International relations

My travels have provided me ample opportunity to study the field of international relations first hand. And when I say international relations, I don’t mean the kind that involve diplomats and high-level meetings, although that would be nice. I’m more referring to the kind that line my suitcase with stories of sometimes humorous, often awkward encounters between myself and other men. 

Scene 1: Awkward dates

One time during an internship in Accra, I was asked out by a Ghanaian colleague. He picked me up and took me to a cafe where we sat and talked for a while. He was engaging, smart and gentlemanly. Or so I thought. Until he suggested we go to a dance club. Where there would be strippers. And in the course of that same conversation mentioned that he had a girlfriend. But that it wasn’t her business to be jealous about his being out with another girl. Needless to say, the date ended sooner than he’d been expecting. 

Another occasion, this time during a trip to Sarajevo, saw me being taken on a tour of the city by motorcycle. A man I’d met on a previous trip wanted to take me out, and since I fancied him I agreed. He was older, worldly, accomplished, intelligent, and smooth enough to make me feel flattered but not uncomfortable with his frank interest. We spent a very enjoyable evening conversing and seeing the sights, and he briefly alluded to a sort-of girlfriend with whom he had hit a rough patch. I remained relatively guarded throughout the evening and deflected his two attempts at kissing me, all the while feeling positively giddy because I couldn’t believe a man of this calibre would be interested in me. 

Upon return home, I googled him and found several article interviews in which he mentioned his children. So this sort-of girlfriend was actually his wife. And they had three children together. This isn’t a detail one simply forgets to mention. Needless to say, I felt tricked and a little mortified. 

I don’t like to think of myself as a naive person, but sometimes I can be a little ingenuous….okay fine, those mean the same thing. Whatever. But what can I say? I’ve never had a reason to expect men to lie to me. And when it does happen, it takes me by surprise. Hopefully now I’ve learned my lesson…? 

Scene 2: Unwanted attention

This is the most exasperating. I really don’t know why it keeps happening, but I’ve had several of these types of encounters. You know, that guy who is either drunk, high, lacking in social skills or simply under the impression that he is God’s gift to women. I could tell you about the guy at Budapest airport who started talking to me, then wouldn’t leave me alone, to the point that he actually missed his flight (he was high). Or the Greek guy working as a tour guide in NYC’s Financial District who wanted to follow me back to my office (he thought he was God’s gift to women). Or the guy who started following me down the street, asking me if I wanted to go grab a pizza. It took several minutes until he understood that I wasn't interested (he didn’t have social skills). I could go on. 

I suspect this keeps happening because I’m just not rude enough. I don’t like hurting people’s feelings and I don’t like to brush people off, so I'll try to let them down easy.... and in the mean time, it's just awkward. 

Scene 3: Feminine wiles 

Just recently I went to Rome for a conference and since I arrived late at night, I had to get a taxi to the hotel because public transport wasn’t an option. Having been to Italy before, I knew to do my research and was informed by the hotel that taxi fare from the airport was €65. Armed with the email in my phone, I walked out to the taxi drivers and braced myself for intense negotiation. The first guy quoted me €75 and when I, in my rudimentary Italian, informed him that I wasn’t going to fall for that one he insisted that there was no way he could go lower. The next guy was a bit more willing to reduce his price, but when I told him I would be paying in plastic he shook his head. Same with the third guy. So I went back in to get cash out of the ATM, and when I returned we haggled a bit more and I finally got him down to €65, though he muttered several times during the ride that the price is normally higher, etc etc. His utterances fell on deaf ears - I had held my ground and I had triumphed. I felt pleased with myself.

When I got to the hotel I asked the receptionist about the price again, just to confirm that I had done right. She informed me that €65 was the price for a taxi arranged by the hotel. Grabbing just any taxi from the airport cost €75. 

Oops. 

When I told the receptionist, somewhat guiltily, that I’d negotiated the price down, she was impressed and said, “Good for you,” with a knowing wink. I do it sparingly, but sometimes it really helps to play the poor-attractive-female-in-need-of-assistance card. In South America and the Mediterranean, that card is gold. 

Scene 4: Fatherly concern 

In my interaction with Africans through the years, it’s become clear to me that it’s very important for them to suss out my marital status. If a young woman is single, then they will by all means feel compelled to help find her a suitable husband. I find this hilarious and endearing, but it can catch you off guard if you’re not prepared for it. At the aforementioned conference in Rome, I spent the first morning’s breakfast next to a very dignified and fatherly Sierra Leonine man who, as we engaged in conversation, asked me about my family, if I was single and engaged or single and available, etc. When I told him how it is, literally his first question was “So why aren’t the guys coming around? You’re attractive and intelligent.” As we proceeded to jointly discuss and lament my marital status, along with the broader phenomenon of strong, accomplished women having a hard time finding someone to marry, he said, “I’m going to pray that you will find a husband.” And he did. Right there at the table. 

Ten minutes before I had to leave for the airport to return to Sweden, another of my new African friends came up to me and asked if he could pose a personal question, “on behalf of a friend.” He wanted to know if I was single, “on behalf of a friend.” I smiled to myself. Because it’s just sweet. I find the fatherly concern touching. 

I’m from India. Where’s my luggage?

“I’m from India. Where’s my luggage?” A lost, somewhat distraught traveler asked me this during one of my shifts at the Málaga airport a number of years ago. I don’t remember being very gracious as I impatiently pointed out that I wasn’t an information desk. I was there to rent out cars, so if he had any unrelated questions, he should go to the information desk right next door. (I didn’t say this in so many words, but I’m sure my sentiment was reflected in my tone.) I hated life at that point and I was fed up with frazzled travelers asking me questions that had nothing to do with why I was there.

Anyways. 

What recalls this particular memory is the fact that his question has kind of become my go-to example of the general disorientation and bewilderment that I myself often feel. Not so much in the sense that I’ve just arrived and don’t know where my luggage is, but in the broader sense of I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m not sure how I got here. 

I don’t say this in a negative sense. Actually, finding myself in situations I have no business being in has kind of become my thing. I feel so unqualified doing the things I’m doing, but I have the most awesome time doing them. From the outside it may look like I stumble indiscriminately into things, but really it’s a series of seemingly random connections that end up not being random at all but divinely orchestrated. I can’t explain how I got here or what the heck I’m doing. But I’m having a marvelous time. And I can’t take credit for any of it. I’m just busy living in the favor of God. 

Favor. Tremendous, unexplainable favor. (By the way, I just recently discovered that my name means favor and grace. No joke. Google it.) 

I’ll give you the short version of what I mean: Nearly three years ago, an acquaintance of mine in Málaga suggested I attend a conference for Christian business leaders to be held in Berlin. At that time I was busy not being a business leader - I was a teacher. But for some reason, he felt I should attend. So I did. I happened to be on winter break that week, so why not? It turned out to be one of the best weeks of my life. Hands down. I had no business being there, but I was absolutely in the right place. (For the full story, see previous blog post: http://annikagreco.blogspot.se/2013/02/some-personality-types-are-just-meant_20.html) 

At this conference I met a German man who worked in leadership development. For whatever reason, he saw potential in me and has since kept in touch sporadically. A year ago he emailed me just to ask how I was doing, and I told him I had recently started grad school, was looking for internship opportunities and did he have any contacts or ideas? He in fact did. He recommended me to one of the executive leaders of World Evangelical Alliance, and this exec, without knowing anything about me other than what he’d heard from my German friend, contacted me and shortly thereafter sent my inquiry to WEA’s New York office. Which is where I spent 10 fantastic weeks this fall (see previous posts “Little girl, big city”).

While at the WEA’s NYC office, I met another member of the leadership team who took an interest in what I wanted to write my master’s thesis on. He said he knew a few people who could lend me insight on the subject matter and that they would all be gathered at a global youth leaders’ conference in Rome in December. He would try to get me in. 

And now I’ve just returned from this conference with my head full of ideas and heart full of hard-to-verbalize emotions. Aside from the fact that I got to sit down and converse with some wonderful African thinkers and doers (my primary reason for going), I got to meet people who are doing some incredible work in Syria and Lebanon in the midst of war and crisis. I feel so inspired I hardly know what to do with myself.  

And this is the craziest part: Back in October, I was gripped with the idea that I wanted to go to the Middle East to see for myself what is happening there. I of course know no one in the region, have nothing to contribute really, I don’t speak Arabic and would probably feel pretty clumsy and disoriented in general (that would really be an I’m-from-India-where’s-my-luggage scenario). But I told God that I wanted to do this and that He would have to connect the dots because I certainly had no clue how to go about it. Guess who I meet at this conference? The national director of a global ministry in Lebanon who, along with his team, is doing a lot of work in the Syrian refugee camps. He told me that the outside world is not getting the accurate story of what is happening in the region and could I come visit them and tell their story? 

Mind blown. Again, I had no business being at this conference - I'm not a youth leader - but I was absolutely in the right place. 

In short, I have no idea what I’m doing or how I got here, and even though this is unsettling for a control freak like me, I’m starting to think I’d never want to live any other way. Not knowing where my luggage is is turning out to be pretty freakin’ sweet. 

Little girl, big city - Episode 4: Translators, delegations and celebrity sightings.

So the UN General Assembly is in session and it’s been causing some chaos as entire avenues have been sectioned off to make way for the Pope, President Obama and other VIPs. I find it annoying all of the security measures being taken to be honest. Does the Pope really need an entourage of six SUVs and 6,000 police? The guy rides around in his little Fiat with the window down. I mean if someone really wanted to shoot him, it wouldn’t be that hard. 

Snipers on the roof of UN HQ

Also, the avenue sidewalks are more crowded than usual with delegates in from all over the world. Cultural differences manifest themselves in a number of ways, including the time it takes to get through a speech or down a sidewalk. Africans don’t seem to be in a hurry ever, and are completely immune to time constraints. I freely admit, I have no idea what this feels like. 

In other news, I’ve been here for six weeks now and I still haven’t seen any famous people walking around. The only celebrity sightings I’ve had have been at the UN this week. I missed seeing David Beckham by a couple of hours which is unfortunate (Instagram informed me of this). But I have sat in the same room as Kaká (the Brazilian fútbol player and WFP ambassador) and Laura Carmichael (the actress who plays Lady Edith in Downton Abbey). Shakira and Connie Britton (actress from the TV show Nashville) also spoke at forums I couldn’t get in to but watched via UN webcast. Normally I’d be able to get in to most seminars with my UN badge, but since everybody and their grandmother is in town for the General Assembly, only delegations and staff are being allowed in to certain events and suddenly I’m much less important than I used to be. It stings, I’m not gonna lie. 

That's Kaká to the far left

I feel I’ve been a little bit negative in my attitude regarding the UN. But there is one aspect that I am sincerely impressed by. Every high-level event will have translation into the six official UN languages: English, French, Russian, Spanish, Arabic and Chinese. This is reasonable and not that impressive until you take into consideration that each of these languages is being translated into each of the other ones. And when there are non-UN languages being spoken on the floor, they also have to be translated into each of these six. Which means we are talking about translators who are translating to and from upwards of five languages. That to me is amazing. For example, one time I noticed the same natively British male voice translating from Kazakh, Belorussian, Russian, French and Arabic into English. How does a person learn all of those languages to such a sophisticated level? That takes years of study and/or immersion in those languages and cultures, which makes me tremendously curious about the lives these UN translators have lived… 

Little girl, big city - Episode 3: An important dinner

As mentioned in my previous post (http://annikagreco.blogspot.com/2015/09/little-girl-big-city-episode-2-united.html), a large part of my role as “UN intern” at the WEA is attending UN events on a variety of topics and writing summary reports that are forwarded to the relevant person within the alliance. For example, if I attend an event on gender inequality, my report goes to the Executive Director of the Women’s Commission, or if I attend a forum on religious freedom, my report gets sent to the Co-director of the International Institute for Religious Freedom. I really like this role as I enjoy writing and I’m gaining a lot of insight into some very important topics that are affecting the global geopolitical and socioeconomic realities.  

In my last post I ranted a bit about the egos that work in diplomacy and foreign affairs. There are a lot of people who are in it for the status and/or cushy job. But I do need to say that there are also a lot of career diplomats, both in and outside the UN, who truly do care about making the world better. There are many people who hold very stressful positions and juggle an enormous amount of complexities and contradictions and continue to do so because it matters. Last night I was able to spend some time with a few of these individuals. 

The entire WEA executive team is in town this week and I got to join them for dinner at a very expensive establishment on Wall Street (http://www.thecapitalgrille.com/locations/ny/new-york/nyc-wall-street/8039) where we were ushered downstairs into a private dining room which used to be a gold vault. I spent the evening hoping it wasn’t obvious that I’d never been in such a swanky restaurant before (I mean, I’ve been to some pretty nice establishments, but this was a whole other level). The food was rich (both in price and quality) and I could go on about how good it was, but I don’t want to make you jealous of me even though you should be. 

Apart from the amazing gastronomic experience, this was a really significant dinner for me personally. Understand something - I am a nobody in this field. But I got to sit next to and converse with some very influential somebodies because I am just busy living in the favor of God. Here’s what I mean: The WEA’s permanent representative to the UN (and the one footing the bill for this splendid meal) invited me to join after having known me for about five minutes. She absolutely insisted. And then during dinner she told me she’d received high praise for my reports from some of the other executives and heads-of-commissions around the world and apologized profusely that the WEA didn’t have enough funding to offer me a paid position upon graduating but that I should send her my CV and she’ll pass it on to some contacts she has in Washington DC and New York. And I’m like, whaaaaaaat!? That’s favor. 

And then the Under Secretary-General of the United Nations and Acting High Representative for Disarmament Affairs, Mr. Kim Won-soo, walked in and joined us. And I’m (very calmly and collectedly) freaking out in my head because I just saw him speak at the UN event on nuclear testing last week and included his statements in my report. To meet the man in person was kind of awesome for me. And as I listened in on the conversation, I realized that he has probably the most difficult and the most important job at the UN right now. With the geopolitical situation as it is, with all of the divided politics surrounding the issue of nuclear weapons and disarmament, and with Russia exerting its influence in the Middle East in increasing measure, this guy is kind of important. If you a person who prays, pray for this man. 

In conclusion, I am a nobody. I’m just busy living in the favor of God. And right now He’s allowing me to make some incredible connections that may be significant in the future. I graduate in June of next year and have no idea what the next step is. Truly no clue. But I am genuinely unstressed about the whole thing because I know that I don’t have to worry. I’m just enjoying the ride. 

The photo is terribly out of focus, but the Under S-G is the man in the middle with the magenta tie.

Little girl, big city - Episode 2: The United Nations

A large part of my internship consists of attending meetings/seminars/forums at the UN HQ or at other designated locations in the area. These events cover topics like nuclear arms testing, the culture of peace, human rights, civil society and democracy, religious freedom, etc. A lot of it is very interesting; some of it is incredibly long winded and sleep inducing. After having spent a few weeks in this environment, I have mixed feelings. On the one hand it’s tremendously exciting to breathe the same air as distinguished diplomats and NGO workers who have been in the thick of it and are in great part responsible for setting the global political agenda. I won’t lie and say that I don’t ever want to work here. I want the power suit, I want the badge, I want the status. 

On the other hand, it’s pretty ridiculous. And what I mean is, while it’s necessary and meaningful to discuss these important issues that impact people all over the world, so much of it is merely the importance of being important. Granted, the panelists who speak on the topics are often not career diplomats and they have dedicated their lives to advocating for a certain issue or people group. This part of the forum is often quite interesting to listen to. But then the member state delegates start taking turns reading their prepared speeches and the majority of the content is just politically digestible soundbites that are void of sincerity or any actual bite. When the delegate from Qatar touts the importance of upholding human rights, or the Russian delegate says that his country is committed to full nuclear disarmament, or the American representative praises the role of the media in promoting peace, one wants to just roll one’s eyes and say My God, do these people have no sense of irony? 

I acknowledge that it is necessary to gather and exchange ideas in a neutral setting so that we are aware of what is happening in the world of development and diplomacy and so that we can be reminded of what we should be doing. There are so many organizations, working groups, committees and coalitions that it is hard to keep tabs on everything that goes on. Case in point, I’m learning to navigate the endless list of UN organizations and their acronyms. I defy you to know what all of these stand for without googling: WFP, WHO, UNHCR, UNDESA, UNICEF, UNEP, UNFPA, UNDP, ILO, IMO, IFAD, FAO, IAEA, ICAO, ITU, UPU, WBG, WIPO, WMO, ECOSOC…..But I digress. 

Here’s the issue: Words are being spoken but nothing is being said. Or what is being said has already been said a thousand times. When does the status quo actually get challenged by actions instead of words? The United Nations doesn’t have that much power. It can’t legislate, it can only make suggestions. And the only UN body that actually has any power (the Security Council) is more often than not paralyzed because its members don’t get along. The system is broken. It’s dysfunctional. So the only thing it can do is organize meetings and seminars and forums that gather the organizations and the working groups and the committees and the coalitions to talk about things that have already been discussed and that every informed person already knows. 

So. It is clear to me that what is truly important in the world of diplomacy is the importance of being important. The hierarchy, the bureaucracy, the verbose job titles all serve to prop up the egos of the insecure, the comfortable, and the (sometimes) inept. 

There. I’m done spewing. 

Little girl, big city - Episode 1: Restaurant etiquette, air conditioning and the United Nations.

I’ve been in the Big Apple for almost two weeks now and I’m feeling quite at home. It’s a livable city under the right circumstances and I’m favorable to moving here for a period of time if I end up getting a (very well paid) job after graduation. These 10 weeks are a trial run if you will. 

I’ve not lived in the US for eight years, so there are a few things I’m having to get used to again. Like tipping in restaurants. Waiters in Europe are salaried and the service is included in the price, so tipping isn’t a norm - something I find quite efficient. Of course I want to support waiters everywhere in their pursuit of the American Dream, but it gets hella expensive. It’s a bullet I need to bite unfortunately. Everybody eats out all the time here and I am inclined to follow suit since I’m sharing a minuscule kitchen with four boys, three of them very messy. Needless to say, this doesn’t inspire me to go at it in the culinary department. And so I’ve resigned myself to returning to Sweden destitute and rotund…sigh. 

Another thing I’m reacquainting myself with is the aggressive usage of AC. Within one hour I experience the gamut of temperature variation during my daily commute. It’s a wonder I haven’t gotten sick yet. The air in New York is still heavy with heat and humidity, and by the time I’ve walked the four blocks from my apartment to the subway station, I’m dripping sweat. It gets worse. By the time I’ve descended the stairs into the furnace that is the subway platform, I want to shoot myself. Then I climb onto a train that blasts ice cold air and I have to sit there for 30 minutes as I feel myself growing hypothermic. Then it’s out onto the street to defrost before settling into a chilled office for the day. Uff, it’s a tough life. 

But like I said, New York is a livable city under the right circumstances, and I am learning my way around. It’s not the city of my childhood and I feel like a little girl stepping out into an unexplored yet distantly familiar world. The people around me are stressed, but I’m still excited. 

I attended my first UN event this week. It was a panel discussion on revolutionizing data on women’s leadership in public life. Data collection is not my favorite topic by any means, but I found the tensions and dynamics in this area of development work nonetheless interesting and important to discuss. Besides the fact that the seminar was held during the exact hours I yawn uncontrollably and struggle to stay awake - between 2 and 4 pm every day without fail - I was glad to be there. I mean my goodness, it’s the freaking UN and I’ve dreamt of setting foot in this place for years. 

One thing though: My introverted self hates to mingle. I always cringe when the mediator says it’s time for a coffee break and wouldn’t it be a great time to have a chance to talk and exchange ideas. NO!! Even though I may be bored out of my mind, I’d rather sit in the seminar and not have to interact with any of the strangers in attendance than make small talk during the coffee break. Oh the agony! Oh the discomfort! 

Obviously this is something I must get over if I’m to rule the world. Hmm…

A shout out to good dads everywhere

As I wait at Schiphol airport for my flight to JFK, I’m reflecting on something I witnessed a few days ago while in Málaga. My parents and I went to see a couple of friends play with their jazz quartet at a resort on the coast, and while the atmosphere was nice and the music excellent, what really caught my eye and kept me entertained was a certain British family occupying the table in front of us. At first glance it was your typical family on holiday, but closer observation saw a father thoroughly engaged and present with his three boys as the mother sat back, relaxed, and recorded the memories being made with her camera. These boys were young - the eldest not more than ten - but they were all active, well-behaved and having fun. Most of all, they were reveling in their father’s attention. He’d get up at regular intervals and start dancing to the music with them, or he’d play the air guitar on their tummies, or he’d sit with one of them on his lap. I remember thinking, I hope this mother knows what she has. 

Sadly, what was playing out before me has become an atypical scenario. The new normal is parents with their 2.5 children, each sitting with their smartphone or tablet, fully absorbed in playing Candy Crush or some other senseless game on their devices. They ignore each other, unaware of their surroundings, detached from the present. Not rarely enough, one or both of the parents are slowly getting drunk and irritated as their children grow bored and petulant. 

I don’t know this British family, but what I saw blessed my heart. From the relatively short time I watched them, I could tell there was a lot of love and order there. This family sat for several hours enjoying the music and their surroundings. None of the three boys had a device. When they weren’t moving to the music, they were sitting around the table in well-behaved fashion. At one point, one of them pulled out some toy cars to play with. I can’t remember the last time I saw a kid play with actual toys. 

Part of me fell in love with this dad. I know nothing of his character or the dynamics of his family life, but what I saw was a father who was engaged and present, showing his boys how to have a good time, how to enjoy the moment, and how to make their mother glow. It’s hard for me not to be cynical at this stage of my life - most men just aren’t like this anymore. But to be fair, while there is truth to my cynicism, I know that there are good dads everywhere. They are fewer and farther between, but they are there. In fact, I know several of them personally. 

If you are one, I applaud you and I thank you. If you aren’t one, there’s nothing stopping you from starting. And maybe someday there’ll be a stranger sitting at a restaurant watching you and thinking, dang, I hope his wife knows what she has. 

Dealing with disappointment

I haven’t felt truly disappointed in several years. Obviously I’ve had to deal with small scale disappointments on a regular basis just like anyone. But generally things have steadily been going the way I want them to for about four years now. But this week I had to swallow a bitter pill that turned the tables on everything and made me feel like I was right back at square one. (Just a side note, I’m not actually back at square one, it just felt like that. Feelings are not truth!) 

The most amazing opportunity had virtually just landed in my lap and it was so wildly beyond anything I could possibly have thought up or orchestrated myself. There were just too many ‘coincidences’ and details falling into perfect place and all of the important people in my life were united in their affirmation and encouragement. It was literally one of those ‘too good to be true’ moments, except that it was actually happening. I could hardly believe my good fortune. I thanked God for his favor, reveled in his plan and praised him for his goodness. 

And then yesterday I got a call containing the worst imaginable news: Never mind, we can’t go through with it, we’re very sorry. The ‘too good to be true’ stopped being true and went back to being just ‘too good.’ The balloon had popped in a most spectacular fashion. I missed His favor, felt disappointed in His plan and questioned His goodness. 

I felt soooooo disappointed. Disappointed in myself for the impulsive mistake I’d made at the outset of this whole thing (even though I didn’t realize it was a mistake at the time); disappointed with the individuals who were in charge of deciding my role in this (I mean, my word! How inconsiderate!); but more than anyone else in this story, I felt disappointed with God. Why had he allowed such a spectacular buildup only to let it fizzle out into nothing? What was the point? Why drag me into this in the first place? Why present me with the answer to so many prayers just to snatch it away? How can this be good for me?!?! 

Also, I felt confused. How could I have mistaken random happenings for the hand of God? How could I have felt such peace and joy over something that wasn’t meant to be? And not just me, but the most important people in my life!?! Several of them had sensed the same thing as I had, that this was truly a God idea, not just a good idea. So what the heck, Lord? I DON’T GET IT!! 

Let me be clear: These were all emotions and questions coursing through my mind and heart, and legitimately so in my opinion. But these were not truth. 

The TRUTH is this: God is good to me. He has always been good to me and will continue to be so. He does have plans for me that are beyond my wildest imagination. He will give me the desires of my heart. He will entrust me with realizing the dreams he has placed in my hands. But he’ll do this in his own way and in his own time. And he will, for reasons only he knows and understands, ask me to let go of those dreams more than once. 

I’m reminded of the lyrics of a Nick Mulvey song that seem so pertinent right now: “The only way to hold on is to keep letting go.” This is such a hard truth to accept sometimes (heck, let’s be honest - most of the time). Because when we see His hand move to orchestrate things, when we see things starting to come together in ‘typically God’ fashion, when everything in our spirit says “Yes, this is it!”, it is so incredibly easy to fix our eyes on the form in which it happens rather than on He who makes it happen. My Morfar (maternal grandfather) reminded me of this yesterday as I sat crying on the telephone. He said, “Annika, this is not the end of the story. But you’ve got to seek Him, not the way, not the form, not the process. Seek Him.” 

So. In the words of Job, “Though He slay me, yet I will trust in Him.” Dramatic wording, I know, and I’m not comparing my current circumstances to Job’s because that would just be foolish and inaccurate. But the principle here is the same. I trust in God’s plan because it is better than mine. There’s no getting around that fact, regardless of how disappointed I may feel right now. 

Wanting what I can’t have

I want things I can’t have. It’s a problematic part of my nature, and this past Sunday I was acutely aware of it - to the point of feeling convicted for not keeping my eyes on Jesus. I do make a concerted effort to “seek His Kingdom first” but I also frequently pester Him about the “and all these things shall be added unto you” bit (Bible reference: Matthew 6:33). Most of the time I’m dissatisfied with my life, not because I dislike the elements that fill it, but because I want more - always. 

I covet a lifestyle I can’t afford. I want fine dining on a weekly basis and trips with five star accommodations. I like expensive clothes and I dream about living in an out-of-my-price-range flat downtown with high ceilings, big windows and at least one brick wall. I want the unique furniture that costs an arm and a leg to ship home but is so totally worth it because each piece has a story. I want the man I can’t have. I want to be ‘soccer mom’ who writes freelance from home AND I want the high-powered career that sends me all over the world to put out fires and influence global decisions. I want SO MUCH. Sometimes I feel like Bob: “Gimme gimme gimme, I need I need.” (If you’ve never watched the film What about Bob?, stop reading this and go do that.)

This past Sunday the phrase “wanting what I can’t have” was going like a loop machine in my head - to the point that I had to ask the Lord for forgiveness for being so distracted by all the things I wanted but couldn’t have. What was wrong with me?!?! A virtual battle was in full swing in my mind: Am I wanting too much?!? At what point does all this wanting and dreaming turn from being a visionary attitude called faith into being a sin called covetousness??

I’m not that materialistic - sure, I like nice things and I desire to live expansively and generously - but I’m not really that attached to things. I am however attached to ideas of what I want my life to encompass. Wanting what I can’t have is a legit struggle for me. I don’t like settling for less than what I like, and on principle I don’t think that I should. I don’t subscribe to the ‘prosperity gospel’ but I do believe that God delights in surprising me with things I would never have thought within my grasp. Things that are impossible for me are not impossible for Him, so quite frankly I don’t believe I should stop wanting what is beyond my reach (and I’m not just talking about physical objects here). I take the liberty of dreaming big because I serve a big God. But the question is then at what point does ‘believing for big things’ turn into coveting? Where do contentment and resignation diverge? At what point should I stop wishing for things because they distract me from “seeking first the Kingdom”? It’s hard not to be ‘helpful’ in composing the “all else to be added” list, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t confess that on more than one occasion what I’ve wanted has not been what’s best - and I’m SO thankful in these instances that God knows more than I do and isn’t afraid to be the boring parent.

So how do I fix this? I can’t give up wanting things. I refuse to resign myself to a small existence. But as yet, what I see happening in my mind doesn’t match what’s happening outside of it, and it’s making me miserable. Am I merely Joseph the dreamer or will I ever get to be Joseph the governor? (Bible reference: Genesis 37-50) He had a hell of a time getting to that point (which, I suppose, puts my pity party into rather harsh perspective) but I’m sure he didn’t stop dreaming and wanting things. Now there is one man I’d like to have a long fireside chat with….

I've figured out why the world is the way it is.

You can stop wondering. I’ve figured out why the world is the way it is: The people who make decisions about policy and world order never left high school. I know this because of what happened today.

The elective course I’m currently in combines students from three programs – European Studies, Global Studies, and my program, International Administration and Global Governance (IAGG for short). Today our professor asked us to divide ourselves into study groups during the break. So that’s what we did – “we” being me and my fellow IAGGers. We’re the kind of people who like to leave the classroom and hang out in the hallway during our breaks, and while we were out there getting the job done, the GS and ES students stayed in the classroom and thought up another plan. 

Their idea was to have mixed groups of ES, GS and IAGG students so that we could all “benefit from each other’s various backgrounds,” and "couldn’t the 30 or so of us reach an agreement together?" Now, this was a perfectly swell suggestion, but for the IAGGers who had already formed two groups to the satisfaction of all involved, the new plan wasn’t so appealing. This resulted in our staying after class for 20 minutes arguing back and forth as to how to divvy up the groups. Some didn’t see why we should rearrange the groups that were already formed; others grew frustrated at the apparent unwillingness of IAGGers to work with people outside their program; some tried to corral the group toward a consensus, only to be undermined by others who weren’t having it; and on and on it went. I, being the good Swede, remained neutral throughout the negotiations, all the while feeling distinctly uncomfortable about how complicated and awkward we were making it. I could tell certain ones in the class were getting offended, and it wasn't the IAGGers.

In short, we ended up agreeing on a day and time for everyone to show up, but did we reach a decision regarding who would be in what group? Of course we didn’t. Because we’re all still in high school. In reality, what took place today was just a dress rehearsal for future summits on international policy and law that no one will agree upon. The one thing that will be agreed upon is the time and place of the next summit in which negotiations will continue and no agreements will be reached. 

Now, if one were to take a step back to surmise the situation, one could make an interesting observation: We see that Global Studies students – the future activists and NGO workers of the world – just wanted everyone to come together to share experiences and lend one another their different perspectives on the issues we are studying. Lyrics like “Come on people now/smile on your brother/everybody get together/let’s try to love one another right now” come to mind. We also see that the IAGG students – the pragmatists and future governing elite – felt perfectly satisfied to work with the people they already know and trust. They did what the professor had asked the class to do, they just did it out in the hall rather than in the classroom. Which, let’s face it, is how important political decisions are made – within closed groups in the corridors, not in the general assembly in great conference halls. 

So. Be at peace and anxious for nothing. The future activists and governing elites of the world do have plans for leading the masses into a prosperous 21^st century. The plans just happen to differ and the two groups just happen to not get along. There is absolutely nothing to worry about.

Empty Inside - a diagnosis

The title makes it sound like I’ve been diagnosed with existential anxiety, but after two days of prepping for a colonoscopy, I was, quite literally, empty inside. Preparations included a strictly liquid diet and strong laxatives – I’ll spare you the details. Needless to say, it was pretty unsexy. I spent two and a half days cursing the day I was born (not really) and trying not to burn too many calories (which was easily remedied by marathon-watching The Good Wife).

The actual colonoscopy procedure was undramatic. However, there is this thing with my body not responding well to strong pain killers or muscle relaxers that I’ve only come to realize since I started having trouble in October. And being half Italian, there of course needed to be drama at some point. Right before the procedure began, the nurse gave me a muscle relaxer, but instead of relaxing me it had the direct opposite effect. Halfway through the procedure, I noticed my hands growing stiff and curling in at the wrist. I couldn’t move them and I started hyperventilating. Once the doctor pulled the camera/tube thing out, the nurse moved me into a different room to calm me down. I remember my body turning completely rigid from the feet up, along with my arms, hands and mouth. I couldn’t talk normally and had no idea what was going on. I don’t think the nurse did either, because at this point she was pretty frenzied, trying to get me to calm down and breathe normally. Eventually I did calm down and she could straighten out my hands and things returned to normal.

It’s rare, but apparently some people react differently than expected to muscle relaxers and can even grow violent. The nurse had not seen my particular reaction before though. Not my finest moment to be sure, but it does make for a good story.   

Anyways, the verdict is that I have neither diverticulitis nor constipation issues as the previous two hospital visits had assessed. I have IBS (irritable bowel syndrome). This diagnosis does better at explaining the pain and symptoms I’ve experienced on several occasions since October (at times severe, at other times less so). There’s no cure for it and there’s no particular diet that will lessen the symptoms since the food triggers vary from person to person. It’s just something I’m going to have to live with and hope the pain won’t be too frequent.

I don’t really know what to take away from all this. I don’t know how or why I’ve developed IBS, but this is a thorn in my side I’m simply going to have to accept. I suppose that if the apostle Paul wasn’t exempt, I’m not either. God is still good to me. I just pray I won’t have to give up chocolate. 

Woes of a grad student, part 4: Academic language

I went to Journalism School for my undergrad. There I was taught how to write really well. Now I’m in grad school where writing really well is suddenly a skill I need to shed in order to be taken seriously by the academic community. In J-school we are taught - GRILLED - in clean, concise, smart writing. The goal is to say as much as you can in as few words as you can. You achieve this by editing until you cannot possibly omit one more word.

I like this kind of writing. I know this kind of writing. I understand this kind of writing. 

However, in grad school we are assigned verbose, often pretentious academic articles in which the authors attempt to convey as little as possible with as many words as possible. In fact, if you can add syllables onto words that already exist in order to create new words that mean exactly the same thing, you are truly accomplished.

Why use equality when one can use equitability? They mean the same thing, but adding two more syllables makes it sound so much more grandiloquent. Why be content with using three syllables - condition - when one can say it in six: conditionality? Why choose the word cause when one can say causation, or even causality? Communication becomes so much more clear when it’s circumlocutorily nuanced, right? 

Come on people. I get feeling the need to create a verb, adjective or adverb from a noun (I do that too), but creating two more noun forms from a noun that’s already a noun is just plain unnecessary.

You know what else is plain unnecessary? Sentences like these: “In this form, the ‘lexicographic maximin’ rule has been axiomatically derived in different ways…There is no necessity to interpret these axioms in terms of utilities only, and in fact the analytical results derived in this part of the social-choice literature can be easily applied without the ‘welfarist’ structure of identifying individual advantage with the respective utilities.”

Just stop. 

Woes of a grad student, part 3: Acronyms ad nauseum.

Contrary to what I might have expected, the most challenging aspect of grad school is not so much having to write literature reviews or learn to interpret statistics (though that part really sucks too, I promise you). It’s having to learn the millions of acronyms that stand for the different development organizations, programs and transnational coalitions.

I’ll show you what I mean: We have for example the IMF, the WB and the PRGF that all have to write PRSPs and CASs in accordance with the CDF, OD, and OP in order to seek qualification from the Enhanced HIPC, monitored through annual PERs and FIMS, all in cooperation with the WHO, ILO, UNICEF, UNDP, UNHCR, FAO, AfDB, DfID and USAID, organizations that are financed by OECD, EU, NATO and WTO members.

Sheesh, with all of this helpfulness it’s a mystery we still have conflict and poverty in the world. I mean, my goodness.

Here’s my master’s thesis proposal in 9 words: Cut the crap. Stop being important. Start being useful. Not scientific and analytical enough for you? IDGARA. Figure that one out.