My Tent on The Beach

I bought a new car on Friday.  In my old car, the “check engine” light would go on randomly, oh I don’t know, every other week. So I chucked it and bought a new (but simple) car.  That was Friday.  Yesterday the check engine light when on.  In the new car. Holy shit.

And I lost my mind.

Blinding rage? Fury? No, just a quiet, growing anger manifesting itself as what became raging, fiery heartburn.  In a momentary out-of-body experience as I was digging through my closet for the Tums (which have Calcium, I realized, so at least I had my RDA dosage of that), I realized that this is not a healthy coping mechanism. So, over my coffee this morning as I’m piecing back together what are the twisted and broken shards of my mind, I’m trying to work my way through what might be going on here.

I don’t have an answer.  But what I know is that I’ve become prone to really flying off the handle, most especially when inanimate objects are involved.  I won’t lose my mind with people.  I almost never have gone loco on a person.  But when something crosses my path–take cover.  This has happened when the cable goes out, my computer malfunctions, my coffee maker bites the dust, MY CHECK ENGINE LIGHT COMES ON…you get the drift.  It’s a Thing thing.  And so, I wonder if this is my own craziness constantly creeping up on me or if it’s a symptom of a greater social condition.  What I’m wondering is if Facebook has done this to me…

Here’s the thing: I’ve become used to speed (not the narcotic, although there are days when I consider it) and functionality.  Usually I love it: I’m in love with being in the know NOW.  So, Facebook lets me see what my friends are doing now. Gmail tells me instantly when I get an e-mail.  I can pay my bills and have the total deducted from my account now.  I’ve grown completely intolerant of anything that 1) breaks or 2) takes more than 3.4 seconds.  Which I think is the root of my check engine rage.  (Also connected is that this is a brand new thing that has now, inexplicably BROKEN ALREADY which just exascerbates this whole thing.)

What I don’t know is how to reverse it.  Yes, I can unplug and not engage with the face-paced world of technology.  But then I’m left behind. FAST. I know people who’ve done this and it’s like they’ve become irrelevant…and if there’s one thing I live for, it’s being relevant (although, now that I’m this far into this post, I’m left wondering…).  Unplugging is extreme.  My current state of plugged-in-edness seems extreme.  So where is the happy middle in determining the speed of life?  And how much control do we really have over it? How do I get Zen with very expensive things breaking in the first 5 minutes I have them when everything is a thing that I’ve paid for.  And has been promised to work?

This is not new, I know.  Since the invention of things, things have been breaking.  But it seems like now, in this shiny world of things everywhere that do amazing things very fast, failure is becoming way less of an option.  Because if I had a little C4 and duct tape, at this moment, I’d strap it to that car and show it who’s boss.

But maybe that’s an overreaction.

I really hate to be that chipper, cheerful, “Look at the sunny side of life,” kinda girl.  In fact, it makes me want to flog myself for it. I’m much funnier when I’m wry and cynical.  But amazing things have been happening to me recently and I’m not sure why.  I suppose the smarter side of myself says, “Katie…what the hell? Why are you questioning it?”  But, you know, I like to live on the wild and stupid side.  So let’s dig in…

The goodness, I’m finding, is in the universal return.  Like Mars in retrograde, stuff keeps coming back to me at the right time, in the right place.  I’m making myself sick with my own giddyness about it.  “Like what?” you say, “Katie. What is mystically on the return?”

Like:

1. Chez and Patrick with whom I now share an office.  Previously I thought that would be a productive space.  Today, Patrick and I proved that it probably won’t be…academically speaking…but it was great.  My return to the sociology department is the return I was looking for.  Weird.  Couldn’t have seen that coming.

2. Katie and Andy visited on Tuesday.  For Katie, it was a return to Chicago. It was glorious.  For Andy, it was not a return, but he didn’t seem to have a horrible time, so maybe someday he will return.  Either way, though, it was wonderful.  I haven’t had that much fun in a long time…with adults who appreciate Harry Potter like I do.

3. Friday we returned to Book Club.  Another fantastic time.

4. A little bit of my zest for sociology has returned.  It feels right again when for a long time it did not.

5. I returned about 79423874 library books last week.  Literally a weight off my shoulders.  Also means…I read them.  Another weight off my shoulders.

6. Fall is returning.  This past week I literally curled up under my down blanket, had a beer (the RETURN of Goose Island Harvest Ale), and watched football.

I could go on but I’m getting nauseous.  Bottom line, the returns are so celebratory because it means I’ve been given a reprieve from waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting.  I guess I want to ask why…what changed?  Was it me? Or the Universe?  And how do I keep this table turned in my direction?

But, you know…questions are stupid right now.  I’m just going to go sleep while I can because with returns, here’s the thing: everything returns.  Even waiting.

I’ve been going on autopilot the last couple days.  My energy is low, low, low.  I’ve been stressed out to the point that it should be called, “stressed in” (in that much like backdraft, the lack of oxygen in a burning room will first suck everything into it and then blow it to smithereens).  It’s a phase…I think the natural valley after a month of high-energy “I’m moving and it’s summer and I got Active for the Wii.”  But it’s these times when I think some of the greatest things can happen because, for whatever reason, I’ve just had to let go of my strangle-hold on everything…and have found wonders on the other side of over-management.

For instance:

1. I sang in a concert last Sunday that turned out to be one of the greatest moments of my life.

2. I realized I like the world a lot better without my IPod.

3. The Madonna della Strada Chapel in the evenings is a beautiful place to be.

4. I’m much more capable and interested in my culture special field than I previously thought.

5. A friend of mine from years gone by appeared out of nowhere and apparently is now living in Evanston.

6. House guests can make life a little more worthwhile if even for a short time.

7. Transitions don’t have to be horribly painful.

8. Everything in it’s time.

I reflect on this all the time.  For some reason, the lesson of letting go takes time to sink in.  I’ve never trusted it.  And I think that’s precisely the problem.  I’m learning…slowly.

Ooh, I don’t know if you’ve all been following the big buzz: Archie finally proposed after all these years…TO VERONICA.

'Bout time, Arch. Good for you.

That’s right.  This comic book icon that’s been all over every medium from gum wrappers to online comics finally committed…the cardinal American sin.  And people are up in arms about it.

For those unaware of the story, here it is.  It’s the classic American love triangle: Archie loves Betty, Betty plays hard to get, Veronica (the vixen) is always there to throw a wrench into an otherwise bland boy-loves-girl story. Awesome.

But here’s what’s so interesting to me about this public outcry over the fact that the Archie Gang (now well into middle age) has defied convention…that Archie actually asked the “hot, slutty” girl to marry him after all these years of pining hopelessly (and fruitlessly) over Betty.  Betty has been the ungettable get for too long.  And now that she’s finally gotten what her coy little self deserves (Archie moving on to someone who’s openly wanted him for, well, ever), we’re angry.  We feel sorry for Betty.  Because that’s not how the story ends.  What else could Betty have done but what she did…we asked her to play that role and we promised her that in the end, she’d be happy.  And now Veronica is wearing her ring.

Good, I say.  Betty totally screwed this one up.  Maybe I speak from a standpoint heavily informed by the fact that I’ve never had guys falling all over me (far from it, actually.  Usually I intimidate them…which I will never totally understand) but, I look at this story (and the countless number of real stories that look exactly the same) and I think Betty’s been an ass.  Archie’s tied himself in knots trying to get her attention and she’s been stringing him along (for, like, 15 years now).  How long does she possibly think he’s going to put up with that?!?  Seriously. It’s embarrassing for him and heartless for her.  But isn’t it interesting that we side with her when he asks Veronica because Betty’s done what every “good girl” should do…we expect her to be rewarded for playing the part of  “ideal girl.”  We’ve done Betty a disservice in leading her to believe that messing with Archie’s mind for so long is something that will be rewarded with his love and loyalty in the end.  Only if Archie’s a total idiot would that happen.

Now, I know…you’re reading this thinking, “Kate…seriously…it’s a comic book…who cares?”  This story is not a comic book.  I talk to many men who are Archie and have chosen their Betty and regret it.  Why?  Because if we take Betty at face value (and put out of our minds “the ideal girl” idea), she’s a manipulative bitch.  And there’s nothing to indicate she won’t continue to be that.  Meanwhile, Veronica (the hot, slutty girl as we’ve cast her) has done nothing but show Archie how she feels about him.  Archie is the real winner here.  He’s chosen the girl (now woman) who has given him every reason to believe she loves him…for real.  Good for you, Arch.  Nicely played.

Of course, this isn’t the end of this story.  Archie Comics has already said there’s 5 issues left, which means they’ll totally bow to the crush of complaints from readers wanting the Fairytale Ending.  Veronica will be left heartbroken, (“As every slut deserves,” we’ll say) and Betty will be featured on the next episode of Bridezillas and we’ll all clap Archie on the back and given him that hang-dog, “Man…what are you getting yourself into?” look of satisfaction.  Because that’s how the story should end.

It’s a sad day for the girl next door…not because she didn’t get the proposal. It’s because she’ll never learn that what’s she’s doing is anything but “cute” and “coquettish.”  It’s actually kind of gross.  And we’ve all asked her to be that.

Oh no.

I’m having a PhD-cum-life moment courtesy of an exchange I had today with a friend of mine who is honest but exasperated…possibly honestly exasperated.  I can’t say I wouldn’t be either.

The specifics of the event are not important but the lesson here is something for me to think about.  Or actually, precisely not think about.  One of the serious problems I have in balancing life and PhD is the inability to shut my brain off.  It’s become an occupational hazard.  I cannot speak for all of academia; these results may not be generalizable.  But as I examine all of the reasons I was so hesitant to keep moving on this after classes were over, this theme of “overactive brain activity” recurs frequently.  I live in a state of hyper-thinking and it’s hard to manage.

I’m already insanely observant in a subconscious way.  I know this because I know whole songs that I’ve never heard before.  As they filter into the world as white noise, I hear and know them even when I’m not trying.  Same thing with tv…my knowledge of television would indicate that I watch it 24-7.  In fact, I do not.  But I can be doing 4 other things and still know every detail of a show, including the credits.  I think it’s this quality that makes me intuitive about people; I don’t have to study them to know exactly what they’re about and what they need.  In a lot of ways, I’ve always considered this a gift.

However, I’ve begun to see in the long term that this quality ramps up to dangerous levels when I do academic thinking.  I can think in the abstract all day long and feel wonderfully comfortable.  My brain chugs happily along just thinking conceptually.  But then reality hits.  It’s a different beast but my brain doesn’t make the accommodations necessary and I end up looking at real life situations in an analytical perspective that’s so narrow, I risk wrecking what’s real.

Need a “learning lab of life” moment? Sure.  Think about the last conversation you had with another person (sorry, dogs and plants do not count here).  Now, take just the last sentence of that conversation.  Next, imagine all of the possible ways that sentence could be interpreted, running the gamut from the best message ever to apocalyptic.  Now, run a quick analysis of the most likely meaning.  If you want to add in body language and facial expressions, do that here.  Do those observational clues match your earlier language analysis?  What inconsistencies stand out?  How do you feel about what you think the likely meaning of the last sentence was?

This is how I could very systematically watch all of my friendships explode.  Aforementioned friend gave me a pearl of wisdom that I’ve always told myself but that earns a new gravitas when received from someone else.

“Just stop analyzing it.”

Yes.  Yes.  I want to do that.  But I don’t know how when my whole focus (which I’ve fought months to regain) at this moment is analysis.  This is why, in the hallowed halls of academia you see frazzled, rumpled, wrinkled, obviously brilliant people who suffer from severe social arrested development.  They’ve chosen their path and I commend them.  They’ve chosen analysis.  On the other hand, there are the apparently blissful people thrilled to not analyze a single blessed thing, who hop through life just taking it as it comes. I commend them, too.  They’ve chosen a simpler but not unfulfilling path.

Ultimately, I have to figure this out or I risk becoming “that friend” that’s held at arm’s length because of apparent uncontrollable neurosis which is time consuming and, frankly, annoying on both sides.  And while I have a lot of answers to a lot of things, I am at a loss here.

How do I keep my analytical edge without turning it toward personal relationships? Any suggestions are welcome.  I won’t even analyze ‘em…I’ll just jump in and blindly try at this point.

What’s going on here? Within the past 6 weeks or so, I’ve had at least 6 phone calls that start with, ” [Insert significant other's name here] and I broke up last night,” or “I’m struggling” or “We’re struggling.” How does this happen?

I get everybody struggles but what stumping me is the timing. How does all of this happen at about the same time…and during months that seem like they would be more carefree somehow than the ones in which we’re mired in barely tolerable external conditions? Or is this a sign of my times? Maybe this is what the relationship cycle looks like after all of the excitement and festivities are over and people settle in to what will be their everyday routines…for a long time.

I’m not sure whether to guess this is coincidental or a factor of my age or the time of the year but all of these separate instances seem oddly similar. Maybe it’s just a sign of the greater times: tough economy, long work hours, and leisure time and ability slipping away. It makes us long for fantasy in a real way. A lot of people sure seemed to have it and now it’s unraveling.

For a July full of seriously amazing, comfortable weather, I guess the relationship front caught all the storms.

Here in the biz (of academia), we talk a lot about Imposter Syndrome.  I don’t think it’s inherently sociological; all neurotic people have one form of this or another and, let’s face it, academia is the meeting place for everyone with some form of “mental quirk.”  Imposter Syndrome is the looming feeling that you are not “enough” of what you need to be where you are and will eventually be “found out” by those who surround you and who you’ve been tricking all this time.

I have this. In many facets of my life (mostly because I’ve followed what may be an “unconventional” path towards everything I’ve ever done…I am not a trained teacher, musician, or counselor and I “practice” all with legitimate versions of all of these on a daily basis). Today I met with the music director at Loyola to discuss the 3 weddings I’m singing on Saturday and I’m thinking to myself, “Why do people let me do this?  This is crazy. Don’t they know that I should not be allowed to go anywhere near this music?”  I had to physically restrain myself from suggesting that maybe he should reconsider his thinking here.  I’m just a girl who’s tripping (literally…not in the peaceful sense) into all of these areas in which I really have no business.  At least, so I think.

What I wonder is if this ever goes away.  I’m a high achiever; I’ve never felt that I deserved or actually earned any of it.  My history is a smattering of lucky timing and, frankly, intervention on some level that I don’t even understand.  I have no way to account for how I got to where I am. And I perpetually feel like my greatest accomplishments are rolling with the punches so well or talking my way so convincingly into the little shadowy corners of life that so intrigue me, that I’m fooling people who should know.  I live in fear that one of these days someone is going to stop and ask me these questions: “What are you doing here?  How did you get here.  Who let you in?”

Ugh.  I feel nauseous just thinking about it.  And yet it might be a relief.  Anybody have a cure for this…well, except for dangling it on my public web page and tempting the universe to go ahead and find me someone who will ask me these questions (that I think I deserve…) to see if it actually kills me?

I bet it won’t.  And that just seems like I’ve won again…by employing my crazy scheme. And I’ll go on teaching people things, with the endorsement of people who seem to know, and singing things, and giving my opinion about things I know nothing.  And I’ll worry about it. And wait for the day when someone calls me on it.

And then, of course, I’ll take it personally…

School work has become not a little thrill.  In fact, to suggest the word “thrill” should go anywhere near this PhD process seems sacreligious.  But nonetheless, the time has come that I just start hunkering down and do this thing.

Thus, I have.  But not without reward.  Tonight as I sat down, notes in front of me, trying to drum up a train of thought about how idiocultures are developed within existing social structures and the effects of said structures (I KNOW…this is my life, people.  Not pretty), I promised myself that after a couple hours (literally 2), I would allow myself the luxury of a treat: fix my blog.  Because, really, the fact that the pictures were not mine was seriously bothersome, especially because I kept getting a lot of compliments on them and, well, that was making me jealous.

There begins my sojourn into the fun world of CSS.  Two hours later, I emerge triumphant and I feel like a million bucks. Veni, Vidi, Vici. (That’s Latin for “Take THAT you sucka pictures.” Just to recap in case you haven’t been following: I managed to get two pictures up in two hours.  And I couldn’t be happier.  In fact, I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that the Sunset at the Arno adorns my homepage.

In the midst of this compulsive panic, though, I did pause to reflect.  This may sound ridiculous but: I think we don’t celebrate enough.  Like, really expend energy to pat ourselves (or others) on the back for jobs well done.  We get judgey (PhD word, guys, keep up) about what constitutes a “success” and we’ve driven that standard so high that we really spend a huge amount of time chasing things but rarely taking stock in what makes us happy and what we’ve accomplished in getting there.

Am I a big fat nerd because I’m totally thrilled that I “won” the battle? Yes.  Unequivocally, yes.  But I’m willing to accept that for this feeling of a little weight off my shoulders and a sense that I mulled through something a figured it out.  And yay for me.

Enjoy the sunset.  I know I will.

P.S.–In case you were wondering…those OUT OF CONTROL enormo TAGS are next on the list.  That’s just ridiculous…

UPDATE: Tags fixed…for now.

One of the biggest struggles for me this summer has been contending with the notion of delayed gratification, satisfaction, relief, any other kind of “good” feeling you can think of.  This has plagued me in random facets of my life for awhile but never all at once.  This PhD is the ultimate in delay…accomplishment always lies somewhere in the not-too-distant future.  But it also seems to be trickily elusive; like the carrot tied to the horse’s head that dangles in front of it’s nose, just always out of reach, the end seems to move farther away proportionate to any kind of strides I make to get there.  This PhD is really about tricking the carrot.

For this past year, the delay was waiting to move from Crummy, Dark, Weird Apartment #2 into a place that I knew would work as a true, comfortable home base, a facet of life I’ve been without for 4 years really.  A lot of energy was spent actively waiting for that to come down.  Now that the wait is over, the relief is almost unimaginable.  But it was intense in the month of June, which happened to coincide with several of my friends heading out of reach, some permanently and some “just for the time being.”  The delay with the friends was (and still is) that my everyday life qualitatively changed.  I had to temporarily imagine my life working differently and unexpectedly and in ways completely out of my control if I still wanted them to be a part of it. It felt uncomfortable and tenuous.

I guess there’s a lot of ways to approach this.  Some might tell me I needed to adjust my mind-set: “Why wait for others when you can take the reins yourself, ” they’d say.  My response to those is that when you take the reins there, you’d better be prepared for loneliness because you’ll be the only one present to you.  Other people just become part of the decoration of your life; people in picture frames on your walls.  My question is why they’re not sitting on your couch.  Others might say that I need to loosen my grip a little.  This is probably true to some degree, but do I really want to allow “slack” with people who possess the power to turn my world?  Do I become, then, the “slacker”? I’m not comfortable with that, either.

As this month is winding down and headed back toward some kind of normalcy, with people back where they “should” be and life snapping to some kind of new but comfortable shape, I’m realizing that the lessons of delay that I take away from this June and others like it reveal themselves immediately. I’ve learned that a little missing, a little wanting is good; too much is toxic and not enough is apathetic.  Time always passes.  But forever wanting can wreck you in a very unobtrusive, quiet way; a mantle of that kind of unique discomfort can really weigh heavily.

So, I guess my lesson of delay is really this: The quality of the days in which you get what you’ve been wanting will be determined by the quality of the days you’ve spent without having.

Appreciation will usually be the end result if we’ve played it right.  But that’s my lesson.  You may have to find your own.