What was downtown is now uptown... namely me.

Yesterday I went to Teachers College (Columbia University) for some admitted students activities.  It ended up being a mixed day.  As someone who has already completed a graduate degree, the ins and outs of grad school are old hat to me by now.  However, it was great to meet some current students, hear an alumna speak, and spend some time on campus.

I had my camera with me but, unfortunately, since it was raining, the campus tours were canceled and there wasn't much of a point to walking around and taking pictures.  There's a full orientation day in September and I was told the campus tours will be done then.  One of them was a tour of Columbia's historic cultural sites; I am super excited for that one! (There's a statue of Alexander Hamilton that I haven't yet had a chance to go see!)

What struck me early in the day, though, was how this represents a shift and continuum in my life.  I used to take public transportation into the city and head downtown to NYU.  Instinctively, I almost headed for the downtown trains but caught myself and made sure I was going uptown (similarly, when heading home, I had to remind myself that Port Authority was now downtown of me, not uptown).  But NYU used to have a Morningside Heights campus and Teachers College had classroom space in the Village, so it really is like my NYC schooling is linked and circular.  (I'll add that I started kindergarten in the Bronx, so this really is like a move towards my past and a move to the future at the same time.)

The highlight of yesterday, though, was getting to meet the woman who helped create Blue's Clues and who has also worked on Oswald and Little Bill.  (She's a TC alum.)  All that history and talk of registration and student loans and nitty gritty and it comes down to a bunch of Noggin shows, which is fine by me.  Someday my nephew will be impressed that I met her.  For now I'm just happy to be a student again and on the road to what should be the last stretch of my formal education.

Tiptoeing into the Ivy

So remember how I got into one grad school program but really wanted another one?  Well, I got into that other one.  This fall I will be working on my Master of Education (Ed.M.) at Columbia University-Teachers College.

Part of me thinks I'm plum crazy to get back on the grad school train, but I do have my reasons for this.  I do want more of an education credential.  Wherever my career ends up going, it's going to involve some sort of education administration; I don't doubt this.  Whether I stay with my current job for a while (which is education administration) or whether I decide to try teaching full-time (if I could ever get such a gig), there would always be administration involved.  The program I'm attending is Teaching of English, so I'll be studying the methods and theories behind teaching composition and literature.  This is absolutely perfect for me because I'll get to continue studying literature but I'll also learn how to be a more effective teacher - something I plan to continue working on for as long as I'm teaching.

When the hubby and I were deciding on wedding photographers, I narrowed it down to two.  The one we ended up not going with does some work for Columbia University and so he had us meet him at a coffee place right by the campus.  We walked through the campus to get there and I totally fell in love; I even dragged Tom into the bookstore and bought myself a sweatshirt.  As of late, I have worried about that sweatshirt; I knew that if I didn't get in, I wouldn't be able to wear the shirt anymore because it would make me too sad.  I just heard from Columbia last night so I haven't yet worn the sweatshirt since being accepted, but I know that when I put it on, it's going to feel different than the last time I wore it.

The email from Columbia came in at 5:21pm yesterday; I was still at work and, thankfully, alone.  My heart was pounding and my hands were sweating as I opened the email.  After I read the first line of the letter: "I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted..." I let out a "WOO!" and pounded on my desk, like a drum roll.

And then?  I proceeded to cry.  This was it.  This is what I have worked so hard for over the past ten years.  I sent those monthly payments to my first college after dropping out so I could pay off my outstanding balance to them so they could release my transcript and I could transfer to another school and finish my degree.  I took 2-3 classes per semester, including summers, at night while working full-time during the day so I could finish my B.A..  I gave up a decent-paying job and moved two hours from everyone I know (including my then new boyfriend, who is now the hubby) in order to attend grad school.  I holed up and alienated nearly everyone over those B.A./M.A. years because I was driven and dedicated to doing the best that I could at all times.  I won a Teaching Assistantship and didn't treat it like a given or a free ride or something I always knew was mine. I worked hard, learning everything I could about teaching from anyone who was willing to talk to me (I have a particular fondness for my grad school friend Nadia, who taught me so much about teaching and navigating grad school).  I studied my ass off and earned high honors on my comprehensive exam.  I wrote my ass off and earned high honors on my thesis.  Without this, those would just be personal badges of honor.  I have a friend who says he read Moby Dick just so he can drop, "Oh, well, when I was reading Moby Dick" into conversation.  That would have been the worth of those honors.  I was most definitely proud of what I accomplished, but I now feel that it wasn't just for me.  I know that putting this all together helped me get into this program.

I always joke that I wanted to go to an Ivy League school since I first understood what the Ivy League was.  I fully understand and believe that I could get an equally good education at many schools, but I'm always working to make myself proud.  The first time I felt like this was the day of my undergrad graduation:

I worked hard; I was wearing honors tassels; I was graduating from a school I loved (and still love) so much.  That photo was taken at about 6am after only 3-4 hours of sleep, but I look rested and honestly happy.

The next time I felt proud was when I found out I earned honors on my comp exam and thesis.  I didn't find out about the thesis until the booklet from graduation (which I didn't attend) arrived in the mail with my diploma and nearly had to sit down as I saw the double stars next to my name.

And then there's today.  I can't wait for Orientation - to walk onto campus and be able to say to myself, "I belong here."

Some assembly required

Growing up, you think that your adult life just falls together - that you get there, to this magic state that is adulthood, and you know exactly how to go about managing your life.  Because I have honest and down-to-earth parents, I understood that life threw you curve balls, but lately I've been thinking about the ways in which many people I know seem to have to work at reclaiming their lives.

I started writing poetry (bad, bad poetry) in high school.  If I remember correctly, I figured that all the cool, depressed people did it and so I wanted to, too.  I think I also really needed a creative outlet.  Even though my verse was terrible, I enjoyed putting it together.  I took poetry writing in college and eventually did a creative writing senior project that was comprised of a ten page paper and fifteen pages of poetry.  I handed that in at the end of April 2005 and haven't written a poem since.  I wanted to take poetry writing in grad school, but by the time it was offered, I really wasn't on the creative writing track anymore and the professor that taught it was so intimidating and smart that I didn't feel qualified to sign up for the course (he was my thesis adviser, though).

So most of what I feel like I know about poetry writing comes from my undergrad years, where I was fortunate enough to have some amazingly wonderful professors.  One note that often pops into my mind is that "poets need free time."  By this they meant that you can't write poetry if you don't take the time to slow down and notice what's going on around you.  But this couldn't be passive, either - you have to go out and live a life; it can't be so slow that you're just at home all the time (even Emily Dickinson had some personal interactions).

These are the two situations that I have struggled with since handing in that senior project.  I was either so busy that I felt like I never stopped running around and, when I did, I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open OR I rejected all of that so strongly that I holed up at home and did away with most human interaction and recreation.  This is why "Write 10 poems" is on my 101 list; not only do I want to write ten poems, but I want to get myself back into the balance where I can.

These days I can feel it once in a while and it is so refreshing and enlivening.  I've even had a few lines of verse pop into my head.  I haven't written anything down, though.  The machine isn't ready to produce any product yet; it's just getting warmed up.  The next two months are very busy, though - there isn't a single weekend where I don't have something to do, whether it be work or travel or some social obligation, so slowing it down is going to be difficult, especially since I also don't have fully free evenings.  I can't help but get angry sometimes that I have to work this hard to get some time for myself, that I have to push away people and activities and responsibilities just so I can gain some head-space, but it's a must.  I'm a happier person when I have that time and my brain is in a thinking, creative space, and that will make me a better friend so it does work out in the end.  This blog is actually helping quite a bit; I've found that taking the time to compose my thoughts on one idea is helping me slow down.

We may ride the see-saw as a child, but creating balance is really the work of adulthood.

Traveling to my second city

NYC will always be my first city love... but I have had, and will have, a long affair with a second city.

1994 (Fall) - During my sophomore year of college, I become friends with someone named James.  James comes to hang out in my dorm room with several of his friends (they are all freshmen).  They are all mostly obnoxious, especially one whose name I can't remember.  He's kind of cute but he seems like an alcoholic and has a rude sense of humor.  I am not amused.

1994 (Fall) - My friend Maureen and I are in the same history class as that obnoxious freshman.  I still can't remember his first name (especially since the professor calls us all by our last names) but he sits in front of me all semester and I happily rest my feet on his chair.  He never takes a single note in class and always finishes every test and exam first and earns an A.  I take copious notes and study but can't seem to get anything but a D (I proceed to drop my history minor).

1995 (Fall) - I become better friends with Sue, who is friends with the formerly obnoxious freshman (who is now neither obnoxious nor a freshman).  It's the first weekend of school after classes start and he's having a party in his dorm room.  I desperately want to go but am too shy to go alone so I beg Sue to come with me.  She does, we have a great time, and a long history begins.  I also finally remember that his name is Mike.

1995 - 1996 - Mike and I instantly become best friends, nearly instantly inseparable.  I learn so much from him about how to enjoy life, about Judaism, about friendship, loyalty, and honesty.

1996 (February) - Mike brings a friend and I to his parents' house for a weekend.  They live outside Baltimore and we spent the whole weekend hanging out at some of Mike's favorite hometown places.  I am hooked.

1996 (summer) - I spend the 4th of July weekend with Mike; a tradition is born.

1996 (summer) - I throw my 21st birthday party in Maryland.  I gather up all my local friends and truck them down to Baltimore where we pull an all-nighter and I walk with Mike to get bagels at sunrise.  Best birthday ever.  I am not sure at this point if I can afford going back to college in a few weeks, so I cry heavily when I leave.

1997 (January) - After barely completing the fall semester, I am forced to drop out of school due to loss of financial aid (which is due to low grades).  I am heartbroken and cry every day for two months (I counted and kept track).  I go back to the college to visit Mike and Sue nearly every other weekend.  I also go to Baltimore with Mike.

1997 (summer) - I spend almost every third weekend in Baltimore.  It's my escape.  I feel like it's the only place I can exhale fully.

1998 (spring) - Mike graduates college.  Following this, I visit him in Baltimore every 4-6 weeks, like clockwork.  It truly is my home away from home and his parents are like my second parents.

1998 - 2001 - I still visit Baltimore every 4-6 weeks.  I feel like it helps keep me sane (or at least tone down the insanity).  I walk into Mike's apartment, exhale, and relax - giving myself up to the state of Maryland for 48 full hours.  I don't check email; I don't check my answering machine.  I don't care about anything but just being.

2000 - I throw my 25th birthday party at Mike's apartment.  The cops show up.  People still talk about the party, especially the part where I had to be told I probably shouldn't inform the cops that they have the wrong location because the Krispy Kreme is down the street.  (I have a huge amount of respect for cops... I just had a few too many white Russians at that point.)

2002 - 2005 - I go back to college at night and have less free time so my visits become less frequent and sometimes I have to bring work with me.  At one point the visits become so infrequent that Mike and I nearly have a falling out, but all is patched up by a day trip and dinner at our favorite Indian restaurant.

2004 - I go to France for a writing workshop instead of Baltimore for the 4th of July.  Mike is peeved (but deep down I know he understands).  It's the only time I've missed celebrating the 4th of July with him.  He is the only other person I know who is as patriotic as me and gets chills when he hears the national anthem (I also usually cry).  Our political views are quite opposite from each other, but we both have a fervent love for our country.

2005 - I turn 30 and throw myself three birthday parties, one for each decade.  The last of these is in Baltimore, on a glorious summer night where we crank the radio and dance barefoot to 80s Top 40.

2006 - I start grad school and even though I am two hours closer to Baltimore, the visits become even less frequent as nearly every weekend is spent on work or traveling back up to north Jersey for some obligation or other.

2007 - Mike gets married; I am his wife's (Tracy) maid-of-honor.

2008 - I finish grad school but still don't have the time or sometimes the money to go back to my Baltimore visitation schedule.  I get married; Mike is my man-of-honor and an indispensable part of my wedding planning.  The hubby and I drive to the Outer Banks for our honeymoon and stop in Baltimore for the night on the way home.  Mike and Tracy tell us she's pregnant before they tell anyone else (other than their parents).  My old college buddy, with whom I have done more drinking than I can fathom, is going to be a dad.  I am overjoyed and jump up and down and squeal, but am also so overwhelmed at the thought.

2009 (t0day) - The hubby and I are heading to Baltimore to stay with Mike and Tracy for the weekend - probably the last time we will be able to stay there before the guest room becomes a nursery (Tracy is due in early July; I find it incredibly appropriate that Mike's first child is due near the 4th of July).  My views on babies have changed since my sister had TJ, but this is a whole other world.  My "other" life, my get-away, my best friend - they're all going to permanently change in a few months and I don't know what to make of this.  Everything that IS Baltimore to me is going to change.  Can we sit at J. Pauls drinking all day if the baby is with us?  Who will the baby be with if we want to go out at night?  Will we go out at night anymore?  What will remain of my Baltimore life after July?

Yes, this baby has very little to do with me and I can't wait to welcome her into the world.  Mike having a baby is almost like it will be when my brother becomes a father one day.  I tear up just thinking about it.  Outside my own family, there are few people I care about as much as I care about Mike.  He is a world to me... and it's about to change.

Baltimore has always been an adventure for me and I can track my life based on my relationship with it.  This weekend we write the last passage in one chapter and prepare for the next.

A poem for the new year

If I had to make a list of my favorite poems, this poem would certainly be on it.  (Which gets me thinking... could I make a list of my favorite poems?  How long would I be able to make the list?  Could I get it down to ten all-time favorites?  I think this poem would make the top ten.)

~~~

Archaic Torso of Apollo
by Rainer Maria Rilke
translation by Stephen Mitchell

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

~~~

For the more visual among us, here is a picture of the sculpture referred to in the poem:

The first time I heard this poem, I was participating in a summer intensive creative writing course (intensive meaning it was a full two week course - 9am to 5pm, sometimes later - not that the writing was somehow extra intense).  I believe the class was during the summer of 2003.  In the morning, we had mixed group sessions with the university's writing staff.  In the afternoons, we had sessions with visiting writers.  There were groups for fiction, non-fiction, and poetry writers.  I was in the poetry group and we had the remarkable fortune of having the poet Mark Doty lead our group.  I hate to admit that I hadn't heard of him prior to that summer, but I haven't stopped following him since.  If you are interested in contemporary poetry, check him out:  Mark Doty.  I really cannot say enough about both his poetry and prose.

I made the mistake of reading his memoir, Heaven's Coast, while commuting. The memoir is about the process of losing his partner, Wally, to AIDS.  The writing is so moving that I found myself nearly sobbing... on the PATH train.  The book is a truly amazing account of love, loss, and community.  His book Dog Years is like Marley & Me for the more literally minded, and another book that made me sob.  In that book, he is so adept at moving through the moments one shares with one's dogs that I would still be sobbing from a particularly sad passage but already be laughing out loud at a humorous anecdote.  His writing is so amazingly fluid that you move through moments and emotions like water flowing downstream.

I was really excited to read that he was nominated for and then won (!) the National Book Award for Poetry this year.  His writing is amazing and, without a doubt, my poetry top ten list would include one (if not two) of his poems.  In fact, I'd probably have to expand the top ten to include more of his poems.  To file in the "it's a small world" category, his partner (also a remarkable writer) graduated from the same graduate program I did and had the same thesis adviser I did.  When I friended them on MySpace, I made sure to point this out, lest they think I was just any other fangirl.

Anyway, one afternoon Mark read this poem to us... in that way that he reads a poem... a way that makes you want to get naked and take the poem to bed with you.  Every time I read this poem, even if I'm reading it out loud to students of my own, I hear Mark's voice in my head for the last line: "You must change your life."

Poets.org has a short talk Mark gave about the poem: On "Archaic Torso of Apollo".

"Change" is the theme for January's NaBloPoMo, so I probably could have saved this entry for January 1 but sometimes a poem just hits you and you have to take some time with it immediately.  This poem wasn't going to wait for Thursday.  It embodies the urgency of its last line.