A Measure for Success

Although I have admitted to this fact already, my current juncture is still one of both looking back and thinking forward: I'm analyzing my summer but yet I'm still in it; I'm dwelling upon Sullivan's Island and I-95 but I'm not quite home. My emotions span every inch of the hyper/hypo spectrum, so much so that "emotional" is the only descriptor that fits. But don't worry! Because although my mind is constantly wandering back to that unexpected afternoon in the awe-striking Rose Room of the New York Public Library (which was, in fact, modeled after Thomas Cooper Library in Columbia, SC. Not!), or that wrong-turn-turned-lucky-find fundraiser gala at the Museum of the Moving Image, I am not reliving such memories from the comfort of my air-conditionless second story walk-up in Queens. Oh, no; I abandoned the misgivings of my self-pity party somewhere over the course of the heat waves that rolled in this last week.

New York Public Library; flickr.com

In addition to planning my first, second and third meals upon returning to South Carolina (East Bay Deli, Chick-fil-A, and Pawley's Front Porch, respectively), over the past couple of days I've been persistently checking things off "the list." I have braved it up to the Bronx to stand in awe of the world's largest cathedral: St. John the Divine- I'm sure you're thinking, But what about St. Peter's Basilica? Well, it's technically not a cathedral; St. Peter's is the largest church. Regardless, both sacred places are overwhelmingly colossal and make me to feel as insignificant as The Cricket in Times Square. I have cabbed it into Manhattan before the sun's promised rise to stand in line for three hours, for nothing else but to relive the teenaged girl butterflies of a celebrity sighting: Regis and Kelly! I have served up Chicken 'n Eggos and Fried Green Tomato sandwiches like it's my job- oh yeah, it is my job. Thankfully, the truth is that no matter what I find myself doing at any given moment, I'm relentlessly tackling these last four (oh. my. gosh.) days in New York as though my well-being depends on it. And I can't help but think it does depend on it.

St. John the Divine; starsandfits.com

Last night at work I asked Casey, our chef, if he thought I had succeeded in my summer. All along, he has been the one reminding me to "sleep when I'm dead," and take advantage of everything throwing its attention at me right now. A motivational speaker hidden in a chef's coat, that Casey. And he can cook! Of course he fell to the floor laughing at my question but after pulling himself together, Casey wittily admitted that in his eyes, I have indeed succeeded. I have passed his test. But this tossing around of the idea of success got me to thinking about how we define success for ourselves: what standards we employ and what measures we undertake to achieve such success. Although I think it differs from person to person, I want to share the map of success I had unknowingly mapped out for myself before arriving to The Big Apple.

I did not intentionally make a list of goals for my summer, but I was tricked into doing just this at the end of my spring semester. One of the prompt choices professor Dan Smith gave to our rhetoric class was to discuss a way in which what we had discussed over the course of the semester would relate to our future. Open-ended prompts can be quite the intimidators, but with a little direction and a helping of passion, these burdens can be tackled with ease. Naturally, with excitement of the immediate future on my mind, I chose to write about my hopes for New York. Until today, I had forgotten completely about this paper, but it has served as an applicable measure for my rate of success or lack thereof. I apologize for the paper's length, and I will do my best to make manifest the lines I hope to leave you with most of all:

Why do we read? What about our favorite authors makes them to stand out in our minds? Why do we return to these literary idols- Thoreau, Whitman, Lewis, (insert favorite author here)-  page after page, novel after novel, into the wee hours of the morning? High numbers in sales and ability to withstand time directly indicate the success of such figures; these scholarly greats all share in common one thing I desire: arete, or excellence. I do not believe these idols have accomplished such feats by accident. Rather, each has undergone arduous conditioning in the ‘cultivating of the self’ (Smith 2, 9). I choose to narrow down and discuss one point of pertinence, my (hopeful) writing life. The value in rhetorical practice, though, can be seen in any field; it is impossible to envision success in any aspect of life without having developed these skills. For rhetoric is “the practice of living and learning in ways that develop and enhance one’s experiences, knowledge, and skills” not just in terms of literary advancement, but also in terms of one’s relationships with others, one’s career, one’s lifestyle, one’s anything (Smith 2, 8).

So, I want to be a writer; actually, I am a writer. If have learned anything- aside from not trusting a fiance and best friend to be left alone- from my favorite author, Emily Giffin, it is this: “First, stop referring to yourself as an ‘aspiring writer.’ You might aspire to get paid for what you do, but you are a writer if you write.” Paid or unpaid, I hope to be the type of writer somebody, somewhere wants to read someday. What exactly elicits this want, this desire, in a reader? I believe it is the author’s ‘abilities’: his or her logos (Smith 2, 2). By strengthening my skills in communic-ability, account-ability, and relate-ability, I hope to further open up new poss-abilities for myself and for my future in light of my writing life: new job opportunities, new experiences for writing material, and new resources for skills sharpening. I do not imagine that this type of strengthening, this ‘cultivating of the self’, could ever be unintentional or by chance. Rather, one must purposely stretch and challenge herself, she must drag herself out of her comfort zone, and she must adhere to strict, ethical standards. I want to be skilled in “the art of possibility,” rhetoric, both for my own sake, and for those who many one day read what I have to say (Smith 2, 6). 

Any author worth reading, if nothing else, understands the value of relate-ability. Fiction and nonfiction writers alike produce page-turners as a result of their capacities to develop prose that strikes a chord with a reader’s heart and mind. A well-written story embodies universal truths and mythic qualities that pertain to the human soul, those truths that convey both “what it means to be human, and how human beings [should] behave” (Smith 2, 5). Such writers are honest, in that they uphold a sense of moral integrity, and thus likable as a result of this honesty and humility. By sharing in the struggles and defeats of the everyday man, the aspired writer wins the acclaim of the masses. In his inaugural address as a Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory, John Quincy Adams stated: “The ways of moral living must be studied and cultivated so as to become second nature, because the better the man the more benefit he confers upon his associates and fellow citizens through his art” (Smith 1, 2). Though this type of “moral living” is all too often overlooked in today’s society, I think it important to strive for such excellence as a means of gaining credibility among one’s peers. To become a better writer, as well as a better student of life, I hope to strengthen my skills in relate-ability.

To communicate well, a writer and her reader must posses a mutual understanding; as a result, a “community” is formed. An understanding, or learning gathered through experience, can be referred to as empeiria. (Smith 2, 6). This notion of empeiria is adequately described in “The Neurological Construction of the Self” article, which discusses the discovery of the experiential and relatable ‘self’ when it says: 

Finally, to the extent that we have common experiential relations with-in the world and its communities, and thus common accounts of those relational experiences, we have shared experiential accounts of life and the world that enable us to relate to and commune with one another by sharing (communicating) those accounts. (Smith 2, 9)

By throwing myself out into the world, I hope to gain some clichéd “life experience” and some wisdom and insight into the lives of others. On Sunday, May 1st, I will move to New York City and waitress for the summer. (I should note that I have never waited tables a day in my life, nor have I lived in such an intimidating city.) I have nothing to lose, and a whole world of experience to gain. Without a doubt the scariest decision I have made, my summer in The City holds more potential and growth for me than I can know at this point. But I think it is an understanding that stems from an active participation in the environment one finds herself, that leads to communicability progress. By seeking to understand foreign or different communities and thus, make one’s self apart of such a community, connections are formed, wisdom is gained, and knowledge is shared. This summer- and every season thereafter- I hope to gain some “street credibility” to back up my writing as I throw myself out of my comfortable lifestyle and into one of the most culturally diverse cities in the world. 

With the third ability, accountability, comes a responsibility. Just as rhetoric, because of its abstractness, cannot be concretely measured, neither can one’s responsibility to herself be quantitatively measured. Keeping one’s self accountable for her actions, besides maintaining a positive moral compass, includes taking advantage of one’s potentials and always striving for personal growth. It is imperative to always work towards eudaimonia: the highest human good that Aristotle spoke about so many centuries ago (Smith 2, 11). By striving for this excellence, this arete, one sees that the talents she has been given are not wasted. I hope to never take advantage of these gifts, talents and privileges I have been blessed with. Not only is a writer accountable for herself, but she is also held responsible for the ideas, facts and messages she conveys. 

This summer I hope to form a ‘self.’ I hope to see, to do, to experience, to learn, to struggle, and ultimately to grow. Accomplishing these challenges is how one is able to look back on herself from a year ago and not recognize the person she sees. Growth does not occur by staying in the same place, in both the physical and intellectual sense. Rather, one grows as a result of the changes she allows to take place. This growth is a person’s ‘whole duty’ that John Quincy Adams refers to in his inaugural address: “Wisdom, learning, and virtue herself are estimated through a man’s demonstration of their possession through word and deed, and the whole duty of man consists in making himself capable of such things” (Smith 1, 2). This ‘whole duty’ is what makes all the difference in the world. During this semester, this course has reminded me that these qualities still matter: these chivalrous, outdated, noble virtues we see protagonists chase after in the most renowned of novels. They are not lost causes, nor are they merely fictional qualities. Success is not by luck; it is, instead, a result of hard work and intense training of the self.

Smith, D. “Collection 1” from “Handouts and Reading Supplements” in Course Documents. <www.blackboard.sc.edu>

Smith, D. “Collection 2” from “Handouts and Reading Supplements” in Course Documents. <www.blackboard.sc.edu>

Tipped Out

"It's just that there is so much to do and I want to do it all. If there are that many cuisines available for takeout, imagine the number of events: rock concerts, comedy benefits, book launches, TV wrap parties, art openings, restaurant openings, theater openings, even the opening of my mail is a fete if you add champagne... It wasn't my fault, you see. New York was tempting me. It expected me to participate, always, the way a gregarious person's friends expect her to always be "on"... The city lures its inhabitants, seduces us; it's an evil hypnotist, a nefarious prankster..." 

-Jane Borden, I Totally Meant to Do That

Last week in New York! I'm not sure how it happened, but as usual, the days creeped past faster than anticipated. One month turned into one week, and now here I find myself FedExing cardboard boxes of books and shoes back to South Carolina- because there is no way this extra baggage I've managed to accrue will fit into two fifty pound suitcases plus a carry on. Who am I kidding... I couldn't even make it to New York in two bags before I purchased all of these "must-haves."

While I stare at my summer list, noting the handful of to-do's I have yet to check off, I cannot help but find joy in knowing that several unhighlighted tasks will remain as such: sans pink highlight. As much as I wish to do and see everything worthy of my list, I find more comfort in realizing many things will remain un-done, un-seen, and un-appreciated. Because the more I still have to accomplish, the more "pros" I will be able to tally under their respective column on my anticipated NYC post-graduation list. I should definitely move back to New York, I mean, I haven't even made a trip to the Bronx Zoo! And how could I have gone all of last summer without visiting Caroline's Comedy Club in Manhattan. Idiot! Whether or not I choose to move back is a decision at least nine months premature, but my stacking up of benefits in favor of New York can't hurt, right?

Although my lack of checking off is in some respects embarrassing, it is both consciously and subconsciously intentional. I discovered this crafty "method in my madness" on one of my many subway slogs under the East River today. I had travelled into Manhattan with no real purpose other than to stroll the streets. I stopped at a few jewelry vendors, touristy retail shops in SoHo, and even Eataly, an upscale Italian marketplace packed with nice restaurants, fresh markets, and gluttonizing gelato. But somehow nothing was able to fulfill me; I realized just how stuck between New York and home I currently feel. Like I'm in some waiting room. I'm still in New York, yes; but I'm not really here. I'm merely wallowing in the aftermath of my experiences here, reflecting back on both the unexpected challenges and the privileged episodes. Essentially, I'm trying to make sense of it all, when I should be taking advantage of what's currently still in front of me. And the struggle ensues.

On a lighter note, to continue along with my ongoing theme of perfection in unintentional book selection, I had yet another serendipitous moment today as I walked through Madison Square Park. My friend, Rebecca, had suggested I read I Totally Meant To Do That by Jane Borden back in May. I somehow just got around to buying and reading Borden's memoir, and the timing could not have been more perfect. The book juxtaposes the post-grad, city life of New York with the cliched southern environ as it was experienced in the rearing of its author. Through humor, reflection and a knack for story-telling, Borden struggles both to define and choose a home: New York or North Carolina? NYC or NC? Her witty tales strikes multiple chords within me as I strive to define New York in terms of its role in my continual coming-of-age. If I could choose one book to erase the author's name and in its place scribble my own, this would be it: the first of three Magic Genie-providing wishes. Did I mention that the girl is downright hilarious? Jane Borden gives Chelsea Handler more than a run for her money. I cannot wait to read what Jane comes out with next. Twitter stalk: successful. Fan-mail list: you betcha.

But I still have yet to arrive at the providential point: today, as I walked through Madison Square Park, searching for a shaded bench on which to sit and finish the last chapter of Borden's memoir, I almost ran square into a signboard of the park's events. And what did I find at the bottom of the list but the name Jane Borden itself. I'm not kidding! I only wish I could conjure up this kind of story all by myself. On July 28th- after I am gone- Jane will be visiting Madison Square Park, the exact place I had chosen to finish up the last few pages of her book, to share her story. I'm so sad I won't be in New York! Maybe I should move back sooner? 

Jane's Madison Square Park reading

Expirating

“But I had come from out of town, and to me New York was a hive. You could not just live here. You had to be somebody, do something, it didn’t matter what. You were not a part of the city unless you were on a bus or a subway and on your way to an office or a factory or a schoolroom. How could you know New York if you had not bolted your lunch in a coffee shop or had not had your subway stall under the East River? You could not. The best way to know New York, to learn to love New York, was to let it wear you out.” -Mary Cantwell

Because I have allowed so much time to slip through my fingers without breaking to write about all of my "tips," I was forced to consult my handy calendar to remind myself just what all I've been doing these past few weeks. To say that I've been busy is an understatement! But that's okay with me... because when else will I be able to walk out of my apartment and be singing along to a Broadway musical in less than thirty minutes? When will I have the chance to sit and read a book under the oaks of the Grand Mall in Central Park? Odds are I probably will never cheer Joey Chestnut on to a First Place Trophy in the annual hot dog eating contest at Coney Island again. I most likely won't be eating Carvel Ice Cream out of a Yankees plastic baseball hat then turning around an hour later to find myself taking a picture of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" at the MoMA. And I certainly won't have the superlative world of shopping at my disposal once I leave from here. As exhaustive as these past couple of months have been, I can thankfully say I will leave New York with no regrets, and no taking for granted any of the advantages this city has to offer. 

My parents came to visit me over the weekend leading up to the Fourth of July. I can't describe just how excited I was that they were taking time out of their busy schedules and coming up only to see ME! No siblings, no relatives, no work, no grandchildren (ahem). I'm blessed to have been born into such a huge family, but center-of-attention time has been cut into fourths, sixths, and now sevenths with the arrival of "the favorite" of the family, Connor. And rightfully so. But to have three days of "only child"-like attention was anxiously anticipated. I'm sure they would have loved to fly up to New York and relax on their break from the real world, but I wasn't cutting my parents any slack: we were subwaying, taxiing, and running rampantly all over the five burroughs. I wanted to be certain they left New York more exhausted than they had been when they first arrived after a hard week's work. 

Having visited New York several times throughout the years, my parents forewent the frivolous touristy sights and left all of the planning of their trip up to me- though it pained my mom to be out of control for once. For Mark and Linda, this trip was practically like seeing a new city altogether: we hung out in areas they'd never ventured through, ate in restaurants they'd never passed by, stayed in a hotel that wasn't (thank goodness) in Times Square, and even sacrificed mass at the famous St. Patrick's Cathedral for a more local, but equally beautiful, option. 
Although I'm convinced that I was made for the only child lifestyle, I knew this kind of attention would not last. Since I realized ahead of time that I would most likely not be in such a situation again, I made sure to plan each hour wisely. We had a great time together, and I miss my wonderful parents already!


Besides my parents' visit, I have been scuttling all over this city: crossing things off my to-do list, meeting up with friends, taking writing classes, entertaining visitors, and- oh yeah- working. It's amazing what you can accomplish in twenty-four hours when you don't have a television and are not laying out at the beach all day (these would be my usual summer preferences). 

One of the highlights of my recent adventures includes a night at Lincoln Center- last night, actually- with Danielle who came to visit me for the weekend. We watched the last performance of The Sleeping Beauty by the American Ballet Theater, and I cannot believe that I've never been to a ballet before. I enjoyed all of the music, costumes, and dancing- even if I had to ask Danielle to interpret the actual story at each pause and during the intermission. It amazes me, that these performers are able to tell a whole story without even saying one word. It forced me to think of how many people I pass in a day and just how infinitely large of an opportunity I have to leave an impression or brighten their day without even saying a word. No, I probably won't be given a standing ovation for giving up my seat in the subway, nor will I receive a round of applause for holding open a door, but little wordless acts of kindness are the very first type to be thrown out when I'm having a bad day.  

As I walked toward the check out line at the grocery store this evening, I became pitifully aware of how envious I am of my milk carton; its expiration date far outlasts my departure from this place. Though I look forward to my being back with friends, family, and everything I consider familiar, I know that leaving New York will prove just as difficult as leaving South Carolina was back on May 1st. I wish I were staying longer for the exact reasonings that wear me out day after day. Two weeks and counting until I fly back home.

"As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish,  so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it." -Isaiah 55:10-11