I wrote that last post in February of last year but chose not to publish in the midst of some new movements in the work world. I was right about to start a completely new endeavor as an Associate Producer on a low budget feature film, and I didn't want to publicize any wavering commitment to the project or my newfound colleagues. We shot through March. It was a great experience, full of new people, new situations, a new headspace. And it jumpstarted a period of productivity I hadn't had in a long time.
2014 was the first year I was a real freelancer. I didn't apply for unemployment even once; I had fairly steady work. It felt good, to be sure. I didn't completely hate New York for the first time in two years. There was a moment at the end of June, when I'd finished all of the jobs I had going, when I finally looked around and had nothing to do for the first time in six months. It was a nice breather before the panic set in: am I a freelancer in a lull, or am I unemployed? Is this it for me, six months of good work and then I'm done? But fortunately by the end of July, I had another couple jobs come in. And that was an even more fantastic feeling.
Not that any of this is has been lucrative by any means. I miss my salary so much. Even a low salary is something, and it's something stable. None of this "we'll wait until the 30th day of the 30 days you gave us to pay you" bullshit. Last year I made a little more than half of what I was making at the University, and then there's that pesky little thing called taxes, which I'm not looking forward to for the first time ever.
But hey, the most important thing here is that things were looking up in 2014, and was I happy. Right? Not so fast.
The steadier work got (and man, was I thankful for that!), the more I cared what I was working on. What I'd written in February kept nagging away in the background: I'm not feeling fulfilled, there is a disconnect here. For jobs on which I was just the editor, I could engage with the content only very little. I missed thinking about the content and actively getting a worthwhile message across.
My work with the American Museum of Natural History has been a godsend in this regard. They have so many great things going on there, and I'm really happy and always grateful to be a part of what they're doing and the messages they're sending to the public.
And working in close proximity to education again has helped me solidify my decision to apply to grad school. After talking about it for a year, I finally submitted my applications to three great schools. And after batting around multiple ideas about how to best approach my interest in psychology, I finally found the most amazing program I didn't even know I was looking for: a cognitive studies in education program that specifically explores how we learn and how such knowledge can be applied to other topics, such as media. Sesame Street may not be so far away after all. I find out in March.
Showing posts with label Tea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tea. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Do the Hokey Pokey
February 11, 2014
Something's not right. As I sat in bed last night reading Peter Hessler's Oracle Bones (a long overdue read for someone who devoted so many years to studying China and the Chinese language), I was finally able to put words to the creeping feeling I've been getting for the past few months. I miss thinking. I miss thinking critically. And working in video production isn't providing this important need for me.
SM and I waded through accumulated, muddled feelings together to get down to the root causes. When I was in college, my intention was to use my skills both technical and mental, to think and do, in the world of media. I was drawn to cinematography because of the combination of technical precision and big picture grasp of art, of art and science, that was intrinsic to the work. But after it became apparent how quickly film as a medium was waning in the industry, I lost hope that the technical skill of video would measure up to that of film. Instead I turned to producing because I would be able to stimulate both sides of myself if I applied my skills to organizing and thinking through the creative process. I thought that with the right partners in the creative realm, I'd be able to both think and do.
I've always been most comfortable in a supporting role. I've never been the writer/director type; instead I've always said that I'm the one who helps translate other people's visions to reality. Additionally, I want my work to mean something to others, to help on another level by informing and educating others. It's one reason why I was attracted to documentaries and non-fiction production. Fiction film, on the other hand, seemed more selfish for me to actually take part in. Obviously I love fiction films, and I think there's a lot there to think about (hence this blog), but when taking part in a fiction production, part of me can't fully commit because I don't believe I'm contributing to society. Part of me wishes that I could be an artist who is compelled to make art and thus justify bringing in tens of people to execute my visions. The same goes for thinking about going to back to school for film theory. But that's just not me. It's an odd desire, but I wanted to help someone else help the world.
My dream job used to be working at Sesame Street. I wanted to create the content that would help kids learn and be ready for school, just as Sesame Workshop's mission states. The catch is that I wanted to create that content in every sense of the word. I wanted to be Joan Ganz Cooney and Jim Henson. But those jobs don't exist, less now than ever. Sesame Street's production is actually done by a few third party production companies, where shooting and editing content is divorced from its conception, writing, and even puppeteering. It's been a real example of the market for video for me, a telling dead end on the path toward my non-existent ideal occupation.
At this point arriving at this conclusion, that I can't really tell someone else's story or explain someone else's information without ceding some control of the full capacity of my brain power, seems like common sense. It's hard to do and think critically on behalf of someone else, especially in such a specialized and growing industry. But I guess I had my hopes up because I was looking for a place where I could put my whole self into my work.
It's interesting how each step of my career has been a test to drill down to what I'm really looking for. When I was in college, I was running on all cylinders, nurturing my mind in all aspects as I learned about film theory and history along with the technical aspects of film production. When I moved into my first full time position, I continued to feed my curiosity through the content I was working on, even while the rigor of production wasn't too demanding. It was moving away from the engaging material and leaning solely on my production skills that started me questioning whether or not this was my calling. "Okay, so it's the content I'm missing," I thought. "I need to find a place where my approach, where critical thinking, will be valued as an asset." But the catch is that more I look (and this is an experiment conducted over 8 months of unemployment and then some), the more I'm beginning to think such a place doesn't exist. Furthermore, even if I were to find a few like-minded people and start my own venture, I'm not sure our niche would even be seen as a marketable edge over the competition. It's just not what the people want.
So, forget what the people want; what do I want? I want to help people. I want to think critically and do good. I want to use my whole self.
For these and other reasons I am aching to go back to school. I want to learn something new, and then I want to apply it in a realm that needs my assistance. I have always been interested in how things work and how things can run in the most efficient and best way possible, and I have also always been interested in applying such questions to people. It's part of what I wanted to bring to cinematography, to understand how characters were thinking and to help convey that to viewers. My new path is toward understanding the human mind and helping them through therapy and counseling, as counselors have helped me. Furthermore, I hope that by going into a profession that offers more stability both in my mind and in my bank account I will also be able to better pursue my interests in video, to actually afford to buy my own camera and to go to the movies and think about film in ways that I can't while spending time hustling for rent and happiness—always doing and rarely thinking as much as I would like.
Something's not right. As I sat in bed last night reading Peter Hessler's Oracle Bones (a long overdue read for someone who devoted so many years to studying China and the Chinese language), I was finally able to put words to the creeping feeling I've been getting for the past few months. I miss thinking. I miss thinking critically. And working in video production isn't providing this important need for me.
SM and I waded through accumulated, muddled feelings together to get down to the root causes. When I was in college, my intention was to use my skills both technical and mental, to think and do, in the world of media. I was drawn to cinematography because of the combination of technical precision and big picture grasp of art, of art and science, that was intrinsic to the work. But after it became apparent how quickly film as a medium was waning in the industry, I lost hope that the technical skill of video would measure up to that of film. Instead I turned to producing because I would be able to stimulate both sides of myself if I applied my skills to organizing and thinking through the creative process. I thought that with the right partners in the creative realm, I'd be able to both think and do.
I've always been most comfortable in a supporting role. I've never been the writer/director type; instead I've always said that I'm the one who helps translate other people's visions to reality. Additionally, I want my work to mean something to others, to help on another level by informing and educating others. It's one reason why I was attracted to documentaries and non-fiction production. Fiction film, on the other hand, seemed more selfish for me to actually take part in. Obviously I love fiction films, and I think there's a lot there to think about (hence this blog), but when taking part in a fiction production, part of me can't fully commit because I don't believe I'm contributing to society. Part of me wishes that I could be an artist who is compelled to make art and thus justify bringing in tens of people to execute my visions. The same goes for thinking about going to back to school for film theory. But that's just not me. It's an odd desire, but I wanted to help someone else help the world.
My dream job used to be working at Sesame Street. I wanted to create the content that would help kids learn and be ready for school, just as Sesame Workshop's mission states. The catch is that I wanted to create that content in every sense of the word. I wanted to be Joan Ganz Cooney and Jim Henson. But those jobs don't exist, less now than ever. Sesame Street's production is actually done by a few third party production companies, where shooting and editing content is divorced from its conception, writing, and even puppeteering. It's been a real example of the market for video for me, a telling dead end on the path toward my non-existent ideal occupation.
At this point arriving at this conclusion, that I can't really tell someone else's story or explain someone else's information without ceding some control of the full capacity of my brain power, seems like common sense. It's hard to do and think critically on behalf of someone else, especially in such a specialized and growing industry. But I guess I had my hopes up because I was looking for a place where I could put my whole self into my work.
It's interesting how each step of my career has been a test to drill down to what I'm really looking for. When I was in college, I was running on all cylinders, nurturing my mind in all aspects as I learned about film theory and history along with the technical aspects of film production. When I moved into my first full time position, I continued to feed my curiosity through the content I was working on, even while the rigor of production wasn't too demanding. It was moving away from the engaging material and leaning solely on my production skills that started me questioning whether or not this was my calling. "Okay, so it's the content I'm missing," I thought. "I need to find a place where my approach, where critical thinking, will be valued as an asset." But the catch is that more I look (and this is an experiment conducted over 8 months of unemployment and then some), the more I'm beginning to think such a place doesn't exist. Furthermore, even if I were to find a few like-minded people and start my own venture, I'm not sure our niche would even be seen as a marketable edge over the competition. It's just not what the people want.
So, forget what the people want; what do I want? I want to help people. I want to think critically and do good. I want to use my whole self.
For these and other reasons I am aching to go back to school. I want to learn something new, and then I want to apply it in a realm that needs my assistance. I have always been interested in how things work and how things can run in the most efficient and best way possible, and I have also always been interested in applying such questions to people. It's part of what I wanted to bring to cinematography, to understand how characters were thinking and to help convey that to viewers. My new path is toward understanding the human mind and helping them through therapy and counseling, as counselors have helped me. Furthermore, I hope that by going into a profession that offers more stability both in my mind and in my bank account I will also be able to better pursue my interests in video, to actually afford to buy my own camera and to go to the movies and think about film in ways that I can't while spending time hustling for rent and happiness—always doing and rarely thinking as much as I would like.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
When is My Big Break?
So. It's been a while.
I've gotta say, it's been an incredibly hard year and a few months since I moved to New York, and the bubble of lowlights and foiled attempts at success I've been living in have just not been conducive to musing about anything. I've been talking with a few close friends about adulthood, and that I just don't think I'm anywhere near it. Subsistence living, running in place professionally, and being stuck in a big city full of richos has me in a near state of arrested development, and it turns out I'm not alone.
At first I thought this was because of a lack of (trust) funds, especially in the form of my parents' help, but I have plenty of other friends who are fortunate enough to come from certain means but have found themselves in a similar emotional position. Then I thought it was just this damn city. And yeah, that is definitely part of it—the rent is too damn high, especially compared to my midwestern roots and life in Chicago only 18 months ago, and I do strongly feel like I'm bleeding money every time I leave my apartment. But that's not all of it.
In short, I think my despair, and that of some of my friends, is rooted in the fact that our cohort has been profoundly screwed over. Most especially the class of 2008, my class, who graduated the very same summer that the financial world was seemingly collapsing around us, has fallen into a sort of holding pattern from which it feels like we'll never recover. You'll notice I'm using a lot of qualifiers and subjective language, and it is on these conditionals that hinge the bulk of my fears. I am more than willing to allow that one's twenties are supposed to be hard, that these will be the hardest parts of our lives, that we're really "figuring out who we really are." But at this point, I'm 27, and I'm over it. I've learned my lesson; I've done my soul-searching. Where is the reward for all the nail-biting and tears and handwringing over missed bills and rising credit card debt and dignity lost in borrowing money from family yet again? I'm happy to look beyond this to the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, but for some of us there is a real fear that it will never materialize.
All those months of economic uncertainty and hiring freezes represent a lot of lost time for the class of 2008 (and fine, 2009 too), and at times I don't see how we can recover. By the time companies slowly started hiring again, there were at least three classes of newly-graduated job seekers, meaning three times as much competition and a third as many excuses for lack of relevant experience. Sure, many individual hiring managers out there might understand that there was nothing we could have done besides take irrelevant jobs to make ends meet, leave the country, or rack up more debt going to school. But on the whole, we just don't look as good on paper. Even when I have made strides in my own professional career, I find myself plagued by an incredible case of impostor syndrome, and I'm constantly underselling myself.
More than five years after all of this, most of my friends have fortunately either found work or graduated from their programs, but there is a profound dissatisfaction or anxiety that I've been picking up from them and feeling myself stemming from officially reaching our late twenties. I'm 27 and will be 28 next month, but while my 30+ year old friends are buying houses, getting married, or even having kids (and some well-faring friends my age are admittedly doing the same), many of my friends from my graduating class are nowhere near that stage in their lives even if they want to be. How can I even think about raising a kid when I can't make rent? How would I fund a wedding when I can't find a steady job? Meanwhile, some of my younger friends have been struggling for what seems like the acceptable amount before landing their jobs and getting on with their lives and enjoying their early-mid twenties. The bigger things are easier to focus on when the smaller matters are taken care of, and vice versa.
I find myself most anxious that the anxiety will never end. I remember being an (albeit hyper-self-aware) angsty teenager and looking forward to being in my 20s when all these feelings and high school drama would finally subside. I want to look ahead to being 30 and knowing more than what I do now, chiefly that things will, on the whole, turn out alright. One thing I have figured out in my 20s is that there will always be problems. I will always find something to hate about my job, there will always be "first world problems." But the peace of mind that can come with a steady paycheck and food on the table is one that I hope will not be lost on me when I finally make it out of this.
I've gotta say, it's been an incredibly hard year and a few months since I moved to New York, and the bubble of lowlights and foiled attempts at success I've been living in have just not been conducive to musing about anything. I've been talking with a few close friends about adulthood, and that I just don't think I'm anywhere near it. Subsistence living, running in place professionally, and being stuck in a big city full of richos has me in a near state of arrested development, and it turns out I'm not alone.
At first I thought this was because of a lack of (trust) funds, especially in the form of my parents' help, but I have plenty of other friends who are fortunate enough to come from certain means but have found themselves in a similar emotional position. Then I thought it was just this damn city. And yeah, that is definitely part of it—the rent is too damn high, especially compared to my midwestern roots and life in Chicago only 18 months ago, and I do strongly feel like I'm bleeding money every time I leave my apartment. But that's not all of it.
In short, I think my despair, and that of some of my friends, is rooted in the fact that our cohort has been profoundly screwed over. Most especially the class of 2008, my class, who graduated the very same summer that the financial world was seemingly collapsing around us, has fallen into a sort of holding pattern from which it feels like we'll never recover. You'll notice I'm using a lot of qualifiers and subjective language, and it is on these conditionals that hinge the bulk of my fears. I am more than willing to allow that one's twenties are supposed to be hard, that these will be the hardest parts of our lives, that we're really "figuring out who we really are." But at this point, I'm 27, and I'm over it. I've learned my lesson; I've done my soul-searching. Where is the reward for all the nail-biting and tears and handwringing over missed bills and rising credit card debt and dignity lost in borrowing money from family yet again? I'm happy to look beyond this to the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, but for some of us there is a real fear that it will never materialize.
All those months of economic uncertainty and hiring freezes represent a lot of lost time for the class of 2008 (and fine, 2009 too), and at times I don't see how we can recover. By the time companies slowly started hiring again, there were at least three classes of newly-graduated job seekers, meaning three times as much competition and a third as many excuses for lack of relevant experience. Sure, many individual hiring managers out there might understand that there was nothing we could have done besides take irrelevant jobs to make ends meet, leave the country, or rack up more debt going to school. But on the whole, we just don't look as good on paper. Even when I have made strides in my own professional career, I find myself plagued by an incredible case of impostor syndrome, and I'm constantly underselling myself.
More than five years after all of this, most of my friends have fortunately either found work or graduated from their programs, but there is a profound dissatisfaction or anxiety that I've been picking up from them and feeling myself stemming from officially reaching our late twenties. I'm 27 and will be 28 next month, but while my 30+ year old friends are buying houses, getting married, or even having kids (and some well-faring friends my age are admittedly doing the same), many of my friends from my graduating class are nowhere near that stage in their lives even if they want to be. How can I even think about raising a kid when I can't make rent? How would I fund a wedding when I can't find a steady job? Meanwhile, some of my younger friends have been struggling for what seems like the acceptable amount before landing their jobs and getting on with their lives and enjoying their early-mid twenties. The bigger things are easier to focus on when the smaller matters are taken care of, and vice versa.
I find myself most anxious that the anxiety will never end. I remember being an (albeit hyper-self-aware) angsty teenager and looking forward to being in my 20s when all these feelings and high school drama would finally subside. I want to look ahead to being 30 and knowing more than what I do now, chiefly that things will, on the whole, turn out alright. One thing I have figured out in my 20s is that there will always be problems. I will always find something to hate about my job, there will always be "first world problems." But the peace of mind that can come with a steady paycheck and food on the table is one that I hope will not be lost on me when I finally make it out of this.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Why I Joined Twitter: Part 2
What a time to join a micro-blogging network! I'd composed a few Tweets before Hurricane Sandy, but what a great tool for breaking news! As soon as the danger of the storm became real, I was able to email concerned family and friends with the URL to my Twitter account and give them a play by play of how we were experiencing the storm. Facebook seems to hold this gravitas of Announcement to me, a declaration that "I am doing this, and I stand for these things as a person", whereas Twitter seems a bit more forgiving and only declarative of current circumstances. While Facebook has moved to viewing posts through a more historic lens, emphasizing life events and the changes one goes through in their lives (see: timeline), each Tweet supersedes the last.
Of course I'm over-thinking this just a bit, but I was really pleased with how easy it was and how it was the perfect communication tool for getting information out to my family. Instead of wasting texts and battery power briefing every family member keeping tabs on me in the Midwest, I was able to point them to a single source from me as well as other, more professional sources from those I follow, including The New York Times, The Atlantic, Nate Silver, Ezra Klein, WNYC, etc. for both local and national views on the developments.
In short, I think I'm hooked. I have yet to see whether my actual Tweeting will be of any import, but at the very least I love sharing articles and opinions of those I'm following without having it feel like I have something to prove to all of my high school classmates and far-flung relatives. Facebook certainly does have a place in my social network existence, but I'm really enjoying this new discovery. For now.
P.S. SM and I are still without power or running water (day 4...we expect everything to be on tomorrow), but our friends have been kind enough to give us access to their apartment for showers and Internet. Everyone has been really great through this whole thing, and I'm grateful to have so many great friends and family in my life. Also, I called and emailed my dad, so there's that.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Why I Joined Twitter
Last night, I caved and joined Twitter (@tasalone, for those who are aching to know). The reasons are twofold.
1) Throughout the debate season, I've been looking over SM's shoulder, constantly asking him to refresh his Twitter feed (he recently joined because it was mandatory for j-school students) to get the latest reactions and fact checks. From the comedians' commentary to the stats by various news outlets, I spent more time perusing the feed than looking at the tv screen. I thought it was about time I tap this sort of information myself.
2) I completed a job application yesterday on which they asked for my Twitter handle. Now, of course it wasn't necessary, that I have one or share it, but I thought it was an important reminder that social media is increasingly a large part of the news media market, and Twitter has become a skill that is valuable to have. If this is going to be a part of my job applications in the future, I'd better join now before I'm truly out of the loop.
When Twitter first started, my perception of the microblogging site was that it was just too much information about people's lives. I can't find the XKCD right now, but there's one where a guy basically tweets about his every move including the fact that he's on his way to the bathroom. The concept was enough to annoy me from afar and keep me away. Fortunately, the site has evolved into a tool for news and entertainment, and I think it's much better off. I'm not sure how much I'll tweet myself (beyond RTs), but I'm tentatively glad to be owning my own feed.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Bored now.
For the first time in ten years, I'm completely unemployed. No UChicago, no AF temp job. It's been about a week. I'm miserable. I'm beginning to think I'm the type of person who can become lost without structure and purpose, but I can't be sure, since this has never happened to me. In general, my day to day activities and discipline haven't changed much since my previous arrangement of having two work-at-home jobs has finished, but the feeling is markedly different.
My first order of business during my last week with The University of Chicago was to secure a volunteer arrangement, something that could consistently get me out of the apartment and around the city I haven't yet begun to explore. I sent an email to Educational Video Center, a place a lot like a job I had back in 2007-08, and got a call the same day. Monday through Thursday, 2-5, I am a teaching assistant for two classes teaching social justice documentary filmmaking to high school/alternative school students. So that's something. (Perhaps more on this in another post.)
Other than that, my existence consists of applying to at least one job a day (though that drive has been waning), and interminably working on my production reel (UGH), so I can finally apply to all of those jobs in my queue that require one. I've also been teaching myself Adobe After Effects through online tutorials — and trying use it to come up with some kind of graphic identity for said reel. I usually end a variably productive morning with some Buffy or Angel, though I'm beginning to tire of it lately.
I'm beginning to tire of everything lately. As you can see, it's not for lack of things to do. As I've written here before, I can be by myself for hours and come up with an endless list of tasks I should take on. But for all of the busyness I put myself up to, lately, I still find myself thinking the word "bored" — a word and concept I loathe — and sometimes even saying it aloud. I don't believe one can be bored as long as there are things to take care of and thoughts to think and even people around (I guess). But I'm increasingly sad and bored and lethargic, and the false sense of discipline and purpose I give myself just isn't cutting it.
Now, if you know me, you are probably a bit surprised that I didn't plan for this, at least in part. But that's part of the problem: I did. I knew I might be unemployed for some period of time, but I thought I would be driven to give some attention to some of the priorities that had been back-burner'd over the past year. When I left Chicago in July, I did so with a vision of my temporarily-freelance existence, a picture that included cutting a feature-length documentary (pro-bono) for my friend DS and staying financially solvent through a few odd freelance editing jobs here and there through JS. Alas, DS reneged on the documentary after pressure from his production company — months of my work for nothing; I won't even be in the credits. And JS, well...that was probably doomed to begin with. I haven't heard from him in quite a while.
While I don't directly blame those guys for my current situation (wouldn't it have been great if I'd found a job here in NYC back in April?), and while I'm certainly grateful to have been able to live in this new, expensive city for three months now without much worry, I now find myself without any of the preplanned activities I'd banked on and been assured of just three months before, not to mention without the invaluable resume fodder I need to stand out in this insanely competitive market. I don't even want to broach the topic of money. It's just a disappointing situation, and I'm feeling helpless. Unfortunately, the timing of my complete unemployment has come right as SM's work is ramping up. He has five classes, night lectures, reporting/field work, and hours of reading and writing assignments. By the time we're both home (thank God I'm out and about at least 3 hours of the day so I can say I get back from somewhere), I'm starving for connection, while he is stressing about school. I know I wrote here that I could go for days without talking to anyone, and I still think it currently holds true, but I don't think I realized how much purpose there is in working, even remotely, and resting assured that you will connect with at least someone, and that your work is meaningful to at least someone. Without that component, my world has shrunk that much more. I'm volunteering at EVC in a program that isn't usually supported by others outside of the main teacher, so outside of helping students (who sometimes mistake me for one of them anyway) with camera work and learning FCP, I often feel superfluous. My friends here in NYC, with the exception of a few graciously involving people, all have their own lives and social groups, and they're often too busy or forgetful of my now-consistent presence to hang out. The perceptions of New York as an isolating place are starting to resonate. I have almost zero desire to get out and meet new people, I just miss having friends I could contact to hang out whenever, or friends with whom I'm comfortable enough to be some type of reliable social group. I remember feeling this way in 2009, after several friends of mine and SM's had left Chicago, and we didn't feel that bond with many people left in the city, so I know it's only a matter of time before that gets better. But feeling out of step with the busy, working world and with SM in school (and meeting new people there), it's hard to look very far ahead. I just hope I'm able to land a job before my money and sanity wear out.
While I don't directly blame those guys for my current situation (wouldn't it have been great if I'd found a job here in NYC back in April?), and while I'm certainly grateful to have been able to live in this new, expensive city for three months now without much worry, I now find myself without any of the preplanned activities I'd banked on and been assured of just three months before, not to mention without the invaluable resume fodder I need to stand out in this insanely competitive market. I don't even want to broach the topic of money. It's just a disappointing situation, and I'm feeling helpless. Unfortunately, the timing of my complete unemployment has come right as SM's work is ramping up. He has five classes, night lectures, reporting/field work, and hours of reading and writing assignments. By the time we're both home (thank God I'm out and about at least 3 hours of the day so I can say I get back from somewhere), I'm starving for connection, while he is stressing about school. I know I wrote here that I could go for days without talking to anyone, and I still think it currently holds true, but I don't think I realized how much purpose there is in working, even remotely, and resting assured that you will connect with at least someone, and that your work is meaningful to at least someone. Without that component, my world has shrunk that much more. I'm volunteering at EVC in a program that isn't usually supported by others outside of the main teacher, so outside of helping students (who sometimes mistake me for one of them anyway) with camera work and learning FCP, I often feel superfluous. My friends here in NYC, with the exception of a few graciously involving people, all have their own lives and social groups, and they're often too busy or forgetful of my now-consistent presence to hang out. The perceptions of New York as an isolating place are starting to resonate. I have almost zero desire to get out and meet new people, I just miss having friends I could contact to hang out whenever, or friends with whom I'm comfortable enough to be some type of reliable social group. I remember feeling this way in 2009, after several friends of mine and SM's had left Chicago, and we didn't feel that bond with many people left in the city, so I know it's only a matter of time before that gets better. But feeling out of step with the busy, working world and with SM in school (and meeting new people there), it's hard to look very far ahead. I just hope I'm able to land a job before my money and sanity wear out.
Monday, August 13, 2012
A Little Career Daydreaming
I was recently thinking about career and end goals (a perfect storm of a well timed email from KAC and a future-oriented conversation with DS), and I'm fairly confident that this video has been my guiding inspiration since I was three or four years old. Isn't it amazing? The video opened up my mind to a new way of storytelling and a new view of the world from the behind the scenes that has proved to be even more influential than I thought: I think it pushed me into documentary filmmaking.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have always had one eye on education and the other visual media. From my babysitting jobs, to selling educational games at a toy store, to taking up photography, to teaching Chinese. Somewhere along the way, I discovered documentaries; first I watched them, then I wanted to study them, and finally I wanted to be part of making them. One of my favorite things about filmmaking is the behind the scenes nature of it, both in documenting how something works and, on a meta level, in thinking about and being a part of how such a piece is constructed. I also love the educational aspect: wondering about something, and then figuring it out — the pursuit of knowledge. To me, documentary has both of these aspects: you're pursuing knowledge and you're making something in the process that will in turn open up those doors for other people. And the small scale at which one can do this is fascinating: crayons, gardens (my introduction to jazz, by the way), plumbing systems. It follows that I think the most impressionable audience for this is young children. What cool ways to explain reality to children! In short, want to make videos like these.
How to do this is what I've been trying to figure out. I really liked working for the University of Chicago because of the way we were supporting education with video. My favorite projects were for the Oriental Institute and the Mansueto Library. But the scope there includes promotional as well as educational video, so not every project could be like those. I'm trying to move into more specifically educational video work in my recent job search, so at least the content will be in the right place. It would be really cool if I could get into the creative aspect of that work, though. What I would love to do is to make those Sesame Street videos and/or come up with a similar show. That's where coming up with children's show/vignette ideas with KAC comes in. Hopefully one day we'll have our own show, and we can make all the crayon videos we want.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Settling Down
Things in NYC are finally calming down. I'm feeling pretty good about things, and feel a bit more grounded. The adventures with home delivery still continue, but the furniture is trickling in, and as AL wisely said, "first world problem."
I think I might have a lead on a job! More on that if I land it. In the meantime, I'm trying not to become a hermit. I'm pretty sure I could go weeks without talking to anyone, and I'd be perfectly happy with reading, internet, running errands, and silence. Sometimes I think the only reason I talk to others is out of obligation: oh yeah, I should probably have some social interaction now. Oh right, there are people out there who care about me and I care about them, and I should probably do something to keep that up. And it's not that it's not fun, it's just that it's so easy to get caught up in the silence that I don't leave the apartment for days. Yesterday, outside of an early phone meeting, I worked and stemmed the tide of my inbox and cleaned and didn't talk to anyone until I helped SM cut his Final Cut project on my computer.(Oh yeah! Teaching others how to edit can be super fun!)
So I'm going out to lunch today. I'm going up to Columbia in the wind and rain, and I might be better for it in the end. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, August 6, 2012
"New York's Abandoned Railway Station"
This is awesome, and I want to go as soon as possible. H/T Paul. It reminds me of the Low Line project that I would also like to see come to fruition.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Americans in China
I've recently been thinking about getting back into Chinese, reading more about China, and reacquainting myself with Chinese pop culture. Every time I talk to one of my friends in that world, though, I'm reminded of why we all have such a love/hate relationship with China. And it's not just us. This American Life did a recent episode on Americans in China, and the anecdotes and sentiments I've heard and expressed are echoed here.
I think the reason I stopped engaging with China is summed up in Act 1: the act's main character, Kaiser, and the narrator encounter the realization that there will always be a chasm between who they're trying to be — Chinese, in language and habit — and who the Chinese will always see them as — American, an adorable foreigner trying and failing to fit in. The narrator says that when that moment came for him, he suddenly became embarrassed at all the effort he had put in. I had that moment of my own, but instead of trucking onward, I felt so defeated that I stopped. What was the point? What is the endgame, if not to be able to be seen as a peer by the people I've studied so hard to understand? As I hopefully but warily ease back into whatever it was I was doing with China, one thing is clear: I still love Chinese, I just don't think I can love a China that doesn't (can't?) love me.
I think the reason I stopped engaging with China is summed up in Act 1: the act's main character, Kaiser, and the narrator encounter the realization that there will always be a chasm between who they're trying to be — Chinese, in language and habit — and who the Chinese will always see them as — American, an adorable foreigner trying and failing to fit in. The narrator says that when that moment came for him, he suddenly became embarrassed at all the effort he had put in. I had that moment of my own, but instead of trucking onward, I felt so defeated that I stopped. What was the point? What is the endgame, if not to be able to be seen as a peer by the people I've studied so hard to understand? As I hopefully but warily ease back into whatever it was I was doing with China, one thing is clear: I still love Chinese, I just don't think I can love a China that doesn't (can't?) love me.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Unreasonable Olympic Spirit
I get inexplicably excited for the Olympics. The first games I remember are the 1992 Olympics in Spain, though I remember the candy jars my mom bought commemorating that summer more than the events themselves.
SM and I were talking the other day about how I always cheer for the American team. That might seem like a given, but I am rarely a blind fan of anything; all of my allegiances have been thought about (though not necessarily "reasoned") and applied deliberately. Reasons may be little more than gut feelings, but they're feelings nonetheless. I guess what I'm saying is never assume I'm a fan of anything.
The best counterexample is the World Cup. I am rarely going gung ho for the American team. I usually have a good feeling about France. Not that they'll win, but that I will cheer for them. With gusto.
The best explanation for this I could come up with is that the World Cup, in my eyes, is a celebration of international vigor and country/team personality. The common ground is already soccer (okay, fine, football), so the variables become the countries themselves. The individual team members, while certainly important and loved by fans and noted by commentators, take a backseat to each country going head to head. And, frankly, I don't care if America comes out on top. America doesn't even care if America comes out on top. I'm rare enough in America that I even care about and watch the Cup itself, which I do. With gusto.v
The Olympics, on the other hand, is all about the individual. Amateurs from all over the United States, Americans as young as 14 years old, are chosen for their superior skill to join Team USA, and around the world other athletes do the same for their countries. They all come together to compete as representatives of their homelands in a ridiculous number of niche sports. It's beautiful. So, in my eyes, it becomes less about rooting for skeet shooting or badminton, and more about supporting this random American who comes from who knows where but who is really good at skeet shooting or badminton for some reason. And when it comes to some random American with a heartwarming story going up against some other rando from Country X in some crazy sport, I'm going to choose the American because that individual amateur got to the Olympics to represent America and is therefore awesome. Every four years the Olympics remind me that the United States is made up of some pretty talented people who excel at their activity because they love it and they work for it, not because they're getting paid millions of dollars.
I'm going to leave it at that, but I will say that the obvious exception is basketball. I have to admit the fact that our professional basketball players from the NBA can play sucks a little of the fun out of it. Basketball is not my favorite sport by a long shot, but I already know these guys. I know who all of them are, and not even by the random nicknames I give them to remember who they are when SM talks about them. That's lame. I would much rather watch some kids come out of nowhere to represent America on the court. It's a lot more dramatic, and a whole lot more fun.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
In Limbo
It's been a while since I've posted, but I've had good reason and several unfinished drafts to show for it.
SM sent in his applications for graduate schools of journalism back in December, and time has been indiscriminately rushing by ever since. Of course, he was accepted into all four schools to which he applied — Medill at Northwestern, NYU, Berkeley, and Columbia University. By March, he had whittled the list down to the two best, Berkeley and Columbia, and we headed west to check out Cal on March 17.
It was both our first real vacation together, and our first times in California. For me, it was my first time west of Mandan, ND. I had a blast. Check out my iPhone pictures. One thing that stood out to me, though, was just the feeling of isolation; it was palpable. I felt that moving to California would be a conscious choice to leave my friends, family, and connections to a certain life that was buzzing about on the east side of the country. They are on a different frequency there that felt good just as much as it felt somehow selfish. Anyway, by SM's second day of admitted student activities, I was having a bit of a panic attack about being so disconnected. My pictures of California, I told him, were full of beautiful places; my pictures of New York were filled with my friends.
In the end, SM settled on New York, but necessarily on his own terms. In mid-April, we visited NYC for the Columbia admitted students weekend, and by the second day he was sold by the prestige, the challenge, and the job opportunities afforded by Columbia's Graduate School of Journalism.
And so on July 2, we shipped our things and left Chicago on a train. And I've been in limbo ever since.
I definitely feel less isolated than I think I would had we moved to Berkeley, but at this point, 8 days after leaving SM's childhood room in Goshen and moving into our new place on 30th and 9th, and 17 days after pulling out of Union station, I still feel like my feet have yet to touch the ground. I don't like it. It's not as much that I miss Chicago — I do miss certain parts, certain people — as much as I haven't fully grounded myself here in New York. And I'm not exactly worried as I am impatient; I want this feeling of detachment to be over. It makes me sad.
I wonder if I felt this way in college, when I first moved to Chicago. It's the only other time in my life when I've made the leap into such new territory. Maybe not, though, because I thought I knew Chicago, and of course I didn't, but I thought I did. It's strange. It will probably just take some time and some walking around and some feeling that I know this new place. It will probably also take some more detachment from Chicago: a new job would probably go a long way, for example.
I'll let you know how this turns out.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Stasis
Shuffle this evening:
Ryan Adams - This House Is Not For Sale
Sufjan Stevens - Holland
The Magnetic Fields - Meaningless
Snoop Dogg - Beautiful
Battles - Snare Hanger
There is a point at which one's music library ceases to collect and hardens into a time capsule. I'm beginning to think now is that time.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
First Impressions
It can be incredibly unnerving to have your reputation precede you. It is simultaneously flattering, frightening, and intimidating that others have spoken of you, that their friends have formed a picture to which they will compare you from then on. Whether positive or negative, you can add to that portrait or shatter it.
I am perpetually frustrated that I am doomed to be trapped inside my own head, never able to see myself without an intimate knowledge of myself and my own neuroses. What does what we do for our own reasons look like to everyone else who is not privy to those incentives? What do other people see when they meet you? How does that change as they get to know you?
Anyway, one of my closest friends, JW, had an engagement party (in celebration of her engagement, of course, but also her civil union -- her husband, JD, is from out of the country, meaning lots of paperwork ahead that they'd like to settle sooner rather than later). When I met 2 of my fellow bridesmaids, her other best friends from college, the first words out of their mouths were, "this is the Tiff?" "It's so great to finally meet you!" Of course I had heard loads about them and was happy to finally meet them as well, but I was immediately caught off guard -- what does that mean? What could they possibly know about me that I don't? We talked for a while, and JW came over. "She's so great! I love her!" they said. "I know, right?" JW responded, as if there was something I wasn't in on; they'd clearly talked about this before. I honestly don't get it. I thought they were really nice and really cool, and we certainly share some interests, but I kept getting the nagging feeling there was something I was missing, and it weirded me out.
I admitted this to SM the next morning: what is it that people see that I can't? How drastic a difference is the sense of our selves we get in our own heads from the self we are actually projecting to others? Obviously I know no one else is privy to my inner monologue, but one thing SM brought up that I hadn't thought of before was that what I take for granted may be what others lack and what they like in me. For example, he said, his mother finds me to be "warm," and he used the word "genuine" too. In discussing what those descriptions could possibly mean, we mapped it back to what I always thought was just asking questions about people and things because I actually wanted to know. Apparently not everyone does that? I've also been accused of far worse -- being cold, being moody -- but in my head, there's always a reason, whether it's not knowing what to say; trying to internally wrestle with whether or not I'm doing the right thing; or watching my precious plans crumble before my eyes, leaving me helpless and clueless. Fortunately SM has learned to pick up on all of those things, and he knows how to read the situation and act or not act accordingly.
I'm sure everyone has their own reasons for everything, then, right? Is getting to know someone just familiarizing yourself with the differential between the inner workings of one's brain and the person you met that first time, the projection of that person in that first impression? Can you be close to someone without being familiar with that differential? Is Person X really such a bitch in their own head as they are in real life?
I'm reminded of a 30 Rock scene in which we see that Liz's impressions of high school -- mainly that everyone shunned her because she was such a nerd -- were completely devoid of reality, and that it was she who was really the one who was harsh and outspoken. I had a similar experience with a friend a few months ago. It's less about what others think than the idea of not knowing myself: did I really do that? Did I really hurt you? I had no idea. The oblivion is unnerving. If really knowing someone is indeed somewhat dependent upon being okay with that space between the inner workings of my head and the outer manifestations thereof, then I don't really think I am very well acquainted with me.
I am perpetually frustrated that I am doomed to be trapped inside my own head, never able to see myself without an intimate knowledge of myself and my own neuroses. What does what we do for our own reasons look like to everyone else who is not privy to those incentives? What do other people see when they meet you? How does that change as they get to know you?
Anyway, one of my closest friends, JW, had an engagement party (in celebration of her engagement, of course, but also her civil union -- her husband, JD, is from out of the country, meaning lots of paperwork ahead that they'd like to settle sooner rather than later). When I met 2 of my fellow bridesmaids, her other best friends from college, the first words out of their mouths were, "this is the Tiff?" "It's so great to finally meet you!" Of course I had heard loads about them and was happy to finally meet them as well, but I was immediately caught off guard -- what does that mean? What could they possibly know about me that I don't? We talked for a while, and JW came over. "She's so great! I love her!" they said. "I know, right?" JW responded, as if there was something I wasn't in on; they'd clearly talked about this before. I honestly don't get it. I thought they were really nice and really cool, and we certainly share some interests, but I kept getting the nagging feeling there was something I was missing, and it weirded me out.
I admitted this to SM the next morning: what is it that people see that I can't? How drastic a difference is the sense of our selves we get in our own heads from the self we are actually projecting to others? Obviously I know no one else is privy to my inner monologue, but one thing SM brought up that I hadn't thought of before was that what I take for granted may be what others lack and what they like in me. For example, he said, his mother finds me to be "warm," and he used the word "genuine" too. In discussing what those descriptions could possibly mean, we mapped it back to what I always thought was just asking questions about people and things because I actually wanted to know. Apparently not everyone does that? I've also been accused of far worse -- being cold, being moody -- but in my head, there's always a reason, whether it's not knowing what to say; trying to internally wrestle with whether or not I'm doing the right thing; or watching my precious plans crumble before my eyes, leaving me helpless and clueless. Fortunately SM has learned to pick up on all of those things, and he knows how to read the situation and act or not act accordingly.
I'm sure everyone has their own reasons for everything, then, right? Is getting to know someone just familiarizing yourself with the differential between the inner workings of one's brain and the person you met that first time, the projection of that person in that first impression? Can you be close to someone without being familiar with that differential? Is Person X really such a bitch in their own head as they are in real life?
I'm reminded of a 30 Rock scene in which we see that Liz's impressions of high school -- mainly that everyone shunned her because she was such a nerd -- were completely devoid of reality, and that it was she who was really the one who was harsh and outspoken. I had a similar experience with a friend a few months ago. It's less about what others think than the idea of not knowing myself: did I really do that? Did I really hurt you? I had no idea. The oblivion is unnerving. If really knowing someone is indeed somewhat dependent upon being okay with that space between the inner workings of my head and the outer manifestations thereof, then I don't really think I am very well acquainted with me.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Long Live the '90s!
I remember turning to my brother during a late season episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and questioning what could possibly be pulled from the '90s and mocked like the '60s and '70s. Wow, have I eaten my words. Looking at Will, Hilary, and Ashley's hair styles and clothing now, they're obviously recognizable relics from that era. The main theme's song and the graphic design also immediately take me back to circa 1992, when I used to skip around the house with my family and recite the rap, complete with that last head twirl he gives before he knocks on the Banks' front door.
Of course, as with every passing decade, we have a lot to look back and laugh at. But we've gotten a lot of good stuff from the '90s too. One of the things I really miss about that time was that shows like Fresh Prince and The Cosby Show (check out those sweaters) could even be on and popular. They were especially important to me as a black girl who grew up in Minneapolis and went to a pretty affluent school to see black people who talked like I did, did their homework just like me, and had relatively stable family lives as I did at the time. However, I'm hard pressed to find such a message on primetime television today.
Nowadays, when we're not mocking the pop culture of the decade, we're often celebrating freedom from its tyranny of political correctness. I remember textbooks and classroom posters of multicultural groups of friends: there were always two white kids, a black kid, an Asian, or at least someone of an indeterminate, poly-ethnic brown, and maybe a kid in a wheelchair. I even laughed at the idealistic inclusiveness back then. On the other hand, though, as I've grown older, I realize that my friends are of all different races. While some black people I know are unsettled by my Facebook photos with my white friends, they really have no clue how much effort I've put into including many different levels of diversity in my life.
It's not like I go out looking for new and diverse friends (in fact, new people are one of the things I am most dubious about, and I often dread having to meet them). Rather, I have found it quite natural for me to be in the company of different types of people, and I am actually interested in how we all differ. I like to be aware of those diverse presences around me, because, honestly, it really weirds me out to be in an inverse situation. Both to be outnumbered and to outnumber to the point of exclusion makes me incredibly uneasy, whether it's blacks and whites, women and men, Christians and atheists. Even being a witness to it gives an eerie layer to whatever I'm watching.
I guess I can understand the feeling of liberation from PC pressure. I certainly get annoyed at overboard attempts myself. But sometimes I think people dismiss it because they think we're done, we did our part. Many people of myriad backgrounds fought hard to be able to portray a stable, middle class black family on television, and that it was popular was a boon. Done. But I'd wager that many others who had never met one of those families let the possibility of the existence of others like them enter their minds and were better off for it. And probably still others, like me, became that much more comfortable with themselves and maybe even made it their mission to get to know lots of different kinds of people. Why does that have to stop, especially now when the anonymity of the internet and the divisiveness of our political landscape reveals that there are multitudes of closed minds out there? The closest thing we're getting now is having a completely opposite effect, with atrocious and embarrassing works from the likes of Tyler Perry.
A lot of those textbooks we used to have looked so laughably forced, and the friend groups formed on TV had so many easily identifiable token characters. But hopefully there are people out there for whom those situations were real life, and they'll create something feels a lot more natural and real. I think there are network television shows like that out there now, like "Community" and "Parks and Recreation." (Not to mention shows like "The Wire" and "Treme" -- of course cable is producing quality, diverse work) Fortunately, there are others out there who grew up in the '90s who will soon be in charge of creating the media that's pouring out into the world.
Of course, as with every passing decade, we have a lot to look back and laugh at. But we've gotten a lot of good stuff from the '90s too. One of the things I really miss about that time was that shows like Fresh Prince and The Cosby Show (check out those sweaters) could even be on and popular. They were especially important to me as a black girl who grew up in Minneapolis and went to a pretty affluent school to see black people who talked like I did, did their homework just like me, and had relatively stable family lives as I did at the time. However, I'm hard pressed to find such a message on primetime television today.
Nowadays, when we're not mocking the pop culture of the decade, we're often celebrating freedom from its tyranny of political correctness. I remember textbooks and classroom posters of multicultural groups of friends: there were always two white kids, a black kid, an Asian, or at least someone of an indeterminate, poly-ethnic brown, and maybe a kid in a wheelchair. I even laughed at the idealistic inclusiveness back then. On the other hand, though, as I've grown older, I realize that my friends are of all different races. While some black people I know are unsettled by my Facebook photos with my white friends, they really have no clue how much effort I've put into including many different levels of diversity in my life.
It's not like I go out looking for new and diverse friends (in fact, new people are one of the things I am most dubious about, and I often dread having to meet them). Rather, I have found it quite natural for me to be in the company of different types of people, and I am actually interested in how we all differ. I like to be aware of those diverse presences around me, because, honestly, it really weirds me out to be in an inverse situation. Both to be outnumbered and to outnumber to the point of exclusion makes me incredibly uneasy, whether it's blacks and whites, women and men, Christians and atheists. Even being a witness to it gives an eerie layer to whatever I'm watching.
I guess I can understand the feeling of liberation from PC pressure. I certainly get annoyed at overboard attempts myself. But sometimes I think people dismiss it because they think we're done, we did our part. Many people of myriad backgrounds fought hard to be able to portray a stable, middle class black family on television, and that it was popular was a boon. Done. But I'd wager that many others who had never met one of those families let the possibility of the existence of others like them enter their minds and were better off for it. And probably still others, like me, became that much more comfortable with themselves and maybe even made it their mission to get to know lots of different kinds of people. Why does that have to stop, especially now when the anonymity of the internet and the divisiveness of our political landscape reveals that there are multitudes of closed minds out there? The closest thing we're getting now is having a completely opposite effect, with atrocious and embarrassing works from the likes of Tyler Perry.
A lot of those textbooks we used to have looked so laughably forced, and the friend groups formed on TV had so many easily identifiable token characters. But hopefully there are people out there for whom those situations were real life, and they'll create something feels a lot more natural and real. I think there are network television shows like that out there now, like "Community" and "Parks and Recreation." (Not to mention shows like "The Wire" and "Treme" -- of course cable is producing quality, diverse work) Fortunately, there are others out there who grew up in the '90s who will soon be in charge of creating the media that's pouring out into the world.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Adventures in Freelancing: Part 1
For nearly 2.5 years now, I've been working as a video producer for the University of Chicago. At first, (the producer portion of) the job manifested itself as merely the organizational counterpart to the editing and videography I'd done for the same office for a year and a half prior, but since then, my handle on the work has become adept and nuanced. There are so many aspects of a project that need to be monitored, from triple checking to make sure the client knows what he or she wants in the first place to actually delivering something they want to watch (often two very different things). This fine tuning of knowing what is required of me has become especially important since I changed over to working with mainly long-term, documentary/interview/promotional-type projects.
Recently I was offered the chance to apply this knowledge outside of the University bubble. I was never into the whole freelancing thing; freelancing is too unstable and feels too detached for me, and so I much prefer having a steady job. But the non-profit SM works for needed some help, and I'm always more than willing to offer my skills for a good cause.
The setup is this: around 15 short videos to support their new individual giving campaign. The videos are to be distributed with their newsletter beginning April 1, at the rate of one per week. They already have people prepared to shoot the video, but they want me to make sure the vision is fully carried out and that the videos are delivered on time.
I don't want to go into too much detail, but I've already learned a few lessons and taken a few notes on the differences I've encountered in this new experience.
1) Being organized is more important than I give it credit for. I often take my need for logical process for granted. Of course you should talk to the person asking you to do something to make sure you know what they want, how they want it done, and where exactly your expertise comes into the picture, right? Apparently not everyone thinks such a conversation is important. The need for a plan is an asset, and, even if you're just sorting things out for yourself, it makes you look like you know what you're doing, for the very reason that you want to know what you're doing.
2) Having centralized labor is SUCH a plus. One great thing about my normal workflow is that labor is not a variable I have to think about very often. We know that one of our regular pool of videographers will most likely be available, so we can concentrate on how the video is actually going to turn out rather than if the video's going to be shot at all. In this new situation, I have to depend on a crew I don't know and have no reason to trust, and while the logistics of the shoot are up in the air, I can't settle anything with how the video will turn out, including confirming that our potential interview subjects should actually prepare to be interviewed on a particular date and time. Of course, this is why freelancers own their own equipment. I would give a lot for my own camera right now, not to mention lighting equipment; I could just do most of the video myself, taking away personnel and equipment variables and focusing on the important stuff.
3) Professionalism is so essential. Being professional isn't using big words or wearing certain outfits. It's knowing what you need from people, clarifying what they need from you, and knowing how to communicate everything clearly and concisely. (I also happen to believe it also implies a level of honesty, but I suppose others could take or leave that.) When professionalism is missing from any side of the equation, it's hard to move forward and get things done.
4) There needs to be a balance of trust and supervision. In my weekday job such trust is normally a given, because I know my videographers and editors, and I mostly feel comfortable telling them when something's not up to snuff or when I don't understand something myself. (To be honest, I end up doing of shooting and editing myself, which is awesome.) But under these circumstances, I find that I'm prone to want to talk a lot around the issues, and I'm scared to actually dig in and get to it, especially if I can't be there every step of the way. It's part of why I hate being in charge of things, because I think it's easier to shoulder all of the responsibility, and if I mess things up, so be it, the blame will all be on me. But if I never let go and concentrate on the bigger picture like I'm supposed to, the project won't get done on time. At the same time, if I sense that something's not right, there's nothing wrong with keeping a keen eye on the situation and getting more comfortable speaking up when something's not up to snuff.
Now it's time to follow my own advice. I'll let you know how the videos turn out and if I learn anymore about freelancing along the way.
Recently I was offered the chance to apply this knowledge outside of the University bubble. I was never into the whole freelancing thing; freelancing is too unstable and feels too detached for me, and so I much prefer having a steady job. But the non-profit SM works for needed some help, and I'm always more than willing to offer my skills for a good cause.
The setup is this: around 15 short videos to support their new individual giving campaign. The videos are to be distributed with their newsletter beginning April 1, at the rate of one per week. They already have people prepared to shoot the video, but they want me to make sure the vision is fully carried out and that the videos are delivered on time.
I don't want to go into too much detail, but I've already learned a few lessons and taken a few notes on the differences I've encountered in this new experience.
1) Being organized is more important than I give it credit for. I often take my need for logical process for granted. Of course you should talk to the person asking you to do something to make sure you know what they want, how they want it done, and where exactly your expertise comes into the picture, right? Apparently not everyone thinks such a conversation is important. The need for a plan is an asset, and, even if you're just sorting things out for yourself, it makes you look like you know what you're doing, for the very reason that you want to know what you're doing.
2) Having centralized labor is SUCH a plus. One great thing about my normal workflow is that labor is not a variable I have to think about very often. We know that one of our regular pool of videographers will most likely be available, so we can concentrate on how the video is actually going to turn out rather than if the video's going to be shot at all. In this new situation, I have to depend on a crew I don't know and have no reason to trust, and while the logistics of the shoot are up in the air, I can't settle anything with how the video will turn out, including confirming that our potential interview subjects should actually prepare to be interviewed on a particular date and time. Of course, this is why freelancers own their own equipment. I would give a lot for my own camera right now, not to mention lighting equipment; I could just do most of the video myself, taking away personnel and equipment variables and focusing on the important stuff.
3) Professionalism is so essential. Being professional isn't using big words or wearing certain outfits. It's knowing what you need from people, clarifying what they need from you, and knowing how to communicate everything clearly and concisely. (I also happen to believe it also implies a level of honesty, but I suppose others could take or leave that.) When professionalism is missing from any side of the equation, it's hard to move forward and get things done.
4) There needs to be a balance of trust and supervision. In my weekday job such trust is normally a given, because I know my videographers and editors, and I mostly feel comfortable telling them when something's not up to snuff or when I don't understand something myself. (To be honest, I end up doing of shooting and editing myself, which is awesome.) But under these circumstances, I find that I'm prone to want to talk a lot around the issues, and I'm scared to actually dig in and get to it, especially if I can't be there every step of the way. It's part of why I hate being in charge of things, because I think it's easier to shoulder all of the responsibility, and if I mess things up, so be it, the blame will all be on me. But if I never let go and concentrate on the bigger picture like I'm supposed to, the project won't get done on time. At the same time, if I sense that something's not right, there's nothing wrong with keeping a keen eye on the situation and getting more comfortable speaking up when something's not up to snuff.
Now it's time to follow my own advice. I'll let you know how the videos turn out and if I learn anymore about freelancing along the way.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
An Honest Request
Hey friends,
Please call me on my bullshit. Do not allow me to wallow in ignorance and arrogance. For ignorance is one of my greatest fears, and its combination with arrogance is unthinkably sickening.
<3,
Tiffany
Please call me on my bullshit. Do not allow me to wallow in ignorance and arrogance. For ignorance is one of my greatest fears, and its combination with arrogance is unthinkably sickening.
<3,
Tiffany
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Inward Observations: Part 2 of ∞
Maybe I'm just drawing false connections, but sometimes it seems as if there are these clusters of meaning or themes that coalesce into something that begs to be divined. The tea leaves are spelling something out, and while I don't know why exactly, it seems foolish to pass them by without pondering them for a bit.
This time, I think the key term here is "mission statement," or some approximation of it. For one thing, tomorrow we're going to start working on defining our office's mission at work during a group retreat (part two, actually). For another thing, I sat down for crepes and chai with my friend MS for a couple of hours yesterday, and among other topics we talked about how she is sure to make a list of things that are true about herself, so that whenever she's not so sure or she's in danger of losing herself, she can look back at that list and gain a little more confidence and a firmer grasp on who she wants to be. We both talked about what our lists look like. I've never been one for seeking out inspiration in anything but a modest way, but I did find it interesting that, while I'd focused more on what I want out of a job, her statements had a lot more to do with herself without the job, without other people, and with little to do with time or place. It was as if she stripped everything away and then added the essentials back in. My job has definitely helped me define a lot of what I want, but I guess it's not the whole picture. It's about what's important to me.
So let's see here (I had some help from SM)...
- I think I'd rather be doing good than promoting good. And I don't mean that in a halo-earning sense, but rather in an actually-benefiting-someone sense. Even that is pretty broad, though, and I interpret that benefit pretty loosely, albeit as directly as possible.
- Authenticity is important to me, and thus try to put myself in as few inauthentic moments as possible. This leads to really enjoying time with people I actually like, and trying to minimize time with most other people. I don't want to spend time lying to myself or others; it's draining and pointless.
- My friends are very important to me. It's a given that I will always do what I can to be there for them, whether it's showing up at their events or listening to them.
- I will pretty much do anything for my family. I will always do what I can to support them.
- Learning means a lot to me. I like being informed, but I also like the act of learning. I also like learning about others learning and helping others learn in the best ways for them.
- I'm no fun sometimes because I take life too seriously, but that's okay. I think someone has to take life seriously because otherwise we wouldn't accomplish anything.
- I like understanding how things work and using that knowledge to get things done and make things work better. Practical application is fascinating (and necessary).
- Being resourceful and exploring the best way to do something means a lot to me. Taking the initiative to look for the best method is commendable and also efficient in the end.
I think that's a start. I'm not very happy with the list, actually, because it seems so narcissistic, but I think the concept is sound and certainly helpful if you ever feel so buried or disconnected from yourself. Do you think I'm missing anything from my list? What would you have on your list?
This time, I think the key term here is "mission statement," or some approximation of it. For one thing, tomorrow we're going to start working on defining our office's mission at work during a group retreat (part two, actually). For another thing, I sat down for crepes and chai with my friend MS for a couple of hours yesterday, and among other topics we talked about how she is sure to make a list of things that are true about herself, so that whenever she's not so sure or she's in danger of losing herself, she can look back at that list and gain a little more confidence and a firmer grasp on who she wants to be. We both talked about what our lists look like. I've never been one for seeking out inspiration in anything but a modest way, but I did find it interesting that, while I'd focused more on what I want out of a job, her statements had a lot more to do with herself without the job, without other people, and with little to do with time or place. It was as if she stripped everything away and then added the essentials back in. My job has definitely helped me define a lot of what I want, but I guess it's not the whole picture. It's about what's important to me.
So let's see here (I had some help from SM)...
- I think I'd rather be doing good than promoting good. And I don't mean that in a halo-earning sense, but rather in an actually-benefiting-someone sense. Even that is pretty broad, though, and I interpret that benefit pretty loosely, albeit as directly as possible.
- Authenticity is important to me, and thus try to put myself in as few inauthentic moments as possible. This leads to really enjoying time with people I actually like, and trying to minimize time with most other people. I don't want to spend time lying to myself or others; it's draining and pointless.
- My friends are very important to me. It's a given that I will always do what I can to be there for them, whether it's showing up at their events or listening to them.
- I will pretty much do anything for my family. I will always do what I can to support them.
- Learning means a lot to me. I like being informed, but I also like the act of learning. I also like learning about others learning and helping others learn in the best ways for them.
- I'm no fun sometimes because I take life too seriously, but that's okay. I think someone has to take life seriously because otherwise we wouldn't accomplish anything.
- I like understanding how things work and using that knowledge to get things done and make things work better. Practical application is fascinating (and necessary).
- Being resourceful and exploring the best way to do something means a lot to me. Taking the initiative to look for the best method is commendable and also efficient in the end.
I think that's a start. I'm not very happy with the list, actually, because it seems so narcissistic, but I think the concept is sound and certainly helpful if you ever feel so buried or disconnected from yourself. Do you think I'm missing anything from my list? What would you have on your list?
Monday, November 22, 2010
Speaking of getting older...
The older I get, the more I find myself fulfilling my destiny to become the kind of person who writes formal complaints. I've written one to Amtrak, and I had a mind to write one to the CTA about a certain route before a few bus drivers got a clue. As AL brought to my attention, though, I'm "sending them to the wrong sources in those examples since those are gov't run to varying degrees." Alas. Maybe once we move out of here I'll mellow out a bit. Until then, though, the sentiment is definitely there. Watch out. You've been warned. I know how things are supposed to be run, dammit! I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore! Hey, at least I'm moderately liberal.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Another Year, Another Imminent Thanksgiving
This weekend I went to two different birthday parties where two of my friends were turning 27. You know what's weird? I remember my mom's 27th birthday party. I was 5.
My parents got married at 21 and 20 years old. They're not terrible people by any means (well...), but there are some things that don't need repeating, so in some respects I want to take their model and set it on its head. When I turned 21, I said to my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get married. Should be pretty simple. It was. Check. My mom had me when she was 22. Out of the question. On my 22nd birthday, I told my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get preggers. A little bit riskier, a tad harder than last year's goal, but certainly doable. I passed with flying colors. With those two hurdles cleared, each subsequent birthday diverges more and more from the model. In a month I turn 25. I was 3 years old, reading, and almost off to preschool by this point in my mom's life. At 25, my mom had 2 kids and was on her way to the third, so as long as I don't have twins or triplets in the next year, I'll be golden.
But seriously, though, I'm getting to an age where I not only existed but actually remember existing when my parents were at the very same point. So many things are becoming clearer, so many of their choices demystified, so much of our financial woes justified. As much as I joke about not wanting to follow in my parents' footsteps, I have to give them mad kudos for raising me and my siblings, maintaining a home for us, sending us to private schools, etc. I certainly couldn't have done it. Imagining me sending a kid off to school every morning in the next year of my life seems beyond belief.
When I was younger, I always wanted to be the young mom who had a lot of energy for her kids and was still very much in touch with her younger years, like my mom was for me. As I grew older I realized how ridiculous that was, how different my circumstances had to be, and how insane it was for my parents to have found each other ready and willing to go forward with such a life, fully believing that they would succeed. (Together they lovingly dreamed of having 10 kids! WTF. Imagining having a similar conversation with SM is laughable on many levels.) And succeed they did (for the most part). They raised 6 great, smart, mostly obedient kids with very little money, many hard times, but always high expectations. They both had guts and determination and instinct that I will be lucky to ever possess. As Thanksgiving approaches, I am so grateful that they did so well for all of us. And I'm grateful I don't have kids.
My parents got married at 21 and 20 years old. They're not terrible people by any means (well...), but there are some things that don't need repeating, so in some respects I want to take their model and set it on its head. When I turned 21, I said to my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get married. Should be pretty simple. It was. Check. My mom had me when she was 22. Out of the question. On my 22nd birthday, I told my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get preggers. A little bit riskier, a tad harder than last year's goal, but certainly doable. I passed with flying colors. With those two hurdles cleared, each subsequent birthday diverges more and more from the model. In a month I turn 25. I was 3 years old, reading, and almost off to preschool by this point in my mom's life. At 25, my mom had 2 kids and was on her way to the third, so as long as I don't have twins or triplets in the next year, I'll be golden.
But seriously, though, I'm getting to an age where I not only existed but actually remember existing when my parents were at the very same point. So many things are becoming clearer, so many of their choices demystified, so much of our financial woes justified. As much as I joke about not wanting to follow in my parents' footsteps, I have to give them mad kudos for raising me and my siblings, maintaining a home for us, sending us to private schools, etc. I certainly couldn't have done it. Imagining me sending a kid off to school every morning in the next year of my life seems beyond belief.
When I was younger, I always wanted to be the young mom who had a lot of energy for her kids and was still very much in touch with her younger years, like my mom was for me. As I grew older I realized how ridiculous that was, how different my circumstances had to be, and how insane it was for my parents to have found each other ready and willing to go forward with such a life, fully believing that they would succeed. (Together they lovingly dreamed of having 10 kids! WTF. Imagining having a similar conversation with SM is laughable on many levels.) And succeed they did (for the most part). They raised 6 great, smart, mostly obedient kids with very little money, many hard times, but always high expectations. They both had guts and determination and instinct that I will be lucky to ever possess. As Thanksgiving approaches, I am so grateful that they did so well for all of us. And I'm grateful I don't have kids.
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