Today was a surprisingly monumental day. I wasn’t expecting it at all, but three major things happened today. The first was the most adult, I think. Yesterday I turned in my contract at Capital University. I have been hired as a Visiting Assistant Professor of English beginning Fall semester of 2007. What’s exciting about the job, besides the fact that it’s an actual job with a reasonable salary, is that there are benefits associated with it. It’s not like I haven’t had insurance before, but the benefits package which was explained to me today by a woman in HR, is way more than that. I get Life Insurance, a retirement account (TIAA-CREF), a flexible spending account and more. This is probably all completely normal for most people my age, but for me, this is ALL new. Not only is it exciting, but it’s also a little terrifying. It means that I’m a real adult with an actual job and a reasonable salary. As much as I like to complain about the difficulties of being a student at my age because of the obvious arrested development (and yes, I still think the song “Tennessee” whenever I hear this term, though I did really enjoy the TV show about the Bluths) I seemingly suffer, I’m almost more concerned about truly becoming an adult in this way. It seems almost as significant as graduating, but I’m sure when that actually happens I will disagree with myself.
After I heard about my benefits I went for a routine haircut, or so I thought. I went in just wanting to get the ends trimmed, but I did something more bold, something more significant, something utterly life-changing. I GOT BANGS!!! For my male readers, I realize that you may not understand the significance of such a move, but it is such a big deal. I have not had bangs since I was in third grade and those were feathered. Yes, I said feathered. I look completely different and I apologize to those of you who were big fans of cute little forehead because now it is obscured with my shiny, shiny bangs. It’s a new look for me, but I’m loving it though I do find myself a little more obsessed with my mirror.
The third monumental thing I did was attend a poetry reading/open mike/slam contest here in Columbus. I was trying to remember the last time I went to one and I think it was when I was back in Toledo and was a Co-founder of Toledo Poets which met at the now defunct Bagpiper’s bar and Pub in downtown Toledo. It was a lovely experience that my friend encouraged me to attend. Although I didn’t participate in the open mike portion, I was a judge for the Grand Slam, in which the four winners would represent Writer’s Block (the name of the poetry group) at the National Slam contest in Austin, Texas in August. Being a judge was fun and reminded me just how much I love poetry and writing. Before the poetry even began I found myself coming up with some ideas, and I wrote a poem on the receipt for my haircut. Here it is:
Writer’s Block (05/30/07)
Kept my words to myself
On my first night
Back in the saddle
I’ve never ridden horses here
And not sure I remember
How to climb up
Much the less
How to gallop
Without stumbling
Tripping on my feet
And on my phrases
The now unfamiliar ring
Of poems in my head
Reminds me
That somehow
I’m destined for this
Or at least named for it
Kavita means poem
I mean poem
I mean poem
I mean poem
The name Kavita does mean poem. Look it up on wikipedia if you don’t believe me.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Better Late Than Never…
I know that “better late than never” is a cliché to the nth degree, but I’m finding that this one is quite apt in my life, especially at this time. As the semester ends, I am trying to look back over the past two semesters and see the difference that time has made. Since I’ve moved to Columbus, I’ve been making a lot of adaptations and discovering just how much I’ve changed. I’ve been trying to discern the impetus for these transformations, but I’m having some difficulty. The most sensical idea is that since my environment has changed, I have accordingly adapted to it. That is true on many minute levels. I have gone back to calling soda, “pop,” as is colloquial here in Ohio; my driving has become markedly less aggressive; and I smile and make eye contact with strangers on a much more regular basis than I did during my years on Long Island. Those are all fairly small changes, but the largest modifications seem to relate most directly to my personal life.
The ways I handle things within all of my interpersonal relationships seem to have improved. I’ve always been a fairly reasonable listener and advice-giver, but I’m finding that my patience and tolerance of such things has grown by leaps and bounds. Things that I used to find tiresome or ridiculous, I am able to more openly discuss and with less judgment. I am also less critical of others’ foibles, though certain mispronunciations do and will always irk me to no end. (Sorry Amy!) The most important of these interpersonal changes is that I am not as quick to react, or in my case, overreact when faced with certain situations. Although I still do analyze everything too much (according to most of my friends), I am much more capable of taking my analyses less seriously and just thoroughly enjoying the moment, or as recent events, would have it, moments. I remember not so long ago a time when I would overreact and over-analyze a circumstance which invariably was really of little significance or more importantly consequence to me, and all it really did was cause consternation. Now I’m finally better at these things…better late than never…I suppose.
Again, I’m not sure whether to attribute this to fresh Midwestern values and aesthetics, to my maturation and growing as a person, or to something else entirely. I have found that the two books that I taught to my students at Ohio Dominican University really affected me quite profoundly. In the Fall, I taught Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. This fact, in itself, isn’t that significant because last fall constituted the fourth time I had taught this particularly lovely novel. I even taught it when I was 28, the same age as the protagonist Edna Pontellier. For some reason, only at age 31 did it ring as true and as wholly within me. For those of you who haven’t read it, I suggest that anyone can benefit from reading this classic.
What I gained from it on a personal level, is the idea that a person MUST be satisfied with her own life and must live for herself. Although her decisions were inherently selfish, she reveled in them because they were hers and she owned them, without them owning her. Even if others were critical and didn’t approve of the direction in which she was heading, she was content with herself. I find it’s easier to make decisions that are valuable to the whole of society, or one’s family or friends, but often much more difficult to make decisions solely for one’s own benefit. It also reminds me of a few lines from Tori Amos’s song “Everybody Else’s Girl”—“She’s been every body else’s girl/ Maybe one day she’ll be her own.” I’ve realized that the only PERSON I am really responsible to is me and it’s been a hard lesson to learn. A few of you reading this know exactly what this feels like.
The book I just finished teaching this Spring was Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. Like the titular character, it can and does become quite easy to obsess over one’s youth and beauty, and perhaps lack thereof. The discussion of youth as put forth by the lovely Lord Henry Wotton to our very impressionable Dorian Gray states that “When your youth goes, your beauty goes with it, and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or have to be content with those mean triumphs that the memory of your past will make more bitter than defeats. Every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dreadful” (Wilde 16). Although ultimately, Lord Henry’s speech becomes more a defense of seizing the day as he claims that Dorian should “Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensation. Be afraid of nothing,” his claims about the importance of youth bring about much to ponder (Wilde 16).
It seems fitting that since I recently had a birthday I would be contemplating youth and its ephemeral existence, but I have realized that as much as I wish to cherish my youth (if one calls being 32 young), I am really pleased with the maturation and adult version of myself that I have now become. The triumphs that Lord Henry suggest are located only in youth, can be found at any point in time when one is searching for a new and improved way to live one’s life. Despite all of the negative influence that Lord Henry has on Dorian and the implications of it, Lord Henry does speak a great deal of truth: “The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly—that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one’s self” (Wilde 13). It’s this self-development that I have been witnessing and undergoing somewhat simultaneously.
After rereading what I’ve just written, it seems that I am advocating a selfish attitude towards one’s life, and perhaps I am, but not in the way one often thinks of the word selfish. Although it does require some forsaking of others, being truly selfish, and considering one’s own feelings and desires as paramount, CAN be a positive thing, depending on the person. If you are already one of those people who can’t and don’t think of others, then this is not for you. More people than not, I believe in my currently optimistic, glass-half-full, mentality, choose to honor others’ desires and feelings over one’s own. This can result in a great deal of unhappiness, unfulfilled dreams and can overall be detrimental to one’s own psyche.
I cannot overemphasize how much one needs to understand the difference between being true to oneself and being selfish in the completely negative sense. Living in a post 9/11 world and now in a post-Virginia Tech massacre kind of world, it’s of the utmost significance that we understand the shades of meaning and myriad ways in which these feelings of empowerment of oneself and one’s actions regarding this can affect other people. As a former English major, current PhD student in English and current instructor on the college level, I do firmly comprehend the difficulties one can have in negotiating between these various levels of independence of thought and action.
I find that since I moved to Columbus, though the reasons for that move were by no means selfish, I have made some really important decisions for myself where the only person that was consulted and referred to was me. That’s not to say that I didn’t, from time to time, ask my friends about their opinions about the various situations in which I tend to tangle myself, but the fact is, that ultimately, I decided to go with my own beliefs on the situation and not rely on their opinions for validation of my decisions. I learned to depend on me, and yes, I realize that’s from Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All.” Again, better late than never, no?
As a coda to all these internal revelations, I would like to note that some of my new experiences, including: eating oysters, re-discovering my creative writing abilities, (though perhaps in a unique format and genre,) and reconnecting with my journaling, have really made this cliché of “better late than never” even more appropriate.
Oh, and if you happen to be one of the few and privileged who know the details of my actual experiences, please remember that I write about them obliquely purposefully.
Work Cited
Wilde, Oscar. The Picture of Dorian Gray. 1891. Dover: New York, 1993.
The ways I handle things within all of my interpersonal relationships seem to have improved. I’ve always been a fairly reasonable listener and advice-giver, but I’m finding that my patience and tolerance of such things has grown by leaps and bounds. Things that I used to find tiresome or ridiculous, I am able to more openly discuss and with less judgment. I am also less critical of others’ foibles, though certain mispronunciations do and will always irk me to no end. (Sorry Amy!) The most important of these interpersonal changes is that I am not as quick to react, or in my case, overreact when faced with certain situations. Although I still do analyze everything too much (according to most of my friends), I am much more capable of taking my analyses less seriously and just thoroughly enjoying the moment, or as recent events, would have it, moments. I remember not so long ago a time when I would overreact and over-analyze a circumstance which invariably was really of little significance or more importantly consequence to me, and all it really did was cause consternation. Now I’m finally better at these things…better late than never…I suppose.
Again, I’m not sure whether to attribute this to fresh Midwestern values and aesthetics, to my maturation and growing as a person, or to something else entirely. I have found that the two books that I taught to my students at Ohio Dominican University really affected me quite profoundly. In the Fall, I taught Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. This fact, in itself, isn’t that significant because last fall constituted the fourth time I had taught this particularly lovely novel. I even taught it when I was 28, the same age as the protagonist Edna Pontellier. For some reason, only at age 31 did it ring as true and as wholly within me. For those of you who haven’t read it, I suggest that anyone can benefit from reading this classic.
What I gained from it on a personal level, is the idea that a person MUST be satisfied with her own life and must live for herself. Although her decisions were inherently selfish, she reveled in them because they were hers and she owned them, without them owning her. Even if others were critical and didn’t approve of the direction in which she was heading, she was content with herself. I find it’s easier to make decisions that are valuable to the whole of society, or one’s family or friends, but often much more difficult to make decisions solely for one’s own benefit. It also reminds me of a few lines from Tori Amos’s song “Everybody Else’s Girl”—“She’s been every body else’s girl/ Maybe one day she’ll be her own.” I’ve realized that the only PERSON I am really responsible to is me and it’s been a hard lesson to learn. A few of you reading this know exactly what this feels like.
The book I just finished teaching this Spring was Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. Like the titular character, it can and does become quite easy to obsess over one’s youth and beauty, and perhaps lack thereof. The discussion of youth as put forth by the lovely Lord Henry Wotton to our very impressionable Dorian Gray states that “When your youth goes, your beauty goes with it, and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or have to be content with those mean triumphs that the memory of your past will make more bitter than defeats. Every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dreadful” (Wilde 16). Although ultimately, Lord Henry’s speech becomes more a defense of seizing the day as he claims that Dorian should “Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensation. Be afraid of nothing,” his claims about the importance of youth bring about much to ponder (Wilde 16).
It seems fitting that since I recently had a birthday I would be contemplating youth and its ephemeral existence, but I have realized that as much as I wish to cherish my youth (if one calls being 32 young), I am really pleased with the maturation and adult version of myself that I have now become. The triumphs that Lord Henry suggest are located only in youth, can be found at any point in time when one is searching for a new and improved way to live one’s life. Despite all of the negative influence that Lord Henry has on Dorian and the implications of it, Lord Henry does speak a great deal of truth: “The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly—that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one’s self” (Wilde 13). It’s this self-development that I have been witnessing and undergoing somewhat simultaneously.
After rereading what I’ve just written, it seems that I am advocating a selfish attitude towards one’s life, and perhaps I am, but not in the way one often thinks of the word selfish. Although it does require some forsaking of others, being truly selfish, and considering one’s own feelings and desires as paramount, CAN be a positive thing, depending on the person. If you are already one of those people who can’t and don’t think of others, then this is not for you. More people than not, I believe in my currently optimistic, glass-half-full, mentality, choose to honor others’ desires and feelings over one’s own. This can result in a great deal of unhappiness, unfulfilled dreams and can overall be detrimental to one’s own psyche.
I cannot overemphasize how much one needs to understand the difference between being true to oneself and being selfish in the completely negative sense. Living in a post 9/11 world and now in a post-Virginia Tech massacre kind of world, it’s of the utmost significance that we understand the shades of meaning and myriad ways in which these feelings of empowerment of oneself and one’s actions regarding this can affect other people. As a former English major, current PhD student in English and current instructor on the college level, I do firmly comprehend the difficulties one can have in negotiating between these various levels of independence of thought and action.
I find that since I moved to Columbus, though the reasons for that move were by no means selfish, I have made some really important decisions for myself where the only person that was consulted and referred to was me. That’s not to say that I didn’t, from time to time, ask my friends about their opinions about the various situations in which I tend to tangle myself, but the fact is, that ultimately, I decided to go with my own beliefs on the situation and not rely on their opinions for validation of my decisions. I learned to depend on me, and yes, I realize that’s from Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All.” Again, better late than never, no?
As a coda to all these internal revelations, I would like to note that some of my new experiences, including: eating oysters, re-discovering my creative writing abilities, (though perhaps in a unique format and genre,) and reconnecting with my journaling, have really made this cliché of “better late than never” even more appropriate.
Oh, and if you happen to be one of the few and privileged who know the details of my actual experiences, please remember that I write about them obliquely purposefully.
Work Cited
Wilde, Oscar. The Picture of Dorian Gray. 1891. Dover: New York, 1993.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Full Circle
I am sitting on the 3rd floor of the Paul Laurence Dunbar Library on the campus of Wright State University, with a copy of the school newspaper, The Guardian, on the table. It is possible that ten years ago, to the day, I was doing almost the exact same thing. Things certainly have changed since I graduated from Wright State back in 1997. [Insert old joke here]. I didn’t have a fancy laptop, that’s for sure. I only knew of one person in college who had a laptop—this older guy named Chris who used to take notes for our science classes on it. I remember thinking he was quite strange back then for not writing out notes, like the rest of us normal people did. Now students can rent out laptops to use during their time in the library.
The aesthetics of the campus have changed a great deal, but somehow being here is still very comfortable and safe. I think it’s because I really did have some of the best times of my life here. [Insert St. Elmo’s Fire theme here]. As I sit here, staring out at the students walking to and from class, and watching students scramble for parking (some things never change), I am caught in a whirlwind of nostalgia. For those of you who know me, being nostalgic is a fairly common occurrence, but now the experience is more visceral since I’m actually here, walking in the same doors I used to and trolling the same book stacks I did when I took Dr. James Guthrie’s American Romanticism class. My recent encounters with college buddies only amplify my experience.
This is where I truly learned about my love for books, and poetry and language. I used to quote Wordsworth, write in my journal obsessively, create poems in my head and walk around with the words swirling through me; and, of course, it’s where I first fell in love with the man who still preoccupies my head, and my heart, most days—Walt Whitman. I’m sure some of you were expecting another name, but no other man unrelated to me, has impacted me as much as Whitman has. I’m here today doing research for the Whitman section of my dissertation and I’m thrust back into that time my senior year when I had to write a paper about him. I believe the title was “Walt Whitman and the Ever-Inclusive You.”
My paper was due on a Thursday, sometime in November of 1996. That Wednesday, the 12th of November, I now recall, I went home to Cambridge because I had a dentist’s appointment. I was wearing my favorite black corduroy bib overalls (yes, they were actually quite stylish back in the day) and my gray ribbed turtleneck and decided that night that I would go to The Asylum for ‘80s night, a veritable tradition for me. That night would be special though. It was the first time I ever hung out with the guy who would eventually become my boyfriend my senior year of college. I had a great time dancing, as per usual, but then went back to working on the paper as soon as I got back. It was one of the few 10 page papers I had to write in undergrad and I worked very hard on it.
Imagine my disappointment when I get it back with a B- on it, after all the toil and trouble I had put into it. I was so upset to receive that grade; my belief in myself and my writing faltered after that, but thankfully only for a short time. I was still writing for The Guardian and enjoying my time with my roommate, friends, and boyfriend. Soon after that I became News Editor for The Guardian and worked those amazingly fun but tiring Tuesday nights. My path, at that point, was certainly not leading to my current lot in life. I was still pre-med and had the awful pleasure of studying for the MCAT which I took April 20, 1997.
Soon after that, but perhaps not soon enough, things finally changed for me. I embraced my passion for English and teaching, and released my desire to pursue a career path in medicine. After a Masters degree in English at the University of Toledo, and several years of work on my PhD at Stony Brook, I am back here at my baccalaureate institution writing my dissertation. I guess some things really do come full circle.
The aesthetics of the campus have changed a great deal, but somehow being here is still very comfortable and safe. I think it’s because I really did have some of the best times of my life here. [Insert St. Elmo’s Fire theme here]. As I sit here, staring out at the students walking to and from class, and watching students scramble for parking (some things never change), I am caught in a whirlwind of nostalgia. For those of you who know me, being nostalgic is a fairly common occurrence, but now the experience is more visceral since I’m actually here, walking in the same doors I used to and trolling the same book stacks I did when I took Dr. James Guthrie’s American Romanticism class. My recent encounters with college buddies only amplify my experience.
This is where I truly learned about my love for books, and poetry and language. I used to quote Wordsworth, write in my journal obsessively, create poems in my head and walk around with the words swirling through me; and, of course, it’s where I first fell in love with the man who still preoccupies my head, and my heart, most days—Walt Whitman. I’m sure some of you were expecting another name, but no other man unrelated to me, has impacted me as much as Whitman has. I’m here today doing research for the Whitman section of my dissertation and I’m thrust back into that time my senior year when I had to write a paper about him. I believe the title was “Walt Whitman and the Ever-Inclusive You.”
My paper was due on a Thursday, sometime in November of 1996. That Wednesday, the 12th of November, I now recall, I went home to Cambridge because I had a dentist’s appointment. I was wearing my favorite black corduroy bib overalls (yes, they were actually quite stylish back in the day) and my gray ribbed turtleneck and decided that night that I would go to The Asylum for ‘80s night, a veritable tradition for me. That night would be special though. It was the first time I ever hung out with the guy who would eventually become my boyfriend my senior year of college. I had a great time dancing, as per usual, but then went back to working on the paper as soon as I got back. It was one of the few 10 page papers I had to write in undergrad and I worked very hard on it.
Imagine my disappointment when I get it back with a B- on it, after all the toil and trouble I had put into it. I was so upset to receive that grade; my belief in myself and my writing faltered after that, but thankfully only for a short time. I was still writing for The Guardian and enjoying my time with my roommate, friends, and boyfriend. Soon after that I became News Editor for The Guardian and worked those amazingly fun but tiring Tuesday nights. My path, at that point, was certainly not leading to my current lot in life. I was still pre-med and had the awful pleasure of studying for the MCAT which I took April 20, 1997.
Soon after that, but perhaps not soon enough, things finally changed for me. I embraced my passion for English and teaching, and released my desire to pursue a career path in medicine. After a Masters degree in English at the University of Toledo, and several years of work on my PhD at Stony Brook, I am back here at my baccalaureate institution writing my dissertation. I guess some things really do come full circle.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Groundhogs and misaligned ducks
Happy New Year! It’s already February and the groundhog has prophesied an early spring, but this year I think he’s wrong. He’s incorrect because of all the arctic air cascading over the mid-section of the country, but I still put a lot of faith in that pawed animal. I was having some difficulty figuring out if I should continue with a particular pursuit of mine or if I should abandon it for possibly greener pastures. I let it ride all on the national groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil. Both he and his Ohio counterpart, Buckeye Chuck, came to the conclusion that I should not waste six more weeks on this ineffable situation and just as spring abounds with newness and rejuvenation, so should I. I’m fairly content with my decision, or rather Phil’s, though it is disappointing.
My decision to rely on something as ridiculous as a groundhog came about because of a misalignment of ducks. I unwisely thought that all of my ducks were in a row, as it were, but in fact, they refused to line up as I wished for them. Each duck is its own circumstance, and apparently felt the need to exercise its own limited agency, though in some cases, weaving in and out of the line so much that I had no idea if it would remain in the linear progression I had established or if it would plot its own course, contrary to all prior arrangements. A few ducks remained in position, adhering to the configuration, but when it came to knocking them down, they would not, in fact, budge. One duck remained steadfast in its opposition to my overall plans, though perhaps not voluntarily.
I am realizing more and more that I must have control over almost everything, especially when it comes to certain circumstances in my life. And since I could no longer control these ducks and their seemingly arbitrary whims, I decided that the enterprise itself was no longer worth my time, energy and pursuit. It’s unfortunate that I had to rely on the oh-so capricious pundit of prognostication Punxsutawney Phil, but sometimes it takes an outside force to help one realize what has been bubbling at the surface for quite some time. In my case, it was my inevitable failure at an impossible undertaking.
This dissolution will truly only bring rise to a better set of circumstances for me, at least that is what I am trying to believe. And fear not, I am not referring to my dissertation.
My decision to rely on something as ridiculous as a groundhog came about because of a misalignment of ducks. I unwisely thought that all of my ducks were in a row, as it were, but in fact, they refused to line up as I wished for them. Each duck is its own circumstance, and apparently felt the need to exercise its own limited agency, though in some cases, weaving in and out of the line so much that I had no idea if it would remain in the linear progression I had established or if it would plot its own course, contrary to all prior arrangements. A few ducks remained in position, adhering to the configuration, but when it came to knocking them down, they would not, in fact, budge. One duck remained steadfast in its opposition to my overall plans, though perhaps not voluntarily.
I am realizing more and more that I must have control over almost everything, especially when it comes to certain circumstances in my life. And since I could no longer control these ducks and their seemingly arbitrary whims, I decided that the enterprise itself was no longer worth my time, energy and pursuit. It’s unfortunate that I had to rely on the oh-so capricious pundit of prognostication Punxsutawney Phil, but sometimes it takes an outside force to help one realize what has been bubbling at the surface for quite some time. In my case, it was my inevitable failure at an impossible undertaking.
This dissolution will truly only bring rise to a better set of circumstances for me, at least that is what I am trying to believe. And fear not, I am not referring to my dissertation.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Unexpectedness
It has to be one of the most difficult things to deal with in the world. We are always told to expect the unexpected, but how exactly do we do that? Are we supposed to be constantly monitoring everyone and everything around us? What sort of unexpected things are we supposed to expect: death, destruction or joy, fortune and success? If we are always trying to figure out the unexpected, then we don’t really have a hold over the present, as we should—“Live in the present,” as they say. Lately, a number of unexpected things have been happening—some good, some bad. I’ll discuss a few of them.
I just got back from an unexpected trip to Chicago. We have some family friends, who we haven’t seen in more than a year. The last time we did see them, at a mutual family friend’s wedding, they both seemed fine and in good spirits and health. Last month, we got a phone call that the husband of this couple had been diagnosed with renal carcinoma, a fairly rare form of cancer. My parents spoke with his wife a few times after we heard about the situation. On October 9th, he was rushed to the hospital and on October 22nd, he died. My parents and I went to Chicago to visit his wife and his children. My dad actually grew up close to her family and they lived down the street from my dad’s boyhood home. When we went to her house, there was a lot of reminiscing and discussion about old friends and family members. Apparently, the last thing my parents remember this woman’s husband saying was “I’m not going to even talk to you anymore, if you don’t come to visit us.” His words were unfortunately quite prophetic because they didn’t talk to him again.
A positive unexpected thing that happened to me since I moved to Columbus was making new friends—two of them, in fact. I was not expecting that in the slightest; I even hoped that since I had enough old friends in the Columbus area that I wouldn’t even necessarily “need” to make new friends because I could rely on the old ones for the majority of my social needs. I have gotten the chance to reconnect with some old friends and it’s really been fantastic. Some friendships have basically picked up where they left off, from more than ten years ago, while some of the others go back to childhood. My new friends have been quite a delight though. It’s always fun having new friends just because one gets the opportunity to craft one’s own narrative of oneself. They haven’t heard all of my stories and are eager to learn more about me and vice-versa. Plus, since we share an occupation, it’s easy for us to relate to one another and the daily trials and tribulations of teaching undergraduates. I feel lucky that I can still make new friends. Sometimes, it’s easy to underestimate one’s ability to do that, especially since, in my case, it had been about six years since I really HAD to make new friends. Not that I hadn’t picked up a few along the way, but most of them were friends of friends with whom I really enjoyed spending time. My new friends like me for me—a positive, unexpected thing.
I have also been learning a lot of new things about myself as of late—fairly profound things that sound silly when written out, but some neat stuff, nevertheless. Part of me just assumed that since I am very self-reflective and notably in tune with myself that I had really discovered all there was to know about me. Completely utterly unexpected circumstances and conversations brought a number of things to the fore and I am glad to have had such edifying experiences.
With regard to school-related incidents, I had another interesting, unexpected conversation with a student of mine. For those of you following along at home, this is the same student from my last blog. Here’s a rough recapitulation of our conversation:
STUDENT: What do you think about beanbag chairs?
ME: I like beanbag chairs.
STUDENT: Can I bring in a beanbag chair?
ME: No, you can’t.
STUDENT: What if I brought in one for everyone in class? How many people are there?
ME: There are 20 students in class, and you would have to bring in one for me, so a total of 21 beanbag chairs.
STUDENT: Okay, I get paid soon, so I’ll do it. The only problem is how I’m going to get all those beanbag chairs in my Camaro.
ME: That sounds like a bad joke: How many bean bag chairs can you fit into a Camaro?
My other students were a bit incredulous during this conversation which took place at the beginning of class, and did not interfere with the actual teaching of class. One student asked if I was really going to allow the student to bring in bean bag chairs for the whole class. I answered that I really didn’t see what the problem was: “It’s difficult enough to get kids to do anything, so if someone is going to take the initiative to come up with an idea, think about how to accomplish it and then actually execute it, my job is done.” We had another conversation regarding the bean bag chairs last week and a truck has been volunteered to haul the bean bag chairs to class, so we’ll see what happens. I will keep you updated on the possible change in furniture in my classroom.
There’s one venue where the common sense sayings clash when it comes to unexpectedness. With regard to love and relationships and the like, people always say that it springs up “When you are least expecting it,” but then if I am trying to “expect the unexpected,” what happens? Do they cancel each other out? Is that why my love life is the way it is?
Any thoughts?
I just got back from an unexpected trip to Chicago. We have some family friends, who we haven’t seen in more than a year. The last time we did see them, at a mutual family friend’s wedding, they both seemed fine and in good spirits and health. Last month, we got a phone call that the husband of this couple had been diagnosed with renal carcinoma, a fairly rare form of cancer. My parents spoke with his wife a few times after we heard about the situation. On October 9th, he was rushed to the hospital and on October 22nd, he died. My parents and I went to Chicago to visit his wife and his children. My dad actually grew up close to her family and they lived down the street from my dad’s boyhood home. When we went to her house, there was a lot of reminiscing and discussion about old friends and family members. Apparently, the last thing my parents remember this woman’s husband saying was “I’m not going to even talk to you anymore, if you don’t come to visit us.” His words were unfortunately quite prophetic because they didn’t talk to him again.
A positive unexpected thing that happened to me since I moved to Columbus was making new friends—two of them, in fact. I was not expecting that in the slightest; I even hoped that since I had enough old friends in the Columbus area that I wouldn’t even necessarily “need” to make new friends because I could rely on the old ones for the majority of my social needs. I have gotten the chance to reconnect with some old friends and it’s really been fantastic. Some friendships have basically picked up where they left off, from more than ten years ago, while some of the others go back to childhood. My new friends have been quite a delight though. It’s always fun having new friends just because one gets the opportunity to craft one’s own narrative of oneself. They haven’t heard all of my stories and are eager to learn more about me and vice-versa. Plus, since we share an occupation, it’s easy for us to relate to one another and the daily trials and tribulations of teaching undergraduates. I feel lucky that I can still make new friends. Sometimes, it’s easy to underestimate one’s ability to do that, especially since, in my case, it had been about six years since I really HAD to make new friends. Not that I hadn’t picked up a few along the way, but most of them were friends of friends with whom I really enjoyed spending time. My new friends like me for me—a positive, unexpected thing.
I have also been learning a lot of new things about myself as of late—fairly profound things that sound silly when written out, but some neat stuff, nevertheless. Part of me just assumed that since I am very self-reflective and notably in tune with myself that I had really discovered all there was to know about me. Completely utterly unexpected circumstances and conversations brought a number of things to the fore and I am glad to have had such edifying experiences.
With regard to school-related incidents, I had another interesting, unexpected conversation with a student of mine. For those of you following along at home, this is the same student from my last blog. Here’s a rough recapitulation of our conversation:
STUDENT: What do you think about beanbag chairs?
ME: I like beanbag chairs.
STUDENT: Can I bring in a beanbag chair?
ME: No, you can’t.
STUDENT: What if I brought in one for everyone in class? How many people are there?
ME: There are 20 students in class, and you would have to bring in one for me, so a total of 21 beanbag chairs.
STUDENT: Okay, I get paid soon, so I’ll do it. The only problem is how I’m going to get all those beanbag chairs in my Camaro.
ME: That sounds like a bad joke: How many bean bag chairs can you fit into a Camaro?
My other students were a bit incredulous during this conversation which took place at the beginning of class, and did not interfere with the actual teaching of class. One student asked if I was really going to allow the student to bring in bean bag chairs for the whole class. I answered that I really didn’t see what the problem was: “It’s difficult enough to get kids to do anything, so if someone is going to take the initiative to come up with an idea, think about how to accomplish it and then actually execute it, my job is done.” We had another conversation regarding the bean bag chairs last week and a truck has been volunteered to haul the bean bag chairs to class, so we’ll see what happens. I will keep you updated on the possible change in furniture in my classroom.
There’s one venue where the common sense sayings clash when it comes to unexpectedness. With regard to love and relationships and the like, people always say that it springs up “When you are least expecting it,” but then if I am trying to “expect the unexpected,” what happens? Do they cancel each other out? Is that why my love life is the way it is?
Any thoughts?
Monday, October 16, 2006
weddings, students, moratoriums and more...
I just went to my college roommate's wedding on Saturday and had a fantastic time. It was nice because the week before, when I was getting ready, I kept telling people "I'm going to my college roommate's wedding," and they would reply "So, have you graduated from college yet?" It thrilled me that multiple people thought I was still an undergraduate. Oh, do I yearn for those days sometimes. But then I was wondering, is there another way to refer to her? She was my college roommate for four years, but that was many moons ago. She is also my best friend from college, but that still doesn't necessarily indicate our age or current relationship. Should I refer to her as my former college roommate? That suggests that she was once my roommate in college, but no longer is, but is that accurate? It's all semantics, I know, but quite interesting.
The wedding itself went off without a hitch. There was a lot of craziness before the wedding, as usual, but things turned out very well. I caught the bouquet as well! What's interesting is that my friend's now-husband, caught the garter at another college friend's wedding a year and a half ago. Perhaps a streak is in the works. Who knows. All this, just when I jokingly advertise myself as a "looking for a good time" girl. My friend & her new husband are doing well and I wish them all the best.
*****
Today I taught class and a male student who had mononucleosis returned to class for the first time in two weeks. Here is a rough transcript of our conversation:
ME: So, are you feeling any better?
STUDENT: No, not really.
ME: As long as you're not contagious anymore...
STUDENT: As long as you don't stick your tongue down my throat you should be fine.
ME: Uh, Thanks, I wasn't planning on it.
My students who were witness to this conversation got such a kick out of it. The student who made the comment even asked if he could receive extra credit for making such a funny comment. Other students even advocated for him. I told him that I don't give extra credit for inappropriate comments. I also related to my class that I have never had a student say something like that to me before today, and one student responded with "That's a good thing." I agree wholeheartedly. I do have walls. *Those who scoff at my walls (you know who you are), keep it to yourself*
*****
I suggest there be a moratorium on sandal wearing as of September 30th of each year. Despite the warmth of certain days in October, there is no need for sandals, and especially flip-flops, after Autumn has offically begun. I see so many students wearing flip-flops when it is ridiculously cold outside. It astonishes and horrifies me. I suggest we start a petition of some sort to informally institute this. Anyone with me on this?
*****
Last week a friend of mine and I went to see Itzhak Perlman at the Ohio Theatre in Columbus. It was fantastic. Who knew that Perlman was a comedian too? There were several people coughing in the Orchestra Level (We had amazing Loge seats), and so based on that Perlman decided to play Tchaikovsky. Very amusing.
*****
I have decided to make myself over into a hockey fan--specifically, a Columbus Blue Jackets fan. I came to this conclusion for several reasons. Firstly, I have always wanted to get into hockey. Back when I lived in NY, I was itching to see an Islanders or Rangers game, but couldn't find anyone who would join me. Even though I would have had to travel either 45 minutes to one hour and half I was willing to make the trek to see a sport with which I am still somewhat unfamiliar. Now that I live about 10 minutes from Nationwide Arena, I am determined to take that to my advantage. Another reason is that the Columbus Blue Jackets have the first (and only, if my sources are correct) hockey player of Indian descent on their team--Manny Malhotra. I would like to support him, as well.
*****
I am really truly enjoying my time in Columbus thus far. I have a number of old friends with whom I have reconnected and I have also made a few new friends, as well. It's nice being so close to major events --plays, concerts, sporting events, etc. People mistakingly think that because I lived in NY I had easy access to all of these things. They fail to recognize that I lived on Long Island, in Suffolk County, an hour and a half away by express train from Ronkonkoma.
The wedding itself went off without a hitch. There was a lot of craziness before the wedding, as usual, but things turned out very well. I caught the bouquet as well! What's interesting is that my friend's now-husband, caught the garter at another college friend's wedding a year and a half ago. Perhaps a streak is in the works. Who knows. All this, just when I jokingly advertise myself as a "looking for a good time" girl. My friend & her new husband are doing well and I wish them all the best.
*****
Today I taught class and a male student who had mononucleosis returned to class for the first time in two weeks. Here is a rough transcript of our conversation:
ME: So, are you feeling any better?
STUDENT: No, not really.
ME: As long as you're not contagious anymore...
STUDENT: As long as you don't stick your tongue down my throat you should be fine.
ME: Uh, Thanks, I wasn't planning on it.
My students who were witness to this conversation got such a kick out of it. The student who made the comment even asked if he could receive extra credit for making such a funny comment. Other students even advocated for him. I told him that I don't give extra credit for inappropriate comments. I also related to my class that I have never had a student say something like that to me before today, and one student responded with "That's a good thing." I agree wholeheartedly. I do have walls. *Those who scoff at my walls (you know who you are), keep it to yourself*
*****
I suggest there be a moratorium on sandal wearing as of September 30th of each year. Despite the warmth of certain days in October, there is no need for sandals, and especially flip-flops, after Autumn has offically begun. I see so many students wearing flip-flops when it is ridiculously cold outside. It astonishes and horrifies me. I suggest we start a petition of some sort to informally institute this. Anyone with me on this?
*****
Last week a friend of mine and I went to see Itzhak Perlman at the Ohio Theatre in Columbus. It was fantastic. Who knew that Perlman was a comedian too? There were several people coughing in the Orchestra Level (We had amazing Loge seats), and so based on that Perlman decided to play Tchaikovsky. Very amusing.
*****
I have decided to make myself over into a hockey fan--specifically, a Columbus Blue Jackets fan. I came to this conclusion for several reasons. Firstly, I have always wanted to get into hockey. Back when I lived in NY, I was itching to see an Islanders or Rangers game, but couldn't find anyone who would join me. Even though I would have had to travel either 45 minutes to one hour and half I was willing to make the trek to see a sport with which I am still somewhat unfamiliar. Now that I live about 10 minutes from Nationwide Arena, I am determined to take that to my advantage. Another reason is that the Columbus Blue Jackets have the first (and only, if my sources are correct) hockey player of Indian descent on their team--Manny Malhotra. I would like to support him, as well.
*****
I am really truly enjoying my time in Columbus thus far. I have a number of old friends with whom I have reconnected and I have also made a few new friends, as well. It's nice being so close to major events --plays, concerts, sporting events, etc. People mistakingly think that because I lived in NY I had easy access to all of these things. They fail to recognize that I lived on Long Island, in Suffolk County, an hour and a half away by express train from Ronkonkoma.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Leaving Long Island....
I'm leaving Long Island in a few days and it's really made me rather contemplative. I'm a fairly ruminating, brooding type person anyway, but it's just made me think more about things--friendship, love, security, and sunlight. I will certainly miss my friends here a great deal. They have meant a lot to me and I can't really do too much without them here. I certainly would not have been able to endure six years of a PhD in English without having their support and concern. They know who they are. They don't need me to mention their names, so that when one googles them they show up here on my piddly blog.
Love has also been a predominating theme in my mind. The love that parents have for children and vice-versa, the love between lovers, and all other kinds. Love is much more fragile and complicated than we think, for the most part. Just when you think that things are okay and that love is the most important thing, you see situations where, not to quote the song, but "love just ain't enough." I've been witness to a few of these situations as of late and it's always quite disheartening. I'm already quite mistrusting of love and all that bunk due to my own unsuccessful bouts with it, but all of these situations crumbling right before me really makes me question it.
Part of the problem with love is that inherent in the best kinds of love is security--that unconditionality associated with it. It's when you are ready to finally believe in something, have strength and faith and trust, and feel secure with something or a certain situation, that it somehow evanesces before your eyes. And yes, I used the word evanesce before the band Evanescence came out, so there.....
Another thing that has preoccupied me is sunlight. It seems like it doesn't belong, right? Like it's a game of "which one of these is not like the other?" but I really do see a connection between all of these. I don't just mean actual sunlight--which is quite important for a basement-dweller--soon to be former basement dweller, but the warmth and light of the beauty that surrounds us all. Yeah, I know that sounds a little schmaltzy, but I can get that way sometimes. Sunlight is what keeps us moving and growing and living. It's that impetus to actually get up and do something. It's what brings us out of despair from time to time and helps us see that not only is the grass greener, but the sky is bluer and things don't seem as awful as they really are. In some ways, sunlight can obscure the horridness of a situation with its glow. It's quite a miraculous thing, really.
Love has also been a predominating theme in my mind. The love that parents have for children and vice-versa, the love between lovers, and all other kinds. Love is much more fragile and complicated than we think, for the most part. Just when you think that things are okay and that love is the most important thing, you see situations where, not to quote the song, but "love just ain't enough." I've been witness to a few of these situations as of late and it's always quite disheartening. I'm already quite mistrusting of love and all that bunk due to my own unsuccessful bouts with it, but all of these situations crumbling right before me really makes me question it.
Part of the problem with love is that inherent in the best kinds of love is security--that unconditionality associated with it. It's when you are ready to finally believe in something, have strength and faith and trust, and feel secure with something or a certain situation, that it somehow evanesces before your eyes. And yes, I used the word evanesce before the band Evanescence came out, so there.....
Another thing that has preoccupied me is sunlight. It seems like it doesn't belong, right? Like it's a game of "which one of these is not like the other?" but I really do see a connection between all of these. I don't just mean actual sunlight--which is quite important for a basement-dweller--soon to be former basement dweller, but the warmth and light of the beauty that surrounds us all. Yeah, I know that sounds a little schmaltzy, but I can get that way sometimes. Sunlight is what keeps us moving and growing and living. It's that impetus to actually get up and do something. It's what brings us out of despair from time to time and helps us see that not only is the grass greener, but the sky is bluer and things don't seem as awful as they really are. In some ways, sunlight can obscure the horridness of a situation with its glow. It's quite a miraculous thing, really.
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