My Worlds

In my younger years I liked to categorize the different arenas of my life as different "worlds" because of the enormous gap between them.

The best example then was the jump from the annual visit to Miami relatives back to the chilly climes of Chicago and my school friends.  One day I was basking in heat, sunshine, and sand.  A day or two later, I needed to don a heavy coat and snow boots for any trip outdoors.

And oh, the contrast in the people!  My Spanish-speaking family really seemed worlds away from my Midwestern friends.  And the gap felt truly un-bridgeable since these people were so unlikely to ever meet.  My context changed entirely and I changed with it, and there was little I could do to communicate my school life to my Cuban grandma or describe the scents of Cuban arroz con pollo and the sounds of the beach to my friends stuck in the harsh Chicago winter.

The years have brought many of these different "worlds," isolated pockets of my life where I am one person for some people and totally different for others.  I often experienced this at my job in Chicago last year.  At the consulting firm where I worked, I was stiff and formal.  Totally professional, I was often quiet or aloof with my co-workers.  I did not enjoy the work I was doing, by and large, and so I checked out socially and made myself very difficult to know.  My behavior was reinforced when I realized that a semi-haughty bearing commanded the respect of my (mostly male) co-workers more than chumminess would have.  So that was that.

But in the evenings and on weekends, I'd slip easily into my typically loud, funny self - frequenting bars and making outrageous friendships with the goofy ease that typifies one side of my personality.

And that's another thing - I have known people, and not just at that Chicago firm, who described me as "quiet" or "introverted".  And I know others who think I am one of the most wacky, loud, sassy people they have ever encountered.

Of course this entire separation of social spheres is an uncomfortable product of modernity.  The sad separation of meaningful work from home life, and the mobility that sunders people from their earlier friendships or social groups, all contribute to the ease with which we can slip in and out of personalities.  It is a test and a trial to maintain a unified sense of self in the face of such disparate circumstances.

For me, this weekend really brought that home.  On Saturday evening I was fortunate enough to drive down to a beautiful hotel where I ate a nice dinner and then chatted the evening away with a group of polished, highly articulate young adults.  They were almost all people who I already knew through my work at the Collegiate Network, and it was gratifying to see their excitement at my surprise arrival.  One student declared, "This was all we needed to make the weekend better!"

As for me, I was dolled up in heels, a pretty dress, and styled hair.  These students think of me as a person of relative importance (which in their lives I suppose I am to some degree, since I help control the funds distributed annually to their newspapers, I help select them for internships, etc.).  At any rate, when I go to conferences like this one I feel like a big fish and a person of some importance.  So much for humility.

Well, right before driving down, and again on Sunday afternoon after I drove home that morning, I babysat an 18-month-old girl.  I spent 8 hours babysitting her this weekend - 3 on Saturday and 5 on Sunday.  At her home, I am not a person of any importance.  I change her poopy (cloth) diapers when they stink to high heaven.  I try to cajole her into eating pureed vegetables or fruit juice.  I walk her around and around the block, pointing out the geese overhead and singing "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" repeatedly. Out loud.  In public. 

Today, the grandmother and uncle of my little charge dropped by to visit her briefly.  I had never met them before, and I was clearly a person of very little significance to them.  The uncle, a young man around my own age, noticed my Notre Dame sweatshirt.  "Oh, have you ever been to Indiana?" he asked me.  "I went to Notre Dame," I responded.  This was clearly surprising to him and his mother, nice people who saw me as "the help" and not in their own class.  Oh, what a change from my high heels and fancy meals of the evening before!

The grandmother chatted with me a little bit, politely but with a condescending air which suggested that she saw herself as quite "open-minded" and "egalitarian" for asking me what my name was, again?  The uncle ignored me as if I was part of the furniture.  I admit that my dignity smarted a bit at their perceived superiority to me, and yet I am grateful for the regular crash course in humility that babysitting provides.  It can't always be fine dining and glamour - sometimes, it's a toddler trying to hit you in the face because she is tired, cranky, and yet does not want your help putting on her shoes.

At least the toddler's mom is warming up to the notion that I, too, might be a thinking human being.  She works on her thesis while I babysit her daughter, and on Saturday I asked her about her thesis topic.  After she explained it to me in very simple terms (for my layman's benefit, I assume), I gave her some tips about research similar to hers.  She was quite excited and later told me that she is incorporating my advice into her research.  I guess it's nice to know that the babysitter is educated too.