A few weeks ago, one of my professors told me a story and I've been thinking about it ever since. He said there was an old fable in which a man was sentenced to die. The king set the condemned man what seemed to be an impossible task; the king said that if the condemned man could give him something that would make him happy when he was sad, and sad when he was happy, then he could go free. The man gave the king a ring engraved with the words "this too shall pass." The king realized that the man had met his challenge and set him free.
This too shall pass. Those words suddenly seem to be a full, meaningful description of the way things are, rather than something I tell myself to feel better when things are rough. It does make me happy and sad, sometimes at the same time.
Tonight was a lovely, shining moment that made me so happy and melancholy at the same time, only because I knew that nothing else would ever be quite like it. Those lovely, shining moments are rare, especially when most weeks feel like a long, emotional slog. Such has been my time with the student newspaper: long hours, blood, sweat and tears, mixed so much joy, and passion, and fulfillment. Tonight I had a chance to sit and reflect with my fellow graduating editors (along with our beloved advisor, of course) and it was priceless. We shared memories and the strengths we recognized in each other after so much time working together. One editor remarked that he had moments of panic when he thought that perhaps working The Guilfordian was as good as things are going to get, because how could we ever find another group of such talented, passionate and hardworking individuals? When would we ever find another group of people willing to sacrifice so much for no pay and little formal recognition?
I don't know the answer to that, but we did share a sense of excitement and faith for the future of the student newspaper in the hands of its new editors. And after leaving, I can't help but feel and sense of faith and excitement for myself and all my fellow editors who are graduating along with me. I have no doubt that the strength and passion we've brought to this newspaper will carry us forward to wonderful things, even if it's not what we imagine now. Looking back on it, my work for The Guilfordian (and by extension, my work at college) and the relationships I've built have been genuinely transformational and I am grateful. I am grateful to have known these people, grateful that I will go on knowing them. I am grateful for everything they have taught me, and everything we have shared.
It's appropriate that the same professor who told me that story is also the advisor for the newspaper.
This too shall pass. But something will always be waiting ahead as well.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Choice
I am a terrible blogger lately. This is partly because I am starting to see a shift coming. I'm working on a project for a TA/independent study position that will hopefully become a professional showcase and website that will host a new blog, my twitter feed, and hopefully examples of my work. It's sucking up energy that I'd normally feed over here. As it is, this blog might be retired soon as I make my switch.
What a precious archive, though. So far, I've blogged partly for others, mostly for myself. I chose a blog so that I could share. Now, as my understanding of digital literacy and new media communications/rhetoric is expanding, I feel that I need to change the nature of my output to reflect my growing sense that I am (or can be) a part of professional and academic discourse "out there" in the world. I think this blog was a stepping stone, though, an place for learning and reflection and I hope to carry that over as well.
It's been interesting to note the cyclical nature of my worries, my joys. Is this what it means to be a student, or is this what it means to be a human? Or both? Even though, come May, I won't be a "student" for a while, I know that the line between "school" and "life" is false and that I'll never stop learning. Although, getting that grant money I applied for would help a lot too.
It's taken me until now to realize that, in the face of my anxiety and worry over where I'll be and what I'll be doing in the coming months, I'm the only one who can give myself permission not to be worried or anxious. I have six weeks of college left. Six weeks. I want to be present for those last weeks, not stuck in anxiety over a future that will probably work itself out anyway. I don't think it's wrong to count on having a little serendipity mixed in with all the hard work and preparation for the future.
What a precious archive, though. So far, I've blogged partly for others, mostly for myself. I chose a blog so that I could share. Now, as my understanding of digital literacy and new media communications/rhetoric is expanding, I feel that I need to change the nature of my output to reflect my growing sense that I am (or can be) a part of professional and academic discourse "out there" in the world. I think this blog was a stepping stone, though, an place for learning and reflection and I hope to carry that over as well.
It's been interesting to note the cyclical nature of my worries, my joys. Is this what it means to be a student, or is this what it means to be a human? Or both? Even though, come May, I won't be a "student" for a while, I know that the line between "school" and "life" is false and that I'll never stop learning. Although, getting that grant money I applied for would help a lot too.
It's taken me until now to realize that, in the face of my anxiety and worry over where I'll be and what I'll be doing in the coming months, I'm the only one who can give myself permission not to be worried or anxious. I have six weeks of college left. Six weeks. I want to be present for those last weeks, not stuck in anxiety over a future that will probably work itself out anyway. I don't think it's wrong to count on having a little serendipity mixed in with all the hard work and preparation for the future.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Change
Want the change. Be inspired by the flame
where everything shines as it disappears.
The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.
What locks itself in sameness has congealed.
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.
Pour yourself like a fountain.
Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.
Every happiness is the child of separation
it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming a laurel,
dares you to become the wind.
March 1 selection from "A Year with Rilke" (Sonnets to Orpheus II, 12)
I love Rilke. Reading a snippet or poem of his every day has been an interesting exercise. I had a period last week when I forgot to read almost five days in a row. I was sick and busy, but I felt upset and slightly ashamed when I realized it. I've made a renewed effort over the past few days to make sure I read them on time. It's sometimes dull, because I'll go days without anything really speaking to me. Then, all of a sudden, I will read a poem and think, "I really, really needed to read that today."
That's what happened today. That's why I push myself to keep reading, day after day when it seems easier not to commit to something extra. I love it when Rilke describes change as a flame, that there is something burning and effervescent about change, even when it seems to be mere drudgery or supreme discomfort. "Every happiness is the child of separation/it did not think it could survive."
How often I need to be reminded of that.
where everything shines as it disappears.
The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.
What locks itself in sameness has congealed.
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.
Pour yourself like a fountain.
Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.
Every happiness is the child of separation
it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming a laurel,
dares you to become the wind.
March 1 selection from "A Year with Rilke" (Sonnets to Orpheus II, 12)
I love Rilke. Reading a snippet or poem of his every day has been an interesting exercise. I had a period last week when I forgot to read almost five days in a row. I was sick and busy, but I felt upset and slightly ashamed when I realized it. I've made a renewed effort over the past few days to make sure I read them on time. It's sometimes dull, because I'll go days without anything really speaking to me. Then, all of a sudden, I will read a poem and think, "I really, really needed to read that today."
That's what happened today. That's why I push myself to keep reading, day after day when it seems easier not to commit to something extra. I love it when Rilke describes change as a flame, that there is something burning and effervescent about change, even when it seems to be mere drudgery or supreme discomfort. "Every happiness is the child of separation/it did not think it could survive."
How often I need to be reminded of that.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Words and more words
A "word cloud" drawn from the four or so years of my blog (created via Wordle). Curious and revealing, isn't it?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Useless Days
The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.From "Dear Sugar, The Rumpus Advice Column #64: Tiny Beautiful Things."
-Sugar
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