Senior Moments

I've been having a series of "senior moments." I mean this in both senses of the word "senior."

First, there is something quite distinct about being a 4th year student on a 4-year residential campus. Underclassmen look to me in awe and fear. Perhaps they too realize the future is charging, and my nearly-graduated presence reminds them of their own unpreparedness. Perhaps they just want to get on my good side so that I can buy them alcohol, or help them with their Spanish homework. Either way.

However, I also have "senior moments" where I legitimately feel like a senior citizen. I am old around here, and not cool. But here's how I know my maturity level is beginning to exceed college: I don't care. I mean, anyone who knows me knows I've never been particularly "raging," as it were. But this year I've given into most of my stay-in-Saturday and "Oh! I love NPR" urges. This is partially exhaustion and partially an acceptance of who I am (and am not).

On Being Constructive

I am applying for a 1-year English Teaching Assistantship in Ecuador through the Fulbright Student Program. AH! Real life! Fulbright grants are competitive, so I've been honing my essays since May. I am incredibly grateful for the help and support (often in the form of harsh criticism) I've received from professors/mentors/friends. However, can we all stop to consider the fine art of constructive criticism?

It is very late in the game, and I am finalizing my application. Comments such as "change your thesis" and "I don't understand why the commission should give YOU the grant" without providing specific places for improvement are less-than-helpful. Be specific, people. Vague and scathing is not helpful. (Cue the sappy music)... these are my dreams! I think I speak for many soon-to-be-graduates when I say that this year is terrifying. Get on board, or move out of my way!

Words

I think words are important. The following is an excerpt from Technicians of the Sacred, a book compiling indigenous poetries from around the world:


"Man is moved just like the ice floe sailing here and there in the current. His thoughts are driven by a flowing force when he feels joy, when he feels fear, when he feels sorrow. Thoughts can wash over him like a flood, making his breath come in gasps and his heart throb. Something like an abatement in the weather will keep him thawed up. And then it will happen that we, who always think we are small, will feel still smaller. And we will fear to use words. But it will happen that the words we need will come of themselves. When the words we want to use shoot up of themselves-- we get a new song." -- Statement by Orpingalik of the Netsilik Eskimo Tribe

Perhaps this seems to summarize many experiences your life, as it does mine. I cannot help but think of Ecuador. There was absolutely a fear, sorrow, and smallness associated with the experience. But whether it was researching/loving/living/teaching/writing, the words I needed came "of themselves." And here I am, still singing my "new song."