First, backstory.
My stepfather served in the military. This meant we moved. From age six to fourteen we moved a half dozen times. We eventually settled in Shelton, but, by then I’d developed a habit of not setting down roots, because, well, they were regularly pulled out.
In all, I have moved somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty to thirty times in my life. Some moves were across town, some were across the country.
Bottomline: Not setting down roots, requires, at least for me, not making too many attachments and not getting too comfortable. It’s just easier that way. No awkward, ugly cry goodbyes and empty promises to stay in touch.
More backstory.
In 2010 I lost my shit. I had a mental breakdown in the last semester of graduate school. I have had OCD since I was a kid and that played a role in what happened. I was also under a lot of stress and had no idea what I would do once I graduated.
I developed a panic disorder and agoraphobia. I quit school and moved back in with my parents. I slept in a bunk bed in my old room. My parents ran a dayare out of their house. I lived with them for two years.
Spoiler alert. I got back on my feet. I met someone and we eventually got married. I worked as a freelance writer for a while. The pay sucked, but I was in no shape for a 9–5 office job. Freelancing allowed me to put a toe back in the world and see if I drowned.
Well, my wife and I decided to start a family. Freelancing is feast or famine. You either have just enough or you have not enough. I needed to find a steady gig. I came across a job ad on Craigslist (DANGER, DANGER) to do marketing for a self-help personality. The way I saw it, I had very few skills and was coming off a prolonged mental health crisis, so I needed to take what I could get.
I mean, I wouldn’t talk about the job if I didn’t get it. The guy I worked for called me “babe” and liked to open mouth kiss people, mostly members of his family, but not always. To his credit he did not try this with me. The job paid money, which was preferable to say a handful of toenails, and, after a year, I was offered a raise of twenty-five cents an hour.
End Backstory.
I once again turned to Craigslist (DANGER, DANGER). In between the solicitations for sex and old piles of broken crap no one wants, was an ad for a writer position at UW Tacoma.
Gritty. Just so Gritty.
I knew nothing about Tacoma. As a teenager I’d been told to avoid the city, for it was a crime-ridden hellscape with a boob-shaped dome. I now understand this is wrong (minus the boob dome part) and frankly, pretty racist. Think about what you’re saying when you call Tacoma, one of the most diverse places in Washington, “Tacompton.” Think real hard.
Here’s the thing. There are just so many stories I could tell. I could talk about this experience and how it changed me or how that experience provided new perspective. I will do this, at some point, in a longer, much, much longer, piece.
Such a thing requires time and distance.
For now, let me just sing Tacoma’s, and specifically UW Tacoma’s praises.
And since UWT is a university and universities are about learning, here is what I learned from UWT.
- I am a first-generation college student. I had no idea this was a thing until I came to campus! Finally, my entire undergraduate and graduate experience made sense. I always felt kind of dumb and out of place in college, but it wasn’t because I was dumb, it was because I had no idea what I was doing.
- The commute from Olympia (my home) to Tacoma is ass. I was already on campus when that Amtrak train crashed onto the freeway. It took me six hours to get home that day. Still, despite the rage-inducing, toddler drawing that is I-5, I did benefit from the teeth gnashing commute. I spent that time learning. I listened to podcasts, the best being the Seeing White series about the construction of whiteness. This rolling classroom pushed me to dig deeper and read more, specifically on topics of race and gender.
- I’m going to point at Danica Miller on this one. If I think of someone who best embodies the soul of a place, I think of her. There are others including, but not limited to, Brian Anderson, Alex Miller, Mike Honey, Megan Kitagawa, Bonnie Becker, Navia Winderling, Kira King, Menaka Abraham, Courtney Kroll, Natalie Jolly, Jennifer Mitchell, Emma Rose, Darcy Janzen, Carolyn West, Noelle Wilson, Diana Lopez, Sharon Laing, Kim Davenport, Tessa Coleman, Susan Wagshul-Golden,Nicole Blair, but for right now I’m pointing directly at Danica. There are a lot of things I appreciate about Danica. She is very frank and she insists on equity. Danica said something to me once that I still think about from time-to-time. We were at the Moon Yard Recording studio to record the first episode of the UW Tacoma podcast. Danica interviewed her dad, Puyallup Tribe of Indians Chairman Bill Sterud, for that first episode (easily one of my top five moments from my time at UWT). We were waiting for her dad to arrive and, I remember the shape of what we were talking about, but not the specifics, she talked to me about how important community is to the Puyallup Tribe and how we (meaning me and other white folks) could have community too, if we tried. It took me a while to understand why what Danica said resonated with me so deeply.
- Trying. Building community means trying. In this case trying is a synonym for understanding, for discarding old “truths.” Trying means listening. Trying is not assuming. Trying is making bigger tables not higher walls. Trying means being vulnerable and being okay with not knowing, or even, maybe looking foolish momentairly, which is better than being foolish for a lifetime. Danica probably didn’t mean all that, but that one little sentence did something. It was the dirt in which I set down roots.
- I wasn’t a starter. Pushing this pained sports metaphor, I used to prefer the sidelines. UW Tacoma taught me the importance of involvement. I mean, getting involved is the exact opposite of how I lived prior to coming to campus. Being Switzerland was a matter of self-preservation. This attitude maybe wasn’t harmful, but it wasn’t helpful either. I have talked to thousands of people in my nearly eight years on campus. It is truly humbling to have people trust you with their stories. People opened up their lives to me, showed me their struggles and their achievements. At some point I decided to come off the bench. I was no longer comfortable riding the pine. I’d heard too much to keep doing nothing.
- I’m good at something! UW Tacoma showed me that I have a place. It’s hard to be a writer because this isn’t the seventeeth century. Words aren’t as impressive as they were when the Guttenberg press blew its first mind. I’m not an app or a line of code, so the world isn’t super impressed by what I do. Still, I take the work seriously. Taking the work seriously means taking people seriously. Every person is interesting and unique, as are their individual stories. It brings me an endless amount of joy to tell a person’s story and to know that they are happy with the end result.
- College is worth it. Full stop. Are there issues with higher ed? Yes, but everything everywhere since the dawn of time to the end of it has or will have issues. Forget the puckered anus face blowhards talking about “woke” college campuses. They’re morons trying to get elected, morons who often attended and benefitted from elite educations at Ivy League schools. That’s some truly cynical fuckery. Also ignore the “rah rah” view of college as good for the country and for the world at-large. Sure, that’s important, but most important is what a college degree means to an individual and to that individual’s family. It means something to that one person who is the first in their family to attend and graduate from college. A person whose family immigrated to the U.S. and worked some shit jobs just so their kid could have a shot. Jobs plural, BTW. More than one job, at a time. UWT is full of students with these kinds of stories. Dismissing the work they’re doing is an insult.
- Believe in young people. They’re amazing. If you don’t think so, maybe talk to one.
Finally, this place taught me about me. I grew up here, even though I started when I was 35. I lived my life in a state of arrested development prior to my early thirties. My wife, my kids and this place changed that. I bought my first house while at UWT. My wife and I went through the pain of a miscarriage while I worked here and also the joy of watching my second child come into the world. We went through a pandemic together. Coworkers (my other family) lost loved ones, celebrated anniversaries, got married and divorced. We’ve been through a lot together, too much for me to put in the rearview and drive away. I may be moving on, but you’re coming with me. I set down roots and plan to cultivate them.
Love,
Eric
PS — I have worked a decent number of jobs and have had a lot of meh bosses. Brian Anderson and John Burkardt are incredible. They let me be me, they let me try new things and explore. Such trust and freedom is rare. It takes a special kind of person to believe in a weirdo like me. They pulled together a talented group of people who took whatever coal I offered and turned it to diamonds. To say that I am grateful would be an understatment.
