Staff Mess, Part II

I spent five summers at Camp Roger, and I spent each one grateful for the trustworthy and reliable leaders I had there. Which makes my introduction to another kind of institutional politics at Woodstock that much more jarring. I'm a volunteer for the year, which means that I get a tiny monthly stipend, instead of a modest salary. It doesn't mean, I've discovered, that I get any extra appreciation, freedom, or time off to travel than salaried staff. I came here understanding that I'd get roughly one weekend off a month, and since the second week of school I've joined other young dorm staff in debating with our supervisors about why they shouldn't take away all of those weekends off.

I've already spent too much time complaining about these things here, but to be honest with you folks at home, I should tell you I've been strugglig with this. One on level, I'm trying to find the balance between complaining too much and letting my self get screwed by being too passive. At the same time, I'm trying to constructively address these things and get them resolved while not letting the administrative mess consume more of my attention than it deserves.

I keep reminding myself that working with boys should give me enough satisfaction to ride out these other frustrations. Each time I do, though, it sounds a little trite and I remember that it remains a difficult job to learn and relax in. I work with a hundred and one boys, and I don't have the social energy to connect with them all. It's tough to find a balance between enjoying the rapport I've found with some of them and hunting for connection with the ones who don't think they need me. I'm usually happy when I'm with them, but there's still plenty I'm unsure about.

I don't want to perceive myself as victimized. I really don't. To dwell on injustices I've received seems one of the worst ways to respond to the gifts I've received. And, honestly, I haven't been. I've given my work schedule and the inconsistencies of my supervisors too much attention, but they haven't crippled me here.

This is a pretty disjointed entry, I know. It lacks quirky Indian anecdotes, stories, and any descriptions of physical things. I've neglected to tell you about the mountain (Nag Tibba, 3000 meters) that I climbed last weekend with some students and teachers. It's just tough to know whether it's more truthful to describe mountains and temples that I've seen or to confess frustrations with mundane stuff. Now I really don't want to wrap things up too tidily with a lame English major-ey observation, but I'm trying to say things truthfully, and my uncertainty about writing on this blog mirrors how I feel about life and work at Woodstock. Here too I'm getting by, moving along, but I haven't found my best stride.