Lines about lines and 4Cs
I love lines.
That’s sorta a lie. I regularly talk myself into being at peace with the lines on my face. Loving those lines is not easy for me.
I love and hate the blank lines on a page depending on whether I feel pressure to fill them up or whether they feel like
an oPpoRtunIty
And there’s that whole debate about whether it’s good to color inside the lines or not. You know, the one that’s been raging among 5-year olds since the beginning of time? …or at least since the beginning of coloring books.
One year, my parents bought me an Un-Coloring book, with lots of pages to create your own things with some inspirations provided. I hated that thing. That same year, my sister was given a coloring book of patterns, with all kinds of lines moving and overlapping in all kinds of mind-boggling ways, and she shared it with me. We both colored inside the lines with meditative care. We were super-creative with how we colored the patterns, and that made all the difference. It’s not that I’d force anyone else to color those pattern books, but I’d do it again right now if one were sitting in front of me and I had some nice markers to play with.
You know why I’m thinking about lines? It’s not because I have a coloring book. If I did, I’d probably be coloring instead of writing.
It’s because I’m at this conference with a whole bunch of academics like me. Well, they’re not just like me, but they’re like me in that they came to this conference, and most people here have thought about writing and reading and teaching a lot, and a whole bunch of us are familiar with at least some of the same books and ideas and whatnot.
And I love standing in lines here.
I want to be fair: It’s not just lines I’m loving. I also love the elevator, and the space where we wait for an elevator (I suppose that’s called the “elevator lobby”? or does it have another name?). And I also love the barstool.
The reason why I love lines—even long lines—as well as the elevator and the space where we wait for an elevator and the barstool—is because these are spaces that allow for lives to touch one another, for connections to happen, for a calling out and a responding.
My first night here, I ate dinner at a pub, and another academic sat next to me. We so easily and immediately connected that the bartender thought we were together and asked whether we wanted separate checks or not. We laughed and said separate was probably best since we didn’t really even know each other.
But, of course, we did know each other, at least to a degree.
And this morning I stood in an incredibly long line for coffee and a bagel. I considered going elsewhere, but then I figured I’d just enjoy the line. For awhile I people-watched. And eventually I started talking with the academic ahead of me. I asked if she had been to the Bedford party the night before (she had), and I told her I had been on the Insanity ride. Here’s what it looks like:
The two of us ended up talking about risk-taking—our own risk-taking, our attitudes towards fear, and what we hoped for our kids and for our students.
The woman (I don’t think I ever got her name) told me she had heard it’s good to do one thing you’re afraid of every day. It might not mean riding the Insanity 105 floors above the city of Las Vegas. But doing something out of our comfort zone on a regular basis is healthy for us.
It was her turn to order. We said our good-byes. She gave me a hug. She told me she was proud of me for riding the Insanity.
I’m telling you: I love lines. At least lines at conferences where our nerdy name-tags identify us as part of a community.
And sometimes, in our risk-taking moments, we might find connections in lines even without name-tags hinting at some common bond.
PS I want to end there because it sounds like an ending. But I also want to say that some people suck at making conversation. I will ask: “What sessions did you attend? What did you think of them? Are you presenting? Where are you from? How long have you been there?” etc etc. And most people will make similar conversation, and sometimes our conversation will be about our pasts or our kids or the fact that the elevators are designed wrong because you can’t tell whether they’re going up or down except when you’re inside the elevator (which is really too late, right?) or that we feel like celebrities at the Bedford party or that we have a terrible sense of direction.
All of that is great.
But some people don’t ask any questions, so I find out about their interests and past and future, and they express no interest in what I’m up to. Granted, a lot of us academics are socially awkward (just like a lot of us have issues with our sense of direction). Still, it’s not like I’m asking for the world. Just some genuine interest in my interests or background or whatever. Or somebody else’s. Get over the social awkwardness enough to stop seeming like a rude ass. Really.
But I only say that for your own good (if you feel like I’m talking to you). Because doing something out of your comfort zone every day is healthy for you. And it would be good for the rest of us, too!
Laurie Mac Reads 