Temperatures have topped 80 degrees and I easily spend 6+ hours a day, 5 days a week, tramping around the woods. I’ve unpacked my summer field pants, skirts, tank tops and flip flops. I’ve pulled off two ticks, seen my first snake (prairie king snake?), and examined a leopard frog up close. For the first time in two years, I stepped back into a yoga studio; I found the Carbondale farmer’s market. I cooed a three-month-old to sleep and let a chocolate Labrador puppy gnaw on my fingers. I consumed a half-pound of bbq rib tips yesterday evening, and about as much chocolate over the last three days. I’ve gone from 4 to 5 hours of sleep a night, to about 6.5 hours. I just completed my last setup week, and I aced my midterms.
A good part of my life is going quite alright.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Taking Chances
So many truisms, social rules and so-called sage advice call for prudence, conservatism, and “doing the proper thing.” It almost feels sometimes as if we function only for the greater good. Such lofty ideals are cold comfort when living a life of many shades of grey; when things are not cut-and-dry; when emotions spill out of their boxes.
In my lowest moments, I am tempted to step back, reign in, erect another wall, deflect, internalized, and to be fine!!
But mostly, what I want is just to be. To be blue when I am, be high when I am, be insecure, unsure of myself, feel foolish, frustrated, upset, confused, and not have to deal with all the guilt that comes with that baggage. To not listen to the voice in my head that goes: quit whining and pull yourself together! At least, not yet.
I like taking chances. But I haven’t always. After graduating from college, I set off to NYC to find a job, then to grow and develop professionally, then to build a career, then to get the most out of my career, then to find gratification in my work, then to find meaning in something outside my work, and finally, to find myself. I knew who I was but I wasn’t sure what I might become, or more specifically, what I’d dare become. So I stopped doing the proper thing, and set out to find what life held in store for me.
I like taking chances: in love, in life, in work, and in small day-to-day occasions. Like walking across a creek on a slippery wet log, or trying to scale down a mossy steep cliff wall only to abandon the attempt when the reality of a 50-foot drop set in.
Every now and again, I run into a brick wall, and it smarts. Every now and again, I have to come back the way I came, backtrack, take an alternative route, rethink, reassess, and occasionally, regret, despair and woefully admit that I don’t have my head screwed on right; that I am capable, even at the grand age of 33+, of acts of incredible stupidity.
And in my better moments, I can laugh at myself, knowing that the journey of self-discovery is a twisted labyrinth, holding many secrets, surprises, and who knows what else.
But I like taking chances. And even with all the dents, knocks, slaps and occasional closed-fist punches, I hope I never lose the chutzpah to keep on taking them.
In my lowest moments, I am tempted to step back, reign in, erect another wall, deflect, internalized, and to be fine!!
But mostly, what I want is just to be. To be blue when I am, be high when I am, be insecure, unsure of myself, feel foolish, frustrated, upset, confused, and not have to deal with all the guilt that comes with that baggage. To not listen to the voice in my head that goes: quit whining and pull yourself together! At least, not yet.
I like taking chances. But I haven’t always. After graduating from college, I set off to NYC to find a job, then to grow and develop professionally, then to build a career, then to get the most out of my career, then to find gratification in my work, then to find meaning in something outside my work, and finally, to find myself. I knew who I was but I wasn’t sure what I might become, or more specifically, what I’d dare become. So I stopped doing the proper thing, and set out to find what life held in store for me.
I like taking chances: in love, in life, in work, and in small day-to-day occasions. Like walking across a creek on a slippery wet log, or trying to scale down a mossy steep cliff wall only to abandon the attempt when the reality of a 50-foot drop set in.
Every now and again, I run into a brick wall, and it smarts. Every now and again, I have to come back the way I came, backtrack, take an alternative route, rethink, reassess, and occasionally, regret, despair and woefully admit that I don’t have my head screwed on right; that I am capable, even at the grand age of 33+, of acts of incredible stupidity.
And in my better moments, I can laugh at myself, knowing that the journey of self-discovery is a twisted labyrinth, holding many secrets, surprises, and who knows what else.
But I like taking chances. And even with all the dents, knocks, slaps and occasional closed-fist punches, I hope I never lose the chutzpah to keep on taking them.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Life Bits and Bites
I found my first deer shed this week, and it’s a good one. Must be nice to shed parts of you that you don’t care for.
It’s the week of spring break and for once, I care. And for the first time in months, I feel like I can catch a breath. And catch up on a few things in life. Including things I don’t care for.
I actually dared to start a book again, my first for 2010. After a fantastic year of reading in 2009, I came to an almost complete standstill on that front, barely able to keep up with class readings and relevant scientific papers. It’s Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ “Love in the Time of Cholera,” one of the few books that upon picking it up for the first time, I read it cover-to-cover and started it over. It’s been years since and I don’t remember what moved me when I read it before.
I broke one of my rules and started collecting books again. I’ve been breaking a few rules that have served me well in life, and have suffered for it. But heck, at least I haven’t broken the “no skulls until you get furniture” rule. (PD skulls, bison hooves, rattlesnake skins and turtle shells don’t count).
I sometimes think southern Illinois has rubbed off on me more than I’d care to admit. I have my NYC license plates hanging on my wall and now, antlers?! I hope this is about as redneck as I get.
My brother-in-law used to say that after I left NYC, I had been “declassified,” i.e. fallen far, far from the classy lady I once was. I may not be a lady but I’m more woman now than ever before. I guess that’s okay.
It’s the week of spring break and for once, I care. And for the first time in months, I feel like I can catch a breath. And catch up on a few things in life. Including things I don’t care for.
I actually dared to start a book again, my first for 2010. After a fantastic year of reading in 2009, I came to an almost complete standstill on that front, barely able to keep up with class readings and relevant scientific papers. It’s Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ “Love in the Time of Cholera,” one of the few books that upon picking it up for the first time, I read it cover-to-cover and started it over. It’s been years since and I don’t remember what moved me when I read it before.
I broke one of my rules and started collecting books again. I’ve been breaking a few rules that have served me well in life, and have suffered for it. But heck, at least I haven’t broken the “no skulls until you get furniture” rule. (PD skulls, bison hooves, rattlesnake skins and turtle shells don’t count).
I sometimes think southern Illinois has rubbed off on me more than I’d care to admit. I have my NYC license plates hanging on my wall and now, antlers?! I hope this is about as redneck as I get.
My brother-in-law used to say that after I left NYC, I had been “declassified,” i.e. fallen far, far from the classy lady I once was. I may not be a lady but I’m more woman now than ever before. I guess that’s okay.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Ouch
I might need to keep my fist-waiving activities to a minimum this week. Feeling a little blue, a little bruised and a little broken down. Not broken, mind you, but some patching is in order, with some duct tape of time, self-reflective lube and multi-tool heart-afixing.
Bugger. Life strikes again…
Bugger. Life strikes again…
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
In case you were wondering …
I think I have this whole job and school thing down pat. We’re wrapping up our second session this week, and rapidly approaching our mid-field season waypoint on Friday. Surprisingly, I’m acing my chemistry class, and doing alright in Microbiology (exam results not out yet, so am chewing my fingernails in anticipation).
I have my routine down:
Morning: Work
Early afternoon (one or more of the following activities):
Work, study, homework, download data, run (if temps are above 40)
Late afternoon: Class
Evening (one or more of the following activities):
Study, homework, download data, abs and weights workout
No studying is allowed on Thursday and Friday evenings, and weekends are an all-out brawl of whatever needs to be done. This includes laundry, grocery shopping, swamp rabbit trapping, hiking, occasional movie, cleaning, more studying and homework, and work (as needed).
By the end of the week, I’m usually a little nostalgic for the good ol’ days of just work and data to fill my days. By the start of the week, I’m waving my fist at the sky and grunting “hit me!” And when I suffer a thump (there have been quite a few!), I take off running. Literally. I have a goal of a 5-6 mile loop to run continuously by May.
My life has changed drastically. And yet it’s just a precursor of the life to come. While juggling the now, there’s also a summer field job to confirm, college application and housing for the Fall to finalize, and random bits of life’s debris that has been raining steadily ever since I paused at one spot.
When I actually pause long enough to breath though, I’m not sure I would change a thing. There’s been more ups and downs than I imagined and some unexpectedly low moments in the last few months, but …
I’m doing it. I’m back in school and carving my way steadily towards grad school. I’m living a dream - my dream. What more can I ask for, right?
I have my routine down:
Morning: Work
Early afternoon (one or more of the following activities):
Work, study, homework, download data, run (if temps are above 40)
Late afternoon: Class
Evening (one or more of the following activities):
Study, homework, download data, abs and weights workout
No studying is allowed on Thursday and Friday evenings, and weekends are an all-out brawl of whatever needs to be done. This includes laundry, grocery shopping, swamp rabbit trapping, hiking, occasional movie, cleaning, more studying and homework, and work (as needed).
By the end of the week, I’m usually a little nostalgic for the good ol’ days of just work and data to fill my days. By the start of the week, I’m waving my fist at the sky and grunting “hit me!” And when I suffer a thump (there have been quite a few!), I take off running. Literally. I have a goal of a 5-6 mile loop to run continuously by May.
My life has changed drastically. And yet it’s just a precursor of the life to come. While juggling the now, there’s also a summer field job to confirm, college application and housing for the Fall to finalize, and random bits of life’s debris that has been raining steadily ever since I paused at one spot.
When I actually pause long enough to breath though, I’m not sure I would change a thing. There’s been more ups and downs than I imagined and some unexpectedly low moments in the last few months, but …
I’m doing it. I’m back in school and carving my way steadily towards grad school. I’m living a dream - my dream. What more can I ask for, right?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
College Tuition: Paid
Eeek … I’m committed. Even if I’m a commitment phobe.
General Microbiology and General, Organic & Biochemistry. Just saying those words gives me chills. And yes, I have started grinning when talking about going back to school. It’s beginning to feel like another adventure: my 2010 collision course with life.
Which is much preferable to the near head-on collision earlier this week with a UPS truck. I was parked and he was going “90 billion miles per hour” per Regina, volunteer for the day.
Things are going well, real well. I have 63 cameras out in the field, 17 new sites and three resamples for the month of January; 28 private landowners and seven public land sites spread out in six counties.
I’m fully moved in and settled. For the first time in my life, I have a giant queen-sized bed all to myself. And a dresser … my clothes are actually unpacked … and a desk! Well the dresser and desk came with the room, so did the bed actually. And I borrowed the chair, the lamp, the cooler a.k.a. bedside table. I’m paying rent and tuition in addition to monthly car payments. I’m feeling both like a grownup and a college kid again.
I’m been voted the woman of the house by my roommates, who guessed I was older and thought I was 25. Yeah, that didn’t make me feel old at all. But the woman of the house has her young ones recycling and drinking dry red wines. I’m still working on washing dirty dishes within 48 hours of use, and why a diet of ramen and hot dogs is vile.
Hopefully they were only joking when they suggested an “Ask Shantini” box outside my room, where they can ask me questions and advice. They might find out my secret that I’m still very much trying to get this life thing straight and have much to figure out myself.
General Microbiology and General, Organic & Biochemistry. Just saying those words gives me chills. And yes, I have started grinning when talking about going back to school. It’s beginning to feel like another adventure: my 2010 collision course with life.
Which is much preferable to the near head-on collision earlier this week with a UPS truck. I was parked and he was going “90 billion miles per hour” per Regina, volunteer for the day.
Things are going well, real well. I have 63 cameras out in the field, 17 new sites and three resamples for the month of January; 28 private landowners and seven public land sites spread out in six counties.
I’m fully moved in and settled. For the first time in my life, I have a giant queen-sized bed all to myself. And a dresser … my clothes are actually unpacked … and a desk! Well the dresser and desk came with the room, so did the bed actually. And I borrowed the chair, the lamp, the cooler a.k.a. bedside table. I’m paying rent and tuition in addition to monthly car payments. I’m feeling both like a grownup and a college kid again.
I’m been voted the woman of the house by my roommates, who guessed I was older and thought I was 25. Yeah, that didn’t make me feel old at all. But the woman of the house has her young ones recycling and drinking dry red wines. I’m still working on washing dirty dishes within 48 hours of use, and why a diet of ramen and hot dogs is vile.
Hopefully they were only joking when they suggested an “Ask Shantini” box outside my room, where they can ask me questions and advice. They might find out my secret that I’m still very much trying to get this life thing straight and have much to figure out myself.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Root-bound: Musings for a New Year
For eight months now, I’ve had three keys on my keychain: my car keys and two keys to my storage locker in the Bronx. Last week, I added a P.O. Box key and as of this very morning, I have a key to my apartment. “My” is a slight exaggeration. I have my own room, but I’m sharing the flat with two others, one of whom goes by the nickname “da saluki cutie.” Have I mentioned I feel old?
I’m ever so slightly unnerved at having a semi-permanent address again. And I don’t think it’s just because that base is in Illinois. Actually that reminds me of a game I played over the summer, called “states that would be worse to live in than Kansas.” It was my lame attempt at making my Cambridge, MA-raised friend feel better about moving to podunk Kansas for grad school.
Illinois really isn’t half bad. And I can live almost anyway for a field season (even Kansas!), but Illinois for maybe 18 months, even with a summer break?
A friend recently said in passing that my anxiety about staying in one place for very long reflected perhaps a fear of commitment. Now that’s something I’ve heard often enough, though never leveled at me. And I have to admit, I’m more than a little bothered that it might be true.
There is a certain … danger? opportunity? … in finding yourself growing attached enough to a place and its people that you might start searching out reasons to stay just a little longer. And if that were to happen, does that mean I am losing focus on my goals and what I hope to achieve in the crucial couple of years coming up?
Of course, all it takes is a black panther conversation to remind myself that yep, this is most definitely temporary. Even if the temporal aspect of life in one place stretches and constricts in unexpected, rarely anticipated and efficiently chaotic ways.
For the time being, I’ll nurse my fleetingly adopted root-bound potted plant, and play it by ear.
I’m ever so slightly unnerved at having a semi-permanent address again. And I don’t think it’s just because that base is in Illinois. Actually that reminds me of a game I played over the summer, called “states that would be worse to live in than Kansas.” It was my lame attempt at making my Cambridge, MA-raised friend feel better about moving to podunk Kansas for grad school.
Illinois really isn’t half bad. And I can live almost anyway for a field season (even Kansas!), but Illinois for maybe 18 months, even with a summer break?
A friend recently said in passing that my anxiety about staying in one place for very long reflected perhaps a fear of commitment. Now that’s something I’ve heard often enough, though never leveled at me. And I have to admit, I’m more than a little bothered that it might be true.
There is a certain … danger? opportunity? … in finding yourself growing attached enough to a place and its people that you might start searching out reasons to stay just a little longer. And if that were to happen, does that mean I am losing focus on my goals and what I hope to achieve in the crucial couple of years coming up?
Of course, all it takes is a black panther conversation to remind myself that yep, this is most definitely temporary. Even if the temporal aspect of life in one place stretches and constricts in unexpected, rarely anticipated and efficiently chaotic ways.
For the time being, I’ll nurse my fleetingly adopted root-bound potted plant, and play it by ear.
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