Victoria in Chicago
Adventures in the Windy City
Blind.
Today I had my first interview for a job. About this, let me first say that I am just incredibly grateful. Anyone out there currently applying for a job (8%??) knows that to even get a call back, much less an interview, is a strong ray of light in a very confusing, stressful, and demoralizing time. Well, not only did an organization call me about my résumé, they invited me to an interview. And that appointment was today. So, I ironed my slacks, my jacket, put on my mascara and shoes, tucked my printed résumé in my purse, and hoped on the 8 Bus to talk with an interviewer!
It has only been 16 months since I was job hunting the last time, and the two different experiences of searching, applying, and interviewing have been very dissimilar, and surprisingly so as not much time has passed between them. Last time, I was fresh out of college, with so many meaningful experiences under my belt and fresh on my mind; I was ready to conquer the world. I knew what I was and what I wanted and that I could go somewhere great and do wonderful work. New people to meet! New things to learn! New ideas to form! This time, all of this is true, still, that being that there are still new people and lessons and understandings, but I’m a little less confident. And I can’t really tell you why.
Maybe I’ve grown into the ‘adult’ skin a little more, feeling more aware of what failure means and what it can bring. Or maybe I’m less sure of how to communicate the work I’ve been doing the past year and a half than how to communicate my college work. Like I said, I’m not sure. At this point though, I am just trying to push through to be as positive and honest about myself and my capabilities as I can be. I know I am an excellent and hard worker, and at the end of the day, that is what counts.
The interview…I am not entirely sure how it went. I will hear later today. But the experience in and of it self was beautiful. While waiting to start, a client of the organization came up to me, introduced himself, and immediately told me that he had faith in me and that I could do it, and wished God’s blessings on me. I do not know if I will ever see that man again, but I am glad to have met him if only once. One this is for sure, it would be incredible to show him in return that I have faith in him and the work he is doing. Encouragement is so important, and I have been receiving it in heaps from my co-workers and my friends. They have rallied around me. And though I may not know what is around the corner for me, or what will unfold in the next day, I am glad that I have them, my Chicago family. And I am grateful for the adventure. even still, of not knowing what is next. So far in life, it has been the unexpected that has been the most meaningful. And I love that.
work
If you have been reading this blog at all consistently, or even often, you’ll know that my current employment is with a social service organization that works to lessen the causes of homelessness, and to provide help to those marginalized within society to find work, housing, rehabilitation, and financial counseling. For the past 15½ months, I have been participating in the work of The Center for Changing Lives, previously known as Humboldt Park Social Services, as a Resident Aide within the Interim Housing Program for Men. For those of you who are unfamiliar with what interim housing is, it is NOT equivalent to an emergency shelter. A couple of years ago, CCL did have an emergency shelter in which cots were spread out on the floor (amounting near to 100, I believe), and it was first-come first-serve in regards to who got to spend the night. The emergency shelter was closed about 2 years ago, and in its place was instituted the interim housing programs—programs where clients could stay for a set period of time while they pursued employment or stronger financial stability. CCL has operated a program for men since November of 2010, during which time we have, of course, witnessed multiple men who just weren’t ready to commit to the work necessary for a real life change, to get off the streets. But for the seven of us working directly with our interim men, it is the times when our clients obtain steady jobs, move out of the program into their own housing, and continue on a path of self-reliance, responsibility, and fulfillment and satisfaction with their lives. It has not been rosy by any means, but it has been powerful.
Now, after two years of housing men, waking them up at 3.30 AM to go to the temp offices or to see if the construction bosses have any work for them; two years of housing meetings, toiletries shopping, cleaning bathrooms and mopping the floors; two years of asking how their days were, sorting through the difficulties of living with 21 other men, and rising to meet the challenge of conflict mediation—after all this, Center for Changing Lives Interim Housing Program for Men is closing. We are shutting our doors on December 31st, 2012. It was a hard decision for the agency to make, and if you are interested in reading more of the back story containing all the details, you can find the press release here. But if you just want to know the fast facts, the organization is staying open, the housing programs and soup kitchen are closing, and I am losing my job, effective the last of the year. I will be honest and say that this opportunity for change in my life is readily welcomed as I was beginning to burn out fast a few months ago. I’m looking forward to the next phase in life, for the next step in the Chicago adventure, but I don’t want to jump so far ahead of myself that I forget to reflect on the experiences I have had in the program with CCL, and all the lessons I have learned, the people I have met, and challenges I have come up against along the way. So I would like to do that now.
Firstly, I want to share with you the nitty-gritty details of working in the men’s program. And, as a proper anthropologist should do, I will relate to you the physical environment so that you have a better understanding of the interactions that happen on site.
The dorm: the IH for Men is in a dorm which contains 11 bunk beds. Each participant was given an under the bed storage box, a locker, and a hook in and on which to store his personal belongings. They were also given a welcome kit which usually included a towel, some soap, shampoo and conditioner, a razor, and maybe something fun like a candy bar or a loofah with Will Ferrel’s head on it. Everything that they brought with them into the dorm had to be laundered prior to move in, and then had to be stored within the three areas of storage provided; in the mornings at dorm closure time, whatever was not properly stored was subject to being tossed. (And yes, I have thrown out many a pair of jeans, cans of food, or bunch of papers. Talk about wrenching your heart out, there is nothing worse than throwing out a homeless man’s stuff. But that’s not what I’m talking about right now.) In the dorm is also the RA desk, hidden behind a two wall partition where we RAs sit with our laptop, locker keys, binders (full of….information! hahaha sorry couldn’t help myself…) and array of febreeze sprays, Lysol wipes, dry erase markers, tape collection, and pens. The dorm is open from 8PM to 10AM, and also for a half an hour during the day. The men must always be dressed in the dorm, and can’t bring food in or smoke. It gets so cold in here in the winter, and so stifling in the summer. But since our heating is generated from old pipes hanging from the ceilings, and our air from standing fans, the men tend to sleep with blankets half on all through the year, and often find the dorm stuffy. We have had our fair share of arguments over fan placement, and whether or not they’re allowed to sleep without their shirts on. Honestly, I give a hand to these guys for going 4 months while sharing a room with a bunch of 40-somethings who are all struggling with their jobs, families, health, and mental strain. The program is not easy, for staff or clients.
The gym: still the basement of the church, connected to the dorm by a door and a couple of stairs. The gym is where our community dinner is served every night, 365 nights a year. Every day, we set up folding tables and chairs in the gym, and then we wiped them down and tear them down. When the men are allowed on the church property, but not in the dorm, this is where they can pass the time. They eat, read, listen to the radio, work crossword puzzles, do pushups, nap, or just sit. It sounds kind of sad, but really the majority of the time they are not on the premises, but are looking for work, going to work, going to meetings at our offices, obtaining proper identification, sorting out paperwork, or participating in rehabilitative programs. They are busy. Which is good; if I were them, I would not want to hang out in the cold, empty gym all day.
The kitchen: where our amazing cook prepares 100 meals a night, up to 22 lunches and breakfasts a day, and receives pounds and pounds of the food depository orders. She has like, 10 freezers and refrigerators. It’s hard core.
And then, we have a handful of closets and pantries where we store food, toilet paper, cleaning supplies, toiletries, random paint and charcoal, laundry detergent, fans, boxes, decorations, luggage, clothing, who knows what else. The space is reflective of the hard work that goes into reaching many people, and attempting to meet a wide range of needs. Where ever there is productivity, there is a great mess.
So, a glimpse into the IH Men’s program…but, what it looks like to actually be here, to actually do the work…that is something different. Of course, my experience has been greatly influenced by my space, but even more influential than my physical location has been, are the men that I have met. I begin to think about them, about my interactions with them, as well as how my job has directed my relationships with them, and a flood of memories and thoughts overwhelms me. I do not fully know how to communicate to you, readers, what has happened to me since August 8, 2011. And even more so, how to communicate the struggle I have had with the knowledge that it is never really about me. I have utterly failed in living according to that knowledge on some days, and on others I have hit nearer to the mark of what it looks like to strive for the uplifting of another human being. As recently as yesterday, I was struck by the truthfulness of the situation of others’ pain, and my own privilege.
I was on the train on my way to the dorm when I saw a man, slumped over in a stupor, dirty and cold and tired. I noticed that his worn, stained, and ragged pants were too short for him, and that where his pulled up socks failed to meet his hem, were swollen, flaked, and infected calves. He smelled, and no one but me sat near him. I didn’t want to, and I wanted to turn from him. I hate the pity I feel, wishing that it was instead love or interest or welcome. That man has a name, a mother, a hometown, a dream, a soul. This is the reality; that we are born into places in the world over which we have no control, and no matter that place, we need help in some way. I have chosen to work in places that offer that help, but that does not guarantee that my eyes are open to the truth, or that my heart is full of good, or that my actions are selfless.
What it has been like to work with homeless men was first the constant reminder of the existence of people who are in a material struggle, and have greatly apparent deficiencies. Then, it was the struggle between helping them and enabling them. Then, making sure to not act in favoritism, or too strong of a familiarity (I love people…I try to connect). But then, you start to get burned, or tired, or confused. So then, it was a struggle to want to be here, to care, or to even smile at them. Somewhere along the line, I have become harder. And in some senses, I should have. I need to be stronger in my ability to call the right, but harder shots. I need to be harder in my analysis. But I need to work now on softening my heart to be more giving, to be ready to go the extra mile, even if it is uncomfortable for me. That has become more difficult to remember to do; to be a loving person takes exercise and courage. And I have not been perfect by any means in regards to love.
That is really just an introduction, though it has been rather long, and so I think that should be all for today. Thank you for reading and taking the time to learn about my journey and my thoughts. I appreciate this venue for processing. I think I need to start sharing again.
Silence.
The emptiness in our ears is a powerful catalyst for the fulfillment of our soul. Do not ask me why. I could hypothesize, pose suppositions or offer suggestions, but really, I am not writing here about silence to do any of those things. At this point in my life, I am not doing too much questioning of the ‘why’, so much as attempting to recognize the ‘what’. Like,
What are my next steps in life?
What is the silence that I have been experiencing?
What do I need to be doing?
To me, the silence in our lives is like music. It is the time when you let go of lyrical analysis, study of chord structure and performance technique, and just take in the piece for what it is, letting it flow in and through you to do what it will to your soul, to your senses, to your heart, to your mind. Silence is the philosophical, spiritual, mental music that we need for healing and reprieve.
Yes, I am in need of silence. This silence is the reason I have not been blogging consistently in the recent months. It is why I have become terrible at message responses, why I have let go of dialogue to an extent. My personal journal has not been updated in an unnatural (for me) period of time. For some reason–something I make no attempt in addressing, as it is uninteresting to me–I have stopped putting forth, and have begun to take in.
What I am learning in this, and somewhat unconsciously so, is that there are different responses to silence. While silence is not a misfortune or an indecency, there are appropriate responses to it for the occasion. So, we tread on the why of the situation of silence for a while, but only to make this point–what am I doing in this time, and will it satisfy the need that produced the silence in the first place? There is the active response, and the latent. Actively in the silence, we ponder, we ask why, we stay silent and listen. In the latent sense, we allow the silence, without respecting it. We mourn it and wish it to be gone. The silence is the break which leads to the crescendo, perhaps similar to the dark before dawn, or the mourning before joy, the loneliness which highlights the coming love and belonging. Silence precedes fulfillment.
Yet, is the proper fulfillment of ourselves guaranteed automatically by the experience of silence? Does it follow the quiet in our lives that the correction of life, or the meeting of our deeper needs will be met? What if we grossly mistake how we should respond and the silence begets more confusion and pain than when we started?
What has been fascinating during my time of inner silence is that it is taking place within the noisiest place I have ever lived. Even in college, there were times of silence, when no one was around, where I could be as quiet or as loud as I wanted without being a disturbance. Not in Chicago; in Chicago, people teem everywhere, the city is always moving and going and making noise. It is a public, populated place. I love that about the city, I love being surrounded by people, but when my soul is quiet, when I have lost the drive to express, it can sometimes be confusing to do some much input with so little output. It is a challenge in processing, and has been slightly disorienting. But in all honesty, after years of living in active expression of my thoughts and ideas and opinions and advice and response, I am welcoming the silence, the lack of need for my voice to be heard, and the time to just listen. Though what I am hearing does not always penetrate my soul, or hold great meaning for my life, hearing the sounds has allowed me to lose myself, preparing me for reinvention, or perhaps development. I am not the same as I once was, I am a little more lost than I have ever been, and yet I am recognizing myself more than ever. It is the most peculiar experience.
The silence has been awkward. But again, I like to think of it as music. When it begins, the unfamiliarity is unsettling. Yet the longer it continues, the closer and dearer it becomes, seeping in and finding home within the cracks, the recesses, and the undiscovered corners. It brings expansion and change, as well as peace and solidarity.
Post Summer Review Part 1: Chicago General
Geez, has it been three months? Time flies when you’re having fun, or sitting in a dark basement listening to Of Monsters and Men and the men snore. No, but truly, my blogging pattern is completely parallel to my adult life emotionally, that of feeling like I just keep stumbling and getting confused and not doing anything, just sitting and trying to remember what my last thought was. This sounds like a very dark place, but really it is just this haze of newness; a befuddlement or incoherency, you might say. Whaaa? Who am I? What is going on?
Ha. The literal answer to the latter question is this:
- Visits from the old RD and great friend, brother, Shannon’s family, second cousin, and college buddy
- Concerts in the park, yoga, soccer and baseball games, and the good old Air and Water Show
- Eating communal cake, writing songs, going to friends shows, finding TraffickFree, and going to my work’s fundraising gala
- New roommates (Rebekah, Shariel, Emily…our door seems to be of the revolving kind)
- Bad haircuts, trips to Springfield and Milwaukee, watching the Olympics and National Conventions
It’s just been summer in Chicago, guys. There are street fests with live music and overpriced appetizers, people biking like maniacs, buses that take you straight to the beach, and redbull girls running around like their the Energizer Bunny’s spawn. The thing I love so much about this city is how unashamed it is to have fun, and to live it up right on the street with the neighbors. If you’ve never been to Chicago, then the thing that you need to understand is that it’s broken up into these little neighborhoods that all make up the heart of Chicago while bringing its own unique spin on it. You’ve got Wrigleyville with its baseball and bars, Logan Square with its tacos and bars, Lincoln Park with its restaurants and bars, Streeterville with its shopping and bars, North Park with its college kids and…you’ve got it, bars. Everywhere you go is a well-beveraged new experience (don’t worry, the bars serve soda-pop and water too). While I haven’t frequented that many taverns or pubs, I have been racking up on the discoveries, connections and adventures.
Like, the Field Museum: what an awesome place! If you’re in town, and have some learning that you need to catch up on, take a trip over to Museum Campus to see Sue! The most completed Tyrannosaurus Rex dug up (90%!!). Sue is absolutely incredible, I’m still not over the amazingness of the magnificent creature. While you’re there, make sure to stop by the room of jewels, and to learn more about Tibet.
Then, there’s TraffickFree, a hardworking non-profit that is working for the advocacy of Chicago organizations that work against human trafficking. Both Shannon and I are working on volunteering with them, and just the little that we have done so far, and that we have learned through them has been both inspiring and eye-opening. There is so much that we can do from where we already are with what we already know to help those who truly need it–our modern-day slaves. Oh, didn’t know such a thing existed? Well then, hop over to their website and learn yourself a thing or two. Seriously, this is the important stuff.
We’ve now also discovered the grand sights of the city to be more diverse than we realized after trips up the Willis (formerly Sears) Tower in downtown. 1, 353 feet, and 103 floors–what an amazing view! Chicago is an expansive city, holding title as 3rd largest, and on a clear day, you can see past all of it and into Indiana and Wisconsin. Absolutely incredible! Going up is as much as an adventure as being up, as they give you the all the stats, like how many elevators there are in the building, how many toilets, the design history, and if you stacked Obama on top of himself until you reached the top you’d have x amount of Obamas. It really is a grand time.
As I say every time, I am going to work on being more regular about posting. It’s a real shame that I’m so sporadic. But the plan right now is to continue to write about how the summer has been, and the different ways in which it has been a real ride. I can’t believe that my first Chicago summer is coming to a close, and that in just a few short weeks the blasting wind will be back to sweep away any memory of the nice, warm sun…
So keep your eyes peeled, ladies and gents, for more riveting tales of Ferg and V in the Windy City, and lay the judgement on me thick if I start slackin’. I mean really, what does it take for a girl to blog???
Irony: Contingent Stimuli
I suppose in the world of theology, what I am about to say may forever separate me from the Calvinists. I don’t do this intentionally of course, as I prefer unity over division–in most instances–but it can’t be helped. The point of this blog requires me to say it, this idea, conviction that has been addressing me from every caught eye, every building corner, every written letter. Life is complex with the call for decisions and all the consequences of those decisions, exemplified in my preceding comment; that the point of this blog–what I have decided about the purpose of this writing forum–requires something of me–the subsequent consequence of that decision. Everything in this life is about the choices that come before us, how we accept and ponder over those choices, and then act in a specific way in response to those major, minor, important, unimportant moments in every moment which necessitates us choosing something. The unfolding of this world’s occurrences in this plane of time and space all hinges on the conglomeration of each individual choice, and the unique patterning of those decisions and actions and consequences coming in contact with one another. Our global community functions within this intricate lacing and weaving of decision and consequence layered and knitted together, and is ordered by the delicate balance of those layers with the grand, overarching guidance and control of the One superior Power; the Master Weaver, the Head Spider, the Lead Puppeteer–whichever metaphor your subculture conditioned you to most readily grasp and accept as truth.
We choose, and yet we’re guided, with some decisions having already been made for us. Contingency, and then stimulus and then contingency and then stimulus by decision and for decision, and then again. Somewhere in this great network, we are born at a point in time, thrust into a world that has been created for us, that we are destined to create with every breath.
Looking closely enough at this problem of, say, life, or whatever you’d like to call it, allows us to see the pattern of spiral, of cause-effect-cause-effect on loop, of infinty that is inherent to life. Or maybe, as only some of us believe in eternity. And those some of us all hold different perspectives on eternity. I would say that this is a side point. Because regardless of where and when eternity is and what it’s like, or even if it exists, we are part of the creating factor of this reality through our actions and reactions–essentially, our decisions. We continue the generational story of actions that define who we are, and regardless of whether or not we care about the decisions or see them as actually mattering in the end, the story will continue without us. It will carry right on to the next point in time that another life enters and begins reacting and acting.
So what will you do with your time? What are your decisions for, and for whom? Does what you do speak for what you believe–truly? And, have you decided what you believe? Or are you living out someone else’s decision about that, hoping it will cover whatever moral, global obligation you have? There are many of us, all living separate, individual lives–all of which are connected and effective. So let’s make decisions accordingly–as individuals for all.
Be a musketeer.
Baby Steps
It has been far too long since I’ve updated.
Oh, I was going to be so good at this! Posts once a week, lots of interesting facts and anecdotes and pictures to share with all of you, my friends from each corner of the country. You were all going to be told of my revelations and epiphones about adult life, and we would be connected through the technology of the day in an incredible, modern way.
Yeah, that obviously hasn’t happened.
And it’s not even that I’m working 60 hours a week, or volunteering somewhere really cool, or hosting awesome parties…I’m just hanging. Just living the everyday life. I’m grocery shopping and mopping the floor and doing yoga and trying to remember to buy stamps and filling out health insurance paper work. Oh what is this life where I watch drama tv and actually know what a commercial is? This one! Who would have guessed? Who would have guessed that life in Chicago, as an adult is so normal, so rote, or ordinary, average? I mean, I’m just doing the kind of stuff that everyone does, and asking myself all the same kind of psychological, human development, what-is-life kind of questions that everyone else is asking. I wasn’t expecting myself to be the kind of person that doesn’t update her blog. Confessional: I’m in the baby steps of adult life, and I’m not used to baby steps.
So now you all know; I’m gaining strength in my grown up limbs, and it’s taking me a little longer to get myself here to word press to update you guys. One step at a time. And hopefully there will be more updates sooner, and with deeper thoughts.
Until then, stay classy.
From Where I Sit
It’s been eight months since I started at my job, and in that short time my perspective of my job and what it requires of me has shifted in tone and landscape with many factors. Often times on a weekly basis a new face replaces another, representing a new name on the roster to learn, as well as a whole new case to interact with and be mindful of. As men come in and out of our programs the personality of the group changes, the needs alter, and my mindset coming into work has to readjust. I have found this experience to be challenging and sometimes even exhausting as it can feel like the proverbial emotional rollercoaster we all avidly avoid. But as time goes by in 14 hour shifts, the roller coaster slows, the turns loosing their sharpness, and my stomach feeling a little less nauseous in the face of riding through confrontation or sternness or awkward situations. If this were a mountain I were conquering, I’d say that I’m beginning to find sure footing.
Being sure of myself at work has come with gained experience, learning from mistakes, and overall observation, the last of which I want to touch on briefly. In interacting with men of varying ages and experiences, backgrounds and mentalities, I have noticed a couple key cultural truths:
A. The importance of socialization. This point is possibly influenced by my recent musings over the writings of A. Irving Hallowell who wrote concerning personality and experience, and pointed out that we as humans are different from animals because of the levels of our socialization and thus the depth of our social interaction, conscience, sub-conscience, and abstract conceptual abilities. But I do believe it’s true, that socialization takes us out of an odd, primal place that comes from the lack of stimulation, interaction, fostering by those of our own group; essentially the abandonment of love and care. We reach our best possible potential through the self-realization that can only come through community. This is not just spiritual, it is scientific with pragmatic repercussions.
B. The innate-ness of pride and selfishness. No matter what, as human individuals we are continually going to either act out or fight against the self desires of our inner beings. We want all, more of it, and fast. What’s fascinating is that it is usually juxtaposed against our strongly held and firmly founded ideas of right and wrong. It’s a cocktail for hypocrisy, but I believe that we all like the taste of it. The difference is learning to recognize when we need to take a step back from ourselves and have grace for the other, which is usually a slightly more bitter drink. I’m guessing close to a sponge soaked in vinegar.
Honestly, that is what I have for now, off the top of my head. Many of these thoughts that come from my work are buried fairly deep in my sub-conscience, sometimes clamouring to be talked through and processed, sometimes randomly popping up when outwardly stimulated. My brain can be a little slow…
In conclusion though, I will say that it is only now in this work with the background of my former work experiences that I begin to appreciate in a much fuller context the differences between men and women, and the beauty that is in our coexistence and interactions. Aren’t we just the most fascinating creatures?
The Gestation Period
It has been nine months. Long enough to have a baby, you guys. That is a good long while! Oh Chicago, how many children have been conceived and born here since that fateful, adventerous day, July 25th, 2011?
A lot like a pregnancy, there have been many emotions: fear, naseua, pure joy, excitement, among the many others. There have been shopping frenzies, shopping depressions–wait, did I need that? Apparently dressers and food are important. Life after parental care and the alma mater has so much new territory to cover and discover, but oh boy have I been ready for the unleashed life. I gladly reach out to the upgrade from 1040 EZ forms to the straight up 1040; I’m making friends with beer. But these are the small, surface aspects of a large shift that in actuality occurs within the mind and subsequent decisions in everyday actions. I know that I am ready for this place in life though it sometimes most certainly does not feel like I am that prepared to be a mature, wise, forward-moving woman. I, along with the majority of the people around me including Ferg, am constantly questioning this open road, scanning and searching with wide eyes for some road sign that points for the next logical step, the recognizable symbol of true wants and desires that line up with the beautiful Divine Will…Alas, the Topography of Adult Life Map was the chapter we skipped over in Capstone four-hundred-whatever-the-number-was. All I remember is one of my savvy professors telling me that I would have to make sacrifices and choose between things; that I didn’t get to have it all, despite the popular culture’s pulsing call. He’s right, certainly.
But what do I want? What do I work towards now? There is no piece of paper waiting for me in the hand of a prestiged academic leader; there are no more ropes, grades, halls of rooms and apartments to win over, campus events to orchestrate and execute, no baby to focus on growing and developing and feeding (ha)…now, there is a job where I often feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Now, there are new people and new opportunities to meet and learn about and become myself with. The world is expanding and I can feel my chest expanding as I breathe in and become new in a way. It hurts! my lungs stretching out, almost like a new born myself…
Unlike a pregnancy, of course I’m not pregnant (no worries, Papa!) and there is no great new arrival after the nine months of being here. Except for the realization that time is moving so quickly. Shannon and I often look at each other and shake our heads. We thank God for bringing us here safely, for giving us both jobs, for giving us a good roommate, friends and bringing us together with family. He has taken care of us like the helpless young ones we are. Maybe we’re the ones being born now. Delivered into a new world to take our first steps, bother all the older ones as we cry from the pain of cutting teeth (or large, uncomfortable checks, maybe), and develop a new language.
Haha, does anyone feel awkward about this metaphor?
Victoria in Chicago 