!

A really terrific new organization fighting for a truly family-friendly America through ending discrimination towards mothers, fathers, and primary care providers.

A really well-written post about why it is both necessary and revolutionary.

A really interesting dialogue in the comments to an article about supporting the rights of mothers, and the response.

This coming year, Planned Parenthood and MomsRising are the two organizations I am going to try to put my money and mouth towards. What are the causes that incite your passion to give time, money, thought, or energy to?

Dear angels in charge of Etiquette, Fortuitous Coincidences, and Futures (graduate school subdivision),

When I sit down to dinner with a Very Influential Person who has Connections, I don’t really expect anything. When that Very Influential Person offers to Connect me to my Future, I still don’t expect a whole lot. When the Very Influential Person asks me to send along an email to facilitate such Connections, I expect nothing more than an email back. I know that maybe this is expecting too much. Which is why I told myself not to worry until 10 days later. Which is why I ignored my heart’s pitter-patter every time I opened my email. Which is why I never really let myself believe I would be Connected with anything.

I’ve really asked nothing of you, dear angels. I appreciate even your conspirating (sp?) with each other to give me a few days in which I felt anything was possible. I’m not even asking now that I be Connected with anyone or anything. But, please, I could use a little direction here. I really wouldn’t mind dropping the whole thing, but I get caught up in worries of spam filters, power outages, misspelled email addresses, overzealous delete buttons. The only thing I want less than a Very Influential Person deciding not to Connect me is a Very Influential Person wondering why the heck I never sent the promised email. Shortly behind that is a Very Influential Person wondering why the hell I am such a nag.

So, please. What’s the etiquette’ful thing to do?

Yours, with patience and acceptance,

Sarah

Two votes:

1. Why the heck do you read this blog?

a. You know me personally and (insert one here: feel obliged, want to make me feel good by keeping my blog stats up, desperately want to know me better, like reading about a different side of me).

b. You linked through to one of my sporadic-ish posts on race, privilege, Indianness in America, and sit through the other stuff because I said something that struck you once.

c. You’re here on autopilot. (I would totally understand. Once I add something to my daily internet reading schedule, I can’t stop. No matter how pointless it is, um, like x17.)

d. Other. Please explain.

2. What post do you most want to read?

a. scarf journey! Today’s episode includes dropped stitches!! discovery that I may have confused knitting with purling!! decisions about wide v. narrow ribbing!

b. crisis/quandary of my faith, and what it means for my life

c. entry from my journal ca. 1997 with my lifetime goals

d. series of 3 posts on why I want children more than anything in the world, how I want to parent, what I hope my children will be like

e. series of 2 posts on the ‘difficulties’ that come with privilege, re: charity and adoption

f. a comment on Skymall

g. Other. Please explain.

I promise I won’t ever make you come out of the woodwork again, but this would be useful as I try to negotiate wanting to writing what I want to write with the obvious fact that some of what I want to write is tied inextricably to what you want to read.

5. Being smart is overrated. Being quick on your feet, articulate, and well read are not.

I was a ’smart kid’. Often even ‘the smart kid’. It’s amazing how much you buy into labels like that; how far you start believing they will get you.

I went to dinner the other day with a lawyer who’s tried cases in front of the Supreme Court and he said, “I heard on NPR this morning…” and it suddenly struck me that I can’t afford to not listen to the world anymore. I think I spent too long thinking that knowing how to draw out an organic chemistry reaction or explain cognitive dissonance would get me somewhere. It’s hard to explain how revelationary that sentence was; all of the sudden I realized I have to be active in learning about things around me from now on. 

As a smart kid, you learn to depend on what’s already in your head to get you through. As a smart adult, I think you have to work to put more things in your head. It surprises me how long I took the ‘I’m just a kid, events out there don’t pertain to me’ approach.

At the meeting I had right before the dinner, I spoke at length about something I am passionate about. I put forth an unpopular opinion and I think I changed some people’s minds. I managed to hold my own against a barrage of pointed criticisms. It had nothing to do with being smart, but I was impressed by myself. I was impressed by my ability to quickly break down questions and find answers. I have always been one who was easily swayed, at least immediately, by an eloquent retort. It surprised me that I have it in me to give an eloquent retort.

I got a lot of compliments afterward. It was probably the first time ever that I realized none of the compliments had anything to do my intelligence. I’m lucky, and happy, that I am articulate and quick. But it’s a new paradigm for me; a shift of self-worth from mind to mouth, if you will.

4. Privilege is complicated, ubiquitous, and largely inescapable. And though it seems unthinkable, putting it to use is generally the best way to help. I’m still not sure this is right, but this is what I have learned to date.

So for a long time (like 19 years), I thought privilege didn’t exist. Then I figured out it did, but thought I didn’t have it. Then I realized I had it, but thought I could get rid of it. And now I’ve discovered I can’t, but I can use it to help.

I was born richer than 99% of the world. My educational achievements and goals pretty much guarantee that that figure will only go up as I grow up. Once, during a workshop on class privilege, someone said: These are the worst, because no one ends up feeling okay. Poor people feel shitty that they’re poor, and rich people feel shitty that they’re rich, and no one feels better by talking about it. I think that, unlike race and gender and sexuality, people already know about class privilege. Only it’s so obvious no one thinks of it as privilege, but just as what money does. Such as: Of course you have better medical care if you’re rich. That’s just how it is. While race, gender, and sexuality have their own complications, at least talking about them can sometimes open up new paths. That’s rarely been my experience with class.

I was born straight. I was born into a world where I can get married, where if I show up at my partner’s hospital bed people will assume I represent him. I was born into a world where I can adopt children without extra legal complication. I was born into a world where my sexuality is represented every single day, in media and conversation. I was born into a world where my sexual orientation is considered normative and not deviant.

I was born able. Streets and stores and services cater to my body. I don’t have trouble getting anywhere, or being recognized or treated as an adult where I get there. So far, I have escaped paralyzing depression or anxiety. People take my decisions seriously and generally defer to my choices. No one steals my agency based on their evaluation of my judgement.

I am thin. I am attractive. I was raised Christian. I hold an American passport. I speak English with native fluency. In these, and in so many ways that I can’t imagine, I am privileged. I don’t have to imagine them because I have that privilege. My life is not constricted by my body type, appearance, religion, immigrant status, nationality, or accent. I don’t think daily about any of those things because I am privileged not to have to think about them.

It’s been a long journey towards accepting the fact that I can’t shed my privilege. Thinking about it once in a while, or writing about it, doesn’t get rid of it. Making friends with people who deal with these oppressions doesn’t get rid of it. Wishing to get rid of it doesn’t get rid of it. Disassociating myself from my identity group doesn’t get rid of it.

Even if I were to give away all the money I ever had or were to have, I would still have class privilege. My family and extended family would be a safety net whether or not I wanted them to be. My education was a result of having the money to live in the neighborhood I did, and being encouraged to think about post-secondary school because that’s what I had time to think about. My knowledge of ‘polite society’ and connections are a result of class privilege. My health to date, which has enormous impact on my future health, is a result of class privilege. I’ll never know what it is like to grow up worried about money.

Even if I were to renounce the institution of marriage in solidarity with my queer friends and family, I still benefit from straight privilege. I will never be questioned or looked at oddly next to my male partner. I will never be asked a question about a relationship that I can’t answer truthfully for fear of discrimination. I will never have to search out books and songs that represent my life to show to my children. And so on with every other privilege I have.

So, for a while I thought that being an ally meant hiding my privilege, or my knowledge of privilege. I thought it meant identifying as much as possible with low-income folks or queer folks or oppressed religious groups. Because I felt bad. Because I felt guilty. Because I wanted them to know that my privilege didn’t keep me from seeing their lives.

You know what? It does.

You know what? Being able to feel bad, or guilty, or shameful about privilege is a privilege.

It took me too long to realize that that’s not useful. What’s useful is using the money I have to buy fair trade, make donations, and support microfinance. What’s useful is using my stable network of wealthy family and friends to help organizations and people trying to change systems. What’s useful is using my status as a straight woman active on a college campus to bring up issues that queer people face on campuses, so that they don’t have to do all the work. What’s useful is educating people about their privilege. What’s useful is speaking up against oppression in situations where my privileged voice is heard over other voices. What’s useful is setting up spaces where those voices are heard.

I haven’t done all these things yet. I’ve done very few, but I hope to do more. I hope to be able to use what I’ve been given to do something good.

3. Some things don’t last. Including some things like long-dreamed dreams, and seemingly permanent character traits, and bfs4ever.

In my senior year of high school, my best friend and I used to talk about how we would always be friends, and I would think to myself: Now, really, we’re probably not going to be friends next year. I used to feel so guilty, like my thoughts were the manifestation of my plan not to stay friends. And then we did stay in touch, and I felt guilty about how wrong I had been. And then we didn’t stay in touch, and I didn’t really know how to feel.

In a way, I felt like my acceptance of probably not staying friends should have made me hypervigilant against the fading friendship, and it would be one of those ironic things that we could talk about in retirement year. Remember how we thought we wouldn’t stay friends through college? Well, we were right.

It seems like the stupidest thing I could have learned in college, as though 17 years of life before that didn’t teach me that things change. The thing is, for about the last 10 of those 17 years, I was waiting to go to college. College where I could be free, where I could be an adult, where I could do what I wanted, where I could chart my flipping destiny. I would find myself in college, shape my circumstances, all those things I couldn’t do at home.

The implicit assumption in all that was that I would make it somewhere. That there would be a point at which I plateaued. A point at which I gathered the friends who would be around me for life, that I found the man I would be with for life, that I got on the path to the dreams of my life. Every few months since I’ve gotten here, I’ve sat back and taken stock, and sighed. Now it won’t be so hard anymore; I’ve worked to get here and now I get to enjoy it.

I’m only just beginning to realize that every one of those times was just a lull. I no longer believe there’s a time when everything major is in place. I no longer think there’s a point where you only have to make slight adjustments. Life is about acknowledging that things can change - that your best friends become people you call once or twice a month, that your career path led you into 40hr weeks of drudgery, that things you never thought about would be the driving force of all your decisions. And in that, there’s also promise. Promise that you’ll be renewed by something you never imagined would enter your life, promise that you’ll be captivated by new people and places, promise that joy will come to you.

2. Delegate. For the longest time, I thought not doing everything myself was the ultimate weakness. I have learned the hard way to delegate, which includes 2b. Do not feel guilty about delegating.

In the simplest sense, this was figuring out that I was not Supergirl and that I shouldn’t be. Yes, sometimes letting other people take care of things makes them turn out worse than they could have. But there are assessments that go beyond task outcome, such as mental health and physical wellbeing. It was and is difficult to let go of being the ‘trustworthy’ one, or the ‘hardworking’ one, or the one who will ‘pick up the slack’.

This summer, I was given a small grant to complete a service project. I spent three days with fabulous women in leadership and service workshops, figuring out how to best use my time to pull together an amazing project. I barely remember any of those workshops or inspirational speeches, but I do remember this:

A leader is not a woman who does the work of ten women. A leader is a woman to finds ten women to do the work of ten women.

I learned that doing all the work in a project makes you a de facto leader. Figuring out the work and dividing it up according to people’s strengths, giving yourself neither more nor less work, makes you an acknowledged leader.

The results of my group projects are no longer as polished or smooth. They are collaborative, which means that sometimes they are greater than the sum of their parts and that sometimes they are horrendous failures. I learned that making myself responsible for the entire project means making myself responsible for any potential failures. I don’t feel that responsibility anymore. Some people are not good at doing work, the end. That’s their problem, not mine. More accurately, that’s the group’s problem, not mine.

I’m not callous or inflexible; I’m more than willing to step up to the plate when someone is slacking. But I no longer cover for them; I take credit for my work. I no longer apologize for the product of the group if I have done the best I can. I believe that the people I work with and for are bright enough to understand the realities of group projects.

In a parallel vein, I delegate responsibilities that are not mine. Most relevantly, I do not (anymore) take care of people who I am not qualified to take care of, who need more help than I can give them. If you need a shoulder to cry on, a hug, a week’s worth of shoulders and hugs, I’m here. If you need therapy, or medication, or a professional, or a leave of absence, I will find you the best possible care, and that’s not me. I learned that I do my friends a disservice by taking on mental health issues that I don’t know how to respond to or physical health secrets that require more care than I know how to give. Finding them the help they need is the best thing I can do as a friend.

I am saddened by the number of people who I helped hold in dangerous cycles, thinking I was protecting them and keeping their secrets, by not getting them the help they needed faster. My desire to be their strongest support system helped neither them nor me. I know now what I cannot do for them, which makes me better at what I can do for them.

In honor of the last week of my seventh, and last-before-last, semester of college, I am compiling daily reflections on what I have learned here. About me, others, and life in general. In interest of full disclosure, I hope to be honest about even the things that ashame me, and share those that make me proudest.

If you have not yet reached this phase of your life, you will probably laugh at how little I knew 3 1/2 years ago that you already know. If you are past it, you will probably laugh at how much I have to learn. I have been at the first, and hope to make it to the second, so please do laugh!

1. I am beautiful. The day I came to college I was wearing my hair in a raggedy ponytail (’I'm not trying to impress anyone’), a blue Independence Day shirt (the tightest shirt my mom would let me wear), blue Gap jeans (’Don’t I look long and lean?’), a gold chain (’I hope someone comments so I have a story to tell’) and flip-flops. I tried so hard to not try hard, and failed so bad. The saddest thing is I spent most of that day admiring the gorgeous girls living in my hall and feeling totally inadequate. For that entire first semester, I drank and partied quite a bit, mainly in the hopes that some cute guy would finally see me first.

Fast forward many self-realizations and seven semesters. I am beautiful. It was not easy. There was disordered eating, and manic sobbing, and depression, and two boyfriends who didn’t understand why I needed my appearance affirmed so much, in those seven semesters.

There was no magic. Admittedly there were some practical things involved, such as entrusting my unibrow to a professional and learning that makeup can conceal unsightly breakouts. Those were not trivial things; they were my acknowledgement that my self esteem is tied up in my body esteem and that’s okay, to a certain extent. My acknowledgement that it’s not wrong to care how I look and that I feel better about myself when I look good.

But there were some other things that were a little bit magical, even if they weren’t magic. Such as learning that my body is beautiful because it is pleasurable. Such as realizing my skin color is wonderful because ties me to the people I love most. Such as understanding that speaking up confidently, questioning others, protecting myself, and laughing out loud as loud as I want are the things that make me beautiful.

I truly do believe that I’m beautiful, and that to me is the most amazing thing. I don’t know how else to say it.

I’m writing this today knowing that I’m one of the lucky ones, moving out of adolescence and into adulthood with my self-esteem intact and my arsenal of personal weapons against the media and our society stocked and ready. Thanks to those of you already out there who showed me it could be done. Much love and support to those of you on your way.

On believing that women’s reports of discrimination stemmed more from paranoia than actual inequities:

I don’t believe that’s true anymore, and in fact think that paranoia is part of being an oppressed group, not a personal failing evidence of that group’s inferiority.

-pb, ADL

On 9.23.06, I wrote:

I am a 2nd generation South Asian American woman. I cut my hair almost exactly 10 months ago today. I cut it from waist length to pixie cut. Even today I am ashamed that I use my hair to speak for my politics in places where I don’t have the strength to speak. And a little tiny part of me is proudashamedliberatedchained about the assumptions that I think other South Asian American women of my generation make about me.

Yesterday, I looked in the mirror and for the first time in a year, something had changed. I was no longer a South Asian American woman with short hair that was growing out a little. I am suddenly a South Asian American woman with long hair that got cut a little bit too short. I have some thinking to do.