pssst...I'm over here!

Hello my few faithful readers, it's time to let you know that my relationship with Blogger has come to an end. WordPress is the best (certainly not the newest) thing these days, and I've been quietly blogging with them for some time.
You may notice things look a little different, but not too much. Won't you join me over there?

Backward Nostalgia

Croatia Picture: Alley in Rovinj

My family and I were supposed to take an epic European adventure to Croatia this summer, touring Dubrovnik, Zagreb, the countryside and the impossibly picturesque Dalmatian Coast. We began discussing it in December 2008 - there were plans of kitschy family t-shirts and everything! Instead, I'll be spending the summer in a stale, air-conditioned office making key tracking databases. 

What's it called when you have an aching nostalgia for a place you've never even been to? That's what I've got. And it hurts.

You choose...you lose?

It's graduation season yet again which means thousands upon thousands of newly degree-enhanced young people are bursting out of their Ivory Towers in bloodythirsty search for gainful employment. Despite their best attempts at optimism, they are well aware of the abysmal job climate that, while a small improvement from last year, will leave either they or their friends unemployed and even more likely, underemployed. Amid the scores of paralyzing statistics, horror stories of triple degree-holders holed up at Starbucks, and mixed messages from educators and parents alike, our nation's newest graduates are caught somewhere between paying their dues and simply getting short-changed. And as a result, some are refusing to take the sorts of jobs that lie outside their fields of interest and have no forseeable opportunities for advancing into a desired career, in order to hold out for something that will. 

It's difficult to take these statements at face value - but after all, isn't the purpose of higher education to promote personal and professional advancement and worker specialization? If it was 1998, I hardly think we would scoff at this idea of new grads turning down a job bagging groceries. But, it is 2010, when apparently any old job is, by default, a good job. Even those in which your skills, education, and background are underutilized or even irrelevant, even those in which you are overworked and underpaid due to severe downsizings and reorganizations. Well, the mantra seems to be, at least you have a job.

The New York Times shared a running commentary on the topic earlier this week, with psychologists, sociologists, economists, and journalists from across the country weighing in. Considering the poor economic situation, they asked, should new graduates take the jobs they may have rejected a few years back? The consensus, if you could even call it one, was that it depends. Some noted that for those fortunate enough to have  the financial support of parents, it may prove beneficial to forgo the barista job and take on unpaid work in their fields in order to gain more valuable work experience; but this of course, presents a serious disadvantage for those graduates who cannot rely on their family and will need to find paid work sooner, not later. Thus, those who don't have the luxury of saying 'no' to a job may find themselves behind their more affluent peers in terms of related work experience even just months after receiving their diplomas, a situation one expert accurately described as a 'national emergency'.

It's easy to brush off this privileged form of fastidiousness as another example of Generation Y entitlement: those selfish slackers who want the job without putting in the work to get there. But it's not the "working their way up" part that these young people are trying to avoid, because the jobs in actual question are not anywhere near their professional field of interest. Often, there is no 'up' to work toward, at least, not one that would lead into an area for which their education was intended. There is actually something to be said about choosing your first - and second - jobs out of college wisely. Katherine Newman, a sociologist at Princeton, notes, "Where you start has serious consequences for where you end up, which is one reason — besides blind optimism — why some young (and not so young) people might not jump at the first thing offered." 

For all my graduating peers and my friends, of who I am an especially fierce believer in, be courageous in the decisions you'll be making now and hold fast to your optimism, however blind it may seem. It's been my experience that the world always looks better through rose-colored glasses, anyway. 

making lemonade

When Erik Proulx lost his job last fall, along with hundreds of thousands of other Americans, he was devastated. Then, he made a movie, and he called it "Lemonade". Ok, so things didn't happen that quickly, or in exactly that order. Proulx used his newly inherited free time to think about the course of his career thus far, and to re-think where he wanted it to go from that point on. He learned that being laid off wasn't the curse it was made out to be; in fact, it was one of the best things that could have happened to him because he ended up discovering his real passion for documentary filmmaking.



Despite the sticky sweet saccharine message, this story is true - not only for Erik Proulx and the dozens of people he interviews in the film. But for countless others who in the last two years have found themselves with no job and almost unlimited amounts of free time - many, for the first time in their adult lives. Imagine what all that free time would feel like at first: hopeless, daunting. But once the initial shock wears off, imagine the sense of opportunity, empowerment, and excitement that would set in with the realization that you could literally do whatever you want.


This film, my blog, thousands of other blogs, books, news articles, and speaker series are all part of what I see as a turning tide for the American worker. It's a real acknowledgment that thirty years on the corporate track (or any single track) can rob you of your creativity, even of your self; and that a sustained pause is good, even necessary - no matter if it's forced or voluntary. It's an acceptance that although we can't control everything, we can thrive simply by controlling our selves, and the way we approach our chaotic, unbridled world. It's a shift in where we place our trust - not in ambiguous organizations and agencies and systems; but in ourselves, our own intelligences, talents and capacities; in our communities and networks of other like-minded people. It's a self-sustaining method of working and producing that is constantly evolving, and incessantly inspiring.

I think the greatest part of this newfangled approach to employment is the accompanying realization that you don't even have to wait until you get handed the lemons to make lemonade. You can make it anytime you want, if you're thirsty enough. If you're patient enough.  And if you don't have the right tools or live in the right climate to grow a lemon tree - you can always find someone who does. Offer an resource of your own in return for their plot of land.
Well, I've gotta run. My seeds need to be watered.

the carrie bradshaw complex

It's perhaps only fitting that I follow up the post on Superwomen with a post on the venerable Carrie Bradshaw, a fictional character that has been alive and well to scores of women - and increasingly girls - for about fifteen years.
Now before I begin and to set the record straight: I'm going to see the second movie tonight with my gal pals and Cosmos in tow; so I'll preface the coming critique by saying that I'm totally a fan and a follower of all things SJP and Michael Patrick King come out with. But I am just a little irked (ok more than a little) by the movie's take on what was once a semi-believeable story of four working gals figuring out life, love, and fashion in the big city. Now it's become a story of four gals (still supposedly working) figuring out marriage, motherhood, and push-up bras in...Abu Dhabi?? In the words of Ms. Bradshaw herself, "I can't help but wonder"...what happened to Carrie Bradshaw?
I'm not sure at what point the character took on a larger than herself life outside of the show, but it's probably around the time that I began watching the re-runs on TBS. As it has with me, The show has caught on among young women who were practically babies during the time it first came out. I always thought that its continued popularity was a testament to the show's relevance: the topics it addressed had not yet been figured out, they still mattered. And with the exception of a few misguided attempts, the show's fashion had been so forward that it didn't look funny or outdated even five years after its original airdate.

Back in 1997, Carrie Bradshaw was a modern-day Cinderella with the shoes and clothes to match, only she needed no Prince to do the rescuing because she had made herself into what she was. Women looked up to her and aspired to fashion their own careers and closets after her's. Fast-forward to today: the Carrie Bradshaw of my generation has long hair extensions, cleavage up to her chin, and a seemingly bottomless pocketbook (does she work anymore?) that she flaunts on a camel in four and a half inch heels and dresses with glittery diamond details. I can't help but feel let down that this is the image of Carrie and women empowerment that my generation is getting: a faux sense of girl power through buying power. Case in point: the movie is releasing its own sparkly bottle of Skyy Vodka (which I'll admit, I was interested in finding) and probably a hundred other products to coincide with the release. Though I wasn't around to witness it in its original state, I miss the Carrie Bradshaw who sometimes wore lipliner that was too dark and sat in her tiny apartment smoking cigarettes and typing the contents of her next column. Somehow that Carrie seemed a lot more empowered, or at least, more real, than this stylized caricature of Carrie.

So why am I going on and on about this - why does it matter? For young women my age, and for women even older, Carrie Bradshaw is iconic. And for young aspiring writers like myself, she is an even more dominating force. Think of every fashion and lifestyle blog, the Whitney Ports and Lauren Conrads of television, the scores of 20-somethings who move to New York City every year. Her influence is everywhere, to the point where it's become problematic. I once read a job posting for an online bridal magazine looking for copywriters. In the heading, in bold-

faced caps, it read, "Carrie Bradshaw Wannabes do not apply". Sadly, I

can't help but think this is true, both of the Wannabes and of Carrie herself, whose real life applicability has become as ridiculous as her jewel-encrusted headpieces and midriff-baring tops (even if she does look great in them, she is 40+ years old. Can we just accept that?) She has crossed over into pure fantastical territory; a symbol no more of the modern-day woman but of a Queen fixed to unattainable proportions. But, I'll still go to the movie tonight for the over-the-top fashion, to see what happens (Aidan! Liza! Miley!), and for the warm nostalgia it brings to my group of friends of the first time we watched the seasons, of the outrageous bedroom scenarios, and of a gal named Carrie just trying to make her way in the big city.

(super)woman

(art via Anthony Lister)

Everyday I wonder: How do they do it - the superwomen of the world? Not even the world - but this city, that town, that house? How do they work and create and tend to and care for and manage and lead and write, so successfully and so poignantly? I never aspired to be someone who quote-unquote 'does it all'. As a student, the term "go-getter" practically gave me an anxiety attack. And now, finding myself in circles composed of some fearlessly go-getting women (intimidating, awesome), it can be difficult to realize my own adequacies and talents in the towering face of their's. But anytime I start feeling this way, I [usually] just give myself a quick slap or splash of cold water to the face to wake myself up. If anything, being exposed to these women makes me lucky. Because I'm getting dozens of free templates on how to go about building a career and life that I will love, with bit and parts from them mingling with pieces of my own design. I think so much of our anxieties for our future job, career, life or whatever, stems from the illogical belief that we will have to come up with it entirely on our own, that these ideas and decisions and motivators sprout from an individual, original source. When in fact, our lives are assembled mosaic-style with direction and inspiration pulled from a myriad of people and places.

Most days, when I'm in my clear, right mind, I am consciously affiliating myself with superwomen - of all kinds. And this has provided me a healthy dose of inspiration that's encouraged me to start go-getting, although what I'm going and getting is still ambiguous. .

What is completely clear to me, however, is a dual sense of personal responsibility and achievement. And contentment. Empowerment. 

Everyday I wake up: overwhelmed by the possibility of the day and what I can/will do. 

This image of superwoman sums it all up for me: her lines are undefined, a little blurred around the edges, and the shapes and colors overlap in a way that leaves room for interpretation and invites input. That's an image of Superwoman I can live with.

the new (feel good) dailies

Oh my. These days and nights fly by too furiously. To-do's get stacked up, one after the other, night after night, just like the dishes on my kitchen counter. We are busy, busy, busy. It's nothing new.
Lately I've been struck by inspiration from a hundred different directions, which makes the days feel even shorter, even more frantic as I try to harness and collect and propel these ideas and actions into their appropriate channels.
But today, I stumbled on this blog which so simply manages to shed insight, humor, and guidance on these complex, up-and-down, hectic lives of our's - all through daily thank you's. I may not have time for much physical exercise, and I'm definitely maxed out on mental exertion by nightfall, but this daily exercise in gratitude is one I can happily stand behind. I really can't think of a better way to end - and begin - each day.

See this amazing blog here.

the anti-gen Y

I just read this post on Bitch magazine's blog that raises some interesting and serious qualms against the terms Generation Y and Millenials (terms I often use here) and their actual meanings vs. their purported meanings. The author rightly identifies these terms as having little to no sociological or demographic value - as they tend to leave out vast numbers of non-white, non-middle-class 18-26-year-olds; but instead, she recognizes these terms and their associated (near implicit for some) meanings as being entirely contrived for marketing or economic purposes. So what? Well the problem is that these terms are largely unchallenged and undergoing mass appropriation and replication, utilized by one specific, yet powerful group of this generational class - the one with the most access to technology, the one with the most college degrees, the one with the broadest networks of profitable social capital. As it so often seems to be, the term is driven and powered by the exact group that it is representative of, however incomplete that representation may be.

Why do we only ever hear about student debt load and the plight of college grads who are moving back to the safe haven of Mom and Dad's suburban oasis? What about those who never made it to college in the first place? Who don't have the option to lean on their families, because these families are every bit as financially strapped (if not more so) than they are? What about young adults who, by virtue of culture, religion or upbringing, have different values or a different relationship to technology than those which defines the Millennial archetype? 

 These are all valid concerns and I can easily recognize my compliance with the problem as someone with a close familiarity to racial and cultural homogeneity (less somewhat with class). The most troublesome in my eyes is that last question regarding technology. I often read about how the Internet has become a tool to level the playing-field for the modern worker, and its potential to enact a near democratization of job markets, with the idea that age, gender, race, and especially geography no longer act as strong factors for hiring and recruitment, just as long as someone has aptly demonstrated the required skills. Of course, this leaves out one other important category: class. So it seems the tremendous scope of technology/social media and its inherent potential for creating economic opportunities, fostering collaboration and network-building, establishing an online presence and personal brand will be completely futile in terms of democratizing the playing fields if it is not actually accessible or transmutable to the anti-Gen Y - that group of young adults who did not grow up with computers or laptops and may never 'catch up' to its generational counterparts who did, whether because of economic circumstances or other tangential circumstances.
For me, this all points to the need for being explicit in my use of such terms, and resist the urge to fall into the myth of Gen Y homogeneity; while encouraging the promulgation of a more sociologically sound definition that can be made more useful to generational analysis and forecasting.

(belated) mother's day happy's

Happy Mother's Day (a day late, but would you expect anything different from me?) to my mama. Thanks for my dark eyebrows and my tiny ears. Thanks for my big feet and lovely penmanship. Thanks for my goofy humor and my quietude. Thank you for my steady composure and subtle strength. Thank you for my gracefulness and ability to keep my chin up, even in murky water.

Thank you for being you, so that I could become me.

free pass

Oooh I do love me these Wednesday mornings. It's like drawing one of those Monopoly cards that tells you to pass Go and collect $200. I get a free pass through midweek. Delicious.

Ils sont tres magnifiques, les mercredi. See? I love them so much I want to talk in gramatically-incorrect French to them.

faking it

Which of these bathing beauties do you think is faking it? (Answer: All of them)

When I was thirteen, I imagined myself as a sophisticated, put-together, well-spoken sixteen-year-old. When I was sixteen, not quite as sophisticated or put-together as I'd hoped, I envisioned the twenty-year-old me: stylishly brazen, with a bright red pocketbook and nails and toes painted to match. At twenty, my hair still frizzed on top, toothpaste still crusted in the corner of my mouth, and I almost never had an umbrella when I needed one. But, I just knew at twenty-three, I would finally have stopped leaving the house five minutes late, with mismatched socks and unhemmed pants that I tripped on and ripped as a consequence. 

I'm twenty-three. And still... 
On the days I manage to wash my hair, its ends are sticking out like a confused compass pointer by noon. My toenails seem to grow at the pace of a super-weed, and I am continuously losing all three sets of my nail-clippers. I rarely have a pen on me when someone asks for one, and if I do, it's stenciled with the name of a company like "Enemas R Us".  I'm messy, unorganized, distracted, fumbling; and the days wherein through some miracle, I actually have an air of somebody who has got it together, there can only be one explanation. I'm faking it.

And I know I’m not the only one doing this. A recent conversation between myself and the other interns at the company which shall not be named – a company that prides itself on being the most stylish accessory for the quintessential urban-girl-about-town - affirmed my long-held suspicions. I found that we were all faking something: our technical know-how, our fashion sensibilities, our ability to juggle multiple jobs or internships, our mastery of local trends and hot spots. None of us cared too much for writing pieces on cupcakes, or thigh-tightening techniques; but we were all willing to, even if it meant faking something in the process. The collective sigh that was released upon admitting this was indicative that women are far too good at keeping this a secret. Because the most refreshing part was that we could all actually admit it to each other, and that alone, somehow made the pretending part less shameful. In fact, it erased the shame entirely. 
I know the image that we’re working to project via the company and our little articles is fantasy and entirely unrealistic. No woman can possibly have it all together as flawlessly and effortlessly as magazines, tv shows, and movies depict. And if it looks as though she does, it only mean she has mastered the art of faking it. And if she's a master, I'd do well to get to talking to her. 
I often write, on this blog and in real life, about being authentic in your work, being honest in your communications with yourself and others. But when it comes to this, I've got no problem putting on an act. Why is that? Well for one, we all do it in one way or another. If not at work, then in a relationship, or elsewhere. We are always working to make ourselves seem slightly better; more intelligent, more productive, more exciting that we actually are. 

It’s fun to imagine ourselves as having it all together, even if we never will. Pretending for a night that we are as well-dressed, perfectly-heeled, and immaculately-coiffed as a Glamour-girl is something like the grown-up version of dress-up. So while I could sit around lamenting the fact that at age twenty-three, I still can't get my hair to fall just right - and it probably never will; I am perfectly content to get by with faking it. 

the words

"Dont bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly."
---Franz Kafka

This one's gotta stew for a while; but it's gonna be delicious once it does.

oh very young

Jonah Lehrer wrote today on the interesting phenomenon of creative peaks across individual life spans, centuries, and entire scientific/creative fields. He descibes the quantum mechanics revolution during the early 20th Century which flourished because of, and with the talent of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed scientists who were far exceeding the achievements of their older counterparts:

After a few years in the academy, however, Simonton says that "creators start to repeat themselves, so that it becomes more of the same-old, same-old." They have become insiders, invested in Newtonian mechanics; that is what they know and that is what they believe in. It's only the impetuous youth, those marginal figures without tenure or grants of their own, who properly appreciate the anomalies of the subatomic.

This got me to thinking of the theory's applicability, on a far lesser scale, to the modern workplace and how young people in their first and second jobs, despite what many would argue, might be considered prime agents for organizational innovation, creative production, and even leadership. As a result of their "outsider status", brand-new workers have an advantageous view, the ability to recognize inefficiencies and opportunities for change in areas where a seasoned professional might still be practicing "business as usual". The same ideas were shared by Rosetta Thurman in her discussion on generational change in the nonprofit sector. Her suggestion to the Baby-Boomers on how to handle the overwhelming emergence of Gen Y to the scene: Let them lead.

This seems to be an idea that's talked about often, but put into practice only very rarely. But I see so many around me eager to get their hands dirty, to move things around and stir the pot, if only because we see how stagnant it is. Where older generations might help out is by taking notice of the younger generation's ignorance to worn-out models and systems, and rather than deeming it a liability, see it as a positive and provide the learned guidance that will encourage the innovation we're already primed to produce.

(Un?)healthy obsessions

It was the grand re-opening of one of Seattle's oldest and finest booksellers last weekend. The roommates and I made two treks down, once to enjoy the free food and block party celebration and again a few days later to actually peruse the stacks. The place smelled of rich, chocolaty cedar and fresh, untouched pages. It was deliciously intoxicating, and it's safe to say I got drunk off the smells. A half hour later, the stack of books I was carrying had reached the tip of my nose.
Call it springtime ambition - but more like blind ambition. I don't have the time to immerse myself in all these books - especially those plenteous works by Sontag and Wallace. Neither do I really have the money to spend. But I just couldn't say no to their firm, smooth covers, their inky pages with fibers like fine-grained sand. And now, I'm knee-deep in the sand, five of them to be exact.
Well, I tell myself, there's no hurry. They're not going anywhere now.

Spring and all

Time is a green orchard (William Carlos Williams) And I'm working to tend to, keep, and bring up a bounty that will last me until the winter. 

If only there weren't fields full of distraction all around; wildflowers to pick and string together and decorate myself with, berries to smell and eat, dragonflies and bees and little brown mice to listen to. 

But without all these, the orchard could never grow - would never be so magnificent, intoxicating, or inspiring. And I would never be able to reap its kind rewards in full.

The best laid schemes o' Mice and Men

(I doubt this mouse had plans to catch the Froggy Express, but she's taking it anyway. Click for credit).

Since entering this great big blogging community (still can't quite get myself to call it the "blogosphere"), I've come across a lot of bloggers who seem to have their lives micro-managed and hyper-programmed to the point where they can tell you what project they'll be working on, on October 16, 2012 - and also, what they'll be having for lunch that day. I've met these sorts of people in real life as well: they are the people who set out their next day clothes the night before, and pack their lunches a week in advance. When I was younger, my mom tried valiantly to encourage this same habit in me. She failed. My argument was (and perhaps not so articulately put at age 8), How will I ever know what I feel like wearing until the day I'm going to be wearing it? Maybe I wouldn't know until right before I put something on, or even, only after. But of course, my other argument was that I wanted to spend those extra 10 minutes watching Nick at Nite. Both solid arguments, even today.


The same mentality carries me along now. It seems that most major plans I've made  - which college to attend, which career to pursue - end up changing significantly, either of my own accord or by some extenuating and impossible-to-ignore circumstances. If I had been too hung up on the "plans" I had made for my life at age 17, as a senior in high school, I would have likely missed out on many of the events, people, and places now woven into the very fabric that defines me. And there are just things you can't possibly know about yourself - what you want and what you value - until you're right there in the thick of things. It's not as if people aren't aware of this - but still we fall susceptible to the charms of planning (and as Robert Burns famously identified, it's a condition that apparently plagues humans and rodents).


That's why I love Alyson's recent post on dumping the five-year career plan, and instead working on defining a life mission. This phrase may sound more daunting at first but it really just means identifying what's important to you, what you want to accomplish in your life and work: plotting points and connecting dots as you go along; the shape only revealing itself in time. This of course requires an open mind be kept to allow the many ideas, individuals, and moments we encounter to affect and maybe even alter the mission. Oftentimes, people who itemize their future lives like they would their taxes set themselves us for failure and serious disappointment; while also running the risk of losing out on amazing opportunities that may not have been part of 'the plan'.


It's not as if planning isn't useful. It can be great in providing a starting point (which we all need), but it shouldn't be the only thing guiding us. We can't possibly be sure that the career we're planning on having in five years will actually take shape, or even that we'll want it five years from now.


The way I see it: we are not linearly-minded, but nuanced and change-oriented. My views on life, work, happiness, and preferred lunch spots will be changing quarterly if not weekly, so I avoid setting goals that won't let me follow multiple paths or think dynamically. Instead, I embrace a framework that is intrinsically complicated and messy. Not only because when we become so goal-obsessed we forget about whats around us in the here and now, not only because our goals and our methods for achieving them will eventually change, but because we are not infallible. It is in our DNA to fault and stop and pause and retract and rewind and skip forward... no matter how many machines we build or devices we employ to keep us on track, we just are not meant to be.


So I propose this: why don't we just admit to it - and then head out for cocktails? Because that's the kind of plan I have no problem making!

How to be an explorer...

I forgot where I originally found this, but I know it comes from this book.

Some early Monday morning motivation, mixed with a homemade cafe au lait and toast, stirred in with two hours of leisurely 'work', while the rest of the world sleeps, makes a recipe for a great start to the week. Now for a remedy for my pesky cough...

Some Sunday night ramblings on getting old and losing your sight (and not the eye kind)

Fighting off the tail-end of this stubborn cold while struggling to manage a demanding full-time job and 25-hour/week intensive internship, myself and my brain are not in their most coherent forms; hence my cautious warnings if this post does in fact turn into a sunshine-and-Sudafed-induced rant of hysterical heights. However, important things have been happening and there is a need to flush them out, here, so that I may be held personally accountable for all the opinions and proposed solutions I adhere to them.

The most important thing that's happened in my little tiny life this week was the change in duration of my current work appointment. What had begun as a 2-month temporary stint has now been extended to last a full 12 months. Now, my admission to this next part may ruffle some feathers, but I'm saying it anyway: because  the second that sheet of paper was slid across the table to me, and I saw in bold, black letters my projected end-date, my stomach dropped so fast I think it may been ended up in a pool at my feet. The idea that I would technically, for all intents and purposes, be at that job, in that office, with those people for that long felt terrifying. While a far cry from a prison sentence, in that moment, it may as well have been because I saw all my whimsical plans, the ones that had been getting me through the first month of this job - new professional opportunities with organizations I actually liked, job fulfillment, travel - float away on a grey storm cloud.

Something else happened that caused me to take sufficient pause and write this wreck of a blog post. Today I realized it was April 18th. As in beyond mid-April. As in almost May, which would mean that this "new" year that's no longer so new is in fact a third of the way done. That was scary.

Then I realized that this year - and time in general - had been literally slipping through my fingers, which led me to the subsequent realization that I was experiencing one of those quintessential adult dilemmas: the where does the time go? dilemma. And that realization brought me to the next and final realization of the day: I am an adult. And, yes, that too was scary.

But both of these events/realizations can be traced back to the same idea: that is, of becoming an adult and the subsequent fears that are triggered by that idea. I think it's a little different for everyone, this aversion to growing old. For me, it's the fear of first being stuck somewhere in a job/relationship/life that you like well enough to begin with; and then getting stuck there, like getting stuck in quicksand - only it's not quick, it's sluggish and slow so as to keep you benevolently unaware of the fact that you're becoming stuck. Until suddenly you realize it: You are stuck in a spot miles from where you thought you'd be, and you can't even remember how you got there in the first place because you are so far past the point of return, and it's all so ironic and maddening; how you had become so content, so comfortable with the very surroundings that were pulling you gradually, deliberately down.

Maybe this is the fear that is driving me to change my hair color every three months, or why I frenetically imagine myself at a new job just three weeks into starting one, or why I've lived in a different city every year for the last five years. Maybe it's the inherent restlessness of being 23 - not old enough for the big commitments, not young enough for the impressed structure of school or parents; or maybe it's a trait programmed into my DNA, like impunctuality. Whatever it is, I'm old enough to know that it just won't do to ignore these fears, that instead they might be used for constructive purposes: to imagine, plan for, and create a life that doesn't make me want to run away, a life in which staying in one place won't mean being stuck in one place. For now, my job is just another stop on my way. As long as I've got dreams to remember, that's quite alright.

Slow down, you're moving too fast

(Pausing for a moment in the City of Sin. Photo de moi)

When life is going particularly great, and our personal, professional, and social needs are all being met (maybe even exceeded), the tendency to keep it all going instinctively kicks in. Often, we will even tend to speed up the pace at which we're moving, as if out of some unfounded (yet certainly dangerous) fear of losing it if we're snoozing during it. I say 'unfounded fear' with a tinge of hesitancy, because I realize there are times and professions out there that require fast-paced progression for success; yet, I'm talking about the whole grand picture: a career, a social life and family, and fulfilling personal time.

This hyperactive mentality has been fed to us daily for generations, and subsequently, our culture feeds into the mentality. The ingrained, and all-too-pervasive nature of the message can be said to have created a society of mindless drones who pass through life on a high-speed conveyor belt, stopping only when they are forced off or fall. But that's too easy a criticism. Because after all, aren't we responsible too? Who creates each tool and gadget designed solely to maximize our productivity, to make efficient our time, so that the fast lane can become even faster and we can short-cut/compartmentalize/schedule and otherwise sell ourselves short when it comes to actually and fully enjoying the life we are living. 

But I am not here to talk about that clichéd, and oft-dramatized scenario. Because in my opinion, the solution to that is pretty simple. The real problem is when life is moving along at break-neck speed, and rather than being annoyingly obnoxious or morally degrading, the near entirety of it is chock-full of worthwhile, fulfilling, and otherwise enjoyable little goodies. When this is the case, let me tell you, the very last thing you want to do is slow down , even when your body begs you morning, noon, and night; and your brain attempts to reason with your proud defiance.

Of course, at some point; not listening will cause you to lose. And you'll be stuck inside not working, not playing, not anything but nose-blowing for a lot longer than you would have if you would have taken one night or one half-day off. But if you're smart, your reasons for slowing down will be motivated by more than just a fear of getting sick. You'll actually take time to sit and reflect and absorb the day; because your mind, your body, life, and yes, your productivity will benefit from it. Because my life is so jam-packed with good stuff, I need to time to sort through everything, to connect the dots of events and places and people. To focus, and extract meaning; fit it into the larger, over-arching model for living and working that I will follow tomorrow, and the day after, and the next year after. It's not laziness, it's smart. And it's sustainable. 

Shouldn't this be the goal we are striving for - clarity, focus, enjoyment out of life and work - rather than double-bookings and 60 hour work weeks? Leo Babauta wisely puts it this way:

If our goal is to create, to produce amazing things, to go for quality over quantity, then rushing is not the most effective way to work. Slowing down and focusing is always more effective.

Rushing produces errors. It’s distracting to flit from one thing to the next, with our attention never one one thing long enough to give it any thought or create anything of worth. Hurrying produces too much noise to be able to find the quiet the mind needs for true creativity and profound thinking.

So yes, moving quickly will get more done. But it won’t get the right things done.

Be careful what you wish for..

"The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless yet be determined to make them otherwise."                                               
 -- F. Scott Fitzgerald

Well folks, I got it all - and then I got crazy busy. So much so, that I don't even have time for things like closing the bathroom door or changing into pajamas before bed!

There are certainly two opposing ideas in my mind right now, but somehow I've maintained most of my functioning abilities. My man Scott is pumping up my mental fortitude, via this quote, and while I'd never be so melodramatic as to say anything is hopeless, I am determined to make things better than they currently are. I'm swirling, twirling, and whirling in every direction this week, and I know I'd better find a way to ground myself quickly before my house lands in the middle of Oz - on top of a witch - surrounded by Munchkins.

See what I mean about going crazy?