A Lens for Privilege

Saturday, November 28, 2015

September 2015

Privilege.

It is autumn again. The leaves are scraping against the ground as the wind moves them along and in Cambridge, Massachusetts, the students are entering into their full rhythm.

Just a year ago that was me--
trying to take it all in.

Except you can never take it all in, not here.
There is too much to take it all in.

I can't help thinking about the privilege it is to be here.

Privilege.
A heavy and problematic subject.

Today though I don't write about the privilege that allows you to enter or the privileges you may have as you leave a prestigious institution like Harvard.

My thoughts are about the privilege of being here--not the before, not the after--though those are important issues to discuss. They are about how that privilege allows you to see the world differently. And how that can enable you to enable others.

Last year I took part in a class in which I was able to hear bits and pieces of life stories of Harvard students from the Kennedy School of Government, the School of Education, the School of Public Health, the School of Design, as well as MIT.

This is what I wrote after that experience:

"I am not here with 'privileged' people in the way that you may think of them. My group of students includes a student of low socioeconomic background who left his trailer home to struggle as a first generation college student, a woman who was stopped multiple times at a ballot box in the United States because she was suspected not a citizen by racial profiling, a black man who had watched his father beat his mother after which he and his mother fled in the middle of the night, and a woman from Palestine who had seen men dragged through the streets of Gaza with blood running off of their bodies. This is not privilege. Yet, their decisions have led them to this 'privileged' institution. And I find it a privilege to be surrounded by these people."

I remember looking around the room at the people who had just shared their experiences. I shared what an honor it was to be with them.  

The decisions they had made that led them to be able to make changes in the world.

The privilege of Harvard is being surrounded by a diverse group of people who have come against challenges and found ways to overcome them. The privilege is in learning their stories and allowing their stories to change your story.

I wish sometimes we could change the way we see privilege. Instead of seeing it as an imbalanced scale, could we rather look at it as a water source that can not only strengthen our growth, but also others' as well.

We talk about avoiding "deficit thinking" when considering the abilities and situations of various groups of people, but don't we have somewhat of a deficit thinking when it comes to privilege? That there is a limited amount to go around, and we've got to make sure everyone has the same amount?

Why do we only look at privilege in terms of something that helps us, instead of recognizing the potential privilege provides to not only help ourselves, but help others?

Instead of trying to even out the playing cards, can we use our playing cards to help others in the game?

What if you, and I, and all of us, looked at the privileges we have as a responsibility? A responsibility to lift others and expand their understanding through our own experiences, as my classmates did to me? A responsibility to help others obtain the advantages that we so greatly have benefited from?

Until we see privilege in this way, there will never be enough to go around.

10 Fingers for Gratitude

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

My roommate describes people who are having a hard time as being on "the struggle bus."

I really, really don't want to be on the struggle bus. Because it's not so much about having a hard time, it's about your attitude toward that hard time. And although I may be on difficult terrain, and it may seem that climbing on the struggle bus would be a ride instead of having to walk...once you get on the struggle bus, it's not at all pleasant and you get pretty seat sore from the ride. I don't want to voluntarily climb on the struggle bus and take it wherever it wants to go. The struggle bus is not where you want to be when you're facing challenges.

Lately I've really been fighting being on the struggle bus. Fighting it. Trying so hard not to get on.

A few weeks ago, I climbed into bed and realized that I was succumbing to the struggle bus. I had just finished my less-than-grateful prayer to God and didn't feel very good about the fact that all I could see were the hard things when I was sure that God was giving me good things along the way.

And I just wasn't going to go to bed like that. So I decided I was going to find 10 things to be grateful for and list them off before I went to bed.

I put my 10 fingers out so that I wouldn't forget one or fall asleep in the process. With each thing I was grateful for, I put down a finger until all ten were down.



And the next night, I did the same thing.
And the next.
And the next.

It is really a beautiful thing to be able to realize that, at the end of the day, there is so much to be grateful for. Small things, big things. Simple things that you recognize when you take a moment.

The struggle bus? Unnecessary when you realize that you can name 10 good things about your life each day. Although some nights it takes me a little more time to put all my fingers down, I haven't failed yet.

There really is so much to be grateful for.

Harvard: I Came, I Ran Around Like Crazy, and (Almost) Conquered

Friday, June 12, 2015

A huge point of this blog was to share about my amazing, once-in-a-lifetime experience as a graduate student at Harvard.

Big fail there.

But maybe now that I am done, searching for employment, and unable to take an expensive vacation...

I will write.

I know, I said that before. But now I've got time! Freedom! Time! Did I mention time!?

This whirlwind graduate program filled just about every minute of every day as I tried to take it all in. And now, like a rollercoaster coming to a dead stop, I feel a little disoriented from the ride.

The funniest thing about it all is this:

See that beautiful Harvard crimson gold-sealed envelope?

The one I got as I walked across the stage, the one I was holding as I shook hands with the dean, and the one that was supposed to have my diploma in it?

Yeah....about that...

I opened it up a couple days after the ceremony and realized...

No diploma.
Everyone else had their diploma though.
I had a mini panic attack. Had I opened it up that day and lost my diploma?
Had someone else taken it and planned to take my identity? (brief thought that actually crossed my mind)

Then I looked again and noticed a paper in the envelope that explained it all.

I kind of forgot to do one leeetle thing.
Some sort of loan exit counseling. I mean, I totally remembered to do it. For one of my loans. Thought I was covered for both of them. And then didn't realize there were actually...two.

Whoops.

So no official diploma yet.

I was kinda bugged. I mean, I remembered to do a hundred billion things leading up to graduation, including all those student experience surveys, class review surveys, arts interests surveys...they just kept going. And finished all my papers, assignments, internship wrap-up assignments, all of it.

But that one thing.

So. I have yet to *officially* have a diploma from Harvard.

It's kind of hilarious--and just sums up my year to a tee. I tried to do everything possible to soak in every experience, to take every opportunity, to jump over every hurdle. And I missed that one thing I was supposed to do.

And you know what? It's okay. Sometimes you miss things. Sometimes you don't a hundred percent conquer every mountain. Sometimes you get to laugh hard at yourself.

And those are the best times of all!

To Run

Monday, April 20, 2015



I had the chance to watch and cheer
the runners today.

As we walked up to the marathon,
The last mile of the race,
The tears started to well up.

I didn’t expect to have such an immediate emotional reaction.
But it came.

The sound of crowds cheering and the sight of runners running
brings me back to a race I ran
where crowds cheered me on

A physical marathon I ran
at a time when I was also running an emotional marathon
I didn’t know I could or would finish.

Seeing those runners reminded me of that moment
and reminded me that we are all in a race.

Life is a marathon we are all running.
Something we prepared for
and now find ourselves in the middle of.

And there I was watching this race—entranced by their putting one step in front of the other
and another and another.

I loved them. I loved them for running. I loved them for training and being there and showing up and just running.

I was reminded that no one’s race is the same.

I watched a man throw his arms up to illicit the cheers of others.
Such confidence and energy.

I watched a shivering woman who, in the last mile, was walking, unable to run anymore.
But though she was shaking, there she was, wrapped in an emergency blanket, with a woman in an army uniform, arm around her, walking with her in this last leg of the race.

And it was just beautiful.
Because, as tired and cold and shaking as she was—she was not alone.

None of the runners were alone. They ran next to others and they were cheered on by others.

Every runner passed through hundreds of people
who were cheering them on.

And I thought about life and how
Often we don’t see those people who are cheering us on.

But I felt and was reminded
that there are those who cheer us on—sometimes seen, but more often unseen.

And our role—

is to run.

No More Grumpy, Please!

Monday, January 12, 2015

I heard him whimpering as he turned the corner. His small four-year-old hand reached up to hold the hand of his caretaker, a 20-something-year-old who was taking two small children to the museum for the day.

He whimpered again several times and then choked out these words:

"I'm grumpy and mean...and I don't wanna be grumpy and mean!"

I thought, I hear you kid.

I swear I had said the same words a few weeks earlier when I was visiting my family for the holidays. After reverting back to my worst self (as people sometimes do when they are around people who know them very well), I had become a little bit mean and a little bit grumpy.

Ok maybe more than a little.

So when I heard this boy practically hyperventilating over his mean grumpiness...
I get it. I understand grumpy.

I also understand not wanting to be grumpy.
And not wanting to be a lot of other things that somehow I slide into at times.

And there, in that gallery, I thought of all the new year's resolutions and goals I had for myself.
And how I wasn't quite there on so many levels.

We, as human beings, want to be better than we are.
But we reach that point where we just feel...less than what we want to be.

And this little boy expressed all that sentiment as he mustered up his cry to the world about his mean grumpiness.

A few seconds after his forlorn cry, his caretaker said these words to him which I strangely felt were for my own sake as well as his:

"Ok, take a deep breath..."

So I did.
And he did too.

Kid, we are gonna make it!

Change

Sunday, January 4, 2015

I love a new year.
I love the idea that things will be different from one year to the next.
They always are in some way.
Sometimes in big ways and sometimes in small ways.

Dark nights turn into brilliantly lit mornings
and long days settle into deep and vibrant sunsets.
Caterpillars become butterflies
and old leaves fall and new buds grow.

Perhaps the most exciting change is what happens inside of us.
People really can and do change.
I've seen it in others and I've felt it in myself.
People change and grow and learn
and live and love
more.

More than ever before if they choose.
Which is really the sum of my new year's resolutions.
To live and love more deeply
than I did this past year.

To keep changing for the better.
To welcome the changes that come.
Because they will and they do.

Here's to change.
and then they flew © . Harlie Ave Design .