On socwardness (part whatever it is by now - who keeps count anyway)

It is an old, much bespoken, and thus well-known problem for Norwegians when encountering Americans that we misstep on one particular (and very crucial) part of initial social codes: the greeting. Anyone having experienced the horrified look on their faces when we reply to their greeting "how are you?" with an actual answer to how we actually are doing. 30% hilarious, 60 % awkward, and, if you're lucky, 10% insight that this is not something you will ever do again.

Globalization and all that - Norwegians and Americans meet one another fairly frequently these days. Most of us have learned that the appropriate way to respond to this polite question is the equally polite "Fine, thanks. How are you?" or some version thereof.

However, globalization and all that - the custom of asking someone how they are doing is migrating. I've noticed this more and more the past few years - you can hardly run into someone, American or no, here in good ol'Norway, without them inquiring the dreaded faux-pas-in-the-making: "Hvordan går det?" (which actually sounds quite ridiculous, and directly translated means "How is it going", because even silly customs adapt somewhat and the direct-direct translation of "How are you?" would be "Hvordan er du?" and that sounds ridiculous-er still, though why we don't just use the formerly perfectly acceptable and proper Norwegian "Står til?" ("Stands to?" Yeah, I know...) or "Hvordan har du det?" ("How are you having it?") is beyond me. But I digress).

Faux-pas-in-the-making because even though we have learned not to burden Americans, who only meant to be polite when asking this (when you think about it really quite) intrusive question, with an honest answer, we still struggle with knowing how to deal when we're meeting the same issue among our own.

It's a fine balance. Because this migrated greeting is still new to us, we can't yet be entirely sure that the answer we have learned to provide when meeting the greeting in its original form is the correct one. If you reply "Joda, bra. Hva med deg?" (or some version thereof), you risk being met with suspicion. It sounds too much like a formula. We haven't internalized the greeting enough to have such a formula. Thus you need to provide some form of flesh. But how much?

"Hvordan går det?"

"Nja" (you don't need to know much Norwegian to realize that when someone starts their reply to that question with a contraction of the words for "yes" ("ja") and "no" ("nei"), it can't be good...) "[insert long rant about how you actually feel because it is autumn and we had a shitty summer and you have not slept well for weeks and you think you might be catching a cold and you are currently experiencing one of your periodical antisocial bouts which people are not actually respecting (probably because you only tell them through growling extra much before replying with a semi-honest answer to their question of how it is "going") and you secretly (and not so secretly) worry that you are setting yourself up for failure at work and you hate the fact that you have not cleaned the bathroom in two weeks which obviously makes it super disgusting but you also have absolutely no energy to actually clean it and if you could you would just stay at home all that and bake but you can't because pastries makes you fat(ter) and you have to go to yoga]".

Well, actually, you won't reply that. Because since you meet people, even here in good ol'Norway, who ask you this (when you think about it really quite) intrusive question on a daily basis, and thus you have experienced the formerly American-specific-but-now-globalized version of the face even here in good ol'Norway. You have told someone the brutal honest truth, and you've seen the blood drain from their face, their eyes blink slower than normal with that extra squeeze when the eyelid reached the bottom of their eye as if to buy them time before they have to open their eyes and look at you again. You have seen them heave seemingly insignificantly (but really quite visible when you look for it) tighter, longer, deeper than normal when they take a breath of air. You have seen the face of regret. ("Why did I even ask?")

You have seen that face before, and so you reply, instead: "Joda, bra. [insert customized comment about the weather] Hva med deg?"

On Good and Bad Bosses

Being a PhD student (especially in Norway, where it is paid employment) is in many ways a sweet deal. You get to spend time working on exactly the thing you're (supposed to be) most interested in. You get to have a narrow focus on a topic so specific (and often insignificant) that most people know next to nothing about it. You get to become an expert on this topic. You get to devote time, energy, intellectual capacity and whatever skills you've developed over time on working on just one, single issue that need not be of any particular interest or use to anyone else (though naturally you have learnt how to argue that indeed it is of particular interest and use to everyone else - you've gotten some kind of funding for this project, after all...). You get to do all this for a longer period of time, usually about three to four years, and in the meantime very few people are going to bother you in any significant way with meeting deadlines, making progress or doing any of the most basic things most employees are expected to do in their jobs: show up at a specific time, show up at all, actually work...

Of course this latter point isn't entirely true.

First of all, most universities will by now have instated some kind of checks and balances system to keep a little control of their PhD students. It will still vary greatly from institution to institution how rigid this system is, but I would guesstimate that you nowhere anymore can do what seems to have been the "norm" many places in the past - you show up at the start of your doctorate and then nobody sees you again for four (or more) years until you show up again for your defense with a 1000 page dissertation.

These days there are some requirements. You have to take some courses (here I know Norway is still on the lighter side. In many places it still is more than justified to call the PhD students students, as they do plenty of course work and have papers due and everything - our system is more flexible and it can be argued that it is just as correct to call me and my peers PhD fellows). You generally will have some deadlines along the way (we, for instance, have a halfway evaluation, which I will take sometime this summer or autumn). And technically I am supposed to show up for work during work hours at any time I don't have a justifiable reason not to do so (a conference, field work, those courses I talked about), but in reality I am fairly sure I could stay at home for several weeks at end and no one would notice (except my office mate, but she wouldn't tell on me, and a simple Facebook message saying "Working from home for a while" would put her at ease). And even if they did notice, it wouldn't have any consequences.*

Many of the requirements, then, are more for show than actually breathing down your neck like the proverbial distrusting boss would do.

However, I do have one of those bosses as well. The problem is that she is not always a good boss. And before you jump to conclusions about me slandering my boss in social media, I should clarify: I'm talking about myself. (My real boss is a man, so there.)

My Bad Boss - me - isn't always a bad boss. The not bad part is what makes her a boss at all. Because in a system where so little pressure is put on you for any day-to-day production (but HUGE pressure on the long haul production with the far-ahead deadline way out of your sight), you really need to pull yourself together and force yourself to do some work every now and then. You need to be your own boss. You need to tell yourself what your tasks are, and then you need to do them. Otherwise, you've already lost.

On occasion this works for me. I can have whole days and several days in a row, even, where I work like a normal person (one of those with real bosses), and get stuff done. My Good Boss manages to give me clear instructions and as a Good Employee (because I am, honestly, even if this post so far might suggest otherwise) I get it done.

This is improvement on my part.

I remember when I wrote my master's thesis I was absolutely horrid at getting stuff done. Every word came at an insufferable price - it felt like I had to pull them out of me like fingernails from a torture victim (you're welcome for that mental picture).

This is because then I only** had the Bad Boss. The Bad Boss still comes around too frequently for me to be particularly happy about it, though. The Bad Boss doesn't motivate me or give me instructions; the Bad Boss tells me that the final deadline is coming closer with every day (well, duh!). She tells me that I have a come nearly halfway in my PhD, but I have not produced half of the text for a PhD dissertation (and my objections that I have done plenty of other useful stuff that doesn't necessarily reflect the amount of output you can touch and feel but nevertheless contributes to the end result have no traction with her). My Bad Boss makes me feel insecure, worried, and generally pretty useless.

My Bad Boss most frequently visits when I am tired, hungry, stressed out, or that one week of the month where most women feel more insecure, worried and useless (if you're a man and you've no idea what I'm talking about, I envy you and I'm about to punch you in the face. Go away. Bring me chocolate before coming back).

Most annoying of all - my Bad Boss makes me a Bad Employee. And as I mentioned, I am not really a Bad Employee. I am a Good Employee. Whenever Good Boss is around it's pretty visible too, so you don't even have to take my word for it.

So. Like a terrible academic*** I have arrived at the problem far too long into the text I'm writing. In order for me to be a Good and Productive Employee, I need my Good Boss to speak louder and more frequently than my Bad Boss. But how do I do this?

Like an even more terrible academic I was very close to ending my text with a question. Because a question, at this point, is about as good as I can do. I don't really have an answer. I can't predict when the Bad Boss will show up, or how long she intend to stay (though I can of course try to avoid the situations I know she is most likely to appear, but even so - it's not like I can avoid work one week every month, no matter how relaxed the system might seem).

My best bet is on the realization that I have a Bad Boss, and that I have a Good Boss. I know there are two of them. So for the times when it feels like only the Bad Boss is the one showing her ugly face, I can try to tell myself that she will not linger forever. The Good Boss will show up eventually. In fact, if I manage to ignore the Bad Boss she sometimes tires of pestering me, and goes away all on her own. Sometimes, sometimes, even the Good Boss pops her head in directly after, just to check on me.****

So it boils down to this: I need to get rid of my Bad Boss but I should probably also be aware that she will never disappear completely, but rather keep in mind she will also never stay put for good.



҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉҉



*For the record, I also have a supervisor, and she is very active, and she probably would notice both my absence for longer stretches of time and definitely my failure to meet deadlines and produce text. So in my case the potential slacking off has a very real limit. But not every supervisor is as active or attentive, so it is not entirely impossible that you would find cases where not even he or she would know if the PhD student had stopped working altogether for a loooong while.

** This is a truth that needs some moderation. I did write the damn thesis, and it's not all bad, so at some point the Good Boss must have been around then as well. But it didn't feel like it - I suspect maybe the Good Boss simply was a deputy back then, and thus did not really dare to challenge the authority of the Bad Boss. At least that is my theory. I am glad that the Good Boss' career has taken an upward turn!

*** For some reason I really want to write "academidian" instead. But then my Bad Boss told me I could not justify a title clearly derived from a crossover between academic and comedian. As I am neither (can you see what this hag is doing to me? I need her to GO AWAY!!! And not come back - not even with chocolate).

**** Sometimes she brings chocolate! :)

On pretense

Let's pretend this is a blog you still read with some regularity - in fact, let's pretend it's a blog I write with some regularity.

Let's pretend Albert Einstein was a duck. Might as well.

Let's pretend the below picture isn't photoshopped.

Let's pretend the reason I am not writing here regularly is because I am so busy living a fabulous life. Let's pretend I'm never tired of the fabulousness.

Let's pretend. That nothing no one never said was true or false.

Let's pretend that winter is not coming.

Let's pretend that I am not worrying about work and not work and the potential of not having to worry about work.

Let's pretend that I write. Occasionally.

Let's pretend that placebo is as good as Placebo. Let's pretend you could watch that video without having to watch a commercial first.

Let's pretend that all it takes is a good night's sleep, and that you will get just that, tonight.

On wanting badly to smack a deserving soul in the face but realizing it would not serve the intended purpose (but nevertheless feel good)

Certain people make me turn into this guy:

(And I'm not talking about John)

On construction - a manifesto

"We construct history."

My current employment force me to think about such things on a daily basis. The idea is that the questions asked  will make my students think about issues they previously (possibly) have taken for granted. In reality, I suspect I'm the one learning the most from the experience. The students are goal-oriented; they have to be, given that they will need to pass their exams when the time comes. I am also eager to have them pass the exam, but I feel that in addition I have an agenda which is to not have an agenda. Studying with the
freedom to roam through personal experience in a field that has become mine with time - it's powerful.

Nevertheless, an agenda is constructed as I realize the more I learn of these things, the more insecure I become. Because, I realize, for the first time - really, properly - I am reflecting over what my field really is. What is history?

"History is not identical with the past, nor a reflection of it. The past is what we study; history is how we interpret the past."

It's my history, because I'm the one studying it. Certainly, there are limitations, and still a tendency to strive towards wie es eigentlich gewesen, even if we long since accepted that we can never completely know exactly what happened in the past. But we try to present it in ways that are as close to what you might call a "truth" (with all the limitations that term entails) as possible. We try not to invent or make up history, even if we do construct it.

I've constructed as different histories as modern Norwegian foreign policy, medieval political thought and current Middle Eastern conflict this semester. I'm working hard to tie them all to the ultimate history for a historian: why are we studying this? Why is this important? Why is history important (especially given that you just told us that we construct it, Ms. Teacher...)?

Why is history important?

It is easier, perhaps, to answer such a question in mode negative: why is not knowing history a bad thing?

A shameful and terrible accusation, that, being denominated "unhistorical" (historieløs). Having no concept of background and context, not realizing the importance of such things.

At the same time - doesn't it sound almost liberating, not having to take in the grievances of times past, simply worrying about the contemporary? Perhaps a certain unhistoricalness would be exactly what could solve troubles in well-known conflicts worldwide? What wold happen in the Middle East if no one knew what have already happened there? Can we learn from history? It doesn't seem that way. Can it aggravate us to make the same mistakes over and over again? Well... Maybe.

It is all too easy for historians, when pondering such questions, to end up without a backbone in the skeleton of our own profession. We're left with a pile of bones and no idea how to stitch them back together. Can we even call ourselves a science? Is there anything we can know for sure? Is history important?



Lesigh. Yes. Yes, it's important. Perhaps especially because we doubt ourselves. And definitely because we construct it. Certainly because - and despite - the fact that it is difficult to answer the question "why is it important?".

Everyone knows, intuitively, that history is important. Not being able to explain why, exactly, is what drives us ("us", as in "historians") to constantly question ourselves and our own profession, which in turn makes us excellent analysts. We are critical as few (several meanings of the word, yes; pun intended). We pose questions we might never get to answer satisfactorily, but we are nevertheless brave enough to ask them.

The construction of history - whether the interpretation of events past; or "history", the discipline - is key. It is what we need to do. It is what makes history important.


No wonder my students are confused.

On embracing chaos

It's my new motto. Embrace the chaos.

It's my new motto: Embrace the chaos.

It's my new motto; embrace the chaos.

It's my new motto — embrace the chaos.

I couldn't decide which punctuation worked better, so I chose them all
(It's my new motto.:;— E[e]mbrace the chaos.)

Most people use punctuation to avoid chaos. I'm not most people. Besides,

besides

besides, punctuation is chaos. To me.

So I'm embracing it.

Chaos is everywhere. Chaos is everything. Chaos is a movie starring Ryan Philippe, Jason Statham and Wesley Snipes. Chaos is "a state of utter confusion or disorder; a total lack of organization or order." Chaos is (religion) a chasms or abyss; it is (science) any state of confusion or disorder, plus a branch of mathematics and physics; it is (in the Discordian calendar) a month. Chaos is punctuation. Chaos is being punctured by chaos.

My head is chaos.

Chaos = my head = chaos.

Stop thinking so much, they say. I have no means to do so. Besides,

besides,

Chaos = my head - thinking = chaos.

(This is a very specialized version of chaos theory. A branch of mathematics and physics.)

I cannot stop thinking. I cannot even stop thinking so much. Define "so much". Definitions are meant to make things less chaotic. But then there are so many of them. =chaos.

My only remaining solution.

Embrace.

Embracing the chaos.

Letting it surround me.

Inviting more of it in.

Maybe I'll explode.

Or implode.

Either way explained by a complex branch of mathematics and physics, I'm sure.



On bags

I recently got a new bag.

It was a good bag. A great bag. I had been searching for one for a while, and there it was. The first one I spotted in the shop. It was surprisingly easy to find, and the price was right.

So I bought it. Started using it immediately. Put all my other bags away. And it felt good. I liked using it. I liked the way it looked on me. Liked the things I did with it

Still. It wasn’t perfect. There was nothing objectively wrong with it – the bag looked good, I felt good with it, it was exactly the kind of bag I’d needed. But there was this small voice in my head, whispering that this bag wasn’t what I *really* wanted. That I liked it because it was easy and comfortable, but that I didn’t love it. Not really. As long as there wasn’t anything wrong with the bag, however, and as long as I didn’t have any other bags that seemed better, I faithfully stuck with the one I had.

Then, one day, the bag broke.

I hadn’t had it for long – only about a month. There was no warning – the bag went from great to broken with one tiny snap. The strap tore off, and just like that, I was without a bag.

I thought about going back to the store and complain. It was a new bag, and it should last longer than a month. I also thought about fixing the bag – maybe the strap could be sewn back on and everything would be as before?

In the end I didn’t do any of those things. I accepted that the bag broke. After all, I was partially to blame. I’d probably put too much stuff in the bag, causing the fabric to rip prematurely. It probably would have been broken sooner or later anyway, but this way I didn’t have the time to get too attached to the bag. Besides, now that I started to think of it, there were things about the bag that I hadn’t liked. It put a little too much strain on my shoulder, for instance. I’d been willing to ignore that since I liked the bag, but now that it was broken, I realized that this was something that with time could have become a real problem. Better to nip it in the bud than to end up with an injured shoulder.

Should I get a new bag? I thought about that too. Even browsed a few stores. But in the end I’m strangely okay with not having a bag right now. I’m not even sure what sort of bag I’m looking for, so for the moment I feel fine without one.

Instead I found an old tote I can use until I know what it is I really want.

For now, that’s enough. 

On ego

Hey! Hello. This is me. Moi. C'est moi.

I'm speaking to you. You. I wish I knew you. Maybe I do. But when do we really know someone? I'm not even sure I know myself.

I analyse things. It's a professional hazard. Can't help it. "Hey! Hello. This is me. Moi. C'est moi." Why "hey"? Why add an extra "hello"? Why exclamation mark for the first, full stop for the second? And why French? I'm not French.

I analyse myself. Try to see me as others do.

Students.

Colleagues.

Friends.

Family.

Boys/men.

And within these categories, each person individually.

I fail. If we can't know someone - not even ourselves - how can we even fathom the idea of knowing what someone (that we don't know) knows anything about ourselves (that we don't know), or that we can know this something they know (or don't know) about ourselves?

Big question. No answer.

Listen to this song:




Not the lyrics. They're in Swedish, and most you don't speak Swedish. "Most of you." Whether that means most people in the world, or most people potentially reading this blog. Maybe most of you (reading this blog) do speak Swedish. I don't care. Don't listen to the lyrics. Not this time. I don't. I never do. Even if I discovered that I knew these almost by heart. But I don't pay attention to them. It's a standing joke. And also true.

Don't listen to the lyrics, whether you speak Swedish or not. Listen to the trumpet. That quiet, vulnerable, wintery tone. It's spring. Kent is winter/autumn music to me. But the wintery trumpet gives me all-year-appropriate goosebumps, every time. That trumpet says more than the lyrics I'm not listening to anyway.

The guitar is good too. As a complementary - no, as a driving force for the aforementioned trumpet.

The trumpet that says anything. And of course nothing. But at least it makes me think that "nothing" is okay. Some questions don't have answers. Some answers are too complicated for us to understand. Some questions only trigger more questions. Some answers do too. And sometimes that is okay.

I don't know you. You don't know me. I don't know me. We don't know ourselves.

The trumpet. Listen to the trumpet.

It's okay.

On frogs and smartphones and tomato soup and automatic cameras

I'm confused. Why can't you just come out and SAY IT? Whatever it is??

Frogs are cute. Not real frogs. They are - slimy. Or at the very least they look like they are slimy. I'd put that "they look slimy", but that isn't accurate, because that implies that I can actually see some slime. Which I can't. I'm simply assuming it. Not that I've seen that many frogs. And of the ones I've seen, many of them have been so small that their possible sliminess is difficult to determine without touching them. I'm NOT doing that. Eugh. What if they ARE slimy, eh? So yeahno. No touching. No kissing. Kissing a frog - I don't know if the prospect of finding a prince at the other end of the kiss would be enough to initiate one, really. Especially if there is slime involved.

Besides. Princes. Bah. Unless they are able to say things as they are, I'm not that interested.

Smartphones are not very smart. They are tricksy, perhaps. Tricking us into being far more mobile and online and available than we actually want. They make all sorts of information available at the touch of a finger tip. But that's not smart. It's convenient. It's fast. It's fun - at least for a while. But it's not smart. Smart - smart is the invention of the wheel. Or a spork (the spoon-fork hybrid, and not the lesser known water-pig. Long story). Or cleaning windows with vinegar. Now that is smart. A phone that has no keyboard and whose fancy thingamabobs are so time-consuming you don't have any time left in your day to actually do cool stuff? Not smart.

Besides. Phones. And people who use them. Or don't use them. Bah.

Tomato soup is really neat, y'all. It's made of tomatoes. And it's a soup. You can totally eat it. You can totally make it, even. If you use canned and crushed and skinned tomatoes, a grated carrot, some garlic and olive oil, and then a touch of salt and pepper (plus whatever herbs you fancy), it's even quite healthy - as you have complete control of what you put in your mouth. Not a bad idea.

Also not a bad idea - to have control over what you let out of your mouth. Like clear-cut, non-confusing messages. That would be as awesome as automatic cameras.

"Smile!" FLASH!

And yet they somehow always manage to catch you with you eyes closed, or just as you were about to say something, leaving your face all distorted and funny and not in a good way. They leave your face looking as though you were waiting for someone to say something, but then they didn't, and thus it was left hanging in the air, making you both feel a little awkward. And then you end up wondering what in the world they want from you, and then they stick the picture in your passport and there you are. Every single time you enter a new country, you have to look a mixture of confused, annoyed and heartbroken for them to believe it's you.

So maybe, just maybe, you can just say it as it is, instead of talking about frogs or smartphones or tomato soup or automatic cameras, yes? No?

On being ambushed and interrogated by nine-year-olds

GIRL IN PINK: Hello, what are you taking a picture of?

ME: The school.

GIRL IN PINK: Why?

ME: Because this used to be my school. A long time ago.

GIRL IN PURPLE: Why is she taking a picture?

GIRL IN PINK: Because this used to be her school. A long time ago.

ME: Maybe someday this will be your school too?

GIRL IN PINK: Yeah, but in a really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really long time. We're only in the third grade.

GIRL IN PURPLE: Even if I should be in the fourth grade, because I am nine.

GIRL IN PINK: But you're in the third grade.

GIRL IN PURPLE: But I'm nine. Because my mom says so. And she knows better than anyone. There's this girl that says that I'm only seven or six, but I'm not.

GIRL IN PINK: What is she talking about? You're not!

GIRL IN PURPLE: And I'm moving in just five weeks and that's not a long time.

ME: No, that's not...

GIRL IN PINK: What's your name?

ME: It's..

GIRL IN PURPLE: How old are you?

ME: I'm twenty-fi...

GIRL IN PINK: Do you have any kids?

ME: No.

GIRL IN PURPLE: Do you have a mommy?

ME: Yes.

GIRL IN PINK: Are you married?

ME: No.

GIRL IN PURPLE: What's your mommy's name?

GIRL IN PINK: Why don't you have kids?

GIRL IN PURPLE: Do you have a husband?

GIRL IN PINK: She doesn't have a husband.

GIRL IN PURPLE: Oh. Why don't you get married to your boyfriend?

ME: Well, I don't...

GIRL IN PINK: When will you have kids?

ME: I don't know if I'll...

GIRL IN PINK: You must have kids! It's much funner with kids!

ME: Funnier. It's much funnier.... And some people don't want kids or don't want to get married.

GIRL IN PINK: Don't you want to get married?!

ME: I don't know, maybe, someday.

GIRL IN PURPLE: What's your boyfriend's name?

ME: I don't have...

GIRL IN PINK: Do you work?

ME: Not right now, no.

GIRL IN PINK: Good! Because then you can stay at home with the kids, while your husband works!

ME: Now, hang on. It's a good things for mommies to work too, you know. Then you can make your own money, and do something worthwhile and fun with your life.

GIRL IN PURPLE: My teacher works all the time, she is really awesome! She makes trees out of paper.

ME: That's great!

GIRL IN PURPLE: And then we can make them too, because she shows us how.

GIRL IN PINK: But we're done with making those now. So will you think about having kids?

ME: I'll think about it.

GIRL IN PINK: Think hard about it, okay?