Reminder: Anthropology in Practice Has Moved

Why are you still hanging around here? Come join me at the new Scientific American blog network!

blogs.scientificamerican.com/anthropology-in-practice

(Note: If you were subscribed through the old RSS feed, you should not be affected.)

Details About the Move to Scientific American (and More)

If you're wondering why things here at Anthropology in Practice have been uncharacteristically quiet this past week, it's because AiP has a new home on the just launched Scientific American blog network! For details about the launch (and if you have the time), you can read community manager Bora Zivkovic's thorough introduction to the new network and its fantastic line-up of writers.

So what does this mean for www.anthropologyinpractice.com? I'll be re-posting my SciAm material (with a 48-hour delay) mainly for archival purposes but also to hold onto this space. However, there are a slew of new links that you may want to take note of:

• The new URL for AiP: http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/anthropology-in-practice/
• The new URL for AiP's Feed: http://rss.sciam.com/anthropology-in-practice/feed

Note: Existing subscribers, particularly those who get AiP updates via email, should not experience an interruption in feed delivery. However, existing subscribers who do not rely on email updates, are encouraged to update to the new feed.

• The URL for the SciAm blog network homepage: http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/home
• The URL for the combined network Feed: http://rss.sciam.com/all-blogs/feed

In case you missed it, AiP's first post went up on Thursday at high-noon (cue the O.K. Corral music) titled, "Shifting Stigmas: The Act of Crying in Public":

The City That Never Sleeps is also a City That Cries On-the-Go When Necessary: on the subway or the commuter rail, in a park, or while walking down the street, do these private moments become a part of the public experience in part because there aren’t enough private spaces? If this is the case, then why does public crying still feel, well, private?

You can read the rest here.

It was an exceptionally busy week, and Bora has a nice round up on network activities. As Bora notes, the new bloggers are on a posting schedule for the first two-weeks. You can expect AiP to resume business-as-usual after July 15th.

AiP in the Press

The launch of the Scientific American blog network has attracted a lot of attention—understandably as Bora Zivkovic has done an amazing job assembling a very diverse group of writers. Thanks very much to the following outlets for their recognition of AiP during this move:

• The Mary Sue: The Scientific American Introduces Everybody to About a Zillion Women in the Sciences
• SciCrunch (Science 3.0): SciAm Blogs—The details
• Labcoat Life (Nature): Scientific American's New Science Blogging Network Launches (Yes!)
• Denim and Tweed: Science online, socially un-contagious edition 
• Though incorrectly associated with (the fabulous) Melody Dye, AiP also received a nice mention from the National Association of Science Writers

This is definitely an exciting time, and I look forward to seeing AiP grow in this new venue.

Anthropology in Practice Joins Scientific American

The time has finally come for me to share a secret with you that I've been keeping for months: AiP is moving! To the new Scientific American blog network!The community manager Bora Zivkovic has written an extensive introduction to the new network that also discusses who the new members are—it's worth the read.

The move is a bittersweet one. I am excited to be able share the goals of this blog with a wider audience, but this corner of the Internet has been my home for almost two years. I have selected every element contained in this venue, and crafted the experience for my readers with patience and a fair amount of my heart as well—because this enterprise has always meant a great deal to me. My writing has always been an extension of myself and good friends can likely find traces of their influence in the posts on AiP. Questions they've posed, discussions we've had over coffee and beer—anything and everything can be fodder for writing (which S knows so well). Moments of joy, frustration, love, and even heartbreak are littered throughout this blog, and they serve as a reminder that writing is an intimate exercise. And anthropology in particular, which invites a fair amount of introspection, only enhances this sort of intimacy.

So as I take a final look around here, surveying the packed boxes, I am quite honestly overwhelmed as to how far we have come together, Readers—for make no mistake, this is your journey as well. I may have done the heavy lifting, but you came, time and time again. You read, digested, and shared my thoughts. You shared your own. And I have gotten to know a few of you quite well. Thank you for your support. In particular, thank you to those of you who know me personally, and supported me in the early days of writing. While you may not comment publicly, your support has never wavered, and I hope you know how much it has meant to me to see AiP on your iGoogle pages, on the home page of your phones, and to see your Facebook shares.

I hope you will join me at my new digs, which have also been carefully crafted by the SciAm editors. If you subscribed via the RSS, please be sure to update your feed. I would hate to lose any of you in the process of this move.

I am delighted to announce that many friends will also call the SciAm network home, including Eric Michael Johnson, Kevin Zelnio, Hannah Waters, Janet Stemwedel, Jason Goldman, Kathryn Clancy, and SciCurious. But the entire network is a robust and diverse one, and I encourage you to visit and poke around—you may find new material for your RSS feeds. Over the next two weeks, we'll be "unpacking," so please bear with us.

See you on the other side. If you want to bring over a box or two, I'd be much obliged. Here's to whatever adventures await us.

And as always, thanks for reading.

- Krystal

Public Tears and Compassionate Strangers

The set of her jaw gave away the fact that she was upset. That and the way she kept worrying a strand of her hair as she stared out of the window on the train—seeing everything, but likely seeing nothing at the same time, twisting the errant strand perpetually around her index finger. She wore the look of someone whose mind was clearly elsewhere.

The train wasn't crowded. She had a row all to herself with a smattering of people scattered throughout the car. A man—maybe in his late forties—sat in row across the aisle, fiddling with his BlackBerry. A book she had been reading lay forgotten on the seat next to her. She was struggling, and that was obvious too from the way her jaw would tighten and unclench. 

And then it happened: A lone tear snaked down her cheek. Just one. And after she wiped it away, she studied her fingertips as if the moisture held some answer that she was trying to decipher. She bit her lip perhaps in an attempt to hold in the hurt she was feeling, but it wouldn't be contained. As she looked up, her eyes were filled with a storm that threatened to burst.

When her resolve broke, she didn't make a sound. Her body didn't shake with sobs. Her face didn't distort with sorrow and pain. Her hurt did not make her ugly. The large tears that rolled in quick succession down her cheeks did nothing to diminish her beauty. She was a picture of fragility, but there was something of strength in her too. She had shut her eyes, though that did nothing to stem her tears which came faster, but in that moment of resignation, she seemed more in control of the situation than one might think. She had accepted that whatever she was feeling needed to run its course.

After a few minutes, she wiped her cheeks furiously. Whether or not her feelings had been purged, she had decided the moment was over. Her lower lip trembled, and she took a steadying breath. She gathered her things and prepared to disembark, her cheeks still wet and now slightly aglow. As she passed the only traveler close enough to have witnessed her sadness, he reached out and squeezed her hand. He offered a smile and a few murmured words: "It will pass. It's better to know life's hurts early. It will pass."

She nodded mutely, as a lone tear—one that refused to be contained—meandered down her cheek. She made no move to wipe it away but managed a shaky smile. It was a private pain shared publicly, and yet, the moment was still private, perhaps made so by the stranger's compassionate intervention.