selfie sunday no. twelve

*southern belle accent*
I tell you what, this week wore me out.
*end irresistibly charming accent*

It was a doozy. One for the books.

I went on a couple of dates with pleasant company. I attended my first happy hour gathering where there were three Hannahs, two of whom were celebrating their birthday that day. It was my second week of work, and it actually felt like work. I bonded with roommates over garlic and kale. My best friend made a very, very important decision, and though overwhelmed, I couldn't be more proud of her. I shared a pitcher of sangria with a new friend, who I met at Bonnaroo and now call a neighbor. I made photographs I was proud of.  I flew to Knoxville for my dear friend's birthday (and the outlandish party he threw), and enjoyed being around my people.

and now I am home.

Ready for another week of who knows what.

Songs you should play: 4th and Roebling, Young Blood and Funeral Beds by The Districts, Prisoner and Losers by The Weeknd, and We Were Here by BOY

selfie sunday no. eleven

They warned me that I would get asked about my job by everyone I met.

"What do you do?"

"Where do you work?"
"Did you move for a job?"

I sigh a little bit every time, at the predictable inevitabilities. Then realize I'm just as curious about them, so I stifle the sigh. *breathe in*

"I work with a nonprofit called Food Recovery Network," I tell them (whoever they are.) And depending on how engaged they seem, I'll either stop there and smile or continue my explanation. Since you're here, I'm assuming you're curious, so I'll just keep going? You can always stop right now, in case you actually aren't interested. But boo on you. Why are you even here? Just kidding, thank you for being here at all. We all appreciate your existence. 

FRN is a national organization composed of 150 chapters, each of which is located on a college/university campus. Those students are fighting food waste and hunger in their communities. They work out a plan with their campus dining providers to take leftover foods to local soup kitchens/churches (or things of that sort; there's quite a variety.)  

As a member support fellow, it's my responsibility to check in monthly with 31 different chapter leaders to make sure everything is going according to plan. I exist to encourage their efforts, push them to reach new goals and act as a liaison between them and the national office. 

My desk, in the national office, is situated between two other ladies named Hannah. In fact, it's not an individual desk but half of a two-person desk that is a section of a square where eight of us have computers. There's another grouping of four computers and two independent computers. So right now there are 14 of us in the office. A 15th person might be on the way. I'm not sure. 

We work 40 hours a week. Isn't that crazy? I have an actual adult Monday through Friday 9-5 job. Except, only kind of. My supervisors decided, once upon a time, to instill a "Flex Friday" schedule. That means that I get to take every other Friday off, assuming I make up the four hours some other time in the two-week period. (I think that math is correct. I'm still not convinced I understand the system.) We have meetings and send emails and color coordinate our calendars and eat lunch together and groan simultaneously when the Internet stops working. 

I'm thrilled to be at FRN. Really, truly thrilled. It seems like the most wonderful stepping stone between graduation and whatever the future holds. I suspect in nine months — when the fellowship ends — I'll be more equipped to make career decisions. Because I'm still not sure why I didn't pursue journalism.

I thought I wanted to be an editorial magazine photographer (or editorial assistant or anything in magazines.) I spent my last year of school assuming my future was headed in that direction. Pete Finch and Hannah Margaret Allen were my role models. Then, on somewhat of a whim, I attended the Food Waste and Hunger Summit in Athens, Georgia, and everything changed. 



For years, my life goal has been to always be able to feed the people I care about. Note the symbolic photograph of a pot of soup as my "selfie" this week. When I learned of all the initiatives doing just that, my focus shifted from magazines to feeding strangers. And as much as I miss working at a daily newspaper and being the editor-in-chief of a magazine class, I'm 100% satisfied knowing that tomorrow I'll sit in an office as part of an organization that embodies my life goal. 

xo, hc

ps: if you have any questions, shoot me an email: hannahcatherr@gmail.com
pps: if you want to listen to my favorite song of the week: Lady of the Desert by Rayland Baxter

selfie sunday no. ten

I have a pet mosquito.

Our relationship is not healthy. As I scratch at one of the ten bites on my body, I plot her death. Sure, she may not be the source for all of the itchy discomfort, but she needs to be squished. Why did she have to leave her extended family on the porch and move into my space? The chances of a tasty treat are slim, considering there's only one person occupying the bedroom versus all the people walking through the front door. "GO EAT SOMEONE ELSE" I mumble, aggressively, as she somehow manages to miss my swat. Where did she even go!? Sneaky mosquito.

You're not here to read about my mosquito mistress? You want to know what's happening in my life? Huh, that's weird. But, I mean, alright. Like, uh, I guess I can clue you in.

It's been a week since I packed up the car and drove 10 hours to DC. I pulled up in front of the row house on Kansas Avenue, where three of my six roommates greeted me with smiles and helped unload my stuff. (I dunno where the other three were, they aren't assholes, just busy bees.) My bedroom, aka Miss Mosquito's haven, is the first one on the second floor. You take 12 squeaky steps, then three less squeaky steps and my room is on the left. The windows face south, and there's plenty of room for activities. I couldn't ask for a better place to rest my head each night for the next 12 months. (Except something tells me I'll be doing a lot of traveling this year, so maybe not eeeeeevery night.)

Y'know when you move and you get that "in a new bed" feeling? You fall asleep imagining the potential of your new life, and you wake up surprised by your surroundings. That's probably one of my favorite feelings. It's why I like to travel so much. Each morning this week, I woke reveling in that newness, overjoyed by the possibilities. I did my best to get out, to explore my surroundings, so here's a bulleted list of my adventures (cuz dat grammar wuz 'bout to get ruh-dic-uh-lus):
- joined DC Bike Party and traveling through the city with 1,000 people
- played in a ball pit with a giant, surrounded by chaotic children
- walked through the zoo and indulged in confectionaries
- cut about three inches of hair off
- ate chicken feet (woa) and pork belly at Eat's Place, a "food incubator and restaurant accelerator"
- sat on a porch, listening to songs about Bernie and Jesus
- rode my bike to the grocery store

It was my last week of summer. It felt like an entire summer in seven days. It was the best way to transition to this new life, which is something I've done three times: starting college, studying abroad for six months and now this. Knoxville was easy; I had a crew of friends and classes to take. The move to Utrecht needed some bravery. I carried a suitcase and my curiosity across the Atlantic Ocean to a culture that marginally resembled my own. It only took a week to learn to not walk in the bike lanes and to say "dankjewel" after buying groceries at Albert Heijn, but it never truly felt like home. Maybe that's because it never was going to be home. I didn't mind.

With those two transitions behind me, I knew I could take on DC. The conversations I overhear are predominately in English (but also in Spanish and French and Chinese and a slew of others because this city is international.) There's cell service everywhere (except for in the metro tunnels.) The social opportunities are limitless (but I don't feel guilty for watching all of True Detective.) Basically, there are a lot of ways that I feel in my element, even if I'm not 100% sure what this element is.

This is a photo of my latest tattoo. (It's still healing, so it looks a bit wonky.) I don't normally share my new ink with the internet, but I'm making an exception for this one because it's very, very dear to my heart. There's this wonderful woman named Olivia who is full of life and kindness and laughs and overall greatness. Liv brightens any room she enters, and she protects her friends with a fierce loyalty. I have no memories of life before her — she's been my neighbor and one of my best friends for 20 years. That's a really long time, so we decided to commemorate our friendship with "biff tatts." She has a matching one that's just a bit smaller on her back. My house is on the right, hers is the left.

These two houses mean a lot to me. They connect me to someone I would die for, someone I care about with my whole heart aaaand to all the other people who matter to me. I love people in Nashville, Knoxville, Chattanooga, Georgia, Pennsylvania, Washington, Oregon, Montana, California, Australia, France, Germany. I love people all over the world, but not one of them is in DC with me. Surely one day I'll say "I love you" to someone in this city, but until then, I'll keep looking at these houses and sending love all over the globe.

xoxo, hc