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Doors that slowly close.
Doors that slam close. Doors that are left slightly ajar. Doors that swing wide open with a burst. Doors that get a boost of electrical support. Doors that get locked. Doors that propel. Doors that deliver. Doors always deliver. An opening. A closure. An in-between. I frequently find myself moving in between spaces, programs, paradigms, timescales, (meta)physics, and...and...and.... Sometimes these moments are more formally marked, while others are indicated with the slight gesture only accessible through an affective attunement with the exchange. When these invitations become so overwhelming I know it is time to write-- to find a smooth space--to linger with(in) it all; to queer it all. Perhaps I’ve always lead a queer(ed) life? As someone who identifies as a cis heternormative woman, it feels a bit odd to write the words (or is it world?) so plainly. While much commonplace conversation around the term ‘queer’ implies a re/figuring of sexuality, there are also many researchers across anthropology, philosophy, feminist science studies, gender studies, envrionmental studies, and, and… and.. (Seymour, 2013; Mortimer-Sandilands & Erickson, 2010; McCann & Monaghan, 2020) who explore ways in which viewing the world through a ‘queer lens’ invites critical possibilities for living well with each other. That is, living collectively with(in) the more-than-human relationships we are always already enveloped. To queer an idea, a self, a discipline, a concept, a piece of evidence, a tradition is to soften its edges and thus become permeability to the not yet. To queer something is to make it more hospitable for someone or something to thrive. Doors are our daily invitation to a queered reality. I have experienced many slammed doors, and doors that have been thrust open. Most often, however, doors are only left slightly ajar inviting me to ask: Should I send my full self in? Or should I just send a slip of paper with a note? What is at stake? For whom? What is my responsibility to the door? To the spaces on either side of the threshold? To the in-between? Most recently, doors, their foyers, and their thresholds have afforded me an opportunity to live, teach, breathe, and imagine well with others (again) in a queered space. A space where permeable walls and ideas are celebrated. A space where the queering of epistemology, ontology, and methodology is rendered-possible. I’m excited to have the opportunity to re/turn to a slow (and thus always-already queer) ontology (Ulmer, 2017). References
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So your research is…Yes. So you’re qualitative… Yes. [Silence] And you do STEM? Yes. And you research STEM? Yes. [Hmm.] And what theories do you use? It depends? And how is that recieved? By whom? [Hmm.] But how can someone do STEM education research and center qualitative inquiry? Aren’t these incompatible ideologies? Worthwhile-MethodologiesIt’s amazing how many people expect researchers of ‘STEM education’ to solely depend on quantitative methodologies of inquiry. Like much of educational research, traditions of STEM education (and the value systems that come with it) are obsessed with ‘worthwhile’-methodologies. There is a popular quote about insanity: “the act of doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results”. This casual quote begins to depict an eerie parallel between research methodologies (deemed of worth) on STEM education and the common narrative of ‘insanity’. Like conceptions of ‘insanity’, research methodologies of ‘worth’ are saturated with power-laden conceptions of the human subject, nature, the nonhuman entities, knowledge, and mere being-within this world. Researchers of STEM education are often expected to do the same thing over and over (e.g., ‘methodologies of intelligibility’, also known as ‘methodologies of most [financial] worth’). While quantitative research makes particular kinds of contributions to knowledge and practices of STEM Education, I choose to do amplify the unspoken narratives, mechanisms, desires, ideologies of STEM education. This requires new modes of thinking of and with ‘the known’, ‘the seen’, ‘the felt’, ‘the lived’, and... and… and…. You’re and Your ResearchAnother dimension inherent in this phenomenon is how, then, the research someone does (in my case on issues related to STEM and science education) get ascribed to my body, my subjectivity, my worth in the academy. Herein lies another (implicit and explicit) ever unfolding tension of educational research on and of ‘STEM’.
The distinction between claims of ‘you’re and your research’ might appear to be subtle semantic preferences of the speaker, but like many accounts of social phenomena contains extremely complex assumptions of ‘doing research’. As a teacher educator, these messy dynamics become even more complex when I consider my professional responsibility to the formal preparation of elementary science teachers. All consuming questions come into play when designing course syllabi, programs of induction, or professional development:
So your research is…Yes. So you’re qualitative… Yes. [Silence] And you do STEM? Yes. And you research STEM? Yes. [Hmm.]
I’ve been yearning for a smooth space. Today I found 10 minutes of slowness in the machine that is #aera19. Where did I find it? In a taxi.
The car has become an unique mode of transportation for me. Yes, the car carries my body; yet, the car also creates unique conditions for thinking and being on the move while always being still. Whether it is the 2.5 hour commute I make to Jackson, MS each week or a quick trip between conference buildings, I find peace in the car. It carries my body so I can carry my thoughts. Ideas are transported at varying speeds: fast, slow, yield, stop, turnaround— I feel the world differently. What thoughts are rendered-capable here? With the taxi driver? Among myself? Here, in the car ... there are no claims being made. there are no assertions imposed on my subjectivity. there are no expectations to move quickly. Instead, a new thought lingers. time feels multidimensional. my pulse slows down. images of the present become blurry. Here is where I desire to sit. Here is where I desire to move. Here is where I desire to breathe. But, that’s neither here nor there.
Stay(ing) on and in the move...even while sitting stillOnce the Spring semester came to an end I lost touch with a rich, dynamic, and inspiring educational community that kept me moving through the academic year. Now June, I continue to find myself gravitating to a blank Word document, GoogleDoc, and foray into the land of blogging with desire to write some-thing. In academia, this would be viewed as some strategic form of 'productivity'. Yes. I'm preparing and submitting manuscripts (and co-editing a Special Issue) for publication this Summer, but those manuscripts (and this initial post) is not an outcome of enacting proper productivity that contributes to 'the academic machine,' rather it's me grasping for something to keep my thoughts on the move. Each time I attempt to perform a 'good lazy summer,' with the computer lingering near by, I am reminded of my love affair with teaching. Within one week of finishing my first Spring semester at Millsaps I quickly began drafting-up new course ideas for my Fall classes. I couldn't resist. As I finalize the community-engaged learning experiences for my Fall classes, I resist the urge to begin working students for a class that has yet to commence. Must I wait two whole months before I can think alongside my students again? Teach(ing) without the ClassroomTeaching happens everywhere and radiates from every-body (i.e, human & non-human), yet there is something special about formal (under)graduate coursework. It's quite possible the students at Millsaps College have made me view my teaching commitments with rose-tinted glasses, but even before beginning at Millsaps I (like many others) knew there was something unique to the social phenomenon of 'the classroom'. Perhaps bell hooks' claim that the classroom (and she points to the undergraduate classroom in particular) functions as a scared space deeply entrenched with radical possibility speaks to my summer teaching withdrawals? Teach(ing) SensationsI must keep writing. I must keep reading. But most importantly, I must keep living each day as it shows itself to me. Even if I am not traveling the world, I find myself looking towards molecular moments to keep me on the move: (a) my dogs' keen attentiveness; (b) the unwieldy Bermuda grass; (c) the television on mute; and (d) a sunny sky taken over by an imminent thunder storm. Herein these minor moments new questions reveal themselves:
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