It seems that every time I go to write on this thing, I wind up rambling on about church or social justice issues or some such thing. It may give the impression that I sit around thinking about this stuff all day long. That would be a fine impression to make but it’s not true. I suppose it’s just what I’m drawn to write about and most of my thoughts on pop culture are better documented elsewhere. Last week I saw a headline about Jessica Simpson’s exes and it was bugging me for a while that I was missing one. Nick Lachey, John Mayer, Tony Romo… who else?! No, not Adam Levine. I think those were just rumors. Oh yeah... Billy Corgan...how could I forgot about him?!
With that said, welcome to another post about church and social justice crap. This time the topic: dead people and communion! What’s up with both of those crazy things?! Yesterday was the All Saint’s Day service at church. That’s the day where we reflect on those that went before us- particularly those that died this year. As I sat there thinking about the people I know that died this year, it started to sound like the beginning of a joke. “A niece, an aunt, an uncle, a surrogate grandmother, parents’ friends, some friends’ parents, some friends’ pets and Clarence Clemons are at the pearly gates...” But the end of that one, at least in my mind, is: “and you have no idea what the fuck happened to any of them.” What a knee-slapper!
I do love the All Saints Day service. It was jam packed with great music. I had the privilege of singing a number of festive songs about death with a great group of people. I’m a sucker for depressing music so musical reminders of mortality are right in my wheelhouse. While we practiced the harmonies on “We Shall Never Die," Rebecca gave us the upbeat friendly reminder, “The lyric is we shall never never die”…BUT…we will! We sing it with hope that we won’t, knowing that we will!” Yay! Throw in the dirgey shape note song that is a beautiful assault on the eardrums beginning with the line “And am I born to die...to lay this body down...” and I’m in heaven. So to speak.
Earlier in the day I heard the song “Aeroplane Over the Sea” by Neutral Milk Hotel. The lyrics to that come close to my thoughts on life and death. I love the final line: Can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all.
Then there’s the topic of communion. I would guess that most people, whether they’ve ever been to a Christian church or not, are familiar with the concept of communion. You get a piece of bread...they tell you it’s the Body of Christ. You drink some wine or grape juice…Blood of Christ. I grew up going to Catholic Church every single Sunday so receiving Communion was a normal part of my week. That said, I have always and still do think it’s some completely insane shit. But, there’s also something I have always loved about it. I love ritual. I like candlelight. I like when everyone, including myself, stops yammering on about stuff for a few minutes. I love mystery and understanding being all intertwined. I love food. I love sharing food with people.
But then there’s the Jesus part.
When it comes to that guy, I have NO CLUE what I believe. My feelings and thoughts have changed over the years, but as of this moment, I am perfectly content being clueless. If Jesus was just a hippy that wanted to hang out with hookers and drug addicts and feed the hungry and invited his pals to dinner and that turned into hundreds of years of communion being celebrated every week, I’m fine with it. I don’t know that it’s anything more than just a piece of bread dipped in some grape juice, but I don’t really know for sure that it’s anything less than a miracle. What I do know is that it’s a ritual that my parents hold, and their parents held, sacred. I love the thought that I’m part of a ritual that has been practiced for hundreds of years, and still continues to happen, all over the world. I love the thought that people are taking even a small moment out of their week to think about things on another level. Whether it’s how to be a better person, being thankful, seeking change, wondering about God, or just showing up and being quiet, and listening to whatever happens in silence...I like it. Opening doors, welcoming absolutely anyone who comes in, and offering a meal- that’s just about the most basic and most beautiful thing I can think of. It’s why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It’s why I love Passover Seders. Food and community…it’s a winning combo.
Last night when I received communion, I thought…is this God? Then I thought about all those that I know that have died. Every person I’ve met has left their mark on me and is still alive in me and the rest of the people they’ve touched. This simple piece of bread came to me after farmers and cooks and drivers did their part. None of it could be possible without those on whose shoulders we now stand. I am here because of them. I have food and water and love and shelter because of them. Others may go to communion and find it creepy and weird and not their style. But for me, it evokes peace and love and connection to my family and those that have passed away and the connections of the strangers and friends that surround me in that moment. So yeah, I’m pretty sure anything that does all that is God.
I could stare at this computer screen and think similar thoughts- my ability to connect with friends and family all over the world in an instant is directly related to the gifts of all of those who came before me. So yes, in that way, God is in my laptop.
Point for the Jesuits. Four years of college education and they got me on board with their whole “God is in all things” bit.
All of this reminds me of a passage from the story “The Third and Final Continent” by Jhumpa Lahiri, which I just read last week. The whole story was beautiful but this particular paragraph really got me:
“While the astronauts, heroes forever, spent mere hours on the moon, I have remained in this new world for nearly thirty years. I know that my achievement is quite ordinary. I am not the only man to seek his fortune far from home, and certainly I am not the first. Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination."
Those feelings and thoughts of wonder and awe and love and appreciation that are beyond my imagination...being blown away by how extraordinary the ordinary is...that's what I call God.
(I don't think Jessica Simpson ever actually dated Dane Cook. I think they were just friends from when they were in "Employee of the Month" together.)
Monday, November 7, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Pen Pals
Two posts in a week. What has gotten into me?
Welp...there are a few things that are making me want to write today. First of all, it’s 10pm in late October and I have the window open and the fresh air is autumn-rific. I’m an old lady that needs my sleep but why not stay up a bit longer writing and taking in this perfect Sunday evening.
What to write about? Well, speaking of writing, I had my first exchange with the death row pen pal I was assigned. Methinks this will be an intense experience. Hopefully it’ll be intense in a good way that’s rewarding for both of us. Shortly after Troy Davis was put to death someone posted on a list serve I’m on, talking about how she was set up with a pen pal who is on death row and the organization she did this through was looking for more pen pals. Troy Davis’ death really struck me. I wanted to do something. I saw someone on Facebook write about how awful the death penalty is and “besides it’s much worse punishment to have to suffer for a lifetime in prison.” I couldn’t stop thinking about this. Is that the goal? Find a system in which people can suffer the most? Is this person against the death penalty because it’s not barbaric enough? I’m very much opposed to the death penalty but I’m also not for a system in which people just spend their lifetimes rotting away in prisons. I don’t know what the right answers are and I know that there may be no chance for rehabilitation for some people. The people who were recently arrested for kidnapping people with mental illness and chaining them up in a dungeon so they could steal their SSI checks…well, I’m hoping they don’t get out of prison any time soon. Part of me wants them to be chained up and left for dead and be forced to eat shitty food out of dog bowls just like they made their victims do. Another part of me...just doesn’t know what the hell to think.
Yesterday I received an envelope from the organization that set me up with my pen pal. In it were two letters from a guy that’s been on death row for more than 20 years. The letters are filled with friendly chit chat, appreciation in advance for anyone willing to write to someone in his situation, info about some of his interests and the usual get to know you pleasantries. I read the letters again and again and again. I googled him and read all about his crime. This is no Troy Davis scenario. This guy seems to clearly be guilty as charged.
I walked over to Welles Park, sat on a park bench and took out my little journal with the hearts on it that I got for a quarter at the Sweet Adeline’s rummage sale. I cracked it open and stared at the blank page for a while. I thought about this guy and his life and wondered how he grew up and what drove him to commit that crime and I thought about good versus evil and forgiveness and redemption and justice and retaliation and I thought about the victim and the family of the victim and I thought about “Dead Man Walking” and Sr. Helen Prejean and I wondered if he was getting into terrifying fights and was a part of prison gangs like I’ve seen on “Oz” and “Locked Up.” Then I wrote him a letter and talked about books and art and music and asked him dorky questions about his interests and told him about the book I’m reading. To paraphrase a friend who I was discussing this with, “The three things you shouldn’t discuss in polite conversation: religion, politics and murder convictions.”
As I lit a candle for him and his victim at church tonight, it struck me more than usual that I have no clue what I’m doing with my life. Some chick from Jersey, raised Catholic, is in a tiny Methodist church in Chicago lighting candles for her new murderer pen pal and the person he killed 25 years ago. How did I get to this place in life? A place where despite the usual level of life bullshit, I’m very happy and content and grateful. As these thoughts ran through my mind, they were suddenly overcome by the stronger thought that there was pumpkin chocolate chip bread awaiting me at the post-service shin-dig in the gallery.
So about that book I’m reading... it’s called “Born to Run” and even though it has nothing to do with Springsteen, I love it anyway. I won’t bore anyone with a summary you can read at this Amazon link. I’ll just say that it’s made me think about why I enjoy distance running and it’s made me particularly grateful for my health and my ability to chug along for miles, even if it’s extremely slowly. I’m not planning to do any ultra marathons but reading this made me realize that I get a lot more from running than I sometimes give it credit for. Also, I now have half a mind to buy those ridiculously stupid looking Vibram Five Fingers.
I need to go to bed. Alarm is set early so I can go for a run before work.
Welp...there are a few things that are making me want to write today. First of all, it’s 10pm in late October and I have the window open and the fresh air is autumn-rific. I’m an old lady that needs my sleep but why not stay up a bit longer writing and taking in this perfect Sunday evening.
What to write about? Well, speaking of writing, I had my first exchange with the death row pen pal I was assigned. Methinks this will be an intense experience. Hopefully it’ll be intense in a good way that’s rewarding for both of us. Shortly after Troy Davis was put to death someone posted on a list serve I’m on, talking about how she was set up with a pen pal who is on death row and the organization she did this through was looking for more pen pals. Troy Davis’ death really struck me. I wanted to do something. I saw someone on Facebook write about how awful the death penalty is and “besides it’s much worse punishment to have to suffer for a lifetime in prison.” I couldn’t stop thinking about this. Is that the goal? Find a system in which people can suffer the most? Is this person against the death penalty because it’s not barbaric enough? I’m very much opposed to the death penalty but I’m also not for a system in which people just spend their lifetimes rotting away in prisons. I don’t know what the right answers are and I know that there may be no chance for rehabilitation for some people. The people who were recently arrested for kidnapping people with mental illness and chaining them up in a dungeon so they could steal their SSI checks…well, I’m hoping they don’t get out of prison any time soon. Part of me wants them to be chained up and left for dead and be forced to eat shitty food out of dog bowls just like they made their victims do. Another part of me...just doesn’t know what the hell to think.
Yesterday I received an envelope from the organization that set me up with my pen pal. In it were two letters from a guy that’s been on death row for more than 20 years. The letters are filled with friendly chit chat, appreciation in advance for anyone willing to write to someone in his situation, info about some of his interests and the usual get to know you pleasantries. I read the letters again and again and again. I googled him and read all about his crime. This is no Troy Davis scenario. This guy seems to clearly be guilty as charged.
I walked over to Welles Park, sat on a park bench and took out my little journal with the hearts on it that I got for a quarter at the Sweet Adeline’s rummage sale. I cracked it open and stared at the blank page for a while. I thought about this guy and his life and wondered how he grew up and what drove him to commit that crime and I thought about good versus evil and forgiveness and redemption and justice and retaliation and I thought about the victim and the family of the victim and I thought about “Dead Man Walking” and Sr. Helen Prejean and I wondered if he was getting into terrifying fights and was a part of prison gangs like I’ve seen on “Oz” and “Locked Up.” Then I wrote him a letter and talked about books and art and music and asked him dorky questions about his interests and told him about the book I’m reading. To paraphrase a friend who I was discussing this with, “The three things you shouldn’t discuss in polite conversation: religion, politics and murder convictions.”
As I lit a candle for him and his victim at church tonight, it struck me more than usual that I have no clue what I’m doing with my life. Some chick from Jersey, raised Catholic, is in a tiny Methodist church in Chicago lighting candles for her new murderer pen pal and the person he killed 25 years ago. How did I get to this place in life? A place where despite the usual level of life bullshit, I’m very happy and content and grateful. As these thoughts ran through my mind, they were suddenly overcome by the stronger thought that there was pumpkin chocolate chip bread awaiting me at the post-service shin-dig in the gallery.
So about that book I’m reading... it’s called “Born to Run” and even though it has nothing to do with Springsteen, I love it anyway. I won’t bore anyone with a summary you can read at this Amazon link. I’ll just say that it’s made me think about why I enjoy distance running and it’s made me particularly grateful for my health and my ability to chug along for miles, even if it’s extremely slowly. I’m not planning to do any ultra marathons but reading this made me realize that I get a lot more from running than I sometimes give it credit for. Also, I now have half a mind to buy those ridiculously stupid looking Vibram Five Fingers.
I need to go to bed. Alarm is set early so I can go for a run before work.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Sexism, Violence and the Question That Plagues Us All
I recently finished reading “Half the Sky” and have not been able to stop thinking about it. It’s a must-read for everyone. The authors bring light to a number of horrifying taboo topics effecting women around the world including sex slavery, honor killings, genital mutilation and maternal mortality. The book is so well researched and while these topics are obviously awful to read about, it’s clearly not nearly as bad as living it. The authors share many incredible stories of people around the world who are doing truly inspirational work and making real change. There’s no reason that every single person shouldn’t at least try to be part of that change. As I sit here typing this, there are thousands of women throughout the world who are dying in childbirth, young girls who are being stolen from their homes and sold into sex slavery and there are women who, because they were judged to be a shame to their families, are literally left outside to be eaten by animals. THIS IS NOT OKAY. The authors take a bi-partisan approach and basically, in much fancier and kinder words, say that polarizing political bullshit is only making matters worse. So…pick that one up for some light train reading and find out how we can all be part of the solution!
In other “I can’t stop thinking about it” news… the movie “The Interrupters.” I was walking around in a bit of a trance after seeing it and could occasionally mumble something about how everyone needs to see that movie. I was just struck by how much violence there is in Chicago on a daily basis and how terrifying it must be to grow up in that environment. People are shooting each other over the lamest things. You looked at my girlfriend- shoot...dead...done. Another person goes to prison. Another family mourns. That person’s younger siblings have another role model of someone whose violent acts leads to prison and it continues to normalize the entire situation. BUT. These violence interrupters…so inspirational and badass. Their work makes it clear that even the most violent individuals are capable of change. I was lucky enough to go to a screening where two of the interrupters and the co-producer participated in a Q&A afterwards. I asked what someone like me that sees the movie and is inspired and wants to do something but is obviously not going to show up in Englewood to break up fights, can do. One of the responses was that besides donating money to organizations that work towards non-violence, the most important thing you can do is be a mentor to anyone in your life who needs it. So obvious but not really that obvious. Great answer, dude.
This reminds me of this “Miss Representation” video that’s been posted on FB a lot lately. Whenever someone spells women “womyn” I immediately put on my judging sweater. (Much like when I see that history is spelled “herstory.”) Sure, how women are portrayed in the media is an ongoing problem. I was getting fired up about this in my college Feminist Philosophy class 20 years ago just like the generations before me got fired up about it and I think it’s important to continually get fired up about it. But let’s all take a little responsibility here. I loved glam rock videos and never felt the need to be anyone’s cherry pie. Perhaps it’s because I had parents that told me I could be and do anything I wanted. My stay-at-home traditional housewife Mom and my working Dad prioritized intelligence and kindness and made me eat my vegetables and play outside and stand up for my convictions. My brothers may’ve occasionally thrown me around by my feet and locked me in a closet for a few minutes here and there, but none of them ever told me I couldn’t do something because I’m a girl. I know this makes me extremely fortunate and not everyone has that, so the media bullshit just makes it worse. But I think my point is that if you teach your children (children being any child in your life) well and love and support them and be role models of health and happiness and kindness, than all the misogynistic magazines in the world won’t make a damn difference. My other point is, if you want to be taken seriously, than learn that women is spelled w-o-m-E-n.
Oh wait. Those weren’t actually my points at all. While we certainly have a long way to go, I think it’s important to remember how far we’ve come and use our right to vote and freedom of speech to stand up for the women of the world who don’t have any rights at all. I don’t want to undermine the problems related to sexism and objectification of women in the US, but girl power starts with each one of us. Be the change you want to see in the world. I’m not going to change the media anytime soon but I can live a life in which my relationships with men compliment my life but don’t define it. I can share a small portion of my salary (which I often think is not so great but in comparison to the rest of the world is really really incredible) to sponsor a girl that needs the assistance. I can try to be there for a friend after her shitty abusive boyfriend dumps her. I think the more we do this, the more the gratuitous nudity in stupid movies and the dumb Cosmo articles about how to please your man will have no real relevance.
And if you’re a Dad, then for God’s sake, love your freaking daughter and be there for her. Daddy issues are annoying for everyone.
And...back to the Interrupters, that trance where I couldn’t stop talking about the movie, led to a discussion with coworkers about how we could possibly have an Interuppter or two participate in a training for mentors to work with clients who are coming out of prison. Where there is injustice and violence and sexism and general life bullshit, there is opportunity.
There is also the need to go watch Felicity reruns so as not to have my head explode from all this intense crap. Guys...Noel or Ben?
In other “I can’t stop thinking about it” news… the movie “The Interrupters.” I was walking around in a bit of a trance after seeing it and could occasionally mumble something about how everyone needs to see that movie. I was just struck by how much violence there is in Chicago on a daily basis and how terrifying it must be to grow up in that environment. People are shooting each other over the lamest things. You looked at my girlfriend- shoot...dead...done. Another person goes to prison. Another family mourns. That person’s younger siblings have another role model of someone whose violent acts leads to prison and it continues to normalize the entire situation. BUT. These violence interrupters…so inspirational and badass. Their work makes it clear that even the most violent individuals are capable of change. I was lucky enough to go to a screening where two of the interrupters and the co-producer participated in a Q&A afterwards. I asked what someone like me that sees the movie and is inspired and wants to do something but is obviously not going to show up in Englewood to break up fights, can do. One of the responses was that besides donating money to organizations that work towards non-violence, the most important thing you can do is be a mentor to anyone in your life who needs it. So obvious but not really that obvious. Great answer, dude.
This reminds me of this “Miss Representation” video that’s been posted on FB a lot lately. Whenever someone spells women “womyn” I immediately put on my judging sweater. (Much like when I see that history is spelled “herstory.”) Sure, how women are portrayed in the media is an ongoing problem. I was getting fired up about this in my college Feminist Philosophy class 20 years ago just like the generations before me got fired up about it and I think it’s important to continually get fired up about it. But let’s all take a little responsibility here. I loved glam rock videos and never felt the need to be anyone’s cherry pie. Perhaps it’s because I had parents that told me I could be and do anything I wanted. My stay-at-home traditional housewife Mom and my working Dad prioritized intelligence and kindness and made me eat my vegetables and play outside and stand up for my convictions. My brothers may’ve occasionally thrown me around by my feet and locked me in a closet for a few minutes here and there, but none of them ever told me I couldn’t do something because I’m a girl. I know this makes me extremely fortunate and not everyone has that, so the media bullshit just makes it worse. But I think my point is that if you teach your children (children being any child in your life) well and love and support them and be role models of health and happiness and kindness, than all the misogynistic magazines in the world won’t make a damn difference. My other point is, if you want to be taken seriously, than learn that women is spelled w-o-m-E-n.
Oh wait. Those weren’t actually my points at all. While we certainly have a long way to go, I think it’s important to remember how far we’ve come and use our right to vote and freedom of speech to stand up for the women of the world who don’t have any rights at all. I don’t want to undermine the problems related to sexism and objectification of women in the US, but girl power starts with each one of us. Be the change you want to see in the world. I’m not going to change the media anytime soon but I can live a life in which my relationships with men compliment my life but don’t define it. I can share a small portion of my salary (which I often think is not so great but in comparison to the rest of the world is really really incredible) to sponsor a girl that needs the assistance. I can try to be there for a friend after her shitty abusive boyfriend dumps her. I think the more we do this, the more the gratuitous nudity in stupid movies and the dumb Cosmo articles about how to please your man will have no real relevance.
And if you’re a Dad, then for God’s sake, love your freaking daughter and be there for her. Daddy issues are annoying for everyone.
And...back to the Interrupters, that trance where I couldn’t stop talking about the movie, led to a discussion with coworkers about how we could possibly have an Interuppter or two participate in a training for mentors to work with clients who are coming out of prison. Where there is injustice and violence and sexism and general life bullshit, there is opportunity.
There is also the need to go watch Felicity reruns so as not to have my head explode from all this intense crap. Guys...Noel or Ben?
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
It’s time for a stupidity detox, Newsweek.
I went on a wee bit of a rant on my Facebook wall about the recent Michele Bachmann Newsweek cover photo. It pisses me off. Can we all just take a deep breath and then grow the hell up for a second? First that weird Princess Di photo and now this. There was some talk about how the Michele Bachmann photo was sexist and then I read a Salon article saying it’s not sexist; it’s just that she’s “a crazed zealot.” Oh well, thanks for debunking that one, Salon. Apparently making fun of the mentally ill isn’t as chic as being anti-sexism right now. Hold on to your Prozac, crazies...hopefully not offending you wacky folks and your kooky antics will come back in fashion when we all get tired of caring about homophobia and sexism and stuff. (Sorry old people- ageism is always at the bottom of the list. You guys are fucked.)
(I don’t think it’s sexist, either. I just think it’s childish.)
There are many things that annoy me about this use of the word “crazy” and the photo in general. One is that it evades the actual issue. Saying someone like Michele Bachmann is “crazy” is getting her off the hook. How about we stop for a second and realize how we as a community of people vote for people who support the decisions of the Michele Bachmanns of the world AND many of us hold those same opinions.
Second, the Newsweek editors had to know that was an extremely bizarre photo. I’m sure they had hundreds of photos to choose from at least one of which wasn’t so strange looking.
What is crazy? I realize I’m particularly sensitive to this now that I work for an agency that serves people who have severe mental illness. Many times when I tell people where I work, I get that insincere shoulder shrug, with the deep breath and the “Oh wow...what you do is so important.” And if I share a story about what a client did or said, I’ll get the, “Ohhhhhh...that’s so cute.” Adults with schizophrenia are adorbs! I get it. People don’t know what to say. They’re being nice. But, would that same guy be so cute if he was talking to himself on the train? Do we all have the “Ooh…that’s so cute” compassion then? I know I often don’t. Cause I’m all holier than thou and inconsistent and crap and dude, don’t you realize I’m a yuppie stereotype trying to listen to the “This American Life” podcast and you talking to yourself nonsensically is totally bumming out my commute?
Today when I got to work, I saw a client that I often see in the morning, and had the same little chat we seem to have every day. He comes practically every day to hang out our drop-in center, participate in groups, and receive therapy and primary care medical services. He visits with friends and is part of a community. After our little daily chat, it occurred to me that he laughs constantly as he talks. I hadn’t really noticed it before. I’m not sure why I hadn’t noticed. He’s just so friendly and always has something interesting to say that I’m usually absorbed by the content of what he’s saying and hadn’t really paid attention to the delivery. And, admittedly, my sensitivity to such things while I’m at work is different. I’m ready for some odd behaviors so I’m not as sensitive to them when they occur. It made me think- what if he was my friend and I brought him out to a party? He would be that weirdo that wouldn’t freaking stop laughing. I’d feel self-conscious and awkward about it and people would likely wonder how the hell I know him and what the deal is. But the thing is- this guy has admitted that he has a mental illness and sought help for it and has become part of a supportive community. Nothing about THAT is crazy. That’s courageous and smart and noble. Many of us read countless books and attend workshops on how to live our best life and travel around the world looking for answers and go on maple syrup/cayenne pepper detoxes and this guy is just doing it. Who’s the crazy one now?
Speaking of detoxes...this seems like it’s trendy lately too. (That maple syrup/cayenne thing is not made up. I wish it was). It reminds me of something one of Chicago’s top gastroenterologists once said to me when I worked at the American Liver Foundation and hung with gastroenterologists on a regular basis: “As someone who has seen the inside of more colons than I’d like to admit, I can tell you that detoxes are bullshit. A few days of fasting isn’t going to help what’s going on in there. You either live a healthy life or you don’t.”
Here’s where I say something brilliant connecting all of this. Something about what it truly takes to clean out the shit from our lives. But instead, I’ll just say that that stupid Newsweek cover and detoxes get on my nerves.
(I don’t think it’s sexist, either. I just think it’s childish.)
There are many things that annoy me about this use of the word “crazy” and the photo in general. One is that it evades the actual issue. Saying someone like Michele Bachmann is “crazy” is getting her off the hook. How about we stop for a second and realize how we as a community of people vote for people who support the decisions of the Michele Bachmanns of the world AND many of us hold those same opinions.
Second, the Newsweek editors had to know that was an extremely bizarre photo. I’m sure they had hundreds of photos to choose from at least one of which wasn’t so strange looking.
What is crazy? I realize I’m particularly sensitive to this now that I work for an agency that serves people who have severe mental illness. Many times when I tell people where I work, I get that insincere shoulder shrug, with the deep breath and the “Oh wow...what you do is so important.” And if I share a story about what a client did or said, I’ll get the, “Ohhhhhh...that’s so cute.” Adults with schizophrenia are adorbs! I get it. People don’t know what to say. They’re being nice. But, would that same guy be so cute if he was talking to himself on the train? Do we all have the “Ooh…that’s so cute” compassion then? I know I often don’t. Cause I’m all holier than thou and inconsistent and crap and dude, don’t you realize I’m a yuppie stereotype trying to listen to the “This American Life” podcast and you talking to yourself nonsensically is totally bumming out my commute?
Today when I got to work, I saw a client that I often see in the morning, and had the same little chat we seem to have every day. He comes practically every day to hang out our drop-in center, participate in groups, and receive therapy and primary care medical services. He visits with friends and is part of a community. After our little daily chat, it occurred to me that he laughs constantly as he talks. I hadn’t really noticed it before. I’m not sure why I hadn’t noticed. He’s just so friendly and always has something interesting to say that I’m usually absorbed by the content of what he’s saying and hadn’t really paid attention to the delivery. And, admittedly, my sensitivity to such things while I’m at work is different. I’m ready for some odd behaviors so I’m not as sensitive to them when they occur. It made me think- what if he was my friend and I brought him out to a party? He would be that weirdo that wouldn’t freaking stop laughing. I’d feel self-conscious and awkward about it and people would likely wonder how the hell I know him and what the deal is. But the thing is- this guy has admitted that he has a mental illness and sought help for it and has become part of a supportive community. Nothing about THAT is crazy. That’s courageous and smart and noble. Many of us read countless books and attend workshops on how to live our best life and travel around the world looking for answers and go on maple syrup/cayenne pepper detoxes and this guy is just doing it. Who’s the crazy one now?
Speaking of detoxes...this seems like it’s trendy lately too. (That maple syrup/cayenne thing is not made up. I wish it was). It reminds me of something one of Chicago’s top gastroenterologists once said to me when I worked at the American Liver Foundation and hung with gastroenterologists on a regular basis: “As someone who has seen the inside of more colons than I’d like to admit, I can tell you that detoxes are bullshit. A few days of fasting isn’t going to help what’s going on in there. You either live a healthy life or you don’t.”
Here’s where I say something brilliant connecting all of this. Something about what it truly takes to clean out the shit from our lives. But instead, I’ll just say that that stupid Newsweek cover and detoxes get on my nerves.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Love my enemies...but delete them from Facebook.
People’s reaction to Amy Winehouse’s death has really gotten my goat. I saw something on FB where someone I don’t know commented on a friend’s page saying how Amy deserved to die and she brought it on herself. With this shitty logic, everyone who smokes deserves to die of lung cancer and those who ever eat crappy fast food deserve to die of diabetes. And by this logic, the person who posted the stupid comment deserves to die from the weight of the rock he is apparently living under. I really hope that people just want to seem witty but actually aren’t at all and just feel the need to say SOMETHING about news stories like this one, and don’t ACTUALLY despise people with addiction. IT’S A DISEASE. Even if it wasn’t- how about we start analyzing your life choices, random FB dude, and see what’s what. This lack of compassion for people who are in difficult situations overwhelms me.
What’s it like to be friends with this FB guy? “Hey friend. My sister just died of a drug overdose.” FB guy: “SHE DESERVED IT! NO LOSS THERE!”
And then the comments from people who seem most concerned that they won’t get another Amy Winehouse album that I’m sure they wouldn’t even buy anyway. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness… and new Amy Winehouse downloads when I damn well please…apparently these are things to which I am entitled.
So I worked myself up into a comforting holier than thou rage about this, and then headed off to church. Some sweet tunes and happy faces and then a sermon about that old standard passage talking about how we should love our enemies. I HATE THAT BULLSHIT! Uh hello people, my enemies are my enemies because they suck. As the fine Pastor so astutely pointed out, this is tricky because it’s hard enough to love the people we love. Now we should add enemies to this mix? Sometimes this trying to live my best life is for the friggin’ birds.
This reminds me of 6th grade when I went home and told my Mom, “I HATE…” (insert name of girl who had a HUGE tude). My Mom, “We don’t hate anyone. We just dislike the things they do.” “Yeah, I know, Mom. That’s usually what we do but I HATE her. If you had to be in gym with her, you’d hate her too.” I only remember this because my Mom quoted that one years later. And also, because I really hated that girl and hate like that is memorable.
The thing is, I don’t think of myself as having many enemies. Enemies sounds so dramatic. It’s more that there are people that I just don’t want to deal with because they’ve done and/or said crappy things to me or people I love, or I just find their choices irritating and life is short, and I’d rather surround myself with awesome people. In thinking about this, my thoughts went to- what is love? I, like Foreigner, wanna know what love is. I want these assholes that I don’t like to show me. I know what love is when it’s unconditional family and friend love, or romantic love, or love for that delicious monkey bread with the dill butter dipping sauce I had at the Bristol the other night. But what is love for an enemy?
Practically speaking, how do I go about loving a shithead? I’m so crappy at this that I almost want to passive aggressively give examples of shitty things people have said/done just to prove how much I shouldn’t even bother trying to love them. Can you believe she said THAT?!! Can you believe he did THAT?! I like to convince myself that not talking about it and trying not to take things personally and keeping a positive outlook and pretty much ignoring the existence of “enemies” is the nicest thing to do. But alas, I think I’m suppose to actually be wishing well on these people and considering why they do the things they do. Because if most people did that than good really would win out over evil- in large scale war situations and in interpersonal relationships. Ew. How annoying is that?
The doozy is that I’m a peace-loving kinda gal at heart. And the only sensible avenue for actual peace in the world is to actually show love to everyone and think about the reasons for why people do what they do, and then….drum roll…address those reasons. Last night I watched Diane Sawyer’s interview with Jaycee Dugard. Jaycee was kidnapped and held hostage by a guy who raped her… for 18 YEARS. Jaycee exudes happiness and peace. Her life is far from perfect and she’s receiving a boat load of therapy just to get through everything now but she said it herself that she’s very happy, and holds no rage for the guy that did that to her. She won’t give him the satisfaction of wasting energy on rage. It’s amazing and inspiring and so fascinating to me. Then I thought about the kidnapper. I guess I’m supposed to love that guy. I have no idea what that means. I am curious to know what his life was like growing up and what happened to him, to lead him to do the horrific things he did. This curiosity comes more from the social worker in me that is curious about people and the desire to understand these behaviors so that we are able to look out for them in others and address problems early on and atrocities like the ones Jaycee experienced are prevented from happening again. But love the guy? Yikes. That is a tall order. The guy that led the terrorist attack in Norway? The people who have said and done racist, homophobic and sexist things to friends? REALLY?
That said, no matter how I’m supposed to love these folks, I know for sure that I can do it without them crapping up my Facebook feed.
Speaking of the social worker in me, let’s end on a happier note. The other day it occurred to me while chatting with social workers at my office, that no matter what work I’m doing or will ever do, I’ll most likely always consider myself a social worker. I love that freaking profession so much and am so glad that I happened to fall into with what seems like zero forward thinking on my part.
Trying to love people that aren’t easy to love… I suppose that is both social, and it is clearly work. I should be better at this seeing as I spent 40k on a masters in it.
What’s it like to be friends with this FB guy? “Hey friend. My sister just died of a drug overdose.” FB guy: “SHE DESERVED IT! NO LOSS THERE!”
And then the comments from people who seem most concerned that they won’t get another Amy Winehouse album that I’m sure they wouldn’t even buy anyway. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness… and new Amy Winehouse downloads when I damn well please…apparently these are things to which I am entitled.
So I worked myself up into a comforting holier than thou rage about this, and then headed off to church. Some sweet tunes and happy faces and then a sermon about that old standard passage talking about how we should love our enemies. I HATE THAT BULLSHIT! Uh hello people, my enemies are my enemies because they suck. As the fine Pastor so astutely pointed out, this is tricky because it’s hard enough to love the people we love. Now we should add enemies to this mix? Sometimes this trying to live my best life is for the friggin’ birds.
This reminds me of 6th grade when I went home and told my Mom, “I HATE…” (insert name of girl who had a HUGE tude). My Mom, “We don’t hate anyone. We just dislike the things they do.” “Yeah, I know, Mom. That’s usually what we do but I HATE her. If you had to be in gym with her, you’d hate her too.” I only remember this because my Mom quoted that one years later. And also, because I really hated that girl and hate like that is memorable.
The thing is, I don’t think of myself as having many enemies. Enemies sounds so dramatic. It’s more that there are people that I just don’t want to deal with because they’ve done and/or said crappy things to me or people I love, or I just find their choices irritating and life is short, and I’d rather surround myself with awesome people. In thinking about this, my thoughts went to- what is love? I, like Foreigner, wanna know what love is. I want these assholes that I don’t like to show me. I know what love is when it’s unconditional family and friend love, or romantic love, or love for that delicious monkey bread with the dill butter dipping sauce I had at the Bristol the other night. But what is love for an enemy?
Practically speaking, how do I go about loving a shithead? I’m so crappy at this that I almost want to passive aggressively give examples of shitty things people have said/done just to prove how much I shouldn’t even bother trying to love them. Can you believe she said THAT?!! Can you believe he did THAT?! I like to convince myself that not talking about it and trying not to take things personally and keeping a positive outlook and pretty much ignoring the existence of “enemies” is the nicest thing to do. But alas, I think I’m suppose to actually be wishing well on these people and considering why they do the things they do. Because if most people did that than good really would win out over evil- in large scale war situations and in interpersonal relationships. Ew. How annoying is that?
The doozy is that I’m a peace-loving kinda gal at heart. And the only sensible avenue for actual peace in the world is to actually show love to everyone and think about the reasons for why people do what they do, and then….drum roll…address those reasons. Last night I watched Diane Sawyer’s interview with Jaycee Dugard. Jaycee was kidnapped and held hostage by a guy who raped her… for 18 YEARS. Jaycee exudes happiness and peace. Her life is far from perfect and she’s receiving a boat load of therapy just to get through everything now but she said it herself that she’s very happy, and holds no rage for the guy that did that to her. She won’t give him the satisfaction of wasting energy on rage. It’s amazing and inspiring and so fascinating to me. Then I thought about the kidnapper. I guess I’m supposed to love that guy. I have no idea what that means. I am curious to know what his life was like growing up and what happened to him, to lead him to do the horrific things he did. This curiosity comes more from the social worker in me that is curious about people and the desire to understand these behaviors so that we are able to look out for them in others and address problems early on and atrocities like the ones Jaycee experienced are prevented from happening again. But love the guy? Yikes. That is a tall order. The guy that led the terrorist attack in Norway? The people who have said and done racist, homophobic and sexist things to friends? REALLY?
That said, no matter how I’m supposed to love these folks, I know for sure that I can do it without them crapping up my Facebook feed.
Speaking of the social worker in me, let’s end on a happier note. The other day it occurred to me while chatting with social workers at my office, that no matter what work I’m doing or will ever do, I’ll most likely always consider myself a social worker. I love that freaking profession so much and am so glad that I happened to fall into with what seems like zero forward thinking on my part.
Trying to love people that aren’t easy to love… I suppose that is both social, and it is clearly work. I should be better at this seeing as I spent 40k on a masters in it.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Back on the blog-wagon.
I haven’t written on here in a while. Partially it’s because it’s summer and I’m living by the all free time should be spent outside philosophy. Also, the death of my niece left with a lot to reflect on but most of it is nothing I’d want to write on a public blog. There are so many moments shared with family and new and old friends that feel sacred and I want to remember everything about them forever but I also can’t even put them into words and don’t know that I’d want to try. I am grateful for many things in life and this month my family’s ability to retain their sense of humor during a tragedy is high up there. It’s not the kind of humor that is avoiding the truth. It’s the kind that is celebrating the beauty and tragedy of life all at once. It’s the kind that makes me know we’ll all be okay no matter what life brings us. Also, we think we’re so damn funny and no amount of tragedy will stop us from that dumbass one-liner.
I also spent a good amount of time thinking about how awesome siblings are. Hanging out with just my three brothers for the first time in a while made me realize how weird and incredible it is that the four of us are friends. If we weren’t raised by the same parents, we’d most likely never come into contact with each other. But, the situation is what it is, and here we are in a world where even though there is probably no one political issue the four of us agree on, we’d all take a bullet for each other.
It’s trite to talk about how death makes me think about how precious life is but just because it’s trite doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’ve done my best to appreciate small moments this month and so far it’s working quite well. Swimming around in Lake Michigan this weekend with some friends... the water was perfectly refreshing on a sunny and hot summer day, conversation was top-notch, the Hancock and Sears Tower in the distance... pure joy.
I also spent a good amount of time thinking about how awesome siblings are. Hanging out with just my three brothers for the first time in a while made me realize how weird and incredible it is that the four of us are friends. If we weren’t raised by the same parents, we’d most likely never come into contact with each other. But, the situation is what it is, and here we are in a world where even though there is probably no one political issue the four of us agree on, we’d all take a bullet for each other.
It’s trite to talk about how death makes me think about how precious life is but just because it’s trite doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’ve done my best to appreciate small moments this month and so far it’s working quite well. Swimming around in Lake Michigan this weekend with some friends... the water was perfectly refreshing on a sunny and hot summer day, conversation was top-notch, the Hancock and Sears Tower in the distance... pure joy.
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Call
When I was in high school, I was in a Catholic youth group. It was weird in all the ways one may expect a fairly conservative Catholic youth group to be. I have mixed feelings on that group and how it was run but there are many positives that came from it. Some of the people I met there are still among my closest friends. The ways in which we’ve changed since then fascinate me and sometimes crack me up. If not for that group, I probably wouldn’t have gone to a Jesuit college and if I didn’t go to a Jesuit college I probably wouldn’t have done the Jesuit Volunteer Corps and if not for JVC I probably wouldn’t have gone into social work. I loved St. Joe’s and JVC and social work, so I’m happy about that group and the place it held in my life. All this to say that at one of those high school retreats I was assigned to give a talk called “Our Call to Love.”
I remember being sixteen and writing that talk and thinking it was all pretty simple. Duh guys, we’re called to be nice to everyone and help people out in whatever ways we can. I said a bunch of nice stuff about volunteering and played “Hammer and a Nail” by the Indigo Girls and then probably had some fraught with weird sexual tension not so deep chat about it with a kid from Delbarton. The usual.
At St. Joe’s I often attended mass on Sundays at 10pm. I didn’t really know what I believed but I liked the community and the ambience and the music. Whenever my thoughts turned to the typical college student “what am I going to do with my life” track, I found solace in the song “We Are Called.” It was a kickass tune and Tim, who often sang it, has a kickass voice (as his subsequent Broadway career indicated). But the lyrics are what really got me. “We are called to act with justice; we are called to love tenderly. We are called to serve one another; to walk humbly with God.” Well shit. That just sums it right up. Except how the hell are we supposed to do THAT?
I have a love/hate relationship with the concept of a “calling.” The word kind of weirds me out and seems too evangelical for my liking but I do love the idea that there’s a reason or reasons why each person is on this earth and an important part of life is figuring out those reasons. Whether that’s our “calling” or just doing what we love to do, it’s something I give a fair amount of thought.
Last weekend I attended the ordination ceremony for a friend at church. It was a beautiful service filled with great music and friends and family. When talking about why she chose to become a pastor, my friend said that above all else it’s because it’s what brings her joy. Having heard a number of her sermons and sung with her at services and participated in the small groups that she’s organized, I can say that she is excellent at what she does and she brings a unique blend of talents to a very unique job. There’s something so cool about watching someone do the thing that she seems to have been put here to do.
The next day I went to see a friend’s show at the Neofuturarium. He’s been known to put on some very bizarre performances but this one took the damn cake. It was a mime/clown/bouffon character that was just about the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen on a stage. There’s no explaining it. It’s always been pretty standard to make fun of clowns and mimes and think they’re totally freakish and possibly annoying. I was in that camp for a long time. In my defense, when I was about 8, I watched an episode of “Fantasy Island” involving terrifying clowns that scarred me for many years. Point being, as I was watching my friend’s performance I was completely mesmerized. It was unsettling and horrifying and hilarious and beautiful and inspiring. The amount of talent, research and awareness of people and art and humanity all wrapped up in this weirdass performance astounded me and made me think about the concept of calling again. He is doing what seems like only he could do as well. He is making the world a better place with this crazy shit.
Last night I went to a friend’s poetry reading. I grew up writing in journals and being very angsty so one would think I would’ve tried my hand at some poetry, at least in my teenage years. But I never really got poetry. I didn’t think I liked it that much. I would read stuff for English classes and either thought it was completely dumb and pretentious or I just didn’t understand it at all. Listening to my friend’s poems put me in a bit of a trance. I was swept up into her world of family and travels and science. I wanted to know more about my friend, and her experiences, and the topics she brought up in her poems, and I wanted to know more about poetry in general. As I listened, I thought- I guess this is what happens when someone finds her calling. She is good at what she does and it clearly brings her joy.
The woman who works at the Western Brown Line stop weekday mornings has a joyful presence that I’ve grown to depend on each day. She says hello to everyone with sincerity and kindness. A few weeks ago a guy walked through the doors and ran over to her and shouted, “I missed you!” She said, “I missed you too! How was your vacation?!” “Great!” he said. Then he smiled and pulled a Ziploc bag out of his backpack. “We made cookies last night so I brought some for you!” Last week, a guy came through the turnstile and said to her, “I haven’t seen you in a while because…” He paused for a second. “I got laid off last week.” She immediately said, “OH NO! WHAT HAPPENED?!” and he walked over and leaned on the booth next to where she was standing, and filled her in. I hope that this woman finds joy in her job because she is extremely good at it and is bringing happiness to so many people each day.
When I think about all my family and friends, so many are doing what they seemed to be called to do- whether it be in medicine or parenthood or as an attorney, a teacher or a CPA or a musician. It’s inspiring. I’ve never been one to focus too much on my career in the long-term. I hate being asked in interviews where I see myself in 5 years. I have no idea. Most major decisions in my life in terms of my career were made because it felt like the right decision for me at the time. I did a semester of grad school in anthropology because, at the time, I was really into Appalachia and the beauty and challenges there, and I had visions of becoming an expert in it and doing something…I didn’t know what…that would change Appalachia for the better forever. Then I decided that anthropology wasn’t for me, and it seemed really clear to me that my next step was to go to grad school for Social Work.
I went out with a bunch of coworkers after work on Friday. I’ve been working there for just about five months so I’m still getting to know everyone. We all exchanged a bunch of heartwarming and hilarious and sometimes tragic stories of the trials and tribulations involved in the not so glamorous world of social services. I drank my Daisy Cutter and ate my chipotle grilled cheese and I was happy. A coworker who works directly with clients was asking me about grantwriting and if I miss working directly with clients. I said that I feel like I’m in the perfect place right now because I love interacting with people and feeling connected to what’s going on, but that I enjoy writing and getting to think about the big picture. She said, “I’m so happy you’re here. We need you and not many people have the skills and desire to be doing what you’re doing.” Huh…looky there. Maybe I’ve found what I’m good at and supposed to be doing. Calling? Who knows but it’s bringing me joy right now.
I remember being sixteen and writing that talk and thinking it was all pretty simple. Duh guys, we’re called to be nice to everyone and help people out in whatever ways we can. I said a bunch of nice stuff about volunteering and played “Hammer and a Nail” by the Indigo Girls and then probably had some fraught with weird sexual tension not so deep chat about it with a kid from Delbarton. The usual.
At St. Joe’s I often attended mass on Sundays at 10pm. I didn’t really know what I believed but I liked the community and the ambience and the music. Whenever my thoughts turned to the typical college student “what am I going to do with my life” track, I found solace in the song “We Are Called.” It was a kickass tune and Tim, who often sang it, has a kickass voice (as his subsequent Broadway career indicated). But the lyrics are what really got me. “We are called to act with justice; we are called to love tenderly. We are called to serve one another; to walk humbly with God.” Well shit. That just sums it right up. Except how the hell are we supposed to do THAT?
I have a love/hate relationship with the concept of a “calling.” The word kind of weirds me out and seems too evangelical for my liking but I do love the idea that there’s a reason or reasons why each person is on this earth and an important part of life is figuring out those reasons. Whether that’s our “calling” or just doing what we love to do, it’s something I give a fair amount of thought.
Last weekend I attended the ordination ceremony for a friend at church. It was a beautiful service filled with great music and friends and family. When talking about why she chose to become a pastor, my friend said that above all else it’s because it’s what brings her joy. Having heard a number of her sermons and sung with her at services and participated in the small groups that she’s organized, I can say that she is excellent at what she does and she brings a unique blend of talents to a very unique job. There’s something so cool about watching someone do the thing that she seems to have been put here to do.
The next day I went to see a friend’s show at the Neofuturarium. He’s been known to put on some very bizarre performances but this one took the damn cake. It was a mime/clown/bouffon character that was just about the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen on a stage. There’s no explaining it. It’s always been pretty standard to make fun of clowns and mimes and think they’re totally freakish and possibly annoying. I was in that camp for a long time. In my defense, when I was about 8, I watched an episode of “Fantasy Island” involving terrifying clowns that scarred me for many years. Point being, as I was watching my friend’s performance I was completely mesmerized. It was unsettling and horrifying and hilarious and beautiful and inspiring. The amount of talent, research and awareness of people and art and humanity all wrapped up in this weirdass performance astounded me and made me think about the concept of calling again. He is doing what seems like only he could do as well. He is making the world a better place with this crazy shit.
Last night I went to a friend’s poetry reading. I grew up writing in journals and being very angsty so one would think I would’ve tried my hand at some poetry, at least in my teenage years. But I never really got poetry. I didn’t think I liked it that much. I would read stuff for English classes and either thought it was completely dumb and pretentious or I just didn’t understand it at all. Listening to my friend’s poems put me in a bit of a trance. I was swept up into her world of family and travels and science. I wanted to know more about my friend, and her experiences, and the topics she brought up in her poems, and I wanted to know more about poetry in general. As I listened, I thought- I guess this is what happens when someone finds her calling. She is good at what she does and it clearly brings her joy.
The woman who works at the Western Brown Line stop weekday mornings has a joyful presence that I’ve grown to depend on each day. She says hello to everyone with sincerity and kindness. A few weeks ago a guy walked through the doors and ran over to her and shouted, “I missed you!” She said, “I missed you too! How was your vacation?!” “Great!” he said. Then he smiled and pulled a Ziploc bag out of his backpack. “We made cookies last night so I brought some for you!” Last week, a guy came through the turnstile and said to her, “I haven’t seen you in a while because…” He paused for a second. “I got laid off last week.” She immediately said, “OH NO! WHAT HAPPENED?!” and he walked over and leaned on the booth next to where she was standing, and filled her in. I hope that this woman finds joy in her job because she is extremely good at it and is bringing happiness to so many people each day.
When I think about all my family and friends, so many are doing what they seemed to be called to do- whether it be in medicine or parenthood or as an attorney, a teacher or a CPA or a musician. It’s inspiring. I’ve never been one to focus too much on my career in the long-term. I hate being asked in interviews where I see myself in 5 years. I have no idea. Most major decisions in my life in terms of my career were made because it felt like the right decision for me at the time. I did a semester of grad school in anthropology because, at the time, I was really into Appalachia and the beauty and challenges there, and I had visions of becoming an expert in it and doing something…I didn’t know what…that would change Appalachia for the better forever. Then I decided that anthropology wasn’t for me, and it seemed really clear to me that my next step was to go to grad school for Social Work.
I went out with a bunch of coworkers after work on Friday. I’ve been working there for just about five months so I’m still getting to know everyone. We all exchanged a bunch of heartwarming and hilarious and sometimes tragic stories of the trials and tribulations involved in the not so glamorous world of social services. I drank my Daisy Cutter and ate my chipotle grilled cheese and I was happy. A coworker who works directly with clients was asking me about grantwriting and if I miss working directly with clients. I said that I feel like I’m in the perfect place right now because I love interacting with people and feeling connected to what’s going on, but that I enjoy writing and getting to think about the big picture. She said, “I’m so happy you’re here. We need you and not many people have the skills and desire to be doing what you’re doing.” Huh…looky there. Maybe I’ve found what I’m good at and supposed to be doing. Calling? Who knows but it’s bringing me joy right now.
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