Do you REALIZE?

September in New York (i.e. a walk through the Central Park zoo while being serenaded by jugglers and rollerbladers) is sweatier than DC (i.e. a stroll to Sticky Fingers vegan bakery from your boyfriend's basement). It is especially ablaze in New York City when you are standing in line for TKTS tickets for see Sister Act on Broadway (Spiderman is sold out slash $250) in pants and long hair sans Billy Elliot fan, but you remind yourself the sweat will evaporate after you elbow your way into the red velvety, heavily chandeliered theater and sink into your plush cushions. The playbill will have a funny interview with the principal actors in The Book of Mormon (which is also $250 a ticket and has won an embarrasing number of Tonies). You and your boyfriend laugh out loud at the playbill interview, and strain to read in the dark a second after the lights go down.

September in New York on a certain day of the month is wonderful, except you are more likely to cry than other days. Yesterday it would have been very unlikely you cry, but today it would be unlikely you didn't. There are lightbulbs that burn out after all, plastic bottles that don't get recycled, hands that don't get held, children whose mommies die, couples who cheat, and extremists who bomb buildings and perpetrate genocides after all. Instead of indulging a sudden instinct to write angsty poetry about... what was it? Oh yeah, that 60minutes-Dateline-CSI-type documentary segment on the crack-dealing landlord who killed his tenant, burned down her house, and buried her in the woods... you cry about it all the way to Penn Station on the nasty-roach-rat-dirt NY subway and cling to your boyfriend who has somehow become to you a beacon of light in a world infested with black-hearted sociopaths, but instead of writing flaming arrows and existential nooses to die by and whywhywhy's in some much too self-conscious a rhyme scheme, you spend the 3-hour Amtrak ride back to the District drinking Cabernet Savignon from the bottle and reading so many pages of the Hunger Games (yes, for the second time) over your boyfriend's shoulder. (No, he doesn't mind.) He shares excited and nervous faces with you when the suspense is making your heart beat fast. This exchange is like joy-full lemony daffodils growing from the shit of earlier-evening despair. The pain of bookmarking and closing the page-turner is only alleviated by the sudden realization that "Rachel!" your 9-5 cube-mate is sitting three seats behind you, and "Who's that?!? Bill Cosby?!!!" is not far behind. In the same train car. On the same train. Getting off at the same station. In the same world.

Some things happen that are weird after that. Like outsmarting an hourlong wait a Union Station taxicab - oy vey, the queue in the middle of the night - and some other things. Like almost playing some rap music you(r boyfriend?) had accidentally bought for a Lincoln from a complementary rapper (damn, you better marry her - she fuckin beautiful). This all at Times Square outside the Bare Escentuals store after Sister Act. (No, before Sister Act but after all the chestnut layer cake and jarlsburg cheese and European iced coffee.) Speaking of 30 Rock, instead of rap you turn on the Gabe Dixon Band, which your boyfriend plays often but you pay so little attention to that you have know clue what the band sounds like unless you are presently listening to it. Like right now - you are not listening to it and you couldn't possibly name one lyric, hum one tune, or list two instruments (guitar, obviously) involved in Gabe Dixon's Band-having-musicplaying-noisemaking. That, in fact, is weird.  You, in fact, are oblivious. But there were a lot of things you noticed when you were in hot New York with the delis and the knock-off vendors and the skinny girls in neon and zippers. You noticed your boyfriend was a little right about New York sidewalk-walkers not being very good-looking. And Carnegie Hall. Three times. The exorbitant price of cocktails, the nostalgic country paintings in the hotel lobby. And every flavor and nuance of every bite of Bobby Flay-recipe sea urchin, your new favorite mermaid-style snack. Mmm, mmm, better.

Zack's Favey Faves / Tasha's To Read Listey List

Dune
The Once and Future King
Not The Princess Bride (but he really likes it)
The Wheel of Time Series
A Song of Ice and Fire
Tigana
Ishmael
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Watership Down
Speaker for the Dead (might be close)
The Great Divorce
Memory, Sorry and Thorn
The Last Unicorn
Atlas Shrugged
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead

Billy Idol - And So It Goes

In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you in cautious tones
You answered me with no pretense
And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense

And every time I've held a rose
It seems I only felt the thorns
And so it goes, and so it goes
And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break

And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

A Purple Hooded Sweatshirt is Good to Wear in the Dark Night of the Soul if You are at the Beach

The night I miscarried my faith in God was a beautiful June night, and the breeze was just enough to warrant a sweatshirt. My bare feet carried me down the two blocks from Aunt Sharyn & Uncle Tony's beach house in Oxnard to a beach glowing under the face of a full moon. I paced in the cool sand for hours, trying to understand what had happened.

The Presence I had always felt in my gut had suddenly expired that day, the way a baby might die inside of its mother. Except there was no blood or fainting to punctuate my loss. I wasn't even sure if it was a loss [maybe rather the end of a blindness?], but it was definitely a shift. What would I do with this life/world/night if I was alone? Cosmically alone. If all I could know is that I am alive and I will die?

In college, when discussing who and what we might be if we were Godless physicalists, my friends and I would spin wild scenarios (and actually believe them to some extent)... but it became clear to me that sandy night that I would not be capable of becoming the "un-Christian" drug-addicted Wiccan prostitute I had intended to be. Even with the hope of God drained from me, a feeling of emptiness making the canopy of stars more desperately beautiful than ever, I knew I could never stop sincerely worshiping Goodness, Truth, Beauty and the Love that is described in that weighty 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians. Even if there was not a God, there were these humbling Platonic ideals that seemed incapable of being ripped from my gut the way He was. It seemed that way. I was glad of that rosy conclusion, though it worried me that a feeling of liberation was swelling heavier than the expected terror. Was that a bad sign? Did I want this new conviction to persist? I couldn't undo it, that was for sure, any more than I could revive a dead body or bench press a semi truck.

And so, I called my roommate Miriam who had been flirting with atheism (regardless of my advice to the contrary) with no avail for months, and I confessed (still pacing in the surf). The timing of this conversation was shortly after our neighbor's similar confession to us. This neighbor was terrified she'd one day have to tell her [pastor] husband that, in the years since their wedding, she had somehow transitioned from evangelical faith to complacent agnosticism. Would he still want her, she worried. I worried too. Could I still respect myself (surely my friends wouldn't - and there was NO way I would be telling my parents) if I lost my resolve to trust in and honor the God of the Bible with my heart, soul, mind, strength?

That disorienting weekend was one of the most significant turning points of my life. The three years that followed were shaped like a question, asking... Can I live with this? What are the alternative approaches to life, if not a disciple of Jesus? If you are real, God, will you please make yourself known to me? In the meantime, I was resigned to wearing the conviction that life is only what a person makes of it - there is nothing to do except try to make this world a better place and find some enjoyment before we die. Motherhood (art?) may be the only point of access for transcendence, but approaching it with that heavy longing seemed dangerous and foolish. Serving and loving people more generally seemed to be the best consolation. But I despaired of the results. It was so difficult to care for people without needing to see the fruits of my labor when there was not a Co-Laborer, making possible joy and contentment when kindness was unappreciated. If my self was all I had, and not a Creator and Storyteller, the weight of the world was heavier to bear. In the end (middle?), it proved too heavy in fact.

But I feared nothing more, in that season, than the possibility of falling back onto the crutch of a false religion for dread of the unknown. My guiding principle was this, by Thomas Jefferson: "There is not a truth existing which I fear... or would wish unknown to the whole world." If the physical world were all that existed, so let it be. If an Eastern spirituality or philosophy was better suited to the human race, so should it be. If the nation of Israel or Islam were truly preferred by Creator over the rest of us pagans, why shouldn't the be. These are not conclusions simple to shake out, and my decisions to date about what realities to lean on remain meager. But whatever it is I believe or don't believe tonight, question or let alone - it is so because I faced the void that suggested, maybe there is no God, and I allowed it to make a case.

Walking on, Walking on Broken Glaaa-aaass

I set a goal to trim my Facebook friend list down to 50 today... I only made it to 125. Not too shabby, though, considering I trimmed around 700 lovely people. I've decided to try to start using Facebook a little differently, in the hope of becoming less overwhelmed in this overwhelming world, city, life.

It's my nature to try to take in all the information I possibly can (on topics I find compelling, though I need to work on tweaking what I find compelling it seems) - whether before making a decision, for the sheer joy of knowing lots of things, or as a distraction from taking the next step and using the information I've gathered...

And I am a "people person." I find people terribly interesting. More interesting than the newspaper headlines, often. So reading about people, and what they say, and what photos they tag, and where they are going... these capabilities make Facebook compelling to a person like me.

Sometimes I imagine hundreds of life stories are flowing in and out of my periphery, like a ridiculous Russian novel with too many characters' names to remember. But this knowing (imagining) takes up socio-emotional space that I need, right now, for other knowing (imagining).

Next week I will start a job that requires me to research and write all day every day. It's time to redirect my hunter-gatherer nature toward assignments - and away from all the real-life story-book characters whose breadcrumb trails I like to follow. I can only search so much.

I can only search so much.

What am I searching for? Often, my searching functions as a busyness I cling to so I can avoid the silence of searching for something of peace. I ache for an experience contrary to the clamor of this city, but it tends to feel like walking on broken glass to pursue that sanctity. Lewis's The Great Divorce captures the feeling I'm referring to.

This week was meant to be my retreat from work/busyness/schedule. And yet it's Wednesday. And all I've done is chores and errands that I've been putting off for months & watched movies I have been ever so anxious to see. With all I have on my To-Do List, I don't think it will be possible (short of a miracle, which I will now commence praying for) for me to enter next week feeling the refreshment I had hoped for.

I had imagined a 1-week escape from the machine... but it seems I've been tasked with putting all the nuts and bolts back where they belong, so the machine can run smoothly once the new work-life begins. And yet I sense there is a grace to be found in the shape of these last few days - the hospitality this week has shown me, generously assisting my efforts to put my life in better order with its hours.

Striving to have a peaceful week may be less useful than finding peace in a striving week. It's these things I hope to sift through this afternoon and tomorrow, with the help of some fresh vegetables and lots of H2O.

Swan Song

Today, an assistant in our International Services Office Programming Team wrote this terribly endearing and slightly hilarious eulogy for me... on my last day in the office. This is the closest I will ever come to attending my own funeral, it seems, and I wanted to borrow the memory from our Team's blog & nestle it away into mine for safe-keeping. Kelly Mannes, you will be missed. But not very much. Just a little. Because we will be working across the street from each other...


Well International Student Ambassador’s,

Get out your handkerchiefs. Are you sitting down? You might want to sit down. Unless you’re on a treadmill or walking through a busy intersection. In that case, the fact that you’re reading this is impressive, but finish what you’re doing and then sit down because … I have some bad news.

Our fearless leader, our top dog, our mother of all things programming … is leaving …

today.

Here at the ISO, we take these departures quite seriously, because losing a member of the team is like losing a member of your not-really-family-but-I-spend-more-time-with-them-and-sometimes-think-I-like-them-better-but-don’t-tell-my-mom family. And that’s sad.

So, as we, the programming team, don our black mourning vestments and cover our face in dry erase marker because somebody replaced our chalkboard and now that’s all we have, we shall remember Tasha amidst our piercing wails and steady beating of fist to chest. Wait – no, I'm getting my farewell parties mixed up with my Ancient Mediterranean funerary rights (It happens).

Regardless, we’re still going to wear our symbolic black attire, but instead of tearing all our clothing and covering ourselves with dust, we’ll just listen to some sad songs and make this cheesy tribute.

Here we go. We’re counting on you to pick out your own soundtrack music for this, so make sure it’s really depressing.

Ready?

-----------------------------------------------------------

There is no single way to describe Tasha.

The first time you meet her, you may think: This girl lives in another world.

And then you get to know her, and you realize …

You were right.

But, that hasn’t stopped Tasha from committing herself wholeheartedly to the ISO and the GW community.

When it comes to programming and all the work that's needed to make an event successful, Tasha has never been afraid to get her hands dirty. ... or any part of her, for that matter.

Her dedication and enthusiasm sometimes left her feeling like she bit off more than she could chew …

But even after all of the stress each event would bring, Tasha was always ready to bite into something new.

And when we had problems, who came to our rescue? Tasha. Not just as a co-worker or supervisor, but as a co-person, a friend … a superhero.

Who was always ready to stand by our side …

no matter how embarrassing or ridiculous the situation?

Who greeted us every morning with her smiling exuberance?

And motivated us with her positivity and gentle nature?

Who has always encouraged us to be true to ourselves?

That’s right: Tasha

But the time has come.

She’s moving out into the wider world.

The sun has set on her ISO adventure

But as Ernest Hemingway once penned: “The Sun Also Rises.”

So, go Tasha.

Without sadness or regret.

Keep reaching for that next great adventure.

Don’t let the unknown paralyze you like a deer in the headlights.

And don’t look back.

Because, no matter what happens, we’ll be here.

And we’ll save you a seat.

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Whew. I don't know about you ISA's, but I'm tearing up.

Isn't that just the saddest thing?

How are we going to survive without Tasha?

(Don't worry: you'll still have me!)

:D

Uh ... I mean ... we'll miss you Tasha. :(

-K.M.

How to Be Intelligent and Well for Dummies

The 16 Habits of mind

1. Persisting – Do stick to it.
2. Communicating with clarity and precision – Be clear.
3. Managing impulsivity – Take your time.
4. Gathering data through all senses – Use your natural pathways.
5. Listening with understanding and empathy – Understand others.
6. Creating, imagining, innovating – Try a different way.
7. Thinking flexibly – Look at it another way.
8. Responding with wonderment and awe – have fun figuring it out.
9. Thinking about your thinking (metacognition) – Know your knowing.
10. Taking responsible risks – Venture out.
11. Striving for accuracy and precision – Find the best possible solution.
12. Finding humour – Laugh a little.
13. Questioning and problem posing – How do you know?
14. Thinking interdependently – Learning with others.
15. Applying past knowledge to new situations – Use what you learn.
16. Remaining open to continuous learning – Learrning from experiences.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Habits_of_mind