Living With Others is Hard

What do you get when you put 7-8 very different people who don’t know each other in a small house 15 minutes away from campus?

Surprise! It’s not immediate hugging, an abundance of rainbow stickers and best-friendship. I’ll give you a hint:

 it’s conflict. (My dear old friend… remember that one?)

Here’s the thing about relationships with people who are in very close proximity to you and who are not your family: we all have expectations for how those people will behave. 

Newsflash: they will not behave that way for you. They are their own person. They live by their own values and expectations. (GASP!)

I know, I know. This is a lot to take in. Feel free to take a seat if you need to.

In all seriousness though, you don’t really realize the expectations that you have for people until they behave in a way that completely disregards your expectations for them. And we all have expectations, for better and for worse. For example, although I’d like to believe that I’m considerate and community-minded, I know for a fact that I am fiercely independent. For this reason, I expect people to not ask me questions, to respect my choices without interference and to give me space, but this means that I tend to also expect people I interact with to be independent and solitary creatures who are self-reliant and self-motivated and who will mostly concern themselves with themselves.

Unfortunately, not everyone is me.

Correction:*fourtunately not everyone is me

People around me will question me and my decisions, people will want to be affirmed through frequent and lengthy contact with me, and people will need me to motivate them and hold them accountable for their lives. Normally, this isn’t a big deal, because most relationships in our lives outside of family don’t require us to spend enough time with others to the point where we notice them defying our expectations. (Anyway, we tend to share similar expectations as our family members because our expectations for relationships are partially shaped by the standards of the relationships we grew up in)

However, when you’re living in a house with 7-8 of your unrelated contemporaries, small moments that defy your relational expectations become more noticeable. Differences in relational expectations for each other create conflict.

My experience in an intentional community has been less about volunteering and community involvement, and more of a lesson in patience, humility, and getting along with personalities that defy my expectations.

The thing is, you have to learn to discard your expectations. Yeah, whatever, waahh that sucks, blah blah blah, but really: despite what you may think, you don’t know what’s best for other people. Let me rephrase that: everyone outside of your worldview comes from a completely different place than you, and they all have good reasons for believing and expecting the things that they do.

While it’s important for me to make my expectations clear so people can learn how to best work with me, it’s just as important that I understand other people’s expectations for me. I have to come to realize that people aren’t nagging me, they’re holding me accountable. That I need space, but others need proximity.

This kind of close relationship entails picking your battles. You need to give a little respect for the expectations of others if you wish to receive that same kind of respect from your peers. Sometimes you need to wave a white flag, and other times you need to be firm and explain why you expect what you do.

It’s one of the hardest things I’m having to learn. There are days where I really, really suck at giving up my expectations. But realizing that I have expectations at all is one of the biggest steps I can take toward being able to form better, stronger relationships with others. Learning how to deal with people who are different than you is a big part of growing up. 

If you can learn to be respectful, humble, patient and kind to people that you don't understand or agree with, I think that's a huge indicator of maturity, or reaching the ever-elusive "adulthood."

For now, I'm still learning.

A Sudden Appearance of Hips

This week, the Public Relations student Org that I lead had a field trip to visit a local PR firm. Naturally, we wanted to make a good impression, so we decided to dress business casual for the visit. Sick of wearing khaki pants to everything, I decided to bust out my old dress pants from high school, since I’ve always remained a pretty consistent size. After promptly being issued a steep fine from the fashion police for wearing flared-fit pants after 2005, I noticed something.

The pants that had always been a bit too big on me were now really, really squashing my hips. As in, I sat down to think about how I could still probably wear them and get away with it, and my hips were like “DEAR GOD NO I WON’T LET YOU DO THIS TO ME” and I had to take them off.

My hips have always been bigger than the rest of me, and I have outgrown clothes before, but this was different. Normally, when I had to size up, it was because I was growing, and so I generally grew pretty evenly. But for the first time in my life, only one area is getting bigger, and it’s getting bigger because it’s gaining weight. I don’t fit into things nicely anymore; I either have to buy the right size dress and have it be way too tight in my hips, or buy a size up so that it fits my hips but is slightly baggy everywhere else. (when I told my friend about this, she gave me a proud smile and said “Kayla, you’ve finally become a woman. Welcome. I’m proud of you”)

I’ll have to admit, I was troubled by my gut reaction to my ill-fitting pants. The first thing that popped into my head was “I really need to stop eating all those processed foods” and “bikini season’s coming up; I really should start doing squats.” At which point I screamed “SHUT UP PATRIARCHY” and ran out to buy myself a large cinnamon bun and a bag of cheesy popcorn. (The food part’s true. I also bought two boxes of cereal, a loaf of bread, and a shower curtain for completely unrelated reasons.)

Concern was a weird reaction for me to have, especially since I know that I’m still very thin, and I’ve wanted to gain weight for a while. I’m certainly not ashamed of or concerned about my hips; I was even kind of proud when I went out to buy new dress pants and the “curvy fit” were the ones that were most flattering and fit best. It’s just a part of growing up. As my friend told me, “when you hit the age of 20/21 your body starts going through another set of changes” (I snorted when she said this; it made me think of awkward middle school talks but it also made me think of changing into a werewolf. Which I kind of hope happens too, because that would be pretty flippin’ awesome)

With these hips, I’ll most likely be turning into Shakira. But close enough, right?

In the end, my friend had me get up and show off my new hips, and we laughed about how I was finally getting curves and turning into a woman.

And you know what? I think I might just keep them.

Stepping Up and Taking Responsibility (but not too much responsibility)

It’s been yet another crazy week for me. This week I had several papers and projects due, I worked extra hours in the costume shop to get the Theater Company’s show ready to open, and it was also the week that Student Organization renewal forms were due. In addition, I’m busy preparing for a presentation that I’m going to give to the board of a non-profit about the social media audit that I conducted for them. These things always seem to pop up at the same time.

There were several times this week when I brushed up against the threshold of an adulthood fail. It was tempting to give in and go to bed rather than stay up until 5:00am finishing a 6-10 page paper. It was also tempting to give in and stop trying so hard to finish and turn in all the paperwork associated with renewing the student organization that I help lead. It was really tempting to just let go and watch everything collapse in on itself and revel in my immaturity. But I didn’t. I suffered through and held on, and I made it to the end of the week alive. Albeit severely sleep deprived, stressed out, and a bit crabby, but alive nonetheless, and with everything still intact too.

Even though plenty of people choose to shirk responsibility in favor of doing something more enjoyable, I think part of being a successful adult is digging into all that stressful stuff and working through it for the sake of others or for the sake of a better future.  I didn’t want to stay up all night working on a paper, but I knew that a good GPA lets me keep my scholarships and gives me more internship opportunities in the future. I didn’t want to figure out all the paperwork for my student org, but I realized that the networking and portfolio-building opportunities that my organization provides might be the difference between whether or not I land a job once I graduate, and I know that those opportunities benefit the other members as well. As a result, I push through the stressful times and end up with brighter opportunities and less stress in the future.

But at the same time, a big part of this adult responsibility is learning to let some things go. You can’t be the hero to everyone, all the time. When you try to do everything at once, you easily become overbooked, exhausted and burnt out. You have to make good choices about what you want to put work into, and you have to realize that you can’t carry another person’s weight for them. It’s just too much for you to handle on your own. This is something I need to work on. You can’t do everything for everyone else. If things are going to fall apart, then they will fall apart eventually, no matter how much effort you put into trying to save them. Yeah, it’s really disappointing when they do, but you can’t burn yourself out by trying to bail out the Titanic with a one-gallon bucket.

Moral of the story: hard work is good, and it pays off, but only if you’re smart about what you invest your work in.

Life Decisions

So much good news came my way this week, especially the news that I received the offer for the summer internship position I interviewed for! I am so excited for and extremely blessed by this opportunity to go out into the adult world and gain some real life experience in my career field. 

Also, I (officially) received the news that one of my good friends from college is engaged! I’m so excited and happy for her!

…But I’m also just a little bit terrified.

It really doesn’t have anything to do with her or her wedding; she’s just the first of my friends to get married. I mean, plenty of my acquaintances or former high school classmates have become engaged or tied the knot, but that never really registered much with me.

Until now.

When I heard the news, I was so happy for her and so excited because I freakin’ love weddings. But then, out of nowhere, all of the alarms in my head began sounding off at once screaming , “YOUR FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED! SHE’S OLD ENOUGH TO GET MARRIED! AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS? YOU’RE ALSO OF MARRYING AGE! SOME GUY COULD COME ALONG RIGHT NOW AND MARRY YOU TOO!”

Looking back, hanging a garlic wreath outside my door to ward off potential husbands was probably a bit of an overreaction…

But in all reality, I suddenly started noticing my Facebook newsfeed blowing up with all sorts of engagement announcements, and it seemed as though everywhere I turned, college friends, high school classmates, and even childhood friends were engaged, married, or starting a family. It was kind of a big awakening for me; realizing that we’ve come to the point of our lives where we begin to make the decision of how we want to spend the rest of our time here.

But I don’t especially want to make that decision right now.

I can still remember freshman year, sitting in the dorm’s coffee kitchen with my friends and talking about the rest of our lives, about how we were going to have such a blast celebrating the first of our weddings. And now that day’s here, and so much has changed. When I sat at that table three years ago, I pictured us all so adult-like and world-wise; I figured anywhere between 25-30 years old was a good age to celebrate the first marriage in our friend group. 

But I’m only 20 years old, and I’m starting to see that we all have to begin to make the decision about what our lives are going to look like. As someone who really, really hates taking uninformed risks, I feel like I don’t know enough to make that decision. But I also know that refusing to make a decision is, in a way, still making a decision nonetheless. I don’t know what I want out of life; I don’t even know what life has to offer me yet. And I certainly don’t want to get married already.

Ugh... Maybe I’ll just pick up another major and hide from life for a while until I feel comfortable entering the world and making that decision. Until then, I suppose I’ll just eat a ton of Italian food and hope that the constant garlic on my breath wards away any would-be fiancees.

So… What’s in a Name?

As you may or may not have already guessed, this is not, in fact, a gardening blog. Rather, this is a blog about a young woman attempting to find her place in the adult world.

What does this have to do with parsley? Glad you (hypothetically) asked.

Last year I stumbled upon the fact that I appeared to have a green thumb. With the unfettered and irrational ambition of a young person, I decided to set my sights on growing an herb garden from seed and only eating plants that I grew myself. The basil and the chives shot up and flourished right away, but I was having trouble with the parsley. Naturally, I sought after answers via google as to why my plant would not sprout. I didn’t find much help, but what I did find was an interesting article about all the old wives tales surrounding the difficult-to-sprout plant.

And that was where I saw it. An old myth that “parsley only grows when a strong woman rules the house.” I thought this was interesting, but even more, I took it as a challenge. If I could get this parsley to grow, I could officially champion myself as a “strong woman.”

So when it did sprout, I felt like a BEAST. However, it soon grew really weak and ill-looking. Some leaves became scorched and dried up, others grew sickly and wilted, and it never grew past its first leaves. (eventually it leapt out of the pot to end its poor existence when I turned it sideways to sweep some discarded chives from its container)

That got me thinking. My whole life I’ve considered myself a feminist and strong woman, but looking back and looking around, I’m not so sure that I’m there yet. While everyone else is making their way in life and becoming an adult, I’m still standing at the crossroads, jumping up and down and waving my hands in front of my face indecisively.

So, this blog is a journey. You will find here all the awkward stories, dumb decisions, and life lessons that I encounter along the way. This is my journey to become a strong woman.

And to finally grow some damn parsley.