So I'm sitting at home, lamenting the fact that I couldn't go to Eric Whitacre's concert tonight, and I glance through the TV guide debating whether to read or watch television. I was excited to find that a presidential address was coming on and eagerly set channel reminders so that I could finally get a strong position on a solution to this oil fiasco. I likened it to one of Roosevelt's fireside chats and reflected on how beneficial it is to have an executive commander who keeps in contact with all of his citizens. I sat down at my couch (actually facing the fireplace) and happily awaited the new insights I would gain from this experience.
Half an hour later I'm still sitting on my couch, but the only notion in my head remains, "That's it?" I know from the twenty-month long election process that Obama is a hell of a speech maker and as someone who appreciates a good piece of rhetoric, I have to say I'm rather insulted that he thought that extended soundbite would mollify us. I consider myself to be pretty good about keeping up with current events and I actually stopped listening to the news recently because I was sick of hearing more of the same; this growing problem and a growing piled of failed attempts at a solution. I had it in my head that there would be more to his speech than information on what was going on. It turned out to be nothing but a thrown-together "state of the gulf" speech reminding the American people of what we already know. We know that millions of gallons of crude terra crap has gushed and continues to gush out of the failed BP pipes. We know that the initial explosion is a result of neglect on BP's part and back scratching on the government's part. We know that upwards of hundreds are watching their livelihoods wash away in a grimy oily tidal wave as the leak empties toxic products into water where the wildlife is dying at alarming rates. We know that dealing with clean-up is dangerous because of exposure to both the chemicals released into the water and the chemicals that have been used to separate the oil from the rest of the water. We know that the country is far too dependant on oil as a source of fuel and has been lax in finding alternatives because it's easier to wait for someone to discover black gold in their backyard than to do extensive research on cleaner less finite energy sources. This has been going on for two months now and no news station hasn't mentioned all of that and more. Why, then, did you, Mr. President, spend the majority of your speech on what we already know?
What was the purpose of this speech? Was it to pacify us? To let us know that you really are "kicking ass" as you suggested? Do you really believe any intelligent person who cared about what's going on in this nation right now would be satisfied by a thirty'minute filibuster? I am eighteen years old, have no degrees, no work history, and can't drive myself to the corner without freaking out, but I'm competent enough to know that I (and the rest of the country), deserved better than that. Where were the estimates on when the wells would be finished? What was the basis for this "ninety percent" that's supposed to be collected before the leak is permanently fixed? What specific measures are being taken to hold BP accountable for the financial impact, the environmental impact, and the obvious broken regulations? Besides chastising us for not already having a better energy policy, what immediately feasible alternative is there right now to fossil fuels? How are other oil companies going to be effected by BP's carelessness? Why does there have to be a new commission to inquire and seek a solution every time someone in the government screws up?
It's events like this that make me sure I never want to run for president. Aside from it being a dead-end job with little time off and no room for advancement, the job description in itself is just too funky. There is something about this job that makes him responsible for making this situation better. I don't know if this has to be by executive order or pushing a bill through the house and senate or bullying David Cameron into punishing BP on their home front but really, what's the use of being the leader of the free world if you can't even do anything to fix a national environmental disaster? You haven't even made me feel better about it. I gave you half an hour of my life and for what? I have a paragraph full of questions, an angry headache, an injured ego and a powerful longing for that half-hour of my life back. I really wish I could've gone to Carnegie Hall.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Status quo...ta
I have been terminated. I've spent the day reflecting, recalling, reminding myself to keep my eyes on the prize (that is, self-actualization) and attempting to get all of my misery and disappointment out of my system in one day. I don't know how successful I am as my mind keeps wandering to June 28h, the day that I'm supposed to pick up my meager check for my meager contribution for this major cause.
It is so much worse to be disappointed than angry or sad. Those kinds of pain hurt, but they feel temporary and once you let them out, you get over it. Disappointment, not so much. When you're disappointed, you're faced with proof that your positive expectations were wrong and the more disappointment you face, the scarier it is to allow these expectations again. I was so ready to bust my ass for the environment this summer and work for a cause and gain positive insight and experience and make some money (I'm not gonna pretend that wasn't a happy prospect) and have some human contact that it isn't work to be around and have a kick-off point for future endeavors and...now I'm sitting home again with no prospects at all. It isn't exactly encouraging. And it isn't the usual self-recrimination that fills my head when reflecting on these past two days (oh God I got fired after two days) so much as frustration that there was nothing I could do to make this better or to make this work.
I was expected to raise $120 in a full shift while canvassing. That was my objective. There's this talk about recruiting new members and raising awareness, but the bottom line is, our purpose is to raise money. I'm not saying this is a bad or shameful thing. I understand that campaigns can't be run for free and it is much more honorable to accept donations from concerned individuals who want to be involved than to seek sponsorship from a company in exchange for pimping out the interests of the American public. HOWEVER...they could have been a bit more up front about this particular purpose when they were seeking employees. I guess the name should have given me a hint: Fund for the Public Interest, but somehow I was caught up on the whole wanting to get people involved thing. I had it in my head that our zeal to get this issue out there and have our voices heard was a bigger deal than making money. My positive expectation...was wrong. And there was nothing I could do about it. I had "the rap" memorized, I was familiar with the background of the drilling and the intent of Environment GA, I knew to be friendly and concise when talking to people so that they didn't get sick of me while I was asking them for money but really, there's only so much you can do only so far we can go. We're in a recession. During recession, people want to save their pennies. They don't want to give large sums of money to strangers who knock on their doors asking them to make a financial commitment to an organization they've never heard of. I understand that. I accept that. And still I felt anxious and disappointed and ashamed to not get any new sustainers on my own and only manage to get one $50 single contribution on my observation day. I read my little info packet. I knew that I was seventy bucks below my quota and I felt really bad that I hadn't done a better job. I chalked it up to my inexperience and focused on the good moments and came the next morning with bells on for my FM training. That...only served to make me more anxious. According to the director, Aaron, (who would fire me a few hours later) it doesn't matter what kind of area you're in. If you're engaging enough and speak to enough people you should make more than quota every day. According to his logic, it's my fault that the people who agreed with me but didn't have any money because they had just spent it all on bills or they were bound for Europe or they were retired and on a fixed income didn't jump for the chance to give me money (but did offer me water and ginger ale). It's my fault that the people who supported my cause but had already committed funds and membership to a bunch of similar organizations or balked when they found out that their contribution wouldn't be tax deductible didn't want to throw their last few bucks into a vacuum to which they'd already contributed in some other capacity. It's my fault that the people who really appreciated my passion and enthusiasm and felt sorry for me for being outside for so long and thought that this sounded like a really great group and a really great idea but weren't prepared to open their wallets immediately because they wanted more information decided that they would just join online after doing some research. It's my fault that those assholes (I don't have to be nice to them now so I'll call them what they are) who are more caught up in their neo-con patriotism than the havoc being wreaked on our shores (by a foreign company btw) to speak against dangerous off-shore drilling because the alternative is buying it from our enemies (because heaven forbid we find a cleaner more efficient fuel) threw their viewpoints in my face before slamming the door in my face or demanding to know how we would get fuel if not from the ocean. It's my fault that some people are alarmed by what's going on in the gulf but don't want to jump to conclusions based on one instance and are waiting until they see how things play out before they put their names and pockets on either side. It's all my fault. If I had been a better canvasser all of these people would have been dying to sign blank checks made out to Environment GA regardless of their biases, hesitations, financial limitations, suspicions, and irritation at solicitors. I am curious as to how Zach (who raised over a thousand dollars in one shift) would have handled my turf. But alas, I'll never know because they only go to each area once a year. So despite my passing out a bunch of flyers to several people really interesting in becoming members online or when they had more cash on hand, got an almost renewal from a man who wasn't home but was pretty sure to continue his membership after he heard from me, wasn't able to talk to everyone because so many people didn't answer their doors and practically bullied the sweetest old lady ever into donating her last ten dollars even though it wasn't enough to officially make her a member (in addition to be offered a few refreshments)...I didn't meet quota. And that was all that mattered as I headed back to the office, finally acknowledging the pounding in my head that hadn't stopped since that morning and self-consciously clutching my two sub-par contributions. I did not feel good and I had no excuses to make. The only thing running through my head was that I had failed for the second time and what was I doing wrong? I hoped to address this later with Aaron during debriefing but I never got that far. No sooner did I admit my inadequate results than he kindly let me know that "canvassing isn't for everyone" and I could come back to pick up my check for the work that I had done on the twenty-eighth of June. And that was it. I was dismissed. Inutil. None of my passion or desire to contribute mattered any more in light of my falling under quota twice in a row (the job packet actually says three times but I guess they just didn't have much faith in me). So now not only am I unemployed, I know for a fact that nothing I do on any given day is making a difference in the world to anyone. I couldn't get enough contributions and now I myself have nothing to contribute. I had nothing but time and I spent it trying...and failing. The worst thing about it was walking out thinking, What do I do now? Where am I supposed to go from here? And should I just give it up for awhile? I am disappointed. I was wrong. I was very very wrong. I hope and pray that I don't keep making thing mistake.
It is so much worse to be disappointed than angry or sad. Those kinds of pain hurt, but they feel temporary and once you let them out, you get over it. Disappointment, not so much. When you're disappointed, you're faced with proof that your positive expectations were wrong and the more disappointment you face, the scarier it is to allow these expectations again. I was so ready to bust my ass for the environment this summer and work for a cause and gain positive insight and experience and make some money (I'm not gonna pretend that wasn't a happy prospect) and have some human contact that it isn't work to be around and have a kick-off point for future endeavors and...now I'm sitting home again with no prospects at all. It isn't exactly encouraging. And it isn't the usual self-recrimination that fills my head when reflecting on these past two days (oh God I got fired after two days) so much as frustration that there was nothing I could do to make this better or to make this work.
I was expected to raise $120 in a full shift while canvassing. That was my objective. There's this talk about recruiting new members and raising awareness, but the bottom line is, our purpose is to raise money. I'm not saying this is a bad or shameful thing. I understand that campaigns can't be run for free and it is much more honorable to accept donations from concerned individuals who want to be involved than to seek sponsorship from a company in exchange for pimping out the interests of the American public. HOWEVER...they could have been a bit more up front about this particular purpose when they were seeking employees. I guess the name should have given me a hint: Fund for the Public Interest, but somehow I was caught up on the whole wanting to get people involved thing. I had it in my head that our zeal to get this issue out there and have our voices heard was a bigger deal than making money. My positive expectation...was wrong. And there was nothing I could do about it. I had "the rap" memorized, I was familiar with the background of the drilling and the intent of Environment GA, I knew to be friendly and concise when talking to people so that they didn't get sick of me while I was asking them for money but really, there's only so much you can do only so far we can go. We're in a recession. During recession, people want to save their pennies. They don't want to give large sums of money to strangers who knock on their doors asking them to make a financial commitment to an organization they've never heard of. I understand that. I accept that. And still I felt anxious and disappointed and ashamed to not get any new sustainers on my own and only manage to get one $50 single contribution on my observation day. I read my little info packet. I knew that I was seventy bucks below my quota and I felt really bad that I hadn't done a better job. I chalked it up to my inexperience and focused on the good moments and came the next morning with bells on for my FM training. That...only served to make me more anxious. According to the director, Aaron, (who would fire me a few hours later) it doesn't matter what kind of area you're in. If you're engaging enough and speak to enough people you should make more than quota every day. According to his logic, it's my fault that the people who agreed with me but didn't have any money because they had just spent it all on bills or they were bound for Europe or they were retired and on a fixed income didn't jump for the chance to give me money (but did offer me water and ginger ale). It's my fault that the people who supported my cause but had already committed funds and membership to a bunch of similar organizations or balked when they found out that their contribution wouldn't be tax deductible didn't want to throw their last few bucks into a vacuum to which they'd already contributed in some other capacity. It's my fault that the people who really appreciated my passion and enthusiasm and felt sorry for me for being outside for so long and thought that this sounded like a really great group and a really great idea but weren't prepared to open their wallets immediately because they wanted more information decided that they would just join online after doing some research. It's my fault that those assholes (I don't have to be nice to them now so I'll call them what they are) who are more caught up in their neo-con patriotism than the havoc being wreaked on our shores (by a foreign company btw) to speak against dangerous off-shore drilling because the alternative is buying it from our enemies (because heaven forbid we find a cleaner more efficient fuel) threw their viewpoints in my face before slamming the door in my face or demanding to know how we would get fuel if not from the ocean. It's my fault that some people are alarmed by what's going on in the gulf but don't want to jump to conclusions based on one instance and are waiting until they see how things play out before they put their names and pockets on either side. It's all my fault. If I had been a better canvasser all of these people would have been dying to sign blank checks made out to Environment GA regardless of their biases, hesitations, financial limitations, suspicions, and irritation at solicitors. I am curious as to how Zach (who raised over a thousand dollars in one shift) would have handled my turf. But alas, I'll never know because they only go to each area once a year. So despite my passing out a bunch of flyers to several people really interesting in becoming members online or when they had more cash on hand, got an almost renewal from a man who wasn't home but was pretty sure to continue his membership after he heard from me, wasn't able to talk to everyone because so many people didn't answer their doors and practically bullied the sweetest old lady ever into donating her last ten dollars even though it wasn't enough to officially make her a member (in addition to be offered a few refreshments)...I didn't meet quota. And that was all that mattered as I headed back to the office, finally acknowledging the pounding in my head that hadn't stopped since that morning and self-consciously clutching my two sub-par contributions. I did not feel good and I had no excuses to make. The only thing running through my head was that I had failed for the second time and what was I doing wrong? I hoped to address this later with Aaron during debriefing but I never got that far. No sooner did I admit my inadequate results than he kindly let me know that "canvassing isn't for everyone" and I could come back to pick up my check for the work that I had done on the twenty-eighth of June. And that was it. I was dismissed. Inutil. None of my passion or desire to contribute mattered any more in light of my falling under quota twice in a row (the job packet actually says three times but I guess they just didn't have much faith in me). So now not only am I unemployed, I know for a fact that nothing I do on any given day is making a difference in the world to anyone. I couldn't get enough contributions and now I myself have nothing to contribute. I had nothing but time and I spent it trying...and failing. The worst thing about it was walking out thinking, What do I do now? Where am I supposed to go from here? And should I just give it up for awhile? I am disappointed. I was wrong. I was very very wrong. I hope and pray that I don't keep making thing mistake.
Monday, June 7, 2010
I'm still sore
My legs hurt. I got done just before ten, was technically finished canvassing around nine and two hours later, all the most prevalent sensation in my body is that of blood rushing to help repair the destroyed myelin sheaths in my poor little calvesies. It hurts, but it's a good kind of pain; like the kind you feel the day after an epic dance class or when you finish an intense run. It's the kind of pain you're proud of because you know it's worth something. You aren't feeling this for no reason; that pain is going the product of and still yet to produce something wonderful, certainly something worth it.
This has been a looong day for me. I've never had to work a ten-hour shift before and certainly not one that entailed having doors shut in my face and elderly know-it-alls suggesting that I "educate" myself more on the topic. It was hard and it was long and having procured only fifty dollars after three hours hurt. Still does. I choose to take this pain with the same perspective I lend to the soreness in my legs.
I'm tired. I've been tired for hours, really, and it isn't just the walking. Canvassing through Buckhead was quite the adventure and as many do, this little trek gave me some interesting perspective. When you see out of your own eyes for so long, it's easy to forget how many different POVs there are out there. There are the gracious but cautious well-bred people who don't want to slam the door in your face but aren't committing themselves to a group based on the smile of some girl off the street. I feel for them and I appreciate them more for their willingness to listen than their eagerness to join our cause. Then their are the deep-set "convervatives" who aren't willing to take a stand against oil companies because they don't know what will stand up in their place. They disregard people like me because of our youth and our eagerness to "make a difference" as if our idealistic aspirations are somehow a byproduct of our ignornce. Meanwhile, they know the truth and they simply don't care. These are my favorites, really. As a canvasser, it's annoying, because they take up time that we could spend getting the attention of people who would really contribute. But as the student of human nature that I am, determined to carve for myself a political future, it's like candy; both enticing and toxic. If I could I would have sat in each of these such people's kitchens and gone hashed out our differences right then and there (as civily as I could of course). I can't right now, because that isn't my focus, but the prospect illicited a little geeky anticipation that I might one day have the chance to take all of this opposition on. And then there are the haters. They're neither hurt nor envious. Their type of hatred is the worst: the kind that comes out of the notion that they should hate because they are entitled to. One woman followed me down the street in her car demanding to know what I was doing in her neighborhood and throwing thinly veiled threats at me for "soliciting" without a permit. These people I'd rather not deal with as I'm just far too tempted to point out to them what terrible human beings they are. I just listened to this woman undermine my cause and my method of acquiring support for it all the while my mind was racing with mental tears and angry shouting that included how she didn't deserve her beautiful home. And it was a beautiful home, even though she had a dog who went up and down the street peeing on other people's mail boxes (which is against the law whether you have a permit or not)and one of her statues looked like it needed a new head. It was a beautiful area that belied the spirits of many of it's occupants. That isn't to say it was a snooty neighborhood full of people who looked down their nose at us, but it was a slow day and people's conceit was a big part of that. Raising fifty dollars in three hours was...discouraging to say the least. And still we pressed on. After awhile, it wasn't the ungraciousness that offended me so much as the condescension.
I do not take kindly to being talked down to and all too often we had the misfortune of dealing with people who just thought we were wrong. They're young, they thought, they're simply jumping onto whatever hot button issue is big among their generation and foolishly thinking they can change the world. They're uninformed, they assume. They hear about and oil spill and they don't do any research of their own rather than blowing one news story out of proportion. Then of course there was the gentleman who thought the whole matter of fighting oil was nonsense because it made life unnecessarily complicated. "We all have to maintain a certain lifestyle," he said. And what of the lifestyles that will never be the same in Mississippi and Louisiana due in part to the indifference of people like him? We can't all enjoy a certain lifestyle; it will happen at the expence of someone else. Sometimes it's worth it. In this case, it isn't. I understand that I see this issue through my biased eyes and a person who complains when her mother plays in the fireplace because it's bad for the climate but really? No one is blowing the dangers of off-shore drilling out of proportion. At this point, the only thing blown out of proportion is the drilling equipment responsible for safely procuring oil. It's gushing is destroying the livelihood of innocent Americans who depend on a decent marine ecosystem and threatens the welfare of the entire east coast and you dare say we don't have a good enough grasp on the issue? Something very bad happened. We don't want it to happen again. The way to ensure that it doesn't happen is not to let it. She says as she clenches the issue for dear life. Sorry I just had to get that out.
But even with such frustrations as that, at the end of the day, I was glad for how I spent those nine and a half hours. I was proud of the conversations I had with the people who I'd talekd to and eager to sway the minds of those who were less than supportive. And I, like so many teachers, parents, social workers and police officers, had a light-bulb moment. I got to meet a rattler fan who loved the environment and supported our work a hundred percent. I got to hear him say how much he loved and missed Tallahassee and share with him some other issues we're concerned with as well as some of our accomplishment on old issues. I got to meet his beautiful daughter when she came out to show him her gack! the most fun thing a kid could have and stare up at us with her big blues eyes as cool and clear as the ocean used to be. She seemed to beg us to protect her coastal beaches at the same time she gave us hope for the future, even in light of the stoic opposition her elders had given us at previous houses. It was late in the evening, the sun was going down and I was at the point where I didn't want to know on anyone's door anymore for fear of disturbing their dinner or family time and making enemies rather than friends. It took all day, but it was all the confirmation I needed that what I was doing was right. I wish I could do more and someday I will. For now, I do what I can and push through the pain.
This has been a looong day for me. I've never had to work a ten-hour shift before and certainly not one that entailed having doors shut in my face and elderly know-it-alls suggesting that I "educate" myself more on the topic. It was hard and it was long and having procured only fifty dollars after three hours hurt. Still does. I choose to take this pain with the same perspective I lend to the soreness in my legs.
I'm tired. I've been tired for hours, really, and it isn't just the walking. Canvassing through Buckhead was quite the adventure and as many do, this little trek gave me some interesting perspective. When you see out of your own eyes for so long, it's easy to forget how many different POVs there are out there. There are the gracious but cautious well-bred people who don't want to slam the door in your face but aren't committing themselves to a group based on the smile of some girl off the street. I feel for them and I appreciate them more for their willingness to listen than their eagerness to join our cause. Then their are the deep-set "convervatives" who aren't willing to take a stand against oil companies because they don't know what will stand up in their place. They disregard people like me because of our youth and our eagerness to "make a difference" as if our idealistic aspirations are somehow a byproduct of our ignornce. Meanwhile, they know the truth and they simply don't care. These are my favorites, really. As a canvasser, it's annoying, because they take up time that we could spend getting the attention of people who would really contribute. But as the student of human nature that I am, determined to carve for myself a political future, it's like candy; both enticing and toxic. If I could I would have sat in each of these such people's kitchens and gone hashed out our differences right then and there (as civily as I could of course). I can't right now, because that isn't my focus, but the prospect illicited a little geeky anticipation that I might one day have the chance to take all of this opposition on. And then there are the haters. They're neither hurt nor envious. Their type of hatred is the worst: the kind that comes out of the notion that they should hate because they are entitled to. One woman followed me down the street in her car demanding to know what I was doing in her neighborhood and throwing thinly veiled threats at me for "soliciting" without a permit. These people I'd rather not deal with as I'm just far too tempted to point out to them what terrible human beings they are. I just listened to this woman undermine my cause and my method of acquiring support for it all the while my mind was racing with mental tears and angry shouting that included how she didn't deserve her beautiful home. And it was a beautiful home, even though she had a dog who went up and down the street peeing on other people's mail boxes (which is against the law whether you have a permit or not)and one of her statues looked like it needed a new head. It was a beautiful area that belied the spirits of many of it's occupants. That isn't to say it was a snooty neighborhood full of people who looked down their nose at us, but it was a slow day and people's conceit was a big part of that. Raising fifty dollars in three hours was...discouraging to say the least. And still we pressed on. After awhile, it wasn't the ungraciousness that offended me so much as the condescension.
I do not take kindly to being talked down to and all too often we had the misfortune of dealing with people who just thought we were wrong. They're young, they thought, they're simply jumping onto whatever hot button issue is big among their generation and foolishly thinking they can change the world. They're uninformed, they assume. They hear about and oil spill and they don't do any research of their own rather than blowing one news story out of proportion. Then of course there was the gentleman who thought the whole matter of fighting oil was nonsense because it made life unnecessarily complicated. "We all have to maintain a certain lifestyle," he said. And what of the lifestyles that will never be the same in Mississippi and Louisiana due in part to the indifference of people like him? We can't all enjoy a certain lifestyle; it will happen at the expence of someone else. Sometimes it's worth it. In this case, it isn't. I understand that I see this issue through my biased eyes and a person who complains when her mother plays in the fireplace because it's bad for the climate but really? No one is blowing the dangers of off-shore drilling out of proportion. At this point, the only thing blown out of proportion is the drilling equipment responsible for safely procuring oil. It's gushing is destroying the livelihood of innocent Americans who depend on a decent marine ecosystem and threatens the welfare of the entire east coast and you dare say we don't have a good enough grasp on the issue? Something very bad happened. We don't want it to happen again. The way to ensure that it doesn't happen is not to let it. She says as she clenches the issue for dear life. Sorry I just had to get that out.
But even with such frustrations as that, at the end of the day, I was glad for how I spent those nine and a half hours. I was proud of the conversations I had with the people who I'd talekd to and eager to sway the minds of those who were less than supportive. And I, like so many teachers, parents, social workers and police officers, had a light-bulb moment. I got to meet a rattler fan who loved the environment and supported our work a hundred percent. I got to hear him say how much he loved and missed Tallahassee and share with him some other issues we're concerned with as well as some of our accomplishment on old issues. I got to meet his beautiful daughter when she came out to show him her gack! the most fun thing a kid could have and stare up at us with her big blues eyes as cool and clear as the ocean used to be. She seemed to beg us to protect her coastal beaches at the same time she gave us hope for the future, even in light of the stoic opposition her elders had given us at previous houses. It was late in the evening, the sun was going down and I was at the point where I didn't want to know on anyone's door anymore for fear of disturbing their dinner or family time and making enemies rather than friends. It took all day, but it was all the confirmation I needed that what I was doing was right. I wish I could do more and someday I will. For now, I do what I can and push through the pain.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Day by Day
I went to the library on Wednesday. It being my first time back there since going to Tallahassee, I was jolted to realize the magic that was there, the magic that I love about that place. As a life-long bibliophile who's racked up debt on numerous library cards spanning three counties, I can say with good authority the Newton Country Library is quite the entity. Between the large selection of fascinating non-fiction and multi-media and the quiet bustle Newton County citizens in for their biweekly fix, it's one of my favorite atmospheres. It's suggested that churches are such powerful places, not only because of their religious purpose, but because of the energy that emanates there even long after service is over. Many a time I've walked into an empty theatre and felt similar energy, remnants from the characters and players who at some point or another made that space their home. It occurred to me in manically browsing the children's section, that the library has that same energy, that same sanctuary atmosphere.
We're taught at a very early age that books open doors of the imagination, allowing us to explore unknown worlds and uninvestigated concepts. I realized in standing among so many "doors" that each aisle was akin to a long hallway and every cover a window; a brief but tantalizing glimpse into the world those pages hold. It was at once thrilling and overwhelming to peer into these windows and see such incredible places. I had limited time and could only explore a few, but I could feel the potency of the worlds that surrounded me as keenly as if I'd put my hand to the door of a room on fire. I was on fire; quietly burning inside with both good and bad anxiety. I wanted to never leave. I wanted to take it all home with me. I wanted to read. I wanted to pick out books that I could read later. I wanted to write. I wanted to discover new writers. I was pulled in a hundred different directions at the same time I was firmly planted in one spot, smoldering until I could contain my flame an inch a little farther down the aisle. The library is a special place for me; as special as church and theatres. It's a place I know that God exists, not because of some logical conclusion, but because I can feel it with every fiber of my being. It is a special place, but I can't stay there forever. I can't always go when I want to. Oftentimes I have to wait much longer than I plan to get back.
For some Christians, it is difficult to be devout Monday through Saturday. Without the voices of the choir, the boom of the head minister, the amiable interaction with the neighbors on your left and your right, the incredible wonders of the world that you're so grateful for fade away among the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The ardent love and optimism are lost to the drudgery of their very own 9-5. By the time Saturday night rolls around, all they can do is thank God Sunday service is on its way. When I get back to church, they say, I can fellowship and worship. The job and the family and the friends won't seem so bad. Life will be what it ought to be again. When I get back to the library, I say, I'll get things done. I won't feel suffocated by the deafening silence or utterly alone in a group of people. All of my goals and aspirations will be feasible again and I can lose myself in as many strange lands as I like till closing time. Until then, I sit home, I go about my routine, and I miss the magic. Separated from my sanctuary, I feel farther from my self-actualization. It's a struggle every day to remember and acknowledge that I am the temple. And so I pray.
We're taught at a very early age that books open doors of the imagination, allowing us to explore unknown worlds and uninvestigated concepts. I realized in standing among so many "doors" that each aisle was akin to a long hallway and every cover a window; a brief but tantalizing glimpse into the world those pages hold. It was at once thrilling and overwhelming to peer into these windows and see such incredible places. I had limited time and could only explore a few, but I could feel the potency of the worlds that surrounded me as keenly as if I'd put my hand to the door of a room on fire. I was on fire; quietly burning inside with both good and bad anxiety. I wanted to never leave. I wanted to take it all home with me. I wanted to read. I wanted to pick out books that I could read later. I wanted to write. I wanted to discover new writers. I was pulled in a hundred different directions at the same time I was firmly planted in one spot, smoldering until I could contain my flame an inch a little farther down the aisle. The library is a special place for me; as special as church and theatres. It's a place I know that God exists, not because of some logical conclusion, but because I can feel it with every fiber of my being. It is a special place, but I can't stay there forever. I can't always go when I want to. Oftentimes I have to wait much longer than I plan to get back.
For some Christians, it is difficult to be devout Monday through Saturday. Without the voices of the choir, the boom of the head minister, the amiable interaction with the neighbors on your left and your right, the incredible wonders of the world that you're so grateful for fade away among the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The ardent love and optimism are lost to the drudgery of their very own 9-5. By the time Saturday night rolls around, all they can do is thank God Sunday service is on its way. When I get back to church, they say, I can fellowship and worship. The job and the family and the friends won't seem so bad. Life will be what it ought to be again. When I get back to the library, I say, I'll get things done. I won't feel suffocated by the deafening silence or utterly alone in a group of people. All of my goals and aspirations will be feasible again and I can lose myself in as many strange lands as I like till closing time. Until then, I sit home, I go about my routine, and I miss the magic. Separated from my sanctuary, I feel farther from my self-actualization. It's a struggle every day to remember and acknowledge that I am the temple. And so I pray.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Status Quo
So, I have decided to write a blog. In making this decision, I fully understand that it must come with some degree of conceit. I mean, who am I to assume that more than one person on the planet will care either way about anything I choose to post? Writer though I claim to be, the fact that kept me from doing this a long time ago was, when it comes to my own life, I have very little material. Most bloggers write about the things they’ve done and in all honesty, I don’t really do anything; certainly nothing noteworthy. I feared if I did choose to blog about myself, it would eventually just become a medium to vent my frustrations, my annoyances, a forum for things that no one, including myself, really wants to hear. And just when I’d accepted that I would all too often have nothing to report, I was blessed with something to report.
I, inexperienced, underqualified, infantile Akia Sembly, have a job. And not just any job either; a job that I actually want more for the experience than the money; a job that I can use as a foundation for circles I plan on moving in for the rest of my life…I hope I don’t sound too excited. I’d hate to fool my invisible audience into thinking I scored a show. No, on that front, I am as unemployed as I ever was. My journey to the Tonys and beyond has not yet made its step into the professional realm. I did however land a place with Fund for the Public Interest, a non-profit organization focused on lobbying (feel free to give me a better word) for issues that affect the masses, not just special interest groups. In essence, I’ll be campaigning for people to get involved. Think Obama campaign, only more for things than persons. Fun, yes? Exciting, yes? Jump start for when I go into public office, yes? Indeed, wonderful things to tend to come in threes. I submit that this is a good thing, no matter what anyone says.
I have been majorly bummed since finding out our camp endeavor fell through. Even though it wasn’t my idea, even though I wasn’t looking forward to the weight on my shoulders, even though I was terrified about screwing up, it was a great opportunity to have a unique experience and work with children (which I love) and make some money (which I need) and grow and mature both personally and artistically. I was so resigned to what my summer would be and determined to make the most out of it, I was shattered when I found out that it wasn’t going to be the picture I had painted in my mind. Today would have been my first day putting rose-colored lenses on the eyes of little ones who never before realized that there is so much more to art than what they see on TV. I was supposed to be Ms. Akia today, the woman who happily and patiently led my little recruits down the rabbit hole into the wonderland over which they would soon be stewards. Of course when I woke up this morning, I was none of those things. I overslept once again and all around was solid concrete that I had no chance of penetrating. It started raining soon after I went outside, my mother was working on the main level, I didn’t have enough music with me and I had no idea which book to tackle next. Not the makings of a good day. Finally, like all the desperate youth of my generation, I turned to my computer for solace, eventually finding one of my tabs open to craigslist. Doubtful though I was that many people would be looking to hire someone who couldn’t start before the second of June and would be unavailable after late August, I threw a bone to the hopeful side (or rather, the side that doesn’t want my idleness to be completely my fault) of my psyche and gandered at an interesting-looking ad. I actually first saw it a week ago, but I didn’t want to apply and get an interview only to be up in the mountains when they called. It looked like they still wanted someone and I definitely still needed a job so I went ahead and called, not really knowing what this group was about. It only took a brief phone call to get me very interested in what they are about and very happy that they were looking for young people like me; not experienced, but very devout. Unfortunately, my mother didn’t share my enthusiasm. It wasn’t until several hours later that I had convinced her to (reluctantly) take me (that license is still on my to-do list) downtown for my interview. Now, I am not one to hold my breath. I know very well how much brain-damage that can cause, especially when there’s a position for which a lot of people apply and there isn’t too great a demand which is often the case with not-for-profit companies. That being the case, I didn’t allow myself to feel my growing excitement until I was back in the hallway an hour later with an information packet in hand and an invitation to start training on Monday! Woohoo! says Akia’s brain. “Are you sure this thing is legit?” asks Tavalyn. *sigh* Thanks for the enthusiasm, Mom. Fortunately for me, I have unlimited texting and can find several friends to be properly animated in her stead. Like many endeavors important to me, this little step is peanuts to her. But whatevs. I’m just gonna pull a GW Carver on her. This job means something.
In The Sound of Music, Maria said that when God closes one door, somewhere He opens a window (yes I know other people have said that too, but I love me some Julie Andrews). Well this is my window and while the sun sets, my window is facing due west. Although in any continuous narrative, the characters are in some constant state of change, the beginning of every show is triggered when something major changes; something big enough to alter the status quo. In Gilmore Girls it was Rory being accepted into Chilton. In Make It or Break It it was Emily’s coming to The Rock. In Robert Langdon’s adventures it was the phone call from Kholer. This, my first job, a job that really means something to me, in the summer I mean to become most active in my theatre work and end up being as mediocre as before…I have to say it’s a change. It isn’t world-changing, what I’m doing, but it is something to be proud of. I have reason to believe I may have just altered my own status quo. I have high hopes that by the end of this summer, I won’t even miss camp.
I, inexperienced, underqualified, infantile Akia Sembly, have a job. And not just any job either; a job that I actually want more for the experience than the money; a job that I can use as a foundation for circles I plan on moving in for the rest of my life…I hope I don’t sound too excited. I’d hate to fool my invisible audience into thinking I scored a show. No, on that front, I am as unemployed as I ever was. My journey to the Tonys and beyond has not yet made its step into the professional realm. I did however land a place with Fund for the Public Interest, a non-profit organization focused on lobbying (feel free to give me a better word) for issues that affect the masses, not just special interest groups. In essence, I’ll be campaigning for people to get involved. Think Obama campaign, only more for things than persons. Fun, yes? Exciting, yes? Jump start for when I go into public office, yes? Indeed, wonderful things to tend to come in threes. I submit that this is a good thing, no matter what anyone says.
I have been majorly bummed since finding out our camp endeavor fell through. Even though it wasn’t my idea, even though I wasn’t looking forward to the weight on my shoulders, even though I was terrified about screwing up, it was a great opportunity to have a unique experience and work with children (which I love) and make some money (which I need) and grow and mature both personally and artistically. I was so resigned to what my summer would be and determined to make the most out of it, I was shattered when I found out that it wasn’t going to be the picture I had painted in my mind. Today would have been my first day putting rose-colored lenses on the eyes of little ones who never before realized that there is so much more to art than what they see on TV. I was supposed to be Ms. Akia today, the woman who happily and patiently led my little recruits down the rabbit hole into the wonderland over which they would soon be stewards. Of course when I woke up this morning, I was none of those things. I overslept once again and all around was solid concrete that I had no chance of penetrating. It started raining soon after I went outside, my mother was working on the main level, I didn’t have enough music with me and I had no idea which book to tackle next. Not the makings of a good day. Finally, like all the desperate youth of my generation, I turned to my computer for solace, eventually finding one of my tabs open to craigslist. Doubtful though I was that many people would be looking to hire someone who couldn’t start before the second of June and would be unavailable after late August, I threw a bone to the hopeful side (or rather, the side that doesn’t want my idleness to be completely my fault) of my psyche and gandered at an interesting-looking ad. I actually first saw it a week ago, but I didn’t want to apply and get an interview only to be up in the mountains when they called. It looked like they still wanted someone and I definitely still needed a job so I went ahead and called, not really knowing what this group was about. It only took a brief phone call to get me very interested in what they are about and very happy that they were looking for young people like me; not experienced, but very devout. Unfortunately, my mother didn’t share my enthusiasm. It wasn’t until several hours later that I had convinced her to (reluctantly) take me (that license is still on my to-do list) downtown for my interview. Now, I am not one to hold my breath. I know very well how much brain-damage that can cause, especially when there’s a position for which a lot of people apply and there isn’t too great a demand which is often the case with not-for-profit companies. That being the case, I didn’t allow myself to feel my growing excitement until I was back in the hallway an hour later with an information packet in hand and an invitation to start training on Monday! Woohoo! says Akia’s brain. “Are you sure this thing is legit?” asks Tavalyn. *sigh* Thanks for the enthusiasm, Mom. Fortunately for me, I have unlimited texting and can find several friends to be properly animated in her stead. Like many endeavors important to me, this little step is peanuts to her. But whatevs. I’m just gonna pull a GW Carver on her. This job means something.
In The Sound of Music, Maria said that when God closes one door, somewhere He opens a window (yes I know other people have said that too, but I love me some Julie Andrews). Well this is my window and while the sun sets, my window is facing due west. Although in any continuous narrative, the characters are in some constant state of change, the beginning of every show is triggered when something major changes; something big enough to alter the status quo. In Gilmore Girls it was Rory being accepted into Chilton. In Make It or Break It it was Emily’s coming to The Rock. In Robert Langdon’s adventures it was the phone call from Kholer. This, my first job, a job that really means something to me, in the summer I mean to become most active in my theatre work and end up being as mediocre as before…I have to say it’s a change. It isn’t world-changing, what I’m doing, but it is something to be proud of. I have reason to believe I may have just altered my own status quo. I have high hopes that by the end of this summer, I won’t even miss camp.
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