July 29, 2010

For the Next Generation

The email arrived about a month ago and made me smile before I'd read it simply because of who it was from.  One of the men responsible for my fairy tale employment with NASA wanted to know if I'd do a webcast with the Challenger Learning Center.  A few coworkers and I had been working with Challenger a few years back looking at how our simulation work might tie in with their learning centers for middle school kids.  We met some great people at the facilities we visited, but the whirlwind of life had different things in store for all of us.  I was glad to see the link reconnected again.

Naturally I couldn't say no to such a request, both because of the person making it and the opportunity to share my enthusiasm for the work we do.  He handed me off to my host for the event to schedule a date and talk bios and press releases and understand how the webcast would work.  Over the next several weeks I pieced together my slides, digging through my collection of pictures and trying to find simple ways to explain my world and experiences to a random collection of 5th-8th graders scattered across the country.  Truth be told, the slides on their own looked great and I liked the story they told.  It was tough for me to admit though, even when my mentor said he planned on using them the next time he did a "take your dad to school" day.  I stayed focused on the fact that even the best slides in the world didn't matter if I flubbed the presenting of them.

I've talked in front of plenty of groups before and I could have given this material in my sleep, but I was extremely nervous.  While I would be linked to my host at Challenger via Skype, I wouldn't be able to see any of my audience.  Some people would find that sort of setup a relief.  I didn't.  I would have been far more comfortable giving an interactive presentation that would also allow me to gauge how the material was being received.  My slides were also going to be a challenge.  I wasn't going to be able to see them at all while I talked and my slide turner was going to be at Challenger HQ.  Basically I was going to have to do the event blind and hope for the best.

The jitters this morning really kicked in around 11:30a.  My mentor arrived shortly after noon to find me bouncy and pacing and tensing up in every way possible.  He expressed full confidence in  me despite recognizing it was all part of the routine.  He also laughed most of the time in my office, on the ride to the press site, and inside the web studio before the webcast began.  It wasn't unkind laugher, rather a not so subtle sense of amusement likely derived from me just being me.  I've come to expect no less from him.

And of course my laptop had to have every technical issue possible despite the numerous tests we'd run.  No, Windows, you may not restart my computer on me.  What were you doing installing those updates without my permission anyway?  And why on Earth did the camera work before the reset but not after?  And I swear if you kick into standby on me in the middle of this thing I'm going to throw you across the room...

Then it was time.  The technical kinks were worked out on both ends and I was now shut in the studio with only a Skype video and the blinking red light on the camera to keep me company.  I was introduced and stumbled into my slides with a total lack of finesse, but I kept going.  There really wasn't much other choice.  One by one I whipped the print outs of my slides off the desk and onto the floor, on one occasion only to find that what I had been planning to talk wasn't actually the next slide.  It felt I was flying through the material and just hoped my page turner was keeping up.  I glanced at the clock upon finishing; I was under my allotted time by about 10 minutes.  I had no idea if that was good or bad, but we managed to fill the rest with questions from the kids, a mini-interview and a plug for Desert RATS.

Early into the question and answer part my host also just had to ask what brought me to NASA.  So much for giving the kids a lesson in "work hard and you can be whatever you want".

When it was all finally over and the door to my temporary cell finally opened again the studio guy  began taking pictures and my mentor walked in clapping.  I talked with the Challenger guy for a few before hanging up for good; he told me I did great and was "very relatable".  I hoped that was a good thing.  Truth is I didn't remember most of what I said and I didn't want to.  I just remember feeling like I was stumbling and trying to smooth it all out somehow.  With him no longer getting audio and video from KSC I collapsed across the desk in relief.  My mentor laughed more saying "That's the picture I want".  I'm pretty sure the other guy took it.

I also learned that they'd amassed a small audience behind the glass that I couldn't see.   It seems one person would walk in, say "Cool!" and go snag somebody else - usually their boss.  The last one in was the director of public affairs.  I'm told they were all very impressed.  They thought the content was good and were amazed to learn we were doing such neat things at Kennedy that they didn't know about.  They were curious about the technology behind the broadcast, requesting points of contact at Challenger and talking about field trips.  They talked about me also, surprised I had no training but managed to speak to just a camera as well as I did.  Apparently I presented well enough that they didn't quite believe my mentor when he made some comment about my introversion.  It was clear in the one conversation I had afterward that they're interested in taking this message further.

My mentor confessed later that he hadn't sat down through the whole thing.  He was pacing around nervous though he would never have let me see it,  When I asked why he compared it to being the parent of the kid with the big solo in the show.  He said he knew it would be alright when he saw me relax enough to let my back hit the back of the chair, and only then did he try to call other people to tune in.  The link to the homepage bearing announcement of my talk also made its way all the way up and down my management chain.  I still wasn't sold I'd been so amazing, but I was glad to have made him proud.

Interestingly enough the jitters didn't go away when I finished.  I still took a few moments in the car to breathe deeply before I drove us back and I could still feel the restlessness in me two hours later.  But I survived.  More than survived, really, if I'm to believe what I would consider the standard "good job" comments that follow any talk as a sign of encouragement.  Even bad presenters get them.

Good or bad, I remain thankful for the opportunity.  I continue to smile because I was remembered and yet again given a chance I never could have imagined.  And if I got just one kid thinking favourably about space exploration in a way they hadn't before, all the better.

August 1, 2010

It Soars Inside My Soul

I remember when I got my first set of Dave Matthews tickets back in 1997.  My mom handed me a small envelope one afternoon saying "happy birthday".  It didn't quite register what I had in my hand, but my immediate thought after it did was one she read fairly clearly even if I didn't state it outright.  There were four tickets.  High school Bec had no friends.

Well, that wasn't quite true.  I knew people who I had the same classes or ate at the same lunch table with, but outside of school I never really hung out with anybody.  My confidence was pretty terrible and I was certain asking would only result in rejection. I wasn't even sure who to provide with that esteem-shattering opportunity.  But my mom, being the wonderful person she is, gently walked me through deciding who to ask and encouraged me through reluctantly putting myself out there.  I was astonished to have the invitations accepted.  Only then did I let myself be excited.  That Friday night - an evening four days before my 16th birthday - couldn't come soon enough.

I still have visions of the lawn at SPAC, can still smile at the stories we came away with, can still hear pieces of songs new to me as they reached my ears for the very first time.  I will also always remember the way 41 knocked me out at the start of the encore with the memories it brought rushing to my mind.  It was the only time I sat all night; forcing myself back to my feet was an internally defining moment my companions would never know about. 

If the constant stream of DMB music flowing from my speakers and headphones over the previous two years had marked me a fan, that first show took me to an entirely new level.  I was hooked beyond explanation and joyful to be so.  The band was now not only in my ears, but also on my clothes, filling up my computer, and coloring my dreams.  There was always some lyric or melody speaking to my soul and expressing my own feelings in ways I never could, magnifying whatever emotion overcame me.  I drank it all in deeply, and when I could hold no more I swam in it. 

They say we grow out of such things, and in many ways I did.  Some of the change appeared as other things came to fill my life, some as those things left it.  For a while in there I almost completely lost myself and DMB, having been part of my identity, was vanishing with it.  The band's own struggles had their effect as well.  After three straight years of skipping the summer tour I really believed that era of my life was over.  Part of me was sad to see it go.

Last year I gave the concert thing one more shot and I was absolutely blown away.  Jeff will never really replace Leroi, but what he did with 41 that first night grabbed hold of me like nothing had in ages.  The energy the second night left me so high I considered sneaking in a side trip before my official TDY in the desert.  I didn't, and when the effects of the shows died down I went back to my life as if nothing had happened.

As I stood in the audience this past Friday night the words "DMB is my cocaine" came into my head from nowhere.  Something in the statement was appropriate and amusing and disturbing.  Sure I could put the music down and walk away for weeks or months at a time and think nothing of it, but all it took was one good hit and I wanted nothing else flowing through me.  I was never really going to be able to escape it and I didn't want to.  Not completely.

The next day I spent some time wandering through the message boards to see what the thoughts were on the show.  I wondered if I could ever be any good at the setlist game and began going in search of songs I hadn't heard due to my time away.  I realized it wouldn't take much for me to find myself buried in fanaticism once again.

But the appeal of being a true die hard eluded me as I stood in the crowd Saturday night.  I didn't have to be one of them for the songs to move me as The Stone unexpectedly did when the band first took the stage, and not being one of them meant I could be fully present.  There was joy in not trying to call the songs before they began, not sending updates to absent fans, and not worrying about how the show or this particular version of a song would rate.  I knew the evening would get maligned for three Big Whiskey songs in a row.  I knew Cornbread would have eyes rolling.  I didn't care.  Truth was as long as some sign of my band was visible and they played like they loved what they were doing, I was going to be happy.

When all was said and done the weekend did not disappoint.  There was nothing I walked away wishing they had played and it was cool to hear a few old songs live for the first time.  Getting a couple tour debuts and one song taken off the shelf after a four year hiatus were awesome to be in the audience for as well.  I had wanted to catch the shows at my hometown venue this year if my schedule permitted, but West Palm just might have gotten a better run this year than SPAC did. 

I discovered this morning that yesterday was my 20th show.  It's a marker I'm surprised to see; one I'm surprised took so long.  That 15 year old girl on the lawn in Saratoga tells me I'm slacking and need to make up for it.  I smile kindly and shake my head.  With the band taking a year off we have time to make our peace.  There should be plenty to catch up on to keep her floating in the mean time.

Captured At:2043

August 16, 2010

Perspective Fail

The day started low.  They all have these past few weeks as I've faced more disappointment, been stuck in the middle of more things I want to be away from, and reopened wounds of the past so I can endeavour to explain history to new people who want to understand the present.  I've had little to fill my days - never a helpful thing at times like these - and the things I do find to do I get an earful for.  I've spent many hours with HR, many hours running through things in my head and with my mentor.  I know where we are.  I know why.  I know there's nothing anybody can say to change what needs to happen.  And I can't get that point across because all anybody sees is a certainty of a depression they don't understand me ignoring.

And then the email showed up.  One of my colleagues at JPL suddenly passed away last week.  I was frozen in place as I stood there reading the words on the screen over my mentor's shoulder.  I waited for a reaction that never came.  I only half expected I could cry, but I wanted to.  If nothing else it would have told me I felt something.  But there were no tears no matter how much my eyes burned in hoping to produce them.

Though the entire country away, this man was one of my favourites to work with.  He was somebody you could trust to always be honest with you; somebody who wasn't afraid to tell you what he thought or share things he knew would get him in trouble because it was the right information to be giving out.  I had a tremendous amount of respect for him because of those things.  The years of experience he had behind him only enhanced the clear competence he had.

And he was one of the most genuinely encouraging people I had around me at NASA. He told me that one of the things he loved the most was the way I could ask a question so innocently and yet cut right to the heart of an issue.  He was very open and genuine when he offered praise, and the fact that he verbally stated his respect for me on multiple occasions meant the world to a kid who still felt she had everything to prove.  I'm not sure I ever told him how much his honesty and support meant.  It never even occurred to me to do so.  I wish it had.

The sharing and the absorbing of this news made me late to class.  I used the drive to figure out my response to the news and sent it off before I went in and sat down.  It was the most closure I would get, and though my words were sincere and showed me how truly sorry I was for this loss, the eyes looking back at me in the mirror were unlikely to give much away.  There would still be no tears.

But my head exploded.  Sitting through 2.5 hours of lecture seemed a test of endurance.  Most of the faces in the room were new.  One person from my bachelor's program, one from my masters program, an instructor I would have to treat as a teacher for the first time, and a bunch of people I'd never seen.  They all disappeared.  I remember only the pale signs of sunset from Skurla's westward windows and a projection screen with a fuzzy halo around it.  I pushed awareness of  the ache away long enough to tie up some loose ends after the rest of the students left, but even as we walked down the stairs I could feel it reminding me it had never truly left.

It was strange to be on campus after dark again.  That thought would likely have resonated stronger and dominated my internal gyrations if anything had been able to reach me.  The standard these days seems to be that nothing can.  Neither life nor death, neither the heavens or anything below them.  Nothing my eyes can see and nothing on which they turn inward.  I keep thinking I should be angry or saddened by it, but instead I'm almost completely accepting.  I just wish the headache would stop.

Captured At:2207

August 22, 2010

There was a brief moment this morning when I thought I might actually get something done today.  I had visions of food in my refrigerator and homework no longer hanging over my head.  Every time I think about doing homework I wish my table would show up.  The images of papers spewed everywhere around my laptop aren't entirely realistic, but somehow it seems a nice picture of life in this place - perhaps because it's different.

I was so excited when I bought that table.  I was still riding the peace I'd been gifted with over vacation and I was optimistic that I was finally pulling parts of my life together.  I cannot for the life of me figure out how I got thrown so badly off the tracks.  And that aspect, to me, is the greater problem.  Everybody looks at the after and worries, but I can survive the effects of the fall and I'm getting better at limiting the damage radius until I climb back up.  What I need to learn is how to control the fall.  I don't hope to ever be able to stop it completely, but maybe if I could dump some of the momentum...

In many ways I'm disappointed at how much of this year is gone.  I had such high hopes coming into it, and to find myself nearly 3/4 of the way through with such a mess behind and around me is disheartening.  The part of me that wants to climb out and save what's left is beginning to fight with the part that just wants to stay here and say "screw it".  Her appearance is a welcome relief and I'm cheering her on despite knowing any victory she has will never be permanent.

The storm clouds gathering outside motivate me closer to a nap on the couch than any of the other things I could be doing today.  I think of the line "things are gonna work somehow if I just sleep another hour" and can almost believe that rest might really be the answer.  Two days with no alarms has helped some; my head feels weird, but the pain is gone for the first time in weeks.  That has to be a good start.

Captured At:1339

August 23, 2010

Another Day

I was up until 330 this morning.  I could claim it was due to the three hour nap I'd had on Sunday afternoon and that I just wasn't tired.  It would be a lie, but I could.  Or I could say I lost track of time or that the glow of my laptop messed with my internal clock.  Those statements would be lies too.  I can't say I know what the truth is, but I suspect it's much closer to a poor attempt to convince myself that if I stayed up long enough, it would keep the sun from rising on another day.

I had closed Friday with a long email asking for permission to let my mentor have me for the beginning of this week.  The fact that I have to ask such things, that I feel I have to beg for the opportunity to do something more than sit in a cubicle watching cartoons and solving jigsaw puzzles all day, frustrates me beyond description.  What I'm told I should view as protection and help feels far more like punishment; like an expanding sentence that only perpetuates a downward trend.

And I knew that when I woke up in the morning I would have my answer.  If it was a yes, I would have a different room to sit for the next three days - one with my favourite red couch and a lovely view of the ocean.  If it was a no, I'd be sitting in a manager's office pleading my case and dishing out unpleasant honesty yet again.  I was thankful to see the yes, but something about the single line response to such a carefully crafted request suggested I shouldn't expect many more.

I had woken with music in my head - a first for weeks - and took it as a good sign despite the tune I'd somehow chosen.  I opted last minute for khakis instead of jeans and shoes instead of sneakers.  I had no idea why.  But I still talked myself into packing flip flops and a pair of shorts just in case the opportunity presented itself to sneak away.  Maybe some time with a treasured stretch of sand would do me good.

Arrival would reveal I'd made the right choice on attire.  I didn't expect to find a room full of suits nor did I realize who would be in attendance.  None of the higher ups stayed long, but I suddenly felt grateful I'd done the right thing and asked to be loaned out.  If my Director began asking why I wasn't on the project he thought I was working, I would be covered.  As my mentor and I batted email back and forth I joked about the sense of shock and claimed it was a good thing I was youngish and somewhat resilient.  Thinking about it now, it's almost like in saying that I was asking for trouble.

By lunchtime the crowd had easily doubled in size and my resiliency had vanished.  He took one look at me after standing up at the break and declared I had a peculiar look on my face; one he'd never seen before and couldn't place.  He later described it as dead.  When I could eat no more, could sit still no more, could feel okay with him and the small group on the deck no more, I retreated to my car for that pair of flip flops I almost hadn't packed.  I rolled up my pants and buttoned down my shirt and left everything on the dry part of the sand to go stand in the water.

I imagine any number of ways it must have looked to the people back at the beach house; what they must have thought if they paid any notice at all.  What I doubt was apparent was what a fight it was just to be out calf-deep in the waves.  I was begging to feel something - anything - to convince myself change was happening.  I'd get a fraction of a second of those soul-permeating sensations that keep me going back, but I couldn't hold onto them.  Nothing would take root no matter how hard I tried to let it.

The plus side of the afternoon was that I did manage to find the show face and talk to a few people.  Doing so always gives me perspective on where I am and what I'm part of, but it's so much harder to carry the enthusiasm I want into it when I have to beg and plead for real work.  After most of the group disappeared today one of the guys remarked on how shocking it was to hear a government employee saying they want to do work.  I continue to hope I'm never that stereotype.

We stayed for nearly two more hours after the last of the guests had departed.  He sat through the current slew of conclusions and frustrations, mostly listening and doing the best he knew how to convey that he understood at some level.  He maintains that I'm completely human despite how far away from the rest of humanity I feel.  I continue to be amazed that even with how much I take he figures he's still got the advantage.  And something in me absolutely loved that the response to "I'm glad you're here" was "I'm glad I am too."

I believe I can count him as one of the things I've done right; something I made better and didn't destroy.  A reminder of another came from a text message telling me that all I have to do is say "please come" and she'll leave her side of the country with no questions asked.  Those truths penetrated just a tiny bit deeper than I expected and I could almost feel good for them as I drove home.

Almost.

Captured At:2335

August 28, 2010

Dumb

The arrival of Saturday meant I should begin thinking about my weekend homework assignment.  I didn't know what it was, just that it existed and required attention.  Discovering our latest write-up was to be a team effort motivated a greater sense of urgency within me.  It also created a bit of unease.  Something about the task felt hard and providing anything at a standard I would be happy with would require significant effort.  I didn't feel I quite understood what was going on.  I was certain I was going to look like the dumb kid yet again.

The thing is I don't know what the dumb kid looks like.  I don't know what he sounds like.  I know the dumb kid only as a feeling I get when I'm trying to understand and work through something I believe everybody else around me already knows.  It's when I'm the last or only one in the room asking questions as my classmates roll their eyes.  It's when I'm speaking up in a meeting and I can't read the expressions of the people watching me.  It's when I know when I'm onto something and I can't get it to connect with anybody.

But the dumb kid is pretty far from the truth.  Over the past couple of weeks my ears have perked up at several unexpected statements from others on my intelligence.  It seems that if there's anything somebody will say about me, any way they'll describe me or any positive trait they'll single out, anything they seem to know about me if nothing else, it's that I'm smart.  And, in the opinion of most, I'm smarter than they are.  There's a version of me somewhere in my vision that is reveling in those words; one that loves abusing her mind and prizes intelligence above all else.  There's another that believes it's a terribly shallow thing to be known for.

Smart, sharp, intelligent...it doesn't matter which word one uses.  That quality shaped by those adjectives, what is it really?  Is it what you know?  Is it what you're capable of knowing?  Is it what you do with what you know?  Is it how you approach what you don't know?  Is it how you share what you know?  Does it actually have anything to do with knowing at all?

I've discovered I can learn and be good at pretty much anything I want.  One might consider that the trait of a smart individual.  Yet I lack direction and don't truly apply my mental abilities anywhere.  I would consider that inaction lacking in intelligence.  When it comes to myself and life in general, I've realized I know far too much and yet know absolutely nothing at all.  How does intelligence play into that state?  What good does all of the brain power in the world do if it amounts to nothing?  And how is it possible to be in awe in the presence of a great mind yet also find emptiness in the possession of one?

Best I can figure, somewhere along the way the dumb kid evolved from being just a feeling.  It's now multi-faceted, its faces bearing everything from fear to a buffer to an excuse.  I see all of the possibilities, I understand where they came from, I continue to examine them to see what they can teach me, and all of those things reinforce that the dumb kid is actually a myth.

When I set the assigned reading down and walked away for a few minutes I found answers slowly coming to me, and they didn't feel as loaded with fluff as I initially expected.  I began to feel confident that whatever I shared with my partner would at least have some solid thought behind it.  I might even look remotely intelligent, which made me feel pretty good.  The dumb kid had vanished and I could embrace the truth, at least for a little while.

And why shouldn't I?

Captured At:1305

August 30, 2010

Time Gets Away

When I read the email response that had just arrived it didn't seem any action beyond vacating the office was appropriate.  I parked Loki outside my favourite building and still looked up to marvel at its size after I walked in.  I didn't know how long it had been since I'd absorbed the VAB's evening quiet, but I was surprised when he said I hadn't been there all year.  It made me feel that much worse about learning he'd be one of the many released from the space program in October.  He had always planned to retire with the Shuttle, but 2010 seemed ages away when he told me so.  Now the year was right, the end of the program was wrong, and the option to finish together had been taken from him.

As I sat in what was once my regular evening chair I surveyed my artwork on the office door.  It was amazing the way a few happy pieces of tape had evolved to a hodgepodge of objects and characters.  I thought about that first night I wandered into the VAB alone, meeting this stranger on a third story catwalk while they prepared Atlantis for lift in the transfer aisle below.  That visit began my time of doing an unofficial second shift - one which allowed me to watch and learn more of what processing a space vehicle really meant.  And even if there wasn't anything else going on, I'd still wander over to hang out and "chit-chat" until the shift change.

The start of my Masters degree changed that routine.  I'd still go over, but it happened less and less.  Classes and the need for a more realistic schedule to keep up with them weren't conducive to wandering or having friends.  Frequent travel didn't help either, and by the time classes were done I was so out of whack from my random "promotion" that I could barely make it through my own work day intact, let alone an extended one that concluded shortly before midnight.

Yes, I knew where the years had gone, but I hated them for vanishing as they had.  The colors on that door took me back to more joyful, optimistic days.  I loved where I was, I loved what I could discover there, I loved the people I spent my days with.  Those things made me forget about the other areas of my life that were lacking.  They kept me motivated.  They kept me excited.  They kept me inspired.

But the girl sitting in that chair wasn't quite the same as she had been the first time.  I'd known it for a while, yet in that moment the thought carried additional clarity.  And I hated what I had allowed to happen to her.  That innocent part of me I had always so adored was now looking back at me with big watery eyes attempting to hide the hurt of my betrayal.  I could do nothing for her.  Real life doesn't come with a "back" button.

The next day would find me back in my permanent office talking with the mentor I was assigned when my employment at the space center began.  We reminisced a little, I told the story of the crazy IDP framed on my wall, and I found that for the first time in ages a group of more than 2-3 of us were talking and laughing together.  I would later be told by my current mentor it was the happiest he'd seen any part of the group in six months.  It, too, was a sad thing to learn.  I missed the days when we were always laughing and playing with each other; the days when nobody feared something said in jest was a veiled shot; the days when we actually talked.  I missed a time when I believed I might actually be a positive thing in the lives of the people around me, but I just couldn't be that anymore. Not there, not for them.

Moments of perspective such as these here are always difficult.  It's tough to see the change, especially in a negative direction.  But they also remind me of how fortunate I am to have so many things behind me to treasure.  The reality is that I have been truly blessed throughout my life and the good does continue to overtake the bad.  It's how I know all we've been going through will pass and one day we'll be able to sit in a room together laughing about the good times we had.  It's the gulf between those two states that's the challenge.  In truth, it is the present that hurts far more than anything done in the past.  It's what I miss, how far away it is, and how scared I am that any hope I can muster for the future will be proven false that cut to the very heart of me.

I can't undo bad group dynamics, but maybe there's something worthwhile I can do to let a friend know he hasn't been and won't be forgotten.  Sadly my time to do so is shorter than I believed.  I still haven't figured out how to say goodbye.  I don't know how I want to send him off or the best way to use the remaining five weeks.  I don't know how much I even have in me to give at this point.  

But maybe I don't really have to do all that much.  Maybe I can just sit and the tree will be happy.

Captured At:2121