Help

The Beatles put it nicely:

Help! I need somebody,
Help! Not just anybody,
Help! You know I need someone, heeeeeelp.

Simple, to the point.  Easy right? 

In the past month or so I have read two books about help.  One is literally entitled The Help, and tells the story of a young, homely woman who helps black women living in Mississippi, working as hired help for white families in the 1960s, to tell their stories of love and pain.  These black women also help her to find herself and make her dreams of becoming a writer come true.  The title is ambiguous in that it remains unclear which help the author is referring to, either way, help is rendered. 

The second book is called I Know This Much is True and tells the story of twin brothers, one of which is a paranoid schizophrenic who amputates his own hand in a public library to stop the war.  Both need help, equally, it just takes the “normal” brother much longer to let go and accept it.  He’s supposed to be the strong one.

I’ve had this idea of help on my mind a lot lately; I’ve noticed a striking number of inconsistencies.

My English tutoring hours have really filled up this semester compared to last.  Encouraging, except that about 80% of the students who repeatedly visit me are my most advanced students.  Those who most desperately need help don’t ask for it, won’t ask for it.   

I have more students willing to cheat than to ask for help (this is NOT a Colombian phenomenon).

I was offered a raincoat a few days back because I came to work in a fleece North Face and it started to pour just as I had to walk 8 blocks to a bus stop.  I said “no gracias.”  Having trouble admitting that you might not be invincible against the elements Annie?

Why is it so hard, asking for help.  It’s not hard, we just make it so.  Survival of the fittest right?  Don’t we want to survive?  I think there’s some implicit assumption that by asking for help we admit defeat, weakness, inferiority.  That’s not even kind of true, at least I don’t think so.  Just because someone helps you doesn’t mean they carry you, doesn’t mean you can’t, doesn’t make you any less an individual.  Help is helpful, period.  And a little psychology tid-bit, if someone helps you it subconsciously makes that person like you more (to an extent of course).

So how do I convince my students (and professors) that they need my help without crushing their egos, driving them even further away?  Thoughts?  Suggestions?  Now I need your help.  

Stereotype This

It’s Black History Month in case you forgot.   So naturally I have been hosting discussions in my classes about words like prejudice, discrimination, stereotype etc.  In basic levels we just discuss what they mean, advanced levels how they apply to history in the U.S. and Colombia.  The word that urks me the most is stereotype.  It’s a hard word to explain.  It’s also hard to convince people that even though we may say we aren’t racist or exclusive (and we very well may not be), that doesn’t mean that stereotypes don’t still help dictate our daily behavior, thoughts, and judgments.

 

We’re human; we use heuristics and stereotypes to help us make decisions, perceive new circumstances, fill in the gaps.  I don’t see anything per say wrong in that.  The problem is when we demonstrate fixedness in that our early use of a heuristic or stereotype primes the way we see, understand, and predict future circumstances or behavior.  We have a natural tendency to want to be right, and for that reason we notice and remember behavior typical of a stereotype far more frequently and powerfully than anything contradictory.  It happens subconsciously. 

I’ll be the first to admit that stereotypes exist for a reason; they aren’t arbitrary.  The problem is that they are usually extreme, exaggerated.  So I had my Advanced 2 students stereotype themselves.  Make a list of some of their personal information that categorizes them: city of origin, neighborhood, age, activities in which they participate etc.  What stereotypes correspond?  Does that perception match their true self or even their desired self?  In over 90% of students, neither was the case (this was a crap study btws, seeing as n=20).  I stereotyped myself.

From a wealthy suburb à stuck up; naïve about the real world, fixated on money and success

Traveler to “dangerous” places à risk-taker

Like watching and playing sports à butch (excuse the non PC term, just trying to make a point)

Proud member of a sorority à elitist, follower, superficial, girly girl

Likes to study and probably (definitely) cared too much about grades à dork!

Non-religious à no faith, uncaring

Dance team member à sold out ballerina

Domestic fool à poor future husband

The list goes on.  Now obviously there are positive stereotypes that correspond to each of these, and we use those on a daily basis as well.  But looking at that list, is it even possible that I be all those things at once?  I’m far from fixated on money.  Risk-taker?  I can hardly handle betting valueless clay chips in a friendly round of poker.  You get my point.  I guess I just wanted to show my students that even though stereotypes are natural and we shouldn’t beat ourselves up for subconsciously using them every once in awhile, they can still do a lot of damage.  The best thing we can do is be ourselves and overcome our stereotypes, maybe then we’ll learn how not to use them against others. 

Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers

Ever been stranded on the side of a deserted mountain road in Ecuador?  Alone?  Kicked off the bus by a police officer for not having the proper stamp on your passport even though the numb-nut at Border Security said U.S. Citizens only need the immigration form?  Had everyone on the bus look at you like you were some sort of terrorist as they drove off?  Started walking in the direction from which you came hoping to find some sign of civilization before the sun went down?  Had an indigenous family (no teeth) drive you 2.5 hours to the airport because no one else would? 

In case you haven’t already come to this conclusion, I had some issues getting in and out of Ecuador about 3 weeks ago.  Because I was alone there was no time for panicking, crying, even hesitating.  Somehow, I honestly don’t know how, I remained totally calm.  It felt like some sort of a biological reaction.  My body (and mind) just instinctively kicked into 4-wheel drive.  Solve the problem Annie, you have to, and now.

The closest I came to panicking was when I retold the story to a group of friends once I finally got to Quito and to my parents when I got back to Bogotá.  Understandably they weren’t thrilled. 

Stressful things happen to us every day, but I’ve really come to believe that for the most part those things are only as stressful as me make them.  I learned studying psychology that our bodies are built to be able to cope with a tragedy every once in awhile: death in the family, illness, etc.  That’s not to say these events are taken lightly, but that most people eventually learn to move on, the weight eventually alleviated.  What our bodies are not designed to do is put up with a constant grind of stress and anxiety.  It may be smaller, less notably dramatic, but it does not desist, if we don’t let it.

There’s a book by Robert M. Sapolsky called Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers.  It’s rather scientific, but the high level message is that animals (zebras in this case) use stress related hormones to help them survive and cope, whereas humans secrete these same hormones at higher quantities and for extended periods of time, which can significantly damage our health.  The best thing you can do is learn how to not stress yourself out; it’s not worth it anyways, and will probably only inhibit you from solving the problem at hand.

Save your stress for real misfortune, and then let biology kick in.  When it’s over it’s over, just a story to tell, an event to remember, or to forget.  But you have to let yourself let it end.       

Grow Up

More than anything, after a certain age, life expects us to act as grownups.  Make responsible decisions, look after ourselves and others, abide by moral standards, bla bla bla.  My brother recently had a baby and one of my dearest friends from college just got engaged.  They´re growing up!  The importance, rather, necessity of growing up is tantamount to the continued functioning of not only our individual lives, but of society as a whole.  Regardless, I still see a value in moments of immaturity, childishness, letting loose once in awhile.

Carnaval de Negros y Blancos (a carnival in Pasto, Colombia, which I recently attended) is an example of just that.  It’s a typical carnival: parades, concerts, local food and drink.  Now add thousands of aerosol cans of foam (picture shaving cream), thousands of pounds of flour, and paint of all colors.  Upon entering the streets one enters straight up battle mode.  It’s actually ridiculous.  One literally cannot walk to the corner bakery without having flour thrown in your hair, foam sprayed anywhere and everywhere, paint caked on your face, or some bizarre combination of the three.  Your only defense is a good offense (and a pancho). 

My first thought was, this is awesome.  But then I thought, would this fly in the U.S.?  At a Vandy frat party, sure, but in any old city, not so positive.  It didn’t matter your age or your social status; several senior citizens shot me directly in the face.  Everyone participated.  I was thoroughly impressed with the level of immaturity.  I like to think that I take myself and my life pretty seriously, but sometimes you’ve just gotta buy a spray can of foam and squirt it at someone you don’t even know.

To quote my favorite Disney movie, “If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up, not me!” 

You`re Welcome

I`ve had a lot to say thank you for as of late, and I`ve found that (as in English) there are many, diverse ways to respond to a simple "thank you."  Some I like more than others.  You`ve got the nonchalant sort: "no prob," "don`t worry about it," "don`t mention it"; the gleeful kind: "sure," "anytime"; and the formal sort: "my pleasure," "you`re very welcome." 

Words are just words; we attribute meaning to them, so it shouldn`t matter how you say it, but I like the latter sort the best.  This way one aknowledges the favor or service provided, accepts the recipient`s gratitude, and expresses one`s willingness to have served.  Rather than casting it aside de nada (it`s nothing/no prob), one recognizes that it was actually something while almost inviting you to feel free to do so again.  It`s rather nice.

Colombians have hospitality figured out; precisely why I end up saying thank you so much.  Upon arrival in Cali, two travel buddies and I were taken in by a friend`s family, provided a bed, breakfast and sometimes lunch, and a place we were told to call home for five whole days.  Geovanny (the friend) ushered us around by car, by bus, and on foot to all the different events of the feria.  We saw parks, markets, malls, bull fights, live concerts, salsa dancing, you name it.  A family I met in Bogotà also had me picked up one night so we could stroll the streets and enjoy a most delicious homemade pasta dinner.  They even tried to buy me some clothes considering I arrived to the hot coast of Cali with only my Chicago luggage (got locked out of my apartment due to forgetting my keys...oops), but I simply couldn`t accept.  And then today a nice family we`ve never before met held umbrellas over our heads and watched our backs for pocket thieves as we watched a parade in Pasto.  They then made a special clearing for us to cross the street and safely accompanied us to our hotel.  Allllll of this was done out of sheer goodness in their hearts.  Sounds cheesy, but really, I never once asked for help or extra service.  It was just offered.

The most hospitable people in the world however are your parents.  The vast majority of their time is spent in providing favors for their kids and the ones they love.  I happen to know of one new set of parents who I`m sure will do the same for their new son, my nephew:  Thomas William Freyman.  He already has a lot to be thankful for as they graciously welcome him into their world.  And again it`s all done in the name of love and goodness, not expecting anything in return, except, maybe, one day, a "thank you."

3 Weeks, 1 Backpack

Not even a proper backpacker’s backpack, just a standard book bag.

Chillin' with a blowfish (pez globo in Spanish)

I am now in the comfort of my own, warm, Christmas-adorned home, where I will be for the next five days, but I spent the first part of the month getting to know some different cities within Colombia. I went from jungle trekking to scuba diving to historic city meandering. All wonderful.

Traveling is an art. It can be done lavishly or on a shoestring, hastily or lackadaisically, methodically or spontaneously, or some permutation of the aforementioned. No matter how you choose to do it, it opens your eyes to a simplified way of life. Restricted either by airline weight regulations or those of your own carrying capacity, you can only bring so much shit along with you. And you still probably bring more than you need.

Me and some militaries at La Ciudad Perdida (Lost City)

I’ve got more stuff than I’ll ever know what to do with. This particular trip made me appreciate the bare necessities. Uphill hikes through the jungle make insect repellent and a decently-sized water bottle much more important than spare sets of clothing, especially when everything you have will get wet anyways. And you can forget about a brush, hairdryer, straightner, or makeup of any sort. Not at all relevant. Your alarm clock is the sun, a bothersome rooster, or your noisy neighbors, whichever comes first.

Another thing I realized on this trip is that I’ve always liked to have a plan. I still do. There are many benefits to a plan. But sometimes you have to be willing to throw the plan to the wind. Make a new plan. Don’t stick with something just because you’re already mentally, physically, or financially invested in it. In psychology we call this the sunk cost effect. Basically, the impending dissonance involved in accepting that we messed up or had another, better option keeps us stubborn, resistant to change, or blindly hopeful. The funny thing is, children under the age of 2 and monkeys do not demonstrate this principle. So apparently, you have to be pretty smart and “rational” to do something so stupid.

Ready for a night out in Taganga

My mom used to tell me that I would say, “I didn’t even know I wanted this” when I would open a present that I liked yet hadn’t specifically noted on my Santa Wish List. Same goes for life. Not everything can be planned for or predetermined because you don’t always know you want something until it’s in your lap. Don’t wrap it back up just because it’s not part of the plan. Go on, take the money and run. – Steve Miller Band

Gunther

Playing parques with Benjamin

The following post will almost undoubtedly reveal my insanity.  Here goes.

The official trailer for the new movie The Social Network says, “You don’t get to 500 million friends without making a few enemies.”   This thought struck me. 

I’ve always been of the camp that I’m a good person and I am who I am, take it or leave it.  I can’t possibly make everyone happy, and I wasn’t put on this Earth to do so. Of course I like to be liked, but I don’t need everyone to like me.  I’m still of this camp.  I think.  But to an extreme, this mentality is no more than a good excuse to be unkind, unfair, perhaps a little stuck in my ways.  So I started thinking.  Who do I know that’s truly liked by everyone?  And what is this person like?  How can I be more like him/her?     

The first “person” who came to my mind was Gunther.  I’m 23 years old and I still sleep with a teddy bear.  His name is Gunther.



Gunth & Stemp

Gunther is the best listener; he’ll listen for hours on end, to anything really.  As Gunther is a bear, he’s naturally a protector, but he also likes to snuggle.  He’s the ultimate secret-keeper; loyal to a fault.  Gunther is open-minded and accepting of all others.  His best friend is named Stempy.  Stempy has no arms, and wears a silly lace collar and a mismatched, patterned sweater.  But Gunther sees through all that to Stemp’s good heart.   He knows how to forgive.  He’s humble.  Gunther is anything but manipulative.  He likes to party, but is also good for a night in.  Gunther is constant, sound, reliable, steadfast.  He’s not perfect:  his neck is a little long and he’s a tad chubby (gets the munchies sometimes) so he’s not threatening or intimidating.  Gunther is a good sharer.  He’s easygoing, far from high maintenance.  Gunther has a lot of love to give and lets you love him back.

Everyone loves Gunther; he wears easy on you, makes you happy. 

So am I going to fret and worry if not everyone I meet thinks I’m an angel in disguise?  Nope.  But I think I can learn something from Gunther about how to love and be loved.  I don’t need any enemies, just friends.      



In Colombia & At Vandy: warming him up after someone put him in the freezer.