Sender's Remorse

Those of you who know me well know that I hate confrontation. Don't like it, avoid it at (almost) all causes, sometimes get physically ill thinking about it. For whatever reason, I have such a strong desire for things to "be okay" that I put up with way more than I ought to in order to achieve that "okayness" in a relationship, even if I know deep down things aren't actually okay.

It's something I don't really like about myself, and I'm actively working on getting better at it. Regular (ha!) readers of this blog might recall that I recently got some positive reinforcement to stand up for myself more often after I got a little confrontational with the Moroccan. Events like those help, but it's a steep uphill path for me.

Actually, I would imagine this might come as surprise to those who know me less well. I think I come off as a pretty assertive person in my day to day life. I'll speak up on behalf of someone else without thinking twice. I've got no issues speaking my mind at work or in academic situations, so long as the issue is business, not personal. (This is part of the reason I think I may make a better staffer than candidate). I enjoy a challenging and even combative dinner party discussion and love to argue about big picture ideas. But as soon as a conflict borders on affecting a personal relationship, I lose all my nerve.

I express myself best through writing, and I can be at my bravest when I use the metaphorical pen and paper as a shield, Thus, those few times I manage to confront someone about a personal problem I'm having with them, it's usually via email. (Yeah, I know. Probably not the most mature way of doing it.)

Almost immediately after I send such an email, however, I am gripped with what I call 'sender's remorse.' It's an almost instantaneous, uncontrollable reaction: my stomach clenches up, I start to feel shaky, I immediately wish I had not pushed send. I re-read the email obsessively, trying to determine how the person will react, hoping they don't read anger into the lines (even if it was felt), hoping they can hear the love and affection in my voice behind what may seem like harsh words. And then I wait anxiously for a response -- hoping for some words of reassurance that everything is okay. That I didn't just blow up a friendship for no good reason at all.

So should you ever be on the receiving end of a harsh-seeming email from me, know that chances are good that either a) I didn't mean it the way it seems, or, b) I'm currently waiting, nauseous and distraught, to hear back from you.

Please be gentle.

You're Really Not That Busy, Are You?

There was an interesting article in this Sunday's Globe magazine. For whatever reason, the Coupling section at the back -- normally a vaguely annoying column directed at single thirtysomethings -- really hit me hard this week. The author was talking about a failed romance, a potential relationship that died because neither of them could find the time to see each other. After an initially promising first meeting, they spent six weeks playing email tag, planning and canceling dates, always being "awfully busy this week," until finally they fell out of contact. In so many words, she asks the question, "Why are we so concerned with appearing to be a 'busy' person that we fail to make time to see the people we want to see?"

Why, indeed? I think it's a great question.

Why is it so important that we are always "busy" -- or at least give off the appearance of such? Why are we afraid of appearing as if we aren't living a life that is overflowing with social engagements and exciting plans? Why are we worried about seeming like we are too eager to see someone?

And what's wrong with being eager to see someone? Why do we wait to email someone back, or to return a phone call? What's with the 'two day rule?' Why do we assume that if we appear to like someone "too much," to be too excited about their company, that we will look desperate, pathetic, like someone with no life? Someone that isn't, well, busy?

What is so scary about the phrase "I've got time for you:?

This mostly applies to potential romantic relationships, but friendships aren't immune to this phenomenon. I get the "my schedule is really insane this week" from friends all the time, and I've certainly given it out from time to time. Oh, sure, sometimes our schedules really are insane...but why is it so important that we communicate this fact? And how often are we really so busy that we can't find time for a drink?

There have been times in friendships when I've felt taken for granted. As the "less busy" friend, I have felt like I was always the one making time for the friendship, like I was always the one conforming to their schedule. Sometimes I've been tempted to pull out the 'oh i'm so busy i've got x, y, z, and q to do and I just can't see you tonight' line, just to make it clear that I have a life, too. That they aren't the only one who is busy.

There's power in being the busier person. Even the closest friendships are not immune to these societal conventions, these silly games.

But the fact is, if we really, really want to see someone, we see them. We find time in our oh-so-busy schedules. We drop other, less important plans and obligations - things like laundry, or sleep, or even plans with other people. We email them back right away. We return their call as soon as we can.

And if a friend really needs to see us or talk to us, we find them time. Suddenly we have an hour for a phone conversation when an hour previously did not exist. Suddenly whatever we are doing is not so important, or at least not as important as the friend who needs us.

So if we can make this time for other people when it's really important - whether to them or to us - why do we have such a hard time doing it when it isn't as pressing? (Or when we don't want it to seem as pressing?)

I think we need a re-evaluation of what we believe is important, of what we should value in ourselves and others. Instead of being known as the friend that is always busy, always on the go, maybe we should consider the value of being known for other things.

"What I love about Melissa is that she is always willing to make time for me. She's never too busy when I need her."

or, perhaps,

"The great thing about Melissa is that I always feel like I'm one of her top priorities."

Doesn't that sound nice? Even when I really am insanely busy...even when my life is so crazed that I don't have time to sleep or eat, much less meet up for a drink...I think I'd like to be that friend.

From here on out, I've always got time for you, babe.

Except, wow, this week is really crazy. Can we try for next?

Grace is Overrated

Junior year of college, I went through the soul-crushing, ego draining, self-esteem decimating process of applying for a Truman Scholarship.

As a point of reference, this process generally involves:

1) Six months puffing yourself up to the point that you feel not only worthy of applying, but highly deserving of the fellowship,
2) A month or two of filling out paper work and writing essays designed to make you look like you are the most talented, ambitious, altruistic, "going-places" person in the world, self-promotional to the point of gagging while appearing inhumanly modest,
3) A month of having professors you respect rip your application, your resume, your personal goals, and your own personality to shreds, brushing off everything you've ever done as insufficient and immaterial, and then rebuilding your application into one that fits the mold of a "Truman Scholar" regardless of how much it actually reflects you,
4) An excruciating month of waiting to see if you are chosen as a Finalist,
5) Another excruciating month of preparing for the Finalist interview if you were so "lucky" as to make the cut. (This month is similar to step 4, except now the professors ask even more personal questions and then rip your answers apart to your face),
6) One fun day of feeling awfully special and important because you are a Finalist for a Truman Scholarship,
7) Two weeks of feeling absolutely certain that you rocked the interview and that you'll soon be getting that special letter from Madelaine Albright informing you of your winning status,
And, in my case,
8) A good long month of feeling like a complete and total loser. Because, you know, at least in the eyes of the Truman Committee, you were. (Despite all their rhetoric about 'everyone being a winner' and 'just being a Finalist is a great honor,' fact is, you either leave with $40,000 and a title...or you don't.)

Right. So I went through that long, fun, 'character-building' process my junior year. When it was all over, my advisor took me out to lunch (consolation prize, I suppose.) At the end of it, he looked me in the eye and told me that I had handled the process, and all the accompanying rejection, 'with a lot of grace.' My parents, he said, had done well.

That was it, but coming from a man whose opinion of me was incredibly, incredibly important to me at the time, it meant a whole lot. I may have been a Truman-loser, but I had grace.

I think of being a graceful loser as one of those marks of character that separate the wheat from the chaff...right up there with people who do good works anonymously without hope of credit, those who keep obligations they've made even if no one expects them to, and those who speak up for what is right even though they will personally be worse off for having done so. So it meant a lot when someone I respected complimented me on a character trait I've always aspired to have.

All of that said...

Lately, I've felt like I've had a lot of opportunity to show my grace off. (Granted, showing off your grace may well be an oxymoron.) I've applied for -- and lost out on -- enough fellowships and jobs in the last few years to have gotten awfully, awfully good at taking rejection well. I'm a regular pro at it.

And you know, I'm a little tired of it. I think I've learned that lesson well now. I'm ready for luck to turn a little in my favor. I'm ready to learn to win with grace. And I don't even need to get credit or recognition for being good at it...I'll be more than happy to just take the win for once.

Is This What I've Been Doing Wrong All These Years?

I learned a valuable lesson tonight.

Act like a bitch; get treated like a princess.

So there's this guy I've been seeing, off and on, mostly off, but around when either of us gets bored, for the last six months or so. It's sort of silly, really, but he is *awfully* attractive. And, you know, Moroccan. (That often being his saving grace. When in doubt, blame it all on 'cultural differences'!)

He's been off in Morocco for a few weeks, and I've been busy with other pursuits, so we haven't seen each other in awhile. We were planning to get together tonight, but he was being a bit of an ass about various things. This being a rather casual relationship (or something), I've put up with a fair amount of shit because I didn't feel like dealing with it. But tonight I was a bit irritated, and I decided to call him on it. And I wasn't exactly, um, nice about it.

And all of a sudden, I'm transported into some fantasy world. He's apologizing for being an ass, buying me dinner, attending to my every need (including those I didn't know I had), practically waiting on me, acting incredibly sweet, giving me gifts he'd gotten me in Morocco (gotten specifically for me? Somehow I doubt it, but I played along), and generally treating me like a princess. I don't know that I've ever been treated quite so well.

What?!

Is this truly the lesson I should take from all of this? Call someone on their shit, and suddenly they treat you a 1000 times better? Be a bit nasty if you'd like them to start being nice? All these years of being incredibly kind, of putting up with all sorts of shit, of understanding, understanding, and understanding some more...and it comes down to this? Be a big bitch and get what you want?

God damn. I am sure I will never, ever understand men.

You Can't Make This Shit Up

According to Colleen Graffy, Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Public Diplomacy (take note, they've put this woman in charge of public diplomacy), the recent suicides at Guantanomo was a "good PR move."

Wait, let's not take her out of context here. The full quote: "Taking their own lives was not necessary but it certainly is a good PR move to draw attention," she said.

I work in P.R. Suicide? Nope, not a recommended option. There's that whole matter of....your relationship with the public doesn't really mean a whole lot if you're DEAD. Just, you know, for starters.

The suicides at Guantanomo may or may not have been a good PR move (I vote no, but that's just my opinion), but I can tell you what a really, really bad PR move looks like...letting this woman anywhere near a microphone.

The Grand March

I am not a “march” person. I am not a marcher.

This is what I discovered about myself this weekend. I don’t like marches. Good causes, bad causes, productive, self-indulgent, whatever the reason, whatever the outcome, I don’t much care. I don’t like to march.

It seems like I *ought* to like to march. I like political causes. I like groups of people. I like catchy slogans. I like walking. So presumably, I might like to walk with a group of people while yelling catchy slogans about a political cause. Right?

Yeah, not so much.

I “discovered” this trait of mine this weekend, when I made a valiant (but ultimately failed) attempt to attend Dyke March for Boston Pride Weekend with my friend. She assured me it was lots of fun. Lots of good people, lots of good energy. So I tried. Sort of. Actually, I dreaded it all week, and then bailed to go see a movie with a different friend before the march even began. Oops.

Actually, I’ve always suspected this about myself. As much as I might love the song “Solidarity Forever,” I’m not much into solidarity. Or rallies. Or protests (sacrilege! An Obie that doesn’t like protests!). I’ve walked picket lines because I think they’re both important and effective (far more so than most protests), but I can’t say I totally enjoy it. (Actually, I really enjoyed the time I walked the picket line with my father when I was 12 because he bought me candy & hot chocolate. But that was back in an era when I could be bribed to do just about anything for a box of Nerds.)

There’s this great passage in Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being about The Grand March. (I know; I quote this book endlessly. If you haven’t read it, I insist that you do. Slowly. 10 pages at a time, at most. With lots of time to think. It will absolutely blow your mind.)

But back to The Grand March. Kundera writes a great deal about the meaning of words, and how one phrase or concept can mean entirely different things to two people because of their different life experiences, and how this inability to exchange meaning inhibits communication. (A concept that deserves an entirely separate posting, but that’s for another time.)

In the novel, Franz loved protests and parades. He was a researcher and spent most of his time in the university; thus, he loved being out in the open air with others in his spare time. He “saw the marching shouting crowd as the image of Europe and its history. Europe was the Grand March. The march from revolution to revolution, from struggle to struggle, ever onward.”

Sabina was a refugee from the Czech republic, and she had been forced to attend parades her entire life. She hated parades. In her mind, there was a basic evil behind totalitarianism, and “that image of evil was a parade of people marching by with raised fists and shouting identical syllables in unison.”

I don’t know why I reference these passages, except that I couldn’t get the concept of the Grand March out of my mind all week. The concept of marching simply to march. Of the March being the goal, and the cause only secondary. Of my instinctive distaste of shouting slogans in unison with a group of people, regardless of how much I agree with the slogans.

Scammed Again

This morning I heard a story on NPR about "Continuous Contraception", or taking birth control pills straight through to avoid getting your period. Apparently, some manufacturers are (finally) coming out with prescription birth control pills that will, officially, in an FDA approved sort of way, do what millions of women -- and OB/GYNS -- do all the time...use their birth control to have some control over the timing and frequency of their menstrual cycle.

As much as I think that's a great development -- about f'ing time! -- that wasn't what got me going. The story also mentioned that when developers were first releasing the Pill, giving women "monthly bleeding" (their words) was a marketing decision.

A marketing decision! In other words, a few decades ago some guys up in sales decided we women simply wouldn't know what to do if we didn't have a period every month. It wasn't a health decision; there was no research to suggest that not having a monthly period could have adverse affects (despite what has been implied all these years). Nope, it was a marketing decision. What woman in her right mind would go on the Pill if it meant giving up her monthly joy, after all?

I don't suppose they might have tried, say, talking to a few women. A poll, perhaps. Focus groups. Nope, the guys in sales know what is best, after all.

Not to be that angry chick, but I am so ridiculously tired of old white men thinking they know what's best for me & my body. I feel scammed. I feel cheated. I feel outraged.

The FDA finally approved the Cervical Cancer Vaccine. For awhile, it looked as though that was going to get blocked for political reasons...apparently, getting the vaccine was going to encourage women to be more promiscuous (cervical cancer is usually caused by the incredibly common HPV, which is transmitted through sexual contact). Never mind AIDS and a whole host of other diseases...a vaccine to help prevent cancer is certainly going to encourage me to rush out and sleep around. (Did I mention they were thinking of blocking a vaccine that would prevent CANCER?)

This all stems from the same general attitude: god forbid we give women the resources to take care of their own bodies. God forbid we give them all the options available and allow them to make their own choices: to have their period, or not; to sleep around, or not.

I just want to find one of these guys and say to them "Stop thinking you know what's best for me. You don't."

A little rage...always good to get the blood flowing.

(Just re-read this posting; that final double entendre was not intentional!)

Uncle

A week ago I wrote a posting about how I was actively seeking intense experiences and life changes. Today I'm ready to throw up my hands and call Uncle. Please, some sanity. Please, some space. Not so fast. Not so much.

What is it about me that I am constantly wavering back and forth, seeking and shunning stability in the same breath? One day I'm looking for change for the sake of change; the next day I'm desperately clinging to anything that feels unmovable.

I remember back in the days of Unemployment (oh, the humility learned! Oh the depths of despair and self-doubt to which I didn't know I could drop!), I wrote a paragraph somewhere about craving stability. Craving health care and 401-Ks and a steady paycheck and a predictable commute. I was jumping from temporary job to temporary job, never quite sure how I was going to make rent, unsure of who I was or why I was here in Boston or what exactly Plan C was going to be, since Plan A was a failure and Plan B wasn't working much better. And then I got a job, and health care, and dental, and a steady paycheck and a predictable commute and constant hours and all the rest.

And I was bored. Not at first, no, but after a few months...I was ready for changes. Ready for new challenges and new adventures. Loathing my newfound stability.

See, this is the thing I don't understand about myself. I cycle through major life changes like they're going out of style, and then I bemoan the transitory nature of my existence.

(I like that phrase. I use it a lot. "The transitory nature of my existence.")

I want everything to change. I want something to stay the same. And I want them both at the same time.

I revel in the thrill of moving; I philosophize about the inherent beauty in packing and wandering...and then I lose it when I find out I might have to move again, only 3 months after settling into my new JP digs.

I'm juggling job possibilities in the air, hoping to keep at least one of them from crashing to the ground, thrilled that I might, *might* (not to jinx myself - might) have the chance to move onto something more fulfilling and challenging...and then I flip out over the prospect of having (once again) to readjust my budget, my schedule, my commute, my relationships, the way I live my life.

I bounce from dating prospect to dating prospect, tearing through potential loves-of-my-life like I'm at an 'all-you-can-eat' buffet and I am hungry. Swallowing the endings before I've had a chance to take a deep breath and truly savor the beginnings. Spinning plates in the air and wondering how many I can keep, and how many I'll break. And how many will break me.

Oh, I dramatize this all, milking my own little existential crises just for the joy of prose. (These would be awfully boring postings if I didn't.) My life isn't really all this chaotic. And I have a feeling I'm not the only one going through these constant re-evaluations, this jumping back and forth between wanting to be tied down a little and wanting to cut the strings. I sort of wish I could get some confirmation from those older, successful, seemingly happy people whose lives and successes I'd like to emulate that they went through this, too. That it's normal to agonize and analyze and wonder if you're on the right path every, oh, two weeks or so. That I can be a little lost (just a little!) now but end up found at the end.

But I guess if I got that confirmation, I'd simply have to find some new, unique, all-my-own crisis to contend with. Having the same crises as the generations before you is awfully unoriginal.

Vocabulary Lesson for Senator Brownback

In the interests of promoting proper grammar/word usage, political activism and snarky but clever harrassment of anti-gay bigots (three of my favorite topics!), I'd like to direct you to this posting over at Disinterest & Ennui if you haven't seen it already.

Absolutely brilliant.

An addendum: slightly less loathing

My dear friend R. took me to task for some of the language I used in my previous posting. She pointed out, and legitimately so, that my derogative use of the term "politically correct" in the same way that conservative writers use it -- i.e. to brand any discussion of power and language as a trivial, unnecessary waste of time -- is, well, unhelpful. By adopting their tone and allowing them to define the meaning of the word, I'm giving credence to their way of thinking.

I think it's a powerful argument -- worthy at least of consideration. So, R. , I'm considering it.

I believe strongly in the incredible power that language holds, and while I sometimes am annoyed by the dithering and nitpicking that goes on about terminology, I won't deny that language can be revolutionary. (If I ever get around to applying to PhD programs, I imagine that my research is going to center around issues of language, communication, issue definition and political power.) How we define an issue, the words we use to refer to people or groups, the linguistic context in which we form an argument...all of these things are incredibly potent. Anyone who has ever done work with surveys know that changing the words we use can have a marked effect on someone's opinion.

And I think R. was correct in pointing out that many discussions that are often labeled derisively as politically correct bullshit are actually really important to have. As much as it may occasionally annoy the hell out of me, we do need to talk about institutional racism, heteronormativity, sexist language, and any other systematic ways our society has developed off oppressing various groups of people.

But. But.

Here's the point I was trying, and perhaps failed, to make in my previous posting:

I am an incredibly privileged white girl. I come from a stable, middle-class background. I went to an elite midwest school where I was essentially taught that I got lucky -- and that it is my duty to help those that weren't quite so fortunate as I. (Yeah, I totally ate all that stuff up with a spoon. And while I truly do believe the sentiment, it's a pretty damn elitist way of stating it.) Oh, sure, I struggle with the massive amount of debt I incurred while in my little liberal arts haven, and sure, I have from time to time felt the forces of patriarchal oppression working against me. But let's get real, here - the fact remains that I am one privileged, privileged girl.

As are most of (not all! but most) of those liberals that spend their time trying to get their town councils to vote to impeach Bush or pester me on the street about saving the whales...or spend most of their time talking about institutional oppression.

We have time to sit around talking about all these meta-issues, because all these causes we fight for and these policies we rail against...well, let's be honest, they don't affect our daily lives all that much. The war in Iraq? Yeah, I'm against it. But what effect does that truly have on my day to day life? Entering the service was never even an option in my mind. I don't know anyone serving in Iraq. I don't even drive a car, so while I'm sure the oil prices affected my pocketbook in some ways, it's not restricting my movement.

Bush's economic policies? Yeah, totally against those. And I suppose the recession might have had something to do with the fact that it took me so damn long to get a job...but I sort of think there's a finite supply of political jobs of the sort I was looking for. And as much as I bemoan the cutting of all those social service programs...again, the lack of funding just doesn't change my life in any obvious ways.

Basically, what I'm trying in an incredibly long-winded way to say is this: I think we, as progressives, ought to channel our energies into practical victories - like winning elections and passing legislation -- because these are the ways we can most immediately make change and help people that need it. And while it's all well and good for us to talk about the bigger picture and strive for systematic changes, we can afford to do that because we don't need help right now.

But other people do.

(And if that wasn't the most earnest sounding posting you've read in awhile...well, you need to hang out with some more cynical people.)

Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

Good things come to those who wait?

I don't want to jinx it by saying anything more, but I just received two really good, and generally unrelated, phone calls....phone calls I had just given up on ever receiving. Right in a row, one after the other. I don't understand the timing, but I'm not complaining.

When you start shaking things up, you never know what's going to come out. Momentum begets momentum, or maybe I'm just overdue for some good karma. Either way, I feel some life changes coming on...and wow, does it feel good.

Liberal self-loathing

Liberals drive me nuts.

There. I said it.

This is a bit problematic, of course, since I'm a liberal. About as bleeding-heart as they come. As are the vast majority of my friends. I take pride in the label. I take pride in the values I believe we stand for.

But good lord, I've got to say it. If I see one more tie-dye clad, protesting lib calling for, say, the impeachment of the President, or resigning their post over a commencement speech, or pestering me to sign some petition to save the whales, I'm going to lose it.

Why have we become the party of ineffectual action, lost causes, mixed (or non-existent) messaging, and i'm-more-liberal-than-you infighting? Why, for the love of god, can we simply not get our shit together?

As much as I might love to see it happen, the President is not going to be impeached by a Republican Congress. (And if a Democratic Congress does it as one of their first moves, I'm betting we won't have a Democratic Congress for long). And while it's nice that you're making your opinions heard, Brookline, is it really possible that you have no other problems you could work on in a constructive way with that time?

I agree whole-heartedly with BC students and faculty not wanting their institution to award Condoleeza Rice with an honorary degree. But a self-righteous letter to the Globe resigning your position as an adjunct professor? Oh, that's going to do a lot of good.

And I hate to break it to you, but elected officials rarely, if ever, even see those well-meaning save the whale petitions. Those stupid postcards you want me to sign? They're sorted by interns into massive bins in the mail room, never to be seen again. (I know. I was that intern. I sorted those useless postcards).

I think it's great that people are standing up for what they believe in and trying to make a difference. Seriously, I do. I just wish the people on my side could try channeling their energies towards efforts that might actually make a difference. I just wish we could stop running around being so politically correct that we end up sounding like loonies to anyone even remotely in mainstream America (where, by the way, most of the voters are). I wish we could stop giving the conservatives so much freaking ammunition.

I just wish we could get our shit together, just a little bit, and win an election.
Is that really so much to ask?