19 September 2016
Marginal improvements
I feel guilty about the last few posts. I don't wish to gainsay anything in them, but perhaps some thoughts should not have been thunk? (If I were a better person, I would not have thunk them...goes the refrain.) Still, I do feel better for having gotten them out - as if I've released the negative thoughts together with the words - and I do feel more able to be my slightly better self slightly more of the time.
15 September 2016
It takes a village
But what I'm doing is rejecting the village, I guess is one way of thinking about it, and possibly/probably the way everyone else thinks about it, her grandparents and father and aunts. If you need help - and you say you need help - then avail yourself of the help that is offered - and stop caviling about how it's not the right kind of help, not the particular help you want. (It would also not be right to refuse the help, even if you could afford to. That would be ungrateful, and cruel to the child, and I'm sure other terrible things as well.) It's not - I think? - that I think her grandparents should only consult my wishes, but that they act as if they were only consulting my wishes but without actually consulting them, and denying that they have wishes of their own. So it's a tangled web of obligation and gratitude and passive-aggressiveness and sheer greediness for the child that we're all caught in - the last of which I do understand, but is somehow not an acceptable thing to say of oneself (except in deprecation) or of others (especially of others).
PS: I don't think of it as rejecting the village, in concept or actuality or sentimentality. But I do sometimes, often, feel - enmeshed - in family.
PS: I don't think of it as rejecting the village, in concept or actuality or sentimentality. But I do sometimes, often, feel - enmeshed - in family.
All mixed up:
1. Possessiveness - this is my baby - which is hardly new or surprising, for me/to me.
2. A desire for privacy, the strength of which I never quite realised until I was pregnant. A sense that whatever else this is - grandparent-grandchild relationships, a new dynamic for the extended family, a new dynamic for my little family, mother-child relationships - it is still my life. I don't think this is the same as (1), and while (1) has diminished with time, this one hasn't - it's sometimes driven underground by a combination of despair and despondency and tiredness. I think it might be the harder feeling to understand, if one doesn't have it oneself.
3. Flickering gratitude, and resentment of being expected to be grateful, and resentment at being in a position (not put in a position, not by anyone but myself - that has always been clear to me) of needing help and being expected to need help and being expected to be grateful for the help that is given.
4. A fierce love for the baby - a little less fierce now, more tamped-down, though no less strong, than a few days after she was born - or perhaps the ferocity is just less surprising to me now. I see these words a lot, in writings by or about new mothers - a 'fierce love' - the same adjective always - it's hard to get away from cliches, especially when they're apt. Related to (1) but not, I think, the same thing. My baby. This puts all other loves in the shade (be honest: some were true loves, and some were social/moral/familial obligations).
5. A need/desire to be mothered, but in a very particular way, and resentment at being mothered in any other way. Which feeds into
6. Surprise at, and surprise at how much I dislike, many aspects of grandparent behaviour. This comes from (1) to (5), I think, and more besides, especially when I think back to my own childhood. (Not that it wasn't happy, by any account. But not, I think, as so thoroughly enjoyed by my parents? For the usual reasons - I don't remember my early childhood or my siblings' early childhood that well, there are stresses and worries associated with parenting, my parents were much less mellow and there was a great deal more shouting (but only shouting) at points in my life.) Some of it is - the tension between thinking that I'm too old to need parenting, and wanting my child's caregivers to behave as caregivers, responsible and sober and long-term-thinking, rather than besotted grandparents, and, well, (5). You don't stop needing your parents, it turns out, but it's possible - I want to acknowledge the possibility - that they might stop wanting to parent you. In a non-melodramatic way; haven't you left the home, after all? I wanted them to be - oh, friends and (my idea of) parents and my child's co-caregivers, and they wanted to be - grandparents, I guess. And to be helpful; see (3).
2. A desire for privacy, the strength of which I never quite realised until I was pregnant. A sense that whatever else this is - grandparent-grandchild relationships, a new dynamic for the extended family, a new dynamic for my little family, mother-child relationships - it is still my life. I don't think this is the same as (1), and while (1) has diminished with time, this one hasn't - it's sometimes driven underground by a combination of despair and despondency and tiredness. I think it might be the harder feeling to understand, if one doesn't have it oneself.
3. Flickering gratitude, and resentment of being expected to be grateful, and resentment at being in a position (not put in a position, not by anyone but myself - that has always been clear to me) of needing help and being expected to need help and being expected to be grateful for the help that is given.
4. A fierce love for the baby - a little less fierce now, more tamped-down, though no less strong, than a few days after she was born - or perhaps the ferocity is just less surprising to me now. I see these words a lot, in writings by or about new mothers - a 'fierce love' - the same adjective always - it's hard to get away from cliches, especially when they're apt. Related to (1) but not, I think, the same thing. My baby. This puts all other loves in the shade (be honest: some were true loves, and some were social/moral/familial obligations).
5. A need/desire to be mothered, but in a very particular way, and resentment at being mothered in any other way. Which feeds into
6. Surprise at, and surprise at how much I dislike, many aspects of grandparent behaviour. This comes from (1) to (5), I think, and more besides, especially when I think back to my own childhood. (Not that it wasn't happy, by any account. But not, I think, as so thoroughly enjoyed by my parents? For the usual reasons - I don't remember my early childhood or my siblings' early childhood that well, there are stresses and worries associated with parenting, my parents were much less mellow and there was a great deal more shouting (but only shouting) at points in my life.) Some of it is - the tension between thinking that I'm too old to need parenting, and wanting my child's caregivers to behave as caregivers, responsible and sober and long-term-thinking, rather than besotted grandparents, and, well, (5). You don't stop needing your parents, it turns out, but it's possible - I want to acknowledge the possibility - that they might stop wanting to parent you. In a non-melodramatic way; haven't you left the home, after all? I wanted them to be - oh, friends and (my idea of) parents and my child's co-caregivers, and they wanted to be - grandparents, I guess. And to be helpful; see (3).
You'd think I'd've learned it by now #500
I find myself doing it again and again: thinking that if I just express myself clearly, if I articulate my needs and wants* clearly and precisely, if I show why I'm thinking what I'm thinking - then the other person will respond to me in the desired way. Not - I tried to explain - necessarily by fulfilling the need, or even by thinking it a reasonable or understandable or morally okay (technical term here) thing to need - but by engaging me in like manner.
This is clearly not a thing that's going to happen. (I find the same tendency in some of our politicians - if we just explained things carefully and clearly to people, they will see why our policies are what they are, why they are what they had to be. It doesn't work that well in politics, either.) My question is, is it okay for me to do this? To demand engagement? Is that a need that I'm demanding be fulfilled - a meta-need? an underlying need? - and is that demand, well, wrong - not reasonable or sympathisable-with or morally okay, but too narcissistic and self-centred and self-ish? Maybe yes? The 'maybe' isn't purely rhetorical - for a long time I believed that it was reasonable (etc) to articulate one's needs and to expect to be taken seriously - for the other person to fulfill the need or explain why it couldn't or shouldn't be fulfilled or to articulate his or her own needs or something. To respond in the same register. (Though maybe this is a smokescreen for myself: I did expect that the so-reasonably-set out needs would be fulfilled. In the way that I wanted them fulfilled. As in: I would like you to show your love in these particular ways. And how would you know them if I didn't tell you what they were? But I want to acknowledge the possibility that my reasonable needs were not, in fact, reasonable.) That while my interlocutor might well say no, there would be a conversation about that no. But is the demand for the conversation reasonable? May I demand it? I guess this is a trick question - it all depends who you're demanding it of - it might be an okay thing to demand, or a kind of aggression, or a true need, or a deeply narcissistic thing to do, or a very adolescent thing to do (all I want is for you to understand meeee) - or all of the above (trick answer).
* For my purposes pretty much the same thing. I'll just say 'need', since every want feels like a need to the want-er.
Update: the answer is clearly no, it's not okay, don't do it. Accept what you're given with a glad heart. It's too late for that kind of openness and vulnerability, if ever it were possible. If you were a better person, you wouldn't even ask this question. But since I'm not, and I can't pretend to be on a consistent basis, which is probably just confusing and upsetting for everyone - and we're not going to talk it out, are we? - what should I do? Beyond the usual unsatisfactory mix of politeness and embarrassment and kindness: pretend it didn't happen, be kind when you can, nurse your resentments in private if you have to. Accept such means as will give you your ends, your stated ends, even if those ends were conceived of, and repeatedly affirmed, in moments of high-mindedness which you find increasingly difficult to sustain.
This is clearly not a thing that's going to happen. (I find the same tendency in some of our politicians - if we just explained things carefully and clearly to people, they will see why our policies are what they are, why they are what they had to be. It doesn't work that well in politics, either.) My question is, is it okay for me to do this? To demand engagement? Is that a need that I'm demanding be fulfilled - a meta-need? an underlying need? - and is that demand, well, wrong - not reasonable or sympathisable-with or morally okay, but too narcissistic and self-centred and self-ish? Maybe yes? The 'maybe' isn't purely rhetorical - for a long time I believed that it was reasonable (etc) to articulate one's needs and to expect to be taken seriously - for the other person to fulfill the need or explain why it couldn't or shouldn't be fulfilled or to articulate his or her own needs or something. To respond in the same register. (Though maybe this is a smokescreen for myself: I did expect that the so-reasonably-set out needs would be fulfilled. In the way that I wanted them fulfilled. As in: I would like you to show your love in these particular ways. And how would you know them if I didn't tell you what they were? But I want to acknowledge the possibility that my reasonable needs were not, in fact, reasonable.) That while my interlocutor might well say no, there would be a conversation about that no. But is the demand for the conversation reasonable? May I demand it? I guess this is a trick question - it all depends who you're demanding it of - it might be an okay thing to demand, or a kind of aggression, or a true need, or a deeply narcissistic thing to do, or a very adolescent thing to do (all I want is for you to understand meeee) - or all of the above (trick answer).
* For my purposes pretty much the same thing. I'll just say 'need', since every want feels like a need to the want-er.
Update: the answer is clearly no, it's not okay, don't do it. Accept what you're given with a glad heart. It's too late for that kind of openness and vulnerability, if ever it were possible. If you were a better person, you wouldn't even ask this question. But since I'm not, and I can't pretend to be on a consistent basis, which is probably just confusing and upsetting for everyone - and we're not going to talk it out, are we? - what should I do? Beyond the usual unsatisfactory mix of politeness and embarrassment and kindness: pretend it didn't happen, be kind when you can, nurse your resentments in private if you have to. Accept such means as will give you your ends, your stated ends, even if those ends were conceived of, and repeatedly affirmed, in moments of high-mindedness which you find increasingly difficult to sustain.
14 September 2016
Because writing needs readers
I don't mean all writing; this isn't a statement on writing, or writers, or anything like that; I mean just mine. Me. I need readers - even just the illusion of readers, which the blog maintains, compared to say writing an email to myself.
Some thoughts:
1. I have never procrastinated so much in my life as in the last five years. Also known as grad school.
2. I've been reading Jenny Diski's books. Not all procrastination (see (1)) is mindless, but it is procrastination.
3. Looking after the baby - the toddler! - now is high-level procrastination. Or perhaps this dissertation is high-level escapism; most escapists (escapees? no) have to make do with less high-falutin means of procrastination. Either way - I'm doing both in half-assed fashion.
4. I'm much less patient with other people (my parents, my husband) when displeased with myself. This is not a new observation to me, just one borne in again and again and again upon me.
5. Maybe the thing to do is to suck it up and accept that my parents show love in the way that they can, for me and for the kid. You can't dictate people's responses. You can tell them your needs, though - or can you? Perhaps that's too close to dictation? At any rate, I don't appear to be able to suck it up. And I do appear to have different needs.
6. I don't want to outsource my child.* I think I have legitimate grievances, although that's not to say that my reaction to my parents has been generous, or that they don't have legitimate grievances against me. I'm finding out that I'm more my mother's daughter than ever I realised - than ever she realised? Her reaction is mine - to say yes, yes I understand, but really only seeing the rejection and the instruction. Learning the words but not the vulnerability and openness that would give meaning to the words. A defensive technique. Which is perfectly, yes, understandable, but also frustrating.
*That's not a generous way of looking at the matter. But for me, it would really be outsourcing.
7. I should subscribe to the Straits Times. To some local news source. I'm one of those people who gets their news from FB, and it's not like I have a diversified FB feed, or even that I check it very much.
8. None of this is about the dissertation. Which I've lost interest in. And lost faith in myself. Both of these precede the child, but having her around (see (3)) isn't really helping.
9. The usual thing to say is: do better, pull your socks up, get your act together, pull yourself together, work harder, just do it. And if you can't? If all this panicking and procrastinating and muddling around in circles is all there is to it?
10. I have to go.
Some thoughts:
1. I have never procrastinated so much in my life as in the last five years. Also known as grad school.
2. I've been reading Jenny Diski's books. Not all procrastination (see (1)) is mindless, but it is procrastination.
3. Looking after the baby - the toddler! - now is high-level procrastination. Or perhaps this dissertation is high-level escapism; most escapists (escapees? no) have to make do with less high-falutin means of procrastination. Either way - I'm doing both in half-assed fashion.
4. I'm much less patient with other people (my parents, my husband) when displeased with myself. This is not a new observation to me, just one borne in again and again and again upon me.
5. Maybe the thing to do is to suck it up and accept that my parents show love in the way that they can, for me and for the kid. You can't dictate people's responses. You can tell them your needs, though - or can you? Perhaps that's too close to dictation? At any rate, I don't appear to be able to suck it up. And I do appear to have different needs.
6. I don't want to outsource my child.* I think I have legitimate grievances, although that's not to say that my reaction to my parents has been generous, or that they don't have legitimate grievances against me. I'm finding out that I'm more my mother's daughter than ever I realised - than ever she realised? Her reaction is mine - to say yes, yes I understand, but really only seeing the rejection and the instruction. Learning the words but not the vulnerability and openness that would give meaning to the words. A defensive technique. Which is perfectly, yes, understandable, but also frustrating.
*That's not a generous way of looking at the matter. But for me, it would really be outsourcing.
7. I should subscribe to the Straits Times. To some local news source. I'm one of those people who gets their news from FB, and it's not like I have a diversified FB feed, or even that I check it very much.
8. None of this is about the dissertation. Which I've lost interest in. And lost faith in myself. Both of these precede the child, but having her around (see (3)) isn't really helping.
9. The usual thing to say is: do better, pull your socks up, get your act together, pull yourself together, work harder, just do it. And if you can't? If all this panicking and procrastinating and muddling around in circles is all there is to it?
10. I have to go.
4 June 2014
liu si
This is all I know about June 4, 1989 in Tiananmen Square:
(1) A lot of students died when the tanks were sent into the square. (Actually I don't know this - strictly, all I know is that there were deaths.)
(2) There's a book by a American (or British?) sociologist, who happened to be in China at the time working on something else, and went down to Tiananmen to interview students. We don't want your democracy, they told him; we want Rousseau's democracy. I think about that from time to time. What did they mean?
(3) I wasn't in Oxford the weekend Wang Dan came to speak.
But it seems important anyway not to forget the day - to acknowledge that it happened. Tiananmen wasn't my first impression of China, but it was my first political impression? of China - and one of my first political memories, I think - in the sense of a memory of politics happening somewhere in the world. Five months later, the Berlin Wall came down. I was TFing for a class on democracy last semester, and it occurred to me that all of the students in the class - who were all sophomores - had been born after 1989. They have no sense - however vague and inchoate - of a world in which Communism was still a force to be reckoned with.
This isn't a political post, really; just - marking time.
(1) A lot of students died when the tanks were sent into the square. (Actually I don't know this - strictly, all I know is that there were deaths.)
(2) There's a book by a American (or British?) sociologist, who happened to be in China at the time working on something else, and went down to Tiananmen to interview students. We don't want your democracy, they told him; we want Rousseau's democracy. I think about that from time to time. What did they mean?
(3) I wasn't in Oxford the weekend Wang Dan came to speak.
But it seems important anyway not to forget the day - to acknowledge that it happened. Tiananmen wasn't my first impression of China, but it was my first political impression? of China - and one of my first political memories, I think - in the sense of a memory of politics happening somewhere in the world. Five months later, the Berlin Wall came down. I was TFing for a class on democracy last semester, and it occurred to me that all of the students in the class - who were all sophomores - had been born after 1989. They have no sense - however vague and inchoate - of a world in which Communism was still a force to be reckoned with.
This isn't a political post, really; just - marking time.
19 May 2014
on going the bloody hard way
I was looking for something Rush Rhees on Wittgenstein and doing it the bloody hard way, and found James Conant's essay
Rush Rhees tells us: 'Wittgenstein used to say to me, "Go the bloody hard way".' And, Rhees adds: 'I remember this more often, perhaps, than any other single remark of his.'
...
Rhees connects what Wittgenstein means by going the bloody hard way with the manner in which Wittgenstein himself sought to practise philosophy:
Unless one understands this, then I do not think one can understand Wittgenstein's conviction that philosophy is important....Philosophy, as he practised it, was 'the bloody hard way'....And it was not only a way of thinking and working, but a way of living as well. And the 'hardness' was really a criterion of the sort of life that was worthwhile. Perhaps I should add 'for him.'