Welcome to 360 Months

This is a space for sharing experiences and feelings around turning 30. From people who are approaching this milestone with anticipation and uncertainty to those who have recently passed the 3 decade mark with a warm embrace, 360 Months is an opportunity to challenge dominant social expectations of this marker of adulthood. It is also a chance to ignite new conversations amongst peers in the struggle to make sense of, and even celebrate, growing older.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts

Thursday, April 21, 2011

30 Days of 30: Sarah Berkowitz

Sarah Berkowitz is another one of those superheroes. Her contributions to the Wooden Shoe as treasurer, zine orderer, among other roles, have invaluably helped to make the collective what it is today. Sarah is one of the smartest and most inspiring activists I have met in Philadelphia. Hopefully one day we’ll carve out some time in both of our busy schedules to finally make that Hole cover band, that we’ve dreamed about for so long, become a reality.
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This weekend I went to the Chicago Zine Fest. I left Philly around 3pm on Thursday and I drove through the night with my partner, Ryan. I’m 29 now. I have been involved in zines for about half my life. Many of the things that were important to me when I was younger are still a big part of my identity. Feminism, anarchism, veganism, social justice, reproductive rights have all been a pretty big part of my life for the past 10 years. These have been my anchors when everything else was in turmoil throughout my 20’s. 
I have been thinking about turning 30 for about a year. It is on my mind a lot. Especially because a lot of the things I am interested in attract younger folks. It feels good to have experience and to feel grounded in that experience. But sometimes I crave more peers my own age that are interested in the same projects I am interested in.
When I was a teenager I never really thought about life after college. I had no specific goals of marriage or a full-time job.  I had little aspirations for life rituals. I spent a lot of my early 20’s crying and feeling sad. Things constantly felt hard- relationships, friendships, and jobs. I stayed in bad situations for too long. When I was 24 I got what I thought could be a dream job. I became manager at a Planned Parenthood surgical center. It was a nightmare. I felt lost. Every full-time job I had had after college wrecked me. I had no idea how to advocate for myself so I stayed miserable in horrible work situations. These patterns were mirrored in a lot of my personal relationships as well.
I spent the second half of my 20s making drastic changes. I quit my job, went to therapy, traveled, spent summers biking around and swimming in fountains. I started staffing at the Wooden Shoe. I took risks, put myself out there and learned a lot of new skills. Eventually I morphed into someone that was pretty sassy and assertive. 
I haven’t had a full-time job in 3 years. I’ve been taking classes to go back to school for nursing and working various part time jobs. I still feel weary about striving for a full-time career. I know that jobs are never going to be satisfying or fulfilling completely. I would choose not to work if I didn’t have to. What satisfies me the most are the projects I don’t get paid for. I like feeling connected to the things I have felt passionate for in my youth. I don’t want to give up my radical ideals. I feel a sense of pride that I am still connected to anarchism and feminism and vegetarianism. I have seen so many people give up on these things over the years. It can be really disheartening. 
When I was 18, someone told me that one of the members of the band Submission Hold got a circle-A tattoo when he turned 30. I thought that was so cool! Everyone gets punk and anarchy tattoos when they first get into it but to get it when you are 30 means that you have sat with these things and let them become a part of your life. You are in it for the long haul.
With that in mind, I have been planning to enter my thirtieth year with an event I have been calling 30 days of 30. I want to plan an event for my 30th year for 30 days around my actual birthday on Sept 28th. September tends to be a strange month and personally there have been some major losses around my birthday so I would really like to reclaim this time of year. I expect to use some of those days to get tattoos that I have been talking about getting for 10 years.
When I think about being 30, I finally feel like I am a grown up. I feel ready to buy a house and move in with a partner, to move across the country, and to think about having kids. When I was in college the first time I never cut class or took a lot of risks. I had a lot of insecurities.  I’m an adult now, so I’m confident that cutting class to drive to Chicago for a zine fest to see a Q & A with Aaron Cometbus and Al Burian is the right thing to be doing with my weekend. Cometbus zine also turns 30 this year. It was comforting to hear Aaron Cometbus say, “Some people have kids, I’ve been doing a magazine for 30 years.” It is ok to stick with what you know.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Not Too Old for the Hostel: Lia B.

I met Lia B. through the Wooden Shoe, but only briefly. The last time I saw her was actually on her 30th birthday in Center City Philadelphia. It was late February of this year, and I had just left a labor solidarity rally across from city hall with a couple other friends from the Shoe. We ran into Lia as she was leaving the building where she works for a much-needed break. We wished her a happy birthday and James told her about my project. Lia seems like a great person with a committed passion for both animal and human liberation, and adventure.
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I had always figured by 30 years old I would be tired of the shenanigans that defined my youth, but it seems like not only am I not tired of it, I don’t know how to out grow it. I have a somewhat serious job. I have an amazing little bulldog mix that I have miraculously kept fed and homed for 3 years, and a completely disgusting collection of travel souvenirs that I really should just get rid of (would anyone want a sand "snow" globe from morocco, or a volcanic rock from Iceland?).  But while I am proud of my work ethic, alcohol tolerance, cooking skills, and dog mommy-ing abilities, does that really fit the popular conceptualization of "adult"? Somehow I doubt it...
Recently when on my 5th stay in Barcelona I wondered out loud to the friends I was traveling with, "When are you too old to stay in a hostel?" We looked around and saw young tattooed Irish guys puking into garbage pails, various Barca soccer fans - fresh off the Malaga win- running through the hostel screaming for their team, beautiful college girls from Portugal shrieking from the sight, and random fornicators making everyone feel awkward. My two friends said out loud, "Should we have just paid for a hotel?" I felt comfortable and at home in that environment, but it made me stop and think: Adults don’t stay at places like this. Am I going to be that odd 50 year old women, still going on vacation with a back pack and vans, looking for squats somewhere, carrying powdered soy milk and a stash of cliff bars? 
My parents worry about me. They ask me when I'm going to get married, constantly. They ask me when I'm going to buy a home. When am I going to "settle down"? When am I going to wear clothes that match? When am I going to look back and realize that all of this procrastinating on "growing up" has stultified my life? Don’t I want to accomplish these "goals" society/ my parents/ my peers have all accepted as the norm? Or do I want to dust off my backpack, put my sneakers on, and ride my bike around Cambodia this fall?
30 to me, right now, is self actualization. My life has been a quirky, awkward journey, filled with music, passion, rage, food, alcohol, metrocards, passport stamps, broken bones, and soy products. I have been so lucky to be surrounded by loving friends and family at every turn. Maybe I don’t want to be the weirdo who is "too old for the hostel" but I definitely want to keep my adventurous spirit. I don’t think growing up means giving up, settling for anything, or ceasing to have fun, but I do think the expectations associated with growing up do not work for me.
At 30 I have accomplished more than I could ever imagine, and done things I have only dreamed of. I have kept my priorities of social justice and animal rights, and even while working in a capitalistic industry, I have remained true to myself and to my work, conducting business with an honest candor that might not be as commonplace as it should. I have been realizing that while I am older and hopefully wiser, I don’t have to change myself to fit my birthday. Maybe I will never "grow up" as most people imagine, but I will always be changing, learning, and enjoying as much as I can.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Falling Short of Fourth: Kristin Bott

When I was in fourth grade, my (fabulous) teacher, Ms. Dearing, had a "Shine On" board, which would highlight a different student every week. Everyone in the class would write a note, scrawling something positive about you and cover it in well-intentioned crayon. You would fill up the board with important pictures and "About Me"-type worksheets.
One of these worksheets asked you to draw a picture of you five, fifteen years from "now." In careful Crayola marker, there's a picture of me in my late 20s, which looks strikingly like the rendering of me when I was 15, which is closely related to "me now" at 10. Except: when I'm older, I am standing next to a marker-man, in front of a misshapen marker-house, and I feature a seriously pronounced butt. (Apparently I knew that girls' butts get bigger as they age. Dear fourth-grade me; they're called hips, please.)
By fourth-grade metrics - I'm quite behind on my timeline. I hit 30 next week - and unlike many of my friends and peers, I lack both house and spouse. (The hip-size predictions, though, are spot-on. We're a sturdy people...)
It has been a bit strange to watch the rest of the pack pull away in various senses, engagements announced and houses purchased, pregnancies heralded on the book of face and pictures of little wrinkly-old-men-looking babies triumphantly shared after the big day.
My peers have partners, kids, careers. I was always one of those kids who kept up with front of the class... and now there are days when I feel impossibly behind. All the loveable ones are married. All the serious ones have houses. All the dedicated ones have children. All the focused ones have Job Plans.
Kristin... you're doing it wrong?
But, wait. In between donning bridesmaids dresses and making plans for sewing baby bibs, I've managed to do some things. One and a half graduate programs and some number of stints as a research scientist (field and lab, both). I've been a science educator, labor organizer, non-profit Jill-of-whatever-you-need. Four states of residence since leaving my native Idaho; in each, I've gone from knowing nothing/no one to having community and some "sense of place."
Yes, there have been some number of honest attempts at long-term committed relationships (my own mother "can't keep track of them anymore"... thanks, Mom), with n-1 that have reached the end of their best-functioning term. And, not uniquely, one of the "ends" includes a messy Saturn's return timeline; just before I turned 28, I moved in with my guy-for-life and was teaching college full-time. Six months later, I had gone through a horrendous break-up/move-out and was concurrently working four part-time jobs - it was awful. By the time I turned 29, I had settled into one full-time job and fallen in with a new, fabulous partner (who is still around and still fabulous).
There are moments of panic, when I realize how behind I am - losing at the spouse game, the property contest, the job of producing and/or raising children, of having a single, focused career.
But there are also moments of satisfaction, sitting in my studio apartment, looking out over my home city and over at the mountains, or brewing beer/cooking dinner/gardening/traveling with my guy - where I can't quite imagine doing this any other way.
Hello, 30. You're huge, you're looming, you are impending doom and horrible bouts of navel-gazing. You are a reminder of all of the things I Am Not Doing That I Should Be Doing.
But... you also look suspiciously like other things I've seen before. Like other gigantic impossibilities, summiting Mt. Hood or running a half-marathon, job searching in a horrible economy or completing a difficult graduate program, that were overcome with a simple, calm, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-with-a-sense-of-purpose approach.
Maybe you're actually just another year, and your significance is an artifact of our base-10 number system. I'm with Pamela on this one - there's a lot ahead, and you're just the start.
Dear 30, you don't get to make me feel behind. Dear 30, I'm doing everything exactly as I should be, including all of the rough spots and bad episodes. Dear 30, I still don't know what I'm going to be when I grow up or whether or not a house, kids, dog, spouse is/are in the plan. But, dearest 30, that's how this is going to work.
And - dear fourth-grade me, I'm sorry to let you down. But, with all due respect, ten-year-olds have a somewhat poor track record of accurately predicting the future.
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Kristin grew up in southern Idaho, a land filled with sagebrush and Republicans. She's lived, worked, and studied in western Montana, southern Arizona, and mid-Michigan, where she met Pamela Roy. When not busily failing to produce children, land a spouse, or purchase real estate, Kristin rides her bike early and often, brews beer, reads books, cooks good food, and maintains a decent garden. She works at a non-profit in Portland, where she lives with three houseplants, four bikes, and multiple rain jackets; you can find her tales of bikes, beer, and breakfast at: http://bikingpotato.blogspot.com/.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Things it took me until 30 to learn: Monica Elkinton

Two memories stick out when I think of Monica Elkinton; one during college and one from after we graduated. The first was on “Pi Day,” (3.14) 2003. In addition to being a political activist, Monica was a mathematics major at Bard and invited me to the Math Club’s Pi(e) Party that day. I delightfully ate as many pizza slices and fruit pie as my body could process. I maintained a friendly conversation with Monica as her peers looked at me with scorn as a party crasher. Then the following year, Monica and I both found ourselves in Madison, Wisconsin. I had moved there to immerse myself in the city’s legacy of post-capitalist counter-institutions, while she arrived later to intern at the state’s supreme court for law school. The day after Bush was re-elected Monica invited me to see a Beasties Boys concert, to dance away the inevitable sorrows of the ensuing four years. This is all to say, thank you. She is now a public defender in Alaska, continuing to change the world.
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1. Every day is a blessing.
2. How to buy a house. And what the heck mortgage insurance is.
3. Turns out staying up all night debating philosophy is not a good quality in a romantic partner after all. Doing the dishes and supporting me in my decisions is way better.
4. A taste for very dry wine.
5. That I could be dropped in any city in the world by myself, and make a good adventure out of it.
6. That everyone else is just as scared as I am.
7. The best way to be a friend is to listen.
8. The second best way to be a friend is to have been there.
9. How to invest, and what I will need to retire. (Whoa. Yes.)
10. That if you like your job, then overtime and weekends mean nothing.
11. There is more to you than your job or career.
12. Email, twitter, and facebook can never make up for phone calls and visiting people in person.
13. One-night stands don't make you feel very good.
14. Healthy food actually does.
15. And sleep.
16. Greasy food and beer make your stomach hurt. Maybe that's because it's bad for you.
17. That my parents were making it up as they went along.
18. To buy a slightly used car: not a new one, and not a clunker.
19. That you can try to alter your attitude with whatever chemicals you want, but the people that love you, love the sober you.
20. Being around family is important.
21. That joining the Board means you'll be expected to give a large donation.
22. That I am not an athlete, and that I never will be. Some of us just can't move that way. The closest I will get is to dance. Mostly to folk music.
23. Little kids are awesome. And that we have so much to learn from those younger than us.
24. If making art or music is what you need to stay sane, then for God's sake, do it, even if you're not someone else's idea of “good” at it. If you have fun, and it colors your world, then you're good enough.
25. That I love living in a racially diverse community.
26. With the right time commitment, you are capable of learning any skill you want to learn.
27. How to live on your own time frame. Your urgent doesn't have to be someone else's urgent.
28. Sharing a meal with loved ones is simply the best thing to do.
29. We are all human.
30. All humans respond to a smile from another human. 

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

The Deciding Incisor: Lauren Johnson

I became friends with Lauren Johnson during our final semester at Bard College. Two days after our graduation she gave me a tour of her hometown of Great Barrington, MA and the campus of Bard’s baby cousin, Simon’s Rock. Great Barrington just happened to be where she had returned for the summer and where I had an appointment to contest a speeding ticket. Since then, Lauren has popped back into my life while visiting a mutual friend when I lived in Northampton, and again more recently in Philadelphia. In addition to being hilariously witty (see below), Lauren is a sweet and sincere friend. If I ever need to hide underground, I’m sure she and Dan will graciously let me live in the backyard of their Jersey farmhouse with the chickens.
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I am sitting reclined in an aquamarine blue dental chair, waiting to be seen by a Portuguese dentist.

I have not been to the dentist for about seven years, and all the brochures of cloud-white toothy smiles placed along the countertops are doing a marvelous job of taunting me.  

For the majority of those seven years, I have led an indulgently artistic and nomadic life bereft of dental insurance throughout the Big Apple, North Carolina, and New Jersey, where, at 29 years old, I got my first flat tire on the road to perfect oral health.

I had pretty much shrugged off going to see a dentist baring anything catastrophic, until I recently showed my husband my front tooth whose gum had been receding pretty steadily after noticing it started to look irritated. The words he spoke while painfully wincing were “Holy crap, that’s like Tales From the Crypt!”

Fine.

I signed up for an in-state no-frills dental program, picked the nearest dentist within the network, and here I am—paper bib clipped to my collar and ready for the worst.

The dentist comes in and we start with the x-rays. After each one, the lead cape draped over my chest feels heavier and heavier, and I imagine thick wads of (my) money being plunged down the toilet.

Next up is the cleaning.

Everything is going fine until she gets to The Tooth. “Ooo!,” she says, completely stopping and turning off the drill. “That hurts me just to look at it.” 

She pulls off her mask, and we proceed to have a heart-to-heart. “Why is it that you have not gotten this looked at earlier?” she tells me in her Portuguese accent. I smile and try to explain to her how tough I am. She looks at me solemnly. “You’re very young,” she says. “You have many good tooth years ahead of you, but you need to take care of this to be sure that will happen.” She says she’ll write me a referral to a specialist (more sounds of dollars flushing), and proceeds with the cleaning. I seal the deal with myself to take her advice, wincing as the electricity shoots down my legs as she finishes polishing the base of said tooth.

At 29, I never thought I’d have to start dealing with something so geriatric sounding as receding gums. And though I tend to laugh this sort of stuff off (along with things like gray hairs and how delicious prunes are), this time it’s a bit more awakening. It’s made me nervous. Not only have I been thinking about it constantly and having dreams of my teeth falling out, I’ve also resumed one of my old nervous tics of biting the insides of my cheeks. 

Gross!

When I see the specialist my dentist referred me to, what a mouth-show they will get!

All kidding aside, the timing of this instance could not be more appropriate. I, like many other of my late-twenty-something friends, have been musing about the new decade we’re entering into, and comparing our lists of Top 10 Things to Do Before I’m Thirty.  I’m pretty sure “Pay Attention to your Dental Health” will trump “Lose 10 Pounds,” and “Become a Model” (Quiz: How many models have a horror show host gumline? Zero!). However, I must say, as I grow longer in the tooth (sorry, had to), it will be learned moments like these that I’ll stow away to help me make more self-informed, wise, and adult decisions as I turn 30, 40, 50…

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Fork in the Road: Jared Souther

I have known Jared Souther for 17 years. We met in Mr. Bruce's 7th grade science class and quickly became good friends. We would talk on the phone for hours about music and, by our freshman year at Nauset Regional High School, we started a band together with our friend Adam Wentworth on drums that lasted into my first year of college. It would be impossible to do justice to this experience creating music with Jared, our lasting friendship, and how punk rock changed our lives, in the limitations of this space. I'll just say that all of this is completely inseparable to who I am today. Jared is one of the most talented and inspiring people I've known. He has continued to write music and play in bands all of these years, and something tells me that he won't be slowing down anytime soon.   

Check out Jared's current band Revilers online at: Revilers.net
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Besides the wrinkles around my eyes, the several remaining hairs on the top of my head, and the pain in my knees every morning, I feel pretty much the same as when I was a teenager. I will be turning thirty on May twenty-third of this year and other than it being a nice even number that our culture has declared a milestone, it doesn't feel much different to me than any other birthday. 

I remember at the beginning of my freshman year in high school, we were asked to write a letter to ourselves that we would get back as seniors. Waiting four years seemed like a lifetime back then. After all, four years prior I was in elementary school. Oddly enough, I still have the letter today, a whopping fifteen years later. In it I wrote about looking forward to playing my first show with my first band, Generic. I wondered if I'd still be playing shows at the old age of eighteen. Back then I owned a cheap 4-track cassette recorder that I learned to make demos on. At that point I only recorded one band, but I was very concerned that I would still be involved in recording. It was also in utter importance that I had at least one tattoo. When senior year finally rolled around, I had no problem meeting such strenuous goals. Funny that nowhere in the letter did it mention college, high school, or what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was only concerned with playing in a band, recording music and getting tattooed. Oddly enough, reading this letter again at almost thirty, I am concerned with playing in a band, recording music, and giving tattoos. Oh, how I've matured so much. 

Of course there are some things that have changed. Today, I find that things like quality vacuum cleaners bring me happiness. I now embrace the quiet natural beauty of Cape Cod's off season. I even have a wife (which is still a shocker to most of my friends and family).

For me, thirty is a confusing fork in the road, representing where you're currently at in life, and where you think you're supposed to be going. Naturally, by growing up, some things change. I truly enjoy coming home to my wife and going for a walk, or having a quiet evening watching a movie, etc. But I also still like getting in a shitty, rusted van with my friends, driving to an unknown city, meeting new people and playing loud, abrasive punk rock. I see no problem living what some consider a contradictory lifestyle. In fact, it makes me extremely happy because everything feels fresh. The problem lies in the perception of others that say, "You're thirty now, it's time to get your shit together." 

Whenever one of my peers outside of the punk scene finds out that I'm in a band, the first thing they ask me is how much money I make. When I tell them that we rarely break even, they then ask why I bother doing it at all. I usually follow up by asking them how much they make golfing with their buddies and what steps they're taking towards going pro. Something happens to people in their adult years causing them to lose their passions in life. I play music because I enjoy creating, being in different places, hanging out with friends and meeting new ones that share a similar outlook. The fact that I have to explain to people that those reasons are more important to me than money, is disappointing. 

When you're young you think of thirty as the time when the fun is over and you've got all your ducks in a row. But after talking to many of my peers, I've realized a lot of us don't want the fun to end and we still don't know what the hell we're doing. Is that so awful? 

Still, the mental fork in the road does wear me down. As a teenager and through my twenties I always wanted to do so many things with music and art but there was a lot of trial and error along the way. It seems that now, as I approach turning thirty, I finally have a clear vision of where I want to go with my creative endeavors and exactly how to make it happen. But then I hear all these outside voices......."It's never too late to go to college"..."When are you buying a house?"..."When are you having a baby?"..."Just put it on a credit card"..."Oh, you haven't gotten over the punk phase yet?"....And just as I'm about to tell the world to fuck off and leave me alone, that I'll do whatever I want, I realize that rent is due in four days and my car has a flat tire. 

Overall, I don't have a clue as to what a thirty year old is supposed to be doing, nor do I care. Maybe it's time I grew a mustache? I feel that there is no master schedule. No due date on life. But for some reason we, as a culture, put these expectations on ourselves "by the time we're thirty." The only given is death. We need to live our lives our own way, in whatever order we choose, and just except the fact that humans are a bunch of screw ups and that's OK. The serious stuff will always be there whether we want it to be or not. I'm more concerned with not forgetting what makes me happy even if what makes me happy may change as I get older. Sometimes I wonder how me as a kid would view myself today about to turn thirty. I'm guessing I wouldn't suck in my own eyes. That's good enough for me.  

Friday, April 1, 2011

Transporting My Dog on My Motorcycle: Brihannala Morgan

At the height of the gloomy Bush era, one year after the invasion of Iraq was launched, I found myself living in Madison, Wisconsin. This is where I met Bria Morgan. She had recently moved back to her hometown to work on the 2004 campaign against, well let's just say, Bush's re-election. Bria was one of the most committed activists I had ever met and was one of the people in Madison that helped me make sense of both an unfamiliar city and the chaotic world we were trying to change for the better. Currently serving as the director of The Borneo Project, it is no surprise that Bria has continued to tirelessly sustain her political organizing work since that dark period when we first met. 
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When I was 22, I set out a life plan: I was going to finish college, travel and work abroad for 2 years, come back to America, get my master's degree, and go work for the Rainforest Action Network in San Francisco. Strangely enough, that is almost exactly what I did. Yes, I dropped out of grad school a year early to work for the Rainforest Action Network, and yes, I traveled internationally for a year and a half instead of two years, but mostly I was right on the money.

Two things strike me now, about this plan. First, I seem to have stopped planning right around the time I was going to hit 30. Considering how detailed my plans had been up to that point, why did I stop? I wouldn't mind having that road map to follow right now. The other part is that I totally left out anything that had to do with relationships, marriage, kids, etc. And when I think about it, I have actually still only been to one wedding, and I have never been to a wedding of someone my age. Most of my good friends aren't even in long term relationships, which has to be an anomaly at my age. If I had planned a relationship into my life plan at age 22, would things be different now?

So, now I am about to turn 30, and it seems like a good time to take stock. Where has following my now 8-year-old life plan gotten me? I have had an amazing career, working around the world on forest activism. I now run my own tiny non-profit which I struggle to keep above water, but which I love. I have dated a series of amazing men, but none that I ever figured I would settle down with. I have cash, which is a blessing, and no debt, which is wearing down so many folks of my generation. In general, I have succeeded in those goals that I set out when I was 22. I am also happy to say that I have only gotten more radical with age, instead of embracing compromise, which I thought might happen.

But, call it age, or Saturn returns, or whatever the bejezzus you want to call it, I actually do find my priorities changing. I have no interest in “settling down”, but I would really like to set down roots, both in a home, a community, and in a relationship. This wasn't part of the plan at all, really, until less than a year ago. I really want a dog. But I also want to figure out a way to transport a dog on my motorcycle. Really, that is actually a perfect microcosm of where I find myself right now. I want a dog, but I want to carry my dog on my motorcycle. It's not easy to do (although it is possible... at least the in the literal sense). 

I wish I could set a plan out for my 30s the way I did in my early 20s, and stick to it. But I don't have the same closed-minded commitment to career and success that I did when I was 22. I do know that in my 30s I fully intend on continuing to work to save forests and protect the rights of the people who live on them. I fully intend to do whatever I can to topple capitalism, using all the tools I have, from direct actions to clothing exchanges. I know I want my 30s to be filled with dinners cooked with friends, as well as new endeavors that push me to be stronger, and more creative. I know I want to find a relationship that I can sink my teeth into, and I want a dog. And, of course, a way to transport that dog on my motorcycle.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

The Big 3-0: Melissa Reed

When I lived in Northampton, MA I had a dear friend that wouldn't come visit me at the cafe where I worked. "I don't want to see you like that. I want to see you dancing," Liz explained. When I think of Melissa Reed, who I also met in Northampton, I imagine her in that state of freedom, dancing the night away. Melissa is one of the sweetest and most honest people I know. I'm excited for her dance into a new era of life; thriving, and free.  
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I feel like I’m getting younger and wiser.

My 30th birthday is only two months away. It has been weighing heavily on my mind. The thing is I grew up too fast. I’ve been independent for a long time (or so that’s what people tell me). Definitely far too responsible.
I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire. My parents found God around the time I turned four. They sent me to a private Christian School from Kindergarten to 8th grade. Then, thanks to my sister’s learning disabilities, we both got to go to a public high school.
Since I can remember, I was required to go to church every Sunday. Missing a week was not an option. “If you’re too sick for church, then you’re too sick to hang out with your friends,” my parents said. So I went. I didn’t always dislike church. It was something we did every Sunday, just like eating dinner together as a family. But over time I started to feel like a hypocrite. I didn’t want to go anymore.
Growing up, my parents never encouraged me to reach for my dreams, never encouraged me to go to college. I never even thought of it as an option. To be honest, I’m not sure my parents even believed that I could. Since I was kid, my parents have filled me with so much doubt. They never trusted me to do the right thing. Throughout my adolescence, my parents taught me to fear; to fear the world, to fear people I didn’t know, above all to fear the unknown.
In high school, when I had the option of choosing my classes, I always picked the easy ones. I didn’t apply myself. I knew that I was cheating myself by taking easy classes, but what did it matter? I didn’t know what I was good at anyways. What were my passions? I didn’t know that, either. I couldn’t envision any kind of future for myself outside of my house, but by that time I knew I couldn’t live with my parents any longer.
At age seventeen, in my junior year of high school, I ran away. My parents had given me an ultimatum: go to church or we’ll take away your car and your driver’s license. I turned in the keys to my boxy Ford Festiva and headed for Vermont. 
Dropping out of school wasn’t really part of my plan. I just needed to get away from my parents. I tried to enroll in a high school in Vermont, but that didn’t pan out because I was still a minor and not a tax-paying resident. The following months were very challenging. I survived mainly through perseverance and the kindness of strangers. I tried renting a room from a friend, only to have my rent money stolen. After that, I lived with my boyfriend at the time in a tent beside the Connecticut River. (This my parents really didn’t understand; my mom said, “if you like camping so much, why don’t you set up a tent in the backyard.") From there, I moved around more, worked anyplace that would hire me: gas stations, pizzas joints, supermarkets.
Since I left home, I have been trying to find my way in this big scary world that my parents taught me to fear. I have been living in Massachusetts for the last twelve years now and working at a supermarket, whose name I won’t mention, for eleven. I hadn’t intended on staying where I am so long. It just happened. I started off working third shift stocking shelves because the pay was good. Eventually I moved to days, and from there into a managerial position.
My job has it perks. I have sick days, personal days, a good health insurance plan. Starting next year, I’ll be up to four weeks of paid vacation. Over the years, I’ve been able travel to places like New Zealand, Spain, France and Guatemala. I have a 401K. I should be happy, right? I’m on the right track. I have a silver 2005 Toyota Matrix that I bought brand new and paid off in less than four years. I probably have enough money saved for a down payment on a house.
But my job doesn’t make me happy. It’s the same thing day in and day out. The work is repetitive, mind numbing. I don’t feel satisfied. I want to use my mind. I’ve been there too fucking long. I feel trapped. 
Recently, I realized that the only way to change my life is to believe in myself and make that change happen. So that’s why, just shy of thirty, I’ve been putting myself out there, trying new things. I’m taking Spanish classes. I learned to knit. I’ve made myself a resume and looked into career counseling. I’m even seriously thinking about enrolling in a community college, which is a really, really big deal for me. For the first time in years, I can see a future for myself, a bright one full of hope and possibility. Lots of people are intimidated about turning the big 3-0, but I’m excited! For me, it feels like a new beginning.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The Year of the Whale: Pooja Kanwar

I think anyone that knows her would agree: Pooja Kanwar has super powers. She possesses the uncanny ability to balance fun with responsibility, reckless abandon with fierce intellect, and charisma with modesty. A superhero that is also deeply human. To say that our connection was based around music would be a gross understatement. With about a dozen mixtape exchanges and a number of live shows shared together, music has become embedded in the language of my friendship with Pooja. Catching up with her always renews my faith in humanity. I could go on, but I will just let Pooja take it from here...  
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It was December 27th, 2009. I woke up perplexed by the peculiar nature of the dream that had fogged my mind over. I remember it as vividly today as I did that morning: I was with my good friend Rose from undergrad, and we were hiking (in legwarmers mind you) to the highest point in Burlington, Vermont. We reached the top and from an eagle's eye view, could see Lake Champlain rapidly inundate the city of Burlington. There were waves crashing on to the land, but more importantly, there were whales…so many whales…everywhere. Whales stranded on top of semi trucks, washed up into beer gardens, and many frantically swimming through minimal depths of freshwater, confined up against one another as if they were salmon spawning. It was a very distinct and chaotic feeling that I immediately wrote about when I woke up, posted on my Facebook and various other blogs. This was during the first month of my freshly commenced PhD program at the University of Vermont. I was 28 years old.

A few hours after I had wrote out my dream and my curiosity behind such vivid imagery, my best friend Kate asked me if I had seen the latest news in New Zealand. I had not and this was the link she sent me:  http://news.sky.com/skynews/Home/World-News/Beached-Whales-In-New-Zealand-Rescue-Teams-Save-Two-Thirds-Of-Pilot-Whales-That-Swam-To-Shore/Article/200912415509184

At this point, knowing that New Zealand is 18 hours ahead of the states, I felt pretty strange; almost as if I had seen this in my dream prior to it happening. Okay, okay…I know this is starting to sound like some new age touchy-feely business but bear with me...it intensifies. As I mentioned, this was my first year enrolled in a PhD program. I had no idea what I was going to be researching, or why, and this was anxiety inducing to say the least. My Bachelors and Masters degrees were both focused on India, specifically in rural water supply and rainwater harvesting practices and I had been struggling on where to go next with my research. A few months later, after contemplating switching advisors or potentially even Universities, a project was presented to me. It involved working in a harbor in the North Island of New Zealand, examining ecosystem services, policy infrastructure and governance challenges. 

A few days after I solidified my avenue of research, I went out and sat at a bar to have a victory beer. The woman who was sitting by me had a blue patch on her purse; it was of a Blue Whale.

So, now we have the whales, and New Zealand both of which have me constantly thinking about the dream I had months before. Jump back to winter break of 2009: I was visiting my home in the great state of Iowa when I had the dream. Over the past few years I had developed a strong connection with my dear friend from college who has been a reoccurring, and extremely positive, force throughout various points in my life. I was, at the time, in a relationship with someone else and it had been in flux for a good chunk of time at this point. I see my dear friend and things, well…get complicated. With the chaos of love, school and the classic late twenties crisis, my best friend took me to a psychic for my 29th birthday. This woman informed me that I had a slightly open third eye and was experiencing a distinct cycle in my life…Saturn Return (I refer you now to a wonderful post by Traci Yoder that can help explain what this means). 

During my 29th year I: ended a long term relationship, moved for the 12th time in 10 years, solidified my dissertation research, found the love of my life, lost friendships I by no means would have anticipated losing while being reassured of those solid and stable parts of my life that will never budge, gained incredible new family and friends, strengthened relations with my immediate family, and have the best understanding I have had yet of what works for me in my life and what does not. 

I am now 30. Am I married? No. Do I own property? Sadly no, long live wasting money on rent. Do I have a job? Nope. I have been a student for 25 of my 30 years of existence. Do I even have a dog?!? Ack! I wish. Do I want all these things? Well, sure. Although, I am unsure if I did have these things that I would have lived in the eight different geographical areas I have, or worked the in the nine vastly different sectors I have been employed by. Maybe I would not have obtained two degrees and started the third degree I have dreamt of having my whole life, or fallen in love the number of times I have and failed… I was living, learning, failing, loving and repeating this process over and over until now, and I have found what works in a magical, motivating way and healthy way.  

I believe the dream I had was the beginning of my Saturn Return. The whales in my dreams represented a time of frantic change and that of colossal magnitude. The disorder depicted was symbolic of the trials and tribulations that would be coming to an end as I thankfully exited my 20’s. It was a time of exploration, experiencing hardships and bliss, and coming to a greater awareness for myself about what works with whom I am and who I strive to be. Honestly, I feel confident that through all the sorting and filtering through my 20’s the best is definitely yet to come, and I welcome my 30’s with open arms. 

[On a side note, I am about 60 days into my 30th year and I ironically find myself writing a paper about whales for a marine ecosystem services class that I am required to take to complete an Ecological Economic certification program at UVM.]

Monday, March 28, 2011

The Rocking 30's: David Meek

I don't remember the moment we met, but my first memory of Dave Meek is crashing on sleeping bags together in an empty office in Quebec City. That was 2001, and we were there with dozens of other Bard student activists to protest the dubious Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA) meetings that turned the city into a walled off, feudal warzone. Since then, we have shared many other memories together, at Bard and beyond, and have been close friends for a full decade now. In 2005, I introduced him to another dear friend, Jo Weaver, and two years later I was a groomsman in their wedding. I continue to cherish my friendship with both of Dave and Jo. They will always feel close by, even if they are perpetually thousands of miles away.  
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Having turned 30 going on two years ago now, it's interesting to reflect on what at the time seemed like an ominous and exciting milestone. I very distinctly remembered all the excitement and buildup surrounding the passing of that day (and its unsurprising but still a surprise “surprise party”). And all my friends joking that I was officially over the hill.....

At the time, married, in the midst of a Ph.d. program, with a house, dog and mortgage, I wondered whether they were right....(was I over the hill?) and then I decided, and still believe, that the late 20's/early 30's sure feel like I'm dab smack on top of the hill. And damn the view is good!

For me, this time has been one about perspective. Not so much a perspective focused on the immediate moment as perhaps those heady early 20s were, but about a longer perspective in which the present is very much valued, as the best time one has available to achieve one's dreams. To begin with, each of those previously mentioned things, which some might see as artifacts of dreaded Responsibility, including our most recent decision to have a baby while living in India, I see as choices made explicitly in the present with a longer perspective in mind (check out our blog for critical ruminations on the intersections of family life and academia). While each of those responsibilities might be shied away from, they've all had incredibly positive aspects, such as having a house has given me the opportunity to tear up the front yard and set up a massive urban garden.

From my perspective, those late 20's/early 30's have felt like a prolonged music jam session. Whether it is being semi-permanently nomadic, living in Brazil and now India as Jo and I conduct our Ph.d. research, or explore building community through urban gardening, it's been one exciting ride. Partially, these last few years have felt like an ongoing jam, because I made the decision that I was tired of wanting to learn to play music, and there was no time like the present to make good on that interest. Since going down the musical road, playing music has become an integral part of my daily life, and there is always three or four instruments within easy reach. All of those musings are to say, the top of the hill is great, but make sure you bring an instrument to provide your own theme song.

Friday, March 18, 2011

My Thirtieth Year to Heaven

by Emily McNair

“It was my thirtieth year to heaven...” I’ve, for as long as I can remember, loved the words of Dylan Thomas. From my dad’s annual Christmas Eve reading of A Child’s Christmas in Wales, to high school poetry recitations, to today, when I thought about what I would write for this blog, when the first thing that came to mind was this line from “Poem in October.” I’m shamed to say that my (purloined from my father so many years ago) copy of his collected poems was more than a little dusty but the words came back to my mind as I read. I once knew this poem by heart, learned it for a competition, but I can admit in my thirtieth year that it was a show-offy endeavor -- long, complicated rhythms, tongue-tangling word combinations -- and it never honestly occurred to me that I would arrive at this year in my life. That I’d rise one day “in the rainy [spring]/ And walk abroad in a shower of all my days,” reflecting on, reliving the milestones, the landmarks, times when I “... whispered the truth of [my] joy.”

My life is so far from where I imagined it would be. Granted, my first childhood aspiration was to be a hot air balloon. Not possible? A whale then. What? No? Alright, a pig farmer. I’m happy to say that last one didn’t pan out -- I thought the pigs would be raised more for companionship (a la Charlotte’s Web) than consumption. But nevermind that. Then for the second half of my life so far, I imagined I’d be living abroad, most likely in Nepal, studying, working, doing something. But somehow I’m here in Philadelphia. More rooted everyday, some days happy about this, some days horrified, many days just ambivalent. Is rooted trapped? Is this thirtieth year the last I have to break free? Do I want to?

For me, the only real hang-up, the only loss I feel about turning 30 this coming April is the expiration of my first adult (10 year) passport. The first two I was glad to shed -- a portrait of a child, a cringingly awful and awkward moment of 16. But this passport is the story of my young adult life, my proudest moments, my most fearful, my most adventurous, my most selfless, my most selfish, my loneliest and my most gorgeously solitary. For most of my late teens and early twenties, my life was my travels, mostly alone and spanning 6 continents by my 23rd birthday. My passport -- beat up, stained, sticky here and there with immigration control sticker residue -- reflects those years in so many ways; it’s the old style, with an indentation from the photo. Laminated! The extra pages stapled in oh-so-officially, out of sequence and slightly smaller. The unassuming quarter-page stamps. The full page sticker visas. The extensions. The re-entry permits. The exit stamps. Perpetual motion, never more than stopping by, passing through.

Ten years ago I never would have imagined this life I’ve created now, its chilling and deeply comforting feeling of permanence. I’ve always enjoyed making decisions, big decisions, life-changing decisions. But I realize now that -- while clearly many of these decisions have shaped my life and who I am -- none of them were as final, as permanent as they seemed at the time, and this decision-making proclivity of mine has set me on a definite, increasingly ineluctable course. Good or bad -- it just is.

I bought the house that is sometimes my joyful home and sometimes the stone around my neck. I adopted the dog I can’t remember now not having. I accepted the job that challenges, satisfies and sometimes frustrates the shit out of me. I said yes to the proposal and will soon be marrying the only person I’ve ever actually enjoyed the feeling of depending on. The person who has -- by loving me truly and wholly -- redefined my whole conception of self. Of what I want my life to be, of the genuine okay-ness of the fact that my life will, in fact, keep going forward and never be the same as it was, moment to moment, day to day, year to year.

“It was my thirtieth/ Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon/ Though the town below lay leaved with October blood./ O may my heart’s truth/Still be sung/ On this high hill in a year’s turning.”
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Emily McNair is a fellow graduate of Bard College. She works for a nonprofit that provides community-based services to people with psychiatric and/or addictive disorders, developmental disabilities, and those who are homeless, in the greater Philadelphia area.