On graduation.

I'm no longer a student... so that's something. I've not been a student before, but that was a time when I fully intended to become a student again. I'm done being a student for the foreseeable future. To be honest, I think I've not been a student for at least a year now, at least my heart hasn't been in the mode of "being a student" for that time, but now I'm really not a student.

"No more Teachers, No more Books."

I'm deeply relieved. I'm also terrified. I don't have the education to become a librarian, so my original plan (the plan of freshman Kayle) is out the window. I'll have to play by ear. Often, I maintain illusions of having a cafe/tea shop of my own; however, this isn't a play I can make with the cards I currently hold, at least not yet. I have to figure out how to finance such a venture, and I don't think a loan is either wise or possible when I consider the amount of student debt I've accumulated. I accept this fact. Not everyone can start out with their dream job: I have more dues to pay.

Regardless of all this, I'm so glad to not be a student any longer. I've wanted out for some time now. I feel like the reasons I went to university in the first place had stopped applying. I had wanted a broad, liberal arts education, and then I wanted to get a masters in library studies; however, to get the masters, I needed a four-year "honours" degree. Liberal arts degrees do not come in that flavour, so I chose philosophy, because those were the classes I really enjoyed and in theory it was a broad subject. Sadly, I've found that I don't particularly enjoy extreme "higher level" philosophical nit picking. It became so narrow. I felt like I was doing philosophy merely as a means to another end, and not for its own sake. Ironically, that made it very difficult for me to achieve my original end. It certainly didn't bring me any happiness.

It still bites that I can't become a librarian. I wanted to be the one who lead people to the information they sought, and to the stories that they'd connect to. I had imagined myself as a public librarian, perhaps specialised somewhat for young adults. I wanted to meet those rare kids who enjoyed reading and following their own educational paths, and I wanted to facilitate that compulsion towards self-directed learning. I wanted to put the right stories into the right hands. I would have been spectacular I think. But I can't bring myself to bridge the gap between my current self and that possible self. I simply not willing (or financially able) to do that much work for a future that might not even be possible. I'd have to repair my now blighted undergraduate transcripts. I'd have to get that honours degree. I'd have to be accepted to a graduate school, and then put in two more years of work to get the masters degree. And after all that, I'd have to hope that the librarian career as I wanted it still existed. The very thought of all that makes me dizzy and a little nauseous. I'm already 25 - I cannot and will not continue in this student limbo between my adolescence and adulthood. Put frankly, I need to grow up.

This post has already gotten darker then I had hoped. Its not all bad. Being a librarian isn't the only path I could take towards a good life. I have options, even I cannot see them all now, and I have found that life always seems to work itself out. And for what its worth, philosophy has given me a lot more then I'm often willing to admit. I met some great people in that department. I'm capable of obnoxiously critical thinking. I like to think that I'm somewhat more self aware then many, even if that hasn't made me a better person yet. Its entirely possible that now that it doesn't feel forced, that my original passion for learning and philosophy will be able to seep back into my life.

In the meantime, I have to figure out what employment sits in the crossover between "things I can do" and "thing I want to do."

On ending and then beginning.

So I've finally (FINALLY) managed meet all my graduation requirements. I expect to have a degree in philosophy by the end of the year. The notion of actually being graduated inflicts me with many of the feels.

Firstly, there is like a jamboree of sheer joy floating around in my stomach; seriously, if you added gumbo, my gut could pass for Louisiana. I've caught myself on more then one occasion letting out squees of excitement. My cat has never been more terrified.

Secondly, there is a shocking feeling of accomplishment. Shocking because I still don't entirely feel like I deserve it; however, there is something to be said for know that I've completed the requirements to earn a degree. A strange sort of confidence has been mustered (one that I really could have used while still in school). Perhaps my institution's propaganda has been getting to me, but a degree means something to me. Not everyone has a degree. I do. (Will).

Thirdly and most predictably, I feel terror. Oh god: I have to grow up now. I have to somehow find something to do that also makes enough money to pay the crushing amount of debt I have accumulated. I often find myself thinking "what can I do," only to be faced with silence. A philosophy degree does not come with a job description built in. I'm not an engineer or a nurse. To be fair, that's what I always loved about philosophy: it was broad. Philosophy has given me this subtle set of skills that can be applied almost anywhere, and the only problem is convincing employers that these skills exist.

I don't want to end this post on a negative point. Disregarding the uncertainties of the future, I'm absolutely sure that I'll figure out something to do. Maybe it'll be some office job that I wouldn't have approved of a few short years ago. Or maybe it'll be the job of my dreams. The future isn't entirely written. Maybe I'll end up with that Tea Shop/Cafe that I've pined over, or perhaps I'll manage to become that YouTube sensation I've always pretended I could be. Regardless, I'll be living an examined life, and so it'll be worth living.

On wild swings of attitude.

Dearest self,

I understand that just a few months ago you were very concerned about everything, and I understand the crippling anxiety that resulted from this wasn't exactly fun; however, I think you've taken things too far again. Your attitude towards life is a wild pendulum -- one that never seems to settle into a balance. You simply don't care at all now, and that is just as life-damaging as caring too much. Perhaps you spent all your Fucks, and now have none left to give. I get it. But you have to figure your shit out. You can't always be either panic stricken or completely apathetic; at some point, your going to have to live, and that involves both letting things come as they are and directing yourself towards goals. Listen, you don't need to have a grand master plan just to set and achieve the simple goals you already know you want. Set them. Work for them. You'll find that the path more important then the goal itself, but you do have to walk the path.

You just tanked a logic test. This doesn't make any sense. You know you're good at logic. I might go so far as to say talented. That's why this is really crap. The smallest bit of effort keeps you up with your classmates, but that effort is effort you must undertake nonetheless!

I know you'll try harder. Despite how many times you tell me that you "don't care," I know that it is a lie. You only say that to try and convince yourself, but its not working, so just get over it. Invest yourself!

Thanks.
Do better,
--Kayle

On flowers, recent life, and blogs

So as it turns out, in order to have a blog, apparently it is customary to actually post in it. Who knew?

Flowers

Flowers have returned to my house. My grandma grows them; a Google search confirms that they are called Zinnias. I think they're quite lovely. I particularly enjoy how I seem to want to clean up more when they are present in the house. I feel as if they deserve a better atmosphere. 

I just finished reading a novel about four strangers who are all running away from their old lives who meet and become fast friends. In the end they (nearly) all return to their old lives with a new perspective. It made me consider my life, and the people who I'm connected to. As strange as it might seem, I started thinking about how much I'd miss these flowers every summer if they weren't there. And, perhaps a bit morbidly, how I'll always be reminded of my grandmother with either their existence or absence. Maybe I'll take up the tradition myself, and grow way too many Zinnias for my own vases to handle. I get a feeling that this is how traditions start.

Recent Life

I've been feeling really well for the past week(s). And unlike times in the past, I feel like this contentment might be able to last for a while. Normally, when I emerge from a depression I have a day or to of almost manic clarity. In these times I can be almost obnoxiously optimistic, and feel like I've figured it all out, but there is normally a nagging voice that reminds me that I'll be just as bad as ever in a day or two. This is always true, and thus the process repeats. This time is different for a couple of reasons, or at least it seems. I don't feel like everything is perfect. While there is some clarity about my life, I don't feel like I've solved existence. I certainly don't feel like this will last forever. I know time will be when I'm upset, or sad, or what-have-you. I just feel good about things: even things I still fear, like anything having to do with my future. I just feel like that can wait, and I'll see what can be done now. There is, of course, the possibility that I'll go back to university next week and suddenly be plunged back into the abyss, but for some reason my intuition says otherwise. I normally have a very good intuition. I still don't know what the hell I'm going to do with myself however, I also kinda don't care. I'm almost positive that I'll continue on in some fashion, and that I'll probably end up doing something I enjoy. It's a good feeling.

Blogs

So, this has been a very Dear Diary type of post. I don't know what possessed me to type here rather than jot all this down in my underused journal. I was thinking earlier this month that I'd post twice a week: once as a personal blog, and once as a book review. I was thinking of reading one book from the Penguin Great Ideas series a week, and then letting my thoughts be known. I still like this theory, but I don't have the books yet, nor do I have much confidence in my ability to read and post about these great works every week. So I think, at least for the time being that I'll keep things casual, with no set posting times. I still want to read those books, and even consider reviewing/reflecting on them, but I'd also like to mix up my reading. I want philosophy, yes but I'd also like to read maybe politics, science, some poetry, great literature, and a bunch of less great novels. I mean, the book I just finished: "Nights of Rain and Stars" by Maeve Binchy, is no great classical work or philosophical wonder, but it did make me look at the world through a different lens, and I think I'm better off having read it. So there.

I think I could review "The Tao of Pooh" by Benjamin Hoff, as I've read it a few times now. It would make for a gentle beginning to the whole venture. 

On beginnings.

Here's the problem with first posts: they don't mean anything. I expect neither will the next ten or so. Obviously the first few posts will suffer from a lack of experience, but that's not what I mean really. This first post (and the next few) cannot possibly guarantee that the will every be another post. Statistically speaking, I'm not altogether great at the whole starting-things-and-keeping-them-going thing, and even worse at the following-things-through-to-completion thing.

Everything starts somewhere.

So, I suppose I have to figure out what I'm doing here. A summary of who I am and a few vague guesses at the purpose of this blog will have to do for now. Who I am is a question I have taken (perhaps too) seriously for the last few years of my life. Figuring out an identity is difficult work, some might say impossible, but I've always been a fan of futile efforts. I was (am?) for the past four years a student of philosophy. This label is, however, not at all comprehensive so lets pile on a few more. I'm an introvert by nature. Left to my own devices, I might never leave my home. I do realize that I have a craving for attention though and a real need for connection to others. Hiding in my house has never lead me to a good place. I've considered myself for the last couple months to be a failed existentialist, having never really gotten past the crisis phase. Coming to terms with complete freedom is a lot of work. Also, the fact that I'm describing myself in terms of labels would probably make Sartre cough up blood. Probably in my face, just for dramatic effect. I'm a domestic environmentalist and the worst vegetarian ever. I'm a goal setter, but certainly not often a goal achiever. I like lists; I'm not exactly devoted to crossing things off of them though. I'm gay and have been in a really wonderful relationship for over a year now. In the grand timeline of my life, this label has expressed itself only in a relatively short period of my recent life. While I feel I have come to terms with it, I also just felt a shiver of sorts to say it so bluntly: "I'm gay" is a phrase that was once impossible to admit, and thus will likely always hold some sort of power over me. I'm a cat person. I'm sure a psychoanalyst could make a lot out of that point. I don't know what labels I want to keep, or which I want to add. In short, I don't really know what I want to do with my life. I've considered Librarian, Tea Master, Writer, Professor, Politician, Wandering Vagrant, Commune Hippie, and possibly a dozen more options. We'll see I guess.

This blog.

Providing that this post isn't the only one I ever make, I'm not entirely sure where this blog will head. Part personal diary, part philosophical musing space, part political soapbox: these seem likely. For all I know this could warp into a daddy-blog or become the founding document of a new religion. Hell, why not? The concept of an audience both attracts me and terrifies me. And while its more likely than not that I will be the only one to skim these posts, I feel as if the possibility of readers will completely affect the way I write. Hopefully, for the better. 

I doubt it :-P

--Kayle