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.
It’s been a long time since I’ve lived alone.
Five years ago, upon graduation from college, I moved to New York and rented a small one-bedroom apartment. Jake had one more year of college so when the summer was over, he went back to Pittsburgh, leaving me alone in the apartment.
I never minded being home alone. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been easily self-entertained. Between my books, my music, the TV, and my computer, it’s almost impossible to be bored. That first year, I spent many of my nights watching TV and chitchatting with Jake on the phone or over zephyr. At the time, I was talking 3-d graphics classes and I pulled many all-nighters trying to get my trumpet to look just right.
From December 1999 to May 2000, I lived alone in a corporate apartment in Tokyo, Japan. I spent most of my time then working late and studying Japanese. Even though I had occasional visitors, Tokyo did get quite lonely after four or five months. I missed being able to walk on the streets and understand what the signs said. Or turning on the TV and having more than one channel in English.
Two days ago, Jake left for home and I am scheduled to join him on Monday. I’ve spent almost every minute since Friday night at home. The only time I went out was today, to grab lunch at a cafe four blocks from my house. One would think that I must be miserable considering the circumstances, but I feel quite fulfilled and even jovial. I’ve written a short story. I’ve knitted more of my scarves. I’ve read magazines and books. I’ve watched countless hours of TV. I’ve redesigned my web page. I’ve even completed a favor for Jake that I’d been putting off for quite some time. I’ve yet to reply to my emails, but we still have tomorrow.
There are major advantages to living with someone. Especially someone you love. I can walk over to him and give him a kiss or ask for a hug anytime I feel like it. I can convince him to take a walk with me if I feel down. I can hear his laughter and see his smiling face. All these are special privileges I’d never give up. But there are also downsides to having another human being share your one private place in the world.
There are times Jake and I want to watch different TV shows. Or one of us wants to sleep when the other one suggests going out. He might be on the phone when I want some quiet time to read my book. The fact is we’re sharing space. Not like the office where you expect there to be other people, but at home where it’s meant to be your safe haven and your own private place to do as you please. Living with someone else requires that you follow some level of social rules within your own household. Living with someone else is hard work.
I like living with the person I love and I’d take the complications of sharing space over not getting to see him all the time, any day. But I also try to maximize the occasional alone-time I get, which is why being home for so many hours in a row actually puts me in a good mood.
Not that it stops me from missing him madly.
Previously? One Of Those Times.
Why would you wait another year to get married? Haven’t seven years been enough?
You’ve just been promoted to Vice President and you’re quitting?
Are you insane?
That seems to be the one thought everyone agrees on lately. I must be insane. I mean, could so many people be wrong?
You bet.
It seems to me that everyone lives slightly vicariously through others. I mean when we hear good news or bad news relating to a friend or family member, we tend to put ourselves in their shoes and feel obligated to give advice. Well, maybe it’s not an obligation but a sign of caring. Regardless of what it represents, lately I’ve been hearing a lot of it. Already overwhelmed with the shower of good luck that I’ve been soaking myself in, I’ve decided I can do without all the advice.
Not that I don’t appreciate the good nature with which it’s offered, but there are times in life where one needs to step back and take a look at the events from the outside and make her own decisions. This is one of those times for me.
One of the reasons I tend to have few regrets is cause I spend a lot of time thinking about each of my decisions. No matter how my new steps turn out, I want to be able to look back on my life and say that I thought I was doing the right thing. That I thought about it seriously and truly believed in it at the time.
I never believed in mistakes and I think life is what you make of it. I am tired of being fearful and I’m sick of living with or worrying about other people’s expectations. I’ve been itching for some change and it seems I’m about to get my chances. All I want people to say is: “good luck.”
I read a poem many years ago that was supposedly by an eight year-old girl. In the poem, the girl talked about how she likes to pray to God because as opposed to the other people in her life, God doesn’t tell her what to do or what she did wrong or what’s best for her. God just listens.
I’m not very religious but I liked the point of the message. There are times in everyone’s life when she doesn’t want to hear advice. When she doesn’t want to hear what she should do or what she shouldn’t. When she wants someone to just sit there and listen. Sometimes that’s the best help one can offer.
This is one of those times for me.
Previously? Misjudgment.
So, at the end of last semester, I signed up for a class called ‘the pursuit of happiness.’ Actually, at the end of last semester, I signed up for a class called ‘theories of learning.’ It appears no one else thought learning theories were interesting because the class was cancelled due to low enrollment.
A week before classes were to begin, I was notified of the cancellation and had to scramble to fill in the time slot. Since I’d never taken a philosophy course, I figured the happiness class might not be awful. I mean it was a class on happiness, how bad could it really be?
Well, week one came and went and while I was quite hesitant, I did keep the class, thanks to an email from Richard who told me to keep at it and that the class would be worthwhile. The second week I remember sitting in the room, wondering why I kept punishing myself so. I kept thinking the professor was a little out there and didn’t hold on to any strong beliefs or positions of his own. But I didn’t drop the class. I wouldn’t.
Over the next few months, my happiness class was the source of a variety of posts. It seems week after week, the class made me think. It made me think about myself, about life, about my choices, about the whys and hows and why nots. Two of us in the class got engaged and our most vocal classmate stopped showing up, thus allowing the class to cover the full material. One of my classmates showed me how to knit a pattern and how to hide the small pieces of yarn sticking out on the edges. Another classmate asked me algebra advice for his son. The teacher told us how he’s been struggling with learning to brush his teeth at night.
Yesterday was our final class. The woman who helped me with my knitting said she wanted to make an announcement. She said that before the class she’s been struggling with personal problems. She’d had cancer and hadn’t been able to get back to her sculpture. She said she explained her frustration to the professor and he said he’d call her every morning for a week. On day two, she’d already organized her life around and now she has a huge piece that’s on display on the West Side of Manhattan.
It is then that I realized the horrors of judging. In my frustration and underestimation of the class, I had misjudged what was an amazing and kind human being. Even if he wasn’t the most organized professor, he helped each of us in his own way and I think that’s so much more precious than any well constructed instruction.
It also taught me the importance not underestimating. Not locking into the few words that someone utters and use those to judge him or her. As much as I’d like to say I don’t do that, this class showed me that I do. I made me look into my conscience and see the rotten portions.
Talk about a worthwhile class. Thank you, Richard.
Previously? Karma.
For every event that occurs, there will follow another event whose existence was caused by the first, and this second event will be pleasant or unpleasant according as its cause was skillful or unskillful.- source
I believe in karma.
I like the idea of karma. The idea that the consequences of your actions affect future events sounds very appealing to me. If we all acted as if our actions would come back to haunt us, it might encourage us to ponder longer before we act.
Karma might even encourage people to commit random acts of kindness. Smiling to a stranger on your way to work. Holding the door to someone carrying bags of groceries. Calling with happy birthday wishes. Calling just to say hi.
If you believed in karma, you’d also believe that the more good vibrations you send ‘out there’, the more chances you have of receiving luck and happiness. So you’d try to be as kind as you can, for no specific reason. Wouldn’t it be neat if everyone did that?
On Friday, Jake and I saw Vanilla Sky. A movie with Tom Cruise and Jason Lee was already too good to be true. Even if it had absolutely no point, I would have easily paid the twenty bucks for two hours of watching my two favorite male actors. But, as an added bonus, the movie turned out to be a trip.
I don’t want to give away the twisty ending, so I won’t tell you a major premise of the movie. But in the end, it was about consequences. About showing that each move you make can alter your potential future. That each action, even if seemingly small, has consequences, and if you don’t consider them, you might have to pay for them. You will have to pay for them.
Yet how many of us really think of our actions? I mean, really think about them. Each time we don’t reply to a kind email or return a phone call. When we cut in front of someone in traffic or don’t wait to hold the elevator for someone walking down the hall. When we tell small, white lies that are supposedly for the good of the other person. When we act like we care even though we know we don’t. When we fake listening while we think of other things. How many of us ponder the consequences of our selfishness? ,
Too few, if you ask me.
There’s no such thing as a meaningless act. Everything has consequences.
Previously? Point of No Return.
I’d guess her age at twenty-eight or so, the point where working women first taste success and realize they’ve been conned. A crucial moment – it’s when the ache sets in. sometimes it leads to marriage and a family. Sometimes it spurs devotion to a cause. Men reach this point, too, of course, but it seldom results in major changes. That’s how it happened for me in my late twenties, when it dawned on me that CTC was not just a temporary assignment. I weighed my alternatives, convinced myself I had none, and here I am – subsisting on smoked almonds, chasing miles. – Walter Kirn in Up in the Air
Family or devotion to a cause? Hmm. No wonder they both sound so appetizing,
When I read this jewel in an otherwise mildly entertaining book, I couldn’t believe my eyes. One of the greatest aspects of reading something you think in a novel is realizing that you’re not the only one. Misery loves company, right? Actually everything loves company. Weirdness, sorrow, happiness. Knowing that you’re not the only who thinks something is a major relief.
The hardest part, for me, was admitting that it’s really not a path to some goal, but it’s the goal itself. Even though I believe life is often the journey and not the destination, I also think that sometimes a worthwhile destination can make a difficult path bearable. What, unfortunately, often happens is that we get walking on a path, for some reason or another and rarely stop to consider whether it’s the path we meant to keep walking on. Is there a worthwhile goal at the end of this one?
Assuming one does stop to consider these issues, as the above excerpt implies, the next difficult step is to have the nerve to admit that the path might not be leading anywhere special. And at twenty-eight and halfway to success, it’s excruciatingly difficult to admit that. It’s even harder to cut your losses and move back to begin another path.
I remember, freshman year in college, when my economics professor taught us about ‘sunk cost.’ If on your way to a concert you lose the tickets, do you buy another one when you get to the concert or do you just give up and go back home?
I hope that no matter how old I am and how far down the path I’ve traveled, as soon as I realize that it’s the wrong path or the wrong destination, I will have the strength of mind to consider it sunk cost and turn my life upside down. As many times as necessary.
I guess I’m just like many other women. Facing that crucial moment. The only difference is that I’m twenty-seven. That’s only off by one year.
Feeling less weird about my recent decisions already.
Previously? The Wrong Path.
Aren’t you sick of my happiness class just yet?
Well, the good news is that next week is my last class. The bad news is that here comes another happiness entry:
In yesterday’s class, we talked about taking the wrong path, making bad choices. My teacher mentioned conversing with women in their forties who tell him that had it not been for their marriage and children, they could have been successful and had a better life.
If only…
What a crock of crap, if you ask me. First of all, there’s absolutely no guarantee that their life would have turned out well had they not married and had offspring. What seems to be a successful career can disappear overnight (as too many people are finding out recently). We never really know where an unchosen path would have lead us. We only know the outcome of the chosen path, and not even much of that.
The other part of the point that bothers me is the assumption that the initial decision of marriage and children over career was not actually a choice but a pre-made decision. It implies that either the woman wasn’t allowed to make the choice, or worse, that she decided on that option without even having thought about it too much.
I could swear that I wrote an entry on making choices and how everything is about a priority chosen over another one, but I can’t find it. The fact is, every decision we make matters. Each decision deserves thought and careful consideration. There’s something to be said for the value of spontaneity but major decisions that are guaranteed to alter the course of your life deserve some premeditation. It’s highly possible that a tiny, seemingly minor decision turns your life upside down, but such is life.
It seems to me that if you go through life without thinking about your choices, if they go wrong, you’ll end up full of regret, like the women my teacher mentioned. This is your life. Make your own decisions. Because, in the end, you’re responsible for them.
Whether you like it or not.
Previously? Not Exactly a Stranger.
Each time I meet someone I’ve known through the web, I wonder how our first interaction will be. I try to imagine sitting in the restaurant and wonder what sort of conversation we will have. Will it be awkward or will it be as if we’d been buddies all along?
Will I even recognize the face?
I wrote about meeting web people before. Rony and Daphna definitely were like longtime friends. Within minutes, we were conversing as if we hang out regularly. Since they were the first official people we met from the online world (well, not entirely true, but at least the first official people we met from the weblogging world), I wasn’t sure if they were the norm or the exception.
A few months and at least ten more meetings with different people showed me that as special as the Tako couple are, and they are special, there is some sort of ease when meeting people that seem to share an online world with you. I don’t know if it comes from the comfort that’s raised from frank email or AIM conversations, or it’s that people who choose to express themselves on the net are a certain kind of people who blend easily when face to face.
Yesterday, I met four more such people. Two who live a few blocks from my house, one who can be considered a neighbor and another who came from miles and miles away. Four different people with four different personalities, four different backgrounds, four different styles, four different priorities. Five, if you include me.
Walking down the street to the diner, I recognized them without a problem. How many other people carry identical cameras? A two-hour lunch went from topic to topic without an awkward pause. The weird thing about meeting these people is that they may physically be strangers, as we’d never previously met face to face, but we knew much about each other.
So the awkwardness of talking to a stranger doesn’t enter the picture. And yet, you haven’t really met this person ever before, so it’s still full of the excitement of meeting a new person. Talking about different interests, listening and agreeing and laughing.
It’s not like hanging out with an old friend, nor is it like being introduced to a brand new person. It’s an amalgamation that’s unique to the world it emerges from. It’s fun, it’s interesting, it’s unusual, it’s memorable.
And it’s always worthwhile.
Previously? A Moment.
Life can change in a moment’s notice.
My interview went well, thank you to all of those who sent me wonderful messages and crossed limbs. I don’t know the results yet and will not find out for a few weeks. All I could think of last night was how it’s all over and now I just get to wait.
I’m not good at waiting.
Normally, that is. Ordinarily, I am just as stressed as if I actually had a say in what happens. But last night, I was so tired, so worn out that I just wanted to sleep. Just enjoy the momentary lack of obligations. And then my whole world changed.
A four-word question.
A magical moment.
A christmas tree shimmering with red white and blue, lit up angels, complete shock and public applause.
A single moment.
It didn’t even stop there. It kept compounding. One set of good news after the other. One more unbelievable than the previous. So much so that waiting is not a problem anymore. It will probably take me a few weeks just to process all this news. Just to wipe off the smile from my face.
A single moment.
That’s all it took.
Previously? Vortex.
Anticipation.
Worrying.
Stress.
Anxiety.
Excitement.
I’ve spent the last week playing a game of Wheel of Fortune where the options are one of the above. I give it a push: stress. A harder push: worrying. Am I going to get excitement? Nope. It’s the equivalent of the tiny sliver of triangle with the $10,000 on it. For now, I’m stuck with the others.
Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s a day to pray. Don’t believe in God? I don’t care, pray for me anyway. Have you ever wanted anything so much you can taste it?
I have. I do.
I tend to believe that things happen for a reason. If you truly, really work hard to get something and you can’t get it, maybe it wasn’t meant to happen. That might sound like I believe in destiny, but it’s not exactly that. I guess it’s just that knowing it might be something more than my not getting it makes me feel better. Self-deception, baby, I’m all about that!
Is it better to have tried and failed than to not have tried at all? Do you really want to put yourself out there over and over again? Is it about aiming or is it about enjoying the achievements?
These are the thoughts that are dancing in my mind. I don’t have the answers. I’m not even fully thinking about the questions. I’m not thinking about much right now. Can you tell?
Cross your fingers. Toes.
I want this!
Previously? Don’t Pass Go.
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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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