No, The World isn't Ending, I'm Just Blogging Two Days in a Row

It's no secret that journalism and I have a rocky relationship. It's pretty love/hate.

I think that's just the name of the game, though.

One of my professors said he became a journalist because it was the last adventure job. It could send you anywhere with anyone. This was one of the things I struggled with. I'm a planner, and I hate uncertainty. If you've ever sat helplessly at your desk with one eye one your telephone and the other on the clock eating away at your deadline, you get it.

I was always a reserved kid. The thoughts and crazy ideas I brewed in my head usually ended up on paper or whispered in my sister's ear. Last year, getting up the courage to approach a source at a game or call for an interview took way more internal pep-talking than normal. I'm not a people person, but they fascinate me. I've always been a wide-eyed observer, content to watch interactions and file them away in my puzzle-piece worldview.

I came to journalism wanting to write, and wanting to find replacements for the holes I had in my portrait of the world. No blemishes of deadlines and pyramid structure appeared in my vision of seeking out social and political justice with few strokes of a pen.

Today the adventure of journalism took me on a tree-lined hike through Ithaca for a piece I'm doing for a class on the state of bed and breakfasts in the economic decline. It felt almost like a reparation for its betrayal of my idealistic expectations, its repeated failures as an art and as a science.

After my hour-long walk down I sat in an 200 year old inn, surrounded by smells of baking and old books, chatting with the owner of the William Henry Miller Inn. She was entertaining, helpful, cheerful and warm. The glass china cabinets, paisley rugs, and creaky stairs reminded me of home. Beyond all the bed and breakfast-y charm, however, was a great interview. I'd gone in expecting a tale of a struggling business. Instead, I found an inn that used its kindness to reach success. Needless to say, it was cool.

I hiked back up the hill to campus, wondering why exactly I thought it would be a good idea to walk back up to campus. Right on the edge of campus, I stopped and looked around to see if anyone could see me. Then, I walked over to a tree surrounded by bright red leaves and walked around happily in my boots.

Because, you know, the best way to congratulate yourself on a job well done is stomping on crunchy leaves.

I got back to my room with flushed cheeks and chapped hands. I switched on the television to watch New Orleans finish off the Giants. Collapsing on my bed, I realized journalism had given me a pretty good Sunday.

Break rocks.

A Wonderful Break

I got a call from my mother yesterday afternoon. She was just calling to confirm that I wasn't in some ditch somewhere and was, in fact, alive.

You see, I expected this break to be incredibly low-key. I expected to spend a lot of time doing nothing. So when my parents hadn't heard from me, they wondered. Especially after I didn't return their call.

I've been having a blast. I haven't been sleeping in, but it's been great. When I asked my coach for a land workout I could do over break, I instead ended up with the most intense "workout buddy" ever, our assistant coach E. We pretty much all aspire to be her. So along with two other rowers, A and...A, actually, I've been getting my butt kicked for the past three mornings.

I've been hanging out with A all weekend. We bond especially well because she's 5' 11" and I'm 6 foot. There's a thing about tall women. We automatically understand and relate to each other on some basic level. I mean, the large shoe event at Nordstroms is probably the most civil and cheerful epic shoe sale you will ever experience. It's just how it is. We get it.

And, she's a great workout partner because she has the same goal as I do. We both want to live up to our height--to our potential. So we were ready to gain some ground while everyone else slept. She's also a voice major on an opera path, so you know I totally want to recruit her as an awesome karaoke partner. Right?

Anyway, so I got back from practice this morning and collapsed onto my bed. I turned on college football. I dozed to the sounds of cheers and whistles and men of a certain age talking in dramatic tones. It was beautiful. It actually felt like a break. Of course, I then got up and scheduled an interview for tomorrow. Because I still need to keep in some contact with reality.

And that's my life.

A Breather

I'm taking a little break from studying to blog. Because I feel like it.

And a part of me misses recording the absolutely mundane. I've been doing a lot of my sentimentalization lately. Yes, apparently "sentimentalization" is a word. That's awesome.

Yesterday my political justice group somehow managed to pull out an awesome presentation on the role of FISA in international justice. It's really cool when things turn out way better than you expect.

Then I hightailed it to radio, and there was absolutely no news. None. My local news story was about the debut of a solar powered trash compactor on the Commons.

Yeah.

At practice we did 3k erg tests. I did okay. I wasn't all together thrilled with my result. I know I can do better, and that gets at me, but I know it could have been worse. The problem was that that test was followed by an insanely hard and insanely cold practice. By the end, my throat was swollen and raw and I couldn't breathe deeply without coughing.

I got back from practice and steamed myself in the shower for approximately forever. I then churned out a paper for ethics. By that point I felt absolutely horrible and went to bed early to be up for my 6:30 work shift. I'm pretty sure I broke a fever during the night, and apparently I scared my roommate half to death because I got up at 1am, left the room, and came back approximately 10 seconds later. She asked me directly if she'd woken me accidentally, I didn't respond, crawled back in bed, and passed out. So I guess I was sleepwalking, seeing as I don't remember doing any of this. I did actually feel way better when I woke up.

I am seriously looking forward to four days of break. With which I intend to spend some quality time with my bed and hot liquids. And the frosted covered animal crackers I bought at Target. Them too.

And now, I'm off to my history midterm.

Love is Love

Love is love. Family is family.

Despite our midwest pedigree and our Southern transplantation, I think we're truly a New England family. Love is found in a strong handshake, a hand on a shoulder, a twinkle in the eye. It's found in quiet and contemplative moments under clear and cold skies. A roar of laughter over a dry joke over wooden tables and local draught beers on wooden tables.

There's another love--just as pure, just as strong--that swells like a warm tide. It rushes through each close embrace, each busy kiss and each genuine brilliant smile. It's a love that envelopes and spreads, it expands and it strengthens. It is a full, cacophonous house and a glass of aged red wine. It does not discriminate but it is true.

These two kinds of love melded beautifully this weekend. My Uncle Judd married my new Aunt Michelle in a ceremony that never flagged in its celebration and its happiness. It was the kind of happiness that lasts when everyone involved knows that two kind and loving people finally found the match they deserve.

It was an incredible weekend.

Congratulations, Judd and Michelle!

Can We Talk About How Awesome Things Can Be?

Let's face it.

I stress. A lot. Stuff happens. Deadlines catch up to you. Your desk gets unbelievably messy. The weather sucks. You haven't folded the laundry you did four days ago. Schedules conflict. Sleep is something you daydream about. You spend your life in the Park school and in the middle of a lake, wearing spandex.

For clarification purposes, yes, I am often wearing spandex in Park.

But today, we won. My boat won it's first race ever by rowing better than we ever had. At the end I was wondering if I could still inhale.

Before a swim race I would push my goggles in repeatedly, shake my arms, and focus. In my pacing I would push myself as hard as my body and mind would let me. Crew doesn't let you do that. If it's too hard for you, too bad. It's not. You keep pulling because even though every muscle and every labored is telling you you can't, you can.

It's awesome.

It's also awesome when you have a roommate who knows you so well she buys you Cheez-Its for a good luck present. How ridiculously cool is that? I mean, seriously.

Be jealous.

So for the rest of this week, I'll push through. I'll blast the Chicago, Next to Normal, and Aida soundtracks and I'll get work done. And then I get to go participate in an amazing wedding with people who mean the world to me.

How cool is THAT?

Pushing Limits

This summer, when I was deciding whether I would join the crew team, my dad said something that stuck with me.

"Right now you can push yourself," he said. "There's going to be a point where you just can't push your body to do the things you want it to anymore."

I decided to join the crew team.

Last year I wasn't an athlete anymore. I woke up every morning feeling frustrated with my body. That's sad, and that's a little twisted, but that's the truth. It wasn't the fact that I'd gained weight, exactly, but the fact that I didn't feel strong anymore. My shoulders weren't tense from exertion, they were tense from stress and from going day to day with a focus that was entirely singular and at the same time extremely fragmented.

My life was centered around journalism, resume building, and fear of academic failure. There was no point in my day where the fear of missing a deadline or botching a quote wasn't on my mind. I was happy in Ithaca, but at the same time there was a something entirely off balance.

I discovered politics second semester. I realized it was something I wanted, and that maybe my path would not take me to a newspaper or a magazine.

Today we raced for the first time. The top two novice boats went head to head for a 4k. Half way through you realize that you don't really see anything. The sound of oar locks thunking and water rushing and your coxswain yelling and your legs screaming takes precedence over sight. It's a blur and it's furious and all you can do is keep breathing and think you must be close, you're almost there, even when you're not.

I can still push my body. I know I can push it farther.

Being a part of a team and pushing my self makes me better. It makes me feel stronger when I get out of bed in the morning, when I write a paper, when I'm searching for an interview, or reading a case.

I'm figuring out what I want to do as I go. For now, I know I love to write. I know I want to be part of the change, and not just the observer. I know that the median GPA for Yale Law School's class of 2011 was 3.90 and the low was 3.51. I know that I love to laugh with my friends and curl up in bed with a mug of tea on rainy days.

I think I'll take it from there.

If You Haven't Given Up on Me

I know.

I KNOW.

I got this text from my sister today: "It's awesome that you update your blog frequently so I know what is going on in your life. SIKE."

You know things are getting serious when your family members begin to punctuate sarcastic statements with 90s-era slang.

So here I am. I'm back. Let's see how long this lasts! It's really a lack of time that's kept me away from your lovely computer screens. I spend most of my time...not blogging. In fact, I spend most of my time doing many things that aren't sleeping, or paying attention to things like laundry. My best and worst decision ever was putting a laundry basket where I can't see it. It can be overflowing and I don't even have to look at it.

Also luckily, I am basically turning into my father and couldn't resist cashing in on a 2-for-1 deal on athletic socks. So I have tons and tons of athletic socks now. I can run out of them and open a new bag. They're practically potato chips.

I also spent some time tweeting about my ill-informed ideas about treating the blisters on my hands. It involved me thinking myself, "I should probably clean it before I wrap it up. Oh, look, because of the swine flu I have ample amounts of hand sanitizer at my disposal. Let's use that!" I think my roommate might be tragically getting used to hearing me yelp at odd times throughout the day for stupid reasons.

Speaking of blisters, crew is going well. The campus is still adapting to seeing me walk around as a sweaty mess all the time. IC students may have to speak with a counselor about the whole "spandex for pants" part. They can deal. It's actually going so well that I may be racing WAY earlier than expected. Try...October 3rd. This is really unbelievable to me because it seems like yesterday that we finally got into a boat and...couldn't move. Oh, how things change!

In class I spend a lot of time ignoring any social niceties that tell me to shut up and let someone else have a chance to talk, or asking myself why I am in this class? It's hard to take a lecture about blogging all that seriously. So much of these "theories" of online journalism are the norm for our generation. Sometimes these classes on multimedia--when they stray away from the practical like, using photoshop or creating audio slideshows--are one huge hour and a half long DUH.

Based on the quality of my writing today, you all are probably thinking I should pay more attention in class. I actually just finished writing a paper for my journalism ethics class. There is seriously nothing more fun than explaining moral development levels and their applications to citizen journalism.

SIKE