I used to be embarrassed about being tree hugger girl. Recycling girl. Compost girl. While standing in the dining hall during dinner hours and instructing people that they should compost their paper napkins I would think, “God, I look ridiculous. People must think I have no life.” Even though I knew that what I was doing was important, it seemed pretty boring and stupid at the time.
Then something occurred to me. Some people probably do think that I’m an annoying, plant-worshiping, environmental nerd. But a lot of people think it’s cool. It was pretty lonely standing next to a trash can of food slop in plastic gloves and an apron for a few hours, but in reality, I am one of over three million college students who volunteer (www.nationalservice.gov).
And there are so many activists in the world who are much more dedicated to their causes than me--Bono, Al Gore, Angelina Jolie. I’ve never thought, “Jeez, why can’t the Dahli Lama just give it a break for a second and play some Super Smash Brothers this weekend like a normal person?”
In fact, the only negative thought I can possibly have regarding other activists is guilt because they are much more generous with their time and resources than me. I discovered that there is no reason to be ashamed of being a passionate person. And as soon as I stopped being embarrassed about being an eco-freak, I was suddenly way more hip and interesting.
When I asked Ashley George, the coordinator for the Center for Service and Civic Engagement, one reason why someone should volunteer, she said, activism is “essential to the functioning of our communities and connect[s] us as human being to each other in a way that can’t happen in many other capacities.” Okay—so I didn’t feel particularly connected to humanity during my existence as compost girl, but that’s because I hadn’t found a type of service that could grab my attention. It turned out that environmental architecture was my thing.
With this in mind, I have an assignment for the semester: be a freak. Find an issue that gets you foaming at the mouth, (maybe Champlain being a dry campus, skateboard bans in your hometown, or littering,) and do something about it. Research it. Tell your friends about it. Write a letter to someone with power. Design a t-shirt about it. Meet other people who are interested in it. Bring it up in class discussions. Dress up as it for Halloween, and when people ask, tell them about it!
You might feel foolish and a little obsessed at first, but I think you’ll find that your friends respect you for not hiding the most interesting aspects of your personality from them. Yes, a few laugh and say, “dude, you’re wasting your time,” but in the end, other people will see that they are the absurd ones, not you. Especially for the guys, girls love it when you get worked up about animal abuse or homelessness or cancer research, so don’t be afraid to flout your cause. There are plenty of other bonuses to becoming an expert about an issue, too. You’ll have a subject to write your next research paper about. You’ll meet other people with the same interest as you. You’ll be able to volunteer your time for something that actually interests you. You’ll become aware of other related issues that may interest you even more. And you may find a career focus or lifelong hobby.
The only way to get motivated to do all these things, though, is to find an issue that gets you jazzed. So pick up a newspaper or watch the news--even the Daily Show can get you started. Once you get going, it won’t seem more like work any longer--more like a mission. Ever notice that Superman and Batman seem to be the most popular and lovable characters on their shows? It’s because everyone loves daring, generous, and optimistic people, so be the coolest person you know this year and do something BIG.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Caution: Snowmen Xing
It snowed for 24 hours straight in Burlington yesterday and I loved it. It’s not that I’m a snow connoisseur—I don’t ski or snowboard or enjoy stepping in slush puddles on the way to the bus—I just love emergencies. This isn’t the first time I’ve said it, either. I’ve admitted it for years.
Actually, I think almost everyone loves emergencies, but we don’t like to say it out loud. It seems mean-spirited to enjoy the panic of a snowstorm when you know someone is probably out there skidding into a telephone pole or worrying if their furnace will run out of fuel tonight. It’s not the pain and frustration that I like about emergencies, though. It’s the …(prepare yourself for gross, clichéd word)…freedom.
In everyday life, I’ve got about 5,000 activities going at once, and for the most part I’m just trying to do all of them well enough so that I don’t have to look at them ever again. I don’t go very far out of my way to help other people in normal life because I’ve got so much of my own jobs going on that I can’t be bothered with someone else’s. Also, on regular days, my “to do” list rules my life. If I’m not doing something productive, I start feeling guilty and force myself to do annoying and sometimes unnecessary work.
In emergencies, though, everything I do becomes more organic, and (for the most part) makes more sense. In out-of-the-ordinary days, I almost always naturally wake up early and have guilt-free time to sit in my bed staring at the wall for 20 minutes before I get up and have a bowl of cereal. (I have this sitting and staring into space problem that Allyson always makes fun of me about. I don’t notice that I do it, but apparently it happens a lot. I think it’s a writer thing.)
During emergencies, I can take the time help someone out, because the 5,000 “important” duties that I would normally have are cancelled or out of my control at the moment. From my window at Spinner I saw a woman offer to push some people out of their parking space because their Oldsmobile had gotten stuck in the snow, and the whole dilemma ended up taking about five minutes to fix (which I think is more time than the lady was bargaining for in her work clothes and ankle-deep slush) but she never let on that she was annoyed with these people for not getting their tires changed since 1981.
The best part about emergencies is that they’re really exciting, but also extremely boring at the same time. During my sophomore year of high school, someone called in a bomb threat every Wednesday morning for three months. We would all get shipped off to the Civic Center to wait for police to check the building, which meant that we had pretty much nothing to do for a few hours. The only way to know you have really, really bonded with people is to forced to be with them and have nothing do, but still have a hilarious time.
It finally stopped snowing this morning and everything seems to have gone back to normal. The only clues that yesterday had been out-of-the-ordinary were the four giant snowmen and one igloo that I saw from the bus on my way to class. It was good while it lasted. More snow this weekend?
Actually, I think almost everyone loves emergencies, but we don’t like to say it out loud. It seems mean-spirited to enjoy the panic of a snowstorm when you know someone is probably out there skidding into a telephone pole or worrying if their furnace will run out of fuel tonight. It’s not the pain and frustration that I like about emergencies, though. It’s the …(prepare yourself for gross, clichéd word)…freedom.
In everyday life, I’ve got about 5,000 activities going at once, and for the most part I’m just trying to do all of them well enough so that I don’t have to look at them ever again. I don’t go very far out of my way to help other people in normal life because I’ve got so much of my own jobs going on that I can’t be bothered with someone else’s. Also, on regular days, my “to do” list rules my life. If I’m not doing something productive, I start feeling guilty and force myself to do annoying and sometimes unnecessary work.
In emergencies, though, everything I do becomes more organic, and (for the most part) makes more sense. In out-of-the-ordinary days, I almost always naturally wake up early and have guilt-free time to sit in my bed staring at the wall for 20 minutes before I get up and have a bowl of cereal. (I have this sitting and staring into space problem that Allyson always makes fun of me about. I don’t notice that I do it, but apparently it happens a lot. I think it’s a writer thing.)
During emergencies, I can take the time help someone out, because the 5,000 “important” duties that I would normally have are cancelled or out of my control at the moment. From my window at Spinner I saw a woman offer to push some people out of their parking space because their Oldsmobile had gotten stuck in the snow, and the whole dilemma ended up taking about five minutes to fix (which I think is more time than the lady was bargaining for in her work clothes and ankle-deep slush) but she never let on that she was annoyed with these people for not getting their tires changed since 1981.
The best part about emergencies is that they’re really exciting, but also extremely boring at the same time. During my sophomore year of high school, someone called in a bomb threat every Wednesday morning for three months. We would all get shipped off to the Civic Center to wait for police to check the building, which meant that we had pretty much nothing to do for a few hours. The only way to know you have really, really bonded with people is to forced to be with them and have nothing do, but still have a hilarious time.
It finally stopped snowing this morning and everything seems to have gone back to normal. The only clues that yesterday had been out-of-the-ordinary were the four giant snowmen and one igloo that I saw from the bus on my way to class. It was good while it lasted. More snow this weekend?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Bobsled
This January I resolved to play outside more. It sounds like a lame challenge, I know. Actually, It sounds like I am trying to revert back to a childish behavior instead of pushing myself to be bigger and badder.
To be honest, I decided to play outside more because I needed more fresh air and exercise in my life than I was getting last fall, so I am now making time for aimless outdoor adventures.
Which is why I went bobsledding last weekend.
It sounded like a quaint Saturday afternoon activity until I saw a bobsled go by me at 80 miles per hour. Speed doesn’t seem that impressive when you’re in a car or train or plane because there’s no wind resistance, so it doesn’t feel that different whether you’re going 20 or 100 miles per hour. Not true with bobsledding.
Bobsleds do not have windshields. They also do not close in the back. They are not cushioned or equipped with airbags. You do not get strapped in to them. Overall, they have less safety features than a banana peel. What they do have is tracks on the bottom that look like wide, iron ice skate blades.
While waiting for my turn to get pushed onto an ice slope in a metal casket, I felt myself becoming my mom.
Mom doesn’t do things like bobsledding. She doesn’t go on theme-park rides. She does not jump off of cliffs into water. Besides cars, she does not drive motorized vehicles. She does not play contact sports. All in all, she does not get any thrill out of danger.
Since high school, I have slowly been collecting her fears. When I was nine, I would jump off of rock cliffs into water. Now, I don’t.
While I shivered in the cold at the “launching deck” for the bobsleds, I wished I had put my foot down (like mom would have) and refused to even consider going to an event like bobsledding.
When I got to the bottom, I was glad that I had done it. Picking up speed on a downward slope is always intoxicating. There’s no way to explain why going faster and faster and faster is fun. Also, I had conquered my fear of the bobsled. I had completed an outdoor activity that wasn’t physically straining, but still hard. I had overcome my mom instinct.
This post is not intended as an anti-mom. It’s an anti-irrational fear post. My mom has already made up her mind about activities she would like to do and activities she would not. There’s nothing wrong with that, and if you’ve ever met my mom, you would know that she’s not changing her mind anyways.
What I’m hoping to do is prevent myself from limiting the things I chose to do, so that I won’t have to fear bobsledding and contact sports in the future. Jumping off of high cliffs into water is already out of the question for me, so now is the window of time when I decide what it is I will do.
To be honest, I decided to play outside more because I needed more fresh air and exercise in my life than I was getting last fall, so I am now making time for aimless outdoor adventures.
Which is why I went bobsledding last weekend.
It sounded like a quaint Saturday afternoon activity until I saw a bobsled go by me at 80 miles per hour. Speed doesn’t seem that impressive when you’re in a car or train or plane because there’s no wind resistance, so it doesn’t feel that different whether you’re going 20 or 100 miles per hour. Not true with bobsledding.
Bobsleds do not have windshields. They also do not close in the back. They are not cushioned or equipped with airbags. You do not get strapped in to them. Overall, they have less safety features than a banana peel. What they do have is tracks on the bottom that look like wide, iron ice skate blades.
While waiting for my turn to get pushed onto an ice slope in a metal casket, I felt myself becoming my mom.
Mom doesn’t do things like bobsledding. She doesn’t go on theme-park rides. She does not jump off of cliffs into water. Besides cars, she does not drive motorized vehicles. She does not play contact sports. All in all, she does not get any thrill out of danger.
Since high school, I have slowly been collecting her fears. When I was nine, I would jump off of rock cliffs into water. Now, I don’t.
While I shivered in the cold at the “launching deck” for the bobsleds, I wished I had put my foot down (like mom would have) and refused to even consider going to an event like bobsledding.
When I got to the bottom, I was glad that I had done it. Picking up speed on a downward slope is always intoxicating. There’s no way to explain why going faster and faster and faster is fun. Also, I had conquered my fear of the bobsled. I had completed an outdoor activity that wasn’t physically straining, but still hard. I had overcome my mom instinct.
This post is not intended as an anti-mom. It’s an anti-irrational fear post. My mom has already made up her mind about activities she would like to do and activities she would not. There’s nothing wrong with that, and if you’ve ever met my mom, you would know that she’s not changing her mind anyways.
What I’m hoping to do is prevent myself from limiting the things I chose to do, so that I won’t have to fear bobsledding and contact sports in the future. Jumping off of high cliffs into water is already out of the question for me, so now is the window of time when I decide what it is I will do.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Thoughts for a Wednesday
I thought of this idea in about three minutes this morning while studying for my Capitalism and Democracy quiz. I blurted it all out on the page at once, and it happened to end up in poetry. I've never had this idea before, and I don't live up to any of what I am preaching here, but I think it makes sense for me to start trying.
* * *
Do not reward yourself for hard work.
Do not reward yourself for cynicism, or intelligence,
Or ingenuity, or optimism.
Do not reward yourself for social aptitude.
Do not reward yourself for individuality or rebellion.
Do not reward yourself for feats of manipulation, or humor,
Or romance, or efficiency.
Reward balance.
* * *
Do not reward yourself for hard work.
Do not reward yourself for cynicism, or intelligence,
Or ingenuity, or optimism.
Do not reward yourself for social aptitude.
Do not reward yourself for individuality or rebellion.
Do not reward yourself for feats of manipulation, or humor,
Or romance, or efficiency.
Reward balance.
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