Reconciliation
Reconciliation. I first incorporated this term into my vocabulary this summer while sorting through expenses for my internship. Given a few spreadsheets and receipts, I compared theoretical to actual expenses incurred for traveling, projects, monthly budgets, etc. However, little did I know that this term would be more applicable than I initially anticipated. Learning more about reconciliation didn’t necessarily make budgets more interesting but did make my internship in DC a little more profound.
I spent the summer working at a desk 40+ hours a week in our nation’s capitol under one of the most disagreeable and fascinating administrations I believe to have ever existed. I committed to a place and way of living wholly different from what I had known before and incongruous with my personal and professional trajectory. To be entirely honest, I’m still not sure what compelled me to apply in the first place or even step on the plane to Reagan International in May. Maybe it was my fear of stagnancy. Maybe it was my way of protecting my ego: despite doing well in recovery, figuring out how to climb or run or bike or paddle with this awkward and stiff half a knee cap of a leg was no graceful or straightforward feat, and a busy internship meant I didn’t have to try. Maybe I went out of curiosity to learn firsthand about our complicated political system and to understand how and why bureaucrats stand by their political beliefs and moral code while still keeping their jobs. I like to think that I went with the hope of secretly vandalizing former Representative Chaffetz’s and Secretary Zinke’s offices with “Protect Bears Ears” stickers or seeing Bernie Sanders in the flesh, if only to have a passing glance at his wispy and unruly hair or to hear him shout disapprovingly, “the one percent!” But it was likely a combination of these different fears and ambitions topped with an enthusiasm for discomfort.
Day one: horrified by the humidity and continually removing my glasses so that the steam from my face didn’t fog my lenses and blind me and blatantly out of place in a city filled with young professionals dressed in suit and tie, I awkwardly adjusted my pencil skirt and untucked blouse while scurrying from the metro in fancy shoes with a “smart” heel (cue snooty voice) that didn’t quite cover my Chaco tan. Eventually, after weeks of margarita pitchers, wandering through museums (the American Art Museum featuring Thomas Moran being my favorite), productive work, and really fucking good hamburgers, I got in the “groove” so to speak. I developed a morning routine of packing my bag with several La Croixs (pamplemousse preferred), work attire, and a Tupperware full of blueberries (bleubs for short, of course) and getting the pedals of my bike stuck on the oddly curved front entrance doors as I left my apartment building. I looked forward to commuting on this old 1980’s Schwinn I found on Craig’s List in the same faded pink shorts and green t-shirt with nickel sized armpit holes that said “Yosemite National Park.” It made me feel like I was representing the West and its Hallmark laid back ways so foreign to Washington.
I established balance in this chaotic city. I mean, despite the inability to escape buildings and “Make America Great Again” buttons and despite the constant stimulation of lights and noise and shouting and despite the unavoidable humidity and heat that made me want to walk around naked all the time, I learned to acknowledge that which was good or bad on a very basic level — to look intrinsically and make note. For instance, I like eating cottage cheese with nutritional yeast sprinkled on top delivered to my mouth on a multi-grain chip especially at 2 AM. I do not like aggressive fluorescent lights. I like plugging into my earbuds and listening to De La Sol’s “The Grind Date” at obnoxious volumes while I type furiously. I do not like taking an elevator to my fourth floor apartment everyday and scanning my FOB, whatever that’s supposed to be an acronym for. I like having four beverages simultaneously because water, seltzer, tea, and coffee fulfill very different needs. As trivial as this process is, being aware of the little things I enjoyed helped me to construct a framework for a lifestyle I hope to have. I learned that by being receptive and conscientious I may surprise myself by the subtleties I organically incorporate into my life and experiences I gravitate towards.
If there’s anything I know at my ripe age of 22, is that I’m bad at stuff and I know very little. And I am enthusiastically okay with that. I want to be able to absorb and be wrong 99.99% of the time. Actually maybe 85% of the time because I so far think this idea is correct: reconciling opposing and tangential forces will be an ever present process. Applying the fiscal savvy I learned in DC, maybe I spend too much money on beer and do it every month. My theoretical budget has to change to reflect the actual, and maybe I have to spend less on Oreos too. Regardless of my passionate love for cream filled chocolate cookies at a 1:1 cookie to cream ratio, I’m taking into account the numbers, the facts, the undeniable patterns that can’t be ignored and adjusting out of necessity.
Shockingly, reconciling that which is true with that which is expected goes beyond my beer and Oreo intake, and reconciling that which is excitable with that which is tolerable goes beyond my day to day activities in DC. They also include people’s anecdotal experiences and facts. At what point does an individual’s personal successes and failures become more predictive and trustworthy than facts? Because all too often the former undermines the reputability of the latter.
The fact of the matter is that we cannot do what is preferred or best for everyone every time. We do not live in a simple system and we are not a homogeneous population. To complicate things further, no individual’s experience is monolithic. But what we can do is reconcile. Reconcile that which is valid and real, such as anecdotal experience, with that which is factual. Reconcile the shitty with the enjoyable. Reconcile heart break with learning. Reconcile shortcomings with the knowledge that we are only human. Reconcile that which must be accepted with that which must be changed in order to make things better. Reconcile the needs of the immediate with the future, of the individual with the community. I reconciled my need for wilderness, activity, and familiarity with an enthusiasm for racial diversity, political discourse, thoughtful individuals, and patience while in DC. Similarly, through reconciliation and enthusiasm for good, maybe we can navigate through this mess of stuff to alter expectations and uphold truth.
I admit that being an intern in international development did not support my interest in being a mathematician. But I also admit that doing something and being somewhere entirely different from what I believed was best helped me to determine the important things — to myself and for others. Because it is up to us to sort through contradictions and make decisions and compromises that we think will do the most good for the most people for the greatest amount of time. We must be calculated and informed and empathetic knowing that happiness is fleeting but its pursuit is not.
