It's pretty weird to write about this, but as this blog is supposed to be about finding your true self in your twenties it would be almost dishonest to leave out the big change going on in my life right now. So here goes.
My boyfriend and I were together for over two years. And we moved in together a few months ago. And we broke up this week.
I won't go into the details of our relationship or our break up. All the things that matter are obviously personal and special to both he and I, and don't need to be shared with everybody. What I want to write about is the transition from being in a committed relationship with the love of my life to being single and independent.
What I will say is that we have the good fortune of ending things on very good terms. While the moment of decision was not necessarily mutual, we both know in our hearts that this is the right thing to do, and we will support each other along the way. That doesn't make it any easier though. It is extremely hard to now be living in the home that we made together all by myself. It's so difficult to not talk to him about every thought and feeling I'm experiencing. And it's next to impossible to try to look to the future and move on, knowing that I simply met my soul mate at the wrong time.
When I was nineteen, I loved being single. I was going out all the time and dating a lot of guys, and I'd just stopped seeing someone I really liked because it felt like it was starting to get serious. I loved being independent and free. I could appreciate that I was young and should live in the moment, but I also had so many plans. One reason I was so adamant about not getting serious with anybody was because I was about to move to England for six months. But then a few weeks before I left I met the man who would become my boyfriend for the next couple years. In hindsight, the problems in our relationship trace back to that unlucky timing. I fell in love with him, but that doesn't mean I grew up and instantly became girlfriend material.
Of course, the majority of our relationship was fun and happy and positive. But when problems did arise, we always seemed to come back to this point about timing. I was not ready for a relationship when I met him, yet could not seem to say no to him like I'd been able to do with other guys because of the simple fact that I did love him. This tension and confusion built up inside me, and seemed to come out in horrible ways sometimes. If only we'd met a couple years later, when I'd decided for myself that I was ready for a boyfriend before we met, then maybe I would have fit the relationship mould a little better. I do not believe that I loved the wrong person, I just believe that it happened at the wrong time. And it's hard to get over that.
Now I am finding myself back where I was at the age of nineteen, just halfway through university. Except I'm 21. And I'm graduating. Wouldn't it have been perfect if I'd spent the past two years living the single student life, and been ready for a relationship now, as the rest of my life is beginning? Too bad you can't go back in time.
One positive spin that a lot of my friends and family have been presenting to me is the fact that my life would be changing right now anyway. In a few weeks I will be done with school, and I already didn't know where I would be working or what I would be doing. Now I can just add that I also don't know where I'll be living or who I'll be doing this with... In moments of sadness and regret, this thought brings all-consuming loneliness, but in moments of optimism, it brings feelings of liberation. For the first time in a while, I can legitimately make it all about me. I can be selfish without hurting anybody in the process. I can potentially go anywhere and do anything. Uncertainty can be terrifying, but it can also be freeing.
It's a stretch to say that that idea excites me already. Right now, the focus is on getting used to being by myself in the day to day. It's hard to say good bye to somebody who shared your life so completely. But at least I have that glimmer of possibility now. I can slowly start to grab hold of the adventurous ambition that used to define me, and do whatever it is that I want to do. Up until a couple weeks ago, I thought my twenties would consist of starting a career and a family. But maybe my twenties will be all about carefree spontaneity. Maybe I'll revert back to that impulsive nineteen year old and finally complete that stage of my life. OR maybe I'll learn that a serious relationship actually is what I really want. Either way, it's all about finding your true self - learning who you are and what you want. I guess we'll have to wait and see what happens.
Friday 29 March 2013
Wednesday 27 March 2013
Sun
The sun really has the power to improve my mood a lot. Everything is so much better when it's sunny out. Here in Vancouver, we are much more accustomed to rain than sun, and it seems like sometimes we don't even notice that we've fallen victim to the rainy funk. All through September and October there are rainy spells, until that one day in November when you realize that you can't even remember the last day without rain. This continues for weeks, all through the Winter, with the exception of those few days when you try to call the white stuff falling from the sky 'snow' even though it's going to turn into streams of brown slush and be washed away by a fresh batch of rain within the day. As the end of February approaches, there are those one or two sporadic days of sun, when you think you can see Spring coming but don't allow yourself to get too excited about it yet since this cycle happens every year and you know the inevitable rain will return shortly. Sure enough, there are a couple more weeks of rain and wind, even though, thankfully, it's a little warmer now, until . . . today. The sun is out, the sky is blue, and the rain is gone. And maayybbee this time it's for good?
As a born and raised Vancouverite, I've lived with the determined insistence that I like the rain. Sometimes it's pretty hard to make it from Monday to Friday unless you keep telling yourself that. Especially on days when you're carrying a bag filled with five textbooks, a laptop, a coffee, and an umbrella as you jog to the classroom that's a good two kilometers from the bus loop with your new leather boots getting soaked through and your umbrella continually being blown inside out. In times like this it helps to chant "I like the rain. I like the rain." as you leap over puddles and sidestep other drowning students. And at moments, I really do genuinely like the rain. Writing a paper is actually much easier and much more enjoyable when it's raining and you're cozy inside the library with a hot chocolate and all the other focused students who are avoiding the trek back home. It's a bit different when it's sunny out and you can catch glimpses of people suntanning through the window as you're constantly taking your sweater off and putting it back on in the air-conditioned library.
However, as much as I try to find the golden moments in my rainy city and convince myself that I like the rain, the truth is that the sun is so much better. As soon as that sun comes out, everything is warmer and happier. Earlier today, my friend and I had a two hour break and we decided to not do any work and just wander . . . This was a strange concept for both of us. But after some lunch we meandered outside where we watched Storm the Wall for a little bit. This is a competition that happens at UBC at the end of every year in which people cycle, swim, run, and then find their way over a twelve foot wall. It was great to be surrounded by that school spirit, especially at the end of my last semester at UBC, and it was made all the better by the fact that I could comfortably stand there in a T-shirt and denim jacket and actually needed sunglasses to see properly. Next we strolled over to the UBC bookstore (one of my favourite places in the world . . . which probably doesn't come as a surprise) and then up to the new UBC fountain. It was so nice to be outside in the sun with nowhere we had to go, just enjoying our gorgeous campus and all the people around us. (One thing we loved observing was the clothing schizophrenia that happens this time of the year. There are some people in shorts and flip-flops, desperately trying to turn today into summer, and some people still in their boots and coats, clearly trying not to get their hopes up. Oh, Vancouver.)
It was a great break in the midst of a busy week, and something that would not have happened in the rain. The sun brings with it the freedom to take a break, and it is in those slow moments that true feelings of contentment set in. Let's hope that this time Spring is here to stay!
As a born and raised Vancouverite, I've lived with the determined insistence that I like the rain. Sometimes it's pretty hard to make it from Monday to Friday unless you keep telling yourself that. Especially on days when you're carrying a bag filled with five textbooks, a laptop, a coffee, and an umbrella as you jog to the classroom that's a good two kilometers from the bus loop with your new leather boots getting soaked through and your umbrella continually being blown inside out. In times like this it helps to chant "I like the rain. I like the rain." as you leap over puddles and sidestep other drowning students. And at moments, I really do genuinely like the rain. Writing a paper is actually much easier and much more enjoyable when it's raining and you're cozy inside the library with a hot chocolate and all the other focused students who are avoiding the trek back home. It's a bit different when it's sunny out and you can catch glimpses of people suntanning through the window as you're constantly taking your sweater off and putting it back on in the air-conditioned library.
However, as much as I try to find the golden moments in my rainy city and convince myself that I like the rain, the truth is that the sun is so much better. As soon as that sun comes out, everything is warmer and happier. Earlier today, my friend and I had a two hour break and we decided to not do any work and just wander . . . This was a strange concept for both of us. But after some lunch we meandered outside where we watched Storm the Wall for a little bit. This is a competition that happens at UBC at the end of every year in which people cycle, swim, run, and then find their way over a twelve foot wall. It was great to be surrounded by that school spirit, especially at the end of my last semester at UBC, and it was made all the better by the fact that I could comfortably stand there in a T-shirt and denim jacket and actually needed sunglasses to see properly. Next we strolled over to the UBC bookstore (one of my favourite places in the world . . . which probably doesn't come as a surprise) and then up to the new UBC fountain. It was so nice to be outside in the sun with nowhere we had to go, just enjoying our gorgeous campus and all the people around us. (One thing we loved observing was the clothing schizophrenia that happens this time of the year. There are some people in shorts and flip-flops, desperately trying to turn today into summer, and some people still in their boots and coats, clearly trying not to get their hopes up. Oh, Vancouver.)
It was a great break in the midst of a busy week, and something that would not have happened in the rain. The sun brings with it the freedom to take a break, and it is in those slow moments that true feelings of contentment set in. Let's hope that this time Spring is here to stay!
Monday 25 March 2013
Full Circle
I have two weeks of classes left before exams and then I'm done my BA. Notice the absence of an exclamation point there. Because I am not excited.
I love being a student! (!) And while of course there have been many times when I've been wishing that I was this close to the end, now that it is here, it's pretty bitter. (People around me keep saying "bittersweet" but I'm not there yet.)
Two big things happened today to shock me into this comatose state in which I drag my studying heels as much possible. The first is that I had my last English Majors Seminar. This is a required course that every English Lit. student has to take in their last year, and I absolutely loved mine. Now that it's over, I'm realizing that my entire undergraduate experience is coming to an end. It didn't help that my professor decided the conceit of the discussion would be full circles and how the end always leads back to the beginning (cue irrational panic attack: have I accomplished nothing in four years!?) while serving cookies that he informed us could be bought at a 24 hour bakery downtown that we must look out for next time we find ourselves on Robson St. at 1:00AM in an altered state (I'm going to miss that guy). The good news is, I still have my term paper to write for this class, so that's something to look forward to...
The second is that my little brother got accepted to UBC! While I am extremely proud and excited for him, I am also somewhat devastated for myself. Why does he get to start the best four years of his life while mine are ending!? It was just another reminder that this whole experience is coming to an end, and that I'm approaching it increasingly quickly.
I suppose the root of my anxiety (other than the fact that I genuinely enjoy school and am dreading waking up every day without plans of walking around the most gorgeous campus in the world from one stimulating lecture to the next) is simply the fact that I have been in school for so long. What am I if not a student? This is how I've labelled and defined myself for the past twenty years. It's going to be strange to have something else to write on the 'occupation' line of forms, and it's going to be really strange to stop answering the question "What do you want to be?" and start answering the question "What do you do?"
But, I guess a different twist can be put on all of this. In a few weeks, I will have the freedom to go anywhere and do anything that I want. I won't have reading lists and paper deadlines, or lectures and meetings. I can grab back some of that ambition and adventure that has seemed to escape me over the past couple years as I've settled into a routine of read - write - read - write. I used to love travelling and working and learning in every way, not just in the classroom. These are things that I will have more opportunities for now that being a student won't be taking up all my time.
This might be a good chance to explain the "twenty" part of my "Twenty True," as many people have been asking me what this means. The "truth" part was explained in my first post. The "twenty" part simply refers to the fact that this process of finding my true self is happening in my twenties, as I think it does for many people. This again puts another positive twist on my impending graduation - I'm only 21! The next nine years and beyond will be spent figuring out exactly who I am and what I want. This first student phase is over, but there is so much more to come. This end is actually just another beginning.
And so, I am deciding in this moment that I'm only going to focus on the sweetness of these last few weeks of school and look forward to whatever is coming next, being excited (and a little terrified) about the fact that I have no idea what is about to happen.
I love being a student! (!) And while of course there have been many times when I've been wishing that I was this close to the end, now that it is here, it's pretty bitter. (People around me keep saying "bittersweet" but I'm not there yet.)
Two big things happened today to shock me into this comatose state in which I drag my studying heels as much possible. The first is that I had my last English Majors Seminar. This is a required course that every English Lit. student has to take in their last year, and I absolutely loved mine. Now that it's over, I'm realizing that my entire undergraduate experience is coming to an end. It didn't help that my professor decided the conceit of the discussion would be full circles and how the end always leads back to the beginning (cue irrational panic attack: have I accomplished nothing in four years!?) while serving cookies that he informed us could be bought at a 24 hour bakery downtown that we must look out for next time we find ourselves on Robson St. at 1:00AM in an altered state (I'm going to miss that guy). The good news is, I still have my term paper to write for this class, so that's something to look forward to...
The second is that my little brother got accepted to UBC! While I am extremely proud and excited for him, I am also somewhat devastated for myself. Why does he get to start the best four years of his life while mine are ending!? It was just another reminder that this whole experience is coming to an end, and that I'm approaching it increasingly quickly.
I suppose the root of my anxiety (other than the fact that I genuinely enjoy school and am dreading waking up every day without plans of walking around the most gorgeous campus in the world from one stimulating lecture to the next) is simply the fact that I have been in school for so long. What am I if not a student? This is how I've labelled and defined myself for the past twenty years. It's going to be strange to have something else to write on the 'occupation' line of forms, and it's going to be really strange to stop answering the question "What do you want to be?" and start answering the question "What do you do?"
But, I guess a different twist can be put on all of this. In a few weeks, I will have the freedom to go anywhere and do anything that I want. I won't have reading lists and paper deadlines, or lectures and meetings. I can grab back some of that ambition and adventure that has seemed to escape me over the past couple years as I've settled into a routine of read - write - read - write. I used to love travelling and working and learning in every way, not just in the classroom. These are things that I will have more opportunities for now that being a student won't be taking up all my time.
This might be a good chance to explain the "twenty" part of my "Twenty True," as many people have been asking me what this means. The "truth" part was explained in my first post. The "twenty" part simply refers to the fact that this process of finding my true self is happening in my twenties, as I think it does for many people. This again puts another positive twist on my impending graduation - I'm only 21! The next nine years and beyond will be spent figuring out exactly who I am and what I want. This first student phase is over, but there is so much more to come. This end is actually just another beginning.
And so, I am deciding in this moment that I'm only going to focus on the sweetness of these last few weeks of school and look forward to whatever is coming next, being excited (and a little terrified) about the fact that I have no idea what is about to happen.
Monday 11 March 2013
Why?
"Why do you keep hitting your head against the wall?"
"Because it feels so good when I stop."
This was said to me the other day as a pithy reiteration of the feelings I'd been trying to express about running. I run a lot, and some of the time (when the weather is nice and I'm in good shape) I have fun doing so. But, most of the time, I don't actually enjoy the run until it's over. (This is because of something I've mentioned before - my obsession with particulars. If I'm not consistently hitting five minute kilometers as I'm running, then I tend to get a bit stressed out and my focus turns to checking my watch every three seconds as I try to pick up the pace while getting increasingly sweaty and out of breath. I should work on relaxing that standard.) Anyway, while the run can be enjoyable in itself sometimes, most often the enjoyment comes for me as soon as it's done. Once I've completed the distance I've assigned for myself that day, and feel as if I've consistently run as fast as I can, the feeling that comes over me is amazing. In the summer I ran a half marathon and set the goal for myself that I would run the entire thing, no matter how slow my pace became, so long as I never walked and never ever stopped. There were points when I cried (yes, actually cried) as I was running because I could not believe how tired I was and thought I might keel over at any second, but I didn't stop running and ended up finishing in two hours and three minutes, well under the two and a half hour goal I'd tentatively held in the back of my mind. I was on a high for days. Nevermind the fact that my ankles and knees were swollen and I literally couldn't get up and down stairs by myself, I had run as hard as I could and I felt great about it.
"Why do you keep running even when your toes are bleeding and you're sweating so much you can't see and you're so lightheaded that you're not even sure this is real?"
"Because it feels so good when I stop."
Without consciously realizing it, this is something that has applied to my whole life. Whenever I've neared the end of a tough semester and wanted to throw all my books out the window, my mom has reminded me that the coming break will feel so much better if I've worked as hard as I can. This is so true. Summer is that much sweeter when it stands at a stark contrast to the preceding months. Not only that, but it becomes all the more enjoyable when you feel as if you deserve it. Sure, a day lying on the beach is relaxing no matter what. But isn't it better when the day before was spent working, not lying on the beach, and you feel as if you've really earned this reward? I'm a firm believer in working for the good things in life. Otherwise, they're not so good to me.
I apply this to my daily life, too. When I have a lazy day and spend five hours watching Downton Abbey, I don't feel too great about myself. And by about the third episode, I'm not really enjoying myself anymore either. But when I've spent all day running around campus between classes with every break spent working on a paper in the library, and then my boyfriend and I go to my parents' house to watch The Amazing Race with my mom, some chocolate cake, and a glass of wine, that feels great.
"Why do you put your nose to the grindstone every day?"
"Because it feels so good when I stop."
(At least, that's one reason why!)
"Because it feels so good when I stop."
This was said to me the other day as a pithy reiteration of the feelings I'd been trying to express about running. I run a lot, and some of the time (when the weather is nice and I'm in good shape) I have fun doing so. But, most of the time, I don't actually enjoy the run until it's over. (This is because of something I've mentioned before - my obsession with particulars. If I'm not consistently hitting five minute kilometers as I'm running, then I tend to get a bit stressed out and my focus turns to checking my watch every three seconds as I try to pick up the pace while getting increasingly sweaty and out of breath. I should work on relaxing that standard.) Anyway, while the run can be enjoyable in itself sometimes, most often the enjoyment comes for me as soon as it's done. Once I've completed the distance I've assigned for myself that day, and feel as if I've consistently run as fast as I can, the feeling that comes over me is amazing. In the summer I ran a half marathon and set the goal for myself that I would run the entire thing, no matter how slow my pace became, so long as I never walked and never ever stopped. There were points when I cried (yes, actually cried) as I was running because I could not believe how tired I was and thought I might keel over at any second, but I didn't stop running and ended up finishing in two hours and three minutes, well under the two and a half hour goal I'd tentatively held in the back of my mind. I was on a high for days. Nevermind the fact that my ankles and knees were swollen and I literally couldn't get up and down stairs by myself, I had run as hard as I could and I felt great about it.
"Why do you keep running even when your toes are bleeding and you're sweating so much you can't see and you're so lightheaded that you're not even sure this is real?"
"Because it feels so good when I stop."
Without consciously realizing it, this is something that has applied to my whole life. Whenever I've neared the end of a tough semester and wanted to throw all my books out the window, my mom has reminded me that the coming break will feel so much better if I've worked as hard as I can. This is so true. Summer is that much sweeter when it stands at a stark contrast to the preceding months. Not only that, but it becomes all the more enjoyable when you feel as if you deserve it. Sure, a day lying on the beach is relaxing no matter what. But isn't it better when the day before was spent working, not lying on the beach, and you feel as if you've really earned this reward? I'm a firm believer in working for the good things in life. Otherwise, they're not so good to me.
I apply this to my daily life, too. When I have a lazy day and spend five hours watching Downton Abbey, I don't feel too great about myself. And by about the third episode, I'm not really enjoying myself anymore either. But when I've spent all day running around campus between classes with every break spent working on a paper in the library, and then my boyfriend and I go to my parents' house to watch The Amazing Race with my mom, some chocolate cake, and a glass of wine, that feels great.
"Why do you put your nose to the grindstone every day?"
"Because it feels so good when I stop."
(At least, that's one reason why!)
Saturday 9 March 2013
Productive Procrastination
While I expect that the novelty of publishing a new post every other day will wear off fairly quickly, for now it is a tempting new way to procrastinate and avoid the four term papers and mountains of reading I should be spending my time on. I purposely made no plans for my Saturday afternoon so that I could finally get caught up on all this schoolwork that has been nagging at the back of my mind throughout my week of classes and work (and maybe one write-off day as it fell after my last Pit night before graduation . . sshh), but now I find myself sitting at my computer with no motivation to tackle the pile of books and articles beside me.
This seems to contrast the attitude expressed in my first post of someone who is self-admittedly genuinely excited about her classes, but if you paid attention you would notice that what I love is going to classes and reading literature. What I don't love is reading about different categories of definitions (wow.) and combing through Al Jazeera articles to determine how different Occupy Wall Street activists may conflictingly describe the role of the facilitator in the consensus process. I don't have much patience for the research stage of papers - I much prefer those classes in which the professor wants you to do your own close reading of the text rather than refer to any outside sources at all - but, sadly, all week I have been adding research tasks to my Saturday to-do list, with the thinking that I would have just one bad day overwhelmed with the menial necessities of paper writing before I get started on the fun part. Yet now I sit here with a black cloud looming above me as I curse myself.
I am a master procrastinator. My trick is that I distract myself with things that I really have to do. When I don't want to embark on a fresh and daunting paper, I put in a load of laundry, clean the bathroom, reply to emails, go for a run, paint my nails, wash the dishes - all things that have to get done over the course of my day anyway. The problem is that I'm a bit of a neat freak and a little particular, and so washing the dishes actually means washing the dishes, cleaning the microwave, sweeping the floor, wiping down the counters, rearranging the fridge, taking apart the stove to clean every part of it, and organizing my cupboards. So each small task is actually a big time commitment and extends my procrastination by leaps and bounds. And the whole time I'm getting more and more anxious, knowing that now I'll have to stay up later and get up earlier to continue plugging in all possible combinations of "Jonson," "Penshurst," and "country house" in the MLA Bibliography search engine in hopes of finally miraculously discovering the one article that will be the answer to my prayers (fellow English Lit students all cringed with comprehension).
How to put an end to this procrastination? Well, as you can guess, when my homework for the night consists of reading the scandalous play "The Homecoming" by Harold Pinter and working my way through a slew of Ben Jonson poetry, the sink stays full of dishes for a little longer and the run gets put off. When homework doesn't feel like work, it becomes much more enjoyable and gets completed much quicker. I guess the secret is to try to enjoy it. So I'm going to pour myself a drink (sshh) and get into my sweats, and set myself a challenge: be done in three hours when the night is still young.
PS. Too bad I've deemed this blog to be a form of "productive procrastination" . . . perhaps you actually will be hearing from me this regularly for the rest of semester.
PPS. And yes, painting my nails is an almost daily ritual.
This seems to contrast the attitude expressed in my first post of someone who is self-admittedly genuinely excited about her classes, but if you paid attention you would notice that what I love is going to classes and reading literature. What I don't love is reading about different categories of definitions (wow.) and combing through Al Jazeera articles to determine how different Occupy Wall Street activists may conflictingly describe the role of the facilitator in the consensus process. I don't have much patience for the research stage of papers - I much prefer those classes in which the professor wants you to do your own close reading of the text rather than refer to any outside sources at all - but, sadly, all week I have been adding research tasks to my Saturday to-do list, with the thinking that I would have just one bad day overwhelmed with the menial necessities of paper writing before I get started on the fun part. Yet now I sit here with a black cloud looming above me as I curse myself.
I am a master procrastinator. My trick is that I distract myself with things that I really have to do. When I don't want to embark on a fresh and daunting paper, I put in a load of laundry, clean the bathroom, reply to emails, go for a run, paint my nails, wash the dishes - all things that have to get done over the course of my day anyway. The problem is that I'm a bit of a neat freak and a little particular, and so washing the dishes actually means washing the dishes, cleaning the microwave, sweeping the floor, wiping down the counters, rearranging the fridge, taking apart the stove to clean every part of it, and organizing my cupboards. So each small task is actually a big time commitment and extends my procrastination by leaps and bounds. And the whole time I'm getting more and more anxious, knowing that now I'll have to stay up later and get up earlier to continue plugging in all possible combinations of "Jonson," "Penshurst," and "country house" in the MLA Bibliography search engine in hopes of finally miraculously discovering the one article that will be the answer to my prayers (fellow English Lit students all cringed with comprehension).
How to put an end to this procrastination? Well, as you can guess, when my homework for the night consists of reading the scandalous play "The Homecoming" by Harold Pinter and working my way through a slew of Ben Jonson poetry, the sink stays full of dishes for a little longer and the run gets put off. When homework doesn't feel like work, it becomes much more enjoyable and gets completed much quicker. I guess the secret is to try to enjoy it. So I'm going to pour myself a drink (sshh) and get into my sweats, and set myself a challenge: be done in three hours when the night is still young.
PS. Too bad I've deemed this blog to be a form of "productive procrastination" . . . perhaps you actually will be hearing from me this regularly for the rest of semester.
PPS. And yes, painting my nails is an almost daily ritual.
Thursday 7 March 2013
Polonius
In Hamlet, Polonius gave his son Laertes, after an otherwise long-winded and contradictory speech that leaves us questioning his ability to parent, one shining piece of advice:
"This above all, to thine own self be true."
In context, such a declaration is laughable, as Polonius has just spent a good amount of time telling Laertes to essentially take on whatever characteristics or identity will benefit him most in any given situation. However, when isolated, this statement holds great guidance, and it is something I try to quote to myself often. It's a piece of advice that can be consulted whenever a sticky situation is encountered or a big decision is looming. One way I've chosen to paraphrase it as a mantra is with the term "true self."
When I first turned 18 and wanted to get a tattoo for the sake of getting a tattoo, I spent about five minutes deciding what would permanently be inked on my back. I wanted a bird, for the cliche representations of freedom and adventure, and so I looked up the symbolic meanings of different birds. I found that a swan symbolizes "true self" and so now I have a dainty little black outline of a swan on my shoulder, always reminding me to consult my true self.
I'm very good at listening to this inner voice, and most often choose to do what my true self knows to be right. Of course, there are times when I choose to ignore it or forget to listen to it properly. But for the most part, I take Polonius' advice and my swan's whisperings quite seriously. In one aspect of my life, though, I have subconsciously blocked my true self's expression. And that is what this blog is going to be about - finally tuning in and listening to what I know to be right in regards to my future.
I am an English Literature major at UBC, and have only four full weeks of class left before I graduate. When I first started at UBC it was with the intention of pursuing a Psychology degree, which soon changed to an IR degree, and then a Political Science degree. Finally, I acknowledged my true self's admittance that my favourite classes, and the ones in which I always did best, were my English classes. So I decided to make this my major. The hesitation had resulted from the constant and persistent question, "What can you even do with an English degree?" I was already getting this question about an Arts degree, hence my insistence on pursuing a "useful" major before finally succumbing to doing simply what I wanted to do, and I was dreading the inevitable need I would soon have of consistently defending my English degree. So, I set out to have a worthwhile answer to this question, and began making plans for enriching careers I could embark on after I graduated.
What can you even do with an English degree?
Go into journalism.
So I spent days mapping out the exact path I would need to take to become a journalist. I would need an MA in journalism, and my marks were high enough to get accepted, I just needed some experience in actually working for a paper. So I went to the Ubyssey offices and told them I wanted to help and got through about half an hour of work before I realized that I absolutely despised writing in this "reporter voice" and there was no way I was ever going to be good at it or enjoy it. Next.
What can you even do with an English degree?
Work in publishing.
I've never liked the idea of working at a big company. I'm not the cubicle type. Next.
Be an editor.
Maybe, but I don't think I have the patience to actually do this full time for a living. Next.
Be a teacher.
But I like English literature because it involves literature. Next.
Try to be an author.
This is probably not something I should rely on for my livelihood. Next.
Become a lawyer.
This was the longest-lasting illusion. I went so far as to actually spend three months studying for the LSAT, write the exam, get all my academic references, have a consultation with an admissions professor, and start putting together my application. However, when my LSAT marks were not in the 93rd percentile, as is needed by UBC law, I had a second to reassess and to ask myself if I actually wanted to be a lawyer. The answer was no. I could do it. I knew I could be good at it and I knew I wouldn't hate it, but I would never love it. What I love is what I do right now.
Take this past Monday, for example. The school day started with my 10:00 Contemporary Literature class, in which we were discussing the novel Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson. It's a fourth year English class, and I find that once you reach upper-level classes you are surrounded by other people who truly enjoy learning about the given topic. The class was a 50 minute discussion on whether or not we should assume the romance scenes of the novel to be sincere or parodic. Of course, we reached no resolution, but every possibility was explored to its fullest. I then had my Discourse and Society class, another upper level English course, in which we are discussing the terminology made prevalent in the various mass movements of 2011, before my two hour break which was spent eating my lunch in the library and reading an absolutely wonderful novel called The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. The best part? That's my homework! I then had my two hour English majors seminar in 17th century poetry, and this particular class was held in the Special Collections room of the library where I got to flip through a first edition of the King James Bible from 1611 and actually hold a fourth edition of Milton's Paradise Lost (my love for this poem is extreme - it was an exciting moment).
How can a day get any better than that? And when I tap into my true self to ask what it is that I want to do for the rest of my life, the answer is that I want to keep doing what I'm already doing. So that's what's going to happen.
What can you even do with an English degree?
You can stay at UBC forever, first getting your MA, then your PhD, and then becoming a professor.
So that's the new plan. And this blog is going to constantly remind me of what exactly my true self desires. It's going to record future exciting moments in my studies, track the transition from student to graduate to student again, and it's going to put Polonius' words into practice.
"This above all, to thine own self be true."
In context, such a declaration is laughable, as Polonius has just spent a good amount of time telling Laertes to essentially take on whatever characteristics or identity will benefit him most in any given situation. However, when isolated, this statement holds great guidance, and it is something I try to quote to myself often. It's a piece of advice that can be consulted whenever a sticky situation is encountered or a big decision is looming. One way I've chosen to paraphrase it as a mantra is with the term "true self."
When I first turned 18 and wanted to get a tattoo for the sake of getting a tattoo, I spent about five minutes deciding what would permanently be inked on my back. I wanted a bird, for the cliche representations of freedom and adventure, and so I looked up the symbolic meanings of different birds. I found that a swan symbolizes "true self" and so now I have a dainty little black outline of a swan on my shoulder, always reminding me to consult my true self.
I'm very good at listening to this inner voice, and most often choose to do what my true self knows to be right. Of course, there are times when I choose to ignore it or forget to listen to it properly. But for the most part, I take Polonius' advice and my swan's whisperings quite seriously. In one aspect of my life, though, I have subconsciously blocked my true self's expression. And that is what this blog is going to be about - finally tuning in and listening to what I know to be right in regards to my future.
I am an English Literature major at UBC, and have only four full weeks of class left before I graduate. When I first started at UBC it was with the intention of pursuing a Psychology degree, which soon changed to an IR degree, and then a Political Science degree. Finally, I acknowledged my true self's admittance that my favourite classes, and the ones in which I always did best, were my English classes. So I decided to make this my major. The hesitation had resulted from the constant and persistent question, "What can you even do with an English degree?" I was already getting this question about an Arts degree, hence my insistence on pursuing a "useful" major before finally succumbing to doing simply what I wanted to do, and I was dreading the inevitable need I would soon have of consistently defending my English degree. So, I set out to have a worthwhile answer to this question, and began making plans for enriching careers I could embark on after I graduated.
What can you even do with an English degree?
Go into journalism.
So I spent days mapping out the exact path I would need to take to become a journalist. I would need an MA in journalism, and my marks were high enough to get accepted, I just needed some experience in actually working for a paper. So I went to the Ubyssey offices and told them I wanted to help and got through about half an hour of work before I realized that I absolutely despised writing in this "reporter voice" and there was no way I was ever going to be good at it or enjoy it. Next.
What can you even do with an English degree?
Work in publishing.
I've never liked the idea of working at a big company. I'm not the cubicle type. Next.
Be an editor.
Maybe, but I don't think I have the patience to actually do this full time for a living. Next.
Be a teacher.
But I like English literature because it involves literature. Next.
Try to be an author.
This is probably not something I should rely on for my livelihood. Next.
Become a lawyer.
This was the longest-lasting illusion. I went so far as to actually spend three months studying for the LSAT, write the exam, get all my academic references, have a consultation with an admissions professor, and start putting together my application. However, when my LSAT marks were not in the 93rd percentile, as is needed by UBC law, I had a second to reassess and to ask myself if I actually wanted to be a lawyer. The answer was no. I could do it. I knew I could be good at it and I knew I wouldn't hate it, but I would never love it. What I love is what I do right now.
Take this past Monday, for example. The school day started with my 10:00 Contemporary Literature class, in which we were discussing the novel Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson. It's a fourth year English class, and I find that once you reach upper-level classes you are surrounded by other people who truly enjoy learning about the given topic. The class was a 50 minute discussion on whether or not we should assume the romance scenes of the novel to be sincere or parodic. Of course, we reached no resolution, but every possibility was explored to its fullest. I then had my Discourse and Society class, another upper level English course, in which we are discussing the terminology made prevalent in the various mass movements of 2011, before my two hour break which was spent eating my lunch in the library and reading an absolutely wonderful novel called The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. The best part? That's my homework! I then had my two hour English majors seminar in 17th century poetry, and this particular class was held in the Special Collections room of the library where I got to flip through a first edition of the King James Bible from 1611 and actually hold a fourth edition of Milton's Paradise Lost (my love for this poem is extreme - it was an exciting moment).
How can a day get any better than that? And when I tap into my true self to ask what it is that I want to do for the rest of my life, the answer is that I want to keep doing what I'm already doing. So that's what's going to happen.
What can you even do with an English degree?
You can stay at UBC forever, first getting your MA, then your PhD, and then becoming a professor.
So that's the new plan. And this blog is going to constantly remind me of what exactly my true self desires. It's going to record future exciting moments in my studies, track the transition from student to graduate to student again, and it's going to put Polonius' words into practice.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)