My frame of mind has shifted so much between when I began writing this morning and now that I simply cannot bring the post I had started to completion. 2am on this fourth day of February finds me shut in my room with a pair of headphones plugged into my laptop so as not to disturb the guest sleeping in the other room. The “Listener Supported” version of “#41” has replaced the sounds of rain, and I hurt more than I can be certain I have words for.

Animals that are trapped or wounded generally respond to the situation in two ways. They exhibit compliance to those trying to help them, or their weakened state leads them to lash out and attack in defense. My default behaviour always closely resembled the latter. It should come as no surprise, then, that the words which hit the page were not the sort of thing I wanted to leave behind me for days. Somewhere in here I become the animal that would rather gnaw its own leg off to get free than attack those brave enough to approach.

I have attempted two very different posts in the last two hours. There are many words to write, but I can't get it together enough to leave something more meaningful for the next several days. I had a feeling the correct answer tonight was silence. Oh how I wish it wasn't...

Captured At: 338

The Words the Old Man Said

"You should go to the park. Take some pictures." These were the final instructions imparted to me by the guest I was about to leave on an airport curb five days since we had met there. Fully aware I would have no idea what to do with myself when I returned home, I opted instead to seek asylum at the river tree I have been running to for almost a year now. The sun had already vanished, but the twilight reflecting on the water was simply stunning.

Scene captured, I located my headphones, donned the purple jacket I had carelessly thrown into the backseat this morning, and began walking. There was a man sitting on one of the benches facing the direction of where I had parked my car. A bag rested next to him and I couldn't tell if he was waiting for somebody or simply sitting there with nowhere else to go. Regardless, I smiled, said hello, and asked how he was doing while I passed.

As I sat wedged in the crook of the split trunk with lyrics caressing my ears I observed how soft and calm the water was. I became lost watching ripples cross the hard line between deep blue and orange, then slowly melt back into a pale blue before hitting the rocks. I pondered what I would write when I got home and desperately searched for some understanding of how a span of days with so many good points had collapsed into the aching, uncertainty, and sadness that had been my drive home.

My attention was drawn back to the shore by what appeared to be a single shadow moving toward the tree. I turned to see who was passing, but nobody came. When I checked the other side the shadow was still there. I turned back toward the water and tried not to pay attention.

Then I heard a voice, noticeable through the music yet not loud enough to reach me with any clarity. I looked over my right shoulder and found the man I had exchanged words with half an hour earlier standing close to the tree and looking down in the direction of the river. I turned back thinking maybe he was talking to a second person whose shadow I had not seen, but something in that theory didn't make sense. I turned one more time to find him in the same position. Again he failed to notice. I turned forward and shut the iPod off unsure what to do.

"And...and that's it." With these quiet, almost apologetic words he walked back toward the bench. There was nobody else with him. Whatever he wanted to say had been important enough to indirectly approach me, say his piece, and walk away.

About thirty seconds later I saw him cross the street, pass the building, and disappear into the darkness. I waited, eyes locked on the direction he had gone in, hoping maybe he would come back so I could explain that the music had been too loud to hear and I wanted to know what he had said. He never came. Each slice of time I waited the revelation grew stronger that he wouldn't be returning. My unexpected reaction was tears. Something had just happened and I completely missed it.

I slid out of the tree and moved quickly in the direction I had last seen him take. It was a move deserving of a lecture, but I needed to try. I had to know.

He was nowhere to be found. I walked back to the tree and tipped my head back to the sky in a way that was both frustrated and searching. The moon, which hung directly above me, offered no answer. I paced a few circles then stood looking into the blackness, palms together with the index fingers resting against my mouth. I felt completely stuck.

All I could do on the drive home was wonder about the words I had failed to hear. There was something there; I know there was. Everything in the action and the body language I observed agree. And /what/ was it? What was he talking about?

I don't know who this man is and chances are I will never see him again, but this was clearly important to him. Strange as it sounds, I feel like I have lost something in not knowing what it is he felt he needed to say; like maybe the words would have made some profound impact.

There is one other possibility to consider. The truth could be that I wasn't supposed to hear. Maybe he just needed to speak - as we all do every now and again - and no response was desired. My one worthwhile act of the day may very well have been in just being. I don't suppose I'll ever really know, but maybe it's not mine to.

Captured At:2054

Tonight there are a number of short, unrelated things floating around inside my head. I’m not sure combining that with pure laziness and a desire to exude positive energy in web’s general direction can result in much more than the disjointed post slowly appearing on my screen letter by letter. May as well get to the point, whatever it actually is. Here goes, in no particular order…

)) The one new Ambassador who joined us all at Margaritaville on Saturday night chose to catch a ride with Milo and I. He clearly had no idea what he was in for. Group sing-alongs inside the vehicle ranged from “Your Song” with the radio to “Dragostea Din Tei” (the Numa Numa song) with the iPod, and included a duet of “Kenya” by the two of us in the front of the vehicle. ::shakes head:: Only in my car. Kenya believe it? ;)

!) College was one heck of a ride. As I shared stories on the drive home from Orlando - both SA related and otherwise - it once again occurred to me how fortunate I have been. I also realized there are a number of things nobody still in that organization knows about; things I hadn’t thought about in years. In some ways I see it as another failure in my leadership. In others I understand that each year brings something new, and that different knowledge and memories are just that: different.

@) Two years after my graduation it appears I’ll be going to conference for the first time in March. I have also unintentionally influenced yet another SA homecoming float. It seems the goofier the idea or the less serious about it I am, the faster everybody runs with it. Well, if nothing else it’s creative and they should have a ton of fun putting it all together.

#) I have discovered I throw a Frisbee surprisingly well with my left hand. Being able to get outside and play again was wonderful.

$) For as little as you see a person, for as infrequently as you may talk, some things truly never change.

%) In conversation with a co-worker the other day I recalled the story which included the phrase, “Listen to your mentor.” I was using it to back up my statement that one of the guys had put himself in that role for me. The response came back, “I thought we all were”. At my question of who, he added himself and two others that he believed were working with/looking out for me. I hadn’t considered things to be that way, but as he said it I knew he was right. It’s funny how we can not realize when we’re being taken care of.

^) Piano bars are awesome. Uncrowded piano bars are even better because they’re more likely to play the stupid songs you ask for. We also got a good laugh out of this little exchange as one of the piano players paused after the first verse of “Copacabana”.

Him: “Who asked for this anyway?”
Us: ::wave and cheer::
Him: “Well, they’re cute. It’s okay.”

I guess it’s a good thing the bar was dark and we were as far from the piano as you could get, huh? ;)

&) Recent Exchange with the co-worker one cube over:

Him: “Rebecca, what are you still doing here this late?”
Me: “Um..Fighting with Internet Explorer? ::pauses:: Is that a problem?”
Him: “No, I just thought somebody your age would-“
Me: “Have a life?”
Him: “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way.”
Me: “It’s okay. I know you all think I work too much.”
Him: “But we admire you for it.”

I hear things like this and again I have to wonder what I’ve done to merit them. Still, I should take his remark for the compliment it is regardless of whether I understand or not, and continue working the only way I know how: to the very best of my ability.

In sitting down to write this tonight I’m consenting to a far later bedtime than previously anticipated. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge my own curiosity at what will appear as several things have been competing for the attention required to push them onto this digital looseleaf.

The slight chill to the air tonight reminds me of home. The moon is nearly full, shedding its unchallenged brilliance to the earth below and leaving Orion and the Plough struggling to be seen. Reason overruled the temptation to visit my perch at the beach, though I can still picture it clearly. Moments like this leave me set adrift in the tranquil cerebral delta where the river of dreams weaves its currents into the sea of memories.

I saw the afternoon ocean for the first time this year. A return to my previously predictable weekend walk coupled with an iPod of unchanged melodies was enough to convince me life was different than it is. Identifying exactly which of the thousand other imaginable worlds I was in was difficult because several distinct times sprung to mind. I didn’t care which universe of sand was receiving my footprints; all were decidedly better than the one I would return to after I ascended the steps and shook the stowaway grains out of my flip-flops.

An hour of walking concluded too quickly for my liking. I sat near the water looking toward the horizon while my mind continued to wander. It dreamed, analyzed, pretended, composed and remembered until the sun had been blotted out and the tip of a wave drew enough courage to spill onto my exposed toes. I glanced back from the boardwalk one last time before leaving and paused in awe of how beautifully deep periwinkle clouds complimented the teal tides washing over a tumbleweed stretch of earth.

Though we don’t always understand, there is a reason for every choice we make. It wasn’t until I returned home in shorts and a sleeveless shirt – which is about as scantily clad as I get – that I learned of the predicted mercury drop. I could smile with the knowledge that, despite how late I had slept in, my random venture eastward meant the day had not been completely wasted. What’s more, for a short while my mind was able to find some peace. A significant amount of time has passed and it probably shouldn’t be this way, but that’s still not easy.

Captured At: 157

The truth will out...

In life there are times when hard work actually does have its rewards. There are also moments in our youth when we're afforded an opportunity to feel like the adults we're steadily becoming. These two things united for me one morning as I drove to school with the knowledge that I carried a golden ticket in my pocket. Inscribed in my mother's delicate handwriting were the very words that took me one step closer to freedom.

"Please excuse Rebecca at 930 today. She has a doctor's appointment."

Tickets for the Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds tour went on sale that morning at 10am. My hopes were set on a date at a small venue in Utica, and success in obtaining seats meant I would get to take my very first road trip at the end of January. I could imagine no better way to begin 1999.

I was antsy through my first classes. My heart sank when I reached my intended point of purchase to find they wouldn't open until noon, then pounded with new purpose as I sped Desdemona to the only alternative I had. I walked briskly through the store, wandered confused circles around the escalator, and paced nervously in front of an out-of-the-way counter until the clock clicked into the 10am position.

There was only one person in line ahead of me, and they wanted a different show. With confirmation of a 7th row vantage point in my hands, I returned to school ecstatic. I never imagined it would be that easy.

As it turns out, the tickets were the simplest part. Though my own parents were supportive of my desire to take to the road, that acceptance didn't propagate to the guardians of my peers. The friend I knew was coming for sure met one of the only conditions on my attendance - that I didn't go alone.

Closer to the show date another girl I knew got permission to come with us. That left one unclaimed ticket. My initial companion informed me that her mother had a co-worker who was a huge Dave fan and would love to take it off my hands. I still wanted to find somebody I knew to invite, but now I had an alternative to absorbing the cost of an unused seat.

Finally a fourth friend was added. My worries were over. We'd drive the hour and a half, check into a hotel, catch an awesome evening of acoustic music across the street, stay the night, and return home. Everything was set.

At least it was until my friend's mother learned the last ticket wasn't going to her co-worker. Although I had only consented to selling it to him if I couldn't find somebody else to go, she had apparently told him he could have it. Nobody had paid me for anything yet; they were still my tickets and it was my decision who was going to my show with me. He was just going to have to be told it wasn't available.

This was apparently an unacceptable answer. Her mother was convinced I had agreed to sell my extra seat to this guy - who I wouldn't have known from Adam - and then reneged on the deal. Naturally this didn't win me any points with her. She adamantly maintained that he had been promised a ticket and he was getting one even if that meant my friend had to stay home so he could have hers.

To say I was angry is an understatement. She had no right give away something that wasn't hers, and even less right to dictate how I should distribute tickets that, again, I still had full ownership of. Furthermore, she was forcing me to choose between my friends. I either had to tell the latest "yes" that she couldn't go anymore, or lose the attendance of the one friend who had made it possible for me to consider going in the first place. It wasn't fair. I hadn't been the one who made the mistake, yet my friends and I were the ones paying for it.

I grumbled about it quite a bit, but in the end I knew what I had to do. I explained to girl number three what had happened and told her that for as much as I would rather have her come with us, I just couldn't leave the other girl hanging when she had been the only person going since before I knew I had seats. I also promised her that she would be the first person I went to the next time a show came around.

Months later, when I had two pairs of floor tickets for a Memorial Day weekend show in Massachusetts, one went to her a friend she had out there. In August, weeks way from us all leaving for our various colleges, she and I drove to Connecticut together for another. We haven't seen or spoken to each other since.

What this story illustrates most to me is how important keeping my word is, regardless of how well I know the person or how trivial a promise it may be. It's never easy, but somehow I always try to find a way. My unattainably high expectations of myself lead me to commit to things that may not be entirely realistic. The jagged edges of broken promises drift on the currents of a wind I've been stung by too many times for comfort, and my refusal to contribute to the debris could very well be my undoing. In truth it has already taken a toll far greater than I could have imagined. I mean and meant every word. Not a thing has changed, and only those they're given to can free me of the obligations I've committed to.

As for the aforementioned friend's mother, it's not surprising things felt awkward there after this incident. I felt she was convinced I was the still the enemy.

In May 2003 I was in New York for a cousin's wedding. It happened to be the same weekend this friend was graduating from college in Boston. I saw the opportunity to support somebody I cared about and wanted to take it, so I made the extra five hour trip to sit in the audience and cheer as she received her diploma. After the ceremony, with few people around, her mother thanked me for coming. She thought it was wonderful I had taken the time and made the effort to share in such an important day.

I don't remember them exactly, but I do know they were the kindest, most genuine words I had ever received from this woman. What had happened four years before didn't matter. That afternoon, even if only for a moment, she finally saw me.

Captured At:2322

DC Four

My parents once told me that they don't generally let people know who I work for. This isn't out of shame or disappointment, but rather that the reaction it gets from others is almost overwhelming. I have come to find that, as with any group people are placed into, there are certain expectations of who and what I am because of who I report to five days out of seven.

It was exiting Arlington Cemetery that I met a woman from Indiana in town for some sort of health care conference. When she learned of my employer her remark was, "So you're an engineer". Many people make that assumption, but it is incorrect. This prompted her to ask about my educational background, so I informed her that by degree I'm a computer scientist...but not a very good one. She claims if I'm working for NASA I can't be that bad.

As far as I'm concerned, that's incorrect assumption number two. Working for them was a result of being in the right place at the right time, not because I had demonstrated any kind of aptitude in my area of study that merited a position. If a poll of my former classmates and instructors were conducted I believe the majority would agree with the statement that calling myself a computer scientist is an embarrassment to the field. If NASA hadn't hired me I honestly don't know who would have.

This woman was the second encounter I had related to revealing the recipient of my labor. The first took place two days earlier as I sat in the National Air and Space Museum gift shop. A girl with red hair and glasses who couldn't have been much older than I was the last time I visually absorbed our capital took the vacant chair next to mine. She expressed enjoyment at her trip and was pleased at how many "firsts" it had brought her. When she learned I work for NASA her eyes grew wide and a small gasp rushed through the 'o' her lips had formed. "You do? So you know all this stuff already. I think space is so cool. I like to see anything about space..."

I may not know it all, but I do know I was privileged to spend five minutes sitting next to a member of the next generation of explorers. Our time together ended far too soon. If I could ask one thing for Emily it would be that the light of wonder and excitement I watched twinkle in her eyes never leaves her. I hope she learns what a treasure she has and fights to keep that sense of awe and adventure for the rest of her days.

Unfortunately I also know this world is unceasing in its quest to claim the innocence of children. Taking that sparkle is, in my view, an act tantamount to rape and murder. It's coming upon something so delicate, so precious - sacred in a way - and shattering it without having any right to do so. Most of us never succeed in picking up the pieces and our lives are unquestionably much poorer for it. There are some senses in which we should be allowed to remain like children forever.

Captured At:2334

It was a series of events characterizing the sort of spontaneity I enjoy indulging in. Sunday I had an idea. Monday I had a plane ticket. Tuesday I had permission from everyone involved, and Saturday I was asking myself if I had been out of my mind when I decided to leave blue skies and 80 degree weather for a week in temperatures barely reaching the Florida lows. There may even be a dusting of snow on the ground when I awake tomorrow. Up until now I thought the puzzle on my living room table would be my only glimpse of it this year.

The opportunity to venture away continues to be a positive. Travel wakes me up regardless of the destination and I find my eyes are open differently than when I'm home. I still hope and intend to see the world; it's just a matter of how.

It feels crazy to say this, but when the stewardess upgraded a gentleman in my row I knew there was a reason for it even if I didn't know who would be taking his place. The girls who sat down next to me - unable to take their assigned seats because one of them was soiled and would delay our departure until it was removed - quickly entered into a conversation with a Charlotte native on the other side of the aisle. By the end of the flight she knew what product would get the tile sealant out of her hair that she had accidentally rubbed into it using the wrong towel one afternoon. I generally wouldn't consider this anything worthy of note, but she had apparently been trying to wash it out for over a month with no success. Having a pair of stylists end up seated beside her on this flight must have felt like a godsend.

My headphones shielded me from most of their conversation, but I did learn that these two girls were sisters. After departure one of them reached down into her bag to produce a pillow and blanket. She covered them both, and they each leaned into separate sides of the pillow snuggling together as small children often do. This act was incredibly touching to me. Sometimes love really is that simple.

The short flight from CLT to RDU became an opportunity to examine myself when I noticed a slightly uneasy feeling as a tall man of Middle Eastern descent took the vacant seat next to mine. I was suddenly pondering worst-case scenarios, then amending those thoughts to assure myself that he was another traveler like me just trying to get somewhere and rest his head for the night. When we finally exchanged words after the plane landed I learned he was an engineer from Raleigh, Egyptian born, and had an interest in real estate. I asked about his native country and others he mentioned, and was surprised to find the main word composing his descriptions was "cosmopolitan".

My experience with him taught me that we're not truly aware of our subconscious judgments until we find ourselves face to face with those we have unwittingly condemned. It was a reminder that, while there may be reason behind them, the stereotypes we're fed have limited accuracy. Not every man from that part of the world is a terrorist waiting for an opportunity to take over the aircraft, and not every country they come from is an endless stretch of sand. Grouping is inevitable, but people are individuals and they should be treated as such regardless of the preconceived notions that spring to mind. We are more than the generalities we fall into.

Captured At:2345

"Maybe I shouldn't go home just yet. The swings might be nice; I haven't been there in a while."

Milo veered into the left lane.

"Then again, the beach would be wonderful. It's beautiful out." After a few seconds taken to formulate a plan addressing the lack of headphones, Milo veered awkwardly back into the right lane.

As anticipated, the park was empty. After a few minutes starring toward the horizon I turned my back to the surf and leaned against the railing to look at the sky above the pavilion. Orion, Taurus, Gemini, and the Pleiades were beginning their slow westward descent. A voice from the past gave a brief narration through my headphones before the player shuffled to "Twelve Volt Man". The timing, somehow, seemed all too appropriate.

I alternated between closing my eyes to feel the wind strengthen and gazing with intent longing into the deep black apex of the sky. The desire in both actions was the same. Be it a beam of light from above or absorption by salt air, I wanted to disappear.

Vision locked on the infinite there was only one word I could say.

With the final notes of the song I began walking back to my car. The track was replaced by "Wheel", which also fit the mood du jour. Its second cycle completed in concert with the drive, John's parting "the love I give, return to me" fading out as Milo entered his place of slumber for the night.

It carried over. If they had seen and asked, I knew the answer. I knew exactly what I was doing. "Just pretending the world is a different place, that's all" would have been the nonchalant response. I sat for hours, feeling the atmosphere change from the thick heat of late afternoon to the gentle cool of early evening, and for those moments I could believe it to be true.

Comparing evenings side by side something seems terribly out of sync. Perhaps I'm content to dissemble because the main line of contemplation can be temporarily diverted. Or maybe I'm actually the poor misguided one.

My grandmother's parting words were, "Remember how beautiful you are." I was touted tonight as, "a luminary among luminaries", "one of my favorite students", and told it's clear when talking to me that I'm special. A request for further explanation of this last remark yielded only a handful of adjectives I could concur with, yet failed to see the significance of.

I wish I understood how that personage fits with the captive, longing princess seeking solace under the stars. I would claim youth as the most crippling factor working against me, but I have no evidence to show any consistency in resolution of this among those better aged. I want it all to stop - thought, memory, emotion, time; on the good days because my desire is to remain happy and on the less good days because hope is a painful, romantic imprudence.

The world is certainly what we make of it, but what are you supposed to do when you can make nothing?

Captured At: 042

As a student you quickly learn that each group has its legends. They're the familiar unchanging names on the lips of bragging freshman trying to win points because of who their older acquaintances are. They're laughing, making jokes, telling stories, and engaging in any other activity that allows them to bask in the spotlight at fraternity parties or play rehearsals. If you're paying attention you can easily see the ones who never leave for what they are. For whatever reason, they've failed to move on. Their life as they knew it was so comfortable and familiar that when the time came to meet the next challenge, they took one look and turned the other direction. And if nothing else, you know that you don't want to be one of them.

Tonight I accompanied a friend to the homecoming dance at my alma mater. It was the first time in four years she has attended without her boyfriend, and his absence from the event was almost enough to keep her home from something she needed to be at. A female acquaintance is a poor substitute for the man you love, but offering my company was the least I could do. That, and bring flowers. The laughter when I arrived at her door with them was priceless.

It's strange attending an event I was once actively involved in putting together. The homecoming stage isn't the same without my sister standing on it, trying to make announcements over a crowd more interested in cheering at her. I watched the lip sync performances and wondered what sort of person actually gets up there and does that stuff, then reminded myself that two years ago I was one of them. What possessed me to go before hundreds of people and pretend I knew how to dance - with a guy dressed as a gorilla no less - failed to get an answer. That girl and her life didn't seem real.

Last night, as I outlined painted letters with a Sharpie, I noticed how much I miss getting to exercise my right brain and be creative. This evening I missed the environment I used to be immersed in. I continue to miss having the opportunity to play. At the same time, an inevitable realization vocalized itself in my mind. I was one of them. Though my desire to help was genuine, that person who never leaves is now me.

I had to wonder if, subconsciously, this is my latest attempt at escaping. I've slept an unhealthy amount, buried myself in work, run away on a whim, and developed habits that are self-destructive in their own way knowing full well they accomplish nothing. Everyone around me is making progress, moving up or moving off in directions they've been gazing at for years, and what am I doing? What footprints have I left in the dunes that make up my post-undergrad life? How, after two years, can I have nothing to show for myself?

This is probably when it's the hardest to realize that the world as I was told it would be is not the world as it is. It's when I see that I cannot fault those who never leave because at least by staying they have something they're committed to. Life has to derive meaning from somewhere, pathetic as that thing may be. We humans simply don't survive well without it.

Captured At: 228