Season 5, Episode 2: "Hamlet", or, "To be [wonderstruck] or not to be [wonderstruck]" or, "A Young Professional's Guide to Adulthood"
I keep starting this post and then stopping it, telling myself "you don't really want to write about that, do you?" and then moving on and ignoring it for a bit, before settling back down in front of the computer to write again.
I've gone and done the one thing my dad told me not to do - I've grown up. Not fully, obviously -- the semi- or quasi-adult moniker fits me quite nicely, thank you very much-- but enough to elicit both retrospection and introspection. Let's work in chronological order, shall we?
I took a different metro route to work than normal the other day, and it got me thinking a bit.
In case you missed it, last month heralded in the 50th anniversary of the moon landing, and DC was all about it. There were projections on the Washington Monument, events in the evenings for space-lovers, and unique exhibits put on by the Smithsonian and NASA. The whole city seemed to be in awe at the fact that we'd made it all the way out to moon -- even if they all had known about it for fifty years. In proper PR fashion, the DC metro system had ads in their stations to promote the 50th anniversary--or so I thought. Seemingly out of nowhere, a whole host of Lego ads popped up in metro stations, advertising the moon landing...Or at least they did, until I looked closer. Instead, I saw advertisements that gave information about traveling to Mars.
M A R S. Big "Red Planet" Mars. Another planet. That isn't Earth.
If your mind instinctively went "psh, okay," I'm with you. That's what my mind did at first too. I brushed it off thinking that it didn't really apply to me, and tried to move on with my day. Except I didn't, because I couldn't.
The idea of humans on Mars stuck with me for the rest of the day (as I'm assuming the ads were meant to do, so I suppose this should also be a pat on the back to Lego for distracting me all day at work), and I couldn't figure out why until later that evening.
See, little Amanda wanted to be a paleontologist. She knew all sorts of random facts about various dinosaurs, and I'm sure her parents loved how much she loved learning about them. Around that same time, she discovered planets and was in awe of the different makeups and orbits and atmospheres. She didn't know much, but she knew that Mars was cool as heck, Saturn had a neat ring, and Pluto sounded like it was lonely.
The purpose of telling you that was to illustrate that as a kid, I had some idea of what outer space was, and I thought it was wild. I never wanted to be an astronaut, so there wasn't a moment where I decided I was going to be the first (insert applicable adjective here) in space, but I knew about the planets, and that they were far away, and that we as humans had never dreamed of going to them.
But last week, when I walked past these ads, I shrugged them off. I was barely phased until I realized that something had been bothering me about it all day. I had acclimated to the wonder of doing something that seemed impossible, something fantastic, something dream-worthy.
So that was when it hit me, what I was really bothered about, that is. Is our society's view of "becoming an adult" and growing up just losing our sense of wonder at things? As kids, enthusiasm and excitement are celebrated and considered endearing, but are we just expected to hit a certain age and check that excitement at the gate so it doesn't come on the plane with us?
A couple months back, I went to see the National Symphony Orchestra for free with some friends of mine. I had been invited earlier in the week, spent some time debating whether or not to go, but ultimately decided to attend after looking at the set list. They were playing one of Holst's Planets pieces, Venus, to be specific. I have all of the works in Holst's Planets in a playlist on Spotify, but I've been familiar with them since I was little, and have created some fun memories with some of the pieces in my high school and collegiate career. Venus is one of my favorites though, because nearly the entire piece sounds as if it could be the running soundtrack to an old school, black-and-white, romantic film.
I tell my friend that I've decided to go, after emphatically texting that THEY'RE PLAYING VENUS I LOVE VENUS, and a few days later, show up at the venue practically quivering with excitement in anticipation of the piece. My friend ribs me a bit for it, but I don't mind, heck, I love the piece, we all know that. The NSO starts playing, and after a bit the moment I've been waiting for arrives. I close my eyes and lean forward with my chin resting on my palms, as I often do when listening to music I'm particularly fond of, and practically hold my breath throughout the entire piece. I remember how hard I was grinning, because I remember how much my cheeks hurt after the piece had concluded. I'd smiled, and smiled hard, throughout almost the entire piece. Afterwards, my friends asked my how I had liked Venus, and I happily told them that it was lovely.
And it was. But there's something in that story.
I was enthusiastic and passionate about getting to hear Venus live, and I was held in a wondrous rapt attention as the orchestra played through it. I experienced that wonder, because I hadn't bothered to mute it, which I chose not to do because I was amongst close friends of mine. But again, is being an adult choosing to mute those more often than not? Or is it muting wonder when it doesn't apply to your work?
I'm trying to figure it out, because I don't really think it's either of those exactly. Half the people in my office know that I like (okay, love) Hamlet, but I know that there's a fine line between being passionate about something and letting it distract you. So we straddle that line, or stay firmly on the side of no distractions when in professional settings, but then...What about our personal lives?
I've been thinking about this for over a week now and I've still gotten no real answers, and I'd assume that's because the idea of trying to define what society dictates as "adulthood" wasn't ever meant to be a clear-cut thing. It wasn't like Washington, Adams, and Jefferson all sat down one day and said "Yeah, so once all men and women start dressing in business professional at least 4 times a week, then they're officially adults, which means they stop caring about things outside of work and keep their discussion of hobbies and interests to a minimum." (tbh life would've sucked for Jefferson if they did lol, so I guess both we AND he are lucky that they didn't)
Obviously I'm painting with broad strokes here. No one ever told me that being an adult and working were meant to negate concerns in all other areas of life. But I think somewhere in the back of my mind I told myself that? (Weird, since I only *really* became an adult nine months ago and I have little-to-no experience on how to actually be one.) I remember giving my mom a tentative ten year plan last year and laying all of my career aspirations out for her only to be halted by her comment of "You realize you never mentioned wanting to get married or start a family, right?"
And that's the thing. It's not like I don't want those things, I always have. Let's be honest, I'm a hopeless romantic at heart, but interestingly enough, I've never had quite the right imagination for picturing myself starting a family. Until about three weeks ago when out of NOWHERE I dreamt about my future wedding (?!?!?). A weird thing to dream about since I'm single? And have literally never been able to dream about my wedding before? (I say this from experience--I tried hard as a kid, but I just couldn't ever conjure up that image in my mind).
All that to say, I think I'm starting to put more of the pieces together and realize that life (and adulthood) isn't all about my career, but at the same time that the whole "adulthood" thing is starting to make sense, I'm being even more thrown off by this seemingly apathetic approach to things that would've seemed wonderful to me as a child. I don't want to lose that part of me (and I'm not worried that I am, honestly) but the more I've thought about it, the more I wonder if that's what we're conditioned to think and do. Is it natural for us to suppress our excitement and passion as we get older because we see the people around us doing it? I'm sure if I were a researcher, I'd have a field day with the topic, but fortunately for all of us, I'm not, so instead of a 324-page thesis, you get this post.
To make a long story short, adapting to adulthood is one of the strangest things I've ever done, but I can tell that it's good, that I'm growing, and that I'm learning--and as someone who pledged to be a "lifelong learner" from 1st-8th grade, that just feels right to me. It's a really special thing to be content with growth, I'd say, because often times it can seem messy or painful--two experiences that generally make it hard to be content--and it can be hard to appreciate the growth in the moment.
But here I am! Smiling! Growing! Learning! Pushing myself! I'm seeking out new challenges and new experiences, and it's kind of the best.
Thanks for tagging along, sorry I don't have a *ton* of fun pictures to accompany this, hope your summer has been teaching you things (feel free to clue me in to some of your summer experiences in the comments section--I love getting to know what you're up to and what you're learning!) the same way mine has.
Signing off,
Amanda
I've gone and done the one thing my dad told me not to do - I've grown up. Not fully, obviously -- the semi- or quasi-adult moniker fits me quite nicely, thank you very much-- but enough to elicit both retrospection and introspection. Let's work in chronological order, shall we?
I took a different metro route to work than normal the other day, and it got me thinking a bit.
In case you missed it, last month heralded in the 50th anniversary of the moon landing, and DC was all about it. There were projections on the Washington Monument, events in the evenings for space-lovers, and unique exhibits put on by the Smithsonian and NASA. The whole city seemed to be in awe at the fact that we'd made it all the way out to moon -- even if they all had known about it for fifty years. In proper PR fashion, the DC metro system had ads in their stations to promote the 50th anniversary--or so I thought. Seemingly out of nowhere, a whole host of Lego ads popped up in metro stations, advertising the moon landing...Or at least they did, until I looked closer. Instead, I saw advertisements that gave information about traveling to Mars.
M A R S. Big "Red Planet" Mars. Another planet. That isn't Earth.
If your mind instinctively went "psh, okay," I'm with you. That's what my mind did at first too. I brushed it off thinking that it didn't really apply to me, and tried to move on with my day. Except I didn't, because I couldn't.
The idea of humans on Mars stuck with me for the rest of the day (as I'm assuming the ads were meant to do, so I suppose this should also be a pat on the back to Lego for distracting me all day at work), and I couldn't figure out why until later that evening.
See, little Amanda wanted to be a paleontologist. She knew all sorts of random facts about various dinosaurs, and I'm sure her parents loved how much she loved learning about them. Around that same time, she discovered planets and was in awe of the different makeups and orbits and atmospheres. She didn't know much, but she knew that Mars was cool as heck, Saturn had a neat ring, and Pluto sounded like it was lonely.
The purpose of telling you that was to illustrate that as a kid, I had some idea of what outer space was, and I thought it was wild. I never wanted to be an astronaut, so there wasn't a moment where I decided I was going to be the first (insert applicable adjective here) in space, but I knew about the planets, and that they were far away, and that we as humans had never dreamed of going to them.
But last week, when I walked past these ads, I shrugged them off. I was barely phased until I realized that something had been bothering me about it all day. I had acclimated to the wonder of doing something that seemed impossible, something fantastic, something dream-worthy.
So that was when it hit me, what I was really bothered about, that is. Is our society's view of "becoming an adult" and growing up just losing our sense of wonder at things? As kids, enthusiasm and excitement are celebrated and considered endearing, but are we just expected to hit a certain age and check that excitement at the gate so it doesn't come on the plane with us?
A couple months back, I went to see the National Symphony Orchestra for free with some friends of mine. I had been invited earlier in the week, spent some time debating whether or not to go, but ultimately decided to attend after looking at the set list. They were playing one of Holst's Planets pieces, Venus, to be specific. I have all of the works in Holst's Planets in a playlist on Spotify, but I've been familiar with them since I was little, and have created some fun memories with some of the pieces in my high school and collegiate career. Venus is one of my favorites though, because nearly the entire piece sounds as if it could be the running soundtrack to an old school, black-and-white, romantic film.
I tell my friend that I've decided to go, after emphatically texting that THEY'RE PLAYING VENUS I LOVE VENUS, and a few days later, show up at the venue practically quivering with excitement in anticipation of the piece. My friend ribs me a bit for it, but I don't mind, heck, I love the piece, we all know that. The NSO starts playing, and after a bit the moment I've been waiting for arrives. I close my eyes and lean forward with my chin resting on my palms, as I often do when listening to music I'm particularly fond of, and practically hold my breath throughout the entire piece. I remember how hard I was grinning, because I remember how much my cheeks hurt after the piece had concluded. I'd smiled, and smiled hard, throughout almost the entire piece. Afterwards, my friends asked my how I had liked Venus, and I happily told them that it was lovely.
And it was. But there's something in that story.
I was enthusiastic and passionate about getting to hear Venus live, and I was held in a wondrous rapt attention as the orchestra played through it. I experienced that wonder, because I hadn't bothered to mute it, which I chose not to do because I was amongst close friends of mine. But again, is being an adult choosing to mute those more often than not? Or is it muting wonder when it doesn't apply to your work?
I'm trying to figure it out, because I don't really think it's either of those exactly. Half the people in my office know that I like (okay, love) Hamlet, but I know that there's a fine line between being passionate about something and letting it distract you. So we straddle that line, or stay firmly on the side of no distractions when in professional settings, but then...What about our personal lives?
I've been thinking about this for over a week now and I've still gotten no real answers, and I'd assume that's because the idea of trying to define what society dictates as "adulthood" wasn't ever meant to be a clear-cut thing. It wasn't like Washington, Adams, and Jefferson all sat down one day and said "Yeah, so once all men and women start dressing in business professional at least 4 times a week, then they're officially adults, which means they stop caring about things outside of work and keep their discussion of hobbies and interests to a minimum." (tbh life would've sucked for Jefferson if they did lol, so I guess both we AND he are lucky that they didn't)
Obviously I'm painting with broad strokes here. No one ever told me that being an adult and working were meant to negate concerns in all other areas of life. But I think somewhere in the back of my mind I told myself that? (Weird, since I only *really* became an adult nine months ago and I have little-to-no experience on how to actually be one.) I remember giving my mom a tentative ten year plan last year and laying all of my career aspirations out for her only to be halted by her comment of "You realize you never mentioned wanting to get married or start a family, right?"
And that's the thing. It's not like I don't want those things, I always have. Let's be honest, I'm a hopeless romantic at heart, but interestingly enough, I've never had quite the right imagination for picturing myself starting a family. Until about three weeks ago when out of NOWHERE I dreamt about my future wedding (?!?!?). A weird thing to dream about since I'm single? And have literally never been able to dream about my wedding before? (I say this from experience--I tried hard as a kid, but I just couldn't ever conjure up that image in my mind).
 |
| Now that we got that business out of the way, here's a picture of me grinning like a goofball with some blueberries because I finally made it out to New Jersey. |
All that to say, I think I'm starting to put more of the pieces together and realize that life (and adulthood) isn't all about my career, but at the same time that the whole "adulthood" thing is starting to make sense, I'm being even more thrown off by this seemingly apathetic approach to things that would've seemed wonderful to me as a child. I don't want to lose that part of me (and I'm not worried that I am, honestly) but the more I've thought about it, the more I wonder if that's what we're conditioned to think and do. Is it natural for us to suppress our excitement and passion as we get older because we see the people around us doing it? I'm sure if I were a researcher, I'd have a field day with the topic, but fortunately for all of us, I'm not, so instead of a 324-page thesis, you get this post.
To make a long story short, adapting to adulthood is one of the strangest things I've ever done, but I can tell that it's good, that I'm growing, and that I'm learning--and as someone who pledged to be a "lifelong learner" from 1st-8th grade, that just feels right to me. It's a really special thing to be content with growth, I'd say, because often times it can seem messy or painful--two experiences that generally make it hard to be content--and it can be hard to appreciate the growth in the moment.
But here I am! Smiling! Growing! Learning! Pushing myself! I'm seeking out new challenges and new experiences, and it's kind of the best.
Thanks for tagging along, sorry I don't have a *ton* of fun pictures to accompany this, hope your summer has been teaching you things (feel free to clue me in to some of your summer experiences in the comments section--I love getting to know what you're up to and what you're learning!) the same way mine has.
Signing off,
Amanda
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