Graduations and Moving on
A few years ago I wrote a mini blog series to in coming freshmen . . . It was September. Very true. Very pertinent. Part one. Part two.
Now, as January turns to a bitter, icy grey and colleges reopen a different form of "that time of year" is back. The spring semester, or also known as "the graduating semester." Le sigh. Read on, you'll see why.
Girls, boys, men, and women come into my office in various stages of fright. They arrive in my inbox, and the appear in Skype and Facetime meetings, and in classes they teeter on the edges of chair gasping for breath. Panics about jobs, getting them, getting into grad school, making money...Always the money comes up. Yea, there's a bit of angsty haze this time of year. Some good, some . . . well, a few emails this week struck me more than normal. Amid the "Aw snap, I forgot," "What's going down up in here?" "and "You gots to help me" with arms flailed in the air nuances of things we all should have known busted to the scene.
I have no shame in telling my students, well reminding them too, that I wasn't always the person I am now. As I told one, not long ago, at 21 I was a hot and dizzy mess. With a side of chaos. I won't lie. My curly hair, various shades of red with blonde and gold streaks (depending on the day), blood red and near black nail polish, 1990s long floral skirts with flannels tied at the waist, Docs or Birks, and . . . yea, all things '90s grunge and partially embarrassing now. Those flannels I am not embarrassed over . . . That hair . . . ah, we were all young once.
I was always loud and liberal, but it took years of marinating, learning, falling in grand and spectacular fashions, and accepting to embrace the person I am now. There are parts of life that make me unhappy, but by and large . . . my life is mine filled with the metaphorical and literal charms and tchotchkes that remind me of the path that led me here. Not always pleasant but certainly fun.
None of use look like that anymore. My hair was a uniform BIG for graduation. I've got students who have been begging to see this shot. Begging. The others from college are still in the vault. Locked.
Look closer and in all of our eyes I am certain you can see traces of fear. Ok, well Vicky was our standby soldier. She was the most stable of us . . . I went to New Mexico and shortly later New York, Jeremiah did a stint in Japan, and Meredith was in Colorado for a spell. We all scattered and stayed . . . in the end, looking back now those days seems like less than a memory and more like a fairy-tale. That life bridge of adulthood was there, and we really didn't have a choice but to cross it. They have all made lives, homes, memories, and families in Kentucky. I left, my part-time home, and as I remind them--and others--my life choices are my own. They made me and define me. What's good for me is not always good for you. But, as I tell my students, we can't know everything upfront and nothing is given. We have to take risks in order to see the future.
As I told a student this week: breathe deep, long, and often. It gets easier but being afraid only makes things seem longer. Fear makes for a long life. Those panic attacks are what you make of them, and they get better. Every time something great happens, big or small, the panic fades as things start to work out.
I applied to grad school, and got in, but that doesn't mean I always knew where I was going. Nor does it mean that I didn't wander, do things along the way that were cray cray then and insane now, and turn down a job offer or two. In 1998 I opted to follow my heart and turn down what was essentially stupid money to a 21 year old in the booming late '90s economy. Rent was under 400 a month, I owed 12 grand in student loans, and . . . Ah, to be young. I went to New Mexico and got a masters, lived a poverty laden life, and filled my memories with sand dunes, those Organ Mountains I grew to love and still see in fleeting memories, and not-so waking dreams left permanent marks on my psyche.
I've been single for much of my life, and in doing so I took a lot of crap along the way. Girls, and boys, always want to know why I kept on going. Especially when they hear about the job. That job . . . there was a paper in Indiana and one in Lexington, KY that gave me offers. Back then, I edited the school paper, was part of a team that resurrected it, and I've always written. Tiny awards, smaller checks, and little by lines in print fluttered through much of my twenties (and now thirties). In all fairness, if I'd gone to Lexington I think I would still have gotten a masters. But . . . I am certain I wouldn't be the person I am now. There's someone I left for me, and as a poetic life goes we made out for the best. He and I, across the roads we live, have the lives that make us happy and the ones we were meant to create. That I will always believe. I don't look back with regret. Then or now. We have to leave moments, things, and people in order to progress . . . If you stay local, and it is right for you, then own it. If you stay because you are too afraid to try, then ask yourself why.
Much of my friends have said they have always been amazed that I just generally go where I dream, rarely look back, and make things work. For my students freaking out about the unknowns . . . There's a fire we all have to channel. Graduations are times to wax poetic about it. And the last semester of college. My point, my dears, embrace and remember to have fun. Ride those waves, one last time, as they say. Last year I told several to turn up their own fires, or they would never find out who they are. If you don't get a job right away, well . . . most don't. My accidental hire in 1998 was a rarity even then, and in all reality the majority of college grads wander a bit before they get that first real job. Wait tables, lifeguard one last summer, and flounder for a few months. Figure out where that recurring nightmare wants you to go, where that day dream is really going, and where your heart is. Breakups happen, and if it is kismet you'll find your way back like a boomerang.
New Mexico gave me a lifelong love of chilies, pinon candles, and other gems of The Land of Enchantment, but it also told me that A) I'm a urban girl, B) coastlines make me happy, and C) I'm a girl of seasons. My first autumn back east was near hysterical as I shivered from temperature drops and couldn't stop starring at the changing leaves.
Rupa is in Canada, last I heard, Chad was there and then stateside I think, Peter passed on and I'm still numb for his loss and the way he was taken (I mentioned it here, ions ago), and Jen and I still do more than travel around the same sun.
I found my passions in life, and while I'm broke as a joke more often than not, I chased by-lines as a part time gig enough to know I don't have the patience for the banalities of the day to day. The girl Friday and secretary jobs drove me to loneliness, as the last one had me near catatonic in a cubicle after eight hours. I thrive on a challenge. People. Free thought. With that being said, money pays for the rent but in the end . . . happiness really drives you. I'm underpaid, work more than in possible on most days, and I push along as I love what I do and do what I love. On most days it all works out. The money might be tight, but the day to day makes life interesting.
Now, as January turns to a bitter, icy grey and colleges reopen a different form of "that time of year" is back. The spring semester, or also known as "the graduating semester." Le sigh. Read on, you'll see why.
Girls, boys, men, and women come into my office in various stages of fright. They arrive in my inbox, and the appear in Skype and Facetime meetings, and in classes they teeter on the edges of chair gasping for breath. Panics about jobs, getting them, getting into grad school, making money...Always the money comes up. Yea, there's a bit of angsty haze this time of year. Some good, some . . . well, a few emails this week struck me more than normal. Amid the "Aw snap, I forgot," "What's going down up in here?" "and "You gots to help me" with arms flailed in the air nuances of things we all should have known busted to the scene.
I have no shame in telling my students, well reminding them too, that I wasn't always the person I am now. As I told one, not long ago, at 21 I was a hot and dizzy mess. With a side of chaos. I won't lie. My curly hair, various shades of red with blonde and gold streaks (depending on the day), blood red and near black nail polish, 1990s long floral skirts with flannels tied at the waist, Docs or Birks, and . . . yea, all things '90s grunge and partially embarrassing now. Those flannels I am not embarrassed over . . . That hair . . . ah, we were all young once.
I was always loud and liberal, but it took years of marinating, learning, falling in grand and spectacular fashions, and accepting to embrace the person I am now. There are parts of life that make me unhappy, but by and large . . . my life is mine filled with the metaphorical and literal charms and tchotchkes that remind me of the path that led me here. Not always pleasant but certainly fun.
None of use look like that anymore. My hair was a uniform BIG for graduation. I've got students who have been begging to see this shot. Begging. The others from college are still in the vault. Locked.
Look closer and in all of our eyes I am certain you can see traces of fear. Ok, well Vicky was our standby soldier. She was the most stable of us . . . I went to New Mexico and shortly later New York, Jeremiah did a stint in Japan, and Meredith was in Colorado for a spell. We all scattered and stayed . . . in the end, looking back now those days seems like less than a memory and more like a fairy-tale. That life bridge of adulthood was there, and we really didn't have a choice but to cross it. They have all made lives, homes, memories, and families in Kentucky. I left, my part-time home, and as I remind them--and others--my life choices are my own. They made me and define me. What's good for me is not always good for you. But, as I tell my students, we can't know everything upfront and nothing is given. We have to take risks in order to see the future.
As I told a student this week: breathe deep, long, and often. It gets easier but being afraid only makes things seem longer. Fear makes for a long life. Those panic attacks are what you make of them, and they get better. Every time something great happens, big or small, the panic fades as things start to work out.
I applied to grad school, and got in, but that doesn't mean I always knew where I was going. Nor does it mean that I didn't wander, do things along the way that were cray cray then and insane now, and turn down a job offer or two. In 1998 I opted to follow my heart and turn down what was essentially stupid money to a 21 year old in the booming late '90s economy. Rent was under 400 a month, I owed 12 grand in student loans, and . . . Ah, to be young. I went to New Mexico and got a masters, lived a poverty laden life, and filled my memories with sand dunes, those Organ Mountains I grew to love and still see in fleeting memories, and not-so waking dreams left permanent marks on my psyche.
I've been single for much of my life, and in doing so I took a lot of crap along the way. Girls, and boys, always want to know why I kept on going. Especially when they hear about the job. That job . . . there was a paper in Indiana and one in Lexington, KY that gave me offers. Back then, I edited the school paper, was part of a team that resurrected it, and I've always written. Tiny awards, smaller checks, and little by lines in print fluttered through much of my twenties (and now thirties). In all fairness, if I'd gone to Lexington I think I would still have gotten a masters. But . . . I am certain I wouldn't be the person I am now. There's someone I left for me, and as a poetic life goes we made out for the best. He and I, across the roads we live, have the lives that make us happy and the ones we were meant to create. That I will always believe. I don't look back with regret. Then or now. We have to leave moments, things, and people in order to progress . . . If you stay local, and it is right for you, then own it. If you stay because you are too afraid to try, then ask yourself why.
Much of my friends have said they have always been amazed that I just generally go where I dream, rarely look back, and make things work. For my students freaking out about the unknowns . . . There's a fire we all have to channel. Graduations are times to wax poetic about it. And the last semester of college. My point, my dears, embrace and remember to have fun. Ride those waves, one last time, as they say. Last year I told several to turn up their own fires, or they would never find out who they are. If you don't get a job right away, well . . . most don't. My accidental hire in 1998 was a rarity even then, and in all reality the majority of college grads wander a bit before they get that first real job. Wait tables, lifeguard one last summer, and flounder for a few months. Figure out where that recurring nightmare wants you to go, where that day dream is really going, and where your heart is. Breakups happen, and if it is kismet you'll find your way back like a boomerang.
New Mexico gave me a lifelong love of chilies, pinon candles, and other gems of The Land of Enchantment, but it also told me that A) I'm a urban girl, B) coastlines make me happy, and C) I'm a girl of seasons. My first autumn back east was near hysterical as I shivered from temperature drops and couldn't stop starring at the changing leaves.
Rupa is in Canada, last I heard, Chad was there and then stateside I think, Peter passed on and I'm still numb for his loss and the way he was taken (I mentioned it here, ions ago), and Jen and I still do more than travel around the same sun.
I found my passions in life, and while I'm broke as a joke more often than not, I chased by-lines as a part time gig enough to know I don't have the patience for the banalities of the day to day. The girl Friday and secretary jobs drove me to loneliness, as the last one had me near catatonic in a cubicle after eight hours. I thrive on a challenge. People. Free thought. With that being said, money pays for the rent but in the end . . . happiness really drives you. I'm underpaid, work more than in possible on most days, and I push along as I love what I do and do what I love. On most days it all works out. The money might be tight, but the day to day makes life interesting.
If I hadn't wandered, pissed more people off than I can count for leaving, moving, and going where I didn't know anyone and essentially starting over I would have never refined and channeled myself into the person I am now. I wouldn't have seen that sunset in Bodrum, Turkey that still awes my memory, I wouldn't have eaten the best taco of my life in Mexico (to shortly there after loose it and five pounds the hard way . . . don't eat tacos from roadside stands people), and I wouldn't have had the subway ride that resonated my thrive and love for this city.
People you meet are going to fade, if you stay or if you traverse with a suitcase. The ones that matter are the bomerangs, and the ones that inspire you--even if you never meet up again--leave markers that push you on.
On that, ride the last semester and don't fret nearly as much. Life is a little funny like that, just when you think all is lost it works out. Maybe not the way you dreamed and planned, but it works out.
People you meet are going to fade, if you stay or if you traverse with a suitcase. The ones that matter are the bomerangs, and the ones that inspire you--even if you never meet up again--leave markers that push you on.
On that, ride the last semester and don't fret nearly as much. Life is a little funny like that, just when you think all is lost it works out. Maybe not the way you dreamed and planned, but it works out.
PhDs get the best costumes.
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