Something about 20-Somethings

I have a request, as a young adult: If you are not a young adult, please quit writing about young adults.

Much has been written lately about the 20-somethings (See the August New York Times magazine piece What Is It About the 20-Somethings?) Some of it is undeniably true. Much of it is a matter of perspective. (Do the Boomers who are writing this stuff really understand my generation?) Most of it is not flattering. As one blogger recently noted, "After all, based on all available evidence, Millennials are the most obnoxious, self-entitled, lazy, and willfully ignorant generation to ever pollute the surface of the earth." (You can read the rest here.) And more discussion here. Even the article Why Bashing Millennials is Wrong, which shows the positive side to characteristics otherwise considered negative, identifies Millennials as entitled -- the "poodles of humanity."

While there seem to be a few rational voices out there (20-somethings, by the way) such as this one, who point to the "delayed adolescence" as being more about the economy than maturity, the whole concept of not being an adult because we don't settle into a "real job," get married, buy a house and have a family is asinine. I know plenty of immature Boomers who own houses and have spouses (and former spouses!) who get to keep their adult card, despite being more "adolescent" than most of my friends who are 20-something.

The "religious" responses haven't been tremendously kind either. As I read the title of this blog post about Evangelizing Young Adults , I found myself holding my breath. It seems most of what is being written about Young Adults in the Church either bemoans them as the Missing Generation or, when presenting a legitimate issue separating young adults from the Church, garners comments inciting Millennials to "grow up" and quit being dissenters.

A couple of considerations:
First, the National Study of Youth and Religion and follow up research claims that the best indicator of the faith of an adolescent is the faith of the parents. If adolescents (who have moved into "emerging adulthood" are ascribing to a belief system characterized by researchers as Moralistic Therapeutic Deism, guess what the parents likely believe? Also, this NCR article notes that nearly half of Catholics who are now unaffiliated left the Church prior to age 18. So, really, who do you think made that decision? Exactly how does a "gradual drifting away" work for someone who hasn't been alive long enough to accomplish what used to be considered reaching adulthood? I wasn't raised Catholic, but I seem to recall the words, "As long as you're living under this roof..." being expressed more than once.

I'm not placing the blame on entirely on the parents. As young adults, we certainly have to make a choice to own the faith; however, bemoaning all the faults of the Millennial generation certainly does not bring us to Mass on Sunday, nor does writing off our legitimate issues with Church teaching as mere immaturity. In fact, the broad strokes used to describe my generation as lazy, distracted, uncommitted and lacking faith creates bigger problems than it solves. It is frustrating to those, like me, who are engaged in the Church, and it makes me feel like there is no place for me here. When I'm struggling to have my own voice heard, to have my own spiritual needs met, to feel that I belong...to what would I be inviting my peers? The decline in Mass attendance is caused by an absence greater than my generation. The lack of knowledge and understanding of Church teachings began before we were born. It's not a young adult problem; it's a Church problem. Maybe we can be part of the solution, if there's room for us at the table.

The truth is we have many gifts. We are innovative. We are creative. We understand how to build community and what it means to be "universal." We are committed to service, the "delay" of a "real job" often caused by committing a year or more to service to the poor, vulnerable, or under-resourced. We're intelligent, and we're making a difference. Yeah, we've got our issues, but who doesn't?

You want to know why young adults aren't in the pews? Try asking us, when you're ready to listen. Let us be part of the conversation and we might find a solution. And stop talking about us like we're not here.

The views expressed in this blog are mine alone and do not necessarily reflect the views of my employer.

First Day Fumble

Today was my first day at my new job. And I was really nervous. Excited, but nervous. This is the position I knew I eventually wanted to end up in, so getting to this position now is all kinds of awesome. But, did I mention I was nervous?

I did all of the "I'm-nervous-and-excited-about-my-first-day-of-(fill in the blank)" routines: I practiced getting up earlier for a week before the job started (since I now have a 40 mile commute...). I set my alarm clock and the alarm on my phone so I wouldn't over sleep. I made sure I would be ready to leave about 20 minutes earlier than necessary, just to account for traffic. I picked out not one, but two outfits last night, just in case one turned out to be a fashion malfunction. (It did.) I set the delay brew on the coffee pot. I made my lunch. I went to be early (although, I was so nervousexcitedanxious that I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, and I checked my alarm clock twelve times to make sure I hadn't mistakenly set it for pm...)

My alarm clock went off at the appropriate time. I showered, dressed, did my hair, changed clothes, put on some make up...I was making great time! Since I had a few extra minutes, I decided to log on to Facebook for a few minutes, thinking I'd just change my status and log off.... but that's just not how Facebook works...

I closed the browser two minutes before I should have been leaving.

No problem, I thought. I just have to put some milk in my coffee and grab my lunch, and I'll be out the door.

I walked to the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator door... and the shelf in the door clattered to the floor AND EVERYTHING STORED IN THE DOOR CAME CRASHING DOWN! As I quickly manuevered in an attempt to save what I could from hitting the floor, a beer fell to the floor, landing on its top...

...Spraying like a fire hydrant ALL OVER THE KITCHEN. One minute before I should be walking out the door.

Shoving everything onto the bottom shelf of the fridge, I tossed the shelf onto the counter, and grabbed the bottle opener. (Yes, the beer was still spewing all over the kitchen, pooling on the floor and running under the pantry door...) I held the beer over the sink, popped it open and dumped the rest of it, then mopped up the floor (and cabinets... and walls... and fridge... and stove... and dishwasher...) Tossing the rags into the sink to be dealt with when I got home, I grabbed my lunch and coffee, and dashed out the door, smelling slightly like beer.

As I started my car, the Tom Waits CD started blaring:

The piano has been drinking... not me. Not me. Not me...

(For good measure: the views expressed on this blog are mine alone and do not necessarily represent the views of my employer.)

Goodbyes and Hellos

There's better blogging in the making -- I just need some more time to sort it all out in my head. The process of purging and packing for the upcoming move has proven to be an interesting adventure in taking stock of the past to move to the future.

I just reduced the physical evidence of my undergraduate college career and my English teaching career from 5 plastic storage bins and 9 boxes of books to ONE (1!) plastic storage bin and ONE (1!) box of books. This requires a moment of silence...

*****

In some ways, it's like taking a cheese grater to my heart. It's almost physically painful to realize that I won't likely teach English again, or create new memories with a new batch of "freshbabies." But mostly, it's fun. I've laughed at notes I've found. I've been struck with awe at how intelligent I sound in papers I wrote. I've remembered with a sort of proud, wistful, bittersweet nostalgia that I was a good student and a good teacher. It's those experiences that have thrust me into the place where I stand now.

Get ready. New apartment, new job, new marriage are all on the horizon. Here comes life at full speed.

Wisdom from a Past Life

Next month, I will be making my 9th move in 7 years. (Yes, you read that correctly, and yes, that works out to moving more than once a year. Trust me, I know it's insanity.) Since this move also includes the anticipation of blending households as a result of the upcoming nuptials (and because I kinda made a big deal over Love of My Life unloading some of his... well... stuff... before moving in), I busted out the boxes that I've moved four times without as much as peeking inside of them. It's time to let go of some things.

It's been an oddly amusing trek down memory lane. I've found textbooks that I should've sold back when I could still get some money for them (Why did I ever think I should hold on to the History of Education text?!), articles that I used for research during my undergrad (Anything you want to know about Gifted Education, IDEA '97, or the value of homework, circa 2003, I've got you covered.), notes from class (complete with funny side conversations... And I'm finding these terribly difficult to unload!), papers I wrote (Dang! I was smart once upon a time!), and tons and tons and tons of lesson plans, unit plans, and teaching resources (for which I would like to find a good home.)

I've also found my journals, poetry, and writing folders. From about 1995 forward. If you do the math, you'll realize that's snippets of what was going on in my brain for more than half of my life. I've always been a writer, and I've always written with a very irregular ebb and flow. There are journal entries that are once (and sometimes, twice) a day for weeks on end and then nothing for months. There are pieces of stories, lines of poetry, words I liked, descriptions, and scribbled notes about how frustrated I was with the process of writing.

Tucked in a folder with some character sketches and plot outlines, I found this. It's not dated, but everything else in the folder is from about my junior/senior years of high school. I know I didn't write it, originally, -- it doesn't sound like me. A quick Google search revealed that it is, in fact, very popular, though I didn't nail down a source. Reading it now -- 10ish years later -- knowing what I know, being where I've been, seeing what I've seen -- it makes me smile. The manifesto of a generation? Perhaps. I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote it down.

Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there, to serve some sort of purpose, to teach you a lesson or to help you figure out who you are or who you want to become. You never know who these people may be, possibly your roommate, neighbor, coworker, long lost friend, lover or even a complete stranger, but when you lock eyes with them, you know at that very moment that they will affect your life in some profound way.

And sometimes things happen to you that may seem horrible, painful and unfair at first, but in reflection, you find that, without overcoming those obstacles, you would have never realized your potential, strength, willpower or heart. Everything happens for a reason. Nothing happens by chance or by means of good luck. Illness, injury, love lost moments of true greatness, and sheer stupidity all occur to test the limist of your soul. Without these small tests, whatever they may be, life would be like a smoothly paved, straight, flat road to nowhere. It would be safe and comfortable, but dull and utterly pointless.

The people you meet who affect your life and the success and downfalls you experience, help to create woh you are and who you become. Even the bad experiences can be learned from. In fact, they are probably the most poignant and important ones. If someone hurts you, betrays you, or breaks your heart, forgive them, for they have helped you learn about trust and the importance of being cautious when you open your heart.

If someone loves you, love them back unconditionally, not only because they love you, but because, in a way, they are teaching you to love and how to open your heart and eyes to things.

Make every day count. Appreciate every moment and take from those moments everything that you possibly can for you may never be able to experience it again.

Talk to people that you have never talked to before and actually listen. Let yourself fall in love, break free and set your sights high.

Hold your head up because you have every right to. Tell yourself you are a great individual and believe in yourself, for if you don't believe in yourself, it will be hard for others to believe in you.

You can make your life anything you wish. Create your own life and then go out and live it with absolutely no regrets.

Most importantly, if you love someone, tell him or her, for you never know what tomorrow may have in store.

And learn a lesson in each day that you live.

(More journal adventures to come, I'm sure.)

When Professional Development gets Personal

I'm spending the week at Notre Dame, attending the Young Adult Ministry Symposium, "Stewards of the Treasures of our Faith." It's a gathering of campus ministers, vocation directors, and others who work in young adult ministry, discussing how to connect young adults to liturgy, prayer, vocation and service. I can't even remember how I first came to know about it -- it was sometime after LA Congress -- but I remember thinking, This is what Lalanne is about.

So why am I passionate about young adult ministry? Because I'm a young adult. Because it makes me sad that I worked so hard to come into the Catholic Church -- I'm Catholic and I love being Catholic -- yet sometimes I wonder if there is a place in this Church for me. I've been fortunate to, more or less, find ways to feed my soul. It's not perfect, and I often find myself hungering for more, but... I'm still being nourished. What if, though, I hadn't been so determined in my faith? Then what? I have certainly had the experience of feeling unwanted, unimportant, unwelcome...what if that had been my only experience?

Sometimes I wonder why I bothered to become Catholic. The scandal and the hurt within the Church is sometimes so overwhelming that I think, This? I went through all of that for this? Clearly, the Church is challenged and broken. It's a confusing, heartbreaking, unfathomable time. I struggle to make sense of the terrible, criminal things that have transpired, while still clinging to faith that God is in here somewhere. God must be. But where?

I came to Notre Dame thinking I'd learn a few things about bridging from campus ministry to parish ministry, and how to help other young adults make that transition. I thought I'd get some pointers on connecting to liturgy and prayer, which would help me in developing the faith sharing and prayer resources that I share with the teachers. I thought I'd be able to network with other people committed to working with young adults. What I didn't expect is to have my own journey, my own young adult faith, my own struggles with the Church, my own experience with the sacred challenged and affirmed, my questions asked and answered.

I hope to be able to share more as I reflect and process the images and challenges that have been shared, but something from tonight's "spiritual renewal" seems to summarily gather some of my thoughts.

There are cracks in everything. That's how the light gets through.

There are, indeed, cracks in everything. Even in the Church. Let the Light shine.

The Misadventures of Being Me

Coming to you live from the University of Notre Dame, where I am attending Stewards of the Faith, a young adult ministry symposium. There are about 250 people here from across the US and Canada, mostly campus ministers and Vocation directors. I'd only met a handful of these people prior to today.

At dinner, some women invited me to join them at their table -- a Maryknoll sister, two School Sisters of Notre Dame, and another, whose order I never did hear -- all Vocation Directors. (NO. None of them asked me if I ever considered becoming a sister. Women know to look for rings.) A few minutes into the conversation, one of the sisters told me I looked familiar, but she couldn't figure out where she would've met me.

"Actually, I get that a lot," I explain. "I think I must just have a familiar face."

"Nooo..." she responds. "I'm sure I've met you before."

We exchange the names of various conferences, workshops, parishes -- any place we might've both been. Unable to make the connection, the conversation moves to other topics.

Several minutes later, she exclaims, "I know! You were at NCYC!"

I had, indeed, been at NCYC, and I won a prize from the School Sisters of Notre Dame booth. From there, we realized that she lives with another SSND whom I know. But how on earth could she remember me out of 22,000 people?

"You were the one with the neck brace."

Awesome.

One Week Later...

One week after starting the "project," this is what I have learned: I am undisciplined.

Seriously. When I started, I thought, "How hard can it be to take ONE picture a day?" But, having been committed to this for a week, I've realized that I generally find myself thinking, "Crap! I need to take a picture!" at about 10 pm. And so the pictures are bad and boring, and I'm unimpressed, uninspired and kind of embarrassed.

It's not that I haven't had opportunities to take pictures, either. On Day 3, where no picture exists, we had a great day -- We celebrated my birthday with the McEntees, visited the Schroeder familia, and dined at the Backstage. I could've taken pictures of nephews, new baby Schroeder or familia de Nacho. On Tuesday, I had birthday dinner with my sister. I fully intended to snap a picture to document the celebration of our 29th and 26th years. But I was too busy being present in the moment. And that's... not a bad thing. As a very wise woman would say, I'm taking pictures with my heart.

That's the new challenge: Balance. Balancing the discipline and commitment to pay attention to what is around me, to be disciplined enough to follow through, and to not be so concerned about capturing the moment that I miss the moment entirely. And that's not just a lesson in photography.