Kolay gelsin: On the hard work of deciding what’s the hardest work

Posted on December 12, 2012 by lizcameron

Here, I was setting off on a path to the unknown, in between Arsuz and Samandağ by the Ak Deniz...this path led to some wonderful experiences for me...and I can only hope that the path I am on now, which starts with what's hardest and moves to what's right, work-wise, will be the same. So, I wish myself "Kolay gelsin" or "may your work go well" on this working journey (Image by Liz Cameron)

A few years ago, this was me, I was setting off on a path to the unknown, in between Arsuz and Samandağ by the Ak Deniz…this path led to some wonderful experiences for me…and I can only hope that the path I am on now, which starts with what’s hardest and moves to what’s right, work-wise, will be the same. So, I wish myself “Kolay gelsin” or “may your work go well” on this working journey (Image by Liz Cameron)

Waking up this morning, I took a peek at today’s writing prompt from Blogher’s December NaBloPoMo challenge before I even got out of bed, and upon reading it, proceeded to burrow under the covers in protest.  Karagöz, the trickster puppet extraordinaire, was having none of it, and proceeded to lift up the cream-colored matelasse coverlet and screeched it into my general direction, over and over again:  “What do you think would be the hardest job for you to do? C’mon, kolay gelsin,” he said impishly, using the common, respectful term one uses to greet someone as they are working (“may your work go well”).

It was lovely and warm under the covers, and I wanted to stay there, in the mellow orange bliss of closed eyes and head under feather pillow.  I could *almost* drown out Karagöz and his agent provocateur behavior of the moment.  Most of all, however, I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t want to work on that question.

It has taken me the day of pushing the question to the back burner of the hotel stove that is my mind – it’s a 20 burner stove on most days.  This meant that I also pushed back my writing practice time, as Natalie Goldberg calls it, that enforced freewriting that needs to happen each day of your life, to develop good writing skills.  And this is a large part of what this blog is – a topical “writing practice,” with posts written quickly without much editing.

And so here it was 8:30 p.m. and I was back in bed, eating an orange that M.  very gallantly had peeled for me, and delivered right under the covers.  And suddenly, there was a glowing light in the comforting dark, tight space of my sheets and blankets, a orb-like golden glow that suddenly revealed Perihan Hanım, my fairy Godmother puppet.  She hasn’t been around in a long time.  She usually shows up when I really need her most.

“You are struggling with this very good question, dear, because that is the big question in your life right now – how and whether to continue the hard work of living and breathing academia – and still caring for your self and your family.  And of all days, this magic 12-12-12 day is the right day to begin to face it.  Clearly, the hardest work is deciding what’s hardest in your current work – and how you want to re-negociate your relationship with it.”

“Mmmm, yes, Perihan Hanım, you are right, and this is true.”

And before I knew it, she had disappeared, and I had some answers to today’s prompt in the form of puppets screaming out options like crazed bidders at some auction for very precious objects – and I suppose I am entering some sort of auction for the next part of life, with all of the tos and fros, ups and downs.  And here is what the raggle-taggle band of puppets had to say:

Kenne, the Queen of Manners and Maven of the Maintenance of Ladylike Behavior was the loudest, and most shrill of the bidders: “M’lady, you must admit, the hardest work for you would be that of members of the “Elite Turkish Housewives Club” as Natalie Sayin refers to it.  Your cleaning skills, while very good, are not utilized enough.  You are too busy with the work in the outside world to tend to your home – but I can see that tending to your home alone would be very hard work for you indeed, especially with no children, a shame, really.”

Safiye Rakkase, the vainglorious dancing girl puppet, was next in the loudness factor “…well I was going to say the hardest job for you would be a dancer, as you have two left feet unless dancing along to hard core punk music in which case it makes sense – but I will instead add to Kenne’s assessment – your wardrobe is SO lacking in all the fine brands (did you know that your sister in law scoffs at your clothing in Turkish, knowing you won’t understand?), that you really, really, really don’t belong in the “Elite Turkish Housewives Club,” you know, like your sister in law? She may not clean her own house or cook her own food, but she is resplendent in Prada, Missoni, Dolce & Gabbana and so much more…your hardest job would be affording to join her club…I wouldn’t mind being in that club, as I love clothes, but I can see that’s not your cup of tea – that would be the hardest job for you, I agree, a stay at home wife, as you would die of boredom.”

And on and on they went, those crazy puppets, bidding up this and that – everything from garbage collector (because you would throw up at the smell even though you believe no work is beneath you) to florist salesperson (both for the stinky flower buckets and because you’ve done it, and the customers were terrible) and beyond.

And then, there was a very quiet duo of voices, speaking in unison.  It was the best of friends, Yehuda Rebbe, the Globalized, Jewish wise man puppet and Hacivad Bey, the Sufi elder puppet.

“M’lady, you know in your heart of hearts what the answer to this question is, this question about what is the hardest work. If you stop and listen you will hear it, it has been with you all along – and it is what you are starting to realize.”

And as they quietly spoke this truth in unison, a hush swept across the animated troupe as they all turned to me, all of us illuminated in orange light.

And it was silent as squeezing orange oil out of discarded peels.

And it was warm under those covers with all of those puppets, as warm as the smell of oranges in heavy sunshine.

And so I sat up, and emerged into the dim light of night, but the moon peeked through the curtains at me.

And as that moon looked my way, I realized that I knew exactly what it was – a conglomerate of evils that compose the structure of the hardest work which I have been doing all along – and which has been making me sick.  The hardest work for me to do is to a) take care of myself physically; b) create reasonable expectations for myself instead of gerbil-wheel-like running to meet others’ real or imagined expectations and c) let myself “feel just right” in my work and workplace – or make it so that I do.

And as I sat with those words reverberating around my head, the dog jumped on the bed to congratulate me (he can hear and understand the puppets) and my husband stopped in just to deliver a kiss, and a reminder that he loved me no matter what.  My heart felt as happy as a garden bursting with fern fronds ready to come out in spring, and that’s an unusual feeling for me.

And I know for certain now, that the way will become clear, and while it is not the Heathen Pilgrim’s brave walking journey across Turkey, I must stay on my path, which apparently starts with knowing that which is hardest, which I am only now starting to find.

Posted in Academic hell, Gendered moments, On writing about my life with the Karagöz puppets, Turkish Controversies, Turkish-American Matters, Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Choosing any job in the world: A “heathen pilgrim” walks across Turkey

Posted on December 11, 2012 by lizcameron

Anatolian shepherd, Tiltshifted - Original pho...

Anatolian shepherd, Tiltshifted – Original photo by Matt Krause, of Heathen Pilgrim fame (Photo credit: moonstar909)

Waking up today, I see that the writing prompt of the day is “If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?” Well, Blogher, you’ve got my number today – this is indeed the question of the hour – or should I say – the question of the mid-life crisis? I jest, I jest, ok, well maybe just a little bit of a crisis. It’s no wonder that the theme of “work” for Blogher’s December NaBloPoMo has captured my attention so.

And so sitting here, wrapped up in blankets in my writing chair, warm dog on my toes, I am thinking about what that job would be…and as the minutes fly by in daydream fashion – all of the thoughts of what could have been work-wise flew through my head – children’s librarian, medical anthropologist, hospital social worker, chef, children’s book illustrator, creative writer, newspaper fact-checker – all options left behind for an academic career I am now questioning.  And then it dawned on me, I knew exactly what I wanted to write about today – the kind of work that is temporary but can make a world of mental difference. You know, once in a lifetime kinds of differences – differences that can only be learned about and gathered whilst on a journey.  After all, it’s the journey, not the destination, that counts, right?

So, today, if I could have any job in the world – it would be something along the lines of the job that a certain Mr. Matt Krause has these days, which he refers to, somewhat in jest as I see it, as an alternative mid-life crisis – and let me tell you folks, he is doing this mid-life crisis just right.  Mr. Krause has undertaken a walk across Turkey with the goal of “Walk(ing) through the world and throw(ing) (him)self on its mercy.”

Mr. Krause writes about the questions he gets about his walk – such as “Why walk, why not take a bus?”  And in the answer to that particular question lies the job that he has undertaken in the form of this journey.  His answer is especially inspiring to me in my time of difficulty, and I draw both comfort and courage from it:

“The reason I want to walk is I want to challenge myself to be less afraid of the world. To be less afraid to admit I misunderstand something. To be less afraid to admit something is out of my control. It is difficult to admit those things, but much comes from doing so. After all, if I am busy insisting I understand something I don’t, or trying to control something I can’t, it is awfully hard to be open to creativity and inspiration.”

A wise man.  And although I have followed Mr. Krause’s journey in Internet fits and starts, it is only the magic of today that led me to his explanation…just the day I needed some inspiration myself.

Overall, Mr. Krause’s own words provide the best description of his journey:

“I am walking solo 1305 miles (2100 kilometers) across Turkey, from the Aegean coast to Iran, and describing what I run into along the way. At one point the plan was to walk partway across Turkey and then head south to Jerusalem, but Syria’s been a little choppy lately. Why am I doing this? For many reasons, but mainly because I love to walk and I love to see new country. There are other, supporting factors behind my decision to do this. For example, I lived in Istanbul for 6 years and did some traveling around that part of the world, so I know the territory a bit. I’ve wanted to do something like this for 20 years. I decided this would be a more constructive mid-life crisis than getting a red Porsche and chasing after college coeds.  But mainly, I am doing it simply because I love to walk, and I love to see new country.  This is the route. I am walking about 60 miles per week (hopefully!), so the walk will take about 6 months or so…By the way, this is not a vacation. For 20 years, I have had something bigger in mind, and I would like to see this become merely the first leg of that bigger thing.”

Please consider following Mr. Krause on his journey at his website, which is entitled: Heathen Pilgrim: Walk through the world and throw yourself on its mercy and you can track his progress by clicking here.  Some of you may take offense to the title of his project – Heathen Pilgrim, but he explains his wording choice carefully and thoughtfully, right here:

“I picked that name for a couple of reasons. The main reason is that a heathen is a person who does not share one’s religion. Christians see non-believers as pagan; Muslims see them as infidels; and as far as Jews are concerned, gentiles can never be members of God’s chosen people.  One thing we all have in common is that someone, somewhere considers us heathen. And if you want to travel outside of your own circle, you must be willing to be considered a heathen by someone else. If the people around you are not considering you heathen yet, you have not traveled far enough from home. I also have a tongue-in-cheek reason. A secondary definition of “heathen” is “a rude or uncivilized person.” I’m a fairly polite and well-mannered person. So calling myself a heathen pilgrim is a bit of an attempt at self-deprecating humor.”

Finally, if it is in the cards, you might even want to take him up on his open invitation to walk with him.  Would that I could, but here I am, on a journey of my own that is unfolding as I write.

Best of luck on the road, Mr. Krause, and as they say in Ireland and beyond:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

–Traditional Gaelic blessing
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Posted in Cross-cultural learning moments, On Islam and Muslims, Turkish-American Matters | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

On escaping the “emotion work” of everyday life in Istanbul

Posted on December 10, 2012 by lizcameron

A man walking in Istanbul - image from the Reblog Phlog

A man walking in Istanbul – I wonder about the state of his emotion work with that wonderful and complicated city (Image from the Reblog Phlog)

On Sunday, I wrote that living in a Turkish-American marriage, you notice some cultural differences right away – and others slowly by slowly.

In thinking about cultural differences in this roadtrip called our marriage, work is a key piece when it comes to cultural difference – and as my theme of the month is “work,” due to my participation in Blogher’s NaBloPoMo, a discussion on “emotion work” as the sociologists call it, seems appropriate. “Emotion work” is defined as the management of one’s own feelings or as work done in a conscious effort to maintain the well being of a relationship – and in the case of this blog post – I am talking about the relationship between a person and their city, specifically, M. and Istanbul.

An image from the famous Cafe Algiers (Image by Neonlike at Flikr)

Let me go back some years, to the first date I had with my now husband. Sitting in the glow of warm light in Cafe Algiers, M. and I began the dance of getting to know one another. One of the first things I asked him related to the differences he noticed between his former life in Turkey and his present life in the United States.

“Oh,” he said, as if pained by an attack of acute gastritis (and eye rolling), “Turkey – Turkey – living there is just so much WORK. I was planning to move to a smaller city on the coast before I came here – Istanbul is just SO DIFFICULT.” I don’t recall the rest of that conversation – but I did wonder what the heck he meant, having never visited one of the second or third world’s mega-metropolis-cities at the time. I think my follow-up question was deflected elsewhere as we ordered a second cup of coffee before heading out for a walk along the Charles.

When M. did invite me to visit Turkey with him, to meet his family – and learn about that side of himself, I started to understand what he meant about the work of living in Istanbul – and it was indeed “emotion work” – just with a city this time. It didn’t take long,sitting in traffic, going in and out of markets, museums and watching M. trying to get a few bits of bureaucratic business done, I began to realize why living in Turkey might feel like so much WORK.

Istanbul traffic

Istanbul traffic (Photo credit: quicksilver_)

One day, sitting together in a cab without air conditioning, stuck in a a tangle of traffic like none I had ever seen, M. revisited the topic of the “work” of “just living” in Istanbul. Visibly frustrated – and a tinge sad if my eyes did not deceive me – he explained “This is why I left Istanbul, this is draining, like emotional work, just to get from one place to another.” He went on to describe the massive influx of immigrants from the eastern part of the country over the past 20-30 years that had changed his city of 7 million to one of 17 million seemingly in the blink of an eye. Of course, the city’s infrastructure could not smoothly absorb all of this – making day to day movement, well, work.

And then there were the queues – or rather – the lack thereof. Raised by very orderly people in a country in which queues are only slightly less relied upon than in Britain, I was shocked at the mad dash and super crush of humanity at the entrance to any particular venue – mosque, store, museum, move, restaurant, all of it. This image truly gets at the difference. And I learned too, that this, for my husband, had become intolerable “emotion work” as an Istanbullu, part of what eventually led him to live in this country. “Nothing,” he says with a frustrated sigh, “is easy, and over time that wears you down. When you want something – you have to battle with everyone to get to the front of the counter – there is no order, no peace.”

I believe that M’s dislike of the emotion work of living in Istanbul is a reflection of culture shift – from an eastern approach in which the present, comfort and balance were much closer at hand than in this globalized era. Now, this may also relate to his family’s class status – but I would argue we are a pretty good match in that department, so my bet is on cultural difference. And given his escape, I think that is why he is particularly happy with the boundaries around his professional work. And so how does this impact me? Well, it gives me a lot of food for thought.  The “emotion work” of living in our city is nothing compared to Istanbul – but given my recent workaholic collapse as a University professor and with my left shoulder injury to boot, I have a lot of time to re-consider my relationship with work – including the “emotion work” of academia.  But that, dear readers, is a post for another time.

And you – what about the “emotion work” in your life? I would love to hear your thoughts!

Posted in Cross-cultural learning moments, Family Challenges, Turkish-American Matters | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments