“Reflections in Change” by Kate Goldman

Illustration by A&LJ Editor Liz Yoo

Dear Corner Coffee shop,

Thank you for your reprieve. A reprieve not just from the weather, but also from the loneliness of being 2052 miles from home. The invisibility of being in a crowded cafeteria unable to find a seat nor a friend. The darkness of being in a windowless basement classroom for a four and a half hour class. Your smiles make me smile. Your windows remind me how beautiful and open the world is. Your plants allow me to breathe. Your rainbow flag makes me feel seen. Your chais bring me back home to California: sitting in the kitchen talking to my mom, holding my very emotional dog, and watching the fresh chai cook on the stove as the strong sweet smell of spices fills our small, but cozy home. The smell of the house-made chai in the coffee shop winds around me in wisps until I can’t help, but close my eyes and breathe in deeply. With the smell comes a deep contented feeling similar to that of a hug or a special shared moment that you know you will carry with you. I spend as much time as I can in this coffee shop: studying, listening, and watching. I know I will be rewarded with lovely people of all types, and warm conversations like those I miss having with my friends from home: conversations and gossip about everyday mundane things that become exciting simply because they are important to the people you love. I observe people getting to know each other, so beautifully open and willing to change their perspective to make a new friend. The conversation is like a game of catch: back and forth, back and forth. They are tentative at first and both trying so hard to not be the one to mess up, but slowly they relax and start taking bigger risks. They throw trick shots, they throw harder, they throw sillier, and with that, trust and connection are born. I observe people diligently working who simply want company around them, like me. I wonder what their stories are and how they ended up here. I try to guess things about their life based on their clothing and belongings - I’m sure I am often very wrong. It makes me giggle thinking about what people must assume by looking at me with my puffy coat in early September and a computer sticker that clearly states “Join the fight for legal abortion nationwide!”. Said sticker is surrounded by three pride stickers and an assortment of other odd, but personally meaningful images. I am curious if anyone understands the sticker that states “hail malthus.” (the last line of the musical Urinetown!). It is a reminder to myself of the importance of lifting one another up in community; ironically this sentiment is the opposite of Malthus’ philosophy which is being hailed. I am pulled from my thoughts as I feel the wind from the door opening and watch as a mom walks in with her two young children. I quickly learn as they speak with the barista that it was the older child’s first day of Kindergarten. He is shining bright from the joy of the day and practically exploding with stories, although he has no problem pausing his torrent of words to remember his mom’s favorite drink and order it for her. His tenderness and caring towards his mom in contrast with his aggressive excitement for life make me smile despite myself. When the boy starts talking about how another little boy didn’t want to play basketball with him at recess and instead wanted to play alone, his mom is quick to remind him that sometimes he wants to play alone too - maybe the other little boy will want to play together the next day. I think this comment is beautiful and decide to internalize that attitude as I strive to make friends in college, a place extremely similar to kindergarten in case anyone was wondering (filled with lost lonely students with no idea how to function and a deep desperation for belonging, comfort, and company). I then laugh to myself as I process that the boy has already realized this earlier in his day and was simply bringing it up as a talking point, not as an upsetting moment to talk through; he had moved on far before his mom finished talking. I silently send the little boy my gratitude for reminding me that every moment is not that deep and that life is a lot more fun if you lead with love and look for joy.

Dear Summer Storm,

Thank you for your magic. When I got back from class and curled up in the windowsill, the sun was streaming down on me and yet its rays could not permeate my mood. As I stared out the window I watched as your powerful wind started whipping the world into shape and your dark clouds full to bursting with tears ran into the room and slammed the door on the sun. Within ten minutes your rain started pouring down in sheets, soaking the students running to and from class, meals, and the dorms. From my cozy vantage point I became mesmerized by the way the water on the grass would float through the air in plumes and then plummet down the hill each time the wind blew just the right way. I giggled as people tried to navigate the rain: some running to avoid it as much as possible, some giving up, some embracing it with joy. As I watched the world being aggressively washed I felt my mood being washed away as well. The storm was beautiful. I couldn't help, but notice how it felt almost magical. At home, summer storms are almost unheard of and warm storms simply don’t happen, but here it was 90 degrees in August and storming intensely all the same. This duality stuck with me and reminded me that no matter what my life looked like moment to moment with so much change, I was unequivocally happy exactly where I was. And it’s true, despite how much of a funk I may be in, I have never once thought that “I hate it here” or “I just want to go home”. Even in the moments where I can’t stop the tears spilling out of my eyes, all it takes is to look around and I know this is where I belong. I am endlessly grateful for all that allows me to be here now, and all that being here now will allow me to do in the future.

Dear Me (that lets go of expectations),

I first met you during my IB math exams last year. They didn’t count for anything and I hadn’t taken the class or anything like it in over a year (neither had I studied at all) and consequently I had very low to no expectations for the exam. To go in with no expectations turned out to be the most freeing possible experience I could have had. I had fun doing math for the first time since elementary school. I solved problems and patterns I never could have done before because my mind wasn’t open enough to approach them the way they needed to be approached. In the past, I would get stuck in the type of problem I thought it was instead of the problem it actually was. In a more general sense, as I grow up I am slowly learning how to be more in the moment and project less on the situations around me. When I was young I developed the habit to keep myself safe, and although I still believe picking up on patterns is important, I also believe that letting go of the perceived control that drives my tendency to jump to conclusions is vital to my overall happiness. As far as the exam goes, I ended up getting a five out of seven, not a one or two as I thought I might, because without my constricting expectations of myself, I was free to simply exist as the best version of myself in that moment. When I came to college as an interarts performance major I got to meet you again. You reminded me that in all my art classes that are filled with cohorts that have studied the class subject their whole life, I am not the same and that is a good thing. I shouldn’t be the best at all these things my classmates are experts on. My expertise is marrying all of the disciplines and existing in the gray areas, filling the holes and creating connections that others don’t even realize are there. Right now, I have the luxury of learning from the best professors with the best peers, but starting, often, from the beginning. Since I don’t have the pressure of trying to be the best, I am free to enjoy what I am doing and the learning process. I allow myself to trip over my own feet in dance class, laugh, and then forget about the moment. And I’ve never been so happy. I have the privilege of simply existing as me and that is the greatest gift anyone could receive. So thank you me for honoring where I am at and who I am.

 

Kate Goldman is a freshman Interarts Performance BFA student. She is a choreographer, dancer, director, actor, singer, photographer, and writer of poetry. She wrote this short collection of reflections after moving across the country to attend Umich.

Instagram - @k4t3_g01dm4n

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