Inspirational Non-inspiration

I'm so damn tired of inspiring stories.

It seems like everywhere I turn, there's another one - on the news, in the theaters, on the shelves at bookstores, in the house 2 streets over with the kid who overcame drug problems to be the next rhodes scholar... Every time, there's a formula: introduction, hardship, struggles to overcome said hardship, various setbacks, and then, somehow, in the end, there's a juicy, satisfying, inspiring ending in which Character overcomes flaws and obstacles to be a better person and change the world. When was the last time Hollywood produced a movie where the bad guy got away - and there wasn't a sequel? Or when beautiful girl number 592 didn't find her soul mate and fall in love? Or when the ending left you hanging - without any semblance of recovery, resolution, happiness, or hope?

I get the entertainment value in books and movies, that if you walked out of the theater feeling the same as when you walked in, the movie hasn't done it's job. That people need an ESCAPE from what's eating them, from their stresses and their cranky spouses and their miserable job and the pestering kids and the world that won't shut up, the media that tells you you're not good enough (that you'll never be good enough) and the sorrow you feel at the prospect of your parents passing, the misery you feel at putting them in assisted living and the guilt you feel for not visiting because it's too hard and the debt that's threatening your lifestyle and the nosy neighbor who won't leave your business alone and the ugly boss who's dumb as a brick and the pressure to get just the right gift for the holidays.... It's a lot to deal with. And fun, entertaining, laugh out loud or make you grip the edge of your seat kind of movies or books are a good distraction. Sometimes, an inspirational story is just what somebody needs to pull themselves up and say, "I can do it too. I'm going to go forth and pursue whatever it is that makes me happy" or "I'm going to fight this thing til the end, because I'm stronger than that." And don't get me wrong, I fall into that category too. I watch The Notebook when I'm feeling a bit down. I eat ice cream when I feel like I've earned it, even if I really haven't. I read The Alchemist when I need a little pick-me-up. I get it.

But what about me? What about what I'm going through right now? I don't have an ending written yet, I don't have a story or a happy ending... I don't know if my life is going to be a thriller or a drama or a comedy or a story that shouldn't ever be made into a movie. What about the girl who never finds her soul mate - the one who dies alone? What about the boy who never gets over the insecurities he's had since he was little, maybe since he was born? What about the young man who never gets out of the rut of poverty, or the tragically depressed husband who doesn't tell anyone and one day the wife comes home to find he's put a gun to his head and she never gets over it? What about the way I'm feeling right now??? I'm not sure of my ending, I'm not even sure it's going to be a happy one. I want a story to be like that- to end like that. To tell me that it's okay to feel miserable even if the end doesn't exist yet, I want a story that doesn't distract me from the hurt but rather lets me dig deeper into exactly what I'm going through. Something that doesn't need to give reason or rhyme to whatever it is that's hurting me, that doesn't need a happy ending to justify it but rather just lets me be with this part of myself, to get to know it better and to understand it and to just cry. To hurt for however long I need to hurt, without creating the ending with blue skies and tears of joy and a gentle kiss from my long-lost lover and and inspiring, overcoming story. I need a story that's going to hold me like my best friend does when I need to cry - just holds me until I'm done, and then keeps holding me. Just let's me be whatever it is that I need to be at that moment. Because the distractions, the facade that I've worked so hard for... it only makes things harder.

I think that sometimes reasons don't make things any easier, they just give it reason. And I do honestly believe that there's a reason for everything, that this is what NEEDS to happen right now, crappy as it might be. I know that I can't experience joy without having experienced sorrow. That I can't truly forgive until I know what it's like to be truly angry. And so this, this is allowing me to live, fully and wholly and without fear or apathy. But that doesn't diminish what I'm feeling. And so yes, there is a reason. But no, it's not any easier.

Afterwards, when I'm ready to tackle whatever problems this is, that's when the inspirational pep talks come in, when distraction is good because I'm exhausted from making progress. How can progress be made if the problem isn't even being confronted? But right now, the inspirational crap, well it just makes it worse.

Observations from a Pool Deck: Part 2

There are other, less comical and more serious observations that I've made, too.

Like the Dad who absolutely scared the shit out of me the other day. I've never honestly been that fearful of someone before. He was clean shaven. Wore nice clothes. Had no tattoos, no piercings. He wasn't even physically that intimidating (although not out of shape, either). But when I saw him playing with his children and step children.... I saw the makings of an abusive home. Perhaps I am being judgmental. But I just got this feeling... I've never felt that way before, about anyone.

The only other family who was in the pool was a dad, who had enough tattoos to be an art gallery, at least 3 piercings, wore his ratty jeans and old basketball shoes to the pool, cursed like a sailor, and was big enough to be a linebacker. But he had a gentle demeanor to him. I saw him playing with his kids in an entirely different manner, under an entirely different pretext. It was clear to me that while on the outside he may have been a rough, "bad boy", he genuinely loved his kids. He played what they wanted to play, watched them carefully, disciplined them gently, and was there to simply be a part of his kids lives, to enjoy their company.

The first dad, however, disciplined his children by holding them underwater for just a moment less than too long. Ignoring his 1-year-old who could barely walk, who I pulled out of the water at least 3 times when he found that he couldn't walk as the water got deeper. His wife (girlfriend? I'm pretty sure it was his wife, though I didn't look for rings) stayed quite clear of him, watching not with admiration or love or pride or infatuation or even lust, but with fear and anger and a general sense that she was terrified of him in the most savage and rawly humane way possible. And the icy glare he gave me when I gently reminded his kids that they were actually not allowed to stand on the peninsula we've got, and asked them to get off.... Made me shiver. Literally. Nobody's ever had that power over me. I had a minuscule glimpse into what it must be like to live under a terror regime - either by the government, an abusive relationship, or anything else that genuinely instills that kind of intense fear in people.

******

Or, the second terrifyingly real experience I had involves the dad, who, at first glance was just one of those slightly weird men with a little extra hair on his back with a little bit of a beer belly, and balding, greying hair.... who for some reason felt the need to wear one of those speedoes that should be outlawed unless your name is Michael Phelps or Jason Lezak.... At first I just thought he was a little odd. But then things got interesting. (Background: We've got a "shore" area - part of the pool that starts at 0" depth and gradually goes to 2' deep. In the shallowest part, we've got a set of 6 fountains that spew water for kids to play in.) The dad spent the better portion of fifteen minutes standing directly over the tallest fountain discreetly fondling himself. And by discreetly I mean the way one would go about said activity when they consciously know they are in public, and really shouldn't be touching themselves, but they do it anyways.... Not really particularly discreet, as far as subtlety goes.

As if that weren't disturbing enough, the young boy he was with (his son, who couldn't have ben older than 5 or 6), walked up to his dad and, through the Speedo, sucked his dad's dick. No, I am not hallucinating, nor exaggerating. The father, as if in a moment of delusion and forgetfulness about where he was and who might be watching, patted the young child on the head and said "good boy".

What does it mean for me to watch that? And then proceed to take no action? I am not a mandatory reporter, and so am under no additional legal obligation to reveal anything I may know about potentially dangerous situations. And even if I were, I would have no means of passively or secretly identifying the man.

I'm not under any delusion that sexual abuse does not exist, even here in perfect trophy-wife/soccer-mom white suburbia; I've known people who have been abused, both sexually and otherwise. But always, always it was a private act. While I'm sure the young boy did not know or understand that such actions are not acceptable, in public or otherwise, the father (one would think) would have either the sensitivity or the decency to stop the young boy before things went so far in public.

The image has haunted me since it happened - knowing that I did nothing. Knowing that I let the situation go, ignored it, simply pretended that it had not happened.... But it did! It happened, right in front of me!!! And I neglected it.... which, in a sense makes me just as guilty as the father.... But what should I have done? The thought has been tormenting me, haunting my heart - what WOULD have been the best course of action?! How does one react appropriately in that situation???? I cannot, no matter how many times I replay the situation in my head, come up with a good solution, an answer or action that would be justifiable, that would be good for the boy, that would be appropriate.... It is a weight that has borne down upon my soul since it happened a few weeks ago, and I cannot shake the feeling, that regardless of what the best course of action would have been, that nothing was NOT the right one. I suppose this is something I will have to live with, because there is no longer any (conceivable) way to remedy the situation. But I doubt I will ever let anything like that slip past me again.... I cannot justify any reason why I should not have taken action - that boy is no less valuable than me or anyone else... What can one even begin to say to such a situation - I was rendered speechless.

I don't know what to do - my soul aches for the young boy I let go. That I looked away from. And my soul will always ache for him... My prayers will always include him - that he might forgive me. And that I might be granted the strength to FIND the right course of action in the future.

Observations from a Pool Deck: Thoughts on People, Abuse, Comedy, and Hope

Being a recently moved-out and pseudo-independent functioning member of society, I've spent a significant (and by that I mean about 50 hours this past week) amount of time on the deck of a local pool, observing people. And some of the things I've observed are rather interesting.

For some reason, people seem to think that if they don't know the people surrounding them that they are anonymous, that nobody observes them, and that they can do whatever they want, regardless of the fact that they are in public. As long as it's a strange public, it doesn't matter. And that applies to the pool, too. Being a lifeguard, I get the wonderful opportunity to eavesdrop and observe people from a very close range without being suspicious, or intrusive -- for some reason, we lifeguards seem to be invisible at the pool until one of two things happens; a) we blow our whistles, or b) you become a lifeguard yourself. But as long as I refrain from blowing my whistle or yelling (which, on slow days, is quite easy), I am allowed to watch and listen to all the drama that unfolds right here in my very own backyard.

Observation 1: There are many different skill levels that come to the pool to swim, particularly before work. In order to entertain myself during those long, dragging mornings and excessively long shifts, I'e begun to classify swimmers into different categories. Being a highly trained swimmer myself (ok, maybe not, but I've been doing it long enough) I feel that I can adequately classify swimmers as I see fit. That's the privilege that comes with grueling practices and early mornings in freezing water.

Angry Swimmers: These are the people who think that the faster and harder they put their hands into the water, the faster they are going to go. It doesn't matter what sort of technique you have, as long as you get your hand in the water as fast as humanly possible, you might as well be Michael Phelps.

Gorilla Swimmers: These are some of the most painful and awkward to watch.... These people quite literally look like gorillas when they swim - their arms don't really ever change position, and they ineptly paddle themselves through the water in a way that would make you think they are either a hairless monkey or their hands reek of something so putrid they can't stand to have it near their face... Something that doesn't smell like bananas.

Fish Swimmers: No, these are not swimmers that actually look natural in the water. Rather, they are the people who somehow manage to torque their body in such a way every time they take a stroke that rather than swimming straight up and down the lane, they manage to weave back and forth between the lane lines, in a way that looks, well, something like a fish. Not a particularly graceful fish, either....

Pinwheel/Scythe Swimmers: These are the people who simply hold their arms at one angle (either completely straight - pinwheel - or at a 90-degree angle - scythe - and simply move their arms that way. The scythe swimmers end up swinging their arms across their entire body underwater, like their trying to harvest wheat with their hands...). It looks so incredibly painful and yet at the same time so incredibly ridiculous....

I-Don't-Like-Getting-My-Face-Wet Swimmers: These are the people who refuse to put their faces in the water, and the people who tense up when their face gets wet, and make faces that look so absurd it occasionally makes me laugh out loud (which I guess makes me crazy....)

Some of these categories overlap; for example, a swimmer could be both a gorilla swimmer and an angry swimmer

Observation 2: High school really doesn't ever end. Boys are ALWAYS the topic of conversation at the pool amongst girls - even 45-year-old girls. It's absurd.

Lots of women with small children seem to have friends going through divorce. Either that or the pool is the congregating place for people who fall into that category. You have no idea how many women come the pool to either a) vent about their men, or b) gossip about somebody else's man - and generally not in a favorable light, either. Why is it that water seems to attract cocky men seeking women, and women seeking to get away from their men?

Observation 3: It's all about the parents. (Generally speaking). There are so many parents who bring their children to the pool to sit at a table on the other side of the deck and play around on their fancy iPhones. Even on busy days, moms bring their small (and by small I mean can barely walk) kids to the pool, and simply drop them in the water and walk away.... As lifeguards (invisible as we may be, they know we exist), and we are expected not just to keep kids safe but to babysit. THere are kids I see every day who are barely talking without parents even on deck....

So kids, when your parents take you to the pool -- it's not REALLY about you. It's about them.

Observation 4: Lifeguards are ALWAYS checking out the patrons. Ok, so not ALL lifeguards, but most. Not occasionally - always. Doesn't matter that the moms are 15 years older with 3 children and a big fat ring on their fingers and the guys checking them out have 5 piercings and not even a high school diploma yet. And, for some strange reason, when you're at the pool, apparently it's ok for you to tell your co-workers about ALL the hot men/women in the pool at that time, and continue to fantasize about them.... Great.

All of these observations lead to one VERY interesting work environment. Better than boring, I guess.

Perfect Imperfections

Before I was born, God scattered all the pieces of my heart to the wind, to the four corners of the earth. I was born already broken...

I must travel because that's where my heart is - out there, in the world with the people, floating with the wind across mountains and plains and deserts... a part of me is missing when I am here. And so, if I am to serve, if I am to give fully of myself, then I must travel. For it is only when I have found and gathered all the pieces to my heart that I can truly be whole, and that I can truly give of myself.

*** Somewhere, someday, I shall find my soul. And when I do, all the world shall be at peace.***

Musings Regarding Clouds and the Properties of Thoughts

This is an excerpt from something I wrote a few weeks ago, 35,000 feet in the air on an airplane.   

There is a strange conundrum involved with openmindedness - if your mind is too open, every thing, every value, every philosophical concept, every image and memory, all your reasons and your emotions and your logic will simply lift up and drift away (for thoughts are light, you see - lighter than air - they're what keep you from sinking to the depths of the earth). Suddenly, with your mind open, you'll have nothing left, your head will be an empty pool, left to dry in the desert sun. You'll be a hollow, echoing shell. 

So what, you ask, is the solution? Keep some things locked away in the closet of your soul. Figure out what it is that you must believe in, what your rules are, your non-negotiables, establish yourself to yourself, and then lock them away where no one can touch them or disturb them. Take them out - it's important to not let them collect dust - use them, exercise them, walk them or drive them or throw balls to them and watch them play fetch, but always always hold on to them, and always put them back. 

And when someone challenges you, when somebody, somehow, damages or disables one of those prized possessions, or when you suddenly discover that the sky is actually green rather than blue, when you find (or when someone abruptly points it out to you) that you were wrong, that there's an error or a fallacy, exchange the thought. Take the old one out, throw it away let it float in your brain with a question mark, re-gift it to someone else, or drop it off on the street corner. But never ever let that closet find itself empty. Never put everything out with question marks all at once. For if you don't have anything locked away, if you don't have anything you don't unquestionably believe in (even if you might be wrong), you can't think. And if you can't think, you can't exist. And once you lose your existence, how do you regain it?

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Clouds are such unique and invigorating forces of nature - they appear soft, cushion-y, wispy things of fantasy, of dreams, of heaven and imagination. They appear as distant rescuers, promises of greener, more fruitful tomorrows. They appear as funny shapes, as shade on warm days, as gloom, as anger, as relief. They can be ominous, looming things, promises of danger and fear and destruction. They begin as invisible droplets, building and moving and building and moving offering everything and nothing to those below. Growing exactly where God intended into grand and enormous, marvelous beings with a depth and a width and a purpose and a personality. And then, exactly at God's design, they drop when and where and exactly how much they're supposed to. The clouds cry their lamentations to the heavens and the earth and Hades, and mourn the passing of time, the loss of a loved one, the turbulence movement brings. And then they disappear, lingering no longer than necessary, no longer than they are supposed to, and move on. The shadows linger a moment longer, and then those too, are gone. The only memory of the cloud is that the grass smiles and stands a bit straighter, dressed in it's best, most colorful outfit. 

Perhaps we should be more like clouds

New Beginnings, New Endings

Oops.  

It recently occurred to me that I had not posted on my blog in quite some time.  Not that I've stopped writing, but you see I've simply not had time to share my thoughts with anyone other than the select few people I show my journal to (which at this point, consists of what I think is a grand total of 3 people).  It wasn't a conscious thing, this stopping of sharing my writing.  It wasn't even really a decision at all, but just that I got so distracted, and so busy with the last few months of school before graduation that I simply forgot  Every time I remembered it was late at night, in the middle of a class, or in the shower - by the time I'd found myself a computer I'd forgotten what it was that I wanted to do on the computer.   And, slowly, it just drifted from my memory, and I'd forgotten even that it was something that I needed to remember. 

I've spent the last few hours of today "re-vamping" the blog, to focus it less on politics and society, and expanding the topics to include anything - religion, the young girl I met at Starbucks today, traveling, Why the price of gold is so high... anything of the sort.   My goal is to write at least once a day - short, long, whatever the mood of the day compels me to do.  

Hopefully, in the next week or so (possibly longer, depending on how distracted I get again)  I will continue to post excerpts from all my journaling over the past few months (for there has indeed been a lot of it), and then, continue on with writing new things.

As I begin this new chapter in my life, it's nice to have a "new" place to post my writings and thoughts.  Just like when I begin a new journal - all the pages fresh and crisp and clean and untarnished, it's a place that carries no baggage.   Or so I think.  But all the old posts are there, the me that's here today isn't really much different from the me that was here yesterday.  Just like people wait until the New Year to make resolutions about being healthier or a better person or more involved in their family life, or whatever it is that bothers them about themselves - people wait for a convenient place and "new" time to begin something new.  To begin something without any of the inconveniences of the past, to begin at a time that is seemingly of a clear beginning or end.  

But really, life isn't about black and white beginnings and endings, it's about dropping unwanted baggage piece by piece, slowly, keeping the things you want, and picking up new baggage.  Just as it's impossible to travel without any baggage at all, so it is impossible to walk the trail from birth to death without any baggage.  There's a quote I found that I think describes this in a much more eloquent way:

***Your journey has molded you for the greater good, and it was exactly what it needed to be.  Don't think that you've lost time.  It took each and every situation you have encountered to bring you to the now.  And now is right on time. ***

It takes all that baggage to make you the wonderful person you are now; every step you've taken, be it forward, backwards, sideways, a good step or a bad step, it's taken all of that to mold you into the person you are, and it's taking the person you are now to mold you into the person you are going to become.  Time is a constantly changing continuum, constantly moving, and there is no ending or beginning, but rather the constant undulating rhythm of life that carries us.

And so I hope to begin writing again, to follow this current of life and to have a grey continuation of the creation of myself.  

Captain Jack Sparrow on the basic philosphies of the United States Government

Remember that post I made about 60 Minutes? Interestingly enough, the story continues...

Recently, (and by recently I mean within the last 6 months), the EPA and ICE teamed up to raid the recycling company here in Englewood. The government apparently either took notice of the 60 Minutes lead or had their own, and eventually found grounds for raiding his storehouse as "part of an ongoing investigation," according to an EPA spokeswoman. He promised to have the electronics recycled safely in the United States. But 1 of 8 tracked boxes ended up in Hong Kong - how many more may have been dumped there unrecorded? Because the investigation is ongoing, there isn't much information being released. But something is happening.

This leaves me sitting with a few emotions, one of which is confusion. I met the guy who owns Executive Recycling (the owner of the company in question) - he seemed nice enough. Like the kind of guy who is married to a beautiful woman and buys his little s the big lollipops at the store just because he loves them. Like the kind of guy who's honest in his business and his personal life, somebody who enjoys movie nights at home with his family as much as he enjoys watching football on his boy's night out. He spent the day at the site helping us load and unload, when he took a break he brought back water for everyone, he offered to help pay for the pizza we ordered for lunch. He was helpful, kind, and seemed like a good guy - not the kind of guy to go dumping toxic waste materials in Hong Kong intentionally.

But it's things like this that make me wonder - was it an honest mistake? A malicious and intentional business scheme to get ahead, with complete disregard for anyone else? By whom? Or is the government looking in the wrong place? In a large and complex chain such as this, who is to be held accountable, and to what defree? And, is that one mistake (malicious in intent or not) enough to condemn a man to a federal court? Enough to ruin his buisiness, tarnish his reputation, make his family wonder about his integrity and honesty?

In recently watching the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, a line that I'd never paid much attention to stuck out... It goes as follows:

(After Jack has rescued Elizabeth and been discovered as a pirate, and Norrington orders his arrest)

Norrington: One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness.

Jack : Though it seems enough to condemn him.

Why is it that the government seems to operate on the fundamental theory that humans are bad and are going to make mistakes? It seems that we have made so many provisions for the "bad" people, the ones who or abuse, who are dishonest and filthy, who degrade society either by their presence or their actions. Granted, there are people who are "bad" - pathological killers or repeat child abusers. People like the Nixon, who knowingly lied to get his way, people like Madoff who intentionally and knowingly lied to make more money than any one person could ever need. But it seems that much of our court system is overflowing with people who cannot be classified as "bad". It seems unfair that one poor choice, one poor association, even, is enough to condemn a man to a lifetime of unfair consequences. The government does not take into account all the wonderful things this man may have done over the course of his lifetime - perhaps bringing his neighbor food after he had knee surgery, putting his extra change in a donation bucket, smiling at the homeless man across the street and offering him the leftovers from the restaruant. Perhaps this man is a good man, a kind and gentle man, who simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. We expect people to do the hard thing, the good thing, without reward or notice. But when they take one misstep - just one - everything they know, everything they've worked for seems to fall apart. Is that really how we want our society to work - that for one wrong deed, we can conclude that the person is bad and they deserve to be punished?

There's an interesting quote I read in "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten", which reads as follows:

You will continue to read stories of crookedness and corruption - of policemen who lie and steal, doctors who reap where they do not sew, politicians on the take. Don't be misled. They are news because they are the exceptions.

I'd much rather think that people can make honest mistakes. I'd like to think that, just as Jack Sparrow ultimately proves to be a "good" man, so too, do most people in this world. I'd like to offer people second chances. I'd like to take faith that people are, indeed good, and they simply go unnoticed. But often, society will not let me.

The Holidays

The holiday bring about a rare occurrence of events. Churches preach both about the dangers of becoming to secularly involved, and about the beauty of unrequited love and gifts, families find themselves in awkward situations that they can't get out of because of the way mom looks at you (no matter how old you are) when you say you can't join in for a family dinner, people find themselves in pinches to get just the right present for a price they can just barely afford, wrap it, ship it, and get it there just in time to set it under a tree until just the right day.

The beauty of this delightful season is the sight of your child's face as she opens the doll house she's been wanting desperately for the past 10 weeks, and watching your husband's nervous expression turn to one of relief and exuberance as he discovers that he really has bought you just the right thing, even though it only cost him $15, and it wasn't exactly what you asked for. There's a certain amount of joy found in revisiting old friends, getting masses of Christmas cards from people you haven't heard from since last year, in tasting mom's old cranberry relish that tastes the same way it did when you were 5, and spending time doing things you wouldn't normally - like having whipped cream fights in the kitchen at 3 in the morning as your cookies burn in the oven.

But there's also the incessant commercials that make you feel like you must get your wife a car for Christmas or you're not a good husband. There's the stress of shopping - no matter how much you love them, obligatory shopping freaks me out. I'd rather give them the present when I see it, just because I thought of them... instead, it looses some degree of meaning when everyone else is getting gifts too. Everyone's efforts to be politically correct overrides the feeling of the season, and creates a certain facade and code that people must abide by. Being around by my family to eat obligatory dinners with old family friends who I never see other than once a year, answering the same questions 12 times, and sitting awkwardly in a chair with nothing to say is draining.

So why? Why don't we keep up with old friends throughout the year? Why must we empty our pocketbooks buying presents for people because society frowns upon us if we don't? I'd rather just stick to the late night whipped cream fights and early morning cookie dough mask on my sister's face....