My Family Humors Me: Zillionth Edition

Let's be real. I am, in general, a pretty good kid. Heck, I'd even give me a few gold stars.

But, then....there are somethings that I feel I must commend my family members for putting up with. I came up with this idea yesterday, when my Dad asked me if we had a dinner plan. "Yes!" I said. He replied warily, "Err...does it involve meat?"

See, my sister is a vegetarian. A straight-up vegetarian. Not one of those that's like, I eat fish/chicken/burgers if the craving strikes me. When I took it upon myself to plan meals frequently this summer, I decided I was too damn lazy to figure out meals that could be both veggie and omnivorous. I also consider myself a bit of a flexitarian, which basically means I try to avoid meat but don't have the strength of moral character to sacrifice the glorious deliciousness that is a cheeseburger.  So, I thought to myself, this is the perfect chance for me to expand my family's vegetarian food boundaries beyond pizza toppings and that stuff in Chipotle! I made the decision that I was going to become a master chef.

Oh, my god. Seriously, my poor, poor, family. They are super nice about it, and supportive because hey, at least someone is cooking, but honestly. This is harder than it looks. First off, I am not big on directions. Or measurements. The most frequent unit of measurement I use is "hey, that seems right--ish!" I also rarely have all the ingredients for any recipe, and the substitutions or just complete omissions have made this a very interesting ride. But my lovely family has smiled and eaten and said it's great and all that. But in reality, this has really been an exercise in discovering that if your recipe fails to produce any sort of flavor, douse it in Parmesan cheese. It has certainly worked for us.

So this summer my family has eaten far more chickpeas, zucchini, and failed white wine reductions than they ever thought possible.

But don't worry--yesterday we had a side of chicken strips. And they were even breaded. It was the tastiest thing to come out of our oven in ages, and it also came out of a bag.

It's In Reach

Monday I attended a reception on Capitol Hill. I shook hands and took cards from all sorts of people--from Estonia, to Tanzania, to Mexico, to Texas. I was the youngest person in the room by a minimum of ten years. I was also definitely the tallest. This internship has given me so much already, and I know I am lucky. One reason I know? I am the only intern everywhere I go. I am lucky that my bosses bring me along. It's not typical, and it's not expected. I am very, very lucky.

My responsibilities entailed snatching up anyone who looked awkward, hesitant to approach anyone. Usually, this IS me. I should let you know that I am horrible at meeting people. Actually, terrible. Small talk and tennis are two things I will never master.Also, the language barrier sometimes made things even more difficult. But, I sucked up the awkward and got over it. I'm an adult!

As strange as it is being the undergrad in a sea of PhDs, yesterday grounded something for me. It was an amazing feeling to introduce myself as someone affiliated with an organization. Two months ago I knew absolutely nothing about transparency or the non-profit advocacy world. I'm learning, getting better each day, and part of me knows I could do this. I. Could. DO. This. For so long, especially as a politics major, I've had only a fuzzy vision of what the day to day political and policy world entailed. I knew theory, textbooks, the arguments over cable news, but I couldn't see what spending a day in the office would be like, how long 9 to 5 feels, if it actually ever feels like what you're doing makes a difference. The biggest question I had in my mind was if I would ever be able to be taken seriously.

That evening it was evident that I was very young, but people still listened when I talked, nodded sometimes in agreement, and didn't try to escape my incoherent babbling. I'm so far away from being an expert at anything, but I've gained confidence that I could. I left the reception late and walked to Union Station to metro home. I walked past Senate office buildings, through manicured little gardens, and fancy statues. Standing in front of Union Station feels no different to me than gawking at the ornate decorations of Europe. There's that same sense of grandeur. The difference now is that I feel like I could live within it, hopefully without entirely sacrificing that childhood-mystery we all at some point feel for cities.

At the end of August, I'll head back to school one last time and relish in my cocoon. Ithaca College is one of my favorite places on earth. But by May, I think I'll be just enough prepared to break free.

This Weekend, Sounds, and Sentiments

The summer onslaught of adult-like duties and expectations can be a little overwhelming. I went from feeling fancy if I wore jeans to wearing some type of skirt every day. My days feel long, but my free time is bursting at the seems. Workouts, socialization, rest, and some sort of self-maintenance are crammed into the few hours not spent commuting or staring endlessly at a computer and trying to understand what the heck this bulletin is saying.

I knew that four days off would be good for me--a chance to trade the concrete skylines and hazy humidity of Washington, DC, for some crisp air and ever-appropriate barefootedness in at the lake. Two of my closest friends from school were trekking all the way from New York to visit.

This place, and these people, have this incredible ability to breathe new life into me. This weekend I felt suspended in a untouchable innocence. Every smile was eye-curlingly genuine, each tear-inducing laugh was from the gut. The sun, when it chose to make an appearance, felt like a layer of blankets. The water was cold enough to make your heart jump into your throat, but not too chilly that you didn't get used to it. The rain and drizzle felt like a cocoon.

It is a running joke that Ashley and Rachel, two of my housemates in Ithaca, are my family. After this weekend it became apparent that this is no joke at all. Their friendship to me is that familial bundle of innocent joy and playfulness, combined with a concern applied like a comforting arm around your shoulder. The sounds of the weekend paints it better than anything: Bon Jovi songs muffled the splashing water and whipping wind, the crackling of fire, the proclamation of vendettas over Monopoly and card games, the clinking of ice in glasses, and the giggling that pervaded it all.

I am so lucky to have this place and these people. My family--both real and newly acquired--will always be there to help me take a step back, to take a deep breath, and appreciate the now instead of fretting about the future.