Being Shown Your Place

Being put in your place is never a pleasant feeling, especially when you didn't have it coming because of your behaviour. It wasn't a major slight by any stretch, and someone less sensitive would possibly have taken it simply as the other person expressing their preferences (it wasn't a platonic or romantic rejection, which is also a matter of someone expressing their preferences). But, INFJs are sensitive people, or so I have been told. I, for one, don't like being wrong about how I stand with someone. If I had imagined that I was closer to someone than it later turned out, I feel red with shame. So does anyone, I suppose, but I take it particularly badly. Slights, real or perceived, hurt and the instinct to change our behaviour to such an extent that the person in question never ever gets the opportunity to accuse you of taking liberties (I realize that this term is often used in the context of sexual harasssment, but I don't mean it in that way at all). On a related note, over the years, as I have become less needy, I have become more sensitive to both bad behaviour as well as words and actions that indicate the opposite person is trying to put some distance between me and them. Maybe it is a reflection  of my increased self-worth, but I do believe one has to reinforce self-worth with once's actions. I don't pursue romantic or  platonic situations that I would have a couple of years ago, especially where there is a power differential (read white people) involved. Giving attention to someone who doesn't reciprocate is not good for your self-worth if you keep doing it. Maybe there is a risk of becoming too cold and guarded out of fear of rejection. That is a real risk, and I wish I was someone who could shrug off rejection. But, I am not, so this is a form of self-preservation. But, I also believe with a higher sense of self worth comes more confidence which makes you more  open and empathetic. 

Dud Day

Today was the day I was supposed to embark on the monumental project of writing my thesis. I ended up writing little more than the title of my first chapter, which I can hardly claim credit for either--the title was suggested by my supervisor. To say that I had an unproductive day would be putting it mildly, but I don't feel frustrated. Research is messy and haphazard, and the dud days are also valuable. Who knows what wheels turn at the back of our minds without us even realizing? It is only after an idea spills out and we get to work that we feel productive. But the thought processes that went behind that idea or breakthrough remain a mystery. I don't want to glorify research too much and pretend that it is high art, but I actually don't think they are that different. Art flows from the spiritual, research aims to illuminate the real, but the real and the spiritual are connected by the emotional. I don't want to make this post a rumination on the real and the spiritual, so I am going to leave it at that. All I want to say is that research is haphazard, progress is non-linear and one is better off trying to embrace the messiness.
I am also pleased that I am getting better at limiting my screen time, especially the time I spend on Twitter and news websites. I often log on to them without thinking, whenever my concentration flags from the work task at hand. But being bombarded by news about what's wrong with the world is not great for one's  disposition. 

Pomposity and Appreciative Audiences

Last Friday, I had a long discussion with two new PhD colleagues, and let's just say, I got carried away. It has been ages since I had a discussion on economics/political economy with peers, especially those who fall in the heterodox category. They were broadly sympathetic to my points of view but there was vigorous debate on some topics. I found myself enjoying the jousting and threw in some flourishes. In some instances, I said things which I wasn't completely sure off with oodles of conviction. In one instance early in the conversation, I was caught out, but made a graceful recovery. In short, what started out as an earnest intellectual discussion turned into me basking in the glow of an appreciative audience and enjoying the sound of my own voice. It just shows few of us are immune from the desire to impress, especially when you see your audience getting impressed, which encourages you even more. I had thought myself content with my hermetic existence in a small PhD programme with no other heterodox economists. Toiling away at creating knowledge for the sake of knowledge and professional advancement, immune from the need for validation from my peers. It turns out that I am not. I am a reasonably skilled rhetorician and enjoy verbal jousting as well as feeling smart. I am not ashamed of this, simply amused to see it. I also realize that vanity makes one less receptive to alternative points of view, and stands in the way of principled knowledge creation. Of course, its not clear where healthy self-respect turns into vanity, and I suppose most balanced folks oscillate between healthy self respect and pride in one's achievements to mild vanity. At least, I am glad I realized when I was being pompous and made a mental note about it as fodder for a blog. 

Extinction Rebellion

I went for an Extinction Rebellion protest in Bristol today, because I have realized the environment is an issue I deeply care about. The protest was as white and middle class as I had anticipated and I felt as out of place as I had expected. Yes, the left and the environmental movement have done a terrible job of building links with minority communities, possibly due to their unwillingness to look at social justice issues beyond class. But, what is a person of colour who is concerned about the environment to do in that case? Sit out of the protests until there are enough people of colour involved?
When people feel threatened or insecure, they take refuge in those privileges that they feel are inalienable, such as gender or race. And, the labour movement has unconsciously fallen prey to these tendencies as well. Their insistence  on seeing the white working class as a sociological  category distinct  from the wider working class, is one such example.
There were also  some aspects of the protest I was uncomfortable with, such as exhorting people lower down the social food chain to stop consuming in the shopping quarter. But every protest movement has problematic aspects 

Shit Hits The Fan

My meeting with my supervisor was going well until I told her how much time I had left. When I told her, her jaw hit the floor. For some unexplained reason, she thought I had much more time left. She not-so-calmly told me that I would have to buck up if I wanted to finish on time. She asked me whether my participation in a two-week summer school in June was really necessary. She also told me that I should also not think about teaching at the university next semester, unless I really needed the money. I don't, and with that comes another reminder of  my privileges. In the past few days, and in the past few months and in the past few years, I have come across three really bright, smart and kind people who are not so privileged as I.  

But feeling guilty about my privilege is so pre-2017 me. There is no better way to atone for one's privilege--yes, it must be atoned for--than with kindness and hardwork. First, to be kind to myself, then to those around me, then to the wider world. And working hard throughout, and never for a moment forgetting that neither my successes, nor my failures, are my doing alone. 

Tolerating People We Dislike

I have a PhD colleague who is an inexorable braggart. He manages to swing most conversations into odes to his greatness and lies about his achievements. After talking to him, you come away with the impression that there is nothing he doesn't think he is great at. Given that he is also horizontally challenged, he is quite the Billy Bunter figure. Most of us in the PhD room find him quite tiresome, but I think I have taken a special dislike to him.
For weeks, I tried to avoid him and keep our conversations quite short. My new DJ headphones have  also been coming in handy. But since last week, I have been taking the piss out of him at every opportunity. To anyone less full of himself it would have been evident long back, but I think he is only now coming around to that realization. Most of my colleagues have begun to see him as a harmless poseur, but my dislike for him remains. My antipathy towards him is also eclipsing his good points. He is extremely focused, and I have never seen him idling or chit-chatting. When I was at that stage of my PhD, I spent a lot of time idling and chitchatting. And, while I don't understand his research or see the point of it, all of us in the PhD room are working in such different areas that we rarely discuss the technicalities of our work. I am still trying to put my finger on what about him gets my goat. We will never be fast friends, but surely I don't need to be filled with rage at the sight of him. One of my  colleagues says his bragging  must come from a place of deep insecurity and I replied that I really didn't care about his insecurities. We all have mental baggage, but the people around us don't deserve to be splashed by it. But, surely I can find a position of indifference, even if I will never feel affection for him?
I suppose one of my problems is I am indifferent to point of coldness towards people I don't consider my friends. But, I am civil towards them. Hopefully, I will be able to find an attitude of civil  indifference towards this guy. 

Doing Nothing to Do Something

Till yesterday, I was all set to visit an osteopath for the pain in my neck that has lasted for almost a month and a half now. In fact, I planned to do an upper-body workout which would have aggravated the pain because I was going to anyway have the pain fixed, right? Wrong. 

Since the beginning of the year, I haven't been in the best of  health. No major illness or injury, just ailments severe to put a spanner in my normal activities. Most of the ailments--colds, upset stomachs, shoulder stiffness and neck pain--can, in my opinion, be attributed to me pushing my body beyond the limit even while being aware that I was doing so. 

Yesterday, I read an article about how a woman took up running to combat her depression and anxiety, and became so obsessed with it that she became an exercise evangelist. Running was her way of distracting herself from her anxiety, and all was good until she suffered a back injury that took her almost a year to recover from. Two sentences resonated with me. "If you tell an anxious person to exercise, they might well do it in an anxious way" and "I am coming to see how punitive we can be with ourselves without realising."

While my level of obsession is nowhere near that of the author of the piece, I have always seen myself as a fitness freak. I had never connected my fitness fanaticism with my anxiety but now I am beginning to think there might be a link. I frequently push myself hard and take a paracetemol pill afterwards to stave off colds and infections. Not very healthy behaviour. I have also  begun to see yoga as a quick-fix solution. 'Have neck pain, do a neck pain yoga session". 

Missing an exercise session puts me in a bad mood, and I almost see it as a moral failure. 

So, I am going to give my neck a chance to heal on its own. I might well need to see an osteopath, but I am not going to see one as a quick fix. Maybe this is my body's way of telling me to slow down.