9/29/2005
a-conferencing I go
Fly off to conference tomorrow. Would be more excited if I weren't so tired. Why is it that I can never get more than 4 hours sleep the night before a trip? No blogging til I return Monday, since I didn't get that laptop yet...
9/28/2005
conference paper writing
So I'm finishing up the conference paper I will be presenting in a couple of days. I write a thoughtful, carefully constructed paragraph. And my word processing software freezes. It happens sometimes for no apparent reason, when I've been typing too fast or doing too many things at once. Or when I haven't rebooted in many days. I knew that I hadn't saved the new paragraph yet, and I doubted that AutoSave had caught it either. So I phoned my voicemail and read the screenful onto it. Closed the program, restarted, checked the autosave file. More was there than I thought, but the new paragraph wasn't. And then I had to listen to myself reading my words at least five times in order to get it all retyped. But at least I thought of it before I restarted the program.
My very first conference paper was really carefully written. Well, actually, I don't remember writing it. What I do remember was practicing reading it aloud, numerous times. At home, and then again in the hotel before the session. Over the years, my prep time for such things has declined dramatically. I still read the paper out loud a couple of times to check the timing and figure out any awkward sentences that need to be fixed. But thankfully it's not a nervewracking experience any more.
Once the paper is finished, that is...
My very first conference paper was really carefully written. Well, actually, I don't remember writing it. What I do remember was practicing reading it aloud, numerous times. At home, and then again in the hotel before the session. Over the years, my prep time for such things has declined dramatically. I still read the paper out loud a couple of times to check the timing and figure out any awkward sentences that need to be fixed. But thankfully it's not a nervewracking experience any more.
Once the paper is finished, that is...
9/27/2005
beginner's mind
In Bikram yoga, as in Ashtanga and some other styles, we practice the same series of poses each session: 26 postures and 2 breathing exercises. It's the same class whether you are a complete novice or a very experienced student. There are a few postures, like Dandayamana - JanuShirasana, which involve distinct stages (the first not even shown in the illustration) that you work through as your practice strengthens. But mostly, you are encouraged to hold each pose, using correct form, with the rest of the class. Teachers offer modifications for those who are injured or ill. But there's no moment where the class divides into "beginners" and "experienced," no special hours of the day for one or the other group. And I really like that aspect of this yoga.
I was surprised this morning to realise that it's been 2 years since I began studying Bikram style yoga. I still think of myself as a beginner -- and that's really good for me. Intellectually I've always been drawn to the Buddhist concept of "beginner's mind," which is often phrased as the need to "always bring an empty teacup." As a student of anything, if you are concentrating on what you already think you know, then you are less open to what someone else can teach you.
I've been drawn to this concept probably because I know it's an area that I have to work on. I was frequently a bored or impatient student when I was in school, preferring to do things on my own. I know now that if I could revisit some of those situations, I'd do things differently. Also, I hate being new, young, awkward, or incompetent -- all the things I tend to associate with being a "beginner." I didn't like being a 6th grader in junior high, and I didn't like being a newly minted assistant professor -- and the similarities between those two positions were more striking than you might think. I don't like to be at the bottom of the ladder -- not because I want to be on the top -- I prefer to be in the middle somewhere. Somewhere where I won't be noticed or picked on just because I'm new -- but also somewhere where I can share my opinions and be listened to.
In my professional life I'm still occasionally a beginner (as on various committees and councils I'm serving on this year, things I couldn't be elected to prior to getting tenure) and I'm trying to bear that position gracefully. But it doesn't come easily to me.
Which is why this yoga is so good. Sure, I'm familiar with the postures, and I know the sequence. But so does everyone after their first week of class. I like that there are no new postures thrown in, the superficial challenge of getting into a tricky balance or a deep stretch. In other classes I've taken, my competitive tendency can distract me from truly focusing on what's going on internally. In Bikram, it's the same sequence every day -- and yet it is not exactly the same. Each day my body & mind respond differently. I wish I'd been keeping a yoga journal all along to record some of these responses. I know, for instance, that I can now sink further into Supta - Vajrasana as my bad ankle heals. I know I'm stronger in certain postures than I used to be, or more flexible. But over time, my perceptions of the postures -- which I like, which are difficult for me, which feel beneficial physically or emotionally -- are always changing.
I've been thinking of my yoga path as a kind of spiral -- you get familiar with the sequence and then you really start to learn and grow. You keep coming back around to the same postures, to the same issues, but they're slightly different. Or you're slightly different. It all adds up to beginner's mind. In the best possible way.
I was surprised this morning to realise that it's been 2 years since I began studying Bikram style yoga. I still think of myself as a beginner -- and that's really good for me. Intellectually I've always been drawn to the Buddhist concept of "beginner's mind," which is often phrased as the need to "always bring an empty teacup." As a student of anything, if you are concentrating on what you already think you know, then you are less open to what someone else can teach you.
I've been drawn to this concept probably because I know it's an area that I have to work on. I was frequently a bored or impatient student when I was in school, preferring to do things on my own. I know now that if I could revisit some of those situations, I'd do things differently. Also, I hate being new, young, awkward, or incompetent -- all the things I tend to associate with being a "beginner." I didn't like being a 6th grader in junior high, and I didn't like being a newly minted assistant professor -- and the similarities between those two positions were more striking than you might think. I don't like to be at the bottom of the ladder -- not because I want to be on the top -- I prefer to be in the middle somewhere. Somewhere where I won't be noticed or picked on just because I'm new -- but also somewhere where I can share my opinions and be listened to.
In my professional life I'm still occasionally a beginner (as on various committees and councils I'm serving on this year, things I couldn't be elected to prior to getting tenure) and I'm trying to bear that position gracefully. But it doesn't come easily to me.
Which is why this yoga is so good. Sure, I'm familiar with the postures, and I know the sequence. But so does everyone after their first week of class. I like that there are no new postures thrown in, the superficial challenge of getting into a tricky balance or a deep stretch. In other classes I've taken, my competitive tendency can distract me from truly focusing on what's going on internally. In Bikram, it's the same sequence every day -- and yet it is not exactly the same. Each day my body & mind respond differently. I wish I'd been keeping a yoga journal all along to record some of these responses. I know, for instance, that I can now sink further into Supta - Vajrasana as my bad ankle heals. I know I'm stronger in certain postures than I used to be, or more flexible. But over time, my perceptions of the postures -- which I like, which are difficult for me, which feel beneficial physically or emotionally -- are always changing.
I've been thinking of my yoga path as a kind of spiral -- you get familiar with the sequence and then you really start to learn and grow. You keep coming back around to the same postures, to the same issues, but they're slightly different. Or you're slightly different. It all adds up to beginner's mind. In the best possible way.
9/25/2005
Discardia
In case you missed it, the current Discardia celebration continues through October 3rd:
Of course, it would be nice to gradually integrate some of these strategies into one's daily practices. But there is something beneficial I think also in having set dates for clearing things out -- making it into a kind of ritual. Because stuff has all sorts of emotional effects, and for me, certainly, attachments, or their residue, rather than laziness or disorganization, is, I think, usually at the root of the clutter that bothers me. I really like Dinah's phrase about "being true to the self you are now." Since we are ever-changing beings, our stuff should change too.
I've been celebrating Discardia early this year, selling off a bunch of books I no longer needed. That was a nicely defined project that has been really satisfying. More of a challenge will be the boxes of papers in my study that I need to sort through -- much of it I know can be shredded or recycled, but it takes time and mental effort to look at each piece and figure out its importance. Julie Morganstern has a great tip for the sorting stage of a pile of papers: take a bunch of small post-its and a pen, a paper bag for recycling and a paper bag for shredding. As you sort through the papers, the recycling and shredding go immediately into those sacks. For the rest, write on the post-it where it should be filed or the action required and make two stacks. It does make the sorting go a lot faster. The biggest drawback is that you wind up with a pile of filing, which for many people tends to get shoved aside and forgotten about. But the post-its do make it easy -- I've even filed stuff while on the phone, since I don't have to actually read the piece of paper, just the post-it. (Of course this assumes you have a workable filing system set up, but that's never been an issue for me.)
Discardia is celebrated by getting rid of stuff and ideas you no longer need. It's about letting go, abdicating from obligation and guilt, being true to the self you are now. Discardia is the time to get rid of things that no longer add value to your life, shed bad habits, let go of emotional baggage and generally lighten your load.Be sure to check out the various posts on the site, which include great strategies for getting rid of stuff and the mental benefits of a less cluttered mind.
Of course, it would be nice to gradually integrate some of these strategies into one's daily practices. But there is something beneficial I think also in having set dates for clearing things out -- making it into a kind of ritual. Because stuff has all sorts of emotional effects, and for me, certainly, attachments, or their residue, rather than laziness or disorganization, is, I think, usually at the root of the clutter that bothers me. I really like Dinah's phrase about "being true to the self you are now." Since we are ever-changing beings, our stuff should change too.
I've been celebrating Discardia early this year, selling off a bunch of books I no longer needed. That was a nicely defined project that has been really satisfying. More of a challenge will be the boxes of papers in my study that I need to sort through -- much of it I know can be shredded or recycled, but it takes time and mental effort to look at each piece and figure out its importance. Julie Morganstern has a great tip for the sorting stage of a pile of papers: take a bunch of small post-its and a pen, a paper bag for recycling and a paper bag for shredding. As you sort through the papers, the recycling and shredding go immediately into those sacks. For the rest, write on the post-it where it should be filed or the action required and make two stacks. It does make the sorting go a lot faster. The biggest drawback is that you wind up with a pile of filing, which for many people tends to get shoved aside and forgotten about. But the post-its do make it easy -- I've even filed stuff while on the phone, since I don't have to actually read the piece of paper, just the post-it. (Of course this assumes you have a workable filing system set up, but that's never been an issue for me.)
how to look like the future
We watched The Empire Strikes Back last night on DVD, which I hadn't seen in a while. It was, of course, a huge feature of my early adolescence. Although I can't recite the dialogue word for word any more, every line of it is deeply familiar, etched into my brain at an impressionable age. But one of the things that really struck me on this viewing was that it, and the original Star Wars (which I know we're supposed to call 4 and 5 but I'm still not used to that) are structured on the model of radio communications. The Rebel commanders can talk to the fighter pilots, and vice versa; Vader's underlings can communicate with him via a visual communications deck that basically functions like radio, but with added visuals. Very very rarely in these two movies do individuals carry communication devices (the phone model). When people don't have phones, or phone equivalents, it gives you a lot more to work with to create suspense, danger, drama.
I noticed this in part because we've been watching the first season of Earth 2 on DVD lately. It's entertaining enough (I always like First Contact stories) but I find two things really distracting: the phones and the clothes. Their communications "gear" is pretty nifty, especially for 1994 when the series was made -- worn over the head with microhones and eye pieces that fold in and out. But it would be such a different kind of story without the phones (even though they don't always work, etc). Lucas's adherence to an older 40s aesthetic has been noted by lots of people, but I'd never before really thought about narrative structure and communication devices. Recently, of course, cell phones have featured in a lot of thriller movies (Cellular and 24being the obvious ones, but also Hostage and Transporter 2). It would be hard to write a plausible thriller today where no one had cell phones. But many of the stronger SF films still rely on a radio-based model, or occasionally ship-to-crew radios, rather than the omnipresent personal communications/recording/entertainment device that is a feature of much literary cyberpunk (and, increasingly, real life).
The clothes in Earth 2 are truly atrocious -- every time we watch it I have to worry about a vision of the future that involves high-waisted pants that make everyone's butt look terrible. Because they're meant to be settling a new frontier, half the characters are wearing faux peasant clothes and the rest seem to be in stuff from Limited Express. And that's why the show looks dated, even though it's set in the future. In Empire the clothes are simple and retro enough to be symbolic more of grand categories than particular decades: the swashbuckler's leather vest, the sharp tailoring of Imperial forces, and the wizard's cape. Princess Leia rarely gets beautiful clothes to wear (except in the award scene at the end of #4, and a few other places) -- she wears jumpsuits, a flowing toga-like thing, mostly nondescript stuff. And that's why I can still believe in her as a heroine. Padme was so overloaded with decorative stuff in the recent films that she's going to look really peculiar in 20-30 years. But of course, she wasn't given anything else to do except brush her hair and get googly eyed over Anakin. I was glad to see that Empire still really works as a film and as a visual experience, and I don't think it's just because I grew up with it.
I noticed this in part because we've been watching the first season of Earth 2 on DVD lately. It's entertaining enough (I always like First Contact stories) but I find two things really distracting: the phones and the clothes. Their communications "gear" is pretty nifty, especially for 1994 when the series was made -- worn over the head with microhones and eye pieces that fold in and out. But it would be such a different kind of story without the phones (even though they don't always work, etc). Lucas's adherence to an older 40s aesthetic has been noted by lots of people, but I'd never before really thought about narrative structure and communication devices. Recently, of course, cell phones have featured in a lot of thriller movies (Cellular and 24being the obvious ones, but also Hostage and Transporter 2). It would be hard to write a plausible thriller today where no one had cell phones. But many of the stronger SF films still rely on a radio-based model, or occasionally ship-to-crew radios, rather than the omnipresent personal communications/recording/entertainment device that is a feature of much literary cyberpunk (and, increasingly, real life).
The clothes in Earth 2 are truly atrocious -- every time we watch it I have to worry about a vision of the future that involves high-waisted pants that make everyone's butt look terrible. Because they're meant to be settling a new frontier, half the characters are wearing faux peasant clothes and the rest seem to be in stuff from Limited Express. And that's why the show looks dated, even though it's set in the future. In Empire the clothes are simple and retro enough to be symbolic more of grand categories than particular decades: the swashbuckler's leather vest, the sharp tailoring of Imperial forces, and the wizard's cape. Princess Leia rarely gets beautiful clothes to wear (except in the award scene at the end of #4, and a few other places) -- she wears jumpsuits, a flowing toga-like thing, mostly nondescript stuff. And that's why I can still believe in her as a heroine. Padme was so overloaded with decorative stuff in the recent films that she's going to look really peculiar in 20-30 years. But of course, she wasn't given anything else to do except brush her hair and get googly eyed over Anakin. I was glad to see that Empire still really works as a film and as a visual experience, and I don't think it's just because I grew up with it.
9/22/2005
super-busy
I have nine million things on my plate. I've always wondered about that expression -- it sort of makes me feel happy like a little Ms Pac-Man chomping away at my to-do list. Except that I don't know that I want to actually ingest (even symbolically) things like "committee report", "tenure notebooks" (not mine thankfully), "laundry," and "write conference paper." I mean, yes, my work is me in part, but not that much a part of me.
anyway, very light blogging continues for the time being as I chomp away at a few more bullet points on my to-dos...
anyway, very light blogging continues for the time being as I chomp away at a few more bullet points on my to-dos...
9/18/2005
capitalist distraction or beneficial freedom?
So I'm thinking about getting a laptop. I already know which kind I would get, so that's not my question. My question really has to do with whether it's a justifiable purchase. After all, I have a perfectly functional desktop at home, and a desktop machine supplied by the U. at my office. So this laptop would be an extra, a luxury, a supplement. It seems crass even to be considering such a thing, given the state of the world. But I am anyway.
some lines of thought:
some lines of thought:
- I'm on the verge of an exciting new project which will eventually require some archival work, for which I would need a laptop. However, I don't need to do archival work this month, or even this year, really. I'll be at a good library soon while at a conference, but what I need to use it for won't necessarily be archival transcriptions.
- Having a laptop would enable me to write more, by being more flexible about where and how I write. Maybe, even, the fun of a new tool would make work seem more enjoyable. However, I've gotten along this far with organizing my writing time into home / office blocks -- do I really need to be able to write at the cafe, or on the couch?
- I have the money set aside for it -- money from selling off my old books and from some royalties. But this money (which I've been preserving as somehow more "mine" to do what I like with than my salary) could also be applied to my debt. I could get an extra computer in a few years, when I've totally eliminated my debt. Perhaps I would enjoy it more then.
- I have three trips planned this fall, which is a lot for me (I'm no profgrrrl). Having a laptop for those trips would enable easier internet access and writing during those trips. However, this is a stupidly expensive solution to my travel/work anxiety.
- It's been years since I had a laptop and my inner geek is excited by what's available. But there will always be something better in a year or two or five.
- It would be a really awesome reward for finishing off a commitment that has been a source of blockage and shame for a really long time. Once I finish.
9/15/2005
blink
I went to the eye clinic to pick up my new contact lenses -- I've been fitted for a new kind of lens, so I've had to make several trips back to the clinic to be checked. I like my optometrist OK (except for her weird habit of humming while she checks your vision), which is good since this is the only eye clinic on our insurance. But the technician in charge of the contact lens department is incredibly judgemental and mean -- she'll tell tales about other patients, and then suddenly turn on you and say something horrible directly to your face. I've tried being super nice to her, I've tried being uber professional, and there's really no effect. She's just like that.
Anyway, so she's checking my vision with the lenses and as I'm reading the smallest line of print (which I can barely see and secretly suspect that I'm just making it up because I am a pretty good guesser of letters, given my familiarity with text) I say "V, E, O, uh, I don't know, squiggle." The last letter was wriggling about and I really had no idea (I have a pretty strong astigmatism, so things squiggle a bit). She said "blink." So I did, and she said it again, and I blinked again. "You're a bad blinker" she said, and proceeded to criticize my blinking technique.
Who knew that you're supposed to be practicing blinking exercises? Who knew that one could get through 37 years and still be a lousy blinker? Who knew I needed one more thing to be bad at?
So, if you want to improve your blinking (and thereby redistribute your eye fluid so your eyes/lenses don't dry out) here's the drill: Close your eyes completely for 1 count, then hold them completely open for 4 counts. Repeat 10 times. Do this once an hour.
I'm not up to doing it once an hour, but I have tried it occasionally. I suppose it helps. But mostly it's made me aware of the fact that the mean lady is right -- I don't close my eyes all the way when I blink. And I blink these little half blinks too frequently -- holding my eyes open for 4 counts feels like torture the first couple of rounds.
One of my eyes droops so it's one-third closed all the time. My gf tells me that sometimes I sleep with my eyes only half closed, which freaks her out a little bit. All of this strikes me as slightly odd, since for much of my life I've been accused of not being observant enough. But I think it's less a matter of keeping my eyes constantly open than being unnerved by having them totally closed. When I try to blink completely, there's a little moment of dizziness and fear, of emptiness, before I can open them again. It reminds me of a meditation technique I often use where you focus on the moment after you've finished an exhale. That moment of stillness, of literal breathlessness, before you begin to inhale. Your lung capacity improves the longer you can learn to hold that moment -- and your mind calms, too. Maybe blinking is the same sort of thing, little moments of nothing, all of the time.
Anyway, so she's checking my vision with the lenses and as I'm reading the smallest line of print (which I can barely see and secretly suspect that I'm just making it up because I am a pretty good guesser of letters, given my familiarity with text) I say "V, E, O, uh, I don't know, squiggle." The last letter was wriggling about and I really had no idea (I have a pretty strong astigmatism, so things squiggle a bit). She said "blink." So I did, and she said it again, and I blinked again. "You're a bad blinker" she said, and proceeded to criticize my blinking technique.
Who knew that you're supposed to be practicing blinking exercises? Who knew that one could get through 37 years and still be a lousy blinker? Who knew I needed one more thing to be bad at?
So, if you want to improve your blinking (and thereby redistribute your eye fluid so your eyes/lenses don't dry out) here's the drill: Close your eyes completely for 1 count, then hold them completely open for 4 counts. Repeat 10 times. Do this once an hour.
I'm not up to doing it once an hour, but I have tried it occasionally. I suppose it helps. But mostly it's made me aware of the fact that the mean lady is right -- I don't close my eyes all the way when I blink. And I blink these little half blinks too frequently -- holding my eyes open for 4 counts feels like torture the first couple of rounds.
One of my eyes droops so it's one-third closed all the time. My gf tells me that sometimes I sleep with my eyes only half closed, which freaks her out a little bit. All of this strikes me as slightly odd, since for much of my life I've been accused of not being observant enough. But I think it's less a matter of keeping my eyes constantly open than being unnerved by having them totally closed. When I try to blink completely, there's a little moment of dizziness and fear, of emptiness, before I can open them again. It reminds me of a meditation technique I often use where you focus on the moment after you've finished an exhale. That moment of stillness, of literal breathlessness, before you begin to inhale. Your lung capacity improves the longer you can learn to hold that moment -- and your mind calms, too. Maybe blinking is the same sort of thing, little moments of nothing, all of the time.
9/13/2005
hoping for irony
One of my students, who took a class from me this past summer, started calling me "Doc" last week. Now another student, who I didn't know before this term, has taken it up. A third gently asked after class if he could call me "Doc" too.
Of course, such a nickname makes me think of old crusty dudes in Westerns. I can only hope that rather than a sign of my old crustiness, this is an affectionate ironic appelation designed to underscore my lack of crustiness, my relative youth, and all of the ways I'm not what they expected . . .
Of course, such a nickname makes me think of old crusty dudes in Westerns. I can only hope that rather than a sign of my old crustiness, this is an affectionate ironic appelation designed to underscore my lack of crustiness, my relative youth, and all of the ways I'm not what they expected . . .
9/10/2005
binge writing
That's Boice's term, I think, to describe the intense bouts of writing performed by those of us hooked on the adrenaline of a deadline. I've been a deadline-motivated writer ever since the fourth grade (when I was assigned my first research report). And it has worked pretty well for me up until the past few years.
Basically, in a nutshell, I'm getting too old to stay up all night. So this weekend I'm confronting the onset of middle age as well as the adrenaline of a missed deadline. Not a pleasant existential combination.
Because I believe in the possibility of self-improvement, and I'm always looking for better organizational strategies for both time and space, I've read several books about how to transform my life and my writing -- books I believe, and recommend to others, but have so far had great difficulty putting into practice. Because the definition of tenure-track is Working For a Deadline. A Huge Deadline. And that looming deadline caused me all kinds of stress and resistance and intellectual paralysis.
But that one, thankfully, I passed -- not in the ways that I might have wished, but in the way that counts: I have tenure (for which I am grateful, every day).
Basically, my experience was such that I could not approach my writing as a space of freedom or exploration because I felt so constrained by institutional expectations. And all the methods that promise to change your life and can be summed up as: "write a little bit every day and watch it add up" (Boice, Zerubavel, Bolker, etc etc) are basically offering ways of thinking about writing not as polished finished product, but as exploration and messiness that can be reshaped later on. In the humanities, at least in my field, the usual expectation for one's first book is that it be a revision of research begun with the dissertation. So that even if you have a new chapter or a new approach to some of your material, there's a lot that really doesn't feel like new exploration. So that, too, was a kind of obstacle for me.
Not to mention my long-standing habits of research and composition, which usually involve long periods of notetaking (which is a kind of writing, but is it Writing? I'm never sure if it really counts) and reading followed by bursts of writing. The deadline method worked a lot better for me as an undergrad, of course -- not only because the essays I was writing were a lot shorter and less complicated, but because I didn't have a computer-- I wrote everything longhand, and had to build in time for retyping. Ever since I wrote a dissertation, I've had a harder time being on time -- in my daily life as well as with my writing. It's like I used up whatever self discipline I had on the dissertation, and since then I've just been muddling along pretending to be organized, but not really feeling as on top of things as I'd like.
I'm on the verge of starting some new projects that I hope will allow me to also really give the daily writing method an honest try. Because quite frankly, it no longer feels as exhilarating to stay up late, to get so focused on a project that the world recedes from view. I'm too old. I'm too bored. I have other things I'd prefer to be doing than writing this stupid essay, all frickin weekend.
Basically, in a nutshell, I'm getting too old to stay up all night. So this weekend I'm confronting the onset of middle age as well as the adrenaline of a missed deadline. Not a pleasant existential combination.
Because I believe in the possibility of self-improvement, and I'm always looking for better organizational strategies for both time and space, I've read several books about how to transform my life and my writing -- books I believe, and recommend to others, but have so far had great difficulty putting into practice. Because the definition of tenure-track is Working For a Deadline. A Huge Deadline. And that looming deadline caused me all kinds of stress and resistance and intellectual paralysis.
But that one, thankfully, I passed -- not in the ways that I might have wished, but in the way that counts: I have tenure (for which I am grateful, every day).
Basically, my experience was such that I could not approach my writing as a space of freedom or exploration because I felt so constrained by institutional expectations. And all the methods that promise to change your life and can be summed up as: "write a little bit every day and watch it add up" (Boice, Zerubavel, Bolker, etc etc) are basically offering ways of thinking about writing not as polished finished product, but as exploration and messiness that can be reshaped later on. In the humanities, at least in my field, the usual expectation for one's first book is that it be a revision of research begun with the dissertation. So that even if you have a new chapter or a new approach to some of your material, there's a lot that really doesn't feel like new exploration. So that, too, was a kind of obstacle for me.
Not to mention my long-standing habits of research and composition, which usually involve long periods of notetaking (which is a kind of writing, but is it Writing? I'm never sure if it really counts) and reading followed by bursts of writing. The deadline method worked a lot better for me as an undergrad, of course -- not only because the essays I was writing were a lot shorter and less complicated, but because I didn't have a computer-- I wrote everything longhand, and had to build in time for retyping. Ever since I wrote a dissertation, I've had a harder time being on time -- in my daily life as well as with my writing. It's like I used up whatever self discipline I had on the dissertation, and since then I've just been muddling along pretending to be organized, but not really feeling as on top of things as I'd like.
I'm on the verge of starting some new projects that I hope will allow me to also really give the daily writing method an honest try. Because quite frankly, it no longer feels as exhilarating to stay up late, to get so focused on a project that the world recedes from view. I'm too old. I'm too bored. I have other things I'd prefer to be doing than writing this stupid essay, all frickin weekend.
9/05/2005
everything begins with an e
Mix 'n Match Edition
Why I have not been writing about:
(1) Hurricane Katrina
(2) The overdue article I'm writing
(3) Other people's blogs
(4) Yoga
(5) Life in general
Reasons:
(a) I'm angry
(b) I'm anonymous
(c) I'm depressed
(d) I'm tired
(e) All of the above
Why I have not been writing about:
(1) Hurricane Katrina
(2) The overdue article I'm writing
(3) Other people's blogs
(4) Yoga
(5) Life in general
Reasons:
(a) I'm angry
(b) I'm anonymous
(c) I'm depressed
(d) I'm tired
(e) All of the above
8/31/2005
five remembrances
There's nothing to say. Nothing that would comfort Badger. Nothing I can write here that would help anyone in New Orleans. (The link is for donating material help, for those of us able to.)
I've spent a lot of time today reflecting on loss and impermanence. It's such an essential component of our human lives and something that we tend to try to deflect, defer, or block out. It's impossible not to think about what I would do in these situations, and impossible not to think about how small my concerns this week really are.
Paradoxically (from our distracted everyday mind's view) it is only by focusing on loss -- the core of being human -- that we become more free. It takes tremendous energy to constantly be blocking out reality. The blunt language of this text is the tool that helps free up that energy and bring more awareness of the present moment. How things are now. Because they will inevitably change.
The Buddha's Five Remembrances (Thich Nhat Hanh's version)
I've spent a lot of time today reflecting on loss and impermanence. It's such an essential component of our human lives and something that we tend to try to deflect, defer, or block out. It's impossible not to think about what I would do in these situations, and impossible not to think about how small my concerns this week really are.
Paradoxically (from our distracted everyday mind's view) it is only by focusing on loss -- the core of being human -- that we become more free. It takes tremendous energy to constantly be blocking out reality. The blunt language of this text is the tool that helps free up that energy and bring more awareness of the present moment. How things are now. Because they will inevitably change.
The Buddha's Five Remembrances (Thich Nhat Hanh's version)
I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.
I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.
I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.
All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.
My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.
8/28/2005
what the stars know
My gf suggested, during one of my spells of sprawling on the couch and bemoaning my lot (as I pull an article slooowly out of my fingertips) that I check my horoscope for today.
So, from yahoo.astrology.com:
So, from yahoo.astrology.com:
Overview:A-ha! Woo-hoo! I can do it! Yes I can!
Your understanding is at an all-time high. You're an absolute wealth of ideas and information, and your ability to deliver this knowledge to those around you is also top-notch. You may get nicknamed The Professor.
if you were a scientific spider on my wall
Symptoms:
- increased caffeine intake
- drinking 24 oz of water per hour
- eating crunchy foods
- limiting blog reading to 10-minute blocks
- desire to play Tetris in other 10-minute blocks
- allegiance to the timer
- alternating periods of fear and exhilaration
- Subject must be writing something with a deadline.
8/26/2005
on making space
Over the past couple of weeks, I've embarked on a long-thought-about project, with great results. I've been selling off a bunch of my books. Yes, I know, that's nigh unto heresy for most humanities academics. But it's been really positive for me. These aren't books directly related to my field of specialization, or books that I love so much that I would re-read (which is a VERY small category -- I just don't have that much time to read, much less reread, unless it's for research/teaching). These aren't valuable, rare, or scholarly editions. Instead, these are paperback books that I used in college, or in grad school, and have been carting around for years. Schlepping them across the country, and from apartment to apartment. Plus some books given to me that I've never read. Etc.
I'd gotten rid of some books before, during various moves, but always by taking them down to the 2nd-hand shop, where they give you $5 for an armload of books, sneering "well, these are very academic." Too depressing. But lately I've been selling them on Half.com, where people (mostly students, I would guess) who are looking for the specific book you're selling can find it. And it's been great. I get to make some desperately-needed space on my shelves, distribute my books to people who presumably will use them, and even make some money so that I can buy the books that I actually need and want now. I'm not the person I was 15 or 20 years ago. Why do I need to cart around all of those books? I used to be more invested in the idea of a personal library, but I never had the money to really spend on such a thing -- so my bookshelves are more like a bloated version of my academic transcript: the American Lit class from undergrad, the art history classes, the history class over here. . . That used to be comforting, but over time it became somewhat oppressive.
A student came into my office the other day and admired my new digs. He noted the extra bookshelf (the perks of an admin office) but said "your books actually look kind of sparse." Music to my ears. That means I have space to grow, space to go check out some more books from the library, maybe do some searching for the rarer books I'd like to own. Thinning out some plants is what helps them breathe, helps them grow. I'd like to think that's what I'm doing for myself by getting rid of some books.
I'd gotten rid of some books before, during various moves, but always by taking them down to the 2nd-hand shop, where they give you $5 for an armload of books, sneering "well, these are very academic." Too depressing. But lately I've been selling them on Half.com, where people (mostly students, I would guess) who are looking for the specific book you're selling can find it. And it's been great. I get to make some desperately-needed space on my shelves, distribute my books to people who presumably will use them, and even make some money so that I can buy the books that I actually need and want now. I'm not the person I was 15 or 20 years ago. Why do I need to cart around all of those books? I used to be more invested in the idea of a personal library, but I never had the money to really spend on such a thing -- so my bookshelves are more like a bloated version of my academic transcript: the American Lit class from undergrad, the art history classes, the history class over here. . . That used to be comforting, but over time it became somewhat oppressive.
A student came into my office the other day and admired my new digs. He noted the extra bookshelf (the perks of an admin office) but said "your books actually look kind of sparse." Music to my ears. That means I have space to grow, space to go check out some more books from the library, maybe do some searching for the rarer books I'd like to own. Thinning out some plants is what helps them breathe, helps them grow. I'd like to think that's what I'm doing for myself by getting rid of some books.
8/25/2005
first impressions of the semester
I'm excited about my classes. I'm teaching material that is fairly fresh to me, and which usually gets students engaged. My students seem pretty good, based on the first week's discussion. At least they are enthusiastic. One of my courses is completely new material, in a small-format course, so it will be a great learning experience for me. And, lest my previous post give the wrong impression -- I'd learned 95% of my students' names by today. It's just that those names slip away from me once the semester is over, replaced in semester-term memory with the next group of students.
Being an administrator isn't so bad, at least so far. I know that it will be tougher at other points in the semester, but my job isn't as hard as some of the other admin posts in the department. The strangest thing to adjust to is having my office be up in the main suite. I feel simultaneously a bit disconnected from my colleagues (not that I necessarily chatted that much in the hallway, but I saw more people when my office was there) and also under scrutiny -- there are staff watching me, every time I leave to go to the restroom or to the library or whatever. And I'm not fully up on the finer points of office etiquette, either (when do I have to mention where I'm going or not). So I try to remember to make eye contact and smile (which I can be bad about doing when I'm busy thinking about other things).
First week has been HELL on my Improve My Life routine. I accumulated a massive sleep debt, missed several yoga classes, and basically felt all out of sorts this week. I know that I usually get into the groove of things during week 2, and that first week is usually full of adrenaline. But it's disheartening all the same, since I'd been making good progress.
I need better calendar software. I've never been really satisfied with the built-in Palm app, even though recent versions are better than the original. Here's my wish list, if any of you are Palm users with a recommendation: weekly & monthly views, preferably with graphical blocks that you can color code; integration with To Do list; printable. (I love Shadowplan for listmaking and outlining, but I'll return to built-in ToDos if I get a significantly better calendar app.)
I can feel the semester rhythms starting. That is, tonight the "weekend" begins, since I'm done with teaching for the week. The challenge for me is to try and resist that -- to do some teaching prep every day, instead of waiting until Monday for Tuesday's classes. To do some writing every day, not just on the weekend. I really do believe that this shift will improve my attitude and productivity -- but it's a big shift for me, after years of doing things the night before. A whole lifetime of doing things the night before.
Being an administrator isn't so bad, at least so far. I know that it will be tougher at other points in the semester, but my job isn't as hard as some of the other admin posts in the department. The strangest thing to adjust to is having my office be up in the main suite. I feel simultaneously a bit disconnected from my colleagues (not that I necessarily chatted that much in the hallway, but I saw more people when my office was there) and also under scrutiny -- there are staff watching me, every time I leave to go to the restroom or to the library or whatever. And I'm not fully up on the finer points of office etiquette, either (when do I have to mention where I'm going or not). So I try to remember to make eye contact and smile (which I can be bad about doing when I'm busy thinking about other things).
First week has been HELL on my Improve My Life routine. I accumulated a massive sleep debt, missed several yoga classes, and basically felt all out of sorts this week. I know that I usually get into the groove of things during week 2, and that first week is usually full of adrenaline. But it's disheartening all the same, since I'd been making good progress.
I need better calendar software. I've never been really satisfied with the built-in Palm app, even though recent versions are better than the original. Here's my wish list, if any of you are Palm users with a recommendation: weekly & monthly views, preferably with graphical blocks that you can color code; integration with To Do list; printable. (I love Shadowplan for listmaking and outlining, but I'll return to built-in ToDos if I get a significantly better calendar app.)
I can feel the semester rhythms starting. That is, tonight the "weekend" begins, since I'm done with teaching for the week. The challenge for me is to try and resist that -- to do some teaching prep every day, instead of waiting until Monday for Tuesday's classes. To do some writing every day, not just on the weekend. I really do believe that this shift will improve my attitude and productivity -- but it's a big shift for me, after years of doing things the night before. A whole lifetime of doing things the night before.
8/24/2005
encounters
- I'm in the hallway talking to a colleague, and a student who took a class from me 2 or 3 semesters ago walks past, sees me, and deliberately puts her head down so she misses my smile and nod. I can't remember her name, but think to myself that I should check my roster from that class so I can say her name the next time I see her.
- Same student, 5 minutes later, is outside the building when I walk out to go to the library. She calls me by name and says "I was in your class a couple years ago" and I say, "yes, I remember." Then she says "I saw your class on [Fascinating Topic] that's at 1:00 on Tues/Thurs and I really wanted to take it. But I have a lab on Thursdays from 1:00-5:00. So would it be OK if I just came on Tuesdays?[No. What planet are you on that you think I would agree to this?]
- Leaving the library, I see a woman who looks familiar, and I smile and say hello and get an answering smile, all the while frantically searching my memory to figure out who she is. I'm 5 feet past her on the sidewalk before I realize that she sometimes teaches class at my yoga studio.
- I see Squirrely Grad Student who wants to talk about the comments I gave her 3 months ago on a paper she wrote at the last possible deadline to fulfill the incomplete I gave her in a seminar she took a year and a half ago. She says that someone smashed in the window of her car and stole her furniture out of it, but left the paper with my comments.
- I go to the big post office that's open until 7 pm. The tension in the air is almost palpable. Everyone is trying not to look at the well-dressed woman in the middle of the room who is berating another woman, apparently a stranger to her. She's yelling about how she's 45 years old and young people today don't know how to wait in a line, and should have brought a pen with them, and have been prepared for the post office. When I get up to the counter, the clerk says to me under his breath "she's been yelling for 10 minutes already." As I leave, an older woman says to me "I don't know why they didn't call security. Can you imagine her poor husband she's going home to? That was just embarrassing." [hmm, embarrassing hardly describes what it feels like to be standing in a post office with someone causing a huge scene. If she'd been a large male, no doubt security would have been all over her.]
8/23/2005
why I am an idiot
- Look what time it is. One frickin thirty in the morning. Which in my old life wouldn't be a big deal, but considering that I have to get up early tomorrrow (today) for morning meetings it's stupid.
- Why have I been up? in part because I'm tweaking tomorrow's (today's) syllabi. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
- Why didn't I hem my new pants over the weekend, so I'd have something new and good to wear? I actually thought I'd do it tonight. Stupid.
right?
8/21/2005
the Sunday of all Sundays
Tomorrow is the first day of the new semester. So today is a Sunday overloaded with more of the catching-up burdens than even my usual Sundays tend to be. But because I'm trying to be a saner person, and because I believe in rituals, my gf & I have already set a firm plan to go to a movie later on this afternoon. (We have fallen in to a terrible pattern of saying "we'll go to a movie in the evening" and then just doing work or watching a DVD at home.) I already know that I can't do everything today, so I might as well also do something fun.
My parents used to always take us out for ice cream cones (which was a very unusual treat in my childhood) the night before the first day of school -- it was sort of a combination event, meant to assuage our sadness about the end of vacation, to soothe our anxiety about the first day of school, and probably to celebrate the start of school on their part.
Thankfully, I don't feel that anxiety any longer, since starting the semester at the University doesn't involve skirmishes with bullies (or at least not of the physical kind of skirmish that used to scare me as a kid). And, frankly, although I would love to have more time, I'm not especially sad about the end of summer. I find the summer a real challenge for me -- both in organizing so much unstructured time and in setting realistic goals. The fantasy version of my summer never quite works out in reality. Once I can settle into the groove for the semester, I usually function a bit better.
I've drawn up a plan for my weekly schedule for the fall term -- the real test will be in the next two weeks. Can I commit to getting up early? can I fit in at least three 20-minute blocks of writing every day? (I know that sounds small but the 20-minute timed block has been working well for me as a first step towards incremental daily research productivity, rather than the exhausting writing binges I've done for years.) The beginning of the fall term always seems just as much of a New Year, and a time for resolutions, than January.
My resolutions, then:
My parents used to always take us out for ice cream cones (which was a very unusual treat in my childhood) the night before the first day of school -- it was sort of a combination event, meant to assuage our sadness about the end of vacation, to soothe our anxiety about the first day of school, and probably to celebrate the start of school on their part.
Thankfully, I don't feel that anxiety any longer, since starting the semester at the University doesn't involve skirmishes with bullies (or at least not of the physical kind of skirmish that used to scare me as a kid). And, frankly, although I would love to have more time, I'm not especially sad about the end of summer. I find the summer a real challenge for me -- both in organizing so much unstructured time and in setting realistic goals. The fantasy version of my summer never quite works out in reality. Once I can settle into the groove for the semester, I usually function a bit better.
I've drawn up a plan for my weekly schedule for the fall term -- the real test will be in the next two weeks. Can I commit to getting up early? can I fit in at least three 20-minute blocks of writing every day? (I know that sounds small but the 20-minute timed block has been working well for me as a first step towards incremental daily research productivity, rather than the exhausting writing binges I've done for years.) The beginning of the fall term always seems just as much of a New Year, and a time for resolutions, than January.
My resolutions, then:
- take my vitamins every day
- get up early and go to early morning yoga, even on teaching days
- go to the gym at least two days per week
- fulfill three 20-minute writing blocks every day
- spread out my teaching prep so I don't have to stay up late the night before (I've been re-reading Boice's admonishments about applying the same principles that work for writing to teaching prep, and recognize that I have some bad habits)
- commit to the weekly review
8/18/2005
dog (and cat) love
I just started reading Caroline Knapp's Pack of Two: the Intricate Bond Between People and Dogs, which I picked up at the public library this afternoon. I'm only about halfway through, but I'm really enjoying it. It's a kind of memoir about Knapp's relationship with her young dog, Lucille, who she adopted as a 10 week old puppy, interlaced with observations from interviews she did with other dog owners, trainers, veternarians, and psychologists. Her willingness to be honest about the depths of her affection for her dog, and the meaning of that relationship in her life, is refreshing, since, as she notes, it's not always easy:
Her interviews with various experts echoes one of Katz's other books, The New Work of Dogs, which makes some similar points -- that Americans today treat dogs very differently than they did 1 or 2 generations ago; that people lead fragmented, isolated lives, and that dogs provide love and companionship; and that people draw the boundaries of their relationships very differently. Bring up almost any topic about dogs, and everyone will have an opinion: what kind of training, collar, food, toys, etc. There are a zillion dog books, classes, and experts who espouse very different philosophies -- but all of this points to the increasing attention we give to our dogs, and the role they play in our families.
I wasn't always a dog person. I grew up with three elderly cats, who had all passed on by the time I was 11. Our family adopted a kitten a couple of years later, despite my mother's misgivings that we would all grow up and move away -- he was an irresistably cute (though not too bright) Himalayan, who lived into his 16th year. And for all the ways that cats and dogs are different (as are the people who love them) I grew up thinking of the cats as part of the family. It was customary to give them bits of our leftover food, to drip the water from the faucet for the one who liked to drink from it, to let them sleep on whatever furniture they wanted to.
When Mackerel passed away, I was in the second grade. I came home from school at lunchtime (because this was small town life, and I walked home for lunch) to learn that she'd been hit by a car, and taken to the vet, but hadn't made it. My parents brought her body home with them, and we dug a grave under the pine tree in the back yard. It was the first time I ever saw my father cry.
My parents kept us home from school the rest of the day so that we could mourn her together. The next day, when I went back to school and one of my friends asked where I had been, I explained about our cat. And later I heard her telling someone else how weird our family was, how silly it was to be sad about a cat. Right then, I learned that some people just didn't understand that love came in lots of flavors. Why put rules on it? I knew that Mackerel's death revealed to me depths of emotion in my parents that I never knew existed. I knew that my parents loved the cats in a way I could never understand. They'd had our cats before I even entered the world. Learning that they could feel sad, too -- sad enough to cry -- helped me understand them as real people, not just as my parents.
I haven't really thought much before tonight about how my early years with cats shaped the way I respond to our dogs. The differences between cat & dog lifestyle are so obvious, so overwhelming. But my parents never made a strong distinction between us and the cats, between humans and "pets" -- the cats were part of the family, each with her own preferences and personality, just like its human members. And that way of thinking lay dormant in me for all the years when I didn't live with animals, ready and waiting for me to let dogs into my heart.
Fall in love with a dog, and among non-dog people, you will see eyebrows rise, expressions grow wary. . . . You'll say something that implies profound affection or commitment, and you'll be hit with the phrase, dreaded words to a dog lover, "Oh please, it's just a dog." . . . Attitudes like this can make dog lovers feel like members of a secret society, as though we're inhabiting a strange and somehow improper universe.In its description of Knapp's emotional connection with her dog, her book reminds me a bit of Jon Katz's A Dog Year, although I think Knapp is a much more compelling writer. The book jacket mentions her previous memoir, about giving up alcohol, and she's pretty up front throughout this book about her difficulty with intimacy and relationships that she had covered up for 20 years with drink. The solace she finds with her dog is interspersed with self-questioning and doubt about the healthiness of her feelings.
Her interviews with various experts echoes one of Katz's other books, The New Work of Dogs, which makes some similar points -- that Americans today treat dogs very differently than they did 1 or 2 generations ago; that people lead fragmented, isolated lives, and that dogs provide love and companionship; and that people draw the boundaries of their relationships very differently. Bring up almost any topic about dogs, and everyone will have an opinion: what kind of training, collar, food, toys, etc. There are a zillion dog books, classes, and experts who espouse very different philosophies -- but all of this points to the increasing attention we give to our dogs, and the role they play in our families.
I wasn't always a dog person. I grew up with three elderly cats, who had all passed on by the time I was 11. Our family adopted a kitten a couple of years later, despite my mother's misgivings that we would all grow up and move away -- he was an irresistably cute (though not too bright) Himalayan, who lived into his 16th year. And for all the ways that cats and dogs are different (as are the people who love them) I grew up thinking of the cats as part of the family. It was customary to give them bits of our leftover food, to drip the water from the faucet for the one who liked to drink from it, to let them sleep on whatever furniture they wanted to.
When Mackerel passed away, I was in the second grade. I came home from school at lunchtime (because this was small town life, and I walked home for lunch) to learn that she'd been hit by a car, and taken to the vet, but hadn't made it. My parents brought her body home with them, and we dug a grave under the pine tree in the back yard. It was the first time I ever saw my father cry.
My parents kept us home from school the rest of the day so that we could mourn her together. The next day, when I went back to school and one of my friends asked where I had been, I explained about our cat. And later I heard her telling someone else how weird our family was, how silly it was to be sad about a cat. Right then, I learned that some people just didn't understand that love came in lots of flavors. Why put rules on it? I knew that Mackerel's death revealed to me depths of emotion in my parents that I never knew existed. I knew that my parents loved the cats in a way I could never understand. They'd had our cats before I even entered the world. Learning that they could feel sad, too -- sad enough to cry -- helped me understand them as real people, not just as my parents.
I haven't really thought much before tonight about how my early years with cats shaped the way I respond to our dogs. The differences between cat & dog lifestyle are so obvious, so overwhelming. But my parents never made a strong distinction between us and the cats, between humans and "pets" -- the cats were part of the family, each with her own preferences and personality, just like its human members. And that way of thinking lay dormant in me for all the years when I didn't live with animals, ready and waiting for me to let dogs into my heart.
Subscribe to:
Comment Feed (RSS)