Aç ayı oynamaz: A hungry bear won’t dance (on working, relaxing and patience)

Posted on December 13, 2012 by lizcameron

I don’t know if these bears are hungry while they dance – but I take a different spin on the proverb in order to continue making sense of things in my work life (Painting of dancing bears by William Holbrook Beard)

The world of Turkish proverbs is a full one, and barely a day goes by when M. doesn’t let one rip with vim and vigor – much to the delight of the Karagöz puppets, who so enjoy his excitement at speaking these perfect nuggets of truth in just the right moment.

And I can relate to this, as my mother, too, loved aphorisms and proverbs, which she was wont to share on a daily basis as well. So much so, that they have apparently seeped into me and on into my classroom, where my students give me the side-eye on a regular basis, as they have not one iota of a clue about what it is, exactly, that I am saying.

But back to M. and his Turkish proverbs – and how his eyes light up as his pointer finger juts about in mid-air – buoyant at his ability to share – even if he does have to repeat it to me several times in order for me to get the words. I have noticed that M. speaks more rapidly, but in a tone softer in Turkish with me as compared to the boisterous Skype calls to his best friend that I am often awakened by in the early morning.

And this early morning, while there was no Turkish Skype discussion unfolding at a great clip in the next room, it was one of his proverbs that I thought of when I saw Blogher‘s prompt for today’s NaBloPoMo challenge – Are you happier when you are working or relaxing?

As I read the prompt, my mind wandered about the mint-walled-room and onto the towering bookshelf (itself bursting with knowledge that might hold an answer, I postulated) and it was at that particular moment that I remembered that he had once told me something about a hungry bear, and how such a creature will not dance without a good meal in his belly. He also told me of the horrible treatment of dancing bears, and how it made him cry. Now, animal rights and circus bears aside, there is a lot of truth to this. My take on this proverb is that it implies that one needs sustenance to do work, and indeed, on the face of it, this is true.

There it was again, another tough question from those torture-experts over at Blogher’s NaBloPoMo who seem to be asking me all of the penetrating answers I need to sit with – and begin to answer. Unlike yesterday, I didn’t cower under the sheets, but I did think about that dancing bear All day long. And I heard the growl of my tummy, but in my brain.

And yes of course I made myself busy, So busy with this and that all day, that all of a sudden here we are again, at the magic hour of 8:30 p.m., as I begin to face this question in my daily writing practice…and here is what it is that I must admit:

Truth be told, I am both ashamed, relieved and anxious to share My answer – that until recently, I would have said I was a hungry dancing bear of sorts – against the wisdom of the proverb – as I would have said “work is relaxing for me,” and meant it. Really meant it. You know, comments like “oh, a relaxing night for me would be hunkering down for some major data analysis, perhaps grading a stack of papers within an inch of their life while putting the red ink police out of business, or over-preparing my lecture for the next six weeks, And being very attentive to all those late night emails from my colleagues to which I would respond within minutes.” Sick, right?

Yehuda Rebbe, the Globalized, Jewish wise man puppet and Hacivad Bey, the Sufi elder puppet, well, they are both eyeing me suspiciously from across the room, where they are ensconced on the piano window, watching me type. “Please M’lady, show yourself some compassion,” they said as they began to prod me with their verbal cue sticks, “what else?”

“Well,” I said, shuffling my muffled feet here and there under the chair, “I guess it means that I need to break from the circus full of bear dancers, and dance to the tune of a different drummer.”

Nodding in approval, I knew they wanted more, their cue sticks circling faster and faster at me, as if to hypnotize me into finding the right way on this one.

“I need to work – and I need to relax. And I worry that academia is a place that I have trained myself to only work work work to the bone – and not have a healthy balance. Some of this is the institution of academia as a whole, some of this is the particular institution I have worked at – and some of this is my own gerbil wheel of personal erosion, which has me running, endlessly, against expectations real and unreal, internal and external – and fictitious. And most of all, I don’t want to discourage my new e-friend L. over at Turklish, who is at the beginning of her academic career, still in graduate school, working on a balance of her own. This problem of mine – it is my doing – and I need to re-negociate it all.”

Karagoz interjected at this point, “M’lady,” he said, in between somersaults that made M.’s prized collection of Chinese ceramic bowls gyrate on the shelf, “if I had a lira for all the times in the past few weeks you have said ‘need to re-negociate your relationship with work’ – I mean enough already! Just get on with the work!”

Tears began to stream down my face, and I thought, “that crazy puppet is right, and I just don’t know how, but I do believe this is just part of the process. And will I cry at these big realizations all week? Will there be any respite?” My heart began to squeeze, a sign of physical anxiety. But before I reached for the prescription Ativan to quench the feeling, Perihan Hanim appeared again – you may remember her from yesterday, she is my fairy godmother puppet.

Mount Zen II

Mount Zen II (Photo credit: adesigna)

“What you need, dear, is to learn about having some patience for yourself, for the way to become clear. And that is why, dear heart, your other human fairy godmother encouraged you to sign up for the retreat you are attending this weekend, which, of all things, is entitled “Patience: Emptying the Ocean with a Teacup. Ignore your beloved trickster puppet, forget worrying about whether that is an American tea cup or a Turkish çay glass, put out of your mind that you have no idea what all the Buddhist rhetoric in the program announcement is all about and just pack your bags, you are ready to go to this meditation retreat, and with that, you will begin to find that the way, indeed, will become clear.”

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Posted in Academic hell, On writing about my life with the Karagöz puppets, Turkish-American Matters, Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

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