College Reflections

This week is a crazy week for me. I’m writing this blog post while my students take their final exam for “Intro to Christian Thought.”(Yaaay multitasking). I literally just finished grading their final papers, and now I will have to grade their exams and submit final grades. In case that pretext wasn’t enough, I am teaching a course for Simpson College this semester. Thankfully, I have the best full-time job in the world with UnityPoint Hospice, and they gave me their blessing to do both.

I’ve taught classes for Simpson before, but this is the first semester where I taught at the Indianola Campus. (Usually, I teach at their Ankeny satellite location). Actually working on campus- the place where I completed my own undergraduate degree 8 years ago- has caused me to reflect upon the distance that I feel from my own college experience.

I always received the implicit message that college was going to be the best years of my life. For whatever reason, it seemed as though people consistently told me that college would basically be the climax of living. High school would be fun, for sure, but college was where things would really come together. You would have so much freedom…you would learn so many new things…you would meet the best friends of your life…you would have fun all the time…it seemed as though college was described as this amazing utopia. And then, the other underlying message was that life kind of…sucked…after college. After college, you had to have responsibilities. Life would be dull. Your job would suck your soul. You wouldn’t have much of a social life. As a result of this message, I was terrified to graduate college. 

However…here’s the thing. I DID love my time at Simpson- I loved the people that I met and the experiences that I had. But I actually think that I am more content NOW in my life than I was in college! I’m sure there are some people that would disagree with this sentiment, but I also know of MANY others that agree that life actually gets better the OLDER we get. Which is a stark contradiction to the mainstream narrative that idolizes youth.

I LIKE being older and out of college for multiple reasons. First of all, I have a MUCH stronger sense of self. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was still so impressionable in college, and I needed other people’s affirmation so badly. I constantly wondered if I was doing “enough.” Was I studying ENOUGH? Was I having ENOUGH fun? Was I working ENOUGH? Was I exercising ENOUGH? I wanted so badly to embody every ideal college experience, and I could never live up to that impossible standard.  Additionally, college was so...overstimulating and extreme…all the time. I was either having the time of my life and feeling incredibly alive, or else I would be down in the dumps worrying about life. There wasn’t much of a stable middle ground.

I really love where I’m at now in life. I like my professional career- I’m running an entire hospice bereavement program, and I also teach a couple of classes per year for Simpson. I like having more downtime- I don’t like being stimulated ALL.THE.TIME. I like being able to read…do DIY projects around my house…and other solitary activities. I like having more time to pursue my hobbies- to pursue circus fitness, take art classes, go to sporting events, and cook actual meals. I like being able to more carefully choose my friends and how I spend my time socially.

 

To summarize my thoughts…As I’ve grown older, I think I've been able to find more meaning in life, and I am more confident in how I obtain this meaning. Additionally, I’m more balanced in how I spend my time and invest my energy. This doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate my college years or miss certain aspects of them; however, I feel very much relieved to be where I’m at right now.

I recognize that I’m still relatively young, and so I can’t necessarily speak to aging during other decades. Nevertheless, my encouragement to others is to value every phase of your life and to recognize that each phase is going to have its own unique benefits and challenges. When you are a little kid, there is value in having time to play and explore the world for the first time. However, that doesn’t mean that being a kid doesn’t have its own challenges- your freedom is consistently limited, you have to deal with social pressures, etc. Or, maybe you are 40 years old and raising children. I have no doubt that it’s likely very beautiful to participate in the creation and growth of another human being. Nevertheless, I also imagine that it’s frustrating to have so many responsibilities and to consistently negate your needs for the sake of another.

I write this blog post because I want it to serve as an anecdote that counters the dominant cultural narrative. We idolize youth, and the negative message against age is rampant. Anti-aging materials have completely saturated the consumer market. The people that we see in advertisements, movies, etc. tend to be young (less than 30). I also witness people try to live vicariously through someone that is in their college years/their 20’s, or else they speak wistfully of their own time in those decades. Instead of idolizing youth, my wish is that we would have a more nuanced perspective on ALL generations. Recognize the benefits and challenges of each phase of life, because believe me, they are there. I believe this perspective helps us simultaneously live in the past, present, AND future. We recognize the beauty of where we have been, we appreciate where we are, and we have confidence in knowing where we are going. 

Graceland

One thing I really dislike doing is talking or writing about myself. Therefore, I’m not going to do it and instead I’ll write about someone else! Because it’s easier and more fun! For this blog I’d like to write about my younger sister, Kristen – partly because I’d like to document a special time that I recently enjoyed with her and partly because I am really proud of her.

As you might know from following the blog or Kristen on Facebook, she moved to Tennessee shortly after she graduated last summer. She was accepted into Teach For America (TFA) and received her assignment teaching in an inner city school in Memphis. Her acceptance alone was something to be celebrated as the program only accepts roughly 10% of all applicants. Anyway, while many of her peers were probably moving back in with mom and dad or planning their party plans for the entire summer until they either went to graduate school or decided to look for a “real” job, Kristen packed up her shoddy car that she bought from our father and drove down to Memphis all by herself.

Fast forward about 6-7 months when I decided that I should visit my younger sister before I give birth to our first little bambino and circumstances make it just a wee bit harder to travel. I had been keeping up with Kristen and the struggles and joys she had experienced during her first 6 months of teaching through her daily snapchats, texts, and phone calls. I’d also been able to learn a little bit about the culture and history surrounding Memphis through her weekend adventures exploring the city or the way in which she started incorporating the local lingo into her own vocabulary. But, I wanted to experience some of all of this first hand so over President’s Day Weekend 2016 I, along with my best friend Naomi, made my first trip to the city of blues and barbeque.

Of course, any time that I spend with my sisters is going to be a good time. We could travel to one of the worst cities in the US for a vacation together and still have a good time exploring. However, I really enjoyed the city of Memphis. I’d been to Nashville numerous times as my first duty station was only 40 minutes from there and always enjoyed that city as well but Memphis was just different. I think its personality just fit me better. It seemed a bit more raw, more vulnerable, more genuine, and less touristy, less star struck. As I said above, part of the reason I wanted to write this blog was to document our time together in Memphis so here’s a quick recap of our adventures.

Naomi and I got there late on Thursday evening. Kristen picked us up from the airport and we didn’t really do much that night besides check out her apartment, meet her kitty named Libby, and hit the hay. Kristen had to work on Friday and Naomi and I were tired from traveling. Friday morning Kristen headed to work while we slept in, drank coffee, and took our time getting ready. After Naomi and I were ready for the day, we walked from Kristen’s apartment to downtown Memphis for breakfast. We found this cute little coffee shop called Tamp and Tap where I got a peanut butter and banana toast (in honor of Elvis!) and Naomi got a yummy spinach salad. After we finished, we called an Uber to take us to visit Kristen at her school.

Seeing Ms. Alesch at school was probably the highlight of my trip. From when we first entered the cafeteria at Fairly High School, it was extremely evident that her students respected and loved her. We couldn’t walk two steps in the lunch room without hearing, “Ms. Alesch!” And it was the same in her classroom. It also happened to be Valentine’s Day weekend so Ms. Alesch’s Spanish class was learning words related to love. One of the students wrote on the board, “Te amo (or yo quiero, I can’t remember) Ms. Alesch.” Naomi and I sat and observed in the back of the classroom while I admired my baby sister as she led the classroom with her genuine love for the students.

After school, Kristen gave us a quick driving tour of Memphis and then we went back to her apartment for a little while to philosophize about her students before we went to dinner that evening. For dinner, we had to try a BBQ place seeing as we were in the city of BBQ so we went to one of Kristen’s favorite places – Central BBQ. It was quite delicious and laid back. It was one of those places where you ordered at the counter and they brought your food out to your table. The food was really great but Kristen definitely picked the best thing off the menu when she ordered the BBQ nachos. I think we had big plans to go out after that but we were too tired so we just went home and decided to save Beale Street for the next night.

On Saturday morning, Kristen and I went to her Crossfit gym and squeezed in a pretty good partner workout. Much to Rocko’s chagrin, we completed a kickass amount of wall balls and other exercises while Naomi cheered. After showering, we then got breakfast at another cute joint downtown – Atomic Slim’s. Naomi and Kristen had plenty of mimosas and the food was delightful. Kristen and I split a plate of some of the best pancakes (again, peanut butter and banana in honor of Elvis) I have ever had.

With our bellies full, we proceeded to our next event of the day which was the Backbeat Mojo Tour! I had read about this tour in the New York Times and it was definitely worth it. The tour guide not only told you about the history of the city (much better history than Nashville in my opinion!) as you rode around in a bus, but he also sang songs and played his guitar to aid with the story telling. If you ever go to Memphis, I would highly recommend this tour! After the tour, we stopped in at the Peabody Hotel to view the ducks on parade. I’ll let you do the research but it’s basically a 90 year tradition that occurs daily at one of the nicest hotels in Memphis. While we waited we had coffee, tea, and cookies.

After the ducks on parade, we stopped for a drink on Beale Street. Obviously, a pregnant lady probably wasn’t the best guest to be taking to wild and crazy Beale Street but we went at 5pm and only had one drink and fried pickles. It was enough to experience some of the atmosphere and live music anyway. Maybe next time I visit Memphis, I’ll make more of a night of it. We then went to eat at the Memphis Pizza Café where I think we each ate an entire pizza because it was so good and we were hungry from touring all day.

Sunday was our last full day there. We started off the day at Graceland where I quickly fell in love with Elvis (Naomi and Kristen were already in love before the trip). I promptly understood the world’s fascination with the King and by the end of the tour found myself hoping the rumors of him still being alive were true. This is definitely a MUST SEE if you venture to Memphis. After Graceland we toured the National Civil Rights Museum, also a MUST SEE. During the tour, you get to see the exact room where Martin Luther King Jr. was staying at the Lorraine Motel when he was shot. It was a very humbling, somber experience and I shed some tears as I walked by his room. For dinner that night we went to one of Kristen’s favorite places, Babalu, for tapas and tacos. I could have eaten the tableside guacamole there for days but instead opted to get ice cream after dinner at a cute, local place called Sweet Noshings.

And that was it. Before we knew it, it was Monday morning and Kristen was dropping us off at the airport at 5am. We were sad to leave but left feeling content with our dose of Memphis culture and our hearts and memory banks were full of plenty of laughs and stories that I didn’t even get into for this blog.

Now for my second reason for writing this blog. As I said above, I’m extremely proud of Kristen and the woman that she has become. Without going into politics and regardless of your political views you’ve no doubt heard rhetoric this campaign season about electing a candidate who will work to decrease student loan debt, improve the economy so that college kids can get a job right after school instead of moving back in with mom and dad, or revamp the health care system in some way that would benefit you as the constituent. Again, I’m not going to get into politics here. I DO agree that there are flaws with all of the aforementioned systems. However, what I admire in Kristen and one of the reasons that I am so proud of her is that she has never expected anybody to fix her particular life situation for her. She has, for the most part, done it all herself. I think all of the Dissident Daughters will acknowledge that we are all certainly privileged in some ways and have been beyond blessed with the way we were raised and the gifts with which we were born. So I guess Kristen has not done it ALL by herself. But what I’m trying to acknowledge for this part is that she has had to overcome plenty despite her privilege and blessings. I thought about this each night that I stayed with her in her tiny, albeit adultish, definitely not a college dorm or bachelor pad, Memphis apartment.

Here was a young girl who could have just thrown her hands up after college about finding a job in “today’s economy”. Instead, she spent hours researching, applying, and interviewing for TFA. Here was a young girl who could have been too scared to move down to Memphis alone and instead moved back home with her mom. Instead, she packed up her lemon of a car, looked at a map, and just started driving. Here was a young girl who could have complained about repaying her student loan debt. Instead, she constantly asked for my advice and we worked on making her a budget. Here was a young girl who could have complained about being kicked off her parents’ health insurance at age 19. Instead, she worked her ass off to be able to join the military so that she could pay for their more affordable insurance on her own. Like I said, I am definitely not overlooking Kristen’s raw talent, blessings, and a little bit of privilege to be able to do all of this, nor am I saying that overcoming these things alone makes one “successful.” All I am saying is that she is one strong, young woman. I am proud of her and grateful to be experiencing her life journey with her.

Soccer Mom

Hi, everyone. Here I am kicking off Year 3 of the blog and I find myself stymied. I could regale you with the tale of how it took 5 hours to get our taxes done by a woman who knew less about taxes than I did. I could talk to you about my husband's statistics class that has dominated his time lately and has caused him to be able to only say, "This is awful," over and over and over. Or, perhaps the tantalizing topic of  how I couldn't find anchovy paste at Wal-Mart today. Yes, this is my life, at least this weekend it was.  And while i suspect you may have already stopped reading after that all-star line up, I will instead delight you with the tale of being the world's shittiest soccer mom.

My son, Trevor, is 7 (soon to be 8 on April 17). He started his spring soccer season this weekend. Prior to playing, however, we had to certify that we had completed an online tutorial called Alliance for All. It was eye opening for a few reasons. First, I was irritated that this sort of training for parents was even required. Basically, it was a module about sportsmanship and how parents could better support their children in sports instead of acting like spoiled entitled pricks. Okay, so it was said much nicer than my little summation but you get the gist. Despite my initial incredulity, this training is actually imperative because 70 percent of kids quit organized sports by the age of 14.  The reasons for this mass exit vary but some of the reasons given were it was too much about winning, they were embarrassed of their parents behavior and it just stopped being fun. This made me sad. It made me sad because the adults were guilty, at least in part, of ruining the kids' experience. 

Why would people choose to engage in such detrimental behavior I wondered.  What is it about our kids winning that drives otherwise normal people to turn into douches on the sidelines at a U8 soccer game? Honestly, a child's talent or lack thereof really does not reflect on the skill of the parenting he or she has had. Yet, parents act like if their kid is good at sports it somehow means they are good parents. Is that the reason? Because we are all looking for affirmative evidence that we aren't shitty parents? Yet in seeking that out, we cause ourselves to become the antithesis to what we wanted in the first place? 

Or is it because we have allowed our own lives to become so barren that the most important activity we have on out calenders is a U8 soccer game? I, for one, do not have a problem telling you that despite feeling guilty about it, I have tried to allow myself to keep some semblance of a life outside of my kids. It's not easy especially for an antisocial asshole like myself but I don't want to wake up one day and realize I lost completely lost myself while raising my kids.

These are both okay theories but something is missing. Is it human pride or greed? I can't out my finger on it but I experienced it this weekend. Maybe writing about it will help me figure out this craziness. I had to work the concession stand for two hours on the day of Trev's first game. If i had to work the place by myself, no problem. However, I had to work it with....wait for it.....THREE OTHER WOMEN. I know you would think that should be pretty inconsequential but I have a really hard time relating to other women, especially other mothers. Even though I'm a parent, endless talk of children bores me. So walking into a fully staffed concession stand at 10:50 in the morning took a shit ton of courage. It was here, in the grime-ridden confines of a particle board building, that I learned about "The Academy." 

What is The Academy, you ask? Well, I wondered that, too. Apparently, I was way behind the soccer times when kids just played soccer.  I guess if your child is deemed good enough, The Academy swoops in and recruits your child from the club league level. This means only the really crappy players remain in the club. It might as well be called Mediocre Madness or something. Getting called up to The Academy is a big deal apparently because one mom was super proud that her son got the call up at age 9 but she added she wasn't surprised because her son had been dribbling a size 1 soccer ball since he could walk. Trevor, in comparison, was still throwing himself down on the floor bawling like a siren at age 1. 

And that's when it happened. There it was. I was irritated Trevor wasn't Academy material. And if he wasn't Academy material then why should he play? And in that instant I understood that I could easily be a douche on the sidelines with this attitude. I could easily be a parent whose kid leaves sports at age 13 because of me. It wasn't sparked by feeling I would be a good parent if he was good at soccer. It wasn't sparked by the fact I don't have anything else going on. It was sparked by fear. Fear that my child won't be good enough because I'm not good enough. Fear that my child won't make it becase I'm not good enough. Fear that he will be a failure because, yep, you guessed it.... I'm not good enough. All because of the Academy nonsense that I didn't even know or care about until my stint in the concessions booth. But it wasn't really about Trevor being mediocre. It was about me and my fear that I am inadequate and not good enough. And I don't want that for my child. I want him to know he is good enough. He isn't like me. But I'm afraid he will be.

Our world has gotten so complicated and fear riddled. I'm guilty of succumbing to this mentality on occasion and particularly susceptible when I'm in a concessions booth apparently.  I'm guilty of worrying that deep down I'm not good enough and therefore my son won't be either. I think a lot of people feel this way although they may not be able or aware enough to admit it. The quicker the denial, the greater the truth I have always found. Anyway, because of this underlying fear of not being good enough,  we attribute anything we can as "evidence" our kids will grow up okay and be successful adults. Even ridiculous things like being called by the Academy at age 9.  I can't say the fear is ludicrous because the world is a competitive and unforgiving place at times. But it's also a beautiful and loving place at times too. And we have to fight against giving in to the former. Keep it in mind, be cognizant so it doesn't cut your legs out from under you, but don't choose it for your life or your kids' lives. Don't let your own insecurities dictate your kids' experience or life view. Rise above. Or at least keep it to yourself so your kids can make their own choices about life and what it is and what it looks like.

So in the end, I think that the fear of not being good enough is what is behind the truly atrocious behavior that is exhibited by parents during sporting events. How dare you think my kid isn't good enough? Because if they aren't good enough, maybe I'm not good enough and maybe we aren't going to make it.  And so we fight, we argue, we blame, we name call because we are trying to preserve the false sense of self we have hidden behind. Or, hell, maybe it's because we are just a bunch of assholes and I over thought this whole thing. But I really don't think so. Do you?