The more I think about it, the more I want to become a professor.
I was talking with one of my former professors from Warren Wilson today, and he has slowly started to convince me to look more and more into grad school and the profession of teaching.
When I talk about teaching, I guess I should add this little caveat: I do not, under any circumstance, want to teach primary, secondary, or public school. There are way too many politics and regulations around that field that I have seen too many good souls get crushed by.
I want to influence the next generation of thinkers through post-secondary education. I want to teach young students (such as myself) not what to think, but rather how to think.
There is such value in knowledge. Knowing your context, geography, culture, is hugely important. But that information is mostly out there through the wonderful medium of the internet. What you cannot get through the internet (or at least yet) is the face to face instruction to personally influence people to start to think on how to process the huge amount of information out there.
As in computer science, the way our mind parses information is quintessential to where it goes, and what the output is:
If you learn that the only way to learn things is through simple facts and "big figure" concepts (I would argue the "traditional" way to learn), you lose the intricacies that make up the whole picture. You see the macro-forest.
But if you learn to learn things through the small lens, you end up with a micro-forest, losing the bigger picture of greater meaning, and how things tie across places.
Going to a more primal way to view things, there could even be the idea of providing that "intrinsic motivation" as my professor called it. The actual curiosity to learn and not sit idly by.
I've noticed that in my travels and my rough transition into the "real world" I've found that a lot of people are not very deep or inquisitive thinkers. I don't mean this as a "deep thinker" way of philosophy, but rather just as a general curiosity about life and how and why things work. It just seems like a lot of people don't have that "intrinsic motivation" inside them.
I like to teach that to people the best way I can. There is a finesse to it. I try not to seem like a jerk about it, but I like to throw questions back on people, and see if they can solve it first. When I worked on the GIS Crew at Warren Wilson, this was my ethic, and usually it worked. When it comes to tech, I love to point people to the direction of Google and the wonderful search box/omnibox.
But why do people not look to these places as their first option? Is it simply that I am available in physical "meetspace" for immediate help? Do people get lost in Wikipedia articles? How about libraries? Is that something that I just assumed people do?
I ponder these questions, and I come back to the metaphor of the computer processor:
The brain acts like a computer. It takes information and data in through the senses, processes it among the billions of neurons and synapses of the brain, and yields an output, in the form of a cognitive thought or a realization.
How do other people's processors work? Why do they work like that? Are there overarching systems we can see among these thought processes? Or is teaching something you just "do"?
And why does it seem like some people's processors are wired to simply accept what is in front of them, and not investigate, ask questions, or search for more? Where is their "intrinsic motivation"? Isn't that a key human trait? If it isn't, then what else do people live for?
Monday, October 6, 2014
Thursday, September 11, 2014
The Urban Forever
I miss being running around and being genuinely tired at the end of the day.
I've been galavanting around Portland for the second half of the day. I am beginning to re-realize the beauty of the public spaces in large cities.
I originally came in to meet a professor and hangout for a couple of hours. I arrived via transit (MAX Line), departed at the convention center, found him, and off we went, catching up on the past year and a half.
I had attended homecoming the year before, but since then the radar has fallen silent with professors and academia at Wilson. To be fair, I've been off doing my own thing, but catching up, talking about the college, and finally coming to terms that I have left, was very, very helpful.
I found a sort of closure talking to a professor about how the college is changing, and what that means for students, and the way forward. All the big stuff happened right after I left, so this year round', I was fully prepared to hear about all of the new toys and tech the college got. But I simply heard stories of improvements upon the previous awesome things I had seen the homecoming before. It was nice not having the "cool" things continue on like they had the first round.
I'm coming up on my second year. Second year in AmeriCorps; second year out of college; second year in the "real world". I guess the first year was the anti-honeymoon phase for me. I struggled. I really did. Thrown into a life of constant difference and discovery, my mind and body was very overwhelmed. It did a toll too, leaving regrets and thoughts that still need fill to this day.
But now I am going on. I am working into my second year. The area is familiar, the situations have been practiced, and I believe I'm a better person because of it.
Yet, I have discovered and solidified more of an idea of what exactly I want from life. Where I am going to live. What I am going to do. And it is becoming clearer to me that Vancouver is not what I want. I don't know if Portland is either.
But it sure comes closer.
The way I know? Because when I come into Portland for work, play, or study, I always never want to leave. The city is too big. Too beautiful. Too full of things to discover and enjoy. I want to bask in that wonder of the urban forever (or for a longer time than I can), and live in it. To experience it.
But it always turns out to be another Barcelona. Where I go in, I see, I like, I participate, but I never fully get there. There is always a cap. And I am always stuck on that hill at 6 in the morning, longing for more of that city I only barely scraped the surface on.
I've been galavanting around Portland for the second half of the day. I am beginning to re-realize the beauty of the public spaces in large cities.
I originally came in to meet a professor and hangout for a couple of hours. I arrived via transit (MAX Line), departed at the convention center, found him, and off we went, catching up on the past year and a half.
I had attended homecoming the year before, but since then the radar has fallen silent with professors and academia at Wilson. To be fair, I've been off doing my own thing, but catching up, talking about the college, and finally coming to terms that I have left, was very, very helpful.
I found a sort of closure talking to a professor about how the college is changing, and what that means for students, and the way forward. All the big stuff happened right after I left, so this year round', I was fully prepared to hear about all of the new toys and tech the college got. But I simply heard stories of improvements upon the previous awesome things I had seen the homecoming before. It was nice not having the "cool" things continue on like they had the first round.
I'm coming up on my second year. Second year in AmeriCorps; second year out of college; second year in the "real world". I guess the first year was the anti-honeymoon phase for me. I struggled. I really did. Thrown into a life of constant difference and discovery, my mind and body was very overwhelmed. It did a toll too, leaving regrets and thoughts that still need fill to this day.
But now I am going on. I am working into my second year. The area is familiar, the situations have been practiced, and I believe I'm a better person because of it.
Yet, I have discovered and solidified more of an idea of what exactly I want from life. Where I am going to live. What I am going to do. And it is becoming clearer to me that Vancouver is not what I want. I don't know if Portland is either.
But it sure comes closer.
The way I know? Because when I come into Portland for work, play, or study, I always never want to leave. The city is too big. Too beautiful. Too full of things to discover and enjoy. I want to bask in that wonder of the urban forever (or for a longer time than I can), and live in it. To experience it.
But it always turns out to be another Barcelona. Where I go in, I see, I like, I participate, but I never fully get there. There is always a cap. And I am always stuck on that hill at 6 in the morning, longing for more of that city I only barely scraped the surface on.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Lazing Around on the Grass
One of my favorite things about meeting new people is the things you do with them. The conversations you have. The sun you take.
But my god. It takes. For. Ever.
To be fair. I wasn't giving it much initiative, and because of that it was giving me little in returns.
Breaking out of that mold cast around yourself is tough. Well, it is for me.
Its strange, but when looking around, I guess college was much of the same for me. By the end of the first year and into the second year I was starting to take off. Maybe that will happen here? Why did it seem like I was so much more depressed when I was here?
I think it's because I came from something so beautiful. But I won't let that overtake my happiness I have right now.
It has been nice, being invited out to hangout with people. For some reason this time it was different.
There wasn't an air of "Go! Go! Go!", nor "We will have fun!". There was no guarantee of that on this trip. Nor really a promise of relaxation or enjoyment. Basically it was phrased as "You're pretty cool people. Wanna go out for lunch & ice cream? I have no idea what it will be like, but we've seen each other a couple times at "group" functions, so lets go do something cool together now?"
And it was wonderful because we did... Absolutely nothing.
Well that was somewhat true. We did have lunch and ice cream.
But then we just went to the lake, spread out a blanket, and sat and talked for three hours. And it was effortless. Sometimes when things were not meant to be said, we just sat in silence, and listened to our surroundings. The beautiful day. The park, with its birds, families, and waves.
It was so. Slow. It was wonderful. I haven't been able to slow down like that with people in over a year.
Sure, I've been able to do it by myself, but you know, I can only do so much slow by myself. Once the discoveries are gone, you start asking yourself ridiculous questions to pass the time. Whether that be hours in a car over a well worn path, or days throughout the same old neighborhood.
So being able to slow down with people provides an entire multitude of options. Instead of one set of eyes, now you have three, and they compare their perception with yours, and that takes up hours by itself. Let alone that some people haven't been to where you go before? That can entertain days.
Slowing down has been on my mind as of late. There's been a lot of talk of it at church*, in the air around work, and on the Facebook feed. But as much as people tout trying to slow down, I have yet to see evidence of someone slowing down.
Sure, there is an escape for a bit. But to get to that escape: Go!
After that escape: Go!
An escape in a car: Go! Can't be late! Gotta make (x)** deadline!
Taking off shoes after a long day and sitting on the couch: Go! Your butt needs moving!
I'm not saying people don't know how to get away. Not at all. Everyone gets vacations.
It's the fact that for many, the journey does not mark the beginning of an escape. The open road cannot call them back down to 5 mph over the speed limit instead of 15.
Can people not drop their rush when they say they do? Its just a Go! culture, I know, but I feel so alone (less so now) because I don't know many people who say "Wait. Just. Sit down for a minute."
I'll conclude with another experience I had with these wonderful new friends:
After eating some ice cream, we went out to the street, and just stood there talking for 20 minutes. Really. We just kind of ambled in the sun, then ambled into the shade, and then decided to go stop ambling and just sit around for a bit.
I've been missing that wonderful sense that at some times, time doesn't have to be the end all for whatever you are doing. The end all can just be when you get hungry for dinner, or a lull pulls you into sleep.
*This "church" is a Unitarian Universalist church. It's not like your average churches. I'd recommend it if you are questioning your faith, or can't find a place to be spiritual without being religious. Folks are REALLY accepting, and will welcome you no matter what.
**This deadline is usually completely made up. There is no meeting, or court mandated time. Its the person's own psyche telling them to complete the task at hand as quickly and efficiently as possible.
But my god. It takes. For. Ever.
To be fair. I wasn't giving it much initiative, and because of that it was giving me little in returns.
Breaking out of that mold cast around yourself is tough. Well, it is for me.
Its strange, but when looking around, I guess college was much of the same for me. By the end of the first year and into the second year I was starting to take off. Maybe that will happen here? Why did it seem like I was so much more depressed when I was here?
I think it's because I came from something so beautiful. But I won't let that overtake my happiness I have right now.
It has been nice, being invited out to hangout with people. For some reason this time it was different.
There wasn't an air of "Go! Go! Go!", nor "We will have fun!". There was no guarantee of that on this trip. Nor really a promise of relaxation or enjoyment. Basically it was phrased as "You're pretty cool people. Wanna go out for lunch & ice cream? I have no idea what it will be like, but we've seen each other a couple times at "group" functions, so lets go do something cool together now?"
And it was wonderful because we did... Absolutely nothing.
Well that was somewhat true. We did have lunch and ice cream.
But then we just went to the lake, spread out a blanket, and sat and talked for three hours. And it was effortless. Sometimes when things were not meant to be said, we just sat in silence, and listened to our surroundings. The beautiful day. The park, with its birds, families, and waves.
It was so. Slow. It was wonderful. I haven't been able to slow down like that with people in over a year.
Sure, I've been able to do it by myself, but you know, I can only do so much slow by myself. Once the discoveries are gone, you start asking yourself ridiculous questions to pass the time. Whether that be hours in a car over a well worn path, or days throughout the same old neighborhood.
So being able to slow down with people provides an entire multitude of options. Instead of one set of eyes, now you have three, and they compare their perception with yours, and that takes up hours by itself. Let alone that some people haven't been to where you go before? That can entertain days.
Slowing down has been on my mind as of late. There's been a lot of talk of it at church*, in the air around work, and on the Facebook feed. But as much as people tout trying to slow down, I have yet to see evidence of someone slowing down.
Sure, there is an escape for a bit. But to get to that escape: Go!
After that escape: Go!
An escape in a car: Go! Can't be late! Gotta make (x)** deadline!
Taking off shoes after a long day and sitting on the couch: Go! Your butt needs moving!
I'm not saying people don't know how to get away. Not at all. Everyone gets vacations.
It's the fact that for many, the journey does not mark the beginning of an escape. The open road cannot call them back down to 5 mph over the speed limit instead of 15.
Can people not drop their rush when they say they do? Its just a Go! culture, I know, but I feel so alone (less so now) because I don't know many people who say "Wait. Just. Sit down for a minute."
I'll conclude with another experience I had with these wonderful new friends:
After eating some ice cream, we went out to the street, and just stood there talking for 20 minutes. Really. We just kind of ambled in the sun, then ambled into the shade, and then decided to go stop ambling and just sit around for a bit.
I've been missing that wonderful sense that at some times, time doesn't have to be the end all for whatever you are doing. The end all can just be when you get hungry for dinner, or a lull pulls you into sleep.
*This "church" is a Unitarian Universalist church. It's not like your average churches. I'd recommend it if you are questioning your faith, or can't find a place to be spiritual without being religious. Folks are REALLY accepting, and will welcome you no matter what.
**This deadline is usually completely made up. There is no meeting, or court mandated time. Its the person's own psyche telling them to complete the task at hand as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
The Ramparts
It's a great life; it really is. But its complicated. Horribly complicated.
It's almost impossible to think of a macro-version of life. Too many decisions, too many fates, too many sliding scales for varying aspects of the human condition.
But I say almost because of our ability to draw maps, conceptualize consciousness, and make exceptions.
There was always a map/diagram down in the bottom of the science building at my alma mater, Warren Wilson College. I mean, to finish that thought, it always perplexed me. To this day I still don't know exactly what it was describing, but it was as tall as your standard wall and about 7 feet long. I think it had something to do about mapping the way proteins fold to replicate and build DNA, but I'm not quire sure.
Anyways, that map/diagram always caught my eye when I was down there. (Usually the few opportunities I had to have basic General Education classes for my science requirement.) I wondered if such a map could be drawn to explain the intricacies of the human condition. Or if it would just end up looking like a spectrum of different sliders, somewhat linked in a tentative dashed lines in certain places.
With the human mind, it's really impossible to classify something because of our ability to recognize opinions, and to choose them on our free will. I find it exceptionally annoying, but mandatory at the same time to retain the wonderfulness that fills us.
I see a lot of friends struggling with self-identity/life issues, either with themselves, or while comparing themselves with others. It's something I struggle with as well, like that ever present background app of "explorer.exe". Necessary to keep open (it is essentially your user interface for your computer, if running windows), but you can't exactly see it working because you are too busy using it to get to other applications.
Then you stop and examine each and individual bit running that background program. Its huge, unfathomable, and takes some time to "get" the picture of a system. Then it clicks. Suddenly you can see pretty much all of the classes.java which exist, and how they reference, link, and work with each other. Sometime a map helps (it sure does for me), but some folks can work it out on their own.
The mind is the computer, and it finally compiles the code, and returns it with no errors. You have the blueprint set up, now its on to debug the damn thing.
Debugging will lead you through how the blueprint is constructed , and that is where I am right now. Working through the problems. And I think that is where many of my friends are at as well. We've setup the framework, and gotten it all arranged correctly, but actually executing that code is giving us the hardest time in the world, and we are learning that working out the kinks is a littler harder than we thought.
But for now, we have the blueprints for the ramparts of our castles. Now its time to build a sight to behold. And the best part is: We all have our own unique designs.
So far our foundations are looking great.
It's almost impossible to think of a macro-version of life. Too many decisions, too many fates, too many sliding scales for varying aspects of the human condition.
But I say almost because of our ability to draw maps, conceptualize consciousness, and make exceptions.
There was always a map/diagram down in the bottom of the science building at my alma mater, Warren Wilson College. I mean, to finish that thought, it always perplexed me. To this day I still don't know exactly what it was describing, but it was as tall as your standard wall and about 7 feet long. I think it had something to do about mapping the way proteins fold to replicate and build DNA, but I'm not quire sure.
Anyways, that map/diagram always caught my eye when I was down there. (Usually the few opportunities I had to have basic General Education classes for my science requirement.) I wondered if such a map could be drawn to explain the intricacies of the human condition. Or if it would just end up looking like a spectrum of different sliders, somewhat linked in a tentative dashed lines in certain places.
With the human mind, it's really impossible to classify something because of our ability to recognize opinions, and to choose them on our free will. I find it exceptionally annoying, but mandatory at the same time to retain the wonderfulness that fills us.
I see a lot of friends struggling with self-identity/life issues, either with themselves, or while comparing themselves with others. It's something I struggle with as well, like that ever present background app of "explorer.exe". Necessary to keep open (it is essentially your user interface for your computer, if running windows), but you can't exactly see it working because you are too busy using it to get to other applications.
Then you stop and examine each and individual bit running that background program. Its huge, unfathomable, and takes some time to "get" the picture of a system. Then it clicks. Suddenly you can see pretty much all of the classes.java which exist, and how they reference, link, and work with each other. Sometime a map helps (it sure does for me), but some folks can work it out on their own.
The mind is the computer, and it finally compiles the code, and returns it with no errors. You have the blueprint set up, now its on to debug the damn thing.
Debugging will lead you through how the blueprint is constructed , and that is where I am right now. Working through the problems. And I think that is where many of my friends are at as well. We've setup the framework, and gotten it all arranged correctly, but actually executing that code is giving us the hardest time in the world, and we are learning that working out the kinks is a littler harder than we thought.
But for now, we have the blueprints for the ramparts of our castles. Now its time to build a sight to behold. And the best part is: We all have our own unique designs.
So far our foundations are looking great.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Family Visitation
I am really unnervingly excited for my family to visit, and I'm not sure why. Maybe its because none of them have been to the Northwest before, and I am the pioneer tour guide to lead the way.
Maybe its because this place is so different than the East Coast, and I am excited to show my family all of the differences and natural beauties of the West.
Maybe it's because my family is undergoing the same westward process that brought me out here, and are participating in their own westward expansion and some strange amazing feeling of manifest destiny.
I really think many Easterners (as in the United States) have a feeling of manifest destiny for themselves. I encountered it on my entire journey here, and sealed it with my visiting of the Pacific Ocean. When I took my shoes off, and waded into the frigid waters of the North Pacific.
It was some sort of weird connection with the "pioneers" of Lewis & Clark. To stand at the point where they saw the ocean for the first time, and sealed the American conquering of the continent. The point of no return, when Americans then knew that their territory was destined to stretch from "Sea to Shining Sea".
I had made that journey. The long drive and move across the continent. I traveled much of the same path of Lewis & Clark, and during the other stretches I paralleled the trails of others who moved out here for their fortune or new opportunities.
And at the end, I had done it. I had reached the Pacific in all of its rough and cold glory.
But before we get sucked up into this Pioneer Square filled historic fantasy, we have to step back, and realize that all of this is a farce.
I am white. I am from European decent. Me partaking in this journey is a disgraceful expression of the inherent privilege I was born with. As much as I romanticize it, I am unconsciously embracing a history of conquest, expansion, and cultural, biological, and societal genocide. As much of beauty of this country that I have seen and experienced, I must always remind myself that it is not mine.
One could say that it is "mine" because of my ancestry going back to the first humans, but I do not think that justifies anything. That does not justify the erasure of culture, the spread of microbes, and forced relocation carried out by and genocidal acts committed through my European ancestors.
I cannot speak for the Native American cultures across this continent. I can only help fulfill justice through acknowledgement of the European wrongs which my ancestors fulfilled, and realize that I am in no way entitled to this land in which I live. I am here on loan, as with any part of the world I live in.
I cannot truly claim a home on this earth without the explicit consent of those before me who live and have an ancestry that came before me. I cannot claim a home unless I continually work to make right what is so very wrong through the actions of those who came before me, as well as those who live with me in the very same location and time. I can never belong somewhere until I work my hardest to help make that place... Better.
Maybe its because this place is so different than the East Coast, and I am excited to show my family all of the differences and natural beauties of the West.
Maybe it's because my family is undergoing the same westward process that brought me out here, and are participating in their own westward expansion and some strange amazing feeling of manifest destiny.
I really think many Easterners (as in the United States) have a feeling of manifest destiny for themselves. I encountered it on my entire journey here, and sealed it with my visiting of the Pacific Ocean. When I took my shoes off, and waded into the frigid waters of the North Pacific.
It was some sort of weird connection with the "pioneers" of Lewis & Clark. To stand at the point where they saw the ocean for the first time, and sealed the American conquering of the continent. The point of no return, when Americans then knew that their territory was destined to stretch from "Sea to Shining Sea".
I had made that journey. The long drive and move across the continent. I traveled much of the same path of Lewis & Clark, and during the other stretches I paralleled the trails of others who moved out here for their fortune or new opportunities.
And at the end, I had done it. I had reached the Pacific in all of its rough and cold glory.
But before we get sucked up into this Pioneer Square filled historic fantasy, we have to step back, and realize that all of this is a farce.
I am white. I am from European decent. Me partaking in this journey is a disgraceful expression of the inherent privilege I was born with. As much as I romanticize it, I am unconsciously embracing a history of conquest, expansion, and cultural, biological, and societal genocide. As much of beauty of this country that I have seen and experienced, I must always remind myself that it is not mine.
One could say that it is "mine" because of my ancestry going back to the first humans, but I do not think that justifies anything. That does not justify the erasure of culture, the spread of microbes, and forced relocation carried out by and genocidal acts committed through my European ancestors.
I cannot speak for the Native American cultures across this continent. I can only help fulfill justice through acknowledgement of the European wrongs which my ancestors fulfilled, and realize that I am in no way entitled to this land in which I live. I am here on loan, as with any part of the world I live in.
I cannot truly claim a home on this earth without the explicit consent of those before me who live and have an ancestry that came before me. I cannot claim a home unless I continually work to make right what is so very wrong through the actions of those who came before me, as well as those who live with me in the very same location and time. I can never belong somewhere until I work my hardest to help make that place... Better.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
The Generational Gap? (Or Are They Just Not Listening To Me?)
Throughout my AmeriCorps VISTA year I have written about the struggles I have had related to the "generational gap" of my work.
To preface:
I work in the city of Vancouver, Washington. It lies directly north of Portland, Oregon on the border, and is a community which grew up on and around the Columbia River. Its identity is formed from the contrast of itself to the "other" (in this case, the city of Portland). The two cities have differing politics, different attitudes, and different reputations.
Portland is the progressive liberal eco-concious golden child of urban planning, while Vancouver is the forgotten dirty conservative addition to the Portland Metro area nobody pays attention to.
Vancouver is the conservative family values bastion which provides the relief, income-taxless freedom of cars and bootstrap success, while Portland charges a tax on everything for useless projects to help a population which isn't going anywhere.
See what I mean? It can be spun both ways.
Maybe this is what attracts older folks to this area? A retirement home cheaper than Portland, but with access to the city and the job base of the urban area?
The region I work in spans five regions. Our office is in Vancouver, but I work across Wahkiakum, Cowlitz, Clark, Skamania, and Klickitat Counties. The average percentage of folks over 65 across this region is 18.56%. The area is aging rapidly, and this is an issue the region is only beginning to plan for and around. So maybe this is where my problems occur?
To the present:
Recently I participated in a meeting and received a message after that meeting which distressed me more than anything has in a while.
During the meeting I was providing updates about my project (which I have been working on over the past ten months) and explaining surveys, new directions and options, and how I would proceed with the project.
Over the past five to seven months I have been soliciting feedback from any and all partners I could contact. I have been pouring my efforts into learning all I can about the area, the systems, the people, the towns, and how I could begin to think about how I could help with transportation and mobility needs.
During the meeting, I proposed beginning to talk about potential solutions, one of which could be an integrated volunteer driver network for the two counties (and others beyond), to help expand what volunteer driver services exist. As soon as I proposed this, two members of the group began aggressively telling me about their volunteer driver programs (which I knew existed and worked really well). I tried to explain that I thought the new VISTA positions would be a good opportunity to try to expand the transportation services, coordination, and volunteer driver programs across the two counties. I believe that these new VISTA positions may hold a great opportunity for expanded services for the region!
Today I got a voice mail from one of the people at the meeting, and it said that before I go ahead with any press releases for my surveys I need to meet and talk with the services to learn what they do in and around the county. I was appalled.
Once again, they just assumed that I had learned nothing over the past ten months, and that I have just been ignorant to the wonderful service they offer within their counties.
What really gets me ticking on this issue is the fact that I actually prefer the communities out in the Gorge and in the rural counties. They remind me so much of home.
I am attached to Stevenson because it reminds me of Baltimore. The mountains surrounding White Salmon remind me of the mountain tucked Swannanoa. Goldendale reminds me of Lancaster; a community in shambles, but refinding itself in the new millenium.
I also don't understand why these folks are always so surprised when I tell them I have made a decision to do something and act upon something. I have included them in all of my correspondence via email, meetings, and phone calls. I have invited their input on all of my materials, and I have tried my hardest to cover all of my bases with all of our partners across the region.
So are they not listening to me? I even distributed everything through my supervisors, and what responses and suggestions I got back I incorporated into my work. I don't understand why people are all of a sudden responding to things I decide I want to do, saying that I should step back and seek input, when I have already solicited it from them.
So are they just not listening to me?
I really am tired of folks not being able to be mature and act like adults. We are not playing a game of "This is mine and I won't let you have any of it!", we are playing a game of "Let's get as many people mobile as possible so they can have a good life."
To preface:
I work in the city of Vancouver, Washington. It lies directly north of Portland, Oregon on the border, and is a community which grew up on and around the Columbia River. Its identity is formed from the contrast of itself to the "other" (in this case, the city of Portland). The two cities have differing politics, different attitudes, and different reputations.
Portland is the progressive liberal eco-concious golden child of urban planning, while Vancouver is the forgotten dirty conservative addition to the Portland Metro area nobody pays attention to.
Vancouver is the conservative family values bastion which provides the relief, income-taxless freedom of cars and bootstrap success, while Portland charges a tax on everything for useless projects to help a population which isn't going anywhere.
See what I mean? It can be spun both ways.
Maybe this is what attracts older folks to this area? A retirement home cheaper than Portland, but with access to the city and the job base of the urban area?
The region I work in spans five regions. Our office is in Vancouver, but I work across Wahkiakum, Cowlitz, Clark, Skamania, and Klickitat Counties. The average percentage of folks over 65 across this region is 18.56%. The area is aging rapidly, and this is an issue the region is only beginning to plan for and around. So maybe this is where my problems occur?
To the present:
Recently I participated in a meeting and received a message after that meeting which distressed me more than anything has in a while.
During the meeting I was providing updates about my project (which I have been working on over the past ten months) and explaining surveys, new directions and options, and how I would proceed with the project.
Over the past five to seven months I have been soliciting feedback from any and all partners I could contact. I have been pouring my efforts into learning all I can about the area, the systems, the people, the towns, and how I could begin to think about how I could help with transportation and mobility needs.
During the meeting, I proposed beginning to talk about potential solutions, one of which could be an integrated volunteer driver network for the two counties (and others beyond), to help expand what volunteer driver services exist. As soon as I proposed this, two members of the group began aggressively telling me about their volunteer driver programs (which I knew existed and worked really well). I tried to explain that I thought the new VISTA positions would be a good opportunity to try to expand the transportation services, coordination, and volunteer driver programs across the two counties. I believe that these new VISTA positions may hold a great opportunity for expanded services for the region!
Today I got a voice mail from one of the people at the meeting, and it said that before I go ahead with any press releases for my surveys I need to meet and talk with the services to learn what they do in and around the county. I was appalled.
Once again, they just assumed that I had learned nothing over the past ten months, and that I have just been ignorant to the wonderful service they offer within their counties.
What really gets me ticking on this issue is the fact that I actually prefer the communities out in the Gorge and in the rural counties. They remind me so much of home.
I am attached to Stevenson because it reminds me of Baltimore. The mountains surrounding White Salmon remind me of the mountain tucked Swannanoa. Goldendale reminds me of Lancaster; a community in shambles, but refinding itself in the new millenium.
I also don't understand why these folks are always so surprised when I tell them I have made a decision to do something and act upon something. I have included them in all of my correspondence via email, meetings, and phone calls. I have invited their input on all of my materials, and I have tried my hardest to cover all of my bases with all of our partners across the region.
So are they not listening to me? I even distributed everything through my supervisors, and what responses and suggestions I got back I incorporated into my work. I don't understand why people are all of a sudden responding to things I decide I want to do, saying that I should step back and seek input, when I have already solicited it from them.
So are they just not listening to me?
I really am tired of folks not being able to be mature and act like adults. We are not playing a game of "This is mine and I won't let you have any of it!", we are playing a game of "Let's get as many people mobile as possible so they can have a good life."
Monday, June 2, 2014
Here's a Hymn To Welcome In The Day...
Over the previous weekend I went camping with friends and last Thursday I saw the Decemberists perform their album "Castaways and Cutouts" in full, along with another hour long set of their favorites.
All this music and these experiences have made me begin thinking, and even though the weather has changed, I still feel a sense of deep loneliness bounded up within me.
I don't like to complain, and I try to hide it from the people I do hangout with right now, but I miss what I had in college. I really do miss the previous four years of my life, and the amount of love, friendship, and acceptance I experienced at Warren Wilson College. I really have been struggling after leaving.
It seems as though the "real world" is full of people who talk slander on others, who use derogatory terms like there is no tomorrow, and have to respect or acknowledgement of the complicatedness and sensitivity of reality. It's a deep problem, which many good hearted people have outside of college. I guess I was just too eager to get out of the academic sphere, and painted too fruity of images of what everyday life would be like.
I also was in proximity to my best friend at college, someone who I miss terribly, who I really would like to see again. Its amazing how much I didn't realize I would miss my friends and the atmosphere of being in college. Or maybe its just the people, friends, and atmosphere at a college such as Warren Wilson College. I don't know.
The Decemberists have also got me longing for a romantic connection again. The lack of a physical connection has done a toll on me. I really want a person to show intimacy with, and to hold and embrace and share a connection with.
So it only makes sense that during their performance of The Crane Wife (all three parts), I couldn't help but silently sing along, wondering where that crane may be.
But alas, its hard to find a crane, especially when there are so many people who don't accept you for what you are. And when you think you've found someone you hit it off with really well, or at least acknowledges your existence as a decent human being, they are either already with someone, and/or off to Alaska.
But alas, its hard to find a crane, especially when there are so many people who don't accept you for what you are. And when you think you've found someone you hit it off with really well, or at least acknowledges your existence as a decent human being, they are either already with someone, and/or off to Alaska.
Ugh. Life.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Feelin' Artsy
Recently I have begun to shift my attitude towards a different view of "art". But to understand where I'm going, we have to first look back at where I've been:
(That's not the most overused phrase I love to embrace...)
When growing up, I had many ideas, thoughts, and confusions about "art". I thought of art in a few limited ways. Art included the "high art" greats, i.e. Mozart, da Vinci, and other artists with such detailed and devoted meanings behind there works; and the "low art", i.e. the cutesy artisan shop on the main street of each moderately sized city, or the trinkets and handmade items one finds at antique and thrift shops.
As I entered my late high school and early college years, the additional factor of the "unique" and "weird" was thrown into the mix. This solidified the fact that "art" was something that someone just understood. The paintings, music, and items were something that a small, elite portion of the population got, and that made them special. If you were not in this all-knowing scoffing club, then you were the commoner, or the "other".
So this discouraged me, and even infuriated me at some points. Only in my junior year of college did I begin to pull apart and begin to dissect the complex intertwined dichotomous key that is known as "art", and in a greater sense: "culture".
I would like to stop here and say something. I do not believe in any form of "art" or "culture" that is "lower" or "higher" than any other you can compare it to. In response to "You can't even compare the two!", well, you can always compare some work of art to another work of art.
For example: Take rap lyrics or graffiti on a train, and compare it to a country tune or a painted landscape. Each piece was consciously created to evoke or describe some sort of emotion or feeling the piece elicits. Rap lyrics may evoke the struggles of living in the inner city, or the celebration of a personal life, where a country song may praise the rural lifestyle, while condemning a drunkards lifestyle and praising the wholesome life. And of course, these examples are rarely ever that simple. Usually they are layered with many more messages and highlights.
So as of recently, after wrestling to complete my thesis and working on not being completely absorbed by life changing thoughts and research, I have started rethinking, redefining, and doing more "art".
(Shameless plug for my thesis, which I am currently revising for fun (WHAT AM I!?)
Click Here to Read My Thesis)
Disclaimer: My thesis was a major influence and instigator of the change of thought that I describe from this point forward. Along with many recent journeys into YouTube and the internet.
My qualification for something that is "art" is that it must be a work, action, or event that was completed with a conscious decision to evoke some sort of emotion or feeling in the observer. That is it. It doesn't matter what it is, or what it does, but as long as it has those qualities (in my book), then it can be considered "art".
One example I love of this is concept is a picture I once saw on one of my many forays into Tumblr. It goes something like this (I can't find the picture, so a text version will have to do):
There is a white canvas in the Tumblr post with a hashtag "art", and the comments are as follows:
"How is this art? Its just a white piece of paper!"
"People think so many crazy things today!"
"You pretty much just proved the point that it is indeed "art".
The conversation proves that what you may think is not art can indeed be art, as long as someone had the guts to go put up a blank canvas and call it "art".
Finally, I have had some fun reevaluations of why we should keep all art, and consequently cultures, on the same playing field in terms of their "value", i.e. no "high art/culture" and "low art/culture".
Now this may just be my uncanny sense to stare out the window and take things in, but I believe that all artistic expressions and attempts are equal. The Mona Lisa has the same artistic value as the doodles and fanart I see on Tumblr. Both are created to elicit a feeling, or emotion, from the viewer, and as an added bonus, the pieces also communicate the feelings and ideas of the creator via the piece. (Or at least I would think the Mona Lisa would tell us a little bit about da Vinci, but I can't say for sure because I wasn't alive to experience the publicity and reception around the work.) At this point you may be taking me for a fool, but stay with me.
The styles and techniques may be radically different, and the materials and presentation solar systems apart, but they all have that underlying qualifier, or are in the same universe (to stay on the metaphor): It was created to evoke an emotion or feel from the view or observer.
Keeping this idea in mind, either throughout your day or in a deliberate work, can help open up your eyes to a little more about the big picture, along with the details that make it up. Each individual intention of artwork can popup anywhere, and can be a collaboration of many things. The same goes for culture.
Culture has avoided a definition for a while now, and we are nowhere close to nailing down one yet, but maybe a part of the definition of culture may be expanded from "art". Instead of the intentional decisions, maybe culture is the "unintentional decisions, creations, and expressions an individual, a group of people, or a population completes and does which evokes an emotion or feeling in another."
Yes, we can come up with some really horrible unjust examples of this kind of culture, just as we can come up with the same for artwork, but that doesn't mean it is not "culture" or is not "artwork". They were created with the exact same purpose as other wonderful just artworks, or are on the same playing field of unintentionally evoking emotions from the observer via their cultures. And I try not to make this moral choice.
I try to leave my judgement open. It takes an open mind to understand the opposite, and artwork and culture can help us understand the logic and the belief in the "good" of all artwork and cultures. Historical relevancy also plays a part, as well as backgrounds and the way you may have been raised. But each individual has their right to decide what is "right" and what is "wrong" among cultures and artworks. All I ask is that you take some time to think about it before you go throwing harsh judgement around.
So next time you are riding on that bus through the small mountain town, or through the big city, keep an open mind, and see what beauty you can find via logical and outside thinking. You might find that the artwork and culture around you can allow you have a more pleasant and enjoyable view of the world and life, and it can definitely brighten up your day during a dark time.
(That's not the most overused phrase I love to embrace...)
When growing up, I had many ideas, thoughts, and confusions about "art". I thought of art in a few limited ways. Art included the "high art" greats, i.e. Mozart, da Vinci, and other artists with such detailed and devoted meanings behind there works; and the "low art", i.e. the cutesy artisan shop on the main street of each moderately sized city, or the trinkets and handmade items one finds at antique and thrift shops.
As I entered my late high school and early college years, the additional factor of the "unique" and "weird" was thrown into the mix. This solidified the fact that "art" was something that someone just understood. The paintings, music, and items were something that a small, elite portion of the population got, and that made them special. If you were not in this all-knowing scoffing club, then you were the commoner, or the "other".
So this discouraged me, and even infuriated me at some points. Only in my junior year of college did I begin to pull apart and begin to dissect the complex intertwined dichotomous key that is known as "art", and in a greater sense: "culture".
I would like to stop here and say something. I do not believe in any form of "art" or "culture" that is "lower" or "higher" than any other you can compare it to. In response to "You can't even compare the two!", well, you can always compare some work of art to another work of art.
For example: Take rap lyrics or graffiti on a train, and compare it to a country tune or a painted landscape. Each piece was consciously created to evoke or describe some sort of emotion or feeling the piece elicits. Rap lyrics may evoke the struggles of living in the inner city, or the celebration of a personal life, where a country song may praise the rural lifestyle, while condemning a drunkards lifestyle and praising the wholesome life. And of course, these examples are rarely ever that simple. Usually they are layered with many more messages and highlights.
So as of recently, after wrestling to complete my thesis and working on not being completely absorbed by life changing thoughts and research, I have started rethinking, redefining, and doing more "art".
(Shameless plug for my thesis, which I am currently revising for fun (WHAT AM I!?)
Click Here to Read My Thesis)
Disclaimer: My thesis was a major influence and instigator of the change of thought that I describe from this point forward. Along with many recent journeys into YouTube and the internet.
My qualification for something that is "art" is that it must be a work, action, or event that was completed with a conscious decision to evoke some sort of emotion or feeling in the observer. That is it. It doesn't matter what it is, or what it does, but as long as it has those qualities (in my book), then it can be considered "art".
One example I love of this is concept is a picture I once saw on one of my many forays into Tumblr. It goes something like this (I can't find the picture, so a text version will have to do):
There is a white canvas in the Tumblr post with a hashtag "art", and the comments are as follows:
"How is this art? Its just a white piece of paper!"
"People think so many crazy things today!"
"You pretty much just proved the point that it is indeed "art".
The conversation proves that what you may think is not art can indeed be art, as long as someone had the guts to go put up a blank canvas and call it "art".
Finally, I have had some fun reevaluations of why we should keep all art, and consequently cultures, on the same playing field in terms of their "value", i.e. no "high art/culture" and "low art/culture".
Now this may just be my uncanny sense to stare out the window and take things in, but I believe that all artistic expressions and attempts are equal. The Mona Lisa has the same artistic value as the doodles and fanart I see on Tumblr. Both are created to elicit a feeling, or emotion, from the viewer, and as an added bonus, the pieces also communicate the feelings and ideas of the creator via the piece. (Or at least I would think the Mona Lisa would tell us a little bit about da Vinci, but I can't say for sure because I wasn't alive to experience the publicity and reception around the work.) At this point you may be taking me for a fool, but stay with me.
The styles and techniques may be radically different, and the materials and presentation solar systems apart, but they all have that underlying qualifier, or are in the same universe (to stay on the metaphor): It was created to evoke an emotion or feel from the view or observer.
Keeping this idea in mind, either throughout your day or in a deliberate work, can help open up your eyes to a little more about the big picture, along with the details that make it up. Each individual intention of artwork can popup anywhere, and can be a collaboration of many things. The same goes for culture.
Culture has avoided a definition for a while now, and we are nowhere close to nailing down one yet, but maybe a part of the definition of culture may be expanded from "art". Instead of the intentional decisions, maybe culture is the "unintentional decisions, creations, and expressions an individual, a group of people, or a population completes and does which evokes an emotion or feeling in another."
Yes, we can come up with some really horrible unjust examples of this kind of culture, just as we can come up with the same for artwork, but that doesn't mean it is not "culture" or is not "artwork". They were created with the exact same purpose as other wonderful just artworks, or are on the same playing field of unintentionally evoking emotions from the observer via their cultures. And I try not to make this moral choice.
I try to leave my judgement open. It takes an open mind to understand the opposite, and artwork and culture can help us understand the logic and the belief in the "good" of all artwork and cultures. Historical relevancy also plays a part, as well as backgrounds and the way you may have been raised. But each individual has their right to decide what is "right" and what is "wrong" among cultures and artworks. All I ask is that you take some time to think about it before you go throwing harsh judgement around.
So next time you are riding on that bus through the small mountain town, or through the big city, keep an open mind, and see what beauty you can find via logical and outside thinking. You might find that the artwork and culture around you can allow you have a more pleasant and enjoyable view of the world and life, and it can definitely brighten up your day during a dark time.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Electronic Bank Transfer; Supplemental Nutritional Action Program, Consumer Dollars
So what you may not realize, is that the title of this has a somewhat loose theme to it, and if you know your federal/state programs, you may have recognized it.
Yes, its that wonderful time to analyze and ramble a bit about my Washington State Department of Social and Health Services adventures.
So this entire odyssey began at the beginning of February. I received my half year review by DSHS, and, like any good citizen, I tried to fill out the renewal application online. I did exactly what I did when I filled out the initial application: I put my AmeriCorps benefits under the "Other" category. Last time it worked, so why not this time?
Well apparently this registered as "income", so the lovely Olympia office sent me an income re-certification letter for my "income". Well its too bad I don't make any money. After struggling on the phone, I eventually made my way to the physical office, where I proceeded to talk to a real person, who cleared me in 15 minutes. What a great way to take off half a day of work.
So, now I get a letter saying my benefits are going to be reduced in April. No explanation, and no follow up letter (perhaps they sent this one out before I went into the physical office?)
Now here is my gripe. How, exactly, are working people supposed to get into the office to get their assistance? The government should know that there is an entire class of folks out there who are classified as "working poor", and when the DSHS office is only open from 8:00 AM- 3:00 PM, how in the world are we supposed to get our benefits? I am lucky and privileged enough that my supervisors understand my situation, but to the millions of folks out there who are working, but still need to get benefits, they are hard pressed to find time to take off from their job (many jobs give little if any vacation), and even if you could get time off, if you are a temporary worker, or even starting out, that time off could cost you your well earned position.
This isn't restricted to federal/state assistance either. Doctors, dentists, mental health clinics. They are all only open from 9:00 AM- 5:00 PM. That is the time most people work. Weekends are off limits as well for most of these industries. What a shame that millions of people cannot access services and be well because our society is structured to shut down at 5:00 PM. The only places that are open after work hours are unhealthy eateries, entertainment venues, and bars. We need to work out of the sunlight routine and into the reality of modernity. Sure, it may not be "better" to some people, and we could stand to go outside sometimes anyway, but a staggered work, service, and play schedule seem more logical than lumping two into one, corroding work productivity, and creating an inequality in wellness which stretches among class lines and career privileges. Why hasn't this been brought up in popular discussion? It seems like we could alleviate so many issues by simply restructuring the way we work.
Yes, its that wonderful time to analyze and ramble a bit about my Washington State Department of Social and Health Services adventures.
So this entire odyssey began at the beginning of February. I received my half year review by DSHS, and, like any good citizen, I tried to fill out the renewal application online. I did exactly what I did when I filled out the initial application: I put my AmeriCorps benefits under the "Other" category. Last time it worked, so why not this time?
Well apparently this registered as "income", so the lovely Olympia office sent me an income re-certification letter for my "income". Well its too bad I don't make any money. After struggling on the phone, I eventually made my way to the physical office, where I proceeded to talk to a real person, who cleared me in 15 minutes. What a great way to take off half a day of work.
So, now I get a letter saying my benefits are going to be reduced in April. No explanation, and no follow up letter (perhaps they sent this one out before I went into the physical office?)
Now here is my gripe. How, exactly, are working people supposed to get into the office to get their assistance? The government should know that there is an entire class of folks out there who are classified as "working poor", and when the DSHS office is only open from 8:00 AM- 3:00 PM, how in the world are we supposed to get our benefits? I am lucky and privileged enough that my supervisors understand my situation, but to the millions of folks out there who are working, but still need to get benefits, they are hard pressed to find time to take off from their job (many jobs give little if any vacation), and even if you could get time off, if you are a temporary worker, or even starting out, that time off could cost you your well earned position.
This isn't restricted to federal/state assistance either. Doctors, dentists, mental health clinics. They are all only open from 9:00 AM- 5:00 PM. That is the time most people work. Weekends are off limits as well for most of these industries. What a shame that millions of people cannot access services and be well because our society is structured to shut down at 5:00 PM. The only places that are open after work hours are unhealthy eateries, entertainment venues, and bars. We need to work out of the sunlight routine and into the reality of modernity. Sure, it may not be "better" to some people, and we could stand to go outside sometimes anyway, but a staggered work, service, and play schedule seem more logical than lumping two into one, corroding work productivity, and creating an inequality in wellness which stretches among class lines and career privileges. Why hasn't this been brought up in popular discussion? It seems like we could alleviate so many issues by simply restructuring the way we work.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Post-Modernism, College, Academia, and Other First Blog Post Topics (or You May Call Them Rants)
To begin things, I would like to say that this blog will be a little less reflective, a little more rambley, and a tad bit off canter as composed to my Tips & Tricks blog. I'm thinking of stretching out the two into a travel/place based blog, and a life blog, updates and projects not related to geography or my love of place.
Today's post is brought to you by a sense of anxiety, uncertainty, and being off my anti-depressants for a couple of weeks.
About half way through college, my eyes were opened to the privilege a college education holds. For some reason my tone changed. The fairyland changed to an analysis based world, where magic was explained by facts, figures, and theories. As open as an institution Warren Wilson is, it still abides by the structure of majors, and the curriculum standards of academia. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, but I would like to point out the place I am so very fond of upon being away from it for so long, still has its detractors, and is not the perfect heavenly paradise I have written it out to be in the past.
One such issue, and this is simply not exclusive to Warren Wilson, is the power dynamic which comes with "higher learning". The attitude of "higher learning" is as follows: A person pays thousands of dollars to go to school to have an experience which is better, and puts them in a "higher" position than the others. This dynamic allows the subject to assume a position which they must argue and defend in front of others. And many times it is implied that this is the only way to further your personal understanding of the world around you, and how it works and relates with the other pieces of the puzzle.
But there is a tone of superiority that comes with this. Along the academic career path, students assume a "subscription" to a, or many, framework(s) on which to build and elaborate arguments. The mold is formed to assume the structure of the privileged who came before, and to hold them in high regard because of their position of power and intelligence. If the college is small enough and open enough, you may be lucky enough, to discuss, disagree with, or dialogue about these positions.
Therein lies my issue. The service to which we pay thousands of dollars to each year, demands respect from its earlier founders, and adoptions of its methods of thinking and doing. Students discourse from the established paradigms within discussions or papers, but when established, it seems as though the professors, fellow students, and culture of the institution label the questioning subject as a misguided dunce.
So often the ideas are new, and the methodologies so "correct", that students will sit with eyes wide open and blindly accept and adopt these new viewpoints because of their "profoundness" and novelty. Then nothing more is said. Very few times, at least in my experience, do professors or fellow students take dissidence seriously. The discussion goes two ways: "You are wrong, and here is why:" or "You are so cute, with your disregard for established traditions, now sit quietly and let others talk."
And to be respectful, and make sure others get a good discussion grade, you obey, and harbor these questions and concerns away for the rest of your college career.
Once the thesis does come to fruition, new methodologies are mixed, ideas are shed or hybridized into new form, one unique to the topic being presented, the one that is important to the student. But the attitudes of the professors and institutions play out:
"Your project is not 'exotic' enough."
"You did not follow established procedures and methods."
"What meaning or perspective does this have outside of your normal, everyday life?"
"Thank you for your time and stage presence. Because we cannot easily categorize your project, please welcome the next speaker."
"You aren't a good writer. Your points are therefore invalid because they are not communicated well."
"You did not focus on the authentic sides of the issue. These are all topics about everyday mundane things, there is nothing revolutionary in here."
These are the thoughts I felt were being communicated to me throughout my thesis. Of course, nobody said these things out loud to me, and certain professors indirectly communicated them more than others, but they were implied in the follow up questions, in the edits, and in the classes. I felt powerless in my "academic" thinking because my ideas did not fit into the typical exotic "other" that everyone else's projects did.
But I took the project to my heart, and led my discovery internally for it. I kept telling myself it was worth it, that all along the lives of everyday people's internal migrations mattered and reflected something much bigger and much more beautiful in this world than we thought.
The story of an Appalachian family packed in a car headed northbound for mill work in Columbus, Ohio was nearly identical to the experience of an Andalusian family on a coach seat in a train car headed east for the industrial powerhouse of Barcelona, Catalonia. Their hopes were very similar, their fears were extremely similar, their music and dances changed and morphed into something just as equally as wonderful as their older rural traditions. They became urban traditions. The two groups of people shifted from one situation to another, and this shows the validity of their stories as a reflection of how we can understand the history of the rural to urban shift in a more complete context.
These groups were not extremely oppressed. They did not have any of the extreme romantic poverty porn laid upon them during their journeys and transitions. Many came to evolve into what we see today, and help us to explain the situation of our post-modern individualistic world today.
I don't care if you know what post-modernism means. Basically, in my context, it means the focus on the value of each individual, no matter their status, actions, and realizing how valuable that individual is because of their unique view of the world via their own individual two eyes. I want to study the mundane, the everyday, the ordinary. In history it shows us how we got where we are now, and where we are going. In sociology it shows us the basic blocks which make up the strata (different levels) of who is where, and how we may change that. In anthropology it shows us how cultures can create something wonderful via the interactions and transitions of everyday lives. And everyone matters in my equation, and we must recognize that. Everyone from the same suburban misfits who equally live outside of Asheville, North Carolina, and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to the founders of the rich and famous all the way to the lowly commuter who works two jobs. Everyone matters.
And that is what I tried to distinguish and exemplify in my thesis. And it didn't go well. My groups of people studied didn't fit within the traditional colonized/oppressed people, nor did they have a huge influence or effect on what we know to this day. But they were there, and when examined, they can lead to so much more.
And maybe it was because of my writing style, or my organization, or my simple attitude that mixing is good, and static is bad. I wanted to dispel the myth that culture is static, but in fact is dynamic and always changing by all forces, being driven by something that links seemingly completely unrelated geographies together across a world half a century ago.
If you made it this far, congratulations. I wasn't trying to get on the 'ranty' side of things, but it seems to have gone that way. I do truly feel for my projects and investments, and when they are not recognized because of an unfair, power imbalanced academic dynamic, I tend to... as a previous housemate would say it... feel some sort of way. Anyways, and yes, I will spell it like that, if you have questions, input, not hate discussion, feel free to comment and or +1 it.
-Nick
Today's post is brought to you by a sense of anxiety, uncertainty, and being off my anti-depressants for a couple of weeks.
About half way through college, my eyes were opened to the privilege a college education holds. For some reason my tone changed. The fairyland changed to an analysis based world, where magic was explained by facts, figures, and theories. As open as an institution Warren Wilson is, it still abides by the structure of majors, and the curriculum standards of academia. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, but I would like to point out the place I am so very fond of upon being away from it for so long, still has its detractors, and is not the perfect heavenly paradise I have written it out to be in the past.
One such issue, and this is simply not exclusive to Warren Wilson, is the power dynamic which comes with "higher learning". The attitude of "higher learning" is as follows: A person pays thousands of dollars to go to school to have an experience which is better, and puts them in a "higher" position than the others. This dynamic allows the subject to assume a position which they must argue and defend in front of others. And many times it is implied that this is the only way to further your personal understanding of the world around you, and how it works and relates with the other pieces of the puzzle.
But there is a tone of superiority that comes with this. Along the academic career path, students assume a "subscription" to a, or many, framework(s) on which to build and elaborate arguments. The mold is formed to assume the structure of the privileged who came before, and to hold them in high regard because of their position of power and intelligence. If the college is small enough and open enough, you may be lucky enough, to discuss, disagree with, or dialogue about these positions.
Therein lies my issue. The service to which we pay thousands of dollars to each year, demands respect from its earlier founders, and adoptions of its methods of thinking and doing. Students discourse from the established paradigms within discussions or papers, but when established, it seems as though the professors, fellow students, and culture of the institution label the questioning subject as a misguided dunce.
So often the ideas are new, and the methodologies so "correct", that students will sit with eyes wide open and blindly accept and adopt these new viewpoints because of their "profoundness" and novelty. Then nothing more is said. Very few times, at least in my experience, do professors or fellow students take dissidence seriously. The discussion goes two ways: "You are wrong, and here is why:" or "You are so cute, with your disregard for established traditions, now sit quietly and let others talk."
And to be respectful, and make sure others get a good discussion grade, you obey, and harbor these questions and concerns away for the rest of your college career.
Once the thesis does come to fruition, new methodologies are mixed, ideas are shed or hybridized into new form, one unique to the topic being presented, the one that is important to the student. But the attitudes of the professors and institutions play out:
"Your project is not 'exotic' enough."
"You did not follow established procedures and methods."
"What meaning or perspective does this have outside of your normal, everyday life?"
"Thank you for your time and stage presence. Because we cannot easily categorize your project, please welcome the next speaker."
"You aren't a good writer. Your points are therefore invalid because they are not communicated well."
"You did not focus on the authentic sides of the issue. These are all topics about everyday mundane things, there is nothing revolutionary in here."
These are the thoughts I felt were being communicated to me throughout my thesis. Of course, nobody said these things out loud to me, and certain professors indirectly communicated them more than others, but they were implied in the follow up questions, in the edits, and in the classes. I felt powerless in my "academic" thinking because my ideas did not fit into the typical exotic "other" that everyone else's projects did.
But I took the project to my heart, and led my discovery internally for it. I kept telling myself it was worth it, that all along the lives of everyday people's internal migrations mattered and reflected something much bigger and much more beautiful in this world than we thought.
The story of an Appalachian family packed in a car headed northbound for mill work in Columbus, Ohio was nearly identical to the experience of an Andalusian family on a coach seat in a train car headed east for the industrial powerhouse of Barcelona, Catalonia. Their hopes were very similar, their fears were extremely similar, their music and dances changed and morphed into something just as equally as wonderful as their older rural traditions. They became urban traditions. The two groups of people shifted from one situation to another, and this shows the validity of their stories as a reflection of how we can understand the history of the rural to urban shift in a more complete context.
These groups were not extremely oppressed. They did not have any of the extreme romantic poverty porn laid upon them during their journeys and transitions. Many came to evolve into what we see today, and help us to explain the situation of our post-modern individualistic world today.
I don't care if you know what post-modernism means. Basically, in my context, it means the focus on the value of each individual, no matter their status, actions, and realizing how valuable that individual is because of their unique view of the world via their own individual two eyes. I want to study the mundane, the everyday, the ordinary. In history it shows us how we got where we are now, and where we are going. In sociology it shows us the basic blocks which make up the strata (different levels) of who is where, and how we may change that. In anthropology it shows us how cultures can create something wonderful via the interactions and transitions of everyday lives. And everyone matters in my equation, and we must recognize that. Everyone from the same suburban misfits who equally live outside of Asheville, North Carolina, and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to the founders of the rich and famous all the way to the lowly commuter who works two jobs. Everyone matters.
And that is what I tried to distinguish and exemplify in my thesis. And it didn't go well. My groups of people studied didn't fit within the traditional colonized/oppressed people, nor did they have a huge influence or effect on what we know to this day. But they were there, and when examined, they can lead to so much more.
And maybe it was because of my writing style, or my organization, or my simple attitude that mixing is good, and static is bad. I wanted to dispel the myth that culture is static, but in fact is dynamic and always changing by all forces, being driven by something that links seemingly completely unrelated geographies together across a world half a century ago.
If you made it this far, congratulations. I wasn't trying to get on the 'ranty' side of things, but it seems to have gone that way. I do truly feel for my projects and investments, and when they are not recognized because of an unfair, power imbalanced academic dynamic, I tend to... as a previous housemate would say it... feel some sort of way. Anyways, and yes, I will spell it like that, if you have questions, input, not hate discussion, feel free to comment and or +1 it.
-Nick
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