Passion. Project.

I read an article in the Times today about the whole concept of "following your passion." The secret formula to success in the States has always appeared to be as simple as pursuing one's passion - and "the money/the rest will follow."

To be perfectly honest, I've long subscribed to this mentality - I mean, quite possibly every other entry in my journals has been about trying to find and embrace my passions with the hope of actually carving out a viable, fulfilling career path from them.

Simple, no?

What the article argued, however, is that sometimes (read: most times) the formula is not so easy. And not in a practical, logical kind of way either, as in making the decision to leave a full-time job to free fall into the uncertain abyss of "entrepreneurship," "freelancing," or that catch-all Generation Y phrase, "discovering myself."

No, the kind of difficulty many people encounter with this kind of mentality is more basic than that. They simply don't know what their passions are.

Because truth be told, not everyone springs from the womb knowing what they've been put on God's Green Earth to do.

Most people struggle to figure out what they truly want, and that's okay. It felt oddly relieving to read the piece, knowing that my uncertainties as of late haven't had anything (well, not as much anyway) to do with being able to recognize the next steps.

They've come from realizing that those steps aren't even yet formed because, well, how can you select building blocks if you don't have a rough sketch of what you're building? We're talking the difference between constructing a bridge and a skyscraper, really.

I've always thought that I've led such a blessed live. And I do. A loving family, great friends, and the relative freedom to live on my own terms. I'm working as an editor in New York City, getting paid to write, the thing I love.

The thing I love.

It sounds like living the dream - when in reality I sometimes wonder if maybe I'm just snoozing.

The author's argument was that for those who don't have a defined passion in life and feel frustrated that they're somehow missing something by not having an established goal, sometimes the best thing is to build skills and grow passion that way, the same way you might coax an avocado seed to sprout.

Sure, I'm passionate about writing, but it's always been more about storytelling, the unsolicited thoughts that turn into words, phrases, sentences, stories as they travel from my noggin down to my fingertips.

It's always been about the quality of thought, the satisfaction of learning and doing and being a part of the process while maintaining enough of a distance to be objective. Be a perpetual observer, eavesdropper, dreamer.

Romanticized, maybe, but this is what writing has always been to me, and what - by extension - journalism has always been to me.

Being able to construct sentences and transfer my emotions to another human being without having ever met them, know how they look or think or feel - that is powerful. That has been what I pride myself in being able to do as a writer.

So now the real question is this: how/where can I develop my skill set to become the kind of writer that can claim writing as my passion? I believe it's a talent that can (and will) be learned and I'm more sure now more than ever (just after writing this, oddly enough) that I know what I need to do to take that next step.

Then, maybe, the rest will follow.

Day, shift

How do you describe what it feels like to rejoin society, to reconstruct what was formerly habit into routine into lifestyle? At times I feel like I haven't left the conventional daytime work hours at all, but at the same time - so much has happened in this past year that it's impossible to discount the memories.

It's kinda like this. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain in the pitch dark is terrifying when you can't identify what's around you. Your brain panics and it feels as though your imagination will run wild for miles into a million different directions. And you're literally just stuck.

It's hard to even tentatively move any which way because you don't know what the rules of this place that you occupy are - what if living in that space defies some law of physics? What do you reach toward when you're without direction?

Having an odd schedule, I often felt a mild variation of that. Working on a different timetable from the rest of the world was like being in the dark, with barely recognizable figures, reaching out into pitch black spaces. It's difficult to gauge where you are relative to everything, get a sense of rank or placement, when you are bound to one spot.

A starting point.

From there on, however, wherever you move to, it'd still be uncertain. But at least you'd know that it was okay to move. It didn't matter which way, but you could...MOVE.

This past year, whether of my own volition or because it really was the case, I've felt caught. Stuck. Immobile. And frustrated because I questioned whether I was the one who was creating and contributing to my own mental block without realizing it.

The thing is, if you can define the root of a problem as either internal or external, you can do something about it. But if you balance on the precipice of "it's you, not me," then you don't know the rules. And then you don't know how to react.

People say to react to how you feel. I say it's more important to feel how you act.

Really feel it.

Absorb all the consequences of what it means and why you did it and what will propel you to do it again.

This past year has truly been unlike anything I have ever been through before. I was at times lonely, frustrated, self-conscious, prideful, stubborn, jealous, possessive. I think I saw myself at some pretty low points, but I also think that forced me to venture out and feel my way back toward a semblance of a self-created path.

And though I'm treading lightly, at least I'm moving.

How bout them directions?

Just last year, a few weeks into my new schedule at the time, I wrote about how it felt to be living in opposition to the mainstream, to have my own bubble of New York life. And rereading it now, the sentences still ring true.

Solitude will be my best learning tool.

It's easy to get lost in New York City. But last night/this morning, as I glanced over my shoulder at bedroom lights flickering on in high rises as I crossed the bridge, people starting the day just as I was about to end it, I felt found. Their dawn is my dusk. My reality is only, really, in my head. And I was very much aware that I was coming home -- on my own terms.

Here's to personal realities, and redefining them over and over again.

A purpose-driven life

There's a reason why we're not born colorblind. Life in black and white, and even shades of grey, would be undoubtedly dull. And yet, why is it that so many elements in our lives seem to be defined by just this - a lack of color, a seemingly resigned sense of dull monotony? Where's the vibrancy, the pop of hue that makes each day worth waking up to?

New York City is known for its corporate culture. Reading the paper on the subway, staring at a screen all day, eating nondescript sandwiches for lunch, vegging out on the subway ride home and passively watching TV before falling asleep to do it all over again. Not exactly the most impressive showcase of the romanticized City so many non-New Yorkers aspire toward, the one wherein each day is fresh and inspiring and different. It's easy to fall into the daily grind of working just to live, to make money, to save up, to be practical.

But I read a few of the "Most Emailed" headlines on the New York Times website today, and that got me thinking. The articles that have been circulated and shared the most are about retirement, old age, mental health and career changes. Clearly, there is a trend. People spend many of their waking hours worrying about their careers (how to get one, if they don't have one; or how to get out of one, if they do have one), thereby literally worrying themselves sick. Stress leads to a weakened immune system (and probably sleepless nights and accompanying pills), which leads to illness and disease and other stress-triggered problems.

This concern over what to do with life, how to apply our skills, never ends. That is, until it really does end, when we retire. At that point, according to the NYT headlines, we start to worry ourselves over what to do with all this free time now that we've just gotten into the groove of work-life balance. How will I while my time away, stuck in the house with a spouse, having been too busy during my work years to cultivate my interests and no longer young enough to enjoy some of the activies I used to? It's a legitimate concern.

It seems as though once one phase of life ends - the bustling 20s, the strategic 30s, the settling 40s, the midlife 50s and the retiring 60s - another begins; there is no overlap. Black. And. White. And a great portion of each phase is spent worrying about the next phase. Hence the monotomy for some semblance of "living in the present" while really panicking over the future and mulling over the past.

A few weeks back, I spoke with Jason Reitman, the director for Up in the Air. He was telling me about the inspiration behind the film, which follows Clooney's character around the country as he detachedly "eases" recently laid off employees into the "rebirth" process of job hunting. He told me that he went into the film with one goal in mind: to convey the importance of purpose by showing a general lack of it in the screenplay.

"My biggest fear isn't waking up one day and having no money," he said. "My biggest fear is waking up one day and having no purpose."

Because where's the motivation then? If you don't genuinely do the things you love, then life will fly by pretty quickly and if something comes a-trotting into your straight-and-narrow, black-and-white path, you'll be completely sidelined. You'll have a map and a place to go, but no reason to travel anywhere. And then you're really lost.

You. Are. Here.

And then you color outside the lines.

I love love love.

Today was such a good day that I just don't know how the rest of the week will top it.

I know these blog posts seem to be nothing but positives, but honestly, things just keep better each day. It's a little bit ridiculous.

Life, I am humbled. Just when I thought you had peaked, you surprise me yet again.

Silence

... is beautiful.

Currently studying up in law and soaking in all the knowledge this little alcove has to offer. I've never felt more collegiate, har har.

I think I want to remember this for a while.

Rest & Relaxation

Just got back from an amazing Daily Trojan retreat out in Palm Desert, and I'm feeling pretty dang refreshed. It's been a while since I've been able to literally sit and just vegetate without feeling any guilt whatsoever - and it's a feeling I think I'm going to chase in this coming semester.

Or, I mean, a girl can dream, can't she?

Time's going to fly in these coming months, I can already tell. Granted, I already feel as though I've been back in the groove of classes for some time, and I know 14 more of these weeks will whip by before I really have a chance to react, so I'm filling every moment with something meaningful - perhaps too well.

It's probably not the best thing when your fingers start itching to check email while you're sprawled out on a couch in a luxury home, thumbing through a magazine. Or when you jot notes for story ideas on your notepad while shopping for burger patties and chips. It's probably not healthy, maybe even borderline ridiculous, to mumble about lists and tasks in your sleep.

And yet, there it is: my waking hours and sleeping hours have merged to form a singular consciousness during which I plan and pace over a never-ending list of things to do.  

I think working is relaxing to me. Productivity is the key to my happiness. That, and cold leftovers and touching Christmas cards and gummi bears. I'm simple, really.

I find out tomorrow whether or not I've officially been accepted into Teach for America, so for the time being, I'm just savoring this limbo, this waiting period, and trying to relax. Tomorrow, no matter what the decision is, I'll have to buckle down and really start figuring out what I want to do with my days post-college.

Obama's inauguration speech is tomorrow morning, and I can't wait for the inspirational push I know he'll give our nation. Change never came about in times of comfort and ease, and I think Obama's perception of nonstop work toward progress as a positive thing rather than as a burden is admirable and should be touted as fact throughout the nation.  

I love rest and relaxation, but I'm ready to carry on with the rest of my life. Tomorrow's going to be a big day, and I think today's lull is something we'll be hard-pressed to find after tomorrow morning, so I'm savoring it.

One day DOWN

I'm officially done. With the first night of production for the Daily Trojan, that is. Everything ran as smoothly as I could have hoped, though we did run later than expected because we wanted to make sure that we set a high precedence at the beginning of the year in terms of clean copy, solid design and quality content. Given that this is the first time a lot of my editors have really used InDesign and actually worked together to produce an issue, I think it was a success.

The dynamic of my staff is just incredible as well - I know that I actually worried more about interpersonal relations when selecting my senior editors than competency. Not to say that I didn't take into account how news-savvy and organized they were, but I recognized that how their personalities fit in with everyone else's was going to make a world of difference for the tone of the semester. Working in good company makes life pretty dang good, even with late nights and constant tasks to take care of.

Dedicated, passionate people make me happy.

It's funny how different the start of this semester is compared to the start of the fall, when I was scrambling from one thing to the next, always feeling one step behind and failing miserably at life, etc. Though I know the semester ahead is going to be a crazy hectic one, I can already tell just from the first night that it will also be one of the best - not for the lasts that are requisite parts of senior year - but for all the firsts that I'll inevitably experience these next few months as I step into this very different realm of college.

I love change and renewing and beginning again, and I think holding this position this semester means that I'll always be learning something new - about the DT, about the campus, about the many students and the lives they lead during their four-year tenure at USC. It's so intriguing, and I just want to write write write about everything I learn.

Things always happen for a reason, and everything falls into place in due time. 

I hope it all works out.

Compassion, comparison, competition

Two heads might be better than one, but beyond that, life gets a little bit crazy. Being part of a team or staff means not only working toward a common goal, but also figuring out what role each person will play in the journey toward achieving said goal. It's a delicate balance between being assertive and attentive, being a leader and a follower at different points throughout the group relationship.

I think leadership style is a lot like trying to jump into the middle of someone else's conversation. You wait for the right moment to contribute your own two cents to the topic of discussion, and successful integration is a tricky task to master. The ideal situation is that your comment or follow-up to a point made will add to the conversation rather than cause an awkward gap of silence as the previous conversationalists try to figure out how the heck you fit into the picture.

The catch is that joining a conversation means, first of all, knowing the context, and second of all, gauging the banter and tone of the talk from a distance. Jumping rope, timing the entrance just right.

Being visible without being overbearing. Deliberate without being controlling.

Diving headfirst into this leadership role is really proving to be a test of how I think, how I interact, how I can speak in a way that actually enhances the conversation.

I'm working on getting this timing thing down, that's all.

Up and Out

I'm going to really miss eating alone. The loneliness that I felt at the beginning of summer in the my first few days of moving to Westwood have come around full circle, and now I find myself really longing for more of the solitude and familiar routine that has reigned over these past few months.

One of my worst, more irrational, fears when I was younger was of eating alone. There are too many negative stereotypes about people who dine in public alone - either they are social outcasts or they are somehow incapable of carrying out normal tableside conversation. Or they have some sort of gross deformity that repels even the most understanding of dining buddies.

None of these are really true, though, because people who are able to venture out and eat on their own in public have to be pretty dang comfortable in their own skin to do so.

Either that, or they have to quickly become comfortable.

Over the summer, every lunch break would be a mental and physical break from hours upon hours of talking, listening, writing, planning – exercising my journalistic prowess, if you will. I’d grab a pen and paper and just write – freeform, stream-of-conscience poems, blurbs, thoughts, stories, as I munched on a wrap or stabbed at some salad.

The first day I did this as a form of security, because I didn’t want to attract sympathy for my dining alone even if I had done it by choice. I wanted to get over this irrational fear of mine. But over the weeks, turning down lunch invitations didn’t feel so bad anymore – I rather looked forward to having a meal by myself and being able to gather my thoughts in an hour away from work, home, or obligations. I felt at ease in my solitude.

Friday was my last day at the Daily News, and I'm really going to miss working there. The features department has become my journalism family, and they've adopted me as one of their own, which is flattering. I'll miss Sandra's advice, Rob's sarcastic quips, Sharyn's blunt observations, even Simone's long, drawn-out stories about interviewing John Cusack and Dave Matthews.

I think that it was honestly very rare and lucky for me to stumble into such a nurturing work environment. My editors came off as cold and calculated in the beginning, but I've since learned that just because they aren't overly, fakely happy to see me all the time doesn't mean that they dislike me. In fact, I really appreciate the way they treat me like a real human being, as opposed to a golden intern spouting hope and naivety. They’re realistic and down-to-earth and so much what I needed to get my head back in the journalistic game.

Their quiet approval and support throughout the summer really helped me to move out of my comfort zone and learn to be more proactive in my quest for the story. If I wanted to cover an event or issue, I had to speak up. If I was unsure of what to do in a given situation, I had to speak up. Nothing came easy, and they intended it to be that way. You get what you give, and sometimes more if you’re lucky.

I got lucky.

I learned as I wrote, and really discovered what I was capable of doing as a journalist and as a writer. Simply being genuinely interested in a person and having good follow-through opened doors in ways that being pushy and condescending probably could not. Understanding and empathy made reporting a joy rather than a burden. Telling stories in intricate new ways was a challenge I loved to meet.

This is what I’m meant to do with the rest of my life, I’m pretty certain.

Well, maybe.

Don’t know how long this certainty will last, though, but I can say this: even in the face of a dying journalism industry, I think there’s still a place at the table for me. I hope there is.

Even if it means dining alone out in the real world, because at least I’ll have my thoughts to keep me company.