To everyone who's ever been here.
The last glimmer of light was swallowed up by the earth as the sun set behind the rocky peaks that cast daunting shadows on her path. It was in this place that she wrapped a blanket of disappointment around her broken body and laid her head on a pillow of sorrow. There was no comfort to be discovered, and yet in some distorted way, there was solace in the familiarity of her pain. It had become a part of her, a seed that had sprouted and spread its pollen into every cell. At least it was hers, and no one could rob her of it like they had of everything else she once possessed and believed in.
A dainty rusted mirror with intricate floral designs revealed a reflection she cared not to partake of. Eyes once bluer than the bluest sky reflected in a still pond now spoke the language of dull gray clouds on a winter day. The vibrant color that once adorned her cheeks had faded into a muted tone reserved for the dead. She might have been dead. Some days she actually believed she was.
The well that was once bubbling over in her soul had been ravaged by a drought that left her cracked and dry. The budding flowers had withered into dust. And yet, the constant ache in her heart reminded her that she was still alive. Each night, her eyes were tightly sealed by a cascading flood of salty tears that carried her dreams down a river that flowed into the open sea. The doubts haunted her dreams like demons waiting to devour.
When the sun rose each morning, the droplets of water-the vessels which carried her hopes and dreams-evaporated into the air and were soon forgotten by the noon sun, which governed the day and offered no hint of shade for a weary soul. Forgotten. Her limbs responded in defiance, the blood ceasing to flow in their veins. She climbed to the top of a mountain by willpower alone and claimed her final resting place.
As she inhaled what would be her final breath, the heavens opened and a light mist showered her body. Skin, blood, bones, heart began to come alive. The well, no longer empty, watered her soul where hope had once been. It would be again.
At least there is hope for a tree: If it is cut down, it will sprout again, and its new shoots will not fail. Its roots may grown old in the ground and its stump die in the soil, yet at the scent of water it will bud and put forth shoots like a plant. Job 14:7-9.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Sunday, November 23, 2014
When a guy from Kashmir invites you to coffee
If you ever get asked to have coffee with a guy from Kashmir and you consider saying yes because he seems nice and you wouldn't mind some human interaction, you should probably reconsider. If you do say yes, there's a chance the following will occur:
He may suggest dinner instead of coffee the day before you plan to go, and then proceed to send you a list of restaurants to choose from.
When you tell your friends about the upcoming outing, they may joke about the fact that he's looking for a wife and is probably planning to propose during dinner by presenting you with an armful of gold bangles and a goat.
When you tell your mom about it, she may respond by warning you to be careful because men from Kashmir have a reputation for kidnapping women.
You may role your eyes and laugh.
When you tell him that you'll meet him at the restaurant, he may insist on picking you up from your place. When he does--contrary to your belief that he will take public transportation to pick you up and that you will take public transportation together to the restaurant--he may pick you up in a private vehicle driven by his personal driver.
When this happens, you may feel uncomfortable and think that your decision to have coffee was a big mistake.
When you arrive at the restaurant, he may take control of ordering and decide that you will share whatever appetizers and main courses that you order.
You may be ok with this, since sharing means more food tasting for you, but also annoyed since you're an independent woman (thanks to Destiny's Child) and like to order on your own.
Dinner conversation may be extremely awkward and forced, and he may try several times to convince you to move to the Middle East because of all the job opportunities there. He may also suggest that you see each other every week until your academic program ends and tell you which restaurant you will go to next time.
When you tell him that you're very busy and are going to London later in the week to meet a friend, he may inform you that he's also going to London later in the week and that he would be more than happy to put you up in a hotel.
You may consider it for a millisecond before reclaiming your senses and telling him thanks, but no thanks.
He may thank you profusely for having dinner with him and tell you that this is the best weekend he's had in Manchester since he arrived. You may feel slightly guilty, since the feelings are in no way reciprocated.
His driver may be 45 minutes late picking you up, prolonging the awkward conversation.
On the way home, the driver may take a route you are unfamiliar with, raising your levels of anxiety and ringing alarms about your mom's previous kidnapping warning.
When you finally get dropped off, you may be super relieved, grateful that you walked away without any gold bangles, and determined not to say yes to coffee with a guy from Kashmir again. At least not that one.
He may suggest dinner instead of coffee the day before you plan to go, and then proceed to send you a list of restaurants to choose from.
When you tell your friends about the upcoming outing, they may joke about the fact that he's looking for a wife and is probably planning to propose during dinner by presenting you with an armful of gold bangles and a goat.
When you tell your mom about it, she may respond by warning you to be careful because men from Kashmir have a reputation for kidnapping women.
You may role your eyes and laugh.
When you tell him that you'll meet him at the restaurant, he may insist on picking you up from your place. When he does--contrary to your belief that he will take public transportation to pick you up and that you will take public transportation together to the restaurant--he may pick you up in a private vehicle driven by his personal driver.
When this happens, you may feel uncomfortable and think that your decision to have coffee was a big mistake.
When you arrive at the restaurant, he may take control of ordering and decide that you will share whatever appetizers and main courses that you order.
You may be ok with this, since sharing means more food tasting for you, but also annoyed since you're an independent woman (thanks to Destiny's Child) and like to order on your own.
Dinner conversation may be extremely awkward and forced, and he may try several times to convince you to move to the Middle East because of all the job opportunities there. He may also suggest that you see each other every week until your academic program ends and tell you which restaurant you will go to next time.
When you tell him that you're very busy and are going to London later in the week to meet a friend, he may inform you that he's also going to London later in the week and that he would be more than happy to put you up in a hotel.
You may consider it for a millisecond before reclaiming your senses and telling him thanks, but no thanks.
He may thank you profusely for having dinner with him and tell you that this is the best weekend he's had in Manchester since he arrived. You may feel slightly guilty, since the feelings are in no way reciprocated.
His driver may be 45 minutes late picking you up, prolonging the awkward conversation.
On the way home, the driver may take a route you are unfamiliar with, raising your levels of anxiety and ringing alarms about your mom's previous kidnapping warning.
When you finally get dropped off, you may be super relieved, grateful that you walked away without any gold bangles, and determined not to say yes to coffee with a guy from Kashmir again. At least not that one.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Some Thoughts on Capital Punishment
This blog has a more serious tone than most of what I write, but the topic has been on my mind as of late so I'd like to share. I'm in Oklahoma as I write this, and a major Oklahoma news story this week is about a "botched execution." The lethal drugs used to execute a man convicted of murder were apparently inserted with a faulty IV several months ago, and the drugs took much longer to kill him than they were supposed to. The execution was halted 30 minutes after it started, and the convict/human being finally died after writhing and groaning for 45 minutes. He should have been dead after 10. A report on the incident concluded that there was "no formal training process involving the paramedic, the physician, or the executioners and their specific roles." Interesting.
I know that some of you reading this are pro-capital punishment and may even feel some sense of appreciation for the fact that he experienced pain as he died. He took another life, so it is only fair that his life was taken. Others will be appalled that we practice capital punishment in the United States. I sat on the fence for many years, unsure of my moral convictions regarding the matter. I'm no longer on the fence about it, but I won't share my stance with you here. What I'd like to share instead is an essay written by my great great great grandfather, Edmund G. Ross. He was an 1800s politician, abolitionist, journalist, and soldier who cast the deciding vote to keep President Andrew Johnson in office. I'll save that story for another day. The focus here is on an essay on capital punishment that he wrote when he was in high school. His argument offended some of the faculty at his school so much that they threatened to expel him if he continued to compose essays of this nature. In response to their threats, he dropped out of high school and had his paper published in a local newspaper in 1845. That's my kind of guy.
Here it is. I encourage you to read it with an open mind.
As the question of capital punishment is exciting considerable interest in our country, I propose on this occasion to review some of the arguments which have been advanced in substantiation of its practicability, and also advance some few considerations in favor of its abolition. I know it is argued by some that this punishment is necessary in order to prevent the commission of lawless characters who, it is contended, can be restrained by no other means--and some have even gone so far as to declare that the abolition of this penalty would be at once a virtual abolition of all law and government. But if this be the case, if this punishment processes the virtue of preventing crime, as is here alleged, then it follows, necessarily, that the more extensively it is exercised, the better it will be for the community; that it should be inflicted for all crimes as well as that of murder. But that it has not this effect has been fully demonstrated. In Belgium, Tuscany, Russia, and England, in the old world, and in the state of Vermont, in the new, where it has been either partially or totally abolished, the result has been the actual diminution of crime, as shown by the criminal statistics of those countries.
It may be laid down as an axiom that certainty of punishment is a surer preventive of crime than its severity; and as it is a well-known fact that there is a great and growing reluctance on the part of juries to convict one of murder so long as the penalty is death, it follows, necessarily, that under this code the punishment of crime is at least uncertain.
The frequent accounts which we have of the execution of innocent men, charged with murder, and convicted and sentenced upon false testimony, is of itself, I think, sufficient evidence that the repeal of this iniquitous institution should be demanded by every benevolent feeling of the human heart. But it is said, in answer to this, the innocent may still suffer if imprisonment should be substituted. Although this would undoubtedly be the case, to some extent, one thing is here forgotten; that is, that the accused person is deprived of nothing but his liberty, which can be easily restored when proved innocent.
Another argument in favor of its repeal, and one which should have great weight with every mind that reveres the doctrines of pure and undefiled religion, is that it teach, by example, the most faithful of all modes of teaching, the wicked principle of revenge: of taking an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth in opposition to the teaching of him who bade his disciples that they "resist not evil--but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also." It seeks to repair an injury done to society by committing another of the same stamp; and it is calculated to lessen, in the minds of its upholders, the sacredness of human life.
It is probably admitted by all, that the paramount objects of lethal punishment should be the reformation of the offender and the protection of society. And how are these to be accomplished? Is it by condemning the criminal as an enemy to his race and unworthy of the enjoyment of society of men, and even life, and for that reason casting him out of the world? Certainly not. For that would be but aggravating the evil; as it would be placing the offender beyond all further influences, both good and evil, so far as this world is concerned and that it fails in the second mentioned object, is proved by the decrease of crime in those countries in which the death penalty has been abolished. And not only this, but it deprives society of the benefits, which it cannot be denied would, in many cases, result from the exercise of mercy and forbearance towards the criminal.
But there is another consideration, which, with me, had more weight than anything else. I contend that man has no right to deprive a fellow human being of that life which he gave not, and which he cannot restore, or to inflict upon him any pain whatever, as punishment merely; and for this reason, that he is incapable of exercising that strict and equal justice which the punishment of crime requires. If the rights of society are invaded, what more can be reasonable than to be defended from further depredations of the offending member, by placing him in such a situation and under such influences as are calculated to secure his reformation and restoration to virtue? I ask which best comports with the dictates of reason and benevolence? Which most strongly commends itself to the sympathies of the human heart--this method, or the rigorous and cruel one now pursued? but it is argued in opposition, that this penalty must be executed, or our Maker disobeyed. The language of the Apostle is quoted--"The powers that be are ordained of God." Hence, it is argued, we must be obedient unto those powers, or incur the Divine displeasure. But it is only necessary to observe, in answer to this, that the same argument might have been urged with equal propriety and with equal force in favor of the continuance of the Mosaic dispensation, or the Roman Church in its balmiest days, or any other state of things which has ever existed. But says one, would you inflict no punishment?--would you allow the vile murderer to go "unwhipt of justice?" In the infliction of pain for the purpose of causing suffering on the part of the criminal, is here meant by punishment? I answer, I would; for what is the effect of such course, but to aggravate the evil? As it is well-known by everyone who has any knowledge of human nature, that it is calculated rather to confirm the transgressor in his ways than otherwise.
And again, I would ask if those penalties attached to the physical and moral laws which the Governor of the Universe has established, are not enough so far as the abstract matter of punishment is concerned.
I am aware that this is an unpopular sentiment--that theologians and statesmen have combined in denouncing it--but I ask, is it not in accordance with the express declarations of sacred writ, that 'God is a God that judgeth in the earth," that he and the righteous are recompensed in the earth, much more than the wicked and the sinner; and also in accordance with the well-known fact that pain, physical and mental, is the necessary result of disobedience to the laws which govern our existence.
It is proposed by many of the opposers of this institution that solitary confinement for life be substituted; but this, it appears to me, would be little of any improvement, as the result would be nearly the same as the immediate infliction of death.
The criminal, although he might become a reformed man, could still be of no further use either to himself or to the world, and thus life itself would be rendered a curse to him; and by an experiment made in the state prison of New York in the year 1821, in the solitary confinement of 80 criminals, it is proved that this mode of punishment has a strong tendency to produce insanity, and is also destructive of life, so that the crime of murder would still rest upon society, as much in one case as the other, as it matters not whether you kill a man suddenly or by inches; it is alike murder in both cases.
But what appears to me to be truly astonishing is that the advocates of this institution have attempted to sustain it by arguments drawn by the sacred Scriptures. The words "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed," are quoted. Now by the same mode of reasoning, it may be proved equally conclusive that it is a violation of God's law to take the life or eat the flesh of any animal, as it is written, in immediate connection with the verse already quoted. "But flesh with the life thereof, which is the blood thereof, shall not eat." Now, in order to be consistent, those who attempt to sustain capital punishment by Scripture arguments must, it appears to me, refrain from the use of animal food. But this they do not do: esteeming their appetites, it would seem, paramount in authority to the Bible command.
But it is argued, on the other hand, that this command "Whoso sheddeth man's blood," etc., was in force before the Jews had a national existence, and was not, therefore, peculiar to that dispensation but merely incorporated into it. But this does not alter the case; for it cannot be denied that it did constitute a part of the Mosaic law, and as it was not recognized by Christ as the introduction of the new, or Christian dispensation, it cannot be made obligatory upon us.
It is contended, again, that, as man was created in the image of his Maker, the murder of him, by his fellow man, is the most heinous of all crimes and demands, consequently, the severest penalty which can be inflicted. But the same argument, if it has any weight, might be urged with equal propriety and with equal force in favor of the execution of every hangman in the land.
It may not perhaps be generally known that in some parts of our country, this punishment is more extensively exercised than in others. In the state of South Carolina, for instance, the crime of theft, however paltry the sum purloined, is punishable with death. In the District of Columbia, also, the crime of arson, unless a reformation has been effected within four or five years, when committed by a person whom God, in his wisdom, has seen proper to clothe with a sable skin, and whom man, in his wickedness, has deprived of his natural rights and compelled to ignominious servitude, is punished by the beheading of the offender. And as if this were not enough, as if the lifeless form could still be made to feel the effects of that savage, brutal, and disgusting spirit which delights in the misery of its victims, he is quartered and placed in the most public parts of the district. This too, in a territory under the immediate supervision of what has been frequently and boastingly termed the most free and enlightened government on earth. But this is not to be wondered. It is but one of the legitimate effects of that spirit which prompts the legal murder of our erring brethren; and may the time soon come when this relic of barbarity shall lease to disgrace our statutes.
I was pretty floored that a high school student wrote this. The article was published in the Sandusky Mirror, and a copy of the article is included in the biography, Edmund G. Ross: A Man of Courage, written by my great uncle, Arthur Harrington. I hope it gives you something to ponder.
I know that some of you reading this are pro-capital punishment and may even feel some sense of appreciation for the fact that he experienced pain as he died. He took another life, so it is only fair that his life was taken. Others will be appalled that we practice capital punishment in the United States. I sat on the fence for many years, unsure of my moral convictions regarding the matter. I'm no longer on the fence about it, but I won't share my stance with you here. What I'd like to share instead is an essay written by my great great great grandfather, Edmund G. Ross. He was an 1800s politician, abolitionist, journalist, and soldier who cast the deciding vote to keep President Andrew Johnson in office. I'll save that story for another day. The focus here is on an essay on capital punishment that he wrote when he was in high school. His argument offended some of the faculty at his school so much that they threatened to expel him if he continued to compose essays of this nature. In response to their threats, he dropped out of high school and had his paper published in a local newspaper in 1845. That's my kind of guy.
Here it is. I encourage you to read it with an open mind.
As the question of capital punishment is exciting considerable interest in our country, I propose on this occasion to review some of the arguments which have been advanced in substantiation of its practicability, and also advance some few considerations in favor of its abolition. I know it is argued by some that this punishment is necessary in order to prevent the commission of lawless characters who, it is contended, can be restrained by no other means--and some have even gone so far as to declare that the abolition of this penalty would be at once a virtual abolition of all law and government. But if this be the case, if this punishment processes the virtue of preventing crime, as is here alleged, then it follows, necessarily, that the more extensively it is exercised, the better it will be for the community; that it should be inflicted for all crimes as well as that of murder. But that it has not this effect has been fully demonstrated. In Belgium, Tuscany, Russia, and England, in the old world, and in the state of Vermont, in the new, where it has been either partially or totally abolished, the result has been the actual diminution of crime, as shown by the criminal statistics of those countries.
It may be laid down as an axiom that certainty of punishment is a surer preventive of crime than its severity; and as it is a well-known fact that there is a great and growing reluctance on the part of juries to convict one of murder so long as the penalty is death, it follows, necessarily, that under this code the punishment of crime is at least uncertain.
The frequent accounts which we have of the execution of innocent men, charged with murder, and convicted and sentenced upon false testimony, is of itself, I think, sufficient evidence that the repeal of this iniquitous institution should be demanded by every benevolent feeling of the human heart. But it is said, in answer to this, the innocent may still suffer if imprisonment should be substituted. Although this would undoubtedly be the case, to some extent, one thing is here forgotten; that is, that the accused person is deprived of nothing but his liberty, which can be easily restored when proved innocent.
Another argument in favor of its repeal, and one which should have great weight with every mind that reveres the doctrines of pure and undefiled religion, is that it teach, by example, the most faithful of all modes of teaching, the wicked principle of revenge: of taking an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth in opposition to the teaching of him who bade his disciples that they "resist not evil--but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also." It seeks to repair an injury done to society by committing another of the same stamp; and it is calculated to lessen, in the minds of its upholders, the sacredness of human life.
It is probably admitted by all, that the paramount objects of lethal punishment should be the reformation of the offender and the protection of society. And how are these to be accomplished? Is it by condemning the criminal as an enemy to his race and unworthy of the enjoyment of society of men, and even life, and for that reason casting him out of the world? Certainly not. For that would be but aggravating the evil; as it would be placing the offender beyond all further influences, both good and evil, so far as this world is concerned and that it fails in the second mentioned object, is proved by the decrease of crime in those countries in which the death penalty has been abolished. And not only this, but it deprives society of the benefits, which it cannot be denied would, in many cases, result from the exercise of mercy and forbearance towards the criminal.
But there is another consideration, which, with me, had more weight than anything else. I contend that man has no right to deprive a fellow human being of that life which he gave not, and which he cannot restore, or to inflict upon him any pain whatever, as punishment merely; and for this reason, that he is incapable of exercising that strict and equal justice which the punishment of crime requires. If the rights of society are invaded, what more can be reasonable than to be defended from further depredations of the offending member, by placing him in such a situation and under such influences as are calculated to secure his reformation and restoration to virtue? I ask which best comports with the dictates of reason and benevolence? Which most strongly commends itself to the sympathies of the human heart--this method, or the rigorous and cruel one now pursued? but it is argued in opposition, that this penalty must be executed, or our Maker disobeyed. The language of the Apostle is quoted--"The powers that be are ordained of God." Hence, it is argued, we must be obedient unto those powers, or incur the Divine displeasure. But it is only necessary to observe, in answer to this, that the same argument might have been urged with equal propriety and with equal force in favor of the continuance of the Mosaic dispensation, or the Roman Church in its balmiest days, or any other state of things which has ever existed. But says one, would you inflict no punishment?--would you allow the vile murderer to go "unwhipt of justice?" In the infliction of pain for the purpose of causing suffering on the part of the criminal, is here meant by punishment? I answer, I would; for what is the effect of such course, but to aggravate the evil? As it is well-known by everyone who has any knowledge of human nature, that it is calculated rather to confirm the transgressor in his ways than otherwise.
And again, I would ask if those penalties attached to the physical and moral laws which the Governor of the Universe has established, are not enough so far as the abstract matter of punishment is concerned.
I am aware that this is an unpopular sentiment--that theologians and statesmen have combined in denouncing it--but I ask, is it not in accordance with the express declarations of sacred writ, that 'God is a God that judgeth in the earth," that he and the righteous are recompensed in the earth, much more than the wicked and the sinner; and also in accordance with the well-known fact that pain, physical and mental, is the necessary result of disobedience to the laws which govern our existence.
It is proposed by many of the opposers of this institution that solitary confinement for life be substituted; but this, it appears to me, would be little of any improvement, as the result would be nearly the same as the immediate infliction of death.
The criminal, although he might become a reformed man, could still be of no further use either to himself or to the world, and thus life itself would be rendered a curse to him; and by an experiment made in the state prison of New York in the year 1821, in the solitary confinement of 80 criminals, it is proved that this mode of punishment has a strong tendency to produce insanity, and is also destructive of life, so that the crime of murder would still rest upon society, as much in one case as the other, as it matters not whether you kill a man suddenly or by inches; it is alike murder in both cases.
But what appears to me to be truly astonishing is that the advocates of this institution have attempted to sustain it by arguments drawn by the sacred Scriptures. The words "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed," are quoted. Now by the same mode of reasoning, it may be proved equally conclusive that it is a violation of God's law to take the life or eat the flesh of any animal, as it is written, in immediate connection with the verse already quoted. "But flesh with the life thereof, which is the blood thereof, shall not eat." Now, in order to be consistent, those who attempt to sustain capital punishment by Scripture arguments must, it appears to me, refrain from the use of animal food. But this they do not do: esteeming their appetites, it would seem, paramount in authority to the Bible command.
But it is argued, on the other hand, that this command "Whoso sheddeth man's blood," etc., was in force before the Jews had a national existence, and was not, therefore, peculiar to that dispensation but merely incorporated into it. But this does not alter the case; for it cannot be denied that it did constitute a part of the Mosaic law, and as it was not recognized by Christ as the introduction of the new, or Christian dispensation, it cannot be made obligatory upon us.
It is contended, again, that, as man was created in the image of his Maker, the murder of him, by his fellow man, is the most heinous of all crimes and demands, consequently, the severest penalty which can be inflicted. But the same argument, if it has any weight, might be urged with equal propriety and with equal force in favor of the execution of every hangman in the land.
It may not perhaps be generally known that in some parts of our country, this punishment is more extensively exercised than in others. In the state of South Carolina, for instance, the crime of theft, however paltry the sum purloined, is punishable with death. In the District of Columbia, also, the crime of arson, unless a reformation has been effected within four or five years, when committed by a person whom God, in his wisdom, has seen proper to clothe with a sable skin, and whom man, in his wickedness, has deprived of his natural rights and compelled to ignominious servitude, is punished by the beheading of the offender. And as if this were not enough, as if the lifeless form could still be made to feel the effects of that savage, brutal, and disgusting spirit which delights in the misery of its victims, he is quartered and placed in the most public parts of the district. This too, in a territory under the immediate supervision of what has been frequently and boastingly termed the most free and enlightened government on earth. But this is not to be wondered. It is but one of the legitimate effects of that spirit which prompts the legal murder of our erring brethren; and may the time soon come when this relic of barbarity shall lease to disgrace our statutes.
I was pretty floored that a high school student wrote this. The article was published in the Sandusky Mirror, and a copy of the article is included in the biography, Edmund G. Ross: A Man of Courage, written by my great uncle, Arthur Harrington. I hope it gives you something to ponder.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Soccer Mom
When I was in high school, my parents had a teal blue Dodge minivan. I got to drive it my junior and senior year, because it was better than the alternative they offered. None of my friends had fancy cars, but they had normal cars. And the fact that I, a teenage girl in the prime of her youth, was driving a vehicle made for a mom with three kids was a constant source of embarrassment for me. My fellow classmates got a kick out of my ride, and I quickly became known as "soccer mom." Awesome. Talk about the ultimate uncoolness... I vowed that I would never drive a van in my adult years, even if I was a mom with three kids that needed to be driven to soccer practice five days a week.
Fast forward to 22, when I finally bought my first car. A real car. It was a 2007 Ford Fusion, silver exterior, black interior. It was used and was by no means fancy, but it was beautiful and represented freedom, adulthood, coolness. I drove that thing around like nobody's business for three years. Fast forward to 26. I quit my job, left my car in my parents' garage, and moved to England for grad school. I was fine without my car and truly enjoyed using public transportation during my time abroad. But now I'm back at my parents' house while I figure out what I'm doing with my life, and I'm once again faced with an awkward car situation.
The good news is that my parents no longer have the teal mini van. The bad news is that they now drive a gold one from circa 1999. The even worse news is that my license is expired and my car needs to be registered again before I can drive it. So what does that mean? It means that for the week that I've been home, I've had the pleasure of being chauffeured around in the van by my youngest sister. My parents were kind enough to add me to their insurance, but the thought of driving around in the van makes me feel unbelievably unsexy, and I'd rather just stay home.
Every time I'm in the van, it's as if I'm living the embarrassment of my 18-year-old self all over again at 27. For some reason, the whole embarrassment factor never registered with my parents, and they have zero sympathy for us. They had zero sympathy for me when I was in high school or for either of my sisters when they were in high school. My brother, now in high school, will soon be faced with the same embarrassment. I suppose if we came out of it alive, he will too.
Since I'm not planning to be in Michigan for long, I was going to hold out on registering my car until I know where I'm going, but I don't think I can wait. Gold mini vans are the ultimate incentive for me to get my own car back on the road. I refuse to prematurely be a soccer mom ever again.
Fast forward to 22, when I finally bought my first car. A real car. It was a 2007 Ford Fusion, silver exterior, black interior. It was used and was by no means fancy, but it was beautiful and represented freedom, adulthood, coolness. I drove that thing around like nobody's business for three years. Fast forward to 26. I quit my job, left my car in my parents' garage, and moved to England for grad school. I was fine without my car and truly enjoyed using public transportation during my time abroad. But now I'm back at my parents' house while I figure out what I'm doing with my life, and I'm once again faced with an awkward car situation.
The good news is that my parents no longer have the teal mini van. The bad news is that they now drive a gold one from circa 1999. The even worse news is that my license is expired and my car needs to be registered again before I can drive it. So what does that mean? It means that for the week that I've been home, I've had the pleasure of being chauffeured around in the van by my youngest sister. My parents were kind enough to add me to their insurance, but the thought of driving around in the van makes me feel unbelievably unsexy, and I'd rather just stay home.
Every time I'm in the van, it's as if I'm living the embarrassment of my 18-year-old self all over again at 27. For some reason, the whole embarrassment factor never registered with my parents, and they have zero sympathy for us. They had zero sympathy for me when I was in high school or for either of my sisters when they were in high school. My brother, now in high school, will soon be faced with the same embarrassment. I suppose if we came out of it alive, he will too.
Since I'm not planning to be in Michigan for long, I was going to hold out on registering my car until I know where I'm going, but I don't think I can wait. Gold mini vans are the ultimate incentive for me to get my own car back on the road. I refuse to prematurely be a soccer mom ever again.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Saying Goodbye to Manchester
It's hard to believe that my time in England has come to an end. Seems like just yesterday that I quit my job, moved all of my crap to my parents' basement in Michigan, and boarded a plane bound for Manchester, UK. There was so much anticipation for what this season would hold and how my decision to move to another continent would pan out. I was nervous to leave my comfort zone and sad to be saying goodbye to the people I care about, but I was mostly excited for this opportunity to pursue my master's and live abroad, two things that had been on my list for a while.
This year in Manchester has been one of the most challenging, but also one of the most rewarding, seasons of my life on a number of levels. There are countless things I could say to describe what my experience has been, but the rule of thumb with blogging is to keep things short. So, I've decided to sum up this season with a list of highlights:
-Transitioning back into academia after working for 4 years was rough. My first semester of classes nearly killed me, but by the end of second semester, I was killing it in my classes.
-I loved deeply. I was wounded deeply. I was reminded once again of the resiliency of the human heart.
-I lost friends and walked away from community, but I also made new friends and found a new community. I feel particularly thankful for all of my incredible classmates who brought a wealth of knowledge and experience to our program, and also know how to have a good time in and out of the classroom.
-I wrestled with my weaknesses, fears, and disappointments, sometimes winning the battle and sometimes losing. In the process, I saw the strength and determination that I possess, and I'm proud of myself for sticking it out, even when I didn't think I had it in me.
-I traveled to 7 European countries (France, Belgium, Wales, Ireland, Scotland, Hungary, and Italy) and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of exploration. I've now been to 28 countries.
-I reconnected with my African roots during a program field visit to Uganda. Turns out I'm not the only one in my family who can play the drums.
-I drank lots of cider and even more tea (with milk and sugar, of course).
-I got the stomach flu and tonsillitis and was thankful for the NHS. I still can't believe that I can walk in and out of the hospital and not pay a dime (America, what's the deal??).
-I lost 10 pounds but gained most of them back (probably from late-night kebabs and sour cream and sweet onion kettle chips).
-I spent countless hours in the library. They paid off.
-I was rained on a lot, which has made me appreciate sunshine even more than ever. I also came to understand why the weather is one of the only things English people talk about. You're either complaining about how terrible it is, or rejoicing on rare days of sunshine. There is no middle ground.
-I broke both of my cameras (womp), which got me in the habit of camera borrowing for my weekend adventures.
-I kissed an English boy in the rain (que romantico!).
-I dated a Spanish boy for a week and spent one of my favorite days in Manchester with him exploring the city and indulging in sunshine and jazz music. Why one week, you may be wondering? Because we met one week before I left (quickly becoming the story of my life).
-I went on a date with a guy from Kashmir. This was the second most awkward date of my life, and I will be dedicating a blog to it in the near future (to read about the my most awkward date, see here).
-I got made fun of for my American accent. I was also told that there should be more Americans in Manchester. I prefer the latter, though you might say I'm biased.
-I missed family and friends, but also thoroughly enjoyed my independence and learned to be super comfortable spending time with myself.
-Oh, and I earned a master's degree from the University of Manchester! Well, almost. I just have to wrap up this small thing called a dissertation. Details...
If you had asked me 4 months ago what my experience in Manchester had been, my response would have been laced with negativity and disappointment. Sometimes, seasons don't look like what we think they are going to. Ask me now, and I'll tell you that I'm incredibly thankful for this experience. It's pushed me in uncomfortable ways, but it's grown me a lot and looked like (I suspect) exactly what it was supposed to. I'll end now, because my 'short' list isn't so short after all. But first, some pictures of the city that I've called home for the past year:
This year in Manchester has been one of the most challenging, but also one of the most rewarding, seasons of my life on a number of levels. There are countless things I could say to describe what my experience has been, but the rule of thumb with blogging is to keep things short. So, I've decided to sum up this season with a list of highlights:
-Transitioning back into academia after working for 4 years was rough. My first semester of classes nearly killed me, but by the end of second semester, I was killing it in my classes.
-I loved deeply. I was wounded deeply. I was reminded once again of the resiliency of the human heart.
-I lost friends and walked away from community, but I also made new friends and found a new community. I feel particularly thankful for all of my incredible classmates who brought a wealth of knowledge and experience to our program, and also know how to have a good time in and out of the classroom.
-I wrestled with my weaknesses, fears, and disappointments, sometimes winning the battle and sometimes losing. In the process, I saw the strength and determination that I possess, and I'm proud of myself for sticking it out, even when I didn't think I had it in me.
-I traveled to 7 European countries (France, Belgium, Wales, Ireland, Scotland, Hungary, and Italy) and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of exploration. I've now been to 28 countries.
-I reconnected with my African roots during a program field visit to Uganda. Turns out I'm not the only one in my family who can play the drums.
-I drank lots of cider and even more tea (with milk and sugar, of course).
-I got the stomach flu and tonsillitis and was thankful for the NHS. I still can't believe that I can walk in and out of the hospital and not pay a dime (America, what's the deal??).
-I lost 10 pounds but gained most of them back (probably from late-night kebabs and sour cream and sweet onion kettle chips).
-I spent countless hours in the library. They paid off.
-I was rained on a lot, which has made me appreciate sunshine even more than ever. I also came to understand why the weather is one of the only things English people talk about. You're either complaining about how terrible it is, or rejoicing on rare days of sunshine. There is no middle ground.
-I broke both of my cameras (womp), which got me in the habit of camera borrowing for my weekend adventures.
-I kissed an English boy in the rain (que romantico!).
-I dated a Spanish boy for a week and spent one of my favorite days in Manchester with him exploring the city and indulging in sunshine and jazz music. Why one week, you may be wondering? Because we met one week before I left (quickly becoming the story of my life).
-I went on a date with a guy from Kashmir. This was the second most awkward date of my life, and I will be dedicating a blog to it in the near future (to read about the my most awkward date, see here).
-I got made fun of for my American accent. I was also told that there should be more Americans in Manchester. I prefer the latter, though you might say I'm biased.
-I missed family and friends, but also thoroughly enjoyed my independence and learned to be super comfortable spending time with myself.
-Oh, and I earned a master's degree from the University of Manchester! Well, almost. I just have to wrap up this small thing called a dissertation. Details...
If you had asked me 4 months ago what my experience in Manchester had been, my response would have been laced with negativity and disappointment. Sometimes, seasons don't look like what we think they are going to. Ask me now, and I'll tell you that I'm incredibly thankful for this experience. It's pushed me in uncomfortable ways, but it's grown me a lot and looked like (I suspect) exactly what it was supposed to. I'll end now, because my 'short' list isn't so short after all. But first, some pictures of the city that I've called home for the past year:
Sunday, June 8, 2014
The Time I Almost Didn't Go to Ireland
It was a rainy Saturday in Manchester (shocking, I know) and I had just wrapped up the last essay of my masters program a few days before. I was still recovering mentally, and was very much looking forward to spending four days in Ireland decompressing and having a much needed adventure. I had started packing and crossing things off my to-do list. Next on the list was checking into my flight online. I was flying Ryan Air, which is a terrible airline aside from their prices. I guess you get what you pay for. For some reason, I could not find the confirmation email. I searched both of my inboxes multiple times, but with no luck. Without the confirmation number, I couldn't check in online. So I called Ryan air. Did you know they charge 10 pence a minute to call their customer service? Ridiculous. Did you further know that they provide another number to call of you'd like to complain about having to pay that 10 pence a minute to talk to a Ryan Air representative? They only charge 5p/minute for this number. Even more ridiculous. I sent them an email in an attempt to avoid the fee but received a reply that directed me to their phone service, so I called. As I waited on hold for what seemed like an eternity, I counted the pences this call was costing me, folded laundry, and attempted to emotionally prepare myself for being informed that I had not actually booked the flight and would walk away from my year in England without seeing Ireland. I was angry.
I became even angrier when I finally spoke to a customer rep, who said that she found my name in the system, but because I could not provide her with my confirmation number or the email I had used to book my flight (neither of my email accounts were in her system), I wouldn't be able to fly. Insert more angry thoughts here. So I searched through all of my existing email accounts for the 4th time and finally found an email from a third party that I had apparently purchased my tickets through. They had assigned me some random email address to use when checking in online. It was something like my firstname.lastname@wereassigningyouarandomemailtoannoyyou.com. Mission accomplished. However, I was relieved that I would, in fact, be going to Ireland. So I checked in online, printed my boarding pass, and made my way to the airport the following morning. I'm glad I did, because my time in Ireland turned out to be amazing.
Day 1: I spent my first day meandering the streets of Dublin, touring castles and cathedrals, popping into pastry shops, and getting rained on.
I attended evensong at Christ Church Cathedral and visited the crypt beneath after the service, discovering the famous cat and mouse chase scene. Creepy.
The banjo player was real cute. I noticed him, he noticed me. We exchanged "I'm noticing you glances" and I managed to get a wink from him. I was sitting next to a group of English guys and proceeded to strike up a conversation. When the music ended, the banjo player came over to our table and introduced himself as Davy. He then informed me that I didn't have to talk to these guys "just because they're English." Haha. We all became friends and decided to check out the pub across the street, where Davy went played banjo again. After drinking a Guinness, which is not delicious even in Ireland, we decided to leave. Davy invited us to his place, which was right around the corner, for drinks. His apartment overlooked the River Liffey, and we had some great times throwing a couple back, listening to Mumford and Sons, and talking politics and economics.
Next on the agenda was Temple Bar, where Panic at the Disco had supposedly been earlier in the evening. Fun scene. Davy disappeared for a smoke but did not return in time for me to thank him before I disappeared for the train. He was no doubt devastated.
Day 2: Because I was couch surfing 30 mins outside the city center (if you're a poor student and want a free place to stay when you travel, I highly recommend couchsurfing.com), I had to wake up at an ungodly hour to catch the train for the city where my tour bus awaited me. I had booked a day tour of the Cliffs of Moher and was looking forward to seeing these beauties. I sat in the second row from the front on the left. The only other person in our group traveling solo was a cute guy in red chucks sitting in the front row on the right. As I've mentioned in a previous post, Converses are the most universal shoes I have seen in all of my travels. I approve of this. After a couple of hours, our bus pulled into a gas station for a 15 minute break. I wondered around looking at all the snacks and noticed red shoes close by. He stopped next to me and I told him, "I like your kicks." His response: "I don't speak English." Fail. Our conversation ended and we all piled back into the bus. Next stop was at a castle.
At one point, the sun was so warm (did I mention that it was a gorgeous day?!) that I took my coat off and put it underneath my purse while I posed for a picture. In a split second and with a big gust of wind, my coat (the coat I was borrowing from a friend) flew out from under my purse and was headed strait over the edge. Literally. It was about to fly off the cliff, when all of the sudden, it stopped. Eduardo lunged for the coat, and I had several mini heart attacks as I did not want to lose either my new friend or my friend's coat to the waves crashing down below. Both survived.
The rest of the day was less eventful but equally glorious. Once we got back to Dublin, Eduardo and I exchanged contact info and are now Facebook friends (the best kind of friendship). He's probably going to think I'm super weird for writing about this if he happens to read it, but hopefully that won't affect his invitation for me to visit him in Argentina sometime. I've added that to my list of places to travel.
Day 3: Took a bus to Galway and spent the day walking around enjoying the sunshine and music. I took my shoes off, played on the sandy beach, sat on a rock and contemplated my life for a while, and got pooped on by a bird. Good times.
Day 4: My feet were killing me after walking around like crazy for three days, but I was determined to take advantage of my last day in this fabulous city. So I headed to a tour of Kilmainham Gaol (jail). On my way, I stopped to ask an older gentleman if I was headed in the right direction. He said yes, and then told me to look out for Joe Brady in the jail. Said it was his grandfather, who was one of the Irish National Invincibles hanged at the jail in 1883 for the assassination of Secretary Thomas Henry Burke.
Lo and behold, there was tons of info on this guy at the jail. How cool that I met his grandfather!
After a tour of the jail, I spent a leisurely afternoon reading Bossypants by the River Liffey. Great view and great book! If you haven't read it yet, do yourself a favor and buy a copy. Immediately. I laughed out loud the entire time.
I've neglected to mention thus far that I did not eat well in Ireland. I gave myself a strict budget, which means I survived on bread, cheese, apples, granola bars, more cheese, coffee, and alcohol. Combined with an estimated 7 miles of walking a day, I'm pretty sure I dropped a couple of pounds. Success! I had some time left before I needed to head to the airport and 13.50 euros in my wallet. I knew I needed 6 for the bus and wanted to give myself a little cushion, but I was also experiencing serious cravings for real food. So what did I do? I found myself a Chinese buffet and grabbed a takeaway box for 5 euros.
I probably should have gone for an Irish meal instead, but I did not regret my decision. Chinese food is delicious everywhere. I sat on some steps in the Temple Bar area and was serenaded with live music coming from the pub next door. It was awesome. And I ate it all. So much for all that walking. Then I said my goodbyes to Dublin and headed to the airport, so glad that I had found that confirmation email and made it to Ireland.
I became even angrier when I finally spoke to a customer rep, who said that she found my name in the system, but because I could not provide her with my confirmation number or the email I had used to book my flight (neither of my email accounts were in her system), I wouldn't be able to fly. Insert more angry thoughts here. So I searched through all of my existing email accounts for the 4th time and finally found an email from a third party that I had apparently purchased my tickets through. They had assigned me some random email address to use when checking in online. It was something like my firstname.lastname@wereassigningyouarandomemailtoannoyyou.com. Mission accomplished. However, I was relieved that I would, in fact, be going to Ireland. So I checked in online, printed my boarding pass, and made my way to the airport the following morning. I'm glad I did, because my time in Ireland turned out to be amazing.
Day 1: I spent my first day meandering the streets of Dublin, touring castles and cathedrals, popping into pastry shops, and getting rained on.
I attended evensong at Christ Church Cathedral and visited the crypt beneath after the service, discovering the famous cat and mouse chase scene. Creepy.
My next stop was the Brazen Head, Dublin's oldest pub. Apparently there is always live music on Sunday evenings, so I picked a great time to grab a drink. Found a chair next to the band and proceeded to thoroughly enjoy 1.5 hours of Irish music.
The banjo player was real cute. I noticed him, he noticed me. We exchanged "I'm noticing you glances" and I managed to get a wink from him. I was sitting next to a group of English guys and proceeded to strike up a conversation. When the music ended, the banjo player came over to our table and introduced himself as Davy. He then informed me that I didn't have to talk to these guys "just because they're English." Haha. We all became friends and decided to check out the pub across the street, where Davy went played banjo again. After drinking a Guinness, which is not delicious even in Ireland, we decided to leave. Davy invited us to his place, which was right around the corner, for drinks. His apartment overlooked the River Liffey, and we had some great times throwing a couple back, listening to Mumford and Sons, and talking politics and economics.
Next on the agenda was Temple Bar, where Panic at the Disco had supposedly been earlier in the evening. Fun scene. Davy disappeared for a smoke but did not return in time for me to thank him before I disappeared for the train. He was no doubt devastated.
Day 2: Because I was couch surfing 30 mins outside the city center (if you're a poor student and want a free place to stay when you travel, I highly recommend couchsurfing.com), I had to wake up at an ungodly hour to catch the train for the city where my tour bus awaited me. I had booked a day tour of the Cliffs of Moher and was looking forward to seeing these beauties. I sat in the second row from the front on the left. The only other person in our group traveling solo was a cute guy in red chucks sitting in the front row on the right. As I've mentioned in a previous post, Converses are the most universal shoes I have seen in all of my travels. I approve of this. After a couple of hours, our bus pulled into a gas station for a 15 minute break. I wondered around looking at all the snacks and noticed red shoes close by. He stopped next to me and I told him, "I like your kicks." His response: "I don't speak English." Fail. Our conversation ended and we all piled back into the bus. Next stop was at a castle.
He and I wandered on the same direction and I proceeded to bust out my Spanish skills that have been latent since 2004. Painful, but between his broken English and my broken Spanish, we managed to converse. Eduardo invited me to sit next to him once we got back on the bus, and I happily accepted, both because I was glad to have a friend, and also because the front row had a much better view out the front window. Win win. We toured the cliffs together, taking each other's pictures and walking dangerously close to the edge.
At one point, the sun was so warm (did I mention that it was a gorgeous day?!) that I took my coat off and put it underneath my purse while I posed for a picture. In a split second and with a big gust of wind, my coat (the coat I was borrowing from a friend) flew out from under my purse and was headed strait over the edge. Literally. It was about to fly off the cliff, when all of the sudden, it stopped. Eduardo lunged for the coat, and I had several mini heart attacks as I did not want to lose either my new friend or my friend's coat to the waves crashing down below. Both survived.
The rest of the day was less eventful but equally glorious. Once we got back to Dublin, Eduardo and I exchanged contact info and are now Facebook friends (the best kind of friendship). He's probably going to think I'm super weird for writing about this if he happens to read it, but hopefully that won't affect his invitation for me to visit him in Argentina sometime. I've added that to my list of places to travel.
Day 3: Took a bus to Galway and spent the day walking around enjoying the sunshine and music. I took my shoes off, played on the sandy beach, sat on a rock and contemplated my life for a while, and got pooped on by a bird. Good times.
I ended my day back at the Brazen Head for more live music, where I made friends with a family from DC. They just so happen to live next to the guy who oversees Africa for the World Bank and said they'd be happy to put me in touch. I love connections!
Day 4: My feet were killing me after walking around like crazy for three days, but I was determined to take advantage of my last day in this fabulous city. So I headed to a tour of Kilmainham Gaol (jail). On my way, I stopped to ask an older gentleman if I was headed in the right direction. He said yes, and then told me to look out for Joe Brady in the jail. Said it was his grandfather, who was one of the Irish National Invincibles hanged at the jail in 1883 for the assassination of Secretary Thomas Henry Burke.
Lo and behold, there was tons of info on this guy at the jail. How cool that I met his grandfather!
After a tour of the jail, I spent a leisurely afternoon reading Bossypants by the River Liffey. Great view and great book! If you haven't read it yet, do yourself a favor and buy a copy. Immediately. I laughed out loud the entire time.
I've neglected to mention thus far that I did not eat well in Ireland. I gave myself a strict budget, which means I survived on bread, cheese, apples, granola bars, more cheese, coffee, and alcohol. Combined with an estimated 7 miles of walking a day, I'm pretty sure I dropped a couple of pounds. Success! I had some time left before I needed to head to the airport and 13.50 euros in my wallet. I knew I needed 6 for the bus and wanted to give myself a little cushion, but I was also experiencing serious cravings for real food. So what did I do? I found myself a Chinese buffet and grabbed a takeaway box for 5 euros.
I probably should have gone for an Irish meal instead, but I did not regret my decision. Chinese food is delicious everywhere. I sat on some steps in the Temple Bar area and was serenaded with live music coming from the pub next door. It was awesome. And I ate it all. So much for all that walking. Then I said my goodbyes to Dublin and headed to the airport, so glad that I had found that confirmation email and made it to Ireland.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Conversations with God
God and I have been exchanging some words lately. Those of you who don't believe that God exists will probably think I'm crazy. Those of you who do will probably be offended at the nature of my conversations with Him. But that's ok. I'm not trying to impress anyone, least of all God. He knows it all anyway.
When I say that we've been exchanging words, what I really mean in that I've been yelling at him and expressing my disappointment and anger at the way certain things in my life have panned out. He's mostly been listening patiently, I think. Sometimes, I tell him that I don't trust Him and don't think He has a good plan for my life. Other times, I ask Him if He's even real or cares about what I'm going through. Do the details of my life matter, or are they just the way things go? When everything falls apart and my life feels like a giant clusterfuck, is He still faithful? Is there purpose in chaos and pain? It all feels pretty meaningless right now.
Everyone always shares words of wisdom about how one day, I'll look back over this time in my life and see why things happened the way they did. In fact, I tell myself that from time to time, partially because I believe it, but mostly because I'm trying to make myself feel better. Sometimes I wonder.
I guess these questions and my response to the difficulties that I'm facing reveal a shallow faith. His sovereignty and love for me are not reflected only in the good aspects of my life. They're woven throughout the pain and the doubt and the fear too. He sits with me in the shit and understands what I'm feeling and is working even now. At least that's what I'm trying to believe. The only other alternative- that He doesn't exist and isn't sovereign and doesn't care about the details of my life- is far worse than anything I'm experiencing.
This is me processing out loud. Take it for what it is, or leave it. It's where I am right now.
When I say that we've been exchanging words, what I really mean in that I've been yelling at him and expressing my disappointment and anger at the way certain things in my life have panned out. He's mostly been listening patiently, I think. Sometimes, I tell him that I don't trust Him and don't think He has a good plan for my life. Other times, I ask Him if He's even real or cares about what I'm going through. Do the details of my life matter, or are they just the way things go? When everything falls apart and my life feels like a giant clusterfuck, is He still faithful? Is there purpose in chaos and pain? It all feels pretty meaningless right now.
Everyone always shares words of wisdom about how one day, I'll look back over this time in my life and see why things happened the way they did. In fact, I tell myself that from time to time, partially because I believe it, but mostly because I'm trying to make myself feel better. Sometimes I wonder.
I guess these questions and my response to the difficulties that I'm facing reveal a shallow faith. His sovereignty and love for me are not reflected only in the good aspects of my life. They're woven throughout the pain and the doubt and the fear too. He sits with me in the shit and understands what I'm feeling and is working even now. At least that's what I'm trying to believe. The only other alternative- that He doesn't exist and isn't sovereign and doesn't care about the details of my life- is far worse than anything I'm experiencing.
This is me processing out loud. Take it for what it is, or leave it. It's where I am right now.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Work That Matters
Making the right salary is important. Sometimes, salaries reflect our basic needs, and other times, they reflect our wants- in addition to our needs. For some, those wants take the form of a five-digit paycheck and 24/7 access to the company yacht. These are the types of salaries that are so sought after in our society. However, for others, those wants can take an entirely different form. Sometimes, salaries are less about the money and more about being involved in meaningful work that has a positive impact in the world.
Non-profit organizations are not known for their enticing salaries, monetary bonuses, or filet mignon catered lunches. But then again, I'm fairly certain that most people who work for non-profits are not in it for the money. I'm no exception. I graduated from college with degrees in business management and economic development- two fields of study that could have pulled me in completely opposite directions. If you had asked me what I wanted to do with my life eight years ago, I would have told you that I wanted to be a high powered manager working my way up the corporate ladder of a Fortune 500. I wanted keys to the company yacht. Ask me that same question today, and you'll get a different response.
My outlook on work has shifted significantly over the years, as I've begun to more fully understand the impact that 40 or 50 hours a week for the rest of my life can have on the world. I'm certainly not opposed to a high salary, and I would never turn down an end-of-the-year bonus, but one of the things I have come to realize is that money isn't everything in a job. It's a means to an end. And for me, the end is not being a millionaire or having a corner office with a gold-dipped nameplate on my door. What matters more to me is that I am using my time and talent in a meaningful way. Call me a guilty idealist, but I feel a responsibility to contribute back to society through my work. I was born in the United States, one of the wealthiest countries in the world. I fall into the category of 5% of the wealthiest individuals on earth. And you probably do too. So, comparatively speaking, we are unbelievably wealthy.
As we know from Voltaire and Peter Parker's grandfather, "With great power comes great responsibility." In this world that we live in, money is power- and with it comes great responsibility. Since we possess so much of it compared to the majority of the world, we have a duty to use it responsibly. Part of using money responsibly is maximizing what we have, including positions we are fortunate enough to have secured. Work doesn't have to be glamorous to be meaningful. You don't have to work for international organizations or do cutting edge research to be doing profoundly necessary and important work. So, no matter what position you have, are you using it responsibly? Are you making a tangible difference in the world?
If even the simplest jobs can be necessary and important when done well, certainly no one is too far away from work that matters. Are you making what you do matter? Are you positively impacting the people around you? I reject the notion that the best job is the highest paying job. Impact and attitude matter far more. So whether you work on Wall Street, Main Street, or no street at all, you can have the right salary if you feel fulfilled in what you do. And for me, fulfillment does not come in stacks of green bills.
Non-profit organizations are not known for their enticing salaries, monetary bonuses, or filet mignon catered lunches. But then again, I'm fairly certain that most people who work for non-profits are not in it for the money. I'm no exception. I graduated from college with degrees in business management and economic development- two fields of study that could have pulled me in completely opposite directions. If you had asked me what I wanted to do with my life eight years ago, I would have told you that I wanted to be a high powered manager working my way up the corporate ladder of a Fortune 500. I wanted keys to the company yacht. Ask me that same question today, and you'll get a different response.
My outlook on work has shifted significantly over the years, as I've begun to more fully understand the impact that 40 or 50 hours a week for the rest of my life can have on the world. I'm certainly not opposed to a high salary, and I would never turn down an end-of-the-year bonus, but one of the things I have come to realize is that money isn't everything in a job. It's a means to an end. And for me, the end is not being a millionaire or having a corner office with a gold-dipped nameplate on my door. What matters more to me is that I am using my time and talent in a meaningful way. Call me a guilty idealist, but I feel a responsibility to contribute back to society through my work. I was born in the United States, one of the wealthiest countries in the world. I fall into the category of 5% of the wealthiest individuals on earth. And you probably do too. So, comparatively speaking, we are unbelievably wealthy.
As we know from Voltaire and Peter Parker's grandfather, "With great power comes great responsibility." In this world that we live in, money is power- and with it comes great responsibility. Since we possess so much of it compared to the majority of the world, we have a duty to use it responsibly. Part of using money responsibly is maximizing what we have, including positions we are fortunate enough to have secured. Work doesn't have to be glamorous to be meaningful. You don't have to work for international organizations or do cutting edge research to be doing profoundly necessary and important work. So, no matter what position you have, are you using it responsibly? Are you making a tangible difference in the world?
If even the simplest jobs can be necessary and important when done well, certainly no one is too far away from work that matters. Are you making what you do matter? Are you positively impacting the people around you? I reject the notion that the best job is the highest paying job. Impact and attitude matter far more. So whether you work on Wall Street, Main Street, or no street at all, you can have the right salary if you feel fulfilled in what you do. And for me, fulfillment does not come in stacks of green bills.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Thrifting As a Lifestyle
Over
the years, I have really come to enjoy thrifting. But it hasn’t always been
that way. My thrifting adventures started at about age 12 or 13, when my
parents decided that they weren’t going to pay for full-priced clothing for us
kids. Prior to thrift stores, it was hand-me-downs from cousins and
neighborhood friends. This was all part of the pastor's kid (PK) experience,
and it typically served as a source of embarrassment for me. Second-hand
clothes??? You've got to be kidding me. Why couldn't I shop at popular clothing
stores like the normal kids? Well, it's because I wasn’t normal. I was a PK.
And with these facts working against me, it's easy to understand why I played
the role of a stereotypical nerd during the prime of my adolescence—which
negatively contributed to my “coolness factor” in a cruel and unusual way.
Thankfully,
my style took a turn for the better towards the end of my high school career,
as I discovered the combination of makeup and contacts and began to understand
that pleated skirts and polo shirts would not define me forever. In the years
since high school, I have cultivated a passion for fashion and use my wardrobe
as a creative outlet for expressing myself in a way that the pink-lensed
glasses I wore until the eleventh grade never could do. The funny thing is that
the thrift store mentality that was instilled in me as a child never really
disappeared. In fact, it is now something that I claim with pride. Every time I
open my overstuffed closet to admire my collection, I marvel at the fact that
at least 75% of what I own is second-hand. I’m proud of that fact.
To
me, thrifting represent a lifestyle: unique, adventurous, and socially and
economically responsible. These days, shopping at a typical retail clothing
store is rather boring for me. It's difficult to be unique when 3,497 people
bought the same shirt you just purchased from a retail chain. Why not buy a
vintage sweater that no one else you know or might ever come in contact with
will own? When someone admires your outfit and asks where you bought your
sweater, you can tell them you found it at a thrift store one sunny afternoon
in April, and that you're sorry, but there weren't any more in stock.
Thrift
stores are like a treasure hunt: You walk into a building with a giant
collection of potential, never knowing what you'll find. And then you spot an
amazing polyester blouse sandwiched between an XXL YMCA 2007 camp t-shirt and a
red knitted sweater with shoulder pads and a giant bow embroidered on the
front. This just so happens to be the very sweater you discovered when you were
rummaging through your mother's closet two years ago in search of the perfect
80s outfit. But I digress… You spot that polyester gem and try it on for size.
Turns out it fits you perfectly. Game over: You just won the treasure hunt.
When you have to work for something–searching through racks of clothing that
are less organized than your teenage brother's room (or in my case, my 18-year
old sister's)—it makes the find so much more rewarding.
Another
incentive for me to thrift instead of shop retail is the price differential.
Most people will spend $30 on a new t-shirt or $60 for a new pair of jeans. I
spend $30 on two pairs of pants, three skirts, five shirts, and a couple pairs
of shoes. I’m not a math person, but here’s an equation that I’m fond of: cheaper clothes = more selection in my
closet + more money in my bank account. Am I attempting to justify my love
of fashion consumption? Absolutely. I’m not encouraging unbridled shopping
sprees, but I rarely feel guilty about my thrifting expenditures. I like to
call it economically responsible consumption.
Last,
but certainly not least on my list of reasons to advocate for second-hand
shopping, is the issue of ethics. Stores like Wal-Mart, Forever 21, and Old
Navy can sell $5 shirts for a reason—and it’s not a pretty one. It’s no secret
that many of the workers making the clothes that we wear are exploited. Low
wages, long hours, unsafe working conditions. In fact, some even lose their
lives as a result of unregulated safety standards. This is not something that I
want to support in any way. There are tons of clothing companies that are
taking significant steps to be socially and environmentally responsible, and
these are the companies that I want to support. For a list of such companies,
or to learn more about the stores where you shop, you can find reports such as
Behind the Bar Code, which assesses over 100 fashion brands and provides a
guide for ethical shopping.
We
leverage a significant amount of power as consumers—power that can be use as a
source for good. Wherever you are on your journey as a consumer, I would
encourage you to think about how you can leverage your power. My family still
shops at thrift stores. In fact, it’s one of our favorite family activities.
But, I’m not embarrassed anymore. I love it, and I hope that maybe you will too
one day. So, happy thrifting, friends!
 |
| Skirt, boots, and jewelry are from thrift stores and flea markets. |
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Telling Eyes
Her eyes tell the story of one thousand years: adventures, love, heartache. Blue like the ocean deep, pregnant with secrets waiting to be discovered. Oh, to be known. To be intimately known. Understood.
Pools of emerald ripple in the sunlight. Beauty and joy. Wandering soul. Aimless. To belong, to be home. Vagabond. In search of life's truths, answers, treasures. In search of what is already known, yet remains encrypted. Deciphering, elucidating.
Pools of emerald ripple in the sunlight. Beauty and joy. Wandering soul. Aimless. To belong, to be home. Vagabond. In search of life's truths, answers, treasures. In search of what is already known, yet remains encrypted. Deciphering, elucidating.
Now gray as the ominous clouds that engulf the blue. Tragedy and triumph. Specs of gold sparkle in the night. Dreams crumble and are resurrected again and again. Hope.
She waits, longingly, remembering the laughter and music, the dancing as her heart skipped beats to the rhythm of the band. The memories fade, but the band plays on.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Reflections
This absolutely epitomizes cliche, but as the year draws to a close, nothing seems more appropriate than to do some reflecting. Sometimes I get so caught up in the minutes and the seconds that I fail to see the bigger picture- how the minutes connect to the days, and how the days connect to the years. A lot has happened this year. It's been a good year. A hard year. A year full of adventure and joy, sadness and pain. Change. I turned 26. I spent ten days exploring Portugal. I applied to grad school, quit my job, and moved to the UK to pursue my masters. Big changes. Sometimes the hardest part about change is the decision to make it. Other times, it's more challenging to adjust to the change.
I'm learning and re-learning a lot about myself in this process, about my strengths and my weaknesses, my hopes and my fears. And I'm reminded again and again of God's faithfulness, especially in my most challenging times. I'm thankful for those times. I think. Because they push me outside of my comfort zone and force me to face my fears and to grow. At least that's the goal. There are a lot of uncertainties going into 2014. More changes to come, undoubtedly. As I anticipate those changes, I look to the One who does not change. Therein lies my certainty- a lesson I am continually learning.
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