Musings on 2016

Because as Maya Angelou puts it, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” 

Anxiety

In December 2015, I got into another car accident. I say “another” because almost exactly three years earlier, December 2012, I was the passenger in an accident that should have killed me.

Context is important here, so let’s get some facts straight: I’ve never liked driving. If I could walk everywhere, I would. My parents had to coax me into my first driver’s permit, almost a year after I could have had it. After that first accident, cars became almost unbearable: every bump in the road, every car horn on the radio, flushed my whole body with fear.

It took me three years of hard work (i.e., driving when I really didn’t want to) to see cars as anything other than a weapon. And right when I could get out of the car without white knuckles and a headache from clenching my jaw so hard, it happened again. Same occasion, same sweatshirt.

This time, I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t smother my fear with statistical chances and “well next time, if I just do this thing better…” I felt helpless to fix the problem because I didn’t know what I had done wrong. Who gets in a car accident on the way home from college for Christmas twice? What could I possibly have done differently? Despite going 50 in a 75 mph zone, despite my new tires, despite being only 10 minutes into my trip, I hydroplaned. I spun right in front of a semi-truck before slamming into a guardrail, totaling my car. In those five seconds of spinning, I truly believed I would die.

Though I sustained no injuries and (thank goodness) didn’t hurt anyone else, the accident unleashed a monster that I am still learning to tame: relentless anxiety. A haunting sense of unease infiltrated every other area of my life. It amplified the voice in my head that asks, “What could go wrong?” instead of “What could go right?”

I don’t like to sugar coat things, especially when it comes to mental health, so here it is: I stopped thinking of restaurants as a fun place to go with friends, and started thinking of them as one bite away from food poisoning. I stopped thinking of plane rides as a chance to clear my mind above the clouds, and started seeing them as an explosion in the works. I stopped dreaming of backpacking the world solo. Anxiety took away the joys of the present and replaced them with stark possibilities in the future. It took away the details that make me, me.

Slowly, I am reclaiming myself. But for much of 2016, I was anxiety’s.

Identity: School

May 2016: I’m graduating college. I’m a little uncertain of what the future holds, but it’s okay. I’ll spend a year teaching English in a classroom in Turkey. Then, I’ll apply to grad school for experimental social psychology. Then, I’ll cross to the other side of academia and be a researcher, or a professor, or something like that. My identity as a student and a scholar remains intact, even through the transition period of graduation.

Or so I thought.

Somewhere around third grade, I remember writing a paragraph about my dreams. I wrote something like, “I want to get all As and go to Harvard.”

I did get all As. I didn’t go to Harvard.

I could have written about curing cancer, I could have written about flying airplanes or penning a novel. And instead, I chose to write about succeeding in school.

Foreshadowing: that’s a problem.

Education has always been a central part of who I am. I love to learn. My idea of the perfect day is to sit with a book and read. I inhabit my own little world of thought. That’s a quality that I adore about myself.

But buried beneath my valedictorian trophy, beneath my 3.97 college GPA, beneath the praises of many teachers and professors lies a sinister thought: I’m only good at school. I’m not good at life in the “real world.” I will never be good at the “real world.” If I can’t hide behind my books, behind my clever comments in class and my stellar academic reputation, everyone will find out about me.

When did that insecurity start? I wish I knew. I wish I could go back to that moment, shake little Angela, and say, “Do you know how powerful your love of learning can be if you couple it with action? Do you know how much impact you could have if you stop being afraid?”

I could get back some years that way.

Here we are, though, in 2017, and I’m finally starting to understand. My grand plan to hide myself within the comfort of academia was shattered beneath my feet when my year in Turkey was cancelled and I fell headfirst into the “real world.” While I still might head back to school, I’m glad for it. I’m glad I have a few years to prove my competence to myself in ways that I otherwise would have avoided. I’m glad that if and when I go back, I’ll be able to use education as a vehicle instead of a destination.

Identity: Politics

*Note: This is not the time or space to criticize my political beliefs. Rest assured, there will be other opportunities.*

It’s fair to say I grew up in a conservative household, in conservative towns, with conservative teachers and friends. Eads, the town I grew up in until I was 7, was recently declared the “Trumpiest” town in Colorado, with 85% of the vote this November going to Trump.

When I was young, I remember genuinely being almost as afraid of Hillary Clinton as I was of the devil. I remember thinking that the absolute worst thing you could ever do in life would be to have an abortion. I remember hearing only one narrative about people on welfare: that they were lazy. And, of course, minorities were just looking for extra attention.

I have no doubt that there are parts of this that I remember wrong. When you’re young, there’s a tendency to think in absolutes. Maybe I missed what were actually much more nuanced conservative arguments, finding a way to make sense of them through simplification.

The fact remains that in my mind, conservative was good, liberal was evil. There was no other way to slice it. And that belief was reaffirmed, unintentionally I am sure, by the adults around me. It didn’t matter how airtight my arguments were, as long as I was playing into the dominant narrative. As long as I didn’t become “one of those liberals.”

I was determined to be good. I was determined to be liked. So, I didn’t question.

When I went to college, I felt like my world flipped upside down. My conservative friends were replaced by liberal ones. My limited-government-pro-life-anti-regulation teachers were replaced by strong-government-pro-choice-more-regulation professors. Everyone at home had always told me, “Those colleges are turning our kids into liberals,” and here it was. I was determined to resist.

I did, for a while. I voted for Mitt Romney in 2012, proudly declaring my vote on Facebook with a commentary about how even people on your own college campus might feel differently than you.

Still, I started to internally question some of the beliefs I had always held dear. What if people on welfare weren’t just lazy? What if minorities really did face challenges that I, as a white person, would never know about? What if “illegal is illegal” grossly oversimplified immigration in this country?

There are a few distinct moments that I remember. One was in sociology class, when we talked about the gap between the rich and the poor. I scoured that data, inside and out, trying to find some way to prove to myself that it wasn’t real, that it was a hoax. Surely the top tenth of the top 1 percent of our country couldn’t make more than the bottom 90? Another was in my first year seminar class, which focused on the Harlem Renaissance. We listened to Billie Holliday’s “Strange Fruit” in class, and I looked up the words on my own later that day. I felt overwhelmed by the feeling that had I been born with a different skin color, that song could have been about my grandfather.

By the time sophomore year rolled around, I was more openly questioning things. I still tried to stay under the radar, tried to avoid questions that asked me about my political affiliations. I tried to calm the dissonance screaming in my brain that I was becoming what everyone back home feared. When I went home, I brought hints of new ideology and ways of thinking, but they were always imprisoned in qualifiers: “not that I’m not a Republican or anything, but…”

This past election cycle, I couldn’t stay quiet anymore. I couldn’t allow what have become values that are central to who I am, to who I aspire to be, to be left dormant. I spoke out loudly about issues I care about, in circles where people agreed with me and in circles where they didn’t.

It was hard. It was hard to feel like I no longer had a place in my own community. It was hard to be unfriended on Facebook by the people who cared for me from the time I was little. It was hard to feel disliked, and it was even harder to feel unloved.

And at the same time, it’s hard for me? A white, middle class, college educated women? For the most part, I have the privilege of avoiding politics when I want to. I get to choose when I want to engage. But for so many, politics are more than posting an occasional link of Facebook. It determines whether they get to eat that day, whether they get to send their kids to the doctor when they are sick, whether they feel safe walking in a hoodie. How can I not speak out?

I’ve learned that I prefer being able to live with myself at the end of the day.

There is so much I don’t know. There are so many perspectives that I haven’t heard or fully grasped. There are so many ways to misrepresent the feelings and intentions of others. I get that. But it doesn’t change my heart is broken over the direction we're going, that I feel estranged from the people I’ve always trusted. And that’s hard.

Introversion vs. Loneliness

College was a valley in terms of my social life. I didn’t start out well that first year, and it made it difficult to find friends in the years that followed. I was still growing into myself. I was insecure. I was too focused for my own good. I developed close friendships later, but it didn’t change that I felt like I didn’t really fit in my own community. That I felt like an outsider—and worse, that I felt like I was the only outsider.

Moving to Fort Collins in September felt like the chance to “re-do” what I did wrong in college. I wouldn’t wait to meet new friends. I’d get involved in the community. I’d host get-togethers. I’d join meet-up groups. I’d be a face to remember.

Despite all my great intentions, I discovered that I’m still Angela. I still need to spend most of my weekend reading alone under my blankets with a cup of tea to feel like myself. I still find parties overwhelming. I still don’t like small talk or “networking.” I still struggle to form new, meaningful relationships. I’m still not great at opening up.

Coupled with a schedule that doesn’t really match my boyfriend’s or the general population’s, I spend quite a bit of time by myself. And 75% of the time, I don’t mind that at all – in fact, I probably need it.

But 25% of the time, I remember that it’s kind of lonely to be alone. I might enjoy a day spent at a table for one, but I wish it was a choice.

Pride

I love this time in my life because I finally get to see my dreams starting to come true. There were so many successes in 2016, so many “way to go, me!” moments.

I graduated college, for goodness sake. With two majors, three practicum experiences, a phenomenal senior honors thesis, and a Fulbright grant.

I spent serious quality time with my family. I reconnected with my parents over the summer. We got great at Uno. We laughed. We rejuvenated each other. We made it through the disaster that was August: my dad getting sick, our house flooding, my Fulbright falling through.

When my plans fell apart, I moved to a new city where I knew maybe five people. I put myself out there, applying for jobs and believing that I would be enough to make it happen. I started figuring out how to “adult,” from paying rent to regular car maintenance to buying new toilet paper before I’m on the last roll.

I started a job that makes me feel proud to do what I do every day. A job where I know I make a difference. If you would have told me a year ago that I would get this job, I would have flipped out. And better yet, I am rocking it!

I’ve taken steps toward making a difference in my community. I joined Zonta, an international women’s advocacy group that works tirelessly to improve women’s lives here in Fort Collins and in the global community. I strive to make volunteer work part of my routine.

I didn’t do everything perfectly this year, but I did everything. And when you’re 23, that’s what counts.

On College

4 years ago, I thought May 8^th,  2016 would never come. Now it’s 3 days away, staring me in the face. I graduate college in about 84 hours. Like what?

I’ve been feeling stereotypically college nostalgic, so here we go.

They say college is the best four years of your life. It wasn’t. It was more like the most intense 4 years of my life. It was drenched in emotion. My college experience contains some of the top moments in my life, and some that were absolutely rock-bottom.

Let’s start at the beginning. To be honest, I wasn’t convinced I wanted to go to Coe. My college decision was frantic and rushed, and for an indecisive person like me, that’s the worst way to have a college search.  My spring semester of 12^th grade had me booked every weekend between speech and debate tournaments and my lead part in the musical, so visiting colleges out-of-state (AKA most colleges to which I had applied) was not as feasible as I thought it would be. Two of the out-of-state college visits I had planned (apart from Coe) were cancelled due to blizzard road closures. I was not about to commit to a school I hadn’t visited, so my college options essentially boiled down to a) a school in Colorado, which Adventurous Angela knew she didn’t want and b) Coe.

That’s not to say I didn’t want to go to Coe. My visit was fantastic: My hosts were helpful, campus was friendly, and being a Kohawk felt like a great fit. It’s just to say that my heart wasn’t 100% invested when I started college in August. I had always pictured myself at a big school, and I kind of liked the idea of anonymity. I wanted to be a leader, but I wanted to do it on my own terms. I wanted to lead in ways that fit me better than your typical “President of X club.” This did not meet the typical Coe model, at least in the way I initially saw it. Everyone else wanted to step up into leadership their first week; I wanted some time to figure out who college-Angela was apart from High-School-Angela before I sold my time to xyz activities. It left me feeling like even after a week on campus, I was already behind--I was already failing. It also left me feeling like I didn’t have friends--which, while that was ultimately my own fault, was still painful. Everyone was suddenly joining sororities and volunteering and I was still like “Wait so where do I buy my books?”  

Another factor in my not-getting-involved-immediately was that I knew wanted to dedicate myself to academics. It’s nerdy, but I’ll be real: I love learning. I was excited to step into a world where I suddenly had so many more resources with which to learn. I was thrilled to be in a place where I could take courses like Latin and sociology and art history. These subjects had not been available to me previously.  Learning takes time, and I had already discovered that it’s so much more satisfying when you can master a topic, not just get by for the test.  I didn’t want to suck up all my time doing things that kept me from achieving that sense of mastery.

Basically that meant that my first semester of college was pretty disappointing. Unbeknownst to me when I planned my courses, that first semester of college was infinitely easier than my last 2 years of high school. (That wasn’t because Coe isn’t academically rigorous—it is—I just happened to be really college-ready and to accidentally pick several “easy” classes.) I had three adjunct professors that semester (again, not AT ALL typical of Coe) that made it difficult to get connected with academic departments. I had budgeted so much time to coursework in this new world of learning, but I didn’t feel challenged. AND I didn’t feel like I had friends—at least, not as many as everyone else did. I felt like an outsider on a small college campus where outsiders don’t exist.

Things got better with time. I started to get more connected in the second semester, taking classes in the honors program and in psychology (now one of my majors). I still wasn’t that involved outside of my job in the writing center, but I did feel challenged. I settled in with my main friend group, who I can now say absolutely were the greatest part of my college experience. Then came the death of Joel. He was there, and then he was gone.  Our entire college community was heartbroken. I loved him—we all loved him. Three years later, I’m still processing the fact that he’s not here anymore.  Out of our friend group, I was probably the furthest from Joel—we were friends, but not best friends – so I took it as my responsibility to be “the strong one.” Because of that, I don’t think the pain of his death fully hit me in those months after it occurred. I think it haunted me instead, creeping into the moments when I would least expect it. I didn’t let myself stop to grieve. My routines became more stringent, my efforts to keep it together even stronger. I still don’t think I can write about how exactly Joel’s death affected me; I still don’t think I fully know. At the end of that semester, I went on a May Term to Paris, where I finally made my dream of traveling internationally come true.

The fall semester of my sophomore year was probably my favorite semester of college. I had been hired as an RA, a job that I loved and continued to love for the rest of my college career. I could finally lead on terms that matched who I was as a person. I joined a sorority that surrounded me with loving sisters. I also started taking classes for my English major, and I was head-over-heels for the subject. I loved going to class and oogling over Mary Wroth and John Donne. I had a car finally, and while I was scared to drive basically anywhere (I was the passenger in an awful and terrifying accident during my first year, which could be an entirely different post), the car gave me a newfound sense of freedom. The sunshine seemed brighter, Autumn never seemed more beautiful than on Coe’s trees, and life was truly good.

Spring 2014, again, took me on a roller coaster. For a girl who really loves her sunshine, Iowa winters are hard. I’m sensitive to light and “winter blues” are a real thing. My class load was difficult and I started a long journey of mental health struggles. Suddenly I had everything I wanted in my college experience, but I couldn’t enjoy it. And Joel was on my mind every moment. I also felt unimportant. Even though I was finally proud of myself, I didn’t feel like the college community saw me as valuable. Looking back objectively, I wasn’t doing anything spectacular, really, and I can understand why I wasn’t Coe’s star student. For sophomore Angela, though, who had been working her butt off and trying to make a meaningful mark on the community, feeling unvalued (on top of the mental health struggles) felt devastating. It wasn’t a bad semester; it just wasn’t a good one.

Then Fall 2014. Oh boy. By far the worst 4 months of my life. While I could feel myself sort of losing touch with the “positive emotions” side of the emotional spectrum in the spring, it was completely gone by the fall. I felt hopeless and utterly alone. I distinctly remember looking out my window on move-in day and wondering how I would make it through the semester. Three of my best friends were studying abroad, which certainly exacerbated the loneliness. It didn’t help that it was by far my hardest semester academically: all writing intensive classes with the hardest professors in my disciplines. I was consistently sleeping 4 or fewer hours per night, and my eating habits were hit-or-miss.  I’ve always been taught that you pick yourself up, that you keep going, that you persevere through all odds. While I continued living my everyday life with a façade, mostly accomplishing the things I needed to, my inner world was shattered. I didn’t think things could get worse, but they did. I spiraled down until crying was as normal as brushing my teeth. When I wasn’t crying, I was so anxious that I physically felt like I couldn’t breathe.

The good part of that semester was that I have never in my life felt so grateful. I needed help desperately, and I got it. I started seeing a counselor regularly, paid for by Coe. My professor invited me to her house for Thanksgiving, a gesture that especially during that time meant so much more than she’ll ever realize. That was the first time in a very long time that I had felt happy. My advisor helped me figure out how to rearrange my academics so I could focus on getting better. Another professor let me take an incomplete in her class until I was back to homeostasis. I’ve never received so many kind emails just to ask if I was okay.  Coe salvaged what was left of Angela and helped piece her back together. I will forever be thankful to Coe for that.

Then I went to Belfast, Northern Ireland, for the adventure of a lifetime. I tell people that year 21 was the worst (fall) and the best (spring) year of my life. My mental health battle scars left me with a knowledge of how beautiful happiness is, and I was determined to soak in every moment. Belfast, for me, represents a time of feel-it-in-your-bones healing. For the first time in my life, I felt carefree. I felt like I could stay out until 3 AM and hang out with my friends on a Tuesday night. I felt like I could get on a bus to who-knows-where and get totally, wonderfully lost. I had time to read books for fun and talk to local Belfasters in coffee shops and to cook food that I enjoyed. Every day presented a new challenge and a new opportunity to prove to myself that yes, actually, I AM capable. I had time and head space to work on a project that would become my senior honors thesis, probably the accomplishment I am most proud of from my entire college career. There were certainly low points in Belfast, but the rainbows were always worth the rain. I was absolutely the person I wanted to be.

And now, friends, senior year. I don’t quite have the same hindsight on this year as on the others. It’s been pretty good? It was hard to adjust back after N. Ireland, but not that hard. Mostly it was just hard to adjust back to having so many responsibilities. I achieved a pretty good sense of balance in the fall—a good combo of work and play. Spring got a little harder. I got in a car accident in December (coincidentally, on my way home for winter break… the same occasion as the car accident my first year) that left me feeling constantly anxious and afraid. It’s going to take a long time before I can feel comfortable in the car again, particularly on interstates, but we’ll get there one car ride at a time. After I started to finally cope with that, I went into overdrive on my thesis and wrote 60 pages in a month. It was exceptionally hard but exceptionally rewarding. It was exactly what I wanted to be working on. (Also FUN FACT my thesis defense was on Flunk Day, with true Angela Kettle luck). I had a FABULOUS internship at a museum downtown that connected me with the community in new ways, fostered friendships with awesome museum professionals, and that helped me discover how passionate I am about community-based learning. Pretty darn cool.

Mostly, my year has been rewarding. I’ve seen a lot of my hard work come to fruition. I successfully defended my thesis. I applied for a Fulbright in September, which I never-ever thought I would get, but SURPRISE, I got it. That award will allow me to live in Turkey for 9 months and get paid to teach English at a university after graduation. I’m excited to have a plan and a new challenge. I’ll graduate with a 3.979 GPA, which is one one-thousandth of a point off summa cum laude, but close enough in my book.

There are things I should have done differently. I worked really hard at Coe—really, really, really hard. But sometimes I didn’t work for the right things. I should have volunteered more, and I should have been more involved in the Cedar Rapids community. I regret that I didn’t figure that out before now. I get the most work done when I hyperfocus, which is good for my work but not always good for my relationships (or my health). I can get so sucked into whatever I am working on that I lose a sense of perspective about what’s actually important in life. I wish I would have gotten to know more people more closely. I don’t enjoy small talk, and sometimes getting past that acquaintance-to-friendship barrier feels like Mt. Everest to me. I wish I would have tried a little harder to summit that peak.

There are also things I did right. I engaged in my classes and my work, leading to a really meaningful academic experience. I spent my free time in Residence Life, where I really think I helped people. I persevered through obstacles that came my way, and most importantly, I got help when I needed it. I learned about privilege and started asking myself critical questions about how our world works and what I can do to make it better. I learned about privilege and started recognizing the ways it manifests in my life, and the ways I can use it for good. I developed a few close friendships that I know will last a lifetime. I challenged myself to make my dream of living abroad come true.

Graduating is bittersweet. Coe made me the person I am today, and though I wasn’t convinced when I first enrolled, Coe was 100% the place for me. I am leaving with new perspectives, new experiences, and new paths. Not four years, for life.

The College Halfway Point

The other day, I was checking a girl into her residence hall room as part of my RA job. We were casually chatting when I decided to ask her what year she was... to which she replied "oh, I'm a junior"... to which I replied, "Wow, you're halfway done with college!"

And it took me a minute to realize what exactly the words plummeting out of my mouth meant.

Let's review the facts:
1. I have completed two years of college.
2. She has completed two years of college.
3. She said she was a junior.
4. That also makes me a junior.
5. That means I'm halfway through college.

Say whaaaaat? When did that happen??

It's weirding me out so much to think that I am that person -- that super old junior -- little first-year Angela looked up to not-so-long-ago. Or at least, I'm making progress toward being that person.

I came to college anxious, but I didn't come afraid. (Look at the blog I posted right before moving away for the first time!) I was willing to brave this new corn-filled state, new classes, and new challenges without a second thought. For a long time, I thought my bravery was enough. If I showed up and made it through, I had accomplished something.

Largely, that's true, and I am incredibly proud of the strong perseverance I hold. But what I failed to realize then was how much confidence and passion play a role in cultivating dreams. Showing up, and even showing up and doing your best, isn't enough. You've gotta put some heart into it. You've gotta show people that you care about what you are doing: that it's not just a thing you do, but rather the only way you can do your thing.

Sometimes, that passion means disappointing people. It means letting some things go so you can hold other things tighter. It means prioritizing. It means spelling things wrong in an email every once in a while so you can spend an extra 5 minutes playing the guitar you've dreamed of playing since you were 10. It means waking up early on a Saturday morning -- even though you are exhausted -- so you can volunteer at a community clinic (and not just to put it on your resume). It means knowing what you want most, even through the noise of everybody telling you what you should want.

For most of my first two years, I didn't understand that. I felt so bitter and confused about why I was working so hard (and in my mind, harder than a lot of other people) and still feeling like I wasn't valued or trusted as much as my classmates. I absorbed myself even more into my work -- into my grades, into my jobs, into my "duties" -- to prove my worth to myself. And even after 14 years of school with straight As, even after successfully juggling four on-campus jobs alongside sorority and club commitments, even after all the special projects and extras, I still felt like I had nothing to show for myself. Talk about burn-out.

Things are still pretty unclear, and honestly, I don't think that's going to get better any time soon. We're told from the time we are little to "follow our dreams," but we're not exactly told how to figure out what they are in the first place, let alone how to pick which ones to follow. It takes a lot more than pixie dust. Day by day, though, I am learning how to listen a little more to my heart. I am learning to feel the difference between satisfaction and contentment -- satisfaction is only temporary, but contentment is deep and longstanding. I should do those things that will keep this fire of passion burning within me for longer than the four years I am here. Those will be the dreams that last.

So, yes, I am halfway done with college. But who's counting? Passion isn't on a schedule, and there's no due date. That is the only fact that really matters.

:)

Summer Camp Round 2: Magic, Synergy, and Kindness

I just got home from working at an amazing summer camp, and I think I am going through a tiny bit of a reverse culture shock process. It's difficult to go from a Neverland filled with fairies and dreams to a house filled with homework and bills. So, I am going to stall that process a little by sharing with you all the lessons I learned over the (mostly) internet-less past two months.

1. Get a real-life job, have a real-life life. Get a magical job, have a magical life. 
Ok, this seriously comes up ALL the time in this blog, but this concept of the "real world" freaks me out. Like a lot. But the more I think about it, the more I realize how cruel it is that as a young adult, I am conditioned to believe the "real world" is this thing that's out to get me someday. I know, I know, all the fun ends when I graduate and I will rue the day when I chose to think about anything but paying off my student loans. What?? HOW does that kind of paradigm benefit anyone? The truth is, I don't want or need the "real world." If camp teaches anything, it's that magic is everywhere you wish it to be. A dining hall transforms into Queen Elsa's coronation with just a few snowflakes and "Let it Go" playing. That's the realm I can choose to live in -- one where I can care more about the smile on a child's face than about how she is affording to be there. If that means I need a reality check, so be it.

2. Teamwork is easier when you are all striving toward a common goal.
Coming from college to camp is quite the transition. In college, everyone is doing their own thing. Different customized majors, different extracurriculars, different friend circles, different schedules... etc. And while we can certainly rally around a cause (Flunk Day, anyone? Midnight breakfast during finals?), it's not feasible all the time. At camp, on the other hand, we have one priority: our campers. Even while we are all with different age groups doing different activities, every action we take comes back to the campers' growth, happiness, health, and safety. There's no conflict of interest when the buildings need to be cleaned before they arrive or when a homesick camper needs a little TLC. Every single person is ready to buckle down and get it done because that's why we are there. I think that kind of clarity and focus can be beneficial to any organization. While it is undoubtedly easier to accomplish when the staff lives in the same place they work (the job becomes the life), it's a good thing to keep in mind.

3. Who you work with matters more than where you work.
For goodness sake, be a good co-worker! It makes so much of a difference. This summer, I worked in the same unit every week with one particular counselor whom I trusted to the ends of the earth. We had pretty similar personalities and our communication was spot-on. She saved me so many times and took care of the things I didn't remember. We were placed in some units that weren't exactly in our element (AKA the farm), but we were able to overcome and give our campers an awesome experience because of the joy and confidence we gained from each other. Unfortunately, co-workers aren't normally in our control... but just remember, your attitude and level of responsibility and all that good stuff matters a lot in making a positive place to work.

4. Giving to others allows you to give to yourself.
Camp forces me to be brave, persistent, and selfless. All things that I want to be, and all things I probably wouldn't be if I didn't have the responsibility of 24 children. If we're stuck in the middle of a lightning storm, my presence has to convince them things will be ok. I can't accomplish that if I am freaking out. If I can't figure out how to make the bead animal, I have to keep trying... because to give up would be telling them to give up, too. And when I am exhausted and just want to sleep, I have to keep going... because to stop caring is to tell them they are not worthwhile. There are so many people out there who could use a helping hand and a caring heart. If you can't become the person you want to be for yourself, do it for one of them. You reap the benefits, and so do they.

5. Listen. REALLY listen. And remember.
I can't tell you how many times a camper will tell me a story and I will suddenly start thinking about my to-do list, how my food is digesting, my weekend plans, and anything else that isn't the story. It's ridiculous. I end up so upset with myself that I missed this little tidbit of her life -- this little tidbit that could tell me so much about who she is and what she needs. On the other hand, when I take the time (and energy!) to actively listen, our bond forms so much more quickly and strongly. We have a launching point for future conversations and situations. Take time to listen. Stop what you are doing. Visualize what they are saying. It matters.

6. Smiles and kind words go a long way.
There were so many times when someone said "You're doing a great job" or made a funny face in my direction and it brightened my day. And when I was feeling refreshed and optimistic, I was better at my job.  It doesn't take a lot of effort, just a lot of willingness. Put yourself out there and let others know you appreciate them. Just do it.

7. No matter how much time you have, take time to laugh.
Sometimes, laughter is better than sleep. There were many times when we put the campers to sleep and then had a short meeting with only the counselors. Many of those times, our meetings turned into funny stories and laughter. And occasionally, we went to bed much later than we should have. It was always worth it; some of my favorite memories from the entire summer come from those few minutes. Having just a little while to unwind and deconstruct the monsters we had created in our minds helped us sleep better and feel better the next day. Never be too focused to laugh. You need it like you need air.

Well, there we go. Heading back to school tomorrow... wish me luck in taking back these lessons and transitioning yet again. Much love to you all.

Star Gazing, Inside

As summer finally approaches, I find myself among the cool night breeze and thousands of stars.

Most of the time in this situation, I'm complaining about how it's cold, how I can't find my flashlight, and how, for the thousandth time, I don't see Orion. But tonight, I have something a little deeper on my mind.

Call me a bad camp counselor, but I've never been incredibly fond of stargazing. I've never really liked darkness (it still scares me a little) and I've never liked being cold (really, just me being picky). Beyond those small qualms, though, I find stargazing to be incredibly difficult. When everyone else is noticing all these cool constellations, I stare at the sky, seeing nothing but a bunch of separate dots scattered and displaced.

Don't get me wrong -- there's something so inspiring about staring at something so vast and static. When I first lay down and look up, I love stargazing. It's when I try and fail to see the patterns -- to make sense of it -- that my frustration begins and I lose my sense of wonder.

Note that I don't lose my wonder because I see the constellations, but rather because I don't and I want to. Seeing the patterns -- being able to categorize the stars in almost a hundred different ways and appreciate them through a hundred different lenses -- I think would increase my sense of wonder.
The inspiration I feel when first laying down would be augmented through clearer understanding, not threatened.

Now, life. This past semester especially, I've fought a lot with the idea, "Who am I?" It's pretty common for someone my age, but that doesn't change that it's grueling to figure out. To make matters a little more complicated, I often feel the pressure of society asking me instead: "What do you do?"

Perhaps this is idealistic and even pompous, but I don't think what I do is equivalent to who I am. There's a lot more that burns within me than the 24-hour days can allow me to express. And while I do think it's true that you spend time on the things that are most important to you, I don't want my identity to be confined to only those things. I wish I could be a billboard: easy, understandable, and concise. A life dedicated to a single cause or idea, one simple career goal, one personal statement, a one-page resume. But really, what's in me is the starry sky, complete with the occasional night chill, darkness, a lot of frustration, and hopefully a lot of wonder.

This summer, I have a new goal: I will see the constellations in the starry night. It might be disillusioning at times, but I won't stop searching. And I won't stop searching for the constellations within myself, either. Just because it doesn't fit together right away doesn't mean it's not worthwhile.

I will sip this hot cocoa and stare into the night. I will brave the cold winds and the darkness. Even if I can never fully explain or even understand the full picture, I will patiently piece together who I am -- one constellation at a time. 

Why I Study English

I've been thinking a lot today about why I am an English major. I'm 20. I have to consider the rest of my life right now. I have to make plans that theoretically will last for years to come. Even if my interests are drastically different 20, 30, or 40 years from now, I can very likely only go to college once... and college is hailed to be the all-powerful factor which determines your job... Which, in United States society, determines your life. It's all perfectly laid out in this hierarchy, and I'm currently building the foundational layer.

I could give you all this hoity-toity rhetoric about how I am following my heart, how I feel called to an English major, how it's the only thing I could be truly happy doing for the rest of my life. Some of that is a little bit true. Most of it is stuff I hear from other people and adopt to make myself feel better.

To be honest, I'm an English major because I truly, deeply feel it is making me a better human being. And if I'm a better human being, I can accomplish more in any path I choose.

Reading is really just active listening. It's listening to the wonders, heartaches, joys, surprises, and complaints of humankind throughout the ages. It adds depth to my lifespan, contributing experiences and ideas that my time here on earth cannot possibly offer.  It reminds me how vast the universe is, yet never makes me seem insignificant. In fact, it makes me feel like every individual experience I have counts for something, for this greater collective song of humanity.

It's idealistic, I'm aware -- but I am fully confident that it will strengthen my character and allow me to make the best possible decisions when the time is appropriate.

I'll leave you with this little quote in William Wordsworth's Preface to Lyrical Ballads. Most of the time I don't agree with Wordsworth's opinions of poetry, but I do like this (even-more-idealistic-than-me) little snippet about the role of the poet:

"He is the rock of defence for human nature; an upholder and preserver, carrying everywhere with him relationship and love. In spite of the difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs: in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed; the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time."

My interests might change, but whatever humanity is made of -- this stuff that goes deeper than jobs or expectations -- clearly doesn't. That's why I study English.

Battle of the Characteristics: "Nice" vs. "Kind"

Another Friday night of tea and blogging.... RA duty has its advantages.

This week, I've been thinking a lot about the difference between being "nice" and being "kind." I tend to group the two words together, using them as synonyms. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that they are two fundamentally different qualities.

I'm often told that I am nice. If I were to describe myself, I would also say I am nice. I smile a lot. I hold doors open for people. I don't get angry easily... and if I do, I don't show it. I let others go before me in line. I give my friend the bigger half of the cookie. And I definitely never let the weekend start without telling everyone, far and wide, "Have a good weekend, (insert name here)!"

But do these things also make me kind?

My case for a difference between "nice" and "kind" starts with someone important in my life: my high school speech and debate coach/English teacher. With the exception of my parents, Mrs. Carochi has helped me more than anyone I know. There are the obvious ways: She taught me a heck of a lot about English, which is now one of my college majors and a point of lifelong learning. She taught me how to write and perform a piece that will move and persuade others toward a better life through speech. She taught me how to carry my weight as a member of a team and how to delegate. Then there are the hidden ways, the ways that only I can fully understand. She is the reason I knew anything about how to apply to college, let alone how to apply to the right college. A year later, she was the reason I didn't transfer from that right college when things got difficult. She is one of the reasons I made it through my first real heartbreak. The list goes on.

Aside: Mrs. Carochi was just inducted into the Colorado High School Activities Association Hall of Fame, and she was inducted into the National Forensics League Hall of Fame a few years ago. Other people think she is just as great as I do.

Mrs. Carochi was never considered a nice teacher. She was "hard," she was "mean," and she was "stubborn." You didn't want to be around her when she is angry -- she can and will take your birthday away. Every student in Honors English feared the wrath of her red pen all over every paper. All the same, Mrs. Carochi, for the reasons outlined above, is among the kindest people I think I will ever meet.

I think the difference between "nice" and "kind" is a matter of intention. For me, being nice is a lot easier than being kind. Being nice just means I have to respond to the environment around me in a way that is pleasant toward others. It doesn't require a lot of sacrifice... smiling takes fewer muscles than frowning, so the legend says. Being kind, however, requires that I bring something original to my environment with the intention of making someone's life better. It calls for me to give of myself continuously, even when I don't feel like it or don't have time. It calls for me to bake delicious cookies from scratch with the intention of giving the whole batch to someone, not just to give the bigger half of a crummy chocolate chip cookie I already have.

The hardest part of this for me to accept is that being kind sometimes goes directly against being nice. Making someone's life better isn't always pleasant. I never enjoyed Mrs. Carochi's red pen on my papers, but I always appreciated it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not hatin' on being nice. Often, I think being nice can open a path toward being kind. Being nice establishes approachability and an inkling of trust, making others more receptive to kindness. But there comes a point when being nice isn't enough, and being kind must take priority.

Kindness... it's more than a happy disposition.