Monday, July 20, 2015

Family Dinners in Charlottesville

I am currently sitting at the Nostrana bar in Portland, sipping a glass of Pinot Noir Brut Rose and eating a Caesar salad. Caesar salads have always been an oxymoron to me because in theory they are healthy, but in reality, they are simply cheese, croutons and cream based dressing disguised as healthy by a few pieces of lettuce. Fret not, my main course of wood grilled pizza is not even disguising itself as healthy.

I was convicted the other day. My blog often becomes a means to reflect on the goodness of family and channel my longing for home. I do not, however, often thank the people in Charlottesville for enriching my life so deeply. Perhaps that is because if I were to go through that list, it would take an immensely long time, whereas my family is limited. Still large, but limited. Regardless, this is no excuse. Since I am dining at the moment, I think it only appropriate to begin with family dinners.

I met Armin the day I moved into my Park Street apartment. More appropriately, my mother met Armin. Of course, she quickly discovered his country of origin, occupation, length of stay in Charlottesville, and even acquiesced his help in moving some furniture into the apartment. I remained skeptical. After all, he was a man, and in my limited experience, males in their mid-twenties are rarely looking for female comrades unless they are bringing something else to the table. Over time and as the smells of his cooking prowess wafted into my apartment from a couple doors down, I began to trust him.* Then, he introduced me to the family.

We played charades at my first family dinner, and though I was with strangers, I felt comfortable. That’s the thing about the family – newcomers are always welcome. There are no airs or pretentions - just a hodge-podge group, wanting to rock life and have a good time while doing so. They are honest, real, and at times, a bit crazy.

I met them at a time when I desperately needed close friends. I was working through career and other relationship questions, blatantly wondering why I was in Charlottesville. And they were there.

Years later, they still are. The women are strong and supportive, driving me to push myself in my career and never settle when it comes to men. I respect each of them for their personal drive and consistent effort to build and maintain relationships with others. I am blessed to have been a recipient. They are constant voices of sarcasm, reason, encouragement and humor. Plus, they love wine and dancing.

The men - they are ridiculous. But they are always there, whether it is a night out, a home cooked meal, or carrying your mattress up six flights of stairs.

As I finish my meal with a sophisticated spot of cheese and half glass of Prosecco, I am thankful that when I return to Charlottesville, they will be there. Though we shall not scour the downtown mall as we did during days of old, they will always be at my C-ville core. They brought an entirely refreshing and joyful light to my life away from family, enabling me to make Charlottesville a home. For that, I am incredibly grateful.

*Let’s be honest, the way to all hearts is through the stomach.


Wednesday, July 15, 2015

On Being an Individual

I was twelve years old, that highly volatile age when middle school girls are mean, boys are awkward, and every pimple seems to be the end of the world. In all honesty, I did not experience much of an awkward phase. My sisters claim I just never grew out of it, which is entirely possible. There was this one time, though...

I had a friend spend the night. She was a friend I thought was a little cooler than I, and some small part felt honored that she was spending time with me. After staying up late, we were both a bit sluggish in the morning. I slouched at the kitchen table as I ate the waffles Mom had made us. But I never slouched, and Mom noticed.

She pulled me aside later that day and voiced her concern. "Anna, I felt like you changed your behavior because of her. I do not want you to ever change who you are because of other people." Of course, I denied any such thing, but to this day, those words stick.

My oldest sister got married a couple months ago, and I was able to spend a week with my family, the people who bring me the most joy. As we sat at the kitchen table, entertained by my nieces and nephews, laughing at one another's stories and chatting about life, my mom was buzzing around as she did when we were younger.

Mom stayed at home for thirty-six years. She had to discipline, encourage and love five very unique children, and she was our champion. She still remembers that one time my fourth grade teacher was mean. She was at every tennis match with a cooler, a bag of gummies and an extra Gatorade. She was the one I called the morning I quit my first job out of college to wait tables, encouraging me to take a step of faith.

She also gracefully reminds me where my priorities should lie, when I should adjust my expectations, when I should act, and when I should trust.

My parents raised five fiercely independent individuals with five starkly different personalities. We have walked very different paths, and they have been the greatest support for each of us. They have never tried to mold us, but instead have been there as we work, and sometimes struggle, to create our own mold, loving us throughout the process.

I do not think parenting gets easier as children get older. It may even get more intense. As we have all become adults, our parents continue to lead our family by example, demonstrating what it means to live a life of faith and pushing us to be stronger. Hundreds of miles away, they remain my greatest support.

It is hard to be an individual. To be yourself when others mock or question you. To speak when you would rather be silent. To remain true to your convictions, and to make those bold decisions that make you a leader and not a follower. When I look around the kitchen table, there is one character trait the Navatsyk children share: we know who we are, and we are not ashamed. I thank my parents for instilling that in us.


Photo Cred

Saturday, July 4, 2015

A Peak Inside My Head

Hi friend. I am writing to you from my fire escape, and I have just watered the plants lining the small fence. It's quite New York of me, I know, though my view is of mountains rather than skyscrapers, and I have no idea what the plants actually are. Speaking of plants, I am considering using flowers as insults and compliments - adjectives in general. I was walking through botanical gardens the other weekend, and some seem quite apt. For instance, that dude is a total brodiaea or you are being a real campsis radican today. Clearly, I don't have much cohesive to say, but I think it appropriate to exercise my free speech on such a day.

Since we last spoke, I have decided my dreams are not prophetic. I was clinging to the hope they were because I dreamt the Cavs won a championship. Then they lost, and I had a dream I had cancer, a friend died, and a woman I know was killed. So I'm going to let that idea go - but maybe the Cavs will still win a championship. I was also thinking perhaps the success of my dating life will correlate with the success of Cleveland sports. My mother told me I probably should not proclaim that.

There's this Seinfeld episode where George stops having sex and becomes a genius because the portion of his brain dedicated to sex is now free to exercise its power elsewhere. I think this theory affects females in a slightly different way in that we have this portion of the brain that can be consumed with the idea of a guy. Anyways, with that portion of my brain free from any sort of preoccupation, I have been quite productive lately, cranking out killer grad school essays. Turns out, I like writing about myself. Who knew.

Charlottesville added a superfluous traffic light on my ten minute commute. It's now twelve minutes, and I must control my indignation each extra minute. I think they made some adjustments, because the first day, there was literally a point where no cars were able to go. Just when I thought Charlottesville was understanding traffic flow, they do something like this and totally lose my trust.

We have this sales tool at work that allows you to see when people open emails. The idea is you call someone when they have your email open, they think it's fate and subsequently purchase your product. Something like that. Anyways, it works with my personal email, too, so I know when people open my emails and are not responding. Creepy.

I've also been thinking about freedom lately - freedom of choice in particular. On one end of the spectrum, there is paralysis of choice, where an individual gets overwhelmed with choice and does not act. For instance, in the chocolate aisle at the store, when you cannot decide whether you want Godiva, Dove, or Reese's, so you simply leave without chocolate.

I do not struggle with that. I just buy all three. My struggle lately has been with obsession over choice. What if I get accepted to grad school? What if I get accepted to multiple? What if VividCortex raises funding? What if my job continues to get more interesting and I am growing there? What if I leave Charlottesville? What if I have a reason to stay? It is a futile spiral, though, as those decisions are not yet upon me, and dwelling on an unknown future keeps me from contributing in the present. It is far more beneficial to rest in the present and trust that when the time comes to make decisions, I will know the decision I need to make.

So thank you, America, for giving me so many choices. I will never take that for granted. For now, though, I am going to enjoy a day by the pool.

Happy Fourth of July, all!