I have reading ADD. I've known this for a long time. First, I can't ever just read one thing. I usually am reading some opus of some sort (Dumas awakened a newfound passion in me for LONG books--so rewarding) and then I have to read other shorter things meanwhile. Otherwise I potentially lose interest. The other way this "disorder" manifests itself is in my propensity to want to read whatever other literature is mentioned in what I'm reading.
For example, once, I was reading a biography of Emily Dickinson and the author kept making reference to two of Emily's lifetime favorite pieces of literature. Being the nerd I am, I had to read them (I've read one and a half of these said pieces and still not finished the biography), so I even found these obscure titles on eBay. Oh dear. Someday I'll get to the rest of the biography. To make a long story short, I have the tendency to go on weird and sometimes lengthy reading rabbit trails. It's strange, I know, but...it's awesome!
This same thing happened once when I opened a piece of C.S. Lewis'. This time I actually finished the Lewis piece, probably partly because the literature he referenced was not long: it was William Blake's Marriage of Heaven and Hell. An excellent poem. I loved especially that, as Blake was an artist as well as a poet, this particularly short epic was illustrated. :-)
All of these circumstances came to mind the other day in a conversation with a friend about being "home". We'd both been gone over the summer, and I had been gone on successive adventures for the last two and a half years. I'm home for a bit this time--a larger chunk of time than normal--and a certain line in Blake's Marriage came to mind:
"Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence." (I find it interesting his choices in capitalization. He capitalizes "contraries" but not "progression", "human" but not "existence". However, I have no conclusions on this, only observations.)
Anyway, the part I like best is the first phrase. I thought of it the other day because of the theory behind it. Contraries offer a lot more than just progression, I believe, and I think Blake knows this. It's just a succinct way of drawing attention to the principle that nothing would be seem to us humans as "good" or as "bad" as it is, perhaps, with out the notion of the opposite. I don't think even "good" and "bad" is the best way of categorizing "everything". I think that's probably why Blake just stuck with "contraries". How fitting.
Anyway, this was brought to memory because of being home, and the conversation I was having about it the other day. I've recently gone on a six week road trip around the US. I saw a total of 30 some states and even made it into Quebec. And what's interesting is, coming home, Oregon has never seemed so green. Every time I leave and come back, home is a little more beautiful. The landscape may not change at all, but my appreciation of it is deeper because I'm more familiar with it's "contraries", that is, just other places that are not Oregon--however beautiful they may be in their own way. And we live in a beautiful country.
And Canby. It's so bittersweet sometimes coming back to the town where I grew up. I love and hate the small town environment. Everybody knows everybody. That fact alone can be beautiful or hideous depending on the character of the individuals involved. It's both here at any given time, I've come to realize. And above all, I guess, it just is what it is. I love and look forward to running into some people and feel blessed to be around so I can do that. But then, I actually dread any serendipitous occasion involving some other individuals in the community. Whatever. I just need to deal with it. I'm beginning to wonder if that's part of the reason why I'm here. I didn't plan on staying here in Oregon until I went back to Alaska. But, here I am. Again bittersweet. Although, I have to say that it's pretty awesome to have a bedroom! And to myself!
And, the in the last two and a half years, I've pretty much gotten my little Christian "bubble" popped. In a good way, certainly. I've learned so much and seen a lot. And all of it--well, most of it--has helped me learn to appreciate where I'm from and what I've got. Geographically and otherwise. But the appreciation of the geographical part is definitely a more recent development.
So these days, the joy that fills my heart on a beautiful Oregon day is incredible! My heart now skips a beat sometimes when I get that perfect view of Mt. Hood rounding the corner. I never tire of it. I get excited when it starts raining after a dry spell, I want to run outside and smell that first scent of fresh fallen rain. Love it. I even love the rain!
The other morning I was walking to my car with a cup of coffee in my hand and I suddenly got that feeling I used to get as a little girl whenever I would wake up in the woods in a tent. The feel, the smell of pine around my parent's semi-country home and even the irritating squawk of a distant crow made the moment perfect. I stopped in my tracks and had to smile. So good. And then it passed, and it was good too. The fact that I don't live in that moment makes it better when it comes.
It's good to be home. And with more appreciation. Not many can say that they're from such a beautiful and diverse place. I'm blessed. I guess I still won't know for a while whether I'll actually end up here, but I'll appreciate the contraries and progression meanwhile--or at least do my best!
And, while I've got so much time on my hands, I think I'm going to keep attending to and feeding my reading ADD! I'm on to The Brothers Karamazov at the moment. And Old Man and the Sea. And a biography of Frank Lloyd Wright. Sigh. This I'll do from my bedroom where, on a clear day, I can see the tip of Mt. Hood from my window. Amazing. And I'm DEFINITELY going to keep enjoying the Oregonian coffee. There's no place like home.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Humility?
My mind has been dwelling often lately on the subject of "humility". That's, I guess, a way to say I've been thinking about it a lot that sounds like I'm not taking personal responsibility, though I do. Whatever.
I'm sort of struggling to define it. It's funny because it's one of those things that everyone knows when they see it, and they know when it's not there, but it's hard to articulate. And it's something that I deeply desire to attain in my life. I want to "know" it in the butterfly way. The way that it works itself out into my life. So, here is my "humble" (couldn't resist) attempt to but the idea into words:
I think that true humility is being able to be open, honest, and vulnerable about one's faults. It's also being confident and secure in one's strengths in such a way that doesn't draw undue attention to them.
Still brewing and thinking on this one. Maybe more to come.
I'm sort of struggling to define it. It's funny because it's one of those things that everyone knows when they see it, and they know when it's not there, but it's hard to articulate. And it's something that I deeply desire to attain in my life. I want to "know" it in the butterfly way. The way that it works itself out into my life. So, here is my "humble" (couldn't resist) attempt to but the idea into words:
I think that true humility is being able to be open, honest, and vulnerable about one's faults. It's also being confident and secure in one's strengths in such a way that doesn't draw undue attention to them.
Still brewing and thinking on this one. Maybe more to come.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Sapere, Conoscere, or The Butterfly Category (Some Thank You's of 2008)
There are many important things that I've learned this past year. 2008 has been a long, good, hard year. It's been a year that has held many lessons for my little self, but there's one thing that stands out to me.
However, I guess I'd have to preempt that one thing with something else I've been brewing for a longer time. I think that there are three ways to "know" something. Maybe more, I don't know yet (no pun intended). But I have to say that Greek, Latin, and all the Latin based languages, also known as the Romance Languages begin express this notion more adequately than English. In all of these languages there are two different verbs for our one: "to know". I'll use Italian to illustrate.
There's one verb that connotes the knowledge of a fact: "sapere". And there's another that connotes the familiarization with a person, place, thing, or idea: "conocere". And it's funny because all of these said languages seem to break our single (and, in my opinion, inadequately ambiguous) verb down into these same two categories. But I've learned that, in my life, there's one more category. It involves the idea part.
There's a difference, I think, between knowing an idea in your head (sapere) and "knowing" and understanding something in your heart in such a manner that it works itself out kinesthetically into your life and actions. Like, something that starts with sapere and transforms into something beyond conoscere. And a lot of times, this tertiary kind of knowledge materializes only with raw experience. Most of the time, actually you can't bridge this gap between knowledge and understanding without such experience. The best words that we have for this transformation of knowledge is perhaps "understanding". And then action upon this turns eventually into "compassion".
This, obviously does not apply to every last fact in life. Like, the Periodic Table for example. But it does work for the more ambivalent ideas in life, I think.
This whole principle is kind of like a caterpillar. It starts out as knowledge of a fact, a bug; it turns into an understanding of the idea via experience with it, a chrysalis; and it can then metamorph into something amazing and uniquely beautiful if nutured and encouraged, eventually compassion. Compassion comes out into your life looking like myriad virtues, foremost probably being kindness. This is the ultimate goal.
Then there's the Chrysalis Condition. When someone realizes something, but never does anything about it. It just lingers somewhere between sapere and a foggy understanding. Or even worse, somewhere between understanding and compassion. This is an awful intellectual stagnance. May it be eradicated in our lives and society. But then, there are also those people that are seeming born with internal butterflies fluttering everywhere. The ones that ooze innate and awe inspiring compassion with no effort at all. Those people are gifted, I think. I want to learn from them, and may our lives and society be more full of them.
This year, the most formative and impacting thing I learned belongs to this third category. The butterfly category. I did not really obtain new knowledge (sapere) about this thing. In other things, certainly, but in this, I rather gained the necessary experience, because I'd always inarticulately known it in my head. I'm now at the chrysalis stage aiming for a metamorphosis.
So, this is it. What I've learned this year:
You can't just treat people the way you want to be treated. The Golden Rule has another clause. It goes something like this,
"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Which means behave toward them the way they want and/or need (which is not always the same thing) you to because of course you wish that they'd do that for you."
I just think that the second part doesn't fit on a keychain too well, so "they" just shortened it. You know, the proverbial "they" on which all things negative tend to get blamed. Poor they.
I've concluded that a part of growing up isn't just realizing and learning about who you are. It's also about learning how everybody else isn't. And learning where your strengths and weaknesses are in that whole web and scheme of things. And then. And then learning how to negotiate that. This is the Golden Rule part. The whole thing, not just the section that people quote.
I'm a "thinking" person. I've found that out about myself this year. I make decisions based on logic. There are many types of people in the world (duh) but many of them can be put into two camps: the ones who make decisions based on logic, the Thinkers, and those who approach those same decisions from the direction of how it makes everyone feel. The Feelers. I belong to the former.
I'm a "Thinker", and I've realized that this comes from personality and my family. As a result, I have good ideals, and morals for the most part. And I've always had wonderful ideas/ideals on the way people should be treated, but there was a breakdown in communication somewhere between my ideals and how it all worked out in my life. I've discovered that I'm not a kind person. I'm not unkind at the core, at all, just on the exterior. I've learned poorly how to express my existant ideals. I think. It's mostly when I talk. The things I say are not always bad, it's often how I say them. Most of you that know me, also know this, I'd venture to say.
Now that I know this, I'm not going to be this way...someday. I, of course, cannot build this figurative Rome in a day, but I want to spend this coming year and the ones following laying the bricks.
I have to give credit to some people this year, too. I have definitely not come to this realization on my own. It's taken some freaking patient and loving people in my life all being on the same page about this to get through to me. I want to thank them. Kristen, for identifying this professionally, and being pretty much the first to articulate it to me. Casey, for the conversation we had at Panera in West Palm, you told me what I needed to hear, in a really loving way--thank you. Rachael, you were on the same page as everyone else, and you also let me know, thank you, too. Sam, we've had this conversation before, thanks to you too. Amanda, you're so patient with me, I love you. Shelli, being a mirror sometimes, and an identifier, too. Abby, for being encouraging, and pointing out the good when I needed that as well. And Jami, for just thinking I'm great when I'm really not. And truly, Karissa. It's been with and through you that I've gotten here. That we've gotten here, really. I love you so much. Thanks for not just letting me be, but for helping me be better. Thanks for making it through 6 weeks in a car with me. And for not giving up, all of you.
So, I'm now beginning to take this stuff and make it work in my life. This is the exciting part. Hard, but exciting. I think the most humbling part was just realizing that I didn't "get it" before like I thought I did. I've got a lot of relearning to do. But it's just as good as it is hard. That's just one beauty of it.
So, experience from this year has annhilated the inertia of the "head" and "fact" knowledge I had about the subject (once again, sapere) and nudged--or violently shoved it--into its subsequent lifelong journey in kinesthesis. It was a rough summer on the train, I began to get stripped down to the core out there on the rail (or at least it felt like it). And then Karissa helped me sort it all out (she didn't know it most of the time) on our epic trip around the US this Fall. Then we got back and I've been further working it through. And all this is what I've learned and where I've arrived this year.
And can I just reiterate something? I've discovered that a part of growing up isn't just realizing and learning about who you are. It's also about learning how everybody else isn't. And learning where your strengths and weaknesses are in that whole web and scheme of things. And then learning how to negotiate that. And aiming for butterflies and not bugs or weird chrysalises. And yes, that is the plural of the word. I looked it up. :-)
Therefore, with that said, here we go. 2009...
However, I guess I'd have to preempt that one thing with something else I've been brewing for a longer time. I think that there are three ways to "know" something. Maybe more, I don't know yet (no pun intended). But I have to say that Greek, Latin, and all the Latin based languages, also known as the Romance Languages begin express this notion more adequately than English. In all of these languages there are two different verbs for our one: "to know". I'll use Italian to illustrate.
There's one verb that connotes the knowledge of a fact: "sapere". And there's another that connotes the familiarization with a person, place, thing, or idea: "conocere". And it's funny because all of these said languages seem to break our single (and, in my opinion, inadequately ambiguous) verb down into these same two categories. But I've learned that, in my life, there's one more category. It involves the idea part.
There's a difference, I think, between knowing an idea in your head (sapere) and "knowing" and understanding something in your heart in such a manner that it works itself out kinesthetically into your life and actions. Like, something that starts with sapere and transforms into something beyond conoscere. And a lot of times, this tertiary kind of knowledge materializes only with raw experience. Most of the time, actually you can't bridge this gap between knowledge and understanding without such experience. The best words that we have for this transformation of knowledge is perhaps "understanding". And then action upon this turns eventually into "compassion".
This, obviously does not apply to every last fact in life. Like, the Periodic Table for example. But it does work for the more ambivalent ideas in life, I think.
This whole principle is kind of like a caterpillar. It starts out as knowledge of a fact, a bug; it turns into an understanding of the idea via experience with it, a chrysalis; and it can then metamorph into something amazing and uniquely beautiful if nutured and encouraged, eventually compassion. Compassion comes out into your life looking like myriad virtues, foremost probably being kindness. This is the ultimate goal.
Then there's the Chrysalis Condition. When someone realizes something, but never does anything about it. It just lingers somewhere between sapere and a foggy understanding. Or even worse, somewhere between understanding and compassion. This is an awful intellectual stagnance. May it be eradicated in our lives and society. But then, there are also those people that are seeming born with internal butterflies fluttering everywhere. The ones that ooze innate and awe inspiring compassion with no effort at all. Those people are gifted, I think. I want to learn from them, and may our lives and society be more full of them.
This year, the most formative and impacting thing I learned belongs to this third category. The butterfly category. I did not really obtain new knowledge (sapere) about this thing. In other things, certainly, but in this, I rather gained the necessary experience, because I'd always inarticulately known it in my head. I'm now at the chrysalis stage aiming for a metamorphosis.
So, this is it. What I've learned this year:
You can't just treat people the way you want to be treated. The Golden Rule has another clause. It goes something like this,
"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Which means behave toward them the way they want and/or need (which is not always the same thing) you to because of course you wish that they'd do that for you."
I just think that the second part doesn't fit on a keychain too well, so "they" just shortened it. You know, the proverbial "they" on which all things negative tend to get blamed. Poor they.
I've concluded that a part of growing up isn't just realizing and learning about who you are. It's also about learning how everybody else isn't. And learning where your strengths and weaknesses are in that whole web and scheme of things. And then. And then learning how to negotiate that. This is the Golden Rule part. The whole thing, not just the section that people quote.
I'm a "thinking" person. I've found that out about myself this year. I make decisions based on logic. There are many types of people in the world (duh) but many of them can be put into two camps: the ones who make decisions based on logic, the Thinkers, and those who approach those same decisions from the direction of how it makes everyone feel. The Feelers. I belong to the former.
I'm a "Thinker", and I've realized that this comes from personality and my family. As a result, I have good ideals, and morals for the most part. And I've always had wonderful ideas/ideals on the way people should be treated, but there was a breakdown in communication somewhere between my ideals and how it all worked out in my life. I've discovered that I'm not a kind person. I'm not unkind at the core, at all, just on the exterior. I've learned poorly how to express my existant ideals. I think. It's mostly when I talk. The things I say are not always bad, it's often how I say them. Most of you that know me, also know this, I'd venture to say.
Now that I know this, I'm not going to be this way...someday. I, of course, cannot build this figurative Rome in a day, but I want to spend this coming year and the ones following laying the bricks.
I have to give credit to some people this year, too. I have definitely not come to this realization on my own. It's taken some freaking patient and loving people in my life all being on the same page about this to get through to me. I want to thank them. Kristen, for identifying this professionally, and being pretty much the first to articulate it to me. Casey, for the conversation we had at Panera in West Palm, you told me what I needed to hear, in a really loving way--thank you. Rachael, you were on the same page as everyone else, and you also let me know, thank you, too. Sam, we've had this conversation before, thanks to you too. Amanda, you're so patient with me, I love you. Shelli, being a mirror sometimes, and an identifier, too. Abby, for being encouraging, and pointing out the good when I needed that as well. And Jami, for just thinking I'm great when I'm really not. And truly, Karissa. It's been with and through you that I've gotten here. That we've gotten here, really. I love you so much. Thanks for not just letting me be, but for helping me be better. Thanks for making it through 6 weeks in a car with me. And for not giving up, all of you.
So, I'm now beginning to take this stuff and make it work in my life. This is the exciting part. Hard, but exciting. I think the most humbling part was just realizing that I didn't "get it" before like I thought I did. I've got a lot of relearning to do. But it's just as good as it is hard. That's just one beauty of it.
So, experience from this year has annhilated the inertia of the "head" and "fact" knowledge I had about the subject (once again, sapere) and nudged--or violently shoved it--into its subsequent lifelong journey in kinesthesis. It was a rough summer on the train, I began to get stripped down to the core out there on the rail (or at least it felt like it). And then Karissa helped me sort it all out (she didn't know it most of the time) on our epic trip around the US this Fall. Then we got back and I've been further working it through. And all this is what I've learned and where I've arrived this year.
And can I just reiterate something? I've discovered that a part of growing up isn't just realizing and learning about who you are. It's also about learning how everybody else isn't. And learning where your strengths and weaknesses are in that whole web and scheme of things. And then learning how to negotiate that. And aiming for butterflies and not bugs or weird chrysalises. And yes, that is the plural of the word. I looked it up. :-)
Therefore, with that said, here we go. 2009...
Monday, December 15, 2008
9 O'Clock PM
I stare at the clock as it annonces to me that it's 9pm. Now 9:01pm. When I was a kid 9pm was my bedtime.
It was the hour I dreaded. The hour that I would spend all day making up excuses for.
"Mommy, I forgot to brush my teeth."
*Sigh* "Well, go do it then."
Yes! A few minutes bought. And, if I had just recently been to the dentist and was all fired up about my dental care, I would have flossed too.
"Mommy, I have to go potty again."
"Of course you do."
"No really, Mommy. I'm not just saying that so I won't have to go to bed."
"Mmhmmm."
Eventually me and my brothers (it was especially the three of us it seemed) would run out of excuses and trudge to our beds, probably bickering.
"You used my toothbrush!"
"So."
"That's gross!"
*Shrug*
"Mom!"
"Go to bed!"
*Pout and trudge*
I hold the belief that we're kind of graded on a sort of curve. That, we are all supposed to use our gifts, talents, and general personhood for the good of others, and the amount of expectation placed upon us to do so is based upon the amount of all of those things that we possess. If that's not clear (it's probably not...) there's this old ancient book that puts it in better terms than myself: "To whom much is given, much is expected". It's actually from a teaching of Jesus', and it's from one of his parables along the same lines that we now even have our modern word "talent". According to the "cryptic" story, our "talents" (an ancient form of currency) are given to us to use for others, and not just for ourselves. And we're graded according to how much we are given.
I think about this often when I think of my childhood and what my parents have given me. The memories are nearly always fond. Even thinking about the stuff I didn't like and the little fights we had as kids, like what I just described, it all naturally makes me laugh.
Growing up, I always knew that we weren't rich--monetarily. Far from it actually. But, I was happy. I'll admit it. I was a happy child, who was given a good upbringing and a good education. In a society where angst is fashionable--if not typical--and so many can point to their childhood as the source of so many adulthood hurts, here I sit. A Little Miss Golden Child.
It's so humbling. On this recent trip around the States I was talking to a friend about his childhood and background. I asked all kinds of questions while we were driving and he told me all about his family. It's kind of a sad story, he admitted. I told him that he seemed to have a great attitude about it, though. "Not always," he said. "You know, I have a lot of friends that seem to have the perfect little families that they come home to, and you kind of want that. And I just don't have it. But..." He just shrugged, saying non-verbally that "it is what it is". I had no response but to stare out the window and tell him after a minute that he made me feel like a spoiled brat. "Maybe you are." He said, laughing. I knew I was one of those said friends. He'd met my perfect (not so) little family.
Someone once told me that materialism isn't about what you have or don't have, it's your attitude towards those things. I think the same goes for being "spoiled" in immaterial things. In the same way that I don't want to be materialistic in my attitude toward things, I don't want to ever, ever take for granted my happy childhood and the generally awesome foundation I have in my family. I don't want to cross the threshold from living in cognizance of how blessed I am to spoiled and taking it for granted. I think it's my attitude that counts.
Both my brothers are in the military, and overseas. I freak out sometimes and cry when I let myself vividly imagine them dying, getting killed while they're away (OK, a little bit weird, I know). And then I think that I'm such a brat. I'm so blessed to have them and there are so many families out there who are missing members--to war or to various ugly or normal reasons. I'm humbled.
And I have both my parents. Still. Some of my closest friends have lost parents in their growing up years. And in my bratty moments they're patient when I complain about issues with my parents. That aren't really that big. I definitely have my "spoiled" moments. I wish I didn't.
So basically, I've long since come to this conclusion: that I must use all of the wonderful things in my life, immaterial and otherwise to help others. Anyone around me. And in so doing, I will never cease to be reminded of how blessed I am. This perpetuates a cycle of unselfishness that shouldn't ever not be. My blessed state in life should drive me to compassion for others and responsibility instead of moral or any other kind of arrogance. I can never look down on anybody for anything, never judge anybody for anything, without knowing their circumstances. Even then.
I certainly fail in this. On a moment to moment basis actually. But it's a nice intellectual idea, isn't it? I'll probably spent the rest of my life battling to implement it into my life and reality. I am a spoiled brat.
I have to say that recently I've noticed that traveling so much and doing things for myself that I've "always wanted to do", etc--which is great and mind-broadening for sure--it has become so much easier for me to be discontent. There are always places that I haven't been. There's always gear at REI that I don't have yet. There are a ton of books still that I haven't read or possessed. So many haven't yets. It weird how feeding the self never satisfies. Especially when we think that's exactly what we want. Nope. Apparently it's not.
So, it's good to be home. And be reminded of all of this. All of the things I have. Particularly the intangible ones. It's the little things sometimes that clue me in. Like, how I can still predict what my mom will say to certain things. And how my dad still comes home at 5:30 every evening. My family has changed, but it hasn't at the same time. Not to overuse the word, but it's then that I remember I'm blessed. I wish I just needed to realize something once and never have to be told again. Not so.
I have another friend who believes that the self is never so happy and content as when being and acting in a state of utter unselfishness. It's kind of true, in my experience. Like how I've waited on quite a few tables, but never been so satisfied as when feeding and serving the homeless in Portland. And talking to them. And getting to know them. And NOT getting tipped. That's just one personal example, but I think the above theory may just ring true.
So, in short. Go be unselfish. And consider where you came from, good or bad. You're graded on a curve, I think, so we should probably all examine that. But go be selfless. It's great! And be grateful for what you have. Because really, though it could potentially sound morbid, I suppose there's always someone with less. Go forth and live in the memory of those proverbial starving kids in China. Seriously.
And I should probably add something to cover for my future lapses into hypocrisy in everything I've just said. Something my mom used to say: "Do as a say, not as I do." (Insert laugh here)
Hm. It's now 10pm. Oops. 10:01. I just bought an hour of time before bed. It's funny how I dreaded nocturnal rest as a child and long for it these days. Oh, to be a kid again, hey?
It was the hour I dreaded. The hour that I would spend all day making up excuses for.
"Mommy, I forgot to brush my teeth."
*Sigh* "Well, go do it then."
Yes! A few minutes bought. And, if I had just recently been to the dentist and was all fired up about my dental care, I would have flossed too.
"Mommy, I have to go potty again."
"Of course you do."
"No really, Mommy. I'm not just saying that so I won't have to go to bed."
"Mmhmmm."
Eventually me and my brothers (it was especially the three of us it seemed) would run out of excuses and trudge to our beds, probably bickering.
"You used my toothbrush!"
"So."
"That's gross!"
*Shrug*
"Mom!"
"Go to bed!"
*Pout and trudge*
I hold the belief that we're kind of graded on a sort of curve. That, we are all supposed to use our gifts, talents, and general personhood for the good of others, and the amount of expectation placed upon us to do so is based upon the amount of all of those things that we possess. If that's not clear (it's probably not...) there's this old ancient book that puts it in better terms than myself: "To whom much is given, much is expected". It's actually from a teaching of Jesus', and it's from one of his parables along the same lines that we now even have our modern word "talent". According to the "cryptic" story, our "talents" (an ancient form of currency) are given to us to use for others, and not just for ourselves. And we're graded according to how much we are given.
I think about this often when I think of my childhood and what my parents have given me. The memories are nearly always fond. Even thinking about the stuff I didn't like and the little fights we had as kids, like what I just described, it all naturally makes me laugh.
Growing up, I always knew that we weren't rich--monetarily. Far from it actually. But, I was happy. I'll admit it. I was a happy child, who was given a good upbringing and a good education. In a society where angst is fashionable--if not typical--and so many can point to their childhood as the source of so many adulthood hurts, here I sit. A Little Miss Golden Child.
It's so humbling. On this recent trip around the States I was talking to a friend about his childhood and background. I asked all kinds of questions while we were driving and he told me all about his family. It's kind of a sad story, he admitted. I told him that he seemed to have a great attitude about it, though. "Not always," he said. "You know, I have a lot of friends that seem to have the perfect little families that they come home to, and you kind of want that. And I just don't have it. But..." He just shrugged, saying non-verbally that "it is what it is". I had no response but to stare out the window and tell him after a minute that he made me feel like a spoiled brat. "Maybe you are." He said, laughing. I knew I was one of those said friends. He'd met my perfect (not so) little family.
Someone once told me that materialism isn't about what you have or don't have, it's your attitude towards those things. I think the same goes for being "spoiled" in immaterial things. In the same way that I don't want to be materialistic in my attitude toward things, I don't want to ever, ever take for granted my happy childhood and the generally awesome foundation I have in my family. I don't want to cross the threshold from living in cognizance of how blessed I am to spoiled and taking it for granted. I think it's my attitude that counts.
Both my brothers are in the military, and overseas. I freak out sometimes and cry when I let myself vividly imagine them dying, getting killed while they're away (OK, a little bit weird, I know). And then I think that I'm such a brat. I'm so blessed to have them and there are so many families out there who are missing members--to war or to various ugly or normal reasons. I'm humbled.
And I have both my parents. Still. Some of my closest friends have lost parents in their growing up years. And in my bratty moments they're patient when I complain about issues with my parents. That aren't really that big. I definitely have my "spoiled" moments. I wish I didn't.
So basically, I've long since come to this conclusion: that I must use all of the wonderful things in my life, immaterial and otherwise to help others. Anyone around me. And in so doing, I will never cease to be reminded of how blessed I am. This perpetuates a cycle of unselfishness that shouldn't ever not be. My blessed state in life should drive me to compassion for others and responsibility instead of moral or any other kind of arrogance. I can never look down on anybody for anything, never judge anybody for anything, without knowing their circumstances. Even then.
I certainly fail in this. On a moment to moment basis actually. But it's a nice intellectual idea, isn't it? I'll probably spent the rest of my life battling to implement it into my life and reality. I am a spoiled brat.
I have to say that recently I've noticed that traveling so much and doing things for myself that I've "always wanted to do", etc--which is great and mind-broadening for sure--it has become so much easier for me to be discontent. There are always places that I haven't been. There's always gear at REI that I don't have yet. There are a ton of books still that I haven't read or possessed. So many haven't yets. It weird how feeding the self never satisfies. Especially when we think that's exactly what we want. Nope. Apparently it's not.
So, it's good to be home. And be reminded of all of this. All of the things I have. Particularly the intangible ones. It's the little things sometimes that clue me in. Like, how I can still predict what my mom will say to certain things. And how my dad still comes home at 5:30 every evening. My family has changed, but it hasn't at the same time. Not to overuse the word, but it's then that I remember I'm blessed. I wish I just needed to realize something once and never have to be told again. Not so.
I have another friend who believes that the self is never so happy and content as when being and acting in a state of utter unselfishness. It's kind of true, in my experience. Like how I've waited on quite a few tables, but never been so satisfied as when feeding and serving the homeless in Portland. And talking to them. And getting to know them. And NOT getting tipped. That's just one personal example, but I think the above theory may just ring true.
So, in short. Go be unselfish. And consider where you came from, good or bad. You're graded on a curve, I think, so we should probably all examine that. But go be selfless. It's great! And be grateful for what you have. Because really, though it could potentially sound morbid, I suppose there's always someone with less. Go forth and live in the memory of those proverbial starving kids in China. Seriously.
And I should probably add something to cover for my future lapses into hypocrisy in everything I've just said. Something my mom used to say: "Do as a say, not as I do." (Insert laugh here)
Hm. It's now 10pm. Oops. 10:01. I just bought an hour of time before bed. It's funny how I dreaded nocturnal rest as a child and long for it these days. Oh, to be a kid again, hey?
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Tater-Tots: A 16 Year-Old's Memoir
So, being unemployed, bored and looking for inspiration to write, I started rifling through old school assignments from high school/community college. I ran across a memoir I wrote in my first formal writing class when I was 16. It still makes me laugh. Here it is, I only tweaked a couple of things (it was hard not to revamp the whole thing)....
When We Used to Have Tater-Tot Casserole
Yes it's true. It may sound strange, but I have very distinct memories of family dinners with Tater-Tot casserole. I remember sitting around the big round kitchen table that my father built. I remember feeling small every time I sat down to it. I always loved the brownish worn finish that my dad put on it. He put so much care into that table. I remember the feelings of anticipation waiting for my father to get home, and fighting with my brothers and sister about who got to sit next to him. It happened every night. Then he would walk in the and we (my brothers, sisters and I) would all rush to be the first one to give him a hug. Then we would all have to fight once again over who got to got to sit by him. Finally, Mom would pull the casserole out of the oven and put it on the table. I will never forget the warm, tingly, shivery feeling I got whenever Mom would pull a hot meal out of the oven on a cold, drizzly day. Mom always made the best Tater-Tot casserole.
Then, we would all sit down--the fight about who got to sit by Dad resolved, but usually not without someone upset about the decision. And then Dad would pick someone to pray over the meal. I remember just hoping like crazy that he would pick me, I don't know why. Sometimes he would play tricks on us and look at one child and then call another child's name and ask them to pray. It was always hard to guess who he would pick. It was kind of a game. After the prayer (which was invariably a speedy "Thank You, God, for the food, Amen."), Mom would serve us up. Sometimes Dad would do it, but mostly Mom. Usually I would wait until my plate was full before I began to eat, but not with Tater-Tot casserole. We were never allowed to ask anyone to pass any food right after the prayer. It was rude, so we had to wait for everything to be passed around. I could never wait that long with Tater-Tot casserole. The smell was too overpowering. But every time, before I took the first luscious bite that I'd anticipated all evening, I would watch my dad mash his serving down with a fork. Then I would do the same, not having a clue why. I didn't find out until years later that he did this to cool it down quicker.
After all the regular steps had been repeated yet another evenign, I would take the long awaited first bite of my favorite dinner. I have always loved the smell, yes, but the taste is just a little bit better. The hamburger is the best part (especially the chunks). I remember thinking in my childhood that Tater-Tot casserole was the only thing in the world that actually tasted like it smelled. All my siblings agreed and said that they had thought the same thing, while my parents just stared at us with like we had been abducted. Oh well, just another difference between adults and children, I thought.
These days, whenever I have this dish, which is still my favorite, I always mash it down, take the time to savor the smell, taste, and the texture while all those elements take me back to the days of my happy childhood. And in doing this I always think "Tater-Tot casserole tastes just like it smells". All this may sound a little odd, but I think I've learned that it is important to appreciate these things in life, no matter how little. Life, perhaps, is too short to rush through, always looking ahead, without looking back on happy days or moments. I think it might help us relate better to the children around us. However, even though I have solved the mystery of why Dad always mashed his Tots before consumption, I still cannot figure out how Tater-Tot casserole can smell and taste the same way. Oh well, I guess I will have to keep eating it to figure it out.
When We Used to Have Tater-Tot Casserole
Yes it's true. It may sound strange, but I have very distinct memories of family dinners with Tater-Tot casserole. I remember sitting around the big round kitchen table that my father built. I remember feeling small every time I sat down to it. I always loved the brownish worn finish that my dad put on it. He put so much care into that table. I remember the feelings of anticipation waiting for my father to get home, and fighting with my brothers and sister about who got to sit next to him. It happened every night. Then he would walk in the and we (my brothers, sisters and I) would all rush to be the first one to give him a hug. Then we would all have to fight once again over who got to got to sit by him. Finally, Mom would pull the casserole out of the oven and put it on the table. I will never forget the warm, tingly, shivery feeling I got whenever Mom would pull a hot meal out of the oven on a cold, drizzly day. Mom always made the best Tater-Tot casserole.
Then, we would all sit down--the fight about who got to sit by Dad resolved, but usually not without someone upset about the decision. And then Dad would pick someone to pray over the meal. I remember just hoping like crazy that he would pick me, I don't know why. Sometimes he would play tricks on us and look at one child and then call another child's name and ask them to pray. It was always hard to guess who he would pick. It was kind of a game. After the prayer (which was invariably a speedy "Thank You, God, for the food, Amen."), Mom would serve us up. Sometimes Dad would do it, but mostly Mom. Usually I would wait until my plate was full before I began to eat, but not with Tater-Tot casserole. We were never allowed to ask anyone to pass any food right after the prayer. It was rude, so we had to wait for everything to be passed around. I could never wait that long with Tater-Tot casserole. The smell was too overpowering. But every time, before I took the first luscious bite that I'd anticipated all evening, I would watch my dad mash his serving down with a fork. Then I would do the same, not having a clue why. I didn't find out until years later that he did this to cool it down quicker.
After all the regular steps had been repeated yet another evenign, I would take the long awaited first bite of my favorite dinner. I have always loved the smell, yes, but the taste is just a little bit better. The hamburger is the best part (especially the chunks). I remember thinking in my childhood that Tater-Tot casserole was the only thing in the world that actually tasted like it smelled. All my siblings agreed and said that they had thought the same thing, while my parents just stared at us with like we had been abducted. Oh well, just another difference between adults and children, I thought.
These days, whenever I have this dish, which is still my favorite, I always mash it down, take the time to savor the smell, taste, and the texture while all those elements take me back to the days of my happy childhood. And in doing this I always think "Tater-Tot casserole tastes just like it smells". All this may sound a little odd, but I think I've learned that it is important to appreciate these things in life, no matter how little. Life, perhaps, is too short to rush through, always looking ahead, without looking back on happy days or moments. I think it might help us relate better to the children around us. However, even though I have solved the mystery of why Dad always mashed his Tots before consumption, I still cannot figure out how Tater-Tot casserole can smell and taste the same way. Oh well, I guess I will have to keep eating it to figure it out.
Friday, December 5, 2008
L'hiver d'un arbre (Revised and Continued)
Once leaving her usual more drapèd state
A silent, barren, and shivering tree
In stretching to invite a new frigid weight
Offers a raw and naked form of beauty.
The snow adorning all original lines,
O winter's blanchèd form of weeping
Paints anew an obscure but divined design
Ne'er perceived till the dawn of summer's sleeping.
Humbled may she be, stripped to naught
Undergoing a brief annual time to remind
A catharsis solidifying what a year may've wraught
A flight back to loveliness found only inside.
But her foliage is come back, and so supplements
A diff'rent season's rendering of natural grace.
The joy of spring's budding is only ever lent
Warm vibrance by foil of a colder place.
So, the winters of life disparage not then
For out of them speak untold colors within.
-T. Emerson
A silent, barren, and shivering tree
In stretching to invite a new frigid weight
Offers a raw and naked form of beauty.
The snow adorning all original lines,
O winter's blanchèd form of weeping
Paints anew an obscure but divined design
Ne'er perceived till the dawn of summer's sleeping.
Humbled may she be, stripped to naught
Undergoing a brief annual time to remind
A catharsis solidifying what a year may've wraught
A flight back to loveliness found only inside.
But her foliage is come back, and so supplements
A diff'rent season's rendering of natural grace.
The joy of spring's budding is only ever lent
Warm vibrance by foil of a colder place.
So, the winters of life disparage not then
For out of them speak untold colors within.
-T. Emerson
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
L'hiver d'un arbre
Inspired by the snow dusted drive through upstate New York on the way to Chicago.
L'hiver d'un arbre
Once leaving their usual more draped state
The silent, barren, and shivering trees
In stretching to invite a new frigid weight
Offer a raw and naked form of beauty.
The snow adorning all original lines,
O winter's blanched form of weeping
Paints anew the obscure but divined design
Naught perceived till the dawn of summer's sleeping.
T. Emerson
L'hiver d'un arbre
Once leaving their usual more draped state
The silent, barren, and shivering trees
In stretching to invite a new frigid weight
Offer a raw and naked form of beauty.
The snow adorning all original lines,
O winter's blanched form of weeping
Paints anew the obscure but divined design
Naught perceived till the dawn of summer's sleeping.
T. Emerson
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