“"These social justice bloggers need to calm the fuck down," said the young white male blogger, bewildered and angered by the idea that anyone could take issue with a world that suits him so perfectly.”—ayiman (ayiman.tumblr.com)
I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I got to see Ira in action today and if you think it’s fun listening to his cut-up interviews, it’s a blast listening to an hourlong interview. Both he and the interviewee killed. It. To see someone that talented in action is a whole different ballgame entirely.
Work every day is a thrill. The people are funny and kind. I laugh a lot. I can order a gel wrist pad for my typing and not feel guilty about it. Two of the biggest differences are that I am in a shitload more meetings and I do a shitload more transcription work. Good thing I’m a fast typer.
But big transitions are never easy. Especially when you move from a place as beautiful as the Bay Area—in terms of architecture, landscape, weather and people. I’ve met so many warm people here, but they’re not the friends I’ve had for a decade who’ve partied and hungover brunched and cried and cracked up with me hundreds of times. And of course being in an LDR is a hard thing.
I don’t want to sound entitled and prissy, because I definitely meditate on my enormous gratitude for what I have every day. This move isn’t even super hard. In fact, it’s a lot easier than I thought it would be. The cold is less cold. The people are kind and generous. But sometimes when I look out the window, I see phantoms of rolling hills before I realize they are clouds. And for a moment, my heart clenches, but then it quickly opens, too, robust and furiously thankful that I did not take for granted what I left behind, that I loved it wholly when it was mine. I stopped to smell the flowers in my garden, to pluck the apples and the sweetest plums you’d ever taste. I closed my eyes and savored every bite, stored the feeling of sunbeams on hot stone and the sound of creeks and the smell of redwoods inside me. And now I’ll have that. I’ll always have that. On the packed subway, on my hourlong commute to work, sometimes I get nauseous and claustrophobic. I close my eyes and I crack open my store of warmth and sweetness, I go back to that place. And I know that the ride always ends, and I’ll walk out into the sun.
No matter how hard I try to have an upbeat attitude and enjoy life to it’s fullest, I can’t seem to make that feeling last for more than a few days. Maybe it’s just me being young and not understanding life yet. Any advice?
Maybe you were raised on public radio or maybe you found it later in life. For me, growing up in a house with one small TV that got turned off right after Mr. Rogers but a radio in every room, public radio was as regular a part of life as breakfast or time-out. But whether you were indoctrinated…