I was driving home from a soccer game tonight, doing some thinking. (Truly, some of my best thinking time is while driving. If I could write and drive at the same time, I would.) Thinking about an idea I've been building on for years. It's always bothered me that, say, missionaries will come home from their 2-year missions SO EXCITED about the country/state where they served. "The people are so nice/generous/humble/teachable." "The landscape is beautiful." To hear them talk, apparently everything about the place was Amazing. The people, the place, the food, the shops, the public transportation. Everything.
What bothers me isn't that they think the place they went was amazing. They should think that. What bothers me is that they don't seem to realize that this love could be--and SHOULD BE--translated to every other people and every other place on earth. They didn't love Mexico before they went there. Why do they love it after living there for 2 years?
Because it became a part of them.
As I was driving home from my game, passing ordinary, non-special Cincinnati places, I checked for a sign that always has something funny written on it only to be disappointed to see it blank. I was interested to see if there was traffic at a particular corner, because there's always traffic there, no matter what time of day, and that kind of stuff interests me. I checked how many cars were in the Kroger parking lot--it was late, what were people still doing at Kroger? I noted that there weren't any cars parked in the right hand lane that sometimes is a parking lot and sometimes is a lane--a few years ago, there were always a few cars parked on the road, in front of an apartment complex, but those people must have moved away because the lane has been car-free for a while.
Why do these non-special details matter--to me, if to no one else? Why do I look for them, think about them, wonder about them? Because they're a part of me.
There are people in my life. Non-special people by nearly every standard of judgment. My brother who is my best friend and can nearly read my mind. My husband who is the rockbed of my sanity. My children who keep me on my toes and in touch with laughter. My neighbors who have been so good to my children. My friends who listen to me and I listen to them.
These non-special people matter because they are a part of me.
But more than that, I am a part of them.
I think part of what we're looking for in this life, is validation that we exist. (Okay, this is part of what I'm looking for, and maybe everyone else knows that they exist and they don't spend a moment thinking about it. But go with me here.) These people, these places, these things... they are special to us because they tell us that we Are. We have memories of these places. We have shared experiences with these people. We can think back on times that were. We have carved our existence into a particular time and place and people, and those particular times and places and people become special to us because they tell us that we Are.
I try to remember that when people talk about their kids or their vacation or their native land. These things are special to them because they know these things, and are known by these things. These things are no more or less special than the people, places and things are in my own life, but those things are Theirs, and that makes them Special.
I don't think the lesson we should learn is that nothing is truly Special. I think the lesson is that we ought to open our hearts a lot wider, because so many things, so many places, so many people, are special and wonderful and good. The world is a big place, and we're each experiencing a little piece of it. We share some of those pieces with many others, and we only have few pieces in common with others still.
I think God did that on purpose.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Books
I have been on a reading kick lately, and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. The problem is that I'm right now reading four books at once, and hence making little progress on any one of them.
There are larger problems in the world, and yet I complain about the number of books I'm reading at once? Yes. Yes, I do.
Suddenly world hunger pales in comparison.
Tamra
Suddenly world hunger pales in comparison.
Tamra
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Resolving Dreamy Conflicts
This morning I came up with the zaniest idea of my entire life. Seriously, it'll take a long time for me to come up with a zanier idea. But that's not what I'm posting about.
For the last month or so I've woken up repeatedly in the middle of the night with the strong impression that I was having an unresolvable conflict in my dreams. I remember feeling very uneasy about it all as I fell back asleep. I would wake up in the morning with the understanding that 1- it was all vividly clear in my dreams, and 2- it involved my brother Justin.
I wish I could explain it all, but I am unable to do so, even for myself. I would wonder, briefly, how to resolve such a problem, when the problem wasn't even real, and I couldn't remember it anyway. I think that if you could have had a conversation with me at 2 in the morning, while I was still half-asleep, I could have explained it all, and it would have made sense. But in Real 100-Percent Awake Land, it wasn't real at all.
And yet the conflict continued.
And then, about a week ago, I woke up in the middle of the night and I knew that the conflict had been resolved! I have no idea how that happened other than that it also involved my brother Justin. In fact, he was directly responsible for clearing up the whole matter. And since then, I have woken up in the middle of the night smiling to myself as I turn over and fall back asleep.
So thank you, Justin, for resolving my unresolvable conflict. It's only a true friend who can do such a thing.
For the last month or so I've woken up repeatedly in the middle of the night with the strong impression that I was having an unresolvable conflict in my dreams. I remember feeling very uneasy about it all as I fell back asleep. I would wake up in the morning with the understanding that 1- it was all vividly clear in my dreams, and 2- it involved my brother Justin.
I wish I could explain it all, but I am unable to do so, even for myself. I would wonder, briefly, how to resolve such a problem, when the problem wasn't even real, and I couldn't remember it anyway. I think that if you could have had a conversation with me at 2 in the morning, while I was still half-asleep, I could have explained it all, and it would have made sense. But in Real 100-Percent Awake Land, it wasn't real at all.
And yet the conflict continued.
And then, about a week ago, I woke up in the middle of the night and I knew that the conflict had been resolved! I have no idea how that happened other than that it also involved my brother Justin. In fact, he was directly responsible for clearing up the whole matter. And since then, I have woken up in the middle of the night smiling to myself as I turn over and fall back asleep.
So thank you, Justin, for resolving my unresolvable conflict. It's only a true friend who can do such a thing.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Sort-of Stolen Paragraph #13, with Attached Commentary
A few weeks ago I was formulating this theory about college. About why I didn't finish. ... There are lots of reasons why, but I started coming up with a theory revolving around too much expectation and too much talent. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty smart.
And then I read these paragraphs in The Paradox of Choice by Barry Schwartz. They're more or less randomly inserted in the book as a pet topic of Schwartz's. He does this often (don't buy a Kia, and we can't change the fact that we're fat) but this one was the most interesting to me since it aligns most closely with what I think myself. Which means it must be genius. Ahem:
"I'm fortunate to teach at a college that attracts some of the most talented young people in the world. While students at many colleges are happy to discover a subject to study that not only do they enjoy but that will enable them to make a living, many of the students I teach have multiple interests and capabilities. These students face the task of deciding on the one thing that they want to do more than anything else. Unconstrained by limitations of talent, the world is open to them. Do they exult in this opportunity? Not most of the ones I talk to. Instead, they agonize: Between making money and doing something of lasting social value. Between challenging their intellects and exercising their creative impulses. Between work that demands single-mindedness and work that will enable them to live balanced lives. Between work they can do in a beautifully pastoral location and work that brings them to a bustling city. Between any work at all and further study. With a decision as important as this, they struggle to find the reasons that make one choice stand out above all the others.
"In addition, because of the flexibility that now characterizes relations among family, friends, and lovers, my students can't even use obligation to other people as a way to limit their possibilities. Where the people they love are located and how close to them they want to be are just more factors to be entered into the decision, to be traded off against various aspects of the jobs themselves. Everything is up for grabs; almost anything is possible. And each possibility they consider has its attractive features, so that the opportunity costs associated with those attractive options keep mounting up, making the whole decision-making process decidedly unattractive. What, they wonder, is the right thing to do? How can they know?
"As this chapter has shown, decisions like these arouse discomfort, and they force indecision. Students take time off, take on odd jobs, try out internships, hoping that the right answer to the "What should I be when I grow up?" question will emerge. One quickly learns that "What are you going to do when you graduate?" is not a question many students are eager to hear, let alone answer. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that my students might be better off with a little less talent or with a little more of a sense that they owed it to their families to settle down back home, or even a dose of Depression-era necessity--take a secure job and get on with it! With fewer options and more constraints, many trade-offs would be eliminated, and there would be less self-doubt, less of an effort to justify decisions, more satisfaction, and less second-guessing of the decisions once made."
I realized, after reading those words, that that's it! I didn't finish because I couldn't figure out which criteria was the Right Criteria to choose my Direction and eliminate other options. Do I choose the Most Noble Path, and if I do, which path is that? Everyone disagrees on that point. Do I choose the profession that will bring the most money? Do I choose the one that will bring the most worldly praise? ... I was supposed to "want" to be a professional, but I didn't WANT to be a professional. I'm a stress-avoider, so I can't be a professional. Ever. ... And some of my other choices, what I wanted to do, didn't make enough money for my loved ones to be happy with that choice. Besides, I had too much "potential" for that. It was below me.
Growing up, and especially in High School, I would tell my mom that I wanted to be mediocre. It was a dream of mine: Be mediocre. And I'm happy to say that I've pretty well achieved that. By the world's standards, I'm nothing special. Strangely, then, being mediocre makes me feel accomplished.
Take that, Life.
And then I read these paragraphs in The Paradox of Choice by Barry Schwartz. They're more or less randomly inserted in the book as a pet topic of Schwartz's. He does this often (don't buy a Kia, and we can't change the fact that we're fat) but this one was the most interesting to me since it aligns most closely with what I think myself. Which means it must be genius. Ahem:
"I'm fortunate to teach at a college that attracts some of the most talented young people in the world. While students at many colleges are happy to discover a subject to study that not only do they enjoy but that will enable them to make a living, many of the students I teach have multiple interests and capabilities. These students face the task of deciding on the one thing that they want to do more than anything else. Unconstrained by limitations of talent, the world is open to them. Do they exult in this opportunity? Not most of the ones I talk to. Instead, they agonize: Between making money and doing something of lasting social value. Between challenging their intellects and exercising their creative impulses. Between work that demands single-mindedness and work that will enable them to live balanced lives. Between work they can do in a beautifully pastoral location and work that brings them to a bustling city. Between any work at all and further study. With a decision as important as this, they struggle to find the reasons that make one choice stand out above all the others.
"In addition, because of the flexibility that now characterizes relations among family, friends, and lovers, my students can't even use obligation to other people as a way to limit their possibilities. Where the people they love are located and how close to them they want to be are just more factors to be entered into the decision, to be traded off against various aspects of the jobs themselves. Everything is up for grabs; almost anything is possible. And each possibility they consider has its attractive features, so that the opportunity costs associated with those attractive options keep mounting up, making the whole decision-making process decidedly unattractive. What, they wonder, is the right thing to do? How can they know?
"As this chapter has shown, decisions like these arouse discomfort, and they force indecision. Students take time off, take on odd jobs, try out internships, hoping that the right answer to the "What should I be when I grow up?" question will emerge. One quickly learns that "What are you going to do when you graduate?" is not a question many students are eager to hear, let alone answer. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that my students might be better off with a little less talent or with a little more of a sense that they owed it to their families to settle down back home, or even a dose of Depression-era necessity--take a secure job and get on with it! With fewer options and more constraints, many trade-offs would be eliminated, and there would be less self-doubt, less of an effort to justify decisions, more satisfaction, and less second-guessing of the decisions once made."
I realized, after reading those words, that that's it! I didn't finish because I couldn't figure out which criteria was the Right Criteria to choose my Direction and eliminate other options. Do I choose the Most Noble Path, and if I do, which path is that? Everyone disagrees on that point. Do I choose the profession that will bring the most money? Do I choose the one that will bring the most worldly praise? ... I was supposed to "want" to be a professional, but I didn't WANT to be a professional. I'm a stress-avoider, so I can't be a professional. Ever. ... And some of my other choices, what I wanted to do, didn't make enough money for my loved ones to be happy with that choice. Besides, I had too much "potential" for that. It was below me.
Growing up, and especially in High School, I would tell my mom that I wanted to be mediocre. It was a dream of mine: Be mediocre. And I'm happy to say that I've pretty well achieved that. By the world's standards, I'm nothing special. Strangely, then, being mediocre makes me feel accomplished.
Take that, Life.
 |
| Schwartz |
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Ironing Jeans
First, so no one feels sorry for me as I talk about laundry duties, I like doing laundry. I know that a lot of women hate it, but I don't. It's great thinking time. It's a peaceful and quiet and relaxing process. When I stay on top of it (which I normally do), it's a joy.
Now on to the story.
When I was in High School, I had a friend named Julie. Well, she was more a friend of a friend, but I liked her. She was nice and thoughtful, but she also was self-conscious in all the ways I wasn't, and seemed to lack that last piece in the Self-Esteem puzzle. She constantly was wondering if she was too fat even though she was a beanpole. And gorgeous on top of that. If it had been possible to hate her for being skinny and gorgeous without knowing it, I would have hated her. But she was impossible to hate. I think everyone loved Julie.
One day a friend and I were talking about wrinkly jeans. Probably because I was wearing wrinkly jeans. I didn't care about them being wrinkly, mind you; I would have worn muddy jeans to school without caring. Oh, wait. I did wear muddy jeans to school.
And my friend said, "Julie irons her jeans."
I wasn't aware, first off, that ironing jeans was an option. People iron church clothes. That's it.
And I couldn't believe, second off, that any human being would ever think it worth it to iron jeans.
I remember looking over at Julie in her immaculately wrinkle-free jeans and scoffing. Her Self-Esteem points lowered, in my mind, about 5 points that day.
Flash forward to the present. I iron Rob's clothes now. Not only has he dropped 70 lbs. in the last 5 years, he also now owns clothes that fit him. And he looks good in them. Plus, he teaches at a university on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he needs to look somewhat professional. We're not talking white shirt and tie professional, but at least non-wrinkly clothes professional.
And I don't mind the ironing. Again, all laundry is therapeutic for me. But the problem is that he wears jeans to teach sometimes, so I iron his jeans, too. And his relaxed-fit cargo-style khakis.
At first this wasn't a problem. I can acknowledge that in our image-centered world, wrinkles mark you as second-class. But then I would hang up his jeans next to mine. Nice, pressed jeans next to my wrinkled, well-loved jeans. And suddenly I was feeling second-class, too.
So I started ironing my own jeans, too. Not all the time. Sometimes they don't need it. But a lot of times.
And every time I iron my jeans I think about Julie in her immaculately wrinkle-free jeans. I probably iron a pair of my jeans at least once a week. So once a week, as I convert my wrinkly jeans into lovely, pressed jeans, I think of Julie and, in my mind, I apologize to her.
Now on to the story.
When I was in High School, I had a friend named Julie. Well, she was more a friend of a friend, but I liked her. She was nice and thoughtful, but she also was self-conscious in all the ways I wasn't, and seemed to lack that last piece in the Self-Esteem puzzle. She constantly was wondering if she was too fat even though she was a beanpole. And gorgeous on top of that. If it had been possible to hate her for being skinny and gorgeous without knowing it, I would have hated her. But she was impossible to hate. I think everyone loved Julie.
One day a friend and I were talking about wrinkly jeans. Probably because I was wearing wrinkly jeans. I didn't care about them being wrinkly, mind you; I would have worn muddy jeans to school without caring. Oh, wait. I did wear muddy jeans to school.
And my friend said, "Julie irons her jeans."
I wasn't aware, first off, that ironing jeans was an option. People iron church clothes. That's it.
And I couldn't believe, second off, that any human being would ever think it worth it to iron jeans.
I remember looking over at Julie in her immaculately wrinkle-free jeans and scoffing. Her Self-Esteem points lowered, in my mind, about 5 points that day.
Flash forward to the present. I iron Rob's clothes now. Not only has he dropped 70 lbs. in the last 5 years, he also now owns clothes that fit him. And he looks good in them. Plus, he teaches at a university on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he needs to look somewhat professional. We're not talking white shirt and tie professional, but at least non-wrinkly clothes professional.
And I don't mind the ironing. Again, all laundry is therapeutic for me. But the problem is that he wears jeans to teach sometimes, so I iron his jeans, too. And his relaxed-fit cargo-style khakis.
At first this wasn't a problem. I can acknowledge that in our image-centered world, wrinkles mark you as second-class. But then I would hang up his jeans next to mine. Nice, pressed jeans next to my wrinkled, well-loved jeans. And suddenly I was feeling second-class, too.
So I started ironing my own jeans, too. Not all the time. Sometimes they don't need it. But a lot of times.
And every time I iron my jeans I think about Julie in her immaculately wrinkle-free jeans. I probably iron a pair of my jeans at least once a week. So once a week, as I convert my wrinkly jeans into lovely, pressed jeans, I think of Julie and, in my mind, I apologize to her.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Washing my hair
I didn't make it all week. I got to Wednesday morning. BUT, I started the venture on Friday morning, so that's 5 days without washing my hair.
Apparently if you can go 10 days without washing your hair, your hair figures out a good amount of oil production, and then you can maintain non-washing for quite a while. At least that's what I've been told from a credible source.
However, I didn't make it past day 5. And I'm pretty adventurous.
Apparently if you can go 10 days without washing your hair, your hair figures out a good amount of oil production, and then you can maintain non-washing for quite a while. At least that's what I've been told from a credible source.
However, I didn't make it past day 5. And I'm pretty adventurous.
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