Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Sunday, December 18, 2005
So I've obviously been floundering for awhile with this blog, no longer certain about what its purpose should be. To add a bit of a spark, I've decided to embark on a new project. Every month (hopefully more often, but this will be schedule-dependent), I will choose a person to discuss. Whenever a friend of mine is struggling with a conundrum, one of my standard bits of advice is to find someone else who has similarly struggled and then overcome it. To learn from history, from others' experiences. So I've decided to follow my own advice. My most central problem is how to live in a meaningful, productive, fulfilling, adventurous way, without succumbing to insecurities or stupid distractions. Essentially: how to make the most of my potential, and not waste my life away. Some early candidates are Emma Goldman, Mukhtaran Bibi, Katherine Meyer Graham, Abraham Lincoln (given the recent release of several new biographies), Lt. General Romeo Dallaire, and Malcolm X. I'll pick one shortly.
Another project in the works: writing and sending letters to those who have inspired me. I imagine that all of them must question the impact and worth of their work at times. If nothing else, I can tell them how they've touched me, and changed the way I see the world, for the better.
I spent one afternoon reading the first half of Maureen Dowd's "Are Men Necessary?" at the Barnes & Noble in Chelsea. I found much of it annoying, some of it simple-minded and cliche, some of it provocative, some of it inspiring, and some of it actually substantiated by my own experiences. I'm not very impressed with her writing style, which showcased far too many cutesy puns for my taste. Thisis the only female op-ed New York Times writer? Egads. Granted, to give her a fair shake, I'll need to read more of her columns before judging her.
So, her book is essentially about the ever-changing relations between the sexes, the disappointing aftermath of the feminist movement, and how "feminism was defeated by narcissism." She contrasts the forward-thinking feminist ideology of the 1960's and 70's with the more retro, almost 1950's mindset today, evidenced by the currently popular retro secretary fashions, excessive concern for appearance and sexual prowess, educated women choosing to stay at home rather than to pursue careers, etc. I'm apparently much more old-school feminist than many of my female peers (or those whom Dowd interviewed). I absolutely believe in equal rights, and want to fight the good fight of becoming a female innovator, thinker, leader. I have no desire to stay at home and waste my talents and education there. I respect that other women weigh their options and decide that they would be happiest and most fulfilled by becoming a Stay at Home Mom, but that's just not me. I would regret not putting my skills to use, and not contributing more to society. I would become one of those suffocated, emprisoned housewives in Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique, obsessed with my wasted potential. Maybe other girls want an easier, more pampered life, but that was never what I sought. I didn't even think happiness mattered that much until recently, since I equated pain and misery with growth. Although I now realize that happiness is rather important, I still won't sacrifice my quest to live a meaningful and productive life to it. I'm not even convinced that the pampered, easy, oblivious happiness is all that great anyway. I'd rather have happiness that was earned through discipline and labor, which is interlaced with knowledge of deep suffering and pain and terror and beauty. I also insist on paying my half of the check. I am offended personally by the insinuation that just because I have a pair of ovaries, I need to be "taken care of" financially. I don't give a crap what advice gurus say about men needing to foot the bill in order to prove that they are not cheap. Please. If one can't find other ways to detect excessive frugality, then she needs to educate herself better about understanding human behavior and psychology. Similarly, I feel almost physically ill when a guy offers his seat to me on the bus. Unless I'm pregnant or wearing high heels, how can it not be offensive to indicate that because I'm female, I'm weaker and thus less capable of standing upright than a man is? I know, I know, guys are schooled by their mamas, or by society, to make such offers for the sake of politesse. But the gestures come from a sexist ideology, and if I were to accept them, I'd be inadvertently be reinforcing those assumptions. Hell no.
Unlike Dowd, I'm not as concerned with whether other people like me. And I'm not one of those girls who whine about men being intimidated by my education or my intelligence. If the guy is that insecure, then I'm glad to get rid of him. Maybe it's naive of me, but I figure that there are guys out there who will value my thoughts and opinions and knowledge. And that our association will be stronger because of his respect for my mental capabilities. I have many male friends who obviously enjoy talking with me and trading ideas with me; I never got the sense that they were repulsed by my brain. With regards to romantic relationships, I never felt like my education was a deterrent either; unfortunately, however, I've tended to connect with men more mentally than physically, or more physically than mentally. I've yet to be in a relationship where the connection was strong in both areas, but I'm still optimistic that it will happen eventually. Perhaps if I reach Dowd's age and am still single, I'll relate more to her frustrations regarding men's supposed preference for subordinates rather than equals.
I do completely agree with her distaste for narcissism and consumerism in contemporary society, particularly with regards to plastic surgery. I hate that there is now considered only one beauty ideal, and how it's okay to rip women apart for not achieving it. I'm astonished at times at how catty women can be when critiquing their own appearances and other women's appearances. This is one of the reasons why I didn't have female friends until very recently. I never focused very much on my appearance; I was always much more interested in developing my mind, my philosophy, my understanding of the world. Girls didn't want to talk about this stuff. Girls wanted to talk about how bad they were for eating too much, how fat they were and how ugly their noses were, how horrible it was not to have a boyfriend. Spending time around these girls made me feel awful about myself, so I avoided them. I'm pretty sure this is how I escaped having an eating disorder.
I love looking at people, learning about people. One common thread between medicine and art for me is learning about people, both physically and through their stories. One of my favorite past-times is people-watching, particularly in a museum, on the subway, in a park. Especially in New York City, there are so many different shapes, colors, configurations of features. Some are considered more conventionally attractive than others, but so what? Sometimes those with the most conventionally attractive features are the most bland, lifeless, or repugnant, while those with less conventionally attractive features are vibrant, lively, and captivating. Why should this spectrum be erased so that we all look like pod people, like plastic dolls, all with the same artificially enhanced features? With beauty comes power, which is why so many people are slavishly devoted to changing their appearances to better fit what's considered ideal. But as they gain power, they undoubtedly lose something valuable--a connection to their ancestors, a realization that there is so much more to a person's worth than physical beauty, individuality, maybe even humanity. I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art the other day, and walked through the section of Impressionist and post-Impressionist paintings. There were a number of female nudes. According to contemporary standards, they are ugly--too fat, too hideous, not toned enough, with facial features not small and delicate enough. But the artists who depicted them were clearly enamoured. Why can't we still be pleased with those body types?
I don't want a man to complete me. In fact, I recently realized that I was more easily seduced by men who had traits I longed to have for myself, after reading Robert Greene's "The Art of Seduction." I didn't read this book to become a great seductress. Given my excessive concern for self-protection, I read it so that I would not be vulnerable to the tricks of seducers. Since this realization, I've worked on acquiring these traits, such as adventure-seeking, risk-taking, artistry/creativity. I realized how much I was held back by anxiety and fear and insecurity (traits deemed "anti-seductive" by Greene), so I've worked on decreasing their influence on me. I'm working to become the kind of person who wins my admiration and respect, the kind of person to whom I'm drawn. So that all I want is a man who is willing to come along for the ride, without getting in the way of my dreams and my adventures.
Another project in the works: writing and sending letters to those who have inspired me. I imagine that all of them must question the impact and worth of their work at times. If nothing else, I can tell them how they've touched me, and changed the way I see the world, for the better.
I spent one afternoon reading the first half of Maureen Dowd's "Are Men Necessary?" at the Barnes & Noble in Chelsea. I found much of it annoying, some of it simple-minded and cliche, some of it provocative, some of it inspiring, and some of it actually substantiated by my own experiences. I'm not very impressed with her writing style, which showcased far too many cutesy puns for my taste. Thisis the only female op-ed New York Times writer? Egads. Granted, to give her a fair shake, I'll need to read more of her columns before judging her.
So, her book is essentially about the ever-changing relations between the sexes, the disappointing aftermath of the feminist movement, and how "feminism was defeated by narcissism." She contrasts the forward-thinking feminist ideology of the 1960's and 70's with the more retro, almost 1950's mindset today, evidenced by the currently popular retro secretary fashions, excessive concern for appearance and sexual prowess, educated women choosing to stay at home rather than to pursue careers, etc. I'm apparently much more old-school feminist than many of my female peers (or those whom Dowd interviewed). I absolutely believe in equal rights, and want to fight the good fight of becoming a female innovator, thinker, leader. I have no desire to stay at home and waste my talents and education there. I respect that other women weigh their options and decide that they would be happiest and most fulfilled by becoming a Stay at Home Mom, but that's just not me. I would regret not putting my skills to use, and not contributing more to society. I would become one of those suffocated, emprisoned housewives in Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique, obsessed with my wasted potential. Maybe other girls want an easier, more pampered life, but that was never what I sought. I didn't even think happiness mattered that much until recently, since I equated pain and misery with growth. Although I now realize that happiness is rather important, I still won't sacrifice my quest to live a meaningful and productive life to it. I'm not even convinced that the pampered, easy, oblivious happiness is all that great anyway. I'd rather have happiness that was earned through discipline and labor, which is interlaced with knowledge of deep suffering and pain and terror and beauty. I also insist on paying my half of the check. I am offended personally by the insinuation that just because I have a pair of ovaries, I need to be "taken care of" financially. I don't give a crap what advice gurus say about men needing to foot the bill in order to prove that they are not cheap. Please. If one can't find other ways to detect excessive frugality, then she needs to educate herself better about understanding human behavior and psychology. Similarly, I feel almost physically ill when a guy offers his seat to me on the bus. Unless I'm pregnant or wearing high heels, how can it not be offensive to indicate that because I'm female, I'm weaker and thus less capable of standing upright than a man is? I know, I know, guys are schooled by their mamas, or by society, to make such offers for the sake of politesse. But the gestures come from a sexist ideology, and if I were to accept them, I'd be inadvertently be reinforcing those assumptions. Hell no.
Unlike Dowd, I'm not as concerned with whether other people like me. And I'm not one of those girls who whine about men being intimidated by my education or my intelligence. If the guy is that insecure, then I'm glad to get rid of him. Maybe it's naive of me, but I figure that there are guys out there who will value my thoughts and opinions and knowledge. And that our association will be stronger because of his respect for my mental capabilities. I have many male friends who obviously enjoy talking with me and trading ideas with me; I never got the sense that they were repulsed by my brain. With regards to romantic relationships, I never felt like my education was a deterrent either; unfortunately, however, I've tended to connect with men more mentally than physically, or more physically than mentally. I've yet to be in a relationship where the connection was strong in both areas, but I'm still optimistic that it will happen eventually. Perhaps if I reach Dowd's age and am still single, I'll relate more to her frustrations regarding men's supposed preference for subordinates rather than equals.
I do completely agree with her distaste for narcissism and consumerism in contemporary society, particularly with regards to plastic surgery. I hate that there is now considered only one beauty ideal, and how it's okay to rip women apart for not achieving it. I'm astonished at times at how catty women can be when critiquing their own appearances and other women's appearances. This is one of the reasons why I didn't have female friends until very recently. I never focused very much on my appearance; I was always much more interested in developing my mind, my philosophy, my understanding of the world. Girls didn't want to talk about this stuff. Girls wanted to talk about how bad they were for eating too much, how fat they were and how ugly their noses were, how horrible it was not to have a boyfriend. Spending time around these girls made me feel awful about myself, so I avoided them. I'm pretty sure this is how I escaped having an eating disorder.
I love looking at people, learning about people. One common thread between medicine and art for me is learning about people, both physically and through their stories. One of my favorite past-times is people-watching, particularly in a museum, on the subway, in a park. Especially in New York City, there are so many different shapes, colors, configurations of features. Some are considered more conventionally attractive than others, but so what? Sometimes those with the most conventionally attractive features are the most bland, lifeless, or repugnant, while those with less conventionally attractive features are vibrant, lively, and captivating. Why should this spectrum be erased so that we all look like pod people, like plastic dolls, all with the same artificially enhanced features? With beauty comes power, which is why so many people are slavishly devoted to changing their appearances to better fit what's considered ideal. But as they gain power, they undoubtedly lose something valuable--a connection to their ancestors, a realization that there is so much more to a person's worth than physical beauty, individuality, maybe even humanity. I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art the other day, and walked through the section of Impressionist and post-Impressionist paintings. There were a number of female nudes. According to contemporary standards, they are ugly--too fat, too hideous, not toned enough, with facial features not small and delicate enough. But the artists who depicted them were clearly enamoured. Why can't we still be pleased with those body types?
I don't want a man to complete me. In fact, I recently realized that I was more easily seduced by men who had traits I longed to have for myself, after reading Robert Greene's "The Art of Seduction." I didn't read this book to become a great seductress. Given my excessive concern for self-protection, I read it so that I would not be vulnerable to the tricks of seducers. Since this realization, I've worked on acquiring these traits, such as adventure-seeking, risk-taking, artistry/creativity. I realized how much I was held back by anxiety and fear and insecurity (traits deemed "anti-seductive" by Greene), so I've worked on decreasing their influence on me. I'm working to become the kind of person who wins my admiration and respect, the kind of person to whom I'm drawn. So that all I want is a man who is willing to come along for the ride, without getting in the way of my dreams and my adventures.
Friday, December 09, 2005
I've been given the opportunity to get glimpses into apartments all over New York City through my work, and it's been a highly revealing experience. When writing stories, I usually focus so much on characters and their thoughts and appearances that I neglect describing their environs. After seeing such widely variable living spaces, and connecting them to their inhabitants, I now have a whole new range of images to draw upon. There was one apartment which almost seemed to be overflowing with estrogen--there were vases stuffed with fake flowers everywhere the eye could see, as well as tons of velvet pillows and lace curtains and flowery wallpaper and about a million framed photographs of children. I also had the incredible luck to see the apartment of a once prominent artist, whose walls were covered with his looming, powerful paintings. He was blind, and his wife shouted to him, "This is Ms.Bigger, although she's actually QUITE LITTLE. And she's VERY ATTRACTIVE." She then whispered to me, "He likes that." I'm not sure if I'm reading too much into it, but it seems that she might be implying that he was a bit of a horndog, in his youth, or maybe even now? Another somewhat amusing encounter was when a Spanish-speaking woman asked about my ethnicity, and I replied for simplicity's sake, "Korean." She gave me a quizzical look and said, "Coreana?" She then shook her head and said, "No Coreana." And she repeated this several times. Heh.
It's been strange to return to New York City. I see more and more what a gentrified nightmare it's become. Several of my old haunts have disappeared, replaced by more of the same. Individual neighborhoods are losing their character as small mom-and-pop businesses are replaced by more corporate outposts. It's become almost disorienting to walk up an avenue, and to see the same stores alternating over and over again. Even though I love Pret a Manger and Cosi and Payless Shoes, and tolerate Starbucks and Barnes & Noble, does there need to be an outpost of theirs every 5 blocks? Then again, I suppose they're able to pay the skyrocketing rent, while the mom-and-pop stores can't.
Since it's been so freaking cold, and with snow and gray gunk and puddles on the ground, I've resorted to taking the bus after work since the closest subway stop is a bit of a trek. And while gazing out the window, I see ubiquitous cherubic Caucasian children with blue eyes and rosey cheeks, pushed in strollers or carried by women of Asian or African descent. It provokes an uncomfortable jolt in my gut, and I'm not even sure of the entire reason why. Likely (well, hopefully) the children's parents are busy and hard-working. After all the time and money I've put into my education, I sure as hell plan on working through my childrearing years. I'm not one of those girls who is investing in an education in order to find an educated guy, marry him, quit the workforce, and raise babies. When (or if) I marry and have children, I won't be able to stay with them during the day, and will need help--either from family or a nanny. So I can't really judge the parents of these children, right? And with all the crap jobs out there, I imagine nannying isn't too bad for someone who needs work. So it's not like these nannies are being exploited or treated unfairly--at least, from my vantagepoint as an outsider sitting on a bus.
But still...when you see that all the children are Caucasian, and all the nannies are not, something just feels a bit wrong. Kind of like when I was in the OR, and all the surgeons would be white, while all the janitors and room-changers would be black. I don't think that the white children, their parents, or those surgeons are to blame, necessarily. But this segregation of economic status and profession seems emblematic of persistent racism, or perhaps race-associated poverty. The divide is just so striking. I wonder about those nannies. Do they have children? Who takes care of them? How much education have they gotten? If they are educated, why are they nannies instead? Why can't they also be doing the kind of work that their employers do, which prevents them from having time to care for their own kids?
I know that my cultural background is likely different, so it's difficult for me to judge the (mostly) Caucasian parents. My Korean grandmother watched my brother and me when we were kids, backed up by numerous Korean aunts. As far as I can tell, the average white couple doesn't have that kind of family support, and has to be self-reliant when it comes to child-rearing--which means a parent has to stay home, or the kids have to be put in daycare, or a nanny has to be hired. Perhaps a nanny is the cheapest option. I don't know. I have no idea if my mother and I will be on speaking terms when I have kids, and I have no idea if I will leave near her. Perhaps I'll consider hiring a nanny too. Unless I end up with a stay-at-home husband. *grin* Then again, it will be (hopefully) at least 5 or 6 years before I have to deal with any of this crap. I have way too much living to do before being saddled down with all this responsibility.
It's been strange to return to New York City. I see more and more what a gentrified nightmare it's become. Several of my old haunts have disappeared, replaced by more of the same. Individual neighborhoods are losing their character as small mom-and-pop businesses are replaced by more corporate outposts. It's become almost disorienting to walk up an avenue, and to see the same stores alternating over and over again. Even though I love Pret a Manger and Cosi and Payless Shoes, and tolerate Starbucks and Barnes & Noble, does there need to be an outpost of theirs every 5 blocks? Then again, I suppose they're able to pay the skyrocketing rent, while the mom-and-pop stores can't.
Since it's been so freaking cold, and with snow and gray gunk and puddles on the ground, I've resorted to taking the bus after work since the closest subway stop is a bit of a trek. And while gazing out the window, I see ubiquitous cherubic Caucasian children with blue eyes and rosey cheeks, pushed in strollers or carried by women of Asian or African descent. It provokes an uncomfortable jolt in my gut, and I'm not even sure of the entire reason why. Likely (well, hopefully) the children's parents are busy and hard-working. After all the time and money I've put into my education, I sure as hell plan on working through my childrearing years. I'm not one of those girls who is investing in an education in order to find an educated guy, marry him, quit the workforce, and raise babies. When (or if) I marry and have children, I won't be able to stay with them during the day, and will need help--either from family or a nanny. So I can't really judge the parents of these children, right? And with all the crap jobs out there, I imagine nannying isn't too bad for someone who needs work. So it's not like these nannies are being exploited or treated unfairly--at least, from my vantagepoint as an outsider sitting on a bus.
But still...when you see that all the children are Caucasian, and all the nannies are not, something just feels a bit wrong. Kind of like when I was in the OR, and all the surgeons would be white, while all the janitors and room-changers would be black. I don't think that the white children, their parents, or those surgeons are to blame, necessarily. But this segregation of economic status and profession seems emblematic of persistent racism, or perhaps race-associated poverty. The divide is just so striking. I wonder about those nannies. Do they have children? Who takes care of them? How much education have they gotten? If they are educated, why are they nannies instead? Why can't they also be doing the kind of work that their employers do, which prevents them from having time to care for their own kids?
I know that my cultural background is likely different, so it's difficult for me to judge the (mostly) Caucasian parents. My Korean grandmother watched my brother and me when we were kids, backed up by numerous Korean aunts. As far as I can tell, the average white couple doesn't have that kind of family support, and has to be self-reliant when it comes to child-rearing--which means a parent has to stay home, or the kids have to be put in daycare, or a nanny has to be hired. Perhaps a nanny is the cheapest option. I don't know. I have no idea if my mother and I will be on speaking terms when I have kids, and I have no idea if I will leave near her. Perhaps I'll consider hiring a nanny too. Unless I end up with a stay-at-home husband. *grin* Then again, it will be (hopefully) at least 5 or 6 years before I have to deal with any of this crap. I have way too much living to do before being saddled down with all this responsibility.
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