Tag: college

Captive Audience

Bailey GunnLeave a comment

Hello world!

Since you’re all a captive audience (because what else are you going to do when you’re stuck at home 24 hours a day) but read things on the internet!

And so we’re here.

So, allow me to dazzle you with some fun facts about me:

I love licking the sticky part of envelopes.

I was a double major in college, which I am very proud of.

I am double jointed in my jaw.

I kissed the Blarney stone but did not get the gift of gab.

My favorite color is yellow.

So, now it’s your turn! Give me 5 fun facts about you in the comments.

Like I said, what else are you going to do?

Love,

Bailey

 

Baby Bird Syndrome

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Ah, the wonders of nature. A little baby bird emerges from an egg, it is fed and nurtured by its parents, and then one day, it grows its feathers all over and becomes too big for the nest. So, what happens? Does it watch its parents closely so it can learn how to fly? Does it hop along on a branch before finally taking wing? No! Mom and Dad shove their little son or daughter right over the side. How’s that for encouragement?

And most of the time, the little baby bird either flutters a little and finds the wind under its wings, or it plummets to the ground and chirps for days, until it finally figures out how to get itself out of this mess.

Now, you might think, Wow, rude, Mom and Dad! You wouldn’t even allow it to pack its stuff? Or you might think, It was time. Everybody has to grow up, and nothing helps you to grow up like the fear of falling out of the nest.

But what happens when that scenario hits a little closer to home and that little baby bird is actually a full-grown adult college graduate?

This is a situation that we are seeing more and more with our tanking economy. Students return to their home base before making their way out into the world because it’s all they can do to stay afloat with collegiate debt. And in nationwide polls, most parents have said that they don’t mind that their child has come home to roost. I mean, if your parents are anything like mine, they usually don’t mind the company. They like the extra help and someone to schlepp around with.

But the weight of it all for that little baby bird or human well…it weighs on you. You feel like a loafer. You feel like a mooch. And worst of all, you feel like a fat baby bird who refuses to fly and would rather sit in the nest watching Jerry Springer! at all hours of the day. There’s this awful guilt that you aren’t living up to your full potential because you’re grounded, in a way.

Which is why bird parents and human parents sometimes push their children out of the nest at some point. It absolutely forces them to make a decision, and the baby is able to start his or her life on his or her terms.

But there are also parents who would rather see their baby’s feathers fully grown in before they’re  encouraged to fly. Which is okay, too.

The point is that it’s fine to do either. It’s okay to strike out on your own and it’s okay to just strike out. As long as everyone is happy with the situation, then you need to feel like it is acceptable too, guilt or not.

Just remember that if you’re feeling a bit like you’re taking up too much space in the nest, think about what it will feel like to you and your parents when it’s empty. Enjoy the time you have together.

Held Back

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I’m not sure if anyone gets held back in school anymore. I feel like nowadays students can go to summer school or do some extra credit to boost their scores and keep themselves from becoming little Ferris Buellers. But once upon a time, if you failed a couple classes in a grade, then you would have to stay back until you were taught a thing or two.

Sometimes, I think life is holding me back a grade.

Why? Because I can’t seem to move forward. And I’m sure at one point, everyone has felt this way. But if you haven’t, it sort of feels like you should have accomplished so much more at this time in your life. It’s a crippling sense of your own personal failure, and it is coupled with the aromatic scent of ramen noodles and spilled beer.

I mean, I am constantly hearing how one decision someone made in their twenties completely changed everything for them. Yes, the moment I decided to live in the wilderness of Alaska is when I realized that I was meant to be a tuba player. 

So, I ask myself: Shouldn’t I be doing something…I don’t know…important? Before I get too numb to the world and start having sleep-deprivating children?

And the troubling part is every other 20-something I know (EXCEPT ME) seems like they’re moving right along in the current called life. They’ve already figured it out. They land a job, move out, and find their soulmate in about a month. And a month later, they’re pregnant. Not that I’m totally envious of all that. (I like sleep way more than I’d like a child right now. But you can eat whatever you want…)

But really, what gives?

And sure, everyone tells you that you shouldn’t rush it. You’ll get there. You’re a late bloomer. You’ll figure it all out. But I can’t help but think that I’ve been waiting my whole life to grow up. And at the same time, I’m still waiting for it to hit me that I already am.

Which is why I’ve come to the very sound hypothesis that I’m being held back a grade in life. For some reason, the universe is confident that I am not ready. And if I think about it, I think whoever is making that decision is right. I’m not ready. I need time to puzzle things out about the rest of my life, even though the calendar says that it’s time that I had everything together.

But more than that, I also feel that I have more to learn. I honestly think that life has been trying to show me, trying to help me understand, what I need to do to pass this grade level, and I’ve been ignoring it. It’s like I have a blindfold on, and I’m lifting my foot up to step over an obstacle, but when my foot hits brick, I realize that I can’t step over the obstacle because it is an entire wall that I need to scale. So, I reach out and feel along the wall and realize that I don’t have the tools for climbing the wall, either. I’m not equipped yet, and I think life knows it. But I’m also not sure when that will happen for me. So, I grow impatient, and I bloody my knuckles from hitting the wall out of frustration.

The point is, I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing or even when I’ll get there. That’s for life to decide. But I also need to trust in the process. Because I’ve always been exactly where I’ve needed to be before. And I will get there again, someday. And so, assuredly, will you.

Ma’am, Put the Cookie Down and Step Away

Bailey Gunn1 Comment

Authority. We all know that it likes to wear shiny black boots. We may call it the po-po or the fuzz, but it also comes in the form of our first-grade teacher, our doctor, and our dear, sweet mother.

From the moment life begins, we encounter this over-arching presence that works in the name of our safety and tells us that we need to follow orders, for our health and the health of others. And like I said, this presence comes in many forms.

Except, one day you’re an adult. Somewhere between losing a bunch of baby teeth and earning your first dollar that isn’t allowance, you become the authority. That’s right. You start to realize that you are the captain of your soul.  You are driving this bus, and you, only you, can turn the steering wheel left or right.

So, why do you still feel like you need to do certain things to live a satisfying life? Or even have a good day at all? Why do you feel like there’s a Twister board, and you need to step on green and put a hand on yellow to feel fulfilled? Why do you feel like you have to follow the directions in the box instead of creating your own?

A succinct but sad example. Today, I had some tasks to do after work. But I couldn’t do them until I exercised. But, as is usually the case, I didn’t feel much like going to the gym, which inevitably halted my progress. (I know. This story seems as painful in the retelling as it was when I was experiencing it.) So, I finally decided that I would take a walk. And upon that decision, I asked aloud:

“But is that enough?”

Is that enough!? What do you mean by that? I had to ask myself. According to what? To whom? Who is measuring my daily progress? Who is pinching my fat rolls and telling me that I should have gone to the gym? Who says that I need to complete so many things a day in order to be allowed to exist?

The answer is I don’t.

This may be difficult to understand, but there isn’t going to be anyone leaning over your shoulder, making sure you fill any kind of quota once you have left work for the day or school for life. No one is going to berate you for not working out. No one is going to scream at you for not attending that party you said you’d go to. And no one is going to leap out of your cupboard and smack the cookie out of your hand that you snuck in the wee hours of the morning.

Now, you’ll have to live with whatever decision you make. And that’s an entirely different kind of punishment. But that also means that you can let yourself off the hook indefinitely.

When you’re the authority of your own life, not only can you decide the consequences but you can define the rules.

I am a ______.

Bailey GunnLeave a comment

I have finally figured out the perfect adulthood metaphor: musical chairs. Everyone is walking around a small area, waiting for the music to stop, but sort of lingering near a chair just in case the music stops and they’re stuck. Then it does. And everyone sits down, out of breath, and looks around to see what poor schmuck didn’t get there fast enough and has to stand with their hands dangling at their sides in complete disgust.

Now, in your imagination, replace all of those chairs with jobs. Ah. I bet you can see it now, how creepy that music sounds to your own ears when you’re the one walking around those “chairs.”

You see, I’ve realized that everyone is uncomfortable in adulthood because for as long as we’ve been alive, we’re students or dependents. This is how we identify ourselves, how the government sees us on our parents’ taxes. But then, when we drop out or graduate,  when we grow a little older, we’re ____.  Blank.

And suddenly, we’re all asked to fill in that blank with whatever vocation we choose. But how? We’ve been given the profession of student by others. We’re born, and we’re dependent on other people. Why are we suddenly authorized to make this next decision on our own?

And just like that, you hear the music start to play. You’re unleashed into the world, and you start the delicate dance of job and bills. You need money to survive, which is to say you need to sit in a chair. The chairs can be anything you want them to be, but for most people, we arrange a selection of predictable life choices that will define us. Veterinarian. Salesman. Cashier. So, you sit in one profession/chair. And you sit, and sit, and sit. The music never really starts again. But at least you’re in a chair, right? It’s what we tell ourselves, day after 9-5 day.

No one tries to imagine a new fate for themselves, tries to sit in one specific chair. Any chair will do. And in doing so, they fill in the blank that must be filled to talk to anyone at any party. The answer to “What do you do?” is suddenly so readily on their lips, “I’m a ____.”

And that, I’ve realized, is the problem. Everyone wants to sit in a chair and have an answer when someone asks them what they’re doing with their life so that it will sound good enough to their own ears. The problem is that no one wants to just be. They don’t want to take their time, dancing to the music, walking around, trying each chair out, essentially living their life.

What no one realizes is that life is happening in between sitting. Life happens when that blank isn’t filled just yet.

We all need to remember that we don’t discover our lives, we create them. So, turn the music up for now, and don’t be scared when it stops. Whether you have a chair or not, at some point, you’re still going to have to stand up for yourself.

Burn Your Life Down

Bailey GunnLeave a comment

Do you ever want to burn your life down?

Metaphorically, speaking, of course.

But really. Do you ever want to start over? Raze all of your relationships to the ground, put fire to any friendships in your life, and walk away from it all, in slow motion, as the spark finally hits the gasoline barrel and your life explodes in a swirl of flames that somehow blows your hair away from your face as you casually slip into your Porsche, like in all of the movies?

Yeah, I feel something like that too, every once in a little while.

Because wouldn’t it be easier to start over? Wouldn’t it be easier if you could just pick up and leave? Move to another country where no one knows your name or the fact that you still haven’t grown out of the footie pajamas you wore to elementary school a few times? Wouldn’t it be easier to give up on all of your responsibilities in favor of being slightly selfish, locking yourself in a hotel room and eating good food and drinking better wine?

From this side of the fence, it sure looks like it would be easier. Or maybe it just looks like the entire plot of Eat, Pray, Love. 

But for whatever reason, when I consider my distant future, I get overwhelmed by the fact that there are so many pieces to put together. And it seems like nothing fits. And even worse, it feels like my life has pieces that don’t even go to the same puzzle. What am I supposed to do? Build two puzzles? Build another path in case I change my mind?

Of course, I’m a firm believer that you can’t really “mess” up your life. To admit that a person can mess up his or her life would be to suggest that there is a correct way to live. As profound as it may be, I simply believe that whatever you choose is your choice. And you can’t be anyone but yourself, so you can’t do anything in this life that isn’t right for you. You just have to live your life.

But, why does it feel like I’m going to be disappointing people if I don’t do a specific thing? Why do I feel like I have to everything figured out, retirement plan and all, before I have even considered the next ten years? Why can’t I just burn my life down and start fresh whenever I want to?

There’s a relatively simple answer. No, you shouldn’t burn your life down. (Or anything else, for that matter…)

When I start to feel like this, I realize that it probably isn’t because I want to start over. More like, I don’t know what to do with the resources I’ve been given. Metaphorically speaking again, it’s like I have a hammer and a few nails, but instead of building a house, I just want to throw the tools on a bonfire. It’s like I don’t know how to ask anyone, my friends or family, for help.

Really, when you want to burn your life down, it’s not necessarily that you want to start new. It’s probably because you are trying something new. Remember that your greatest assets are the people that hold out a candle to you so that you can make your way in the dark, not the people who hand you the book of matches.

Faith is a Staircase

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On St. Patrick’s Day, there is no way that I cannot reminisce about spending this special holiday in Ireland.

I’ve never seen such a display of pure patriotism. Float after float, band after band, dancer after dancer marched down the street in the coastal city of Galway. Feeling like a kid again, I had to stand on tiptoes to see over the crowd of people, to get a glimpse of the festivities that I was suddenly apart of. When it was over, there was another parade–to the pub. Funneling down the narrow streets, we would eventually arrive at our favorite bar. And people would get their beer “to go” in a plastic cup so that they could take their merriment out into the street, to watch performers put on yet another show.

It scares me to think that this may have never happened. I almost didn’t go to Ireland at all.

Let me set the stage. It was my junior year of college. A lot of things were finally coming into focus for me: I was afraid to start a job but at least I knew who my real friends were. Actually, I was with the best roommates a girl could ask for. But still. As is customary in these situations, I wanted more.

I had always been interested in studying abroad, even though I had only left the country once. So, I set up a meeting with my study abroad advisor. With my high grades, she told me I could go anywhere I wanted. Emboldened by her faith in me, I proudly stated that I wanted to go to Scotland. St. Andrew’s, in fact. You may recognize it from the tabloids: Kate Middleton was educated there. But I was drawn to the school because they had a terrific creative writing program (and an excellent golf course so that my dad would come to visit me there). I had done mild research on it, and I felt sure that I would be comfortable in Scotland.

Imagine my surprise and heartbreak when my study abroad advisor flatly stated that I had missed the deadline for that school. Then, imagine the rift in my heart deepening when she told me that I would only have a few more days to submit an application to any school. I felt the experience slipping out of my fingers before I even had a chance to entertain it.

She must have seen the horror on my face because her next reply was decidedly cheerier, “Have you ever thought of Ireland? My husband was an English major, and he loved his time in Galway.” With an enthusiastic nod, a frantic recommendation letter from my favorite professor, and a hurried phone call with both my mom and my boyfriend, it was settled: I would go to Ireland to study in less than a month.

Despite the rocky beginning to my experience (threw up on the plane, forgot my debit card back in the US, broke my finger playing Gaelic football), I had the time of my life. I met some of the best people I have ever encountered. I saw landscapes that were nothing short of unreal. I learned a new language. But it almost didn’t happen.

I’m not sure what I would have done if I had not submitted my application on time. If I had let the fact that my dream school was no longer an option hold me back. And, oh yeah, if my family, boyfriend, and roommates hadn’t been so absolutely encouraging and accepting of my decision.

However, it was about the only time in my life that I was able to let go of control completely. Of course, I was in the capable hands of my study abroad advisor, but I still put a lot of trust in her. After all, she was going to decide where I would spend the next 6 months of my life. That’s a lot of faith for a person I considered one baby step above a stranger. An incredibly accommodating and complimentary stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

And so, if there was ever proof that MLKJ’s quote, “Faith is taking the first step, even when you don’t see the whole staircase” is true, I am a living example. Maybe the best parts of life aren’t planned or even up to us to decide. Maybe it is just luck that brings us to the right time and place, where we are meant to be (I’m sure the Irish would tell you that). For me, I think it is a combination of being ready for everything and having everything ready. In the end, if you have a parachute, you still have to muster up the courage to jump.

Do Your Job So I Can Do Mine

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Okay, I’m going to do some math tonight.

Now, that should set off some alarm bells in your head. The size of the bells of Notre Dame, to be honest. Because I’m not a math person. Therefore, I should not be doing any math of any kind, even under pretend circumstances. But humor me. (Hope your funny bone is the size of your femur).

So, basically the world has this equation to determine if you are doing what you should be doing with your life. It’s simple: direct societal contribution + deliverable good  = your job.

Now, think about it. For example, you have an architect. What does he or she contribute to society? Places to work, eat, and sleep by building structures. What does he or she deliver? Those buildings, more opportunities for revenue, etc. That’s a one-to-one relationship, if I’m not mistaken.

Now, think about another job. A professional dancer, let’s say. (The math is going to get significantly harder, here.) What’s the societal contribution? Beautiful art. Sadly, not enough people seem to appreciate this societal contribution or consider it as such. What’s a deliverable good from a professional dancer? Well, it certainly isn’t tangible. But professional dancers create memories for their audiences. Visual interpretations of what a piece of music is “saying.” More art.

Not exactly the most straightforward equation. So, many people look at a professional dancer’s career and see this: 0 + 0 = 0. Which isn’t the correct math (even if my own math is not always sound).

Now, I have no grudges against architects. I don’t hold anything against professional dancers, either. But when professional dancers are forced to become architects because society sees value in architects but not professional dancing, then we start to have a problem.

Because this happens all of the time. Professional dancers, and other people who don’t fit into the stark equation outlined above, think that their passion cannot sustain their lifestyle. In many cases, they are right. Since society doesn’t value their contributions or deliverable goods because their careers do not benefit society as obviously as other professions (see above equation, again), they are told to pursue other things. Then, their passion is thwarted, and we get lifeless accountants who were supposed to be painters, we have frustrated attorneys who were meant to be novelists, and yes, we have jaded architects who were meant to be professional dancers. We get people who are displacing themselves to make a living, which then, in turn, displaces the people who really wanted to be accountants, attorneys, and architects.

Which brings me back to my original point. I should never, ever do math. I’ve never been good at it. Even trying to double recipes is difficult for me. I’m a writer. I like words, not numbers. Which is not to say people can’t like both. I’m just not one of those magical, incredibly talented people.

The point is, I should not be forced to find a job that is outside of my realm of expertise simply because society doesn’t think I can make a real societal contribution or deliverable good from writing.

Basically, you should do what you want to do, no matter what. Because if you can’t follow your passion, then things won’t really add up for you, no matter how (badly) you do the math.

Do It For The Story

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This was both the slogan and the excuse during college.

Wait, you have a test tomorrow? No, no, no, dude. DUDE. We need to rob a bank, grab some corn dogs, jump the fence to the community center, and draw mustaches on all of the “Rent-a-Cop” posters. 

And any sensible person would at least ask why. But your friends already knew the answer: It’s so that you can be the coolest person at the party, strangers gathered around, beer in one hand and the other hand slightly raised in the air, describing how you scaled the fence to the community center only to find that your best friend was hanging from his underwear at the top. Like your friend, all of the people at the party are also hanging: on your every word.

And really, this isn’t news. Humans have a long oral history. We love stories. It’s how we communicate dangers, humor, and understanding. We are completely fascinated with telling others what has happened to us in order to warn them or simply make them laugh.

But that’s the key. To tell a story, you need an audience.

Which brings me directly to my point. You can have all the money in the world. You can jet-set to Japan to see the sunrise only to race back to New York to see it again. You can wear bikinis in Hawaii and parkas in Alaska in the same weekend. You can rub elbows, and maybe even noses, with celebrities. You can buy a mansion and have a wing just for your dog. You can invest that money, donate it to charity, and make it all back again.

And that would be great, truly. But it wouldn’t mean anything without someone to talk to about all of your adventures, all of your experiences, all of your fears. It would mean nothing if you couldn’t share it with at least one other person (romantically or platonically).

You see, as a young person who is not entirely sure what she wants to do with this box of chocolates we call life, I’ve always figured that if I had enough money, all of my problems would be solved. I could travel the world, like I want to. I could buy a house and rescue all of the homeless dogs, like I want to. I could feed the hungry and make a difference, like I want to. Yes, I could eat lots of corn dogs, like I want to.

But in the end, what would it amount to if I couldn’t tell my story to someone? Is a sunrise seen alone as sweet as one shared? For that matter, is a corn dog?

That’s a lesson this social media generation can relate to: “pictures or it didn’t happen.” Well, your life is one snapshot in a billion. If there is no one to appreciate its beauty, does it really matter that it happened?

And I know, it’s sort of like a “if a tree fell in a forest” argument, but I wonder if I didn’t have life already figured out in college, when I did everything for the story. I wonder if I’m not trying to complicate everything now that I’ve graduated.

The point is, you can rob a bank, eat corn dogs, and draw mustaches on unsuspecting Rent-A-Cops. But if you have no one to talk to, no one to laugh or cry with, no one to enjoy the stories of your life with, you have nothing.

In the end, it isn’t what we leave behind. It’s who we leave behind, and what we shared with them that truly matters. Write your story and make it a good one so that others will want to share it, too.

I Don’t Know How to Ride a Bike

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Excuse me, but I am going to puzzle something out for myself tonight.

Right now in my life, I am currently at the stage called “emerging adulthood.” It is a phenomenon in which hordes of college graduates who have been tricked by the economy into earning a degree and allowing themselves to fall thousands of dollars in debt, must humiliate themselves by living in their old room at their parents’ house with the Orlando Bloom posters they had in high school, struggling to be financially independent.

And while my parents don’t call me a failure, I sure feel like one. Shouldn’t I have it figured out by now? Shouldn’t I feel like I’m working towards something? Shouldn’t I stop eating clementines lovingly peeled by my mother because I don’t have fingernails?

These thoughts plague me every night, when I sleep in the room I grew up in.

Until it was pointed out to me that while “emerging adulthood” is a relatively new phase of human life (at least in America), so too is childhood. Allowing yourself to savor the time you had when you were young has only become a rite of passage since industrialization. Before that, it was all work and well, yeah, just work. You were a full-time employee on your parents’ farm before you hit puberty. So, it is only recently that we’ve started to appreciate that time between birth and the first death (my cute nickname for adulthood.)

So, I thought, maybe to get out of this weird funk where I can’t figure out what I should be doing with the rest of my life, I need to take a look back at what I did before, in childhood.

And what I realized was that I struggled in childhood with the same restlessness as I feel now. Like most things in life, it’s just another cycle.

You see, I came out of the womb at 30 years old. And I’ve been trying to fit in ever since. I really tried to be a kid. I made “backyard soup” (but refused to eat it.) I climbed trees (well, I climbed the first branch.)  I played on the jungle gym (okay, it was the swings.) But it never really worked for me.

So my last chance to redeem myself and become a normal kid? I had to learn how to ride a bike. All kids my age had “wheels” before they ever had a car. Me? Sure, I had wheels. Training wheels. And then when my parents took them off, I was hopeless.

I’ve had people try to teach me. And I’d ride on two wheels for about 10 minutes, and then I would freak out and think that I was going to swerve into traffic and jump off. So, any bike that I own will remain riderless, probably for the rest of my life.

So, what’s the point? I was a childhood failure and now I’m not surprising anyone by continuing to be a failure in adulthood, too?

Perhaps. Well, probably. But we all have the opportunity to succeed, no matter how many times we’ve failed in the past. We all have a chance at success in the future. Multiple opportunities and chances, in fact.

I chose to not learn how to ride a bike because I never got back on one. But I am not choosing to stop pursuing what I want out of my life. It may be too late for me to learn how to ride a bike, but it will never be too late for me to succeed at everything else.