The Marrow of Modern Day Academia

Disclaimer: I don’t want to offend any educators or students, as I myself have grown up within the system. I went to a University, taught and even studied education.  I merely have some questions and thoughts as I consider graduate school and other life options. Please feel free to provide constructive feedback if you disagree or have any answers. 

“This as the system’s great flaw, and it enraged us. A pure meritocracy, we’d discovered, can only promote; it can’t legitimize. It can confer success but can’t grant knighthood. For that it needs class beyond itself: the high-born genealogical peerage that aptitude testing was created to overthrow” -Lost in the Meritocracy: The Undereducation of an Overachiever by Walter Kirn

At a quarter-life crossroads, I’m mired in a transitional period of confusion and incertitude about the direction I should go.  I just completed the book entitled Lost in the Meritocracy: The Undereducation of an Overachiever by Walter Kirn, and the book helped bring some my long-lasting,  lurking questions  about higher-education to the surface. I am HUGE believer in the value of education; I just wonder about the system we have created.

Throughout my undergraduate experience these questions seemed to linger:

     
1.  What are current universities in the USA  actually teaching?
      a  Is it just a ploy to delay people from entering  the saturated  work force or a test of patience/discipline for the fortunate?

b.      What motivates the majority of my generation to pursue a life in academia?
2.    What is the cost? (in currency AND  mental health)
3.       Where does it all lead? (Does having a degree or 2 mean that the holder is intelligent?)
4. Does it reinforce our class system like the opening quote suggests, as does the usage of the phrase  ivory tower? (should all education be free?)
5. With the rise of technology and access to information are formal institutions necessary to be educated? Does it make the degree more/less valuable and/or put more pressure on the academic institutions to demonstrate a high performing citizen after graduation?  (autodidact-a person who has learned a subject without the benefit of a teacher or formal education; a self-taught person.)

The older I get the more it seems like a Bachelor’s degree is no longer an option and is becoming a baseline requirement.  Increasingly it seems as though having a Masters and even a Doctorate degree are becoming the baseline pre-requisites to compete, though the power of luck and social-networking shouldn’t be forgotten as they are major part of the equation.

“     When I was a student at The University of Texas (UT), I often felt like I was just a number in a large bureaucratic machine and the only way to succeed was to figure out the system and jump through the hoops with patience. It was all based on some standardized tests and whether you were lucky enough to get a chance at a higher education. While I despised that at times, it gave me a purpose, validation and some amount of self-worth.  Though, it did NOT teach me wisdom, world experience, or coping mechanisms for life like a small part of me expected… and it even allowed some of my once sharp skills in Math (and other subjects) to atrophy without use.  I don’t regret any of it, but I do often question what exactly I learned, what do others learn and how do people end-up as students. Whatever I gained and/or lost in the process remains elusive.

 Kirn explains very clearly what an Ivy League education teaches to those who aren’t motivated, life-long learners and just want to make it out alive:

I couldn’t quote anyone, reliably. I’d honed other skills: for flattering those in power without appearing to, for rating artistic reputations according to academic fashions, for matching my intonations and vocabulary to the backgrounds of my listeners, for placing certain words in smirking quotation marks and rolling my eyes when someone spoke too earnestly about some ‘classic’ or ‘masterpiece,’ for veering left when the conventional wisdom went right and then doubling back if it looked like it was changing. Flexibility, irony, self-consciousness, contrarianism. They’d gotten me through Princeton [. . .] I’d found out a lot since I’d aced the SATs, about the system, about myself and about the new class that the system had created, which I was now part of, for better or for worse. The class that runs things.  

Many falsely surmise that degree holders (especially Ivy League Degree holders) are AUTOMATICALLY very smart, since it has become such a huge status symbol in current day society.  Without a doubt, there are students within the system that authentically learn because they love learning AND/OR are determined to master a skill (for a job and/or money); however, from my observations I would argue that they are the exception. Of course, there are many exceptions who graduate from Universities that aren’t uninspired students and aren’t purely motivated to learn the academic system so that they can graduate as swiftly as possible.

Maybe, if status, competition, self-advancement, the need for validation and recognition were less emphasized, perhaps higher-education institutions could inspire the majority of graduates to become life-long learners that seek out lessons all around them. It could be revolutionary for the state of our society, if we could adopt more heuristic teaching methods in place of so much rote memorization that only a specific type of learner excels at. 

 I admit that I care about my status to a degree. I also openly  admit that I want  to self-advance, and to reach my potential  but above all I want to lose myself in knowledge and authentic education, but I’m not sure where that will lead me.  It could lead me to be a self-effacing woman in the corner of a library, during her spare time or to be in a high-priced institution full-time.

Intrinsically Inescapable Inquiries  Increase, Infinitely!

 Am I just diluting myself and my craven passivity?
Am I actually DREADFUL of failure and/or pursuing the wrong degree, and that’s why I have yet to pursue Grad school?

Regardless if I decide to pursue a life in academia or elsewhere, the system is going to need dedicated, passionate educators to toil from INSIDE of the current system, if we want to keep improving society and maintain  the quality along with the reputation of higher-education in the USA as some of the best in the world.

 Should I take on such an enormous task of trying to improve our educational system? Or am I too sensitive, cynical and filled with too many tough questions to ever survive in such a system? Should I choose a life of errant daring, a life in academia   or something in between that I have yet to figure out?

 ..but  AT LEAST alliteration avails as I prefer pondering, provocative probing & profuse passion to pretense of positivity or  “consensual certitude” or awful,  abiding, apathy anytime. 

“Pause in your knowing to be known. Quit pushing—let yourself be pulled. Stop searching, frantic child and be found” - Walter Kirn

My Chilean Teaching Experience at DUOC and Advice

Circumventing the job search, I found my teaching opportunity through a Council on International Educational Exchange (CIEE) . After being accepted and completing all the prerequisites I was guaranteed a 10 month teaching contract in Santiago, Chile and an allotted salary to cover living expenses. I had no idea who or where I would be teaching until I got to Chile, but that’s what made it an adventure. 

 

I taught English as a Foreign Language (EFL) at DUOC a technical institute that was initially created for blue collared individuals and bared resemblance to a community college in the US. My students generally had a very low level of English and ranged in age from 18-30. However, age and maturity levels corresponded very differently from those in the US because expectations at school and at home were very dissimilar as result of distinct cultural norms. The majority of my students lived with their parents, and many of them had children and/or worked. In a country where the majority of the population is catholic, sex education is non-existent, abortion is illegal and condoms not only are expensive but sometimes also carry a social stigma, there are a lot of young people with children. To make a complicated situation worse, many of my students only took English because it was a requirement to become an Engineer, Graphic Designer, Accountant, etc. As a result, my class was often put on the backburner for many of my students. Consequently, I didn’t assign homework but in return asked for attendance and full attention. When frustrated by what I interpreted as rampant laziness and/or apathy, I tried to empathize with my intricate students’ lives and remained inspired by the students that were motivated and wanted to learn.

As a petite 24 year old girl that is often mistaken for a 19 year old, I had to work creatively to motivate them, to gain their respect, and to minimize their desire to take advantage of me. Many of my students had had never met someone from the US, so I considered myself an ambassador and was careful about broaching certain topics.  In order to play the role and set myself apart, I also thought of myself as an actress and  at the minimum I always dressed business casual .

With that in mind, bar none the first day of class and first 2 weeks were the most vital pieces in gaining respect, establishing classroom environment, and setting the tone for the semester. On the first day of class I gave my first impression: I established my  5 rules, policies and procedures; I introduced myself with humor; I brainstormed reasons to learn English as a class in an attempt to increase students’ self-motivation; and I had them individually complete a survey about their interests to demonstrate I legitimately care about them. During the first two weeks I had them display name cards. I considered it very important to immediately start learning their names and information about them from the student surveys. By gathering information on the first day and by talking to students throughout the semester, I tried to get to know my students so that I could personalize learning with their specific interests, establish a connection to use as a motivator, control the class by using their names during disruptions, and specifically call on them when I needed volunteers. To gain respect and establish my role, I was very strict in the beginning of the semester and eased up according the class dynamic, but I always reminded them that I truly cared about them.

 

Officially we were told to teach entirely in the target language and unofficially every professor used varying amounts of Spanish. . (There are tons of methods to minimize the use of the native language that should be utilized, just do a quick google search.)  I was a walking testament to the value of learning foreign languages, and I found that speaking Spanish helped build rapport: my accent and mistakes showed that I understood firsthand the difficulty of learning a second language; they enjoyed hearing stories my ridiculous stories of miscommunication from traveling; and they really liked teaching me slang. Sharing my experiences and poking fun at myself was conducive to creating a comfortable classroom since Chileans are extremely apprehensive to speak English

Classes were officially 1 ½ hours long. However, the combination of the institutes’ forgiving policies and the cultural differences about tardiness combined resulted in students chronically showing up late and often checking out early. If I started on time I would teach to an empty class room and would undoubtedly lose more teaching time, because I would have to repeat essential parts of the lesson to latecomers the entire class period. As a compromise, I would take role 15 minutes after class was supposed to start and then begin my lesson. I was punctual as an example and would play English music by students’ favorite bands (info I gathered from a survey on the first day of class) until I was ready to start. I also played music during activities and when I turned the music off it was a signal that I was ready to teach. I would allow students to walk in late, but I counted them absent and wouldn’t backtrack. I encouraged their on-time classmates to catch them up as a way of reinforcing what they learned. The most effective tools I found for keeping their attention was using humor throughout class along with pop-culture references and student names sprinkled through the examples, activities and PowerPoint lessons.

With everything aside, I want it to be clear that this is a success story, because I loved teaching in Chile! I know I helped in some small way and was able to create indelible bonds with a handful of students. I can only hope that my students learned ½ as much I did or that I at least sparked an interest in English and the US in a few of them. 

Quarter life rumination

Even as a self-proclaimed “child by choice,” 25 sounds old sometimes.
I know. I know it’s not. It’s relative.
But there is a small level of expectation that didn’t exist before.
I need to know I’m progressing even if age
doesn’t correlate to experience, knowledge, wisdom, or maturity.
That does NOT mean I want to start taking myself super seriously
or pretend I’m all grown-up even if 18 suddenly seems young. 
I don’t want to stop living fervently or even foolishly.
I want to get manic about spring, dance with reckless abandon, 
stay up all night talking to strangers without purpose,
impulsively drive to the middle of nowhere, dream of going around the world and
passionately compile stacks of books I’ll never get around to reading.
But I’m wary because I don’t have much time to waste.
Six years after the fact, I now understand why
my former boss said “you need more urgency.”
Never mind that she was talking about coffee. 30 will be here tomorrow.  
Until now, I felt like there would be 
“Time for you and time for me/
and time yet for a hundred indecisions/
and for a hundred visions and revisions.”  (T.S. Eliot) 

But now time has started accelerating. I barrel forward. Woosh. 

As a child, my mid-twenties seemed very distant. With curiosity and naivety, I used to dream of being 25. I was always very confident in my visions. At 25 my older sister was married, working and a mother of three. Imagining a similar fate was not a stretch. I pictured myself in a black & white portrait. I imagined children around, organized belongings, day-to-day stability and a certain ease in my mannerisms. Sprinkled wisdom twinkled throughout. WOW I couldn’t have been more inaccurate and our lives couldn’t contrast more.

Now aside from aging, I’m certain that I haven’t a clue of what lies ahead, I am very confident of the uncertainty. Life is red, yellow, orange, blue, indigo, green and violet paint swirled together. It’s infinitely more complicated, messy and chaotic than I could have ever conjured up in my little black & white daydreams. I yearn for some routine to manage easier.

These days, I wake up each morning. I open my eyes and wonder how I survived my teens and arrived at this prime age. I wonder how I got to be where I am. Where did chance lead? And where exactly did the ripples from the butterfly effect begin?

I grazed a colossal ice-berg last year.

Traveling left me dreaming of possibilities, drooling over opportunities I didn’t know existed. I saw the potential for life and conversely understood the potential for its waste. There are so many places I want to go, people I want to meet on the road, and an infinite amount I have yet to learn. There is so much I don’t want to miss, and so the sound of the second hand ticking seems amplified! My fear of getting stuck in a rut is more terrifying than ever.

Transitions…. Everyone goes through them but that doesn’t make them easier. My resolve hasn’t hardened with age; I only grow more sensitive. Bracing myself, I get ready to leap yet again. Prepared to swim, wade, dance and float. I Inhale deeply to the mantra trust, and then I gingerly dive.

With awareness, gentleness, and kindness I have to trust everything will work.

stuck on this loveliness.

Delicate dream filled twilight world: Transitioning back to life in the US

Unconsciously I lean over to throw my toilet paper in the trash and just as I’m about to drop it, I remember that I’m in the US. I mutter “gracias” under my breath as the waiter delivers my iced drink. Two days ago I got back to the US. Immediately my South American adventure seemed like a dream that happened world’s away in a place where swimming pool noodles and Christmas trees are sold together. Completely surreal.

Aside from the occasional reminders like accidentally ordering in Spanish, everything appears eerily unchanged. I quickly began to ask myself “have I really changed?” A comforting familiarity that was virtually nonexistent while abroad looms in the air. My apartment is littered with boxes I happily left behind. They are filled with old possessions like mixed CDs, school projects, unfinished books, dvd box sets, a bike helmet, dusty clothes, and photo albums. Inessential, they are reminders of old identities and memories that I can’t seem to part with. “Then you’re trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you” (Fight Club). Falling back into my old life is effortless just like floating down stream.

When someone asks, “How is it to be back?” or “How were your travels?” I’m not sure if they want a simple one-word answer like “nice” or if they are interested in hearing the truth. I get the feeling that they are looking for the short answer and the question is posed out of politeness. Regardless, I decide to answer the perfunctory question(s) truthfully, because I really want to know the answer myself. I hesitant though, because I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging or preachy.

I search for concise meaningful answer(s) but am unable to paraphrase 13 months for any question. My answers are based on erratically triggered recollections. Momentary flashbacks spontaneously surge from things like peeling an avocado, to hearing an Adele song, to smelling coffee, to feeling highly pressurized water rinse my skin. I give anecdotal answers. They are sporadic at best. In my native language ironically I painstakingly struggle to communicate while the listener struggles to relate. I feel like a foreigner lost in translation.

I have a strong desire to be reticent, since it seems so much easier. I could spare boring people and be certain that I don’t get misunderstood. Bewildered, I know something has changed…

"Como fue? no se decirte como fue no se explicarme que pasó pero de ti me enamoré Fue una luz que eliminó todo mi ser"

Learning to Let Go

In less than a week, I will leave the noisy, humid, exhilarating city of Buenos Aires and return to Texas. I will have been gone for exactly 13 months. As I was preparing to leave for Chile, I wrote this “. As the departure date February 22nd 2011 transforms from a distant daydream into an imminent reality, now that my plans and a dream of mine come to fruition, I feel a smorgasbord of contrastive emotions to include the following but not exclude unlisted emotions: excitement, anxiety, mania, fear, gratefulness, elation, disbelief, unworthiness, joy, phantasmagorical and nervousness. The internal sloshing has concocted some bewildering cocktails.” (I just had to look up phantasmagorical haha, neat word though doesn't really make sense. Actually, I would rephrase the sentence entirely but that's neither here nor there.)

Now 13 months later, I’m going through a similar process again. Only this time, the place I am returning to is much more familiar. I know exactly what my house will smell like and that the air-conditioning will be humming day and night at 70 degrees. I know the feeling of cold tile that I will be walking on. In spite of all this, my life in the US has become like a distant dream. When I think about how life changing has been, I can only hope that it will not all fade to black.

Buenos Aires, A Whole New World

I woke up craving milanesa and to the sound of traffic whizzing by. I actually pinched myself and David to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. On February 22^nd exactly one year after leaving the US, I picked up my two 50 pound suitcases, boarded an airplane, and said goodbye to Chile. After a short flight, I arrived in Buenos Aires where I will be hanging my hat for the next month. I am living in an apartment with a middle-aged Argentinian woman that I met from this website http://www.coret.com.ar/ She named all of her rooms after tango songs, and mine is aptly named “cuartito azul” .

When I arrived to the apartment (on zero sleep) after moving my life from Santiago to Buenos Aires, I started to rant about how excited I was to see clouds and feel wind, and the lady looked at me like I fell off my rocker. I didn’t know it was possible to miss wind. However, after living in a smog desert for a year, I can tell you it certainly is. I’ve only been here a few days, but I am already enamored with Buenos Aires, because this city is overflowing with personality. Perhaps it’s premature, but I already have started making a list of things that BA has that Santiago didn’t have: diversity of skin color/food, free education, cheap books nearly every few blocks, art and value placed on it, music, style that isn’t from the 80s, Spanish that is laced with an Italian accent and people who don’t whisper or cut off syllables as often.

That isn't to say that Santiago has nothing to offer or that BA is perfect. Buenos Aires' streets are much more dirty, the taxi drivers drive as if they were in bumper cars, there are ridiculous rates of inflation and everything is all around more chaotic.

We are living in San Telmo, one of the most touristy areas in BA. It’s a hipster’s paradise. Today we walked through a Sunday antiques market that was filled with hundreds of people from all over the world. I saw a woman dressed up as Frida Kahlo singing, a man dressed as Charlie Chaplin, people dancing tango, and a man playing classical guitar. They were selling an assortment of things that ranged from pocket watches, to crystal glasses, to siphons, to old advertisements, to books about communism, to Panama hats. The city is enormous and it seems to have everything. The amount of excitement and life makes me dizzy. It seems to have most of the things from home I was missing without all of the anxiety and stress that the US has. I couldn’t feel more lucky to be here..

"Nothing lasts but nothing is lost"

“ ‘I know I ain’t got no talking room, but a boy like you shouldn’t be on the bum [slang for on the road with the circus]. I’ve been on the bum and it ain’t no life.’ […] ‘If you got a life to go back to I reckon that’s what you should do.’ [says Camel to Jacob] It’s a moment before I can answer. When I do, my voice cracks ‘I don’t.’ [replies Jacob the protagonist]”-Water for Elephants

I don’t think anyone moves away for a year if they have a lot tying them down. Generally, people move because they need an escape or are searching for something. Recently, I watched a movie about North American nomads that travel west. There is something very romantic and appealing about the notion of constant travel and adventure. I like the idea of floating from place to place. Journey without destination is beautiful to me. Though the more I mull over the idea, the more I realize that fear is driving me.

David pointed out that everyone in the documentary had something in common: they were all running from something. I consider myself a little bit of a travel addict. Up until recently, I always assumed it was just something innate in my bones; a congenital disease of sorts. And perhaps that is partially true. However, I am coming to realize that I fear living in a stifling box where I live for work, though I also fear unemployment. I am deathly afraid of complacency, stagnant years and predictable days. I am afraid of being tied down, wasting potential, and of no longer having dreams laden with youth. I run from normalcy and tremble at the thought of ever being considered normal.

At the same time, a part of me craves relationships that are more than transient. There are moments when I would do anything to be cradled by a comfort that can only come from familiarity that has grown over the years. As my South American adventure nears its end, I am left wondering how can I live a life of both adventure where I push my limits regularly and a life of stability and long-lasting meaning? There has to be an answer…right..right? Are my fears inevitable? Will it be just another self -fulfilled prophecy?

Iguazu Falls, Argentina (Part 1)

At the beginning of December I finished my teaching contract at DUOC. My mom and 82 year old grandma arrived in the middle of giving and grading final exams. Not long after, I began 6 weeks of travel, 2 with my mom and grandma, and my life has been a whirlwind of travels, goodbyes, and trying to figure what to do next ever since. I have tried to keep my various travels separate in my mind like marbles, but I have found that the more time passes, the more they mix together in my mind like flour and water. Sticky. This is an attempt to separate the ingredients in order to preserve them and gain perspective.

On December 10^th 2011 we flew to Iguazu which is on the border of Argentina and Brazil. It was a warm, humid jungle reminiscent of the Peruvian Amazon. On December 11^th, 2011 we woke up early to go on a full-day tour of what was recently named one of the new 7 wonders of the world. We took a train to the top of the waterfalls, and the first thing we came to was “the devil’s throat” (la garganta del Diablo). It’s an enormous, U-shaped waterfall that can only be visited from the Argentinean side.
On the walk we saw a rainbow and coatis; they’re like a south American raccoon. Thirsty for our sweat, butterflies followed us around making the experience even more surreal.


After visiting the devil’s throat, we hiked below over 200 waterfalls. Unreal.

After our hike, we went on a boat below the waterfalls. It was terrifying but also exhilarating and of course unforgettable. We got soaking wet. I was left with puddles in my shoes. Jeans were not a good choice.
During our waterfall adventure my 82 year old grandma hurt her foot. A week later in Santiago, they diagnosed it as a spider bite that could have led to paralysis and immediately gave her an anti-venom shot. When she returned to the USA, we found out that she had in fact fractured her foot and limped all over Buenos Aires on it. (Next entry Buenos Aires)