Place I do(n't) belongn

Today an old dream died.
That there might be a place where I could go where I would instantly be my best self
I could take with me all the things I am proud of, and leave my shit behind
I'd bring the clothing I look beautiful in and the books I ought to read.
Make only enough money to get by and want only what it could purchase.
work selfless all day, and improve myself in every spare minute at night.
With none of the trappings of my previous corrupt life and self, I could be only good.

Where is this place? Strangely I placed the wishing on to something so particular.-internships-
go and work for strangers, and accept housing as payment. if they do good work they must be better people than you, and if you make their life your life, you will instantly be good.

In Portland the distance between this dream and reality was devastating, and I struggled with it. made some peace and left. It was hard and messy, and I learned a lot and have no regrets.

Part of what allowed me to feel good about leaving was the plans I'd made. teaching crafts this summer, farming for the spring.


The one week on the farm, well, that killed this dream.


At first I was only embarrassed at my own assumptions of what this place that hired me would be like. My gut learned quickly what my brain already knew: that growing up in farmland, you are a very different person than that rosy-faced city slicker who got in to growing food out of their politics. This farm is not a lovely liberal haven but a business. A hard day's work. I felt determined to learn about growing food here as some antidote to that brain-oriented urban world I grew up in to.

But slowly I found the people mean, and felt myself embroiled in interpersonal dynamics that would obviously only get messier. Felt on edge in their home. Was not learning much about how they did things, was not so impressed with what I could glean, after all the on-paper idealist farm theory, the time spent with farmers with perspectives more like mine. Sure, privilege and class and culture all helped me feel uncomfortable at this farm, but just because people aren't like me doesn't automatically make them better people, either. They can still be in fucked up power dynamic relationships, unhappy zombie work lives, slaves to the television just like everyone else. Labelling them 'authentic' and translating that to wisdom is as condescending as it is respectful.

My best self lies in the trajectory I was born in to. Problematic as it may be, it is not a worse story than anyone else's. Instead of living for free in the house of struggling strangers, I'm now in the second home of my own family, whose abundances and struggles I know too well project any false dreams in to. I can't believe it's come to this, living here for free for the month, working for neighbors to make some spending money. This is not to say I ought to live here without deliberation, or even without guilt. But for now it feels right.

I'm not going to aim for this liberation through uprooting: drastically changing location, or willing my interests, passions and joys to change. Kerry made a good point about this, that I've been thinking a lot: it can be a terrible thing to live on one's born privileges, but it can be antagonistic to refuse one's privilege and believe that salvation lies in pretending I'm self-made. Everyone is community made. All of this support from my family, these opportunities or ways of thinking I have learned from this college I paid for, I do not want reject them on principle, I want to sort them. I am not transplanting, I am pruning myself and my family tree.

Struggle

I was flipping through books on the farmer's shelf in Santa Fe,
One was something like "the 10 essential questions of judaism, answered!"
It was mostly terrible, but it said:

Q: does a person need to believe in god to be a good jew?
A: No, many jews do not. What defines Judaism is to be in relationship with god, to not be apathetic to his existence. To be a good jew is to struggle with him.

Now, I am not ready for the question of god,
(not to mention the pronoun they use...)
or don't find it relevant and might not ever,
but nevertheless this struck me.
Definition by struggle.

I have begun to use this word, constantly.
in any situation where I wish to honor my commitment to sit with
something I haven't figured out yet, and might not ever.

The peak was two weeks ago, at Alison's thesis opening.
I spent three days with her project: helping set up, at the opening, on my own on the floor, trying to put in to charted words.
I did not love it with ease, but felt committed to wrestle with it
look hard at the things that inspire me and frustrate me.
try to find words.
I would say to her:
I struggle with your project, alison,
but I hope you see this as a compliment.
that is what I intend it to be



If I make a list of all of the things I struggle with,
the result names all the important parts of who I am.
A more complete list, a more honest version,
than I'd make if I sat down to make a list titled
"all of the important parts of who I am"

And so I have started making this list.
What do I struggle with?
The privileges I was born with, my race, my unshaking desire to spend time making art, my impact on the planet, new york city, judaism, my relationships with my parents, my brother, kerry, my former housemates, alison, max. My extended family. My desire for nesting.

and then, if I title this list as "the defining things about rachel" I have a more honest picture of myself than I have ever made before. A list to struggle with.