Oxford: The Quest For The Best Sunday Roast

Dear friends, this is a post that many of you knew was coming. This is a post that is long awaited by all. This is a post with the most, the post of the Sunday roast.

For those of you who are new to the game here, I need to provide some back story. My Oxford experience has come to mirror my Sunday roast experience, and I wouldn't want anyone to not fully understand, so let us start at the beginning.

I arrived in Oxford last September, and the transition from Rome was harder than I like to admit. I was comfortable in Rome. I love it there, and moving to Oxford, I was anticipating some culture shock. I've told some folks the story of being at a party in my first week here, and I got talking to a girl who had also been kind of standing there alone. We were chatting the classic small talk, and I asked her what she studied. She told me she studied theoretical physics, and I that sort of set the tone for a start to my academic year of feeling a bit inadequate. I was surrounded by brilliant people who had done brilliant things, and my experience felt really small compared to some of the things these people had accomplished. My flatmate already had a medical degree and was a Rhodes Scholar (I love the guy now, but he was pretty intimidating at first). I just felt like a really tiny fish in a tiny pond filled with very large trout.

I felt like I made acquaintances very quickly. I remember saying to my mom about a month into my time here that I knew a lot of people, but I didn't really feel like I was forming any deep friendships. That was really difficult, especially coming from a place in Rome where I felt like I had lifelong friends and people I considered to be family.

One night, I was sat at my kitchen table with some folks from neighboring apartments, and the concept of a Sunday roast was first explained to me. It's a Sunday meal with family usually cooked in the home that consisted of a main dish (roast meat of several varieties generally, roast vegetables and other sides, and most importantly, Yorkshire pudding and gravy. What I liked about it was the idea of getting everyone together for a meal, which was one of my favorite parts of Rome. That's how you really get to know people, when stomachs and hearts are full with good food and good conversation. I was longing for that, and Sunday roasts seemed like a good place to start.

I quickly learned that most pubs serve special Sunday roast menus. I began to drum up an idea that would help me get to learn my new city and potential help me to make lifelong friends. I set out on a quest to find the best Sunday roast in Oxford, and my answer might surprise you. Follow along with me on this journey week by week, where you will learn a bit about my Oxford experience, and a bit about the Oxford pub scene.

I rated the roast based on atmosphere of the pub, food quality and price, and service. Perhaps you think these categories are unfair, but that's not really my problem. Enjoy with me this ride of a lifetime.

Week 1: Sunday, November 5, 2017. Port Mahon

Top side of beef, roast potatoes, beets and carrots, greens, cauliflower cheese, yorkshire pudding, and gravy. Price: £10.95

Now, a preface, I didn't remember to take a photo every week, so don't expect that. Week one, I was pretty down in the dumps and lonely. I went to Port Mahon alone, and I sat at the bar watching football (soccer, for you fellow Americans), and I had a crisp pale ale with my meal. I enjoyed this roast despite being a bit alone. The food was good for the price, and the atmosphere of the pub was pretty good. I was served immediately, and staff were friendly. The friendly staff made a difference given my lonely state. Overall, I gave Port Mahon a B+. Would go again.

Week 2: Sunday, November 12. The Turf Tavern

Lamb shank, roast potatoes, carrots, greens, mint jelly, Yorkshire pudding, gravy. Price: £11.25

Forgot a photo this week, and again, I went at it alone. This one was particularly sad because it was super cold and rainy outside, and they didn't have any seating available inside. So I ate my very average food alone in the rain and cold. It was a very average experience overall. Service was meh, food was meh, price was meh. Just meh. Appropriately, meh was pretty much how I felt at this point in my Oxford experience. I was socializing, but I didn't feel like I was getting much out of my courses, and I didn't feel like I was forming any really deep friendships. The quest for the Sunday roast had just begun though, and I would not be defeated. Overall, I gave this week a B-.

Week 3: Jericho Tavern

21-day aged sirloin of beef, beef dripping roast potatoes, roast vegetables, red cabbage, Yorkshire pudding and gravy. Price: £13.00

Those fancy descriptions of the food got me really excited for the meal to come when I ordered. That said, the chef wasn't in for some reason, and we had to wait an hour to order, so I was already a bit miffed. This time, my friends Matt and Barney came with me, and I was glad to have company. This was towards the beginning of what became a real friendship for Matt and I. I do love Barney as well, but Matt I think is a lifer. I'm glad I had the two of them there for the mess that was this week. The food was subpar and cold. The Yorkshire pudding was good, which is an incredibly important component of a roast, but the rest was sad. The price for quantity and quality was aggravating. It was a sad roast, but a happy time with friends, and my spirits were high.

Week 4: The Royal Oak

Half Shropshire chicken with pigs in a blanket, beef dripping roast potatoes, gingerbread stuffing, chicken gravy, veggies, Yorkshire pudding. Price: £12.25.

Well, I tried to take a photo of this one, then for some reason it didn't save. This was appropriate, because Barney and I had tried to go to a different pub known for its roasts, and we had to settle on Royal Oak. That said, it was not a disappointment. Atmosphere of the pub was pretty cool, typical British spot with a youthful twist. Chicken was perfect, Yorkshire puddings were dense and crispy, and the pigs in a blanket were a nice touch. A bit pricey, but not too bad. In step, my Oxford experience was taking a turn, too. I was starting to get into a groove with classes, and I was running for social secretary of my college's common room. I was making good friends. I was feeling better and more adjusted as December started to roll around.

Week 5: The Perch

Top round of beef, Yorkshire pudding, cauliflower cheese, veggies, horseradish, greens. Price: £16.95

The Perch came highly praised as an incredible Sunday roast. Barney, Matt, and I were pretty stoked about this one. We had made a reservation after the previous week's failed attempt, and we'd assumed it must be pretty good if they filled up every week. When we arrived, some was positive and some negative. We waited forever for food, and service was just okay. The outside patio was really cool and enclosed for the winter. Food was pretty darn good, and beef was perfect. They gave us a time limit for clearing the table even though we'd made a reservation. It was way too expensive and not a good enough product, which funnily, was how I was starting to feel about my classes. Overall, Perch got a B.

Week 6: Cape of Good Hope

Cherry orchard pork loin, roast potatoes, gravy and Yorkshire pudding, roast veggies, cabbage. Price: £11.75

This week, I went alone, and it was again sort of how I was feeling at the time anyway. People had begun to go home for Christmas break, and I was feeling the lack of connection to people again. The pub was empty, but it had a nice atmosphere nonetheless for a Sunday. I waited 20 minutes for food, but they had a nice selection of beers to keep me busy. The beef was tough and dry, and the Yorkshire pudding was kind of sad. The positives to this place did not really include the food, but I didn't hate it. I gave it a B overall.

Week 7: The King's Arms

Roast sirloin of beef, roast potatoes, honey roasted veggies, cabbage, gravy, Yorkshire pudding.

This is a classic Oxford pub always packed on weekend nights and filled with everything from people studying to passed out freshers to drunk old men spouting political garbage. I was pretty apprehensive about this one because I'm not a huge fan of the pub to be honest. Nonetheless, I went, and it was a very enjoyable experience. I was alone and hungover, and the food was hot and cooked perfectly. It was exactly what I needed. I forgot to write down the price, but I wrote, "Despite being a bit expensive, it was a good amount of food for the money." No price and no photo, so I must have felt really hungover for this one. This was my first roast back from Christmas break, and I was not quite in the groove yet, so the meal raised my spirits a bit. I gave it a B+ to A- overall.

Week 8: The Trout Inn

Roast lamb rump with roasted squash, stuffing wrapped in bacon, roast potatoes, carrots, parsnips, greens, Yorkshire pudding and bottomless gravy. Price: £17.50

You read that correctly, BOTTOMLESS gravy. Hot damn. I was in good spirits this week, and I went to the Trout with my friends Ciaran and Paola. I really felt like I was starting to make good friends. Life was good overall, and I was in the Sunday roast groove. It was a really expensive meal, but the food was pretty good. Meat was a bit fatty but cooked perfectly. Potatoes were dry. Yorkshire pudding was odd and sweet but okay. I was with friends, and I was sitting in a beautiful seat overlooking the river, and I had decent food, so I couldn't really complain. The Trout rolled into the finish line at a B to B+.

Week 9: The Head Of The River

Roast sirloin of beef, squash puree, carrot, parsnip, potatoes, caramelized red cabbage, big Yorkshire pudding, deep fried cauliflower and cheese ball, dried onion shavings, "good" gravy. Price: £18.00

I went out of my way to note the quality of the gravy, so it must have been pretty good. I think I was at the height of my Oxford experience here, and I simultaneously found my favorite roast. This is what I wrote in my notes, verbatim: "Price for quantity surprisingly excellent, I am so full. All of the food was really good. Not a bad thing on the plate. Meat was perfect, and I only have good things to say." I was having the times I would remember after I leave Oxford. I had my close friends. I was involved in things around the city and the school. I was really happy. All this roast did was add to the happiness. The overall grade is an A, and it is well deserved for Head of the River.

Week 10: The Magdalen Arms

Tuscan roast pork ("similar to thick porchetta"), rainbow chard (what the hell? It was basically celery), green beans, roast potatoes. Price: £15.00

This one was far away and had incredibly limited options for roasts, so those two worked against it immediately. I was alone, and all of their roast options besides the one I got were really expensive and meant to be split between several people. That said, what I got was pretty good. No complaints on food really, but nothing that blew my mind, and the quantity left a bit to be desired for the price. Meh, it gets a B.

Week 11: St. Aldate's Taven

Roast beef, potatoes, season veggies, gravy, Yorkshire pudding. Price: £13.00

Classic British pub, but right in the center of town so I was nervous it would be super touristy and loud. They had 5 options for roast, which was kind of cool. Food was good overall and the Yorkshire pudding was excellent. Providing a whole boat of gravy was a nice touch. The quantity for price was subpar though. Life was rolling right along, and while I was going to many of these roasts alone, I was really happy, and the roast had just become part of the routine. I was realizing that the roast was really integral to my Oxford experience. I'd made something for myself in this quest, and it felt good.

Week 12: April 29, 2018. Jacob's Inn

Roast sirloin of beef, parsnips, carrots, potatoes, greens, Yorkshire pudding, gravy. Price: £17.00

Oddly, this was the first time I noted the date in a while. My Oxford experience was flying by, and I got to enjoy this meal with two people who ended up becoming good friends. Cassie and Alex were friends I met through mutual acquaintances from Korea, and I enjoyed getting to know them over the course of the second half of my time at Oxford. Things were starting to wind down. My classes were almost over, and the dissertation was starting to rev up. My brain was starting to stress about what would come after Oxford. I began to depend on Sunday roasts a bit more, especially with good friends, because it would distract me from all of the other stuff on my brain. This week. the meat was cooked perfectly and the potatoes were crispy on the outside and soft inside, perfect. The Yorkshire pudding I noted was "half good, half weird," which is exactly how I felt besides the meal at the time. The Yorkshire pudding tasted "like dishwasher," I wrote. Price for quantity was not very good. I was just glad to be there with my pals. I gave Jacob's Inn a B overall.

Week 13: The Chequer's

Roast rump of beef, potatoes, parsnips, carrots, greens, Yorkshire pudding, gravy. Price: £13.75

Alex and Cassie came with me again this week, and I ended up playing football with Alex afterward. I did feel a part of the Oxford community now, and playing football reminded me of the community I had formed in Rome. This roast was nothing noteworthy, though, as all the food was cold and the vegetables were the best bit, which is never a good sign for a roast. The quantity for price was not good, I noted. The company was excellent, and the rest was not. This place gets a B-.

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So, 13 weeks out of a year might not seem like that much, and obviously I skipped weeks, but in a lot of ways the roast was one of the best experiences of my time in Oxford, and I looked forward to it every week. I developed a routine: sleep in, go for roast, Skype my parents, do schoolwork, watch Netflix, sleep. That was my Sundays, and I loved them.

Oxford wasn't always good. I didn't always feel like I fit in. Sometimes, the Yorkshire pudding tasted like dishwasher, and that's life. That said, I'll remember Oxford as a learning community unlike any other I had ever experienced. Intellectual discussion and varying opinions were lauded, accepted, and debated. I made great, lifelong friends here, and I'm sad to go. I don't know what the next step is for me yet, and that terrifies me a bit. I'm hoping to have a job lined up in the near future, but who knows what will happen. I had fun here, and I'm glad I made the decision to come to Oxford. I'll miss it. I'll miss my friends and course mates. It's an elitist place, and that bothered me. There's a homelessness problem in Oxford unlike I've seen anywhere else in the world, Chicago and Rome included. It's not the utopia some people would have you think it is, but I made it home for a year, and I hope I was able to contribute and improve it in little ways while I was here. All of you USA folks, I'm coming home for you, at least for now. Thanks for reading, and have a great week.

Responsibility

I've been realizing lately that responsibility is a concept that requires more thought than I've been giving it. In some senses, it's about duty. You have a responsibility to do something. In another sense, it's about being mature and levelheaded in your actions. It seems like to be responsible and to have responsibility are two different but interconnected things.

Sometimes, there are things we are simply obligated to do (if we're trying to be good people). There are responsibilities we take on both wanted and unwanted that are just part of our lives. Maybe you don't even notice sometimes what responsibilities you have. I've been wrestling a lot lately with my own responsibilities, as well as how responsible I am (read as the second definition, more mature and levelheaded). How will those facets of my life evolve as I keep getting older? I feel a certain duty and pressure in my life to live up to expectations and hopes from myself and people around me. I love when people tell me they're following along with my adventures or reading my writing or are interested in what I'm doing, but I'm only starting to realize that I want to live up to a certain version of myself that I'm not sure even exists. As I look for a job for my next step, I'm starting to wonder if I'll be content no matter what I do.

The responsibilities in my life are numerous. I feel social responsibility, responsibility in my relationships, responsibility for my own actions and often the actions of others. That said, I think I need to learn to separate the various definitions of responsibility in my life. I shouldn't worry about what other people think for my next steps. I just need to go where the road leads me next. I need to be mature and levelheaded (but not grow up too much), and go with the flow, which is usually something I'm so good at but have been struggling with. It's easy to feel the rejections much more acutely than the victories in times of transition. I've just got to remind myself that the victories are generally more numerous that the let downs in my life. I'm so incredibly lucky.

I think I'm generally a responsible guy. At the very least, I take ownership of my actions, and I try to act as best as I can. That said, it's the first time in my life I feel that I have a responsibility for how I am perceived. I had someone say to me recently, "Your life seems so great and adventurous, and it just makes me feel like I'm doing nothing here in my daily life and job." Despite that being untrue in general, my initial reaction was that people don't really see my day-to-day life. They see what I post on social media, and they see exactly what I want them to see. My life is great, but it's not any different than other daily lives for the most part. Do I have some responsibility for the reactions to how I portray myself? I think I do. While I feel like my online persona is a relatively accurate depiction of who I am when times are good, it doesn't show my struggles or my daily ins and outs.

I think part of growing up is realizing that you have so many obligations in your life as an adult, but also realizing that it's just part of life. It doesn't have to be daunting. I remember graduating from university and just feeling overwhelmed by the pure possibility of it all. I could do anything, but I certainly had a responsibility to do something. It's how I feel now in a way. No matter what I did, I would have student loans. I would have friendships and relationships to maintain. I would have bills, wants, needs, the wants and needs of others, and so many other things to which I find myself consciously and unconsciously beholden. I like having responsibility, it's often also so very overwhelming.

It's becoming almost a neurotic endeavor for me. There's so much that you're supposed to do, but why am I supposed to do it? I've daydreamt more than once about going full Into The Wild and just enjoying life as it is, but when you read that book or watch that movie, you realize that his responsibilities came with him in a way; he just ignored them. Being an adult is about not running from your responsibilities, but embracing them.

This might be the most incoherent blob of a blog post I've ever written, but sometimes the stream of consciousness is good for me. Hope you all are having good starts to spring and such!

Anger & Emotion

Throughout the course of my life, I've responded to difficult situations with varying degrees of emotion. I think as kids, young boys are told that expressing emotions with a cool head is unmanly, and that men get angry. Men fight. Men don't take no for an answer, and when they get told no, they get angry. As I've explored my own masculinity and masculinity within society, and as I've thought about the person I want to be, I've reflected on anger and emotion more than anything else.

As a kid, I was particularly prone to angry outbursts at a whole range of people around me. I fought with my mom constantly, often about meaningless stuff. I was often angry just for the sake of being angry. I think when you're angry that often, the anger starts to lose meaning. I walked around, fists clenched, ready to be angry at any moment. I wasn't happy most of the time. If I did poorly on a test, I got angry. If my parents told me no, I got angry. In retrospect, for a lot of my life, anger was one of the only emotions I knew how to process.

Sometime in the middle of high school, I started to be able to process sadness without anger. There was no point at getting angry at death, which I learned the hard way. It took losing people around me to be able to process complex emotion, which I think is a disservice of society that still persists. With men and boys, it's about toughening up. Hardening yourself is the best response to anything that doesn't go your way. It's a shame that many men grow up feeling this is the only way they can succeed. It's a shame that if many women want to succeed, they're told to adopt these hardened male characteristics. Emotion is weakness in society today, and it's unfair.

Sometimes, I do get angry still, but I can't remember the last time I raised my voice or had an outburst. I get angry about things that are very controllable and fixable but are not fixed. I think anger, as part of a range of other emotions, can be a very useful tool for humans. It can drive us toward change. I was angry when I saw that 17 students died in a shooting in a Florida school. I know that the survivors are angry. Anger, if employed correctly, exists to spur us to action, I think. We need to teach men that anger isn't the only emotion.

I can remember the last time I cried, but I also remember all the times I tried so hard to hold back tears because crying is weakness. I can remember being in movie theaters, at funerals, watching the news, and a whole host of other situations, where all I wanted to do was cry. Instead, I felt the need to harden. I felt the need to close off. I felt the need to not let others see that I was experiencing any emotion at all. The society I grew up in taught me that it was better to show no emotion at all than to show any emotion other than strength and power.

It's odd to be that being emotional is most often associated with women. I think that men are just as emotional, but we're trained to hide it. I find that I am a considerably happier person as I work to appropriately manifest my emotions. Even when I'm sad, stressed, or yes, angry, life is just easier when you admit your emotions. I cried watching the Lord of the Rings last week ("My friends, you kneel for no one." Those little Hobbits accomplished so much!). I felt intense sadness when I heard a former classmate's mother passed away this week. Any given day, I feel a whole range of emotions, and I'm a considerably different person with a different personality than I was 10 years ago. I think people perceive me very differently now than they did then.

It takes self-reflection and training to show your emotions as a human, but I think often most acutely as a man. I still am working at it as I go along. Having the gender roles thrust upon you as a woman is, I imagine, incredibly difficult, but men have a lot of roles thrust upon them as well. I identify with a range of traditionally feminine characteristics. I know plenty of women who identify with a whole range of traditionally male characteristics. I hope that someday, instead of gender typing human behavior and emotion, we might realize that it's okay to be whoever you want to be.

Recently, the job hunt has me down. It can be very defeating to hear no several times. Also recently, I've been incredibly happy overall. My sister is doing better after some scary health concerns. I'm really settling into and enjoying life in Oxford. The weather is slowly (very slowly. Damn you, England) warming up, and the days are getting longer. It's okay to feel a range of emotions. It's okay to fluctuate. I think it's kind of funny but also a bit sad that the default answer when someone asks how you're doing is to say that you're fine even if you're not. Some days, I'm fine in the morning, I have an existential crisis at lunch, and I'm back up by dinner. I don't always have to be fine. No one is always fine. I think the world would be happier overall if we were more comfortable admitting our emotions, and I think emotions would mean more if we were forward with them.

Anyway, a bit of a tangent, but I'm enjoying getting to know myself and my emotions better, and I wanted to write a bit about it. In practical news, I'm done with classes at Oxford! Super weird. Just working on dissertation now, and I got a bar job. Heading to Ireland next week, Scotland at the beginning of April, and India in May! Seeing lots of friends in the coming months too. Life is good. Thanks for reading.

Communication

I'm a really good talker. If you get me started about something I have passion for, I can talk for days. I am not always a good communicator. I think our society has a communication problem. So many of the people we see in prominent positions today (I don't have to name any names, but come on, you know who I mean) are really good talkers and can talk for days, but they're not very good communicators.

I don't know if it's a result of technology and us being able to contact people in an instant, if we're so used to having information readily available on a screen that we've forgotten how to interact with humans, or if we've just been fed so much bullshit as a generation that communicating doesn't feel like a valuable skill anymore, but something is up. Have you ever come into contact with someone who you can just tell is listening to what you're saying? They're intent. They give cues and feedback that they are paying attention. Their responses are thoughtful, not off the cuff. I feel like it shouldn't be such a crazy thing to find those people in your life, but they're increasingly hard to come by.

I'm guilty. Sometimes I'm thinking of my response when I'm listening instead of taking everything someone has to say. Sometimes, I'm not paying attention at all because my brain is somewhere else. Sometimes my phone is on the table because I think something important is on its way. It's a poison. It's unfair, and I know very few people who aren't guilty of it. I think effective communication needs to be in every curriculum in every school. Get students to role play tough situations and serious conversations. Practice makes perfect they say.

I'll never forget one of my management classes in which the professor, now a friend and mentor, made us sit down and role play negotiating salaries. He didn't take it easy on us. He asked us hard questions like it was real life, and we were all put off. We all found it difficult. It's really hard for some reason for humans to say what they mean. It's hard for humans to say what we want, what we don't want, and how we feel, and those problems are just the surface. Throw in some past trauma, some heart break, tragedy, disabilities, and other factors, and communication gets a ton harder, despite how hard we might try to work at it or control it.

At first, I thought that the really great communicators that I know were just naturally gifted, and some people definitely might lean in the direction of being good communicators from the start. What I realize in my old age is that effective communication takes work, especially in a society that is increasingly self-centered and aloof. Something I've been trying to focus on recently is keeping my phone in my pocket when I'm with people (or leaving it home entirely). I've been trying to focus on being intentional in what I say and talking slower to truly articulate what I mean. Perhaps most importantly, I'm trying to be an active listener and take a true interest in what people are saying to me.

Spoiler alert: it is really, really hard. I've been trained to have my brain in 10,000 different directions at once, and I think my close friends have probably heard me claim that very often. I like to juggle a lot at once. I think that the true skill comes in being able to give your full attention to whatever your doing. It's often about time management. If you've overbooked yourself and you're stressed about it, as I often am and we all inevitably are, it's hard not to let your mind wander to all that is on your plate. I've taken great comfort in a planner, something I've always epically failed at until my move to England. If you're in my planner, and I have time blocked out for you, I want to truly give you that time. I want my head to be nowhere else.

Like I said, it's a skill. It's an active effort, and I'm still not great at it. I just can't help but think that so many of our world's problems could be solved if we communicated better. Maybe if our world leaders could communicate, nations might get along better. Maybe, if we could communicate better for ourselves, there'd be less divorce and less heartbreak. Maybe, if religions took the time to dialogue effectively, they would realize how much they have in common and there would be less conflict.

A large step in communication that's also missing is knowing how to communicate in ways that who you're talking to can understand. In metaphorical terms, not everyone speaks my language (and in literal terms, not everyone speaks my language, making it even more difficult). Empathy is sort of a required part of communication. If I try to talk to someone from a very different background to me, I might have to say it differently than I would say it if talking to someone very similar. It's not censoring myself; it's being intentional. If you want your message to come across how you intend it to, sometimes you have to learn to communicate the same thing in different ways. If I was talking about my previous jobs in an interview, I might talk about them very differently than I would in a small group of friends. I also understand that there's a certain degree of privilege in this point. That said, if you don't use your positions of privilege to try to do good, you're wasting an opportunity, I think.

I'm trying. I'm not preaching at you and saying you need to try, but I really respect people who are such effective communicators that it radiates from them. I want to be one of those people. I want to be an astronaut, a comedian, and a chef, too, but those are less attainable or important to my daily life, I think. Pick your battles, I guess. I just love that feeling when someone is communicating beyond the words being said. When you can tell it's not going in one ear and out the other, it means something.

I think New Year's resolutions and dry Januarys and other things are kind of gimmicky, so I'm resolving as a tiny, feeble human that I want to try to make this change in my life for good. Hell, if you feel like you're not getting my full attention when you're talking to me, feel free to snap your fingers in my face or slap me back to reality. Yes, permission to slap me. Don't all come running too fast! We don't heal divides, create change, or move forward as a society unless there are effective communicators out there. I have serious respect for the people who are already Jedi masters at it, and I'm trying.

"I think it's very important to have a feedback loop, where you're constantly thinking about what you've done and how you could be doing it better. I think that's the single best piece of advice: constantly think about how you could be doing things better and questioning yourself." - Elon Musk

Aunt Lillie

I probably owe a large portion of who I am today to my great great Aunt Lillie. She babysat me every day from basically birth to age 13 when she died. I can remember bits of wisdom she taught me about life and about morality. I know she wasn't perfect, and I know she had some issues with other people in our family, but she was instrumental in my upbringing. Every once in a while, I see myself doing something I remember that she did, and it makes me smile a bit. Twelve years later, it's odd because she seems so distant, but I still remember so much as well.

Lately, I've been thinking about Aunt Lillie, and I wish she could've been here when I was a bit older so I could've known the person she was a bit better. I could've asked about what her life was like before my sister and I came along. I could've had a drink with her. I could thank her for everything she did for me. It's not really a regret; I was just too young to have that sort of relationship with her. I remember sitting at the side of her bed as she was dying in hospice, and I was too young to process what was going on. I never cried for her. I was just too young, which in a way was a gift I guess, as it would've been much harder to lose her later on in life.

All of these thoughts about Aunt Lillie lately come as a result of several friends recently losing people they love, of losing Brad Zandstra, of reflection on mortality and the way I live my life. Relationships become more meaningful when you realize how much they mean in your life and how much you take them for granted. Only recently have I found my parents and I expressing love verbally. Only recently have I become at all comfortable with hearing or saying, "I love you." I don't quite know why that's the case, but I have a guess that it's an admission of vulnerability. If you admit love freely, you open yourself to the inevitability of loss. It's simultaneously one of the scariest and most beautiful things humans can do, to express in some way that you're putting someone else above yourself.

I've been trying to be more open in relationships. I've been trying to have deeper and more meaningful conversations. I've been trying to be more careful than ever before in considering other peoples' feelings. I feel a considerable amount more guilt when I slip up and am a jerk. If I die tomorrow, that person who I wronged will go on thinking I'm a jerk. It's a cliche to say, "live every day like it's your last," and quite frankly, I'm tired of hearing it put that way. An acute understanding of your mortality takes more than a greeting card. It takes action.

This realization was one of the scariest parts of giving up religion for me. If there's no afterlife, the world is here and now. It's scary, but it forces you to live your life with the understanding that all that lives on after you're gone is the effect you have on the world while you're here. It makes my relationships mean more. It makes my efforts to be a good person mean more. I'm not trying to be a good person because of something after I die; I'm trying to be a good person because this life is all I have. I'm not knocking those who believe in an afterlife. If it makes you a good person, I'm all for it, but my realization that this life is all I have has made me considerably more introspective and self-critical (in a good way).

I wonder what Aunt Lillie would think of me now. I like to think she'd be proud. I like to think we'd enjoy a brandy together from time to time and sit in her sunroom and talk about life. I'd go over to check on her, and maybe I could pay back a bit of the taking care of me that she did in my youth. I don't remember ever telling her I loved her. I'd do that for starters.

Losing people is never easy. Brad was like a second father to me. I think about him every day. I never think about the bad times though, and every time I think about him, I end up with a smile on my face. I hope that someday when I die (hoping later rather than sooner), people will smile when they think of me. That's the afterlife I live in anticipation of. That's what I hope for any of my friends going through tough times, that as wounds heal, the good times prevail as the memories flood in.

It's been a while since I've written, but not for lack of thoughts that have intrigued me. I'm between terms now, and it's crazy how time flies. It's happening more and more as I get older. I'm trying to take the days one at a time and soak in as much as I can. Thanks for reading, and have a great holiday season.

Selfish

As these posts often go, I've been reflecting on something for a while now, and it's time to write it down. Lately, I've been thinking about what it means to be selfish.

Well, for starters, you can't get more of a negative connotation. The dictionary says: "(of a person, action, or motive) lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one's own personal profit or pleasure."

I disagree pretty strongly with some words in that definition based on the thinking I've done over the last few weeks, and the main word is "chiefly."

This thinking all started with a conversation with my coworkers on my last night in Rome. The question came up about whether we felt selfish for taking two years in Rome. I think everyone but me said they felt selfish in regards to their friends and family, or even that they were made to feel selfish by friends and family.

My first reaction was "no, I don't feel selfish at all," but then I kind of felt like a jerk since everyone else said they did, and I thought about why I didn't feel that way.

I find that when we describe people, there's hardly an in-between for the extremes of selfishness and selflessness. We're taught that there's one or the other. That's why that word "chiefly" irks me so much, I think. It's like if you do any actions focusing on yourself, and tip the scale in that direction, you're selfish. End of story.

I don't agree with that. I think there's plenty of in between, and I don't think selfishness has to have a negative connotation.

The last few weeks have given me some pause. When I first saw all my friends in Chicago, I was pretty taken aback at how much envy I felt for their lives. They get together to watch Game of Thrones every Sunday. They watch football. They go out to eat together. They see each other around. I felt a bit left out of some inside jokes. It was weird and jarring.

So, I thought long and hard about that, and I realized that despite that twinge of envy, the feeling of how great it was to see everyone was what I really walked away with. In so many ways, it was like nothing had ever changed. Which brings me to my point:

My lifestyle isn't selfish because it makes me happy and I do it for me. Sure, I miss my family, and I miss my friends, and I hope that they miss me, but true friendships and family ties don't ask for one party to sacrifice their happiness. I know my mom wishes I was home. I know how fun it would be to be with all of my friends. That said, they don't think I'm a selfish jerk. They know I'm happy, and we make it work in the relationships that are lasting.

I was in Colorado this weekend, and my good buddy Mike Lempko invited me on a lake trip with his crew of friends. As I met people, I realized that their friendships were mostly forged in Colorado despite being from all over, and that they too had moved away from home in pursuit of something. It gave me some peace to see a great group of people like that who may have done what some people perceive as selfish, but they were really welcoming to me and really selfless in general. You don't have to sacrifice your own happiness to be selfless.

To truly be selfish, that ugly negative word we all know, I think you have to put your own interests ahead of the well being of other people. Your happiness has to come at the expense of someone else's, and furthermore I think that detriment to another's happiness has to be intentional. If I truly felt that my absence was ruining the well being of my friends and family (talk about arrogance), then I might be able to apply selfishness to myself. I might not live how I live. If you are willing to tear someone else down to build yourself up, you're selfish. If you prioritize yourself somewhere in the long line of priorities you have towards others, you're a healthy human in my opinion.

So, maybe this whole post is a big justification in a time of uncertainty for me. But what it boils down to in my brain is really a reassuring feeling that just because I go off in pursuit of my own interests doesn't mean I sacrifice true friendships with some of the best humans on the planet. This is going to come out worse than I intend it to, but people's lives go on. They probably hardly notice that I'm gone, but I hope they're happy when I'm back.

Quit feeling guilty for doing stuff for yourself. Sometimes, your happiness will be difficult for others. Sometimes, it will be difficult for you. But to be selfless requires you to be a bit selfish first I think. Thanks for reading.

About Love

The single millennial battle cry of recent seems to be “every time I get on Facebook, someone else is getting engaged or married!” We say it almost scornfully. I’ve spent a lot of time in recent months making major life decisions, and my brain keeps wandering back to where love fits in. I’ve been utterly preoccupied with the hope of one day finding “the one,” the person who I’ll settle down and have kids with. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t come with its fair share of considering the other side of the coin; I might never find that person.

It does seem that a lot of people my age are rushing to find someone, which is pretty on par with the stereotype that we’re a generation of instant gratification. We like things to happen quickly, and they often do. That’s not to say it’s a bad thing necessarily, but love is a tricky thing. I think that desire for moving things along has given rise to Tinder and things like it. Our youth was dictated by the rise of the Internet and the smart phone; of course it’s infiltrated the most intimate corners of our lives.

I think I’ve been in love a few times. The older I get, the more that I realize the quest for love probably isn’t about finding “the one.” The more I analyze it (which is admittedly a silly thing to do with love), the more I think that falling in love probably has a lot to do with circumstance. We load our dating app profiles with tidbits about ourselves, cheesy pickup lines, and bad puns, but if it isn’t the right place and the right time, it doesn’t matter how much someone suits you. That’s the end of the line.

I used to think I needed to find someone to complete me, someone with whom I couldn’t live without. That’s the stuff of fairytales after all. I don’t think I believe that anymore. Dependency isn’t love. Independent congruency is more like what I want. I don’t want someone who needs me in order to be whole. I want to contribute a new, meaningful part to their whole, and I want them to contribute a piece to mine. That’s not to say there’s no void if they’re gone, but it’s not filling some gap that you’ve had your whole life that could only be filled by that person.

I’ve been caught up for a long time in the practicality of love, often using that as an excuse for why I don’t currently have it. “I live abroad! I’m just kind of doing me right now.” While that’s true, I also miss companionship in that way. I use my isolation and self-interest as an excuse for the real reasons I probably haven’t met anyone. Those reasons I find are probably numerous, but I’ve always lived under the guise that someone should love me for who I am. While that’s also true, I think I’ve let myself get away internally and externally because that’s what I believed. I want to be loved for who I am, but ironically, I think I let who I was get away because I thought that meant I could do whatever I wanted.

So, yes, everyone is getting married and engaged, and it stings a bit. I won’t act like some alternative lifestyle cool dude who just isn’t into love right now. I think everyone who’s single at my age is asking themselves the same question even if they don’t know they are. “Why am I so far behind these people? Why do they have it figured out?” I think all of us should probably take a good look at why we’re single before we blame it on the folks who have it figured out. I know I’ve got a lot of work to do on myself before someone else finds me to be an attractive investment of their heart and their time. I’m not talking about dates and hooking up; I’m talking about that long-term stuff. If I’m emotionally unavailable, crass, letting my appearance go, and being generally non-committal, of-fucking-course I haven’t found someone who’s interested in the long game. I can’t fault anyone for that, and I shouldn’t rain on the parade of the people who are a bit more mature than I am.

I’m constantly trying to improve myself, and it’s a slow process. After years and probably several failed relationships of thinking “you should love me for who I am” meant “you should love me no matter what,” I’m realizing that it’s not that way at all. You have to offer yourself in full, but you have to continue being your best if you really love someone. I’ve done my fair share of taking people for granted, and I probably owe some apologies.

Anyway, I’ve rambled on enough. Someday, I’ll probably find someone with whom I’ll have figured it out. All of those mistakes will have led me to a circumstance where love works. I’m not looking for someone specific, just someone who sparks my heart at the right place at the right time, and I spark hers. If not, I’ve taken the time to realize that that’s on me. It’s not, “what’s wrong with me?” It would be, “you didn’t put in the work, Ryan.” Here’s to putting in the work to be our best selves.