there are eight) we are away from graduating. Two and two-thirds semesters, a few meetings with advisers, the registrar, and a $70 graduation fee. Um. What? Does someone want to explain to me where the last four years have gone?
After the registrar had thoroughly petrified us, our president, Leo Lambert, got up and announced that in eight short months, he'd be addressing us again as graduates. No amount of orange balloons, fake red carpet or flashing lights will make that sound less scary.
I've been saying for a while now that I'm ready to not be in school any more, and that's true. That's as true today as it was yesterday before the Nickelodeon-themed senior survival extravaganza. I think my anxiety comes less from my fear of going out into the world and "growing up" and more about the change associated with saying goodbye to friends and faculty members who've become my family. But I have a while, eight "short" months actually, to get used to the idea of turning the page to the next chapter.
Look out world, here I come, tentatively.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
