Blonde Bangs

Last semester, I took a social action class. It was all about how bring about social change, a how-to-class on mobilizing people and practical steps toward social action. This class was a typical sociology class, but atypical to most other majors. I'll explain. For instance, every class period we would disrupt the accepted and rearrange the classroom so that all of the desks were in an inclusive circle. (Single file rows being leftovers from the Industrial Revolution. We're taught to sit quietly, look to the front, and listen. This kind of obedience makes for good factory workers.) Anyways, our clustered desk circle was our way of refusing to partake of the leftovers. This was the scene of our classroom until winter faded into spring then classes were moved outside. When the weather permitted, our class gathered under a tree in the quad. Dr. Pogue was our teacher, a wonderful teacher. She is one of those 1960s Vietnam War protestors turned college professor. Complete with a petite frame, blonde bangs, and an endearing Alabama accent (trust me, it grows on you). She always had a way of saying things that kept you thinking about it for weeks. One day under the tree in quad, Dr. Pogue began lecturing about developing an emotional vocabulary. She said that the average person has about 19 words to sum up the array of emotions they feel. Under 20 words to identify the various emotions that come from the human experience. This limited 'emotional vocabulary' stunts us from experiencing. This culture thinks in words, unlike some societies that use pictures. If we do not have the vocabulary to articulate what we are feeling, then we push it aside. We don't have the ability to identify our emotions with words, so we push it away. We don't experience it because we can articulate it; we don't experience it because we don't have the words to identify those emotions. This is why we can see the earthquakes in Japan on Channel 10, feel 'bad', flip the channel to Grey's Anatomy, and continue eating our parmesan chicken.

In another class, she said, "Until you know yourself, you don't know anyone else in this room." Until you know yourself, you don't know anyone else in this room--scribbled across my notes. I knew this was something I wanted to remember. This statement followed a story of when she was in graduate school. She was taking a class about helping others. Her first assignment was to write an essay about why she wanted to help people. The following class period, the professor handed all of the papers back and said to do it again because it wasn't true. At least, not the whole truth. Dig deeper. What are the real reasons you want to help people? In her revision, she stated that she is unavoidably curious about humanity. She wants to see the depth of humanity, the dirtiest and hardest parts "so that I am not so bad stacked up against it."
The professor then made them read their essays aloud to the entire class. Turning back to our class in a non-condescending tone she said, "Until you know yourself, you don't know anyone else in this room."