drinking with strangers on public transportation, lighting candles in Swedish churches, flødeboller, Danish kindergarteners, 6am nights out, mulled wine, days and nights at Tivoli, making friends with drunken Irishmen, #danishjude, 3 hour conversations with new friends, spontaneous sleepovers, shawarma for Thanksgiving, eating macarons on bridges in Paris, drunk on whiskey at 10am, æbleskiver and gløgg, Belgian beers, baby bites from 7-Eleven, drinking (illegally?) in the airport, jaeger bombs, 5 hour-long dinners, the awful taste of absinthe, béarnaise sauce, (European) baby fever, remoulade, being stuck in a Danish hurricane, fish and chips, challenging myself, happy hour at Studenterhuset, being mistaken for a Dane, star-filled night walks home, homemade risalamande, wine nights in front of the Eiffel Tower, daily hot dogs, tours of Europe’s fanciest ceilings, canal rings, amazing artwork and famous artists, julefrokosts, DIY dinners with my core course, Somersby apple cider, dancing the night away, hygge with friends, generous bartenders, the fjords, taking far too many pictures, ruin bars in Budapest, finding the perfect Christmas present for far-away friends and family, sudden bouts of kleptomania, learning to pour the perfect pint, never knowing what time it is, Irish coffee, the Struggle Bus, nature walks, Tuesday mornings at ASPA, Danish schnapps, getting lost in the middle of unfamiliar places, tea time with my hosts, Stockholm ice bar, Monday nights at the Viennese opera, Hungarian spring baths, dipping my toes in the Baltic Sea, laughing so hard I cry, climbing tall towers, Christiania, Lithuanian Christmas traditions, Björn the Norwegian, Hamlet’s castle, traveling alone, kind airport staff, J-Day 2013, Danish pride, blogging about it all, Tuesday nights out, minding the gap, Wednesday cinnamon snails, football matches, Jutland, learning to adapt, Midwesterners in Amsterdam, cozy beer bars and breweries, visiting 11 countries, changing my worldview, walking tours, trying/failing/improvising, accidentally staying in the Red Light District, double-decker bus tours, living like a local, fruit-flavored squash, questionable hostel plumbing, stroopwafels, positive psychology, foreign currencies, Carlsberg and Tuborg, taking pictures of kids at aquariums (in the name of "sociology"), Christmas markets, fancy smørrebrød, free rides on public transit, not understanding a word around me, falling "in slip" on the bus ride home, potlucks, drinks on the house, making lifelong friends and having the experience of a lifetime.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
New Year, New Words:
“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.”
--Neil Gaiman
--Neil Gaiman
Monday, December 31, 2012
2012:
It isn't hard to notice that the faces that adorn my annual year in the review post are certainly changing...as everything in life seems to inevitably do. Here's to hoping I'm on the right track. Come at me, 2013.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
The Numeral Effect
Working this summer has made me increasingly aware of the prevalence of numbers. In the most basic of senses, items all have a cost; as consumers, we pay that price, and the circle of financial life (i.e. supply and demand) continues on. As a general rule, it is believed that products that cost more tend to be constructed of (or viewed as constructed of) a higher quality than their more inexpensive counterparts. While this may not ring true for all merchandise, I can safely attest to its validity in more than one scenario in my own life. That being said, everyone seems to be thinking the same thing when it comes to the price tag of a product: The higher the number, the better.
The surprising (or perhaps the unsurprising, depending on who you are) thing is that this supposed logic does not stop at products. The Numeral Effect, as I like to call it, is everywhere. It's embedded in our salaries as members of the workforce; it's in our choice of post-secondary institution, in the form of college rankings and financial aid packages. It's even in how we measure our kids and their attempts in school: the higher, the better; the more, the better.
It delegates and assigns numerical value on our ideals of self-worth. With standards like that, is it any wonder that some of us feel, well...worth less than our just-as-worthy and equivalent counterparts?
Take my summer job. Don't get me wrong: I love Porter's, and I deeply appreciate the opportunity to work there. My position as a full-time sales associate entitles me to two forms of payment in my bi-weekly check: an hourly wage and a commission, or a percentage of the sales I finalize. Don't let my official job title fool you - at Porter's, we emphasize the importance of customer service, and "customer before product" is a highly-regarded value. But there's a saying in sales: you make your own money...and it doesn't sit well with issues of customer service.
This past week alone, I have been accused of knowingly overcharging the significant other of one of my small town's most prominent businesses. I have been literally shouted at over the phone by a customer who had to shoot a wedding without the proper lighting equipment he had ordered from us.
I have taken the fall for a fellow co-worker who did not properly quote a customer and was "the bad guy" who breaks the news of the expensive extra fee. I have worked with a mentally afflicted walk-in customer when everyone else turned their backs on her. I have allowed an elderly gentleman to demean me for being helpful, yet in his eyes from different times, an inexperienced young woman working in a business meant for older, wiser, and more trustworthy men.
But the most fitting element of these mishaps was that I was never the associate who originally took, charged, or previously dealt with any of these orders and customers. While my fellow employees all increased their paychecks by selling products on commission and the employee camera spiff programs, I worked to solve difficult and sticky situations on the spot. Looking over the store's daily totals, is it any wonder that I feel inferior with my problem-solving skills when stacked next to the associate responsible for $2,000+ for that day? Is it any wonder I feel worth less as an employee somedays? The higher the number, the better...
But what about compassion? It can't be measured with a ruler or a scale; it can't be counted like Benjamins or Franklins. It sure can't be measured in the number of customer service problems, resolved or not. The Numeral Effect doesn't leave much room for compassion, but it sure as hell will leave room for $100,000 of sales, a $100,000 salary, or a $100,000 scholarship to college.
I've always had a problem with fairness. Perhaps I spent too much time as a child engrossed in storybooks, where everything always works out, versus reality, where not everything always does. I tell myself: "It only bothers you because you're scrounging up all the money you can for tuition. It'll be different when you're older, perhaps in a salaried position at McGraw-Hill or working with patients in a therapy setting. This worthless feeling will pass."
Maybe the feeling will pass; maybe it won't. I know, though, that the Numeral Effect can only get worse for us from here on out. Too much in our society revolves around numbers: costs, wages, amount of friends, time itself. We're moving too fast; we're too concerned with the concepts higher and more; we're assigning numerical value to our ideals of self-worth. We need to remember: numbers were our creation. Compassion was here first.
The surprising (or perhaps the unsurprising, depending on who you are) thing is that this supposed logic does not stop at products. The Numeral Effect, as I like to call it, is everywhere. It's embedded in our salaries as members of the workforce; it's in our choice of post-secondary institution, in the form of college rankings and financial aid packages. It's even in how we measure our kids and their attempts in school: the higher, the better; the more, the better.
It delegates and assigns numerical value on our ideals of self-worth. With standards like that, is it any wonder that some of us feel, well...worth less than our just-as-worthy and equivalent counterparts?
Take my summer job. Don't get me wrong: I love Porter's, and I deeply appreciate the opportunity to work there. My position as a full-time sales associate entitles me to two forms of payment in my bi-weekly check: an hourly wage and a commission, or a percentage of the sales I finalize. Don't let my official job title fool you - at Porter's, we emphasize the importance of customer service, and "customer before product" is a highly-regarded value. But there's a saying in sales: you make your own money...and it doesn't sit well with issues of customer service.
This past week alone, I have been accused of knowingly overcharging the significant other of one of my small town's most prominent businesses. I have been literally shouted at over the phone by a customer who had to shoot a wedding without the proper lighting equipment he had ordered from us.
I have taken the fall for a fellow co-worker who did not properly quote a customer and was "the bad guy" who breaks the news of the expensive extra fee. I have worked with a mentally afflicted walk-in customer when everyone else turned their backs on her. I have allowed an elderly gentleman to demean me for being helpful, yet in his eyes from different times, an inexperienced young woman working in a business meant for older, wiser, and more trustworthy men.
But the most fitting element of these mishaps was that I was never the associate who originally took, charged, or previously dealt with any of these orders and customers. While my fellow employees all increased their paychecks by selling products on commission and the employee camera spiff programs, I worked to solve difficult and sticky situations on the spot. Looking over the store's daily totals, is it any wonder that I feel inferior with my problem-solving skills when stacked next to the associate responsible for $2,000+ for that day? Is it any wonder I feel worth less as an employee somedays? The higher the number, the better...
But what about compassion? It can't be measured with a ruler or a scale; it can't be counted like Benjamins or Franklins. It sure can't be measured in the number of customer service problems, resolved or not. The Numeral Effect doesn't leave much room for compassion, but it sure as hell will leave room for $100,000 of sales, a $100,000 salary, or a $100,000 scholarship to college.
I've always had a problem with fairness. Perhaps I spent too much time as a child engrossed in storybooks, where everything always works out, versus reality, where not everything always does. I tell myself: "It only bothers you because you're scrounging up all the money you can for tuition. It'll be different when you're older, perhaps in a salaried position at McGraw-Hill or working with patients in a therapy setting. This worthless feeling will pass."
Maybe the feeling will pass; maybe it won't. I know, though, that the Numeral Effect can only get worse for us from here on out. Too much in our society revolves around numbers: costs, wages, amount of friends, time itself. We're moving too fast; we're too concerned with the concepts higher and more; we're assigning numerical value to our ideals of self-worth. We need to remember: numbers were our creation. Compassion was here first.
Monday, August 6, 2012
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