I don’t know what happened.
To be fully honest, it’s been this way since September. I just can’t seem to find something worthwhile to say. September and October were spent in confusion, disbelief, and applications. I honestly cannot even remember November.
December had me interviewing, brought a proposal, a promotion, a job offer, more holiday food, and a lovely New Year’s eve. All in one month.
January turned my life upside down, sent Jake back to work, meant we’re definitely not moving to Texas just yet, brought on some begging to make my new career work, and meant hours and hours of work planning for the upcoming wedding.
February so far promises my first flight since September, an engagement party in Istanbul, and more wedding arrangements.
Through all this, one would think I’d have more to write about. More to think about. More to feel. More to blabber on and on. But somehow I don’t. Most days, I sit on the computer, trying to come up with something fascinating, something interesting, something readable. And I end up with nothing.
I’m not exactly sure why.
I spend most of my free time lying on the couch staring at the TV. I knit like mad, trying to finish my sister’s and nephews’ scarves on time. I’m trying to keep the wedding thing together. I’m trying not to disappoint my manager and team at work. I’m trying to arrange our honeymoon plans. I’m trying to read up on teaching and study for the New York State licensing exams. My brain is pretty close to turning to mush and I am just barely able to do the context switching when necessary.
Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to write much lately. Any ideas?
Previously? Power of Many.
I have heard that some scientists think that what makes humans superior to other creatures is that we’re social.
I believe in the power of many. In Turkish we have a saying and it translates to, “What does one hand have? Two hands make noise.” Okay, so it doesn’t translate well, but I hope you know what it is trying to say. It has always been obvious to me that two people can achieve a lot more than one, and three in return, can do even more.
Unless we’re talking about developing software.
But seriously, a single person has limitations on his or her capacity, just by the fact that a person can only do one thing at a time, be in only one place at a time. A crowd can disperse to attack the issue from a multitude of angles, bring the issue to a resolution. A single complaint might be whining, but a hundred people complaining often makes it a legitimate issue. Think about class-action suits, they symbolize the power of a crowd over one individual.
A group of people are stronger in pure muscle power as well as brain power. Having more people means more ideas, more points of view, and more experience to draw from. There are many studies proving that if humans grew up without other humans, they would not acquire language skills. We learn to speak so we can communicate with others. Because we live in a society.
There’s also the downside of the ‘power of many.’ There’s a famous psychology test where the subject is placed in a room with nine other researchers and shown two lines where one is obviously longer than the other. The psychologist asks each participant, starting with the nine researches who are acting as if they are subjects, which line is longer. Each researcher has been told to say that the longer line is the one that obviously appears to be the short one. By the time the actual subject’s turn comes up, he almost consistently replies in accordance with the undercover researchers.
Why? Because no one likes to sway from the crowd. Even when the answer is obvious and seemingly certain, very rarely do people want to give the single opposing response. It’s easier to roll with the crowd than to stand your ground alone. “If everyone said the answer is B, maybe I’m missing something. Maybe the answer is B.”
I bet your mom told you that it’s a bad idea to do what everyone else does, right?
Even though it increases the pressure to want to belong, I believe working in a group is consistently superior to working alone. It’s simply impossible to come up with as many ideas and see things from as many perspectives on one’s own.
The trick is not to give up your own sense of being in the process.
Previously? Finally.
I suck at waiting.
I suck at unclear.
I suck at undecided.
As of Saturday, my life was semi-decided, my part of the world was almost completely under control whereas Jake’s was still topsy turvy. I was semi-freaked out but also happy that my resolutions had worked out.
Saturday morning, Jake’s life made a big leap into the world of fantastic. Suddenly, he had options, each better than the previous. It was time for us to sit down and have a talk. A long talk. One of those you-know-you-have-to-but-wish-you-didn’t talks. One where we knew there was no safe path to walk, no one right answer. No one perfect solution.
We talked about the near future, the far future, the unknowns, the what-if, the but-what-about-mes, the beginning of a world of compromises. A few hours into it, I became confident this path wouldn’t lead us to answers. I knew the talk was going nowhere and I was getting more excitable by the minute. I told him we had to stop talking and I had to sleep.
I like to sleep when I feel the depression come on. It’s preferable to the uncontrollable crying. Wouldn’t you agree?
A few hours of sleep gave me all the answers. The ones I knew but was unwilling to admit. It made me realize that I needed to choose us over me and our combined goals over my personal ones. It sounds easy, but let me be the first to tell you: it’s not.
Once the decision was made, Jake’s life switched to steady and all-good and mine got completely destroyed. I had to go back to square one and travel the path once more. I had to beg, pray and wait.
I’m not good at waiting. Since Saturday morning, I’ve been alternating between vegging out in front of the TV and sleeping. I’ve avoided pretty much everyone, as well as my site. I had no motivation to do anything until I knew.
Well, now I know.
And as Heather would say, “It’s all good, baby”.
Previously? Loss of Identity.
I’m in the process of watching “Sound and Fury.” If you are, or ever have been interested in the deaf culture, I would highly recommend seeing this movie.
It tells the story of two families, one hearing, one deaf, both of which have deaf children. The hearing family decides to get a cochlear implant for their son. And the daughter of the deaf family says she wants an implant as well. She says she wants to hear the sound of babies crying, of cars crashing, talk on the phone, hear alarms.
The little girl’s parents do a lot of research, speaking with deaf and hearing families whose children have gotten cochlear implants. The father, of the girl, is against getting the implant cause he’s worried that the girl will lose her deaf identity and not be able to grow up with the deaf culture. The mother decides to extend her research and goes to the medical labs to find out if she, for herself, could get the implant. The representative at the lab explains to her that it’s much easier if the deaf individual is younger, so her daughter, at five, could get the implant without much adjustment, but for the mother it would be a major life change and it’s likely that the mom would keep signing.
The film shows the devastated deaf grandparents of the boy whose parents decide to get the cochlear implant and the crying grandmother whose deaf son decides not to get the implant for his daughter. I watched the movie, amazed at how similar it was to other common arguments I grew up with. A Jewish family whose daughter wants to marry a non-Jew, interracial couplings, a parent who moves into another country but wants to raise her children immersed in the culture she grew up with. At first look, there appears to be little difference between this argument and one of a French mother trying to send her kids to French-only schools and surrounding them with other French speaking children.
But then deafness is a disability.
Or so people say. And such, the issue becomes one of “if you could convert your child from a disabled one to a ‘normal’ one, wouldn’t you choose to?”
The movie addressed two main issues. One was specific to this girl whose parents were convinced that allowing her to have a cochlear implant would strip all of her deaf culture away. The father, keenly, observes that a girl who grows up with an implant and deaf parents, cannot speak English properly whereas a girl with hearing parents knows nothing about sign language or deafness. Such, they worry that the implant would mean she would end up belonging in neither the deaf nor the speaking world.
On a bigger scale, deaf people are concerned that if cochlear implants take over, every parent will implant one in their deaf baby and deaf culture will eventually disappear. Like Spanish people would cry at the loss of their culture, deaf people were crying at the potential death of theirs.
As a speaking person, it’s easy to judge. It’s easy to say that deafness is a disability and that if the girl could possibly hear, the parents owe it to the girl to explore that option. It’s easy to assume that since we can hear, hearing people must have a better life, more options. After all, I can sign and I can hear, so don’t I have the best of both worlds?
And yet, the movie made me think that maybe it’s not better. Maybe deafness is a culture just like ethnicity and religion. Maybe this girl will feel a stronger sense of belonging if she grows up deaf in the deaf community of her parents. Maybe much of life is accepting who you are and not forcing to fit in with the norm, assuming we even know what the norm is.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
Previously? A Fickle Relationship .
Jake and I saw startup.com last week. The movie follows the conception, rise and fall of an internet startup. Govworks is the name of the firm that the documentary follows. At one point in the movie, the main character, the CEO of the company, mentions how their idea is for the good of the people. How the reason they exist is to help people. It’s not his exact words, it might not even be the exact logic behind his words, but the words made me wonder about the plausibility of for-profit companies that exist for the good of humanity. All these words just to ask:
Is it possible for a profit company to have the public’s interest at heart?
The idea behind serving the public interest is finding an area where there is a need for help. Building houses. Teaching in inner-city schools. Providing service for the deaf. Giving shelter to the needy. Running a soup kitchen. The idea is to try to make the world a better place. The idea is to wake up each morning and be able to look yourself in the mirror. Working for the public interest is an unselfish act.
A for-profit company’s ultimate goal is to make money. Regardless of the specific purpose and details of the company, a for-profit is inherently trying to accumulate profit. The profits are not to be donated to the public. In most cases, they are so that the company can do well in an IPO. And then they are so that the company’s shares stay high. And then they are so the partners can be wealthy. Making money for oneself is a selfish act. Not selfish in the ‘you’re such a selfish pig’ sense but in the ‘you’re putting yourself first’ sense.
Can the selfish world of for profit companies mesh with the non-selfish cause of doing good for the public? It seems to me that a for-profit firm, when push comes to shove, would have to do what’s right for the business. Take the alternative that might bring in more money. Even at the cost of forgoing human interest. Which makes me think that for-profit and human interest cannot go together.
Initially, when I thought about companies working for human interest, I could only think of non-profit agencies or organizations. Then I started thinking of professions. Doctors. Teachers. Government workers. Both doctors and teachers have a wide range. There are doctors that charge an arm and a leg. There are private tutors who do the same. And yet, many doctors and teachers make so little that tons of people choose not to go into the profession for that very reason. The question of whether teachers should get paid a lot is an involved one and deserves another entry for another day.
It’s been a few days and at the back of my mind, I’m still pondering whether the coupling of working for human interest and running a for-profit firm is one of lifelong happiness or one bound to result in divorce.
Any ideas?
Previously? Obligations.
I don’t do well with obligations.
No, not the type you’re supposed to do for work. I have no problem showing up for work every morning, well every morning that I am supposed to show, which for me is three days a week. I have no problem showing up to meetings. I have no problem delivering what I possibly can when I said I would.
I also don’t mean school-related obligations. I complete my assignments on time. I attend each class. I listen, speak up and ask questions. Nor do I mean obligations that include paying bills, feeding the birdie, etc.
What I’m referring to are obligations of one person to another. Unwritten rules. The kind that require a person to act towards another in a manner opposing their actual feelings toward that person. The kind that makes you act, in Elaine Benes’s wise words: fake, fake, fake, fake, fake.
“You really should give her a call? She’s expecting it.”
“We can’t do that! We have obligations.”
“She invited you, you really should invite her.”
I don’t like the idea that someone would invite me to an event out of obligation. Furthermore, I despise the idea that I should behave in a certain manner just because it’s ‘the right thing to do.'”
I understand that there are cases where you do things that you may not like. At work you are at times respectful towards people you might not have a ton of respect for. At a friend’s house, even if you see her parents behave inappropriately, you act appropriately and don’t meddle in family business. We already have a ton of obligations that we don’t have control over, do we really need to fill up the rest of our life fulfilling unnecessary obligations?
I don’t like the idea of calling a friend because I have to. I don’t like the idea of sending a Christmas card because it’s wrong not to. I don’t like the idea of inviting people to my wedding cause it will appear rude if I don’t. I don’t like the idea of having to call or even talk to anyone I don’t particularly like.
Life’s too short to worry about doing everything right. It’s too short to spend your energy on people you don’t care about. Why do I have to waste my precious time being sweet to people I don’t care about and ones who don’t care about me? Why couldn’t everyone just be honest to each other? Aren’t there enough people to genuinely care about?
I don’t mean that you should be malicious to anyone. I just don’t think we should say things we don’t mean. Or invite people that we’d rather not. It just doesn’t seem right that I should waste my time with the fake worries. The fake hellos. The fake smiles. The fake thank yous. Where it’s obvious neither party really gives a crap.
Because then it’s not fair to the people I really do care about.
Previously? Growing Up.
There’s a discussion at metafilter about growing up, prompted by this.
In the last five years or so, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what qualifies someone as a grownup, or more personally, when I would qualify as one. Looking at the comments at metafilter, there seem to be a few common themes: a parent’s death, having a full-time job, buying a house, getting a divorce. It appears the definition of grown-up changes from person to person. Some people associate it with earning a living on one’s own while others relate it to coping with an emotional event.
Each time I cross a major milestone in my life, I wonder if I’m mature enough to be there. Moving to another continent, earning a high salary, paying a hefty rent, getting married. Each of them, an event associated with being a grownup. Am I really mature enough to get married? Am I mature enough to be a teacher?
I spent most of my childhood being too old for my age. A teenager who didn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs is pretty boring. I picked books over dress-up. I had goals. I had to work hard to achieve them. At seventeen, I left my home and my family to go miles and miles away. I figured I was old enough.
Not really.
Over the years, I learned that being mature is not a line one crosses. It’s not like there’s a day before which you’re a child and after which you’re a grownup. There are events that occur in our lives that force us to act mature and take responsibility, often sooner than we wished. And then there are events for which the time feels right so we take the leap, like marriage and children. I don’t believe anyone’s ready to have children. It just feels right and we feel like we’re in a healthy, stable situation and that we can provide for a child.
And then there are the situations that cause every person to act below their age. A few too many glasses of wine. Hanging out with a kid. Watching a football game. Playing video games. Besides these common cases, each person has a unique series of situations that will reduce that person to a child.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that getting older will always feel weird to me. Getting married like my parents and working as a teacher both sound odd when uttered to someone else but feel comfortable and right when I don’t think much about it. I don’t think it matters much when one officially stops being an adolescent. Putting a number on it guarantees that there will be people within the range who feel unfairly treated like a child, and a set of people who fall outside the range but yet act like adolescents.
Life is not about keeping track or fitting in a category. It’s about learning to deal with things as they come and taking responsibility. It’s also about maximizing the level of fun, no matter how childish, as long as it’s not at the expense of others.
The rest simply doesn’t matter.
Previously? Looking Forward.
Another year has passed and Jake and I have put another nail in the coffin of the curse of New Year’s eve. No fights. A lovely night thanks to Jason, Shannon, Anil and their great friends. Only laughter at the stroke of midnight. Laughter and kisses.
It appears my only resolution for 2001 was “to be a better person, inside and out.” I don’t know about the inside part but I did lose 26 pounds and dye my hair blonde, which translated to my being a different person outside. Considering the fact that I’ve wanted to lose weight since freshman year in college, I’d say the loss of weight was an improvement. So I guess I accomplished at least 50% of my resolutions from last year. As for the inside, you’ll have to take my word that I’ve made some progress along those lines as well. Though, I would be unfair if I didn’t admit to going back on Diet Coke which started the day after September 11, even though I’d gone almost two years without it.
December has been such a whirlwind of events that I haven’t had time to set resolutions for 2002. Heh, I love writing 2002. I love saying 2002. I love that it’s a palindrome. Anyhow, back to my point. I’m trying to figure out what my resolutions for the coming year should be. There’s the set I have each year: lose weight, quit diet coke, exercise more, finish your novel, etc. The same items I have on my list each year, and the same items that get transferred from year to year because either they never get achieved or they get temporarily achieved until I fall back the next year when they reappear on my list.
And then there’s the big stuff like: let go of the past, worry less, forgive yourself, stress less, stop trying so hard, etc. Issues that are at the core of who I am, issues that are way too serious and require way more commitment than a grocery list of resolutions. These issues will only get resolved with time and the regular course of events in my life. Some might never go away, some might disappear by tomorrow morning. But none will be a resolution I can set or follow.
2002 is a rare case where I know I will have some major upcoming events that promise to change my life. I can resolve not to stress over the upcoming wedding. Or the move to a completely foreign state. I can resolve to be the best teacher I can be without taking on all the problems of inner-city education. I can resolve to not worry about learning to drive at the ripe age of 27. Not to worry about having to pack my life into little boxes and move them across the country. But the fact is, I can’t make any resolutions about unknown future events, even if they’re in the foreseeable future. Setting those types of resolutions is guaranteed disappointment.
A few days ago, I wrote about how humans don’t change on demand. I think resolutions fall into that category. It’s a time of year that simply makes you sit at your table and list out all that things you wish you were or hope you weren’t. Who cares? So what if you don’t exercise enough? What’s the big deal about eating too much chocolate or not reading enough? In the end, if it really matters to you, you will do it or you will stop it.
Regardless of what day it is.
My resolution for 2002 is to try a little bit each day.
Previously? Looking Back.
2001 didn’t start all that well for me.
Jake and I were supposed to welcome the New Year in Savannah with his family. In the middle of our fist day I started losing feeling on my legs. After a phone call to the doctor, where I was told that I had two herniated discs and had to go back home and lie in bed, we took the 6am plane the next day and spent New Year’s eve and the week after in bed.
The low-key New Year’s eve turned out to be the best Jake and I ever had. We played video games all night long and got up for some sparkling cider at midnight. Which proved that 2001 might not turn out awful after all.
I spent February to May undergoing regular physical therapy. At the same time, I got asked to manage the project I was working on while keeping my three-days-a-week arrangement. I worked at New York Society for the Deaf and took five courses including learning to make pottery and play the saxophone.
The summer of 2001 brought many questions. My back was finally starting to feel better and I knew I wanted to change my life. I took fewer classes and decided I wanted to do more in the city. We’d talked about moving before next summer and I knew it might be our last summer in the city. We went to book readings, we took walks in the park, we spent most of our days outside. We talked. We made decisions. We agreed not to be afraid.
In the fall I decided that I was ready to give up my career. I decided it was time to start living the life I’ve wanted. Time to be proud of myself. Time to make my life worthwhile. I filled applications for the two places that promised to change my life. I went back to physical therapy when my neck started hurting out of the blue. I began volunteering at Housingworks as well as NYSD and took on six new courses. I was going to spend most of the fall waiting to hear and the less time I had to sit around and wonder the better it would be. I knew that the news wouldn’t arrive until January.
It turned out to be sooner. December 2001 might hold the record for the most eventful month in my life. The last week of November I found out that I was called back to have an interview with Teach for America on December 6th. I spent the next two weeks practicing my five-minute teaching session so many times that I could do it in my sleep. That Thursday morning, I woke up at 6:30 and got to the interview a half-hour early. I spent the morning teaching, discussing, writing and the afternoon with my one-on-one interview. By three in the afternoon, I was so worn out that I went to sleep as soon as I got home. That night Jake proposed to me at Rockefeller Center, the next morning my boss informed me that the firm decided to promote me to Vice President. Ten days later, I found out that I got accepted to Teach for America.
Talk about a busy and life-changing month.
I’m still waiting for some more news. I am supposed to find out the state that I teach in, in the next week or two. A week after that I hear from Stanford. And then we sit down to make some decisions. 2002 promises to be an eventful year for me. A wedding, a career change, a new house and a car are just the beginning of my New Year.
Looking back to the eve of 2001, I would have never guessed that this would be the year in which my life changed. The year that I started at the bottom but am finishing on top.
May 2002 bring even more luck, laughter, health and love to all of us.
Happy New Year.
Previously? Assigned Roles.
He brings home the bread money.
She does the cleaning and the laundry.
She cooks and he does the dishes.
If we hear a scary noise in the middle of the night, he gets up to see what it is.
When the baby cries in her sleep, she gets up cause daddy’s gotta go to work the next day.
He proposes, she accepts.
He’s successful; she’s caring and considerate.
She’s thin and pretty.
He’ll protect the child when other kids are mean to him.
She’ll make him chicken soup and kiss his boo-boos.
She’ll want babies and he’ll have a son.
He’ll never cry, he’ll be strong for the both of them.
She’s been planning her wedding day since she was a little girl.
He doesn’t understand the difference between mauve and puce.
He watches football and she likes figure skating.
He handles the money.
She’s sentimental, he’s reasonable.
I am so glad we live in the 21st century.
Previously? Personality Change.
Can you change who you are?
At first thought, my instinct is to say, “yes.” One part will, two parts determination and mix thoroughly.
Over nine years ago, I moved to the United States. I remember the day I got accepted to Carnegie Mellon University as if it happened this morning. The telegram, the flowers and the tears. I’d wanted to come to America since my early teens and getting into CMU had been a long and strenuous journey.
I remember thinking that this was my one chance to change. To start over. No one knew me in the US, no one had grown up with the geeky Karen who wore glasses as thick as a coke-bottle bottom. No one knew my weaknesses, no one could use my past to make fun of me. It was the perfect opportunity to have a personal makeover. I was determined to change myself.
Week one came and I was cool. I made some new friends, I laughed at the right times, I wore the right things and I didn’t say anything too embarrassing. I don’t mean to imply that I was at the center of the in-crowd or anything, but I did manage not to screw up anything major. So it was possible to change oneself, after all.
Not exactly.
It took a few weeks or so, but eventually I made my way back to the original Karen. The one with the same set of flaws, the collection of not-so-cute quirks and the same baggage. The new Karen was just a role, and one can only act for so long. The new skin we create becomes uncomfortable. It’s too tight or too loose. It just doesn’t feel right.
Over the years, I’ve had a few opportunities to start over. The move to Pittsburgh, a new boyfriend, and then another, a move to New York City and a new job. Each presented me with the same titillating need to create a new Karen and every single time, I crawled right back into the familiar one.
So is it impossible to change oneself?
I think that when we make a conscious effort, it’s extremely difficult to change who we are. And yet, I also think that we change continuously. Each day of our lives small things happen. These tiny, insignificant bits change us in miniscule ways. Sometimes huge things occur and our personality takes leaps. But often times, these are not premeditated. So much so that even we might not notice that we changed until the right opportunity presents itself. Not only is it possible to change oneself, but we are continuously in the process of changing ourselves.
The trick is not to force it. To let nature take its own course. To recognize that the very first step to changing oneself is accepting oneself.
Previously? ‘Tis the Season .
I absolutely adore Christmas.
I know that as a Jewish person I’m not supposed to feel that way, but to me, Christmas is not a religious holiday. I guess what I actually love is the Christmas season and all that it’s come to represent.
In Turkey, we all put up Christmas trees and decorations but they are called “New Year’s” trees. We don’t have the caroling but we have the lights. We have the presents. We pile them under the tree, and open them on New Year’s day. The only difference is that New Year’s eve is not a family event. Ever since I was twelve, I went to different parties on the eve of the New Year and I didn’t return home until the next morning. It’s a tradition.
But the New Year’s Day is all about family time.
No matter what religion you observe, I can’t understand why Christmas season wouldn’t cheer you up. I love the smell of pine trees. I love the thousands of lights shimmering all around the city. The wreaths. The sound of the bells. I love the presents. I even love the funny hats. [ I am so sorry, Heather.] Two years ago, I celebrated Christmas with my friend Laura and her family. They took me to midnight mass. I remember walking into the church and loving the candles and being mesmerized by the songs.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Chanukah. Most of the Jewish holidays that I observe mean a lot to me and I love being a part of the culture, the traditions and the remembrance. Those are spiritual for me, but Christmas isn’t. I know that the idea behind it is and so is the significance of the day. But I guess I love Christmas for the same reason most people hate it.
Because it’s become pop culture.
If I were Christian and devout, I might be upset that Madison Avenue has converted the holiest of days to another excuse to sell an item. But I’m not. Instead I enjoy the fact that it’s become an excuse to give gifts. An excuse to extend good wishes to those close to us. To friends we might have not talked to in a long time. A reason to give to the less fortunate. Time to collect family members into a single room.
New York gets a major makeover from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day. All of Fifth Avenue stretches its creative muscles and gives us magnificent displays. And after this year, Rockefeller Center and the tree and the angels will have a lifelong special place in my heart. During the month of December, it’s almost impossible for me to walk down to street without smiling. I love the trees everywhere. It’s as if the season uplifts me. I love buying gifts even more than receiving them. ‘Tis the season to give, after all. And what’s better than sharing and giving?
Tomorrow morning, I’m off to celebrate Christmas with Jake and his family. If you celebrate Christmas, may you have a most amazing one. If you don’t, use the day of to hook up with old friends or to make new ones.
Either way, may your day be filled with happiness and laughter.
Previously? Home Alone.
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projects for twenty twenty-six
projects for twenty twenty-five
projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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