In-between Daze

On Friday, Oz YA expert extraordinaire Emily Gale delivered a choice tweet on the nature of YA literature:

Ultimately YA is doing what it should: merges into Children's at one end and into Adult at the other, with all kinds of amazing in between.

— EmilyGale (@EmilyGale) April 1, 2016

It's a quote that's stuck with me the last couple of days - the all kinds of amazing in between. However, whilst I have plenty of fond memories of being a teenager, it was also relatively ordinary. I never had any of the wonderful romances, or life-affirming epiphanies, that we so-often get in Young Adult literature. My teenage years were a haze of awkward confusion, buried in school work and musical projects whilst desperately trying to connect with (or at least make sense of) the outside world through Bulletin Board Systems (long before the internet was a thing). But I knew that this was a transitory phase - the necessary hoops that I needed to jump through until I moved into the world of Being an Adult.

The pieces didn't really start to connect until I was at university. I started making connections, whether they were the bookish / gamer types in the student lounge, the chain-smoking philosophy student clique on the student bar balcony, the theatre crowd in rehearsals, or the intervarsity choral community. This *was* all kinds of amazing... but still a transitory phase - one that I took a while to move on from. I made many many awesome friends, but one-by-one, they all moved on into the world of Being an Adult.

And so did I... or at least, I thought I did. I learned that an Undergraduate Degree alone would only get you so far in life, and so I started working on my Masters in Librarianship. I got an entry-level library officer job, and started getting the hang of the industry. I bought furniture, a fridge, and rented my own apartment. But as much as I'd like to think I had finally passed the threshold into Being an Adult, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still somewhere In-between, and that I wouldn't be there, until I finished my professional qualification, and established myself as a Real Professional.

And so, I graduated - again - and got myself a Real Professional job. Except that I had to move to the other side of Australia for it. Being a New Graduate professional - a status that apparently lasts for ten years (I have six months left!) - I spent the next 3-4 years learning the fundamentals of professional practice across academic, public, research, parliamentary and high school libraries. Again, another transitional phase of my life, where I was solidly focused on trying to work out exactly where I fit into my professional sector. I figured that, once I'd worked that out, I could land my dream job, and I'd be set for the rest of my career.

And although I mostly figured out exactly where my areas of specialty were, the right job never came along. I was desperately unsatisfied with much of my work, and so when the opportunity arose to accompany my then-girlfriend to Japan for a year, I figured that it would be a great chance to clear my head. And it really was. As a 32 year-old who had hardly travelled overseas, my horizons opened up - both literally and figuratively. I saw a whole new world waiting to be explored and it was definitely all kinds of amazing. My career and Being an Adult could definitely wait!

And then, sometime after returning to Australia in 2012, writing a cabaret/comedy show about the End of the World, which I performed in Melbourne, Sydney and Adelaide, and going on a month-long swing-dancing trip around South-East Asia, I found myself working on Library / Information Management assignments in the International Development sector.

I don't know if it's possible to feel any more transient or in-between as I do, living the ex-pat life. We're all foreigners, we're all temporary, and more often than not, I question whether I really should be imposing my own professional values and standards, regardless of whether they are welcomed or not. I certainly don't belong here. And yes, it's still all kinds of amazing. But I'm still in-between.

I think of all the things that one associates with succeeding at Being an Adult: being independent, professionally accomplished and fulfilled, financially secure, being settled in one's community, owning one's own property, having a family - or at least a lifelong partner, and just generally knowing who you are, where you belong, and what you should be doing with your life.

To be honest, I'm not there yet, and it does worry me. I'm turning 38 this year, and I still don't feel like I've properly grown up. Maybe that's part of the reason that I still love YA fiction - in a strange way, it's still relevant to my life. Maybe I just fail at Being an Adult. Or maybe it's all overrated, and I should just embrace the all kinds of amazing in-between as being a life-long state of transience.

Libraries - because books.

So, today the ALIA NGAC hosted its semi-regular twitter discussion, using the aptly-name hashtag #AusLibChat. I find that these online discussions are a great way of checking back in with the Australian library industry, and seeing what the major issues are.

One particular conversation thread caught my attention, was sparked by the question:

I'm curious - how many of us chose LIS "because books"? I've seen a few say that. Even if it's much more that makes them stay. #auslibchat

— Steven Chang (@StevenPChang) March 1, 2016

 The discussion moderator responded with:

@StevenPChang Great question! I've heard library school educators say "if you came for the books, you're in the wrong place" #auslibchat

— ALIA NGAC (@aliangac) March 1, 2016

And thus ensued the predictable, "Libraries aren't about books anymore - they're about technology, community, sharing, creating, etc..." discourse that we're all familiar with in this day and age.

It's something that I've seen happen more and more - a trend amongst librarians to actively distance themselves from the association with books and literature, and fight the familiar brand of the library as being a place for books and reading.

Now, of course, I should mention that there are many many librarians and information professionals in the industry who do not work with books. I myself do not work with books in my current employment, and it's been a valuable exercise in understanding and serving the information needs of a large organisation. It's certainly professional work, and a core part of the industry in this day and age.

However...

I would argue that if your main reason for becoming a librarian is "because books", then it's still definitely possible to have an professional and enriching career as a librarian. There are still plenty of libraries out there where books and reader development is still their primary bread and butter. There is also sufficient evidence to indicate that many people are still reading regularly and widely, and that libraries play an essential role in facilitating this in the community.

And guess what? It's the librarians in this libraries that are connecting people with books and each other. They find the right book for the right person that will stimulate and engage them, and then develop community programs through which readers can share their experiences of reading with others. Yes, they also utilise skills with technology, because that's an integral part of society. But technology is a means to an end, and it doesn't matter whether it's an e-book, digital audio book, multimedia storytelling, or a good old fashioned dead tree paper book. Call it what you like, but it essentially boils down to the same thing.

Librarians do it damn well! We should own it and stand proud. Or not - be a different kind of librarian - but certainly don't deny the professional contribution that the "because books" librarians have to offer to the world.

Wishing for success...

A year ago, I was living in Hanoi, not far from the Temple of Literature. Around the Lunar New Year, people visit this almost-millennium-old site, to have their wishes painted in the temple by calligraphy artists in traditional characters. These characters might symbolise love, luck, health, wealth, or even excellent results for final exams.

This was mine.

What did I wish for? Success. Whether it was out of entitled arrogance, frustration, desperation or just because that's what we're conditioned to strive for, this was my wish.

A year has since passed, and as we welcome in the Year of the Monkey, I look back on the last year, with my wish hanging on the wall, and I wonder... what brings success? Is it purely hard work? Is it the right attitude? A willingness to say yes to opportunities? Resilience to stick it out and do "the hard yards"? Is it the wisdom to work smarter, not harder? Or does it come to pure luck?

I believe that luck plays a huge part in success. Many people are successful due to factors beyond their control - being born in a prosperous country, to a supportive family, with a strong education, affording certain privileges, and so on. And there are social influences - the people who we meet and connect with through our lives - who either support or discourage us on our paths.

Over the past few months, I've been mildly obsessed with Manuel Lin-Miranda's work of lyrical genius, Hamilton - a contemporary musical retelling of one of the US's lesser-known founding fathers. The two central characters, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, are both ambitious for success and greatness. But whilst Hamilton is cavalier, hot-headed, and exhibits no restraint, determined not to blow his shot, Burr is sensible, pragmatic and willing to wait for it.

Ultimately, Hamilton comes to an early demise, whilst Burr lives a long life but is largely forgotten - except as the villain of this history.

It's a simple dichotomy, but it's one that I've always felt torn between - whether to take a chance, and leap forward at every opportunity, despite the risk, or to stay put, and hope to have my loyalty rewarded by having been around the longest, sticking it out through thick and thin. Either approach has its merits and risks. Sometimes you happen to be at the right place at the right time, and sometimes your hard work pays off. Usually it's a combination of both.

So, a year later, did I get my wish? I don't feel like I'm failing, so perhaps this past year has set me on the path to success. Or perhaps it's just helped provide me with the wisdom to stop wishing for such things, and just be mindful of what is in front of me, and the choices I have. After all, I am the one thing in life I can control.

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

From the day that I first arrived in Vietnam as a development worker, I was regularly asked the same questions. Firstly, “Do you have a family back in Australia?” then, “Do you have a wife?”. When I’d reply in the negative for both, they’d ask, “Well, do you have a girlfriend?” and I’d shake my head, and they’d give me that pitying look - like it was the saddest thing in the world.

Truth be told, the day that I left Australia for Vietnam, I’d been on the receiving end of a “surprise breakup”, so every time I responded to this question it felt like another turn of the knife in a broken heart. However, for my female friends in the development sector, it was all the more tragic in the eyes of some locals - the sad tale of the “christmas cake” who was no longer desirable after the 25th.

Of course, this was simply a cultural difference, and for most 25+ year-olds from Australia, being single and working abroad is no big deal. There’s always time to meet a partner and settle back at home later on, and who really needs to start a family before they’re 35, really? But for now, we’re at the prime of our lives, emerging in our professional careers, and taking the opportunity to work at strange and exciting places around the world, right?

But the longer I’ve been working overseas in the development sector, the more I’ve started to notice patterns. New arrivals who had recently gone through breakups. Couples in long-distance relationships - many which didn’t last, and those that made it, did so only by the skin of their teeth and not without their share of emotional angst. And of the older expats, many are either divorcees, or seemingly permanently single - having, by their own admission, decided that they’d worked too hard on their career for too many years to jeopardise it all for a relationship or family.

That said, there are certainly success stories - the couples who managed to figure out a way to find work for both people in the same location, or where one person has put their career on hold for the other as a supportive partner. But they’re certainly in the minority.

Here’s the thing. I tell myself I’m here for the work, not romance. In terms of dating locals, I’m already hyper-aware of my ex-pat privilege, and wouldn’t be comfortable in a hugely unbalanced power relationship, let alone cultural differences and associated expectations. I mean, I’m already weird enough by Western standards, with my eccentric habits like singing, swing dancing, and reading. On the other hand, the ex-pat bubble is a small world, and most people there are on their own career path which would diverge from mine sooner than later. Given my own emotional baggage in this department, it’s not really a viable option. If I were ten years younger, it would probably be a different story, but at my age I know what I want, and what I don't want, and it limits my options.

And so, with the new year being a time for reflection on the past and future, I wonder if there’s any reasonable expectation to fill this gap in my life in the development sector. I believe it’s unhealthy to go too long without any intimacy and genuine human connection, and I feel like the decision to come into this line of work, with all its amazing opportunities, has also deprived me of some of the most important aspects of being alive. And at the same time I feel like it would be the lamest of reasons to leave and move back to Australia.

For now, I remain optimistic that I can have it all. I’m loving the opportunities to do new things and see new places. But when I look around, I also see my fair share of lonely people who chose this life, and now they’re seemingly stuck with it. I do not want to end up there.

Incidentally - the earworm that I’ve been stuck with all evening…

My shadow’s the only one who walks beside me.
My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating.
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me.
’Til then, I walk alone.

It seems apt.

The importance of feeling settled.

One of the most challenging parts of working abroad is trying to find reconciliation between the transitory nature of the work, and yet feeling connected and committed to it.

This is certainly the case working in development, where I've always known that I'm only there for a temporary period of time, and yet to be truly effective in my work, I've needed to find ways to engage with the organisation and with the wider community to understand their perspective and overcome cultural barriers. Which is not going to happen if I've only spent six months in the country, and already have one foot halfway out the door.

Of course, some would argue that, as outsiders, we certainly shouldn't get too comfortable. Ultimately, we're merely guests in another country, and shouldn't outstay our welcome.

At the same time, living a life of being constantly in transit can have its toll. The settled I feel in one place, the more anxious I am to keep moving. I love travelling, and taking in new experiences, but there can be a fine line between being free-spirited and being permanently adrift. I don't know if it's a matter of perspective or merely semantics, but it's there.

In preparation for heading overseas on assignment, I was advised to use the first few months after arrival to focus on "settling in". I believe that this is vital, both in terms of establishing good work practices and relations, but also maintaining my mental health. So, I've collated a number of personal considerations to remain mindful of when trying to feel more settled in a new place.

1. Don't try to change things all at once. Some excellent advice that I received early on in my career is that, when starting a new role, maintain the status quo for the first few months. Ask questions, make observations, but don't change anything - no matter how dysfunctional things may seem. This may fly in the face of my personal and professional intuition - not to mention a boss who expects me to change things straight away - but the reality is that things are the way they are for a reason. You can't fix things until you truly understand the reason that they are broken - and sometimes things aren't as broken as they seem. Trying to do otherwise straight away is a surefire way to burn out too quickly, resulting in disillusionment and motivation to fly out on the next plane.

2. Establish routines. Whether it's going to the gym on the same three evenings of the week, waking up at 6:50am sharp every morning, taking on weekly dance classes or watching The Walking Dead every Monday night, personal routines help me fall into a pattern that starts to normalise my experience of living abroad. I know how the next week is going to ensue, and I have a plan for getting through it.

3. Create my own space. Living in a new flat can feel a lot like living in a hotel. When I moved to Hanoi, one of the first things I purchased for my room was a rug. It really tied the room together. In my current apartment, I completely rearranged the furniture into a way that I felt most comfortable with. I bought art paper and crayons and made motivational posters to stick up around the room (and also remind me of personal schedules, as above). I stuck up various ephemerah - flyers, postcards, ticket stubs - from my experiences. It's important to be able to come back to a place that is distinctly my own home.

4. Establish social circles. This is one of the most essential parts of feeling settled in any context, whether abroad or at home, but it's perhaps one of the most difficult. I don't know if I'm becoming more misanthropic in my old age, or just more introverted, but I find it increasingly difficult to connect with strangers and make new friends. I think that it's perhaps that, in my younger years, I used to force myself to be regular friends with people I didn't necessarily like that much, and now I'm less inclined to spend my time with people who I'm not on the same wavelength with. However, living abroad, I find that the pool of socially-compatible people becomes minuscule, and I feel like it doesn't make much difference if I'm out with people, or at home with a book - I still often feel socially isolated and alone.

The other aspect of social life that makes a huge difference is the transitory nature of the people I encounter, both at work and socially. Most of the friends that I made in the first couple of months here have already left, and it's hit me hard not long ago, where I'd just stopped trying to meet new people unless I know that they're going to stick around. More recently, I've started to try to pull myself out of that funk, and actively make more new friends - reminding myself that even if they leave, there will still be opportunities to stay in touch if we really connect as friends. But ultimately, I need to be part of a stable social circle that I can feel connected and secure in.

5. Personal relationships. I've always felt more grounded in a place when I've had a partner. With a partner, I've had more of a responsibility to have conviction in my future plans, because they involve another person. And, of course, these overseas experiences can feel more satisfying when I have somebody special to share them with. Whereas being single, I have an infinite number of future timelines ahead of me, and as liberating as that can be, it is also unsettling. In the past, the potential for a stable relationship has meant saying no to opportunities overseas, and on the flip-side, a breakup - or just the seemingly complete absence of potential partners - has made me more inclined to run off and make a fresh start elsewhere. I know that this shouldn't be a deciding factor when it comes to one's personal and professional life, but it's impossible to avoid.

6. Appreciate the local things. This much is obvious - the more I get to know the local culture and places, the more settled I'm going to feel. And as tempting as it is to fly off to Vienna or Berlin or Istanbul every other month, I also make an effort to explore places in Kosovo, Albania and (the FYRO) Macedonia. It makes for a more authentic experience of living in the Balkans, and it's also less expensive. The rest of Europe will still be there in the future.

7. Focusing on the now, and not the next. Another common piece of advice is to know the next 2-3 jobs in my career path, and how I'm going to get there. Whilst this is definitely important, it's also important for me to remember that I'm currently in a job right now. I need to care about the work, respect the process, and support my employer and the community it serves to the best of my ability. Of course, my performance and achievements in my current role is what's going to lead to the next job, but it's not healthy to focus on the next thing until the opportunity actually presents itself. On the other hand, knowing where I want to move to next means that I need to focus on achieving results that facilitate that move. If my organisation shifts its focus - or the nature of my role - and the consequence is that I can no longer achieve or perform tasks on my career path, then it's time to seek out new opportunities.

Of course, all of these are easily said - or typed out into an orderly list - but life isn't as easy to plan out. Maybe feeling settled and secure is overrated, and the best thing I can do is to let go of trying to orchestrate my life, and rather experience life as it comes, be open to new things, and make decisions as they are presented to me. Ultimately, those decisions are the only thing I truly have any control over.

Living overseas changes a person...

This much is self-evident when you consider the ways that experiencing the culture, society and workplace of another country expand's one's perspective on the world. Having lived and worked in four very different countries outside Australia over the past five years, my attitudes towards my life and work have substantially changed.

However, in this case, I'm talking about the physical impact that moving to a new country has had on me - as these are aspects that we so often overlook, but can so often have a huge impact on our physical and emotional wellbeing.

Food - For me, food is an integral part of travelling and experiencing other cultures. However, moving countries can also mean a huge change in diet, which the body can take time to adjust to. When I moved to Papua New Guinea, there were weeks during which my diet consisted mostly of dry biscuits, tinned beans and fresh fruit (which varied, depending on the season). It was depressing, and I certainly lost my appetite for a while. On the flip-side, living in Viet Nam was foodie heaven, and like many expats who move there, I certainly put on a couple of kilos. And whilst there were plenty of leafy greens in the food, there was also a lot of sugar and fatty meat involved. Now that I'm living in the Balkans, I have to confess that I'm much less inspired, and most food options around here involve bread, pastry, processed meat and cheese. Fortunately, there's a fantastic greengrocer just up the road from my house, but the other reality is that cooking at home generally costs 2-3 times as much as eating out. And it can be tempting to lapse into a regular diet of burek, pizza or kebabs - but it's not exactly a healthy option, which leads me to...

Exercise - I've come to realise how much I've taken for granted having an active lifestyle. Back in Melbourne, two of my favourite things were swing dancing and riding my bike - both of which I'd be doing most evenings in the week. And whilst I could always work more on my fitness, it's been enough to keep me active enough to not feel like a completely unhealthy blob of a person. Unfortunately, I have yet to live in another place that has had a regular swing dance scene, and whilst I'd love to get a bicycle and zoom around the city streets like I did in Melbourne and Hanoi, I fear that in doing so, I may meet an unfortunate sticky end. The roads here aren't great, and the traffic is generally unaccommodating of non-automobile commuters on the road. After a few months, it's become apparent that I need to start doing that thing that I really, really dislike - going to the gym. On the plus side, it's given me an opportunity to reacquaint myself with my old favourite podcasts, and discover some new ones.

Alcohol - The expat life can be a somewhat alcoholic one - certainly compared to being back in Melbourne where I'd maybe have a couple of drinks on the weekend. Maybe it's the stress of dealing with cultural challenges, or just the lifestyle that goes with forcing oneself to go out and socialise with others, despite wanting to stay home and be a hermit with a book in a nest of pillows and quilts. But inevitably, there's alcohol involved. It can also help make the experience of mingling with people that I don't have much in common with more bearable. I certainly don't have a drinking problem, but whilst it's still possibly mostly taboo to talk about, I think it's fair to say that it can be a slippery slope to alcoholism if the overseas living experience isn't exactly going to play.

Cigarettes - Again, coming from Australia, it's generally accepted that smoking is bad, and will inevitably lead to lung cancer, so you shouldn't do it, nor should you smoke around others, especially not indoors. And yet, overseas, they are so cheap and plentiful. I've never worked in a place with so many smokers as I have now, nor have I walked out of so many restaurants where it was impossible to escape the smoke.

Coffee - Melbourne is very much a coffee city, and over my many years there I have to confess to having become something of a coffee snob. I've also gone through varying levels of caffeine addiction. Living in PNG and Vietnam, I have been lucky to have been able to access quality coffee from local producers. Strangely enough, Kosovo also has excellent coffee, at a quarter of the price, and for the first few months I'd be drinking 3-4 coffees a day. However, I've now reduced my caffeine intake to an espresso in the morning before work, and then switch to tea for the rest of the day.  I dread the day that I move to a place where the best available option is Nescafe, but maybe one day I'll have to face the option of going caffeine-free.

Sleep - I had the worst insomnia when I first arrived here in Kosovo. Apparently this is common for newly-arrived expats, and there are various theories ranging from the usual jet lag to the pollution and diet. Of course, all of the factors that I've mentioned above can influence sleep. It's something that I try to regulate as much as possible - getting to sleep before midnight, and waking up at 7am every day. But sometimes, like tonight, it's just not going to happen.

These past six months have been a difficult transition in my life, and whilst it's often easiest just to focus on the work and address cultural and social challenges, these other aspects certainly sneak up on me. As the saying goes, mens sana in corpore sano - and just as I need to remain mindful of my emotional wellbeing, I also need to be aware of the physical influences and changes that are happening in my life, and adjust my habits accordingly.

Letting go of Thinking We Know Best

Recently, on the 13th of October, the winners of the Inky Awards were announced. I've been a fan of this initiative of the State Library of Victoria for many years, since I was a judge back in 2008. These awards recognise the best YA fiction from the previous year, in two categories: the Gold (Australian) and the Silver (International). Every year, I try to read as many of the long/shortlisted books, and then tune in to see what the outcome is. And whilst it's not always my first pick, it's often in my top 2 or 3 in each category.

So, when the awards were announced this year, I have to confess that was disappointed. Whilst most of the shortlisted novels were deserving works, the winners were far from my favourite of the bunch.

This shouldn't be such a big deal, but one thing that makes this programme unique is that the outcomes are decided by teenagers - four out of the six judges who decide the shortlist are teenagers, and the final verdict is decided through a vote by teenagers. Not librarians, or teachers, or publishers - as is the case with most YA literature awards - but teenage readers.

As a librarian and a YA literature specialist, I stake my professional reputation on maintaining an awareness of the industry, and understanding the needs of teenage readers.

But at the end of the day, the inescapable truth is that I'm not a teenager. I graduated from high school more than half my lifetime ago. Sure, I read a lot, and I can recognise a well-crafted, engaging story that has depth and balance in its themes and characters, but at the end of the day, I only know what I like.

And yet, so often, we librarians and teachers take up the role of definitive authority on what teenagers should read. When parents come to us with advise for what to give their child to read, we use our knowledge based on the books that we've read - or on reviews written by other adult readers.

And though I wasn't there, many of the moments from the awards ceremony were tweeted - this one says it all:

Just because we're the adult experts in the field, doesn't mean we should always assume that we know best. We need to spend more time actively engaging with our clients, and listen to them - even if it means having to accept truths that we don't agree with. Because it's not about us.

Of course, there is also an apt parallel to working in development. If we want to help people, we need to do things on their terms, not ours. Just because we're from a developed country, doesn't mean that we know best. We need to let go of this egocentric attitude, and listen.