Disuse Leads to Collecting Butter

I have a…pattern. It has happened more than once, but is not quite yet at the point where I would consider it a habit.

I let things collect butter.

It is considerably worse than letting things collect dust as the stains are considerably more difficult to remove. Fortunately only one cloth garment has been the victim of this pattern. Unfortunately it was my favorite purse.

This is how it happens: I leave butter out so that it can be at room temperature when I need it. For important things: like grilled cheese sandwiches. Sometimes I am not careful with where I place things (eg. the mail, my purse, my keys, etc) and I only realize it has sat in butter for the past twenty minutes when I go back outside. It is extraordinarily messy and a pain in the ass to clean up. Oftentimes I just let the thing go. Unless it’s my purse. Then I look up Talkin’ Dirty with the Queen of Clean.

Recently I had a metaphorical butter collection moment. I thought I had gotten all the mess off but it turns out the situation was un-save-able. I feel really betrayed and hurt but I think I’m going to need to let it go.

Here’s the sitch: When I was in undergrad I was hella good at creating student research positions for myself. I bargained with the department to let me use my work-study financial aid in a novel way to work in the lab. I generated a new position, funded by the NSF. I am good at mineralogy so all of these positions loosely focused on my ability to tell microcline from plagioclase.

One of the long-term research projects I worked on turned into my Senior Thesis. I owned this project, in some capacity, from start to what I thought would be finish. I came up with a hypothesis. I designated the days fieldwork would happen and organized the transportation to get there. I collected my samples, observed the evidence, synthesized my information. In my last week of college, I worked nearly 100 hours so that all of the data visualization and writing would be complete on time for grading to happen. I met my deadline.

I got an A because the professor (call them Prof 1) grading the paper does not believe in A+s on principle. Ok, fine.

I wound up staying at Big American University for some time after I graduated. I cleaned up some of my writing. I cleaned up some of my visuals. I refined what conclusions I drew based on new information I’d previously been missing.

The consortium I did my research under invited me to share during a full team meeting. This was the first real presentation of my data and I was thrilled. The data seemed to be really important to the consortium and the room was full with positive energy. I shared my research (I went over time, for which a colleague never forgave me) and everyone was very excited at the discoveries I’d made and what that meant for the project at large. One young professor whom I did not work with asked me what my plans for publication were. Prof 1 cut in very curtly and stated simply, “She’s not publishing.”

This statement has always confused me. Prof 1 never explained their motivation. My <headcannon> is that Prof 1 (and Prof 2, whom I worked with to a lesser extent) is a very high profile, famous scientist in multiple disciplines. My research was not groundbreaking. My discoveries were cute (literally, in my opinion) but they did not push the frontier of anything. They were not a paradigm shift. And when you live and die by publication, I suppose that the only things worth publishing are those things that are remarkable.

Grad Student 1 worked with me on the field work, the synthesis of information and the backlash of interacting with Profs 1&2. She helped me come to this conclusion, somewhat. I appreciated her and went to her PhD conferral ceremony. She helped keep in perspective the expectations of the department.

About a month ago, I got an email from Prof 1 asking me where I put certain visualization files. I really really really wanted to respond with “Here are the instructions to the files within Google Drive and I look forward to co-authorship with you.” I emailed Grad Student 1, who is now Prof 3 (different uni) with my impulse response to Prof 1. In response I got a 6 paragraph email from Prof 3 detailing how that was a bad idea. As Prof 3 has more experience in the department and in academia in general, I deferred to her judgment and accepted that I wasn’t going to publish.

Then this week, I was editing the Junior Ranger’s grad school apps and it just so happens she’s applying to the same school as Prof 3. So I go to Prof 3's website. My heart broke. It broke pretty hard. Then I melted to a puddle and spent the rest of the night as a puddle.

In the carousel at the top of her Professor page she had the following image as one of four images displayed:

The following was a figure in my (unpublished and, what I have grown to feel is unremarkable) thesis:

(note: bottom right, bottom swath. Also note: I had to hand-craft those scale bars in PowerPoint.)

 

 It felt like someone had taken my heart and stomped on it. It felt like it turned out the butter had, in fact, soaked into every pore of my favorite purse and there would be no way to get it out.

I decided that academia was not the place for me over the course of the past two years. It has been a painful and emotional journey. I may yet change my mind because I understand that many people have given me the well-intentioned advice that a BA is not a large enough stick to wave at a fly in scientific academia.

Yet I was frustrated and devastated by the power of the pain this action could induce in me. I thought I had surrendered. I thought I had let it go, moved on. Instead, I ran towards it and felt like I needed to fix it. To claim it. To give myself permission to give myself credit.

After an evening of allowing myself to feel through my discomfort and pain, it eventually passed. I have been trying to practice experiencing my emotions to their completion but damn is that exhausting and no wonder ain’t nobody got time for that shit. Emoting and processing all of my emotions like a well-adjusted human being is a FUCKING STEEP learning curve.

*  *  *  *

Let’s switch topics for a moment so I’m not totally bumming you out this morning!

Hrm.

PartnerPenguin and I have been kitty sitting a big tomcat named Tofu. He is thusly named because he has too many toes. Observe:

Other things: I kidsat the Bear this week! I think there may be a cognitive switch between 5.5 and 5.6 years old where children become lawyers. There was really only one argument I had no case against her, which was “but I need to figure out how this dirt works!” I swear; the kid knows exactly how to play to my weaknesses.

I had a full itinerary of errands that suck to run alone planned for our day.

1.     Lunch. I swear, if there is one thing that I have mourned more than anything else about not having regular work, it’s that I eat lunch alone every day. That is the worst to me.

2.     Turn in e-waste to Best Buy.

3.     Buy dirt. And a pot.

4.     Pot a plant.

I made a minor discovery, more like a shift in articulation, while waiting in line to drop off the e-waste. Bear was really into the OcculusRift (a virtual reality [VR] addition to gaming systems) display and was watching it with rapt attention. She said she wanted to play the games and went through which games she would like most. She which game I’d like most and I just internally went “playing/doing/being in VR would be my own personal hell.” This thought surprised me so I very quickly had to satiate the little lawyer with a wimpy answer of  “Aunty Sara doesn’t like this kind of game.” As is the nature of tiny lawyer children, she naturally followed it with “But why!” I shrugged it off but it has been simmering in the back of my brain.

Later in the week a friend’s housemate came out from playing what looked to be a very good workout with a VR setup. He was describing the merits of such a system. It finally clicked for me.

“That sounds really cool but unfortunately I don’t think I’ll also be able to enjoy this gaming platform. I really struggle with dissociation and I don’t feel comfortable inducing a state like that without a concrete path out.” I have never been able to articulate (or even consider than anyone else experienced) dissociation, specifically as it relates to depression. PartnerPenguin helped me find this article that validates my concerns.

Ok, I think I’m about done for now. Thanks for following along this week!

I feel like this song “Secrets” by Mary Lambert feels just right tonight. And for the love of Glob if someone knows where to get her dress, please tell me. I would look SUPER cute in it.

PseudoWinter Tidings

Cassian Andor: I'm not used to people sticking around when things go bad.

Jyn Erso: Welcome home.

-Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

Rogue One was an excellent movie. I loved it. I loved it so much. I loved that there was no explicit romance in it. I loved that a woman was the commander of an impossible mission and everyone respected her exactly for the leader she was. I loved the martial arts. I loved the scenery: like seriously, A+ rocks. But the above quote was one of the things I loved most about it. In 13 words it encapsulates something I have been struggling with for 11 years.  

Recently I was out to dinner with a friend who asked if I go home for the holidays. I responded by looking at her with an absolutely blank expression. I completely forgot that was a thing that someone would choose to do. Friends of mine are starting to interact with the mortality of their parents, the loss (usually to due to downsizing) of family homes, the general dissolution of stability that happens as people age and become more of a burden than a provider. I am grateful when I can be supportive as they process these things, yet some of my friends’ fresh wounds reflect such old and healed-over wounds of mine that it perplexes me. The Rogue One quote condenses an explanation of the “presence” or “absence” of having a home in the past decade. I can strive towards being present for my friends and family who need me to be their home as it happens, that’s all I can do.

 Aaaaaaaaanywayyyyyy…

After last week’s insanitypants conference I took SUPER easy for quite a few days.

An exciting thing that happened was that Dr. Genderqueer met my Fourth-Cousin-Twice-Removed!! It just so happens that coffee shops in this part of Oroenpaz city are the exact intersection of cool and awesome to make this happen. My Fourth-Cousin-Twice-Removed and I are planning a Punk Rock Shabbat and I am already 1000% on board to record a fantastic version of  “Lecha Dodi” to the tune of “London Calling” by the Clash. Coming soon to a YouTube channel near you, hopefully.

Saturday was unremarkable day because we literally did nothing. It was so glorious. PartnerPenguin correctly intuited that I needed to get some exercise before the day was out so we went to the market. Mum calls markets like these “Dunno Stores” because she has had the experience of asking an employee “what’s this?” they respond “Dunno!” So we went to a DunnoStore and explored 750 varieties of soy sauce, 60 types of kimchi, and an isle of noodles.  I tried partially dehydrated and frozen persimmons. Delish.

One thing I did this weekend was melt down my crystalized honey and put it in a smaller jar. I just needed to share that because it is so beautiful when the sun shines through it:

It’s been really really cold in the Key Route City these past couple weeks. I had hoped that being from somewhere that has Winters I would be ok with the cold every now and then. Nope. Nope. Nopity nope. Can’t deal. Reason 1: I don’t own anything Winter Worthy. All of my clothes are (generously) fashionably targeted for a mild chill on the cold end and a balmy sundress at the other end. Reason 2: My circulation sucks and my extremities have been known to suck the homeostatis-life-force out of those I love by wiggling my toes under their bottom. PartnerPenguin hypothesizes that my heart must be on fire because my nose is so cold. Reason 3: Structures here are not built for cold. They do not have insulation. They do not have double-paned windows. There are not end-caps at Home Depot of that special saran wrap for windows and families do not have a designated hair dryer for shrinking it.

I’m over Pseudowinter and I’m glad that the Solstice has passed. Winter Solstice is one of my happiest days of the year because it means that the sun is going to start winning again and we can get back to business being happy. I had a really good Solstice this year and appreciated being surrounded by folks who are friendly and care. I made applesauce, which is labor intensive but simple to make. It helps me eat apples because I don’t really like apples. 0_o. I guess I don’t like the middle of the road apples or Red Delicious. Or any apples that are mealy. It’s really hit or miss. But applesauce. That’s where it’s at.

Probably the biggest thing that happened this week was I actually found job I’m properly qualified for and I applied the hell out of that job. The pros: It’s a job! Yay! Pays moneys, good benefits, and decent (from what I can tell) co-workers. It would be a good path to getting a PG license; which is a stick I’d be happier to wield at this point than a PhD. The con: 80% fieldwork with 50% overnight travel. I see the con as an opportunity to invest in some great new gear (it’s a job so it will pay moneys!) and get to explore more of the wonderful land of this country. We’ll deal with how to get through the PTSD about large North American mammals when we get there.

I also talked for a long time with some publishing companies at the tail end of the conference last week. At least one of the dudes thinks my skillset is super transferable and would have been interested in hiring me if I lived closer or was willing to relocate. That gives me hope.

I finally went through my LinkedIn account and made it more accurately reflect myself professionally. There is a category to include GPA and I poked back to find my GPA from Big American University was 3.60. I started listing the awards I won, the funding I secured. I started listing my volunteer activities that have been prolific and varied in the past…since the start of high school. Trying to sell myself more accurately. Trying to make myself more available, more present and more whole as a person. This process has been so slow that it has been painful to literally everyone around me so the more I deal with it, the less agony all around.

Breakthrough work

Sparkles and I had another session and we built a beautiful shared analogy. She asked me what I thought of when she said the word “Closed.” After a bit of exploring, I came to the mental image of a restaurant. A little mom and pop joint (probably Italian) like the places my family would sometimes go to on Fridays and I would eat ravioli for comparison. I imagined this place closed, with the chairs on the tables, the floors mopped, the tablecloths fresh, kitchen quiet. It felt safe. It felt so nice that there were no messes. She asked me how I could know whether the place was prospering or barely scraping by. Would it open the next day?

She asked me then to put the chairs down on the floor. What else did the tables need? Flowers, I said. The plastic kind. And compostable, yet disposable tablecloths so messes could be cleaned up. She asked me could I delegate any of the work for keeping messes under control to someone, like a busser. I said yes, of course.

We talked about what hours my restaurant would be open. 5-10pm. Would I have a day off? Saturday. Even though that’s bad business but this is a metaphor restaurant so I took the day per week I’d like off. Could I commit to having “Open” hours and know that they would be constrained? Could I hire people and we come to a mutual agreement about what  I expected them to do, yet let them actually do the thing? I said that I wanted everyone in the restaurant to be allowed to offer a dish for the “special” of the evening. This way everyone felt included.

Sparkles talked me through opening my metaphorical restaurant. She asked me how I felt, I said “disbelief.” I didn’t think anyone would be there but there were already customers. How long would it be until I believed that this would be ok? Two months. Two months would be long enough to establish regular regulars and occasional regulars. That, combined with seasonal, I would probably be ok.

I was so surprised in doing this exercise at how sad I felt. I just cried for a while, even though things were positive. I cried because the safety of being closed and clean isn’t how I can move forward any more. I cried because I know how to delegate tasks but I don’t know how to delegate parts of my day so that I can be the best me there is. I cried because there were bits of college where I thought I’d figured it out and really I was just killing myself bit by bit to graduate with honors: only to never credit myself for the work. I cried because of how scared I am to change and how little faith I have that if I change, others will stay with me.

To lighten the mood, I will close out with two songs that are upbeat in different ways. The first is called “Seagulls” which is a Bad Lip Reading of Empire Strikes Back. Yoda’s little dancing has been making my life this week. 

The other was introduced to me by Raptor. It’s an a capella mash up of Carol of the Bells and The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Can’t say I didn’t spread some holiday cheer! 

Science Married to a Human Dimension

There are a couple things that the readers of this blog may not know about me.

1.     I add “lethal” amounts of cinnamon to everything. PartnerPenguin recently informed me that not everyone buys full spice bottles of cinnamon every 3 months. We’re not talking about cinnamon challenge or anything, I just add an average of 1.5 Tbsp to 2 cups of oatmeal. I think this is reasonable. This conversation occurred when I commented that store bought porridge was under spiced. ::shrug:: #spicewimps

2.     I am extremely adept at skills that require minute fine motor skill manipulation, like braiding, embroidering, thin section production, and untangling knots of any kind know to humankind.

3.     I do not “crash” in any kind of slowly sloping pattern. I exist in one state, I get cranky, I satisfy whatever need I had and I feel 100%. PartnerPenguin said it best:
“If you are tired, you fall asleep. I swear, we’ve passed into a tunnel [as passengers in a car] and you’ve been asleep by the time we came out. One time you did not get enough socialization for a few days and you described an in depth a conversation you struck up with a dog tied outside a store. A dog, Sara.”

Of these things, #3 has been the most important discovery for working on Self Care. Particularly this week, I have been working with what feels like a totally uphill battle to perform adequate self care.

Overall, I have had a pretty fucking badass week. I wore a super pink makeup pallet to a party on Saturday. I made this delicious, nutritious and spectacularly lovely dish with my beloved and my friend the Lioninegrammer on Sunday:

Oh yeah.

And I got tickets to see Hamilton.

Yes. That one. The one I’ve been writing about for a year.

I took a giant risk and actually waited in line at the theatre in Oroenpaz City where the show will be playing for nearly 8 months. I had gone home and eaten a big food and gotten a big coat, then I walked myself to the theatre and settled in for a nice good wait. The powers whom control positive luck were certainly smiling at me this week because I pulled an improbably good haul by waiting. Despite being 7^th from last person in line, I miraculously managed to get 6 seats next to each other for $100 per ticket. For a show that has been sold out in several cities for nearly a year at this point. 0__o I was literally jumping for joy for 10 minutes solid between when the usher let me into the box office foyer and when I made the purchase.

The majority of the rest of my waking hours this week have been spent at the annual conference for geoscientists. On Tuesday I networked, talked and listened for 12 hours straight. I met with past collaborators, managers, student peers, grad mentors and probably some people who didn’t like me but tolerated talking to me.

I owe this experience to someone who is a “new” character to this blog. I will call her ConventionCousin. We met at a geology convention nearly three years ago when she was thinking about coming to Big American University. She has matured so much in the time since then, I am truly honored to know her. ConventionCousin bought me a guest pass to this conference as a birthday present because she’s awesome like that. In thanks for this gift, I got her addicted to sushi burritos. Seems fair.

While a lot of my friends gathered swag and actually attended the scientific part of the conference, I networked my eyeballs out and my throat sore. I have the following observations about being constrained to the exhibition hall of a conference.

•       I was successful at finding academia adjacent companies, as I had hoped. Publishing houses, instrumentation providers, policy informers, and non-profits.
•        Fancy conferences have enough money to do really weird things that I didn’t know were possible, like brewing beer specifically for the social event and padded plush carpets.
•        Carpet outgassing irritates my eyes and makes me sad.
•        Keynote speakers can be REALLY high profile if your convention is deemed important enough by the right people.
•        At an academic context, people are defined by their work. It is acceptable to be entirely defined by your research and the organization you work for.

The last point really bugs me. People kept asking me “What do you do?” I have been working so much on my personal definition for so many months that this question irked me at a fundamental level. To several people who I could tell had a sense of humor I responded, “I respire.” Another level of this question was “What are you?” to which I would respond “A human, unless my permit has expired and I forgot to renew it. Why, do you know where the nearest permitting office is?”

I suppose there are so few contexts where scientists can describe in depth the beauty of their work; this is a somewhat adequate gateway towards meaningful conversation. Personally, I feel like the question “What are you?” makes me feel like I am an object and generates the context that the person asking me this question will view me as a tool. If I am an inefficient tool they will move on to the next person/tool. I understand that there are literally thousands of people at conventions, but I appreciate this as an opportunity to meet people, not tools.

Another question that confused me was “Where are you from?” This question makes a lot more sense in the context that many people travel for the event. However without an official affiliation, replying with my place of residence feels like the wrong answer. Replying with my city of origin feels even more wrong.

I guess I’ve just worked so hard on breaking my personal identity with my student/professional identity I am having trouble code-switching back to that frame of mind. I’m also not sure I want to buy in completely that I have to be defined by my profession and employer affiliation. Sometimes I just want to be a human who respires.

Me, getting ready to go to the conference:

I think the best advice I took with me to this conference was to “take everything with a bucket of salt.” While originally applied to something from Reddit, it is remarkably good advice when people are pedaling their wares at you and you don’t want to buy into what they have to sell. A school tried to encourage me to attend their graduate program because the school had prestige associated with the name. I really wanted to say “Bitch, I don’t care. That’s why I went where I went for undergrad and that was a terrible decision because prestige doesn’t mean shit for personality match.” I didn’t, I just smiled and nodded. I get some things right. I just took it with a bucket of salt.

The event that impacted me personally the most was a keynote speaker. She spoke of the importance of people like me. People who are interested in communicating science to broader communities, who can speak la lingua franca with communities who are “left behind”. The translators who can make complex science digestible to the public. While I felt this call to action was personally very effective, I fear that she politically avoided the issue that you can’t talk sense to crazy. She advocated speaking calm facts to raving talking heads: that might make sense politically, and even in the guarded context of the ivory tower but it is challenging to make a reality. I’m still figuring this out.

To close out the night, I wanted to briefly mention that PartnerPenguin and I attended a benefit concert this week with 2-3 song sets and 16 artists. One hell of a night. From those artists, I wanted to share an artist new to me! So here is Geographer singing “Kites”.