I express myself like a seven year old. Lots and lots of explanation and categorization.
I figured several things out on my own today. That was a good feeling. I like small accomplishments. Another aspect of myself that is very much like a seven year old.
It was very windy today and I almost blew away. This is barely hyperbole.
Thank God for wine bottles that don’t have that little indent on the bottom, so that there really is as much wine left in the bottle as you think there is. Aka, thank God for cheap wine. Really. I do. It may be one of my more frequent prayers.
I have this plan. And I don’t want to jinx it. Because its one hell of a long shot. But I want it. So I’m trying.
The funny thing about getting older is that as time goes by, you have to quit dreaming about the future. You only have a limited number of years in which you can make plans. Then, eventually, it just was what it was. Someday I won’t be able to say, “Someday I’ll go back to China.” Someday I won’t be able to say “Someday I’ll go to grad school in Edinburgh.” Someday I won’t be able to say “Someday I’ll learn the noseflute.” In fact, most people will never say that. Maybe part of me can’t get used to the idea of having to stop dreaming and start doing. But if you stop before doing, then what was the point of the dream?
Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows.
And I think to myself/Its a beautiful night
And I know everything is going to be alright
It’s still raining. I’m not surprised.
I am going to grow my hair out really long.
To that disgusting Boho hippie length. All messy curly and braidy.
And then I will cut it short again.
I lose perspective so frequently.
These days its felt like every day is the Tornado at Adventureland. I’m okay. Then I’m not. And I get by with a little help from my friends. For those of you who pray for me, check in on me, stand by me, and love me. I’m grateful. And I’m learning to follow Kierkegaard in valuing and accepting my inherent need.
So when I lose focus remind me. I’m saying this to myself as well. I’m learning that I need myself as well.
Because we’re all connected. Not one of us is an island.
I might be struggling with school and grades and value. I might be frustrated by cold weather or my broken nail (don’t judge). But there is a well that needs to be built. And I can do something about that. (So can you. We need $$$). There is a person that needs to be believed in, even if that for today is just myself. There are children without parents or homes. And I can do something about that. There are adults without homes and without hope. And I can do something about that. There are books that need to be read and music that needs to be heard and sunsets that need to be appreciated. And I can do something about that.
Life is now. And now isn’t Pollyanna. Its not cynical either. Its not apathetic, angry, or enthusiastic. It just is.
If I could be any animal, I’d be a chameleon. Preferably the one from Tangled.
Life is delicate.
True love says to everything that is near, “I will take good care of you.”
A little bit pathetic, a little bit unsure.
At least let me take my shoes off before you measure me. I’d like this to be accurate.
I thought about buying a wallet today. Because it has owls on it, and I love owls. And because it was flat and I love flat (plus it would match my owl coin purse from my bestie, juliesnack). And because it wasn’t corporate. And I get bored with corporate.
But I decided not too. Because I remembered how much I like to buy things from Worldly Goods. And while the economics of fair trade might be questionable, the intent isn’t. And I always love the bags/wallets from Worldly Goods. Never kitschy.
So I didn’t buy any of the wallets at Moxie today. But I did buy a wedding present for a good friend. And I’m going back tomorrow for another. And for a vintage owl rug. What. Grad school is stressful. I get by however I can.
I feel an inane urge to pull out my GPAs from over the years, my ACT scores, hell, even my GREs. I’d like to pull out letters of reference and old papers and tests. Anything that can be used to re-establish the fact in my mind that, yes, I really was smart once. I’m not making this up. I’m not delusional, vain, or misguided. I really was smart. I think I still am? I read books. I type quickly. I am one hell of a public speaker.
And yet…I can’t seem to to get my feet underneath me here in grad school. I know the program is far from a perfect fit from me. I know its a huge adjustment to this field from what I have previously studied. I know this isn’t what I intend to do for any longer than 2 years. But really…I didn’t think I’d have this much trouble at least getting by. I figured I wouldn’t be passionate about Public Admin. I figured it’d be less than stimulating or mentally satisfying. But I’m getting Cs. The best grade I’ve gotten so far is a B-. I don’t do that. I don’t effing do that.
Sure, I’m not out of luck. I can re-write (and have re-written) a lot of these papers/quizzes. There is some extra credit I can do. But I’ve been here two months and I’m still not getting the hang of this. This program was supposed to be me fighting the corporate boredom and being careful to not slack because I don’t like it and get Bs rather than As. It wasn’t supposed to be me fighting panic every time a professor starts to hand back an assignment.
I’m not even good at my job. I’m in a boys’ club of engineers and inspectors and planners. I’m doing the best I can and trying to constantly increase my knowledge base and at least be efficient if I can’t be anything else. But this school has me insecure. I’m just below average here.
The past two months have heard me continually telling myself “I can do this. I’ll figure it out. I can do this.” But I’m not doing it. I’m not figuring it out. I’m bad at this. And being bad at school is unthinkable. Its not me. I have no idea what I’ll do if my “I can do this” breaks down.
I will be sad to see the Canadian geese go.
They are one tie tenuously linking me to the natural, the seemingly ephemeral, the cyclical.
Winter inevitably follows fall and I’m not sure if this landscape will support them.
I can’t say…this could be South to them.
It’s cold and frozen North to me.
Should I ask them to stay? It seems I can only ask them to return and welcome me back into the cycle of the surreal.
These cold metal buildings seem more lasting. They stay through the winter. I drive and vote and pay my taxes, I’m as settled as a 22 year old can be. And yet, I think the geese will outlast both me and the buildings. I expect they’ll come back one spring to find that we are gone.
After all, much more time went into the design of this foundation we build upon. Even the caterpillars are intricate.
Maybe I shouldn’t ask the geese to stay. Maybe I should ask them to take me along.