The Moroccan Girl is looking for a permanent room in the city because she studies mathematics at a local university. She is in town from Lyon where she rents a room with two French students one of whom is smelly and has lots of sex in the shower with boys, probably because the boys also think she is smelly. (Her own words.) The Canadian Girl is taking a gap year and will spend it teaching French children at a primary school in the south of France. She is from Manitoba and also believes that Chicago is “Canada Lite.” Her alarm sound is ducks quacking. The American Girl is not a girl at all. She is a grown woman and she is the most indefinite of the three. She is silly and makes them laugh. She smuggles wine and food into the room–highly illegal. On Day One she has no idea when she will depart Room 219 nor where she will go. Everyone chats, fidgets with their belongings, and gets comfy. They are happy together.
The two French Women arrive giggling like schoolgirls and smelling like hotel lobby toilettes. Morocco is at school and made the mistake of storing her belongings. France 1 steals her lower bunk by the window. France 2 takes the upper bunk. They are happy together…and completely oblivious of the rest of Room 219’s inhabitants. France 1 walks back and forth to the shower several times and between each one becomes progressively more naked. She is bold and carefree. No one admires her, but we could in theory, more so if she were dressed. Canada is carrying on like a good tourist and Morocco like a good student. America is sleeping in, going for long walks, and finding “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues” particularly apropos.
The first and only South Korean Girl arrives. Bad news: she is sick. Too much London Town; where her hostel barely had running water and served rocks for breakfast. Canada departs. France departs. Morocco becomes increasingly stressed about not finding a rented room. Morocco takes Canada’s bed. America is in the same bed. She is the Alpha and as such leaves her stuff and funk all over her area. To balance this territorialism, America offers food, drink… soul food to the other nations of Room 219. They accept. The French-Moroccan Woman arrives. She speaks Arabic and French. She is also looking for a local rental. She takes the bed by the window. All nations chat, fidget with belongings, get more comfy. They are happy.
The United Nations of Room 219 goes to breakfast together. America and South Korea don’t speak French or Arabic so the conversation is in English. Drink coffee, eat croissant, and have laughs. Morocco leaves at 0900. Her class begins at 0900. Morocco is feeling carefree this morning and takes an orange from the breakfast bar and puts it in her bag. This is strictly forbidden so America makes an issue of it, to the entire cafeteria, “Contraband! Get her!” Morocco is mortified and laughing hysterically. All laugh at the ridiculous sign on the wall that reads “Do Not Take Food Out of This Room.” South Korea spends most of the day in bed. France Morocco looks at apartments. America walks around rather aimlessly, has a beer, and wonders what to do. The Two South Korean Women arrive after light’s out. They install themselves in the two available top bunks. They go into the bathroom and lock the door. Two hours and 38 minutes later after much giggling, snorting, spitting, coughing, chatting, splashing, swatting, and douching, they emerge. In the darkness it’s assumed by all that they are the two cleanest denizens of Room 219 (and probably the entirety of Paris).
The two newest arrivals are up and out early. The rest of Room 219 put on wetsuits and get ready for breakfast. The fear of stepping on a glob of mucus, putting a foot in the puddle of water of unknown origin, menaces all. Although South Korea has a majority in Room 219, there is a generational divide, and Our South Korea, lover of French biscuits and Harry Potter, sticks with Us. We go to breakfast together and avoid the newbies. We are officially and shamelessly a click. Morocco comes into breakfast in a huff because she has been displaced from Room 219. Her reservation ran out and her bunk will be given to another traveler. America jumps into action, “I’ll go speak to the front desk staff about this. South Korea, you speak with The Others and find out how long they are staying.” France Morocco notes, “You are managing.” “Yes, I am a Manager. I manage.” Morocco has to run to school. America assures Morocco that her belongings are safe and that everything will work out. Morocco arrives in the evening knocking on the door. The United Nations of Room 219 decides Morocco will crash on the couch in the room–breaking all the rules. In addition, America procured an extra breakfast ticket thereby ensuring that Morocco will have a place to sleep and food. “Not on my watch,” says America, to herself. In the meantime, The Taiwan Girl arrives. France Morocco assures everyone she is nice. The rest of us do not see her arrive. She is stealth. South Korea 2 & 3 come in after light’s out again, unpack and repack 17 bags of French shoes, hats, and purses, and douse the bathroom, again. America decides it is time to move on and sets her sights on the south of France and The Sea. America itches for space, a hamburger, Netflix and chill. America will exchange kinship and love for freedom. Always.
The United Nations of Room 219 share our last meal. The four of us, Sima, Lila, Suki, and GNA, take selfies and exchange email addresses. We make fun of Suki for smuggling more food. She is a perfect little hamster! We laugh and laugh. We are immediately nostalgic about every minute detail we recall–the smelly French Nudists, the fetid indoor swimming pool, all the rule breaking. We kiss and hug, declare our enduring good will. We promise to stay in touch, visit, meet again. And all four of us, America, South Korea, Morocco and France Morocco cry. In the middle of the cafeteria, and onto our precious French croissants, we cry together because we are in love. We cry because life is love and love is living. Violà.
The time and space in between actions, when used to ruminate, is fertile territory for birthing possibilities to be acted upon. Without the in-between days novel thinking, creativity, hypothesis generation, etc. cannot exist, only action upon action i.e., hyperactivity.
Residing in the conflict that may arise during the in-between days, allowing for the dueling possibilities, helps jump-start the ego out of stasis. An individual exploring this territory must be at once courageous and humble because the quest takes place where the “doing” self and the “being” self intersect.
What does it feel like to do our lives and be our lives at once? When we achieve this congruency will we enjoy it for life?
What of the individual who masters the Do-Be-Do-Be-Do dance? The relentless and restless explorer? What if the discomfort of the quest, the insecurity and angst of the in-between days, and the potential of repeated failures do not scare her, but instead entices?
The in-between days become a source of comfort–a reminder that she is thriving and in motion … for life.
for the sake of clarity, ego defined: “The part of the mind that mediates between the conscious and the unconscious and is responsible for reality testing and a sense of personal identity.”
Higher Ed “institutional culture” needs to take note and Re the F Lax and understand the relationship between personal comfort and productivity, desire and presence when serving students is fluid. Nothing is equal except openness to individuals doing their good work. Whether in jeans and boots, suits and loafers, miniskirt and sneakers, a great educator gets it done. Dress presentation of self in the workplace is one type of diversity. And, students don’t care! Seriously.
Focus should be on bringing our most well self to work.
Superficiality!!! Important. Not important. Important. You don’t get to decide no matter your class or status in the Institution. Because the Institution is Ours.
The freaks, queers, misfits, weirdos, nerds, goths, punks, the Goonies—the NOT YOUs. Colleges, Universities, Schools, Preps…the dot dot dots. It’s our time…
It’s our time.
When we feel put together, presenting our various and wonderful identies, that we may demonstrate outwardly through dress… Then we are ready to meet students where they are and to listen how they want to get to their next place.
(Post inspired by)
Staff and faculty fronting travel expenses to a conference, particularly national-level conferences where we proudly present good work and research?
That’s a bogus rule.
I’m grateful that my College works with me to get a travel advance because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to share our work or learn from others how to tune-up our practice.
The assumption that staff and faculty have a line of credit or cash on hand to pay in advance is assumptive, and clasist, and more deeply boxes more than a few out from participating in conferences and, arguably from (doing) and sharing the outcomes of the good, great work.
This rule is bogus because the folks working with our students, watching our students, learning about them and using what they learned to impact student success ((contentment and achieving their intended goals)) are SYSTEMICALLY not invited to the party.
Updating the presentation below and prepping to share as one of ten invited sessions of NASPA’s Assessment Knowledge Community at the annual conference in a few weeks.
We are thrilled to share this important story–of how we are (slowly and intentionally) building a culture of assessment of co-curricular learning at our college.
Presentation given on March 13, 2015 at the Northeastern and Northwestern Illinois Association of Collegiate Registrars & Admissions Officers workshop, “Building Relationships for Student Success” held at the picturesque Wheaton College.
The theme of the presentation focused on recognizing the way(s) Student Services Personnel serve as educators. It also problematized the use of war and medical discourse e.g., front line, triage, and metaphors when discussing the work of student affairs professionals.
Red puckered lips
plant a single kiss on his stubbly chin.
The chosen one.
Elected from a crowd of thousands.
She puts their brilliant love on display.
Limbs dance exotic numbers,
painted up in glamorous shades,
gold, tangerine, rust.
A lady’s temporal passions
divesting him with from tip to toe.
Soon all the poplar gents will know,
she’s the reigning Queen.