For the past almost three months and even before that I have been looking at everything in terms of "when I have a job." I knew (rather, I hoped) my unemployment was temporary, so I tried not to get involved in too much or make too many plans for fear I would have to reprioritize and reschedule once I started my variable freelance work, part-time job, or full-time job. Now that I am on the eve of starting my job and a few short weeks away from actually earning an income, I'm wondering what I should do.
In college (and even high school) I was limited to the few activities I had already chosen: the newspaper, my classes, my internship, swimming, and socializing. Here I have a blank slate. A beaded bag just waiting to be filled. Now that I possess this freedom to do what I like I feel paralyzed by it. Maybe I don't want to join a swim team. Maybe, with the winter looming, I don't want to purchase a bike and try to be a triathlete. Maybe I don't want to take a cooking, yoga, photography, or art class (they're all ridiculously expensive anyway). Maybe I don't want to pick up guitar again or learn a new instrument. Maybe I don't want to freelance. Maybe I don't want to write the Great American Novel (or Short Story). Maybe with nearly ten hours of my daylight committed to work and transportation there there's no time for anything else. If I load everything up now, then, like college, I will have no time to be flexible: spend a quiet night at home with my boyfriend, go out with a promising new friend, curl up in all the blankets and scarves I can find when it's 20-below outside and read a book, go to sleep early. I always loathed that my jam-packed schedule in high school and college didn't permit me to be spontaneous. Now I'm wondering if I really want that spontaneity: whether I will still feel busy and purposeful or just plain idle if I have it.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
The Aon Center
This is where I work. Well, today and tomorrow anyway. It is, I believe, the second tallest building in Chicago; it has 83 floors and at least eight banks of elevators. I have an office with a window that overlooks the river, the lake, and the mess of city below. I have a thick credit card-shaped pass that says "Visitor" and demands that it be "surrendered before leaving the premises." There's a picture of a middle-aged man on the door that supposedly says my name: Mike. Apparently he doesn't do much all day long, because since I got here at 9:00 I've only proofed three ads. All for Dell. There are cassette tapes, yes, cassette tapes of 70s and 80s punk bands and some others I've never heard of lining the walls of the office.Funny story about this building I learned on the architecture tour I took a couple of weeks ago. The building was originally designed to be the world's tallest marble building (apparently Chicago has a bit of a Napoleon complex that it's compensating for with all its tall buildings) -- clad in the same marble as Michaelangelo's David. The weather proved too much for the stone and it had to be re-clad thirty years later in white granite (for, as one might imagine, quite a hefty price). Nevertheless, it is still quite an imposing figure on Chicago's skyline.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
when it rains, it pours
I have a job.
Beginning next week, and extending every day from now until whenever I decide to quit, except Federal holidays, Jewish holidays, and weekends, I will be joining the thousands of people dressed in suits who commute downtown to work. I will sit or stand among my fellow commuters for the 45-minute train ride, I will walk the block to my building from the L stop, and I will ride the elevator up the skyscraper until I get to my office. Or cubicle. I am the new Editorial Assistant at the World Jewish Digest.
I'm not sure exactly what that entails yet. But it is some combination of what I want to be doing: writing, editing (and some administrative work).
This comes at a perfect time: just when I was going to have to start applying for more jobs, just when I was getting completely, unalterably bored, just when I was about to run out of money. And because I am so bored, I am using my last two weekdays of freedom to do some freelance proofreading at some sort of company downtown. It pays double the most I've ever been paid per hour.
Beginning next week, and extending every day from now until whenever I decide to quit, except Federal holidays, Jewish holidays, and weekends, I will be joining the thousands of people dressed in suits who commute downtown to work. I will sit or stand among my fellow commuters for the 45-minute train ride, I will walk the block to my building from the L stop, and I will ride the elevator up the skyscraper until I get to my office. Or cubicle. I am the new Editorial Assistant at the World Jewish Digest.
I'm not sure exactly what that entails yet. But it is some combination of what I want to be doing: writing, editing (and some administrative work).
This comes at a perfect time: just when I was going to have to start applying for more jobs, just when I was getting completely, unalterably bored, just when I was about to run out of money. And because I am so bored, I am using my last two weekdays of freedom to do some freelance proofreading at some sort of company downtown. It pays double the most I've ever been paid per hour.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
exploring modern sexuality
I first became acquainted with the term "ex-gay" a few months ago when Chad Thompson came to speak at UCSB, parading his book titled Loving Homosexuals as Jesus Would: A Fresh Christian Approach. Mislead by the title as I'm sure the author intended, I threw the flier on my busy university editor desk and vowed to deal with it later. But what I thought was a Christian telling people "It's OK to be gay" had the queer community in furor: it was actually, if you read the fine print, a reformed homosexual Christian telling people "You can change. I did." Rather, from his website, "Provide a living counterexample for those who say that homosexual people can never change."
It's a baffling assertion, really, that it's possible to change one's own sexuality using only self control and a really serious devotion to God and religion. My knowledge of sexuality comes from within, of course, and I'm pretty devoutly heterosexual. My knowledge of religion comes from myself, of course, and I'm pretty casually Jewish. Two identifications that I suppose make it very difficult for me to understand what it's like to be homosexual and Christian. Nevertheless, I was lead to believe that homosexuality is nature, not nurture. The same way my hair is brown, I'm short, and my eyes are brownish hazelish, nature is difficult to change.
To be fair, there is something to be said for people who are able to find something they don't like in themselves and decide to change it. That's hard to do. But I'm not sure if it's quite that easy with the question of sexuality. Ted Haggard accomplished it in a couple weeks. Larry Craig probably will too if he ever decides to admit he was, indeed, soliciting sex in a men's airport restroom. The bottom line is these people can say whatever they want to appease themselves and others who think it's wrong, but we won't ever know what they think about at night before they fall asleep, whether they are ever satisfied again being just heterosexual. Really, it doesn't matter: they are only denying themselves of love, pleasure, and honesty. It's sad, really. Another ex-gay Charlene Cothran (founder of Venus magazine based in Chicago) did an interview with a New York freelance writer that's published here (see April 10, 2007). It's fascinating and I admire the writer, for having the huevos to ask her most of the questions he did, and her, for answering them. So he asks her whether she's still attracted to women. Well, it seems to me that would be the hardest to change: it's easy enough to abstain from sex, dating, and to change your "Looking For" on Facebook to read the opposite gender, but pure, physical attraction is rather involuntary. So she answered: "I would say after 29 years of walking in the sin of lesbianism that if the devil were going to try and tempt me that he's probably not going to send a football player, if you will, because that didn’t do it for me. You follow me? I’ve got sense enough to know if he tries to tempt me he's probably going to send something that resembled the thing that I was entangled with. You follow me?" I follow. And it's a great answer. But basically she's saying, "Yes, I'm still attracted to women, but I think it's evil so I try to shut it out."
Why shut it out? I find it incredibly disheartening that religion is the trigger and the proof behind many of these "reforms." Religion that's supposed to facilitate a good life (happy and healthy?) and a pleasant afterlife. That's for another day. It's just tragic that they would be so devout as to deny themselves of having a completely loving, happy relationship with another person: same sex or opposite.
It's a baffling assertion, really, that it's possible to change one's own sexuality using only self control and a really serious devotion to God and religion. My knowledge of sexuality comes from within, of course, and I'm pretty devoutly heterosexual. My knowledge of religion comes from myself, of course, and I'm pretty casually Jewish. Two identifications that I suppose make it very difficult for me to understand what it's like to be homosexual and Christian. Nevertheless, I was lead to believe that homosexuality is nature, not nurture. The same way my hair is brown, I'm short, and my eyes are brownish hazelish, nature is difficult to change.
To be fair, there is something to be said for people who are able to find something they don't like in themselves and decide to change it. That's hard to do. But I'm not sure if it's quite that easy with the question of sexuality. Ted Haggard accomplished it in a couple weeks. Larry Craig probably will too if he ever decides to admit he was, indeed, soliciting sex in a men's airport restroom. The bottom line is these people can say whatever they want to appease themselves and others who think it's wrong, but we won't ever know what they think about at night before they fall asleep, whether they are ever satisfied again being just heterosexual. Really, it doesn't matter: they are only denying themselves of love, pleasure, and honesty. It's sad, really. Another ex-gay Charlene Cothran (founder of Venus magazine based in Chicago) did an interview with a New York freelance writer that's published here (see April 10, 2007). It's fascinating and I admire the writer, for having the huevos to ask her most of the questions he did, and her, for answering them. So he asks her whether she's still attracted to women. Well, it seems to me that would be the hardest to change: it's easy enough to abstain from sex, dating, and to change your "Looking For" on Facebook to read the opposite gender, but pure, physical attraction is rather involuntary. So she answered: "I would say after 29 years of walking in the sin of lesbianism that if the devil were going to try and tempt me that he's probably not going to send a football player, if you will, because that didn’t do it for me. You follow me? I’ve got sense enough to know if he tries to tempt me he's probably going to send something that resembled the thing that I was entangled with. You follow me?" I follow. And it's a great answer. But basically she's saying, "Yes, I'm still attracted to women, but I think it's evil so I try to shut it out."
Why shut it out? I find it incredibly disheartening that religion is the trigger and the proof behind many of these "reforms." Religion that's supposed to facilitate a good life (happy and healthy?) and a pleasant afterlife. That's for another day. It's just tragic that they would be so devout as to deny themselves of having a completely loving, happy relationship with another person: same sex or opposite.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
groundhog
Somewhat appropriately I got my first glimpse of the cold today. A week ago, a cloudless sky and bright sun meant I would have been foolish to leave the house in anything other than shorts. Today, the sun looked only deceptively bright, and people started pulling out fall jackets for their commutes. It was, in fact, the first time Chicago's morning streets have seen me in something other than short sleeves or a tank top. It's nice to be cozy, but pulling out my jackets from the back of my closet also unearthed a sense of unease about the coming winter. Unease, mostly, because I don't know what to expect. And I don't yet have half the apparel I think I need to survive the winter.
HOY
Now that I live in a big, decadent American city, I had to wonder a little more about today's date when I boarded the inbound train this morning. Six years ago today my mom was shaking me awake before my alarm saying, "Lindsey, something has happened. You've gotta see this." This year at around the same time I was riding public transportation with the beautiful Chicago skyline shining in the background.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
parallels
I haven't worn heels since I arrived in Chicago over two months ago.
I've never been an overly willing heel-wearer because I don't like the click-click they make when I walk, I don't like blisters, being topply tall, or getting them stuck in the cracks of sidewalks. I would wear them in college occasionally when I was going out (usually accompanied by makeup) or when I wanted to look professional and commanding. Having a boyfriend eliminates the need to go all out when I do go out, and I don't have too many girlfriends to go out with solo yet. So I stick to my flats.
I haven't worn makeup since I arrived in Chicago over two months ago.
I've never been an overly willing makeup-wearer because I don't like the way it feels when I sweat, I don't want to become dependent, it takes entirely too much time, and I really don't know what to do with it. I would wear it in college occasionally when I was going out (usually accompanied by high heels) or when I wanted to look professional and commanding or just change my appearance. Having a boyfriend eliminates the need to go all out when I do go out, and I don't have too many girlfriends to go out with solo yet. So I stick to my face.
Today I wore both these things. I tottered around in a full suit, heels, straightened hair, and makeup feeling like a little girl in dress-up clothes and makeup, smearing colors all over her face (thinking it looked pretty, of course). I suppose to the innocent observer I looked like just another business person, like all those that frequent the Loop each business day. I felt ridiculous.
Ridiculousness compounded by the fact that I overcompensated for how long it would take to get from my northwest apartment alllllll the way southeast into the Loop. I was wandering around for a half hour, purposeless, before my interview, wishing it was okay to sit down in the middle of the sidewalk. Then I realized my professional appearance was somewhat mauled by the bleeding blister that had formed on my left heel (again, from the heels). I scratched my eye, only to find a scar of black eyeliner left of my finger.
My interview went fine, thanks.
I've never been an overly willing heel-wearer because I don't like the click-click they make when I walk, I don't like blisters, being topply tall, or getting them stuck in the cracks of sidewalks. I would wear them in college occasionally when I was going out (usually accompanied by makeup) or when I wanted to look professional and commanding. Having a boyfriend eliminates the need to go all out when I do go out, and I don't have too many girlfriends to go out with solo yet. So I stick to my flats.
I haven't worn makeup since I arrived in Chicago over two months ago.
I've never been an overly willing makeup-wearer because I don't like the way it feels when I sweat, I don't want to become dependent, it takes entirely too much time, and I really don't know what to do with it. I would wear it in college occasionally when I was going out (usually accompanied by high heels) or when I wanted to look professional and commanding or just change my appearance. Having a boyfriend eliminates the need to go all out when I do go out, and I don't have too many girlfriends to go out with solo yet. So I stick to my face.
Today I wore both these things. I tottered around in a full suit, heels, straightened hair, and makeup feeling like a little girl in dress-up clothes and makeup, smearing colors all over her face (thinking it looked pretty, of course). I suppose to the innocent observer I looked like just another business person, like all those that frequent the Loop each business day. I felt ridiculous.
Ridiculousness compounded by the fact that I overcompensated for how long it would take to get from my northwest apartment alllllll the way southeast into the Loop. I was wandering around for a half hour, purposeless, before my interview, wishing it was okay to sit down in the middle of the sidewalk. Then I realized my professional appearance was somewhat mauled by the bleeding blister that had formed on my left heel (again, from the heels). I scratched my eye, only to find a scar of black eyeliner left of my finger.
My interview went fine, thanks.
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