the eyes of pink

(not to be confused with "The Ides of March"...oh I do crack myself up with lame jokes...)

Being sick in New York City is NOT fun. Not one bit. Granted, being sick anywhere is not that fun. And, as always, I am fully aware of the sufferings of others, and I am knowledgeable of my absence of suffering in comparison. I am often hesitant to complain in fear that my listeners/readers will think I believe myself to be the bearer of all that is bad in the world, but hopefully I do not give off that impression and am safe to complain a little here. I would not be so afraid of this, perhaps, if I didn't know people who gave off that impression themselves. Anyway, enough excuses and self-deprecation (aside from Grace, those just may be my other middle names), and let's get down to it.

I blame to flight from Milwaukee to NYC for the beginnings of my current ailments. But I could be wrong. Anyway, all week I'd been suffering from cold/cough/slight fever and my LEAST favorite ailment, the loss of normal voice (I have a singing audition Monday, so I care a little more at the moment). I had a rehearsal for a play reading on Friday night and I felt like I was going to collapse, followed by a few very strong reasons to believe I had pink eye. I won't get into detail, you can use your imagination. Or don't, actually. So yesterday I decided to go to the "after-hours care" at this Brooklyn health facility I've been to (when I should REALLY find a regular doctor...), and was there from 12pm to 4pm. Probably 15 minutes of that was spent with the doctor, and the rest was waiting. While it was frustrating to wait that long, don't get me wrong, it must also be remembered that there was only one doctor and a first come first serve basis. What was most frustrating were the people literally yelling at the nurses and doctors about how long it was taking, and saying that the doctor was "probably taking his time on purpose to make [them] suffer." Yes, that's probably what he was doing. WHAT? They be trippin', surrrriously. Along with the crying children, that place was a treat in which to spend four hours of my day. Anyway, after picking up my eye-drops and other meds (yes, both eyes are infected with the pink), a looong wait for the bus-ride home (but worth it, as it drops me off nearly at my front door), a shower, some tears, and mom texting, it was time to relax. Which is what I've been doing since then, and slowly but surely feeling better. Getting along with just my glasses and no contacts for a week is not ideal, but whatever. I just want all this cough/cold/fever crap to go away. Please?

So yes, being sick anywhere is tough, I think just the added stress of public transportation whilst being sick makes it seem more extreme. You can't just get in the car and go to the doctor, you have to walk to the train/bus, wait for it, ride with a lot of people who probably don't want to get coughed or sneezed on, walk to the doctors office, wait with loud crazy people, take public transit to the pharmacy, and then take it again back home. When I'm sick, I don't want to deal with anyone. And I'm sure no one wants to deal with me. I look and feel awful, and I'd rather be a hermit.

Maybe the worst part, for me, is that it reminds me of how far I am from home. Along with the fact that I just got back from a pretty decent amount of time at home, I'm feeling the homesickness pretty hard. My mom and I always joke about it being too bad that our family doesn't hate each other, that we didn't grow up in such a comfortable and loving household, because it makes it harder to leave the nest. While mostly a joke, there are times when there is a slight seriousness to the subject. In many ways I have always been adventurous and eager to explore the next part of life; however, deep in my nature, I am definitely a home-body. I remember being homesick in college - there was one time, on a Fall Break trip to Chicago with some friends, when I had a friend take me home before the trip was over so I could have some extra time at home. I was always tearful when returning to campus after a break. I've been thinking about the reasons I was able to survive the homesickness in college, and I've come up with:

1. There were designated times for me to come home, usually every two or three months.

2. College was still a time when my life was organized by a schedule, one that I alone didn't control. I controlled some of it, but the world of academics and activities was broader and bigger than me. I could lean on it, use it for support. I was still in a stage of life where I was following the comfort of a schedule.

I don't know what it is about me that makes me so aware of the passage of time, of the slipping away of the old and familiar. It's not like it's drastic. And it's not like the past didn't have its downs as well as its ups. I have learned a lot, I have met fantastic people - if time stopped I wouldn't have the pleasure of what is to come - because eventually, I will miss that too. My life is in a perpetual state of missing everything the moment after I've come to love it. Perhaps I need to accept that about myself and learn how to use it to strengthen my life rather than using it to occasionally deprecate the present.

Helen Keller once said:

"When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."

One of my journals has that quote printed on the front, and it has always stayed with me, because I feel like I do that - I look at the closed doors for a long time. I don't think I ever completely look away. And not all of the doors are closed completely, of course. The door of childhood, perhaps, yes. But the door of my family and friends, not really. I take complete delight in the development of relationships, both with family and friends, as we grow and change. I love my siblings in their young adult forms. I love my relationship with my parents as I step further into adulthood. I love the friends I've had for years and the friends I am just beginning to make. There is so much beauty in the past, present, and future, I just feel like it's too big for me to hold on to all of it and I don't want to let any of it go.

My mom has been playing a handful of CDs in our house for years, I can't even remember how long some of this music has been in the background of my life. Most of it is instrumental, mostly new-age piano, harp, strings, etc. I did this brilliant and stupid thing when I was home and put all of those CDs onto my computer so I could listen to them all the time. I don't think I've had anything else playing on my iTunes or iPod since I got back. And while it's completely lovely to have this music with me all the time now, it hasn't really helped my nostalgic issues. Especially when I am sitting in my apartment feeling sick and wishing that my mom could be here taking care of me. When I was home last week, my sister and I were discussing the excitement of growing up paired with the wish that we never would. Wanting to see what the future holds, yet wanting to stay young forever. Such a juxtaposition of feelings.

This entry has been all over the place. Much like my mind, I guess. Musings of my insanity. I could blame it on the pink eye, but we all know that's not true, haha.

[amanda]

find your passion...and follow it.

My little brother graduated from college this weekend.

Meaning...I graduated from college four years ago. That is a bit insane to me...I have been out of college for as long as I was in college. And let me tell you, the two commencement speakers still had as much to say to me as they did to the 2011 graduates. My brother had two graduations...one for the entire university, and another for the fine arts department. The first speaker, Indra Nooyi, is the Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of PepsiCo, and has a bio of accomplishments that will simultaneously inspire you and make you feel like the laziest person in existence. The second speaker, Steven Reineke, is a Miami of Ohio graduate (my brother's recent alma mater) and the director of The New York Pops, as well as many other orchestras and musical ensembles. Both speakers offered incredible words of wisdom, both for the graduates and for all of us in attendance. However, these weren't words of how to succeed. At this point in my life, I'm not looking for that anyway. Indra, a beautiful Indian woman in her 50s, and Steven, a handsome gent in his early 40s, have both very recently reached a place in their lives where the hard work of many years has begun to pay off. Both stressed that a person's 20s are a time of exploration, a time to figure out what it means to be an adult. Being that I am still in my 20s, I found this quite comforting. I appreciated the honesty offered by Indra and Steven - they were optimistic about the future, yet realistic about the challenges faced by our generation. They were both persistent about finding ones' passion; however, they also repeatedly stated that this road is neither straight nor simple. Sometimes one must follow different paths than originally intended. One should always be open to straying from the path from time to time. And one should not be disheartened or upset if the path is different than expected. Another important point was that ones' passion is allowed to alter and change just as much as it is allowed to stay the same. As we grow older, what we originally wanted from life may have developed into a different set of goals and desires. My thought is that this usually stems from the original passion itself. While I sometimes wish that I could make life a little easier for myself and suddenly find the desire to go to business school or something, all of my interests have to do with my love of being creative: acting, singing, writing, dancing, fashion(ing?). Whatever path I choose to follow, my original love of self-expression and the arts will travel with me throughout the journey.

I couldn't help but think about all that has happened in my life since I graduated from college just four years ago. And then I started thinking about how much will happen in the next four years, what will have happened by the time I'm sitting at my sister's college graduation in 2015. I can only hope that I will be mostly happy and continuing to challenge myself and follow what I love.

But this graduation was about my brother, not me, and so I should devote some time to talk about his brilliance. He graduated with a degree in architecture, and to see his designs is to see into the mind of an imaginative inventor. His friends in the program are equally bright and fascinating, and have an immense amount of support for each other. It was great to be in the presence of people excited about the journey ahead and appreciative about the experience they were about to leave behind. I can definitely say that I was not only inspired and motivated by the graduation speakers, but also by these bright young 20-somethings, not much younger than myself, who I have no doubt will thrive in the world they are now entering.

So I am currently reading a few books, one of which is Tina Fey's Bossypants, and I cannot recommend it enough. If you love the wit and humor of this hilarious woman, you will most certainly love reading her side-splitting stories and words of wisdom.

On vacation in the Midwest until the 16th...missing NYC but definitely in need of this break. My first challenge is allowing myself to sit around and relax without feeling guilty. This is proving to be slightly difficult, but I'm working on it.

[amanda]

belated entry from the air...

So I’m sitting in an airplane. It’s not even near capacity, so I have taken over two seats, spreading my belongings and enormously long legs over the pleasurably cramp-ish space, and thinking about what it means to be a human being. When floating above the world, where even with both feet on the ground my head is “in the clouds” as the expression goes, my mind seems to wander more than usual. I always assume that I will feel insignificant on a plane, faced with the majesty and vastness of the planet we occupy; however, I tend to feel overwhelmed by my place on this earth. Obviously, I am confronted with the ridiculously high number of human beings living on this crazy planet. Yet this realization, or recognition of fact, only makes me insanely aware that I am playing an important, albeit small, role in this comedic/tragic journey. I know that the majority of the current and future population will never know who I am or what I’ve done, or what I have yet to do. And I don’t want to portray some sort of “there must be a reason I am here” attitude; nevertheless, is there a reason? I don’t mean to say that I was specifically put on this earth to be some sort of significant presence…what I mean is that everyone, no matter how long they are a part of this life that we know, contributes a piece to the puzzle of humanity. I’m sure it seems that there are big and small pieces, and to be honest, some pieces are bigger than others. But I am a firm believer that bigger does not always mean better (I will allow time here for dirty thoughts, and I chuckle along with your adolescent humor, as I share and delight in it myself J ). As I get older, I am further convinced that the most important thing in life is to love and be loved. Perhaps that sounds lame or clichéd or whatever, I don’t care. Love is word of vast meaning and infinite interpretation. Perhaps my romantic view of the world exists primarily because I have been exposed to pure love from the moment I came into being. I am aware that this is not the case for all, and to be honest, I’m not sure how to reason that one. However, it is difficult for me to believe that there is anyone who isn’t loved by at least one person, unless they have purposely put themselves into seclusion; yet there must be a reason for this seclusion, maybe even the fear of love. Enough tragic love stories exist for all of us to know that “true love” does not necessarily mean a happy ending.

Time for me to put my laptop away…I shall expand on this later.

I told you my mind wanders in the air J

[amanda]

[i should just click my heels together and go home/but i'm not sure where that is anymore]

WHERE have I BEEN?!

I am quite embarrassed. Please forgive me? But I am here. And bursting with stories and thoughts and brilliant quotes from books and people I love. Get. Excited.

Out of respect for my own thoughts, I'm going to first paste an entry I had started a few weeks ago:

I have held residency in seven different states, lived in thirteen different "homes" (yes, I'm including dorm rooms on the St. Olaf campus), and I assumed that would make me a professional mover. In many ways, it has given me useful skills and a generally positive attitude to keep me going throughout the process. And perhaps my roommate and I should give ourselves a lot of credit for finding/getting/renting and apartment and then packing/moving/lifting/carrying/organizing/drilling/hanging etc in just ONE WEEK (well, some of it has been a continuous effort). I do give us a lot of credit. But I have also found that I have inherited at least 3/4 of my mother's crazy organizational OCD, and living in a state of frenzy and DISorganization makes me grumpy, flustered, and unmotivated in all ways of life.

That's as far as I got. But just to update, we are a lot more settled in, and the apartment is just lovely thus far. We're getting used to the slightly longer commute, and with the help of new furniture, and being almost completely unpacked, things are much better. I will try to post photos soon!

I just finished one of the most wonderful books I have ever read, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. I wish I could quote the entire book here, but I will just recommend it (if you haven't already read it), and add this small selection of brilliance below:

"I miss what I already have, and I surround myself with things that are missing...[it's the tragedy of loving, you can't love anything more than something you miss]...you cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness."

It's like that book went into my soul and spit it out, showing me that I am not alone in my crazy thoughts. I laughed, I cried, and I quite seriously considered finding a way to adopt Oskar Schell, as he is the most wonderful child ever. Please read this if you haven't. AND I found out that Jonathan Safran Foer is MARRIED to one of my other favorite writers right now, Nicole Krauss (The History of Love, Great House, Man Walks Into a Room), which is honestly orgasmic, more so for them than me, haha, but I think that it's an appropriate description ;o)

Speaking of missing things...I was just home with the fam and friends for a week...and I get to go back on Thursday! I love being home. Which is odd, because I didn't even grow up there. But I love it. I know I've talked about Milwaukee multiple times in this blog, so I won't get into that, but sometimes I really don't know where I'm supposed to be. I love all the moving around I did as a kid...and an adult...however, I have come to realize that I don't feel like I belong anywhere. Not in a bad way, but definitely in a confusing way. I should rephrase that. I feel like I belong too many places. I wish that I could split my life into three or four lives, and each one could follow a different path, and then we'd see which Amanda was the happiest at the end. Since that isn't possible...what shall I do? I wish there was someone who made all of my choices for me.

Perhaps this isn't the glorious update I promised...but I WILL close with a photo from the airplane :o)

[amanda]

title quote: Much Farther To Go, Rosie Thomas