Here’s something I’ve learned from having spent ten years in a foreign country: it’s easy to judge others.
One would think I could have had this lesson in my home country. Or that it should have nothing to do with countries at all. And one would be right. Being judgmental seems to be human nature. It’s our way of vocalizing something that we don’t approve. It’s our way of criticizing and speaking up. All of which is within one’s right, or it should be. Each person is entitled to his or her own opinion on all matters. The fact that it’s your opinion means it’s yours and no one can tell you otherwise.
So I’ve been working hard at reminding myself that when people criticize my choices, my actions, my thoughts, my feelings and my country, they have a right to feel or think the way they do. What bothers me, however, is the quickness with which people judge. Most people I know never bother to learn all sides of a matter and never care to listen to an opposing view.
If a person wants to upgrade a thought from opinion to declaration or even something that they believe is worth discussing, I think it’s crucial for that person to have completed the appropriate research. I could come to you and say, “I think three-year-old boys are stupider than three-year-old girls.” And if you have any interest in discussing this subject matter with me (which might be debatable after you hear the biased and ignorant way in which I worded my claim) you’d ask me what my sources are. Where is my data? How exactly do I define “stupid”? What is the pool of three-year-olds I have researched? Was this a controlled experiment? For my statement to be anything more than something I pulled out of thin air, I must have some examples and data to back it up.
The same goes for history. It’s easy for someone to have opinions on who did wrong when it comes to some of the world’s major historical blunders. But even with 20/20 hindsight, it’s nearly impossible to prove that one’s opinion is more valid than another’s. It’s easy for you to sit in your chair and say that a country that’s oceans away from your living room should do such-and-such to put a stop to the terrible situation over there. Yet, who are we to say exactly what’s going on?
I’m always amazed at the way people react when they find out that I’m Turkish. Over the ten years, I’ve heard just about anything and everything. How this was our fault and that was our fault, etc. Not that I’m disagreeing about anything specific but I really do doubt that most of these people know anything about Turkey besides the few lines they’ve read in their history books or heard from another opinioned source. At least I’m honest enough to admit that my education and exposure was biased and that I don’t know all the facts. I don’t know the situation and such I am not really willing to pass judgement.
While I completely agree that taking any human’s life is an awful act and we shouldn’t be killing people, especially as aimlessly as it appears to be lately, I also understand how complicated the world is and how near impossible it is to place blame. It’s never one person’s fault. Often times, there are deep-rooted problems that require years and years of work to reach a possible resolution. And maybe I am naive, but I do believe that people don’t enjoy killing others. Even the most evil-seeming ones do it out of a corrupt or confused sense of justice, but not for the sake of senseless murder. Not that it makes it excusable. It just allows me to keep my sense of faith in the world, I suppose.
I love America. To me it’s the homeland I never had. I feel like it’s where I was meant to live all along. And I also love Turkey; it’s a crucial part of my identity, one that I have always been proud to vocalize. And when I hear people criticize either nation, I feel protective urges rise within me. I feel like telling people that they are unappreciative and bitter. But then I listen. In case they have something valuable to say. To hear the meat behind their opinions. To see if they’ve done their research. To find out if it’s anything besides judgmental banter.
So that I can learn.
Previously? Shedding.
Spring might finally be coming to New York City.
This winter has been one of the most eventful and thrilling in my life. The roller coaster ride that is my life has reached new levels and promises to get even steeper. It’s not that I don’t think of writing my site all the time like I used to, it’s just that I recognize it for what it is now. I began it cause I thought it would be fun to unleash my thoughts onto the web. I went through the “please read me” obsession and made a lot of adjustments over the first few months. As a good student I complied with my inner regulation that I shall write every day. A little voice in me kept repeating that people would stop coming if I stopped updating regularly. I accomplish. I finish the things that I start. And nothing, no trip, or person was to stop me from doing my daily homework by posting my site.
And then September came and went and my belief system, which was already on its last legs, shattered.
I like the fact that snakes shed their skin. I wish I could shed my skin each time I wanted to. In the last few months I’ve realized that I live my life according to other people’s priorities more often than I’d like to. We all grow up listening to rules that the adults around us present. Between birth and adulthood, there are many adults who come in and out of our lives like parents and other family members, teachers, baby sitters, mentors, managers, etc. Each person comes with his or her own baggage and each person pushes us different ways. In my life, I have met very few adults who’ve encouraged me to find out what I want and who I am. People have promoted me and helped me walk the path that I claimed I wanted. But no one pushed me to discover myself.
I don’t mean to imply that people stood in my way or that I wasn’t allowed to be me. I mean I don’t think I knew what “being me” was. Looking around me, I don’t think this is a rare phenomenon. I guess what’s unusual is my need to work on getting to know me, getting to be me. Which is an ongoing challenge since who I am seems to change constantly. This makes me think that the struggle – and joy – of getting to know me could take forever.
My life until now has been all about the destination. All about the path that would take me there. All about reaching, working, struggling and achieving. I think that now I’m ready for some living. You might think that quitting a part-time, somewhat cushy job for a challenging and scary new career might not be the best way to start living, but I think that’s exactly the way.
Leaving the old skin behind to grow a new one.
One that might not lead anywhere. One that might just be a side trip on my journey. One that might even be the biggest mistake I will have made. One that I am determined to make the most of. One that will change my life. One that has already changed my life.
While I see the value of a destination, I want to take a break and enjoy the journey. Sink into the moment. Pay attention inward. Pay attention outward. Pay attention in general.
That might be why I am not so sad about not writing my site daily anymore. I know that when the need comes back, it will still be there and I will do it again. Until then, intermittent is good enough for me.
Spring is coming to New York and I am ready for it.
Previously? Together but Apart.
The Almitra spoke again and said, what of Marriage, master?
And he answered saying:
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow. – Khalil Gibran – The Prophet
There were days when I would have been shocked by the above words. Together yet not too near together? What do you mean, I would have thought, aren’t we supposed to want to stand completely by each other and depend on each other and give up part of who we are? Marriage and partnering for life are all about compromises, after all. Right?
Well, it appears my opinion on those matters has shifted somewhat in the recent days/months/years. Not that I don’t still believe that marriage is about compromise. Actually, I think most relationships, whether they be romantic, friendly or professional are all somewhat about compromise. But I no longer think that choosing to be with someone means being one with that person. I don’t believe that partnering for life equals giving up self-identity. On the contrary, I love the idea of choosing to be beside one person and sharing and caring and fulfilling each other.
It appears I am marveling in the glory of individuality and sense of self. The idea of joining to perform miracles without having to become one thing appeals to me. It no longer seems necessary to make the eternal sacrifice or ask for it in return. Instead, it feels joyous. Like something I want to do. Like something I can do. Like something I choose to do. Not something I must do.
It’s not about giving up me, it’s about having someone alongside of me forever. Growing together but separately.
Individually.
Previously? Perfetto.
Want to know a quick way to get someone to fail on a task?
Tell them it has to be perfect.
Perfection by its nature is near impossible to reach. Perfect. Flawless. Impeccable. As soon as I hear those words I can almost see the pressure. The stress. If everyone reached perfection the definition of perfection would change. It would become ordinary. I know that as a meaning, the word perfection doesn’t exclude repetition. It doesn’t imply doing better than others or being the best at something. It merely means doing that thing without any flaw. That’s all.
But who defines something as perfect? When is a painting perfect? Is Monet perfect? What about Boticelli? How about a musical piece or a book. When is a movie perfect? To me, perfection in any of those categories is a personal opinion and varies too much to be able to pin down. I can even say that people disagree every day on what qualifies as perfect computer code. Two functions that do the same thing can have extremely different code and one might be perfect for some people while the other is perfect for others. People have fights over this daily. And I am of the belief that anything that’s hard to define is hard to achieve.
I can almost hear some people saying, “So what are you saying, should we all just try hard enough but never aim for perfection?” Well, hard enough is also a difficult term to define. First of all, the amount you choose to push/challenge yourself is and should always be your own call. No one but you can get you to do the things you want to do. Secondly, I’m not telling you not to aim high or not to do the best you can, I’m just saying that when you’re working on a story and you’ve rewritten the story eleven times just to fix a single sentence, maybe it’s time to take another approach: cut the sentence out or leave it as is.
I find perfection to be highly overrated. There’s beauty in imperfection just the same way as there is in perfection. Most things in nature are slightly imperfect and somehow it feels more right to me. Perfection seems to inhuman, too calculated, like someone trying too hard. And too often it ends in disaster.
I think most people know their limit. They may never admit to it or show it to others, but we have a good understanding of how far we can go. I’d say combine that knowledge with how hard you’re willing to push.
It may not result in perfection but, it sure is close enough.
Previously? Brown Thumbs.
I cherish the value of spontaneity.
Most of us live in a monotonous life. We get up early in the morning, brush our teeth, shower, get dressed, use our respective forms of transportation, get to work, eat lunch, work some more, return home, eat dinner, chitchat/watch TV/go out, and then sleep. Depending on your lifestyle, job, and age this might vary but most people I know who are my age or older have a comforting, though at times infuriating, monotony in their lives.
So adding color every now and then can be crucial for the sanity/life of a relationship. Every self-help book will tell you that spicing up your relationship with an unexpected moment will have huge benefits. And I am not one to disagree.
Yet I also think that certain side effects of consistency are often under-appreciated. One such side effect is anticipation.
When I know that I go to the movies every Tuesday with a friend, I tend to get excited by the anticipation of my time with my friend or the excitement of getting to see a new movie. If I have stories to tell my friend, I tend to grow more and more excited as the day approaches until I am just thrilled it’s Tuesday. If I didn’t have this regular schedule, I wouldn’t have the time to think about it ahead of time and feel the joy of anticipation. Lately, I find myself making more and more plans and thus, feeling continuously excited by yet another event that’s to come.
I guess, as with everything else, it’s best to have a bit of both. Having some scheduled events interspersed with small doses of spontaneity might be close to perfection. I just wish that the magazines that recommend you to schedule random events would also explain the values of scheduling some consistent timeslot where you plan something that you can look forward to, get excited about and anticipate.
If you don’t believe me, just give it a try. Pick a really good friend, and schedule a regular activity. Or pick a time slot with your honey, which you put aside to do something you really like. Put aside a half-hour to do something for yourself once a week. Anything. Like taking a bubble bath, going shoe shopping, curling up with your book, playing video games. It can be anything, the only requirement is that it has to be something you enjoy, not something you think you have to do. This is based on “wanting.” That’s when anticipation does its trick.
Come on. Give it a try and let me know how it goes.
Previously? Creative Imagination.
I never see a movie without reading the book first.
When I see a preview for a movie whose book I’d meant to have read for a long time, I use the movie as an excuse to speed up my procrastination. The book moves up in my list and I avoid seeing the movie until I’ve had the chance to read the author’s words.
There are several reasons why I do this. One obvious one is that the movies often suck when compared to the original story. This often happens because it’s difficult to fit in every aspect, side stories, the thoughts of the characters, the full range of emotions expressed. The depth of a book is rarely represented in a several-hour movie.
More significantly, I cannot possibly read the book after I’ve seen the movie. Not because I already know the ending but because I cannot use my imagination. One of the most delightful aspects of reading a novel is getting to visualize the characters and the settings. Knowingly or not, I attach a lot of information to the characters in the novels I read. Some of the traits may be mentioned by the author but others aren’t. If a book is written well, by the end of the story, I have a world of information on the characters and they are three-dimensional in my mind’s eye. A movie limits this infinite world and disappoints me often.
I’ve taken my imagination for granted. Until recently, I wouldn’t have considered myself an imaginative person. I’m not particularly creative. I don’t paint, compose or write poetry, and my fiction isn’t that good. I always thought that imagination and creativity were correlated. And that if I lacked one, I must lack the other.
But now I realize that as an avid book reader, I do have extensive imagination.
As with everything, practice tends to strengthen my imagination. And since I read a lot, imagining the characters feels like second nature to me. I never even notice that I use it. I have a friend whose imagination isn’t very active. And talking to him makes me realize how much I use mine. It also makes me wonder how we, as adults, can learn to stretch our imaginative muscles.
Some things come much easier to children and I wish we could capture the overflowing energy and imagination. And hold on to it.
Previously? Priceless.
I lost my bracelet yesterday.
My sister gave me a diamond bracelet a month ago in honor of my engagement. I got a lot of presents in February but this one was my favorite. It was delicate, beautiful and my sister gave it to me. I can’t tell you how sad I’ve been since I realized it was missing.
Earlier this week, I bought myself a swatch. My friend Michelle took me to the store cause she collects them and she got the idea in my mind. Two days later, I went back and bought myself one. It’s a skin swatch, one of the new James Bond series. It cost me 75 dollars.
After I bought the watch, I agonized over it endlessly. I already had a great watch, did I really need another? Weren’t there better ways to spend my 75 bucks? I won’t making a lot of money next year and it was really spendthrift of me to blow it over a watch. Especially when I already have one. I can’t tell you how much time I spent worrying about this new purchase.
I came home and asked Jake if I should keep it. I called two friends and listened to lectures on what a total dork I am and how I should, of course, keep the watch and stop worrying about it. I deserve the watch, they persisted. Stop thinking about it, they insisted. You are insane, they laughed.
I was still slightly worried but I kept the watch. I’ve been wearing it since Tuesday and I love it. But I didn’t truly stop worrying about it until I lost the bracelet last night. The watch was 75 dollars, the diamond bracelet: several hundred. Not to mention the sentimental values attached to it, which are irreplaceable.
It’s amazing how it takes something major to put one’s life in perspective. Why does it take a disaster for us to realize the value of our lives? How come we need a family death or illness to bring us closer? Why do we need a terrible excuse to be nicer to our fellow men?
Did I really have to lose my bracelet to stop worrying about the watch?
I think we, humans, lack perspective all too often.
Previously? No Strings Attached.
I’ll give you careless amountsof out right acceptance if you want it.
I will give you encouragmentto choose the path you want if you need it.
You can speak of anger and doubts,
your fears and freak-outs and I’ll hold it.
You can share your so-called “shamefilled” accounts
of times in your life and I won’t judge it.
And there are no strings attached [to it].
You owe me nothing for giving the love that I give you.
You owe me nothing for caring the way that I have.
I give you thanks for receiving, it’s my privilege,
and you owe me nothing in return.
You can ask for space for yourself
and only yourself and I’ll grant it.
You can ask for freedom as well
or time to travel and you’ll have it.
You can ask to live by yourself
or love someone else and I’ll support it.
You can ask for anything you want,
anything at all and I’ll understand it.
And there are no strings attached (to it).
You owe me nothing for giving the love that I give.
You owe me nothing for caring the way that I have.
I give you thanks for receiving, it’s my privilege,
and you owe me nothing in return.
I bet you’re wondering when
the next payback shoe will eventually drop.
I bet you’re wondering when my
conditional police will force you to cough up.
I bet you’re wondering how far you
have now dancid your way back into debt.
This is the only kind of love
as I understand it that there really is.
You can express your deepest of thruths
even if it means I’ll lose you and I’ll hear it.
You can fall into the abyss on your way to your bliss,
I’ll empathize with.
You can say that you’ll have to skip town
to chase your passion and I’ll hear it.
You can leave and hit rock bottom
have a mid-life crisis and I’ll hold it.
And there are no strings attached (to it).
You owe me nothing for giving the love that I give.
You owe me nothing for caring the way that I have.
I give you thanks for receiving, it’s my privilege,
and you owe me nothing in return.
You owe me nothing for giving the love that I give.
You owe me nothing for caring the way that I have.
I give you thanks for receiving, it’s my privilege,
and you owe me nothing in return.
Alanis Morissette – You Owe Me Nothing In Return – Under Rug Swept
I can’t stop listening to it. My favorite line? “This is the only kind of love as I understand it that there really is.”
Is it possible to have a friendship with no strings attached?
Previously? Falling Off.
If we live once, as many people would have us believe, I think it’s crucial to make the most of this only-try that we get, don’t you?
I stress a lot. I worry about the smallest things. I yearn for the correct answers. The right path. I regret stupid little things. I wonder many what-ifs. There are times I am scared to walk down a path that looks appetizing because I spend too much time on the possible negative consequences.
I spend most of my time ensuring for my future. I save. I work. I take the right steps, I say the right words, do the right things. I invest in people. I work on my career. I am careful, calm, collected and thoughtful. I am organized, planned, and well-prepared.
And then there are those crazy moments. A glimpse of randomness. An unplanned purchase. Playing hooky from class. Spending seventeen hours with a friend. Dying my hair. Testing out how it would feel to let go.
These things may seem frivolous to you. The might not sound crazy. But they are to me. And each day that I do something small, I worry and then I get mad at myself. Life is to short, I try to remind myself, it’s a collection of moments and it’s best to enjoy as many of them as possible.
Even if I didn’t have the issues I have with letting go, I think what’s excruciatingly hard is finding a balance between the ‘living today’ and the ‘planning for tomorrow.’ I do think that it’s a good idea to be cautious and have enough money to pay bills and have a consistent enough income. It makes sense to plan for a family if you’re interested in having one and put some money aside if you’re planning to have children. Commitment and responsibility are part of life and I’m okay with that.
Yet, so is spontaneity. I want to be able to take the plunge every now and then. I want to be able to let go. For a while. Take a risk. Try something new. Something uncharted.
The trouble is figuring out the consequences. Walking the thin line between the two. Hopping back and forth but being okay overall. How exactly do I manage that?
Previously? Rediscovering.
A while ago I wrote about the rush of making new friends and yesterday I had the incredible joy of rediscovering someone I already knew.
There are people you meet at different points of your life and depending on how you feel, the conditions that brought you together, the kind of interactions you have, you either click or you don’t. Some times you have the impression that you might click but the opportunity doesn’t come. Other times you never even get that far. This person is in the periphery of your life for a while and you have a vague recollection of them but it never becomes more than that.
This happens to me a lot with friends of good friends. People that I see on occasions where my good friend collects all of his friends, sometimes leave me with the impression that if only I saw them more often or in different circumstances, we could be more than acquaintances.
A long time later, for some reason or another, you find yourself with this person again. Maybe you called them to ask a favor, maybe you ran into them in a street and felt in need of company, maybe they called you. That’s the moment when the occasion arises. That’s the moment you realize maybe this person isn’t the way you remember. Often times, you remember the person vaguely since the last time you saw them was at some occasion for your friend or a gathering where you both happened to attend. For some reason or another, this time you sit down and talk. Without the presence of other people or the superficial gatherings. And you realize that this person is someone you should have gotten to know a long time ago. Someone who gives you the same rush of knowing a brand new person but the comfort and familiarity of an old friend.
The best of both worlds.
The nice thing about having an old acquaintance become a new friend is that since neither of you remembers each other all that well, you don’t make any assumptions about each other. When you see an old friend after many years, he tends to assume that you’re still the same person since all the memories from the last time you hung out are often still vivid. I find that most really good friends that I’ve disconnected with are harder to bring back into my life. Even if they can move past the assumption stage, they rarely bother to get to know me again. Especially if the qualities/interests that brought us together in the first place are no longer there.
The person at the periphery of your life might have some ideas about the person they thought you were, too, but since they are vague, it’s easier to wipe them and start over without feeling a major loss. It isn’t so threatening because if you don’t click this time, it’s no big deal; you’re not destroying a past relationship.
Reconnecting with an old acquaintance is like discovering a treasure that lay before your eyes the entire time.
Previously? Pendulum.
With all that’s going on in my life lately, my mood is behaving like a pendulum.
On the whole, I am happy. Most of the work for the wedding appears to be under control. We’re almost exactly on budget. Jake and I are getting along fantastically. Work’s going well, for the most part. The exams are over, and I don’t get to find out the results until April so I have a month of relaxation. I have to wait on the TB tests and the medical checkup for the wedding. We think we might have found a house.
So it all sounds good right?
Except for, I am stressed out all the time. I spend my nights looking at apartments all over New York City, hanging out with brokers whom I could go on and on about. Every second I am home, I feel this sense of urgency like I am not getting enough done and I am so overwhelmed that I just turn on the TV and do nothing, which, of course, makes the next day exponentially worse. I have a mountain of eleven books checked out from the library and the books are just not being read fast enough. My knitting has come to a temporary halt. My bills are strewn all over the coffee table. Dinner tonight is pretzels and almond butter. Not to mention all the unknowns of where I will be living in a few months, where I’ll be working, where I’ll be attending school, etc.
So I tend to swing back and forth between joy and crippling fear. In the last two weeks, I’ve found three major sources of help.
The first is specific to me. Yesterday, I was working at the bookstore and saw that someone had brought in the Teach For America book. In this book, Wendy Kopp, the founder, talks all about her struggles to start and maintain the organization. She outlines its goals and explains why certain teachers are more successful than others. I had read the book cover to cover on the floor of a Borders a month before I applied. Leafing through it again reminded me why I wanted to do this in the first place. Not only do I have no doubt that I want to do TFA, I am proud to have anything to do with such an organization. I’ve decided that each time I have doubts, I’ll walk into the nearest bookstore and leaf through the book.
The second is much more general. Amazingly, music can put a smile on my face in a matter of seconds. My mp3 player goes everywhere with me and even when I’m simply walking across the street to drop off my mail, I listen to music. It makes me want to dance. It erases all the stress and negativity. I am amazed at the power of a few notes each time. But my mp3 player has never failed me.
The last way is also not specific to my situation. If you’re a consistent reader of karenika, you’d know that I am a bookworm. Reading books, like music, transports me into a separate world where my wonders don’t exist. Fiction or non-fiction, it doesn’t matter. I am so engrossed in the writer’s world/concerns/issues that I don’t think of my own. I used to be able to read at home, but lately I’ve had ample distractions. On Saturday, between exam 1 and exam 2, I had an hour free so I went to a small cafe across the street and read my book while I ate. Even when I was about to have an exam in less than an hour, the book erased all my concerns. I did the same thing twice since then. A small restaurant, a tiny coffee shop, one of the multitude Starbucks’ in the city. Me and my book. It’s a match made in heaven.
I love the fact that I can escape my world without physically leaving it.
You have any ideas on what’s a good way to temporarily forget your troubles?
Previously? Parental Guidance.
There are days when I get depressed.
I’ve never been a big social activist. To be fully honest, I spent the first eighteen years of my life oblivious to much around me. Years of childhood hazing combined with an ultimate escape land provided by the millions of books made sure that I spent my days unaware of my surroundings. I don’t mean to imply that I didn’t care. As a kid, I tutored other, less fortunate, kids in math, and later on, English. But, even as a teenager, I never got involved in the political or social conversations that many people around me debated over. Just like I didn’t feel at ease with the lipstick-brand-name-jeans-and-ski-in-Switzerland crowd, I didn’t find a home with the people who wanted to save the world. Or at least talk about saving the world.
Back then I knew too little to be disappointed.
During college, I started getting a little more involved with those around me. For the first time in my life, I felt like my surroundings invigorated me. I wanted to suck it all up. After drenching myself in it, I wanted to get others hooked on as well. Thus, I became an Orientation Counselor. I joined the Student Dormitory Counsel and organized part of the on-campus carnival entertainment. I signed up to be a Pre-college counselor. And later, a Resident Assistant. As part of those jobs, I got more involved in community service. I did Habitat for Humanity a few times. I went to a food bank. I became a sexual assault counselor. I moved up to organize school-wide programs like sex week, where we tried to address important issues and raise sexual awareness. I worked for the school newspaper. I taught computer classes. I served on the residence life judicial board. While I wasn’t very involved in the city or outside community, I was mad about my school. I knew a lot about it and worked hard to make parts of it better.
At that point I was too intoxicated with the possibilities to get distraught.
Upon graduation, I moved to New York City. I signed on with an investment bank and got to work. In my first year, I became involved with two volunteer programs: Everybody Wins, whose goal was to instill the love of reading in elementary school children and Young Women’s Leadership Club, whose goal was to teach high school girls the skills necessary to get accepted to college or to find a job. The work took about six to eight hours a month away from my jam-packed schedule. I became a member of the New York Public Library so I could checkout children’s books that my third grader and I read during our lunch hours. My first year, I convinced a bunch of my friends to volunteer for New York Cares Day. By then I had also joined Jake in returning back to City Year for the Serve-a-thon in Boston, each year. My firm started a community service program where they gave each employee a day off, paid, to do community service. I went back to Habitat. I did Junior Achievement. I volunteered at pet shelter dog shows. I still didn’t think I was affecting my environment as much as I could have, but I felt good about giving some of the little time that I had.
I think the sorrow might have started when I saw how my third grader couldn’t read.
A year and a half ago, I decided I wanted to reduce my hours considerably so I could spend some time volunteering at the New York Society for the Deaf. I’d been taking classes at NYSD and wanted an excuse to improve my sign language. I asked around and found out that almost all the opportunities were during the day, so after a lot of searching, I changed my work to a 3-days-a-week arrangement and started spending one of my other days at NYSD. I didn’t care about what I did, I just wanted to be of help. A few months after that, I started spending part of my other day at Housing Works used bookstore, where I help run the register and do other necessary jobs. I’d say I’m still not involved with my environment as much as I want to be. My life is still pretty much the same, except for the wonderful people who’ve added color and insight into it. The people I’ve met in my multiple volunteer opportunities.
They’re what make me worry.
A few months ago, I decided the few days weren’t enough. I wanted to make more of an impact. I wanted to educate myself. I wanted to learn about what makes parts of our society fail. I wanted to make it a better place. I talked to a lot of people. Many told me I was naive. A whole bunch told me that I could do that with my money. Others told me it was a fruitless endeavor. A few encouraged me to give it a try. I looked around a lot and finally settled on Teach For America. I was inspired by what they stood for and figured I’d be proud to be a member of an organization with its goals. I applied. I got accepted. If all goes well, I will be an elementary school teacher by this September.
Now, I’m reading a lot about education and the plethora of the issues faced by educators today. I’m reading about racial bias and gender bias. I’m reading about poverty and parts of United States that would, should, make some people ashamed to call themselves American. I’m seeing that ignorance is bliss for many people. I’m finding out that a lot of people whine about how bad things are but don’t do much about it. I’m realizing that there’s a lot of work to be done. I’m horrified by the way many children are treated.
And I get depressed.
I see why people tell me I can’t change the world. I know many have tried and failed. I know that it feels like an insurmountable undertaking. I get annoyed at the disorganization of some non-profits until I try to remind myself that most of these people are working practically for free in a job that’s often under-appreciated and definitely under-employed. Tons of people have told me that it’s not my job to fix the world.
But it is.
I live in this society. I reap the benefits of many people’s hard work. I take for granted that someone grows the food I eat, that someone collects the garbage I accumulate, someone drives the subway I ride to work. I make money and live in a well-insulated house with doormen and elevators. I’m surrounded by people who make enough money to afford big houses and expensive vacations. It’s easy to lose perspective in my environment. And that’s exactly what many people do. Yet, if any part of the society decided not to execute its function, my world could crumble. It’s my job to make sure that hardworking people get rewarded. It’s my job to make sure that we can offer excellent education to everyone so our society as a whole can improve.
Most importantly, I plan to bring children into this society. It’s my job to make sure that my kids can grow up in the best society I can provide. I don’t want my children to have to worry about racial or gender discrimination. I want high quality education not to be an option that only the rich can exercise but a necessity and a guarantee to all children. I want my kids to be proud to be a part of their society. I want them to grow up secure of their abilities and opportunities. And I don’t want all that to be tied to my income.
It’s just as much my job to make this world a better place as it is yours. The more I read, the more I see, the more I hear, the more depressed I get. The sadder I get, the angrier I get. The angrier I get, the more determined I get.
My eyes might have been closed before, but they’re wide open now. And it’s never too late.
Previously? Dumb For Life.
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projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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