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...

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?

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.

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

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

Potty Talk. Ahem.

Ok girls, picture this. You walk into a restroom in any normal public venue (or abnormal for that matter--whatever that means) behind some other Yuppy lady, or young mother, or gaggle of teenage girls or a transvestite or what/who have you and they quickly jump from stall to stall trying to avoid at ALL cost any stall that has been left unflushed. They find one and then a line forms even though there are empty stalls that have nothing wrong with them except that the person(s) that previously took advantage of them simply forgot to flush the evidence! IT DRIVES ME NUTS!

I used to do this, too. It never really made sense to me, that is, unless the stalls were so obscenely foul that I might risk a sudden malady of outlandish sort (and believe me, we've seen some bad ones, haven't we ladies?), but I always waited in line and followed suit just so no one would think I was weird.

But then I asked myself: WHY? If it's just a matter of a flush, somebody's got to do it! Ok, so it's gross that whoever else was there forgot to do it, but unless you KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were the first one to use that toilet for the day--like, you watched the janitor unlock the door at O'Dark thirty AM--you can pretty much assume that someone else used that toilet before you anyway. The only difference is that the the proof is visible! And bottom line: yeah, it's annoying and socially irresponsible that whoever was there before forgot to take care of their s?@t (no pun intended), but, WHO CARES?! We all forget stuff now and then, who knows, maybe you've been proccupied and unwittingly created a near death experience for an poor elderly lady who refused to enter the stall you were in due to your, yes YOUR neglect of your personal situation and who had near bladder and/or kidney failure because she had to wait in line for the more socially responsible females ahead of her in line to finish their business. Poor thing.

Just flush it and go, dangit. It's not a big deal. It is what it is. Take responsibility and be a conduit of change! FLUSH IT! YES! DO IT! And go relieve yourself. We all do it, it's OK!! I'm not talking about subjecting yourself to a health hazard such as one described above, but if it's just a matter of a wee flush, take action girls! And wash your hands. Really well, regardless of how many times you had to flush.

Just please, don't leave it for everyone else to avoid too. It pisses me off. Once again, no pun intended. :-)

Last Night at the Bar...

I was at the local "pub" last night with some friends. It was relatively uneventful in our corner of the pub, except that I happened to have a straight shot view of a more "lively" group across the room.

When I came to meet my friends and sat down, the group across from us was just moving in as well across the way, and it became quickly apparent that at least one of the two girls in the group was incredibly inebriated. Soon, while we were began to take advantage of the trivia game cards in front of us, the girl began to loudly describe a bug bite that she had, and then proceeded to show everyone. In the process I saw parts of her I didn't need to. Later she and the other girl ended up making out upon request of yet another group in the room.

We were all appalled, me probably the most since I was sitting directly across from them. I was thinking violent thoughts (not really--I just wanted to punch her) and all the things I could say to tell the girl off came to mind. I didn't. We just left without really finishing the conversation we were trying to have.

And then I thought about it later. I could have really probably started a brawl--Exhibit A was wasted. Or at least a chick fight. I wanted to go up and give them a piece or three of my mind, because we didn't pay to see that...yadda, yadda. Then I thought about how that would never fix anything, it would just make me feel better and release a little anger.

Additionally, if I had really wanted to help reinstate some decency in the local pub for the evening (and might I just reinforce what a typically low key place this is...)--and besides going to the bartender and getting them kicked out--I could have approached the girl completely differently. Something like "you know, that's a really cute top that you have, do you think you could put it back on so that we could appreciate it?" I don't know, something to that effect. With the correct and calm delivery, probably she would have felt a little bit bad and calmed down. Who knows though, she was drunk.

I was just hypothesizing about the situation afterward because I was thinking about how we just left the situation instead of saying something--which was definitely the right thing to do, but not what my gut reaction wanted to do. And then I was thinking about how many times in growing up did my mother remind me that "a soft answer turns away wrath." And it's so true!!! Never growing up did getting pissed and spouting off angry words really get me what I want. However taking the time to collect myself and respond instead of react more than likely did. Unless I was still out of line even after I calmed down...which never happened. And sometimes just not saying anything at all is the best thing. Point in case.

So then, of course, this train of thought led to the mental question of, what is the root problem here? And honestly, I've never known of any interpersonal problem that couldn't be traced back to either miscommunication or pride. This one was, I think, a combination of both.

The said girl was acting the way she was because of an ultimate "Unanswered Question" in her life. It's classic. My reaction to her was pride, due to an overdeveloped sense of injustice. If I had gone over there, she probably would have told me off right back and who knows how things could have escalated.

Though the question of my pride is surely self explanatory, let me explain Girl's issue here. John and Stasi Eldredge, in their books "Wild at Heart" and "Captivating" do a really good job of outlining humanity's "Ultimate Question", and that is: am I loved? Now, this question manifests itself differently in men than in women. For women, their lifelong, often very deep seated question is, am I beautiful? And, am I treasured? This question is often answered by a girls father at a young age. Yay or nay. Society does it's job trying to answer it too--by saying "you're never beautiful enough". Things get really ugly, no pun intended.

A woman acting out and not seemingly having any self-respect usually makes more sense in light of this Question. Really, last night is no exception. I have a choice: I can have compassion for the root problem and see the situation last night as symptomatic of something far deeper, or I can get angry at the symptoms and react to them internally (or externally, I guess) and not think about the deeper issue.

It kind of seems like I did both, though internally. But I ran across this in reading this morning:
Therefore you are inexcusable... whoever you are who judge, for in whatever you judge another you condemn yourself; for you who judge practice the same things.

Ouch. Maybe what happened last night wasn't right, but neither was how I wanted to deal with it. I'm glad I wasn't the only one there and that we just ended up leaving instead of my mouth running off on the subject.

Anyway, I hope my new friend made it to work alright this morning and her hangover wasn't too bad. And I hope that she'll know someday that she's beautiful.