My memories of 9/11 revolve around fear, but not fear for myself. At the time of the attacks, we were living in Seattle and Jen worked in the Columbia Tower, the tallest building on the West Coast. We were getting ready for work and had the news on, where we heard about the Twin Towers. We headed to work, and I remember wishing Jen worked in any other location that day. She arrived at the building to find it was closed to everyone. She returned home and watched the broadcasts, while I attempted to go about my work as if nothing had happened.
I also remember, selfishly, worrying about a trip we had planned. The year 2001 marked a turning point for us. Jen had finished her bachelor's degree in 2000, and we were becoming more financially stable. The year before, we took our first real vacation as a couple. It was a trip to Tucson, our old stomping grounds, for a writers' conference and to visit my family. I didn't really attend the conference events, but we did catch up with family and revisit our favorite spots in Tucson.
In September 2001, we were scheduled to take our second couple's vacation, this time to San Francisco. Our flight was scheduled to leave Seattle the morning of September 15th, and we wondered if our trip would be canceled, due to the grounding of all commercial U.S. flights. We had already paid for our tickets, hotel and other expenses, and none of our travel plans could be canceled for a refund. Given how tight money still was for us, canceling that trip would have been a huge financial hit.
Fortunately, domestic flights resumed in time for our trip. And, somehow, we managed to get on our scheduled flight without mishap. The flight from Sea-Tac to San Francisco scheduled just before ours was canceled, because planes and crews still hadn't arrived in Seattle for all the scheduled flights. And, the flight immediately after ours was also canceled. But, our flight left without incident, although far fewer people were aboard than the airline expected.
People couldn't believe we traveled by plane only a few days after the attacks. But, when I think back on it, that trip to San Francisco was the best vacation we've ever taken. Perhaps we were more aware of our surroundings because of the attacks. Or, maybe we were simply relishing being alive, which imprinted the memories of the things we did and saw more deeply. Whatever the reason, we absorbed the atmosphere of San Francisco more thoroughly than we have any other place we've visited.
We traveled fearlessly around an unfamiliar city, walking through neighborhoods that were less-than-tourist-friendly as if we belonged there. We trekked the city's transit system, navigating it remarkably well for two people who hadn't used it before. We tried new foods, even though neither of us is usually an adventurous eater. On that trip, we experienced a new city in a spirit of discovery and joy that I've never encountered before or since. I think everyone wants to have that kind of experience when they travel, but most of us return from our vacations slightly let down, as if the trip wasn't the sensory extravaganza we had dreamt about.
Perhaps that is the true lesson I've learned from the horrors of 9/11. Each day, each moment is one to be savored, to be experienced as fully as I can. That's easier said than done, of course. But as we start a new, post-9/11 decade, I vow to consciously engage all of my senses so I can more fully experience the world around me. Each day, I will tell those I love how much they mean to me. If 9/11 has taught us nothing else, at least I've learned that tomorrow may not come.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Too Big to Fail But Too Small to Try
I’ve been doing some research into career coaching, with the thought of looking for a career coach to help me take my writing and editing business to the next level. One website I saw today left me feeling uncomfortable. The site had this question posted, “What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?”
Ever since reading that question, I’ve been uneasy. You see, I can’t answer it. Now, I think a lot of people I know would struggle to answer it, so I’m probably not alone in realizing I don’t have an answer, But, since I’m the introspective type, I’ve been trying to figure out why I can’t answer the question and why it makes me uncomfortable. And, I think I’ve identified two reasons for my disquiet.
First, I realized that I’m not sure what I’d attempt if I knew I’d succeed at it. That is, I haven’t allowed my dreams to get that big. The questions begs me to dream of something big and grand and exciting, and my imagination can’t break its boundaries and dream big enough to do the question justice. Since I consider myself a dreamer, I’m really disappointed to realize that I can’t think of some really big, exciting, “totally ludicrous” dream that’s a worthy answer to that question. I’ve somehow fettered my own imagination, and I never realized it until reading that question.
My second problem with that question involves fear. That question suggests that my life is limitless and full of potential, that I can accomplish anything if I want it enough. And, that says that the “prison bars” I see in my life are of my own making. That is, the things that keep me from the mundane, “realistic” successes I think I should have accomplished are barriers and obstacles that I created and imposed on myself.
In other words, that question pointed out two things. I haven’t allowed my imagination and my hopes to soar without limits. And, I haven’t attained the success I want because I haven’t allowed myself to be successful. Now that I’ve realized that, I have two new tasks for my life. First, I want to identify some dreams and aspirations that are worthy of the question. And, I want to break down the barriers and walls I’ve built that are holding me back from reaching those goals.
Ever since reading that question, I’ve been uneasy. You see, I can’t answer it. Now, I think a lot of people I know would struggle to answer it, so I’m probably not alone in realizing I don’t have an answer, But, since I’m the introspective type, I’ve been trying to figure out why I can’t answer the question and why it makes me uncomfortable. And, I think I’ve identified two reasons for my disquiet.
First, I realized that I’m not sure what I’d attempt if I knew I’d succeed at it. That is, I haven’t allowed my dreams to get that big. The questions begs me to dream of something big and grand and exciting, and my imagination can’t break its boundaries and dream big enough to do the question justice. Since I consider myself a dreamer, I’m really disappointed to realize that I can’t think of some really big, exciting, “totally ludicrous” dream that’s a worthy answer to that question. I’ve somehow fettered my own imagination, and I never realized it until reading that question.
My second problem with that question involves fear. That question suggests that my life is limitless and full of potential, that I can accomplish anything if I want it enough. And, that says that the “prison bars” I see in my life are of my own making. That is, the things that keep me from the mundane, “realistic” successes I think I should have accomplished are barriers and obstacles that I created and imposed on myself.
In other words, that question pointed out two things. I haven’t allowed my imagination and my hopes to soar without limits. And, I haven’t attained the success I want because I haven’t allowed myself to be successful. Now that I’ve realized that, I have two new tasks for my life. First, I want to identify some dreams and aspirations that are worthy of the question. And, I want to break down the barriers and walls I’ve built that are holding me back from reaching those goals.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
You Can't Go Home Again ... Or Can You?
My step-brother has been posting facebook updates about his pending trip to The Old Pueblo later this week. Some of his notes bring back fond memories, touched with a hint of melancholy and nostalgia. You see, I’m one of those people who believes you can’t go home again.
That sentiment may seem odd, since a great deal of my fictional writings have revolved around the Sonoran desert. My mystery novel draft is set in Tucson. The romance I’m currently penning is set in pioneer Tucson. And, the Sonoran desert played a prominent role in two of the writing exercises for my fiction class this term. But, the Sonoran desert is no longer my home. And, I don’t think it ever could be again.
Each time I’ve revisited Tucson, I always expect the impossible. I assume it will look, smell and feel exactly as it did when I left. In my mind, I “know” what Tucson should be, and it’s frozen in my mind: a “perfect Tucson” or “perfect desert” filled with all of the things I loved and all of my favorite places, while lacking those things I disliked.
But, the actual city and surrounding area never look the same. Some things do but enough has changed to cause a strange kind of vertigo of memory. Revisiting Tucson and the desert causes a clash of memories, as the new changes garishly, violently, forcefully intrude and corrupt my memories, leaving me with feelings of loss, uncertainty and a rage I can't fully explain or express.
Another problem with returning home is the self I bring with me. That is, the person who grew up near Tucson was a different person than I am now. When I return to the desert, one of two things happen. Either I expect to find the person I left behind all those years ago, to recapture the best days of my youth. But, that doesn’t happen.
Or, I subconsciously expect to bring my "new self" with me to the desert. I expect the “me” who is older, wiser, more mature and better able to appreciate what my old home offered to travel with me. Convinced I’ve left the young me behind, I assume all my reactions to Tucson will be filtered through my new perceptions, values and interests. But, the remnants of my childhood home jar my new self and make the visit one fraught with emotion and frustration.
Revisiting a former hometown is a great deal like returning to the family home for the holidays. As you approach the door, you’re an an adult. You probably have some measure of success in your life, perhaps a significant other, children, an education or a job. And, you’re living life according to your own values and needs. But once you cross the threshold into the old family home, the old family dynamic rears its ugly head. Worse still, you’re expected to resume your childhood role within the family dynamic, as if you never left, aged or changed.
Maybe you were the spoiled baby or the only child that everyone doted on. Perhaps you were the overlooked middle sibling, expected to play peacemaker when Mom and Dad fought. Or, you’re the rebellious oldest child, breaking all the rules and pushing the limits. Even though you believe you left those roles behind you when you grew up, you slip back into them, often without realizing it, at family holidays.
Sadly, most people don’t realize how quickly they resume all the bad, dysfunctional habits of the past. But, spouses, children, friends and other onlookers do see it. The addition of these new participants into an existing dynamic causes earthquakes within the family. A spouse or child can’t understand why the rational person they know from their own home suddenly changes into someone they don’t recognize, whose behavior is 180 degrees from what the spouse or child expects. If that person points out these changes, it causes an even greater disruption in the existing dynamic, since now the entire family is alerted to the disparity.
If you return home, you either bring a new self with you, once that no longer fits into the old tapestry. Or, you lose your new self and return to your old role, a role you probably consciously worked to leave behind. No, you can’t go home again.
That sentiment may seem odd, since a great deal of my fictional writings have revolved around the Sonoran desert. My mystery novel draft is set in Tucson. The romance I’m currently penning is set in pioneer Tucson. And, the Sonoran desert played a prominent role in two of the writing exercises for my fiction class this term. But, the Sonoran desert is no longer my home. And, I don’t think it ever could be again.
Each time I’ve revisited Tucson, I always expect the impossible. I assume it will look, smell and feel exactly as it did when I left. In my mind, I “know” what Tucson should be, and it’s frozen in my mind: a “perfect Tucson” or “perfect desert” filled with all of the things I loved and all of my favorite places, while lacking those things I disliked.
But, the actual city and surrounding area never look the same. Some things do but enough has changed to cause a strange kind of vertigo of memory. Revisiting Tucson and the desert causes a clash of memories, as the new changes garishly, violently, forcefully intrude and corrupt my memories, leaving me with feelings of loss, uncertainty and a rage I can't fully explain or express.
Another problem with returning home is the self I bring with me. That is, the person who grew up near Tucson was a different person than I am now. When I return to the desert, one of two things happen. Either I expect to find the person I left behind all those years ago, to recapture the best days of my youth. But, that doesn’t happen.
Or, I subconsciously expect to bring my "new self" with me to the desert. I expect the “me” who is older, wiser, more mature and better able to appreciate what my old home offered to travel with me. Convinced I’ve left the young me behind, I assume all my reactions to Tucson will be filtered through my new perceptions, values and interests. But, the remnants of my childhood home jar my new self and make the visit one fraught with emotion and frustration.
Revisiting a former hometown is a great deal like returning to the family home for the holidays. As you approach the door, you’re an an adult. You probably have some measure of success in your life, perhaps a significant other, children, an education or a job. And, you’re living life according to your own values and needs. But once you cross the threshold into the old family home, the old family dynamic rears its ugly head. Worse still, you’re expected to resume your childhood role within the family dynamic, as if you never left, aged or changed.
Maybe you were the spoiled baby or the only child that everyone doted on. Perhaps you were the overlooked middle sibling, expected to play peacemaker when Mom and Dad fought. Or, you’re the rebellious oldest child, breaking all the rules and pushing the limits. Even though you believe you left those roles behind you when you grew up, you slip back into them, often without realizing it, at family holidays.
Sadly, most people don’t realize how quickly they resume all the bad, dysfunctional habits of the past. But, spouses, children, friends and other onlookers do see it. The addition of these new participants into an existing dynamic causes earthquakes within the family. A spouse or child can’t understand why the rational person they know from their own home suddenly changes into someone they don’t recognize, whose behavior is 180 degrees from what the spouse or child expects. If that person points out these changes, it causes an even greater disruption in the existing dynamic, since now the entire family is alerted to the disparity.
If you return home, you either bring a new self with you, once that no longer fits into the old tapestry. Or, you lose your new self and return to your old role, a role you probably consciously worked to leave behind. No, you can’t go home again.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Old Before My Time But Refusing to Grow Up
Winston Churchill famously said, “Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” While Churchill was discussing Soviet policy and Russian nationalism, his sentiment has been applied to a broad array of topics, often with “conundrum” replacing “puzzle” in the phrase. And, I think I can safely join the ranks of people and events that are triply perplexing.
This morning serves as an example. I’m reading Twitter posts while listening to a Pandora radio station, built around Harry Connick Jr. Many songs on the station are by Perry Como, Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. I’m also getting a few songs by Harry Connick, Diana Krall, John Pizzarelli (a personal favorite) and Michael Buble. (Truthfully, I could do with less Buble and more Dean Martin but whatever.) I’m bopping along to artists who were in their prime long before I was born and loving every minute of it.
At first glance, this is “old people’s music”. Some might argue that a person like me, in my late 30s, shouldn’t prefer this genre of music. But, the older I get, the more I love listening to jazz and classical. I’m still a fan of rock and pop but I rarely listen to country anymore, which was the mainstay of my adolescent years. Back in high school, listening to country was a great way to be deliberately weird. I’ve always liked doing things that made others shake their heads and say, “That’s just Ruth being Ruth.” I’m sure most of my family already knew it but I deliberately cultivate the loner-oddball persona. There, I admitted it. Ha!
Of course, I also still have my childlike traits too (some might say I’m childish, but I digress). I happily pour over the ThinkGeek website and I covet the working lightsabers they sell. I can’t justify spending over $100 for a lightsaber. But man, I’d love to have one! I can just picture having a lightsaber duel with Jen some evening during the summer. We’d have such fun! And, it would terrify the cats, which is an added bonus.
I guess in some ways I’m fortunate. I think I’d have been a grumpy old woman long before my time but Jen keeps me from taking myself too seriously. We’re still able to laugh and goof around, which keeps us young, I think. I just hope we can sustain that into our gray years.
This morning serves as an example. I’m reading Twitter posts while listening to a Pandora radio station, built around Harry Connick Jr. Many songs on the station are by Perry Como, Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. I’m also getting a few songs by Harry Connick, Diana Krall, John Pizzarelli (a personal favorite) and Michael Buble. (Truthfully, I could do with less Buble and more Dean Martin but whatever.) I’m bopping along to artists who were in their prime long before I was born and loving every minute of it.
At first glance, this is “old people’s music”. Some might argue that a person like me, in my late 30s, shouldn’t prefer this genre of music. But, the older I get, the more I love listening to jazz and classical. I’m still a fan of rock and pop but I rarely listen to country anymore, which was the mainstay of my adolescent years. Back in high school, listening to country was a great way to be deliberately weird. I’ve always liked doing things that made others shake their heads and say, “That’s just Ruth being Ruth.” I’m sure most of my family already knew it but I deliberately cultivate the loner-oddball persona. There, I admitted it. Ha!
Of course, I also still have my childlike traits too (some might say I’m childish, but I digress). I happily pour over the ThinkGeek website and I covet the working lightsabers they sell. I can’t justify spending over $100 for a lightsaber. But man, I’d love to have one! I can just picture having a lightsaber duel with Jen some evening during the summer. We’d have such fun! And, it would terrify the cats, which is an added bonus.
I guess in some ways I’m fortunate. I think I’d have been a grumpy old woman long before my time but Jen keeps me from taking myself too seriously. We’re still able to laugh and goof around, which keeps us young, I think. I just hope we can sustain that into our gray years.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Post-Grammy Thoughts
This post is a day overdue but I thought writing about the Grammys could be fun. Here are a few thoughts that are still with me, the morning after the 53rd Annual Grammy Awards:
1. I am THRILLED that Justin Bieber didn’t win last night. Since I was accused of being a closet Bieber fan, I want to state clearly here: I DO NOT like him or his music. Frankly, I have cats that could write better song lyrics. To finally put that nasty rumor to rest, my most recent “guilty pleasure” artist is Lady GaGa.
2. Speaking of Lady GaGa, I was underwhelmed by her Grammy performance. Perhaps it’s a case of setting the bar too high but I really expected a more flamboyant show from her. The egg was an interesting idea but I expected it to build from there.
3. By the way, what was wrong with the crowd at the Grammys? Why the lackluster response to The Mick? When Mick Jagger asks if you’re having a good time, you scream until the roof collapses. I don’t care HOW big a star you are! (And, I love that Cyndi Lauper and LL Cool J were both in the front row and rockin’ out while Mick strutted. That’s the way to do it!)
4. I’m still mulling over the supergroup Letterman proposed in his top ten list, which was “Lady Antebellum + Lady GaGa = Lady Antegagem”. What would we call that genre of music? Country Glam? Glamtry? Would it finally break “the lavender ceiling” at the Grand Ol’ Opry? And, can someone send me a mashup of “I Need You Now” and “Telephone”? Pretty please?
5. And, speaking of glam, I’m still not sure what to think about Cee Lo Green’s performance with Gwyneth Paltrow. I kind of liked it because it reminded me of Elton John’s appearance on The Muppet Show, back when he was still flamboyant (before he started writing Broadway and film scores and was knighted). But, I’m not a “Glee” fan so I don’t know if Paltrow’s inclusion was really necessary. I do know the performance made me think I’d accidentally taken drugs, which frightened me.
6. Speaking of drugs, I must give a huge shout-out to Rob Thomas. He was tweeting as he watched the Grammys last night, even though he usually doesn’t watch awards shows. Talk about some interesting insights and some outright hilarious quips. His comments on Marc Anthony were priceless. Following his feed is an excellent reason to have a Twitter account.
1. I am THRILLED that Justin Bieber didn’t win last night. Since I was accused of being a closet Bieber fan, I want to state clearly here: I DO NOT like him or his music. Frankly, I have cats that could write better song lyrics. To finally put that nasty rumor to rest, my most recent “guilty pleasure” artist is Lady GaGa.
2. Speaking of Lady GaGa, I was underwhelmed by her Grammy performance. Perhaps it’s a case of setting the bar too high but I really expected a more flamboyant show from her. The egg was an interesting idea but I expected it to build from there.
3. By the way, what was wrong with the crowd at the Grammys? Why the lackluster response to The Mick? When Mick Jagger asks if you’re having a good time, you scream until the roof collapses. I don’t care HOW big a star you are! (And, I love that Cyndi Lauper and LL Cool J were both in the front row and rockin’ out while Mick strutted. That’s the way to do it!)
4. I’m still mulling over the supergroup Letterman proposed in his top ten list, which was “Lady Antebellum + Lady GaGa = Lady Antegagem”. What would we call that genre of music? Country Glam? Glamtry? Would it finally break “the lavender ceiling” at the Grand Ol’ Opry? And, can someone send me a mashup of “I Need You Now” and “Telephone”? Pretty please?
5. And, speaking of glam, I’m still not sure what to think about Cee Lo Green’s performance with Gwyneth Paltrow. I kind of liked it because it reminded me of Elton John’s appearance on The Muppet Show, back when he was still flamboyant (before he started writing Broadway and film scores and was knighted). But, I’m not a “Glee” fan so I don’t know if Paltrow’s inclusion was really necessary. I do know the performance made me think I’d accidentally taken drugs, which frightened me.
6. Speaking of drugs, I must give a huge shout-out to Rob Thomas. He was tweeting as he watched the Grammys last night, even though he usually doesn’t watch awards shows. Talk about some interesting insights and some outright hilarious quips. His comments on Marc Anthony were priceless. Following his feed is an excellent reason to have a Twitter account.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Guilty Pleasures
I’ve been thinking a lot about guilty pleasures the last few days. No, not the really deep, dark “secret pleasures” of the x-rated variety. Frankly, that’s a topic that I’d rather not consider, let alone discuss, on my blog. What people do in the privacy of their own homes isn’t of interest to me. I don’t want to hear about anyone’s secret fantasies or favorite bedroom activities. Oddly, though, people are always confiding things like that to me and I have no idea why. But, I digress.
Instead, I’m talking about those, “Gee, I’d be so embarrassed if anyone knew I listened to this musician or watched that TV show”-type of guilty pleasures. My ruminations were prompted by some new songs Jen and I bought and downloaded the other evening. Several of the songs were ones I selected by an artist I swore I would never own (and who shall remain unnamed). Glancing through our music collection, Jen started teasing me about the playlist I could create with the title “Guilty Pleasures.” Somehow, I’ve collected a fairly decent list of songs and musicians that I’d be embarrassed for my friends to know I liked.
Some of the songs that fit within that category are songs like, “Guitarzan” by Ray Stevens. It’s a silly song I remember fondly from my childhood. But, it’s not a song I want coming on while I’m driving with the windows down or when a friend rings the doorbell. Knowing my luck, I’d be belting that song at the top of my lungs, glance over and see my boss’s boss sitting in the car next to me, watching me. And, that’s when I want to crawl under the seat and hide.
Other songs that would fit into my “guilty pleasures” playlist are songs and musicians I’m too old to like but, somehow, have acquired. This category includes that unnamed artist and a whole host of others, including artists like The Backstreet Boys. Yes, I confess it. I liked some of their songs. I still do, in fact, and think they’d make a dandy addition to a “guilty pleasures” playlist. However, I certainly don’t want my friends or family dropping by while I have their music cranked and am singing and dancing around the living room.
Perhaps the bigger question is, why am I afraid to own my “guilty pleasures”? That is, why does the thought of someone teasing me about them bother me? Would my family and friends really tease me if they knew I liked those musicians and TV shows? And, why do I care if people do mock or tease me?
After all, I’ve been teased and mocked most of my life. In fact, I often think I deliberately invite that sort of good-natured ribbing. I’ve always considered myself to be an iconoclast, a bit of a lone wolf, someone who has always bucked the trends and marched to a different drummer. I’ve embraced and even cultivated that image, hoping to make it reality. So, if I am proud of my individuality (and I am), then why would I worry if someone thought my musical choices or TV programs were silly? I like them and I don’t really care if others don’t. So, why be shy about sharing my interests?
I don’t really have any answers to those questions. But, I plan to consider them at greater length. I think finding answers to those questions may help me in my larger goal for 2011 and my 39th year on the planet. That goal is to gain a better understanding of myself in order to live more authentically, with greater insights into what will make me happy, what I want to do with my talents and how I can use them to help others.
To close this post, I’ll ask my readers: What are you guilty pleasures? Which TV shows or musicians do you like but never want to admit? And, more importantly, why do you like them? What do they give you that other shows or musicians don’t?
Instead, I’m talking about those, “Gee, I’d be so embarrassed if anyone knew I listened to this musician or watched that TV show”-type of guilty pleasures. My ruminations were prompted by some new songs Jen and I bought and downloaded the other evening. Several of the songs were ones I selected by an artist I swore I would never own (and who shall remain unnamed). Glancing through our music collection, Jen started teasing me about the playlist I could create with the title “Guilty Pleasures.” Somehow, I’ve collected a fairly decent list of songs and musicians that I’d be embarrassed for my friends to know I liked.
Some of the songs that fit within that category are songs like, “Guitarzan” by Ray Stevens. It’s a silly song I remember fondly from my childhood. But, it’s not a song I want coming on while I’m driving with the windows down or when a friend rings the doorbell. Knowing my luck, I’d be belting that song at the top of my lungs, glance over and see my boss’s boss sitting in the car next to me, watching me. And, that’s when I want to crawl under the seat and hide.
Other songs that would fit into my “guilty pleasures” playlist are songs and musicians I’m too old to like but, somehow, have acquired. This category includes that unnamed artist and a whole host of others, including artists like The Backstreet Boys. Yes, I confess it. I liked some of their songs. I still do, in fact, and think they’d make a dandy addition to a “guilty pleasures” playlist. However, I certainly don’t want my friends or family dropping by while I have their music cranked and am singing and dancing around the living room.
Perhaps the bigger question is, why am I afraid to own my “guilty pleasures”? That is, why does the thought of someone teasing me about them bother me? Would my family and friends really tease me if they knew I liked those musicians and TV shows? And, why do I care if people do mock or tease me?
After all, I’ve been teased and mocked most of my life. In fact, I often think I deliberately invite that sort of good-natured ribbing. I’ve always considered myself to be an iconoclast, a bit of a lone wolf, someone who has always bucked the trends and marched to a different drummer. I’ve embraced and even cultivated that image, hoping to make it reality. So, if I am proud of my individuality (and I am), then why would I worry if someone thought my musical choices or TV programs were silly? I like them and I don’t really care if others don’t. So, why be shy about sharing my interests?
I don’t really have any answers to those questions. But, I plan to consider them at greater length. I think finding answers to those questions may help me in my larger goal for 2011 and my 39th year on the planet. That goal is to gain a better understanding of myself in order to live more authentically, with greater insights into what will make me happy, what I want to do with my talents and how I can use them to help others.
To close this post, I’ll ask my readers: What are you guilty pleasures? Which TV shows or musicians do you like but never want to admit? And, more importantly, why do you like them? What do they give you that other shows or musicians don’t?
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Inspiration in Troubling Times
Over the last couple of weeks, pro-democracy groups in Tunisia, Yemen and Egypt have protested corrupt governments. In response to the unrest, some leaders have left while others have promised to step down from their positions when their current terms are complete. Other nations, including Jordan, have taken steps to remove corrupt governments simply because they feared civil unrest like that seen in Egypt. The western nations, while encouraging democracy, are concerned that Islamic extremist parties will step into power in these troubled places and increase the number of states that sponsor terrorism.
Frankly, I think the West needs to stay out of these disputes and finally walk our talk. That is, we claim we want everyone to live under democracy but we don’t admit that we think democracy must look like America’s version. Our version of democracy, while appropriate for us, may not work for everyone. And, I’m sick of our government propping up dictators because we fear a democratically elected Communist or Islamic extremist government. We simply need to step aside and let other peoples choose the course and government that suits their needs. This isn’t a case where one one correct form of democracy exists. Many forms are possible, and we must finally allow others to choose a version different from ours.
In these confusing and troubling times, I found myself drawn to watching epic, award-winning films. This past week, I screened “Gandhi”, “Lawrence of Arabia”, “Something the Lord Made” and “Glory”. And, I may still watch “Schindler’s List”. Each of these films examines the human condition and the courage it takes to stand firm for an ideal. In times like these, when the world nervously watches Middle Eastern and African nations set a new, undefined course, literature, film and theatre may serve as escapes from the troubling events on the news. And, they can also model how one chooses a new course and stands on a principle.
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