First times are sometimes terrible

Now, were I an undergrad of the...appropriate....age, you might expect this entry to be about something altogether different from what it's actually about.  I will not be recounting the lurid story of my first sexual encounter, unless there is a clamouring from my fans (???) for such a detail, accompanied by a 300-page paper detailing why it's an important thing for readers of this blog to know.

No, the first time I'm talking about is one that I'm sure any student looking to go on to higher levels of post-secondary education has encountered, and been purely and completely terrified of: the academic conference.

I presented my first paper at an academic conference 2 days ago.  It was a small, undergraduate religious studies symposium, held on campus at McMaster.  I am (funding pending) going to be delivering a paper at the Pop Culture Association conference in Texas this April, so in order to make sure I wasn't going to pass out or vomit when standing in front of other scholars and talking, I submitted a paper to the symposium so I could try it out in a more comfortable setting.

Oh, poor fool.

Now, I will have to state that, actually, it wasn't that terrible.  But who wants to read a blog post with a title like "First times have their ups and downs" (which, actually, is pretty good), or "My first conference paper"?

My first conference paper was titled Tripping on the Peace Wheel: Buddhist Principles in Defense of Psychedelic Culture, and it explores the confluences between Buddhism and modern western psychedelic philosophy.  I wrote it last year for a course in theories and practice of non-violence, and received a very high mark for it.  And, if I'm to be truthful, it's one of my favourite things I've written.  The subject is close to my heart and explores, in parts, philosophical and spiritual beliefs that I hold quite valuable.  I practiced reading this paper for four weeks.  Almost on a daily basis.  Here are the things I discovered while practicing:

1. My eyes are worse than I thought they are.  My final "reading copy" that I took with me was printed in a font much bigger than the standard Times New Roman 12-point.  Let's call that "Humbling Experience #1."

2. Reading one's own work that many times over such a relatively short space of time is, I think, the academic's version of hell.  I'm sure Milton or Dante mentioned something about academics in their poems.

3. The more I read the document, the more I expected that, after presenting, I would be escorted from the campus by two burly football players, acting under the administration's directive, to remove corrupting influences from the university community.

(Part of me kind of wishes that last one had happened.  The scandal would have been delicious.)

So, two days ago, my preparations as complete as one's preparations ever are, I stood up as the second presenter called upon at the McMaster Undergraduate Religious Studies Symposium.  Now, I have to say, in my humble opinion, that I knocked the presentation out of the park.  I remembered not to rush, I had practiced enough that I could make a fair bit of eye contact, I remembered the bits I needed to emphasize.  Sure, I got flustered a couple of times and stumbled a bit.  Sure, I forgot my bottle of water, which made the last couple of pages a dry affair.  But aside from that, it was great.  I loved it.  Or, at least, I understood the potential it had to be something I loved.  Does that make sense?

However.

I should make it plain that just about all the people presenting at the conference (5 of us) were presenting for the first time.  There were varying ranges of nervousness, including one first-year student who I really thought was going to fall down a couple of times.  His essay was amazing.  And really funny.  But, as I say, first-time presenters.  So we were not, and I think I speak for all the students there, we were not prepared for the question period.

Everyone was given the opportunity to field questions after his or her paper.  I figured, as this was an undergraduate conference, and as everyone was a first-timer, that the questions would be, well, gentle, I suppose.  I even asked the audience to be gentle as I asked if they had any questions.

They were not.

My first question was not so bad.  I was asked about the choice in my paper to privilege a "fast philosophy" like psychedelia over a slower practice like Buddhism.  I think I answered the question to my satisfaction, if not necessarily to the satisfaction of the questioner.  Then I took a question from a professor in the audience.  I should point out that the paper I had just presented was written for a class taught by this professor the previous year.  I'm sure she had no idea who I was, as the class was huge and there were TAs to do the marking.  But the irony is lovely.  She proceeded, not asking questions but making points, to refute my paper entirely in just over four sentences.  She even made air quote movements when referring to the thinkers I had cited as "philosophers".  This I took quite insultingly, as their philosophical views are ones that I myself find helpful in dealing with the world at large.  Now, I had seen her while I was talking, and she had this smile on her face that I took to be one of approval.  My powers of reading other human beings are sadly lacking, apparently.  I have been asked since what her points were, but I was so flustered in being so vehemently attacked that I really have no idea what she was talking about.  I did try to address one or two of the points, but by that time the nervousness had kicked back in, and she was sitting there, smirking at me, while I stammered and stumbled.  I really think she was enjoying it.

Here's the thing: I understand that in delivering papers, there is always a chance that someone is going to disagree with you, or take issue with something you have said.  I also understand that, as my paper deals with something that has been demonized in our culture, there will be people who will dismiss what I have to say out of hand.  I'm used to that, and I'm used to the looks I get when I tell people that I really do believe in the deeply spiritual aspects of psychedelic philosophy.  It is not just tripping and having a good time for me (though there is that!), but a way of understanding the universe and my place within it.  I understand these things.  What I don't get is a (presumably) tenured professor, a teacher, attending a conference of students who have plucked up the courage to get up and not only present their own thoughts and opinions, but to do so in front of an audience in an academic setting, and then attacking one of those students.  If this was her idea of teaching someone what an academic conference is like, it was a cruel lesson.  I don't want to cry poor me, as the other presenters also had questions put to them that, in my opinion, carried with them unfair expectations of knowledge and preparation for first-time presenters.  The poor first-year guy looked like he was going to cry when another professor asked him a question that probed into some deeply problematic aspects of Christian belief.  And all I could think was "Do you not realize he's only in his first year?  How can he be expected to answer that?"  I will cry poor me, however, in the fact that my paper was the only one that was openly attacked.  The other presenters, while certainly feeling put on the spot, were asked constructive questions, ones meant to engage with the content of the paper.  I, on the other hand, was told I was wrong.

I did have another question after this...yeah, I'll say it,...humiliating experience, but by this time I was so flustered that I could not answer, nor even understand, what the person was asking me.  I went up to him afterward and apologized, and he said that he wasn't surprised I was so nervous.

I sent out an email when I got home to the organizer of the event.  I thanked him because, all else aside, being in front of a group of ostensibly interested people and talking to them about an idea I had was amazing.  Fantastic.  Hell, yes, I could do this for a living.  I did suggest that in future it might be best to remind professors and grad students that this is an undergraduate conference, filled with very nervous first-time presenters, and that questions, or, I suppose, comments, ought to be gentle.  We haven't had the benefit of a few more years of thinking about these issues in order that we might talk unpreparedly about them in a coherent fashion.  He emailed back in complete agreement, and apologetically, which I thought was nice, seeing as how he had nothing to do with the uncomfortable aspects of the symposium.  He did mention, however, that he thought my comments had irked Dr. Pearson (whose name I was going to leave out of this, but, you know what, fuck it), so I'm glad I wasn't the only one who had felt this.  Commiseration is always nice.  Hence this blog post, right?

So, all that said, maybe I should have titled this entry "First times are partially terrible."  It was, on the whole, a good experience.  I am doing my best to not hold on to the bad stuff, but that seems to be the way my brain works these days (who am I kidding, that's how my brain has always worked!  More on that, perhaps, at a later date).  I am now waiting patiently for an offer from Mac to come and do my Master's work there.  I hope it comes today.  I think a bit of good news like that would do much to dispel the malaise that Dr. Pearson's comments have left over me for the last couple of days.

Reading week is here.  I actually plan to read this time, though it is hard not to recall that, this time last year, I was at an all-inclusive resort in Mexico.  *sigh*