30 things in my 30th year:

1.  I got married
2. I got pregnant 
3.  I studied sociology for 9 months in Istanbul, Turkey
4.  I finished my two-year commitment to the Peace Corps
5. I attempted a marathon in Cheverny, France
6. I travelled to Paris, France and Nis, Serbia.
7. I completed my courses for my bachelor’s degree.
8. I co-wrote a cookbook.
9. I did a bike trip along the northern section of the Black Sea coast of Bulgaria.
10. I moved back to Bulgaria.
11. I had an evil landlord.
12. I fell in love, hard.
13. I saw my parents.
14. I said farewell to a very good friend.
15. Debated becoming a professional academic.
16. Had courses given by two of the most amazing professors in my academic career. 
17. Went through immigration processes.
18. I started growing dreads again.
19. I learned to swim.
20. I learned to ride a bike in a metropolitan environment.
21. I saw a Monet exhibition, and decided that I actually enjoy art.
22. My political ideas began to mature a bit, although I am still unclear exactly where I stand--- most of it is slightly anarchist, and slightly communist.
23. I “saw” the Gezi Park protests.
24. I took many things apart, and put most of them back together.
25. I learned a bit of Turkish, and forgot a lot of Bulgarian.
26. I rode ferry boats.
27. I went skiing.
28. I cut my husband’s hair.
29. Went camping on the black sea coast of Turkey.
30. I ate a surprisingly large amount of sushi for my locations.

TTitD

This year I am having a particularly difficult time with Burning Man. I can't even remember the last time that I went (Wait, yes I can- the last year before I left for Bulgaria- only three years ago?). It is all just a haze of positive memories wrapped up and tucked away in a place that I will probably never have access to. Yet, even though the specifics aren't available (I can't tell you what year which art pieces were there, or who I was dating) I am having an overwhelming nostalgia for the place and the overall experience. The dust. The openness. The cold nights. The hot days. The absolute freedom and safety that I felt there. For the past two years I have felt some desire to go, but the idea of Bulgaria and the peace corps was always a temporary situation- I was able to tell myself that I will go when I return. Now, living permanently in Bulgaria with a kidlet on the way I am starting to realize that even if I somehow make it back to that place, I will never, ever be able to return to that experience. That is not to say that I might not find a greater form of freedom and expression some year as a mother at Burning Man, but I will never be that completely careless, nearly savage girl that I remember being there.

So, that makes it a little difficult this year, reading about the last minute packing, the surprise tickets that people could not afford and did not expect to be gifted, the changes in camps, the scrambling to get art together and out there. I feel a pang for it, and I deeply wish that I could be a part of it. I think that is perhaps what I miss the most- being part of such a strange and vibrant 'community.' Even if it is a stretch to call the people who frequent Burning Man a community, for those ten-fifteen days that is what it felt like. I felt like I had found a place in the world, people who listened to me, and who shared with me. A bit of respect, a role I could fulfill. It truly was one of the few places on this planet that felt like... home. 

Work

For the most part my experience with labor has been varied, but mostly I am the person applying for positions. Occasionally I am the one helping people apply for positions, and a few times I have been on the interviewing side of things. What I have never been: someone who has created jobs. Except maybe I have been. Working at summer camps for so many years where every child (and counselor who is barely beyond childhood) needs to feel productive and included I have definitely had some experience at breaking down tasks in creative ways so that everyone gets to participate. Sure, these weren't long term positions, but maybe the principles are similar. 

I was reading an article last year about the unemployment rate in the US, and the creation of jobs. I believe the article was getting at the idea that we need to not only create jobs but also work to match people to those jobs because the jobs that are being created are left unfilled, and the unemployment rate is not decreasing. This article got me thinking- stewing, like I do- about work, unemployment, and labor. I have never been much of a Marxist, thinking that everything in society boils down to labor practices and the means of production. But in the past year I have definitely began to change, and I am starting to see that the creation of jobs is somewhat... sticky. 

When we read an article about the creation of jobs our first reaction is generally one of satisfaction. Yay! There are jobs. I will have employment!!! But how often do we look deeper into the things that we are doing. How many of the jobs being created are actually meaningful, and how many are just another layer of bureaucracy- an extension of already meaningless, unfulfilling work? How many jobs could we, honestly, do without these days? Yet, these types of jobs continue and even grow because everyone needs a way to make money. Unless we change the very fabric of our society then people will continue to press to work more, and earn more, even if ultimately that work creates very little. 

I see it very similarly to summer camp. I have 24 girls to clean a cafeteria that could be cleaned by 6. At that point I have a few choices:

1. I can send 18 of the girls onto their next activity, and just keep 6 girls behind to work. However, this is not, "fair," and there will be many complaints. This is similar to the way people complain if everyone in society gets the same benefits even though only some of them work. 
2. I can create extra tasks that are meaningless, such as drying the tables (which would air dry perfectly well). This is what America seems to be doing at the moment. Everyone needs a job, even if it is ultimately pointless, or could be done by one person in half the time. 
3. I can find creative ways to divide the tasks, either through shifts, or by breaking up everything into tiny pieces. Even with the efficiency lost through transition this would still be faster than having just 6 girls work and so I should have extra activities prepared to fill that extra time. That right there, is a major problem (along with huge amounts of greed)- people don't know how to fill that extra time if they are not working. Working only four hours a day or only 6 months a year? It isn't a question of not being able to earn enough money (although there is no such thing as "enough" in this age) but more a question of being afraid of free time that prevents this solution. 

Overall I think there is a huge secret: humans like to work. We like to feel needed and to feel like we are contributing something. The easiest way to do this is through labor- paid labor where we put a monetary value on our contribution. But what if we found other ways to contribute- through personal connections and growth in the arts and expression? Would that be enough? Would the four hour workday ever satisfy people? And, would the greed of the people creating jobs, and the consumerism of the workers ever allow for that change?  

Hot Peppers dipped in testosterone

I like spicy food. Nothing super spicy, but definitely food with a bit of kick. I am a big fan of hot peppers, but I like them best when they are baked and pickled in vinegar and garlic to give them a lot of flavor instead of just heat. Similarly I like chipotle peppers, and very flavorful chili that warms my mouth down to my belly. I usually pass up foods that are hot just for the sake of being hot, and things that really burn my lips without any balancing flavors or experiences.

I haven't always liked spicy food. As a child I absolutely hated it. I remember my father tricking me into trying a big bite of spicy chinese mustard at a restaurant in Boston. As a ten year old my knowledge of mustards was limited to French's (or more exactly, some off-brand form of the mild, unassuming sandwich mustard), and so I was expecting something mild, sweet, and tasty. I dipped a too-small chunk of bread into too much of the mustard. I had not expected the harsh, burning flavor of the chinese mustard, and as it filled my nostrils and made my eyes water I drank glass after glass of water, my father finally cluing me into the bread on the table as a good alternative to the water. I also remember many "hot-pot-lucks" that my family attended. They were at our pastor's house, and included the various members of the worship team from our church. Our pastor made pasta fazul, my dad, the guitarist, made his very hot chili, and Jane, the pianist, made volcanic meatballs. The adults sat around the living room turning various shades of red and dripping sweat from their faces. They cried and laughed and snot dripped from their noses. Looking back at it now I should have equated the adrenaline they were seeking in the hot-foods with the high that they sometimes exhibited during church. Apparently god is a spicy experience. I never understood it, but the pastor's wife made us kids a pizza, baked on a stone in her oven, and that made these monthly gatherings okay, if not something to look forward to.

I am not really sure exactly when my attitude towards spicy food started to change. It was probably something as simple as being given hot sauce at taco bell instead of the mild that I usually requested, and realizing that the vinegary substance, when mixed in with shredded lettuce, was not only, "not so bad," but actually something desirable. I was perhaps 17 years old when that happened. After that I found that I could stand light dashes of hot sauce, and hot peppers stuffed with cheese weren't so bad. Over the years I grew to really like hot sauce... many afternoons on Guam were spent at the Korean bbq, sipping a spicy corona (a corona tinted red with tabasco and fizzy with lime), and I had a strong desire for the full-body tingle that came with just the right amount of wasabi tucked into a kappa hosomaki. Eventually that respect grew to a love of spicy food. But I remained a spice snob. Although I began to enjoy the warmth that spice gave I did not like foods that made me sweat or cry. That seemed like a bit too much. I liked to hold the warmth inside of me, like a secret.

One of the things that I really do not enjoy about spicy food is the way that it is associated with masculinity. A lot of men (and some women) I know feel the need to "conquer" spicy foods, or enter into a competition as soon as hot-sauce comes out. In my mind this competition makes the ordeal a lot less about the actual experience that can be achieved through spicy food. There is something beautiful in the pure enjoyment of spice. In some ways it can be nearly spiritual. But when it becomes about being better than others, or gets tied into your masculinity I feel that it becomes cheapened. Last week I was out with a few boys for dinner. A particularly spicy pepper came with my beans and sausage, and I was actually genuinely excited to try it. Since becoming pregnant my sense of taste has become quite sensitive and I haven't tried many spicy foods, but as the morning sickness is finally starting to subside I am ready to take those ventures again. I mentioned that I was a late bloomer in regards to spicy foods, and didn't really like them until I was about 17. I was just making conversation, but one of the boys picked up on the topic, and with a very proud, challenging tone, said that he liked spicy things when he was only 15. He continued to go on talking about various spicy peppers he had recently eaten, which had made him cry and sweat. In that moment the experience became less about the pepper and more of a competition. I felt awkward towards the pepper- like if it happened to be too spicy for me I was loosing a challenge, and yet I couldn't not internalize his competitive concept into myself. I wanted to win and prove myself. Moreover, I wanted to disprove his masculinity in return for stealing my moment of genuine spice-appreciation. I ended up passing on the pepper altogether, letting that young man bathe in his concepts of masculinity. It just wasn't worth it.

But, here's the thing: I do happen to like spicy food. I like how it feels. I like how it releases endorphins and little bonding chemicals. I like it even though I am a female and don't equate it at all with an accomplishment. Spice is an experience, not a measure of my worth. I dislike feeling like I am on a battlefield any time the peppers come out and people measure whether I can stand their "hot, Bulgarian peppers," and I dislike feeling like I am in a pissing contest whenever I happen to enjoy something with a bit of fire around males. I am a non-competitive woman, and I like spicy food. Maybe I have to tuck away into the darkness of solitude to eat it, but there is the truth.