Hope Amid the Horror

People are dying in Gaza.

Commercial aircraft are being shot down over Ukraine.

Talking heads on TV and on the Internet are berating us

...for being Gay, Lesbian, Transgender or any other permutation of being human that is other than Straight.

...for being female

...for being from this country or that country

...for having a different skin color, different accent, different beliefs

...for putting this or that into our own bodies

...for being anything other than whatever they subjectively see as "perfect".


Teenagers are committing suicide in one country over faceless virtual bullying,
their attackers hiding behind the dangerous anonymity of one-way phone or computer screen.

People in another country are starving to death, ravaged by disease.

Children and teenagers in yet another country are being handed weapons and told to go fight.

Meanwhile our planet is spinning in a swirl of pollution and waste,  our air and water becoming as toxic to life as our treatment of each other.


 I find myself wondering if this is some sort of end-of-times.  A sort of collective day of reckoning where all our evils are coming together in one giant, pointing finger of accusation.

But I refuse to believe our world has to be this way.

Because alongside all these terrible, numbing evils, there is good in us.  And in that good, is our potential to change.

I don't have to look far to see that good.


I see it in the eyes of my students.

I see it in the periodic generosity of strangers, who stop to help others in need, in pain or in want.

I hear it in the  periodic rants of my daughter,  who this very morning informed me that "In 20 years, this world is going to be a very different place.  Because my generation is going to fix  what your generation broke."   And while I had mixed feelings about evidently being pinpointed as the poster-child for all the world's ills, she had a very valid point.

Don't we always look to the NEXT as a remedy for what is wrong NOW?

Don't we say "I'll do better next time." or "I'll take care of that next week."  or "My partner/associate/colleague/friend will take care of that for you."?

Humans are skilled postponers.  We have a collective motto that is only now being re-examined:

 "Do tomorrow what you could do today."

And this motto has been clung to by world leaders as much as by everyday folks.


I like to think that my generation had it's shining moments as well as it's failures when it comes to caring for this world.

 However I cannot say that we are blameless.   We have fallen, as previous generations have, into the "Do tomorrow what you could do today"  trap.

None of us are innocent.  We all have a carbon footprint that expands every time we pretty much do anything--from turning on a light to putting on our polyester-blend shirt to sipping a cup of coffee.

And as we turn on our lights, wear our polyester-blend shirts and sip our coffee, we look to our future full of maybes...

maybe there will be solar power everywhere

maybe we will turn our considerable resources towards feeding, healing and caring for everyone equally, instead of dividing the world into hard lines of "haves" and "have nots".

maybe we will stop killing each other

maybe we will stop selfishly holding ourselves up as the moral standard by which everyone must live.



Maybe.


You and I might not be able to stop the horrors that are splayed across news headlines and screamed, amid pounding theme music, from TV and Internet talking heads.

But we can decrease the small horrors that we encounter--and maybe even cause--every day.

Buy a hungry person something to eat.

Read by sunlight instead of by lamplight.

Be content in your own choices rather than try to control the choices of others.

Find your own peace.

And try to "Do today so that we all have a tomorrow."

Until next time...

eloR lasreveR=Role Reversal

It is Monday.  It is my first official day of Summertime.

I'm not going to call it vacation per se because  I still have work to do.  Although my 2013-2014 school year ended last Friday, as all teachers, I am immediately looking toward next year, mentally going over beginning-of-the year lessons that I'd like to teach, classroom expectations I'd like to foster.  I'm analyzing Pinterest and other internet sites looking for the best way to conserve precious classroom space and to hide the inevitable bumps and dings on time-worn classroom furniture.

And of course, I now must also fill my non-teaching time with  TEDxKyoto preparations, trying to get as much done now as I can since our main event in September coincides--as it always does--with the start of my school year.

So yes, it is Monday, and while I didn't have to wake up at 5am today, I still woke up  at 6, still took out the garbage.   Still made coffee and washed stray dishes.

Not long after  I woke up, however, something different happened.

Patrick and Aya got up.

They grumbled their way down the stairs, fully dressed and rummaged around the kitchen for food.

Then they packed their bags with water bottles and plastic containers of leftover pizza for lunch.

And they  left.

In an odd, delightful reversal of roles, THEY left to go teach, and I stayed home.

About a month ago they were asked if they would be available to be assistants to help out with my school's 2 week summer school program.  Aya would work with a teacher with the younger kids, and Patrick would work with another teacher with the older elementary kids.

And they said yes.

So now it feels strange to be sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee as Patrick and Aya scurried off to school.  Odd pangs of pride, liberation and confusion are dashing through my brain, along with a rather overwhelming sensation that something must have gone terribly wrong here, if they are out teaching and I am staying home.

Yet, the early morning summer sun is streaming through the window and the humidity of another Kyoto day has not yet descended.   A cup of warm coffee is at my elbow.

Hmmm,  perhaps this is a role reversal that I could get used to.  At least for a little while.

As It Turns Out, Mirrors Reflect.....Not Much

Every morning the first thing most of us do is to stare at ourselves in the mirror.  Whether we stare with delight, despair  or shoulder-shrugging ambivalence, we all see the same thing--us as we think we must be.  We must be who we see in the mirror, because mirrors can't lie, right?

But is that really how we are seen by the rest of the world?  By the people around us?

Or do we judge how we look just as surely as we know others judge us?

Living in Japan as a non-Japanese person, I wear my face a bit more obviously than most people living ensconced in their home countries.

While back in California I'm pretty unremarkable, here I am noticeably different--my face, my walk, my clothes, certainly my speaking skills and even philosophy on life.  My differences are made apparent to me every time I step outside my front door.  It's not a bad thing.  It's not a good thing.  It's just reality.

So clearly, how the Japanese people surrounding me see me is very different than how I see me.

When I am in California or even around other foreigners here in Japan,  I am again seen differently.

Case in point, in California, when I am shopping at a grocery store and buy a six pack of beer for Bob, I'm no longer carded.   If I go out to a restaurant or club with friends, I am not carded.

I clearly look over 21 in California.

So last night I went out with some other teachers and friends. At the entrance to the club each of the people in the line waiting to get in was methodically eyeballed and asked for ID.

All the friends I was with are probably about 10 years younger than I am.
Each of them were eyeballed and asked for their ID.

I stepped up and was eyeballed.

I had actually  begun turning towards the door, assuming that they wouldn't ask me for my ID.

And they did.

Which, to be honest, kind of delighted me.  But it also got me thinking.

I thought how interesting it was that I could be the same person everywhere I went, and yet be seen so differently.

And when I woke  up this morning, brushed my teeth and stared at my own tired face in the mirror, I wondered "I wonder if that is what everyone sees when they look at me."

Then I realized that it really doesn't matter how anyone else sees me.  And it actually doesn't matter how I see me.

All that really matters is that I'm here and I'm okay.

No matter what the mirror says.

Until next time.

The Myth of Beautiful Beginnings and Sad Endings

Hello all,

In the past month or so that I have been obviously MISSING from my blog (and  for the 2 or 3 people who read this, I apologize), I've been pondering a few things.


Namely how people view and describe beginnings and endings.

Beginnings are usually described in  glowing terms--beautiful, exciting, auspicious.  
Unsurprisingly, endings are described in contrasting terms--sad, bittersweet, heart wrenching.

Why?

There are always exceptions of course, but you know, I'm starting to think that out here in the real world, beginnings aren't always glorious, and endings aren't always heartbreaking.

Consider beginnings.
The beginnings of things occur when we are embarking into the unknown.

Beginning a new relationship.  A new job.  Beginning a trip, or a long-awaited sequel to a movie or book.

All unknowns, some more nerve-wracking than others.  But  unknowns nonetheless.

And friends, the unknown is fairly terrifying most of the time.  As adults we may hide our nerves and paranoid worries and illogical little fears of tiny, uncontrollable details...

But all our hiding does not change the fact that most beginnings are more terrifying than sublime.   Even the stereotypically beautiful and glorious beginnings are terrifying.  

Don't believe me?

How about 2 people getting married and beginning a new life together?
I would argue there is a whole lot of fear wrapped up in all the  excitement and love.

A new baby or child?
Absolutely terrifying.  I assure you.

New job?
Terrifying.



Now consider endings.
If beginnings can be terrifying, then endings surely can be beautiful and peaceful, holding a  sense of completion and release.

Even what most of us (including me) would feel are sad endings can have elements of this beauty.

Endings that mark the transitions of life have a certain beauty to them.

Graduations.
A grown child leaving home.
A departure or retirement from a well-loved job.
Moving  to a new faraway place.

These hold the beauty of  closure.   The reward for the cycle that began with all the terror of long-ago beginnings, coming to  a logical, quiet end.  

And even the most painful endings--the end of a relationship or the end of a life--can hold a certain quiet beauty.  

Because after the upheaval of the moment of ending, and after the terrifying beginning of a new life without the person who is now gone, the beauty is hiding.  Waiting.

The beauty of memories.
Of shared stories about someone missed.
The beauty of seeing the subtle genetic shadows of someone now gone in children and grandchildren.


Beginnings can indeed  be terrifying.
And endings can be utterly lovely.

Life is often about contradictions like these, and life rarely behaves the way we think it should.



Until next time....

 

Big Hate=Short Life

I read an article today.

It was entitled "Study: Homophobic  Lives are 2.5 Years Shorter". (http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/02/study-homophobic-lives-are-25-years-shorter/283955/), 

This specific article was in The Atlantic but a quick scroll through Google showed that the article had been picked up by countless other on-line news and opinion sites.

The study had been conducted by Columbia University and the University of Nebraska, and had been published in the American Journal of Public Health.  So it wasn't some quack study.  The researchers did their best to isolate the connection between homophobia and life expectancy, as a measure of stress.

In a nutshell, here is what they found out:


homophobia=hate

hate=stress

stress=chronic stress

chronic stress=physical stress

physical stress=earlier death.


Was this study perfect?  Of course not.  I've listened plenty of times to Bob's critiques of studies printed in journals, in newspapers.  Studies cited by politicians and people with agendas.  And I've learned that even the very best studies have flaws, although conducted by the most respected and intelligent people in their  chosen fields.

  The studies have flaws, even small ones, because people are flawed.  Because there is always room for improvement, further study, a closer look.

However even with this study not being perfect, the conclusions ring true...at least for me.

Because hate in any form just isn't healthy.

I'm not only talking about the effects of hate--the terrible things done to innocent people in the name of whatever greater power people cite, whether it be personal, spiritual, political, familial, quasi-scientific or cultural.

Hate isn't healthy for the hater.

Do something for me.

Imagine something you really dislike--like a food or a movie or a slimy weird animal that you just can't stand.

Maybe find a picture of it, or if it is a food, take a small taste, just to refresh your memory.
Really get into your dislike.  Describe it to yourself in great detail...textures, colors, smells.  If it is an animal or a movie you dislike, do the same--really get into the themes, images that you find most disturbing.

Now, how do you feel?

That tightness in your chest?  Your clenched teeth, squinting eyes?  That shudder of "yuck" running down your spine? Those retching noises you might be making?

Stress.  Tiny stress. Disposable stress that you can easily dismiss,  but stress nevertheless.

And this is stress caused by things.  By a food, or a fictional movie or an animal you may never see or encounter  in your lifetime.

But the stress of hating people....so much greater.  Because things cannot help but being things, right?  I mean, mayonnaise doesn't have the option of turning into ketchup just to make you feel better.   A tarantula can't just decide one day to become a hamster just because you prefer your furry creatures to have 4 legs instead of 8.

We accept that things (including non-human animals) are pretty much unchangeable.  They are what they are and we accept that, even if we don't particularly enjoy them.

So why, I have always always wondered, don't we give the same acceptance to our fellow humans?

I'm not talking about the change of growth, learning and maturity.   These kinds of change are a vital part of what makes us human--the ability to learn, to renew ourselves.  To reinvent ourselves as we want to be, or need to be.  To invent new technologies and ideas, stories and creations.

I'm talking about accepting that which we humans cannot change.  

Our skin.
Our ethnicity.  Our race.
Our past.
When, where and how we were born and grew up.
Who we love.

Accept.

I'm not asking everyone to join in a great big world group hug.  That's an unrealistic goal, even for someone as idealistic as me.

But I do ask for acceptance.
Mutual respect.
The absence of emotional, verbal, physical violence.
Raising our laws and political systems to the standards of equality that everyone deserves.

And you know what?
Acceptance does not equal hate.

I don't have to be you.  You don't have to be me.
But we can be we, living together on this earth.
Accepting each other.  Even supporting each other's right to be here.

Give it a try.

You might even find your grudging acceptance gradually turning into something better and stronger....
maybe admiration, respect, like, love.

And those, my friend, are feelings that can only add years to your life.

Until next time.

Everything is a book

Today's realization:

Everything is a book.

Okay, maybe not literally.  Conventional books are made of paper and ink and thread and glue.  Ebooks are made of electronic bits and bytes.  And clearly not everything is made up of paper, ink, thread, glue, bits or bytes.

But figuratively, in the land of symbolism and imagination, yeah, everything is a book.

And what is a book?

It's a container.

A container in which  we store ideas and innovation, history and change.  We use words to look forward and backward and to stare, rather confused, at the present.

Great.  So books are containers.

So is a really great burrito.  A burrito is a container for culture, for flavor, for sustenance, for comfort and sometimes for companionship, if enjoyed with others.

Like a book.

So is a cat.  A cat is a container for its physical bits, for the scientific stuff that makes up a cat.  But a cat is also a container for poetic inspiration, for the evolutionary history of its species.  A container for affection and tactile enjoyment and comfort.

Like a book.

So are people.

 I realized that everything was a book just today.

My nephew posted an old photo of himself on Facebook, from when he was in his late teens, maybe early twenties.

I was flipping through some of the old photos he had posted, of long gone pets and such, and came upon this particular photograph.

At first glance I thought it was my 17 year old son.

And I realized that people are books.

I saw that picture of my nephew, and the pages flipped forward to the pages of my son's face.  I flipped the pages back further, towards the beginning, back to my nephew's face, to his mother's and father's faces.   The words and sentences may have  changed as the pages were flipped, but the tale those pages told carried through.  A quirk of an eyebrow, the angle of a jaw.  All of it written there for the reading.

Like words.  Related, connected, each built upon he words before them.

The beautiful thing about words and  books, is that  there are no boundaries about how they can be combined.   Each new combination creates a marvelous new story.

Just like people.

And as with  people, there are always those who try to tell us what books to read and not read.  Those who  hold their black markers over the words, censoring ideas with which they disagree.  Those who strike the match to burn the piles of books they deem  dangerous.

And yet there are always some books that escape the censoring pen and the flames.

Why?

Because all stories deserve to be told.  All books deserve to exist.

Someday the books called "humans" might actually realize this.

Until next time.

Beckoning....

It started very simply on 8/08/08 at 8:08pm, at The Bean sculpture in Chicago,  Illinois....

The Beckoning of Lovely 8/08/08

The next year, on 9/09/09,  it quietly continued...

The Beckoning of Lovely 9/09/09

Author Amy Krouse Rosenthal had a vision, you see.  She chose to take just  one day out of her year,  and do something simple and yet tremendous with it.

She would try to beckon lovely.  In this case, the loveliness in bringing people together.

On 10/10/10 at 10:10pm, she returned...

The Beckoning of Lovely 10/10/10

This time the crowd was bigger, requiring a bit more planning for Amy,  but the simplicity and the message stayed the same.

Again, bringing together strangers to share something lovely.

On 11/11/11, she came back one final time.

The Beckoning of Lovely 11/11/11


I confess after I watched this final video, I felt a little abandoned.  If Amy wasn't going to beckon lovely, who would?

The answer is as simple as Amy's goals for this whole project--

we would.

We all would.

Because we can all beckon lovely.


I think our world is in special need of some lovely right about now.

Because I read the news and watch the reports and I wonder,
how can humans be capable of such a level of hate
as in...

Syria
Venezuela
Russia
Arizona
everywhere,
anywhere,
every day...

yet at the same time, be capable of
beckoning such lovely things
if they
really want to.

I guess we have to really want to.

So the question is...do we?

Until next time....