Boston, My Beloved

I should be in Chicago right now, but after the events of this week there’s no place I’d rather be than Boston. Even yesterday, when my city was under lockdown and I was glued to the TV watching the search for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, I thought to myself that the last thing I wanted to do was leave. If this ship is going down, I’d rather stay with the ship. But this is Boston, a city that runs 26.2 miles on our day off for fun and then two more miles to donate blood in the wake of a deadly bombing, a city that cancels Friday to hunt down the man who messed with us. This ship ain’t going down.

Kenmore Square, empty during the lockdown

When I hobbled back into work on Wednesday after two days off for the Boston Marathon, everyone asked me about my experience at the finish line and of course told me how glad they were I’d made it out unscathed. But one of my colleagues asked a unique, and fitting, question: Do you feel like more of a Bostonian now than you did before the race? I felt a rush of emotion when I told him yes, absolutely.

Rushes of emotion have been especially common for me lately, in the days before the marathon when I felt both intimidated and excited by how epic this race is, and afterward when I’ve been reflecting on the beautiful series of events leading up to the day’s horrific conclusion.

The strongest reaction I had was anger. But it was anger driven by love of my city, my marathon, and above all my people, including my teammates and our supporters and my wider community of runners and their loved ones. The city of Boston, the marathon, the charity runner program, and my Running for Rare Diseases team are some of the few things I’ve looked at and said, “This is good. This is beautiful.” I was deeply angry that someone would try to destroy so much goodness.

Moment of beauty & triumph at the Boston Marathon finish

I am convinced that the purpose of the attacks on the Boston Marathon were just that: an attempt to destroy goodness and beauty. After the attacks, some of my teammates speculated on whether the bomb would have caused more damage had the terrorists set it off at the start rather than the finish. But the sheer number of people hurt wasn’t the whole point; the point was to destroy the perfect moment of victory and love when a “regular Joe” runner accomplishes what seems impossible – running 26.2 miles – and is reunited with his family members who have supported and cheered him on. After all, the best ways to destroy the spirit of a runner are to take away her legs and to maim and kill her family and friends. The terrorists knew that they could strike fear into the hearts not only of the runners and onlookers immediately impacted by the explosions but by all of us who keep imagining “what might have been.”

Many of us began imagining nightmare scenarios during our vulnerable post-marathon exhaustion. On Monday, after I’d crossed the finish line but before the bombs went off, I remember thinking that I don’t really like myself immediately after I complete a long run. I love how I feel in the final miles of a long run; when everything has been stripped away, I often find courage, clarity of thought, joy, and a spirit turned toward God that I rarely experience in any other times of my life. But once I complete my run, I let my guard down and weakness takes over. Sometimes I just want to collapse on the ground and cry.

I heard an explosion shortly after picking up the bag I’d checked in Hopkinton that had been bussed to the finish line. Fireworks, I assumed. I was only three blocks away but had no idea what was going on. Even after being told to evacuate the Arlington T station and hearing the fear and urgency in the MBTA officials’ voices, I still had no idea. It wasn’t until I’d hobbled all the way to Park Street station that I heard an official say, “There were bombs at the finish line.”

Bombs. At the finish line.

I took out my phone immediately to start trying to locate the others I knew who were at the race and to let my friends and family know I was safe. No calls would go through; no missed calls showed up in my phone log; text messages came and went in batches and had to be resent time after time. And faces flashed into my mind. Faces of people I loved, faces of people I prayed were all right.

2013 Boston Marathon Team

I don’t know how long it was until we were truly assured everyone we knew was unhurt. It’s an indefinite period of time I never want to relive, but did relive in my mind many times that night. Every time I moved while trying to sleep, my sore legs brought my brain to consciousness, and my consciousness was filled with anger – and with love. Every time I thought about bombs being set on charity runners, and specifically on the amazing people who make up my team of runners and supporters, I was sickened and furious. I wanted to respond but I didn’t know how.

You don’t mess with the people I love, I kept thinking throughout the night. You don’t mess with an event as meaningful to me as the Boston Marathon. And you don’t mess with Boston, my beloved city.

But in the midst of all the darkness and anger, I also kept waking up with a warm feeling of being overwhelmed by the love I felt throughout the day. Scenes from the day raced through my mind and stirred something within me, something the terrorists had tried to destroy by bombing the race but which was shining even more clearly because of it.

In heaven at mile 14

I’d just crossed the finish line, exhausted and weak. “Jen!” I called to my teammate, who had finished a few minutes before me. She turned, and we embraced, bursting into tears of joy and relief. “We did it!”

My running team was jubilantly leaving our pre-race breakfast and about to get on the bus that would take us to Hopkinton. “Hey I’m worried about you,” said Phil, our unofficial team captain who knows my running personality better than anyone. “Take it easy until you reach the top of Heartbreak Hill. If you feel like you’re holding yourself back for the first 20 miles, you’ll have a great race.”

I was at the top of the stairs, on the second floor of my house, when one of my roommates got home. “Is she here?” she asked the others and came bounding up the stairs to give me a fierce “I’m so glad you’re not dead” hug.

I texted my friend Sarah from Minnesota while sitting on the Boston Common. “I can’t remember the last time I was that scared,” she wrote. Since my parents don’t have texting and no calls were going through, she called them to let them know I was all right, and she posted on my Facebook for anyone who was checking there.

Mile 14

I was at mile 14, not just running but flying. Erica, the woman with a rare disease I was running for, had flown to Boston just to spend the weekend with me and to watch the marathon. I hugged her and high-fived all my colleagues. Erica told me later I looked like I was in heaven in that moment. And I was.

"I'm dying!" at mile 24

I was at mile 24, trying to finish strong. I looked at the crowd and saw my friend Kristin, one of the few people I trust enough to show how weak I was in that moment. “I’m dying!” I yelled to her. “You’re doing so well!” she shouted back. Suddenly, her husband Chad was running beside me. “You’ve got two miles left,” he said. “You are going to do this.” He said it so confidently that I knew he was right. 

I was at mile 6, trotting along and grinning at the crazy crowds. “You are not almost there!” read one of the spectators’ signs. “No I’m not,” I thought. “And that’s awesome because I never want this marathon to end.”

I was in Hopkinton and my colleague and teammate Kai read a note from one of our company’s senior leaders. “I never ran Boston,” he wrote, “and it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life. I hope you all can enjoy every moment, every step.”

I was shivering in the Boston Common, trying to make my text messages go through. “How are you getting home?” texted my friend Courtney. “I don’t know,” I wrote back. Until I can get these texts through and find out everyone’s okay, I don’t really care, I wanted to add. “I can pick you up and drive you home.”

Scenes of Boston – my beloved city, my home – filled my mind as well. 

Boston greeted me with a torrential rain storm. I’d driven halfway across the country with my friend Ann in a rented SUV, and this is how I was welcomed? (Other things that happened in my first few days here: getting locked out of my apartment with a key that didn’t work, trying to correct a wrong turn by driving around the block and ending up lost for 45 minutes, realizing that unlike dorm rooms apartments do not come equipped with toilet paper or shower curtains, having an IKEA adventure that went horribly wrong.) Boston is a city you have to earn the right to call home.

Boston skyline & Longfellow Bridge

I lived in Somerville when I first moved to the area. My first trek into the city proper was, appropriately, on foot. I walked across the Longfellow Bridge and gazed at the beautiful – and to me at the time, intimidating – skyline of the city and marveled that I lived here now. I didn’t yet call this city home.

Boston Public Library courtyard

Given my love of books, the Boston Public Library was one of the first places I visited after moving here. Though I’d heard it was beautiful no one had told me about the lovely outdoor courtyard; discovering it was like entering a fairy tale.

Raven Used Books in Harvard Square

Feelings of awe and envy mingled in equal parts when I walked through Harvard Square for the first time. Everywhere I turned, there was another bookstore, another beautiful brick building. Why didn’t I try to go here for undergrad?

There was the period in my life when I went to slam poetry every week at the Lizard Lounge, and I wrote articles about Patricia Smith and the National Poetry Slam team. Before I wrote those articles, I’d been afraid I could never be a real writer. 

Emerson College. Park Street Church. Genzyme. These are the places where I grew wings, where I learned how to do things that scare me, where I started to become the person I was always meant to be.

The first time I said, “I’m going home” when I flew from Minnesota back to Boston.

My first run around the Charles River. My first 5K race. My first run after learning some awful Minnesota family news, feeling grateful to have this gruff city to shelter me.

Boston is the city that taught me how to run. Boston is the city that taught me how to be brave even when I’m afraid. Boston is the city that taught me how to fly.

Map of important locations in manhunt

I woke up yesterday morning and discovered that the terrorists weren’t just going after my running community and my marathon. Now they were coming after my work, my home, my friends. The carjacking took place less than a block from my office, the MIT police officer was shot on my typical walking route to and from work, the carjacking victim was released less than a 10-minute walk from my house, the suspects’ home was a street over from my friend’s house and about a mile from mine, the Watertown shoot-out was near one of my favorite running routes and right next to my roommate’s work. All residents of Cambridge, Boston, Watertown, Waltham, Newton, Brookline, and Belmont were asked to stay inside, and all businesses in those areas were asked to close. For the second time in a week, I felt real fear for myself and people I love. 

I don’t like being angry when I don’t have a clear direction to funnel my passion into. But I hate being afraid even more. After an entire day in the house, my fear had faded and I was back to asking the question I’d been asking ever since the marathon: What can I do? 

The answer was the same. I will not be afraid. I will not act on my anger in a destructive way. I will write. I will run. I will keep loving the people in my life and I will keep living my life in my city.

Memorial on Boylston Street

I will postpone my trip to Chicago so that I can walk in my city, heal with my city, cry with my city. I walked along the Charles River today and saw the runners, the flowering trees, the distinctive lines of the Hancock Tower and Prudential Center, the Citgo sign that I’d trained myself to recognize as a beacon of hope at mile 25 of the marathon course. I went to the memorial that has cropped up where Boylston Street is barricaded off and read the “Boston Strong” handwritten notes people have placed there along with flowers and old running shoes.

As I’ve done ever since Monday, I will wear my Boston Marathon jacket as a symbol that beauty, hope, victory, and love cannot be destroyed. 

When I first wore it after the tragedy, I hoped people didn’t think I was trying to get attention. The last thing I wanted was to be treated like I was special because of these horrific events. But then I realized: This is Boston. As with all my accomplishments, running a marathon isn’t going to impress anyone. This city will run me over in the crosswalk, marathon jacket or no marathon jacket. Its citizens will watch me sprint to catch the T and just smirk at me, “Good thing you’ve done all that training.” 

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

#BostonStrong

It's Christmas Time in the City

Stroll with me through Boston's magical holiday lights! I recommend listening to "Father Christmas," a lovely song from the Narnia soundtrack, at the same time.


Two years ago, when I first moved to Boston, I posted holiday photos of the Boston Common, Boylston Street, and my then-hometown of Somerville. This year, I thought I'd post photos that are closer to my current home--the North End. They were all taken on my phone on a recent walk home, and I hardly had to go out of my way at all.

Fanueil Hall (as seen from Government Center Plaza)


Lambert's at Fanueil Hall


Seasonal Painting on Lambert's Windows


Entering Faneuil Hall Marketplace...and Catching a Glimpse of the Tree!


Getting Closer to the Tree...


The Fanueil Hall Tree


Going Past Fanueil Hall, toward the North End, and Looking Back at the Customs House & Fanueil Hall Tree


The Greenway on the Edge of the North End
The walkway gets lit up specially for the holidays, and this picture does not do it justice! Every time I walk through that area, I think to myself how wonderful it is that people will do something just because it's beautiful, and that these beautiful things can still brighten people's days, no matter how busy and stressed out they are.


Christopher Columbus Waterfront Park - right by the Harbor and the North End



North End Tree (by the Greenway and Hanover Street)


Hanover Street, the Main Street of the North End


Urban Italian Kitchen on Hanover Street


Modern Pastry Shop on Hanover Street


North Square - One of My Absolute Favorite Places in the North End


And while we're on the subject, New York is also a fantastic place to be around this time of year. I was recently at a conference there (Social Media for Pharmaceutical Companies) and got to see the famous Rockefeller Center tree and Fifth Avenue shops decorated for Christmas. If you're looking to change your soundtrack for your perusal of this blog post, I'd recommend this performance of "New York at Christmas" by the Radio City Rockettes (whom I saw in Boston last week--they were so fun!).


Rockefeller Center Tree


And This is Me, with the Tree, Wishing All of Thee a Merry Christmas from NYC!

The Sequel

What happens after one’s epic story has unfolded? It’s the part of the play when the curtain falls, the part of the movie when the credits roll, the page of the book that reads with finality, “THE END.” And we all know that sequels to such epic narratives fall flat. The story was complete and beautiful as it was, so why try to add to it?

But when it’s your own life, you have to go on living that sequel. And every subsequent sequel after that. I know this sounds melodramatic and self-aggrandizing, but to me, moving to Boston and making a life here for myself felt epic. Two years ago, I packed up an SUV that I’d had to pay the “underage” fee to rent after quitting a full-time job in the worst economy since the Depression to get a Master’s degree in publishing – a field which some would say is dying or at least uncertain and which everyone would say you don’t need a Master’s in. The rational side of me knew all this and wondered whether I was making a big mistake.

But the idealist in me, the optimist that is never quite silenced despite all the events and thoughts that make me cynical, dared to dream. I imagined throwing caution and planning to the wind just for once. I saw myself walking the streets of Boston with surety, with confidence, with grace, and preferably while wearing a nice montage of stylish outfits. I saw myself getting a job that actually inspires me, earning a Master’s, and moving into a chic little studio. I hoped for all this fervently...and it has all happened, even down to getting my own studio – a perfect place for just starting out in the world.

So what’s next? Now that the personal legend I worked to fulfill over the past two years has been reached, what now do I pursue? I think a psychologically healthy person would just be happy and rejoice for a few moments in their triumph. But the truth is that I’m not happy unless I’m accomplishing something, preferably something that seems impossible. Yet, at the same time, I’m really exhausted. Sometimes I can barely muster up the energy to do much after work besides watch TV, much less to set out on another epic adventure.

How long until I need a new Boston?

When I was debating whether or not to move out here, the song “Boston” by Augustana was my constant soundtrack [with my personal changes in bold]:

She said I think I'll go to Boston
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I'll get out of California [Minnesota], I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly him out to Spain
[I think I’ll get a Master’s and visit Jamaica Plain]
Oh yeah and I think I'll go to Boston,
I think that I'm just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset,
I hear it's nice in the summer, some snow [ocean] would be nice

So what happens when people know her name in Boston? What happens when the sun that rose over Boston starts to set?

To clarify, I mean all of this metaphorically. I’m not planning on leaving Boston any time soon because I love my job and I fit in this town. But I need a new mountain to climb, a new challenge to tackle, a new story to enter into.

Maybe I should work to stop human trafficking or maybe I should run the Boston Marathon. Maybe I should write a book.

Or maybe I could find a way to be happy without being in pursuit of a goal. One of my New Year’s resolutions this year was to be more laidback. Actually, that’s the PG version of the resolution. The actual words I wrote in my journal were to “stop being such a bitch.” Now, mostly people laughed when I told them that because apparently I don’t come across as a bitch. And that’s better than the alternative, for sure. But I know my ambitious heart, and I know that I have within me the fire to stop at nothing to accomplish a goal. So apparently I thought the cure to this was to set a goal to be more spontaneous and more laidback. What stepping stones can I set for myself to try to enjoy life more and to take time to stop and smell the roses?

I don’t think I will come to any answers today. But I can at least tie the bow on a different item:

Operation: Defeat IKEA, Part 2
The thrilling conclusion to my epic battle against IKEA is that I hired movers and they disassembled and reassembled my bed. Like I said, thrilling. But they did say that this was the most complicated bed they’ve ever dealt with.

My Life in Review + Operation: Defeat IKEA, Part 1

Since it's been almost a year since I've written in this blog, here's a quick recap of the major events in my life: I graduated from Emerson and am officially a MASTER OF PUBLISHING AND WRITING. Oh yeah, you are all intimidated by that prestigious degree. I mean, on the scale of prestige, a J.D. gets the bronze medal, an M.D. gets the silver, and an M.A. in publishing is far and away the gold medalist.

Additionally, I got a full-time, non-temp job at Genzyme. I moved from the legal department to the fabulous CORPORATE COMMUNICATIONS department where I get to write articles and tweets and update the website, etc. In the blog post where I mentioned that I got the temp legal job, I just said I was working at "a biotech company" because I was somehow under the impression that someone at Genzyme was monitoring an RSS feed that would show them any time the word "Genzyme" was mentioned and that they would henceforth monitor my blog. This now sounds extremely paranoid and rather laughable to me. I'm pretty sure that as long as I don't stupidly post anything labeled "internal and confidential" to this blog, I can safely mention the name of the company where I work. :-) In any case, it's a great job and I'm thrilled to have a paid writing gig. Also, I think this job might actually save me from my addiction to school because it's interesting and challenging enough that I won't feel like I am shrivelling up intellectually and creatively without my classes. This is a good thing because I really don't have the time or money to go back to school for another degree right now, and I don't need one for my future career pursuits. But I might be singing another tune in a year or so.



The third piece of big news is that I'm moving to the North End next month! I found a lovely little studio and I'm thrilled to be living alone and closer to THE CITY. (Please note that the picture above is actually of me standing in a re-creation of Thoreau's cabin, which I visited with my parents when they came here for my graduation. My studio may be about the same size as Thoreau's house but is much sunnier. Like Thoreau, I can say that I moved there because "I wanted to live deliberately.") The new studio brings me to the other part of this blog post:

Operation: Defeat IKEA, Part 1

When I moved to Boston two years ago, I purchased the most fantastic IKEA daybed imaginable. It is part bed, part couch, part storage space. It's beautiful and practical and ideal for apartment life. In fact, I purchased it with this day in mind--the day when I would be able to move into my very own minuscule studio. It was a dream worth dreaming, and one that is finally going to be fulfilled.



However, now that the day has arrived, I have discovered a flaw in my plan. My IKEA bed, now fully assembled, won't fit through my bedroom door nor will it fit through my new studio's door. So I have to disassemble it. With normal furniture, that would be no big deal. But IKEA furniture is anything but normal; in fact, this bed--though perfect and beautiful and ideal when fully assembled--was likely designed by the minions of the anti-Christ (my apologies to Carina Bengs, who is the actual designer). When my friend Ann was helping me move out here, she also helped me assemble some of my IKEA furniture. She was assembling this daybed while I was assembling my dresser. She got to a point in the instructions where two people were necessary, but the picture did not show two of those cartoon IKEA people helping each other out, so of course she assumed she could do it herself. (We had to put blind faith in those IKEA instructions, mind you.) The largest piece of the bed came crashing down on her foot, ripping off her toenail and spewing her blood all over the bed and floor. So the bed has already scored a point against the human race, and now it's out to score another one. But I am determined that it will not.



I have figured out exactly which cheap IKEA screws need to be removed in order for the bed to be disassembled into four manageable pieces that will fit through a standard-sized door frame. One problem is that some of the screws are so cheap that they have been stripped; the bigger problem is that four screws are the dreaded lock-screw combination:



You screw one metal screw into a hollow metal screw, which locks it in place. I'm pretty sure you're never supposed to be able to unscrew them once they are assembled. However, this is the perfect bed and I will not give up without a fight and a (possibly fatal) attempt to use power tools to accomplish my goal. If I die trying to disassemble this bed, then this blog post can be my eulogy and it can also provide evidence for a conviction in court when the best lawyers from Lockhart/Gardner bring IKEA products to the stand. (I have become a huge fan of The Good Wife over the past few months, hence the somewhat forced reference to the law firm in the show, Lockhart/Gardner.)

I know it's dangerous to promise a future blog post, but my plan is to keep you updated on how my fight against this IKEA bed goes. And I also hope to write in this blog more regularly, now that I no longer have classes for four hours two nights a week, plus an endless stream of homework. We shall see how both of these endeavors turn out.

Comcast "Cares"

"Thank you for calling Comcast. Please make yourself comfortable. For nondescript jazz, please press 1. To hear reassuring lies like 'A customer service representative will be with you shortly,' press 2. For blaring heavy metal that you can hear in the next room if you decide to set the phone down in an effort to avoid wasting your life on hold, press 3." I would have chosen the third option this morning.

It all began with a monthly cable bill that was twice as high as normal. Of course, I figured that our fabulous promotional rates had run out, and I would just need to change my service plan to pay a more reasonable amount. Should have been simple, right? I was probably naive to think so. I tried to log in at Comcast's website and they told me that my account already had an email address linked to it and that I wasn't using the right one. So I figured that the email address was my old roommate's, since she was the one who'd originally opened the account.

Given that I had no time to wait on hold, I decided to follow the website's cheery suggestion to email them and receive a quick, helpful response within twenty-four hours. I received an incredibly understanding, comforting email with no real content. This is an actual direct quote:

I understand you would like to know why the total amount due is more than what it has been in the past and that you cannot log in to your online account using your non Comcast email address. I apologize for the confusion this high bill charges has caused you and I completely know the importance of having able to access your account online. Please do not worry; I am here to provide the necessary information about your bill and how you can get your user ID and password.

Oh, good. I feel so soothed. After I sent a follow-up email, Comcast finally gave me directions for how to solve my problem: I should close my current account to get rid of my old roommate's information and open a new one by clicking on a particular link and choosing new services. This sounded easy enough, so I decided to take care of it this morning as I was drinking my pre-work cup of coffee.

Big mistake.

The final step was a Live Chat in which the rep said that I couldn't possibly do what I was trying to do without calling Comcast. "I’m sorry; we cannot process your request at this time. Please call [phone number]." Since Comcast continually boasts that its email and Live Chat services are just as good as its phone services, I said something like, "I was following the directions in an email; please work with me to resolve this issue." The person—whom I was beginning to suspect to be a computer—pretty much repeated the exact sentence about not being able to process my order. It seems that email and Live Chat are just fancy ways for Comcast to avoid helping its customers.

Then I asked, "Why didn't the email just tell me to call instead of directing me to the Live Chat?" The rep started typing something and then changed his mind and typed something else, so I decided he must actually be a real person. He basically said he didn't know and repeated that I had to call the number. To which I responded: "Fine. Thanks for your 'help.'" I couldn't resist the sarcastic quotation marks, even though they are the most obnoxious thing in the world, and then of course I felt bad about it.

After all, it hasn't been that long since I've had a terrible customer service job; I know that he's just following some instructions in a manual and that part of his training was probably something like: "Don't innovate; don't use your problem-solving skills; just do exactly what the manual says." Because that's how big companies are. They treat their employees like idiots so that they can justify paying them diddly squat. So it's pretty sad that right after I'd decided this Live Chat rep was a real person, I treated him like he wasn't one.

At this point, I was already running late. I should have just postponed my call to Comcast. But I was frustrated and wanted to start out my day by solving this problem, not letting it drag on and on. So I called the customer service number and went through several rounds of "for [this problem], press 1." Then I got to the dreaded automated voice: "Thank you for calling Comcast. All available representatives are assisting other customers. Your estimated wait time is nine minutes." Okay, I thought, I can handle nine minutes. Don't ask me why I ever believe these automated voices.

So I started getting ready with the phone wedged in between my chin and my shoulder. The background music was so quiet that I could barely hear it when the phone was jammed against my ear, much less when I put it down momentarily to apply foundation or pull a shirt over my head. Putting on my makeup was the most amusing. I had my phone on my vanity, and I kept bending over to listen. If I didn't hear anything, I'd say, "Hello? Hello?" And of course, no one was there.

After at least forty minutes, as I was walking to the bus (a later one than I usually take), someone finally answered. I was out of breath from hurrying to the bus so when he asked me to describe the problem, I probably sounded like I was about to have a breakdown. I really wasn't; I had calmed down since the Live Chat incident. In fact, when he asked how I was doing, I nicely told him about my difficulties but assured him that I knew it wasn't his fault.

Anyways, he solved my problems beautifully. He actually seemed to want to answer my questions and find solutions. I'm getting the services I want at a reasonable rate, and I don't have to close my account and re-open it. (This would have involved paying for another installation, waiting around for four hours for the cable guy to come, and then having to deal with reconnecting my wireless adapter, which always causes an excessive amount of problems.) And best of all, the new services will begin immediately so I won't have to pay double for the month of July.

Though Comcast doesn’t care, at least one of its employees does.

Why I moved to Boston, with a tasty dose of feminism, from ch. 12 of Jane Eyre

Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add further, that, now and then, when I took a walk by myself in the grounds; when I went down to the gates and looked through them along the road; or when, while Adele played with her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax made jellies in the storeroom, I climbed the three staircases, raised the trap-door of the attic, and having reached the leads, looked out afar over sequestered field and hill, and along dim sky-line--that then I longed for a power of vision which might overpass that limit; which might reach the busy world, towns, regions full of life I had heard of but never seen--that then I desired more of practical experience than I possessed; more of intercourse with my kind, of acquaintance with variety of character, than was here within my reach. I valued what was good in Mrs. Fairfax, and what was good in Adele; but I believed in the existence of other and more vivid kinds of goodness, and what I believed in I wished to behold.

Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called discontented. I could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it--and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended--a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence.

It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.


Thanks, classiclit, for providing the text.

Long Time Gone

Hey blogosphere!

It's been a while since I've written. I've been extremely busy because, thankfully, I got a job! I've been working in the legal department of a large biotech company for the past three weeks. It's a full-time job, which is what I really wanted/needed, even though it makes me incredibly busy. It's a pretty administrative job (it can be a wee bit boring), but I am NOT complaining. I am so grateful to have a job, especially in this economy. Plus the location is great; it's right between school and home. And the people I work with are SO nice and helpful. It's really a perfect job to coincide with grad school.

Additionally, I've neglected this blog because almost all of my personal (i.e., non-school) writing time has been devoted to journaling for the past month and a half. Sometimes it's comforting to know that I'm writing in a physical book that could be burned or torn or thrown into the ocean, destroying the only copy of whatever I had just written. I think a lot about my "digital footprint" and how anything I ever send absent-mindedly off into cyberspace will be there forever. Good thing I have no intention of becoming a high-profile politician or businesswoman.

Anyways, I just really wanted to share with all of you my good news (getting a job) and to say that I will write as often as I can, but don't be surprised if the blog doesn't get updated as regularly as it used to be. Until next time then, I bid you all a very fond farewell.

Back in Beantown

I am officially back in Boston, trying to remember what "my real life" is like. Being back in Minnesota for almost a month made me feel like Boston had been a dream or a study abroad trip. When I checked in at the Minneapolis airport, the ticket agent said to me, "Oh you're going back home." I was taken aback; no, didn't he realize that I'd been "going home for Christmas," that Minneapolis was my home? But I heard myself agreeing with him. Yes, I live in Boston. My apartment is there, my school is there, my job prospects are there, my internship is there, my church is there, my adventure is there.

Ah, adventures. I set off for Boston several months ago, knowing it would be an adventure. But this excursion is a longer, grittier adventure than any I've ever had before. When I traveled alone to England for a whole summer, that was certainly an adventure. But it ended after three months. My Boston adventure is not some whirlwind trip filled with excitement and non-stop action. It's real life. "And that has made all the difference."

You all may be sick of me saying this, but I really have this sense that I was "meant" to come to Boston, that this adventure is a crucial step in transforming me into the person I am meant to be. And I don't say this lightly: God has been working in my life since I came to Boston in ways I've never felt before. I keep telling people that "things just happen in Boston." I don't know how else to say it--things are happening in my life here; nothing is stagnant; and there's a sense of purpose in all that is transpiring. On my trip back to Minnesota, I saw how I really have become a slightly different person already. I'm not trying to brag, and I hope this blog post doesn't sound that way at all. I know I sometimes have a tendency to be prideful, but that's not at all how I feel when I think about how my Boston adventure has been changing me as a person. Rather, I feel gratitude and awe and excitement and inspiration and hope.

So there you have it, folks. I am back in Boston and I'm looking into the face of the Unknown with a "bring it on" smile. ;-)

The Year in Review (2009)

Though New Year’s kind of seems to fit in the "bogus holiday" category rather than the "deep and meaningful holiday" category, I actually really like it because I like reflecting on the major changes and challenges that occurred in the past year, and I like setting goals for the coming year.

Here's my personal review of 2009:

Winter (January-March)
I was working at the non-profit Christians for Biblical Equality as an editorial and administrative assistant. In March, I was given full-time hours and additional duties in the finance, development, and bookstore departments. I was also still working at the Barnes & Noble in the Eden Prairie Mall, though I did reduce my hours significantly when my CBE job became full-time.

Spring (April-June)
I finally got so fed up with Barnes & Noble that I quit. I hadn’t needed the job for several months, though the [very small amount of] extra income had been nice. I believe the “straw that broke the camel’s back” was when management decided to put yet another photocopied flyer in each of the booksellers’ mailboxes. This particular flyer showed a picture of a well-organized bookshelf next to a messy one and had a list of bullet points describing the above pictures. Please, like anyone could possibly be so stupid as to need such a flyer!

I got my official acceptance into both Emerson and NYU’s publishing grad programs. And I also got my tuition/financial aid statements from both of these schools, which caused me to ask myself perpetually, “Do you really think you can do this? Can you really make this happen without ending up on the streets?”

Summer (July-September)
My struggle over whether to move to Boston to go to Emerson intensified. My parents thought it was a risk that wasn’t worth taking. I, on the other hand, thought that if I didn’t take this risk, I would regret it for the rest of my life. If I couldn’t bring myself to do something like this now, would I ever end up living the exciting life I’d always dreamed of?

In August, I quit my full-time job in the middle of the worst economy since the Depression. I rented an SUV and drove to Boston, along with Ann without whom I would not have made it. Once we got to Boston, we immediately faced a bunch of mini-problems that seemed like a bigger deal to me than perhaps they should have. First of all, we had to carry all my heavy stuff in at 11:00 at night. Fortunately, the hurricane-like rainstorm had slowed to a drizzle. Then, we realized that the toilet wasn’t working properly and we didn’t have a plunger. Or toilet paper. Or a shower curtain. The next morning, I managed to lock myself out of the apartment by bringing a key that fit into the lock but wouldn’t actually open the door. Then we rented a U-Haul van, got lost in Boston’s hopelessly confusing and unmarked roads, got to IKEA and purchased a huge amount of HEAVY furniture, drove back to my apartment, and carried all of that back-breakingly heavy furniture inside (again, while it was raining). That was all within my first 24 hours in Boston.

But that was only the beginning of the challenges. Classes started in September, which actually felt like a breeze. I have handled school my entire life, but this was the first time I was encountering the major real-life dilemmas that come from relocating, becoming independent, and living as a real adult.

Fall (October-December)
This year, October was the cruelest month (sorry, T.S. Eliot). I’d had two interviews for a dream job as the Director of Communications at my church. I knew I shouldn’t count my chickens before they hatched, but I really thought I would get the job. The people interviewing me were so positive, and the position seemed perfect for me, albeit a big step up from anything I’d ever done before. Unfortunately, I was not offered the job.

Also in October, my roommate decided that she wanted to break our lease and move out. This alone would have caused some amount of stress because it’s very difficult to try to find a new roommate in the middle of a semester. However, despite my efforts to maintain a polite and peaceful living environment, the tensions between us quickly grew out of hand to the point that we barely spoke to one another. This eventually made my apartment feel like the place I had to go to avoid living on the streets rather than my home.

But I am not trying to whine and complain and ask for pity. Though October was difficult for me, I grew a lot through it and I really am glad for these challenges. In November, though my circumstances hadn’t changed, my attitude had. I no longer felt that I would simply die if things didn’t work out as I’d hoped they would; instead, I began to truly believe that God’s grace is enough to get me through anything (see my “Yes, No, Wait?” blog post).

I also started a social media/PR internship at Harvard Common Press in November. I am helping out with a travel newsletter/blog that they are starting up. I’ve been learning a lot about how companies can use social networking and new media to create an online presence for themselves and inspire people to visit their website.

In December, my old roommate moved out, and my new roommate will be moving in any day now. I’m still waiting to hear about a job I interviewed for, but things sound fairly promising. (But again, I should not count my chickens before they hatch!) I finished up my first semester of classes, which ended up being really fun and enlightening. And now I’m back in Minnesota for Christmas and New Year’s.

2009 was a defining year of my life, and I am so glad that I took the risk of moving to Boston. I am looking forward to new challenges and triumphs in 2010.

Part of Myself

“You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here...You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since—on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets...” ~Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Isn’t this Dickens quote beautiful? Melodramatic, poetic, filled with emotion and imagery. I thought I’d begin my blog post with this quote even though (or perhaps, because) nothing I write will be able to compare in tone or technique.

I am back in Minnesota for Christmas break, and I’ve been here since December 22. I haven’t had a moment to write a blog post until now because I’ve been spending as much time as possible catching up with friends and family members. However, as I usually do on breaks from school, I came down with a cold, so I’m forcing myself to take it easy this afternoon and try to recuperate. My original plan was to keep myself super busy and try to trick my body into thinking I wasn’t on break and hence keep the cold at bay. It didn’t work, unfortunately. So I had my secretary and life planner (i.e., myself) clear my schedule. On the up side, that gives me time to write.

Since returning to Minnesota, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on how people, places, and things can become a part of myself.

Things
I’ll begin with the “things” category, as it seems the silliest and least consequential of the three. Here’s one prominent example: About two weeks before flying back to Minnesota, on an otherwise uneventful Saturday evening, I lost one of the fake teeth on my retainer (my two lateral incisor teeth are fake and will eventually be more permanently implanted in my mouth but are currently only attached to a retainer). I had a really important job interview on the upcoming Tuesday, just three days after the tooth fell off, and I doubted that the retainer could be fixed in time.

Imagining myself going to the interview with a missing tooth conjured up feelings from my middle school days in which I was too self-conscious to show my teeth when I smiled due to the noticeable gaps in the front of my mouth. When I got my first pair of fake teeth in eighth grade, I felt like a whole new person. Suddenly I could flash a sparkling smile or laugh without putting my hand over my mouth.

A few days before the “tooth incident,” I told my mom on the phone, “I think I finally recovered from being a seventh-grade girl,” meaning that I thought I had gotten over all or most of the insecurities and awkwardness that I had assimilated into my self-image during middle school. Even though I now consider myself to be a confident person, losing that tooth made me realize that a small piece of plastic could be an important element in my identity. I was shocked to think that a personality trait like confidence could be so easily jeopardized by such a tiny object.

However, I convinced myself to get over my insecurity from missing a tooth tolerably well. I went to tutor in Emerson’s Writing Center without it, and I smiled my normal, toothy smile. And no one even seemed to notice! At least, no one commented or stared. Fortunately though, my parents mailed me an old retainer which arrived in time for my interview.

While my fake teeth are a part of myself in all locations, my car is a part of myself only in Minnesota. In Boston, I love taking public transportation and walking everywhere. It’s fun and relatively convenient, and it’s just my lifestyle there. In Minnesota, however, I feel that I simply cannot be myself or live my normal life without a car. So when my car broke down a couple days ago, I felt quite at a loss as to how I was going to experience all that I’d hoped to experience during my short stay back in my home state. Fortunately, the car was able to be fixed within 24 hours, so I didn’t have to find out how difficult life would have been here without it. But again, the loss of a mere thing had caused me to feel naked and unsure.

Places
It feels almost shallow (though understandable) for things to partially define my identity. But places, on the other hand, seem like they ought to be an integral part of who I am. In fact, I started my two blogs (Albion Adventures and Bella Bostonian) when I visited or moved to a new location. Three cities now flow in my veins: Minneapolis, London, and Boston.

Returning to Minneapolis has been interesting. In some ways, everything seems the same. The Eden Prairie Mall, I-494, and Uptown are all exactly where they were when I left, and I’m able to drive to all these familiar places without really thinking. But in other ways, my home town looks different now that Boston has become a part of myself.

For one thing, I honestly used to be a little intimidated to go to new, fun places in the Cities. I always wanted to be the type of person who would just go “out on the town” and try out anything and everything, but I usually felt like it was a lot more effort than it was worth. After a semester in Boston, I literally crave experiencing these new places and trying new things. I’ve gone on Yelp.com several times since I’ve been home and tried out Cuzzy’s Bar and Grill and made a short visit to Club 331, neither of which I’d been to before. For New Year’s Eve, I’m planning to go to the Elixir Lounge for the first time, and I certainly hope that I’ll be able to experience many other great places in the coming weeks. The Bostonian side of me has made me more confident and adventurous, and I’m happy to see that these traits are staying with me even back in Minnesota.

People
And of course, it goes without saying that the people in my life are a part of myself. The best part about being back in Minnesota is seeing my friends and family face-to-face and catching up with people I haven’t spoken with in months (or even longer). I am so grateful for the world of cell phones and computers which has enabled me to stay in touch with these people even while living 1400 miles away. Nevertheless, there’s something very special about the times when we actually get to see each other in person and experience life together.

It’s also been amazing to me how quickly people in Boston have become a part of myself. Though I’ve only been there a few short months, I have been so blessed with a wonderful support network of friends.

Being back in Minnesota for 3 ½ weeks has made me realize that I still live in two worlds. Of course, my life really is in Boston now. But at the same time, it’s been so easy to pick up my old life in Minneapolis where it left off (at least in some ways; of course I don’t have a job or a place of my own here). While on the one hand that means that I inevitably miss out on things in each of my two worlds at times, on the other hand, I’m just so grateful to have the opportunity to experience these different things, places, and people. This is exactly what I’d hope to be doing in my young 20’s—making the most of every moment, every experience, every challenge, every opportunity.

The Starbucks Experience

This morning, I walked to Starbucks to get a pound of coffee beans, feeling slightly guilty for the splurge. I normally try to purchase New England coffee beans, which are about a half or a third of the price.

I get to the Starbucks down the street from my apartment, and the barista informs me--much to my delight--that the beans come with a free tall coffee. And then, another barista drops the bag of beans on the floor in the process of grinding them, so they couldn't be sold even though the beans themselves were still perfectly fine. So she offers me that pound for free, which of course I accept gladly.

All told, I got 2 pounds of beans, a piece of coffee cake, and a tall coffee for $14. Sometimes it's the smallest things in life that put a spring in your step and a smile on your face. :-D

And oh, by the way, my roommate moved out yesterday. That may also have something to do with the spring in my step and the smile on my face.

Holiday Cheer (Without Snow)

Yesterday evening, I enjoyed the "tree lighting ceremony" on the Boston Common in 50 degree weather. There were singers, dancers in Santa mini skirts, and fireworks in addition to actually flipping the switch to turn on the lights.

By popular demand (okay, by one person's request), I'm posting a few photos of Boston's holiday decorations.

Here are a few photos of the Christmas tree and the Boston Common:




And for all those who are afraid that "holidays" are too commercialized, cheesy, and/or secular, there is also a Nativity scene on the Common.


With the State House in the background


State House closer up


With Park Street Church in the background


The gazebo in the middle of the Common


Ice skating on Frog Pond (also in the Common)




Charles Street, in between the Common and the Public Garden


Bridge in the Public Garden


Boylston Street


And now for some images closer to home. The following 2 pictures are from the main street leading to my apartment in the charming city of Somerville, which I affectionately refer to as Cambridge's ugly sister.

Somerville Car Wash


Somerville Fire Station

Life Is Good

I am so happy right now! It's Friday night and Thanksgiving is coming up soon. I have a new roommate for next semester, which has been a perpetual worry for about 2 months now. My classes are fabulous overall; it's unbelievably fun to discuss interesting ideas with my fellow classmates. My internship at Harvard Common Press is going well and I'm learning a lot there. My church and especially my small group are so supportive and inspiring. And Boston is just plain amazing! The vibe, the culture, the opportunities--it's just so great to be here. Yes, the transition was rocky, but I'm convinced that this was the right choice for me. Things are always a bit chaotic but at least I'm not bored. :-) And I feel like I'm really on the road to "self-actualization" out here; I'm growing in confidence and maturity and courage. I'm just so grateful for everything that's happened and for all that I've been learning. And I look forward to more challenges and triumphs in the near future.

Halloween Gossip

Halloween: the day we let loose our dark sides and show our secret admiration for our favorite fictional characters, heroes and villains alike. And who is a better mix of the good and the bad than Blair Waldorf? (And what is a darker secret than the fact that I watch—and actually enjoy—the teen soap opera Gossip Girl?)

I know, I know...the resemblance is uncanny.










Makeshifting a crazy Blair Waldorf headband: $0
Raiding your closet to find a short skirt and classy blazer: $0
Discovering you brought along ridiculous fishnet stockings when you moved to Boston (yet somehow forgot tights you might actually wear): Priceless

Apparently Halloween is a pretty big deal here. I don't know if it's a bigger deal in Boston in general or if it's just a bigger deal to the people I happen to know here. But at any rate, everyone seems to be talking about what they're going to wear and do tonight. I'm going to a party hosted by one of my church friends in Beacon Hill, an "old money" neighborhood near my school and church. It's supposed to be a fun place to celebrate Halloween because they close down a couple streets to car traffic, and people celebrate in style. I'll write more about it after I've actually seen it.

But before the party, I'm showing my apartment to another potential roommate. (For those of you who don't know, my current roommate wants to move out so she can be closer to school. I've been trying to find a non-psycho roommate to take her place for a little over a month now.) I'm showing the apartment to someone else tomorrow, and I do have a couple other leads as well. At this point, I'm just really hoping to get this figured out for next semester.

Anyways, happy Halloween to all!

P.S. If you want to get in the spirit of the holiday, I highly recommend reading An Acceptable Time by Madeleine L'Engle. I think it's the only book I know that gets me excited about Halloween.