You Are What You Do

Scary picture, but scarily appropriate
http://collegemedia.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/screen-shot-2012-05-14-at-2-56-48-am.png?w=500&h=366

Throughout the first twenty-something-or-so years of our lives, we recent post-grads have identified as a "student," or, at best, a "student of (insert focus of study here)." It was easy. From kindergarten until the end of our years in higher education, our identity was inextricably linked to our education and what it was we wanted to do with that education. We were never plagued with the ominous question of "so, what do you do?" because it was self-explanatory: we went to class, we learned, we were working towards a degree. The majority of our life was consumed by academics to that point. No pressure, no worry about what it is we were going to do with that accumulation of knowledge, simply that we were immersed in it, and far too inundated with schoolwork to really broach any silly questions of the practical implications of our degrees and what that meant about us.

But when the tassel inevitably moves to the other side of your mortarboard and your degree is hanging up on your wall in the same room you grew up in (and will now, again be living in), people are no longer satisfied with an answer filled with potentially lofty-goals or innocent dreams. The first thing they ask is: "what do you do" and, by golly, you better have a good answer.

We have abandoned the security blanket of answering with "I'm a student," and forced to identify ourselves in terms of our current job. While answering as a student may have allowed you to be associated with all sorts of grand aspirations, answering "what do you do" with your current entry-level job leaves much to be desired. Instead of being able to cling to the things I love to do and want to do when coupled with my academic path, I have to identify with the ugly reality that is: I work at an entry-level job, I don't get to do all of the things I love to do (nor pursue any of my interests) and I am more interesting than my job lets on. (I swear!) 

And yet, when someone asks me what I do, that's the starting point. The conversation builds upon what it is that I do and if first impressions are important, then what sort of impression am I making in the first five minutes of conversation by having to identify with a job I really can't identify with?

Such a simple question, and yet, I can never answer the same way twice. I immediately find myself trying to explain it in the simplest terms and then adding a precusory, "Oh, I know, it's boring" in an attempt to separate who I am from my job. I don't want my answer, or more specifically, my job (at this early point in my career), to equate to who I am, what I care about, and what I want to do with my life. For those who know me, it's obvious that there is far more to me than the office job and cubicle I frequent 40-hours a week. But I just cannot escape the question and the inevitable bridge it forms to who I am. I may spend five days a week in my cubicle, but who I am is not what I do, certainly not in my current position. I might be working towards a better job or career path that would be more cohesive with my personality and my values, but I'm just not there yet and it's sometimes defeating when that is one of the first questions that I'm asked in order to help a new acquaintance assemble my identity.

I recognize this is something that is going to happen regardless of whether or not I cause a fuss about the question, ignore it, or create some public service announcement about the emotionally damaging side effects of being asked this question a few years post-grad. What can I do about it? Not much. But in the mean time, I'm trying to make it a point to steer conversations more towards those aspirations and goals I have. I still got 'em, folks, despite being the jaded working girl that I am these days, and I am going to make them happen.

The Pressure to Be Interesting

http://applecopywriting.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/spock-interesting-300x223.png

As I sat at my computer, fingers still, mind unnaturally devoid of my usual ceaseless internal conversation, I realized that I couldn't think of anything to blog about this week. 

My last post saved me from a multiple week hiatus, leaving me scrambling to come up with a topic that could actually be rendered blog-worthy. Despite utilizing my countless hours in traffic for brainstorming, when I logged into Blogger to write a new post, I faced a blank screen and embarrassment. I couldn't allow myself to fall into the hopeless chasm that is writer's block. But was it writer's block?

I faced a reality that appeared far more grim than the notion of being plagued with just writer's block. No, it was far worse than that. Could it be... that I was just uninteresting?

With the past few weeks consisting of little more than going to work and coming home, interspersed with some relatively drama-free hangouts lacking friend bites and awkward small talk, I had nothing to share, nothing to show, and certainly, nothing to blog about. Sure, things have happened, but is it worthy to spend time chatting on about? Probably not. As cute as my dog is, I don't know if I could really attribute an entire post to my dog's napping locations throughout the house.

The realization that this past month of post-vacation daily activity has left my bank of ideas empty got me to thinking. There seems to be an immense amount of pressure to be interesting. I mean, let's consider all of the social media outlets demanding content from us: Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc. What good are these accounts if not to show the entire world how interesting you are? Our Tweets display our wittiness or clever social commentary. Our Instagram accounts prove that we do exciting things like get into fancy bars, meet celebrities and drink artistic cappuccinos while eating cute breakfast pastries. Oh, and Facebook? Well, obviously Facebook proves that we have lots of friends who like to talk to us and take pictures with us and of us. If I fail to meet a certain level of interest, then I might as well cease to exist! At least, via social media. These social media outlets link our online lives to our offline lives-- so if I'm not doing anything interesting offline, what am I going to post online? What content will I be able to produce if my life offers nothing of interest to share?

I suppose we can take this into philosophical territory, if we so dare. What comes first: the interesting life or the interesting online profile? If my life is yielding little material for blogging fodder, does this force me to lead a more interesting life, in hopes that I'll have something to show for it via blog? Or do I have a great online presence because I have an overall interesting life and interesting things to say? Or... worse... am I focusing too much on creating an interesting life online, leaving my offline life to suffer for it? 

We are all curators of the online "museum" of ourselves, so to speak. We choose what to show, what to say, what to share, and therefore, do our best to control that particular image. Yet, unless we decide to "Catfish" our entire audience, we need to maintain that element of authenticity, and are thus subjected to trying to be that "person" we reveal online and offline. Should this blogging writer's block serve as a message that I need to get out more-- perhaps, re-acquaint myself with the rest of the world in order to produce more and better content? Or am I just not looking at myself hard enough to see that I have plenty of material just waiting to be typed out and posted? Perhaps neither, and instead, I just need to focus on doing my own thing, not worrying about whether or not it will give me something to write/Tweet/post about and enjoy life -- you know, reconnecting with life outside of this humming little monitor and chattering keys? The pressure to be interesting is something provoked by all of these online entities, which would be nonexistent were it not for modern technology. My Facebook page needs a smartphone/computer/tablet to exist -- but I do not. Could it be that I am more interesting than I give myself credit for?

Probably not, but the the good news is I have managed to turn this bout of uninteresting-ness into a post. Silver lining?

For more on this sort of social media insanity, check out this brief article on "Social Media Mental Problems" -- I think it sums things up pretty well:
http://nymag.com/thecut/2013/05/six-major-anxieties-of-social-media.html

How Technology Saved Me from Missing a Legendary Bruins Game

bruins.nhl.com

On Monday night, I committed blasphemy -- specific only to Bostonians.

Let me explain. My friend and I have a weekly hangout ritual, based around new episodes of "How I Met Your Mother." Say what you will about the show (I personally love it), but regardless of your feelings, it's actually been a great way to insure that my friend and I see each other regularly. 

This particular Monday, our usual routine ran into a conflict: the Boston Bruins' game seven would be on at the same time as the season finale HIMYM. Naturally, as native Bostonians, we felt an obligation to watch the game, but made the compromise to do the channel-flip in between commercial breaks to insure we could fulfill both of our commitments to each franchise. Easy enough.

Alas, it is never that easy. The Bruins had already lost their 3-1 lead in the series to the Toronto Maple Leafs, giving up the other games to their opponent with feeble efforts and only two goals. Toronto had proved to be a formidable opponent and I can't say I was optimistic that they would be able to change their current pace to take back the series. Needless to say, my friend and I were less concerned about the Bruins and more about HIMYM and finding some other way to spend the rest of the night as we were not keen on watching our beloved team repeat the mistake they made in 2011 to the Flyers. Ouch.

After HIMYM ended, we made the compulsory switch to see how the Bruins were doing. Let's just say, not good. They were losing and it was if they weren't even present on the ice. I get so much anxiety while watching high-stakes sporting events when I have a personal attachment to one of the team's involved. My palms get sweaty, my whole body trembles, and I do this weird thing where I have to put my hands on my face, as if my head is going to fly off of my body at any moment if I don't stabilize it. Simply put, I can't handle it.

My friend and I made the decision to change the channel around the same time that our Facebook and Twitter feeds turned into a frenzy of defeat, sadness and rage from our fellow Bruins' fans. I KNOW -- it is blasphemous. How can we even dare to call ourselves Bruins' fans, or, better yet, Bostonians, after changing the channel on our home team? The shame will forever haunt me, but we were downtrodden and tired! We settled on something less stressful (eating pudding pie and watching "Family Guy") and just hoped that we could recover in time for next season.

And that's when the power of texting and social media did the unthinkable: it saved us. My friend got an iMessage from another friend telling us that the Bruins were back in it. What? They were down 3-1 the last time we checked. It was the third period. That can't be right! BUT IT WAS RIGHT. I checked my Facebook and Twitter feeds, watching the posts progress from declarations of disappointment to cries of hope, pride and utter disbelief. There was a new status update every few seconds from different friends and acquaintances, all expressing the same thing, leading me to believe that the impossible was suddenly possible. The universe had smiled upon me and didn't want me to miss the end of the game -- social media and my iPhone had saved me from missing what was arguably one of the most exciting endings to a hockey game I have ever seen.

After my friend confirming that the tide had turned and every social media outlet firing off posts including capital letters and exclamation points, we changed the channel back to the Bruins and found that it was true -- the Bruins were back in it and they had a chance to win. My friend and I watched the rest of the game as the Bruins made their comeback and headed into overtime.If you don't follow hockey or Boston sports, spoiler alert: THEY WON.

If my friend and I hadn't checked our phones, we would have missed the entire end. I wouldn't have been able to watch the end of that unbelievable game had it not been for the power of modern technology. Thank you, iPhone.


More on what happened during the game here:
http://espn.go.com/boston/nhl/story/_/id/9272864/2013-nhl-playoffs-boston-bruins-pull-epic-turnaround-game-7-win

I Came, I Saw, I Conquered: The Family Vacation

We meet again.

 Maybe I'm belaboring on my vacation a bit too much -- you've already had to hear my lead-in to my vacation, then my recap on returning to London -- but if you've loyally read my insightful posts (I use both "loyally" and "insightful" loosely), then you probably noticed that I left out mentioning just over half of my trip...until now! A month later and I still wish I was back there. Blame it on Kinder Eggs withdrawal or maybe a nostalgia for a guilt-free binge on pizza, pasta and gelato, but my visit to Italy is still on my mind.

Unlike the first leg of my trip where I was travelling solo, hoping to spend my days leisurely enjoying old sights and friends, I went to Rome (and Florence!) to visit my brother, who had been studying there since January. Not only would I be seeing my brother for the first time in months, but my parents were going to meet me and my brother there as well. Talk about switching gears.

My days in London consisted of sleeping in, sporadically gorging myself on snacks and big meals, and trying to survive night after night in a different club. I knew that my trip to Rome would be a completely different pace, not only because of the cultural differences between the UK and Italy, but because, well, I was suddenly going from one-time-pseudo-local to obnoxious American tourist sans fanny-pack. Instead of being able to seamlessly hop from tube stop to tube stop, I'd be dragging around my camera and map, hoping not to annoy anyone as I tried to get the perfect picture in front of the Colosseum with the obligatory cheesy grin.

Oh, hello, Colosseum. Lookin' good for your age

Not only was I going from familiar to foreign, but this time, I had travel companions in tow: my family. This was not your typical family vacation of yore. I can remember, as a kid, going to places that were pretty kid-friendly: beach resorts, Cape houses, Disney World, etc. Those vacations were pretty heavily structured mainly because of the fact that, at eight years old, I could barely tie my shoes let alone have a sense of time management needed to move the vacation along. I was incapable not only of packing for myself, but basically figuring out how to manage in this new vacation zone. Heck, I passed out on a ferry en route to Disney World -- do you think that I was capable of providing any input aside from "I need to take a picture with Cinderella!?" Exactly.

This time, my brother and I not only had more say as to what we wanted to do and when, but we were more familiar with being abroad than my parents. Yes, my parents' travel experience may trump ours in terms of being prepared, but when it came down to interacting with locals, figuring out the best schedule for sightseeing and being aware of the nuances of travel abroad, our suggestions suddenly held some legitimate weight.

There was less of a divide between us and our parents . We were no longer helpless or relegated to strollers. My parents could safely take a picture without the fear that we would wander off. We could go into a bathroom alone, and my parents would be rest-assured that not only would we emerge unscathed, but we wouldn't get lost en route back to them. My brother and I had become travellers in our own right, capable of navigating, adapting to the cultural differences and able to problem-solve when needed. The pressure of needing to take care of my brother and me in addition to planning the day-to-day activities of travel could finally be taken off -- we can take care of ourselves, we can help figure out how to spend our time on the trip, and better yet, we can all enjoy and appreciate everything we were doing.

I'll admit, it isn't quite a family vacation without an argument, but for the most part, my family and I were able to enjoy all aspects of our time together. Not only did we bond over being able to visit the Colosseum or admire the Sistine Chapel together, but we could all recognize the overwhelming impressiveness of each of these historical, artistic and cultural sights. Seeing these things for the first time was something that we did together -- and whenever we think back on seeing Michelangelo's David or walking through Palatine Hill, we'll think of being together too. We were able to share an knowing appreciation for the sights as opposed to just checking off another item on the tourist to-do list.

I suppose you can see why, despite being firmly grounded here in Boston, my thoughts occasionally float back to my trip a mere month ago. The sights, the food, the lack of alarm clocks... It's amazing that I was even able to convince myself to return home. In the mean time, I look forward to the family trips of the future -- who knows where we'll all go next?!