How do you do you
At a recent party, I was on more or less on the sidelines of a conversation between a native Coloradan and a new Denver resident about the peculiarity of the term native. It does seem to be most prevalent in Colorado. A historically v. diverse state that has made itself out to be not at all that diverse. Race was never a thing here was a frequent refrain. Eyerolled so. hard. And in my head (and I so regret not voicing the thought) I replied you mean, race was never a thing for YOU, right? Native divides us by definition in any context, and thus tends to set both sides up for a negative confrontation. The primary question that spurred that conversation - why native? - is never answered to anyone's satisfaction. Are we really implying that the droves of people coming to live in this state are non-natives? And what does that entail? Imagine the baggage the terms you use carry, people. Language is fraught. It requires space (and silence!) to broaden, context in which to bloom. Newcomers are not invasive species any more than oldcomers are, and as long as we reduce each other to the lowest (un)common denominator, we are denying each other's humanity. In the era of T***p, it is vital for us to hold onto our ability to really see each other and meet each other as human beings, not merely labels. This simplistic habit of speaking to one another does not lead to fruitful conversation - it leaves both parties feeling firmer in their convictions against the other, hurt and prone to lashing out. Like the man said, if it's not love then it's the bomb (the bomb the bomb the bomb the bomb the bomb the bomb) that will bring us together. Lest we forget, none of us humans are natives, we are none of us above reproach. If you delve far enough back in your bloodline, you will find blood guilt. Thus, the answer is humility. The answer is open-mindedness. The answer is love.
All this also got me thinking about introductions. Those awkward, cursory questions we ask when we first meet someone. Like frightened woodland creatures, inching toward an open palm full of seeds, we are wary, but tempted at the idea of this new nourishment. Part of the stream of conversation that same evening also diverted to the topic of one of those questions: what do you do? The dreaded JOB question. Anxiety abounds. We infer - often rightly - that this is a pivotal moment in which the balance of power in a brand-new relationship is coming to the fore and will color all further interactions between the parties. To an artist who has chosen to focus her primary energies on making art and not on a particular career path in any traditional sense, it is a monstrous question. Yet, I find myself asking it along with everyone else. Am I trying to size up my new acquaintance? To check their cultural/socioeconomic worth against my own? Probably on some level, that's an accurate assessment. We all project our anxiety into our interactions - I think it's just important to own that, acknowledge it and try to build by this heightened awareness to a place of deeper, more authentic connection and respect for one another.
M. has been gone for nearly a dozen days this stretch. He may be coming home Monday, but we don't know yet. The uncertainty is the worst of it, I've found. Not knowing when or if he'll be coming home, if he'll finish up a well only to be called out to a different rig to start the process all over again. To make things more difficult, when he gets busy, that precious window in which we are both awake and not working is thwarted (he works 6 p-6 a; I have a traditional 9-5). There were a few days this past week when we did little to connect but exchange a couple of texts. I've felt like a rig widow, a single person, with all the duties and responsibilities of taking care of the house, the pets, working, keeping up with my musical commitments, and none of the emotional sustenance of having my partner there to help. I have, on the bright side, gotten a TON more reading done than I would otherwise have done. And I have the support of many wonderful friends. I've felt that I need to get better at leaning on others for support. I am a very independent person, and am constantly worried about being a burden, always concerned about maintaining reciprocity in my relationships. But relationships, friendships, I know are not about keeping a balanced ledger of favors. Love and friendship should be a haven from tick-marks, balance sheets, the cold minutiae of financial transactions, &c. I am trying to use this prolonged apartness from my husband to cultivate acceptance of this; to disengage from these ideas of owing, of being owed something. We none of us deserve love; we all deserve love.
All this also got me thinking about introductions. Those awkward, cursory questions we ask when we first meet someone. Like frightened woodland creatures, inching toward an open palm full of seeds, we are wary, but tempted at the idea of this new nourishment. Part of the stream of conversation that same evening also diverted to the topic of one of those questions: what do you do? The dreaded JOB question. Anxiety abounds. We infer - often rightly - that this is a pivotal moment in which the balance of power in a brand-new relationship is coming to the fore and will color all further interactions between the parties. To an artist who has chosen to focus her primary energies on making art and not on a particular career path in any traditional sense, it is a monstrous question. Yet, I find myself asking it along with everyone else. Am I trying to size up my new acquaintance? To check their cultural/socioeconomic worth against my own? Probably on some level, that's an accurate assessment. We all project our anxiety into our interactions - I think it's just important to own that, acknowledge it and try to build by this heightened awareness to a place of deeper, more authentic connection and respect for one another.
M. has been gone for nearly a dozen days this stretch. He may be coming home Monday, but we don't know yet. The uncertainty is the worst of it, I've found. Not knowing when or if he'll be coming home, if he'll finish up a well only to be called out to a different rig to start the process all over again. To make things more difficult, when he gets busy, that precious window in which we are both awake and not working is thwarted (he works 6 p-6 a; I have a traditional 9-5). There were a few days this past week when we did little to connect but exchange a couple of texts. I've felt like a rig widow, a single person, with all the duties and responsibilities of taking care of the house, the pets, working, keeping up with my musical commitments, and none of the emotional sustenance of having my partner there to help. I have, on the bright side, gotten a TON more reading done than I would otherwise have done. And I have the support of many wonderful friends. I've felt that I need to get better at leaning on others for support. I am a very independent person, and am constantly worried about being a burden, always concerned about maintaining reciprocity in my relationships. But relationships, friendships, I know are not about keeping a balanced ledger of favors. Love and friendship should be a haven from tick-marks, balance sheets, the cold minutiae of financial transactions, &c. I am trying to use this prolonged apartness from my husband to cultivate acceptance of this; to disengage from these ideas of owing, of being owed something. We none of us deserve love; we all deserve love.
Comments
As to the "what do you do?" question, it is interesting that in this culture we define people by what and how they produce. When I was in the Army it was easier, or at least different. Then when you met someone you asked, "Where have you been stationed?" And depending on the answer, that could lead to identifying mutual acquaintances and shared experiences. But perhaps the "what do you do?" question just lives on because it is a question of pretty general applicability.
Maybe we should change our introductory question to something like "What gives you enjoyment?" or "What do you like about this area?" And maybe we should sabotage the "What do you do?" question by answering, "When I'm not walking the dogs, I like to play tennis," or, "I read historical fiction," or "At least once a week, I cook from a new recipe."