Purpose.

For some time now, I've had an unshakable feeling that there was something inherently missing. What this was, I had no idea. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I felt that there was nothing I was amounting to. Sure, there are my dual bachelor degrees I am very close to completing (English and History). My entire conscious life has been dedicated to the moment that is less than a year away: my college graduation. As my junior year drew to a close, my purpose has never been less clear.

It's highly discomforting, even as I write this. What am I trying to say: that these past few years have been a complete waste of time? Certainly not: I've enjoyed my undergraduate education. It has not been exactly how I imagined it as a naive high school junior, intent on going to a private university. The reality of being a relatively poor immigrant kid, as well as my own financial blunders, have thwarted those ambitions a long time ago. I had hoped to study abroad before my time as an undergraduate is done, and perhaps with more pragmatic approaches to spending and saving can make that particular ambition come true. All in all however, I've been highly content with my decision to study in Brooklyn as opposed to Hamilton, New York.

No, I concluded, it was not my education that felt lacking. Could it possibly be my personal life? As I've hinted at length in this blog, I've been unlucky in love. Although I have not attempted to actively seek out someone to date, or made any outright effort to make myself dateable, I do not think this is what's missing. In all honestly, I've sabotaged any sliver of a chance to date someone who showed genuine interest. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. I have fun, caring, intelligent, hilarious friends and family: I have surrounded myself with people who build me up, not tear me down. Those poisonous relationships, as I have discussed, I have successfully eliminated: they did nothing but plague me with unsolicited stress and heartbreaking disappointment. My personal life, as of right now, has been nothing but joyful.

So, what could this incessant nagging feeling of ineptitude possibly be? Surely some comfort could be taken in the fact I managed to (finally!) achieve a 3.925 GPA this semester (why that A- couldn't be an A in one of my English courses, I don't know). Or take some solace that I do relatively well at my part-time job, being named May's Employee of the Month (I'm not going to lie, it would have been nice to get a bonus but I didn't hold my breath for it). Still, the feeling remains.

Question is: where is this all leading to?

I'm not alone in this despair. My best friend in college shared her concerns on the day we both finished finals.

"I feel like I need to do something," she said, while she gesticulated as if this "something" was going to pour out of her chest.

"Hhmm," I said, as I played with the contents of the gyro I no longer had an appetite for eating. "Like what?"

" I don't know. I'm tired of just coming to classes, day in and day out. Sitting in a classroom, taking notes, then taking the bus back home. What is this all amounting to?"

I didn't immediately respond. I looked across from us: students cheerfully sipping their Starbucks, lounging in the shade on the wooden structures close to the Campus Road entrance. Did they share the same concern? Or were they perfectly content drinking their sugary coffee drinks while shuffling between classes?

"I often feel the same way," I said finally, resigned. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Obviously I have to finish my degree."

"It wouldn't make sense to drop out, especially since you're so close to the end."

"Yeah I know. But what am I going to do next?"

Neither of us had a satisfying answer. In the days to come, she told me of her newfound interest: joining the Peace Corps after graduating, helping people in another country as she tried to figure out the next step. I told her that it sounded like a good idea; perhaps it would shed light on what her life's passion really is.

I fear that my sense of purpose might not come as swiftly. This is crunch time everyone (including myself) keeps reminding me: executive decisions need to be taken for our post-graduate plans. I have a few ideas, but nothing solid.

Today, I checked my student email in hopes of landing a free trial of Amazon Prime, but instead found an email from the Scholarship office, urging me (and a number of other students) to consider a couple of opportunities, including the Fulbright and Rhodes Scholarship. I'm not sure whether this was a mass email to the undergraduate population, or to a certain number of possible candidates (I'm thinking the former, given the population of the school; I highly doubt someone took the time to copy and paste only certain people). I love academia, even if I've shown less enthusiasm for some classes than others. While I do not fit the criteria for a Rhodes Scholar (apparently you need to do sports too?), some other ones seem plausible.

I also received an email from my school's career center about a graduate school fair  taking place in two weeks (free!) that I have already RSVPed for. For my fellow college students, I hope you can accompany me to the event.

Perhaps this new information hasn't quelled my thirst for a greater purpose, but its certainly a good start. For now, knowing these opportunities exist have provided a greater comfort about my future than my ability to fold clothing for 4.5 hours a day ever will.

Pseudo Feminism.

In this week's edition of New York Magazine, there's a feature about the recent happenings on Wall Street and it's major players. New York has the tendency of catching its readers up on the latest scandal or morally deficient happenings of this city's financial center every three months or so. One particular article grabbed this reader's attention immediately, fittingly named What Does it Take for a Female Tycoon to Get Noticed Around Here?. The article discusses Lynn Tilton,"founder and CEO of Patriarch Partners, a private-equity firm that specializes in the takeover of distressed manufacturers of a decidedly masculine nature..." Perhaps I had never noticed before, but in the two years I've subscribed to New York Magazine I have never read anything about a female CEO. The article does a profile of Tilton, discussing her relatively humble beginnings in New Jersey to how she became a self made millionaire through her business savvy. More so, the article uncovers what Tilton is attempting to save nearly bankrupt companies in this Great Recession and how she is doing it. As always, when there is a woman involved there is a great deal of discussion of gender roles, and this article was no exception.

From the opening paragraph, it is quite clear that Tilton is a rarity in her field: an older woman strutting around in tight designer dresses, Gucci heels, and decidedly a has "brand of femininity [that] is so over-the-top, so cartoonish, it's as if she were plating a part, the Wonder Woman of Wall Street."
Tilton tells the journalist:

"'I can take pride in the fact that I can be all woman in a man's world. And,' she adds, lowering her already deep Mae West voice another octave, 'as you may have noticed, I am all woman.'"

The article is riddled with literary nuances and explicit commentary about Tilton's exuberant femininity juxtaposed in the manly world of corporations and finance. While it is fascinating, I can't help but wonder: Is this a problem? What kind of implications does Tilton's presence have on a 21st century idea of a business woman? Is Tilton a feminist? And why, dear Lord why, did she feel the need to get naked in front if this journalist? 


In terms of my last question, Tilton seems quite comfortable with herself and her body: to the dismay of her previous coworkers and current employees, Tilton often sports cleavage bearing clothing and flashy jewelry. One person reported that it made him feel uncomfortable because (and I'll paraphrase because I do not feel like flipping through the article) "no one wants to see that much boob." I wonder, still, if Tilton was a couple of years younger, would he have minded it then?

While it might seem trivial to consider Tilton's choice of clothing while she works, it is a source of great pride for Tilton and a the source of a great deal of discussion among others. And while I can pontificate all night long about how one's clothing should not be the determining factor in judging someone, the fact of the matter is how one dresses actually is extremely important. Especially in the corporate world, and especially if you are a woman. Still, I commend Tilton to challenge the norms of what women can wear while still being the boss.

However, I find it slightly problematic, Ms. Tilton that is. From what I gather, she enjoys being very "feminine" by wearing flashy clothing and having professionals get her makeup and hair done. That's all good and well. She demands respect, regardless of her wardrobe choices. That's all good and well. However, from a number of accounts, she gets verbally abusive and regularly commits acts that can be considered sexual assault to her male employees. While she vehemently denies this, she admits to throwing a couple of people around during meetings. Hm. Last time I checked, throwing tantrums to get decisions made and manage people does not earn anyone respect.

Perhaps I am ignorant to the tactics of multi-millionaire tycoons. I'm sure acts that are morally suggestive are committed every single day in corporations large and small. But when you are one of the few women that are wildly successful at this finance game, I do not feel intimidating someone by throwing various objects of people you are trying to strike deals with, or asking male employees to take body shots off you for your birthday, is really the ideals you want to instill on budding female business women in the United States. If anything, she is simply adding fuel to a fire that just will not quit.

Tilton's narrative reminds me of some articles I read for my English seminar. I'll edit this post once I find the articles in question. Anyway, the author discusses the portrayal of women in the first decade of the 21st century in popular culture. To make a long story short, there was an overwhelming emphasis on women being cast as meek, oversexed nympho maniacs, incapable of making any logical decisions while men are needed to clean up their messes and provide the strength women simply do not possess. This particular author argues there has been a regression of women in the public sphere, noting that the 1990's did not have as many examples as we do now. I completely agree. Without naming any names, the most profitable women this day in age sell their sexuality by any means necessary. And while there are powerful women in popular culture that are admired for their intelligence and accomplishments, the most profitable women are those who talk about their love of being on the "drunk diet."

Take the recent scandal when Rutgers University paid reality show stable Snooki more than Nobel Prize winning author Toni Morrison (seriously, read The Bluest Eye. It's life changing.). What is America's pop culture communicating to it's young women? From what I can tell it's "Get drunk, flash your tits, have sex with random people and we'll pay you."

While Tilton is a far cry from our beloved Snooks, I do not think she's improving America's new notion about the successful woman. Ancient ideas of women being hysterical, incapable of succeeding in the public sphere, especially finance, is becoming popularized again, albeit differently than before. One can defend or dismiss Tilton as a feminist symbol. Honestly, it can go both ways. But, with an increasingly shrinking awareness of why a feminist movement was needed, I don't think Tilton's love of ass pinching young men that work for her is helping matters.

Introspection.

Writing. That's what this blog has allowed me to do for over two years. It has given me and many, many others, a platform from which to express, divulge, convince, accuse, pontificate, et. al. about everything and anything. The weight one can give one's words, the tone, the diction, the style, the form, is completely a unique construct. Writing was not the primary reason I became an English major. But, what my major has allowed me to do with my writing has made it into one of my favorite reasons.

Writing evolves. One can mold it to be whatever one wants it to be. The writer, the speaker, the protagonist can give words its depth or its shallowness. Writing makes words malleable, makes meaning disposable, makes it into whatever your muse inspired it to be.

Reading back on my earlier entries, this blog has taken a turn in themes and tones. Which is not necessarily a bad evolution. I have changed as a writer; my life has taken it's own little twists and turns, and my writing reflects that. Still, there are some aspects of my older posts I have forgotten to use because other writings have demanded I abandon them. Carefully crafting arguments, story arcs, and consciously forming prose into something one can hold at an arm's length and say "Yes, I am proud of this" is one particular writing process I have not engaged in for a while. At least in terms of my personal essay writing.

Here's to hoping the muses demand I look into my heart and write.

Das it!

Inspiration hasn't been kind to me as of late. I have not written for my own pleasure, for my own sanity, in some time. In light of certain thoughts and feelings that have unfortunately creeped up on me lately I felt the need to write something rather trite. Heartbreak, at its best, is the soul of the most spectacular works of art, including writing. I don't necessarily have any of the qualities that would be considered of a great artist, but that shouldn't stop me, or anyone, to write about how they feel at that moment.

Technically, I'm not "heartbroken." But rejection feels pretty close. So, I write in order to move on from this silliness.

After taking a creative writing course, I've been more interested in learning how to write in different forms, like plays and poetry. So, below is the very beginnings of a poem that might never get finished. Or it might. Just felt like it had to be jotted down.

A more glorified you
exists
in a plane only
I can comprehend.

I weave imagined tales
and fabricate verse
until there is no distinguishing
the truth from the lie.

Rhyme and rhythm
is unkind here.

Perhaps it would be
safer
to rewrite these lines

And end it there.