The Pique of Excellence

The urgency which we impose on our ourselves dictates some of the most consequential moments of our lives.  That is what I have boiled my anxiety down to: an urgency to achieve, to feel, and to resolve.

When a friend rests in a perpetual state of hesitancy or lacks faith, I christen myself the mental martyr who will emotionally exaggerate my buddy's qualms in order to grant him sympathy.  Whether my friend needs or desires this sympathy is a question of viewpoints, vices, and virtues.

More than an altruistic inclination to improve the lives of loved ones, this habit of prematurely settling debacles stems directly from the unrest I personally accrue from immobility.  If I encounter even the slightest hint of suspended progression, I will do everything in my power to tug it back to life.  Simply put, I cannot bear the fruitlessness of a layover.

I do not detail this internal monologue to color myself in any shade purer or nobler than the norm.  By contrast, I wish to reveal the multifarious upshots of forcing onto life a strict linear as opposed to a circular narrative.

Not only in friends, but in myself I often notice a halted drive to better myself, a state of mind we all experience but, I believe, would never wish upon anybody.  And why would we?  It's not as if uncertainty or writer's block damages one's quality of life to a perilous or often even noteworthy extent.  Nonetheless, it's these little dangers to creativity and liberation that really get to me.  The thought of myself, a friend, or any human wasting a substantial portion of his life to no avail irks me to the end of time.  To be clear, I don't consider frequent spouts of fun-loving recreation to be a waste of one's life, nor do I dismiss any acts held in high esteem by the actor, no matter how controversial.  What I do consider a waste is a departure from one's goals or intentions, whether big or small.

Of course, such a life of incessant striving and repairing is unsustainable.  I know this, but I still go through with it.  I continue to view my own lapses as existential crises, threatening my worth and potential.  Why do I do this?  Part of it is innate psychology, another is ambitious plan-of-action, and yet another is hopeful deliverance.

I don't claim to be the most selfless sort of humanitarian.  In fact, I reflect upon my own life and compare it to those of others probably more often than I should.  This lifestyle will occasionally hurt my psyche and pride to extremes that almost convince me that ceaseless struggle toward fulfillment is not the way to go.  And for a lot of people, it isn't.  But why does it work for me?  Despite how many times it has induced a headache and endangered my confidence in myself and in humanity, it has afforded me some of my most momentous and empowering insights and accomplishments.  Yes, I think too much about the meta and too little about the simple pleasures of life, but that mindset has gotten me where I am today and given me the knowledge and initiative I need to distribute empowerment to others.  I've got a long way to go before I discover a comprehensive and rewarding antidote to humanity's strains, but the process of getting there is something to write home about, if only in the metaphorical sense.

Be proud of your life's endeavor.  And on a more literal note, remember to write and thank your first-ever inspirations: your parents!

Happy June!
Amanda :)

Dress: Express.  Shoes: Express.  Bracelets: Prada and Ann Taylor.

Photos by Alex Zhu (top two) and Sean Su.

I Think, Therefore I Can

It doesn't take a perfect vision to create a convincing composition.  All the artist must do is set aside the large part of her compulsions and cater to what she knows the customer wants to see, wants to feel, wants to believe.  In other words, she's a smart businesswoman, doing all she can to ensure the customer comes back.  But this also means she's a poor psychotherapist, sailing down a circular trench rather than taking her chances with the raging waters.  Where in the world do we submerge our little flippers?

In short, it's easy to put on a happy face for those you wish to impress, appease, or simply avoid.  What is it about the human condition that allows us to so seamlessly slip into a persona we don't recognize in a few years time?  Likewise, how is it our internal vibes can so starkly contradict our external state?  The irrevocably shy child, the isolated college freshman, the downtrodden love-seeking teenager--why don't I identify with these people anymore, and why do I pity them so?

When I think back upon these past three years of college, I realize just how much I've changed for the better.  Every year brought a new life lesson to be cherished.  Freshman year was adjusting to the elevated academic pool and a newfound life of independence.  Sophomore year was learning to get over myself and hone my passions for the legal profession.  Junior year was trusting myself and finding who my true friends are.  Senior year will hopefully be relaxing and focusing on law school and the career ahead of me.  

Such an amalgamation of competing interests and agendas from year to year can make a girl quite the anxious specimen.  And reflecting upon these changes one to three years later can reawaken the same old anxiety, and understandably so.  As I look back at old Facebook posts or Instagram photos, a sudden surge of both annoyance and fear often overwhelms me--annoyance that I ever acted so childishly, and fear that I will act that same way again.  This mounting perturbation leads me to loop my mind along old memories and emotions, producing the self-fulfilling prophecy that there's nothing I can do and that I can't maintain my feats of pride.

Well, that mindset is bogus for hundreds of reasons, namely four: 1. I, meaning my conscious mind and not my anxieties or memories, am in control of my life, and 2. Nothing, not even myself, has the power to undervalue my worth and achievements, past or present, 3. My slip-ups have led me to the greatest realizations and accomplishments I can imagine, without fail, and 4. I have friends to help me out. :)

Given my natural tendency to ruminate on irrelevant memories and to accommodate others and not always myself, I often feel as though I'm losing my own essence and my principle philosophy as the hours tick by.  So, a couple days ago, I took the liberty of enumerating the primary values that have and always will define me and carry me through life.  With these in mind, I can always remain in my own center of respect, jubilation, and pride, and no one can take that from me.

1. Working hard.  In contrast to the "natural intelligence" other kids too often relied on to make a name for themselves, I muscled my way through AP classes and am still muscling my way through college.  This is not to say I have no natural ability or have not utilized it frequently; rather, I am making the point that I always interpret my own successes and my admiration for others in the lens of pure work ethic and not on privilege or political prowess.  Nothing on this page could be closer to the truth.

2. Empathizing with and boosting up others.  Whether through my blog posts, my public words, or my actions, I always hope to inspire others through my story and reflections to become the best, healthiest, most fulfilled people they can be, just as I'm trying to do for myself.  While it's important to put my own priorities first, I never hold back compassion or camaraderie at times when I know it is merited.

3. Remaining strong and driven, always channeling my passions.  Without some sort of long- and hard-sought goal in mind, hard work may be futile or unsatisfying in the end.  Likewise, what's in a goal that you don't value or advocate for yourself?  No matter how or why I falter, I will always hold my head high and own my passions to the utmost.  With the fight that I bring to my objectives necessarily comes an undying esteem for those objectives and more importantly for myself in so chasing them.

Friends may exalt, and brothers may cheer, but be not a friend to yourself, and your spirit may veer.

Feel free to post your own values on Facebook or in the comments, here!

Always with love,

Amanda :)

P.S. Sean took me by great surprise in asking to snap these photos.  I had just come out of the shower, and the last thing I expected was to jump into photo shoot mode within a few minutes.  But now I see how perfect the pureness and ordinariness of these shots are to my message of acceptance and stability in values above. :)

P.P.S. I have no idea who that guy in the last photo is.  Sean wanted to include him lolol.

Top: Phantom of the Opera T-Shirt.  Scarf: J. Crew.  Pants: Ann Taylor.  Shoes: J. Crew.  Glasses: Chanel.

All photos by Sean Su.

Nearest and Dearest

It's hard to imagine an existence where the one object, aim, or intention we hold nearest and dearest suddenly becomes sand in our slippery palms.  One moment we're nobly struggling to give life to our ambition, and the next, that ambition becomes an impossible relic of "good tries" past.  Such blanket consolations like "Nice try," "Good game," or "It was worth a shot" only work in sports or adolescent courtships.  When it comes to losing the long-sought prize around which we center our life, we'll need a lot more than a hardy slap on the back.

But what led to such a rousing upset in the first place?  Well, when you choose to predicate your life's worth on one (not-so) imminent accomplishment, it's reasonable to expect a bit of a backslide when that plan falters.  The savior is not a diminution of high expectations, as that would only lead to a road of insufficient or absent meaning in individuals so naturally aspiring.  Rather, the savior is coupling high expectations with a grounded sense of reality, keeping your feet on the ground even when your mind flirts with the clouds.

This whole conversation begins about a year ago, at the time I was accepted into the Legal Studies Program at Northwestern and first began pondering my obligatory thesis for the major.  Perhaps I was on a legal high, so to speak, having been admitted to the Legal Studies major and to the pre-law fraternity, Phi Alpha Delta, right after an incredibly inspiring and rewarding winter quarter with two amazing legal studies adjunct professors.  Maybe I thought acceptance to the program necessitated an eventual thesis of distinction, even though this special honor implies not all in the program will receive it.  More likely, I was simply holding myself to the same lofty standards I always do.

One of the aforementioned professors above taught a class called "Human Rights and U.S. Refugee Law," a crash course in asylum law and adjudication, at the end of which I felt not only more confident in briefing asylum cases, but in synthesizing cogent arguments and presenting them publicly in a mock trial setting.  Needless to say, this course drove me to take on a very ambitious thesis topic, comparing asylum procedures and outcomes for women in the U.S. and Canada (see The Pilot Post for my original mention of this thesis).  What I did give myself credit for was my forward-looking attitude and desire to exert influence on the transnational realm of asylum law.  What I didn't give myself credit for was my perseverance in doing so while signs gradually pointed to increased criticism of my project.

Certainly, a smaller-scale analysis may have accrued better grades and recognition, but was that really the primary goal?  Did I not want to enlighten peers and legal scholars alike to the fairness and efficiency of both asylum systems in the hope of revealing an international model for gender asylum?  Was this grand goal meant for a more extensive law review article post-graduation?  Probably, but that doesn't mean initiating this work and mindset was not the most consequently gratifying thing to do.

My constructed world fell to pieces when I finally realized it would not be possible to receive honors for my thesis and therefore for the major.  The broadness of my topic, the limited time frame, the huge student-to-advisor ratio, and other classroom political factors which cannot be controlled ultimately precluded such a result.  Because an honors thesis was by far the brightest dot on my radar--indeed, sometimes the only dot on my radar--I was devastated when my eventual grade seemed not to reflect all the work and thought I put into my end product.

Now, I'm not saying I necessarily deserved honors, as nascent experience on how to write a thesis has taught me that I didn't go about it entirely the right way or delimit my time accordingly.  Nonetheless, there is something to say for the heart and purpose I brought into my work.  Of course, your work is nil if left unrecorded, but I did justify my thesis choice with all the language and background I could muster in a reduced time frame, thereby completing my practical duties.  What often goes unnoticed and/or unmentioned in seemingly cookie-cutter academic papers is the author's personal reason for enacting the research and her genuine goal for herself and for her successors.  Literature reviews, data, and well versed conclusions proving your novelty and significance in your field are fine and dandy, but where is the evidence that you intend to use this research to aid the world order, rather than simply to write an award-winning paper?

Some may contest that I would not hold these same ardent beliefs if my thesis had been distinguished.  But I respond that it's quite possible that the scope and content of my project had no way of being eventually recognized, even in its blueprint stages.  The seeming shift toward pure scholarly precision and away from legal discourse for lawyers' and humanity's sake is a distressing but perhaps irreconcilable side effect of academia.  Maybe my qualms are unwarranted given the task at hand, but I just hope that I can demonstrate my overarching morals and effect cross-cutting change as a lawyer, if not as a legal scholar.

Friends may flock to whatever you say, but what about those whose languages stray?  How will you show them a fine will is a way?

Act and proceed where your words may betray,

Amanda

Dress: Paperdolls Boutique (St. Louis).  Scarf: J. Crew (old).  Necklace: J. Crew (old).  Flower Crown: Self-made via Whole Foods Florist.

All photos by Sean Su.

To Bee or To Be Free?

What is doubt, and why does it belabor its victims with extraneous buzz?  Such describes the intersection of Release Street and Dwell Drive, a point whose inconsistent signals have swarmed my hive for quite some time.  While dwelling on my reservations inevitably leads me to lower my wings to a mental standstill, releasing my qualms can result in fortuitous bouts of sweet, sweet honey.  But there's a stinger...

Absurd analogies aside (not sure how those came to bee...), an inclination towards various risks (or honey) does not presuppose a doubtless mentality.  Indeed, why would we call such ventures "risks" if a certain level of skepticism did not precede them?  I wouldn't deem myself a risk taker in the traditional sense, but I have certainly reserved a quark of energy for pursuing my passions, many of which I realize have only a 50% success rate.  Beginning with academic and athletic goals, I later extended my realm of risk to include social and extracurricular undertakings.  Part of this transition lay in increased independence; part of it lay in decreased doubt.  But none of it stemmed from depleted doubt altogether.

Doubt, here, is not intended to euphemize anxiety; that is a much broader concept that interweaves my deepest proclivities.  Quite the contrary, doubts are the electrons to our anxiety-ridden nucleus: the former surrounds and skims, yet also complements the latter.  Also like electrons, doubts are much lighter in gravitas and more numerous than core anxieties.  Where the analogy fails (and my AP Chemistry retention ends) is in transferability.  Whereas Sodium can impose an electron on Chloride willy nilly, human brains cannot partake of the same luxury.  We can rub off a little static or tension onto our neighbors, but our doubts are uniquely our problem and can only be abolished through internal means.  

But are doubts really our "problem"?  Do they not serve as relatively gentle reminders of our priorities and brief windows into our value systems?  By this, I mean we would never know what truly irks us, bores us, and fulfills us if we didn't, first, experience and, second, register the degree of doubt paired with any given situation.  In short, we can never really be certain of anything, including our own philosophy, without intermittent spurts of uncertainty.

As we grow up and learn more about what constitutes a personally fulfilling life, we learn that not all of our doubts--past, present, and future--are merited.  We learn to knock down certain assumptions--whether our own or those we inherited--in order to achieve satisfaction.  That's where risk and reward come in.  But most importantly, we learn that many of our doubts cannot be helped, and that's exactly as it should be.

You're a snowflake, you're a flower, you're a bird, you're a bee.  Whatever your moniker, just remember you're free.

Buzz off, indignity,

Amanda :)

Blazer: Urban Outfitters.  Tees: J. Crew.  Flowers: Whole Foods Florist.

All photos by Sean Su.

A Well-Toiled Machine

What do we, as Humans of New York, have in common with our brethren Machines of New Torque?  It would seem nothing but a forced rhyme on the surface.  Nonetheless, recent events have led me to liken certain human mindsets to the dispassionate vibe of the robot.

Contrary to popular belief, there's a reason we don't go "bee-boop" and prance around in titanium stockings.  It's because we advantage creativity and nuance in a world we could so easily charge with banality and blind compliance.  Most of us have the soundness of mind to regard the Earth as neither the pinnacle of immutable social deviance nor as a self-serving bastion catered to our individual desires.  Instead, we operate under a belief of shared burden of our human wrongs, and therefore, shared gratification of our human rights.

And most importantly, we take necessary time to breathe and relax, two verbs that robots can never truly effectuate no matter how comprehensive their programming.  The problem arises when we start to treat ourselves (whether consciously or not) as less than worthy of simple human rewards--of simple human healing, for that matter.  We severely limit our unique capabilities as unpredictable, beautifully fallible, downright revolutionary beings when we downgrade our refueling methods to those of a robot, which basically consist of powering off for indefinite periods, until a superior being recharges us.  Despite what our sixth grade math teachers told us, my friends, we are the superior beings.

This week has been a particularly tumultuous one for me, what with three oral presentations and a Teach for America application deadline to boot.  (And, yes, I realize it's only Wednesday.)  My procrastination reached a point of seemingly no return, as I traded in sleep and mental stability for good grades and an unholy alliance with red Gatorade.

Now, I would be remiss if I said this decision wasn't at least partially worth it.  In light of the high priority I place on full satisfaction with my work, I am positive a disregard for my academic duties in favor of behavioral normativity would have left me in a far worse position.  That doesn't mean, however, that the stigma we place on all nighters is completely unfounded either.  Some routine and scheduling is good for the soul in that it offsets our sporadic thoughts and wavering emotions.  I more than anyone I know value the peace and elevated functioning that can spring from pure organization.  But I also know how much of my uniquely erratic, passionate, whole-hearted aspirations result from exactly the type of imperfection that my humanity allows me, and I wouldn't sacrifice that for all the x-ray vision and flashy buttons in the world.

Live long and finish strong,
Amanda :)

Jacket: Mango (old).  Jeans: Gap (old).  Shoes: Banana Republic.

All photos by Alex Zhu.

Bent on Ascent

While attempting to devote a day of my life to Russellian concepts of proper names in the south towers of the Main Library--as is always the case--I happened to look over at the books lining my desk.  I've always noticed the extensive collection of Descartes, Freud, or what have you settled deep within these tiny niches, but I had always assumed these books to be outside my realm of interest, without even giving them a second look. 

A few days ago, I gave one book that second look and haven't stopped thinking about it ever since.  

No, this isn't going to turn into some deranged love story between me and a pile of tree shavings.  Nor is this going to become a book review (at least under the typical assumption: that the reviewer has read the book).  On the contrary, this is simply a story about "Human Happiness."  

Such was the title of that fateful book, written by a man of the name Blaise Pascal.  Why was I so drawn to this particular book?  Well, it's not because I'm a Pascal enthusiast (I'd never even heard of the man before this) or because I'm attracted to clean white book covers.  Little substantial ever derives from such unchecked zeal or manifest eye candy...if you want to call it that.  What I've found is that most of life's persisting rewards arise from the little things you could have easily forgotten--that friend who moved away, that event you attended on a whim, that book you almost didn't open, that momentary reflection you thought purely distracting or irrelevant.

While I did not take this twist of fate so seriously as to drop Russell and his proper names in favor of an engrossing day or even hour with Pascal, the first page alone sparked a bolt of indefatigable lightning in my mind.

A few excerpts from that page:

1. "If we are too young our judgment is impaired, just as it is if we are too old."

2. "Thinking too little about things or thinking too much both make us obstinate and fanatical."

3. "Knowledge of physical science will not console me for ignorance of morality in time of affliction, but knowledge of morality will always console me for ignorance of physical science."

Overall, Pascal encloses "Man's Condition" in three simple yet telling words: "Inconstancy, boredom, anxiety."

I include these snippets not to insist that our visions are hopelessly lacking as 20-somethings or to knock hard core physicists who spend not a morsel of time contemplating the meta.  Instead, I reference these tidbits to shed light for all my readers on what constantly taunts my conscious and therefore motivates the majority of my self-improvement measures.

Understanding number 2 is of particularly appeal to me, as my happiness seems to hinge on my careful mitigation of a constant overabundance of thought.  Simply put, my sanity rests on not thinking too much.

Perhaps this tendency to overbook my head flows from exactly what Blaise proposes: overarching human caprice, dissatisfaction, and apprehension.  Or maybe I think excessively simply because I'm young and have everything in the world to worry about, quite literally.  The truth of the matter is Pascal wasn't right about everything, at least when I consider my own personal experience.  True, boredom too often wreaks havoc on my continually under-stimulated mind, leading to superfluous musings, and inevitably anxiety, lest those musings materialize.  But I wouldn't say this mental earthquake ever results from inconstancy, in other words, a habit of being fickle.  Quite the opposite, my rumination often results entirely from a proclivity to dwell on intellectual fodder well past its expiration date.

So how does my philosophical fanaticism relate back to Pascal and Human Happiness?  Many would argue the connection lies in a contrived connection between happiness and blissful ignorance.  Indeed, it seems on first impression that the turmoil and illness plaguing the world would be much more bearable if we were incapable of noticing it.  But would such negligence really make us happier?  Not in the way I define it.

How refreshing can the simple pleasures in life be when we've had no exposure to incredible hardship?  How rewarding ring our triumphs when we've never felt failure?  These are the questions that haunt me yet also move me toward ascent.

Certainty is nothing without doubt, and pleasure is nothing without pain.  It's not the other way around, and it's not one or the other.

I've asked myself more often than not whether the people whose "privilege" has precluded everything but a paper cut or whether those who accept reality for what it is rather than what it might be are truly happier than me.  What I've come to find is that true happiness is a process and a solution, whereas artificial happiness is just the solution.  Satisfaction comes not from knowing all the answers, but from finding some of the answers, if only a handful.  There's something beautiful about putting yourself out there, unafraid of failure, yet aware that if you do fail, you'll be this much closer to realizing what true contentment looks like.

As Pascal so duly noted, the happiest are those who know not how to make diamonds out of graphite, but how to make mountains out of mole hills.  And there's something so moral and resilient about that.

Think about it. ;)
Amanda

Dress: Now 50% at Topshop via Nordstrom.  Bow Tie (worn in hair): ASOS (old; similar here).  Tights: Buy 1 Get 1 50% Off at Express.  Shoes: Banana Republic.

All photos by Sean Su.

Above the Sway

Amidst an incessant quest for likes, retweets, favorites, and hypes, it's easy to imagine a modern world in which we all take ourselves and each other a bit too seriously.  But is it easy to justify this lifestyle?

I'm as guilty of this practice as anyone.  If Facebook and Twitter have taught us anything, it's that there's at least one person out there who will find your most recent paper cut a cute and charming anecdote rather than a frivolous and pitiful demonstration of delicacy, a label to which my grandparents would most likely cling.

While most of us don't go so far as to document every hair on our chinny chin chins, we do often treat something as minuscule as last night's ravioli as if it's a masterpiece worthy of universal reverence.  Now, this is not to say such amusement is completely unwarranted or reprehensible in the least.  The problem in my mind lies in society's blind acceptance of an unnecessary reality.

How, you might ask, can I critique the web so harshly when the mere existence of my *blog* would be impossible without the very platform on which all social media rests?  Well, I'm not going to argue that the internet doesn't possess a host of unprecedented networking and sharing opportunities.  What I will maintain is that humanity has fallen, if subconsciously and/or half-heartedly, into a trap of inundation rather than of flotation.  What I mean by this is, we should not feel as though we have to post duck faces or blatant expressions of inadequacy every day in order to feel beautiful and wanted.  On the contrary, we should open up social media as we would a mailbox--something of occasional pleasure or benefit--rather than as we would a refrigerator--something that feeds our survival.

If you truly enjoy creating tiny microcosm upon microcosm of your life on the web, then by all means, do so.  The materials are right there at your disposal.  But please, realize that moderation and disassociation are entirely in your power if you so choose.

Even a rock can sink, but only the most buoyant of mind can float.

Rise above,
Amanda :)

Collar: Ann Taylor (out of stock; similar style ON SALE here).  Top: ON SALE at Banana Republic.  Pants: ON SALE at Banana Republic.  Shoes: H&M (old).

All photos by Eric Pan.