October Highs and Lows
The month has been a busy one, filled with non-stop travel back to Pennsylvania and/or volunteer commitments. Therefore, I am just getting the chance to type this entry in the last 20 minutes of my lunch hour.
I read an article a few days ago that talked about how many New Englanders feel that this year's as well as the most recent years autumnal display of color has been lacking. I've been hearing that a lot lately and have to agree. This year in particular, it seemed that only parts of trees lit up with their fire-y reds, brilliant oranges, and bright yellows, while other tree limbs and other entire trees seemed to from green to a faded brown, papery mustard, or dried burnt russet color. Having grown up in the southern Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania, I know something of leaf peeping--but even at home the leaves seemed to lack some of the former splendor I remember vividly from my childhood. Some of my favorite trees in my yard, more than three hundred years old, were felled during my college days due to disease and age, and so, perhaps its just that I'm missing my favorite red oak in our backyard.
Bedford County has been suffering a bad drought the last few years, this year being the worst--Boston's been luckier to have some late summer and early fall rains, but not much more than my hometown. When I was growing up, every summer night almost was filled with torrential thunderstorms on hot and humid summer days (and most of them were hot, sticky, and muggy) and most Indian summer nights. I used to sit in the bay window of the living room eating popcorn and watching Evitts Mountain to see the lightening striking at various points across the night sky.
The lackluster leaves seemed to be a parallel representation of my life this month which has had its brilliant sparkling bits, but was otherwise blase, sometimes decidedly frustrating in its discouragement. Sure, it started out nice enough with the chapters meeting in Lancaster for Franklin & Marshall on Sept. 29-30, and then my birthday, and then my trip to Bedford October 3-8. Regrettably, I found through that my stress levels in getting my work done betweens days off and a burdening workload, home errands run, packing and unpacking, the added expense of all these trips, and having exhaustion as my frequent companion overshadowed much of the enjoyment I typically feel in this favorite season of the year.
It was Tuesday last week sometime when I commuted home feeling utterly frustrated and near weeping, in the twilight (yet again, even though my day's supposed to end at 4 p.m.)--angry yet again that my plans to leave on time and reclaim some of my life had again been thwarted by a lack of planning and not seeing any way out of not having exhausted evenings for the next 5 months. It was windy and the skies were almost purplish owing to the late hour of the day and the hazy clouds that had blown in. The leaves on the broken sidewalks below me seemed to almost take on an otherworldly brilliance--the leaves became peach, mint, saffron, white, soft scarlet, and soft chartreuse---the dim light contrasting with the duller color of the leaves and making something very soft and beautiful. As the wind blew, and the glinting leaves rolled across and around my legs in cascades, I felt disappointed that in some odd way, I couldn't feel any pleasure in seeing these colors and watching the leaves flutter in the breeze--all I could think about was the stress I had leaving work that day and already dreading my return the following morning.
The contrast between now and October 23, 2006, when I began my work here at HBS is startling. While no where near the level of constant pressure and stress that came with working in BU Housing, I'm definitely feeling the time is ripe for transition. I have yet to have a job that leaves me feeling, well...intellectually fufilled. Perhaps my expectations of the "real world" are just too high coming out of a liberal arts college education topped off with a master's in education. I don't know. In meeting with Suzanne, a career development guide at HBS, she agrees that I'm way overqualified for what I do. I'm glad someone does. I can't help but worry that the concept of starting low, working hard, and being promoted at work is going the way of the dinosaur. My greatest fear is that by doing this work, which my faculty really appreciate, that I'll become pigeonholed and be seen as completely unable to step up for greater things--and I know I can! There must be more to work life.
Since then, I've thought about the leaves I saw around me on the broken sidewalks of Allston on that smoky Tuesday autumn night and their meaning--nearing darkness and dullness inadvertently colluding to create something that looked so soft and yet so vibrant at the same time. Is there a meaning or a metaphor to be glanced from this? Or is it just something beautiful, just like all the other something-beautifuls of no particular significance?
I read an article a few days ago that talked about how many New Englanders feel that this year's as well as the most recent years autumnal display of color has been lacking. I've been hearing that a lot lately and have to agree. This year in particular, it seemed that only parts of trees lit up with their fire-y reds, brilliant oranges, and bright yellows, while other tree limbs and other entire trees seemed to from green to a faded brown, papery mustard, or dried burnt russet color. Having grown up in the southern Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania, I know something of leaf peeping--but even at home the leaves seemed to lack some of the former splendor I remember vividly from my childhood. Some of my favorite trees in my yard, more than three hundred years old, were felled during my college days due to disease and age, and so, perhaps its just that I'm missing my favorite red oak in our backyard.
Bedford County has been suffering a bad drought the last few years, this year being the worst--Boston's been luckier to have some late summer and early fall rains, but not much more than my hometown. When I was growing up, every summer night almost was filled with torrential thunderstorms on hot and humid summer days (and most of them were hot, sticky, and muggy) and most Indian summer nights. I used to sit in the bay window of the living room eating popcorn and watching Evitts Mountain to see the lightening striking at various points across the night sky.
The lackluster leaves seemed to be a parallel representation of my life this month which has had its brilliant sparkling bits, but was otherwise blase, sometimes decidedly frustrating in its discouragement. Sure, it started out nice enough with the chapters meeting in Lancaster for Franklin & Marshall on Sept. 29-30, and then my birthday, and then my trip to Bedford October 3-8. Regrettably, I found through that my stress levels in getting my work done betweens days off and a burdening workload, home errands run, packing and unpacking, the added expense of all these trips, and having exhaustion as my frequent companion overshadowed much of the enjoyment I typically feel in this favorite season of the year.
It was Tuesday last week sometime when I commuted home feeling utterly frustrated and near weeping, in the twilight (yet again, even though my day's supposed to end at 4 p.m.)--angry yet again that my plans to leave on time and reclaim some of my life had again been thwarted by a lack of planning and not seeing any way out of not having exhausted evenings for the next 5 months. It was windy and the skies were almost purplish owing to the late hour of the day and the hazy clouds that had blown in. The leaves on the broken sidewalks below me seemed to almost take on an otherworldly brilliance--the leaves became peach, mint, saffron, white, soft scarlet, and soft chartreuse---the dim light contrasting with the duller color of the leaves and making something very soft and beautiful. As the wind blew, and the glinting leaves rolled across and around my legs in cascades, I felt disappointed that in some odd way, I couldn't feel any pleasure in seeing these colors and watching the leaves flutter in the breeze--all I could think about was the stress I had leaving work that day and already dreading my return the following morning.
The contrast between now and October 23, 2006, when I began my work here at HBS is startling. While no where near the level of constant pressure and stress that came with working in BU Housing, I'm definitely feeling the time is ripe for transition. I have yet to have a job that leaves me feeling, well...intellectually fufilled. Perhaps my expectations of the "real world" are just too high coming out of a liberal arts college education topped off with a master's in education. I don't know. In meeting with Suzanne, a career development guide at HBS, she agrees that I'm way overqualified for what I do. I'm glad someone does. I can't help but worry that the concept of starting low, working hard, and being promoted at work is going the way of the dinosaur. My greatest fear is that by doing this work, which my faculty really appreciate, that I'll become pigeonholed and be seen as completely unable to step up for greater things--and I know I can! There must be more to work life.
Since then, I've thought about the leaves I saw around me on the broken sidewalks of Allston on that smoky Tuesday autumn night and their meaning--nearing darkness and dullness inadvertently colluding to create something that looked so soft and yet so vibrant at the same time. Is there a meaning or a metaphor to be glanced from this? Or is it just something beautiful, just like all the other something-beautifuls of no particular significance?
Labels: autumn, Bedford, Boston, busy, drought, fall, October, stress
posted by Alyssa at 1:36 PM
0 comments
