A Decade

Sweet girl.

I've written before, many times, about my cat Milo. Today was the tenth anniversary if his death. It may seem silly or crazy (let's not forget I'm both silly and crazy) but that was the first thing I loved and he's still the love of my life. Had he still been alive he would turn 18 this year, which is a pretty unlikely age for a cat, especially one that goes outside. But that doesn't matter.

It's so weird to think of someone being dead longer than they've been alive. Milo died ten years ago, a few months before he would have turned 8 years old. Two nights ago I dreamed our dog, Tipper, was with me on an intense hike with a group of strangers. She was the only dog and she was a real trooper, even though she was older. Everyone loved her, she hopped up onto the rocks like a pup, and swam in the water with me, even though in real life she was a little afraid of water. I gave her a big hug, like I was just realizing how great she was, and it felt so real in the dream. I woke up pretty happy that I had that experience with her, even though it wasn't real. I miss her a lot; she was a great dog.

The behbeh.

Part of the problem with loving animals is they don't live very long. That means I'll love, and lose, a great number of animals in my life. On the other hand, I've been lucky enough to not have had to experience the loss of people in my life yet. But I feel like I can have a stronger connection with animals than I can with most people, so maybe their losses have more of an effect. But that doesn't matter either, because that's something I never want to change.

So Much More Than This

"I'm famished!"

Ah, the job search. That never-ending search for a job that sucks your soul least. As I start my 4th week at my new job I hit the depressing realization that I do not give a shit. And it's not even like the money is good, either. It would be somewhat decent if it was for something I cared about, but using all of my creative juices to convince people to call us for their garage door repairs isn't what I saw myself doing.

On the upside, I am learning a lot about SEO, which is all the rave with my field. But on the downside I'm being asked to put a lot of effort (skipping lunch, staying late and working in a stressed environment) for not a lot in return and for something that doesn't really matter.

This is where it sucks being an idealist. I'm not about doing what it takes to make the big money, or working a shit job so I can afford nice things or doing something I don't like or don't care about only because it pays well. It's more important to me to love my work, like my coworkers and look forward to Monday, rather than just the paycheck. As long as my needs are met and I can support my lifestyle (which is far from that of the rich and famous) without worrying about every dollar I spend, I would much rather do something I love and always be a little poorer than be miserable and rich.

Will I find my happy middle ground or, if I'm lucky, that perfect job? Is there a position out there that will allow me to help others, improve the world and feel good while also letting me live comfortably? No one helps me financially; my parents don't pay my rent, I don't have a boyfriend or husband or sugar daddy to pay my bills or buy me nice presents, I do everything for myself. I need to work to support myself because I have absolutely no choice. Unfortunately, I'm afraid, the jobs where you can genuinely help others and make the world a better place are pretty low-paying jobs. I might be able to make a paycheck doing something I'm passionate about but if I ever want to have a savings or retirement plan I better marry rich. And while it would be nice to work for fun and not because I need the money, I kind of doubt that'll happen. I made my peace a long time ago with being at least a little poor, but I would like to live in a place that doesn't need bars on the windows.

Too much to ask?

Subtle Differences

When I first told people I preferred Hillcrest to North Park I got a lot of surprised reactions. But in the last 7 months (apparently it's been that long already) I've got some subtle yet concrete reasons for my preference.

First, the not so subtle (the blindingly obvious?):

There are cops everywhere. Like, everywhere. It doesn't make me feel any safer, it makes me feel like they're either out to get me for whatever I could possibly do wrong or that there's enough crime to necessitate that many cops.

Now the subtle:

Interactions: People in North Park aren't as likely to smile. Running through Balboa Park I probably get smiles or at least nods from 3/4 of my fellow runners/dog walkers/outdoor yoga enthusiasts. Running around North Park gets me smiles/nods/eye contact from maybe 1/3 of the people who are out and about. Not quite as friendly.

Maybe you just have to be more friendly on a bridge?

Environment: Hillcrest has a lot more trees than North Park. Lawns are more maintained, buildings more recently painted, and sidewalks a little cleaner. North Park has less green, more concrete, and more litter (which could be one reason why there's bi-weekly street cleaning in North Park and none in either of the two places I live in Hillcrest.

All the pretty palm trees.

Sounds: There are constant sirens. In Hillcrest there are ambulance sirens because there's a major hospital nearby, plus quite a few retirement homes. In North Park there are cop sirens and fire truck sirens (though there's a fire station down the street from my apartment), which are a bit more unsettling.

Smells: North Park smells like fried food. Between the fast food restaurants and the smells wafting from various apartments, it's no wonder we're an obese country. On pretty much all of my running paths in North Park I pass by at least 1 fast food place, plus there's fried smells coming from apartments all around. There are also loads of bars which almost exclusively sell fried foods, making the smell nearly impossible to avoid. Breathing in fried foods kind of sucks when you're huffing and puffing.

There are a few other things that make me feel less at ease about being in North Park (the bars on my windows, the amount of bums, the way the streets smell, the lack of parking) that I never thought of in Hillcrest. One day I'll return to Banker's Hill, that perfect distance away from Balboa Park, University Avenue, Downtown and the airport and flight path. In Banker's Hill I felt both safe and in the middle of the city. I almost never had to drive around looking for parking, I could walk to Hillcrest or Downtown, and nights were quiet as businesses and families turned off the lights. I might be romanticizing that area a bit, but I did love it, and did hate to leave it.

Two Years Ago

Two years ago I made out with a giraffe. Kind of.

Two years ago yesterday was the first day of the rest of my life. On May 6, 2009 I signed employment papers to be a photo caravan driver at the Wild Animal Park. I met people who changed my outlook on life so much that I'll never be happy if I'm not doing something I'm passionate about.

Two years ago I had been unemployed for 3 months after being laid off from my writing job. I wasn't happy there and had been looking for a new job, but never would have looked at the zoo job board had I not gotten laid off. And because I was desperate for a job I knew I'd take anything. Luckily, being a photo caravan driver was the best thing to happen and I rocked my interview, getting the job the next day. I went into the interview thinking it was for the Journey Into Africa tram and was beyond excited to hear otherwise. I spent the next 4 months getting up close and personal with dozens of wild animals, listening to my coworkers talk about their behaviors and how they've adapted to their environments, and watching species I don't know if I'll ever see in the wild act completely natural. It was a dream come true for me, a dream I never really knew I had.

Two years ago I didn't know this animal existed.

Two years ago I was in love with someone I knew wasn't right for me, but too afraid to let go. I had been going back and forth between wanting to break up and wanting to stay for almost 5 months. I didn't have the courage to leave a 5+ year relationship and I knew it. Meeting the photo caravan people, seeing their immense passion for these animals, getting glimpses of their lives and the animals in them, made me realize how unhappy I would be if I didn't leave my relationship. I always knew I wanted horses, a cow, dogs, cats, rats, whatever came my way, but the person I was with not only didn't share that dream, he was allergic to animal hair. The only reason we lasted as long as we did was because he put up with it to be with me, and he adored my cat, but it was always a sore issue. I knew being with him would eventually mean giving up many of the animals I wanted in my life. It took me two more months to fully realize this, to fully realize how badly I would hurt in the future if I had to give up (or be restricted in) having animals in my life, but I finally did and I left. In the two years since it's been absolutely crucial to be with someone who loves animals. I may not have found the perfect man yet, but knowing that this is something I can't compromise on really narrows it down.

Two years ago I learned this face will likely determine who I love.

Two years ago I was lazy, tired and bored (and boring). Working in an office all day, staring at a computer screen, sitting on my ass drained all of my energy. I would go home, put on my pajamas and watch TV until I fell asleep. I didn't go out and do things at night and barely did anything on the weekends. I hated who I was. Working in the intense heat of the San Pasqual Valley, moving around and lifting buckets of water when I wasn't driving, and being mentally stimulated while I was driving gave me ten times the energy I had from my previous job. I left work sweaty and gross but rejuvenated, went home to shower and went out with friends and coworkers. I had energy to sit up late with my neighbors drinking wine and talking in the courtyard, energy to go to Taco Tuesday pretty much every week, energy for Stone movie nights, energy for bar hopping on nights off and running on mornings off. I loved who I was that summer. When the summer, and my job, ended I knew I would have to find a new job I could be passionate about, that I wouldn't be happy ever again doing something I didn't care for.

Two years ago I never imagined this photo would exist.

Two years ago I had no direction in my life. I gave up on being a journalist and had no where else to turn. If I wasn't going to continue making writing my career, what was left for me? Biology would be too impractical because of the debt I would have and because I still didn't know what I wanted to do. Writing didn't make sense if I wasn't going to be a teacher or a journalist, and nothing else interested me. Despite knowing I definitely wanted to continue with higher education I couldn't just do something for the sake of getting a master's. I needed to love it, needed to want it, needed to imagine myself in a specific position afterwards. And I'm excited to admit now, finally, I know what I want, know what I want to be, and know how I want to help change the world.

Two years ago I had an idea but I was on the verge of giving it up. Two years ago I found out I don't have to hide my passion and excitement for animals and conservation. Two years ago I learned what it meant to be a Cape buffalo. Two years ago I knew it couldn't be any other way.

A Deserved Death

This is my favorite!

Within minutes of the Obama press conference announcing the death of the current world's most hated terrorist, the Internet had a field day making snarky images. Facebook has also been blowing up with people arguing over whether we should celebrate his death or...well, mourn would be the wrong word, but not celebrate it. While I agree that no death should be outright celebrated (come on, we are better than that), some deaths are very, very deserved.

I'm a supporter of the death penalty. I think that some people do such atrocious things to others for no reason that they give up their right to humanity, and with that goes compassion and life. Osama bin Laden was responsible for hundreds of thousands of innocent deaths, and his own death could not have come too soon. But on the other hand, maybe chanting and singing and celebrating isn't the right approach. Maybe we should have a respectful moment of silence for those we've lost in the last ten years (still wrapping my mind around the fact that it's been ten years), and reassess our efforts in our war triangle.

Perhaps it's finally time to withdraw from the Middle East and focus our resources on strengthening out country from within. Let's spend that war money on defense (not offense), educating the poor kids who keep getting school days taken from them, putting people to work, and celebrating our own very unique culture. Maybe, if this was our goal, now we can stop "helping" others for long enough to help ourselves. Maybe.

After watching the press conference I wanted two things: to see a picture of the body and to learn about the SEAL who fired the bullet (and his brothers). I don't know if either will ever happen, but I'm glad for this milestone. I'm sorry it had to take so long, and I hope this means the end is coming soon.