Things Nobody Told Me Before Going into the Field...

I'm 2 full weeks into data collection.  I've had some really exciting research highs, and several "oh my God what did I do; take me home; I quit" moments.  Through it all I've begun to understand even more why research, the ethnographic experience, and sociology in general are addictive.

• Nobody told me how physically exhausted I would be after even a few short hours "in the field."  (Actually that's a lie, one of my committee members, Laura Carpenter, did warn me of this; I just had no idea of the extent).  After my first 2 days I thought something was wrong with me.  (Don't worry, I checked, WebMD says it's cancer.)  My personal diagnosis is that research is the most exhausting total body workout imaginable.  The first week my schedule comprised of observations, meetings, forced sessions of writing fieldnotes, and countless naps.  It was just over a week ago, and I honestly cannot tell you what I did without looking back at my calendar (see point below on organization).  I suppose I fell back on the methods training I had and went to ethnographic autopilot.  I was not expecting this at all!  At the start of week 3 I am feeling a little more at ease, taking fewer naps, and am producing more streamlined thoughts.  Who knew that it would take 2 weeks to get over ethnographic jet-lag and start to feel normal again?
• I've read much about preparing yourself to enter or exit "the field;" but nobody told me that "the field" doesn't end or begin at the University gates.  I was trained to think relationally about social phenomena, so I don't know why it surprised me that I am learning about the Gallaudet experience while I'm in a grocery store full of hearing adults, or on the metro going to the Smithsonian museums, or listening to the radio.  I am fully engaged with and in the field even when I'm no where near my participants.  I hope this experience doesn't fade. I hope I am able to continue to learn more about the Deaf experience through the writing of this research, and even into my next project.  I hope the limits to  "the field" are boundless. 
• Nobody told me that I would simultaneously feel overrun with ideas and speechless.  In every interaction I find myself in, or observe, in every question I ask, in every response I "listen" to, my mind is spinning with ideas, theories, more questions, etc.  But at the same time I feel speechless and unable to force these thoughts together into a coherent statement.  I am grateful that my fieldnotes are my own.  That my jottings, voice recorded memos, and post-it note reminders are private.  I am hopeful that soon, or at least by the end of these 12 months, that I will be able to form and also write a coherent statement about this ethnographic experience. 
• Nobody told me how critical and time consuming scheduling, logistics, and organization would be.  I had no idea I would spend several hours each day organizing, planning, scheduling, and routinizing my life.  Thank god for those junior high school lessons on organizing your trapper keeper, keeping a calendar, and making check lists!
• Also, nobody told me that Talenti makes the BEST chocolate ice cream/gelato.  Fellow researchers, no further hypothesis testing needs to be done on that one, my case study of 1 jar is conclusive evidence. 

So despite the ups, the downs, the naps, and the sugar rushes at this juncture in the research experience I can say that I am without a doubt thrilled to be here in DC doing the project that was never intended to be.  And, to be quite honest, I'm glad nobody told me because discovery is part of the addiction.

The project that was NEVER going to happen

In my third year of graduate school I took a class on ethnography with friends because I had heard good things about the class, and well, lets be honest, because I wanted more time with friends I saw all too infrequently.  My skepticism of the method was hard for me to disguise as I had recently completed a year of training in positivism, ah hem, statistics.  Despite my inability to control my doubts I really enjoyed the class.  At the end of the semester we were asked to write and present a detailed proposal for a project using ethnographic methods.  I proposed a dissertation project on the deaf community's response to cochlear implants.  I proposed to move to Washington, DC for a year to conduct ethnographic observations of an incoming cohort of students at Gallaudet University who would also be enrolled in a summer orientation program called JumpStart.  My classmates (and instructor) all saw great promise in the project, asked many followup questions and provided much encouragement for my innovative ideas.  I believe I ended that presentation by saying, "thanks, but you know this project will never happen."

Now 18 months later, here I am, in Washington, DC in the I. King Jordan Student Activities Center on Gallaudet's campus about to head out to my first round of observations at the JumpStart welcome presentation.  I guess this proves I shouldn't start gambling anytime soon.

Here I go!

Deaf in Palestine Music Video

"The song is written by deaf youth from Bethlehem and Jericho, sharing their personal challenges of being deaf in Palestine. The rappers are from Dheisheh refugee camp, south of Bethlehem. As the rappers rap the stories of the deaf people, the deaf writers simultaneously sign the words. The video is produced by Tamara Abu Laban from Dheisheh camp."  See the video here


From: http://english.pnn.ps/index.php/culture/4580-raising-awareness-to-palestinian-deaf-community-through-music

The "So What?"

When asked to describe the mentorship and advising I receive here at Vanderbilt the discussion of finding my "so what" is one of my go-to responses.  I vividly remember hearing this phrase for the first time from my mentor, Jennifer Lena, in my first semester of grad school.  I was in Jenn's office making a timid attempt to describe my research interests in the area of cultural production when she, in the direct, no frills manner I came to know well, asked, "So what if I don't care about [insert my topic here], why should I care about what you're saying?"  Over the years Jenn's words have come back to haunt me in a variety of forms: Why should I care? What's the sociological contribution of your study? If I have no interest in deafness what can you tell me about community, technology, disability, etc.?  What is theoretically interesting or innovative about your study?  What are the debates you are engaged with? And the list goes on and on.

The other day I found myself needing encouragement and motivation to tackle another round of these questions in an upcoming meeting so I  started asking peers in my department if they too were asked these questions, and if so, how did they respond. Being a sociologist, I began to notice patterns in their responses.  Immigration scholars, gender scholars, education scholars, social movement scholars, and health scholars weren't being asked these questions with the same frequency that I seemed to be encountering them.  In fact, the only students who seemed to be able to commiserate with me were students who studied culture in some form. So I began to wonder, is this an effect of the culture faculty members at Vanderbilt?  Is this an issue specific to the subfield of the sociology of culture?  In my research I am asked to extend to other subfields of sociology: to migration, social movements, race, ethnicity, etc.  But why doesn't someone ask a health scholar at Vanderbilt: "So if I didn't care about disparities in health outcomes why should I care about your project?" Or, "If I am not interested in immigration reform why does your work matter to me?" Or, "Why should sociologists outside your field care about this research?" Is it just evident that studies of health, immigration, gender, social movements, etc. are interesting in and of themselves in a way that culture is not?  Is this because the field of culture and theory are more intertwined than I'm admitting? (The sections do always have joint receptions at ASA.) Are faculty members who study culture at Vanderbilt more theoretically engaged than their peers? Are my fellow students being asked these same so what questions in different ways?  Should they be asked these so what questions?  I don't know, but if you have thoughts, please share!

Okay, enough "why me?", now back to figuring out "so what?"

UPDATE: After some discussion with a few readers and a second read of this post I've come to the conclusion that I need to specify the types of "so what" questions I encounter.  Because, as Mary Laske, a colleague and friend of mine appropriately noted: "Everyone wants to know what is new about your work or what we can learn from it--if there's nothing new, then it's not science, it's a lit review."

A common response to my dissertation is "So what can your research on culture and embodiment tell us about immigration [or health, social movements, etc.]?"  Its as if connecting two diverse subfields in sociology isn't enough.  It's like I'm being asked to connect my work to every section of ASA in order for it to be accepted as a valuable contribution to the field of sociology.  Do others outside of culture scholars encounter these types of "so what" question?

I don't find these types of so what questions discouraging (most of the time), but rather I'm just interested to know if this is a common response to all research?

Ear Infections, Airplanes, Hematomas, Oh My!

I came down with a cold and what I presumed to be double ear infections while in DC for the Signmark show.  I've had trouble with my ears my whole life and have had countless painful ear infections, burst ear drums, the whole nine. I've flown with ear infections in the past and have learned tricks for dealing with the excruciating pain of altitude changes.  Due to restrictions on time and tickets I had no choice but to prepare myself for the pain and board the plane home to Nashville.  While in the air I had every anticipated pain, and after landing I noticed a significant hearing loss in my right ear.  After living with this loss for a few days I decided to go to the doctor to have it checked out.  During my appointment the doctor discovered a large hematoma in my right ear canal that was preventing sound waves from making their way to my ear drum, no wonder I couldn't hear!

After first learning that humans rarely get hematomas in their ears I began to think more seriously about my dissertation.  This was not the first time I've had trouble hearing due to an ear problem, but this is probably the most amount of hearing loss that I've ever experienced.  I started joking about doing an autoethnography now that I too had a hearing loss.  But as my hearing is slowly returning I'm faced with the methodological and theoretical difficulty of being an outsider in social research. I can never know what its like to be deaf.  Even as I become further integrated into Deaf culture, ASL, and the customs of the community, I will always be an outsider because of my audiological status.  In my work I spend a lot of time arguing that hearing impairment is real, but that speaking only in terms of hearing loss misses the point!  Deafness has social and cultural implications too.  As my dissertation is shaping up to be about the intimate connections between bodies and their socio-cultural environment and the dangers of attempting to separate the the body from the social I wonder, is it even possible that an outsider can really understand, let alone reproduce in writing/analysis, what the Deaf community faces?  What's my role as a hearing researcher in this community?  Should I even be doing this project?  What does all of this mean for my work?

The answers to these questions are unknown today.  But, after my cold and infections clear up I'm going for a full audiological screening to see just how much hearing I have lost over the years of infections, burst ear drums, and now a bruised ear canal.  Maybe I will have that diagnosis to move me from a true outsider to an insider after all...  Otherwise, it seems like I'll have some major questions to tackle.

Keep on Writing my Dissertation, DJ Robbie Wilde!

A few quotes from DJ Robbie Wilde's HP commercial, The Sound of Touch:

"Just a feeling of the bass, that's how we dance.  That's how we know what's going on, and we enjoy it!"

"So the way that technology helps me out is the wave forms are colored. Red is a kick, its a bass, and green is a vocal, and blue is a snare.  That's how I see what's being played.  I see the song."

Thoughts on Horizontal Mentorship

It is my nature to think about process. I've always been interested in learning how things happened, not necessarily why they happened.  I have not been one to ask "why me?" in the states of crisis.  And I don't usually attribute the success of myself or others to personal and moral triumphs.  I'm typically more invested in figuring out the roadmaps to success.  I suppose this is why I'm a sociologist.

So you're all asking yourself why is she talking about process under the post title: "Thoughts on Horizontal Mentorship."  Let me explain.

As a graduate student you are expected to develop, design, and implement research projects on your own with only (sporadic) guidance from faculty mentors.  But what I've come to learn is that discussing research and the research process with fellow graduate students at various stages in the research process is incredibly gratifying and inspiring for me as a scholar, and more importantly as a friend.  I've discovered that talking about unfinished thoughts, crying together, and observing others in the process of research unmasks much of its uncertainty for me.

This past week I went up to DC to attend my very first Signmark concert as both a fan and researcher.  I experienced quite a bit of role conflict during the concert as I tried to work out how to embody both roles.  Not long after I arrived to the venue full of nerves, anxiety, and a head cold, I heard someone call out my name.  I turned around and saw the face of a woman I had met at the Deaf World/Hearing World conference in Berlin this past December.  Small world!  She was there also for multiple purposes: a researcher, a fan, and the mother of a 7 year old fan.  I immediately felt pressure to be a mindful researcher in her presence.  She mentioned wanting to interview Signmark, and while my first thought was "yeah me too!" it wasn't long before I started to feel unprepared linguistically an scholastically do conduct such an interview.  Thankfully (or not), neither of us had press passes so we couldn't speak with him.

The show started with one of my favorites, Speakerbox, and I was so lost in trying to get my flip cam to work, observe the audience, and enjoy the music that I missed almost the entire song.  Throughout the 50 minute show I slipped between researcher and fan roles: sometimes turning around to watch the audience, other times waving my hands in the air with the beat.  The show ended with another favorite, Smells Like Victory, and after working my way to the front of the crowd for a picture with Signmark, I said my goodbyes and headed back to Sarah's for the night.  I left feeling like I had failed in both my roles.  I was too focused on work to enjoy the show as a fan, and I was too anxious to abandon my role of a fan to be fully observant of the sociological event I was partaking in.

Upon returning home I wrote several pages of fieldnotes and tried to process my feelings of failure.  It was in that moment that I realized exactly what I needed: I needed some horizontal mentorship.  So I called my good friend Erin, a 6th year graduate student in my program who is finishing up her dissertation on fatherhood and work/family balance.  Erin did just what I needed her to do in that moment.  She first let me cry and release all of fears, anxieties, and nerves about an early experience in the field.  Then, she reminded me that ethnographers spend months in the field often before ever doing a "formal" interview.  I had put pressure on myself to conduct formal, eloquent interviews with audience members, and even Signmark, at my first show.  What I failed to notice as success was that I had begun the task of immersing myself into my field site, building rapport with audience members, and observing what was happening around me.  She also reminded me that when I do talk to people I don't have to be Carly, but instead I can be Carly the sociologist.  This freed me from all the anxiety and fears of rejection.  I felt guilty for having not embraced the role of new ethnographer in the field, but was encouraged to keep moving forward with the research process with the cliche "it gets better" in my head.

In talking to Erin she reminded me of several pieces of advice I've been told from the beginning of this process: 1) everything is data, and 2) as a researcher you can sit anywhere on the bus.

I am greatly indebted to my all my horizontal mentors for helping me discover what exactly this research process is, and for continually reminding me of these two invaluable pieces of ethnographic advice.  Onward!

In Signmark's words: "TO STAY STILL BUT NOT TO ADVANCE IS TO REGRESS"


See full video from the concert here.