"I don't do goofy photos."

It's simple words like those that baffle me.

We were taking group photos earlier tonight, and someone said we should switch it up, "Let's do goofy photos...!" And behind me I hear "Yea I don't DO goofy photos," as a few others chimed in.

What does that mean? When did they lose the sense of fun and ridiculousness that I think is vital to one's well-being? Was it they never learned the importance of play? Or is it a public versus private persona that is being threatened?  So many questions, so little time to run studies to find out.... 

~~~

Yesterday, my boyfriend started to ask me to imagine a time when I was uncomfortable socially. He stopped before he was done asking the question as he realized that I was incapable of ever being uncomfortable socially, and therefore couldn't fathom such an idea. Yes. By all considerations or measurements, I'm an extrovert who thrives in social situations. I don't, however, reach out to fulfill a need to be social.  I am perfectly content curled up in front of a big screen watching re-runs of my favorite rom-com's. 

In many respects, I reach out to fulfill others' needs to connect with another human being. I see people and I read their sadness. Their anxiety. Their uncertainty. I speak to them plainly, and I gain their trust, as some have articulated, "I don't know why, but I'm comfortable with you" when they are normally reticent. I appreciate their trust, and I do my damnedest to keep the fragile connection.  Frequently I wish I could do more. I wish I could resolve their problems. I wish I had more resources than just my time and my honesty. Yes, I know it matters because we live in a strange world where "social media" is the buzz word, yet Wherever I look, we're looking down, and not at each other.  

~~~

So if you were wondering, my foray into Introduction to Apparel Construction has had mixed results. The good? I now know how to sew a button! AND to operate an industrial sewing machine! AND sew a straight line!  The bad? I am easily just as slow at sewing as I am at writing papers.  I don't know if it falls under time management as I know what needs to be done and I know the deadlines I face, and even as I work incredibly hard and continuously, I just always seem to fall behind. "Slow and steady wins the race," doesn't quite work in academia. Especially not in a quarter system.   Nevertheless, the first sewing project I completed was the assembly of a bag that was made from 40 disposable plastic bags!  And yes, I patted myself on the back when I completed it, and I have been carrying it around everywhere.

Picture to follow.

...and I need to write more. 

Public Introspection

Introspection. Is it a lost art?

Technically I'm being introspective when I type up these posts, yet a part of me recognize the voyeuristic qualities of a blog, where your words aren't just a practice in narcissism and there's a larger audience in mind. In my case, I suppose the audience is anyone who care to read my writing. It feeds to my vanity as a unrealized novelist. Perhaps one day. When I have a good story to tell.

I'm in the midst of a meandering Summer, the beginning of which started off fortuitously, only to quickly flame out when my curmudgeo-ness caught up. I was in a situation where rather than stay in and try to talk it out and to justify my reasoning, I decided to gracefully bow out before I rained my 32-year-old insight all over someone else's parade. 

Yesterday my dear friend +My-An Le shared with me a blurb written by the stupendous Olivia Wilde in Glamour, where she touted the turning of age when one becomes 30, or as Ms. Wilde dubbed, the "Cut the Bullsh-t and Go Be Awesome" stage. I couldn't help but chuckle at the "truthiness" of it all... perhaps with the exception of the "Don't cut your face," which applies to a vastly smaller percentage of women I would imagine than the rest. 

Over the past 6 months I'd noticed that I was becoming increasingly aggravated by what I loved the most in this world, and that is simply, People. Ever since I made my way back to school, I find myself surrounded by peers who were not my age, or where I was "in my head." When this is reflected in conversation, it finally dawned on me that it was like trying to have a conversation with myself in my early 20's. Sure I was introspective and thoughtful then, but my responses would not be what they are today. I don't carry myself the same way, nor do I have the same tendencies, expectations, or motivations. I finally realized that I had to leave it alone... to let them experience time as I did. To not force them to see things from my perspective, which is more universal than even I might wish to think... just universal for those who are also of my age. 

On the flip side, it's gratifying to be in a position to say what I want to say, and rather than experience the panic of "I don't think they understood let me try and explain myself..." I'm okay with leaving it there, having the assurance that what I said was what I meant, and that was enough. Misinterpretation may occur, but it's not for me to fix. If what I said was in good faith, it ought to be enough. It's also okay to not be the first person to say something. Or the last. 

If anything, this vacation has been a welcomed break from the rigors of academia and the routine of work. It's giving me a chance to clear out the intricate cobwebs that have been woven in the dark corners of my mind where creativity has taken to hibernation. A deep, deep, slumber that I hope to awaken this Fall when I take "Introduction to Apparel Construction."  That's right, I'm 32 but to this date I've not learned how to sew a button. And now that all of my core coursework for my Master's have been completed... time to take on new challenges! One. Button. At. A. Time.

Tim Gunn, I'm coming for you...! 

On teaching

A few days ago I happened across my old MySpace page. A page that I've decided to treat as a commemorative site for a moment frozen in time. In typical fashion, I re-traced my steps, and read my old blog entries... and yet again, I felt an injustice for myself, in not following through on writing these entries, because I clearly enjoy writing.

A quick recognition to "Tristan," a young man whose blog has inspired this particular post, and also a quick hello to all those who may at some point or another, by choice or by chance, live inside our heads. Social norms be damned, there is something to be said about being communicate with one's words, if nothing else. All the great ones did, no? So keep writing Tristan!

The title of this entry is titled "On Teaching," if only to put a context to where I am in my life. I'm teaching! The experience has been tremendous. With a bit of training, some guidance, a whole lot of verve, I've been instinctively doing what I think ought to be done. I am profoundly humbled by the task of educating college students, wishing only to serve them well, and helping them figure out how best to apply what they learn in my classroom once they leave my classroom.

(Quick segue --- I've a tooth that's threatening to eat my face. OUCH. Off to the dentist the first thing tomorrow, sans insurance. All fingers crossed.)

(Quick Segue #2 --- I'm now listening to the "Into the Woods" Pandora Station I created this afternoon. The sing-along-ability is not helping with my toothache.)

Back to teaching... like most of my peers, there is a frustration with students not demonstrating an understanding of the material. But my frustration inevitably lies with myself... what am I not doing? It MUST be how I'm not communicating concepts clearly. Hmmm... a constant work in progress. Let's call it: CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

(Pocahontas!)

I've work to do, so I'll keep this short and say simply that: I LOVE teaching. I only wish to be better. Always better. The best. It's something to strive for I think.

Be well,
"Ms. Chee" --- ha!  :)