Category: Thoughts

Friendship Within Silence

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He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.  ~Elbert Hubbard

I often define my friendships by conversations. Past jokes, heated debates and the stories act as landmarks along my living timeline. I converse to connect with others and to mutually share internal thoughts. But what about the moments in between speech? What about the silence?

My friend Juliane and I arrived late Saturday afternoon at the Arcadia Wildlife Sanctuary just off Route 5 in Easthampton, MA. Despite the beautiful weather, it was too far to walk so I drove with the sunroof open, arms dangling in the warm breeze. Our day, until that point, had been stimulating: an estate sale, lunch at the delicious vegetarian-friendly Green Bean and shopping downtown at FACES for new sunglasses and a bed spread. I believe it was the way a Saturday should be spent, free of any responsibilities but the enjoyment of tag sales, sunshine and the closeness of a friend. A stroll through nature seemed like the logical next step. Quite literally. 

I parked the car and we ventured off, the crunch of gravel giving way to the muffled paw paw of the earth beneath our sneakers. Particles of dust floated through beams of golden light as the path led us away from the parking lot and into the trees. Our conversation slowed and tapered off, lost in the softness of young pine needles and patches of shy green ferns. Silence crept into the space between our bodies and our thoughts. We walked on.

I don’t remember how long we walked or who eventually broke the silence. Eventually, the cadence of our voices rejoined as we reemerged into the sunlit field. I was struck by the natural quality of our silence–void of panic or fear to fill the space with meaninglessness. We had walked together but our thoughts had moved independently, weaving in and out of conscious thought creation. We were worlds apart and an arm’s length away. 

I wish the same for you and your friends going into the future. The silence might appear suddenly–at the dinner table or in the moments before a goodbye. Do not be so quick to fill this space, it is not empty but full of depth, mystery and internal questioning. Define your friendships in the things unsaid just as you define those moments in the things that are.

As close in the silence as in speech.

We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness.  God is the friend of silence.  See how nature – trees, flowers, grass – grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence…. We need silence to be able to touch souls.  ~Mother Teresa

Newness

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Hello friends. It has been a while since I sent my thoughts out into the universe. I missed it and I’ve missed you. In the time since completing 1984, I’ve made some pretty big changes in my life. Instead of lamenting my trials and tribulations of moving to a new city into a new apartment with new roommates to start a new job, I will leave you with some wisdom I gained along the way.

  1. In furnishing your new bedroom, do not overestimate the strength of your muscles or underestimate the steepness of the stairs.
  2. If you neglect to purchase window curtains due to time and stinginess, remember that the people across the street can see you at all times–clothes or not. Welcome to the neighborhood.
  3. When attending a company picnic on the Sunday before work, assume you will get mistaken for your boss’s wife. Welcome to the company.
  4. Always stop for pedestrians. And their little dogs.
  5. When exploring a new health food grocery store, BRING A LIST. Or leave an hour later feeling extremely overwhelmed, carrying only a stick of organic deodorant and a bag of organic whole wheat penne on sale.
  6. Sign up for the customer shopper cards at every grocery store you find. It makes you feel like a local even if four separate employees stopped you in produce because they thought you needed help.
  7. Locate the caffeinated tea or coffee maker in the office. Or suffer the consequences of the 2:00pm lull. While your boss is speaking.
  8. Only cook a casserole you really enjoy eating. Because it will be your lunch and dinner for the next 7 days.
  9. Remind people you are living in a new city, trying to navigate the working world. You will get a lot of sympathetic head nods and free drinks (in theory).
  10. When in doubt, smile. It’s way cheaper than…everything else right now.

Granted, I’ve only been at work for three days (all training) and moved in only two days before that. My mom, my dad, and the old hitchhiker my dad picked up are the only people who have ridden in my “new” ’98 Subaru Forester. My personal budgeting sheet is a template I downloaded online and don’t know how to use. In absence of my mature wisdom, I will leave you with a quote by Victor Kiam.

Even if you fall on your face, you’re still moving forward. 

Motivational? Perhaps. Realistic? Definitely.

Reading the Classics

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George Orwell’s 1984 was one of those classics I had never read, just one of the countless books that escaped my summer reading list, my high school syllabus from year to year, and my desire to explore another outdated work of literature. While visiting some college friends last weekend, we got on the topic of the famous classic novels and when my friend recommended 1984, I decided it was worth a try. Plus, a couple of movie versions had been made in case I couldn’t get past the second page.

The small paperback copy was covered in dust when I extracted it from the shadowy depths of my basement. I turned the yellowed pages with care–my mother’s textbook from 1970–and wondered how such a small and dated book could possibly have relevance to modern society. My predictions could not have been more wrong.

The story follows Winston, a middle-aged man living in a negative utopia of Oceania. Oceania is controlled by the Party and symbolized by an idealized figurehead referred to as Big Brother. The mustache-ed face of the leader is plastered on billboards, buildings and walls across the city of London. Winston’s every movement and facial expression is closely monitored. At work, it is by his co-workers. At home, it is through the telescreen that remains on day and night. Winston struggles to remember life before the Party and begins to reject the Party’s key slogans: WAR IS PEACE, FREEDOM IS SLAVERY, and IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH. Winston’s internal dialogue against the Party and quest for love develops into a dark and unforeseeable search for truth and reality.

The content is deceptively heavy and forces the reader to think way beyond a fluffy summer read. The book was published just after World War II and the rise of both Hitler and Stalin. I was pulled into a world Orwell created and couldn’t help but notice the parallels to our society today. Have we become emotional slaves blindly following the majority, repeating accepted ideologies, and repressing knowledge of repeated history for the illusions of conformity? I stayed awake reading until the clock glowed 1:40am and I was forced to remove myself from the internal struggles of Winston in exchange for unsettled sleep.

Orwell did not write a book to predict the year 1984 or 2000 or 2012. He wrote a warning to people of every era by creating a plausible future within slightly altered circumstances. In a world where war is constant, freedom of thought is removed and the Thought Police governs our every movement, passion, love and creativity are null and void. We as humans cannot let allow this to happen. Now or ever.

Read 1984 and tell me you agree. Or tell me you don’t. Such is the power of freedom of thought.

George Orwell’s 1984

The Linchpin to Your Own Creative Habit

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Recently I met a woman struggling to decide her next career path. She was significantly older than I was, mid-50’s, and currently unemployed. To get her bachelors degree, this woman went to school full-time, worked in New York City, and made time to pick up her son from college when he needed to come home. Now as an experienced financial analyst, she is working part-time filing papers and doing little better than minimum wage. I was struck by the failure of her determined work ethic and “keep-my-head-down” kind of attitude, trying to make ends meet. In my opinion, she had worked hard and deserved  better opportunities without needing to worry about relocating back to New York or planning for retirement.

This one woman’s story is all too common. In the current job market, both young college graduates and middle-aged professionals find themselves in the same position– unemployed. I have friends who spend hours online, combing through job listings and tweaking cover letters, sending their career futures deep inside the Internet’s black hole. Unlike opportunities in the past, hard work and good grades just aren’t enough. Employers are looking for something more.

I recent read two seemingly different books that address this problem in very similar ways. Seth Godin’s book Linchpin: Are You Indispensable, discusses the changing business market through a how-to guide toward becoming an indispensable employee in any company or career opportunity. Godin defines a linchpin as an individual who functions as an essential part of their organization or business without necessarily identifiable job responsibilities. Linchpins accomplish tasks without waiting to be asked, assigned or directed. They think outside the normal confines of “no,” “too difficult” or “status quo”. Godin reminds us that while it may appear only the smartest and the best can attain such a coveted linchpin position, every individual has the power to create and make a change. At a time when the market is obsessed with cheaper and faster, Seth Godin argues companies need more creativity and art in order for success.

The second book is written by Twyla Tharp, titled The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It For Life. Her how-to book explores the ways to work your creative muscles, to create and explore around the mental blocks all artists face at one time or another. Tharp approaches artistic creation from a dancer’s point of view but uses personal experiences and everyday exercises translatable in any medium of creative thought and design. Choreographing a dance is not easy and it is never easy. But the awareness of that struggle and ability to move beyond is one reason why any art (painting, engineering, carpentry) is such as essential part of the human spirit.

Both Godin and Tharp share a wholehearted faith in the power of the creative mind. Creativity, unlike hard work and following the rules, is constantly evolving and requires present, complex thought. In my mind these authors’ unique philosophies present us with a challenge. Approach your current or future job as if you are an invaluable and intelligent asset; one with the knowledge and creative insight to see opportunity and make a revolutionary change. Picture how interesting your job would be. Granted, there will always be assignments and deadlines that cannot be changed. Some paperwork must be completed regardless of your insight and ingenuity. A creative linchpin, however, looks for the moments of challenge and improvisation to create something new, something the world cannot believe it has previously lived without. The world may be waiting for you.

Also read: Forbes’ The Key Missing Ingredient In Leadership Today

Trials and Tribulations of Apartment Hunting

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In many romantic relationships, moving in together is considered the next BIG step. Maybe the guy asks the girl spontaneously after dinner on a Wednesday night or the couple decides paying rent for two apartments just doesn’t make sense anymore. Either way, the commitment is the relationship is magnified: requiring prolonged decision-making, nice dinners and a trustworthy hardware store individual who can make an extra copy of the apartment key. Now compare this to the last month of my life–the blind housing search, without a significant other or help from bland college roommate surveys, in a city I have never lived with future friends I have never met. How are they similar? They aren’t.  House hunting is a mad dash of bedroom musical chairs. When the music stops and your job begins, one can only hope there is a house, an apartment, or a soft futon to call your own.

In lieu of renting an apartment with my non-existent boyfriend, I developed an unhealthy addiction to craigslist in the hopes that the perfect person would need a housemate and a new best friend. My requirements were few and far between. Affordable monthly rent. Acceptable driving distance to my job. Living breathing person with heartbeat. Turns out those requirements were a little too vague.

I dragged my best friend along for my first six apartment dates to see the places and meet my potential new roommates. The majority of these apartment owners were male, significantly older, and had strange obsessions with board games, knitting, and obscure music. One bathroom had a rich history- it had once been a distillery during Prohibition- and the tub and linoleum floor hadn’t been cleaned since alcohol became legal. We also met the drummer from the Number 1 Jimmy Buffett cover band (so many bongos), received an offer to stay for homemade penne a la vodka, and consoled a woman with recently bad housemate history. On one hand, seeing potential homes was exciting, a snapshot into the lives of complete strangers. But the stark reality that I would have to choose one of these places and people to live with for the next year was humbling. I remained hopeful despite the number of older single men with a spare bedroom and my depressingly limited stipend from my upcoming fellowship.

And now I am thrilled to say that I finally found a place. It took over 50 emails, voicemails, and house walkthroughs but I have a bedroom and a duplex to call my own. Both women, age 26 and 28, are kind, reasonable, and totally responsible. One of them is even a vegetarian and I look forward to sharing meals with her every now and then. I must thank craigslist for providing me with a source of house-hopping entertainment while I shopped for the right place and the right people. Now all I need is a bed, dresser, desk, and a car to transport me there.

This growing up thing is a lot of work. 

College Grad: Permission to Wander

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“Not all who wander are lost.” J.R.R. Tolkien. 

I found this quote scrawled on one of my father’s shirt this morning as I was hanging clothes. (Yes, sometimes I do chores). The words part of a larger quote from the Lord of the Rings, stuck with me. I found myself wondering, “How many college graduates leave school with the intention to wander, to see and explore, throwing longterm plans and cares to the wind?”

Engineering firms, Peace Corps, communication agencies, Teach for America, graduate school–hiring the best and the brightest. Many of my college friends have already solidified jobs, fellowships, and placement in graduate programs with a clear start toward their career path. They seem so ready, hungry for the chance to make a change, make money and make a difference. Have they postponed their opportunity to wander?

I can’t blame them. I too got swept up in the wave of applications, interviews and “See resume attached” e-mail bodies. During finals week, I accepted an offer from Center for EcoTechnology, a one-year fellowship position doing residential environmental outreach. I have a plan. Helping people save energy in Massachusetts. Finally I can hold my head high and say, “Yes I do have a plan after graduation” at awkward family gatherings.

Now, in just over a month I will begin in a new town with a new job and a new start. Craigslist is my new bookmark favorite as I search for apartments, a used car and available items to furnish my hypothetical new bedroom. I’ve tried to remember the last new friend I’ve made, how exactly strangers move from the awkward initial encounter to texting pals and Friday night plans. Am I settling for a short-term organized plan instead of wandering, exploring the unknown outside of academia? I don’t know. Maybe the act of wandering is more of a mindset anyway. One can only fear the fear of being lost.

Post-Grad just came on TV. Time to watch someone else struggle with life after college.

Passenger Seat Experiences

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It’s been almost a week since I left the small farm in New Jersey, waving to the kids as they ran alongside the car. The “Welcome Katelyn” poster, which had hung on my bedroom door, was tucked into the backseat with messages scribbled into colored markers. I could still taste the cake Ellie baked as a goodbye surprise the night before. Yellow with purple frosting. Henry wanted to eat the piece with the K so Katelyn would be in his stomach.

I took a picture at the farm before leaving–a newly formed WWOOFer tradition. The sheep and goats were camera-shy, skirting just outside the lens of the camera. Rosie, the goose, was the only one willing to pose with me after nibbling at my fingers and pants. I was glad to have some physical documentation of my time on the farm. Ei-ei-o.

The day after I came home, I found myself outside aggressively weeding the overgrown garden near the garage. There was little to nothing salvageable: some flowers and a small pine tree that spouted itself between the long green weeds. I pulled, raked, cut, sliced and relocated two yellow-spotted salamander before the ground was ready to be planted. I surveyed my handiwork with pride. My last two weeks of routine put to the test.

Last night I pulled up Janelle’s bread recipe and followed the directions, mixing flour, salt, and yeast together before letting the dough sit on the counter while I slept. In the morning, I pulled the sticky consistency from the bowl dusting the majority of the kitchen with flour before sliding the steaming loaf out of the oven. Golden crust just like I remembered.

We meet people all the time, those who share our lives for a couple of brief moments or for long years extended from childhood. It’s all too easy to push the gas petal and drive along without stopping to look back and think about the places we’ve been and the people we left. Incorporating past experiences, recipes, gardening tips or favorite jokes can keep those memories in the passenger seat instead of disappearing into the image reflected in the rearview mirror. Thank you Wilkinson family for your warmth, knowledge, and kindness that will follow with me along the road toward the future. 

Finding a New Occupation

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The morning after college graduation, I packed up the remaining items still lingering in my bedroom, closet, and refrigerator before hugging quick goodbyes and heading home. There had been little to no time with which to process the last 24 hours: picnics, final grades, department lunches, and graduation itself complete with unyielding summer heat and 800+ black mortar boards suspended against the clear blue sky. We listened to our president congratulate us, his words reflected in the beaming smiles of our parents sitting nearby. There was a flurry of clapping, sitting, standing and clutching our shiny new diplomas as we moved into the position of Bucknell alumni. 

We smiled for what seemed like days, posed arm in arm those who mattered most in these short four years. People who evolved from nervous freshmen strangers to close friends and devoted confidants. I glanced hesitantly from face to face, their eyes reflecting my own dazed bewilderment. Had this moment come already? We were still recovering from Senior Week, a haze of lazy beach days, strong mixed drinks and skinny-dipping escapades. The sheer weight and finality of graduation was light against the horizon that had not yet dawned. No one had mentally prepared for the last memory of college life. Not a chance.

So I sat in the waiting room on Monday morning filling out new patient forms and pretending my life was going on as usual. Just another summer break. I scribbled in health insurance information, name, and date of birth as the rain beaded along the windows outside. Suddenly I froze, unable to answer the question just after the phone number, before the contact information. The line read: Occpation ___________. 

Now in another circumstance, it would be humorous to note that the individual writing up these new patient form had an occupation that did not include spelling or spell-check. At that moment however, I could only look blankly at the paper trying desperately to think of a suitable answer. When that failed I did what any self-respecting college graduate would do. Ask Mom.

Me: “Mom, what do I put under this line?”

Mom: “Put student of course. Wait….Oh.”

And there it was. Not 24 hours after graduation and already I was confronted with the very apparent reality that I was no longer a student. I had been unfairly accosted without any defense against the form’s incorrectly spelled inquiry. What is my new identity? Where do I belong? 

Transitions are never easy and I expect questions like occpation will continue in varying degrees over the next couple months. The life of a college graduate lacks all elements of routine, tradition and certainty. After high school, I followed my four-year plan along a paved road of sophomoric confidence. But that road has ended and I am left standing at the shore, beyond which lies an endless abyss of water and waves.

I waver unsteadily, counting the days when the sunlight touches the horizon and I can call out, “Land ho!” 

Final Finals Week

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The end of the semester is a whirlwind. The last day of classes, a time for celebration, is short-lived. Finals week looms overhead like a dark thundercloud that releases a torrent of battered GPAs and hastily packed belongings. Students spend time hunched over flashcards or perched for hours in the corners of the library, face illuminated by gray computer screens. Long sleepless nights are fueled by espresso shots, unplanned naps, and fierce adrenaline only the fear of a failing grade can produce. As exams finish and the days accumulate, short tearful goodbyes are heard through the halls and across the quad. A common phrase “the last” becomes attached to thoughts and actions so seemingly mundane activities hold increased importance. The last time I’ll see you before going abroad. The last time we’ll live on the same freshmen hall. The last time I’ll eat in the caf.

I almost missed the subtle difference between the end of this semester and semesters in the past. The papers, exams, and expectations were the same. The cups of coffee and time spent furiously revising the perfect conclusion paragraph reflected any other finals week. I watched my underclassmen friends pack up their SUVs and move futons from their cramped dorm rooms into storage units for the summer months. Yet whenever I attached “the last” to a completed activity, the weight of my words hung heavy  as they slipped into the air.

Approximately 43 minutes ago, I emailed my final assignment off to my professor.

“I have attached my personal reflection. Thanks for a great semester. -Katelyn”

And that was it. I would be lying if I told you a fanfare sounded or a chorus of voices floated through my open bedroom window. The only confirmation I received signifying the end of my 19 year academic career was a Gmail text box. Your message has been sent. Time to move on.

Tomorrow I will pack up and travel with four best friends to Hilton Head, South Carolina for a 7-day extravaganza affectionately known as “Senior Week.” This migration happens across the campus as people pack up and drive down south for one last hurrah. This is the time for reliving the past four years of our undergraduate experience with strong drinks and stronger friendships. It will be glorious and fleeting– a beautiful sunset that disappears as soon as the camera lens clicks into focus.

So bottoms up to the last of many things and the first of many more. Image  

Bigfoot’s Birthday Celebration

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Five weeks ago, on February 14th, I celebrated a very special day. I dressed in red, ate chocolate covered strawberries, and ended the night with a glass or two of red wine at the bar with three close friends. Each of us were there for the same reason, to pay tribute to a mystical idea which deserves yearly recognition. This event was Bigfoot’s Birthday.

Now some may have celebrated Valentine’s Day, a lesser known holiday having something to do with a saint, construction paper, and half eaten heart-shaped boxes of stale chocolates. For the majority of us though, Bigfoot’s birthday was just another reminder of how a wonderfully hairy individual has continued to elude the majority of us for one more year. And while Bigfoot Birthday cards have not hit Hallmark shelves, be on the lookout for some incredible party ideas.

The idea for Bigfoot’s Birthday started while eating dinner on February 13th. Many people are sick of the love conversation. They are angered that one day a year they must be reminded on how alone they are, how the whole world is sharing cupcakes and holding hands as starry-eyed lovers. I paused the conversation to disagree.

“For me, the way I feel about love is like the way I feel about Bigfoot. I’ve personally never seen him, but he doesn’t make me angry or anything. Maybe he’s real, maybe he’s not. So Valentine’s Day is like Bigfoot’s Birthday. Even if you don’t know it’s real, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t celebrate.”

And Bigfoot’s Birthday was born. Granted, Valentine’s Day was a couple of weeks ago and many of you may be disappointed that you did not know about this holiday alternative. Never fear! Another benefit about Bigfoot’s Birthday is the speculation as the actual day. To my knowledge, no exact date has been determined which means every day is cause for celebration. So put on a hairy brown suit, turn on Animal Planet’s Finding Bigfoot, and clink glasses in honor of the camera-shy natural beauty.