I am reading Aristotle. Well, I'm trying to. Philosophy is like another language. I read a paragraph and then I read it again. And maybe still again. I'm a total ignoramus when it comes to philosophy.
Here's one of the ideas I've gleaned so far:
According to Aristotle, politics is the "highest" art because: "it is this that ordains which of the sciences should be studied in a state, and which each class of citizens should learn and up to what point they should learn them . . . Since politics uses the rest of the sciences, and since, again, it legislates as to what we are to do and what we are to abstain from..." therefore, politics "is most truly the master art." (Aristotle "Nicomachean Ethics" Book 1, chapter 2). Whew!
He goes on to clinch this argument by pointing out that since politics has the power to do the greatest good to the most people ("it is finer and more godlike to attain [good] for a nation or for city-states" than "merely for one man"), it is really the most authoritative art.
It seems that he's invested politics with far more power than I somehow imagine it having. It's so easy to scoff at the politicians, to be angry and disdainful at their posturing and their pontificating. But I think I have gotten into the habit of underestimating their effect on my day-to-day life. Science, literature, medicine, art... these all contribute greatly to my comfort and even to my survival. But Aristotle is correct--all of these are subject to legislation. What is available to me is available because the law allows it to be so. What is studied for my sake (and for the sake of all consumers) is studied because it was legislated or permitted to be taught. I really never thought about it this way. I get used to the idea that we are "free" and we are indeed free--to a wonderful and great extent. But.... consider how much of our freedoms have been legislated away and are now being legislated away in the name of "fairness" or "safety", etc. Very interesting.
Interesting too, because of his reference to the state dictating what their citizens should learn. This has been happening since compulsory public school first began, less than a century ago. And when compulsory public education began, it was with the idea of suiting the worker to the industry--therefore, policy really did dictate class education. And really, nothing has changed. Politics dictate curriculum. Every public school student studies what the state says he/she should study. Every person who opens a textbook or some other compilation of information is reading pre-digested material, chosen for him/her by someone else, some remote "expert". Is this bad? Probably not. But it's good to be aware of.
I hope we never lose the ability to access and understand original source writing. I am reading Aristotle (slowly and painfully) after reading a pre-digested summary of his philosophies. I find it hard work. This is because I am used to reading things that are simply written, with sound bite ideas and quotable thesis statements. I read things that are written for my rapid consumption, glittering with entertainment and leaving me wanting more. I do like this kind of reading material. There's definitely a place for it in my life (just check out my goodreads library). But Aristotle is reminding me that there should be a place for the real stuff too. I need to want substance as well as air.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Just Another Brick in the Wall
On tests to measure education: "If we stick only with the national exams as a means of [measuring children] . . . it is transparent and simple, but it will tend to narrow our definition of talent, and it will tend to narrow our definition of success." --Tharman Shanmugaratnam, Singapore's minister of education
On ADHD and drugs: "...there is a consensus that many children are being diagnosed with ADHD for the wrong reasons. This is part of a broader cultural shift. These days, rather than change the environment we live in, we prefer to rewire our brains to fit the environment. Shyness, anger, sadness and other "undesirable" emotions or traits are increasingly seen not as a natural part of the human condition but as diseases, symptoms of an imbalance in the chemistry of the brain, problems to be fixed with drugs . . . 'We are not prepared to live with variation as we did in the past,' says Professor David Healy, director of North Wales Department of Psychological Medicine. 'We want kids to conform to ideals based often on parental insecurities and ambitions.'" --from the book Under Pressure by Carl Honore
I believe there is too much pressure towards homogeneity and that our kids feel it the most. We school them to state and federal sameness. We test them by the same yardsticks. We push them into the same education and career paths. We expect them to conform to the societal mainstream that is dictated by the media--dress the same, act the same, have the same interests and likes. We want them to all behave the same: sit down, be quiet, get good grades, be cute, be polite. We want them all to have the same strengths: math, English, writing, sports..... etc etc.
We say we encourage individuality, but we don't really mean it.
When society pushes sameness, it invites dissatisfaction in everyone. We AREN'T all the same, of course, and pushing us all into the same mold makes everyone uncomfortable, and some of us desperately unhappy. Is this push for sameness what is causing our epidemic of depression?
When society pushes sameness, it punishes brilliance.
When society enforces homgeneity, it destroys genius.
When society punishes differences it feeds our fear of those who are different from us. We become bullies when we won't let others be who they are but instead push them into the boxes that are not made to fit them.
I don't know what I'm preaching here. It's not anarchy or rebellion or any kind of certain doom. But I really hope that I can be one of those people who is not afraid of differences and can look for and find the particular bent of genius in each individual and point it out and celebrate it. I'm not sure I am one of those visionary folks, but I'd certainly like to give it my best effort. No one should be "just another brick in the wall."
On ADHD and drugs: "...there is a consensus that many children are being diagnosed with ADHD for the wrong reasons. This is part of a broader cultural shift. These days, rather than change the environment we live in, we prefer to rewire our brains to fit the environment. Shyness, anger, sadness and other "undesirable" emotions or traits are increasingly seen not as a natural part of the human condition but as diseases, symptoms of an imbalance in the chemistry of the brain, problems to be fixed with drugs . . . 'We are not prepared to live with variation as we did in the past,' says Professor David Healy, director of North Wales Department of Psychological Medicine. 'We want kids to conform to ideals based often on parental insecurities and ambitions.'" --from the book Under Pressure by Carl Honore
I believe there is too much pressure towards homogeneity and that our kids feel it the most. We school them to state and federal sameness. We test them by the same yardsticks. We push them into the same education and career paths. We expect them to conform to the societal mainstream that is dictated by the media--dress the same, act the same, have the same interests and likes. We want them to all behave the same: sit down, be quiet, get good grades, be cute, be polite. We want them all to have the same strengths: math, English, writing, sports..... etc etc.
We say we encourage individuality, but we don't really mean it.
When society pushes sameness, it invites dissatisfaction in everyone. We AREN'T all the same, of course, and pushing us all into the same mold makes everyone uncomfortable, and some of us desperately unhappy. Is this push for sameness what is causing our epidemic of depression?
When society pushes sameness, it punishes brilliance.
When society enforces homgeneity, it destroys genius.
When society punishes differences it feeds our fear of those who are different from us. We become bullies when we won't let others be who they are but instead push them into the boxes that are not made to fit them.
I don't know what I'm preaching here. It's not anarchy or rebellion or any kind of certain doom. But I really hope that I can be one of those people who is not afraid of differences and can look for and find the particular bent of genius in each individual and point it out and celebrate it. I'm not sure I am one of those visionary folks, but I'd certainly like to give it my best effort. No one should be "just another brick in the wall."
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Time
Time is my enemy.
It pushes me into doing things I don't want to. When I have to meet a deadline, time brings it closer and closer, pressuring me into doing what I have to do to meet that deadline. I can't choose when I will do something--time forces me to do it arbitrarily. When I am eager to do something, time brings it to me slowly and then rushes me through it before I am ready to be done with it.
Time keeps me from doing all the things I do want to do. Time limits my reading, my piano playing, my shopping, my visiting. When I want to go on and on doing the things that make me happy, time runs out and I must stop and move on to what time next requires I do.
Time limits my contact with the people I love. Time keeps track of my phone calls and cuts them off before I am ready. Time sweeps away my vacations and holidays before I am ready for them to be gone. Time makes my husband go to sleep early when I want to talk, and it wakes him up early too. Then it dictates when he leaves the house and when he is able to return.
Time makes me tired because it goes so quickly when I read in bed and it causes my alarm to wake me before I have gotten enough sleep. I never get enough time to sleep because time is greedy and keeps itself all to itself. It rations my sleep and I'm always hungry for more.
Time takes my children from me. It passes without stopping and they grow and then they leave to spend their time in other pursuits. Time makes them forget many of the precious memories that we have forged together. Time separates us inexorably, taking them to other places and among other people. As time passes, these things must happen. If time were to stand still, could I freeze the best moments to hold forever?
Time hurts my body. It takes away my youth and brings me ever closer to my death. Its passing steals my flexibility, my energy, my hair color, my smooth skin, my clear eyes, my strong body.
Time takes away my grandparents and it will take away my parents too. It passes unstopping, leading them all to their old age, taking away their good health, their dignity, their independence and freedom, and enforcing their eventual death.
Time, this week, has run out for my young niece. Like a thief it has stolen her future. Like a dictator it has trampled over her wish to live. Time is my enemy because it keeps me from seeing her again for so very, very long. Time stands between me and togetherness with her and all the family I have lost to death. Time takes away my clear memories. Time will throw a blanket over the hole she has left in our lives. I don't want this hole to be disguised. I don't want to forget anything. I know I will see her again, but time makes me wait. Time will force me to be old and slow and diminished and dead before I can see again Carmen and all those others whom I love and who will have passed, or who have already passed.
So today I am not afraid of poverty or loneliness or even death or pain. Because I could stand all of these if time were not involved. But time sticks its pushy head in my business and makes all of the bad things last for an unspecified duration that I cannot control or stop. It makes the good things speed away. I want to grab those and keep them in the now. But it whisks them away farther out of my reach as every minute, hour, day, month and year passes. Unkindly, it slows down for that which is undesirable or painful. No one can stop it. No one can hold it fast. It just goes on and on, with its own will never challenged, always getting its way. This is why time is my enemy.
It pushes me into doing things I don't want to. When I have to meet a deadline, time brings it closer and closer, pressuring me into doing what I have to do to meet that deadline. I can't choose when I will do something--time forces me to do it arbitrarily. When I am eager to do something, time brings it to me slowly and then rushes me through it before I am ready to be done with it.
Time keeps me from doing all the things I do want to do. Time limits my reading, my piano playing, my shopping, my visiting. When I want to go on and on doing the things that make me happy, time runs out and I must stop and move on to what time next requires I do.
Time limits my contact with the people I love. Time keeps track of my phone calls and cuts them off before I am ready. Time sweeps away my vacations and holidays before I am ready for them to be gone. Time makes my husband go to sleep early when I want to talk, and it wakes him up early too. Then it dictates when he leaves the house and when he is able to return.
Time makes me tired because it goes so quickly when I read in bed and it causes my alarm to wake me before I have gotten enough sleep. I never get enough time to sleep because time is greedy and keeps itself all to itself. It rations my sleep and I'm always hungry for more.
Time takes my children from me. It passes without stopping and they grow and then they leave to spend their time in other pursuits. Time makes them forget many of the precious memories that we have forged together. Time separates us inexorably, taking them to other places and among other people. As time passes, these things must happen. If time were to stand still, could I freeze the best moments to hold forever?
Time hurts my body. It takes away my youth and brings me ever closer to my death. Its passing steals my flexibility, my energy, my hair color, my smooth skin, my clear eyes, my strong body.
Time takes away my grandparents and it will take away my parents too. It passes unstopping, leading them all to their old age, taking away their good health, their dignity, their independence and freedom, and enforcing their eventual death.
Time, this week, has run out for my young niece. Like a thief it has stolen her future. Like a dictator it has trampled over her wish to live. Time is my enemy because it keeps me from seeing her again for so very, very long. Time stands between me and togetherness with her and all the family I have lost to death. Time takes away my clear memories. Time will throw a blanket over the hole she has left in our lives. I don't want this hole to be disguised. I don't want to forget anything. I know I will see her again, but time makes me wait. Time will force me to be old and slow and diminished and dead before I can see again Carmen and all those others whom I love and who will have passed, or who have already passed.
So today I am not afraid of poverty or loneliness or even death or pain. Because I could stand all of these if time were not involved. But time sticks its pushy head in my business and makes all of the bad things last for an unspecified duration that I cannot control or stop. It makes the good things speed away. I want to grab those and keep them in the now. But it whisks them away farther out of my reach as every minute, hour, day, month and year passes. Unkindly, it slows down for that which is undesirable or painful. No one can stop it. No one can hold it fast. It just goes on and on, with its own will never challenged, always getting its way. This is why time is my enemy.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
My ideas are lonely
I am feeling so isolated with homeschooling lately. The problem is threefold, I think, and I need to talk it out. So here goes...
1. No one in this new church group of mine homeschools. No one at all. No one is interested, no one cares about it. This is hard for me since homeschooling is more than just something we do for several hours every day, it is a lifestyle. And it's one of those things I feel uncomfortable bringing up because it has so much potential to put people on the defensive. So that's two isolating factors: a) no one is interested and b) the principles that are passions for me are not comfortable for others to hear about. And part of what is me is that I have a desire to share the things that excite me and those things that bring me joy. I am not living in a social environment conducive to this sharing. It is hard for me--a bit stifling.
2. I am going through one of those phases where I worry that my kids aren't learning enough. The other day someone I love asked me, with alarm, when I was going to teach my 5th grader cursive. I explained that since he hates writing as a whole, he was learning keyboarding first--to make expressing his thoughts in writing faster--and then later as he hates writing less I will introduce cursive. And that maybe he will never learn cursive--depending on how he feels about it. But I did feel a spark of worry there too. What if I'm messing them up? What if my boys cannot support families? What if... what if... I remind myself of this:
"It really doesn't matter if my daughter can solve differential equations at 12 or 21. She is taking responsibility for her own education. And homeschooling has provided us with the opportunity to be together in meaningful measures of time." (from a Diane Hopkins article) http://www.homefires.com/articles/paranoia.asp
And this is what I believe. I believe that our family unity is the precious result of our homeschooling. The education, as I have always said, is secondary. But in a world where all anyone talks about is their kids' classes, grades, college plans, sports teams, social lives, etc... I have nothing to say about these things. They have long been of secondary importance to me. And I find that what I have to say would sound like bragging: I talk to my kids. They talk to me. We love to spend time together. They are valued and appreciated by adults and children alike (not necessarily their own peers, though). My kids treat me with respect and love. They are my most valued friends and companions. There is nothing I like better than to spend all day at home with my kids. I think parents are used to not expecting these results until "later". They put up with surly and disrespectful kids now so that their kids get good educations, play on lots of teams, and get into good colleges. They hope for better relationships when their kids get older. They see this as the "natural" order of things. It is common.
3. I go through periods of time when I feel sad that my kids are as socially isolated as I am and in the same ways. They don't relate well to public schooled kids their own ages. There are and have been countless little social injuries, one of the most insidious is just... being ignored. They aren't on their peers' social landscapes because they don't go to school with them. [You may have noticed that adults aren't on many kids' social landscapes either--and for much the same reason. It is a rare teenager that treats me as a real person unless I somehow enter their landscape--and often not even then. I am much more accustomed to being ignored or, worse, patronized if I happen to require addressing. I think you know what I mean.]
One of the things that people accuse homeschoolers of lacking is social skills. And I see what they mean. I have watched all my kids struggle socially all through their school years in their interactions with public schooled kids. With other homeschooled kids they get along great. With adults they get along great. With their siblings and cousins they get along great (mostly). But they just don't fit in with the public schooled kids. Normally I say, "GREAT!" That's just what I want! I heartily dislike the characteristics that even the best kids adopt to fit in with the public school scene. But it hurts me to see my kids isolated. And I get angry at the myopic views of other people--those who have kids in the public school system, those who have had kids there and many times those who work in the public school system also.
Unbelievably, these people believe that it is "natural" for kids to pick on each other and ridicule each other and that kids need to be in this sort of environment to deal with it. Or that kids can't have strong testimonies without strong opposition to strengthen them. I'm not saying that kids can't get strong in toxic atmospheres, nor that testimonies can't be strengthened by opposition. But I will never believe that these negative things are "necessary" to strengthen my treasured children. And I firmly believe that there is a lot of accepted behavior that is called "natural" but is really just "common". I have always believed that this "common" behavior, if undesirable, should be avoided if possible.
I remember when I first started homeschooling two ideas were firm in my mind: that my kids could be best friends with their siblings and that they could be best friends with me. I know it is the accepted idea that all siblings fight, especially when they get to adolescence. And my children definitely have their conflicts. But they are tight friends, each others' best companions also. They take care of each other and think of each other. They share games, ideas, money, space, books, clothes, thoughts, and affection with each other. And they are my closest friends. The younger ones take care of me and offer that unconditional affection and acceptance that children usually grow out of early. My kids give me this well into adolescence. And, now that I have older teenagers, I have experienced--to my great delight--the joy of having my children as true friends. My oldest daughter, I find, is my greatest friend. We have shared our whole lives with each other for these past 19 years and she knows everything about me and loves me still. She is unconditionally loving, she is wise, she is affectionate and generous. Because we have experienced her education together, and I have had opportunities to share my passions, we also share similar interests. Of course, she is inexperienced in adult life. But time will change that and will only strengthen our ties to each other. Can there be a greater joy than a truly loving relationship with someone who is connected to you by blood and by eternal covenants? I have not felt a deeper joy than this.
So. I guess reminding myself of all of this helps me regain perspective somewhat. I still feel bad about my 3 things, as I listed them above. They are ongoing worries, I guess. But it's good to remember why I love this lifestyle. As I very often say, there are good things and bad things about any system of education. I just prefer the bad things about homeschooling to the bad things about public school. And I wish, I so wish, that there were more people here that were sympathetic to my thoughts and ideas. I'm a little lonely today. Still. Is it a coincidence that my Rayne left last night to return to school after spending the long weekend here? Probably not. Maybe that's the REAL reason I'm feeling lonely today. Hm. That actually makes me feel better....
1. No one in this new church group of mine homeschools. No one at all. No one is interested, no one cares about it. This is hard for me since homeschooling is more than just something we do for several hours every day, it is a lifestyle. And it's one of those things I feel uncomfortable bringing up because it has so much potential to put people on the defensive. So that's two isolating factors: a) no one is interested and b) the principles that are passions for me are not comfortable for others to hear about. And part of what is me is that I have a desire to share the things that excite me and those things that bring me joy. I am not living in a social environment conducive to this sharing. It is hard for me--a bit stifling.
2. I am going through one of those phases where I worry that my kids aren't learning enough. The other day someone I love asked me, with alarm, when I was going to teach my 5th grader cursive. I explained that since he hates writing as a whole, he was learning keyboarding first--to make expressing his thoughts in writing faster--and then later as he hates writing less I will introduce cursive. And that maybe he will never learn cursive--depending on how he feels about it. But I did feel a spark of worry there too. What if I'm messing them up? What if my boys cannot support families? What if... what if... I remind myself of this:
"It really doesn't matter if my daughter can solve differential equations at 12 or 21. She is taking responsibility for her own education. And homeschooling has provided us with the opportunity to be together in meaningful measures of time." (from a Diane Hopkins article) http://www.homefires.com/articles/paranoia.asp
And this is what I believe. I believe that our family unity is the precious result of our homeschooling. The education, as I have always said, is secondary. But in a world where all anyone talks about is their kids' classes, grades, college plans, sports teams, social lives, etc... I have nothing to say about these things. They have long been of secondary importance to me. And I find that what I have to say would sound like bragging: I talk to my kids. They talk to me. We love to spend time together. They are valued and appreciated by adults and children alike (not necessarily their own peers, though). My kids treat me with respect and love. They are my most valued friends and companions. There is nothing I like better than to spend all day at home with my kids. I think parents are used to not expecting these results until "later". They put up with surly and disrespectful kids now so that their kids get good educations, play on lots of teams, and get into good colleges. They hope for better relationships when their kids get older. They see this as the "natural" order of things. It is common.
3. I go through periods of time when I feel sad that my kids are as socially isolated as I am and in the same ways. They don't relate well to public schooled kids their own ages. There are and have been countless little social injuries, one of the most insidious is just... being ignored. They aren't on their peers' social landscapes because they don't go to school with them. [You may have noticed that adults aren't on many kids' social landscapes either--and for much the same reason. It is a rare teenager that treats me as a real person unless I somehow enter their landscape--and often not even then. I am much more accustomed to being ignored or, worse, patronized if I happen to require addressing. I think you know what I mean.]
One of the things that people accuse homeschoolers of lacking is social skills. And I see what they mean. I have watched all my kids struggle socially all through their school years in their interactions with public schooled kids. With other homeschooled kids they get along great. With adults they get along great. With their siblings and cousins they get along great (mostly). But they just don't fit in with the public schooled kids. Normally I say, "GREAT!" That's just what I want! I heartily dislike the characteristics that even the best kids adopt to fit in with the public school scene. But it hurts me to see my kids isolated. And I get angry at the myopic views of other people--those who have kids in the public school system, those who have had kids there and many times those who work in the public school system also.
Unbelievably, these people believe that it is "natural" for kids to pick on each other and ridicule each other and that kids need to be in this sort of environment to deal with it. Or that kids can't have strong testimonies without strong opposition to strengthen them. I'm not saying that kids can't get strong in toxic atmospheres, nor that testimonies can't be strengthened by opposition. But I will never believe that these negative things are "necessary" to strengthen my treasured children. And I firmly believe that there is a lot of accepted behavior that is called "natural" but is really just "common". I have always believed that this "common" behavior, if undesirable, should be avoided if possible.
I remember when I first started homeschooling two ideas were firm in my mind: that my kids could be best friends with their siblings and that they could be best friends with me. I know it is the accepted idea that all siblings fight, especially when they get to adolescence. And my children definitely have their conflicts. But they are tight friends, each others' best companions also. They take care of each other and think of each other. They share games, ideas, money, space, books, clothes, thoughts, and affection with each other. And they are my closest friends. The younger ones take care of me and offer that unconditional affection and acceptance that children usually grow out of early. My kids give me this well into adolescence. And, now that I have older teenagers, I have experienced--to my great delight--the joy of having my children as true friends. My oldest daughter, I find, is my greatest friend. We have shared our whole lives with each other for these past 19 years and she knows everything about me and loves me still. She is unconditionally loving, she is wise, she is affectionate and generous. Because we have experienced her education together, and I have had opportunities to share my passions, we also share similar interests. Of course, she is inexperienced in adult life. But time will change that and will only strengthen our ties to each other. Can there be a greater joy than a truly loving relationship with someone who is connected to you by blood and by eternal covenants? I have not felt a deeper joy than this.
So. I guess reminding myself of all of this helps me regain perspective somewhat. I still feel bad about my 3 things, as I listed them above. They are ongoing worries, I guess. But it's good to remember why I love this lifestyle. As I very often say, there are good things and bad things about any system of education. I just prefer the bad things about homeschooling to the bad things about public school. And I wish, I so wish, that there were more people here that were sympathetic to my thoughts and ideas. I'm a little lonely today. Still. Is it a coincidence that my Rayne left last night to return to school after spending the long weekend here? Probably not. Maybe that's the REAL reason I'm feeling lonely today. Hm. That actually makes me feel better....
Monday, January 26, 2009
Shades of Grey
I see things in black and white. I am a woman of absolutes. [Except of course, with my own greys--and I'm sure I have plenty--which are so integrated into my personal world view that I don't notice their blended shades.] I like being a black and white person. I have an organized mind which helps me think things out and helps me express myself clearly. I tend to be generally orderly and neat, in body and in mind. I am typically focused, goal-oriented and obedient. Mostly.
However, as with any characteristic, there are both strengths and weaknesses inherent in it, and the big weakness of the black and white person is his/her tendency for comparison and judgement. I have a passion for pigeonholing. I have a compulsion to categorize. I am obsessed with order. In the corners of my mind I am sure there is only ONE right way and I feel pressed to find it and adopt it.
Of course I know this about myself and over the years I have taken steps to avoid judging. I know it's wrong and it's not fair, either. And it doesn't lead to comfortable relationships or happiness in general. Still more painfully: as harshly as I tend to judge others, I judge myself just as harshly. So I have first person experience of my own worst tendencies. Making me even more eager to blunt those sharp edges of mine. So I have been working on it for a long time. Especially I have worked hard to cease judging the people in my life. And I'm still working on it. And I'll be working on it for a long time yet, I am sure.
Thankfully, I have a generally loving nature. I am a first child and I am eager to please and eager to be liked. This helps me want to accept others just as they are. So I'm getting better and better at reserving judgement and offering acceptance instead. But keep in mind my black and white nature. It's so me. And my mind always functions that way first. It isn't like I can suddenly see those shades of grey, it's just that now I can acknowledge they exist and they're seen by many others. I still have trouble seeing them. One way I try to get around this in conversation is to offer disclaimers.
Here's one now: When I express myself regarding a new thought to me, my words nearly always come out in an extreme version of whatever thought I am having. It takes me awhile to talk around to what I really think. It helps to have others give me their opinions. It helps to read stuff. It helps to think more about it. But what I SAY on the journey to what I'm figuring out does NOT necessarily represent the destination. There is my classic disclaimer for everything I say.
So now onto what has been floating around in the back of my mind for the last few days.
I'm going to quote from a book I am reading. A girl has arrived at a large old home in which she is to work for the next 6 months. She is shown into her room by an ageing and dignified lady, the owner of the home and the girl's employer. The girl sees a large room with an expanse of bare wood floor:
"The curtained bed was an ancient four-poster and the polished wood floor was devoid of rugs.
'If you need something to put your feet on in the morning you must ask. I don't believe in pampering myself, but I don't expect everyone to follow my spartan example,' the old lady said."
It's just a few words, but it resonated for me. And it was the final polish on a thought that I think has finally crystallized for me.
Since I've been in this new town I've seen more fancy houses owned by people like me than I have ever seen before. For a relief society activity last week, the ladies were invited to tour a friend's new house (and sit in her hot tub!) in the fancy neighborhood. And it was an impressive house. Many bedrooms. 7 bathrooms. 2 staircases. Pool and hot tub. Outdoor kitchen. Vaulted ceilings everywhere. Really lovely house. And I've seen a lot of these here. And it's taken me all this time, these last few years and all the years before these to finally figure out that: I can really appreciate and admire these beautiful, opulent and showy houses. I do like looking around and I enjoy attending parties in these well-cared for little mansions. I like staying in fancy hotels too and I enjoy ooohing and aahing at amazing houses with their extensive and amazing grounds. I really like to play house in luxury.
BUT. I do not see myself actually living with it day to day. Currently I live in the loveliest house I've ever lived in or expect to live in ever. I love my furniture and I'd like to buy some additional pieces of furnishings too. In a perfect world I'd love a covered pool and a hot tub somewhere on the property. But that's just about as much luxury as I desire for myself. It's taken me so long to figure out what I actually dream of for myself.
I don't know why it's been so hard to clarify this for myself. Perhaps I have been derailed by lean times, by intermittent fears for my own future. Perhaps I've been distracted by the extreme luxury I see in the surroundings of others--and my own sensual enjoyment of it. Perhaps I've been confused by the driven pursuit of worldly goods that I observe in some of the people I love. And being the black and white woman that I am, I have for years attempted to draw some arbitrary line, to set some general standard of what is allowable to wish for or to want. And I have had so much trouble trying to impose my black and white vision on what is really so very grey! And it's been a frustrating attempt, too. Obviously doomed to failure from the onset and promising to give me grief all along the way.
But now I feel freed from that desire to prescribe what is proper to aspire to. For some reason my heart has found its place and settled right into it. I actually know what I like for myself and I can see that this is only what it is--my personal preference. What a relief. I whole-heartedly agree with the lady in my book: I don't wish for that degree of luxury for myself, but I certainly don't expect others to feel the same way that I do. After all, why in the world should they?
This may seem obvious to anyone who is reading this. And I've already made this "discovery" (i.e. that not everybody feels the same way I do and it's normal and okay for me to be different from them or for them to be different from me--depending on from whose point of view one is seeing) on about a thousand other issues. But I guess I've got to constantly reinvent and reinvent and reinvent the wheel in this way. I can't see the grey that is so obviously there and I knock my head against the wall over and over wondering why everyone else doesn't recognize that the world is obviously in black and white! Well, it's certainly that way for me, but I keep forgetting that others can see in shades of grey! Why can't I see the grey? Who knows. What I really want to know is why can't I remember that the grey is there and there are plenty of other people who can see it just fine?! I'm afraid I'm doomed to forget over and over. However.... one of the good things about forgetting is that when I rediscover what I've forgotten, it's a joyful reunion every time! Like the forgetful lady who can hide her own Easter eggs, right? It may be frustrating to forget, but it's a pleasure to finally remember again.
So, I guess I can live with that.
However, as with any characteristic, there are both strengths and weaknesses inherent in it, and the big weakness of the black and white person is his/her tendency for comparison and judgement. I have a passion for pigeonholing. I have a compulsion to categorize. I am obsessed with order. In the corners of my mind I am sure there is only ONE right way and I feel pressed to find it and adopt it.
Of course I know this about myself and over the years I have taken steps to avoid judging. I know it's wrong and it's not fair, either. And it doesn't lead to comfortable relationships or happiness in general. Still more painfully: as harshly as I tend to judge others, I judge myself just as harshly. So I have first person experience of my own worst tendencies. Making me even more eager to blunt those sharp edges of mine. So I have been working on it for a long time. Especially I have worked hard to cease judging the people in my life. And I'm still working on it. And I'll be working on it for a long time yet, I am sure.
Thankfully, I have a generally loving nature. I am a first child and I am eager to please and eager to be liked. This helps me want to accept others just as they are. So I'm getting better and better at reserving judgement and offering acceptance instead. But keep in mind my black and white nature. It's so me. And my mind always functions that way first. It isn't like I can suddenly see those shades of grey, it's just that now I can acknowledge they exist and they're seen by many others. I still have trouble seeing them. One way I try to get around this in conversation is to offer disclaimers.
Here's one now: When I express myself regarding a new thought to me, my words nearly always come out in an extreme version of whatever thought I am having. It takes me awhile to talk around to what I really think. It helps to have others give me their opinions. It helps to read stuff. It helps to think more about it. But what I SAY on the journey to what I'm figuring out does NOT necessarily represent the destination. There is my classic disclaimer for everything I say.
So now onto what has been floating around in the back of my mind for the last few days.
I'm going to quote from a book I am reading. A girl has arrived at a large old home in which she is to work for the next 6 months. She is shown into her room by an ageing and dignified lady, the owner of the home and the girl's employer. The girl sees a large room with an expanse of bare wood floor:
"The curtained bed was an ancient four-poster and the polished wood floor was devoid of rugs.
'If you need something to put your feet on in the morning you must ask. I don't believe in pampering myself, but I don't expect everyone to follow my spartan example,' the old lady said."
It's just a few words, but it resonated for me. And it was the final polish on a thought that I think has finally crystallized for me.
Since I've been in this new town I've seen more fancy houses owned by people like me than I have ever seen before. For a relief society activity last week, the ladies were invited to tour a friend's new house (and sit in her hot tub!) in the fancy neighborhood. And it was an impressive house. Many bedrooms. 7 bathrooms. 2 staircases. Pool and hot tub. Outdoor kitchen. Vaulted ceilings everywhere. Really lovely house. And I've seen a lot of these here. And it's taken me all this time, these last few years and all the years before these to finally figure out that: I can really appreciate and admire these beautiful, opulent and showy houses. I do like looking around and I enjoy attending parties in these well-cared for little mansions. I like staying in fancy hotels too and I enjoy ooohing and aahing at amazing houses with their extensive and amazing grounds. I really like to play house in luxury.
BUT. I do not see myself actually living with it day to day. Currently I live in the loveliest house I've ever lived in or expect to live in ever. I love my furniture and I'd like to buy some additional pieces of furnishings too. In a perfect world I'd love a covered pool and a hot tub somewhere on the property. But that's just about as much luxury as I desire for myself. It's taken me so long to figure out what I actually dream of for myself.
I don't know why it's been so hard to clarify this for myself. Perhaps I have been derailed by lean times, by intermittent fears for my own future. Perhaps I've been distracted by the extreme luxury I see in the surroundings of others--and my own sensual enjoyment of it. Perhaps I've been confused by the driven pursuit of worldly goods that I observe in some of the people I love. And being the black and white woman that I am, I have for years attempted to draw some arbitrary line, to set some general standard of what is allowable to wish for or to want. And I have had so much trouble trying to impose my black and white vision on what is really so very grey! And it's been a frustrating attempt, too. Obviously doomed to failure from the onset and promising to give me grief all along the way.
But now I feel freed from that desire to prescribe what is proper to aspire to. For some reason my heart has found its place and settled right into it. I actually know what I like for myself and I can see that this is only what it is--my personal preference. What a relief. I whole-heartedly agree with the lady in my book: I don't wish for that degree of luxury for myself, but I certainly don't expect others to feel the same way that I do. After all, why in the world should they?
This may seem obvious to anyone who is reading this. And I've already made this "discovery" (i.e. that not everybody feels the same way I do and it's normal and okay for me to be different from them or for them to be different from me--depending on from whose point of view one is seeing) on about a thousand other issues. But I guess I've got to constantly reinvent and reinvent and reinvent the wheel in this way. I can't see the grey that is so obviously there and I knock my head against the wall over and over wondering why everyone else doesn't recognize that the world is obviously in black and white! Well, it's certainly that way for me, but I keep forgetting that others can see in shades of grey! Why can't I see the grey? Who knows. What I really want to know is why can't I remember that the grey is there and there are plenty of other people who can see it just fine?! I'm afraid I'm doomed to forget over and over. However.... one of the good things about forgetting is that when I rediscover what I've forgotten, it's a joyful reunion every time! Like the forgetful lady who can hide her own Easter eggs, right? It may be frustrating to forget, but it's a pleasure to finally remember again.
So, I guess I can live with that.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Silken Tent
So, here's my favorite poem. It's by Robert Frost
The Silken Tent
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.
I love this poem because I feel my own internal life is a balance between staying where I need to be, where I love to be... and wanting to run away, to escape. And this poem paints this special kind of bondage--the mom/wife/daughter/woman bondage--in such a beautiful way.
I must be a coward at some essential level of my soul because my first impulse in the face of any kind of stress or trouble is "RUN AWAY"! But when I most want to run away I look at what I would be running away from: everything that I love and all that brings me joy. And I know I couldn't be happier living any other life. This poem covers it all and I see myself: the silken tent with the heavenward sure core, standing free until the wind blows and then the guy ropes pull and I feel it. And sometimes it feels really windy and I feel all tied down. But like the poem says, my life is summertime and the tent is beautiful, and the central pole is solid and sure, and pointed towards Heaven.
Anyway, I love this poem. And there must be thousands, millions of women like me who wish to run away sometimes, but stay in their lives where there is beauty as well as there are burdens.
Carmen is sicker. She's grown a new tumor and this one has spread all down her spine. They go to the doctor tomorrow to discuss options. Carmen is in good spirits, her mom says. I am afraid to lose her.
And I do have my versions of running away. When I'm most worried I read almost non-stop. I can read 5 (or sometimes more) books in a day when I'm "running away". And I play the piano, especially when I am angry or frustrated. It's like, having the playing to concentrate on takes just enough brain power to slow everything in my head and heart down so I can cool down and consider things.
Life is good. I feel my ties tonight but I am happy to be "strictly held by none," but "loosely bound by countless silken ties of love and thought". I embrace the ties tonight and... I'm gonna read myself to sleep and read some more tomorrow. :)
The Silken Tent
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.
I love this poem because I feel my own internal life is a balance between staying where I need to be, where I love to be... and wanting to run away, to escape. And this poem paints this special kind of bondage--the mom/wife/daughter/woman bondage--in such a beautiful way.
I must be a coward at some essential level of my soul because my first impulse in the face of any kind of stress or trouble is "RUN AWAY"! But when I most want to run away I look at what I would be running away from: everything that I love and all that brings me joy. And I know I couldn't be happier living any other life. This poem covers it all and I see myself: the silken tent with the heavenward sure core, standing free until the wind blows and then the guy ropes pull and I feel it. And sometimes it feels really windy and I feel all tied down. But like the poem says, my life is summertime and the tent is beautiful, and the central pole is solid and sure, and pointed towards Heaven.
Anyway, I love this poem. And there must be thousands, millions of women like me who wish to run away sometimes, but stay in their lives where there is beauty as well as there are burdens.
Carmen is sicker. She's grown a new tumor and this one has spread all down her spine. They go to the doctor tomorrow to discuss options. Carmen is in good spirits, her mom says. I am afraid to lose her.
And I do have my versions of running away. When I'm most worried I read almost non-stop. I can read 5 (or sometimes more) books in a day when I'm "running away". And I play the piano, especially when I am angry or frustrated. It's like, having the playing to concentrate on takes just enough brain power to slow everything in my head and heart down so I can cool down and consider things.
Life is good. I feel my ties tonight but I am happy to be "strictly held by none," but "loosely bound by countless silken ties of love and thought". I embrace the ties tonight and... I'm gonna read myself to sleep and read some more tomorrow. :)
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Gimme gimme gimme
So, my life has been um.... challenging... lately in several categories. And I have for many many months now been praying for several specific outcomes. And, contrary to my expectations, my requests have not been granted by God.
When I first began my desperate prayerful requests I asked for immediate assistance. I had deadlines in my mind: if You, God, do not send this by this date, then life as I know it will end. Those sorts of things. And God missed every deadline. I thought my life could not continue in the comfortable fashion I have become addicted to without those requirements met....and they were not met.
[The aside here is how my life is still just as comfortable and happy and how my shoulders have broadened to carry my burdens, how my mind has expanded to imagine solutions that seemed impossible, how events align so that the eventualities I fear, the disasters that I imagine could send me over the edge--these never happen and life goes on in safe and comforting patterns. And how what I was sure could not be endured actually CAN be endured and even learned from. But this is an aside--too important not to mention, but not directly pertinent to what I'm talking about here]
So when first my requests were unfulfilled I observed my behavior: I was angry at God. I didn't want to talk to Him any more. I pouted. My observing self noticed that I was indulging in the same behavior that my own children exhibit when their wishes are denied. No matter if the refusing parent has a logical and sound reason for those denials, the childish reaction is the same: petulant, sulking, resentful. I saw these feelings and behaviors in myself. Like God was my sugar daddy who had unexpectedly denied my latest whim. Like He exists to give me what I ask for. As if He were falling down on the job.
However, childish reactions aside, not receiving Divine assistance in the ways that I requested really bothered me. My desires were righteous. They were unselfish. And they feel quite desperate. I feel that I deserve to get what I'm so fervently asking for. So I began to wonder: what is prayer for?
When you take away getting what you ask for, then what's left? When people bear testimony of prayer, inevitably it's because they got what they asked for. I can't even count the number of times I've heard something that began like this: "I'd like to bear my testimony of prayer because God answered my prayer for....."
There are little shadows of other sides to prayer. There are stories in the scriptures of prayers for relief being answered with strength to continue suffering. We've all heard stories of prayers not being answered for years. One lady I admired greatly said that God has 3 basic answers to prayer: "yes", "no" and "not right now". And of course there has been lots said about building a relationship with God through prayer. I am not forgetting these things about prayer.
But somehow the biggest impression I have had in my mind is that when you have a need, a righteous desire, pray to God and He will give it to you. There are actually scriptures that say this kind of thing quite explicitly. But I have experienced more than once having a need that was desperate, a need that I took to God, a need that He chose not to fulfill. And I have realized that I have an incomplete understanding of what prayer is. Somehow I have imagined it as being mainly a tool to get what I want. And not getting what I want has brought me smack into my shallow perceptions. Can I really be this superficial in my approach to God? So I've been working to expand my understanding.
And I don't know that I understand any better, but my heart has changed its feelings about prayer. It started when I was talking to my brother Reed about this (I asked how he bears having his prayers for Carmen's healing not answered in the way that he wishes) and one of the things he said was something he'd read in the Bible dictionary: that prayer was work. I don't know why this rang bells in my mind, but it started me off on a whole new track of thought about prayer. The first and most obvious thought I had was that I had overlooked the idea that prayer is my duty as well as my privilege. That it is a commandment for me to be on my knees at least twice a day and to pray in my heart many many more times. Just those thoughts were enough to soften my heart and change my feelings about prayer.
So currently I have no hard definition of what prayer is about. I know for certain that it's not a means to an end. It's not what I do to get what I need or want (although prayer does serve this end sometimes). But it's far more than that and I'm finding out what it really is for me. I am starting with the idea that I will work to be on my knees as often as I can with no expectations of reward from God. I will pray with no agenda. I will continue to make my requests, of course, and continue to hope for fulfillment of all of them, but somehow it seems so obvious to me that it is His will that will be served and not mine and that is so obviously correct and safe that I cannot be dissatisfied.
Well, that's where I am for now on this. I've obviously got a lot more to figure out. Just like all of my thoughts and impressions--there are no permanent conclusions. Every new experience (mine and those of others) lead to a reevaluation of my previous ideas. It's all a journey and I am one of those who just has to talk it all out all along the way. You know.
When I first began my desperate prayerful requests I asked for immediate assistance. I had deadlines in my mind: if You, God, do not send this by this date, then life as I know it will end. Those sorts of things. And God missed every deadline. I thought my life could not continue in the comfortable fashion I have become addicted to without those requirements met....and they were not met.
[The aside here is how my life is still just as comfortable and happy and how my shoulders have broadened to carry my burdens, how my mind has expanded to imagine solutions that seemed impossible, how events align so that the eventualities I fear, the disasters that I imagine could send me over the edge--these never happen and life goes on in safe and comforting patterns. And how what I was sure could not be endured actually CAN be endured and even learned from. But this is an aside--too important not to mention, but not directly pertinent to what I'm talking about here]
So when first my requests were unfulfilled I observed my behavior: I was angry at God. I didn't want to talk to Him any more. I pouted. My observing self noticed that I was indulging in the same behavior that my own children exhibit when their wishes are denied. No matter if the refusing parent has a logical and sound reason for those denials, the childish reaction is the same: petulant, sulking, resentful. I saw these feelings and behaviors in myself. Like God was my sugar daddy who had unexpectedly denied my latest whim. Like He exists to give me what I ask for. As if He were falling down on the job.
However, childish reactions aside, not receiving Divine assistance in the ways that I requested really bothered me. My desires were righteous. They were unselfish. And they feel quite desperate. I feel that I deserve to get what I'm so fervently asking for. So I began to wonder: what is prayer for?
When you take away getting what you ask for, then what's left? When people bear testimony of prayer, inevitably it's because they got what they asked for. I can't even count the number of times I've heard something that began like this: "I'd like to bear my testimony of prayer because God answered my prayer for....."
There are little shadows of other sides to prayer. There are stories in the scriptures of prayers for relief being answered with strength to continue suffering. We've all heard stories of prayers not being answered for years. One lady I admired greatly said that God has 3 basic answers to prayer: "yes", "no" and "not right now". And of course there has been lots said about building a relationship with God through prayer. I am not forgetting these things about prayer.
But somehow the biggest impression I have had in my mind is that when you have a need, a righteous desire, pray to God and He will give it to you. There are actually scriptures that say this kind of thing quite explicitly. But I have experienced more than once having a need that was desperate, a need that I took to God, a need that He chose not to fulfill. And I have realized that I have an incomplete understanding of what prayer is. Somehow I have imagined it as being mainly a tool to get what I want. And not getting what I want has brought me smack into my shallow perceptions. Can I really be this superficial in my approach to God? So I've been working to expand my understanding.
And I don't know that I understand any better, but my heart has changed its feelings about prayer. It started when I was talking to my brother Reed about this (I asked how he bears having his prayers for Carmen's healing not answered in the way that he wishes) and one of the things he said was something he'd read in the Bible dictionary: that prayer was work. I don't know why this rang bells in my mind, but it started me off on a whole new track of thought about prayer. The first and most obvious thought I had was that I had overlooked the idea that prayer is my duty as well as my privilege. That it is a commandment for me to be on my knees at least twice a day and to pray in my heart many many more times. Just those thoughts were enough to soften my heart and change my feelings about prayer.
So currently I have no hard definition of what prayer is about. I know for certain that it's not a means to an end. It's not what I do to get what I need or want (although prayer does serve this end sometimes). But it's far more than that and I'm finding out what it really is for me. I am starting with the idea that I will work to be on my knees as often as I can with no expectations of reward from God. I will pray with no agenda. I will continue to make my requests, of course, and continue to hope for fulfillment of all of them, but somehow it seems so obvious to me that it is His will that will be served and not mine and that is so obviously correct and safe that I cannot be dissatisfied.
Well, that's where I am for now on this. I've obviously got a lot more to figure out. Just like all of my thoughts and impressions--there are no permanent conclusions. Every new experience (mine and those of others) lead to a reevaluation of my previous ideas. It's all a journey and I am one of those who just has to talk it all out all along the way. You know.
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