I am not ready to leave, and I am not okay.
Please stop telling me that I am.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
[we] are the light of the world
Today, March 28, 2012, marks six months since a resident in my building took his life.
His name is Matthew. People usually say "was" when they talk about the deceased. I don't really understand why. I have to believe that somewhere, he is still Matthew. I think about him almost every day. It's impossible not to. This building is still saturated with moments I missed. I did not know him. I feel like I should have.
Six months ago, in the immediate aftermath of his death, I was reeling. We all were. Being a staff member in this building, being responsible for the young men and women who live here, at first made it feel somehow my fault. I felt- feel- guilty, like somehow I should have been able to do something. Somehow I should have known, should have noticed. I know this is fruitless thinking. I did not know him. There are over 1000 residents in this building. I wish I could know all of them. To this day, and I'm sure for every day to follow, I will wish I had known Matthew.
I know there is nothing I could have done. There isn't anything anyone could have done. We didn't know. We missed it. We shouldn't have, perhaps, but we did. Maybe he was too good at hiding it. Not everyone wants to be helped. The news articles about him always mentioned his sense of humor, his ability to make others laugh, his smile. I'm sorry I never got to experience that.
On October 31, 2011, another boy named Matthew committed suicide. This Matthew, I knew. We used to go to school together. He was in my theatre company in high school. I think about him a lot, too. I feel much the same way as I feel about Matthew from my building. I knew Matthew Chance, and this makes his passing difficult in a different way than Matthew from my building. It all comes down to the same things, though: I wish, more than anything, that someone, anyone, could have helped. People who know me will know I am passionate about helping people who self-harm, who don't think their lives are worth living. That is a story for another time, but my heart shatters every time I hear about something like this. We need to help stop these stories from happening. We need to help these men and women. Above all, we need to love them.
Martin Luther King, Jr, once said: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
I cannot be anyone's salvation. I am coming to accept this, slowly, painfully. I can only hope to be a light, a flicker in the darkness that gives what hope it can.
"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned." Isaiah 9:2
I can do so little, but I have great faith that the Light living in me can do all things.
His name is Matthew. People usually say "was" when they talk about the deceased. I don't really understand why. I have to believe that somewhere, he is still Matthew. I think about him almost every day. It's impossible not to. This building is still saturated with moments I missed. I did not know him. I feel like I should have.
Six months ago, in the immediate aftermath of his death, I was reeling. We all were. Being a staff member in this building, being responsible for the young men and women who live here, at first made it feel somehow my fault. I felt- feel- guilty, like somehow I should have been able to do something. Somehow I should have known, should have noticed. I know this is fruitless thinking. I did not know him. There are over 1000 residents in this building. I wish I could know all of them. To this day, and I'm sure for every day to follow, I will wish I had known Matthew.
I know there is nothing I could have done. There isn't anything anyone could have done. We didn't know. We missed it. We shouldn't have, perhaps, but we did. Maybe he was too good at hiding it. Not everyone wants to be helped. The news articles about him always mentioned his sense of humor, his ability to make others laugh, his smile. I'm sorry I never got to experience that.
On October 31, 2011, another boy named Matthew committed suicide. This Matthew, I knew. We used to go to school together. He was in my theatre company in high school. I think about him a lot, too. I feel much the same way as I feel about Matthew from my building. I knew Matthew Chance, and this makes his passing difficult in a different way than Matthew from my building. It all comes down to the same things, though: I wish, more than anything, that someone, anyone, could have helped. People who know me will know I am passionate about helping people who self-harm, who don't think their lives are worth living. That is a story for another time, but my heart shatters every time I hear about something like this. We need to help stop these stories from happening. We need to help these men and women. Above all, we need to love them.
Martin Luther King, Jr, once said: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
I cannot be anyone's salvation. I am coming to accept this, slowly, painfully. I can only hope to be a light, a flicker in the darkness that gives what hope it can.
"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned." Isaiah 9:2
I can do so little, but I have great faith that the Light living in me can do all things.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
broken hearted
It is with a heavy heart I write these words.
I will not be returning as an RA next fall.
Allow me to explain. Since classes are starting a week earlier in the fall, RA training will also begin earlier than this year, on August 5th. The decision RPS has made regarding training stands thus: if you cannot move in to begin training on August 5th, you will not be employed by RPS. This stands true both for new and returning RAs as well as the graduate staff. I will be marching with the Troopers Drum and Bugle Corps until August 12th.
In the immortal words of Gregory House, MD: "It's not easy. But it is simple."
The decision was mine. I'm marching. Giving up my age-out year with the Troopers is not and never will be a sacrifice I am willing to make. This is difficult, and it pains me greatly- but I'm making the choice I have to make.
My heart is breaking. I look at the incredible people around me and consider the amazing experiences I've been able to have this year, and I cannot imagine my life without them. So much of who I am is comprised of who they are and what they have taught me. I've said it before, and will likely say it again: being an RA is not having a job. Being an RA is a lifestyle- and it has, undoubtedly, been one of the most amazing, incredible, profound, heart-wrenching, gut-twisting, life-changing experiences of my life. I would not trade a single moment of this year for anything on the face of this earth.
I'm not sure what I'll do without it next year. I have full faith that things will be how they are supposed to be. I'm a strong believer in the phrase, "It will all work out." This is not by any means a "bad" thing to happen- it is a sad thing, a heartbreaking thing, a tragic thing- but I'm sure it will serve its purpose.
And of course, there is always the possibility that I could return mid-semester. Things happen, RAs may leave for one reason or another, a position may open up. In the coming weeks, I will be working with my supervisors and others within RPS to try and find another job opportunity within the RPS family. Ideally, I would *love* to come back to Read as a desk worker- it would, in a sense, allow me to stay connected to my Read family.
However, if not, then I will find another avenue. Other things will happen, other opportunities. Although this is a very scary concept for me, it does open many other doors and gives me many different options to consider. I could graduate in December. I could study abroad. I could live in an apartment. There are now many new things I will have to consider. I am not prepared to have to consider these things, but such is life. We are thrust into new situations daily, and the only control we have is how we handle them and what we make of them.
It is with red-rimmed eyes and a deep-seated sadness in my heart that I move forward now- but move forward I shall. I am now and will be eternally grateful for the amazing year I have had, and the two and a half more months I will have. I will miss this, and I will miss it terribly...but new things are on the horizon, and I've never been able to pass up adventure.
After all, the title of this blog is "Enjoy the Ride."
And I have, and I will. Oh, I will.
I will not be returning as an RA next fall.
Allow me to explain. Since classes are starting a week earlier in the fall, RA training will also begin earlier than this year, on August 5th. The decision RPS has made regarding training stands thus: if you cannot move in to begin training on August 5th, you will not be employed by RPS. This stands true both for new and returning RAs as well as the graduate staff. I will be marching with the Troopers Drum and Bugle Corps until August 12th.
In the immortal words of Gregory House, MD: "It's not easy. But it is simple."
The decision was mine. I'm marching. Giving up my age-out year with the Troopers is not and never will be a sacrifice I am willing to make. This is difficult, and it pains me greatly- but I'm making the choice I have to make.
My heart is breaking. I look at the incredible people around me and consider the amazing experiences I've been able to have this year, and I cannot imagine my life without them. So much of who I am is comprised of who they are and what they have taught me. I've said it before, and will likely say it again: being an RA is not having a job. Being an RA is a lifestyle- and it has, undoubtedly, been one of the most amazing, incredible, profound, heart-wrenching, gut-twisting, life-changing experiences of my life. I would not trade a single moment of this year for anything on the face of this earth.
I'm not sure what I'll do without it next year. I have full faith that things will be how they are supposed to be. I'm a strong believer in the phrase, "It will all work out." This is not by any means a "bad" thing to happen- it is a sad thing, a heartbreaking thing, a tragic thing- but I'm sure it will serve its purpose.
And of course, there is always the possibility that I could return mid-semester. Things happen, RAs may leave for one reason or another, a position may open up. In the coming weeks, I will be working with my supervisors and others within RPS to try and find another job opportunity within the RPS family. Ideally, I would *love* to come back to Read as a desk worker- it would, in a sense, allow me to stay connected to my Read family.
However, if not, then I will find another avenue. Other things will happen, other opportunities. Although this is a very scary concept for me, it does open many other doors and gives me many different options to consider. I could graduate in December. I could study abroad. I could live in an apartment. There are now many new things I will have to consider. I am not prepared to have to consider these things, but such is life. We are thrust into new situations daily, and the only control we have is how we handle them and what we make of them.
It is with red-rimmed eyes and a deep-seated sadness in my heart that I move forward now- but move forward I shall. I am now and will be eternally grateful for the amazing year I have had, and the two and a half more months I will have. I will miss this, and I will miss it terribly...but new things are on the horizon, and I've never been able to pass up adventure.
After all, the title of this blog is "Enjoy the Ride."
And I have, and I will. Oh, I will.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
RA Love
Today, one of my girls interviewed me for her U450 class (the class all students applying to be RAs or CUEs need to take), and it has me thinking about my job. Surprise, surprise: I find myself at a loss for adequate words.
There isn't really a good way to summarize what it means to be an RA and how it affects your life. I haven't found an effective way to explain it yet. It's this indescribable journey...if you get it, I don't have to explain it. If you don't, there's no way for me to do so. It's one of those things that no matter what I say about it, you won't understand unless you're a part of it.
Suffice to say (and perhaps all there is to say), my life has been irreversibly altered. I have met the most incredible people in this job- both coworkers and residents- and I will forever be grateful for the opportunities afforded to me. When everything is said and done, with everything that is in me I love this job. I love my girls, I love my coworkers, and it is a blessing. I am stronger, kinder, more confident, more aware of what is happening around me, and even a little more patient (anyone who knows me also knows I have never been a patient person). I have more tolerance for others, but less tolerance for excuses and BS. Like everything else I've pursued, this lifestyle has become a defining part of who I am, and I cannot imagine my life without it. (:
There isn't really a good way to summarize what it means to be an RA and how it affects your life. I haven't found an effective way to explain it yet. It's this indescribable journey...if you get it, I don't have to explain it. If you don't, there's no way for me to do so. It's one of those things that no matter what I say about it, you won't understand unless you're a part of it.
Suffice to say (and perhaps all there is to say), my life has been irreversibly altered. I have met the most incredible people in this job- both coworkers and residents- and I will forever be grateful for the opportunities afforded to me. When everything is said and done, with everything that is in me I love this job. I love my girls, I love my coworkers, and it is a blessing. I am stronger, kinder, more confident, more aware of what is happening around me, and even a little more patient (anyone who knows me also knows I have never been a patient person). I have more tolerance for others, but less tolerance for excuses and BS. Like everything else I've pursued, this lifestyle has become a defining part of who I am, and I cannot imagine my life without it. (:
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
i've always hated "what-if" scenarios because there's never a good way to answer
I love my university, I really do. I love everything about it. I love my classes, I love my majors, I love my friends, I love the Marching
Hundred, and I love being an RA.
More and more, however, I am questioning
whether this is where I belong.
My sleep schedule has been off for at least a
month, probably more. I stay awake at night because I can’t sleep, and then I
can’t drag myself out of bed during the day. I am suffering what I think might
be best described as an existential crisis.
I don’t know what I’m doing with my
life, I don’t know what I want to do with my life, and I have no idea why I’m
doing any of the things I’m doing. I don’t know if I have any sort of future in
what I’ve chosen to study at IU; and I can’t help but ask myself why I’m paying
a university thousands of dollars per year when there are kids in other
countries who can’t even afford a meal. I’m not so sure anymore that college is
the place for me. I’m not so sure that society is the place for me.
Come to
think of it, I know society is not the place for me- in the world, not of it.
So what am I doing? Why am I here and not
somewhere like Africa, or Papua New Guinea, or China, or South America, doing
something to help? Or why am I here
and not somewhere on the road? Why am I here and not in New York? What am I
doing? What do I really think I’m doing here? I’m tired, and I’m jaded, and I
need something new, something fresh and invigorating, I need to help, I need to
do some good in this world. Instead of sitting in class listening to lectures
about the greats- Kerouac, Ginsberg, Wilde, Stanislavski- I need to get out
there and be great. Instead of
thinking about everything I could be, should
be doing, I need to get out there and actually
do it.
There’s something else out there, something better, and I need it. I can feel it in the distance
like a half-remembered dream fragment, I can sense it in the air just waiting
for me to taste it, I can hear it in the mountains like the echo of a
thunderclap…but I can’t quite see it
and I don’t know what it is. I don’t
know, I just don’t know. And I have no idea what I’m supposed
to do. At this point, I don’t even know what I want to do. I feel a little like
I’ve given up, I feel a lot like I’m in a cage; and I’m screaming and fighting
it from the inside out but all my attempts to escape go unnoticed and make no
difference.
I need OUT.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
to my girls
To my beautiful residents,
I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to get to know you (all 61 of you!) this semester.
I know the adjustment to college life is difficult; it's been a transition for me as well. When I received the email last April telling me I was hired, I was absolutely terrified- thrilled, yes, but terrified. There are no words to adequately describe what it feels like to know there are 1500 people depending on you- for security, for safety, for comfort. When I moved in for training in early August and began to learn what my job was going to entail, I was entirely unprepared. I am by no stretch of the imagination unqualified- every RA on campus is hand-selected following a rigorous application process- but there's not really any way to be prepared for what this job brings. You learn as you go...and you, my beautiful and incredible residents, have taught me so much. With all that is in me, I love you dearly- every single one of you. Never forget or doubt that, even for a second. You are why I am here, and you are what makes this job worthwhile.
Sometimes, you girls drive me crazy. Sometimes I want to give up and go home. Sometimes I go to the bathroom to take a shower where there are clumps of hair everywhere, and I think to myself, "I should have gotten an apartment this year." Sometimes I'm up until four in the morning going on rounds and handling incidents. Sometimes I am awakened by the unforgiving keening of my telephone in the middle of the night because someone is locked out of the building. Sometimes I go online and I have ten emails about quiet hours violations, and I can't understand why it's still such a problem. Sometimes, I really think I must have lost my mind the day I decided taking this job was a good idea.
However, "sometimes" is not "most of the time." More often than not, I am incredibly grateful for this job and for you ladies. My life is so much better because you are in it. I am so blessed to have been able to watch you grow into independent, beautiful, kind young women. I can only hope you are able to understand how much that means to me. I love seeing you and spending time with you; I love listening to your funny stories, your stresses, your joys, and your sorrows. I love hearing about what's going on in your lives. I hope you can tell that this "job" will never be "just a job" to me. Cue the corniness, but it's really a lifestyle. At the end of the day, even when I'm overwhelmed- those days when I have a seven-page paper to write, two exams the next day, a two-hundred-page book to read, a bulletin board to do, programs to plan, reports to fill out, desk shifts to work, evaluations to write, recommendations to send, and four different meetings all scheduled for the same time- even at the end of all of that, you are why I am here and you make it worth all the time, effort, and stress. I am a much better person for your presence in my life.
I love you so much. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart and with all that I have, for giving me an amazing semester. Have a wonderful winter break; I'll miss you and I can't wait to see my lovely Landes 2 ladies again in the new year.
Always,
Elizabeth
I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to get to know you (all 61 of you!) this semester.
I know the adjustment to college life is difficult; it's been a transition for me as well. When I received the email last April telling me I was hired, I was absolutely terrified- thrilled, yes, but terrified. There are no words to adequately describe what it feels like to know there are 1500 people depending on you- for security, for safety, for comfort. When I moved in for training in early August and began to learn what my job was going to entail, I was entirely unprepared. I am by no stretch of the imagination unqualified- every RA on campus is hand-selected following a rigorous application process- but there's not really any way to be prepared for what this job brings. You learn as you go...and you, my beautiful and incredible residents, have taught me so much. With all that is in me, I love you dearly- every single one of you. Never forget or doubt that, even for a second. You are why I am here, and you are what makes this job worthwhile.
Sometimes, you girls drive me crazy. Sometimes I want to give up and go home. Sometimes I go to the bathroom to take a shower where there are clumps of hair everywhere, and I think to myself, "I should have gotten an apartment this year." Sometimes I'm up until four in the morning going on rounds and handling incidents. Sometimes I am awakened by the unforgiving keening of my telephone in the middle of the night because someone is locked out of the building. Sometimes I go online and I have ten emails about quiet hours violations, and I can't understand why it's still such a problem. Sometimes, I really think I must have lost my mind the day I decided taking this job was a good idea.
However, "sometimes" is not "most of the time." More often than not, I am incredibly grateful for this job and for you ladies. My life is so much better because you are in it. I am so blessed to have been able to watch you grow into independent, beautiful, kind young women. I can only hope you are able to understand how much that means to me. I love seeing you and spending time with you; I love listening to your funny stories, your stresses, your joys, and your sorrows. I love hearing about what's going on in your lives. I hope you can tell that this "job" will never be "just a job" to me. Cue the corniness, but it's really a lifestyle. At the end of the day, even when I'm overwhelmed- those days when I have a seven-page paper to write, two exams the next day, a two-hundred-page book to read, a bulletin board to do, programs to plan, reports to fill out, desk shifts to work, evaluations to write, recommendations to send, and four different meetings all scheduled for the same time- even at the end of all of that, you are why I am here and you make it worth all the time, effort, and stress. I am a much better person for your presence in my life.
I love you so much. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart and with all that I have, for giving me an amazing semester. Have a wonderful winter break; I'll miss you and I can't wait to see my lovely Landes 2 ladies again in the new year.
Always,
Elizabeth
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
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