Twenty-somethings

So I graduated from college this weekend. La De Frickin' Da. Now granted it is a huge event in my life, one that I will will forever recall with whimsy and fondness, but it is a college graduation; it's not like I won the Nobel Prize or something. I think that most of the events in the lives of 20-somethings are like this; they are incredibly interesting to those living them, but rubbing in the face of those who've already passed that age are long for the youth and vigor of those non-wrinkled, independent years. They always say, "Oh college and the years afterward are the best years of your life! Enjoy it while you can..." as if a man is going to ring my doorbell,shove a box of responsibility in my hand, and run away laughing as soon as I hit 30. I have no idea what they are talking about. I mean, a clue as to what I'm supposed to be doing with my life would be nice, as would the idea of a steady, non-seasonal income that does not involve food service or living in a tent.

Motha! Tell Your Children Not To Walk My Way

Yesterday my advisor came back from maternity leave to show off proudly what 9 months of serious bitching may produce. Her name is Katie; she's 11 days old and is an absolute mystery. The delicacy of her features; the size of her hands--it was as if she was too perfectly doll-like to possibly be real. It's amazing the instant love and affection we humans exhibit for the young of certain creatures, like puppies, kittens, cows, bunnies, lambs, etc. Soft, fuzzy delicate miniatures of the parents, so cute in such a way as to obviously show that they need our constant love and attention. But what got me most as I was sitting there, meeting Katie White for the first time, was the look on her mother's face. It completely floored me. As I sat there with the sleeping mass in my arms, Julie had this look of immense pride and unequivocal, unconditional love, a look I had never seen on her face. In that moment, around those women, I caught a bit of an insight into the mystery and power that women have in bearing children. For men, they do not go through a physical change to create this child, then afterward the marathon-run of the attempt to expunge the largest crap-like thing of your life; they do not have this random creature constantly attached to their chest for the next few months, as women do. They do something, then nine months later or so (long enough to forget it) this thing appears and then they have to do something about it. But this is not about knocking men, this is about childbirth. I guess I never realized that amazing initial connection between child and mother, and the burning love and pride that a mother has for her child. It's truly a secret club, one that no man could ever infiltrate, no matter his drive, for it is bound by an unspoken connection to that little alien creature that took over your body for a few months, punched you from the inside out and made your ankles swell.
I think I have a different opinion on mothers at this point--when does that pride and unconditional love fade into nagging and distrust? Probably around the stratosphere that is the early teens, I wager. In my own life, when did it go from that love to this distant casual behavior and disapproval? Motherhood is a great and worthy charge in life for any woman, unlike I have ever viewed it, I however never want to answer that call. I do not want my own children; I am just not the motherly type I guess. If I am happily married and get pregnant then I will keep it, but that decision does not come without its reservations about my abilities as a person and as a mother. The proverb, "Do not judge, lest you be judged" pops into mind when my own mothering comes to the forefront of a conversation. I fear that being so critical of my own mother's abilities has made me susceptible to my own pediatric critics.
And besides, I heard the yearly dues to stay in the motherhood club are KILLER.
Aunthood is soooo much cheaper, and the benefits package includes the "give them back to their mommies" clause.

100% Pure

Here's a notion that's been floating around a bit lately in the serpentine stream that is my thought process... Purity--it's something that I've been strangely desiring lately. Being callous and hardened is appealing at times, but the vunerability to be pure is so fascinatingly foreign that it is possible that it is a new desire, simply for curiousity's sake. Regardless, it's there.To be pure--what is it? My dictionary says it's "freedom from foreign admixture or deleterious matter, freedom from foulness or dirt, freedom from guilt or the defilement of sin; innocence; chastity; as, purity of heart or of life; freedom from any sinister or improper motives or views." Wow. Now I believe that every human is born with a sin nature; so in a way, even as a new infant one is not pure. They may be innocent, but not pure. I've always thought purity was something one lost, but I've come to understand that it is something to be gained. That is an amazing insight. It shouldn't be waxed in nostalgia as a portion of lives lost; it is a gift to be found--it's moving forward in your life. And it's rooted in freedom! It is not navite, or settling, or shackles like it is so often considered--"Oh if I'm pure I can't have fun, etc" but even the dictionary considers it freedom. Is it possible to be complex and pure? I dunno. This is just a jumble of thoughts--taken me 4 days to write this blog and it still makes no sense! Your thoughts?

Street Schwag!

So yesterday one of my personal heroes came to perform on campus, which was a dream come true, a total delight and otherwise an absolutely fantastic expereince. We took at walk for dinner and during that urban hike we came across a desk in a pile of garbage. Rose announced that she needed a desk, so we decided we should stash it for later. It was a perfectly good desk; why do people throw this stuff out? Makes no sense. Dumpster and dorm diving should be an olympic sport of sorts--it's kind of like that final challenge on "Double Dare" where the contestants had to rummage through those giant waffles to find the flags. It takes some tactic and planning, but is well worth it! I am dismayed that I can no longer dumpster dive this year, as I am the one discarding anything unnecessary, though I fear my garbage will not be as exciting. I question the understanding of the energy that goes into those objects that are so easily discarded; value has ties to investments in time, love and money. If it's setimental value it's love, if it's a personal craft it's time, if it's a purchase it's money. Regardless, I cannot fathom what possesses an individual to throw out such easily sellable thing. Laziness I guess. Stupid people.

A Fresh Face

Amelia is the person I am closest to from my high school days. She is much, much more insightful and wise than I; she is graceful, funny, humble and compassionate. I envy her immensely. We've only seen each other a handful of times in the past two years, the last time being at her wedding last May. We communicate though email. The only benefit of this is that I have four years of correspondence saved in one folder--it's fascinating to see our growth over that span of time; track from one August to another to another; from one crisis to another. Anyway, I'm off topic. (The story of my life!)
Today I got an email from her that was a response to my elated "We made it!" signature to my last email--she asked if I meant as individuals or as friends. It harkens back to all these tidbits of memories over the past few years, and how much we didn't know then and how little we know now. But how that little that we know is serving as a base to whatever we are supposed to learn in 5 minutes, in a week, in 5 years. Too often I look back and shake my head at my naivte; will I ever cease this practice? Such distain for my reactions to daily trials!
Amelia pointed out one thing that got me--we know so little about the immediate future or about how it will end; we can only know how we will live it. Being Easter sunday I have thought a lot about this--how the duration of time on earth isn't half as important as the quality done. That observation gives me some peace about where I will be in less than a month--regardless of what I cannot control that is to come, I can consciously control how I will face it.