Month: March 2020

Keep Your Space!

Well, we might be in one of the most convoluted liminal spaces of all time. 

“Brian, what’s a liminal space?”

Glad you asked. 

As this aptly named website explains, “A liminal space is the time between the ‘what was’ and the ‘next.’” It’s the threshold between where you were and where you’ll be In other words, we’re in a bunch of liminal spaces right now. We’re in the liminal space between leaving school for social distancing and coming back to school after social distancing (hopefully). Most of us are in the liminal space of getting into colleges and deciding which college to go to. As a country, we’re essentially in a liminal space between the presidential primaries and the general election.

A visual interpretation of a liminal space. Source: BetterHelp

The idea of liminal spaces first popped into my mind after listening to Michelle Kee, one of my speech competitors from Naperville Central, talk about them in her Informative speech. Usually, Informative Speaking rounds are rounds in which you can basically fall asleep, but her topic made me snap up immediately—it felt pertinent, relevant, and essential to any high school senior (and literally anybody) going through this crazy year. 

Often, liminal spaces arise after disappointment: it’s the space between getting rejected from your dream college and having to commit to another one, the space between losing a job and finding a new venture. Essentially, they’re the ultimate unknown, forcing you to reckon with what used to be and what could be next, with no guidance in between. They can either be a blessing, or, more often, a curse. 

Liminal spaces can be frightening, depressing, and, especially in this season of self-isolation and social distancing, lonely. That’s why it’s imperative that we take liminal spaces and regard them as opportunities, rather than an opportunity to sink into a deeper hole. As Psychology Today explains, if we take the time and use our resourcefulness to craft a future for ourselves, rather than waiting for the liminal space to resolve, we’ll end up better off. 

So, in that vein, I’ve decided to analyze our collective liminal spaces, and maybe come up with a few ways we’ll be able to improve ourselves during this time of uncertainty.

Liminal Space 1: College Decisions

The picture for “college” on Wikipedia. Source: Wikipedia

Congrats! By this time, pretty much all of you have received your college decisions, and I’m sure you got in somewhere. Even if it wasn’t your top choice, take solace in the fact that the best predictor of future success is your parent’s current wealth, so really, having the good fortune to live in Naperville or Lisle is a much better accomplishment than making any elite school anyway. 

If you are trying to decide which school to go to, this particular liminal space is a bit trickier to navigate this year. For one, pretty much every school in the world has cancelled their admitted student days, and flying in this environment to visit anyway is basically asking for Governors Andrew Cuomo and J.B. Pritzker to yell at you. 

So what can you do during this time? Well, more research can’t hurt. In my opinion, the best thing to do is to find a current student that goes to the school you’ve been admitted to, and fire away with the questions! Ask them about everything from academics to social life, and make sure you’re making the best decision for you and your future. You can also join the Class of 2024 Facebook group and Groupme chats (I’m sure you can find them) even if you haven’t committed, to see if the group of people you’ll be spending the next four years with are people you vibe with.

Liminal Space 2: Social Distancing

Our current reality. Source: Hillsborough Country

This is the new one. Every single class before us has experienced the liminal space between college decisions and committing, or acceptance and actually stepping foot on campus. No other class has experienced not being in school for so long. Sure, Naperville 203 says we’ll open up right back on April 8th, but CPS has already closed until late April, so are we really sure?

I’m sure all of you have already gotten into a quarantine routine so far, but if you feel like your use of this unique liminal space is making you stagnant and bored, maybe try a couple new things out.

First, try some at-home workouts! I know many of us are taking walks outside, but if you’re craving the gym, check out the BodyWeightFitness subreddit for some at home fitness routines! I’m currently on the Recommended Routine, which I daresay might be more work than actually going to the gym. 

Next, maybe read a book or two! My bookshelf is filled with books I haven’t touched and have been meaning to read, and I’ve finally been able to get through a couple of them. 

Finally, find a passion project! Maybe learn how to cook or bake a bit more, or get a bit better at League of Legends. Whatever you do, just keep making progress. That’s the best way to get something useful out of our liminal spaces.

Liminal Space 3: Presidential Elections

I had to sneak politics in somewhere. If you haven’t noticed, the Democratic primary campaign is basically over. Joe Biden is the presumptive nominee to take on President Trump. However, with the current COVID-19 situation, regular campaigning has basically ground to a halt, confining the campaigns to the internet. 

Youth turnout in elections is historically spotty, but I want to make a pitch for all of you to vote this November if you’re a citizen and are 18 by then. The future of our country depends on the choices the voters make, and without voting, we won’t have a say. 

For now, take this liminal space and do some research! Watch some virtual town halls, look up campaign platforms, and make the best decision come fall.

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We’re in uncharted territory right now. The most we can do is to make the best of it.

My Presidential Endorsement

I’m sorry, but my title is a lie. I confess I have a bit of a dilemma. 

It’ll come to most of you as no surprise that I’m not the biggest fan of our current President (shocker), and as such, you can probably guess that I’ve been following the 2020 Democratic primaries with intense interest ever since former John Delaney (who?) announced his run all the way back in July of 2017. 

That’s right. I’ve stuck through everything, through all the Butti-bumps and Klobu-charges, reading everything from the musings of the Yang Gang to the spit-balling of Bernie Bros.

My dilemma? Despite staying plugged-in, engaged, and informed, I still do not know which candidate I’m going to vote for on March 17th, St. Patrick’s Day, when Illinois voters head to the ballots. 

As of the writing of this blog, after a momentous Super Tuesday, there are two clear front-runners (and two candidates that remain in the race despite dwindling chances): former VP Joe Biden and Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders, both white septuagenarians, lead the race, with Senator Elizabeth Warren hanging on for dear life behind them (and Hawaii Representative Tulsi Gabbard, I assume, is just staying in the race because she really, really enjoys shaking hands and kissing babies). 

That’s the issue. I can’t bring myself to commit to any one of those candidates—but maybe not for the reason you’d suspect. It’s not because I’m not sure whether Joe or Bernie would be better poised to defeat Trump; I think both have a decent chance. It’s not because I’m waffling between Bernie’s calls for a political revolution or Joe’s pledge to fight for a ‘return to normalcy’ (I think either would be infinitely better than the rhetoric of the current occupant of the White House). 

I guess if you forced me to choose between Joe and Bernie, I’d be ridin’ with Biden. I’m a bit turned-off by Bernie’s abrasiveness, unwillingness to compromise, and lofty rhetoric without a clear political strategy. I’m a progressive guy, but I’d prefer my politicians unify, rather than divide. 

I know what you’re going to say.

“Okay, Brian, that’s easy! Just vote for Joe!”

Yes, yes, that would be the logical thing to do. The only problem is I kind of signed a legal document saying that I wouldn’t. 

The statement of presidential preference I had to sign.

That’s right. Last December, I signed a piece of paper saying that I would commit to support Pete Buttigieg, the millennial former mayor of South Bend (who also happens to be gay), for the Democratic nomination. It was a crucial part of the process that made me a delegate candidate in Illinois’ Sixth Congressional District, meaning that I would appear alongside Buttigieg’s name on the primary ballot (if you were in my Lit class last semester, you probably remember me coming around with a petition asking everybody and their mother to sign it; that was to get me on the ballot).

That’s right. On March 17th, I would vote for Pete for President, then vote for myself, Brian Zheng, as a candidate for delegate to the Democratic National Convention in Milwaukee this summer. In other words, the first time I ever cast a ballot, I would get to check the box next to my own name. 

If you look to the column on the right, you can see my name on the ballot!

I was ready to vote. 

The only problem? After a poor showing in South Carolina, Pete dropped out of the race and endorsed Biden. 

Welp. By any logical measure, my vote should have still been decided. Pete, my candidate of choice, just endorsed Biden. I can technically still vote for Biden and myself as a delegate for Pete (even though Pete’s chances of winning delegates in Illinois are zero). So, that’s that. I’m voting for Biden, right?

Not necessarily. For one, logic doesn’t necessarily play a huge role in convincing voters. Emotions matter more than anything in politics, and that holds true no matter how informed you are. 

And since I committed to Pete last year, my second choice has been none other than Elizabeth Warren—she’s a progressive, in line with much of Bernie’s platform (and a lot of my own ideals) but also seems to have real, concrete plans for tackling the big issues. She’s less gung-ho than Bernie, but still not afraid to shy away from a fight. 

 The only issue? By all accounts, her campaign is also in its final stages. She hasn’t won a single state, and there’s no guarantee she’s even going to be running in Illinois. In the case that she doesn’t make it to the 17th, you can probably count on me voting for Biden. But if she does, I might just vote for her, even if she has a negligible chance of winning.

“But Brian, isn’t that just throwing away your vote?”

Maybe, but of the remaining candidates, I think that Warren would make the best President. Isn’t that what primaries are about?

On the other hand, I completely understand the case for voting tactically, even if I do think that Biden’s gaffes (like confusing his wife and sister, or forgetting the most famous line in the Declaration of Independence) are just a teeny bit worrying.

So, in this blog post, I’m asking for your input. If you were in my situation, would you follow your heart and vote for your favorite candidate, or would you go with your brain and play chess with the ballot? I’ll read what you think, but I’ll just let you know that I’ll probably come to an answer myself.

On a more serious note, I hope this post has inspired you to get out and vote on March 17th! Even if you aren’t registered yet, you can register on-site at most early voting locations! And even if you don’t care about the Presidency, other seats are up this cycle, including for County Board and County Auditor, which will have a direct impact on our families’ lives. 

I’m sure I’ll come to an answer to my dilemma by March 17th. In the meantime, take the time to do some research on candidates’ positions, and I’ll see you at the polls in two weeks!

EDIT:

The morning after I wrote this blog post, Elizabeth Warren announced that she would be dropping out of the presidential race. I’m not surprised, but I am disappointed that amidst a field of so many qualified, inspiring candidates, from the first major LGBTQ+ hopeful to the record number of women and persons of color running, the two last viable candidates are old white men.

While I’d be fine with voting for either one (and I haven’t definitively made my mind up between the two, despite leaning one way), and although I believe both would make a far finer President than the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, it seems a bit underwhelming that our choices are what they are.

Nevertheless, we persist.

Saturdays are for Speaking (and Learning)

Two Saturdays ago, on February 22nd, I stepped out of a competitive speech round for the final time in my career. The speech itself was one of my favorites I’ve ever given (it was about a burgeoning feud between Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders), but stepping out of the round, I couldn’t help but feel a bit bittersweet. 

A few hours later, I earned my fourth IHSA state title, rounding out four amazing years in the speech and debate community, both within Illinois and outside of its borders. I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past week or so, and here are four lessons about life I’ve learned from four phenomenal years.

A picture of me outside the Peoria Civic Center after my last ever state tournament.

Lesson 1: Timing matters

As soon as he holds up the two, I need to transition into my last point.

In extemporaneous speaking (my event of choice), timing is everything. When you only have thirty minutes to craft a cohesive argument on literally the world’s biggest problems (I’ve come up with makeshift solutions for everything from climate change to civil wars halfway across the world), and a mere seven minutes to deliver that message, you’d best keep your eyes on the clock.

Fifteen minutes to prepare the speech; fifteen minutes to memorize it. One-and-a-half minutes for the introduction. 1:40 for each main point. Thirty seconds to conclude. 

Perfection.

Sometimes, timing falls outside your control. 

What if you’re the fifth (out of six) speaker, and the judge is already bored out of her mind, teetering on the brink between staying awake and nodding off? It is 8:00 on a Saturday morning, after all.

What if, even after racking your brain for a good five out of those fifteen minutes, you still can’t figure out what to say?

Whatever the case may be, there’s always a limit. Thirty minutes before prep ends. Two months and change before we graduate. Six months until we leave some of our friends forever.

Time is of the essence. Use it well.

Lesson 2: Your Voice is a Tool

“We need more women in extemp.”

The six extemporaneous speakers in the final round at state were all men—something a bit disheartening, considering the fact that all over the nation, women extempers proved their mettle at the highest level time and time again.

When it came time for me to give my state-winner performance, I knew it was something I had to address. On a whim, I decided to add in thirty extra seconds, completely ad-libbed, of the importance of more women competing in extemp, an event about the world around us all—after all, amidst the political strife of reproductive rights, family leave, and sexual harassment, extemp is more important to women than ever. 

 I had the confidence to shatter the norms of the state performance because I was confident in my own voice. Speech taught me that progress can come from everywhere and from anyone, that even as a straight man I can be an ally and advocate for causes that matter to me, from feminism to LGBTQ+ rights to racism to tax reform to climate change. 

You don’t have to be a speech champion (or even be in speech at all) to use your voice. Find a cause that matters and contribute to it. Go to the downtown climate strike, the Women’s March, a March for Our Lives. The future depends on it. 

(If you by any chance want to watch my final performance, the video of my last-ever extemp speech is below!)

Lesson 3: Privilege impacts everything

“Yeah so I was at Yale in September, Florida Blue Key in October, Glenbrooks in November, Nashville for MBA in January, and then I’m heading to Kentucky and Northwestern the week after for TOC in late April, before finally going to Milwaukee in May for Catholic Nationals.”

When I broke down the national tournaments I went to last year, one thing stood out: I went to a lot of tournaments in a lot of different states. In other words, I took a lot of plane rides. It goes without saying that plane rides aren’t cheap. And since I travelled nationally under Naperville North’s banner, but without the supervision of the team, I had to foot the bill for all of those trips. 

While I would have theoretically been able to compete at the highest level in Illinois without the economic privilege I was born under, there’s no chance I would have the opportunity to ply my trade nationally. Without the financial ability to seek out individual coaches, buy plane tickets, and pay registration fees, even the best speakers and debaters are unable to showcase their talent.

Unfortunately, it’s a lesson that extends everywhere, as perfectly exemplified by this Stephen Jay Gould quotation:

“I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops.”

 

Lesson 4: Let it Sink In

In the four weekends leading up to my final state tournament, I had a tournament every single Saturday. That meant five straight Saturdays consumed completely by current affairs and overused vocal cords. It also meant that my speech career came to an end at a breakneck pace—tournament after tournament, without enough time for me to really even take a breather and reflect.

Now that it’s been a week or so, I’ve come away with an intense gratitude for my four years competing in this wonderful activity. 

As some of you already know, I’ve written personalized thank-yous, a few sentences for nearly everybody I’ve met on the circuit, both in Illinois and nationally, to show my appreciation for the impact they had on my life. I consider it the best way to show my appreciation, and the time it took to write them is also coincidentally why this blog post is so late (sorry, Mrs. Trowbridge).

Wherever you are, and whatever you do, I hope you all remember to thank those who have helped you, and remain grateful for the opportunities you have.

Four years fly by fast, but the memories? They’ll stay forever.