Monday, December 23, 2013

Needs Improvement

Forgive me if you can, dear reader, for neglecting your need to receive frequent updates about my life. As can be expected, I've had a busy few months after the museum opened in San Antonio. If I can be completely honest here (which I believe I can, as long as I don't incriminate anyone except myself) there have been a couple of days that I've had to ask Google how exactly I should be doing my job. Having no precedent to follow, I like to think it's a savvy and thorough move on my part.

Me and a new friend at the Member Holiday Party I organized.

I had to do a self-evaluation last week, and --not to toot my own horn, (which by the way has incredible pitch and sound quality)-- I couldn't think of many aspects of my performance that "needed improvement." I can think of several people who could be gently coerced to go on record saying I'm pretty fucking great (their words, not mine). You guys know how pumped I was/am to have a legit job, why would I execute any project that could be described as "needing improvement"? I'm the person who has all the notes written on the white board before my meeting starts, the person who keeps everyone in the loop on all projects that may or may not affect them, the person who makes time to develop a rapport with everyone from the Executive Director down to the janitorial team, the person who's bursting with creative ideas, the person who one time came up with catchy title for a program and somehow has gained the reputation of a lyrical genius, and the person who asks to voluntarily run the office-wide Secret Santa. I'm essentially irreplaceable. So, how do I say that other people need improvement in order for me to work better -- without sounding like a jerk? Let me know if you figure that one out.

Being silly with some co-workers. See? I'm hilarious AND adorable. And that's indispensable.

This year has been somewhat of a whirlwind. It started out with me working both an unpaid internship and a retail job in Austin, living with my mom, and using public transportation out of necessity. Sounds like the opening montage of a loathsome made-for-TV movie, right? Well, now I'm writing to you from the comfort of my very own 1-bedroom (but sort of efficiency-esque) apartment in a semi-shady neighborhood near downtown San Antonio (does this sound like it's getting better yet?) with my very own new-smelling compact car parked below, which I drive daily to my job in a pretty museum that overlooks the River Walk. When I think of what I have accomplished, I have to be proud of myself, and I can't complain about work [so... ignore previous paragraph]. Luckily through all these changes I've had the constant support of my loving family and incredible boyfriend.

Me and Jonny Bear getting our first Christmas tree (residing at his apartment)

I am glad to have a job that enables me to take care of myself and requires me to be responsible for myself on a daily basis. In my opinion, there is no greater feeling of self actualization than living alone and learning you can provide for yourself -- on a physical and emotional level. That knowledge begets a confidence and openness that allows you to care for people in your life in a deeper, more meaningful way.

So, let me ask myself, do I need improvement? Absolutely. I don't imagine I'll ever be in a place where I won't need improvement. I could improve by trying not to compare the success of my peers with that of my own. How? By reminding myself that every living being in this world is a different person with different circumstances. (And that those bastards most certainly never post on social media about their failures.) I could improve by not taking people's comments or actions as personally as I do sometimes. How? By trying to work through my receipt of their message in a calm, rational way. (And reminding myself they have their own stupid problems.) I could improve by being more health conscious. How? By setting a goal of running a walk-run-dance 5K with friends in February. (And planning meals other than "clean the pantry" nights e.g. clementines, ice cream, chips and salsa, black olives, corn tortillas ... yes, in that order.)

Hanging with some pals, new and old, from my young professional networking organization.

I am always thinking of ways I could be a better person. But when the question is, does my professional performance need improvement? I will find an eloquent way to say I could work better if my creative ideas weren't tabled, if other people were as passionate as I am about the work, and if I didn't already do such a damn good job in the first place.

Happy Holidays to everyone! xoxo

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Now Open

Somehow it is already November. Not sure how that happened. The past few months have gone by very quickly for me, especially October which was filled with preparations for the museum's Grand Opening celebration. We all put in a lot of late hours to make sure everything was in place for the public's viewing pleasure. When all was said and done, I'd worked 7 days straight finalizing last-minute details and somehow I lived to tell the tale.

media preview event, courtesy facebook.com/TheBriscoe

Last Saturday, the morning of our Grand Opening to the public, I was running around trying to find a table and chairs that were supposed to be delivered and staged to sell memberships. Mind you I was doing this while wearing cowboy boots and a faux-suede fringed vest (because when have I been known to not deliver on a theme?) The competent staff members I had trained to sell memberships somehow were given other tasks and I had to find some semi-capable volunteers to man my tables. Meanwhile I missed the ribbon cutting ceremony because I was stationed at the front desk to receive our very first visitors. I like to think my boss' decision to put me there was strategic since I am one of the more knowledgeable non-education department staff members (I've been training with our docents to learn more about the building and our collection). Though as the day wore on an elderly gentleman pointed out that the best looking people were at the front desk. Either way, it's a compliment, and I'll take it.

The Development Team. And yes, our desk is covered in cow hide.

We must have had thousands of visitors over the weekend. Likewise, I must've told as many people where our bathrooms are located. 95% of the comments I received were positive -- everyone loved the space, the artwork, the project. Native San Antonians were proud to see another cultural institution open up in the downtown area. Tourists were pleased to have stumbled upon the event. And of course 5% of the comments were just plain rude -- people were pissed that photography wasn't allowed and angrily exclaimed "I was at the Louvre and they let you take pictures of everything there!" or they asked "How am I supposed to remember what I've seen today?!" to which I wondered, (haughtily) Does this look like Paris, buddy? and (pensively) What does this say about technology's effect on memory? [As a sidenote, I'd love to allow people to take photos in the museum and share them - but since there are lots of objects on display which are on loan from collectors, we can't allow people to photograph them since they don't belong to the museum.]

media preview event, courtesy facebook.com/TheBriscoe


Luckily the madness of Opening week was interspersed with a few enjoyable events, such as The Witte Game Dinner - a big fundraiser for the local science/history museum featuring a smorgsabord of wild meats. My boss was given 2 tickets and she invited me to tag along and rub elbows with the big name donors that have also donated to our museum. My favorite sampling of the night: the venison enchiladas. Also noteworthy: the Kahlua milkshake; a game-changer as far as dessert libations are concerned. Though I was technically working that evening, I had a fun night and it was a brief respite from the museum mayhem.

requisite picture with the pony at The Witte Game Dinner

Thankfully I had loved ones who stopped by during Opening weekend to show their support -- Jon, my mom, Nicole -- I felt very glad to have them see the project I've been working on and the goal my team has been working towards. In the end all the hard work was worth it, the weekend was successful, there was a great turn out, and our debut was well received. I feel very blessed to have the opportunity to work at a museum that is brand new-- it's essentially a start-up business and working here has already given me so much experience that I wouldn't have otherwise. I'm looking forward to figuring out how my tasks will shift and adapt now that we are officially open!

Monday, October 14, 2013

Notes on Living Alone

I've decided to make a list of things I've learned about living alone. Included are some things I've learned about myself, others are things I wish someone had told me. But maybe that's an enigma of solitude-- you never truly understand the unique nature of living alone until you've experienced the complete freedom that is intra-apartment nudity. These are observations of the immense joy and sometimes earthly peril that I experience on a daily basis.

selfie from ACL weekend
  1. A bottle of wine is many more fluid ounces than expected when not shared with other people.
  2. The presence of a strategically placed scented oil diffuser can completely change my mood when walking in the door after a long day.
  3. I still cannot do laundry properly. Example: an adorable red $7 clearance Old Navy wrap dress that will now fit a professional-looking 12 year old girl.
  4. Money management is a bitch, but Mint.com can organize your debit purchases, make you feel terrible for your spending habits, and guilt you into saving more money.
  5. Unless I make myself a meal, I don't eat. Still wrapping my brain around this one.
  6. GROCERIES ARE EXPENSIVE. Someone tell me how whole families are able to subsist on mediocre budgets. Seriously.
  7. I can eat whatever the hell I want for dinner (e.g. 6 handfuls of Goldfish, a black bean burger patty, several cherry tomatoes, and some cheddar cheese)
  8. Unless I clean my apartment, it doesn't get clean. Also to be noted, if I make a mess, it is MY MESS so I can accept responsibility for cleaning it.
  9. The me that lives alone likes to listen to informative podcasts during my entire morning routine.
  10. I make coffee in the morning, not because I need it, but because I can. I like the ritual. And using agave nectar for something.
  11. I can successfully sustain the life of an aloe vera plant (going on 2 weeks).
  12. When using normal recipes with a yield for a small family, cooking for one becomes very much about LEFTOVERS. The kind that excited you the first day, but by day 3 the sight of it makes you cringe. You even begin to make excuses to go out in order to avoid said leftovers.
  13. Unless I do my dishes (BY HAND! no dishwasher) somehow they won't get done. I continue to pass them, wondering if they're still there even though I haven't touched them. They are.
  14. I can cry about my completely reasonable electricity bill and promptly refuse to turn on my A/C wall unit. Until I can't take it anymore.
  15. I talk to myself aloud. Often.
  16. I have a need to use tools. Screwdrivers, hammers, wrenches, all of those bad boys (which I keep in plastic bag, like a boss). And I like using 'em, makes me feel accomplished. (see: the time I attached my license plates, the time I affixed basket and safety lights to my bike) I also changed my refrigerator light bulb this week. No tools required, but still.
  17. This might be the most upsetting of all. When living alone, you have to kill your own bugs. $(@!&*$!@$(%! WTF. Why. WHY ME? No one is here to feel sorry for me or offer to use THEIR flip-flop to end the life of a nasty little cockroach who darts across my bathtub! And no one can hear me scream! (Except Jon when I had to call him for moral support. Sorry, babe.) I've had to smush my own ants, and thwack my own creepy flying bee-looking insect. It's unjust.
  18. Laying a yoga mat on the floor does not encourage me to do self-guided yoga practice.
  19. I can go out with friends and stay out until 11:00 just like all the crazy kids my age are doing. Woooo! Watch out everybody.
  20. My apartment is a judgment-free zone. Did I decide to try out a mayo hair treatment one day? Yeah girl, but ain't nobody judging you for that. YOU LIVE ALONE. And your hair is a little softer for it.

Honestly what I've really learned, and what I essentially already knew, is that it's critical to be okay with being alone. To accept yourself and enjoy your own company. Two weekends ago on a bus to Austin City Limits Music Festival, I noticed all the solo passengers checking their phones as though something else was very important and needed their attention. But it seems to me that no one is okay with being alone anymore, not even for a few minutes. It sounds crazy, but people have commented that they find it refreshing when they see me write in my journal-- they thought "nobody does that anymore." It's sad to think people aren't spending time with themselves -- even with all the encouragement from Dove Chocolate foil wrappers. I can say I am happy to be comfortable in my own skin and with my own thoughts. Feels good.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

New Girl

When you move to a new city, you've got to be open to meeting new people. If you're me, you've got to force yourself into countless situations in which people interact so that you feel you're accomplishing something. Mainly because if you don't, people might think you're a weirdo. It's like belly flopping off the high board into an Olympic sized swimming pool of social situations. Not that I dislike new acquaintances and learning what it is people do around here, but endless smalltalk does tend to wear on one's resolve.

I've been "new" plenty of times in the past 3 years --abroad I was even foreign for a little while, which is like "new" on PEDs*. I did just fine, made friends from all over the world, and then in NYC I befriended a kindred spirit, a 79 year old woman named Phyllis. I am adaptable, which is a quality I love about myself, yet I've found there are limitations to my extroversion. 

let's all remember this gem, shall we? Fancy Hat Easter Brunch with Phyllis, 2012

I really enjoy socializing with small groups of people, this is why I have strong relationships with my family and close friends, why I was able to build friendships with students in my small university abroad, why I had such a bond with Phyllis. My social sweet spot is in small numbers. (These revelations about my demeanor began 3 years ago when my uncle gave me this book about introverts). I consider myself an ambivert, an adaptable introvert, who is more of a listener than a talker. Which is why I believe I have such solid friendships, why I am so introspective with this blog, and also why Jon and I are such a good match (his mom says he started talking at 9 months and hasn't shut his mouth since).

The problem with this, of course, is that in order to meet people I have to really try and get out there. Social norms dictate I cannot simply have a deep and meaningful conversation with a stranger in line at the grocery store. I have to begin the painstaking process of establishing friendships. I have to weasel my way into pre-established groups and prove my social merit. That is the exhausting part. 

Friends from Italy Year 1 and beyond: Georgina, Ricarda, me and Natalia

How do I do it, you ask? Well, meeting people could include adding oneself to several niche-y social groups on Meetup.com, attending the weekly mixer with a local business association, signing up for informational events with organizations that appear to be hip, blindly reaching out to people in your profession, and joining professional organizations. So far, my first month in San Antonio, I've really outdone myself. I joined an exercise group on Meetup.com and walked 4 miles around the Riverwalk with a group of 12 divorcées. Oversight on my part. I attended 3 networking mixers with local business associations and passed out my business card to people who kept trying to sell me something, which was too inauthentic to actually making friends. I signed up for an informational event at a contemporary art lab and made conversation with an older couple from England. I scheduled 2 lunch meetings with people who do my job at other museums in San Antonio. I joined a Downtown Kickball League in which my dues go toward a case of beer for each week's game. I'm spent.

my plaid-clad Kickball team, 11-8 loss, as portrayed in the San Antonio Express News

There were two times this month that I drove to an event I had every intention of attending, parked my car, waited 5-10 minutes, and just went home. I couldn't do it. I didn't have the energy to meet people, tell them my spiel, rinse and repeat. I envy people like my friend Hannah who is so effortlessly approachable and consistently convivial -- it's a beautiful thing. Even though I'm not exactly in my element yet, I'm really proud of myself for trying to build a social circle. These things come with time. And I won't get down on myself for the days I drive back home, more enthused by the prospect of being alone in my apartment reading a book and eating cheese and crackers.

*Performance Enhancing Drugs, for my foreign friends who read this blog :)

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Occupation

My friends warned me that I should enjoy part time or temporary work as long as I could, because full time work was a personal prison. Maybe their statements weren't so steeped in hyperbole, but I remember thinking I should cherish the leniency and non-committal nature of dead-end jobs. In the real world, my sources told me, no one lets you off your shift early, and you can't ask for 10 days off during summer for vacation, foregoing hourly wages. I wanted this to be reassuring, but I found myself yearning for the structure of a 9-5 workday.

obviously, it would be just like this.
(image from idolator.com)

I wanted a chair. One with lumbar support. I wanted a desk, where I could put things. I don't know what exactly, but I would put things on that desk. I would append things to the walls, likely notes, post-its, memos, other office-type paraphernalia. I didn't even care if those walls were the soft fabric walls of a cubicle. I wanted a space that was mine where everyone knew I resided. I would swivel on that chair, perhaps flipping my hair in the process, when my name was called to look over an important document. I wanted everything that office chair symbolized, and I began to associate space and office furniture with power. This was a standard case of occupational desperation.

Ergonomics, y'all! 
(image from hermanmiller.com)

When I was finally offered a job in my field, I cried. Not on the phone when they offered it to me, of course, but right after. We all know I'm a Sensitive Sally so that's no surprise, but here's why: someone gave me a chance. Someone actually believed in the work I could produce. Someone saw potential in the minimally-exaggerated content of my resume. Someone wanted to depend on me, collaborate with me, and see me as a contributing member of a team. It sounds so simple, but it meant everything to me at the time.

Over were the days of putting my personal items in a cubby or locker to start my shift. Over were the days of trying to sit down for a while without being caught. Someone was offering me a chair, a desk, and, eventually, a filing cabinet. How can something so trivial bring me such joy? Perhaps because I have shared space for years -- both at work and at home. Starting this job has been emotionally and professionally liberating because I finally feel important! I have an apartment to myself, a car that is only mine, and a desk at a museum. And I earned it. 

The desk/office to aspire to. 
(image from weheartit.com)

My desk is small, already covered with spreadsheets, documents, post-its, and folders. I've made a board for pictures, and I've got a jar with peanut M&Ms in it. I'm not exactly in a cubicle, it's more like a niche or a nook, but I like to call it an alcove. I have a desktop computer that is plugged into the wall. I have business cards with my name on them, spelled correctly. I suppose I get comfort from the permanence these things bring with them. 

I give everyone permission to throw this post back in my face once I really start feeling the daily grind and the man begins to truly hold me down. But at least for now my alcove doesn't feel like a prison, rather a liberating new form of ownership and control over my life.

until I'm jaded, anyway
 (image from veejayheartbeat.blogspot.com)

Sunday, August 11, 2013

A Fresh Start

I'm not perfect. I'm 26 years old and just now getting a grasp of what being an adult should mean. I feel as though nobody told me it's like a swift kick in the face, then another for good measure, but I won't blame any of you. I'd like to believe this is how everyone transitions into adulthood: amid a series of challenges and setbacks. I'd also like to believe I'm not the only one who's not very good at being an adult yet. The impetus for this blog is my experience in this very transition, and the title reflects my sometimes-failed attempts at being a responsible, self-sustaining grown-up. Allow me to expand upon my recent tribulations.

c'mon... take me seriously

A lot has happened to/for me in the past year. I graduated with my Master's degree abroad and moved back to the Lone Star State, feeling extremely capable and full of promise. Unfortunately the feeling wasn't mutual with the Austin arts job market and I found myself taking odd jobs and retail positions to get by. Not exactly a transition that anyone loves to make: from discussing art theory with colleagues and professors to systematically shipping boxes of UT merchandise. 

it's a cold, cold world out there, folks. gotta get your jackets and suit up!

I was somewhat relieved to note that almost all my coworkers were degreed individuals, and thankfully some would commiserate with me regarding our low standing on the economic totem pole. Some days I would feel proud of myself for at least doing something, albeit menial labor, because not everyone was fortunate enough to be working. But, I'll be honest, most days I was ornery or dejected, feeling like I had taken several steps backwards in life. And then I came across this quote in a blog:

It doesn't matter how slow you're moving as long as you're moving. As long as you're making relentless forward progress. And guess what? Part of forward progress means pausing sometimes and getting off track sometimes and wandering around in circles and taking sixteen steps back because that's what real change in real life looks like.

also, this really resonates with me

That tidbit, coupled with relentless supportive pep-talks from my mom, helped me keep trying. Also, in the midst of this, I happened to meet the love of my life without even looking for him. Thanks to an odd job that had me selling popsicles at a music festival (I know, ridiculous) I met Jon, who turned out to be the best unexpected gift I could've ever been given. Cliché as it may be, very early in our relationship I "just knew" he was the one and that part of my life fell very easily, comfortably and happily into place. Professionally, I was not where I wanted to be, but thankfully I had a very strong emotional support system.

me & jon

I went on so many interviews, for jobs I didn't even want but I knew they'd be better than what I was already doing. I kept being told by close friends I should be happy I'm getting interviews at all, so I tried to be upbeat about it. But I constantly ended up in the final two candidates and then not being chosen. That happened to me 3 times! It's hard to say if that's worse than just knowing you didn't get the job - this way I knew I was consistently ALMOST good enough, but not quite-- a close second to another anonymous individual.

Now, nearly a year after graduating, I have found the person I want to spend my life with, I accepted a job offer at a yet-to-open western art museum in San Antonio, I got a car, I moved into my own apartment, and I'm officially on my way to serious adulthood. And I feel blessed to have all of these things-- it has been worth the wait. Although I've had to leave a city that has been my home for nearly 12 years, one that is also home to my lovely mom, my beau, and some of my favorite eateries and establishments, you all know me and my shifting concept of "home" over the past few years. I embrace change and I stare challenge in the face, daring it to best me (well, sometimes). If I can call a lopsided futon in a 40-something couple's Turin apartment "home", or a tiny twin bed in an 80-year-old woman's New York apartment "home", then I can call a small 1/1 apartment in an artist/inventor couple's San Antonio historic house "home".

A toast!

Here's to a fresh start in a new city that is now my home. Join me on all my misadventures into real adulthood -- it may be a late start, but it's a start, and everybody's got to start somewhere. It might as well be here.