Right.
So here sits I, listening to a little Nas, trying to enjoy a little moment of mental centeredness. Right now, I am the King of all I survey. Both in the emotional AND the office-management meaning of the phrase.
Its a quiet world.
In about three hours, I'm about to start my drive from my New home of Galveston, Texas to my old Home of Hamilton, Illinois. I know I've talked about this before, but I'm fascinated by how when I'm here, I'm a respected (okay, semi-respected) Student Services Professional. People call me "Mr. Golemo" sometimes.
But somewhere between here and "The Big Ill" I shed the cape and top hat of decorum and professionality and am left 6 years old, in my spiderman underoos, crying about how I my sister hurt my hand... with her face... [wimpers... with occasional glances to see if Pappacho is buying it]
I'm no longer "Neil E. Golemo, with a Master's of Education" I'm "Neeeeeeely Golemo, who never stops master-..." -well you get the idea.
High school was a tough time for me. I was a very late-bloomer with a strong case of Catholic guilt and parent's who were too tricky to let me underacheive... too much. I didn't drink. I didn't chew... and I didn't go with the girls that do... no matter how hard I might have tried.
And no matter how confident I am in the man I know I've become, hob-nobbing with famous and powerful people, making meaningful friendships and finding true purpose in a job I freaking love, some not small part of me still yearns for the acceptance of the people I was too blinded by insecurity to get to really know. Yeah, I can call them stuck-up -because sometimes they were. But I played the game too, right? We were doing the Sharks and Jets dance... but in the end we were the same. It turns out High Schoolers are a lot like people.
I'm no better.
I often say that a person never changes more in their lives than they do in that first year from the summer before and after their freshman year of college. And I stand by that. So its fascinating and fustrating and surprising and disappointing and scary to go back home to try and fit yourself, with your new square edges, if even for a night, into a round hole you never really fit into in the first place. And scariest of all, when you realize that maybe your edges are a little bit more round than you thought they were. And round is comforting.
So I'm excited to go back home. And I'm becoming ok with that. Hamilton might not be a great place for me to live. But it was a fantastic place for me to be from. I'm okay with that.
And I always love my visits.
Texas, I'll be back in a minute.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Rounding out the edges
For Thanksgiving this year, I went to Lake Jackson, Texas, tagging along with two friends of mine, Baylor grads who have adopted me since I moved to Galveston.
It was weird and different and strange for a plethora of reasons: it was my first Thanksgiving ever spent outside of the state of Illinois, it was my first Thanksgiving without a family member within smacking distance, my first Thanksgiving without my brother and sisters. We fried the Turkey. It was extremely nice and pleasant. I enjoyed myself immensely and was, haha, very thankful for the hospitality I enjoyed.
I'm 25 now. So this was my 26th Thanksgiving. Wow.
I overheard a lady the other day talking about how "this year Thanksgiving is just another day to me." I remember my head snapping back to look at her as if maybe the statement was just a figment of my overactive imagination. Thanksgiving, while yes, starting and ending with the sun just as any other day, could never be such in my eyes.
Thanksgiving is when my mom and at least 2 of her 4 sisters and all of their families, progeny, entourages and hangers-on make the twisty drive down my Grandma's grey gravel lane, skirting the pond and park by the garage. They hold their platters high and hug absent-mindedly as they dodge outdoor dogs whose behavior is only cared about around family gatherings.
I listen to my cousin Monica repeat the same gripe for the 20th year in a row about "who she has to knock off to get a seat at the grown-up table... she has two children for crap's sake." My cousin Zach usually practices his stand-up and button-pushing on us, centering on Steve, Monica's husband. It's pretty simple: get Steve to laugh, then Monica will be mad at him for encouraging Zach and Zach... is free. Go Zach Go.
Andee, not to be outdone invariable has one of her family get-together melt-downs. Epic, my friends. No one ever remembers what starts it all off. (Its always Zach's, Nick's or my fault.) We're usually too distracted by Andee's verbal flailings and accusations of abandonment when we should be staying out of her business in the first place. It nearly always ends up with her locking herself in the bathroom. Sweet Jesus, I miss her.
So yes, I missed all of that. I missed showing up with my parents and fighting for a seat on the couch. I missed doing dishes elbow-to-elbow with a cousin who also said something dumb. I missed being asked by my Great-Great-Great Aunt Dorethy (who tells the best stories) where my "seniorita" is? I moved to Texas. I guess I asked for it. I missed sitting at the kid's table.
It was a little strange sitting at the head of the only table at Thanksgiving, eating fried Turkey and corn-bread stuffing with pecans, being 1 of only 7 people, drinking fine wine and talking of trips to Australia's wine country and not the bowel movements of my brother's roommates. It was a little strange. But not bad.
I got a little perspective this year. I got to see how others live. I got to experience an "adult" Thanksgiving. The kind that people who don't have 3 brothers and sisters enjoy. I am thankful for that, not sad. Brian and Kristen cared enough about me to bring me into their homes and welcome me as their guest. These two people who, a month ago barely knew me from Adam. I am blessed for that.
I guess that's the great thing about perspective. It helps us to round out the edges. As I was telling my friend Charlotte, a broken heart stretches our boundaries and helps us appreciate how good it feels to have love.
The turkey tastes better when you've gone hungry.
A warm blanket feels better when you've been cold.
And being home feels the greatest when you've been a stranger in a strange land for months.
I can't help but wonder if maybe Paris Hilton wouldn't be such a vapid bitch if she had an understanding what it was like to be hungry and cold and lonely and tired but having to work anyway. She has no experience to help her see. When I think of how my hurts have help me appreciate my joys, and how my loves have helped me truly feel the depth and fidelity of my losses, I feel horrible for how meaningless everything must seem for her. No wonder she whores herself for attention, she's desperate for feeling.
I love how the world was constructed to teach. If we're willing to consider them, every little experience, from stop-light to chemo-therapy, can help us to better understand the "why's" and "what-for's." It's tiring, I know. But we feel for a reason, and we don't hurt without one. Don't worry about the reason. Just wonder why.
If life is a game. Play the 48, enjoy the orange slices Jimmy's mom brought, and worry about the score later.
It was weird and different and strange for a plethora of reasons: it was my first Thanksgiving ever spent outside of the state of Illinois, it was my first Thanksgiving without a family member within smacking distance, my first Thanksgiving without my brother and sisters. We fried the Turkey. It was extremely nice and pleasant. I enjoyed myself immensely and was, haha, very thankful for the hospitality I enjoyed.
I'm 25 now. So this was my 26th Thanksgiving. Wow.
I overheard a lady the other day talking about how "this year Thanksgiving is just another day to me." I remember my head snapping back to look at her as if maybe the statement was just a figment of my overactive imagination. Thanksgiving, while yes, starting and ending with the sun just as any other day, could never be such in my eyes.
Thanksgiving is when my mom and at least 2 of her 4 sisters and all of their families, progeny, entourages and hangers-on make the twisty drive down my Grandma's grey gravel lane, skirting the pond and park by the garage. They hold their platters high and hug absent-mindedly as they dodge outdoor dogs whose behavior is only cared about around family gatherings.
I listen to my cousin Monica repeat the same gripe for the 20th year in a row about "who she has to knock off to get a seat at the grown-up table... she has two children for crap's sake." My cousin Zach usually practices his stand-up and button-pushing on us, centering on Steve, Monica's husband. It's pretty simple: get Steve to laugh, then Monica will be mad at him for encouraging Zach and Zach... is free. Go Zach Go.
Andee, not to be outdone invariable has one of her family get-together melt-downs. Epic, my friends. No one ever remembers what starts it all off. (Its always Zach's, Nick's or my fault.) We're usually too distracted by Andee's verbal flailings and accusations of abandonment when we should be staying out of her business in the first place. It nearly always ends up with her locking herself in the bathroom. Sweet Jesus, I miss her.
So yes, I missed all of that. I missed showing up with my parents and fighting for a seat on the couch. I missed doing dishes elbow-to-elbow with a cousin who also said something dumb. I missed being asked by my Great-Great-Great Aunt Dorethy (who tells the best stories) where my "seniorita" is? I moved to Texas. I guess I asked for it. I missed sitting at the kid's table.
It was a little strange sitting at the head of the only table at Thanksgiving, eating fried Turkey and corn-bread stuffing with pecans, being 1 of only 7 people, drinking fine wine and talking of trips to Australia's wine country and not the bowel movements of my brother's roommates. It was a little strange. But not bad.
I got a little perspective this year. I got to see how others live. I got to experience an "adult" Thanksgiving. The kind that people who don't have 3 brothers and sisters enjoy. I am thankful for that, not sad. Brian and Kristen cared enough about me to bring me into their homes and welcome me as their guest. These two people who, a month ago barely knew me from Adam. I am blessed for that.
I guess that's the great thing about perspective. It helps us to round out the edges. As I was telling my friend Charlotte, a broken heart stretches our boundaries and helps us appreciate how good it feels to have love.
The turkey tastes better when you've gone hungry.
A warm blanket feels better when you've been cold.
And being home feels the greatest when you've been a stranger in a strange land for months.
I can't help but wonder if maybe Paris Hilton wouldn't be such a vapid bitch if she had an understanding what it was like to be hungry and cold and lonely and tired but having to work anyway. She has no experience to help her see. When I think of how my hurts have help me appreciate my joys, and how my loves have helped me truly feel the depth and fidelity of my losses, I feel horrible for how meaningless everything must seem for her. No wonder she whores herself for attention, she's desperate for feeling.
I love how the world was constructed to teach. If we're willing to consider them, every little experience, from stop-light to chemo-therapy, can help us to better understand the "why's" and "what-for's." It's tiring, I know. But we feel for a reason, and we don't hurt without one. Don't worry about the reason. Just wonder why.
If life is a game. Play the 48, enjoy the orange slices Jimmy's mom brought, and worry about the score later.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
So let her eat cake...
Today, my little sister leaves our fine nation of apple pie, football and “Don’t Tread on Me” for a land of Tart O’ Pomme, Joue au Foot and “I’m le tired…” It is a big deal. She’ll be on her own for really the first time in her life. I don’t believe she has ever been farther away than a day-trip from her parents… ever.
Elizabeth is, and always has been, the baby of the family. And with our clan, this came with its perks and its quirks.
For instance, I remember the tete a tete (a tete a tete)’s between the four of the Golemo children invariably resulting in having Beth always be the one to “butter-up” my father when we wanted to see a movie on a Friday night instead of “spending real time, damnit” at home playing Trivial Pursuit as a family. Yeah, dad, “real-cheap-time.”
As the youngest of 4 button-pushing children, Elizabeth was always more than just the “cute one.” She was a combo-plate of a full-size, interactive, babydoll, 11th man, lab-rat, and test-monkey.
Through taking advantage of her natural trust and adoration, Kate, Ben and I were all able to learn much about life and the human condition. We all took advantage of her naiveté (ah, the malleability of the young mind) and used her as a personal megaphone from one time to another. If we thought the actions of a certain family member, for instance, was askew but family politics (where hypocrisy is defined) demanded that we keep that particular opinion to ourselves, one needed only to make a well-worded observation in an authoritative voice within earshot of an always-eager-to-be-paid-attention-to Elizabeth, and then remember to act shocked when we hear the opinion how “Rachel has always been a slut when it comes to Ross” spew forth from the mouth of a 3-year-old.
They grow up so fast.
My sister has what could be the worst temper of anyone I’ve ever known; especially when it comes to showing violence. And upon a moment’s reflection, I don’t know that I am not at least partially responsible. I remember the three of us torturing her based on her inability to pronounce certain phrases such as “froon-ral” as opposed to “funeral.” “Froon-ral girl! Froonral girl!” we’d croon. My mother still tells stories about how my little sister would just simply make words up, when she couldn’t remember which one to use. For instance, “Steel Pag-na-doolian” starring Sally Field, Dolly Parton, Julia Roberts, Olympia Dukakis, etc. was a favorite movie of hers as a 4 year-old. “And why not?” my mother would defend.
But back to her temper, I remember once watching her stop -in mid-swing- and with narrowed eyes, coldly consider the hammer in her hands to muse which end (the claw or the head) would do more damage to the face of an older (handsomer) brother who just gave her a wet-willy.
I remember watching my father hold her with one arm and hold a spoon in one of her hands with his other arm and help her lip-sync Stevie Wonder to the entertainment of us all. So one can understand how strange it is to imagine my little sister living –more or less- on her own, in a country across an ocean (a big one, at that).
I don’t doubt her ability to make it on her own. Not at all. It just sorta snuck up on me. She turned 21 last month. When did this happen? I don’t know if I’m ready to stop seeing her in her First-Communion dress practicing converting the neighbor kids with Necco-wafers.
Elizabeth, just like all of my parent’s children, has never really resided in the real world. With her, it really is possible to make a living as a theatre major with a degree from a small school and tons of college debt. And you know, I’m not so sure that she’s wrong. The world is changed not by those who see things as they are, but as they could be.
One more story. I remember when I got the make-a-wish thingy and our family took the trip to Disney World and then up along the East Coast. “Our great family adventure.” Yes, I remember the dorky matching outfits we all wore “in case one of us got lost, we’d all know what everyone else was wearing.” I remember meeting Mickey and the smug look on my father’s face when he found a faster way to do anything.
But I also remember the one who had the most fun of us all, the one who made friends with every waitress or waiter or stockboy at every restaurant or store to which our horde went. I remember the one of us all who managed to make an impression upon every park-ranger and tour guide we met. It wasn’t the bald-headed kid on chemo. It wasn’t the sharp-witted older sister. And it wasn’t the always solemn and completely honest Bennie-hanna. It was the two-year old who had no fear and knew no strangers.
Bon chance, Elizabeth Erin Rose Golemo. I envy the hearts you’ll make a little bigger wherever you go.
Bon Voyage, and Bon chance!
Je t’aime.
Elizabeth is, and always has been, the baby of the family. And with our clan, this came with its perks and its quirks.
For instance, I remember the tete a tete (a tete a tete)’s between the four of the Golemo children invariably resulting in having Beth always be the one to “butter-up” my father when we wanted to see a movie on a Friday night instead of “spending real time, damnit” at home playing Trivial Pursuit as a family. Yeah, dad, “real-cheap-time.”
As the youngest of 4 button-pushing children, Elizabeth was always more than just the “cute one.” She was a combo-plate of a full-size, interactive, babydoll, 11th man, lab-rat, and test-monkey.
Through taking advantage of her natural trust and adoration, Kate, Ben and I were all able to learn much about life and the human condition. We all took advantage of her naiveté (ah, the malleability of the young mind) and used her as a personal megaphone from one time to another. If we thought the actions of a certain family member, for instance, was askew but family politics (where hypocrisy is defined) demanded that we keep that particular opinion to ourselves, one needed only to make a well-worded observation in an authoritative voice within earshot of an always-eager-to-be-paid-attention-to Elizabeth, and then remember to act shocked when we hear the opinion how “Rachel has always been a slut when it comes to Ross” spew forth from the mouth of a 3-year-old.
They grow up so fast.
My sister has what could be the worst temper of anyone I’ve ever known; especially when it comes to showing violence. And upon a moment’s reflection, I don’t know that I am not at least partially responsible. I remember the three of us torturing her based on her inability to pronounce certain phrases such as “froon-ral” as opposed to “funeral.” “Froon-ral girl! Froonral girl!” we’d croon. My mother still tells stories about how my little sister would just simply make words up, when she couldn’t remember which one to use. For instance, “Steel Pag-na-doolian” starring Sally Field, Dolly Parton, Julia Roberts, Olympia Dukakis, etc. was a favorite movie of hers as a 4 year-old. “And why not?” my mother would defend.
But back to her temper, I remember once watching her stop -in mid-swing- and with narrowed eyes, coldly consider the hammer in her hands to muse which end (the claw or the head) would do more damage to the face of an older (handsomer) brother who just gave her a wet-willy.
I remember watching my father hold her with one arm and hold a spoon in one of her hands with his other arm and help her lip-sync Stevie Wonder to the entertainment of us all. So one can understand how strange it is to imagine my little sister living –more or less- on her own, in a country across an ocean (a big one, at that).
I don’t doubt her ability to make it on her own. Not at all. It just sorta snuck up on me. She turned 21 last month. When did this happen? I don’t know if I’m ready to stop seeing her in her First-Communion dress practicing converting the neighbor kids with Necco-wafers.
Elizabeth, just like all of my parent’s children, has never really resided in the real world. With her, it really is possible to make a living as a theatre major with a degree from a small school and tons of college debt. And you know, I’m not so sure that she’s wrong. The world is changed not by those who see things as they are, but as they could be.
One more story. I remember when I got the make-a-wish thingy and our family took the trip to Disney World and then up along the East Coast. “Our great family adventure.” Yes, I remember the dorky matching outfits we all wore “in case one of us got lost, we’d all know what everyone else was wearing.” I remember meeting Mickey and the smug look on my father’s face when he found a faster way to do anything.
But I also remember the one who had the most fun of us all, the one who made friends with every waitress or waiter or stockboy at every restaurant or store to which our horde went. I remember the one of us all who managed to make an impression upon every park-ranger and tour guide we met. It wasn’t the bald-headed kid on chemo. It wasn’t the sharp-witted older sister. And it wasn’t the always solemn and completely honest Bennie-hanna. It was the two-year old who had no fear and knew no strangers.
Bon chance, Elizabeth Erin Rose Golemo. I envy the hearts you’ll make a little bigger wherever you go.
Bon Voyage, and Bon chance!
Je t’aime.
Friday, September 08, 2006
40 years of Awesomeness
Today we celebrate the 40th anniversary of the first episode of Star Trek.
Thank-you, Creator, Gene Roddenberry, for giving all Nerds a common flag under which they may join, comiserate, and with the help of a well-stocked bar at the convention hotel, multiply.
For 40 years, you've helped the world to know that a series full of flimsy plots, formulaic story lines and squelchy acting can truly be more than the sum of its parts. (MTV owes you one.)
For what you've done with so little, we salute you.
For what you've done for the world, we thank you.
Please, live long, and prosper.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Life is in the contrast
Today was a day like the first time you’re rough-housing with a new girlfriend and she accidentally pops you in the nose. Things are still fun. Things are still cute. But see if you don’t keep an eye on that left hook of hers from now on.
I love it here in Galveston. I feel like I’m kicking ass. I’m having fun. I’m making mistakes and that’s okay. I’m trying. I’m doing things right. And that’s good too. I’m being overbearing and riding on my RA’s. I’m challenging them. And they’re challenging me right back.
Working with James… well its like working with Fred G. Sanford from Sanford and Sons. You really have no idea from one moment to the next whether he’s going to say something crass, complain, piss off a student or clutch his chest and wail: “I’m a-comin, Elizabeth!” Ol’ Jimmy, he keeps it interesting.
I have a boss that has my back. He works for the people who work for him. And for that, he’s earned my very hardest effort. I feel good about things.
However, today… Today was that bop in the schnozz from a pretty girl. I was scattered from the moment I woke up. It was one of those days where everything seemed to be taking twice as many trips because you keep forgetting keys, which seem to disappear the moment you put them on your desk. Everything took me at least two tries today. I left my I.D. in my apartment, went to the office and grabbed the wrong spare key, so I had to do the walk of shame back to the office again get the right spare key to let myself back into my apartment so I can waste another 20 minutes looking for the key that ended up being in the pocket of the pants I was sure I had already checked.
I ruffled the feathers of the one group of people on campus I really can’t afford to ruffle. And what’s more, it sorta went down in such a way that, in my standing up for myself, I’m afraid I might have got them bopped in the nose themselves. I think I’d rather have taken the hit and saved the political currency for a rainier day. But I wouldn’t have been the only one suffering the hit, so I couldn’t.
Apparently, not everyone on campus sees me as Baylor’s gift to the A&M world. Surprise.
Everything took twice as long to do today. I felt like everything I did rubbed people the wrong way. It was the sort of day that made you really understand the phrase: “the road to hell is paved in good intentions.” My intentions were pure, I still think my execution was true. But you know there’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip. And I seemed to definitely be missing that damn lip today.
But today I also had my very first 1-on-1 with an RA. Not a big production. It is merely meant as time with her supervisor to help her get an idea of her performance as well as a chance for the supervisor to get feedback on their performance. But also, it’s a chance for me to get nosey and let them get nosey as well. After we covered the basic crap about what she had planned insofar as programming, I had a chance to ask her about her boyfriend of nearly 2 years. I had a chance to let her know that I do think about our interactions and that I do notice things. I love bonding.
And then I gave her the chance to ask me anything. And Sweet Jesus, she went straight for the jugular. Girls. So I was completely honest, though I don’t know she was impressed with the answer. I told her where I was.
We talked about how I’m getting used to living on my own, for the first time ever, after moving from a place where I knew everyone and everything to a place where a month later I’m still a little hazy on how the “hold” button works on the phones. I admitted that it’s a little hard to close my door at night and walk around an empty apartment, hearing no other voices than those on T.V. and my own.
I kinda want a dog. Or maybe a cat.
It was all a little easier to deal when I was working the 14-hour days during the planning of RA Training, the actual days of RA training and then Check-in and Gig ‘Em Week. But now that I’m getting the hang of things, I’m finding that the world actually won’t stop spinning on its axis without me and I actually don’t have to be around all the time.
So what do I do now? I’ve been working out again. I play about two hours of basketball and then follow that up with a quick run around the periphery of campus (two, if I’m feeling saucey or the basketball games were only half-court).
Um, I watch House on Tuesdays at 7 and The Contender at 9. But I don’t really like watching T.V. by myself.
I’ve been bothering the residents on my floor. I mess with the Bulletin Board. Sometimes I go back to the office and check my email, mess with my To Do lists for the next day, straighten things up, take out the trash and save Virginia a little work.
But really lately, I’ve been spending a lot of my free time thinking about how blessed I am to be where I am. I seriously have the greatest job in the world. I freaking love every single one of my RA’s. I think we both began to tear up [still in the 1-on-1] when I was telling her this.
Yes, things are a little… different. But I love the fact that I have days like this. I love that I’m not in a perfect situation. I think that we, as people, need to be a little uncomfortable. We need to have that struggle, that uphill fight, to keep us pushing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a masochist, [I am Catholic]. I just think that we need to have a sense of accomplishment.
We need to have those sour days so we can appreciate the sweet ones. We need to have bad bosses so we can appreciate the good ones. We need to have our hearts broken from time to time, so we know how to truly use them. Life is all about contrasts.
Today was a classic case of this. I had my moment with Danielle where I sorta began to choke up. Because it was during a 1-on-1 with my first Hall Director and Mentor, Andrew Telep, when I first realized the path God had chosen for my life. I wanted to be a Hall Director. I wanted to have 1-on-1’s with RA’s and hope God will use me, as unworthy as I may be, to pour into their lives as I had others pour into me. I don’t think I realized this morning how that moment was 4 years in the making. I don’t think Danielle realized it either. Hell, I’m not sure I fully grasp it as I’m typing.
I guess my point is that I need to be thankful for days like these. Life is in the contrast, fellas. Thank the black so I can see the white.
Dropping it like its hot,
Neil
I love it here in Galveston. I feel like I’m kicking ass. I’m having fun. I’m making mistakes and that’s okay. I’m trying. I’m doing things right. And that’s good too. I’m being overbearing and riding on my RA’s. I’m challenging them. And they’re challenging me right back.
Working with James… well its like working with Fred G. Sanford from Sanford and Sons. You really have no idea from one moment to the next whether he’s going to say something crass, complain, piss off a student or clutch his chest and wail: “I’m a-comin, Elizabeth!” Ol’ Jimmy, he keeps it interesting.
I have a boss that has my back. He works for the people who work for him. And for that, he’s earned my very hardest effort. I feel good about things.
However, today… Today was that bop in the schnozz from a pretty girl. I was scattered from the moment I woke up. It was one of those days where everything seemed to be taking twice as many trips because you keep forgetting keys, which seem to disappear the moment you put them on your desk. Everything took me at least two tries today. I left my I.D. in my apartment, went to the office and grabbed the wrong spare key, so I had to do the walk of shame back to the office again get the right spare key to let myself back into my apartment so I can waste another 20 minutes looking for the key that ended up being in the pocket of the pants I was sure I had already checked.
I ruffled the feathers of the one group of people on campus I really can’t afford to ruffle. And what’s more, it sorta went down in such a way that, in my standing up for myself, I’m afraid I might have got them bopped in the nose themselves. I think I’d rather have taken the hit and saved the political currency for a rainier day. But I wouldn’t have been the only one suffering the hit, so I couldn’t.
Apparently, not everyone on campus sees me as Baylor’s gift to the A&M world. Surprise.
Everything took twice as long to do today. I felt like everything I did rubbed people the wrong way. It was the sort of day that made you really understand the phrase: “the road to hell is paved in good intentions.” My intentions were pure, I still think my execution was true. But you know there’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip. And I seemed to definitely be missing that damn lip today.
But today I also had my very first 1-on-1 with an RA. Not a big production. It is merely meant as time with her supervisor to help her get an idea of her performance as well as a chance for the supervisor to get feedback on their performance. But also, it’s a chance for me to get nosey and let them get nosey as well. After we covered the basic crap about what she had planned insofar as programming, I had a chance to ask her about her boyfriend of nearly 2 years. I had a chance to let her know that I do think about our interactions and that I do notice things. I love bonding.
And then I gave her the chance to ask me anything. And Sweet Jesus, she went straight for the jugular. Girls. So I was completely honest, though I don’t know she was impressed with the answer. I told her where I was.
We talked about how I’m getting used to living on my own, for the first time ever, after moving from a place where I knew everyone and everything to a place where a month later I’m still a little hazy on how the “hold” button works on the phones. I admitted that it’s a little hard to close my door at night and walk around an empty apartment, hearing no other voices than those on T.V. and my own.
I kinda want a dog. Or maybe a cat.
It was all a little easier to deal when I was working the 14-hour days during the planning of RA Training, the actual days of RA training and then Check-in and Gig ‘Em Week. But now that I’m getting the hang of things, I’m finding that the world actually won’t stop spinning on its axis without me and I actually don’t have to be around all the time.
So what do I do now? I’ve been working out again. I play about two hours of basketball and then follow that up with a quick run around the periphery of campus (two, if I’m feeling saucey or the basketball games were only half-court).
Um, I watch House on Tuesdays at 7 and The Contender at 9. But I don’t really like watching T.V. by myself.
I’ve been bothering the residents on my floor. I mess with the Bulletin Board. Sometimes I go back to the office and check my email, mess with my To Do lists for the next day, straighten things up, take out the trash and save Virginia a little work.
But really lately, I’ve been spending a lot of my free time thinking about how blessed I am to be where I am. I seriously have the greatest job in the world. I freaking love every single one of my RA’s. I think we both began to tear up [still in the 1-on-1] when I was telling her this.
Yes, things are a little… different. But I love the fact that I have days like this. I love that I’m not in a perfect situation. I think that we, as people, need to be a little uncomfortable. We need to have that struggle, that uphill fight, to keep us pushing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a masochist, [I am Catholic]. I just think that we need to have a sense of accomplishment.
We need to have those sour days so we can appreciate the sweet ones. We need to have bad bosses so we can appreciate the good ones. We need to have our hearts broken from time to time, so we know how to truly use them. Life is all about contrasts.
Today was a classic case of this. I had my moment with Danielle where I sorta began to choke up. Because it was during a 1-on-1 with my first Hall Director and Mentor, Andrew Telep, when I first realized the path God had chosen for my life. I wanted to be a Hall Director. I wanted to have 1-on-1’s with RA’s and hope God will use me, as unworthy as I may be, to pour into their lives as I had others pour into me. I don’t think I realized this morning how that moment was 4 years in the making. I don’t think Danielle realized it either. Hell, I’m not sure I fully grasp it as I’m typing.
I guess my point is that I need to be thankful for days like these. Life is in the contrast, fellas. Thank the black so I can see the white.
Dropping it like its hot,
Neil
Friday, August 25, 2006
Soul'd Out
In my line of work, if one walks into a large room to the sound of someone yelling: "HUMP IT!", you know the next 30 seconds is going to be interesting.
Still sweating from my late-night run circling campus, gallon of water in hand, shorts slightly sagging from the three sets of id's and keys I have to carry, I see a girl and a fella perched on a railing and smoking in the way only a kid with new-found status can.
I walk through doors and smell the faintly smokey scent of mingled sweat and aggression. I hear strangely syncapated grunts and yells and stroll through yet another set of doors to see a gym with about 50 people in dark red lined up standing on the bleachers chanting in unison to a fella gyrating in a a denim costume.
As people see me, wearing my white shirt decorated with some macho reference to the superiority of one sport to all others written in yellow and green, they smile and cheer and say things like "join us" and "we've been hoping you'd come" as they open a path for me into the middle -the heart- of their mob. I smoosh up between two of their "newer" members. The ringleaders, in their crude costumes, begin to gyrate once again, each theatric movement of their arms answered by a certain sound spewed from the crowd. I stand, awkward, not knowing what to do with my hands.
Every ounce of the Green and Gold flowing through my veins is screaming at me in the voice of William Jennings Bryant: "Isolationism! You have your allegiances!"
And then I remember the diatribe I let loose on a student (imagine that, me lecturing someone?) earlier in the day about sucking the marrow out of life. Finding meaning in every little thing you do. About how life is so short and precious and priceless. And if that the only universal that drives every person is purpose.
So I let go. I stopped trying to be an island of Baptist superiority in a heathen world and let myself enjoy a little dual-citizenship.
I sold out for a little soul.
Days later, I was still enjoying the conflict within me. Should I laugh at the person who just screamed "WHOOP!"? Or should I laugh with them?
For now, I refuse to choose and decide to be one with the wind. I do as I please thankyouverymuch.
My soul can have dual citizenship later. But for now, I'm gonna dip my toe in the water.
Look Ma, no hands.
Still sweating from my late-night run circling campus, gallon of water in hand, shorts slightly sagging from the three sets of id's and keys I have to carry, I see a girl and a fella perched on a railing and smoking in the way only a kid with new-found status can.
I walk through doors and smell the faintly smokey scent of mingled sweat and aggression. I hear strangely syncapated grunts and yells and stroll through yet another set of doors to see a gym with about 50 people in dark red lined up standing on the bleachers chanting in unison to a fella gyrating in a a denim costume.
As people see me, wearing my white shirt decorated with some macho reference to the superiority of one sport to all others written in yellow and green, they smile and cheer and say things like "join us" and "we've been hoping you'd come" as they open a path for me into the middle -the heart- of their mob. I smoosh up between two of their "newer" members. The ringleaders, in their crude costumes, begin to gyrate once again, each theatric movement of their arms answered by a certain sound spewed from the crowd. I stand, awkward, not knowing what to do with my hands.
Every ounce of the Green and Gold flowing through my veins is screaming at me in the voice of William Jennings Bryant: "Isolationism! You have your allegiances!"
And then I remember the diatribe I let loose on a student (imagine that, me lecturing someone?) earlier in the day about sucking the marrow out of life. Finding meaning in every little thing you do. About how life is so short and precious and priceless. And if that the only universal that drives every person is purpose.
So I let go. I stopped trying to be an island of Baptist superiority in a heathen world and let myself enjoy a little dual-citizenship.
I sold out for a little soul.
Days later, I was still enjoying the conflict within me. Should I laugh at the person who just screamed "WHOOP!"? Or should I laugh with them?
For now, I refuse to choose and decide to be one with the wind. I do as I please thankyouverymuch.
My soul can have dual citizenship later. But for now, I'm gonna dip my toe in the water.
Look Ma, no hands.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Island Living... better than Mainland Dying.
Funny title yeah?
So I got some offers from some different places. I chose my boss. His name is Todd. Pretty cool guy.
I'm Texas A&M at Galveston's newest Student Development Specialist II. I live on campus in Hullabaloo Hall and it is my distinguished job to run the RA program, work in housing and I also run the pool located in the middle of this harbor campus.
I'm not going to kid, I was sorta on the edge of freaking out in my first couple days here. I'm told everyone starting a new job has the "holy shit what did I just get myself into?" moments. I've had like 5.
It was tough for me to move from Waco, where my best friends live, my sports teams play, and I know all the quickest ways to get from any A to any B. Actually, I'm a little shocked how comfortable I had grown with my life of mediocrity in Waco. Nothing bad about my time there. Waco is a fantastic place to live for 4-6 years. But lets be honest, in the 80 yard drive that is life, Waco is ten-yards between your own 40 and the 50. At the end of it, you're out of your own territory, but you still have half a field to go. Y'know? I think my little scamper was pretty good, I broke some tackles, but I'm nowhere near getting the 6 points I have coming to me.
In comes Todd, Colin, David, Shelle, Robert, James and Belinda. The people who sold A&M to me. They got me here on this island city. I moved myself here with the help of my friends the missed company of whom, ironically, was keeping me in Waco. After the pathetic 15 minutes it took to move my material world into my new apartment, we went to dinner. We got lost a couple of times on the way, but we got there.
Dinner at a seafood restaurant (when in Rome...) during which, I managed to simultaneously talk said friends into leaving town that very night, and work up the beginnings of a nervous break-down (caused from pre-emptive homesickness). I began praying under my breath... well it was sort of swearing where I mentioned God, Jesus, and St. Jude. Providence in the form of my ex-girlfriend Rhonda (yeah, we used to make-out on a fairly regular basis ;-) ) presents itself in a whiney "lets go by the beeeeeeeeach [snorts]!!" And so we did.
As we were walking across the Seawall towards the 7+ mile beach at 11 at night, I had my head down, staring at my feet, muttering in my head and calculating certain illnesses I could get that would leave me simultaneously feared and respected but relieving me from all responsibility of any kind- and forcing me to go back to my "dark place" where everying thing is safe. And then something Rhonda says to me about how big a jerk Eric is or something makes me look up. Apparently, I had walked 40 yards on a rock pier into the bay of black waves with white baby-hair curls on their heads sliding in roughly the same direction all around me. I looked up and out and saw an ocean full of my musical new friends, all heading in towards me. I saw the reflection of a big moon in the lumpy water.
Each one of these waves had a story, starting tens of thousands of miles away as a butterfly flapping its wings in Buenos Aires or some jackass throwing a bottle off a fishing boat (seriously dude, give a hoot). But more importantly they have all been marching towards their end. Their special job. Add a little sand. Attack the edge of a rock. Get dirty fish-water on some ex-girlfriend sitting too close to the edge of a rock pier. They do their little job and they're done. And like the universe's biggest dominoe run, they set off another wave on a slightly tangential direction to do a slightly different job.
All of a sudden moving 4 hours away from Waco wasn't that big a deal. Gas is expensive. But Texas roads are good. In the meantime I've got and incredibly important job to do with awesome people who want to help me do it.
Once again, God is more faithful than I deserve.
And talking through waves and a little girl with a big mouth? Apparently, the Big Fella still likes his cliche's.
Kisses,
Neil
So I got some offers from some different places. I chose my boss. His name is Todd. Pretty cool guy.
I'm Texas A&M at Galveston's newest Student Development Specialist II. I live on campus in Hullabaloo Hall and it is my distinguished job to run the RA program, work in housing and I also run the pool located in the middle of this harbor campus.
I'm not going to kid, I was sorta on the edge of freaking out in my first couple days here. I'm told everyone starting a new job has the "holy shit what did I just get myself into?" moments. I've had like 5.
It was tough for me to move from Waco, where my best friends live, my sports teams play, and I know all the quickest ways to get from any A to any B. Actually, I'm a little shocked how comfortable I had grown with my life of mediocrity in Waco. Nothing bad about my time there. Waco is a fantastic place to live for 4-6 years. But lets be honest, in the 80 yard drive that is life, Waco is ten-yards between your own 40 and the 50. At the end of it, you're out of your own territory, but you still have half a field to go. Y'know? I think my little scamper was pretty good, I broke some tackles, but I'm nowhere near getting the 6 points I have coming to me.
In comes Todd, Colin, David, Shelle, Robert, James and Belinda. The people who sold A&M to me. They got me here on this island city. I moved myself here with the help of my friends the missed company of whom, ironically, was keeping me in Waco. After the pathetic 15 minutes it took to move my material world into my new apartment, we went to dinner. We got lost a couple of times on the way, but we got there.
Dinner at a seafood restaurant (when in Rome...) during which, I managed to simultaneously talk said friends into leaving town that very night, and work up the beginnings of a nervous break-down (caused from pre-emptive homesickness). I began praying under my breath... well it was sort of swearing where I mentioned God, Jesus, and St. Jude. Providence in the form of my ex-girlfriend Rhonda (yeah, we used to make-out on a fairly regular basis ;-) ) presents itself in a whiney "lets go by the beeeeeeeeach [snorts]!!" And so we did.
As we were walking across the Seawall towards the 7+ mile beach at 11 at night, I had my head down, staring at my feet, muttering in my head and calculating certain illnesses I could get that would leave me simultaneously feared and respected but relieving me from all responsibility of any kind- and forcing me to go back to my "dark place" where everying thing is safe. And then something Rhonda says to me about how big a jerk Eric is or something makes me look up. Apparently, I had walked 40 yards on a rock pier into the bay of black waves with white baby-hair curls on their heads sliding in roughly the same direction all around me. I looked up and out and saw an ocean full of my musical new friends, all heading in towards me. I saw the reflection of a big moon in the lumpy water.
Each one of these waves had a story, starting tens of thousands of miles away as a butterfly flapping its wings in Buenos Aires or some jackass throwing a bottle off a fishing boat (seriously dude, give a hoot). But more importantly they have all been marching towards their end. Their special job. Add a little sand. Attack the edge of a rock. Get dirty fish-water on some ex-girlfriend sitting too close to the edge of a rock pier. They do their little job and they're done. And like the universe's biggest dominoe run, they set off another wave on a slightly tangential direction to do a slightly different job.
All of a sudden moving 4 hours away from Waco wasn't that big a deal. Gas is expensive. But Texas roads are good. In the meantime I've got and incredibly important job to do with awesome people who want to help me do it.
Once again, God is more faithful than I deserve.
And talking through waves and a little girl with a big mouth? Apparently, the Big Fella still likes his cliche's.
Kisses,
Neil
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Globe Trottin'
Hey friends! I know its been a long time since I've posted. Sorry.
To be completely honest, I stopped posting because I realized that my own inability to avoid being earnest could bite me in the proverbial butt. So, you know what they say... If you can't say anything honest... well I guess they dont' really say that at all, do they? I shut up. People were thankful.
So to the moment.
I'll admit it. I limped out of the semester. I was working 40-50 hours a week, getting paid for 20. I was taking 12 Graduate hours of school and conducting a nation-wide job search. All while trying to graduate.
I loved my job directing Martin Hall. That was a dream come true! It was quite litterally what I had been dreaming of doing for the last 3 years of my life. And I got the chance to do it. I nearly cried. I miss my bois.
But, life was a little trying. I was beat. The crap with Rhonda nearly ended me.
So the last couple of months... I've been chillin. Sleepin on a couch. Not working. Running when I want to. Playing basketball. Watching Entourage. Reading books. Getting back into the business of being me. I love it.
But a week or so ago, I realized I need a job. So I started sending out applications with my stellar resume. Less than 4 days later, I was flying to Orange County, CA, Galveston, TX, Charlotte, N.C. and Vermont. I need to make a decision though. So we'll see how it goes. I got two more offers today actually to interview with a property in Seattle, WA and Wilkes College. I've loved all of my interviews thus far. So we'll see how things go.
Currently, I am back in the Big Ill for the second time in as many weeks. Adam Ancelet, my old pal and first school friend is getting Married. Ew. So I dragged my friend Heather Turner up here with me so people won't think I'm gay...
She loves it. Hates that I dress better than her.
So that's the do, right now. Great times.
I'm going to get goin. I promise I'll get more Blogging. Real blogging. Once a week. Promise.
Kisses,
Neil
To be completely honest, I stopped posting because I realized that my own inability to avoid being earnest could bite me in the proverbial butt. So, you know what they say... If you can't say anything honest... well I guess they dont' really say that at all, do they? I shut up. People were thankful.
So to the moment.
I'll admit it. I limped out of the semester. I was working 40-50 hours a week, getting paid for 20. I was taking 12 Graduate hours of school and conducting a nation-wide job search. All while trying to graduate.
I loved my job directing Martin Hall. That was a dream come true! It was quite litterally what I had been dreaming of doing for the last 3 years of my life. And I got the chance to do it. I nearly cried. I miss my bois.
But, life was a little trying. I was beat. The crap with Rhonda nearly ended me.
So the last couple of months... I've been chillin. Sleepin on a couch. Not working. Running when I want to. Playing basketball. Watching Entourage. Reading books. Getting back into the business of being me. I love it.
But a week or so ago, I realized I need a job. So I started sending out applications with my stellar resume. Less than 4 days later, I was flying to Orange County, CA, Galveston, TX, Charlotte, N.C. and Vermont. I need to make a decision though. So we'll see how it goes. I got two more offers today actually to interview with a property in Seattle, WA and Wilkes College. I've loved all of my interviews thus far. So we'll see how things go.
Currently, I am back in the Big Ill for the second time in as many weeks. Adam Ancelet, my old pal and first school friend is getting Married. Ew. So I dragged my friend Heather Turner up here with me so people won't think I'm gay...
She loves it. Hates that I dress better than her.
So that's the do, right now. Great times.
I'm going to get goin. I promise I'll get more Blogging. Real blogging. Once a week. Promise.
Kisses,
Neil
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