I've been looking for apartments lately, which is fun but also kind of depressing; I'm realizing how little money I will have once I truly start living on my own. I have to admit, though, the thought of organizing, decorating, and accessorizing my own place continues to override the stress of how much it's going to cost me. And maybe that's a good thing...I think so many of these "grown-up" steps are so scary that we don't enjoy the adventures in them. So maybe it's good that I choose to think more about how cute it's going to look than how sad it will be that I'll barely be able to afford something the size of my bedroom at home. Anyway, I think I've got a couple winners...one sounds too good to be true, so I need to make sure to get out there in the next couple of days and see if it's really as good as it sounds, and if so, I need to snag one!
I went home to my mom and dad's for the afternoon yesterday, which was really relaxing. My car got its first bath and wax, and I don't mind saying it looks GREAT! My parents' next-door neighbor has four pet birds of the exotic variety, and she takes them outside in these huge cages on wheels so they can be outside while she works in the yard. Mom and I went over so I could be introduced to them all, and it was quite a show!
The first one was what seemed to be a sort of cross-bred parrot, and it had just recently come off of the endangered species list and was becoming more common in the pet market.
"She'd bite your finger off as soon as look at ya," said our neighbor, "but hopefully she'll come around in time."
The next one was a gray parrot with a bright red tail, and she was the one who talked the most out of the bunch. Some of the things she said to us were, "What?" "How 'bout that?" and my favorite, "Pretty cool." While she was handling the gray parrot, our neighbor explained that the best way to train a parrot was to give them attention when they did something. She explained that many people use treats as incentive, but all the birds really wanted was our attention and praise.
This became more evident once we moved on to a huge, gorgeous gold and blue macaw who, when our neighbor said, "Show 'em your wings," proudly spread out her wingspan to show us her glorious deep blue feathers. She looked just like a kid saying, "Tada!" Our neighbor asked her to wave, and she flapped her wings.
"What?" said the gray bird, in a tone like, "Oh yeah, so impressive. Whatever."
"Here's my mess," said our neighbor, showing us the last bird, who was in a cage that sat on top of the gray parrot's cage. The little bird had a beautiful bright red head, but her neck was in a clear tube-like veterinary collar, and connected to the bottom edge of the collar was a red felt circle, like a little cape. Under the felt was a bare, pink little belly. Our neighbor told us that this parrot had been handed off to her by someone else who had said, "Take her! She's free." The little parrot was a mutilator, our neighbor explained; she picked at her own feathers until she plucked herself bare. The felt cape kept her from reaching most of her feathers, so her tail and wings were finally growing back in with bright scarlet, deep blue, and even flecks of emerald green.
"I took off the collar for a little bit yesterday, but she ended up doing this," said our neighbor as she lifted one of the little bird's wings. Underneath, it looked like little chicken bones. "The thing is," said our neighbor, "if she would just stop picking herself apart, she'd be the prettiest one of the bunch."
Being the kind of person who sees metaphors in everything, I immediately imagined these four birds as so many girls I've known growing up. There are the ones who feel endangered, and won't let anyone get close without getting their fingers bit off. There are the talkers, who get tired of letting others have the spotlight. There are the gorgeous, larger-than-life ones who make others jealous just by being themselves, the way they were created. And there are the ones who mutilate themselves, or pick themselves apart, when if they just let their feathers grow in, would be the most beautiful of the bunch. And all of us just want some attention and praise for the things we do.
On a completely different note, here is a consumer review for all you single dwellers out there...I love Hamburger Helper and I saw that they now have Microwave Helper, which is a single serving of their normal dishes. The box said meat is included. I wondered how this could be, so I got a box. It was good, but just so you know, the "meat" is very sparse and looks kind of like little hamster terds. It doesn't TASTE like that, it just looks like it. The microwave dishes are good, just don't expect to get a meaty meal out of it.
That's all I've got! I've been super busy working (I'm a real live waitress now!) and just had the craziest week, so I've got some catching up to do. More to come!
Friday, June 22, 2007
Monday, June 4, 2007
Waiting
Today I started training for my second source of income as a server at a local restaurant. It was so overwhelming. There is so much to learn at once, plus I have homework and quizzes (I'm studying for my next ones right now!) and there's just a lot to take in, remember, and learn how to do. My trainer was worried about me because I was really quiet.
I know...me, quiet.
I was just so nervous about trying to remember it all! But I talked to Ryan after my shift today and he was like, "It'll all start to come to you as you go..." He waited tables last summer so it's nice to talk to him, knowing he gets exactly what I am going through.
And I don't know if you've ever seen the movie Waiting, but I felt exactly like the guy in that movie who is there on his first day training. Seriously, the restaurant business is Just. Like. That. Movie. I think I'll like it, though, once I get the hang of things.
Meanwhile, my AC is still broken. So it's fans, fans, fans in my house. "So great to have so many fans!" lol...I have recently developed the bad habit of making really corny jokes. Is that part of becoming an adult, I wonder?
I know...me, quiet.
I was just so nervous about trying to remember it all! But I talked to Ryan after my shift today and he was like, "It'll all start to come to you as you go..." He waited tables last summer so it's nice to talk to him, knowing he gets exactly what I am going through.
And I don't know if you've ever seen the movie Waiting, but I felt exactly like the guy in that movie who is there on his first day training. Seriously, the restaurant business is Just. Like. That. Movie. I think I'll like it, though, once I get the hang of things.
Meanwhile, my AC is still broken. So it's fans, fans, fans in my house. "So great to have so many fans!" lol...I have recently developed the bad habit of making really corny jokes. Is that part of becoming an adult, I wonder?
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Magazine
I talked to Ryan yesterday about wanting to start a girls’ magazine that falls somewhere between Seventeen and Brio. As we were walking through Walmart, I was explaining to Ryan how sometimes I wish I could read a magazine that had good fashion pages and interesting articles, without the sex tips and disgusting embarrassing moments and stuff. The problem with magazines like Glamour and Cosmo and even Seventeen is that they have a mixed message; they have articles about ethical issues, feminism, and healthy body image right next to bits about how to get a guy’s attention, quick and easy ways to lose weight, and so on. The language used in the magazine even lends itself to peer pressure; they use all this really trendy-sounding lingo. No one I know talks like these magazine writers apparently do, and that’s just it—you don’t know what it means, so you feel like you’re not as cool as the people who write these magazines, or as cool as the other people who read these magazines because apparently they understand this lingo, otherwise why would the writers put it in there? So it’s subtly saying, “If you start to read this magazine more, you’ll start to understand how the cool girls talk and then you can be one of us.”
Ok, I’m sure that sounds exaggerated, and I’m sure that some sweet lady working for Allure is totally offended by what I’ve just said, and is ready to tell me about how the magazine she works for is all about empowering women.
Nah, I’m sure she’s not even reading this journal.
What does empowering even mean, anyway? I get so tired of that word. I can’t remember ever being empowered as a woman because I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. I’ve felt powerful, confident, smart, strong, and even bossy. None of that had to do with being a woman, except for the fact that I am one—being comfortable in my female body and having a healthy body image. But is that empowerment? I don’t feel empowered when I look in the mirror and think I look good. I feel pretty. Or sexy. Or cute. I don’t feel empowered when I recognize my own competence at my job or in school. I feel smart. I don’t know what this whole empowerment thing is about, so if someone wants to educate me, feel free. I may or may not buy what you have to say.
Anyway, back to my magazine idea. I grew up reading Brio, a teenage girls Christian magazine, which is really pretty good for what it is. I mean, I really respect what they’re doing there. They give examples of modest—yet trendy!—ways to dress, what secular music and movies have some positive stuff for girls wanting to live a godly lifestyle, and articles and stories that present the common struggles of a teenage Christian girl. They also have a beauty tips feature (which is excellent!) and an advice column, which is ok. The thing that concerns me about the magazine, and especially the advice column, is that Susie, the editor-in-chief, I believe, who writes the advice and organizes the content of the magazine in general, is giving her best personal advice to these readers about how to handle situations—tough situations—as a Christian. Sometimes I really agree with her. Other times, I don’t. But the difference between this and other advice columns is that if I don’t agree with her, I almost feel like a “bad Christian.”
And I think that’s the downfall of magazines like Brio…this magazine tries to present itself in a way that is attractive to girls by using a similar format to that of the secular magazines. The problem is, the secular magazines are basically using literary peer pressure to keep its audience. Now transfer this to a religious magazine, and it’s not about being one of the cool girls anymore—it’s about being one of the righteous girls. And this time, if you don’t understand, agree, or care, it’s not that you aren’t cool. It might be that you’re not a good Christian. It might be that there’s something wrong with your faith.
And once again, if Susie, her staff, or the current Brio Girl ever happened to read this, I’m sure they would feel very offended, misunderstood, and misrepresented. So if anyone who is reading this is offended and really likes Brio, I’m sorry to offend you. I don’t hate Brio. I don’t even dislike it. I just feel that sometimes it lends itself to turning our discernment mechanism off.
In Velvet Elvis (great book, you should read it. Ryan has given it to like everyone he knows, including me!), the author, Rob Bell, says that we shouldn’t have to accept something without thinking about it just because it has the label “Christian” on it, and we shouldn’t rule stuff out just because it’s labeled “secular.” And I think Brio is on the right track. I just think sometimes they try to make the discernments for you instead of letting you decide for yourself. A big exception to this would be the entertainment review column. The guy who writes this is great because he tells you the good and the bad about an artist or movie. He’s honest. He’s not trying to dissuade you from listening for yourself, he’s just saying, “Hey, some of the stuff in here is a little raunchy or doesn’t reflect Christian values. Just so you know.” I think that’s great.
I guess I just want something that provides some positive material for girls to be entertained or occupied with, without sterilizing it. I realize the need for magazines like Brio, because some parents won’t let their kids listen to or read anything that isn’t “Christian.” But what about the girls who get to read it all and hate sifting through the sex articles to get to the good stuff? (Not that the sex stuff isn’t educational, just non-applicable at this point.)
Is there a market for that out there? I don’t know, but I think there is. Ryan said he thought I should pursue it because I sounded passionate about it. Maybe I will. I would just have to figure out where to start.
Ok, I’m sure that sounds exaggerated, and I’m sure that some sweet lady working for Allure is totally offended by what I’ve just said, and is ready to tell me about how the magazine she works for is all about empowering women.
Nah, I’m sure she’s not even reading this journal.
What does empowering even mean, anyway? I get so tired of that word. I can’t remember ever being empowered as a woman because I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. I’ve felt powerful, confident, smart, strong, and even bossy. None of that had to do with being a woman, except for the fact that I am one—being comfortable in my female body and having a healthy body image. But is that empowerment? I don’t feel empowered when I look in the mirror and think I look good. I feel pretty. Or sexy. Or cute. I don’t feel empowered when I recognize my own competence at my job or in school. I feel smart. I don’t know what this whole empowerment thing is about, so if someone wants to educate me, feel free. I may or may not buy what you have to say.
Anyway, back to my magazine idea. I grew up reading Brio, a teenage girls Christian magazine, which is really pretty good for what it is. I mean, I really respect what they’re doing there. They give examples of modest—yet trendy!—ways to dress, what secular music and movies have some positive stuff for girls wanting to live a godly lifestyle, and articles and stories that present the common struggles of a teenage Christian girl. They also have a beauty tips feature (which is excellent!) and an advice column, which is ok. The thing that concerns me about the magazine, and especially the advice column, is that Susie, the editor-in-chief, I believe, who writes the advice and organizes the content of the magazine in general, is giving her best personal advice to these readers about how to handle situations—tough situations—as a Christian. Sometimes I really agree with her. Other times, I don’t. But the difference between this and other advice columns is that if I don’t agree with her, I almost feel like a “bad Christian.”
And I think that’s the downfall of magazines like Brio…this magazine tries to present itself in a way that is attractive to girls by using a similar format to that of the secular magazines. The problem is, the secular magazines are basically using literary peer pressure to keep its audience. Now transfer this to a religious magazine, and it’s not about being one of the cool girls anymore—it’s about being one of the righteous girls. And this time, if you don’t understand, agree, or care, it’s not that you aren’t cool. It might be that you’re not a good Christian. It might be that there’s something wrong with your faith.
And once again, if Susie, her staff, or the current Brio Girl ever happened to read this, I’m sure they would feel very offended, misunderstood, and misrepresented. So if anyone who is reading this is offended and really likes Brio, I’m sorry to offend you. I don’t hate Brio. I don’t even dislike it. I just feel that sometimes it lends itself to turning our discernment mechanism off.
In Velvet Elvis (great book, you should read it. Ryan has given it to like everyone he knows, including me!), the author, Rob Bell, says that we shouldn’t have to accept something without thinking about it just because it has the label “Christian” on it, and we shouldn’t rule stuff out just because it’s labeled “secular.” And I think Brio is on the right track. I just think sometimes they try to make the discernments for you instead of letting you decide for yourself. A big exception to this would be the entertainment review column. The guy who writes this is great because he tells you the good and the bad about an artist or movie. He’s honest. He’s not trying to dissuade you from listening for yourself, he’s just saying, “Hey, some of the stuff in here is a little raunchy or doesn’t reflect Christian values. Just so you know.” I think that’s great.
I guess I just want something that provides some positive material for girls to be entertained or occupied with, without sterilizing it. I realize the need for magazines like Brio, because some parents won’t let their kids listen to or read anything that isn’t “Christian.” But what about the girls who get to read it all and hate sifting through the sex articles to get to the good stuff? (Not that the sex stuff isn’t educational, just non-applicable at this point.)
Is there a market for that out there? I don’t know, but I think there is. Ryan said he thought I should pursue it because I sounded passionate about it. Maybe I will. I would just have to figure out where to start.
Lamp
Because I work at a news station, a lot of people ask me if this or that is like the movie Anchorman, or if we quote it all the time. And normally I will say, "No, but I'm sure that when the movie came out, they did quote it a lot at the station," or "no, it's not really like that." Occasionally I will humor the Anchorman fans and say, "Yeah, it does remind me of that a little bit."
I actually loved the movie Anchorman, and after being asked about how the rest of the station felt about the film, I asked one of the real live anchormen, who sort of made a face and said he thought the movie was pretty stupid.
Sorry I asked.
Well, the reason I thought of this subject today was because I walked into the production office and opened my email, and there sat a message from our accounting lady. The email was entitled, "Lamp." It was just a note about a lovely lamp in the front office that was up for grabs, but I immediately thought of the over-quoted phrase, "I love...lamp. I love lamp!" from Anchorman, and I couldn't help laughing out loud. Luckily no one else was in the office to hear me.
I'm actually here early because I couldn't stand being in my house any longer; the air-conditioning isn't working. It's 85 degrees outside, and 85 degrees in my house. It actually feels better outside because there's a slight breeze, which for some reason my ceiling fan can't compete with. And it's always FREEZING here at the station, so I thought I might as well go in early to get some work done since it would be a lot more comfortable here.
I actually loved the movie Anchorman, and after being asked about how the rest of the station felt about the film, I asked one of the real live anchormen, who sort of made a face and said he thought the movie was pretty stupid.
Sorry I asked.
Well, the reason I thought of this subject today was because I walked into the production office and opened my email, and there sat a message from our accounting lady. The email was entitled, "Lamp." It was just a note about a lovely lamp in the front office that was up for grabs, but I immediately thought of the over-quoted phrase, "I love...lamp. I love lamp!" from Anchorman, and I couldn't help laughing out loud. Luckily no one else was in the office to hear me.
I'm actually here early because I couldn't stand being in my house any longer; the air-conditioning isn't working. It's 85 degrees outside, and 85 degrees in my house. It actually feels better outside because there's a slight breeze, which for some reason my ceiling fan can't compete with. And it's always FREEZING here at the station, so I thought I might as well go in early to get some work done since it would be a lot more comfortable here.
Graduating
I have sat through two commencement ceremonies a year for the past four years here at Purdue, because the Purduettes sing at the winter commencements. Here at Purdue, the ceremonies are split up because there are so many thousands of people graduating that it would be impossible to fit everyone and their parents in one ceremony at Elliott Hall, which, by the way, seats over 6,000 people. So in the winter they split it into two ceremonies, and in the spring they split it into four. Just to give you a picture. Each one is about two hours long, and there are so many people that only the graduate and doctorate degrees get their names read; everyone getting a bachelor’s or associate’s degree gets to see his name up on a screen with about ten other people as he walks across the stage. Which, don’t get me wrong, is pretty cool.
I just figured, knowing how boring and long and impersonal these things could be, it wouldn’t mean a whole lot to me.
I knew it meant a lot to my family, and hey, they knew what to expect. My mom and dad both graduated from Purdue. And if it was important to them, I’d try to make it a special day. Ryan even pointed out to me what a great accomplishment it was.
“You’re the only person I’m this close to who has ever graduated from college,” he said. “It’s a big deal.” And he was absolutely right.
It’s not like I didn’t want to go through graduation…I just wasn’t really excited about it.
Plus, it was weird; none of my Purduette classmates were graduating with me. Beth has another semester, and Laura still has more school. Meghan was going to go through graduation, but I didn’t know what section she was in, so as far as I knew, I would show up at the armory, get in line, and go through the ceremony with a bunch of strangers that I had apparently been going to school with over the last four years. It wasn’t like high school graduation, where you’re with all your friends, and all the teachers are there, and everyone knows you. I’d be lucky if the Glee Club guys, who were going to be singing onstage, would catch me as I walked by.
When my family arrived, it felt like something out of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Marla popped her head in the door to give me about a ten-second warning that everyone was here. Then in came Mom, Dad, Mamaw, and Papaw, with hugs, questions, and comments. Mamaw immediately pounced on the graduation robe I had laid out on my bed and began wishing she’d brought her steamer.
“Well, I bet we could iron it right here on the bed,” she offered. I told her no, thanks, because no one else’s was going to look any better, and from where everyone was sitting they wouldn’t be able to tell if it had wrinkles anyway. I was almost ready when they all got there, but not quite, so then I had the fun of people watching me get ready. For some reason, this is a pet peeve of mine. I think it’s because I worry that the person watching me is thinking, “Is she really going to do her hair like that?”
Finally it was time to go to the ceremony. I had to be at the armory, next door to the Hall of Music, an hour before the ceremony, and everyone else was going to go find seats. At the armory, Dad helped me put my little white collar on my robe while Mom and Mamaw corrected my placement of my cap on my head. Marla, who was taking pictures of all of this, told me I looked pissed off, and I knew my lack of excitement and slight irritation at all the nitpicky attention was coming through loud and clear. I had to at least try to act as excited as they all were.
That’s when Katy showed up.
Katy was my roommate and instant best friend our freshman year at Purdue. She was getting ready to graduate with a degree in English Education, and soon after would find out she’d been offered a teaching job in a high school near Indianapolis. She was a member of the Delta Gamma sorority and about a year ago talked Marla into rushing. Marla joined DG, and Katy took her under her wing from the very beginning, doing everything from pairing Marla with the perfect match of a Big Sis in the house to teaching Marla how to tease back her hair.
I can’t tell you how glad I was to see Katy. Just like when she showed up in our dorm room during orientation week with all of her cute dorm accessories and reminded me how fun and adventurous college life was going to be, she showed up in front of the armory asking my dad for help with her collar, since he’d figured out mine, and wanting pictures of the two of us together, and she reminded me how special it was going to be to finish this fun and adventurous time and start off on a new one of even greater significance.
Katy and I went inside and parted ways to sign in. Get this—we had to get a sticker with our names and numbers next to them so we’d know who to stand behind in alphabetical order! I felt like one of the calves at my grandma’s farm when my parents and aunt and uncle are working cattle; I might as well have had a tag in my ear. Wouldn’t that be funny? All the tags in colors to match our tassels representing our schools and degrees!
I was trying to find which line to get into when I saw standing together Ashley from the Purdue Bells in PMO, Lindsey, who used to go to my high school, and Amanda, a former Purduette classmate. The three of them were standing together and talking, and as they greeted me enthusiastically, I got the feeling that this kind of was like high school graduation…all of your classmates waiting in the gym, checking to see if someone’s cap is straight or if someone’s hair doesn’t look too goofy under the cap. I finally found my check-in line, and when I got to the front, who was there to sign me in but Colleen Williams, the academic advisor who had helped me schedule my classes every semester and who never let me completely commit academic suicide by taking on too much.
“Oh, you got your hair cut!” she said as she found my sticker and patted it onto the shoulder of my black robe. I smiled. She was like the teacher who always helped you out during high school, even if you didn’t have a class with her.
I lined up, it turned out, behind a guy I had met my first semester at Purdue. He remembered me, so it was really fun to be within speaking distance of a previous acquaintance. A few more people ahead of him stood Amanda, which was also a comfort. And after some final instructions about when and where to stand, sit, or walk, we began the ceremony.
We all paraded out of the armory and past the Hall of Music and the bell tower. Then we took a lap around the Engineering Mall as people stood outside waving and taking pictures. There was something really cool about taking this walk down sidewalks you’d hurried across so many times as a student, only this time at a leisurely pace and in a cap and gown. It made me feel the finality of walking in these places as a student for the last time. And I realized that this was the part I had never seen before when I sat through those winter commencements.
This was the special part. This was the part of the ceremony that was for me.
The rest was for Mom and Dad, Mamaw and Papaw. The speeches were great, the music was beautiful, and the university president, who knew me through Purduettes and a scholarship group I had been in as a freshman, made a point to get up out of his chair and meet me onstage as I walked across. He gave me a hug and shook my hand and asked what I would be doing after graduation, and he wished me good luck. I think it was a special ceremony weekend for him as well; he was retiring from Purdue at the end of the school year.
The two hours of commencement were gorgeous, and they meant a lot more to me than I could of imagined. But whenever I think back to the day I graduated from Purdue, it won’t be the stage full of glee clubbers, band members, faculty, and trustees that I will remember. For me, it will be that stretch of pavement between Elliott Hall and the engineering buildings, where I last walked as a student at Purdue.
I just figured, knowing how boring and long and impersonal these things could be, it wouldn’t mean a whole lot to me.
I knew it meant a lot to my family, and hey, they knew what to expect. My mom and dad both graduated from Purdue. And if it was important to them, I’d try to make it a special day. Ryan even pointed out to me what a great accomplishment it was.
“You’re the only person I’m this close to who has ever graduated from college,” he said. “It’s a big deal.” And he was absolutely right.
It’s not like I didn’t want to go through graduation…I just wasn’t really excited about it.
Plus, it was weird; none of my Purduette classmates were graduating with me. Beth has another semester, and Laura still has more school. Meghan was going to go through graduation, but I didn’t know what section she was in, so as far as I knew, I would show up at the armory, get in line, and go through the ceremony with a bunch of strangers that I had apparently been going to school with over the last four years. It wasn’t like high school graduation, where you’re with all your friends, and all the teachers are there, and everyone knows you. I’d be lucky if the Glee Club guys, who were going to be singing onstage, would catch me as I walked by.
When my family arrived, it felt like something out of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Marla popped her head in the door to give me about a ten-second warning that everyone was here. Then in came Mom, Dad, Mamaw, and Papaw, with hugs, questions, and comments. Mamaw immediately pounced on the graduation robe I had laid out on my bed and began wishing she’d brought her steamer.
“Well, I bet we could iron it right here on the bed,” she offered. I told her no, thanks, because no one else’s was going to look any better, and from where everyone was sitting they wouldn’t be able to tell if it had wrinkles anyway. I was almost ready when they all got there, but not quite, so then I had the fun of people watching me get ready. For some reason, this is a pet peeve of mine. I think it’s because I worry that the person watching me is thinking, “Is she really going to do her hair like that?”
Finally it was time to go to the ceremony. I had to be at the armory, next door to the Hall of Music, an hour before the ceremony, and everyone else was going to go find seats. At the armory, Dad helped me put my little white collar on my robe while Mom and Mamaw corrected my placement of my cap on my head. Marla, who was taking pictures of all of this, told me I looked pissed off, and I knew my lack of excitement and slight irritation at all the nitpicky attention was coming through loud and clear. I had to at least try to act as excited as they all were.
That’s when Katy showed up.
Katy was my roommate and instant best friend our freshman year at Purdue. She was getting ready to graduate with a degree in English Education, and soon after would find out she’d been offered a teaching job in a high school near Indianapolis. She was a member of the Delta Gamma sorority and about a year ago talked Marla into rushing. Marla joined DG, and Katy took her under her wing from the very beginning, doing everything from pairing Marla with the perfect match of a Big Sis in the house to teaching Marla how to tease back her hair.
I can’t tell you how glad I was to see Katy. Just like when she showed up in our dorm room during orientation week with all of her cute dorm accessories and reminded me how fun and adventurous college life was going to be, she showed up in front of the armory asking my dad for help with her collar, since he’d figured out mine, and wanting pictures of the two of us together, and she reminded me how special it was going to be to finish this fun and adventurous time and start off on a new one of even greater significance.
Katy and I went inside and parted ways to sign in. Get this—we had to get a sticker with our names and numbers next to them so we’d know who to stand behind in alphabetical order! I felt like one of the calves at my grandma’s farm when my parents and aunt and uncle are working cattle; I might as well have had a tag in my ear. Wouldn’t that be funny? All the tags in colors to match our tassels representing our schools and degrees!
I was trying to find which line to get into when I saw standing together Ashley from the Purdue Bells in PMO, Lindsey, who used to go to my high school, and Amanda, a former Purduette classmate. The three of them were standing together and talking, and as they greeted me enthusiastically, I got the feeling that this kind of was like high school graduation…all of your classmates waiting in the gym, checking to see if someone’s cap is straight or if someone’s hair doesn’t look too goofy under the cap. I finally found my check-in line, and when I got to the front, who was there to sign me in but Colleen Williams, the academic advisor who had helped me schedule my classes every semester and who never let me completely commit academic suicide by taking on too much.
“Oh, you got your hair cut!” she said as she found my sticker and patted it onto the shoulder of my black robe. I smiled. She was like the teacher who always helped you out during high school, even if you didn’t have a class with her.
I lined up, it turned out, behind a guy I had met my first semester at Purdue. He remembered me, so it was really fun to be within speaking distance of a previous acquaintance. A few more people ahead of him stood Amanda, which was also a comfort. And after some final instructions about when and where to stand, sit, or walk, we began the ceremony.
We all paraded out of the armory and past the Hall of Music and the bell tower. Then we took a lap around the Engineering Mall as people stood outside waving and taking pictures. There was something really cool about taking this walk down sidewalks you’d hurried across so many times as a student, only this time at a leisurely pace and in a cap and gown. It made me feel the finality of walking in these places as a student for the last time. And I realized that this was the part I had never seen before when I sat through those winter commencements.
This was the special part. This was the part of the ceremony that was for me.
The rest was for Mom and Dad, Mamaw and Papaw. The speeches were great, the music was beautiful, and the university president, who knew me through Purduettes and a scholarship group I had been in as a freshman, made a point to get up out of his chair and meet me onstage as I walked across. He gave me a hug and shook my hand and asked what I would be doing after graduation, and he wished me good luck. I think it was a special ceremony weekend for him as well; he was retiring from Purdue at the end of the school year.
The two hours of commencement were gorgeous, and they meant a lot more to me than I could of imagined. But whenever I think back to the day I graduated from Purdue, it won’t be the stage full of glee clubbers, band members, faculty, and trustees that I will remember. For me, it will be that stretch of pavement between Elliott Hall and the engineering buildings, where I last walked as a student at Purdue.
Growing Up
A week from yesterday I will graduate from Purdue. I did it in 4 years, and I did it while devoting more of my time to an extra-cirricular singing ensemble than to my studies. Not a whole lot of people can say that, and I’m proud of myself.
The thing is, now I’m done with school. For the rest of my life.
I’m freaked out.
For the past sixteen years, the same thing has happened. I’ve turned another year older on the day before, of, or after the first day of school. Then I’ve made good grades, good friends, and good memories in the course of nine months. Then I’ve celebrated not going back to school until the day before, of, or after my next birthday. I knew what was coming with that next birthday: another year of school. But my next birthday is in a little over three months, and I have no idea what it will bring with it.
The hardest part about it is that everyone else around me seems to know where they will be in the next couple of years. My older sister, Michelle, is a graduate of Notre Dame’s Navy ROTC scholarship program, and her first 4 years of life outside of college were planned since her freshman year at St. Mary’s. She’s stationed in Pearl Harbor, where she is planning on staying for the remaining two years of her active duty. Oh yeah, did I mention that ROTC scholarships pretty much pay your entire tuition? My younger sister, Marla, just wrapped up her sophomore year in the pre-veterinary program, so she knows she’ll be at school for a loooong time. And now there’s me, the communications major, who got a couple $1000 scholarships here and there, but other than that pretty much freeloaded off of my parents for four years, didn’t manage to save up any money, and is now officially in debt for a car they had to help me buy?
I digress. Also among the people in my life who know where they’re going is Beth, my best friend and roommate, who got engaged last December to her boyfriend of 3 years. He is an engineer, so he’s already making more than I’ll ever dream of making unless I somehow get famous, and he’s living in Sacramento in an apartment that Beth will share with him when they get married next February. Beth is an English education major and has a semester of student teaching ahead of her, and then she knows where she’ll be living, whom she will be with for the rest of her life, and how she’s going to pay for stuff.
Finally, my boyfriend, Ryan, is already making more than I dare to hope I will this year, and he has two years of college under his belt so far. He is a youth director and recently took a full-time job as a church supply consultant for a Christian bookstore here in town. He also wants to go to seminary after he finishes his undergrad in religious studies. I envy Ryan because he can support himself and he’s two years younger than I am. It’s not fair of me to envy him because the fact that he can support himself is also a point of stress for him, as it is becoming for me.
I think the grass is always greener on the other side. I think, “If I only had a job.” Then I get a job and I think, “If I only had a job that paid better so I could support myself, pay my own bills, and not have to be in debt.” I’m sure it never ends. Right now I feel like being married would solve all my problems and make me feel stable and secure, but I also know that LOTS more stressors come with marriage. I think the whole key to growing up is getting yourself to believe that you’re ready to deal with the responsibilities, and the stress that goes with them.
Here’s one great thing: I do have a job. It’s only part time, which means I need to find another job to make the “real” money, but the great thing about this one is it’s exactly where I want to be. It’s my dream starter job. (So why am I complaining, right?!) I am a production assistant at the local TV station. It’s a great opportunity and a foot in the door for me, a girl trying to make it in the television business. I’m getting training and experience, and I get to stay in familiar surroundings near my family and my boyfriend. The challenge will be proving to myself that I can be independent amongst all of this support. That might not make any sense, so let me put it this way—I just want to prove to myself that I can do it on my own.
I love, love, love working at the TV station. Everyone is so nice, even the anchors and sports people and meteorologists. Everyone is willing to help you out. It’s a great place to learn. And on top of all that, I’m one of the lucky few who graduate and immediately gets a job in their field of choice. And the fact that I love my new job so much reassures me that I’m really in the right place. Still, I think I have this fear of never living up to my full potential, which is why I have this whole “grass is greener” complex.
Becoming a grown-up just makes things more complicated. I was working in the church nursery this morning and talking to Abby, a five-year-old who is very free-spirited and comes in almost every Sunday singing improvisational songs. At some point in our conversation this morning, I asked Abby what she wanted to be when she grew up.
“Well, I think I’d like to be a movie star, or a pop star,” she said casually. “Or a princess.”
“Let me know how that works out for you,” I said.
It immediately got me thinking, why do we give up on those things? Or do we really? I still want to be a movie star or a pop star. Or a princess! It’s not impossible to be those things. At least, not as impossible as we grown-ups think. I mean, I’ve accomplished those things on some small level in college. I had a small role in a classmate’s film class project…I played a dead body. But people totally recognized me when it was screened at the local movie theater. And as a member of Purdue Musical Organizations, I’ve sung in front of thousands and thousands of people. And I’ve been on PBS for the last three years, and this Christmas will be the fourth! So I’m a pop star of sorts, I guess. The only thing I haven’t been is a princess. But since my chances of entering a beauty pageant ever again are slim to none, I think I can kiss that ambition goodbye. Although I did the Miss Purdue pageant this year and I tied with another girl for the Spirit Award. I actually think I like that better than getting a crown anyway.
I think as we get older, our ideals of possibility shrivel up after too much exposure to reality. And we start to worry about where the money will come from, instead of knowing that we’re going to get our daily bread. I know I forget that a lot. Ryan had to remind me tonight.
I should be thankful that I’ve got a job where I get to do something I love and where I have promise of opportunities and growth, and I shouldn’t give up or worry that this start isn’t good enough. I shouldn’t settle for less than what I really want to be, and I shouldn’t freak out about how long it’s going to take me to get there.
I think that between Abby and Ryan, I got the best reality check of all today.
The thing is, now I’m done with school. For the rest of my life.
I’m freaked out.
For the past sixteen years, the same thing has happened. I’ve turned another year older on the day before, of, or after the first day of school. Then I’ve made good grades, good friends, and good memories in the course of nine months. Then I’ve celebrated not going back to school until the day before, of, or after my next birthday. I knew what was coming with that next birthday: another year of school. But my next birthday is in a little over three months, and I have no idea what it will bring with it.
The hardest part about it is that everyone else around me seems to know where they will be in the next couple of years. My older sister, Michelle, is a graduate of Notre Dame’s Navy ROTC scholarship program, and her first 4 years of life outside of college were planned since her freshman year at St. Mary’s. She’s stationed in Pearl Harbor, where she is planning on staying for the remaining two years of her active duty. Oh yeah, did I mention that ROTC scholarships pretty much pay your entire tuition? My younger sister, Marla, just wrapped up her sophomore year in the pre-veterinary program, so she knows she’ll be at school for a loooong time. And now there’s me, the communications major, who got a couple $1000 scholarships here and there, but other than that pretty much freeloaded off of my parents for four years, didn’t manage to save up any money, and is now officially in debt for a car they had to help me buy?
I digress. Also among the people in my life who know where they’re going is Beth, my best friend and roommate, who got engaged last December to her boyfriend of 3 years. He is an engineer, so he’s already making more than I’ll ever dream of making unless I somehow get famous, and he’s living in Sacramento in an apartment that Beth will share with him when they get married next February. Beth is an English education major and has a semester of student teaching ahead of her, and then she knows where she’ll be living, whom she will be with for the rest of her life, and how she’s going to pay for stuff.
Finally, my boyfriend, Ryan, is already making more than I dare to hope I will this year, and he has two years of college under his belt so far. He is a youth director and recently took a full-time job as a church supply consultant for a Christian bookstore here in town. He also wants to go to seminary after he finishes his undergrad in religious studies. I envy Ryan because he can support himself and he’s two years younger than I am. It’s not fair of me to envy him because the fact that he can support himself is also a point of stress for him, as it is becoming for me.
I think the grass is always greener on the other side. I think, “If I only had a job.” Then I get a job and I think, “If I only had a job that paid better so I could support myself, pay my own bills, and not have to be in debt.” I’m sure it never ends. Right now I feel like being married would solve all my problems and make me feel stable and secure, but I also know that LOTS more stressors come with marriage. I think the whole key to growing up is getting yourself to believe that you’re ready to deal with the responsibilities, and the stress that goes with them.
Here’s one great thing: I do have a job. It’s only part time, which means I need to find another job to make the “real” money, but the great thing about this one is it’s exactly where I want to be. It’s my dream starter job. (So why am I complaining, right?!) I am a production assistant at the local TV station. It’s a great opportunity and a foot in the door for me, a girl trying to make it in the television business. I’m getting training and experience, and I get to stay in familiar surroundings near my family and my boyfriend. The challenge will be proving to myself that I can be independent amongst all of this support. That might not make any sense, so let me put it this way—I just want to prove to myself that I can do it on my own.
I love, love, love working at the TV station. Everyone is so nice, even the anchors and sports people and meteorologists. Everyone is willing to help you out. It’s a great place to learn. And on top of all that, I’m one of the lucky few who graduate and immediately gets a job in their field of choice. And the fact that I love my new job so much reassures me that I’m really in the right place. Still, I think I have this fear of never living up to my full potential, which is why I have this whole “grass is greener” complex.
Becoming a grown-up just makes things more complicated. I was working in the church nursery this morning and talking to Abby, a five-year-old who is very free-spirited and comes in almost every Sunday singing improvisational songs. At some point in our conversation this morning, I asked Abby what she wanted to be when she grew up.
“Well, I think I’d like to be a movie star, or a pop star,” she said casually. “Or a princess.”
“Let me know how that works out for you,” I said.
It immediately got me thinking, why do we give up on those things? Or do we really? I still want to be a movie star or a pop star. Or a princess! It’s not impossible to be those things. At least, not as impossible as we grown-ups think. I mean, I’ve accomplished those things on some small level in college. I had a small role in a classmate’s film class project…I played a dead body. But people totally recognized me when it was screened at the local movie theater. And as a member of Purdue Musical Organizations, I’ve sung in front of thousands and thousands of people. And I’ve been on PBS for the last three years, and this Christmas will be the fourth! So I’m a pop star of sorts, I guess. The only thing I haven’t been is a princess. But since my chances of entering a beauty pageant ever again are slim to none, I think I can kiss that ambition goodbye. Although I did the Miss Purdue pageant this year and I tied with another girl for the Spirit Award. I actually think I like that better than getting a crown anyway.
I think as we get older, our ideals of possibility shrivel up after too much exposure to reality. And we start to worry about where the money will come from, instead of knowing that we’re going to get our daily bread. I know I forget that a lot. Ryan had to remind me tonight.
I should be thankful that I’ve got a job where I get to do something I love and where I have promise of opportunities and growth, and I shouldn’t give up or worry that this start isn’t good enough. I shouldn’t settle for less than what I really want to be, and I shouldn’t freak out about how long it’s going to take me to get there.
I think that between Abby and Ryan, I got the best reality check of all today.
For Starters...
I started this journal as I was getting ready to graduate college this past spring. And then I thought, I should do a blog with all this stuff. Because maybe no one will read this, but maybe someone who is going through the same stuff or will soon needs to read this. I don't know. If nothing else, I'm just tossing my thoughts out to float around out there...
Anyway, so this is the start of it. But, as I said, I already started it, so the first batch of entries are all going to be posted on the same date, when in reality they may have been written days or weeks apart. So that's just a disclaimer, so anyone who happens to read this doesn't get confused.
Read on!
Anyway, so this is the start of it. But, as I said, I already started it, so the first batch of entries are all going to be posted on the same date, when in reality they may have been written days or weeks apart. So that's just a disclaimer, so anyone who happens to read this doesn't get confused.
Read on!
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