Today, well, in 7 minutes. I plan to meet (confront?) a professor that responded to my class contribution with "I don't mean to make fun of you, but..."
His response was ... Consuming. I lost the rest of that seminar, unable to focus through my pain and rage. I spent hours in the next week processing this experience, and doing the emotional labor necessary to *better (fix / assuage) a situation and context troubled by a white man*-- I consulted other faculty on how to stand up for myself without burning bridges. I debated with peers about the potential (validated?) expenditure of social capital. This all, to say nothing of creating space for my fear, my shame, my imposters syndrome, my panic and second guessing of myself, the validity of expedience. I ultimately decided that, despite my fears and lowly position in the department hierarchy, the person I want to be is one who reflects the world back to those who may not know the harm they're doing. (This isn't just any jerk on the street. This is my approach for fellow feminists, people I *know,* or really hope, want to do their best by their fellows.) I want to give those people a chance to make their own choices, to have enough information to know better, and do better. How to respond? I have lived faith in NonViolent Communication (NVC) models. Loosely, that's: When you [objective identification of action or behavior], I feel [feelings] and as a result, I [change in behavior]. So that's NOT: When you are a jerk [subjective/opinionated identification], I feel like you're a jerk [not actually a feeling] and as a result, I will avoid your jerkface [technically a change in behavior]. INSTEAD, and relevantly: When you responded to my class contribution with "I don't mean to make fun of you but", [objective identification of action or behavior], I felt deeply unappreciated and not valued as class participant or graduate scholar [feelings] and as a result, I will no longer participate in class discussions [change in behavior]. Now, here's the issue of speaking truth to power. I can't, as a student in a required seminar, simply stop going and *still* achieve my goal of a degree. So what are my options? I am optimistic that this professor will receive my experience well. He has a good reputation and identifies as a feminist; hopefully our conversion will be one between like minds. We all have slips of tongue. IF it goes well, I may share with him what I would do, if we weren't relationally constrained by a professor-student power dynamic. In doing so, I hope to invite him into a closer relationship by (1) sharing my constrained position and (2) asking him to help us find alternatives, in the direction of a healthier classroom experience. Wish me luck.
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Will I be able to show up tomorrow? With unbridled authenticity? Sincere compassion for the Other who suffers? This Other, who is actually Me?
Oh, but they make me itch! Irritation and anxiety plague our contact. Will I be able to bear witness through that, to what haunts them/us on a much deeper level? For while I may be uncomfortable, they are besides themselves in pain. May I find within me courage, to show up when I'm afraid. Wisdom, to not exert myself where I am not needed. Grace, to offer freely what I have available to give. Wait, what are you really wanting to know here? Are we friends?
Hmm. Here, sitting across from you, hands occupied with an empty cup of not-enough-coffee, mind listless and anxious, I would say, no. We're not friends. Yeah, it feels like I'm betraying my kindergarten self. And the part of my heart that sees the beauty in each person. I still don't think we're friends. For me, friendship is reciprocal, and I don't see any part of our interactions that sustains me, spiritually or socially. That's not a bad thing! We're both highly engaged people ("busy"), with lots off love and light in our lives. It's completely okay that we aren't primary or secondary sources for each other. We can absolutely still enjoy each other's light. Notably, I've been wrong before, as friendships are so...co-constructed, susceptible to perceptions. I once, recently, had thought a friendship "over-hoped," that my expectations had been proven unrealistic. Finding that friend at that library once, I sat, open to conversation, and found my perception to be fatally wrong. They expressed gratitude amend value for our friendship. I'm delighted that I had not held on to that narrative of "failed friendship"--had my hands been full of that, I'd have had no room to embrace something new. I recognized this psyco-spacial idea of friendship here, because I'd lived it out once in much bigger form. This woman had been near and dear for nearly a year, our paths overlapping daily, in our work and our running. She held me when I cried, and I felt appreciated in how she came to me for talks and advice. Even with this connection, we eventually fell apart, as my (desperate, confused) attempts to reach out in more difficult moments were met with a confusing array of defensiveness, apathy, and disregard. So began another year of absolute minimal contact, if not avoidance. Looking back, I was nursing grief, and luckily, processing it through, not resentment, but forgiveness and compassion. So much so, that when I ran into her again after that year, I was emptied of the grief and pain. Both had passed in their own time, and I had room for something new. A recalibrated friendship, lined with soft fondness for times past and a better understanding of how we click. I was awe struck at the time, a luncheon. I could see how if I'd be chock full of resentment, there'd have been no room in my mind, my life, for a revised friendship. What a loss that would have been! A few things of note: this couldn't have been rushed. Trying reconciliation early would risk finding my hands full of the grieving pieces: no good. And that this was all my own. My pain of expectations (of her behavior, our interaction outcomes, our friendship future) existed even when i was in a room by myself--always a such indicator of its origins. I suppose now my forgiveness practice was equally of the hurt she inflicted on me and the hurt i inflicted on myself by trying to fit both of us into "expectation boxes" *hug* Smile. I forgot I was writing you a letter. All said, i don't know if we're friends. It doesn't feel like it to me, right now. But I'll keep my door open, if you're interested in dropping by. <3 I've developed a greater peace and pace from changing my relationship to my work. When I think about my scholarship, my teaching, my meditation, my relationships each as a practice, I shift, and suddenly each "life" of mine has more room--for error, for experimentation. What did I move to make this room? My expectations. I tap into my youth soccer and high school marching band days, reflecting the sheer range of what a practice can feel like: there were really satisfying practices and days when I just didn't get it. There were miserable hot days, and days when sliced oranges or cold water were heaven on earth. Through all this, I came back, kept going, kept practicing because, well, that's how the team, the band, got better. The drills, the music "got easier" --but hold up, not quite. I became more accustomed. My accessible ability grew, not overnight, but as a result of practice over time. Seeing my work as a practice: I'm much more gentle with myself this way--I don't judge myself off a day's single example or perception. I love this poem, as it perfectly captures just how long it takes my brain to rewrite something in action that I have "down pat" in my brain. Autobiography in Five Chapters by Portia Nelson I I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk I fall in. I am lost... I am hopeless. It isn't my fault. It takes forever to find a way out. II I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe I'm in the same place. But it isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out. III I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in...it's a habit My eyes are open; I know where I am; It is my fault. I get out immediately. IV I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it. V I walk down another street. My learning is not a light switch; I cannot simply "switch on" new behaviors, like not chewing my nails, getting up earlier, running, or opening my classroom for certain kinds of discussion, just because I've decided I want to or ought to. These things all take practice. Here's some examples from my today!
Seeing my life as an accumulation of flexible practices let's me add and revise as needed. I've really appreciated this, most surprisingly, when someone pisses me off. In that moment, or perhaps the day after, when I stare at my phone, "wtf are they accusing me of?" I am able to instead say, "damn. That was an awful experience. I don't want to do that to my friends." I can't control how other people regulate (or not) their emotions. I *can* choose how I fold that moment of learning about myself ("uh. Being lashed out at and called selfish for taking care of myself sucks. I'm not gonna do that to others") into my sense of self and thus how I act in my relationships. In sum, changing my relationship to my work, my relationships, has been a huge relief to my life. I change my expectations from one of perfection to one of progress, a realistic, manageable, flexible pace to my daily endeavors. Today, my students read three pieces coming in: Lorde's "The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action," a Time's piece on "What the History Books Should Say About Ferguson," and a Time's piece on "Ferguson: In Defense of Rioting."
The discussion was incredible. I want to document two things here: the deliberate facilitation decisions I made, and their consequences, as observed by me. PLEASE NOTE: I was really fearful and nervous in some of these moments. Letting a class-free form, letting go of precise 'control' is inherently nerve-pulling. Here's some of the things I did to actively facilitate a safe-to-feel-uncomfortable discussion space (for me and for the students):
I hope this helps! Another note on my fear: there were moments when a student came out the gate passionately, about how this is systematic racism and we haven't made any progress. I was really worried, because I knew at least one person in the room who was really offended by accusations levied against her for her 'white privilege.' I didn't know what would happen, but the students resolved the energy 'push' within 3 turns of the conversation, bringing us to a new question of: how do we measure progress? I'm delighted I was there to witness. I lean-in because I have much to learn from them. It was fascinating to listen to them respond to each other. One student asked, "What can make us change our opinion without experiencing it?" I was delighted!! Similarly, I asked this question to tie together the themes they were pointing at, as well as to move us forward: "If some bodies *can't* protest peacefully for results, and we're desensitized to rioting, what are our options? What options do we have if we don't see those two things as opposites on a binary?" They had answers I didn't. They had ideas that I didn't prepare for, consider, or know necessarily how to respond to. And I'm so grateful! For the curious, they pointed out these things, among others, as being powerful to their own relationships to social violence:
I read bell hooks' Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom for nearly three hours on the place last night. I can't remember the last time I read something that long, without bemoaning the length or the endeavor. Reading this book was a extraordinary, embodied, dialogic (even) experience, where each page I was inspired: taking little notes in the margins, planning ideas of how to bring this into my class rooms, how to share with other grad students. Linking quotes from the page (Q1, Q2...) to my thoughts at the top or bottom. Small squares creating to-do lists of action ideas. It was love. Part of this process was denoting things of inspiration that I want to blog about, things I want to make time for exploring for myself, as opposed to letting slip by. Here's a list of those things:
Chatting with Reuben recently, I reflected again on what happens when I get too mired in goal-orientation. I lose the space to play.
When I have an idea about what the goal looks like, then once I've 'achieved' it, the mental box gets checked, and I'm done. This happens whenever I go into:
When I narrow my idea of "learning," I close myself to really putting on the learning, the theory, the idea. If the encounter is already over, I can't try it on, see how it fits. I limit both myself and the idea in our interaction. This is my first semester in performance studies classes, and I'm immensely grateful for the play space. I can get beyond myself, my ideas of what "done" looks like--because I don't know! And that's glorious. So I'm wary, today, of "goal oriented" academics (as paradoxical as that is). It leaves me 'done' once we 'get it' but I cut out for myself so much more, the places to 'play.' |
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