Perspective

It's Tuesday morning. Sitting here, looking out the window, it occurs to me that I could describe the morning as cool and dreary (that would be the perspective from outside) or I could describe it as muted and cozy (that would be the perspective from inside). I had a long talk this week with Drew during which he really called me on the fact that my mood is primarily dependent on my perspective, not my situation per se. He also pointed out--kindly but firmly--that the former needed some consistent, genuine work. The actual conversation was longer, tougher and more circuitous than that concise and sort of neutral summary might suggest, but that's the point I'm holding on to at the moment. So, my ongoing goal is to keep my perspective--on my personal life, at least--on a tight leash, otherwise it can pull me right off the trail I'm trying to head down and drag me around into all sorts of muddy, messy places. Hence...it's a muted, cozy Tuesday morning, with a soft grey sky hovering over the mountains.

I actually find myself anxious for class, which is a good feeling. Classes here meet once a week or less, but for big blocks of time...anywhere from an hour and a half to all day, with my two weekly classes meeting in three hour sessions. So I do all this reading, and get all into it, and then have to wait several days to talk about it...so that is hard in some ways, but I'm really enjoying the feeling of anticipation about it. It's a good feeling to be so looking forward to the meetings.

Today, as I worked on one of my papers, I was thinking about the comparison between Appalachia and colonized areas around the world. It's a comparison I heard drawn when I first moved to West Virgina, and since have often used myself. In fact, I basically focused on West Virginia for every assignment in last semester's course on International Development (my professor humored me, basically agreeing with the comparison). So I am thinking about that this morning, particularly after starting a book on the power and limits of metaphor in social theory (Incidentally, I'm happily surprised at how much of my background in literary theory is transferable to conflict theory and research approaches, that's pretty awesome :) ).

The thing that is in my head this morning, in terms of that comparison, is the idea of what could have been. The capacity and desire to do hypothetical thinking is essential for nonprofit work, peacebuilding, and no doubt a host of other types of work, because you need to be able to have a vision for what could be, how things could be different (albeit a very flexible vision so you don't become a big, bad, imperialistic hegemonic oppressor). Most of the time, that's a very inspiring, liberating, useful faculty. However there are situations in which the "what if" dreaming can become a little depressing.

For example, I am remembering an article I read about development in different areas in Africa, and the author made this point that because of this history of colonialism, there is this huge unknowable of how Africa might have developed on its own, or what it could have been (ok, I'm cringing at the connotations of that language, but please understand my point is that colonialism stripped much of the continent of resources and created a huge mess that a lot of time and resources have gone into trying to recover from, _not_ that the whole continent is somehow a lost cause or failure). This is one area where I think the parallels between Appalachia and post-colonial regions are very striking.

Sometimes when I'm reading about some of the struggles in Appalachia--be it "internal" struggles like economic development or education or health, or "external" struggles like people fighting against destructive mining practices--I wonder what would have happened if the history and development of the region had gone differently. It is such an amazing place, with an incredible cultural heritage, a history of strong, creative people, and obviously an incredible wealth of natural resources. And, again, not to imply that Appalachia is a mess, but there are so many issues there linked to structural and historical injustice. Of course, one could make that same general statement about a lot of places in America, as well as elsewhere, but sometimes it just breaks my heart to think about what a raw deal the region has gotten, historically, and continues to get in many ways.

That motivates me, though, in the same moment that it makes my heart sink a little.

It's nearly noon now. I had planned to go to the store to get some flour so I could make cookies, but that may need to wait until tomorrow. It continues to be a novelty that the store here is about one mile (or five minutes) away, but somehow it still takes me several days between when I put something on my shopping list and when I actually make it out to get it.

Reading back over this, it occurs to me I may need to work on the balance between poetry and politics in my life over the next few months. I'm not too worried, though, politics only ever wins temporarily in my world :) .

A fresh start

If you're reading this, it's likely you found your way here from the old Friendster blog (where the increasingly obtrusive advertising finally overcame my resistance to setting up a new webpage) or from Facebook. Either way, thanks for following along. The fact that you made multiple clicks to read this post makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

It's been a few months since I've posted anything, I know. That's partially due to the amount of time I'm spending in front of the computer typing up reading reflections or research papers, but it's also been a challenge to get my thoughts together. At home, I'd sit down to type a post late at night when I couldn't fall asleep, or with a cup of tea on a weekend morning. Here, I don't find those same soft pockets of time. The rhythm of my days is more irregular--an hour free here or there, a short break before dinner, fifteen minutes to wind down at the end of the day before collapsing into bed. And when I get the hour or so that it really takes me to compose my thoughts, sit down, and write something, I feel like I ought to use it instead to get a chapter of reading out of the way, or visit the gym, or return a phone call or email that I've let go for too long.

In any case, here I am with a free evening, a snazzy new blog layout, and a cup of decaf. In an ideal world, I would probably also have some insight or clarity or something along those lines, but I think we'll forge ahead anyway.

So here I am at the beginning of second semester, still girlishly enamored of graduate level academia. I've got two classes--Theory and Research--which require me to choose specific conflicts to focus on for semester-long projects. I've put in a proposal to investigate the current controversy in the WV State Legislature over water quality standards for the former, and one to study the affects of Mountaintop Removal Mining on nearby communities for the latter. I've been increasingly drawn to examine environmental justice issues in Appalachia. I'm hoping a semester spent focusing a good deal of energy on those issues will help me evaluate whether I might be able to (and want to) focus on them in the future, either as a volunteer or doing some kind of career in advocacy, policy or sustainable development in that vein.

I'm also taking a class in Strategic Advocacy and Activism, which studies successful nonviolent social change movements. That class met for the first time today and it is going to be great, I think. Sort of a different slant than most of the other classes offered in my program--more political, more concerned with studying history--it's all about waging conflict, rather than resolving it. It's inspiring to remember what has been done and think about what could be.

Rounding out the menu are a couple of one credit offerings--a seminar in "Integrated Peacebuilding" and a course on "Contemplative Photography." There are several courses offered in the spring that are considered "specialized practice courses"--workshops, basically, on negotiation, mediation, circle processes, and other skills. I'll need a few credits of those eventually for degree requirements, but after taking the introductory "Practice" class this fall and a semester of mediating, facilitating and negotiating in my role as a dorm director, I have to admit I'm kind of burned out on the interpersonal, touchy-feely, relationship building side of conflict transformation. Neuroscience, social constructivism, and fighting the evil coal companies...bring it on :) .

This is getting so long that I'm feeling like I ought to insert some subheadings. And I still haven't gotten around to what I was originally thinking about when I sat down to type. Namely, I've been thinking lately about how so many of us become different versions of ourselves at night. When I worked at a camp, we would go around to each shelter every night to "do tuck-ins," and we always advised new camp staff to try to avoid getting into heavy or difficult conversations right before bed (which is, of course, when all of the issues came up and people started crying and everyone _wanted_ to talk about hard things). Now, working in the dorm, I see many girls who struggle emotionally at night time. And it's not only that things sometimes seem more difficult at night...there's also equally often moments of amazing intimacy that transpire in moonlit conversations, or over a late night cup of tea.

What is it about the simple absence of light that opens up deep and different parts of us? Is it simply that we get tired, or is there some shift in our melatonin levels or something about our circadian rhythms that is connected with our psychological and emotional state? Or is it something more mystical, something spiritual? I suppose I'm assuming it happens to everyone. I don't think it's an experience particular to women, is it? Or something exclusive to generally overly emotional people? :)

Whatever the explanation, I find myself sometimes wondering who people become when they go home at night. What goes through their head in the moment right after they get into bed and turn off the light. Sometimes I like to think that all through the day, maybe our minds are edging closer to whatever that place is that we go when we are dreaming...maybe when the sun goes down, something in us begins to crawl into ourselves, or toward our souls. I remember a friend once remarked to me how strange it is when we fall asleep beside someone--how we are closest to someone else just in the moment before they are totally lost to us, retreating into themselves in dreams. But perhaps if that's true, there is also the possibility that we can choose to awake wide open--ready to meet the day and each other fresh, outside of ourselves. And that everyday we walk back in, wiser and different than we were.