Intimidating? I hope not.

This post was inspired, in part, by the delightful "midwives chatting" posts over here and the Facebook Q&A's that Barb has been posting over here. It was also inspired by this post by MB that has crossed my mind repeatedly since I read it last July. I was struck by her honesty and my realization that a lot of people grow up poor and many of us carry it around like a dirty secret.

When I was an undergraduate, I was terribly intimidated by my professors. These were people who had their shit together. They were smart. They were funny. They had P. H. D.'s!!!! They knew stuff. They were way more cool than I would ever be.

I grew up poor. I remember when my parents crossed the poverty line. I was 9 or 10 years old. I remember how excited we all were when my parents had saved enough money to buy a trailer that was large enough that my brother and I would each have our own room (which I now realize is TRULY a luxury that some children will never experience). I was the first in my family to get any kind of college degree. On either side. Not only were we poor, but we were completely dysfunctional and my home life was an emotional trainwreck. I still get nervous when I have people over because I feel like I have something to hide. They will find something out about me. They will see that I am not perfect. Please, if you are my friend and you have never been to my house, you should know that I love you, but that I am just scared to have you over.

For years, I was terrified when I ate in fancy restaurants--terrified that someone would know that I was an impostor. Terrified that people were secretly laughing at me.

This feeling of being an impostor followed me into graduate school. I was terrified that at any moment, someone would realize that she doesn't belong here. Over time, I realized that this is a very common feeling. Some of the people I respect very much have said that the hardest part of your first job is getting over the "impostor syndrome." I lucked out and found a job in a department where I'm comfortable with my colleagues and enjoy their company, so this feeling hasn't plagued me like it did in graduate school.

As a side note, I didn't feel comfortable in fancy restaurants until I got a Master's degree. I guess that having a fancy title somehow makes up for growing up poor. So what if I use the wrong fork? I have the money to pay for my meal, I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE good food, and I tip well.

Many of my students come from rural areas. Beyond rural areas. Towns of less than 200 people where the closest hospital is far, far away. Grand Forks is a HUGE city to them. I'm sure that some of them grew up poor. I'm sure that some of them grew up strangled by dysfunction and violence. I hope they are not afraid of me. I want them to respect me, but I want them to know that I'm just a person too (even though I do want them to use my title when addressing me--not because I'm "better" than they are, but because I earned it...AND I allow them, even encourage them, to call me "Dr. T." because it is less intimidating and sounds more fun).

I get frustrated by genuine laziness or a lack of initiative in some students, but I otherwise enjoy talking with them and I like to know who they are outside of my class. I realize in retrospect that many of my professors were totally approachable and they probably would have loved it if I had stopped in and said hi during their office hours.

This recent string of conversations from Facebook is a nice illustration of the fact that (most) academics are not scary. At least, not the ones I affiliate with. In fact, in my experience, the truly scary ones are just assholes. Most of us are kind of funny. We don't bite. And apparently, we have a deep appreciation for the therapeutic effects of alcohol:

Me (assistant professor, psychology): Still gets nervous on the first day of class.

(I know someone who has been lecturing in VERY large classes--400+ students--for almost a decade now. He is a born performer and a pleasure to watch and listen to. He is funny, charming, and ridiculously attractive. Last semester, he posted a FB update that HE still gets first-day jitters. I find this oddly comforting.)

JL (assistant professor, sociology): Me too.

AC (associate professor, psychology): I would too if I didn't drink so much before the first class. 

(I am 97% sure this person is kidding, but is also a very real possibility that he is serious. Also, I took courses from this person in graduate school and consider him to be one of my mentors.)

Me: @AC, I DID drink a lot. Unfortunately it was coffee.

RR (assistant professor, law school): yep.

KSA (retired journalist, married to assistant professor of journalism): That's because y'all are GOOD.

(Does being nervous mean that your are more likely to be awesome? Maybe so, because it means that you actually care.)

MB (currently dissertating and also an instructor in English dept.): Make sure your zipper is up (my personal super-fear)!

AC: Drink gin dumbass.

(This is an good example of his fine mentoring skills, right here.)

Me: @MB ~ that totally happened to me last year. I realized my fly was wide open midway through class, and I was wearing a rather short shirt. I check it obsessively now.

@AC ~ Vodka. It has no scent. Duh.

(The zipper thing totally happened, and I couldn't figure out why a couple of the students were stifling laughter. I'd been lecturing for 20+ minutes. I had white granny-panties on. Thank God there were no holes in them. Also, I have never drank vodka before lecturing in a class. However, I may have utilized it in other settings. Maybe.)

SC (doctoral candidate, quantitative psychology): It says a lot about you that I both think you are a professional and mature educator and researcher AND *totally* believe you about which booze to drink and conceal it.

(Strangely, this is one of my favorite compliments I have ever received. It means that I, too, am capable of some fine mentoring.)
 

Moment

December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). 

We had a garden last summer. A big garden, and half of it did well...the summer squash and green beans went crazy. I had no idea how satisfying it would be do grow our own food and eat it immediately. Admittedly, my husband did most of the growing and tending, but I cooked what he harvested.

At one point during the summer, I was also house-sitting for two friends who had a garden. I harvested a few tomatoes while I was over there watering, and they had an amazing mess of herbs growing on the patio. I grabbed some thyme, basil, oregano, and marjoram from their herb garden to accompany the tomatoes. The only herbs we were growing were basil and cilantro. The cilantro grew with gusto. The basil not so much.

We had some summer squash, zucchini, and green peppers from our garden, as well as two tiny heirloom eggplants and a few more tomatoes. We also had onions and garlic on hand (not from our garden, but grown locally and purchased at the farmers market). Thus, I had a pile of vegetables, most of which had been harvested within the last 24 hours, and they were the perfect pile to make ratatouille.

Have you seen the movie Ratatouille? If you love food, you should see it. If you have already watched it, you should be familiar with the scene that my husband and I refer to as "The Ratatouille Moment," wherein the bitter food critic bites into the lovingly crafted dish and is immediately transported back to his mother's kitchen from his childhood. It makes me cry every time. Every time.

I decided to make ratatouille, which I had never made before. I sauteed the onions, added the garlic and peppers, then the squash and eggplant, and finally the tomatoes and herbs (except for half of the basil that went in right before serving). I let it stew for about 20-30 minutes and added a generous drizzle of olive oil, a splash of balsamic vinegar, and a sprinkling of salt and pepper when I plated it. I served it with crusty olive bread from a local bread shop. The mix of colors on the plate was beautiful. The smell was divine.

When I took that first bite, it was a flavor explosion. I was overcome with bliss. I was filled with such joy that this perfect dish in front of me--a little taste of heaven--came from our humble garden and the garden of friends.

All that energy, captured in this lovely, simple creation. It filled my soul to the brim. It made my pagan heart sing.

It was a plate full of summer. A plate full of childhood. A plate full of hope. A plate full of love.

It tasted just like the sun. It tasted like life.

Writing

December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it? (Author: Leo Babauta)

The thing that I do each day that doesn't contribute to my personal writing (i.e. this blog) is that I spend a lot of time aimlessly trolling Facebook and obsessively checking email. I have ideas that I'd like to write about, but they seem overwhelming and like it would take too much time to write them "perfectly". One thing that I am doing to overcome this is using prompts to focus my topics and my energy. I also worry that no one is reading and that I am wasting my time. I have to remind myself that the process is what matters and that I should be writing first and foremost for myself.

With regards to my professional writing, I fail to stick to a schedule. When it comes to writing journal articles and technical papers, "inspiration" is far less important than perspiration. The best way to get writing done is to make a schedule and stick to it, and not let other people steal this time. I get caught up in meetings and talking with colleagues and students when I should be writing. I had a schedule last semester, and was very productive for the three weeks I actually stuck to it. I have put a schedule into my calendar for this semester, and I AM GOING TO STICK TO IT. I will close my office door and write. I'm going to guard this time as if it was class time. I always find time to teach. I don't fail to show up to lecture because I got distracted by something else. I don't miss meetings. I need to be as committed to my writing time as I am to the time I have committed to others. I am sitting on piles of data from several studies that no one will ever know about it if I don't write the articles. Doing research is fun. I've learned to love analyzing data as well. The writing part is not fun for me, but the rule in academia is publish or perish. I'd rather not perish.

One Word

I started and then dropped the ball on Reverb 10. I also didn't realize that I was supposed to sign up to participate. Oops. However, I like the idea and the prompts so much that I'm going to start with the December 1st prompt and (eventually) work my way through them, even if it's a little late and takes far longer than a month.

Prompt (December 1st):

One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you? (Author: Gwen Bell)

The first word that came to mind was change but then I reconsidered. There have been many years in the last decade that brought with them more change than 2010. There was the year I got divorced, started graduate school, and moved four times during my first four months as a graduate student (2002). There was the year I met my dear husband and my doggie soul mate died (2003). There was the year I got married and then cared for a friend who moved in with me after she was left disabled in car accident on her way to my wedding (2005). For the record, that was a disaster and it ruined our friendship. Sometimes, trying to do the right thing turns out to be the wrong thing for everyone involved.

There was the year that the disabled friend went home (and we were no longer friends), I got a Master's Degree, I got pregnant, we bought a house, my father got in a motorcycle accident and spent 6 weeks in the hospital (and we didn't think he was "coming back") and my brother-in-law committed suicide (2006). There was the year I had my first (and currently only) child (2007). There was the year I finished my dissertation, moved to North Dakota, and started my first real job (2009). Compared to these other years, 2010 doesn't seem to be very filled with change.

I thought about other words to describe the last year: Turmoil. Anguish. Relief. Acceptance. Awe. Community. Satisfaction. Contentment.

Turmoil and anguish when I thought my marriage might end. Relief than my marriage didn't end. Acceptance of my husband for who he is, my career for what it is, my family for who they/we are, my son for who he is, and myself for how I mother. Awe that I could fall in love again--with my husband, my child, my career. Awe that I could trust--other people and myself.

I found community where I least expected it, and for the first time in my life feel truly connected to the people who live within a 5 mile radius of me. I specify the distance because I feel connected to other women for sure--you crunchy mamas and besties know who you are--but all were/are so spread out from each other that it's hard to physically connect. Here, we've had spontaneous potlucks with neighbors. Last summer, there were several days where we just threw together whatever we all had to contribute to dinner and we ate at the picnic table that sits between our front yards. I have people to watch my son in a pinch that I trust and they live on my street. We spent Christmas dinner at a friend's house. She and her husband are (were?) journalists and their son is grown. Theirs is the same house where we celebrated Thanksgiving. She was delighted that I brought the boy to Christmas dinner in his pajamas, and that she had a little boy and a grown boy at the same table. I was delighted to feel like I have a soul family here. I go out with the people in my department because we genuinely like each other. We go to drag shows some nights and have research meetings (with wine!) other nights.  One of my good friends and mentors is a (gasp) Republican, but I respect him because he's neither crazy nor mean-spirited (i.e. fiscal conservative, social liberal) and we can have conversations about politics that actually make sense where I feel like I've learned something. Plus, we both LOVE to cook and talk about food and we bring in leftovers to work to share with each other now and then. The person who is probably my best friend is a single mother and colleague who I thought hated me until I realized she was just reserved...until you get to know her. We go to drag shows together and write papers together. Our sons have birthdays two weeks apart (her son is actually a leap-year baby born on February 29th and mine is a Valentine's baby), and we're having a joint birthday party this year. I am totally stoked!

My father and his girlfriend came to visit and I actually introduced them to some of my friends, instead of being ashamed of my roots. This community looks nothing like the community I envisioned when I was younger. That community involved lots of property and trees and free-spirits (and pot! lots of pot!) and people with ideas and opinions just like mine. I know that I am not the only one thinking about community and what it is and isn't what we thought it could and would and should be. This community is made of people who disagree with one another but still respect each other. It is neighbors clearing snow for each other. It's neighbors coming over, literally, to borrow a cup of milk or sugar. It's a neighbor who is watching my son texting me to tell me stay out with my husband as late as we want and the boy can just sleep at her house since he's watching Muppet Babies with her kids and half asleep on the couch already. I never lived in a real neighborhood growing up. My parents didn't have regular friends that came over. We were very closed off from other people. This life, my neighbors, this town, is what I saw on TV when I was younger and wondered why I didn't have it. I actually get choked up about it sometimes.

I gain satisfaction through the work I do and the students I teach. I am content because this family my husband and I have created is not without its quirks and challenges, but it is beautiful and fun and crazy and we laugh a lot and sometimes yell and I have learned so much more about myself than I ever thought possible. I have loved so much more than I ever thought possible.

Perhaps the word that best sums up this year, for me, is change after all. Not because there were big external changes like jobs and moves and marriages. Not because there were changes that would be noticed by an outside observer. This was a year of change for me because I changed on the inside. I worked, for real this time, to cast away old relationship patterns (though they sneak up sometimes), to cast away old grudges (for the most part) and to cast away the notion that I can "fix" other people. I stopped feeling guilty for being happy and I cast away the burdens of what an "ideal" mother does. It feels good.

I've got dogs, and I'm not afraid to use them...

The end of this post made me laugh, because I can so see myself doing the same thing. In fact, I did something similar last March. At least, I think it was March because there was still snow on the ground.

Hym got up early to go to work. His shift usually starts at 5 AM, and I heard him get up and then I fell back asleep. I woke up again a few minutes later because I heard him talking on the phone about, two guys...yes, they're across the street...one is yelling...I don't know...our address is..., etc. I realized he was on the phone with the cops, and then I heard him go back downstairs.

I laid there for a few minutes in a semi-alert fog, but figured if it was anything serious he would wake me up. I heard the garage door open and close, and I assumed he had left for work. But now I couldn't sleep. I got up and looked out of the bedroom window that faces our street, and saw that there were two guys across the street and one of them was yelling at the other, who was on the ground. In the snow. Knowing that the police had already been called, I laid back down and waited. Frankly, I was kind of shocked that he had left for work with some sort of situation going on this close to our home.

As I lay there in the dark, I heard a sound come from one of my dogs. We keep them downstairs behind a gate at night because one of them is the kind of dog who likes to get into shit just because she can. Now, I am accustomed to a whole host of sounds from my dogs, but this particular growl from a particular dog freaked me out. I got up and ran down the stairs, and all three of my dogs were standing at the glass door in the dining room. Growling. Not barking, which is their default noise,  but growling those kinds of growls that get under your skin.

A smarter person would have not moved towards the door. I, however, went to the glass door and looked outside. I could see a light to my right. I didn't even have time to process what was going on, but figured it was either a cop or not-a-cop, and if it was not-a-cop, I was turning the dogs loose. I did what any sane, responsible, person would do--I opened the door, with the dogs behind me, and said, WHAT THE FUCK?

I didn't say who's there? or get out of my yard or I have big dogs and I'm not afraid to use them. I said, WHAT THE FUCK? 

The answer was, Police officer ma'am. Please close the door and go back inside. I'm sure he was pleased that I was precariously holding back three large dogs with my foot.

They had a guy, in my back yard, cuffed. Before I had a chance to close the door, the other cop said, wait, do you have a gate?

Yes, but it's locked and I don't remember the combination. Let me call my husband. 

While I was looking for my phone, I heard the garage door open. I went outside, and Hym was there. I said we need to open the gate. 

He'd been there the whole time and had already talked to the cops in the front and was opening the garage door to the backyard to bring the guy through that way.

Here's what happened. Hym was getting ready to leave for work, and he sees these two guys across the street. One is on the ground, and the other is yelling at him to get up. He called the cops. Then he went ahead and pulled his car out of the driveway, and parked at the end of the street to watch what was going on. He hadn't left for work after all. That's what I get for doubting him.

When the cops showed up, the guy who was standing tried to flee. He hopped my back fence. When we told the neighbors this story, they all said, oh, it's too bad Shotu wasn't in your backyard. Shotu is the dog who was making that sound. He is a chow. He is a big fluffy sweetheart to those who know him, but I wouldn't try to flee into his territory.

Turns out that the guys had wallets and stuff from a few streets over. They'd robbed a few houses. There was a third guy, but he had already disappeared by the time Hym saw the other two outside. The guy who was on the ground apparently passed out drunk, but then had to be taken to the hospital because his friend had beaten on him trying to wake him up.

There were cops on our street for the next two hours combing the neighborhood for clues about the third guy and/or stuff that had been stolen from other houses. None of the neighbors even woke up! The police were incredibly thorough. Of course, they probably didn't have anything better to do on a Sunday morning in Grand Forks, ND.

After the fact, I wondered, what the hell was I thinking opening the door? What if that had been a really bad person on the other side?

The point is, I wasn't thinking. I wanted to know who the hell was in my yard. I was used to this kind of tomfoolery in Phoenix, but I would have never opened the door like that. Here, it was so out of the ordinary that I was just plain pissed off that someone would have the audacity to hop my fence. Plus, I have three big dogs. I feel safe with dogs, and am sure that at least one of them could be a badass if necessary. Dogs will fight for the ones they love. It's their most admirable quality. I can't imagine living without one.

So I completely understand where Mani was coming from, and I laughed out loud even though I'm not sure it was meant to be funny. I think we may have the same kind of temper...and apparently we don't like our sleep disturbed by assholes!