For better and for worse

As an undergrad at Utah State University, I took a class called "Human dimensions of natural resources." It was taught by James Kennedy, a wiry and intense professor in the Environment and Society department. If I remember right, it was his last year before retirement. He interspersed the typical subjects of stakeholders and wicked problems with anecdotes. Nary a day went by without multiple nuggets of concentrated wisdom. I wasn't a very good student in any of my classes, but I was enthralled during his lectures.

Dr. Kennedy used one phrase more than any other: "For better and for worse." He intentionally avoided the more common phrasing "for better or for worse" because he insisted that each perspective, choice, or approach had tradeoffs. He wasn't saying that all sides were equally right on all topics at all times (see the Dylan quote at the end of this post for proof of that). He was saying that there wasn't a person or opinion we couldn't learn from. He was saying that values and practices from all peoples and philosophies can help us become more whole. He was saying that positive and true ideas, when decontextualized or taken to the extreme, can become liabilities. There isn't some fad diet or life hack that will replace thoughtfulness and discipline.

One Friday, he came to class completely haggard with a folder of graded tests under his arm. 

"I know you probably didn't want these back, but I always try to return them within a week. It took me until 3am, but here are your tests." As he passed them out, he poked fun at himself. "I'm descended from Puritans, and I guess there is still part of me that can't stand to let physical concerns get in the way of commitment. There is plenty to criticize about that Puritanical worldview, but if you cultivate the ability to occasionally deprive yourself and stay up until 3 to get an important task done, it will serve you well." 

There is a part of me that can be extremely demanding of myself and others. I don't accept discomfort or inconvenience as excuses for not doing the right thing. If it's better to ride a bike than drive a car (it is), then who cares if it's snowy? Put on more clothes and stop complaining (instructions here). If it's cheaper to not have an apartment, then why not live outside? Indeed, both my grandfather and I did so while attending USU (I didn't know that he had also camped out until after I started).

This "deal with it" ethic is strong on both sides of my family, for better and for worse. Descended from Mormon pioneers and survivors of the Great Depression, the Abbotts and the Hansens push through. 

This approach to life has served me well in many ways, but I've been feeling really worn down this past year. Earlier this month, I found myself obsessed with the performance parameters of a new computer. I was spending hours trying to undervolt a CPU, when I needed to be helping one of my students revise their paper. I found myself revising my students' papers when I needed to be spending time with my own children. I knew that some of it was distraction and disappointment at the horrible events of the last year, but I sensed that some of it had roots that reach back decades. 

Since starting my PhD, I have been constantly accelerating. Picking up projects, developing new collaborations, constantly branching out, always saying yes. At one level, it has worked well. The years have seen many worthwhile publications and efforts, many deep and meaningful friendships. But this pace is clearly for better and for worse.

I think that 2020 sped a realization that would have become undeniable in the next few years: I am running faster than I have strength. I am disciplined, yes, but also unsympathetic and sometimes unbalanced. Even meaningful achievements feel hollow and hurried as I rush to the next online meeting, as I finish the next proposal or review.

Two weeks ago, Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer gave a powerful seminar for the College of Life Sciences at BYU (the recording is available here with the passcode %8UsVV7N). She has been a hero and role model for me ever since I read her book Braiding Sweetgrass. She is a Potawatomi Native American and plant ecologist who brilliantly weaves indigenous knowledge with scientific knowledge and cultural wisdom. 

Early on in her seminar, she showed us a Medicine Wheel, explaining that one of its many meanings was to emphasize the different dimensions of existence as a person. Only as we nurture and embrace all these dimensions will we be able to understand and serve the people (including non-human people) around us. Only in acknowledging our layers and limits will we approach completeness.

The last year has been all yellow and red for me. Monday: analysis, Tuesday: hypotheses, Wednesday: presentations, Thursday: doomscrolling about the attack on the Capitol, Friday through Monday: more of the same. This frenetic, disembodied existence has created an imbalance and malaise that has grown deeper as the months go by. 

Because I am a Hansen and an Abbott, I considered the inconveniences of the pandemic as nothing serious. "Self care" was just a synonym for coddling. I expected my fortitude to increase as I focused on what was left: mind and emotion.

Lately, several people have shaken me from this monotonic groove. Chief among them are my four children. Their smells, sounds, sensations, and kindness have pulled me out of my computer's parameters and back into this beautiful and troubled world.

She doesn't need glasses, but when you look this good.

He thought it was safe to push his sister into the snow.

It looks higher from up here.

Can we go home?

Even computers can be OK when watched together.

Always on the move, but usually unaware of the world's structure and circulation.

The eyes that can't stop scrolling can also smile.

I'm grateful for and unworthy of these dear friends. I can cry on demand when I think of what they mean to me; when I think of their humor and goodness. The choices and accidents that have led me to where I am are for better and for worse. These four humans (and the fish and the guinea pig-Ingrid will kill me if I don't include them) help transform the worse into the better.

So when at times the mob is swayed

To carry praise or blame too far,

We may choose something like a star

To stay our minds on and be staid.

-Robert Frost 1916 

(here is a recording of this poem that I sang with the International Children's Choir School when I was a first soprano)

Half of the people can be part right all of the time

Some of the people can be all right part of the time

But all of the people can’t be all right all of the time

I think Abraham Lincoln said that

“I’ll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours”

I said that

-Bob Dylan 1963 Talkin' World War III Blues