On Autumn

The end of summer is always a quantum shift of sorts.  No other change in season is quite so pronounced or quite so disheartening; in addition to the new chill in the air, autumn ushers in the responsibilities of school for some and the nostalgia for those days in others.  W.B. Yeats conveys this unsettling dichotomy beautifully in his poem "The Wild Swans at Coole."  For Yeats, autumn marked the frenzied flight of swans from a cold pond to some warm unknown shore.  In their clamorous wings he saw both his own desire to flee the coming season and the pain of having to adapt, to leave things behind.  He felt and understood that our desire for escape inevitably coexists with our fear of it.  I have felt a bit nostalgic watching my cousins and some friends return to school, but my increasing awareness of the passage of time, of missed opportunities and regrets, is somehow making me fearless rather than crippling me with fear of continued failure.  I have adapted before and I am ready to adapt again - more ready than ever, in fact, because I am investing in people and activities that affirm rather than challenge and undermine my identity.  I have no doubt that I am embarking on warmer shores than those I laid on so carelessly during the hot months of summer.  Are you?

Old Souls

My grandfather was a simple man.  Born in 1910, he came of age during the Great Depression.  He was thin, quiet and good-natured.  His friends called him "Red" for his reddish-brown hair - hair I never saw because the pictures are black and white and because he had only sparse white hair by the time I came around.  He met a stubborn, creative and whip-smart woman with a Mona Lisa smile - a knowing little smirk - and knew he couldn't live without her.  He wrote her letters, poetic in their straightforwardness, and she decided she didn't want to live without him either.  They married, had four sons and lived modestly but comfortably in New Albany, Indiana.  He was a self-employed contractor and landlord notorious among his clients for his impressive work ethic and among his tenants for his unsolicited generosity.  He and my grandmother smoked because they didn't know better and traveled in their later years because they knew they would not live forever.  When they visited my family, I was content to sit on my grandfather's lap, facing him and exploring his face with chubby fingers.  I found his bifocals and his wrinkles and his smiling lips, and I was delighted to have caused that smile.  I can't remember these things without the aid of home videos, but I feel them at my core.  Sometimes these feelings are the only things that I truly grasp.

Next year my sister and her husband will become parents and my parents, grandparents.  I wish my grandfather could witness these beautiful graduations, could see what an amazing gift he has helped create.  At the risk of sounding selfish, I also wish he was here to help me remember that I am the same girl who made people smile with my insatiable curiosity and quirkiness.  He is the reason I am an old soul, the reason I tend to relate better to my elders than I do to people my own age.  Does anyone else feel this way?  Maybe it is too simplistic to say that one person causes another person to be an old soul; it is more likely the feelings inspired by that person.  Perhaps we old souls feel that our elders will be less judgmental than our peers.  Perhaps - and this may be a long shot - those of us who are highly sensitive feel we have lived longer than our years because we experience things without filters.  There are many theories, all of which are probably partially correct, but one thing about old souls is certain: we understand and appreciate time and its ability to both give and take.

I do not remember how or when my parents told me about my grandfather's death.  I do not even know when I started missing him.  Since his death and that of his wife, I have not lost anyone as close to me, but I am fully aware that it could happen at any time.  It could happen to me; September 11th and April 16th should have taught all of us that.  And yet, despite that knowledge, I will not pretend to assert that I am living life to the fullest.  In fact, my life sometimes feels very empty, and that is my own fault.  I struggle to understand whether this emptiness is caused by actual lack or by my own distorted perception.  It is probably a bit of both.  I know I am not alone in this struggle, but if you can relate at all, I would love to hear from you.  In the meantime, take care of yourselves and each other.  And hug your grandfathers, as greedily as children might.

What I'm Learning

I am not really in a writing mood right now, but I am in a list-making mood.  And an honesty mood.  Since I doubt you are interested in reading my grocery and errand lists, I am going to share a (slightly) more interesting list.  Here are some things I'm learning about myself, others and life in general:

1. I am indeed learning without being in graduate school.  I am still struggling with feelings of regret and insecurity about not having a master's degree (and the career to whitch it hypothetically leads), but I am still reading, seeking knowledge and interacting with people who enrich and increase my understanding of and appreciation for life.

2. Holding grudges holds you back.  Forgive yourself and others so you can move on with your life.

3. You get out what you put in.  Don't expect others to include you in things if you never include them in things.  Relationships are built on mutual initiative and inclusion.

4. Try to keep the seriousness/silliness ratio around 40/60.  Smiling and laughing is always more attractive than scowling.  More importantly, it makes you feel better.

5. We all feel alone sometimes.  Thinking you are always the only one who is alone is extremely self-centered.  If you need help to get rid of this feeling, get it.  And then join the rest of us crazy loners as we fumble around, shaking hands and making small talk because the awkwardness always outweighs the loneliness.

6. The harder you fight for control, the more it will elude you.  That said, some things are worth fighting for.

7. The best antidote for worrying about yourself is helping other people.  In fact, it is probably the best antidote for any emotional ailment.

8. Be generous with your time and money, but only to the point where it feels comfortable.  Do not give grudgingly; if you do, the gift has no value.

9. If you are worried about what others think of you, recognize that they rarely, if ever, do.  I do not say this cynically; it's just the truth.

10. To end with the most cliche of all cliches, life is short and uncertain.  We are fragile and at the mercy of forces beyond our control.  What we can control is how we treat ourselves, each other and our planet.  I'm learning to treat these things with a little more love.  Thank you to those of you who are doing the same.

Everything is Music

I recently discovered that all of my favorite activities derive from the root word "muse": musing, amusing others, being amused, making music and listening to music.  Most of us know that within the framework of Greek mythology, the Muses were goddesses who presided over the arts; there were nine, and each specialized in a different art form.  We also know that a muse is an entity that inspires us to accomplish creative tasks.  Some of you may be scoffing at these mythological definitions, and I am right there with you.  I firmly believe that "muse" is more a verb than a noun and more internal than external.  To muse is to contemplate, to silently and intentionally reflect and speculate.  This process is the harbinger of art.  So what does any of this have to do with amusement?  Implicit in the notion of amusement are those of diversion and escape; we are amused because we are distracted from that which is not amusing, namely life itself.  Think about it, though - what amuses you the most: highly abstract humor or humor that derives from, perhaps pokes fun at, the banality of our daily existence?  I'm a slapstick, awkward situation and bodily function-loving girl myself.  In other words, I am most entertained (and entertaining) when I observe (or joke about) the hilarity of human existence.  I am amused and amusing when I understand that I am in on the joke and that the joke is on me.  My theory is that we cannot produce or understand true amusement until we are able to laugh at ourselves.  And in order to laugh at ourselves, we must muse on our shortcomings, our quirks, our bodily functions.  We must fully embrace being human.

I consider music to be the ultimate expression of humanity, the highest product of our musings on our own existence.  As with amusement, there is the implied notion of escape.  It's not an unfounded association: the image of a troubled youth drowning out his parents' fighting, nagging, etc. with headphones is very real.  But if you put yourself in that youth's shoes (in the unlikely event that you haven't already worn them to their soles as I have), you know that this isn't really an effort to escape.  It is actually an effort to reconnect, to remind yourself that you are part of something bigger than your immediate family or whichever situation is weighing on you.  That's why music is called the universal language - it is by, for and about all of us.  It is a club to which we all belong.  Of course, we all have unique musical preferences, but most of us can at least appreciate others' appreciation of different genres (I'm really trying to give country music a chance).  The only thing better than listening to music is making it, and the only thing better than making music is making music with a group of other musicians.  I have had the pleasure of jamming and performing with some extremely talented musicians; unsurprisingly, these sessions have proved quite amusing and have caused me to muse on what is important in life more than any other activity.

So what is important in life?  Being happy?  Being a good person?  Being successful (whatever that means)?  Traveling all around the world?  Getting married and having kids?  I think it's all important, and here is why: in order for us to keep making music, we need to cover everything.  There are a lot of songs out there already, and there are infinitely more that need to be written, sung and listened to.  The key distinction is that knowing what is important doesn't always mean doing what is important.  None of us can do everything, even things we think we should do in order to lead important lives.  That does not mean that we can't think about these things and express our feelings about them in a meaningful way; in fact, some of the best art derives from our failure to achieve the things we desire most.  I do not recommend pursuing impossible dreams for art's sake, but I do recommend reflecting on possibilities which could prove impossible.  Incidentally, I also recommend listening to Iron & Wine, Nick Drake, Fleet Foxes and Arcade Fire, creating as many inside jokes as possible, laughing with great gusto and picking up that neglected instrument (perhaps your voice) again.  If you do the latter, I am confident that everything will become brighter for you as it has for me.  To quote the ever-wise words of Jack Black, "For those about to rock, I salute you."

Incubation

I hope this post finds everyone doing well and enjoying the dog days of summer.  Question for you all: have you ever felt like you are waiting for all aspects of your life to come together at the same time? Like nothing is really settled or decided?  I have a feeling you are all thinking "yes."  Here's the thing, though: have you ever, in this state of being, been happy to be there? Perhaps even happier than you were when everything seemed set in stone?  You're not sure of your footing, but you are acutely aware that you have feet and that they can take you anywhere... anywhere!  The path isn't clear, but you see paths everywhere.  You try one, find a dead end, return to the point of origin and try another.  Nothing is clear, but you realize this with complete clarity; you are aware that you are unaware of what will happen next.  I have experienced this ephiphany several times in my life, but for the first time it does not frighten me.  For the first time, I am able to experience this feeling while also knowing who I am.  As you may know from previous entries, I like to explain things in terms of context and content; the context is that which frames and defines the content, and the content affects but cannot overtake the context.  Here's my theory: when you know who you are, uncertainty ceases to be the context of your life.  You become the context, and uncertainty is just part of the content you contain.

Psychologist and theorist Erik Erikson identified and defined four identity statuses: identity achievement, moratorium, foreclosure and identity diffusion.  Identity achievement occurs after an individual has explored different identities and committed to one; moratorium is exploration without commitment; foreclosure is commitment without exploration; and identity diffusion is lack of exploration and commitment.  Which stage are you in currently?  Erikson may not have endorsed my response: I have committed to an identity after exploration but I am also in a moratorium of sorts.  In other words, I think I have cemented the most essential parts of my identity - the things that will never change - but I am still exploring other areas.  Hmm, this calls for some new terminology.  How about incubation (because I am such a scientific thinker)?  Yes, I am a resident of an incubator.  Freedictionary.com defines "incubator" as "a place or situation that permits or encourages formation and development, as of new ideas."  Implicit in this definition is the fact that something already exists within the incubator.  For instance, incubators are used to maintain at-risk infants, not create them.  A baby may weigh four pounds and be fighting for every tiny breath, but he or she is very much alive.  The incubator does not house his or her identity but does affect the unfolding of that identity.  It's not a perfect example, but the basic idea is there: it is possible to be sure of your identity and still grow and change.  In fact, it is not only possible - it is necessary if we are to live truly meaningful lives.

This past month has been one of the most turbulent times of my life, but it has also been one of the most rewarding times of my life.  I have relied on other people more than ever before - something I have always had trouble with - and instead of missing my pride, I am aware of who my good friends are and of how good they are.  I am aware of the necessity of participating in musical endeavors in my identity - playing it, singing it and listening to it.  Career changes (of a yet unclear nature) are on the horizon.  I will admit that I have experienced some karma that I deserved to experience (without even being sure I believe in karma).  At the bookstore the other day I saw a man walking with two prosthetic legs and helped a lady find a book for her new grandchild after being yelled at by an old man and a middle-aged woman for trivial reasons.  Life isn't like this sometimes... it's like this all the time.  When you know who you are, these paradoxes and uncertainties don't shatter or redefine you.  They're just mechanisms in the incubator, reminding you with each whir, twang and click that there's always room to grow.

Humility

For starters, I want to apologize for my last post (and for the blank post which followed, which was my failed attempt to erase the original post).  The feelings I expressed were genuine at the moment I expressed them, but I had no right to post them publicly.  And now, given a recent personal change for me, I am afraid that those of you who know me may misunderstand my meaning and intention in creating and erasing that post.  Most significantly, however, posts like that undermine the foundation of this blog: an individual perspective which exists meaningfully within a larger discourse.  When I write, I want to write about things that speak to other people and to which they may also speak; with that post, I was merely recording an inner dialogue, feeding a personal fire.  I am aware that I have lit and stamped out many personal fires in life and in this blog and that I will probably continue to do so, but maybe the more I fess up, the less frequent this habit will become.

That's the thing about humility: it requires not only complete awareness of one's own fault/rejection, but also public acknowledgement.  I do not mean public on a large scale; I mean telling a close friend or family member that you've screwed up or that you've been rejected.  Both of these things hurt and are hard to admit, but something happens to us when we bring them to light.  In that moment, we exist completely in the exchange between ourselves and those in whom we confide.  We abandon pride, or ego, which houses our identity.  As the mediator between the id and super-ego, the ego is also responsible for defense mechanisms; the id reacts viscerally, the ego obeys the id and the super-ego punishes the ego with feelings of guilt or shame.  When we do wrong, we are aware at the level of our super-ego that we have done wrong (guilt), but our ego rationalizes.  Because the ego is the foundation of identity, we adhere to these rationalizations in order to maintain a sense of self.  On the other hand, when we are wronged, we are aware at the level of our super-ego that we have been wronged/rejected (shame), and our ego represses or denies the rejection.  When we are wronged, we don't try to maintain our identity - we try to abandon it because we cannot separate our identity from the rejection of our identity, and rejection is unacceptable.  As such, our identity becomes unacceptable.  In both instances, our egos prevent us from acknowledging the truth.  Here's my hypothesis: I believe it is impossible for us as individuals to remove ourselves from our own egos, recognize and disable our own defense mechanisms, and thus learn from our own mistakes/rejections.  We must expose our guilt and shame to someone or, better yet, someones, in order to grow in a positive direction.  Incidentally, I also believe that until we expose both guilt and shame, that growth is incomplete.

I am a different person than I was a week ago and than I have ever been because I have now admitted both guilt and shame to people I trust.  Some differences are routine and trivial: I am listening to albums I haven't listened to in a long time and avoiding others that had been in my car player for months.  Others are routine and significant: I no longer speak to a person I had spoken to daily for months.  But one is a veritable paradigm shift: I am aware, for maybe the first time in my life, of how damn lucky I am.  I reached out and found myself enclosed in arms, lifted until I felt I was flying but still grounded.  I reached out to several people I knew and trusted and was reached out to not only by them, but also by near and complete strangers who could not have possibly known that I needed their hands too.  I never understood before why people say they are "humbled" by their achievements, and maybe that is because all of my previous achievements have fed my pride.  I now realize that my greatest achievement is my humility.  It is a small and tarnished trophy that will shine more and more as I continue to trust myself and others to acknowledge and accept me as I am.  But no matter how brightly that trophy shines, it will remain small.  Like us, dear friends.  Like us.