I don’t do well with obligations.
No, not the type you’re supposed to do for work. I have no problem showing up for work every morning, well every morning that I am supposed to show, which for me is three days a week. I have no problem showing up to meetings. I have no problem delivering what I possibly can when I said I would.
I also don’t mean school-related obligations. I complete my assignments on time. I attend each class. I listen, speak up and ask questions. Nor do I mean obligations that include paying bills, feeding the birdie, etc.
What I’m referring to are obligations of one person to another. Unwritten rules. The kind that require a person to act towards another in a manner opposing their actual feelings toward that person. The kind that makes you act, in Elaine Benes’s wise words: fake, fake, fake, fake, fake.
“You really should give her a call? She’s expecting it.”
“We can’t do that! We have obligations.”
“She invited you, you really should invite her.”
I don’t like the idea that someone would invite me to an event out of obligation. Furthermore, I despise the idea that I should behave in a certain manner just because it’s ‘the right thing to do.'”
I understand that there are cases where you do things that you may not like. At work you are at times respectful towards people you might not have a ton of respect for. At a friend’s house, even if you see her parents behave inappropriately, you act appropriately and don’t meddle in family business. We already have a ton of obligations that we don’t have control over, do we really need to fill up the rest of our life fulfilling unnecessary obligations?
I don’t like the idea of calling a friend because I have to. I don’t like the idea of sending a Christmas card because it’s wrong not to. I don’t like the idea of inviting people to my wedding cause it will appear rude if I don’t. I don’t like the idea of having to call or even talk to anyone I don’t particularly like.
Life’s too short to worry about doing everything right. It’s too short to spend your energy on people you don’t care about. Why do I have to waste my precious time being sweet to people I don’t care about and ones who don’t care about me? Why couldn’t everyone just be honest to each other? Aren’t there enough people to genuinely care about?
I don’t mean that you should be malicious to anyone. I just don’t think we should say things we don’t mean. Or invite people that we’d rather not. It just doesn’t seem right that I should waste my time with the fake worries. The fake hellos. The fake smiles. The fake thank yous. Where it’s obvious neither party really gives a crap.
Because then it’s not fair to the people I really do care about.
Previously? Growing Up.
There’s a discussion at metafilter about growing up, prompted by this.
In the last five years or so, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what qualifies someone as a grownup, or more personally, when I would qualify as one. Looking at the comments at metafilter, there seem to be a few common themes: a parent’s death, having a full-time job, buying a house, getting a divorce. It appears the definition of grown-up changes from person to person. Some people associate it with earning a living on one’s own while others relate it to coping with an emotional event.
Each time I cross a major milestone in my life, I wonder if I’m mature enough to be there. Moving to another continent, earning a high salary, paying a hefty rent, getting married. Each of them, an event associated with being a grownup. Am I really mature enough to get married? Am I mature enough to be a teacher?
I spent most of my childhood being too old for my age. A teenager who didn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs is pretty boring. I picked books over dress-up. I had goals. I had to work hard to achieve them. At seventeen, I left my home and my family to go miles and miles away. I figured I was old enough.
Not really.
Over the years, I learned that being mature is not a line one crosses. It’s not like there’s a day before which you’re a child and after which you’re a grownup. There are events that occur in our lives that force us to act mature and take responsibility, often sooner than we wished. And then there are events for which the time feels right so we take the leap, like marriage and children. I don’t believe anyone’s ready to have children. It just feels right and we feel like we’re in a healthy, stable situation and that we can provide for a child.
And then there are the situations that cause every person to act below their age. A few too many glasses of wine. Hanging out with a kid. Watching a football game. Playing video games. Besides these common cases, each person has a unique series of situations that will reduce that person to a child.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that getting older will always feel weird to me. Getting married like my parents and working as a teacher both sound odd when uttered to someone else but feel comfortable and right when I don’t think much about it. I don’t think it matters much when one officially stops being an adolescent. Putting a number on it guarantees that there will be people within the range who feel unfairly treated like a child, and a set of people who fall outside the range but yet act like adolescents.
Life is not about keeping track or fitting in a category. It’s about learning to deal with things as they come and taking responsibility. It’s also about maximizing the level of fun, no matter how childish, as long as it’s not at the expense of others.
The rest simply doesn’t matter.
Previously? Looking Forward.
Another year has passed and Jake and I have put another nail in the coffin of the curse of New Year’s eve. No fights. A lovely night thanks to Jason, Shannon, Anil and their great friends. Only laughter at the stroke of midnight. Laughter and kisses.
It appears my only resolution for 2001 was “to be a better person, inside and out.” I don’t know about the inside part but I did lose 26 pounds and dye my hair blonde, which translated to my being a different person outside. Considering the fact that I’ve wanted to lose weight since freshman year in college, I’d say the loss of weight was an improvement. So I guess I accomplished at least 50% of my resolutions from last year. As for the inside, you’ll have to take my word that I’ve made some progress along those lines as well. Though, I would be unfair if I didn’t admit to going back on Diet Coke which started the day after September 11, even though I’d gone almost two years without it.
December has been such a whirlwind of events that I haven’t had time to set resolutions for 2002. Heh, I love writing 2002. I love saying 2002. I love that it’s a palindrome. Anyhow, back to my point. I’m trying to figure out what my resolutions for the coming year should be. There’s the set I have each year: lose weight, quit diet coke, exercise more, finish your novel, etc. The same items I have on my list each year, and the same items that get transferred from year to year because either they never get achieved or they get temporarily achieved until I fall back the next year when they reappear on my list.
And then there’s the big stuff like: let go of the past, worry less, forgive yourself, stress less, stop trying so hard, etc. Issues that are at the core of who I am, issues that are way too serious and require way more commitment than a grocery list of resolutions. These issues will only get resolved with time and the regular course of events in my life. Some might never go away, some might disappear by tomorrow morning. But none will be a resolution I can set or follow.
2002 is a rare case where I know I will have some major upcoming events that promise to change my life. I can resolve not to stress over the upcoming wedding. Or the move to a completely foreign state. I can resolve to be the best teacher I can be without taking on all the problems of inner-city education. I can resolve to not worry about learning to drive at the ripe age of 27. Not to worry about having to pack my life into little boxes and move them across the country. But the fact is, I can’t make any resolutions about unknown future events, even if they’re in the foreseeable future. Setting those types of resolutions is guaranteed disappointment.
A few days ago, I wrote about how humans don’t change on demand. I think resolutions fall into that category. It’s a time of year that simply makes you sit at your table and list out all that things you wish you were or hope you weren’t. Who cares? So what if you don’t exercise enough? What’s the big deal about eating too much chocolate or not reading enough? In the end, if it really matters to you, you will do it or you will stop it.
Regardless of what day it is.
My resolution for 2002 is to try a little bit each day.
Previously? Looking Back.
2001 didn’t start all that well for me.
Jake and I were supposed to welcome the New Year in Savannah with his family. In the middle of our fist day I started losing feeling on my legs. After a phone call to the doctor, where I was told that I had two herniated discs and had to go back home and lie in bed, we took the 6am plane the next day and spent New Year’s eve and the week after in bed.
The low-key New Year’s eve turned out to be the best Jake and I ever had. We played video games all night long and got up for some sparkling cider at midnight. Which proved that 2001 might not turn out awful after all.
I spent February to May undergoing regular physical therapy. At the same time, I got asked to manage the project I was working on while keeping my three-days-a-week arrangement. I worked at New York Society for the Deaf and took five courses including learning to make pottery and play the saxophone.
The summer of 2001 brought many questions. My back was finally starting to feel better and I knew I wanted to change my life. I took fewer classes and decided I wanted to do more in the city. We’d talked about moving before next summer and I knew it might be our last summer in the city. We went to book readings, we took walks in the park, we spent most of our days outside. We talked. We made decisions. We agreed not to be afraid.
In the fall I decided that I was ready to give up my career. I decided it was time to start living the life I’ve wanted. Time to be proud of myself. Time to make my life worthwhile. I filled applications for the two places that promised to change my life. I went back to physical therapy when my neck started hurting out of the blue. I began volunteering at Housingworks as well as NYSD and took on six new courses. I was going to spend most of the fall waiting to hear and the less time I had to sit around and wonder the better it would be. I knew that the news wouldn’t arrive until January.
It turned out to be sooner. December 2001 might hold the record for the most eventful month in my life. The last week of November I found out that I was called back to have an interview with Teach for America on December 6th. I spent the next two weeks practicing my five-minute teaching session so many times that I could do it in my sleep. That Thursday morning, I woke up at 6:30 and got to the interview a half-hour early. I spent the morning teaching, discussing, writing and the afternoon with my one-on-one interview. By three in the afternoon, I was so worn out that I went to sleep as soon as I got home. That night Jake proposed to me at Rockefeller Center, the next morning my boss informed me that the firm decided to promote me to Vice President. Ten days later, I found out that I got accepted to Teach for America.
Talk about a busy and life-changing month.
I’m still waiting for some more news. I am supposed to find out the state that I teach in, in the next week or two. A week after that I hear from Stanford. And then we sit down to make some decisions. 2002 promises to be an eventful year for me. A wedding, a career change, a new house and a car are just the beginning of my New Year.
Looking back to the eve of 2001, I would have never guessed that this would be the year in which my life changed. The year that I started at the bottom but am finishing on top.
May 2002 bring even more luck, laughter, health and love to all of us.
Happy New Year.
Previously? Assigned Roles.
He brings home the bread money.
She does the cleaning and the laundry.
She cooks and he does the dishes.
If we hear a scary noise in the middle of the night, he gets up to see what it is.
When the baby cries in her sleep, she gets up cause daddy’s gotta go to work the next day.
He proposes, she accepts.
He’s successful; she’s caring and considerate.
She’s thin and pretty.
He’ll protect the child when other kids are mean to him.
She’ll make him chicken soup and kiss his boo-boos.
She’ll want babies and he’ll have a son.
He’ll never cry, he’ll be strong for the both of them.
She’s been planning her wedding day since she was a little girl.
He doesn’t understand the difference between mauve and puce.
He watches football and she likes figure skating.
He handles the money.
She’s sentimental, he’s reasonable.
I am so glad we live in the 21st century.
Previously? Personality Change.
Can you change who you are?
At first thought, my instinct is to say, “yes.” One part will, two parts determination and mix thoroughly.
Over nine years ago, I moved to the United States. I remember the day I got accepted to Carnegie Mellon University as if it happened this morning. The telegram, the flowers and the tears. I’d wanted to come to America since my early teens and getting into CMU had been a long and strenuous journey.
I remember thinking that this was my one chance to change. To start over. No one knew me in the US, no one had grown up with the geeky Karen who wore glasses as thick as a coke-bottle bottom. No one knew my weaknesses, no one could use my past to make fun of me. It was the perfect opportunity to have a personal makeover. I was determined to change myself.
Week one came and I was cool. I made some new friends, I laughed at the right times, I wore the right things and I didn’t say anything too embarrassing. I don’t mean to imply that I was at the center of the in-crowd or anything, but I did manage not to screw up anything major. So it was possible to change oneself, after all.
Not exactly.
It took a few weeks or so, but eventually I made my way back to the original Karen. The one with the same set of flaws, the collection of not-so-cute quirks and the same baggage. The new Karen was just a role, and one can only act for so long. The new skin we create becomes uncomfortable. It’s too tight or too loose. It just doesn’t feel right.
Over the years, I’ve had a few opportunities to start over. The move to Pittsburgh, a new boyfriend, and then another, a move to New York City and a new job. Each presented me with the same titillating need to create a new Karen and every single time, I crawled right back into the familiar one.
So is it impossible to change oneself?
I think that when we make a conscious effort, it’s extremely difficult to change who we are. And yet, I also think that we change continuously. Each day of our lives small things happen. These tiny, insignificant bits change us in miniscule ways. Sometimes huge things occur and our personality takes leaps. But often times, these are not premeditated. So much so that even we might not notice that we changed until the right opportunity presents itself. Not only is it possible to change oneself, but we are continuously in the process of changing ourselves.
The trick is not to force it. To let nature take its own course. To recognize that the very first step to changing oneself is accepting oneself.
Previously? ‘Tis the Season .
I absolutely adore Christmas.
I know that as a Jewish person I’m not supposed to feel that way, but to me, Christmas is not a religious holiday. I guess what I actually love is the Christmas season and all that it’s come to represent.
In Turkey, we all put up Christmas trees and decorations but they are called “New Year’s” trees. We don’t have the caroling but we have the lights. We have the presents. We pile them under the tree, and open them on New Year’s day. The only difference is that New Year’s eve is not a family event. Ever since I was twelve, I went to different parties on the eve of the New Year and I didn’t return home until the next morning. It’s a tradition.
But the New Year’s Day is all about family time.
No matter what religion you observe, I can’t understand why Christmas season wouldn’t cheer you up. I love the smell of pine trees. I love the thousands of lights shimmering all around the city. The wreaths. The sound of the bells. I love the presents. I even love the funny hats. [ I am so sorry, Heather.] Two years ago, I celebrated Christmas with my friend Laura and her family. They took me to midnight mass. I remember walking into the church and loving the candles and being mesmerized by the songs.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Chanukah. Most of the Jewish holidays that I observe mean a lot to me and I love being a part of the culture, the traditions and the remembrance. Those are spiritual for me, but Christmas isn’t. I know that the idea behind it is and so is the significance of the day. But I guess I love Christmas for the same reason most people hate it.
Because it’s become pop culture.
If I were Christian and devout, I might be upset that Madison Avenue has converted the holiest of days to another excuse to sell an item. But I’m not. Instead I enjoy the fact that it’s become an excuse to give gifts. An excuse to extend good wishes to those close to us. To friends we might have not talked to in a long time. A reason to give to the less fortunate. Time to collect family members into a single room.
New York gets a major makeover from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day. All of Fifth Avenue stretches its creative muscles and gives us magnificent displays. And after this year, Rockefeller Center and the tree and the angels will have a lifelong special place in my heart. During the month of December, it’s almost impossible for me to walk down to street without smiling. I love the trees everywhere. It’s as if the season uplifts me. I love buying gifts even more than receiving them. ‘Tis the season to give, after all. And what’s better than sharing and giving?
Tomorrow morning, I’m off to celebrate Christmas with Jake and his family. If you celebrate Christmas, may you have a most amazing one. If you don’t, use the day of to hook up with old friends or to make new ones.
Either way, may your day be filled with happiness and laughter.
Previously? Home Alone.
It’s been a long time since I’ve lived alone.
Five years ago, upon graduation from college, I moved to New York and rented a small one-bedroom apartment. Jake had one more year of college so when the summer was over, he went back to Pittsburgh, leaving me alone in the apartment.
I never minded being home alone. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been easily self-entertained. Between my books, my music, the TV, and my computer, it’s almost impossible to be bored. That first year, I spent many of my nights watching TV and chitchatting with Jake on the phone or over zephyr. At the time, I was talking 3-d graphics classes and I pulled many all-nighters trying to get my trumpet to look just right.
From December 1999 to May 2000, I lived alone in a corporate apartment in Tokyo, Japan. I spent most of my time then working late and studying Japanese. Even though I had occasional visitors, Tokyo did get quite lonely after four or five months. I missed being able to walk on the streets and understand what the signs said. Or turning on the TV and having more than one channel in English.
Two days ago, Jake left for home and I am scheduled to join him on Monday. I’ve spent almost every minute since Friday night at home. The only time I went out was today, to grab lunch at a cafe four blocks from my house. One would think that I must be miserable considering the circumstances, but I feel quite fulfilled and even jovial. I’ve written a short story. I’ve knitted more of my scarves. I’ve read magazines and books. I’ve watched countless hours of TV. I’ve redesigned my web page. I’ve even completed a favor for Jake that I’d been putting off for quite some time. I’ve yet to reply to my emails, but we still have tomorrow.
There are major advantages to living with someone. Especially someone you love. I can walk over to him and give him a kiss or ask for a hug anytime I feel like it. I can convince him to take a walk with me if I feel down. I can hear his laughter and see his smiling face. All these are special privileges I’d never give up. But there are also downsides to having another human being share your one private place in the world.
There are times Jake and I want to watch different TV shows. Or one of us wants to sleep when the other one suggests going out. He might be on the phone when I want some quiet time to read my book. The fact is we’re sharing space. Not like the office where you expect there to be other people, but at home where it’s meant to be your safe haven and your own private place to do as you please. Living with someone else requires that you follow some level of social rules within your own household. Living with someone else is hard work.
I like living with the person I love and I’d take the complications of sharing space over not getting to see him all the time, any day. But I also try to maximize the occasional alone-time I get, which is why being home for so many hours in a row actually puts me in a good mood.
Not that it stops me from missing him madly.
Previously? One Of Those Times.
Why would you wait another year to get married? Haven’t seven years been enough?
You’ve just been promoted to Vice President and you’re quitting?
Are you insane?
That seems to be the one thought everyone agrees on lately. I must be insane. I mean, could so many people be wrong?
You bet.
It seems to me that everyone lives slightly vicariously through others. I mean when we hear good news or bad news relating to a friend or family member, we tend to put ourselves in their shoes and feel obligated to give advice. Well, maybe it’s not an obligation but a sign of caring. Regardless of what it represents, lately I’ve been hearing a lot of it. Already overwhelmed with the shower of good luck that I’ve been soaking myself in, I’ve decided I can do without all the advice.
Not that I don’t appreciate the good nature with which it’s offered, but there are times in life where one needs to step back and take a look at the events from the outside and make her own decisions. This is one of those times for me.
One of the reasons I tend to have few regrets is cause I spend a lot of time thinking about each of my decisions. No matter how my new steps turn out, I want to be able to look back on my life and say that I thought I was doing the right thing. That I thought about it seriously and truly believed in it at the time.
I never believed in mistakes and I think life is what you make of it. I am tired of being fearful and I’m sick of living with or worrying about other people’s expectations. I’ve been itching for some change and it seems I’m about to get my chances. All I want people to say is: “good luck.”
I read a poem many years ago that was supposedly by an eight year-old girl. In the poem, the girl talked about how she likes to pray to God because as opposed to the other people in her life, God doesn’t tell her what to do or what she did wrong or what’s best for her. God just listens.
I’m not very religious but I liked the point of the message. There are times in everyone’s life when she doesn’t want to hear advice. When she doesn’t want to hear what she should do or what she shouldn’t. When she wants someone to just sit there and listen. Sometimes that’s the best help one can offer.
This is one of those times for me.
Previously? Misjudgment.
So, at the end of last semester, I signed up for a class called ‘the pursuit of happiness.’ Actually, at the end of last semester, I signed up for a class called ‘theories of learning.’ It appears no one else thought learning theories were interesting because the class was cancelled due to low enrollment.
A week before classes were to begin, I was notified of the cancellation and had to scramble to fill in the time slot. Since I’d never taken a philosophy course, I figured the happiness class might not be awful. I mean it was a class on happiness, how bad could it really be?
Well, week one came and went and while I was quite hesitant, I did keep the class, thanks to an email from Richard who told me to keep at it and that the class would be worthwhile. The second week I remember sitting in the room, wondering why I kept punishing myself so. I kept thinking the professor was a little out there and didn’t hold on to any strong beliefs or positions of his own. But I didn’t drop the class. I wouldn’t.
Over the next few months, my happiness class was the source of a variety of posts. It seems week after week, the class made me think. It made me think about myself, about life, about my choices, about the whys and hows and why nots. Two of us in the class got engaged and our most vocal classmate stopped showing up, thus allowing the class to cover the full material. One of my classmates showed me how to knit a pattern and how to hide the small pieces of yarn sticking out on the edges. Another classmate asked me algebra advice for his son. The teacher told us how he’s been struggling with learning to brush his teeth at night.
Yesterday was our final class. The woman who helped me with my knitting said she wanted to make an announcement. She said that before the class she’s been struggling with personal problems. She’d had cancer and hadn’t been able to get back to her sculpture. She said she explained her frustration to the professor and he said he’d call her every morning for a week. On day two, she’d already organized her life around and now she has a huge piece that’s on display on the West Side of Manhattan.
It is then that I realized the horrors of judging. In my frustration and underestimation of the class, I had misjudged what was an amazing and kind human being. Even if he wasn’t the most organized professor, he helped each of us in his own way and I think that’s so much more precious than any well constructed instruction.
It also taught me the importance not underestimating. Not locking into the few words that someone utters and use those to judge him or her. As much as I’d like to say I don’t do that, this class showed me that I do. I made me look into my conscience and see the rotten portions.
Talk about a worthwhile class. Thank you, Richard.
Previously? Karma.
For every event that occurs, there will follow another event whose existence was caused by the first, and this second event will be pleasant or unpleasant according as its cause was skillful or unskillful.- source
I believe in karma.
I like the idea of karma. The idea that the consequences of your actions affect future events sounds very appealing to me. If we all acted as if our actions would come back to haunt us, it might encourage us to ponder longer before we act.
Karma might even encourage people to commit random acts of kindness. Smiling to a stranger on your way to work. Holding the door to someone carrying bags of groceries. Calling with happy birthday wishes. Calling just to say hi.
If you believed in karma, you’d also believe that the more good vibrations you send ‘out there’, the more chances you have of receiving luck and happiness. So you’d try to be as kind as you can, for no specific reason. Wouldn’t it be neat if everyone did that?
On Friday, Jake and I saw Vanilla Sky. A movie with Tom Cruise and Jason Lee was already too good to be true. Even if it had absolutely no point, I would have easily paid the twenty bucks for two hours of watching my two favorite male actors. But, as an added bonus, the movie turned out to be a trip.
I don’t want to give away the twisty ending, so I won’t tell you a major premise of the movie. But in the end, it was about consequences. About showing that each move you make can alter your potential future. That each action, even if seemingly small, has consequences, and if you don’t consider them, you might have to pay for them. You will have to pay for them.
Yet how many of us really think of our actions? I mean, really think about them. Each time we don’t reply to a kind email or return a phone call. When we cut in front of someone in traffic or don’t wait to hold the elevator for someone walking down the hall. When we tell small, white lies that are supposedly for the good of the other person. When we act like we care even though we know we don’t. When we fake listening while we think of other things. How many of us ponder the consequences of our selfishness? ,
Too few, if you ask me.
There’s no such thing as a meaningless act. Everything has consequences.
Previously? Point of No Return.
Aren’t you sick of my happiness class just yet?
Well, the good news is that next week is my last class. The bad news is that here comes another happiness entry:
In yesterday’s class, we talked about taking the wrong path, making bad choices. My teacher mentioned conversing with women in their forties who tell him that had it not been for their marriage and children, they could have been successful and had a better life.
If only…
What a crock of crap, if you ask me. First of all, there’s absolutely no guarantee that their life would have turned out well had they not married and had offspring. What seems to be a successful career can disappear overnight (as too many people are finding out recently). We never really know where an unchosen path would have lead us. We only know the outcome of the chosen path, and not even much of that.
The other part of the point that bothers me is the assumption that the initial decision of marriage and children over career was not actually a choice but a pre-made decision. It implies that either the woman wasn’t allowed to make the choice, or worse, that she decided on that option without even having thought about it too much.
I could swear that I wrote an entry on making choices and how everything is about a priority chosen over another one, but I can’t find it. The fact is, every decision we make matters. Each decision deserves thought and careful consideration. There’s something to be said for the value of spontaneity but major decisions that are guaranteed to alter the course of your life deserve some premeditation. It’s highly possible that a tiny, seemingly minor decision turns your life upside down, but such is life.
It seems to me that if you go through life without thinking about your choices, if they go wrong, you’ll end up full of regret, like the women my teacher mentioned. This is your life. Make your own decisions. Because, in the end, you’re responsible for them.
Whether you like it or not.
Previously? Not Exactly a Stranger.
|
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
|
