Seeing With New Eyes

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so they say. I suppose I've always believed that cliche to be possible, but it was only this past year that I really experienced its truth.

I have lived in south central Pennsylvania my entire life. I grew up on a quiet street, my best friend two houses down the road, surrounded by quaint farmlands, windy country roads, trees, and animals. I took all of this granted. It wasn't anything special; it was just my everyday life. When I moved to the city for graduate school and returned home, however, it seemed as though I was seeing everything with new eyes--or, even more accurately, it seemed as though I was seeing everything for the first time. I would drive down a country road--a road I had travelled hundreds of times before--and find that it took my breath away. Was the blue sky always that vast? Were the rolling valleys always that green, that full of life? Were the scenes always so serene, peaceful, majestic? Did the sun always set like that--ever so perfectly--just above that rustic red barn? Was the air always that clean? When did everything become so breath-taking? Did I always have such a desire to live in a house in the woods? And, most importantly: Why hadn't I thought of any of this before?


Of course, nothing had changed. I didn't go to the city and come back to a new place. I did, however, come back with new and different set of eyes. We're told that we need to see other parts of the world; that to do so is good, enriching, and beneficial for us. Living in the city made me realize that perhaps we don't need to see other parts of the world merely for themselves, but rather, also so that we will finally see our own homes and roots more clearly (for good or for bad). I was lucky. I went away--barely two hours--returned, and discovered beauty. I found that despite how I romanticized the city for most of my life, I also sincerely loved the farmlands, my garden, open spaces, places to hike, quiet, fresh air.

It is very likely that I will spend a bit of my life living in a city--particularly for a PhD program. Such a place has its charm (more open-mindedness and RESTAURANTS TO DIE FOR) and I have learned to appreciate and value the busy, exciting mood of city life. Yet, one's first "move" away from home is always the most significant, and mine certainly showed me that no matter where I go there will always be a part of me that is here. There will always be a part of me that aches for the beauty that is found at home. The beauty that was always here but I have only now begun to see.

Becoming a Vegetarian

If someone were to ask me what sort of "beliefs" I strive to have govern my life, I'd probably say things like: The belief that life is precious, regardless of how significant or insignificant it may seem. The belief that my life is not any more precious than anyone else's. The belief that everyone deserves a fair shake. The belief that we all need to look out for one another and live together peacefully. The belief that treating others as inferior never makes us superior. The belief that we have a duty to take care of our world (and although this certainly includes humanity, it is not the only part of that responsibility).

I always felt that eating meat was somewhat in conflict with the beliefs I articulated above. Being a vegetarian was something I considered for years, but I put it off for a long time--mostly out of laziness and selfishness. At the start of 2013, however, I really wanted to make some changes in my life, and I knew that vegetarianism had to be on the list. This new years resolution coincided perfectly with an Ecocriticism course I took my spring semester. One of the first texts on the syllabus was a book called Of Man and Animal which brought some deep philosophical questions about meat-eating to my mind. Many of the author's points about the agency of animals and the difference (or lack thereof) between man/beast left me feeling even more guilty than usual. My ecocriticism professor's weekly question, "Do the trees have agency?" rang in my mind during every interaction I had with nature--especially my interactions with animals.

By the fourth week of January, I had committed myself to giving up meat. Nearing six months now, I can say that I'd be extremely surprised if I ever went back.


The rumor is that being a vegetarian limits you, but I've actually had the very opposite experience. When I gave up meat, I had to figure out how to fill up a substantial part of my plate; this forced me to try new kinds of food and experiment with many different tastes. Before, I rarely ate beans; now, they're a staple of my meals. I eat more nuts and eggs and experiment with all kinds of spices and grains. I make fruit smoothies, vegetable chili/soups, and elaborate salads. Overall, giving up meat was a small sacrifice that really only expanded my tastes. It gave more than it took away.

Upon deciding to do this, I had so many friends ask me if I was going to be one of those judgmental vegetarians who make them feel guilty for eating meat. This is what I say: Because my experience has been so positive, I'd recommend vegetarianism. In general, I think it's a healthier and more moral lifestyle. But, I also know that food is a personal thing and I strive to not judge people who eat differently than I do. Although I no longer eat meat, I'd never say that I didn't like it or that I still wouldn't enjoy it if I ate it today. When I walk the streets of Philadelphia, sometimes I want a cheesesteak. I don't think meat is gross--in fact, it's probably still quite delicious--and I don't think it's impossible to eat meat and still be healthy. Being a vegetarian isn't necessarily a wrong or right choice, but it is my choice. Like any choice, it can hold both positive and/or negative implications depending on the person making it. For me, giving up meat has been a very good choice, as it has made me a much healthier person--not merely physically--but also mentally, as I sense that I am one small step closer to living in a state of what a wise teacher once coined as 'integrity': The state of your beliefs and your actions being in harmony. 

Small Dreams Actualized

Last week I registered for my last semester of course work for my MA degree (after that, it's the thesis). Along with my own courses, I also officially registered for a Teaching Assistant position in an undergraduate level African American literature course. The chance to be a TA as an MA student was one of the main reasons why I chose my particular graduate program. I grew even more excited about the opportunity when I learned that our university's resident African American literature scholar heard about my work on Toni Morrison and was willing to work with me.

For some, a TA position seems like a very insignificant step in higher education. For me, however, it feels like a small piece of my dream being actualized. Ever since I was on a sophomore in college I have wanted to go to graduate school so that I could teach in higher education. Since then, I have faced immense discouragement and doubt over things such as my ability to truly "stand out" in a program or the difficult job market, but I have never doubted my desire to teach and my sincere belief that, if given the opportunity to run a classroom, I could do a good job and be a great teacher. While all of the other outside factors worried (and continue to worry) me, I am happy to say that my desire to teach literature in higher education has not.

Getting a TA position then, made me feel like I took one step--a small one--towards that classroom. It made me feel that one small piece of my dream was being validated. It made me feel that in some way all of the work, mental agony, and fear had been worth it because I was a little closer to my final destination.

Ultimately, we don't know where we'll end up. But, in the pursuit of a dream we all need those small encouragements that are enough to push us on. Hopefully we'll push on enough to get to the next one that pushes us on again. I don't know what the end holds. Today though, I am encouraged, because a year ago I was worried I would not get into grad school, and today I am signed up for my final courses and my first experience instructing a college-level classroom. I couldn't ask for more.

Why I Am Rising

I am rising because there's not a day that goes by where rape and sexual assault do not cross my mind. I am rising because I consider rape and sexual assault every time I walk through a parking lot late at night, take a jog in the evening, or get off a train when it is dark. I am rising because someone once told me that instead of spending my money on Yoga classes, it would be “more practical” to take a self-defense course. I am rising because rape and sexual assault is simply a normal part of the female experience and for some reason we’ve all just accepted that reality. I am rising because some men believe that if they text me, touch me, or pursue me, they are simply entitled to my response.

I am rising because I have friends who were raped not only by strangers, but also by boyfriends, friends, uncles, and fathers. I am rising because my friends have been raped and sexually assaulted at parties, on vacations, in their homes and in their schools. I am rising because I have seen women’s lives and relationships ruined from years of abuse. I am rising because what I have described above would be considered utopia for women in other parts of the world. I am rising for the Democratic Republic of Congo--the "rape capital" of the world--where the average little girl is raped by the time she is 8 years old. I am rising for the women whose bodies have been so violated that they can no longer carry out basic functions. I am rising for the girl in India who becomes a wife by 12 years old. I am rising for the many women who have no idea what it means to own or enjoy their own sexuality because it has always belonged to someone else.

I am rising because little boys are taught that being violent is simply "boyish" behavior. I am rising because I still live in a world where people are more comfortable with men holding guns than they are with men holding hands. I am rising because I don't want my future son to think that the worst thing he could ever possibly be called is a "girl." I am rising because I don't think guys have to "man up."

I am rising because I want a better world for the two special little girls in my life--the "nieces of my heart." I am rising because I want them to always feel safe. I want them to grow up and believe that they can do anything; walk down the street and be unharmed, speak their mind, be respected, run for president, love and enjoy their bodies. I am rising because I want them to grow up and have a little less anxiety, discouragement, and fear than I do.

I am rising so that my future daughter doesn't have to. Will you rise with me?

A Year of Yoga

2012 has come and gone, and we are almost a month into 2013. Looking back, I would say that 2012 was the most difficult, challenging and formative year of my entire life. I could write about so many things: applying to graduate school, graduating with my BA degree, leaving a community I loved, moving to a new city, starting a graduate program, starting my first "real" job, living alone for the first time, my parents getting divorced, my best friend moving to South Korea, or learning to redefine myself and my understandings of things like faith, family, identity, and purpose. While each of these things are important and worthy of analysis, I instead choose to write about what helped me cope, deal, grapple, and embrace all of these experiences: My Yoga practice.

Yoga was long something I was interested in, but I disregarded it because I was involved in so many other forms of exercise. I was also weary of what appeared to me to be the "new age" culture that sometimes coincided with the lifestyle. Quite frankly, all the hippie lingo and pseudoscience disgusted me. That being said, however, I had a lot of empty excuses for doing something that I knew would be good for me. It was not until a very dear friend surprised me with the graduation gift of an expensive Yoga mat that I knew I could no longer avoid the inevitable. I drove to my first class the rainy morning of May 14th, just two days after my graduation. I felt stressed and emotionally raw, but I can still remember being on my Yoga mat feeling like my mind was cleared and my body was strengthened from what appeared to just be 90 minutes of strenuous exercise. It was a high.

But, as I committed to a serious practice from that day forward, I realized that while Yoga certainly does lift my spirits in ways no other exercise has, it also has its torturous moments. Even if only for one hour, it forces me to do things that all go against my very stubborn nature: be completely emotionally/mentally present, be patient with my body, suspend my skepticism and cynicism, concentrate on the process rather than the destination, push through fatigue and bad days, abandon the notion of perfection, stop multi-tasking, stop comparing myself to others, and be in my body rather than my brain. In this sense, Yoga has given me physical strength and flexibility, but it has also "exercised" my mind in significant ways too. I feel like a healthier, happier, and more peaceful person.

If it all sounds too good to be true, maybe it is. I'm probably still in some kind of exercise "honey moon" phase. But, there's no denying that Yoga came into my life the year I needed it the most. When I look at 2012, I see many challenging experiences that at moments were excruciating. I also see a warm, sun-lit studio, teachers who said "Don't forget to breathe," a Yoga mat, and a body that--like my heart/mind--was eager to learn, to grow, to take new shapes, to cope with challenges, and to stretch; to stretch in that great, exhaustive, expansive way that tears down even as it cures, that causes discomfort even while it somehow offers great relief.

PhD Anxieties & Enjoying the Moment

Last week I went to a forum for prospective PhD students. We spoke with students currently enrolled in PhD programs, as well as young professors who recently graduated from PhD programs. While there was positive feedback from most, there are inevitably some rather gloomy details about graduate school that tend to sometimes weigh out the good, including (but not limited to) the extreme stress of obtaining a degree and writing a dissertation, a very bad job market, very competitive PhD programs, and a lack of tenure teaching jobs. While I am painfully aware of such realities, the forum brought so many “What if?” questions to the forefront of my mind.

I came back to my apartment and called my mother (aka Ultimate Source of Wisdom and Encouragement) and she said, "Are you enjoying what you're doing right now? If so, let that be enough." Although at first it seemed like overly simple and sentimental advice, when I sat down at my kitchen table that night to write a paper, her words returned to me. Am I enjoying what I am doing right now? Right in this moment? Well, yes. Yes, I am. 

I am reading many new books--some that I love, some that I don't love, but all that I appreciate. I am being exposed to new sets of ideas that can inform my life both within and beyond the walls of the university. I am engaging in deep discussions about race, gender, and sexuality with like-minded people. I am becoming a better writer and researcher. I am writing about the relationship between ideology, culture, and literature. I am developing a new vocabulary. I am being taught how to be an active and critical reader. My mind is being stretched and I am learning something new every day. And I am doing that all for free, because I’ve been blessed with complete tuition remission. How many people have the privilege of taking two years of their life to dedicate solely to reading, writing, researching, and discussing that which is meaningful to them? There may be no other time in my life that I can do something like this, and some never get the luxury at all.

It dawned on me that even if I don’t get my PhD—even if I were to go in a completely different direction after my MA degree—I am still blessed with the unique experience to study what I love, with no financial hardships. PhD or no PhD, I still graduate as a richer person, equipped with a broader vocabulary and knowledge, as well as a unique set of experiences that both challenged and fulfilled me. Most importantly, here in this very moment (all that's truly guaranteed anyway) I am enjoying what I am doing. And for now, that's enough.

Election Reflections

This past Tuesday, I sat in my apartment and watched as the words, "President Obama Re-Elected!" flash across my television screen. I voted for President Obama months ago via absentee-ballot, and since then had no other choice but to wait patiently while my fellow Americans decided who should be our next Commander in Chief. After watching Mitt Romney's concession and the president's acceptance speech, I tossed and turned in bed that night until close to 4am reflecting on everything that I learned this election season.

I learned that politics are personal. I think I always knew this, but it became even more profound during this election with issues such as gay marriage and abortion/women's health being important topics in political discourse. There were moments when I read Facebook statuses from my conservative friends about gay marriage and I would feel mentally and physically drained, exhausted from arguing and defending the rights of my gay loved ones. I was reminded that as much as we like to separate ourselves from "political" issues, we are forever attached to them. The personal is political. It's tied to everything important to us: our religions, our experiences, our present and future lives, and our values concerning life, death, faith, ethics, sexuality, and work. The immense significance that such topics can hold reveals why it is so important to make sure we talk about them, and especially that we talk about them in constructive ways.

This election taught me how grateful I am for intelligent and respectful debate. I have many people who disagree with me, but only a few who can disagree with me constructively and politely. I have a few Republican/moderate friends in particular--Gene and Rachel--who are always willing to dialogue with me, share ideas with me, and listen to my point of view. I must admit that sometimes it's nice to sit around with my most passionate liberal friends and rant about how "utterly stupid" we think Republicans are. Sometimes you need that. But, at the end of the day, we all know that while such dialogue is momentarily gratifying, it's not productive; it doesn't make me or anyone else better. The kind of discussions I have with people like Gene and Rachel, however, hold potential to do something powerful: they can force us to see another perspective and/or force us to are-evaluate our own. I especially experienced the latter this election season. While most if not all of my ideas stayed the same even while being put under question, they did nonetheless actually strengthen after being tested. I walked away with a renewed commitment to my own values. I would hope that even if I did not change my conservative friends' minds, that they too felt a deeper, more thoughtful and reasonable investment in their own principles. 

Additionally, I learned that I am still a believer. Obviously, I am careful not to fall into the "One Leader Solves All" trap, because I know that neither Barack Obama nor Mitt Romney have the power to single handedly destroy or fix an entire country. I know that true world-changers are not politicians, but rather, activists who receive a hell of a lot less money and fame. However, despite this realization, I am still a believer in the power and ability of my government to make and maintain positive change. I still believe that I can elect leaders who will defend my rights and the rights of my loved ones. I am still honored to be able to have the freedom to participate in this messy yet wonderful democracy.

And lastly, I learned that this "belief" can be rewarded, because when I woke up on November 7th 2012, I had more reason to hope in my society than I did the day before. After that election night, I had four more years of a president who I believe is doing good things for my country. I had more women representing me in Congress than ever in American history. A record number of young people showed up at the polls and voted. A record number of Latino, African American, and female voters showed up at the polls and voted. My gay friends could get married in three new states--Maryland, Maine, and Washington. For the first time in American history, gay marriage was passed by popular vote. The first openly gay female senator was elected. Elizabeth Warren was elected. And, Todd Akin--the man who made some brutally stupid comments about rape and pregnancy earlier in the year--lost reelection by a landslide.

I told a friend recently that I will have so much more time to dedicate to other things now that the election over. She looked at me and said, "You're freaking insane." She's right. I am freaking insane for arguing over the same issues again and again with people who may never change their minds. I am insane for reading the articles, the opinion columns, the political comics, and the polls. I am insane for believing that a flawed yet powerful system can create positive change. I am insane for looking forward to doing it all over again in 2016; not because the process in itself is enjoyable, but simply because I still hold onto the irrational yet self-sustaining hope of this democracy: that my vote and my voice can somehow make a difference.