Over the course of this summer and my internship at Erie House, one thing has became ever more clear to me each time I wake up and head to work: any number of individually insignificant factors can decide whether or not it’ll feel like a good day. For example, it could be cloudy but not raining, my bus is on time, and I have an extra minute to grab coffee before I clock in. That’s already a good day. Just as much, if it’s raining without an umbrella, both of my bus rides get delayed, and I have to show up twenty minutes late, that’s kind of a rough start.

Any one of those single elements shouldn’t be enough to make or break a day, but taken together, they pile up quickly. And, of course, that’s just the first hour or two of your standard weekday. If you’re in the habit of noticing things, there will be more of these little factors than a reasonable person would even try to count. So, that begs the question: What do you do when every single part of your otherwise normal day seems to be going wrong?

I suppose you just have to do your best. There’s not much else that can be done. 

Whatever you have to do that day, just try to do it well. Enjoy the help of who’s with you. If you’re going solo, just focus on your surroundings, thinking as much as you can about whatever catches your eye (if it’s not something good, keep looking). Eventually, the object of your frustration will only become a smaller part of an otherwise normal day. Maybe something better or worse will happen later, but that’s not happening in the moment.

• by Lucas Lennen, Erie Neighborhood House

Photo credit: Shirley Heinze Land Trust

As my internship continues, I continue looking for a purpose big enough to dominate my life. I’ve always loved reading and since childhood, narratives of grand proportions filled my head, so much so that I’ve come to expect my purpose to be similar to the same characters that had
populated my life. Frequently I find myself looking for a purpose big enough to dominate my own life or appear on some metaphorical horizon. I had expected to see something like a summer thunderhead marching across the sky, or maybe something far away but with a promise of grandeur like the Chicago skyline as seen from the Indiana Dunes National Park.

This summer, and especially the CAPS internship has set my mind on a future that I am
typically happy to ignore. My previous blog post mainly talked about my refusal to truly think
about vocation in a real sense, but I’ve realized that I have been expecting a lot out of myself
unconsciously. That looming purpose, I now realize, was meant to be just that, looming and out
of reach. An imposing storm front that would never rain, and a city that would always be
shrouded in mist. A thing that is always there to look at and admire, but I could never touch the
clouds, or wander the far away city. To be honest, I’m a little disappointed in myself as I have
always left the infinite to others, and to the realm of impossibility for me.

As I considered the issue more, I realized that I associate that huge imposing cloud with works
and people who I admire the most, but don’t personally know and probably do not entirely
understand. Things and people who have pointed to or embodied something bigger than myself.
Therefore, I cannot or will not attempt to reach it. Unfortunately, the irony of this situation was
lost to me until I relatively recently. By separating myself from these big things I’ve also made
myself relatively isolated, and less able to connect with the immediate things which populate my
life. I’ve also denied myself the opportunity to grow or stretch beyond my perceived limitations.

Recently, I have been reading Ted Kooser’s Kindest Regards and the author’s focus on the
beauty of locality has steered in another direction. With the help of Kooser, it has become more
apparent to me that those little kernels of meaning and beauty that can be found anywhere
contain storm clouds, and the seemingly small things will swell to the size of hurricanes if given
the chance.

To be honest, I’m not sure what to do with this realization. I certainly don’t have all the answers
right now, but I am part excited, and part nervous about what my life may look like going
forward. In the meantime, I’ll make sure to be more aware of the kernels which keep piling up.
As for a concise and satisfying conclusion? I’ll leave that for the next internship which is only a
short Junior year away.

-Korbin Opfer, Shirley Heinze Land Trust Intern