That day, I was 15; a sophomore in high school in New Hampshire. When the attacks happened I was in my B period class (which was either Spanish or Biology; I can remember my schedule that day exactly except that those classes were interchangeable), yet I didn’t find out about it until later in the day. I happily went about my day through choir, gym and lunch until I was heading down the hall to my F period Advanced English class, when my friend Aslynn stopped me in the hallway. She had seen the news and cornered me before I entered the classroom. She spewed something at me about airplanes, attacking, New York, DC and buildings, and they don’t know what’s going on, and everyone is freaking out and she has to go. I walked dazed into my classroom and asked what was going on. We proceeded to watch the news for the rest of class, and I watched the second tower fall over and over again. I couldn’t believe how a vast tower made of steel and glass could fall as if a sandcastle to the sea. I couldn’t understand it. My next class was history, and although the administration had apparently asked our teachers not to show us the news or really talk about what was happening (nice, right?), my history teacher answered our questions. We were all upper middle class kids from a small town in New Hampshire, and most of us had never heard of Osama bin Laden before. Not one of us could fathom why anyone would want to commit such terror against the United States. We were the best and most powerful nation in the world; why do this to us? We were released early that day.

9/11 was very eye-opening to me. I was very naive about the world and understanding our place in it. I didn’t have the knowledge of history and politics that I do now, and couldn’t understand the nature of religious and political extremism. Perhaps 9/11 is what pushed me forward into wanting to learn more about the world around me. It brought my country off the giant pedestal I had always held it on, and made me re-examine our policies a bit more closely. I think this was a shared experience for many other Americans.

What I remember most about the weeks after 9/11 was the feeling of community and togetherness that brought our nation together. We were bonded by tragedy and filled with the hope that we could heal, rebuild and show the world that we were strong and united; that no form of hate could tear us down. I miss that feeling. That closeness.

Soon after, we launched into an invasion in Afghanistan. Someone had to pay for their transgressions. I must admit that I was not totally against this war. I wasn’t absolutely for it, but if we could get the terrorists that hurt our country, then so be it. But hindsight is 20/20.

And then came Iraq, and our country started to split in two. Iraq was not about 9/11. It never was. But we had pledged to fight evildoers, and so we went.

Now it is ten years later. The wounds from 9/11 have healed in various degrees. Ours wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are still being fought, although are increasingly overbloated, unpopular and seemingly unsuccessful. My  generation has forever changed thanks to a quickly evolving political, social and cultural landscape.

I spent the past few weeks welling up with tears over stories and coverage of the upcoming anniversary. I thought that I would have been prepared for the occasion, but as the date grew nearer, it was apparent that I wasn’t. After hearing survivors’ stories about the dead and tapes of the pilots on the hijacked planes, I have been more or less avoiding coverage whenever possible. Today, I watched a part of the ceremony at Ground Zero while at the gym, and tried to avoid crying on the arc trainer. My wounds from the attacks have healed, but the anniversary has been an emotional experience for me.

I went to church this morning for our “Homecoming Sunday,” or the first service back from summer. I was a ball of emotions today as I mourned for those who died ten years ago, prayed for their families and loved ones and rejoiced in the community of my parish. We were reminded to be grateful for our lives, and to live in the house of love instead of fear. I was comforted and uplifted by the words read, said and sung and felt ready to take on the day and move forward in the world.

Here is what I believe we can do: work together to use our soft power influence in the world-words and diplomacy instead of weapons. Remember that revenge is not justice. Give back to others and act selflessly when you can. Never forget 9/11. Never forget those who died in the attacks or who died trying to save others. Never forget how it impacted your life. Never forget how it changed America. Work to create that feeling of resilience, unity and community that we once held. We can hold it once again.

I could tell immediately that she had bad news by the tentative manner in which she greeted me as I answered. I was right. My mother told me that my beloved golden retriever, Duncan, had died in his sleep the night before. She hadn’t called me earlier to spare me a work day of being distracted and tearful.

It wasn’t a shock that Duncan died. He was old, especially for a golden, at 11 or 12. We had expected it for months, as his arthritis had gotten worse, he was moving slower, his fur was emitting bad odors and he was losing weight. Although he could still have moments of sheer playfulness, running on the beach, we all knew his time was near. For months, whenever I left him, I would give him extra hugs and kisses as I said goodbye just in case.

I saw Duncan the Friday before he died as I was home briefly. I was in a rush and didn’t give him a full goodbye, but I told him I loved him. And he knew I did.

Duncan on the Hampton River Marina docks

We adopted Duncan when I was in 9th grade. He was a skinny 1-year-old golden boy with a sad case of pneumonia. He was so sweet-natured, but rather dim-witted, and we believed then that he was given up because he couldn’t cut it as a show dog.

Duncan was unconditionally affectionate, loved indiscriminately, always played like he was a puppy and made us laugh. He wasn’t good at retrieving or catching, but he always wanted to run around with you. He hated to be alone, and thrived when he was around other dogs and other people. He was very close with our former (deceased) dog, Rusty (I still maintain that they were gay lovers), and was very close with our other dog, Bailey. He would follow you everywhere, even to the bathroom.

Duncan loved when you threw things up in the air. When you sprayed water or shot snow into the air, he would be up on his hind legs trying to catch it all in his mouth. He always tried, in vain, to catch snowballs, and was mystified when he couldn’t find them when they landed in the snowbanks around him.

Duncan was not intelligent. It took him a week to learn how to use the doggie door – he didn’t quite get that he had to push the flap to get out. He thought that once it closed he was trapped. Even with me going in and out to show him how to do it, he was mystified. Yet, Duncan understood people’s emotions. He knew when you were upset. Once, when I was in high school, I was alone in the house and extremely upset for one reason or another, crying on my bed. Duncan understood that I was distressed, and on his own volition, came up to my room and jumped into bed with me, and just laid next to me to be with me, to calm me down.

I’ve had a handful of dogs in my life, but Duncan was my favorite. It’s sort of like picking a favorite child, but Duncan and I had a connection. He was my special boy, and I feel a huge rift in my life and my heart now that he is gone. Since I heard the news, I have mourned the loss of Duncan as if I lost a member of my family. Losing Duncan was like losing a brother. Although Duncan was a four-legged, furry guy, he was a friend, and a big part of almost half of my life. I’m left with so many happy memories of Duncan, and as part of the mourning and healing process, I’ll be periodically posting them to my Tumblr blog, Oh so Peculiar.

Writing about Duncan has proven to be the only thing that makes me feel better. To focus on the good and get past the pain of my loss. For those of you who aren’t pet lovers, this might seem trivial. But when you have a relationship like this with an animal like Duncan for as long as I did, then you’ll understand.

Duncan, I know you’re in a happier place. I hope you’re at peace.

My Handsome Fellow

But I’m back, and as of this past Sunday, I’m a year older. I’ve now entered the realm of a new quarter century – I’ve turned 25.

I was slightly devastated to enter this new phase in my life: to move past the influential and highly regarded 18-24 age demographic (my boyfriend even jokingly chided me by saying that I needed to start liking the syndicated radio host Delilah, rated first among women 25-54). 25 to me seemed like a scary step into adulthood; forced into the next phase of life, without an option to turn back. I still have years until 30, but 25…

I had planned to make this birthday really special. I put together a grand (and successful) outing with friends and tried to fill my weekend with whatever I could. When some ideas turned sour or plans fell through, I became apprehensive. I was dreading my birthday weekend. And then Hurricane Irene came and forced me into seclusion.

Yet this seclusion was exactly what I needed. I spent my actual birthday reading, Netflixing, lounging, and spending time with people I care about. It was peaceful (despite the raging wind and rain outside), delicious and fine. Most of all, it wasn’t scary.

I haven’t been 25 for even a week, but the dread that I had been carrying for months has quickly disappeared. I still expect the year ahead to be full of a new set of challenges to face, but for now, it really doesn’t seem that bad.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Recently, I celebrated two anniversaries – the marking of one year since the start of the relationship with my boyfriend and with my new job.

Anniversaries of this caliber are cause for celebration, a moment to reflect on the past year: successes, failures, mistakes, and the ilk.

I spent my work anniversary in a less than ideal situation: I made a relatively minor error, but it was not taken well by my boss. My other boss and co-workers and I went out to lunch (where I indulged in extra guacamole as a consolation prize), and that is when I started to look to the future.

It is absolutely important to never lose sight of the past. We must learn from our mistakes and grow from them. Particularly in my job, I have to stay on top of details, as a good memory is vital. But nostalgia can be dangerous. It can hold us back into a pattern of complacency.

Anniversaries give us a chance to embrace the future: they give a warm look at the new opportunities to come, a chance to plan, to set goals, and to better ourselves.

My work anniversary pushed me to not wallow in my past mistakes, the recent stress, and the current aspects of my job. It impelled me to think broadly and creatively about what I could do with my time, to possibly expand my role, use my time more wisely, and how to deal with my stress more effectively.

My advice is to count as many anniversaries as possible. Six months since you bought your shoes? Sure. Three years since you met your best friend? Absolutely. But keep your revelry constructive. Nostalgia can only bring you so far.

Here were piles of applications of uber-qualified candidates, with resumes chock full of impressive internships, jobs, research positions, etc. etc. All from students who graduated with honors from top universities (and high honors on a senior research project!).

While reading, I started losing focus on the applicants themselves and began the comparisons. In my opinion, I paled easily. Aside from volunteer experience, a college internship at Planned Parenthood, and the month I spent as a legislative aide in the Massachusetts state house, my resume is pretty standard. I’ve held administrative jobs since college, whereas these candidates had worked in think tanks, managed campaigns, consulted, and held other jobs that counted as “real experience” in their respective fields.

I found it depressing and maddening-I wasn’t as far along as some of these students, some of whom had graduated in the same year. Why have I spent almost two and a half years keeping calendars, answering phones, and staffing events and not furthering myself in my direct field? Not to say that I don’t have some notable credentials, and I am trying to expand my experience through volunteering and classes, but compared to them? Yikes.

This inevitably led to me kicking myself, playing the “Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda” game. I should have done more internships. I should have done more work outside of Emerson, and not focused entirely on student activities. I should have done more original research. I could have pushed myself to investigate my academic interests past my assignments. I could have put more effort into my directed study, for which I did very little work, and could have produced a piece of academic writing. There is no way to tell where I would be now if I had explored more opportunities or devoted more time to academic pursuits.

No matter what, I can’t change what has already occurred. I have chosen (at least partially) my current path, and am working on continuing to broaden myself. Some people start out of college with a bang, and some people have to take a slower approach to a career. Despite the really cool things that some of my peers are doing, I am proud where I am in life.

So it doesn’t matter what I woulda, coulda, shoulda done in college and since graduation. It just matters what I’m doing now, and that I work on making calculated and positive steps forward. Dwell on the future, not the past.

I have a whole life’s worth of opportunity ahead of me, and I’m looking forward to exploring them. I’ll just make sure to be a bit more dedicated this time around.

For me, March has been a month of bad synchronicity. I felt as though I had reached a sort of saturation point: I felt exhausted, pushed too hard and too far, and maxed out on time. Contributing to this was the stress of overwork, the ordeal (and comedy of errors) of my car being “fixed,” and the loss of my wallet. I tried to tell myself that things would start to turn around, but they didn’t, and things got worse. It culminated in a 30 minute call to my mother where I cried buckets and she consoled and tried to perk me up.

But here’s the thing about bad synchronicity: it really does end up turning around. I’m not that superstitious and don’t believe that someone can have streaks of bad luck without at least some glimmer of hope. Although we don’t always recognize them, those warm moments are there.

For me, my turnaround came this week. Stress has been reduced and personnel relations have improved (markedly) at work. My car is on the right path to being returned (just will take a couple of lawyers and a contract), and my wallet was returned (completely in tact). The wallet appearing in the mail was really the sweet topping on my week. I ripped open the package from the “Loose Items Department” of the post office and held my missing mass of leather as if it were the holy grail. I ran to show my roommate and collapsed in a heap of concurrent laughter and tears.

The appearance of my wallet this week gave me faith in the universe again. Although I had largely given up on ever seeing it or its contents again, I held on to a sliver of hope that it would be turned in. Much like Kenneth in an old episode of 30 Rock, I felt like it would turn out for the best. Even when I couldn’t see it, I knew it would happen.

So I am seeing a light at the end of this tunnel of negativity. Is it because of my everlasting belief in karma; positivity bringing positive things to your life? Or was the universe just taking pity on me and figured that I needed a win?

No matter the reason, I am grateful for the sunshine. It always makes the small things in life better, and makes those swings of good synchronicity all the sweeter.

Good things are on the way. I can tell.

Each of their first albums (Yorn’s musicforthemorningafter and Kweller’s Sha Sha) were on near-constant repeat in my CD player. Pete’s thoughtful, mournful and emotional lyrics guided me through my periods of unrequited love, and Ben’s words picked me up and made me smile. Each of these (along with myriad others) helped me get through high school, and tonight I experienced them again.

Even more laid back, but just as animated as before.

Tonight, I felt like an old-timer, an old fan, especially sandwiched between two high school-aged couples (one was actually talking about taking the SATs this weekend and the other was worrying about curfew!). But once the music started, I was transported to that age. I remember feeling that sad, feeling that in love, feeling that sad about being that in love with someone who wouldn’t love me back, feeling that happy and feeling that music was the one thing that would get me through each day.

These feelings coursed through my veins when I heard songs from each artist’s earliest albums (Pete was actually celebrating 10 years of musicforthemorningafter and played a majority of the album). Yet instead of feeling sad, I felt happy. I started feeling nostalgic for high school (which believe me, is not common), but realized I was feeling nostalgic for friends I have drifted apart from. And then I realized I was really being lifted up by how far ahead I am now.

I am proud of the person that I have become since high school, and the person I am continually growing in to. I have come a far distance from the girl I was ten years ago. While I still rely on music to get me through difficult times and to boost me up, I approach life differently. I accept the negative more constructively and I am overall an infinitely happier person (even then I was a year ago).

10 years since his debut, and Pete's still rocking. And still cool.

A decade in music, a decade in life. Pete Yorn and Ben Kweller’s music has evolved over the past ten years, but their bedrock of work is still meaningful, beautiful, fun and rocking.

I’d like to think that I’m the same.

On principle, I support this notion, as it means that every day is a celebration (as long as you don’t make a habit of celebrating to excess).

However, today is more my unbirthday than most – it’s my half birthday. In exactly six months, I will be welcoming in a new quarter century in my life (and a reduction in my car insurance premium!). Half birthdays went out of style for my peers after our first decade of life passed, but mine has stuck with me all this time, thanks to tradition and thanks to my sister.

My sister and I were born exactly five years and six months apart. When I was much younger, I would get very upset if I didn’t have a present to open when others did (yes. I was that kid who always ended up crying at my friend’s birthday parties because I wasn’t as special as the birthday girl), so my mother would always give me one or two small presents for my half birthday on my sister’s birthday to avoid a tantrum. I grew to believe that this was a common custom and felt the blow when my mother explained to me that half birthday gifts were actually not a thing.

Even though I have move past expecting a small token in my honor on February 28th, I still find myself excited to think of it as half my day. My sister and I still wish each other a happy half birthday to mark the biannual milestone in our lives (admittedly, because I consistently do so when she calls on my birthday). Most importantly, I think, it’s a small way that I can cling to my childhood; a silly tradition that gives me an extra burst of sunshine on a particular day each year.

So while I showered my sister with all the praise, love and affection she deserves on her actual birthday, I reserved a sliver of cheer for myself and for the next wonderful six months in my life.

Very Merry to Me!

Courtesy of SaltCakeCity.blogspot.com

What am I going to do with my life?!?!

For several years now, I have held a growing interest in the Middle East, international affairs and public policy. I thought that I had found several programs that would encompass all of these interests in a single program (that is, including a dual degree or joint concentrations). I even took a job at one of these said institutions to get closer and to learn whatever I could before application.

But then reality hit.

How can I afford school? How am I going to get into a top program? How can I afford the rest of my life while going to school? How am I going to get a job after school? Will I ever get to see my boyfriend? What will I do with my degree? Why would a program accept me with my years of administrative experience? I am going to be stuck doing boring work my whole life. I’ll never go to grad school. I’m going to wake up at 60 and realize that I am so unhappy and have a huge list of dreams unrealized.

On and on it went (and goes). I often get so frustrated, thinking that a program will not want to take me because of my lack of applicable experience, and feel like I’ll get stuck working in administration for years.

I have had this image in my head of grad school: just take a couple years off after college, work for a bit, build some “real life” experience that appears to be so crucial on graduate applications, and then return to school, find a way to have it paid (or go part time and work), and then get a job in a field I love.

The more I learn of real life, the less and less this picket fence image seems possible. I have come to accept that a top ranked program in New York or DC might not be possible, or getting through school without adding (possibly significantly) to my not-so-small mound of debt is unlikely, and making less at my first post-grad job than I do now as an admin is rather certain.

Not to mention that finding an adequate program has been proving tougher than originally thought. I want to have a career that combines public policy and international affairs, which tends to manifest itself in either academic research or management. Neither of which is exactly appealing.

And then there’s the issue of location. My boyfriend is a current grad student at the University of Kentucky. Our long-distance relationship is already too tough on us, but my grad school attendance has the potential to extend our distance for a few more years. Neither he nor I is willing (at this time) to sacrifice full opportunities for one another’s careers, but it leaves us with an daunting idea: apart forever. We are both two focused individuals, which may serve to be a disservice. We both need to search our souls, our interests and our wallets to figure out our next steps, but we both keep each other on the front burner, as it could be a clincher.

So what now?

I’ll have to go back to the drawing board: reexamine all of the programs I’ve already researched, find several more defined paths, e-mail old professors, and seek out the assistance of career and graduate counselors. I’ll have to look into more public schools, more types of financial aid, and maybe wait a few years more.

While my crisis is far from over, I can at least try to breathe easy as I refocus my search, ask smarter questions and make more informed choices about my future.

Does this adulthood stuff ever get any easier?

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads This blog is doing awesome!.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 1,400 times in 2010. That’s about 3 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 13 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 31 posts. There were 5 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 3mb.

The busiest day of the year was September 30th with 41 views. The most popular post that day was I’m an Adult. Seriously..

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, twitter.com, linkedin.com, blogger.com, and carnivoregoesveggie.wordpress.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for kerplunker, amy adams feet, yad vashem, chandler yemen, and chandler goes to yemen.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

I’m an Adult. Seriously. September 2010
2 comments

Julie/Julia/Amy Adams December 2009

What is Kerplunker? March 2009
1 comment

Getting My Life on Track, Part 1 July 2010
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Getting My Life Back on Track, Part 2 August 2010