Unproductivity

Tonight, while I should be working on an annotated bibliography, I am feeling obliged to share some of what is going through my mind. I am worn out, though aware that it could be worse. There are things that, yes, I might avoid doing in order to provide "more time". However, I have learned that "more time" doesn't always mean "more satisfied" or "more rested". This is very problematic when we are expected to do so much all the time, every day. In academia, no matter how much awareness of the politics that are involved has risen, it is always a bit of a tooth and nail fight. Lately, I'm just not sure I have it in me to do this for the rest of my life. It's early in the program and I'm far from giving up. I did, however, come here to a PhD program because I figured it would finally be a time I could study what I wanted. I have been blessed with great professors and colleagues that have become friends and mentors. Really, I can't complain (but of course, I'll find something--just ask my husband!).

Our generation is at once victim and guilty--victim of previous generations' carelessness and thoughtlessness, and guilty of the same carelessness and thoughtlessness...paired with a growing apathy for the people and things around us. We blame it all on everyone else...while shutting them all out in the interest of a more exciting post on a social network. I do not understand our obsessions, though I am far from exempt from participating. We consume without reflecting on where what we consume must come from, and the things that must happen in order for it to be so. Sometimes, I'd just like to shake the earth a little bit (or at least the "Western world") and say, "Wake up!"

PhD etc.

In September, I started a PhD program at the University of Washington here in Seattle. Since then, I've made it through two quarters and it looks like about 10 months since my last post. A lot has changed, and continues to daily. I find myself constantly reflecting upon why I am where I am, where Michael and I are "headed" in the longer term (house, kids, etc.) and how it all fits together. Of course, none of these questions or musings can be resolved simply, and require patience and perseverance. (Duh.) In academia, your motives, goals and projects are constantly brought into question or call for a defense. It can get overwhelming very quickly, and often does. The trick is learning how to literally fake it 'til you make it, and to work in the meantime to find your way so that eventually you really are making it!

One huge difference in this program is the fact that I am essentially my own cohort. A strange concept, and one that I didn't really consider until partway through my first quarter, when I really began to feel the weight of all the newness--new colleagues, new professors, a new student body, a new book, a new class to teach. It was a LOT of new! Someone at that point--I believe a good friend also in academia, and whose advice has been invaluable to me ever since we both embarked on this journey--asked me, "Well, who else is in your cohort? Can you talk these issues over with them?" Nope, no can do. Of course, as a TA there are many people that I talk to often about those struggles. However, in general and as far as the entire process goes, I am really the only one on my particular track at this particular point. Luckily, I have since made a wonderful friendship with another PhD candidate who is really only one year (give or take) ahead of me. We both came in with MA's from other schools and are therefore having to jump through extra hoops to "prove ourselves". Both of our husbands have habits we wish they'd get rid of, and get along very well. We both enjoy cooking, eating, and just generally shooting the breeze when we get a free few minutes. It has been really refreshing and it's always nice to know there's someone who understands most aspects of a certain struggle. This quarter, Céline and I are in both of the same classes and have both been accepted into a certificate program for a Second Language Pedagogy Teaching track, so that's also exciting.

When I look at the big picture (finishing coursework and the certificate this year/next, dissertation the next two years after that, house, kids, ????), it's easy to just fa-reak OUT. However, lately I have been reminded of the intentional nature of God. He would not have put me in the department at UW if there weren't other purposes for me there. I'm not sure yet which purposes are the ones that matter most to Him, but I trust that whether it is the simple task of completing the degree or just sharing my views with everyone, it will fall into place. Michael and I have begun attending a new church in Greenlake that we both really enjoy and glean a lot from. Some of my close friends from high school also are regular attenders, so it has been fun to spend time together with them as couples, and we have a great time!

This leads me to the thing that I have recently realized about myself: I have unfinished grief-business that is almost 15 years old. My godfather, Dave's, death in 2000 threw my 13 year-old self didn't know how to deal, and really didn't. Everything around me changed in just a few months it seemed. Everything since changed or has been somehow impacted, also. However, I spend so much time focusing on the "positives" that came out of the tragedy (mostly relationships that were strengthened, changed, or started as a result of Dave's passing) distracted me until now from some important things that I needed to at the very least acknowledge. One of these was that I became sensitive to getting close to people. I have always had a lot of friends, but have never really had a best friend. Many of my friends now have been close friends for a long time, but I've also allowed other friendships to essentially fall by the wayside. Now as I look back, I realize that in those relationships, when things got hard, I kind of just shut down; I didn't want to deal with the pain of a monumental "death" of the relationship, so I just let it fade out. I'm grateful that the majority of those relationships remain intact, even if they aren't how I might have wanted them to stay. God has blessed me with people in all seasons of my life, but I believe that I have sometimes left undone the tasks He wants us to do to keep those relationships--the ones that create a community around us. This saddens me greatly. However, I can't go back and so am trying to make a conscious effort moving forward to avoid leaving these things undone in laziness.

Another element that is left over from Dave's death is doing the dishes. Yes, you read that right. If you know me or have been around Michael and I in the past year, you will know how big of a role this issue has played in our day-to-day recently. I know it's been a mystery to him, but the fact is that it was also a mystery to me: why was I so dang hung up on this chore? Sure, we don't have a dishwasher here in our apartment, it's tiny, and the dishes seem to pile up the second you finish doing them. Having said that, is it really a life or death moment?? Well, kind of. In the week and a half before Dave's death, there were a bunch of us that were pretty cooped up in one house, and there wasn't much to do. People eat, and dishes accumulate. So, I did the dishes because it was really one of the only things that I could do. I really think that ever since I have hung more importance on that task than it could ever possibly take--in any relationship. Now, I try to leave the dishes alone every once in a while. I am grateful that I live in a home with two cats and a husband who are all very alive, and I know that despite this, you never know when your time might come. I want to take advantage of the little free time that I have. And so I leave the dishes or do them early in the morning when I'm up getting ready before anyone else.

A few photos from the past few months:

Simone & I have known each other since we were petites filles at the French American School. Her encouragement and support in all things academic has been invaluable, and I treasure our friendship!

Christmas was wonderful; we got to be with both families and didn't have to fly across the country to do so. It marked the last holiday we hadn't gotten to since our move back to the PNW--it's officially been a year!

The weekend before my birthday, we went out to Sequim to visit Michael's dear cousins, Christopher & Wanda. Of course, we forgot to snap any photos of them...so we'll just have to go back and visit again. (It was windy while we were there!)

My brother-in-law, Joel, and his band Hidden History played their first live show in Seattle in March. Here are the Burgess sisters (Joel's wife, Ella, his sister, Crystal, and myself) at the show.

Michael and I met up with some of my second cousins in Everett for dinner. Lisa & Jodie are some fun ladies, and we're looking forward to more times together soon :)

Michael, Dennis & Joe also had a good time catching up. As you can see, Michael's beard is reaching monumental proportions...

Week-old reflections on city dwelling, and other updates.

In mid-May, Michael and I relocated to Ballard, in NW Seattle. We loved Camano, and miss it, but he was ever commuting and I had little luck finding a job that wasn’t an hour or more away. In the fall, I will also start back up at the University of Washington, which is just a few miles from us here, so that also was an added incentive to find someplace closer. We are fortunate to have been able to find a wonderful place here, and that we could afford to move when we did. Michael and his dad actually just remodeled the apartment we moved in to, so it is almost like brand new save for the layout—it is the top level of one of the sweet old houses that seem to make up the majority of this area of town.

City living is something that, while you remember it well once you’ve done it, is drastically different city to city, apartment to apartment, street to street. In Chicago I was so far back in the building that street noise was usually only audible when an ambulance or fire truck passed by; otherwise the only sound came from my landlord’s office next door, someone passing through the hallway to get to the street or garage, or my upstairs neighbors. However, one of the things that I often wished I had there was more natural light: the studio usually only capted a tiny bit of sunshine, in the morning or afternoon depending on the time of year. This for that, I suppose!

Michael and I have never really lived anywhere near downtown, though being from “the Seattle area” when you introduce yourself elsewhere in the country makes you feel as if you know it like the back of your hand. After moving back from Georgia, we quickly realized how little we knew it, let alone all of the other areas that have been growing (perhaps a bit akin to the speed of weeds, to be totally frank...) between the city and Camano. We were familiar with Lynnwood, Stanwood, and Camano. Not too helpful when you are looking for somewhere to live closer to the city. I was completely intimidated by the search for a place to rent, having no inkling of many areas, commute routes, and what a fair price really was. In Ballard we found a location that very much feels like it’s own little neighborhood, but that is close to the locks, the zoo, University Village and the UW, and I-5. Of course, “close” is sometimes relative...usually between the hours of 8-10am and 3-7pm :) Everything just seems to take a lot longer then, for some reason!

So we are acclimating to a new city, slowly but surely. It has been hard being quite far away from my parents, but fortunately we have more time now to plan our weekends, and often get to see both families. I guess, really, we are just arriving at a certain state of normalcy—most people don’t live down the street from their parents forever! Not to say it is a negative thing if you do. Being here has given us so much opportunity to spend more time together and to enjoy discovering our part of the city at our leisure. I recently also started a job at Pottery Barn in University Village, which has been a fun experience so far. Last week I took the bus here for the first time, which brought back many memories from Chicago. It is a strange experience riding with complete strangers. While there are times where it can be uncomfortable in the wrong way, lately I am feeling urged (through reading and prayer) to “hang out” in the discomfort of “doing life” with others around you. I think that today, we usually see others as an inconvenience, especially when they cut us off on the freeway, take the last good apple, or that back seat we wanted to shrink into on the metro. You can’t expect to meet or get to know them all, and that is not at all what I am advocating. Having said that, will it really hurt you to say hello to someone sitting next to you, to ask who the flowers are for, or what’s for dinner? I was pleasantly surprised to meet a father on his way to his daughter’s middle school graduation last week, rose in hand. He went on and on about how girls are so much easier, and he was so happy to have two. (This is the first of his two to embark into high school next fall, so I’d love to have a follow-up with him after that first semester!) In certain contexts, I might have thought that was a bit of a strange thing to say, but come to find out he has five sisters. Makes sense, then! It was a conversation that will likely be the only one we’ll share, but it was sure better than sitting awkwardly in each others’ personal space in silence. So go out, say hi to the person you find yourself next to the next time you’re riding a bus or a train. Who knows—you might even become friends! Years ago I was on the train to Portland and ended up sitting next to someone my age; we struck up a conversation and kept in touch for many years, though we’ve lost touch now. You never know!

The following segment was from about 10 days ago, and the Chicago Blackhawks have since become repeat winners of the Stanley Cup!!! We were so happy to be able to watch what ended up being the last game at our home with Michael's brother and sister-in-law. We could hardly believe the last 6 minutes of the game, in which Boston scored to make it a one-goal game, followed by a goal to tie it from Chicago in the second-to-last minute. At that point, I was really preparing myself for Game 7. However, we were rewarded for our cheers with a second Chicago goal to make it a one-goal score in our favor, just 17 seconds later! With just 58 seconds left in the game, we hoped against hope that that was it...and it was! Pretty sure our next door neighbors thought we were crazy, but we really didn't mind :) [I do my best to avoid falling into superstitions, but the past few years that has been hard when it comes time for the Stanley Cup Playoffs. This year, despite the delay of a multi-month lockout, hockey has been a constant presence in our home(s) and we have really enjoyed it. Following the Chicago Blackhawks has also been particularly fun, since they were the number one team in the entire league for all but a few days somewhere about two thirds of the way through the regular season! This week we are in full swing of the final series in the playoffs, trying to stave off the Boston Bruins from an earlier repeat than us with the cup (they won in 2011, the year following us in 2010). Unfortunately, we have lost the last two games and are down 2-1 in the series. All of that to say that if you have any kind of lucky ritual and feel like giving it a whirl for our Chi-town boys, I won’t stop you!]

Les Misérables--what a story! (SPOILER ALERT)

I suppose I might be embarassed to admit that only as of yesterday have I "read" Les Misérables, the classic by Victor Hugo. Many of my friends from highschool and college lauded it as one of their most favorite and loved books, but I just never got around to reading it. Technically, I still haven't; I purchased the unabridged (more on that mistake later) version in audio form on the second day of our cross-country roadtrip way back in January when I realized that the playlist I'd made for myself, despite the four new albums I'd purchased on iTunes with my Christmas money, was not going to cut it after about the 10th continual play on the first day! My dad had urged me to listen to an audio book, that it helped to pass the time quickly, etc. So I did!

Unthinkingly, I purchased, as mentioned above, the unabridged version of this classic tale. Don't get me wrong--I love history and Hugo is amazingly adept at painting extremely detailed pictures of any number of people or moments. However, listening to a rendering of the battle at Waterloo for hours on end was not something I signed up for. But having no knowledge of the story hitherto, I buckled up and kept on! 57.5 hours later, I really am glad that I did.

The character of Jean Valjean, who is the main protagonist amidst a host of complex individuals, is one that could only be painted over this much time, I think. An accidental criminal in his youth who was only trying to feed his impoverished siblings, a single loaf of bread stolen would impact the entire trajectory of his life. After many years in the galleys he went on to become the main benefactor and mayor of an entire region and the father figure/caretaker to an orphaned girl who quite literally lit up his life with joy. (I have, obviously, oversimplified the story and his life in the interest of time and minimizing mix-up. Indulge me.) Cosette, who's mother he previously became quite dear friends with and whose death he witnessed firsthand (and who had literally given everything of herself in order to protect her daughter, whom she did not see for the better part of her life), becomes an angel to him, and in a sense his salvation. In her he is given a distraction from himself for those who seek after him to arrest him and give him his "due"--and who understand nothing of the true origins of his punishable actions, or at least of where they started.

I could easily go on and continue my brief summary of this team of characters who paint a wrenching picture of the various miseries of life, but I don't feel it necessary to say what I want to. In Hugo's France, hopelessness sometimes becomes depravity, yet poverty also may breed hope eternal. Love is often an underlying theme, save for in descriptions of certain characters whose sole desire is to acquire riches and who will stop at nothing to get them, however fleeting the wealth may be once attained.

Yesterday, I finished the story. For those of you familiar with it, you will surely recall the gut-wrenching final chapters wherein Cosette's new husband, having been told by Jean Valjean himself of the "father's" true past and identity, slowly marginalizes the old man from his wife's life. The former feels this is a fate deserved, and that he is finally serving his true penance for his past crimes. However, Marius (Cosette's husband) does not know that it is Jean Valjean who saved his life when the émeute exploded in Paris, and to whom he also owes the honor of marrying the girl he fell in love with in secret. It all comes to a head when a rascal we are quite familiar with by this time, Thenardier, comes to Marius and tells him what he thinks is true and will get him lots of money thanks to his frankness with the man now rich thanks to Cosette's inheritance. The final scene reunites Jean Valjean to his beloved "daughter", and sees Marius' pain in knowing the hurt he has caused this dear old man to whom he owed nearly everything. As I cooked dinner, I wept as I listened to the final scene; on his deathbed Jean Valjean finally sees his Cosette one last time, and sees Marius forgive him and take true ownership of the wealth bequeathed him, knowing it now to be legitimate. As they beg and plead for him to return home with them to live out his final days, he verily glows as an angel in his joy of being with the two beings he adores most in his dying breath. The book ends with the words written on Jean Valjean's gravestone, alluding to Cosette and her saving grace being the light of his life.

That final chapter, to me, painted a picture of true love in many ways: in Marius and Cosette's love, Marius' respect and love that explodes for the "father-in-law" whom he misunderstood, and the love and adoration shared between Jean Valjean and Cosette. Would that we all ended our earthly lives as he does, in the arms of love in the truest sense, and feeling his bishop calling him Home and seeing the Light. The sadness of this moment is one tinged with angelic joy of  true redemption, and one that seems quite apropos this Holy Week. As Jean Valjean (though the comparison is a bit vulgar, perhaps), Jesus Christ separated Himself from the One who was his True Love in order to save us, those whom the Trinity seeks to save and love with such a love as we can never fathom in our earthly minds. May we remember, and may we feel an angelic sense of gratitude though the tears fall from our eyes as a river.

A moment in the Lenten season

This morning I was struck by a particular verse in the Lenten devotional I am following this year by Walt Wangerin. I was a bit behind, so read three of the "days". All of them dealt to some degree with Jesus' judgement by the Sanhedrin, and what struck me was the "holy silence" he kept in that room until the crucial time juxtaposed with the utter depravity of the actions of those judging Him whom they did not recognize. Wangerin makes clear to the reader that, though we might think of those men as "below us" or that we would have acted markedly differently from them in that situation, the opposite is much more likely. The verse that he paired from John 3 reads:

And this is the condemnation, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For everyone practicing evil hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed. But he who does the truth comes to the light, that his deeds may be clearly seen, that they have been done in God.                                                               [verses 19 and 20]

While for many this might sound harsh, one of the principal things that emerges from the Lenten season before Easter (at least as I experience it) is a sort of return to a consciousness of this "holy harshness". What Jesus did wasn't to give us a field of flowers and bunny rabbits and Easter eggs--though God created all things of beauty for our pleasure. He came and was brutally murdered against the better judgement of the very man who could have stopped it, but who was swayed by a crowd of mockers. It is shocking to be reminded of our likeness to those mockers. Originally all created in the Lord's image, He was forced to send one that the majority of His own did not even recognize--despite all kinds of signs and prophecies to that end--to die. Having said this, it is true that at that time there were also many faithful followers amidst Jesus' closest family, friends, and disciples who refused to mock him. But is it not made clear how sinful we are when we reflect upon Peter's denial--this one who had so avidly repeated to Jesus his undying love and alliance across all trials and tribulations, even to death? The irony brings me pause. As the teacher he has sworn his allegiance to is condemned to death by those that could recite the prophecies of His coming by heart, Peter warms his hands by a fire where he denies his master three times in a row.

So: harshness. It is here, there, and everywhere in the story of Jesus' accusation, condemnation, and death. However, we who live so many years after it happened have the luxury of forgetting the harshness for the love that was therein expressed and the victory of the Resurrection. This morning, I am struck to wonder at the "before" of the Easter story, and my participation thousands of years later in the very death of my Lord and the only One who could save me from my sinful ways. He will rise, indeed; but first, He must die the death that I should have done.