Viva la electricity.

After a big storm in Atlanta this week, and several downed trees in the neighborhood, I was without power at my house for a couple of nights.  What to do? No TV or music. No cooking or baking without the stove. No internet. Cell phone almost dead without the ability to charge. No hairdryer after a morning shower. Assembling what I could for meals with the contents of my rapidly warming refrigerator.

The first night was spent more worried about the raging storm outside (and whether those large, violently swaying trees in my yard were going to remain upright) than being cut off from my usual routines.

The second night was quiet without the storm... no humming of appliances, no option of having the TV on in the background or music playing from my laptop (with its now-empty battery). It was also very dark. I guess I don't generally recognize how much ambient light is generated from modern conveniences -- clock on the microwave, charging cell phone, etc. I did some dishes by candlelight, and then read a book by flashlight for a little while before going to bed early.

All in all, it was lovely.

(For 24 hours, anyway. Of course, when I woke up in the middle of the night and saw my flashing clock and realized the power was back on, I may or may not have checked my email... not because I was expecting anything, just because I could.)

No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks.

Four years ago I was in a state of panic, just a couple short weeks before defending my dissertation.  It took me several more weeks after that to settle down and realize I was actually done.  No more school!

While it's true that I don't miss being a student (after going straight through my life's formal education -- 23 consecutive years of being a full time student!), I did always think I'd go back to academia after a brief stint at CDC.  Well, I'm still at CDC with no plans or real desire to make a change any time soon... and the longer I stay the harder it probably will be to go back.

The one thing I have missed about not being at a university, though, is teaching.  If you'd told me that even a decade ago, I wouldn't have believed it.  My mother is a teacher, my sister is a teacher, but I never really thought it was for me.  So, I was surprised during my second year of grad school to discover that I actually liked teaching.  And specifically teaching epidemiology.  I was even more surprised that after teaching the same cycle of classes for four years in a row I wasn't bored with them.

Recently I started co-teaching an introductory epidemiology course for the fellows and junior staff in our Center at work.  It's pretty informal, and I felt a little rusty at first, but lately Thursday afternoon has been the part of my work week I look forward to the most.  My friend Sara sent me a link to an article she read about epidemiology, and as I've been sitting here reading the chapter for this week's class, it reminded me how cool it can be.

This week, causal inference!  Sounds exciting, no?


(Also, this one always makes me smile:)

The others.

My parents were in town for a visit this week, and my mom talked for days about some article she read in the Mormon Times last week. After meeting my friends on Sunday, she promptly looked it up online and forced me to read it. (I'm not quite sure what that says.)   While it isn't exactly the experience of my youth -- I kept my mouth shut -- I can relate, given my formative years in the midst of Mormon culture:

Holding on to the 'others'

I was a good kid. I followed the rules, I worked hard, I got good grades, and importantly, I didn't talk back (...well, to people who weren't related to me, anyway). I was generally well-respected by leaders and peers at church, but not very close to any of them. I got along well with the few adults who themselves used to be nerdy kids, but otherwise I don't think anyone quite knew what to do with me. I didn't look or dress like they did. I was more interested in books than shopping or sports. More interested at the age of 15 in talking about what I might want to study in college than what my wedding would look like. Wedding dress fashion show for a Stake activity? Are there really not other life/social skills that might be more important for teenagers?

In the grand scheme of trials and angst, you're thinking, that is not a big deal. I agree. So, the rational part of me would have a hard time explaining how it could have been as painfully lonely as it was.

Also, I had questions. Lots of them. Consequently, I struggled to express myself with the certainty that was expected of the "faithful", "chosen generation". But, I was also too shy to ever bring it up and attract confrontation. When younger, I spoke up in Primary or Sunday School because no one else would, but after a while, I just stopped talking. It only make me stick out more.

I can't really explain, especially to those not of our faith, just how much of your life is encompassed by membership in such a tight-knit community. We don't really do casual. Now that I'm older, and have some life experience I'm struck by how much collective effort of that culture was spent on (a) trying to define with exactness what a good person was supposed to be like, and then (b) trying hard to fit that mold, and/or (c) trying hard to at least make it look like you did.

It wasn't really until I moved to Boston after college that I finally started realizing it was okay to be different and still have a meaningful place the church. And that, heck, I wasn't even really all that odd. (An old roommate used to call the Boston singles' wards the Island of Misfit Toys).

The saddest part to me is this: there are probably more people who feel like they're the ones on the outside than not. It's easy to think you're the one feeling out, and look around at everyone else seemingly having a grand old time. But that's not the reality. I think confidence is much less frequently the motivator than insecurity.

So why is it that we pay a lot of lip service to the idea that everyone has different gifts, but less to the reality that in a world of people from different backgrounds/interests/cultures/talents, there might just be more than one good way to talk/think/feel/act and still be True. As the author says, "It's no surprise that middle- and high-school culture usually treats young people with these virtues as if there is something wrong with them for not being like the "normal" kids — but LDS culture should be a haven for them."

It's harder and more vulnerable than it seems to open yourself up and just be who you are, however minor those differences may seem. We all want to be appreciated, and recognized, and valued. "There's more than one way to lose sheep." Basically, if you don't find reasons to value someone and their own unique contributions and perspective, someone else will. So, if we practice what we preach, it should be us.

I'm going to live to 100.

According to this article, anyway, summarizing new analyses of a 90-year long follow-up study of over 1,500 Americans. (Emphasis below added by me.)

See this:

Reality:  One of the best childhood personality predictors of longevity was conscientiousness — "qualities of a prudent, persistent, well-organized person, like a scientist or professor — somewhat obsessive and not at all carefree," the authors conclude.

And this:

The authors also looked at a study of Medicare patients that found that "neuroticism was health-protective."

I found it comforting :)

The power of forgetting.

I found myself sorting through my "Carrie box" while home over Christmas (my childhood bedroom no longer exists in its previous form, but I do still have a little space in the closet), and smiled a little at some of the things that were saved... certificates and diplomas of course, a few school projects, a throw pillow that I sewed as a youth, a poster of bald eagles (really?).   I felt oddly sentimental about my old orange and white teddy bear. And the old yearbooks and memories of old friends.  Though Suzie from math and youth conference really should have signed her last name, because while she "will never forget the memories", I'm having a hard time remembering.

It made me think of one of the episodes of "This American Life" from a couple years ago, about school picture day in high school:

"What Sydney's picture doesn't show is the decisions that are weighing on her. She's deciding right now if she wants to take the really hard advanced placement classes, or get more involved in sports, or maybe art. She's just old enough to choose who she'll be for the very first time, and feels like there'll be consequences."

I remember that feeling.  I mean, this would be my LIFE.

Ira Glass then asks her, "Someday when you're older, do you think when you look back on your high school years you'll remember these choices that seem so significant now?" Unlike most of the other kids, she says no. She can't remember most of her life up until then, so why would it be different in the future? "Where has time gone?" she asks.

Where indeed, Sydney.  My mom was asking me what some of my old friends were up to, and I'll admit I had to do a little Facebook stalking to come up with some of the answers. We've all grown up, moved on, and outside of a few weddings I haven't seen much of some of them in the last decade.

I had a friend who used to be really opposed to Facebook. "If I lost touch with someone after high school, there was probably a reason," she'd say.  While that may be true, I sent some emails to people I haven't talked to in at least 10 years. High school may not have ended up defining the course of my whole life, and I'm really glad that I've changed a bit since then... but it was a real part of the life that has turned me into the person I am now, and it was nice to refresh some of those memories for a little bit, anyway.

Reading is FUNdamental.

I may never have been much of a speaker (see previous post)... in fact my mom says I started verbalizing later than most small children, but once I did, I started using sentences right away. It was like I waited until I knew I could do it right before I started. For better or worse, that pretty much sounds like me.

Mostly, though, I was a reader. Magazines. Books. Newspapers. Internet. Cereal boxes (if for some reason the newspaper wasn't available yet at breakfast time).

I got my first library card when I was 3 years old. It was my idea (clearly we spent a lot of time at the library)... I wanted to check out my own books. The library didn't have a clear age rule, just that kids had to be old enough to write their own name before getting a library card. The librarian was not pleased, but my mother advocated for me, and since I could write my own name they agreed to let me have a library card. I've had one somewhere ever since. It's one of the first things I do when I move a new place. Settle the utilities, register the car, get a library card. I was also one of the few kids (I'm sure there were at least a few) who looked forward to the library's summer reading program with as much anticipation as anything else during summer vacation.

As you might guess, Reed family Christmases involve a lot of books.

While I'm not generally big on New Year's resolutions, I would like to have a goal for the coming year to get back in the habit of reading books. When I used to take public transportation, I read a ton. Now that I drive everywhere, I could listen to audiobooks more than I do, but I miss reading. Actual books. Curling up in bed or on the couch. Holding them in my hands. Flipping pages. Perhaps this goal will also help me avoid the awkward disappointment when my mom asks me what I'm reading lately, and all I've got is, "oh, nothing much." So please, ask me! Awkwardness is frequently motivating.



P.S. Did you know books have trailers now, too? Here's an appropriate one, courtesy of my mother:

Laryngitis.

I lost my voice last week, on the tail end of a lingering cold. It's only the second time in my life I can remember actually losing my voice. It’s an odd sensation, not having your voice come out the way you are expecting it to. More often, I'm just not entirely comfortable with my own voice. I spent most of my youth trying to avoid public speaking as much as possible. Whenever I would have to speak in front of class, I'd invariably be stopped part way and told to speak up. (Which didn't make it any easier when your goal was to be as inconspicuous as possible.) As an adult, I'm still much better at listening than speaking.

Perhaps as a result, I'm increasingly touched by the example of people who speak up, even when it might be uncomfortable, and grateful to live in a country that was established on the principle of protecting the rights of individuals to participate in public debate. We aren’t always perfect, but our country would be greatly more imperfect if people weren't able to air their differences of opinion.

I was thinking about this on the trip to/from Thanksgiving in Alabama, as we drove along US 80 between Montgomery and Selma. On the way back, we stopped at the base of the Edmund-Pettus Bridge in Selma, where a small monument there recognizes Bloody Sunday and the Selma-Montgomery marches. I was also reminded that it was 55 years ago that Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on the bus in Montgomery, AL. She was not the first to do so, but her actions sparked the Montgomery bus boycott and became a defining symbol of the Civil Rights movement.

While there were Civil Rights demonstrations in the big population centers like Chicago, Boston, and New York, I'm most struck by the Montgomeries and the Selmas and the schools and the lunch counters... where in the face of direct economic, political, and even physical opposition, people spoke up where they lived and where they worked and said, "This is who I am, and I deserve to be treated with respect."

Because people spoke up, much has changed since 1965. Yet, I found driving through Selma bittersweet. Lining the city center are some beautiful old buildings and historic houses, many of which are now vacant or more often rundown. The city was a reminder to me not only of the historic victories of that time, but sadly of the social and economic segregation that still exist today.

Amid social and economic uncertainty and an increasingly shrill public discourse, I both am grateful to not have to face such direct opposition and wonder if I would have the courage to speak up if I did. Regardless, I am reminded that those of us with relatively more security should be paying attention to how our actions and our voices impact those around us, especially those who, for whatever reason, are unable to speak for themselves.