Outside the confines of my suburban home and tree-filled neighborhood there lies a crazy world. A world where governments fall with abandon and reporters risk their lives to cover the news. A world where two billion people live in deepest poverty, earning less than one dollar per day. A world in which the climate changes yearly, racking up ever-higher average temperatures and record rain or snow falls, while other areas suffer 100-year droughts. When we dare to peek our heads out of our suburban turtle-shells, where do we find hope?
A quote from Philip Berrigan pointed me in a new direction. I heard it yesterday in Engaging Spirituality: "For Christians, hope is where your ass is!" For Berrigan, hope could be found only in engaging the issues of our time and dealing with them fisthand; fighting poverty in the inner cities, fighting the build-up of weapons at a nuclear weapons facility, tending to the prisoners in prison. He made me think about where my derriere resides most of the time - on an office chair in my kitchen or in a Toyota minivan. Not sure which place is less likely to spring forth with a fount of hope.
Actually, my body usually resides in a location where it can function for my family, and they are a source of hope for me. I serve them (often grudgingly, it's true) and give up my desires and goals for their betterment. This kind of service is rewarding, but since I ultimately want them to love service and to be a better servant than I am, we should probably ALL be out where the need is greatest. Three cute little tushes and two bigger ones could all be in a soup kitchen, senior center or day laborer's site together.
It's a struggle to know where to place my ass for the sake of hope; it's hard enough to fit it into my favorite pair of jeans. But hope is a valuable commodity and if we want to face the realities of this world and live a relevant life we have to engage and we have to have hope. Right now my rear end is glued to the kitchen chair and there's not a whole lot of higher energy around here, so it might just be time to move.
Family Photo
Family Foundation
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Failing Better
“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” - Samuel Beckett
I am not an artist. Never had any pretensions of being able to draw or paint; putting science diagrams on the whiteboard was the limit of my artistic ability as a teacher. My children praise me every time I produce a piece of paper with colors on it, but that’s because they like the time we spend together – and, let’s face it – they still idolize me. I’m almost out of time there . . .but I’m always my own harshest critic so nothing they say could make me feel less adequate in the art department. Which sentiment made last Saturday’s escape to “Paint and Sip” quite an adventure.
The principle of this new type of outing is for a group of friends to come together and enjoy a glass of wine, some art instruction and all manner of art supplies in a painting frenzy. Most of our group tended to overlook the instruction and paint away furiously at colors and scenes of our own mad design. I fell into this mindset; after painting a lovely background I threw some dark brown spots in a corner that failed to come off with additional water or brushing. So I turned the canvas upside down and moved from a forest scene to a cliff / ocean design. I had the misfortune of sitting next to two good artists, and when people roamed around to look at other people’s paintings (shocking, I know, I was not prepared for that) they oohed and aahed over my neighbors’ and stopped speechless at mine. Some of the comments I got: “oh, that’s a boat!”, “is that actually land over there?”, “aren’t you having fun.”
I did enjoy the process and the companionship but was frustrated by my lack of results. How hard could it be to paint a cliff and an ocean? Pretty darn hard, as it turns out. Fortunately, my forgiving family greeted my painting at the door with appreciative whistles and outbursts like “How did you DO that?” which I chose to interpret as positive feedback. My boys even offered to have it hang in their room, which was sweet, though every time I go in there to vacuum I am tempted to throw it in the closet.
But no! My point in this rambling is that for the first time in my life I get Beckett’s quote. It’s not only OK to fail – it’s expected. And if I go painting and sipping again, I’ll most likely fail again, but that will be OK, as long as I ‘fail better.’ I may not be aging gracefully but I am at least learning that we should not do anything based on expected results. Cleaning house, writing, teaching, raising children - pretty much all of my activities fall in this category. I can’t worry about the results, but only rest in the knowledge that I will try, and I will fail. Maybe eventually I will fail better.
I am not an artist. Never had any pretensions of being able to draw or paint; putting science diagrams on the whiteboard was the limit of my artistic ability as a teacher. My children praise me every time I produce a piece of paper with colors on it, but that’s because they like the time we spend together – and, let’s face it – they still idolize me. I’m almost out of time there . . .but I’m always my own harshest critic so nothing they say could make me feel less adequate in the art department. Which sentiment made last Saturday’s escape to “Paint and Sip” quite an adventure.
The principle of this new type of outing is for a group of friends to come together and enjoy a glass of wine, some art instruction and all manner of art supplies in a painting frenzy. Most of our group tended to overlook the instruction and paint away furiously at colors and scenes of our own mad design. I fell into this mindset; after painting a lovely background I threw some dark brown spots in a corner that failed to come off with additional water or brushing. So I turned the canvas upside down and moved from a forest scene to a cliff / ocean design. I had the misfortune of sitting next to two good artists, and when people roamed around to look at other people’s paintings (shocking, I know, I was not prepared for that) they oohed and aahed over my neighbors’ and stopped speechless at mine. Some of the comments I got: “oh, that’s a boat!”, “is that actually land over there?”, “aren’t you having fun.”
I did enjoy the process and the companionship but was frustrated by my lack of results. How hard could it be to paint a cliff and an ocean? Pretty darn hard, as it turns out. Fortunately, my forgiving family greeted my painting at the door with appreciative whistles and outbursts like “How did you DO that?” which I chose to interpret as positive feedback. My boys even offered to have it hang in their room, which was sweet, though every time I go in there to vacuum I am tempted to throw it in the closet.
But no! My point in this rambling is that for the first time in my life I get Beckett’s quote. It’s not only OK to fail – it’s expected. And if I go painting and sipping again, I’ll most likely fail again, but that will be OK, as long as I ‘fail better.’ I may not be aging gracefully but I am at least learning that we should not do anything based on expected results. Cleaning house, writing, teaching, raising children - pretty much all of my activities fall in this category. I can’t worry about the results, but only rest in the knowledge that I will try, and I will fail. Maybe eventually I will fail better.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Unintended Consequences
The outdoor temperature was – 17 degrees this morning. Even with all the windows shuttered, curtains drawn and doors locked tight, cool drafts feathered in from under the stove and slid cold fingers forth from sliding glass doors. I was so grateful to be in a warm house with functioning pipes that I did not even mind the drafts. In fact, the frigid air reminded me of a story I heard at lunch several weeks ago, and reminded me to welcome a bit of outside air.
Back in the 1960’s builders were working on building airtight homes for the first time. They planned to eliminate the leaks and reduce heating costs – admirable goals. But they were well into planning and even building the first few models before some reputable builders noticed a problem – if there was no air coming into the house, the furnace would have nothing to burn. Fires need to burn oxygen, and in older homes this oxygen came directly from leaky windows, doors and faulty joists. When homes were sealed, builders needed to devise a new method of bringing oxygen to the furnace – via air piped directly from the outside. They also needed to return the exhaust specifically to the outside. Without these precautions, people could actually die from inhalation of fumes or, actually, from suffocation. My lunch companion thought he could remember that several people actually did die from these circumstances, but I can’t find these stories to verify them. Anyway, I’m grateful for my modern furnace and for my leaks.
Another - more humorous - unintended consequence has brightened up the last two days of staying home with the children. (School was closed for “extreme cold” if you can believe it. I am sure that when we were in school it was only cancelled for flash floods, hurricanes or multiple feet of snow.) We’ve been home together, talking, yelling, crying and singing for the past two days. Turns out my four-year-old has quite a song repertoire. He learned to sing only in the past year, and due to the lateness of this development his collection is peppered with dance music from his siblings, old favorites of his parents, and the soundtracks to various cartoons. When he strings his favorite phrases together it goes something like this:
“Row, row, row your boat . . .and take me down to the Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls are pretty! Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way . . .and tonight’s gonna be a good night, tonight’s gonna be a good, good night . . . when you spin my head right round, right round and you go downtown.”
I’m so proud, and happy to be entertained by unintended consequences rather than snuffed out by them.
Back in the 1960’s builders were working on building airtight homes for the first time. They planned to eliminate the leaks and reduce heating costs – admirable goals. But they were well into planning and even building the first few models before some reputable builders noticed a problem – if there was no air coming into the house, the furnace would have nothing to burn. Fires need to burn oxygen, and in older homes this oxygen came directly from leaky windows, doors and faulty joists. When homes were sealed, builders needed to devise a new method of bringing oxygen to the furnace – via air piped directly from the outside. They also needed to return the exhaust specifically to the outside. Without these precautions, people could actually die from inhalation of fumes or, actually, from suffocation. My lunch companion thought he could remember that several people actually did die from these circumstances, but I can’t find these stories to verify them. Anyway, I’m grateful for my modern furnace and for my leaks.
Another - more humorous - unintended consequence has brightened up the last two days of staying home with the children. (School was closed for “extreme cold” if you can believe it. I am sure that when we were in school it was only cancelled for flash floods, hurricanes or multiple feet of snow.) We’ve been home together, talking, yelling, crying and singing for the past two days. Turns out my four-year-old has quite a song repertoire. He learned to sing only in the past year, and due to the lateness of this development his collection is peppered with dance music from his siblings, old favorites of his parents, and the soundtracks to various cartoons. When he strings his favorite phrases together it goes something like this:
“Row, row, row your boat . . .and take me down to the Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls are pretty! Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way . . .and tonight’s gonna be a good night, tonight’s gonna be a good, good night . . . when you spin my head right round, right round and you go downtown.”
I’m so proud, and happy to be entertained by unintended consequences rather than snuffed out by them.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Unexplored Territory
“Fear grows out of the things we think; it lives in our minds. Compassion grows out of the things we are, and lives in our hearts.” – Barbara Garrison
I’ve been thinking a lot about fears and happiness in the past few days. I read Mary Karr’s excellent memoir Lit, which discusses her journey through alcoholism and depression into happiness (http://www.amazon.com/Lit-Memoir-Mary-Karr/dp/0060596988). Then Dr. Richard Friedman’s article in the New York Times spoke to me with this title: “Looking Within for Happiness? It May Not Be There” (http://www.denverpost.com/search/ci_17170656#ixzz1Bz9s4VaA) The authors share a theme: get out of your own head and pay attention to how you feel. Easier said than done, of course, especially when your mental hideout is well-furnished and extremely comfortable.
My mental residence is cozy and well-worn. There are skid marks on the floor from frantic thought processing or rapid turnarounds, and two cushy armchairs labeled “what next?” and “what if?” sit right in front of the screen where I replay events of yesterday or screen possible tomorrows. The air is a bit stale as the windows have jammed and not a lot of fresh breezes get inside, but it is warm up there. Asking me to move out of my head is like asking me to go abroad for a year in a dangerous place. Taking up residence with my feelings and emotions is like trekking off to Siberia without an overcoat – or Death Valley without a shade umbrella.
I can’t get away from the signposts that keep littering up my literature, however. They all more or less point to the same three objectives:
1. Give up the illusion of control. Acknowledge a higher presence and spend time listening to it.
2. Practice gratitude often and at length.
3. When you hear direction from the higher presence or your own inner voice, act on it.
These practices look different for different people though most also add the element of community support to their list. As I re-read the list, I definitely agree with the practice of gratitude; as soon as I spend any time focusing on my blessings I really do feel much better and the emotion seems to spring from my insides – largely unexplored territory but fortunately still functioning. My children have broken me from my illusion of control, but I continue to plan, list, calendar and organize as if my powers are intact. Meditation and quiet remain lofty goals that I practice only once a week if I am lucky, but I am less likely to pooh-pooh them than I used to be, especially since a friend told me that napping during meditation was perfectly legitimate.
So I’ll sign off writing today, as it’s time to turn off my brain and sit with my emotions. I don’t know what I’ll find in this new territory but I’m feeling brave today. Wish me luck.
I’ve been thinking a lot about fears and happiness in the past few days. I read Mary Karr’s excellent memoir Lit, which discusses her journey through alcoholism and depression into happiness (http://www.amazon.com/Lit-Memoir-Mary-Karr/dp/0060596988). Then Dr. Richard Friedman’s article in the New York Times spoke to me with this title: “Looking Within for Happiness? It May Not Be There” (http://www.denverpost.com/search/ci_17170656#ixzz1Bz9s4VaA) The authors share a theme: get out of your own head and pay attention to how you feel. Easier said than done, of course, especially when your mental hideout is well-furnished and extremely comfortable.
My mental residence is cozy and well-worn. There are skid marks on the floor from frantic thought processing or rapid turnarounds, and two cushy armchairs labeled “what next?” and “what if?” sit right in front of the screen where I replay events of yesterday or screen possible tomorrows. The air is a bit stale as the windows have jammed and not a lot of fresh breezes get inside, but it is warm up there. Asking me to move out of my head is like asking me to go abroad for a year in a dangerous place. Taking up residence with my feelings and emotions is like trekking off to Siberia without an overcoat – or Death Valley without a shade umbrella.
I can’t get away from the signposts that keep littering up my literature, however. They all more or less point to the same three objectives:
1. Give up the illusion of control. Acknowledge a higher presence and spend time listening to it.
2. Practice gratitude often and at length.
3. When you hear direction from the higher presence or your own inner voice, act on it.
These practices look different for different people though most also add the element of community support to their list. As I re-read the list, I definitely agree with the practice of gratitude; as soon as I spend any time focusing on my blessings I really do feel much better and the emotion seems to spring from my insides – largely unexplored territory but fortunately still functioning. My children have broken me from my illusion of control, but I continue to plan, list, calendar and organize as if my powers are intact. Meditation and quiet remain lofty goals that I practice only once a week if I am lucky, but I am less likely to pooh-pooh them than I used to be, especially since a friend told me that napping during meditation was perfectly legitimate.
So I’ll sign off writing today, as it’s time to turn off my brain and sit with my emotions. I don’t know what I’ll find in this new territory but I’m feeling brave today. Wish me luck.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Weighing in on the Tiger Mother
"I have the opposite problem with Chua. I believe she’s coddling her children. She’s protecting them from the most intellectually demanding activities because she doesn’t understand what’s cognitively difficult and what isn’t." - David Brooks, NY Times Opinion January 17, 2011 (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/18/opinion/18brooks.html)
David Brooks' editorial was a concerto to my ears after the din of discordant arguments surrounding Amy Chua's new book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and titillating excerpt of the same in the Wall Street Journal.. The topic is a lightning rod for parental controversy: are we too easy on our children or is she too tough? Should we demand excellence from our children, force them to practice and do homework, and prioritize achievements over social activities like sleepovers and playdates? The article, and Chua's stories about her demands on her children (and their resultant successes) have fanned the ever-hot flames of parenting guilt or superiority.
Mr. Brooks argues that if Chua wants her children to succeed at the most difficult and intricate challenges in life she would be emphasizing exactly those activities that she depreciates in her household. For example: "Practicing a piece of music for four hours requires focused attention, but it is nowhere near as cognitively demanding as a sleepover with 14-year-old girls. Managing status rivalries, negotiating group dynamics, understanding social norms, navigating the distinction between self and group — these and other social tests impose cognitive demands that blow away any intense tutoring session or a class at Yale." I have to agree. From my perspective it is much easier to plug away in solitude at a difficult assignment than it is to solve problems as a group, or negotiate difficult social status ladders. For children, especially, learning how to interact is critical for future success - and I would argue - happiness. The unstructured segments of the school day, otherwise known as lunch and recess, can be far more treacherous than the calm sanctums of math class or reading.
If human happiness is based on relationships with others and not one-off (or even repeated) achievements, then Chua is putting the em-phas-is on the wrong syl - lab -le. I am sure it is wonderful to play the piano at Carnegie Hall and that the achievement and the memories of that experience will create a warm glow in both child and parents for a long time to come. In my experience, though, one triumph usually leads to expectations, even the requirement, of others. How does one improve upon a musical solo at Carnegie Hall? If connections with other people, humility and gratitude are keys to happiness, it seems to me that achieving individual attention on such a prestigious stage might actually become an obstacle later in life. Not necessarily a problem I grant you, but neither is it a slam dunk for success.
I have never performed a musical solo on any big stage, but I have attended an Ivy League school, and attained a little athletic success at a young age. These achievements (performed for my internal tiger and not for my parents), did not provide me with the tools I needed to succeed in my relationships or to look for my vocation in life (although I learned a lot about what I did not want in my life after living through those experiences). While reading about Chua and her daughters I was most impressed with her youngest daughter, who pushes for what she wants to do (tennis) and emphasizes playdates and sleepovers as favored activities. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders and I eagerly await the release of her book.
David Brooks' editorial was a concerto to my ears after the din of discordant arguments surrounding Amy Chua's new book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and titillating excerpt of the same in the Wall Street Journal.. The topic is a lightning rod for parental controversy: are we too easy on our children or is she too tough? Should we demand excellence from our children, force them to practice and do homework, and prioritize achievements over social activities like sleepovers and playdates? The article, and Chua's stories about her demands on her children (and their resultant successes) have fanned the ever-hot flames of parenting guilt or superiority.
Mr. Brooks argues that if Chua wants her children to succeed at the most difficult and intricate challenges in life she would be emphasizing exactly those activities that she depreciates in her household. For example: "Practicing a piece of music for four hours requires focused attention, but it is nowhere near as cognitively demanding as a sleepover with 14-year-old girls. Managing status rivalries, negotiating group dynamics, understanding social norms, navigating the distinction between self and group — these and other social tests impose cognitive demands that blow away any intense tutoring session or a class at Yale." I have to agree. From my perspective it is much easier to plug away in solitude at a difficult assignment than it is to solve problems as a group, or negotiate difficult social status ladders. For children, especially, learning how to interact is critical for future success - and I would argue - happiness. The unstructured segments of the school day, otherwise known as lunch and recess, can be far more treacherous than the calm sanctums of math class or reading.
If human happiness is based on relationships with others and not one-off (or even repeated) achievements, then Chua is putting the em-phas-is on the wrong syl - lab -le. I am sure it is wonderful to play the piano at Carnegie Hall and that the achievement and the memories of that experience will create a warm glow in both child and parents for a long time to come. In my experience, though, one triumph usually leads to expectations, even the requirement, of others. How does one improve upon a musical solo at Carnegie Hall? If connections with other people, humility and gratitude are keys to happiness, it seems to me that achieving individual attention on such a prestigious stage might actually become an obstacle later in life. Not necessarily a problem I grant you, but neither is it a slam dunk for success.
I have never performed a musical solo on any big stage, but I have attended an Ivy League school, and attained a little athletic success at a young age. These achievements (performed for my internal tiger and not for my parents), did not provide me with the tools I needed to succeed in my relationships or to look for my vocation in life (although I learned a lot about what I did not want in my life after living through those experiences). While reading about Chua and her daughters I was most impressed with her youngest daughter, who pushes for what she wants to do (tennis) and emphasizes playdates and sleepovers as favored activities. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders and I eagerly await the release of her book.
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