Slowly-by-Slowly

Of east and west, work and rest in a Turkish-American marriage

Posted on December 9, 2012 by lizcameron

We often view the role of work, and rest, in what I think are Eastern-informed and Western-informed lenses (Image by Jenny Lee Fowler)

Living in a Turkish-American marriage, there are some differences that are glaringly garish, more that subtle, a few that are barely perceptible and some that really creep up on you over time. As my theme of the month is “work,” due to my participation in Blogher‘s NaBloPoMo, a discussion of how work is perceived in my own relationship seems appropriate to share.

As a couple thrown together from Eastern and Western traditions, work is often an area in which we clash. M., who is much more of a bohemian and easygoing person than I, loves his work more than anything – and after 8 hours – comes home – and that’s that. He is a curator in a museum that is a particularly healthy workplace, if you ask me. The culture of work in that place, I believe, supports what M. knows about the value of balancing work and rest time – as his rest time is when his true work begins, as he is also a working artist. Lately, he has been in the throes of recalibration – as he has perhaps adopted too much of a work ethic on the volunteer front – and needs to step back. But unlike me, he knows it when he sees it. Would that I were that way.

I, on the other hand, well, it’s not that easy. It is likely that I make nothing easy on myself as I come from the Yankee work ethic tradition that has rushed vs. trickled down from generation to generation. I feel guilty if I am not working or doing something useful. This tendency has been cemented in my psyche by choosing to work first in social services for years (where workaholism is the only way to get impossible tasks even partway done) and then to choose academia. Ah, academia, the land of no rest, knots in your stomach and a constant “somewhere else to be, something else to do,” type of feeling. I know that my e-friend over at Turklish is wrestling with the same things (you should check out her blog here, she is marrying a Turkish man and moving to Turkey soon – while doing graduate work). With my need-to-prove-my-worth work ethic and my Yankee roots, I think I am doomed.

Hacivad Bey, the learned Sufi elder puppet who has been observing and facilitating this whole work meditation, steps in at this moment. “This, m’lady,” he says softly, “is the reason you met and married M. So different from you he is, you are bound to have to take another good look at yourself and decide what is, and what is not healthy.”

And then, without further ado, he unfurls a soft and worn scroll of parchment in front of my eyes, and it reads:

“Let the beauty of what you love be what you do” – Rumi

Almost imperceptibly, he whispers this to me – “Figuring this out now, M’lady, is your task. It’s time to get well again” And it becomes clear to me that I have a lot to learn about the Eastern approach when it comes to balance – and determining what it is that I will do.

Posted in Academic hell, Cross-cultural learning moments, Family Challenges, Turkish-American Matters, Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged BlogHer, east vs. west, NaBloPoMo December 2012, postaday, Turkey, Turkish American, Turklish, Work | 12 Comments

Hacivad Bey consults Rumi on the topic of work

Posted on December 8, 2012 by lizcameron

Words by Rumi, image by Liz Cameron

Silence reigns this Saturday as the majority of the Karagöz puppet troupe lounges, arms all akimbo, in and amongst the orchids that line the kitchen windows.

They enjoy the soft, green moss blankets we tuck the orchids in with and hope that it is not orchid-watering day – as that is the day we place a peace-shaped ice cube on top of each mossy blanket, to slowly melt and sink down to the roots.

Esma the hippie puppet, known in part for her green thumb when it comes to orchids, insists that the best way to water orchids is with peace-shaped ice cubes placed on top of their mossy blankets for slow melting nourishment. (Image by Liz Cameron)

Esma, the hippie puppet with the green thumb, tells us this is just the absolutely most respectful and effective manner of orchid-watering. So far, the orchids seem very happy.

As I shuffle past the kitchen windows, Esma calls out to me, explaining “my work for the day is meditating, centering myself, finding inner peace, do you care to join me?” I can’t decide, and move on, leaving her atop the golden dotted-maroon blossoming orchid, way above the slowly dissipating peace-sign-shaped ice cubes below.

The chorus of little dancing ladies have made their own harem, replete with a eunuch or two, in the bottom of my big bucket purse – thanks to several of my missing silken scarves….

Forgoing the mossy softness, the little chorus of dancing lady puppets has retreated to their lair, the inside of my purse (their own self-imposed harem, a respite from the world), where they have dragged a set of particularly smooth and silky scarves in hues of amber and aqua which to recline, drink tea, and sleep. They are pretty sure they will not be disturbed as I am not working these days, so the purse remains quiet, hanging on the back of the bedroom door.

Turning the corner into the foyer, I see Zenne, the shivery, quivery nervous nellie like a bowl of jelly being schooled in the work of stain removal by none other than herself, Kenne, the Queen of Manners, Etiquette and the Maven of Maintaining Ladylike Behavior. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and this is our work, dear, even if all others are lounging and loafing like those chorus girls – ah – M’lady – care to join us in this spot-removal tutorial?” I demure, lowering my head, and politely decline. Slipping past the duo thanks to the wax on the hardwood floors, I turn the corner into the living room just in time to ignore Kenne’s protest about my mismatched socks. That stubborn, image-conscious lady refuses to accept that this is my signature look, even if it is usually hidden in my boots.

And it is then, that I notice Hacivad Bey, the learned elder, follower of Celaleddin Rumi, sitting atop my Great-grandfather’s wooden armchair, having a conversation with himself, or so it seems. “Please join me, M’lady, I am just speaking with the spirit of Rumi himself – as he is in all of us who believe – I am speaking to him of your conundrum, about how to re-negociate your relationship with work so that you can feel healthier.”

Brought to tears by his kindness, all I can muster is, “thank you Hacivad Bey, you are so kind to help me think about this. I feel lost in the woods, and don’t know exactly what the right thing to do is.”

“You won’t know, not until you do. You need to rest and get well, and you need to look in your heart and consult those you love, and eventually, the way will become clear….” as Hacivad Bey’s voice trails off, he looks up to the heavens, as if receiving an interstitial telegram from far on some other side. Finally, he looks up, and tells me this:

Rumi says this – and this you must meditate on – “Everyone has been made for some particular work, and the desire for that work has been put in every heart.”

And so I have been, and I will be, and I have faith that the way will become clear, even if all I hear from the majority of the puppets is surrendering to Saturday snoring.

Posted in Turkish Art, Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged NaBloPoMo December 2012, Orchid, postaday, Rumi, Work | 12 Comments

How to relax after a hard day’s work? Karagöz chortles and snorts

Posted on December 7, 2012 by lizcameron

The Slowly-by-Slowly dog is the best one in the house when it comes to relaxing. He likes swaddling, best. M’lady could take a lesson or two from him – minus the swaddling, I suppose.

This month, Slowly-by-Slowly is taking on the topic of work – with and without the Turkish Karagoz puppet troupe that inhabits my brain on this road trip through one Turkish-American marriage.

The topic of work has been chosen for two reasons – one on the surface, and one deep in the subconscious, well, ok, maybe not that deep, less deep each day.

The little chorus of dancing lady puppets splits into spirals of two, holding up signs to explain each reason – but not before they do some on-air synchronized swimming-style dancing in their Ottoman garb. (Let me tell you, it’s a strange place up here in this brain of mine).

The little chorus of dancing ladies came to consensus, after a pitched battle, about what type of swimsuit to wear for their on-land synchronized dancing, veils optional.

Surface reason for focusing on the topic of work for the month: Safiye Rakkase, the vainglorious dancing girl puppet steps forward to explain this one – saying “M’lady had the idea to join all the other ladies at BlogHer, and their NaBloPoMo writing prompt for the day is as follows: What is the best way to relax after a hard day’s work? That’s the only reason that M’lady is making us think about work this month,” she quipped, hurumphing off to find her missing sequins, “I wanted the skeleton swimsuits, anyway, I’m still pissed!”

Subconscious reason for focusing on the topic of work for the month: Esma the hippie puppet steps up to explain this one, with a calm tone and a clear heart: “M’lady is having a mid-life crisis – and has finally recognized that she needs to re-negociate her relationship with work -and the function that workaholism has in her life.”

Safiye Rakkase was the sole vote for use of the skeleton swimsuits for the synchronized swimming dance performed by the little chorus of dancing ladies – she’s always on the edge of the latest fashionista trend, along with Lady GaGa herself…

As soon as Karagoz the trickster read all that, he just about fell off my shoulder guffawing at the ridiculousness of it.”Hah!” he screeched, “m’lady? RELAX? That’s an oxymoron – you moron! She’ll never do it!”

Hacivad Bey, the learned Sufi elder ignored this bad behavior on the part of Karagoz, and basked in the glowing glory of just knowing, deep down, that m’lady (that’s me, your narrator) has finally reached a point in her life where she can answer that question by saying something other than “by reading a statistics textbook, analyzing some data or falling asleep.”

Esma the hippie puppet, who has been encouraging m’lady to engage in mediation and nature walks for years sighs in happiness. She is sitting, lotus-style, on top of my head, happy that her rose-petal glow can descend upon me in this new leaf era. Kenne, the Queen of Manners and Maven of the Maintenance of Ladylike Behavior, while stiff and proper, even admits that even a *proper* lady needs to relax sometimes.

I relaxed by enjoying some delicious bibimbap tonight…it felt good to relax. The puppets weren’t sure about the dish – they are used to Ottoman fare. But they opened their minds a bit and enjoyed the mix of tastes in the end. Good for them, those cultural responsivity-brave puppets!

Truth be told, I did relax tonight, after a hard day of emotional work. I took a nap, and then went out to a delicious Korean dinner with M. and new friends, and despite the knots in my stomach of stones yet left unturned, I felt a modicum of happy and good and silly and serious, and not a whit guilty about not working. It’s a new world – and it feels really weird, but I don’t want to be anywhere else.

Although Haciyatmaz is keeping the Write-a-Matrix at bay in some far corner, the little chorus of dancing ladies, together now after holding up their two different cards, now have their own intervention going on. Using their collective power formed by guiding hands, they have floated a coffee table book about the beauty of the Ottoman court my way. They are showing me the ladies of the Harem lounging in a relaxed manner on silken carpets with woven-tulip-shape filled tapestries hanging here and there. The sunlight is shining through the tall windows, with the breeze from the Bosphorus Strait wafting by now and again – a little bit salty. Of course tea is being served, and every need for each lady is being met by one of the Eunuchs. “This, M’lady,” they exclaim in unison, “is how WE relax. You need to join us next time.”

And maybe, just maybe, I will.