What is it, I wonder, that links us? How is it I can sometimes sit in a room full of people from my birthplace, people sharing a common culture and language and experience, and feel absolutely no spark of kinship? Yet, on another occasion, I can look into the eyes of someone born half a world away and, despite our supposed differences, I see that answering spark of recognition that tells me I have found a kindred spirit.
Spirit, soul, personality – so many words that somehow fail to encompass that moment when you look into another person’s eyes and find an answering light. That involuntary smile that says, “Here. Here is a friend.”
In a time when so many chain emails get forwarded trying to divide the world into them and us, so many stories flash across the media touting one group as bad and another group as good – why do we listen? We’re all people. We all want the same things. Love, friendship, security, survival.
How wonderful to look across a room, meet the eyes of a stranger, and see them smiling back at you.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Labels - Identity or Limitation?
O would some power the giftie gie us to see ourselves as others see us.
(O would some power the gift to give us to see ourselves as others see us.)
Robert Burns “To a Louse” Verse 8
How many people mistake their job position for their identity? Or even their ethnic origin? I had cause to ponder the subject recently with a dear friend. Both of us have lived in countries and cultures other than those of our birth and it made for a fascinating conversation.
The next social event you attend, take a moment and listen to opening conversational gambits. It amazes me how many people manage to work their job titles into introductions, then proceed to discuss only work related issues as if the world contains nothing but their jobs. How often is the first question, “what is your name?” followed by “what do you do?” Must I be pigeonholed? What if I have more than one career path? Must I choose?
At times I amuse myself by varying the answer. I know I’m not alone in this. A friend of mine varies his responses between test pilot, rocket scientist, and computer geek -- all with absolute truth. Yet none of those labels captures more than single facets of the fascinating complexity of the man.
Yet this is not limited to employment history. Some folks feel compelled to announce their ethnic origins. “I’m Persian” or “I’m Puerto Rican” they tell me. I’m glad it’s a source of pride and envy my multi-lingual friends. But unless it has some bearing on the conversation we’re having, why announce what is often self evident? And does it matter? Should it matter?
My interest is the limitations imposed by such labels. Not just by others. But by their very repetition, do those who self-label limit themselves?
What of those who have been more, yet are forced to be less due to bureaucratic rules or inability to transfer credentials? When living abroad, I discovered my hard-won doctorate would not count in the country of my residency. Had I wished to remain, it was expected that I duplicate years of my life to practice the profession that paid the bills at that time.
Nor is the U.S. exempt. It amazes me how often transcripts from foreign institutions are discounted, even as U.S. student rankings fall in global rankings of excellence. Worse yet is the failure to apply common sense to those fleeing wars or persecution, where diplomas and school records are buried in the rubble or unavailable. Does anyone really expect a man starting over in middle life is going to have the time and money to pursue a U.S. degree while finding employment and rebuilding his life? Yet job descriptions continue to target only those privileged few who acquire the credentials currently fashionable for a given position. Call me a rebel, but I’d prefer someone with forty years of experience in a field to a new graduate with a degree in the given subject.
I am so much more than a summary of career path, country of origin or my ancestry. Yes, I am a writer. But I am so much more than that. Should we meet, expect the unexpected. As I do.
(O would some power the gift to give us to see ourselves as others see us.)
Robert Burns “To a Louse” Verse 8
How many people mistake their job position for their identity? Or even their ethnic origin? I had cause to ponder the subject recently with a dear friend. Both of us have lived in countries and cultures other than those of our birth and it made for a fascinating conversation.
The next social event you attend, take a moment and listen to opening conversational gambits. It amazes me how many people manage to work their job titles into introductions, then proceed to discuss only work related issues as if the world contains nothing but their jobs. How often is the first question, “what is your name?” followed by “what do you do?” Must I be pigeonholed? What if I have more than one career path? Must I choose?
At times I amuse myself by varying the answer. I know I’m not alone in this. A friend of mine varies his responses between test pilot, rocket scientist, and computer geek -- all with absolute truth. Yet none of those labels captures more than single facets of the fascinating complexity of the man.
Yet this is not limited to employment history. Some folks feel compelled to announce their ethnic origins. “I’m Persian” or “I’m Puerto Rican” they tell me. I’m glad it’s a source of pride and envy my multi-lingual friends. But unless it has some bearing on the conversation we’re having, why announce what is often self evident? And does it matter? Should it matter?
My interest is the limitations imposed by such labels. Not just by others. But by their very repetition, do those who self-label limit themselves?
What of those who have been more, yet are forced to be less due to bureaucratic rules or inability to transfer credentials? When living abroad, I discovered my hard-won doctorate would not count in the country of my residency. Had I wished to remain, it was expected that I duplicate years of my life to practice the profession that paid the bills at that time.
Nor is the U.S. exempt. It amazes me how often transcripts from foreign institutions are discounted, even as U.S. student rankings fall in global rankings of excellence. Worse yet is the failure to apply common sense to those fleeing wars or persecution, where diplomas and school records are buried in the rubble or unavailable. Does anyone really expect a man starting over in middle life is going to have the time and money to pursue a U.S. degree while finding employment and rebuilding his life? Yet job descriptions continue to target only those privileged few who acquire the credentials currently fashionable for a given position. Call me a rebel, but I’d prefer someone with forty years of experience in a field to a new graduate with a degree in the given subject.
I am so much more than a summary of career path, country of origin or my ancestry. Yes, I am a writer. But I am so much more than that. Should we meet, expect the unexpected. As I do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
