emlocke

Category: Thoughtful

  • Swing

    About a year ago I was living and studying in New Zealand, not blogging because internet was such a hassle and my laptop was fritzing, and this week specifically, I was in the middle of Spring Break Fall Holiday; a road trip around the South Island counter-clockwise, the same way water goes down the drain in lands down under.

    One stop on this journey was Queenstown, popularly recognized as the adrenaline capital of the world. It is my personal opinion that whatever element puts the extreme into any X-treme sport was first divined in Queenstown soil. But I don’t usually hit the adrenaline too hard, so I tuned out when Anne read this in our Lonely Planet guide:

    The new Shotover Canyon Swing is touted as the world’s highest rope swing (109m), where you jump from a cliff-mounted platform in a full body harness and take a wild swing across the canyon at 150km per hour.

    Everybody else made reservations before we even arrived in Queenstown. “Four for white-water rafting, just three for the canyon swing. It costs $30 just to watch your friends, so I figured I’d spend the morning wandering Queenstown and save my energy for an afternoon of rafting.

    We arrived in Queenstown the night before and proceeded with our choreographed hostel-arrival ritual: grocery shopping and package store followed by cooking, eating, and showering, and sleeping tight. Except I was the only one who slept tight that night. The others lay awake, or had strange dreams, or slept fitfully with the Canyon Swing on their minds.

    By morning, my travel buddies were staving off panic attacks and anxious nausea. I was quite chipper and having second thoughts about just how extreme I could be. If I’d decided to go for it ahead of time, I probably wouldn’t have made it to the jump because I would have given myself a heart attack just worrying about it the night before. But on a sunny morning in the adrenaline capital of the world, I found myself at the counter asking to add another person to the Canyon Swing list.

    And an hour or two later, I was barefoot, strapped into that full-body harness, loathing the tears welling up in my eyes…and then willing myself to step off the platform.

    You know how people always say, “What a rush?” What a rush. My pony-tail was swept across my face, my hiking pants billowed with cool air, I swayed between the jagged, steady walls of the canyon and fell in love with white goats grazing on the slope. Those 2 1/2 minutes were probably the most rapturous and satisfying of my whole two weeks on the South Island. The nearly 200-foot freefall felt like bravery, the 650-foot arc felt like grace, and the breeze between my toes felt like freedom.

    I was furious at myself for being so scared to begin with. But in that moment, I knew I was going to make it through.

  • I Need A Ticket to Ride

    My family went to Disney World for the first time just about eight years ago, when I was in the 8th grade. It was Spring Break, right before we got our dog –we had to take the big vacation before we became so emotionally bound to a four-legged creature that we would never leave the house unless we could take her with us and we stopped wanting to go places that wouldn’t let us bring her with us anyway. If I felt like the oldest kid in the Magic Kingdom then, you can imagine how I would feel at age twenty when we went back.

    But it’s a good thing we weren’t one of those families who feels obligated to hit It’s a Small World as soon as their infants can focus their pupils. “Load up the car! She’s ready for her mouse ears!” Taking it all in as a mature and moderately well-adjusted teenager was hard enough. The lights, the colors, the displays, the backdrops, the fake plants, the real plants, the animatronic Beatles concert, the hundreds of other guests within eyeshot and earshot at any given moment (entertainment in itself), all the information in the tour book, the luxurious bathroom at the hotel, the food…

    We ate at this restaurant with a beach theme and great burgers and I have no clue what I ordered but I still remember the exact train of thought that came barreling through my head in the middle of dinner, “This is a great restaurant. I like the decor. Yum. Oh no! What if this is my favorite restaurant in the world? I’ll never get to go to my favorite restaurant in the world because it’s in Florida! On my birthday, when you’re supposed to eat dinner at your favorite restaurant in the world, I ever won’t be able to because my favorite restaurant in the world is in Florida and every birthday from now on will be ruined because I don’t think my parents will let me fly to Florida in the middle of February!”

    There was a lot to absorb and since I’m me, I felt it was my responsibility to absorb it all. I still remember having this feeling that was like “Who do you think you are, coming to Disney World and not seeing everything?” and that kept me from just living in the moment and having a little fun. And then, “Who do you think you are, coming to Disney World and not letting yourself have fun?” I still remember feeling jealous of kids who didn’t take Disney World so seriously, and then scorning them for not being good enough tourists, and then scorning myself because I obviously wasn’t being a very good tourist, either. Wasn’t this supposed to be a vacation?

    When I was home and unpacked and back at school, I wore my Mickey Mouse sweatshirt (the shoes, the shorts, the ears, the mouse) and thought about my brother and my mom wearing the exact same one because we all got them together, and when people asked what I did for spring break, I thought about my favorite part of the whole trip –riding Splash Mountain with my dad. That was the best. I couldn’t picture the petals on every single flower at Epcot, but I decided that I had catalogued all of those moments, everything I had seen or heard, in neuro-filing cabinets in my memory and even if I couldn’t recall each and every one at will, they were in there somewhere. If I needed one, it would just be there.

    What really mattered was that I remembered how it felt to sit in a giant log at the crest of the big drop on Splash Mountain, wearing a rain poncho, and peer over the end of our log, into the brambles, with my dad right beside me. I felt too scared and brave and excited to worry about anything else. There wasn’t time to figure out exactly what I should be thinking or feeling at that moment. And with my dad right there, with the same vantage point, in a matching poncho, testing out the same hands-in-the-air roller coaster pose, the pressure to absorb it all must not have been so strong. When we tipped forward, all I had to do was scream. And that part was easy.

  • Kind of a Snob

    People have been talking about Ellen Lupton’s book on DIY – not Do It Yourself, but Design It Yourself, which Lupton produced with her graduate design students at Maryland Institute College of Art. At first I thought I just didn’t need another book full of projects that I don’t have the time to do, or don’t even want to do, but then I read this Washington Post article and took a closer look at the book and the companion website and now I’m totally into this DIY mentality.

    Lately, I’ve gotten it into my head that I want to make a quilt. After exhaustive hours browsing fabric and patterns, reading quilter’s commentary about techniques and materials, I’m really no closer to getting started. I don’t even know if I have the tools or the skills to accomplish the project that I have in mind (I’m kind of a snob. I don’t have the patience for starting with something small, and I know it’s a fatal crafting flaw.) Why not just buy a nice quilt with the features I’m attracted to? In the end, it would obviously be less time and energy consuming, it might even be more cost-effective!

    But that’s not the point. I want something that is exclusively mine; colors, patterns, dimensions and materials specific to the quilt I envision. I “long to put [my] personal imprint “on everyday items and products,” as Jeff Turrentine of the Post phrased it. Oh, and I also want to say “I made this!” All the time, I see all kinds of products and think, “I could make that” or “If I could make that, I would do it this way.” I mentioned how I’m kind of a snob, right? I want to design it myself. This book is just what I need.

    Design It Yourself doesn’t have a quilting section, but it does show creative types that we don’t have to settle for whatever is available in stores or online, it encourages us to channel our inner-designer, and assures us that we all have one in there. Encouragement. Another reason I need to DIY.

  • Oscar Night Insight

    Jon Stewart and I wonder why nobody gets excited at the podium when they win an Academy Award. I think the winners are suffering from the same syndrome in their acceptance speeches that I am fighting about writing personal statements for post-grad programs. They’re using their time at the podium to deliver a profoundly moving statement with rehearsed eloquence, forgoing the genuine elation about winning the big award!

    So I’ve figured out how to direct the celebs into a more exciting Oscar night performance. I guess there’s nothing left to do but tackle those personal statements.

  • Lent

    Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2006 16:01:12 -0500
    From: Tessa
    To: Emily
    Cc: Eleanor Margaret
    Subject: yo

    hey ladies! emily i wanted to know how you were doing. how are you doing? i wanted to tell you both that i am (per usual) giving up something for lent. this year…

    chocolate chip cookies! a la eleanor. or as they say here [in Ecuador], ‘choco chip’

    im reserving the dark chocolate cookies that they have rarely as not part of lent.

    —
    Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2006 16:11:55 -0500
    From: Eleanor Margaret
    To: Tessa
    Cc: Emily
    Subject: Re: yo

    tessa, i am real impressed by your sacrifice for the lord. no potatoes this year, huh? i wasnt going to give up anything, then my friend luke said i had to so i gave up nutella. i never even had it till i came here, then i bought some, then i was a fatty. thus nutella is my lenten sacrifice.

    how are youuuu? did you get my email em? i loved your letter/artwork! i love and miss you both! im leaving for sicilyyyyyyy tomorrow. word.

    MUAH

    love els
    xoxo

    —
    Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2006 19:31:50 -0500
    From: Emily
    To: Eleanor Margaret
    Cc: Tessa
    Subject: Re: yo

    Wow, I can’t remember the last time I gave something up for Lent officially. I guess this year…I gave up Mount Holyoke! Hahahaha…okay, I’m sure one day I can look back on this and that line will be funny.

    I don’t even know what I could give up because right now nothing tastes good or sounds good or feels good, which is really discouraging and pretty sad. So I guess that’s how I’m doing, not so good, but I’m trying to at least keep a sense of humor about it, and getting e-mails from you guys helps so much, you have no idea!

    I think I will also give up los choco chips and nutella then, which is sort of cheating because I haven’t had a choco chip in a really long time anyway and I know there are none in the house, and there has NEVER been nutella in our house, so no big loss there. But The Lord will understand, right?

    Tessa, I hope that dark chocolate cookies are not so rare in your future so you can ejoy them more during Lent and Ellie, have a fabulous time in Sicily!

    Love you both a lot,
    XOXO
    Em

  • Te quiero

    Couples and singles alike have been celebrating Valentine’s Day for more than 500 years. I have been celebrating Valentine’s Day for almost exactly twenty-two. My mom still has the Valentine heart that the nurses stuck to my crib in the hospital nursery, delicate and pink, with my new name printed on the front.

    In Mexico, February 14th is “Día del amor y la amistad,” the day of love and friendship. It is with the philosophy of Día del amor y la amistad that I get through every year without a Valentine, without a second thought to single’s angst.

    My best Valentine’s Day memory is of my mom, my brother, and a dark parking lot. My grandmother was due in on a flight and her ride fell through. My mom scooped up the heart-shaped boxes of candy and loaded us into the car to meet Grandmom at the airport. I don’t remember inconvenience, impatience or boredom. I remember the three of us waiting in the parking lot, surrounded by dots of fluorescent light, enclosed together in the car eating our heart-shaped SweeTarts.

    “I love you” in Spanish is te amo or te quiero. Te amo translates directly to “I love to you,” or “You, I love.” Te quiero means “I want you.” I want to love you, I want you to love me, I want every part of you, I want you close to me. For Valentine’s Day, I want all the people I love close to me, even if it’s in an airport parking lot.

  • I have to practice saying “I’m twenty-two”

    I’m twenty-two!

    Having a winter birthday really isn’t so bad. Some years, I’ve had to tolerate slush and gray, but today’s sky was cloudless, the air fiercely cold in a way that felt fresh and clear. Stepping outside this morning was a sensation not unlike catapulting into a frigid body of water for a metaphorical ritual of rebirth. Lily brought me flowers when she came over to have breakfast; the petals popped yellow against the bright blue air and the fragrance was a lush allusion that soon, everything will start to thaw.

    I can always imagine celebrating in August though, on my half-birthday. I’ve always wanted to do something ridiculous and ridiculously fun on that day, go to the beach glowing with summer, swim and read magazines, eat ice cream in lieu of cake, sip frozen strawberry margaritas with equal parts sugar and alcohol. I’d catapult into the waves without risking hypothermia. The occasion would be more lovely and lighthearted and my dearest friends would still bring me bright blooms.

    So if you get an invitation late in the summer, don’t ask too many questions–just pack your swimsuit and BYO margarita glass.

  • Friend-date

    “Perfect timing,” Lily said, as we clomped toward the bus stop in almost-matching rain boots, and it was. The bus schedule, which I had extricated from inside her tote bag in a marvelously choreographed move, since her arms were full of almost every pair of shoes that she owned, said that the next bus would stop at Smith in four minutes, and we’d get an express trip back to MHC.

    It really had been one of those days when everything just worked, clicked, fit together effortlessly. With my coffee just right, and my mascara clump-free, the gentle rain seemed to fall only to give me a good excuse to wear my rubber boots.

    It all started with one lucky coincidence: Lily left a bag of shoes in her parent’s car, and they happened to run into Melissa’s parents and passed the shoes off because they were on their way to visit her at Smith that day. Lily asked me to go over with her to pick them up because I knew where the apartment was, and because we hadn’t been to visit Mel since a rugby game early in the fall.

    I had been looking forward to spending the day in Northamptonwith Lily all week. Sometimes, as an appointment or event or date, even a friend-date, gets closer, I begin to feel a weight grind down on every part of me, from my shoulders to my eyelids. It’s an imaginary but oppressive pressure. My own uncertainty, my own hesitation, and my own hang-ups combine forces to stir up anxiety that leaves me feeling vulnerable, hopeless and fatigued. I don’t always want to go out there because I don’t want to hit that sudden moment when I urgently crave the security that only my bed can offer. I don’t want to come home second-guessing myself.

    Yesterday, something felt different. I stretched out my shoulders and neck and it took a moment to realize that the usual weight was missing. In spite of the weather, the day looked clear and I remembered what lighthearted anticipation felt like.

    The thing about Lily and Melissa is that, in one way or another, they have been tied into my life for a long time. Lily and I have only been friends since we’ve been at Mount Holyoke together but, from our first in-person conversation, I’ve felt like we come from the same place, in more ways than one. We’ve lived less than five minutes away from each other for years without ever really even noticing. But it still amazes me how quickly we caught on to each other, the way we get each other’s stories.

    Melissa and I, for all of our opposites, have connected since we sat beside each other for a month in the second grade –and then asked the teacher to separate us because, well, we made better friends than neighbors. She sent me a get well card from her cat and her dog when I had the chicken pox and we stuck together during the most critical social moments in middle school: between the bells in a hallway swarm of pre-adolescents. When we ended up at colleges less than thirty minutes away from each other, I couldn’t think of anyone better to have close by, and though we don’t see each other a lot, she has always been there, with an open invitation, an open door or an open bottle, at just the right moment. She can ask, “Em, are you going to be okay if we go to the sex shop?” and it doesn’t sound like an insult. I count on that. I’ve always counted on her.

    It was one of those days when everything came together, and when I got home, I craved my bed. But only because I’m a lazy college student and I’d been soothed into a beatifically content Friday afternoon nap.

  • Political Avoidance Syndrome

    Right before the 2004 Presidential Elections, I got it into my head that I wanted to be a political blogger. I designed a confetti-like red, white and blue background and opened a blog. Sort of. I called it “I Don’t Know Anything About Politics” because I don’t, and I wrote three entries.

    I thought it would be interesting to record the thoughts, observations and questions of an environmentally aware, female college democrat voting for the first time. Someone who watched activism swirl all around her but stayed out of it all to avoid a) appearing ignorant b) appearing dumb c) getting in over my head and d) getting too wrapped up in it. Yes, I am one of the shameful Americans who hesitate to get involved. Guess what? Politics is an overwhelming subject. Also, politicians are intimidating. And one more thing: college activists can be downright scary!

    After a week or so, as campaign excitement began to heat up on campus, I stopped thinking “This is great, I’ll learn a little something and get to participate, indirectly, in the big election of my college career –call me Wonkette 2.0!” and started thinking, “Wait, I don’t know anything about politics.” Maybe I wasn’t ignorant, but I was certainly naive and easily distracted and seeing classmates who were all fired up made me feel a lot like a fraud. It didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore, hiding my own political illiteracy and bewilderment behind the premise for a blog.

    But if I had been ambitious [and brave] enough to stick with the idea, I would be following the Confirmation Hearings for Supreme Court Nominee Samuel Alito.

    Let me start by saying, until they were broadcast on MA Public Radio at work, I didn’t even know what a Confirmation Hearing was (even though the last sessions were held for John Roberts in the fall. Case in point: I’m oblivious). I thought, “Look, my country is a democracy and this guy is going to have to prove himself!” How can you go wrong when all those Senators asking the tough questions and getting straight to the dirty facts? (Dirty facts is a political term, right?)

    I decided to do some research about the confirmation hearing process, and a couple of things impressed me: everybody had a chance to speak and there are at least two rounds of questioning – opportunities for follow-up discussions – and even a third round if the senators want more time. And from what I was hearing on the radio, it sounded like the Dems were making their case.

    But then I remembered a little thing called confirmation bias. Of course it sounded to me like ‘my side’ was ‘winning,’ I was unconsciously tuning in to hear the Democrat Senators speak and minimizing or tuning out completely when a Republican’s turn came. Meanwhile, I knew that I didn’t even have my own strong conviction for or against Judge Alito, so I felt a little pretentious rooting against him by Democrat-Default.

    Judge Alito is expected to be confirmed on Tuesday and it doesn’t even look like I’ll get a filibuster out of it. It looks like it’s time to put the politics back on the shelf and start reading shopping blogs again.

  • Midnight:23 In the Library

    I’m working on a paper that isn’t due until the last day of classes.

    I’ve just returned from the stacks with a reference book. As if it isn’t satisfying enough that the lengthy row of call numbers actually lead to the floor, to the hallway, to the aisle, to the shelf, to the spine of the exact book that I need, sometimes it seems like a lucky coincidence that the College happens to own a title that I have never seen on a bookstore shelf. Then I look up at the ornate chandeliers, the sweeping rafters with mermaids carved into the supporting angles, and I’m struck with the reminder I’m not just shopping at Barnes and Noble in the middle of the night.