I am in that nebulous void between feeling like I need to run a marathon that ends with stripping naked and plunging my bare ass into the north Atlantic, and feeling like I need a several day nap. The weather apparently feels like this as well; it has been an ice rink out there maintained by precipitation that must be hovering somewhere around freezing point. Not really rain, not really snow, but either way, you'll probably slip and fall in the parking lot. I'm in between having no words, and having too many. I am righteously angry for so many reasons, but I think that I really need to write about one of them now. I'll be brief.
I have slowly been warming up to the realization that I am not coming home.
And no, thanks very much; it is not out of mere disappointment. It's not because I am feeling "whiny" or like a "special snowflake" or whatever term the insecure, privileged few have deigned to assign the organized many who have spoken out over the past several months.
I am not coming home because I can't come home.
Not if I wish to be a good steward of the lot I've been given. Not if I wish not to negate my life's work, nor if I wish to continue it. I am currently working towards an advanced degree in geophysics, specializing in glaciology; a field that requires me to take climate data and interpret it. A project that needs me to feed that data, taken from actual weather stations at Langjökull glacier, into a numerical model that uses those data sets as initial and boundary conditions in order to solve a complicated (albeit mathematically sound) set of equations which in turn help us understand what the flow dynamics of that glacial ice will look like in ten, fifty, one hundred years. Spoiler alert: the glacier will disappear, but this is another matter.
The point is that I have agreed to take a project that is a climate science project, that is hinged on our ability to fund the maintenance of said weather stations, that directly depends on our freedom as scientists to openly communicate our findings and collaborate with other scientists worldwide. A field that must be fundamentally unbiased and would ideally be largely apolitical.
So, why does the change in administration matter at all in this respect?
First of all, it seems at first that I can sit in my privilege from a relatively safe spot. The POTUS and his tyrannical order to bar the EPA from openly discussing their research findings (in direct violation of the EPA's scientific integrity policy) as well as delivering a devastating blow to EPA research grants (on which, by the way, many graduate students and professional researchers depend) does not necessarily directly affect me in Iceland. It would seem that I dodged an incoming cornucopia of bullets when I moved abroad, however accidental, because I held onto the belief that we would grow out of our embarrassing position as one of the only developed nations that still seems to have an issue placing scientific work and the environmental well being (read: our well being) over profit.
However idealistic that may have been is irrelevant now, since things are far worse than I had allowed myself to imagine. If you are having trouble mustering up some concern about a slash to the EPA budget, consider this: the budget cuts are not only for services that contain the "climate" buzz word. These are studies involving weather patterns, water table restoration (remember Flint?) air quality data, radon testing, and a wealth of environmental exploration that is critical to the services we use, consciously or not, on the daily. But, I suppose, if you refuse to admit that funding such projects is important while simultaneously demanding the use of your favorite weather app, then you simply cannot be convinced. I wash my hands of trying, and I will be over here, doing the work.
On a more personal note though, where there is no funding, there are no graduate students. There are no researchers, there is no growth, there is very little science that can be done, and there is a lapse in precious time that cannot truly be bought back. I am a graduate student. I am a graduate student who studies science. I am a graduate student who studies climate science; ipso facto, there is no place for me in the USA. The USA, which we so boldly proclaim has provided the world with smoke detectors and ear thermometers (that was NASA, by the way.) The USA, so industrious, so forward-thinking, such a superpower.
Except we are not. Not when we allow blatant attacks on the resources needed by our forward thinkers. Did you know this? Did you know that if or when you voted for the POTUS, you voted to keep me away from the USA? You voted to drastically reduce my opportunities to come home and find a job within my field. You voted to quench scientific advancement of the two pillars that it needs: funding and communication. You voted with your heart, for whatever reason you had, and maybe that's valid. It is. But I can't in good conscience return, as a scientist, to an environment that does not respect science nor will provide opportunities for the resources that I will need as a working scientist. The unintended consequence of your vote is that it will keep me looking elsewhere, so do not, don't you dare, tell me that you miss me.
You'll just have to get used to it.
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
Wednesday, November 02, 2016
Candidly Compassionate
Every day is an adventure with the diagnoses that I drag around. More accurately, every day is an adventure with me, regardless. Sometimes I am a thousand percent over it and want to pretty much throat-punch everybody. Sometimes I vibe hard and fall in love with life's beauty and perfect little connections. Sometimes I am so full of joy that I could burst; sometimes I am full to the brim with grief. And sometimes I get very, very scared.
I shotgun my handful of pills around noon and laugh it off in a singsong voice as "the perks of being craaaaaazyyyyyy" because nothing in my life has ever been a secret. But it is a perk. Not in the conventional sense, but for me, it is a perk not to want to die every second. It's a perk to recognize a potential psychotic break coming on, and not have it ruin everything or kill me but rather be able to manage and breathe my way through it and keep breathing, survive.
For perhaps the first time in the latter half of my life, I am truly in a safe enough space such that some bits of energy can begin to move; the deeper pockets that have been dormant for a while, waiting until it's okay to emerge. They tap me on the shoulder while I'm walking home in the evening and remind me that, wow, there are times during which I have been really, truly hurt. And sometimes I stop in the middle of the sidewalk because it's really less of a tap on the shoulder and more of an invisible brick wall I've hit.
But what happens next is interesting, and I think some of it comes from being 26 and owning it, and being in a comparatively peaceful environment, and understanding what I must do about these memories coming around to play.
I've realized that it's compassion.
A deep, raw compassion. A compassion that I draw up from the deepest well, a gravitational well, an almost black hole. A compassion that transcends space and time, appropriately enough, and travels backward and forward to the places where I've needed it, will need it, the most.
You guys, this is really important; I've realized that this compassion is mandatory. Because if I'm in this phase during which I'm subject to transient flashbacks every so often, then I have to choose how I'm going to respond to them. Memories come back for a reason, consciously or subconsciously, and I figure that usually it's because I haven't dealt with something or because some part of me is still waiting, very patiently, to be taken care of.
And I have grown up. I've grown into a person who can provide such care to the person I was, when I needed it. And if I have the ability to provide this care, then it's my responsibility to find the compassion to do it.
Obviously, I can't go back in time and advocate for my younger self. That isn't what this is about. It's not about literally, physically forcing my way into the past and tinkering with memories and tearing down the brick walls that I had built and building them differently because I'm older now and wiser now and I can do it better. That isn't even necessarily true; in fact, it probably isn't true at all. This isn't about changing events long past. I had built the walls that I built because I needed them, exactly as they were, exactly when I built them.
This is about understanding why I am who I am. It's about respecting who I was. It's about reminding myself that I have grown, and taking ownership of that growth. It's about intentionally confronting myself and accepting the mirror's reflection exactly as it is. The point is not to reason my way around things that are painful or difficult, but rather to tell myself that I deserve advocacy no matter what; no matter how I had behaved or how somebody else behaved towards me, I deserve to be taken care of. Always. It's about replacing my shame with compassion. It's about replacing my shame with compassion. It's about replacing my shame with compassion.
A profoundly necessary dose of compassion. I've been told to be more gentle; I think that I'm finally learning how to take that advice.
I shotgun my handful of pills around noon and laugh it off in a singsong voice as "the perks of being craaaaaazyyyyyy" because nothing in my life has ever been a secret. But it is a perk. Not in the conventional sense, but for me, it is a perk not to want to die every second. It's a perk to recognize a potential psychotic break coming on, and not have it ruin everything or kill me but rather be able to manage and breathe my way through it and keep breathing, survive.
For perhaps the first time in the latter half of my life, I am truly in a safe enough space such that some bits of energy can begin to move; the deeper pockets that have been dormant for a while, waiting until it's okay to emerge. They tap me on the shoulder while I'm walking home in the evening and remind me that, wow, there are times during which I have been really, truly hurt. And sometimes I stop in the middle of the sidewalk because it's really less of a tap on the shoulder and more of an invisible brick wall I've hit.
But what happens next is interesting, and I think some of it comes from being 26 and owning it, and being in a comparatively peaceful environment, and understanding what I must do about these memories coming around to play.
I've realized that it's compassion.
A deep, raw compassion. A compassion that I draw up from the deepest well, a gravitational well, an almost black hole. A compassion that transcends space and time, appropriately enough, and travels backward and forward to the places where I've needed it, will need it, the most.
You guys, this is really important; I've realized that this compassion is mandatory. Because if I'm in this phase during which I'm subject to transient flashbacks every so often, then I have to choose how I'm going to respond to them. Memories come back for a reason, consciously or subconsciously, and I figure that usually it's because I haven't dealt with something or because some part of me is still waiting, very patiently, to be taken care of.
And I have grown up. I've grown into a person who can provide such care to the person I was, when I needed it. And if I have the ability to provide this care, then it's my responsibility to find the compassion to do it.
Obviously, I can't go back in time and advocate for my younger self. That isn't what this is about. It's not about literally, physically forcing my way into the past and tinkering with memories and tearing down the brick walls that I had built and building them differently because I'm older now and wiser now and I can do it better. That isn't even necessarily true; in fact, it probably isn't true at all. This isn't about changing events long past. I had built the walls that I built because I needed them, exactly as they were, exactly when I built them.
This is about understanding why I am who I am. It's about respecting who I was. It's about reminding myself that I have grown, and taking ownership of that growth. It's about intentionally confronting myself and accepting the mirror's reflection exactly as it is. The point is not to reason my way around things that are painful or difficult, but rather to tell myself that I deserve advocacy no matter what; no matter how I had behaved or how somebody else behaved towards me, I deserve to be taken care of. Always. It's about replacing my shame with compassion. It's about replacing my shame with compassion. It's about replacing my shame with compassion.
A profoundly necessary dose of compassion. I've been told to be more gentle; I think that I'm finally learning how to take that advice.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
That Iceland FAQ You've Probably Been Waiting For
Hi, internet! I thought I'd post a preliminary Iceland FAQ as a little thank you present for those of you who have been following my life's little journey lately. Especially since, ya know, it's been nearly two months so I'm a total expert now and I'm definitely fluent in Icelandic and I know everything. And I'm hoping that you've detected the sarcasm, because I'm laying it on pretty thick. Although, for the record, ég tala ekki íslensku but also ég þekkja...some words. I really put the "enska" in "íslenska" and if you get that, then you're probably just about as familiar (or way more familiar) with Icelandic as I am so far. We'll make it through. Solidarity.
Speaking of Icelandic, our first question is...
1. Are you learning the language? It seems IMPOSSIBLE!
Jæja, já. I'm trying, at least! Luckily, the courses I've selected are taught in English, but Icelandic is spoken frequently in the field and (obviously) it's spoken everywhere else around here. There are a few Icelandic courses offered through the university, but I've opted to self-educate, at least this semester. There are some great modules available online but I've mostly been using my favorite language-learning app: Memrise. Shoutout to my fellow expat Shannon for sharing this tip with me last year in Belgium! I've been chugging away at German for the past year via Memrise, and now I've added Icelandic to the list. I go slowly; I do a few words each day and eventually, I can start understanding grammar and sentence structure. Turns out, Icelandic, English, and German (duh) are all Germanic languages so it's interesting to see where they converge and diverge. Also, all three of these languages are frequently spoken in my life right now, so it's been really helpful to slowly learn but then have the opportunity to actively listen to and engage with my peers. They're great help!
2. Can I come visit?!!!??!?!????
Uh, YES. Bring ranch.
3. No really; I know that you're busy with school, but I've been thinking about Iceland for a while and I wondered if I could come visit?
Uh, YES. Bring ranch. Although...Margy has already been by and brought cans of pumpkin and a bunch of ranch, so I'm set! Right now, I'm missing bigger things like the Appalachian mountains and my car, so if you could bring those, that would be rad.
In all seriousness, you're always welcome. I'm happy to provide airfare tips if necessary, as "getting there" has never been easier! As per my landlord, I can host you free of charge for up to five nights in Reykjavík. I live in a downtown flat just up Njarðargata from Hallgrímskirkja with two Germans, two Frenchies, one Brit, one Fin, and a Spanish guy. We also have two Icelanders in a separate basement flat. However, you're going to want to get out of town and go on some adventures. As beautiful as RKV can be, it's not the only thing you'll want to see! I can come on adventures with you if you want and as my schedule allows, but it's all up to you. And speaking of my schedule, it's surprisingly flexible! Turns out, taking a few days (read: weeks) off of work is completely normal, and sometimes even encouraged as a valuable act of self-care. Let's hear it for Scandinavia!
Depending on how you plan your trip, you can either use RKV as a home base and do trips from there and come back, or you can move every few nights. It's really up to you, and I'd be happy to help you plan your stay and provide some tips based on what I've seen. Keep in mind; I've been in Iceland a total of 9 weeks over my life, and I haven't been on holiday that whole time so I certainly haven't seen everything; not even close! But hopefully, some of you will be able to come around and we can take some of those adventures together!
4. Your pictures are amazing; are you really traveling that much, or are you just posting a few pictures every day?
Hah, you got me. I try to get out of town as much as possible, but of course, I have to do things like go to school and do my research...and laundry! Some of my research and coursework requires that I leave town because I've picked a field that is so hands-on. This is really new for me (because, ya know, astrophysics) and I've really liked this so far!
But, most days are spent in sunny (hahahahahaha) Reykjavík. I've joined some student groups that allow me to get out and hike in other places, and I have an amazing grad school adviser that has driven me around south Iceland and shown me some cool things, but I spend most of my time in RKV. While I'm out of town, though, it's impossible to just take one or two photos. I usually come home with hundreds, and spend the next couple of weeks posting favorites. I'm not much of a photo album gal anymore; I've tended to gravitate towards posting one or two per day and I let Instagram organize them into an album for me. It's a little showy of me, I know, but it also allows me to give proper attention to some of the amazing things I've been fortunate enough to see, and it gives you all a glimpse into my life, one snapshot at a time! Although, it is annoying having to manage my Instagram schedule to accommodate the fact that most of you are four to seven hours behind me so...speed it up, North America. #firstworldproblems
5. Your pictures look a little too good...I'm skeptical.
Well...you should be. Instagram has some built-in magic that helps me get the lighting and color just right...duh! But out of another vein, there's no way that even my spruced-up Insta photos can even compare to some of the scenery around here. It's a stunning combination of light, color, fire, ice, sunlight, steam, and sheep. Also, norðurljós! The northern lights here are actually ridiculous. So ridiculous that even long exposure photographs don't do them justice, which is a new concept for me. When we'd photograph northern lights in the Badlands, for example, they were always far more structured and colorful than what we were able to see in real life. But, that's about 20 degrees of latitude south of where I am now, and up here in the auroral oval, northern lights are no joke. You can actually see the red line emission, you can see structure, and you can see motion. It's incredible, and I have to stop talking about it now so that I don't get overly emotional and keep this run-on sentence going for several more lines and then probably start crying and laughing at the same time and then have to take a nap. Yeah, they're that good.
6. What do you eat? Is food really that expensive?
It depends! In short, we don't eat out. Or rather, we eat out on very special occasions like birthdays or the end of exams or during a festival. To be fair, restaurant costs can vary from what our "normal" is in the US, to high-end prices for a mid-range restaurant experience. It just depends. Also, are you in RKV or outside of RKV, what is the tourism industry doing to the economy, etc. etc. etc.
Grocery stores here close pretty early (like 6:30 PM) but those are the ones that don't really have extortionate prices. There are a few stores that close later at 9 PM, 11:30 PM, or are open 24 hours, and they tend to jack up some of the prices. But if you're early with your shopping, you can find prices that are basically normal. UNLESS...
...unless you want chicken or beef or shampoo or vegetables that aren't grown in Iceland. You will not catch me buying a tray of chicken breasts, for example, because that will put me out $20. Generally, bell peppers run just under $4, and a fresh head of broccoli is just about the same. But, Icelanders grow carrots, tomatoes, mushrooms, cucumbers, potatoes, even bananas...etc. so a slightly modified diet that includes these local foods is necessary in order to save. But of course, this isn't a big deal. And frozen veggies are also a thing, so calm down, you can still get broccoli for a reasonable price in Iceland. Discount brands are just as common here as they are in the US; EuroShopper is basically the GreatValue of Europe, and it has become my best friend.
Additionally, my flatmates and I have embraced that Street Rat™ culture and I've learned that if we're just resourceful enough, we don't have to buy bread. And by resourceful, I mean learning the locations of the bakery dumpsters and going on nighttime raids. These have proven to be fruitful and frugal, and I absolutely love it.
Finally, RKV has a running indoor flea market every weekend, which doubles as a fish market. So, I get some gorgeous, fresh, fairly priced fish from the weekend market, and that lasts for the week at least. So basically, just like anywhere, one has to learn the local eating culture and embrace it!
And finally...
7. Are you happy? Do you think you'll ever come back to the US?
I am happy. I am purely off-the-charts happy with my life here in Iceland. And of course I'll come back home, but now "home" has a broader, more global meaning. Frankly, I think that it always has for me. And since you know that I'm all flight, it may not come as a terrible surprise to hear that I have no immediate plans to return to the states permanently, but it just depends on my educational and professional pursuits. For now though, we are all aware that the US has had a rough year, and Lansing has had a rough year, so for my own mental health and healing, I think that it's perfectly fine for me to stay abroad for a little while. There is a societal calm and emphasis on life balance here that I haven't seen before on such a broad scale, and anyway, it's my privilege under the US constitution to have this freedom to move around. It's a privilege for which I'm very thankful, and my life here is possible because of a foundation of grace and generosity from my friends and family. With that, I'm happy to be doing well, to be making friends, to be climbing again, to be hiking whenever I can, to be exploring new corners of nature, and to be learning new things about the Earth. And of course, I'm happy to welcome you any time. Seriously, come on over any time!
Speaking of Icelandic, our first question is...
1. Are you learning the language? It seems IMPOSSIBLE!
Jæja, já. I'm trying, at least! Luckily, the courses I've selected are taught in English, but Icelandic is spoken frequently in the field and (obviously) it's spoken everywhere else around here. There are a few Icelandic courses offered through the university, but I've opted to self-educate, at least this semester. There are some great modules available online but I've mostly been using my favorite language-learning app: Memrise. Shoutout to my fellow expat Shannon for sharing this tip with me last year in Belgium! I've been chugging away at German for the past year via Memrise, and now I've added Icelandic to the list. I go slowly; I do a few words each day and eventually, I can start understanding grammar and sentence structure. Turns out, Icelandic, English, and German (duh) are all Germanic languages so it's interesting to see where they converge and diverge. Also, all three of these languages are frequently spoken in my life right now, so it's been really helpful to slowly learn but then have the opportunity to actively listen to and engage with my peers. They're great help!
2. Can I come visit?!!!??!?!????
Uh, YES. Bring ranch.
3. No really; I know that you're busy with school, but I've been thinking about Iceland for a while and I wondered if I could come visit?
Uh, YES. Bring ranch. Although...Margy has already been by and brought cans of pumpkin and a bunch of ranch, so I'm set! Right now, I'm missing bigger things like the Appalachian mountains and my car, so if you could bring those, that would be rad.
In all seriousness, you're always welcome. I'm happy to provide airfare tips if necessary, as "getting there" has never been easier! As per my landlord, I can host you free of charge for up to five nights in Reykjavík. I live in a downtown flat just up Njarðargata from Hallgrímskirkja with two Germans, two Frenchies, one Brit, one Fin, and a Spanish guy. We also have two Icelanders in a separate basement flat. However, you're going to want to get out of town and go on some adventures. As beautiful as RKV can be, it's not the only thing you'll want to see! I can come on adventures with you if you want and as my schedule allows, but it's all up to you. And speaking of my schedule, it's surprisingly flexible! Turns out, taking a few days (read: weeks) off of work is completely normal, and sometimes even encouraged as a valuable act of self-care. Let's hear it for Scandinavia!
Depending on how you plan your trip, you can either use RKV as a home base and do trips from there and come back, or you can move every few nights. It's really up to you, and I'd be happy to help you plan your stay and provide some tips based on what I've seen. Keep in mind; I've been in Iceland a total of 9 weeks over my life, and I haven't been on holiday that whole time so I certainly haven't seen everything; not even close! But hopefully, some of you will be able to come around and we can take some of those adventures together!
4. Your pictures are amazing; are you really traveling that much, or are you just posting a few pictures every day?
Hah, you got me. I try to get out of town as much as possible, but of course, I have to do things like go to school and do my research...and laundry! Some of my research and coursework requires that I leave town because I've picked a field that is so hands-on. This is really new for me (because, ya know, astrophysics) and I've really liked this so far!
But, most days are spent in sunny (hahahahahaha) Reykjavík. I've joined some student groups that allow me to get out and hike in other places, and I have an amazing grad school adviser that has driven me around south Iceland and shown me some cool things, but I spend most of my time in RKV. While I'm out of town, though, it's impossible to just take one or two photos. I usually come home with hundreds, and spend the next couple of weeks posting favorites. I'm not much of a photo album gal anymore; I've tended to gravitate towards posting one or two per day and I let Instagram organize them into an album for me. It's a little showy of me, I know, but it also allows me to give proper attention to some of the amazing things I've been fortunate enough to see, and it gives you all a glimpse into my life, one snapshot at a time! Although, it is annoying having to manage my Instagram schedule to accommodate the fact that most of you are four to seven hours behind me so...speed it up, North America. #firstworldproblems
5. Your pictures look a little too good...I'm skeptical.
Well...you should be. Instagram has some built-in magic that helps me get the lighting and color just right...duh! But out of another vein, there's no way that even my spruced-up Insta photos can even compare to some of the scenery around here. It's a stunning combination of light, color, fire, ice, sunlight, steam, and sheep. Also, norðurljós! The northern lights here are actually ridiculous. So ridiculous that even long exposure photographs don't do them justice, which is a new concept for me. When we'd photograph northern lights in the Badlands, for example, they were always far more structured and colorful than what we were able to see in real life. But, that's about 20 degrees of latitude south of where I am now, and up here in the auroral oval, northern lights are no joke. You can actually see the red line emission, you can see structure, and you can see motion. It's incredible, and I have to stop talking about it now so that I don't get overly emotional and keep this run-on sentence going for several more lines and then probably start crying and laughing at the same time and then have to take a nap. Yeah, they're that good.
6. What do you eat? Is food really that expensive?
It depends! In short, we don't eat out. Or rather, we eat out on very special occasions like birthdays or the end of exams or during a festival. To be fair, restaurant costs can vary from what our "normal" is in the US, to high-end prices for a mid-range restaurant experience. It just depends. Also, are you in RKV or outside of RKV, what is the tourism industry doing to the economy, etc. etc. etc.
Grocery stores here close pretty early (like 6:30 PM) but those are the ones that don't really have extortionate prices. There are a few stores that close later at 9 PM, 11:30 PM, or are open 24 hours, and they tend to jack up some of the prices. But if you're early with your shopping, you can find prices that are basically normal. UNLESS...
...unless you want chicken or beef or shampoo or vegetables that aren't grown in Iceland. You will not catch me buying a tray of chicken breasts, for example, because that will put me out $20. Generally, bell peppers run just under $4, and a fresh head of broccoli is just about the same. But, Icelanders grow carrots, tomatoes, mushrooms, cucumbers, potatoes, even bananas...etc. so a slightly modified diet that includes these local foods is necessary in order to save. But of course, this isn't a big deal. And frozen veggies are also a thing, so calm down, you can still get broccoli for a reasonable price in Iceland. Discount brands are just as common here as they are in the US; EuroShopper is basically the GreatValue of Europe, and it has become my best friend.
Additionally, my flatmates and I have embraced that Street Rat™ culture and I've learned that if we're just resourceful enough, we don't have to buy bread. And by resourceful, I mean learning the locations of the bakery dumpsters and going on nighttime raids. These have proven to be fruitful and frugal, and I absolutely love it.
Finally, RKV has a running indoor flea market every weekend, which doubles as a fish market. So, I get some gorgeous, fresh, fairly priced fish from the weekend market, and that lasts for the week at least. So basically, just like anywhere, one has to learn the local eating culture and embrace it!
And finally...
7. Are you happy? Do you think you'll ever come back to the US?
I am happy. I am purely off-the-charts happy with my life here in Iceland. And of course I'll come back home, but now "home" has a broader, more global meaning. Frankly, I think that it always has for me. And since you know that I'm all flight, it may not come as a terrible surprise to hear that I have no immediate plans to return to the states permanently, but it just depends on my educational and professional pursuits. For now though, we are all aware that the US has had a rough year, and Lansing has had a rough year, so for my own mental health and healing, I think that it's perfectly fine for me to stay abroad for a little while. There is a societal calm and emphasis on life balance here that I haven't seen before on such a broad scale, and anyway, it's my privilege under the US constitution to have this freedom to move around. It's a privilege for which I'm very thankful, and my life here is possible because of a foundation of grace and generosity from my friends and family. With that, I'm happy to be doing well, to be making friends, to be climbing again, to be hiking whenever I can, to be exploring new corners of nature, and to be learning new things about the Earth. And of course, I'm happy to welcome you any time. Seriously, come on over any time!
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Pills and Rage and Perspective
Sometimes, as some of you know, the pills I take with my lunch screw with me a little bit. They are so, so good at helping me not want to die every second, and preventing me from convulsing all over the place, and smoothing me enough to function...but they are very sensitive to changes in my physiological landscape. Especially impulse stresses, but also periodic hormonal influxes.
So, I am a giant stereotypical cliché every month whenever my body realizes that it isn't pregnant yet. Even so, I'm convinced that it'll take me at least a full calendar year to realize and quantify the patterns that emerge from this interface between my meds and my hormones, especially since I can't ever stay put, but it seems to me that around this time I at least feel something too much. Sometimes it's sadness, in the sense that I pick some random colloquially sad thing and grieve over it for an entire day, regardless of its impact on my actual present day life. Or my life at all.
This time, though, it's rage. And rage that I know has a very real foundation even if it may be enhanced by my neurochemistry. Bubbling, boiling, face-reddening rage and frustration with the fact that I can't put things into a perspective that fits anymore. Rage that comes from a source ingrained so deep that I didn't even recognize it as an anomaly until now. Because where I come from, it isn't an anomaly. It's normal.
But it's not normal, here. The only things that come close to mirroring this rage are the things that occur naturally here; specifically, the intense sources of powerful geothermal energy. It's almost like the land is so restless that it balances everything; there is so little social unrest here because the land has taken care of it. Laying in a thermal river, there are hot and cold currents that run down your body, one after another, the perfect grounding body scan. Everything that churns and burns is underground. It doesn't have to be inside of anybody's heart.
I love living in Iceland. I love it fiercely. I am happy here; I don't think that I've ever been so consistently happy across the board. But, it is weird living here.
It's weird living in a peaceful country. It's weird when the expectation is that you will be just fine walking around town at night, that people generally mind their own business and respect your personal space. It's weird that Icelanders usually don't expect catcalls or street harassment. There is no police violence; in fact, there is very little systematic violence at all. Of course there are episodes of violence in any society and Iceland's history is incredibly violent, but it's just not the case today. It's not this constant thing. And I didn't realize that American violence is absolutely a constant continuum until I moved to a place where it is not.
I should be thankful. I am, so thankful. But I have spent the past month trying to reconcile this newfound peace with a hurricane I apparently have inside; the kind of hurricane that astronomers find on planets much bigger than ours. The kind of hurricane that lasts for decades, centuries. You can't just introduce a restoring force and expect the storm to quiet itself just like that. These storms have to run their courses.
They have to. They have to move, somehow. This energy has to be conserved, but here, there are few people with whom to share this rage; there is no reason to be so angry in the first place. So as my hometown and my home country continue to infuriate me with a constant stream of senseless violence and abuse that has has been so normalized that it all but runs through my American veins, there is nowhere to reasonably bleed it out. Honesty almost feels like an aggressive act here, but I know that it isn't; for example if I share some of my life's experiences or provide a glimpse into some of the stories that grew me and strengthened me, it almost sounds as if I came from a much tougher neighborhood than the suburban farm town from whence I actually came. Comparatively, I mean. Icelanders think we're crazy, and we are.
I didn't realize, until now, how violent America is.
That lack of realization comes from the fact that we normalize this violence, but of course, it also comes in part from my privilege. I was spending time with friends this weekend and telling stories, funny stories about traveling and getting into shenanigans and narrowly escaping tickets from police officers and I laughed about it, never really having thought about the fact that I could have been narrowly escaping bullets instead. My adviser actually asked me about this; she asked me if it was really very scary being pulled over because "they will shoot you." I hadn't considered this, because they probably won't shoot me. I'm white. I'm a woman. The worst form of police violence available to me is likely to be gender-based, and the majority of the gender-based violence that has touched my life has not come from the police. But then again, I caught myself; I just said "the majority." It still exists. It's real, and even if I haven't witnessed police violence first-hand, there is only one tiny degree of separation between myself the next person who has experienced brutal police violence. And to be fair, there are no degrees of separation between myself and violence itself, but I write it off and I minimize it because I'm from the US and it's normal. Nothing separates me from violence except, so far, living in Iceland. And it's weird.
I was talking with Laura about this because I needed to find a fellow American with whom to rage. She suggested that it would probably take me about six months to calm myself down and get used to the absolute chill that is Iceland, but then I'll come home to be "enraged once more." This is absolutely true, and it's culture shock met with reverse culture shock. So for now, I'm approaching Iceland's chill with skepticism until I find out about some horrifying, deeply-rooted Icelandic social problem akin to those in the US, or until I give up and accept the fact that there are actually safe spaces in the world, peaceful pockets for such a time as this.
Make no mistake, I'm over-the-moon happy here. I'm more productive and more calm and more safe and more active than I've been able to be in a while. And however I end up channeling this rage, I am growing.
Growth in any direction is growth nonetheless, and there is certainly enough grace for that.
So, I am a giant stereotypical cliché every month whenever my body realizes that it isn't pregnant yet. Even so, I'm convinced that it'll take me at least a full calendar year to realize and quantify the patterns that emerge from this interface between my meds and my hormones, especially since I can't ever stay put, but it seems to me that around this time I at least feel something too much. Sometimes it's sadness, in the sense that I pick some random colloquially sad thing and grieve over it for an entire day, regardless of its impact on my actual present day life. Or my life at all.
This time, though, it's rage. And rage that I know has a very real foundation even if it may be enhanced by my neurochemistry. Bubbling, boiling, face-reddening rage and frustration with the fact that I can't put things into a perspective that fits anymore. Rage that comes from a source ingrained so deep that I didn't even recognize it as an anomaly until now. Because where I come from, it isn't an anomaly. It's normal.
But it's not normal, here. The only things that come close to mirroring this rage are the things that occur naturally here; specifically, the intense sources of powerful geothermal energy. It's almost like the land is so restless that it balances everything; there is so little social unrest here because the land has taken care of it. Laying in a thermal river, there are hot and cold currents that run down your body, one after another, the perfect grounding body scan. Everything that churns and burns is underground. It doesn't have to be inside of anybody's heart.
I love living in Iceland. I love it fiercely. I am happy here; I don't think that I've ever been so consistently happy across the board. But, it is weird living here.
It's weird living in a peaceful country. It's weird when the expectation is that you will be just fine walking around town at night, that people generally mind their own business and respect your personal space. It's weird that Icelanders usually don't expect catcalls or street harassment. There is no police violence; in fact, there is very little systematic violence at all. Of course there are episodes of violence in any society and Iceland's history is incredibly violent, but it's just not the case today. It's not this constant thing. And I didn't realize that American violence is absolutely a constant continuum until I moved to a place where it is not.
I should be thankful. I am, so thankful. But I have spent the past month trying to reconcile this newfound peace with a hurricane I apparently have inside; the kind of hurricane that astronomers find on planets much bigger than ours. The kind of hurricane that lasts for decades, centuries. You can't just introduce a restoring force and expect the storm to quiet itself just like that. These storms have to run their courses.
They have to. They have to move, somehow. This energy has to be conserved, but here, there are few people with whom to share this rage; there is no reason to be so angry in the first place. So as my hometown and my home country continue to infuriate me with a constant stream of senseless violence and abuse that has has been so normalized that it all but runs through my American veins, there is nowhere to reasonably bleed it out. Honesty almost feels like an aggressive act here, but I know that it isn't; for example if I share some of my life's experiences or provide a glimpse into some of the stories that grew me and strengthened me, it almost sounds as if I came from a much tougher neighborhood than the suburban farm town from whence I actually came. Comparatively, I mean. Icelanders think we're crazy, and we are.
I didn't realize, until now, how violent America is.
That lack of realization comes from the fact that we normalize this violence, but of course, it also comes in part from my privilege. I was spending time with friends this weekend and telling stories, funny stories about traveling and getting into shenanigans and narrowly escaping tickets from police officers and I laughed about it, never really having thought about the fact that I could have been narrowly escaping bullets instead. My adviser actually asked me about this; she asked me if it was really very scary being pulled over because "they will shoot you." I hadn't considered this, because they probably won't shoot me. I'm white. I'm a woman. The worst form of police violence available to me is likely to be gender-based, and the majority of the gender-based violence that has touched my life has not come from the police. But then again, I caught myself; I just said "the majority." It still exists. It's real, and even if I haven't witnessed police violence first-hand, there is only one tiny degree of separation between myself the next person who has experienced brutal police violence. And to be fair, there are no degrees of separation between myself and violence itself, but I write it off and I minimize it because I'm from the US and it's normal. Nothing separates me from violence except, so far, living in Iceland. And it's weird.
I was talking with Laura about this because I needed to find a fellow American with whom to rage. She suggested that it would probably take me about six months to calm myself down and get used to the absolute chill that is Iceland, but then I'll come home to be "enraged once more." This is absolutely true, and it's culture shock met with reverse culture shock. So for now, I'm approaching Iceland's chill with skepticism until I find out about some horrifying, deeply-rooted Icelandic social problem akin to those in the US, or until I give up and accept the fact that there are actually safe spaces in the world, peaceful pockets for such a time as this.
Make no mistake, I'm over-the-moon happy here. I'm more productive and more calm and more safe and more active than I've been able to be in a while. And however I end up channeling this rage, I am growing.
Growth in any direction is growth nonetheless, and there is certainly enough grace for that.
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