Less than four months remain until my twenty-first birthday and only recently have I found myself utterly confused about my current path in life. I may be cliché in thinking that this birthday should be some kind of paramount event in my life, but how I envision my twenty-one year old self is someone who is about to begin their final year of school, either preparing to take certain exams to move onto Graduate School, or editing resumé samples to create the perfect one for each employer. But all I see is a scared little girl, afraid to move out of this seemingly new comfort-zone. And it's not that I'm not excited about the future and I'm certainly not going to try to keep it from coming, but I have this eerie feeling that I am misplaced.
At seven years old, I took pride in telling people that, "When I grow up I want to be a teacher. And maybe a coach."
At ten years old, I took pride in saying, "I'm going to be a teacher and a gymnastics coach one day."
At sixteen years old, I took pride in saying, "I'm going to the University of Miami because the School of Education there is awesome. And I'm going to be on the track team."
And finally at eighteen years old, my mother was able to take her turn in gloating. "My daughter attends the University of Miami, studying French and Secondary Education."
Up until the eighteen year old point, I think people always thought my dream to one day become a teacher who could change the world of teaching was...cute. Or maybe just valorous. But now it seems like everyone who asks, stops, tilts their head and slowly begins to say, "Sooo, you're thinking of becoming a teacher who coaches French people?" And then comes the chuckle. And I never took it to heart because they simply did not understand. And to a certain degree I still don't take it to heart. What bothers me is that I now find myself questioning what I will do with my French degree, and if Education will be enough.
Before I could read I started building up this wall of security, unconsciously reassuring myself that no matter what happened in life, I knew I could become a teacher. And a big part of me really senses that wall of security is crumbling down. Surely everyone has a childhood dream of becoming something special one day; NFL star, firefighter, doctor, etc. For me, the something special was becoming a teacher. So for years I closed my eyes to various professions. Sure, I dabbled with the thought of studying Math, becoming a doctor of some kind (but I can't say I love seeing needles or sharp objects), and even a crime-scene investigator or psychologist at one point in time. But I always staggered back to teaching. I told myself I was born to be a teacher and a mother. But now I ask, why have I limited myself to these roles?
I'm twenty years old and I haven't got a clue what to do. Almost three years into a degree and two specialties, I find myself altogether questioning what I will be when I supposedly "grow up". Yes, age is just a number and I'm a firm believer that no one ever truly has to grow up. But let's be honest, bills and car payments and career decisions are kind of a grown-up thing to handle. And it seems as though I have about a year to square everything away.
Twenty years old; with a fifteen year old false sense of security; without a clue.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Dostoevsky with a side of macchiato.
"Oh, tell me, who first announced, who was the first to proclaim that man does dirty only because he doesn't know his real interests; and that were he to be enlightened, were his eyes to be opened to his real, normal interests, man would immediately stop doing dirty, would immediately become good and noble, because, being enlightened and understanding his real profit, he would see his real profit precisely in the good, and it's common knowledge that no man can act knowingly against his own profit, consequently, out of necessity, so to speak, he would start doing good? Oh, the babe! oh, the pure, innocent child! and when was it, to begin with, in all these thousands of years, that man acted solely for his own profit?"
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
28 Day Cycle (?)
So I was doing a little late-night WholeFoods.com browsing (obviously), and upon a classic slow-motion scroll-down, I noticed an ad for a 28-day diet challenge. I thought to myself, 'Whole Foods promoting a diet plan? Must be somewhat legitimate for them to back it up.' Not going to lie, I always imagined Whole Foods goers as the Hippie types who refused to eat processed foods, while still refusing to give into the man and his concept of what it means to be skinny, not just-- oh what's the word?
Oh yeah, healthy.
Away I clicked, and was immediately swept me onto a new page with bright red letters telling me to BEGIN THE SURVEY NOW! 'Well alrighty then, why not?' My book could wait a few more minutes while I humored the website, fully expecting a generic health summary after spending fifteen minutes feeling rather proud of my mostly-health related responses. Instead, I was presented with a full analysis of my family history, how my eating habits are related to those risks, and how even a few risks I was unaware of could potentially be related. Further shocking my mind, I realized that the material was not presented in a way meant to scare the late-night dieter. Instead, it was more of an educational presentation of my lifestyle and a few basic steps to change it. And not only that, they were feeding me those steps with a silver-spoon and it appeared they would be holding my hand through four weeks of the change.
'Brilliant!' I thought as I stumbled upon a menu guide. *Correction, a daily menu guide, giving me recipe ideas for how to prepare my new and improved meals, with specific measurements and how many servings I could make (because after all, it is in fact easier to diet with a buddy), despite the fact that my dieting buddy happens to have a disease that does not allow him to process many nutrients to begin with (though he is in fact a wonderful food buddy), so the recipes would just end up feeding me twice. But I digress, and I've decided to attempt this 28 day challenge, or lifestyle cycle as the website likes to call it. Some of the changes will be more drastic than others, as to be expected, but I think it will be nice to have a guide (with pictures!) to help me through this process. But, since it is now midnight, and Publix closes at 10/opens at 9 for some ungodly reason, I will not be able to shop for tomorrow's cinnamon fruit oatmeal. Therefore, I will begin with lunch tomorrow, or I will use the meal guide exactly how its title indicates, as a guide, attempting to create my meals around its guidelines.
On the menu for tomorrow:
BREAKFAST
-Cinnamon Fruit Oatmeal
-Orange juice
LUNCH -Russian Fig Dressing/Dip on whole-wheat pita stuffed with shredded romaine, sliced tomato, chopped cucumber, and avocado slices
-Strawberries
DINNER
-Tossed Green Salad with dressing of choice
-Spiced Haddock or Tilapia
-Brown rice -Braised Bok Choy
-Poached Pears with Raspberry Sauce* or fresh fruit
Hmm, little pricey for my taste, but this diet did come from Whole Foods' website. And so it begins. Kind of. For tonight, Tuesdays With Morrie will suffice.
Bonne nuit tout le monde.
Oh yeah, healthy.
Away I clicked, and was immediately swept me onto a new page with bright red letters telling me to BEGIN THE SURVEY NOW! 'Well alrighty then, why not?' My book could wait a few more minutes while I humored the website, fully expecting a generic health summary after spending fifteen minutes feeling rather proud of my mostly-health related responses. Instead, I was presented with a full analysis of my family history, how my eating habits are related to those risks, and how even a few risks I was unaware of could potentially be related. Further shocking my mind, I realized that the material was not presented in a way meant to scare the late-night dieter. Instead, it was more of an educational presentation of my lifestyle and a few basic steps to change it. And not only that, they were feeding me those steps with a silver-spoon and it appeared they would be holding my hand through four weeks of the change.
'Brilliant!' I thought as I stumbled upon a menu guide. *Correction, a daily menu guide, giving me recipe ideas for how to prepare my new and improved meals, with specific measurements and how many servings I could make (because after all, it is in fact easier to diet with a buddy), despite the fact that my dieting buddy happens to have a disease that does not allow him to process many nutrients to begin with (though he is in fact a wonderful food buddy), so the recipes would just end up feeding me twice. But I digress, and I've decided to attempt this 28 day challenge, or lifestyle cycle as the website likes to call it. Some of the changes will be more drastic than others, as to be expected, but I think it will be nice to have a guide (with pictures!) to help me through this process. But, since it is now midnight, and Publix closes at 10/opens at 9 for some ungodly reason, I will not be able to shop for tomorrow's cinnamon fruit oatmeal. Therefore, I will begin with lunch tomorrow, or I will use the meal guide exactly how its title indicates, as a guide, attempting to create my meals around its guidelines.
On the menu for tomorrow:
BREAKFAST
-Cinnamon Fruit Oatmeal
-Orange juice
LUNCH -Russian Fig Dressing/Dip on whole-wheat pita stuffed with shredded romaine, sliced tomato, chopped cucumber, and avocado slices
-Strawberries
DINNER
-Tossed Green Salad with dressing of choice
-Spiced Haddock or Tilapia
-Brown rice -Braised Bok Choy
-Poached Pears with Raspberry Sauce* or fresh fruit
Hmm, little pricey for my taste, but this diet did come from Whole Foods' website. And so it begins. Kind of. For tonight, Tuesdays With Morrie will suffice.
Bonne nuit tout le monde.
Monday, January 10, 2011
The health track.
So, after a wonderful four day spell of Betty's Best Burgers, Nathan's Famous Hotdogs, BWW, and homemade BBQ with blueberry pie for dessert, I have decided to get back on my healthy track. I refuse to call this a diet because I don't really see anything wrong with what I chose to eat for dinner the past few nights, simply because I made healthy choices during the day. However, since "healthy" food is more expensive, I've found myself skimping on the brightly colored fruits and veggies I've grown up loving. A giant $3.99 bag of baby carrot sticks has rejuvenated my spirit. A few crunchy bites and a successfully healthy shopping trip, I left Publix with a small bottle of olive oil, a head of garlic, a lemon, some medicine, my giant bag of carrots, and a box of couscous...to go along with my lemon-garlic chicken recipe and steamed broccoli.
It's not that I want to be a health nut all the time, but I've been lazy. And after biting into the carrot stick, I realized that cooked carrots in a can of soup just won't cut it for me anymore. The freshness of something so simple heightened my senses and brought me right back into the world of cooking that I momentarily stepped out of. Tonight I'm sure people will be snacking on chips and dip for the BCS Championship, but I'll be sipping on my milk and chowing down on a homemade meal that is already making me drool.
It's not that I want to be a health nut all the time, but I've been lazy. And after biting into the carrot stick, I realized that cooked carrots in a can of soup just won't cut it for me anymore. The freshness of something so simple heightened my senses and brought me right back into the world of cooking that I momentarily stepped out of. Tonight I'm sure people will be snacking on chips and dip for the BCS Championship, but I'll be sipping on my milk and chowing down on a homemade meal that is already making me drool.
Monday, December 27, 2010
-3 Degrees Celsius.
9:15 on a winter Monday morning. I wonder what the Parisians are doing right now. I'm sure the city is mostly desolate, as many of its inhabitants have headed to the mountains for their winter ski trips. But I'm sure the natural sparkle of the city goes on. Family-owned shops are still opened, and sidewalks must be swept up so that les propriétaires des brasseries can begin a new week. And while the weather may be drastically different from the 95 degree sweltering heat I grew accustomed to, and while the clouds may never part during a winters' day, I'm sure that the radiance of the city's wonder will shine on nonetheless.
Madame Dru must still be sleeping, or either sitting in her kitchen smoking while enjoying a cup of steaming hot black English tea. A piece of toast will suffice until she heads off to work, grabbing a bit of quiche or salade on her way. I wonder what free-spirited ring she has selected for herself today. Perhaps the clear ring with all the rhinestones to compliment her black sarong, or maybe a swirled design to jazz up her simple yet purposeful Birkenstock sandals.
«Les Bagues des Rêves», Chez Rosine, 2010
Then again, this is Rosine we're talking about. Two days after Christmas, she probably hasn't seen her children much this fall, and she doesn't really enjoy working. So she's probably traveling, or sleeping in late-- enjoying a good existential piece of literature, sipping tea and/or Diet Coke.
And here I am, restless and neurotic in my home-home, at 2:15 in the morning. My mind wanders from street to street, trying to relive all the life-changing moments of my Parisian escapades. As frustrating and confusing the city was on a day-to-day basis, I couldn't help but fall in love with the wave of emotions. For such a seemingly reserved culture, French folks really wear their emotions on their sleeve. When they're mad, they show you...in hand gestures, in words, and in eyebrow scrunching. And when they're happy, they attempt to smile and usually kiss your cheeks like they've just seen a long-lost friend. But one thing you can count on with any strong emotion is the repetitiveness of their words. Usually in threesomes.
Très très trèèèès bien.
But why do these peculiar details intrigue me so? Why do I weep for the strange friends I made on the streets, in cafés, in dark bars and late-night streets? Why do I crave the scent of foreign second-hand smoke wafting through the streets accompanied by the distinct scent of freshly baked croissants and quiches? And why is it that I'd rather sit on a dirty metro for 30 minutes than in my own air-conditioned car during a traffic jam?
I of course have an answer for all of these questions, but am not brave enough to face it. So I lay awake sometimes for hours each night, thinking about my life in Paris this past summer, the friends I made out of complete strangers, and the odd sense of welcome I felt each night at la fontaine Saint Michel. And despite the fountain being a tourist hot-spot, I never felt like a tourist. I always received a warm greeting from the performers who recognized me, who understood that I could not pay them each night I watched their routines, but saw how much I valued their passion and talent.
So I lie here awake, feeling guilty for wishing to go back so soon in life. Guilty for not wishing to visit my own country in greater depth, fearing that if I don't go back now, I never will. Or worse, my friends and French family will have forgotten me by the time I manage to "get my act together" and return.
But somehow, the mere image of crowded outdoor cafés steaming with guests and their daily gossip brings me right back into the wave of French culture I dreamed about before even embarking on my adventure. My heart aches for so many things. And right now it aches most for my humble yet dark and twisty hippie of a host mother, the reassuring feeling of solitude, Centre Pompidou, a quietly messy salon, the shuffle of the metro, and a 4 euro bottle of Champagne to be shared among friends at sunrise for no particular reason other than the sheer factor of being young.
My heart aches, and it's an ache that hasn't faded. An ache that won't fade.
«The Best Chicken on a Stick Ever», Chez Rosine, 2010
Madame Dru must still be sleeping, or either sitting in her kitchen smoking while enjoying a cup of steaming hot black English tea. A piece of toast will suffice until she heads off to work, grabbing a bit of quiche or salade on her way. I wonder what free-spirited ring she has selected for herself today. Perhaps the clear ring with all the rhinestones to compliment her black sarong, or maybe a swirled design to jazz up her simple yet purposeful Birkenstock sandals.
«Les Bagues des Rêves», Chez Rosine, 2010
Then again, this is Rosine we're talking about. Two days after Christmas, she probably hasn't seen her children much this fall, and she doesn't really enjoy working. So she's probably traveling, or sleeping in late-- enjoying a good existential piece of literature, sipping tea and/or Diet Coke.
And here I am, restless and neurotic in my home-home, at 2:15 in the morning. My mind wanders from street to street, trying to relive all the life-changing moments of my Parisian escapades. As frustrating and confusing the city was on a day-to-day basis, I couldn't help but fall in love with the wave of emotions. For such a seemingly reserved culture, French folks really wear their emotions on their sleeve. When they're mad, they show you...in hand gestures, in words, and in eyebrow scrunching. And when they're happy, they attempt to smile and usually kiss your cheeks like they've just seen a long-lost friend. But one thing you can count on with any strong emotion is the repetitiveness of their words. Usually in threesomes.
Très très trèèèès bien.
But why do these peculiar details intrigue me so? Why do I weep for the strange friends I made on the streets, in cafés, in dark bars and late-night streets? Why do I crave the scent of foreign second-hand smoke wafting through the streets accompanied by the distinct scent of freshly baked croissants and quiches? And why is it that I'd rather sit on a dirty metro for 30 minutes than in my own air-conditioned car during a traffic jam?
I of course have an answer for all of these questions, but am not brave enough to face it. So I lay awake sometimes for hours each night, thinking about my life in Paris this past summer, the friends I made out of complete strangers, and the odd sense of welcome I felt each night at la fontaine Saint Michel. And despite the fountain being a tourist hot-spot, I never felt like a tourist. I always received a warm greeting from the performers who recognized me, who understood that I could not pay them each night I watched their routines, but saw how much I valued their passion and talent.
So I lie here awake, feeling guilty for wishing to go back so soon in life. Guilty for not wishing to visit my own country in greater depth, fearing that if I don't go back now, I never will. Or worse, my friends and French family will have forgotten me by the time I manage to "get my act together" and return.
But somehow, the mere image of crowded outdoor cafés steaming with guests and their daily gossip brings me right back into the wave of French culture I dreamed about before even embarking on my adventure. My heart aches for so many things. And right now it aches most for my humble yet dark and twisty hippie of a host mother, the reassuring feeling of solitude, Centre Pompidou, a quietly messy salon, the shuffle of the metro, and a 4 euro bottle of Champagne to be shared among friends at sunrise for no particular reason other than the sheer factor of being young.
My heart aches, and it's an ache that hasn't faded. An ache that won't fade.
«The Best Chicken on a Stick Ever», Chez Rosine, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Shack
I'm not quite sure where to begin. This was more than just a book, it was an insightful legend to what it means to be a human being. I probably should have taken the religious aspects a little more seriously, but the advice that was given spoke to me in a much different way. And to be honest, the overtly religious aspects more often than not offended me a little bit. Mack, the protagonist of the novel, raised a question during one of the meals he shared with Papa (an African American female, who we know as 'God'). He inquired about which of the three, the Father, Son or the Spirit, were most powerful. He wanted to know if our version of their hierarchy was the reality of their relationship. And what Papa revealed to Mack was nothing he expected. She explained that they are a circle of relationship, not a chain of command.
Jesus chimed in and noted that humans created the hierarchical systems of everyday life. "Once you have a hierarchy, you need rules to protect and administer it, and then you need law and the enforcement of the rules, and you end up with some kind of chain of command or a system of order that destroys relationship rather than promotes it. You rarely see or experience relationship apart from power. Hierarchy imposes laws and rules and you end up missing the wonder of relationship..."
So then I started thinking about my relationships, and how I approach them all. In some, it is very evident which role I play in the pair. Whether I'm the strong one, the weak one, the smart one, the chaser, the chased, etc. And others, I find that there is that sense of equality that Papa, Sarayu and Jesus were attempting to teach Mack about throughout his journey. In some of my relationships, I do in fact feel like I am trapped by rules, following whatever the other person orders me to do. And in other relationships, I wonder why I feel like I am the responsible one, trying to hold the two of us together-- when in reality, if we just let each other live and understand we have differences, there would be no need to enforce rules on each other. There wouldn't be a need to fight for understanding or argue against each other's methods of thinking.
Sarayu, the personified spirit of God, further explains, "...broken humans center their lives around things that seem good to them but will neither fill them nor free them. They are addicted to power, or the illusion of security that power offers. When a disaster happens, those same people will turn against the false powers they trusted."
If I constantly live in this illusion of power and weakness, I don't think I'll ever truly be happy. If I continue to live in this world where I think certain people are better than me, while others rest below my 'status', then I will always see people in tiers. This kind of relates to something my Grandmother has been getting me to understand, I think.
She tells me to let go of anything and everything that is not related to Love, Truth, Beauty, & Knowing. It seems so simple in text, but when I try to apply the concepts, the challenge sets in. It's taken me years to figure out just what I find beautiful, and what I usually fall in love with. But knowing and trusting truth, that's a whole other type of game for me to try to play. But something this book has shown me, is that we can trust our gut...after it's been trained. We must train our minds, and our gut instincts to steer away from snap judgments and categorizing habits. Ultimately, it will be my gut who tells me whether or not something is true, but until I can definitively stay away from categorizing people and things, I won't be able to see the beauty and know that something is truly amazing, or truly worth my time. This stagnant routine of judgment I've created for myself closes in on my perception of life and clouds my ability to distinguish good from evil and truth from falsehood.
There were a number of themes brought up in this novel, and many I'm sure I will have to reevaluate for myself, but this one really stuck out to me. This theme of how we treat other humans really swept me away to another world-- a world where I could judge myself and how I judge other people. It seems so normal to shape people into certain types of human beings, to see them in one, maybe two ways, but nothing more. And here I always thought I had a pretty wide open perception of the world.
Jesus chimed in and noted that humans created the hierarchical systems of everyday life. "Once you have a hierarchy, you need rules to protect and administer it, and then you need law and the enforcement of the rules, and you end up with some kind of chain of command or a system of order that destroys relationship rather than promotes it. You rarely see or experience relationship apart from power. Hierarchy imposes laws and rules and you end up missing the wonder of relationship..."
So then I started thinking about my relationships, and how I approach them all. In some, it is very evident which role I play in the pair. Whether I'm the strong one, the weak one, the smart one, the chaser, the chased, etc. And others, I find that there is that sense of equality that Papa, Sarayu and Jesus were attempting to teach Mack about throughout his journey. In some of my relationships, I do in fact feel like I am trapped by rules, following whatever the other person orders me to do. And in other relationships, I wonder why I feel like I am the responsible one, trying to hold the two of us together-- when in reality, if we just let each other live and understand we have differences, there would be no need to enforce rules on each other. There wouldn't be a need to fight for understanding or argue against each other's methods of thinking.
Sarayu, the personified spirit of God, further explains, "...broken humans center their lives around things that seem good to them but will neither fill them nor free them. They are addicted to power, or the illusion of security that power offers. When a disaster happens, those same people will turn against the false powers they trusted."
If I constantly live in this illusion of power and weakness, I don't think I'll ever truly be happy. If I continue to live in this world where I think certain people are better than me, while others rest below my 'status', then I will always see people in tiers. This kind of relates to something my Grandmother has been getting me to understand, I think.
She tells me to let go of anything and everything that is not related to Love, Truth, Beauty, & Knowing. It seems so simple in text, but when I try to apply the concepts, the challenge sets in. It's taken me years to figure out just what I find beautiful, and what I usually fall in love with. But knowing and trusting truth, that's a whole other type of game for me to try to play. But something this book has shown me, is that we can trust our gut...after it's been trained. We must train our minds, and our gut instincts to steer away from snap judgments and categorizing habits. Ultimately, it will be my gut who tells me whether or not something is true, but until I can definitively stay away from categorizing people and things, I won't be able to see the beauty and know that something is truly amazing, or truly worth my time. This stagnant routine of judgment I've created for myself closes in on my perception of life and clouds my ability to distinguish good from evil and truth from falsehood.
There were a number of themes brought up in this novel, and many I'm sure I will have to reevaluate for myself, but this one really stuck out to me. This theme of how we treat other humans really swept me away to another world-- a world where I could judge myself and how I judge other people. It seems so normal to shape people into certain types of human beings, to see them in one, maybe two ways, but nothing more. And here I always thought I had a pretty wide open perception of the world.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
A little help from a wise woman.
"Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it toward others. And the more peace there is in us, the more peace there will also be in our troubled world." --Etty Hillesum
Helping others find peace does not find me peace. And it doesn't find peace for the people I interact with on a daily basis. Instead of looking to fix everyone else's problems, why can't I just stop and look at the situations I'm creating? Why can't I look at the people I'm hurting, instead of the strangers who are hurting themselves and begging for help? I'm a troubled, reckless little girl with only a few vague directions in life. And I guess that's how most twenty-year olds are, but for some reason I find myself in this extreme version of that lifestyle. And I'm not at all sure how I ended up in this place, hurting the people I love the most and only feeling bitter and alone at the end of the day.
"It gets more confusing everyday. Sometimes it's heaven sent, then we head back to hell again." --John Legend
Helping others find peace does not find me peace. And it doesn't find peace for the people I interact with on a daily basis. Instead of looking to fix everyone else's problems, why can't I just stop and look at the situations I'm creating? Why can't I look at the people I'm hurting, instead of the strangers who are hurting themselves and begging for help? I'm a troubled, reckless little girl with only a few vague directions in life. And I guess that's how most twenty-year olds are, but for some reason I find myself in this extreme version of that lifestyle. And I'm not at all sure how I ended up in this place, hurting the people I love the most and only feeling bitter and alone at the end of the day.
"It gets more confusing everyday. Sometimes it's heaven sent, then we head back to hell again." --John Legend
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