I won't take much of your time, ye honored reader, mostly because I haven't got much of it myself, or better said, such time as I have is better spent waging war with my computer and my paper (not the same thing--the first is inhibited by the pile of keys sitting on the table next to the keyboard, and the second is inhibited by the fact that I have been sitting in this chair about 80% of the last twelve hours).
This may come out as a bit of typographical expressionism, a linguistical Wassily Kadinsky, with much enthusiasm, little forethought, and a deep and profound happiness not to be writing about Justice With A Capital J. It's harder to do Eddie Izzard-style tranitions in writing, but I suppose I can non-sequit with the best of them, so I will try.
So, Language. Learning language is fun. I do it every day. If I had been smart I would've written down all the funny and stupid and hilarious and inappropriate things I've inadvertently said in the course of learning German, but because I wasn't, I'll have to suffice with some of the more recent examples.
"Bubble Orchester?" (b.l.a.s.e.n.o.r.c.h.e.s.t.e.r: he looks confused. bemused. more bemused than confused. I'm explaining with enthusiasm why I couldn't pay attention in class because a marching band was wandering around under the window--true story) "You mean a wind ensemble?" (b.l.a.s.o.r.c.h.e.s.t.e.r is what I wanted to say. certain friends pointed out the other possible mis-interpretations of the first spelling; I will leave that one up to the German speakers.)
My bike has no light on it, speaking of changing lanes without signaling. Every week something else is wrong with it, and I have jiggled all wires, turned all the screws and bent and pulled and tried and still no luck. So I am now practicing the quick-jump-off-and-pretend-I-was-pushing-all-along manoeuvre, in case the police come.
Running a red light at 3 AM at an empty intersection? 90€
Taking the tram without a pass? €40
Riding without a light? €10
...
Knowing you're rebelling in a country where that Just Isn't Done? Priceless. There are some things money can't by, and for everything else there's an Überweisung.
You know what I dislike? Potatoes. I don't hate them, I just have a certain lack of respect for them--potatoes are not elegant or glamorous, they are knobby and brown and not even a proper sphere and you have to scrub them or peel them or somehow turn them into something edible, which is anyways a lot of work and boring and gives you blisters in strange places or verschrümpfelt your hands. Pommes de terre, c'est tout. Yet in comparison to their shiny red and green friends, to those spherical objects of biblical and mythological reference, they are lowly, and not just geographic. And they taste, more or less, like the seasonings in which they were cooked, kind of like Tofu except without the health benefits. I wonder what the total historical death toll of the potato is? The potatoes of mass destruction (vgl. 1849 Ireland).... I like the sound of that...send in the troops...
Monday, February 26, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Monthly Report from the "working world"
Monthly report
I've been here for over a month now. I've had a living-in period and now feel I know my job and my coworkers.
My job: about 95% of my time is spent on the Sevilla conference, and the other 5% goes to the odd jobs I receive in my inbox or tasks for an upcoming Local Renewables Conference in Freiburg in June, for which I will probably become quite active. My main responsibility has been to support the program officers, who are collectively responsible for designing and organising forty sessions, each requiring speakers to be considered, selected, and invited; rejected speakers are often invited to present posters, and speakers who decline must be replaced. My job is to draft the invitation letters and registration forms, combining database information, a form letter, and a lot of CTRL-C and CTRL-V. The drafts are then looked over by the responsible officer, combined with other documents to create the invitation package, and are sent off. It's a bit tedious for everyone involved. Once the sessions have more than half of their speakers confirmed, they may be released on the website, which involves a final English and general check (also my responsibility), creation and upload of a PDF. My fellow interns, for their part, process the participants' applications, the completed
registration forms from speakers, update the website, the program information, track down people who have or have not paid, etc. The program officers maintain contacts with speakers, decide who receives fee waivers, fix problems, coordinate with partners, and try and get all of their sessions as final as possible, as soon as possible.
It's a lot of work. Much of it is repetitive. I am constantly astounded by how much work there is to do; I often leave my desk with a stack of tasks still lingering in my inbox, glaring reproachfully at me as I refuse to spend a tenth hour in a row working on them.
But it's coming together. The registration of participants, at first a trickle, is now a steady stream and threatens to become a deluge as speakers register and as people make final decisions on attendance. We have borrowed one person from another team to keep up and may acquire another intern.
The organisation still runs smoothly, as far as I can tell, with training for new staff, team meetings, secretariat meetings, extracurricular activities in the form of going-away parties, frequent communication and people who are willing to answer a question. I would be interested in learning a bit of what the other teams do, but that would first happen after the conference if at all.
Some of the skills I have learned and the tools I have worked with:
- website content management systems: I am now a familiar user with typo3 content management system. It allows mere mortals to create and edit webpages without knowing one iota of HTML and with a very small chance of screwing everything up. It’s actually ingenious how the whole thing works, and I am constantly learning new tips and interesting tools. I hope to one day be able to set up my own typo3 system but that is currently considerably beyond my skillset.
- Database: how to manage, in the case of our maindaba, some 30,000 and in the case of our conference daba, some 700 contacts in minutely complicated fashion, interlinked in ways I can’t even begin to comprehend. One (sometimes three or four, but still) press of the button and you may have one of fifteen different outputs, forms, letters, whatnot, all customized to the desired record. Mostly what I learn is how to get around the program quirks, for example that one particular form may only be used by one individual at a time so we have to coordinate among six individuals who gets to use the—Murphy, ye be praised for your wisdom—registration form at a time.
- Multitasking: on my desk is a list of things I have to do, specific tasks for ongoing projects (‘fix formatting on session XX’ or ‘update pages XX, YY, and ZZ on website A’). My inbox is full of little tasks from random people (ranging from ‘please proofread this grant proposal’ or ‘please prepare 20 invitations’ or ‘please pick something up from the printer and bring it to me’ to ‘do you have any ideas about XX?’). Some are creative, some are tedious, and trying to figure out others’ and set my priorities—and combine these priorities with my estimate of how long each task will take—keeps me on my toes. Multitasker that I am, I tend to keep several long-term projects going (update a session description or fix formatting on 30 webpages) which I intersperse with anything urgent, anything that doesn’t take long or, if I’ve just been fixing formatting for an hour, anything else. But my computer isn’t the fastest and doesn’t always keep up with my six applications.
- Good and not-so-good ways to run a meeting or training session: the fact that there are meetings and trainings speaks well for the organisation and its communication, and in general, they are run well—such that, in the case where they aren’t run well, I get annoyed. A well-run meeting has an agenda, it is moderated by someone in a useful manner, it addresses the points that need to be addressed in the manner in which they need to be addressed, it keeps some people from talking to long and, hopefully, leaves you in a better place in regards to your tasks or the projects than you were in before.
- Balancing communication and initiative: taking initiative hasn’t really been a problem, it’s just sometimes my good idea conflicts with the needs of the project—throwing things away too soon, or making a decision regarding formatting or procedure. However, asking if it’s ’ok’ to do everything only hinders the project and irritates the coworkers, so I have to decide in the best interests of the project or task, try and make sure the involved people are aware, take criticism where it is due and be willing to fix mistakes—and there haven’t been many.
And among all the hectic and frenzy of planning colleagues are coming and going; many are on six-month or year-long contracts and move on at the end of their allotted time, receive jobs in other countries or are looking for them. The aspect which impresses me the most is the internationalism of the office: most people are not Germans, and their next job may be in a completely different country. The telephone rings
and is answered in either English or German, but the conversation may take place in any one of five or six languages, and the ICLEI staff person speaking may switch among them. If someone calls and does not speak a particular language, there is about a 90% chance that someone else in the room speaks it, English, Spanish, German, French, Dutch, Russian, Swedish… And I ask how they learned these languages: living
and working in different countries. They have studied things like international relations, diplomacy, development management, environmental sciences, ecology, biology, international business management, politics, economics. It inspires me, both regarding courses of study and choice of location. After I have finished my bachelor I need to learn French, and probably Spanish as well, if I want to be competitive in this field. So I hope to do a several-month internship somewhere where they speak French, preferably Paris or Brussels, though if I got a chance to go to Kigali or somewhere I would take it even if that means learning funny French, and then I will probably need to go for a Masters' somewhere. And after that? The
world is my playground.
I've been here for over a month now. I've had a living-in period and now feel I know my job and my coworkers.
My job: about 95% of my time is spent on the Sevilla conference, and the other 5% goes to the odd jobs I receive in my inbox or tasks for an upcoming Local Renewables Conference in Freiburg in June, for which I will probably become quite active. My main responsibility has been to support the program officers, who are collectively responsible for designing and organising forty sessions, each requiring speakers to be considered, selected, and invited; rejected speakers are often invited to present posters, and speakers who decline must be replaced. My job is to draft the invitation letters and registration forms, combining database information, a form letter, and a lot of CTRL-C and CTRL-V. The drafts are then looked over by the responsible officer, combined with other documents to create the invitation package, and are sent off. It's a bit tedious for everyone involved. Once the sessions have more than half of their speakers confirmed, they may be released on the website, which involves a final English and general check (also my responsibility), creation and upload of a PDF. My fellow interns, for their part, process the participants' applications, the completed
registration forms from speakers, update the website, the program information, track down people who have or have not paid, etc. The program officers maintain contacts with speakers, decide who receives fee waivers, fix problems, coordinate with partners, and try and get all of their sessions as final as possible, as soon as possible.
It's a lot of work. Much of it is repetitive. I am constantly astounded by how much work there is to do; I often leave my desk with a stack of tasks still lingering in my inbox, glaring reproachfully at me as I refuse to spend a tenth hour in a row working on them.
But it's coming together. The registration of participants, at first a trickle, is now a steady stream and threatens to become a deluge as speakers register and as people make final decisions on attendance. We have borrowed one person from another team to keep up and may acquire another intern.
The organisation still runs smoothly, as far as I can tell, with training for new staff, team meetings, secretariat meetings, extracurricular activities in the form of going-away parties, frequent communication and people who are willing to answer a question. I would be interested in learning a bit of what the other teams do, but that would first happen after the conference if at all.
Some of the skills I have learned and the tools I have worked with:
- website content management systems: I am now a familiar user with typo3 content management system. It allows mere mortals to create and edit webpages without knowing one iota of HTML and with a very small chance of screwing everything up. It’s actually ingenious how the whole thing works, and I am constantly learning new tips and interesting tools. I hope to one day be able to set up my own typo3 system but that is currently considerably beyond my skillset.
- Database: how to manage, in the case of our maindaba, some 30,000 and in the case of our conference daba, some 700 contacts in minutely complicated fashion, interlinked in ways I can’t even begin to comprehend. One (sometimes three or four, but still) press of the button and you may have one of fifteen different outputs, forms, letters, whatnot, all customized to the desired record. Mostly what I learn is how to get around the program quirks, for example that one particular form may only be used by one individual at a time so we have to coordinate among six individuals who gets to use the—Murphy, ye be praised for your wisdom—registration form at a time.
- Multitasking: on my desk is a list of things I have to do, specific tasks for ongoing projects (‘fix formatting on session XX’ or ‘update pages XX, YY, and ZZ on website A’). My inbox is full of little tasks from random people (ranging from ‘please proofread this grant proposal’ or ‘please prepare 20 invitations’ or ‘please pick something up from the printer and bring it to me’ to ‘do you have any ideas about XX?’). Some are creative, some are tedious, and trying to figure out others’ and set my priorities—and combine these priorities with my estimate of how long each task will take—keeps me on my toes. Multitasker that I am, I tend to keep several long-term projects going (update a session description or fix formatting on 30 webpages) which I intersperse with anything urgent, anything that doesn’t take long or, if I’ve just been fixing formatting for an hour, anything else. But my computer isn’t the fastest and doesn’t always keep up with my six applications.
- Good and not-so-good ways to run a meeting or training session: the fact that there are meetings and trainings speaks well for the organisation and its communication, and in general, they are run well—such that, in the case where they aren’t run well, I get annoyed. A well-run meeting has an agenda, it is moderated by someone in a useful manner, it addresses the points that need to be addressed in the manner in which they need to be addressed, it keeps some people from talking to long and, hopefully, leaves you in a better place in regards to your tasks or the projects than you were in before.
- Balancing communication and initiative: taking initiative hasn’t really been a problem, it’s just sometimes my good idea conflicts with the needs of the project—throwing things away too soon, or making a decision regarding formatting or procedure. However, asking if it’s ’ok’ to do everything only hinders the project and irritates the coworkers, so I have to decide in the best interests of the project or task, try and make sure the involved people are aware, take criticism where it is due and be willing to fix mistakes—and there haven’t been many.
And among all the hectic and frenzy of planning colleagues are coming and going; many are on six-month or year-long contracts and move on at the end of their allotted time, receive jobs in other countries or are looking for them. The aspect which impresses me the most is the internationalism of the office: most people are not Germans, and their next job may be in a completely different country. The telephone rings
and is answered in either English or German, but the conversation may take place in any one of five or six languages, and the ICLEI staff person speaking may switch among them. If someone calls and does not speak a particular language, there is about a 90% chance that someone else in the room speaks it, English, Spanish, German, French, Dutch, Russian, Swedish… And I ask how they learned these languages: living
and working in different countries. They have studied things like international relations, diplomacy, development management, environmental sciences, ecology, biology, international business management, politics, economics. It inspires me, both regarding courses of study and choice of location. After I have finished my bachelor I need to learn French, and probably Spanish as well, if I want to be competitive in this field. So I hope to do a several-month internship somewhere where they speak French, preferably Paris or Brussels, though if I got a chance to go to Kigali or somewhere I would take it even if that means learning funny French, and then I will probably need to go for a Masters' somewhere. And after that? The
world is my playground.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Midterm Report
I'm 20 and a half today. No, there won't be a party, no cake, none of that. Keine halben Sachen, no points for halfway.
What has this half year looked like?
I celebrated my birthday in Hhfn, for the second time in three years. As I recall, we spent the morning of my birthday in Kiel, because R. was taking part in a triathalon. It rained, and they had to keep postponing the swimming. In the evening we went to see Das Leben der Anderen, which was a great film. It was nice to be there, nice to celebrate with them. I have pictures.
I went to Braunschweig after that, visited my sister, met a girl who would become one of my best friends in Freiburg. I spent a week without coffee and with withdrawal headaches. I ran. Every day.
I went to Freiburg. I spent a rainy week with wet shoes and decreasing spirits, trying to find somewhere to live that was a) more or less central, b) not filled with strange people, c) furnished, d) not horribly expensive, e) some place I would want to live. I found everything but (c), signed my lease, left the Jugendherberge that had become my home and, with the trepidation of a new location, moved to Mainz.
There I spent almost two months working in the Parliament, living in the House of Representatives with a wonderful Czech girl who was my constant companion. We spent our evenings watching TV, hanging out, wandering around, walking along the Rhine, swimming, what have you; we spent our weekends on trips to the Rhine valley, to Heidelberg, to Trier, with friends of hers or alone. I learned a lot, grew up some, met some lovely people and was sad to leave.
The stuff I had brought and bought barely fit in my backpack and three plastic bags, and I barely made it in to Freiburg where A. picked me up at the train station. I was promptly interrogated by the ticket guy on the tram in my first and only such experience. I moved in, I registered, I tried the hard way to learn the German system. I transported bookshelves in the bus. I bought things. I ran. Every day. I went to classes. I sat in the back, was very confused, and spent all day reading, grocery shopping, and running in the time I wasn't in class. I spent my weekends with long walks, with friends, in town, going out, staying in, watching movies, going to concets, going to the movies, talking. I built a circle of friends, slowly but surely. I gave presentations; each one became easier and less stressful. I tried hard. Mostly, I succeeded, if sometimes imperfectly.
I went to Bonn, got to know some great people and one person in particular. I had a blast, heard some interesting and some boring presentations, fought off a cold and had a time of it. I went to HHfn for Christmas, celebrating in a house full of people, of laughter, of music and baked goods, chocolate and champagne. I ran. Every day. I enjoyed the sea and the sand, the bit of freedom you get from looking out over the water.
The very first minute of 2007 found me somewhere between Potsdamer Platz and the Brandenburg Gate, celebrating amid the madness and mayhem that is Berlin at New Year’s. Once again, nice to be with my adopted family; I always look forward to seeing them and being there, and they are part of the reason that my experiences in Germany have been so good, as well as the reason I love Berlin. It was wonderful to see my other sister, whom I had not seen for a year and a half, whose adventures and wanderlust had taken her to far off places, left her with many memories and hundreds of pictures.
I took their guitar back with me, back to my little corner of Germany and my high-ceilinged room. Several of my friends and relatives noticed the frequency with which I was either dinner guest or host to a tall (light and) handsome stranger who, over the course of our evenings became less and less strange; perhaps I was slowly realizing how familiar we were. The end of January marked the turning point.
Such of February that has already passed has been completely new territory to me, wonderful and disorienting. I think I’ve sort of got my balance back now. I don’t know what the future holds for us and I don’t want to think about it; in the meantime I am enjoying every minute I can get out if it, I am enjoying that my toothbrush isn’t alone, that there is someone to whom I am not a blood relative who is there for me and for whom I can be there, that I would have a shoulder to cry on (if I had a reason to cry, which I don’t, and if I could reach it), that someone makes me laugh and keeps me from taking things too seriously, that I don’t have to pretend to be dumb, or smart, or older, or anything but who and what I am.
Happy February to you all, whoever you are. Hope yours is as good as mine, if you pardon my immodesty.
What has this half year looked like?
I celebrated my birthday in Hhfn, for the second time in three years. As I recall, we spent the morning of my birthday in Kiel, because R. was taking part in a triathalon. It rained, and they had to keep postponing the swimming. In the evening we went to see Das Leben der Anderen, which was a great film. It was nice to be there, nice to celebrate with them. I have pictures.
I went to Braunschweig after that, visited my sister, met a girl who would become one of my best friends in Freiburg. I spent a week without coffee and with withdrawal headaches. I ran. Every day.
I went to Freiburg. I spent a rainy week with wet shoes and decreasing spirits, trying to find somewhere to live that was a) more or less central, b) not filled with strange people, c) furnished, d) not horribly expensive, e) some place I would want to live. I found everything but (c), signed my lease, left the Jugendherberge that had become my home and, with the trepidation of a new location, moved to Mainz.
There I spent almost two months working in the Parliament, living in the House of Representatives with a wonderful Czech girl who was my constant companion. We spent our evenings watching TV, hanging out, wandering around, walking along the Rhine, swimming, what have you; we spent our weekends on trips to the Rhine valley, to Heidelberg, to Trier, with friends of hers or alone. I learned a lot, grew up some, met some lovely people and was sad to leave.
The stuff I had brought and bought barely fit in my backpack and three plastic bags, and I barely made it in to Freiburg where A. picked me up at the train station. I was promptly interrogated by the ticket guy on the tram in my first and only such experience. I moved in, I registered, I tried the hard way to learn the German system. I transported bookshelves in the bus. I bought things. I ran. Every day. I went to classes. I sat in the back, was very confused, and spent all day reading, grocery shopping, and running in the time I wasn't in class. I spent my weekends with long walks, with friends, in town, going out, staying in, watching movies, going to concets, going to the movies, talking. I built a circle of friends, slowly but surely. I gave presentations; each one became easier and less stressful. I tried hard. Mostly, I succeeded, if sometimes imperfectly.
I went to Bonn, got to know some great people and one person in particular. I had a blast, heard some interesting and some boring presentations, fought off a cold and had a time of it. I went to HHfn for Christmas, celebrating in a house full of people, of laughter, of music and baked goods, chocolate and champagne. I ran. Every day. I enjoyed the sea and the sand, the bit of freedom you get from looking out over the water.
The very first minute of 2007 found me somewhere between Potsdamer Platz and the Brandenburg Gate, celebrating amid the madness and mayhem that is Berlin at New Year’s. Once again, nice to be with my adopted family; I always look forward to seeing them and being there, and they are part of the reason that my experiences in Germany have been so good, as well as the reason I love Berlin. It was wonderful to see my other sister, whom I had not seen for a year and a half, whose adventures and wanderlust had taken her to far off places, left her with many memories and hundreds of pictures.
I took their guitar back with me, back to my little corner of Germany and my high-ceilinged room. Several of my friends and relatives noticed the frequency with which I was either dinner guest or host to a tall (light and) handsome stranger who, over the course of our evenings became less and less strange; perhaps I was slowly realizing how familiar we were. The end of January marked the turning point.
Such of February that has already passed has been completely new territory to me, wonderful and disorienting. I think I’ve sort of got my balance back now. I don’t know what the future holds for us and I don’t want to think about it; in the meantime I am enjoying every minute I can get out if it, I am enjoying that my toothbrush isn’t alone, that there is someone to whom I am not a blood relative who is there for me and for whom I can be there, that I would have a shoulder to cry on (if I had a reason to cry, which I don’t, and if I could reach it), that someone makes me laugh and keeps me from taking things too seriously, that I don’t have to pretend to be dumb, or smart, or older, or anything but who and what I am.
Happy February to you all, whoever you are. Hope yours is as good as mine, if you pardon my immodesty.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Ist der Krieg vorbei???
"Excuse me," the voice stops me. "EXCUSE ME!!" I'm a step and a half past her, two heads taller. People don't do that here, don't stop you on the street unless you've done something wrong.
I stop, turn, smile. I'd seen her on the corner as I approached, mumbling to herself; I had passed her, passed over her, passed by her, not a thought to spare. She's tiny, not even five foot, wizened, shriveled, white hair covered by a cloth tied under chin. Her companion, a cane, accompanies her wobbling steps as I am about to sweep on past her.
"Excuse me," she repeats. I smile expectantly. "Is the war over?"
The little hamster wheel of my brain comes screeching to a halt, my feeble version of reality wheeling around me like a two-year-old on a two-wheeled tricycle.
"Yes, definately," I reply, too astounded to think first. She hasn't got all her teacups in the cupboard, as they say here; a few fries short of a happy meal, as they say there.
"That's good," she mumbles, her eyes somewhat unfocused. "That's good. Maybe my husband will come back. He said something about..." I can't discern much of what follws, mumbles of promises and hope thinly connected to coherence, even more thinly to even her version of reality. "Thank you," she finishes, looking at me, seeming to see me for the first time, a faint smile on her face. I nod, depart.
Wow.
What do I do with that?
Here I am, standing on a corner of a street in Germany amid new houses, my astonishment and the vantage point of my twenty years--years spent without words like war, need, or ration, not even to the extent of my classmates here, second-generation war kids, kids who lived with walls. Maybe she's a few bricks short of a full load, maybe she'll ask the next person she sees the same question--to be constantly unsure, unaware, afraid?
Yes, the war is over. I hope she's happier for the length of time she remembers...
I stop, turn, smile. I'd seen her on the corner as I approached, mumbling to herself; I had passed her, passed over her, passed by her, not a thought to spare. She's tiny, not even five foot, wizened, shriveled, white hair covered by a cloth tied under chin. Her companion, a cane, accompanies her wobbling steps as I am about to sweep on past her.
"Excuse me," she repeats. I smile expectantly. "Is the war over?"
The little hamster wheel of my brain comes screeching to a halt, my feeble version of reality wheeling around me like a two-year-old on a two-wheeled tricycle.
"Yes, definately," I reply, too astounded to think first. She hasn't got all her teacups in the cupboard, as they say here; a few fries short of a happy meal, as they say there.
"That's good," she mumbles, her eyes somewhat unfocused. "That's good. Maybe my husband will come back. He said something about..." I can't discern much of what follws, mumbles of promises and hope thinly connected to coherence, even more thinly to even her version of reality. "Thank you," she finishes, looking at me, seeming to see me for the first time, a faint smile on her face. I nod, depart.
Wow.
What do I do with that?
Here I am, standing on a corner of a street in Germany amid new houses, my astonishment and the vantage point of my twenty years--years spent without words like war, need, or ration, not even to the extent of my classmates here, second-generation war kids, kids who lived with walls. Maybe she's a few bricks short of a full load, maybe she'll ask the next person she sees the same question--to be constantly unsure, unaware, afraid?
Yes, the war is over. I hope she's happier for the length of time she remembers...
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
The Circle Game
Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like “when you're older” must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams
Time is elastic. When you are young it is very slow; ‘just a minute’ is intolerably long, ‘soon’ takes forever and ‘tomorrow’ may as well be an eternity away. Nothing can go fast enough. You wish you were older; with age comes privilege but also responsibility—and through a child’s eyes responsibility is a word which means doing what you’re told even when no one tells you to do it, restricted to discreet instances, bound to potential consequences and largely irrelevant. Few people can, at the age of six, recognize that growing up means shouldering more of the world; for you, growing up means a bigger piece of pie and a half hour more television.
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
The older you get, the more time stretches. Sometimes time passes quickly in leaps and bounds—all of the sudden months or years have passed—or excruciatingly slowly still. Normal speed is tolerable—you still wish you were older, you still want to be allowed to have sleepovers, stay out late, go out with friends, whatever—but you can tolerate normal time. The week stretches endlessly, the length proportional to the amount of homework required or the size of the Friday exam, and the weekend passes on winged feet. Summer can’t come soon enough and May drags on as if it were chained down and had to first fight itself free, and as soon as you know it is August again. Each coming year increases your allowance and decreases your bedtime. Your grades matter, your hairstyle and your clothes matter, and your young shoulders strain under the weight of other people’s expectations.
Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him,
Take your time, it won't be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down
You learn to drive. You get a job. Some of you start to drink and smoke and do other things you’d rather not tell your parents about. You learn to juggle all of these things, with more or less success. Other people’s opinions of you become important, sometimes more important than your opinions of yourself, which only very few people have anyways. A pimple is a tragedy and you arrange your entire morning to have a ‘chance’ encounter with that one person whose flaws you have smoothed with your imagination and your conviction that this person is your special someone, regardless of the fact that you don’t know them, they don’t know you and you don’t ‘have a chance’. Your dreams far outstrip reality; you no longer want to be an astronaut or a fireman or a ballerina and the loss of these ideals is not always replaced by “better” ones. You’ll go to college, and to do this you take the right classes and make friends with the right teachers, you study for exams and standardized tests, you sign up for the right clubs, you increase your extracurricular activities and you consider whether debate or DECA looks better on your resume. Time accelerates.
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through
All of the sudden there is no more school. Your applications and essays pay off and you receive the thicker packet among the thinner “It’s nothing personal, but…”. You fit everything you own into a car or two and then half of a 12 x 12 room and try not to get swept away. Among four hundred other confused and bleary-eyed students, some hungover, some still drunk, many just confused, harried, scared, excited, you hunch in the back and squint at the powerpoint and the small lone figure pacing the stage with a gravelly wireless for company. You take notes, you sit exams, you join clubs, fraternities, sororities, and it all comes piling in in a frantic rush. Finals week becomes hell on earth, you sit five exams, work 20 hours, sleep five a night, study, stress, eat poorly, drink far too much coffee and in the end are so unbelievably happy to have survived that far that you don’t even care what grade you got. Time accelerates. Soon enough you’ll be finished, words like Senior Thesis, Graduation and Career Fair loom in on your consciousness. Perceived time is now faster than real time; in no time at all a week or two or five or fifty have passed and you fend off tomorrow with such of your youth as remains.
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
Somewhere amid the stress and the dreams “real life” begins; or rather, at some point you realize that it was there all along. The current carrying you is strong, powerful with the weight of tradition and expectations, yet you may still change it, swim to the other side or even climb out if you choose. You may drift and yet steer. You no longer yearn for the future or gaze longingly at the past, you simply are, you exist, you enjoy the moment you are in. Your perspective changes and you see something of the future though there are bends in the river beyond which you cannot see. If you are lucky you find someone with whom to drift along, or you prefer to be alone and resent when others ask you if you are “getting by” alone. Your expectations for yourself become more important than other people’s expectations for you, and it is shattering for the parents if the pedestal on which they have placed their little darling is more a painting of dreams than a mirror of reality. And this is your life; what will you make of it?
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