Just a Little Eye Contact

We've moved house. Again.

As you know if you've followed my blogs at all, after living for most my life in the same town, we moved 6 years ago just over the hill into the country--which was in a different town, with new shopping, a new church congregation, new friends, etc. It was HARD. It was also a lot of fun and how I loved that life. But now we've moved AGAIN. So after over 35 years of living mostly in just one town--my hometown, I've moved twice over the last 6 years. Sigh. I don't like it. At. All.

Of course, I can't complain about the new house:

It's big and beautiful and in a great neighborhood, which I really enjoy. There's a lovely greenbelt with a great running/biking/walking trail just one block away, lots of trees and flowers everywhere, not a single ugly house in the entire town, and every person I've encountered on my walk smiles and says hello. So far, it's been a great place to live.

But this time we've moved even further away from my hometown friends--a little too far away for the casual drop-in visit or the quick trip to the favorite store. And we've moved away from the friends in the little country town too. And we've moved into yet another new church congregation. That's the hardest part. And the best part. For one thing, in the LDS church, every congregation is part of the same whole--we all share the same organization and, of course, the same doctrine. We consider ourselves to be brothers and sisters. It's comforting to know that wherever I move in the WHOLE WORLD, there will be an LDS congregation, whether large or small, to welcome and embrace me.

However, even though I have been welcomed into this new congregation, nothing can change the fact that for me, the chapel is full of strangers. And that's the hardest part for me. The majority of my life has been spent among long-time friends. The people at my hometown church watched me and my siblings grow up, then they welcomed me back as a married woman and they watched my children grow up! Those hometown church folk were my FAMILY! They made the social aspect of church pretty comfortable--I knew them and their families and they knew me and mine. It's so nice to be KNOWN. So when I sit in this new congregation, full of strangers, my spoiled heart just squeezes and I wish I were back where I know people.

Now. I've been in this new town for about 2 1/2 months, so I've met a few people at church. I'm teaching piano lessons and I really enjoy chatting with the moms as they pick up and drop off. I'm getting to feel friendly with a few ladies here. And here's the point of this whole blog: on Sundays when I enter that chapel, I scan the faces, I look for those who are becoming familiar, I seek to exchange some mutual recognition of budding friendship with those I've chatted with: I look for that eye contact, that smile. And it's surprising to me how often it is not there! Why is that? Are these ladies too busy with their children and other friends that they're just not in the noticing zone? Do they figure that I've been here long enough so that they don't need to make the friendly effort with the new girl? Are they just a little insecure and don't think I'll smile back if they were to meet my eyes and grin? Oh, how I wish they would!

And it spurs me to ask myself: how often have I skipped past the eye contact with someone who was seeking a little visual confirmation of our friendship? How often have I been too wrapped up in my own agenda that I didn't even look at the faces surrounding me? All too often, I suspect.

So I resolve to pay attention to the little things. Most people don't need the big gesture, just a continual supply of the small indications of friendship--a quick email or text, a smile, eye contact with just that little raise of the brow that says "we share stuff". This is the kind of warm stuff that friends share with little or no thought. Just a little eye contact.

Joy

Several weeks ago a friend of mine asked me what brought me joy. I had a quick answer for her: my family, the gospel of Jesus Christ and solitude. She further asked me: what if your family was gone? What, aside from God, would you  need to allow you to find joy?

Setting aside the definition of "joy" (that's a blog for another day, I guess), I really started thinking about what 4 or 5 essentials I felt I must have to be happy. I finally decided on a few.

I need meaningful relationships. Loving ones, trusting ones. Just a few. When my paternal grandfather died, my grandmother, who was quickly descending into the depths of senility, never forgot that she was alone. She missed having that someone, that person who was just for her. I think I am like that. I need that someone who is just for me, who loves me best, who always defends me, who listens to and believes in me. Since I was 16 or so, that person has been my husband. Nobody loves me better than he does, I think.

I also need self-expression. I need to be able to talk/write about important feelings and ideas and conclusions. I have kept a journal since I was 8. I keep records of what I wear and how I felt wearing it. I write my concerns, my gratitude...everything. If I'm not writing, it's because I'm talking. But even after I talk about something, I will need to write it down. So I don't forget it. So I get it down just right. So it is real.

 I need learning. I need access to ideas and information. I need to figure out things. I think this craving must be an inborn part of my character because it drives me in a way that very few things do. I don't know if you'd consider my house organized, but I think my mind is highly organized. I must figure out how I feel or think, why I feel or think that way and what I'm going to do about it. There are few or no dark, cobwebby corners in my head. I'm always in pursuit of ideas and how they fit into my reality. It's probably one of the most defining aspects of my character. I don't think I'm unusually smart or highly creative or an original thinker or anything like that. Just that what goes on in my head is probably the most active part of me. For better or for worse.

 As I have gotten older, I have come to greatly value self-mastery. I used to believe that total freedom to do what I pleased just when it pleased me to do it (within the realms of basic righteousness, of course) was the ultimate in happiness, but I have discovered that self-indulgence is rarely followed by joy. More often it's followed by guilt, regret, anger, even self-contempt. I think the most effective path to self-mastery is through seeking after God's will. That's a tall order, though, and one I think it will take me all my life to figure out. Anyway, I now know that if I don't master myself and my desires (for shopping, for food, for entertainment, etc etc), I cannot be happy.

Finally, I need quiet time. In my life now, that time has come alone in the car (waiting for some kid somewhere, most likely), reading in a comfortable chair, sitting up alone against the pillows in my bed on a quiet morning, looking out the window, scrapbooking, sitting at the beach, looking out at the hills that surround my house, standing in the wind, smelling the air.... I wouldn't say that this time is thinking time--cuz I do the majority of that stuff through expression. But this is just refilling time. It's time to just be, away from all the things that define the bulk of my time. Remembering who I am when I'm all alone.

So I think that's how I would find my joy. Aside from the great concerns of my life--my family and my religion--these are the things that it takes for me to find that deep happiness and peace inside that I think joy is.

My "Carpe Diem"

Here's my brother, with his youngest asleep in his arms.



I've read several things lately on the internet written by young moms who sound tired and a bit overwhelmed. Their complaints remind me of when I was a young mom, sometimes feeling overworked, misunderstood, sleep-deprived, lonely and unappreciated myself. I still have kids at home and my little kid years aren't too far behind me that I've forgotten how much a mixture of joy and fatigue they were.

What I hear these moms saying is that they don't want to be lectured about enjoying these years wholesale. They find them a lot of hard work and are satisfied with finding the small beautiful moments among the general chaos. They look forward to the time when the kids aren't so dependent and demanding and when they themselves (the moms) can find some more time for themselves. Don't tell them "carpe diem" while they're busy just making it through each day without totally losing it. I well remember feeling something of this myself.

But what I remember more clearly is the ending of each little event in each of my children's lives. Being a mom is to know what endings feel like. When my first daughter was born, each night brought the end of another precious day with her. When she stopped nursing, that unique bonding time between us was over. When she crawled, the days of her infancy were gone. When she walked, her crawling days were done. When she began speaking, her baby coos were gone forever. When her teeth appeared, her gummy smiles ended. Every birthday was the closing of a year of her babyhood that would never come again. When her brother was born, my days alone with my firstborn were gone. And so it continued with each of my precious children. As each chapter began, it meant the closing of another chapter. I looked forward to every step they gained, every evidence of maturity, every new experience, but I also mourned the ending of the times that I had loved with them. Every beginning was also an ending.

Now I have adult children and teenagers. They are lots of fun to spend time with. We shop, we talk, we hang out, we enjoy our time together. But sometimes I really miss those baby days. I miss the unconditional love and affection. I miss the easy hugs and kisses. I miss tucking them all into bed and going to sleep myself, knowing that they were all safe under my roof.

And I feel even more keenly the endings that loom in the not-too-distant future. In just a few short years all my children will be gone from my house and building their own lives in their own houses. Hopefully I'll have grandchildren and a whole new chapter of my own life will begin. But those years when they were just mine, just my babies, just my little family to love and to spend time with... those days will never come again.

Honestly, I don't want them back again. Things are as they should be. My kids are growing up and going places and that's just right. It's rather bittersweet. They leave as I raised them to be--independent, hard-working, ambitious, righteous--but they are leaving. I miss them when they go. I don't mean for them to stay, I don't wish for them to stay. But I miss them.

Yes, we moms are the expert at endings. We've experienced them over and over. I think this should make us all natural experts at enjoying THIS day, THIS smile, THIS baby, THIS experience because we know it'll all be different in a week, a month, a year. And it'll never come back. So you young moms, don't reject the carpe diem idea. You're already doing it. It comes with the territory. You're already the expert at grasping today because no one knows better than you do that it'll truly be gone before you know it.

Good for what ails me

Oh, how I love potato chips. The smell, the taste, the texture... I love it all. A perfect day to me still seems like spending most of it sitting my deep velvet chair by the open french doors, a warm scented breeze brushing in, the hills green in the distance, a book in my lap (2 more in a pile beside me) and a tall glass of ice water on the side table AND an open bag of chips within reach of my (non-page-turning) hand. Sigh. This is often what I long for, but I know from sad experience that this kind of indulgence only leads to regrets--in the form of mental anguish (guilt) and stomach distress (all those chips!!).

And yet, even though I know how I'll feel if I spend an afternoon eating chips and reading... when I feel worried or afraid or sad, that scenario calls to me at the top of its lungs. I hear it today. But I won't be answering its call. For one thing, I have no chips in the house. But that's easily solved. No, today I won't answer the call because lately junk food really hurts. And having sacrificed precious energy to several sleepless nights over the last weeks and months because of accidental indulgences (I just wasn't paying attention and my body has become far more picky!), I am absolutely firm in my choice to avoid the fat laden food that my mind is calling out for today.

I read a couple of books lately, too, that have really affected my thinking about emotional eating. First was a book I really disliked called Women Food and God by Geneen Roth. Couldn't stand the author's voice, but I got one really powerful idea out of it and that is that when I overeat or eat something that is bad for my body, I am numbing a feeling that I don't want to deal with. From a previous book I already understood that eating beyond hunger becomes feeding the mind rather than feeding the body. Now I have a clearer idea of why I've been wanting to ignore what my body prefers and why I've been wanting to feed my mind. Now I can clearly see that when I want to eat potato chips, it's never about hunger--it's because I want to numb a feeling I'm having and am not prepared to resolve.

A not unreasonable desire, it seems to me. I'm perfectly capable of dealing with feelings. But sometimes, it's just not the right time, or I'm just not ready to bring that one out of the dark. And chips are the right answer. Or so it has seemed to me for years.

The second book I learned something significant from on this topic was The End of Overeating by David Kessler. He showed that eating fatty foods induces the body to crave more fatty foods. Once I read that, I immediately saw how it works with my own eating habits. Fat leads to more fat. I felt it myself. So that put me on my guard in regards to eating the high fat foods that taste so good. It's just like starting a chain reaction. Of course, knowing this, and observing it in my own body, it's a lot easier to shut down the cravings. I eat chips with my sandwich and when the serving I've given myself is gone, I want more. Since I know it's just fat calling to fat it's a lot easier to just say "no".

So I'm off chips as a cure for what hurts in my heart. Cuz it just creates a bigger hurt in my body. But now I'm a little bit at a loss. What do I do with these feelings that I'm not ready to take out and sort through right now? I feel worried today about a problem I'm not going to be able to solve in the near future. I want chips. I want a long book and a soft chair. Not gonna happen. My options?





















These do help, even without the chips.


So does this.
This would undoubtedly help, but why is it always a little bit down on the list? I think it's because with a book, playing the piano or chips, I know just what I'll get. On the other hand, God's answers are always the BEST for me, but not always the most expected or even the most palatable. I expect that's because I need more practice aligning my will with His. But that's a whole other subject. At least I know I can access His peace, even if He doesn't always bless me with the immediate solution I'm wishing for, right?
This works for me too, especially when it's accompanied by the perennial escapist choice:



Some other things I'd like to try:



And maybe even:
If I get really desperate.


Yes, there are definitely other options besides potato chips. And yet, that's still what my emotions cry for when I'm worried or upset. I guess it will take awhile to change that pathway. I've been walking it for a lot of years. Meanwhile, I still feel worried today... what palliative shall I choose this afternoon?

10 Things

The sun set right in the dimple of the hills behind our house. Very cool. I LOVE living in the country. It's changed my feelings about so many things.

1. I am not convinced that conflicts can be resolved through better communication.

2. I didn't realize that when my son left on a mission he wouldn't ever be "home" in the same way again.

3. I don't think it's a good idea to criticize myself when I'm talking to my husband--I don't want to give him any ideas.

4. Being in my 40s is VERY different from being in my 20s. And it's better.

5. I am one of the laziest people I know.

6. My children are the greatest joy in my life; they are so good.

7. I chain read vintage romances sometimes. I've read over a dozen of them in the last 5 days. Is this a waste of time or what? But they're so sweet!

8. In homeschooling, the subject that used to be our achilles heel is now one of our strongest ones--math!

9. I am 5'10". I wish I were taller.

10. Today I finally looked at pictures of the devastation in Japan and cried. I see the pictures but I can't imagine the reality for all those survivors.

My Marriage

Here's the man I'm lucky enough to be married to. He's as beautiful inside as he is on the outside. I found him when I was only 16 and I've spent the last 27 years being in love with him. This photo was taken on his birthday in July, less than a week before our 22nd anniversary. If I were to choose one word to describe him I would choose the word SERVICE. This man is always doing something for others. He has the gift of knowing what is required or wanted and then DOING it. He really does live his life in the service of others. Even his working life is spent serving: in the medical industry and in the teaching profession. At work he does over and above what he is paid for. He serves his students, his patients and his co-workers. He is a man who gives all of his personal time to me, his children, his extended family, his friends and acquaintances and his church. And he is especially good to me. He shops, he cooks, he cleans, he preserves food, he plans menus, he folds clothes, he maintains the garden, he listens, he gives advice when asked, he takes me out, he brings me flowers, he laughs with me, he scratches my back, he does his utmost to make me happy. I am very grateful for him.

I was reading in the Doctrine and Covenants the other day and I read this scripture. It is the Lord, speaking to Joseph Smith's wife, Emma:

"And the office of thy calling shall be for a comfort unto . . . thy husband, in his afflictions, with consoling words, in the spirit of meekness." (D&C 25:5)

As scriptures so often do, this one spoke to me directly. That week I had been feeling sorry for myself, feeling I was overburdened, feeling my personal needs were unmet, beginning to blame my husband for some of this. I think my feelings were hormonal (gotta have some excuse!!), but this scripture was just what I needed to remind me of one of my purposes in life. It is my job to be a comfort to my husband! To love him, to build him up, to speak kindly to him, to make sure he knows how I respect, love and honor him. Sometimes I get so caught up in my own angst over one thing or another, I forget that I promised 22 years ago to love and cherish this very good man.

I like what Elizabeth says in Pride and Prejudice after she has become engaged to Mr. Darcy: "My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible." This is how I feel about marriage. I am the protector of all of my husband's good qualities and it's my job to notice, to promote, to celebrate them all. I also wish to ignore, forget and never think about any possible "weakness" or "bad" quality that he might have. In my eyes, he will be a hero, my forever sweetheart and partner. I love my man!

O remember, my son!

"The morning frost on the manure looks lovely."

That's what my daughter said this morning, partly in jest and partly because it really does look pretty. We've got manure spread all over the back "yard". All winter the rain will come down on it and all winter a lovely slushy manure tea will sink into our clay-like dirt and then, come spring, we'll plow all that yummy manure into the dirt and we'll hopefully be able to plant anything there and it will GROW. That's the plan, anyhow.

Here's what grabbed my attention in my scripture reading this morning--a description of us pitiful humans: (from Helaman 12:4-8)

"O how foolish, and how vain, and how evil, and devilish and how quick to do iniquity, and how slow to do good, are the children of men; yea, how quick to hearken unto the words of the evil one, and to set their hearts upon the vain things of the world.
Yea, how quick to be lifted up in pride; yea, how quick to boast, and do all manner of that which is iniquity; and how slow are they to remember the Lord their God, and to give ear unto his counsels, yeah, how slow to walk in wisdom's paths!
Behold, they do not desire that the Lord their God, who hath created them, should rule and reign over them; notwithstanding his great goodness and his mercy towards them, they do set at naught his counsels, and they will not that he should be their guide.
O how great is the nothingness of the children of men; yea, even they are less than the dust of the earth.
For behold, the dust of the earth moveth hither and thither, to the dividing asunder, at the command of our great and everlasting God."

So even the dust of the earth remembers and obeys better than we do. And so, according to the scriptures, do the hills, the mountains, the oceans, yes, the whole earth does better than we who claim ownership of it do.

Poor, tired Nephi (son of Helaman) has preached to his people all his life and they constantly forget all the teachings of the prophets and all their past experience with God. Here's the part that scares me:

"And thus we see that except the Lord doth chasten his people with many afflictions, yea, except he doth visit them with death and with terror, and with famine and with all manner of pestilence, they will not remember him."

I don't have a good memory. And it's the chastening that I fear. :)

Sometimes I think that the reason all today's saints (that's us!) aren't going to completely forget, embrace wickedness and lose the gospel on the earth--as we've been promised will NOT happen--the reason that won't happen to us, perhaps, is because of the media. We vilify it for its use in furthering the agendas of Satan, but it also furthers the purposes of God--the building up of His kingdom on earth. We've got satellite TV, webcasts, books, magazines, websites, conferences, podcasts, blogs, etc, etc. It is so easy to access all kinds of media that remind us forgetful humans of God and His commandments. Of course, perhaps we--those who have been saved for these last days--ARE stronger. Perhaps. But it IS easier to remember for us. We read, we write. We have been commanded to keep personal journals of remembrance.

It seems that one of our greatest weaknesses as mortals is our permeable memories. I blame a lot of my failures on forgetfulness. That lady I felt impressed to call yesterday when I said my morning prayers? I got caught up in the day and forgot. I forget to pray some nights when I'm really tired and distracted. I wait all day for the "perfect" time for family scripture study--when everyone is home from work and fed--but then time passes and I forget all about it.

But this is the age of memory assistance! Post-it notes, personal planners, the iphone, Blackberries, even the standard cell phone has alarms and calendars and notes! Forgetfuness has never, I believe, been easier to overcome.

Helaman 5: 12 "And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall."

Seems simple enough. Remember and be protected. Remember and be saved. Remember, remember, my sons and daughters.

So you like shopping?

I just read this book entitled, "I Want That!:How We All Became Shoppers". I, like many women, love to shop. Mostly. I also feel frustrated, overwhelmed, guilty, irritated and conflicted about shopping.

Lately I've been seeking for some sort of balance in the whole wanting and consuming cycle. What is okay to want? How much luxury can one have without crossing the line into decadence? How much of my "discretionary" income should be spent on entertaining me and my family and how much should be dedicated to the service of others? If I am blessed by God with more than enough money to meet the needs of my family, is it vain to spend that extra on luxury acquisitions and entertainment? I have no answers to these questions.

However, Thomas Hine, the guy who wrote the book I mentioned, refers to an idea about shopping that I find very interesting and not a little amusing. Mr Hine explains a theory postulated by an anthropologist named Daniel Miller. Here is his idea, quoted from "I Want That!" in the chapter entitled "Responsibility: Why Women Take Shopping Seriously":

Shopping has cosmic meaning.
"Shopping does connect with something deep, ancient, and widespread in human behavior... The shopper . . . is more like a priestess. And shopping is a ritual of sacrifice.

"A sacrifice, he says, consists of three stages. The first is the moment of expenditure, such as the slaying of the animal, the offering of the fruits. The second stage involves isolating that portion of the sacrifice that is sacred, which belongs to the gods. In several cultures, this is done when the entrails are burned and the smoke that rises into the air is viewed as the property of the gods. In Jewish tradition, blood, viewed as life itself, is the sacred portion. In Jewish ritual slaughter, it must be returned to God and not eaten by humans. The third part of the sacrifice is when the sacrifice becomes food, and people eat it.

"It's not difficult to see how the first and third aspects of sacrifice are part of daily life, but it's harder to discern the central stage. To what gods are things being sacrificed? And what is the part of it that belongs to the gods?

"Based on his interviews, Miller concluded that the central aspect of the shopper's sacrifice is the aspiration to thrift. Virtually every shopper to whom he spoke expressed a belief that shopping must be done carefully so that money won't be wasted. The shopper should look out for sale items, for coupons, or for items that, though they might be more expensive initially, will last longer and offer greater value in the long run. By striving to be thrifty, the shopper tells herself that she is making a sacrifice to ensure the future of her family. She is careful, not wasteful. By observing the rituals of coupons and discount cards, the shopper can reassure herself and demonstrate to others that she takes a sacred responsibility seriously.

"Shopping is a ritual, and like all rituals, it must be done properly or something will be lost. You must strive not to pay full price. The discounts you receive are an offering to the future."

Amusing, isn't it? I love it--it feels serious, yet it makes me laugh at the same time. It's also a kind of an explanation for why shopping feels so dang good when you get THE deal, and why you feel so virtuous when you pay much less than your purchase was "worth". It's definitely a kind of triumph when a shopper gets what she wants and pays less than she expects. I've felt this triumph so often that I have become "addicted" and I can't bear to pay "full price" (whatever that is) for anything.

This idea of shopping as ritual also has plenty of "good stewardship" overtones--and we all know that we have a responsibility for stewardship and thrift with our resources. How many times have we heard the counsel: live within our incomes, stay out of debt, save for a rainy day?!

However seriously you feel about consumption and excesses and whatever your definition of luxury and entertainment, spending hard-earned money on needed/desired goods is worth thinking about. I'm still setting my own limits and I'm sure they'll change depending on my income, my perception of "righteousness" and, more trivially, my mood and my hormones! Anyway, I still love this idea:

"Shopping is a ritual, and like all rituals, it must be done properly or something will be lost. You must strive not to pay full price. The discounts you receive are an offering to the future."

That's me, high priestess of the outlet mall.

Aristotle and Politics

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.

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."

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.

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. :)

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.

My niece Carmen

My dear friends,

I usually attempt to make this blog an expression of my thoughts rather than a vehicle for personal news or too-personal feelings. This morning I make a brief exception.

A year ago September, as all of you know, my 7-year-old niece Carmen was discovered to have had a large brain tumor. It was removed and found to have been a rare and aggressive type of brain cancer. Carmen spent the months from September to June going through radiation and chemotherapy. She lost her hair, she stopped eating, she stopped talking, she stopped walking, she nearly stopped living. It was heartbreaking for all of us and most painfully heartbreaking for her parents.

Happily, in June the treatment was over. Over the last few months, Carmen has been coming alive again. She is eating on her own. She is walking and running. She is talking and talking. She is back in school. She is a happy, active girl who turned 8 years old in August and was baptized at the beginning of September.

Her monthly MRIs have shown no return of the cancer. Until the one on Monday.

We have now been informed that another tumor is growing in her brain. In the next few weeks they will kill it with something referred to as a radiation knife. This, they say, is a treatment with mild effects on the patient. Dorothy said that the doctor said Carmen could get the treatment in the morning and be home and back at school in the afternoon! Wow! Then, if she will tolerate it, she will do some rounds of oral chemotherapy at home. But that is a decision to be finalized later since her parents do not want her to suffer as she did during the previous very aggressive treatment. They want to maintain her quality of life for as long as possible.

There is very little data on this type of cancer recurring. People with this kind of cancer just mostly die. The doctors say she will most likely die. The few statistics that are available indicate that her chances of 3 year survival are 20% at best. So they begin the cancer balancing act: treat as effectively as possible while still maintaining quality of life. Hoping to kill the cancer permanently without killing the person. Because apparently the fact that this tumor has begun growing so quickly after her months of intensive treatment means that the cancer will keep on coming back. They can kill it with quick and mild things like the radiation knife, but it will keep on coming back and hurting Carmen until finally they can't kill it again without killing her.

I am heartbroken at the thought of Carmen's further suffering, or worse, at the thought of losing her. And at the thoughts of what my brother and sister-in-law have already made it though and will go through now and in the near future. But, as my mom says, Carmen is herself. She is a fighter, a strong little girl. A miracle could happen! But the Lord, also, may decide to take her. We don't know. So I guess we'll do our best with what we have.

Anyway, as many of you often ask about Carmen, I thought I'd post it here. Everyone is always so kind and caring. One of the beautiful things about this type of thing is that it really throws into relief the essential goodness and kindness of people. I am amazed at how generous and kind people are. Strangers and friends work so hard for money, for support, for all kinds of help. It truly is amazing and wonderful.

Unselfish Conversation

For a long time I have made a mental effort to not get so caught up in my feelings about homeschooling that I become rabidly anti-public school and therefore unpalatable in conversation to my friends who are parents of public-schooled children. I, myself, had all good experiences in public school and I have never had a desire to hate the system.

For me, homeschooling has always been about the lifestyle rather than the education. Therefore my opinions and emotions have been concentrated the quality of our lives as homeschoolers, rather than the quality of our education. (Someday I want to talk about that here, too, cuz it's something I've been thinking about a lot lately).

September marked the beginning of year number 12 of homeschooling for us, though, and I am getting more and more interested in educating myself about the state of education. I have been reading books about it. I have been talking to others. I have become involved in the government of my own "alternative education" charter school. I am taking tentative steps on the road to "passionately anti-public school".

It is my experience that people with a passion often like to share their passionate ideas with others. This sharing comes in a multitude of forms. Those who have eating passions will exhibit alternative eating behaviors--I had one girlfriend who, when her son came to spend a few days with us, sent him with all his own food, made in her kitchen and packed to travel (he came to us from another state). Those who have reading passions will share info about their latest book (this is a passion that is currently in vogue, so reading conversations are widely accepted and shared). Those who have passions for fitness will look fantastic (lucky passion!) and will talk about their fitness activities--races they have participated in, courses they have golfed, equipment they have purchased, etc.

Often, a passionate person will attempt to convert his/her friends. They love it, they love you, therefore they want you to love it! Then you can all enjoy it together! Some missionaries are more pushy than others. Some use guilt--you really should be more active, you really should read more, you really should eat more healthily.

Sometimes this attempt to convert is offensive. Have you ever felt defensive when someone was trying to convert you to their way of life? I have. And I know I have felt the defensiveness of others at times when I talk about homeschooling. I like to please people, so in response to the occasional defensiveness I have perceived when talking about homeschool, and in response to the feelings of defensiveness in myself that I feel when others try to push their passions onto me, I have long made the effort not to volunteer my feelings about education unless I am actually asked to express my opinion. Or unless I am among fellow homeschoolers who I know won't be offended--unless, in fact, I am pretty sure that they will agree.

But, as I said at the beginning, I have been taking little baby steps on the road to more voluntary sharing. I tend anyway to be generally agressive in stating my opinions during any discussion, unless I am afraid of hurting someone or offending someone (I do that enough by accident anyway, so at least I DO make efforts not to do it on purpose!). So it's not too much of a stretch to begin volunteering my opinions about public school. But. A big BUT. Anti-public school sentiment is almost guaranteed to be offensive to most of anyone I may be conversing with.

SO, (now we come to my point--finally!) I was walking with one of my new friends the other day and we were talking about people. I was telling her about a little get-together I had had at my house with several other homeschooling moms and their kids. I told her how I missed that type of group in my new ward. I mentioned how my new girlfriends here talk a lot about their kids' school stuff: classes, teachers, teams, teams, teams, etc. And how I can't really join in those conversations, except as listener. [Of course, what I didn't mention is how I have been beginning to allow myself to feel those new little seedlings of dissatisfaction, how I am perhaps even beginning to feel a bit patronizing towards these interests which I have chosen not to take...]. And I observed that my girlfriend doesn't really talk about her kids in that way.

And that's when she said something that turned on a warning light in my head. She said that she purposely avoids those types of talking points when she is with others because she feels that it is a form of selfishness in conversation. We went on to talk a bit about that, but meanwhile, echoes of that idea rang through my head and I have been thinking about that ever since.

This idea, that I find most attractive, is that of an unselfish conversation. And I think I'd like to be the kind of person whose conversation is designed to make others feel listened to, to make them feel that I am interested in them and their life. What is conversation anyway, I am wondering? It's at least two people talking about something that is mutually interesting, right? If the topic is only interesting to one of those people, is it still conversation or has it become a lecture?

I'm not really sure. But I am very interested in the idea of being an unselfish conversationalist. If I were to attempt this, I imagine that this means that I would ask more questions, I would listen more carefully, I would focus my thoughts on who I'm talking to rather than what I want to say...in other words, I would really locate myself in that conversation. I imagine that this could be very satisfying to my partners in conversation. I think it would be a way to show respect and love to my friends and family.

I need to think more about this. But in any case, I feel that her words were a timely little warning to me. Yes, I am very interested in learning more about education. I will continue to do that. But I re-establish my opinion that my passions are best kept to myself, or even better: kept in the arena where they can do the most good for others--in my homeschooling circle, in my service to the charter school, etc. I think this is a form of governing passions. I do not deny that I am passionately interested in education. But I will retrace my footsteps along that road to "passionately anti-public school", I think. I do not want to alienate my feelings from the feelings of so many others about whom I care. I would rather be seen as a resource for those who have questions rather than a crusader, wishing to convert or demolish. And my passion for this particular subject need not define me, nor take the lion's share of conversation or thought. I think that would be allowing myself to become unbalanced. And it certainly would not improve my relationships with others.

And I have thought for a long time that relationships with others--family, friends, God--are pretty much what it's all about.

Meanwhile, life goes on outside my own head. I am sitting in my bed as I write this and outside my window, down towards the garden, I can see the compost pile. And currently on the compost pile, sampling its delights, are 2 deer and 8 or 10 wild turkeys. Breakfast for the wildlife. Yum. Cool. Dang. Those turkeys are aggressive. They're chasing off the deer. Piggies. If I caught a wild turkey...and put him on my Thanksgiving table...and ate him....I'd have personally recycled my own compost! A nice thought to begin the morning with. :)

The Power of Youth

So, here's a quick thought for you, culled from an unremembered website (I can remember what it said, but not where it was!) and an Agatha Christie political suspense novel.

I get a lot of email from conservative interest political groups. One of them contained a link to an article that they had posted on their website. This article was written by a homosexual activist. This writer claimed that the homosexual movement had converted the majority of youth between the ages of 18-24 and therefore the war was won. They were now concerned with the little skirmishes that would take place as the views of the youth grew to take place over the more conservative views of their elders. Ultimately the youth would be adults and their views would define the political and social climate. The war--won in one generation.

I didn't find this difficult to believe at all. Talk to any bishop of any California LDS single adult ward and he will tell you that his ward members are struggling with the idea of taking a firm stand against homosexual marriage. And these are our kids! It is a walk in the park to convert to homosexual rights any non-religious kid. After all, who would teach him/her any reason to object?

This shouldn't shock us. For many years our kids' most go-to sources for information: school and the media, have been preaching the doctrine of sexual tolerance. No, more than tolerance--they teach the full acceptance of the current "in vogue" sexual deviances i.e. homosexuality, transsexuality, and the like.

Anyway, that little article has been swimming around in the back of my brain and then I read this by Agatha Christie:
"They--whoever they are--work through youth. Youth in every country. Youth urged on. Youth chanting slogans--slogans that sound exciting, though they don't always know what they mean. So easy to start a revolution. That's natural to youth. All youth has always rebelled. You rebel, you pull down, you want the world to be different from what it is. But you're blind, too. There are bandages over the eyes of youth. They can't see where things are taking them. What's going to come next? What's in front of them? And who it is behind them, urging them on? That's what's frightening about it. You know, someone holding out the carrot to get the donkey to come along and at the same time there is someone behind the donkey urging it on with a stick."

She goes on to remind her readers of Hitler's Youth and how they were used so effectively in WWII.

She adds, "What is being promoted, you must understand, is the growing organization of youth everywhere against their mode of government; against their parental customs, against very often the religions in which they have been brought up. There is the insidious cult of permissiveness, there is the increasing cult of violence. Violence not as a means of gaining money, but violence for the love of violence."

Christie's book was a political thriller (and a rather boring one at that) written in 1970. But what it said about youth really struck me. I felt a strong sense of their power and their vulnerability. Am I giving less credit to their individual strength of mind and their openness to the Spirit of God? Probably so. Every generation of youth is bombarded with the most liberal of social ideals and some choose to adopt them and some choose to stand fast with higher morals. Hm. I'll be thinking more about this. What do you think?

Can a parent be a friend?

Okay.... I had this vision of parenthood the other day when I was thinking so much about family as the best friends.

I've heard often from parenting "experts" that a parent should not be a friend--he/she must parent. And I've always felt vaguely guilty about that because I WANT to be friends with my children. Now that I've been thinking about it all, I've come up with an idea that supports my desires (those are the best kind of ideas. In fact, pretty much all my ideas support what I already think. Why else would I claim them as mine?) :) So, you can see what you think.

I think that there are 2 main phases of parenting, one phase much longer than the other.

The first phase is the real PARENTING part. This is when your kids are young and you must instruct, guide, reprove, protect, set boundaries (and defend them), etc. This is what we do from almost the beginning of parenthood.

The second phase is the FRIEND part. This is when your kids have grown out of the lectures, the rules, the punishments. They no longer want/need the protection and they have already set their own boundaries (which will inevitably vary from some degree from those which were set by their parents). IF a parent attempts to parent during this second phase, they will push their children away. Adult children do not want lectures from their parents. If a parent persists with lectures, boundaries, rules, etc, a child will avoid encounters with parents. These are the situations so often parodied in our sitcoms. The kids belittle the parents behind their backs (sometimes in front of them). The parents look ridiculous because they are providing parenting rather than friendship.

Once you've identified this situation and the cause behind it (i.e. the parent fails to move from parenting into friendship), it seems obvious, right? When does your mom bug you? When she's giving you advice you didn't ask for. It seems like she's not allowing you to be the adult, that she's pushing you back into childhood, maybe? She's not being a random pain, though, she's just being the parent--the same parent that you really needed when you were little. The same parent that you practically worshiped then. She's doing what she's always done only now it doesn't work the same way it did and she wishes she knew what she was doing wrong. And you, the poor child, are so busy pushing her away and defending your own adulthood, that maybe you don't realize what is going on. Plus, as a child, it's easy to stay in childhood roles too and it's hard to make the effort to actually contribute in friendly way to your relationship with your mom. It's just habit to make her to all the work in the relationship and something you may not think about changing. One way or another, the transition to friendship is never made and the relationship can never reach its true potential.

The parent can actually be the best friend: the SUPERFRIEND. A loving parent-child relationship has already all the right ingredients for a great friendship: true caring, unconditional love, shared history, common interests (to name a few). And, this phase is the LONGEST phase of parenting. The rule-setting phase only lasts for a few years, but the friendship phase lasts for the rest of life and on into forever. Therefore, making this phase work is essential to eternal family relationships.

The tricky part is where the two phases collide. When does the first end and the second take over? This is where the mess-ups happen. I'm thinking this transition would be smoother if the parent has been a friend all along. You can add friend characteristics to parent characteristics as you go along from the very beginning, can't you? While still being a parent? I'm thinking YES. But I'm still pretty foggy about details. I have some more thinking to do about this. What do you think?

What is friendship?

My close girlfriend is in the middle of getting a masters degree. She's reading and writing a ton, but she still manages to email me now and again. Since she's knee deep in ideas, she can't help but pass some of them along and this latest one really made me think. Here's how it started out, from her:

"I read something in the Gatto book that I have been pondering a lot, and I wonder what your thoughts are. He writes about the fact that we don't really have friendships as adults, only networks. He says we don't even know the difference between communities and networks, communities being a collection of real families who participate in life--argue and help and make things together. Networks don't require the whole person. You suppress all the parts of you but the ones that are necessary to your job (calling, board, club). He says that networks seem to address human and social needs, but they don't really encourage the friendship that we constantly seek. [He says:]

'With a network, what you get at the beginning is all you ever get. Networks don't get better or worse; their limited purpose keeps them pretty much the same all the time, as there just isn't much development possible. The pathological state which eventually develops out of these constant repetitions of thin human contact is a feeling that your "friends" and "colleagues" don't really care about you beyond what you can do for them, that they have no curiosity about the way you manage your life, no curiosity about your hopes, fears, victories, defeats. The real truth is that the "friends" falsely mourned for their indifference were never friends, just fellow networkers from whom in fairness little should be expected beyond attention to the common interest.'

So... I've been thinking a lot about this. Here are some of my thoughts. What do you think?

Firstly, I agree with the network/community idea. Our mobile society has not been kind to communities. Nor is it kind to friendships. We move a lot. It's hard to build true communities (as Gatto describes them) in this kind of atmosphere. We try, though. We all want those kinds of connections. Perhaps networks are the best substitute that we manage to generate in our efforts to build communities. Networks are a series of positions that can be filled by whomever is present, so I guess it's kind of a framework for a kind of friendship. Some enduring friendships are made from those network beginnings. Communities seem to require a pre-supposed kind of committment e.g. when generations of families lived and died in the same place together, they knew they'd always be around each other and therefore there was a committment to living among each other. We just don't ever get to that place now. What social folks do instead is join multiple networks. They have many different groups of peers. In my area it's: book clubs, bunco groups, church groups, teams, school groups, etc. Pile up a lot of limited networks and maybe the community spirit comes close to being reached?

Secondly (and this is just a vague idea): I wonder sometimes if our general inability to form and maintain intimate friendships might be designed to bring us to God, or at least to leave a craving in us for that perfect relationship that only He can offer. After all, no human can be the perfect friend. Every friend has a flaw. Even our most intimate friend (hopefully), our husband, can never offer us the perfect love that can only be offered by God. Can anyone know every part of us and love us still? Are we even capable of showing anyone every part of ourselves? I'm not sure that we are. I think that we are flawed in what we can offer as a friend just by virtue of our humanity. We are incapable of complete unconditional love because we can't do anything perfectly. But God is God and he offers that love unceasingly, if only we can find our way to it. And there's the rub, eh? Hm.

Or here's another angle that makes even more sense to me: Our unsatisfying temporary friendships with others should encourage us to seek those more permanent friendships with the people who are truly permanent in our lives--our family. As I make and lose friends over years and years, I realize more and more that the most stable, lasting relationships that I have are family relationships. These are the relationships that are divinely designed to last forever and they have the most capacity for unconditional love and acceptance. However, these are also the relationships that can become most deeply flawed and therefore most deeply painful (which things are a good indication of how powerful these relationships are). And it's not always the fault of parents who are trying their best and children who are attempting to do what's expected of them. I believe that society has poisoned our notions about what family is.

One of the falsities of this "dynamic" sociality that is sold to us by our world is that our families are the enemy and our social peers are our friends, that family is to be outgrown, while friends are kept forever. This leads us to mock and abandon the "difficult" family relationships while we seek depth in the "easy" relationships with our friends. So we can never be satisfied. We invest in shallow relationships and feel the lack of them at the same time we are critical of the relationships that could really satisfy us.

I really think, though, that this campaign to destroy the family relationships has been going on for a long time, and that family dynamics today have fallen into patterns that create these disconnects. It starts in grade school when our teacher becomes our exemplar and we begin to see the inadequacies of our parents. As we get older, we become convinced that our parents (and most other adults) cannot understand us and that our peers can best provide that understanding and counsel that our parents seem incapable of offering. No sibling can be as close to us as a friend. Parents often become merely wardens and bankers. There are families that overcome these typical patterns, of course. Thank goodness for that! I'm suggesting only that these are common patterns that we have somehow been fooled into accepting as "normal". Some strong families see beyond "normal", but many people just follow conventions and, if they're lucky, they may manage to overcome the societal norms, and parents and children can build things in common and be friends. But, as the children grow to adulthood, too often parents and children follow their parallel paths to occasional visits, vastly different interests, regular back-biting and complaining, and general dissatisfaction.

So perhaps the loose networks that exist and that can provide foundations for deeper friendships are acceptable as long as we as a society remember to care for our family relationships. But that's the rub, isn't it? Family can be so much harder than casual friends. Have we discarded family members as our intimates in favor of our comfortable friends within our loose networks? And what does this say about our capacities for forming lasting relationships of value and depth? Are we, as individuals within a loosely knit society becoming too isolated? If so, will this isolation incubate selfishness, pride, enmity, and all those other destroying characteristics? Perhaps. Perhaps not. In any case, I'm sure thinking a lot about my friendships and family relationships and what I am (or am not) contributing to them. It's something to think about....

Hormones and drugs and tears, oh my!

I have occasionally had the idea floating vaguely, half smug, half ashamed, in the back of my mind, that people who take mood-altering drugs could probably control their moods/emotions by themselves if only they just tried hard enough.

Of course, these are fighting words for anyone who has ever needed meds of this kind and it's a thought that I've pretty much kept in that vague, uncertain, unstated place in my head. For obvious reasons. It's a hidebound and intolerant opinion. And it's the kind of opinion that only those who've never needed such things will maintain. Like so many opinions formed on the very insecure basis of assumption and ignorance (and perhaps a bit of fear), it's offensive to anyone who has actually HAD any experience in that area.

I can say this because I'm coming off a horrific month where one day I'm feeling my normal self and then the next day I'm feeling physically exhausted and emotionally delicate, where I'm fighting back tears any number of times for any number of reasons, silly and otherwise. It's these nasty types of days where I feel like I don't know myself and I can't figure out why I feel so badly! Being the analytical type, I trot out all the reasons for depression/dissatisfaction/fear/sadness that I could possibly have. I think about them all and wonder which one is bugging me all out of proportion to normality. I come to conclusions and I try to suck it up and, if I'm lucky, I take a nap and feel a little bit better. Or if I'm not lucky, I just wallow and worry and drive my husband batty with my total exhaustion and my intermittent tears.

Then, I wake up the next day feeling totally normal, which for me means happy, energetic, optimistic and full of plans and ideas. I wonder what the heck happened the day before and I go about my business.

After a while of this bumpy ride this month (and in times past) it occured to me that I should perhaps start thinking about my thyroid meds. My thyroid, you understand, is being attacked and killed by my body. It's called Hashimoto's disease and it's an auto-immune kind of thing. It's hereditary and I have no control over it at all, of course. So, about 10 years ago I was put on a synthetic version of the hormone that my thyroid is supposed to be producing, but is not. And it made an immediate difference to the way I felt. Hormones are mysterious things, you know, filtering throughout one's entire system and affecting any number of things, known and unknown.

Anyway, my dosage has recently been fiddled with, sending my body and emotions into convolutions, trying to adjust to the new dose. And when I remembered this, it was an "aha!" and a bit of a relief to realize that THAT'S probably what is going on. Chances are that I'm not really drowning in my own exhaustion and emotion, it's just a temporary squall and I'm getting really wet. Gotta call the doctor.

But of course when I'm treading water in the hormone ocean, swallowing sea water, tiring out and getting chilled to the bone (metaphorically speaking), my thyroid meds are the last thing that occurs to me as what may be causing the problem. I turn myself inside out looking for what I'm doing that's causing my troubles. And I try to figure out what I can do to fix it. I have no idea I'm in the middle of the hormone squall and struggling in the high waves (there's my metaphor again). I just think I'm messing up somehow.

And that's kind of sad. And it's not helpful. So. Finally I called the doctor this morning and told her about how I'd been feeling and she reassured me: your body is just adjusting, hang in there. And I felt so relieved! That this WAS the reason for my uncharacteristic feelings! That it would get better! And that it wasn't my fault.

And, on the flip side, I felt irritated again at this evidence of my powerlessness--because my body just goes its own way, messing up my days, tying my emotions up in knots, affecting my ability to perform my duties and pleasures. And in order to take control of all those things, I gotta take that little pill every morning!

When I was first diagnosed, and I realized that I would be on meds for the rest of my life, I felt betrayed by my body. I was barely into my 30s and I was angry that my body was incapable of balancing things on its own. I've adjusted now, though, and I'm used to the idea. I've accepted the bottom line: I take a pill every day because I feel rotten without it.

And that's hormones for you. And a reminder for me. I have gained experience in this arena and can say with empathy: sometimes a medication makes a very big difference. Sometimes a person cannot control something without the meds. Even as I say it, I don't like it. Why? Maybe it's a control thing or an independence thing or a pride thing. I don't know. It doesn't matter. But maybe it's a good thing that every once in awhile, as we fiddle with dosages, I'm thrown into that stormy ocean again, tossed and ill and confused, and I remember how hard it is without these great medicines. And I'm grateful that somebody sometime figured it all out so all I have to do is swallow that little pill and I can have my normal life every day. And that there are lots of people who, like me, are grateful for those rescuing meds. Yeah, it's good to be reminded.

And today is a very good day. Tomorrow? We'll see. And can I say? Next time that controversial half-acknowledged opinion floats to the surface of my consciousness, I'm gonna knock it on its head and bury it deep. Because I've got that first hand experience. And I'm pretty incapable of changing that thyroid disease on my own no matter how hard I try. So thank goodness for those life-altering drugs. And good luck to anyone who's trying to find that dosage balance. May your stormy days be numbered, with lots of sunshine in your future (metaphor finis).

What NOT to write in your journal

So.. I have this journal that I take to church. I have lots of journals. I keep one on the computer and I keep a written one at home AND I have this one that I take to church in which I take notes from the speakers and lessons and in which I also write my impressions and feelings. Whatever is running through my mind at church is what I write in that journal. It didn't begin life as a church journal, though, so it has some regular personal stuff at the beginning too. So, let me tell you a little story.

This weekend was our stake conference (the bi-annual meeting where all the local congregations gather together for general counsel--a large meeting). I went to the Saturday evening adult session, was distracted by a friend on the way out, put down my journal to check my calendar and.... left the journal behind! Disaster.

I did't discover this until the next morning, of course. I had to be at the church over an hour early (before the general morning session began) for choir practice. I was accompanying the stake choir and our final practice was in the morning before the conference. I was VERY nervous about this because there were 3 songs and it was the first time I had played in front of such a big congregation since we moved here. Also the 3rd song I found very challenging and, even after many hours of practice, there was still the very real chance that I'd get so nervous that I'd totally mess up and make a fool of myself. So I was rushing out of the house for this practice when I remembered my journal and went back into the house to get it. Couldn't find it. Looked and looked. And this is when the fear was born. What if I'd actually left my journal behind?

Now, I was going to church over an hour before the general session began, so I could easily look for the journal before the church filled with people. But. There was a general priesthood leadership session already in progress--it had begun at 8:30am (just when I was leaving the house in order to arrive at 8:45 for choir practice). So there had already been a bunch of men milling around in the room where I suspected I'd left the journal.

So I left the house and made the drive to church.

This is when I feverishly tried to remember: what had I written in the journal? Anything embarrassing? Oh, surely. Anything mean? Oh, I hope not. Anything silly? Inevitably. Anything private? Obviously. Anything identifying? Oh, I HOPE not. And I also hoped that whomever found it would not be the overly curious type of person who would actually READ what I'd written in an effort to find who the journal belonged to. But how else would the journal be reunited with its owner--me?

So I got to church and ran around for a few minutes before choir practice looking in some random places, hoping it might have been set aside in a relatively discreet location, awaiting discovery by a worried writer. Didn't find it. Joined the choir. My nervousness about playing the piano was swallowed up in my agitated concern to find my journal. A blessing? Hm.

Anyway, when we finally moved into the chapel for the final run-through of the songs, I had a few minutes (while the choir was straggling in) to ask one of the men already on the stand: "Where is the lost and found?" He made an explanation: there is no formal lost and found, blah blah blah blah. I grabbed his lapels: "I lost my journal. I NEED to find it." He gave me a big smile and said, "Oh, I know where that is." He pointed to the podium and there it sat, my lost journal. It had been found last night, he said, and in the priesthood leadership meeting, it had been held up before the congregation, "Did anyone lose this journal? It is almost filled!"

So, I got the journal back. And, incidentally, my nervousness about playing the piano was considerably abated by this distraction. Nice.

And I've been thinking. About what is best to put in journals and what is not good to put in journals. I have kept journals since I was a child and I have re-read them a few times. One time only have I actually started with the beginning journal and read through them all. That was an editing trip, where I glued black paper over things I'd written about that I never wanted to remember ever again. Occasionally I'll think of something or someone from the past and I'll go back and read what I have written about it or them. Sometimes I'm trying to remember a date and I'll go back and consult what I've written.

Which brings me to a question. Why do we keep journals? For LDS church members, the first answer may be perhaps that we have been commanded to do so. We are a church of record keepers. In fact, the scriptures are records. All saints are commanded to keep records. I think I would keep a journal even without being commanded to do so, though, because I am the sort of person who has a need for expression.

And what do we typically write in journals? When I read back in my journals I noticed a preponderance of entries about boys. Sigh. But also I wrote a lot about my spiritual feelings. Many entries were the exit point for strong feelings: love, infatuation, anger, hurt, inspiration, discovery. When I was young and single I wrote nearly every day and those entries covered a variety of emotions. After I got married, had babies and became busier, I noticed that I most often wrote when I was depressed or angry or worried. I think it was because I had no other outlet for those non-constructive feelings. And when I read back on those years, one of the main impressions I got of my life at that time was that I was often, well, depressed or angry or worried. I did write about joyful things too, but most often I made the time to write because I had feelings that I felt could only be safely expressed in my journal. And, since it is much easier to share good and happy feelings with those around you, it was the bad and sad feelings that got relegated to the private pages of my journals. Sadly, the joyful things were not recorded as often.

So pretty much my journals, up to about 5 or so years ago, were mainly a repository of expressions that I felt could only safely be left in those private places. I don't know who I imagined would read them. Or what purpose they would serve. But it was about 5 years ago (I think) that I sat down and read through them all. And that is when I reevaluated the purpose of my journals.

That purpose was, I decided, to be uplifting. I don't know who will read them. My children have no interest in them at this point. I like to read back now and then. And I don't regret what I've written (except those few entries that got black-papered). Some of it is entertaining. Some of it is touching. Some of it is kind of depressing. Some of it is downright painful.

And I still feel the need to express those kinds of things. But what I decided was that when I recorded those sad or painful things, I needed to follow those up with expressions of faith, possible solutions, and long lists of gratitude. So the idea I began with is that whenever I would turn to my journal because of anger, depression or worry, the first thing I would do is write a list of the things I was grateful for. Then at the end of the list, I could write whatever I was worried about. Often, the gratitude list mitigated my negative emotions and I felt less of a need to rant or complain or whatever. At the very least, my lists of gratitude gave me perspective on my worries and I was able to write about the worry and then about possible solutions, or other ways to see the problem, and also about the faith I felt that all would be resolved, or I could record at least a partial restoration of the comforting perspective of this worry being only a small portion of an otherwise very happy life. These kinds of entries not only relieved my feelings, but also left me feeling more hopeful and positive. These are also the kinds of journal entries that I feel uplifted by re-reading. So to me, that's a win-win: fulfilling to write and uplifting to read.

I also decided to write about scriptures that especially spoke to me. So my journal became part of my scripture study routine. I would read the scriptures and then whatever passage stuck in my mind I would copy into my journal and then write about how that particular scripture (s) was relevant to me right now. That's nice to re-read too.

And I think this is the kind of record of myself that I don't mind leaving for my posterity. (That is if they even want to read them. There are a ton of those journals--and I'm only40, so there will be a bunch more--and some poor descendent is going to have to hoick those things around. But that's not my problem) I don't want anyone to see a rosy, problem-free version of my life. But what I want them to see is what I see: worries and fears and depression and upsets interspersed with the faith to carry me through them AND a life otherwise full of happiness, pleasure, joy and comfort.

I don't want a record of my petty complaints about others. I don't want a catalogue of my own faults. I don't want to enshrine my dark feelings. And I certainly want no permanent account of my sins.

And not only this, but I have found that when I give vent to negative feelings without the mitigation of a hopeful solution or a restored perspective, I only give additional life and strength to those negative feelings. For me, it's like the expression of an anger just feeds the flames. When I write in my journal about being angry, I reinforce all the arguments in my favor and I build up all my self-righteousness about whatever I'm angry about. And when I write about being depressed, I'm just putting into tangible form those amorphous emotions that have been swirling around in my heart. And for me, expression makes the vague much more substantial. So if a depression is forming and I write about it, the depression is NOT relieved, no, instead it's formation is completed. And it becomes more real and has more power over me.

So for me, expression gives life to whatever I'm expressing. Is this true of other people too? It is something to consider, certainly. I have gotten to the point where before I write I must ask myself: Do I want to give this feeling life? Because once I write it, it's alive and working in me, for good or evil.

Now, I don't always successfully avoid giving life to the negative things. You may have already observed that in my blogs. But I am, at least, very aware of this principle. For me, words have power that I have the ability to control. I am in charge of what I express, so in a very real way, I am in charge of what I record on my soul.

And besides. What if I lost that dang journal and everybody read it?