I am not ready to leave, and I am not okay.
Please stop telling me that I am.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
[we] are the light of the world
Today, March 28, 2012, marks six months since a resident in my building took his life.
His name is Matthew. People usually say "was" when they talk about the deceased. I don't really understand why. I have to believe that somewhere, he is still Matthew. I think about him almost every day. It's impossible not to. This building is still saturated with moments I missed. I did not know him. I feel like I should have.
Six months ago, in the immediate aftermath of his death, I was reeling. We all were. Being a staff member in this building, being responsible for the young men and women who live here, at first made it feel somehow my fault. I felt- feel- guilty, like somehow I should have been able to do something. Somehow I should have known, should have noticed. I know this is fruitless thinking. I did not know him. There are over 1000 residents in this building. I wish I could know all of them. To this day, and I'm sure for every day to follow, I will wish I had known Matthew.
I know there is nothing I could have done. There isn't anything anyone could have done. We didn't know. We missed it. We shouldn't have, perhaps, but we did. Maybe he was too good at hiding it. Not everyone wants to be helped. The news articles about him always mentioned his sense of humor, his ability to make others laugh, his smile. I'm sorry I never got to experience that.
On October 31, 2011, another boy named Matthew committed suicide. This Matthew, I knew. We used to go to school together. He was in my theatre company in high school. I think about him a lot, too. I feel much the same way as I feel about Matthew from my building. I knew Matthew Chance, and this makes his passing difficult in a different way than Matthew from my building. It all comes down to the same things, though: I wish, more than anything, that someone, anyone, could have helped. People who know me will know I am passionate about helping people who self-harm, who don't think their lives are worth living. That is a story for another time, but my heart shatters every time I hear about something like this. We need to help stop these stories from happening. We need to help these men and women. Above all, we need to love them.
Martin Luther King, Jr, once said: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
I cannot be anyone's salvation. I am coming to accept this, slowly, painfully. I can only hope to be a light, a flicker in the darkness that gives what hope it can.
"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned." Isaiah 9:2
I can do so little, but I have great faith that the Light living in me can do all things.
His name is Matthew. People usually say "was" when they talk about the deceased. I don't really understand why. I have to believe that somewhere, he is still Matthew. I think about him almost every day. It's impossible not to. This building is still saturated with moments I missed. I did not know him. I feel like I should have.
Six months ago, in the immediate aftermath of his death, I was reeling. We all were. Being a staff member in this building, being responsible for the young men and women who live here, at first made it feel somehow my fault. I felt- feel- guilty, like somehow I should have been able to do something. Somehow I should have known, should have noticed. I know this is fruitless thinking. I did not know him. There are over 1000 residents in this building. I wish I could know all of them. To this day, and I'm sure for every day to follow, I will wish I had known Matthew.
I know there is nothing I could have done. There isn't anything anyone could have done. We didn't know. We missed it. We shouldn't have, perhaps, but we did. Maybe he was too good at hiding it. Not everyone wants to be helped. The news articles about him always mentioned his sense of humor, his ability to make others laugh, his smile. I'm sorry I never got to experience that.
On October 31, 2011, another boy named Matthew committed suicide. This Matthew, I knew. We used to go to school together. He was in my theatre company in high school. I think about him a lot, too. I feel much the same way as I feel about Matthew from my building. I knew Matthew Chance, and this makes his passing difficult in a different way than Matthew from my building. It all comes down to the same things, though: I wish, more than anything, that someone, anyone, could have helped. People who know me will know I am passionate about helping people who self-harm, who don't think their lives are worth living. That is a story for another time, but my heart shatters every time I hear about something like this. We need to help stop these stories from happening. We need to help these men and women. Above all, we need to love them.
Martin Luther King, Jr, once said: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
I cannot be anyone's salvation. I am coming to accept this, slowly, painfully. I can only hope to be a light, a flicker in the darkness that gives what hope it can.
"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned." Isaiah 9:2
I can do so little, but I have great faith that the Light living in me can do all things.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
broken hearted
It is with a heavy heart I write these words.
I will not be returning as an RA next fall.
Allow me to explain. Since classes are starting a week earlier in the fall, RA training will also begin earlier than this year, on August 5th. The decision RPS has made regarding training stands thus: if you cannot move in to begin training on August 5th, you will not be employed by RPS. This stands true both for new and returning RAs as well as the graduate staff. I will be marching with the Troopers Drum and Bugle Corps until August 12th.
In the immortal words of Gregory House, MD: "It's not easy. But it is simple."
The decision was mine. I'm marching. Giving up my age-out year with the Troopers is not and never will be a sacrifice I am willing to make. This is difficult, and it pains me greatly- but I'm making the choice I have to make.
My heart is breaking. I look at the incredible people around me and consider the amazing experiences I've been able to have this year, and I cannot imagine my life without them. So much of who I am is comprised of who they are and what they have taught me. I've said it before, and will likely say it again: being an RA is not having a job. Being an RA is a lifestyle- and it has, undoubtedly, been one of the most amazing, incredible, profound, heart-wrenching, gut-twisting, life-changing experiences of my life. I would not trade a single moment of this year for anything on the face of this earth.
I'm not sure what I'll do without it next year. I have full faith that things will be how they are supposed to be. I'm a strong believer in the phrase, "It will all work out." This is not by any means a "bad" thing to happen- it is a sad thing, a heartbreaking thing, a tragic thing- but I'm sure it will serve its purpose.
And of course, there is always the possibility that I could return mid-semester. Things happen, RAs may leave for one reason or another, a position may open up. In the coming weeks, I will be working with my supervisors and others within RPS to try and find another job opportunity within the RPS family. Ideally, I would *love* to come back to Read as a desk worker- it would, in a sense, allow me to stay connected to my Read family.
However, if not, then I will find another avenue. Other things will happen, other opportunities. Although this is a very scary concept for me, it does open many other doors and gives me many different options to consider. I could graduate in December. I could study abroad. I could live in an apartment. There are now many new things I will have to consider. I am not prepared to have to consider these things, but such is life. We are thrust into new situations daily, and the only control we have is how we handle them and what we make of them.
It is with red-rimmed eyes and a deep-seated sadness in my heart that I move forward now- but move forward I shall. I am now and will be eternally grateful for the amazing year I have had, and the two and a half more months I will have. I will miss this, and I will miss it terribly...but new things are on the horizon, and I've never been able to pass up adventure.
After all, the title of this blog is "Enjoy the Ride."
And I have, and I will. Oh, I will.
I will not be returning as an RA next fall.
Allow me to explain. Since classes are starting a week earlier in the fall, RA training will also begin earlier than this year, on August 5th. The decision RPS has made regarding training stands thus: if you cannot move in to begin training on August 5th, you will not be employed by RPS. This stands true both for new and returning RAs as well as the graduate staff. I will be marching with the Troopers Drum and Bugle Corps until August 12th.
In the immortal words of Gregory House, MD: "It's not easy. But it is simple."
The decision was mine. I'm marching. Giving up my age-out year with the Troopers is not and never will be a sacrifice I am willing to make. This is difficult, and it pains me greatly- but I'm making the choice I have to make.
My heart is breaking. I look at the incredible people around me and consider the amazing experiences I've been able to have this year, and I cannot imagine my life without them. So much of who I am is comprised of who they are and what they have taught me. I've said it before, and will likely say it again: being an RA is not having a job. Being an RA is a lifestyle- and it has, undoubtedly, been one of the most amazing, incredible, profound, heart-wrenching, gut-twisting, life-changing experiences of my life. I would not trade a single moment of this year for anything on the face of this earth.
I'm not sure what I'll do without it next year. I have full faith that things will be how they are supposed to be. I'm a strong believer in the phrase, "It will all work out." This is not by any means a "bad" thing to happen- it is a sad thing, a heartbreaking thing, a tragic thing- but I'm sure it will serve its purpose.
And of course, there is always the possibility that I could return mid-semester. Things happen, RAs may leave for one reason or another, a position may open up. In the coming weeks, I will be working with my supervisors and others within RPS to try and find another job opportunity within the RPS family. Ideally, I would *love* to come back to Read as a desk worker- it would, in a sense, allow me to stay connected to my Read family.
However, if not, then I will find another avenue. Other things will happen, other opportunities. Although this is a very scary concept for me, it does open many other doors and gives me many different options to consider. I could graduate in December. I could study abroad. I could live in an apartment. There are now many new things I will have to consider. I am not prepared to have to consider these things, but such is life. We are thrust into new situations daily, and the only control we have is how we handle them and what we make of them.
It is with red-rimmed eyes and a deep-seated sadness in my heart that I move forward now- but move forward I shall. I am now and will be eternally grateful for the amazing year I have had, and the two and a half more months I will have. I will miss this, and I will miss it terribly...but new things are on the horizon, and I've never been able to pass up adventure.
After all, the title of this blog is "Enjoy the Ride."
And I have, and I will. Oh, I will.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
RA Love
Today, one of my girls interviewed me for her U450 class (the class all students applying to be RAs or CUEs need to take), and it has me thinking about my job. Surprise, surprise: I find myself at a loss for adequate words.
There isn't really a good way to summarize what it means to be an RA and how it affects your life. I haven't found an effective way to explain it yet. It's this indescribable journey...if you get it, I don't have to explain it. If you don't, there's no way for me to do so. It's one of those things that no matter what I say about it, you won't understand unless you're a part of it.
Suffice to say (and perhaps all there is to say), my life has been irreversibly altered. I have met the most incredible people in this job- both coworkers and residents- and I will forever be grateful for the opportunities afforded to me. When everything is said and done, with everything that is in me I love this job. I love my girls, I love my coworkers, and it is a blessing. I am stronger, kinder, more confident, more aware of what is happening around me, and even a little more patient (anyone who knows me also knows I have never been a patient person). I have more tolerance for others, but less tolerance for excuses and BS. Like everything else I've pursued, this lifestyle has become a defining part of who I am, and I cannot imagine my life without it. (:
There isn't really a good way to summarize what it means to be an RA and how it affects your life. I haven't found an effective way to explain it yet. It's this indescribable journey...if you get it, I don't have to explain it. If you don't, there's no way for me to do so. It's one of those things that no matter what I say about it, you won't understand unless you're a part of it.
Suffice to say (and perhaps all there is to say), my life has been irreversibly altered. I have met the most incredible people in this job- both coworkers and residents- and I will forever be grateful for the opportunities afforded to me. When everything is said and done, with everything that is in me I love this job. I love my girls, I love my coworkers, and it is a blessing. I am stronger, kinder, more confident, more aware of what is happening around me, and even a little more patient (anyone who knows me also knows I have never been a patient person). I have more tolerance for others, but less tolerance for excuses and BS. Like everything else I've pursued, this lifestyle has become a defining part of who I am, and I cannot imagine my life without it. (:
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