Nov 16, 2008 22:22
I remember my first day at the Smithsonian as though it happened yesterday. I arrived super early and remember being utterly amazed at how far I had gotten. Just two days earlier, I had arrived in Washington and settled into my apartment. The whole romance of the city was swirling around me. I was excited to be working so close to the Washington Monument and the Capitol Building. And I remember how in awe I was at being able to WORK at the Smithsonian! As I sat in the lobby of the second floor, on the Madison Street entrance, waiting for the Intern Coordinator to come and introduce me to the next stage in my life, I remember thinking how special the American History Museum was. I sat wondering just how very few people get to experience what I was about to experience. I remember that darkened lobby, and studied everything about it. How there were separate entrances, how the security guards were everywhere, how the information desk sat lonely in the middle of a rather bare lobby. The few short minutes in which I waited for a new chapter in my life to begin, I began to think of all the events that led up to that moment, and of what would be in store for me.
I also remember my last day at the American History Museum, and remember how sad I felt walking out that day. With my things in tow, I reflected upon all the research and work I had accomplished in that short time, and didn't think it was fair that I couldn't continue the work I had dedicated 8 months of my life. I remember being excited for full-time work, but lamented that it didn't involve that museum. I said goodbye to the many people I had worked with, promising to stay in touch when I knew deep down it would be one of the last times I'd see any of them.
And while I went through a transformation during the 8 months working there, the Museum itself went through a transformation. I began working there just as the museum was getting ready to close for two years of major renovations. The museum itself was laid out in a very unorganized way, and the dark wood paneling channeled a bad 1950s bachelor pad. Basically, the space did not do the collections justice. So during my brief tenure, the museum closed to the public and slowly went through an extensive de-installation process. And this process was part of the reason I was hired on after my internship technically ended. The museum had a long way to go as far as renovations were concerned by the time I left. And just as the museum sat unfinished, I felt that in a way my work at American History was incomplete, and that I had a long way to go in my career.
I can't believe it's been over two years since I started, and today I got to go back to the museum to see how things have changed. I was invited back to a sneak-peak of the Museum before it officially opens to the public on Friday. And just as I had done two years before, I entered in from the Madison street entrance, but found a starkly different place. I tried to imagine and place how things had looked when I first laid eyes on the museum, and it was like looking at it for the first time. The renovations are gorgeous! The entire place is well lit and seems more fitting to hold America's treasures. The state-of-the-art exhibits were wet-dreams for many of the curators. As I walked around with my friend and former intern, Holly, we tried picturing how things looked two years ago. We walked around the crowds saying things like "this is where the intern office used to be" or "didn't this use to be storage?" At one point, we turned a corner to find an exhibit that was left practically untouched during the renovations. But during the closure, and during my internship, it house ALL the left-over jazz posters. I went to that area nearly every day to organize the posters, and came up with a method to organizing all the left-over jazz promotion pieces. And as we walked around that area, all I could think of was "where did they put all those posters?" To us, we went really just to compare the changes and transformation from what we remember to how it looks now. We marveled at the exhibits, but in the sense that we helped create the exhibits, and to marvel at the small, insignificant legacy we tried to leave behind.
I felt really nostalgic wandering around, and lamented a bit at how small my contribution to that place seemed now. I tried to leave a mark with my work, but could not really find it. There were hardly any jazz materials up, and I started to feel a bit sad knowing the place that literally transformed my life bared no resemblance to what it used to be. Any trace of how it looked when I was there was gone, along with my 8 months of hard work.
But while the physical space was unfamiliar and new, the faces I encountered certainly were not. I ran into so many people I worked with at the museum, that it came to the point where nearly every corner I turned, another staff member came up and said hello. Ken Kimery, the head of the jazz orchestra, came up and gave me a big hug. There were a number of people I worked with daily on Jazz Appreciation Month, and they were all there. And all gave me a hug when they saw me. Hell, even the director of the whole museum recognized me! I had lunch with him once, and worked with him briefly with Jazz Appreciation Month. Here's a man that deals with many faces (including Stephen Colbert's, since he's done a few appearances on his show), and when I saw him at the entrance, he said "why hello! It's so great to see you! Thanks for coming." All the staff I worked with remembered me. Walking around, seeing the exhibits, made me feel as though my contribution and hard work were nowhere to be seen in those shiny, glossy hallways. But running into so many former colleagues made me realize that I DID make an impact on that place.
The museum's renovations may be finished, but I somehow feel that my connection there isn't. And I hope that connection never fades. My career has just begun, and maybe one day it will lead me back to those shiny, brand-new hallways.