My niece turned one last Sunday. It made me reflect on all the things that have happened since she was born, in a way I haven't really thought about the span of a year before.
I finally visited my brother in SC. He'd only been living there for two years.
I taught my first online class, which also happened to be the largest class I have ever taught.
I experienced my first time teaching a class for a second time. Things are remarkably easier the second time around...who would have imagined?
I advanced to candidacy (and have more or less written my dissertation...I think...)
I went through two roommates (through no fault of my own...I swear...)
Trump is running for President (and it terrifies me that my niece's earliest memories may involve him as President!)
I went through my first round of (real) job applications, my first (real) interview and my first round of heart-wrenching rejections.
I turned 30, which was surprisingly accompanied with a bit of an identity crisis.
I accepted a position as an adjunct professor at my alma mater, Wittenberg University.
I moved back to Ohio.
My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent surgery, chemo and radiation.
And then my grandma's cancer returned.
Now, this week, my mom has to have another surgery, unrelated (hopefully!) to the cancer.
And all these things -- many of which have been major moments in my life -- won't even be memories for my niece.
So much can happen in a year, good and bad. The good things in life don't wait for the bad things to pass. My advisor said that to me once. It turns out, the bad things in life don't always wait for the good things to pass either. Life just keeps going, good turning into bad, bad turning into good, one replacing the other.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
On the Eve of My Departure: Learning How to Say Goodbye
I haven't posted in a long time. I've been professoring and dissertating. But here I am, sitting in a mostly empty room, walls almost glowing from their bareness, drinking sparkling pomegranate juice -- straight out of the bottle because I don't have any cups -- and I honestly don't know how I feel.
Last week, I took the pups on a final walk meandering through the hills, up and over to the Rose Garden, winding back down the side streets.
Sunday, I said goodbye to Trinity and Pastor Mark. Pentecost. The reminder that the Holy Spirit is all around us, has always been all around us. The anniversary of the day people finally learned, not to speak in tongues, but to actually hear one another, to understand one another. Such a powerful message, in the midst of all the debates going on in the Church right now, in the midst of UM General Conference and the talks of schism.
Yesterday was one last Celia's date with D. One last time to talk about our research, about the opportunities that have come our way. One last time to gossip about the area, about the program. One last time to fret over the job market and try to reassure each other.
This morning was the Greek final exam and my last class as a Newhall teaching fellow.
Then there was one final snuggle with Olive, as I said goodbye to Jess and the pups on the quad.
One last study session in the library. One final trip to Menchies. The Last Supper in the dining hall, which, perhaps fittingly, consisted of garlic bread and ice cream.
And tomorrow will entail even more one last times.
One last time drinking my coffee instead of the dining hall's.
One last breakfast burrito.
One last time seeing Costello.
One last time checking out the view from the roof.
One last time walking across the quad.
One last meal with Gruncle.
One last time being in Arch 305.
One last, one last, one last.
I've felt the tears building up since Sunday, but they aren't coming. This has been my home since August 20, 2012. I spent a few weeks home at Christmastime and during the summers, and all last summer, but this room has basically been home for nearly four years. The roommates have come and gone -- I'm on #4 -- but I have remained here. I never wanted to move to CA, to Berkeley, but it's what I had to do. And, it turns out, it was the best place for me to be. The faculty, the staff, the community...the people who have loved and supported me through so much. Through a rough first semester. Through cultural shock, through ignorance and education about the queer community. Through a family tragedy. Through what seemed to be a major setback in the program. Through my mom's cancer. And they have celebrated with me as well -- teaching fellowships, adjunct opportunities, the birth of my niece, proposals passed, comps passed, chapters written...the list goes on. These people have been my family, my hope, my help. They have kept me strong, believed in me and for me when I couldn't.
And now I have to say goodbye to them.
I'm so excited to go home to Ohio, to what lies ahead, but how to do I saw goodbye to the people who loved me and raised me and shaped me, the people who formed me into the scholar and teacher I have become? How do I tell them how much they have meant to me? That I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't them, that they will continue to hold me up, that I am taking them with them, if only in my heart. How does goodbye convey any of that?
And yet, tomorrow, I will say goodbye. And it will be enough. Because it has to be, because I know they already know.
Last week, I took the pups on a final walk meandering through the hills, up and over to the Rose Garden, winding back down the side streets.
Sunday, I said goodbye to Trinity and Pastor Mark. Pentecost. The reminder that the Holy Spirit is all around us, has always been all around us. The anniversary of the day people finally learned, not to speak in tongues, but to actually hear one another, to understand one another. Such a powerful message, in the midst of all the debates going on in the Church right now, in the midst of UM General Conference and the talks of schism.
Yesterday was one last Celia's date with D. One last time to talk about our research, about the opportunities that have come our way. One last time to gossip about the area, about the program. One last time to fret over the job market and try to reassure each other.
This morning was the Greek final exam and my last class as a Newhall teaching fellow.
Then there was one final snuggle with Olive, as I said goodbye to Jess and the pups on the quad.
One last study session in the library. One final trip to Menchies. The Last Supper in the dining hall, which, perhaps fittingly, consisted of garlic bread and ice cream.
And tomorrow will entail even more one last times.
One last time drinking my coffee instead of the dining hall's.
One last breakfast burrito.
One last time seeing Costello.
One last time checking out the view from the roof.
One last time walking across the quad.
One last meal with Gruncle.
One last time being in Arch 305.
One last, one last, one last.
I've felt the tears building up since Sunday, but they aren't coming. This has been my home since August 20, 2012. I spent a few weeks home at Christmastime and during the summers, and all last summer, but this room has basically been home for nearly four years. The roommates have come and gone -- I'm on #4 -- but I have remained here. I never wanted to move to CA, to Berkeley, but it's what I had to do. And, it turns out, it was the best place for me to be. The faculty, the staff, the community...the people who have loved and supported me through so much. Through a rough first semester. Through cultural shock, through ignorance and education about the queer community. Through a family tragedy. Through what seemed to be a major setback in the program. Through my mom's cancer. And they have celebrated with me as well -- teaching fellowships, adjunct opportunities, the birth of my niece, proposals passed, comps passed, chapters written...the list goes on. These people have been my family, my hope, my help. They have kept me strong, believed in me and for me when I couldn't.
And now I have to say goodbye to them.
I'm so excited to go home to Ohio, to what lies ahead, but how to do I saw goodbye to the people who loved me and raised me and shaped me, the people who formed me into the scholar and teacher I have become? How do I tell them how much they have meant to me? That I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't them, that they will continue to hold me up, that I am taking them with them, if only in my heart. How does goodbye convey any of that?
And yet, tomorrow, I will say goodbye. And it will be enough. Because it has to be, because I know they already know.
Monday, September 22, 2014
The Teaching Life
Week 4 of classes has begun.
Highlights of the first few weeks of professordom:
Me: Last year, I was the TA for the Psalms class, and now I am teaching it.
<students applaud>
Me: I will be patient with you if you will be patient with me.
<a little later>
Me: I like to think of myself as a gracious person. However, I am not a gracious person when it comes to paper extensions. Don't come to me and ask for an extension because you have four papers due that week. Plan accordingly.
Me: Apparently I like writing on the board. It makes me feel like a real teacher.
Students: You ARE a real teacher!
<student asks about how a concept in Greek compares to Hebrew>
Me: My brain can't switch between Greek and Hebrew at 8 in the morning!
<student asks about the origins of some Greek concept>
Me: You know, I don't know. But I've never not been able to translate something because of it.
Student: Did you come out of the womb looking so professional?
Me: No, I just really like to buy clothes.
Me: Did anyone read any commentaries on this psalm? I'm gonna make you confess your sins...
Me (outside the classroom): This is your friend Christina, not Professor F-------.
<student asks if he should come to class that day, 3 days post-op>
Me: You are not allowed to come to class today. Go home and take a nap for me.
<I moved a chair aside for Eli'jah>
Student: Is that the hot seat?
Me: No, it's for Eli'jah if he comes. I'm not sure where he wants to sit.
2nd Student: It's the Eli'jah chair! We'll just have to wait and see if he shows up.
[I left the chair there the whole class, just in case Eli'jah showed up, in one form or another]
<talking about Psalm 22 at a meal>
Student: Is that the one Jesus prays?
Me: Yep, that's my jam!
<an elderly woman asks me if I am a seminary student. I explain I am a 3rd year PhD student>
Woman: Oh, you look like you are 16.
Me: Yeah, I'm teaching two classes...
[I would just like to add that when I started this program 2 years ago, I was passing for 19. I'm regressing in age.]
Me: I'm a child of the 90's...not to un-date myself or anything...
Me: We're ending the semester with cursing.
Student: That seems appropriate.
Me: As long as you aren't cursing me!
In other words...I love teaching. And my students are pretty awesome.
Highlights of the first few weeks of professordom:
Me: Last year, I was the TA for the Psalms class, and now I am teaching it.
<students applaud>
Me: I will be patient with you if you will be patient with me.
<a little later>
Me: I like to think of myself as a gracious person. However, I am not a gracious person when it comes to paper extensions. Don't come to me and ask for an extension because you have four papers due that week. Plan accordingly.
Me: Apparently I like writing on the board. It makes me feel like a real teacher.
Students: You ARE a real teacher!
<student asks about how a concept in Greek compares to Hebrew>
Me: My brain can't switch between Greek and Hebrew at 8 in the morning!
<student asks about the origins of some Greek concept>
Me: You know, I don't know. But I've never not been able to translate something because of it.
Student: Did you come out of the womb looking so professional?
Me: No, I just really like to buy clothes.
Me: Did anyone read any commentaries on this psalm? I'm gonna make you confess your sins...
Me (outside the classroom): This is your friend Christina, not Professor F-------.
<student asks if he should come to class that day, 3 days post-op>
Me: You are not allowed to come to class today. Go home and take a nap for me.
<I moved a chair aside for Eli'jah>
Student: Is that the hot seat?
Me: No, it's for Eli'jah if he comes. I'm not sure where he wants to sit.
2nd Student: It's the Eli'jah chair! We'll just have to wait and see if he shows up.
[I left the chair there the whole class, just in case Eli'jah showed up, in one form or another]
<talking about Psalm 22 at a meal>
Student: Is that the one Jesus prays?
Me: Yep, that's my jam!
<an elderly woman asks me if I am a seminary student. I explain I am a 3rd year PhD student>
Woman: Oh, you look like you are 16.
Me: Yeah, I'm teaching two classes...
[I would just like to add that when I started this program 2 years ago, I was passing for 19. I'm regressing in age.]
Me: I'm a child of the 90's...not to un-date myself or anything...
Me: We're ending the semester with cursing.
Student: That seems appropriate.
Me: As long as you aren't cursing me!
In other words...I love teaching. And my students are pretty awesome.
Monday, September 1, 2014
On the Eve of Becoming a Professor
Tomorrow marks the start of a new semester, and for the first time in 24 years(!), I won't be attending classes. I'll be teaching them.
GULP.
Of course, my faithful readers out there already know that I am making the transition from student to professor. It is very much a dream come true. It is also incredibly terrifying.
I am prepared. I have talked to professors, gotten their advice. I have talked to students, gotten their perspective. My Psalms syllabus in particular has been carefully crafted and re-crafted, taking into consideration what a reasonable workload is for students and what topics will be most important for them and their ministries. I read a variety of texts to make sure I chose the best ones and to supplement my knowledge. I have reached out to professors whose expertise surpasses mine on particular topics (queer readings, for instance!). I checked out the classroom and practiced hooking my tablet up to the projector and using the new version of PowerPoint. I have extra copies of the syllabus and emailed the students a week in advance the information about accessing the course website and the reading assignment for the first class.
In fact, I think the only way I could be more prepared is if I had actually done this before. Of course, if I had done this before, I would probably have known better than to be so overly prepared! I am completely and totally over-thinking this. I know that. I waited until August to start preparing for classes because I knew I would overdo it. I also told myself I could only prepare lecture notes for the first four weeks of classes for the Psalms class and the first week for Greek.
I was feeling completely on top of things until I walked into my classroom for the first time last week to test things out. My stomach dropped. I nearly started to panic. What was I thinking? What was the GTU thinking, asking me to teach these classes? How does one go from taking classes to teaching classes, just like that? I have no training in preparing a lecture or different pedagogical styles. I don't know how to handle it if the class gets out of hand. And what if my students refuse to respect me because I'm just a kid? Oh, and some of my students are some of my best friends. Because that is gonna be totally normal.
And on top of all of this, I am supposed to make it through my comprehensive exams this year. Good thing I'm not an over-achiever or anything.
I did, however, give myself permission to take it easy this past week. I helped out with new student orientation, made some new friends, enjoyed extra snuggles with the pups, vegged out to Buffy marathons, and thoroughly basked in the re-opening of the dining hall. I am feeling more rested and relaxed...and completely nervous about my teaching debut.
But being a bit nervous is a good thing, right? Means I'm taking my responsibility seriously. And that I care about making sure my students not only learn the material but that it is as enjoyable as possible for them.
Teaching. This is my passion. Helping students learn to think about the Bible differently, to find their own passions and to develop them. So yeah, I'm nervous. But this is also what I am supposed to be doing.
I've got this...right?
GULP.
Of course, my faithful readers out there already know that I am making the transition from student to professor. It is very much a dream come true. It is also incredibly terrifying.
I am prepared. I have talked to professors, gotten their advice. I have talked to students, gotten their perspective. My Psalms syllabus in particular has been carefully crafted and re-crafted, taking into consideration what a reasonable workload is for students and what topics will be most important for them and their ministries. I read a variety of texts to make sure I chose the best ones and to supplement my knowledge. I have reached out to professors whose expertise surpasses mine on particular topics (queer readings, for instance!). I checked out the classroom and practiced hooking my tablet up to the projector and using the new version of PowerPoint. I have extra copies of the syllabus and emailed the students a week in advance the information about accessing the course website and the reading assignment for the first class.
In fact, I think the only way I could be more prepared is if I had actually done this before. Of course, if I had done this before, I would probably have known better than to be so overly prepared! I am completely and totally over-thinking this. I know that. I waited until August to start preparing for classes because I knew I would overdo it. I also told myself I could only prepare lecture notes for the first four weeks of classes for the Psalms class and the first week for Greek.
I was feeling completely on top of things until I walked into my classroom for the first time last week to test things out. My stomach dropped. I nearly started to panic. What was I thinking? What was the GTU thinking, asking me to teach these classes? How does one go from taking classes to teaching classes, just like that? I have no training in preparing a lecture or different pedagogical styles. I don't know how to handle it if the class gets out of hand. And what if my students refuse to respect me because I'm just a kid? Oh, and some of my students are some of my best friends. Because that is gonna be totally normal.
And on top of all of this, I am supposed to make it through my comprehensive exams this year. Good thing I'm not an over-achiever or anything.
I did, however, give myself permission to take it easy this past week. I helped out with new student orientation, made some new friends, enjoyed extra snuggles with the pups, vegged out to Buffy marathons, and thoroughly basked in the re-opening of the dining hall. I am feeling more rested and relaxed...and completely nervous about my teaching debut.
But being a bit nervous is a good thing, right? Means I'm taking my responsibility seriously. And that I care about making sure my students not only learn the material but that it is as enjoyable as possible for them.
Teaching. This is my passion. Helping students learn to think about the Bible differently, to find their own passions and to develop them. So yeah, I'm nervous. But this is also what I am supposed to be doing.
I've got this...right?
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Five Years Single
A couple of weeks ago, I celebrated five years of being single. I took myself out on a nice little date for some delicious fro-yo. Many of you probably saw the FB post, possibly even liked it.
I wasn't making some sort of grand feminist, anti-guy statement, nor was it an attempt to lash out against my ex. I was making a grand, I-am-perfectly-content-being-single statement. When I realized that day that it was the fifth anniversary of having my heart broken to pieces, I realized that I was okay with it -- that the fact that I hadn't had a boyfriend in five years wasn't the end of the world. That may not seem like that big of a deal, but if you would have told me five years ago (or even two years ago, or even six months ago!) that I would be here today saying that the utter lack of a guy in my life is nothing to stress about, I wouldn't have believed you.
Because, to be honest, all of my life, or at least most of it, the most important achievement to me was to find a guy, fall in love, get married and have babies. I grew up in the idyllic American family -- a successful businessman father, a stay-at-home mother, an older brother and family dog. My parents were even high school sweethearts. Most of my friends had similar families -- dads worked, moms stayed home, two (maybe three) kids and a family pet. It was normal, and I never imagined my life would be any different. I didn't want my life to be any different.
I remember when I visited my undergrad advisor during my first semester of seminary. When I told her I had a boyfriend, she was immediately concerned that I would give up academics for him, that I would get married instead of get a PhD. I'm not gonna lie, it was a legit concern. I probably would have forewent (or at least postponed) PhD studies for him. I would have made that sacrifice.
But five years of singlehood has brought many adventures that I never would have imagined or even considered. I mean, on a whim, I applied to Hebrew University in Jerusalem and ended up living in Israel for nine months. I packed my bags and moved to California to get a PhD. I can devote myself to my studies without worrying about maintaining a healthy relationship or stressing over financing a family. (Not that I don't have plenty of friends who are doing a stellar job managing both their studies and having a family) I get to live in a dorm, which may sound like torture, but I actually really love it. I have a community that loves and supports me and that I in turn love and support. I have been far more successful in this program than I ever thought I would be. I am accomplishing everything I ever wanted to academically. And I am single.
When I say I am living my dream, I mean it. There used to be a little tug on my heart when I said that, like I knew I wasn't being entirely truthful because my dream always included having a family. I'm not saying I've sworn off men entirely or that I am going to go join a convent, but I am finally comfortable in my own skin, by myself. We all hear (and probably spout) the whole feminist women-don't-need-men-to-complete-them line, which is true. It also makes females who want a man feel like crap, like they aren't strong enough to stand on their own, or least, it made me feel that way. I mean, yeah, I don't need a man to complete me, but that doesn't mean I didn't *want* a man anyways. Women live in this double bind of being told they don't need a man to complete them yet when they do find someone, that person makes them "whole." In other words, being a female isn't easy. In case anyone was wondering.
What I am really trying to say is that whether I am complete or incomplete, whole or partial, I am content. I am single, and I am okay. I still find certain guys attractive, and every now and again I feel lonely, but all-in-all, I am content. I am satisfied with my life. I am living my dream, which at this moment does not include a male co-star. That might change. Then again, it might not. But regardless, I am the star, the leading lady. There are plenty of supporting characters, but no one should upstage me in my own dream.
So yes, I am five years single. But I am never alone.
I wasn't making some sort of grand feminist, anti-guy statement, nor was it an attempt to lash out against my ex. I was making a grand, I-am-perfectly-content-being-single statement. When I realized that day that it was the fifth anniversary of having my heart broken to pieces, I realized that I was okay with it -- that the fact that I hadn't had a boyfriend in five years wasn't the end of the world. That may not seem like that big of a deal, but if you would have told me five years ago (or even two years ago, or even six months ago!) that I would be here today saying that the utter lack of a guy in my life is nothing to stress about, I wouldn't have believed you.
Because, to be honest, all of my life, or at least most of it, the most important achievement to me was to find a guy, fall in love, get married and have babies. I grew up in the idyllic American family -- a successful businessman father, a stay-at-home mother, an older brother and family dog. My parents were even high school sweethearts. Most of my friends had similar families -- dads worked, moms stayed home, two (maybe three) kids and a family pet. It was normal, and I never imagined my life would be any different. I didn't want my life to be any different.
I remember when I visited my undergrad advisor during my first semester of seminary. When I told her I had a boyfriend, she was immediately concerned that I would give up academics for him, that I would get married instead of get a PhD. I'm not gonna lie, it was a legit concern. I probably would have forewent (or at least postponed) PhD studies for him. I would have made that sacrifice.
But five years of singlehood has brought many adventures that I never would have imagined or even considered. I mean, on a whim, I applied to Hebrew University in Jerusalem and ended up living in Israel for nine months. I packed my bags and moved to California to get a PhD. I can devote myself to my studies without worrying about maintaining a healthy relationship or stressing over financing a family. (Not that I don't have plenty of friends who are doing a stellar job managing both their studies and having a family) I get to live in a dorm, which may sound like torture, but I actually really love it. I have a community that loves and supports me and that I in turn love and support. I have been far more successful in this program than I ever thought I would be. I am accomplishing everything I ever wanted to academically. And I am single.
When I say I am living my dream, I mean it. There used to be a little tug on my heart when I said that, like I knew I wasn't being entirely truthful because my dream always included having a family. I'm not saying I've sworn off men entirely or that I am going to go join a convent, but I am finally comfortable in my own skin, by myself. We all hear (and probably spout) the whole feminist women-don't-need-men-to-complete-them line, which is true. It also makes females who want a man feel like crap, like they aren't strong enough to stand on their own, or least, it made me feel that way. I mean, yeah, I don't need a man to complete me, but that doesn't mean I didn't *want* a man anyways. Women live in this double bind of being told they don't need a man to complete them yet when they do find someone, that person makes them "whole." In other words, being a female isn't easy. In case anyone was wondering.
What I am really trying to say is that whether I am complete or incomplete, whole or partial, I am content. I am single, and I am okay. I still find certain guys attractive, and every now and again I feel lonely, but all-in-all, I am content. I am satisfied with my life. I am living my dream, which at this moment does not include a male co-star. That might change. Then again, it might not. But regardless, I am the star, the leading lady. There are plenty of supporting characters, but no one should upstage me in my own dream.
So yes, I am five years single. But I am never alone.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Nightmares (And Living the Dream)
I have been plagued by nightmares this summer. Recurrent ones, like it's the first day of Greek class and I forgot to prepare the lecture (with various variations...my favorite one was when Anya from Buffy was my co-instructor and we both forgot to prepare and then spent the entire class arguing over how to co-teach). Research-related ones, like some man tries to rape me, but I escape (the joys of domestic violence being central to my dissertation). Conversation-related ones, like my brother was smoking pot and ate all my stuff out of the fridge (although, on the off chance that my brother actually reads my blog, I should clarify that it was a conversation with a friend about her former pothead days that led to that dream, not my brother). There was even a pregnancy, giving birth one, which I'm sure all those dream-interpreters out there would tell me is related to writing my comps proposal, but it definitely was a nightmare, not some joyous occasion!
But all of those nightmares, and all the ones that I am sure will continue to haunt me, end when my alarm clock goes off. And when it comes to that Greek one, I can make sure it doesn't come to pass (although, admittedly, I still haven't prepared for the first class!). But, the point is, I get to wake up. How many people never get to wake up from their nightmares? How many families in Gaza are trapped in a living hell, unable to escape, dreaming every night and every waking moment that the IDF will injure or kill them or their loved ones? How many Israelis never feel safe in their home, constantly afraid that Hamas might finally master the technology to actually kill them with their missiles? How many wives, partners and girlfriends live in fear of their husbands, partners and boyfriends, that their raised voice will lead to a raised fist, that the next blow might strike their child instead of them? How many parents find themselves living the nightmare of losing their child, having to bury them, due to disease, to senseless violence, to preventable overdoses, to unforeseen accidents? How many people find their reality to be their worst nightmare?
So as annoying, and at times frightening, as my nightmares can be (or, in regard to the pot-related one, amusing after-the-fact), they are just dreams, bad dreams, but dreams nonetheless. I wake up in the morning and go about my day. They are not my reality. My reality, in fact, is just the opposite: I am living my dream. Of course, my dream has shifted over time, but this, right here, right now, is what I want, it's what I have been working so hard to achieve. And while some parts are not quite as I expected, I have to say, overall, it is far better than I ever imagined.
Here I am, in California, where I never wanted to be but where I nonetheless need to be. Five years single and loving it, which I never would have thought was possible, even content with the possibility that this single thing might be permanent. Getting ready to start my third year of the PhD program, getting ready to teach my first classes all by myself, getting ready to propose my comprehensive exams. Getting ready. After 10 years of higher education, 10 years of studying the Bible academically, it's all being put to the test. Being tested literally in the form of exams, but more importantly, being tested in my ability to teach. This is what I have been training for, what I have been waiting for -- teaching students, sharing my passions and (hopefully!) igniting theirs. I wake up each morning, shake off the nightmares, and then get to it. I get to spend each and every day doing what I love, reading and researching. And because I ended up here, where I didn't want to be, I've been learning about things I never wanted to learn about, realizing the importance of things that never mattered before. Which means I'm incorporating class sessions like "Queering the Psalms," when I, in fact, don't know how to queer anything. But I'm gonna learn, because it is how so many people encounter and relate to the biblical text -- and that is what is truly important, understanding how people engage the text and being able to meet them there. Unless they're crazy fundamentalist. In which case, don't even bother trying. (Said as a true former crazy fundie.)
But all of those nightmares, and all the ones that I am sure will continue to haunt me, end when my alarm clock goes off. And when it comes to that Greek one, I can make sure it doesn't come to pass (although, admittedly, I still haven't prepared for the first class!). But, the point is, I get to wake up. How many people never get to wake up from their nightmares? How many families in Gaza are trapped in a living hell, unable to escape, dreaming every night and every waking moment that the IDF will injure or kill them or their loved ones? How many Israelis never feel safe in their home, constantly afraid that Hamas might finally master the technology to actually kill them with their missiles? How many wives, partners and girlfriends live in fear of their husbands, partners and boyfriends, that their raised voice will lead to a raised fist, that the next blow might strike their child instead of them? How many parents find themselves living the nightmare of losing their child, having to bury them, due to disease, to senseless violence, to preventable overdoses, to unforeseen accidents? How many people find their reality to be their worst nightmare?
So as annoying, and at times frightening, as my nightmares can be (or, in regard to the pot-related one, amusing after-the-fact), they are just dreams, bad dreams, but dreams nonetheless. I wake up in the morning and go about my day. They are not my reality. My reality, in fact, is just the opposite: I am living my dream. Of course, my dream has shifted over time, but this, right here, right now, is what I want, it's what I have been working so hard to achieve. And while some parts are not quite as I expected, I have to say, overall, it is far better than I ever imagined.
Here I am, in California, where I never wanted to be but where I nonetheless need to be. Five years single and loving it, which I never would have thought was possible, even content with the possibility that this single thing might be permanent. Getting ready to start my third year of the PhD program, getting ready to teach my first classes all by myself, getting ready to propose my comprehensive exams. Getting ready. After 10 years of higher education, 10 years of studying the Bible academically, it's all being put to the test. Being tested literally in the form of exams, but more importantly, being tested in my ability to teach. This is what I have been training for, what I have been waiting for -- teaching students, sharing my passions and (hopefully!) igniting theirs. I wake up each morning, shake off the nightmares, and then get to it. I get to spend each and every day doing what I love, reading and researching. And because I ended up here, where I didn't want to be, I've been learning about things I never wanted to learn about, realizing the importance of things that never mattered before. Which means I'm incorporating class sessions like "Queering the Psalms," when I, in fact, don't know how to queer anything. But I'm gonna learn, because it is how so many people encounter and relate to the biblical text -- and that is what is truly important, understanding how people engage the text and being able to meet them there. Unless they're crazy fundamentalist. In which case, don't even bother trying. (Said as a true former crazy fundie.)
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Failing at Life: Or, How I realized I am more than my grades
School is my life. That, I am sure, comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me. And I have written before, over and over again, about the costs of academia. About how no one makes it to where I am without sacrificing their social life, their health, hell, even their sanity. It is, of course, a luxury to have the time, money and brains to do a PhD program. But, as with most things in life, the good comes with the bad. (And, just as importantly, the bad comes with the good)
I have said multiple times that I am so glad I am single in the midst of my studies. I really seriously don't know how anyone does this with a spouse, with a family, with a significant other, even a pet! Half the time I feel like I'm a success if I am fully dressed, in clean(ish) clothes, and manage to eat three out of the five food groups in a given week. Forget about make-up, regularly scheduled haircuts, housework or catching the latest blockbuster. I buy index cards, pens and highlighters in bulk, and the precarious stacks of library books have spilled out of my dorm room into our living room.
And the total mess that I am, well, I love it. I get so excited just thinking about my research, just thinking about teaching next year. It's what makes me feel alive, why I get out of bed in the morning. It is what fills me up and makes me whole.
Then I have a day like today, where I get some pretty harsh feedback from a professor and I just literally cry for a good hour and a half. The kind of thing that makes a person just wanna drop out and run away. And in the midst of all the tears and tissues, the logical practical side of me knows that the professor is really just trying to push me to be the best student, scholar, teacher I can be, but that doesn't stop me from being overly emotional and, yes, overly dramatic. I mean, my studies are my heart and soul. Criticize my academic performance and you basically criticize my very essence.
So after I cried all of the moisture out of my body (which is really not much of an exaggeration), I decided to step back and get a little perspective. By which I mean I took an evening off from studying to watch TV, draw and snuggle with my roommate's pups. And so I was sitting here, watching Buffy (because really, nothing helps work through academic frustration like watching a bunch of vampires getting dusted) and of course Buffy, despite being all chosen and alone in the fight against evil still has all this crazy boy drama. I've been watching the final season, and I have to admit, I am a total sucker for the whole Buffy-Spike relationship. Not because she makes him a better person but because he in his own way makes her a better person too. Anyways, I'm watching and there is this scene where they're not together anymore but Buffy asks Spike to stay with her and just hold her as she sleeps. Later Spike tells her it was the best night of his 100+ existence. And yeah, the whole thing is a bit cheesy, but watching it made my heart ache. Because while I'm not some fancy vampire slayer, I am, in my own way, alone. I am so focused on my studies that I really don't have room for much else in my life. I love my studies, and I am passionate about my research, but at the end of the day, I can curl up with a book but it's not like that book is really all that snuggly.
I am a strong, independent post-modern woman. I don't need a guy in my life to complete me. I'm quite whole all on my own, thank-you-very-much. It's not that there is anything missing from my life by being single, but in that moment, I realized that there needs to be something more than just my studies. Because, let's face it, negative feedback from a professor shouldn't eat at the core of my very being. Maybe today was just a bad day and I was just overly emotional (because, hey, I'm a girl and we have a tendency to do that) and I overreacted. Maybe. But I need to not be defined by a bad grade or even a professor I just can't seem to please. I need there to be more to me than just school.
And that's why I am so grateful to live in this crazy, over-the-top, radical, loving community. I'm the momma hen, and sometimes my baby chicks resent me and don't want to listen, but when push comes to shove, we're all there for each other -- holding each other up, dragging each other along, offering one another hugs and love and sometimes a much needed kick in the behind. We're family in our own crazy messed up way. No matter how many lessons I learn in the classroom, I've learned so many more from these people -- lessons on love and acceptance, lessons on faith and belief, lessons on grace and forgiveness, lessons on life and on living.
School may be my life. School may be my calling. But my community is my ruah, my life-breath and divine spirit, infusing me with love.
I have said multiple times that I am so glad I am single in the midst of my studies. I really seriously don't know how anyone does this with a spouse, with a family, with a significant other, even a pet! Half the time I feel like I'm a success if I am fully dressed, in clean(ish) clothes, and manage to eat three out of the five food groups in a given week. Forget about make-up, regularly scheduled haircuts, housework or catching the latest blockbuster. I buy index cards, pens and highlighters in bulk, and the precarious stacks of library books have spilled out of my dorm room into our living room.
And the total mess that I am, well, I love it. I get so excited just thinking about my research, just thinking about teaching next year. It's what makes me feel alive, why I get out of bed in the morning. It is what fills me up and makes me whole.
Then I have a day like today, where I get some pretty harsh feedback from a professor and I just literally cry for a good hour and a half. The kind of thing that makes a person just wanna drop out and run away. And in the midst of all the tears and tissues, the logical practical side of me knows that the professor is really just trying to push me to be the best student, scholar, teacher I can be, but that doesn't stop me from being overly emotional and, yes, overly dramatic. I mean, my studies are my heart and soul. Criticize my academic performance and you basically criticize my very essence.
So after I cried all of the moisture out of my body (which is really not much of an exaggeration), I decided to step back and get a little perspective. By which I mean I took an evening off from studying to watch TV, draw and snuggle with my roommate's pups. And so I was sitting here, watching Buffy (because really, nothing helps work through academic frustration like watching a bunch of vampires getting dusted) and of course Buffy, despite being all chosen and alone in the fight against evil still has all this crazy boy drama. I've been watching the final season, and I have to admit, I am a total sucker for the whole Buffy-Spike relationship. Not because she makes him a better person but because he in his own way makes her a better person too. Anyways, I'm watching and there is this scene where they're not together anymore but Buffy asks Spike to stay with her and just hold her as she sleeps. Later Spike tells her it was the best night of his 100+ existence. And yeah, the whole thing is a bit cheesy, but watching it made my heart ache. Because while I'm not some fancy vampire slayer, I am, in my own way, alone. I am so focused on my studies that I really don't have room for much else in my life. I love my studies, and I am passionate about my research, but at the end of the day, I can curl up with a book but it's not like that book is really all that snuggly.
I am a strong, independent post-modern woman. I don't need a guy in my life to complete me. I'm quite whole all on my own, thank-you-very-much. It's not that there is anything missing from my life by being single, but in that moment, I realized that there needs to be something more than just my studies. Because, let's face it, negative feedback from a professor shouldn't eat at the core of my very being. Maybe today was just a bad day and I was just overly emotional (because, hey, I'm a girl and we have a tendency to do that) and I overreacted. Maybe. But I need to not be defined by a bad grade or even a professor I just can't seem to please. I need there to be more to me than just school.
And that's why I am so grateful to live in this crazy, over-the-top, radical, loving community. I'm the momma hen, and sometimes my baby chicks resent me and don't want to listen, but when push comes to shove, we're all there for each other -- holding each other up, dragging each other along, offering one another hugs and love and sometimes a much needed kick in the behind. We're family in our own crazy messed up way. No matter how many lessons I learn in the classroom, I've learned so many more from these people -- lessons on love and acceptance, lessons on faith and belief, lessons on grace and forgiveness, lessons on life and on living.
School may be my life. School may be my calling. But my community is my ruah, my life-breath and divine spirit, infusing me with love.
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