Ahead and Behind

Can someone please explain to me how I can simultaneously feel so far ahead and so far behind on things lately? And not just a few things. It seems like everything is suspended in this weird cosmic taffy pulling machine. 

I've been seemingly cruising along nicely in all things New Student Orientation - getting a theme to the University Relations folks, setting up the schedule, making plans to change things from last year, getting quotes and contracts tidied up... But then I stop and think about all there is to do yet - completing said contracts, working out the kinks in my budget, getting training planned for the mentors, getting faculty and staff on board, planning meal menus and traffic flow patterns and information delivery methods...Oh how very much there is yet to do! 

And the same ahead/behind theory applies to my home and personal life, too. I've got my garden planted and veggies springing up everywhere, but I don't have a single herb in a planter or my flowerbeds weeded. I managed to mow but not trim this weekend. The laundry's clean and folded but all over the living room floor. See what I mean? Ahead and behind. 

And well beyond simple and mundane tasks, the theory seems to still hold true. Look at all I've accomplished already in life! I joke frequently about getting to live three times the amount of life that everyone else does just because I pack so much in. And it's a wonderful life if I do say so myself. I'm not even thirty and somehow I've found the career path that I plan to stick with in one form or another, I have a house that I love, I (usually) can pay all of my bills and live a fiscally competent life, and I am about to embark on the educational journey of completing my doctorate degree. But there are, several things that I feel have been left far behind, for one reason or another. My ability to build and maintain healthy, strong, lasting relationships with others (friends and loves) always seems to suffer to one cause or another. 

Perhaps the solution to this whole mess is that I take a break or slow down on some of the things I'm so very ahead on in order to play catch up with the things I've fallen behind on. Simple concept in theory, right? Somehow I think that if it was that simple, I would have already figured it out by now... 

Post-Non-Rapture Funk

I did not believe the rapture was coming yesterday. Not even for a second. However, having a publicly professed rapture date by some "prophet" that thought he really knew what was up, did lend itself to some interesting conversations in the neighborhood. For instance, everyone assumed that I would be the only one to go on our street. That may indeed be true, but how did they arrive at this conclusion? Are they all that sure of their own fates of being condemned without life with Jesus? It seems to me a very sad account of life, but I suppose then that they wouldn't necessarily believe in any sort of judgement or rapture at all, so maybe it's not so sad for them. 

At one point last night, I had said something to the effect of, "If Jesus is coming back, I'll be with him," and the seventeen year old son of my neighbors said, "Well, isn't that thinking awfully highly of yourself." Well, no, it's not. I am just confident in my standing with Jesus. I know that I'll be in heaven someday and certainly by nothing I've done on my own, but by the grace of God.

However, today I find myself in a bit of a post-non-rapture funk. I woke up this morning convinced it was Monday. I mean fully convinced. The first thought on my mind as I heard my alarm (set for workday wake up time) was that my polo for work was still in the washing machine, so I promptly got up, went downstairs, and put the wash in the dryer. My next thought was that I had agreed to be at work a little early to finish up a project that didn't get done before the end of the day Friday, so I hurried myself up to get through the shower quicker than usual. Then I was mad at myself for not buying candy that I knew I needed for work. Then I started making mental notes of how many copies of things I needed to make for my morning meeting, if my credit card had enough room for some office purchases I'd be making, and things I needed to email my boss. All very Monday-like behavior. But I had this weird nagging thought in the back of my mind that something didn't feel quite right. What was it? Finally, out of habit, I checked my phone to see what time it was. There, right on the main screen was "Sunday, May 22, 2011." Earth-rocking moment. I hadn't been to church yesterday. I hadn't had a whole weekend. It was indeed only Sunday. 

So even though I feel like I'm in a bit of a funk from the non-rapture day yesterday, I also feel like I've been given a bit of a bonus day to fill with whatever I'd like. For now, the plans include mowing, folding laundry, and planting a few flowers around the yard.

On Being a Dubuquer

Today, after living in Dubuque for two years, I finally became official. For the first time really, I did some very "Dubuque" things. Some things, I've done before, and in and of themselves, are not particularly Dubuque-like, but when you put them with everything I did today, they were certainly a very Dubuquian sequence of events. 

Last night, I found myself at a concert at the clock tower downtown. I haven't done that before. It was a pretty good band and the atmosphere was pretty cool, people just hanging out every old place. After that, a quick stop at the Busted Lift, where of course, a friend and I run in to the same retired ER doctor that we had run into the last time we were there. Then it was a leisurely night at home in the 'hood with the neighbors just enjoying the night and the company. 

Somehow, this morning, the neighborhood gang had all decided that we would get up and go to the farmers' market together. And why not? This is one of those things that doesn't appear to be so specifically Dubuque-like, but after some wandering around the market, we did what only Dubuquers can do after the market - we went to the Sunrise Cafe for breakfast. Now this, I've never done. Great, funky little diner that I'd go back to if given the opportunity. 

After the diner, we went to Bluff Street and did a little shopping: Brew Haus (for neighborhood homebrew supplies), Calico Bean Market, a vintage place, a local artisan shop, a furniture store. Then, what else is there to do but ride the Fenlon Place Elevator for a single dollar to the top. And while we're at the top, why not start the old home tour? So, to the old home tour we all went and saw five amazingly old and lovely homes around town. It was full of not only history and stories of renovations and riches and families but little kid lemonade stands, wonderfully kind old people, and a perspective of town on foot never experienced before. 

And if that wasn't all enough adventure for the day, the neighborhood crew continued on to the Art Fair downtown. Then finally back home to Frog Hill, the community that brought us all together in the first place. 

Here's the thing I learned about being a Dubuquer: it doesn't matter what type of person you are, we can all be Dubuquers. At every event, I saw quite the mishmash of people - hippies, families, truckers, country boys, prim and proper old ladies... Somehow at Dubuque events, everyone fits in. No one is left out. This weekend has made me realize just how much I love this town. In fact, I almost bought a t-shirt that read: I fleur-de-lis Dubuque (like I Dubuque, but just a different symbol, you know)...Okay, so maybe you just need to be from Dubuque to get it. :)

It all seems a little silly.

Last night, a few friends gathered in my backyard with a single purpose: plant my garden. I didn't need the help necessarily, but it just seemed like it could be way more fun with others around. It had been a pretty drizzly day, and the evening wasn't particularly pleasant, filled with intermittent sprinkles, cool air, and lots of bats as the sun went down. There was even a few frantic-ish moments toward the end of the night, trying to find all of the tools in the grass, staple the last of the fence corners tight, and gather all of the seed packets strewn all over the yard. 

When it was all said and done, cucumber seeds, summer squash seeds, peas, six rows of green beans, 200 or so onion sets, four rows of carrots, four tomato plants, and six pepper plants made it into the ground. Climbing fences and bunny fences were secured. It was, if I do say so myself, a pretty valiant effort for a few soggy evening hours of work. All that's left is herbs and lettuces in pots and marigolds around the veggies, and a lone hasta that needs a home somewhere. 

I suppose it all seems a little silly to outsiders looking in. Heck, sometimes it seems a little silly to me. Gardens are a lot of work. And they'll produce more food than I will be able to figure out how to store or consume. This little project will occupy my entire summer, every free moment. I will curse at the weeds and creeping charlie trying to overtake my plants. And I will curse when too many veggies come up at once. Okay, I probably won't really curse as that's not my usual practice. But regardless of the silliness, there's still something nearly intoxicating about the idea and even the practice of gardening. I just love it. Regardless of the endless hours spent babying along seedlings since early March, raking grass clods out of the new plot, dragging tools in and out of the garage and shed, planting, weeding, harvesting, cleaning up, there's just something about gardening that feels good. And it's not just a solo project. I mean, sure, it could be, but it's way more fun when it's shared. And frankly, I think that's the main reason why I'm growing so darn much - just to share it with others.

So, cheers to the silliness of gardening and all that comes with it! And a big thanks to the friends who have already taken part in sharing and who will share in it in the future!

Random Song, Certain Failure, and a Really Big Bird

So, I must confess that what follows is actually three posts in one. Sometimes a person just has more to say than others. And since it is my official 300th post (if you factor in saved and never published drafts), I figure I can do what I want. Enjoy.

Random Song

For UD's Baccalaureate service last week, our gospel choir chose to sing this song: I Don't Feel Noways Tired. It wasn't this version, but this was one of the least annoying versions I could find online. For some reason, this song has kind of stuck with me throughout the weekend. I can't quite figure it out, to be honest. The first line of the song is, "I don't feel noways tired," but I can't figure out if the writer of the song was really saying that he wasn't tired because God always gave him the strength to move forward or if he was more trying to convince himself that he wasn't tired even though he knew full well he was, but somehow he still knew that God would give him the strength to more forward. The end result, I suppose, is still the same - God giving you the strength to move forward, but the song takes on a completely different tone depending on what it's really saying. 

I either totally agree with the author, in that I'm totally exhausted, but there's moving on to be done, so God will get me through, or I can't really quite believe the author in that he is simply really not tired. I feel tired. Exhausted really. I've survived another year of working with and fighting for college students, and there were indeed many battles to be fought, and I feel tired. But somehow I still don't doubt that I'm the place that I'm supposed to be and that God will give me what I need to keep going. 

Either way, I think it a bit of a strange song for a Baccalaureate service to be singing such a song. Sure it embodies moving forward and God being with you and such, but should a new college grad really be contemplating exhaustion at all? You just wrapped up the best four years of your life. What could you possible be so tired over? But maybe that's just me.

Certain Failure

Today I felt as though someone was trying their darnedest to align all possible controllable circumstances against me so that I was doomed to certain failure. How, you ask? I was supposed to give a presentation to the faculty today about the First-Year Experience program that I along with a team of fantastic people have worked really hard to build. I created a draft of the presentation and showed it to my team. One of the members responded like this: "Ooh, could you take this one part out here? That idea was presented to the faculty last month and was met with a lot of resistance." I, of course, said no. I couldn't in good faith take that part out. It was one of the most important parts that couldn't be peeled away from the rest no matter what. 

After some significant reworking of the presentation to frame it in a way that really talked about benefits to faculty while still highlighting the services and goals of the program, I apprehensively brought myself and my presentation to the faculty meeting this morning. I met several administrators in the hallway, and they said this: "Well, we're running about a half hour behind...and they're pretty much done being willing to listen to, well, anything...they're just so tired you know." Great. Please, feed me to the wolves. Oh, did I mention that I was slated to be the very last session before lunch? Did I also mention that I was originally given a twenty minute time slot that two other presenters were added to last minute? So, please feed me to the grumpy, tired, hungry wolves with a presentation that ran right at seventeen minutes each time I rehearsed it with a negative ten minute time slot to do it in...as the smell of freshly delivered pizzas wafts into the room. 

How much more could be stacked against me? Seriously. So, after about a half hour of nervous pacing and jumping around the back of the room as I watched several others (some that didn't even have agenda slots) present to the hungry, grumpy wolves, I got called to the front of the room and was instructed to present...quickly. 

Quick prayer, flash a smile, crack a joke, and get moving.

"If you've ever seen the movie Over the Hedge, today I will be playing the role of the squirrel on the energy drink, so hang on tight, you get this presentation in hyper-drive." Laugh elicited from grumpy crowd, check. 

After breaking the ice, I pretty much gave my entire presentation in a single breath, no break, no pause, no asking for questions. I think once, I paused ever so briefly to make sure everyone was tracking with me and no one had become motion-sick due to my very motion-filled visual presentation at it's new pace (laugh elicited mid-presentation, check). 

When it was all said and done, I finished my perfectly timed seventeen minute presentation in something like ten and a half minutes. And at the end, I received thunderous applause and more laughter as well as a full round of congratulatory messages during lunch. 

I'm not sure what to do with all of this tonight. It was what it was, I suppose. The information was presented, faculty either cared or they didn't. And that's the end of that. 

A Really Big Bird

Tonight, I decided to take a trip to Platteville to share some ice cream with Megan. We had both been really good and worked out, so we felt as though we deserved a reward. Shouldn't all workouts be rewarded with ice cream? I think so. Anyway, I was driving along highway 151 at my usual seventy miles per hour, when from the far side of the other direction of traffic, I see this huge bird gliding in my general direction. My thought process went a little like this: 

 
Wow, that is a really big bird. Is it a pheasant? No, it's too big to be a pheasant. Could it be a turkey? I don't think turkeys can - THWUMP. WHAT?!? Did I really just HIT the bird? How in the world did I just hit the bird?!?

But the best part was when the car that was behind me passed me, the passenger turned all the way around in her seat to see if the giant bird had left any damage on my car where I had clearly run smack into a slow gliding, easily visible, massively huge bird. Oh yeah, and the huge scuff that goes from headlight to side mirror is nice too. 

I'm still not really clear on what exactly it was. It was probably five feet in wingspan but fat and round through the body. If turkeys can at least glide, although I thought them to be rather flightless by nature, then I would estimate it to be a turkey. If not, then it was either a mutant pheasant or perhaps a bald eagle...I don't remember seeing white...but clearly I wasn't really watching all that close...since it hit my car. Is killing a member of an endangered species a federal offense?

Well, there you have it. Three posts in one for my 300th post. What a crazy day it has been.

Angst

It's been twenty three days since my interview with Edgewood College. Twenty three days of hearing nothing from them. When I departed from my interview, it was thundersnowing something terrible (that's not really all that important to the story, more of just a fun fact), and the wonderful faculty left us all with the reassuring thought that they would certainly contact us "as soon as we can." I knew then that there was another interview date (coincidentally today), but I hadn't given much thought to the fact that I may actually have to wait until after the final interview was conducted. Now, twenty three days later, I still sit and wait. 

But I must confess that the angst I currently feel is not centered in the weight of their possible rejection. No. As I explore my anxiety, I have come to realize that what I'm most afraid of is that I actually may get in. Although I'm sure I weighed the consequences of applying to graduate school heavily, the very reality of what graduate school means seems to have eluded my consciousness. Now, I find myself having conversations with myself (only in my head, of course) that go a little like this:

"Do you remember your masters program?" Of course I remember. I remember almost dropping out after missing two thirds of an entire term while trying to deal with the most difficult year of my professional life. I remember studying and writing papers into all hours of the night. I remember taking work time to log on to chat forums to complete assignments. I remember it being genuinely awful. "Yeah, that's right. What exactly were you thinking applying for a doctoral program? You don't really have any business applying to a doctoral program." 

Ugh. My heart beats a little faster and my palms suddenly find themselves a little bit clammier just thinking about my previous experience with graduate school. But I have to check myself a little bit here. There are reasons, good solid vocational reasons that I wanted to pursue more schooling. I'm not crazy (right?) for wanting to go back, and certainly now that I'm a little bit older, wiser, and more experienced, this round will go a bit smoother (right?). My letter of intent to Edgewood (which at the very least did not preclude me from receiving an interview), summed up why exactly I want to receive a doctorate:

It is in living out my purpose that I know I must pursue doctoral study. It is not a matter of feeling obligation or pressure from others to earn a degree, nor is it a matter of competing for my place at the top of the proverbial employment ladder; it isn’t even about earning higher pay or the respect of my peers. Rather it is a matter of deep desire to do my very best at the things I’m being called to do, and in higher education and Student Affairs, I can work and serve better with more education no matter what position I hold. This makes the pursuit of higher education a holy pursuit, a chasing after God’s own heart while also increasing knowledge in my field; it becomes development of both mind and spirit.

I really do want to do this. And it really could be good. Right?

There is a sort of cruel irony...

There is a sort of cruel irony to having a love song stuck in your head when you're not in love. For the past week or so, a single song has been resonating in my head: Brook Frasier's The Thief. Check it out here.

The jaded cynic in me says that certainly these types of feelings aren't even possible. I've searched and never felt anything like the words of this song. But the hopeless romantic in me knows that songs like that don't get written because of make-believe or fairytales. They are written in moments of truth and vulnerability.

I hate to hear women complain about their husbands, children, mother-in-laws. It breaks my heart. I want to grab them by the shoulders, shake them, and proclaim assertively, You have everything I want! Cherish it! I don't usually do that, by the way. But the thought has crossed my mind more than once. I know no one's circumstance is perfect, and human nature is really good at making us want what we don't or can't have, but still...

I've been through many phases of my single self. I've been happy and even proud to be alone, self-sufficient, and selectively single. I've been singularly focused on becoming not single in any way possible, desperately love-sick for the man of my dreams. And I've been all sorts of places in between. Today, I find myself melancholy, happy with where my life has taken me but knowing something still lacks. Counting my blessings but yearning for just one more. Excited for the possibilities of the horizon but cautious of what the next day might bring or not bring. And battling the irony that sits quietly beside that beautiful love song stuck in my head for another day.