A field guide to growing up without growing apart
So, in case anyone forgot, I am currently pursuing my doctorate at a very big name school in the UK—you know, the one with all the medieval buildings with walls like castles… And this year, I have even gotten the chance to teach a group […]
It seems like everything always changes on my birthday. In my first year of college my birthday was the day that really solidified my friendship with the naughty princesses and made Seattle seem like home. On my birthday the year after I decided to apply […]
Cue the pomp and circumstance—I finished my Master’s degree.
Student teaching and my final course as a Master’s student wrapped up in the first week of May, and…that’s it! I was done. I started this program nearly two years ago, and have been taking classes non-stop except for 2 week breaks at Christmas each year and a one-month leave of absence I took last summer. It was an online program, so I’ve submitted homework and logged in to discussion groups from all around the globe—in hotel rooms, in airports, on cruise ships, and at home, but never in a traditional classroom setting. I never met any of my professors or fellow classmates. But through it all I was learning, earning credit, and moving towards one of my long-time goals—a Master’s in Teaching. Now it’s done, the achievement’s been unlocked, and I might actually be done with school forever.
I’m glad—I don’t want to be a student forever, though I know I’ll never really stop learning. I have no designs on a Ph.D. or a career change that might necessitate more school. But along the way, through 19 years of school, I’ve gotten rather used to it, and it does feel strange to not have any deadlines hanging over my head. To think I might have written my last essay. For two years I’ve been in the routine of clicking on a familiar button and logging in to my current class almost every single day to submit something, contribute to discussion, or just do some readings. I’ve become accustomed to large sums of tuition money being debited from my bank account every 8 weeks, the price I had to pay for a graduate degree. But it’s all over now, which for me is both cause for celebration and bewilderment.
The weird part is that it all ended so suddenly, and with so little fanfare. Every other graduation I’ve experienced has been marked by ceremony, celebration, nostalgic tears. I remember wearing the caps and gowns, enjoying the after-parties with friends and family. But this time things just ended, and I was honestly more excited about my impending flight home and reunion with my husband than about the fact that I’d just accomplished a life-long dream. My diploma came in the mail after I had already left, so I haven’t even laid eyes on it yet, let alone had it framed or hung up on display. The only person who gave me a gift or a card was my husband—he gave me a necklace with a little pink apple on it, my first apple as a teacher.
It’s not that I really wanted more celebration than this, it just feels a bit strange to actually be done, yet not have had any kind of ceremonial closure. And at each educational milestone prior to this, there’s been another stage waiting in the wings, so I was never truly done with school. Now? Aside from whatever “professional development” courses I might have to sit through in the future, I’m really and truly done. The education section of my resume is complete.
What’s more, there are no longer any asterisks next to my qualifications—I’m a teacher. Trained, certified, tested, and now legitimated by a piece of paper sitting in a drawer somewhere in my parents’ house. To be honest, that’s the thing I’m most excited about and proud of—not the degree itself, but the fact that no one has an excuse not to hire me anymore (well except for my limited years of experience…).
So here’s to this summer, the first summer of my life when I have not had to worry about going back to school (as a student, that is). Here’s to someday soon having money coming INTO my bank account every month, instead of out. And here’s to my future students, who I hope will follow their dreams and see them through, just like I did.
If you are new here, every month we princesses all opine on a single question or issue. This month we are talking about teaching! Pretty much everyone knows a teacher– or, in the case of Cinderslut, is one– and we all have our own opinions […]
I woke up this morning to an email from an old… flame, and I… I don’t really know how I want to process it. Really long story sort of short (read: remember that data project I was working on?), he and I became close during […]
It’s my birthday! And Cindy’s birthday! And we’re turning 25. Holy. Crap.
This time last year Cindy wrote a beautiful ode to our twinship, explaining how learning of our shared birthday has become such an important part of our lives since. This year I wanted to return the love, taking a second to express my gratitude to the universe for allowing me to share a birthday with a friend, especially her.
When I was younger my birthday was the best event of the year. My creative parents allowed me to dream big, putting together epic pie baking events, dress up performances and jewelry box decorating bliss. One year we had a scavenger hunt at the airport, running from terminal to terminal to find a purple suitcase or a photograph of 4 or more people and another birthday we rode the light rail train in circles while we played games and got to know the big city. I even remember my dad making me a PVC pipe teepee for my Pocahontas-themed party one year, my mother helping us make our own fringe covered purses to tote around proudly. Back then birthdays were things to be celebrated, excuses for all your friends to come together to celebrate you (and the Spice Girls), but once you hit high school all that changes.
Suddenly it is no longer cool to plan birthday adventures, and even if you do, good luck getting all of your friends to agree to join in. Jessica can’t stand Brittany and Katie would never have fun doing that, besides, Sally doesn’t have any time anyway. In high school I’d be lucky if I got four or five people together to see a movie and go get ice cream, much less trap all my friends in one room to do something really awesome.
And let’s not forget the added pressure we feel as we’re taught to apologize for getting ‘older.’ All we want to do when we’re younger is grow up and become the people we’re meant to be, but with little warning that optimism is crushed, unexpectedly turned on its head as people remind you again and again that aging is bad. Sure you want your driver’s license and to be 21 so you can go to those cool concerts, but you also know that it’s all downhill from there – birthdays only bringing you closer and closer to the end of your youth ( i.e. the end of your happiness). In high school you learn your birthday is no longer an accomplishment; instead it becomes something to avoid, something you’ve done wrong.
I had low birthday expectations when I moved away for college since my birthday came around only a month in, leaving me with limited time to build my friend group or hope for any type of celebration. Had Cindy not taken me in and allowed me to crash her party my day would have gone something like, “Hey, I’m Booty, want to be my friend and celebrate my birthday even though we just met!?” Instead we ate funfetti and had our first twin competition (wii tennis is intense!), bonding over much more than a shared day of birth and our love of basketball. It was the day I knew I’d found friends I’d have for a while, a turning point in the way my life would go from there on out, a birthday I love to remember.
Ever since I’ve found myself looking forward to our shared birthday, excited to know that no matter how the year went I’d always have someone to celebrate with. And celebrate we did, taking groups of friends out to dinners and bars, exploring arcades and running through city fountains. We stayed up until midnight to buy our first bottle of alcohol together and even stayed in to paint our stomachs on our 22nd just because we’d always wanted to. With Cindy by my side we recreated those birthday adventures of my youth in even more wonderful ways, allowing ourselves to dream big because we had a guaranteed partner, a guaranteed reason to celebrate.
The year after we graduated, Cindy’s soon to be fiancé asked me to help him propose on our birthday, planning an elaborate scavenger hunt and flying in from out of town to surprise her with a ring. I agreed wholeheartedly of course, though admittedly there were moments I was worried that this new anniversary would infringe on our special day. We were already feeling the pressure of graduation and moving forward with out lives, would the loss of this connection make things even harder?
But everything turned out perfectly, because his elaborate proposal allowed me and Cindy (and Snow) to share a day of adventure that I’ll always cherish. When I think of that day, I think of all the fun we had running around Seattle following his clues and enjoying each other. I think of the beautiful photos I got to take of my friend on one of the happiest days of her life. I think of how much I love her and how grateful I am to be her twin.
This year I miss her more than ever, but without her I’ve realized how important it is to ask for what I want on my birthday. No longer do adventures just fall into place, and no longer can I settle for a lame high school get together full of drama. So instead I made the choice to turn 25 in style, spending last weekend in Seattle, visiting Snow and catching up with college friends. Last night I organized a birthday dinner with some old friends who I never get to see and I leave to visit my cousin in Denver tomorrow. It is definitely an overwhelming week, but if not on your birthday when else do you do the things you want?
So thank you world, for giving me a beautiful reason to look forward to my birthday. My twin is an easy reminder that I’ll always have someone to celebrate with, that getting older will always be an accomplishment and that birthdays are a great excuse to do the things you’ve always wanted. I’m so glad to know her. Love you Cindy.
I will never have another best friend. When I was little I used to manipulate other people into doing things I wanted by promising to be their best friend. You’d be surprised how often it worked, most people needing little more than an “I’ll be […]
Oh Brother. Where, oh where to start. I’ve written here and there about him on this blog already but writing an entire post on my favorite (and only) brother seems ridiculously daunting. He and I go way back, back to when he was born and […]
I am the older sister to two younger brothers. Let’s call them Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, and yes these are real nicknames my parents sometimes used for them when we were growing up. I haven’t mentioned them much on the blog, most likely because I live so far from them now that they’re not a part of my daily life like they used to be. But also because anytime I talk about them, or even think about them, it causes me a bit of angst.
Both my bros are in college. Well, that used to be true. But the latest development in Cinderslut’s family drama is that my youngest brother, Tweedle-Dum, is dropping out of university after just completing his freshman year. As someone who has always excelled in school, the idea of dropping out of college is anathema to me. I’ve always secretly looked down at the people from my high school who ended up bumming around our home town because they couldn’t cut it in college, but now I am related to one of those depressing townies!
I do realize that this judgmental attitude is wrong. People have strengths in different areas, and not everyone needs to pursue a 4 year degree in order to be successful. In fact, these days I’m less and less a believer in college, seeing as how many people come out with no job prospects and no more direction than they had when they went in. But still, deep inside, I always considered my family an educated family. And educated, to me, meant going to college and getting a degree, preferably with plenty of scholarships and honors tacked on along the way.
So should I cut Tweedle-Dum some slack? Well, you might think so until I tell you a few stories about just how royally this kid screwed himself over in his first and only year of college. First of all, he failed every single class he took the first semester. Every one! Not just Calculus. He failed English 101! As a former English major and current English teacher, even writing those words is painful. Because seriously, who fails English 101? My only hypothesis is that he simply stopped going to class somewhere around week 3, and stopped turning in assignments. And same with his other classes. I can respect someone who tries his best and fails, but I cannot respect someone who completely refuses to try.
Here’s another story: After returning to school after Christmas, he accidentally left all his socks at home, where he had been doing laundry (as all college students are wont to do over the holidays). This put Tweedle-Dum in a predicament. He was now stranded across the state from his clean socks. Solution…go to Wal-Mart and buy some more? Ask my parents to mail them? No. Instead he went sockless all winter, just wearing his slip-on moccasins every day, sans socks. In the snow. You are probably starting to get the picture that my brother is not just academically unmotivated—he’s socially awkward as well. The combination basically ruined what could have been a perfectly fun and successful freshman year.
So now he’s living at home, and though he’s applied for jobs, nothing has panned out yet, most likely because he has zero work experience, and a 0.0 GPA doesn’t exactly impress potential employers, even at McDonalds. What will he do with his life? He doesn’t know. I don’t know. And it’s killing me.
I actually do think this fresh start will be good for Tweedle-Dum, much better than having him continue to wallow in a place that was just not working for him. I’m working on my judgmental nature and my superiority complex, and I’m hopeful that my brother will find the direction he needs in his life, along with supportive friends like the kind I was so blessed to find in college. But the truth is, this development has rocked me, my brother, and my entire family. We’re not entirely sure how to handle it, how to support him best without allowing him to stay stagnant. The saddest part is that I know he feels bad about himself, but I don’t know how to help. I’ve always been close with and had a special place in my heart for Tweedle-Dum—the one who was young and adorable for so many years while Tweedle-Dee was filling the role of “the obnoxious one.” But telling him what I think only backfires now, because he gets defensive and likes to deal with his problems by denying that they exist (like with the socks, and the classes, and the homework). I feel like I’ve done nothing but worry these past few months, even to the point where I had to have the suicide talk with him, because I feared he might be giving up hope on life. Basically, I feel helpless. And I wish I could make it all better. See, angst! Tune in next time to hear my complaints about the middle child, Tweedle-Dee.
When fellow 20something David asked if we’d contribute our stories to his blog, 20somethings in 2013, of course we obliged. How AWESOME is it that we can all connect like this?! We’re all so different and yet all exactly the freakin’ same. I love it. Maybe […]
I must say that for my post this week I was at a loss on what to write. The creative juices didn’t seem to be flowing freely. Part of this had to do with thinking about what has happened in my life recently. As I tried to think about what’s been going on, I could not come up with much. I’m at a spot where I feel that my life is frankly a little boring.
It is not that I wish to complain of unhappiness, far from it. However, it just seems to me that most days I spend, working, doing things around the house, and then hanging out with my husband. And maybe about once a week I hang out with friends. None of those things independently are super boring, but I think what I’m feeling is the drowsiness from being sucked into a routine. My days are all spent in a similar fashion. There are not any impending adventures or late night shenanigans.
It makes me long for the days of college. I remember that any time I did not have something to do, all I had to do was walk to the nearest dorm room of one of my friends and fun would ensue. Oh for the days of late night stair races, spontaneous photo shoots, and jumping in public fountains.
Now of course, I could still do those things now. But I feel like the older we all get, the less time we have. Outings are rarely spontaneous, but must be planned far in advance in order to accommodate everyone’s schedules. This Christmas, the four princesses could not even all get together. Only three of us could hang out, and it was only for a couple hours. I’m not blaming anyone for having their own life and schedule, but I just feel like my life isn’t as exciting if I can’t have everyone around me all of the time.
I guess part of growing up is creating a life that is more separated. Life can’t be like college forever, having all of your friends only seconds away from you with plenty of spare time for any random adventure you can think of. But that makes me sad, because to me, my friends are my family. So what do you do when your friends start to create their own families? What do you do when you used to share one life, but suddenly everyone has their own?
In my dreams, there is a world in which all of my favorite people live together in one giant house/ and or in very close proximity. It only takes me five seconds to walk over to see someone, and there is always someone to talk to. There would be a giant community lodge with a fireplace and it would be stocked with snacks and board games. Also, we would live near the woods and the ocean, so there would always be somewhere to explore.
I promise I’m not crazy, I just love my friends a lot. I don’t want growing up to mean that we have to grow apart.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I miss all of you. I know this was a very convoluted post, and I probably rambled a lot, but that is all I really wanted to say. I miss you.