Untangling complex identities
Finding the flow and finding myself
For years, when I’d introduce myself, I’d say “Hi, I’m Kim. I’m a journalist.”
Journalism, and the pursuit of healthier storytelling cultures, was my identity. I had already left the field and come back again because I loved it. Most of my friends were journalists I had worked with or met at places like ONA (Online News Association). To that end, journalism as my identity was good and bad. I did fulfilling work, but I would work long hours and I burned out more than once. I lost my flow — that sense of losing time as you are doing something because it is so consuming the rest of the world drops away.
During the pandemic, everyone’s identity was challenged. Our worlds became much smaller, to the size of an apartment or a home. It was then I discovered weaving. I was seeking to do something with my hands after work that was not TV and scrolling aimlessly on my phone. I tried calligraphy (again), origami (again) and then braided a rug out of plastic bags. I enjoyed the tactile nature of the act. I tried weaving on a piece of cardboard, then I bought a real loom.
Finding a hobby reminded me that to feel flow, you need to challenge every part of your brain. It was spending all day on a single skill that was ruining my flow, not just that I was too busy or burned out.
I’ve continued weaving since the pandemic subsided, and later added on crochet (thanks to my friend Hannah Wise). I’ve made new friends and deepened relationships with other creative fiber artists, too.
Found and lost again
When I arrived at Stanford as a John S. Knight Journalism Fellow, I had a project on my loom that had been sitting there for nearly a year. I had done several quick crochet projects in the year prior, but nothing of recent. I had burned out, faced an incredibly personal low point in my mental health, and my life had been turned upside down several times over by widowhood.
I brought my loom, and some yarn. One of the first questions I asked after being reminded that part of the reason I’m here is to heal the broken bits of myself: Is there a place with a big floor loom? I’ve always wanted to learn how to weave more complex pieces, but had only ever had access and space for a handweaving tapestry loom. Through some research, I found the Textile Makerspace at Stanford, and later signed up to work with an artist in residence, Sarah Rosalena, on a really cool piece of equipment, a TC2 loom, which was purchased by Making@Stanford, a collaboration of makerspaces at Stanford. Sarah taught a small group of students (including me) about weaving and her artistic process, which is pretty amazing and digital-focused, but tactile at the end of the day.
I’ll have to wait to get a chance to work on a weaving on the TC2 until early next year, but I’ve found a bit of that flow again.
Our whole selves
Journalists: This is your permission to be more than your job, because you are and have been. Our personalities are wide and varied, despite the thing that binds us, a love of storytelling and giving the world better information.
Prior, I would have said my hobby is journaling or writing short stories. The problem with that was it was only half a step away from what I did all day. There is such joy in discovering and creating without the use of a screen, whether you’re climbing a rock or carving a bowl. At its heart, journalism is a creative and artistic endeavor, so you’re already half inclined toward some art.
Weaving, for me, is a bit of meditation. And flow is connected to mindfulness, both involve a state of concentration. We’re healthier people when we do something that gives us flow, or anything that is discordant and gives us time to process the problems we’re trying to solve (think of why you get ideas in the shower).
Find that thing, whatever it is. It might take a few tries, but you’ll land on something. You can be more than a singular noun — we’re all complex identities, and more layers to your self might help you be a more resilient person.
On layers of identity
Those layers are part of the provoking question that led me to JSK. As I make room within myself by making more tangible things, I want to look at representation more closely.
I am no stranger to working with communities of color, but I feel U.S. journalism flattens identity into a binary — either you are new to the country, an immigrant, or your family and community have been here for generations. There is a wealth of experience in between. For example, I am a kid of immigrants, the only person born in the United States in my family. I have always felt more Vietnamese American than Vietnamese, an identity that took years for me to grow into.
Google Ke Huy Quan, the Oscar-winning actor from “Everything Everywhere All At Once” and identity, and you’ll see a parade of posts discussing whether he is Vietnamese or not. He is Vietnamese born, of Chinese descent. The media has struggled with that complexity. Is he Vietnamese? Chinese? Vietnamese American?
We can do better. I want us to do better. How to represent people like Ke, and myself, inside newsrooms and in coverage, is why I’m here. There are different yarns (see what I did there?) to this query, but how to name those layers is my goal for now.
If you are a fiber artist, I’d love to hear from you about how the craft has helped you become a better journalist, and person. I’m at pkimbui@stanford.edu and my calendar can be found here.
If you want to talk about the complexities of identity, please reach out through this form and tell me how identify (Second generation? First generation American? Something else?).
