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Oct. 12th, 2016 07:04 pmIn therapy today, we talked again about my choice to pursue geography rather than library science. She asked what I find appealing about geography. There are a number of reasons. The fields basis in place, space, and history is very much in-line with my own interests in historic and modern cities. I feel that academic geographers are able to pursue an activist research agenda aimed at furthering social justice, which is important to me for numerous reasons. There's a lot of literature in the field that appeals very personally to me, and I could enjoy being a part of that metaphorical conversation.
She asked what appeals to me about library science. I love being around books, I said. I love to be around them, to organize them, to take care of them, to share them with people. When I was a kid, my books were sorted by genre and alphabetized by author. A friend of my parents lent me something once; I don't remember what. "Take care of it like you take care of your books," my dad said.
"Better than your books," said the friend. My dad expressed that he didn't think that was possible, and I smiled both because I agreed, and because that felt like high praise indeed.
When I was working in the archives, I told the therapist, I got to go back into the closed stacks and handle such amazing material. Tax rolls from the 1800s, in bindings done by the WPA. Original letters to and from prominent citizens. Police reports from the middle of the last century, rare books of all sorts of backgrounds, hundred year old glass plate negatives, and so many other things. I felt like one of the cool kids. I felt so special, that I was trusted to work with these things. I felt so good about myself when I could find information about patrons' families that they'd never known. I felt appreciated and valued.
I think that maybe geography is something I think I want to do. That I think I ought to want to do. It's easy for me to decide to do something just because I think I should want to, rather than because I do, in fact, want to. That's led to some really negative experiences. Archival work is something that I don't have to think about in that way; I simply love doing it. I loved working in the archives at Parkside more than I've enjoyed doing any other work in my life. I felt more competent there than I ever have doing anything else too. Feeling like I know what I'm doing and am doing it well is such a wonderful feeling.
Thinking about actually choosing to pursue a library science degree makes me feel selfish. Why should I do something that makes me so happy to think about when there are other things that I want to do, and which I'm capable (theoretically) of doing, and which would put me in a better position to potentially improve society on a larger scale by influencing urban public policy?
So that's what I'm thinking about this week. It connects to questions I've had since before I went to New York about obligation versus desire and how to know what I actually want (which I'm still not good at).
As part of that, as the therapist suggested, I'm going to have some conversations with people about balancing sacrifice and obligation with happiness. How they have managed that in their own lives. Some phone calls with my parents, and maybe talks with others, will be in order there.
She asked what appeals to me about library science. I love being around books, I said. I love to be around them, to organize them, to take care of them, to share them with people. When I was a kid, my books were sorted by genre and alphabetized by author. A friend of my parents lent me something once; I don't remember what. "Take care of it like you take care of your books," my dad said.
"Better than your books," said the friend. My dad expressed that he didn't think that was possible, and I smiled both because I agreed, and because that felt like high praise indeed.
When I was working in the archives, I told the therapist, I got to go back into the closed stacks and handle such amazing material. Tax rolls from the 1800s, in bindings done by the WPA. Original letters to and from prominent citizens. Police reports from the middle of the last century, rare books of all sorts of backgrounds, hundred year old glass plate negatives, and so many other things. I felt like one of the cool kids. I felt so special, that I was trusted to work with these things. I felt so good about myself when I could find information about patrons' families that they'd never known. I felt appreciated and valued.
I think that maybe geography is something I think I want to do. That I think I ought to want to do. It's easy for me to decide to do something just because I think I should want to, rather than because I do, in fact, want to. That's led to some really negative experiences. Archival work is something that I don't have to think about in that way; I simply love doing it. I loved working in the archives at Parkside more than I've enjoyed doing any other work in my life. I felt more competent there than I ever have doing anything else too. Feeling like I know what I'm doing and am doing it well is such a wonderful feeling.
Thinking about actually choosing to pursue a library science degree makes me feel selfish. Why should I do something that makes me so happy to think about when there are other things that I want to do, and which I'm capable (theoretically) of doing, and which would put me in a better position to potentially improve society on a larger scale by influencing urban public policy?
So that's what I'm thinking about this week. It connects to questions I've had since before I went to New York about obligation versus desire and how to know what I actually want (which I'm still not good at).
As part of that, as the therapist suggested, I'm going to have some conversations with people about balancing sacrifice and obligation with happiness. How they have managed that in their own lives. Some phone calls with my parents, and maybe talks with others, will be in order there.
