Multi-generational

I should be ashamed...according to some. I am a Boomerang Child.

I take a little solace in the reports of a Pew study from earlier this year that describe the 29% of young adults ages 25-34 years old that have moved back into the nest. A whopping 78% of my boomerang brethren reported being happy with their new living arrangements, although nearly that same amount say they can't afford to live the life they want. Statistical vindication for me, I suppose.

However, I found that Pew Research Center report through an editorial in my local newspaper that gave neither solace nor vindication. There's this Tom Purcell guy that lamented how unabashed we boomerang kids are. Now I'm not sure when exactly Purcell was a twenty-something, but I'm guessing early 80s. He goes on describing his career path, hopping from job to job and bad investment to bad investment before finally making the move. And he highlighted the stigma of "able-bodied fellows in their 20s, adults by any measure" who move back in with Mom and Dad.

When asked about it, he lied. This guy actually told people it was his parents who made the bad investments and lost their shirts! And if anyone knew the truth, he avoided them. Maybe that's why I can't quite hate him too much...wow, I feel the exact same way. Every time a church lady asked what I've been doing, I panicked. When my dad went into detail about my situation with a family friend, I freaked out. I don't want anyone to know. If you're reading this, and I haven't talked to you in forever, now you know why. The cat is out of the bag.

About once a week I wonder what might have been if I had soldiered on and gotten a job as a shop girl in New York, instead of Zanesville. Less frequently, I think about what I would have missed if I had not moved back. I don't exactly lie about it; I prefer to spin it as taking care of Dad and the house. I haven't really thought until just now what would have been different if Mom were still around. I might not have moved back in that case.

Despite the might-have-beens, there are reasons not to be embarrassed. Like many boomerang children, I am not a freeloader playing videogames in Dad's basement. I'm not constantly cleaning like Cinderella, either, but I consider that being human. We contribute, in rent or chores or electric bills, and, in most cases, it benefits the parents, too. I don't think my dad has had to buy toilet paper for three years now.

Anyway, what's the big deal? I can only attribute it to white American culture, this stigma, this obligatory sense of shame. It's the minorities, the immigrants, who are known for cramming multiple generations into one household. And that cramming has been a sign of poverty and desperation that better Americans either scoff at or ignore.

That's a load of bunk, though. It isn't some immigrant trend invading our shores. Back in 1940, 27.7% of adults ages 25-34 lived in multi-generational homes, according to Census data. With the current trend, builders are designing and marketing homes specifically for multiple generations to share. To be fair, part of that trend includes the reverse: parents moving in with adult children (for real, though, not just a lie to hide Purcell's shame). They do it just as we do it...when we have to.

My point is, who cares if I'm embarrassed or not? When resources are scarce, you band together to share what little you have. When your giant mess-up of a gamble blows up in your face, and you have no hope of being a fabulous Manhattanite, you move back to Ohio. Screw you, Purcell!

Honestly, though, what was once financial necessity (and, yes, with a dash of giving up in the face of adversity mixed in there, too) has almost become preferential choice. I choose to stay here...because of my teaching position, because I can put more money toward other bills, and because I've heard about others having quite a tough time finding housing of their own around here. And as a friend told me, living alone has its advantages and disadvantages.

I recall wanting my own apartment in NYC. So badly. Again, friends pointed out the obvious cons: safety, for one. There are advantages to sharing a dwelling: dividing up chores, splitting rent, sharing food, conversation (with someone other than the cat), and so on and so forth. Yet roommates are for those who have not yet "made it." College students and the like. Roommates that are parents, well...that's just crazy talk. There is the expectation that the shared living situation is temporary. A stepping stone to the American Dream of owning one's own house. Well, for me, more like renting my own small apartment.

But do I have to live alone to be on my own? Is living alone really that important to be considered successful, to be considered an adult? Does my living arrangement truly knock me back a decade in society's measure of maturity?

Why do we think in such linear terms? Trajectory, that's my enemy. High School--->College--->Job--->Family.  That is the expected and accepted path. A straight line with no detours. That is exactly what I have deviated from, by choice and otherwise. That is why some look at me with...pity? Disappointment? Fear of becoming just like me? I hopped off the well-beaten path. Though with today's trends, I'd argue there are a bunch of newly blazed trails out there. It's natural for someone who is stuck in their ways to look on this new phenomenon and tsk. I'm seeing way too much of the linear and the literal though. In this issue and in others. 

Perhaps that is why I am so unhappy so often. I don't look at the state of the world and tell myself, "That's the way it's always been." I ask, "Why does it have to be this way?" And of course, there's no answer.

What is "it" all about?

No, I am not trying to question the "Hokey Pokey."  I'm thinking about communication.

The second supervisor I ever had once told me that "you really get it."  That's why she liked me.  I get it.  She repeated this a couple times once, enough to make me wonder if I really do get it.  What is it?  My job?  Well, yes, I "get" that, as in I understand it.  If I didn't, I'd ask for clarification.  That is...unless my worst fear came true and I'm clueless about my own cluelessness.  The horror.  To be without knowledge, to have not even enough wherewithal to remedy the lack of knowledge.  But that's a whole other layer of paranoia that we don't need to pile on right now.

I've been told it's rude to correct people.  But I just can't stop myself sometimes.  Of course, occasionally, I've sat there and let the voice in my head correct you.  Yes, you.  One of tonight's Jeopardy questions was "Who was Socrates?" and that got me recalling 5th Grade Social Studies, during which the teacher quickly offered us a drive-by of Western civ. before moving on to the eminently more important American history.  To review the Greece unit, a classmate was at the board jotting important things to know.  Like "soccer tees."  I heard the teacher say "Socrates," and it took me a while to figure out why the kid was writing something about soccer.  Well.  Because it is soccer, not the outcast, doomed philosopher, that was firmly entrenched in this boy's adolescent mind.  Not a bad thing per se, but in the scheme of learning about ancient Greece and being tested on it...yes, kind of a bad thing.

While amusing, the hazy memory also reminds me of the anxiety I face every week teaching.  Do they hear the words coming out of my mouth, and think of something completely different?  Something other than what they've read in the book or seen on the screen?  Are my vocabulary terms and concepts as easily misconstrued as a random pronoun? The kid heard "soccer tees," if you recall.  What are my students coming up with instead of "Monet"?

Part of my job is to make Monet more than a foreign word.  To attach the name permanently to the concepts of the Impressionist himself.  The antecedent, if you will.  But pronouns are tricky, even in English.  It's the easiest way to confuse people.  Toss out a few "its," "thises," and "thats" and you've got a recipe for "huh"?

Of course, you know what you mean.  You know to which antecedent you are referring.  But are you communicating that important piece of the puzzle?  Nope.  That's one of my pet peeves while grading, a lack of reference.  I can guess what they're talking about, but part of the test is to express that concept.  Not dance around it.

One of my current supervisors always throws me for a loop by asking half-questions.  She knows the full question inside her head, but all I hear is "Do we have that number in the database?"  Kindly, gently, I probe, which number for which organization?

It comes down to, I suppose, say what you mean and mean what you say.  As I have alluded to it before, I have a difficult enough time wondering what horrible, negative things you are thinking about me without sweating the small stuff.

But what about when you use "it" to convey your own pomposity?  (I like typing that word.)  One of the forgettable contestants on American Idol made some odd speech when he was told he made it through:  "You've got to have 'it'," he said.  Referring to his own talent in this way made Simon Cowell wish he could rescind the invitation.  Not that he doesn't agree.  What do you suppose "X-factor" means?  A fancy pronoun.  A quite over-teased and advertised one, too.  Would it have been better to say "You've got to have singing ability, confidence, stage presence, and sex appeal"?  Lacks punch.  Or the other American Idol I cannot remember, the Brooklyn girl who gets up at five am for 100 situps and a jog:  "I worked hard for this."  Not her talent...her abs, of course, exposed by a skimpy top and Vanna White gestures as she utters "this."  Cheapening the grammar.

Pronouns and other stand-ins for big ideas are infinitely useful, but we must use them responsibly.  Until we develop telepathy and communication as we know it just collapses.  No pronouns, no metaphors, just a Vulcan mind-meld.  And as a wannabe scholar, that I certainly do not get.

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.)

do something great

I would love to write sunny things, happy things, giggly things...but that's not where I am right now.  And that sort of thing is well-covered by some professionals at Hellogiggles.com, including one of my heroes, Zooey Deschanel.  Sometimes I can't stand her, though, and others like her, because I start to think about how much I have not accomplished, how much I have not yet done.

I get that same bitter reaction while reading alumni publications and emails, the Phi Beta Kappa magazine, and others of the sort.  I like the design, the articles, especially about exhibitions.  But...then I see people both younger and older than I am doing great things, to borrow a Buckeye phrase.  What am I doing?

Well, I can make it sound really interesting if I try.  I teach a survey course in Art History at a local branch of a major university, bringing a little art into the lives of accounting and sociology majors.  I also work at a local non-profit, helping people find the aid and services they need in these tough times and recruiting volunteers.  I have also recently been told that I am a good writer.  I don't know about that last.  You're reading this, so you tell me.

Here's where reality sets in: most of my students don't bother to show up or complete assignments.  Many of them didn't know the course would be quite so challenging.  And I'm at my wits end, at the end of week 8 of a 10-week quarter, to help those who want to be helped.  And those who do not seem to want help...

I'm not sure what exactly happened to my goals.  I'm back to wondering why the heck I ever left Columbus in the first place.  I definitely didn't go to graduate school intending to return to rural Ohio.  Neither one of my jobs will help me with a future museum career.  At least not in my opinion.  At this moment in time.  I miss city life.  I miss mattering in some way, shape, or form.  The sinking feeling that's getting to me right now is that it isn't just about the recession.  I am up against a tough job market, but I also haven't done enough.  Not enough to get me where I wanted to be four years ago.

This town isn't really the best town to live in when you're an idealist.  Or a liberal.  Or a big dreamer.  I'm confronted by a lot of hardship on the job, both jobs, and the bleakness others feel, yeah I just absorb it like a sponge.
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To update: I always fluctuate back to mindlessly optimistic.  And by that I mean I get big ideas in my head and ignore their impracticality.  Like my latest brain storm.  I've been noticing that my main annoyances with rural life center on the glaring lack of literacy, both adults and children.  There is the Muskingum County Literacy Council, which could always use volunteer tutors.  And I think, maybe that's something I can do to solve this problem.  But if I added another gig to my plate, I just might go completely crazy instead of half-way there.