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I am a kite

I have been thinking for a while about my lack of focus. I get distracted a lot. I cannot seem to stick to a research project then publish it. I write bits and pieces, I read; I get excited, and at times, I wonder if I am manic. As an emerging researcher, I have been riding this wave of revelations about who I am and what research is. Often, my encounters with people, readings, and movies create a “leavening” where ideas for research, observations, epiphanies seem to resemble bubbles that come up to the surface of the dough with no apparent pattern or predictable rate–they just bubble up.

I have been observing this process; I have been amused by it, and even awed–I feel creativity and life coursing through my veins. I want to create, to write, to draw, to tell amazing stories that are happening in plain sight, through daily living, but are somehow missed in the cacophony of the daily life. I want to research the “now,” the moment…

I have been distracted… Dr. Richards pointed it out on many occasions. Normally, I would be concerned… I would feel anxious–at stake is my CV, my readiness to find that job that will pay my student loans and help ease my children into adulthood. But I have been enjoying the process, and somehow I feel the importance of this leavening experience. Yet, I am starting to question myself, whether I am overindulging in these moments.

Today, I read Leavy’s (Method Meets Art) chapter on visual arts, and somehow I came to a good idea of a visual to communicate my emergence from a commercial artist to researcher–I envision myself flying a kite. I am running as fast as I can, thinking the speed will help it go up. Then it falls to the ground, limp. I pick it up and try running again. This time, a breeze carries it just above my head for several feet. Inevitably, it falls. I pick it up. I run myself to exhaustion. I take breaks. I keep examining it–perhaps, something is wrong with it? I adjust little things–the string that keeps it together, the frame, the shape. I know the color has nothing to do with my kite’s ability to fly, but I keep re-painting it just because. Still, it flies only short for short periods of time, and not too high. I keep picking it up, keep examining it, and keep trying to fly it. I keep trying because this is the kind of person I am–stubborn and maybe naive. I know that all I need is a fresh wind to help raise my kite past the layer of still air, to the heights where currents constantly move. Where they can pick up my kite and sustain it all the way past the clouds. My kite is my confidence. I have it. All I need is the right moment to make it fly.

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Grades and learning

We are measured and weighed the minute we come into this world, and we continue to be measured and weighed until we leave it. Obviously, keeping track of height does not change the rate at which we physically grow, but what of other measurements, such as grades? My entire life as a student I felt like grades were invented to speak for me because my own voice was too weak and unimportant. Objectivity ruled, so from first grade on, I pushed myself to perform, not learn, because I knew people will use my grades to form their judgement of who I am and what I can do.  Luckily, I always loved learning, but even as a doctoral student, I sometimes face a choice whether to submit my assignment underdeveloped but on time, or to suffer the penalty in exchange for the extra time to read, think, and write. In either scenario, I  do not win.

In qualitative studies, where subjectivity is not a limitation but a

In grade school, I felt pressured to perform, not learn, because I wanted to be well-presented by my records

 

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Communications with peers

Selene in June 2018, after our last Interviewing Theory and Practice class where our shared a quote from Dr. Richard’s encouragement to me (“you are my star student”). I did not share her name :

“She (he?) is great. Hang on to her, if you can. I am nearly finished with my program, but keep asking every professor: “Are you my mommy?”

Erin in a phone conversation on July 2, 2018. We talked about our Visual Research Methods assignment:

“I am not like you. I get carried away by an idea. You are a great communicator!”

I was flattered: I get carried away by ideas, too, but I never thought I am great at communicating. In fact, I thought I was just the opposite. Not a confident one, anyway.

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Creativity and originality

Being a graphic artist, creativity is expected of me. I used to stress about it (even had panic attacks!) when I was in design school and a few years after–originality was highly rewarded by attention and praise, and I had to work very hard to be recognized. I suspected that I am just not that talented.

Eventually, I discovered that originality is built from careful observations and analysis of works of others, plenty of emulations, social sensitivity, and a pinch of luck. Some are naturally quick; others, like me, believe that talent is what it really takes and whether or not they have it.

As an emerging researcher, I get the familiar urge to create a study that is elegant, original, but also meaningful and even groundbreaking. Yesterday in our Visual Research Methods class, the Bersons gave us some examples of amazing visual presentations of data and findings, and I felt that “creative” rush.

However, I am wary of wanting to produce something just for the sake of being “original.” In some ways, I may have the advantage over others because I am experienced with visual communication a bit more than most, but I need to be careful not to lose meaning and purpose of research. It must contribute to the body of knowledge.

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Connecting and networking

Being connected is important to keep ideas fresh.

My first job as a graphic artist was in the small office of “Town-N-Country” and “Carrollwood News,” satellite weeklies of the local major daily, The Tampa Tribune.  I was only one year into my graphic design program, with one year left to go, and I already had a job “in the field.” I was proud. The fourteen months that I spent in that position were the time of amazing professional growth. I designed ads, answered phones, and did some light office management duties. The five salespeople who worked with me were happy, the advertisers were happy, the boss was happy, and I was happy, too. Only I felt like I was the only one of my species. A month after I had earned my diploma, The Tampa Tribune announced that it will absorb all the little weeklies–we all were moving downtown! Before the move, all graphic artists had a meeting in a trashed, abandoned old newsroom on the second floor, and our new leader had explained her vision for the creative department: we will fix up this room, we will have desks here, pagination there, recreation area here. Her plan was wonderful! There were going to be 60 artists working together, side by side. There were going to be meetings and creative contests, critiques, and best of all, the experience of senior artists, all at our fingertips. The year after the move was even better than my first year with the company–I grew as a designer, I connected; I even met my husband, a designer like me.

I find it difficult to just “go out” and connect, to network. I enjoy meeting new people and getting to know them. I love hearing their ideas and learning about how they work toward their goals, but I will almost never seek out these connections on my own. I do not know why–perhaps, I am too much of an introvert. I have to be in the environment where these connections occur naturally, from frequent interactions or special circumstances.