My experiences with the agency have been far more conflicted than normal. The week of November 16
th, my coworker at the Employment Center began a week's vacation, necessitating that I assist every client through the door over this week. Although my calendar recalls that I completed a mere seven Dollar Energy applications as well as two new employment intakes, I reflect that week was marked by its indistinct rhythm. It was impossible to discern what kind of work day I would have nor complete any of my accustomed tasks without interruption.
The following week saw the agency's Thanksgiving distribution, which was surprisingly robust, as well as four Energy appointments and one employment intake. What is not reflected is the amount of behind-the-scenes work necessary to prepare for the distribution, which I am expected to contribute to (although in fairness, the reporting and paperwork does not fall on my shoulders). I remember the scores of phone calls I made to clients informing them of the date and time, for instance, and the headaches associated.
On the cusp of December, the agency staff met to discuss ways to reorganize our services to meet existing funding realities...or so I thought. In a field characterized by cautious and responsible husbandry of resources and time, the approach to our palette of services epitomizes restraint. I assumed this meeting would be an opportunity to voice concern, frustration, and vision for future agency work but in reality it was anything but. I found myself at a peak of frustration with my role in the agency as well as it's larger mission and this has characterized my work here since.
As December endures, I've been considering my level of effort with respect to my accomplishments as well as those of my clients. I have long prided myself on my professionalism and my insistence on giving 100% of myself and my commitment to my work, for the eight hours that it lasts, of course. As some of my clients have begun to make strides in their lives, I reflect on how relatively little I have done in regard to moving people forward. Of course, a fraction of this is the fact that social workers engage with people at the nadir of their lives and frustration and failure is to be expected. At the same time, it's impossible not to feel constrained in the role I have.
Over the past two weeks, I completed a single Dollar Energy appointment and found myself contributing more to pulling off the Holiday gift card and toy distribution. This entailed more phone calls, more reporting, and more physical packing of toys and a troubling trend that arose was that I enjoyed this work
less than last year. This is particularly important because it is through this event where toys are given to low-income children that the most kudos and gratitude arise. I found myself rather indifferent to how the toys were received and more concerned with simply finishing the task at hand. It raises the lingering question if I've come to a crossroads in my early career of place or attitude.
- I've very suddenly and abruptly begun to wage a personal war on television, websites, and other forms of "entertainment" which at heart, constitute enormous drains on time and mental energy. For a long time, "The
Simpsons" were my favorite show; I thought its edgy social commentary and timeless characters represented the pinnacle of entertainment. When the show entered syndication, I would religiously situate myself before the television and hope for a repeat viewing of a past favorite episode. At one point, I could accurately recognize an episode after about two lines of dialogue from any scene in the show.
Over time, however, the jokes elicited fewer laughs; the tropes that provided characterization (such as it was, as it began to veer wildly to fit the "plot") for the cast became clearer and more frayed at the edges; and the absurdity of spending thirty minutes in order to hear a joke I've heard countless times before in the hopes that I still find it funny became obvious. Late this year, I resolved not to repeat any entertainment experience in the hopes of broadening my cultural horizons. And it worked...
...for a time. As
Chavonne and I discovered hilarious and thrilling shows worth our time and attention ("Criminal Minds" at one point the beneficiary of this), we found ourselves more sensitive to the declining quality of television in general. As we refuse to pay for cable television that we're seldom home to enjoy and our options are limited, we began to say "
meh" to the options presented to us. Anymore the only show we never miss is "Castle" and the television is rarely awakened from its slumber unless it's to play games. It's a very nice change and a chance to enjoy more fleeting moments from the curious faces the pups make to the ever-worse jokes
Chavonne and I tell to one another. So far, it's been better than anything that's on.
- My one pastime in this world that's endured from childhood to the present is my love of video games. I've always appreciated the opportunity to consider mysterious worlds outside of the sometimes mundane one we inhabit; I always enjoy looking at the world maps in video games and wondering what kind of languages denizens speak or what flora or fauna are left undiscovered in the scope of the game. Games provide an imaginary escape, an opportunity to hear a story, and a sense of accomplishment.
When I was about nineteen, I began to really earnestly collect games that I had played and loved; games I knew had been reviewed highly, the pillars of their genre; and nearly anything in between. At one point, I owned slightly over
500 games which now seems absurd. About 40% of that collection saw a return to the second-hand store from whence they came for various reasons when
Chavonne and I were younger, poorer, and more foolish about bills and for various emergency expenses. Over time, I've continued to acquire games with the full expectation and intention of playing them in the indeterminate future.
However, I've also begun to question what's the most responsible way to game. It sounds like a contradiction on its face to consider a sedentary, private, and expensive hobby responsible from any angle; however, games, specifically older generation games, are an endangered species. Of course, blockbusters from the bygone era are now available legally and commercially for owners of any of the three major consoles to consume; but there's something profoundly different about playing a gray and dusty cartridge with jumping and unpredictable pixels in standard definition. The context surrounding the acquisition of a game is sometimes even more important a memory as the game itself. I can remember passing up a trip to attend a family reunion in Cloud Croft, New Mexico and being rewarded for my decision by uncovering a copy of "Super Mario
RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars" for a mere six dollars.
However for many games, once I've completed them, they simply collect dust on the third floor of our home never to be touched again. In a slight fashion, I'm hoping to pass on some of the positive memories I have of finding a long-sought masterpiece to other by beginning to sell back these completed games. It's been surprisingly difficult to part with some ("Twisted Tales of Spike
McFang" among them, which I again accidentally discovered one afternoon and let out an involuntary gasp which turned several heads).
I've found that gaming is as much community dissection of finished products as it is the actual content. The zeitgeist that seizes gamers, driving them to hype or deride unseen military simulations to entertainment milestones usually reserved for movie theatres, is itself the context in which games must be refracted and examined. The horizon of expectation burdens every new product, which the masses demand be faster, more efficient, more powerful, more aesthetically beautifully, and energy sensitive while simultaneously being cheaper. So instead of hoarding games in the expectation of spending ten hours a day gaming when I'm somehow wealthy enough to do so, I'm trying to buy far fewer games, sell what games I have beaten to feed back into the acquisition of more games, buy used games, and try to stay apace of the gaming masses.
Complicating this endeavor is the role of digital distribution. The convenience and impulse buying opportunities associated with digital content cannot be overstated and I can't recall the number of times I've purchased a game outside of my established genres or without regard to
quality simply because it's possible to play without leaving my couch. At the same time, attempting to be a good steward of resources and ensure that other, younger gamers have the opportunity to share in these experiences is nigh impossible with digital distribution. I cannot trade in a completed game for credit towards another download and I cannot gift the download to another person. It's left my unwavering faith in the truth of a digital future shaken, even the core of the experience is the same.
In the meantime, of course, there are
star coins to collect.
It's been
far too long since I've last blogged. However, by way as excuse, this last month has been the busiest of my professional life, as is standard with the agency. I'm going to do things slightly differently this week and convey some random thoughts I've had over the past six weeks and then in a separate post talk about the day-to-day life I've lead.
- I thought a great deal, as I often do, about just how lucky I have been to escape the gravity of my hometown Lubbock. Growing up, I always felt lonely, through a combination of a protective parent trying earnestly to prevent her young Black son from being in the wrong place at the wrong time and through my own conflicting views on what constitutes friendship. I have long been the type of person to have only a very few close friends and I was content to spend my time either gaming, reading, or just generally thinking. I would learn early that my ambition far exceeded my reach in this hamlet and that if I ever wanted to really reach my dreams, it would behoove me to relocate.
Ironically, the street names I would pass on my way to school in Lubbock referenced
other schools and cities (Indiana,
Utica, etc.) and provided an excuse to consider life in another zip code; this practice has since been changed to honor local heroes such as the Marsha Sharp Freeway. However, I'd wager that it is impossible not to consider how green the grass might be elsewhere in a city of 200,000+ built on the foundation of environmentally hostile cotton growing and with a Republican power base predicated on moral and historical authority.
This is not to criticize the many people whose paths I've crossed in my purgatory in Lubbock who still reside there. One lesson I've learned personally and professionally is that what is acceptable, normal, or sacred to one isn't necessarily for another. Many people I know have been content to establish families and careers in Lubbock and power to them. For me, though, I found Lubbock to be a place where dreams rot on the vine and I'm forever grateful for Pittsburgh for wresting me from its grasp and allowing me to live and die, soar and fall, on my own merits.
- In my personal and professional life, I've often served as a sounding board, a shoulder to cry on, or an advocate for my friends and colleagues. It can absolutely be emotionally draining and difficult to be available for others when time and other commitments leaves no room for oneself. I've tried to maintain my sanity and happiness by doing three things daily: doing for my space, my significant other, and myself.
It's of course unrealistic to expect that these goals are met every day, even with the help of calendars, charming notes left on bulletin boards, or even the best of intentions; but every day when I come home, I try to find at least one chore to complete so that the house doesn't evolve into some sentient mass of food encrusted dishes and ultra white paint. The intensity of the chore, of course, changes with the type of day I've had at work; sometimes, I'm content to just do a load of laundry and leave it at that, and this past Sunday, I reorganized our entire linen closet into a shrine of folding styles.
Of course, my relationship with
Chavonne sustains me beyond anything else and catching up with my best friend is something I look forward to. Sometimes, simply sitting down and engaging (or commiserating) about our work is enough for us and others, we enjoy a board game together or even some video games. However we make it happen,
Chavonne and I always put one another first because we make one another live.
Ideally, I enjoy some down time for myself to collect my thoughts, push aside negativity, or put events in perspective. Nowadays, that happens most often in my car on the way home. I consider what I've said, or left unsaid, and I dread my work for the next day. Often, I call home to ingratiate myself into the perspective of someone else and then return to my life with fresh eyes. Although I'm not able to game as much as I like anymore (and I expect this trend will continue until graduation), rarely I'm able to fit in an hour or so of level grinding or some less intensive puzzling or the like. In social work, where you confront some of the most bleak and
lightless situations, it's vital to have a
sanctuary of heart and mind to turn to.
