The Return

It doesn't make sense to create a new blog with a new log in, does it?

So as I start to blog about post-graduation plans, Ill do it to a backdrop with an interesting history--

The previous posts started in Summer 2010 when I started working in a lab on my first university's campus. That summer would see the start of a painful bout of depression that, I found out later, actually had a lot to do with a pending medical diagnosis.

The Fall of 2010 saw my last full semester at University 1. Between said diagnosis (Nov) and a sexual assault (Dec) I decided it was time to return home. (Granted- I didn't decide this until a month into Spring 11, but the decision was eventually made)

After taking time off and running around a lot of mountains, I eventually enrolled in my home-town university (Medium Sized State School near Beach) and took up the degree in Physics. Its now Spring 2012, and I'll have to start applying to schools/jobs/whatever starting in August. Which means preparations start...well now.

The original blog touched on things I was, but more importantly, the things I wanted to become.

The backdrop, then, is of a disenchanted ivory-tower-school attendee that soon would meet her downfall. The foreground is her after a type of recovery, looking to get going with life again. It will feature short term concerns (like, right now im in a 36-hour take home test and writing instead of scrambling to finish the test) and long term concerns (what set of decisions accomplishes something that I will want to do for the rest of my life?)

A Farewell to Blogging.

This post BECAME about writing a post.

I started writing one about my day at a Girl Scout Troupe Round Up and the various discoveries I made about parenting.

Then I realized I am not a parent and shouldn't be commenting on others until I can see their perspective.

Then I tried to write about parenting with an acknowledgment of my lack of perspective. That was just...boring.

I switched topics and tried to write about a theme of conversations lately; that is, about rules and how and why people break them, who writes them, the types of consequences etc. It was long and I talked to much about my friends who I respect to much to throw their lives into the internet, especially under my analytical tone.

I tried a different shade of that topic and tried writing about the concept of "respect for authority" which quite successfully combined the better parts of the three previous posts, but I also belatedly realized that I would should define my own levels of "respect for authority" in order for the post to make any sense what so ever.

So I tried to write about that and I realized it was boring. Like, really boring. You guys dont want to read about that. You might be interesting in how I think my attitude affects my friendships I make at my Ivory Tower school, but only maybe.

Then I realized, NO ONE READS THIS ANYWAY.

and I gave up entirely.

In other words, I write for myself now. I started moving that direction by the end of the summer. This blog was supposed to be about me telling stories so I don't bug other people. It was supposed to be about writing to explore things about myself and how I felt about them.

Okay, it served its purpose. I can write and not publish from here on out.

That way, I can just say what I want to say. Without worrying about harming someone's sensibilities, or appearing narcissistic, or otherwise opening myself up to un-needed judgement.

Ill judge myself, thanks.

That sounds, grating. But its not. Im actually in a wonderful mood. I just finally got a swallow of self confidence that was so incredibly long overdue and I realized that everything I did here was for attention. No more, my friends, no more. I can keep to myself.

I may, occasionally, publish something I want commentary on, but no more "this is how I feel about this" stuff.

Reflections from Shattered Glass, Part 1

For whatever reason, images of September 11th have recently been pouring through my dreams. I don’t remember that day, it hides behind the fluidly concrete curtain of concussions, but I wrote about it enough at the time that I can tell my story...and feel the emotions again. The contrived memories are good enough keys to pick the locks of the real ones and I am fully confident that my understanding of my actions that day may be better than the average person around my age—for it was well recorded.

I put that caveat up first to let you know about the various biases on this post: I was three weeks away from finishing my 12th year alive at the time, but the story is being related through the various filters of then and now.

I was at a yearbook conference, specifically a lecture about how to balance good reporting of the school year and the production of a book that would cause fond memories years down the line. I feel, now, that that setting is what led me to react the way I did. Instead of the day that was about to happen being about the tragedy itself…to me it became more about what happened as a response to it. How my friends and school would respond, and even then I wondered how I would remember that day. (I obviously didn’t know at the time that my memories would later be snatched away from me)

They stopped the individual sessions and brought everyone at the conference into a main lecture hall. They told us to find our sponsors and they would advise us whether we were staying or going, an ominous message in of itself. We knew something was up, could see in on the adult faces in the room and the atmosphere was easy to read, even for a group of middle schoolers. I later found out that our sponsors had been told moments before we streamed noisily into the room and were asked to judge if we should find out there, at the conference, at school or elsewhere.

Our sponsor let us find out then. They told us, calmly, what had happened. I would say that 80% of the room (including myself, I am sad to admit) didn’t understand the scope of the situation. I would further say that 50% (thankfully I am not in this group) were not even sure what the Twin Towers were. I personally had been there before and had already planned a trip to go to New York to see them with a broker friend of the family that coming January. Obviously that trip did not play out. That, however, was not my first response. My first response was typical of my rank and file:

“Are we going to be evacuated further away from the NAS?” (The military base that, even at that age, I understood to be the pilot capital of the military world, and that would have to respond very carefully to the event)

My sponsor laughed. One of those, “Kids say the darndest things” smiles that spread painfully across adults faces when in incredibly emotional situations. No, the answer was no, we were outside the evacuation ring. But there was a ring, and the base was on as high of an alert as the Pentagon was, even more so since they already knew that the pilot that hit the first tower was trained at good 'ole NAS.

We watched some news and, while we were sitting there, the second tower was struck. Watching it live didn’t feel “live”. It felt so much like something out of my grandfather’s endless stories from the war...sad, but so distant that it was more a curiosity. I said later that day to my father “I wish we could watch the news in black and white, not color”. For whatever irony, it felt more real when it was in black and white. The color made it feel like a bad disaster movie.

At this point everyone’s parents start freaking out and calling our cell phones so we headed back to our school campus, 5 minutes down the road.

The first thing I did on campus? I lowered the flag to half mast.

The flag sat in the center of the courtyard where the campus gathers for announcement and by the roundabout where students are picked up and dropped off in the mornings and afternoons. The entire school was gathered in the area and I couldn’t believe they had not lowered the flag. I marched up to my social studies teacher (a truly incredibly person who I could write pages about. But in short, he was a retired career enlisted to officer marine who volunteered for search and rescue in the area and had such an incredible impact on my life and would continue to do so to this day) who silently handed me the key to the flag before I could explode. So he hadn’t forgot, he was waiting for me.

That was when I started to cry. That was when it finally caught up with me. I finally left the zone of “take care of things first” and slammed head first into “now you can feel what’s happening”. My marine-for-a-mentor had tear-stained lips as he bent down and hugged me and told me it was time for me to show everyone the symbol that had to hold us together. To show the too-quiet gathering of 300 students under the age of 14 that it okay to be sad, and mourn, but that the flag still flies above them.

I will fully admit that I had no comprehension of what sort of events would play out from the smoldering buildings, but I was starting to grasp what sort of event would play out that day, at school and back home.

We walked to the pole and in full performance lowered the gently fluttering flag. If this were a movie, the entire courtyard would have gone silent and stood up in respect. Someone would have started singing the national anthem or something else blazingly patriotic while the flag snapped horizontal in a sudden gust of wind. But nothing happened, people watched and continued talking or staring into mid-space just as they were when I walked up. A few teachers noticed the gently falling tears on mine and Mr. Shores faces and let a gentle smile come across their face.

They knew that, for both of us, lowering the flag was a way for both of us to try to start to comprehend, to heal. I know that now, I talked to them about it later. Years later.

Parents had already started coming and picking up their kids. Some for ridiculous reasons from “My child should not have been told without me there and I am taking him or her home in rebellion” to “How dare you teachers act like anything is wrong”. And others for incredibly daunting reasons...two in particular held my attention for the following hours instead of the news coming over the television. One, my best friend’s dad was in the towers that day. We would find out what felt like weeks later (it was only a day) that he was not one of the lucky ones, but he was among the brave ones whose actions allowed others to be lucky. Not that that was any comfort at the time, but it is now. Secondly, my friends whose parents were active duty or in reserves. They were being called in to report, already, within mere hours.

My own family would soon feel the waves from the event, but more as aftershocks instead of such poignant immediacy. So there I sat, in the beating Florida sun, watching my friends climb into cars and drive away from the emotional safety net of their un-knowing friends into a swarm of new, dangerously real-life experiences. I couldn’t sit with my remaining class mates; the ones whose parents either couldn’t or didn’t feel the need to tear away from their jobs to fetch them mid day. (My mom was at work at the hospital and my dad was a teacher at a different school, so I could partially understood their possible feelings of abandonment, I just didn’t share them) These were the kids that may or may not have understood what was going on, but lacked a tangible connection to the events, for the time being. Not to say they were uniform in their response, but I just couldn’t sit around and wait bleary eyed and restless beside them.

Like when I raised the flag, I needed to do something. I ran around and got food or drink for the emotionally fatiguing teachers (No, honey, we won’t be going to PE today, your mom is on her way. Joey will be fine, his dad is just worried. Everything will be okay. Ask your parents tonight to explain.) I played with the kids under 4th grade who were not informed of the situation but were being held in the courtyard anyway.

I climbed on a roof top and took pictures of the scene. What else could I do? I was torn—do I photograph these people, these children, who will remember this day with or without visual aid? Is the production of something tangible at this point disgusting or comforting? The answer to those questions depends on who you ask, but my principle was on the side of the fence who thought my adventures were disrespectful and inappropriate. The film was taken from my canister in a moment of lost composure with the incredulous shouts of “You are supposed to be one of the big kids here, helping, not causing problems.”

The pictures were never developed.

I was allowed to take pictures at the memorial assembly the next day, as the yearbook’s photographer, but I did so dispassionately. Not that I thought the memorial service wasn’t worth remembering, I just thought the production of support was the healing mechanism contrived by my principle who had just completely stomped all over mine. This may be a selfish response, but even now I look back and recognize that she was under incredible pressure and her reaction was out of too-long-bottled up emotions, but feel like I was denied my chance to heal using my own healing mechanisms.

A parent who witnessed the stealing of my film quickly offered to drive me to my father’s school. Wise parent; it is likely that I would have blown up on the principle (selfishly, but not unexpected for an 11-year-old girl who was emotional and intelligent). Mr. Shores walked me to the car with an apologetic smile on his face, almost sad he missed out on the brow-beating I would have subjecting the principle to.

I went to the high school to watch how the older kids responded to the news. We went to my house afterwards and I spent the afternoon pacing; I couldn't remember the last week day when I was not at some extra-curricular or at a friends house. My parents certainly had no idea what to do with me either.

That was my day. I didn’t sleep well and I went to school the next day in an Old Navy Flag T (remember those?), tie-die-red-white-and blue-knee high socks and bucketfuls of patriotic fervor.

Just like everyone else, at least for a little while.




(Part 2, when I finish with it, will be about how my school reacted over the next two years. There is more to the story about my friends' families, my own family, that film canister, the yearbook, Mr. Shores and the other teachers. Its also about how I feel about it being "the defining point of our generation".)

Old Motivational Posters, Curled and Held Tight by Scrunchies circa 1995

Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you will land amongst the stars - Les Brown

I sit here in my passive, pitch-black silence inside this room of invading natural sunlight, surrounded by half-boxes of memories and lost dreams. The pick-up path leads somewhere new and as un-exciting as the last steaming plate of settlement and regret.

Which would you rather be? That person who successfully lands his feet firm on the dusty moon and has a chance to see if the dream was worth everything he worked for, just to find a grey and lifeless planet? Or the person who “misses, but lands amongst the stars,” a life whose failure and acceptance of something less is marked by the brilliance and mystery of a shining light?

Let time click beautifully by, let me sit here and relish in my empty solitude while I build up the courage to once again face the rising sun without the protection of these windows and filters. I didn’t land on the moon or settle amongst those stars, I am trapped in a seemingly vast free-fall simply waiting for the chance collision or a sudden surge of gravity to save me in this infinite space.

The stunning truth of just letting yourself fall is the sudden, painful impact of realization and self-reflection with a skid of renewed perspective. The stunning lies of a free fall are that you start to not notice anymore and resent the idea of returned firm footing.

Ideally the free fall is in space, as the beginning of this discussion proposed, and not in world-space. World space ends with a slow orbital tumble towards concrete or unforgiving waters. Life is round and limited by the laws set out by some unknown and unseen intention, and may or may not come down to simple geometry.

The question becomes, when is it too late to stop the inevitable?

Leave a Message, After the Beep.

I've been asked to give a speech on leadership at a soccer club in the area.

So lets back up an break that down:

"I've been asked"

More like, told. In that "who would turn down this opportunity" tone of voice.... by someone I sadly have little respect for.

"To give a speech"

I hate talking in front of people. I get nervous and flustered and somehow that comes off as a more genuine tone and people end up liking the speech. But I still hate it. I never remember it when I am done and I spend the whole time feeling like I am standing beside myself, urging me to continue, urging me to stay in character. No one actually talks as their "selves" but actually as the "self" they wish to project at that moment in time. It is a speech that I will be giving, but its interactive-- gives other people a voice as part of the presentation. Its not only indicative of my leadership style, but it also lets me hide from my own voice.

You can talk AT people, talk TO people or talk WITH people. Consider the situation of the voice mail-- most people (on my voice mail, anyway) communicate a condensed version of what they need to say but then indicate that they would like to discuss it more in detail. My motivation is either piqued or doused by such messages-- will talking to them more provide any further insight or details that I care about? These messages are the "hook" to a future conversation. Much like the first few lines of newspaper article. A speech can either be a "Hook" followed by content washing over the crowd, a series of "hooks" strung together that just leaves the crowd wondering about what will eventually be said, or a speech can be a conversation. A conversation where at the end, the crowd is left to make their own judgements and decisions.

I wish I could say I was a powerful enough writer, speaker, to be able to pull off the last sort every time. But I think I've only done it once. And it was in a super-dramatic-Hollywood-ready speech during a huddle during a soccer game. That we lost, I might add.

"On leadership"

So you would think that I would be good at the whole "define leadership and promote others to step up and be leaders" thing by now. But I never know what to say. I have this speech I wrote as a senior in high school that I think accurately describes how I personally feel about leadership, but I wasn't allowed to give it. The speech was for the class below me's induction into IB and the teachers voted me the best person to give this speech. (I still disagree with that vote, but that has more to do with my understanding of my position socially at that school rather than ability) I wasn't allowed to give my first speech because it basically said "Either you have it or you don't, and no one can tell you if you do or not. Get up off your ass and figure it out"

Which, granted, is a harsh message to hear from someone only a few months older. So instead I gave my other speech...the "Everyone is a leader in their own right" speech where I casually listed off examples of types of leadership not normally respected or highlighted. It was "okay" at best.

Ive given other speeches at various conferences in my life. And I have always felt that I accurately discussed leadership from an Ivory Tower point of view. Not from a groundlings point of view. Which is strange, as I have never had an Ivory Tower leadership position in my life.

"at a Soccer Club in the area"

I am leaving them anonymous because the circumstances that led to the opportunity are sketchy at best and I don't feel like explaining myself. Not that you, my dear reader, don't deserve it, its just that I am still look at my cleats hanging from my window with a pang of regret.

Anyway, the speech can thus be catered towards soccer players, coaches and referees. Or it doesn't have to be. How likely is it that these kids, parents and active adults don't see that the lessons learned on the pitch apply to life?

In other words, I don't know what I am going to say.

I know how I lead. But I respect that I lead by a very specific style and that its not translatable in a lot of situations. I know there are other ways to lead. I am learning constantly about other ways to lead....its an on going process. Like healing.

Am I ready for this? Can I switch, completely, to the role of the coach, the motivational speaker?

A Write You Own *Emotion* Post.....a Different Kind of Adventure.

I would just like to clarify that I am, at the moment, actually in quite a good mood. This post has been in the making for well over a month. (I have a few close friends and a boyfriend who don't believe me when--->)

I often tell people "I don't get mad" and I will stand by that. I don't. I feel several emotions many people would place under the category of "mad" but I believe there are actual synonyms and then words that stand across some imaginary line and are distinct.

Take out a sheet of paper. Im serious. Or a word document or even an email field for all I care. I am going to list a series of words. (This is beginning to sound like a psych experiment, but its not at heart. Though I am curious). Group them how you will. You could see each as an independent word, you may end up drawing a flow chart or some kind of spectrum...you could have lists of "bad connotation" or "good connotation"...you really could end up with lists or diagrams. I don't care, but I would love to see them when you are done (you can comment below using your gmail account or drop me an email at). Do whatever comes naturally. Visual Thesaurus has a really cool diagram if you are interested how our friends at ask.com would organize them.

Angry, Annoyed, Depressed, Frustrated, Disappointed, Irritated, Distraught, Enraged, Incensed, Infuriated, Irritated, Livid, Resentful, Unreasonable, Acerbic, Belligerent, Bitter, Caustic, Cranky, Indignant, Irascible, Irate, Peevish, Petulant, Sharp, Spiteful, Testy, Wrathful, Sarcastic, Acrimonious, Antagonistic, Exasperated, Indignant, Furious, Piqued, Violent, Displeased, Distempered.

(I left out synonyms I found for definitions such as "mad in love" or "mad as in actually crazy")

As to my organization? I have a spectrum, starting from more of "sad" connotations through "emotional, tired responses" through "traditional uses" to "extreme uses". See below, reorganized, each line being a "group" I consider on the same emotional plane.

Group 1: Annoyed, Depressed, Frustrated, Disappointed, Sarcastic, Displeased
Group 2: Unreasonable, Acerbic, Bitter, Cranky, Peevish, Testy, Sharp
Group 3: Resentful, Caustic, Irascible, Spiteful, Antagonistic
Group 4: Distraught, Irritated, Indignant, Petulant, Exasperated, Distempered,
Group 5:---Angry, Mad, Irate, Indignant, Piqued, Acrimonious
Group 6: Enraged, Incensed, Infuriated, Livid, Wrathful, Furious, Violent

Thus when I say "I don't get mad" I really mean I don't reach that emotional response. I stop somewhere along the way. But looking at these, I rarely in my life (I'll define that as less than 4 times a year) have hit my "group 4". Obviously, not everyone is going to agree with me on this. And again, I would love to see how others think about it. But! I felt the need to write out my use of the terms.

This entire entry started out by a different post in which I started with a line "I am annoyed about situation X". I thought about it and realized some people may take "annoyed" too far and others might not realize how committed I was in my "annoyance" and might think that I am just ranting to blow off steam and would then be fine afterward.

No, I was really really annoyed. To use more words, I was unreasonably annoyed, causing me to be bitter and cranky for the rest of the day, subjecting my friends to sharp comments. Ie, I was definitely in my "group 2" but I needed the connotation of a group 1 word.

This is obviously not full proof. And why I tend to be a fan of the "show, don't tell" sort of writing.

But why don't I, according to me anyway, hit a "group 5" type emotion? I honestly get sad more often than not. I stay in "group 1" even in the most extreme situations. I think there are two kinds of people in the world.

(okay, obviously there are a bunch of ways to divide people into groups, successfully or not, this is just one of many ways. And I truly believe there are only two groups. With a possible third for people with personality disorders and thus bounce back and forth)

1) The kind of people who, typically, get mad about things and look to place blame somewhere. They may eventually find themselves to blame but not after looking everywhere else.
2) The kind of people who, typically, get sad about things and automatically see their own fault in the situation. They may eventually find others may have fault as well, but not after assessing their own actions.

I am the epitome of a group 2 person. I will instantly get upset at myself before even thinking to get upset at you. I get there eventually, trust me, but it takes a while. Sometimes days or months and in one situation...years. I am going to put forth that explanation as to why I don't hit "group 5" types of emotions. And my logic may be faulty (please, fell free to point it out) or it may be that I haven't run into a bad enough situation to warrant a "group 5" response. (I am going to say I doubt it, though) And it may be more because I simply don't WANT to feel those emotions. They seem to take so much energy and cause bigger problems than the ones that stimulated the emotion in the first place. I'm not the best at self-control, generally, but in this case I simply just take a moment to calm down if I ever break past even a "group 2" emotion.

Count to Ten. Walk Away. Deep Breaths. Count to ten again. Go to a "Happy Place".

We have all heard the techniques from our parents and teachers. I guess I was just an impressionable youth.

Ha.

With Confidence, Eventually

The Twilight movie that just came out actually had a moment of good writing. Writing far superior to anything I ever found in the books anyway.

It was during the graduation speech. And while I am afraid some slower witted people will take this idea too far, its interesting…basically, learning that “What you want to be when you grow up” should be answered only when ready and that part of life is figuring that out. Life doesn’t start with a job, life starts whenever you decide to let it.

When we were in Kindergarten they asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up? Most people either said whatever their parents were or something like a Fireman or a Police man or some other profession they have been told to trust or run to at that young of an age. I know I said I wanted to be Firewoman.

They asked us again when we were in 6th grade. People started saying things they saw in movies or TV but they didn’t have any idea the steps it would take to get there. I said I wanted to be a vet.

They asked us again when we graduated high school…but this time they asked for real. Because we were about to head off to college and you don’t have a ton of time to waste in college. Or so they said. They said we need to start preparing for life. I said “I want to get a degree in chemistry, and do medical research” This lasted two years and if I were to continue in that track, I would set and ready. I just finished two years of strong-headed path pounding…

But really? These past two years should have been the time I made mistakes, learned from them, and really explored my options. Instead I one-tracked and now find myself at the dead end of that road.

So now, I am about to be a Junior and I really don’t have a lot of time to decide a major.

Luckily, my major doesn’t define my career. This silly piece of paper I am spending a fortune on doesn’t really mean anything. Its just a social definition that generally is paired with a pay raise. I really can do whatever I want at the juncture. Eventually I will be asked “What do I want to be when I grow up” and I want to be able to answer with confidence, not guess. Im still guessing today, but here is my thoughts at the moment.

If I were graduating this year I would be putting applications into Teach for America and grad school programs in Forensics, Seismology, and Physics. I would see if I got into things and make a decision from there. But if all goes well, I would choose TFA. I need the two years off. After TFA I would have try to re-enter the Masters (note, not PhD, turns out im not a big fan of that lifestyle) application pool. Getting a degree would be fun at that point and also provide me with skill sets to get into the type of jobs I want. I would then apply to agencies, NASA, NCIS, CDC etc for a position. I would work there as long as possible until I get bored (I have a short attention span in jobs) and then go back to teaching. I don’t think I would get bored with teaching because the students change and the subjects I would teach would rotate.

So that’s the big plan. Ive told this twice in the last few days. I keep getting "give the undergrads tours of the lab" duty and they always want to know if I like my lab. I do. I just don't like research.

Ask me again in a year. In a month maybe. Who knows how fast it will change again 