"Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclopedia..."

19. Unhinged

2012-02-14T19:48:00.003-05:00

The Big Boots of Pain
- Anne Sexton

There can be certain potions
needled in the clock
for the body's fall from grace,
to untorture and to plead for.
These I have known
and would sell all my furniture
and books and assorted goods
to avoid, and more, more.

But the other pain
I would sell my life to avoid
the pain that begins in the crib
with its bars or perhaps
with your first breath
when the planets drill
your future into you
for better of worse
as you marry life
and the love that gets doled out
or doesn't.

I find now, swallowing one teaspoon
of pain, that it drops downward
to the past where it mixes
with last year's cupful
and downward into a decade's quart
and downward into a lifetime's ocean.
I alternate treading water
and deadman's float.

The teaspoon ought to be bearable
if it didn't mix into the reruns
and thus enlarge into what it is not,
a sea pest's sting turning promptly
into the shark's neat biting off
of a leg because the soul
wears a magnifying glass.
Kicking the heart
with pain's big boots running up and down
the intestines like a motorcycle racer.

Yet one does get out of bed
and start over, plunge into the day
and put on a hopeful look
and does not allow fear to build a wall
between you and an old friend
or a new friend and reach out your hand,
shutting down the thought that
an axe may cut it off unexpectedly.
One learns not to blab about all this
except to yourself or the typewriter keys
who tell no one until they get brave
and crawl off onto the printed page.

I'm getting bored with it,
I tell the typewriter,
this constantly walking around
in wet shoes and then, surprise!
Somehow DECEASED keeps getting
stamped in red over the word HOPE.
And I who keep falling thankfully
into each new pillow of belief,
finding my Mercy Street,
kissing it and tenderly gift-wrapping my love,
am beginning to wonder just what
the planets had in mind on November 9th, 1928.
The pillows are ripped away,
the hand guillotined,
dog shit thrown into the middle of a laugh,
a hornets' nest building into the hi-fi speaker
and leaving me in silence,
where, without music,
I become a cracked orphan.

Well,
one gets out of bed
and the planets don't always hiss
or muck up the day, each day.
As for the pain and its multiplying teaspoon,
perhaps it is a medicine
that will cure the soul
of its greed for love
next Thursday.

It's as if she were telepathic...

18. Influence Styles

2012-02-13T19:15:00.001-05:00

My class required me to ask seven colleagues to fill out an online questionnaire about my "personal influence skills." These are the results from those who responded.

This one is from a former supervisor:

These are from people who probably know me best:

Not too different. More accurate, I'd say. My harshest critiques were my brother and LJ, and to be fair to LJ, I told her to be harsh. Po, you have no excuses.

But that's ok, theirs were still not harsher than my own self-evaluations. I was also surprised to see how low people rated me on Disengagement and Avoidance. I think I'm pretty expert at both of these things. But maybe I'm so great, no one realizes I'm doing it.

Onto a meta-issue though, on the whole, I thought the questionnaire itself was pretty childish. It made statements that sounded like something you'd remind a pre-school teacher before her first day of school. For example,

"Tell others exactly what they are expected to do."
"Repeat expectations until they are acknowledged or understood."
"Summarize facts and present conclusions to promote decision and closure."

I also felt kind of dirty after finishing the exercise. They fit each question into a "influence style," and we had to "analyze" how we use and plan to use the different styles to influence people around us in the future.

I don't know, the styles I rated highly on aren't styles I consciously adopt to "influence" people. I mean, it's just who I am, and I rarely think of getting people to do things as trying to "influence" them into it. I guess the exercise brought a level of self-consciousness to the process that I felt uncomfortable with.

17. Overheard at the B-school

2012-02-11T12:23:00.011-05:00

I stood outside Spangler Project 204, waiting for my consultation with the co-founder of a media company that works for the Democratic Party. A week earlier, I had submitted a video of myself giving a 2.8 minute speech about a lesson I'd learned while in the working world.

I'd arrived 10 minutes early, and outside the room sat 5 women from the B-school discussing for, what seemed like forever, whether or not they should go to the gym that day, describing in excruciating detail the minutia of their schedule and how the gym did or not did fit into their life that Thursday afternoon. Then they moved on to summer plans and where they would live.

"I begged my dad and he finally told me he'd let me live in the basement of his summer house," one girl stated. (Yea, sure, "begged," "finally," the "basement." Wink wink. I'm daddy's little girl and I get whatever I want.)

"Oo, can I come crash?" one chimed in.

"Me too! I'm sure your dad'll be super-thrilled to have 5 girls living in his basement for 10 weeks, eating all his food and watching his tv. 'I thought your friends were just coming for a visit, honey,'" another girl mockingly impersonated, as all burst into laughter. (Yea sure, cause he's real worried about the cost of food and being deprived of his ONE tv in his SUMMER home.)

"I just wish I didn't have to do any real work this summer. It would be awesome to just scoop ice cream..."

"...or do some other menial, mindless job for the entire time, then go lounge on the beach!" (Yea sure, cause "networking" at the b-school and deciding how to fit the gym into your schedule is so goddamn draining.)

The rest heartily agreed.

"Ignorant bitches," I wanted so desperately to say, "Scooping ice cream is fucking hard."

I got called in to my consultation and finally left the presence of these future Forbes 500 women. I didn't realize conversation could trigger motion sickness, but I guess it makes sense. With no gravity to weigh it down, vapid conversations are suspended in hot air and empty space, right?

In contrast to my surprisingly vicious mental response to this conversation, my consultation went well.

The consultant rated me very high on both competence and warmth scales. (Yes, ironic.) He told me he could tell from my video that I was a reflective person. He particularly liked my intonation - he said I used voice modulations in a seasoned manner. In our session, we worked on strategies to open myself up to the audience. So the use of gestures that would keep my hands outward, as if they were holding a giant ball in front of me. Moving to different parts of the room to engage directly with some members of the audience. Using physical proximity to give cues to the audience of what I thought was important.

Finally, toward the end of the session, he told me that the person he saw on the video matched closely to the person he met in the room, which made me authentic and genuine - "the key to being a successful speaker."

Awesome.

15. Descending to Madness

2012-02-08T09:26:00.002-05:00

Why. Why. Why.

Every time I feel like I've gotten to a canter on the proverbial horse, I get thrown off, and all my prior experiences come flooding over me making it that much harder to get back up. I almost want to become a molecular neurologist, if such a thing exists, just so I can figure out what the fuck's going on in my brain. Those are the good moments. More often than not, I think how fortunate it is for my roommate and the owners of my apartment complex that MA makes it so difficult to purchase firearms.

14. Moving On

2012-02-02T19:26:00.017-05:00

I think I should break things off with someone I'm "seeing." We had great romantic chemistry, but I don't think it extends much beyond that.

Proof 1: He saw me making a copy of my Introduction essay for my writing class at the library, and asked if he could have a copy. I made him one. Two days later, when I asked him about it, he said he'd never read it. "Oh. It's on my desk somewhere..."

Proof 2: We'd agreed to play piano duets one evening, and we met at a student lounge to catch up a bit. A girl he knew approached, and he ended up talking to her for 40 minutes while I waited "patiently" - I started doing my reading assignments. Later on, when I made an off-handed comment about it, he said, "Oh, her? I don't even consider her a girl."

Proof 3: Whenever we're in public, he's constantly scanning the horizon looking for people he knows so he can say hi to them.

Proof 4: He's a peacock. Whenever we're at a piano, he plays his memorized repertoire continuously for over 15 minutes, finally surrenders the piano momentarily stating, "Ok, you play. I want to hear you play." He listens to a couple bars, then starts playing again.

Proof 5: He introduced me to his Russian dance partner. I started singing a Russian song I knew, and when she expressed her pleasant surprise and glee, he said, "Well, I know a song in Japanese."

Proof 6: He has never let me go when I initiate with, "Ok, I should go. I still have some readings left." Instead, he keeps me on the line or chatting until he's ready to end things, at which point he asserts, "Ok. I have to go. I'm swamped with work."

Proof 7: I once commented on how awesome my Health Law professor was, and how he draws great literary analogies, and recites poetry, Shakespeare, and Sophocles. He responded, "Shows how much you know. Socrates never wrote anything." He had misheard me, and I corrected him, but...

Proof 8: He is patently incapable of giving a straightforward, sincere compliment. It's always the odd comment, usually wrapped in a cloak of mockery. "Why do you know the most random things?"

What sayeth you, oh jury of bloggers? Pretty clear he's not all that interested, right?

13. More Poetry

2012-01-31T19:10:00.007-05:00

I'm not much of a poetry fan, but every once in awhile, I'm spontaneously inspired to wax poetic about something I feel outraged about. Here are two such inspirations written in the past couple months.

This first one was born of frustration while I was working at a legal services center dealing with the utterly inept Social Security Administration --

Infiltration
Eruditus, oh fictitious god of knowledge and creativity, I beseech you.
Liberate your minion from the drudgery of Administratus, your nemesis.
Confound the restrictive red tape which stifles the internal mind.
Arise from your slumber and offend the polycephalic leviathan.

Free the body of its formidable heads:
Bureaucratus, unkempt keeper of order,
Hierarchus, abrasive master of inefficiency,
Proceduralis, sniveling serpant of stonewalls.

Fait accompli, shall not the veritable fountain of Wisdom spring once more?
Oh, what is it you say?
Admire the ruby red chain mail you have donned?
Nooo... Et tu, Eruditus?

_________________________

This one was written after reading an article on campaign finance reform, and the outrage known as Citizen's United, which is a Supreme Court case which holds that it is unconstitutional for the government to place limits on independent spending for political campaigns because it violates the First Amendment.

Silencing Money
Despite the First Amendment which has sworn
the right to speak unchecked and uncurtailed,
Now banned are libel, slander, and child porn.
Hence judgments to outlaw harm have prevailed.

Our history reveals that values may
Conflict and make us re-evaluate
The needs and situations of today
With principles unchanged but for this date.

At first the dollar’s voice was loud and full
Till Congress silenced it for liberty.
This was declared unconstitutional
And now we question, “Are we really free?”

Election time, we claim one man one vote,
Election time, each dollar claims a vote.

_________________________________

I showed the second one to my sister and my friend, Ndvs, both of whom responded with a poem of their own!

Ndvs responded with a Realist spoof for my Progressive poem.
[Progressive jurisprudence is based on balancing different rights and interests, while the Realists have an immanent critique on the incoherence of rights discourse.]

Monetizing Silence
Expression is not unlimited
And so it must be distributed
Just like any other scarce resource
A holder may her fellow citizens coerce

With money muffling their <silence>

Thus has taught us Robert Hale
And many a Realist a past
To revive their philosophy
We ought to put it to the test.

_______________________________

My sister wrote a freestyle poem.

Stop Money from Talking in DC
you have freedom of speech
until your freedom makes me bound
and your speech makes me mute

if your words make mine misshapen
your freedom is my imprisonment
all my words released freely from my tongue
enter ears bent, deformed, enchained
by your words freely released, too.

my freedom rests on your freedom circumscribed.
i will have freedom of speech when
you have freedom [libel] of [slander] speech [pornography]

12. Tales of Precaution

2012-01-30T11:18:00.004-05:00

Now that I'm 26, approaching 27, people seem to feel they have a moral imperative to warn me that if I don't find a man to have babies with, PRONTO, I'm doomed for a life of sorrow and regret.

Personally, I don't want to get married. Nor have babies. I should emphasize that I don't mean this as a critique of those who do. If that's what you want, then go for it. But please, leave me to my own devices. I'm quite the cautious person when it comes to my future well-being and happiness, and I've devoted considerable thought to how I wish to spend my life.

But it's gotten so bad, that I've begun to wonder if men so frequently (and viciously) feel the need to warn me of my shriveling eggs ("which have started going downhill since 18!"), and my future of gloom and doom because they take my rejection of what they have to offer as a personal affront. I've heard all sorts of "sagacious" advice:

"In 50 years, when your friends and siblings are surrounded by their grandchildren, how will you feel? You'll be alone."

"Happiness hinges on having close family."

"There's a cake they sell in Japan for a particular holiday which falls on the 26th. Up until that day, everyone's willing to pay a premium for the cake. The minute that day is over, you can't give the cake away if you tried."

"Everyone regrets not having kids. Everyone."

"Right now, you think things are ok because you're surrounded by guys who want you. Pretty soon, you'll get old, guys won't find you attractive, and you'll regret not having listened to me."

Personally, I think that for every individual who regrets not having kids, there are 10 individuals who regret having had them. The grass is always greener, my friends. You just don't hear the ones with kids verbalize their regrets because their children's emotional well-being are at stake. Can you imagine any decent mom or dad expressing their remorse? No, they'll rationalize and justify and use every ounce of their mental resources to find ways to "make peace" with their present situation.

It seems to me that people have kids because they assume it's an inevitable milestone on life's natural trajectory. Obviously, the same goes for marriage. I've thought about it (seriously) and it just doesn't interest me. I'm not against having satisfying, intimate relationships. In fact, I think they're incredibly important. And I won't ever stop striving to have a meaningful and fulfilling life surrounded by people I love and people who love me. I fully intend to keep exploring, learning, and doing things that satisfy me and bring happiness to others. But I will choose the manner in which I do so. I don't see life as linear. I see it as expanding at all times in all directions. It's exciting!

Plus, I would never let my life stop at regret. If I were to regret something, I'm pretty sure I would find ways to ameliorate or reverse my situation. There are no dead ends in an ever-expanding worldview.

Dear World,

Your scare tactics and biological deadlines don't scare me. I will live as I choose. And if I ever choose to live a life that conforms to your ideal, that will also have been by choice.

Best,
Lydia

11. Friendships

2012-01-28T16:38:00.005-05:00

I ended up changing up my schedule. I'm taking a class at the Business school called Power and Influence. A whole slew of incredible people are coming to speak to the class, not least of whom is Margaret Thatcher. (!!)

New schedule includes:
Corporations
Trusts and Estates
Advanced Legal Writing
Power and Influence
Social Entrepreneurship
Applied Quantitative Analysis

So far, I love all my professors and classes. I have a good feeling about this semester.

Last night, one of my closest law school friends and I drank wine and played piano duets and piano/clarinet duets until 1 o'clock in the morning. She was the first friend I'd made at law school. I'd ducked into the seat next to her seconds before our first Legal Research and Writing class started. I'd shot her a rueful smile and she'd smiled back. I introduced myself after class, and we walked over to the Dean's reception together, where we bonded over our mutual sociology majors. We exchanged numbers and she invited me to grab frozen yogurt the next day. Our first friend date! Not to make light of history, but as they say, the rest is history.

Good friends are awesome.

Conversely, bad friends are horrendous. I've become very picky about my friends, and extremely good at cutting people out of my life who are parasitic, insecure, stupid, superficial, and any number of other unflattering descriptors. I find life too interesting and full to be around people who don't know themselves.

Pros, cons? What's your approach to friendship?

10. Exploration

2012-01-24T17:47:00.005-05:00

I have a desk-full of receipts with clumsily written snippets for blog entries, but no time to develop them. They're coming, I promise. Don't desert me, please. I suffer from mild separation anxiety.

Spring classes started yesterday and so far, this is my course load:

Corporations
Advanced Legal Writing
Taxation: Business Corporations
Corporate Reorganization
Reinventing Legal Infrastructure for the 21st Century
Power and Influence (at the business school)

I'm debating whether or not to keep Business Taxation. I started off in Commercial Law, but my favoritest friend (FF), whose opinion I hold in the highest regard, and who practiced commercial law in Israel before pursuing his SJD (aka: phD in law) here, attended a lecture with me this morning and he thinks the professor is "good-for-nothing." Alas. Oh well, I'm wait-listed for Trusts and Estates, which I'll probably take instead of Business Tax if I get in.

Lame entry. No one cares about law school classes.

Hmm, hmm. In more scandalous news, I leave you with a link to an interesting article by Malcolm Gladwell about college admissions at H. (Thanks, Laura J.) I generally think Malcolm Gladwell needs to be taken with a few grains of salt, but the historical overview he gives of Ivy League admissions policy over the centuries is fascinating. One interesting study he describes essentially says that there's no difference in post-graduation performance between students who attend an Ivy and students who got accepted to an Ivy, but opted to go elsewhere.

Personally, I think a got a lot out of my Ivy education that goes beyond the tangible and immediate. Specifically? The ability to be critical of the haves, instead of simply desiring to be one.

9. Introduction

2012-01-23T06:35:00.001-05:00

Classes start today. I had to write an introduction about myself for my Advanced Legal Writing class. Here goes, tell me what you think. :)

I was born in Staten Island, New York to Korean, immigrant-generation parents. Though Staten Island seems to have grown in infamy in the recent past due to bad reality television, contrary to popular belief, it is not completely overrun by the mafia and obnoxious, big-haired personalities. (Yet.) Its redeeming qualities include the Staten Island ferry, its beautiful bridges, and its Italian restaurants.

Rewinding thirty-some years, my mother’s family of six left Korea with their belongings, plane tickets, and $200, and flew across the Atlantic to New York City. All six immediately started working full-time or attending school, and within the next 10 years, the four siblings got married, had children, and bought (highly leveraged) houses.

As a product of that history, I was the first to attend a private university. Two months after my high school graduation, I arrived in Ithaca, a bundle of hope, angst and uncertainty. I attended the College of Arts and Sciences at Cornell University, where I majored in Sociology, History, and Government. (Understatement: I was a bit of an overachiever.) I was mostly interested in 20^th century American and 16-18^th century British history, culture, and politics. Many a midnight candle was burnt deciphering olde English spelling and grammar conventions.

All throughout high school, I had been a staunch feminist, who decried the fundamental unfairnesses imposed on the fairer gender, and as an undergraduate, I served on the board of Women In Politics at Cornell. We hosted distinguished speakers like Janet Reno, and distributed shirts proclaiming, “Women belong in the House… and the Senate.”

During my four years, I worked as a research assistant and a building manager’s assistant to help defray my educational costs. I spent my summers interning at various children’s advocacy organizations, and the Women’s Bureau of the Department of Labor.

Following graduation, I left for South Korea on a year-long Fulbright teaching grant, where I was assigned to teach 450 high school boys at a private, boarding school in a rural town called Gongju. Each morning, I watched as the early morning change in temperature caused mist to rise from the innumerable buckwheat fields and rice paddies I passed on my thirty-minute commute to school.

With 450 of the highest ranking high school boys in all of South Korea sequestered on a small campus away from the temptations of modern civilization – “No cell phones, computers, or girls,” I was regretfully informed by a student – it may come as no surprise that a young, American, female, English teacher was warmly welcomed and received for her pedagogical prowess.

I had arrived in South Korea expecting (and hoping?) to experience a harsher mode of existence than the one I’d been living in the ivy-covered bastion of liberalism called Cornell. In reality, South Korea was possibly even more comfortable. In addition to being an Ivy-League graduate in an economically competitive country that reveres both education and brand names, I was roundly esteemed as a visiting “cultural ambassador,” and I wanted for nothing. Thus, at the close of the year, I still desired novelty and physical challenge.

Determined to find it, two short months later, I arrived in Guatemala with a backpack, a carry-on, and six books. I immediately enrolled in an intensive Spanish school, and practiced Spanish with a tutor for eight hours a day for four weeks. I improved rapidly, building on the Spanish I had acquired from classes taken in high school and college. Though initially, I had only planned to stay for three months, I lingered. For the first time, I encountered and breathed an entirely different approach to life – one in which time was not minutely scrutinized and religiously scheduled.

I roamed the country. I volunteered at various women’s shelters. I learned salsa. I exchanged my books for used ones at backpacker rendezvous and I read without thought to the passage of time. I took yoga classes, and I climbed volcanoes. A year lapsed.

Around this time, I started reading about the rights violations perpetrated by the United States in pursuit of the war on terror. Extraordinary rendition, Guantanamo Bay, water-boarding, and torture were words that were beginning to penetrate our national consciousness. I was shocked by the euphemistic reclassification of deprivation and violation as “enhanced interrogation techniques,” and the Orwellian disregard for the sanctity of human life in pursuit of national security – all done in direct contravention of the philosophical underpinning of our nation. The one that holds as a self-evident truth that “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.” The ease with which ethical boundaries were traversed on the twin wheels of ignorance and fear motivated me to consider law school.

But motivations aside, currently, I would like to cultivate my advocacy skills to a point where I can truthfully tell a client or colleague that I am the best advocate, legal representative, or negotiator for the task. Given that a large proportion of the work that an attorney does is written, I hope that this class will advance me towards this goal. I will also be working at a private law firm over the summer, and I am attracted by the prospect of gaining exposure to the type of questions and assignments that will be required of me as an entry level associate.

I have always enjoyed writing and more recently, have come to consider it a means of connecting with the world. I look forward to working with you this semester in developing a practical writing style.

8. Musty Cheese

2012-01-20T21:43:00.003-05:00

So the second and third visits to MIT were a bit of a reality check. I think I would choose not to be a genius in the form I'd attributed to some of the personalities at the workshop if it meant I had to also suffer from such paranoia and neuropsych problems... (yikes)

I should have been more skeptical and listened to some of my quieter reservations. As flattering as it was to be accepted, in all honesty, I probably fall closer to the dilettante or just plain curious side of the spectrum than the polymath side. Though who knows, maybe one day. (One can hope.)

My current reaction to this experience is that I'd like to cultivate a healthy skepticism of people. Healthy, being the key word here. I generally try to give others the benefit of the doubt in the first instance, mostly because I think trust is so powerful. I think it has the ability to transform and uplift people to their better selves. But the older and "further" I get in life, I've begun to wonder at the wisdom of doing this indiscriminately. Sometimes, I can almost see the wheels turning in people's heads as they start trying to figure out how they can marshal what they think I can offer them to their advantage. And while I may confer the benefit of the doubt, I'm no emotional dunce. As aware as I am of my own issues, I can spot em in others quite easily as well. If only they knew how transparent they were.

Alas.

I think this speaks to a bigger problem I have with people constantly seeking to take without giving any thought to how little they have to offer in return. By no means do I mean quid pro quo. I fully recognize that reciprocity can come in all different shapes, and the type and level of reciprocity desired depends on the individuals in question. But generally, I feel like the words of JFK, "ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country" have broader resonance. I received an email the other day from some guy who wrote that he was looking to get married soon and was looking for a wife around whom he would [want to?] improve. Come on now, is that love or a shackle? What an awful burden you're putting on someone you're going to claim to love and cherish. And how exactly do you plan on enriching [her]? I wanted to ask.

C.S. Lewis once wrote that iron against iron sharpen one another, but iron against wood bring both to obsolescence. How true it is!

I leave you with one last quote from Thoreau,

"Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having had time to acquire any new value for each other. We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty cheese that we are. We have had to agree on a certain set of rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting tolerable and that we need not come to open war. We meet at the post-office, and at the sociable, and about the fireside every night; we live thick and are in each other's way, and stumble over one another, and I think that we thus lose some respect for one another. Certainly less frequency would suffice for all important and hearty communications... The value of a man is not in his skin, that we should touch him."

7. Humility

2012-01-20T11:35:00.014-05:00

I'd like to state that I'm actually much more secure about myself than these posts may lead you to believe. (Now, at least. There were lots of growing pains. heh) But I suppose I can talk about these more vulnerable moments openly because they're bolstered by some deeper level of confidence and strength. (Lol, I think so anyway!)

Which leads me to the question of humility. I think Koreans have a rather odd notion of humility. Self-deprecation as humility. Excessive deference as humility. For example, my dad thinks that driving a crappy, dented car by choice makes him a humble person.

But is this really humility? Consider the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company who opts to ride the metro to work to demonstrate that he is still "the common man." But is he, really? At some point, he and the world-renowned rabbi who signs his letters, "Your humblest servant," become a spectacle. In both instances, the voicing of humility demonstrates a certain lack of humility.

I don't think being and admitting to your own greatness necessarily suggests you lack humility. Modesty? Ok, but not humility. Rather, I feel like humility is achieved when you attain excellence of some form, but you either attribute it to something beyond yourself (i.e., God), or you are able to leave room for doubt or improvement...

Any thoughts? :\

6. Polymathy

2012-01-19T18:00:00.005-05:00

I've entered a world that almost makes my current world seem flat and drab. My winter session classes ended early and on a whim, I decided to trek out to MIT to a lecture non-series on uncovering how ten curves manifest themselves in the world - u-curve, n-curve, logarithmic curve, sigmoid curve, etc.

On the subway on my way to the workshop, I'd written a brief blurb on my long-term relationship with novelty, and why I thought it was important to constantly expose myself to new experiences and ideas. I'd written about Steve Jobs and how he had literally created our obsession with fonts and typefaces, which in turn had been inspired by a class he took on lithography (I think), which he had randomly taken because he'd been attracted to the calligraphy on the signs around campus. (Or something to that effect.)

Life is path-dependent in nature, I had written. Though I won't (can't) make any ontological or teleological claims, at least from a phenomenological standpoint, my life does not feel determined or inevitable. Therefore, I wish to feel and experience and think as broadly as I possibly can, so I can decide for myself (at least, to the extent of feasibility) what I want without being constrained by my lack of knowledge.

I'd listed several key moments of inflection in my life and reminded myself that the majority of the instigating factors had been serendipitous, a result of a risk I'd taken, and that I could never have predicted the dramatic changes they had ultimately provoked.

I arrived at MIT, entered the class, and met some unassumingly brilliant people. I mention this in awe, not boast, but my degrees of separation from figures like Jared Diamond, Kurt Vonnegut (if he were still alive), and Stephen Wolfram have shrunk to 1. Somehow, I also felt so comfortable and so utterly in my element, surrounded by people who seemed to understand how I experienced the world better than I did. I felt like my mind was finally being wholly nourished and engaged, not incrementally, which is what I'd come to accept as "normal."

The discussion moved dynamically, organically, and seamlessly from one topic to another. From micro to macro to abstraction and back again. Conversation somersaulted from cellular automatons to ideas of management to Conway's Game of Life to Dali to rationality in the Enlightenment to Derrida to epigenetics to Da Vinci to Donald Duck to cognitive density to utility theory to science fiction to emotional connection to Goldilocks to color theory... and on and on.

The connection? Knowledge. And curves.

Everyone had, at a minimum, a working knowledge of and an opinion on everything. Even more astonishing was the realization that I also had a broad, generalist knowledge base to draw from, and further, was commended for my "insight," particularly in the humanities/social sciences. (omg!)

I felt such contentment and fulfillment on an emotional, spiritual, and intellectual level... I think I felt truly, deeply validated and affirmed for my mode of existence for literally the first time in my life. On some level, I think I've always thought I was deeply flawed for being the way I was and for being interested in, well, everything. Despite outward rebellion, I had been starting to take to heart the exhortations to specialize, to conform, to accept the status quo.

But to think there are these people... who are far better at being me than I am... and are proud of it...

5. Poetry

2012-01-19T07:59:00.000-05:00

Something amazing happened yesterday, but I have yet to fully process, so for now, please enjoy this great poem!

by Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

4. Interlude

2012-01-17T20:32:00.005-05:00

I didn't get a chance to finish Part III, so I guess this post is sort of an interlude. The good kind - the type that builds suspense and anticipation. (Which reminds me, if I forget, please remind me to write a post on deferred gratification!)

My brain's had a pretty active day, so I think I'll just use this post to catch you up on my life. I've had quite a few lows, breakthroughs and epiphanies over these past few years. I'll be quite honest here and just state that I dealt with my share of mental health issues, or what I'd prefer to call mind-body matters, during that time, but I do feel I've emerged from it mentally, physically, socially, psychologically, just all around healthier, better. I won't go into details here, but I guess I mention it in the belief that the more openly it's mentioned, fewer people will have to struggle with feeling defeated by life, and alone in their experience. I'm always open to talking about it, so please feel free to email if you or someone you know is interested for one reason or another.

I'm still in law school - halfway done! I interned at a legal services center doing Disability Law last summer, and this summer, I'll be indenturing myself out to the highest bidding corporate law firm. Ha. Kidding! Well, about the servitude at least. I'll be in Manhattan, and I'm psyched to finally see the inside of a private sector job. I've done public interest practically all my adult life, ranging from children's advocacy, education, women's rights, housing, labor, to disability. But I like novelty, so I imagine it will be fun to try on another walk of life.

Hmm, what else. I've been playing a lot of piano and clarinet lately. I'm in a chamber music group - piano/clarinet/viola and we're awesome. :) I remember how little I practiced as a kid, and I guess I'm grateful that my parents never cut off my lessons because I at least got to a level where I could return years later, and just enjoy playing for the sake of playing. All those long speeches about embouchure, technique, posture, sound that had slipped by my uninterested ears, suddenly started making sense to me when I picked up the clarinet (4!) years later.

I suspect that I had a lot of hangups about playing as a kid that prevented me from enjoying it. First, I was somewhat shy, and there were all these competitions, evaluations, and contests we were pressured into. Then, I think I was somewhat cowed into inhibition by my sister who practiced incessantly and just kept knocking those competitions out of the park. (Thanks a lot, Bob!*) Needless to say, I'm now much more comfortable about my playing and I love it!

I'm also considering whether or not to join my cousin and my uncle in a half-marathon in April in St. Louis, so I may start training again. The only consideration is the time. Weight lifting is so much more gratifying than cardio, and I don't have time to do both, so I'm weighing my priorities. Feel free to chime in with some thoughts.

Always lots more to write, but I had a dentist appointment at 7:30 this morning (yea, crazy) so I think I'll close for now. My goal is to post at least every other day, so please let me know if your interest level starts dwindling! I'll try to mix it up! :D

*Bob is my sister, Esther. One of our neighbors had a son who was about 4 years older than we were, and he'd always make fun of my sister saying, "Esther bo-besther, banana-nana bo-besther, ESTHER." I wish you could hear the melody because it sounds absolutely ridiculous and I have no idea where it comes from. Anyway, that got shortened by yours truly to Esther-bo-besther, which used to drive her nuts. (Rejection.) Then to Estherbob. She was ok with that one. (Desensitization.) And then Bob. She loves it. (Stockholm's Syndrome.)

3. Part II: The Cult of Rationality

2012-01-16T09:25:00.001-05:00

In hindsight, my parents were never taught how to parent, and I doubt they even had a conception of what it meant to “learn” to parent. Even by the 80s, Dr. Spock and Dr. Ferber had yet to penetrate my parent’s consciousness. They parented organically, undoubtedly heavily influenced by the Confucianism their own parents had conformed to. (Which, as you know, is a system predicated on this hierarchical, authoritarian approach to the social order.)

Furthermore, they were also just too busy to explain. Too busy earning enough to pay down the mortgage on their American dream, and keep the proverbial rice on the table. But I faulted them for it. I faulted them for not being able to articulate their thoughts. For not having a rationale for their actions. I faulted them for being unduly temperamental at times. And for being arbitrary in their punishments.

Simultaneously, I was constantly being harped on for my “sensitivity.”

I was a pretty sensitive kid. If one were to string together select snapshots of my childhood, the resultant reel would find me reading in random corners and small spaces in my parent’s house, some of which were artificially demarcated with shoe laces and throw pillows. "Do not cross."

But not just reading. Laughing. Deep, throat-constricting laughs. Crying. Huge, gasping sobs. Chuckling. Fearing. Wincing. Doubting. Sighing. Envying. Hoping. Existing. With the fictitious characters living between the lines and spaces of my novels.

Two books, in particular, stand out in my memory as having left me reduced to a bundle of tormented, convulsive sobs. My Girl and Where the Red Fern Grows - both of which dealt with death and just the utter, devastating finality it precipitates. They left me swollen-eyed and sniffling, spent of tears and as morose as an 8-year old is capable of feeling.

And to clarify, this sensitivity was not reserved for the imagined world. A happy event would trigger such ecstasy that I felt as if I couldn't contain it all in my body. As if I would erupt of joy if I suppressed the yelps bounding up my esophagus. As if I would burst if I contained the intense urge inciting me to jump that traveled up my spine. As if I would collapse if I somehow had to squash the itch to dash about in delight.

Conversely, I cried at the mildest provocation. A sudden shock, a momentary frustration, the plaintive plight of a child without a mother would all portend tears in my eyes.

This was not well received by my dad, who thought I was too soft and sensitive. “Such a girl,” were his incriminating words when a harsh glare, a critical word, or even just an unintended spook caused tears to spring from their ever-primed chambers.

In the black and white world children inhabit, I was learning that I was “too emotional.” Being “too emotional” was not a good thing. Being “too emotional” was being a “girl.” Being an emotional girl was not a good thing. And hence, being like me was not a good thing.

I learned.

Part III to follow.

2. Part I: The Cult of Rationality

2012-01-15T13:24:00.007-05:00

Recently, I've begun thinking a lot about how unfortunate it is that our feelings and emotions are more often than not given such short shrift in our society. Even the overuse of the phrase "I think..." in some ways indicates our national obsession with the rational, the logical, the reasonable. I often wonder if it's had the effect of creating a counterproductive imbalance in all areas of our lives.

My own fetishism of rationality probably stemmed from a desire to dissociate myself from my roots. I grew up in a family where actions weren't explained. We weren't explained the "why's" and "because" of the things we were asked to do. Rather, we were told, and we were expected to adhere based on the assumption that our parents, who loved us and could only possibly want the best for us, were also the authorities on knowledge and information, and hence, knew best. This almost always precluded any need for explanation.

Though this particular parenting approach may have worked initially, I started to doubt this paradigm fairly early. For all intents and purposes, it was probably because I was tired of being told what to do, and I was looking for an easy out. Asking "but why, but why?" stalled the parental directive long enough to make it almost not worthwhile anymore. (Score!)

I may have also been somewhat influenced by one of the stories I heard on a "Your Story Hour" recording, which my siblings and I religiously listened to when we were little. (I mean "religiously" literally, because they're recordings of children's stories with Christian themes and morals.)

It was a history story about George Washington and the American Revolution. In it, a French General named Lafayette, who was sent from France to help lead the Continental Army, recounts what it was like to work with American militiamen. He said something along the lines of, "I have learned a lot about the Americans in training them for this war. They are different from the French. With French soldiers, I merely need to tell them what to do and they will obey. With American soldiers, I must explain why they must do it before they will listen."

The fact that I can still pretty vividly recreate the story suggests that it must have had a strong impact on the young 8-year old(?) girl who was beginning to realize that she was not like the other girls at school. The ones who brought snack-packs and Wonder bread sandwiches in pink and purple Disney princess lunchboxes to school everyday. The ones whose brunette and blond hair were carefully combed and tied up with pretty ribbons. The ones who didn't mispronounce "comma" as "coh-ma" and "develop" as "deve-lope." The ones who said "pizza and pasta" were their favorite foods, not "tofu."

No, the crinkled noses and furtive glances at the kimbap and dduk weighing down her bento box in the school cafeteria clearly differentiated her from the American girls, and with the patriotic themes and the thump-thumping of the revolutionary drums playing in the background of that recording, she had gained another piece of the puzzle - of what it meant to be like all the other Americans. Explanation. The “why."

Part II to follow.

1. Fresh Start

2012-01-15T00:55:00.005-05:00

I've missed blogging. Or rather, I've missed writing for an audience.

Even after long hiatuses, I think I've repeatedly returned here because of the thrill I derive from the knowledge that people are taking time out of their busy day to read something I've written for no other reason than because they enjoy the content or style of my writing. At least that's what I'd like to think, and my ego truly appreciates the not-so-subtle stroking.

Maybe you've missed me?

I've removed my old blog entries. Partly in an attempt to sanitize my online presence. Probably partly to ensure the integrity of my current RL persona. I read through a couple posts before removing them, and I may rifle through and re-post some of the funnier ones, as I'm sure we could all afford a little more humor in our lives.

It's late and I'm all worn out from the effort it took to create this blog. (Yes, all three clicks. ha ha) But not to fear, you'll be reading more of me very shortly!