On goodbyes

Goodbyes are the worst.  Here's a list of six reasons why:

1.  When attending a goodbye event, or in the days approaching a goodbye, there's awkward avoidance of all conversation regarding the goodbye.   Everyone pretends it doesn't exist which makes it that much more strange when you have no choice but to confront the fact that it does with an actual goodbye.

2.  You have to go through the really awkward, "do we hug, shake hands, or do nothing?" moment.  Sometimes both parties are on the same page and sometimes they aren't.  When they aren't...yeah, that miss-communication will stick with you for a while.  Nothing like an awkward final impression.

3.  There's awkward conversation about keeping in touch, and sending pictures, and communicating, when both parties know that the likelihood that things will ever be the same, despite any massive amounts of communication that can be maintained, is next to impossible.  Pleasantries abound...and I hate pleasantries.

4.  There's awkward processing of feelings and compliments are thrown around like dirty laundry.  I don't do feelings very well, so this is all very painful for me.  I'm ready to run when people start talking about how much they like me and how much I've affected them, and how my departure is making them cry. I love them for feeling those things, but it's really awful to hear them talk about it.  I get squirmy.

5.  When you are the only one leaving and everyone else is staying, that's when things get really annoying.  The goodbye is focused on you, because you are the one who is changing. And everyone else only has to say one goodbye, to you, while you have to say tens of goodbyes...and that's just not fair.

6. You know, the whole nothing being the same ever again thing kind of sucks.  It kind of sucks a lot.  A whole freaking lot.  Eff nothing being the same ever again.  It can go die in a corner.

So, yeah, goodbyes are the worst. But, really what it all pins down to is discomfort with the ambiguity of it all.  Because goodbyes are so ambiguous.  There's ambiguity in all of it. Whether or not to hug. Whether or not you'll ever see each other again. Whether or not you will miss each other equally. Whether or not the person needs to express their feelings, feel their feelings.  Whether or not anything will ever be the same again.  All of it is ambiguous and that's what makes it tough.

But ambiguity isn't all bad.  Ambiguity leaves open doors and possibilities.  So do goodbyes.


Keep on thinking,
Josie

Music is

I am a massive believer in the power of song.  That sounds really corny, I know, but I really hold that to be true.  Music has power and music has unique power.

Music has the power to completely change a moment or an experience. Music has the power to lead us toward emotion and through emotion.  Music has the power to make us laugh, and cry, and smile.  It has the power to cause anything from raging revolt to sleep.  Music has the power to make us feel good when we produce it. To make us feel good when we dance to it.  It provides us the opportunity to move and act silly.  It has the power to completely change our day around simply by being present.  And the right kind of music, the perfect song, for the perfect moment, well that has the power to change the entire course of our lives.

Music has existed for centuries.  Maybe for all of time.  It has served many purposes throughout its existence: communication, entertainment, prayer.  It has played a role in major historical events.  And it is one behavior, one experience, that connects us, living in the modern age, to our ancestors, and their ancestors, and their ancestors and connects us wherever we are to everyone else, wherever they are.  Music represents cultures and families.  One thing unifying all in their differences.

Music is powerful.

Music is beautiful.

Music is history.

Music is people.

Music is.

Keep on thinking,

Josie

On feeling replaceable

It's really strange to feel unneeded.

This is a thought I've had many times in the past few weeks.  The circumstances of my very imminent departure from my current PhD program for another are likely the sole origin of these thoughts.  I'm prematurely leaving my current program, and therefore leaving an established situation that shall remain entirely the same, except for me.  All of my classmates will stay, all of the clinical work and clients will stay, everyone will continue on with their research projects, and their friendships, and their jobs, and their lives. While my life is changing drastically, and ultimately, for the better, everyone else's is pretty much staying the same. Everything that I'm involved in here will continue along the same path after I leave.  And because everything is continuing despite my departure, I'm finding myself replaced a lot.

This is, of course, completely logical.  When a best friend leaves, you find new support systems.  When a group leader leaves, you find a new leader.  When an employee leaves you find a new employee.  It's just the way of the world.  That being said, all of this replacement makes me feel...well...really replaceable.  And that's really not a great feeling.

While I want everyone here to continue happily on without me, there's a lot of fear inside of me right now that they'll forget me, or that they won't miss me enough.  And in my brain, not missing me enough is a sign that I didn't contribute enough and make a big enough impact on anyone's life while I was here.  That I actually wasted the two years I've spent here.

This is the point in my daily entry where I try to spin the situation (or reframe it as we call it in my profession) into something positive--find the bright side.  But, you know what? Screw that.  Sometimes you just get to feel crummy, and anxious, and sad, and afraid.

These are really feelings and feelings are so good.   But sometimes, even if it's good to feel feelings, they don't feel good.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On ten thoughts I've had today

It was moving day today, and subsequently, a very long day.  So, in the interest of saving you an over-thought monologue of nothingness intended to be only an essay and not a good essay, I will instead give you ten thoughts I've had today.

1.  I've always been a believer in female power and feminism, but when you're moving, it sure seems like gender stereotypes prevail...the men move the big stuff and make the choices about the whole Tetris of the process and the women play the supporting roles.  I don't like it, but it happens.

2.  I spend entirely too much time reading fanfic.  So much so that when I can't sit down and read it for a while, I instead discover that there is a thing called podfic...and proceed to listen to it while doing chores.

3.  Group polarization is a really real thing in fandom...oh my word.

4.  It's really great to have good friends.  It makes me realize that there really is such thing as one's heart feeling warm.

5.  You don't know who your good friends are until you ask people to help you move.

6.  My parents are the best long-distance helicopters in the world.  This is both a good thing and a bad thing.  Mostly good since it's always nice to know that you have someone to dig you out of ditches when you accidentally fall into them.

7.  Driving large trucks, while terrifying, is incredibly empowering...until you are so focused on how terrified you are to be driving a large truck that you stop at a green light with friends following you.

8. Sometimes the things we fear most aren't things we should fear at all.

9.  People should really ask for help cleaning in addition to moving.

10.  I ordered pizza for the first time in my life today...at the age of 25.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On the joy of manual labor

For the past two weeks I've been almost exclusively consumed with packing my apartment for my move down south.  I've moved before, but never after having acquired enough belongings to fill a one-bedroom apartment and to live an almost adult lifestyle (which requires things like coffee grinders and mattresses on frames and with box springs).  I also have packed my apartment exclusively on my own--one of the only downsides to being single and roommate-less.  Needless to say, the whole process was a lot more grueling and exhausting than I ever anticipated.  It turned into an exercise...no, not an exercise in anything in particular...just exercise.

Now, I'm not one for exercise.  I'll go to the gym if a friend wants a gym buddy, but that's more for socializing than fitness, and that's the extent of my physical fitness awareness.  I count walking to class as my exercise for the day.  Don't get me wrong, I'm aware of health in lots of other ways...just not physical fitness.  So, because I so seldom experience true exercise, my encounter with physical exertion these past few days, through packing, has brought me to a realization: physical exertion, manual labor...it feels really good!

It feels really good to work hard.  Feel active and motivated.  Make progress that you can see, physically.  Sweat. Get your heart rate up.  It feels good.  It also feels pretty darn empowering to be able to manage all of the manual labor on my own.  Reassures me that, while I may not be running a half-marathon everyday, I'm not a blob either.  I'm really darn capable.  I get reassurance of my mental capabilities in my work everyday, but it's not so often that I get reassurance of my physical capabilities.  That's kind of nice to get.

So, while packing is kind of the worst...at least something good comes from it.

I am woman! Hear me ROAR!

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On the worth of anger

 Anger, an emotion like any other, is healthy and normal.  We need to feel it once in a while, and sometimes we should feel it.  It is not the presence or even intensity of the emotion that determines whether it is good or bad.  No, it is what a person chooses to do with that anger that determines its worth.  Anger is a powerful thing.  While it can breed aggression and hurt, in its most powerful form, and best form, it can breed change.

When injustices occur in our lives, in the world, anger is a appropriate reaction.  World hunger, unequal rights, budging in line (no seriously--totally an acceptable time for anger...especially if you're a kid), the minimization of your values or work--all of these are incredibly appropriate, and in my opinion, necessary, times for anger.  But in those instances when we feel anger, it is equally necessary for us to:

1.  Identify the feeling. Acknowledge that we are in fact feeling something and that that feeling is anger.  Sometimes our cues for this can come right from our bodies--increased heart rate, shakiness, rapid breathing, tense muscles, racing thoughts.

2.  Identify the source of the anger. Before you can do anything to address the anger (to decrease it, or use it), you have to figure out why you're angry.  Observe your surroundings and take note of what's going on.  Is it something that someone else did? Is it something that is a hang-up for you and so you are the source of the anger?  Figure that out.

3.  Decide what you want to do with the anger.  Like I said before, you've got two options, use it or lose it.  Weigh these options and decide which one is better for you and others in that moment.  Anger can be destructive if it motivates action that is unnecessary or harmful.  Before you decide to act on your anger, be sure that it's because the action is going to help you and others.  This will ensure that your acting on your anger will incite change not harm.

4.  Address the anger.   Either address the cause of the anger (the problem) or relax.  Relax, realize that your addressing the problem isn't going to help, and brush it off as one of the world's crazy tactics to make you equally crazy.

If you instead decide to address the problem, well, that's when anger is a really great thing.  It's our signal that something is unjust or unfair in our world and needs to be addressed.  It's our opportunity to make change happen, improve our world, and the lives of others.  It's constructive, productive, and helpful.

So don't ignore your anger or stamp it down.  And certainly don't let people shame you for your anger or any feelings that you have for that matter.  You are allowed to feel and one type of feeling is anger.  Doing something with that feeling does not make you a drama queen, or an over-reacter, or crazy.

It makes you important.  It makes you the heart of change.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On my realization of overabundance

My biggest mission this week has been to completely pack my apartment into boxes so that it's prepared for my big move this weekend.  It started innocently enough.  I've got about ten boxes and a few suitcases.  I thought to myself. That should be enough.  I started packing my family room, all of the odds and ends lying around, the candles, the decorations, the office supplies, the books (so many books) and suddenly the boxes had disappeared.  Okay.  Guess I'll go beg for a few more boxes at the grocery store. So I did that, and proceeded to use them to pack my belongings in my bedroom...and only my belongings in my bedroom.  Really?  I'm out of boxes again? I thought.

Conveniently we had just done some major reorganization at work and I was able to grab some leftover boxes there.  I pounced on them like Simba on Zazu. Those babies were mine before they were even empty. So I brought them home and started to pack my bathroom and my utility closet which is really just full of the random stuff that doesn't really fit anywhere else.  I started packing my kitchen with the remaining boxes... only to run out again.

That leads me to now.  Sitting on my couch, glaring at the massive mountain of packed boxes which have single-handedly usurped the majority of the space in my living room, and planning for tomorrow when I will, again, go to the grocery store to beg for more boxes so that I can finish packing my kitchen.  Pathetic.

And after all of this running around to find boxes, creative manipulation of items within boxes for space conservation, hours spent putting everything into boxes, I'm left with a question:

Where on earth did all of this stuff come from!?

How did I end up with a giant mountain of belongings in my living room?  Do I really use all of this stuff?  Do I even need all of this stuff?

The answer to that last question is a resounding NO.  I absolutely do not need all of this stuff.  In fact, no one needs all of this stuff.  There's no reason a single person living alone should have this much stuff when she moves.  But I know I'm not alone. I know that I don't really have more belongings to my name than other person like me.  I know that it's pretty typical to have this many boxes.  But I guess that's where the problem is for me. Most people live this way--with extra stuff.  Most people are as materialistic as I apparently am. Most people are as dependent on their belongings as I am.

Moving sucks.  But moving sucks even more when you realize that your mountain of boxes is just one of millions of box mountains in the world.  Most people have box mountains,

but some people don't have any boxes at all.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On my ridiculous research life

Every once in a while I have a moment in my day where I realize how ridiculous and impractical my life is. Let me explain.  As grad student in a research-focused program, I'm being pruned into a researcher complete with a scientific brain and critical thinking skills.  In order to get really good at these things, as is the case with most things, you just practice a lot.  So, most of my day is composed of "research."  Well, research in my field, psychology, is really just informing yourself of the current state of the field, thinking a whole lot, coming up with questions that haven't been answered yet, figuring out how to answer them, doing the things you need to do to answer them, getting an answer, writing it down, and getting someone else to publish it.

But really this process boils down to two things: writing and postulating.  While writing is a useful and applicable skill-- something that, when you do it, produces something tangible-- postulating is really just talking nonsense for hours on end until something sticks, throwing ideas around, philosophizing, hypothesizing, supposing.  Postulating does not immediately produce anything of any use to anyone except the postulater.  It's an incredibly selfish way to spend time--thinking about your own thoughts--and strangely, this is what I am encouraged to do for hours on end and for what I am paid.  Further, the expectations for actual product resulting from this process are low.  Of the thousands of thoughts I toss out into the ether every week, I'd say one sticks and becomes something useful, like a publishable study, every month or so.

This is why I have deemed my life ridiculous. It's such a privileged and cushy existence.  So ivory tower.  I get paid to think...and one out of four-thousand thoughts, write.  

So out of touch with reality.  So impractical. But that 4,000th thought? Well,  I like to think that thought is pretty special.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On mental health and the media

The media has a lot of power.  They have the power to manipulate our minds so that we believe whatever it is they want us to believe. They can feed us their beliefs through a simple characterization, hashtag, or promo reel.  Our primary societal tenants and values are based on our understanding of the world around us as fed to us through the media.  For example, the commercials we see everyday are filled with women who are stick thin, airbrushed, and white in a very tan way.  We've consumed this media so much so that as a society, we now believe that this is how we should define "beautiful" (which is utter bullshit by the by).

Anyways, the media has a strong position to create our societal norms and values.  This is often an abused power, but as with all types of power, it can also be used for good.  It can be used to improve the lives of others and set healthy norms and values.  As a fledgling psychologist I am especially aware of how the media takes part in defining our values and norms related to mental health. Unfortunately, I'm generally unimpressed.

Mental health is a difficult topic because there are so many stigmas and taboos associated with it in our culture.  People are seen as weak if they ask for help with any problem they're having, and asking for help maintaining their own mental stability and happiness is perceived as one of the weakest things they can do.  The problem is that asking for help--through therapy or psycho-pharmacology--is actually an incredibly effective way of managing and coping with mental health problems.  You know, seeking professional help is usually a good thing when you don't know what you're doing.  Your sink is leaking everywhere and you have no expertise in plumbing? Yeah, you call in a plumber.  You don't just let your house flood.  Your car is totaled on the side of the road and you can drag it to a repair shop?  You call a tow truck.  With almost every other thing in our lives we're willing and able to call for help, but when it comes to our own sanity (literally) we'd rather attempt to indefinitely pull uselessly at the back bumper.  That's because of context.  The context of a person with mental health problems--their world.  Their world with stigma.

Stigma is perpetuated (and often times created) by the media.  The media portrays people with mental health problems as the victims in need of saving from by hero, or the person who's causing unnecessary harm to others. Who's a threat.  The media portrays psychologists as over-intellectualized, judgmental, and inaccessible.  Sometimes they're even depicted as sexual predators.  The media portrays psychiatric hospitals as creepy, haunted, unsafe, terrifying, controlling places.  The media constantly misrepresents and mistreats diagnoses of mental health disorders in their characters.  The media allows its characters to be defined by their mental health conditions--to be out of control.  No wonder people are afraid of seeking help.

In reality, none of this is actually the case.  People with mental health conditions are almost always safe.  People with mental health conditions do not need saving from others and are strong, independent, and motivated to change.  Psychologists, by definition, are empathic and warm.  Their job is to be welcoming, unconditionally positive in their regard for you, accessible, and most importantly safe.  Psychiatric hospitals are similarly safe and are not used as parts of evil plots to control people.  They are used with great discretion and anyone unwillingly attending is doing so because of  a very sad and disappointed mental health professional.  Mental health conditions are very clearly defined and meet strict criteria.  We take diagnosis and treatment seriously in the world of psychology.  And finally, a diagnosis cannot, and never will, define a person.  Yes, it is a small part of who they are because it is composed of the feelings, thoughts, and experiences that they have, but it cannot limit that person or become their only defining feature.

With this in mind, it is vitally important that, as consumers of media, we acknowledge the biases and misrepresentations that we are fed.  It is important that in acknowledging these problems, we also understand how these misrepresentations impact us and the people around us.  We must not allow these biases to prevent the people we love from getting the help that they need and the help that will likely improve their quality of life.

They're worth a whole lot more than a bad episode of this months trending drama and a plot twist.  They're worth a heck of a lot more than that.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On 10 things about which you should not give a shit

There's something incredibly freeing about not giving a shit.  I don't mean not giving a shit about anything.  No, there are some things in this world that we most definitely need to give a shit about-- world hunger, religion, freedom, equality, etc...  Yes, there are definitely those things, but there are also a number of things that are really not worth our shit-giving.  Things that are a waste of our mental and emotional energy.  Things about which we worry for no purpose except to worry.  Things that we worry about without improvement resulting.

In light of that sentiment, here is a list of...

10 things about which you should not give a shit.

1.  If your favorite ship will sail.  People get really intense about this!  Surprisingly intense in my opinion.  I get it, that when you get invested in a fandom you also get invested, personally, in the characters.  They become an important part of you.  You like them because you identify with some part of them.  When they don't end up with the person you have declared their "endgame" (is that an accurate use of that word?) then it's like a personal offense.  But here's the thing, you are so much more than a television character.  You are a complicated, unique, three-dimensional being with a real life, not one created by others.  Your happiness does not need to depend on the happiness of a fictional character.  But I get it...Naley.  The feels.

2.  Whether or not someone likes you.  If someone doesn't like you then they're not worth your time and you don't want to be hanging out with them anyways.  They'll suck the life out of you like a dementor. You'll keep trying to get them to like you and they probably won't change their mind because, fair to say, if they don't like you, they're crazy. No one needs more crazy in their lives.  Spend your time finding people who appreciate you instead.

3.  Whether or not your clothes are "appropriate".   Wear what you like and werk it.  You chose the clothes you chose for a reason-- because you like them.  Any differentiation from that is you taking action to please others instead of yourself.  Put yourself first.

4.  That you are awkward.  Awkward is beautiful.  Some of the most loved celebrities out there are loved for their awkwardness (e.g., Jennifer Lawrence).  Awkward people are the best.  For further clarification see my post on weird people and why they're the best.  I freaking love awkward...especially people who embrace their own awkward and I know I'm not the only one.

5.  Whether or not you are smart enough.  Listen...there are always going to be people who are smarter than you.  That is just going to happen.  And the smartest person in the world does not exist. What does exist is a bunch of people who are really smart about specific topics.  No one knows everything but everyone is really smart about something.  For example, I'm really smart about psychology, but ask me about sports and I'm like Flounder on hot sand.   It's knowing what that something is, not that you're a genius with lots of degrees, that makes you smart.

6.  Whether or not you are "pretty enough". This is so cliched but it is so true.  You are beautiful.  You are beautiful because you are you and because you are an imperfect person with flaws.  Flaws are what make people beautiful.  Embrace your flaws and you'll be a lot happier and more self-confident. And if you're having a really bad day, realize that even "pretty girls" can look pretty flawed https://imgur.com/gallery/rOROR.

7.  If your music interests are unique.  Only hipsters care about this...don't be a hipster.  If you like it listen to it.  If you don't, then don't.  Simple.

8. Whether or not you're successful enough. Success is relative.  Your definition of "successful enough" should be based exclusively on your own goals and expectations for yourself, not on the expectations of others and their goals for you.  If you're happy with your life then you're successful.  No number of dollars, or children, or significant others, can define that.  Only you can.  If you're not happy with your life then think about how to be happier, don't wallow in your unhappiness.

9.  How many followers you have on social media.  How many "followers" or "friends" you have is not an indication of anything except the amount of time you have spent online.  If that is something that is important to you--spending a lot of time online--then sure, use those numbers as a proxy measure of your success at your endeavour.  If spending a lot of time online is not your goal, then forget about the numbers and forget about posting things just so you can impress people with your income, food, lifestyle, etc.  Worry about maintaining meaningful relationships instead.

10. Whether or not people disagree with you.  Haterz gonna hate.  You can have opinions.  In fact, you should have opinions.   And the great thing about opinions is that they are personal and it's okay if yours is different from other people's.  No need to pretend that you agree when your opinion really just shows that you've thought an don't resent other people for also thinking.

On my academic angels

When I first came to grad school it felt a little bit like the first day of freshman year of college.  I was entering a new and completely foreign place, without any friends, surrounded by people in the very same situation--friendless.  It was terrifying to think that there was a slight possibility that I would be horrible at making friends, and be stuck at the school for five years without anyone to confide in, spend time with, know.  And then a crazy thing happened--I met a group of people, my cohort, who completely changed my life.

Grad school can be a miserable place, and it's easy to fall into a miserable state of being because of that, but good friends will help you keep an even state of mind, pull you out of the trenches when you're stuck, amp you up for the tough stuff, and celebrate with you for the good stuff.  Good friends in grad school are like little academic angels.  That's exactly what my cohort has been for me in the past two years-- a little pack of academic angels who keep me grounded and sane.

Because they have kept me afloat these past two years, the prospect of leaving my angels is terrifying.  I've learned to function as a graduate student, but I'm not sure I've learned to function in a way that is not dependent on them.  I'm not sure that I know how to be a good graduate student without them and they're not going to be at my new school in Florida.  It's just going to be me.  But at this point, I don't have a choice.  I have to learn to live without my angels, or at least with my angels intervening from a distance (which they will I'm sure). I'll probably find another set of angels.  Not better, because that's in no way possible, just different.  Still angels though, just wearing different school colors.

But that still feels wrong.  Feels like replacing, and no one can replace my black and gold angels. No one.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

I have been on a mission this week to create a gift of some sort for my cohort who I will be leaving in a couple of weeks.  We're having our "last supper" (if you will) tomorrow and I wanted to be sure that I attended with something that they can take and remember me by.  I'm making them a basket full of things that are completely irrelevant to this particular discussion. The important thing for you to know is that because it's a gift basket, and because gift baskets are composed of lots of different things, I've had to visit lots of different stores in the past few days.

Today I was finishing up the gift basket project and needed to stop at two of the most unglamorous stores in the world: Walmart and the Dollar Tree.  Now, when I visit unglamorous discount stores, I anticipate that the service I receive and the attitudes of those also shopping at those stores will reflect the quality of the store--so I expect grumpy people and poor service.  Sometimes I'm surprised, but usually my low expectations are met.  Today was a usual day.

I wandered aimlessly around the stores, looking for the things I needed, unable to find them or anyone to assist me in finding them.  At Walmart in particular I lapped the entire (super)store about three times before I finally found what I was looking for, the whole time annoyed that no one noticed my perturbed and confused expression and helped a sister out.  After successfully locating all of my purchases, and getting enough exercise in the mean time to last me the week, I approached the check-out areas.  They were incredibly full.  Ten, maybe even fifteen, people lined up at each register but I got in line and started thinking.

Ugh.  Really? What did you expect on a Saturday afternoon, management? Why are these cashiers moving so slow?  Why aren't there more registers open.  The woman standing behind me is annoying.  Ew, that person eats pork rinds.  Why can't that person read the instructions on the keypad and just push the green button? What kind of mother buys her child a bag of candy? Why is the person next to me complaining about the line being so long?  Suck it up people!

After allowing my mind to wander in that direction for a bit, I remembered an essay by David Foster Wallace (actually a graduation speech turned essay) called "This is Water."  The premise of the speech is that in our daily lives we encounter lots of annoying and frustrated situations (he uses the grocery store check-out line as a very vivid example), and it's easy to fall into the trap of negative automatic thoughts in that moment--but negative thoughts just bring us down.  If we can instead, be attentive and aware of our surroundings and our thoughts, then we have the power to not bring ourselves down and to not make everything in our lives about us.  

And boy did I fall into that trap. All of the negative thoughts I had about other people.  The assumptions, criticisms, and judgments I made.  In that line I fell into the trap and it wasn't until I noticed another woman speaking the words I was thinking, and my annoyance in response to those words, that I realized what I was doing.

So I stepped out of the negative and made a conscious decision to think more complexly about the situation.  To be aware.  I chose to be aware of how hard the cashiers were working to be fast and efficient and also friendly.  I chose to be aware of how exhausted the mom who just bought her son a candy bar was.  I chose to be aware that I was judging a woman for speaking the very same words I had just thought.  When I chose to be aware, I also chose to be a better version of myself in that moment.  A happier, lighter, more polite and pleasant version of myself.

Awareness, not negative thinking, makes us the best versions of ourselves.  I experienced that today.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On my "What the f***" fandom moment

Since I was a 12 year old obsessive fan of the boy band Dreamstreet (remember them?--Jesse McCartney's first gig), I've been an avid subscriber to fandom culture.  At that age fandom looked a bit more like recording the fandom stars' television appearances on VHS,  tracking down fanfiction on angelfire and  geocities, and finding friends in school who were equally obsessed with your fandom.  It looked less like tracking down YouTube videos, logging onto AO3, and finding people equally obsessed with your fandom on tumblr.  That means for thirteen years straight I have been a part of some fandom (usually a lurking part, but a part nonetheless).  I jumped from Dreamstreet, to Jesse McCartney, to Jonas Brothers, to Twilight (so ashamed), to Hunger Games, to some really obscure ones that didn't last too long because of their obscurity, to Glee, to Broadway, to Grey's Anatomy, and now to my most recent fandom, henceforth refer to as Fantasy for fear of implicating myself and others discussed in this entry.  Call me a bandwagon jumper-on-er because that's what I am.

Anyways, when I get into a new fandom, I really get into it.  I want to learn all about it.  All the ins-and-outs.  As I've gotten older my fandoms have switched into television and movies and away from celebrities themselves, so I have gotten invested in storylines and characters, and what the cast of a show or movie has to say about that storyline/character.  Sometimes, however, regardless of my disinterest in so-called celebrity gossip, the "news" pages for fandoms include information about the "stars" themselves.  So began my descent into "What the F***"-ery today.

I had just gotten home from a long and stressful day of work.  Of course, as any good fan does, I went right to my computer (tumblr to be exact) to do some surfing of the Fantasy tag.  I found a new blog that looked interesting and informative, so I clicked through it for a while.  After about 20 minutes (and a fall down the rabbit hole) the blog shocked me with the face of a high-school friend.

 "What the F***!," I screamed to no one but myself as I disgustedly scrambled away from my computer. You'd have thought spiders had just started crawling from the crevices of my keyboard.  "Ahhhh!" I stared at it from a distance.  The level of discomfort I felt at that moment is indescribable.  I mean, I knew that he had been working on the production end of Fantasy, so it wasn't completely out of the blue that his face showed up on a gossip page for the show, but still...it felt wrong.  I felt wrong.  Like I was seeing something I wasn't supposed to and getting caught doing it.  This was the guy who sat behind me in Biology lab, who performed scenes with me in our high school musicals, whose mother, and father, and sister, I know.  All of these people in the Fantasy fandom who visited the high-traffic blog saw that picture of my friend...and I was just one of them...sitting there, creepily idolizing him among the other production people in the picture simply because he is associated with a show that I really like.

YUCK! YUCK! YUCK!  I'm so creeped out.

In that moment I realized what fandom really is.  Fandom is devotion to story-lines, characters, and incidentally the people who portray those characters.  But the thing I knew in a cognitive way before, but felt in a visceral way today seeing that picture, is that those people are just that--people.  The have families, and friends, and class-clown high-school pasts.  And they have a job now.  A job that so happens to be the production of entertainment media.  But still, just a job like any other.  And it's a little creepy that I think of these people as something more magical and venerable than that.  That I put them up on a pedestal and consider their faces worthy of blog space for thousands to stare at.  I can tell you, my friend, he's pretty awesome. But nothing abnormally awesome.  Just awesome like anyone else. Just a former annoying high-school friend.

They're all just former annoying high-schoolers in the end.  Just like you and me.  Let's remember that.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On my favorite and least favorite words

I was recently listening to a podcast focused on the topic of my favorite television show.  The television show happens to be of the fandom variety, and so, the podcast was discussing a recent "con" (as it is called in the fandom universe).  The question asked to most of the "talent" at the con was the question, "what are your favorite and least favorite words?"  This got me thinking, what are my favorite and least favorite words?  Often I find myself realizing while writing a word in context that I really love a word I've used, though I'm not sure that feeling has as much to do with the word as with how fitting the word is in context (and how awesome I am for knowing the word).  I also realize sometimes when I hear a word how annoyed it makes me feel, again, in context.  The problem is, when thinking about what my favorite and least favorite words are out of context, the challenge is a bit larger.  So, I've been thinking about these two words for a while, and I'm still not sure I'm satisfied with my two chosen words (though I'm fairly certain it doesn't matter either way).  

Anyways, for my least favorite word I came up with the word good.  Counter-intuitive probably, but when have I ever cared about conforming to that status quo or making sense?  So, the word good, despite having a positive connotation and the power to describe something, is in my opinion, the weakest descriptive word out there.  What does good actually mean in the end?  It's so relative.  One person's good is going to be different from another person's good.  And something described as good in one situation may be described as adequate in another situation and stellar in even another.  For example, I ate ice cream yesterday.  If I described that ice cream as good, what does it tell you?  It tasted delicious?  It had a positive outlook on life and a genial personality?  It was not disgusting?  I don't know.  But put gelato from Grom gelateria (my favorite gelato in the whole world!) next to it and call the gelato good and the quality of the ice cream I had yesterday can no longer be defined as good.  Anyways, all of that is to say that the word good lacks adequate descriptive power and is therefore a fairly useless word in my vocabulary, and maybe your vocabulary as well if I've been convincing enough.  If that wasn't convincing enough just consider how you would feel if your boss described your work as good...I'd feel unsure about how my work's matching up to expectations.  I'd rather hear, inadequate, or adequate, or fantastic, or abysmal.  At least then I'd know where I stand.

For my favorite word I looked high and low.  I did research because the word that kept coming to my mind seemed a bit anticlimactic and uninspiring, but I think my favorite word is the word simple.  I think that there are so few things in my life right now that happen simply that the word is like music to my ears.  Everything is complicated.  There are always hoops to jump through, things to do, people's expectations to meet, complicated instructions for everything, five forms of malfunctioning technology per person, so simple has become more extraordinary than it was at one time.  I think it's pretty special when a word can go from meaning lack of excitement or intricacy to lack of complication. Simple things are, in my mind, the best kinds of things, and so it would be silly of me (another one of my favorites) to pick any other word as my favorite.  I also love that the word simple looks simple.  I always liked when the appearance of a word reflects its meaning.  

So I guess simple is as good a word as any.

Keep on thinking,

Josie

On my long-distance personhood

If you've been following along here for the past couple of months then you're fully aware that I'm moving long-distance in the next few weeks.  I've been living here for the past two months, working toward a PhD that ended up being a terminal Master's degree after my advisor left for another program.  Hopefully take two will end up with a PhD.  Anyways, for anyone unfamiliar with the whole PhD in Psychology gig, it's a long, painful, haul that very few people are crazy enough to pursue.  Only 3 or 4 people are accepted every year into a program, and I was lucky enough to end up being one of four in a very dysfunctional but lovable family to whom I have become entirely too attached and on whom I have become entirely too dependent.

One person in particular in our family of four has become my person.  If you've ever watched Grey's Anatomy you'll know that the relationship between Cristina and Meredith is one that exceeds best-friendship.  They just get each other.  There's never a need for explanation or apologies.  When they met it was like they never knew anyone else who got them quite as well.  They're sisters separated at birth.  They were each-other's people.  That's me and Lucia.

Lucia is my person. She's significantly older than me--about 6 years older--but I've always gotten along with people older than me better anyways.  Despite our age difference, when we first met we never had to deal with the whole tip-toeing around "can I swear in front of you?"  "What's your deal?" mess.  We just dove in head-first.  Cursing-bodily-function-deep-philosophical-what's-your-life-story-totally-comfortable-head-first.  And from that point on our weekends were marked by hour-plus phone conversations, and our weeks full of study dates, dinner dates, wine dates.  She became like an extension of me, an important one like a foot or hand.  One without whom you can't function.

So, leaving her is probably the worst part of this move.  I feel like I've been robbed of three years of time with a person in this world who, finally, gets me and accepts me unconditionally.  And while my person-hood with her has been the best more-than-friendship (in a totally platonic way) I've every had in my entire life, I don't want another one.  I just want this one.  Forever.

So this time, I have to try a bit harder.  I'm bad at keeping in touch.  But I WILL NOT this time.  I will not lose touch with Lucia because I'm fairly certain that if I lose touch with her, I will lose touch with myself.

No.  I will do this the right way and I will be a good friend.  I will talk every week, text everyday, send gifts, and visit yearly.  I will not fail at being her person because I need my person in my life and I'm pretty sure she needs me.

That's pretty awesome.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

On five things to do on a rainy day: A list

Today it rained and I had nowhere to go.  I was inside all day, but without sun, my motivation was lackluster to say the least. The thing about rainy days is that they're full of opportunity!  Opportunities to do something different! So, here is a list of...

five things to do on a rainy day.

1.  That thing you should have done yesterday.  I feel like there's always something on my never-ending to-do list, and that at least half of those somethings are things that were supposed to have been done yesterday (or two days ago, or two months ago).  Rainy days are great days to do those things because really, what else are you going to do (aside from any one of the other four things on this list of course)?  Today, the thing I should have done yesterday but did today because it was raining, was start packing my apartment.  Ugh.

2. Pull up all of the blinds. Counter-intuitive, yes.  Genius idea, also yes.  While opening the blinds on a sunny day lets a great deal of natural light into your apartment, opening the blinds on a rainy day is, in my opinion, even better.  Who wants natural lighting when they can watch people walking pathetically through the pouring rain without umbrellas looking like soaked rats.  On rainy days you can see the giant splash that all of the cars make when they drive through your flooding streets.  On rainy days you can watch everything outside of your window move in the wind in ways it never does on those nice days.  On rainy days everything outside your window is way more entertaining.

3.   Go out and do something.  Put on your galoshes and rain coat and get the eff out of the house.  Go somewhere where there are usually too many people (as long as its inside).  For example, the mall is a great place to shop when it's raining-- so quiet and easy to find sales people to help.  Totally worth the struggle through the rain.

4. Watch your local weather.  Weather people love a good storm.  They freak the freak out when there's a good storm.  Their minds are blown and they run around like puppies chasing their own tails.  It is absolutely hilarious to watch nerds freak out over water falling from the sky.  This is especially the case when the water falling from the sky is in the form of tiny mist drops instead of the hail they have predicted...then they stop chasing their tails. Instead it ends up between their legs.

5. Stay in bed all day.  This is my default. Stay in bed all day on a rainy day and charge up your internal battery for the sunny day that is bound to come tomorrow. I am a firm believer in lazy days and rainy days make perfect lazy days.  (See also: Netflix marathon, read a book, Facebook stalk, sleep, watch trash TV)

Keep on thinking,
Josie

I am madly, passionately, deeply, in love with New York City.  For weeks I've been attempting to write an entry about this love affair, but somehow every time I start writing I end up off on a tangent of some other sort, and am inspired to write about something else.  Apparently NYC is incredibly inspiring to me...not surprising.

Growing up in Upstate New York, "The City" always meant NYC, and non New-Yorkers assuming that "New York" meant New York City was highly irritating. The assumption that New York is exclusively composed of The City is still a bit irritating, but I get it now.  In the summer between my junior and senior year of college I got a research internship in The City.  For four months I lived there, right in the heart of The Village, worked my unpaid internship during the day, worked at my favorite gelato shop in the world (a branch of my favorite gelato shop in Italy) at night (until about 2 in the morning), and on my infrequent days off, saw a Broadway show or two.  It was the hardest working, but absolute best, summer of my life.

The energy of The City is unparalleled.  People move quickly.  They're constantly striving toward whatever's next.  Never settling for the status quo.  It's a city full of dreamers, hard workers, no-shit-takers, public transportation, and close quarters that force you to confront people you might otherwise avoid.  It's like a well oiled but massive machine-- every person his or her own moving part. When I'm in The City I feel like I'm a part of that machine.  I feel like I'm a part of something bigger than me.  I feel alive, and whole, and like I'm a strong, independent, constantly learning, woman.

But amidst all of the hustle-bustle that I love about NYC lies my very favorite place and experience in the world.  That is, Times Square, the heart of chaos, bright lights, and New York insanity.  Any native NYCer would look at me like I've got lobsters crawling out of my ears if they heard me say this, but hear me out. There's a caveat to my love for Times Square.

Yes, Times Square at most times of the day is pretty awful.  Too many tourists.  Too many taxis.  Too much bobbing and weaving.  But at 6:30AM on a weekend, Times Square is like a different world.

It's quiet.

No one's there.

The streets are clean.

There are still bright lights and billboards, but that's it.

Just that.

Standing in the middle of Times Square at 6:30AM is peaceful.  And standing alone, with just the bright lights and billboards surrounding me--the contrast to what the area normally is so vivid--I feel powerful.  Like I'm the queen of the city and no one could stop me from doing whatever I want.  The world is at my fingertips and at only my fingertips.

And so, while I am madly in love with New York City, my love for NYC at 6:30AM is that love one-hundred fold.  At 6:30AM in Times Square I am the queen of a massive machine.

I am the queen of The City.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

"Home is where the heart is" they say, but the word "home" is a strange one for me these days.  It's all muddled up in my mind and has kind of lost its meaning.  For most people the word "home" is used to identify a single location-- the place where they feel most welcome, most comfortable.  Where they fit in best.  For me, the word "home" is used to describe two places.  I currently rent an apartment in the city where I just completed my Master's degree.  I spend the majority of my life in the apartment with my new furniture, and my text books, my bills, and my cookware.  The rest of my life (a cumulative couple of months a year) is spent in the North East.  That's where I grew up.  That's where my parents live, and where I have a bedroom in a large house.  A bedroom with pink walls and white furniture and my favorite Teddy Bear, aptly named Teddy.

When I'm in my apartment, Home is my parent's house.  When I'm outside of my apartment but in the city where I completed my degree, Home is my apartment or my parent's house.  When I'm in the North East, Home is my parent's house in the North East.  My family freaks a little when I slip up and accidentally call my apartment Home, so I'm constantly censoring my thoughts and back-tracking my sentences to be sure I don't accidentally call my apartment Home in front of them.

But here's the thing.  Despite the two places and their respective titles of Home dependent on my location, I'm not sure any place feels like Home right now.  When I'm in my apartment if feels too temporary to be Home.  The contents are mine, but the building isn't mine.  I'm residing on someone else's property when I'm in my apartment.  I have to follow someone else's rules.  I have to hear the voices and sounds of others from the apartments around me.  On the other hand, I spend so little time in the North East now that it feels like the ghost of my old self is floating around in my place when I'm there.  It doesn't feel like my Home.  It feels like younger me's Home.  When I'm sleeping in my pink room, I feel like I'm shrinking back into the mold of what I  was instead of who I've become.

Perhaps this feeling of not belonging or fitting into any of my residences comes with the territory of being a young adult--not a girl, not yet a woman (thanks Brit).  I'm too old for the old me, and too young for the future me.  I'm hovering between the two and probably will for a while.

So, yes "home is where the heart is," but maybe I need to try a little harder to plant my heart somewhere.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

I just realized that in all of my posts this week I never posted my weekly list. When I travel, which I have been doing all week, my brain gets a bit fuzzy and my posts get a little out of wack. That's especially the case when I have to fly-- deal with all of the hotel arrangements, rental cars, etc.. But, as I've been traveling this week, and as my travels for the past week have been with my mother, (and only my mother--ahh!) my list today will be...

five things to consider when traveling with your mother.

1. Don't assume she's going to pay. Though you are traveling with a parent, you are also an adult (or at least approaching adulthood). It is very easy to fall into your childhood habit of sitting back and anticipating how good your ice cream is going to taste, while she pulls out her credit card. But want to know how to really impress her? Pull out your credit card to pay for the ice cream.

2. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. If you're going to be spending any long period of time with your mother (or anyone really), you want to stay on her good side. Yelling at her because she woke you up late will not create an environment conducive to happy travels. Just keep your mouth shut

3. Be a good co-pilot. When you're traveling uncharted territories, and no one knows where you're going except for the GPS system in front of you, do the woman a favor and play go-between for the technology. If your mom's anything like mine, then she ignores the GPS completely and will only get you where you need to be if the directions come from a human being. Make that human being you.

4. Generously employ improv rule number one--"yes and..." Back in the day when I was a theater geek who was on the stage instead of in front of it, I was taught that in any improvisation acting situation (planned or unplanned) when somene asks you a question, you should always respond "yes and..." because it keeps conversation going and doesn't make the other character/actor mad (watching annoyed improv is no fun). Annoyed mothers are no fun either, so use improv rule number one at all times.

5. Thank her profusely for her efforts in traveling with you and for all of the things she pays for. Throw some tears in for good meaure and by the end of the trip she'll be telling you how she loves to help you pay for things because you don't take it for granted like your siblings.

Keep on thinking,

Josie

I've been writing for 66 days now.  One post every day and this is my 66th.  I'm not sure if I actually thought I could stick with the whole "write something everyday" thing, especially because in the past most of the blog-type things I've attempted have failed miserably within a week.  I would write for a couple of days, get really discouraged when no one acknowledged my work, and, without the external motivation, quit.

But this time was a bit different.  I decided this time that I was doing this for me.  That writing something everyday would improve my writing abilities, increase my awareness of the world around me, challenge me in a way that I haven't been challenged before, and force me to spend time with my own thoughts everyday.

You see, when I decide to do things for other people, and then those other people don't show up to appreciate what I'm doing, or just appreciate silently, then I feel bad.  But when I do things for myself, then simply doing them makes me feel good about myself.  Simply writing something everyday, sticking to my goal, makes me feel good, regardless of whether or not there are comments, or "likes," or "reblogs."

When I do things for myself, the only person I need to impress is myself.  I've got high enough expectations for myself.  I don't need the expectations of others looming in on my life.

But 66 days,--that's pretty good.  That's way more than I expected.  That's more than a two months.  That's more than two months of doing something exclusively for me.

Here's to more for me!

Keep on thinking,
Josie

Today I turned 25.  At 10:01AM to be exact.  And at 10:01 AM I felt no different than I did at 10:00AM, or even 10:00PM the night before.  Being 25 is no different than being 24.  Except, if that's the case, then why does my 25th birthday fill me with more dread than any birthday prior?

I've never been big on birthdays, at least not since I was young enough to have parent-sponsored parties.  I don't publicize on social media that it's my birthday.  I don't announce it to the world.  I don't even let my friends know when it is. That's because have a permanent case of Peter Pan syndrome and birthdays are just evidence of the fact that I can't be a child forever.  So I don't focus on them.  But 25 is a big number.  It's a quarter of 100, and I'm fairly certain that barring any major life disasters, I'll be able to live to that age (given society's ever improving medical care and innovation).

So this means that a quarter of my life (or more if my assumptions are wrong) is over. Therein lies the problem.  I'm not sure I've got a whole lot to say for those 25 years. It feels a bit like I've spent 25 years leeching off of the world without putting anything back into it.  Yes, in 25 years I've gained a whole lot of knowledge and a number of years of education, but while that's great for me, I've barely been able to apply it to helping anyone else. On top of that, I've still got at least 5 years of learning left to do before I can call myself a professional.  That means I won't actually be able to contribute to the world as a full-fledged professional until I'm 30!

In the mean time, I'm not married (or even in a serious relationship), I have no kids, I don't own anything except a few pieces of IKEA furniture and some cookware, I haven't made any breakthroughs in my field, I don't even pay my own phone bill!

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that in 25 years, while I haven't gained any physical possessions or the power to change someone's life, I have gained a whole lot of life experience.  And I can bank that life experience to be an even more powerful, productive, successful, GOOD, human being in the future.  I've lived in four different places, one abroad.  I've worked in gelato shops, sold diamonds, assisted research on baby psychology.  I've done my own research. I've performed on stage. I've seen countless Broadway shows.  I've started and ended friendships, treated clients, defended a Master's thesis, and gotten two degrees.

I've done a lot...not as much as, in an ideal world, I'd have done, but I've done a lot.

Just enough for a 25 year old.  Just enough for me.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

Otters are adorable.  Not only are they fluffy and slightly spastic, but they're also freaking smart.  I identify with otters-- I'm spastic, fluffy, and freaking smart.  So, when they're born they know almost nothing.  They can float.  That's about it aside from eating, sleeping, and pooping.  Everything they know about life, excluding the whole floating thing, they have to pick up from their moms.

So, everything otters do in life, they've learned.  If they choose not to learn or don't have a mom to show teach them, they fail to thrive.  If they learn well, then they thrive.  They succeed.  They can dive down to the bottom of the ocean, grab their food, crack the shells open (usually with some sort of rock or tool--again, so smart!), and avoid sharks.  They have a better chance of being an awesome otter.

I guess, in that regard, otters are a lot like humans.  Humans are born knowing nothing.  We have to learn everything we know about life from the adults around us.  We can eat, sleep, and poop when we first exist, but our ability to thrive is dependent on the abilities of people around them teaching them.  Beyond that, our ability to be successful humans is dependent on our willingness to learn.  If we choose not to learn, we fail to thrive.  If we choose to learn, we can succeed. Learning new things is our ticket to safety and success. It's our best chance of being an awesome human!

Be an otter.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

I found an apartment today.  In finding an apartment today, I also realized my love of rules. You see, the apartment for which I signed a lease is a complex of condominiums with an owner's association.  That means they've got more rules and regulations than a human being is actually be capable of comprehending (in my professional opinion).  So with my signature on the lease came a 54 page book of rules and regulations which need to learn, follow, and pass a test verifying my understanding.

In reading the copious reviews for the complex online I realized that most people get pretty annoyed with this process.  Not only that, but they get even more annoyed with having to follow the rules (and so many of them-- no backing your car in, nothing on balconies but plants and patio furniture, no hanging anything, you must carry your ID card at all times, only do laundry and throw out trash within a certain period of time etc.).  The thing is, hearing all of these rules and regulations, unlike most people, makes me a little excited.

I see the rules and regulations as somewhat of a challenge.  Knowing them, following them, being the best tenant ever, feels like a bit of a game to me.  Like I can defeat the regime enforcing the rules by being really good at following them.  Maybe knowing them so well that I can be the one person who gets away with something because it's not in the rules.

Regardless, I'm choosing to look at the rules as an opportunity to make myself a classier person without loud music and trash on my balcony, to make myself a better neighbor, to exhibit some self-restraint.  It would be easy to look at the rules and regulations as limitations.  Instead I choose to look at them as a challenge.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

Apartment hunting is miserable.  Apartment hunting in a new city is very miserable.  Apartment hunting in a new city with only one week to find an apartment is the most miserable.

You call tens, hundreds even, of apartments. Deal with realtors, condominium boards, home owners associations, home owners, tenants.  Your budget goes from highly reasonable, to reasonable, to "guess I'll have to make it work." Your expectations go from one bedroom, well-finished, in a nice area, to "I'll take what I can get. Do you have efficiencies?".  Your attitude goes from optimistically hopeful, to tentatively hopeful, to anxious, to desperate.

You stress, and angst, and sign forms, and gather materials, pay stubs.  You contact previous landlords, police departments, former employers, personal references.

You sign on the dotted line with question in your mind about your decision-making abilities, hold your breath, and again, impose an optimistic perspective on yourself because, really, what other choice do you have?

Optimism is a choice.  

Keep on thinking,

Josie

The children of the airport are a special breed. Children are normally loud, rambunctious, exploring, happy, little humans. The children of the airport still personify these same characteristics; however, only within the bounds of limited sleep, no naptime, restricted play space, and a request for relative quiet.

The children of the airport woke up at 4am instead of their daily 6am wake-up. They are sleep deprived and won't get to nap in a bed. This looks like two siblings fighting angrily about whether the boarding call was for zone three or zone four and a 5 year old yelling and swatting at her father as he adjusts her falling pony-tail.

The children of the airport play with the five toys they were able to fit in their small Dora the Explorer luggage, which they proudly drag behind them as it bounces from side to side and catches their ankles. This leads to a little girl in yellow struggling to manage the overflowing gang of stuffed creatures escaping her backpack. Is displayed by the little girl in pink pretending to be a bossy airline worker directing a group of irate customers whose flight had just been delayed. A toddler performing a one-woman dance show in the middle of a square of chairs full of people waiting for their delayed flight. An infant giggling gleefully while jumping on the base grating of an otherwise completely unfun indoor plant.

The children of the airport are highly confused and disgruntled by transport carts that drive people throughout the aiport. One child walks toward the cart, only to be saved by her father's deft grab of one of her arms. A young boy, very annoyed, yells at his father who is unknowingly walking directly in front of one of the carts as it beeps its horn.

The children of the airport do not walk. They roll through in strollers of various sorts-- umbrella, carriage etc.. When they walk, the take great joy in walking. An infant boy gleefully kicking a unsuspecting woman as he walks by. An infant girl holding hands with her mother on one side and her brother on the other, laughing and squeeling as she walks through the airport atrium after a long flight.

The only people more confused than the children of the airport are the parents of the airport

Keep on thinking,

Josie

Please forgive me for the incoherence you are about to read.  It is a literal and figurative reflection of my serious lack of sleep.  This morning I had to board a flight at 7am.  As anyone who has ever flown knows, in order to be on time for a 7am flight (that usually boards at 6:30)  you must leave the house at approximately 4:30am meaning you need to wake up at 4:00am at the very latest.  This was the situation in which I stood this morning.  Needing to be awake at 4:00am; however, the problem was that I couldn't even get the point of sleeping, thereby negating the need for a wake-up time.

I planned ahead.  I was in bed by 11pm.  That would give me 5 hours of sleep, which wasn't enough, but would do.  I went through my normal pre-bed ritual.  Everything was pretty status-quo about it, but what wasn't normal was the fact that I did not, immediately upon laying my head on my pillow, fall asleep.  In fact, my immediate response to my head laying on my pillow was anxiety, which I eliminated after about 10 minutes of deep breathing (try the 5, 7, 8 exercise--it's the best).  After that, I should have been able to fall alseep immediately.  But I didn't.

Instead I laid in bed, tossing and turning, for two hours.

As a psychologist in training I've got lots of conceptual knowledge about how to manage insomnia. Get out of bed and do something else.  Have a hot cup of decaffeinated tea.  Turn your clock around.  Make sure the room is cool. Get rid of any ambient light.  I know all of these things conceptually, but when it came time to actually practice these things I preach, it wasn't so easy.

You see, after two hours of investment in my mission to sleep, I was hesitant to throw away all of my effort (see sunk cost theory) and just give up. But I was going to have to wake up in two hours anyways and realized that two hours of sleep wouldn't get me much farther than no sleep.  So I got out of bed, turned up the A.C., made a cup of sleepy-time tea and read a book on my couch where, after an hour, I fell asleep.

Except after all of this, I got a grand total of 40 minutes of sleep.  Hence the current exhaustion.

Moral of the story: it's really easy to preach but not so easy to practice.  It's also really hard to write while sleep deprived.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

Today, in the most mundane of moments, I came to the realization that I am at peace with my life.  I was standing in my kitchen, staring at the inside of my refrigerator when I came to the realization.  I had just poured myself a cup of coffee, put some sugar in it, and was reaching for the half-and-half. I was mentally anticipating the moment when I would sit on the couch with that cup of coffee, after waking up at noon, to read for a while.  

The anticipation of that moment, such a simple moment, had me so grateful for my life.  That I can sleep in. That I can afford a coffee maker, coffee, sugar, an apartment, a couch. That I have free time to read.  That I have the ability to read. That I have no major commitments to anyone but myself.  That I can make my own plans, live my own life, do my own thing.  That I am being paid to learn and to expand my understanding of the world around me.

Yes, I'm single.  Yes, I've recently added an additional 2 years to my education. Yes, I'm about to move another thousand or so miles away from everything I know.  Yes, I can barely afford anything beyond my previously listed possessions.  But you know what?  I don't care. 

I have a beautiful life, with beautiful opportunities, and what I'm sure will be a beautiful future, but I'm so happy to be living the life that I live right now that I'm not sure I'm willing to waste it by wishing it away.  In fact, I'm certain that I don't want to waste it by wishing it away.  That's what I'd be doing if my thoughts were somewhere in the future.

It's okay to be happy with where you are, even if that place isn't where you ultimately want to be.  Because you are still somewhere.  Somewhere that's probably pretty great all on its own.

Keep on thinking,

Josie

So, I hear the World Cup is happening...or happened.

Please hold.

So Google says it's still happening, but that the United States is out. Apparently they lost to Belgium. I feel like that should be embarrassing for the U.S., but that's probably because the only things I associate with Belgium are chocolate and waffles, neither of which seem that intimidating.*

Anyways, that's the extent of my knowledge about the athletic/competition side of the World Cup.  There are, however, some observations I've made about the World Cup as an outsider (one who has no interest in or knowledge of the sport).  So here is a list of...

things I've noticed about the World Cup.

1.  People seem to care way more about soccer when the World Cup is on than when it is not.  This is probably the most important point I'd like to make in this entry, which is why I've placed it at the top.  I really don't understand why once every four years, people who never watch soccer, suddenly become rabid soccer fans.  Like, uncontrollably enthusiastic, chanting in the streets, yelling at inanimate objects, throwing things, soccer fans.  These are people who could tell you nothing about the culture of soccer as it is played on a more regular basis.  I find it especially interesting that here, in the United States, where soccer is apparently the fifth most popular sport (though I doubt my source's statistical prowess),  and where most people who do watch soccer regularly support a non-U.S. team, people will root for the U.S. Soccer team once every four years. A little to band-wagony for me.

2.  People seem to drink a lot while watching the World Cup.  Why athletic events must always be accompanied by alcohol, I will never understand.  No other form of entertainment assumes the presence of alcohol.  For example, as  theater geek, I am fully aware that no part of theater culture (except the cast parties) involve the assumption of alcohol.  Yes, there is alcohol available at the theater but it is so insanely overpriced that no one dares touch it.  While World Cup alcohol is likely similarly up-priced, it doesn't seem to stop people.  When there's an athletic event, there must be alcohol!

3. People seem to want to watch the World Cup in public places.  When I am really interested in something (a movie, a book, an award show, a bootleg musical video) I tend to want to be alone to enjoy it, focus on it, without distraction, and without being a distraction to others.  Apparently this does not apply to the World Cup.  There's a strange sense of comradery that comes with international sports competitions. 'Merica!

4.  People seem less productive while the World Cup is happening.  So many of my coworkers have attempted to disprove the immense body of research showing that multitasking is impossible.  They have failed.  Thanks for the dead weight coworkers.

5.  My social media is unintelligible.  There are so many words and names that are completely foreign to me.  It makes my Facebook and Twitter feeds look like I have changed my default language.  I don't know what you're talking about!  Can we have a translation button for Soccer Talk like we do for Spanish please?

6. I am really good at faking interest.  I went for ice cream with a friend the other day.  The ride there is long, but the ice cream is SO GOOD that we sacrifice the time and gas money.  The entire ride there he talked about the World Cup and soccer which means I did a really good job of feigning interest because he's got great social skills and should have picked up on my complete disinterest and confusion.  Someone give me a Tony!

7. When someone bites on the soccer field, it's big news...the fact that the entire country of Brasil has gone without so that we can talk about people biting each other, however, is not.  From what I understand someone bit someone on a soccer field at some point in the past few weeks (during the World Cup I'm assuming).  Apparently this was highly offensive and unsportsmanlike (I guess that makes sense, but was there blood?  Is someone missing part of their ear now?) and because of this the bite was big news.  I'm sorry, but someone biting someone else is not big news. Just ask a cop...or a teacher. What we haven't spoken nearly enough about, however, is the fact that a fifth of Brazil's population lives in poverty and they've just spent a few billion dollars to make stadiums that will probably turn into mediocre tourist attractions or temporary homes for that fifth living in poverty.

8.  There's a chant I guess...  It's something like "I believe that we will win" which is lovely, but not intimidating or even really all that helpful coming from the mouth of Joe Schmo in Podunk [INSERT STATE HERE] who is sitting at a bar.  That kind of goes for any vocalization of instruction or encouragement from a television viewer of any athletic event...not going to make a difference.  Take a note from the American Idol viewers of the world and save your energy for reactions not instructions.  They can't hear you.

9.  You have to have cable to watch soccer during the World Cup.  Apparently it's only on ESPN...perhaps this explains the overabundance of communal viewing.

10.  I do not enjoy eating in dining establishments when the World Cup is on. What a mood killer it was to go to have a nice dinner with a friend at our favorite Thai restaurant only to find that it had been infiltrated by fake fans of soccer.  They were loud and that's just rude.  People get annoyed when kids make a lot of noise at a restaurant, but suddenly when sports are on the television adults can break the rules we've set for little humans without fully developed brains.  Nope.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

*Well now I've got images of chocolate soaked waffle monsters in my brain, and let me tell you, the waffle monsters in my brain are very intimidating.

Today I went shopping.  I am actually incredibly proud of the deals I got--3 dresses, a pair of dress shorts, a romper (kind of like red lipstick...takes guts to wear one but I couldn't resist), and new sunglasses, all for about $50. I'm that good.  And while I seriously considered making my entire entry today about my haul, I couldn't justify doing that after something I witnessed while gathering that haul.

I was looking at some skirts (I've been really wanting a jersey knit black skirt...very versatile).  There had been a siren-like noise coming from the other side of the store for a while.  It didn't cross me as anything to focus on, so I forgot the sound was even there after a while.  From working in retail I realized that it was probably just a security tag malfunctioning.  But then I heard a woman raising her voice nearby.  "Excuse me," she said.  "Do you work here?"  She was addressing another woman nearby.  The woman must have said yes because the first woman immediately began explaining that it's awful that the alarms go off on the purses whenever someone looks at them.  "How are we supposed to buy them if we can't see them?" she exclaimed.  "You make me look like I'm trying to steal something!"

My friends and I often call each-other out, half joking, half serious, antagonistically saying "your privilege is showing," in a sing-song voice.  In that moment it was as if one of them was singing that phrase right into my ear, because I instantaneously became aware of my privilege.  You see, never once have I experienced what this woman described.  Never once has anyone assumed that I was stealing anything.  I'm a little white girl.  When sirens go off, it's always assumed that it's because the sirens are malfunctioning.  I know that this is the assumption and I just continue on my merry way.  While I associated the sound of sirens in a department store with malfunction, she, a black woman, associated the sound of alarms in a department store with wrongful accusation.

Rightfully so.  Take a quick scan through the Google scholar search results for the phenomenon aptly named "Shopping While Black" and you can see that this woman's experience is not isolated.  This is such a large issue that there is a name for the phenomenon associated with being black and also shopping. The fact that what should be a normal and everyday thing, shopping, has become so difficult for black people that it has been phenomenon-ed is incredibly disturbing to me. The fact that it has been phenomenon-ed also means, however, that someone is researching it, which comforts the academic in me, but not enough to turn away and forget this ever happened.

It pains me to know that there are people who live their lives with the understanding that they will likely be wrongly accused for something at some point simply because of the color of their skin.  It is disgusting to me that the society in which I live, to which I contribute, and that I am a privileged member of, still allows this to occur. This needs to end,

So check to see if your privilege is showing, and do it often, because shopping is a beautiful thing. Everyone deserves the right to gather their haul in peace, without fear. Not just privileged white girls.

Keep on thinking,
Josie

Dear best friend,

As a best friend, I am incredibly forgiving.  If you've proven yourself, and I trust you, I'm really hard to offend.  You have proven yourself, and I do trust you so, yeah...you don't offend me.  I overlook most of the annoying things that you do because I love you, quirks and all.  I know you do the same for me.  There is one thing that you do, however, that I find difficult to overlook.  When we go out to dinner to spend quality time together you often ignore me in favor of your phone.

As you and I are both graduate students, I am sensitive to your need to be attached to various forms of digital communication.  We have people to report to, a voracious need to impress our superiors, and a strong sense of conscientiousness.  All of this leads us to feel that we need to be easily accessed and highly responsive to our students, our mentors, and our professors.  You know that I've gotten to the point where I don't really care so much about what people think of me, so my tendency to leach off of my cell phone is much more limited than yours.  You are, however, a bit too responsive. You seem to check your emails, phone calls, text messages, constantly, and then respond immediately.  While I live by the, "there's no such thing as an emergency unless someone's bleeding" way of life, you live by the "everything's an emergency unless it's bleeding in which case it's a major emergency," way of life. This sometimes makes our time together difficult.

As you know, I like my alone time, so when you ask me to go out on a weeknight for dinner it takes a lot for me to say yes. I am stretching out of my comfort zone when I say yes, and when this happens it's usually because I value our friendship enough to want to have some good conversation and spend quality time you.  It's usually because we haven't talked in a while (read 10 hours), so I want to hear about your life and I want to tell you about mine. I want to share that moment with you. I assume that this is a normal expectation of social interaction, though I would never call myself an expert in that area. You know I'm slightly inept when it comes to social interaction. But when you spend the entire meal responding to emails from your annoyed students, then I become the annoyed student.

In my way of thinking, the students are not bleeding, so they can wait.  Whether you respond to them now or 2 hours from now will not make a difference.  In the mean time I've spent 20 dollars to eat a good meal, but also to stare at the top of your head and the back of your phone.  Call me needy and attention-seeking, but when you do that, it makes me feel like you care more about other people than me, and I'm not really into that. Also, while I enjoy a good meal, I do not enjoy spending money, and if I am spending money it's because it's the price I have to pay if I want to spend time with you...social convention.

So best friend, though you will never read this, please know that I love you.  I will spend 20 dollars, that I do not have, on a meal so that I can spend time with you and hear about your life (remember, that's because I love you).  Keep in mind, however, that I do not love that you prioritize your students over me when I am sitting in front of you.  I also do not love staring at the back of your phone and the top of your head.

But, again, I love you.

Keep on thinking,
Josie