Sunday, December 26, 2010

Your white elephant exchange

I never look longingly back at the way it used to be. I am lucky enough to say that every period of my adult life has been an improvement on the previous. I am also lucky enough to know that I can't change what's already happened.

Is it a form of looking back, though, to try and understand how the past created and continues to create who you are today?

There is no better way to listen to music than through headphones.

It's just humbling to be so imperfect. I crave to be more contemplative and less sharp-witted in the immediacy of the moment.

When Bono sings "all the colors really bleed into one, and yes I'm still running," I think he's saying that he's still in the process of melting into the rest of the world. And I like that idea.

I believe that George Harrison is the gentlest person I've known.

One great lyric that not enough people know:
Saw the people standin', thousand years in chains.
Somebody said it's different now; look, it's just the same.
Pharoahs spin the message, round and round the truth.
They could have saved a million people. How can I tell you?
John Fogerty "Wrote a Song For Everyone"


I'll be presenting a forum in Pittsburg, PA in July about social networking for the Mennonite Church USA national conference.

What the hell does Steve Miller say? Is it the pompetice of love?

http://tokezone.net/announce/pompitous.htm

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Moments: an epilogue and a repost (or riposte at myself)

I am blessed with friends. Blessed. And I should be thankful. I wonder if losing sight of that thankfulness, replacing it with entitlement, is one of my great unseen crimes? I fear it might be.

On that note, a reminder post for myself, of something I've already reminded myself of in the recent past, but clearly need again:

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Moments

The moments we miss, in a moment we experience, are infinite. Among those billions of starry moments are many that we dearly wish we could have been present for. A group of friends gathered together; a birth; a death; a song; a kiss.

On some level, that has to be okay.

I think the easiest way to drive yourself insane is to be too acutely aware of all of the things that are happening without you, and allowing yourself to feel small, insignificant or unloved in that knowledge. Life goes on around us, everywhere.

I cannot allow myself to blot out the moments I experience by mourning the moments I WISH I'd experienced. The world--even my own personal world--moves without my direction; and it CAN. It is okay not to be chosen for every moment, it's not a critique.. They're allowed. You're allowed. I'm allowed.

Breathe. Let go. Live.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Morning

Mornings. What mysterious variances they are. What things they say to and about each of us when they arrive.

You were up too late.
You didn't sleep well.
You had a nightmare.
You couldn't sleep at all.

You're well-rested.
You slept like a log.
You fell in love again in your dreams.
You overslept.

You popped up ready to go.
You couldn't drag your ass out of bed.

Every morning in our house I experience a sort of looking glass reality. Megan is always up first. She's the responsible morning person. It doesn't matter if she slept well or at all, if she has to get up to get ready for the day she does it. Period.

So I most often wake up to the sound of Megan pleading with Maggie to get up so that she'll be ready for school in time. Maggie cries...and yells...and whines...and refuses..and groans...and begs for more time.

The funny thing, the looking glass thing, is that all of the things Maggie says and does are in my head, too. She and I feel exactly the same way in the morning. Those moments when you see yourself in your kids are always so neat. And so, lately, I've been actually getting up with a wry outlook, even a wry smile, and helping to rouse Maggie because I totally get where she's at. I used to get angry, and frustrated. Then I remembered being on the receiving end of that anger and frustration, and how I felt it was unfair because I wasn't choosing to be so hard to get up. I look at Maggie and I know, it's just how her body works. So it's a long process to get her up, but I totally get it.

And, like always, I learn from my kids how to be a better adult, a better father, and a better husband. I have taken "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" by U2 as my opus for parenting. I have climbed highest mountain, I have run through the fields, only to be with you; but I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

I have come so far for the chance to parent you, but I'm not good enough yet. I'll keep climbing, keep running.

Friday, December 3, 2010

I read the news today, oh boy...

That is the opening line of The Beatles' "A Day In the Life," John Lennon's evocation of despair and hopelessness in a world of violence. It's beautifully contrasted by the bridge of Paul McCartney's carefree daydreamer character, cruising through his day with seemingly no weight on his mind. Check this song out, and really listen to the emotions and how the music and the lyrics perfectly compliment each other.

But why do I bring this up?

Well, I've sung this lyric tens of thousands of times, but it's not always as meaningful as it was this morning when it popped in to my head. I was, as you might have guessed, reading the news. And what did I see?
  • War
  • Corruption and censure
  • Rich getting richer
  • Murder
  • Theft
  • Hate
  • Oppression
  • Religion
  • Suicide
  • Disease
And in my mind, John's tired voice singing: I read the news today, oh boy...

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Hot Baths

As I think back, more people have shaken their heads than nodded them when they discover that I prefer baths over showers (assuming I'm alone in there). They usually say something about bathing in the dirt you just washed off your body. Overactive hypochondria. Or maybe they should stop getting so dirty.

I've usually chalked it up to the difference between air temperature and water temperature, much preferring to be covered in warmth than wetted down and left to stand in the cold air. But yesterday, whilst plugging my nose and limply lying in the bath, I had another, altogether more primal thought.

As I pinched my nose and sank beneath the steaming, still water, sounds became far away, sight was gone, the incessant need to inhale and exhale became calm, my muscles completely relaxed and I was suspended in time and space. Into that space came the metaphor of a womb, the ultimate iconography of protection and warmth. For those precious seconds in my hot bath I can feel protected and insulated, free from the hurry and worry and the constant drive that even my breathing and heartbeat demand from me. It is more than relaxation; it is freedom.

Be well.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Grudges

I know that I learned growing up that grudges are important, and are to be held. I think grudges and relationship "scorekeeping" may have actually been the primary ingredients of the adult relationships I witnessed as a child. Wrongs were never forgiven, never forgotten, but held as a living part of every relationship, always on the table.

I hold some grudges, not many I hope. The baggage from that childhood lesson for me tends to manifest as a fear, an expectation, that others will hold grudges against me. That leads me to be hyper-paranoid about every glitch, every misstep, every impropriety. As a middle-schooler, I was so hyper-paranoid of being judged and pigeon-holed that I would silently mouth back to myself every sentence that I spoke, just to be sure it was correct. My friends noticed this very obvious practice and would then (and sometimes still) tease me about it. It probably looked very funny, and I look back and can laugh about how it must have appeared. But I still remember the terror of speaking. The terror that I would offend someone with words or syntax and it would be forever held against me. These days I just quickly repeat my sentences in my head. :)

I'll just breathe now.

Be well.