Did You Know?
The amazing thing is, since this video was produced in October 2008, some of the stats have already been made obsolete. What really gets me is how there’s a whole world out there that we don’t think about in our daily lives.
I am extremely guilty of living from bubble to bubble. I moved from the Carpinteria Bubble to the Berkeley Bubble and now find myself rather frustrated that, although Chicago is a major metropolitan area, it seems to me a very obvious Midwest Bubble. There are lots of people here, but it doesn’t have the genuine multicultural feeling I get from New York or the other-worldly-foreign feeling I sometimes get from LA. Maybe it’s because those two major cities are on coasts and therefore physically touch the rest of the world. Chicago’s smack dab in the middle of – well, flyover states that are more or less the same.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I like living in my bubbles. But my bubbles are at least translucent – I take comfort in knowing that I exist in one, but I can still see outside of it. I can observe the outside world and learn about the environment outside without leaving my comfort zone, for the most part. On the other hand, opaque bubbles also exist. Having seen them in action, I can’t say I have much patience for them. There’s so much OUT THERE I find impossible to ignore, and I can’t help feeling curious about it. I don’t understand those who aren’t aware of the world outside of their opaque bubbles, who shrink away from any accidental exposure, who shudder at the thought of the outside coming in. There’s a REAL WORLD out there; there’s no way for me to understand and/or appreciate the complexities and intricacies of all the things, people, and places outside of my bubble, but I like knowing they’re out there…
Stuck
Where do you turn when you need to talk about something that doesn’t seem like the type of thing you can bring up out of the blue? Who do you go to when it’s not really parental jurisdiction, but your friends probably don’t want to “go there”? Furthermore, what can you do about it when it’s something you can’t type freely about on the interwebs?
A few conversational scenarios I’ve imagined with a couple of my closest friends:
#1.
“Ok, so I’ve been thinking about something…”
“Shoot.”
“Well…(insert topic intro)…”
“Well, I don’t know what to say…”
“Hm.”
#2.
“Hey, I didn’t forget what you said when you visited my house that other week. But it’s been bothering me a little because (insert topic intro)…”
“Really? ‘Cause, I dunno, I’ve never heard of that being a problem before. Honestly, though – it sounds a little effed up.”
“Well, (insert rambling rationalization fail)…”
“Yeah, I dunno. Sorry, that sucks.”
“Mmkay…thanks, I guess.”
So it appears that I’m going to be mulling over this privately for a little while longer.
Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough
An integral part of my childhood has died. Rest in peace, Michael Jackson, the one and only King of Pop.
Sandwiched between morning episodes of Sesame Street and their afternoon reruns were my aunt’s videotaped copies of Michael Jackson’s music videos on VH1. As a budding 2 year old, I would faithfully follow Big Bird, Telly Monster, Grover, and all the rest until it was time for a break with MJ, Diana Ross, and George Michael. I grew up with Count Dracula and Thriller. I sang “Sunny day sweepin’ the couds away” followed by “Beat it” and “Annie are you okay?”.
I always wondered how people could deny even today that Elvis is dead. Well, Elvis isn’t the only king. I will be one of those who can never believe Michael has passed.
I don’t care about his personal life. I care too much about his music.
I’m having difficulty finding the words to describe this feeling of immense loss. All I can hear are the people screaming, “MICHAEL!!!”
Happy Avinnersary
I’ve been living in Chicago one whole year. I’ve officially seen what seasons are like. Except for autumn: thanks, but no thanks. =) I still tell people I just moved here – and I have no idea how long that’s going to keep coming up, but there it is.
There haven’t been any blog posts for a good reason: I went home to see family for a while. In addition, I got my Southern California tan back (even WITH SPF 50 on, thank you very much – that’s called REAL sunshine, by the way, and hold the cancer, thanks) and many helpings of real Mexican food, In N Out, and said hello/goodbye to a couple of very good friends before they go off to Australia and the caves of academia, respectively.
Some new developments: I am learning how to knit socks and lace scarves. I love knitting socks. They’re fun, quick, and easy to customize. Plus, the yarn options are endless. Woohoo!
Yesterday and the day before, I went to Wisconsin. Wisconsin!! Yesterday’s trip wasn’t part of the original plan, but it was a fun adventure, as it involved two reasonably handsome Pleasant Prarie police officers, a lost-and-retrieved wallet (many thanks to the anonymous off-duty Kenosha police officer!) and some quality time spent with a person I like very much. In case you didn’t know, the police department is open 24 hours a day. =)
As summer is practically 1/3 over already (wow!), here’s a list of my ongoing projects for the remaining two months:
- Read Infinite Jest, among a long list of other books.
- Knit a few pairs of socks for myself, and perhaps a few pairs intended for gift-giving. Gotta get ahead of the holiday frenzy.
- Decorate the apartment. It’s about time I start making this place feel more like home.
- Brush up on math and econ before school starts. Hooray.
There’s A Hummingbird In My Face
Among the many, many reasons why I love coming home (“home” being either Santa Barbara or San Diego, or both back-to-back in whichever order) is how everything that seemed so bad not quite a week ago no longer seems so awful, and everything that seemed quite good now seems even better. This perspective-gathering exercise is made possible by your local Public Broadcasting Station, the W. M. Keck Foundation, and by viewers like you.
Not really. But Sesame Street was a crucial part of my childhood. I digress.
As soon as I step off the plane in southern California, I let my guard down. It’s not something I do consciously – it just happens. It’s also not exactly like going on vacation. When I go on vacation to some place where my family doesn’t live, I’m usually excited in a tense sort of way, kind of like the way my dogs are just before you chuck the tennis ball a million miles away. Ready to go. This step-off-the-plane feeling is more like a deep breath, like weight being taken off my shoulders, etc. Like I can let go of all the anxiety that’s been building over the past few months due to living on my own, fending for myself, and worrying about the world around me. And letting all that go makes it possible for me to realize things either 1) aren’t that bad or 2) better than I thought. Well, genius, why not just let go like that on the weekends when you’re in Chicago, you ask. I don’t know. It just doesn’t happen.
The other night, while dipping my feet in the hot tub and looking up at stars (stars!!), I had another thinking-out-loud session with D. That night’s special: justifying $70k for a two-year program. The bottom line answer to the question posed ended up being Yes, but the circuitous route that got me there involved this little gem: I had applied to this new program with the same application I submitted to med schools – twice. Although slightly different in format, etc., it was basically the same application that medical schools rejected so many times (I am, after all, still the same person). I was applying to the wrong schools. And not just the wrong medical schools. The wrong kind of school altogether. I just didn’t know it then. But as soon as I figured that out and sent my stuff to the right kind of school, things started falling into place. I thought I was just really lucky. I probably am a little bit lucky. But this time, I think I was finally being smart. This is what I’m supposed to do. This is how I’m supposed to do it. This is why it feels so good. Natural, almost. I hadn’t thought of it this way before now. I was looking at this whole experience through the at-first-I-failed-and-now-I’ve-succeeded lens. Now I can forget about the whole failure part. It wasn’t failure. Failure involves an inability to achieve due to incompetance or lack of motivation or something like that. Instead, it was mere misguidance. Misguidance is what happens when your GPS’s compass isn’t calibrated correctly, or when you’ve been looking at the map upside down or something like that. I’m sure there are people out there who can appreciate the difference. Misguidance means I may have taken an unintentional detour, but ultimately, I’m still on the right track and I got some bonus scenery along the way.
This is what happens when you hang around great families. They build you up and never let you down. They wait until you realize things about yourself that they’ve known all along. Families are great like that.
I have one more week here in sunny southern California (insert note about June gloom). I’m going to see a couple of old friends who are practically family, and I’m going to spend time with my dad on Father’s Day. Also – I’m going to learn how to knit mukluks. Go ahead – Google “mukluks.”
I Don’t Miss It At All
I went to a high school graduation today. This one was very different from mine: instead of boring speeches and just reading off everyone’s names as they snaked over a stage in a line, the students were given the opportunity to write a short message that was read by a faculty member as they trotted down the carpet. My two favorites (not quite verbatim, but as close as I can remember):
“It’s finally over. That’s what she said.”
“Mom, Dad: I’m leaving. There’s 20 bucks on the counter and grandpa and grandma’s numbers are on the fridge. Call if you need anything.”
I don’t miss high school because I don’t remember what all the hubbub was about. In fact, I don’t really miss college that much either, because the first half was high school part two, and the second half, at least in my experience, was highly confused. I feel so old. I hope that, ten years from now, I might look back and say, “You know what? I miss grad school.” We’ll see. Congratulations to all who are graduating or moving on this month from wherever they were to wherever they’re going.
I Know What You Mean
Sometimes “I know what you mean” can be very powerful words. It means you don’t have to explain yourself, even if you feel like you need to. It means someone else feels the same way you do, so you’re not alone.
Earlier today, because it’s 76 degress, sunny, and slightly breezy in a pleasant way outside today, I posted on Twitter that pretty days like today make me miss California even more. I immediately got two responses about how it was currently raining in Southern California. For some reason, I felt pretty frustrated about that. Then a friend from New York replied, “I know what you mean.”
My comment wasn’t meant to imply that California never has imperfect days. My comment about pretty days in Chicago making me miss California was supposed to communicate the following extremely convoluted feeling, which I didn’t have to elaborate in order for my New York friend to understand:
Chicago (and I understand New York) weather will do everything in its power to piss you off, plain and simple. It will swing drastically from cold to hot. Wet to dry. Humidly stale to extremely windy. Nice days are few and far between, and I feel like I’m constantly on my knees begging and pleading the atmosphere to give me reprieve from whatever version of hell I’m currently living through. And to top it off, “nice” is always relative. There is no such thing as a reliable constant. What’s “nice” in February is awful in April. What’s “nice” in July can make a mess in December. Whatever Chicago weather provides is NOT what I wanted.
In California, bad weather days are few and far between, and you always know that it won’t last long. You can also usually count on the fact that, when the current bad weather ends, some other form of randomly bad weather won’t take its place. In California, pretty days are the norm. And the norm remains the same all throughout the year. Normal in April is normal in October is normal in February.
In Chicago, nice weather is a mockery. It shows up just as you’re about to despair at life, and it never sticks around long enough to help you out of your last funk. In California, nice weather reliably keeps you sane. In California, where you don’t have to engage in guess-factoring unreliable weather patterns while planning your weekends, your commute, running errands, or managing laundry loads and dry cleaning rounds for the sake of your budget, you can concentrate on the things that really matter. Your mood doesn’t fluctuate as if you’re experimenting with psychiatric drug dosing. And when your mood rocks back and forth, up and down on the weather-dependent roller coaster, you can’t do well in life. Your relationships suffer. Your work suffers. Your mental health suffers. The people around you suffer.
Pretty days like today make me miss California.
Someone who’s recently thrown me a lifeline here in Chicago is looking forward to returning to a different state, where she calls home. While I’m incredibly sad that I already feel like I’m losing somebody I just found, the one thing I want her to know is, I know what you mean.
Turn Off
I was approached by a non-profit pusher yesterday. Having worked at a nonprofit and loving the work that nonprofts do (for the most part), I can understand and sympathize with causes struggling to perform their mission with minimal funding and other resources.
However, the particular way this individual spoke to me turned me off right away. Not only did he presume to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with the little money I have, he proceeded to write off the people walking by us according to certain labels, typecasting them in order to demonstrate why it was so important that I give him money right then and there. “These guys walking by, in their expensive suits, they don’t care about the world. It’s people like you and me who are going to give kids the chance they deserve.” “You know what the number one cause of death in developing nations is? Diarrhea. You know how to prevent it? Water. Those people going past you right now couldn’t care less for the tap water that comes from Starbucks.” Well, you know what? Maybe that man walking by in a suit is wearing his only suit because he’s going to an interview for grant funding because he, too, is managing a struggling nonprofit. Maybe that lady who doesn’t like the tap water from Starbucks doesn’t like Starbucks to begin with for whatever reason. Those are the two main points he made that I remember right now, and I don’t care to remember much more. He tried to guilt me into being a do-gooder for his cause by trashing everyone else around us, and I don’t believe in that. Oh, one more: when I said I’d go to the website, he rolled his eyes and brushed it off, asking, “How many people do you think wake up in the morning and say, ‘Hey, I think I’ll check out such-and-such organization on the internet’ Like, no one actually does it. I know I don’t.” Well, mister, maybe YOU don’t, but I am the type of person who does. And I happen to know more about your organization than you think. When you asked me if I’d heard of you, I responded yes, and I meant it. And I have been to your website. I was part of a team that provided input and feedback when it was being designed. I know too much about your organization and how it operates to support it so enthusiastically. And furthermore, you won’t give other people the benefit of a doubt, nor any possible credit for their compassion for humanity should they possess it in a way that doesn’t monetarily benefit your organization.
I give because my heart and my mind tell me it’s the right thing to do. I give to the causes I love, and the operations I believe in. I won’t give because you bully me, say derogatory things about strangers you don’t know, or accuse me of being apathetic. Good luck to you – I hope you did end up connecting to someone after me, but I wish you were aware of how many people you may have turned away.
From textsfromlastnight.com:
(859): I just got called an ass for saying no thanks to a Greenpeace solicitor. I don’t want the whales to die but I do want Greenpeace to fail. Conundrum.
