Newsletter, who dis?
When my husband and I first started dating, he often told me that I spent too much time thinking and should try writing my thoughts down. “No one wants to read that,” I scoffed.
Years later, I was working as a (deeply exploited) adjunct at two colleges in the Midwest, driving 6-7 hours a day to get to/from work. Sure, I listened to a lot of podcasts, but I also learned to love being alone in the car, letting my mind wander while my eyes stayed on the road. Zipping down I-74, I'd often think to myself, “I should write that down.” Some of those musings eventually materialized into a dissertation and a handful of articles.
Those close to me know I have a lot of opinions—mostly about arts, society, and culture—and that's also why working at a university is my dream job. More specifically, I care about the kind of future artists are creating for others, so questions related to ethics and education inevitably creep in there. Occasionally, I find time to organize those opinions into a coherent essay, but most of them stay archived in my brain or evaporate as a passing comment at a dinner party. This newsletter is my way of making more time to dust off old thoughts and to do a better job fleshing out new ones.
In short, I'm a classical musician, an interdisciplinary scholar, a professor of harp and entrepreneurship, and an overly enthusiastic cat parent. I write about music, higher ed, and a myriad of things that strike my fancy.
P.S. The title of this newsletter is inspired by one of my favorite Rosi Braidotti quotes:
So what if the undutiful nomadic daughters look, feel, and sound a bit unusual? What if their texts are disturbing, challenging, and often too dense for the sedentary reading habits of the majority? There is something monstrous, hybrid, and vibrant in the air. (Undutiful Daughters)
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