I freaking hate that question.
A story implies a narrative, a structure: a beginning, a middle, and an end. I don’t think life works that way, unless you are now looking back and trying to connect the pieces together, trying to derive a sense of meaning. But somehow the act of crafting that coherence makes the flow of life events artificial: a forceful arc trying to look digestible and lawfully inviting in the eyes of a stranger. A story also implies an audience: who you are telling that story to, and that opens another can of worms. How do you meet the audience where they are and how do you convey the message in an (again) digestible scoop of oh-so-sweet ice cream that makes them want more? The art of storytelling is totally lost on me when it comes to sharing bits and pieces about my life. I don’t have a story; what I do have is a bunch of anecdotes.
I believe that life happens in anecdotes, like scattered, discrete beads rolling on the plane, nay, the multidimensional spectrum of a lifetime. These anecdotal beads freely roam and unfold however they want and don’t even need to be connected. I get it—making sense of things is a way for our brains to learn from experiences and eventually survive. But no, not everything needs to happen for a reason. The urge to make sense of things sometimes looms larger than the events themselves. A bad thing happens, it must mean something, right? A good thing happens, it must mean something too! Eh. Sometimes things just happen, and it does not have to mean anything. Famines and poverty do not happen so that we can learn how to treasure peace and good times.
The potential disconnection between anecdotes frees us from leading our lives with a fixed identity. I do believe in living with principles, however; everything i’m writing next is based on the condition that we already have that in place.
Having a rigid frame of identity limits our ability to explore different aspects of ourselves that will forever remain hidden otherwise, whether it is the doings of our conscious or unconscious brains. From my own experience and that of the people close to me: Because I was a girl in STEM in high school, I was supposed to be tomboy-ish and to not care much about appearance. Because I went to an engineering school in college, I was supposed to follow the stereotypes imposed on us that being pretty and wearing makeup is so very outlandish. Because I have followed academia all along, from my grad school to my postdoc, and have wanted to be a professor during most of this time, that’s my only path from now on?
Breaking out of these superimposed stereotypes, at first, I felt quite cool honestly. That I forge my own path and that I have enough mental strength to detach myself from such invisible entrapment so that I can see things clearly. That is cool, though. But now, I just do things for my own sake. Because I want to. Because I need to consider everything, not just the title, but my circumstances, where I am and how I want to spend my time.
Since my mind has been set on this topic for a while: Being a professor is a state of mind, I assure you. There are people who do not hold that title but treat their mentees with kindness and patience. There are people who do not hold that title but do everything within their power to guarantee future generations have better access to education. And because it is a title that somebody else gives you, there are only so many things inside your control.
It’s impressive (and a bit funny) how much clarity you gain when you don’t get what you want. It’s not (though it might very well have been) like the fox who walks away from the grapevine after failing to get any fruit, bitterly saying, “They’re not even ripe.” Instead, it’s the introspection and thus a rearrangement of priorities that comes from asking yourself who you are now that you haven’t achieved that goal. Maybe it’s time to change the goal. Maybe it’s time to assess whether chasing the goal is good for you, your health, and your overall well-being. I have no doubt that perseverance helps build resilience and strength, but I’d say it’s rather wise to take everything into consideration, given the circumstances you find yourself in. Realizing your weaknesses is as important as realizing your strengths.
Now, let me unravel the above anecdotes so that the younger version of me can see what I am up to at the moment.
I do research for a living. I write poems sometimes; one of my recent poems was featured in an art show, which was pretty cool. In recent years I’ve run as the main form of exercise. I learned how to bake banana bread. I have my own apartment. I really like flowers and plants, and like learning about them. I read books sometimes; most recently I read a book about trees. It was funny that I was sneezing at full speed due to a pollen allergy when I read about pollination. (Picture my air purifier on one end of the couch, the pages on pollination being open on the other.) I work in a field that I didn’t know existed in college. My sister thinks i’m cool (now). I know how to solve a rubik’s cube. I recently got into watching figure skating, but can only tell an axel from other jumps. I’ve traveled to a few continents and countries and cities outside my hometown, and have gone to school in a few of them. I still do makeshift things and like doing that. I have friends from different countries. My favorite coin has flowers on it. I can buy things for my family now. I’ve also learned how to play ukulele and guitar and sing a few songs on them.
Pretty cool, eh? And none of these have any titles on it. (To prove to myself that title doesn’t matter that much.) Just random, anecdotal things that I do, that somehow make me who i am.