Dear Leigh,
Sorry I didn't respond sooner. Lost my mind for a little while at the end of the semester, but most of it's returned to me now.
I remember you telling me about your dream of owning your own cafe a few years ago when I visited you on the great road-trip of 07. I'd never dream of driving so far on my own now, though I'm glad I made the trip then. Somehow I've become more cautious in the past two years. I think it has something to do with J. It's as though, before I met him, I flailed around asking to be hurt then pitied myself when I was. So selfish. So stupid.
Anyway, what I admired about you then and still admire about you today is your independence. I thought I was being independent by driving hundreds of miles on my own and going out drinking every weekend with my friends and eschewing healthy relationships in favor of non-relationships and applying to a prestigious school I couldn't afford in Boston, but my parents still gave me money every month and I rarely did anything outside of what my friends suggested we do. Jeremiah still has a hard time getting me to say what I want, actually. You, however, had established your own life and had very specific aspirations...
I have a point somewhere. I think it's that you seem to have a real sense of yourself, whereas I've only recently acquired mine (and I'm still fine-tuning it...probably will be until I die). It would be a shame for somebody like you to continue feeling that they're not living life but giving in to it. Then again, it's very easy to say "if you like cooking, then cook!" but very hard to actually do something like that. It's daunting, once you're in a particular path, to even consider leaving it completely. The logistics are nightmarish... Still, I hope that you find a way to do what you love for a living. Maybe research culinary schools in the area and see what kind of classes and funding are available? Or maybe a move would do the trick.
I don't really know. Jeremiah's worried about the same kind of thing. He fears that he won't get into an MFA program and will be stuck in food service. I've pointed out that he's perfectly qualified for freelancing and that freelancing can lead to full time jobs, but it comes back to that rut and the difficulty of breaking out of it. I'm optimistic that both of you can find a bit of adventure, but I don't envy you the task.
Luckily, both you and Jeremiah have supportive significant others to encourage you.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
I think I’ve Become Obsessed with Food
Not eating, but creating.
Dear Kate,
I find it hard to get anything done when ambition levels are at an all time low. I laugh at myself and my bursts of inspiring words offered to you when in reality you were not lacking in self esteem. Life truly seems to be going quite well in Virginia, and I am both happy and excited for you! However, I may need to go back and reread some of my own moral boosts for personal reasons.
How about a story to get this letter going:
In the early 70's, my mom traveled from Maine to New Orleans to California and back to Maine (yes, I gave NOLA its own state identification) carrying nothing more than a backpack and equipped with only her thumb. When she returned to Maine, her travelling days were not complete. Instead, she found a job working in an officer’s club on the local air force base. I believe she worked there with one purpose in mind: to meet herself a nice military officer with adventure on his plate. And it worked. A few years later and a young family in tow, the adventures continued to places like Germany, Saudi Arabia, Virginia, and all the great sights surrounding those locations.
So how did I, an offspring of two great travelers, get stuck. I have been in the same place (Northwest Florida) for the past 20 years. Yes, you read right, we moved to Panama City in 1989. The furthest adventure I made from this place was the family cruse a few years back.
There is point here somewhere: I am just not quite sure if I can make it sharp…
Growing up, I always felt like it was expected of me to marry that nice military man and continue my own travels. I felt like, as my young life progressed through high school, there was no real direction for my future. College was an afterthought. My education goals non-existent. I do not feel I had much support. For many reasons, I feel like I missed out on something great. I do have quite a few wonderful memories in this life thus far, but I do not feel I have been able to live up to the potential of what I have to offer. Put simply, I often feel like I’m succumbing to life rather than LIVING it.
I am really burned out in my job. I never pictured myself as a youth director. There are days I love it. More and more, there are days, like today, I loathe it. Last week was a wonderful week: I was sick. I got to stay home the entire week and not deal with the monotony of planning activities which the kids will resist. I feel the only way I can make them happy is by feeding them or numbing them with a movie. And I hate those feelings. I hate thinking that my kids are so unappreciative of what I have to offer. They come here, to this church, seeking what? I don’t know anymore. It can’t be the program I’m running. They prefer to distract and make a game of who can get the best reaction from rude innuendos, jumping all over the couches like a room full of monkeys (only real monkeys are much better behaved). Well, perhaps I am too harsh. The bottom line is, life is just no fun anymore.
Thus my obsession with food. Sometimes I think my calling may have come too late. I love food. I love reading menus, planning flavors, experimenting with meals. I am not that big on the eating part, but I love the preparing and serving part. I love to learn and experiment. There is a Vegan restaurant in town, and I LOVE the place. I want to live there! Well, not really. But I did find inspiration in this little beatnik café. I went to the bookstore the other day and found myself a new Vegan cookbook so I too could experiment with a different food style with which I can somewhat relate.
A last grumble, then I will complete this letter: Capt has a friend with a restaurant on Tybee Island. I have been begging Capt for a relocation! I love Pensacola, but this town has grown quite small. A few weeks ago we went to Gallery Night, basically a downtown street party. And if I did not run into a major handful of people from work! Most may not think it so bad, but I HATE running into people from work. I feel like a hypocrite when I am trying to live a life according to me…not one defined by expectations imposed by my employment!
I know what I want to do with my life. Food is my adventure. I want to travel the human palate with my own café. I want to create comfort foods for others to eat. I want to experiment with new flavors, creating a table of savory, sweet, tart, tangy, spicy, all satisfying to the taste buds. But how does one jump out of this rut, this binding of debt and house payments to make the necessary move away from the familiar to the possibly more satisfying unfamiliar?
Paix, ma cousine.
Leigh
PS. Ideas for a J gift are requested from my brother… if you please.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
the lining is quite silver.
My dear cousin:
I find myself reassuring family members of my happiness multiple times today. My next facebook status will go through several stages of review before being published...
Every now and then--and particularly in very busy weeks--the world seems much bigger than usual and I give in to despair for a few moments, convincing myself that it's entirely TOO big and crowded for me (and J) to wiggle in. Last night (two nights ago, now), during one of these moments, I posted my facebook status, and the rest is history. It's all symptomatic of a bit of leftover child in me, a child who says "I don't WANNA!" when made to take out the garbage or clean their room. My adult side recognizes that struggle and uncertainty are just a part of life, particularly young-20s life, but that kid would like it all to just come easily.
Most of the time, however, I feel up to the struggle and vivified by the uncertainty. Questions like "where are we going to be next year?" and "what kind of job will I have?" excite me. Life in general is good; I enjoy my students immensely, even when they're exasperating, and I'm excited about my capstone project (when I have the time to work on it). J and I are getting married in January, my parents offered to send us on a honeymoon as a wedding gift (even though they're paying for the wedding...this feels excessive to me, but I won't complain), and now that he's off salary-schedule I even get to see him some of the time.
All of this made me decide to keep on going...to continue doing what I enjoy and seem to be good at, because when I'm enjoying my work, I don't care so much that I get paid so little. So, with encouragement from J, I decided to apply to PhD programs at the schools he's applying to for his MFA. I could try to do the safe thing and find a job, but chances are I won't find one even remotely related to what I've been studying or one that pays much more than a graduate student stipend anyway...
I guess the child in me came out after this decision (which I made Monday), because I'm choosing to do what I like and am good at, and this means that I'm choosing to struggle. It's intimidating...and I admit I got a little angry that what I like and am good at isn't valued enough in the US today for me to even be guaranteed a good job on the other side of a PhD. I want everything! A cushy job that I like that gives me the flexibility to have a family, a spot for J at a school he feels comfortable at...
Two weeks ago (I swear this is related), I went to a conference at UNC Greensboro to present a paper I wrote last Fall. Four of my classmates went along; two of these were on the same panel as me. The conference ended up being a bust. There were maybe 30 people there, none with papers that interested me, and because our panel was at the end of the day, nobody came. That's right, NOBODY showed up. Not even the two classmates who presented at separate panels. So, my panel-mates and I read our papers to each other (something we could have done back home at VT), and drove three hours through pouring rain back to Blacksburg. The whole experience discouraged me at the time, but there is one thing that one professor said during a plenary session that WAS worth driving three hours to hear. This young professor advised us all to do what we like. Generally, she said, if you write about what you're interested in and do what you're good at rather than what makes you money at the time, you'll end up in a place meant for you. Your unique experiences won't let you end up anywhere else OTHER than that place.
I've learned over the years to trust the advice of people who've lived longer than I have, and, as I'm taking this woman's advice, I certainly hope she's right.
Anyhoo...I guess what I was getting at with all of that is: I'm quite happy. My lining is very silver...gold, even. The doubts just sometimes creep in, as is their wont, and I have trouble ignoring them every time...especially in the wee hours of the morning when I'm alone in the apartment and J is at work.
Love,
Kate
I find myself reassuring family members of my happiness multiple times today. My next facebook status will go through several stages of review before being published...
Every now and then--and particularly in very busy weeks--the world seems much bigger than usual and I give in to despair for a few moments, convincing myself that it's entirely TOO big and crowded for me (and J) to wiggle in. Last night (two nights ago, now), during one of these moments, I posted my facebook status, and the rest is history. It's all symptomatic of a bit of leftover child in me, a child who says "I don't WANNA!" when made to take out the garbage or clean their room. My adult side recognizes that struggle and uncertainty are just a part of life, particularly young-20s life, but that kid would like it all to just come easily.
Most of the time, however, I feel up to the struggle and vivified by the uncertainty. Questions like "where are we going to be next year?" and "what kind of job will I have?" excite me. Life in general is good; I enjoy my students immensely, even when they're exasperating, and I'm excited about my capstone project (when I have the time to work on it). J and I are getting married in January, my parents offered to send us on a honeymoon as a wedding gift (even though they're paying for the wedding...this feels excessive to me, but I won't complain), and now that he's off salary-schedule I even get to see him some of the time.
All of this made me decide to keep on going...to continue doing what I enjoy and seem to be good at, because when I'm enjoying my work, I don't care so much that I get paid so little. So, with encouragement from J, I decided to apply to PhD programs at the schools he's applying to for his MFA. I could try to do the safe thing and find a job, but chances are I won't find one even remotely related to what I've been studying or one that pays much more than a graduate student stipend anyway...
I guess the child in me came out after this decision (which I made Monday), because I'm choosing to do what I like and am good at, and this means that I'm choosing to struggle. It's intimidating...and I admit I got a little angry that what I like and am good at isn't valued enough in the US today for me to even be guaranteed a good job on the other side of a PhD. I want everything! A cushy job that I like that gives me the flexibility to have a family, a spot for J at a school he feels comfortable at...
Two weeks ago (I swear this is related), I went to a conference at UNC Greensboro to present a paper I wrote last Fall. Four of my classmates went along; two of these were on the same panel as me. The conference ended up being a bust. There were maybe 30 people there, none with papers that interested me, and because our panel was at the end of the day, nobody came. That's right, NOBODY showed up. Not even the two classmates who presented at separate panels. So, my panel-mates and I read our papers to each other (something we could have done back home at VT), and drove three hours through pouring rain back to Blacksburg. The whole experience discouraged me at the time, but there is one thing that one professor said during a plenary session that WAS worth driving three hours to hear. This young professor advised us all to do what we like. Generally, she said, if you write about what you're interested in and do what you're good at rather than what makes you money at the time, you'll end up in a place meant for you. Your unique experiences won't let you end up anywhere else OTHER than that place.
I've learned over the years to trust the advice of people who've lived longer than I have, and, as I'm taking this woman's advice, I certainly hope she's right.
Anyhoo...I guess what I was getting at with all of that is: I'm quite happy. My lining is very silver...gold, even. The doubts just sometimes creep in, as is their wont, and I have trouble ignoring them every time...especially in the wee hours of the morning when I'm alone in the apartment and J is at work.
Love,
Kate
"a letter to one's beloved [cousin] ought not to be kept back for any dimness of thought or feebleness of expression...
... any more than a prayer should be stifled in the soul, because the tongue of man cannot breathe it eloquently to the Deity.”
My apologies to Hawthorne.
As I walked through past posts on your blog and read over thoughts on your “facebook status,” I realize what a terrible cousin I have been. I realize, and fully take the blame, that this deep mood of melancholy your writing exposes is all because you have not received a letter from your beloved cousin! And I am ashamed to say I have not written my beloved cousin because I have not felt my own feeble ideas were worth sharing. The reality is: I have written you three times, and after looking back, have decided that my letters were all petty and worthless.
Today I came across this quote on your blog, and was slapped a bit…the way one slaps a screaming idiot to calm the senses. To put in less abusive wording: you and I write, not for judgment of the other’s ideas, but rather to simply share and communicate. And I have not been good to my side of the conversation. So neglectful I have been, that questions drawn in your past letter are now obsolete and I feel terrible for not having offered an opinion. So I give you one anyway: you asked for ideas, possibly revolving around “contemporary compositions” – with attention to graphic novels. This flew out to me. My favorite set of graphic novels is Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis series. I’m not an avid reader of graphic novels, but the other day I looked over the shoulders of my teenagers to see what they are reading these days, and I saw mostly pictures with words in balloons. And these were no comic books, they were well written stories. I have one youth whose hobby it is to write stories set to the images he draws. It is so fascinating to see his sketch books, full of sequential squares, filled with dialogue and plot. I do not know how this random info could be helpful to you, but my eyes have opened to the popularity of graphic novels. I was equally fascinated by the fact that Persepolis had been made into a movie… and we are not talking the over production or over commercialization of Batman, Superman, and other Marvel Comics superheroes on the big screen. Persepolis looks to be like a “cartoonized” foreign film: classic and unique.
Enough of that.
I’m going to slip back to worry and address concerns brought up in other facets outside our Ab Epistulis writings. Your last letter was “annoyingly happy,” yet now, you seem quite the opposite. More the worry-er than the happy-er. What’s going on?
In one venue I see a frustration with your education tract and the possibility that your entire future is now ruined because you did not do something quite right…
Well, today is your lucky day! Because I am here to tell you I screwed up too. I got a psychology degree…complete with no ambition to continue on in that field. I am a happy person stuck in a rut. I do have a good life with a good man. A trait I hope I still share with you. I still struggle daily to achieve my dreams of adventure, yet I am content with patience. I know I suffer a disease of over patience which tends to prevent me from moving out of my rut. I often sit and complain and think, oh well, someday it will all get better, I just have to keep plugging along.
So this leaves me with contradictory thoughts for you…I am so sure they will help…ha...ha...ha
Life is what you make of it. I hate to shove down Betty Homemaker tid bits like “Enjoy the Small Stuff” but really, that is about as best as we can do sometimes. <-- Note the sometimes... settling is never a good thing. Yet, if we look too far into the big picture, we can easily get bogged down. We really do have to take life one day at a time, setting achievable goals and realizing that often we need to redefine those goals as life seems fit. If not for Katrina's influence, Stephen may never have found himself in Pensacola working for a snobby yacht club. He confided he would never work for that particular venue again… He was well on his way working for a community sailing center, open to those in need of a recreational activity that would not cost half their income. Yet years after Katrina he still needed work, and the club was calling. This is all from a guy with a Journalism degree, who decided after graduation that a captain’s license might get him a bit further in life…at least towards the water where his heart is happiest.
Life is never easy. There are no silver platters, unless you are a Kennedy. We all struggle…I struggle, you will struggle. If we let ourselves be overcome by burdens, then life is no fun. My best friend goes out and buys, buys, buys. Her husband makes enough for her to work as a beer cart girl three days a week at the local golf course. The other four days, where people like you and I are struggling to make some form of living, she’s out shopping or playing Beatles Rock Band. I realize, and have to keep reminding myself, that she and I are two different people. I would not be happy in her life. I have to define my life for me, and make myself as happy as possible with what life has given me. I’m not going to turn out like my mom and dad, I’m not going to be like my really smart [beloved] cousin, I’m not going to turn out like my friend…because I am me. And what will make me happy today is a million dollars – enough to get out of debt, buy a nice house on some great property, go sailing around the world, open an animal rescue shelter, have a really big garden...
Reality is, today I make very mediocre wages. I am still paying creditors twice as much as I borrowed. I barely own my own home…which technically I will not own for another 35 years. I have a happy family of dogs who love to walk with me every morning. I enjoy reading books to escape this reality for a while. I love to listen to music, to write, to kayak, to bike, to explore. Simple things to keep my sanity. I am burned out in my work, but I find ways to rejuvenate and keep on going. Capt and I get frustrated with one another, but we find ways to talk and rejuvenate our relationship.
I truly hope you are well, ma cousine. We really do have silver linings in our lives. Don’t make me come up there to help you find yours!
beaucoup d'amour,
Leigh
Thursday, July 9, 2009
*annoyingly happy*
Dear Leigh:
Your post made me feel a lot more at peace with the relationship I have with my family and the physical distance between us. You're right; patience is really the way to handle it (though I'm not sure I'd have the patience required for Mike) and actively keeping up the relationship I have with my parents is the best I can do. No sense worrying about the dynamics--they are what they are.
I'm really sorry to hear about your shingles. At least you get a week off of work, right? Though I'm sure you'd prefer a healthy week at work to a week at home in pain. All I can say is make sure you let yourself rest. A few years ago I decided to "work through" a cold, and I ended up having that cold for over a month.
Now I will talk about myself, something I fear I will be doing entirely too much over the next 5-6 months. Jeremiah and I plan to get married in December, and I'm already boring myself when I listen to the conversations I'm having with my mother about it. Not that I'm not excited--I am--but I remember how sick I got of hearing my roommate talk about plans, and I imagine that in less than a week I've become that girl that won't shut up about her wedding.
Even so, I'm going to continue talking about myself. I'm very sorry. But I just had one of the best experiences of my life in terms of fatherly pride and approval (which is what I strove for growing up and still not-so-secretly want), and I must share:
Recently, (for the past year) my parents have been having issues with their house. The main sewage line had to be replaced, resulting in a huge ditch through the front yard and dirt all over our cul-de-sac for several weeks; the basement flooded, ruining precious belongings like books and baby clothes; the basement stayed wet due to the disturbed ground of the front yard and they had to call in people to dig it up and install sump-pumps; and now the roof has to be replaced.
So my dad's talking to me tonight, and he says "you know, I think your phone call on Tuesday was like the culmination of our luck turning around. On Monday, the electrician came to put the plugs in for the sump pump, which cost us more than we expected. Monday night, I came home and your mom had a long face--the air conditioner wasn't working. Well, Tuesday we called the electrician back in, thinking he must have hit something while he was working, and sure enough he sheepishly pointed out a little switch that he accidentally tricked, flipped it back, and the AC came on. Then, the roof contractors came and gave us an estimate much lower than we expected, and then YOU call to tell us you're getting married!" His voice, at this point, was filled with more joy than I've ever heard in it. "What I'm trying to say is: we're just so happy. We're so happy for you."
It's the sappiest I've ever heard my dad get, and I realized then that whether we can sit around and chat like old friends doesn't have anything to do with the depth of our relationship. Not with my dad...I don't think he'd WANT to sit around with me and talk about clothes or my friends or J.
So I'm no longer lamenting the fact that I don't talk with my dad like I do with my mom. The way we relate is just different...each of us is, I think, eager to see the other happy. We just don't go on and on about it.
Now time to return to the work world. My syllabus is due in a couple weeks and I am stumped...any suggestions for a fun composition topic to cover in the last couple weeks of class? I'm trying to do "contemporary composition" and talk about blogs and graphic novels and funky websites as new ways of expressing with writing, but it's really hard to make it all flow.
I hope you are feeling much better. Write soon.
Froehlichkeit und gesundheit (happiness and health) meine Kusine (I thought I'd try out my foreign language--it doesn't sound as pretty as your French, though).
Kate
Your post made me feel a lot more at peace with the relationship I have with my family and the physical distance between us. You're right; patience is really the way to handle it (though I'm not sure I'd have the patience required for Mike) and actively keeping up the relationship I have with my parents is the best I can do. No sense worrying about the dynamics--they are what they are.
I'm really sorry to hear about your shingles. At least you get a week off of work, right? Though I'm sure you'd prefer a healthy week at work to a week at home in pain. All I can say is make sure you let yourself rest. A few years ago I decided to "work through" a cold, and I ended up having that cold for over a month.
Now I will talk about myself, something I fear I will be doing entirely too much over the next 5-6 months. Jeremiah and I plan to get married in December, and I'm already boring myself when I listen to the conversations I'm having with my mother about it. Not that I'm not excited--I am--but I remember how sick I got of hearing my roommate talk about plans, and I imagine that in less than a week I've become that girl that won't shut up about her wedding.
Even so, I'm going to continue talking about myself. I'm very sorry. But I just had one of the best experiences of my life in terms of fatherly pride and approval (which is what I strove for growing up and still not-so-secretly want), and I must share:
Recently, (for the past year) my parents have been having issues with their house. The main sewage line had to be replaced, resulting in a huge ditch through the front yard and dirt all over our cul-de-sac for several weeks; the basement flooded, ruining precious belongings like books and baby clothes; the basement stayed wet due to the disturbed ground of the front yard and they had to call in people to dig it up and install sump-pumps; and now the roof has to be replaced.
So my dad's talking to me tonight, and he says "you know, I think your phone call on Tuesday was like the culmination of our luck turning around. On Monday, the electrician came to put the plugs in for the sump pump, which cost us more than we expected. Monday night, I came home and your mom had a long face--the air conditioner wasn't working. Well, Tuesday we called the electrician back in, thinking he must have hit something while he was working, and sure enough he sheepishly pointed out a little switch that he accidentally tricked, flipped it back, and the AC came on. Then, the roof contractors came and gave us an estimate much lower than we expected, and then YOU call to tell us you're getting married!" His voice, at this point, was filled with more joy than I've ever heard in it. "What I'm trying to say is: we're just so happy. We're so happy for you."
It's the sappiest I've ever heard my dad get, and I realized then that whether we can sit around and chat like old friends doesn't have anything to do with the depth of our relationship. Not with my dad...I don't think he'd WANT to sit around with me and talk about clothes or my friends or J.
So I'm no longer lamenting the fact that I don't talk with my dad like I do with my mom. The way we relate is just different...each of us is, I think, eager to see the other happy. We just don't go on and on about it.
Now time to return to the work world. My syllabus is due in a couple weeks and I am stumped...any suggestions for a fun composition topic to cover in the last couple weeks of class? I'm trying to do "contemporary composition" and talk about blogs and graphic novels and funky websites as new ways of expressing with writing, but it's really hard to make it all flow.
I hope you are feeling much better. Write soon.
Froehlichkeit und gesundheit (happiness and health) meine Kusine (I thought I'd try out my foreign language--it doesn't sound as pretty as your French, though).
Kate
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Shingles
I have bad case of Shingles. What does this mean? It means I am $200 poorer from anti-viral medication. It means I am missing a week from work on sick leave. It means I am fatigued and have severe pain on my left shoulder. I feel as if I have cracked my collar bone, as if I have pulled a major supporting muscle on my left shoulder. It has progressed into my hairline along the back of my neck. I feel as if I have paid an untrained acupuncturist to poke around my neck muscles to sooth the pain of an uppercut jab to my left jaw bone. The number one cause for Shingles: Stress. Onset date for this “rash”: Tuesday following beach week.
Before I go further, let me emphasize that I love my family very much. I do not blame beach week stresses on my current condition. My family means the world to me. And yes, like you, I do wish I lived closer, or in older times when families lived “a carriage-ride away.” A friend once said that family should always be close at hand, but far enough away that you would have to put on a hat to visit. I wish my family were close enough for that Sunday afternoon visit, where the kids would all gather at the folk’s house for Sunday lunch or dinner. But, like you and I and our other cousins, aunts and uncles, my family is spread thin. To this day, I do not even know where my brother is resting his head, and I am fine not knowing.
I did not even say good bye to my brother when leaving beach week. His little attitude and weenie fit on our last day was the straw that broke this camel’s back. He put my whole family in “dancing on eggshells” patrol. He had made a big deal about wanting to do something unified on our last day, yet gave only snips and snaps when we tried to get an answer from him regarding what activity sparked his interest. He eventually locked himself in his room refusing to answer to anyone, calling us all stupid because he was supposedly only wanting to watch a movie! The end result was him blaming me for ruining the vacation because I had some “I’m not putting up with your bullshit” words thrown his direction.
I know I do not have to tell you about the huge dividing line in my family, with my dad and brother on one side, and my mom and I on the other. It is a major struggle for my mom, who tries to juggle her nurture towards me, my dad, and Mike. She sees the way dad greatly favors Mike, and I see the way it pains her to have her little family so divided. That is why, regardless the situation, there is undue amounts of stress in my nook of the family. Sometimes I blame distance on our family tension. Sometimes I blame my little brother for his refusal to settle (he KNOWS what he needs to do, but blatantly REFUSES). Sometimes I blame my dad for enabling (he buys the boy out of so many debts for crying out loud). Sometimes I blame my mom for trying to make peace when peace cannot be made. Sometimes I blame the death of my older brother. But most of all, I blame the distance. It is hard to be 12 hours away from my folks. I suppose since I have been this far for over ten years, I no longer realize that my annual family visits seem only to need the digits of one hand to count.
Distance is a struggle, especially in my relationship with my dad. But my mom and I communicate. We talk like old friends often throughout the week. When we do get to visit face to face, that time is not wasted on “catching-up” but rather relishing in continued conversation, in person. We have a wonderful time: playing cribbage, sitting in the yard, drinking wine, laughing, grumbling, confessing, talking. During beach week, when Mike hid himself away in his own private pity party, my mom and I decided to embrace the remainder of the day and venture to the lighthouse. Just the two of us…it was a wonderful time of bonding. It was a moment that reinforced the fact that we really do enjoy each others company.
Yet with my dad, we seem more on a mission to pass simple pleasantries, then move along in our own private worlds.
How do I cope? I mourn silently when I see my family go its different directions. But I resolve to keep in contact, especially with my mom, so when we are reunited we can continue where we left off without the need to “catch-up.” Family dynamics are hard, especially in today’s world where relatives are spread so thin. But thankfully with our technologies (a mixed blessing for sure) connections can be easily made and sustained.
Give it time. This hurdle you jump is temporary. You will find your niche in life and will work your family relationship into that nook. You have your mind set even now to instill this familial connection upon your “children,” the idea alone will spark the reality. Do not over look tomorrow’s blessings by burying yourself in yesterday’s regrets. Use life’s experiences and “wish I had’s” to spark growth. And play the patience card. I have been for quite sometime. When I stop and look back, I see the distances I have crossed and am happy where I stand...even if I have a few speckles to suffer every now and again. It does take time; you are young enough to take advantage of that time.
Hope this was more helpful rather than another installment of Leigh’s Soap-Box…
Namaste, ma cousine,
Leigh
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
thoughts provoked by a week with family
Dear Leigh,
I hope you made it safely home from the beach. It was good to see you in person, though I always wish I had just a little bit more time to spend with the family. Sometimes I fantasize about living in the olden days, when everything was just a carriage-ride away.
When I was out kayaking with my mom, I realized...again...how much she is my best friend but also how much visiting with her and my dad feels like visiting. It used to be very easy, but now I feel compelled to "catch up" and be very thoughtful and polite every time I see them, almost as though they are strangers. We talked about where my brother and I might end up in the next few years while we paddled, and my mom mentioned the possibility of moving out of the house I grew up in. Immediately, I felt as though I ought to be upset. In reality, I didn't mind the idea. That house hasn't felt like home since my old cat died, and, in fact, more than feeling upset that my childhood home might no longer be available to me, I was excited at the idea of my parents living closer to where me and Jeremiah and my brother are.
See, I loved Grammie and Grandpa, but I didn't know them, and they didn't really know me. We visited maybe a handful of times per year. I've decided, partly because of my kayaking realization and partly because of the way my dad seemed hesitant to join in playing music (which he loves to do in groups and especially with me), that I want it to be different for my [theoretical] children and for me, as well. It made me sad that my dad felt like he was forcing himself into mine and Jeremiah's world by joining us with his fiddle, and it made me sad to think that I wouldn't be able to have an in-person chat with my mom for another few weeks, at least, and only that soon because it's summer. I don't want them to be a once-in-a-blue-moon part of my life, though I don't necessarily want a return to the involvement of childhood. It'd just be nice to continue to know them well, to visit easily, and to have my [theoretical] kids know them well enough not to feel shy whenever we visit, as I usually felt visiting Hampton and still feel visiting my Grandma in Pennsylvania.
And that's what I came away with from the beach trip, in addition to good memories and some awesome sunburns. How do you cope with living so far from your parents? I wonder if I'm hoping for something most people don't think of...maybe this is just my way of reacting to a tough first year as a self-reliant adult.
Write soon.
Love,
Kate
I hope you made it safely home from the beach. It was good to see you in person, though I always wish I had just a little bit more time to spend with the family. Sometimes I fantasize about living in the olden days, when everything was just a carriage-ride away.
When I was out kayaking with my mom, I realized...again...how much she is my best friend but also how much visiting with her and my dad feels like visiting. It used to be very easy, but now I feel compelled to "catch up" and be very thoughtful and polite every time I see them, almost as though they are strangers. We talked about where my brother and I might end up in the next few years while we paddled, and my mom mentioned the possibility of moving out of the house I grew up in. Immediately, I felt as though I ought to be upset. In reality, I didn't mind the idea. That house hasn't felt like home since my old cat died, and, in fact, more than feeling upset that my childhood home might no longer be available to me, I was excited at the idea of my parents living closer to where me and Jeremiah and my brother are.
See, I loved Grammie and Grandpa, but I didn't know them, and they didn't really know me. We visited maybe a handful of times per year. I've decided, partly because of my kayaking realization and partly because of the way my dad seemed hesitant to join in playing music (which he loves to do in groups and especially with me), that I want it to be different for my [theoretical] children and for me, as well. It made me sad that my dad felt like he was forcing himself into mine and Jeremiah's world by joining us with his fiddle, and it made me sad to think that I wouldn't be able to have an in-person chat with my mom for another few weeks, at least, and only that soon because it's summer. I don't want them to be a once-in-a-blue-moon part of my life, though I don't necessarily want a return to the involvement of childhood. It'd just be nice to continue to know them well, to visit easily, and to have my [theoretical] kids know them well enough not to feel shy whenever we visit, as I usually felt visiting Hampton and still feel visiting my Grandma in Pennsylvania.
And that's what I came away with from the beach trip, in addition to good memories and some awesome sunburns. How do you cope with living so far from your parents? I wonder if I'm hoping for something most people don't think of...maybe this is just my way of reacting to a tough first year as a self-reliant adult.
Write soon.
Love,
Kate
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A Short Note as I am Moved to Respond
Dear Kate,
I worried as I published my letter that it would induce the knee-jerking defensiveness so common in all human nature. But you are wise to let that instinct ease as you thought through your response.
I agree with you in your image of the coral. Capt and I truly feel our paths, though originally going different directions, have merged. And I do agree with the fact of life where often we make the choice to sacrifice one good thing for another. Decisions are difficult to make, especially when our dreams cannot become reality (your education in Boston to my opening a cafe for example). But we find the next best path. Or an alternative may find us postponing one dream's reality for another. Today, I dream of the day I can leave Pensacola and find a new career path, but today is not the time for Capt's sake, nor mine. Besides, I am still in love with my home town (as you are yours) and am quite content here for a while longer, at least until that next path pulls Stephen and I, walking hand in hand, to our next destination.
I do completely relate to you and your situation, and it excites my mind to hear you describing paths in ways which mirror my life today (your words much more vivid and colorful than my own). I lived through the negative side of my letter, sacrificing what I wanted for the sake of another, loosing the bond of compromise. And I would never wish that upon anyone I loved. It tends to be a blind path: you think you are going the way life intended only to be nose first in a dead end. The only way out is backing up and starting anew...not always a bad thing, but certainly avoidable.
I applaud J for digging your brain to make sure what he wants and what you want are truly on the same page. Sharing dreams is certainly a wonderful feeling! (and just happens to help make dreams more likely to become reality)
Paix, ma cousine sage,
Leigh
I worried as I published my letter that it would induce the knee-jerking defensiveness so common in all human nature. But you are wise to let that instinct ease as you thought through your response.
I agree with you in your image of the coral. Capt and I truly feel our paths, though originally going different directions, have merged. And I do agree with the fact of life where often we make the choice to sacrifice one good thing for another. Decisions are difficult to make, especially when our dreams cannot become reality (your education in Boston to my opening a cafe for example). But we find the next best path. Or an alternative may find us postponing one dream's reality for another. Today, I dream of the day I can leave Pensacola and find a new career path, but today is not the time for Capt's sake, nor mine. Besides, I am still in love with my home town (as you are yours) and am quite content here for a while longer, at least until that next path pulls Stephen and I, walking hand in hand, to our next destination.
I do completely relate to you and your situation, and it excites my mind to hear you describing paths in ways which mirror my life today (your words much more vivid and colorful than my own). I lived through the negative side of my letter, sacrificing what I wanted for the sake of another, loosing the bond of compromise. And I would never wish that upon anyone I loved. It tends to be a blind path: you think you are going the way life intended only to be nose first in a dead end. The only way out is backing up and starting anew...not always a bad thing, but certainly avoidable.
I applaud J for digging your brain to make sure what he wants and what you want are truly on the same page. Sharing dreams is certainly a wonderful feeling! (and just happens to help make dreams more likely to become reality)
Paix, ma cousine sage,
Leigh
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Some Coral Imagery for You
Dear Leigh,
It's been a hectic couple of weeks, hence my not checking to see if you'd written back to my last letter til now. My roommate is all married, and I've managed to catch up on all the work I didn't get to do while I was off planning and celebrating.
I also put off replying to your post, because my first reaction was knee-jerk defensiveness, and I've learned that careful thought produces better writing and better decisions, overall.
While staying in this area after I'm out of grad school and building our little piece of country heaven is what J and I have discussed, we've mostly discussed it as what we'll do if I can't find a job I want anywhere else (lately I've been making the assumption that I won't find anything). Your post actually made me bring the subject up with him again, and he said that he imagined us going where I find a good job or, if I don't find a well-paid job that I want, staying in the Southwest Virginia area for a little while so that he can save money for eventual grad school. I'll get a 5-year teaching license, teach somewhere, and when those five years are up...well, maybe the time for J to get his MFA will have already passed, and we'll be living in a new place near his school.
I guess, because I know that it's going to be hell trying to find a job once I've graduated, I wanted to build a dream-future here, too, where the money will likely be. "Plan for all possible contingencies." That doesn't mean that staying is a compromise, for me, because being with J is part of my life plan, too. Having a home with him, wherever it is, is part of my plan. The rest can come when it may--I have no intention of sacrificing anything I want for anything I don't want. I may sacrifice something I want for something else I want--for instance, sacrifice living in this area outside of town (which, I have to tell you, is the most beautiful place I've seen this time of year, and I'm counting every foreign country I've been to) for that dream job in an ugly part of the country, or sacrifice that dream job to live somewhere as beautiful as Meadows of Dan (it sits on the top of a mountain--beautiful hills, covered in fog when the clouds are low). Everything comes at the cost of something else.
My Boston plans were ambitious--excessively so. I haven't got the money. But I still want the adventure. The thing is, I also want this other experience of staying with J.
The way I imagine my life is like that kind of coral that looks like a fan made of veins...do you know the kind I mean? And each vein is a possible path, and each has several paths leading from it, and each path offers the same possibility for fulfilment or whatever. None of them leads backward, really. So, picture J's coral fan intersecting mine, and the intersecting veins not necessarily including Boston, but including dozens of other equally appealing ideas of life that we both have (his fan including some ideas that mine doesn't, and mine including some ideas that his doesn't. It's like a Venn diagram (mixing metaphors; sorry)). I don't see myself following, but rather merging these paths, sometimes taking the detours I want to, sometimes taking the ones he wants to, but always doing what is in the best interest of our security.
I hope that made sense.
Don't worry, I have no intention of following anyone. Walking beside, perhaps, convincing and being convinced to follow routes I/he might not have otherwise taken...but not following.
Though, I admit, I do have the tendency to defer to what others want. J, however, is aware of this, and (almost too often) asks me what I think, what I want, what will make me happy. We'll see how it all turns out...
Love,
Kate
It's been a hectic couple of weeks, hence my not checking to see if you'd written back to my last letter til now. My roommate is all married, and I've managed to catch up on all the work I didn't get to do while I was off planning and celebrating.
I also put off replying to your post, because my first reaction was knee-jerk defensiveness, and I've learned that careful thought produces better writing and better decisions, overall.
While staying in this area after I'm out of grad school and building our little piece of country heaven is what J and I have discussed, we've mostly discussed it as what we'll do if I can't find a job I want anywhere else (lately I've been making the assumption that I won't find anything). Your post actually made me bring the subject up with him again, and he said that he imagined us going where I find a good job or, if I don't find a well-paid job that I want, staying in the Southwest Virginia area for a little while so that he can save money for eventual grad school. I'll get a 5-year teaching license, teach somewhere, and when those five years are up...well, maybe the time for J to get his MFA will have already passed, and we'll be living in a new place near his school.
I guess, because I know that it's going to be hell trying to find a job once I've graduated, I wanted to build a dream-future here, too, where the money will likely be. "Plan for all possible contingencies." That doesn't mean that staying is a compromise, for me, because being with J is part of my life plan, too. Having a home with him, wherever it is, is part of my plan. The rest can come when it may--I have no intention of sacrificing anything I want for anything I don't want. I may sacrifice something I want for something else I want--for instance, sacrifice living in this area outside of town (which, I have to tell you, is the most beautiful place I've seen this time of year, and I'm counting every foreign country I've been to) for that dream job in an ugly part of the country, or sacrifice that dream job to live somewhere as beautiful as Meadows of Dan (it sits on the top of a mountain--beautiful hills, covered in fog when the clouds are low). Everything comes at the cost of something else.
My Boston plans were ambitious--excessively so. I haven't got the money. But I still want the adventure. The thing is, I also want this other experience of staying with J.
The way I imagine my life is like that kind of coral that looks like a fan made of veins...do you know the kind I mean? And each vein is a possible path, and each has several paths leading from it, and each path offers the same possibility for fulfilment or whatever. None of them leads backward, really. So, picture J's coral fan intersecting mine, and the intersecting veins not necessarily including Boston, but including dozens of other equally appealing ideas of life that we both have (his fan including some ideas that mine doesn't, and mine including some ideas that his doesn't. It's like a Venn diagram (mixing metaphors; sorry)). I don't see myself following, but rather merging these paths, sometimes taking the detours I want to, sometimes taking the ones he wants to, but always doing what is in the best interest of our security.
I hope that made sense.
Don't worry, I have no intention of following anyone. Walking beside, perhaps, convincing and being convinced to follow routes I/he might not have otherwise taken...but not following.
Though, I admit, I do have the tendency to defer to what others want. J, however, is aware of this, and (almost too often) asks me what I think, what I want, what will make me happy. We'll see how it all turns out...
Love,
Kate
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Home Sweet Home
Dear Kate,
When you feel strongly about a given topic, you should air it out like rugs on a spring day. Lest you want those thoughts to grow old and musty, harboring in your soul!
There was a time in my younger days when roommates seemed the way to go. But those ideas left as quickly as they hatched. Like you, an only girl in the family, I was raised with my own room; my own space to write, listen and play music, do homework, hide, and simply be me. I never did well with sharing my personal space. In fact, I can only think of one roommate who fit the bill of independent living in a shared space. With other folks whom have shared living quarters, I remember distinctly thinking like you now think: Only “x” amount of days left until FREEDOM!! Luckily, I was so intent on having my own space, I usually sought out small, affordable living arrangements: one room or studio apartments. So when the stray friend did arrive needing a place to stay, it was usually cramped, but thankfully, short lived.
Having a “home” though has always been an interesting concept. My parents moved to St. Louis my senior year in high school, and I stayed behind. Panama City was my “home” until I realized it was no place to rest my head. Too much negative energy. So my move to Pensacola helped me rediscover a town to call my own. Where my parents live will never be an address for me. Rather, I have always felt drawn to make where my feet land my residence.
Once upon a time, I shared a great little home. However, when things started going wrong with mr. ex, my “home” no longer felt as such. I had to make the difficult decision to pick up and move. There is a point for this thought, and I use it as a gentle warning. My home with the ex started nice: a big plot of land for a garden, walls I could paint, a shed for my creating, rooms with big windows. But I was the one left struggling to keep that house a home. I was the one cleaning, cooking, shopping, mowing, tending, tidying, pruning, vacuuming, washing…time slipping away while I felt alone in my efforts to keep up a “home.” It no longer felt like “ours.” And that is my warning: You with your accommodating ways: Don’t find yourself always doing the household chores alone… you tend to eventually resent the one who was supposed to be the other part of “we.”
I only say this because I continually see you saying, “wherever J goes, I’ll follow.” Now, don’t get me wrong, I like J. And I like his philosophy of not longer putting off living because of the “first I have to’s” (unless it’s a necessary “have to” in order to reach a wanted goal…like “having to…” raise some money to build on a plot of land from granddad). But, on the flip side of the coin, you do have the masters. What does Kate truly want to do, outside of J? And is it something that perhaps J could follow you?? Now, I am ok of Kate truly wants to follow J, I just want Kate to go because KATE WANTS TO, not because J expects Kate to follow. Am I making sense? Part two of leaving ex was because he found contentment; there was no longer a sense of adventure. If I were the kind of person to be happy in one place, then perhaps I could have stayed. However, like J, I believe life is an adventure worth living. I felt I was losing me by giving in and trying to mould myself to another’s life. I was driven to move on, and in doing so, I found a corner of the earth to call my own. And in that corner, I was able to rediscover and reclaim ME.
With my reclaim to the life that is mine, the capt joined in my journey. We share the same sense of adventure, and my home has become “our” home, completely and truly (he even does his own laundry!!). He has opened my eyes to a new definition of home. The capt lost his home to Katrina, and during a weekend outing, he took me to see the concrete slab that is all which remains of the place he once called home. We have learned that home may often be embellished by the objects of furniture and nick knacks collected over the years. But a home, if you’ll excuse the cliché, is truly where the heart is. As in, the capt and I do share the ideas of a nice quiet plot of land with a garden and a writing room, but we also know we would be equally at home on a boat with our only belongings fitting into one bag. Home is where he is, and vice versa.
So, in conclusion, continue to play your patience card, but know your companionship with J is just another simple form of “home.” Continue to look forward to that little house you will one day call you’re your own, but don’t allow those desires to cloud over what you have today. I am excited for your apartment to be, and excited for your future, but don’t forget the now, for it is where we must live.
Peace, and Patience, ma cousin,
Leigh
When you feel strongly about a given topic, you should air it out like rugs on a spring day. Lest you want those thoughts to grow old and musty, harboring in your soul!
There was a time in my younger days when roommates seemed the way to go. But those ideas left as quickly as they hatched. Like you, an only girl in the family, I was raised with my own room; my own space to write, listen and play music, do homework, hide, and simply be me. I never did well with sharing my personal space. In fact, I can only think of one roommate who fit the bill of independent living in a shared space. With other folks whom have shared living quarters, I remember distinctly thinking like you now think: Only “x” amount of days left until FREEDOM!! Luckily, I was so intent on having my own space, I usually sought out small, affordable living arrangements: one room or studio apartments. So when the stray friend did arrive needing a place to stay, it was usually cramped, but thankfully, short lived.
Having a “home” though has always been an interesting concept. My parents moved to St. Louis my senior year in high school, and I stayed behind. Panama City was my “home” until I realized it was no place to rest my head. Too much negative energy. So my move to Pensacola helped me rediscover a town to call my own. Where my parents live will never be an address for me. Rather, I have always felt drawn to make where my feet land my residence.
Once upon a time, I shared a great little home. However, when things started going wrong with mr. ex, my “home” no longer felt as such. I had to make the difficult decision to pick up and move. There is a point for this thought, and I use it as a gentle warning. My home with the ex started nice: a big plot of land for a garden, walls I could paint, a shed for my creating, rooms with big windows. But I was the one left struggling to keep that house a home. I was the one cleaning, cooking, shopping, mowing, tending, tidying, pruning, vacuuming, washing…time slipping away while I felt alone in my efforts to keep up a “home.” It no longer felt like “ours.” And that is my warning: You with your accommodating ways: Don’t find yourself always doing the household chores alone… you tend to eventually resent the one who was supposed to be the other part of “we.”
I only say this because I continually see you saying, “wherever J goes, I’ll follow.” Now, don’t get me wrong, I like J. And I like his philosophy of not longer putting off living because of the “first I have to’s” (unless it’s a necessary “have to” in order to reach a wanted goal…like “having to…” raise some money to build on a plot of land from granddad). But, on the flip side of the coin, you do have the masters. What does Kate truly want to do, outside of J? And is it something that perhaps J could follow you?? Now, I am ok of Kate truly wants to follow J, I just want Kate to go because KATE WANTS TO, not because J expects Kate to follow. Am I making sense? Part two of leaving ex was because he found contentment; there was no longer a sense of adventure. If I were the kind of person to be happy in one place, then perhaps I could have stayed. However, like J, I believe life is an adventure worth living. I felt I was losing me by giving in and trying to mould myself to another’s life. I was driven to move on, and in doing so, I found a corner of the earth to call my own. And in that corner, I was able to rediscover and reclaim ME.
With my reclaim to the life that is mine, the capt joined in my journey. We share the same sense of adventure, and my home has become “our” home, completely and truly (he even does his own laundry!!). He has opened my eyes to a new definition of home. The capt lost his home to Katrina, and during a weekend outing, he took me to see the concrete slab that is all which remains of the place he once called home. We have learned that home may often be embellished by the objects of furniture and nick knacks collected over the years. But a home, if you’ll excuse the cliché, is truly where the heart is. As in, the capt and I do share the ideas of a nice quiet plot of land with a garden and a writing room, but we also know we would be equally at home on a boat with our only belongings fitting into one bag. Home is where he is, and vice versa.
So, in conclusion, continue to play your patience card, but know your companionship with J is just another simple form of “home.” Continue to look forward to that little house you will one day call you’re your own, but don’t allow those desires to cloud over what you have today. I am excited for your apartment to be, and excited for your future, but don’t forget the now, for it is where we must live.
Peace, and Patience, ma cousin,
Leigh
Friday, March 13, 2009
Sometimes I wish people would go away so I can do everything my way.
Dear Leigh,
This is a long one.
I'm feeling pretty uninspired, at the moment, but at the same time hopeful. Could be the weather--very gray. On the one hand, I'm upset because I just had to leave my cat with my parents for a couple of months due to the edict of J's roommate, who cannot stand messes of any kind, even if they are a tiny dot of poo that an excited feline left on the carpet after leaving the litterbox slightly prematurely...
I'm also frustrated that I cannot know precisely what is going to happen in the next six months or the next year and a half. I'm only contracted for 9 months at a time, which leaves me lost for the three months of summer. In addition, J is feeling that he doesn't like nor does he fit into the academic world (can't blame him; I'm starting to hate it), so he might not go to grad school for his mfa. Which is fine with me, actually, except that I don't want to be in Blacksburg after I graduate, and if he doesn't get an assistantship somewhere I don't know where else we'll go. I believe I've exhausted this town.
On the other hand, I'm excited about the apartment J and I leased for next year (nice and quirky with 60s appliances and wood floors), I'm excited about finally getting to teach my own classes, and I'm excited about what I've come up with for my thesis. Also, the possibilities opened up if J doesn't go to grad school make me a little giddy. His point is that he's continually putting off living the way he wants to by saying "well, first I have to do ____." So, why not just be brave and live the way we want to? He's already got a bit of land that his granddad will give to him, and if we both get salaried jobs--even if they're just at sandwich shops--we could get a nice enough loan to create a home.
I guess that's really what I feel like I'm missing right now. A home. My belongings are split between two places, my cat is with my parents because I have to accommodate three different roommates (two of which will be newlyweds in a week and a day and already drive me nuts with all the wedding blah blah blah). Thoreau says at the beginning (ish) of Walden, "At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as the possible site of a house," and when I read that for the first time a week ago I almost went "YES!" aloud. I see every bit of land as a possible place that could be MINE, where I can have my cat and have my boyfriend and choose my own furniture and my own temperature and keep things clean and nice-smelling, where I can arrange my books attractively on my thrift-store shelves and put the mirror my Aunt made me above my little white desk to create a vanity, where I can keep my bathroom stuff IN THE BATHROOM and put the cat's litterbox somewhere away from where I hang out...*takes deep breath*...and where I can practice my violin without worrying about any roommate but J, who would probably play along with me, where I can have a corner for my easel and a corner for my comfy reading chair, where I can have my dishes without having to dig them out from under hundreds of my roommate's dishes, and where I can keep the table clear enough to have tea at in the afternoon when I get home from campus.
Mostly, I can handle not being in control. I'll admit that I'm generally a passive person. When it comes to my space (or, next year, my classroom), however, I must have it my way, or I'll be unhappy. I love your little house because it's so yours. It suits the life you lead--what would you do with more rooms? Why have cable if you're not into watching the crappy shows that are on it? (By the way, I'm considering living without cable next year, not only to save money but to keep myself from shows like "Real Housewives of Atlanta"). J just barely understands my discomfort, and my roommate doesn't understand it at all.
My mom, on the other hand, understands perfectly just like she understands that I'm accommodating to a fault. She's watched me nest my entire life--I used to bring photos of my family and my cat on trips and tape them up around wherever I slept. Now, my only options of places to stay are: 1) an apartment overrun by my roommate's and her fiance's stuff where I feel uncomfortable watching the tv since it--and all the furniture--isn't mine and the couple is way more into their shows than I am, or 2) an apartment where I don't pay rent but where I'm allowed to nest and keep my clothes and books and pictures in J's room, where (until now) I could hang out with our cat, but where I feel guilty cooking or showering or existing and where there's a roommate so finicky about cleanliness that he cracked a window (it was 20 degrees outside) and left a cup of ammonia on the stove after J and I made popcorn the other day.
I'm so frustrated! I need a place to call home.
I can tie this into our discussion of technology, as well: just as each person (generally) has a physical space in which they feel comfortable and which needs to be respected, each person has a technological space in which they are comfortable and which needs to be respected. I plan on extending mine to my classroom, since I consider that my space. Once the students are out of my space, they can text while browsing the internet and listening to clangy music on their iDoEverythingButBrushYourTeeth[ThoughThat'sInDevelopment].
I apologize for being so long-winded. Repression isn't good for me, but I've had to become good at it to keep the various roommates happy. 2 months til freedom!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Technological Soapbox
Dear Kate,
Three months have passed since out last correspondence, well…since my last response! There truly are no excuses for my hiatus…
Writers Block: No. I just haven’t been writing
Laziness: No. I have been pretty busy
Too Busy: No. One can always find time.
The truth is, I just haven’t been writing! Sometimes I feel I can attribute it to a simple case of Burnout. Not from our letter writing, but perhaps my job. Or even sometimes my indecisiveness over what I want to “be when I grow up.” There is a transition waiting over the next hill in my life, and maybe it is an impatience for that next climb that keeps me from my writing and sets me in this rut of “burnout.”
I think some of this draining with my work stems from the same frustrations you experience in the classroom. I feel sometimes I bear an old-fashionedness that frustrates me towards the ageing younger generations (the rising high school kids in my case). The technology you refer to in your letter can certainly be to blame. You grumble that kids no longer read: why read when you can watch the movie or download the cliff notes? The internet caters so much to these kids, their teachers and leaders should be catering as well! Cell phones with texting dominate the lives of my teens. Yesterday I was at the beach and I saw a young girl walking along with her boyfriend. She was adorned in her bikini and carrying her cell phone in her hand. I wanted to ask: “why couldn’t you leave that device behind while you walked?” I have to force my kids to leave their cell phones in a “cell phone station” so they don’t text or call during my programs. Video games have replaced outdoor games. When I lead a retreat at our campsite, the kids want high tech: movies, power point, video games. I want to shake them and say: WE’RE OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS!! TV today jumps and flashes so much I realize there is no surprise that the kids cannot sit still for five minutes without something to artificially stimulate their minds.
I look at society today and see the distress of the economic times. This technology has somewhat lead to this need of bigger and better, brighter and flashier toys. Power Boats, Gaming Systems, Sports Cars and SUVs, Music Players, Internet Touch Phones. It is no wonder that these expensive habits are causing such grief when budgets become tighter. I know of kids who need to get a new game each year for their xBox or Wii…but those games aren’t cheap! Phone charges become more costly the more applications you need (unlimited text, unlimited minutes, unlimited internet). Gas prices…need I say more.
Again I say maybe I am old fashioned. I do not have cable, internet, more than one car, or too fancy a phone. I do have a garden, some books, a radio, and an imagination. I cannot tell you how many friends (and family) have commented on their desire NOT to come to my house because I don’t have a TV to entertain. I didn’t realize sitting the back yard chatting and stargazing wasn’t entertaining. Nor did I know people don’t like listening to original music on NPR. Also, I have heard that my house it too small (Do I really need more space? It’s just more I’d have to CLEAN!) I have a friend who actually tried to convince me to buy HER house so she could buy a bigger one for her and her husband. Do two people really need all that space? I don’t have that much stuff…and I have come to realize that when I do become crowded in my small house, it may be time to consolidate!
Having read over the past few paragraphs, I feel I have become my “Father’s Daughter.” We two can be quite the grumblers. As I get these grumbles out of my system…I feel a need to defend technology. I do own a cell phone. I do like to blog and email. But I don’t let those things run my life. I am thankful for the life I have. It is a life suited for me. I respect that others may not like my lifestyle, but it’s ok…that is why it is MY life. No one can tell me how to exist much less than I can insist another live like me. I have my faults, and yet, here I am throwing the first stone. So to turn this whole letter from a grumble to productive verbiage: I work hard to try to throw my simplistic way of life into the whirlwind of technological living in which my kids have been raised. Rather than force myself or others to accept one way of life over another, I would rather stress the need to adapt: keeping one’s own identity, hoping it may rub off or mesh with the next generation.
I know this does not help much in the gist of your letter…I just decided to hop upon my trusty soapbox and go to town. Again, accept my apologies for my hiatus, and know I will do better at keeping up my end of the conversation!!
Paix, ma cousine,
Leigh
Three months have passed since out last correspondence, well…since my last response! There truly are no excuses for my hiatus…
Writers Block: No. I just haven’t been writing
Laziness: No. I have been pretty busy
Too Busy: No. One can always find time.
The truth is, I just haven’t been writing! Sometimes I feel I can attribute it to a simple case of Burnout. Not from our letter writing, but perhaps my job. Or even sometimes my indecisiveness over what I want to “be when I grow up.” There is a transition waiting over the next hill in my life, and maybe it is an impatience for that next climb that keeps me from my writing and sets me in this rut of “burnout.”
I think some of this draining with my work stems from the same frustrations you experience in the classroom. I feel sometimes I bear an old-fashionedness that frustrates me towards the ageing younger generations (the rising high school kids in my case). The technology you refer to in your letter can certainly be to blame. You grumble that kids no longer read: why read when you can watch the movie or download the cliff notes? The internet caters so much to these kids, their teachers and leaders should be catering as well! Cell phones with texting dominate the lives of my teens. Yesterday I was at the beach and I saw a young girl walking along with her boyfriend. She was adorned in her bikini and carrying her cell phone in her hand. I wanted to ask: “why couldn’t you leave that device behind while you walked?” I have to force my kids to leave their cell phones in a “cell phone station” so they don’t text or call during my programs. Video games have replaced outdoor games. When I lead a retreat at our campsite, the kids want high tech: movies, power point, video games. I want to shake them and say: WE’RE OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS!! TV today jumps and flashes so much I realize there is no surprise that the kids cannot sit still for five minutes without something to artificially stimulate their minds.
I look at society today and see the distress of the economic times. This technology has somewhat lead to this need of bigger and better, brighter and flashier toys. Power Boats, Gaming Systems, Sports Cars and SUVs, Music Players, Internet Touch Phones. It is no wonder that these expensive habits are causing such grief when budgets become tighter. I know of kids who need to get a new game each year for their xBox or Wii…but those games aren’t cheap! Phone charges become more costly the more applications you need (unlimited text, unlimited minutes, unlimited internet). Gas prices…need I say more.
Again I say maybe I am old fashioned. I do not have cable, internet, more than one car, or too fancy a phone. I do have a garden, some books, a radio, and an imagination. I cannot tell you how many friends (and family) have commented on their desire NOT to come to my house because I don’t have a TV to entertain. I didn’t realize sitting the back yard chatting and stargazing wasn’t entertaining. Nor did I know people don’t like listening to original music on NPR. Also, I have heard that my house it too small (Do I really need more space? It’s just more I’d have to CLEAN!) I have a friend who actually tried to convince me to buy HER house so she could buy a bigger one for her and her husband. Do two people really need all that space? I don’t have that much stuff…and I have come to realize that when I do become crowded in my small house, it may be time to consolidate!
Having read over the past few paragraphs, I feel I have become my “Father’s Daughter.” We two can be quite the grumblers. As I get these grumbles out of my system…I feel a need to defend technology. I do own a cell phone. I do like to blog and email. But I don’t let those things run my life. I am thankful for the life I have. It is a life suited for me. I respect that others may not like my lifestyle, but it’s ok…that is why it is MY life. No one can tell me how to exist much less than I can insist another live like me. I have my faults, and yet, here I am throwing the first stone. So to turn this whole letter from a grumble to productive verbiage: I work hard to try to throw my simplistic way of life into the whirlwind of technological living in which my kids have been raised. Rather than force myself or others to accept one way of life over another, I would rather stress the need to adapt: keeping one’s own identity, hoping it may rub off or mesh with the next generation.
I know this does not help much in the gist of your letter…I just decided to hop upon my trusty soapbox and go to town. Again, accept my apologies for my hiatus, and know I will do better at keeping up my end of the conversation!!
Paix, ma cousine,
Leigh
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