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  • Illusion of Perfection

    This is an essay I wrote for a 200 level English course. The course was titled The Myth of Suburbia, and it was exactly that; the myth of the idealized suburban life in the 1960’s/ 70’s America. This is one of my proudest essays, but I am sure there are many grammatical errors here, so I would love some feedback and critiques.

    The Epidemic of Societal Hegemony

                It’s hard to imagine how society can have such a profound effect across each of our minds. Without noticing, it infiltrates nearly every aspect of our life; it is not something that can be seen with the naked eye, there is no name, no end or beginning, making it difficult to identify your own thoughts separate from the one’s society has a hold over. Like a virus, it’s seemingly highly adaptable as it morphs in expectations from generation to generation. Is it something that lingers in the air? Once it enters our system, how do we heal those parts it infected? Or maybe it is rather sold as a vaccination; something to protect against failure, to ensure happiness, an illusion of perfection that can be bought and consumed. Despite the expectations society aims for us to adhere to, each body is different in the way it handles a vaccine. Our differences are what bring us together, welcomes vulnerability, and question what we think we know; we can’t expect to lead the same life. To live the nuclear life was the achievement of a conceived image of happiness, success, a perfect life, home, and family. Those who obtained the idealized nuclear family felt the pressure to uphold and maintain this facade, for the life they led was one that everyone wanted, so it must have been perfect. In the novels “The Ice Storm” by Rick Moody, “Little Fires Everywhere” by Celeste Ng, and the film The Truman Show, these three works provide insight on this illusion of perfection, how it evolved generations afterward, and its inevitable downfall. Despite the creation of the nuclear family, it was the ultimate mistake that forced members of the family to wear this mask of perfection; despite silently enduring the weight of unfulfillment, unsupported mothers, inherently suffering children, and the sense of alienation although unaware that they were not alone in their struggles.

                The creation of the nuclear family through societal pressures of the 1950’s abandoned the “it takes a village” approach to raising children, excluding help from the extended family and impeded roles to be taken on by the mother and father. It has proven to be unattainable as these expectations only lasted about twelve years, but even so, the pressure to display perfection trickled down into following generations. The family unit only continued to become less united as it morphed into the “me” movement, where the pressure to embody these illusions remained important above all. Where a seemingly united family was the opposite, in “The Ice Storm” by Rick Moody, this novel illuminates the harsh reality of what the nuclear family became even in the rich suburbs of America in the 1990’s. Each member of the Hood family exhibits the torment of their intense and resentful feelings that lay buried and unspoken, leading to loneliness and feeling misunderstood when each of them unknowingly are facing similar feelings of alienation. With a lack of trust and vulnerability within the family to lean on each other, when the ice storm hits their town, it forces each character to face the reality of their decisions and secrets, “Your family is the void you emerge from, and the place you return to when you die. And that’s the paradox- the closer you’re drawn back in, the deeper into the void you go” (Moody, 102-Kindle). Up until the ice storm hits their town, the Hood family handles the societal pressure to embody this illusion by acting as if you can either do it like there is a great weight on you, or you can do it like it is apart of the dance. The anticipation of the storm stirs up many of their anxieties, but as it finally hits, each character unfolds both confronting their own secrets, as well as the truth of the dysfunction within their family.

    In the novel “Little Fires Everywhere” by Celeste Ng, the author similarly displays the downfall of a progressive family in the 1990’s that should seemingly have it all. The Richardsons live in a town called Shaker Heights, and it is highlighted that the Shakers was where life and its people were most ideal, “Outside in the world, volcanoes erupted, governments rose and collapsed and bartered for hostages, rockets exploded, walls fell. But in Shaker Heights, things were peaceful, and riots and bombs and earthquakes were quiet thumps, muffled by distance” (Celeste,103- Kindle). As Elena Richardson, who was born and raised in Shakers, compares these external occurrences as just quiet thumps muffled by distance, accurately portrays the feeling of perfection and finding bliss in ignorance by hiding behind the mask of a perfect life. Despite the rose-colored glasses placed over a town like the Shakers, an important character, Izzy Richardson, is seen as the troubled child who reveals the truth behind the deception of this town and her family. By straying away from the crowd, questioning the status quo, and not being bound by the expectations of society and her family, she is seen as crazy for being different, “No,’ Trip countered, ‘Izzy takes everything too seriously. That’s her problem’… Lexie and Trip treated Izzy as if she were a dog that might go rabid at any minute” (Celeste, 41- Kindle). Izzy challenges her family members and shows aggression toward the hold society has over those in it. She illustrates how her non conformity creates a rift in the relationship with her mother, Elena, which both frees her from the bounds of society but also destroys the illusion of perfection that Elena has become a slave to, “All her life, she had learned that passion, like fire, was a dangerous thing… Better to control that spark and pass it carefully from one generation to the next, like an Olympic torch… Happy in captivity. The key, she thought, was to avoid conflagration…Rules existed for a reason: if you followed them, you would succeed; if you didn’t, you might burn the world to the ground” (Celeste, 161- Kindle). The curation of these characters by Celeste allows the readers to digest and compare how dangerous the control of society can have over our life and how we think. By comparing how society created something like a virus in Elena’s mind, and how Izzy has fallen apart from the mindset of her mother, it reveals to the readers that although this novel also ends in tragedy, that by non-conformity, Izzy found freedom despite being put down for her differences.

    As active members of our given society, as mentioned prior, it’s hard to understand how influenced we really are by the society we are surrounded with. The film The Truman Show, provides almost a bird’s eye view in a more literal sense about society’s control. The main character, Truman, is sort of like a gineau pig placed in an experiment in which his artificial life is bound by a tv set, in which the world observes his life when under the control of this made-up society. Although it’s not so made up; Trumans life depicts the nuclear life, one that he is perfectly happy and content in. Being that he was placed into this society since birth, it is all he knows, making it only natural that he is okay with it, “We accept the reality of the world with which we’re presented. It’s as simple as that.” (The Truman Show). Despite this perfect world that revolves around him, he begins to notice blips of imperfection as the actors start to slip up and the set becomes revealed. As he starts to push the boundaries set upon him, he can tell there is more out there of the world. Although he is living comfortably, in the illusion of perfection he is placed in, he struggles to grapple with the idea of leaving this perfect world, “You’re afraid, that’s why you can’t leave” (Christof, The Truman Show). He finds the first moments where he can think for himself, despite the control and manipulation of Christof, the creator of this world for Truman, and he is eager to see what this made-up society is shielding him from. With these internal challenges and external societal boundaries placed on Truman, this film has a more positive and motivational outcome as Truman overcomes the influence of this society and its creators. As Truman remains true to himself with his escape from this artificial life, it is something that can be related to the deception we face today. Although Truman had to put up a fight to discover the truth, he was better off for it.

    As we analyze our society of the past, it often feels as though we have broken away from the illusion of perfection it once held. Although many generations have passed since the nuclear family, the pressure of society continues to infect us as its expectations morph and enter our body before we can recognize it. As we slowly stray away from the standards of the 1950’s, the illusion of perfection still exists, making it important to look inward for growth, but equally important to look outwardly and question what society feeds us. We often view ourselves as the product of the people who raised us and the things we have experienced; in striving to leave the world better than we found it, we must be brave in calling our society and its illusions into question.

  • 3 in 1

    This is my take on a short story exercise, in which a story contains three stories of three different people were struck by lightning.

    1. The flight attendant. 

    I was thirty thousand feet above Boston when the sky cracked open and found me. 

    It’s funny because I never feared bad weather, I rather enjoyed it. I found thunderstorms and lightning cool, I love the rain when it comes pouring down, I actually find turbulence fun, when it is not dire of course. This makes five years flying for American Airlines, and I was lucky up until that day to say I had never experienced anything dangerous or life threatening as a flight attendant. Maybe I had it coming. 

    I had just served a couple leaving for their honeymoon mimosas, their giddy happiness was palpable. Now I feel for them, knowing they likely never went and may not even think about going on a plane again for years, if not forever. We knew there were storms headed our way; we had a heat wave for the past week that was about to be cut by rain. Summer storms make the best thunderstorms, I was excited. From what we knew, we were safe to depart that day, June 20th. Flights get cancelled all the time for bad weather, if it wasn’t cancelled, I trusted their judgement. Then the flash came. A blinding white vein across the window, followed by a sound that I can still hear. My knees buckled and I folded to the floor; they went numb with adrenaline. That was lightning. Repeating those words in my head yet I still couldn’t believe it. That was lightning and it was far too close for comfort. 

    Panic ensued on the aircraft of course. Flight 620 was struck at the nose of the aircraft, but I had been holding onto the metal cart. It eventually occurred to me that, yes, my adrenaline was taking the driver’s seat on my body, but my knees didn’t just buckle. What I remember most isn’t pain, it was the smell. The smell of burning metal filled the air and burned inside my nose. I should feel lucky, lucky that I am still alive, lucky that I escaped without major injuries. I have a tremor now; there is a chance it will go away with time but there is no guarantee. 

    Somehow, I don’t fear flying. I still fly; I still smile as I do my job. But I now count the seconds between thunder and lightning. Because now I know how fast it travels, how close it can get, and what it feels like to be a conduit. What I fear is the silence that comes before the flash. 

    I can’t go on, that’s all I can write today. I hope these journalling exercises work, I don’t want to fear the weather I loved the most. 

    Sincerely, Arden 

    2. The Veterinarian. 

    I knew on June 20th that it was going to be a hard day at the emergency hospital, but not in the way I had expected. There are certain days of the year where we can count on the fact that there will be an influx of animals coming to our hospital; the 4th of July as animals get scared of the fireworks, Christmas Eve, and during bad weather. 

    At Cape Cod Veterinary Specialists, we planned and staffed accordingly knowing that there was a big storm heading our way. Flood warnings, thunder, and lightning storms usually warrant for dogs that run away from home and get hurt, horses under distress, we even once had an alpaca come through our hospital. You name it, we have seen it all. The rain began around noon, and by 2pm we were already arms deep in patients that we would have to start diverting new patients soon. It was at that point that we had gotten a call for a golden retriever that had run out of the home scared of the thunder and lightning and was struck by a car. He was unresponsive but still alive and was in critical condition, he would need to be taken out of the owner’s car and carried to the back to be seen immediately. By the time they arrived, although we had plenty of nurses on, I knew I was likely the strongest and would be able to carry him in the fastest, so I went out there myself. I lunged out of the front doors and remember feeling the warm rain pelt my skin. Within seconds I was soaked. The husband and wife were frantic as they opened the trunk and can barely speak through their tears. We all felt the preciousness of time as the trunk opens slowly, each of us cursing the stupid electric opening trunks.

    Time is of the essence, and in hindsight, that feels all the more true. Not only for that dog, but if it had opened any faster, perhaps I would have had the dog in my hands and through those doors. As soon as the trunk was open enough for me to get my body hunched inside to reach for the dog, I was numbed with a zing of pain the entered and spread throughout my body. 

    They said I screamed. I don’t remember that. I don’t remember much of what came after that, my mind likely erasing the horror of those moments. I had burns on palm and a tremor in my right leg for months. The dog unfortunately didn’t live, and I don’t know how to live with that. I have been in this career for 25 years now, and I have lost many patients. Working in an emergency hospital, you are faced with many sad losses, but for some reason this is that hardest one. All that I can live with was that I didn’t send out one of the nurses. 

    3. The Psychologist.

    I was on sabbatical visiting family in Massachusetts. After my divorce, I needed time to make sense of what my life had become and everything it wasn’t. Being around family might have been a bad choice, but I thought at first that their support would help. Instead, I have unwarranted opinions and the expectation that I am supposed to know how to handle the mental load since I am a psychologist. I need my own psychologist because of them. 

    Since I couldn’t meet my therapist this week, I went hiking instead to get away from them. The sky was clear when I started but it wasn’t when I reached the ridge. I remember thinking, this is what grief feels like. The clouds rolled in fast, like a mood swing. I didn’t hear thunder, I just saw white. Then black. 

    I woke up in the hospital with an unfamiliar face and my mother. They say I was unconscious for seven minutes. The unfamiliar face was a camper who found me twitching beside a scorched tree.

    The recovery has been slow; it has been a few weeks now that I have had what’s called aphasia. I can’t find words for simple things, so I began recording myself and listening to the gaps in my own cognition. I find it both terrifying and fascinating. Terrified that I will always be this way and fascinated by what that means for the connections in my brain; that’s part of why I fell in love with my career. I don’t know when I will go back to work and it hurts that I couldn’t escape the pain, that it only got worse when I didn’t think it could get any worse. But if there is one thing I have learned, it is that the brain is a forest after lightning. Some trees die, some grow stronger, and some bloom in ways they never could before. 

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  • Hill Street

    I imagine our neighbors look at our house and imagine we are quite alright, well off perhaps. It is weird to be grateful for this big, beautiful home, but equally feel just as burdened by it. We once did have it all, it wasn’t always a matter of feeling we play pretend. After years of sacrifice, the fruits of our labor were earned, until they were stripped from us by one small mistake. A mistake we couldn’t see or recognize, one that hid within the walls of this house, one misjudgment that has kept us chained to this house and drained of all the money my parents hard work had earned. Every day, we walk out of the house with our shiny purses and pretty clothes that we once could afford. Only now, it feels like we play dress up. They see a young and bright young woman, walking out of her privileged home, in her privileged neighborhood, to maybe leave and spend her money, or even her parents’ money, on a daily coffee or expensive dinner. Instead, I drive to the end of hill street where the big open field stays. I escape our big home that no matter how much I try to make the rooms their own pocket of peace, they are rather a constant reminder of the well we are at the bottom of with no rope to climb out of. I watch the sun set cast over the field of bay state. I am always surprised when the cows are at the edge of the gate rather than anywhere else in the 5 acres of land. I hop out of my car and walk up as they eye me wearily. They say you can see the soul of the cow in its eyes, and in these moments, I believe that to be true. Yet here the cow is trapped behind this gate, in the beautiful 5 acres of land that many cows would dream of too. These cows don’t know it yet, but all the same they will be slaughtered eventually too. I look into the baby cows’ eyes softly as I creep closer, but it doesn’t move, perhaps less conditioned to be scared of humans. I reach my hand out, and it touches me too. The last bit of sun blasts now before disappearing, and we both wonder what we will do. The dark brings fear and wonder all the same, of what they next day will become.

  • The Lake of Mind: Why I Write.

    Writing began as an escape for me- a quiet rebellion against the chaos of constant change. It began as therapy, a way to release the thoughts that made me feel claustrophobic in my own head. As a young girl moving frequently with my family due to financial struggles, I was never grounded in one school long enough to feel stable in my learning and education. That instability impacted my learning, and I had to fight to catch up- arriving early, staying late, and spending weekends with tutors. It took many years, but discovering my learning style led to an understanding of where my passions lay. The sciences had always fascinated me, biology primarily, and the thrill of reading and writing I recognized then has been an anchor for me. I worked hard to excel in the sciences, but writing felt like something deeper- something innate. No matter how it has shown up in my life, it has been the best way I feel I can articulate my thoughts, feelings, and ideas.

    Now as a young adult, I stand at a crossroads like many my age, perhaps even all ages. The options, decisions, and paths that lay before me each offer different opportunities, but which one is the right one? It has led me to consider, and reconsider, who am I? I eventually discovered the idea of The Lake of Mind. At the very bottom of your lake is your true self. Rising in depth from the bottom then becomes your inner voice, your secrets, your mythology, your story, your persona, your daily life, and your sensory experience at the surface. Writing helps me dive into that lake. It lets me explore the layers of who I am, articulate the images, feelings, and thoughts that otherwise remain submerged.

    While I pursue an education in Marine Biology, I also continue to dive into my passion for writing as a minor. In the sciences, I find writing to be one of my greatest assets. I want to use this skill in my future career as a way to spread information effectively, to communicate the importance of my findings clearly, and articulate my thoughts successfully. With that, I also want to continue to pursue my passion for writing creatively. This blog is the beginning of my portfolio where I can grow, connect, and interact with anyone who may oblige. It is a place where I’ll share my thoughts, stories, creativity, and reflections- bringing the words that reside in my mind to paper. With gaining this experience, exposure, and opportunity of constructive criticism, I hope to build a freelance writing career, offering my skills to clients who need compelling content, thoughtful storytelling, emotionally resonant writing, or conforming to unique needs. Whether it is crafting articles, ghostwriting, or contributing to conservation-focused projects, I want my words to serve a purpose beyond myself.

    This is the start of something meaningful. A place where thoughts meet paper, where I continue to explore the depths of the Lake of Mind, and maybe encourage others to touch the bottom of their own Lake of Mind.