I recognize this disconnect in myself. For instance, I know I am a good teacher and a good poet, but my lack of educational credentials is a major source of inner anxiety. As soon as other writers start chatting about their MFA programs, famous mentors and pals, etc., I fall down a hole and begin beating myself up as inconsequential, unknown, provincial, and so on and so on. Someone will yank me up out of that hole and slap me around a little, and, dazed, I'll look at her and say, "Oh. Okay. I'm fine, then." But next chance I get, I'll fall straight down the hole again. It's stupid, just like it's stupid (and I use the word in the nicest possible way) that my correspondent downplays his own inimitable gifts.
We all have our little hamster problems, and I'm tired of them. I want my friend to honor and publicize his necessary gifts. I want other friends to do the same. This world needs to hear from you all. Likewise, I want to kick my own self-loathing to the curb. I mean, what the hell? I would never judge anyone else by their diploma. So why can't I give myself the same permission?
Earlier this week I posted about the way in which, as a teacher, I try to recognize my deficiencies, try to model that recognition, try address the process of working through the ways in which I hamstring myself. I think that so many of the people I love and admire are devotees of humility. But humility is double-edged. It keeps us open and loving, but it also keeps us from throwing back our shoulders and striding into the world we long to inhabit.
10 comments:
Humility is seen as a virtue and pride is seen as a vice. Perhaps the mistake is in equating pride with confidence and humilty with loving sensitivity. I KNOW I am a good teacher, one who has had a lasting influence on scores of people. This I know because I meet those former students7 and they tell me. BUT, if I say that in so many circle, I am bragging, egotistical, “blowing my own horn”. That unfortunately then negates any hope of being sensitive or loving or kind or. Many of us are told at very early ages what our “faults and failures” are whether because of environment or ignorance or spite or love or expectation.
I think (and ditto, Ruth) that it is especially precarious for women to advocate for their own excellence. Our culture does not openly value strong, intelligent, independent women--even our language undercuts female accomplishment (lady doctor, female firefighter, etc.). That said, maybe being aware of it can allow us to access and embrace our "master (maestra?!) status" and then we can stride forth with confidence.
Such advocacy can be precarious for women, but also for people of color and LGBTQ folks, and also for people struggling with issues of class or training or religious expectations, and also for people who are shy, and also for people who are so committed to justice for others that they cannot allow themselves the privilege of taking pride in what they themselves create.
When a measure of success is one's credentials and another is the number of periodicals in which work is published or number of books published, and both make you a member of the so-called academy, which is, frankly, a kind of closed community, it can be a real downer to be a "nobody" or an "outlier" (as I am) who simply loves poetry and writes to make a difference. I see so many published poems that leave me questioning their selection, others that are so marvelous that I can't help but want to read more of the authors' work. It's the former I can't figure out; why them? I once said (and wrote) that if someone reads one poem of mine that makes a difference to how she feels or he looks at the world, then that's enough. But the questioning (of talent, time spent, objective if there is one) nevertheless persists, maybe always will.
It seems a little like misplaced attention. “For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.”
The academy situation is so complex, Maureen. I'm aware that I, for example, look like I'm a member of that club (because I have books, because I teach), even as I struggle with a deep sense of disconnect and marginalization from the academic network. Some of this is in my own head; some is not. Some of this is my own doing; some is not. In my view, you are one of the many wonderful writers who should NOT be questioning her status as a true poet. And yet I entirely understand why you feel like an outlier.
Dawn,
I'm so grateful for you post. It spoke a big deal to me. Thanks for the inspiration and suggestion to walk a little straighter and carry myself a bit more confident, just because I'm a poet. Sending love!
Of course you are right, regarding all marginalized/silenced communities. I would also assume, as well, that to be conscious of the push-back from our mainstream culture is disheartening and soul-eroding much of the time. I'm reminded of the opening statement of Maya Angelou's autobiography, " I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" where she states, "If growing up is painful for the Southern Black girl, being aware of her displacement is the rust on the razor that threatens the throat. It is an unnecessary insult." This is entirely true, I think, and maybe even more so in some ways, today. And it makes me weary and sad beyond words.
Weary and sad, yes. But not silent!
And sending love to all--
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