This is what my family now says about me. "Cultured" is everything I've never wanted to be. It's that child who can chat you up about Stravinsky but doesn't know when to stop.
The there's the stereotype; that art has survived because it is soft and pretty. And that the artist has a low emotional threshold. Don't touch them; don't show them anything ugly. They may cry. I was not draw to writing because it was pretty. The first play I ever loved was Julius Caesar. I had grown up on Japanese Anime, swords, and martial arts. I was the product of being raised around boys. I had a brother and most of my best friends when I were little were boys.
Julius Caesar appealed to be because it was violent. And it wasn't just the idea of seeing someone stabbed in the back; it was all the subtle plotting-that idea of revenge-on which I latched. And from there, I went to Greek tragedy. Then Hemingway taught me that desperation doesn't need to be physically violent. Anime was always about the "undoing" of a character, beneath all of the gore. My goal as a writer was, ultimately, to make the character vulnerable. And any character can be deconstructed.
But this is besides the point. Literature and music are not just violent; they're dirty. Shakespeare, Joyce, and even Mozart had their appeal, primarily, because they appealed to humans in their animalistic sense. Be it through subtle sexual innuendos, or the not-so-subtle phalanx symbol in Don Giovanni, plays and operas appeal to the "groundlings". Because these are the traits that transcend custom and generational bounds. Take that away from literature, and you get a book that is written flawlessly, but has no substance. Take that away from music, and you get an Offenbach symphony.
The artist does not get by on noise alone. He or she is violent, primal, on sexual. But he or she also has the ability to disguise it as pretty noise. And that's what people see first.
On that note, I'm going to listen to ballet.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Don't Ask, Do Tell
We'd like to think that we live in a democracy. We operate as a republic. We'd like to view our history as a series of triumphs by and for the people, the kind of struggles that my cousin made a career out of writing about. So we like to make any and every issue we can open to a vote. Not doing so goes against the fabric of the nation; it is anti-American. However, certain facets in human nature, namely, in the case I'm about discuss, the fear of what is different, will prevent us from making a decision that ultimately serves our interest. As a result, our vote hurts us in the long run.
In a perfect society, we could put every issue up to a vote, and rest assured that every opinion would be completely unbiased. Unfortunately, we are and will always be imperfect. And so we sometimes must be protected from our own nature. This is the case with civil rights.
We have put LGBT rights up to a vote in several states, hoping that the public will bolt the closet open when it's ready. The result of those efforts is that 39 states currently do not support gay marriage. A military officer can still be fired for disclosing his or her sexuality.
Civil rights efforts in the past were not successful because they were put up to a vote. They were successful because they used force. They would have their rights, and they wouldn't see otherwise. That meant refusing to sit in the back of the bus. It also meant finding one key figure who knows how to get a point across, but is also non-threatening enough to be identifiable with people who normally wouldn't consider patronizing the gay rights movement. That is, the LGBT community needs its own Martin Luther King. A few figures have come close (i.e Harvey Milk), but none have become universal symbols of the community.
Only when those rights are won can we begin to educate. Just as we are taught to respect other students, regardless of their ethnicity, religion, or skin color, (and that experimentation with religion, or conversion to another, is also okay), we need to be taught to respect others for their sexuality and how they choose to express it (as in clothing choices or their partner(s). When we have been taught to respect sexuality in others, we can learn to accept it in ourselves. And that means a society that is more open to experimentation, and even sexual fluctuations. We may not always be permanently gay, straight, or bisexual. Only when we realize that our desires change can we be subconsciously satisfied.
Ideally, a society should be devoid of labels. There should be no gay, straight, transgender, or bisexual-only sexual. Just as there would be no race, religion, (or anything else John Lennon may have imagined). But, because we think in terms of what we are not, we will label (i.e "He likes men. He is gay. I'm straight. I'm labeling him to describe how he is different"). And we either take solace in our own label, or we learn to fear the other label. A gay man might take pride in being gay, and a straight man might be afraid of homosexuality. Regardless of label, however, sexuality is a part of our nature. It is as fundamentally human as race. And it's not going anywhere. So if we learn to come to terms with it, and not spend our energy fighting it, we will be a more content society that is able to devote our time to other matters. We will have a bigger, more skilled army because we're not turning away gay soldiers. We will be able to tackle global warming or the deficit sooner because we're not discussing gay marriage. And you have my vote on that.
In a perfect society, we could put every issue up to a vote, and rest assured that every opinion would be completely unbiased. Unfortunately, we are and will always be imperfect. And so we sometimes must be protected from our own nature. This is the case with civil rights.
We have put LGBT rights up to a vote in several states, hoping that the public will bolt the closet open when it's ready. The result of those efforts is that 39 states currently do not support gay marriage. A military officer can still be fired for disclosing his or her sexuality.
Civil rights efforts in the past were not successful because they were put up to a vote. They were successful because they used force. They would have their rights, and they wouldn't see otherwise. That meant refusing to sit in the back of the bus. It also meant finding one key figure who knows how to get a point across, but is also non-threatening enough to be identifiable with people who normally wouldn't consider patronizing the gay rights movement. That is, the LGBT community needs its own Martin Luther King. A few figures have come close (i.e Harvey Milk), but none have become universal symbols of the community.
Only when those rights are won can we begin to educate. Just as we are taught to respect other students, regardless of their ethnicity, religion, or skin color, (and that experimentation with religion, or conversion to another, is also okay), we need to be taught to respect others for their sexuality and how they choose to express it (as in clothing choices or their partner(s). When we have been taught to respect sexuality in others, we can learn to accept it in ourselves. And that means a society that is more open to experimentation, and even sexual fluctuations. We may not always be permanently gay, straight, or bisexual. Only when we realize that our desires change can we be subconsciously satisfied.
Ideally, a society should be devoid of labels. There should be no gay, straight, transgender, or bisexual-only sexual. Just as there would be no race, religion, (or anything else John Lennon may have imagined). But, because we think in terms of what we are not, we will label (i.e "He likes men. He is gay. I'm straight. I'm labeling him to describe how he is different"). And we either take solace in our own label, or we learn to fear the other label. A gay man might take pride in being gay, and a straight man might be afraid of homosexuality. Regardless of label, however, sexuality is a part of our nature. It is as fundamentally human as race. And it's not going anywhere. So if we learn to come to terms with it, and not spend our energy fighting it, we will be a more content society that is able to devote our time to other matters. We will have a bigger, more skilled army because we're not turning away gay soldiers. We will be able to tackle global warming or the deficit sooner because we're not discussing gay marriage. And you have my vote on that.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The Sydney Carton Complex
We grow up, naturally, to look up to parents. When we are in any particular dilemma, we think that they can provide our solution. Alternately, they give us someone to emulate (or to oppose completely). Either way, we exist to please or live in spite of them. If we do not learn to sever the tie enough to become our own person, we will continue to need someone to cling to, long after we have grown up and moved into our own homes. Many times, we will cling to friends or lovers. They become our new "parents", so to speak. We will live for them, and their opinion on us becomes a be-all, end-all.
When I first read A Tale of Two Cities, I made the same conclusion that (most) analysts make. Sydney Carton stopped drinking, stopped pitying himself, and, ultimately, became, to quote Depeche Mode, a "martyr for love". To give your life for someone you love is considered the epitome of sacrifice, particularly for a culture that's afraid of death.
Apply what I said above, and you get a whole new perspective. If the desire to cling to someone else stems from an inability to separate from parents, then Carton's actions were not the heroic deed they've seemed. They're the product of living off of a parent "substitute". Much the way we, as a society, are raised to look for instant gratification, even if it's not the true solution to our problems, anyone who has not separated (to become his or her own person) will look for someone else to cling to. This trait is especially prevalent in addicts; it's largely the reason for twelve step programs. It's the reason that interventions are successful. If the addict lives by clinging to others, then he or she will only stop if he or she sees who the addiction is harming. An addict rarely ever quits purely for his or herself.
There is an alternate perspective on why Carton acted the way he did, and the ultimate symbolism of his action. One considers his social status; he's not a noble man who dies to protect Charles Darnay. In a Christian school of thought, Darnay's sin would be his social class; he's a noble (One of the seven deadly sins is gluttony). Manette's sin could have been getting involved with him in the first place. By sacrificing himself in place of Darnay, Sydney Carton died for someone else's sins. So Carton could have very well been Jesus. (And, alternately, Dickens could have been writing a Christian novel.)
Dickens may not have even known what he was thinking when he wrote A Tale of Two Cities. The novel works because it is embedded in human nature to have this desire to cling. We value self-sacrifice. It's the reason that Jesus is one of our heroes. And, because of this inability to separate (and learn that we need to take care of ourselves), we develop this idea that pain, for a higher cause, is good. When we starve ourselves in the name of human rights, our suffering is valued. We tend to suffer in the name of what is valued when we are growing up. An anorexic suffers for fashion (or, in some cases, attaining the perfect body, the only thing that an anorexic may not feel is perfect about him or herself). The alcoholic drinks for his or her family; the addict may feel inferior as a parent (possibly because the alcohol has made them that way), so the alcohol serves as a way of suffering for any shortcomings.
What I am proposing is not a better way to suffer. The anorexic does not need another reason to starve, and the alcoholic does not need to have his or her drinking justified. Rather, we begin to encourage separation earlier on, and more thoroughly. This does not mean throwing children out the minute they turn eighteen. It means teaching them how to take initiative, and how to figure out what they want and who they are. And, they will most likely be mature enough to be able to figure out those big problems on their own at one point or another. Then you have to let go.
These can all start in small steps. It's letting your child arrange their own guitar lesson at thirteen, or being aware of their own needs (i.e Going to the store for stringed cheese instead of asking you to buy it for them). I did not start taking initiative until I turned nineteen, after illness taught me that I am too pressed for time to waste it relying entirely on my parents. It shouldn't take an illness to start the process. And you will have to start it for them. But they will keep it going.
They'll move out and get a job. And maybe, if they'll find that person worth living for, they will also know how to walk away.
When I first read A Tale of Two Cities, I made the same conclusion that (most) analysts make. Sydney Carton stopped drinking, stopped pitying himself, and, ultimately, became, to quote Depeche Mode, a "martyr for love". To give your life for someone you love is considered the epitome of sacrifice, particularly for a culture that's afraid of death.
Apply what I said above, and you get a whole new perspective. If the desire to cling to someone else stems from an inability to separate from parents, then Carton's actions were not the heroic deed they've seemed. They're the product of living off of a parent "substitute". Much the way we, as a society, are raised to look for instant gratification, even if it's not the true solution to our problems, anyone who has not separated (to become his or her own person) will look for someone else to cling to. This trait is especially prevalent in addicts; it's largely the reason for twelve step programs. It's the reason that interventions are successful. If the addict lives by clinging to others, then he or she will only stop if he or she sees who the addiction is harming. An addict rarely ever quits purely for his or herself.
There is an alternate perspective on why Carton acted the way he did, and the ultimate symbolism of his action. One considers his social status; he's not a noble man who dies to protect Charles Darnay. In a Christian school of thought, Darnay's sin would be his social class; he's a noble (One of the seven deadly sins is gluttony). Manette's sin could have been getting involved with him in the first place. By sacrificing himself in place of Darnay, Sydney Carton died for someone else's sins. So Carton could have very well been Jesus. (And, alternately, Dickens could have been writing a Christian novel.)
Dickens may not have even known what he was thinking when he wrote A Tale of Two Cities. The novel works because it is embedded in human nature to have this desire to cling. We value self-sacrifice. It's the reason that Jesus is one of our heroes. And, because of this inability to separate (and learn that we need to take care of ourselves), we develop this idea that pain, for a higher cause, is good. When we starve ourselves in the name of human rights, our suffering is valued. We tend to suffer in the name of what is valued when we are growing up. An anorexic suffers for fashion (or, in some cases, attaining the perfect body, the only thing that an anorexic may not feel is perfect about him or herself). The alcoholic drinks for his or her family; the addict may feel inferior as a parent (possibly because the alcohol has made them that way), so the alcohol serves as a way of suffering for any shortcomings.
What I am proposing is not a better way to suffer. The anorexic does not need another reason to starve, and the alcoholic does not need to have his or her drinking justified. Rather, we begin to encourage separation earlier on, and more thoroughly. This does not mean throwing children out the minute they turn eighteen. It means teaching them how to take initiative, and how to figure out what they want and who they are. And, they will most likely be mature enough to be able to figure out those big problems on their own at one point or another. Then you have to let go.
These can all start in small steps. It's letting your child arrange their own guitar lesson at thirteen, or being aware of their own needs (i.e Going to the store for stringed cheese instead of asking you to buy it for them). I did not start taking initiative until I turned nineteen, after illness taught me that I am too pressed for time to waste it relying entirely on my parents. It shouldn't take an illness to start the process. And you will have to start it for them. But they will keep it going.
They'll move out and get a job. And maybe, if they'll find that person worth living for, they will also know how to walk away.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Stop Starving. Start Playing.
Music, that is. I rarely talk about my history (however brief it was) dealing with an eating disorder. When I was seventeen, I went on a diet, along with my parents. I felt that, because of academic pressures, I was being pulled in three places at once, and had little control over where I would land. And I loved the results I achieved losing twenty pounds, so I tried to lose thirty. Only my dieting was just a little too drastic by that point. I ate eight hundred calories a day; the recommended caloric intake for a seventeen year old girl is two thousand. I would walk up to 90 minutes a day, and then go home a do an hour of advanced (We're talking Cathe advanced) kind of step.
I used to play guitar; the time I used to spend practicing was spent dieting, overexercising, and taking laxatives. My Mom used to fight with me to get me to eat. When, after a few months, she finally realized she wasn't winning, she gave me a taste of the kind of treatment I would be getting if I didn't learn to love my body...and fast. She took me to an eating disorder clinic, where I was examined as though I was a specimen or a number, and not a person. The experience scared me witless. I had no idea exactly what recovery entailed, but I knew I had to try. I only allowed myself to exercise up to 45 minutes a day, incorporated weights into my regimen (saying goodbye to the Twiggy look), and stopped weighing myself and counting calories. I went on a dieting holiday. (I eat healthier now, but I approach it from a perspective of overall health, and not a number on a scale.)
During my Senior year of high school, I barely wrote. I didn't even think of music. I wasn't naturally talented the first go round, so there was no reason to start playing now. The urge didn't come back until Crohn's Disease sidelined me from college. I had enough spare time, so I started thinking about learning an instrument. At first, I wanted to trade in my guitar for the piano. But I wasn't ready to start anything I had to commit to, so I let myself forget it. I forgot it until I returned to school in the summer. I had to take either an art or music class for a college requirement, so, naturally, I chose music.
When I first entered, I sat in the back. I had no intention of participating, let alone taking up an instrument. I wouldn't take up anything I wasn't good at, where I had to work. I took every mistake I made personally; it was a statement on me as a person. If I made a mistake, I was stupid. I tried to shut myself away from the piano in my classroom. It didn't mean I succeeded.
The way my professor played reminded me of the way I used to play. He would shoot his keys a steely look as he approached them. He was attacking them with his eyes. I saw Ana in the keys. And so I realized I had no choice. Regardless of my natural aptitude, music was a forum for me to wrestle Ana. I knew guitar, so if I was going to start playing an instrument, I might as well play one I already knew (That, and I don't have enough space for a piano). So, once summer school was finished, I started taking guitar lessons again. My chords were muffled. I didn't care.
Ana, like anything else, is a steady battle. When you just want to do something simple, like drink bubble tea, you will see her lean and hungry look. She is forcing you to be lean and hungry with her. In situations like these, you cannot always project your feelings publicly. But you can take it out on your instrument. Play as loudly as you can. Crescendo. That is Ana. In her wig and her toothless grin. She's too hungry for teeth.
Society does not always like emotion. And so we are taught to suppress. Until you come to terms with food enough to start eating freely, there is nothing wrong with this. However, you will eventually be faced with your triggers. Unless you learn how to have that battle with yourself, so to speak, you will be afraid of your triggers. Find a forum for self-expression, and they will lose significance. So that bubble tea will just be bubble tea.
One session alone does not do it. Ana does not go away, and neither should your desire to keep playing. So let her have it. You may find a talent you never knew you had.
I used to play guitar; the time I used to spend practicing was spent dieting, overexercising, and taking laxatives. My Mom used to fight with me to get me to eat. When, after a few months, she finally realized she wasn't winning, she gave me a taste of the kind of treatment I would be getting if I didn't learn to love my body...and fast. She took me to an eating disorder clinic, where I was examined as though I was a specimen or a number, and not a person. The experience scared me witless. I had no idea exactly what recovery entailed, but I knew I had to try. I only allowed myself to exercise up to 45 minutes a day, incorporated weights into my regimen (saying goodbye to the Twiggy look), and stopped weighing myself and counting calories. I went on a dieting holiday. (I eat healthier now, but I approach it from a perspective of overall health, and not a number on a scale.)
During my Senior year of high school, I barely wrote. I didn't even think of music. I wasn't naturally talented the first go round, so there was no reason to start playing now. The urge didn't come back until Crohn's Disease sidelined me from college. I had enough spare time, so I started thinking about learning an instrument. At first, I wanted to trade in my guitar for the piano. But I wasn't ready to start anything I had to commit to, so I let myself forget it. I forgot it until I returned to school in the summer. I had to take either an art or music class for a college requirement, so, naturally, I chose music.
When I first entered, I sat in the back. I had no intention of participating, let alone taking up an instrument. I wouldn't take up anything I wasn't good at, where I had to work. I took every mistake I made personally; it was a statement on me as a person. If I made a mistake, I was stupid. I tried to shut myself away from the piano in my classroom. It didn't mean I succeeded.
The way my professor played reminded me of the way I used to play. He would shoot his keys a steely look as he approached them. He was attacking them with his eyes. I saw Ana in the keys. And so I realized I had no choice. Regardless of my natural aptitude, music was a forum for me to wrestle Ana. I knew guitar, so if I was going to start playing an instrument, I might as well play one I already knew (That, and I don't have enough space for a piano). So, once summer school was finished, I started taking guitar lessons again. My chords were muffled. I didn't care.
Ana, like anything else, is a steady battle. When you just want to do something simple, like drink bubble tea, you will see her lean and hungry look. She is forcing you to be lean and hungry with her. In situations like these, you cannot always project your feelings publicly. But you can take it out on your instrument. Play as loudly as you can. Crescendo. That is Ana. In her wig and her toothless grin. She's too hungry for teeth.
Society does not always like emotion. And so we are taught to suppress. Until you come to terms with food enough to start eating freely, there is nothing wrong with this. However, you will eventually be faced with your triggers. Unless you learn how to have that battle with yourself, so to speak, you will be afraid of your triggers. Find a forum for self-expression, and they will lose significance. So that bubble tea will just be bubble tea.
One session alone does not do it. Ana does not go away, and neither should your desire to keep playing. So let her have it. You may find a talent you never knew you had.
Friday, July 23, 2010
That iPad I've Been Wanting
When I was being prepped for surgery, my grandmother visited. She saw me gaunt, pale, and in the middle of a blood transfusion. She was used to seeing me reading, thinking, and seizing life. She didn't know what to think, let alone what to say to me. So she promised me an iPad when I got out of the hospital. I used to be a gadget addict. So when someone promised me another one, especially in my particular condition, I was overjoyed. My grandma felt comfort in seeing me smile. She did a mitzva. Everyone wins.
Not exactly. I hung on her word when she promised me one. Weeks and weeks passed by. No iPad. She mentioned getting one several times on the phone and several more on the rare occasion that I would see her. So I assumed that the iPad was in the mail, and that it would arrive any day. I still have an iPad. Only it's invisible.
I should be angry. She reneged on a deal. And for many months, I was. Not necessarily because I still don't have an iPad, but she used me to make herself seem generous, when I was too weak, both mentally and physically, to see through her efforts. However, I'm not angry anymore. The way she acted was not her fault. It's an example of how we're conditioned in society.
When we're little, how do we express the desire for happiness? It's a toy or a cookie. Little kids often see happiness more as pleasure-a short term state. Which is normal. It's the way we propel this mentality that isn't. We're rewarded when we get good grades, or when we do our chores by things. We get that toy we've been eyeing. We're given a Hershey bar.
So, as a result, we grow up, confusing happiness with pleasure. Happiness is an iPhone or a piece of chocolate cake. As a result, we go into debt and we become overweight. As we buy more and eat more, we are prevented from discovering why we are unhappy. Our unhappiness is good for business; Apple makes record profits and Hershey gets more airtime.
Even when we see the negative effects of the way we live, we still can't fix our situation because we are conditioned to think in short term solutions. What will make me happy right now? The result is the emergence of fad diets and credit card scams. We start out with the right intentions. But because we don't think ahead, our attempts to solve our problems can do more harm than good.
The answer is to reconsider what we use as a coping mechanism. It isn't an easy solution. This requires learning how to substitute short-term thinking for long-term thinking. And it requires serious thought. What are the things that are making you unhappy and how do we change it? Oftentimes, we will find out that what we need to make us happy costs less (and it doesn't require a gym membership).
That doesn't mean that we need to eliminate materialism from our lives altogether. Everything must exist in moderation. If Grandma showed up at my doorstep with an iPad, I would take it. Alternately, I still love cheesecake. However, these things should come second, after we have found what makes us happy. If you still want that Android? Carry on.
Not exactly. I hung on her word when she promised me one. Weeks and weeks passed by. No iPad. She mentioned getting one several times on the phone and several more on the rare occasion that I would see her. So I assumed that the iPad was in the mail, and that it would arrive any day. I still have an iPad. Only it's invisible.
I should be angry. She reneged on a deal. And for many months, I was. Not necessarily because I still don't have an iPad, but she used me to make herself seem generous, when I was too weak, both mentally and physically, to see through her efforts. However, I'm not angry anymore. The way she acted was not her fault. It's an example of how we're conditioned in society.
When we're little, how do we express the desire for happiness? It's a toy or a cookie. Little kids often see happiness more as pleasure-a short term state. Which is normal. It's the way we propel this mentality that isn't. We're rewarded when we get good grades, or when we do our chores by things. We get that toy we've been eyeing. We're given a Hershey bar.
So, as a result, we grow up, confusing happiness with pleasure. Happiness is an iPhone or a piece of chocolate cake. As a result, we go into debt and we become overweight. As we buy more and eat more, we are prevented from discovering why we are unhappy. Our unhappiness is good for business; Apple makes record profits and Hershey gets more airtime.
Even when we see the negative effects of the way we live, we still can't fix our situation because we are conditioned to think in short term solutions. What will make me happy right now? The result is the emergence of fad diets and credit card scams. We start out with the right intentions. But because we don't think ahead, our attempts to solve our problems can do more harm than good.
The answer is to reconsider what we use as a coping mechanism. It isn't an easy solution. This requires learning how to substitute short-term thinking for long-term thinking. And it requires serious thought. What are the things that are making you unhappy and how do we change it? Oftentimes, we will find out that what we need to make us happy costs less (and it doesn't require a gym membership).
That doesn't mean that we need to eliminate materialism from our lives altogether. Everything must exist in moderation. If Grandma showed up at my doorstep with an iPad, I would take it. Alternately, I still love cheesecake. However, these things should come second, after we have found what makes us happy. If you still want that Android? Carry on.
So You're Shy
You've even shifted your ideas about how the world works a few times over. And you're an open-minded intellectual. So you look for that special friend who likes exactly what you like.
The bad news: You're not that special.
The good news: You're not that special.
Nobody will like exactly what you like-exactly the way you like it. You can either sit around and feel sorry for your oh-so-smart self, or you can accept that being different is a part of life. And you learn to like it.
You've gone through high school shunning everyone who wasn't nearly as talented as you are. Now, college comes around and you're tired of having nothing to do on a Saturday night. What do you do?
You start small. Nobody ever magically becomes the life of a party in one day. And right now, you'd probably like to just be invited to one. Just because people are different doesn't mean they have to be complete opposites. Take one thing you'd like to share in common and build on that. Have a passion for writing? Join the school newspaper. Find other people who like to write. You might even learn a little bit from them.
This one's a given, but join a crapload of clubs. It doesn't matter that you were the Vice President of your high school Key Club and you can still smell the brownies you burned...er...baked for Language Club in your kitchen. It's not high school anymore. You've had the summer to shake off all those connections. Well, do you want to start meeting people or not?
Get a job. No, I don't care that the Sociology paper you've been living to write is due in one month. Find something you like to do. Love animals? Become a professional dog walker. Want to help people get in shape? Become a personal trainer. I understand the economy sucks right now. We're all feeling it. You may not wind up with that perfect job. So work as a Starbucks barista. Then you and your coworkers can go out after and all talk about how much your job sucks.
Can't find a job? Or maybe you've found one, but taking twenty credits a semester doesn't leave enough time. Volunteer work gives a more flexible schedule (So you're not always stuck with the 9-5 grind). Alley Pond Environmental Center assigns every volunteer one day a week. That's it. You do what you love and you meet a few other people who love doing it. And you still have time to write that paper. Easy.
So you've tried to get a job and you've been turned down. Or you really couldn't stand working as a Starbucks barista. And APEC wasn't your thing either. And you don't want to spend more time in school than you already are. You don't have to get social just yet, if you really think you're not ready.
Make a list of a few things you've always wanted to do. You don't have to be talented at any of them. You might be downright horrible. Doesn't matter. You're not trying to make a living off of them. They could be small. I've always wanted to learn how to tap dance. So I'm taking an introductory class next semester. I'm not going to be a Broadway star. But I've always wanted to do it, and, well, what's the point of thinking of things you want to do if you're not actually going to do it?
If you're still reading...wait...you're still reading? Well, Mr. (or Ms.) shy intellectual, the world is yours...if you want it. You're witty and you have more than your share to contribute to the world. Start small. Just as long as you start.
The bad news: You're not that special.
The good news: You're not that special.
Nobody will like exactly what you like-exactly the way you like it. You can either sit around and feel sorry for your oh-so-smart self, or you can accept that being different is a part of life. And you learn to like it.
You've gone through high school shunning everyone who wasn't nearly as talented as you are. Now, college comes around and you're tired of having nothing to do on a Saturday night. What do you do?
You start small. Nobody ever magically becomes the life of a party in one day. And right now, you'd probably like to just be invited to one. Just because people are different doesn't mean they have to be complete opposites. Take one thing you'd like to share in common and build on that. Have a passion for writing? Join the school newspaper. Find other people who like to write. You might even learn a little bit from them.
This one's a given, but join a crapload of clubs. It doesn't matter that you were the Vice President of your high school Key Club and you can still smell the brownies you burned...er...baked for Language Club in your kitchen. It's not high school anymore. You've had the summer to shake off all those connections. Well, do you want to start meeting people or not?
Get a job. No, I don't care that the Sociology paper you've been living to write is due in one month. Find something you like to do. Love animals? Become a professional dog walker. Want to help people get in shape? Become a personal trainer. I understand the economy sucks right now. We're all feeling it. You may not wind up with that perfect job. So work as a Starbucks barista. Then you and your coworkers can go out after and all talk about how much your job sucks.
Can't find a job? Or maybe you've found one, but taking twenty credits a semester doesn't leave enough time. Volunteer work gives a more flexible schedule (So you're not always stuck with the 9-5 grind). Alley Pond Environmental Center assigns every volunteer one day a week. That's it. You do what you love and you meet a few other people who love doing it. And you still have time to write that paper. Easy.
So you've tried to get a job and you've been turned down. Or you really couldn't stand working as a Starbucks barista. And APEC wasn't your thing either. And you don't want to spend more time in school than you already are. You don't have to get social just yet, if you really think you're not ready.
Make a list of a few things you've always wanted to do. You don't have to be talented at any of them. You might be downright horrible. Doesn't matter. You're not trying to make a living off of them. They could be small. I've always wanted to learn how to tap dance. So I'm taking an introductory class next semester. I'm not going to be a Broadway star. But I've always wanted to do it, and, well, what's the point of thinking of things you want to do if you're not actually going to do it?
If you're still reading...wait...you're still reading? Well, Mr. (or Ms.) shy intellectual, the world is yours...if you want it. You're witty and you have more than your share to contribute to the world. Start small. Just as long as you start.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
After Howie, A New Dilemma
My summer reading has been considerably lighter by what I'd hoped it'd be. And when I say light, I mean I'm reading Tragedy and Hope. The idea that we are a nation ultimately dominated by economic interest, that the world is a sum of its economic interest, is hardly new. It's been the premise of every other song I've ever listened to since I was seventeen. The significance of the individual against an international economic interest is hardly a new idea either.
I used to toot around my relation to Howard Zinn as though it was proof of my academic pedigree. And yes, it is a pedigree. The smarts don't just come from my mother. They come from her side. The Zinns have a history of turning out math professors, religious scholars, and one writer. I am the second to come along.
Partially out of respect for Howard's legacy, and partially because I do not want to live in the Zinn shadow, I made the decision to focus on the quiet desperation of everyday life, rather than the quiet desperation of anyone in a particular social class. Becoming political places me in a precarious position; I must do politics better than Howard Zinn. If I make my name as a writer, comparisons will follow. They are inevitable. If I decide to write with a political message in mind, unless I do politics far differently or better than Zinn, I will be seen as a shadow of the man.
What do you do if you're Howard Zinn's cousin? The point of my writing is largely lost if you do not ask that question. The short stories I post, particularly "Choices", about a political disagreement between a father and daughter, attempts to answer it. You look at politics as a destructive force in the home, and, in analyzing how it severs relationships instead of fostering unions, you find a new angle of oppression.
How do you get political if you're Howard Zinn's cousin? The answer, on the surface, is that you don't. Politics becomes a metaphor for the dynamic in the home, and, rather than the call to action that Howard wanted, a forum onto which parents latch on for their need for control, and onto which their children latch on as a means to express their need for individuality. The inability to reconcile (and, arguably, the loss of focus) means a lack of cooperation and the futility of politics.
This has been my solution for the three years that I have been writing. Which brings me back to Tragedy and Hope. It's a book based on history that I've already learned; however, it's assembled to shake the reader. Whether Quigley intended it or not, it implies, to me, that our lives may be dominated by the economy, but they don't have to be. And I find the urge to become politically active. Because any political experiences I have will inevitably filter into my writing, I cannot promise I will always stay neutral.
But I try.
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