Chic Eco Freak Seeks Equally Freaky; Superhero Capes Preferred

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.

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?

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.

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.

The Hut

FOUND (aka another post about the hobo hut, Darin, and my cell phone)

When we were walking down to check on the hobo hut yesterday, Darin said, “hey, maybe we’ll find your phone,” and I said I hope not, because finding your phone after going through all the trouble of getting a new one is like getting remarried after all the trouble of getting divorced. (I actually have no idea if that analogy works.)
But there it was -- glistening with water, smiling, and still (remarkably) turned on with (even more remarkably) full battery. It was hidden in about the most obvious place ever, a foot away from the entrance of the hobo hut, and about three feet away from where I realized I had lost it. Since the hobo hut seems to have turned into a place for hobos to sleep at night and college students to visit by day, I have no idea how the phone could have possibly stayed there for seven days without getting picked up or stepped on. My roommate Allyson thinks that the hobo must have charged the battery for me at some point during the week. I have trouble disagreeing with her. If someone wasn’t taking care of it, I can’t imagine how it could have survived a week of snow, freezing temperatures, and other people being down there. What I am certain of is that fate and hobos work in mysterious ways and that we should be kind to both of them. Last week I thought losing my cell phone was the worst thing that could have happened, but this week I’m weirdly glad that it did.

LOST

Day #1: In Denial

Last Sunday I put three things in my jacket pocket before I left the apartment: my camera, my keys, and my cell phone. I also poured myself a quick glass of orange soda before I headed out because it was the only beverage we had in the fridge besides Ketchup. I met Darin at the elevator. Our intention was to do something cool, like build a snow cave or something, but instead we ended up walking up to a large snow bank across the street, kicking it a few times, and giving up. We decided to walk down the trail by the Winooski River to see how Ian’s fort held up over Christmas vacation. Ian’s fort was built by my friend Ian. He made it a few months ago in the woods near our apartment building because we were going through this nature survival tv program phase (i.e. Bear Grylls.) Anyways, when we got there, I saw that someone (college students, a homeless person??) had tripled the size of the shelter with logs added across the front. This was exciting to me, and knew Ian would be thrilled about these developments, so I had to call him to discuss it. That’s when I discovered I had lost my cell phone – which is where I was going with this story.

I panicked when I realized it was gone, and began searching the ground around the hobo hut, thinking that it must have dropped out of my pocket. Darin came up with reasonable explanations for where it might be (at the apartment) and I – being quite flustered and certain that he was wrong – insisted that it could only be in unreasonable places (stolen by a hobo.) When I got back home, I swept over the apartment, but too much in despair to try that hard to look for it. I already knew I wouldn’t find it. It was on vibrate, which mean that if it was in the snow, I wouldn’t hear it, and if it was in my apartment, I would hear it (which I didn’t.)

Day #2: I wish everyone I knew would lose something valuable to them, so that they would understand my suffering.

I was angry at the world for swallowing up my two month old cell phone, and I couldn’t stop obsessing over how gone it was. It was hard to concentrate on homework that day because my thoughts would go, “Okay, I need to read page PHONE ten in this book and answer PHONE questions about PHONE PHONE PHONE it to post PHONE online.” My pocket felt empty. I kept wanting to call people to tell them that I lost my phone. I would be stabbed through the heart every time I realized how much that idea didn’t make sense. I also felt insanely jealous of anyone I saw operating a telephone that day, especially my friends. “Insensitive traitors!” I would think.

I also made a plan with my mom that if I didn’t find my phone by tomorrow, she would replace it, but it would have to be mailed to me, since U.S. Cellular doesn’t exist in Vermont. That meant it would arrive at the earliest on Friday. Friday seemed really far away.

Day #3: Ready to talk about it.

By now, I had realized that my phone was actually gone and I was ready to go public with the news. My Facebook message read: “LOST: 1 grey and orange phone yesterday (sunday) in spinner/skating rink/trail to Ian's fort. Responds by vibrating when called.”

I was also able to think practically about the matter at certain times throughout the day. I cleaned out my desk drawer in case it was buried in the clutter. I made a third trip out to the hobo hut but I didn’t really look for the phone, because it was clear that someone was sleeping in it at night, and I was afraid of being raped and murdered if I hung out there too long.

At other times throughout the day, I was still angry and unreasonable about my loss. I looked at some baby photos of myself on the computer to make my problem seem insignificant in the context of my entire life. It helped a little, but then I just felt stupid about looking at the pictures at all. Also, all of the stress made me want to call my mom a lot. Which reminded me that I didn’t have a phone a lot.

Day #4: Feeling like a pioneer, except instead of traversing the Great Plains in a wagon without getting dysentery, I have traversed 72 hours without instant connection to everyone I know.

I had a revelation about communication today: they way people solve (or try to solve) their problems in 2010 is by announcing them to the world. Think about how many “FML” Facebook statuses are out there. Every time something goes wrong, we whip out our cell phones and call someone for reassurance. It’s how we cope with scary and confusing. Last winter, when I got pulled over by a cop for the first time, I called my dad when I couldn’t find the car’s registration instead of continuing to look for it like a reasonable person would. I probably thought his voice would reassure me, but if he hadn’t picked up, I would or wouldn’t have figured out where the paper was, and either way, I’d have gotten through it.

After that thought, I felt much more Zen about the matter. I did start to feel pretty tough for spending a whole week of college without a cell phone, but then I started thinking about the guy in the hobo hut…

photo from:

http://www.aboutcellulars.com