Change is a rather simple word - only six letters long, easily recognizable in print, and familiar to everyone since we were small children (remember watching caterpillars "change" into butterflies in preschool?!). And yet, change can easily become one of the most complex actions we experience. I am reminded of this every single day.
Every year of my life since I was five years old, I have been involved in school. For all but two of those years, I was a full time student, and for the other two I worked full time at UNCG. Sun up, get dressed, go to school, work, come home, sun down. That was essentially the routine of my life! Then two months ago, it all suddenly changed. My job in the band office at UNCG had run to its end, all of my course work and teaching obligations had been completed, and while I am technically still a student (but hopefully only for a few more weeks! *fingers crossed*) I no longer am part of the academic routine. I *gulp* work at home.
No longer do I have to decide what shoes to wear based on whether or not I have to walk scantron tests across campus to the learning center for grading. No longer do I have to wake up "extra-early" so I have time to review my lecture notes before a busy day of classes and rehearsals. No longer do I experience the beautiful moments of joy in amusing exchanges between colleagues in the halls, helping a student understand a concept in a new way, or watching a friend achieve hard earned success.
Instead, I have work to do. Work by me, done for me, and probably that no one else will ever care about but me. Alone. At home. Me, my computer, a gigantic stack of books, a plethora of notes and reminders on post-its, and a little kitty cat who just wishes I would go away so he could go back to sleep.
What an abrupt, drastic, and unexpectedly depressing change in lifestyle. I am so ready for this phase of my academic journey to end that I can barely stand it much longer! And I'm coming to realize that it isn't the struggle, the relentless hours of hard work, or the endless torrent of questions needing answers that I want over - it's the loneliness. I miss my friends. I miss feeling like I'm part of something larger than myself. I miss feeling needed and valued and respected.
Grad school is hard. Grad school ending is harder.
10.24.2012
10.10.2012
seeing life through the mascara
I had an interesting thought this morning as I was leisurely getting ready for the day... makeup is so much more than just a bunch of "beauty" products that have their own special storage desk and mirror in my room. It is a partnership, a means through which I view myself and the world around me. So I started thinking about my own journey in wearing, experimenting with, and eventually loving makeup, and myself.
My first experiences with makeup were as a six-year-old dancer. I hated it! Bright red lipstick felt tacky on my lips and forced me to hold a smile much longer than was comfortable. Mascara made my tear ducts swell in protest as Mom tried to gently apply it between my uncontrollable blinking fits. This stuff was just a hassle! But I loved dancing, so I continued enduing the three times a year the bag of stage makeup found its way out of the bathroom cabinet and into my dance bag.
This hatred of makeup slowly melted away into indifference. As a ten year old, makeup wasn't so bad. On special occasions (and of course, dance recitals and competitions) it was actually fun, but it certainly wasn't anything worth a portion of my time everyday. Oh, how hormones change everything! That indifference slowly turned into a friendly acquaintance I liked to keep around. And makeup was no longer something I donned for special occasions, it was something that made me special. We've all read a plethora of commentary on the effects of media and pop culture on a young girls self-esteem and view of herself, and yes, it is unavoidable. But it isn't all bad, all the time. With makeup, I could go from the small town farm girl who bottle fed calves at 6:30 in the morning in blue jeans and boots to a well put-together, inquisitive, and naively ready to change the world young woman in about 15 minutes. It helped me form an identity of self-worth and respect at an age where many of my friends struggled to discover this for themselves.
As I continued adapting to my ever changing life, so did my relationship with makeup. In college, makeup was no longer necessary in defining who I was, instead it helped define my relationship with exterior forces. In times of exceptional questioning, fear of failure and of the "judges" that constantly surrounded me, makeup could act as a bullet-proof vest. If I look good, then I am good, no matter what anyone else thinks. And while appearances have little to do with allowing the world to see your true self, having even just a speck of confidence in that regard goes a long way in learning to be honest and vulnerable.
Now I'm finding, with a little more world experience and a balance of failures and successes worthy of anyone following their dreams, my daily makeup routine is a labor of love for self, worthy of every valuable second of time it takes. Those dark circles under my eyes can, with the help of a little makeup magic, become luminous reminders that we are not perfect, but with good faith and forgiveness in ourselves we can find light within any darkness. That blob of lengthening mascara and strategically placed eyeshadow not only makes my eyes appear brighter, but reminds me to keep a wide-angle view of the day and to pay just as much attention to the small things as the oppressively large ones. The hint of blush reminds me to be joyous, to laugh and smile as frequently as possible. I'm not hiding any flaws, I am merely finding a way to make them part of a harmonious whole self. And through it all, I'm still just a simple girl with big dreams, bursting to share my experiences with those who are willing to listen, and always searching for that next great shade of lip gloss.
My first experiences with makeup were as a six-year-old dancer. I hated it! Bright red lipstick felt tacky on my lips and forced me to hold a smile much longer than was comfortable. Mascara made my tear ducts swell in protest as Mom tried to gently apply it between my uncontrollable blinking fits. This stuff was just a hassle! But I loved dancing, so I continued enduing the three times a year the bag of stage makeup found its way out of the bathroom cabinet and into my dance bag.
This hatred of makeup slowly melted away into indifference. As a ten year old, makeup wasn't so bad. On special occasions (and of course, dance recitals and competitions) it was actually fun, but it certainly wasn't anything worth a portion of my time everyday. Oh, how hormones change everything! That indifference slowly turned into a friendly acquaintance I liked to keep around. And makeup was no longer something I donned for special occasions, it was something that made me special. We've all read a plethora of commentary on the effects of media and pop culture on a young girls self-esteem and view of herself, and yes, it is unavoidable. But it isn't all bad, all the time. With makeup, I could go from the small town farm girl who bottle fed calves at 6:30 in the morning in blue jeans and boots to a well put-together, inquisitive, and naively ready to change the world young woman in about 15 minutes. It helped me form an identity of self-worth and respect at an age where many of my friends struggled to discover this for themselves.
As I continued adapting to my ever changing life, so did my relationship with makeup. In college, makeup was no longer necessary in defining who I was, instead it helped define my relationship with exterior forces. In times of exceptional questioning, fear of failure and of the "judges" that constantly surrounded me, makeup could act as a bullet-proof vest. If I look good, then I am good, no matter what anyone else thinks. And while appearances have little to do with allowing the world to see your true self, having even just a speck of confidence in that regard goes a long way in learning to be honest and vulnerable.
Now I'm finding, with a little more world experience and a balance of failures and successes worthy of anyone following their dreams, my daily makeup routine is a labor of love for self, worthy of every valuable second of time it takes. Those dark circles under my eyes can, with the help of a little makeup magic, become luminous reminders that we are not perfect, but with good faith and forgiveness in ourselves we can find light within any darkness. That blob of lengthening mascara and strategically placed eyeshadow not only makes my eyes appear brighter, but reminds me to keep a wide-angle view of the day and to pay just as much attention to the small things as the oppressively large ones. The hint of blush reminds me to be joyous, to laugh and smile as frequently as possible. I'm not hiding any flaws, I am merely finding a way to make them part of a harmonious whole self. And through it all, I'm still just a simple girl with big dreams, bursting to share my experiences with those who are willing to listen, and always searching for that next great shade of lip gloss.
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