Despite my fantasies of becoming an Internet sensation, I don't really expect anyone to read my blog, for the same reason I'm not reading theirs. Life is short. We have to be careful how we use it. We have to choose. (PS If you're reading this, thanks!)
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During this time of quarantine, I'm afraid that a lot of people - people with guns - are going to get very angry over the lockdown and take it out of the rest of us by making a mess of everything. I'm much more scared of that than of the virus.
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I can imagine the first White House security briefing at the beginning of Trump's presidency, the horror, dread, and disbelief that must have come over his security council as they came to realize that the new President knows nothing whatsoever about diplomacy, statesmanship, international affairs, treaties, history, the Constitution, and that he has not the slightest intention to learn.
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I wonder if Ivanka ever says to Trump, "Dad, sometimes you make it really hard to be your daughter." Surely she must recognize that this man is a buffoon. Or did she drink the Kool-Aid a long time ago?
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It's hard not to feel bad for Kool-Aid that their brand name is now forever linked with Jonestown. Even those who don't remember where the phrase "drank the Kool-Aid" started know that it means signing on to a foolish, dangerous venture, sect, plan, cult, etc.
Sunday, May 17, 2020
Friday, May 15, 2020
The fragility of the brittle
Last night I had a thought that wasn't very original, but it took me to some places I wasn't expecting. The thought, or observation, was that we are most fragile in those places where we've already been hurt.
I don't think that's because of the scarring, both physical and emotional, but because we harden ourselves to future hurts, and that hardening makes us stiffer, more brittle. When we are assailed again, instead of bruising, we are more likely to shatter.
It takes an awful lot of courage to be able to stay flexible and soft, open, in the face of life's many inevitable hurts. But that softness means that we don't have as far to go to heal when those hurts arrive.
If only someone with a big microphone and a big audience had said something like that after 9/11. If only we had all been guided toward healing instead of toward hatred. This would be a different country, and it would be a different world. That day made all of us in the U.S. terribly afraid, the violence of it, the horrid mess it made. We were traumatized, no doubt, and look at what we've become since then, how divided, how insecure, how hard and brittle, how afraid.
We should remember that when we drop bombs ourselves. Those we drop them on are terrorized, as we were, and they will harden themselves, as we have, becoming angrier and more righteous, as we are.
What on earth do we think is going to happen, with all this growing anger and righteousness? I don't mean just we in this country, I'm talking about the world. There seems to be more fighting and more and more, more blaming, more closed doors and walls, more accusations and threats. Do today's global leaders actually want a war, so that they can strut around and feel like big men? What do they - and we - think is going to happen if we don't all learn to work with each other?
I don't think that's because of the scarring, both physical and emotional, but because we harden ourselves to future hurts, and that hardening makes us stiffer, more brittle. When we are assailed again, instead of bruising, we are more likely to shatter.
It takes an awful lot of courage to be able to stay flexible and soft, open, in the face of life's many inevitable hurts. But that softness means that we don't have as far to go to heal when those hurts arrive.
If only someone with a big microphone and a big audience had said something like that after 9/11. If only we had all been guided toward healing instead of toward hatred. This would be a different country, and it would be a different world. That day made all of us in the U.S. terribly afraid, the violence of it, the horrid mess it made. We were traumatized, no doubt, and look at what we've become since then, how divided, how insecure, how hard and brittle, how afraid.
We should remember that when we drop bombs ourselves. Those we drop them on are terrorized, as we were, and they will harden themselves, as we have, becoming angrier and more righteous, as we are.
What on earth do we think is going to happen, with all this growing anger and righteousness? I don't mean just we in this country, I'm talking about the world. There seems to be more fighting and more and more, more blaming, more closed doors and walls, more accusations and threats. Do today's global leaders actually want a war, so that they can strut around and feel like big men? What do they - and we - think is going to happen if we don't all learn to work with each other?
Monday, May 11, 2020
Gratitude and apology
This post is dedicated to 2 women, girls actually, who made a difference in my life in different ways. Robin Clark, to whom I owe a thank you. And Pam Huang, to whom I owe a deep and embarrassingly overdue apology.
I was playing all girl volleyball one day after school, 7th grade. The ball came close to the line on one play and members of the two teams began to debate somewhat hotly about whether it was in or out. Robin Clark said "Let's ask Barbara. She's always honest."
I didn't know Robin well. We were in some classes together, but didn't socialize. I'm not sure how she got the impression I was an honest person. I had only lived in this town for about a year, so we had very little history. But when she said that, I suddenly had a new sense of what it is to have a reputation; I understood that people are always forming and reforming impressions of one another, and that those impressions carry some weight. I was a little anxious about being called on to decide the play, because it had looked to me as though the ball had been inside the line, which would benefit my team. I can still remember that it flashed through my mind that I ought to call it for the other team, just so that no one could accuse me of being prejudiced for my side. But that would have been faux honesty, exactly the opposite of what Robin thought of me. So I called the ball as I had truly seen it, and the game went on.
I credit that moment and Robin for inspiring me to shape myself as an ethical person. My parents had always modeled honesty and uprightness, but there is something about hearing someone my own age speak of ethics that brought home to me the fact that honesty is not some grown up trait that I was supposed to grow into. It's here and now and always. I began to see that every moment is an opportunity to choose how to act, and all those moments make up a life. I wish I could tell Robin how much her statement meant to me at the time and that I have carried it with me since.
Pam Huang was one of my best friends in sixth and seventh grades. We had sleepovers and played games and got along without a hitch - until the summer she and I and our friend Kim went to camp together. Kim and I had a crush on one of the counselors, and kept ditching Pam so that we could go off and talk about him and our newfound, adultish feelings. I know it was terribly hurtful to Pam to be excluded after how close we had been. Even at the time, I knew I was being cruel. But I was too full of myself and my blossoming adolescence to care. I changed and didn't take Pam with me.
I have very few regrets in my life, but this is one of the big ones. Pam, I wish I could tell you how sorry I am to have hurt you so carelessly when you thought you were safe in our friendship. I hope you have forgotten me and that summer and that hurt. I certainly haven't.
Looking at these two incidents together, I can see that I have in me both a very ethical side and one that can be thoughtless and self-absorbed. This is still true, and probably true for every one of us. I wish I could remember that when I'm busy judging someone for how they're behaving, remember that they, too, have in them all possibility for both good and wicked.
I was playing all girl volleyball one day after school, 7th grade. The ball came close to the line on one play and members of the two teams began to debate somewhat hotly about whether it was in or out. Robin Clark said "Let's ask Barbara. She's always honest."
I didn't know Robin well. We were in some classes together, but didn't socialize. I'm not sure how she got the impression I was an honest person. I had only lived in this town for about a year, so we had very little history. But when she said that, I suddenly had a new sense of what it is to have a reputation; I understood that people are always forming and reforming impressions of one another, and that those impressions carry some weight. I was a little anxious about being called on to decide the play, because it had looked to me as though the ball had been inside the line, which would benefit my team. I can still remember that it flashed through my mind that I ought to call it for the other team, just so that no one could accuse me of being prejudiced for my side. But that would have been faux honesty, exactly the opposite of what Robin thought of me. So I called the ball as I had truly seen it, and the game went on.
I credit that moment and Robin for inspiring me to shape myself as an ethical person. My parents had always modeled honesty and uprightness, but there is something about hearing someone my own age speak of ethics that brought home to me the fact that honesty is not some grown up trait that I was supposed to grow into. It's here and now and always. I began to see that every moment is an opportunity to choose how to act, and all those moments make up a life. I wish I could tell Robin how much her statement meant to me at the time and that I have carried it with me since.
Pam Huang was one of my best friends in sixth and seventh grades. We had sleepovers and played games and got along without a hitch - until the summer she and I and our friend Kim went to camp together. Kim and I had a crush on one of the counselors, and kept ditching Pam so that we could go off and talk about him and our newfound, adultish feelings. I know it was terribly hurtful to Pam to be excluded after how close we had been. Even at the time, I knew I was being cruel. But I was too full of myself and my blossoming adolescence to care. I changed and didn't take Pam with me.
I have very few regrets in my life, but this is one of the big ones. Pam, I wish I could tell you how sorry I am to have hurt you so carelessly when you thought you were safe in our friendship. I hope you have forgotten me and that summer and that hurt. I certainly haven't.
Looking at these two incidents together, I can see that I have in me both a very ethical side and one that can be thoughtless and self-absorbed. This is still true, and probably true for every one of us. I wish I could remember that when I'm busy judging someone for how they're behaving, remember that they, too, have in them all possibility for both good and wicked.
Saturday, May 9, 2020
Letting It Come Naturally
I have really become a fan of the "let it come to me" school of writing. I was quite recently stuck on the last several scenes of my new Santa play. The last scenes of any play are so important, and I knew what I'd written was weak and flabby, but didn't see how to fix any of it.
Instead of wrestling with the scenes, I decided instead to just go about my life. I baked cookies, took walks, Zoomed with friends, watched Ken Burns' remarkable series about jazz, did the laundry, etc. I didn't give writing a thought. At least, not a conscious thought. But the play must have been in there brewing, because last night, as I was dancing my ass off, of course, I suddenly saw it, the answer to the question of what sorts of beings Mr. and Mrs. Santa are. That cleared the way for me to start working on the play again.
Of course, I'm not going to tell what my discovery was. But it's really good. I would go into my office to make notes, then, as I would go back to dancing, I was actually clapping my hands with joy. I'm always just a little bit blue when I'm working on a play that isn't flowing smoothly, and always just a little bit golden when I see what I need to see to keep writing.
Instead of wrestling with the scenes, I decided instead to just go about my life. I baked cookies, took walks, Zoomed with friends, watched Ken Burns' remarkable series about jazz, did the laundry, etc. I didn't give writing a thought. At least, not a conscious thought. But the play must have been in there brewing, because last night, as I was dancing my ass off, of course, I suddenly saw it, the answer to the question of what sorts of beings Mr. and Mrs. Santa are. That cleared the way for me to start working on the play again.
Of course, I'm not going to tell what my discovery was. But it's really good. I would go into my office to make notes, then, as I would go back to dancing, I was actually clapping my hands with joy. I'm always just a little bit blue when I'm working on a play that isn't flowing smoothly, and always just a little bit golden when I see what I need to see to keep writing.
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