tragic flaw

We all have them, those personality traits or characteristics that we can’t shake no matter how many self-help books we read, conversations we have with friends, meditation retreats we attend… For some, the trait is being too closed off, putting up boundaries for fear of being disappointed or hurt or angered. For others, the opposite is true — those whose hearts leap out at the first sign of another human being, less than desperate for human contact, so willing to give kindness to friends and strangers alike. I have friends who fit both of these categories, and others for whom saying yes or no is near impossible; still others whose ability to listen to a story of yours was predicated upon the opportunity to top it somehow (Ok, I’m not friends with any of the latter any more.).

I used to think my tragic flaw was procrastination. Last minute is when I did (and still do) everything, it seems. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that I working until the very possible moment, working on multiple projects at once — because, while saying “no” is not a problem for me, I can’t quite pass on something that feels right and true and what a friend calls “soul-giving” — and more often than not, working past whatever deadline has been determined. (It doesn’t help to have an overdeveloped sense of how made up everything is… thereby making deadlines seem even more arbitrary than they already are — yet all too real in their made up arbitrariness.) But in this past week, while mired in the aforementioned book deadlines and conference proposal deadlines and grant deadlines and teaching and meetings and email responses and the re-revving up of the reference letter requests and, and, and… an all too simple thought occurred to me. My tragic flaw isn’t waiting until the last minute, nor is it taking on too many projects (for which I only have myself and my very persuasive, overachieving friends to blame — you know who you are…) — no the problem is perplexingly simple: while I have learned to collaborate well, I have not learned to delegate.

Being a “boss” was never a role that appealed to me. It was a different spirit of a university that drew me in, initially. Anne Carson, in describing John Henry Newman’s view, notes that

This gives one great pause — the pursuit of a “useless” existence, and all the trappings that come with claiming such a pursuit, such as accusations of elitism and myopia in the face of a world so burdened in many corners with the mere struggle of survival. But “useless” in Carson and Newman’s estimation is not without purpose; it is without predetermined use.

In this spirit, collaboration exists not only with others, but with the words and ideas of others as well — the “getting lost with abandon” nature of falling into a text or conversation — the full embrace of how artist Tacita Dean describes the experience of reading Sebald:

“He takes you down these poetic cul-de-sacs. And you don’t care that you’re being led nowhere, of course, because you learn so much on the way.”

Is that what a university is for? To be a space where education can be lived, at least in corners and whispers (if not completely out loud), free from agenda or tethers? (I know, I know, I hear it… the preachy-bordering-on-whiny; bear with me.) In her essay, which is titled “The Idea of a University (after John Henry Newman),” Anne Carson continues her simultaneous explication and wondering about knowledge and universities, and because I like her way with words so much I will simply reproduce them here:

In its most beautiful sense, a university setting can be one that nurtures inquiry for the sake of inquiry — a place that embraces, for instance, an ethos of research that is inherently collaborative, collective, and participatory.

But ever at the ready are those elements of the “institutional apparatus” that do not merely maintain but also earnestly endorse the status quo — and it is surprising how much paperwork the status quo requires!

Instead of sitting for hours upon days with transcripts or field notes or revisiting video or in the company of curious adolescents (who never fail to remind us old adults about the true nature of humility), I find my days increasingly taken up instead with decisions about topics too mundane to describe even obliquely. These are the times that try muggles’ souls. Suffice it to say that if someone approached me with an offer to become a painter’s assistant in a seaside Maine town or work in a hat shop along the Seine, I would leave in an instant.

Delegation, it seems to me, requires a certain degree of detachment wherein the task supersedes the person as the valued object. Is there a way to delegate humanely? And do shipbuilders or surgeons even worry about such things? And is not this worry about delegation merely a manifestation of a “use”-driven agenda rearing its ugly head? What does it matter whether the way our department assesses students’ [insert learning objective here] matches or meets the expectations determined by [insert state agency here]? (Would it be terribly wrong if I filled in all of the boxes on all of the grids with a simple “Trust us, it’s good.”?) Wherein delegation so often, but not always, is in service of running a more efficient machine — Sebald’s own words come through here:


For a response — of the sort in which a weary traveler’s nod at a passing delivery boy is done so in recognition of the doing that must be done in the moment in which it is — I turn a final time to Carson’s essay:

An earlier draft of this post once ended with a worry about how one achieves the ability to delegate. But then I took a walk, sat in the company of people who soothe my soul, took another walk, and had yet more conversations with friends and texts (which have become like friends, themselves) and have arrived at the conclusion that I’m going to continue collaborating, learn to delegate in service of that collaboration, and that it may be quite all right to remain inadequate when it comes to complying with the status quo.

In fact, I’d think it rather tragic if this flaw were to, say, suddenly disapparate

Encore la Seine, toujours la Seine

And again I ask myself: what exactly is this life I’m living? If it’s a dream, don’t wake me please.

Scenes seen along and near the Seine last night:
(click on pics for larger, better view)

Slow Sunset on the Seine
Slow Sunset on the Seine
Dancing on the Seine
Dancing on the Seine
Seine Balloon
Balloon on the Seine
Pont de Sully
Pont de Sully – 2 lamposts
Pont de Sully - single lampost
Pont de Sully – single lampost
Notre Dame
Notre Dame (with a side of magical sky)
Cycling near St. Germain & Pont de Sully
Cyclists near St. Germain & Pont de Sully
Secret Garden
Secret Garden
For my sister
For my sister

embracing my wanderlust

apparently, im not the only one who has been afflicted by this wonderful condition

i especially love 2:03 – 2:24 filled with video of venice canals, narrow paths, haunting corners — makes me want to go back and revisit the acqua alta that is present in the late fall months.

and i agree with the sagemeister (also referenced in this article in the atlantic) that a year “off” every seven is a good idea — a time to renew, refresh, become rejuvenated and recommit to that which brought me down this path in the first place.

seine-like advice

im making a list, checking it twice, even thrice, to ensure that i dont fall into the trap of letting the year go by without actually taking the proverbial break or breaking out of my routine(s) — those who know me know this is foreign concept for me: (daily) routine. but even my lack of routine has its own rhythm, and it is that which i will strive to break toward the goal of re-imagining, refinement, and re-discovery.

following on my friend and colleague’s advice to sneak in some actual vacation time, i am taking note of the wise words on these sabbatical musings from strangers:

A Year on Sabbatical: May 20, 2011: Paris – Chartres Small and Big, Cars Rouges, Seine Dinner. — what doesn’t sound magical about this?

setting up a really satisfying 1 year sabbatical — ideas?. — some reasoned, seasoned advice including this nugget: “I learned that the rest of the world thinks “sabbatical” means “year-long vacation.”  Just embrace that — their minds can’t be changed.” <sigh> ok.

Beyond the Pale: Sunset Sitting Sated on the Seine. — a post from someone else’s sabbatical blog where she posts this absolutely delightful poem:

I never knew the charm of spring
I never met it face to face
I never knew my heart could sing
I never missed a warm embrace
Till April in Paris
Whom can I run to
What have you done to my heart

-“April in Paris” by Vernon Duke and E.Y. Harburg

merci, mes amis! je vais bien écouter.

and in that vein, i offer this photograph that i took earlier today using my crappy blackberry camera, but that i still love not only because of the geometric wonderousness of it, but also because the act of taking the photo was an exercise in looking up(ward) when so often i/we spend my/our days looking straight ahead, perhaps even left and right, and mostly certainly down(ward).

look up!

perhaps not entirely coincidentally, today would have been my grandmother’s 88th birthday. she often took walks, looking here and there and everywhere. and although i surpassed her under-five-foot height at the age of 10, i always looked up to my namesake. happy birthday, lk!