My Mother's Thoughts I

I found a project, as if I needed more to do during Tax Season.  While sorting some of my mother's things so Dad could (eventually) repaint his bedroom, I found a bunch of old folders.  The pocket kind with colorful patterns or pictures on them.  One had a couple sheets of old notebook paper with my mother's unique, precise script.  At the top, she had simply written "Thoughts," and proceeded to list quotes that I can only assume had inspired her.  Some are familiar, like some lyrics by John Lennon, and some I had to look up.  I'd like to share these thoughts one at a time.

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts.


It's a quote from Khalil Gibran, a Lebanese-American poet known for The Prophet.  I found several Khalil Gibran books, including that one, while sorting books and other things when I first moved back.  What interests me most is the book's connection to 60s counterculture.  Like The Lord of the Rings, it regained popularity decades after it was first published.

Dad describes Mom as being quite conservative when they met.  But in my own conversations with her, I definitely detected a liberal streak.  I believe she called me her little hippie without any derision.  Now, she graduated from high school in 1968, a very tumultuous year, and despite my recommendation, she declined to watch the movie Bobbie because she lived through it.  I never did figure out if she picked a side, anti-war or whatever the opposite is.

Being raised in rural Ohio does tend to give one conservative leanings.  It's a sheltered childhood.  But I find that my Mom and I are very alike in that we have defied that rural stereotype, thinking independently and, by virtue of what we read and what we see, often leaning the other way.

I began with this quote because I often chide myself for talking too much.  Especially with coworkers, I feel like I need to zip it and fly under the radar.  But I am not at peace with my thoughts...they fill my head with fears and worries about work, about coordinating tax volunteers and teaching next quarter.  Like a kettle coming to boil, you've got to say something when the thoughts reach a certain temperature.

I can read it both ways.  As a reason, a rationale for speaking up, and also as a symptom, as if talking is the effect of a tempestuous mind but not necessarily the release, the cure, that I sometimes hope it is.

Either way, it's a discovery of a new connection, a philosophical link to the mind of my mother.

Dear Mr. Boy Scout Man,

Needless to say, I was a little perturbed that you put me in the position of fighting the urge to defend myself (or, let's be honest...lash out) at a function during which I was supposed to be networking and ingratiating myself to older pillars of the community such as you.  Ingratiating is not one of my strong suits.  Thanks for making it more challenging.

What do I intend to do with my degree?  Oh, I'm sorry, you asked, what can I do?  Well, teaching is a viable option right now; I teach one class here, actually.  You think that's a worn-out, worthless response?  Ok...you're one of those "Those who can't do, teach" people.  What's that?  You studied Political Science?  Neat, my sister studied Poli Sci.  Wait, you're bashing your own choice of major?  That sounds like you have some personal issues that need to be worked out.  Not that I can't relate, but I've got enough regret and don't need to borrow yours.

So what have you done with your terrible political science degree?  You're a community leader with an organization that fosters apple pie values in boys and young men.  Apart from the issues of sexuality of scout leaders, a pretty great, worthwhile pursuit.  Now how did we get on the subject of my degree?  Oh, yes, I inquired if there were any art-related merit badges.  There are.  If I were so inclined, I might even help a scout achieve one of those badges.  And in so doing, insert a little culture and art into what used to be stereotypically a knots, fire, and camping-filled masculinity fest.  Wow, that sounds like a worthy application of my useless years of study.

Now, what about any of that fails to give you even the slightest inkling that those who study liberal arts are in fact valuable members of society regardless of their salary level?

Back to my original qualm.  According to my counterpart, I was successful in avoiding rudeness despite having that God-awful questioning of my career path sprung on me.  Sadly, you will not get to hear me explain how rude you were.  How insensitive you appeared, proving you are not so different from me but at the same time admonishing me for being like you.  Why did you drink the Kool-Aid?  It's not all about bottom lines and business as usual is it?  Or is that really what you want to teach those scouts?  Oh jeez, tell me there isn't an Outsourcing merit badge.  If you really feel this way, let's talk about the corporatization of non-profits and how that diminishes the whole "non" part.  Let's have a civilized exchange of ideas, grown-up to grown-up.  And yes, I count myself as a grown-up despite my appearance.  I know I look 20 years old.  But 20 is grown-up too, depending on the 20 year old...

Please don't write me off like that.  You'd completely ruin my already tarnished impression of upper management in the cultural/community-based realm.  And that realm is where I'll find a place to use my useless degree.

Sincerely yours...

A lot of my writing energy has been spent on attempting to adequately describe my descent from grad student with goals and gumption to...now.  Part of me wonders why I even write or talk about it anymore.  It's old news.  I suppose I find it hard to believe that anyone could understand, not because they haven't experienced anything like it, but instead because I never seem to explain it well enough.

The past version of me who moved to Manhattan is/was much more courageous and adventurous.  I want to be her again.  I just cannot decide what led to my confidence melting like cheap wax, drip by drip.  Onto a fancy tablecloth from which I will never clean it out.  Now, I do have a stain removal guide written by Martha Stewart herself, and if it mentions wax, I'm pretty sure it says "do X, Y, and Z immediately and it'll be like new."  The problem is "immediately."  I've let this bleak mark set for almost three years now.  I'm stuck with it.

As I barrel towards a series of tax preparation clinics planned and managed in part by yours truly, as well as a conference entitled "Be Great," I think to myself, simultaneously, "somebody somewhere will think this is valuable experience," and "what the heck does any of this have to do with what you originally set out to accomplish?!"  Have I been redirected, without ever being directed in the first place?

Lately all I can do is radiate resentment for that one woman at a job fair who with one single facial expression and an off-hand comment dismissed and destroyed every bit of experience I thought was most valuable on my resume.  Because they were internships and volunteering and work-study.  I think we all know that the idea of bigger salary as a sign of higher quality is quite backwards.  Just look at Wall Street.  So if in America, we fail upwards...am I actually succeeding?

Stay tuned for my unsent letter to Mr. Boy Scout Man who dared to ask me "what are you going to do with that?" (meaning my degree).

Catching Up

One way to look back on 2011 is to read my past posts.  And, wow, what a whiner I am.  My first impulse was to delete it all.  I even contemplated going completely offline, and just writing by hand in an old-fashioned journal--which I still might do, as part of my resolution. But I happen to be reading Barbara Ehrenreich's book Bright-Sided, so instead I'm working on seeing these past whinings as honest, valid feelings.

Strange that I should have to convince myself that my own feelings are valid.  That's the root of a lot of problems these days.  I've fallen into several traps like the ones Ehrenreich describes.  I need to keep a positive outlook, or I won't find a job.  I won't keep any friends.  I won't find a mate.  Well, I'm having trouble, incidentally, with all three of those issues, and I don't think it's just my attitude.  It can't be, can it?

I'm not immune to positivity.  It seems I am today in particular, but there were some positive moments this past week.  For example, I had one glorious, Fox News free evening when Dad was out.  I watched my latest Netflix offering, Eat Pray Love.  I'm not saying it was phenomenal...maybe I'll explain later.  And despite some setbacks, I squeaked by with an order in to the printer for work, done on my day off, but still, an accomplishment.  Now my keen, penetrating mind is capable of many feats of critical thinking, and in this instance I do mean critical in its pejorative sense.  Not the well-meaning academic sense I attempt to convey to students.  My critical mind finds one major negative aspect in the most positive things: none of my most recent list of good things involves, directly, other people.  No human interaction without incessant doubt, suspicion, bitterness or regret.

Why?  Because, with my bad attitude, who could possibly stand to interact with me on more than the most superficial level?  I'll keep reading Ehrenreich's book, because I am most definitely stuck in the rut of positive thinking.  Not because I think positive, but because I believe my lack of positivity is the root of all my troubles.  To put a happy/brave face on it, on the most heinous things like cancer or the silliest like feeling utterly cut off from the world, is to deny myself the catharsis of typing it out.  Not talking it out.  A magazine told me not to do that.  (I'm only half-joking, there.)