Air conditioning is one of those little luxuries I don't have at my apartment in L.A., but really, it's a necessity in Sacramento. Today was 101 degrees and there was pretty much nothing to do but stay inside or dunk into the swimming pool.
Yet coming home to Sacramento means a lot more than just getting heat comatose. It means reminders of what almost all of my young life has been like. It means getting taken care of. It means learning more about what has made me who I am and how I became the way I am and how my values were formed.
The hours and days keep melding into each other and it's perhaps going over the same place I've known for most of my life that makes each day feel effortless. Perhaps I should be worrying more about what's next and perhaps I should be working harder, but when I'm home, it's vacation and my mind succumbs to the simplicities of making my bed each day, pulling out a book during my free moments, and finding clean laundry on my bed ready to be sorted.
Let responsibilities wait a little bit longer until I return to Los Angeles. Is that O.K.?
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Today I Appreciate Mindless Task-Doing
I hate to admit it, but some days, there really is nothing better than just doing things that keep your body moving and prevent your brain from thinking too hard.
As much as I enjoy nourishing my brain (and, heck, I'm considering a profession where that's just about the only thing that is nourished appropriately), today was a day where I really didn't want think too much or too hard. So I didn't. I cleaned my apartment. I did laundry. I took another long run (here's to hoping this trend continues, right?). I mindlessly browsed through link after link on Facebook (as if this wasn't already one of your most-frequented webpages either). I read an excerpt from Google Books on how the Internet is changing the way we think (ironically enough. I suppose I'm a victim of this same kind of thinking!). I read nothing I didn't want to read today.
I'm trying to see this lack of commitment as refreshing. Is it sick/sad that after only a month of being out of school, I'm ready for school all over again? Perhaps it's because I don't know what else to expect. Perhaps I haven't had enough experience doing anything else to want to escape the structure of a classroom, but all of this freedom - I have to admit - is a bit overwhelming. I could do do SO MUCH, yet I seem to find myself paralyzed into not really doing a whole lot at all except for reading, reading, reading, and figuring out what's next. Maybe that's not such a bad thing and, indeed, that's probably what I should be doing right now. But I can't help but envy those with tidy internships/jobs, life-enriching planned vacations, or - O.K., another sick moment ahead - summer school.
I should probably stop before I hurt myself here, but this is what this blog is for, right? I am trying, after all, to appreciate all that's happening in my life no matter how hard it is to initially accept, right?
So, here I am quitting my belly-aching about having all the time in the world to do whatever I want. For most people, this would be a fantastic opportunity to really get to know one's self and discover who you really are. So from here on out, that's exactly what it will be for me, too. Here's the summer, where hopefully today's task-oriented mindlessness can be channeled into more of the baby steps I'm taking to tackle that thing known as becoming an adult.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Today I Appreciate Reviving Old Traditions
After our freshman year in college, my group of friends and I couldn't bear the thought of a summer apart. We had enjoyed almost every meal together and late night conversations and even the prospect of not being within walking-distance was unfathomably weird. So, we decided to start an online journal to update each other and keep each other in touch.
As with all great projects (notice a trend here with me and journals?), our flow of writing in the summer journal slowly petered out and eventually we all just sopped writing in it. There was really no good reason why we didn't keep it up. We just didn't.
Now that we've all graduated, though, we obviously won't be in contact in the same way. It's funny how friendships morph and evolve with time and distance, but one of my friends suggested that we revive the blog again. Before posting my own entry, I browsed through the archives, reading about our past travails. Initially, I was embarrassed by my reflections and the self-consciousness of my writing, but something was also refreshing about seeing how I've changed (even if it's only ever so slightly) and being able to chart my progress.
I like how our journal serves as a kind of time capsule of our time together, a way to preserve who we were and who we will become.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Today I Appreciate Runs That Don't Feel Like Death
Whenever people describe their runs as "invigorating," "refreshing," etc, I consistently feel this distinct need to - well - shut them up. Because, honestly, if you're not some kind of real athlete, do you REALLY enjoy running that much? Like, really? Maybe I'm just lazy and have not quite reached that "runners' high" experience so many profess to have experienced. Either that or I was born without that essential "running-is-fun-AND-good-for-you" gene (like eating your vegetables!). Yes, let's blame it on genes.
In any case, I had one of these moments today where running kind of was one of these refreshing experiences, where I came back a wee bit tired, but not to the point where I wanted to just collapse into bed and watch as my dehydrated soul slumped back with me defeated.
Yet the weather was crisp today and the sky was clear and it made me think, "Good God, I hope I end up somewhere where I can be outside sometimes at some point in the year and not be miserably hot/cold." Of course, that place can really only be L.A. So, go figure that L.A. is not really in the cards after this year.
Anyway, these thoughts are not to be one of those "self-indulgent look-at-me runners" because - frankly - eating a whole bunch of cheesecake would probably make me feel equally as good (though in an entirely different way). This run today just felt like one of those experiences that needed to be shared, as exemplary of all of the right conditions combined together in lazy July.
In any case, I had one of these moments today where running kind of was one of these refreshing experiences, where I came back a wee bit tired, but not to the point where I wanted to just collapse into bed and watch as my dehydrated soul slumped back with me defeated.
Yet the weather was crisp today and the sky was clear and it made me think, "Good God, I hope I end up somewhere where I can be outside sometimes at some point in the year and not be miserably hot/cold." Of course, that place can really only be L.A. So, go figure that L.A. is not really in the cards after this year.
Anyway, these thoughts are not to be one of those "self-indulgent look-at-me runners" because - frankly - eating a whole bunch of cheesecake would probably make me feel equally as good (though in an entirely different way). This run today just felt like one of those experiences that needed to be shared, as exemplary of all of the right conditions combined together in lazy July.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Today I Appreciate Blogs
O.K., it probably seems silly that I've started and re-started this blog a million times with the same lackluster apologies for laziness in writing, but after reading a few of my friends' blogs and generally procrastinating from the task that is graduate school research and GRE studying, I felt inspired to sit down and write something myself. So, here I am sitting and writing in this old project of a blog that emerged after a year of feeling generally down about life.
A lot changes in a year. Duh, right? But Fourth of July came and went this weekend and it made me weepy and nostalgic and reflective. I think all holidays have the power to do this to me, to make me look back on the year I just experienced and think about what has changed and what I could have done differently and what I wished I would have done to improve my life and who I am. Blogs, really, are a funny format in which to do that. The most successful blogs are kind of a combination of snippy writing, multimedia clips, and a sense of the breezy, a conveyance of ideas that are serious but not TOO serious. Too serious would mean significant reflection and time, not the kind of ADD flitting from tab-to-tab and page-to-page that so characterizes the way I spend my Internet time (and I assume most people's Internet time, right? Right?).
Blogs are funny, too, for their inherent narcissism. Before I became absorbed in the world of nonfiction writing, I always found memoir and life-writing in general to be sort of a cop-out from fiction writing. I have a distinct memory of sitting down to write fiction at a summer program in Iowa and the fiction gradually turning into something that more closely resembled my own life. I remember thinking then, "Gosh, Jenae, can you really not get away from your own boring life? Can you really not escape from this experience of ME, ME, ME?"
This weekend, too, I spent time at my boyfriend's family's house and my boyfriend's father came into the room sharing that the newest piece of fiction in "The New Yorker" is based on the elementary/middle school that my boyfriend and his sister attended. Amazingly, I happened to have the newest "New Yorker" in my purse (I tend to carry some reading material with me everywhere) and so he (my boyfriend's father, that is) read the story out loud. Throughout the story, my boyfriend's family members were totally amazed (e.g. "This IS our school!" "Who do you think that's supposed to be in the story?" "This is barely fiction!").
I think, in a way, they were all sort of miffed out how close this story was to reality. Indeed, it seemed bizarre to imagine fictional characters in a place that was so tangibly real, that was so ingrained in their memories and such an integral part of their past. But it was their reflections upon how close this story was to real life that made me realize and reflect again upon the power of our own experiences to inform our fiction. The latest "New Yorker" story just showed me that yes, true life can be a cop-out in that we remain in our narcissistic shells of a universe, but that true life can also create the most colorful, enhancing, and enticing background to themes and ideas that could not be conveyed otherwise.
Besides, this life is what we've got, so we should just get over ourselves and deal with it, right?
So, back to the blogs. They inspire me. They're not Henry James, but the era of the novel as ground-breaking art is really... over. In a way. Not that the power of fiction will ever completely deteriorate, but SO MANY interesting things are being done with nonfiction (like blogs! like media convergence! like good ol' plain writing in print publications!), it's hard not to be drawn into seeing how this... genre in a way keeps evolving. O.K., I've probably been reading too much Reality Hunger , and like author David Shields, I'm thinking that the "era of nonfiction" is upon us (not to mention my complete and utter absorption in everything CNF for... over a year now, I think?). I think what inspires me most is knowing that as we are trapped in our narcissistic bubbles of existence, at least we can see that everyone else is similarly trapped in those worlds.
However, through sharing these kinds of reflections, THAT's when we escape the sense of narcissism. THAT's when we come to see that that which seems so individual and so isolated is actually something shared. Hence, when we recognize ourselves in others' writing, in others' art (if you will and if that big "A" word doesn't get you too nervous), THAT's when we know that writing is effective.
Anyway, no promises on keeping this up, but I'm now a college graduate and I'm finding myself (already) desperate for critical thought again and inspiring books and people to sustain me. Wish me luck, and thanks to those of you who already write and keep me inspired with your online writing and otherwise. You make me realize that in spite of all of my uncertainty about my future, about what my post-college life will mean (whether that's grad school or something else), I know that out there, there is someone who inevitably feels almost the same way.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Today I Appreciate Voicemail Messages Where the Caller Bursts into Giggles
I now understand why 62,400 people on YouTube post videos of babies laughing. I tend to play the cynic when it comes to recordings of feel-good moments like spontaneous, uncontrollable laughter (Who cares? This moment that was hilarious to you makes no sense to the rest of us out of context), but upon listening to a Voicemail message left for me today, I almost felt tempted to save part of it, a little strand of free, uninhibited laughter, giggles that interrupted the entire train of thought of the person leaving the message.
Perhaps it helped that this particular person's laugh is a warm, light laugh. She's an earnest often self-conscious perrson, so there was something inexplicably sweet about hearing someone who typically seems very controlled completely let go into a fit of giggles. Obviously interrupted, I couldn't tell what she was laughing at, but it almost didn't matter; it was one of those pure and perfect moments that just reminded me of the random moments of levity that can brighten even our most mundane moments.
Perhaps it helped that this particular person's laugh is a warm, light laugh. She's an earnest often self-conscious perrson, so there was something inexplicably sweet about hearing someone who typically seems very controlled completely let go into a fit of giggles. Obviously interrupted, I couldn't tell what she was laughing at, but it almost didn't matter; it was one of those pure and perfect moments that just reminded me of the random moments of levity that can brighten even our most mundane moments.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Today I Appreciate Potential
My basil plant is growing. The stem leans towards the sunlight, absorbing, sucking up energy to get stronger and healthier. Needless to say, I'm a proud Basil Mommy. Of course, I'm not quite as proud of my own writing lately; sure, I've been attempting to learn towards my own proverbial sun, sucking up the energy of blogs and books and magazines (I officially subscribed to The New Yorker!), but while absorbing said sunlight, I have forgotten to "water" my writing energy daily and, as such, am still a seedling, and am not producing sweet pieces of writing like the large, sweet leaves of my basil plant.
OK, so this metaphor has probably gone a little too far already, but reflecting back upon this past year, I realize that I have missed out on a lot of opportunities to appreciate, truly appreciate, what's around me. From the time I've started this blog, I've made several changes to my life that I think have truly made me a healthier, happier, better person.
First, I've provided more time for me - just me - to relax. Of course, this is somewhat facilitated by the fact that I live by myself in a studio apartment (which is glorious), and I try to read something pleasurable every night before I go to bed to unwind.
I've also decided not to get frustrated when a particular interaction does not go the way I intended it. Rather than grasping and desperately hanging on to unsuccessful acquaintances/friendships/relationships, I try and let the weak connection pass, not attempting to make something fruitful our of something barren. That's not to say I've been dismissing all uncomfortable social interactions, blaming them on an intrinsic lack of connection that must be immediately eliminated, but I no longer waste energy on people that I know simply don't work with who I am. It's OK if not everyone likes me. Really.
With that said, however, I have refused to pass up novel situations. I try to talk to people, break through my initial insecurities about how others will perceive me, and ask questions. In my interview class, my instructor told us that when he is at cocktail parties, he plays a game with himself where he finds one person and tries to ask that person as many questions as possible before the person asks him something. I've tried to adopt the strategy for myself, and it has eased me into a somewhat more comfortable social state. That's not to say that I am - by any means- an any more socially comfortable person, but I've at least found an avenue through which I may be able to better understand people and take some more risks.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm not afraid of the potential for growth and change. I may still drag my feet on accomplishing certain tasks because I'm afraid of failure or I'm afraid of abandoning something and feeling disappointed with the final product, but I appreciate, today, that there's so much more potential for me to fulfill what I want to fulfill, find people who will truly fulfill me, and continue to live a more grateful and joy-filled life.
Here's to watering the writing spirit with hope, excitement, and possibility.
OK, so this metaphor has probably gone a little too far already, but reflecting back upon this past year, I realize that I have missed out on a lot of opportunities to appreciate, truly appreciate, what's around me. From the time I've started this blog, I've made several changes to my life that I think have truly made me a healthier, happier, better person.
First, I've provided more time for me - just me - to relax. Of course, this is somewhat facilitated by the fact that I live by myself in a studio apartment (which is glorious), and I try to read something pleasurable every night before I go to bed to unwind.
I've also decided not to get frustrated when a particular interaction does not go the way I intended it. Rather than grasping and desperately hanging on to unsuccessful acquaintances/friendships/relationships, I try and let the weak connection pass, not attempting to make something fruitful our of something barren. That's not to say I've been dismissing all uncomfortable social interactions, blaming them on an intrinsic lack of connection that must be immediately eliminated, but I no longer waste energy on people that I know simply don't work with who I am. It's OK if not everyone likes me. Really.
With that said, however, I have refused to pass up novel situations. I try to talk to people, break through my initial insecurities about how others will perceive me, and ask questions. In my interview class, my instructor told us that when he is at cocktail parties, he plays a game with himself where he finds one person and tries to ask that person as many questions as possible before the person asks him something. I've tried to adopt the strategy for myself, and it has eased me into a somewhat more comfortable social state. That's not to say that I am - by any means- an any more socially comfortable person, but I've at least found an avenue through which I may be able to better understand people and take some more risks.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm not afraid of the potential for growth and change. I may still drag my feet on accomplishing certain tasks because I'm afraid of failure or I'm afraid of abandoning something and feeling disappointed with the final product, but I appreciate, today, that there's so much more potential for me to fulfill what I want to fulfill, find people who will truly fulfill me, and continue to live a more grateful and joy-filled life.
Here's to watering the writing spirit with hope, excitement, and possibility.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Today I Appreciate Others Defying My Expectations
It's the last week of classes and I'm surprisingly calm about final exams and final projects. Perhaps I condensed so many worries these past two quarters that I used up all of my year-allotted worry points. No matter. I'm not complaining. Knowing me and my neuroses, this may not last much longer, but that's something I'm also OK with. Worry keeps me motivated. It's part of my essential DNA.
Anyway, I mention this odd sense of calm because today I completed one final "project:" a "micro-teaching session" for the course I'm teaching this spring. The assignment was to conduct a "mini-lesson" with the other teaching facilitators, get feedback, learn what to do with students who will be enrolled in the class, and realize that I'm probably trying to pack in too much reading in too little time. I wasn't all that nervous about it; I've read the stories I'm teaching a billion times (and still love them) and I figured whatever would happen, would happen.
However, I was concerned about how the other facilitators would react to the reading. I feared that they would sit down with the story I sent out and think it was stupid. Their validation of the material's quality felt (feels) important to me because I trust their opinions. Somehow, I felt like someone would stare at the story and think: "What's the point? Why did I bother reading this?" I often get defensive about reading I enjoy, trying to justify it and its importance even in the face of criticism. Then, of course, I feel bad about getting defensive and, on top of it all, feel bad when other people don't enjoy what I enjoy because somehow what I chose to enjoy isn't good enough if other people don't like it.
Phew. What a mouthful. It probably goes without saying that I care a lot about what other people think.
When I started class, I asked how many people had done the reading.
"I didn't receive it," was the first response I heard.
"Wait, what? You didn't receive it?" my voice grew louder, higher-pitched. Oh my God. This lesson was totally ruined; everything I wanted to discuss was based on this ONE reading. If no one read the story, how in the world was this lesson even going to be possible?
Our instructor, Kumiko, suggested that we all read the story together since it was so short. I sighed. This was NOT how I wanted to spend the time. It seemed like a waste of valuable "teaching" time to do a read around, but I complied; I didn't really have an option.
But it worked. I read it out loud, people listened, we discussed.
The best part was, the discussion worked well, too, and absolutely no one questioned the quality of the story. Everyone got what the story was about and were able to work beyond the story and talk about larger issues relating to the creative nonfiction genre and how the story functioned within that genre. It was amazing. The conversation veered in directions I didn't predict, but it was exhilarating to mull over different ideas, to debate questions we had, and to value each other's opinions.
It's easy to feel alone in one's enthusiasm, but with today's lesson, the process of sharing an excitement to discover and to appreciate one another's opinions completely made my day.
Anyway, I mention this odd sense of calm because today I completed one final "project:" a "micro-teaching session" for the course I'm teaching this spring. The assignment was to conduct a "mini-lesson" with the other teaching facilitators, get feedback, learn what to do with students who will be enrolled in the class, and realize that I'm probably trying to pack in too much reading in too little time. I wasn't all that nervous about it; I've read the stories I'm teaching a billion times (and still love them) and I figured whatever would happen, would happen.
However, I was concerned about how the other facilitators would react to the reading. I feared that they would sit down with the story I sent out and think it was stupid. Their validation of the material's quality felt (feels) important to me because I trust their opinions. Somehow, I felt like someone would stare at the story and think: "What's the point? Why did I bother reading this?" I often get defensive about reading I enjoy, trying to justify it and its importance even in the face of criticism. Then, of course, I feel bad about getting defensive and, on top of it all, feel bad when other people don't enjoy what I enjoy because somehow what I chose to enjoy isn't good enough if other people don't like it.
Phew. What a mouthful. It probably goes without saying that I care a lot about what other people think.
When I started class, I asked how many people had done the reading.
"I didn't receive it," was the first response I heard.
"Wait, what? You didn't receive it?" my voice grew louder, higher-pitched. Oh my God. This lesson was totally ruined; everything I wanted to discuss was based on this ONE reading. If no one read the story, how in the world was this lesson even going to be possible?
Our instructor, Kumiko, suggested that we all read the story together since it was so short. I sighed. This was NOT how I wanted to spend the time. It seemed like a waste of valuable "teaching" time to do a read around, but I complied; I didn't really have an option.
But it worked. I read it out loud, people listened, we discussed.
The best part was, the discussion worked well, too, and absolutely no one questioned the quality of the story. Everyone got what the story was about and were able to work beyond the story and talk about larger issues relating to the creative nonfiction genre and how the story functioned within that genre. It was amazing. The conversation veered in directions I didn't predict, but it was exhilarating to mull over different ideas, to debate questions we had, and to value each other's opinions.
It's easy to feel alone in one's enthusiasm, but with today's lesson, the process of sharing an excitement to discover and to appreciate one another's opinions completely made my day.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Today I Appreciate Cooking Pizza By Myself while Listening to Loud Music
There are some days when you just need to cook. Today's been a day of writing, writing, writing and memorizing French. Assuaging an exhausted brain can only be remedied in one way: with mindless activity.
Cooking may not be the case for everyone. Cleaning, gardening, and organizing all seem like approximately equivalent tasks in terms of the amount of mental exertion/energy it requires. Cooking requires some motivation, of course,to create and use the side of one's brain that says "OK, Jenae, take this recipe step one, two, three, four until completion."
Following steps is a beautifully mind-numbing yet all-consuming task. Simply focusing on stirring over the stove top or chopping up an onion is a perfect and simple way to relax. I've been wanting to make homemade pizza for ages, staring at the pizza pan thrown in the cabinet with the other pots and pans, debating what to make and how to make it.
I made a really simple recipe (and used pre-made pizza dough, which definitely does not make me a very legitimately gourmet cook, but whatever) and... it was fun. I cooked for myself by myself and it was probably one of the most satisfying experiences I've had in a long time. See, I love to cook for other people and I love to entertain, but I love the lack of pressure in simply experimenting on a recipe for me. There are no expectations when I'm cooking for me. If I mess up, it's my own fault and I'm the only one who really has to suffer the consequences. I don't have to justify any culinary choices to anyone but myself. Sure, it's a little lonely in the kitchen knowing that you're the only feeding yourself, but finding happiness in autonomy and realizing that being alone does not necessarily equate to loneliness is beautiful.
Doing something like cooking by yourself, too, provides an opportunity to just be and not worry about other people's expectations of how you should act, too. I didn't have to worry tonight about maintaining a conversation while attempting to pay attention to the stovetop. All I had to do was stir, focus on the Franz Liszt I had playing at high volume in the background, and... create great food. It's funny how simple life can be when experienced all alone every once in a while.
Now here's the greater question: to continue my culinary conquests (how's that for some alliteration) with a batch of sweet potato and walnut muffins or no?
Cooking may not be the case for everyone. Cleaning, gardening, and organizing all seem like approximately equivalent tasks in terms of the amount of mental exertion/energy it requires. Cooking requires some motivation, of course,to create and use the side of one's brain that says "OK, Jenae, take this recipe step one, two, three, four until completion."
Following steps is a beautifully mind-numbing yet all-consuming task. Simply focusing on stirring over the stove top or chopping up an onion is a perfect and simple way to relax. I've been wanting to make homemade pizza for ages, staring at the pizza pan thrown in the cabinet with the other pots and pans, debating what to make and how to make it.
I made a really simple recipe (and used pre-made pizza dough, which definitely does not make me a very legitimately gourmet cook, but whatever) and... it was fun. I cooked for myself by myself and it was probably one of the most satisfying experiences I've had in a long time. See, I love to cook for other people and I love to entertain, but I love the lack of pressure in simply experimenting on a recipe for me. There are no expectations when I'm cooking for me. If I mess up, it's my own fault and I'm the only one who really has to suffer the consequences. I don't have to justify any culinary choices to anyone but myself. Sure, it's a little lonely in the kitchen knowing that you're the only feeding yourself, but finding happiness in autonomy and realizing that being alone does not necessarily equate to loneliness is beautiful.
Doing something like cooking by yourself, too, provides an opportunity to just be and not worry about other people's expectations of how you should act, too. I didn't have to worry tonight about maintaining a conversation while attempting to pay attention to the stovetop. All I had to do was stir, focus on the Franz Liszt I had playing at high volume in the background, and... create great food. It's funny how simple life can be when experienced all alone every once in a while.
Now here's the greater question: to continue my culinary conquests (how's that for some alliteration) with a batch of sweet potato and walnut muffins or no?
Friday, March 6, 2009
Today I Appreciate the Person in the Panda Suit
While walking to class today, I saw a giant panda.
Amazingly, this panda was not trying to sell me anything nor was he (or maybe she?) trying to encourage me to use soy bean paper or eat vegetarian. The panda just roamed campus, silent, its presence saying enough for itself.
I couldn't help but smile. The panda's ears were tattered, the black fur a little faded and matted, and its head unusually large, but the pure whimsy, the joy at seeing something out of the ordinary and joyful on campus made the day just a touch brighter.
This just proved to me that relishing in the absurd, embracing the ridiculous, and recognizing that life can - and should be - a little bit silly sometimes is incredibly valuable.
Amazingly, this panda was not trying to sell me anything nor was he (or maybe she?) trying to encourage me to use soy bean paper or eat vegetarian. The panda just roamed campus, silent, its presence saying enough for itself.
I couldn't help but smile. The panda's ears were tattered, the black fur a little faded and matted, and its head unusually large, but the pure whimsy, the joy at seeing something out of the ordinary and joyful on campus made the day just a touch brighter.
This just proved to me that relishing in the absurd, embracing the ridiculous, and recognizing that life can - and should be - a little bit silly sometimes is incredibly valuable.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Today I Appreciate Realizing that Every Day is Not a Bad Day
Excuse the melodramatic title for this post. As a friend and reader of this blog, Naveed, wrote me, "Since you haven't updated your blog, you must be busy." Well, yes, that's true, but I suppose it's been a lot of falling into self-pitying kind of behavior again as evidenced by an equally (if not more) melodramatic Facebook status update from a few days ago: "Jenae keeps messing things up."
Hmm.
That, of course, came as a result of the fact that my car battery died because I had left the lights on merely one day after I received my car back from the auto repair shop. Of course I felt like an idiot (mostly because I feared my parents' retribution and I kicked myself for my own simple oversight), though that certainly did not mean I was "messing things up." What that mostly meant was "OK, lesson learned. Check your lights, check your lights, check your lights." If only the rationality of hindsight blessed me more often while actually in the moment of panicking/self-flagellating (not literal self-flagellation, of course. Don't worry; I'm not going to turn into the crazy Agnus Dei albino of "The Da Vinci Code").
Anyway, it's not that I haven't been keeping track of what's been making me happy every day. In fact, I planned to write this entry as a sort of "greatest hits" of the past week, finally recording here what has, in fact, dotted my days with little bits of happiness. Yes, I've been busy, and yes, I've felt down enough this week to think, "What do I have to appreciate today? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BECAUSE MY LIFE SUCKS," but I've also enjoyed moments of peace by myself, moments of genuine joy and appreciation with friends, moments of academic discovery and excitement, and - amazingly - moments of feeling healthy and strong (as in, I took a run! A real run!).
Funnily enough, too, I just had a conversation with a few classmates about the woes of journaling. For an interview class, we were "required" to write in a journal throughout the quarter and prior to class, my classmates began to lament the fact that they - of course - hadn't actually completed the assignment.
"I start a journal for, like, two days and then I just give up," one guy stated. One of the girls in the class agreed.
"I just feel so weird writing for myself, you know? I like writing e-mails because they have a purpose."
I added how I felt like most of my past journal entries were rather self-referential, commenting on the act of journaling and how great it is. Looks like I'm doing the same thing here, I suppose, but I think what stuck out for me from the conversation was the fact that we all felt this similar fear of not writing something that was "interesting." We all complained about how our lives weren't terribly interesting things to write about and that no one but ourselves really even cared about the papers due next week or the club meetings to attend or the roommates/coworkers/classmates to whine about. I agree that those are a lot of uninteresting details that when compiled all into one place that can sound a lot like a big whinefest. I read back on old "Xanga" (a weblog site that, as far as I can tell, has gone completely by the wayside) and cringe a little bit; there's an awful lot of moaning about how "busy" I am with high school homework.
Yet I still keep reading my teen entries and at that time, plenty of other people did. A journal is a time capsule, a way to preserve certain emotions and ideas we may never recover. There's a difference between complaining and spilling out our brains on to paper. We're all interested in each other's lives because we tend to be a little voyeuristic by nature. I've always said that if I could have a super power, I'd want to read minds just to get that little extra piece of insight into someone else. What seems boring to us may very well be boring, but it also very well may provide an insight for others or simply for ourselves that was completely unexpected. That's simply the risk one must take.
So, without further ado, here's the list of things I've appreciated over the past week (that I wrote down or remember) that part of me has just been a little too afraid to post if only because... well... they seemed uninteresting at the time. Let's see what we get out of it now:
On Friday, February 27th, I appreciated the couple at Wildflour Pizza who asked if my friend and I were waiting on a table before they went ahead and took one.
On Saturday, February 28th, I appreciated the worker at Paulette Macarons who provided my friend and I with free samples as we debated what to order without pushing us to make a purchase.
On Sunday, February 29th, I appreiciated one of the football players I tutor, Pat, for posing thoughtful questions about a science fiction novel he read for class and actually wanting to engage in a discussion with me about it.
On Tuesday, March 3rd, I appreciated the giant cardboard cutout sign on the corner of Santa Monica and Westwood Boulevard that allowed passersby to stick their head into a photograph of a man in a kayak. L.A. needs more silly advertisements.
On Wednesday, March 4th, I appreciated rewatching "Amelie," and seeing a film that represents a desire to appreciate simple pleasures and confronts head-on how social anxiety and the fear of rejection affects every one of us.
And right now, I appreciate listening to Pandora bundled up in warm sweat pants, reminiscing upon the week.
Hmm.
That, of course, came as a result of the fact that my car battery died because I had left the lights on merely one day after I received my car back from the auto repair shop. Of course I felt like an idiot (mostly because I feared my parents' retribution and I kicked myself for my own simple oversight), though that certainly did not mean I was "messing things up." What that mostly meant was "OK, lesson learned. Check your lights, check your lights, check your lights." If only the rationality of hindsight blessed me more often while actually in the moment of panicking/self-flagellating (not literal self-flagellation, of course. Don't worry; I'm not going to turn into the crazy Agnus Dei albino of "The Da Vinci Code").
Anyway, it's not that I haven't been keeping track of what's been making me happy every day. In fact, I planned to write this entry as a sort of "greatest hits" of the past week, finally recording here what has, in fact, dotted my days with little bits of happiness. Yes, I've been busy, and yes, I've felt down enough this week to think, "What do I have to appreciate today? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BECAUSE MY LIFE SUCKS," but I've also enjoyed moments of peace by myself, moments of genuine joy and appreciation with friends, moments of academic discovery and excitement, and - amazingly - moments of feeling healthy and strong (as in, I took a run! A real run!).
Funnily enough, too, I just had a conversation with a few classmates about the woes of journaling. For an interview class, we were "required" to write in a journal throughout the quarter and prior to class, my classmates began to lament the fact that they - of course - hadn't actually completed the assignment.
"I start a journal for, like, two days and then I just give up," one guy stated. One of the girls in the class agreed.
"I just feel so weird writing for myself, you know? I like writing e-mails because they have a purpose."
I added how I felt like most of my past journal entries were rather self-referential, commenting on the act of journaling and how great it is. Looks like I'm doing the same thing here, I suppose, but I think what stuck out for me from the conversation was the fact that we all felt this similar fear of not writing something that was "interesting." We all complained about how our lives weren't terribly interesting things to write about and that no one but ourselves really even cared about the papers due next week or the club meetings to attend or the roommates/coworkers/classmates to whine about. I agree that those are a lot of uninteresting details that when compiled all into one place that can sound a lot like a big whinefest. I read back on old "Xanga" (a weblog site that, as far as I can tell, has gone completely by the wayside) and cringe a little bit; there's an awful lot of moaning about how "busy" I am with high school homework.
Yet I still keep reading my teen entries and at that time, plenty of other people did. A journal is a time capsule, a way to preserve certain emotions and ideas we may never recover. There's a difference between complaining and spilling out our brains on to paper. We're all interested in each other's lives because we tend to be a little voyeuristic by nature. I've always said that if I could have a super power, I'd want to read minds just to get that little extra piece of insight into someone else. What seems boring to us may very well be boring, but it also very well may provide an insight for others or simply for ourselves that was completely unexpected. That's simply the risk one must take.
So, without further ado, here's the list of things I've appreciated over the past week (that I wrote down or remember) that part of me has just been a little too afraid to post if only because... well... they seemed uninteresting at the time. Let's see what we get out of it now:
On Friday, February 27th, I appreciated the couple at Wildflour Pizza who asked if my friend and I were waiting on a table before they went ahead and took one.
On Saturday, February 28th, I appreciated the worker at Paulette Macarons who provided my friend and I with free samples as we debated what to order without pushing us to make a purchase.
On Sunday, February 29th, I appreiciated one of the football players I tutor, Pat, for posing thoughtful questions about a science fiction novel he read for class and actually wanting to engage in a discussion with me about it.
On Tuesday, March 3rd, I appreciated the giant cardboard cutout sign on the corner of Santa Monica and Westwood Boulevard that allowed passersby to stick their head into a photograph of a man in a kayak. L.A. needs more silly advertisements.
On Wednesday, March 4th, I appreciated rewatching "Amelie," and seeing a film that represents a desire to appreciate simple pleasures and confronts head-on how social anxiety and the fear of rejection affects every one of us.
And right now, I appreciate listening to Pandora bundled up in warm sweat pants, reminiscing upon the week.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Today I Appreciate Coloring
Fresh Crayola markers, where the tips are sharp, the color is bright, and the ink flows out smoothly, is one of life's greatest joys. There's little more satisfying in the world than sitting down with a coloring book page armed with a new bold, red marker, ready to fill in between the lines.
I colored in a rose today in my USIE facilitator class (as a "microteaching" exercise for one of the other facilitators and her class on the Psychology of Arts & Crafts) and I must admit that I was pretty proud of it, all things considered. I drew it with a little bit of artistic depth; the petals had a yellow lining while the inside of the petals were red and the purple stem grew blue AND purple leaves. Beat that, "Beauty and the Beast!" You don't even understand what a REAL rose is until you've seen one with a purple stem!
Anyway, the point of the exercise was not exactly to gain a sense of base-level satisfaction at the minute accomplishment of just coloring something in between the lines (we led into a discussion of how gender roles/creativity are defined by what we choose to color, how we color it, in what colors, etc.), but there was a sense of calm and relaxation that I experienced when coloring. Maybe it was just the fact that I was doing something so mind-numblingly simple yet so undeniably relaxing that made the exercise stand out in my mind. I'm not even a very good colorer (I manage to always get outside the lines SOMEHOW), but with only the goal of filling in something and trying to make it "pretty," I felt completely at ease and I left class feeling oddly energized.
Maybe a trip to the arts & crafts section of the pharmacy down in Westwood is in order. There are some great Disney princess coloring book pages online. I think Cinderella would look rad with some pink hair.
I colored in a rose today in my USIE facilitator class (as a "microteaching" exercise for one of the other facilitators and her class on the Psychology of Arts & Crafts) and I must admit that I was pretty proud of it, all things considered. I drew it with a little bit of artistic depth; the petals had a yellow lining while the inside of the petals were red and the purple stem grew blue AND purple leaves. Beat that, "Beauty and the Beast!" You don't even understand what a REAL rose is until you've seen one with a purple stem!
Anyway, the point of the exercise was not exactly to gain a sense of base-level satisfaction at the minute accomplishment of just coloring something in between the lines (we led into a discussion of how gender roles/creativity are defined by what we choose to color, how we color it, in what colors, etc.), but there was a sense of calm and relaxation that I experienced when coloring. Maybe it was just the fact that I was doing something so mind-numblingly simple yet so undeniably relaxing that made the exercise stand out in my mind. I'm not even a very good colorer (I manage to always get outside the lines SOMEHOW), but with only the goal of filling in something and trying to make it "pretty," I felt completely at ease and I left class feeling oddly energized.
Maybe a trip to the arts & crafts section of the pharmacy down in Westwood is in order. There are some great Disney princess coloring book pages online. I think Cinderella would look rad with some pink hair.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Today I Appreciate Time to Breathe
Almost two weeks have passed without an entry posted here. What that reflects is a combination of laziness, apathy, and - well - a certain degree of negativity.
It's ironic that the latter point is a reason for not writing, for not reflecting. After all, this blog is a way to help rid myself of those negative feelings and thoughts and emotions, right? This should be the time where I'm recording and thinking more. Yet I've been stagnant and I don't really have much of an excuse for it other than the fact that one car crash, one scare over an ex-boyfriend in the hospital, and a conglomeration of other depressed feelings later, I come away with no record of what I was thinking and feeling and what I found that could potentially make me feel better.
If you ask any college student how he or she is doing, the result is inevitably, 1. "tired" and/or 2. "busy." Hence, I hate saying that lately I've been "tired" and "busy" because I feel like that adheres to this cliche of someone who likes to claim: "I HAVE SO MANY MIDTERMS AND I GO TO SLEEP AT 2:00 AM AND WAKE UP AT 10:00 AM MY LIFE IS SO TERRIBLE."
Yet if you were to ask me how I've been doing, I'd probably give you one, if not both, of the above stereotyped responses. Typically, I'm content with the "busy" part of the equation and tend to prefer a day full of class and professor meetings and club meetings and tutoring because it keeps me active and excited about the one real reason I'm even at UCLA: to learn. That business must, of course, be tempered by relaxation time and I chronically find myself unable to really strike that balance without feeling either antsy and unproductive or completely overwhelmed. This, of course, is an entirely psychologically and easily remedied issue: do less stuff and come to realize that you DO need time to relax, to breathe, to live.
This "living" is not always easy for me. In fact, I find relaxing often more difficult than I do working because it allows me time to think about emotional concerns or worry about my future. Ultimately what helps me, I suppose (and I'm still trying to figure this out every day when my tongue isn't wagging out of my mouth), is to remind myself that all of my temporary problems, all of my concerns about what other people think about me, all of my concerns about how I spend my time, about who I spend my time with, will ultimately fade with moments of companionship and reassurance that yes, I guess I'm an OK kind of girl.
For example, I saw my parents this weekend. I saw a great elementary school friend this weekend. I spent time with my roommates. It's all going to be OK.
So, today, I appreciate the time to collect myself (thank goodness for Monday holidays), to reflect upon what I could do differently than I have done these past few weeks, and to remind myself - once more - that I am capable of balance and happiness and peace.
It's ironic that the latter point is a reason for not writing, for not reflecting. After all, this blog is a way to help rid myself of those negative feelings and thoughts and emotions, right? This should be the time where I'm recording and thinking more. Yet I've been stagnant and I don't really have much of an excuse for it other than the fact that one car crash, one scare over an ex-boyfriend in the hospital, and a conglomeration of other depressed feelings later, I come away with no record of what I was thinking and feeling and what I found that could potentially make me feel better.
If you ask any college student how he or she is doing, the result is inevitably, 1. "tired" and/or 2. "busy." Hence, I hate saying that lately I've been "tired" and "busy" because I feel like that adheres to this cliche of someone who likes to claim: "I HAVE SO MANY MIDTERMS AND I GO TO SLEEP AT 2:00 AM AND WAKE UP AT 10:00 AM MY LIFE IS SO TERRIBLE."
Yet if you were to ask me how I've been doing, I'd probably give you one, if not both, of the above stereotyped responses. Typically, I'm content with the "busy" part of the equation and tend to prefer a day full of class and professor meetings and club meetings and tutoring because it keeps me active and excited about the one real reason I'm even at UCLA: to learn. That business must, of course, be tempered by relaxation time and I chronically find myself unable to really strike that balance without feeling either antsy and unproductive or completely overwhelmed. This, of course, is an entirely psychologically and easily remedied issue: do less stuff and come to realize that you DO need time to relax, to breathe, to live.
This "living" is not always easy for me. In fact, I find relaxing often more difficult than I do working because it allows me time to think about emotional concerns or worry about my future. Ultimately what helps me, I suppose (and I'm still trying to figure this out every day when my tongue isn't wagging out of my mouth), is to remind myself that all of my temporary problems, all of my concerns about what other people think about me, all of my concerns about how I spend my time, about who I spend my time with, will ultimately fade with moments of companionship and reassurance that yes, I guess I'm an OK kind of girl.
For example, I saw my parents this weekend. I saw a great elementary school friend this weekend. I spent time with my roommates. It's all going to be OK.
So, today, I appreciate the time to collect myself (thank goodness for Monday holidays), to reflect upon what I could do differently than I have done these past few weeks, and to remind myself - once more - that I am capable of balance and happiness and peace.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Today I Appreciate "THAT'S SO RAVEN!"
No, I do not have a special affinity for the Disney Channel. In fact, I tend to rather adversely react to the idea of marketing and producing particularly attractive teens for general consumption. However, over a conversation with some wonderful literary journal staff members, we collectively decided that one particular Disney Channel phrase (and incidentally the name of a semi-successful program) should come back into every day vernacular:
"THAT'S SO RAVEN!"
OK, hear us out on this. My friend, Jeff, initially proposed the idea and I think it's an excellent one for several reasons:
1. Currently, no appropriate expression exists for expressing one's astonishment and excitement over a particular event, person, or circumstance that is shockingly out of the ordinary. Sure, we could say something like, "That's unbelievable!" or "I never would have expected that!" but we lack a modifier for what "that" truly is. To only describe "that" as "unbelievable" or "unexpected" seems rather shoddy and, frankly, rather dull. We need a new phrase to encompass our earth-shattered expectation! Hence, "raven." It rolls off the tongue. It's easy to say. It has a certain punch.
2. The word "raven" conjures mystery, intrigue, and excitement. Even if you're not a fan of Poe, you must admit that a raven seems like a rather looming, enchanted creatures. Sure, it may have some negative and creepy connotations, but it also evokes a mysticism that's heavy, a touch dark, and powerful. Sure, a unicorn or a narwhal edges at producing some feelings of magical wonderment and fulfillment, but not to the same extent as a raven: graceful, powerful, somehow all-knowing. Hence, when someone proclaims something to be "so raven!" one evokes a whole range of emotions and feelings about what a raven encompasses and how a certain event or person may, too, evoke the same sort of excitement and intrigue as the raven itself.
There are only a few hang-ups with trying to integrate this expression into our every day vernacular. First, listeners may immediately associate the expression with the unfortunate Disney channel show about a teen psychic. However, psychics also imply a sort of mysticism, too, even if psychics are more of a joke than anything else. This cultural connection could help better ease those into using the phrase, though, if they see that the adopted meaning of the expression maintains some relevancy to its source material.
Another potential problem is simply the fact that people may not immediately understand what one means upon proclaiming, "That's so raven!" After all, someone may assume that you simply diverged into a non sequiter about a defunct television show and everyone knows that that's not the way to maintain social fluidity. However, a few concise, articulate explanations (see the above list as potential source material) may clear up any potential confusion that may occur.
So, today, I appreciate the discussion of turning "That's so raven!" into an every day catch phrase because not only is it exciting to think about how we have the power to change our language, but it's also a rather fun and energizing process to simply create discussion with wonderful people about even the silliest of topics.
"THAT'S SO RAVEN!"
OK, hear us out on this. My friend, Jeff, initially proposed the idea and I think it's an excellent one for several reasons:
1. Currently, no appropriate expression exists for expressing one's astonishment and excitement over a particular event, person, or circumstance that is shockingly out of the ordinary. Sure, we could say something like, "That's unbelievable!" or "I never would have expected that!" but we lack a modifier for what "that" truly is. To only describe "that" as "unbelievable" or "unexpected" seems rather shoddy and, frankly, rather dull. We need a new phrase to encompass our earth-shattered expectation! Hence, "raven." It rolls off the tongue. It's easy to say. It has a certain punch.
2. The word "raven" conjures mystery, intrigue, and excitement. Even if you're not a fan of Poe, you must admit that a raven seems like a rather looming, enchanted creatures. Sure, it may have some negative and creepy connotations, but it also evokes a mysticism that's heavy, a touch dark, and powerful. Sure, a unicorn or a narwhal edges at producing some feelings of magical wonderment and fulfillment, but not to the same extent as a raven: graceful, powerful, somehow all-knowing. Hence, when someone proclaims something to be "so raven!" one evokes a whole range of emotions and feelings about what a raven encompasses and how a certain event or person may, too, evoke the same sort of excitement and intrigue as the raven itself.
There are only a few hang-ups with trying to integrate this expression into our every day vernacular. First, listeners may immediately associate the expression with the unfortunate Disney channel show about a teen psychic. However, psychics also imply a sort of mysticism, too, even if psychics are more of a joke than anything else. This cultural connection could help better ease those into using the phrase, though, if they see that the adopted meaning of the expression maintains some relevancy to its source material.
Another potential problem is simply the fact that people may not immediately understand what one means upon proclaiming, "That's so raven!" After all, someone may assume that you simply diverged into a non sequiter about a defunct television show and everyone knows that that's not the way to maintain social fluidity. However, a few concise, articulate explanations (see the above list as potential source material) may clear up any potential confusion that may occur.
So, today, I appreciate the discussion of turning "That's so raven!" into an every day catch phrase because not only is it exciting to think about how we have the power to change our language, but it's also a rather fun and energizing process to simply create discussion with wonderful people about even the silliest of topics.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Today I Appreciate Los Angeles Weather
Weather is never, ever something someone should take for granted. I'm probably not really one to talk, given the fact that I've lived in California my entire life and have never experienced living in terrible weather conditions, but the fact that it's sunshiny almost every day in L.A. will never cease to amaze and delight me.
In short, I'm blaming the weather for the fact that I haven't written the past four days? Five days? Eek. I'm lagging on this. Keep me motivated!
Anyway, it's not that I'm an "active" or "sporty" person, but rather I enjoy letting the sun soak all the way through me. I love it when my hair gets so hot, I can barely touch it without feeling like I just burnt my hand. I love it when I feel like the sun melts my chilly toes. Therefore, I've spent the past few days outside as much as possible, starting with Friday, where I sat reading a book outside for a few hours, then yesterday when I trekked through L.A.'s Runyan Canyon, and then today, walking to and from the library.
It's a cliche, but weather really is a mood lifter. As much as I enjoy the smell of rain, the peaceful soporific sensations one gets when the air is gray and cloudy, and the slower pace of a cold day, I'm more energized by brightness, by activity, and by the sense of movement that one feels on a sunny day. Some days, I just want to suck up the sun's rays through a needle and inject it through my blood stream, so I never feel at a loss for energy.
The only problem with sunshine is that while it initially energizes, it can also burn you out (no pun intended) quickly. For every day I've spent running around outside, I've finished the day completely exhausted, longing to return to bed. Alas, the sun is a merciless force (for better or for worse) and also cuts off my sleep before my body would ideally like, streaming through my windows early in the morning, beckoning me to recycle my energy all over again.
I'm not sure I would like it any other way, though. I appreciate the climate's desire to get me moving, to get me active, and to get me engaged. Otherwise, I know that I'd spend my days holed up in my room with a book, probably pretty content, but not quite as excited, not quite as ready to keep exploring and discovering more.
Again, weather affecting mood is a bit cliche and nothing terribly groundbreaking in my own personal reflection, but sometimes it's exactly what one needs to realize that every day truly is a new day and that minor setbacks can at least be temporarily dissipated with a good shot of fresh air and sunny skies in one's system.
In short, I'm blaming the weather for the fact that I haven't written the past four days? Five days? Eek. I'm lagging on this. Keep me motivated!
Anyway, it's not that I'm an "active" or "sporty" person, but rather I enjoy letting the sun soak all the way through me. I love it when my hair gets so hot, I can barely touch it without feeling like I just burnt my hand. I love it when I feel like the sun melts my chilly toes. Therefore, I've spent the past few days outside as much as possible, starting with Friday, where I sat reading a book outside for a few hours, then yesterday when I trekked through L.A.'s Runyan Canyon, and then today, walking to and from the library.
It's a cliche, but weather really is a mood lifter. As much as I enjoy the smell of rain, the peaceful soporific sensations one gets when the air is gray and cloudy, and the slower pace of a cold day, I'm more energized by brightness, by activity, and by the sense of movement that one feels on a sunny day. Some days, I just want to suck up the sun's rays through a needle and inject it through my blood stream, so I never feel at a loss for energy.
The only problem with sunshine is that while it initially energizes, it can also burn you out (no pun intended) quickly. For every day I've spent running around outside, I've finished the day completely exhausted, longing to return to bed. Alas, the sun is a merciless force (for better or for worse) and also cuts off my sleep before my body would ideally like, streaming through my windows early in the morning, beckoning me to recycle my energy all over again.
I'm not sure I would like it any other way, though. I appreciate the climate's desire to get me moving, to get me active, and to get me engaged. Otherwise, I know that I'd spend my days holed up in my room with a book, probably pretty content, but not quite as excited, not quite as ready to keep exploring and discovering more.
Again, weather affecting mood is a bit cliche and nothing terribly groundbreaking in my own personal reflection, but sometimes it's exactly what one needs to realize that every day truly is a new day and that minor setbacks can at least be temporarily dissipated with a good shot of fresh air and sunny skies in one's system.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Today I Appreciate the Following Quote I Heard in Class:
"Optimists are simply people who don't have all of the information."
This, apparently, was something a raving, homeless man told one of my classmates on a New York subway. My classmate cited this quote because she will be teaching a course on the psychology of happiness (interestingly enough, eh?) and used this quote on her syllabus. A lot of other people in the class really didn't understand the purpose of the quote.
"Isn't that quote counter-intuitive to the idea of happiness?"
"Doesn't it seem really negative to say that optimists are also dumb?"
Well, no. See, I happened to really enjoy and appreciate this quote because it raises an importance distinction between optimism and happiness, namely that optimism and happiness are not the same thing.
What I've come to discover through both this blog and just by living and coping and trying to understand how I'm feeling and who I am is that being happy is not necessarily exuding unending hope or joy. In fact, I'm happiest when I'm simply satisfied, content, and at peace. As a consequence of satisfaction or contentment or peace, I may feel momentarily giddy that I enjoyed a pleasant book or discussed a great piece of writing or had a really wonderful, long conversation with a friend or had a fun social interaction, but rather extended periods of engaging in stimulating thought and enjoying true, loyal friendships with thoughtful people.
I'd still say that I have long way to go towards total, complete happiness, but I can experience moments of optimism that can raise my mood and can contribute to achieving long-term satisfaction.
See, the thing is, I agree with the crazy, homeless man (I hope this doesn't speak volumes about my own mental state). I agree that unquestioning hopefulness towards the world and a perpetually bright spirit indicates a sort of daftness and an inability (or perhaps even unwillingness?) to examine that which is in front of you. Optimism can be blind to circumstances that are negative. Optimism implies, for me, a sort of non-judgmental stance on the world. I wouldn't say that criticism and judgment necessarily lead to happiness either, but in order to find contentment, distinguishing (and therefore judging) between what's important to you and what isn't, what fits into your set of values and what doesn't, seems absolutely vital.
I feel as though optimism, too, can often lead to a lot of unhappiness. While hope in the face of conflict/loss/depression can be uplifting, it can also eventually lead to a lot of disappointment. After all, there are moments in which you shouldn't be hopeful; that's called delusion. Not that one should strive towards wallowing in never-ending pain, but one should at least face and accept one's reality before finding ways to heal and overcome said reality.
I'm making it sound as though being an optimist is easy (it isn't) and I still strive towards optimism more than pessimism in my own life, but adopting optimism without judgment or thought seems, to me, a destructive approach and one that doesn't contribute towards achieving happiness.
It's funny to me that I feel as though I can logically understand these concepts and this psychology and yet still not wholly apply it to my own life. These reflections, these thoughts are coming from someone who some days still feels overwhelmed with emotion, who still tries to overcome anxiety, sadness, and loneliness, and who still indulgently dialogues with herself about how no one else understands the magnitude of her suffering and other such angst. I can distance myself from such feelings when I want to, but other times it feels all-consuming.
Ultimately, this struggle is part of being - well - human, but here I am still figuring out how I fit in on the spectrum of happy and healthy people. I'm getting there, aren't I?
This, apparently, was something a raving, homeless man told one of my classmates on a New York subway. My classmate cited this quote because she will be teaching a course on the psychology of happiness (interestingly enough, eh?) and used this quote on her syllabus. A lot of other people in the class really didn't understand the purpose of the quote.
"Isn't that quote counter-intuitive to the idea of happiness?"
"Doesn't it seem really negative to say that optimists are also dumb?"
Well, no. See, I happened to really enjoy and appreciate this quote because it raises an importance distinction between optimism and happiness, namely that optimism and happiness are not the same thing.
What I've come to discover through both this blog and just by living and coping and trying to understand how I'm feeling and who I am is that being happy is not necessarily exuding unending hope or joy. In fact, I'm happiest when I'm simply satisfied, content, and at peace. As a consequence of satisfaction or contentment or peace, I may feel momentarily giddy that I enjoyed a pleasant book or discussed a great piece of writing or had a really wonderful, long conversation with a friend or had a fun social interaction, but rather extended periods of engaging in stimulating thought and enjoying true, loyal friendships with thoughtful people.
I'd still say that I have long way to go towards total, complete happiness, but I can experience moments of optimism that can raise my mood and can contribute to achieving long-term satisfaction.
See, the thing is, I agree with the crazy, homeless man (I hope this doesn't speak volumes about my own mental state). I agree that unquestioning hopefulness towards the world and a perpetually bright spirit indicates a sort of daftness and an inability (or perhaps even unwillingness?) to examine that which is in front of you. Optimism can be blind to circumstances that are negative. Optimism implies, for me, a sort of non-judgmental stance on the world. I wouldn't say that criticism and judgment necessarily lead to happiness either, but in order to find contentment, distinguishing (and therefore judging) between what's important to you and what isn't, what fits into your set of values and what doesn't, seems absolutely vital.
I feel as though optimism, too, can often lead to a lot of unhappiness. While hope in the face of conflict/loss/depression can be uplifting, it can also eventually lead to a lot of disappointment. After all, there are moments in which you shouldn't be hopeful; that's called delusion. Not that one should strive towards wallowing in never-ending pain, but one should at least face and accept one's reality before finding ways to heal and overcome said reality.
I'm making it sound as though being an optimist is easy (it isn't) and I still strive towards optimism more than pessimism in my own life, but adopting optimism without judgment or thought seems, to me, a destructive approach and one that doesn't contribute towards achieving happiness.
It's funny to me that I feel as though I can logically understand these concepts and this psychology and yet still not wholly apply it to my own life. These reflections, these thoughts are coming from someone who some days still feels overwhelmed with emotion, who still tries to overcome anxiety, sadness, and loneliness, and who still indulgently dialogues with herself about how no one else understands the magnitude of her suffering and other such angst. I can distance myself from such feelings when I want to, but other times it feels all-consuming.
Ultimately, this struggle is part of being - well - human, but here I am still figuring out how I fit in on the spectrum of happy and healthy people. I'm getting there, aren't I?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Today I Appreciate My Coworker, With Whom I Stole Paper Cups For Tea
At my job, we have a coffee maker, a water heater, and tea bags, but alas, there are no cups. This lack of cups deems all of the aforementioned items completely useless, which is sad. Very sad.
I worked at the same place last year as a writing tutor and it seemed as though our snack bar was significantly more loaded up with cookies, crackers, chips, and other snacking items. Oh, and cups.
So, my coworker, Laila, and I decided it was about darned time we got some cups! With both of us working three hour shifts tonight, we decided caffeine would be an asset to actually, you know, helping us help students write.
Alas, grocery stores are not within easy walking distance from the tutoring center as we work up near the residence halls on campus. However, there's a quick-service cafe ("BruinCafe" otherwise known as "B Caf" to those cool enough to shorten it) right near the dorms that hosts a plethora of paper cups. Surely they'd be willing to give up a couple for the cause of tea?
In a break between sessions, Laila and I make our way down to B Caf (yes, I'm one of those cool enough people to abbreviate BruinCafe as such) and head straight towards the coffee section of the cafe because we figured, you know, coffee cups would be best for hot drinks. Laila bravely asks one of the baristas (is B Caf fancy enough to have baristas? A debatable point for later) for one of the cups, and...
"No. Sorry."
Laila and I look at each other.
"You can't just give us a cup for - um - water?" Laila asks.
The worker, strapped into an unfortuante apron and visor uniform shook her head again.
"No." That was it. Note that we were the only ones in the cafe at this point, staring at the stack of coffee cups waiting, just waiting, for delicious tea to fill them. No one was exactly clamboring for coffee at 6:30 PM, anyway.
We would not let this bureacracy-tied barista stop us from fulfilling our caffeinated dreams, however. Upon exiting, we saw stacks of paper Pepsi cups beside an unattended cash register. We look at each other again and nod. Perfect. Without saying a word, we follow out of B Caf and each swipe one cup from the top of the stack. Empty paper cups in hand, we giggle all the way back to the tutoring center about our stealthy accomplishment. True, we only stole about 5 cents' (if not less) worth of glass - er - plasticware from UCLA, but it still felt like a secret mission and accomplishment in which we could revel and savor the sweet taste of clever victory.
This post is not to endorse stealing, of course. In fact, stealing is bad. However, there's something that inherently bonds people together when they share a secret mission or goal together, even if it's for something as silly as some cups to make some tea.
The only sad part about this story is that the water heater at our tutoring center doesn't work. So, after all of that adventure, we found ourselves still tea-less in the end. However, the adventure was half the fun, anyway, and the conversation with all of the tutor-less coworkers kept us awake enough that the time at work flew by without any yawns or sleepiness.
I worked at the same place last year as a writing tutor and it seemed as though our snack bar was significantly more loaded up with cookies, crackers, chips, and other snacking items. Oh, and cups.
So, my coworker, Laila, and I decided it was about darned time we got some cups! With both of us working three hour shifts tonight, we decided caffeine would be an asset to actually, you know, helping us help students write.
Alas, grocery stores are not within easy walking distance from the tutoring center as we work up near the residence halls on campus. However, there's a quick-service cafe ("BruinCafe" otherwise known as "B Caf" to those cool enough to shorten it) right near the dorms that hosts a plethora of paper cups. Surely they'd be willing to give up a couple for the cause of tea?
In a break between sessions, Laila and I make our way down to B Caf (yes, I'm one of those cool enough people to abbreviate BruinCafe as such) and head straight towards the coffee section of the cafe because we figured, you know, coffee cups would be best for hot drinks. Laila bravely asks one of the baristas (is B Caf fancy enough to have baristas? A debatable point for later) for one of the cups, and...
"No. Sorry."
Laila and I look at each other.
"You can't just give us a cup for - um - water?" Laila asks.
The worker, strapped into an unfortuante apron and visor uniform shook her head again.
"No." That was it. Note that we were the only ones in the cafe at this point, staring at the stack of coffee cups waiting, just waiting, for delicious tea to fill them. No one was exactly clamboring for coffee at 6:30 PM, anyway.
We would not let this bureacracy-tied barista stop us from fulfilling our caffeinated dreams, however. Upon exiting, we saw stacks of paper Pepsi cups beside an unattended cash register. We look at each other again and nod. Perfect. Without saying a word, we follow out of B Caf and each swipe one cup from the top of the stack. Empty paper cups in hand, we giggle all the way back to the tutoring center about our stealthy accomplishment. True, we only stole about 5 cents' (if not less) worth of glass - er - plasticware from UCLA, but it still felt like a secret mission and accomplishment in which we could revel and savor the sweet taste of clever victory.
This post is not to endorse stealing, of course. In fact, stealing is bad. However, there's something that inherently bonds people together when they share a secret mission or goal together, even if it's for something as silly as some cups to make some tea.
The only sad part about this story is that the water heater at our tutoring center doesn't work. So, after all of that adventure, we found ourselves still tea-less in the end. However, the adventure was half the fun, anyway, and the conversation with all of the tutor-less coworkers kept us awake enough that the time at work flew by without any yawns or sleepiness.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Today I Appreciate Not for Tourists
I'm a sucker for novelty, as long as it's not something too dangerous, scary, or emotionally/physically exhausting. Therefore, a guidebook like Not for Tourists is perfect for people like me because I can seek out novelty in the L.A. area and flip through pages of tidy maps that tell me where to go without having to actually really go to any of these places.
That's not to say that I don't want to go to any of these places. Au contraire, I would go to all if I could, but one can only do so much and reading about fun places is half the fun of actually going, right?
See, I was prompted to flip through my NFT guide tonight in an attempt to formulate some late night plans. As a college student, I am supposed to act and find great adventures spontaneously, but that's not really my style. Spontaneity, in my opinion, typically does not emerge at the most convenient times, so relying on it to strike on a Saturday night and magically find something exciting to do seems like a bit of a crapshoot. Besides, I'm a planner in general. I make to-do lists every day. I e-mail party invitations. Yep, I'm that kid.
My age, unfortunately, prevents me from visiting some of Los Angeles's classier nightlife joints, but who knew that there was a restaurant on the Sunset Strip open late with a mechanical bull? Apparently, there are also several karoake joints that stay open until 6:00 A.M. and kitschy beach-themed diners. Cool, right? Imagine what kind of people frequent these places, what faces one could see, and what conversations one could overhear.
Restaurants and clubs are, after all, feature some of the most varied smattering of individuals. Probably not the finest individuals in Hollywood, but at least some characters that provide good stories and insights into - well - who we all are. There's a piece of us in every drunken twenty-something, every gaggle of giggling high schoolers, every forty-year-old couple. Plus, I constantly itch to escape from the college apartment party, the cloistered soirees on someone's mom's old couch with with indistinguishable movie noise coming from the TV.
So, thanks to Not for Tourists for letting me dream about the possibilities to explore and be an active young person in this huge, huge city.
That's not to say that I don't want to go to any of these places. Au contraire, I would go to all if I could, but one can only do so much and reading about fun places is half the fun of actually going, right?
See, I was prompted to flip through my NFT guide tonight in an attempt to formulate some late night plans. As a college student, I am supposed to act and find great adventures spontaneously, but that's not really my style. Spontaneity, in my opinion, typically does not emerge at the most convenient times, so relying on it to strike on a Saturday night and magically find something exciting to do seems like a bit of a crapshoot. Besides, I'm a planner in general. I make to-do lists every day. I e-mail party invitations. Yep, I'm that kid.
My age, unfortunately, prevents me from visiting some of Los Angeles's classier nightlife joints, but who knew that there was a restaurant on the Sunset Strip open late with a mechanical bull? Apparently, there are also several karoake joints that stay open until 6:00 A.M. and kitschy beach-themed diners. Cool, right? Imagine what kind of people frequent these places, what faces one could see, and what conversations one could overhear.
Restaurants and clubs are, after all, feature some of the most varied smattering of individuals. Probably not the finest individuals in Hollywood, but at least some characters that provide good stories and insights into - well - who we all are. There's a piece of us in every drunken twenty-something, every gaggle of giggling high schoolers, every forty-year-old couple. Plus, I constantly itch to escape from the college apartment party, the cloistered soirees on someone's mom's old couch with with indistinguishable movie noise coming from the TV.
So, thanks to Not for Tourists for letting me dream about the possibilities to explore and be an active young person in this huge, huge city.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Today I Appreciate the Girl Who Packed My Dozen Bagels
NOTE: "... Who Packed My Dozen Bagels" is not a sexually euphemistic expression. I realize it looks and sounds that way, but the Noah's Bagels' worker literally put a dozen bagels into a bag for me. Look how nicely I'm avoiding controversy right up front.
To be a true reform, culturally Jewish youth, one must be able to distinguish between a good bagel and a bad bagel. There are many qualifications for this distinction:
1. Bagels must be chewy. A piece of sliced bread from a Sara Lee loaf is not chewy. Your bagel, therefore, should not be the texture of a piece of Sara Lee white bread.
2. Bagels must not crumble. OK, so I know this is a confusing concept as bread crumbles, cookies crumble, cakes crumble, and other grain-like products crumble, but after you eat a bagel, you should not leave behind a single crumb. See textural qualifications above to clarify this non-crumbling characteristic.
3. Bagels should NOT contain blueberries or chocolate chips. I'm sorry if you like sweet bagels, but we simply must agree to disagree. I realize that at many popular bagel chains, these types of bagels are sold to the goyim sweet-toothed masses, but bagels are meant as a savory carrier for a.) cream cheese, b.) lox, or c.) butter.
4. Bagels should not include any of the following: asiago cheese, jalapeno, "pizza" Enough said.
5. Bagels should not be less than 200 calories. If you're on a diet, fine, I'll understand if you eat paper-thin 100-calorie pieces of crumble-bread, but a real bagel is thick and carb-filled.
With these set of stringent guidelines, I can never bring myself to purchase bagels at any old grocery store. The only bagel place that truly succeeds in fulfilling all of these qualifications is Noah's Bagels. Ironically, Noah's "New York Style" Bagels are not actually sold in New York, but I don't really care about its East Coast authenticity. All I really care about is how they taste, how chewy they are, how thick they are, and how many no-frills bagels I can get my hands on.
Anyway, the problem with me and purchasing bagels is that I tend to feel a little bamboozled by the variety of bagel options, in spite of my strict rules and guidelines. This means that picking out a dozen for bagging takes longer than it should for the average bagel purchaser.
I could tell the bagel bagger was confused with me. A sudden desire to switch from a sesame seed to a whole wheat bagel got her flustered and she immediately apologized, muttering that it was her first day. Typically, this annoys me, but today I felt sympathetic and remembered my own first experiences working retail, trying to figure out where different clothes were supposed to be hung on different racks. So, I told her not to worry, that she would be fine. She breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled and then said that she liked her job, really, but that she was just learning the ropes.
Her positivity was refreshing (in spite of dealing with a rather picky customer like me) and, heck, food service jobs really never are easy.
There was going to be a lot more written here, but the day passed by quickly.
As a small note, I also appreciate the couple at the restaurant I went to this evening that brought their own Ziploc tupperware containers to pack up their leftover food. Sure, it's a little kooky, but they're saving two stryofoam packages from hitting the landfills. So, thank you, geeky couple at the Mexican restaurant.
To be a true reform, culturally Jewish youth, one must be able to distinguish between a good bagel and a bad bagel. There are many qualifications for this distinction:
1. Bagels must be chewy. A piece of sliced bread from a Sara Lee loaf is not chewy. Your bagel, therefore, should not be the texture of a piece of Sara Lee white bread.
2. Bagels must not crumble. OK, so I know this is a confusing concept as bread crumbles, cookies crumble, cakes crumble, and other grain-like products crumble, but after you eat a bagel, you should not leave behind a single crumb. See textural qualifications above to clarify this non-crumbling characteristic.
3. Bagels should NOT contain blueberries or chocolate chips. I'm sorry if you like sweet bagels, but we simply must agree to disagree. I realize that at many popular bagel chains, these types of bagels are sold to the goyim sweet-toothed masses, but bagels are meant as a savory carrier for a.) cream cheese, b.) lox, or c.) butter.
4. Bagels should not include any of the following: asiago cheese, jalapeno, "pizza" Enough said.
5. Bagels should not be less than 200 calories. If you're on a diet, fine, I'll understand if you eat paper-thin 100-calorie pieces of crumble-bread, but a real bagel is thick and carb-filled.
With these set of stringent guidelines, I can never bring myself to purchase bagels at any old grocery store. The only bagel place that truly succeeds in fulfilling all of these qualifications is Noah's Bagels. Ironically, Noah's "New York Style" Bagels are not actually sold in New York, but I don't really care about its East Coast authenticity. All I really care about is how they taste, how chewy they are, how thick they are, and how many no-frills bagels I can get my hands on.
Anyway, the problem with me and purchasing bagels is that I tend to feel a little bamboozled by the variety of bagel options, in spite of my strict rules and guidelines. This means that picking out a dozen for bagging takes longer than it should for the average bagel purchaser.
I could tell the bagel bagger was confused with me. A sudden desire to switch from a sesame seed to a whole wheat bagel got her flustered and she immediately apologized, muttering that it was her first day. Typically, this annoys me, but today I felt sympathetic and remembered my own first experiences working retail, trying to figure out where different clothes were supposed to be hung on different racks. So, I told her not to worry, that she would be fine. She breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled and then said that she liked her job, really, but that she was just learning the ropes.
Her positivity was refreshing (in spite of dealing with a rather picky customer like me) and, heck, food service jobs really never are easy.
There was going to be a lot more written here, but the day passed by quickly.
As a small note, I also appreciate the couple at the restaurant I went to this evening that brought their own Ziploc tupperware containers to pack up their leftover food. Sure, it's a little kooky, but they're saving two stryofoam packages from hitting the landfills. So, thank you, geeky couple at the Mexican restaurant.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Today I Appreciate the Receptionist at Work
This was a bad day.
Consistently on the verge of weeping/crying (depending on the severity of what little thing bothered me), I'm exhausted. Walking felt strangely automatic today, as if my feet were working for me and I had little control over where they shuffled me. My head felt light, detached from my body, trapped in its own hazy state separate from every other part of me. Everything was - still is - bizarrely muted. Ironically, this distance from everything around me triggered this instinct, this desire to flee. Anything would have been better than that distance I felt, that complete and utter isolation from everything around. Nothing felt close and real and nobody could hug me or kiss me or rub my back and assure me that it was going to be OK.
So I cried in a crowd, too, and it had to be one of the worst feelings, watching everyone pass me content or bored with their own lives when I felt like I was simply drowning in mine.
The receptionist at work noticed, though. I'm a writing tutor and no students signed up to work with me today, so I worked on homework and perused Facebook when I lost focus. I saw our receptionist out of the corner of my eye; he sat down next to me and just asked me:
"Hey, are you OK?"
And that was the only thing I needed to hear. I told him honestly ("no"), but he didn't pry, he didn't try to get at any gossip or emotional trauma. Instead, he just said he hoped I felt better, but not in a passing way. It felt genuine.
So, thank you, Covel Receptionist, for noticing me.
Consistently on the verge of weeping/crying (depending on the severity of what little thing bothered me), I'm exhausted. Walking felt strangely automatic today, as if my feet were working for me and I had little control over where they shuffled me. My head felt light, detached from my body, trapped in its own hazy state separate from every other part of me. Everything was - still is - bizarrely muted. Ironically, this distance from everything around me triggered this instinct, this desire to flee. Anything would have been better than that distance I felt, that complete and utter isolation from everything around. Nothing felt close and real and nobody could hug me or kiss me or rub my back and assure me that it was going to be OK.
So I cried in a crowd, too, and it had to be one of the worst feelings, watching everyone pass me content or bored with their own lives when I felt like I was simply drowning in mine.
The receptionist at work noticed, though. I'm a writing tutor and no students signed up to work with me today, so I worked on homework and perused Facebook when I lost focus. I saw our receptionist out of the corner of my eye; he sat down next to me and just asked me:
"Hey, are you OK?"
And that was the only thing I needed to hear. I told him honestly ("no"), but he didn't pry, he didn't try to get at any gossip or emotional trauma. Instead, he just said he hoped I felt better, but not in a passing way. It felt genuine.
So, thank you, Covel Receptionist, for noticing me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)