I Have Nothing to Offer
- Charlene Holkenbrink-Monk
- Jan 20
- 8 min read
I woke up this morning and laid in bed longer than I wanted. Today, my seventh day in Spain, a thought crossed my mind: I have nothing to offer.
This thought was not an existential spiral, nor should it flag concern.
I have been up since 5:15 a.m., writing off and on since 7:30 a.m. My sleep schedule is nothing like that in San Diego, but that isn’t bad. My sleep is terrible in the U.S. I’m not sure what has primarily contributed to my sudden “normal-ish” sleep, but it’s been a nice change of pace.
I have been feeling a little homesick, but at this point, the biggest hurdle is the transition in time. When it’s the afternoon, and I feel the urge to spam my best friend or tell my mom something silly, they’re asleep. When I have friends message me asking me for details about my day and what we plan to do next in Spain, I’m sleeping. I can’t schedule writing sessions as frequently or connect with peers as easily. For me, this constructed and temporal condition affects my ability to maintain real-time connections with loved ones, and that’s one of the hardest parts of the move so far.
This morning, I sat at the dining table while my children were still asleep, sipping low-quality coffee while I listened to the washing machine making its whiz, whir, and hum sounds. Due to the high rate of scams, I was advised not to book an apartment and instead reserve a hotel or Airbnb for the first few weeks while I was here, so this space doesn’t quite feel like home, though our host has been phenomenal.
It’s projected to rain today, and fortunately, despite the initial forecast of rain all week, the rest of the days should be fairly dry. This means we will stay in today, though we’ve been exploring this city daily. San Diego is a beautiful city, but the walkability is low. I’m really enjoying the location where we are currently staying in Málaga. It seems to capture urban life while still being tucked away. (And I have a few leads on apartments in this area, too, which is fantastic and helps bring about some sense of hope.)
When I woke up this morning, I scrolled through my social media and thought about all the content creators who were reeling and stressed yesterday with the TikTok ban. We can get into the realities of this another day. Still, I do need to note that much of this has to do with the smoke and mirrors game Trump is eliciting, where he now appears to be the hero of TikTok and savior of democracy when, in reality, this was created because of his doing. That is an essay another day for another person. But it really made me think about how several of my friends have large followings and found their voices and ways to center their experiences, helping them make sense of their life trajectories.
And then I sat here and thought again, “Damn, I have nothing to offer."
And, damn, what a stark reminder of the epistemic borders within digital spaces-ones that make me question what I can do that is worthy enough.
This isn’t to say nothing to offer my students or the teaching field, nothing to offer my children or family, but what good can I do with my voice, on these platforms, or with my “expertise?” Some people have accounts that help people develop a sense of community after leaving the Mormon Church (shoutout to my friend, Sarah); others provide funny jokes and a reprieve from the stressors of the world; some folks help people get started on their fitness journey, and others explore the stressors of some people offer helpful travel guidance and tips - so, what do I have to offer?
I want to do all the things - help college students, provide pedagogical insight, offer social commentary, help people see the world differently, inform folks of cool places to visit or see, uncover histories of spaces and places, share some of my photography or fiction writing, explain my research - I really want to do it all. And the reality is that in this era of social media and having a “niche,” I don’t have much to offer.
Except.
That’s who I am.
One of the reasons I recreated my social media handles to The Wanderlust Threader is that I have this perpetual feeling of wanderlust, which is also why my website is perpetual-wanderlust.com. Since I was little, I’ve had this urge to travel and see things beyond the scope of what I thought I knew. I loved photography and even won a competition in elementary school, going on to regionals. I also have wanted to be a writer starting in middle school, developing new and improved worlds, helping explain complex concepts, and helping people feel a little less alone than I did as a child. As I started getting into the field of education, I realized that I wanted to help students - both undergrad and grad - navigate complicated systems, learn skills and practices that could help them succeed, and to help them humanize themselves. These creative endeavors and academic paths have been crucial to who I am, and the idea of somehow weaving them together and not having a niche, I guess in some ways, is my niche. Navigating the bordered confines of identity involves grappling with the societal pressures to specialize and the internal desire to honor one's multifaceted passions. This journey requires continuous self-reflection and a willingness to challenge conventional norms, embracing the complexity of one's identity as a source of strength and authenticity
While in Spain, I could somehow “brand” myself, of course. Maybe I share the different places we go to in Spain and focus on a travel diary of sorts. Or, I can share about my research process and focus on how to conduct participatory visual research. Don’t get me wrong - I probably will do these things - but both of them. I cannot “authentically” (I hate this word these days, though, if I’m honest) exist, though, if I do not present both of these elements of who I am.
For example, this photo of a bench appears to be relatively mundane. I explored some of this on my Instagram (the_wanderlust_threader) and how this bench represents so much more. In San Diego, for example, it’s not uncommon for us to find “armrests” in the middle of a bench, intentionally designed to keep unhoused people from resting their heads and bodies in a city that is increasing in its cost of living without pay to keep up, though the benches are publically funded.
Here in Spain, people gather on these benches, taking a break from the walkable city or sharing words and laughter with loved ones.
Meanwhile, walking through the city is impossible without seeing various forms of street art or graffiti adorning these public spaces. Below are a few, and are only some of the ones I’ve collected over the last week.
The balloon dog photo below is presumably a spray-painted version of Jeff Koons’ sculptures, where Koons has said in an interview, “We’re balloons. You take a breath and you inhale, it’s an optimism. You exhale, and it’s kind of a symbol of death.” You can find that interview here: 6 Jeff Koons Sculptures That Have Helped Define His Pop Culture-Inspired Career, by Emma Taggart. Meanwhile, the reality is that these urban landscapes are not mere spaces but are canvases for social commentary, allowing residents to imprint their identities onto shared environments.
My analysis is that of public space and place-making, where we reflect on how we, the people, collectively on small or large scales, can make the place, well, ours. So what does this mean? Is this an act of resistance? Is this place-making? Or, is this merely the public using public space to make statements and commentary?
This, however, is culturally relevant to that of Spain and cannot be the same for San Diego, especially when we look at the ways that power is employed in these spaces. For example, when UCSD graduate students were protesting unfair wages, treatment, and work environments, several used sidewalk chalk, an innocent and completely temporary medium, in its appropriate way and faced felony charges of vandalism. Wild, right? And even more so when we consider the ways that these different perspectives from Spain to the U.S. and back highlights differing societal attitudes toward public expression and the control of communal spaces, revealing how power dynamics shape the acceptability of various forms of place-making.
But what if I don’t want to focus solely on the use of public spaces and my sociological analysis? What if I wanted to talk about my research and how students have created their own community through participatory research? Which is something I discuss and explore in my dissertation. Or what if I want to talk a bit about my travels, offer some advice, or maybe just want to share some excerpts from the fiction or poetry pieces I’m developing or have written? Academia has convinced me to narrow down who I am and become an “expert” in a particular area, and while I understand that for scientific discovery, I am more than my research. Public sociology and other work are vital, yet they also reflect the tension between societal expectations of specialization and the desire to embrace a multifaceted identity, challenging the conventional norms that often confine personal and professional growth.
The reality is that I may not have a niche to offer. I think that’s the beauty of writing, sharing, and developing beautiful connections. Not everything needs to have a singular focus to market, nor needs to be “marketed,” some branding to sell ourselves - I’m not in the business of reducing myself, my being, or my humanness to a narrow focus. That is not to say that others who do the same are wrong, nor do I judge them - if they have something they want to focus on, that’s fantastic. Good for them. As for me, I’m not that person.
So, I have nothing to offer… except my words, my photographs, my thoughts, the moments of wanderlust and restless I face, my social commentary and personal reflections, and this is the important one - my humanity to you. Maybe you find comfort in the words I share, or there will be a time they help you feel a little less alone. Perhaps you can appreciate my vulnerability in sharing poems that come from the depths of my soul, and you feel encouraged to write your feelings and emotions down on paper, or you can take some of my travel or research advice. Do you just want to see some of the photos I share? That’s okay, too.
Whatever it might be, I have nothing to offer except myself, the chaos in my brain, the words that flow from my mind to my fingertips, and the moments I exist within.
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