1. There's a difference between genuinely caring about others and selfishly caring for others - and it's pretty clear to everyone else in the room.
2. As humans, we often underestimate our capacity for joy. Life can be fuller than what we settle for.
3. When you're humble, you don't know you're humble.
4. Sometimes friends can provide for our basic need for belonging better than our family can.
5. I can do hard things.
6. If I park my car in the street by the mailbox on a Friday night, by the time I wake up Saturday morning my dad will have washed it.
7. Cliche advice means nothing without personal experience.
8. Discipline and self-control are active steps towards holiness and intimacy with God.
9. Dwell not on "why did this happen" but on "what now can I do, in light of these circumstances"
10. Teachers and professors are almost always willing to encourage and foster my desire to go above and beyond, even if it means more work for them.
11. It's a bad idea to get your dad a dog for fathers' day without telling your mom first.
12. "gratitude attitude" is a good mantra. If you're focused on what you DO have it's hard to notice the things that are missing.
13. If you back up your car without looking, you might roll backwards down a hill... or hit a 1998 Honda Civic.
14. If you don't know what to do next, do SOMETHING. Move forward.
15. There's a difference between quitting a sports team in the middle of the season and deciding to not play again the following year. The former is inconsiderate to the team, the latter is a mature decision.
16. God is good; even when circumstances aren't.
17. The elderly make good mentors. and good best friends.
18. Sometimes other people are more articulate at voicing my thoughts than I am. Quotes, song lyrics, poems, etc.
19. You don't make many friends if you're mad all the time. And you don't get much done either.
20. Drink more water.
21. I still have a long way to go.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Choosing Positivity
As an architecture student, the week before final pinup is always crazy. Anything unrelated to the project I am working on falls out the back of my brain... homework assignments, meetings, lunch dates with friends. I forget where I put my car keys, I leave notebooks I need at my apartment, I unintentionally relate everything I say to architecture if I'm not careful. The worst part of final pinup weeks in the past, however, has been my whiney, complaining attitude and negativity. This week in the semester is always stressful; I always have more work to do than I have time for. Usually the stress leads to a tired, cranky, Karen.
Last Wednesday on my way to campus I texted one of my close friends who sits next to me in studio. "There will be no negativity out of my mouth today. No whining, no complaining, no less than nice words about anything. Please hold me accountable!"
From there, I chose positivity. Whenever I was about to complain about how the computer program wasn't doing what I wanted it to do, or the drawing I was working on got smudged, I would check myself and keep my mouth shut. When something I was doing went well, I would vocalize it to myself. I got more done on Wednesday alone than I usually get done in a week. Obviously the positivity was helping.
This morning is the start of day 6 of positivity... so far so good. I spent about 16 hours in studio this weekend and got SO much done it is ridiculous. The link between my outlook on the project and my productivity can't be ignored. I have realized this week that I am here in college, "living my dream", becoming trained in the profession I have wanted to be in my entire life, under some of the best professors in the country. I am working on designing buildings, creating spaces out of void, and to be anything less than grateful for the opportunity is ungrateful entitlement. I am choosing humble gratitude over entitlement this week.
Based on how much I have gotten done, I think "humble gratitude" is going to be my new way of looking at every studio project.
Last Wednesday on my way to campus I texted one of my close friends who sits next to me in studio. "There will be no negativity out of my mouth today. No whining, no complaining, no less than nice words about anything. Please hold me accountable!"
From there, I chose positivity. Whenever I was about to complain about how the computer program wasn't doing what I wanted it to do, or the drawing I was working on got smudged, I would check myself and keep my mouth shut. When something I was doing went well, I would vocalize it to myself. I got more done on Wednesday alone than I usually get done in a week. Obviously the positivity was helping.
This morning is the start of day 6 of positivity... so far so good. I spent about 16 hours in studio this weekend and got SO much done it is ridiculous. The link between my outlook on the project and my productivity can't be ignored. I have realized this week that I am here in college, "living my dream", becoming trained in the profession I have wanted to be in my entire life, under some of the best professors in the country. I am working on designing buildings, creating spaces out of void, and to be anything less than grateful for the opportunity is ungrateful entitlement. I am choosing humble gratitude over entitlement this week.
Based on how much I have gotten done, I think "humble gratitude" is going to be my new way of looking at every studio project.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
A Sunday Afternoon with the Stuarts
Turn at the Glade Road stoplight... continue on a mile and a half to where the trees part and the Tom's Creek Basin reveals itself - take a left on Linwood Lane. Make your way slowly down the road, bear right, and park just past the driveway along the trees - careful not to get the wheels stuck in the ditch.
I have driven this route a hundred times in the last year and a half - maybe two hundred times. Today is no different than any other day. I am here to see the Stuarts.
The garage door is open. It's almost always open. It has been over a year since the last time I rang the front doorbell - Bob says the front door is for guests, the garage entrance is for family. I make my way past the van, into the laundry room and he greets me as I open the door into the kitchen. Emily is asleep, taking her mid-morning nap. It's about noon and we'll have lunch soon, but first we spend a few minutes in the living room where Emily lies on the couch, sharing events of the past few days and deciding what sounds best for lunch. Emily decides she would like to sleep a little longer so Bob and I make our way to the kitchen.
"Why don't we have some sort of appetizer to hold us over until lunch?" he says. I suggest ice cream cake, leftover from Emily's 90th Birthday, and he agrees. "I swear, Karen, that we share the same genes. Ice cream cake is the perfect choice." We both have a sweet tooth. We must share genes. As usual, I end up in a spiritual conversation with Bob about whether or not God is reached through Christ alone or through any means. We disagree on that. We talk about church and state and the separation of the two. We agree on that. We heat up leftover beef brisket and rice and pour Emily's buttermilk into her mug. We wake Emily up again.
This time she is ready for lunch. First Bob and I help her use the restroom, then make our way to the kitchen. I make sure her oxygen cannula is properly set into her nostrils and put on her meal apron then push in her chair. We talk about the weather, my new boyfriend, their upcoming family trip to mountain lake. We talk about Emily's book and who she might like to give it to for Christmas. We talk about their other caretakers and how fortunate they feel to be so well taken care of. We talk about anxiety, the stress of having company, the pond out back that needs to be cleaned out and the recent election.
Eventually I excuse myself to get some work done - the original reason I came. I sit at the computer in Bob's study and type up the changes he made to his Citizens First proposal. I type up an e-mail he has written out in another word document. I print both in size 22 font, bold. They are ready for him when he finishes lunch. We discuss the changes and I send out the e-mail, attaching the proposal to it. On Tuesday morning we will go through the replies, consider the advice on changes to be made, and then finalize the proposal. Mary calls, Bob and Emily's daughter. Bob answers the phone in the study and then goes to the kitchen to give Emily the cordless phone. He returns to the study and the three together discuss the upcoming Mountain Lake weekend. I set the time on Bob's watch to daylight-savings time. I change the clock on his desk too.
When the work is done Bob and I join Emily again at the kitchen table. She is still slowly finishing her lunch, after almost 2 hours and a few 5-minute naps sitting up. Bob mentions some deep, theological topic on the origins of anxiety. Emily says, "Bob, I am not much in the mood for a philosophical discussion today. I can barely keep my eyes open." We laugh, and decide it is time for Emily to rest. Off comes the apron, out comes the chair. We make our way back to the living room and I kiss her on the forehead as she falls asleep again. I say goodbye to Bob with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "See you Tuesday!"
I have driven this route a hundred times in the last year and a half - maybe two hundred times. Today is no different than any other day. I am here to see the Stuarts.
The garage door is open. It's almost always open. It has been over a year since the last time I rang the front doorbell - Bob says the front door is for guests, the garage entrance is for family. I make my way past the van, into the laundry room and he greets me as I open the door into the kitchen. Emily is asleep, taking her mid-morning nap. It's about noon and we'll have lunch soon, but first we spend a few minutes in the living room where Emily lies on the couch, sharing events of the past few days and deciding what sounds best for lunch. Emily decides she would like to sleep a little longer so Bob and I make our way to the kitchen.
"Why don't we have some sort of appetizer to hold us over until lunch?" he says. I suggest ice cream cake, leftover from Emily's 90th Birthday, and he agrees. "I swear, Karen, that we share the same genes. Ice cream cake is the perfect choice." We both have a sweet tooth. We must share genes. As usual, I end up in a spiritual conversation with Bob about whether or not God is reached through Christ alone or through any means. We disagree on that. We talk about church and state and the separation of the two. We agree on that. We heat up leftover beef brisket and rice and pour Emily's buttermilk into her mug. We wake Emily up again.
This time she is ready for lunch. First Bob and I help her use the restroom, then make our way to the kitchen. I make sure her oxygen cannula is properly set into her nostrils and put on her meal apron then push in her chair. We talk about the weather, my new boyfriend, their upcoming family trip to mountain lake. We talk about Emily's book and who she might like to give it to for Christmas. We talk about their other caretakers and how fortunate they feel to be so well taken care of. We talk about anxiety, the stress of having company, the pond out back that needs to be cleaned out and the recent election.
Eventually I excuse myself to get some work done - the original reason I came. I sit at the computer in Bob's study and type up the changes he made to his Citizens First proposal. I type up an e-mail he has written out in another word document. I print both in size 22 font, bold. They are ready for him when he finishes lunch. We discuss the changes and I send out the e-mail, attaching the proposal to it. On Tuesday morning we will go through the replies, consider the advice on changes to be made, and then finalize the proposal. Mary calls, Bob and Emily's daughter. Bob answers the phone in the study and then goes to the kitchen to give Emily the cordless phone. He returns to the study and the three together discuss the upcoming Mountain Lake weekend. I set the time on Bob's watch to daylight-savings time. I change the clock on his desk too.
When the work is done Bob and I join Emily again at the kitchen table. She is still slowly finishing her lunch, after almost 2 hours and a few 5-minute naps sitting up. Bob mentions some deep, theological topic on the origins of anxiety. Emily says, "Bob, I am not much in the mood for a philosophical discussion today. I can barely keep my eyes open." We laugh, and decide it is time for Emily to rest. Off comes the apron, out comes the chair. We make our way back to the living room and I kiss her on the forehead as she falls asleep again. I say goodbye to Bob with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "See you Tuesday!"
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Thoughts
I have been thinking lately about existence and memories and how bizarre it all is.
My brain is struggling to fathom death - human existence one moment and then the absence of a spiritual soul due to the failure of the physical body. The body is the container but in the end it is so insignificant - without the soul in it the person is gone. It is strange to me that the memories we have of people are so connected with their "container" - we picture ourselves with them at certain places, we are comforted by the sound of their voice, we recognize the smell of their shampoo when we hug them, we know the color of their eyes. Yet, the spirit and the soul, their inner being of who they really are... their thoughts and fears and jokes and the mind that makes the choices that make them who they are is what actually makes them our friends. That spirit has nothing to do with their facial features or their height or their mannerisms, and yet because we are visual beings those physical traits are how we are able to fathom and recognize the ephemeral qualities of their spirit.
It is also weird to me how both the physical and spiritual side of a person need to exist together for us to really feel like they are present with us. We can miss someone even if we are able to talk to them on the phone - their thoughts and hopes and fears are available to us and yet we miss them anyway - we miss being in physical contact in a way where we can really feel their presence. At the same time, when someone dies their body is still there - their nose turns up the same way and their hair is the same color, and yet their spirit is absent, and we miss them.
Who someone is to us is all based on how our senses "collect" and "archive" their characteristics. We recognize them based on how our brain has processed previous experiences with them. I've always wondered with colors if we all see the same thing when we think "green"... does your green look like my green? We both recognize the grass is green but in our brains do our eyes process the color the same? I think that about people too. I recognize the sound of your voice, so does Analise, and Jim, and Phil, and Courtney. But are we hearing the same voice or have our brains "collected" it differently? I don't know the answer I am just curious.
My brain is struggling to fathom death - human existence one moment and then the absence of a spiritual soul due to the failure of the physical body. The body is the container but in the end it is so insignificant - without the soul in it the person is gone. It is strange to me that the memories we have of people are so connected with their "container" - we picture ourselves with them at certain places, we are comforted by the sound of their voice, we recognize the smell of their shampoo when we hug them, we know the color of their eyes. Yet, the spirit and the soul, their inner being of who they really are... their thoughts and fears and jokes and the mind that makes the choices that make them who they are is what actually makes them our friends. That spirit has nothing to do with their facial features or their height or their mannerisms, and yet because we are visual beings those physical traits are how we are able to fathom and recognize the ephemeral qualities of their spirit.
It is also weird to me how both the physical and spiritual side of a person need to exist together for us to really feel like they are present with us. We can miss someone even if we are able to talk to them on the phone - their thoughts and hopes and fears are available to us and yet we miss them anyway - we miss being in physical contact in a way where we can really feel their presence. At the same time, when someone dies their body is still there - their nose turns up the same way and their hair is the same color, and yet their spirit is absent, and we miss them.
Who someone is to us is all based on how our senses "collect" and "archive" their characteristics. We recognize them based on how our brain has processed previous experiences with them. I've always wondered with colors if we all see the same thing when we think "green"... does your green look like my green? We both recognize the grass is green but in our brains do our eyes process the color the same? I think that about people too. I recognize the sound of your voice, so does Analise, and Jim, and Phil, and Courtney. But are we hearing the same voice or have our brains "collected" it differently? I don't know the answer I am just curious.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Brian's Legacy
Last week I lost a good friend, Brian Gomez. In August 2009, at age 19, he was diagnosed with Rhabdomyosarcoma, a childhood cancer that is particularly rare, especially in people over the age of 10. Last summer, it was in his sinuses and had already spread to his bone marrow - it was categorized as Stage IV. The diagnosis was that it was terminal but that treatment would give him more time. He underwent a year of painful and exhausting chemo and radiation to fight it. At the end of this summer he was feeling relatively well and went back to UVA for school. Within 2 weeks he fell (from a seizure) and the doctors determined that the progression of the cancer had spread to the lining of his brain. Less than a month later, he was gone.
I have been fighting a lot of regret in the last week. We were close in middle school ("boyfriend/girlfriend" actually) and spent hours on AIM chatting. Our lockers were next to each other (Glass and Gomez alphabetically) and he always walked to me to class. Sometimes we even held hands in PE. We went to different high schools but still had a lot of mutual friends and saw each other from time to time. I started dating my 3-year high school boyfriend around the same time he started dating his still-girlfriend (of about 5 years now) Morgan. Basically we both got busy and fell out of touch. It was still always good to see him I just didn't see him nearly as often. Last year I knew he was diagnosed, but didn't know how serious things were. Despite not knowing the details, I KNEW he had cancer, and yet I never reached out to him or let him know I was thinking about him. This week I am learning that there were a lot of people who were there for him in his last year and though I failed miserably, he passed away surrounded by a multitude of selfless love and commitment from his family and close friends. I hate that I wasn't one of those people.
At the funeral his good friend shared a little bit more about watching Brian's faith throughout cancer. How despite his suffering he looked forward to eternity and had peace in his fate. Our response to 'unfair' death tends to be "God, WHY is this happening? WHY Brian? WHY cancer? WHY now?" but when we ask "why" we get nowhere. The question we ought to ask is "WHAT NOW." "What now can I take from Brian's life and learn from?" "What now can I do to bring glory to God despite these trials and this suffering?" The "What now" question has been propelling me throughout this week to be bolder in taking steps to loving others better, to trusting God more, and to find gratitude even in sadness.
I believe we weren't designed for death and pain. At the beginning of humankind we were designed for communion with God and eternal life. At the fall of man, when Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, our souls became innately corrupt and captive to selfish desires, separating us from God. Not only did our souls and our spirits fall away from God's original creation, but our bodies fell victim as well - to decay and to entropy and to sickness and death and cancer. Fortunately we aren't "stuck" in this. Life in eternity is absent of the sadness and pain of death and through Jesus we have full access to this life.
Brian's legacy to me is more than the dozens of saved e-mails I have from 8th and 9th grade. It is more than thinking of him when I hear Metallica or Nirvana. It's more than the $10 locket he got me from Kohl's for Valentine's Day when we were 14. It is even more than the memories of getting in a fender bender as a passenger in his brand new Lancer the week after he got his license or visiting and partying with him in Charlottesville freshman year of college. His legacy to me came mostly in his death - in his graceful act of dying - surrendering his will and his soul with peace and trust. My heart is still attempting to fathom "What now" can I learn from that and how can I apply it?
I have been fighting a lot of regret in the last week. We were close in middle school ("boyfriend/girlfriend" actually) and spent hours on AIM chatting. Our lockers were next to each other (Glass and Gomez alphabetically) and he always walked to me to class. Sometimes we even held hands in PE. We went to different high schools but still had a lot of mutual friends and saw each other from time to time. I started dating my 3-year high school boyfriend around the same time he started dating his still-girlfriend (of about 5 years now) Morgan. Basically we both got busy and fell out of touch. It was still always good to see him I just didn't see him nearly as often. Last year I knew he was diagnosed, but didn't know how serious things were. Despite not knowing the details, I KNEW he had cancer, and yet I never reached out to him or let him know I was thinking about him. This week I am learning that there were a lot of people who were there for him in his last year and though I failed miserably, he passed away surrounded by a multitude of selfless love and commitment from his family and close friends. I hate that I wasn't one of those people.
At the funeral his good friend shared a little bit more about watching Brian's faith throughout cancer. How despite his suffering he looked forward to eternity and had peace in his fate. Our response to 'unfair' death tends to be "God, WHY is this happening? WHY Brian? WHY cancer? WHY now?" but when we ask "why" we get nowhere. The question we ought to ask is "WHAT NOW." "What now can I take from Brian's life and learn from?" "What now can I do to bring glory to God despite these trials and this suffering?" The "What now" question has been propelling me throughout this week to be bolder in taking steps to loving others better, to trusting God more, and to find gratitude even in sadness.
I believe we weren't designed for death and pain. At the beginning of humankind we were designed for communion with God and eternal life. At the fall of man, when Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, our souls became innately corrupt and captive to selfish desires, separating us from God. Not only did our souls and our spirits fall away from God's original creation, but our bodies fell victim as well - to decay and to entropy and to sickness and death and cancer. Fortunately we aren't "stuck" in this. Life in eternity is absent of the sadness and pain of death and through Jesus we have full access to this life.
Brian's legacy to me is more than the dozens of saved e-mails I have from 8th and 9th grade. It is more than thinking of him when I hear Metallica or Nirvana. It's more than the $10 locket he got me from Kohl's for Valentine's Day when we were 14. It is even more than the memories of getting in a fender bender as a passenger in his brand new Lancer the week after he got his license or visiting and partying with him in Charlottesville freshman year of college. His legacy to me came mostly in his death - in his graceful act of dying - surrendering his will and his soul with peace and trust. My heart is still attempting to fathom "What now" can I learn from that and how can I apply it?
Monday, October 11, 2010
Emily's Book
"Emily's Book" is officially finished. (I have been calling it that for the last 6 months) It should be coming in the mail tomorrow or Wednesday, when I will quickly read through the entire thing and fix typos than order another copy to be published just in time for her 90th birthday. I am beyond excited to give it to her. This post is just a summary of the process of creating the book and my thoughts on my feelings about being the one who had the honor to 'catch' these stories and preserve them.
I think it's safe to say that Emily Cottingham Stuart is one of my best friends. So often when we think of service involving the elderly we view them as so one-dimensional - never really taking the time to discover their unique personalities and souls. One thing Bob and Emily have taught me is that it is possibly for old age to be an enriching, full-of-life experience. Aging does not have to be a slow decay of passion; it can be a fun, exciting time for making plans and following dreams.
One of Emily's dreams has been to have her stories recorded. In March of this year, she was facing severe delusions and depression and felt a sense of urgency to have her memories captured in case she truly ran out of time. Within days, Bob made sure her hopes were fulfilled when he arranged for me to interview her. Together they wrote up an outline of their lives - where they moved, friends they made, citizens groups they were involved in, etc so that she wouldn't forget anything too important. I spent 4 hours over the course of 2 days sitting at their kitchen table storycatching. Everything was recorded onto cassette tapes which the Stuarts entrusted me with. Just having the words out left Emily relieved.
Despite my excitement at the beginning of the project, it didn't take long for me to dread the actual "typing of the stories." Emily spoke softly which made it difficult to transcribe without having to stop, rewind, and replay again and again to be completely accurate. 4 hours of cassette tape recordings probably took about 20 hours to actually transcribe - and I did most of those 20 hours in 10 -minute intervals or so. At some point during the technical side of things I lost the love for the stories.
In the last few weeks, I realized that if I was going to have the book published in time to be Emily's birthday gift (on November 2) I would have to send it out rather quickly. In a week I did lots of punctuation editing and formatting - but also at some point during the last week I fell back in love with her stories. I realized again that her stories were her life... seems so obvious but I lost that for a little while. Her memories are her perceptions of events that happened to her and being able to put her words onto paper gave me the opportunity to learn more not only about her past but about her view of the world, her way of interacting with others, and her values.
I feel so honored that she trusts me with her memories. She has invited me into such a special place in her life and I can. not. wait. for the day she turns 90 and I can give her stories back to her in a form that she can go on to share with her children and grandchildren - who can continue to pass along the stories to future generations.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Attempt at Storytelling
September 11, 2007
We reluctantly trudged what seemed like miles through Reagan National Airport to Terminal A. If you've ever been to Reagan National you know that the distance from the entrance of the airport to Terminal A feels like a trek to the other end of the world, even when you are not dreading reaching it. My brother had been home on leave for a week between his 3-month training in Mississippi and his next adventure: Iraq. There to see him off were my dad, my mom, Donnie's girlfriend Emily, and me. We sat at the airport bar and ate shoestring french fries while my mom attempted to fill the silence with random, useless information. "Did you hear about the schoolteacher in Alabama who was arrested for selling drugs?" "I saw an article yesterday about how there is a chance that eating pineapple causes cancer." "Yesterday Grandma called and said that her azaleas are finally blooming." Of the four of us, my mom most often deals with silence by filling it.
Eventually the inevitable could no longer be avoided. It was time for him to go. I didn't know what to feel. I had just started my senior year of high school and wasn't quite sure what to do considering I was losing my best friend for almost a year. Best case-scenario, he would be home on a short break in February and then home for good in May... we would talk online and on the phone as often as possible and things wouldn't be too different than when he was just at college. Worst case-scenario, he would take a place at Arlington with a headstone a few rows from my neighbor, Captain Brian Letendre, who gave up his life amidst the ugliness of war the year before. Brian hung in my mind the entire day I said goodbye to Donnie; praying my brother's fate would be different but also realizing it could have been the last moments I shared with him. I soaked each minute up - trying to memorize his face and his voice and his smell and the way he walked and his facial expressions and his mannerisms.
As he hugged me goodbye and I cried my eyes out, he showed no emotion. He has always dealt with nerves and apprehension with a few deep breaths and a forward gait. This day was no different. After what was probably about 5 minutes he turned and made his way to security. We stood watching as the airport guard checked his ID. We watched, staring dumbly as he removed his wallet and iPod from his pocket and placed them in the gray loose-object bin. He walked through the metal detector, gathered his things, and continued on his way. Our eyes followed him until he turned the corner and was gone.
Then the real tears started. I felt so exposed walking through the airport with a broken heart while the people around me were on their way to Disney World or a business trip or picking up their best friend for a week of fun or seeing their daughter off to Grandma's house. Sitting on the shuttle from the airport to the parking garage, a woman saw a sad man with three sad women and expressed sympathy to us - my mom told her, "my son just left for Iraq." All of a sudden the soldiers on the news and in the papers became my brother - the thousands of stories of military families became my family, my story. And I wanted nothing in the world more than to 'trade in' my story for someone else's.
We reluctantly trudged what seemed like miles through Reagan National Airport to Terminal A. If you've ever been to Reagan National you know that the distance from the entrance of the airport to Terminal A feels like a trek to the other end of the world, even when you are not dreading reaching it. My brother had been home on leave for a week between his 3-month training in Mississippi and his next adventure: Iraq. There to see him off were my dad, my mom, Donnie's girlfriend Emily, and me. We sat at the airport bar and ate shoestring french fries while my mom attempted to fill the silence with random, useless information. "Did you hear about the schoolteacher in Alabama who was arrested for selling drugs?" "I saw an article yesterday about how there is a chance that eating pineapple causes cancer." "Yesterday Grandma called and said that her azaleas are finally blooming." Of the four of us, my mom most often deals with silence by filling it.
Eventually the inevitable could no longer be avoided. It was time for him to go. I didn't know what to feel. I had just started my senior year of high school and wasn't quite sure what to do considering I was losing my best friend for almost a year. Best case-scenario, he would be home on a short break in February and then home for good in May... we would talk online and on the phone as often as possible and things wouldn't be too different than when he was just at college. Worst case-scenario, he would take a place at Arlington with a headstone a few rows from my neighbor, Captain Brian Letendre, who gave up his life amidst the ugliness of war the year before. Brian hung in my mind the entire day I said goodbye to Donnie; praying my brother's fate would be different but also realizing it could have been the last moments I shared with him. I soaked each minute up - trying to memorize his face and his voice and his smell and the way he walked and his facial expressions and his mannerisms.
As he hugged me goodbye and I cried my eyes out, he showed no emotion. He has always dealt with nerves and apprehension with a few deep breaths and a forward gait. This day was no different. After what was probably about 5 minutes he turned and made his way to security. We stood watching as the airport guard checked his ID. We watched, staring dumbly as he removed his wallet and iPod from his pocket and placed them in the gray loose-object bin. He walked through the metal detector, gathered his things, and continued on his way. Our eyes followed him until he turned the corner and was gone.
Then the real tears started. I felt so exposed walking through the airport with a broken heart while the people around me were on their way to Disney World or a business trip or picking up their best friend for a week of fun or seeing their daughter off to Grandma's house. Sitting on the shuttle from the airport to the parking garage, a woman saw a sad man with three sad women and expressed sympathy to us - my mom told her, "my son just left for Iraq." All of a sudden the soldiers on the news and in the papers became my brother - the thousands of stories of military families became my family, my story. And I wanted nothing in the world more than to 'trade in' my story for someone else's.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Travel Week
We talked about it already in our meeting on Monday but I will tell the story again so I can come back to it in awhile and relearn what I learned this past week.
Travel week was nothing short of phenomenal. It is amazing what happens when you take 19 college kids and bring them to a new place for 5 days (with no internet or cell phone service).
Life became about the people next to us, not the next thing on our to-do lists. For a few days we lost track of Facebook notifications and friends back home and bonded like never before.
There is something about being in a place different from 'home base' that is good for the soul, both individually and collectively. We shared experiences unique to our group and spent time in places where we felt like no one else had ever been - our own little secret memories. Words and photos just don't do the places justice.
First, a long hike on "The Road to Nowhere," where Forney Creek meets Fontana Lake. The dynamic of the hike was to walk a little ways having a one-on-one conversation, naturally lose track of you companion through some sort of casual change in pace, then start a one-on-one with someone else. A few times there were groups of 3 or 4 having conversations but again those dynamics naturally changed as someone picked up their pace or stopped for a drink of water. I think the subconscious knowledge that we would have another 4 days together after that day helped to keep the conversation easy - we could talk about things and not be feeling like every topic had to be concluded or packaged with a nice little bow. We could release thoughts and let them linger in the silence without needed concrete answers or solutions to the issues we faced.
Friday we got a glimpse of the scale of the forest. We started with a hike through Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest, a patch of land with trees that are hundreds of years old and were spared from the logging industry in the late 1800s and early 1900s. There were poplars that were 8' in diameter. This hike was quieter and more introspective as I just thought about how long those trees had been sitting there, growing and growing and growing. It was unfathomable to picture winter after winter, summer after summer, those trees growing and thriving; their roots winding throughout the ferns and vines on the forest floor. It reminded me to have patience in my circumstances - that just waiting a few more days or a few more weeks doesn't have to be painful or miserable - it can actually be healing. A later hike to the Wesser Bald fire tower (with a 360 degree view of the mountains) reminded me again how very very small I am in the grand scheme of things. I wasn't discouraged by this, but just humbled and put in my place a little bit. The selfishness dissipated and I became more aware of the fact that the world truly doesn't revolve around me.
Saturday was a continuation of the miracle of group dynamics. There were no cliques, no one left out, just an overwhelming feeling of acceptance, humility, and belonging. I wish there were words adequate to describe the way acquaintances became friends - it was like the time warp thing you've talked about - where time goes slower and faster and somehow in a matter of days you have all these best friends and you feel like you've known them much longer than you actually have.
I think the success of the trip was a combination of factors:
-Being in a place other than our context, we were unfamiliar with our environment and so we learned about it together
-All of us went into the trip open to experience new things and get to know people
-We went in with a willingness to step outside of our comfort zones and truly explore - talking with locals to find the answers to the questions we had
-We shared seats and beds and water bottles and snacks and hairbrushes and shampoo and stories and memories and fears and failures and goals and hopes and experiences
-No one in the group found the need/desire to drink alcohol - we were too busy/exhausted having fun to even want to party
-The experiences we were sharing were unique to the trip - it was a combination of once in a lifetime experiences
-There were lots of firsts: first hikes, first time wake boarding, first time jumping off the roof of a houseboat into the lake, first time taking site measurements, etc
-Not only did we learn about a new area, but we learned how to practice a new way of seeing the world and absorbing it more fully than ever before.
-The trip was full of genuine affirmation and encouragement. Ugly words weren't spoken. Period.
I wish I knew more about how to put into words the moments of magic on this trip. I just felt so fortunate to have been a part of it and to begin to look into how I as a leader and as an architect can begin to create those same types of experiences for others in the future.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Stream of Consciousness
This might be a big rambling mess... it probably will be - I am not planning to edit, I am just going to write (and write and write.)
My head and my heart are full tonight of all different aspects of stories and I don't really know where to start. There are my thoughts on the book, my thoughts on my own stories, my thoughts on Bob and Emily, on September 11th, my thoughts on "my" Nanny, my friends, the SERVErs, your stories, how stories influence architecture, my thoughts of the Cherokee Indians and their stories (random but relevant because I am researching the Cherokees for my studio project), my thoughts on storytelling and faith, and a million other things. I wish I had the words to make all my observations sound beautiful.
I have loved this book and how relevant it is to me - the main problem is I find myself wanting to hear stories more than I want to do the rest of my schoolwork. One question asked at the end of chapter one, "Choose a family heirloom or artifact and write down as much of it's history as you know," turned into an hour on the phone with my mom then an hour on the phone with my grandmother. We talked about a specific piece of furniture in my parent's house that belonged to my grandfather's mother, then the ring my mom wears that is from my Great-Great-Great Grandmother from Italy, my brother's bedroom set that was my dad's growing up that my grandfather bought the month he got a bonus for being employee of the month at the car dealership he worked at in the early 60's, etc. We talked about the items that had joined our family in my lifetime and how they will now have stories too - the polish pottery I bought for my mom for Christmas one year that started her collection, the antique dresser that we saw on the curb and fell in love with that is now in my room here in Blacksburg, the infamous church pew that is currently collecting dust in my room at home as it waits for me to have a home of my own. These are all just objects - if they were to be gone tomorrow my life would not be any different but yet they are a part of who I am. Our possessions are not significant because of WHAT they are, but because of what they stir up inside of us - the memories and stories of times we won't ever have again. They make our memories tangible.
I read this article about September 11th that contained a story I hadn't heard before - about a firefighter from Michigan who responded to the attacks and spent a week in New York helping on Ground Zero. He found a business card amidst the rubble and decided to contact the family of the man who the business card belonged to. It was amazing to see how much this business card comforted the family of the man who was lost in the attack... this one little piece of his last day on earth. His body was never recovered from the debris but his family has this one business card and the story the firefighter has told them about where he found it, including photos of the particular spot on Ground Zero and the occurrences that led to him finding it. All of a sudden such a small piece of paper became a priceless link to a life lost. Our things make our memories tangible.
September 11th has been on my mind a lot this week. I have recognized in others an utter need to tell stories over the last few days. When September 11th has been mentioned, without fail, someone in the conversation I am in will say "I was on my way to work when I heard on the radio..." "I was teaching in elementary school and got an e-mail..." "I was watching the morning news..." I truly believe there is not a single American who doesn't remember where they were when they found out the planes hit the towers. We all have our stories about different events in our lives, but when it comes to a mutual experience like that - where at the same moment of the same day in history millions of people remember the specifics of their own experience - there is major power in that. It fascinates me that as I was sitting in my 6th grade math class completely unaware of what was going on, my dad was driving on 395 through Alexandria, no more than 1/2 a mile from the Pentagon, watching flight 77 transform from a low-flying plane into a ball of flames. Where were you, Jake? You remember too - maybe even mundane details of the day. It is amazing how tragedy heightens our sense of connectedness - it reminds us that we are all living our stories simultaneously and for a few moments we lose sight of ourselves and our self-centeredness.
On April 16th, 2007 there had been a big rain storm in Northern Virginia that knocked out all power for about 15 hours. I got up in the morning, got ready in the dark, and went to school. I had a stomach ache and so I called my dad to get permission to go home for a little while and take a nap. I left school at 10:16 am (the end of 2nd period) (I couldn't miss the whole day because I had lacrosse practice that afternoon and couldn't miss it.) I went home, slept for two hours (in a house with no power, so no news), and came back to school to hear about the shooting at "my" school, my virginia tech. It's my story about the day... collected as little snippets of what I can remember. In those same moments that I was sitting in 1st and 2nd period, you were on the 2nd floor of Norris Hall collecting your own story about the day. When you shared your story with me, my own story seemed so insignificant compared to yours. I think that's how stories work though (when it comes to tragedies at least). When it happens, you have your one single story - your perspective and memory of how things occurred. As you hear more stories of the same timeline of events, your story changes too. The stories of your friends become a part of your own and you develop a more thorough experience of the event. I still have my own story, and it is still the one I think of first (because I actually lived it) but I have more than that too.
There is a lot more I have been thinking about but I am sure I will get to all of the topics eventually. I am looking forward to meeting with you in the morning and getting to talk (and listen.)
My head and my heart are full tonight of all different aspects of stories and I don't really know where to start. There are my thoughts on the book, my thoughts on my own stories, my thoughts on Bob and Emily, on September 11th, my thoughts on "my" Nanny, my friends, the SERVErs, your stories, how stories influence architecture, my thoughts of the Cherokee Indians and their stories (random but relevant because I am researching the Cherokees for my studio project), my thoughts on storytelling and faith, and a million other things. I wish I had the words to make all my observations sound beautiful.
I have loved this book and how relevant it is to me - the main problem is I find myself wanting to hear stories more than I want to do the rest of my schoolwork. One question asked at the end of chapter one, "Choose a family heirloom or artifact and write down as much of it's history as you know," turned into an hour on the phone with my mom then an hour on the phone with my grandmother. We talked about a specific piece of furniture in my parent's house that belonged to my grandfather's mother, then the ring my mom wears that is from my Great-Great-Great Grandmother from Italy, my brother's bedroom set that was my dad's growing up that my grandfather bought the month he got a bonus for being employee of the month at the car dealership he worked at in the early 60's, etc. We talked about the items that had joined our family in my lifetime and how they will now have stories too - the polish pottery I bought for my mom for Christmas one year that started her collection, the antique dresser that we saw on the curb and fell in love with that is now in my room here in Blacksburg, the infamous church pew that is currently collecting dust in my room at home as it waits for me to have a home of my own. These are all just objects - if they were to be gone tomorrow my life would not be any different but yet they are a part of who I am. Our possessions are not significant because of WHAT they are, but because of what they stir up inside of us - the memories and stories of times we won't ever have again. They make our memories tangible.
I read this article about September 11th that contained a story I hadn't heard before - about a firefighter from Michigan who responded to the attacks and spent a week in New York helping on Ground Zero. He found a business card amidst the rubble and decided to contact the family of the man who the business card belonged to. It was amazing to see how much this business card comforted the family of the man who was lost in the attack... this one little piece of his last day on earth. His body was never recovered from the debris but his family has this one business card and the story the firefighter has told them about where he found it, including photos of the particular spot on Ground Zero and the occurrences that led to him finding it. All of a sudden such a small piece of paper became a priceless link to a life lost. Our things make our memories tangible.
September 11th has been on my mind a lot this week. I have recognized in others an utter need to tell stories over the last few days. When September 11th has been mentioned, without fail, someone in the conversation I am in will say "I was on my way to work when I heard on the radio..." "I was teaching in elementary school and got an e-mail..." "I was watching the morning news..." I truly believe there is not a single American who doesn't remember where they were when they found out the planes hit the towers. We all have our stories about different events in our lives, but when it comes to a mutual experience like that - where at the same moment of the same day in history millions of people remember the specifics of their own experience - there is major power in that. It fascinates me that as I was sitting in my 6th grade math class completely unaware of what was going on, my dad was driving on 395 through Alexandria, no more than 1/2 a mile from the Pentagon, watching flight 77 transform from a low-flying plane into a ball of flames. Where were you, Jake? You remember too - maybe even mundane details of the day. It is amazing how tragedy heightens our sense of connectedness - it reminds us that we are all living our stories simultaneously and for a few moments we lose sight of ourselves and our self-centeredness.
On April 16th, 2007 there had been a big rain storm in Northern Virginia that knocked out all power for about 15 hours. I got up in the morning, got ready in the dark, and went to school. I had a stomach ache and so I called my dad to get permission to go home for a little while and take a nap. I left school at 10:16 am (the end of 2nd period) (I couldn't miss the whole day because I had lacrosse practice that afternoon and couldn't miss it.) I went home, slept for two hours (in a house with no power, so no news), and came back to school to hear about the shooting at "my" school, my virginia tech. It's my story about the day... collected as little snippets of what I can remember. In those same moments that I was sitting in 1st and 2nd period, you were on the 2nd floor of Norris Hall collecting your own story about the day. When you shared your story with me, my own story seemed so insignificant compared to yours. I think that's how stories work though (when it comes to tragedies at least). When it happens, you have your one single story - your perspective and memory of how things occurred. As you hear more stories of the same timeline of events, your story changes too. The stories of your friends become a part of your own and you develop a more thorough experience of the event. I still have my own story, and it is still the one I think of first (because I actually lived it) but I have more than that too.
There is a lot more I have been thinking about but I am sure I will get to all of the topics eventually. I am looking forward to meeting with you in the morning and getting to talk (and listen.)
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Dear Jake,
(I was going to start with, "So my teacher and I were talking yesterday," but felt like that was awkward since you are pretty much my only reader. So anyways. That's that.)
I was really challenged by our conversation yesterday about story-catching. I feel like "active listener" and "deep listener" are really overused terms that don't accurately represent the skill I am desiring to develop this semester. I want to be an active listener in that I can ask questions that prompt reflection or self-problem-solving (if that makes sense). I want to be a deep listener and not just offer solutions or bring my own stories into a conversation that was supposed to be about the other person.
I tend to think of "active" and "deep" listening as exercises contained to one conversation at a time. Often when I decide I am going to work on actively or deeply listening I have this distracting dialogue going in my head of "am I actually listening well? What do I say next to prompt reflection? How can I give them a good solution and find a way to make them think it is their own solution?" etc. My own thoughts become too loud for the exercise to be of any success and I end up exhausted from it and discouraged from making it a habit. I want to become a better listener not by consciously "practicing" on particular conversations but just by having genuine interest in the people around me and having a longing to know their stories.
I guess the term I think is most accurate is that I want to be an "absorbent listener." I want to develop a natural tendency to really hear what my friends are saying - not just the words that come out of their mouths but also the way they say those words. I have learned so far that there is a great deal of significance to what stories a person chooses to tell about their experiences. I want to recognize the significance of the parts of their stories they choose to tell.
I talked to a girl last night who is a freshman at Tech and asked her what she liked to do. She mentioned that she liked to play tennis with her dad and that every summer she goes to New England to a tennis camp with her cousins. She talked about how she is the youngest of her siblings and so her cousins (who are younger) often feel like her little brothers and sisters and that she loves being around them. It was fascinating to me (after our conversation yesterday morning) that her entire life has millions of stories and when I asked her about her life she chose one small aspect of all the magnitude of possibilities. Instead of choosing to say, "I like tennis," she chose to tell the story behind it. I learned not only that she likes tennis but that she is close with her dad, enjoys spending time with him, has family in New England, values her relationships with her cousins, and she has older siblings. This doesn't mean her mom is insignificant in her life, that her other cousins who don't play tennis aren't important, or that she doesn't like other sports besides just tennis. The significance is that the fact that she did mention these things gives me an opportunity next time I see her to dig deeper, ask more questions, and start from something that I already know is important to her.
When talking with my grandmother last night I explained a little bit about my conversation with you and told her that based on knowing her my whole life I can tell one of the most important things in her life is the relationship she had with her mother. Almost every time I talk to my grandma she relates something I say to "when my mother was alive..." Believe it or not she actually started crying on the phone and told me about how one of the reasons she is so comfortable talking to me about her mom is that I remind her so much of her (my great grandmother). She started telling me all of the things that make me like her - her mannerisms, her chin, her gentleness, her laugh. Without meaning to I awakened a conversation with my Grandma that she often sprinkles into our talks but gave her the opportunity to really expose her memories and open up to me.
I am looking forward to adopting this method of listening - I am sure it will be a conscious effort at first but I hope at some point I develop the ability to be aware of not only the words people are telling me but also the significance of them choosing those particular words.
I was really challenged by our conversation yesterday about story-catching. I feel like "active listener" and "deep listener" are really overused terms that don't accurately represent the skill I am desiring to develop this semester. I want to be an active listener in that I can ask questions that prompt reflection or self-problem-solving (if that makes sense). I want to be a deep listener and not just offer solutions or bring my own stories into a conversation that was supposed to be about the other person.
I tend to think of "active" and "deep" listening as exercises contained to one conversation at a time. Often when I decide I am going to work on actively or deeply listening I have this distracting dialogue going in my head of "am I actually listening well? What do I say next to prompt reflection? How can I give them a good solution and find a way to make them think it is their own solution?" etc. My own thoughts become too loud for the exercise to be of any success and I end up exhausted from it and discouraged from making it a habit. I want to become a better listener not by consciously "practicing" on particular conversations but just by having genuine interest in the people around me and having a longing to know their stories.
I guess the term I think is most accurate is that I want to be an "absorbent listener." I want to develop a natural tendency to really hear what my friends are saying - not just the words that come out of their mouths but also the way they say those words. I have learned so far that there is a great deal of significance to what stories a person chooses to tell about their experiences. I want to recognize the significance of the parts of their stories they choose to tell.
I talked to a girl last night who is a freshman at Tech and asked her what she liked to do. She mentioned that she liked to play tennis with her dad and that every summer she goes to New England to a tennis camp with her cousins. She talked about how she is the youngest of her siblings and so her cousins (who are younger) often feel like her little brothers and sisters and that she loves being around them. It was fascinating to me (after our conversation yesterday morning) that her entire life has millions of stories and when I asked her about her life she chose one small aspect of all the magnitude of possibilities. Instead of choosing to say, "I like tennis," she chose to tell the story behind it. I learned not only that she likes tennis but that she is close with her dad, enjoys spending time with him, has family in New England, values her relationships with her cousins, and she has older siblings. This doesn't mean her mom is insignificant in her life, that her other cousins who don't play tennis aren't important, or that she doesn't like other sports besides just tennis. The significance is that the fact that she did mention these things gives me an opportunity next time I see her to dig deeper, ask more questions, and start from something that I already know is important to her.
When talking with my grandmother last night I explained a little bit about my conversation with you and told her that based on knowing her my whole life I can tell one of the most important things in her life is the relationship she had with her mother. Almost every time I talk to my grandma she relates something I say to "when my mother was alive..." Believe it or not she actually started crying on the phone and told me about how one of the reasons she is so comfortable talking to me about her mom is that I remind her so much of her (my great grandmother). She started telling me all of the things that make me like her - her mannerisms, her chin, her gentleness, her laugh. Without meaning to I awakened a conversation with my Grandma that she often sprinkles into our talks but gave her the opportunity to really expose her memories and open up to me.
I am looking forward to adopting this method of listening - I am sure it will be a conscious effort at first but I hope at some point I develop the ability to be aware of not only the words people are telling me but also the significance of them choosing those particular words.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
One Week Down...
Only fourteen to go.
I can say with confidence that this week was one of the most stressful I have experienced so far. (That is, in my life. Not just in college.)
I was IN class 43 hours this week, and working on homework the other spare moments I had. One thing I learned about myself in the last 5 days is this - that stress makes me flaky and forgetful.
On Thursday alone I managed to:
-Accidently leave two notebooks I needed at my apartment when I went to campus for the day
-Accidently leave my insurance card at the CVS pharmacy counter
-Accidently leave the STOVE ON at my apartment when I went home to get the two notebooks I forgot in the morning
-Accidently leave one of the needed notebooks at studio when I went to the meeting I needed it for
This is not ok. I can't just leave the stove on for 3 hours. I know it is normal for me to be stressed when I am not used to a routine but I want to get to the root of why I get this way, what I can do about it next week, and how to prevent the overwhelming feeling one, five, and fifty years from now. College will not be the only stressful time in my life - there has got to be a better way to manage stress than by making haphazard lists on the backs of receipts and flitting around like I have never taken a college course before.
So WHY has this week been so stressful? WHAT parts of my personality make me this stressed? HOW can I prevent this in the future?
I have determined that my fatal flaw this week has been my lack of balance. My stream of consciousness is a rollercoaster with peaks of productivity obsession and valleys of laziness bingeing. The problem with this is the valleys of laziness last much longer than the peaks of productivity. I spend three hours working really hard and then "reward" myself by spending the next 8 hours doing absolutely nothing. I spend 5 minutes typing up this blog post, then 20 minutes on facebook. A solution I am going to attempt this week is to make a more intentional to-do list with specific "rewards" for projects accomplished. All rewards will be limited to shorter spans of time than I am currently allowing myself and if I feel myself going off track I will turn back to my to-do list and choose a different task to complete in order to maintain productivity.
When it comes to the rest of my life, I think it is important to use the calmer times in my life for productivity instead of putting things off. There are so many things I could have done this summer that I didn't do and (surprise!) they still need to be done and I now have far less time available to do them. I also hope to adopt the practice of short spurts of intense focus. Growing up my mom got my brother and I to help clean the house by doing a "10 minute blitz" where she would set the timer for 10 minutes and we picked up/cleaned as much as possible in that time. I still do the "10 minute blitz" when cleaning my room at my apartment, but I think I can adopt it into my schoolwork as well (maybe "1 hour blitz" instead of 10 minutes - see how much work can get done in 1 hour). Setting a time limit and shutting out all distractions for that amount of time should help me to get more done in less time, whether it's math homework, cleaning my house, or any other less than desirable activities. It will also make my opportunities to relax more refreshing.
I can say with confidence that this week was one of the most stressful I have experienced so far. (That is, in my life. Not just in college.)
I was IN class 43 hours this week, and working on homework the other spare moments I had. One thing I learned about myself in the last 5 days is this - that stress makes me flaky and forgetful.
On Thursday alone I managed to:
-Accidently leave two notebooks I needed at my apartment when I went to campus for the day
-Accidently leave my insurance card at the CVS pharmacy counter
-Accidently leave the STOVE ON at my apartment when I went home to get the two notebooks I forgot in the morning
-Accidently leave one of the needed notebooks at studio when I went to the meeting I needed it for
This is not ok. I can't just leave the stove on for 3 hours. I know it is normal for me to be stressed when I am not used to a routine but I want to get to the root of why I get this way, what I can do about it next week, and how to prevent the overwhelming feeling one, five, and fifty years from now. College will not be the only stressful time in my life - there has got to be a better way to manage stress than by making haphazard lists on the backs of receipts and flitting around like I have never taken a college course before.
So WHY has this week been so stressful? WHAT parts of my personality make me this stressed? HOW can I prevent this in the future?
I have determined that my fatal flaw this week has been my lack of balance. My stream of consciousness is a rollercoaster with peaks of productivity obsession and valleys of laziness bingeing. The problem with this is the valleys of laziness last much longer than the peaks of productivity. I spend three hours working really hard and then "reward" myself by spending the next 8 hours doing absolutely nothing. I spend 5 minutes typing up this blog post, then 20 minutes on facebook. A solution I am going to attempt this week is to make a more intentional to-do list with specific "rewards" for projects accomplished. All rewards will be limited to shorter spans of time than I am currently allowing myself and if I feel myself going off track I will turn back to my to-do list and choose a different task to complete in order to maintain productivity.
When it comes to the rest of my life, I think it is important to use the calmer times in my life for productivity instead of putting things off. There are so many things I could have done this summer that I didn't do and (surprise!) they still need to be done and I now have far less time available to do them. I also hope to adopt the practice of short spurts of intense focus. Growing up my mom got my brother and I to help clean the house by doing a "10 minute blitz" where she would set the timer for 10 minutes and we picked up/cleaned as much as possible in that time. I still do the "10 minute blitz" when cleaning my room at my apartment, but I think I can adopt it into my schoolwork as well (maybe "1 hour blitz" instead of 10 minutes - see how much work can get done in 1 hour). Setting a time limit and shutting out all distractions for that amount of time should help me to get more done in less time, whether it's math homework, cleaning my house, or any other less than desirable activities. It will also make my opportunities to relax more refreshing.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
SERVE Retreat
This past Friday and Saturday were the start of SERVE 2.0 - a new batch of freshman interested in community service and making their mark on the VT community. It is so fun to be around other people who see their college years as more than just a time to party and skip class, but as a time to jump into a new environment and become a part of it. Virginia Tech makes up almost half of the total Blacksburg population (with over 30,000 students and around 40,000 non-student, year-round residents). One thing I love about service here is that I get the chance to get to know some of those 40,000 - families from my church, Bob and Emily and their friends, children in the schools, etc. Blacksburg is my home for 5 years but it is their home indefinitely... where they spend their holidays, raise their families, bury their loved ones, and invest their time. What a gift I have to offer here; to offer my time and efforts to bettering this place and to invest in others who are also willing to give generously of their time and efforts.
A part of the retreat that I loved was getting to know each student's story - how they developed a desire to serve others and what factors in their lives impacted who they are. From formal activities like creating name-tags expressing their interests to just getting to know the students one-on-one during down-time, it is inspiring to see the passions of each individual. My hope is that each student will find ways to get 'plugged in' to the organizations that are in place that focus on their passions. There is a place here for those who love children (Daniel), those who feel called to preserving the environment (Steph), those interested in fighting to end cancer (many), those wanting to work with the homeless and orphans (Gaia), etc. Each student has a story that got them to this place and each story is equally important. If each of the 12 (plus our CAs) make a mark in an area where they are interested, the ripple effect in this community will be incredible.
I am loving these quotes from Washington University on service and plan to reflect on some of them during the semester - maybe a good project would be to have the SERVE kids eventually develop their own quote for their personal views of service?
A part of the retreat that I loved was getting to know each student's story - how they developed a desire to serve others and what factors in their lives impacted who they are. From formal activities like creating name-tags expressing their interests to just getting to know the students one-on-one during down-time, it is inspiring to see the passions of each individual. My hope is that each student will find ways to get 'plugged in' to the organizations that are in place that focus on their passions. There is a place here for those who love children (Daniel), those who feel called to preserving the environment (Steph), those interested in fighting to end cancer (many), those wanting to work with the homeless and orphans (Gaia), etc. Each student has a story that got them to this place and each story is equally important. If each of the 12 (plus our CAs) make a mark in an area where they are interested, the ripple effect in this community will be incredible.
I am loving these quotes from Washington University on service and plan to reflect on some of them during the semester - maybe a good project would be to have the SERVE kids eventually develop their own quote for their personal views of service?
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