It’s True, I Am Not the Work I Do, I Am the Person I Am
Survival Journal #2
*Note* I had intentions to write more about my Healing & Social Justice class semester-long assignment in creating and investing in what we were calling “Survival Kits” after Sara Ahmed’s “Killjoy Survival Kits”, but alas— the semester escaped from me and every time I thought I might write something, I felt like I wasn’t ready. Our final assignment was to reflect on what we learned in the class in a very free-form and however-you-feel-like kind of way. I still didn’t feel ready to put anything down on paper, but a deadline is a deadline, and here is where I landed: somewhat of an extension of still thumbing the grief of life not going to plan when you feel like you really need it to, and a hint of a new direction of where my recently life chapter has taken me: rediscovering what it means to be committed to spiritual practice. So consider this a bite of where we may be headed in future blogs, and a little update to say: I’m still here, making the best of things. I hope you all are well too. xo
It’s True, I Am Not the Work I Do, I Am the Person I Am
In the faith tradition I grew up in, we believe that everything happens for a reason and that meaningful coincidences guide us on our life paths, helping us discern where we’re headed and what is ours to do. These meaningful coincidences are often seen in looking back (which is why intentional reflection is so necessary), and we call them “synchronicities.” Synchronicities don’t have to be looked for— they will find you. The only requirement is that you notice, appreciate, and take the time to listen to the lessons they may be nudging you towards. This, of course, is the hard part.
This past year has had me with my neck craned to the sky asking, “Why am I here?”, “How did I get here?”, and “What am I going to do?” more than I’d like to admit. I even plotted my grand exit— I did everything you’re supposed to do when you want a serious life pivot (including spend a month’s worth of my measly leisure money from my stipend), and nothing panned out. The universe/God/spirit said, “Girl, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, whether you like it or not.” I came to this class partially in defiance. Sociology, as a discipline (or maybe it is just my department?), feels suffocating and I am frequently looking for examples of the kind of interdisciplinary and traditional boundary-pushing pedagogy that I want to lead with when I am a professor and scholar. I also am looking for examples from Black, queer, (and more frequently, neurodivergent) women who have chosen this path despite it all. You know what I mean by “it all”. This inquiry led me here and, in my hopes, to find myself elsewhere, I have shooed away this sense that, yes, I was/am supposed to be here, but it persists. So, in looking over my shoulder to reflect on this semester, there are three main lessons I am going to be carrying with me for a long while, especially as I navigate my career into academia.
“Patriarchal reasoning goes all the way down,” Ahmed says in a quote I have deconstructed from the introduction of Living a Feminist Life. I understand this landscape, inside and outside of academia, and somehow I find myself throwing my hands up in frustration, confused as to how I keep reliving the same experiences of harm within the structure of the ivory tower. She also says, in the conclusion of Feminist Killjoy Survival Kits, “Becoming a killjoy can feel, sometimes, like making your life harder than it needs to be.” I could be different; I could play the game; I could pick my battles more carefully, but who would I be then? I continuously chose the path of extreme authenticity, even when it harms me-- maybe because I know, at the end of the day, there is nothing worth anything except the truth, love, and community. So, I give myself over and over even when my fingers get caught in doors not held open by those rushing ahead of me, and I hold the door for those coming behind me.
The truth is that I know the presence of my full authentic self is challenging to the very nature of the traditional power dynamics and structures of the university and of the entry into our careers as academics. As Ahmed says, “…The experiences we have are not just of being worn down; these experiences also give us resources. What we learn from these experiences might be how we survive these experiences.” I may not commit to the refusal to cite any white men in my work as Ahmed does in the first book we sampled in this course, but I do commit to sharing my experiences transparently (with accountability for where I have misstepped and transgressed others), showing up for those in community with me even when they are not the best community members to me, and to asking why we do things we way we do and why we can’t do it with more intention, care, and with values of justice and community at the center. It is in the conclusion of Feminist Killjoy Survival Kits that Ahmed writes, “How we care for ourselves becomes an expression of feminist care.” She goes on to cite Audre Lorde, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” Caring here is not meant to be passive or a shying away from discomfort and inconvenience. It simply means understanding discernment as a skill. I agree with this and am learning how to not see self-care through acts of boundary making/protecting as selfishness.
This semester, in tending to my own survival kit, I have leaned into one of my first loves: reading and writing creatively. Indulging in a good story is not escapism, but it is investing in leisure, which keeps me curious and excited to learn—finding new ways to think about the world around me and thus getting me excited to return to my own inquiries through my academic research. I have also been finding my way back to creative writing—where I thought my career would take me once, before I discovered research. Keeping a blog is a way of archiving my life, keeping in touch with those I love who are not in my immediate physical community, and allows me to keep a record of who I am and who I am becoming as I am inevitably changed through these years of training.
I thought tapping back into the activities that brought me joy as a child would be at the center of my survival kit building this semester. This is mostly true, but what has surprised me most has been the presence of God/Spirit/Universe in my life and work this semester. As a self-identified non-Christian, I take seriously the power of a spiritual life. Cultivating a spiritual life does not have to be related to religiosity, though I understand how this often happens for those who appreciate the structure and community that tends to come with organized religion. bell hooks writes in her spirituality chapter in All About Love, “Spiritual life is first and foremost about commitment to a way of thinking and behaving that honors principles of inter-being and interconnectedness.” She continues, “When I speak of the spiritual, I refer to the recognition within everyone that there is a place of mystery in our lives where forces that are beyond human desire or will alter circumstances and/or guide and direct us. I call these forces ‘divine spirit.’” Living a spiritually centered life, for me, means, as it seems to mean for hooks as well: actively investing in communion, intentional action/habits of being in line with our values, remaining open to love though the world can be cold and harsh, and staying connected to a sense of wonder about the world.
This semester, I have tried to invest deeply in community and in many ways, I find myself rewarded. When my friends are moving, I take countless trips up and down the steps with my arms and legs burning, and I think, “this is why I exercise.” When my friends from out of state need a place to stay, I open my home to them even if we sleep side-by-side like children in my full-sized bed. When I am able, I say yes as much as I can. This is not a lack of boundaries, and this choice is not inconveniencing. It is through these relationships and these acts of service that I open myself up fully for love and for loving and I am reminded what it is all for: each other.
This brings me to the line that sticks most in my mind: I am not the work I do; I am the person I am. Our final piece of the semester felt like the cherry on top of the divine timing sundae that this class has been for me. In her short article, The Work You Do, the Person You Are, Toni Morrison reflects on what appears to be tough love advice from her father while she struggled with living up to an image of who she thought she should be while in a job that treated her unfairly. Her father says, “Listen. You don’t live there. You live here. With your people. Go to work. Get your money. And come on home.”
I am a killjoy, and I will find community anyway. Sense of spirit and connection to the nebulous and immeasurable thing that binds us all together (inherent dignity), keeps me tender-hearted and open to all the gifts of the world. And, when I am feeling misunderstood, underappreciated, and misaligned with my choice of career path, I can remember what Morrison heard in her father’s words: “1. Whatever the work is, do it well—not for the boss, but for yourself. 2. You make the job; it doesn’t make you. 3. Your real life is with us, your family. 4. You are not the work you do; you are the person you are.”
There is more I should write about to do justice to the meaningfulness that I am exiting this course (and this difficult chapter in my life) with. I would like to acknowledge the power of getting introduced to Gloria Anzaldua’s work by way of AnaLouise Keating. I look forward to reading more by Anzaldua and thinking about how the theory and praxis of spiritual activism may take root in my future work and pedagogy. I also appreciated finding language for tensions I struggled with as an accidental teenage activist in Emma Craddock’s Doing ‘enough’ of the ‘right’ thing: The gendered dimension of the ‘ideal activist’ identity and its negative emotional consequences. And, though I’m still not sure where I land in the debate on pleasure politics, I frequently find myself creating more opportunities for leisure and pleasure in my life, reminding myself that I am, at the end of the day, just an animal, just a person, and just about everything can wait until the morning while I take a moment to read my book after dinner, watch a show, or go on a walk with a friend. And sometimes an edible and a quiet evening really is all you need.
That feeling when you notice a typo 🫠
beautifully said 🙏🙏