power struggles

Pretty regularly, I have an existential crisis over whether I should go into a research career, whether I should enter academia. "Am I cut out for this?" I've always thought that to do well in academia, you have to have a certain amount of narcissism. Maybe not to megalomanic proportions, but let's face it...you have to think that you have something unique to contribute to a field. As a teacher, you have to think that you have transformative potential. There is always a certain amount of power in these positions, especially given the power of the academic institution.

Who the hell am I to think that I have something unique to say or do? What the heck do I know about ANYTHING? I really feel that I am fundamentally more a student than a teacher. A lot of it has to do with a lack of confidence and self-efficacy. I'm just a young woman in her mid-twenties who grew up in a middle class predominantly-White suburb, and for the most part, I've lived a somewhat insulated, privileged life. Sure, I've had some struggles coming from an immigrant family; my parents have sacrificed a lot. But for the most part, I've been able to do everything that I wanted to. I think about how I wouldn't be here today if I didn't have these privileges, if I didn't know the right people. From one perspective, there's a major attack of the Impostor Monster going on. 

From another perspective, there might be something dissonant between the highly competitive, individualistic culture of academia and my own socialization. Growing up, I was taught, "You really don't know anything." Call it fucked up family dynamics (In hindsight, I also see it as an intergenerational conflict between parent-child as my parents found themselves usurped of their power, knowing less than their U.S.-born children). But perhaps there is a cultural component, the value of being humble and blending into the crowd, respecting authority. These are all values that Filipinos (and I believe other cultures) prize. 

How could I have the audacity to think that I'm somehow special? That my ideas are better than anyone else's? In graduate school, I'm told that the best way to learn things is to basically lock myself in a room with my books, a computer, and JUST DO IT (which by the way is completely against my learning style, which requires more active, even kinesthetic modalities). The message is that I should do all that I need to do to "get ahead" which connotes competition over collaboration, not to mention sacrificing any semblance of a balanced family and personal life.  

I am not a power-tripping kind of person, and I really hate dealing with power-tripping people. Arrogant know-it-alls make me want to pull my hair out. Yet, I'm non-confrontational and when asked to defend myself or my ideas on the spot, I become flustered and shut down. Or I acknowledge the valid points of the other side and end up looking like I have no resolve.

So much of this is second nature to me. I would rather work together with others, each mutually respecting the perspective that we bring to the situation. Operating in this system that is so different from who I am as a student and as a person brings me full circle to the question: "Am I cut out for this?" Maybe the question should not be if I am cut out for a system that reinforces traditionally White, individualistic norms. Because I will almost always come up with the answer of "No." Maybe I need to reframe the situation and ask how my work and professional career can make changes in the system and the culture. After all, I am in grad school not just for status or to make my parents proud, but I want to somehow take my family and life experiences and channel them into something good for my community. So maybe that means making the system and the culture work for me and my community.

What I think needs to happen is:

A) Develop strategies for overcoming both the individual level challenges (increase self-efficacy through mentoring, increasing opportunities for leadership and professional development, etc) and the structural barriers posed by the institution of academia.

B) Find other allies within graduate school/academia who feel similarly oppressed and devalued. Dialog. Collaborate. Change the culture. 

- or- 

C) Give up and marry rich.

Autobiography in 5 Short Chapters

Watching all the speeches on the DNC, I keep hearing about the old story of getting knocked down by life and getting back up again, pulling one's self up by their bootstraps and not complaining about it. It makes sense; resilience and the redemptive self are very important parts of the narrative of the American Dream (a concept I continue to find problematic, but that's another issue for another post...). For me, some of the most compelling narratives involve overcoming what can be the most insidious force in life: one's self.  

This is super nerdy, but I always think about this recurring quote from one of my new favorite tv shows, Battlestar Galactica: "God helps those who help themselves." I used to have a professor at TC who shared poems with us, and one day she gave us the following poem that resonates with this theme. The poem talks about having the self-awareness to recognize the reality of the situation, the humility to admit your own mistakes, and the fortitude to change your behavior as a result.  Many days, I feel like I'm on Chapter 2, maybe 3, but I like to think that I'm on the way to Chapter 5.

--------------------

Autobiography in 5 Chapters

by Portia Nelson

1.

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I fall in.

I am lost...I am hopeless.

It isn't my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

2.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don't see it.

I fall in again.

I can't believe I am in the same place.

But still, it isn't my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

3.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it there.

I still fall in...It's a habit.

My eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

4.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

5.

I walk down another street.

mastering the (re)mix: now with links and complete track list!

Over the weekend, I spent 14+ hours driving to Chicago. Though the drive can sometimes get monotonous, other times I find the lush, green linear route up 90/94 to be meditative. I let my mind wander. I let my mind go blank. And of course, the music playing sets the tone. This time, it unintentionally ended up as a revisiting of past music mixes that I have received and made over the years. Although I am a little too young to have fully experienced the mixtape culture, I have always loved the art of the mix (coincidentally the name of this website called Art of the Mix that is a community in which people post and rate each others' mixes). Your mix is an artifact, a time capsule for your current feelings, thoughts, and preferences. It can also help introduce the listener to a particular genre, artist, musical movement. For example, the Ken Burns's Jazz: The Story of American Music provided me with a wonderful entree into this diverse genre. Personally, I haven't made nor received too many didactic mixes, save for a nice Aimee Mann mix I should really bust out again.

As I was going through my cassettes from home, I came across my first mixtape ever from 1994. I made it in the sixth grade and a good chunk of its contents were hardly appropriate for a 12 year old - most of Salt 'n Pepa's Very Necessary album, some Snoop Dogg (Gin and Juice), and Warren G. Not surprising that this around the time I was hitting puberty and teenage rebellion. As I was home this weekend, I found another mix I made that captured my teen angst and depression (Alanis Morissette, Fiona Apple).  Another was a compilation of awful, mushy songs (Savage Garden? Oh dear.) that was a soundtrack to the romantic life that I created in my head. Creating a mix out of bits and pieces of music was a mode of expression in itself, albeit a vicarious one.  

Then there were the mixes that I made for others and that others made for me. Honestly, there are few greater simple gifts than a thoughtful mix CD.  I love finding the inside jokes, decoding the subtext, analyzing this rare earnest glimpse into the soul of the creator. Listening to the mix that I made at the age of 16 as a six-month anniversary gift, which narrated the course of our relationship, effectively transported me back to those more naive days of young love. I had to skip over some tracks because it was just too hard to listen to them. And then there were tracks that I had even forgotten why I had included them. I wondered if it was because it was simply a poor song choice (lack of attachment, meaning) or if I had changed so much that I simply do not remember.

Listening to all these mixes got me to thinking about the whole idea that there are "rules" for making a good mix. Anyone who has seen High Fidelity or read the novel by Nick Hornby knows what I'm talking about. A quote:

To me, making a tape is like writing a letter — there's a lot of erasing and rethinking and starting again. A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do. You've got to kick off with a corker, to hold the attention (I started with "Got to Get You Off My Mind", but then realized that she might not get any further than track one, side one if I delivered what she wanted straightaway, so I buried it in the middle of side two), and then you've got to up it a notch, or cool it a notch, and you can't have white music and black music together, unless the white music sounds like black music, and you can't have two tracks by the same artist side by side, unless you've done the whole thing in pairs and...oh, there are loads of rules.

Though I am not a strict adherent to all these rules, they're one way to think about the structure and flow of your mix. Here are some other tips that I've come up with regarding its content:

• Avoid novelty songs. Ideally, the entire album should be listenable. Even if you share some hilarious inside joke about male genitalia, no one really wants to listen to AC/DC's "Big Balls." 
• Seriously doubting whether the song fits? Whether it sends the wrong message? Ditch it. 
• Try to avoid songs you truly adore if you are making this for a current love interest or the mix has a particularly romantic theme. If things go sour or the mere thought of that relationship becomes uncomfortable, that song will never be the same to you again. You will kick yourself for creating that association. Call it selfish if you want, but unless you can do some kind of memory rewriting a la Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, then I'm never giving up "My Cherie Amour" by Stevie Wonder.
• Think about what the other person would want to hear. Yes, much of the joy is in creating that perfect mix that captures exactly the essence of how you feel at that moment in time, but remember that it is still a gift. And what's the use of a gift that is not fully appreciated by its recipient! That 6-month anniversary mix I made was much too self-induglent. I doubt that he ever listened to it after I gave it to him. He, on the other hand, was really good at making mixes. One Valentine's mix was filled with quirky songs from bands that we both liked (Magnetic Fields' "A Chicken with its Head Cut Off") and versions of songs that I didn't even know existed (Johnny Cash and Fiona Apple cover "Bridge Over Troubled Water"), and I can still listen to the whole CD the whole way through.  

Thanks to everyone who has ever made me a mix! I cherish them dearly, being the sentimental hack that I am. If you were to make a mix for your life right now, what would be on it? I have been thinking about making a soundtrack for the Summer of Steph...

• It's Summertime, Flaming Lips
• Optimistic, Radiohead
• Rebellion (Lies), Arcade Fire
• Feeling Good , Nina Simone (Season 4 Promo of Six Feet Under - best TV show EVER)
• Golden, Jill Scott
• Just Fine, Mary J. Blige (I know it's corny, but I don't care)
• Alarm Call, Bjork
• Stronger, Britney Spears (this video makes me miss Britney when she wasn't a hotmess)
• Extraordinary, Liz Phair
• Who's That Girl, Robyn
• Extraordinary Machine, Fiona Apple (live perf!)

Summer of Steph

Besides the usual free pass from a world of adult responsibility, grad students have it good because we get "summer breaks." The quotations are in place because we're never really idle...most of us are working on the research that we didn't have time to fully devote our time to over the school year (esp for us counseling psych folks...hello, 14 credits of classes every semester!). I was fortunate to secure a research fellowship for the summer to work on an independent project, without the pressure of having to find a job so that I can spend my un-school time doing things that usually cost money (sigh). In case you're wondering, my research project is utilizing a data set of 3 cohorts of incoming first years, mostly students of color. In a nutshell, I'm interested in the different types of discrimination reported by Asian American vs. Black/African Americans and whether these differences predict outcomes such as well-being, GPA, and retention differentially. It is predicted by past research and some theory that Asian Americans would uniquely report more "perpetual foreigner" type of discrimination (e.g., people question your citizenship status), as opposed to discrimination that connotes inferiority. Anyway, that's what my proposal was for....but in actuality, I am going to have to take some steps back and learn some more stats like factor analysis (does anyone know if you can do dichotomous factor analysis on SPSS?) and reading up on the literature. It sounds like a lot of work, but I'm actually really excited to have most of my time devoted to getting dirty with the data (*resisting bad joke*).

The project will take up most of my time during the weekdays, but then I am FREEEEEEE!!! And how wonderful it is. I've already shared my declaration with some of you that this is the "Summer of Steph." This should not be confused with the disastrous "Summer of George."

[ Apparently someone/YouTube didn't like me embedding their Seinfeld clip on my page, so just YouTube "Summer of George" yourself. Heh, brings on a chuckle every time.] 

What does that mean exactly? Well, I feel like I am finally in a more stable place and ready to get my shit together. That means taking care of myself - mind, body, and soul. I'm trying to do things that I love and make me happy, like...

• Spending time outdoors riding my bike or running round/checking out the nearby lakes. That's a pic of Lake of the Isles above, just blocks away from my apt.
  
• Speaking of running...aiming to train for a 5K w/ some friends in Sept (there were some delusions about training for the 10-mile but then I realized that it's probably a good idea to be able to run at least 3 miles at a time without wanting to die).
• Hitting up the farmer's market.
• Tending to my new mini-garden! (See pic below) Consisting of lemon basil, thai basil, sweet basil, winter thyme, rosemary, and chives...and a little tomato plant that does well in compact spaces. 
• Reading for pleasure (what a CONCEPT!). I'm currently in the middle of an inspiring short book, If You Want to Write by Brenda Ueland, which I'll have to blog about later. Also STILL reading Omnivore's Dilemma. Started rereading Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Hopefully get in some fiction by way of Love in the Time of Cholera and whatever else my short-attention span can handle.
• More cooking. More cupcakes. 
• Painting my apartment.
• Writing in my journal. 
• Outdoor summer music concerts and festivals.
• Breaking out the sewing machine!
• Happy hours.
• Spending time with the new friends I have made this year. Making even newer friends. Connecting with old friends.
• Finding an organization that I can devote some time to.
• Convincing my parents to buy me a Magic Mic so that I can karaoke in my living room.
• Learning more about likes, my values, my opinions....myself in general.
• Overall, being a growing, positive, confident, happy person! (*Cue the rainbows and sunshine*).

Throw in there FIVE, count em, FIVE weddings to attend and some random trips home...and that's a very full summer! No pressure to get it all done, and I'm content to just enjoy my summer moment-by-moment. I would hate to be in the midst of next year's madness (uh 3 classes + 17 hours at clinical practicum + research) and wish that I had made more out of my summer.

Reflections on Year 1

Hello Friends,

I survived Year 1 of my doctoral program! Though lacking in major travails or triumphs, it was nonetheless a year of adjustment and growth - socially, personally, academically. Just the other day, I realized that Minneapolis is the 5th city I have lived in the last 4 years (Evanston/Chicago, NYC, Boston, SF, Mpls). It has taken some getting used to the idea that I really am going to be here for the next four (or more?) years, but I am so relieved to feel like I can start to call a place home (though I still refuse to fork over my Illinois driver's license for a Minnesota one). Some of the most difficult adjustments have been personal - moving to a city where I knew literally one person, dealing with the loss of loved ones and relationships (including being single for the first time in my adult life, yikes), battling doubts of self-efficacy -which have definitely impacted my adjustment academically. There have been times that I doubted my choices leading me to this point. But ultimately, I prefer to strive towards growth, which is often preceded by discomfort and sacrifice (If only I could translate that to my exercise and nutrition life). I like to think of myself as living trial-by-error, always accumulating life lessons along the way.

I've already learned a few things thus far. I remember my advisor telling a group of us in September was that his advisor told him that, "You gotta fuck up at some point." Or at least it was something like that. I had a situation that I really felt like I fucked up this year, but I learned that it wasn't the end of the world. I learned about what I need to work on in the future and that it's better to ask for help than to fester in anxiety and self-doubt. Recently, I even began to see a narrative therapist (I will freely admit and do not want to perpetuate the stigma of counseling/therapy) who is helping me to better understand my relationship to Procrastination. But that's a whole 'nother topic for another time.

On a similar note, I learned that I need to develop my own set of standards for self-evaluation. Sometimes you want to know exactly what your professor or advisor is thinking of you so that you can see where you stand. But it is rare that they will offer the kind of validation that will vanquish the "Impostor Monster" (yes, I just made that up). In absence of that affirmation, I then turn to comparing myself to my peers. Well, that is certainly useless and further anxiety provoking because we all come from different places, do different things, and are dealing with different issues. Looks like I just gotta figure this stuff out for myself! That's probably one of the hardest things to accomplish, and I'm sure that I'll be working on it continually.

From the beginning, they tell you here, "No one is going to hold your hand." And that is true in a lot of ways; graduate school is an exercise in individualism and self-determination. That definitely runs counter to my personal living and learning style, but it is the reality of the academic world. I am continuously working to find a balance between those expectations and my own sense of being. As I look back, I realize that I need to be willing to be uncomfortable in order to learn valuable lessons, and this does not necessarily mean having to do everything alone. I am grateful for the tremendous support of my family, friends, and cohort who help me achieve my individual goals, even if they can't give me the answers or write my research proposals.

This first year in Minneapolis was like learning to crawl in many respects. I'm hoping that I can take the summer to gain the strength and courage to get on my own two feet and walk...hopefully by this time next year, I will have a gait of confidence, and within a few years, running without abandon (sorry, I love cheesy metaphors!).

In Memoriam

My Inang

June 27, 1912-December 26, 2006

"Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."
(1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

My grandma, or "Inang" as we all called her ("mother" in our dialect), was the embodiment of Love. Her love touched the lives of an incredible number of people - as a sister to 8, a mother to 7, a grandmother to 29, a great-grandmother to 23, and not to mention as a cousin, aunt, godmother, friend to many others. She was never stingy with her love, always answering "I love you all!" when her grandchildren would tease with the question of "Who is your favorite?"

Inang was a beautiful, kind woman of incredible fortitude and selflessness. Inang experienced many difficult times - from her days in the Philippines during the Japanese occupation in WWII (she used to tell me about how she and her family had to hide in a ditch), to becoming a widow with 7 children to look after, to her immigration to Chicago in 1969, to her diagnosis of cancer in the thyroid in the 70s, to her last days when fate knocked at her door with the return of cancer and her body finally succumbing to the unbearable pain from the metastasized cancer in her bones. She endured through these and many other painful experiences with the dignity and grace worthy of myth.

Although I was not alive for the first 70some years of her life, I am certain of her virtues as a witness to her last days. When we brought Inang to the hopsital the Friday before Christmas, she had already been feeling intense pain in her back and ribs. As a result, she had barely been eating for almost two weeks, and upon admittance to the ER, we learned that she was near kidney failure from dehydration. Just the day before that, she had started to undergo radiation therapy to try to shrink the malignant mass in her pharynx - but the two treatments she received were simply too much for her weak body. Even in that frail state, she was thinking of her family, asking us on the ride home from radiation in a barely perceptible whisper, "Nu ko bisang mangan?" or "Where do you want to eat?" - showing her love and concern for her family in the characteristically-Filipino way of attending to our stomachs first.

Over the five days she was in the hospital, Inang's entire extended family in the States (nearly 50 of us, all but me living near Chicago) took turns keeping vigil at her bedside, hoping that she would stabilize and be able to go home to Buffalo Grove. Although her pain went from horrible to insufferable, Inang insisted on maintaining her independence in the daily functions we take for granted as healthy adults like sitting up and going to the bathroom. She even remained kind in her most agonizing and difficult moments, always thanking the nurses for their help after she had been screaming from the pain when they changed her position in bed or when she refused to take medicine. The pain's intensity was clear from the strength of her grip when she was feeling the sharpness in her bones, but her pleadings with God to take away the pain never approached infantile. I was amazed at the dignity with which she handled herself, where the strongest of spirit would probably die from despair. My greatest regret is realizing only at her deathbed that Inang was and is my hero, the kind of person that I want to be.

Inang's last days and hours served as a testament to her complete selflessness and devotion to her family. As of the night of the 25th, Inang's condition had steadily deteriorated, and the decision was made to pursue palliative care. We knew that Inang's last moments were before us. However, her heart was still beating strong, as if her will to live was trying to overcome the abuses of nature on her body. Many of us felt that Inang was fighting to stay alive just a little longer so that she would not die on Christmas. One minute to midnight of the 26th, Inang stopped breathing. The room had been nearly full, and we erupted in tears and cries of indignation. How could she really be gone? After a couple of minutes, miraculously, Inang started breathing again! It was as if she had heard us in our despair and knew that we were not fully prepared for her to go. Inang held on for another 15 hours, finally laying to rest when almost everyone had either gone home to shower or to the family waiting room to take a nap. Her vitals had still appeared strong, so we all thought she might stay with us another day or two. But no, she left us peacefully when we were all in a moment of repose.

The loss of Inang has been especially devastating for me and my immediate family, as she lived with my father for all but 3 of his 60 years of life. For my entire life, Inang watched after my younger brother and me as our parents worked. She sang us traditional Capampangan songs and cooked amazing meals (like her famous fried chicken and my personal favorite, liver). Nearly every night up until I was about 7, Inang would"pik pik" me to sleep (pat me on the leg in a steady rhythm) in the bed we shared in our family's Chicago apartment. Even as we moved to the suburbs and I moved into a different room, Inang remained my constant caretaker - waking me up to go to school, cooking me breakfast, and incessantly asking, "Mengan na ka?" or "Have you eaten yet?" Inang was like my third parent, making sure that my brother and I were safe, well-fed, and had money in our pockets to buy "bakal" or lunch. Treating her like a parent, I even occassionally snapped at her for her seemingly inordinate concern during my obnoxious teenage years. But she never scolded us, never reprimanded us. At worst, she would cry in frustration, "How could you treat me like this?!" She brought a whole new meaning to "unconditional love."

I truly believe that it was in Inang's plan - in God's plan - that she left this world the way she did. Her family had the opportunity to finally reciprocate the love and care that Inang had shown us all. What a gift! I am so grateful to have been graced with Inang's love, and I take comfort in knowing that she can finally rest in eternal beatitude in Heaven.