Lessons in Collectivism

Mentoring someone from a different culture has been quite a lesson in humility. I thought I understood privilege, but I still get taken off guard when my assumptions come back to kick me in the teeth. I've noticed it the most with my ideas around giving and possessions. When I give someone a gift, I expect that it will remain the property of the person I gave it to and that the person will treasure it as a token of my esteem and affection. Not necessarily so.

Look, I understand regifting and giving stuff to the thrift store if you hate it, if you really hate it, or it doesn't fit or something. For years, my grandma gave me frou-frou sweaters that were two sizes too small for me. Wishful thinking on her part--that I liked teddy bears and sequins on my clothes and that I would somehow magically be thin. So those went to Goodwill. But having your sister or your mom or your grandma just take the gift that was given to you and do with it what she pleases is absolutely foreign to me.

And I guess that's the essence of cultural misunderstanding and privilege, isn't it? I judge that behavior, and I want to intervene. My big-sister protective gene kicks in. Who takes a little kid's stuff anyway?

My sister Lindsey, wise person and counselor-in-training that she is, says, "They're collectivists." Of COURSE! How did I miss this? Me, who believes that socialist medicine can peacefully co-exist with capitalism. But my training is so strong, and my individualism so carefully maintained, that I needed someone with a different perspective to point out the flaw in my thinking. My mentee's mom had hinted that I was spoiling her daughter--apparently taking her to free craft classes, giving her a pumpkin at Halloween, and going out for chicken at Boston Market is a big deal. And giving her things? I think somehow that doesn't fit with their idea of what a mentor should be and do.

So I'm adjusting my thinking. Gifts should be for the whole family. Everything is considered community property. The pumpkin was turned into food rather than the jack-o-lantern I expected. A necklace that little one made with my expensive vintage beads was broken on the first day, and the beads were lost. A birthday gift card was appropriated. And this family gave up a whole room for a relative and his kids to live in for several months until he can move back to his country of origin. They took in a third dog and fostered him until they could find him a home. They eat dinner together around a big table in the kitchen.

I have much to learn.

The Little Things

My friend Emily and I hold each other accountable for our "daily joys," the little things that we give ourselves to feel happy, alive, and grateful. She loves her morning coffee, good-smelling candles, and organizing her house. The gifts I give myself are eating lunch on the deck, walking in the sunlight, strolling through my garden, and taking the time to cook good food.

Our lives are comprised of millions of moments, each with the potential for joy. What do you give yourself?

At the End of the Day

Projects have been evaluated, grades have been submitted, and another quarter is done. And upon reflection, teaching in the Graduate School of Social Work at DU is one of the best things that's ever happened to me. DU is simply a fab place to work. Even adjunct faculty (that's me) are treated with respect and given plenty of resources to do the job right. The environment is inclusive, and the students are thoughtful and intelligent. Watching social workers prepare to do good in the world makes me joyful.

All of that is good and right, but really, why do I teach? It's not the money; once you figure the time invested, the hourly rate is relatively low. It's not the prestige; as an adjunct faculty, there is none. It's not that I need to be an expert; I've been a big fish in a little pond plenty of times, and it's lost its luster.

So what it boils down to is connection--one human being relating to another. I lead, I facilitate, I guide, I show. I ask them to step outside their comfort zones. They help me stretch my boundaries and take down my walls. I respect them, and they respect me. We get to know each other: likes, dislikes, attitudes, personalities, quirks. We have lengthy, meaningful conversations. We give each other feedback. I watch them go from being fearful about money to feeling in control and excited about their future leadership in nonprofit organizations. I'm proud of them. We are connected.

I am an educator.