I'm 22 and I Built A Desk

Spoiler alert: I built a desk

The other day, one of my favorite undergraduate art professors linked to the article Misled Into Leadership by Paul Dunion, ed.D., LPC. Although my professor posted the article to 
Facebook in reference to the administration at the University of Connecticut, saying, "Upper administration may or may not be leaders, yet this is the perception that has been created and bought", I couldn't help but think about the article in terms of my own development as a leader as facilitated by years of public education and an unintentionally male-centered family unit.

The article breaks down the definition of a leader and speculates what causes a person to go with a leader regardless of what that person might actually want. So I too will follow the outline of the article to tell you the story of how I built an IKEA-style desk for my room.


Leading from the Interior: A person who understands herself is a person worth following, particularly if that person is able to recognize their fear and seek necessary support, rather than making fear-based decisions.

As you know, I recently moved to Ireland. I have new housemates in a new apartment, and for the first time I am independent of any facilitating program (or family) that would care about the particulars of my living situation. One of my first concerns was obtaining a desk so I could paint and draw. With my budget, that meant a deconstructed desk that came in a long, skinny box. The instructions had no words, only images. And no parts were labelled.

Ehhh...

Internal Balancing: Recognition, acceptance, and employment of the emotions guiding our actions.

Is it crazy to have a lot of emotions about cheap wood and screws scattered across my bedroom? Because I had a lot of emotions about this deconstructed desk. Growing up, my dad always had my older brother and I trailing behind as he made repairs to our two hundred and fifty year old house. Scott, though developmentally delayed, was taught to cut wood, finish decks, and patch up walls. Yet my hand never touched a hammer. Perhaps I'd be allowed to help by carrying materials or painting a little, but I was never taught how to complete a "manly" task from start to finish. As I grew older, my chores moved completely indoors, where I could then watch my little brother learn chores not meant for me.

Over time, I started to think: I'm bad at woodworking. I can't build a bench. This lesson was reinforced at school, where a boy who slacked off in Woodworking class was reprimanded, while I was rewarded with good grades when I giggled instead of worked. I figured everyone was letting me off the hook because they understood I was incompetent. I was in awe of men, who could do everything I could do and more. I understood my place.

Now, as an adult, I know I can do any simple task. Even those "meant for men". But I feel a lot of worry. I am scared that if I mess up a "manly" task, I will prove to the world that I am incompetent after all.

One down, two to go.

Internal Centering: An awareness of who you give up power to simply because you perceive them as being better educated or otherwise better off in society.

I might have achieved some modicum of independence at my university, away from home for the first time, but I tend to be a serial monogamist. There was always a boyfriend around to complete undesirable tasks, from running errands in the snow to building shelves for my art studio. BEB (beautiful elf boyfriend) was perhaps the worst offender. Brimming with love and hyperaware of the uselessness I projected and reinforced every day, he'd do anything for me. It's really quite odd how I do reinforce the label I grew up with. I'll complain to no end about carrying anything heavy. And if I need to build anything in front of another person, I freeze up and joke about my own lack of skills.

Even beyond that, I convinced myself that BEB was hyperskilled. There was no point in me even trying to build a shelf for my art studio because he was SO GOOD AT IT. It's true that BEB is talented at many things, but I used my perception of his experience to justify why it would be impossible to match his skillset.


Internal Discretion Identifies When to Listen and When to Have a Voice: Speaking and taking action is only as important as listening excessively.

Naturally, the first thing I did with my unfinished desk was sit and panic. I wondered if I could pay someone to build it for me. I even thought about how much easier it would be to do enough commission work to buy BEB a ticket. That's right, I believed in my ability to raise a thousand dollars more than I believed that I could put together a simple desk.

Then, of course, I started to try to join pieces together. I must have spent a solid hour fumbling around randomly until finally I opened the manual.

Not pictured here: the back part of the desk, where I accidentally broke the wood, rendering three screws useless. Then I tried to make up for it with an extra nail but gave up halfway through because it wouldn't go in.

Internal Commitment to Bring Compassion and Forgiveness to Themselves When Making a Mistake

I got glue all over the floor. Two of the weird twisty screws won't hold the desk together the way they should. It took me half an hour to figure out which slab of wood was supposed to be "part E". My housemates watched an entire movie in the time it took me to build half a desk.

Yet I decided not to get frustrated.

Over the years, I've worked with a number of animals. I especially learned a lot of patience in the last few weeks, training my mom's new puppy. I opted for positive reinforcement, never punishment, and I offered affection at every turn.

Finally I wondered: What if I were to teach myself with kindness, too?

Why do I lead animals with love, while showing only impatience and ambition to human beings, both myself and others?

I'm 22 and I built a desk. Perhaps it's odd to relate a solitary activity to the qualities of leadership, but after spending so much time in undergrad focusing on my strengths, I'm past overdue to work on my weaknesses. I can't lead others until I learn to take action with confidence, empathy and reflection.

Things that make me feel whole

A blog post about the positive and negative stressors associated with moving, and why I feel worried even though I am insanely lucky and privileged.

The question

My face when people ask me "the question"

"So what are you doing next year?"
The standard question. It very neatly avoids asking if I found a job now that I've finished my undergraduate education.

"Well, I'm going to Ireland for my postgrad. Galway," I specify.

"Oh how great! What are you studying?" asks my dentist, my grandparents, my gynecologist, and my parents' family friends who come over once every five years.

"Writing..." I trail off, expecting the inevitable "Oh how nice reply", their enthusiasm gone and mine wilting. I want to defend myself and explain that I'm going on a national scholarship, but I'm more scared of sounding conceited than I am of sounding lame. And then I kick myself, wondering, why am I buying into this culture of writing and visual arts as "lame"? I see my artist and writer friends as elevated humans achieving the ultimate in higher thought. Yet in myself, I see a self-indulgent slacker who will never live up to her parents' expectations. Worse, those expectations have become my own.

I lapse into the anxiety that keeps me awake night after night. People tell me I must be so excited for the move to Ireland, and part of me is definitely over the moon. Besides, outwardly my parents couldn't be more supportive as they help me pack, sort out finances, and prepare academically. I can't help but wonder why I feel like I'm balancing between chasms - familiar chasms, but ones from which I have previously escaped and thought myself free. Fixed. Moving on.

Ten things that make me feel whole, in no particular order

Sadie, a sugar glider with no passport.

1. My beautiful elf boyfriend (BEB). I don't even know what to say about that. I feel like I am in the process of breaking something delicate, fragile, and unspeakably beautiful. And yet there's some excitement, too. I'm looking forward to getting to know him all over again when I come home.
2. Sugar gliders. I adopted my two sugar gliders, Icarus and Sadie, a few years back. I've been obsessed with animals my entire life. After years of threatening to get sugar gliders, I finally rescued a pair off of some guy I found through Craigslist who was looking to trade them for a camera. I was entranced. I could carry them around all day without anybody knowing while they clicked contentedly away. When I was having an off day and was reluctant to get out of bed in the morning, I had to anyway to clean their cage and give them attention. They had to be fed every night. And the more I took care of them, the more I took care of myself. Gliders are difficult exotic animals and I adored researching every aspect of their care. Their metronome-like clicking soothed my anxiety and the way they gradually grew to trust me made me feel worthwhile. I spent the better part of a year trying to work out how to take them to Ireland with me, from getting them registered as emotional support animals to looking into cargo transport to acquiring importation documents. But in the end, it all fell apart. However, they'll be living with BEB while I'm in Ireland, so at least I can smile imagining them snuggling together.
3. Family. I'll miss my siblings and parents. And after a lifetime of begging for a puppy, my mom finally adopted a little King Charles Cavalier Spaniel to cope with her last child (my little sister) moving out to start college. I always knew I wanted a dog but I didn't expect to bond so quickly or thoroughly. I'll miss the family cat as well, but at least he understands I always come home in the end.
4. Stuff. What can I say? I love my things. I have animal skulls and dried roses, a million thrift store shoes, shirts I never wear with nostalgic value, childhood stuffed animals, fragile gifts from BEB. But I'm only bringing a suitcase and four boxes to Ireland, and two of those boxes are filled with linens and art supplies. Part of me is relieved to lighten the materialistic hold, but part of me is already looking around for more stuff.
5. Schedule. I settle so easily into the day-to-day routine. I do relish the opportunity to break out of my comfort zone and recognize habits for what they are, so this might actually be positive change.
6. Mentors. There were so many professors at the University of Connecticut I relied on for advice and support. I am always searching for people who can influence me, and I am afraid every time I have to start fresh, especially considering that I will only have a year in Ireland.
7. Taking care of Scott. My older brother, Scott, has Asperger's Syndrome. I remember when I was around seven years old my dad took the four of us siblings to New York City. I don't remember what we saw, but I do recall the moment Scott got distracted by a poster and was left behind. Though he was only lost for a few minutes, my dad yelled at me for not doing a good enough job taking care of Scott. Even at that young age I was convinced that the situation was ridiculous and that I wasn't a parent. And yet I was steeped in guilt. I'd always naturally taken care of Scott, but from that point onward I made a concentrated effort. When he gets in trouble, I make sure it's my neck on the line. But pretty soon, my neck will be in Ireland.
8. Planning. I want to know everything far in advance. I consider 9 minutes early to be 1 minute late. But Ireland does not run in my time zone. People don't reply to emails. The director of my MA program told me I would pick classes after school began. And Mitchell alumni explained that it was better to arrive in Galway first, and then find housing while staying in a hostel in the meantime. But just like the separation from my schedule, this could have positive impact. My killer planning instincts nearly always rub people the wrong way. I would like to learn to feel less controlling.
9. Art.
10. Resilience.

Art and resilience

One of my paintings. 

There are only two items on my list of things that make me whole coming with me to Ireland.

Art: When it comes down to it, all I need to express myself is an instrument that leaves a mark and a surface. Luckily, my favorite mode of expression fits into a travel watercolor kit and a bag full of micron pens.

Resilience: I used to think that my sadness made me weak, but I realized that I could find strength in the stability of my character. I've always been myself, no matter who my friends are, or where I pitch my tent. This consideration influenced the title of my blog, No More Forts. I don't need to build myself a permanent enclave where I only associate with certain people, where I tie myself down to a building because it's "home", or where I put up defenses to keep out new ideas. I want to let go of my fears and trust that I will come through intact.

Of course, the title is a bit humorous as well, with its reference to pillow forts. Yet even this has meaning as I move into adulthood and try to ignore nostalgia in favor of less comfortable experiences.

Friends

Owi and me.

It might seem odd that I haven't talked at all about the friends I'll leave behind. This is an incredible function of the age in which we live. I have friends I've never met and have only ever interacted with online. And those friends I have from university will remain my friends no matter where I travel. I'll see their updates through Facebook and I can video chat whenever I desire. Some of my closest friends are in China, California, Chicago, Iowa City, and more... so it won't feel too odd to add Connecticut to that list.

And, in a startling twist of coincidence, one of my close friends is also studying in Ireland on a scholarship. Because she might come up from time to time in this blog, I'll protect her anonymity by nicknaming her OWI (Obsessed With Italy... more on that later). Obviously anyone who knows me in real life knows who Owi is and that's fine, but I've been getting hits on this blog from random corners of the globe so I just want to be careful.

In conclusion

I'm going to Ireland to study Writing at NUI Galway. I'm scared, but I'm excited, too.  I can't wait to get started!