Crazy Busy

When I was in college I spent every minute of every day (and practically every night) in motion. Even when I was afforded a precious moment of downtime, I kept a running to do list in the back of my mind. Afterall, I couldn't face being behind when I took my last deep breathe and valiantly went back to work. I had a giant whiteboard on my bedroom wall that was constantly cluttered with calendar dates, reminders, supplies, phone numbers and if I was lucky, an occassional inside joke or encouraging note from one of my roommates. My cell phone bill was over $200 every month. It was blissful insanity. I was a full time student slash fuller time Director of an on-campus organization, a job that was as rewarding as it was consuming. My friends were the people I worked with and my social life was framed by organizational obligations.

These days, My whiteboard is a facilitation tool for the student support groups I run as part of my full time job. I don't use a planner and aside from a few notes here and there in my outlook calendar, my life is rarely dictated by a regimented schedule of events. I am not the director of anything and I have so little intellectual/academic stimulation in my life that I swear both my vocabulary and wealth of knowledge about the world are diminishing. Yet somehow, over the last couple of years, when asked how I'm doing or what I've been up to, I have unequivocally answered, "busy." And apparently, I'm not the only one.

The current moment of American insanity has been immortalized in a new book about being "Crazy Busy" (the book's straightforward title, apparently a consequence of the author being too over-stretched to be clever or creative in the production process). When I first heard about the book I (wrongly) assumed it was a critique of the overly-scheduled cultural birthplace of the 14 hour work day, the one day weekend and (my personal favorite) the 15 minute lunch break. I imagined the hilarious analysis of how only the United States could produce record-level job loss coinciding with a sharp increase in the sale of cell phones and other electronics designed to suit the needs of a busy working professional (blackberry revolution anyone?). I couldn't wait to breathe deeply through pages and pages of subversive, anti-capitalist (dare I say anti-American) chapters detailing the tragic implications of the current (double and triple-booked) status quo. Unfortunately, I'd have to wait for the next great work of American non-fiction, because, like most things in our lives these days that bring rest and relaxation, "Crazy Busy" is neither the time nor the place.

As it turns out (and by that, I mean, what I can gather from the editor's reviews on Amazon.com-it's not like I have the time to actually read it), the book is a how-to guide of sorts; a survival manual for the current era of chaos and confusion in our personal, professional, social and emotional lives. A few things crossed my mind immediately-

1) Am I wrong to assume that anyone caught up in a blackberry managed existence of meeting times and appointment reminders is already as equipped as they ever will be to handle the insanity of their daily lifestyle?
2) In a culture where we keep in touch with our families via facebook and keep abreast on the global economic crisis via text messages from cnn.com, is anyone actually reading entire books anymore?

After my initial perplexity subsided, I got to thinking about being busy. I thought about all of the different things I don't do, the people I don't call and the promises I don't keep, all in the name of how "busy" I am all of the time. I postpone coffee dates, create distance in my relationships, neglect my family and never have an inkling of guilt about it. Afterall, if I had just a couple more hours in a day, days in a weekend, or months in the year, I would call/write to/care about everyone, right?

Probably not. Because the truth is, the "I'm too busy" excuse is just this era's (polite) vaersion of "sorry, you're not a priority." The fact that we invoke it so often is at the core of my two pronged analysis, sparked by the new book, my own life and my desire to take a step back, a deep breathe and remind myself just how much time I really have.

Part 1: Just face it, you're not THAT busy

It's true. Our lives are demanding. The culture of capitalism, materialism and personal greed have attached all sorts of outrageous expectations to both our private and professional existence. Lately I've been wondering however, just how many of us are actually suffering from a complete absence of leisure time, and how many of us are participating in the illusion of it. If the entire country is caught up in the frenzy of their own schedules, who are the multiple millions of people voting for American Idol contestants? and who are the people patronizing the superbowl to such an extent that it costs the life savings of an entire franchise to advertise for thirty seconds during the event? How is it possible that I have over 400 "friends" on facebook, many who update their "status," pictures, and blogs regularly? Somehow, people found six hours in the middle of the work week to stand in line for the release of the new iphone last summer, likely so they could promptly dowload a fancy application the value of which is measured by minutes of time you can waste using it. You get the point.

Ever aware of the socio-cultural intersections that define our identity and experiences, I concede to the fact that the above description does not encompass the entire population. Everything from my advocacy of "second shift" feminist theory, to my personal upbringing by a physician father who spent more hours a week at work than most people spend eating, sleeping and working combined, has made me personally aware of the many circumstances that frame an unmanageable life. My suspicion remains, however, that many of us are enchanted by the idea of busy-ness, determined to define our lives by what we have going on rather than who we are or what we bring to the world.

Part 2: So we're busy... so what?

It makes sense, that it happened this way-that we became a culture of people who define our life's worth by the number of appointments in our cell phone and the number of emails in our inbox. It makes sense because it's easy, empty and (most importantly), profitable.

easy: Being "busy" is a catch-all excuse for everything,, and we, as a culture, love that about it. We're too busy to eat healthy, exercise, vote, invest in our families, volunteer, read, write, contribute, etc- it's a convenient way to get out of everything that requires real time and energy. The best part is, there are so many distractions in our lives: cell phones, i phones, social networking, TV on DVD and DVR-that we can support our habit of claiming that we're "busy" by drowning ourselves in time-consuming (meaningless) activities.

Empty: As far as I'm concerned, there's no absolute or intrinsic value to being busy. And as far as I know, there's no scientific (or even spiritual) evidence that being busy does anything for your life other than create clutter, stress and a meaningless illusion of meaning.


Profitable: Both the idea that we're busy and the participation in busy-ness keeps capitalism in motion. Nothing sells better than a fast/easy/lightweight solution to all of our problems, and being overbooked, overstretched and generally over stimulated brings up a slough of situations that demand our investment in products of all kinds. We consume food in convenient packaging and get meals from the driver-side window of our cars. Advertisers sell us "time-saving", "efficient" and "fast-working" everything, while we continue to move so quickly through our lives that we unconciously spend money on mindless consumption. And despite all of the time we're saving not talking, cooking, exercising, etc, we still manage to tell the world that we don't have time for anyone, especially ourselves.

I am only as critical of others as I can be critical of myself. And for so long, I too have bought into the myth that a path of chaos is the only route to a fulfilling life. About a month ago, while sweating profusely on my yoga mat, I awakened just briefly enough to ask myself: exactly what am I so busy doing? That question quickly led to a deeper exploration of why I was moving so quickly through my own life. Where was it that I was trying to get to in such a hurry? The answers to all of these questions have given me peace in stillness and the space to slow down.

Moving at a more moderate pace, I have come to appreciate a life that is not determined by how exhausted I am at the end of every day. It is with this clarity that I wonder just how much we're missing out on as we move through each minute relentlessly determined to get to the next minute, the next task, the next day, week, year, etc. as quickly as we possibly can. I have a yoga teacher who always says: "I never understand why people want to get through everything in life so fast. Afterall, no one gets out alive." She's right of course, packing more "things" or "events" or "appointments" in between the starting line and finish line of life isn't going to change the outcome in the end. In fact, it might just prevent us all from enjoying, appreciating and savoring all of the good stuff in between.

Telling it like it is in 2009

I've never been much for New Year's resolutions. I figure I'm just as equipped to change my life in August or the middle of February as I am when the clock strikes midnight on December 31st. I respect the concept, I guess: a commitment to self-improvement, to happiness, to anything in this perennially disatisfied culture of dispensable ideas, contradictory "research" studies and fleeting fads of everything from dieting to parenting. It just so happens that this New Year falls a month after my 25th birthday, marks the year anniversary of my (humble) move back to my hometown, and occurs in the midst of a slough of weddings and engagements involving my peers from childhood, high school, and college. It appears that 2009 is going to be a big one, and I'm resolving to do it up right.

Somewhere between my college graduation and the quarter century mark, I started thinking about honesty and direct communication; about how often we say and do things that serve the tenets of social obligation and propriety, rather than ourselves and the people around us. A two and a half year meditation on how we generate and reenforce normative behaviors that discourage authenticity and openness has culminated in this: I'm telling it like it is in 2009.

The breaking point came as a result of the unique series of events leading into (and just past) the new year. Namely, the social interaction that results from holiday season engagements and hometown gatherings, not to mention the wedding of a close childhood friend that officially gave birth to this blog last weekend. Long story short? The holidays were filled with conversations among people I know, love, vaguely remember, etc. marked by exaggerations, mitigations and outright fabrications. (read: people lying to other people because they know they can get away with it and feel better about their version of the truth than the reality of it). It really didn't bother me at first. Years of studying yoga and critical theory have made me more tolerant of the way people communicate in social space. I'm either at peace with it because it has nothing to do with me (yoga) or able to appreciate the context that has produced it(that's the critical theory part). Either way, I typically assume that much like my precious high school students, the adults in my life are just trying to tell the world(and likely themselves), "Hey, I'm happy."

I only started to question this phenomenon when I realized that the exchanges I was witnessing/experiencing were not occassional or isolated, but pervasive, almost universal. It became more shocking to hear something honest, than to listen to someone explain an unneccessary perversion of the truth. Perhaps even more telling is that I found myself (a dedicated ambassador of honesty no matter what the social/emotional consequence) conforming to this bogus ritual. And for what? to save face? to convey to a relative, friend or near-stranger that my life was full of the self-satisfaction and success that theirs was lacking? to convince myself that what I am doing with my life is fulfilling and meaningful, not to mention exciting, rewarding and lucrative? The truth is, I can't pin down a singular motivation. I imagine that it's some combination of a national culture that keeps us in a perpetual state of desire and insecurity (mainly so we spend more money trying to feel better) and the local culture in which I grew up, where young people start comparing eachother's development and accomplishments as soon as they know how to talk.

Whatever the reason, I'm on a one-woman crusade to stop the rhetoric, and get down to business, with the truth. Why? because I see both intrinsic and functional value in creating spaces for open dialogue that encourage the uncensored sharing of wisdom and ideas. Not only that, I've learned that happiness is derived from unconditional acceptance of who and where we are at any given moment. If we're constantly expending energy creating self-delusions and generating false images, we certainly can't find contentment and peace with what is, as it is, no matter what it is, right?

The more I thought about it, the more places in my life I could see the benefits of straight talking. How many dating disasters could have been mitigated or averted if the two (or more) people involved had chosen to be honest and forthcoming instead of playing by some imaginary rules of a made-up game? How many sets of roommates, friends and partners have endured epic confrontations after repeated conversations dictated by what the other person "wanted to hear." How much less anxiety would we feel talking to other people in public if we knew we both had the same expectation: the truth. Think of all the blissful relief that would come from simply getting "it" off of our chests. Count the number of times a day you have to lie about how you're "doing" or feeling and then imagine the kind of serenity that might wash over you each time you could openly respond: "awful," "fantastic," "frustrated", "anxious", "ecstatic." etc.

One of the occupational drawbacks of working with high school kids is having to come face to face everyday with so many destructive social norms and communication patterns that persist into our adult lives. More often than not, the drama, angst and conflict of (middle class white) teenagers is brought on by some form of indirect/mis communication. Without the distractions and responsibilties of being a grown-up, high school students become obsessed with and possessed by the details and consequences of these situations. While it may not be as dramatic or consuming for those of us on the backside of our adolescence, the absence of open communication can be insidious and stifling just the same. Of course, since we've all been side-stepping, sugar-coating and otherwise diluting the truth since before we were teenagers, we have set up an entire system of expectation and fulfillment that discourages direct communication.

So I'm making a commitment I feel like I can keep: To tell the truth (unabashedly) in all of the circumstances in my life that don't involve 1) my career or 2)the fragile egos of my tortured high school students (who mostly just need a little bit of validation and a compassionate shoulder to cry on). I consider this resolution to be one of on-going potential for karmic change. I hope to encourage honesty by spreading it, and to recieve direct communication through delivering it. If nothing else, it seems like a powerful way to more accurately reflect the values I believe in, and an excellent way to frame the remainder of the year ahead.

What the feminists are saying

There are pieces of my life that represent glaring philisophical contradictions. The best example is my twelve-year-old love of country music. It's simple and shallow with underlying elements of ignorance, conservatism and patriarchy. So many of my fundamental values are called into question by the lines and language of country music and yet, I can't help it, I need it in my life. Perhaps even more insidious than country itself, are the radio stations that play it. Made famous by boycotting the Dixie Chicks after their allegedly unpatriotic criticism of George W. Bush (years before blaming him for the bad economy and global climate change was popularized), country radio isn't exactly the bastion of critical thought and progressive ideology that I would like it to be.

A couple of weeks ago I was driving home from work just before 4pm. My commute hours are epic radio listening times because early morning/afternoon DJs can more or less say exactly what they are thinking while safely assuming that their primary listening audience is not yet awake/still stuck at work, respectively. What a glorious privilege of free speech. On this particular occassion, the Country DJ on Sacramento's second country station* was sharing a story about a new line of women's underwear that contained a GPS tracking device. I happened to tune in just as the DJ was detailing "what the feminists are saying" about the new product. Oh man, I thought, this is going to be good.

Before I get into the significance of the broad scope of the DJ's statement, let me address the immediate issue: The GPS Lingerie. I don't know what you've heard about domestic violence lately, but one of its most prevalent (and under-recognized) incarnations is emotional abuse. This is often manifested in one partner's exercise of control over the other partner and typically includes the monitoring of where they are, who they're with and what they are doing, at all times. The percentage of domestic violence that is perpetrated by men against women is in the high nineties... need I say more?

Aside from the obvious personal privacy violations, one could imagine the outrageous backlash from a similar product designed (primarily) to track the whereabouts of men. Hasn't our culture developed a stringent code of ridicule and punishment for men who let the women's in their lives follow their every move? Don't we ostracize and criticize male partners who even make voluntary efforts to stay in touch with their female counterparts? Picture the last time you were out with a man who called/texted the woman he was seeing/dating/married to, chances are good the response from his peers involved some combination of ambiguous but overtly-disapproving noises and the word "pussy"(my favorite).

But back to the D.J. Obviously declaring himself in opposition to "the feminists," the D.J. took a condescending tone to describe a perspective ripe with the judgment of the prudish, repressed, uptight sensibilities of a nameless, faceless portion of the population that opposes expressions of heterosexuality-those feminists sure are a fun bunch! As I'm listening I'm thinking about my life as a feminist...

In the early days, I was a precocious elementary school student who spoke up in class, ran for student government office and believed whole-heartedly that boys and girls should be treated the same. Still long before I had a name for it, my feminism showed up in my critique of adolescent gender power dynamics and double standards. The harsh world of high school sluts and homecoming politics felt unfair and imbalanced. And finally as an adult, privileged by access to a richly diverse women's studies program and a library of feminist literature, my understanding and appreciation of my own feminism continues to evolve.

The point is, our culture has limited the reach of feminism by inaccurately labeling the people and ideas that comprise the movement. The country D.J. who uses the phrase be the "feminists" to describe a single type of feedback about a particular product is no different than my male peers at school who tell me, "I think women and men should be treated equally, but feminism takes it too far." Likewise, the women who called into the country radio station to express their disdain for "the feminists" because of how sexy they think it is to put on a pair of underwear and wait for their man to find them, are also missing the point. The definition of feminism? "The theory of political, economic and social equality of the sexes." Which would make "feminists" any individual or group of people who believe in it. Which would also mean that attaching a "feminist" label to narrowly conceived opinions (such as GPS underwear is for the promiscuous and amoral) disempowers an entire field of thought that has the potential to do great things in the world.

There are two primary points I am trying to make
1) GPS underwear was (like most things) probably designed by a man who has some unrealistic fantasy about what type of underwear gets a woman going, and a limited understanding of a real woman's needs and desires in that department. It is a disturbing invention but I think most feminists would agree, that if a woman chooses to wear GPS underwear for her own pleasure, fulfillment, happiness, etc, there is no judgment from us.

2) The worst part about creating an idea of what "the feminists" think, say, do believe, etc. is that it marginalizes and narrows a movement that is designed to be broad and inclusive. As soon as "feminism" has a concrete set of values and expectations, women and men can point to the reasons they aren't feminists instead of imagining all of the ways in which they are. Feminism is not about a dogmatic approach to social and political life. Feminism is about becoming aware of our simultaneous uniqueness and oneness, and creating a space where we can meet to improve our lives. Wear your GPS underwear, if you'd like.


*apparently the ridicule of the California state capital for being a backcountry hillbilly town had died down in the last few years so we needed an additional country music station to amp up our image.

Are we just acting in love?

Yoga, to me, is a beautiful reflection of life. It creates and illuminates so many incredible aspects of what we think and feel, who we are, how we see the world and what we want to become. Occasionally, I'll take a yoga class and have such a crucial moment of awakening, I'm tempted to get off of my mat and embrace the teacher for articulating such wisdom and shining such clarity into my soul. In these moments, I have the urge to express my epiphony to the entire room, to rejoice in my insight and personal growth... A slave to the propriety and etiquette of the yoga studio, I always refrain.

Just this week, I had one such experience. We were resting in child's pose, being lulled into deep relaxation by loud breathes and the soothing words of the teacher moving quietly through the room. He was talking about "acting happy" a yoga philosophy that directs it's practicioners to demonstrate behaviors and emotions they want to experience in their authentic lives. Essentially, the concept suggests that if you act a certain way consistently, eventually you will live the action in an effortless and organic way. True enough, I imagine. The crucial moment for me came once he went on to suggest how this idea transcends other aspects of our experience. Specifically, he said, "if you act like you're in love with someone, chances are, you'll fall in love with them."

I got to thinking about acting in love. I got to thinking about so many other times I've sat down at my computer (or my journal, or a random sheet of crumpled paper from the depths of my college backpack) and written about love. I've written about the cultural myths that frame our aspirations for, and understanding of romance in all of its forms. I've written about the gendered expectations and sexual politics that govern our social lives. I've questioned the motivations of a generation raised by divorce and infidelity who still desire to commit themselves unquestionably to marriage and domestic commitments in their mid-twenties. I've questioned the very idea that love even exists in the way that everyone from filmmakers and novelists to poets and daytime television writers have imagined.

I've never considered the fact that all of those relationships I've been wondering about: particularly my twenty-something- year-old friends who've confused the idea of getting married, which is inherently tied to a lifetime of sacrifice and identity-altering commitments, with having a wedding, which is more inherently tied to having celebration after celebration over a period of six months honoring you and your partner, all culminating in a lavish, drunken party after which you have more dishware and cooking equipment than you could possibly use in an entire lifetime. Are these people genuinely convinced that 25 years after they showed up on earth for the first time they're even capable of making a decision that is likely to dictate THE REST OF THEIR LIVES? I can't even decide what to bring with me to work for lunch everyday. Is there a chance that we are so afraid of ending up alone for all eternity that we're just reaching a certain age and surrendering to whatever relationship we find ourselves in? Is it possible that if you just pretend to love someone long enough, eventually, you just will? or convince yourself you do well enough to substantiate a long-term relationship?

Not to suggest that mid-twenties matrimony is the only case in which love is merely an elaborately scripted reality tv show where the ultimate goal is to survive your partner's inadequacy and the grand prize is ending up not-single. There's a good chance all sorts of people are acting in love: text-messaging teenagers, middle-aged married people, divorcees who have rekindled their dating-youth while perusing the (web)pages of e-harmony.com. I imagine that we've come to emulate romantic rituals so effectively, likely from being inundated with their ideals since birth (movies, tv shows, books, stories, local mythology and cultural folklore), that we're able to construct entire relationships by portraying the components of them well enough, for long enough, that eventually they just fuse together to create a romantic partnership, the likes of which are indecipherable from the real thing. Or maybe that's just it? Maybe there is no difference between "acting" and "being" in love. Maybe all of the emotions, behaviors and circumstances surrounding romantic love are a complex hybrid of reality and fantasy, whereby we are simultaneously creating and experiencing our own reality.

In a world where our identities are almost inseparable from our possessions, where we portray completely self-articulated identities on the pages of social networking sites, where entire relationships are unfolding via internet-dating correspondence, it seems appropriate to question the authenticity of modern day romance. The more and more I look around, the more and more I'm aware of how hyper-mediated our social lives have become. The frequency of our communication via e-mail, text-messages, facebook and myspace leaves a frightening amount of space for our personal narratives to dictate how our relationships evolve. I've listened to so many of the high school students I work with tell me elaborate stories of conversations they've had with boyfriends and girlfriends, complete with hand gestures and voice intunation, only to have them reveal their cell phone to say, "see, just read this." I try not to let my mouth drop when I realize every exchange has happened through text messages.

If my suspicion is even partially accurate, it makes me wonder why we even bother to concern ourselves with the insignificant details of pursuing romance: Wondering where/how to meet potential mates. Defining the characteristics of the person we're looking for. Obsessing about the various ways we can avoid an eternity of solitude. Making sure we get married in our mid-twenties just in case the supply of attractive/interesting single people runs out. Doesn't all of this become irrelevant if we can simply act our way to happiness with whomever we might end up with. Who needs to search for a soulmate when we can make one out of our next dinner date?

My mom calls me cynical. My dad calls me a feminist. And while those are both fair evaluations outside of this context, I maintain that my analysis of love in this particular case has little to do with my cynicism or my socio-cultural value system. More so, it is a critical examination of the world around me and an acknowledgment that we are not simply who we choose to be. We are constantly influenced by exposure to imagery and information and we exist in a state of flux, not determination. As the great yogis say, life is change, deal with it (or something). As much as our culture has changed in the last 200 years, it is nearly inconcievable that the conditions of romantic relationships have remained static, yet somehow we are still attached to the same tired ideas and expectations of love and courtship. It's not that I don't believe in love, but that I challenge its existence as we culturally understand it. And from time to time, I can't help but look at the people in my life and wonder: are they just acting in love?

The (high school) gods must be crazy

Sometime in the late eighties or early nineties (those years of my childhood blur together in a colorful array of puffy paint and spandex) some righteous (undoubtedly) white filmmaker produced a movie depicting the absurdity/hilarity/irony created by the encroachment of Western "culture" on what I can only remember as rural/tribal Africa. The opening scene depicts an unassuming "African" male walking through the wide expanses of his unadulterated homeland. The young boy is unexpectedly hit on the head by a coca-cola bottle which seems to fall out of the sky without explanation. Aside from my post-critical consciousness assessment of the essentialized imagery that shaped both the setting and the comedy of "The Gods Must be Crazy", I've recently appreciated the way the film conveys the phenomenon of alien cultures colliding without the language or framework to communicate with eachother, and how many images, words and ideas go untranslated when two groups occupy the same physical space but are unique and distinctive in so many other ways.

Such has been my experience over the last three months. In August, I went back to high school. To work, that is. Technically speaking, I'm an interventionist, which basically translates into more crises with less pay than the traditional guidance counselor on campus. They call me the "front line" of the counseling department. As the title suggests, my position at the forefront of the crisis response system situates me up close and personal with a wide array of teenage angst and issues. On any given day I might encounter sexual assault or domestic violence, failing grades or excessive tardies as well as the entire spectrum of adolescent relationship conflicts and dilemmas. It's almost as if I went to college to escape the things I hated most about high school, only to become qualified enough to confront them in my professional, adult life. What a cruel joke.

"The Gods Must be Crazy" first resonated with me when I had to google search a "recreational drug" a couple of kids at the high school had been caught using. I couldn't believe that within the same decade of my high school graduation, kids had already popularized an entirely new substance with which to get high. I felt the proverbial coke bottle crack against my skull. After several pop quiz phone calls to a number of my friends in their twenties (none of whom could correctly identify the drug I questioned them about), multiple minutes of lamenting my rapidly advancing age, and a quick survey of other adults on campus, I got to thinking: How can a population of professionals serve the young people they work with when they are socially and culturally isolated from them? Certainly, if I can't even understand the unique challenges, specific language, rituals and habits of high school students, few other adults are capable of connecting with teens who live and breathe by these normative systems every day.

The resurrection of my adolescent insecurities as an outsider in a world defined by who and what makes up the inside, aside, I wonder about the deeper issue of from whom and where kids are getting the information and insight that directs their daily lives. Most importantly, how are they interpreting the world around them, and what are the consequences of this interpretation? Simply put, in the absence of an adult support system who can communicate with and understand them, kids are making a whole lot of decisions based on what they hear from their friends and what they see in the media. And why wouldn't they? Even as adults, we tend to adhere to philosophies and wisdom that are the most relevant, the most familiar to us. High School kids speak and understand the language of myspace, text messaging and MTV entertainment. While adults may be aware that these social realms exist, they are more frequently trying to repress or monitor them, rather than experience and utitlize their communicative power.

I work in a high school with predominantly middle to upper-middle class white students(coincidentally, I also came from a high school with a similar social composition). Most of the students I see represent a demographic characterized by inherited privilege, automatic academic success, over-indulgence and an abundance of parent involvement in their academic, social and extra-curricular experience. These kids have parents who regularly call their teachers and school counselors. Parents who know who their kids friends are, what they do after school and on the weekends. And still, their parents are unaware of just how severe the cultural disconnect between themselves and their kids has become. These kids are assertive and intelligent. They are insightful and empowered. And as a result, they trade inaccurate information back and forth, pass on rumors and myths as fact, and validate eachothers destructive decision making and uninformed ideologies. They've learned everything they know from Youtube, Wikipedia and the blurred fact/fiction world of reality tv. As many of us in hyper-mediated America do, these kids take what they see and hear at face value. Since they aren't taught to be critical of the world around them, they learn to accept it, to co-opt it to fit their needs, desires and lifestyles. They use eachother as mirrors of normalcy. And since their parents don't understand this distorted universe they occupy, there is no intervention, no alternatives, no space for dialogue or discussion.

The number one complaint I hear from students about their parents is, "They say they understand, but they don't." "Good morning parents of teenagers: This is your son or daughter speaking. I want to inform you that high school is NOTHING like it was when you were a kid." Maybe this will shed some perspective: I am biologically too young to possibly have given birth to a high school student and still, high school is vastly different than it was when I barely survived it.

Now, to be clear, I am the last person to adopt an attitude that holds parents exclusively (or even mostly) responsible for the choices their children make and what type of adult incarnation their youthful development results in. Instead, I use parents as an example to represent the fact that practically every adult who has the potential opportunity to influence the process of teenage decision making and education is limited by their own social location. A location that is as far removed from the place where their teenagers exist as the Atlanta, GA-based coca-cola bottling headquarters is from the plains of Africa. Moreover, I am aware of the unique and specific challenges that face each individual teenager in each different social/economic context. The example of the high school where I work serves to highlight the idea that even the most well-served adolescents are, in many cases, suffering from alienation from the people and resources they need to make informed choices, create edified personal identities, and grow their self-esteem and self-assurance towards a productive future.

So what is the solution?
Let's be honest, if I knew the answer to that one, I would have my own segment on Oprah instead of a tiny little space on the internet to write a blog that only my mom and her boyfriend ever read.
What I can see, is that we're trapped in an old system that is serving old needs and providing (questionably effective) solutions to old problems. Adults are either paralyzed by the fear of what they might encounter if they explore the world that teenagers live in, or are living by ancient standards of family functionality (like having dinner around the table and "talking to your kids about drugs"). From what I can estimate from my experience, neither position is, on its own, productive. Perhaps parents would be better served to learn about what it's really like in high school these days, and instead of trying to protect their kids, engage them.

Let's take the example of sex. And yes, I assure you, teenagers are having it. Younger than ever, more often than ever. Whether you make them keep the door to their room open or restrict their access to the opposite gender or not. They're having it. Or they're going to have it. Or their friends are having it and passing on their experiential "wisdom" about it in the aftermath. If you frame this issue with kids as a "bad", "dirty" and/or "dangerous" practice, they're probably not going to be open about their degree of participation in it. Instead, if you ask them what they know about it, what they think about it, if they've tried it? You just might be able to help them become more equipped to deal with it in a safe and healthy way. Aren't we all better off in a world where people are the most prepared/educated as they can possibly be about anything?

I think, as with any systemic social problem, it is important to start with literacy and open communication. Learning the languages that young people speak can not only help us understand them, but help them realize that we intend to serve and support them, not judge or direct them. We are dealing with a generation of young people who know more, experience more and feel entitled to more of the world than any generation before them. If they don't know something they find out about it (for better or for worse, true or false), if they haven't done something they hear about, they try it. If they believe something to be true, they spread it around.

Inviting young people to join us at the table of dialogue may be a first step in identifying solutions to each piece of the adolescent/adult communication divide. The truth is, if young people trust and respect the adults in their lives, they actually want to listen to them. They want to be witnessed and heard. In my own experience, the end-product of creating open spaces of communication where young people can address questions, concerns and confusion has been overwhelmingly positive. It gives them the opportunity to navigate their lives with the help of someone who can, at best, provide answers and information, and at worst, have the presence of mind to direct them towards accurate sources of insight and resources to further explore their interests.

In a conversation with my mom (aged 58) this morning, I was lamenting "being a complete moron" between the ages of 16 and 20. She kindly rolled her eyes and said, "don't worry... we all were." So, if high school is completely different than it used to be, but teenagers are no more adept at handling their own lives than they ever have been, isn't it fair to propose a departure from the status-quo in favor of a consolidated, albeit revolutionary, effort towards a partnership of young and old(er).

Paulo Freire, an educational hero of mine, believed in dismantling pedagogical hierarchies and creating horizontal relationships. Freire fostered an education of empowerment, where both teacher and student participated in both the teaching and the learning. Most importantly, Freire taught within a framework that included systems, languages and ideas that were already relevant to his students. It didn't matter where he, as a teacher, was coming from. It mattered where his students needed to go. A Freirian perspective would suggest that no one knows better than teenagers, what it means to be them. Their education begins in that place and journeys in whatever direction they need to take it to serve their own educational cause. We are there, merely as facilitators of high quality (no mtv-generated pseudo-reality) work in the process.

Just imagine, for all of the things you wished you hadn't done or would've known then... wouldn't it be remarkable to give young people the tools to be prevention agents in their own lives, and perhaps, choose better and live better, as a result?

Good things about Sex (and the City)

I've spent a lot of time writing about all of the ways Sex and the City has brought evil into the world(not to mention my life): Generating and reenforcing imagery of normalcy as white affluence, creating representations of female value as it is tied to their relationships with men, affirming stereotypes of gender dichotomies and heteronormativity. When I first heard about the release of the film incarnation of the popular television series, I could only imagine the resulting conversations and critical analyses. I shamelessly went to see the film on opening night; the theater was filled with women of all ages, congregated in large, drunken groups of their peers, dressed in heels, stumbling, laughing and yelling in the spirit of sisterhood and female empowerment.

The Sex and the City movie was fabulous. It was beautiful, well-edited, emotional and funny. And for all of the reasons I could hate it, I chose to love it, instead. I chose to appreciate growing up in a generation that produced such a glamorous portrayal of powerful, successful women. I chose to embrace the fact that Sex and the City has dramatically influenced our ability to think and talk about sex: openly, honestly and on our own terms. Women everywhere have undoubtedly benefitted from the portrayal of: positive female relationships, women with challenging careers and ambitious professional goals, and countless other revolutionary ideas illuminated through the series and film.

It isn't easy for me to ignore the thin, flawless, wealthy white characters who marginalize those of us who fail to fit into all or some of those categories. Of course I challenge the recurring theme that women are somehow incomplete, empty or restless without a heterosexual relationship in their lives. And while countless other details reflect stereotypes and essentialism, Sex and the City has defined and redefined the space women have in the media. Sex and the City brought female sexuality to our intellectual and sensual attention. It narrated the world of relationships and sex in a voice that was distinctly feminine and uniquely single.

Sex and the City reclaimed the television definition of the adult female experience as one of possibility, variety and agency. For years, the popular television audience witnessed small revolutions in the portrayal of women: Modest, temperate housewives of two parent families became career-driven working moms and powerful single parents. Women took on new responsibilities and represented a broader range of characteristics and experiences. And while Claire Huxtable and Murphy Brown were pioneers of media territory; Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte became inventors of a world some women didn't even know existed in real-life, let alone on television. The women of Sex and the City talked about orgasms, masturbating, contraception, fertility and personal choice. Our most intimate personal thoughts became interpersonal conversations of everyday life. Women were empowered to control their own sexual destiny and encouraged to dialogue with their peers along the way.

While traditional education, cultural folklore and the wisdom of our parents taught women to be the objects of male desire and fantasy, Sex and the City taught us to be the subject of our own. Sex and the City interrupted archaic notions of submission and modesty with declarations of independence, curiosity and power. If the bright, sexy, sophisticated stars of the series could purchase vibrators and discuss the nuances of anal and oral sex in public, so could we. No longer constrained by narrow rules of social engagement, women were unleashed in the sexual world as the authors of their own boundaries and expectations.

Social progress is often a product of dialogue, information acquisition and community mobilization. While I have no doubt that the creators of Sex and the City did not set out to change the world; they may have created an important historical piece of our cultural evolution. Their imagery and language generated dialogue, their adventurous content produced exposure to information, and within the context of the series and its followers, a community of sexually liberated women emerged.

Quarter Life Crisis

My disgustingly charming and gorgeous college boyfriend was two years older than me. By the time I turned 21 he was self-indulgently immersed in a social/spiritual hell he could only describe as a quarter-life crisis. At the time, I relegated his constant reminders to "plan my future" before being confronted head-on by the inconvenience and confusion of my mid-twenties to the back of my mind where I stored everything I filtered from his occasionally dramatic-always self-absorbed life-lesson-lectures.

I got a text message on my last birthday from one of older friends: welcome to your mid twenties. Here we are, at that tragic juncture where children of privilege have to learn to navigate their own lives for the first time since emerging from the womb. From the time we were young it was all laid out for us: from what to say and what to eat to how to dress and how to succeed. And then it happens, one early summer day we awake as graduates from whatever major University we just happened to attend, and the entire world as we know it, falls apart.

Lately I've noticed there is one very drastic measure some of us are taking to cope with the ever-increasing angst of our mid-twenties. Leaving our jobs and traveling the world? Signing over our trust funds to an international non-profit and living off the land out of a van? Forsaking the Investment banking firm to build houses in sub-saharan Africa? All of these sound like heroic and pivotal efforts for members of the upper-middle class, but alas, I'm talking about a socio-cultural phenomenon that is much more dangerous, much more terrifying, much more permanent: marriage.

That's right, the privileged class is synching up, having beautiful and elaborate weddings attended by well-dressed, attractive, white people, and laying the foundation for the next generation of suburban social chaos. Are these people kidding? Haven't they learned the harsh and damaging lessons of our parents and their friends and every other unit of upper-middle class adults that we've had exposure to since our first day at the elite elementary school?

What is it exactly that motivates young people who are highly educated, professionally ambitious and destined to inherit the world, to get married before they reach their quarter century mark? I know young women in their twenties are no longer haunted by their ticking biological clocks, after all, even our own mothers waited until they were at least 30 to have children, and are now living fit and vibrantly with their kids grown, lively as ever in their late fifties and sixties. We know young men in their twenties are hardly compelled to be "settling down" as every image and source of information they've received since birth has shaped commitment, long-term relationships and certainly marriage as the equivalent of a commercial airplane crash landing: take all measures to avoid it, waiting for every contingency plan to fail before surrendering to your imminent death and giving in as a last resort.

The only explanation I can come up with is that young, privileged twenty-somethings are feeling lost, insecure and freaking out at the intersection of growing up and making their own decisions. Apparently the idea of getting married (or the overly-indulgent modern era practice of planning a wedding) somehow soothes the anxious soul of young adults who are accustomed to having everything in their lives handed to them, choreographed by the various entities of privilege that have shaped each stage of their(our) existence. It seems as if the solution to the confusion and feelings of failure surrounding the end of the path our privilege put us on, is easily solved by choosing to pursue tradition and uphold convention. It's as if the way they measure progress is how rapidly they can replicate their parent's dysfunctional lives.

So bring it on ladies and gentleman. Pass the free champagne and that charming piece of the $5,000 cake. I'll be happy to indulge myself at the singles table as I wager with my cynical counterparts about just how long this one will last.