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.
Friday, October 3, 2008
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. :)
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. :)
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
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?
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?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
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?
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....
"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....
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
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).
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).
Monday, June 23, 2008
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?
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?
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