Vengeance is not justice

by in Current events, Human Rights, Justice, Random musings, War and tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

In 2002, I spent about two weeks in Israel, primarily there to chaperone young Russians during an economics summer school at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. But, more so, I was there to work, scouring through institutional archives for a project related to the institution at which I worked in Moscow, founded by a giant of a man from Israel, the late Gur Ofer. That trip changed me in ways I still feel today. Particularly today.

When Gur picked me up from the hotel on Sunday morning to drive me to his office on campus, he was pensive. (He often was, but this was something far deeper and more tinged with worry than simple intellectualising.) He was listening to the radio, which I clearly did not understand given that it was in Hebrew. Waiting for him to share his thoughts, he finally said simply, ‘I’m worried. It’s been too quiet for too long, and *this* quiet feels ominous. That quiet might change during this trip. Please make sure that you have your phone on at all times and I can reach you. There is concern that the quiet is about to break.’

I can’t remember now exactly when things changed and, honestly, I quickly mentally blocked it, But, several days into our trip the first bombing occurred. There would be two more during our stay, two of which were chillingly close to where we had been in those moments. Just after my trip to Israel, the cafe I lunched at when working on campus was bombed. You knew before you saw the news what had happened because every single mobile phone in your vicinity rang / chimed with calls and messages asking if the owner was okay. It is a sound that haunts me still.

That’s the thing about terrorism. It is random and unexpected and leaves you terrified. That’s kind of the point. Indiscriminate killing is precisely the point.

In the face of yet more seemingly inexplicable violence, two things about that trip remained with me and come to mind whenever violence erupts in Israel / Palestine, even now, 21+ years later.

First, Israel is so incredibly small. I did not travel to the furthest southern point during that trip. But, I did travel to the north, along the borders with Lebanon, Syria and Jordan, and around Lake Galilee and then down to the Red Sea. Ramallah was visible from our hotel, which shocked me for some reason. This was before the walls around Palestinians were erected, but there were signs of what was to come. And, the spaces demarcated for ‘Arabs’ / Palestinians were shrinking already then. They have shrunk further now and continue to do so as each new settlement is sanctioned. But, it was the smallness of the space which shocked me, given what a large mental space that land continues to occupy in our policies and debates.

Second, with the exception of the ultra-conservative and hardline Zionists—some of which were gathering for their own conference (rally) near our hotel and which offered an utterly surreal perspective of how narratives of erasure can be remarkably and chillingly similar when uttered by one group or another—everyone wanted peace. They wanted a place and space, mental and physical, free of violence and in which their children could play and grow up and old. They wanted to laugh and smile and live their lives, untethered to their phones and sudden alerts or the f*cking news, knowing that the people they loved were not casualties in yet another senseless act of violence perpetrated by one madman or another. They simply wanted peace.

I do not know the answer to how to ‘fix’ Israel. Who does? But, I do know that whatever we’ve been trying to do for the last 100 years has not worked. And, honestly, right now it just feels incredibly sad. Not simply because of what has happened over the past several days, which is utterly heartbreaking and atrocious. But, what comes next terrifies me further. No one will ‘win’ this particular war. Not when two parties to it advocate openly for the complete annihilation and erasure of the other. I am horrified by the actions of the Hamas militants. I am also horrified by the words and actions of Bibi in the wake of Hamas’ actions. Why? Because I am still human and these actions are intentionally dehumanising.

Vengeance is not justice. And, there can be no peace without justice.

{NB: I wrote this after reading this piece, which appeared in The Guardian yesterday.}

Ripples & reflections

by in #365grateful, Attitude, Community, Environment, Everyday Life, family, Finland, Gratitude, Helsinki, life, nature, Random musings, The Cuban and tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This year has been anything but stress-free, let’s say. Finding moments of calm and allowing my mind to rest and find a peace have been… fleeting and exceedingly rare.

But, I’m extremely fortunate to have an amazing partner in life to help distribute the heavy loads and ease those burdens and fears, and who never fails to take my mind off the more weighty issues on any given day and helps me find moments of calm and something to smile or laugh about.

One of the highlights each day centres around our evening strolls. I so welcome these times spent together, exploring wherever we are regardless of scenery or season. And, there is something particularly welcome about strolls in the summer months in Helsinki, when the days are long and the evening light stuns. Each day and each sky offers a slightly different canvas, and one which provides an explosion of colour, a contrast so incredibly stark when compared with the blacks and whites and greys of the longer winter months and absurdly short winter days.

It’s so, so hard to recall what the opposing seasons look like when we are in the middle of one. We far, far prefer summer. Always.

The following three panoramas were taken [on a Nokia G42] on three separate and recent strolls, within the last week or so. Each image was taken from a spot which lies less than a 15-min jaunt from our building. And, we love each one immensely.

One of the things I love about these specific images are reflections of the sky and scenes above that lie on the water. Even with the ripples created by the many ducks who call these areas home, the reflections seem so crisp and so clear.

Most importantly, each time we go out and spend just a few moments during our strolls standing and drinking in these pockets of beauty and incredible views, I can feel the stress of life sloughing off and away.

Come December, these are the images I’ll hold in my mind’s eye and reflect upon, wondering ‘Was it all just a dream?’

Scenes from an evening stroll

by in #365grateful, birds, Environment, Everyday Life, Finland, Helsinki, nature, Random musings, The Cuban and tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

My husband is a brilliant photographer. He also love birdies. We both do. And, we’ve come to love time spent wandering around our neighbourhood in Helsinki each evening, enjoying time away from our desks and computers, leaving devices in pockets and on silent mode, and just marvelling at the woodlands, views and creatures with whom we share this habitat.

For the last several weeks, we’ve been planning on taking our proper camera [Canon 250D with 70-300 mm nano USM lens] out with us on our strolls. My schedule and weather have conspired against us until yesterday. And, what an evening stroll it was.

Over more than two hours, we saw in this order:

  • a juvenile goshawk
  • a fledgling great spotted woodpecker
  • several goshawks both in-flight and perched
  • a juvenile grey heron
  • a hedgehog

We also saw multiple bunnies (wild hares) ranging from tiny to gigantic, various geese and duckies, and one very annoyed cat sat on its glassed in balcony.

The pictures below are from that stroll, and do not capture all of the lovely creatures we happened upon yesterday evening nor some of the more stunning moments they provided us. So many more moments with these beauties remain etched in our minds’ eyes, yet unpreserved by a lens. They are precious still.

Several weeks ago on our evening stroll, we turned a corner and caught sight of two goshawks flying side-by-side just above our heads, revealing their incredibly dappled underbellies. Several days ago, we witnessed the same heron we saw yesterday cautiously and painfully slowly manoeuvring itself stalking tiny fishes, which it then caught with its beak. Another day, the most gorgeous of great spotted woodpeckers landed mere feet from me on an evening run. Our neighbourhood fox has also trotted by us on multiple occasions more recently, wandering about looking for one meal of another.

This, my friends, is urban nature at its finest. This is Helsinki in summer, although we’ve seenall of these creatures in winter as well.

Evenings like this are why we love our neighbourhood so, so much. And, they restore us.

[Click on an image below to see the full versions and see the captions.]

Birds of a feather

by in #365grateful, Environment, Everyday Life, Finland, Gratitude, Helsinki, nature, Random musings and tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Recently, on an evening stroll, I looked down on the path my husband and I traversed to find a single solitary feather, one with polk-a-dots of all things. It honestly took my breath away, stopping me in my tracks. It’s one of the few feathers I’ve ever felt compelled to pick up and bring home.

The feather I found in the woods near our flat, June 2023.

We did not see the specific bird this feather belonged to. But, we’re fairly certain it was once part of a Great Spotted Woodpecker‘s plume, one of many we’ve come to love in the woodlands near our home in Helsinki.

These creatures have visited our balconies for years, and we welcome their high-pitched somewhat annoying songs and signals, delight when we catch them flitting from tree to tree in search of food or finding their way back to their homes to feed their even more annoying fledglings. The trees around us are dotted with various occupied and abandoned holes this time of year. And, the woods are filled with their cries each evening as we wander on our evenings strolls. The only bird which gives me more of a thrill when spotted (no pun intended) is a hummingbird, and those tiny creatures do not venture this far north as far as I know.

But, woodpeckers and these spotted versions with splashes of bright red on their heads (males) and bums (both males and females) are abundant. We love them, affectionately referring to each individual bird as ‘Woodie!’ Yes, we are just that creative with our bird names.

Several years ago, as I sat reading on the balcony of our last flat one afternoon, one of these amazing creatures landed on the balcony railing a metre or so from where I sat, and pecked at some of the seeds we had laid out for them. He then eyed me as I eyed him. I say ‘him’ without really knowing at the time if it was male or female. [Now, I believe it was a male, given the bright red markings on his head and thanks to the various bird books we’ve since acquired and consulted.]

It was an incredible moment, and one which took my breath away just as much as that tiny feather found on the path more recently did. More so, I’d say. Just me and a woodpecker sitting on the balcony looking at one another. No other sounds mattered. Nothing else really mattered in that moment. Just the two of us, bird and human. The entire encounter lasted no longer than a minute, if that. But, the memory of it will last a lifetime. Years later, it thrills me still.

We’ve come to recognise the call of the woodpecker, noting when we hear it for the first time in spring and understanding that spring is near. We also know that when we hear it from our balcony, Woodie is letting us know that we need to put out the bird feeder. We imagine his calls gently letting us know that we’ve neglected our bird-feeding duties.

Catching glimpses of these creatures in the woods provides moments of hope and peace. And, most likely, a quickening of our heart rates. We hear them far more often than we actually see them. But, in the years since we’ve learned their specific calls, we have also identified the high-pitched screeches of their fledglings, awaiting their evening meals. We have caught the shadow of young ones, not quite happy in their holes and not quite ready to venture out. We’ve also spied a juvenile or two, who look as though they are just leaving their nests and venturing a bit further from their homes. Tiny, fat fluffly birds, pecking away at the trees and looking for a tasty morsels to sustain them.

Whichever creature lost its feather, I hope it is thriving, and the loss of that single gorgeous bit of its plume simply reflected a change in the seasons rather than an encounter with a predator. I keep looking up and down now on our evening strolls, not simply hoping to catch a woodpecker in flight from tree top to tree top. I also hope to find another, perhaps larger and more symmetrical polk-a-dot feather.

But, if I never find another feather, at least we have this one. It’s gorgeous. Perhaps even more so, but at least as much as the bird who shed to whom it belonged.

Progress: 11 years of running

by in Attitude, books, Everyday Life, life, Random musings, reading, Running and tagged , , | Leave a comment

I love running. I really do. And, that surprises me. Still.

In July 2012, a crafting friend of mine was training for the Helsinki Midnight Run and invited me to join her on a run. Realising that I could certainly do with a bit of physical activity and understanding that I was far from in shape, I accepted her invitation. That first ‘run’ was more walking than running, but it was a start. Without much training and far from confident, less than two months later in September 2012, we finished that 10-k run dead last, neither one of us running the entire route, but simply focused on finishing.

Since then, I’ve logged a lot of miles (my SportsTracker app tells me, 11 203 km in total). But, it wasn’t until 2017 or 2018 that I really approached anything resembling consistency in my running habit, although winter running was still a bit more challenging. I was a run-walker, occasionally managing a 20- or 30-min run without walking, and a few very slow 5ks here and there.

Something shifted in 2020, however, moving from sporadic to consistent runs. By 2021, I became a daily runner, affectionately known in running circles as a ‘streaker’. [No, I am not a ‘naked runner’, also a term with a very different understanding amongst runners.] I blame Covid-19 — not testing positive, but the luxury of time in my schedule once commuting was no longer necessary, along with the desire and need to do something besides sit behind a computer all day every day, prompting me to go outside every day for a run. Run streaks — running at least 1.6 km or 1 mile daily — challenge and motivate me in equal measure, and have taught me that smaller goals help achieve much grander and seemingly impossible, unattainable ambitions.

Since 2021, running a full 10k was no longer impossible — I’ve achieved that once unachievable target. Just running daily for months on end, once unthinkable, is now normal; not running is abnormal. My current run streak, during which I have run on 118 consecutive days as of yesterday, is inching ever closer to my longest run streak (run streak day or RSD 173, which was halted thanks to a rogue appendix and emergency appendectomy last September). Barring injury or illness, my plan is to reach 174, hopefully reaching RSD 180, and then we shall see. Another goal is to run a 5k in 30 min or less (I’m currently inching closer, with new personal best of 33:07, down from ~42 min just a few years ago). My running goals shift, and that’s absolutely fine.

Had you asked me in 2012 if any of these things were possible, I’d have told you that you’re crazy.

None of this happened overnight. Comparing the woman who took those first tentative steps towards running in July 2012 to the woman writing this who kitted up for yesterday’s run astounds me. I see (and feel) how far I’ve come. It’s been an incredibly long journey, not just in terms of miles, but in terms of the mental battles I’ve fought on various runs, losing some, winning others. More than anything, I am much more confident in my ability to set running goals, forgiving (of myself) when I abandon or alter them regardless of reason, and knowing that not every run will leave me feeling awesome either about myself or the world. Some runs sucks, just like some days suck. But, I now know I can achieve the goals I set for myself, bit by bit, navigating peaks and valleys along the way, eventually reaching that destination I’ve mapped out for myself.

I’m currently reading Running Like a Girl, by Alexandra Heminsley. So much of her own journey resonates with me, from those first awkward runs to not knowing or understanding the specific lingo and language specific to runners, terms like pronation, wicking fabric, pace or hydration or fuelling needs, chafing, and the all-important but simple understanding that consistency matters and that it takes more than one run to make any progress at all.

Running has afforded me some mental space to process … shit. My own shit. I use that time on trails and paths working towards my running goals to also work through various problems and concerns in the rest of my life, to disentangle and leave behind the day’s woes. And, I yet to regret a run, even the bad ones. Weirdly, I also approach my daily life like I do most runs, particularly the harder ones. It’s all about the simple action of continuing to place one foot in front of the other, one step at a time, until I get where I need / want to.

But, running daily has also allowed me time to step away from everything else in life and this world, and simply focus on run the run I’m in, sometimes focusing on a single solitary kilometre. No comparison to others, beyond a comparison to myself. No competition or race, other than attempting to outpace myself.

My approach to running works for me, and demands I find my own path in order to reach that finish line, whatever and wherever it is.

And, these lessons have so much relevance to life as well. To my life specifically.

I have learned these last several years that I can do hard things. More so, the hard things seem less daunting more manageable and reasonable when broken up into smaller bits. Just as there have been days when simply getting out of bed has been hard, the hardest part of some runs has simply been kitting up or getting out the door. But, I also know that I can do all of these things, and then some.

Over time, hard things become easier. More accurately, I become stronger. Because I *am* stronger.

And, more than anything, this is why I love running.

My first ‘run’ from July 2012. [Thank you, Tiina!]
Reading about running: my fav hobby
A 5k from July 2020
A 5k from June 2023 (yesterday’s in fact)

Liminal state

by in Attitude, Everyday Life, Helsinki, Random musings, Work and tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

As a long-time migrant, who’s lived outside her ‘home’ country nearly as long as she lived within its borders, I’m no stranger to existing in a space neither here nor there. Nor is this particular moment my first professional transition.

It is, however, the first time I’ve needed to truly redefine who and what I am at least in part, moving from a space and time in which I identified primarily as an ‘instructor’ of a very specific type to no longer laying claim to that title or identity. I am uncertain, about what role or position I will occupy in future, in addition to a great many other things. But, perhaps, removing the label ‘ & instructor’ from my email signature was yet one more difficult step in this rather lengthy transition.

Victor Turner referred to that betwixt and between reality that accompanies rites of passage within specific cultures as ‘liminal states’. We transition from one thing to another, but that period in the middle of opposing states leaves us hovering between identities, between what we were and what we will become. Typically, participants in processes and rituals have a label waiting for them to claim and occupy, although what that means for and to them might remain rather undefined and illusive.

I was an instructor until yesterday at 12.01 in the afternoon; I am not sure what I will become in the weeks and months to come.

Despite occupying an undefined liminal state, despite being what is referred to as a liminoid, a weird term applied to those of us fortunate enough to live in this post-industrial gig economy that demands multiple skills and talents, I am not one thing. ‘Instructor’ was simply one identity of many, and one which offered more than a paycheck, becoming an identity which was as much personal as it was intellectually challenging and rewarding in equal measure and unexpected albeit welcome ways.

I am a woman. I am a feminist. I am a wife, thankfully to a fellow feminist. I am a friend, as well as a daughter and in-law. I am a craftivist, a reader and a bibliophile. I am a writer, and I am a bloody good editor, although not of my own texts (who is, I wonder?). I am a runner, gratefully so. I am an anthropologist, more precisely a medical anthropologist. I am an American, despite questioning my ability at this point to physically live in my home country again for so many reasons. I am an activist. I am a lover of coffee and gin, depending upon the time of day. I am a birder, obsessed with tiny, loud baby woodpeckers and finding the nests of our neighbourhood goshawks. I am a migrant. I am a Deadhead. I am a science communicator. I am.

So many of these individual identities featured if not required transitions from one state to another, some instantaneous, others slow-burning transformations which took years. Others still feel like goals, as if I am in the process of becoming them. Some identities pervade my every action, whilst others happily occupy less-visible outward expressions. And, naturally, this list does not represent the totality of who and what I am.

There will come a day when I move beyond this liminality, and enter into a status and identity which will offer some new meaning and new status to me. What that will be, I do not know. When that will be is a nonspecific ‘eventually’.

Years ago, one of my mentors would answer the question, ‘How are you?’, with ‘I am.’

So, for now, I am…. Temporarily, I am becoming something else. And, that’s okay.

A series of lasts

by in #365grateful, Attitude, Communicating science, Community, Education, Finland, Graduate school, Helsinki, Kindness, Random musings, Science and tagged , , | Leave a comment

Bloody hell the last few weeks have been emotionally draining and exhausting. And, quite simply, so very, very emotional.

Since definitively learning that I did not secure a job I desperately wanted and believe I would have done well in, a job I have also done albeit informally for nearly a decade, I’ve been extremely busy.

Doing what? Well, *that* job.

My teaching schedule this spring has been insane, particularly this last month. From 1 to 31 May, I logged 92 academic hours of teaching, which included 7 different groups of students for specific courses and a two-day workshop on grant writing to researchers from SE Asia. I’ve also had more revision work than I normally do this time of year. Sleep and rest have taken a back seat.

This week, however, the pace slowed down significantly. In total, I *only* had two lectures: one on Monday and one this morning. Today’s class meeting, one of my largest ever groups for the advanced grant writing workshop I designed, adjusted-based-on-feedback, and taught and one of the most active classes ever, concluded. It was also a few doors down from the very first classroom I stepped into as an educator at the University of Helsinki in August 2014.

After we finished and the last students left, I took a few moments to linger and just … be.

What am I feeling right now?

Resignation. Sadness. A sense of injustice. And, gratitude. Mostly, a profound sense of grief as well as accomplishment.

One thing I’ve learned in these last few weeks is that my time in these classrooms has not been wasted. Not only have I learned a tremendous amount about the topics I have taught, I’ve also heard from so many students, current and former, how much they’ve learned and taken from our time together. Out a sense of respect for the students I have had this month in particular, I was honest with them about my fate and future, because this affects them as well. And, perhaps more than it affects me — future course offerings available to them will undoubtedly change and shift next autumn.

I’ve also learned a hell of a lot about myself, in these past few weeks as well as looking back on my evolution as an instructor. And, I have absolutely no regrets about any of it at all.

None of this has been easy. Far, far from it. In fact, this has been one of the most difficult professional moments of my life. Partially because I know it is coming to an end based on decisions entirely beyond my own control. Partially because I do not know what comes next (other than a mountain of reviewing of student work). And, partially because I have had so many last moments over the past several weeks. Lasts I’d rather not be ‘the last’.

The last class meeting on the Meilahti campus and for the doctoral programme in health sciences, the programme I initially felt most able to and comfortable working with. [The room itself was bloody awful; the kindness and support from the students were immense and powerful.]

The last two courses on the Kumpula campus, the fields I felt least capable of communicating with because they focus on things like chemistry, mathematics, computer science and (space) physics — the natural sciences. [Forgive me for thinking of space lasers and robots, but I can’t help myself.] My last courses were immeasurably rewarding and the students were incredibly kind and supportive, as well as engaged and vocal, something I wasn’t really expecting, to be honest.

The last class meeting on the City Centre campus and in the humanities and social sciences. This class was in a room with one of my favourite views of Helsinki, and was with a group which remained in the classroom for more than 30 minutes after our course officially concluded to simply talk and commiserate with me. Leaving with three of the participants, they asked me if I needed a hug, which left me just a weebit more broken.

The last class meeting this morning for students in the environmental sciences was just down the hall from where it all began for me, and the last time I’ll teach my favourite course, Grant Writing, Part II. This group was amazing. They all are, but there was something about the dynamics of this specific course that made it … work. And, as I write this now, I am bereft.

And, come Monday, I will have my very last class meeting for UH’s doctoral researchers as a transferrable skills instructor. I am dreading it.

When I arrived back home this afternoon after class, I received feedback from the first of these lasts. Here’s three snippets from that feedback:

‘Everything in this course had a clear purpose, and it was all beneficial to my learning. I know constructive feedback is important for making improvements, but I can’t think of anything needing improvement. Great course, great lecturer, very unfortunate this is apparently the last time it’s taught.’ – Participant 1, Health 135, Spring 2023

Google translate version: ‘Course instructor Vanessa Fuller is excellent at her job! Grant writing 1 and 2 were both full of information and really provided heaps of learning for real life. Vanessa’s teaching style is very good, she gets the audience interested, focused and talking. She has a positive and encouraging attitude towards every student, and that’s why the audience dares to participate in the conversation, even if the level of the English language is not perfect. The lectures are a good immersion in the necessary academic vocabulary. Since she is a native speaker of the English language, it is really pleasant to listen to her speech. I will be very sad if Vanessa cannot continue to teach these courses. These teachings should be offered to every HY doctoral student in the future.‘ – Participant 2, Health 135, Spring 2023

‘Best teacher’ – Participant 3, Health 135, Spring 2023

I don’t know what’s next. But, at least I know I made some difference, helped some of these amazing young scholars achieve their own dreams. They’ve certainly allowed me to realise my own dreams, one’s I scarcely imagined possible.

Changes: Or a Vaguebook clarification

by in Communicating science, Gratitude, Random musings, Work and tagged , , | 2 Comments

Most likely, if you’ve seen any of my recent posts to Facebook you understood that something is in the air. And it’s not just the pollen that accompanies the change of seasons in Southern Finland.

tl;dr version: I recently submitted a formal application for a fixed-term position of University Lecturer in English at the University of Helsinki. I was not shortlisted and my last day in the classroom will be 5 June.

If that news shocks you, you are not alone. So, what’s going on? Why did I apply for a job I have been doing since August 2014, you ask? And, what the hell happened?

There’s a story here, y’all. And, I’ll try to clarify as much of it as I can.

The university has gone through some restructuring, a part of which involved creating several full-time, fixed-term teaching positions which will largely be responsible for offering courses on transferrable (or soft) skills, courses such as those I developed and currently teach. Until now, I have assumed a role akin to an adjunct faculty member rather than through a formal appointment or contract. Each year, normally in February, my boss and the PhD programme coordinators would negotiate how many courses they wanted to offer for the following academic year and on what specific topics. Then, I would take a look at that list and decide how many courses I could feasibly take on. [And, yes, I would normally take on more than I should because… well, students want/need the courses and I love teaching them. If you’ve known me for any amount of time, you also know that I’ve always overestimated what I can reasonably achieve. Whatever.] It’s honestly worked rather well and allowed me an enormous amount of flexibility in deciding my own schedule.

Anyway… the exact structural changes within the university are rather complicated and the specific details were largely rather unimportant to me until now. But, those changes impacted my life and especially my role at the university in quite a few ways, which were just weird and, honestly, slightly terrifying once the next steps became clear. Now, that terror has become a gut punch.

Primarily, it meant the woman who recruited me to teach at the university would no longer be my ‘boss’. Processing that is hard, because Leena has been not just a dream to work with, but also the most supportive, compassionate and protective-in-a-necessary-way direct supervisor I’ve ever had. She’s often protected me from myself. [See above about reasonable and translate that to my work plans.] I’ve had some great bosses, y’all. [Some of you are likely reading this and thinking, ‘Yo! What the hell, V?!’ No offence to you, truly. But, if you worked with Leena, you’d understand.] She’s not just my advocate and sounding board, she’s a great friend as well. Not teaching for her seems just… weird (and, right now, wrong). So, I chose not to process that reality until I absolutely had to. Thankfully, I’ll still get to work with her albeit in a different capacity. I’ll continue revising for the university community, which is part of her division as well. Silver linings and all, right?

The truly terrifying realisation for me, however, alongside with not working for Leena, was my future as an instructor at the university. Throughout the application process, and whilst awaiting word on my professional fate, I have had a lot of students in individual courses and will continue to do so through the first week of June (I have 6 courses to finish, each with at least 14 participants). Knowing how to respond to their queries about future courses is beyond my capabilities. I know neither their options nor until this week did I know my own fate as their instructor. If nothing else, this application process resulted in a thorough understanding of just how much I love what I do, and how much it now defines me. The self-reflection has been enlightening and powerful.

Anyway, I did everything I could to put together what I had hoped was a convincing case for ‘why me’ and what I have to offer this professional community that has been my home since 2014. I was supported by seven incredibly kind and rather embarrassing praise-filled letters of support: three from colleagues at the university and four from former students, one of which was sent to me unsolicited. The deadline for submission was 19 April, and following my own advice to students, I submitted on 18 April.

Alas, two days ago, my worst nightmare became reality, and I knew with certainty that I would no longer be an instructor of transferable skills courses to PhD candidates at the University of Helsinki. The reason? I did not finish my dissertation and receive a PhD.

I do not mind telling you that it was and remains a complete gut punch. I was and am heartbroken. If you’ve followed this journey of mine since 2014, you likely also understand that I have loved my role as an educator and mentor. Walking into classrooms this week has been brutal, y’all.

This entire process, though, has left me weeping on multiple occasions. Not just the rejection itself, although that still is enormously painful. What’s filled me with hope as well as with an undefinable sense of gratitude is the people who have had my back and the extraordinary kindness and lengths so many have gone to in showing their support for my candidacy, either by simply being there for me or actively supporting my application. From the gushing letters of support and recommendations to reviewing bits of my CV, cover letter and/or teaching portfolio, often multiple times, to simply offering a friendly bit of advice or strategically timed word of encouragement, I am left transformed. I will forever struggle to meet my own high standards for myself; but, y’all seriously left everything out on the field for me. And, I’m honestly speechless.

What’s next?

I honestly don’t know.

Well, first I’m finishing up the remaining courses I have committed to for this academic year. I owe that much to my boss, but more so to the students who signed up for those courses and to myself. I’m leaving everything ‘out on the field’ in these courses, y’all, and going out with a bang. I also have a mountainous backlog of feedback to send to past students, and maybe I’ll finally empty my inbox.

Beyond that, I don’t know. I’ll continue revising and try to sort out other more practical concerns as well as soon as I can.

I’m also going to do some healing of my shattered heart. The waves of emotions are tsunamis right now, and my I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit angry. So, I’ll be processing my feelings alongside working out what comes next.

I will close with a few lines from my cover letter. These passages perhaps more than any others encapsulate my feelings on that role I had and loved:

… Because I benefitted from careful mentoring on these precise skills from my own mentors, the idea of paying it forward compelled me. Thus, I agreed to take on a few courses in autumn 2014, a fortuitous decision in hindsight, and one which fundamentally changed my life and my identity. To put it simply, the last nine years have been the most rewarding of my career and my life… To my mind, my greatest professional success has been witnessing current and former students flourish. In return, this also grants me a priceless gift. Creating dialogues with students—some of which last for a single course, many of which extend beyond the PhD defence—and watching them blossom as they challenge themselves to step outside their academic comfort zones have rewarded me immeasurably…

18 April 2023

I haven’t even begun to understand how much I’m going to miss the view from various classrooms nor how much I’ll miss standing up in front a room full of eager young scholars. But, I will. And, still, I have zero regrets.

The view from Porthania, P667, a classroom in the City Centre I know incredibly well.

The Power of Writers

by in Activism, books, Community, Current events, Feminism, Justice, Racism, Random musings, reading, Writing and tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Yes, I read. A lot. It opens me up to other worlds and perspectives. I embrace that possibility, particularly since travelling over the past few years has been impossible and in my own life rather limited over the last decade or so.

Reni Eddo-Lodge‘s book, ‘Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race‘, is still one of the most important books I’ve read in the last few years. One of my students recommended it to me long before the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery. I bought it shortly after that recommendation and it sat on my shelf until the summer of 2020. Whilst focused on race history and racism in Britain / the UK, there are so many parallels to our history in the US, a painful yet important-to-understand history if we have any hope of ever truly creating a society based on justice and equity.

As inspiring as the summer of 2020 was, 2022 feels rather disappointing given … well… everything. From additional book bans and a paranoia around CRT to the House GOP voting together to not support efforts to root out white nationalists and Nazis from the military and police forces, it’s depressing in many ways.

Recently, I was fortunate enough to spend a rather intimate few hours at a reception for one of my writing heroes, Colson Whitehead. A quote of his was mentioned in the conversation from an interview he did with the Helsinki Sanomat, something to the effect that he viewed his place as a writer as not so much able to change attitudes or the world [I’m paraphrasing and likely butchering the conversation]. It struck me as odd, since I have found so much of his writing as well as the writing of others fundamentally shift my world and my perspective. And, historic events unknown previously to some after being fictionalised became known to others. Perhaps it isn’t for me to say how any one author’s works affect the broader public. But, I do feel like whether through random musings and social commentary or fictionalised worlds created, writers all have the power and ability to make us think and perhaps think in ways different to what we’ve always ‘known’. That ain’t nothing.

Following Reni’s lead, I am inclined to rely on the words of another writing hero, James Baldwin, a man long dead, but still painfully and rather chillingly seemingly more relevant now:

“The bottom line is this,” James Baldwin told the New York Times in 1979. “You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well that you probably can’t, but also knowing that literature is indispensable to the world. In some way, your aspirations and concern for a single man in fact do begin to change the world. The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimetre, the way a person looks or people look at reality, then you can change it.”

From Reni Eddo-Lodge on anti-racism: ‘The backlash amazes me’

#blm
#antiracism

On ‘The Man They Wanted Me To Be’ by Jared Yates Sexton

by in books, Feminism, Good reads & books, Health, Healthcare, Justice, Media, men, Random musings, reading, US Politics, women and tagged , , , | 2 Comments

The Man They Wanted Me to Be: Toxic Masculinity and a Crisis of Our Own Making by Jared Yates Sexton

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


I’ve been following Jared Yates Sexton on Twitter and other outlets for several years. Given his own background and my own, there’s a certain resonance that echoes loudly and clearly for me in his writing and works. His voice makes sense out of chaos, particularly since he’s living in a country which seems like a complete strange land filled with strangers to me after decades of living aboard despite always and first most being my home. It doesn’t hurt that he is an incredibly beautiful writer.

This book is equally informative and heart-breaking. I honestly just want to give him a giant hug and the offer of a shoulder because goodness me he has lived through some shit. I honestly had no idea.

But, I also want to place this book gently into the hands of so many of the men I’ve known in my life, beginning with most of those I grew up with, beginning with my uncle. Toxic masculinity does not merely hurt women — it’s just as harmful and dangerous to the men who must adhere to and live up to it. Perhaps even more so as evidenced by the self-harm and suicide they experience or rely on in order to ease their own pain.

I’ve long held the belief and attempted to live by the ideals that feminism is not simply a practice for women. If we as a society hope to live up to the idea of equality and justice for all — and I do mean all of us — then feminism must enfold men as well as women.

This books is not just a memoir or a survival tale, documenting and recounting one man’s journey through toxic masculinity, a journey he continues to traverse. It’s a treatise on how we might begin to heal very, very deep, festering, unhealing wounds. It’s a warning and an offer of hope of what we might lose if we don’t begin to unburden ourselves of ideals for men (and women) that relegate half of us to living up to standards which are far, far from possible and the other half of us as mere vehicles to reproduce a system and serve as shock absorbers for the inevitable rage that will bubble up from unending frustrations.



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