Happenings, Happenings the World Over

Today I had my second meeting with my PhD advisors. Yes, I have officially begun! It's a scary prospect to think that in three years I have to have finished my project, complete with an 80,000- to 100,000-word thesis. It's going to be a comparison of the revolutions and resulting constitutions in what became the United States and Belgium. Not entirely obscure, but definitely not a run-of-the-mill topic. Each meeting reinforces why I am here, why I have always wanted to be here. Talking about the project, the things that may (or may not) prove relevant, the directions my research could take, the possibilities of further research is not just engaging, it is purely enthralling. To a degree that I find rare in other corners of my life. I remarked to one of my supervisors today that I'm genuinely intrigued to see where this will all lead. At this point, from this vantage, none of us can really see the clear path - no roadmap has been hammered out yet - but the elements are beginning to surface through the murk and the mud. In many ways, academic work takes on a life of its own. Everyone always says that, I realize in typing it, but there's a very good reason: it's true. You cannot tell where a project will go until you are in the middle, or possibly near the end. And that is a pure joy. People sometimes liken a PhD thesis to someone's child, usually jokingly. But, like children, someone's thesis takes them to unforeseen intellectual spaces, challenges their limits and their sense of self, and grows into something quite different from what was perhaps expected. I'm just at the beginning. (In the child analogy, probably still pregnant, really.) Already, though, I am excited and ready and rearin' to go. Ah, the sweet smell of academia. How I missed you these past (4) weeks. [NB: the break was welcomed with open arms.]

In other news, I finally browsed the NY Times today for the first time in quite a while. Not having internet at home (crazy flat-moving going on... too much to mention) means my forays onto the wonderful worldly web have been fairly specific, short, and sweet. But today I have some time and so news came to the top of the heap. The first article to jump out at me was one on the general anti-establishment nature of recent uprisings the world over, and a sister article about the protests in Israel. It was interesting to consider the idea that the world at large is moving beyond the governmental structures we know so well. It was a joy to everyone to see the use of Twitter and Facebook during the election protests in Iran over a year ago, and it seemed everyone in the West could unite in condemning state shut-downs of internet access to stop peaceful organization through social media. Hell, the very fact that I can write about social media on this here blog says a lot, considering this girl only got Twitter to follow the great Rachel Maddow. That all made sense without necessarily impinging on our own little worlds. But that first article I mentioned puts forward an interesting premise: that even in the West now, people are going around normal "democratic" processes and using social networks to take matters into their own hands. The article emphasizes a true disappointment on the part of the public when it comes to the effectiveness of their governments and the legitimacy of their voices in elections and polls. It struck me as I read that we are at the precipice of a brand new world, one that could potentially exist without traditional structures and nation-states made up of vast, intricate systems that require cloak-and-dagger diplomacy and special ops forces. Are we as humanity moving beyond the nation-state? Is there about to be a break that, for students of the future, will represent a new fall-line, demarcating the start of a post-Treaty of Westphalia universe? I doubt anything that drastic will actually come to fruition, but the implications are mind-numbingly awesome. How tantalizing to think of tearing down structures that have given Wall Street, bankers, and career politicians the power that monarchs, viceroys, generals, and career diplomats used to have. [You didn't think I'd be able to leave my study of 18th-century revolutions out of this did you?]

[Side note: my Twitter feed just popped up with this tragically hilarious (and relevant) article from the Onion.]

In truth, part of why all of this caught my eye to the degree it did is because I've recently been on some outings with a charming PhD in Education student whose interests lie in social media, technology, etc. and the implications for education. Interesting stuff. I don't get on the Twitter all that often and I don't use LinkedIn or any of that jazz, but I realized that maybe in letting that kind of thing pass me by I'm doing more than sitting in a comfortable cocoon of insulation. Maybe I'm missing out on something. Maybe not.

Whatever the status of the world and its revolutions, Edinburgh is proving itself splendid as ever. An Indian summer has descended upon us, and I welcome it with open arms. Today I actually sat in the Meadows in a tank top... I think I even got a little tan. Being a funded student has meant that I can finally take a little advantage of this fantastic town. In the spirit of revolutions, the other night involved a fantabulous dinner at Pancho Villa's in the Canongate and dessert at Chez Jules (both extremely highly recommended). I'm looking forward to the next three years. For their academic fun, their opportunities, and for the chance to know and love Edinburgh even better.

The Slightly Maudlin Post (it had to come sooner or later....)

Why are some things easier to obsess over than others? Admittedly, I'm prone to obsessing. My true nature is a classic hypochondriac-worrier-worst-case-scenario kind of person. Over the years, though, I've worked hard at being less neurotic and more able to go with the flow, as it were. I don't always succeed and I do always have that nagging feeling like I should care more, but for the most part I've been able to become fairly laid back about most of what life throws at me. Until something comes along that, for some reason, sticks in my craw. There's generally no rhyme or reason to what that thing will be but once it's there, oooh boy, it is tough to get rid of.

Without going into unnecessary detail, suffice it to say that the latest unwanted kernel of thought relates to a relationship. (Serious pain in the ass.) It's been ages, I've tried everything. The pain has dulled, the emotions come through like haze on a hot Carolina day, but for some reason my thoughts still turn to it way more often than they should. This morning as I walked across the meadows in glorious Fall sunshine, the castle to my left, Arthur's Seat to my right and Edinburgh a true feast for the eyes, I hit on a possible reason. There is a small part of me that does not feel welcome here. Not in any immediate sense - the hospitality of this country certainly rivals anything Southerners have ever offered this Yankee - not even in any way social. It's a deeper, nationalistic feeling. There is a part of me that can't shake the countless times I was told, "You're not actually Scottish. This isn't your country." That may sound trite. It certainly sounds lame to just look at it like that. But over months of hearing that, of seeing severe reaction to anyone claiming any kind of Scottish heritage (which, for the record, I do not -  we're from Sligo in Ireland, way back when...) it's hard to feel like I can ever own a piece of this. It's hard to get that feeling like I could maybe adopt Scotland, or it could adopt me. And, as a citizen of the world who would gladly change her passport, that's hard to come to terms with. Even Paris - a city owned by no one, a city as wild and free as any I've ever come across - even Paris took me in and gave me a small part of herself. Perhaps my tendency to turn my thoughts to that affair does not stem from anything to do with the events between two people. Perhaps it comes from a search for why I don't feel quite at home here. For why I can't hear the bagpipes on Princes Street and feel a sense of belonging. Who knows? What I can say is this: what a ridiculous way to feel. And all because there's someone out there who doesn't think you should look back several generations to understand who you are. As a historian, I cannot accept that. And so, as a person living in Scotland, I will not accept this. I am going to change this - I am going to own my own little part of Edinburgh. This city will be mine in some little way. And I will love it, pretensions and all.

Bedknobs and Bathtubs

So, I've moved into a new flat. It's in a very lovely part of Edinburgh (in fact, a very posh part) but it's just that extra bit further away from both my jobs and the center of town to be convenient. Also, it's a one-bedroom that my flatmate has lived in for 5 years. We're meant to be moving to a larger, two person flat soon. Soooooon.

But, despite the crampedness, living in a real-person house with a person I actually can have a conversation with is such a breath of fresh air. Take it in. Breathe. Feel the relief. The best way to maximize such relief is in the bathtub. Some of my friends think I'm a little crazy when it comes to baths. They don't quite get my apparent obsession with them, my poetic odes to them. But if you were incapable of having one for months on end, I imagine your love of them would increase as well. At least in part. But I do recognize that I have a serious affection for them that is not entirely common. This, I think, is in part tied to the lack of emphasis our society puts on truly relaxing - on a daily basis. Yes, we have ads about getting away and taking time for yourself, but they're generally for 5-star getaways at fancy spas. They're not for your everyday life - that's apparently meant to be hectic and insane. Why? Why do we have to allow ourselves to get so overwhelmed that our only escape could be thousands of dollars worth of massages and plane rides and mai tais? (I've never had one, I don't know if that's actually how you spell that particular cocktail.) It's like cleaning, or organizing, or meeting a massive deadline: do it a little at a time and it's never too much to handle. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time, of course! Take a bath every so often. Not a quick one, a real one. A long one. With a glass of wine, or whisky, or Bailey's, or a beer (or orange juice if you're teetotal). Let yourself really soak. Think about how the water feels between your toes, over your tummy, behind your neck. You'll suddenly realize you're not thinking about work or laundry or dinner or anything else. Really concentrating on your body can be so therapeutic. It can allow you to recollect yourself so that, when you get out of the tub, you can face the world again with determination and hit-me-with-your-best shot pizazz.

Oh Hello, Autumn, We Missed You

It's officially September. The time of year when you break out sweaters (or jumpers if you like calling them that), get out scarves and coats, and wait for the leaves on the trees to turn fantastic shades and then fall under your feet as if begging to be crunched. Unless, of course, you live in Scotland. Here, the demarcation from Summer to Fall this year was hopelessly underwhelming. It's been scarf weather for at least 2 weeks here and the tree outside my window has been yellow for at least 10 days. Everyone has been saying that this summer was particularly miserable, even by British and specifically Scottish standards, but I don't think that's accurate. I think that somehow, for some reason, the gods of nature forgot Scotland this year. Time stood still or sped up or was warped somehow, because summer never came. This year, we in the land of haggis, neeps, tatties, kilts, and whisky were left behind in Spring and then fast-forwarded to Fall in the blink of an eye. Doomed were we to hear of others' afternoons at the pool sipping daquiris, to hear of romps in shorts and bikini tops, to dream of sizzling barbeques and content ourselves with a pub dinner in jeans and long-sleeved shirts, hoping to catch a glimpse of a tourist looking bewildered by the rain that stops and starts 10 times in as many minutes.

Ah, but still... life, she is good. For how could one drink a whisky and a pint in hot weather? How would one get adequate use out of umpteen scarves if not to wear them all-year-round? And - best of all for those of us who wear aprons at work - how else but by freezing rain will customers stop ordering bloody Frappucinos? Yes, this weather has its advantages, and though I cursed and swore and ranted several times this summer, I refuse to have my optimism squashed. And now that it's officially September, balance has been restored and wearing a scarf does not need to induce rage.

In other September news, it is the start of a new school year. In my case, a new degree! Ha! I've just handed in a Master's thesis (literally - 2 weeks ago) and now I get to start my PhD! The good thing is that PhD's are much more personal and self-based research and so it's not like finishing one year of undergrad and hopping into the next in a fortnight. (Yes, I said fortnight). I'm looking forward to getting back to the academic part of my world, if for no other reason than it means I get to forcefully scale back my hours at the Bux and have a great excuse not to take tours when the office calls looking desperately for a guide. Hoorah!