Ciao for Now...

My ex- boyfriend, Big Ben.
We couldn't survive the distance

I know there have been times when I go M.I.A. from posting, but this time, it's for a reason! If you've read two of my most recent posts, you'll know that I will be travelling to London and then to Rome over the next two weeks. Try not to miss me too much -- I will share tales of my adventures and, most likely, misadventures upon my return! Cheers!

 

Returning to Rome... three years later...

TMI: How Much is Too Much?

Thanks for letting me know.
http://tbonecafe.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/social-media-explained.jpg

When I first started my blog, it was meant to document my seemingly hopeless pursuit in job hunting as a post-grad and the subsequent transition from college life to, sigh, real life. While unemployed, my most controversial posts consisted of what type of cookies I baked that day and my success at avoiding kitchen fires. However, with each post, I often faced the question of deciding what to share from my life. What would prove most post-worthy or relatable? What did the readers want? After all, I only had so much from my personal life that was even anecdotal enough to warrant publishing on my blog.

Once caught in the middle of my job search, though, and then later, when finding an actual job, I realized that I couldn't impetuously or haphazardly post to my blog like I did before. There were certain details now that I was working (and continue to work) that just weren't suitable for posting online -- not because they were inappropriate, but because they compromised professionalism. Despite wanting to give you, my readers, an authentic view into my life with all of its details (for better or worse), disclosing certain aspects about what was currently going on in my life (i.e. how things were going with my employer or even potential future plans with a different employer) could put me in a risky position.

All of this led me to thinking about sharing information in an era where over-sharing (much like a certain degree of narcissism) seems to be the norm. Certainly, giving readers access to every minutiae of your life establishes authenticity, insight and a connection -- yet, there needs to be a line drawn somewhere, right? How can you maintain some semblance of privacy in 2013, when all you need is a little strategic sleuthing to pull up pages and pages of information on a particular person?

Obviously by writing a blog I am opening up parts of my life for public consumption. At the same time, though, I can't open up every single part of my life for the taking. If I were to post about resuming my job search while currently at my job, well, that is just a bad idea. Certain things need to be kept under wraps for the simple reason that sharing these things could risk not only current opportunities, but future opportunities. I constantly read tweets, status updates and view Instagrams that sometimes border on too much. Yeah, there are the annoying posts that reveal intimate family moments, egregious and unfounded personal opinions and overall, questionable taste in judgement. I've seen tweets from funerals, Instagrams of half-naked bodies, and Facebook status updates letting me know of people's every single action from sunrise to sundown. For the most part, these things are harmless, albeit sorta tacky. However, these sorts of posts are not the ones that concern me the most . What about the posts where you rant about your boss? Or the millions of tweets you post while you're in the middle of an important meeting? Or an Instagram of you celebrating getting that new job -- when you already have a job?

Just because we can post with the click of the button doesn't mean we always should. Your Twitter/Facebook/Instagram needs to reflect some process of thoughtful curating. Yes, I understand this suggests a bit of manipulation: only showing things that we are permitting the public to see. But what exactly is wrong with that? Aren't we all entitled to a bit of privacy? And even more so, aren't we all entitled to you keeping things private from us? (There are certain things I don't need to know, folks.) I think we could all benefit from exercising a bit more discretion.

Again, this is not to say that we need to lose that element of authenticity from our lives and from our social media platforms, but I think that there is a reason "TMI" has become so integrated into our everyday vernacular. With crotch-shots being a regular facet in tabloids these days, it's clear that our society has blurred the line between what should be considered private and public. Social media platforms have only confounded this issue even more, as each facet encourages constant use and egotism. Maybe people do want to know more rather than less, but I think that ultimately, they want authenticity. They want to know that the person behind the posts is real and they're being thoughtful -- that what we choose to share with each other is a result of wanting to make genuine connections. The moments/opinions we choose to share online are a reflection of ourselves online, so I guess my last question is, what do we want our online-selves to say about our offline-selves?

As an avid-Tweeter (perhaps, even over-Tweeter), I know that a little self-reflection on the matter will probably benefit myself, future opportunities and most definitely, the people who are reading my tweets. Sorry guys!

Why Hello, Old Friend: Thoughts on Returning Abroad

Oh, hey girl.
(http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/queen-e-pop-art-terry-collett.jpg)

I've had a case of the Fridays all day (is that a thing?) and all I've been able to do is look wistfully towards the weekend and my upcoming vacation in order to get me through the final afternoon slump. Freedom is on the horizon -- in the form of Saturday, Sunday and a ten-day getaway across the pond.

As I lose myself in daydreams, I realize that in returning to London and Rome (but especially, London) I will be reuniting with old stomping grounds. I visited Rome briefly for a few days during a college trip to Italy, but I spent an entire summer in London. How strange that a foreign city could seem so familiar, while remaining so geographically distant from my everyday life. I'm not sure how I'll react to landing back in Heathrow, riding the Tube and meandering through the same streets I explored just under two years ago. Will the city welcome me back or dismiss me as a once-tourist and now-stranger?

It's different from other vacations I've had where I've returned to the same place. Every year, my family skips out of suburbia and plops next to the beach in Cape Cod -- but that is a two-hour drive from home, littered with Boston-pride and New England's creature comforts. I have friends who live on Cape Cod and I'm not relegated to a once-a-year visit to Massachusetts' hook, or even once-every-so-many-years visit. London, on the other-hand, is obviously not so easily accessible from this side of the Atlantic. With a six to seven hour flight separating me from the the US's former frenemy (circa 1776), I wonder if I will seamlessly re-acquaint to the city or be overwhelmed by a surprising exoticism of it all. Is it just like riding a bike? Will I hop back on that metaphorical Schwinn only to find that I need training wheels? Or will I be able to pedal around the city, finely attuned to my place on the left side of the road?

My summer in London left me with an indelible affection and attachment to the city. Whenever I click through Facebook photos or peruse my old travel blog, the nostalgia inevitably resurfaces and I think back to everything I did there -- both the trivial and the anecdote-worthy. I'm obviously curious to be back there and perhaps even re-trace some of my old steps, to see if this nostalgia returns full-force and if I remember the same sights and smells. Some of my favorite memories are the least ostentatious or illustrious. I remember walking to Kings Cross in the morning to take the tube to work and just feeling like I was a part of it -- as though, I was one sort of minute piece of energy contributing to the overall life of the city. The air was fresh and crisp, the streets still wet from the morning rain, and yet, amid the serenity of climate, the people's vibrancy propelled me forward, invigorating me. I always felt a rush whenever I was diving into a different part of the city -- whether it was getting lost and then surprisingly stumbling upon my desired location or when I simply took the time to take in the people as I walked through the streets. I suppose this sort of sensation is not purely indicative of my experience of London, but of travel, in general, but because I had these inaugural feelings of developing familiarity with London, I now think of it as an old friend associated with a summer filled with memories.

I'm not quite sure what to expect, really. I'm hoping to fit in time to see some familiar faces, but also to  venture to corners of the city that were left unexplored while I was there.I'm sure this trip will not signify any sort of end to my love affair with the city. Instead, I'm almost certain it will rekindle it, as I feel as though once I am, again, caught up in London's energy, I will feel the overwhelming urge to ditch my flight, stay put, and peddle my way into some sort of Notting Hill apartment. 

If you don't hear from me in April, it's probably because I'm still there...

Vacation All I Ever Wanted

Because everyone loves the Go-Go's...

Hard to believe, but April will mark my one-year anniversary at my current job. Last March, I was sitting around my house, moping in boredom still wearing my post-workout clothes, talking to my dog and voluntarily vacuuming the house. Since then, I've been facing a tough commute, the much-more-difficult-than-it-looks-task of walking upstairs in pencil skirts and going to bed early. I could actually be qualified as a real grown-up -- that is, if you wish to disregard the fact that my bedroom is down the hallway from my parents.

In reflecting on the past year of 9-to-5 fun, early mornings and eight hours per day with my computer screen, I realized something that should have already hit me: my life is now (and potentially forever) devoid of vacations. Okay, yes, I know -- DRAMATIC. But hear me out?

Many jobs offer vacation time to employees or paid-time-off of some sort, but that's not really what I'm talking about. When is the next time I'm going to be able to take a three month hiatus in the summer, only to return to my beloved seat come September? Sure, that happens K-12, and then in college, but then what? Where do my vacations go!? Will I ever be able to take that much time off ever again? Winter break, spring break and summer break become nothing but fond, distant memories of a time where wrinkles were non-existent, coffee was mainly used to assist in all-nighters rather than to survive workdays and you could still get a student discount at J.Crew.

Once you participate in the daily grind of office life, ditching study carrels for cubicles, the most you can hope for is a flexible company policy that gives you a generous amount of vacation time. Even then, don't count on summer vacation lasting from Memorial Day until after Labor Day. Cue hand to forehead: doh! 

I realize that this is something that should have occurred to me last spring, after graduating early and working throughout the summer whereas my recently graduated friends had the summer off before joining me in the dire workforce that fall; however, the novelty of working hadn't yet worn off and my new routine was still foreign enough to throw me off of my game. Now, as I approach that one-year-mark of working full time, I've noticed that it has all begun to sort of wear on me. The winter has been terrible, it's always cold and I am wavering between being completely burnt-out and just chronic agitation.

On the horizon, though, is that old friend: vacation time. Just as I was beginning to feel defeated by the perils of my wintry suffering, I looked at my calendar and saw that I had approximately eleven days off from work (seven being business days.) Finally! My reprieve! This will be the longest amount of time away from my desk (and any sort of desk for that matter) since I started working  part-time last March. Even though I'm not going somewhere tropical, just the thought of leaving unpredictable and unseasonably cold New England for a week and a half is enough to light a fire within me. The transition from college to working full-time has been a difficult one, and even moreso when you factor in that real life does not give you a break -- any breaks. I haven't had my usual month off in the winter to collect myself and re-charge, nor have I had three consecutive months to sleep in, stay out late and enjoy the sunshine. Yes, I realize I may sound a bit whiny -- but after 16-17 years of being subject to a year filled with ample breaks and time-off, it can be jarring and disconcerting not just to your routine, but to your overall being. It doesn't help that US companies aren't exactly known for their generosity when it comes to paid-time-off. I am stuck at my cubicle for eight hours a day, five days a week and then trapped in my car for at least another fifteen hours a week -- who has two thumbs and is in dire need of a break? THIS GIRL!

Suffice to say, I am extremely excited for my 11-day excursion. I definitely need time to be away from my usual routine to re-charge my batteries and take on springtime (if it ever comes to Boston). Hopefully, I will return in April feeling inspired (and motivated to write lots of new posts!) 

I Was an English Major

Ted, you kill me.

from youtube

A funny thing happened last week: someone engaged me in a conversation about my English degree and literature. Yeah, you heard me. I talked about literature outside of my undergrad years and yes, I have my degree in English. I am not ashamed, despite however much society may try to ostracize those who choose to pursue a degree in the liberal arts as opposed to one with a natural progression towards specific career choices. I understand where the disapproval and exclusion stems from -- most people just don't get it. My choice in major was almost always met with a look of concern and then the subsequent reaction: "So you want to be a teacher then?" No. I do not want to be a teacher. I have the utmost respect for all of my teachers (especially my English teachers), but actually, choosing to pursue my undergraduate degree in English does not mean that my only option upon graduation is to teach. Just because you have an English degree and then become a teacher does not mean that this progression of events necessarily implies causality.

Since graduating, I have obviously chosen not to pursue the path that so many think is oft taken by others with my degree. And while I haven't doubted my decision not to pursue a teaching career, I cannot say that I haven't doubted my decision to pursue my undergraduate degree in English. *GASP* I know, I know, I really am not supposed to admit that on behalf of my fellow literature-lovers and bibliophiles -- after all, we already have to defend our chosen path tooth-and-nail in order to prove its legitimacy as a field of study (and we certainly have been for years and still are.) The last thing the English degree needs is another adversary, especially one with insider knowledge. But I know I'm not alone in my doubt. However, when I say I'm not alone, I mean that I know other students of all types of degrees have second-guessed the academic route they travelled in those fun, albeit confusing, four years.

I obviously don't use my skills of literary analysis and comprehension on a regular basis (and certainly not in my current job), so from time to time, I wonder if I would have benefitted from a different degree. Should I have chosen a field of study catered to a specific profession? One that would most certainly guarantee a life of the big bucks (hello, engineering!)? Did I have it all wrong in choosing something that I most definitely love to learn about and even more so, am passionate about? Who is the fool here? Please don't say it's me!

But when I found myself enveloped in a conversation regarding my studies as an English major and then my thoughts on literature (works of literature, how to define literature, what should be considered canonical, different ways to analyze texts, literature as a field of study, etc), I realized that, even over a year out of the classroom, my love for my English degree remained steady and true. I was revitalized! I was impassioned! I was talking about literature!

I realized that even though I haven't been able to utilize and optimize the skills I developed and strengthened over the years as an English major, they are still tucked away in the file-cabinets of my mind, anxiously anticipating and waiting for the moment they are able to be brushed off and opened up again. This doesn't mean that my skills are never put to use. My studies in English literature have given me a communicative edge: I efficiently, clearly and effectively can communicate a message, something that is important in all facets of business and life. I understand the power of word choice and how to manipulate language in a way that can get you what you want and say what you want. I find that the ability to speak well and write well are too often undervalued, and yet, I was able to learn those skills as an English major. I still love to discuss literature -- dissecting text, analyzing potential meaning, carefully looking at diction, metaphors, and any other literary device you want to throw in there. I wish I was able to incorporate this love into my everyday life more often, aside from the occasional discussion of a book I happen to be reading or on the off-chance I am able to convince someone to get down and dirty with some literary analysis.

When choosing my major, I went with my gut and what inspired me to my core. I fully realize, especially now that I am in the workforce, that my passion may not necessarily guarantee a life of financial prosperity, but I think I am okay with that.If happiness is the goal, then I don't know if pursuing a degree in something that I didn't truly love for the sake of a big paycheck would be able to help me achieve that goal. It is a small sacrifice in the name of preserving my soul.

Shout-out to my allies in literary pride!