Allergies, Age, and Advice

Well it’s 5 am on a Saturday morning. The winds are howling outside and the sun has just begun to creep over the south Atlantic, casting a shaded hew of yellow and purple light over Rio Vermelho. Considering that I went to bed after a steady pounding of chopp and churrasquinho last night, I’ll be the first to admit that it is way too early to be stirring about.

On Monday I start school and work again. The summer break is ending. All told, my two months of temporal freedom have been fruitful, maybe a bit less productive than I would have liked. It has rained pretty much non stop for the last two months. This isn’t unusual for this time of year; after all I do live in the tropics. But what is abnormal is the steadiness of the rain, like a well built Swiss clock, it pelts against my windows. Its reliability is maddening, and never quite lets up long enough for things to dry. The result of this, aside from keeping me indoors with cabin fever, is mold. Colorful splotches of it, green, yellow, white, little spores determined to creep all over everything. Without the sun, it becomes almost impossible to fight, infiltrating every porous, stationary object with its colonies. The result of all this is the worst allergy season I have experienced in my life. I am constantly sick, like a living human incubator for the common cold. I have sneezing fits, runny nose, and burning itchy eyes that get worse in the evening and when I wake up. It is not uncommon for me to go through whole rolls of toilet paper in an evening, popping allergy pills like a junkie with spare change.

This constant state of mild sickness is adding to another theme of my summer, feeling my age. For the first time in my life I have begun to feel old, like an awkward forty something that hits on young girls at roller world. Time, it would seem, is finally starting to catch up with me, and is making it self known in a number of surprising ways. First is the physical stuff, common things like back pain, smile lines, a tummy that seems to a tad more horizontal. Then, the blissful world of male-pattern baldness, a noticeable difference in the thickness of my hair, which makes me want to grow a mustache and be awkward at parties. Second, I have begun to take note of a strange phenomenon known as “young people”, which have suddenly cropped up like plague of emo zombies in tight pants. Since when was it fashionable to wear stripe colored t-shirts, to slick your hair over your eye, stick in a lip piercing, and wear thick black retro glasses? The weird thing isn’t that this is cool, but that it isn’t my cool, that I am witnessing for the first time a generational gap where the 80s kids are on the out. I must have not been paying attention because I have no idea when or how this happened.

All of this sitting at home feeling sick and old can be quite taxing, and I’m trying my best to do the adult thing by ignoring it by staying busy. I decided that I would organize my thoughts about what I would do for work when I got home. Namely, if I should enter a doctoral program, seek gainful employment in a museum, or just give up on the hopes of a vocation and punch the emo kids in the face for their lunch money. The big question has been, will the investment in a lengthy doctoral program pay off? And after numerous emails to museum directors, anthropologists, and other insiders, the answer seems to be no. The academic market is currently flooded with Ph.D.’s, all fighting for the scraps at the same table. With a down turn in the job market, there are just too few positions available and too many highly competent (and better qualified) people to fill them. This leaves me running in circles, as usual. Do I join the corporate world, sell my soul to industry, find some other niche in which I can somehow be productive?

I have been recently considering working as an anthropology prof at a community college, something most ivory tower academics wouldn’t consider. I kind of like the idea of teaching anthropology full time, mentoring younger students, and working in a small community based teacher centered atmosphere. For this to happen, I would have to return to school for at least another two years to get my subject specialization in my area (i.e. MA in Antho). From my research, community colleges are on the rise, offer comparable salaries to four year institutions, and are good place for moderately academic people who want to teach, instead of publish/perish. Vivi could perhaps teach Portuguese or ESL, we could pull in 80-100k a year, and get the summers off for travel. Hmmm….

All told, the rain continues. The allergies are wiping me out, I’m feeling old, and I’m still on the search for a better job. That said, life is good for the most part, and I feel moderately happy as the summer break winds to a close.

Sunset over the Bay of All Saints:

Homeward Bound

Considering that a plan has been simmering on the stove for a few months now, I suppose that the time is nigh to make it official. Ladies and gentlemen, I am on my way home. The Brazilian adventure, which began in early 2008, is slowly drawing to a close. In the words of Julius Caesar rephrased by our Brooklyn bad boy Jay-Z, “I came, I saw, I conquered” and it’s time to head home.

My purpose in coming here, from the beginning, was to get lost in order to get found. Life was comfortable in the U.S. I had the car, the house, the friends and family, but I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing, like that “little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it”. At night, as I lay staring up at the fake wood paneling lining the ceiling of my apartment, I would dream of building something I could call my own. I couldn’t wholly define what it was, what I needed; a ceremony, an experience, a rite of passage perhaps—some sort of transition that would test me, that would earn me the right to call myself a man.

From my experience, rite of passage ceremonies are essential to self and communal development, are necessary freeze frame moments that celebrate our great milestones, and that mold and motivate us into people we’d like to become. Margaret Mead's Coming of Age in Samoa pointed out that all children, regardless of ethnic milieu, come to a watershed moment, during the teenage years, when they begin looking beyond themselves. In a very real sense, they awaken to the rest of society. While generally I would agree, I think that the official transition from child to adult is something wholly lacking in many post-modern societies, much to the detriment of our youth. How does one step outside of the ego, take on the responsibilities of an adult, when neither the concept of adulthood nor the transition to it is clearly defined.

On the verge of my trip to Brazil I felt these things. I felt that I hadn’t been tested, that I hadn’t battled enough to know who I was. This feeling, while not clearly defined at the time, resided uncomfortably like a knot in my stomach, urging me to do something radical and make a change. I probably could have ignored it any number of ways, by seeing a therapist, landing a difficult job, finding a new girlfriend – but instead I did what scared me the most, I left that all behind and fought my way here.

And a fight it has been. So many things have strained and tested me here, the fight for work, the heat, the roach filled apartments, the battle for Vila Brandão, the language barrier, near-death motorcycle experiences, the robberies, assaults, misery. I am coming out Brazil looking a lot older than when I came in. In just two years, I have begun to show tell-tale signs of stress and aging, namely hair loss, white hair where I still have it, bags under my eyes, and the like. But all told, I feel stronger than ever, and ready to take on the next chapter of my life.

Did I know how long I would stay when I first came down here, not really. I suppose part of me wants to get lost forever. But the other part of me, the adult that looks at things practically, realizes that my chances of a moderately satisfying material life are far from attainable here in Brazil. Well, that’s partly true. I could make do and build a comfortable life, it would just require a lot more time, luck, and effort. The smarter thing is to go back home, find a job that gives me money and time to travel, take advantage of my passport into the “first world”, and visit Brazil when I have developed myself and my finances.

And that is exactly what I plan to do. More accurately, that is exactly what we plan to do (an unexpected change of pronouns I can assure you). As life would have it, I somehow met an extremely selfless, intelligent, and wholesome individual, who has been my companion through some very rough times in the past two years. Our plan (ooh there it is again), is to attain the appropriate visas (lord willing), and to find a niche somewhere back home. We both will be graduating (I with a Masters, she with her bachelors.) in December, and are currently considering a move to D.C. We have some great contacts out there, and are hoping to stumble on some new opportunities. Nothing is yet set in stone, naturally, much could change in the coming year but we are planning on an exit in June of 2011. That will give us time to square away school, work, and hope for the best with our visa.

As for the rest, well, we shall see. I’d like to develop a biographical novel/history/anthropological commentary on my time in Brazil. Something smart but readable, that inspires other people to find their own rite of passage. Aside from making me look a little bit older, Brazil has been good, and I look forward to developing more stories in the year to come.

Random life moments:

Chilling at the Elevador Lacerda

Vivi trying her best to be cute. haha

Look friends, it's the 80's!

On my roof with the fam.

Out to dinner. We are hip. Indeed.

Mr. Leo and his rug rats.

Morena linda.

What!? Mr. Leo!

Wedding party fun.

This, that, and the other

I spent the day today on my own, trudging through the rain in leather sandals. It's ironic, but what happened to me in Michigan is also happening here. Because of the inglorious weather, I feel compelled to hibernate. The rain has pelted my glass window for weeks on end, convincing some primitive section of my brain that I need to move less and eat more. Today, after a solid bout of restlessness and a rather convincing nagging session from my girlfriend, I got my lazy ass off the computer and headed out the door. I am happy that I did.

Instead of fiddling away my hours on inane projects, I toured six of Salvador's best art museums. It was refreshing, to walk alone, to peer sullenly through the dimly lit galleries with my hands folded behind my back. I enjoy the museum world. I have worked in a number of institutions over the last decade. It amazes me that these non-profit centers of public learning survive, that they somehow pay their light bill, feed their employees, and keep their place generally rat free. (yes, amazing considering that at the end of the day I spent an entire three bucks on admission an transport)

When I got home I scoured the fridge for something to eat, thumbing through empty hot sauce bottles and stale bread. With an 11 month countdown until the dreaded 30, I have preempted the possible enlargement of my belly by preparing salad for my weekly dinners. I suppose that part of me is scared at the inevitability of getting old, and that's ok.

I finished my day with this article, one of the best reads I've had all week:

How Facts Backfire