A Name by Any Other Name

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When I moved over to this blog, a friend asked why the domain is my full name when, in a year, I’ll have a new name. The answer, in short, is that I won’t. Well, not completely at least.

As a child, I was a bit embarrassed by my  last name. I was called “bald” or “baldy,” which was quite ironic, considering my hair was so large it rivaled the state of Texas. I awaited the day i’d be married and have the opportunity to have a different name.

And then, slowly, I started to like it. I liked it because it has deep roots built in Italy and New York. My name has a history, a past that some text books mention, and some relatives still nervously avoid. It sounds so Italian that when booking a hotel in Italy, the concierge assumed I was native. Somehow, the name became me.

So although I’m thrilled to be accepting Samir into my life, I’ve been a bit hesitant to give it up. Thankfully, Samir is understanding and we came up with a compromise (because that’s what couples do).

Upon getting married next year, I am changing my name. I’m going to take his last name not because it’s the thing to do, but because I want to do it. I want to be his family. But, I’m not giving up my last name. While I won’t go by it anymore, I’m keeping it as my pen name. I’ve built a life around it, and more importantly, a writing resume. I don’t want to change that. Whatever I have published in the future will be under my original last name.

And I think that’s the right thing to do. It’s a way to embrace my future, but not forget my past. A memento left over from an exciting journey. A piece to remind myself of who I was whenever I forget.

Library School

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I woke up at 5 am this morning to work on a grad school paper. It reminded me of those days back in undergrad when I’d practically fall onto my bed at 2am, just to wake myself up a few hours later to finish a paper due that morning. I’m far too old for that now.

I’m at the stage where the glamour and excitement of grad school has worn off. My first semester I was a golden star – each assignment was in a week early. I’d turn in eight pages when only three were necessary. I volunteered in class. I was that student. I wanted to prove not just to my teachers, but also to myself, that I could do it. I could complete grad school.

For those who don’t know, this isn’t my first grad attempt. As I approached my last year of undergrad back in 2005, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do next. I knew I wanted to teach, but was pretty sure my major in literature and minor in education wouldn’t cut it. So, I applied for and was accepted into FSU’s English education master’s program.

After the first day, I knew I hated it. The program wasn’t right for me at all. Most of the students had minored in the subject as well, so I was the newbie to the department, and I never truly felt welcomed. Beside my abject distaste towards the fact that the teachers didn’t care about the literature we’d be teaching (most students had never read To Kill a Mockingbird. I was dying), I never understood why I was learning about educational theories rather than educational techniques. I can tell you all about theories developed in the early 1900s about the educational profession, but not once during the program did I learn how to control a classroom.

I left after one semester. I couldn’t do it (and I have a biased hatred now towards anything those teachers claimed was ABSOLUTELY MARVALOUS – I’m looking at you, Billy Collins). The next year I did teach high school English. Guess what? Nothing I learned during the program applied.

So when I started my graduate degree in library sciences, I was hesitant. I was scared the same thing would happen. To counter the fear, I threw myself into my studies and vowed that it wouldn’t give up. To my surprise, I loved the program – and still do, honestly. It was just what I wanted – a program that appreciated literature, but wasn’t just teaching us how to analyze paragraphs. In becoming a librarian, I was combining my love of literature with my desire to help kids.

But now, some classes are starting to take me back to my education days. Like, this semester I’m taking Assessing Information Needs, which, more or less, teaches us how to assess what patrons want, and help them find it. Simple enough? Not quite – there are theories and models to go along with each information seeker.

Yawn.

I swear, since I’ve started I’ve defined the word “information” more times than necessary and guess what – there still isn’t a definite definition according to theorists. Once again, I’m starting to wonder why we’re learning this stuff.

But, that’s not to say I haven’t taken some amazing classes. My Information Needs for Young Adults class was quite possibly the best class I’ve ever taken (and I’m so excited to be taking Information Needs for Children next semester with the same teacher). My Information Organization class was incredibly hard, but so rewarding in the end that it actually had me contemplating getting a second specialization in metadata. And even now, my Digital Media class is really fantastic. I know I just need to get over this hump and embrace my last two semesters. Thankfully, after this Info Needs class, I’ll be done with core classes. And aside from the children’s literature class, I’m also taking Library Marketing in the spring – fun, right?

I was starting to feel down about my degree the other day and was thrilled to see that I wasn’t the only one. My friend is in the same spot, just pushing along and waiting for the end. A friend of his advised us to keep going, pull through and make it out alive. We won’t need to know the definition of information in the real world, but the classes do help. And once we become official librarians, things get much better.

Aside from working, we’re both excited to show what we can bring to the field. Imagine what two more 20-somethings can do to the library field? We still have that naïve, yet insurmountably exciting belief that we can change things. And you know what – I really think we can.

I guess that’s it. I’m at the point where I’m ready to work. I got into this profession for a reason. I know I haven’t learned everything, but I’m ready to try. I’ll make the most of these final few semesters and carry on to the end, proud to hold my degree and ready to make a difference.

This Year

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I read a Calvin and Hobbs comic strip a while back that I took to heart. It said (more or less) that in years to come, you won’t remember the studying or test, but you’ll remember what you did instead. (If anyone knows the strip I’m talking about, please send it to me; for the life of me, I can’t find it again). During my undergrad years, I lived up to the strip (but, to my credit, I maintained a decent GPA). I wrote my essays, and memorized my Italian vocabulary, but I still wound up exploring abandoned dormitory buildings past midnight because, hey, why not.

My junior year, I was especially busy. On top of a full-load of classes, I was performing with the circus (which meant practice every day for two+ hours and the occasional work day or performance over the weekend), working at Waldenbooks enough to pay rent,  acting as Alice in the play Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and working on a student film. I was ridiculously busy, but I loved it. Every moment of it, I adored because each thing I was part of, to me, was fun. Even work. Even school. 

I remember one weekend when we drove out to Panama City Beach to film. I slept between takes, and even then, it was only for a few minutes, as I’d wake to find the crew staring at me and laughing. The next morning, I drove to work where everything had blurry edges and fuzzy lines. I should have gone to sleep after, but instead I saw my friends who I’d neglected the previous two days.

I had this insurmountable drive and passion and I loved it. I could live off two hours of sleep, and still manage to write a five-page essay and not fall horribly at practice.

At some point between then and now, I lost a bit of that momentum. Between graying hairs and lower energy, I’ve started falling asleep early. I enjoy nights in. I hate rushing.

But that same drive still pushes inside me. And that’s why this year is going to be a lot like that previous one. On top of working and graduate school, I’m going to be volunteering at the library, tutoring kids for the SAT and planning a wedding. Sure, not everything is as fun as my activities once were, but I’m busy again. And despite the lack of sleep and stress i’ll probably build up, I’m excited.

Because in the end, it’ll all be worth it. And this time I may not remember the hours that go into my job, but I will remember the look on my friend’s face when I tried on my first wedding gown. It was priceless. And my journal needs more memories like that.

The Engagement Story

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Did you know there are hundreds – I mean HUNDREDS – of different bridal magazines? One for every state/city/type of bride/hair color. I mean, seriously. How does one go through all of that?

They don’t. That’s why I’m writing in my blog.

And so, the engagement story:

A few weeks ago, Samir asked if I wanted to go down to Sarasota with him to visit his parents and (most importantly) relax by the beach. Of course I agreed. And so, this past Saturday we left.

The drive was really easy up until the very end when it a) started raining and b) turned into nonstop traffic. I was getting irritated. Samir was edgy. Truly, it was forming to be the perfect afternoon. But, he still wanted to bring me some place nice, since we had the time. So we decided on the marina.

It was really pretty there, and the weather cleared up. After walking around for a bit, we sat on a bench and watched the boats we’ll never own float across the water. After a while, he started saying nice things and I got suspicious (not because he never says kind things, but – you know). Then he stood up. Then I said the first stupid thing.

“Are you really doing this?” In my mind, I was excitedly asking him. Apparently, it didn’t come out that way.

So he got down on one knee. Stupid thing #2.

“You don’t have to kneel!” Again, in my mind I was saying that because the ground was hot and he was wearing shorts. And, of course, it did not come out that way.

But he continued anyway, offering pretty words, and finally put the ring on my finger. There was shaking and tears and hugs and so on. A few minutes later he had to make sure I said yes because, apparently, I didn’t really say anything. I’m obviously great under emotional situation.

It was perfect in so many ways. It was us together with no one else really around. No spectators besides random people a few benches down. No grand gestures. No cheesy lines. It was simple – and simple, to me, is always more.

Now, here’s what I didn’t know:

Two weeks prior, while I was in New York, he had gone to my parents’ house to ask my dad’s permission.  My dad excitedly called my mom, who told my aunt, who promptly called my cousin – who I was standing next to at the time. My cousin did an amazing job of covering things up, because I didn’t suspect a thing.

A week prior, he went to my parents’ house for the ring. Here’s the story behind the ring: it was, originally, my Great Aunt Faye’s from the 1930s. She was the first person in my family to marry outside of the religion. Obviously, I’m doing the same, so I really wanted that specific ring. I was emotionally attached to it, so really, it’s perfect.

A few days prior, he got it cleaned while I was at work. At that point, my family knew, his family knew. EVERYONE knew but me. But that’s the best, isn’t it?

And so – that’s the story. We’re both extremely excited – and really stunned by all of the messages we’ve received. (We love you all!) Now, I’m sorting through wedding magazines and trying to pick a venue so we can set a date. We’re thinking late September 2011. I’m thinking pumpkins.

This is going to be one exciting year.

Engaged!

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I’m moody
And I really like to get my way
My hair is huge in the morning
And I can listen to show tunes for hours
I cry during some commercials
And I can’t even look at snakes
My eating habits are horrible
And I read more books for young adults than adults
Things have to be done a certain way
And my toes are quite crooked

But despite all this and more – he still asked me to marry him.

And of course I said yes.

More details later. 🙂