To My Inner Eye

So, there is this book called The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. Pretty much every slightly intellectual young adult has read and been obsessed with this book during some radical transformation, and there are still several parts of that book that I must admit to having appropriated as parts of my own story, my own ever-changing-but-never-really-transforming self-narrative. I won't elaborate all of these little scenes that I have inserted myself into, but I will note one influential idea.

Franz, one of the characters in the novel, lives his life in constant negotiation with an inner eye. I think that is what he calls it anyway. I cannot find my copy of the book to double check on the actual lingo that Kundera uses, but the idea is that Franz always has the image or voice of someone he knows as an internalized judge in his head. Nearly everything he does, he imagines doing under the gaze of Sabina, one of the other characters. Now, I am pretty sure that most people, if you could get them to admit it, also do this to one degree or another, but I do it all the time. The perspective of the inner eye changes, and at various times it has been a christian pastor celebrity, a boy I had a crush on, a teacher, a writer, a new boyfriend, an ex-boyfriend, and an elusive acquaintance. Though I may only have a slight guess at the view of this other, and how he would view my actions if he even cared to, (I don't know what it means that this gaze has almost exclusively been male, besides that I am subject to my societal influences despite being aware of them) the internalized perspective of this other never ceases to accompany something that I identify as my own voice.

I am writing all of this because I have moved back to the US and I am no longer abroad. I would like to reserve the right to blather about my own solipsistic brilliant ideas anyway, so I needed a reason to continue to blog. I thought about all of my communication training, and I remember that the most important part of successful communication is to direct your work to a clear audience, never letting them escape your view as you write.

I, quite frankly, do not know who my audience has ended up being, or if I even have one, so I decided to just write to the person who my thoughts are directed anyway: my inner eye. You might notice that this means that the way I direct the story is different in different cases, and this is because my inner eye shifts frequently these days. Don't try to figure out if you are my current inner eye. Chances are, if you read this, you are either too close to me or too distant to be an inner eye, and my inner eye would never read blog posts anyway.

So, the title of the blog will soon change to reflect my geographical change, but I will still tend to write a lot about Denmark because I am in that annoying phase of reverse culture shock that is characterized by the statement, "In Denmark, they..."

My apologies.

Thinking about you, and there's no rest

When I was 17, I told a friend of mine that I didn't want to graduate from high school and go to college. My life was too good, I said. Of course, now I can hardly believe that I felt that way, and I would rather die than go back to age 17. At the time, it was so intense that my whole life would change, but now it just seems inevitable. Much like I feel today, I was sure that my best days were behind me, and the feeling of moving away from people that I loved was so acute, so sharp, and so juggernautishly real.

With this experience in mind, I face another big change in my life. Some of the people here have changed me, irreversibly I imagine, and I can barely even comprehend that they will not be a part of my daily life next week. Still, I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that a year from now I will be buried in Habermas texts and paper grading, and this life will seem distant. I will remember it fondly, but I won't feel waives of nausea when I think of what has changed.

The funny thing is that, with this attempt at trying to comfort myself, I realized that the real pain of moving is that the things that I am sick to lose will fade from importance. It is not so bad that I feel the impending loss of these relationships, but the scariest part is that in five years, I may not feel it this way anymore. Just like when I look back on high school with fondness and don't remember the urgency and the size of my feelings, someday I will think of leaving these friends and I won't feel sick. Instead of feeling tragic, it will seem inevitable.

Cranky Face

Whenever I was in a bad mood in Eugene, Jose would sweetly look across the table at Full City, the local coffee shop, and say, "Are you a cranky face today?" In response, I would force my face into a scowl, full with wrinkled nose, furrowed brow, and pursed lips.

"NO!"

This routine is followed by peals of laughter from Jose, and, after a few seconds of scrunching my face into a more vicious scowl, a slow smile from me.

I was a serious cranky face today. I had my cranky pants on, and there was no way that it was going to be a good day.

It was the day that I would have to do all of the tasks at work that I had been putting off because I either don't really know how to do them, or they are so mundane that they make my eyes want to vacate my head to find a more interesting host.

After I had completed one job that had been looming over my head since last Thursday, I went off to proctor a final exam, which at least allows me to read for two hours, even if I do nearly collapse with low blood sugar because of the bad timing of the test. Upon returning to my desk at 2pm (14:00 for Danes) with my stomach sounding like Bjork's newest album, the DIS registrar caught me just before I could run to the kitchen to warm last night's curry leftovers.

"The Story Telling Exam that Frazer was proctoring was missing the final page, you know, the one with the essays," she said in an I-am-not accusing-you-just-letting-you-know kind of way.

I quickly searched the files in my brain that catalog my responsibilities.
Editing ECH Finals: Yes
Photocopying ECH Finals: Yes
Handing Complete Finals to Registrar for Distribution: Yes
Generally Taking Care of Everything Related to the Administering of ECH Finals: Yes

Overall Responsibility for Reported Problem: 100%

The registrar didn't need to say anything. Frazer, my fellow intern who was stuck with the problem (standing in front of 35 students who are wondering why their test isn't like it was supposed to be), couldn't console me with any number of optimistic and kind words. I felt horrible and nearly cried. And when I nearly cry at work, my response, if you can imagine, is to become even crankier.

I really hate failure. And I know that this problem was totally fixable. The students got the last page of their final, and they had enough time to finish, and Frazer got her lunch shortly after I got mine. But I just can't stand it.

On the grand scale of things, this was minor. I will forget about it tomorrow. What has struck me about this past year, however, is how differently things work outside of academia. This little problem affected 3 co-workers and 35 students. I am used to any of my little screw ups mostly affecting me. Maybe that typo means an A- instead of an A, but just for me. Maybe showing up 2 minutes to class makes me look like an ass, but no one else really cares. This means, however, after 16 years of school, I have no idea how to work with other people. Perhaps I should have been more gracious with everyone else for making these kind of mistakes since last August, and easier on myself with problems that everyone else has forgotten. Still, I am pretty sure I am the main culprit. Philosophy students should never work in administration.

I left my office in a crankster flurry, informing my friend Emilio that I must have put on my cranky tights today.*

*He actually asked if some tights make me more cranky than others. I miss Jose.

Misfit Collections

I thought my earlier post today was a subtle insight into my own Danish lifestyle (simplicity, to a fault?). For this reason, I decided to post another list that could also shed light on my current transitional state (for those of you who do not know, I am moving back to Oregon in about 1.5 weeks).

Collections of items that, for a variety of reasons, I do not know what to do with:

• 3 half used candles: a bit strange to give away, but a shame to throw out

• 4 piles of Swedish, Russian, Czech, and Euro change: too much to be a souvenir, not enough to exchange

• 10 months worth of bank statements and pay stubs: how long do you have to keep financial documents from a nation you no longer live in?

• More than 15 scarves: I will never need this many scarves living in any other city

• 11 Netto and Fakta bags: too useful to throw out, but every one else I know in this city has their own growing collection

• 18 maps to Copenhagen, Prague, Moscow, Saint Petersburg, Malmö, Århus, Cesky Krumlov, and Sorø: can one throw away maps? Can one fit them in their overpacked suitcases?

• 3 vowels that I can half pronounce but will likely never use again

• Countless friends and acquaintances that I will always want to stay in contact with, but likely never will

• 1 city that I know like the back of my hand, but will no longer call home

shopping list

Here is my shopping list for today. The question marks indicate that I will only purchase said items if an acceptable variety is found at the only grocery stores open on Sunday.

Chicken
Red Peppers
Carrots
Butter

Whole wheat bread?
Greek Yogurt?

Living Forward, Understanding Backwards

So, there is this famous mis-quote that Danish people like to attribute to Kierkegaard that goes something like this "Life can only be lived forward and understood backward." I guess this is really how some Danish scholar interpreted Kierkegaard's work, and it is much to concise to really be anything he said. Still, I kinda like it, though it is a sort of Existentialism for Dummies version.

All of that is to say that I am thinking back on my time in Copenhagen now that I have been here for a while and I am gearing up to head home.

One thing that has changed tremendously for me, at least since I was here as a student, is my ability to enjoy other people. I think that this process, this change that I have undergone, started before I even wrote the application to come here, but in interacting with a very similar set of students that I knew as an undergrad now as an intern, I see how much has changed.

About a week ago, I was sitting in the front of a large tour bus (something I end up doing a lot in this job), and two girls were talking behind me. It was the kind of conversation you would expect two twenty year old girls in Denmark to have as they think about heading home, and one of them was talking about what she was going to do about her french boyfriend who is living in Denmark as a student. They haven't really been together long enough to make a long-distance relationship across the Atlantic seem practical, but she really likes him.

I sympathized with this girl, as I am in a long-distance relationship myself, but more than that, I was impressed that these two girls, who I could tell from the conversation were not best friends but merely what I call 'class buddies,' were able to seemingly genuinely connect on a variety of levels based just on their short months in this single class in Denmark. I realized that I had been so limited in my time as a student. I had taken almost the same class as these students, gone on trips like this with many students just like them, but I had only a few close friends. I would sit on those tour buses alone (not that it is bad to be alone) and watch other people have fun. I was disappointed that I had wasted so many chances as a student.


There is, however, another side to this experience. The two girls were, as I said, totally average, nice, not super intellectual but not dumb girls. I found myself enjoying listening to one another's insights about relationships, living (and drinking) in Europe, and their analysis of their favorite and least favorite classes. This moment of pure enjoyment of other people for no good reason struck me as a new experience. I could relay dozens of other stories about how my friend base is much more diverse, about how nearly none of my favorite people here are 'intellectual,' nor do hardly any of them tolerate philosophy talk, or about how I actually found myself hanging out with 'the bad kids' on my last study tour (I would have HATED these guys as a student, but they were fun and clever, if not a bit reckless). All of those things are examples of how I have branched out, but I think this simple moment, where nothing was in it for me, of just enjoying other people, really showed me how I have learned not just to tolerate, but enjoy other people.

None of that is to say that I am not super eager to get to a philosophy department and start talking about Marx again.

Languages and What I Have(n't) Learned in Denmark

Today I went to a reception at KU's Theology Department with Jakob, my boss, supposedly to do some social networking for DIS. Since I don't know how to hobnob in Danish, I mostly stood around trying to look like I was supposed to be there.

A few of our students from the new Kierkegaard Honors Seminar were there, and so was one of the professors that I work with, Brian, who teaches at KU and works for the Kierkegaard Research Center. He is American, but has lived in Denmark for about 12 years.

As we were standing in this cellar at KU, drinking wine from plastic cups and nibbling on fancy snacks, several people were giving speeches in honor of the soon-to-be-retired head of the Kierkegaard Center (today was his 65th Birthday) in Danish. For an hour and a half, I listened to speeches about a guy I don't know in a language I cannot understand.

About 10 minutes into the third toast, a student leaned over to me and asked what they were saying. "Fuck if I know," I responded. The three students seemed surprised that I did not know Danish, as I appeared to be listening attentively.

Later, Pia, a woman from the Kierkegaard Center was talking with Jakob, Brian, and me, all in Danish. I know enough to recognize her greeting, so I nodded in reply. Then, I preceded to space out with an intelligent look on my face while chit chat that I did not understand danced off of my ear drums like the clatter of silverware at a crowded diner.

Suddenly, I realize that Pia appears to be asking me a question in Danish, and I don't know how long she has been addressing me. The other two clearly know that I don't speak Danish, but they still look at me expectantly, awaiting my response to her query.

"uhhhhhhh...." I spit out, in my most eloquent American English.

"Oh, Amelia is an English speaker!" says Brian, informing Pia, and apparently reminding himself.

We all chuckled, and they each apologized for cutting me out of the conversation, but the most interesting thing followed.

"I forgot that you don't speak Danish because you were nodding and smiling at all the right places!" said Jakob.

"Oh, I can listen to Danish without understanding," I joked. But to tell the truth, I hadn't heard a word they said, and I didn't even experience myself nodding, smiling, or even looking at anyone.

This brings me to the conclusion of this blog. I have learned quite a skill here in Denmark. I have mastered the art of appearing to know exactly what is going on, even playing the part of an active participant, in a language that may as well be glossolalia. I imagine that I can bring this skill not only to foreign countries like France or Indonesia, but other foreign lands like Chemistry classrooms and corporate boardrooms.

Unless they actually address me with a question.