Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I am vexed.
Okay, so as a disclaimer, I never meant for this little blog to be particularly political, but I can't help myself today because I am mad. Please comment, as I hope to inspire a commensurate level of angst amongst you ladies. This is partly in response to Megha's post about pregnancy planning amongst women in their 20s, though largely unrelated to the questions she was posing.
A few days ago I found out an organization formerly known as CRACK has set up shop down in the Gulf Coast. For those of you who haven't heard of CRACK, now packaged as "Project Prevention" and sometimes as "Positive Prevention," this organization and its coterie of employees are stationed all over the country, bribing drug addicted women with $200-$300 cash to get sterilized. That's right, they hand out cash on the spot to addicts. As a journalist from the Hartford Courant notes, "why not just skip a step and hand out rocks of crack?" Barbara Harris, the organization's founder contends, "If they spend the $200 on drugs, they spend it on drugs. It's none of our business what they do with the money we give them." And, it should come as no surprise, that their services and their green are targeted toward poor, black women. Their organization takes no interest in directing these women towards treatment clinics where they might recover from their addiction; rather they are specific in their goal of sterilizing drug users. Perhaps you've seen the billboard ads: "Don't let a pregnancy ruin your drug habit" and "Addicted to drugs? Get $200!"
Ms. Harris used to talk about "crack babies" as a scourge on the taxpayer, the government, and society in general, and she discussed her efforts as a favor being done for each of those groups. But recently she has begun to frame the effects of her work as benefiting the addict whom she is paying off. No longer does she advocate for punishing addicted mothers or compare them to dogs (as she did in a 1998 interview: "We don't allow dogs to breed. We spay them. We neuter them. We try to keep them from having unwanted puppies, and yet these women are literally having litters of children"). Instead, she appears sympathetic to women, choosing instead to lament the cycle of shame that plagues drug-using women whose children are taken away from them. But don't be misled by her rebranding; this is still a woman who once advocated jailing women who exposed their fetuses to drugs. Her and her cronies have had some success, as evidenced by prosecutions of drug using pregnant women for fetal homicide here in Mississippi and several other states, most notably Regina McKnight's case in South Carolina. Don't get me wrong - I'm fine with people being punished for breaking the law, and if a person is addicted to illegal substances, then fine the hell out of them and sending them on to mandatory treatment. But to charge a woman with homicide based on behavior that a man can engage in without the threat of any comparable penalty stinks of sex discrimination to me. But I digress.
I bring up this discussion of CRACK (sorry, I refuse to call them by their new euphemism), not because it is a novel topic (actually, they are quite well documented by the press here, here, here, here, here, well...you get the point); not because they have made a widespread impact in poor communities; and not because I see them as a primary target for advocates of pregnant women. Rather, I bring it up because I see this organization's efforts and its rebranding as part of a wider movement that is troubling to me and to which I am in part complicit. I think all women, especially us 20-somethings of reproductive age, ought to pay attention to it.
First, there are the racist and eugenicist foundations of the work they do. It's pretty obvious that CRACK is trying coerce black communities to stop reproducing. Yes, I know people walk into their offices on their own free will, but there is something inherently coercive about enticing someone to perform an act by promising to immediately feed their addiction.
And yet, while I am disgusted with these practices, I allow the same type of population control to perpetuate in less easily observable, though equally egregious, forms in my own movement. I have little to say when a pro-life protester tells me that abortion is "black genocide" when I know that the abortion rate amongst black women is three times that of white women in the U.S. As any good PR person will tell you, the most effective pieces of propaganda are reflective of the truth. Similarly, it is a problem that clinics in poor neighborhoods are advocating long term birth control solutions such as the Depo Provera (the shot) or IUDs to women more often than health care providers in middle class communities. And that my doctor's office in the Delta who served only the poor, black community in the town, handed out free birth control like they were breathmints, without requiring so much as a consultation with a nurse or doctor.
Please don't misconstrue what I say; I think it is important for all communities of people regardless of income level or race to have access to birth control and all methods of family planning, and there should be no shame in accessing those services. And I understand that many accept that family planning services are targeted toward poor communities because having lots of children keeps you and your children poor. But at what point are our "choices" forced upon us? There is a fine line here, and I hope me and the movement to which I have dedicated myself is on the right side of it.
In negotiating my feelings about this issue, I find myself shifting my attention to the side of the spectrum of choices I always supported but largely ignored in my actions: a woman's choice to carry her pregnancy to term. Under this umbrella fall issues such as affordable and good quality pre- and postnatal care, adequate and affordable childcare options, prenatal education, SCHIP, autonomy over how and where to birth, pregnancy prosecutions and other pregnancy discrimination issues such as forced leave or lightened duty, paid maternity leave and family leave. I am waiting for the day when my movement will actually become active around these issues and support women through every stop on their reproductive road trip, not just the ones under constant attack. (I should say, that there are organizations out there that are active advocating on behalf of pregnant women; my complaint is that securing those rights is not a widespread goal of the reproductive rights movement at large, and yet it is central to our ideology.)
The reason I posted this on this blog rather than just sending an angry email to my friends, is that believe that pregnant women are becoming more and more vulnerable to attacks on their rights, and that this trend transcends race and class. A couple quick facts:
- The C-Sections rate has risen over 50% in the last decade. Studies have shown that if you are on Medicaid, you are more likely to have a medically unnecessary c-section (hospitals and doctors can bill more for a c-section than they can for a vaginal birth). They also show that if you give birth on a weekend you are more likely, regardless of race or income level, to birth via a medically unnecessary c-section, suggesting that your OB/GYN is more concerned about making his or her tennis match than spending the time on a vaginal birth. Accounts suggest that many of these c-sections are coerced, and hospitals have procured court orders to force c-sections. This happens in public and private hospitals alike.
- Pregnant women who use drugs and live in states with fetal homicide laws (which allow for the prosecution of people responsible for the intentional or unintentional termination of a fetus), as discussed above, are being prosecuted for homicide if their babies are stillborn and traces of drugs are found in their bloodstreams. Women are avoiding necessary prenatal care and maternity care for fear that they will draw attention to their drug use and be thrown in jail.
- As my coworker told me firsthand today, in most of the country, it's impossible to get a job if you're showing a pregnancy. Women's rights organizations have taken this on, and have been successful in prosecuting cases in which women have been fired or forced on maternity leave. But it still remains a fact that walking into an interview with a belly full of baby is enough to convince employers that employing you is just not worth the risk.
- If you already have a job and get pregnant, you can sometimes be forced into early leave or unrequested light duty, even if you are able to perform your normal job functions.
- And if you're not convinced, what's leading cause of death for pregnant and post-partum women? Murder. Try exercising your rights to things like child support with that threat hanging over your head.
There are plenty of other instances in which pregnant women are denied basic rights. I wanted to highlight these few, because, though I enjoy the fluffiness of this blog, I also know that the women who read it, though few in number, are smart, concerned, and generally enlightened. So I thought I'd put it out there, both as an item to stir up some conversation, and to make sure we know what sorts of things our generation of childbearers are up against.
For more info about advocacy on behalf of pregnant women, visit my friends at National Advocates for Pregnant Women.
A few days ago I found out an organization formerly known as CRACK has set up shop down in the Gulf Coast. For those of you who haven't heard of CRACK, now packaged as "Project Prevention" and sometimes as "Positive Prevention," this organization and its coterie of employees are stationed all over the country, bribing drug addicted women with $200-$300 cash to get sterilized. That's right, they hand out cash on the spot to addicts. As a journalist from the Hartford Courant notes, "why not just skip a step and hand out rocks of crack?" Barbara Harris, the organization's founder contends, "If they spend the $200 on drugs, they spend it on drugs. It's none of our business what they do with the money we give them." And, it should come as no surprise, that their services and their green are targeted toward poor, black women. Their organization takes no interest in directing these women towards treatment clinics where they might recover from their addiction; rather they are specific in their goal of sterilizing drug users. Perhaps you've seen the billboard ads: "Don't let a pregnancy ruin your drug habit" and "Addicted to drugs? Get $200!"
Ms. Harris used to talk about "crack babies" as a scourge on the taxpayer, the government, and society in general, and she discussed her efforts as a favor being done for each of those groups. But recently she has begun to frame the effects of her work as benefiting the addict whom she is paying off. No longer does she advocate for punishing addicted mothers or compare them to dogs (as she did in a 1998 interview: "We don't allow dogs to breed. We spay them. We neuter them. We try to keep them from having unwanted puppies, and yet these women are literally having litters of children"). Instead, she appears sympathetic to women, choosing instead to lament the cycle of shame that plagues drug-using women whose children are taken away from them. But don't be misled by her rebranding; this is still a woman who once advocated jailing women who exposed their fetuses to drugs. Her and her cronies have had some success, as evidenced by prosecutions of drug using pregnant women for fetal homicide here in Mississippi and several other states, most notably Regina McKnight's case in South Carolina. Don't get me wrong - I'm fine with people being punished for breaking the law, and if a person is addicted to illegal substances, then fine the hell out of them and sending them on to mandatory treatment. But to charge a woman with homicide based on behavior that a man can engage in without the threat of any comparable penalty stinks of sex discrimination to me. But I digress.
I bring up this discussion of CRACK (sorry, I refuse to call them by their new euphemism), not because it is a novel topic (actually, they are quite well documented by the press here, here, here, here, here, well...you get the point); not because they have made a widespread impact in poor communities; and not because I see them as a primary target for advocates of pregnant women. Rather, I bring it up because I see this organization's efforts and its rebranding as part of a wider movement that is troubling to me and to which I am in part complicit. I think all women, especially us 20-somethings of reproductive age, ought to pay attention to it.
First, there are the racist and eugenicist foundations of the work they do. It's pretty obvious that CRACK is trying coerce black communities to stop reproducing. Yes, I know people walk into their offices on their own free will, but there is something inherently coercive about enticing someone to perform an act by promising to immediately feed their addiction.
And yet, while I am disgusted with these practices, I allow the same type of population control to perpetuate in less easily observable, though equally egregious, forms in my own movement. I have little to say when a pro-life protester tells me that abortion is "black genocide" when I know that the abortion rate amongst black women is three times that of white women in the U.S. As any good PR person will tell you, the most effective pieces of propaganda are reflective of the truth. Similarly, it is a problem that clinics in poor neighborhoods are advocating long term birth control solutions such as the Depo Provera (the shot) or IUDs to women more often than health care providers in middle class communities. And that my doctor's office in the Delta who served only the poor, black community in the town, handed out free birth control like they were breathmints, without requiring so much as a consultation with a nurse or doctor.
Please don't misconstrue what I say; I think it is important for all communities of people regardless of income level or race to have access to birth control and all methods of family planning, and there should be no shame in accessing those services. And I understand that many accept that family planning services are targeted toward poor communities because having lots of children keeps you and your children poor. But at what point are our "choices" forced upon us? There is a fine line here, and I hope me and the movement to which I have dedicated myself is on the right side of it.
In negotiating my feelings about this issue, I find myself shifting my attention to the side of the spectrum of choices I always supported but largely ignored in my actions: a woman's choice to carry her pregnancy to term. Under this umbrella fall issues such as affordable and good quality pre- and postnatal care, adequate and affordable childcare options, prenatal education, SCHIP, autonomy over how and where to birth, pregnancy prosecutions and other pregnancy discrimination issues such as forced leave or lightened duty, paid maternity leave and family leave. I am waiting for the day when my movement will actually become active around these issues and support women through every stop on their reproductive road trip, not just the ones under constant attack. (I should say, that there are organizations out there that are active advocating on behalf of pregnant women; my complaint is that securing those rights is not a widespread goal of the reproductive rights movement at large, and yet it is central to our ideology.)
The reason I posted this on this blog rather than just sending an angry email to my friends, is that believe that pregnant women are becoming more and more vulnerable to attacks on their rights, and that this trend transcends race and class. A couple quick facts:
- The C-Sections rate has risen over 50% in the last decade. Studies have shown that if you are on Medicaid, you are more likely to have a medically unnecessary c-section (hospitals and doctors can bill more for a c-section than they can for a vaginal birth). They also show that if you give birth on a weekend you are more likely, regardless of race or income level, to birth via a medically unnecessary c-section, suggesting that your OB/GYN is more concerned about making his or her tennis match than spending the time on a vaginal birth. Accounts suggest that many of these c-sections are coerced, and hospitals have procured court orders to force c-sections. This happens in public and private hospitals alike.
- Pregnant women who use drugs and live in states with fetal homicide laws (which allow for the prosecution of people responsible for the intentional or unintentional termination of a fetus), as discussed above, are being prosecuted for homicide if their babies are stillborn and traces of drugs are found in their bloodstreams. Women are avoiding necessary prenatal care and maternity care for fear that they will draw attention to their drug use and be thrown in jail.
- As my coworker told me firsthand today, in most of the country, it's impossible to get a job if you're showing a pregnancy. Women's rights organizations have taken this on, and have been successful in prosecuting cases in which women have been fired or forced on maternity leave. But it still remains a fact that walking into an interview with a belly full of baby is enough to convince employers that employing you is just not worth the risk.
- If you already have a job and get pregnant, you can sometimes be forced into early leave or unrequested light duty, even if you are able to perform your normal job functions.
- And if you're not convinced, what's leading cause of death for pregnant and post-partum women? Murder. Try exercising your rights to things like child support with that threat hanging over your head.
There are plenty of other instances in which pregnant women are denied basic rights. I wanted to highlight these few, because, though I enjoy the fluffiness of this blog, I also know that the women who read it, though few in number, are smart, concerned, and generally enlightened. So I thought I'd put it out there, both as an item to stir up some conversation, and to make sure we know what sorts of things our generation of childbearers are up against.
For more info about advocacy on behalf of pregnant women, visit my friends at National Advocates for Pregnant Women.
Friday, July 4, 2008
What is the #1 Thing 20-Something Women are not supposed to talk about? Babies!
Hello Lovely Ladies,
Happy 4th!
As an ardent admirer of the the smart and insightful women who contribute and participate in this blog, I'd like to first say thank you helping me feel a little bit less crazy and ridiculous as a woman in my 20's! Appreciate it...
Because I'm a snively marketing person, I've also decided to use you women as a focus group or audience for my own benefit....
I'm taking an introductory Anthropology course this summer - and I've been charged with taking on my own research assignment from an anthropological point of view. I'm thrilled! (No really, I am.)
I wanted to share my abstract with all of you and get a general feel for your opinions, thoughts, questions, comments, love notes, anything in general in reaction to it. I think it's especially pertinent to 20-something women and would love to hear what you think.
I've apprehensively decided to approach the whole topic of child-birth. (which I believe makes all twenty something women batty in one way or another...) I really want to understand this, what it means to different women, of varying backgrounds, goals, and beliefs. Even if you're not a New Yorker, hope this topic strikes a chord with you and elicits a response!
It's not a totally brilliant abstract, yet. I know that I'm leaving out many other external influencers, but not sure what all of them are yet...This is me trying once again to make sense of my world as a twenty something. I really appreciate your time and response. Be brutally honest. Thank you ladies!!
Abstract:
Abstract:
Today's world has afforded women more options and more opportunities than generations of women before us. We can travel all over the world, with whomever we want, live with men or women, have children or not have children - so many options. Many sociologists would say the biggest driver of all this change, globally, is the education of women. Women everywhere are now educated to high levels, in a variety of fields, especially in urban environments. Many interesting questions emerge from all of this - but mainly I'm interested in the attitudes and values educated women have concerning childbirth and childrearing.
To date, I've been surrounded by talented and highly educated women (undergraduate degrees and beyond) in business related fields. Most are charging ahead professionally. However, I hypothesize that there is a distinct correlation between higher education levels of women and beliefs about delaying childbirth, specifically in New York City. Women believe that they need to fulfill their professional goals first, and put their personal life plans on hold. New Yorker women plan (or in some cases, do not plan) to have children after age 35. Despite being highly educated, maybe these women are not accounting for biology. Biologically, there are increased risks for many diseases and disabilities for newborns with mothers over age 35. I wonder how many women know this or really believe it? What is their threshold for success? Is it worth it to become President or head of your firm, and then have a risky pregnancy? Does having a family mean success? If not, what does?
Using a survey methodology to test attitudes of educated, working female New Yorkers and second hand research, I will analyze this question in greater detail.
Happy 4th!
As an ardent admirer of the the smart and insightful women who contribute and participate in this blog, I'd like to first say thank you helping me feel a little bit less crazy and ridiculous as a woman in my 20's! Appreciate it...
Because I'm a snively marketing person, I've also decided to use you women as a focus group or audience for my own benefit....
I'm taking an introductory Anthropology course this summer - and I've been charged with taking on my own research assignment from an anthropological point of view. I'm thrilled! (No really, I am.)
I wanted to share my abstract with all of you and get a general feel for your opinions, thoughts, questions, comments, love notes, anything in general in reaction to it. I think it's especially pertinent to 20-something women and would love to hear what you think.
I've apprehensively decided to approach the whole topic of child-birth. (which I believe makes all twenty something women batty in one way or another...) I really want to understand this, what it means to different women, of varying backgrounds, goals, and beliefs. Even if you're not a New Yorker, hope this topic strikes a chord with you and elicits a response!
It's not a totally brilliant abstract, yet. I know that I'm leaving out many other external influencers, but not sure what all of them are yet...This is me trying once again to make sense of my world as a twenty something. I really appreciate your time and response. Be brutally honest. Thank you ladies!!
Abstract:
"Do you want to have children?
Yeah sure, I'll get to it ... later."
Yeah sure, I'll get to it ... later."
Today's world has afforded women more options and more opportunities than generations of women before us. We can travel all over the world, with whomever we want, live with men or women, have children or not have children - so many options. Many sociologists would say the biggest driver of all this change, globally, is the education of women. Women everywhere are now educated to high levels, in a variety of fields, especially in urban environments. Many interesting questions emerge from all of this - but mainly I'm interested in the attitudes and values educated women have concerning childbirth and childrearing.
To date, I've been surrounded by talented and highly educated women (undergraduate degrees and beyond) in business related fields. Most are charging ahead professionally. However, I hypothesize that there is a distinct correlation between higher education levels of women and beliefs about delaying childbirth, specifically in New York City. Women believe that they need to fulfill their professional goals first, and put their personal life plans on hold. New Yorker women plan (or in some cases, do not plan) to have children after age 35. Despite being highly educated, maybe these women are not accounting for biology. Biologically, there are increased risks for many diseases and disabilities for newborns with mothers over age 35. I wonder how many women know this or really believe it? What is their threshold for success? Is it worth it to become President or head of your firm, and then have a risky pregnancy? Does having a family mean success? If not, what does?
Using a survey methodology to test attitudes of educated, working female New Yorkers and second hand research, I will analyze this question in greater detail.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Wedding Woes?
Weddings--they're all romance right? Flowers, champagne, candles, and happily ever after, preferably occuring during a glowing sunset. Weddings are for the young...or are they?
I never thought getting married would make me feel old. I'm 25, I still feel like a teenager sometimes. I whine and throw tantrums--though maybe that's just the result of hanging out with high schoolers all day...But I'm reading the other posts, and in some sense, I've settled a lot more than the other wonderful women who post here. I have someone who is going to be a constant in my life and maybe that is what makes me feel old.
Is being settled a mark of adulthood? Or maturity? Or boredom? Or escape? Or...just another phase? I realize, with a month left til THE DAY, that I'm no longer going to have the freedom to have purple bedcovers, or my own closet space, or to go out whenever I want. There's another person to consult, a schedule to mesh with, and while I can't wait in some ways, in other ways I am grieving singlehood.
My dream for my 20s was to travel the world, to escape the Midwest. Well, I'm a teacher for the 3rd year in a row, I live in Columbus, and I'm marrying a man who still must complete 2 years of schooling...so there won't be any traveling for awhile. No glamour in that sense. But I am reveling in not being alone. This year has been tough but never lonely. I love that I now have someone to ride on airplanes with and someone to bake for and someone to tease, someone who peels my shrimp for me and who loves to drive (I really don't like driving!).
Can you tell my mind is back and forth and back and forth?
The latest wedding crisis revolves around 20 somethings. Oddly enough, we've gotten the most "rejections" on our invitations from 20 somethings (it does feel like a rejection, even if it's not! :-) ) Now why is it that our peers won't come to the wedding? For a few, it's monetary reasons. For others, I get the sense that it just wasn't that important to them, which strikes me as odd. Then it set me thinking. Maybe weddings aren't that important to 20 somethings. We've grown up with a divorce rate at 50% in this country. We get invited to several wedding every year. Our salaries, never high to begin with, are stretched. We can see the pictures online or watch the movie. If we can experience the wedding digitally, it's not like we really missed it, right? Or are we missing something?
Maybe in the end that is what connects this post. Feeling like something is missing--that glamorous job, or all that traveling, or those single nights, or my friends. Something that your 20s was supposed TO BE. Maybe these years drive us crazy because they are full of way too many expectations. (Cough cough Gary and the ten year plans) And we're looking backwards thinking they haven't been fulfilled and looking forward to a shifting landscape as we figure out who we are.
Bring on the champagne!
I never thought getting married would make me feel old. I'm 25, I still feel like a teenager sometimes. I whine and throw tantrums--though maybe that's just the result of hanging out with high schoolers all day...But I'm reading the other posts, and in some sense, I've settled a lot more than the other wonderful women who post here. I have someone who is going to be a constant in my life and maybe that is what makes me feel old.
Is being settled a mark of adulthood? Or maturity? Or boredom? Or escape? Or...just another phase? I realize, with a month left til THE DAY, that I'm no longer going to have the freedom to have purple bedcovers, or my own closet space, or to go out whenever I want. There's another person to consult, a schedule to mesh with, and while I can't wait in some ways, in other ways I am grieving singlehood.
My dream for my 20s was to travel the world, to escape the Midwest. Well, I'm a teacher for the 3rd year in a row, I live in Columbus, and I'm marrying a man who still must complete 2 years of schooling...so there won't be any traveling for awhile. No glamour in that sense. But I am reveling in not being alone. This year has been tough but never lonely. I love that I now have someone to ride on airplanes with and someone to bake for and someone to tease, someone who peels my shrimp for me and who loves to drive (I really don't like driving!).
Can you tell my mind is back and forth and back and forth?
The latest wedding crisis revolves around 20 somethings. Oddly enough, we've gotten the most "rejections" on our invitations from 20 somethings (it does feel like a rejection, even if it's not! :-) ) Now why is it that our peers won't come to the wedding? For a few, it's monetary reasons. For others, I get the sense that it just wasn't that important to them, which strikes me as odd. Then it set me thinking. Maybe weddings aren't that important to 20 somethings. We've grown up with a divorce rate at 50% in this country. We get invited to several wedding every year. Our salaries, never high to begin with, are stretched. We can see the pictures online or watch the movie. If we can experience the wedding digitally, it's not like we really missed it, right? Or are we missing something?
Maybe in the end that is what connects this post. Feeling like something is missing--that glamorous job, or all that traveling, or those single nights, or my friends. Something that your 20s was supposed TO BE. Maybe these years drive us crazy because they are full of way too many expectations. (Cough cough Gary and the ten year plans) And we're looking backwards thinking they haven't been fulfilled and looking forward to a shifting landscape as we figure out who we are.
Bring on the champagne!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The Switch
So I have figured it out. I am living in a state of permanent limbo. Mentally and emotionally, I am still a child. Indecisive, poor, non-committal, and easily bored. These are not the main characteristics of a 25 year old--at least I did not attribute these characteristics to someone in their mid-twenties. But of course, that was when I was not in my mid-twenties.
My boyfriend and I had a big fight about a month ago. During our reconciliatory talk in which he begged for my forgiveness he said he realized he didn't make the "switch" he needed to be a gold star boyfriend (the gold star is, of course, my addition and I have since made a gold star system to monitor his behavior). I was too angry to sympathize with him at the time, but I can divulge here that I am having trouble making a switch of my own. Not in the girlfriend department of course, but in the grown-up department.
Only seven years ago, 25 year-olds were adults. In my mind, there was a great divide between myself and the 25 year-olds I knew. They had jobs instead of mid-terms, steady boyfriends instead of random hook-ups, framed paintings instead of recycled drinking posters, and furniture that their colleges didn't provide for them. They were grown ups.
Well, I am 25 now and I can say that it is all one big farce. All of you who are seven years older than me are liars! Yes, when I was 18 your framed Monet prints implicitly whispered I am what you are working towards and I'm worth it. Now those wall hangings are saying: I am the ugly print your mother bought eight years ago at a garage sale and I feel sorry for you that you couldn't afford anything better.
So, I have learned that 25 years of living does not a grown up make. I still buy lunch specials and try to make them last for two meals (eat your heart out you stupid New York Times article about "poor" 20 somethings in New York). I still have no clue what I want to do with my life. And I still don't own more than $1,500 worth of personal property, Monet print not included.
I can’t help but feel inadequate because of my inability to make “the switch.” This inadequacy is exacerbated by visits home. The last time I went home and told my extended family about my graduate school success, my Auntie Popol frowned at me and said, "This is not where I thought you would be at this age. You should own something, like a house." I figured I wouldn’t tell her that the commitment to buying a mattress gave me acid reflux for a week. But really, a house? And what the hell does “this age” mean anyway?
The problem is that everyone else seems to know what being 25 means but me.
Monday, May 26, 2008
The comradery of Salman Rushdie
I remember quite distinctly a time when Ravina and I read alternate chapters of the Salman Rushdie's neverending saga "Shame." We were freshmen in college and seemingly brand new friends. It was for an English Literature course with the ominous sounding, pointy browed and totally unapproachable Professor Guarav Majumdar. His unapproachability was not at all a result of his being intimidating, but more so by the fact that he was intimated by almost any human contact that we avoided approaching him.
I tell this story fondly to almost anyone who will listen. I can almost imagine myself gleaning some lesson-to-be learned from it for my kids (really, the lesson is, if you can find a friend to share reading books with, go for it). Of course, I wouldn't say that to my children, maybe someone else's kids if I want them to be failed intellectuals. But I digress.
I am scared these days. Scared and overwhelmed by the notion that my life with be filled with anecdotes from age 18-21. I am scared that like those assholes whose lives peaked in high school, my life peaked in college. I have been mourning the loss of a good anecdote lately. I think it is safe to say that the daily grind of entry-level work does not lend itself to the feelings of comradery that keep these stories so close to my heart. Sure, there is always that special friend who does really cool things like travels around the world and they might have a good anecdote, but I resent that person anyway.
There is a certain loneliness associated with our 20s that has really come as quite a surprise. In light of boyfriends and even best friends close by, I am living a life of caveats. Yes, you can get into a great graduate school, but you have to leave the life you worked so hard to start liking.
Yes, working is great since you replace homework with happy hour, but you still have to go there everyday and look moderately normal (unless, you worked in homeless shelters like I did and in that case the rule is DRESS DOWN!). Yes, you can have a boyfriend, but you will spend all of your 20s following each other all over the world and then resent each other for it.
There seems to be an inherent isolation brought upon by a looming separation on the horizon--keeping even the best of friends isolated from each other. Case in point, I had no idea Ravina hated her 20s this much until she started this blog. All of a sudden, we are adults, expected to make decisions we previously relegated to our parents. We are buying used mattresses and IKEA furniture to dillude ourselves that we aren't really as sedentary as we really are. The problem is that if I long to stay in the cocoon of my college comradery, then this whole decade seems to be against my natural will. The caveat is that it goes on nevertheless.
I tell this story fondly to almost anyone who will listen. I can almost imagine myself gleaning some lesson-to-be learned from it for my kids (really, the lesson is, if you can find a friend to share reading books with, go for it). Of course, I wouldn't say that to my children, maybe someone else's kids if I want them to be failed intellectuals. But I digress.
I am scared these days. Scared and overwhelmed by the notion that my life with be filled with anecdotes from age 18-21. I am scared that like those assholes whose lives peaked in high school, my life peaked in college. I have been mourning the loss of a good anecdote lately. I think it is safe to say that the daily grind of entry-level work does not lend itself to the feelings of comradery that keep these stories so close to my heart. Sure, there is always that special friend who does really cool things like travels around the world and they might have a good anecdote, but I resent that person anyway.
There is a certain loneliness associated with our 20s that has really come as quite a surprise. In light of boyfriends and even best friends close by, I am living a life of caveats. Yes, you can get into a great graduate school, but you have to leave the life you worked so hard to start liking.
Yes, working is great since you replace homework with happy hour, but you still have to go there everyday and look moderately normal (unless, you worked in homeless shelters like I did and in that case the rule is DRESS DOWN!). Yes, you can have a boyfriend, but you will spend all of your 20s following each other all over the world and then resent each other for it.
There seems to be an inherent isolation brought upon by a looming separation on the horizon--keeping even the best of friends isolated from each other. Case in point, I had no idea Ravina hated her 20s this much until she started this blog. All of a sudden, we are adults, expected to make decisions we previously relegated to our parents. We are buying used mattresses and IKEA furniture to dillude ourselves that we aren't really as sedentary as we really are. The problem is that if I long to stay in the cocoon of my college comradery, then this whole decade seems to be against my natural will. The caveat is that it goes on nevertheless.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The Ten Year Plan
Two years ago, I had to take a seminar on time management to maintain my Arkansas state teaching license. I was particularly bitter about this, because the class had nothing to do with how effective a teacher I was. I might have been able to demonstrate some actual competence in teaching - really prove that I deserved my salary and the continued good graces of the Arkansas Department of Education - had I simply been observed in my classroom. However, when judged on my ability to manage my life, I failed miserably at every exercise, embarrassed myself in class, and began to see what my friend Amanda was talking about when she told me I multitasked like a man. (There were several men in the class. None of them multitasked worse than I did).
My co-worker Gary led the seminar and assigned us monthly readings from books called things like The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity and other horrors. I was doing terribly by the second meeting, and it was clear that, as a modus operandi, I preferred and was predisposed to procrastination over productivity.
But the absolute pinnacle of my inability to manage my life came during our final assignment. Gary had been threatening that we would at some point be tasked with creating our five and ten year plans. Up until that point I was convinced it would become some optional project assigned on the last day of class; I thought maybe because we had spent more time than alloted in the syllabus practicing things like to-do list-writing and task prioritization, that maybe there simply would not be time - like what used to happen to the last unit in tenth grade English. But then again, this was a class about time management, and Gary has apportioned the time well despite straying slightly from the syllabus.
The idea of a five or ten year plan terrified (and still terrifies) me. When the day finally came, I asked Gary if he could model an example, and he started to laugh, realized that I was serious, and then denied my request. He told me to do my best and left me to my own devices.
I didn't even try to write the five year plan. It was too soon. Planning to achieve something in five years meant having to be working toward it now, and I certainly was not in a position to accomplish anything that soon.
So I moved straight onto the ten year plan. I wrote "TEN YEAR PLAN" at the top of the page, played with my pencil some, then observed with envy the speed and ambition with which my colleagues wrote their responses. I was foolish to assume that because we were all just about the same age, the others in the class would be equally lacking in goals and plans. But watching this high strung group of 20 somethings scribble furiously without pause put me ill at ease and I shifted, noticeably, in my chair. I jotted a few things down that I might want to do some day, hoping I would be allowed to pass when we shared as a group.
Gary asked us to go around the room and read either of our plans. My nemesis in the class, whom I barely knew but managed to loathe with irrational ferocity, volunteered to go first. "Well, I want to go to Yale to work towards a PhD in English Literature, focusing on post-feminist readings of the classics. If I want to publish in my first year, I will need to start emailing professors this month to secure a research position. I have to take my GRE at the end of the month and complete my applications within the next month. After I publish in the first year, I plan to spend the summer researching at Oxford, the grant for which I'll have to secure next fall, making it even more crucial to pair with a distinguished scholar this summer. I hope to finish my doctorate in 4 years and publish two major works in the process. I plan to secure a job after my fourth year, and finish my dissertation shortly thereafter." I may not have gotten it word for word, but that certainly captures the drama.
Now, I have trouble keeping my facial expressions to myself in general, but after hearing that, I think I might have actually buried my face in my hands and moaned. I half-listened to a few other people's plans, many of which included new career paths, higher education, marriage, babies, and location changes.
When my turn came, part of me wanted to pass, but I had already reacted so badly to others' plans, that I thought it would be even more embarrassing to forfeit my turn. So I sat up, cleared my throat, and read my ten-year plan:
TEN YEAR PLAN
1. Learn French.
2. Improve my Spanish.
3. Get my PhD in something.
4. Own a cat.
5. Flip an apartment.
6. Build something.
7. Publish an essay.
8. Learn to ride a bike.
After finishing, I was afraid to look up. Most people in the group probably thought I was playing around and not taking the exercise seriously. They were partly right; I didn't believe that people actually lived their lives this way and thought the exercise was a little stupid. I mean really, who actually sticks to these things?
But my classmates were also wrong - it wasn't that I didn't try. There is a side of me - greatly exaggerated whilst I was a teacher, spending as much time as I did planning out even the most minute details of each day - that very much wanted to be that person: a person who not only had a plan, but who sought and found comfort in having a plan. It was this side of me that forced me to read the self-help book chapters Gary would prescribe, in hopes they would eradicate the comfort I habitually found in the certainty of my uncertainty.
And yet, another part of me was perfectly proud of my plan. Its flexibility, its ability to accommodate adventure and personal growth and change all made me want to catch the eye of my enemy and stick my tongue out at her. My plan is a million times more awesome than your plan. In fact, I am a million times more awesome than you.
And, after a year, my feelings have not really changed. There is a great tension between my desire to plan nothing and keep my options fully open and my desire to construct for myself an ambitious and well-laid path. This tension does not seem to want to go away. It refuses to let the knots at my shoulder blades loosen, to let my breath slow and deepen, and to allow me to gently resign to either fate. It is pleased to have successfully evicted from my soul the confidence of my college years and to have cultivated in its place an unabating feeling of doubt.
Most of all, it enjoys watching me constantly bewilder myself, evermore amazed by the nonsensical things that I convince myself are a normal part of life. In the end, I regard the way I am currently living my life and planning my future much in the way I regard dogs walking on three legs: it's not done well, but I'm surprised to see it done at all. And I suppose that's okay for now.
I mean, I like those dogs.
My co-worker Gary led the seminar and assigned us monthly readings from books called things like The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity and other horrors. I was doing terribly by the second meeting, and it was clear that, as a modus operandi, I preferred and was predisposed to procrastination over productivity.
But the absolute pinnacle of my inability to manage my life came during our final assignment. Gary had been threatening that we would at some point be tasked with creating our five and ten year plans. Up until that point I was convinced it would become some optional project assigned on the last day of class; I thought maybe because we had spent more time than alloted in the syllabus practicing things like to-do list-writing and task prioritization, that maybe there simply would not be time - like what used to happen to the last unit in tenth grade English. But then again, this was a class about time management, and Gary has apportioned the time well despite straying slightly from the syllabus.
The idea of a five or ten year plan terrified (and still terrifies) me. When the day finally came, I asked Gary if he could model an example, and he started to laugh, realized that I was serious, and then denied my request. He told me to do my best and left me to my own devices.
I didn't even try to write the five year plan. It was too soon. Planning to achieve something in five years meant having to be working toward it now, and I certainly was not in a position to accomplish anything that soon.
So I moved straight onto the ten year plan. I wrote "TEN YEAR PLAN" at the top of the page, played with my pencil some, then observed with envy the speed and ambition with which my colleagues wrote their responses. I was foolish to assume that because we were all just about the same age, the others in the class would be equally lacking in goals and plans. But watching this high strung group of 20 somethings scribble furiously without pause put me ill at ease and I shifted, noticeably, in my chair. I jotted a few things down that I might want to do some day, hoping I would be allowed to pass when we shared as a group.
Gary asked us to go around the room and read either of our plans. My nemesis in the class, whom I barely knew but managed to loathe with irrational ferocity, volunteered to go first. "Well, I want to go to Yale to work towards a PhD in English Literature, focusing on post-feminist readings of the classics. If I want to publish in my first year, I will need to start emailing professors this month to secure a research position. I have to take my GRE at the end of the month and complete my applications within the next month. After I publish in the first year, I plan to spend the summer researching at Oxford, the grant for which I'll have to secure next fall, making it even more crucial to pair with a distinguished scholar this summer. I hope to finish my doctorate in 4 years and publish two major works in the process. I plan to secure a job after my fourth year, and finish my dissertation shortly thereafter." I may not have gotten it word for word, but that certainly captures the drama.
Now, I have trouble keeping my facial expressions to myself in general, but after hearing that, I think I might have actually buried my face in my hands and moaned. I half-listened to a few other people's plans, many of which included new career paths, higher education, marriage, babies, and location changes.
When my turn came, part of me wanted to pass, but I had already reacted so badly to others' plans, that I thought it would be even more embarrassing to forfeit my turn. So I sat up, cleared my throat, and read my ten-year plan:
TEN YEAR PLAN
1. Learn French.
2. Improve my Spanish.
3. Get my PhD in something.
4. Own a cat.
5. Flip an apartment.
6. Build something.
7. Publish an essay.
8. Learn to ride a bike.
After finishing, I was afraid to look up. Most people in the group probably thought I was playing around and not taking the exercise seriously. They were partly right; I didn't believe that people actually lived their lives this way and thought the exercise was a little stupid. I mean really, who actually sticks to these things?
But my classmates were also wrong - it wasn't that I didn't try. There is a side of me - greatly exaggerated whilst I was a teacher, spending as much time as I did planning out even the most minute details of each day - that very much wanted to be that person: a person who not only had a plan, but who sought and found comfort in having a plan. It was this side of me that forced me to read the self-help book chapters Gary would prescribe, in hopes they would eradicate the comfort I habitually found in the certainty of my uncertainty.
And yet, another part of me was perfectly proud of my plan. Its flexibility, its ability to accommodate adventure and personal growth and change all made me want to catch the eye of my enemy and stick my tongue out at her. My plan is a million times more awesome than your plan. In fact, I am a million times more awesome than you.
And, after a year, my feelings have not really changed. There is a great tension between my desire to plan nothing and keep my options fully open and my desire to construct for myself an ambitious and well-laid path. This tension does not seem to want to go away. It refuses to let the knots at my shoulder blades loosen, to let my breath slow and deepen, and to allow me to gently resign to either fate. It is pleased to have successfully evicted from my soul the confidence of my college years and to have cultivated in its place an unabating feeling of doubt.
Most of all, it enjoys watching me constantly bewilder myself, evermore amazed by the nonsensical things that I convince myself are a normal part of life. In the end, I regard the way I am currently living my life and planning my future much in the way I regard dogs walking on three legs: it's not done well, but I'm surprised to see it done at all. And I suppose that's okay for now.
I mean, I like those dogs.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Welcome and why I hate my twenties
I've been duped.
Upon turning 20, and then subsequently 21, I was assured by many 30 and 40 somethings that their twenties were certainly their favorite decade. Now, after having barely survived my first four years of it, I'm convinced that all of these people, during their teens, and thirties, and forties, were subjected to varied forms of unspeakable torture, and only then could they conceivably claim that their twenties were the best years of their lives. It is also possible that some might not remember much of their twenties or are, in fact, still 19. I gladly entertain any of those explanations.
So I am four years in and still waiting for the good stuff. And part of me thinks, "I have six more years for it to get good." And the more vociferous part of me thinks loudly, "HOLY CRAP, I WOULD RATHER EAT GLASS THAN PUT UP WITH SIX MORE YEARS OF THIS BULLSHIT."
These are the things that my twenties were supposed to guarantee me:
1. Fun.
2. Freedom.
3. Independence.
4. Development of some career goals.
5. An expansive "network."
6. Maturity.
I can safely say that I have less of all of those things since entering my twenties. In fact, here is the list of things to anticipate that I would distribute for those new twenty somethings foolishly looking forward to the ten years ahead:
1. Hangovers that last two days.
2. Directionlessness and the "quarter-life crisis" (I have had several already at this point.)
3. Living on a budget.
4. Changing jobs, haircuts, boyfriends, and apartments every six to twelve months and exhibiting an acute fear of committing to any of them.
5. Your first gray hair. And then the 10 after that, which suck a lot more than the first.
6. Feeling that, despite a decade having passed, you don't act that differently than you did when you were 14. And you still get zits.
Anyway, after having complained to many of my friends about how difficult and un-fun life in our twenties can be, I have begun to realize that I am not the only one suffering from the anxiety that invariably comes with a period of life characterized by instability, frequent change, and incessant decision-making. In fact, for the many of us who thought it would be all Cosmo's and sample sales, I'd say most of us feel downright bamboozled.
So I decided to start a little blog dedicated to airing frustrations or showing appreciation for our twenties. I fear I lack profundity, and I am not a brilliant writer, but I am hoping that others willing to contribute will fill those gaps. Spread the word to anyone you think might be interested in reading or contributing. Comment liberally, and email me if you'd like to author an post.
Upon turning 20, and then subsequently 21, I was assured by many 30 and 40 somethings that their twenties were certainly their favorite decade. Now, after having barely survived my first four years of it, I'm convinced that all of these people, during their teens, and thirties, and forties, were subjected to varied forms of unspeakable torture, and only then could they conceivably claim that their twenties were the best years of their lives. It is also possible that some might not remember much of their twenties or are, in fact, still 19. I gladly entertain any of those explanations.
So I am four years in and still waiting for the good stuff. And part of me thinks, "I have six more years for it to get good." And the more vociferous part of me thinks loudly, "HOLY CRAP, I WOULD RATHER EAT GLASS THAN PUT UP WITH SIX MORE YEARS OF THIS BULLSHIT."
These are the things that my twenties were supposed to guarantee me:
1. Fun.
2. Freedom.
3. Independence.
4. Development of some career goals.
5. An expansive "network."
6. Maturity.
I can safely say that I have less of all of those things since entering my twenties. In fact, here is the list of things to anticipate that I would distribute for those new twenty somethings foolishly looking forward to the ten years ahead:
1. Hangovers that last two days.
2. Directionlessness and the "quarter-life crisis" (I have had several already at this point.)
3. Living on a budget.
4. Changing jobs, haircuts, boyfriends, and apartments every six to twelve months and exhibiting an acute fear of committing to any of them.
5. Your first gray hair. And then the 10 after that, which suck a lot more than the first.
6. Feeling that, despite a decade having passed, you don't act that differently than you did when you were 14. And you still get zits.
Anyway, after having complained to many of my friends about how difficult and un-fun life in our twenties can be, I have begun to realize that I am not the only one suffering from the anxiety that invariably comes with a period of life characterized by instability, frequent change, and incessant decision-making. In fact, for the many of us who thought it would be all Cosmo's and sample sales, I'd say most of us feel downright bamboozled.
So I decided to start a little blog dedicated to airing frustrations or showing appreciation for our twenties. I fear I lack profundity, and I am not a brilliant writer, but I am hoping that others willing to contribute will fill those gaps. Spread the word to anyone you think might be interested in reading or contributing. Comment liberally, and email me if you'd like to author an post.
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