If your undergraduate degree in English literature is anything like mine, here are some helpful things to remember:
1.EVERY binary is a "false dichotomy"
2. There is a metaphor about patriarchy and colonialism in there somewhere, no matter what you are studying.
3. You may have heard it said that English Literature is not about memorising facts but about learning how to read, think, understand, and communicate. FALSE. When you studied this text in seminar your professor made one passing comment about the importance of the shoes being red and he or she will be really mad if you don't write that on the test.
3. Don't EVER say "I" in an essay, for some profs, but for other profs say it ALL THE TIME.
4. That is SO Post Modern! (Don't worry if you don't know what this means it will be explained to you a thousand times if you study any more recent literature)
5. Memorise a definition of the sublime, at some point most of your profs will ask what it is and everyone will shift uncomfortable except for the know it all guy because the rest of us have heard it a thousand times and still find it confusing.
Tuesday, 4 February 2014
Monday, 3 February 2014
Memories a Great Man
Warning: this is a really long post full of my memories of my dad. I realise this isn't the sort of thing I normally write and most of you probably won't be interested in reading this. I hope you won't mind that I wrote it. These memories have been bouncing around in my head for much too long now. I needed to write them down. It's good practice anyways - I've been trying to enhance my writing skills through practice. I read this book a while back for school that was basically just a collection of the author's memories of his dad. Even though you may not have known my dad, I hope you can relate to the realisation that we need to acknowledge the people who have impacted our lives. Perhaps you can relate to that feeling that memories are as beautiful and ungraspable as the sun through a stained glass window.
I have three memories from the year I was two, but they are all very unclear. It is possible that they are actually formed from stories I heard later about that year. If these do count as my first memories, then my earliest memory of my Dad is from the time I broke my collar bone by falling only a foot out of my bed. Strangely enough, I don't remember the pain, visiting the doctor, or the sling. I only have one random memory of the whole ordeal: the day after my dad came home with a big board, he took it downstairs and cut a notch at either end to create a guard rail for my bed.
My second memory of my dad also has to do with guard rails. When I was three years old we spent a weekend at Niagra Falls and Marine Land. When we were at the falls my sister kept saying she could see something. I can't remember what it was. Maybe it was a boat or a barrel.I was getting so frustrated because I couldn't see it. I climbed up on the wall and was leaning over the short little fence in an attempt to get a better look. My dad started freaking, grabbed the back of my shirt, and told me to get off the wall. He was always there to keep me safe.
My dad always went above and beyond. He woke up at 5 in the morning every day and walked to work no matter what the weather. He would come home at 5 o' clock in the evening, eat dinner, call his mother on the telephone and have a nap until just before bedtime when I would wake him up for "family" time and a quick snack.
He was a hard working man. He deserved those naps, but he always made time to call his mom and hang out with his kids and his wife. When I used to get sick in the middle of the night my mom (who is my superhero) would wake up and clean my bed up for me. Mom stayed home and cooked and cleaned and homeschooled my sister and I, if she wanted to she could just have us all sleep in the next day but dad had to wake up at 5 o'clock like any other day. He could have just rolled over and let mom deal with it, but he never did. He would come and sit with me while mom cleaned everything up so that I never had to be alone when I was sick.
I remember one day I woke up on a weekday to see my dad standing there. I was so confused, what was dad doing at home on a weekday? And why did his face seem so sad? He told me as gently as he could that our dog had died. He had taken the day off work to go to my grandma's farm with us and dig a grave for the dog. Who puts that much effort into their family?
My dad always came alive on weekends and holidays. He woke up early even on the weekends and I would too. Mum and my sister wanted to sleep in so dad and I were morning buddies. We would drive on our bikes to look for good yard sales to check out with the rest of the family, or we would go out for breakfast together, or to the market to get bacon and apple cider, or maybe to Tim Horton's to get everyone coffee and donuts. On Christmas Eve or the night before we went to the cottage I could never sleep so he would come and hang out with me so that I didn't wake up my mom because she had to drive. We would sit and talk about how exciting the next day would be until I finally fell asleep.
I've always been socially awkward. I didn't have a lot of friends, but I always had my dad. When I was lonely we'd hang out, maybe get a coke or play catch or kick a soccer ball around. When I got a paper route in a sketchy neighbourhood he would go with me to collect money from the scarier folks on the route and we would make up really silly songs about what we were doing and sing them at the top of our lungs as we walked down the street even though neither of us could carry a tune to save our life.We did everything together, but our favourite thing to do together was fish. Actually, it was dad who loved to fish. I just loved having a chance to talk to him. I always had so many things to say and he was the best listener I have ever known.
I had a really hard time adjusting to public school in high school. I used to come home crying. I got picked on a lot at first, until I had time to make friends and get used to things. My dad always believed in me I remember he used to tell me that if people didn't like me he felt sorry because they were missing out, and I was embarrassed because he was being a dad, but at the same time I could tell he meant it. I thought I was the lamest person in the world. I had this really odd insecurity about my bedroom. I'd seen the bedrooms of other girls' my age. They had blue walls and pictures of twilight, the Jonas Brothers, and/ or Zack Effron. I figured that was normal. My room had pictures I'd painted, old fashioned photographs and paintings I'd bought at yard sales, a collection of little nut crackers, and a board my dad had helped me put nails in when I was younger which held all of my key chain collection. On my dresser their was a drum, a bunch of sea shells, and a bird's nest. I remember when dad came into say goodnight (we had an epic secret handshake) he would look at everything in my room and comment on how cool it was. That always made me really happy.
When I was in high school I went through a sort of agnostic phase. I had a lot of questions about God. I didn't want anyone to pray for me. Dad was always an exception though. I knew he'd be praying for me anyways and I never really minded when he did it out loud. Once when I was 11 I had sat in on a prayer meeting my parents had in our house and I had been so fascinated by my dad's face because he looked like he was actually talking to someone. I remember once, when I was 15 about half a year before he died, someone asked my dad what kind of animal I was like and he said "Well I was going to say monkey but actually I think eagle. I know you have a lot of questions, but I think God will lift you up over those like an eagle on a wind current." That's a random memory but it meant a lot from dad. He wasn't very patient except when he was untangling the tangles I made when fishing. When it came to asking him questions we'd usually get so frustrated with each other that he would yell "Oh, just go ask you're mother" and I would and she'd have an amazing answer for everything. But that one time, about six months before he died, he admitted that my questions were ok, and I've never forgotten that.
My biggest regret is being your average fifteen year old distracted with boys and friendship dramas and school when I could have been trying to savour every last conversation with my dad. I always wonder what it would have been like to talk to him now that I'm actually an adult. I'm ashamed because I was mad at him the last time we ever spoke. I went to the hospital to visit him and he never once asked me about the day before when I had been a witness in court. It had been a very traumatic event for me. Dad was supposed to take a day off work to go with me, because my mom was taking my sister to an open house at her new school, but because dad was in the hospital I had gone with an aunt. My aunt had been there before us to visit with my dad and she had told him all about it, but he hadn't heard about my mom and sister's day yet so that's all he wanted to ask about, and like your average stupid fifteen year old that made me grumpy. So when he started saying "you know, I thought I was going to die" I got really mad. "Dad! You're supposed to be positive in the hospital! You're not supposed to talk like that! You weren't going to die, you didn't die, and you're not going to!" "I am not scared to die, I just don't want to leave my girls behind." Other than the usual "I love you and goodbye" that was the last thing he ever said to me.
I still miss him.
I have three memories from the year I was two, but they are all very unclear. It is possible that they are actually formed from stories I heard later about that year. If these do count as my first memories, then my earliest memory of my Dad is from the time I broke my collar bone by falling only a foot out of my bed. Strangely enough, I don't remember the pain, visiting the doctor, or the sling. I only have one random memory of the whole ordeal: the day after my dad came home with a big board, he took it downstairs and cut a notch at either end to create a guard rail for my bed.
My second memory of my dad also has to do with guard rails. When I was three years old we spent a weekend at Niagra Falls and Marine Land. When we were at the falls my sister kept saying she could see something. I can't remember what it was. Maybe it was a boat or a barrel.I was getting so frustrated because I couldn't see it. I climbed up on the wall and was leaning over the short little fence in an attempt to get a better look. My dad started freaking, grabbed the back of my shirt, and told me to get off the wall. He was always there to keep me safe.
My dad always went above and beyond. He woke up at 5 in the morning every day and walked to work no matter what the weather. He would come home at 5 o' clock in the evening, eat dinner, call his mother on the telephone and have a nap until just before bedtime when I would wake him up for "family" time and a quick snack.
He was a hard working man. He deserved those naps, but he always made time to call his mom and hang out with his kids and his wife. When I used to get sick in the middle of the night my mom (who is my superhero) would wake up and clean my bed up for me. Mom stayed home and cooked and cleaned and homeschooled my sister and I, if she wanted to she could just have us all sleep in the next day but dad had to wake up at 5 o'clock like any other day. He could have just rolled over and let mom deal with it, but he never did. He would come and sit with me while mom cleaned everything up so that I never had to be alone when I was sick.
I remember one day I woke up on a weekday to see my dad standing there. I was so confused, what was dad doing at home on a weekday? And why did his face seem so sad? He told me as gently as he could that our dog had died. He had taken the day off work to go to my grandma's farm with us and dig a grave for the dog. Who puts that much effort into their family?
My dad always came alive on weekends and holidays. He woke up early even on the weekends and I would too. Mum and my sister wanted to sleep in so dad and I were morning buddies. We would drive on our bikes to look for good yard sales to check out with the rest of the family, or we would go out for breakfast together, or to the market to get bacon and apple cider, or maybe to Tim Horton's to get everyone coffee and donuts. On Christmas Eve or the night before we went to the cottage I could never sleep so he would come and hang out with me so that I didn't wake up my mom because she had to drive. We would sit and talk about how exciting the next day would be until I finally fell asleep.
I've always been socially awkward. I didn't have a lot of friends, but I always had my dad. When I was lonely we'd hang out, maybe get a coke or play catch or kick a soccer ball around. When I got a paper route in a sketchy neighbourhood he would go with me to collect money from the scarier folks on the route and we would make up really silly songs about what we were doing and sing them at the top of our lungs as we walked down the street even though neither of us could carry a tune to save our life.We did everything together, but our favourite thing to do together was fish. Actually, it was dad who loved to fish. I just loved having a chance to talk to him. I always had so many things to say and he was the best listener I have ever known.
I had a really hard time adjusting to public school in high school. I used to come home crying. I got picked on a lot at first, until I had time to make friends and get used to things. My dad always believed in me I remember he used to tell me that if people didn't like me he felt sorry because they were missing out, and I was embarrassed because he was being a dad, but at the same time I could tell he meant it. I thought I was the lamest person in the world. I had this really odd insecurity about my bedroom. I'd seen the bedrooms of other girls' my age. They had blue walls and pictures of twilight, the Jonas Brothers, and/ or Zack Effron. I figured that was normal. My room had pictures I'd painted, old fashioned photographs and paintings I'd bought at yard sales, a collection of little nut crackers, and a board my dad had helped me put nails in when I was younger which held all of my key chain collection. On my dresser their was a drum, a bunch of sea shells, and a bird's nest. I remember when dad came into say goodnight (we had an epic secret handshake) he would look at everything in my room and comment on how cool it was. That always made me really happy.
When I was in high school I went through a sort of agnostic phase. I had a lot of questions about God. I didn't want anyone to pray for me. Dad was always an exception though. I knew he'd be praying for me anyways and I never really minded when he did it out loud. Once when I was 11 I had sat in on a prayer meeting my parents had in our house and I had been so fascinated by my dad's face because he looked like he was actually talking to someone. I remember once, when I was 15 about half a year before he died, someone asked my dad what kind of animal I was like and he said "Well I was going to say monkey but actually I think eagle. I know you have a lot of questions, but I think God will lift you up over those like an eagle on a wind current." That's a random memory but it meant a lot from dad. He wasn't very patient except when he was untangling the tangles I made when fishing. When it came to asking him questions we'd usually get so frustrated with each other that he would yell "Oh, just go ask you're mother" and I would and she'd have an amazing answer for everything. But that one time, about six months before he died, he admitted that my questions were ok, and I've never forgotten that.
My biggest regret is being your average fifteen year old distracted with boys and friendship dramas and school when I could have been trying to savour every last conversation with my dad. I always wonder what it would have been like to talk to him now that I'm actually an adult. I'm ashamed because I was mad at him the last time we ever spoke. I went to the hospital to visit him and he never once asked me about the day before when I had been a witness in court. It had been a very traumatic event for me. Dad was supposed to take a day off work to go with me, because my mom was taking my sister to an open house at her new school, but because dad was in the hospital I had gone with an aunt. My aunt had been there before us to visit with my dad and she had told him all about it, but he hadn't heard about my mom and sister's day yet so that's all he wanted to ask about, and like your average stupid fifteen year old that made me grumpy. So when he started saying "you know, I thought I was going to die" I got really mad. "Dad! You're supposed to be positive in the hospital! You're not supposed to talk like that! You weren't going to die, you didn't die, and you're not going to!" "I am not scared to die, I just don't want to leave my girls behind." Other than the usual "I love you and goodbye" that was the last thing he ever said to me.
I still miss him.
Saturday, 1 February 2014
6 Reasons to Go to University
A lot of people are starting to realise that university costs a lot of money, takes a lot of time and energy, creates a lot of stress, and doesn't provide a lot of job opportunities.
I never came here so I could get a job. I just came to university to learn. Sometimes I think that I wasted my money on something useless, and that I should have gone to college right off the bat, but I don't really think that is the case.
I just found this: http://aragtaghooligan.blogspot.ca/2012/11/this-year-i-have-really-been-wondering.html and I think it is hilarious because there I go on and on about how useless university is and now I am about to recommend it to everyone.
I'll admit, I've had my doubts about this whole experience, but I have to disagree with past me. University is not useless and here is why.
1. It teaches you different perspectives which provide you with context and may even lead you to question your own perspective. I think questioning yourself is always a good thing because it forces you to really believe whatever you believe.
a) you can gain perspective from the people you meet in university
b) you can gain perspective from the courses you take
(especially if you take courses about different world views)
2. I suggest you move out of your house and go to a university away from home. This is the perfect time to learn how to cook, clean, buy groceries, solve problems for yourself, or make new support networks to help you with things when you are away from the support networks you were born into.
3. A simple BA actually can help you get some jobs. Don't be discouraged. People usually want more than just a BA but a BA can help.
4. A BA teaches you written and verbal communication skills, those are vital life skills.
5. English Literature gets a lot more specific slack than other university programs. I added to that when I ranted about the pointlessness of metaphors and academic language but I have since realised that the subject I have majored is not useless. It is true that I have not got to talk much about the poetic aspects of my literary passion within class, BUT, I think these classes have done a LOT to aid me in knowing how to read a text. Yes, sometimes everyone just makes up metaphors I don't think were ever intended to be there and they use the most ridiculous academic language to communicate these ideas, but other time a peer or a prof helps me suddenly get new insight on how words are put together to create meaning and I get excited as I realise that English Literature is totally worth studying.
6. As I have mentioned before, university gives you an amazing opportunity to meet people and get involved in sweet volunteering and employment adventures. I know that you don't NEED university to find these types of opportunities, but - for a semi shy introvert like myself - university helps. These opportunities then help you to figure out who you are and what you love which will guide you in making future decisions about what you want to do with the rest of your life.
I am not saying everyone should go to University. I am only saying I have no regrets about my own decision
I never came here so I could get a job. I just came to university to learn. Sometimes I think that I wasted my money on something useless, and that I should have gone to college right off the bat, but I don't really think that is the case.
I just found this: http://aragtaghooligan.blogspot.ca/2012/11/this-year-i-have-really-been-wondering.html and I think it is hilarious because there I go on and on about how useless university is and now I am about to recommend it to everyone.
I'll admit, I've had my doubts about this whole experience, but I have to disagree with past me. University is not useless and here is why.
1. It teaches you different perspectives which provide you with context and may even lead you to question your own perspective. I think questioning yourself is always a good thing because it forces you to really believe whatever you believe.
a) you can gain perspective from the people you meet in university
b) you can gain perspective from the courses you take
(especially if you take courses about different world views)
2. I suggest you move out of your house and go to a university away from home. This is the perfect time to learn how to cook, clean, buy groceries, solve problems for yourself, or make new support networks to help you with things when you are away from the support networks you were born into.
3. A simple BA actually can help you get some jobs. Don't be discouraged. People usually want more than just a BA but a BA can help.
4. A BA teaches you written and verbal communication skills, those are vital life skills.
5. English Literature gets a lot more specific slack than other university programs. I added to that when I ranted about the pointlessness of metaphors and academic language but I have since realised that the subject I have majored is not useless. It is true that I have not got to talk much about the poetic aspects of my literary passion within class, BUT, I think these classes have done a LOT to aid me in knowing how to read a text. Yes, sometimes everyone just makes up metaphors I don't think were ever intended to be there and they use the most ridiculous academic language to communicate these ideas, but other time a peer or a prof helps me suddenly get new insight on how words are put together to create meaning and I get excited as I realise that English Literature is totally worth studying.
6. As I have mentioned before, university gives you an amazing opportunity to meet people and get involved in sweet volunteering and employment adventures. I know that you don't NEED university to find these types of opportunities, but - for a semi shy introvert like myself - university helps. These opportunities then help you to figure out who you are and what you love which will guide you in making future decisions about what you want to do with the rest of your life.
I am not saying everyone should go to University. I am only saying I have no regrets about my own decision
Sunday, 26 January 2014
Grappling with Christian worship/ praise and a poem
Before you read the following poem I want to explain something. I just recently started to read John Piper's book Desiring God. I find it really fascinating. Parts of it make total sense to me because they are discussing things I've heard a thousand times in a thousand different ways. Other parts, the more detailed versions of those more common insights, are difficult for me to comprehend. The main concept seems to be that "The chief end of man is to glorify God by enjoying Him forever," or "God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him." This is tough to hear for someone who sometimes struggles to believe that God exists and that He is good and better than everything else. It is hard to believe for someone, like Peter, who all too easily stops looking at Christ and looks at the waves instead. It is hard to think about for someone who doesn't like to go to church because she so often feels like she is lying when she sings the songs but who doesn't like to not go to church because she really wants to love the Lord above all else and find her ultimate joy in Him. So I wrote my own poem that I feel honours what is really going on in my head better than most Christian songs. This isn't about someone who has fully recognized the beauty of God, but it is about someone who wants to. Talking about God is always a controversial topic. So please try not to get mad if I offend you, I'm not trying to. I'm merely sharing what's on my mind.
I’ve wandered in this wilderness for far
too long
But I keep on hearing this one great song
It draws me onward
Though I stumble and slip
It draws me upward
Though this darkness is thick
It is the song of a million witnesses
Of the most unimaginable beauty
And I too want to see the magnificence
Though something always seems to stop me
So mine is a small voice crying in the
darkness
Give me
water so I won't thirst,
Bread that I shall never hunger,
Light so I'll never stumble
Bread that I shall never hunger,
Light so I'll never stumble
But really all I long for is a
glimpse of that one face
And a true encounter with the
glorious beauty of grace
Saturday, 25 January 2014
Poems
Perspective
We are but specs of dust
And perspective is to know
I am not alone and you
Are no bigger or smaller
I am neither lesser nor better
For we are but two specs
Like stars in the sky
Bright pinpoints in darkest night
But in my heart it's larger
A star is a great fire
And so are both you and I
Though we are but specs
Longings
I want to grow roots
Like an old oak tree
Tall but very deep
I've wandered too long
And I've grown too weak
While searching and longing
Give me water so I won't thirst,
Bread that I shall never hunger,
Light so I'll never stumble
Joy in my roots,
Something deeper,
And a place like home
You Fly Like Ancient Mythology
You fly like ancient mythology
For you must avoid the sun
But you call it pleasure
You name yourself freedom
Choosing a slow death,
You choke you're own breath
You know not what you do
When true freedom calls to you
To fly higher than you can know
I see you like a child
Trapped in human mistakes
While I dream of another day
For I know you will dance again
We are but specs of dust
And perspective is to know
I am not alone and you
Are no bigger or smaller
I am neither lesser nor better
For we are but two specs
Like stars in the sky
Bright pinpoints in darkest night
But in my heart it's larger
A star is a great fire
And so are both you and I
Though we are but specs
Longings
I want to grow roots
Like an old oak tree
Tall but very deep
I've wandered too long
And I've grown too weak
While searching and longing
Give me water so I won't thirst,
Bread that I shall never hunger,
Light so I'll never stumble
Joy in my roots,
Something deeper,
And a place like home
You Fly Like Ancient Mythology
You fly like ancient mythology
For you must avoid the sun
But you call it pleasure
You name yourself freedom
Choosing a slow death,
You choke you're own breath
You know not what you do
When true freedom calls to you
To fly higher than you can know
I see you like a child
Trapped in human mistakes
While I dream of another day
For I know you will dance again
Friday, 17 January 2014
Symbolism
I once saw a sky that was full of stars, just like this one is. However, everything between the stars was different. It was still black, but it somehow seemed more solid. It was capable of covering up the stars and almost choking out their flames.
I once saw a rose bush where none of the flowers were connected to the stems. They would appear in the air above, float there for a moment, like a very calm humming bird and then shrivel and die because no nutrients could get to them.
I once met a person who seemed to lived without language. I kept thinking I must just not be using the right words. I tried every one I could think of, I even used American Sign Language and a variety of written languages, but I could not get them to respond in any way. I will never know if they understood anything I ever said.
I once climbed to the top of a very tall mountain and met a person who had lived there for so long they had forgotten where they had originally come from. All they could remember is that one day they had reached the top, seen the glory, and decided to never leave again. What else even mattered? "Don't you have a family?" I yelled, but they didn't answer.
I once saw a rose bush where none of the flowers were connected to the stems. They would appear in the air above, float there for a moment, like a very calm humming bird and then shrivel and die because no nutrients could get to them.
I once met a person who seemed to lived without language. I kept thinking I must just not be using the right words. I tried every one I could think of, I even used American Sign Language and a variety of written languages, but I could not get them to respond in any way. I will never know if they understood anything I ever said.
I once climbed to the top of a very tall mountain and met a person who had lived there for so long they had forgotten where they had originally come from. All they could remember is that one day they had reached the top, seen the glory, and decided to never leave again. What else even mattered? "Don't you have a family?" I yelled, but they didn't answer.
Thursday, 9 January 2014
Do We Need to Change the Questions We Ask Eachother?
We have probably all been there (on both sides of the equation): you are meeting a new person for the first time, you know almost nothing about them and they know almost nothing about you. You exchange names. There is a moment of awkward silence. One or both of you are in university or college so one of you picks up the old stand by for such situations and asks "Oh you go to such and such a school? What year are you in? What are you studying? What do you plan to do with that when you graduate?
And I proceed to die a little inside.
Now, the one who asks these questions is probably well intentioned, but I think we need to rethink our process for getting to know strangers who are students.
The first problem I have with these questions is that they help keep alive an unnecessary shame - the shame of being twenty something and not know what you are doing with your life, the shame of being in university for something you find interesting only to discover that this isn't what you want to do with your life. If this IS a problem, I don't think all the blame needs to fall on the individual. If this IS a problem it is probably due to a complex blend of our individual decision making styles, a flawed educational system, the larger society, and the way we were raised. Even if the individual is all to blame I can tell you from experience that most of us probably spend enough of our own time feeling guilty about our lack of direction that we are not in need of this sort of reminder every time we try to make a new friend.
I don't even know if it IS a problem. So what! Our lives aren't straight, they twist and turn, isn't that a sign of growth? If we were all still the same person we were in Kindergarten and had never changed our minds about our life direction would you not worry that we had never actually learned anything powerful enough to affect us? (Not that there is anything wrong with discovering your passions at a young age, all I'm saying is SOMETHING about you has probably changed, and for most of us it is a LOT of somethings.)
Another big problem I have with this is that it reduces us to boring two dimensional people. For example, if you asked me these questions all you would know about me is "I am in fourth year studying English literature and Canadian studies and I have no idea what I am going to do with my life." That makes me sound pretty dull and sort of idiotic.
Imagine if you asked me something else like "What are your passions in life?" "If you were a tree what kind of tree would you be?" "If you could distill all the joys of life into one ideal moment what would that moment look like?"
If you asked me those questions you would learn so much more about me, I would seem like more of a three dimensional person, and I would avoid having to relive my shame for my lack of direction in life.
If you asked me those questions, you would learn "I love to read, especially children's literature and Canadian literature. I enjoy writing short stories and essays, and even some poetry. I love working with children and I love animals and the outdoors." "I would be a willow tree because I am dramatic. I feel things deeply, both small sorrows and small joys." "For me the ideal moment would include these things: light ( maybe shafting through a stained glass window illuminating dust which looks like its dancing as it floats downward, or maybe late afternoon sun dancing on the water, or flickering flames in the middle of a dark circle), friends, and music."
You can get as creative as you want with your questions and answers, but whatever you do, lets stop asking the same awkward questions.
And I proceed to die a little inside.
Now, the one who asks these questions is probably well intentioned, but I think we need to rethink our process for getting to know strangers who are students.
The first problem I have with these questions is that they help keep alive an unnecessary shame - the shame of being twenty something and not know what you are doing with your life, the shame of being in university for something you find interesting only to discover that this isn't what you want to do with your life. If this IS a problem, I don't think all the blame needs to fall on the individual. If this IS a problem it is probably due to a complex blend of our individual decision making styles, a flawed educational system, the larger society, and the way we were raised. Even if the individual is all to blame I can tell you from experience that most of us probably spend enough of our own time feeling guilty about our lack of direction that we are not in need of this sort of reminder every time we try to make a new friend.
I don't even know if it IS a problem. So what! Our lives aren't straight, they twist and turn, isn't that a sign of growth? If we were all still the same person we were in Kindergarten and had never changed our minds about our life direction would you not worry that we had never actually learned anything powerful enough to affect us? (Not that there is anything wrong with discovering your passions at a young age, all I'm saying is SOMETHING about you has probably changed, and for most of us it is a LOT of somethings.)
Another big problem I have with this is that it reduces us to boring two dimensional people. For example, if you asked me these questions all you would know about me is "I am in fourth year studying English literature and Canadian studies and I have no idea what I am going to do with my life." That makes me sound pretty dull and sort of idiotic.
Imagine if you asked me something else like "What are your passions in life?" "If you were a tree what kind of tree would you be?" "If you could distill all the joys of life into one ideal moment what would that moment look like?"
If you asked me those questions you would learn so much more about me, I would seem like more of a three dimensional person, and I would avoid having to relive my shame for my lack of direction in life.
If you asked me those questions, you would learn "I love to read, especially children's literature and Canadian literature. I enjoy writing short stories and essays, and even some poetry. I love working with children and I love animals and the outdoors." "I would be a willow tree because I am dramatic. I feel things deeply, both small sorrows and small joys." "For me the ideal moment would include these things: light ( maybe shafting through a stained glass window illuminating dust which looks like its dancing as it floats downward, or maybe late afternoon sun dancing on the water, or flickering flames in the middle of a dark circle), friends, and music."
You can get as creative as you want with your questions and answers, but whatever you do, lets stop asking the same awkward questions.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)