Epcot, APA, and the unending search for identity

Some time ago, I read about a study where they gave subjects glasses to wear that turned everything upside down. Looking through these lenses, subjects would step up to enter a room, because the panel above the door seemed to be at their feet. They would raise their right hand to reach something that was on their left. At first, folks felt really disoriented. But eventually, it became “normal,” and they were able to master this new view with ease. I think about that study when I find myself making a conscious effort to see things differently. Especially, to shift from a critical perspective (my standard lens) to a more open and positive one (the inverted version). Over the past several days, I had a flock of opportunities to try inverting some lenses. 

I just got back from a trip to Florida. Yup, Florida in August. Temp in the 90s and humidity to match. We went primarily to attend the annual convention of the American Psychological Association (APA), so we had no control over the date. While we were in Orlando, we also visited Epcot, which I had heard described as sort of a science theme park. With lens inversions everywhere I turned, I came away kind of dizzy. 

Epcot Entrance

We started at Epcot, where I had anticipated scientific wonders and fascinating, little-known facts about the earth, space, and the future of both. Instead, we found your basic carnival rides disguised as educational “experiences,” with over-priced souvenirs hawked at every opportunity and mediocre food purveyed in crowded spaces reminiscent of my middle school lunchroom. At least that was my critical, adultomorphic response … perhaps heightened by the visible avarice of small children and the stress levels of their parents. I couldn’t help but wonder, what will these children do with all those mouse ears? And how will their parents pay for this extravagant visit to the county fair on steroids?

But when I managed to apply my curiosity and my education in developmental psychology instead of my skepticism, I saw something quite different. Imagine the challenge of creating experiences that engage the interest of children, tweens, and teens while at the same time teaching them something. Framed in this way, some of the “experiences” were really clever: tests of reaction time and dexterity, opportunities to design a “perfect society” based on personal values, a quick trip through the history of communication (which actually recognized the role of Islamic thinkers in preserving the knowledge lost in the Dark Ages), a ride that simulated the g-forces encountered during blast-off and a slingshot acceleration courtesy of the moon. There weren’t a lot of these, and some lines stretched to almost an hour. But still, the day at Epcot wasn’t, in my mind, a total bust. Besides, the scorching heat and drenching humidity meant that the crowds were relatively light. Can’t complain about that.

Florida has nice skies, too!

Then came APA. I have been ambivalent about this organization and its conference since long before my retirement. It feels sort of stuffy and pretentious to me, with many folks preoccupied with their status and with finding many ways to flaunt it. Also, many of the presentations remind me of the old question about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Scientific psychology is surprisingly able to slice and dice the most intriguing experiences into tiny crumbs that feel meaningless and even absurd in themselves. The idea, of course, is that in combination, they will create meaningful knowledge. But lots of sessions at this conference seem to me to be light years away from any such synthesis. All of this triggers my critical tendencies big time.

On the other hand, I regularly see friends at APA that I don’t see any other time. These are people I really care about, many of whom are doing truly important, socially relevant work. And the simple coming together of thousands of people also often brings surprising interactions. We encountered an old friend from our time in New Hampshire and had a wonderful, extended lunch conversation with her and her friend. We went to dinner with a heterosexual couple whom I had never met before, whose work as allies to the LGBTQ community is informed by broad-based and deeply held social justice values. The conversation was wide ranging and deep, and it left me feeling both heard and educated. A perfect inversion of the invisibility I often feel in the larger organization.

We also went to some really thoughtful and thought-provoking sessions, especially on the role of psychology in informing and shaping public policy. Some sessions were focused on efforts to protect the rights of LGBT folks, and some highlighted other social justice concerns—racial and class equality, prisoners’ rights, support for families facing financial crises, and others. The complexity and sophistication of these public policy efforts are just so impressive. In these sessions, I was reminded how important psychology’s role can be in the world. Seen from this perspective, APA didn’t seem like a waste after all.

Ducks in the hotel lobby fountain. Really!

Then, as if Epcot and APA hadn’t torqued my perspective enough, I ran smack into an old bugaboo: the question of who I am, really, in this setting. The preface: before I retired, I used to regularly present papers at APA. For a time, my work was known and well respected in these circles of folks whom I admire. When conversations popped up, I was an active participant, and I was heard and respected by people I listen to and respect. Now, my place is so much less clear. No one is rude to me. In fact, these folks are very gracious. But I am really aware that I am not, now, “part” of it all. I am on the outside, watching and listening in. My partner, on the other hand, is really churning in her career. Lots of the work she did years ago is increasingly being noticed and honored. She is at the very center of what’s happening in our circle of “homies” at APA.

I know that I chose this position. And I know that I keep on choosing it by not focusing my time and energy on staying in touch with the developments in my field, by not presenting papers at this and other conferences. And usually, I’m quite fine with that. But something hit me this time. My partner was out doing a gig one evening, and I got bored and lonely. I was at loose ends, unable to decide what to do with my time. And sitting in the hotel room, I really saw clearly how different our professional lives are now. How I actually don’t have a professional life, while she has a very vibrant one. Maybe more to the point, I realized that I am at a bit of a loss about how to navigate that difference in a way that joins integrity in my own life and enthusiasm for hers.

So my task now reminds me of that old inverted lens study. I need to find that alternative lens, the one that will guide me to a position of ease and comfort in settings where I used to be, but now am not, in the professional ingroup. One that swaps confusion and discomfort for joy and fulfillment. It’s not unlike the change in perspective around Epcot or around the merits of APA. But I’m guessing this shift will be more difficult—and probably more important.

In truth, this is an old and familiar task, already navigated many times: toddlerhood, adolescence, midlife, and right at retirement. It involves crafting yet another answer to the recurring question: Who will I be now, in this setting?

Today, I’m back home, settling into the pattern of my days. Here, I don’t find myself at loose ends when my partner is busy. I have lots to do, many things I find gratifying (like this blog). But this other issue still itches at the back of my mind. APA and its clones will reappear, and I’d rather not be caught off balance again. So I guess I have to put some thought into this now, while the dust is settled.

Maybe I should buy a bright red sports car or get a tattoo and some piercings instead. It would be easier.