Cold showers

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Tintagel, England (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Tonight I had the unpleasant experience of getting in the shower, patiently waiting for it to warm up before I stepped into its deluge completely, but then over the course of my shampoo and condition session, the water grew increasingly frigid. I don’t know if someone was running the washing machine or taking a shower unbeknownst to me or if the universe just hates me today, but I was not particularly thrilled by this unexpected surprise, especially being the cold-blooded being that I am.

As I shivered my way through the rest of my hair care routine (it takes a lot of conditioner to upkeep these luscious locks), my mind wandered to the more metaphorical times I’ve been left in the cold, in particular in relationships.

Today, I was walking past several places where this summer I felt particularly hurt or betrayed by a man, and it brought the frustration that has been simmering periodically below the surface of my psyche to a boiling point. Yet, I can’t shake the hope that maybe he’ll change his mind and see my worth…Well, not just see it, but value it.

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Tintagel, England (photo by Rebecca Gale)

I thought about how unfair it is that I still pity and worry about the well-being of this man and others who haven’t treated me particularly attentively over the years. I even pray for their well-being sometimes. I pride myself on being a caring, empathetic person; it’s part of my identity and I would hate to cut that part out of myself, but sometimes I do feel like I’m the butt of a joke, left shivering in a cold shower while someone basks in the warmth of a nice steamy one.

I pour out into others’ lives, take initiative to get to know them and pursue and keep up a relationship with them, but when I step back to see if they will return the favor, it’s radio silence. I do dumb (albeit adorable) shit like studying in the library every day because it was the best place I could be sure to run into the guy I liked freshman year, but who returns the favor (except for a couple creeps.)

It gets discouraging after a while when you feel like you’re the one doing most of the heavy lifting in relationships. It makes you wonder whether you’re just bothering people, whether anyone wants you. I know people are probably just busy and preoccupied with their own issues, but I can’t help thinking that if they cared and I was a priority, that shit would be something they would want to share with me, or at least wouldn’t be enough to keep them from checking in.

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Tintagel, England (Photo by Rebecca Gale)

I don’t know why I’m writing this, except that I’m sure someone out there knows exactly what I mean. And who knows, maybe it will inspire someone to send a simple text to an old friend and ask what’s up. It’s as easy as that. Letting people know you care. Asking how they are. Being honest about how you’re doing. It’s almost stupid how much we could help by just doing little shit like that.

I’m sick of being out alone in the cold sometimes. But I guess I’ll go dive into some blankets and try and warm myself up.

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Tintagel, England (photo by Rebecca Gale)

 

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Dealing with the stress of decision-making

The past couple weeks (and honestly months) have been full of stress for me as I’ve been trying to figure out what to do next with my life and how to start my career. After graduating in May, I bought myself some time from having to find a job by doing a summer fellowship, though the entire summer, the thought of what to do next (and after that and after that) was relentlessly weighing on my mind. Finding a job in the museum field with just a BA proved difficult, so I decided to get more experience (and buy myself more job search time) by doing a fall internship. Now that I’ve finished that, the weight of figuring out my future is resting heavily on my shoulders again. Sometimes it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest with all the stress I put on myself to figure my life out.

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Sturbridge, Massachusetts

I’m not great at decision-making. I hate even choosing what to eat. So making choices that can seemingly determine the course of the rest of your life entail a lot of stress for me. Add to that the complications of relationships, finances, second-guessing whether your career field is a good fit, deadlines for applications, decisions about grad school, etc. and it’s enough to make you want to cry or just give up and stick your head in the sand, binge-watching Lea Remini’s docu-series about Scientology to reassure yourself that other people’s lives are more screwed up than your own.

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Cavendish Beach, Prince Edward Island

As I’ve been working on approaching career and life choices without stressing myself out completely, I’ve been figuring out some ways to make the process a little easier. It’s important to take time out to rest during the process, and to make sure that you’re not letting other people’s opinions take over your choice. Here are a few other thoughts:

Schedule a “freak out” time. I oftentimes find myself letting anxiety take over my thoughts constantly, turning over decisions constantly in the back of my mind. Or I would spend hours on job listings, stressing myself out with the long list of positions that didn’t work for me. This can make the decision hold more weight than it should and just makes your miserable. Try scheduling an hour or two a day to focus on weighing choices, making pro and con lists, applying to jobs etc. When your mind drifts to your decision the rest of the day, tell yourself you have to wait until later.

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Cavendish Beach, Prince Edward Island

Get in touch with your priorities. It’s easy to be swayed and overwhelmed by others’ input and expectations when making choices. While it’s worthwhile to listen to the advice people have to give, ultimately the decision is yours and it’s your life. Try making a list of what are the external pressures your feel from others and what are your feelings about what you want, what your priorities are, what experience you want to have, etc. It’s easy to get caught up in ideas of what someone your age is supposed to be doing, but you are the one who has to live in that place or work that job or date that person, so you need to make the choice that’s best for you.

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Cavendish Beach, Prince Edward Island

Think long-term, but not too long-term. It’s good to have some sense of what direction you want to be headed in to guide you in terms of what skills you should try and gain in a job now, but don’t get overwhelmed trying to plan too far ahead. Sometimes, especially when you’re young, it’s helpful to just give yourself permission to think in terms of a simple, “What do I want to experience next?” It can be easier to break life into semesters, with a general goal of “I want to graduate in May 20-whenever with a BA in History.” I find myself trying to trace how my future would pan out if I took this path or that path, but ultimately I stress myself out for something that isn’t practical. We can’t predict the future, so sometimes you have to look at what opportunities are available right now and trust that things will work out in the future.

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Exeter, England

Remember there’s no right or wrong path. Again, you don’t know what the future will hold, good or bad. A certain school or job or relationship can seem like your only ticket to the life you want or the only thing that can make you happy, but I’ve found that dream opportunities often can be very different in reality. Not to mention, you could take a job that you never thought you would and end up finding your passion. You could go to a school that was far from your first choice and form lifelong relationships. You could not end up with one guy but then months later meet the love of your life. We don’t know what life holds and sometimes we have to accept that some doors close and others open. There’s not a fixed path and we’re not doomed if we don’t do certain things in life, though it can easy to become convinced as much with the pressure other people put on us and the emphasis on Ivy Leagues, big-name companies, and meeting milestones.

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Cavendish Beach, Prince Edward Island

Whatever paths you’re looking down, have faith that life is full of surprises. It’s easy to get discouraged about not getting jobs or not having relationships work out, feeling like that was our best chance. But so many people I talk to found their career by accident, practically falling into it, or met their partner when they swore they would never find love. So much pressure is put on figuring things out when you’re young, and it’s easy to look at all of the teenagers and 20-somethings in the worlds of sports and entertainment and feel stupid and accomplished for not having found your life passion or made a name for yourself, but those cases are the exception, not the norm.

Many great people whose accomplishments we celebrate didn’t peak until their thirties or even later. It takes time to build up a skill set, refine your craft, and gain experience and a network of people who recognize your abilities. Be patient with yourself, don’t stop pushing yourself, and don’t devalue the experience and skills you already have built. Seeing all the jobs, etc. you’re unqualified for or sitting in an interview where it becomes glaringly obvious that you’re not the right candidate can make you question whether you have any worthwhile skills, but you do. Know your worth and have faith in the future, but also remember to enjoy the present.

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Exeter, England

 

Let it go, let it go. (Well, maybe not just yet…)

It’s hard to let go.

No matter how often the “logic” part of my brain tells me that it wouldn’t work because of the distance and because he hasn’t texted since the date, but the romantic side of me, which runs the show, honestly, keeps thinking about how sweet and witty and intelligent and patient and interesting he was, how great our chemistry was, how comfortable I felt around him, which leaves me screaming at the universe at the unfairness of a relationship with such potential being cut short so soon. It seems so unfair to finally have the chance to have someone return my interest, after wearing the crown of the queen of unrequited love for so long, and then have the chance be ripped from my hands.

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Deerfield, Massachusetts…This post will feature tree photos because he loves trees, as any decent human being should.

I feel stupid for going on the date when I knew I was leaving the next day, but the opportunity presented itself to easily, so perfectly, unlike most of the time when I am interested in a guy, and I had been noticing his personality and character for weeks and wanting to get the chance to know more, it seemed wrong to pass up the opportunity. Not to mention…it was a real date with a perfectly nice, non-sketchy guy who I didn’t have to meet online. But I keep second-guessing whether I was emotionally manipulative to invite him to go out, whether I was stupid because I know I can never just have a one-off interaction with a guy I’m interested in.

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Deerfield, Massachusetts

I don’t know how to navigate these relationships. I feel so lost sometimes and so frustrated that I can’t just tell people how I feel outright and cut the crap…There are so many games to play, things to consider, hypotheticals to worry about. It’s overwhelming because all the feelings are in the present and the future is so cloudy. I can probably meet another guy eventually, but when you’ve never met a person quite like this one or never felt the way you do about this person, it’s hard to let go and believe there is hope for another person to come along one day, a person who things work with. I want to be someone who fights for my relationships and puts effort into them, but I almost equally, after many bad experiences, don’t want to be dragged along, duped, or taken advantage of. Nor do I want to do that to others.

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Sturbridge, Massachusetts

Relationships are tough. People have their opinions, you have your heart, which can be surprisingly powerful in its attachment to others but surprisingly reticent to share its inclinations. People have their baggage that you don’t know about that may keep them closed off to a relationship…then you find out after it’s too late. It’s hard to know how hard to fight for a relationship before you’re just being unfair to yourself by wasting your time and emotional energy. It’s hard to come to the acceptance that you need to let go and move on. It’s hard to move on. It takes forever and the process is full of “forward one step, back two” and questioning your decision when you see something that reminds you of him or you remember that one time when your arms brushed for the first time…

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Cut down in the prime of its youth…Beaver damage, Sturbridge, Massachusetts

I spent over a month moving on from the last guy who things didn’t work out with. Sometimes I still get starry eyes and wonder if one day he’ll change his mind, or I see something and want to text him something I saw that reminded me of him. But then I remember that he probably always gets away with the crap he pulls in relationships because people just forgive him and play nice again because of his charm.

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Fruitlands, Harvard, Massachusetts

This new man…I don’t know if I’m ready to start getting over him yet. Part of me is still holding out hope. I learned from the last guy that sometimes you have to give yourself time to entertain the impossible possibilities before you realize how deluded you’re being or what a jerk he is or how apathetic he is about the relationship before you are able to be emotionally ready to move on.

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Fruitlands, Harvard, Massachusetts

So I’ll continue to hold out hope for the moment, scouring New England job boards and wondering if it would be too desperate to text him again or if I should wait to see if he’ll finally initiate something. Ripping my heart out at this point and drenching myself with the cold, hard truth that it probably won’t work out is just too crushing. I need time.

He was lovely, the date was lovely, I was happy (until my anxiety took over) and I want to just believe the best of it all and believe he is wonderful for a while. Maybe I’m being dumb, but that’s just where I am right now. (And you’re not alone if you’re in the same boat.)

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Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts

Here’s to hope, however hopeless the situation might be.

The Scenic Route: Taking the Pressure off of Decision-Making

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Sturbridge, Massachusetts

I always like to tell people that a road trip with me isn’t complete until I’ve taken a wrong road or missed a turn or screwed up something. I’ve been driving around up here in New England every time I have time because I love the scenery and I find driving so relaxing (sorry, environment.) Pretty much every time I miss a turn and end up lost. I always start out frustrated, seeing the ETA on my GPS change, but I could never stay mad for long because I would pass a group of wild turkeys crossing the road or see the sun setting over a pond nestled in a grove of pine trees. It made me realize that it was more of a scenic detour than making a mistake.

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Sturbridge, Massachusetts

It’s interesting how we are so prone to frame things as right or wrong, labeling events that didn’t go the way we hoped or turn out positively as mistakes or failures. Oftentimes those times can be pivotal moments of growth for us, which makes me question whether they really can be called mistakes since they ended up playing a crucial part in our development.

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The Mount, Lenox, Massachusetts

This past couple months, having another relationship I hoped would develop into something more not work out and simultaneously having the internship I took not live up to my expectations really brought this point home. A lot of times I felt like I had failed because I had yet again misjudged a person and built up my expectations prematurely. I consequently feel anxious when I make choices about my future and pessimistic about new opportunities for relationships that present themselves, doubting anyone could really be interested in me and wondering if I’m over-idealizing a person again and ignoring red flags like the last time.

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The Mount, Lenox, Massachusetts

As I find myself in another time of transition with a lot of decisions facing me, I feel overwhelmed by the pressure to make the “right” choices. But the thing is, sometimes you just have to make a choice, there isn’t necessarily a right or wrong option; each avenue you could potentially take is just a different path. As cheesy as the metaphor sounds, it’s like hiking trails – sure you have to take into consideration how long one is or how steep, but for the most part each one is beautiful and relaxing, you just get a different view.

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The Mount, Lenox, Massachusetts

Considering grad schools and job options, I feel overwhelmed by the pressure I put on myself to find the “right fit.” Having had to transfer in undergrad, partly because the school I thought was a perfect fit ended up just not working for me, I feel especially anxious about my ability to choose a good program. But as I make pro and con lists for different options, I realize that there are, quite simply, pros and cons to anything. There is rarely ever a perfect fit. It all works out and adds to your story.

Even difficult things have beauty and worth threaded throughout. In my relationship that didn’t work out, I experienced a ton of emotional pain, but that precipitated me to re-enter counseling, which I have experienced tremendous comfort and personal growth through (including many of the ideas in this post!) And subsequently, when I did have another opportunity to start to develop a different relationship, it made me value that new opportunity even more.

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Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts

The failed relationship also empowered me in a strange sense as I had to at one point realize the other person wasn’t invested in the relationship, decide I deserved better, and take action to withdraw from that person and make an effort not to let worrying about our relationship consume my thoughts. This was extremely hard to do, but I did it. I stopped communicating with him for probably six weeks to see if he would initiate conversation and ask after me. It never came, which hurt, but gave me perspective on what I need in a relationship and, most importantly, made me feel empowered about my decision to respect and stand up for myself.

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Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts

As for my internship, as many tough days as I had, there is the satisfaction of knowing I pressed on through those tough days and I pushed myself yet again out of my comfort zone in the type of work I was doing. I learned completely new things and I did a lot of talking to people even though I find constant conversation exhausting. I persevered. And I got to experience a different place, visit lovely museums, enjoy driving through the curtain of New England foliage over the Massachusetts turnpike, and meet a few lovely people…one particularly lovely person in particular…There were so many things I felt frustrated about that I eventually realized had small blessings hidden in them.

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Naumkeag, the Berkshires, Massachusetts

I guess what I’m saying is, that if you’re like me and, because of things that have happened in your past, you question your judgment for the future to the extent that you can’t make decisions – it’s okay. Even situations that are difficult are redeemable. And for some of us more sensitive people, we just need an extra-long time to adjust, so something that seems awful may just need some patience and perseverance.

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The Berkshires, Massachusetts

You don’t have to make the right choice, you just have to do the best you can to consider your options and choose what seems like a good fit. Maybe it’s the fastest route to your destination, maybe it’s the scenic route. Either way has satisfactions and frustrations.

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Explore New England (Well, Mainly Massachusetts)

For the past couple months, I’ve had the opportunity to relocate temporarily from my home state of Maryland to the lovely state of Massachusetts while completing an internship at Old Sturbridge Village. As a museum lover, I was determined from Day One to spend as much time off as I could visiting the area’s wealth of fascinating museums. While there are still several left on my list that I didn’t make it to, I’ve enjoyed going to quite a number of them.

Slater’s Mill Historic Site, Pawtucket, Rhode Island

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This small museum is located just outside of Providence, RI and just over the Massachusetts border. It’s a three-building site that gives an overview of the evolution of industry, particularly textile processing, in early America.

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18th century home – A spinning wheel used for flax (linen) is in the background on the right, and a weasel, used to wind skeins of string, is the windmill-looking machine on the table. The song “Pop Goes the Weasel” was inspired by this!

Our guided tour started in a 1700s-era house, showing how textiles were originally produced in cottage industry-type setting within a home, usually for the family, though sometimes a person might hire other people and produce larger amounts of cloth to sell. This work was done using human power and simple machines like spinning wheels.

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The two other buildings were water-powered mills, where huge wheels pushed by the energy of flowing water turned machinery and belts used to spin thread onto spools, do woodworking, clean cotton, etc.

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These held large bobbins of thread that were mechanically wound. Young girls had the job of sticking their hands into the machine to remove filled bobbins. Our guide turned on the machine and demonstrated for about 30 seconds…her had stung and was visibly red. It’s hard to imagine doing that all day as an elementary school-age child.

It’s both amazing to think about innovation over the years and how drastically life and work has changed over the past two centuries because of these inventions, and humbling to consider how hard it must have been to work in such loud, impersonal, fast-paced, dangerous conditions. (It’s also a bit humbling to realize that our country benefitted so much from plans for a machine that were literally stolen from England.)

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Bobbins in boats on top of a loom. Some looms were so large, there were ships on wheels that were water-powered to go through the warp threads.

There was also a collection of later machinery, displaying the further development of technology for creating cloth.

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Later machines, probably for making knit fabrics.

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Mark Twain House, Hartford, CT

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The Mark Twain House is a must-see if you’re ever passing through Connecticut. Just outside of downtown Hartford, this sumptuous Victorian that Twain built for his family not only has delicious interior design, but also a fascinating story of an eccentric writer and his family and household staff.

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I love writers’ homes because they have such interesting tours that focus more on the family and their life. Twain and one of his daughters appear to have had trouble concentrating, probably suffering from what we would diagnose today as ADHD. He had to change where he would spend time writing at least twice because he couldn’t be in a place with too many distractions. His daughter, educated at home by Twain’s wife, who had attended college, went to a formal academy in high school but was kicked out for behavior issues, probably because she was distractable too and unused to regimented schooling.

The carriage house

The house also has an accompanying museum with two fantastic, very readable exhibits as well as a cafe. The neighborhood nearby is also worth exploring if you love Victorian architecture!

Concord, Massachusetts

Concord holds a special place in my heart because it was the home of two authors I dearly love, whose homes I visited in eighth grade and fell in love with this charming town. It really is what I imagine real-life Stars Hollow being like.

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Downtown Concord, Mass.

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Downtown Concord

The downtown is very sweet and historic and also have a cemetery for those who are interested in historic gravestones. It just oozes New England charm. There is a National Park dedicated to the Revolutionary War battlefield, which I still have not made my way too, and a town museum as well as a few house museums, namely belonging to local authors Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and – dearest to my heart – Louisa May & Amos Bronson Alcott.

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Louisa May Alcott’s Orchard House, where she wrote her most famous book, Little Women.

I visited Orchard House twice in middle school, inspiring me to do a research project on her family’s connection to the Massachusetts abolition movement for National History Day. I wrote a bit more about my visit in another post, but this remains one of my favorite museums to this day, though I’m sure it’s shabby to many museum snobs. I love the personality of the family that comes through even in the furnishings, which have a very lived-in appearance.

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Amos Bronson Alcott’s (Louisa’s father) Concord School of Philosophy. Alcott was a man of ideas and conviction, but unfortunately not usually successful in making them last in application. His ideas on educating children have more recently become popularly accepted, but got him into trouble in his own lifetime.

The family let their artistic younger daughter, May, draw and paint on the walls and the house is furnished to reflect the Alcotts in their better middle class status after Little Women had started selling, but it still has the well-loved furniture and cramped quarters you might find in your own home, which I find endearingly relatable compared to the hoards of mansions that tend to get preserved. The Alcotts are also fascinating people, eccentric and lovably human, both outcasts of their own time and representatives of some of the growing movements in mid-19th-century New England: abolition, Transcendentalism, women’s rights, philosophical discussion and lecture circuits, etc.

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A re-creation of Henry David Thoreau’s cabin he built for his experiment living alone in nature for a time, as recorded in his book Walden.

I also couldn’t pass up a re-visit to Walden Pond, now a state park. I went hoping for some kind of epiphany about what to do with my life but left wishing I had brought my bathing suit to enjoy the clear water. I guess life works itself out as you go along more than it hands out sudden clarity about where to go next. Sometimes you have to embrace the uncertainty. All the same, Walden is a beautiful place with such a peaceful atmosphere. I highly recommend a visit.

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Sunset over Walden Pond.

 Museum of Russian Icons, Clinton, Massachusetts 

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This place confirmed my assertion that there really is a museum for everything. When I saw the brochure for the Museum of Russian Icons, I was intrigued. I knew relatively little about the Russian Orthodox Church or about the art of icons, so it was interesting to learn about an art form that is an intersection of visual expression and religious devotion.

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Clinton, Massachusetts

The icons – pictures of saints and Biblical figures – are painted in particular steps, each of which have symbolic religious significance. As the icons are painted, the artist is supposed to pray and meditate during the process. I found the concept quite powerful…I think the artistic process is great for taking time to consider life and examine one’s inner self. I probably sat for an hour watching a video of an adorable elderly Russian man demonstrating how icons are created. I’m not much good at visual art myself, but it’s fascinating to watch people who are practice their craft. The neighborhood around the museum also had some gorgeous Victorian houses, which always gets me jazzed.

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Clinton, Massachusetts

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Clinton, Massachusetts

Fruitlands Museum, Harvard, Massachusetts

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I believe I can touch the sky…Fruitlands Museum, Harvard Mass.

Fruitlands definitely wins the prize for best location out of all the places I visited. The museum is spread out among several buildings in a campus layout, but it’s all nestled on a hill that looks out on some gorgeous hills, filled with foliage. I didn’t get a picture that did justice to the view.

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The museum is mainly dedicated to the Utopian experiment that Louisa May Alcott’s father, writer and educator Amos Bronson Alcott, started with fellow Transcendentalist Charles Lane. Louisa May Alcott later wrote a short story about the disastrous experience. Her father and Lane were trying to live out Transcendentalist ideals, living off the land and farming without using animal labor, which, as you might imagine, is quite difficult to do. Add to that that Lane believed that ideally people should be single and celibate when Alcott had his wife and daughters living on the farm…Dramaaaaa.

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Fruitlands Farmhouse, built 1843

In addition to the original farmhouse where the Alcotts and Lane lived, the museum campus has an art gallery featuring folk portraits and Hudson River School paintings, a Native American museum, and a building from a nearby Shaker community.

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Shaker Museum, Fruitlands Museum, Harvard, Mass.

I spent the most time at the Shaker Museum, which was a small office building that had been part of the Shaker community in Harvard, Massachusetts, not far from the Fruitlands utopian experiment (in fact, Charles Lane went and tried to live with the Shakers for a short time after Fruitlands dissolved.)

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Shaker Museum

It was interesting to learn about how Shakerism offered a safe haven for women who had been widowed to have a place to live and be provided for. It’s humbling to think about how women in past centuries would have been in a pretty difficult situation if their husband or other family members they were dependent on passed away. It’s also interesting to learn about how entrepreneuring the Shakers were, crafting furniture and creating the concept of packaged seeds.

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I also enjoyed the gorgeous hiking paths through the fall foliage. There were great interpretive signs about the historical and natural landscape. It’s interesting to think about the remains of homes, daily lives, and natural phenomena that we walk on top of every day without thinking. One picture in the slideshow above is of a part of the trail that overlapped with a former wagon road. The signage pointed out that the ruts are still visible. I wonder how many lives in transition traveled that same path.

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The Mount, Lenox, MA 

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The Stables, The Mount, Lenox, MA

When the stables of an estate are larger than your family’s house, you know you’ve happened upon a Gilded Age mansion. Edith Wharton was a prolific novelist who critiqued the constrained, exclusive society of the extremely wealthy Americans in early nineteenth century New York City. Many of these wealthy people built houses in the Berkshires, the part of the Appalachians in western Massachusetts and Wharton followed suit. She actually had a large part in designing the Mount because of her strong opinions in home design. In fact, her first published book was an advice book on interior design.

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Wharton’s life is fascinating; she divorced her husband at a time when it was still socially unacceptable, so she left the Mount and moved to Paris after being shunned from society. But she wrote a novel a year for forty years and won a Pulitzer Prize. She had other love affairs, though none of them worked out particularly well (I feel you, girl), but she did write some steamy poetry about them.

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The scullery where maids would have washed dishes. Sucky job but nice view.

The house museum is particularly interesting in that it has tried to experiment with new ways to use the space of a historic home. For example, rooms are, for the most part, not roped off and, in addition to getting a guided tour, you can walk through the house at your own pace. Some rooms are restored to their original appearance or something similar (designers were invited to decorate some of the rooms at their own expense to reduce the cost of restoring the home) while others are small gallery spaces. I loved the little reading nook they had too. Some effort is also made to interpret the spaces the servants used.

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Wharton’s work and receiving room, which has been restored to its original appearance. (she wrote her novels in bed next door every morning so she wouldn’t have to wear her corset…Same.)

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Well, I have a million more pictures, and a few other smaller places I visited, but this is already a monster of a post. But I’ll leave with some parting musings….

I feel bad sometimes that I haven’t done much international travel, but then I think about how many amazing places there are in my own country, or even my own country, that I’ve never been to, and I realize that maybe there’s something to be said for traveling locally.

I think it’s important to be connected to the places around you and to appreciate the stories they have to offer of the people who have called that location home in years past. Local history can so often go overlooked or even be looked down on by academics, but I think it gives us a sense of identity and groundedness in the landscape we inhabit, allowing us to appreciate and thus care for, preserve, and conserve both the built and the natural environment.

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The Berkshires

On a more personal note, I have to say that while I sometimes felt a little pathetic trudging up to the ticket offices to ask for admission for one adult (“No, an adult, not a student”) while several couples celebrating anniversaries or honeymoons or girl friends spending a day out gossiping while cursorily looking at art perused the gift shop around me. Let’s just say that while I fully intended to visit as many museums as possible while I was up here, I didn’t expect to be doing it alone. But I am continually reminded that life has a stubborn way of making sure that things do not go the way you expect.

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Naumkeag Mansion, the Berkshires, Massachusetts

In spite of the occasional awkwardness and self-consciousness (and occasional anxiety) of traveling alone, I am a firm believer that it’s important to take time to get back in touch with your own thoughts and feelings, and I sometimes wonder if many museums can properly be absorbed and appreciated if you’re with other people. While parts of the past couple months of my life have had some moments of pain and frustration over the loneliness I felt and the disappointment – sometimes even anger – I was experiencing surrounding some of my relationships, I also found some extremely beautiful moments being alone in nature or alone looking at a building where an author who made a large impact on my life lived.

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I’ve spent a lot of time in recent years frustrated with how people have treated me or relationships have panned out, but I think those hurts are a good reminder that it’s important to spend time with yourself, staying in touch with your own desires, dreams, and emotions. It’s good to dignify yourself by giving yourself the opportunity to experience things you want to, regardless of whether or not other people accompany you. It’s important to have friends and connections, but it’s also good to know yourself and not lose your individuality trying to be what you think other people want, which I felt like I was starting to do when I began this journey a couple months ago.

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Links:

Slater Mill 

Mark Twain House

Museum of Russian Icons

Fruitlands Museum

The Mount

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Enjoying New England in fall 🙂

Party Like It’s 1838: Old Sturbridge Village Internship (Pt. 1)

It’s been quite an interesting two months serving as an intern here at Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts. I’ve learned a lot as a historian and grown a lot as a human. A lot of people I’ve met have wondered what brought me up here from my home state of Maryland…It’s a valid question with a complicated answer.

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I guess it goes back to when I was in middle school and I first fell in love with museums, in particular with living history museums where people in costume pretend to inhabit historic buildings, usually set up in a town or village setting, recreating life in the past. Old Sturbridge Village was one museum I distinctly remember visiting, and while I didn’t fall in love with it the way I did Colonial Williamsburg, I remember respecting it a lot (and loving the sheep.)

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Fast forward several years to college…History majors from the first school I attended interned at OSV and I began to become interested myself in working in the museum field. I turned into some kind of internship maniac who would scour the Internet for museum internships to apply for. One that I found was OSV but it wasn’t until this past summer that I applied. I accepted at Historic Deerfield for the summer but asked if I could defer working here at OSV to the fall. The more jobs I didn’t hear back from, the better of an idea doing another internship sounded like.

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Old Sturbridge Village is comprised of over thirty historic buildings that have been moved to the site to create a hypothetical rural New England Village. It doesn’t recreate any specific town exactly; it’s more of a sampler of some of the trade shops and homes and public buildings you might have found in a small town in the early 1800s. The village is set in a pretty overlooked time period of American history: the 1830s. Some visitors to the museum think we are colonists, pilgrims, or pioneers, but colonists and pilgrims would have been historical figures by our time period and pioneers would be living in places West of Massachusetts, like Ohio.

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Probably the most notable thing about the 1830s is that the Industrial Revolution was picking up steam (no pun intended), though that can be harder for visitors to see in our quaint little village. Something I would say our village lacks, in my humble opinion, are buildings like textile mills that would have been becoming prominent in this time period as the industrial revolution came into play and was beginning to radically change American life. In fact, a young woman like me might have gone and worked in a mill to be able to earn her own money and be exposed to fashionable new ways of dressing, eating, and cooking. And after simulating what it might be like to work on a farm as a woman in the 1830s for 8.5 hours a day during this internship, I can start to understand the appeal of going and working in a mill.

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My primary place of work during this internship has been the Freeman Farmhouse. The Freemans were middle class farmers so their house was a decent size, though the original property was just the front part when they bought it. Pliny Freeman, a housewright in addition to being a farmer, purchased the house at half its market value to pay off some of his debt by selling his old farm, and added on the back single-story wing, which has the kitchen, dairy room, and woodshed. You can also see the root cellar, underneath the boards in the center of the photo, and on the other side of the home is a large garden that would have been used to grow a lot of the household food.

Here’s a few (unfortunately bad quality) snapshots of the interior of the farmhouse. Most of my time is spent in the room pictured at the bottom – the kitchen. Female interns have to work in a house while male staff typically work on the farm, in a trade shop, or operating our four small mills. A lot of the museum’s interpretation of homelife focuses on what historians call “foodways” aka how food is grown, harvested, prepared, served, and eaten. While women definitely spent a lot of time cooking, this wasn’t all they did, though we can certainly give people that impression.

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All the same, it was a lot of work and I respect the women who did it immensely. I find it tiresome and confusing, which makes me wonder if there what you would do in the 1830s if you hated cooking or were terrible at it. I guess we all have things today that we hate doing, but all the same, I’m more thankful than ever for pre-made food and happy to go home at night and pop a TV dinner in the microwave.

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View out the front door. The picket fence was a fashionable new addition to the house in the late 1830s. It doesn’t make a lot of sense in terms of there being a practical use for it, which is always a good sign that something is being done as a status symbol.

Stay tuned for more thoughts on 1830s life to come!

Forgotten Buildings, Forgotten People

I wrote a bit in a previous post about my brief spontaneous stop-off in Havre de Grace, Maryland while I was on a road trip up to my latest internship. I had always wanted to go to Havre de Grace because, well, what a kick-butt name for a town! It just makes you want to stop and see what’s there. Also, after interning at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum one summer, I developed a special place in my heart for towns on the Bay and their unique culture.

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Havre de Grace turned out to be worth stopping at; sumptuous Victorian homes line the neighborhood streets. A mural celebrating the town’s maritime heritage coats the inside of a bridge underpass entering town (I’m a sucker for murals.) The main street borders the water and also features one big line of fun, eclectic, mostly nineteenth and early twentieth-century architecture, which I will drool over any day of the week.

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I parked my car and walked down a block and a half of the Main Street, snapping photos of interesting buildings, strolled down a pier to look at the water, and then headed back to my car. I’m normally a speedwalker, but when my camera is in tow, I take forever to make it a few yards. Plus it was hot and I wanted to get back on the road.

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As I was making my way back to my car, I made eye contact with an older African American gentleman seated outside a storefront on one of those cool walkers with the fold-down seats that I always wish I have when I’m on museum tours. The man had been there when I arrived, talking to a lady who had since left. He asked me how I was and, being the soul that I am, I felt I had to stop and talked with him a bit.

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He asked me if I was a photography student and I said no, that I just studied history and liked old buildings. So he asked me if I had taken a photo of the building next to him. No, I hadn’t, actually. I had taken one of the store with the turret at the end of the street, but the building he was indicating was simple, even shabby, and hadn’t caught my eye.

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The fancy building I did take a photo of.

He told me I should take a photo of it and explained that it was where he lived. He explained the floor plan to me and told me about how he liked living there and it was paid for for him. Then he talked about an event the town has from time to time where bands play live jazz music and shops set up tables to sell things in the streets. I’m not necessarily gifted at connecting with people, and I’m especially bad at initiating conversation, so I enjoy when someone crosses those walls we put up and talks to you even though they don’t know you. It’s humbling and it makes me feel more connected to the world.

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The bigger picture….I believe the building on the very right that’s cut off was the one the man lived in.

After I said my good-byes and got back in my car, I was struck by the realization that historic preservation isn’t just about the beautiful exteriors, it’s about the stories that have been lived out inside a place. We tend to gravitate to the beautiful, the magnificent, even the bizarre, but sometimes the humble, the plain, and even the ramshackle buildings are the ones whose walls hold the key to stories that need to live on. The building the man had pointed out to be has no doubt seen dozens, if not more, of lives lived out, probably more relatable to most people than the lavish lifestyles of the Vanderbilts & company of the world whose unobtainable mansions tend to be the ones we save. Those lives may not be famous, but they represent a snapshot of a subset of people.

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I remember once my public history professor, an avid building-lover and historic preservation advocate, told us about two buildings in downtown Baltimore that were in danger of being destroyed. One of them was a sparkling example of Art Deco architecture that my professor has been fighting to preserve as an incredible example of that era’s aesthetics. The other was a plain storefront that had been recycled many times and, if I recall correctly, was sitting vacant at the time, but that had been the site of one of the first civil rights-era sit-ins in Baltimore. It was a striking lesson in how maybe the “ugly” building was the one that should be saved even if the pretty one at first glance seemed like the one “worth saving.”

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I realized my own bias when it comes to telling visual stories through photography and through history. I like pretty things. I like interesting things. I like things that I can relate to and that fit with my preferred style and taste. But those aren’t always the things that need to be photographed or the stories that need to be uncovered and told. Sometimes we have to put our own biases aside and paint the whole picture. Sometimes we need to listen more than we talk. Sometimes we need to talk to the random person on the street about what they want to be preserved or what story they want to read in a museum.

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I’m sometimes struck after I spend lots of time with other museum professionals how insular we can accidentally become; we develop ideas of what we think the public ought to know and form opinions on what is worthy of being exhibited in a museum space. Some of us even scoff at things we think aren’t worthy of that space. Generally – and I am guilty of this too – as much as we at heart want to educate the public, we also develop a disdain for them as well and can come to view ourselves as the purveyors of taste and the experts struggling to get through to the unwashed masses.

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I don’t mean to be unkind as I know it’s easy to get burnt out in the museum field and many workers are doing the best they can to tell new stories and reach the public. And I speak as much to myself as to anyone else. But occasionally – not often enough, probably – I’m reminded that it’s the public we’re meant to serve and tell the story of, and sometimes even with, not dictate information to. If we get too lost in our own interests and tastes, we can sometimes lose sight of some of the stories of average people and average places that need to be given consideration as well.

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Blast from the Past (in Concord, Mass.!)

Today I took a road trip up to Concord, Massachusetts for the day. It felt like a pilgrimage of sorts…Concord has a special place in my heart because a decade ago, I went there with my family after falling in love with the works of Louisa May Alcott and Henry David Thoreau’s Walden. 

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Visiting LMA’s home, Orchard House, was one of the things that got me really excited about history. I ended up writing a monologue for National History Day as LMA, discussing the abolition movement in Massachusetts. I ended up going all the way to the National level of the competition (I probably peaked then. It’s been all downhill since.) As a depressed loner nerd in eighth grade, it was empowering to find I could speak in public, research, and succeed and get noticed for something. I think that project probably figured into my eventually deciding to study history in undergrad.

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Orchard House, Concord, Mass. (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Orchard House was magical to me when I first visited. I loved how it felt so personal and vibrant with family history. It remains one of my favorite historic houses. The walls and mantel pieces are drawn and painted on by the Alcott’s youngest daughter, May, who went on to exhibit at the Paris salon in the late 1800s. The Alcotts believed it was important for each daughter to explore her talents and to develop a career for herself, so they allowed May to basically draw on the walls. I noticed this visit that the furniture and decor is very vernacular and, ahem, well-loved, but that to me gives the house a lived-in feel and communicates their thriftiness and struggles with poverty prior to the success of Little Women. Anyways, the point is that this house helped further convince me of the beauty of historic house museums in a new way. (I just wish they would have let me take photos, but I know that would endanger the antiques.)

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Interior of the recreation of Thoreau’s cabin at Walden Pond. (photo by Rebecca Gale)

And Walden Pond…visiting there as a young idealistic 8th grader who loved the idea of living out in the wild and communing with nature for two years was equally thrilling. Today I love communing with nature in small doses but I love being able to cook dinner in the microwave more. But remembering my excitable younger self was encouraging to my current pessimistic, semi-jaded self. In particular, Walden always makes me recall how it was dream at one point in high school to get married standing in the water of Walden Pond. I could laugh until I cried thinking about that. I have now shared that with the Internet, so I have little else to hide.

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To complete my public humiliation….Cheesin’ shamelessly with my bae, Henry David ❤

I went to Concord hoping to have an epiphany of some sort – to have my future become clear as I reconnected with significant places in my past. The reality was I still faced the same issues I always have; I wanted to talk to the staff at Orchard House about museum work and their collections, but I was too shy. Throughout the day, I constantly battled my anxiety as I made choices on my own. I am as hopelessly single as I was in eighth grade, and probably almost as lonely. But I did haul my ass out there on my own to do all those things. And I had a few small realizations along the trip, some sacred, some less so:

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Sunset begins over Walden Pond (photo by Rebecca Gale)

  • If you can’t figure out how to “live in the moment,” that’s okay. People are constantly telling me to live in the present moment, and I am trying to draw the line of obsessing over the future or the past more, but I find myself beating myself up for not enjoying my life more. It makes me wonder if sometimes we can’t appreciate something until it’s over. Maybe anticipating the future and reminiscing about the past are just as valid as taking hold of the present moment. Maybe all three can be used to enjoy life. Sometimes we appreciate things more when we are looking at them in the rearview mirror. Sometimes dreaming about the possibilities of the future are all that get us through the present.
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Downtown Concord…this one had my name written all over it and I can’t complain. (photo by Rebecca Gale)

  • YouTubers are essentially creating a cult of personality around themselves with loyal followers you will do anything to support them. My lack of success on YouTube can be traced to my inability to develop a cult of personality, and probably it’s a good thing that I can’t do that.
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Juicy architectural details in Downtown Concord (photo by Rebecca Gale)

  • Everyone is in a life cycle. I was one of a few people sitting by Walden Pond alone. A couple passed me by, laughing together as they swam through the rippling water. Other couples walked hand in hand on the other side of the shore. Another took a picture of their young daughter doing handstands on the sandy bank. At first I felt jealous and resentful, but then I realized they were just in a different place. Maybe one day I would be them. Who knows. But these years I have been a lone wolf and that has had its benefits. We want other people to be where we are or we want to be where other people are so we try and set people up or get set up, but everything has its time. Taking road trips alone…Right now, that’s just where I am.
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Concord cemetery. Graveyards used to creep me out, but I finally understand what my mom told me that you’re honoring people by giving them thought long after they’ve left this earth. 

  • I’m not cut out to be a 19th-century farm woman. I wonder if there were 19th-century farm women who felt they weren’t cut out to be 19th-century farm women.
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Wayside, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s home next door to Orchard House, though apparently he disliked Amos Bronson Alcott and the other Transcendenalists. 

  • Sometimes you need to get away so you can find the strength to keep pressing on. Some days, you hurt so bad. The bad news keeps piling on. The reminders of what you lost, of how he doesn’t want you, of how you aren’t good enough for him, of how he wants her and her and her more than you and will actually put effort into continuing a relationship with them. Sometimes you have to force yourself to get out to distract yourself. Reminisce a little, but not too much. Let your mind be a little empty. Spend a little too much money. Who gives a shit. As long as you’re alive tomorrow. As long as you make it through this. As long as you know that you are a woman who is worth having and who is as strong as she is broken.
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Concord, Mass. (photo by Rebecca Gale)

  • As someone whose heart warms and sings the Hallelujah chorus as much as it does at the sight of chain clothing stores, it’s probably wrong that I have such a strong emotional attachment to the book Walden.
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Drool. Especially the turret. (photo by Rebecca Gale)

  • It’s good to get back in touch with your dreams and to recognize how far you’ve come. On my drive up to Concord, I passed near where my sister went to college. I immediately thought of the night I stayed in her dorm room before graduation. I was not far from starting undergrad myself, and I remember listening to the song “Independence” by The Band Perry and almost crying (typical) because I was so nervous about the thought of living on my own. Flash forward seven or eight years and here I am driving on my own on a spontaneous road trip, living ten hours from home. I often get on myself for not being a more adventurous person, but the reality is I’ve come a long way.

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“Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.” – Louisa May Alcott

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Feeling Stupid.

I’ve experienced quite a lot of feeling dumb these past few months. It’s a pretty awful way to feel and has a tendency to make us shut down and not want to try any more for fear we’ll look more stupid.

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Yesterday, I was working in the historic house that I am volunteering in as an intern this fall. It was my sixth day in the house and unfortunately the nature of working at such a busy museum is that most of your training is on-the-job, and it can be hard to get proper training even then because the house can be so busy that other staff members are talking to visitors most of the day so you don’t get a chance to ask questions or receive instruction.

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Well, yesterday was busy, but I found myself being told over and over, “No, we don’t do that. This is the right way.” I was already tired out from having worked in the house two days before that and was going into the day with a “just make it till closing time” attitude because of the physical and mental fatigue. Being told I was wrong over and over did not help my emotional state improve too much, as you might imagine.

This summer, I participated in a program where I and five other undergrads learned about antiques in New England. While I love history and museums, I quickly found out that I knew relatively little about the subjects we were covering, namely furniture, art, and New England, especially in comparison with some of my esteemed colleagues. I frequently felt dumb, inferior, belittled, and less valued in comparison to my peers because I didn’t know all the answers.

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

I often found myself giving a wrong answer in a seminar session or biting my tongue on saying something because I was afraid of being wrong again and finding out I did have the right answers. Both situations made me feel equally stupid. When I found out some people questioned why I was in the program because of my ignorance, I was enraged but also insecure because they’re critique had hit on the inferiority I had been nursing over the course of the program.

 

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

 

Now, in both cases – this summer and yesterday – nothing was my fault. I just hadn’t received the training or come in contact with the knowledge I needed to do those things. And why should I know which cutting board is meant for pastry or what era a slat back chair falls into? Those are both pieces of very specialized knowledge that few people have the chance to be taught. Plus, both instances were supposed to be learning experiences, not examinations where I proved what I learned. All of life is a learning experience, yet we expect people to know how to do everything and live life right from the get go.

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Knowledge and experience are happy accidents the majority of the time; what some people might call a blessing and others a privilege. Don’t get too down on yourself about not knowing things, and don’t be so hard on others. Maybe we all need to extend more grace to each other for our mistakes.

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Lastly, I feel stupid because I keep developing romantic feelings for men who turn out not be be equally interested in me. I feel stupid that I’ve done this again. I feel inferior that people have come to just assume and expect that I’m single. I feel disappointed that the same scenario keeps playing out over and over and that I keep being duped. It seems like I should know better by now. But we can’t be so hard on ourselves. I feel like a failure, but none of this is my fault. And better to fail because you love than because of hate or neglect.

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Maybe I need to stop framing my life in terms of mistakes and focus on accomplishments and growth. We are so much more than our mistakes. We should learn from them, yes, but we shouldn’t look at other people or ourselves just in the shadow of the things we don’t know or have done wrong. We label people constantly with the ways we’ve perceived they have lapsed – addict, crazy, failure, stupid, needy, slut. We turn adjectives into nouns and use them to write people off and box them into that mistake they’ve made.

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

You are not stupid. You are not a screw up. You have persevered. You have made it this far. You have accomplished. You do not have to be defined by your past or your mistakes or what you don’t know or haven’t done. You can find help. You can learn. You can grow. You can rise from the ashes of whatever haunts you in your past.

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Glen Echo Park, Maryland (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Song of the day

When friendships fade

Something I’ve struggled to learn over the past two or three years is that relationships have life cycles. Sometimes they thrive, sometimes they die. Sometimes that death is a violent murder, but most of the time it is a slow fade from existence, brought on by neglect. When you move somewhere new, people often forget to keep in touch, which can really hurt. Even if you are able to keep up, the relationship really isn’t the same.

This can especially be a struggle after graduating and leaving college and going from living with your friends every day to living across the country from all of them. Some people may continue to call you up, but many will fade out of your life, not even answering texts or letting you do all the work of a friendship. This can be really difficult to deal with, and sometimes it means the end of friendship, though sometimes a relationship can unexpectedly spring back to life again.

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Reproduction tea bowl and saucer, Small House, Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts (photo by Rebecca Gale)

I used to get really upset about relationships fading out because the other person got too busy or seemed to lose interest and wasn’t investing the same amount of effort into communicating as I was. I took that personally, thinking that the other person didn’t like me or want to be with me. I spent a lot of time in therapy processing through the hurt I felt because people didn’t seem interested in keeping up a relationship with me, especially after I transferred out of the first college I attended.

During that time, I struggled with a lot of frustration over my own needs and expectations for relationships not being met. Why didn’t people care enough to check in on me? Why did people pretend like nothing had happened when we did talk, when they knew full well I had left in large part because I was struggling with depression? Couldn’t they say they were sorry I was struggling or express some kind of sympathy instead of just joking around?

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Small House, Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Eventually, I stopped attempting to continue having a relationship with many people who didn’t seem invested, cutting back to only a couple people who would ask how I was and be real about their own lives, making for a meaningful, two-sided friendship. At first, my cutting other people off was because I was angry, but then it evolved more to be about protecting myself emotionally. It’s pretty emotionally depleting to keep contacting a person and have them be apathetic about talking to you. I especially felt frustrated when I would share something personal about my own life and the person would say nothing or would just respond with something superficial.

I feel like vulnerability is sort of a currency; when you are open with someone, it helps them to feel more comfortable being open with you. But if you keep being open and they never reciprocate, you just feel embarrassed and almost disrespected because that person 1) is forcing you to do all the work of building the friendship, 2) doesn’t trust you enough to open up, and 3) isn’t invested enough in the relationship to open up more to deepen the relationship. I know that may not be entirely true and that some people struggle to be open or to vocalize their feelings, but I’m just saying that it can feel that way if you’re the one being open.

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Center Meetinghouse, Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts (photo by Rebecca Gale)

I’m still working on it, but in the past few months, I’ve started accepting more and more that relationships have their own cycles, just like anything else in life. Sometimes you’re really close, other times you’re not…it depends on life circumstances – whether you’re together or apart geographically, whether you’re busy, whether you are both going through similar events in life, how people’s emotional and physical health is, etc. It can be really hard to have a friendship that brings you a lot of joy and that you really cherish fade, but relationships change form and nature throughout their lifetime.

Sometimes you may have to be the one who carries a relationship, initiating all the conversations, checking in on the person, scheduling face-to-face meetings, etc. I know that can get tiring and frustrating and emotionally draining – it can even make you feel like people don’t want you. But ask yourself if the relationship is still meaningful and enriching to you. Notice I didn’t say that it still benefits you, because I don’t think relationships should be all about getting something out of it; sometimes you stick with people through difficult things because you love them, even though it’s draining to you.

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Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts (photo by Rebecca Gale)

But I think we all know deep down which relationships are ones where part of us would die if it died and which are ones where we know it’s just been one-sided all along. Sometimes it might be worth it to just let go of the relationship for a time; stop initiating communication, though respond if they reach out. If you’ve repeatedly reached out to a person and not had them respond, it’s time to take a break, for your own sake.

In these situations, I think it’s good to be mindful of whether that person is just going through something where they don’t have the capacity to reach out to you, but you can usually tell that they’re happy and grateful when you reach out to them at least. If that’s not the case, maybe it’s time to let go for a while. Or if the two of you aren’t even close enough that you know what’s going on that’s making it hard for them to keep in touch, maybe that’s another good indicator that it’s not worth continuing to empty yourself out to keep the relationship going.

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Asa Knight store, Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts (photo by Rebecca Gale)

There are times when relationships end; someone cuts you off or you have a fight or communication just isn’t reciprocated. This can be unspeakably tough. You might even go through a process of grieving the relationship, even if we don’t typically associate grief with friendships ending. But it can be extremely helpful just to acknowledge that, yes, you did lose something – and someone – you valued and, yes, there are hard feelings that come with that. Those feelings need to be acknowledged and processed through in order to heal and let go. It might even be worth seeing a counselor about or using a hobby – exercise, writing, painting, etc. – to work through your emotions and give yourself time alone to process things.

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Bellows in the Asa Knight store, Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Oftentimes we deny ourselves the chance to acknowledge that something is difficult or we push negative feelings to the back of our heads, telling ourselves to remain positive or that it’s not a big deal. This can just perpetuate the hurt they cause. Even just acknowledging something hurt or is hard can help though. If you’re going through a friendship ending or even being not as close as you’d like, take this as your permission to hurt a little over that. Take time to reflect on the good times you had with that person, but also give yourself the dignity you deserve by refusing to blame yourself, spend hours wondering what went wrong, being bitter, or continuing to pursue the relationship if the other person isn’t interested.

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Bullard Tavern, Old Sturbridge Village, Massachusetts (photo by Rebecca Gale)

Better times will come (hopefully.) And you always have the company of the best person in the world – yourself 😉