I love love love watching the Olympics. There is so much passion and so many narratives packed into each sporting event, and the stakes are always high. The underachieving kid who opened up through skiing, the skater whose win will justify her coach's losses, the athlete who will champion on just two days after her mother's death -- there is something so human and relatable about the people who compete. Nations band together to support their athletes, but even if the competition is fierce, the general sense of goodwill is ever-present.
Watching the Games also makes me a little bit wistful, though. The reason why kids love athletes and look up to them so much, George Clooney's character said once upon a time, is because they went after their dreams.
The reason why athletes are so revered in society is because they're doing what most college grads working in cubicles can only dream of doing -- they made their hobby the main event. They train for 48-hours weeks. Stretching, sprinting, skating -- that's their job. How incredible does that sound?
In running into people from all different backgrounds in New York, working in a myriad of fields, I feel so fortunate to be able to respond immediately when people ask "Do you like what you do?"
I do.
I think being surrounded by journalists and writers all the time can blur my concept of what it means to do what you love. Journalists may have chosen their profession for a number of reasons, but money wasn't likely one of them. This automatically means that the vast majority of journalists aren't at their job just to "pay the bills" -- they must (and usually do) get a great deal of joy from their work.
It sure isn't on par with Olympic athletes, but working in the journalism field is a little bit like making it into that small demographic of dream-catchers. You put up with the instability, the long hours and the insane projects because you love every minute of it, and realize that living your dream is a most indescribable rush. Then you spend the rest of your life trying to tell others (by means of stories, written or told) how amazing and exhausting your job is.
It's a pretty great narrative.
23 February 2010
15 February 2010
14 February 2010
Plans, A-Zed
Having a Plan B is more harmful than helpful in the long run. True or false? I've been thinking a bit about this, and about whether my conclusions to this query are even valid given that I'm coming from a (largely) unrealistic mindset, one wherein I have the privilege of having a "rich man's troubles."
By this, I mean that having the option to pursue something I want to do in life is a luxury. I realize this all too well. Not everyone is blessed with the opportunity of choice. For most of the world, it's sink or swim. If you don't like what you're doing, tough noogies because someone has to make money to support the household, and your happiness comes secondary after security.
But in the grand scope of things, does having a back-up plan actually harm you, regardless of whether or not it's practical? Having a back-up to anything is like subconsciously telling yourself that the first option won't work out. Why would you need a second choice if the first one is the right one?
Choice, I think, can seriously hinder our ability to adapt (and I can't tell yet if this is a good or bad thing...am currently trying to think through it). Our Plan A is always going to be that dream, that almost-out-of-reach goal that we strive to attain. It's our Plan A because it's what we would want in a perfect world, be it a career, a relationship, or a life path, and moreover, it's that thrill of the chase that makes it a Plan A. Our Plan B is always something that we're willing to settle for, that we agree upon with a "Well, that wouldn't be so bad."
And not to say that this is necessarily a bad thing, but realistically speaking (ha!), this is like saying that you didn't have the persistence, the passion or the patience to see Plan A all the way through. You opted to take an easier path and will likely spend your energy justifying it to yourself. Having options means never having to change and adapt, and if life isn't about changing or adapting, then what is it about?
Learning is never supposed to happen in comfort. Plan B represents stability, safety and sometimes...stagnation. Growing up and being in your 20s is about pursuing Plan A. I remember that line from "Up in the Air," when Clooney's Ryan Bingham told his firee (guy he was firing, I'm sure that's a word somehow...) that the reason why kids admire athletes so much is because they followed their dreams. There's a dignity and a drama to that.
When people tell me to be "realistic" or ask about whether or not my job is "real," I never know how to respond. I am being realistic. So were and are all the people who have been able to create their own definitions of reality. If you don't like something, change it. And to me, having a "real" job is not tied to the definition of clocking in and clocking out as per "standard." A "real" job doesn't have to be one that you're miserable at -- I think the idea that someone would actually like going into work is counterintuitive to most; it was also considered abnormal to "like" homework, wasn't it?
But in moving to New York, I meet people who love their work just as often as I meet those who detest it. And to me, I know which group I want to fall into. The goal was never to settle into something comfortable. The goal was always to learn and live fully every day. Maybe this is naive, but that's my Plan A.
And I don't know or really care to have a Plan B past that.
By this, I mean that having the option to pursue something I want to do in life is a luxury. I realize this all too well. Not everyone is blessed with the opportunity of choice. For most of the world, it's sink or swim. If you don't like what you're doing, tough noogies because someone has to make money to support the household, and your happiness comes secondary after security.
But in the grand scope of things, does having a back-up plan actually harm you, regardless of whether or not it's practical? Having a back-up to anything is like subconsciously telling yourself that the first option won't work out. Why would you need a second choice if the first one is the right one?
Choice, I think, can seriously hinder our ability to adapt (and I can't tell yet if this is a good or bad thing...am currently trying to think through it). Our Plan A is always going to be that dream, that almost-out-of-reach goal that we strive to attain. It's our Plan A because it's what we would want in a perfect world, be it a career, a relationship, or a life path, and moreover, it's that thrill of the chase that makes it a Plan A. Our Plan B is always something that we're willing to settle for, that we agree upon with a "Well, that wouldn't be so bad."
And not to say that this is necessarily a bad thing, but realistically speaking (ha!), this is like saying that you didn't have the persistence, the passion or the patience to see Plan A all the way through. You opted to take an easier path and will likely spend your energy justifying it to yourself. Having options means never having to change and adapt, and if life isn't about changing or adapting, then what is it about?
Learning is never supposed to happen in comfort. Plan B represents stability, safety and sometimes...stagnation. Growing up and being in your 20s is about pursuing Plan A. I remember that line from "Up in the Air," when Clooney's Ryan Bingham told his firee (guy he was firing, I'm sure that's a word somehow...) that the reason why kids admire athletes so much is because they followed their dreams. There's a dignity and a drama to that.
When people tell me to be "realistic" or ask about whether or not my job is "real," I never know how to respond. I am being realistic. So were and are all the people who have been able to create their own definitions of reality. If you don't like something, change it. And to me, having a "real" job is not tied to the definition of clocking in and clocking out as per "standard." A "real" job doesn't have to be one that you're miserable at -- I think the idea that someone would actually like going into work is counterintuitive to most; it was also considered abnormal to "like" homework, wasn't it?
But in moving to New York, I meet people who love their work just as often as I meet those who detest it. And to me, I know which group I want to fall into. The goal was never to settle into something comfortable. The goal was always to learn and live fully every day. Maybe this is naive, but that's my Plan A.
And I don't know or really care to have a Plan B past that.
12 February 2010
09 February 2010
Corrective vision
One of the simplest, but most poignant questions I've ever had posed to me was this:
"How do you SEE the world?"
At the time, I was sitting in an auditorium full of admitted students in SGM at USC, all 17 and 18-year-old seniors looking to leave the constraints of high school and eagerly tromping ahead into the next big chapter of their lives.
"How do you SEE the world?"
At that point in our (still-young) maturation, sight had everything to do with what you saw and not how you interpreted it. I remember thinking, when the professor at the front of the room planted this kernel of thought in my brain, that I didn't understand. I SAW what was set before me. Isn't that what sight is all about? From a young age, you learn to see and appreciate the details of the things you come across -- ask any high school graduate to describe for you a wintry scene, write a paragraph about the intricacies of the human heart, or dissect the strokes of a Monet painting, and (with much grumbling) it can be done.
But ask that same student to tell you HOW they see the world, whether it be in pockets of patterns, numbers and figures, or abstract concepts, and he wouldn't be able to tell you. Until I heard that question thrust so casually into the air, I hadn't ever stopped to think about my own frame of vision.
"HOW do you see the world?"
The significance of this question was, of course, many-fold, but perhaps the most important reason she posed the question was for direction. In answering, or attempting to answer, that question, we would each gain insight into our talents, our expectations, our future; what made us tick.
Those who see the world in terms of numbers and figures -- measuring days in minutes, achievements in points -- would be well-suited for careers in engineering, accounting, finance, something wherein their measure of success can be determined by a given point system.
Those who see the world in patterns, series of events, would probably fare best in history or literature, a profession wherein their contributions would come from a big-picture mentality.
And those who think in abstract concepts, pinpointing various elements of their everyday lives as significant and looping in philosophy and sociology -- those are the crazies, the revolutionaries.
So many paths, all beginning with a renewed definition of sight. I think about that question a lot these days, about how I SEE the world, because I know with each new experience I take one step closer to an as-yet fuzzy definition of sight. How I see the world will determine how I can contribute to it, though I can't truly see the world until I've become a part of it.
It's a paradox, that.
"How do you SEE the world?"
"HOW do you see the world?"
"How do you SEE the world?"
At the time, I was sitting in an auditorium full of admitted students in SGM at USC, all 17 and 18-year-old seniors looking to leave the constraints of high school and eagerly tromping ahead into the next big chapter of their lives.
"How do you SEE the world?"
At that point in our (still-young) maturation, sight had everything to do with what you saw and not how you interpreted it. I remember thinking, when the professor at the front of the room planted this kernel of thought in my brain, that I didn't understand. I SAW what was set before me. Isn't that what sight is all about? From a young age, you learn to see and appreciate the details of the things you come across -- ask any high school graduate to describe for you a wintry scene, write a paragraph about the intricacies of the human heart, or dissect the strokes of a Monet painting, and (with much grumbling) it can be done.
But ask that same student to tell you HOW they see the world, whether it be in pockets of patterns, numbers and figures, or abstract concepts, and he wouldn't be able to tell you. Until I heard that question thrust so casually into the air, I hadn't ever stopped to think about my own frame of vision.
"HOW do you see the world?"
The significance of this question was, of course, many-fold, but perhaps the most important reason she posed the question was for direction. In answering, or attempting to answer, that question, we would each gain insight into our talents, our expectations, our future; what made us tick.
Those who see the world in terms of numbers and figures -- measuring days in minutes, achievements in points -- would be well-suited for careers in engineering, accounting, finance, something wherein their measure of success can be determined by a given point system.
Those who see the world in patterns, series of events, would probably fare best in history or literature, a profession wherein their contributions would come from a big-picture mentality.
And those who think in abstract concepts, pinpointing various elements of their everyday lives as significant and looping in philosophy and sociology -- those are the crazies, the revolutionaries.
So many paths, all beginning with a renewed definition of sight. I think about that question a lot these days, about how I SEE the world, because I know with each new experience I take one step closer to an as-yet fuzzy definition of sight. How I see the world will determine how I can contribute to it, though I can't truly see the world until I've become a part of it.
It's a paradox, that.
"How do you SEE the world?"
"HOW do you see the world?"
07 February 2010
06 February 2010
Excerpted: An 18-Year-Old Looks Back On Life
From Joyce Maynard's 1972 piece for the New York Times magazine:
"When my friends and I were little, we had big plans. I would be a famous actress and singer, dancing on the side. I would paint my own sets and compose my own music, writing the script and the lyrics and reviewing the performance for The New York Times. I would marry and have three children (they don't allow us dreams like that any more) and we would live, rich and famous (donating lots to charity, of course, and periodically adopting orphans), in a house we designed ourselves. When I was older I had visions of good works. I saw myself in South American rain forests and African deserts, feeding the hungry and healing the sick, with an obsessive selflessness, I see now, as selfish, in the end, as my original plans for stardom.
Now my goal is simpler. I want to be happy. And I want comfort -- nice clothes, a nice house, good music and good food, and hte feeling that I'm doing some little thing that matters. I'll vote and I'll give to charity, but I won't give myself. I feel a sudden desire to buy land -- not a lot, not as a business investment, but just a small plot of earth so that whatever they do to the country I'll have a place where I can go -- a kind of fallout shelter, I guess. As some people prepare for their old age, so I prepare for my 20's. A little house, a comfortable chair, peace and quiet -- retirement sounds tempting."
Time for some reflection and reassessing, no?
"When my friends and I were little, we had big plans. I would be a famous actress and singer, dancing on the side. I would paint my own sets and compose my own music, writing the script and the lyrics and reviewing the performance for The New York Times. I would marry and have three children (they don't allow us dreams like that any more) and we would live, rich and famous (donating lots to charity, of course, and periodically adopting orphans), in a house we designed ourselves. When I was older I had visions of good works. I saw myself in South American rain forests and African deserts, feeding the hungry and healing the sick, with an obsessive selflessness, I see now, as selfish, in the end, as my original plans for stardom.
Now my goal is simpler. I want to be happy. And I want comfort -- nice clothes, a nice house, good music and good food, and hte feeling that I'm doing some little thing that matters. I'll vote and I'll give to charity, but I won't give myself. I feel a sudden desire to buy land -- not a lot, not as a business investment, but just a small plot of earth so that whatever they do to the country I'll have a place where I can go -- a kind of fallout shelter, I guess. As some people prepare for their old age, so I prepare for my 20's. A little house, a comfortable chair, peace and quiet -- retirement sounds tempting."
Time for some reflection and reassessing, no?
04 February 2010
Thoughts.
Things I think about when I cannot sleep:
- Sometimes I try to imagine what buskers and panhandlers looked like as carefree children, before shame and wrinkles and pleading settled into their faces.
- Does frozen bread really go bad by the expiration date, or can it stay edible for double the amount of time?
- How much of an impact does being raised by a nanny have on a child?
- Does every generation assume that it's a watered-down version of generations past or is that just ours?
- Why do fears evolve from the tangible to the intangible over the years? What's more mentally draining -- missing the past or worrying about the future?
- Does monetary compensation make a passion less valid or less rewarding?
- Why can't I sleep???
- When you enjoy what you do as a profession, why does that make people feel like they're entitled to ask you when you'll get a "real job"?
- The only thing you have control over is quality of life, not quantity.
END random thoughts. Now to attempt to sleep.
- Sometimes I try to imagine what buskers and panhandlers looked like as carefree children, before shame and wrinkles and pleading settled into their faces.
- Does frozen bread really go bad by the expiration date, or can it stay edible for double the amount of time?
- How much of an impact does being raised by a nanny have on a child?
- Does every generation assume that it's a watered-down version of generations past or is that just ours?
- Why do fears evolve from the tangible to the intangible over the years? What's more mentally draining -- missing the past or worrying about the future?
- Does monetary compensation make a passion less valid or less rewarding?
- Why can't I sleep???
- When you enjoy what you do as a profession, why does that make people feel like they're entitled to ask you when you'll get a "real job"?
- The only thing you have control over is quality of life, not quantity.
END random thoughts. Now to attempt to sleep.
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