It's funny to me, after a Google scan I will deem equatable to an intensive search for truth, that there are no resources for people in their twenties to learn from. When googling about it, all I got were a few lame whining sessions - like the one I am posting at current, of course, only lamer - and some articles on finances. I, like so many people in their early twenties, do not have finances to speak of, and I am very good at managing my rent, electricity, food, repeat cycle of spending, thank you very much. Having no money now I think will adequately prepare me to appreciate and not waste it later. We'll see, but at any rate, there is nothing out there to help us cope, except some informal rants which maintain that, forget it, we're doomed to zip through this decade making poor choices that we will not remember anyway.
So why the lack of available resources online, and I assume elsewhere? Because of the blur that was other persons' lives back then, and their unwillingness to rehash it for the benefit of those who are currently a little thinner, younger, and stupider than they? I am not sure - but I think that if I make it to 30, I hope to be kind enough to impart some wisdom, and not so wrapped up in my life of raising kids, paying a mortgage, and complaining about my boss that I don't think about those poor souls battling 25. I will remember them, just as we now are forgotten. But what really, am I three years in, learning about this special time in life?
I have learned that old people will be concerned for your instability in life at 20, whereas if you ask them where they were at your age, or don't ask to be polite but remember what they've said in the past, you'll find yourself buoyed up by the fact that there lives were not so much secure back then, and probably a little less on track then yours. Or if not, well, that's okay too, because they got out of the shambles somehow, right?
I have had people ask me what I want to do with my life, and I can't rightly answer them, because the fact is I am doing what I want to do, it's just that my career path will need to be curvy, but people feel uncomfortable when they get an answer that is more than a long sentence. Careers in this world aren't cookie cutter, nor are those unbelievably naive things called dreams, but I want to fulfill them none-the-less, and I intend to! So I would say that we should embrace our connect the dots lifestyles at this age, and not worry about how others feel about it and judge it, unless that is, those people are the ones paying your bills. If that is the case, well, you can't blame them for their concern about what it is (existential awareness/floundering) that they are supporting. Even though it's hard, we should all probably aim to support our own lives, otherwise, we don't really have full ownership of them in all their glory and mistakes.
I am not some kind of 20s sage, as made obvious by my own search for greater wisdom on this subject than my own, but my other two bits of advice (to myself) would be - get used to appreciating the small things in life, and count your blessings. As previously mentioned, I and many others like me in their twenties not supported by their parents in large part, have no money. But really, money is not the be all end all. Even when wants to eat well, dress well, and have fun, their are plenty of options - like inheriting funky decorations and furniture from others, shopping at the universally stylish Target, and making your own adventures, preferably in settings where free food is offered. If you are hungry enough, and I know this from experience, free food really does seem to be all around.
As for counting blessings, I think it is very easy for twenties these days to go around in a whiny stupor complaining about getting a job, buying gas for their car, their roommate, their lack of self-knowledge, all the choices they don't want to make which emerge from all the opportunities (graduate school, travel, relationships) at their fingertips. Stop complaining and start enjoying it people! (I say this to myself as well). I mean, when everyone around me is worried about their own internships/expenses/ipods, or in the case of the older adults in my life, just where that life is going, I think that most of these worries stem from free time on our hands and misplaced priorities. I think people who have really blessed lives and free time on their hands should serve others, not fret or philosophize all this much. So maybe I should just shut up, huh? I just think it's funny that so many people out their like to talk about their problems and insecurities in their twenties, but aren't taking time out to breath, reflect, think a little less about the complications they have voluntarily put into their young lives, and think more about how as healthy, happy young adults, they can be a powerful wonderful force in the world, by thinking a little bit less about just how it is they can hypothetically do it.
Thank you, and goodnight.
I think it's odd that we don't give more of our allegiance to the mundane, in terms of the credit we give to who and what shapes our lives. We talk about ideals, when it is really small ideas, the "my eye itches, let me scratch it" type of things, versus the "my eye sees a vision, let me fulfill it" type of calls, that make up our lives and in turn define them. I am not sure whether to laugh about, cry about, or elevate this kind of thinking. I simply don't know. But I am happy to be folksy!
Today, like yesterday, I will perform a juggling act of three jobs, one masters program, one boyfriend, no longer one hamster, one engaged best friend, one pregnant best friend, one recently-discovered chronic disease, two pseudo-sexual feet, and multiple other idiosyncrasies of life that to the outside observer seem fairly well put in place.
For my part, I am content, even as I yell at myself and complain to others that I need higher expectations in life. I think that in the grand tradition of cognitive dissonance, whatever that term actually means (I don't know after several semesters of studying it), one's life tends to look a bit rosier when it is underhandedly challenged, especially by someone close to the liver. At least that's what happened to me as I sat on the phone talking to someone who, I believe for her own good, was trying to convince me I was missing out on life. The theme of the conversation? - really just the importance, the brilliance, and the sheer bliss of money. Now, I know that I fall into that category of woman who is a people pleaser and who will work in some sort of "helping-job" for the rest of her life, even at the PhD level. I know I have said since my adolescence that I would never ever invest in stocks, and that I didn't want to ever be "too" rich, as in rich enough to throw money away, or rich enough to start worrying about having to philanthropize to get into heaven, though that of course is not ever how one gets there. At any rate, I am basically an anti-money person. Money can buy me things, but things, and well as feelings, thoughts, and other possessions of the heart and mind contributing to my well-being, do not have to come by money. My dreams are not limited by funds, but my dreams, as a side-effect of my work and relentless perseverance, generate funds like a coal plant generates pollution. And even more importantly, I do not trade my time at work for money to survive. I choose to devote my life to productivity directed toward the service of humanity, which society rewards with a paycheck, which I will not invest. So egg-headed, big-headed all of this sounds, but it is not directed at the reader, and is instead intended to come from a more honest me towards a less dominant converser on the other end of that phone line that night. Money is a third party mediator. Money, to me, can be written out of the equation.
And all that points to my happiness? I have been ranting a lot lately - whether in my head or to my family and friends, it's like I am a stove top burning dinner, and a fan needs to be turned on somewhere to dilute the smell and smoke. But I am happy, just pissed off that in the midst of that happiness, the judgemental nature of myself and others is still present. Things are good? Well they could be better! You're in love? But you're not married! You have an amazing job? Then why do you slack?!! It's really more me than anybody else, though I am amazed by the money argument. Still, after the rant above, I am done. I don't want to become a pundit of my own life. I aim to be steady, calm, and epitomize my contentedness.
In other news, I went to my first yoga class. I knew yoga was harder than it looks (think lady sitting in cross-legged harmony with herself and the world chanting "ohmm"), but my hamstrings feel like twinging violin strings today and my neck aches like I slept on it the wrong way. However, I loved the class. I love that it's free, I love that signing up for it forced me to finally retrieve my likewise gratis membership to my school gym.
Life- or self- actualization is thrown out there by us humanistic, psychology enthusiasts quite a lot, but I am not sure how much closer I have actually gotten to putting into action a lifestyle that feels right for me, feels like I am making the most of "me," until this past week. Even though I am tired and cranky, even though I am not volunteering a single bit of my time (I am very big on volunteering equaling out to selfless-giving and all-around morality) and even though I am failing mostly in my half-baked observance of a panentheist's attempt at Ramadan, I feel like the me I should be. Sounds like a Leo Buscaglia book title. But it sounds and is good to me.
I would definitely like to go back-to-school shopping with S today. And to clean our little cozy apartment. And for once to stay in my work clothes, minus the high heels, well into the evening.
Sometimes life just builds up in my stomach and I need a little chance to vomit out all of my frustrations and anxieties. Unhealthy as that may be, the next day is always better.
I think watching a 33-year old win an Olympic medal and prepare to compete as a 37 year-old in London is enough to propel me to at least try. But not try in the sense of doing something for a week, or a month. Trying in the sense of structuring my life around something with a lot of risk involved, no guaranteed reward other than building self-discipline and believing in the other narrative. I can reach out for new ideas, places, and experiences, or not. And it does really only depend on me. Or at least, that is all it needs to depend on.
Input:"Your career profile shows you are an Analyst. As an Analyst, you have the natural ability to promote harmony among others. You are a creative problem solver and can often find alternative solutions and approaches others fail to see. You have little difficulty understanding complex concepts, and this further assists you when tough answers are needed from you. You have a sincere desire to help others develop, and you can be a persuasive leader that is committed to what you believe in."Response:
"Health promotion is a way of life. From the moment we wake up, every thought and action becomes the eventual sum of our health and wellbeing.
My ideal career is in the field of health promotion, where I can collaborate with individuals to forge a healthier path for our local and global societies. As an analytical person, I thrive on the complexity of health behavior. I can envision the tangled web of causation, for instance, that persuades a recent immigrant not to seek medical services in a new country and new neighborhood. Culture, religion, literacy, family – all play a role. However, the analyst in me says the web can be untangled. By carefully analyzing human experiences, solutions to poor health choices and opportunities for improved health all begin to surface. In the mysteries of health promotion, I find my drive to demystify the everyday challenge of human life."Motivation:$500/Something to do during the lunch break I refuse to 'take'Side note:I am going to the public library in Hampden today to check out far too many books I won't really read. How's that for questionable behavior?
Today I thought about song writing. The variety of quality in song writing, like those songs that get "produced" by somebody else for a tween queen, who has no time to actually grow into a teenager, and have organic first loves, first curfew breaks, and whatever it is that materializes into deep-seated emotional development eventually and allows us to feel the makings of beautiful song lyrics. Then there are lyrics that are completely artistic, that don't naturally follow a verse-chorus-verse layout. Lyrics that must be put to music, that are, for better or worse (I'd say better), someone's publicized poetry. Of course, without lyrics, emotions can be conveyed too, and how that process works, from a human head to another, with emotional interpretation built in through sound somewhere in between, really beats me.Today, Belle had heatstroke for hamsters, otherwise known as "The Sleeping Disease." She got catatonic, which we of course, after Bridget's pronouncement of Wednesday's 'dogatonic' behavior, call 'hamstertonic,' and she was lifeless from the neck down, and wouldn't eat or drink, even with water and food put right under her nose. Once we figured out what it was (thank goodness for online hamster vets), we got to give Belle a bath, splashing her with ice cold water from a dish, which I think she found very undignified, as she curled up on a corner of the bed afterward, like she just needed a moment to herself. She did look, as Steve said, like a wet rat. After the wake up call, Belle went to the sleeping corner of her cage and proceeded to groom herself, becoming lovely and fluffy again in no time. Now, she is in her exercise ball, crashing into walls all over the apartment, and being otherwise joyful.I am pretty excited for tomorrow, because we are planning to go on a hike, albeit a short one, at a nearby state park. I am a busybody, and whenever we make plans to do some specific activity over the weekend instead of just playing it by ear, I am pleased. It is surprising, because as fidgety as I am, it would be such a good idea for me to actually have a routine, other than that which is imposed on me by work hours. I can imagine an amazing weekend routine, for instance, that goes like this for Saturdays: 8AM - Get up, take a shower, throw on some extremely comfortable, clean cotton clothes, and have some fruit 9AM - Go to the Farmer's Market, people browse, pick up some fresh flowers and healthy munchies for lunch, 10AM - Tidy the apartment, read a little bit, catch up on all the news I hadn't followed up on during the week, 12PM - Hop on the shuttle and go to Red Emma's, get a bagel and a large iced coffee or chai that I eat over browsing their selection of books, 1PM - buy a book, walk around Mt. Vernon and read on the benches, 2PM - ride back on the shuttle, swing on the Wyman Park swings, 3PM - Sudoku, Cards, Word Whomp, 4pm - TV and snuggling, 5PM - Church, 6PM - Cooking dinner together, eating and talking, 7PM - mindless reality TV, 8PM - Gym, 9PM - Cold shower, 10PM - More reading, especially magazines, 11PM - Comedy/News with Jon Stewart and Stephen T. Colbert, 12AM - Daydreaming followed by night dreaming..While I honestly wouldn't do this every week, I would like some more structure, like going to the Farmer's Market and Red Emma's every Saturday, and waking up before noon (baby steps). I could substitute the reading with some music, though since Record and Tape Traders closed down (to be replaced by - Nothing!), I am not sure where I would find new stuff. Or rather, where I would find old stuff I think has potential to impress me. Nevertheless, we have planned to go hiking, and I can't wait.Oh, also, before I leave, since I need to, since I am rambling beyond all measure, I am going to start religiously watching The Wire. I am not sure whether the plot will interest me much, other than the threads which I've heard about being related to the corruption and poor choices of our former mayor, but I can't not see this show, and despite this, I have not. I think what will appeal to me most, given my penchant for reality TV and because I live where they've taped, is seeing the back drops and settings of The Wire and trying to identify all those places that are shot on site. I think in that regard, I might become obsessed. But yes, I am checking out the first season from Video Americain as soon as Steve leaves, and I hope to be done with the first 4 seasons by the time he comes back in mid-August. I know this will take discipline. I will do what it takes. I will get the job done.There's much more to discuss, but no cogent way to discuss it. I had a weird dream last night - red pleather pants were involved. We'll see how tonight goes.
So, today I wrote out a summary of my first qualitative interview, and I think my boss will hate it. It drones on, and gives examples, and taps into the heart of what my interviewee said, so I strongly predict that she won't like it. She is more a matrices type of gal, a - put their feelings into columns and we'll rate them - type person. So maybe I'll end up with a chart for all the the interviews when I am done, to suit her. If I have any goal at work, it is to do my job well, and then to do it in another way, equally well, to keep everyone's options open. This explains, this and doing qualitative interviews all the time (i.e. - chatting with strangers like they're your friends for the betterment of each party) why I am tired most days.
Today, I feel good though. After the summary I ended up kind of mulling around, finally meeting with the clinical lady about co-occurring disorders, and then gathering up some more resources about Latino clinics from the one resource guide that exists in the city. Just so you know, there are about 6 places to go if you only speak spanish and you are seeking mental health services. Whether you can get there, will want to, and well, will, is another story, for another day.
After clearing all of that up, I went to yet another meeting where I knew no one (except a surprise participant who happened to be a girl studying part-time in HBS, yea!) and had no idea what was going on. Then again, they were all fun, all smart, all working with at-risk youth, and the pediatrician brought chocolate cake and kale from the Yabba Pot! So that was that.
Instead of going back to the office at 4:55, I went to snuggle and have dinner at Papermoon, which you may be saddened to know that, as of today, is no longer a 24 hour establishment. Yup, from Sunday-Thursday it opens at 7am and closes at midnight. Some might not care, but I have maintained solace in the fact for a long time, that as with UniMini and Subway, I can always go to Papermoon. My only other complaint about that place is that the 'chocolate cow' (glorified chocolate milk) always makes me think of a 'black cow' drink, which my mom taught me was a half-and-half mixture of coke and milk. It is so much better than the former, which I order, and am disappointed with, whenever I forget the distinction.
Shortly after digesting Papermoon, we stopped off at Wyman park to "play" field hockey. It is much more fun for me, a perennial bench warmer, to play hockey nowadays, when it is non-competitive, with a boy, and the field is mostly occupied by puppies whose owners use it as a dog park. We made friends with a terrier named Petey who liked us better than the polo-shirted dude who was his master.
So I was thinking about being born again. And I think it's a constant thing, not a singular, decisive, pledge-my-old-life-away thing. Because the metaphor, being born, is pretty deep. As a newborn, we have no concept of good and evil. We do terribly selfish things almost constantly, but in our innocence, we are blameless. We expect nothing from anyone or anything in particular, and in that way, we accept endless possibility, from any and every direction. We live for the moment, we know ourselves without labeling ourselves, and we don't judge others. At least, that is what I can extrapolate, from my observation of babies and my Forrest-Gump-like lack of recollection of my own birth. I think being born again also means being washed clean, with the chance to live a better life not once over, as in baptism, but with every breath, step, and blink, as if rebirth moved along the tides and never stopped renewing us. Of course literally 'being born again,' that requires just as much hardship, and as much joy, as the first very gooey time around.
And why the happy mood, really? Well, its cool outside for the first time in weeks. And we are simple creatures.
The above correspondence was produced by my mother, by whom I am impressed constantly, but currently for her probably new knowledge of the less than three shortcut for virtual love.Lately we are bombarded by politics, though I was enthusiastic about the current presidential race as early as well, let's not kid ourselves, as early as January of 2001. When I watched the second George Bush take office as sleet poured down over an already dismal ceremony in D.C., I literally became sick. By the time I got back home to Frederick, my temperature was right around 102 degrees F and my head was throbbing. I was anxious then, about what the president might do to divert the country away from core domestic issues and from genuine concerns about national security, and I remain baffled by the unraveling of these past seven and a half years. These times have truly been an exercise in patience and perseverance for me, as someone blessed with the opportunity to go to school in an age when the United States invades multiple countries in which that option is not made available to the poor and especially to the female.Now, however, after a year of non-stop campaign hype/hope and 7 plus more years of school, I am partially free from the world of the classroom, as I work full-time with mental health programming in Baltimore city as a part of my masters' field placement. Here, in the liberal, idealistic world of public health, I considered naively, and just for a second, that I could be free of political thoughts. Maybe I am - in the legitimate sense. When I walk into a work site, and the staff are all people from a Baltimore community so close-knit in geography and culture, they're free from certain pretenses. There's not much of a clinical veil around this health care system, and much less of some kind of clinical ego. But structured care? Not so much either. Quality mental health care is fortunately injected into the system, but unfortunately, not without introducing politics into the mix. This politics comes in the form of beneficence of course, in donor grants that aren't meant as a permanent form of funding, in contracts that may bind people's loyalties a bit too tightly to their business commitments, and in people's well-meaning personalities and emotions, which are necessary and inevitable, but which complicate a system's politics and blow them up in a whole new way. And perhaps why I perceive politics, where I could chose to see the relatively staggering success of these grass-roots initiatives and community-centered services, is because I am critical, and I will always be critical beyond all intervention. Yes, there are street politics very much at play, and beyond that, there is the immovable divide between those working on the system (the researchers, civil servants, etc.) and those working in it. But what I could see are people given hope by what is, instead of every potential logistical nightmare down the road which might take that hope away from them. I do see it, day-to-day, and it makes me smile fleetingly to be around these small miracles as they pass me by. But in my criticism of the system, I also see a fear in myself, that one day, far too soon, I will get caught up in an agenda that forgets the bottom line: I am here for people, not for a field placement, and certainly not for politics.
