Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
My new best friend.
Hello friends!
I'm at home in Houston, listening to the Wall-E soundtrack and the rumbles of the incredible thunderstorm outside. The lights are off and every few minutes the room lights up with a flash of lightning.
I think it's time to introduce all of you to my new best friend, my new Martin traveling guitar. If you plug your ears during the b to f# progression in the verses of Thy Word by Amy Grant, she sounds pretty good :) Above is an artistic rendering by Anne Sisk.
But I should tell you all about how we met. We were at a crazy Austin party, then locked eyes across the crowded room... oh wait- no, wrong story. Let's see. How did it really happen... I had been mourning the loss of singing with the amazing catholicgroove choir every sunday night, and as everyone in the group encouraged me to keep groovin' my way to Alaska, I was feeling a little wimpy as just two vibrating vocal chords and a diaphragm. I decided I should pick up the guitar again, and since I was in the music mecca, Austin, I should probably get one there. And boy was I on to something. I mentioned it to my friend Mark, and he was like, "Are you kidding? My co-workers are going guitar shopping today! You can go along with them." They whisk me off to an awesome pawn shop that specializes in guitars. The shop clerk was awesome, showing some good beginning guitars, when this cute little guitar caught my eye. It was love at first squeal: a Martin traveling guitar at half of the retail price, and the clerk dude invited us out to see him perform at Antone's that evening, which we decided we should definitely go to after stopping by a salad drive-through, with "green goddess" salad dressing, new guitar in hand. Sitting at Antone's, listening to singer songwriters crooning with all their talented might, I felt that I had the full Austin experience. Eileen is happy. :)
One more Austin story: Mark and I had dinner at the original Whole Foods (it reminded me of the ritzy Safeway near Stanford. Only bigger.) Departing, I get a call from Rathi, but while I'm chatting with her at an intersection, a homeless woman working the intersection starts shaking her fist at me and yelling for me to get off the phone. It seems that in Austin, everyone is working for the world to be a better place.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Critique of elite education
http://www.theamericanscholar.org/su08/elite-deresiewicz.html
The above links to "Disadvantages of an Elite Education" by William Deresiewicz, published in the American Scholar, recommended to me by my friend, So-Youn Kim.
Here are some of my favorite segments from the article:
"An elite education gives you the chance to be rich—which is, after all, what we’re talking about—but it takes away the chance not to be. Yet the opportunity not to be rich is one of the greatest opportunities with which young Americans have been blessed. We live in a society that is itself so wealthy that it can afford to provide a decent living to whole classes of people who in other countries exist (or in earlier times existed) on the brink of poverty or, at least, of indignity. You can live comfortably in the United States as a schoolteacher, or a community organizer, or a civil rights lawyer, or an artist—that is, by any reasonable definition of comfort. You have to live in an ordinary house instead of an apartment in Manhattan or a mansion in L.A.; you have to drive a Honda instead of a BMW or a Hummer; you have to vacation in Florida instead of Barbados or Paris, but what are such losses when set against the opportunity to do work you believe in, work you’re suited for, work you love, every day of your life?
Yet it is precisely that opportunity that an elite education takes away. How can I be a schoolteacher—wouldn’t that be a waste of my expensive education? Wouldn’t I be squandering the opportunities my parents worked so hard to provide? What will my friends think? How will I face my classmates at our 20th reunion, when they’re all rich lawyers or important people in New York? And the question that lies behind all these: Isn’t it beneath me? So a whole universe of possibility closes, and you miss your true calling."
Reflecting on my Stanford experience, it doesn't seem as limited as Yale is portrayed in this article. I am proud to say that I know many students with elite educations that are going against the grain and listening to their true calling to be teachers, musicians, writers, community organizers. At Stanford, I think these students eventually found a niche in each other, the Haas Center for Public Service, or other religious or cultural community centers. This was crucial because these decisions were made in the context of the culture of choosing between grad school or investment banking. One of my hopes for this next year as a Jesuit Volunteer is that I will be able to listen for my calling without so many other voices.
The article talks more about fear of failure, and I resonated with that. Though some may scoff at what my idea of failure is, I believe I did taste failure in college. Not simply academic failure, but failed relationships as well. I think these failures were the best thing to knock me out of the complacency and fear of failure that the Stanford acceptance letter had frozen me into. (I think the most insecure I've ever been is the summer after my acceptance, as I contemplated attending Stanford). Sometimes I catch myself wishing I had known then what I know now, and could go back and do college differently; however, at the end of the day I agree with Maya Angelou, and "wouldn't take nothing for my journey now." I wonder what struggles Sitka will hold...
The above links to "Disadvantages of an Elite Education" by William Deresiewicz, published in the American Scholar, recommended to me by my friend, So-Youn Kim.
Here are some of my favorite segments from the article:
"An elite education gives you the chance to be rich—which is, after all, what we’re talking about—but it takes away the chance not to be. Yet the opportunity not to be rich is one of the greatest opportunities with which young Americans have been blessed. We live in a society that is itself so wealthy that it can afford to provide a decent living to whole classes of people who in other countries exist (or in earlier times existed) on the brink of poverty or, at least, of indignity. You can live comfortably in the United States as a schoolteacher, or a community organizer, or a civil rights lawyer, or an artist—that is, by any reasonable definition of comfort. You have to live in an ordinary house instead of an apartment in Manhattan or a mansion in L.A.; you have to drive a Honda instead of a BMW or a Hummer; you have to vacation in Florida instead of Barbados or Paris, but what are such losses when set against the opportunity to do work you believe in, work you’re suited for, work you love, every day of your life?
Yet it is precisely that opportunity that an elite education takes away. How can I be a schoolteacher—wouldn’t that be a waste of my expensive education? Wouldn’t I be squandering the opportunities my parents worked so hard to provide? What will my friends think? How will I face my classmates at our 20th reunion, when they’re all rich lawyers or important people in New York? And the question that lies behind all these: Isn’t it beneath me? So a whole universe of possibility closes, and you miss your true calling."
Reflecting on my Stanford experience, it doesn't seem as limited as Yale is portrayed in this article. I am proud to say that I know many students with elite educations that are going against the grain and listening to their true calling to be teachers, musicians, writers, community organizers. At Stanford, I think these students eventually found a niche in each other, the Haas Center for Public Service, or other religious or cultural community centers. This was crucial because these decisions were made in the context of the culture of choosing between grad school or investment banking. One of my hopes for this next year as a Jesuit Volunteer is that I will be able to listen for my calling without so many other voices.
The article talks more about fear of failure, and I resonated with that. Though some may scoff at what my idea of failure is, I believe I did taste failure in college. Not simply academic failure, but failed relationships as well. I think these failures were the best thing to knock me out of the complacency and fear of failure that the Stanford acceptance letter had frozen me into. (I think the most insecure I've ever been is the summer after my acceptance, as I contemplated attending Stanford). Sometimes I catch myself wishing I had known then what I know now, and could go back and do college differently; however, at the end of the day I agree with Maya Angelou, and "wouldn't take nothing for my journey now." I wonder what struggles Sitka will hold...
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Home
Home. "Where is home for you?" -- a question that always gives me pause before I answer. Maybe I have found a new way to define home- the place you fly into and sigh a relief as you return. Even if it's the first way of a two way journey.
I felt this exhale landing in Houston last Wednesday night. The city below was lit up in grids, like a computer chip. Beside our plane was a beautiful thunderstorm, with fascinating lightening licks . Flying through the thunder clouds took my breath away. The cherry on top was walking through the Houson Hobby terminal and getting a call from a high school friend inviting me out with the possy. What a welcome home.
Since living in California for college, returning home to Texas always entails a few good days of culture shock. Breathing the humidity stepping off the plane, taking in the expanses of concrete interrupted only by swaths of dry yellow St. Augustine grass driving away from the airport, and of course, the fantastic people watching everywhere. What surprised me most this time was the twang in my University of Texas, and Texas A& M friends. They were "ruhl happy tuh see me." And I was real happy to see them. And now the twang is slipping into my speech like an infectious turrets syndrome-- call me on the phone, and I might suprise y'all with my tahlkin' ruhl slow-like.
This past weekend, my best friend from middle school, Megan Sutton, invited us up to her beautiful lake house near Austin, Texas. I think the highlight of the weekend was watching my friends Rathi and Alex pull stunts tubing behind the speed boat. I then spent the night with Megan and got to see the vet clinic she is interning at in San Marcus, Texas. (Thanks for all your hospitality Megan! You are such a wonderful friend.) To close this post, I have to describe the house/apartment her boy friend shares with another Texan male. We walk in, and it smells like air freshner and freshly baked cookies. Ok, good. Not smelly boys, this is good. There is a nice little living room with couches and an entertainment system. Ok, pretty normal, until you notice that above the TV is a huge Lone Star Beer sign with an armadillo in the center that has a texas flag for a shell. Oh, and there are four deer heads mounted on the four walls around the room. I'm glad these deer have each other because it was quiet when everyone was at work.
I felt this exhale landing in Houston last Wednesday night. The city below was lit up in grids, like a computer chip. Beside our plane was a beautiful thunderstorm, with fascinating lightening licks . Flying through the thunder clouds took my breath away. The cherry on top was walking through the Houson Hobby terminal and getting a call from a high school friend inviting me out with the possy. What a welcome home.
Since living in California for college, returning home to Texas always entails a few good days of culture shock. Breathing the humidity stepping off the plane, taking in the expanses of concrete interrupted only by swaths of dry yellow St. Augustine grass driving away from the airport, and of course, the fantastic people watching everywhere. What surprised me most this time was the twang in my University of Texas, and Texas A& M friends. They were "ruhl happy tuh see me." And I was real happy to see them. And now the twang is slipping into my speech like an infectious turrets syndrome-- call me on the phone, and I might suprise y'all with my tahlkin' ruhl slow-like.
This past weekend, my best friend from middle school, Megan Sutton, invited us up to her beautiful lake house near Austin, Texas. I think the highlight of the weekend was watching my friends Rathi and Alex pull stunts tubing behind the speed boat. I then spent the night with Megan and got to see the vet clinic she is interning at in San Marcus, Texas. (Thanks for all your hospitality Megan! You are such a wonderful friend.) To close this post, I have to describe the house/apartment her boy friend shares with another Texan male. We walk in, and it smells like air freshner and freshly baked cookies. Ok, good. Not smelly boys, this is good. There is a nice little living room with couches and an entertainment system. Ok, pretty normal, until you notice that above the TV is a huge Lone Star Beer sign with an armadillo in the center that has a texas flag for a shell. Oh, and there are four deer heads mounted on the four walls around the room. I'm glad these deer have each other because it was quiet when everyone was at work.
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