Young and Stupid

"What, and suck all the spontaneity out of being young and stupid? I'd rather live in the dark."

"You're not gonna be young forever."

"Yes, but I'll always be stupid! . . . . Let's not all rush to disagree."

-- Xander and Willow, in the Buffy episode "What's My Line? Part I"

I have from a very young age considered it a massively unfair burden that I must make some dumb and ill-informed decisions before I can learn enough to choose well.

I'm not exaggerating. I hated being corrected as a kid. I don't mean that I fought with grown-ups, or pushed my own view, although I'm sure I did. I mean I can remember the deep sense of embarrassment and shame that used to wash over me when I attempted an answer and was mildly and politely told that no, actually, it was this other thing.

(It is so tempting to blame this sort of thing on one's parents, isn't it? It's a hobby of mine. But in this case, I can't imagine they had anything to do with it; they took a great deal of care to instill confidence in me and encourage me to learn and try new skills, and persevere through mistakes. No, my friends, I blame my parents all the time, but I believe this one is on me.)

When I started college, I swore up and down that I was going to do every reading and attend every class. (See, rather than bypassing young-and-stupid, I merely morphed it into a bizarre, twisted mutation of itself.) I am not joking. I took it seriously. I didn't miss more than one class a semester until half way through my third year.  Because I was knocked so flat with the flu that I couldn't get out of bed, really, for a week. Even then I tried to go to class, only to leave halfway through and get taken to the doctor by a caring university nurse. (I still made it to my philosophy seminars, and sat in the corner, contagious and miserable.)

If I only take things seriously, I tell myself. I can just avoid that whole mistake-making, not-thinking-through element of the human condition. That's other people's problem, I decided. I will do better. I just need standards.

I'm putting all this in the past tense, but I am barely, edgily, inching my way out of this way of thinking.

Because a lot of things did work in that way of thinking. I sure attended a lot of college classes. It gave me a bizarre kind of confidence in myself, and a way to feel in control of my life. Just learn enough, that's the ticket. There is somehow a level of knowledge you can achieve that will make you ... what? Confident? Responsible? Intelligent? Impossible to overlook? Whatever. I was going to find out, because I was going to get there.

And it was all fun and games until I looked around and found myself living in a Bryan Fuller show, but without the supernatural element. And I'm still looking around being like, well, I thought that going to high school, and going to college, and then traveling, and working, and traveling more, and getting a master's, I thought that would be enough. And I don't really see how a PhD would help me. But something went wrong, because it wasn't enough.

Every person older than me (and maybe 85% of the people younger than me but older than say, 17) is shaking her head, the way I do when a fictional character has just made a really boneheaded move. (You thought that would work? You're cute but stupid!)

I can't illustrate this all adorable, like the clever person who runs Hyperbole and a Half would do. And I can't seem to make it deep, or about anything other than my confused floundering. (I mean, I'm sure it's a metaphor, for, um, politics! Everything is a metaphor for politics, right? It means, um, personal responsibility, or something.) It's not a feminist issue, except for how I'm bitter at people, some of whom are men, who seem to have their lives better sorted. It's not even about culture, or pop culture.

It's just that universal human thing, of wait, how the fuck did I get here? Because I honestly thought the map was going that way... and now that I am here -- can I do anything about it?

You know what this relates to? Being fucking 26. If I were older, and knew more, I wouldn't have this problem! FOILED AGAIN.

Step By Step

I totally intended this first 'proper' post of mine to be an amazing intellectual discussion of an important issue - particularly as I had a couple of guilty twinges when reading Arcadian's fantastic post! However, events sort of overtook me, and I think I'm going to have to use this post to tell anyone who hasn't heard yet about an amazing thing currently going on in British culture.

The BBC and The British Museum have joined forces to produce a project called A History of The World (in 100 Objects). It does what it says on the tin: the BBC are producing 100 15 min long radio programmes - also downloadable from itunes FREE as podcasts! - written and narrated by Neil MacGregor, director of the British museum, tracing the history of our world (us humans) through the objects we have made and used over the last 2 million years. Each episode looks at one object from the British museum and details what we can tell from it - who made it, what it was used for etc - and what that says about our development as a species.

Now I appreciate that not everyone is a history nerd or BBC fangirl, but I challenge any one of you to download any one of the episodes available (we're now in the early 80's with an early victorian tea set) FREE (did I say that?) and not be intrigued.

The reason I'm a little bit obsessed at the moment is that somehow, despite being a history nerd and BBC fangirl, I managed to miss this until now. This project has been running since January, so I have quite a bit to catch up on. Despite seeing many posters, and hearing about it, it was only on one of my many ridiculously long commutes to work a couple of weeks ago that I managed to stumble accross an episode on BBC. After 15 mins of hearing why spanish silver pieces of eight represent the first international trading company and one of the first financial bubbles you'd think I'd be asleep at the wheel. Not the case. What MacGregor does skilfully is make even the slightes detail sound interesting - and most importantly, guides the listener through an actual history of the world. This isn't an account of all the stuff the British have looted over the years (though that element of colonialism is certainly acknowledged) - it's a genuine account of the way we as a species have developed. Each five objects is grouped into 'topics' such as 'After the Ice Age: Food and Sex' (9000-3500 BC), or 'Exploration, Exploitation and Enlightenment' (1680-1820 AD) rather than countries of origin, and MacGregor draws on every aspect of the object to build a picture of what was going on globally as well as in the minds of the makers. Because we're looking at objects - from the most richly decorated statues, to a mundane clay bowl - rather than wars or rulers the effect is of accessible fluidity, time moving on regardless of dynastys, countries or calenders.

I've listened to the first 15 episodes, and in those brief snapshots I feel like I've learned more about history in general than any attempt at school to fill my head with dates and names. And I want to learn more. And more. And more. And it sounds trite, but in these little glimpses into the lives of humans living and working and dying thousands of years ago has made me think about how far, and how not far we've come. We're still identified and to a certain extent defined by the objects we choose to make and keep around us. To me, that's what good history - or good anything - does. Makes you think, and then want more.

Have a listen, and let me know what you think. I'm going to go and find out about Mesopotamian writing tablet.