“What is the use in not actively engaging life? It passes anyhow.”
When I read those words in Woman on the Edge of Time, I dog-eared the crap out of the page. When I finished the book, I wrote the line on a notecard and tacked it to my very sentimental corkboard. I wrote a personal essay at the end of my college career that was not selected to appear in the magazine I worked for at the University of Oregon, and I ended it with a similar line. “The trick isn’t to exist in past moments, it’s to actively engage this one. It will pass anyhow.”
I love that I moved across the country. It took me most of the years of my life to realize the value of uprooting yourself from a place of comfort and routine, saying wrenching goodbyes to loved ones, and moving into a completely foreign place, and this is precisely what I did six weeks ago. I haven’t regretted it for a second of the thousands I’ve spent getting to know curious people and vibrant places in greater volume than ever before.
I’m not ashamed to admit that this blog is coming too late. I’m equally unashamed to blame this on the tedium and, for the majority of the time, pointlessness that comprised my training to become a teacher. I’ll call the program I’m currently a member of Unnamed program, so as to make it less likely that They read this. I will say, however, that despite the uncomfortably inept training, I managed to enjoy myself throughout most of it. I want to share with you some of the experiences that allowed me to stomach the incompetency that was my first weeks of professional life (which in this case is a very subjective phrase). I want to entertain you, of course, but I also want to keep a record of the shenanigans that I’ll wish to relive in the future.
A caveat before I begin: though the words below are light-hearted, much of what I’ve learned has been eye opening and sobering. I believe humor is powerful, and though the injustices I’m becoming aware of are detestably hidden in plain sight, I feel I must preserve my nature if I’m to preserve my will. So laugh now. We’ll talk more seriously soon.
Shenanigan Number One
During my first weekend in Connecticut, I managed to find an open window of the library on the campus where we were staying. I decided the only plausible next step would be to crawl through it. So I did. I should mention that I did not act alone. Once inside, another dissenter and I tiptoed around, oblivious to the motion-sensored alarm system that we eventually tripped. After we sprinted out of the library like we were running from staff members of our Unnamed program, we hid. We watched a public-safety vehicle drive to the library. We waited for it to leave before reentering through the same window and returning to the exact room where we’d set off the alarm. This time, however, we went stealth-mode on that alarm system. We crawled around a metal detector (which was unnecessary but dramatic) before hugging the walls and peaking around corners like Austin Powers. We knew what the motion sensors looked like—mounted to ceilings and resembling single alien eyes that never blinked—so we were able to avoid them all the way to the top floor. But we got lazy—or maybe the alien eyes got sharper, for we tripped the alarm for a second time as we came back down the stairs. We booked it down the final three floors faster than the Unnamed program lost my respect, which needless to say, was fast.
Shenanigan Number Two
After a week in Connecticut, we were off to Queens and St. John’s University for phase two of our training. This was my first time in New York, which meant trips to landmarks. I found myself overwhelmed by the mob of tourists and blinding glow of advertisements in Times Square one rainy night. I was with my same friend from the library, and we decided that it would be fun to sneak onto a roof of one of the nearby towering buildings. So we strolled into a hotel like we owned it, punched “PH” in the elevator, and waited as we ascended thirty-five floors. Once at the top, we perused the hallway and eventually came to stairs that led another floor higher, and to a door that was conveniently propped open—and that just so happened to lead to the roof. I didn’t hesitate to walk through it. My first instinct was to head for the ledge and look down. The height was dizzying. And nauseating. And thrilling. We stood on that roof for at least an hour, watching the mindless movement below us. The mild drizzle slowly drenched us, but we couldn’t have cared less, free from the city’s mash of bustle and light.
Shenanigan Number Three
After nearly five weeks at St. John’s, I was beginning to think my dream of chancing upon a golf cart key would not be fulfilled. The staff members at the university tooled around on them, blissfully liberated from the banality of walking. On my third to last night, I peaked at the ignition of a parked golf cart. As I’d been doing this for five weeks to no avail, you can probably imagine my joy when, on this third to last night, I finally found what I’d been looking for: a key in the ignition. The same friend—my partner in crime, so to speak—hopped in that golf cart and we sped away like bandits from a bank. It was utter elation to drive that machine that I’d been yearning for. We giggled our way around campus, trying to balance showing off our new ride to friends and not drawing the attention of public-safety personnel. We ended up driving three different golf carts that night as the key worked in all of them.
There were some shenanigans I didn’t get to, such as finding our way onto the roof of the library at St. John’s and unsuccessfully attempting to touch the gold bell that tops the building, swimming in a non-swimming area off Governor’s Island and quickly hopping out as an NYPD boat came our way, and playing three-on-three in a park when we were supposed to hand out propaganda, uh, fliers to community members at Unnamed program’s bidding.
These shenanigans kept me sane when Unnamed program threatened to break me. I encourage all you dear readers to spend a day dissenting. I think it's more fun than compliance.
When I read those words in Woman on the Edge of Time, I dog-eared the crap out of the page. When I finished the book, I wrote the line on a notecard and tacked it to my very sentimental corkboard. I wrote a personal essay at the end of my college career that was not selected to appear in the magazine I worked for at the University of Oregon, and I ended it with a similar line. “The trick isn’t to exist in past moments, it’s to actively engage this one. It will pass anyhow.”
I love that I moved across the country. It took me most of the years of my life to realize the value of uprooting yourself from a place of comfort and routine, saying wrenching goodbyes to loved ones, and moving into a completely foreign place, and this is precisely what I did six weeks ago. I haven’t regretted it for a second of the thousands I’ve spent getting to know curious people and vibrant places in greater volume than ever before.
I’m not ashamed to admit that this blog is coming too late. I’m equally unashamed to blame this on the tedium and, for the majority of the time, pointlessness that comprised my training to become a teacher. I’ll call the program I’m currently a member of Unnamed program, so as to make it less likely that They read this. I will say, however, that despite the uncomfortably inept training, I managed to enjoy myself throughout most of it. I want to share with you some of the experiences that allowed me to stomach the incompetency that was my first weeks of professional life (which in this case is a very subjective phrase). I want to entertain you, of course, but I also want to keep a record of the shenanigans that I’ll wish to relive in the future.
A caveat before I begin: though the words below are light-hearted, much of what I’ve learned has been eye opening and sobering. I believe humor is powerful, and though the injustices I’m becoming aware of are detestably hidden in plain sight, I feel I must preserve my nature if I’m to preserve my will. So laugh now. We’ll talk more seriously soon.
Shenanigan Number One
During my first weekend in Connecticut, I managed to find an open window of the library on the campus where we were staying. I decided the only plausible next step would be to crawl through it. So I did. I should mention that I did not act alone. Once inside, another dissenter and I tiptoed around, oblivious to the motion-sensored alarm system that we eventually tripped. After we sprinted out of the library like we were running from staff members of our Unnamed program, we hid. We watched a public-safety vehicle drive to the library. We waited for it to leave before reentering through the same window and returning to the exact room where we’d set off the alarm. This time, however, we went stealth-mode on that alarm system. We crawled around a metal detector (which was unnecessary but dramatic) before hugging the walls and peaking around corners like Austin Powers. We knew what the motion sensors looked like—mounted to ceilings and resembling single alien eyes that never blinked—so we were able to avoid them all the way to the top floor. But we got lazy—or maybe the alien eyes got sharper, for we tripped the alarm for a second time as we came back down the stairs. We booked it down the final three floors faster than the Unnamed program lost my respect, which needless to say, was fast.
Shenanigan Number Two
After a week in Connecticut, we were off to Queens and St. John’s University for phase two of our training. This was my first time in New York, which meant trips to landmarks. I found myself overwhelmed by the mob of tourists and blinding glow of advertisements in Times Square one rainy night. I was with my same friend from the library, and we decided that it would be fun to sneak onto a roof of one of the nearby towering buildings. So we strolled into a hotel like we owned it, punched “PH” in the elevator, and waited as we ascended thirty-five floors. Once at the top, we perused the hallway and eventually came to stairs that led another floor higher, and to a door that was conveniently propped open—and that just so happened to lead to the roof. I didn’t hesitate to walk through it. My first instinct was to head for the ledge and look down. The height was dizzying. And nauseating. And thrilling. We stood on that roof for at least an hour, watching the mindless movement below us. The mild drizzle slowly drenched us, but we couldn’t have cared less, free from the city’s mash of bustle and light.
Shenanigan Number Three
After nearly five weeks at St. John’s, I was beginning to think my dream of chancing upon a golf cart key would not be fulfilled. The staff members at the university tooled around on them, blissfully liberated from the banality of walking. On my third to last night, I peaked at the ignition of a parked golf cart. As I’d been doing this for five weeks to no avail, you can probably imagine my joy when, on this third to last night, I finally found what I’d been looking for: a key in the ignition. The same friend—my partner in crime, so to speak—hopped in that golf cart and we sped away like bandits from a bank. It was utter elation to drive that machine that I’d been yearning for. We giggled our way around campus, trying to balance showing off our new ride to friends and not drawing the attention of public-safety personnel. We ended up driving three different golf carts that night as the key worked in all of them.
There were some shenanigans I didn’t get to, such as finding our way onto the roof of the library at St. John’s and unsuccessfully attempting to touch the gold bell that tops the building, swimming in a non-swimming area off Governor’s Island and quickly hopping out as an NYPD boat came our way, and playing three-on-three in a park when we were supposed to hand out propaganda, uh, fliers to community members at Unnamed program’s bidding.
These shenanigans kept me sane when Unnamed program threatened to break me. I encourage all you dear readers to spend a day dissenting. I think it's more fun than compliance.