Wanderlust
"... Human beings can't like life very much if they don't belong to a clan associated with a specific piece of real estate."- Kurt Vonnegut.
I read this last night in Fates Worse Than Death, a very excellent collection of essays and various literary detritus by Mr. Vonnegut, and it resonated somewhere deep inside me. Somehow I knew it was completely true, and yet in the same moment, began to evaluate who my clan was, and where they might reside. As you might expect, I came up with a variety of answers. My first thought of course was of my ethnicity, of Palestine and more specifically Ramallah, where all of my mother's family is from. But this is problematic for a variety of reasons, the two most important being that 1) I've never even been there, and 2) I have a lot of angst about "how Palestinian" (or not) I am. So while I have a connection to that space, I don't think it's my clan. There are my parents, but as my father frustratingly reminded me today, when I left Wichita, I never looked back. Not even once. So while my parents may be part of my clan, Wichita certainly isn't my hunk of real estate. There could be choir, where I can remind myself how much I love music, and pour so much of my energy, pain, hope and joy into the sound of voices moving together. There could be several people and locations that fit the bill in the Twin Cities, but nothing I can think of at the moment really pops out. So, does this mean that I am emotionally homeless?
I got to thinking about this further, and began to wonder if it was true for me right now. I am tetherless currently, winding down in St. Paul and about to move to Rhode Island, with a stop in Kansas along the way, I am placeless for the time being, and I'm actually ok with it. I'm relishing the freedom of not having a house or a spouse or even a car payment to tie me down to anything. I know eventually I will want a clan, but for now, I'm satisfying, or trying to satisfy my wanderlust. There is a part of me that wants desperately to be closer to my family again, and wonders when that will be, and if it will be. If my parents will eventually follow me from state to state much like my grandmother did to my mom, or whether it will just be visits on holidays or for summer vacation as my parents retire someplace beachy. It's almost too hard to think about, the idea that we will not be together, or within shouting distance again, so I try not to think about it. Of course that just starts this huge spiral of wondering why I have to leave, why I have to keep moving, why I'm so deathly, deathly afraid of stagnating or staying in one place. Settling down seems terrifying to me, but will I be like the grasshopper that sang all summer? Will I one day wake up and wonder what happened to having a marriage and a family? I definitely don't want that to happen...
In the end I think I have to keep moving. It's something in me that pushes me on, the same thing that took my grandmother half way across the world to be the first woman in her family to come to the United States, and for a job, no less! It's the same sense of adventure that made my dad enlist in the Navy so he could see the world. And it's the same thing that pushed my mother farther and farther in pursuing her childhood goal of being a lawyer: it's ambition mixed with curiousity. It's the very human desire to see what's just on the other side of the horizon. Once you lose that desire, I think you lose a part of yourself that makes you human.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
RIP Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
You know that one book that you read as a teenager and it changed the whole way you looked at the world in the deep and fundamental way that only an adolescent can feel? For me that book was A Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. I picked it up off a cute boy I kinda of liked in my church youth group, and mostly started reading it because he was kind of an existencial stoner and thought the book was really deep. I wanted him to think I was really deep, ergo, the book. But I started reading it at a point in my life when I was struggling with my faith and didn't know what I believed, and as I read about the gentle followers of Bokonon, and the gospel that all was unknownable, except for human kindness, I felt like KV had entered a door in my brain, sat down, and started typing about the decor. It was amazing. He articulated for me what I believed, before I knew that was what I believed. And for that, I was and will be eternally grateful.
For those of you who don't know, KV died on Wednesday, and with his death, as Jon Stewart put it, the world is "a little grayer, and a little less interesting". It's an odd feeling knowing that your favorite author, responsible for being the literary articulation of so much that you consider you, is no longer alive. That he will no longer create, that his copious canon is finite and now complete, save finding any random unfinished manuscripts. I never got to meet him, although I had a couple of close calls, but in some ways I felt that I already had met him, through his books. That's true of most authors, but more true of Kurt Vonnegut. He was unabashedly autobiographical in his books, and his brutal honesty about himself and those around him was both endearing and jarring at the same time. His was a love-hate relationship with the human race: love because of their infinite potential, and hate because they so often fall short of the mark. Much like my own opinion of people as a whole, KV believed that people were capable of greatness; whether it was great evil or great good was a personal choice. He did it all with an awkward grace that any human being can recognize as their own, and a dark humor that was as funny as it was sad.
I would quote some here, but in the way of all good books, I have shared them and in the process lost many of them. When I broke up with my ex-boyfriend the only thing I regretted was that the piece of shit never gave me back a dogeared and threadbare copy of some of Kurt vonnegut's collected works. I would quote A Cat's Cradle here, but it has been torn to pieces by a small dog named Vader that belongs to my friend Ali. The point is that quotes aren't going to convey to you why his work was so important to me, because you aren't reading them from inside my head. Kurt Vonnegut's words might ring hollow to you, and that's ok. He would be ok with that, because it would prove his assertion that all great truths are lies, and individuals, not universals, are the saving grace of humanity. Vonnegut was a humanist, and did not believe in God. What he believed in was people, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. He taught me something that seems depressing at first, but isn't the more you think about it: people will always disappoint you, so you have to find other things to love them for besides living up to expectations.
In his last book, A Man Without a Country, which made me laugh, and cry, and mourn for him because it was clearly a goodbye letter, he created a series of sketches that were epitaphs. It takes a sick and lovely mind to create a list of the things to put on your own tombstone, especially when standing so near the threshold of death. I don't know what the epitaph will end up being, but the only bright spot in the tragedy of this loss is knowing that there will be at least one last thing of Vonnegut's left to read, and I can guarantee you that it will be a surprise, a delight, and a devastation.
For those of you who don't know, KV died on Wednesday, and with his death, as Jon Stewart put it, the world is "a little grayer, and a little less interesting". It's an odd feeling knowing that your favorite author, responsible for being the literary articulation of so much that you consider you, is no longer alive. That he will no longer create, that his copious canon is finite and now complete, save finding any random unfinished manuscripts. I never got to meet him, although I had a couple of close calls, but in some ways I felt that I already had met him, through his books. That's true of most authors, but more true of Kurt Vonnegut. He was unabashedly autobiographical in his books, and his brutal honesty about himself and those around him was both endearing and jarring at the same time. His was a love-hate relationship with the human race: love because of their infinite potential, and hate because they so often fall short of the mark. Much like my own opinion of people as a whole, KV believed that people were capable of greatness; whether it was great evil or great good was a personal choice. He did it all with an awkward grace that any human being can recognize as their own, and a dark humor that was as funny as it was sad.
I would quote some here, but in the way of all good books, I have shared them and in the process lost many of them. When I broke up with my ex-boyfriend the only thing I regretted was that the piece of shit never gave me back a dogeared and threadbare copy of some of Kurt vonnegut's collected works. I would quote A Cat's Cradle here, but it has been torn to pieces by a small dog named Vader that belongs to my friend Ali. The point is that quotes aren't going to convey to you why his work was so important to me, because you aren't reading them from inside my head. Kurt Vonnegut's words might ring hollow to you, and that's ok. He would be ok with that, because it would prove his assertion that all great truths are lies, and individuals, not universals, are the saving grace of humanity. Vonnegut was a humanist, and did not believe in God. What he believed in was people, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. He taught me something that seems depressing at first, but isn't the more you think about it: people will always disappoint you, so you have to find other things to love them for besides living up to expectations.
In his last book, A Man Without a Country, which made me laugh, and cry, and mourn for him because it was clearly a goodbye letter, he created a series of sketches that were epitaphs. It takes a sick and lovely mind to create a list of the things to put on your own tombstone, especially when standing so near the threshold of death. I don't know what the epitaph will end up being, but the only bright spot in the tragedy of this loss is knowing that there will be at least one last thing of Vonnegut's left to read, and I can guarantee you that it will be a surprise, a delight, and a devastation.
Monday, April 02, 2007
I heart Seattle, I anti-heart the red eye flight back to MPS
Sigh.
Well gentle reader, my love of the overly-caffinated, underly-concerned Pacific Northwest has been solidified. Overly-caffinated because you can literally smell coffee in the air, and even the barista at the drink cart at a student union can make a coffee drink that would make the angels weep, and underly-concerned because Amber and I were almost run over at one point, and the most the super mellow west coast driver could muster was a shrug and a chuckle. I think of Seattle as a Minneapolis that is larger, more cosmopolitan, and all-importantly located on the water. It has everything I want: ocean, socially concious citizenry, sustainability, fashionable shops, lots and lots of terrific coffee, year-round excellent produce, gourmet markets and foodie restaurants, tulips, and a plethora, a veritable cornucopia, if you will, of cute bachelors.
And yet, I will be attending Roger Williams University School of Law in Rhode Island for the next three years.
Let me back up:
Last weekend I went out to Bristol, RI by way of Boston to visit Roger Williams University, aka "the school no one has heard of". When looking at law schools they tell you two things: 1) pick the location you want to practice in, and 2) go to the biggest name you can. I am instead going to 1) where they are throwing the most money at me, and 2) where I've been told, verbatim, that I will be the center of the faculty's attention. At the Honor's student event they took us to dinner, where I got to sit next to the Dean and pretty much wrap him around my finger, and then the students took us out drinking. Being persuasive and drinking... two of my favorite things. Oh, and somehow, despite my best intentions in a new place, I managed to present myself once again as a huge party-er. One of the other girls there at the event turned to me at one point in the night and said "if we go to school together, we're going to be trouble." I liked her.
Bristol is a cute little town, like a cross between Star's Hollow, where the Gilmore Girls live, and New Ulm, MN, where my mother was born and raised. Everyone knows you, everyone knows what and who you've been doing, and consequently the bar to church ratio is about 1:1. It's about an hour away from Boston, three hours away from the big NYC, and a half hour away from Providence, which I've heard many nice things about despite my father thinking it's a cesspool for unknown and unknowable reasons. So, it's well situated in a very pretty part of coastal New England, and I think I could be reasonably happy there. But what I really like is the school. It's got some great programs: a maritime law program, international/study abroad opportunities that are really interesting, and a strong public interest focus, all things I was looking for. Plus, they started out offering me a 50% scholarship, and are now at about 75% through a couple of different scholarships. Graduating from law school with about half to three-quarters less debt than most law students is super attractive, especially if you are like me and want to save the planet instead of being a wage slave at some giant, autonomous mega-firm. I have zero interest in working 80 hours a week and making partner so that I can enjoy my huge bonus on my... non existent weekends and vacation days.
But still, I wanted to see what else was out there. So I boarded a loooooong flight to Seattle, prepared to fall in love with Seattle University. However, they were not prepared to fall in love with me. First, when I went to the admissions office I was literally ignored. As in, someone looked at me, and then actively decided not to help me. Nice. Then, the girl who finally did escort me to the class I was supposed to attend introduced me to the Professor as "Andrea". Strike two. Finally, when I found my way back up to the admissions office for the appointment I made a month ago, they kept me waiting for half an hour, again ignoring me, while they talked to other students. Let's just say, I was panicking a tad bit, because I really was struggling with not being able to come to Seattle. So I did the only logical thing: I called the Dean of RWU, who had also taught at Seattle U. Now, keep in mind it was 6:30pm on a Friday night on the east coast, and the man spoke with me for about half an hour about whether or not I should go to someone else's school. And he spoke with me honestly, helping me weigh my pros and cons. At the end of the conversation, he promised me that if after a year I didn't like it, he would help me transfer. The flattery is nice, but the fact that he took that kind of time to talk to me really told me something.
So, I'll be going to school where the Dean knows my phone number, not the one where they can't remember my relatively unique name. It's weird to be making a decision that will take me so far away from the town I know I want to be in. It's weird to be responsible enough that I can recognize that long term goals sometimes require short term sacrifice. Deep.
Well gentle reader, my love of the overly-caffinated, underly-concerned Pacific Northwest has been solidified. Overly-caffinated because you can literally smell coffee in the air, and even the barista at the drink cart at a student union can make a coffee drink that would make the angels weep, and underly-concerned because Amber and I were almost run over at one point, and the most the super mellow west coast driver could muster was a shrug and a chuckle. I think of Seattle as a Minneapolis that is larger, more cosmopolitan, and all-importantly located on the water. It has everything I want: ocean, socially concious citizenry, sustainability, fashionable shops, lots and lots of terrific coffee, year-round excellent produce, gourmet markets and foodie restaurants, tulips, and a plethora, a veritable cornucopia, if you will, of cute bachelors.
And yet, I will be attending Roger Williams University School of Law in Rhode Island for the next three years.
Let me back up:
Last weekend I went out to Bristol, RI by way of Boston to visit Roger Williams University, aka "the school no one has heard of". When looking at law schools they tell you two things: 1) pick the location you want to practice in, and 2) go to the biggest name you can. I am instead going to 1) where they are throwing the most money at me, and 2) where I've been told, verbatim, that I will be the center of the faculty's attention. At the Honor's student event they took us to dinner, where I got to sit next to the Dean and pretty much wrap him around my finger, and then the students took us out drinking. Being persuasive and drinking... two of my favorite things. Oh, and somehow, despite my best intentions in a new place, I managed to present myself once again as a huge party-er. One of the other girls there at the event turned to me at one point in the night and said "if we go to school together, we're going to be trouble." I liked her.
Bristol is a cute little town, like a cross between Star's Hollow, where the Gilmore Girls live, and New Ulm, MN, where my mother was born and raised. Everyone knows you, everyone knows what and who you've been doing, and consequently the bar to church ratio is about 1:1. It's about an hour away from Boston, three hours away from the big NYC, and a half hour away from Providence, which I've heard many nice things about despite my father thinking it's a cesspool for unknown and unknowable reasons. So, it's well situated in a very pretty part of coastal New England, and I think I could be reasonably happy there. But what I really like is the school. It's got some great programs: a maritime law program, international/study abroad opportunities that are really interesting, and a strong public interest focus, all things I was looking for. Plus, they started out offering me a 50% scholarship, and are now at about 75% through a couple of different scholarships. Graduating from law school with about half to three-quarters less debt than most law students is super attractive, especially if you are like me and want to save the planet instead of being a wage slave at some giant, autonomous mega-firm. I have zero interest in working 80 hours a week and making partner so that I can enjoy my huge bonus on my... non existent weekends and vacation days.
But still, I wanted to see what else was out there. So I boarded a loooooong flight to Seattle, prepared to fall in love with Seattle University. However, they were not prepared to fall in love with me. First, when I went to the admissions office I was literally ignored. As in, someone looked at me, and then actively decided not to help me. Nice. Then, the girl who finally did escort me to the class I was supposed to attend introduced me to the Professor as "Andrea". Strike two. Finally, when I found my way back up to the admissions office for the appointment I made a month ago, they kept me waiting for half an hour, again ignoring me, while they talked to other students. Let's just say, I was panicking a tad bit, because I really was struggling with not being able to come to Seattle. So I did the only logical thing: I called the Dean of RWU, who had also taught at Seattle U. Now, keep in mind it was 6:30pm on a Friday night on the east coast, and the man spoke with me for about half an hour about whether or not I should go to someone else's school. And he spoke with me honestly, helping me weigh my pros and cons. At the end of the conversation, he promised me that if after a year I didn't like it, he would help me transfer. The flattery is nice, but the fact that he took that kind of time to talk to me really told me something.
So, I'll be going to school where the Dean knows my phone number, not the one where they can't remember my relatively unique name. It's weird to be making a decision that will take me so far away from the town I know I want to be in. It's weird to be responsible enough that I can recognize that long term goals sometimes require short term sacrifice. Deep.
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