So I've been in Ithaca for the past few days now, slowly settling into my new surroundings. Had orientation today for the master's portion of my program and everything seemed to go swiftly. The professors are incredibly knowledgable and the classes this semester will be challenging, but ultimately very practical and rewarding. It seems like I'll finally find my niche.
The apartment is mind-blowing, to say the least. I encourage all to visit. There's more than enough room at Arnaub's pad. The roommates are also cool; we're all in the same program so it works out pretty well when it comes to group projects and keeping each other on track. They're both 24; one of them was an undergrad here at Cornell and it seems was quite the campus icon: football player, secret society member, the whole nine. He's been introducing me to everyone and their mother, which is nice when you're the new kid on the block. The other roommate is less flamboyant, more quiet and we're getting along quite well.
It's early, but it seems the rest of my classmates are a solid group. Diverse backgrounds, ethnicities, talents, ages, geographic localities. Much to my pleasant surprise, there are quite a few attractive classmates of the female persuasion. The first party is on Friday.
Yet after all of this, I still feel a bit isolated. I get along with everyone (this is all assessed after one day mind you), but yet I feel a strange void. Perhaps it's because I had such a set group of friends at Michigan and it took some time to create those bonds. I guess I miss that. I've always been the biggest proponent of 'moving on with life,' but this is like starting all over again. Granted, it's a different stage of life and one that I'm quite excited for, but I miss the familiarity and comfort of my previous lifestyle. It's an unexplainable loneliness sometimes. I haven't been the social butterfly yet though, so maybe that's it. I think I was just accustomed to getting along with a certain type of person at Michigan and I had my set clique of those I associated with, but I never had problems with making friends. I've hypothesized a possible source to my mild anxiety: at Michigan, I made my lasting friendships during my last two years of school, and I think I'm just a bit overwhelmed by the separation and having to do it all over again. Also, this lifestyle is quite different from undergrad. The workload is intense and I've ambitiously set lofty extracurricular goals along with academics, like writing for the School of Public Affairs journal and taking a leadership position in the Sloan (my program) student association. Don't get me wrong, I want to do all of these things. Just a lot on the plate right now.
Tomorrow should be fun; a ropes course to 'develop our team-building.' I did one of these things in sixth grade and I was absolutely mortified entrusting my life to some junior high-school dropout camp counselor who was barely older than I. Now I get to do it all over again; we'll see if I'm more trusting this time around. Then there's some boat ride on the Cayuga River. Thursday marks the first day of classes. Then it really begins.
Ipod: Fac 15 ~ Stay With Me Til Dawn (Kumharas Sunset Mix)
I am physically and mentally exhausted. This week has had its share of work, from rounds with the mind-numbingly lackluster people of the Inspector General's office to spending hours in surgery yesterday watching some guy have metal wires inserted in two toes. Yesterday at aikido practice, the new trainer was a guy who is contracted from the government and actually trains Green Berets and Navy Seals. I had to be his uki, or the test dummy he works his magic on when demonstrating techniques to the class. The guy is merciless and I would diagnose him as borderline psychotic. He roughed me up and there is a substantial bruising. Payback will come soon.
Today is my last day of work. Although Fayetteville bothers me as a city in terms of peoples' shallow perspectives, slow drivers, excess Walmarts and nightlife (or lack thereof), the hospital has been my solace as a comforting environment. And although my time here has been short, I feel like my stint here was more beneficial than I could have imagined.
Tomorrow is a long day, as we trek the 12 hour drive to the gorges of Ithaca. This guy had better be ready. I've been way too serious lately, with all the focus on school and work. I sometimes think I've got the body of a 22 year-old, but the mind of someone in his 40s. I desparately need a solid weekend (or week?) of debauchery and uninhibited fun. I've had a different kind of fun this summer, free of vices. Perhaps the liver needed a break after last semester. I just need to let loose before schoolwork takes over my life again. Speaking of letting loose, I'm still seeking those cheap tickets to Egypt for xmas break. I have to go. There just isn't anything else I'd rather do. Plus I need to start filling up the passport again. Things will work out. But for now, it is Ithaca navidad.
And it will be at a close next Friday. Thus endeth my last "free" summer (as part of my program, we are required to have internships and jobs to expedite the full-time recruitment process come fall). I'm still going to be open to leaving next summer open for travel.
I can safely say that I've loved every summer job I've had. The work hasn't always been glamorous, but the people I've worked for have transformed me in countless ways and helped me narrow my vision. Today was a reminder of why I kill myself working long hours in an office (when I could be abroad on some beach). No doubt my commitment to my profession has gotten my better judgment at times, but I find it remarkably rewarding to find such passion in my line of work at such a young age. It really reaffirms my decisions. I spoke with a mentor of mine today, and although he was up to his neck in work, we spent hours conversing life and how to make the best of it. I'm quite possibly the youngest person here and constantly reminded of the fact (given that I work at a Veteran's hospital), but I revel off the fact that I'm young and hungry. It's not so much a power rush, but the willingness to create change. That's what I thirst for. The associate director here is almost my future mirror image (except he's 39 and African-American), but in terms of mentality we think very similarly. He posed to me a rather comprehensive list of my options (career and otherwise) and with his list of connections, the options are endless.
I've already started thinking about post-graduation. 4 years away. Never a transient moment in my life. I'm just jazzed about the possibilities: the people to meet, the systems to change, the "world is my playground" mentality. And this actually gets me excited. I've already pondered the options: politics, law firms, HMOs, government hospitals, policy-making. All of them have an open-door policy to me.
After the visit from the inspector general this upcoming week (sure to be another mentally attenuating and strenuous event), I'm officially off to Ithaca. And that will wrap up a blindingly quick summer "vacation." So I didn't get to do everything on my obsessive-compulsive list. And I was socially sequestered in the god-forsaken south. Yet, I feel a strange sense of gratification as it comes to an end.
Ipod: Ministry of Sound Chillout Sessions Volume 7
The title of the post speaks for itself. Within the last few weeks, I've had to tell others how old I am for an assortment of reasons (visits to the hospital, curious colleagues at work, relatives who have forgotten that I'm still alive etc.) and almost every time, the following routine has occurred:
Others: "So how old are you?" Me: "22" Others: "What??" (and none of these people were hearing-impaired) Me: "22." (a bit more emphatically) Others: Wow, you look a lot younger than that. Me: "Um...exactly how young...."
This has been followed with blasphemous respones such as 18, 19 and 20. I then usually get commented about my precociousness, followed with a "well, you're cute." Maybe I'm being too self-conscious. I mean the people who've asked are usually somewhat-senile 30-50 year old women at my work. 18?? Cute?? That's a bruising to the ego and certainly battering my dwindling masculinity. I suppose it's better than 18?? Ugly??
And this recent reaffirmation of my age has only occured within the last few weeks (I'm thinking it's the hair....when I spiked it up, I looked older and now it's down). I'm sure I will appreciate my babyface when I'm 80 and my nursing home counterparts are dowsing themselves in wrinkle-cream. But the sentiment now is why do I have to revisit my teenage years again. Especially in a professional setting, where you can define yourself by your actions, but a commanding presence seems to play a substantial role. Even in my program at school I'm relatively young (both of my roommates are 25). So where to go from here....stop shaving and pull a burbs? I don't think that would do it for me, sorry to disappoint. But what a reaction that would stir...
It's currently 8:46 am. For the past hour, I've been reviewing a CD on root cause analysis simulation in preparation for a presentation later next week. The CD will make a nice coaster for my coffee. Oftentimes I find myself only partially focused on my current tasks at hand. The other half unwittingly and subconsciously absorbs my surroundings. I simply observe the atmosphere: interactions, subtle gestures, conversations. Findings:
There is a new psychiatrist who just joined the mental health department. Some might call him eccentric, but to me that is a bit of an understatement. Everytime I return from a meeting, I find him chatting (borderline flirting) with the secretaries in my wing. It is within the realm of possibility that he only does 1 hour of actual work a day. He is flamboyantly charismatic and has a sarcastic tone behind his words. The kind of guy who just wings everything. It's hard to take him seriously. He is trying too hard to make his presence known. At this very moment, he is singing "Turn Me On" by Kevin Little (you wish I was kidding).
Right across from me lives a woman who considers herself to be a boss of mine. I consider her a tyrant at times. She is a large, jovial woman with a contagious laugh. From the position of her office, she has an almost direct view of my office. She is unassumingly nimble and has the ability to sneak up on you when you least expect it and are doing no work whatsoever and may be on nomadlife blogging. I tilt my computer screen. She may have won the last battle, but the war carries on.
Every day, all senior administration report for 'morning report,' a 30-minute meeting to discuss hospital operations and updates prior to the starting the workday. At this meeting, you will find the observers: those who say little, do a lot and constantly watch the actions of others. There is the dramatic: an attempt at a pep-talk turning into a tirade about how much we haven't accomplished as a staff and how screwed we are. There is the change agent: the one whose words incite action and inspiration. The schmuck: overpaid, underworked, over-dressed guy whose job title speaks volumes but his actions represent little. The man doesn't even know the names of people in his own staff. The politicking: charming individuals who literally traverse every wing of the hospital and hob-nob with all the staff members. Their charm is their greatest asset and their greatest weakness. There is the visionary: setting the mission and vision for the organization and actually following through with it.
Lastly, there is me: the intern. I don't know where I fit in right now. So I observe. And I wonder. When I am running the show, who will be on my staff and what will they do? It takes pieces of all these characteristics to effectively lead. Jim Collins always said to 'get the wrong people off of the bus and keep the right ones on.' Ideally, half of the aforementioned wouldn't be on my staff. But upon further thought, I recently realized that every one on the administrative staff serves a purpose. It might not jump out at you and you'll have to really reach sometimes to give people a chance to demonstrate their potential. But they are there for a reason. They could be workhorses. They could be schmoosers. Realizing why they are there, what their purpose is and what they can contribute to the organization is the trademark of an established leader.
