Responsibility

I am wounded deeply and yet I stand,
Aside the sea, facing waves that crash, winds
That lash with hate and fear and ignorance.
Despite the pain my thoughts instead close in
On truths, once self-evident, now mere goals
That to meet we many must strive as one.
As I heal I know a scar will remain,
My robes stained with the blood of those who yearned
To think speak join grieve love serve move breathe free.
And still I rise, to let my torch shine bright,
To illuminate that scar, to drive out
The darkness we commit against others.
My soul to thrive must act, as liberty
And equality die from apathy.

On Dread

It's been almost two days since the Presidential Election of 2016 and I still feel a bit numb.

The word that stuck in my mind today was "dread." I honestly don't remember when I felt anything as serious as "dread" before. I've endured a lot of moments of pain in my adult life: when I learned in March that my liver was ailing on account of my allergy medication; when my father collapsed last fall from a weakened heart; when I sat motionless before my parents and came out as bisexual a couple months after Obama's election; when I feared whether I would pass my general exams in grad school earlier that year; when George W. Bush won reelection in 2004; when two planes crashed into the World Trade Center on live CNN.

But in retrospect none of these moments carried with them anything close to "dread." Some even seem silly as I write them out. After all, a lot of folks suffer great fear way more than I ever have, for reasons that no one can explain.

Global Journal 1: Global Citizenship as Process

Among other things, I teach a class at Kansas State University called "Global Citizenship." It's a year-long program for first-year students in which we critically discuss our own identity formation and how, with greater self-awareness, we can act more ethically and autonomously. My co-leaders (Leigh and Kayla) and I will then take students abroad over Spring Break to a location that varies year by year: Hong Kong last year, Paris this one, and probably Tokyo in 2018. After the study tour we reflect openly on our experiences and how to put them in service for, by, and with others.

It's pretty cool, I have to say. I'm lucky to have the support network at Kansas State to allow me such a passion project and students earnest and intelligent enough to contest themselves so powerfully.

Serialized essays comprise my course's primary assignments. I call these "Global Journal Entries," a means to encourage students to reflect, with my comments as a prodding nudge, on their self-development at such a key juncture in their lives. Last year I failed to keep up with my hand-written journal. (I even found one at a bookstore chain branded with the Tolkien-inspired name for our program: "Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost.") My learning assistant this year, Kayla, inspired me with her own journaling to try to follow through this year.

So begins the first of my Global Journal Entries here on this blog. I'm really looking forward to rereading these over time, so here's hoping I keep up.

Global Journal Entry 1 from LEAD 195: Global Citizenship I

What does it mean to be a global citizen? Are you a global citizen now? Why or why not?

Gimme Shelter

A Review of Ludovico Einaudi's work, exemplified by In a Time Lapse and In a Time Lapse (The Remixes) (2013)

I recently described the past week to a friend as like a hurricane. It swept in quickly but not without some advance warning; was devastating in its toll on my mental and spiritual energy; and had moments of calm amid its thrashing waves.

Part of the reason I felt this first week of the fall term so intensely, I think, is that I've become more introverted over the past few months. I feel more disconnected from students than is usual at the start of a semester--perhaps the result of my evolving administrative responsibilities in the Study Abroad Office. (I did feel relief from this scary isolation, though, when I advised a group of thoughtful and energized first-years on Friday.)

Return of the Retry

I last posted to this blog on October 6, 2014. It's now over a year and a half later, and I'm left wondering where the time went.

I recently experienced several big, amazing life changes: a job offer that led to a promotion; a health scare that shed thirty pounds; and two adventures abroad with students that renewed my commitment to my life's work. All of this change has encouraged me to make a decision on--well, more like decided for me--a central and puzzling issue that I've mulled over for several months now: whether to retreat from the world, into what Isaiah Berlin once called the "inner citadel"; or to embrace that world openly and authentically. This internal debate gnawed at me for quite some time, for reasons that I can't quite articulate well right now. I hope one day to write about this issue more. But that debate recently ended as mysteriously as it arose.

I'm now reconnecting with old friends and family on social networks: Facebook, Instagram, the whole lot. I'm suddenly committed to helping construct the world about me instead of fearing, as I had when I righteously left most of these corporate organizations (save for Twitter, which has long been my solitary foothold in the digital world), that they would determine and control me.

I also feel that I can't stay silent in this world of tumult and change. It's an election year. A biggie, I've heard tell. Our politics, our national passions, and even our climate are aflame. A lot is at stake. I want to be part of it. I need to. And so I return.

Thoughts on Marriage

I woke up this morning next to my partner, Leigh, to whom I've been married since December 10, 2011. I didn't feel like a second-class citizen. My family, friends, and community have been very supportive of our union, with some minor (if now obsolete) exceptions. The businesses, banks, insurance companies, and institutions of Manhattan, Kansas, have rarely pointed out with discrimination the fact that my adoptive state had any other opinion on our marriage than full support. I can state with full awareness that I have been privileged enough to not suffer in ways that many LGBT Americans have and do.

And yet, on this evening, as I sit next to my husband--only now according to the State of Kansas by way of the Supreme Court of the United States--I feel a quite bearable, a very welcome lightness of being. It's only now, in the wake of the Court's non-decision decision, that I get what it means to not feel the threat of institutionalized discrimination, as opposed to such discrimination itself. These are two very different things--things that I have long known intellectually, but now only understand holistically.

A Study of Possession

A Review of Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo (1958)

"One final thing I have to do, and then I'll be free of the past." - Scottie Ferguson

The sharp chill of the icy wind whipped about me as I stood motionless on the CTA Red Line platform at Addison. Christmas shoppers, commuters, bundled teenagers crowded in groups for warmth. Everything about me had a grey sheen, sapped of vitality. But I didn't care, and am surprised to even remember such details. I was in love--not just in love, but impassioned, a heightened state of focus inward and numbness to the world outside. I don't doubt that, had I not been on my way somewhere (as it happened, to the Chicago Historical Museum to research my dissertation), I could have frozen in joy.

This state of being, this stage of love in which no one else--nothing else--matters but the object of one's emotional and physical desire, is one I'd felt before, but not with such depth and severity. Perhaps you've felt it, too. It's that stage in which passion reigns unchecked by reason, before you are clearheaded enough to think whether the person whom you love is right for you. This passion is selfish, obsessive, dangerous. It possesses you. It permits you to dream an illusory world and then sustains that world to the exclusion of all else. It's the passion that John Scottie Ferguson felt for Madeleine Elster, a figment of his own heart, in Alfred Hitchcock's most celebrated work, Vertigo. For all its problems--its justly maligned sexism and patriarchy, its vile study of the male gaze and the female as object--Vertigo deserves the attention it has so belatedly received. As a paced meditation on obsessive passion, and the treacherous illusion by which that passion may consume us, it is one of the best films ever made.