I'm keeping this short and sweet. Here's my top 10:
1. Jesus
2. My beautiful family
3. My beautiful friends, old and new
4. The resilience of the human spirit as exhibited by three of the most special people in my life
5. A growing awareness that happiness is always is a choice and that I am always able to choose it
6. A job that allows me to live pretty independently, provides savings and benefits and has introduced me to some lifelong friends
7. A nice, spacious apartment shared with my soul sistah
8. My church's praise band - amazing fellowship, lots of laughs and incredible talent
9. Music in general
10. The fact that we are all imperfect but still wake up every day and decide to give it a go; fumbling and faltering, we make small talk because we are small, help each other because we need help and forgive each other because we have been forgiven.
Please comment with your top 10! Happy Thanksgiving, all.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Good Fight
Until perhaps this very moment, I had always been confused by the expression "fighting the good fight." It seemed either like an untenable paradox (how can a fight be good?) or an empty cliche for doing your best or trying hard. As an English major, I am pretty comfortable with paradoxes, but as a human being, I find that living them is a lot harder than writing about them. How is it possible to love yourself and be your own worst critic? How is it possible to have pride in who you are and know that, at some level, you will always be a failure? How can you strive to be independent without pushing away those you care about most? How can you care about what people think of you and not obsess about it? These are my questions. You may have different ones, but we all have them, and we are all searching for the answers. Here's another paradox for you: when we search for the answers, we both are and are not fighting the good fight.
By seeking answers, we do fight the good fight in that we attempt to grapple with the fundamental issues of our existence. To borrow from Max Lucado, we are "facing our giants," an image which clearly implies conflict. Here's where it gets tricky, though: when we face our giants, most of us discover that they are too huge to collapse; we are not David, felling Goliath with a slingshot. I say "most of us" because there may be some Davids out there. I don't know any, but I would be remiss to assume that they don't exist. Anyway, when we discover that our giants are too big to defeat, we can either turn our backs on them or keep loading our slingshots even though we know we will never win. This is where the paradox occurs: after that first defeat, we think we have fought the good fight, that it is behind us. Yes, we have fought the good fight, but it is not finished. It is never finished. We do not fight the good fight unless we never stop fighting.
The Good Fight (its universality lends itself to capitalization, methinks) can be brutal and is never comfortable or easy. I have waved my white flag countless times. Ironically, I have surrendered not only by ceasing to care about the questions but also by forcing myself to answer them. When I felt a lack of control, I imposed strict control upon myself; in so doing, I made myself the giant and defeated myself. We must accept that we are not in control and that we will never know the answers, but we must never stop asking the questions and believing that the answers exist. It is futility in its purest form, and we must immerse ourselves in it. But we musn't do it alone. If we do, we will sink.
The best people in my life are the ones who want what is best for me. Period. They do not want to placate or please me. They are honest and straightforward and sometimes harsh. Sometimes I want to run from these people or make them feel sorry for me (tough to admit) to avoid conflict. Sometimes I mistake them for my giants and try to fight back. But they are not my giants; they are my equals. They are facing their own giants and have decided, for some beautiful and unknowable reason, to help me face mine. If that doesn't make the good fight worth fighting, nothing does. I want to be like these people and also be myself. For the first time, that doesn't seem like a paradox.
By seeking answers, we do fight the good fight in that we attempt to grapple with the fundamental issues of our existence. To borrow from Max Lucado, we are "facing our giants," an image which clearly implies conflict. Here's where it gets tricky, though: when we face our giants, most of us discover that they are too huge to collapse; we are not David, felling Goliath with a slingshot. I say "most of us" because there may be some Davids out there. I don't know any, but I would be remiss to assume that they don't exist. Anyway, when we discover that our giants are too big to defeat, we can either turn our backs on them or keep loading our slingshots even though we know we will never win. This is where the paradox occurs: after that first defeat, we think we have fought the good fight, that it is behind us. Yes, we have fought the good fight, but it is not finished. It is never finished. We do not fight the good fight unless we never stop fighting.
The Good Fight (its universality lends itself to capitalization, methinks) can be brutal and is never comfortable or easy. I have waved my white flag countless times. Ironically, I have surrendered not only by ceasing to care about the questions but also by forcing myself to answer them. When I felt a lack of control, I imposed strict control upon myself; in so doing, I made myself the giant and defeated myself. We must accept that we are not in control and that we will never know the answers, but we must never stop asking the questions and believing that the answers exist. It is futility in its purest form, and we must immerse ourselves in it. But we musn't do it alone. If we do, we will sink.
The best people in my life are the ones who want what is best for me. Period. They do not want to placate or please me. They are honest and straightforward and sometimes harsh. Sometimes I want to run from these people or make them feel sorry for me (tough to admit) to avoid conflict. Sometimes I mistake them for my giants and try to fight back. But they are not my giants; they are my equals. They are facing their own giants and have decided, for some beautiful and unknowable reason, to help me face mine. If that doesn't make the good fight worth fighting, nothing does. I want to be like these people and also be myself. For the first time, that doesn't seem like a paradox.
Friday, September 23, 2011
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?
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
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."
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."
Friday, July 29, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)