A Brief Introduction to my Internship

            I have the go-ahead to tell you about my internship!! So here goes my attempt at a summary:

I’m working at the Near East and South Asia Center for Strategic Studies this semester as an Outreach Assistant for the Communications Office. As I understand it, NESA is a Department of Defense funded organization that has the two primary roles of housing experts on relevant regions and issues and holding seminars that bring together officials from the NESA region of the world to talk about topical issues. For example, we are nearing the end of a two-week long seminar on combating transnational threats that has attracted 52 foreign officials who have been invited by their various embassies.

            I specifically intern for the Communications office, meaning my current responsibilities include documenting the seminar via photos and written summaries. I sit in on the lectures and take notes for my own research and for synopses distributed on the website. Then, during coffee breaks, off-site visits, and free moments, I take pictures of the participants looking studious, interacting with NESA staff and lecturers, and connecting with one another.

            To be honest, it was kind of uncomfortable in the beginning. Here I am, a 20-year old girl bouncing around with my Cannon, the loud shutter sound echoing and flash attachment blinding. Some of the staff have nicknames for me when I’m in photo-mode, “photo fairy,” “the paparazzi,” and “the entourage” are just a few. But what I most feel like is a hunter. (A non-violent, non-threatening, slightly frazzled one, but a hunter nonetheless.) I look around, constantly trying to spot the best grouping of participants, walk softly to avoid attracting attention, lift the clunky camera, and go for the shot.

            Almost all 52 participants seem to love the camera. They request posed pictures in different locations around the office—“like I was the speaker”, “in front of this flag”, “now in front of this one”, “with the view of the river”, etc. Sometimes they even photobomb each other, acting like long-standing friends.

            And that brings me to my favorite part of my job. Every day, I get to interact with people I would never get a chance to meet otherwise—whether they are NESA staff members that are working on The Day After Project in Syria or a Major General from Bangladesh. I get to laugh with them as they pose theatrically for the camera, learn about their countries informally, collect business cards in Arabic, Russian, and Farsi, and be invited to three different countries a day.

            I am continuously surprised by how relaxed the participants are willing to be around me. They are superior in almost all quantifiable ways—age, education, rank, experience—yet there’s little stuffiness, stilted conversations, or put downs. So, after 1-2 hour lectures that leave my head spinning with long mental scrolls of things to research and presumably leave them with a paradigm shift in views towards the US government, we interact as if I were also a participant, laughing and talking about the lectures, the city, and the world.

            And in between conversations and tourism tips about Jordan, Uzbekistan, Armenia, and Lebanon, I hunt for picture-perfect moments for them to cherish upon returning home.

Another Work Day, Another Awesome Commute

 My first non-orientation day at my internship was awesome. I sat in on a fascinating lecture, took oodles of pictures, got to meet some really interesting, insightful people, and learned the Russian word for traffic jam—пробка (probka).

I was at work from 8am to 4pm, meaning it has now been over seventeen hours since I woke up, but my day has left me exhilarated and eager to share my experiences and observations with all of you. Unfortunately, I’m not sure yet exactly how much I can share for now, so until I receive permission, you can look forward to playful behavioral observations, new friendships, and some heavy political questions.

So for today, I’ll take you along on my commute. It begins at six when I frantically scramble to silence my cell phone alarm before completely waking my roommate, Mary Jo. Then it’s a full two minutes of shivering in the shower, as none of the other students in my apartment block have used hot water, so it needs to warm up (both literally and figuratively). Then once I’m lobster red and somewhat awake, this morning with the aide of shampoo in my sleepy eyes, it’s out and into a quick make-up and hair session. Then a jump into my sweater and slack combo (yes, it’s at least business casual every day), a quick fumble in my room for everything—purse, badge, key, notebook, coat. Then out the door—oh! Forgot shoes, okay now out the door.

Clicking and clacking down N street to Wisconsin, I greet dog walkers and the occasional jogger alike while my velveteen wedges hit the bricks, sending echoes off of pastel-colored townhouses. Then onto the bus at Dumbarton and Wisconsin, for a ride to 7^th and SW Jefferson, followed by a rushed walk along 7^th over the National Mall to L’enfant to catch the shuttle.

“Good morning sir, good morning ma’am, how are you doing this morning? Yes, I wish it would clear up. Oh, we’re getting some snow tomorrow? Wow, better hope it doesn’t affect the inauguration. Mind if I sit here? Thank you.”

A bumpy ride down to the Potomac waterfront, and I have arrived. Through the scanner, “hello ma’am how are you doing today? Oh, I’m just fine, thank you for asking. Have a great day!” Then up to my office to learn what I’ll be doing on my first real day.

At four pm, it’s the reverse. A more subdued shuttle ride, then a relaxed stroll across the mall to catch my 36 bus. With no real rush, and protesting feet, sometimes even relaxed is too strong of a word to describe my molasses-like pace crossing the wide zebra-marked crosswalks of Constitution and Pennsylvania Avenues. But my lead-footed plod breeds remarkable prizes.

I look over the crowd control barriers in one direction and could see the Capitol, in the other the Washington Monument. To my left is the Smithsonian building, still beautiful even in the midst of construction and renovations. As I continue, I take a short detour through the Sculpture Garden, which has had its central fountain turned into an ice skating rink where children, and one very graceful man, were twirling, daring to skate backwards, and laughing in the cold air. A little bit further along, a beautiful view of the glass-fronted Newseum with its prominent inaugural-banners.  And then across from my bus stop, the imposing, statuesque National Archives, impressive despite the bleachers placed in front of its four statues marking the future, past, heritage, and guardianship.

This city is sometimes overly steeped in history, politics, and self-importance, pressing down the yoke of expectations, connections, and nepotism upon your shoulders. But it’s a certain type of wonderful to be able to take in global iconic sites during my daily commute. With such a connection to one of the hearts of today’s world, how could I help but to be rejuvenated, inspired, and empowered?

If it was hard to get the visual from my description, here are a few photos I took on my way home:

On my right, the Washington Monument

On my left, the Capitol

My favorite sculpture at the Sculpture Garden (lamp post not included)

The National Archives.

This City Runs on Interns (And Giant Portions of Chocolate Cake)

 I am exhausted. (In fact, so tired that I’m afraid I will fall asleep at this table and this post will end with nonsense letter combinations banged out by my forehead hitting the laptop.) But I will persevere to talk about my first day as an intern in DC.

            Everyone who works in DC says, “this city runs on interns.” Then they give me an encouraging smile, hinting that the city or at least my organization would collapse without the work of unpaid student workers such as myself. And those words are certainly encouraging, to a point.

            But today, after my feet and fingers were numb from the misty rain shrouding the city, after failing to appropriately choose which metro/bus combination would get me to my office on time, after a (well-deserved but still gut-wrenching) lecture from the security guard at my building about always carrying multiple forms of proper identification, meeting what seemed like hundreds of people, being heartily intimidated by the site of an office building filled with extremely fit coast guard officers, and walking over four miles in heels and a suit in the now horrifyingly ugly barrier and bleacher-filled downtown area, I was feeling too pathetic to run my own life, let alone a whole city.

            But then came the chocolate cake. Well more appropriately, then came dinner sponsored by Carnegie Mellon Center for International Relations and Politics for the eleven of us participating in the Semester in Washington Program. The lovely Katie organized this gathering for us, as a way to bond as a group and to show that we have support from CMU even though we may actually be studying at another university, but also to just relax and swap stories about our first week at Georgetown, and first day as interns.

            We ate at Old Ebbitt Grill, a institution with roots trailing back beyond the 1820s, but now a beautiful, spacious, popular restaurant and bar on fifteenth street right across from the National Press Club. It was decadent, filled with suited and coifed professionals, and utterly delicious. With a menu starring parmesan trout, salmon, kobe beef sandwiches, truffle mac and cheese, an impressive oyster bar, and absolutely divine crab cakes, we couldn’t help but feel sophisticated and slightly worldly as we talked and joked in the marble atrium-like space. And the food was to die for. I went for classic favorites—super creamy, flavor-packed clam chowder, baseball sized crab cakes (advertised as 95% crab meat, with “just enough filler to keep it together”), and to finish, a monster of a chocolate layer cake. (While not quite competition for the flourless chocolate cake my sister and I made two weeks ago (recipe to come in future post), it was pretty darn good, and sweet enough to induce thoughts of cozy sweaters and a warm fire place.)

As I ate it, I found myself becoming increasingly drowsy as food coma began to set in, but also more comfortable with the chaos of my day. My hair may have been frizzy after the rain, the balls of my feet weeping after the long walk to the restaurant, my fingers just barely regaining feeling, and my mind spinning with names and floor plans I was already forgetting, but my heart rate was finally slowing, I was calming down, and my spirit was replenished.

            But now, I’m now utterly shattered. Literally staring down the short hallway of my apartment to my bedroom door wondering if I can make it—maybe if I crawl on all fours... or roll... But, I’m not upset that I’m tired. Rather, I’m invigorated. I already love my organization, despite the first day’s troubles. I know that through my internship, I’m going to have opportunities to meet and talk with people I never would otherwise get to know, including professors with expertise in regional and topical areas I love to study. The entire staff is welcoming and friendly, and I cannot wait to start contributing to the mission of the organization. But, despite these positive conditions, the sheer enormity of the challenge of this semester has started to sink in.

            I’m a student expected to produce top quality work at an excellent university. I’m a young adult in a diverse, historical, fun, unique place I can’t wait to explore further. I’m a self-aware kid with the need to take breaks, zone out, bake, dance, eat decadent chocolate cake, listen to music, or take some time every day to reflect. And I'm also a young intern with a city to help run—although I’m half-convinced it just takes miracles in the form of chocolate cake.

Scavenging for Embassy Admission—A Tale of Heartbreak at Orientation

            This Semester in Washington program I’m participating in at Georgetown University is an odd middle ground in many ways. I am a Georgetown student, but am expected to intern three days a week. I take classes, but they’re taught by faculty who only teach for this program. I live in on-campus housing with full-time students, but I’m only here for the semester. As a result, I feel kind of adrift between many directions, with only the other twenty-one participants to hold onto.

           

            And I met them all on Monday. We had a scavenger hunt as a fun ice-breaker type activity, followed by a delicious hors d’oeurves spread, and introduction to some of our faculty. But it was at the scavenger hunt that I realized how out of my depth I am, despite being from DC.

            Set up by ThingsToDoDC, the scavenger hunt featured iconic, and not so iconic locations for us to find, either gathering items or taking team pictures. Different challenges had different point values, and some locations were much further than others, for instance a picture of the statue of John Carroll on university grounds, or one outside of the White House. With the incentive of free admission to a formal evening at the Italian Embassy to celebrate Valentine’s Day complete with an orchestra, free food, and an open bar, we were all properly motivated.

So we dutifully attempted to persuade stubborn Banana Republic workers to give us a bag, anxiously sought out locations to buy a purple crayon, ran after a man in a suit to surround him and snap a picture, and walked up and down M Street over and over again.

We had spent the two hours inefficiently, laughing at our confusion, and anxiously consulting smart phones every step of the way, so I was not shocked to hear that we had not won.  Disheartened because I felt like I had the home-court advantage, I gritted my teeth and congratulated the winning team, secretly half-hoping that one of them might get sick and allow me to take their place (I am a complete international geek, so embassy events are to be coveted.) I couldn’t help but calculate what we could have done to get more points.

            But, after some reflection yesterday, I have come to the conclusion that not knowing my way around, getting lost en route to the simplest of locations on campus, and just in general feeling kind of clueless is to be embraced. It means I have so much to learn, seek out and explore. And I simply can’t wait.

First Year Jitters All Over Again

            I’m taking a break from Carnegie Mellon next semester, interning part-time and taking classes at Georgetown University in Washington, DC. I didn’t anticipate being overly nostalgic, but I also didn’t expect to be so nervous. After all, DC is my hometown and I am totally and utterly convinced that this is the right program for me. 

            But, to be honest I’m kind of terrified. For me, this is truly the beginning of my venture into true adulthood. And so I’ve been trying to reflect on previous experiences and gain some wisdom from my previous new beginnings….

I will never forget my third night at Carnegie Mellon. It was orientation—a non-stop, loud, regimented week of activities meant to bond us to our colleges and dorms and brainwash us into remembering spirited chants until we are 80.

We had all broken out into college groups for dinner and entertainment. True to form, the humanities students had the most formal activity. For us, it was dinner and conversation at the beautiful Carnegie Music Hall, while the scientists had a tour of the aquarium, engineers a game night at Dave and Busters, and I’m sure equally cool plans were arranged for the computer scientists and artists among the class of 2014.

           

I was excited, but anxious. With no way to impress via my ski ball abilities or to bond over how cute penguin waddles are, how was I to make friends? But I did. I just sat at a table with a bunch of other kids and started talking. And I kid you not; it was a scene from a movie. Laughter and conversation as slowly the hall emptied out around us until suddenly we realized we were the only ones left.

            “How wonderful!!” I thought, elated. One evening had confirmed that this college was indeed the place for me. And all my worries about my being the only social fiend in a sea of awkward, antisocial CMU student went flying out the window. We headed from the hall, merrily talking of IM sports and informally planning to form a humanities powerhouse team. Right as we were discussing my position of either sweeper or striker, a call of “heads up” came from beyond us where the athletic, cute CMU frat team was practicing for some sort of soccer tournament. And the ball came rolling towards me slowly, so why not show off a little?

            I took two steps to clear the ball all the way back to them, aiming to playfully pass it to the cute one smiling at me. And…

planted my foot in mud, slipping up in the air like a cartoon character victim to a strategically placed banana peel. I’m sure I was suspended for at least a full minute, before hurtling to the ground in front of my new friends and those I had been trying to impress.

            No one knew what to do or say. My cheeks were flaming and I wished I could just sink through the dreaded mud that had been the problem in the first place. And then, I started laughing. Hysterically.

It only made things worse. The others didn’t know whether to feel pity, make a joke out of it, or help me. So with tears streaming down my flushed face and an oddly springy step, I headed home to shower and try and get mud out of my best skirt. And I wish I could say we did form that soccer team and dominate the league, or even that we all met up again. But, frankly as soon as I see any of them coming, I head down a different hallway, avoid eye contact, hope they mistake me for another average brunette on campus. More than three years later, I think about that interaction with mortification wishing it had been different. And then I wonder what difference it would make.

Knowing me, my clumsiness would have won out eventually and they’d get to know me for my true, overly gregarious, spontaneous, clumsy self. And perhaps that’s the message I need for this next beginning looming just ahead in 2013.