It’s been a long time since my last post. I’m blaming Christmas. But now that I’m back at work and seem to have reentered the “real world,” it’s back to blogging.
The most important development since my last post is that I got in to med school at the University of Maryland. This is pretty much huge. The acceptance letter was delivered to my parents’ house and I got a text, while standing on the platform waiting for the 1 train, which said, “Maryland says yes, call your mother.” I started jumping up and down and squealing excitedly on the platform. I’m sure a few hundred New Yorkers now think I’m crazy. But whatever. I’m going to medical school.
This all seems slightly surreal. I’ve been working on applying to medical school since I took the MCATs back in April of 2007 and I feel like I’ve been filling out applications ever since. I’m still waiting to hear from a bunch of places but getting into Maryland takes a lot of the pressure off and even if I don’t get in anywhere else, I’m going to be in medical school this time next year.
I’m not sure the reality of this has exactly set in. In applying to medical school, you are constantly writing essays about and explaining to people why you definitely want to be a doctor. There isn’t really much time for thinking about how insanely difficult it’s going to be. Now that I’ve been accepted I’m sure there are going to be a few moments when I wonder if I’m really going to be able to do this. If I’m really cut out for medical school. If I really have what it takes to be a doctor. That is so something I would do, I tend to have zero faith in myself. But they accepted me, and at the moment I’m still totally loving this high of having gotten exactly what I wanted after such a long and insanely difficult process. I’m honestly proud of myself and so happy that I’ve gotten this far. Medical school will undoubtedly be the most difficult thing I’ve done so far, but I’m really looking forward to it.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Alone But Not Lonely
To continue my thoughts from a snowy Saturday night...
Walking in the snow the other night, I decided (with some healthy encouragement from Frederick via cell phone) that I'd stop in the Hollywood Diner at 16th and 6th and get myself a chocolate milkshake. On the one hand this seemed like an awesome idea (chocolate milkshakes + watching the snow from inside a diner= wonderful). On the other hand, I was a bit hesitant about sitting in a diner alone drinking a milkshake. Eventually sitting inside, thoroughly enjoying my shake, this idea of being alone began to play around in my mind.
The first thing that I realized is that I shouldn't have hesitated at the thought of sitting alone in a diner. My initial reaction was that sitting alone in a diner seemed lonely but in thinking about, I'm not sure why I jumped to "lonely" first. I have always enjoyed doing things alone. Whether it is a trip to a museum, wandering through a foreign city, having a quiet cup of coffee in a cafe, or spending an afternoon reading on a park bench, these kinds of activities are always enjoyable for me. They never make me feel lonely and on the contrary, being on my own and doing something I enjoy is rather freeing. I suppose though that there is ultimately a difference between my typical alone activities and sitting in a diner by myself. Reading is not a group activity, cafes are full of people sitting alone, looking at art (or Bodies!) often ends up being a solitary activity even if you're with someone at an exhibit, and in foreign cities, you're a tourist so being alone at any point in the day doesn't seem unusual. But diners are full of people eating and hanging out together and the abstract concept of sitting in a booth alone, when looked at logically, seems lonely. But it wasn't at all. I had a lovely time. And whatever was initially holding me back, I'm over it.
The other thing that I started thinking about between sips of my chocolate shake was: am I even really alone? I mean, this is New York City, millions of people live here. Even at 11pm in the snow, the streets are still full of cars, people are walking by the window and there are people sitting in the diner. The diner is open 24 hours and I'd bet that there is never an hour that goes by without customers. Also, sitting on the table next to my book and milkshake is my cell phone. Just sitting there it means that really I'm only a few button clicks away from pretty much everyone I care about. So how alone can I really be alone. And honestly, if I've had any overarching feelings about living in New York City, one of them has been that it is almost impossible to be totally alone here. Everywhere you go, at whatever time, there are always other people. And if anything, this has bothered me a bit because I really do need alone time sometimes.
On the flip side of this is the question: aren't we ultimately always alone? This has the potential to be a rather depressing question but one which I felt watching people walking by outside. Millions of people live in this city and I know a tiny tiny tiny fraction of them. And even of those people that I'm really good friends with, when it comes right down to it, I am still separate from them. Physically separate from those who don't live here and separate from everyone ultimately because I'm me and they're them (maybe mind altering substances can eliminate this barrier...I am he as you are he as you are me...coo coo cachoo...?). Each of us has a self that is totally separate from everyone else's self and ultimately it is impossible to really know someone. We are all the product of unique situations and circumstances and words often totally fail in their attempts to communicate ourselves to other people. This is why true empathy is never really possible. You can only know your self and even that is sometimes complicated.
But I don't think that all of this is that bad. Even without the possibility of empathy, sympathy is amazingly powerful. And friendship really does go a long way in eliminating that feeling of total alone-ness. We can talk to each other and be with one another and there is the possibility in the world to not feel lonely even when accepting that we're separate. And really, the idea that we can never totally know someone is a good thing. Life would be so much less interesting if we had everyone already figured out.
So. The chocolate milkshake experience has cemented some things for me which I think I already knew. Even in New York City, and even when there are other people around, I can be alone. And I really do like being by myself sometimes. And finally, I am not lonely. I think that part of the reason that I imagined that sitting alone in a diner would be lonely was because I think that it should be. Logically that makes sense. Just like it makes sense that I'd be lonely living in a city where I know hardly anyone and where I'm far away from a lot of my friends. And because it makes sense to be lonely, being lonely would be comfortable because it would seem normal. Everything says I should be lonely but the truth is, I'm not. Yes I miss my friends, yes I miss my family, yes I wish I had more friends here. But just because I'm alone a lot, doesn't mean I'm lonely.
Walking in the snow the other night, I decided (with some healthy encouragement from Frederick via cell phone) that I'd stop in the Hollywood Diner at 16th and 6th and get myself a chocolate milkshake. On the one hand this seemed like an awesome idea (chocolate milkshakes + watching the snow from inside a diner= wonderful). On the other hand, I was a bit hesitant about sitting in a diner alone drinking a milkshake. Eventually sitting inside, thoroughly enjoying my shake, this idea of being alone began to play around in my mind.
The first thing that I realized is that I shouldn't have hesitated at the thought of sitting alone in a diner. My initial reaction was that sitting alone in a diner seemed lonely but in thinking about, I'm not sure why I jumped to "lonely" first. I have always enjoyed doing things alone. Whether it is a trip to a museum, wandering through a foreign city, having a quiet cup of coffee in a cafe, or spending an afternoon reading on a park bench, these kinds of activities are always enjoyable for me. They never make me feel lonely and on the contrary, being on my own and doing something I enjoy is rather freeing. I suppose though that there is ultimately a difference between my typical alone activities and sitting in a diner by myself. Reading is not a group activity, cafes are full of people sitting alone, looking at art (or Bodies!) often ends up being a solitary activity even if you're with someone at an exhibit, and in foreign cities, you're a tourist so being alone at any point in the day doesn't seem unusual. But diners are full of people eating and hanging out together and the abstract concept of sitting in a booth alone, when looked at logically, seems lonely. But it wasn't at all. I had a lovely time. And whatever was initially holding me back, I'm over it.
The other thing that I started thinking about between sips of my chocolate shake was: am I even really alone? I mean, this is New York City, millions of people live here. Even at 11pm in the snow, the streets are still full of cars, people are walking by the window and there are people sitting in the diner. The diner is open 24 hours and I'd bet that there is never an hour that goes by without customers. Also, sitting on the table next to my book and milkshake is my cell phone. Just sitting there it means that really I'm only a few button clicks away from pretty much everyone I care about. So how alone can I really be alone. And honestly, if I've had any overarching feelings about living in New York City, one of them has been that it is almost impossible to be totally alone here. Everywhere you go, at whatever time, there are always other people. And if anything, this has bothered me a bit because I really do need alone time sometimes.
On the flip side of this is the question: aren't we ultimately always alone? This has the potential to be a rather depressing question but one which I felt watching people walking by outside. Millions of people live in this city and I know a tiny tiny tiny fraction of them. And even of those people that I'm really good friends with, when it comes right down to it, I am still separate from them. Physically separate from those who don't live here and separate from everyone ultimately because I'm me and they're them (maybe mind altering substances can eliminate this barrier...I am he as you are he as you are me...coo coo cachoo...?). Each of us has a self that is totally separate from everyone else's self and ultimately it is impossible to really know someone. We are all the product of unique situations and circumstances and words often totally fail in their attempts to communicate ourselves to other people. This is why true empathy is never really possible. You can only know your self and even that is sometimes complicated.
But I don't think that all of this is that bad. Even without the possibility of empathy, sympathy is amazingly powerful. And friendship really does go a long way in eliminating that feeling of total alone-ness. We can talk to each other and be with one another and there is the possibility in the world to not feel lonely even when accepting that we're separate. And really, the idea that we can never totally know someone is a good thing. Life would be so much less interesting if we had everyone already figured out.
So. The chocolate milkshake experience has cemented some things for me which I think I already knew. Even in New York City, and even when there are other people around, I can be alone. And I really do like being by myself sometimes. And finally, I am not lonely. I think that part of the reason that I imagined that sitting alone in a diner would be lonely was because I think that it should be. Logically that makes sense. Just like it makes sense that I'd be lonely living in a city where I know hardly anyone and where I'm far away from a lot of my friends. And because it makes sense to be lonely, being lonely would be comfortable because it would seem normal. Everything says I should be lonely but the truth is, I'm not. Yes I miss my friends, yes I miss my family, yes I wish I had more friends here. But just because I'm alone a lot, doesn't mean I'm lonely.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Walking in the snow on 6th Ave...
I love winter. Anyone who knows me is entirely aware of this fact already, but it deserves repeating. It might be shocking but even I sometimes forget this, especially in moments when it is freezing and windy and I'm walking outside and wearing the wrong clothes. But then it snows and I remember that winter is definitely my favorite season. No other season has the ability to, in an instant, positively change my outlook on the world and put me in a better mood. I can't really explain it but standing outside in the snow has the effect of making me totally happy. I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that when it's snowing I tend to think about the fact that it is snowing and thus forget about anything that might have been bothering me. People are always saying that we need to live in the moment--something which is much more difficult than this simple sounding phrase would suggest. But for me, when I'm walking in the snow, living in the moment is all I can seem to do. Everything becomes about the physical--I'm cold and getting wet but loving the way that the world looks in a totally literal way. Everything besides the fact that it's snowing seems to vanish and it is this moment, this shift that I love. Snow is beautiful and even in New York it makes everything (myself included) somehow more peaceful.
Writing this post reminded me that I had written a poem about snow a couple of years ago. Re-reading it, I realize it reflects a lot of the things I just wrote. I'm adding it here, with a few minor changes:
There is something in the silence of snow
That sticks to streetlight shadows lingering in orchid candy dusk
That as soon as it’s touched
Drips through cold kissed outstretched hands
And whispers as it fades away
Into sequined mist that dances on glistening streets
That swirls into curls of coffee cup steam
And melts off of eyelashes etching icicle tears,
And drowns all the trainwrecks and pinpricks and scars
Dissolving the world with champagne bubble pops
Until there is nothing in the silence of snow.
Writing this post reminded me that I had written a poem about snow a couple of years ago. Re-reading it, I realize it reflects a lot of the things I just wrote. I'm adding it here, with a few minor changes:
There is something in the silence of snow
That sticks to streetlight shadows lingering in orchid candy dusk
That as soon as it’s touched
Drips through cold kissed outstretched hands
And whispers as it fades away
Into sequined mist that dances on glistening streets
That swirls into curls of coffee cup steam
And melts off of eyelashes etching icicle tears,
And drowns all the trainwrecks and pinpricks and scars
Dissolving the world with champagne bubble pops
Until there is nothing in the silence of snow.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Med School Interview #1 (hopefully the first of many)
Being interviewed by a psychiatrist is odd.
I spent Monday at the University of Maryland Medical School in Baltimore for my "interview." I put it in quotes because at Maryland, like many other schools, the hugely sought after "med school interview" actually consists of a day of activities at the medical school. On Monday, I, along with the 12 other applicants being interviewed that day went to a presentation on financial aid (read: "medical school is insanely expensive, cheap loans are hard to get, sucks to be you"), we heard from the Dean of Admissions and had lunch with current first year students. We went on a tour of the medical school campus and hospital (which included a trip to the anatomy lab (cadavers) (!) ) and then each had two interviews.
My first interview was with a psychiatrist who is the head of the Community Psychiatry department and I think it went pretty well. It was rather straight forward--she asked questions and I answered them and there was really only one question (what is the most challenging situation you've had to deal with in the last four years?) that I didn't have a great answer for. But I didn't walk away feeling super about our talk--and I'm blaming this not on me, but on her being a psychiatrist. Psychiatrists are not supposed to show judgement when talking with their patients, they are supposed to listen, prod, and allow their patients to make discoveries on their own. While this might be perfect for someone trying to figure out why it is that they really hate their father, it makes for an odd interviewer-interviewee relationship. I'm used to being able to make some connection to the person who is interviewing me and in this case, although she was listening to me, I could never really tell if she was interested in what I was saying. It's not that she seemed disinterested, she was just pretty much blank. Not that I was expecting a hug and cheers of encouragement and reassurance that I'd be accepted after my interview, but I think I'm pretty awesome and it would have felt better if she had let on that she agreed.
My second interview was with a second year student and it was fantastic. We connected on a lot of things, not the least of which being that she had taken a bunch of English classes at College Park. Maybe it is because she isn't a hardened doctor interviewer yet, but she made me feel like she was actually interested in and impressed by what I was saying. We talked for a full hour and I left feeling really good about myself.
Who really knows what any of this means though. It's actually impossible to tell and I guess I won't really know until I find out if I've been accepted or not. Overall the day was great and has reignited my excitement (which was slightly dampened by filling out so many applications) about medical school. ... !!!
I spent Monday at the University of Maryland Medical School in Baltimore for my "interview." I put it in quotes because at Maryland, like many other schools, the hugely sought after "med school interview" actually consists of a day of activities at the medical school. On Monday, I, along with the 12 other applicants being interviewed that day went to a presentation on financial aid (read: "medical school is insanely expensive, cheap loans are hard to get, sucks to be you"), we heard from the Dean of Admissions and had lunch with current first year students. We went on a tour of the medical school campus and hospital (which included a trip to the anatomy lab (cadavers) (!) ) and then each had two interviews.
My first interview was with a psychiatrist who is the head of the Community Psychiatry department and I think it went pretty well. It was rather straight forward--she asked questions and I answered them and there was really only one question (what is the most challenging situation you've had to deal with in the last four years?) that I didn't have a great answer for. But I didn't walk away feeling super about our talk--and I'm blaming this not on me, but on her being a psychiatrist. Psychiatrists are not supposed to show judgement when talking with their patients, they are supposed to listen, prod, and allow their patients to make discoveries on their own. While this might be perfect for someone trying to figure out why it is that they really hate their father, it makes for an odd interviewer-interviewee relationship. I'm used to being able to make some connection to the person who is interviewing me and in this case, although she was listening to me, I could never really tell if she was interested in what I was saying. It's not that she seemed disinterested, she was just pretty much blank. Not that I was expecting a hug and cheers of encouragement and reassurance that I'd be accepted after my interview, but I think I'm pretty awesome and it would have felt better if she had let on that she agreed.
My second interview was with a second year student and it was fantastic. We connected on a lot of things, not the least of which being that she had taken a bunch of English classes at College Park. Maybe it is because she isn't a hardened doctor interviewer yet, but she made me feel like she was actually interested in and impressed by what I was saying. We talked for a full hour and I left feeling really good about myself.
Who really knows what any of this means though. It's actually impossible to tell and I guess I won't really know until I find out if I've been accepted or not. Overall the day was great and has reignited my excitement (which was slightly dampened by filling out so many applications) about medical school. ... !!!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Refelctions after the a long wait at the public assistance office...
After my third trip to the public assistance office to try and get food stamps, I have a few things to say.
1. An insanely frustrating process. Applying for and keeping up with the requirements of public assistance programs is really difficult. For the food stamp applications, you must first visit a public assistance office in person to set up an appointment to come in for an interview. Then you have to come in and have your interview (a process which including wait time took me about three and a half hours). In order to proceed with your application you need multiple forms of ID and proof of citizenship and residence. You need copies of your lease, bills and pay stubs. Then if you're like me and you don't hear back in 30 days, there is a problem which means you have to return to the office a third time (for 2.5 hours) because all the phone numbers and websites they provide are totally useless. The number of hours that is required to access these programs is out of control. How is anyone supposed to get/hold a job or be at all productive if they have to spend all their time at the public assistance office?
2. Efficiency vs. cost savings. Today at the the public assistance office, I was given a number as I walked in and told to sit in a waiting room with about 40 other people. Numbers flash on a big digital screen telling you which counter to go to when it's your turn. CNN is playing on three flat screen TVs and babies are crying. There are 9 different windows equipped with computers and one would hope, knowledgeable staff members. And today, at 4:30 when I arrived, there were TWO people working to help people with their issues. TWO people! In an hour and a half they had gotten through maybe 15 of the 40 people waiting to be seen. And people were still coming in. Now, I understand that in order to hire more people to work at the office, funding must be cut from somewhere and I'm sure it would end up coming out of funds which are supposed to support the people who need public assistance. But maybe we could do away with the flat screen TVs and hire an extra person.
3. The public assistance office is not "post-racial." In the two and a half hours that I was waiting to be seen, I was literally the only white person in the waiting room. I am aware that that the problems of poverty in this country affect minorities, particularly blacks and Latinos, at strikingly higher rates than they do white America. But looking around me today, this fact was made painfully obvious.
4. Hunched, freezing and worn out. Looking around the room, I was struck by everyone's appearance. Most people had on layers and big coats, some people were coatless. I can't imagine having to sleep on the street on a cold night like tonight. No one looked particularly clean, some people smelled. How demoralizing and un-dignifying must it be to not be able to shower? Everyone looked tired--hunched over in the really uncomfortable seats, many with big bags sitting at their feet. These people are exhausted. And these are the pro-active people.
5. This is a bad system. I don't know how to fix them, but many public assistance programs are terribly flawed. With food stamps for example, you have to be in seriously bad shape to get them. The official requirements for a single adult are that your net monthly income is $867 (Medicaid only allows $745). If you were working 40 hour weeks, that's about $5.50 an hour, which is nothing. Also, you can't have more than $2,000 in savings ($1300 for Medicaid). This might seem like a lot but let's say your income meets the requirements and you're making $600 a month working part time. If you're living in an apartment, most if not all of that check is going to rent. Then there is heat, electricity, transportation costs, clothes and food to pay for. You'll probably go through the $2000 rather quickly. With such low thresholds, this system doesn't encourage anyone to get a higher paying job. Medicaid is the same way. Income and savings thresholds are so low that you'd lose your health insurance if you took any entry level position, most of which do not offer health care benefits.
Okay, that's all for now. I'm sure I'll be returning to some of these things in future posts.
1. An insanely frustrating process. Applying for and keeping up with the requirements of public assistance programs is really difficult. For the food stamp applications, you must first visit a public assistance office in person to set up an appointment to come in for an interview. Then you have to come in and have your interview (a process which including wait time took me about three and a half hours). In order to proceed with your application you need multiple forms of ID and proof of citizenship and residence. You need copies of your lease, bills and pay stubs. Then if you're like me and you don't hear back in 30 days, there is a problem which means you have to return to the office a third time (for 2.5 hours) because all the phone numbers and websites they provide are totally useless. The number of hours that is required to access these programs is out of control. How is anyone supposed to get/hold a job or be at all productive if they have to spend all their time at the public assistance office?
2. Efficiency vs. cost savings. Today at the the public assistance office, I was given a number as I walked in and told to sit in a waiting room with about 40 other people. Numbers flash on a big digital screen telling you which counter to go to when it's your turn. CNN is playing on three flat screen TVs and babies are crying. There are 9 different windows equipped with computers and one would hope, knowledgeable staff members. And today, at 4:30 when I arrived, there were TWO people working to help people with their issues. TWO people! In an hour and a half they had gotten through maybe 15 of the 40 people waiting to be seen. And people were still coming in. Now, I understand that in order to hire more people to work at the office, funding must be cut from somewhere and I'm sure it would end up coming out of funds which are supposed to support the people who need public assistance. But maybe we could do away with the flat screen TVs and hire an extra person.
3. The public assistance office is not "post-racial." In the two and a half hours that I was waiting to be seen, I was literally the only white person in the waiting room. I am aware that that the problems of poverty in this country affect minorities, particularly blacks and Latinos, at strikingly higher rates than they do white America. But looking around me today, this fact was made painfully obvious.
4. Hunched, freezing and worn out. Looking around the room, I was struck by everyone's appearance. Most people had on layers and big coats, some people were coatless. I can't imagine having to sleep on the street on a cold night like tonight. No one looked particularly clean, some people smelled. How demoralizing and un-dignifying must it be to not be able to shower? Everyone looked tired--hunched over in the really uncomfortable seats, many with big bags sitting at their feet. These people are exhausted. And these are the pro-active people.
5. This is a bad system. I don't know how to fix them, but many public assistance programs are terribly flawed. With food stamps for example, you have to be in seriously bad shape to get them. The official requirements for a single adult are that your net monthly income is $867 (Medicaid only allows $745). If you were working 40 hour weeks, that's about $5.50 an hour, which is nothing. Also, you can't have more than $2,000 in savings ($1300 for Medicaid). This might seem like a lot but let's say your income meets the requirements and you're making $600 a month working part time. If you're living in an apartment, most if not all of that check is going to rent. Then there is heat, electricity, transportation costs, clothes and food to pay for. You'll probably go through the $2000 rather quickly. With such low thresholds, this system doesn't encourage anyone to get a higher paying job. Medicaid is the same way. Income and savings thresholds are so low that you'd lose your health insurance if you took any entry level position, most of which do not offer health care benefits.
Okay, that's all for now. I'm sure I'll be returning to some of these things in future posts.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Little Things
I went to the library after work today to pick up a copy of On The Road which was supposed to be waiting there for me. When I went to look for it on the shelf in the reservation room it wasn't there. I wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes wondering if I was just an idiot and didn't understand the shelving system and then, after convincing myself that I was indeed looking in the right place, went to go talk with a librarian. She looked up my record and it didn't show any books being held for me or the 4 books that I currently have checked out. She sent me to go talk with one of the supervisors. As I was waiting I was getting more and more frustrated. I just wanted to pick up my book and head home. It had been a long day and to top it off, if my record was blank then my request for The Lost Continent, which I've been waiting for for months, would also be gone and I'd move to the end of the line (this seemed like a really huge deal at the time). By the time I got to see the supervisor, I was ready to be angry.
Turns out though, this supervisor librarian was one of the nicest, most accommodating people ever. Turns out I apparently had two library card numbers and all of my records were on the other number (I still have no idea how this happened). Anyway, it was a really annoying problem and it required this librarian to do a lot for me. I'm sure she'd had a really long day too and the library was packed but she just smiled and solved all my problems. She transferred all my books to the right account. She found On The Road and checked it out for me so I wouldn't have to stand in line again and she renewed all my books, including the overdue ones without charging me! It could have been a really frustrating experience but it turned out splendidly and for some reason this really nice librarian totally made my day. And to top it off, it was dark out when I left the library and the city was all lit up. It's finally gotten cold up here (which I love) and my walk to the train from the library in the night time chilly city streets was perfect.
Turns out though, this supervisor librarian was one of the nicest, most accommodating people ever. Turns out I apparently had two library card numbers and all of my records were on the other number (I still have no idea how this happened). Anyway, it was a really annoying problem and it required this librarian to do a lot for me. I'm sure she'd had a really long day too and the library was packed but she just smiled and solved all my problems. She transferred all my books to the right account. She found On The Road and checked it out for me so I wouldn't have to stand in line again and she renewed all my books, including the overdue ones without charging me! It could have been a really frustrating experience but it turned out splendidly and for some reason this really nice librarian totally made my day. And to top it off, it was dark out when I left the library and the city was all lit up. It's finally gotten cold up here (which I love) and my walk to the train from the library in the night time chilly city streets was perfect.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Separate But Equal? Or Just, Unequal?
I spent the last week and a half very excited about Obama's win. Prior to the election I had worried that I would run out of things to read, but with undecided senate races, Obama's transition team, and the on going shenanigans of the lamest of lame duck presidents, it's been easy to keep myself busy.
As exciting as Obama's win was and continues to be, with the successful passage of proposition eight in California banning gay marriage and two other similar state constitution measures in Arizona and Florida (not to mention the adoption limitations passed in Arkansas), the country has taken a distressing step backwards. With much of the post election talk focusing on the positive implications Obama's election has for the status/future of racial equality in our country, it is hard not to be floored by the juxtaposition of this historic moment with the giant movement away from equality for homosexuals that this election has given us.
In discussing this with various people I have heard reactions which mirror mine in terms of puzzlement and outrage. How can this have happened? It is actually shocking to me that such right-removing laws were passed at all, let alone passed this year, in 2008. With a few exceptions, most people my age who I've talked to feel the same way. Jason has an excellent take on it which you should read here. However, I've talked to other people who, although they don't agree with these laws, aren't nearly as concerned or upset about them having been passed. Someone I work closely with and with whom I've had very interesting and at times fun political discussions, is one of the people I know who feels that these laws being passed is not a big deal. As MC put it to me, gay people can still get married in other states, civil unions are still an option, and after all, in each state where these laws were passed, the majority made the decision and since we live in a democracy, the homosexual minority will just have to deal with it.
So many people have been writing, speaking and protesting about how ridiculous these arguments are and I'd just like to add my two cents. To respond to the "America is a democracy" argument--yes and no. Although we do live in a country where the majority votes to make decisions about the direction of our nation, we also live under a constitution which is in place to protect the rights of everyone living here. And as Dan Savage put it very eloquently in an interview on CNN, "the constitution exists to protect the rights vulnerable minorities against the tyranny of the majority." And in response to the notion that civil unions and out of state marriages can make up for the removal of homosexual couple's rights to marriage in their own states, the words of the 1954 decision in Brown v. Board seem to scream out at me. Separate but equal is inherently unequal. And passing a law which runs entirely counter to this notion is no trivial matter.
We've moved backwards at a time when it seems that we had come so close to moving beyond ignorance, hatred and fear. One can only hope that this leads to a strong push back from those fighting for their rights and from everyone who sees how ugly these laws are.
As exciting as Obama's win was and continues to be, with the successful passage of proposition eight in California banning gay marriage and two other similar state constitution measures in Arizona and Florida (not to mention the adoption limitations passed in Arkansas), the country has taken a distressing step backwards. With much of the post election talk focusing on the positive implications Obama's election has for the status/future of racial equality in our country, it is hard not to be floored by the juxtaposition of this historic moment with the giant movement away from equality for homosexuals that this election has given us.
In discussing this with various people I have heard reactions which mirror mine in terms of puzzlement and outrage. How can this have happened? It is actually shocking to me that such right-removing laws were passed at all, let alone passed this year, in 2008. With a few exceptions, most people my age who I've talked to feel the same way. Jason has an excellent take on it which you should read here. However, I've talked to other people who, although they don't agree with these laws, aren't nearly as concerned or upset about them having been passed. Someone I work closely with and with whom I've had very interesting and at times fun political discussions, is one of the people I know who feels that these laws being passed is not a big deal. As MC put it to me, gay people can still get married in other states, civil unions are still an option, and after all, in each state where these laws were passed, the majority made the decision and since we live in a democracy, the homosexual minority will just have to deal with it.
So many people have been writing, speaking and protesting about how ridiculous these arguments are and I'd just like to add my two cents. To respond to the "America is a democracy" argument--yes and no. Although we do live in a country where the majority votes to make decisions about the direction of our nation, we also live under a constitution which is in place to protect the rights of everyone living here. And as Dan Savage put it very eloquently in an interview on CNN, "the constitution exists to protect the rights vulnerable minorities against the tyranny of the majority." And in response to the notion that civil unions and out of state marriages can make up for the removal of homosexual couple's rights to marriage in their own states, the words of the 1954 decision in Brown v. Board seem to scream out at me. Separate but equal is inherently unequal. And passing a law which runs entirely counter to this notion is no trivial matter.
We've moved backwards at a time when it seems that we had come so close to moving beyond ignorance, hatred and fear. One can only hope that this leads to a strong push back from those fighting for their rights and from everyone who sees how ugly these laws are.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The Sound of Me
One of the things that I love about my life in New York City, is that my (sometimes very) long commute to work on the subway gives me a lot of time to read. I've got a stack of NYPL books next to my bed that I'm working steadily through and I'm actually reading the New Yorker cover to cover almost every week. In this past week's New Yorker, there was a poem by Jack Gilbert--a poet who writes simple but often astounding poetry and who I was turned on to by a very close friend. I was reading the poem on the train, and at first I wasn't impressed. But once I got to the 10th line, then finished the poem, and then re-read it, I was stuck by how wonderful it actually is. It's short so here it is:
Summer at Blue Creek, North Carolina
by Jack Gilbert
There was no water at my grandfather's
when I was a kid and would go for it
with two zinc buckets. Down the path,
past the cow by the foundation where
the fine people's house was before
they arranged to have it burned down.
To the neighbor's cool well. Would
come back with pails too heavy,
so my mouth pulled out of shape.
I see myself, but from the outside.
I keep trying to feel who I was,
and cannot. Hear clearly the sound
the bucket made hitting the sides
of the stone well going down,
but never the sound of me.
The thoughts that this poem ends with really resonated with me and once I had re-read the poem, I realized how well the whole thing works. In the initial reading of the first few lines I had been struck by how un-poetic they seem to be--so full of specifics, but lacking a feeling or emotion which gives a good poem it's power. But when combined with this idea at the end that when we look back at our lives it is the specifics we remember, the moments and the details or even general sensations, and not the way that we felt or thought in those moments, not the person we were at that time, then the whole poem came together.
The final lines of the poem came back to me the other night as I was sitting with Alex and Liz (who was up for a break from medschool and for what turned out to be a fantastic weekend) in a park along the water between the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges and looking at the NYC skyline all lit up. Living in New York this year, it is easy for me to make memories of the places that I visit and of the things that I do. Everything seems new and I have little doubt that some of the experiences--like spending the evening staring at the city--will be ones which I'll look back on in many years and remember fondly as representing my first year in New York. But I wonder if I too will eventually be unable to feel this person that I am today. Perhaps it is inevitable. And maybe there is even some beauty in the fact that as we grow older, although we always carry our experiences and memories, we leave behind previous versions of ourselves that can never exist again. But I guess I hope that when I look back at everything which will define this year--a new apartment, a new city, a new job, a new president, new friends, new distance from old friends, new distance from family, new goals, new plans--when I look back, if only to offer perspective and to help me understand whoever it is I become, I hope I can still hear myself as I am today.
Summer at Blue Creek, North Carolina
by Jack Gilbert
There was no water at my grandfather's
when I was a kid and would go for it
with two zinc buckets. Down the path,
past the cow by the foundation where
the fine people's house was before
they arranged to have it burned down.
To the neighbor's cool well. Would
come back with pails too heavy,
so my mouth pulled out of shape.
I see myself, but from the outside.
I keep trying to feel who I was,
and cannot. Hear clearly the sound
the bucket made hitting the sides
of the stone well going down,
but never the sound of me.
The thoughts that this poem ends with really resonated with me and once I had re-read the poem, I realized how well the whole thing works. In the initial reading of the first few lines I had been struck by how un-poetic they seem to be--so full of specifics, but lacking a feeling or emotion which gives a good poem it's power. But when combined with this idea at the end that when we look back at our lives it is the specifics we remember, the moments and the details or even general sensations, and not the way that we felt or thought in those moments, not the person we were at that time, then the whole poem came together.
The final lines of the poem came back to me the other night as I was sitting with Alex and Liz (who was up for a break from medschool and for what turned out to be a fantastic weekend) in a park along the water between the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges and looking at the NYC skyline all lit up. Living in New York this year, it is easy for me to make memories of the places that I visit and of the things that I do. Everything seems new and I have little doubt that some of the experiences--like spending the evening staring at the city--will be ones which I'll look back on in many years and remember fondly as representing my first year in New York. But I wonder if I too will eventually be unable to feel this person that I am today. Perhaps it is inevitable. And maybe there is even some beauty in the fact that as we grow older, although we always carry our experiences and memories, we leave behind previous versions of ourselves that can never exist again. But I guess I hope that when I look back at everything which will define this year--a new apartment, a new city, a new job, a new president, new friends, new distance from old friends, new distance from family, new goals, new plans--when I look back, if only to offer perspective and to help me understand whoever it is I become, I hope I can still hear myself as I am today.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
"This Is Our Moment"
I am not sure if I'm speechless or if I just have so much to say that my mind can't settle on on any singular idea. I'm leaning towards the latter and because I feel like I need to just get something down in this amazing moment, I'll write a bit now and will likely follow up with a more carefully thought out post.
Barack Obama has been elected president of the United States. It is an amazing time for so many reasons and for the first time in a long time, I am so proud to be a citizen of this country. I think I cried three times last night and chills were running up my spine even more frequently. A closer election might have been more exciting and may have had me on the edge of my seat, but the decisiveness of this election was more powerful than any hold-your-breath-til-the-last-vote-is-counted election. Sure there are questions that still need to be answered, some states which still haven't been decided. I've barely made a dent in the NYTimes I bought this morning and I've done very little blog reading since I've actually been busy at work, but I'm excited to read about voter turnout, close senate races, the shadiness of GA and all the odd ballots in Florida (split arrows?? seriously??). But what I'm really excited about is how resounding the call for Obama seems to have been. As he said last night, "Change has come."
There are a lot of things I want to write about (Obama's speech, race and the election, exit polls, a new electoral map, etc.), but in the interest of space and time at this moment, I just want to mention one thing that really struck me last night as I was letting the weight of this moment sink in. I was watching NBC (obviously) and Tom Brokaw made a very interesting observation (obviously). I'm paraphrasing: He was talking about how momentous and noteworthy the election of Obama is and will be. He made the point that as huge as this is for reshaping the race problem in this country, Obama's election likely marks the beginning of a movement which we cannot really begin to grasp. What Brokaw expects is that this election will mean a shift in the mentality of American citizens towards a strong desire to engage in politics. He talked about a renewal of the drive towards civil service and the hope he has that this election will bring to Washington people who want to work for their government and work for their country. I don't know why, but this observation really hit a chord for me.
I have said numerous times throughout this campaign that I have no idea what it is like to live in a country where I actually like the direction the government is moving, where I support our president and believe in the potential for our future. This is a huge deal and although I'm not looking for government work myself, the idea that so many people of my generation and of those older than us--people who have been so frustrated with politics for so long, might feel the desire to serve our nation, to work for our future and to get involved in the process of making real change happen, is an idea that gives me (and others) real hope. I want to live in a country that makes me proud and I want American patriotism to be something which doesn't make me and the rest of the world cringe. I think Brokaw is right, and all politics aside millions of people have been inspired by Obama to get involved for the first time and I can only hope that this signals the beginning of a shift that will, as Obama said, "renew this nation's promise."
Barack Obama has been elected president of the United States. It is an amazing time for so many reasons and for the first time in a long time, I am so proud to be a citizen of this country. I think I cried three times last night and chills were running up my spine even more frequently. A closer election might have been more exciting and may have had me on the edge of my seat, but the decisiveness of this election was more powerful than any hold-your-breath-til-the-last-vote-is-counted election. Sure there are questions that still need to be answered, some states which still haven't been decided. I've barely made a dent in the NYTimes I bought this morning and I've done very little blog reading since I've actually been busy at work, but I'm excited to read about voter turnout, close senate races, the shadiness of GA and all the odd ballots in Florida (split arrows?? seriously??). But what I'm really excited about is how resounding the call for Obama seems to have been. As he said last night, "Change has come."
There are a lot of things I want to write about (Obama's speech, race and the election, exit polls, a new electoral map, etc.), but in the interest of space and time at this moment, I just want to mention one thing that really struck me last night as I was letting the weight of this moment sink in. I was watching NBC (obviously) and Tom Brokaw made a very interesting observation (obviously). I'm paraphrasing: He was talking about how momentous and noteworthy the election of Obama is and will be. He made the point that as huge as this is for reshaping the race problem in this country, Obama's election likely marks the beginning of a movement which we cannot really begin to grasp. What Brokaw expects is that this election will mean a shift in the mentality of American citizens towards a strong desire to engage in politics. He talked about a renewal of the drive towards civil service and the hope he has that this election will bring to Washington people who want to work for their government and work for their country. I don't know why, but this observation really hit a chord for me.
I have said numerous times throughout this campaign that I have no idea what it is like to live in a country where I actually like the direction the government is moving, where I support our president and believe in the potential for our future. This is a huge deal and although I'm not looking for government work myself, the idea that so many people of my generation and of those older than us--people who have been so frustrated with politics for so long, might feel the desire to serve our nation, to work for our future and to get involved in the process of making real change happen, is an idea that gives me (and others) real hope. I want to live in a country that makes me proud and I want American patriotism to be something which doesn't make me and the rest of the world cringe. I think Brokaw is right, and all politics aside millions of people have been inspired by Obama to get involved for the first time and I can only hope that this signals the beginning of a shift that will, as Obama said, "renew this nation's promise."
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Lamenting My Absentee Vote
Well we made it. It's finally election day and I haven't totally lost my mind. There were more than a few moments during this campaign when I though my head might explode because of all of the coverage. 22 months is a LONG time to focus on anything, let alone something which changes every day and which seems always to be news worthy. With all the news papers and all the blogs and all the network and cable news, there has never been a moment when the coverage has let up. But it's been fun and finally, today we vote.
I hate to say it, but so far, today's been anti-climactic for me. I've been so focused for so long on so many things leading up to today that I'm surprised that today doesn't feel any different. It's election day!!! It should feel different, but so far it doesn't. Kind of like birthdays... But, I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that I voted two weeks ago by absentee ballot in Maryland. Not only is my vote not quite as important as some other people's (my roommate from Ohio's for example), but I also didn't get a chance to go stand in the lines, talk to other voters and participate in this revered process ( I also did not get a sticker).
When I visited my sister last weekend in architecture studio at UMD, she was working on a project to design a space which represents the American voter experience. When I first read her assignment (which I wish I could quote here), I laughed at it and explained that if someone asked me to do something so abstract I'd probably tear it up and refuse to do the assignment. But after seeing her project and looking at those of some of her classmates, I realized that the voting experience is really something exceptional. When else do we get together with the members of our communities to participate in something that is so much bigger than ourselves? I was struck by how many projects focused on the idea of many individuals coming together to all make one decision. I was struck too by the idea of the voter experience being one which is necessarily both public and private. Although it wasn't always the case, today, everyone's vote is secret. That moment alone in the voting booth you are given the chance to make a decision totally removed from any outside pressures. You are cut off from everything and everyone to weigh your own feelings and beliefs and make a decision all your own. At the same time, going to the polls means interacting with people from your community. You discuss the election, maybe express your views and at the very least, share in the excitement that surrounds every polling place.
People all across the country are getting to experience this--a lot for the first time, which is fantastic. It is very exciting and hopefully I get into the election day mood tonight watching all the returns with my senate race cheatsheet I made yesterday. Everyone's been saying it, but today is a historic day and I'm so glad I get to be a part of it however removed. I'm definitely going home for the inauguration (unless McCain pulls off a win somehow...) because the sense of excitement and the sense of this moment's weight in history is something I refuse to miss all together.
I hate to say it, but so far, today's been anti-climactic for me. I've been so focused for so long on so many things leading up to today that I'm surprised that today doesn't feel any different. It's election day!!! It should feel different, but so far it doesn't. Kind of like birthdays... But, I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that I voted two weeks ago by absentee ballot in Maryland. Not only is my vote not quite as important as some other people's (my roommate from Ohio's for example), but I also didn't get a chance to go stand in the lines, talk to other voters and participate in this revered process ( I also did not get a sticker).
When I visited my sister last weekend in architecture studio at UMD, she was working on a project to design a space which represents the American voter experience. When I first read her assignment (which I wish I could quote here), I laughed at it and explained that if someone asked me to do something so abstract I'd probably tear it up and refuse to do the assignment. But after seeing her project and looking at those of some of her classmates, I realized that the voting experience is really something exceptional. When else do we get together with the members of our communities to participate in something that is so much bigger than ourselves? I was struck by how many projects focused on the idea of many individuals coming together to all make one decision. I was struck too by the idea of the voter experience being one which is necessarily both public and private. Although it wasn't always the case, today, everyone's vote is secret. That moment alone in the voting booth you are given the chance to make a decision totally removed from any outside pressures. You are cut off from everything and everyone to weigh your own feelings and beliefs and make a decision all your own. At the same time, going to the polls means interacting with people from your community. You discuss the election, maybe express your views and at the very least, share in the excitement that surrounds every polling place.
People all across the country are getting to experience this--a lot for the first time, which is fantastic. It is very exciting and hopefully I get into the election day mood tonight watching all the returns with my senate race cheatsheet I made yesterday. Everyone's been saying it, but today is a historic day and I'm so glad I get to be a part of it however removed. I'm definitely going home for the inauguration (unless McCain pulls off a win somehow...) because the sense of excitement and the sense of this moment's weight in history is something I refuse to miss all together.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Frum and the Politics of the Extremes
I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but I think I agree with David Frum. At least in part. I don't want to make it a habit of agreeing with former Bush speech writers, but in his article this weekend in the Washington Post, I found myself nodding along with a lot of what he had to say.
The first half of his article revolves around the following: As the McCain campaign has spent the better part of the last month gasping for air just to stay alive, it has moved far to the right in an attempt to fire up the extreme base of the Republican Party. As Frum says,
“To fire up the Republican base, the McCain team has hit at Barack Obama as an alien, a radical and a socialist...
“The very same campaign strategy that has belatedly mobilized the Republican core has alienated and offended the great national middle, which was the only place where the 2008 election could have been won.”
I am seeing the results of this in my own feelings at the end of this long election season. Not only have the last 8 years been a disaster, but as the McCain campaign sinks lower and lower in its attempts to use fear to get votes, I find myself getting angrier and angrier—forgetting why Obama was so appealing to begin with.
Frum talks of how, “the political culture of the Democratic Party has changed over the past decade. There's a fierce new anger among many liberal Democrats, a more militant style and an angry intolerance of dissent and criticism.”
The angry right has created an angry left. We are fed up as we should be and I blame a lot of it on the road that we’ve all been led down by the polarizing policies of the machine which gave us 8 years of Bush. The policies of Rove and others to move us to extremes—to pit us against each other on issues which are meant to divide us not unite us, and now recently, McCain’s attempts to place Obama in the company of all of those who are furthest left—the socialists, the domestic terrorists—have left us with no choice but to be angry, and to want to fight back.If Obama wins on Tuesday it will be for a lot of reasons, but I think that a big part of it will be because we are not willing any longer to play this game of extremes. And although Frum is worried about bringing the angry left to
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Credit Where Credit is Due
I have to say that this blog would not have been started without the suggestion and encouragement from Jason, a great friend who recently started his own blog. Jason and I have spent many many quality hours discussing everything from politics to relationships to soccer to food. These aptly named windbagging sessions are part of what I miss most about home. We have a lot in common and Jason is very high on the list of people who know me best. Jason is a great listener, he is thoughtful and reflective and has always been there to give me much needed perspective on my life and to help me deal with problems I'm trying to work through. Far away in DC, keeping in touch with Jason means gmail, gchat and hopefully now blog-stalking. Jason's blog is thoughtful of course and very well written. It sets the blog standard very high--hopefully I can live up to it. You can read his always interesting musings here. Thanks Jason.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
A DC Visit, and On Starting a Blog
I spent this weekend "at home" in College Park and DC. I was in town for a very very rainy homecoming and it was a fantastic visit. The game was great, I got to see a lot of the friends I've been missing in New York, I finally saw Emma's studio space/insane life, saw Molly and heard her talk about how fabulous her life is as a freshman (a time I found myself longing for somewhat as I walked around campus after dark one night), I saw some former co-workers and spent an hour chatting about the state of the world with one of my favorite professors.
The moment my bus pulled into DC on the trip down, I realized just how much I miss the city that I call home. It's different from New York in a lot of ways and while New York certainly wins on some things, it can't beat DC for me in terms of comfort. Walking from the bus to the metro in the yellow DC light, I was struck by a wave of nostalgia and what I can only describe as a sense of relief at being home in a place where I feel totally comfortable. More than the city itself, seeing old friends and spending time with my sisters brought up the same feelings. Being in a place I know, surrounded by people who know me so well is easy and always makes me insanely happy.
All that being said, I really do enjoy my life in New York. Different is good and I feel like taking the opportunity this year to change a lot about my life was the right thing to do. This city is so exciting and every day I love being here. My job is fantastic, I enjoy my coworkers and living with Alex in our super cute neighborhood in Brooklyn is really fun. I am also liking the freedom of not being in school. Having finished The Faulkner Paper and now being done (almost) with Medschool applications, I'm reading what I want to read and I have plenty of time to explore the city. There's no homework, no constant studying and I feel like all of that has given me a chance to get myself plugged back into the world. College can be isolating as far as current events go and I love that I have the time now to pay real attention to the real world.
But there are still things I miss about college. I miss being as smart as I was just last year--someone who could label all the structures of the brain and describe the functions of each. I miss being forced to take all my thoughts on a novel and shape them into a cohesive, well written and thoughtful paper. Without school it is easy to avoid big questions and to never spend time doing the kind of analysis and thinking that writing requires. Although I've spent a lot of time in the last few months reading about politics and health care and education and the state of the world in general, I haven't written anything and I'm not sure what I really think.
This blog is going to be an attempt to get myself writing again. To get me to organize my thoughts, to put them into words and to help me discover where I stand on certain issues. It's also going to serve as a record of my time in New York and of the work I'm doing with AmeriCorps and how each of these things changes and shapes me. And finally, I hope it will be a way for me to stay in touch with the people I miss most.
The moment my bus pulled into DC on the trip down, I realized just how much I miss the city that I call home. It's different from New York in a lot of ways and while New York certainly wins on some things, it can't beat DC for me in terms of comfort. Walking from the bus to the metro in the yellow DC light, I was struck by a wave of nostalgia and what I can only describe as a sense of relief at being home in a place where I feel totally comfortable. More than the city itself, seeing old friends and spending time with my sisters brought up the same feelings. Being in a place I know, surrounded by people who know me so well is easy and always makes me insanely happy.
All that being said, I really do enjoy my life in New York. Different is good and I feel like taking the opportunity this year to change a lot about my life was the right thing to do. This city is so exciting and every day I love being here. My job is fantastic, I enjoy my coworkers and living with Alex in our super cute neighborhood in Brooklyn is really fun. I am also liking the freedom of not being in school. Having finished The Faulkner Paper and now being done (almost) with Medschool applications, I'm reading what I want to read and I have plenty of time to explore the city. There's no homework, no constant studying and I feel like all of that has given me a chance to get myself plugged back into the world. College can be isolating as far as current events go and I love that I have the time now to pay real attention to the real world.
But there are still things I miss about college. I miss being as smart as I was just last year--someone who could label all the structures of the brain and describe the functions of each. I miss being forced to take all my thoughts on a novel and shape them into a cohesive, well written and thoughtful paper. Without school it is easy to avoid big questions and to never spend time doing the kind of analysis and thinking that writing requires. Although I've spent a lot of time in the last few months reading about politics and health care and education and the state of the world in general, I haven't written anything and I'm not sure what I really think.
This blog is going to be an attempt to get myself writing again. To get me to organize my thoughts, to put them into words and to help me discover where I stand on certain issues. It's also going to serve as a record of my time in New York and of the work I'm doing with AmeriCorps and how each of these things changes and shapes me. And finally, I hope it will be a way for me to stay in touch with the people I miss most.
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