Neither Here Nor There: Fragments of Scattered Thoughts

I am forcing myself to start writing again. I’ve thought an awful lot about writing and what I might write if I was going to write, but I’ve been caught up in what you might call the ‘post-postgraduate daze’ or the ‘I’ve-used-all-my-words-for-the-next-ten-years’ mentality (all 80,000 of them I might add).

While I have been tutoring, marking, guest lecturing, and preparing an academic article for publication (see, not that lazy!), I am uncertain about what to do next. If I could choose only one word to describe my present state of mind it would have to be: indecisive. And it strikes me that I've never really been in this career-defining position before. At least, not since I was 17 and making the decision to go to university in the first place. To use an appropriate illustration – I am like a stunned possum, frozen in the beam of a set of very bright headlights. The headlights are the future and, as the possum, I am not sure whether to just keep staring at this imminent and unknowable future hoping for the best, or, against all possum-like instincts, make a dash in some purposeful direction…the question is, which direction?!

The ‘question’ itself, I suppose, is: do I choose ‘work’ (popular perception: the 9-5-hour workday in a company with a decent salary) or do I choose ‘academia’ (popular perception: an ‘un-work’ like career in which I am disassociated from the ‘real world’ and observe goings-on from an ivory tower). For me personally, that ivory tower is appealing (I have grand delusions of hermit-hood). So if someone was willing to pay me to sit in an office with a nice window and a pot plant on the desk for the express purpose of researching and writing on interesting ideas and topics all day, with the occasional requirement to dabble (and dabble only) in teaching, then I would be more than happy. But doubtless my idealised vision of academic life and the part I might play in it is somewhat unrealistic (and potentially boring).

Still, the whole idea of an academic career - a chance delve to the very deepest depths and explore the vast uncharted horizons of a chosen field - is very appealing. Yet distant. Elusive. 

Frustratingly elusive and uncertain.

Yes, I am curious, driven, focused, determined, open minded, and so on and so on (as the Auckland University ‘so you want to be an academic’ speakers recommend). And I don’t doubt my ability to do a PhD or teach or research or write. But is it the right thing to do? Will it make me happy? Will I be usefully contributing to anything? What if I suck at interviewing people? What if no one is interested in the academic 'space' I choose to carve for myself? Am I too idealistic, too fragile, too nice to make a career of it? Will there even be any jobs available when I finish? What if no one will hire me? Ultimately, all these 'what-ifs' are merely speculation, and subsequently, pointless. Yet they are ‘real’ in a metaphorical sense. And so I can’t ignore that tightening, pulsating feeling of anxiety they produce; irrationalities that require more than fearlessness and blind ambition to resolve.

And where does that leave me? The present me, the Why Won’t She Just Make Up Her Mind me.

Planning. Meditating. Writing.

Experimenting.

Doing things differently, taking it easy, being present.

Or alternatively: panicking, worrying, questioning. There is little consistency within this unnerving state of indecisiveness. Nor does it engender eloquence or literary acumen. My writing frustrates me. I sit down and try to start something and fail to commit to its completion. I don’t even start sometimes. I’m limited to fragments; individual words and singular ideas.

I’m not explaining all this, whatever this is, to garner sympathy or encouragement, I know what I should be doing. Action is inevitable. But I want to shake off this listlessness. End the dry spell. Be proud of myself rather than annoyed at my apparent stagnation. And saying all this, getting it out of my system, is part of the process. Unloading the uncertainties and examining them one by one until I feel I can finally confront them with energy and even a smile. An ‘I laugh in the face of adversity’ attitude, a ‘fake it till you make it’ smile.

Ugh, so many platitudes. This is ugly writing. It’s sort of scratchy.

I apologise and yet I don’t.

It makes me feel better. Formulating these scattered annoyances into fragmented pieces of badly written self-analysis. There is a freedom and letting go that has to occur, and then a bravery to actually post something so unapologetically pretentious and haphazard. It is a step in accepting that I can’t have everything right and perfect all the time, that any decision could be the right decision, that not knowing is perhaps better than knowing.

One step forward at a time. And in anticipation, I promise musings on books, reading and actual decisions next time.

How to Finish?

It makes me feel just a little sad and wistful that this is the closing journal entry. The final reflection; the last words; the concluding summation. Without trying to sound too cliché (or maybe I am), it’s like a long, long physical journey almost completed – tired, a little bit worn-out; not stopping to take a break, but not wanting to either, the destination so close the air itself feels like it’s starting to change. But oh what an experience it has been! And so rather than focusing on the finishing just yet, I will spend a moment or two re-evaluating and reflecting on myself; the traveller.

There have been some definite ‘moments of crazy’ during the last couple of months (my sister can attest to the fact that to combat ‘writer’s block’ and inspire short bursts of literary brilliance I would listen to ‘The Circle of Life’ from The Lion King on repeat for…well, hours really). But, as I hope has been evident throughout all my posts, there have also been ‘moments of insight.’ And by purposefully engaging with the works of so many incredible scholars, theorists and authors, I feel absolutely at bursting point with fresh ideas and new, more complex ways of looking at and understanding the world.

To begin with, I want to revisit my own feminist position. I’ve noted previously that I’d “label myself as a 'middle-of-the-road' (as opposed to 'extremist' or 'radical') liberal feminist who believes that women are entitled to full legal and social equality with men, and that given equal environments and opportunities, males and females will behave similarly (Crawford, 2012).” I also acknowledged that this is an ideological position. However, when I was writing my discussion segment on Sheri S. Tepper’s dystopian novel, The Gate to Women’s Country, I was struck again by the inadequacy of either liberal feminism or cultural feminism (as the two most common ‘understandings’ of feminism) to describe the problems women face and prescribe any sort of overarching solution. But at the same time I want to be able to say “I am this” or “I am that” with a good dose of conviction and a sense of my own rightness!

While it might be a sweeping generalisation, Western society appears to place a lot of emphasis on the importance of taking a decisive side wherever there is room for an argument. And once you’ve subscribed to a particular camp, remaining solidly on your side of the line at all costs: don’t sit on the fence, don’t vacillate between ideas, don’t listen to the other side. Make yourself and your experiences right and brook no room for disagreement. It’s so tempting to subscribe to this way of thinking about everything, from feminism to religion and politics to sexuality. It’s as if we forget our own subjectivity, our mutability, and our predilection for contradiction, and conceive of ourselves as these objective, all-knowing godlike entities (to over-exaggerate only slightly!).

I’m including this observation from Le Guin (1986) because I think she gracefully sums up the problem and proposes a much better alternative:

Early this spring I met a musician, the composer Pauline Oliveros, a beautiful woman like a grey rock in a streambed; and to a group of us, women, who were beginning to quarrel over theories in abstract, objective language - and I with my splendid Eastern-women's-college training in the father tongue was in the thick of the fight and going for the kill - to us, Pauline, who is sparing with words, said after clearing her throat, "Offer your experience as your truth." There was a short silence. When we started talking again, we didn't talk objectively, and we didn't fight. We went back to feeling our way into ideas, using the whole intellect not half of it, talking with one another, which involves listening. We tried to offer our experience to one another. Not claiming something: offering something.

Maybe learning to say “I’m not sure, but this is my experience” or “that’s an equally valid philosophy/perspective/idea” with some conviction once in a while would be a very good thing. As my reading of The Gate to Women’s Country demonstrates, different feminist perspectives can look like equally valid alternatives depending on the circumstances you examine them under, and from what position you’re in at that moment. And so while I’m not 100% sure which ‘camp’ of feminism I should subscribe to, or even if there is much benefit in doing so (not feminism in general, obviously I’m still a feminist!), as Ladkin (2010) would say, my feelings of unease indicate I’m still in the midst of ‘questing’ for the right questions to ask myself when it comes to engaging with feminist theory at a deeper level, and, ultimately, that’s a very good thing!

Of course, I haven’t underpinned my thesis on unanchored whims and unfounded theories! By taking a multiplicity of approaches – liberal, cultural, and poststructuralist feminism (and a good dash of sociology) – in my thesis, I think/hope I am offering rather than claiming something: A particular way of looking at women and leadership that is broader, richer and, I hope, raises many more questions than it answers; expanding on possibilities rather than narrowing them.

Shaping or Being Shaped?

A couple of weeks ago I finished writing the discussion. It was hard work! I’d meticulously taken notes from all ten of the short listed texts (which took forever, I might add!) with all these grand ideas of how I was going to shape them into tidy little ‘lessons’ and illustrative examples to ‘fit’ my conceptual framework. I had my favourite examples that I wanted to use but I struggled in vain for several days trying to achieve the ‘fit’ that I wanted.

Of course, this was all very naive of me. As Sucher (2007) points out, stories have a life of their own. While the reader is integral in co-creating and drawing out ‘meanings’ from a narrative, the text itself cannot be re-written to suit our own purposes (and nor would it be ethical to try and do so). So it wasn’t until I consciously let go of my desire to control the stories (which partly arose from my panic about the approaching deadline!) and started instead to work alongside and with them that the words began to flow. In fact, once I became ‘less precious’ about which books and examples from the short list to use in the extended discussion, they essentially self-selected themselves. The theory which guided the conceptual framework and the fictional stories began to work together to illuminate one another and produce a set of fascinating guiding questions and ‘answers’ (I’m putting this in quote marks as these ‘answers’ served to produce more questions rather than neat solutions!), such as: Should I exercise ‘power-over’ or ‘power-with’ others? Am I aware of my own and others’ absent but present gendered expectations and their impact on the ‘leaderly’ engagements I participate in? How am I ‘storying’ myself as a leader?

While I, as the researcher, am directly involved in interpreting and creating meaning (and by no means perfectly), this ‘letting go’ also allowed the ideas being drawn out from the texts to shape me. I spent many nights lying in bed reflecting on The Lifeboat and asking what gendered expectations are shaping my perceptions of others, whether or not I’m asking the ‘right’ questions like Sarah Grimke in The Invention of Wings, or, as mentioned above, struggling with feminist theoretical perspectives on leadership after reading and writing about The Gate to Women’s Country.

And so there is no doubt in my mind that actively reading and engaging with women’s novels, plays and short stories can be transformative, if only we’re willing to look a little further, read a bit more carefully and examine ourselves with a touch more honesty.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

How should I finish? Well, that’s quite simple really, with thank you’s of course! I know there’s an acknowledgements page in the thesis, but it seems almost more appropriate to end with a special thank you to all those who have been very closely involved in this project from its inception right up to its completion. (And, as an added bonus, I don’t quite have to be so formal here!).

To begin with, I feel immensely privileged that I was given the opportunity to try and make sense of just one tiny corner of the universe by writing a Master’s thesis. I couldn’t have done it without the tireless support and encouragement from my supervisors, Margot and Janet. Thank you Margot for always being so positive, encouraging and full of good ideas! After every meeting I always felt 10x more energised and ready to tackle any challenge. I would not have been able to write this thesis without you, so thank you for believing in me. Thank you Janet for encouraging me to stretch myself and explore new ideas. Your comments and feedback have been invaluable.

Thank you Mum, Dad and Grandma for always cheering me own, regularly checking-in to see how I’m doing and keeping me in your thoughts and prayers. I really do appreciate how you brought me up to love learning and taught me to always strive to do my best. Mum, thank you for reading so many of my assignments over the years – you have been the best teacher and the most wonderful encourager throughout my years and years of study. To my little sister Esther, thank you for not only being my favourite study buddy but also for reading everything that I was too nervous to send to anyone else first (and being so positive about it)!

But most of all, thank you to Mitchel, my amazingly supportive husband, who has had to (amidst the moments of achievement and excitement) wipe away tears, navigate mini-breakdowns, and spend many, many evenings and weekends without my company. Who has always made an effort to celebrate what I’m doing by reading my blogs, explaining my thesis to anyone who asks (and fend off many a snarky or critical remark!), and has tirelessly listened to and responded positively to my catchphrase: “But I still have so much to do!” <3