mental health day

isn't it pretty to think . . the simple things in life could help ease the bigger things that plague the world (& your mind)?

sometimes it can.

tomorrow, i'm taking a mental health day. another thing i love about my job . . an extremely understanding and supportive staff and management.

work has been rough lately. i need to be inspired again. maybe it's because i haven't traveled and haven't spent much time with local communities. maybe it's because it's been cold with nothing but my fleece throw to keep me warm. maybe it's because i've been realizing that the only person here to take care of me is myself. maybe it's because i'm tired of always being the youngest person in the room. maybe it's because i'm tired of always being the only asian american in the room. maybe . . maybe i'm just tired.

while i will probably end up doing some work . . it's going to be fun. got a few check-in calls with my local partners in sacramento, providence, and philadelphia. gotta finish up some budget recommendations . . and that's it!

here's a list of some stuff i do to clear my head . . that i definitely plan on doing tomorrow.

work out: unfortunately, it's too cold to run outside . . but i'm hoping that the lazies aren't going to be taking up all the thread mills at the gym . . and i'll get some weights in too.

cook: something yummy . . like my favorite noodles that i used to buy at the temple in san diego for just a dollar.

clean: my kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom has seen better days. i used to keep my bedroom pretty clean (maybe it helped that i was barely in it), but lately, it's fallen apart.

read: still trucking through one of my favorite books, The Sun Also Rises. if you haven't read it, u're missing out. i have a beautiful vintage copy my friend pamela bought me when i turned 18.

laundry: i guess along the same lines as cleaning. it's quite literary catharic.

emails: read and write long emails. fun.

shop: the ultimate therapy session.

snow-pocalypse. snow-magedon. snow-gams. snOVERKILL.

Isn’t it pretty to think . . that blood always ran thicker than water?

As someone who really enjoys the outdoors, all this snow isn’t as fun anymore. While I haven't really been cooped up inside at all... even the thought of being forced to stay inside today because of the wind, heavy, snow, and lack of plowing is making me go nuts. I figured, maybe I should try to think happier snow thoughts to fight off cabin fever.

. . Like that REACH! Retreat to Tahoe.

. . Or that snowboarding trip with my sister, Scott, and Ralph.



Okay, maybe I don’t want to think about that trip.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I went on the big snow trip with my brother, sister, their partners, and the 25+ other “cousins” and family friends that I grew up.

It’s become an annual thing. The San Diego Lue kids (whether we still live in San Diego or not) and the Denver Lue kids (which, actually mostly still live in and around Denver) get together once a year for a big snow trip. Last year, they all made a big trip to Park City, Utah… this year, we were making the trip up to Breckenridge, Colorado.



Yes, folks. That was the house we stayed in... and almost nothing about it was refugee-style. Look at how we packed for the weekend.



So, when I say kids and cousins… I guess it’s a bit misleading. We’re not really kids anymore – I mean, some of us HAVE kids. Our ages range from about 35 to 22. My Uncle Dopey is about 35 and my “cousins” Tom and George are 22. And then, I realized, by San Diego and Denver Lue kids, I was really referring to the cohort of 1.5 to 2.0 generation Lue kids that grew up and/or were born here in the United States. I mean, the 30 of us on the trip were definitely NOT all of the 1.5 and 2.0 generation. We’re just a small portion of the larger group that have gotten close to one another through being resettled in the same city or neighborhood, going to the same high schools, having the first same jobs, etc.

Also, when I say “cousins”… I guess that’s also a little misleading. Most of us, are cousins… like 4th cousins or something where the family tree would be too complicated to figure out… and to be honest, the branches might cross over one too many times for it to be a pleasant experience to figure out. We’ve just become closer to one another than our “real” cousins because we saw each other at least every weekend instead of just once a year and we spent time together doing nothing instead of only seeing each other during big things like weddings, funerals, etc.

Our bond is through experiences and not necessarily through blood. I guess that’s what happens in a disapora community that has fled several borders and resettled in a way to purposefully disempower you. You cling to those near and count on each other as family because your real family might be spread across several states or several other countries.

I guess Professor Um would call us apart of that special generation that are the “cultural brokers” of our people – the people who create that bridge between the old and the new… the migration and the resettlement… the homeland that will never be the same and the new home that will never live up to its expectations – and maybe the fact that we’re descendants of not only refugees but also the descendants of some awkward ethnic minority that no one talks about within the context of wars of Southeast Asia makes our stories and experiences particularly one of kind.

I mean, I don’t think many people can say their family members consist of people who go by Uncle Dopey, Brother Bear, Six, Lil Man, Funny, and Shane (while his real name is Steve)?

Or, many people can say that most of their older guy cousins have some homemade tatoos of “Lue” on their shoulder – maybe to remind themselves that they aren’t Lao?

Or, many people are closer to the “cousins” they grew up with – who they have years and years of shared experiences with but probably have no blood relation with them – then their actual cousins – who they share grandparents, aunts, and uncles with but probably see only once of twice a year?

While I make an extra effort to avoid going all ethnic studies on my family, maybe I don’t really ever have to because we are apart of it.

Maybe, we’ve all kind of realized that our stories and experiences are pretty one of a kind – yet very much from the same thread. Maybe that’s why we do these trips – to combat the policy of dispersal that spread our families, while all from the same villages, out across this huge ass country. Maybe that’s why we all prioritize making the time to spend with one another – to combat the alienation that we feel and experience as Lue Americans – no, not Lao American or Thai Americans – but Lue Americans.

Maybe we realize that there’s a reason why our parents get together for hours to drink beer, eat good home cooked food, and reminisce… about their childhood (before the war), their childhood and adolescent years (during the war), their early adulthood years sneaking out of the refugee camps to party in Thailand, and their adulthood years of first coming to the United States, figuring out how to drive, ditching adult school, their first jobs cleaning random office buildings, their kids, their kids kids, etc.

It’s like how we get together to drink beer, eat good home cooked food, and reminisce… about our childhood and living a few blocks away from each other, our adolescent years and taking the bus and trolley to the mall and the beach, our early adulthood years and going to high school, ditching high schools, and/or dropping out of high school, and our current adulthood years… which we’re still living and making the memories for stories of, “hey, remember that time at Jenny and Six’s wedding and you were so f-ed up?” or “hey, remember that year at City Park where you sang karaoke till 4am and then we woke up at 9am to go boarding?” or “hey, remember that time at Copper Mountain where Monica did a superman right before she got to the bottom and we were all watching her?”

Our stories of adulthood are going to be great… and we’re going to keep making the time for some good material and we’re definitely going to tell them over and over and over again for generations to come – blood related or not... because sometimes water can and does run thicker or as thick as blood.


And yes, that's another failed Thammarath siblings picture.

Failed Attempt to Fall Out of Love with U.S. History, Government, and Politics.

Isn’t it pretty to think . . that everything was either black and white? You either love it or you hate it. You either dread it or desired it? No combinations of both and nothing in between?

Well, this black or white, love or hate, and dread or desire issue is exactly what I face before, during, and after each of the training sessions in the WeLEAD program that I’m in.

WeLEAD is a program hosted by American University’s Women & Politics Institute. The tag line is, “Women Bringing Women to the Power Center.” It’s basically a year-long program for young women interested in politics under the age of 25. We have sessions once a month on Saturdays and sample topics have been professional development, fundraising, government, elections & campaigns, international development, etc. It’s a way to get more young women into politics, whether it be working in politics or running for office.

I was really hesitant to apply.

I mean, the images I got from picturing a room full of young political junkies sounded worst than getting a bunch of pre-law undergraduates together in one room. But a last, I am/was one of them. Both of them.

You see, I grew up loving U.S. history, government, and politics . . and I’m not saying that as an understatement.

I loved memorizing the dates of the major battles of the civil war, reciting the preamble of the Constitution, drawing charts of our federal government’s checks and balances, reading re-reading, and sometimes even re-re-reading chapters upon chapters of textbooks . . you get the idea.

I’m not sure what it was.

• Maybe it was my dad constantly reminding me how lucky I was to grow up and go to school in the U.S. instead of fleeing communism and raising water buffalo in Laos . .
  
  
• Or maybe it Mr. Hughes – my really amazing social studies teacher in the 7th and 8th grade – who made my class simulate a make up scenario of putting Harry S. Truman on stand for dropping the atomic bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima (for which, I got to be the actual judge of the case) . .
  
  
• Or maybe it was Mr. Giardina – my even more amazing government and U.S. history teacher in the 10th, 11th, and 12th grades – who did wonderful things like give our class a pass or fail test on the U.S. presidents on the second day of school . .
  
  
• Or maybe I really just was a nerdy kid that liked reading, writing about, and daydreaming of being alive and apart of the making of this country’s foundation.
  

I often wish that I came to Washington, DC during this part of my life.

When I was younger, I wanted to be many things in life. However, no matter what the occupation, I was always really, really, determined and committed. .

The first thing I wanted to be was a fashion designer. This was during my younger years of playing with my Barbie dolls and making their own clothes from my grandma’s scrap material (already made Barbie clothing was just ridiculously expensive). While this phase ended when I went to school, this might be why I never have enough storage space for all my clothes, shoes, and accessories.

The next thing I wanted to be was a teacher. However, this too somewhat faded once I entered a school without a Gifted And Talented Education (GATE) and realized not all students were that excited about being in school and didn’t all admire/love their teachers. I was basically scared away from being a teacher because I didn’t want to get locked in my closet by her students like what happened to my dance teacher in the 7th grade and I didn’t want to find graffiti in my classroom saying, “Ms. Thammarath is a [insert expletive here].“

The last and final thing I wanted to be before I entered college and this current “I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-my-life” phase was a lawyer. However, I didn’t want to be a lawyer because I particularly I wanted to be in a courtroom or anything like that . . I just knew that being a lawyer might help me become a Senator one day.

Please try to subside your laughter because, yes, that’s right . . at one point in my life, my dream was to be an elected official . . and a U.S. Senator seemed to be the most appealing to be at the time.

I mean, it wasn’t exactly out of pocket: 1) I loved U.S. history, government, and politics and 2) I was school/class president in elementary school, middle school, AND high school.

I don’t think my interest in being a lawyer and an elected official was ever really about wanting to have all that power and control (but I’m sure knowing my type-A personality, that had something to do with it too). I think it was more about wanting to help other people get the most out of this country . . but looking back, I’m not exactly sure what possessed me to think that was something I could do as a Senator.

Anyway, to my parent’s delight, I kinda threw the whole lawyer and elected official thing out the window (yes, against the model minority thing, they always wanted me to be a teacher or professor) once I heard my first ethnic studies inspired workshop at the Southeast Asian Student Coalition’s Summer Institute in the summer of 2003.

Instead of being that bright-eyed-fill-me-up-with-your-western-perspective-and-propaganda-of-history-and-government, I began to (re)question everything.

• I no longer only saw the civil war as the symbol of this country’s endurance . . but began to see the continued racism that they failed to end during reconstruction.
  
  
• I no longer marveled in the words of justice, tranquility, welfare, and liberty . . but see the document as institutionalizing not just the overall government but also institutionalizing disparities, limited access, the haves and have nots, the people who matter and the people who only matter 5/8s of the time, racism, and . . so many other things that don’t seem related to any of the stuff in the preamble.
  
  
• I no longer thought our three branches of government was a flawless structure to guide checks and balances . . but began to see the problems of congress members constantly campaigning, Supreme Court Justices that were out of touch and way too old, and career bureaucrats in the various departments that made things extremely difficult to change despite who was President at the time.
  

And with that, I began trying to fall out of love with U.S. history, government, and politics.

Unfortunately, I never really did.

Hence, the whole picking up and moving across the country thing . . the bubbly feeling I get every time I see the Capitol, especially at night time when all the lights are on . . why I love sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial thinking about how much my dad would love that view . . and why I have a picture of one of the quotes at Jefferson’s Memorial on my phone’s wallpaper . .

Like with most things that I care about really deeply, I really just continued to have this love and hate relationship with U.S. history, government, and politics. However, more importantly I just started to have this love and hate relationship with myself for never being able to fall out of love with it.

So despite the horrific images of overly ambitious, probably privileged and not very diverse, probably pretty intense young women all in one room . . I applied for WeLEAD. When I turned in my application, I didn’t think I’d hear back . . or at least I was preparing myself for a rejection letter.

The part of me that loved government and politics wanted to apply, put my best foot forward, and get accepted (accepted, meant a whole lot more than just accepted into the program).

The part of me that hated government and politics wanted to apply, put all my qualms about politics and people interested in politics on paper, and make sure they only accepted me for me and all my off the wall political opinions . . or be rejected so I could rejoice in not being “one of them.”

The questions on the application were generic. Stuff like: 1) What do you want to gain from taking part in the program? 2) What do you think you could contribute?

I really didn’t think I was going to get into the program because my essays weren’t exactly . . diplomatic . . (not sure if that’s the right word . . but it could work)? I wrote some essays on the importance of recognizing not only gender but also the intersections with sexuality, race, class, etc. I basically kinda just laid out the “I’m-an-angry-womxn-of-color-and-you-probably-don’t-get-many-applicants-like-me-so-you-should-accept-me-but-if-you-don't-I-don't-care-because-I-don't-need-you-anyway” message into two pages.

To my surprise, I received an email notifying me that out of hundreds of applicants, I was one of the oh-so-lucky 50 or so women who was accepted to the program.

So here again, the love part of me was really excited; I felt like I made it into the “club.” However, the other part of me was really ashamed; I felt like it just confirmed that I was “one of them.”

So, naturally, as the only Asian American woman in the program (surprise, surprise) . . and the maybe handful of women of color in the program, whenever I go to the sessions, I always cling onto the same 3 black women and 1 latina in the program.

The last time everyone met . . I ditched the program to go to North Carolina with the dream team. This time, I really had to go or else I was going to get kicked out of the program.

The topic was Elections and Campaigns . . and I got to tell you, by the end of the session, I was thinking of ways to rearrange my life to be able to work on the 2012 election. What I enjoy most about every session is that the facilitators and panelists are so outwardly partisan and opinionated. WeLEAD sessions are never lacking in political jokes and playful poking of the other side. Oh, but they are also never lacking in the how-to-balance-your-ambitious-career-and-your-biological-clock thing either.

What made this session different was that they actually split the participants into OUR political affiliations. The moderator literary said,

“Okay, Democrats to the left, Republicans to the right, and if you think you’re independent, pick a fucking side.”

It was refreshing to hear.

Just like how sometimes, it’s refreshing to just admit . . That government and politics excites me. That I have a love and hate relationship with it because sometimes, I love that I hate it . . but also, I always hate that I love it. That sometimes, I can’t help but think that the civil war is a symbol of this country’s resilience and commitment to fundamental values, the Constitution is an amazing document that has created a whole lot of opportunities, and the three branches of the government is a genius way to organize a government.

Really, it is refreshing . . especially when I also get to admit that almost everything is some combination of black/white, love/hate, dread/desire . . and if not, it’s usually a combination of either of the polar sides.

trying to re-live a bit of the past

isn't it pretty to think . . that rallying up your old group of friends to do something that used to be so easy for you to do as 17 and 18 year olds could be as easy to do when you're 23 and 24 years old too?

2003

In high school, my closest friends and I used to call each other the Huntington Crew: Darlene, Felix, Mikhael, Pamela, and me. This name sprung from the fact that during the junior year of high school, we all took AP Art History with Ms. Graham.

In fact, Pamela loved the class so much that she later went on to college to study Art History and aspired to be Ms. Graham . . while that dream was never reached because of other BIGGER aspirations (which I will mention later), this just illustrates how seriously we took that class . . as we did many of our classes because we were a bunch of nerds and didn't care if people thought that being nerds was a bad thing.

Anyway, one of the things that we had to do as apart of the extra requirements for the class was a to visit an art museum. Many students went to the San Diego Museum of Art, in beautiful and scenic (and romantic) Balboa Park. Other students went to the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego, tucked in the hills of (bougie ass) La Jolla. But us, we were the overachievers the true connoisseurs of art (or at least, crap we thought was kinda artsy).

Looking back, we were a bit arrogant . . probably to mask our nerdiness.

So one day, it just so happened that the five of us were sitting around (I would say we were eating lunch, but I almost always ate lunch in the ASB room) and realized that none of us had completed this extra requirement for the class. I don't remember who's brilliant idea it was . . but someone suggested to drive up to Huntington Library for the day to fulfill the requirement.

Like a bunch of dorks, we were all really excited.

Mikhael picked us up one by one in his mom's camry, without telling his mother that he was actually not just going to hang out at Felix's house . . but was actually driving up to Los Angeles. Darlene's mom packed us some snacks, which included cheez its, pudding cups, and many other scrumptious things. Pam's mom bid us farewell . . and then we were off.



After a day of being swept to sea by Hooper's The Long Leg, admiring the calligraphy of the Gutenberg Bible on vellum, joyfully reciting the prologue of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (as we were forced to memorize by our Advanced American Literature teacher . . in old English) as we looked over the original, and running around the Botanical Gardens . . the five of us had made a special bond.



On the drive back home, the bond from the day was only strengthened by Mikhael being pulled over by a "chip" on a sneaky motorbike (thank goodness he only got a warning for speeding), conversations about stolen first kisses (and ex boyfriends/girlfriends that, already at our tender age, we knew we just didn't need around anymore), and taking shots of wax bottle candy to the day and our youth.



[side note: while doing research for this blog post, I found a huntington post blog entry with the wax bottle candy as one of the 9 Grossest Kinds Of Candy No Adult Should Give Out On Halloween. I think we'd highly disagree with your choice . . but only because of the sentimental value of the candy. Not necessarily because of taste.]

That day resulted in not only annual trips to Huntington (until our schedules were so tough, mostly because of me and my constant summer school and summer organizing) but also some fun outings like this really fun Hot Hot Heat concert at the scene -- one of the best concert venues in San Diego . . until it closed down because of the opening of (bigger and more "mainstream") SOMA San Diego.

The last time we took a Huntington Trip was during the summer of our first year of college. I admit, this was probably my fault. Second year of college, I directed SASC-SI. Third year of college, I was taking like 12 units during the summer before going to Thailand for a year. Right after graduation, I moved to DC for an internship.

The last time all five of us were together . . I don't even remember.

It's a little harder now. While Mikhael is back in San Diego . . Felix is now in Chicago for school . . I'm in Washington, DC for work . . Darlene's in New York City for school . . and Pam, well Pam's back in the convent in Nashville.

That's right. The five of us live in five completely different states (and a district).

Last time, the four of us (that were allowed to make contact with both genders) couldn't even get together during the holidays for brunch.

We've been trying to get together for another trip for years . . so naturally, when I saw Coachella, I sent it out to the group.

Unfortunately, it's looking like:
. . Mikhael might not have the vacation time to go all three days.
. . Felix might be returning to Chicago from taking the quarter off.
. . It would only work for Darlene if she has spring break during that week.
. . And Pam . .

Well, I don't know much about Catholicism . . but I don't think nuns are allowed to like indie rock, much less go to and camp out at a three day festival . . even if Pam used to be the one girl I could count on to start a circle pit with me or the one girl I always crowd surfed with.

Maybe I'm romanticizing my high school years and the Huntington Crew a bit.

Maybe I'm not.

Maybe being 17 and 18 years old, weathered and jaded by some pretty bad relationships yet set with some pretty bright futures was pretty fucking amazing.

Maybe as 23 and 24 year olds, despite being weathered and jaded by even worst relationships and needing a "Huntington Crew" trip more than ever . . we've also racked up some bigger responsibilities and have physically made it less possible.

So how do we remind ourselves: Slow down. We're still young. Take a break. There's no rush. Reflect with friends. MAKE time.

How?

How do we make what used to be so easy to do when we were 17 and 18 years old . . something that is POSSIBLE even when we're 23 and 24?

disney movies

isn't it pretty to think . . that after growing up, getting politicized, and getting a job in the progressive movement . . that you can just take off your "political conscious hat" and enjoy a disney movie?

I have to admit that growing up, I did really love disney movies. My favorite was Aladdin . .

Maybe it was because Jasmine was a lot tanner than the other princesses.
Maybe it was because Jasmine was a little rebellious.
Maybe it was because Aladdin was this witty, goofy, but sincere guy.
Maybe it was because of the soundtrack.

Nah, it's gotta be because she had a pet tiger. Who wouldn't want a pet tiiiigerrrr?? My affinity for Aladdin as a child was not necessarily normal. My favorite set of sheets growing up were my Jasmine flannel sheets. Last winter when I went home, I saw them in my dad's bed. He says he uses the flat sheet sometimes because they're warm . . or maybe he uses them sometimes when he misses his youngest daughter who decided to move across the country to help other Southeast Asian families instead of moving back home to help her own. Okay, okay. So that's a different topic.

Anyway, I just got back from watching The Princess and the Frog. I was pretty excited. Not just because this was going to be the first disney movie with a strong african american "princess" . . or because of the buzz around the interracial couple . . or because the movie was going to be taking place in New Orleans . . but really, it was because, I miss being 10 years old living what I thought was the American dream and watching disney's princess movies in my mom's room . . and dreaming just a little bit while doing it.

There were many funny parts in the movie. Like when the firefly gets upset because he thinks the prince was proposing to his love interest . . the star. Or the blind voodoo lady. Or like when the crocodile (or alligator) falls into the bush and the firefly had to pluck out every single weed one by one. Or like when the two frogs get tangled up in each others' tongues. Or like when the spoiled girl calls her father "big daddy" . .

But I couldn't help but wince with a bit of pain at a few parts as well. Like every time Tiana spoke of all her hard work in a pretty bootstraps kinda way. Or like when her mom tells her to throw her dreams away to find a man so she could have grandchildren. Or the fact that the the evil guy was this light skinned black man. Or the machismo prince that still managed to get the girl . .

Maybe Disney movies are just becoming more complicated? I didn't automatically fall in love with the prince because of his chauvinistic attitude . . and I didn't completely love the princess with her almost haughty bootstraps pride. I didn't automatically think everything was funny and politically correct . . and I didn't completely love the romance between the two because I didn't think he really deserved her and she shouldn't give up her dreams for some man. I didn't automatically love the way folks for New Orleans were depicted, especially the emphasis on black and white and not much in between . . and I didn't completely like all the songs because of the lyrics and context . .

Or maybe, I've just become more complicated? Maybe I'm just starting to think too much about things? Maybe I'm just starting to think too deeply into things?

I guess sometimes life is way too serious to not be able to laugh a little bit . . especially during a Disney movie. If we don't learn to throw some politics out the window once in a while and just enjoy things for what they are . . we'll never survive.





But then I had another, "damn, you've been in dc too long" moment when I couldn't help but think that the little rich girl in the movie kind depicted how I imagine the real life of Louisiana's Democratic Senator Landrieu to be.

(un)happiest states in the united states

isn't it pretty to think . . you could just move somewhere and automatically be happy?

I thought this article on the Happiest U.S. States Pinned Down was really interesting. While this isn't exactly the first time folks have tried to do something like this, is the first time I've been a bit surprised by the results.

Number 1: Louisiana is #1? This must have have been pre-Katrina . . and even then, I'm sure the folks they surveyed probably weren't really the communities of color from places like New Orleans East or the Vietnamese community in Versailles . . but maybe resembled a certain type of Louisiana-er (or whatever they call themselves down there).

Top 3: Looks like the top states are just there because of the weather. For Florida, I mean, if you like muggy super humid weather, I guess that could work for you. Or maybe the folks that were surveyed in Florida were all those retired folks . . which isn't a surprise that they're happy. They're just chillin' at the beach all day. For Hawaii, they don't really have to deal with the rest of the country, so maybe that's a plus. But then again, I hear discrimination is relatively rampant there . . so again, who exactly did they survey?

States in the Middle: These states just look like the sparsely populated states with one or two big cities that they can claim.

States in the Bottom: The bigger, more densely populated, urban, and hussle and bussle states.

This makes me wonder, are people happier when they can feel like they're not connected to a lot of people? Are people happier when they can feel like they've successfully physically or mentally escaped? Are people happier in smaller, less populated, and less "busy" places?

Are people happier alone?

Looks like Americans are subscribing to the ignorance is bliss model. If you don't live in it, hear about it, or have to deal with it . . it doesn't exist . . and you can just be happy in your little state . . little city . . or little town.

It's kind of funny though. Almost all the states I've ever lived in or would consider living in are at the bottom of the list. Maybe this is because I enjoy big, densely populated, urban, hussle and bussle places.

Maybe this is because I like to live in a state of constant crisis.

Maybe this is because I'm a masochist and enjoy making my life complicated . . so I can say that at least, I can control this madness.

But who knows, maybe I'll just move to Hawaii and call it a day.

Careers and Marriage

"So, guys, if you're game for an exciting life, go ahead and marry a professional gal."

My co-worker steered me to the article above about about careers and marriage. she struggles. she struggles with loving this work, but barely making enough money to support herself and barely having time for a personal life.

In some ways, I suppose the struggle with that too. Scratch that. I don't struggle with it. I've come to terms with it. I admit, I enjoy working a lot, being tired, getting frustrated, being angry, getting really excited, etc.

But then again, I'm young. Let's see how many years of these 12 hour work days and weekends in the office I could handle.

However, sidebar: I think the quote above could be changed in a variety of different ways:

Careers v. Marriage: for the unbalanced types

Careers v. Relationships: for the non-marrying types

Community v. Relationships: for the progressive social activists types

I think the Careers and Marriage thing already lays the foundation that it could exist together. Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I feel like the real question is, Careers versus Marriage?

Also, for the domestic partner types like myself, I'm not sure how I feel about the marriage part. I think trying to have a relationship (much less marriage) along side a demanding, fast paced, and jet setting "career" is already something of an art I have yet to master (please see Monica's dating history).

And also, for the non-career driven but community driven types, I'm not sure how I feel about the career part. I think it's easy to have a job, especially those 9-5 types where you don't have to take anything home, where deadlines and actions translate into real people, where deadlines and actions translate into real people like you, your family, your friends . . people you love and love you.

A good friend of mine just wrote a blog about love vs. independence. Does career v relationships also mean independence v love? Maybe if you consider your career part of independence.

I guess independence encompasses many other aspects, but careers, job, community -- whatever you want to call it -- has always been a big part of it for me and I definitely don't see that changing anytime soon.

Maybe I've been approaching this all wrong. Maybe the game plan should be to look for someone else who is also a community v. relationships type of person so we can both deprioritize one another be really busy but still have a great time when we are together.