The year that was

A year ago today, I left London, unwillingly, sadly, and not on my own terms. Here are some thoughts, on what followed...

When the clock struck midnight last year, and we turned the page on 2011, I felt a sense of relief at putting that year behind me. 2011 began with hope at where I was headed, and 2011 ended, well, with hope at where I am headed. In between those two midnights however, there were a lot of hopeless midnights, where I felt the only place I was headed was further down into a well of black.

I had big plans last January, that included career advancement, European travel, and truly becoming a Londoner, and not a long-term visitor. Whilst, I was still reeling from my Grandma's unexpected death in December, I could easily see the positive road ahead. For the most part things were good. I had worked very hard to get to this place; months of low-paying jobs, nights spent unsure of my place, and struggles to understand English education at my job. I had spent so much of my time in London feeling uncertainty of job, money, and friends, I knew that was soon coming to an end. After all my hard work, I was almost there, just one more hurdle. The one I thought was surely the easiest, after finding a job, fighting to ensure that job stayed funded, developing my 'urban-family' support system, and learning my way around. I had done everything I was supposed to do, and soon, I'd be on my way.

Then February began and well, it all fell apart. The work visa wasn't coming, it was easier to get rid of me than fight for me, and a mere twelve days later, I was saying good-bye to the city, the life, that had become home. So, I headed back to my other home, where I had to figure out what was next. I had to figure out what you do when you've done everything,when you worked hard, when it still isn't enough. What you do when you miss your new home so much, but don't want to hurt those in your old home who just want to help you. What you do when you lived in a capital city and are forced to move back to the small town. What you do when you get accused of being superior, when the truth is simply that your experiences have changed you. What you do when your career is snatched away, and you have to find a new one. What you do when you hate being stuck inside, but don't want to be outside either. What you do when you feel betrayed, but still miss that which betrayed you, all the same. What you do when feel stupid for believing it would work out. What you do when you didn't get to say good-bye on your own terms. What you do when you are running out of hope.

I can't say that I have the answer to those questions; the only one I have is that, I think, all you can do is try not to drown in those questions. I think you do have to feel them, and you have to give credence to them. Perhaps, I wallowed, perhaps I spent too much time feeling bad for myself. I don't know. All I know is that the way I kept from drowning was to take the time to cry and be angry and talk about it and feel betrayed. To be grateful that I had some place to go, but still think it is okay that this shouldn't have happened to me. To understand that I am still relatively blessed, but to be mad as hell that this ended the way it did. To let time do what it does and scab over the wounds and let them begin to fade.

In time, I found another job. One in the U.S., but one that I like nonetheless. I have spent time with my family making up for so much time spent away. I celebrated my Mom's 60th birthday and my sister's 30th. I have started to reconnect with friends. I am figuring out what my next steps are. Where I am going; where I am headed.


A year later, I am still sad. Still angry. I still feel betrayed. I still miss London, my friends, and my old life. I am still caught with unexpected waves of nostalgia for a double-decker bus, my independence, and strangely at times, the smells of London. But, not all the time any more. I feel better; I have some hope again.

Songs I Dig: Runaway

There are some songs that just stick with me for whatever reason, that I become obsessed with them, and I listen to them over and over. One such example is TV on the Radio's Family Tree --I couldn't get enough of it for awhile--and I can still listen to Tunde Adebimpe's tale of a forbidden love any day of the week. I imagine ghosts connected to the tree keeping the lovers apart.

There are also songs that conjure up certain memories. Like smells, the memory songs can take me back to a particular place and/or time. There is that All Star song by Smash Mouth which makes me think of the summer of 1999, the one before I graduated from college. The last summer before I had to become an adult. It's a stupid song, but it reminds me of that time of fear and excitement and longing.

This is all a preamble to introduce what I intend (hope?) to be at least a semi-regular feature about songs such as those above. I don't have grand illusions that they will all be winners but I do promise to try and feature either a good song or a good story about a song.

So to start off this feature (called, for lack of a better name, Songs I Dig), I dig Runaway by The National. Off of their latest album High Violet (of which I highly recommend), I started listening to the album on my work commutes, and I got hooked on this song in late January/early February. I can't tell you exactly what the song is supposed to mean, though to me it sounds like love and loss. And maybe about the fight to keep the love and not giving up. Seriously, I'm not sure.



Of course, I think the beauty of music is that it doesn't always matter what a song means, or what the writer intended. Sometimes you can make it your own, and the deep, melancholic voice of singer Matt Beringer put sound to how I was feeling in early February. I was reeling from losing London and all that London was for me (friends, experiences, possibilities, making my own way) and feeling completely helpless about it. Lines like, "there's no saving anything," "I'll swallow the sun," and "We've got another thing coming undone," was the poetic version of how I felt. I might not have been running away, but I was going and I was blind-sided, and it felt like everything was closing in, or that I was '"being led to the flood," if you will. I was sad (still am), and I needed a quiet space to feel my loss, and this song provided it.

Yet, when I listen to Runaway now, I smile through my (sometimes figurative) tears. On my last day out in London, I took the bus across the Thames at Vauxhall. Outside my bus window, on a clear day, with Runaway playing in my ears, I had a beautiful view of Parliament, Big Ben, and the river. A most spectacular view, one that each of the countless times I witnessed reminded me of all that I loved of London. That it was my last meaningful look at London (for a little while at least) was a fitting end to three years well spent. And now, Runaway mostly makes me remember that view and my time in London. Which is why I dig it.


To download a live(ish) version of Runaway for free, go here.

TV on the Radio has a new album out in April. You can get a free download of Caffeinated Consciousness here.

Paging 'Cave' Equality

These days I am spending a significant amount of time at home during the day. One of the things I am doing, along with soul and job searching, is watching a significant amount of home improvement/house buying television. And let me tell you, there is a lot out there, all designed to entertain the middle class masses. (Which certainly should be a subject for a different post!)

One of the trends I have noticed that appears new to me since last I gorged on these shows, is the idea of a 'man cave.' The term is apparently describing a space for the man of the house (because, it seems this idea is always perpetuated by couples in opposite marriage) to do as he pleases. And while I don't inherently have a problem with couples having their own space or spaces in a house (in fact I think it is a good thing), I find a lot of the talk around man caves to be problematic.

The term man cave has entered the lexicon enough to have its own wikipedia page. The 'man cave' is described as a place "where guys can do as they please without upsetting female sensibilities about the house." The page further talks about how it is 'generally accepted' that women decorate the rest of the house, and men need to create their own space as a reaction to 'feminine domestic power.' These caves, generally full of 'manly items' like electronics (since women do not like electronics, duh), are where they can put their beer can lamps away from the eyes of the guests to the house. The page goes on at length about how the 'women's movement' have left men with identity problems and how they just can't please all the women in the whole wide world who want them to be sensitive and manly. Yes, I am paraphrasing, but I think you'll find I am on the money.

I find this whole dialogue around man caves to be full of fail. To start off with, the idea that women decorate the rest of the house without input or thought of men, is an annoyingly sexist idea. Sure this is the case in some households, but I think it is important to dig just a bit deeper. Traditionally women's identity and power have been almost totally defined by the home, and despite the 'women's movement,' women are still overwhelming the ones expected to keep the home. That men should respond to this 'feminine domestic power' by demanding a man cave rather than looking at that inequality, shows a lot of unchecked privilege. For a show to perpetuate this idea, sell it as not only as an accepted, but a coveted norm, make the move for gender equality in the home more difficult.

In all of the discussions of man caves, I have rarely (I won't say never, since as soon as I say never, someone will tell me I'm wrong) seen discussion about a 'woman cave.' And while I shudder to think what home shows would propose to be in these caves (sewing? scrapbooking? vacuum cleaner?), the idea that men need to get away from the womenz, continues to advance the idea of women as nagging, controlling, shrews. Ones that won't 'let' a grown man have his buddies over for a poker game, watch football, or play video games. It also seems to implicitly say that women don't really need their own space, that women would never need time away from their husbands or children.

The whole man cave idea assumes that couples of the heterosexual nature are made up of stereotypes. The wife-as-mother married to the man-child. It doesn't consider that a relationship between a woman and man could be equal, that it could be based in love, respect, and communication. It doesn't say that in a couple, both partners need to have time and space from the other one, even in their own home. It assumes couples would never share decisions about the upkeep of their home, and that if one partner does more of the decorating the other is resentful of that. And it assumes that all women care about are how their home looks to others.

I wish that these shows, because they do shape and reflect a certain way of thinking, would talk more about a cave that both halves could use for time away. That this cave is a safe space from the pressure to look a certain way, a place that is comfortable and fun, a place free from judgement. A place that was respected for alone time, but could be shared sometimes too. Wouldn't it be great if the pop culture narrative from these shows was more evolved than this!

Trailblazers

I share my birthday with some pretty cool people, including Galileo and Susan B. Anthony. (Also, Jo Miller, a poker player, and a girl I went to high school with--all cool in their own right.) Most of you know Galileo, he who the Church condemned for daring to support the theory that the Sun and not the Earth was at the center of the universe. He has been hailed as being responsible for modern science, and is enshrined in pop culture by both Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody and in the song Galileo by the Indigo Girls. If Queen sings about you, I think that makes you cool.

Most Americans know, or should know, Susan B. Anthony. A Quaker who campaigned for various social justice causes, the most well-known being Women's Suffrage in America. Famously working with Elizabeth Cady Stanton they created the organisation that would become the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA), and lobbied tirelessly for a constitutional amendment. Susan B. Anthony was once arrested for voting; she never paid the fine. Susan B. Anthony was immortalized on a US dollar coin, which is pretty darn cool.

Galileo and Susan B. Anthony were long dead by the time they got their justly deserved comeuppance. In the 1990s, the Church apologised for making Galileo recant what was later found out to be basically the truth, and in 1920 the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was ratified, using the original language written by Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Their largest legacy is that they helped to create a new world of sorts. One where scientific study and reason was the norm over religious mania. One where women were allowed to exercise a basic democratic right that helps to ensure their rights as citizens. I would wager to say that in the 21st century we must continue to fight for both principles.

I make no claims on ever getting into a pop song, or becoming money, but I do hope that some of what I do can make a difference. Each year on February 15th, I am inspired of these two trailblazers that came before me, and hope that I can blaze a small trail of my own.

Happy New Year, 2011 Style

2010 was an interesting year for me. It was completely brilliant and totally challenging. It brought me great joy and great sadness.

All of that left me really tired and worn out and not feeling like I could write. Also, I was afraid the answer to the Is Sara Interesting question would be no, she's just a bit boring. A result was this blog was silent for the whole of 2010. I'm quite sad about that and the plan is to get it back up and running in 2011. Well, the resolution is to start writing more (or ahem, again) and hopefully some of that will end up here. I've started by picking a new blog style for now. I liked the old one, but thought something new could be fun.

For now I'm processing the start of another year, and how I am going to complete this resolution. As well as some others. I'll report back!

The ups and downs of the journey...

This is only my seventh post in 2009, and it is already November; I’m not even averaging once a month. This post is basically why I haven’t written much this year, which goes way beyond the standard ‘I’ve been busy line,’ but because I was dealing with a lot. I do hope that I’ve reached a point where I can begin blogging more often, that I feel up to it and have the necessary mental and time capacity. I’ve been wanting to write this post for at least two months if not more, and writing it is a bit like getting the monkey off my back and putting the past year behind me.

If you read my last post, you know I got a job in London after months of looking. And the looking was really hard and painful and discouraging. I applied to nearly 80 jobs, mostly in the non-profit sector, a fair few in the educational sector, and even a few in the business sector. [From an American perspective, 80 may not seem like that many jobs for all that time applying, but applying was about way more than simply sending in a resume and cover letter. For each job I wanted to apply to, I had to fill out an organisational-specific application, which normally wasn’t formatted very well, which meant a lot of re-formatting on my part in order for the application to show up properly. Within each application, I would have to invariably type out job titles and tasks, figuring out how to tailor each job or internship of my past to the specific needs of the organisation and job. Beyond this, I would have to write a personal statement extolling the merits of Sara, and why I should be hired.] [Also, if you are wondering why I now organise with an s and not a z, it was because I decided it would be best to try and be as English as possible, and I now work for an English organisation—I’m not deliberately being pretentious. I’m sure a month back in the States will knock it out of me.] It is absolutely not an exaggeration to say that each of these applications took, on average, four hours. This is on top of the five to six days a week I was working (often having to get up at 5:30 am, and you know I ain’t no morning person), as well as searching for jobs on a daily basis.

While the physical exhaustion was great, frankly, it was the mental exhaustion that I am still recovering from. I was told, (or often not told but my application went ignored) that ‘on this occasion I had not been selected for an interview,’ or that I didn’t have enough experience, or thanks but not thanks. I wasn’t shooting for the stars: I was applying for jobs that did not require the MA degree I just worked for, in jobs that barely paid above the poverty line. I applied to jobs that I had experience in, and in jobs that weren’t jobs, but volunteering in prestigious organisations, where I would not get paid but hoped to get an ‘in’. (I have a lot to say about this, but that’s for another post). From all of this, I had five interviews, and not a single one was with a NGO or non-profit. Not one.

All of this alone would have been enough to shake my confidence, I’m sure, but add the recession, the constant worry about money (I was the very definition of scraping by), and no existing social or family safety net, and to say my spirit was beaten down would be an understatement. There were so many nights where I would lay awake with worry, cry myself to sleep, or just simply wanted to go home. I think half the reason why I didn’t book a ticket was because I’d have to walk downstairs and the prospect of physically moving was out of the question. It was something I couldn’t articulate well over the phone or in an email, making it difficult for family and friends to help from the other side of the world. They tried, and they did help, because I always knew they were there. My flatmate (who is now on her own adventure, and has now moved solidly and forever into the ‘one of the best my friends’ category) spent hours upon hours listening and reminding me that I was in fact not a worthless person. The few other people who I have managed to make a connection with in this country encouraged me as well, and for that I am grateful. Without these people, I’m not sure I would have made it in London.

I recently went through and read some of my old posts on this blog. I remembered writing about searching for a peace within myself that I tried as hard as I could to make it work in London. When I wrote that post, I was miles away from that actual inner peace. It was somewhere I wanted to be, and at that point knowing it was half the battle. I was slowly coming to grips with the very real idea that I might have to leave London, that it didn’t actually matter what I wanted, or how educated I was, but that economics would drive me out. For a few months (around February to May) I was really angry with that. There weren’t many jobs to apply for, both because of the economy and because I began to eliminate almost any job to apply for that I wasn’t over qualified for. I didn’t try and explain how my skills were transferable, because I knew that at least 100 other people would have direct skills. The number of jobs I applied to within that period dropped because I was just so discouraged. There was a lot of self-examination and a lot of putting things into context. I began to really look at the concept of privilege, which is what perhaps let me get to a place where leaving London wasn’t the end of the world. So, I moved into a sad acceptance of the way it was, and mentally prepared to leave London at the beginning of September, when my lease was up and the lack of fundage would be critical.

Somewhere in that sad acceptance I got a second (or maybe a fourth) wind to give it one last go. A few more jobs were showing up that I could see myself qualified for, and letting go of the worry about if I would have to leave (because, I almost surely would have to) freed up some mental space. I was still tired all the time, and still worried about money, and still sad about leaving, but that particular fight was gone. It was freeing. Maybe that’s what allowed me to ‘see it.’ A job I knew I was highly qualified for, a job that I would like, working with students similar to my job at USM. Certainly that’s why I got excited. In fact, there were several jobs at this one organisation, and I started to think ‘surely I can get one of them’. Which was so different from the ‘surely I’ll never get one’ narrative working in my brain for so long. I think letting go of the anger about leaving London, left me some space for the positive. It was not easy, and sometimes I don’t know how I did it. And it took a long time, about 8 months in fact. But that positive feeling showed up in my energy level, and I think it showed up in my application, and it most certainly helped me in my interview.

The most interesting part of this is that the job that got me excited is not actually the one I got. It wasn’t even for the same organisation. The one I got I almost didn’t apply for, because I was afraid it was completely beyond my reach. But, because I needed to know I had done all I could, I went for it. And in the most extreme case of luck literally changing over night, I actually got two interviews in the same week. I only got one job offer, weirdly the one I thought I had no chance at. It still hurt a little to not get the other job offer, but truly it is about perspective. I was able to rationalize why I didn’t get the job, because I realise it could be that I don’t have enough experience, or it could be that I didn’t give it my all because I had the other job already, or it was just how the cookie crumbled on that one day. I felt dishonest feeling this way, like it was too easy to accept this. Yes, I was now on the other side, almost a traitor to my former self—where was the pain at not getting the job that should be there. I didn’t get that it was much bigger than one job offer. I think that feeling was truly earned. I think the blows to my confidence; to my very being that I worked through earned me the right to be okay with not being offered two jobs in one week. Because one job, one job that I knew I had the real potential to love, one job that would pay my bills, help me begin to get out of debt, and let me enjoy London, was enough. I was lucky, and thankful, and most of all relieved that it actually went my way when I was sure it wouldn’t.

And now here I am almost four months later. I am working in London, working with students, training and developing, and doing things I really like. The destination of the past ten months, the job, has not been a panacea to every bad thought I felt the past 10 months, and I don’t feel happy 100% of the time. I didn’t think it would. I still have very few people I feel like I can really trust or count on. I’ve had a few incidents that have shaken me lately, and tend to feel like I generally don’t rate very high on most people’s lists. But, I feel a million times better than I did, and when I get the urge to complain, I have tried to do it gratefully.

When I write about myself on this blog, I find it difficult to figure out how to articulate certain things. How do I say it was really hard, while making it clear I understand that the fact that I was living in London with an MA is a certain privilege? Heck, that I can view this experience as learning one and not one which plunged me into debt for all times, is a privilege. How do I explain that I understand my experience isn’t universal? Most importantly, how do not sound like this is a ‘just work hard and you’ll get what you want’ story? Because many people work hard, and don’t get much. I got lucky, both by birth and by accident. I don’t know if I articulated that well, but I do know it's true.

So I suppose to sum up nearly 2000 words there is this: The past year has been one of the most difficult times of my life. I think it is because I’ve been ready to tackle some issues that I might not have in the past, to challenge the way I have always thought, and to go through a process of discovery. To work for something in a way I have not in the past, to understand the difference between true complaints and whining. This past year in all its warts, its tears, its pain, has also been one of the most necessary in discovering what I am capable of and what my worth is as a person. The past year has been a very literal representation of ‘the journey.’ I don’t think all journeys need to be so painful, and I also know they don’t all end the way mine did. If my destination would have been different, I don’t know what this post would have looked like. The journey may not be more important than the destination, but it helps you recognise the destination for it is: the opportunity to rest, reflect, and let yourself off the hook because boy you sure did try, and then, to gear up for the next journey. Because, soon enough, there will be another one to begin. I do hope that my next one isn’t so painful, but if it is half as educational it will be worth it.

Working 9 to 5

I have some exciting news, which frankly I wasn't sure I'd be able to write. But here they are, some of the sweetest I've written in long time: I GOT A JOB IN LONDON.

Yes, you have read that correctly. I was offered (and obviously accepted) a job working for the National Union of Students (NUS) here in London. I start on the 13th of July and will be working with students. It is similar to the work I did at Saint Mary, and the work I did at Saint Mary is the main reason I was offered the job. It is a one year contract, so I will be in London for at least another year. Whee!

I will have much more to report once I actually start the job. I also hope I will have some fun things to write about now that I will able to do things in London, like go to shows and travel around England and Europe.

Thanks to everyone for their support, prayers, and thoughts. I certainly couldn't have done it without you.