Moved

Hey everyone!

I have moved my whole blog to http://craigberger784.wordpress.com. Please visit me there!

Thanks!

When It's Time to Leave

Let's put aside the fact that I have a wonderful girlfriend waiting for me in Oxford, Ohio right now, one-half year into her grad school program (one to which I'm currently applying). Even if I wasn't 100% positive I was done here, she would be enough to pull me away because I love her.

Let's pretend, instead, that I am single. How do I decide that I need to leave where I am? How do I know how to leave my current job?

When I was visiting with my brother the other day, it organically came out of my mouth in a car ride: "I know it's time to leave because I'm getting to be comfortable there."

And I can see the stages of development in this realization over time.

In high school, I had no clue what being "comfortable" meant. Those kids surrounding me were the only people I knew in my educational world. Some were good, some were bad. Many were "okay." But I didn't think about having to be comfortable around them. They were just there.

And then came Allegheny. I certainly wasn't comfortable my first year there. I was confident, but there were many challenges. I was exploring my group of friends. I was exploring how to successfully cohabitate with a roommate. I was exploring the differences between a "work-study" job and the ridiculous job I had at home the summer before college. Most appropriately, I was exploring the differences between high school classes and college courses. As I took on different roles, I negotiated the respective social circles that accompanied them. Not until my senior year did I realize that Allegheny was a "home," a generally accommodating host for my trials and tribulations the previous three years. I observed that just as I was going to be able to settle, I needed to leave.

Now, three years into my job (also on a college campus), I'm beginning to feel the same comfort. I know most people here. I know what makes most people tick here (though I sometimes am still surprised at what I hear people say or do, including myself). I know some people here better than I ever knew some of my friends at Allegheny (if you're reading this and from Allegheny, you're probably still safe). By the end of the year, I'm going to be comfortable. Too comfortable. I'm feeling the need to be challenged once more, to be taken out of my comfort zone.

While I've learned a plethora of lessons the past couple years, one has been to never stop paying attention to your gut. It will tell you about your environment. But the other, as a corollary, is to make sure you interpret your gut feeling the right way. Currently, comfort, for me, equals complacency, and so while initially feeling "safe," sounds like a good thing, it's not in my situation.

Tough Times

It is very easy to experience something rough in life and get so down that you just can't see how the experience can benefit you in the future. Things keep piling on, forcing you into negative thought after negative thought. You start to get tired of the obstacle, wanting to move forward, and sometimes, if you're lucky, it lets you go. But even then, many of us would have no clue how that struggle might help us in the future.

During my freshman year of college, I got homesick, but it happened in February instead of September or October. Things piled on: my great-grandpa died; an off-campus fire took the life of a student, shaking me up and making me realize how fragile life is; the gloomy weather, with more snow and colder temperatures than I was used to, had no apparent end in sight; and after thinking about all this, I caught the flu. Having been used to the attention of a loving mother every other time I was sick, her absence became quite apparent. All of these things combined into what is the closest to depression I believe I've come.

Many mornings and nights were spent on the phone with my mom during this period of time. After the two experiences with death exposed life's fragility, I realized how quickly I could lose the close relationship I had with my mom, my dad, my brother, and the rest of those I loved. Through those conversations with my mom, I realized that what was truly bothering me was the guilt I felt of being away from everyone that, to that point, had been important in my life. It took my mom explaining to me that they were so important and close to me because they all had high hopes for me from the beginning, that they had invested so much patience and so much love in me for moments like those I was experiencing, when everything seemed so tough. Finally, my mom pointed out that no matter what happened, we both knew that we loved each other very much -- it was understood (and the same with the rest of my family). And that's all it took. Once I didn't have to worry about her or others leaving unexpectedly without knowing how I felt, I was free to live life and enjoy it. And for the rest of that spring semester, I did, day by day.

At that time, all I thought about was finishing up and getting home for the summer. But now, six years later, now that I work in residence life and deal with college students on a regular basis, the lessons that were planted in those tough, dark times have bloomed. I am now able to give them back to other students, struggling with various emotional issues, roommate conflicts, or other problems. In two recent roommate conflicts, one roommate was annoyed with the other for being too overwhelming when the "other" repeatedly insisted on helping the upset one. I pulled out the lesson of the understood notion -- we established in both conflicts that the resident who wanted to help would always have an understood offer to the other resident of the room who preferred to be upset alone: "If you need anything or if there's anything I can do, please let me know." It worked. In both situations, the roommates agreed that this was the best policy and they put it in their new roommate agreement. It also worked once more in another conversation I had around the same time.

When we're going through tough times, it is understandable that what happens during that period of time leaves a bad taste in our mouths. But as time takes you further and further away, the lessons sharpen and become easier to see. It is these lessons that form the compensation for having gone through your rut. Embracing these lessons allows you to not only make lemonade from lemons, but it also leads you to helping others in need in the future.

Update

This blog is fast approaching "stale" territory. I recognize that my efforts in updating it have been very poor. I thought I would write just to give any readers out there an update on my life.

I am currently in my last year working in Residence Life at a small, public institution of higher education. I will have a lot on my plate this fall. I am organizing a series of political programming for the campus, recruiting students to serve as "residential service leaders," organizing another trip to Gulfport, Mississippi for Hurricane Katrina relief (yes, there is still much work to be done), all while sitting on a few committees and supervising two first year buildings and one for recruiting students (which means sixteen RAs). Though it is a lot, and there is probably more that I have left out, I am viewing it as a way to prove that I have gotten enough out of my first two years here to be a smashing success during my third and last year.

What's next you ask? During the fall, I will be applying to Miami University's (Ohio, not Florida) College Student Personnel graduate program. The application deadline is January 5th. This degree will qualify me for student life jobs higher up the ladder while giving me a more theoretical understanding of what I do on a day to day basis. I'll also be able to get even more experience through an assistantship (hopefully). I will also be applying to Ohio State's Higher Education and Student Affairs program.

As you would probably guess from past posts, I am an Obama supporter and a close follower of the 2008 elections. I do plan on volunteering for Obama over the next few months, and I am very excited about doing so!

I have started writing another blog (which may account for my lackadasical posting here) called Politics of the Common Good. I've found that having more to write about (news cycles guarantee me fresh information every day) makes it easier to get words down and out. I also realize I know more about politics and the political process than I thought I did, though I do still get a bit self-conscious when writing about something I don't know entirely. But that's when you learn, right?

Finally, I am nearly one year into a wonderful relationship, and I'm enjoying every millisecond of it. I love you Molly.

I'll try to be in touch more and share some deep thoughts once they come along. Don't hold your breath though. ;)

A Philly Busride

I've been meaning to get this story out since I came back from Philly, but actually driving home and visiting with family and friends has gotten in the way a bit.

Molly and I had decided to stay an extra day in Philadelphia in order to sightsee a bit in the city. We drove into the city and parked near the Philadelphia Art Museum (of Rocky fame). In order to get to our destination of Independence Square, we took a trolley that Molly's brother Mike had told us about. Everything worked out fine; after we finished walking through the American galleries, we hopped on the Phlash Trolley to get to Independence Square. After we finished walking around Independence Hall and touring the National Constitution Center, we realized that it was about 6:00 PM -- the last stop for the trolley that evening. Looking through the pamphlet and schedule for the trolley, we saw that we had some time to work with since the trolley was not scheduled to come back to Independence Square until 6:22. Even so, we waited at the stop. At 6:18 the trolley pulls up. I got up, stood next to it, and waited for it to open its doors so we could get on -- except the doors did not open. The woman driving the bus seemingly ignored us (I think she knew she was going to have to drop us off someplace where she had already made her last stop) as she was stopped at the red light at the intersection. When the light turned green, the trolley rolled on down the street with Molly and me watching in disbelief.

"What now?" I asked. Molly called her brother and notified him of what had happened. Mike advised us to find another trolley (luckily there was one within sight, across and down the street). We asked the driver if she was headed in the direction of the Art Museum. She was not, she told us, but the trolley that had driven off without us might be heading back in our direction. Also, the SEPTA bus -- the 17 line -- should go toward the Art Museum. Did we want her to wait on us? No, I told her. We'd figure things out on our own.

Sure enough, the Phlash trolley returned. Instead of pulling up alongside the curb, though, it drove up to the same intersection as before, but in the opposite direction. It was also in the left lane. Choosing to notice us this time, the driver opened her doors and yelled toward us. I couldn't really understand her, but her face and her actions and mannerisms made clear that she had already made her last stop and we were not welcome to get a ride.

We elected to wait on the 17 bus. It arrived fairly soon, but the driver told us that it would not take us to the Art Museum; instead, the driver said, we shoud wait on the other route at that stop, the 33 line, which would take us there. Another five minutes passed before the 33 arrived. Upon boarding, I inquired of the driver the price for tickets. The driver said "$2.00" and instructed me to slide the bill that I had in my hand -- a $10.00 bill -- through the machine and told me I would get change. As I let go of the bill and the machine recorded the dollar amount, the driver suddenly became exasperated, asking me in disbelief why I would slide a $10.00 bill into it. "If I had known you had a $10.00 bill, I would have given you the change myself." You see, apparently the machine on the bus does not process that amount. Exasperated, tired, and ready to be out of the city, I, without thinking, replied, "Whatever." This is not a smart move when you're around people that use the public transportation as a lifeline. Immediately, I got the collective opinion of those on the bus. "That's a damn shame." "Unbelievable. $10.00?" Even the driver chipped in -- "In my eighteen years on this bus, I've never had anyone do that." As the driver filled out the rebate form (for $6), I was bombarded with detailed instructions on how to redeem the rebate. Eventually the driver asked us where we were headed. When I told him the Art Museum, we again elicited frustration. "We're not even going there!" he exclaimed. The driver dropped us off in an average-at-best neighborhood with coupons instructing us to get on the 43 line, which would take us to the museum. After asking a local teenager for help, we eventually got on the 43 and got to the Museum -- finally.

The point of all this? I realized that while I spend so much time in the ivory tower, academic frame of mind, I really don't have the opportunity to feel the differences between different lifestyles and cultures. And when you're in that situation, it's so challenging to see the commonalities in all of us. When we're truly scared of something socially, we notice the differences in our dominant culture and the prevailing culture instinctively. Too many people don't get past that. We need to challenge ourselves, no matter what the situation, to look at the things that bond us together. No matter how big the differences are, there are those links.

Four months before he was shot, President Kennedy discussed these bonds in a commencement speech to American University (June 10, 1963):

...Let us also direct attention to our common interests and to the means by which those differences can be resolved. And if we cannot end now our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity. For, in the final analysis, our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children's future. And we are all mortal.

Differences -- things that make us unique -- should be celebrated, and the linkages we share should be remembered.

What is a situation in which you found yourself challenged?

'Go get 'em': Death and Control

I must confess -- I've been blogging elsewhere.

I've set up a blog at wordpress.com discussing the intersection of politics and the common good especially as it relates to the current election news. I really enjoy that as it affords me more material that I can get into. The last couple months I'd click on "dashboard" for this blog and nothing would come to mind about which I could write, so then I'd just give up.

Too many things have happened now, though, to give up on this post.

When Tim Russert died last Friday, something inside me changed. I can't quite put a finger on it. I've always had this preoccupation with death. I remember when I was in preschool or kindergarten and I kept asking questions about the subject. Eventually my minister at the time gave a book called Freddy the Leaf to my mom to read it with me. The book traced the life of a leaf through the different seasons ending in autumn. I don't really remember what I thought about the book, but I do know it quenched my need for knowledge -- at that point.

But then I grew a bit more and in sixth grade, I remember being in tears. Some of it was stress because all of a sudden hormones hit me like a locomotive. I worried what other people thought about me. I worried about whether or not my friends were really my friends. I worried about worrying about it. And I remember one night where I was once more in tears and for no apparent reason realized that I had not been as close to my dad as my mom growing up. And then, of course, I thought about my dad dying. Why? I'm not sure. But now you see -- the topic of death, whether it was relevant or irrelevant, logical or illogical, was still there.

Fast forward to college. I didn't get homesick in the fall of my freshman year like most other incoming college students. Mine was delayed for a few months. By the time the middle of February rolled around, I became very sick, I hadn't really made too many close friends, and then... a house caught fire just off campus, and a student died. BAM. The reinsertion of death into my thoughts didn't exactly help my homesickness. After going home for a long weekend to recover and after talking with my mom for a long time, I finally realized that the four years I would be spending at Allegheny were too little to be counting down the days until I could go home again. I couldn't be worrying about what might happen when I'm not in Salem, Ohio. And there's the marriage of control and death again.

After Tim Russert passed on Friday, I realized that the connection between death and control (or lack thereof) is precisely what gets to me each time a major event happens that triggers those fatal thoughts. I am reminded of how quickly everything can be gone. And it's not me I'm concerned about finishing things up. It's the people I love. To some degree, I feel like I have just a bit more control over whether I die or not. But I know I have none over the fate of my loved ones. And it's the fear of receiving that call that so and so has passed away that, at points in my life, was paralyzing.

But I've realized that whether I like it or not, that call is going to come someday. In the meantime, I have to model the lesson Tim Russert taught all of us -- to take each day and be fascinated with the opportunities life gives us. "Go get 'em," Tim would tell his reporters. I think I'll take his advice once and for all.

Annie Oakley

After acknowledging he could have said things a bit differently and admitting that his statement was not "artful," and after being on the receiving end of yet another onslaught of scolding bankrupt of any credibility whatsoever, Obama dug in and stuck up for himself. See below.



For those of you not watching the whole video, here's the part where he throws the counterpunch :

"She’s running around talking about how this is an insult to sportsmen, how she values the Second Amendment, she's talking like she's Annie Oakley! Hillary Clinton's out there like she's on the duck blind every Sunday, she's packin' a six shooter! C'mon! She knows better. That's some politics being played by Hillary Clinton. I want to see that picture of her out there in the duck blinds."

Fine. Obama may not have been as tactful as he should have been last Sunday, but for Hillary to seize on this -- it shows how disingenuous she and her campaign really are.