Communicating Rhetoric: Rhet/Comp, Comm Studies, and What We Can Learn From Each

I am addicted to school. As someone who has been in school about 4 years too long, I can readily admit that I want to stay in the warmth and safety of the academy for as long as possible. There was an embarrassing number of moments during my Master's program that I forgot I was working towards graduation, and just wanted to bebop around until someone told me I couldn't be there anymore.

And yet, dear reader, I found a loophole: a PhD program—at the same wonderful university, in the same wonderful town...hurrah!

...And in a different discipline.

Both degrees were, as a former art teacher would say, "happy accidents." I applied for the Master's in English because I was having a post-graduation crisis, figured I liked school well enough, and heard that rhet/comp had the most jobs in English. I had the best two years of my life. I applied for the PhD in Comm Studies because my outside committee member told me my scholarship fit, and that they had EVEN MORE jobs. I just finished my first semester, and while I am mentally exhausted and ready to be in my pajamas for three straight weeks, I can safely say I have found a home (and a career) in Comm Studies.

I have written some variation of "how to survive grad school" for two years, most of which comes down to "do your work while still remaining human, get some sleep, and eat your veggies." What I haven't talked about is choosing the grad program you will have to subsequently survive.

I've noticed two patterns this semester: people want to know what the switch from English to Comm is like, and there seems to be a subtle, unspoken suspicion across fields. Both patterns never really made much sense to me, as it felt like the two disciplines weren't that different (especially coming from Rhet/Comp), and that the departments could facilitate some productive collaborations. So, like any scholar, I did some reflecting, read some syllabi, and compiled notes about each discipline. And while I do think there could be some rich collaborations between departments, I have noticed quite a few differences. Had I undergone a more traditional graduate program search, I would have liked to get this kind of information, so I thought I would share.

But first, a disclaimer: I can only speak to my specific experiences at CSU, and am aware that other programs run quite differently. That being said, I have looked through numerous syllabi across universities in both Rhet/Comp and Comm Studies, and have identified some overarching trends. Furthermore, I'm not trying to disparage either program, or deem one superior. I have faced obstacles and had positive experiences in both departments, and am aware of the wildly subjective nature of the graduate school experience.

Okay, now that we've gotten out of the way, I will address both content and departmental differences, and what we can learn from each.

CONTENT

Rhetoric and Composition is a bit of an anomaly because of the constant balance between theory (rhetoric) and pedagogy (composition). While this balance will largely be informed by the individual professor, I have noticed a lot of emphasis being placed on composition. It is common to tie theoretical discussions to the question "how can we use this information to better reach our students?". I have read about cultural difference in both disciplines, but in rhet/comp, this notion of difference connects to understandings of multiliteracies. Essentially, one group may value the oral tradition over writing, so maybe we should rethink how we as educators teach writing. We reflect on our own positionalities in order to identify biases in our pedagogy, and use our writing processes as models from which to teach our students. 

Theories of composition are usually categorized into the 3 camps of expressivism, cognitivism (AKA "formalism"), and social constructionism. I won't bore you too much with unnecessary detail (or spoilers!), but expressivism essentially argues that writing is the discovery of the author's truth, and is solely about the author. Cognitivism, on the other hand, argues that writing is comprised of mechanical meaning-making. It takes a narrow look at the written product itself, with no regard for either the author's intent, or the audience's reception. Social constructionism, the most "in vogue" theory to date, pulls from Lloyd Bitzer's rhetorical situation and emphasizes the various ideologies both the author and the reader hold going into a text. The social constructionist views writing as a social activity that is largely motivated by social change.

The Rhetorical Situation

We can see just how much theory influences pedagogy, as we frequently use the above model in College Composition. As an instructor, I often joked that my students would be dreaming of triangles and circles by the end of the semester. I know I certainly did. 

This is a complex field to briefly explain, but I'll briefly explain it anyway. To overly simplify, rhet/comp is about writing: teaching writing, examining the writing process, writing about writing. So, in a sense, I am writing about writing about writing. 

Okay, enough. For the visual learners out there, I have compiled some key words that I feel best exemplify the field as a whole:

Some key scholars that (in my opinion) best represent rhet/comp are Mary Louise Pratt, Lloyd Bitzer, Linda Flower, and Peter Elbow.

Communication studies is far more broad than rhet/comp, so I will give another disclaimer by stating that I'm coming at this largely from a media and rhetoric studies standpoint. There is a lot more internal debate among comm studies scholars about the "right way" to study a text because of the competing methodologies—all of which has led me into a scholarly existential crisis because what is a PhD program without one of those?

Like rhet/comp, comm studies has divided itself into 3 "camps" (when in doubt, go by the rule of 3): media studies, rhetoric, and relational/organizational communication. Media (studying industry) and rhetoric (studying text) are often in conversation with each other, whereas relational/org is off doing its own thing. The latter focuses on social scientific research, which I know approximately zero things about. But I hear they're doing some nifty things with AI and mindfulness in relationships, which is pretty darn cool. These camps often inform our identities as researchers, rather than instructors.

I've never been much of a revolutionary person, but comm studies has made me far more aware of social justice issues and the dangers of capitalism. Thus far, there have been Marxist undertones (or overtones) in each class I've taken. I have been reflective in both fields, but the content of said reflection has been wildly different. In rhet/comp, I reflected on who I was as an academic, writer, and instructor. In comm studies, I'm reflective about who I am as a consumer—both of media, and of material goods. 

Media studies places emphasis on industry, audience reception, and modes of production. While audience comes up in both fields, the emphasis here is how an audience receives media, rather than how we write to audiences. While I have yet to take a rhetoric class in the department, it seems to focus more on the text itself. Some emphases in rhetoric include speech communication; political rhetoric; and space, place, and memory. 

Prominent scholars in comm studies include John Fiske, Michel Foucault, Stuart Hall, and Kenneth Burke. 

PROGRAM

Unlike the content, program differences vary wildly depending on the program that you choose. But to make these observations a teeny bit more fair, I have included patterns I've noticed between Penn State's (my undergrad university) and CSU's English departments. With comm studies, you'll just have to take my word for it, like any good researcher. 

Rhet/comp is highly specialized. Not just from literature, english ed, TEFL, and creative writing, but internally as well. The professors will often cultivate their scholarly identities from deep knowledge of 2-3 subjects. Core classes might look extremely different depending on who's teaching them. The program is also tiny. Depending on how many GTA's are funded in the entire English department, there might be 5-7 folks in rhet/comp. In my own cohort, there were 3 GTAs and 2 part-time students. While I interacted with all 19 GTAs from English during my pedagogy course, I largely stuck with those from my specialty, and others did the same. 

CSU does not offer a PhD program in English, so in that sense, it was kind of nice not to have that perceived hierarchy among students. 

One thing that I really appreciated about rhet/comp (at least rhet/comp at CSU) was its openness and accommodating nature to non-traditional students. While the program was rigorous, the schedule intentionally accommodated working parents and non-local commuters. One downside of that openness to part-time non-GTAs was potential alienation when discussion the application of theory to pedagogy. Having spoken with those who applied for but did not get GTA positions, I know that created a fair amount of discomfort and feelings of competition.

Because the program was so small, I got a chance to really get to know my cohort, as well as the professors. Departmental culture was relatively casual, so I was on a first-name basis with all of my professors, and felt that they knew me deeply as a person (read: I overshared. A lot). We often had wine and cheese at a professor's house at the end of each semester, or coffee with another professor who prioritized breaking boundaries between "expert" and "novice." 

Just as comm studies is broader in content, it is bigger in size. One of the biggest draws of CSU's comm studies program is its interdisciplinary nature, so there are very few lines drawn between grad students. We all share the same office, take the same core classes, and are all GTAs (during our first year, we all teach public speaking, but then PhD students move on to teach other classes). We are introduced to and encouraged to get to know all of the faculty. The head of the department frequents the offices with a bowl of candy, which I feel is a perfect visualization of the culture of comm studies. 

Because we are all GTAs, there is less potential for feelings of alienation. At the same time, there is a clear sense that we are full-time. We teach when the department needs us to teach, and we take our core classes whenever they are offered. We take 5 classes our first semester, and are expected to attend most, if not all, departmental events. As such, it is difficult to accommodate non-traditional students. Most of us are between the ages of 22-27. 

One of the starkest differences between programs is the sociality, part of which comes from the age range and our full-time status. This is a highly social program. We have a group chat, yearly traditions, and frequent gatherings. Many of us know we won't get any work done in the office, but go there to catch up with friends (much to the chagrin of the instructors who are grading 90+ papers). Where the formality begins, however, is with the faculty. While the faculty are lovely, supportive folks who are happy to chat scholarship over coffee, the boundaries are far more firm. You address everyone as "Dr." until invited otherwise. You do not share personal information. They are not your therapists. They want to see you succeed, but if you come crying to class because your boyfriend dumped you (who me? Never!), they will recommend that you go to the counseling center. 

Both programs are exceptional at laying out a wide variety of career options, and supporting students regardless of the path they choose. I have seen great strides to make alt-ac options known, and to offer stories about working at different kinds of colleges and universities. It sometimes gets a little depressing to hear about the horrors of adjuncting, but knowing that they won't sugarcoat anything, we can see positive information as all the more promising. 

There are far more observations I've made (and will likely make in the next 3.5 years), so a part II may be on the horizon. Both departments have helped me grow exponentially as a teacher and a scholar, and have solidifed my love of academia. In terms of choosing a program, my biggest piece of advice would be to talk to the people in the department—not just the admissions counselors and the faculty, but the students as well. You can tell a lot about a department simply by walking into the graduate student office. 

Regardless of the discipline you choose, grad school is a surreal, wonderful, painful growing experience. Chances are when you graduate, you'll look back and go "did I really do that?" but also, "hell yeah, I did that!" It is a special kind of hell and nirvana all wrapped into one. But mostly, like life, it's what you make of it. 

Until next time, folks.

Duped: Double Lives, False Identities, and the Con Man I Almost Married (A Review)

Abby Ellin’s Duped: Double Lives, False Identities, and the Con Man I Almost Married is not the book I expected to pick up next, as I knew it would undoubtedly promote paranoia and suspicion in relationships (it did). At the time, however, I was dealing with some romantic suspicion and distrust of my own, and hoped the book would help me with my internal dilemma.

As it turns out, the guy in question wasn’t deceptive—apparently, there’s a difference between an identity thief/regular thief and someone you’re just not that into. Who knew?

So while this story didn't confirm my worst suspicions, I'm still glad I read it. It at least reinforced the idea that I should trust my instincts and not be on robbery-watch with the person I'm supposed to love and trust with all my heart.

In this text, Ellin shares the story of meeting “The Commander,” allegedly a Navy SEAL officer. She is swept up by his stories of going on super secret missions in Afghanistan, of having meetings with Obama, and of saving soldiers’ lives. After a speedy engagement with the Commander, Ellis finds out that her fiancé has been lying the entire time—while he was a doctor and did work for the FBI, he was never a Navy SEAL and used his past marriages and relationships to get illegal prescriptions for Vicodin, an addiction that he kept secret among everyone he knew. Interspersed with Ellin’s narrative is research about deceit, motivations behind compulsive liars, and anecdotes that illustrate both the variety and commonality of lying.

Truthfully, I found the story of the Commander kind of boring. He was charming, and the story provided a stable foundation for Ellin’s research, but it was difficult to be invested in their relationship. Perhaps I am a broken reader and care little for the main stories in a book, but there seemed to be little care in fleshing out the Commander’s character, or Ellin’s reasons for being interested in him. Yes, I can relate to Ellin’s justification that she was lonely, she didn’t want to disrupt stability. Ellin’s internal reflections perfectly mirror those of us who have so badly wanted to settle into relationships that we always knew were off: “I was most alone in the wrong relationship….I wanted this relationship to work” (13), and “I was so lonely. Wasn’t the whole point of having a partner to help fill the void?....I tried to be happy. But I wasn’t. And I hated myself for it. I don’t know if my loneliness stirred up my doubts or if my doubts ignited my loneliness, but my sense that the Commander was ‘truth challenged’ increased. I worried that my commitment issues were getting the best of me, and I needed to work through them. But I couldn’t” (20). This agony can invite empathy from the reader, but from a literary standpoint, this dissatisfaction and distrust in Ellin’s relationship also dulled the shock value when she found out that her “meh” fiancé was a con artist. It seemed as though she wanted to get rid of him in the first place, as she explicitly noted just how dull the Commander was.

Despite the lazy portrayal of Ellin’s relationship with the Commander, we see far more nuance in other stories of deception and truth-exaggeration. With these stories, Ellin paints a more sympathetic and well-rounded picture of those who bend the rules. My personal favorite story was that of Peter Young, a man on the run who freed thousands of mink and foxes from fur farms. He changed his identity several times, never had a stable job, and was eventually caught by the police. Ellin acknowledges that part of Young wanted to be on the run due to the drama, the thrilling adrenaline. But he also deceived in order to help free animals from harm. Ellin notes:


"On the one hand, Young was an entitled rich kid who didn’t want to work especially hard and happily took from others. He vandalized. He ruined the livelihoods of many, many people. He lied and misrepresented himself. But the rebellious side of me was entirely behind him….Young fervidly believed in what he was doing. I was also jealous. Oh, to have such loyalty to a cause greater than myself! I’ve longed to believe in something—anything—unconditionally, to be so passionate about a person or cause that I’d be willing to risk jail for it. I envied his conviction, the same way I envy people who believe in Jesus or Allah or amethysts" (57).

Here’s where we get into the most interesting part: we might separate ourselves from con artists, but in reality, we are all deceiving and living double lives, at least to a certain extent. Reflecting on this reality may be uncomfortable, but Ellin makes this point in a non-judgmental yet informative way. We live in an age where we perceive others as “having it all,” and feel pressure to do the same by presenting multiple selves. We aren’t lying per se...more like embellishing. But just like Ellin, we lie when we want to present a marketable self, an extroverted self, or a self who just can’t get enough NASCAR dates. We compartmentalize these selves, and our actions as we transition between them.


A more surprising claim about manipulating reality was that it helps some combat depression. While I initially saw this as a bit of a stretch, it becomes more logical as you consider the reasons why: “impostership ‘represents a defense against depression….As long as [you can] maintain it and work at it then [you don’t] have to think of [yourself] as a depressed and lonely person. A double life is just the way to cover up the turmoil’” (73). Here we see the compassionate depiction of those who lie in a way that fell short with the Commander’s story. We may not forgive those who manipulate and con their way through life, but we can start to build an understanding that these acts can come from pain, rather than malice. They may, as is in Young’s case, be well-intentioned.

Less enticing was Ellin’s implied message that dating simply isn’t worth the fear of being duped. A fair conclusion after being lied to twice, but it also reinforces paranoia that may not be healthy for those of us who are perhaps...more suspicious than the average person. Treading carefully in a new relationship is wise, but avoiding dating altogether may be a bit extreme (for some. This is a separate discussion from those who are simply uninterested in dating). It’s true that betrayal from love can make it feel like your insides have been ripped out, and research shows that PTSD caused by loved ones is far worse than PTSD from natural disasters; in short, love is agonizing. Many of us lie more than we’d care to admit to our partners. But I almost wish that Ellin would pair the couples who broke due to deception with those who worked through it to illustrate the line between pure, con-man level deception and manipulation of reality that we all fall subject to.

This text also had some contradiction that seemed a fault of Ellin’s editor: most prominent was Ellin’s claim that “people show you who they are in the first two minutes you meet them: two seconds, if you believe Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink” (31). A few pages later, she states, “when you meet somebody for the first time, you’re not meeting them. You’re meeting their representative” (44). It could be that Ellin is comparing research, or other authors’ claims, but she does not make that clear, as she fails to further explore the competing arguments and land on a unique conclusion.

Despite the minor flaws of this text—namely that I am terrified to ever download Bumble again—it was an engaging read. Ellin’s voice is informal, each chapter is gripping, and there are some new ideas I didn’t know about (like rape by deception: if you have consensual sex with someone who is lying about their identity, that becomes rape). This book could have been better organized, as I felt like we were flipping between the Commander story and other anecdotes for no particular reason. However, it’s clear that Ellin is passionate about this topic, and she has conducted some fascinating research about deception. If you’re okay with some paranoia and won’t conclude that your friend is feigning cancer just to move in with and control you, I would recommend that you read this book. You might just learn something—not just about those around you, but the less comfortable parts of yourself.

Religion for Atheists: A Review

I had mixed feelings when picking up Alain de Botton’s Religion for Atheists. While I certainly am among the target demographic, I suspected that this might be something along the lines of “Religion for Dummies.” While I have integrated some concepts from Eastern religions into my life, I still hold some skepticism (and, frankly, ignorance) about the Christian faith. Reading this book was largely an attempt to challenge my preconceived notions about Christianity, especially after my tainted perception upon watching notoriously outrageous YouTube channels like Girl Defined and Paul and Morgan.

Religion for Atheists is divided into ten chapters, each of which introduces a new concept that can help guide everyone through life. Botton primarily focuses on Christianity and Judaism, as he (rightly so) argues that covering more religions would make for a very lengthy and confusing book. From the start, Botton states a clear thesis that “secularism is [not] wrong, but...we have too often secularized badly—inasmuch as, in the course of ridding ourselves of unfeasible ideas, we have unnecessarily surrendered some of the most useful and attractive parts of the faiths” (17). This seems like an interesting concept, though Botton goes on to argue all the facets in which secularism is, in fact, wrong. But more on that later.

Understanding the author’s background and perspective is always important (take that, new criticism!), and it’s even more vital to research the author in the context of this book. In my preliminary research, I discovered that Botton is a philosopher, went to Cambridge, began a PhD in French philosophy at Harvard, but later dropped out to become a full-time author. When trying to find out Botton’s religious affiliations, I came up short. Botton makes no mention of his religious identity in this book, which I feel is a massive overlook on his part.

The beginning of the text is innocent enough. Botton makes some overarching arguments that others corroborate: we often lack a sense of community, as we are absorbed in long work hours and social media. We rarely speak to our neighbors, and we attend dinners in public, it’s never to meet new people (unless, of course, it’s to professionally network). Beyond making the point that it’s good advice to “love thy neighbor,” Botton goes further in-depth to claim that “the book of Agape would direct diners to speak to one another for prescribed lengths of time on predefined topics” (46). While the enforced lengths and topics sound a bit like speed dating for friends, the overall idea is a positive one: religion encourages us to get out of our social shells, to be curious about others’ experiences, and to build new communities.

Among established communities, religious practices invite us maintain a sense of vulnerability and reflection about our social follies. The Jewish faith’s Day of Atonement is a time in which everyone must reflect on those they have hurt and subsequently apologize and ask for forgiveness. The word “sin” does appear in this holy day (a term that makes me deeply uncomfortable), but what makes the Day of Atonement so interesting is that the focus is on one specific sin, and offers a solution that is practical (it does not simply absolve someone for confessing) and does not punish the sinner.

For the most part, I wasn’t enthralled by Botton’s writing about this topic, and he only loosely ties this religious practice to atheists by saying we should all apologize for our past mistakes each quarter of a year. This would be an interesting practice for those who block out the past or rarely reflect on wrong-doings. Because this concept was new to me, I was delighted with this chapter. But Botton fails to connect with less introspective atheists, and leaves more questions than answers about how this secular atonement day would work. Unless he’s just saying atheists should, instead of being assholes, admit when they’ve done something wrong.

As the book progressed, Botton’s arguments seemed more of a stretch: what seems specific to religion in Botton’s mind is also present in therapy, mindfulness, and support networks. In some cases, the religious qualities that Botton advocates for might be better achieved through secular practices. Botton makes the point that looking at a saintly figurine can help us figure out what to do when we’re feeling stuck. The answer is inside us, Botton argues, but looking to a maternal figure helps us access that answer. The same thing happens with trained professionals who ask guiding questions to help us find the answers we’ve known all along. Yes, there is cost involved, but the sheer avoidance of these alternative methods of self-inquiry ultimately weakens Botton’s argument.

Then we have the chapter on education—oh boy, is this a treat. This chapter is essentially a 30 page confession that Botton has not stepped inside a classroom since the dark ages, and that his professors never once challenged him to think critically. He seems to have a personal vendetta against the humanities, and thinks that the only education worth having is one of self-reflection. His language is aggressive, his arguments are entirely unfounded, and he alienates a large demographic within the secular community: academics.

Universities, to Botton, simply churn out robots who spout meaningless knowledge and have no ethical or moral compass. Perhaps you might think that my religious and academic bias are tainting my view of Botton’s argument— “he can’t possibly be that shallow and ignorant,” you might say. But you would be wrong. He literally says things like “whatever rhetoric may be rehearsed in its prospectuses, the modern university appears to have precious little interest in teaching its students any emotional or ethical life skills, much less how to love their neighbors and leave the world happier that they found it” (105), “it would be a shocking affront to university etiquette to ask what Tess of the d’Urbervilles might usefully teach us about love, or to suggest that the novels of Henry James might be read with an eye to discovering parables about staying honest in a slippery mercantile world” (117), and “secular education will never succeed in reaching its potential until humanities lecturers are sent to be trained by African-American Pentecostal preachers” (131). These passages almost tread the line of satire, as they are so completely wrong. Botton’s perception that college courses consist of passive, lifeless students, an hour-long lecture with zero discussion or critical application, and tests that require rote memorization is so laughably off, that he damages his ethos beyond repair for the remainder of the book. This chapter is clear proof that Botton has little ground to argue that religion introduces practices that are impossible to find elsewhere. It’s alarming that despite his background in philosophy, Botton fails to bridge the connection between academic concepts and the human condition. He also seems to make these arguments based on the assumption that without a formal class or text that gave step-by-step instructions on how to be a good person, we’d all be flailing, murdering, thieving sacks of flesh.

The idea behind this book has a lot of potential, and, if executed properly, could have opened up the eyes of stubborn atheists who refuse to see the good in religious practices. Instead, this book is an attack on atheists that relies on old, unfounded arguments with gaping holes all over the place. Save yourself the drudgery of slogging through this book, and instead recognize that kindness, community, and morality are qualities we should all strive for, regardless of religion.

Small Fry: A Review

When I picked up Lisa Brennan-Jobs’s Small Fry, I expected a tell-all narrative about Steve Jobs. Hearing little more than “he was a jerk,” I was hungry for the details about his life, about his relationships with colleagues and families alike. I wanted to know the intricacies of a brilliant mind who was reputed to be so cruel, and to understand the underlying motives and ambiguities that fleshed out his character.

It turns out he was just kind of a jerk; surprisingly, Jobs is ultimately the least interesting person in the book. This is a text that quietly asks its readership to shift expectations from “confessions of an abused daughter” to musings about the complexities and pains of familial relationships. If and when the reader is open to such a change, the book becomes a profound and thought-provoking read.

We are first introduced to Jobs at the tail end of his life, as he tells his daughter from his deathbed that she smells like a toilet. This reverse chronological order is nothing new, although it does allow the reader to see that even in the most vulnerable of moments, Jobs continues to spout hateful comments. Most of the text continues this thread: Jobs is portrayed as a hateful, controlling monster, no matter the context. We might get the details of Jobs’s exact form of hate that we have been craving, but with that comes no nuance or suggestion of vulnerability in his character. Up until the very end of the book, Jobs is an archetype of the cruel, uninvolved father.

Much of the beginning lacks a cohesive thread. Jobs is largely absent from the beginning chapters, and instead we are inundated with seemingly unimportant backstory about Lisa’s parents. Lisa drives home the point that she and her mother were poor. Jobs is an ancillary character who has a lot of money, yet refuses to lend it to his ex and daughter. In fact, after nearly fifty pages of introduction, Lisa admits, “Steve. I knew so little about him” (48). Again, we see Jobs as cruel, as evidenced by his shameless ego: “‘Do you know who I am?....I’m your father. I’m one of the most important people you will ever know’” (13). There are references to Jobs’s work, but Lisa never dives into what it entails. Barring a couple of scenes, we don’t see Jobs at the office. Here begins the suggestion that this text isn’t really about Jobs; rather, his absence is a lens through which to see Lisa’s life.

Discovering the depth of characters is painfully slow in the beginning. The mother, too, is archetypal. She seems a stereotype of the unreliable artist flitting about with wild dreams and an empty bank account. She has an influx of boyfriends, wants to desperately to be a good mother, and in doing so, spends money she doesn’t have. Much of this section is factual, as though Lisa is so used to her mother’s flighty nature, she no longer reacts to it. Only later do we see a fuller version of Lisa’s mother.

Getting the initial sense that this book was largely an emotionless autobiography, I almost abandoned it. But I pressed on, mostly because I wanted to have another entry on Goodreads. As Lisa offers her own self-reflections, her writing comes alive, and the readers’ emotional investment in Lisa expands dramatically. These reflections are strong and poignant:

"I began to feel there was something gross and shameful about me, and also to know that it was too late to change it, that nothing could be done. I was different from other girls my age, and anyone good and pure could immediately sense this and would be repulsed. One indication was the photograph. Another was that I could not read. The last was that I was meticulous and self-conscious in a way I could tell the other girls were not. My desires were too strong and furious….I felt this quality in myself, and I was sure it must show when people saw me" (28).

Here we see a little girl in tremendous pain—not because of Jobs (Lisa knows no different from the absent father), and not solely about her poverty. Her pain comes from a feeling of being on the outside, of wanting so desperately to fit in, and of noticing a devastating alienation from her classmates. This is a nearly universal story, which begins to situate Lisa on the same level as her audience. Jobs has not yet told Lisa that she will never fit in—this isolation isn’t the outcome of a narcissistic billionaire. Instead, it’s the outcome of self-hatred that is all too common in young girls.


While Jobs’s actions are largely uninteresting, it is Lisa’s perceptions of her father that we cling onto. This dichotomy between reality and interpretation is a reminder that despite our best attempts to use facts, perceptions of our parents will always be skewed. Lisa sees Jobs’s use of commonplace phrases such as “let’s call it a day” as sophisticated and other-worldly. Lisa further explores a sense of the fantastical, surreal nature of Jobs’s life as she describes spending time in his home: “We existed outside regular time. The mornings with him, too, would have a timeless quality, more empty space and white light and silence—unlike the mornings with my mother, when we raced to dress in front of the heaters and ate toast in the car….Here there was no rush, no breathlessness” (101). These observations introduce the dichotomy between the competing worlds in Lisa’s life.

Lisa largely seems to be a reflection of her parents, but we do get a glimmer of her self-development and exploration, as she discusses an affinity with writing. She is proud of her teacher’s praise of her work, and notes the ease in finding the words to create a smooth, polished essay. In keeping with my appreciation for Lisa’s inner musings, I would have liked to see more of this exploration, as it deepens our understanding of the main character of the text.

Towards the middle of the book, we still see vivid descriptions of Jobs’s cruelty: he blatantly and unapologetically insults Lisa’s cousin as she loudly orders food at a restaurant and eats in a sloppy manner. Lisa recognizes her father’s emotional abuse, which makes it all the more frustrating—but not surprising—when she is still desperate for Jobs’s approval. Yet as Lisa sprinkles stories of her father’s selfishness and violence, she invites us into the far more complex, ambiguous, and (in my opinion) interesting world of her relationship with her mother. Again, she uses Jobs as a mirror in which to gaze at and critique the world where she is fully accepted. Everything with Jobs is tidy and cold; his interactions with Lisa’s mother showcase the disparate nature between the two worlds, alongside Lisa’s determination to take sides:

"Next to him, [my mother] looked ragged and disheveled. When she spoke, sobbing, she was hardly intelligible. Looking back, I’m ashamed to see that I just wanted her to act neat and quiet….I didn’t want my father to think I was anything like her….She seemed too dramatic. Crazy, even. I wanted her to feel less, express less" (212).

Lisa’s expression of shame felt towards her mother seems familiar to the dislike that Jobs expresses about Lisa. And while Lisa acknowledges her awareness about Jobs’s problematic behavior, she reflects that same casual cruelty towards her mother. As Lisa moves between houses, her desperate desire to be seen by her father deepens. Paradoxically, as Lisa so desperately wants warmth and affection in the Jobs household, she rejects it from the parent who has been around all along:

"The first two days as my mother’s felt excessively warm, almost cloying, as she followed me around, tending to me, cooking with what I’d recently understood to be an excess of oil, and profligate butter. I felt superior. I knew things she didn’t. I hated how needy she was, how vulnerable, wanting to be with me even when I said I was fine alone; I hated the fact that I was related to her, that because of her I was unable to belong in the other house….I wanted to be someone else, to be prettier, blonde, tall, worthy—but she seemed to love me, to like me, as I was. I doubted her taste" (289).

This, to me, is where the book becomes most alive and poignant. I may hold a certain degree of personal bias, as I find this passage eerily similar to my own life. This story is unique to Lisa, yet it also points to the universality of the strained mother-daughter relationship. We see an intricate, believable, and painful depiction of the violent swing between closeness and hatred. As daughters, we might see ourselves, yet as daughters, we open our eyes (perhaps for the first time) to the scarring impact this dynamic has on mothers who are loving, flawed, and trying very hard.

This passage also demonstrates the elegant maturity of Lisa: she could easily play the victim card and portray her mother as a bumbling idiot, but she recognizes her deficiencies, and doesn’t shy away from discussing her own cruelty—a cruelty that is uncomfortably similar to her father’s. Yet unlike the depictions of Jobs, this passage does not force the reader to detach from or feel disdain for Lisa; if anything, it further humanizes her, and encourages her readers to explore their own opposing desires and messy familial interactions.

Returning to the theme of alienation and isolation, Lisa uses the figure of her stepmother—Laurene—to explore her desire to approximate normalcy. While Lisa makes clear that both of her parents are far from normal, Laurene is the hero who understands how to be a person in the world. This part of the text gives the reader a clearer understanding of why Lisa wants to spend time in a house that has almost no furniture, a broken dishwasher, and a freezing bedroom. We sympathize with Lisa as she almost worships’ Laurene’s influence: “Laurene seemed to understand the division between strange and relatable in a way we did not….What a relief it was to have [her] with her knowledge of etiquette and protocol. Who knew people who did not frame birth certificates and put them on walls” (248). With this appreciation for etiquette and normalcy comes an implicit depiction of a cold, unwelcome house that holds no room for the free expression of people like Lisa.

Lisa uses her relation to Jobs to sell the book, but from early on, we recognize that this text is not about Jobs (a solid move, as writing solely about Jobs would make for a very boring, very predictable book). Lisa ultimately acknowledges the ubiquity of her story:

"Like me, most of the women I knew did not have fathers when they were growing up. Not having a father wasn’t unique, or even significant. My father’s significance was elsewhere. Instead or raising me, he was inventing world-changing machines; he was famous, mingling, accruing, driving stoned in the South of France" (275).

Rather than focus on the superficial relationship that Lisa had with her father (barring a few special moments they had skating and appreciating the beauty of nature), Lisa uses her positionality as the daughter of a celebrity to explore the complexity of relationships, the difficulty of differentiating yourself from your parents. She beautifully expresses the paradox of simultaneously appreciating and despising those who are closest. She challenges us to investigate the venomous, tangled mother-daughter relationship, and of painful, frustrating, and altogether human nature of those around us.

On Ethical Overwhelm

In attempts to be a person in the world, I have started to stop obsessing about myself  look less inward and follow the news. It's been easy enough to follow the 2020 elections, as I have an unhealthy obsession with debates and analysis of the ten million people who are running for president. As far as other issues have gone, I've taken to watching comedy shows like the Daily Show, Last Week Tonight, and the Late Show—both for a laugh, and to be somewhat connected to life outside of knitting and Stranger Things.

In keeping with my propensity for going to extremes, my reaction to John Oliver's video on warehouses was not moderate in any way.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9m7d07k22A

"This is horrifying!," I thought to myself, "I will never shop on Amazon ever again!"

I will, of course, shop on Amazon again, as evidenced by my ever-expanding Amazon wishlist: 

 

I was never ignorant enough to believe that Amazon's warehouse workers had luxury break rooms, 401ks, and comprehensive benefits—on some level, way in the back of my mind, I was aware that working conditions for these employees were less than ideal—although I was not aware just how un-ideal they truly were. But in the same way that you can look at a chicken breast and disassociate from the chicken that was pumped with steroids and antibiotics, it's easy to turn a blind eye when the problem isn't staring you in the face. It's no coincidence that I started getting far more interested in Medicare for All as I got closer and closer to my 26th birthday. 

Or, perhaps, you are brutally aware of the issue, but you've heard about 20 social causes in the past week, are working 3 jobs, and can't possibly imagine what you can do to stop the issue. The systemic change is too overwhelming to even begin to consider where you would start. Worse, you have such little time and so little money, you have to rely on Amazon for its convenient delivery and cheap cost while you work to feed 3 hungry children. 

I don't have 3 jobs or any children, but I will be working on a graduate stipend and limited time. It's easy to mindlessly "window shop" online, go, "ooh, cute!" and experience the euphoria of getting packages delivered to your door, or the excitement of tearing open the box (it's like never-ending Christmas!). Rather than spend half an hour driving to and back from Target, plus 20 extra minutes of chasing down several employees to help me find a fake plant that I don't really need, I've just found the perfect item in two minutes, and purchased it in two seconds. I never have to even consider the exploitation and abuse of the working class—instead, I can do classwork. 

So yes, there is a case for taking advantage of the convenience of online shopping. It's also true that we cannot dismantle a capitalist society by choosing to buy that plant at Goodwill. There will always be rich white dudes who are flying their dick-spaceships while their employees work 80 hours a week just to put rice and beans on the table. 

We can also make the argument that in the digital age, we are aware of so many wrongdoings and social injustices, that we can feel overwhelmed by social justice. With so many opportunities to make a difference, we may feel torn and tortured by the fact that we can't do it all, and thus do nothing. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJVqs_mhOA4

Migrant Children's Detention Facility 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_vqIGTKuQE

Undercover at Smithfield Foods

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hf-bLR668g

The Central Park Five: A Cautionary Tale of Injustice

One of the first things we can do is show up to vote for politicians whose platforms serve and advocate for underprivileged and minority groups, thus taking into account multiple social issues. Beyond that, though, how do we know which equally important causes to take on without feeling overwhelmed, or without shirking our own personal desires or needs? 

What I've started to realize is that everyday, personal desires aren't necessarily antithetical to political justice. When making personal goals, it's important to consider which social issues reflect those goals. For instance, I both want to spend less money and better get to know people and places of Fort Collins. An easy way to do this is to seek out yard sales and thrift stores. While this comes at the cost of time, it's one symbolic gesture rejecting exploitative companies and embracing locally-owned businesses. Also, it's more fun to say "this desk was used by a 90 year old woman who spent the last five years of her life composing an epic tome about her life during war, loss, and illness," rather than, "this was on sale for $65 and I spent ten hours trying to figure out how to put the damn thing together."

I would also like to get more involved in the beauty community. This might seem like a consumerist practice (mostly because it is), but this is also a perfect way to gather knowledge about ethical and humane companies. Finding brands that do not test on animals isn't something I would have done had I not taken a greater interest in makeup. And when I align my personal goal with a social cause, I can then disseminate that information to other makeup-lovers and take the conversation to a deeper level.

This one's a little bit trickier, as cost can be a huge factor, but I would like to eat healthier. Eating lots of red meat and dairy tends to make me feel lethargic and heavy, and I've tried the vegetarian thing on and off for about two years. I can never fully commit to being vegetarian, and it's even harder when I'm trying to do it on a budget. I've also found that without some amount of meat, I lose weight and energy fast. After teaching a food-themed composition course for two years, I am highly aware of the ethical implications of mass production of meat. So, in attempts to align the issue of slaughterhouses and my own personal mission, I will strive to eat less meat, and despite the slightly higher cost, will purchase ethically-sourced meat.

When we try to consume information about every single social injustice every, we get burnt out, overwhelmed, and exhausted. We may not feel personally invested in every single issue. We may feel so scattered and inundated with information, we can't properly commit to any cause. And then, in response, we might say, "I don't care about anything. What does that say about me?" When we flip the conversation to "I'm personally interested in_________. How might that inform the issues I could get involved in?" 

And for those working for corporate-owned businesses, feel free to post multiple copies of the Communist Manifesto on the break room walls. 

Namaste. 

A New Spin on Feminism: Empowerment and Pole Dance

This time last year, I tried my hand (or my arms, really) at pole dance. A friend was visiting me in town, and, attracted to the novelty of a pole class, we immediately signed up for an introductory class. This was the summer of putting ourselves in unusual circumstances, and despite the raised eyebrows and questioning of motives, by golly, we were going to conquer the pole.

The studio lobby was a mecca for the glitter-loving of sorts: sparkly unicorns, sequined curtains, and mermaid shorts for sale. Electronica was humming in the background, and the previous class was shuffling out. Observing the athletically-built and scantily-clad women that rushed past us, I eyed my friend with a look of suspicion. Much like my feeling of being on a different planet at the gym, the same sense of unease began to emerge. Despite being in a dance studio—a home away from home—I worried that I had thrown $20 at being a laughing stock, an embarrassment to femininity and all things dance.

But that same friend, whose fearlessness and determination to reject anxiety inspired me to get out of the house, charged into the studio with a confidence so convincing, she may as well have been polling for years.

To my relief, the instructor—Renée, a middle-aged mom who had gifted herself an introductory pole class for her fortieth birthday—didn’t expect anything too wild from us. Largely floor work with some quintessential stripper moves, the class culminated in a choreographed sequence that featured moves like “booty up” and “stripper push ups.” This class was clearly geared towards one-timers who wanted to giggle at their participation in the overtly sexual and post salacious videos on Instagram.

(Myself included—I never said I was the Mother Theresa of feminism.)

Despite the sexual connotations of our first pole class (or perhaps because of), my friend and I were hooked. We raced home and signed up for a beginner/novice class for the following morning. I hadn’t experienced a rush like this since getting my first tattoo and wanting to immediately get five more. Not only had I discovered a new hobby—a novel goal after sprinting through an all-consuming Master’s degree—I felt alive.

Our next class was not only significantly more challenging, it was noticeably less sexual. While the instructor cued us with the phrase “lead with your vagina,” the guidance was strictly anatomical, a source of momentum that could power us through the beginner curriculum. The fact that her blunt language shocked me so much revealed just how little the female body is talked about outside of an objectifying context, which thus sparked my first connection between pole dance and feminism.

I have since continued pole dance (with varying degrees of regularity) for about a year. While I have faced little confrontation about this hobby, I have grappled with both internal and societal debates about pole dance as a valid form of empowerment and reclamation of the body. I boldly assert my participation in pole to friends, family, and colleagues, but delete all of my pole posts on Instagram before a job interview. I tell myself that I am carving out time for myself and actively choosing an activity that invites self-exploration and expression, but question just how much of my choice is influenced by post-feminist understandings of agency and empowerment. Even the book titled Sexy Feminism dismisses pole dance as a cleverly disguised act of female subjugation and adherence to the male gaze.

It is impossible to defend the feminist potential of pole dance without acknowledging its origins. Stripping, while still necessitating feats of strength and agility, is performed in a sexual context for men. Regardless of the fact that women might choose to participate in the profession because it is so lucrative, it is, nonetheless, exploitative. That argument largely goes uncontested. But, just because someone is taking a fitness class that mirrors some—but not all—of the same moves that professional strippers do, that doesn’t make the practice inherently sexist. However, taking that class in the name of personal freedom and empowerment doesn’t make it inherently feminist either. Identifying something as “not sexist” doesn’t equate to feminism.

When scholars Kally Whitehead and Tim Kurz interviewed “polers,” as the community calls itself, many of the responses were tied to money: paying to pole dance, as opposed to being paid to pole dance, was empowering. Paying for self-care and self-reward can be essential to our sanity, but it also falls under the post-feminist notion that in order to be empowered, we must consume a product of service (Whitehead and Kurz 236). Pole classes are not cheap. I may feel better about investing my money into exercise and skill-building than I would a $100 dress, but I often feel like the “other” when students reference other classes they regularly take at the studio, or when I find out that in order to participate in the biannual student showcase, you must take at least two classes a week. The message here is clear: there is a prevalent class divide in pole dance, thus leaving pole classes as primarily white and wealthy.

So while I continue to shell out $20-$40 a week, I don’t associate my choice in my spending with feminist praxis.

Whitehead and Kurz concede that “by relocating the activity in a female-only environment that is devoid of the male gaze, one could argue that recreational pole dancing studios are creating a space in which women can challenge traditional representations of female sexuality as passive and subservient to men” (230). My studio is unique in that it is co-ed. There are some obvious concerns that could come into fruition due to this policy, but in my experience, the men who participate in pole dance do not come to gawk: they are just as invested in the practice as their female counterparts, and play powerful roles in challenging gender norms. One male practitioner, who I knew was in a heterosexual relationship, came to class donning a sparkly pink bra and completed the beginner test with fierce determination. So while this particular environment was not female-only, it was still a feminine space, a place for women to congregate and exercise away from the suggestive gazes from men. One of the most common critiques I have found among those arguing against pole dance is that other forms of exercise are truly devoid of the male gaze. In her article “Whether You Like it or Not, Pole Dancing Perpetuates Sexism,” Meghan Murphy asks, “why bother pretending to ‘reclaim’ sexist practices when there are so many other fun and empowering activities that have nothing to do with male-centered sexualized performances?”

It’s all fine and good to fearlessly enter male-dominant spaces, but the lack of explicit sexuality does not guarantee lack of objectification or harassment. Try doing a half hour workout at the gym, for instance, and spend an hour and a half trying to fend off men with the audacity to whip out their best pickup lines at the pull up bar.

That’s not to say that women should never exist in predominantly male spaces, or should never enter places where they could potentially be harassed. If that were the case, none of us would ever leave the house. However, pole studios are something of a safe haven (or at the very least, a safe space) where women can work out without constantly glancing over their shoulders to see if their next “suitor” is heading over. They are also spaces in which women are taken seriously and trusted to achieve the strength and power that these dance moves require. In the pole studio, we are not docile creatures that need condescending modifications or assists every which way. We are forces of nature who can, quite literally, climb our way to the top.

So yes, existing in a space is not inherently feminist. Claiming a space, making it our own when we have so often been told to make spaces for others, is.

One of the most prominent forms of feminism in pole dance is something that I can’t yet enact, but admire among others: the fight against ageism. Unsurprisingly, after we’ve surpassed child-bearing age, we are told to discard our sexuality, to shrink, to become invisible to the rest of the world. This can easily extend to the hobbies we find ourselves in if we let it. What I find most empowering from pole class are the people who fight against that stigma, who say “I deserve to take up space here, and I am not afraid of my sexuality.” That same teacher who walked my friend and I through our first pole class also teaches “smoulder”—the explicitly sexy, promiscuous part of pole. Among the regulars in the class I went to was a middle aged woman who put my attempts with each move to shame. And as Renée noted, none of us would likely be in the same room if it weren’t for pole.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-2GnRvvx0o&list=PLTsb_FPYs3P7fCUe1BgdpxODg_x39AGp6&index=33

Just as pole dance actively invites sensual expression among women who society tell are “past their expiration date,” it also widens interpretations of fitness, strength, and grace. Glamour’s video, “Learning to Pole Dance in 30 Days,” features a plus-sized black woman walking a pole novice through basic spins and climbs every day for a month. Rather than harping on the instructor’s size, the video focuses on the instructor’s expertise and encouragement as she watches her student gain strength and confidence over the course of her studies. The comments under this video are largely positive, and mostly contain expressions of desire that they could be like the instructor, or that the instructor could be their friend. One of the most explicitly feminist aspects of pole dance is the encouragement to take up space despite society’s warnings against it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7riraliQmaI

A final critique of pole dance is an unfounded correlation to gender: Louise Owen’s “Work that Body: Precarity and Femininity in the New Economy” purports that “the spins themselves required a great deal of strength, but the practice, in the manner of ballet, ‘draws on a tradition of women’s strength being controlled or concealed rather than displayed’” (89). In addition to the blatant inaccuracy of that claim (we might make a spin look graceful, but muscling through a climb requires no disguise), Owen’s argument that the tradition of masking strength with grace is solely feminism relies on a tunnel-vision approach to athletics: take yoga, for instance, a practice that guides us through finding the ease and grace in difficult postures. Figure skating, another co-ed sport, is tremendously graceful and aesthetically pleasing, yet also requires athletic finesse and powerful strength. Grace does not discount strength, nor are the two qualities paradoxical.

There are certainly troubling associations with pole dance, and I do not claim to be immune to the sexist implications. However, immediately dismissing pole as antithetical to feminism is shallow, misinformed, and outdated. Nothing is without complications, but pole invites a kind of feminism that is evolving, encouraging, and expanding.

Namaste.

Days 29 and 30: Celebrate and Liberate

One of the things I have found out through this journey is that when I get close to finishing a project, I race to the end. But instead of feeling burnt out after doing days 27-30 in one day, I feel rejuvenated, empowered, and grateful.

(It also helps that I have exactly zero things to do, have been bored out of my skull, and still don't want to leave my house.)

I did it. 30 days of committed, focused yoga. I didn't expect to cry during day 30, given than I have spent far more than 30 days committing to something, but for the first few minutes of this practice, I bawled my eyes out. I felt far more proud of myself for finishing this journey than I did my Master's or Bachelor's degree. Maybe it's because I'm in a place where I am more forgiving and compassionate towards myself (working on it). Or, more likely, this was something that I actively chose, rather than fell into, and that wasn't tied to any expectations. I found inner strength, grace, and power. I found out minute things about myself (during the afternoon slog, rather than take a nap, I could do some yoga), as well as profound observations (power doesn't always equal speed).

Day 29 was celebrate. I tried to conjure up Walt Whitman's "Songs of Myself," because what says yoga like some profound poetry, but instead started singing "Celebrate/Celebrate/Dance to the Music" in my head. But that's the thing about yoga. It can be silly. There have been several moments when Adriene serenades us with song or makes Wu-Tang Clan references. I have long held onto the stigma that yoga has to be So Serious, and that I have failed for not being a vegan with five pet chickens and ten dream catchers.

It turns out that yoga is a lot more fun when you dance around the mat, stick your tongue out in lion's breath, and yell "ta-da-sana!" in mountain pose. That child like quality doesn't have to be situational: we can carry around that sense of joyful exploration wherever we go. But we still have to pay taxes—there's no getting around that.

Just as you don't have to solely honor yourself when you master a pose or drink a green smoothie, you don't have to save celebrating yourself for the end of a project. We have our traditional celebrations: birthdays, Christmas, pre-K graduation (yes this is a thing). The trouble with only associating celebration with these big events is that our lives are on hold up until the next thing, and the post-holiday crash is depleting. We don't have to bake ourselves a cake every week, but we may wake up and celebrate being alive. We might celebrate arriving on the mat, even when we didn't want to.

Day 30 was an enlightening one for me. When I do random Yoga with Adriene videos, I'm almost always drawn to her "day 30" practices. I never complete them though, as her tradition is to practice with us silently, and to let us be our primary yoga guides. For someone who likes being told what to do, this is a daunting notion.

As this was the only practice where Adriene didn't talk, it was also the only practice with music. I am not a huge music aficionado, but when I move to music, my soul comes alive. I had gathered all of Adriene's words: "tap into your spirit," "find what makes you feel alive," "find what feels good," and used the music to guide me through the practice. It made me remember the "high" that I get out of performing. When I am dancing, I am free.

I chose the Dedicate series because it was the most recent. But as I'm a semi-believer in the "things happen for a reason" phenomenon, I find intentionality in this theme. On a physical level, I am not the best yogi or dancer. I haven't always been the greatest at making time for myself. But when I was getting my Master's, I remember writing "I'm not the smartest person in the universe, but the dedication is there, and that's a powerful force in grad school." Similar to the notion that 80% of success is just showing, the power of dedication extends to everything we do. And we can do it mindfully. In the case of this summer, I needed to take time to dedicate to myself. Not to put on sheet masks and take bubble baths, but to ask for help, and to do what I really needed to recover.

Ending things is not always easy. I have been particularly sensitive to ending relationships, to ending time in an apartment, and most damaging has been my reaction to ending school. Another mantra of Adriene's, "don't decide where it ends," is powerful. Just because a relationship ends doesn't mean the fond memories and growing experiences dissipate. Moving doesn't mean you can never again have a cozy home. Graduating or leaving school doesn't stop you from continuing to learn for the rest of your life.

So don't decide where it ends. If something feels good, keep going. I have seen many members of the Yoga with Adriene community say that while they're sad this series has ended, they're going to go back and do Adriene's other 30 day journeys. So while I won't daily blog this time, I'm dedicating myself into the next chapter of exploration: True.  Finding the true self, a true purpose, and a true dedication to the self.

Namaste.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEWphnnuspI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWRqprezNys

Days 27 and 28: Power and Dedicate

As expected, today was a vigorous practice, but Adriene focused on internal power. This is nothing new, and I have thought a lot about empowerment these past few weeks. I'm often suspicious of empowerment, as marketing schemes and consumerism can be cleverly disguised as empowerment.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6l1OFTo51Q

Internal empowerment, while less dangerous than buying a bunch of lipsticks in the name of girl power, is also no more straightforward. I certainly feel physical power during core strengtheners and vinyasas that build up heat, but I've found far more mental power in grounding postures such as mountain. It's easy to dismiss mountain pose, as you're literally just standing there, but just like life, the pose is what you make of it. You might see mountain as a transition pose, waiting for the next high lunge or forward fold. Or you might claw your feet into the yoga mat, lift your heart, and actively pull your fingers back. By grounding and connecting with your roots, you have the foundation to expand and grow.

The passive can become active. There is strength in stillness.

It's easy to think of power as an aggressive or masculine quality. Softness seems out of reach when we try to be powerful. We associate power with having the highest title, being the loudest voice in the room, or just simply being a white man.

When practicing yoga, it's important to check into its roots: the Hindu tradition. Hindus have long worshipped goddesses as vital sources of power. Shakti is the "mother goddess, fierce warrior, and the dark goddess of destruction" (Chopra). Everyone—men and women alike—has this fierce feminine energy that can protect or destroy. The softness of maternal energy is no less powerful than the force of destruction.

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/371124825514220653/?lp=true

But also remember that even when you don't feel like leaping into the world with a dagger (which could get you arrested, so don't do that), there is power in showing up and making incremental progress. Day 27 is well into the home stretch, and hundreds of people commented, "I can't believe I made it this far!" I have become far too familiar with the mental chatter of "I can't." When we shift "I can't" to "I haven't," the seemingly impossible becomes an exploration. As Adriene says, the hardest part of yoga is getting onto the mat, but as we power through the mental resistance, we can find strength in discovering new things about your practice, about yourself.

Day 28, dedicate, brought us back to day 1: remembering why we're here. My "why" has changed dramatically since beginning this practice. On day 1, I was just beginning to emerge from destructive stillness (the paralyzing kind, rather than the mindful kind). I was simply trying to feel less shitty and numb. I still have bad days, but my "why" has become to cultivate the strength to move forward, to not just be alive, but to feel alive, and to honor where I am today.

Dedicate also invited us to share our energy with someone outside of ourselves. Much like the medicine buddha practice that we practiced at Shoshoni, in which you dedicate healing energy to someone who is struggling, sick, or needs some extra love, dedicate allowed us to take the self-love that we have cultivated over the past 27 days, and extend it to those around us.

https://mandalas.life/get/medicine-buddha-thangka/

I have found the strongest dedication practices in thinking about someone I am personally close to, and those who are struggling outside of my immediate community. My first dedication was to a friend who is there for me in countless ways, despite having professional and personal strife. The other dedication occurred off the mat, after watching Jon Stewart's moving speech about the 9/11 first responders' bill. These are people who are suffering after putting so much goodness and healing into the world. They have taken compassion and kindness to the extreme and sacrificed their own health for the safety of others. They deserve the same compassion and kindness in return.

That's not to say that everyone needs to start jumping into burning buildings in order to help others. But it is important to move one step past self-care. We care for ourselves to discover our purpose, our joy, our authenticity, but we also care for ourselves in order to have the strength and dedication to make sure our community, both local and global, are cared for and alive.

As is the meaning of "namaste," the light in me honors the light in you.

Namaste.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzqOY_7xiyg&t=1012s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJKN6lg9pHA

Days 25 and 26: Alive and Drop

Again, both seemingly paradoxical themes very much worked in harmony with each other. I expected (a risky act that, as the Buddhists say, leads to suffering) "alive" to be full of heart openers, vinyasas, and standing poses; conversely, I expected "drop" to be a more gentle practice with child's pose and forward fold.

The art of "finding the aliveness" has been a tricky one for me. One of the most painful parts of depression is not just an inability to find what makes you feel alive, but to actively resist life. To want to hide from finding joy, and to find what seems to be an endless stream of monotony and hopelessness so unbearable, the only solution is to cease being alive. Even on the road to recovery, when I felt physically less dead, the idea of returning to a joyful state and knowing what sparked a sense of feeling alive was unreachable.

We don't always know what makes us feel the most alive. Historically, I have found my soul lighten when dancing and being part of academia, but after such a dramatic crumbling of life, I don't know if those things will bring that same joy. But, like the mind reader that Adriene is, she reminded us that we don't always have to know what our contribution to society could be, or what sparks that feeling of "yes, this is what I should be doing." Just like you don't have to rush through your yoga practice, you don't have to rush self-discovery. If you haven't found what makes your heart sing or your soul expand, you are not alone, and you just have to keep exploring, keep a sense of curiosity, and have compassion for yourself when you play a game of soccer and get hit in the shins 100 times over. 

On a grand scheme, this journey of discovery in finding what fulfills us professionally can be daunting. There is that sense of pressure to associate what we do to make money with our sense of purpose. I have certainly fallen into that trap, and I consider myself lucky that I will get paid to learn and grow as a scholar. Not many people get to do that. But this can be a dangerous path if you suddenly find yourself out of that job that gave you 100% of your sense of purpose and fulfillment.

I had made a similar discovery about a year ago, but fell into the same trap after leaving school.

Yoga has been a constant for me. Despite sleeping for 9 hours, I feel dead in the mornings and wonder how I will ever feel like a functional human. After 35 minutes of yoga, I feel like I can take on the world (just kidding; that would require leaving the house).

In the spirit of finding what feels good, I'm transitioning away from "this isn't altogether terrible" to actively saying to myself "this feels good." And sometimes, very briefly, that happens when I'm trying something new. I have done many of the postures that Adriene introduces, but today I did a side stretch I had never tried before, and acknowledged the beautiful opening in my shoulders, torso, and hips.

Day 26, "drop" was one of the more physically challenging practices I have done in this series—initially, I had to drop the expectation that this would be a gentle sequence. Looking more broadly, I have started to drop that which no longer serves me, namely a crippling anxiety and feeling that I should be doing something different at any given time. These are fleeting moments, but progress nonetheless. I'm finding joy not just in the soft sweet moments of Adriene's practice, but in my own as well. While talking with a dear friend yesterday, she said "you have to find positivity in the little moments. I pet a cat today...and a dog."

I also pet a cat yesterday. And today, I watched a sweet, loving interaction between Adriene and her dog Benji (who has become an integral part of my yoga practice).

Dropping expectations has long been a struggle for me. I am a perpetual scheduler. As a kid, I regularly scheduled Christmas hour by hour, and made a ten-year plan for myself. If things don't go according to schedule, I deem my day, and consequently myself, a failure. But when you open yourself to unplanned events or opportunities, your world can expand in ways that you never deemed possible. Returning to "The Tyranny of Expectations,"the author states the following:

"Living a life that is open to possibilities is more like a request, a prayer, or an act of witnessing your faith in life. Your well-being is not contingent on the future. Your mind is open and inspired in this moment. You therefore have more access to imagination and intuition. Your mind is clear and less reactive, and you make better decisions. You respond rather than react to life as it unfolds.

This ability to respond to change rather than react to it is the primary distinction I have observed between those who feel free and those who are caught in the suffering of life. You may often find yourself reacting to the behavior of others or to changes in your circumstances and never realize it is because you were expecting others or your life to be a certain way. When you react this way, you are opting not for the mind of possibility but for the mind of expectation, and you are left disappointed, hurt, lost, angry, or defeated."

I have experienced this firsthand. I have rigidly tried to control everything in my life, which ultimately led to an angry breakup and zero hobbies (but success in school—huzzah!). When real life came barreling towards me, I fell apart (also that pesky lack of serotonin had something to do with it). In desperate attempts to control the future, I could not participate in the present. 

It's okay to have a plan. You need to have somewhat of a future-focus when making professional and personal goals. But I have caught myself planning my weekly schedule (including meal prep, laundry, and grocery shopping days) for next semester. Those things will get done without obsessing about them in June. They can organically unfold as life progresses. As Adriene says, "there is nothing more empowering than making modifications." Easing up on those rigid plans doesn't mean giving up. Dropping doesn't equate to folding low to the ground (most of today's practice was standing) and huddling into a ball. Dropping expectations lends itself to expanding possibilities and creating space for experiences, that can, in the end, make you feel alive.

Namaste.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uX72H4Mn9CA&t=496s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1u88EtfoSBU&t=619s

Days 23 and 24: Joy and Balance

Yes, I'm getting anxious to finish this journey. I still have the mindset that the sooner I finish this, the sooner I can get on to other things, even though I have exactly two things to do in order to prepare for the next chapter of my life. On a more positive note, however, after each 20 minute practice, I think, "that felt good. I think I'd like to do more."

In essence, I'm finding what feels good.

These two themes work well with each other, as in day 23, Adriene discusses balancing strength and grace with softness and joy, which as she articulately expresses, is making your practice your own. Part of that ability to personalize your practice is in balance or honoring where you are today. You are exactly where you need to be.

It's easy to misconstrue joy as ecstacy. This is easy for the manic of sorts: you might think you are joyful when you feel like your body is on fire, when you are sprinting from one activity to the next, when you feel like you could go on doing something forever. Ecstacy is intoxicating. It's addictive. It can be cleverly disguised as positive life choices, as I once described my refusal to slow down as being "addicted to empowerment." While far better than being addicted to drugs or alcohol, it's no more sustainable than dangerous addictions.

Joy, as Adriene describes it, is softness. It's ease. It offers the strength to be part of communities that allow you to explore and express your true self—not who you think you should be, or a future self that you reach and strive for. It's an invitation to come alive, a theme that I will further explore tomorrow.

As I have a tendency to interpret that message as justification for staying in my comfort zone, I am beginning to discover ways in which I can guide myself to new experiences: rather than say I should do something because it seems like an interesting hobby to others, I can look inwards and think about the kinds of things that have brought me joy in the past. Running is not that thing. I'm not about to throw myself into a roving game of volleyball. But hiking and biking have ended up feeling fulfilling and calming. Baking has brought me into a meditative state. Writing makes me forget my to-do list while simultaneously feeling productive.

Finding joy can be explorative, rather than prescriptive. Perhaps hiking in Fort Collins will be the most dreadful experience. Or it will be fulfilling and heart-opening. It's hard to know the difference when you're stuck in your head. But when you cultivate that sense of intuition, you can use an inner mirror (as noted in day 24) to be fulfilled. To find that internal pleasure and contentment.

Namaste.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLyvpjbflq0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDr-czC0PE4