After yesterday’s reading of the “Every word is true,” I resolve to keep a journal. I took note of how helpful Dr. Richards’ students’ notes have been to my understanding of how we students grow in the program.
I think back to the time when I just started my undergraduate in psychology and kept telling my husband “if I could just somehow peek into Becky’s head to see and hear what and how she thinks, this would be amazing.” I cannot obviously do that, but at the very least, I can offer a peek into my own head should anyone ever (or even just me) find it useful.
So when during our first session we were taking a minute to come up with a question, I reached out to Christy and said “you know, I still do not know how Arts can be used as research. I have some ideas about I want to do for my project, but I am far from working it out.” Christy agreed. She was stuck trying to figure out how to apply arts-based research techniques in her field of geology.” I signed up for this class because of Dr. Richards and because I knew this class is going to be life-changing as I have been working to carve my path apart from a positivist approach to knowing. But I am slightly skeptical because I want to be. Because I want to scrutinize this new way to do research. Because I need to prepare myself for the critics.
Nineteen years ago, almost to the date, I made a giant leap by signing up for my graphic design courses. I remember how proud and scared I was. I mostly worried about my English and being able to pay for my education (as I had to support myself with no help from anyone, not even family). However, a great deal of this excitement came from the fact that I finally was able to answer that question “Who am I?” In the early twenties, this question was larger than life to me, an immigrant, still living through the culture shock. I was lost in every way. I could not tell a word about my identity. So I felt that by starting my courses I finally “sealed my fate:” I decided I was an artist. So I also worried whether I have enough talent to be successful on this path, whether I belong. I was afraid that when I show my work, all the other (decidedly more talented) students around me will laugh and say “and what are you, giftless, doing here with us, the talented bunch?”
Now that I think about it, I always wanted to be discovered. This was the only way for me to know whether I am any good. If someone recognizes something in me or my work, then it must be true, and I am not making things up–they see it, too. This probably would have been at least a little valid had I stayed in Russia and around my family. Unlike here, in the US, my childhood ecology did not support spontaneous praise. I say ecology because I do not know whether it was cultural, or specific to my family and town. I thought you had to be someone truly great: Tolstoy, Tchaikovsky, Turgenev. The bar was high, and there definitely was one. You were not great until you reached and passed that line… I wanted to become great (not as great as Repin or Tolstoy, of course–somehow I KNEW I just don’t have whatever they had), but I thought I still might have a shot at some regional greatness of sorts… I just needed validation. So I patiently sat there and waited to be recognized. I did really well in college. I graduated with a realization I will not likely do anything groundbreaking with my work, but at least I knew I am good at graphic design. A perfectionist, I worked very hard and convinced myself that I do have some talent, but to get anywhere, I better work hard. I believe this thinking fueled my anxiety for the next decade until I eventually quit to freelance from home.
This longing for “greatness” came to life again when I enrolled at Saint Leo into the psychology program. I studied all the “greats” in the field who pioneered, discovered, and propelled psychology as a discipline. I always told my husband I could care less I someone told me some pop star or an actor was a few feet away from me. I never experienced that obsession with celebrities. But I would have freaked out and squealed like a high-school freshman if I discovered that I am standing next to Zimbardo or Bronfenbrenner. Weird? What is this strange thing that I have about greatness? I still wait to be discovered sometimes, but now that I met and worked with some amazing and accomplished professors–Lilli, Janet, Dana–and received their praise freely and abundantly, I suddenly realize that a great part of why they are so great is because they are so supportive and nurturing and generous in addition to their contributions to their fields. Most, if not all their students are “great.” But with so much “greatness” around me, I once again feel lost. And so I sit here thinking about Arts-Based Research and wonder if I will ever do anything special with myself if I will ever be “great.” …only this time I suspect that this kind of thinking may not be healthy. I need to revisit this contruct of greatness of mine…
