Dusk in Santa CatarinaQue pasa: Two nights ago, I wrote pages and pages about a certain frustration that I feel at times down here and about what it tells me about myself. If you want to read that, I've put it here, but it is just too much for one blog entry. It's not poorly or sloppily written; I have edited and revised it, but I have kept the structure the way it was when it came out originally: stream-of-consciousness that makes about three full circles in order to define a dilemma, then it flies through the circles like a knot and peters out by tapping the surface of broader questions that would take even more time to flesh out. If that doesn't sound interesting to you, then here's the summary. And if you do read the other one, then you should read this one too, because it clarifies it some.
I do not like looking for little fixes to keep me going. I do not set short term goals throughout the day or set rewards for myself. The way I think about my life in college is that I do what I want; if it seems cool or fun or edifying or satisfying, sign me up. And that has worked out pretty well for me so far, because it just so happens that I like “healthy” things like learning and music and food that is good for me and making things. I am lucky because I can afford to do this and because the only person I have to answer to is myself and maybe my parents, but they are cool about things.
Here, I have found myself looking for little escapes. I catch myself thinking, “mmm, just wait until tomorrow when you can have a coffee in Pana and take a little break.” I have bought peanut butter and jelly and cornflakes to keep for myself in my room. I have bought Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls. My room is full of distractions.
But that bothers me because it's cheating. The problem is that here, I know that I have only precious time “in the field,” that time with Hemingway is time away from fieldwork. I am finally having to draw lines. Each time I pick up the book, I say, “okay, only read as much as it takes to keep you sane.” This bothers me because it is an unhealthy, unsustainable attitude. As I will explain below, it means that I technically would rather be doing something else. It is also the attitude of a drug addict, only looking for the next fix.
At college, I have lines drawn for me: class is at X time and I have X assignments. If I really, really loved what I was studying, then I would read as much literature as I can physically take. I don't do this, which means that four paragraphs ago, I was lying a little bit: I have goals set for me by class (which is something I sign up for, so technically I set goals for myself). Being here and doing this project requires self-discipline. I have one deadline, and frankly, it is too far away to supply the time-crunch that I am used to, so I have to go to the other fuel tank, which is passion for anthropology.
Right now, passion for anthropology means doing fieldwork (an opportunity that I have given myself), which in ethnography means devoting your entire life to studying something. Well, for whatever reason, whether because I'm lazy or because I'm not a perfect ethnographer or what, I am choosing not to devote my entire life to this project, but instead I have cut myself in two. “Dan-yell” walks around all day speaking Spanish and playing with children and talking about dogs, while Daniel is reading Hemingway and hiding and rationalizing, “Maybe you can buy some bread today. That wouldn't be a waste of money. You deserve it.”
So far in school, passion for anthropology and learning has fueled my paper writing, my reading, and my late-night study sessions for Dr Brosius's exams. Here, because my completed project is too far away to be tangible (or maybe, God forbid, because I'm just not that excited about it), passion for anthropology and learning isn't enough to keep me going. I'm having to pick up the mentality that I shed after high school, the goal-setting mentality: “three more bites and then you can have your dessert, Daniel,” “two more months and then summer,” “five more push-ups and then practice is over.” The assumption of applying these structures on your life is that you're not enjoying what you're doing, so you look to the finish line or to the little breaks for the real satisfaction. That is what I am starting to do down here, and I don`t like it.
So I have just proven that I am technically not “enjoying myself.” If someone asks, “So Daniel, are you having fun?” I have to say, “Well, no,” because the fact is that I have started looking for the little escapes to get me through. I would therefore be lying if I said that I was actually enjoying living with the Ordoñezes, eating corn tortillas every day and talking in simple Spanish.
So, I've become a little cynical about things.
There are a few solutions, but here is one I particularly like: grow up. Learn to enjoy being vulnerable, being awkward, being alone. (I define the loneliness better in the full version, but it's loneliness without solitude and loneliness coupled with self-consciousness, a loneliness that comes from having Kaqchikel social interaction hanging in my face but not being able to partake).
Another solution, a very possible one, is that the joy that I will feel upon finishing this project is greater than I currently realize it will be, a joy that I will want to experience again and that is only attainable through ethnographic fieldwork. If I feel this joy when this is over, then it will fall into the “passion for anthropology” fuel tank and will be enough to fuel the next research project I do, and that one will fuel the next one, and this means that I will be an anthropologist.
After stopping the think a bit, here is another “solution,” much like the above one. (Dr Wallace said that guys don't like to talk about our emotions. Classmates, if you're reading this, this is about as open as I can get.) What do I like to do? I like to observe “beautiful things” (neat, cool, sublime, whatever, let's say “neat”). I like to observe neat things. I like to make neat things. I think that humans are just about the neatest thing there is. I think that the best way to see the neatest things about humans is to study them (anthropology). Ideally, that's why I am here right now.
So, I may start pulling energy from this tank, the tank of idealism. Down with cynicism, up with idealism. It's that easy, verdad?
Now, three episodes:
1) Speaking of being cynical, the other day I was walking back from the beach when I passed a group of teenagers hanging out at a tienda after school. One of the guys looked at me and moved his arms gangsta-like and gave me an exaggerated, “Sap duude??” This is maybe the fourth time I have gotten one of these, so I immediately did what I told myself I would do the next time they did this to me: I mimicked him, in his ridiculous raspy, gangsta, seventeen-year-old voice: “Sap duude??” He again said, “What's up?” in a dumb voice, and I mimicked him again, pretty accurately if I say so myself, and keeping a straight face the whole time because I was kind of pissed. Then, he looked away from me and said simply, “What is your name?” I said, in my normal voice with an American accent which sounded gruff after mimicking him, “Daniel.” At this point I wasn't looking at him, just walking by. Right after I said my name, all the girls that he was standing in front of laughed, I'm pretty sure laughing at him, like “Ricardo, you idiot.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw him kind of retreat, so I guess I won that battle. I don't want to come across as a jerk, but then again, I don't want all the teenagers to think I'm going to take their crap. I think I made the right decision.
2) I have just seen something very weird. Luis had decided to come in and clean my room, “organize things,” which he does sometimes, and then afterwards we decided that I should make peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for the five of us. Then Catarina and the kids asked me if I wanted to watch TV, a little more insistent than usual, so I decided it must be something special.
It was a video of a big festival they have on November 26 every year. Around the outdoor basketball court by the beach stood maybe half the town watching the Convites: townspeople dressed up in costumes and dancing. The costumes are crazy, decked out from head to toe and totally masked, most like medieval barbarian warlords, some like Egyptian- or Persian-looking demigods, some like American Indian chiefs, with various furs hanging everywhere, shields on backs, capes with crests, capes with stuffed lion heads, capes of gold, crowns, long hair, white masks of princes and vikings, gauntlets, gloves, swords, feathers, whips, bows and arrows, boots and canes. The camcorder was sweeping around over the dancers, who just kind of rocked and leaned from one foot to the other to a Latin / salsa band. The onlookers all just stared.
Well, for two hours I sat and watched this. The music changed maybe twice. Catarina narrated to me: no one knows who the dancers are until they take off their masks. Now it is time: mira, one of them is Luis! And there is so-and-so, and now they are making the giant X, etc. And after the masks come off, the dancing keeps on! We watched until the sun went down in the video, and then the band kept going, the Convites went home, and the drinkers started to dance.
Naturally, I had many questions about this, but I stopped asking when Catarina resigned to just, “Porque asi es,” because that's how it is.
To me, the strangest thing was that no one was really smiling. If this was happening at a family reunion or something in the U.S., I think people would clap when the masks were taken off and laugh, “Oh surprise look who it is!” but everyone had these blank looks on their faces; the dancers looked as if the whole thing were a chore, and the audience just stared without laughing or clapping or anything, but they kept watching, so they must have been, you know, engrossed in it. I guess that shows you the different thresholds for entertainment. It takes commercials flashing by at two hundred scenes per minute for Americans to be zoned out, but with the people here, it takes is a bunch of crazy barbarian costumes moving back and forth to bossa nova. You could say they are easily entertained; you could say we are desensitized.
On second thought, those costumes were pretty wild. I would probably gawk for two hours too.
3) Last night, Luis and I began our long walk up to the house from the gallery that he had just locked up. The cloud ceiling moved slowly over us to the mountains to the northeast and cast a gray blue glow on the street. The hazy air was cool and clean. In the growing dark I planned my words before I spoke: Tomorrow I would like to do an interview with someone who has dogs.
“Ah esta bien.”
It doesn't matter how many. Just someone who has dogs.
“Ah vay.”
For example, the people of the teinda over there. I beckoned to a gallery across the street that I know some of his relatives own. It's better if it's someone you know.
“Si.” He continued: But they don't have dogs. Those people don't have any dogs, only one.
One is fine. That's good.
“Ah bien.”
So, I'm on my way.
I do not like looking for little fixes to keep me going. I do not set short term goals throughout the day or set rewards for myself. The way I think about my life in college is that I do what I want; if it seems cool or fun or edifying or satisfying, sign me up. And that has worked out pretty well for me so far, because it just so happens that I like “healthy” things like learning and music and food that is good for me and making things. I am lucky because I can afford to do this and because the only person I have to answer to is myself and maybe my parents, but they are cool about things.
Here, I have found myself looking for little escapes. I catch myself thinking, “mmm, just wait until tomorrow when you can have a coffee in Pana and take a little break.” I have bought peanut butter and jelly and cornflakes to keep for myself in my room. I have bought Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls. My room is full of distractions.
But that bothers me because it's cheating. The problem is that here, I know that I have only precious time “in the field,” that time with Hemingway is time away from fieldwork. I am finally having to draw lines. Each time I pick up the book, I say, “okay, only read as much as it takes to keep you sane.” This bothers me because it is an unhealthy, unsustainable attitude. As I will explain below, it means that I technically would rather be doing something else. It is also the attitude of a drug addict, only looking for the next fix.
At college, I have lines drawn for me: class is at X time and I have X assignments. If I really, really loved what I was studying, then I would read as much literature as I can physically take. I don't do this, which means that four paragraphs ago, I was lying a little bit: I have goals set for me by class (which is something I sign up for, so technically I set goals for myself). Being here and doing this project requires self-discipline. I have one deadline, and frankly, it is too far away to supply the time-crunch that I am used to, so I have to go to the other fuel tank, which is passion for anthropology.
Right now, passion for anthropology means doing fieldwork (an opportunity that I have given myself), which in ethnography means devoting your entire life to studying something. Well, for whatever reason, whether because I'm lazy or because I'm not a perfect ethnographer or what, I am choosing not to devote my entire life to this project, but instead I have cut myself in two. “Dan-yell” walks around all day speaking Spanish and playing with children and talking about dogs, while Daniel is reading Hemingway and hiding and rationalizing, “Maybe you can buy some bread today. That wouldn't be a waste of money. You deserve it.”
So far in school, passion for anthropology and learning has fueled my paper writing, my reading, and my late-night study sessions for Dr Brosius's exams. Here, because my completed project is too far away to be tangible (or maybe, God forbid, because I'm just not that excited about it), passion for anthropology and learning isn't enough to keep me going. I'm having to pick up the mentality that I shed after high school, the goal-setting mentality: “three more bites and then you can have your dessert, Daniel,” “two more months and then summer,” “five more push-ups and then practice is over.” The assumption of applying these structures on your life is that you're not enjoying what you're doing, so you look to the finish line or to the little breaks for the real satisfaction. That is what I am starting to do down here, and I don`t like it.
So I have just proven that I am technically not “enjoying myself.” If someone asks, “So Daniel, are you having fun?” I have to say, “Well, no,” because the fact is that I have started looking for the little escapes to get me through. I would therefore be lying if I said that I was actually enjoying living with the Ordoñezes, eating corn tortillas every day and talking in simple Spanish.
So, I've become a little cynical about things.
There are a few solutions, but here is one I particularly like: grow up. Learn to enjoy being vulnerable, being awkward, being alone. (I define the loneliness better in the full version, but it's loneliness without solitude and loneliness coupled with self-consciousness, a loneliness that comes from having Kaqchikel social interaction hanging in my face but not being able to partake).
Another solution, a very possible one, is that the joy that I will feel upon finishing this project is greater than I currently realize it will be, a joy that I will want to experience again and that is only attainable through ethnographic fieldwork. If I feel this joy when this is over, then it will fall into the “passion for anthropology” fuel tank and will be enough to fuel the next research project I do, and that one will fuel the next one, and this means that I will be an anthropologist.
After stopping the think a bit, here is another “solution,” much like the above one. (Dr Wallace said that guys don't like to talk about our emotions. Classmates, if you're reading this, this is about as open as I can get.) What do I like to do? I like to observe “beautiful things” (neat, cool, sublime, whatever, let's say “neat”). I like to observe neat things. I like to make neat things. I think that humans are just about the neatest thing there is. I think that the best way to see the neatest things about humans is to study them (anthropology). Ideally, that's why I am here right now.
So, I may start pulling energy from this tank, the tank of idealism. Down with cynicism, up with idealism. It's that easy, verdad?
Now, three episodes:
1) Speaking of being cynical, the other day I was walking back from the beach when I passed a group of teenagers hanging out at a tienda after school. One of the guys looked at me and moved his arms gangsta-like and gave me an exaggerated, “Sap duude??” This is maybe the fourth time I have gotten one of these, so I immediately did what I told myself I would do the next time they did this to me: I mimicked him, in his ridiculous raspy, gangsta, seventeen-year-old voice: “Sap duude??” He again said, “What's up?” in a dumb voice, and I mimicked him again, pretty accurately if I say so myself, and keeping a straight face the whole time because I was kind of pissed. Then, he looked away from me and said simply, “What is your name?” I said, in my normal voice with an American accent which sounded gruff after mimicking him, “Daniel.” At this point I wasn't looking at him, just walking by. Right after I said my name, all the girls that he was standing in front of laughed, I'm pretty sure laughing at him, like “Ricardo, you idiot.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw him kind of retreat, so I guess I won that battle. I don't want to come across as a jerk, but then again, I don't want all the teenagers to think I'm going to take their crap. I think I made the right decision.
2) I have just seen something very weird. Luis had decided to come in and clean my room, “organize things,” which he does sometimes, and then afterwards we decided that I should make peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for the five of us. Then Catarina and the kids asked me if I wanted to watch TV, a little more insistent than usual, so I decided it must be something special.
It was a video of a big festival they have on November 26 every year. Around the outdoor basketball court by the beach stood maybe half the town watching the Convites: townspeople dressed up in costumes and dancing. The costumes are crazy, decked out from head to toe and totally masked, most like medieval barbarian warlords, some like Egyptian- or Persian-looking demigods, some like American Indian chiefs, with various furs hanging everywhere, shields on backs, capes with crests, capes with stuffed lion heads, capes of gold, crowns, long hair, white masks of princes and vikings, gauntlets, gloves, swords, feathers, whips, bows and arrows, boots and canes. The camcorder was sweeping around over the dancers, who just kind of rocked and leaned from one foot to the other to a Latin / salsa band. The onlookers all just stared.
Well, for two hours I sat and watched this. The music changed maybe twice. Catarina narrated to me: no one knows who the dancers are until they take off their masks. Now it is time: mira, one of them is Luis! And there is so-and-so, and now they are making the giant X, etc. And after the masks come off, the dancing keeps on! We watched until the sun went down in the video, and then the band kept going, the Convites went home, and the drinkers started to dance.
Naturally, I had many questions about this, but I stopped asking when Catarina resigned to just, “Porque asi es,” because that's how it is.
To me, the strangest thing was that no one was really smiling. If this was happening at a family reunion or something in the U.S., I think people would clap when the masks were taken off and laugh, “Oh surprise look who it is!” but everyone had these blank looks on their faces; the dancers looked as if the whole thing were a chore, and the audience just stared without laughing or clapping or anything, but they kept watching, so they must have been, you know, engrossed in it. I guess that shows you the different thresholds for entertainment. It takes commercials flashing by at two hundred scenes per minute for Americans to be zoned out, but with the people here, it takes is a bunch of crazy barbarian costumes moving back and forth to bossa nova. You could say they are easily entertained; you could say we are desensitized.
On second thought, those costumes were pretty wild. I would probably gawk for two hours too.
3) Last night, Luis and I began our long walk up to the house from the gallery that he had just locked up. The cloud ceiling moved slowly over us to the mountains to the northeast and cast a gray blue glow on the street. The hazy air was cool and clean. In the growing dark I planned my words before I spoke: Tomorrow I would like to do an interview with someone who has dogs.
“Ah esta bien.”
It doesn't matter how many. Just someone who has dogs.
“Ah vay.”
For example, the people of the teinda over there. I beckoned to a gallery across the street that I know some of his relatives own. It's better if it's someone you know.
“Si.” He continued: But they don't have dogs. Those people don't have any dogs, only one.
One is fine. That's good.
“Ah bien.”
So, I'm on my way.
Santiago, across the lake
Women Washing in Santiago
a guy in Santiago 
Wilson and Bandera
A dog fight in Santa Catarina. They are alla attacking that one dog in the middle. The guy on the left has just thrown a rock into the mob because, as you can see, the fight is blocking traffic.
Alvaro
This is where we eat.
Catarina
4 comments:
I'm searching for some kind of incredibly philosophical thing to say about the danger of going too deep in your head. I'd love to hear how your faith is impacted and want to encourage you to "be still"...even if only in your own thoughts. I love you! Amy
It's seems that you have an interesting dilemna on your hands. I think that my only words of encouragement would be that you're discovering these things, but like Amy said, you need to be still; you can go to deep into your own thoughts.
While it might not be my place, I do have one piece of advice: remember Americans are trained completely differently; like you said, to be entertained by two hundred images a minute. Slow down, life doesn't seem to move as fast there.
I know you'll be just fine, and it seems like you're learning a lot. I can't wait to hear more about it at Callaway.
<3 Vivian
Amy,
Thanks a lot. Being still has a lot of connotations (my mind, my stomach, traveling, etc.)
Vivian,
Thanks. The fact that I'm an American and "trained completely differently" has everything to do with it. I'll see you at Callaway.
Hey man. I am not sure how to articulate my analysis but I know exactly what you are talking about. Living in another culture creates a self-aware isolation that cannot be replicated by any other simulation. I'm not sure if you can possibly relate trying to soak in all of the nuances of an unknown environment in order to make sense of what it means and why (isn't that what ethnography is) to anything you have done before, so it seems unfair to compare it to life at UGA. You aren't really looking for yourself when you are doing the things you do at Athens. You just are who you are. You have to be self-aware in what you are doing now or your ethnographic work won't work. I don't think good fieldwork requires that you turn yourself over completely...I would bet the best of them took peanut butter into the field. That's not cheating or wasting the experience you have been given. It's being Daniel.
I remember coming to the realization one day that I had assumed living abroad would change me but instead it made me more myself - and more aware of myself - than I ever could have been before.
Connections in that kind of environment just takes time man. That's why fieldwork takes years.
By the way, I am getting ready to sell some of your stuff on ebay. Thanks for the opportunity the extra cash.
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