Gardening on a Shady Balcony

Today I went to the farmers' market. That in itself is not a remarkable feat. However, I'm pretty excited about what I got.

Initially I walked over there to see if there were some good vegetables out yet. It's too early for a lot of my summer favorites, but the grocery store nearest me has TERRIBLE produce so I would be content with almost anything, as long as it looked like it wasn't already half-rotten. OK, maybe I also wanted to see if the lady that sells goat cheese with lavender in it was there (she was).

I was afraid that it wouldn't even be open because today was the Brooklyn Half Marathon, which goes all through Prospect Park, including around Grand Army Plaza, where the market is. But it was! Apparently the vendors had to get their early or risk not being allowed to set up until 10:00 (so the goat cheese woman told me), but they were open.

I was not, however, planning on buying myself a garden. But there was a vendor selling potted herb plants, and I couldn't resist. I'm always wary of growing things here, because my patio doesn't get a ton of light, but the man at this stand pointed out a few to try. What I really wanted to grow was basil. We had basil at my parents' place when we lived in Savannah, and it smells so absurdly good, plus it's wonderful to have for cooking. But it's always labeled full sun so I've been unsure. But the man working said it should be alright since the porch gets some sun for a few hours in the morning, so I got one. Hopefully this won't be a sacrificial basil plant. I also got thyme and catnip.

I think someone figured out I was planting catnip.

Scary, New and Educational

This week marked the beginning of my summer semester. That probably doesn't seem like a huge deal -- I'm basically a professional student at this point -- but there was something about it that was pretty unnerving. I'm taking a class that is outside both my university and my subject area.

For my program, I have to take three classes of electives in a related field. I decided, since I'd like to focus my dissertation somehow on marginalized groups of people, that sociology would be the best choice for those courses. Unfortunately, my school doesn't offer that subject at the graduate level, so I had to take them elsewhere. The upside of this is that the school where I am going is in the CUNY system, and thus a whole lot cheaper than my private university.

It's also significantly closer to my apartment. I'm talking a 20-30 minute commute instead of two hours. But, as much as the distance to my regular classes sucks, I'm comfortable with the setting and the people. I've also been in the program for two years, so I feel as though I have a decent grasp on the subject area. All of that is out the window for the next several weeks.

New people. New setting. Less comfortable chairs. A subject area in which I have only a tenuous grasp. Administrative headaches so that the credits can be recognized and financial aid will still be disbursed. It's scary. But I'm confronting it. Which is something to be proud of.

I'm trying to acknowledge to myself when I do things that are brave. Going to a book club meeting a couple of weeks ago. Calling Medicaid for information. Taking a class in an unfamiliar setting. I'm hoping if I keep that all in mind I can develop confidence in myself.

Dissertations, Employment, and Other Terrifying Things

"I live in the present and am confident in the future."

I wrote that mantra in a notebook three times this morning, trying to make myself believe it. The only reason I stopped at three is because I didn't want to venture into "all work and no play make Jack a dull boy" territory; really, I need to write and think it a million times in a desperate attempt to internalize the message.

Recently, my therapist suggested I try affirmations to boost my confidence and self-esteem. She said that I could look in books or online for ideas if nothing original came to mind, and indeed, I pulled the one above off of some random website on the first page of results when you Google "affirmations."

I have trouble thinking about the future. Supposedly this is a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder, which I never would have associated with myself because I never considered the years of struggling with depression and anxiety as PTSD until my shrink referred to them as such. I think it's common to associate PTSD with people who have survived events like war or assault, but traumas can be anything. Mine comes from having been bullied as a child, which still has an effect on my daily life even though it occurred 20 years ago. It's liberating to have this frame of reference for my issues, like they exist for a reason, and not because I'm broken or defective, which is how I've often felt in the past.

Planning has always been tough for me. The last time I had a concrete answer to "what do you want to be when you grow up?" was when I was about 5, and I think I wanted to be a ballerina-slash-veterinarian, or maybe a mermaid (actually I'd still kind of like to be a mermaid). Most of my college friends had some sort of dream and a plan to go with it. I cycled through four majors, and only landed on the one I finally graduated with -- psychology -- because I couldn't change again without delaying graduation. When I was working on my master's degree, I never had an answer to the question of what I wanted to do when I was out of school. Most of my classmates had something, but even half-formed, cobbled-together plans eluded me, and it always made me feel like I was missing out. I thought maybe it was a lack of passion for the field (journalism), but there are aspects that I love, and I still couldn't envision my future.

Now I'm working on a doctorate, and I do feel passionate about the field (information studies), but there are still questions I can't answer. I don't really have a reply when people ask why I chose my program -- I did so on a whim, as I tend to do when making major life decisions because I simply cannot see beyond what sounds good in the moment. I also am unable to tell you what I plan to do with the degree. Sure, I'd be comfortable in academia, but I could probably be happy in some other area.

When I try to envision myself in 5 or 10 years, I see nothing. It's a big black wall. I just recently, within the past couple of weeks, made a tentative plan for the rest of my coursework. If I can get everything worked out and take classes this summer, I should finish with classes a year from now, and take my comprehensive exam in fall 2015. Being able to say that is enormous progress, because last semester a professor asked when we were each planning to take the comps and I was the only one who hemmed and hawed and didn't have even a vague idea. I also decided on a broad topic for my dissertation so I can take the correct electives. Again, progress.

My whole existence is walls, or at least it feels that way. There's the black wall of my future. There's another, all around me, that prevents me from letting people in, making friendships and relationships really hard. It's time to knock them down. I think there are a few cracks in the black wall in front of me, but the other needs to go as well. I just need to make sure the whole building doesn't crumble as I do it.

Nobody Believes I'm 30, and That's Actually Not a Good Thing

This post is probably going to sound like a humblebrag, but it's not. This is legitimately something that bugs me.

People don't believe me when I say I'm 30. When I moved into my apartment my roommates were surprised to hear it -- they thought I was about 25. And then yesterday at work it happened again.

I recently dyed my hair brown. I was trying to cover up the pinkish undertones that wouldn't leave after my most recent foray into purpledom, and to do so I had to go fairly dark. The woman at work commented that it made me look more mature, and I said, "well, I am 30." She was pretty shocked, because she thought I was in my twenties.

I'm not lying. See:

I'm 30. Not to mention 5'6" with brown eyes.

I inherited my complexion from my grandmother, who had beautiful skin. Even at her death at 87 she didn't really look her age. And I know that some day, likely not too far in the future, I'll be glad of this. But for right now it's annoying.

See, young women don't get taken seriously. We just don't. I know someone will try to argue that young people in general don't get taken seriously, but let's not split hairs: it's worse for women. We get talked over and mansplained, there's the obvious and well-documented wage gap, we get covertly and overtly discriminated against because the assumption is that a) we don't know anything and b) we're just going to leave next year to make babies.

I'm the second-youngest person in my cohort (and the youngest woman). It hasn't been too big of an issue, but I do sometimes feel that when certain topics come up my word isn't taken seriously. Like there's an unspoken assumption that I have less "life experience" and therefore can't speak with authority on some subjects. (That's not to mention the "you're young, you'll change your mind" I once got from someone when I mentioned I'm not planning on having kids.) I feel that having less of a personal attachment to some topics means you have a more distanced and objective viewpoint that can be beneficial. Not for everything (for example, I wouldn't presume to know more about racism, homophobia, or cissexism than someone who had experienced it), but there are places where distance provides clarity.

The things I've addressed here actually were a lot of the impetus for starting this blog and giving it this title in the first place. I know there have been many posts that don't have to do with adultishness (what, that's totally a word), but the spirit is still here. And I've been trying to present myself with a more mature persona. Hence the dark hair. I've also been trying to dress the part -- those cut up punk tees are only for casual lounging -- to maintain an air of professionalism. It's hard, of course, and not without its sacrifices. But it feels like something I need to do.

Pro-Selfie

I think selfies are great. There are always so many people talking about how annoying they are and how self-absorbed people who take them can be, but to me, they're great. They give people, especially young women, power.

Yeah, power.

The internet has democratized so many things -- music, publishing, art, etc -- and taken the gatekeeping away from the small number of outlets who used to hold it. This means that instead of relying on magazines and style sections to display the images of women, the control is now in the hands of the women themselves.

Look, here's a selfie of mine from this morning:

Seeing that picture makes me feel good. I am in control of my image, and I am choosing to share what I looked like at 8:30 this morning. I am also noticing that I need to Windex my mirror, but whatever.

The point is, there's nothing wrong with a little bit of self-pride (or even self-absorption) in a world that constantly demeans women and tells us we're not good enough. And it's empowering to see different people from different backgrounds, with different body types and personal styles showing off what they look like and what they're wearing. It's a celebration.

Band Concerts and Matte Lipstick

Saturday was my first concert with the chamber ensemble I'm in. It went great! I had to go straight from work, so I was wearing my concert attire all day. In retrospect, I probably should have packed my shoes and worn something with traction, because the snow was kind of an obstacle. Oh, well!

Adorable, but no traction.

The concert went really well. I haven't played in an ensemble since college, so it was nice to do it again. The show was in this old church in Soho that is beautiful inside, which was cool.

In other news, I had been looking all over for this Revlon matte lip crayon, and I finally found it. I may be more excited about this than I should be. Selfie time:

I don't know why my eyes are doing that.

Oh Right, School

Well, it's that time again. My classes have started up for the semester, making me a lot busier and a little more frantic than before. I'm also working a few days a week at the Brooklyn campus library -- which means I get the nice GA position without the two-hour commute.

I'm taking two classes again -- Information Retrieval and Information and Society -- and they're both interesting to varying degrees of difficulty. I&S is what I would usually consider to be up my alley. It's theoretical, talks about widespread implications, and incorporates psych, sociology, and politics. If that doesn't scream "Liza," I don't know what does.

IR is a lot more technical and tricky. But I still think it's going to be good! The subject matter is actually quite interesting. I'm just not used to seeing equations. I haven't taken math since undergrad, and even then I barely squeaked by. But fortunately the professor said we don't really need to memorize the mathematical parts; we're mostly going to focus on the theory.

As far as professors go, I really like them both. My righteous feminist side loves that they're both women, and I find them each easy to listen to and understand. Not that I had any issues last year, of course.

On a more personal, non-school note, my anxiety has been flaring up monstrously this past week. I believe it's fueled by some personal stuff and is finding new and creative ways to manifest itself. But I'll save those for a later post.

A New Room

I've been in my new place for about a month and a half now, and I'm really happy. I'm getting along with my roommates, which is definitely a nice change from the other place I lived last year, plus my room is pretty big, there's the outdoor space I wrote about awhile ago, and two cats. It's a good location and a fair price. I can't complain!

I thought I'd show off a few shots of my room. A lot of stuff I moved here from my parents' place, like my rolling table, my bed, and my gray drawers. But I had to buy a chest of drawers, plus I have a desk and an apothecary chest that used to be my grandmother's. I was also able to find floating bookshelves, which are great. I have high ceilings, so I wanted to utilize the upward space. Plus, I've seen those on TV shows and thought they were really cool.

He is more deserving of my attention than The West Wing, apparently.

It's a really great room, and I'm happy here. I still need to get an air conditioner for my window, though. My big box fan is doing a pretty good job, but it won't cut it once summer really sets in!

Ideal Relaxation

The weather has been weird in New York lately. It took forever to feel like spring, but then it shot up to the 90s all of a sudden. I was afraid we'd blow right into summer without stopping for any of that nice, warm-but-not-too-hot middle range that springtime brings.

Today, though, it was lovely out. It was a nice balance of warm in the sun and cool in the shade, and with little to do, I decided to relax and have lunch on my patio. I cooked some Gardein teriyaki "chicken" strips with some snap peas and had them with a small glass of moscato. It was lovely.

It's not a bad view.

This is his happy face

Yum

Simply joy. That's what I'm looking for this summer.

Respect and Big Life Decisions

Recently a friend linked to an article by the lovely Jen Kirkman called Stop Telling Me I'll "Change My Mind" About Wanting Kids. It is great, and articulates many of my own thoughts and views on the subject.

As someone who has no interest in procreating but is still relatively young, I still get told I will change my mind when I talk about not wanting kids. I can't even count the ways that this is rude, demeaning, and condescending. OK, I'll try.

First of all, it's none of your business why someone wants kids or doesn't, if they will change their mind, or what they would do in the case of an accidental pregnancy. If someone mentions in conversation that they don't plan to reproduce, that's not an invitation to start grilling them about reasons. It's a big decision, and an extremely personal one. Plus, your questions could be extremely painful if this person is infertile.

Telling someone they will change their mind is absolutely horrible. You are basically saying that you don't respect the decisions they have made about their own life based on something like their age, their marital status, or their living situation. Even if it's not what you would do, even if it's not the socially accepted life plan, you have to realize that individuals know their desires and their needs better than anyone else.

Plus, think about it this way: would you tell a young pregnant person that she is going to change her mind? What if the baby comes and they regret becoming a parent? I hope that doesn't happen much, because I'd hate for a child to grow up feeling unwanted. Yes, I care about children having good lives even though I don't want my own. But really, the average age for first pregnancy in the U.S. is 25. I'm four years past that. I would think if a 25-year-old can have her decision to bear children respected, a 29-year-old should be able to expect the same of her decision not to.

And if, by some strange twist of fate, I or anyone else does change their mind, so what? It would mean I arrived at a new decision through thought and careful consideration. And in turn, that would mean I would be prepared for the ramifications of said decision and sure of what I want. It's unlikely to happen, but I fail to see how someone has taken the massive task of parenting under careful consideration before choosing to do it is a bad thing.

The bottom line is, people get to make their own choices about their lives. Assuming they aren't hurting anyone, everyone else needs to respect what others do. Telling someone they will change their mind is not respect. It's condescension, and it's a pretty immature and rude thing to do.