losing my religion

Once upon a time I was a fully converted anthrogeek. I believed it could answer the most difficult questions, cure ills, and change the world.

I really did.

And then I started to think critically and my opinion evolved.

I still believe that, as a general rule, anthropology is a useful tool for organizations like hospitals, businesses, and so on. It can pair with practically any other discipline and enlighten ... something. Culture is a real thing, and if one understands culture and certain anthropological tools, one can deal a great deal more effectively with those around them.

And maybe I didn't lose my faith in anthropology as much as I lost my faith in academia and academics, in general. This is not a blanket statement -- maybe just an afghan or a shawl.

In any event, I still have a lot of my anthrogeek books around. You know, some fine ethnographies, anthologies -- anthrogeekery. It has occurred to me several times in the past that some of my books from my past life may be useful in terms of inspiration for fiction writing.

Currently, other than some editing and rewriting and some noveling, I have no new short story projects in the pipes ... not exactly. I have pieces of ideas that need some cornstarch. I thought I'd do some reading that might inspire a new short story, so I pulled out a few books. My heart hurt -- I was overwhelmed with intense feelings in my heart. I felt sadness, and excitement, but mostly loss. I think part of this has to do with my adviser who died, but maybe partly it's mourning for the loss of my faith in the discipline.

Lots of mental blocks. Emotional blocks. Blocks I didn't know existed until this afternoon.

I flipped through the books, amazed at what I wrote in the margins. I used to use a lot of really big words that theoretically meant something. I had written about bio-power (see Foucault), risk (Mary Douglas), and the concept of damaged goods in relation to one article, sort of a cross-reference list. I still could tell you what all that meant, but I can't say I wander around citing Foucault as much as I once did. I probably wrote a paper on this particular article in this book, and all of the above topics were probably included, to make it "thick". If I'd added interviews and maps and other stuff it would have been even more "thick". Perhaps I did. I don't recall. I probably have the paper somewhere. It probably has an A on it. They were all A's.

I was brilliant, I was a star. My professors told me so. They loved me, my anthrogeek professors. At least until the very end, when I was a part of shaking up the system.

I could write a great deal about my critiques of anthropology in an academic context. My professors used to praise the critiques I had for how things worked, or were organized, etc. They probably wouldn't like to hear what I have to say about this, however.

But that's okay; now I write fiction. I make up lies. And it can be a lot of fun. It's certainly a lot less angst than trying to shred apart lies to find the truth and help make peoples' lives better -- at least a little bit, like I once did.

Anyway, I think there's a pretty large block with my ethnographies. At least for now. So I'll stick with my mythology and biology and fiction and history and magazines and other texts for inspiration to try to make my stories thick.

But my heart is still thudding in my chest, almost as if I'd drunk a dozen Red Bulls, instead of my herbal tea, made thick with chicory.