Reflections on Modeling Adulthood

In math there are two different generalized concepts for describing systems, discrete and continuous. Think steps compared to curves, pixels to brush strokes. Lately, I’ve been thinking about careers and adulthood because, like any self-respecting Millennial, I am entitled, badly groomed, can barely hold a job, and am always on the verge of moving in with my parents.

So anecdote time. I was washing my hands in the office bathroom the other day and caught a glance of some stubble on my chin in the mirror from the horrible job I did shaving (See above note on being a millennial). For whatever reason, that reflection of myself in a badly fitting dress shirt and sartorially incorrectly matching slacks and shoes unnerved some deep hidden fear within me. “What if people mistake me for an adult just because I almost look like one? Shouldn’t I be wearing a sign that says Adult-in-Training across my forehead like they do for student drivers?” Thoughts that have been lingering ever since I started working welled up again; self-doubt about whether I really know what I’m doing or if this has all just been a really elaborate sham. There’s a quote from the beginning of one of my favorite movies that perfectly captures these emotions, spoken by a DoJ lawyer:

“At the same time...I always get this clenched-up thing the night before the first day...
I think I'm gonna lose. I think I suck. I think my case sucks. I haven't prepared enough. My exhibits aren't in order. People are gonna figure out that I don't know what I'm doin'. And I've had this charade going for years.”

These feelings come in and out like a tide, and for the most part have started gradually decreasing the more comfortable I get in my role. “Fake it til you make it” the adage goes. But there are still times when it feels like my stomach just drops. When all the faces in a meeting room turn to you expecting a technical answer for a portion of the project you are responsible for. When the inevitable slight missteps happen and you unknowingly happen to trip over some unspoken social rule and have to do damage control.

Don’t get me wrong, I relish the challenge and the opportunities to grow. There is an element of Faith and trust in the idea that challenges are put in front of us to help us grow, and that our identities are not found in our labors, nor our worth in a paycheck. But what interests me is this question about when, if ever, you finally “get it.” When you’re mature enough to earn the title of “adult.” When you finally look in the mirror and what you see aligns with how you feel. I remember reading biographies about famous people when I was younger and being astounded by the sheer number of jobs some of them had before leaving their marks on the world. Jack London was a laborer, factory worker, oyster pirate, sailor, railroad hobo, and gold prospector. Teddy Roosevelt was a soldier, explorer, naturalist, and author before he even entered politics. Einstein was a patent clerk. I wonder if they ever caught a weird reflect in a mirror and had these thoughts run through their heads in any one of those jobs.

So returning to that initial dichotomy. Very often, continuous systems are made up tiny discrete elements. A computer image, or the up and down quarks or whatever current particle physics explanation is now in vogue. My current theory is that life is made up of all those little instances where we are evaluated on this scale of maturity. And amongst these multitudes of moments, a picture emerges of who we are.

Child. Child. Adult. Child. Adult. Adult. Child. Adult.

In the Desert, Life Goes On

I’ll start this with three random facts. First, a movie that came out in high school called the Kingdom that had a really cool opening sequence, Jamie Foxx, Jennifer Garner, and a storyline I’ve since forgetten but had something to do with expats in the KSA. I think there were scenes from a compound community. Next, graduating college and moving my stuff into the storage location for the summer. During the registration process, talking to the owners of the storage building who used to work for Aramco, and sharing where I’d be working myself. Finally, a random MFAH exhibit on early Arabian culture I dragged everyone to involving exhibit upon exhibit of incense burners. These three facts amounted to the whole of what I had thought about the Arabian Peninsula prior to this summer.

Fast forward.

I wake up to find my head resting on the back window of an SUV. My head is groggy, my stomach full, my liver drenched. My ears tune into and out of a Black Eyed Peas song as my eyes focus in on the trees casting their shadows about on walled sidewalks in the cool fall breeze. Headlights of cars whizzing by in the other direction as they come off a turnaround are the first clues that I’m not where you’d think I am, but the Arabic names on the restaurants in the upcoming strip mall all but confirm that. The other passengers in the SUV, all in various states of consciousness, I recognize as project team members, but dressed in formal outfits I hardly recognize. Then I recall the food and drinks at the wedding reception of two fellow teammates, grunt in some form of self-acknowledgement, and finally assured that our boss is firmly at the wheel, fall back again to sleep.

When you rotate, there are two fundamental ways to treat the parallel threads that now weave through the tapestry of life: you can try and sandbox your on- and off- rotation experiences like alternating patterns in a fabric. This is comfortable and easier to do short term; initially the idea was to treat life abroad as temporary, and not get too attached to anything or anyone. That concept became less and less practical with each new immigration stamp in my passport, and before you know it, you become interdimensional, stuck between two times and places, juggling two realities but perhaps never being fully engaged in one.

The other way, I guess, is to try and intertwine the two threads, acknowledging the inherent complexities of being in two different places isolated from one another. I’ll admit that I’m still figuring out how to do this, but for a couple reasons, this is coming to a head now that my rotations look like they will be finishing up soon. I initially avoided this because it takes enough effort trying to juggle workloads from two places, let alone personal lives; but I also thought it’d become annoying to preface everything with a contextual “…well back in doha, which is the town we go to, when I was with my friend/coworker who you might remember…” Maybe I’m not a good storyteller, but maybe there’s something to be said for keeping work and life separate.

But then you find yourself in a wedding in a foreign land where the only people who fill the pews in the chapel are the same people down the hall at work, who might also be your literal neighbors at the compound. Weekends in Doha become fun, weekdays at camp familiar. You find yourself doing things you thought you wouldn’t do: developing a routine, making friends, getting attached. I can hate all I want on the oppressive heat/systems here, but it will be hard, at the end of the day, to turn my back and hate on my time here. And moving forward, these faces and experiences will be the thoughts that dance through my head when I think of the middle east.

Thanksgiving and Ceremony

It is getting close to the holiday season and the onset of colder weather has prompted chit chat back in the office about Thanksgiving Day plans. Inevitably, older colleagues talk about visiting nearby family or in-laws, or having their adult kids fly back with grandchildren; but for me Thanksgiving has long since been more synonymous with friends. In the years since moving to Houston, I've found myself driving back against the clock in a Zipcar from a badly timed Thanksgiving hot pot dinner, trying to fry oreos and potatoes with buddies in our college dorm kitchen, and stuffing myself full on the culinary mishmash of an Asian American styled pot-luck... especially last year's hectic but fulfilling event at Wain. I remember Alvin making a ton of dishes inspired by the Gordon Ramsey shows he and Erica watched, despite having an imminent test and a slight cold, as well as the fun of having old friends driving in from cities, even states away. This precedence makes it more difficult for me in realizing that this will be the first time in six years that I will be spending Thanksgiving outside of Houston and all that it has come to represent. Because of the crazy way life works, I think that may be true for a couple of us. While this may sound like unceremonious complaining (especially for a purely American-manufactured holiday that is bookended by days of exorbitant consumerism), bear with me, I have a point.

I see your mosque and raise you a slightly bigger one.

In fact, travelling and visiting different cultures has made me realize that we take for granted that lot of society rests on ceremony. In everything from why people build elaborate churches and mosques (see: Istanbul's 'mine-is-bigger-than-yours' history) to government mandated protocols (see: cat-tower's nonsensical conservatism), half of human effort seems exerted on creating and maintaining traditions. But stripped of them, life loses its waypoints and becomes disorienting and overwhelming, as I've sometimes found myself when in-between cultures. Graduating school is another powerful example where absent mile markers like semesters or chapters, we grasp for ways to rationalize the seemingly endless expanse of time between now and, ostensibly, retirement. I recently found myself in a conversation where we were trying to find college analogues to the workplace riffing off the fact that the new 'campus' is called just that. (A depressing comment: "You've been here less than five years, you'd still be a first semester freshmen.") Projects are one way of doing this. Birthdays, homecomings, and anniversaries are other ways that arguably bring more joy.

This is all a long way of saying happy birthday Chit Chat, and an apology for missing some of your guys' this year. But know that even if I'm half a world away and eating in a camp in the middle of a desert, I'll raise a glass (of water?) for any reason ya'll give me. Because we if we don't stand on ceremony, what else is there?

Happy Anniversary Chit Chat!

We recently celebrated Chit Chat's first anniversary!

Even though many of us aren't in Houston anymore, boredom from work constantly brings us back together to reunite on Chit Chat. In honor of the anniversary, let's start a blog form of Chit Chat! We can post about our travels here, thoughts on our lives, or random topics we want to share. The possibilities are endless.

Here is to many more years of Chit Chat!