Settling in.

Three weeks ago I left my home, my city, my family, my dog, and my friends and moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana where I stepped into full-time on-campus residence life position at a Catholic university in the latter half of the middle of the fall semester. Does that sound dramatic to you? I'm trying to make it sound dramatic, with the run-on sentence and the comma-separated list. Is it dramatic, though? Because people keep asking me how I'm doing, if I'm "settling in" well, and I've run out of clever responses:

Yes, I'm settling in well. You're all very friendly. I love my job. I'm learning as I go. I found Starbucks, Half-Price Books, and Aldi's. My RAs are excellent, and I did the math and discovered that I have had conversations with at least 50 of my 140 residents.

What's really weird is that after three weeks of rolling with the punches, meeting new people, exploring the area, and being cheerful, "it" is starting to creep in. I can hear the homesickness scratching at my door. In retrospect, setting a glamour-shot of downtown Pittsburgh as my desktop background may have been a bad idea.

My sister called me from Rome yesterday. Her semester abroad is coming to an end in a few weeks and she called to say she misses home. Apparently she is experiencing culture shock and it's making her shockingly tired - her subconscious is finally fighting back against the tide of constant new-ness in her surroundings and forcing her to rest and recover. I had a moment where I wondered if my current exhaustion has anything to do with culture shock but... I'm pretty sure it's because I'm stressed from carrying the On Call phone all week. Possibly also related to the incident where a student locked himself out at 4:30 in the morning and called me instead of security.

The bottom line is that I'm stuck in this in-between place of "settling in" where I don't technically have problems - my job is great, I'm building relationships with people on campus, I'm getting a lot of extracurricular reading done, etc - but every now and again I realize how much is still missing. No one to make pancakes and watch The Walking Dead with, no nieces and nephew to visit, no church family, no local coffee shop where everyone knows my name... and no matter how content I am in my current position, it's an uphill battle to find a life outside of work.

As much as I appreciate their concern, somehow I don't think the people asking me how I'm doing are really going to be able to help that much.

LtD: Ten Days In

Dear Debbie,

When I wrote my last letter I had absolutely no expectation that I would be offered the job for which I had just interviewed. It was the last thing on my mind, as a matter of fact, which is understandable considering I was a sight more concerned that I had broken my mom's car and I was going to miss a full day of the job I did have at the time. I thought I had probably seen the last of them when I finally drove away from Fort Wayne, but look at me now - both employed and happy in my employment.

The last week and a half have been one of the most intense learning experiences of my life. I spent three days doing my job without any login credentials. I was dealing with conduct issues and having RA one-on-ones starting on Monday morning, yet my first "formal" training didn't take place until Thursday. I'm not complaining. I know that's what ResLife is like and it's impossible to pause it just to train little ol' me in the middle of the semester. As a person who likes to have an outline and a thorough working knowledge of everything before leading an article discussion for 55 minutes, I was understandably distressed at the thought of speaking directly into students' lives armed only with my personal commitment to circumspection and neighborly behavior.

However.

Remember that paper I wrote for capstone about HED at Geneva being the "liberal arts" approach to higher education? I had some theoretical arguments for the efficacy of the approach, but this is where the rubber meets the road and it has been good for me. It's like my classes of the last two years - even the last six years - have been gradually turning my brain into a gum band. It stretches and adapts and applies itself to any issue I need to approach, but from time to time it gives me a good snap to keep me on my toes.

I can imagine you giving me a little half smile and leaning into your desk to say, "You know, Ceci, this is just the beginning. There are a lot more things for you to learn in this job." And I know it's true; I would be lying if I said that it wasn't stressful, or that I feel like I know what I'm doing. But I no longer feel overwhelmed when I think about tomorrow, and I am looking forward to tackling new challenges as they arise.

I'm sure I mentioned this after my interview, but the apartment is great. It's easily four times the size of my last apartment, and all of my earthly possessions barely make it look furnished... but it's exactly the kind of space I think a hall director should have: open and comfortable, and I'm looking for ways to make it even more hospitable. I've started by bribing people with Guitar Hero and coffee/tea/hot chocolate. Sound like anyone we know?

I can't forget my staff! You'll remember that when I came back to BF I really wanted to write them a note and tell them how impressed I was with them during the interview? I want to do it more every day. I am excited to be a hall director and get to know all of my residents, but I am even more excited to work with these RAs, to support their efforts and help them to excel as a team, to mentor them if they will let me. Everything that I really wanted to do with TAs, but this time it's part of my job description instead of extracurricular.

So basically, I'm excited about learning. I'm excited about meaningful conversations. I'm excited about teamwork. I'll bet that's a surprise, hmm?

Cheers,
Ceci

LtD, Vol. 1: The Perilous Job Search

Dear Debbie,

You have known for quite some time that I intended to begin a blog serial dedicated to you, my mentor and friend, in which I would chronicle some of my adventures in higher education. I began this adventure while sitting sideways in an old blue high-back chair across the desk from you, and for the last six years you've been there with me, listening to my ramblings and laughing at my attempts at comedy. I wanted to wait until I had a job to begin writing this, but my fingers are tired of texting and I am about three phone calls over my limit for the day and so now, thanks to the webernet, you are obliged to continue listening and laughing as I type from the comfort of my… well, telling you where I am would give away the ending, so let me start a bit earlier.

Yesterday I drove to Indiana (yes: the state of) for an interview (you know this, of course; but, you understand, other people might be reading [a writer can dream]). The state of Ohio seemed to know that I was coming and summoned up a blanket of cloud cover, so there was no sunshine whatsoever until I was nearly to Indiana and the sun was at just the right angle to blind me; and you tell me the big O-H is harmless. I arrived in Fort Wayne without significant incident, met the people I was supposed to meet, was fed delicious local foods (who knew that stir fry was an Indianan delicacy?), did about three hours of research and interview prep, and went to bed.

On the morning of my first in-person higher education interview, I was up very early. I took my time getting ready, blow-dried and brushed my hair, even applied make-up; I looked pretty dang professional. New shoes, nice pants, cardigan, matching earrings, and no cartilage stud… stripped of my individuality, maybe, but quite the picture of what you would want in a hall director. I compensated by making sure that everyone who interviewed me knew about my motorcycle by the time we were done; gotta maintain as much cool as I can. Everyone was very kind, suitably impressed by the motorcycle, and they had some excellent questions. It was a good, if exhausting, day, and I was fairly content to climb in my car and mentally prepare for a long drive back to PA.

As with all stories involving myself and cars, that is where the adventure really began. I set the GPS, checked the tire pressure, stopped for gas, and set out for home… only to be stopped after the next set of railroad tracks. Or, more appropriately, not stopped: the pedal was going almost to the floor before anything remotely resembling 'braking' occurred. You know me well enough to believe that I didn't really accept that there was a problem until I had driven about five miles further and realized that the two-lane road was going to be four-lanes and fast very soon, at which point I did a cunning U-turn (it didn't require a complete stop!) and made my way back toward civilization very slowly, with a hand on the e-brake and a prayer on my tongue.

Somehow (by the grace of God, I know) I ended up on the right street, in the right block, to roll down the road and into an auto shop that was five minutes from closing, where the owner was locking up on "Golf Day" (Terry would appreciate that tradition, methinks) but was willing to take a look at my car. It only took fifteen minutes or so to determine that the back half of the 'master cylinder' was blown, meaning that I had front brakes, but no rear brakes. The truly ironic (I believe, but I don't have an internet connection to look up the definition at the moment) thing is, this was the safe car - I took it because the rear brake pads and rotors had just been changed.

All of this, of course, confirms for me that there is a black spot curse especially for motor vehicles, and I have it.

Larry Lash, the mechanic and hero figure of this grand adventure, was able to get a call in to the parts store in Indianapolis and order a new master cylinder a few minutes before they closed. He then offered to drive me back to the University and pick me up again in the morning when the car was fixed; the University generously welcomed me back, fed me dinner, and gave me a room. At dinner, I made friends with the man behind the counter, who wished me luck and made a fresh batch of french fries just for me (my father questions my use of the word 'friend' for someone who gave me a triple serving of deep-fried potato, but I stand by my choice).

Incidentally, the town where Mr. Lash has his Auto Service is called New Haven. Poetic, isn't it?

In any event, it has been an interesting day, to say the least. Anna Eichner tells me that this is exactly what should happen to Hall Director interviewees, because it allows them to see how you function under pressure... I just find it funny. Is that an appropriate way to deal with stress? Better to laugh than be crying, I suppose. I look forward to seeing you sometime soon, but until then, consider this my thank-you for setting me out on the perilous road to employment.

And yes, I think that may actually be too obvious to be a pun.

Sincerely,

Ceci

Pending: Adventure

I've put this off until far too late in the day, and at this very moment my father is wolfing down his supper so that we can leave on time. To be fair, he said we would leave at 6:00 and he got home an hour early.

If you read my earlier post (here) you know that I've been looking forward to summer sailing for some time; I'm headed up to Erie tonight, and tomorrow the adventure begins! Just a few thoughts before I take off...

1) I think that sailing could be an introvert's dream. All that blue, all that quiet, and steady work that doesn't require too much thought to distract from internal processing. I packed my journal, a Bible, and a few small books to keep me company.

2) I think that sailing will quite possibly be an introvert's nightmare. I've been reading the training manual and realizing just how little space there really is on this thing, and 40 shiny happy people to fill it. This should be interesting.

3) I'm going with a College History Consortium, so I'm kinda psyched that there will be students and professors there... and maybe we'll get to have lectures!! I'm such a nerd.

4) I sincerely hope I packed enough. There's a whole lot to keep track of and only a little bit of space to fill up... fingers crossed.

I'm pretty sure I'll have a few things to say when I get back, but for now... I'm headed to (Lake) Ontario!

The Real Question

Although I have lost none of the angst that instigated melodrama in my previous post, after some reflection I realized that I never really got at the thing that I wanted to say. What I did say was true and valid, of course... I'm not losing confidence in this dream, exactly, but I do need a place in which to wonder what it would take to decide that enough is enough. A  wise woman who visited Geneva a few months ago said "Writing is thinking"; I know so little about the hand of God and what it means to wait for direction and trust his plan that I can't help but write.

So the real question is, how does one discover the difference between real confidence from faith and simple defense-mechanism apathy?

When I bought my motorcycle last summer, I tried (and failed) to have a few conversations with my dad about why I wanted to ride. In my father's mind the purchase was the least intelligent thing I had ever done, and my decision to continue riding the most reckless. I wrote a post in defense of my decision a few months ago, but to summarize, I honestly don't believe that it is irresponsible to ride because ultimately, you're only a safe as God keeps you. Every time I hit the road in any kind of vehicle I am aware of the risks, I do my best to keep my head on straight, and I know that it is God's hand that guides me through safely.

It's amazing to me that I have that kind of faith when I'm on a bike with just a thin textile jacket, jeans, and a helmet for protection, yet when it comes to resumes, cover letters, and waiting for the illusive interview I feel like James' "wave upon the sea, driven with the wind, and tossed"? Because the confidence I feel in the daytime when I'm writing and cooking and cleaning isn't always there in the evening, when the distractions have dissipated. On my bike I feel light and joyful and connected to the creation in new ways, and while I am conscientious I know that there is little I can do to keep myself safe, yet in the job hunt, every passing day makes me ask myself a few more times, "What are you doing wrong? Why didn't you do this and this and that while you were in grad school? They would make your resume worth more. Shouldn't you be calling... emailing... filling out more applications...? Why. Doesn't. Anyone. Want. Me."

Why is it so easy to be recognize grace in my successes and so difficult to wait for it in new endeavors? Why am I so quick to feel responsible for all of the things that don't work out?

Don't answer any of those questions. This isn't about me, it's about faith. It's about hearing the Holy Spirit. And it's a tiny bit about hoping that God has a plan for my career that makes me feel light and joyful and connected to the creation in new ways. (I can see it now "SOC 318: Two Wheels and Four Lanes - an inquiry into motorcycle culture in the U.S." A semester cross-country... dude, that would be awesome...) 

Something Will Turn Up

I am currently unemployed. I knew that I was going to be unemployed since graduation marked the end of my usefulness to my alma mater, and so I got what many people would consider a head start on the job search. I began filling out job applications in January and continued slowly-but-surely until the present. I tallied my savings, told myself that I had a few free months before I had to start working on loan repayment, and moved back to my parents' house. I started off fairly laid back about the whole job-finding process; now I complete at least one application a day, and I have received exactly no responses apart from a few automated rejections.

Of course, my own response to silence and the occasional rejection is literary in nature. Either in my thoughts or aloud I announce, "Something will turn up!", thereby inviting both my favorite author and my favorite character to the experience; it's good to have company. Deep down, though, there's the nagging question of when - today? next week? at the end of the summer? If I dwell on that thought, there's an even deeper nagging question - is this really where God is calling me?

You see, near the end of the semester I had moments where I questioned whether my calm concerning the job search came from true confidence that God knew what he was doing, or from the apathy of exhaustion. As a moderately insecure introvert, every cover letter feels like a major emotional investment, and a risky one - not only am I sharing some portion of myself with complete strangers, I'm not convinced of the value of what I have to share. Am I accepting my circumstances and waiting for God's timing, or is it simply a defense mechanism?

Today I read an excellent post on the academic job search from one of my favorite blogs, Shitty First Drafts, and one piece of advice really caught my attention: "4. Be ready to bail on this whole academic career thing and decide what will trigger you to do it." I know it's early (and a bit melodramatic) to talk about bailing just because I haven't had a call back, but I do wonder what it would - or should - take for me to decide that this isn't my path. I have so many other dreams and interests... am I chasing the wrong one?

If I am, you would think God might have said something before I spent two years in grad school for higher education. Then again, his ways are not our ways... I'm sure something will turn up.

While I Was Out...

Being newly graduated and unemployed, I decided that my best option was to move home for the summer. I'm not sure how most parents would take this sort of thing, but mine were most accommodating: to be specific, my father announced "I'm so glad... it's almost like getting a raise!" and my mother started to develop a list of family projects with which I could help. No sooner had I told them (before graduation) than they wanted to know how much I had to move and how soon they needed to bring the trailer over. Three weeks later I decided it was about time, and we packed up all of my things and brought it back to the family homestead.

It's funny how things aren't quite the same in your memory as they are in real life. For instance, I swear that my room shrunk - all of my neatly packed boxes are stacked waist high, and more than half of the floor is completely taken up. I'm terrified to unpack anything lest it expand to fill the space I need to access the dresser. I'm having a similar problem with bookshelves; I only bought fifteen books this year, yet I have more than fifty that are going to stay in boxes for lack of space. It's inexplicable.

One thing I know wasn't me, however, is the decór. I walked into my room last week, with the dark forest-y green on the walls that I fought tooth-and-nail to convince my father would work (and it does), looked around, and realized I wasn't in Kansas anymore. A massive satin comforter with quilting patterns and appliqué flowers covered the bed, the mirror door was replaced with a normal one, and three versions of George Washington's face were looking down on me.

I kid you not; while I was out my room was turned into the Revolutionary War Memorial Guest Room... but will I be here long enough for it to be worth changing?