Free Time is Overrated

Some children may disagree with me on this point, but let me explain.

At glorious College X, students work for the school at least 15 hours a week, and do community service, and somehow fit homework in there. It sounds crazy, but there is actually a lot of downtime if you have a good work ethic (how else would I write blog updates?) Somehow between my classes, work, and service I fit archery, firefighting, first-aid for fire spinners, and a love of Law&Order into my week. Not to mention lots of crazy daydreaming. It may help that I don't party, don't drink and don't smoke.

I often wonder how people at other colleges don't go completely crazy with an extra 15-20 hours of free time every week. Maybe their brains just turn to mush, and they're brainwashed into thinking it's an invigorating experience.

We're not lazy, we're just selectively focused.

Bah. You had your entire childhood to play around in the dirt with sticks (at least I did - no summer camp or soccer for my family! Wahoo!), apply yourself a little.

Though I may not have enough time every week to write a lengthy blog post, I at least feel satisfied with everything that I've done.

A Touch of Perspective

As I have discovered recently there are a lot of things college students (and other such adults) love to complain about, even though there are easy solutions.

#1: "I don't get enough sleep"
There are a lot of varieties of this complaint, which include saying "I'm really tired" about eighty times in one day, etc. The easy solution is: Go to bed before midnight every night, and try getting up at the same time every day (a sleep schedule). It also has another name most people hate - a bedtime. Your body loves schedules, and hates the funky partying you do until three a.m. on Saturdays. Try it, you'll be amazed.

#2: "I don't have enough time to do all of my homework/projects"
Again, try getting up at eight or nine on weekends instead of two or three in the afternoon. You'll be amazed how productive you can be that early when all of the other hung-over people aren't awake yet and the dorm is extremely quiet.

#3: "I don't have enough money"
Well did you really have to buy all of the beer for last week's block party? I might also recommend spending less, saving more, and getting a summer job (If you aren't in a position to have a job while at school). Remember that it also isn't a good thing if you save every penny and deprive yourself of a little fun. It's also not good to sponsor happy hour at the local bar.

#4: "I hate all my classes/professors"
Then you probably aren't in the right major. A reevaluation of your educational priorities may be in order, or a quick talk with your professor about your concerns.

#5: "School textbooks are too expensive"
... Well yeah. There really isn't a way to fix this, but that doesn't mean you have to repeat it every single time you buy textbooks.

#6: "[insert generic complaint about girlfriend/boyfriend/partner here]"
Probably the greatest number of complaints I hear on campus are about relationships. It drives me completely insane. Most couples I know are dating someone on campus, and when they complain I try to make it clear to them how fortunate they are to be able to see each other every day. I have been dating the same man for three years, and I have hardly seen since I came to College X (except over breaks). It's torture. Unless your significant other also chooses to join the military like mine, stop complaining about not seeing each other every single hour.

The Long Road

It looks like I'm actually going to be able to participate in College X's Annual Work Day tomorrow, rather than being called away to fight a fire as I was last year. For that reason, I chose to volunteer to be a Spirit Leader for a group that will be planting saplings in an area that badly needs it.

As spirit leader, my job is to make sure people stay safe, hydrated, and cheerful (one can only hope). All of the spirit leaders and group leaders had a big meeting, and at the end of the meeting we were issued pastel yellow shirts with the Work Day logo for this year on the front. Let me say now: we are required to wear these shirts tomorrow.

Problem #1: By the time I got to the front of the line, there were no medium or small shirts left, only several generations of large.

I thought "Okay, this could be worse! Sometimes I fit a larger size; I'm not a pixie." I got home and tried it on for size. NOPE - it fit about as well as a fifty-pound potato sack fits a single potato. It might as well have been a Muu muu.

Again, I thought "Okay, it's not the end of the world. I'll just cut out this hideous neckline, and cut strips in the sides and tie them together! Yeah! That'll be stylish and cool!" NOPE - after more than half an hour of careful cutting, it looked like I was growing yellow tentacles out of my sides.

Expletive, expletive, swearword!!! I tried hard not to panic. There were no more shirts to try this with. I don't own a sewing machine, or have access to one on such short notice.

Problem #2: My only option was to sew up the sides and hope that I hadn't lost too much fabric with my frantic tentacle-making. But I don't own a sewing machine. All I have is a tiny sewing kit with a variety of threads and needles. Fantastic. I also had to be at work in about an hour.

I very carefully lined up the sides, cutting off tentacles as I went, and prayed really, reeeeally hard.

I was about half-done when I had to go to work. Thankfully, I work at the front desk of the campus library, and my boss doesn't care if I sew at the desk as long as I'm available for patrons.

Another hour later, I had finished sewing the sides! Huzzah! Time for a fitting!

Problem #3: I had somehow sewn the top so that it looked like I had the mother of all love handles - big bubbles of fabric on either side. Other than that, it looked okay! I pinned the problem areas, and let out a deep sigh. Almost done.

And Problem #4 arose halfway through fixing this problem... I was running out of thread. I was so close to a perfect product (for a girl who barely knows the sharp end of a needle) and I was out of thread! I started scrounging the scraps of thread I had tossed aside so carefully before, but I was still three inches short at the end. I had to sit on my hands for another half hour before I could run home and get more thread. Blech.

Home at last! I got the extra thread I needed, finished the new seam, and un-threaded the old seam to knot it off to keep it from unraveling. The best part of the whole process was the difference between before and after. Before: ugly yellow potato sack. After: flattering yellow fitted tank top.

My mother was a professional seamstress who made custom window treatments, clothing for our family, costumes for the local high school's theatre program, and anything else she felt like challenging herself to try.

She taught me some basic sewing as a kid (which of course I felt it my duty to rebel against) and I was definitely channeling her mojo tonight. Four and a half hours, sack to chiq!

What Makes an "Expert"?

Miracles were performed last night.

I managed to plan, shop for, prepare, cook, and serve a three-course meal without crying to my father for help.

Now I am not an amazing cook, but my father is. I'm convinced he can cook anything without breaking a sweat. If I had to name the best chef in my life, it would definitely be my father (with no offense to my mother). He is definitely the expert in my life.

my dad has always said that being an expert just means you're one page ahead in the manual than everyone else. I got to have a taste of this last night.

Two friends and I always cook together every Friday. Usually it's just a frozen pizza and popcorn. This week , for Valentine's Day we decided to do something a little more adventurous. We collected used pots and pans from the campus "free store", picked out a menu together, and made a budget for the expensive foodstuffs we would need.

While shopping and preparing, the two friends I always cook with continued to ask me "what do we need to do next?" or "what do you need me to do?" The recipe was right on the counter next to me, and I hardly had any idea what I was doing in the first place, but they asked me instead. And for some reason, I kept answering with the correct answer!

We made a delicious meal of cheese fondue, salsa chicken, and smores (in an oven) for dessert. It was all delicious, and somehow the best food I had ever made. Food just tastes better when you have worked incredibly hard to make it yourself.

It may just be a small miracle, but it meant a lot to me, and even made me feel more independent. I was the expert, and people were asking me the questions. Strange.

If you ever need to feel really strong, go out and cook something you've never made on your own before.

Sticker Shock, and the Importance of Savings

Apparently I have a limited ability to do math. That is, to put two and two together to consistently get four. I've been a firefighter for a year, and somehow never realized why steel-toe boots are not recommended. When a firefighter can't outrun a raging fire, they climb into a fire shelter - which looks like a tinfoil burrito - and waits for the fire to pass. During this time, it tends to get a tad toasty in that shelter, and steel-toe boots can do very nasty things to your feet.

Fire season starts in a month. I needed to get new boots now.

I bribed a friend to take me to a discount shoe place in a few days, and I was hoping to spend less than maybe $150, considering their shoes tend to be about 50% off. I was sadly mistaken... sort of.

There were lots of work boots that were at a half-decent price, but only one pair that was rated for Wildland firefighting... and they weren't under $150.

Sticker Shock = achieved.

I made a modest amount of money this past summer working very hard at three jobs. I was tempted several times by designer clothes and fancy jewelry. Somehow, I resisted the urge to splurge and tucked away my money into a savings account. Today I discovered how valuable mild frugality can be. I certainly don't starve myself of the good things in life (I treated myself to a Tiffany's necklace after I had surgery) but I don't buy everything I want. Life is balance. Sure, it would be great to dress only in designer clothes, but being able to afford the safety equipment I need at the drop of a hat not needing to ask for my parent's help is a great ego booster.

Long story short, the boots were more than $250. These boots are virtually indestructible, and basically guaranteed to last until long after I'm dead at a ripe old age. But ouch! My wallet is bleeding, call an accountant, STAT!

My mother was impressed that I didn't use the credit card she gave me, and didn't even ask for permission to use it. I never expected that she would pay for safety equipment that I wanted for a very dangerous job, and just assumed that I would be forking the cash over myself. She had half expected that I would ask. Somehow, I managed to surprise and impress my mother. Who knew?

Maybe this little show of independence and responsibility will encourage them to give me some money.... what do you say, Mom?

Eating Gold, and Other First-World Qualifiers

I have not updated this recently, but that is because I have been quite busy contemplating the grandeur of my life.

ahem.

I recently had surgery to repair a funky ligament in my elbow, and got to laze around the house for an entire month earning absolutely no money and sapping cash from my loving and concerned parents.

This was not life-saving surgery. My ligament was not going to suddenly demand control of the lower intestine and hold my biceps hostage until its demands were met. I was in pain due the nerve it was pinching, yes, but I was in no immediate danger.

What really astonished me was how completely useless I felt. my mother kept reassuring me that it was fine, but I had never contributed so little to the household since I was too small to even do my own laundry. Because I had so much time to think, I began to realize that having so much time to recover was a luxury many people cannot afford.

A few weeks into my recovery, my family went to a very fancy event at an undisclosed location (not classified, I just don't want you stalking me). The food was amazing, even though the chef was cooking for maybe two hundred people or more. Everyone smiled, and there were lots of little old ladies with walkers and checkbooks bigger than the Empire State building.

What really got to me, though, was a particular dessert. There were fruit tarts, pistachio thingies, and this little chocolate mousse with something shiny on top... I called over a waiter, and the conversation went like this:

"What's that?"
"Chocolate Mousse"
"And the thing on top, is that icing?"
"No, that's 14 karat gold"

We were eating gold.

I had been explaining to people I met all night that I was going to an environmental school, and they all smiled and called me an Eco-warrior or something, and here I was committing a heinous (and very consumerist) crime against the environment by choosing to eat something that had absolutely no nutritional value, and probably cost someone their home in the process of mining. I felt like a horrible person.

On the ride home from the event(in my mother's Chevy hybrid), I could not stop exclaiming how strange that was to me, and how I felt divided between two worlds. I wanted to be the Eco-warrior and beat back pollution from the last remaining scraps of wilderness... but at the same time I had been raised in this very elite group, and I was very comfortable in my heels, pencil skirt, dress shirt, and mindless polite conversation. I was comfortable reducing my educational goals to a simple sentence or two and taking out the sci-speak.

But, as my mother said, that is what will make me valuable to the Eco-warriors. Without the scientists that can talk to the little old ladies who want to donate to help sea turtles but don't know where to start, there would be no environmental movement. "Saving the Planet" costs a lot of money, and without the social events that may do damage to the environment, there could be no motion towards restoring it again.

Perspective in hand, I have a new view of my education. So many of my classmates want to be the super-scientist or the Eco-warrior, but may not learn how to talk directly to the agents of change (not small change, I guarantee) that can finance their "the Man is evil and I need to save the whales right now!" mentality. But that's okay, I can pimp for nature, and they can do the hard lab stuff.

Responsibility Bites.

It's too true. All our years in High School we couldn't wait to be adults and finally have some respect and responsibility. When we graduated, we thought, life would be easier. No drama, no kid stuff; we could do whatever we wanted to do.

Well... some of that is true.

When you graduate from High School and go on to College, it is true that some of your drama goes away. It's no longer "Ohmygawd, Sally Whats-her-face is such a B**ch! She stole my lip gloss!". Instead, it's people bawling about not being able to pay their loans off, or dropping out of college because it's simply too stressful, or screaming at their roommate for something or other, or any of a thousand other things. That's right, in college you have to live with someone. At least in High School you had your own room to yourself. No more!

The "kid gloves" do come off in College. So - no more teachers going easy on you because you forgot about a paper. No more parents who will wake you up in time for school, or remind you to eat some fruit before you get scurvy, for goodness' sake! No more bottomless pantries and constantly stocked refrigerators. A lot of things go away. But at the same time, you get a lot in return.

No more parents to gripe at you for sleeping in until three in the afternoon on a Saturday. No one can make you dress "normally", you can walk around in your p.j.'s for all anyone cares. You can eat what you want, when you want. You can sleep if/when you want. You can watch anything, do anything, and be anyone you've ever wanted to be. If you go to a school far from home, you can completely remake yourself into what other people have always told you you couldn't be.

However, being whoever you want to be can be expensive. Life isn't cheap when you're living it day by day. This is where being an adult kind of starts to suck. Sure, you could get drunk whenever you want and smoke five packs a day... or you could pass your classes and get a good job. Sure, you could party every night and sleep until noon... or you could graduate in four years instead of six. Sure, you could never do laundry again as long as you live... or you could live in a room where the bugs don't outnumber the unpaired socks in your underwear drawer. You could spend every dime of your summer job money on designer clothes... or you could put it in a savings account for the future.

The beautiful thing is no one will tell you which one to do. It's your choice. You are in complete control of your life.

Empowering, isn't it?

Suddenly, the world is so much larger and holds so much more promise. Scary.

Responsibility is tough, because no one can really teach you to be responsible. They can present you with opportunities to show responsibility, and hope you don't screw up. It's like being taught to swim by having someone throw you in the diving pool - it's kind of Pass/Fail. Sure, you'll screw up sometimes, but individual moments won't define your entire life. Learning is a life-long process.


Now stop procrastinating and do your homework! A good education won't earn itself!