Then I graduated and joined the working world....and realized that only a few hours at a time was a luxury.
...but at least I don't have to do homework once I leave the office.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
perspective sucks
Once upon a time I thought it sucked when I had to leave a beautiful day to go inside for a couple of hours of class.
Then I graduated and joined the working world....and realized that only a few hours at a time was a luxury.
...but at least I don't have to do homework once I leave the office.
Then I graduated and joined the working world....and realized that only a few hours at a time was a luxury.
...but at least I don't have to do homework once I leave the office.
Monday, September 10, 2012
on collective sorrow
Something I read tonight suddenly jolted my memory---tomorrow is September 11th, tomorrow is the 11th anniversary of that...that day.
So many thoughts flood my consciousness at once.
First, that day, and my own memory of where I was, and the rush of realizing I was joining all the events in American history that sorrowfully joined the collective consciousness.
Second, a conversation in Spain, explaining to a French friend the difference between the political implications that came next versus the actual emotions that most Americans felt on that day, and will always feel when remembering.
I left my room (too many thoughts) and had a conversation with my housemate, D, who is 53 years old, and my attempts to understand what was going through my head were complemented by her thoughts melded with mine. She remembers watching the Challenger, and to me, it is a distant-vivid thought, just as the Kennedy shooting, that happened before I had life or memory. But her input expanded my understanding....I had never thought about the fact that the teacher astronaut had children who would have been watching as she, encased by a bullet in the sky, moved upward into glory (who wouldn't take the opportunity to go into space? You're as likely to die in the car...), only to be enveloped by flames. I didn't realize...that her kids literally watched her blow up. Just as the Kennedy's watched their father and husband (and the country watched their president) have his brains blown out.
Just as an entire country watched so many people have skyscrapers collapse upon and consume them.
Just as I watched (live) the second tower blow to flames and smoke as the second plane hit it.
Just as I heard Tom Brokaw say (painful realization that even the suave, composed newscaster was broken in that moment) "Oh my God".
So D and my conversation moved to space, and I thought of Neil Armstrong, and of nationalism, and of the good things that happen despite it, that are enveloped but not consumed.
Because I can't quite separate all those things....the raw emotion and pain I feel when I remember September 11th, every time I think of that day and shut it out because it hurts (to the point that I didn't remember it was tomorrow, don't think I ever want to remember), versus the understanding that it was used and twisted for nationalism and for excuses, and that it bears to much of the non-American world the sense of taint that comes with excuses for belligerence and pugnacity.
I can't think about the day without the bad and the bad, those two things. And when I think about myself thinking about them, I become self-aware and wonder if I'm selfish. What about the people who lost people to the attacks, to the flames, to the steel, to the planes? What would they think of my thoughts?
As a part of the collective consciousness, this all-American "I remember where I was when...", I don't know what to think about that. It feels good to belong, honestly. It felt good in high school when we broke it down, when a teacher remembered where he was when Kennedy was shot. But it feels guilty to associate that feeling with "good"... It's a sense of belonging, and despite having spent a lot of time rejecting nationalism, I have realized that I am an American, culturally and in other senses, and I can't help that, and I don't need to be ashamed of it. So belonging to another bit of culture is just a part of it...and it doesn't lessen the sense of sorrow I feel for the people who lost people to the attacks. It just means that I'm trying to be aware of it for what it is....a part of collective cultural conscious. So I'm overwhelmed remembering that day, and imagining the horrific deaths and struggles, and the horrendous mourning afterward for those left behind....and I am ashamed at the nationalism that allowed for xenophobia, because the women and children and men who loved those terrorists must also have experienced sorrow.
But just as we felt justified in going to an undefined War against Terror because it hurt so much to have our people burnt and crushed in towers of steel, those people felt justified to attack people they viewed as cruel, systematic imperialists. So what do I do? What does anyone do? All I can think is to deal with the thoughts and emotions as they come, recognize things for what they are, and hope that I understand something about myself each time and will keep working toward a better world.
So, about an hour away from the beginning of the 11th anniversary of a terribly sad day, I want to get rid of the baggage and guilt and anger. Once upon a time, a baby Century was disrupted for a nation that had forgotten what it was like to be disrupted, and it is a day that I think I will mourn, when it comes, until I die.
And I hope that the people who lost people to that day have found that life is a journey bringing them healing and new meaning, and that the day does not overwhelm them.
So many thoughts flood my consciousness at once.
First, that day, and my own memory of where I was, and the rush of realizing I was joining all the events in American history that sorrowfully joined the collective consciousness.
Second, a conversation in Spain, explaining to a French friend the difference between the political implications that came next versus the actual emotions that most Americans felt on that day, and will always feel when remembering.
I left my room (too many thoughts) and had a conversation with my housemate, D, who is 53 years old, and my attempts to understand what was going through my head were complemented by her thoughts melded with mine. She remembers watching the Challenger, and to me, it is a distant-vivid thought, just as the Kennedy shooting, that happened before I had life or memory. But her input expanded my understanding....I had never thought about the fact that the teacher astronaut had children who would have been watching as she, encased by a bullet in the sky, moved upward into glory (who wouldn't take the opportunity to go into space? You're as likely to die in the car...), only to be enveloped by flames. I didn't realize...that her kids literally watched her blow up. Just as the Kennedy's watched their father and husband (and the country watched their president) have his brains blown out.
Just as an entire country watched so many people have skyscrapers collapse upon and consume them.
Just as I watched (live) the second tower blow to flames and smoke as the second plane hit it.
Just as I heard Tom Brokaw say (painful realization that even the suave, composed newscaster was broken in that moment) "Oh my God".
So D and my conversation moved to space, and I thought of Neil Armstrong, and of nationalism, and of the good things that happen despite it, that are enveloped but not consumed.
Because I can't quite separate all those things....the raw emotion and pain I feel when I remember September 11th, every time I think of that day and shut it out because it hurts (to the point that I didn't remember it was tomorrow, don't think I ever want to remember), versus the understanding that it was used and twisted for nationalism and for excuses, and that it bears to much of the non-American world the sense of taint that comes with excuses for belligerence and pugnacity.
I can't think about the day without the bad and the bad, those two things. And when I think about myself thinking about them, I become self-aware and wonder if I'm selfish. What about the people who lost people to the attacks, to the flames, to the steel, to the planes? What would they think of my thoughts?
As a part of the collective consciousness, this all-American "I remember where I was when...", I don't know what to think about that. It feels good to belong, honestly. It felt good in high school when we broke it down, when a teacher remembered where he was when Kennedy was shot. But it feels guilty to associate that feeling with "good"... It's a sense of belonging, and despite having spent a lot of time rejecting nationalism, I have realized that I am an American, culturally and in other senses, and I can't help that, and I don't need to be ashamed of it. So belonging to another bit of culture is just a part of it...and it doesn't lessen the sense of sorrow I feel for the people who lost people to the attacks. It just means that I'm trying to be aware of it for what it is....a part of collective cultural conscious. So I'm overwhelmed remembering that day, and imagining the horrific deaths and struggles, and the horrendous mourning afterward for those left behind....and I am ashamed at the nationalism that allowed for xenophobia, because the women and children and men who loved those terrorists must also have experienced sorrow.
But just as we felt justified in going to an undefined War against Terror because it hurt so much to have our people burnt and crushed in towers of steel, those people felt justified to attack people they viewed as cruel, systematic imperialists. So what do I do? What does anyone do? All I can think is to deal with the thoughts and emotions as they come, recognize things for what they are, and hope that I understand something about myself each time and will keep working toward a better world.
So, about an hour away from the beginning of the 11th anniversary of a terribly sad day, I want to get rid of the baggage and guilt and anger. Once upon a time, a baby Century was disrupted for a nation that had forgotten what it was like to be disrupted, and it is a day that I think I will mourn, when it comes, until I die.
And I hope that the people who lost people to that day have found that life is a journey bringing them healing and new meaning, and that the day does not overwhelm them.
Hello, Fall
I made this a week or so ago, and for some reason just left it on the computer. I think I forgot that I had a blog, briefly. So here you go, internet. Yet another thing that my head thought was funny enough to put into picture form. Actually, I imagined a whole scene of these, with Miss Steak walking away from all manners of mashed meats...."What am I, Haggis"? "What am I, Morcilla?" Eventually, I have a feeling that she will meet Bacon (meat bacon?) and never look back.
It felt like fall yesterday, and when I was on my way to work today. Right now I don't know how it feels, because I am inside. But I assume it is still marvelous.
The thing about North Carolina is that I no longer feel I can get excited about the cooler days and start thinking that the weather has shifted and Fall is here, because they last two seconds before another set of hot days come. Fall consists of a handful of perfect weather, then mostly a mixture of hot and humid (summer just will not give up the ghost) and torrential rain days. Then all of a sudden it's winter. Which, last year it wasn't really even ever winter...which was disappointing because the only reason there should be cold weather is if it is truly cold and I can wear all my cute tights and winter coats and not feel sweaty.
The other thing about North Carolina is that locals love to complain about the weather. Which cracks me up...we all know it's dang humid and miserable and buggy in the summer, but people seem to savor the right to complain about it.
Probably time to end this break and keep doing important stuff, like looking out the window and wishing I wasn't at work.
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