A First Foray Into Politics

Let me tell you that this is a post about politics. But not the type we’ve become accustomed to, where the writer starts on one side of a debate and preaches either a liberal or conservative platform. I hope to present something different:  a view of politics as seen through my personal history and value system. The seed of this post began when I heard the following exchange between two of my co-workers.

“I vote a single issue:  pro-life. I don’t care what else a candidate stands for.”

“Let me understand this,” the other said. “You’d vote for some guy who would grope your daughter or granddaughter? And then joke around about it?”

In my job, we’re not supposed to talk about politics at work, given the nature of the work we do. But this short snippet of conversation was enough to get me thinking.

I know my co-workers well enough to know that when the one uses “pro-life,” she really means “anti-abortion.” Just within the last few decades, the whole concept of being pro-life has been constricted to that single definition, so much so that it demands an opposing position, which is equally constricted:  pro-choice.

In my mind, just being for “life” seems more liberal (more social programs, more government services) while being for “choice” more conservative (less government, more personal choices). For me, “pro-life” is layered with meaning. It covers everything from summer food programs for kids, Meals-on-Wheels, the Harry Chapin Food Bank, and the homeless shelters. It means caring for the elderly, work for the unemployed, and - dare I say it? - healthcare that’s available to all, especially those who cannot afford to pay for it.

How we got to the point where things got so convoluted is beyond the scope of a single blog post. But the commonly used meaning of “pro-life” has become a rallying cry - and a very narrow one at that - specifically against abortion rather than a cry on behalf of all aspects of life. It tries to reel people into a single arena, dupe us into buying into that tiny definition, and strip us of our personal values and morality while replacing them with a group morality. It’s gutted the values of Christianity, Judaism, and the Religion of Islam - the mandates to feed the poor, clothe the naked, heal the sick, visit those in prison - and contorted the discussion in such a way that to vote against abortion is to also vote against these other great mandates of our faith traditions. This “group” morality makes an issue black or white when, in reality, it’s an issue of such breadth and depth that it defies a single definition. 

How have we come to allow ourselves to be so duped?

It’s dangerous, this going down too-narrow pathways in our politics (and even our lives, for that matter); of ignoring the varied and rich diversity of intersecting pathways; of buying into “Only this way is the right way.” There’s a certain deadliness that comes into play when we lose our capacity to know when we are being duped and, worse still, suspecting that we’re being duped but not able to articulate the whys and wherefores. It’s a deadly game when we stop thinking for ourselves and considering things from different angles. 

We have to allow others to travel their own paths without forcing them to follow a single one. We have to stop handing over our good sense to charlatans and racketeers, all in the name of something they’ve chosen to define as “pro-life.”

The Learning Doesn't Stop

    I’m currently among a group of people who are working the online program called “Daring Greatly” offered by Brene Brown. This first week we’re focusing on our values (among other things). In the process, I’ve discovered something about my interactions with a particularly toxic person who has since died but left fossilized tentacles of poison behind.

    A bit of backstory. Most all of the interactions we had with each other ended in disagreements. He was a particular type of brutal:  one who kept things changing and so shaken up that those who dared to disagree with or disobey him always found themselves on shifting sands and coming away with the sense they somehow “lost’ the fight. In reality, those of us who disagreed and disobeyed didn’t actually lose the fight; we lost his approval and acceptance largely because he couldn’t own any portion of the role he played in pushing away his family. And it took me, in particular, a long time to realize I never would get his approval.

    For so many years, I carried this sense of never being good enough for him and the extended family he belonged to. I so often felt frustrated he couldn’t “see” what he was doing. (He could; he just didn’t admit it, as I discovered later.) And he never gave me credit for anything good unless it was about cooking and even then, only provided a very back-handed compliment.

    “I don’t care what anyone says about Anne, she can really bake.”

    That’s as close as he ever came to validating any portion of me. In fact, he accused me of f’ing up a member of his family.

    I don’t intend this backstory to vent or marginalize him as a person. Only to use it as a backdrop for a few lessons I learned very recently, lessons I’d like to share in the hope of easing someone else’s way. It’s only now, this week, that I’ve come to a very different viewpoint about my worth and how to handle the lessons provided me through this man.

    I’ve come to realize that every time I spoke my truth to him, I displayed vulnerability and great moral courage. I stood up for people over money, gratitude over scarcity, giving over taking, loving over hating. The problem, though, was that both my inner sense of insecurity and my deep desire to fit in led me to the conclusion something was “wrong” with me. That I wasn’t good enough, wealthy enough, whatever-enough to earn passage into his sanctum and permission to sit at the table.

    It was again this week, when I shared this realization of my moral courage along with the sense of never being enough that I received this gem of insight from a coworker many years my junior.

    “Mama,” she said, using her nickname for me, “you did exactly what you had to do at the time in order to learn what you had to learn and to teach the people affected by him what they needed to learn at that time, too.”

    This triggered some really deep digging for me, so much so I wrote the following in my journal:

    “…Intellectually, I knew I was enough but I never took it to the next level of ‘Where, in my life, am I allowing others’ opinions affect my view of myself?’ And then to an even deeper level of looking at specific instances, breaking them down to separate components and addressing each component. Then, taking it [still deeper] to the deepest part that required the greatest amount of work:  taking the learning and applying it to every day life, as a practice. …”

    So I learned a second lesson this week:  it’s not enough to intellectualize something. I have to take things down to the deepest level possible, squeeze every bit of learning from them, and then practice what I’ve learned in every day life. I’m realizing, again, that making spiritual work - from writing to reading to doodling in my art journal - a daily practice is my equivalent of daily prayer. Centering. Focusing. Caring. Listening. All with a sense of gratitude and self-worthiness. From my spirituality flows the courage and honesty, the integrity and sense that we are all important and have so much to offer.

    And as a daily evening practice, I go to “church” - night time walks under the glow of Moon, lifting my face to the Wind and smiling as I watch my dogs enjoy the night as much as I do - as a way of unwinding, smoothing the ragged edges of the day, and relaxing into Spirit.

    My wish for you is that you come to realize your incredible worth, find ways to your truest self, and live from that part of you as a daily practice.

    Be of good spirits.

Creative Courage

I just looked up the definition of “courage” and all but one definition stated something to the effect that courage means having the mental or moral strength to stand up for something in the face of pain, fear, or danger.

Over the last week or two, I’ve come to understand courage as applying to all aspects of life and how we live it. We all have pain, emotional or otherwise, we have to deal with and fears that rise up or descend upon us when we least expect them. Which brings me to thinking about the place courage - or being courageous - holds in our creative processes.

Sometimes we suspect our creative projects will bring pain, either in the form of memories or as something we’re dealing with on a more immediate basis. And, as humans and creatives, we don’t like pain. We will often do whatever we have to do to avoid it. Remember, our bodies are imbued with pain avoidance and fear responses as a means of self-preservation but we needn’t always give into the avoidance or fear. Some of us still manage to create, plowing through the fear, knowing full well what we paint or write or sew or express will, in some way, bring pain.

I think creative courage means stepping out of our comfort zones and into those areas which cause a certain amount of pain. We don’t have to be fearless when our natural fear response steps in and revs up. What we have to do is to move through fear and feel the pain in order to come out on the other side.

Sometimes creative courage is more about stepping away from a project in order to get to one that’s truer to a dream we hold. But what often accompanies that is a feeling of failure:  Why did I start this project and now don’t have the resolve to finish it? But maybe it’s not about resolve at all. Maybe it’s more about not being stopped or deterred in the face of the pain that comes when we categorize something as a “failure.”

Or maybe, when we step away from a project we’ve spent a lot of time developing, we feel we've wasted our time. But maybe it’s really more about seeing the original project as an avenue to the truer project. Maybe it’s about looking at the project and realizing the time invested in it isn’t wasted at all, because we always learn from attempts we make in any direction when pursuing creative projects. A few weeks ago, I stepped away from my most current project, giving myself some time for reflection about it because the deeper I got into the project itself, the more it felt less my own. The deeper I went into my reflection of it, the more I recognized my project started bringing a certain amount of anxiety and spiritual dissatisfaction rather than joy and a sense of “rightness.” Within these few weeks, I realized the project - as it had been going along - became less and less the one I envisioned. 

Initially, I thought “Oh, no. Now I’m right back to square one.”  But that’s not true at all. All the things I learned while developing the project are now being channeled into a project that has more to do with my own vision.

I’ve realized creative courage means taking the steps to start a project, regardless of fear and in spite of the pain. But it’s also about taking the steps away from a project, if needed and regardless of time invested, and starting over in order to drill down even deeper into what’s true for me.

I’m wishing you courage to take the steps needed to start, or stop, or restart any project, in the hopes of it becoming aligned with the truest “you” imaginable.

 

Light Box Epiphanies

Our SW Florida home is designed to keep direct sunlight at bay. Our porches are deep and under cover, shielded by trees and large shrubs. So as I prepare to take pictures of my greeting cards, this wonderful home of ours doesn’t provide enough light of the sort needed to provide the crisp contrast good online photos that prospective buyers need. 

    Hence, the light box.

    I’d first heard about light boxes while taking an online class with Kelly Rae Roberts and then went to YouTube to watch videos. Looked pretty straightforward:  get a large, rectangular cardboard box; cut open two opposite sides and a top, leaving a frame around each opening about one inch wide; attach white fabric to the sides and top, fabric that would provide diffused light while providing enough oomph to get that contrast. Then, a solid back and bottom, covered with said cloth and an open end from which to take the picture.  Put the picture inside, set up lamps on the sides draped in white cloth and maybe a light above, depending how much was needed. Click.

    Voila!

    Well, maybe not. Because by the time I actually got around to making the light box, I’d forgotten all about the need to reinforce those one-inch sections in order to keep the box from collapsing. Let me just say the attempt was not pretty, nor very functional.

    But!…I remembered to ask for help. My wonderfully gifted, contractor/builder husband simply took some sections of cut up cardboard, punched in some holes, and wired it all together as a skeleton of sorts. Now it stands, waiting to do the work.

    As I recalled my measuring, swearing, trying to get the sections evenly spaced, swearing, cutting, swearing, and trying to get it to stand - and saw just how well things worked out once I asked for help - a few realizations came to mind.

    Asking for help and spending time with other creatives provide me the support I need but too much of this draws me into procrastination which I “do” terribly well. I am a serious expert at putting things off.  (I never procrastinate about procrastinating!) On the other hand, time alone allows me to work at this creative life of mine but too much aloneness will ultimately find me descending into isolation and negative self-talk. Not a good thing for me as this type of descent is way too easy for me. Even after all these years, I still have to stay alert to it once again becoming my default reaction. 

    Where's the balance, then, because I’m not convinced we can achieve balance in our lives? We really have little control over what life presents us at the most unexpected times and usually in amounts that can topple us right over. Personally, I’ve never really been able to maintain a balance because sometimes I need more of one thing than the other. 

    So the epiphany this whole light box project delivered is that creativity has to be cyclical for me.

    When I start wondering about the quality of a project - at the very first sign of wondering if something is “good” or what I’m “really trying to say” - well, that’s the time to step away and take myself on a date. When I start staying away from a project, telling myself I’ll get back to it right after [insert any possible excuse], hmmm, that’s the time discipline has to come into play and I have to park my butt wherever I need to, in order to get back to the creating part of things.

    Cycling from idea, to doing, to stepping away to be with others, to coming back and finishing. 

    I think I get it now.

 

Coming Together

    The longer I thought about writing a very special, very personal message in time for the holiday, the solstice, or the deepening darkness, the more anxious I became. I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I found myself trying to offer a message which could’ve found me back at square one:  trying to post something that wasn’t all together genuine, that was forced and, as a result, against the values this space holds dear. 

    So, I didn’t.

    And then I forgave myself.

    Not for passing on the post, but for trying to force myself to offer something that meant well but fell short on sincerity.

    In the few days since, I’ve had the time to reflect on just how I spent the last week or so and I find myself experiencing a renewed sense of peace. I enjoyed baking cookies - both old, ethnic favorites and new recipes - and the old ethnic ones tasted best. We didn’t decorate outdoors but hung an ancient red cellophane wreath with a candle in the center and the power cord long gone, unable to survive decades of being left in the un-insulated attic on Center Street. That old wreath is still my favorite and I can’t part with it.

    I watered and dead-headed my flowers, fed the wildlife, walked through night-time streets lit by the moon, stars, and Christmas lights. Reflected on how we managed to make this time of year feel real, wrapped in the humid breezes off the gulf stream rather than woolies and heat from the furnace. Griping - just a bit - about the record high temperature of 87 degrees on Christmas day but thankful sub-freezing temperatures are no longer a part of our traditions. 

    And it dawned on me, slowly, that the reason why the ethnic food tastes best, why the old wreath sits in a place of honor, is that they allow me to experience a sense of connection with where I come from and integrate it with where I’ve landed. The traditional foods and customs from my childhood hold distinguished places in my adulthood because I hold a place in the march of my ancestors and continue the legacy given me by them. Quiet routines like making coffee after baking our Slavic nut rolls and still talking to my mother, who is now on the other side, about the price of the nuts and how fresh they were - all are personal treasures. I cherish those old, cardboard Christmas village houses, now paper-thin, even more so since I have to touch up the “snow” on the church steeple with baby powder to cover over years of rust-colored dust and the marks made by chubby children’s hands over time.

    These are timeless traditions for me and this year, they quietly mingle with an elusive ability, newly acquired, if not to forgive the sins and omissions - real or imagined - of the past, then to at least get to a point of practicing forbearance toward them. The realization that I come from a long line of strong women, even if they didn’t show their strength in ways I might show my own, warms me. The ability to celebrate without the stress of hosting “expected” dinners for extended family brings joy and relaxation, both of which often went missing in years past.

    The old recipes and the new. The well-used, well-loved Christmas village and the newer practice of decorating less in order to celebrate more. Young and old. New and used. All form and fill the vessel called Soul. The past to be blessed for whatever it brought; the present to be lived here and now, in the moment; a future that fills one with hope. 

    Each of which brings us all in connection with each other and can bring each of us to a place of grace and gratitude.

    I wish you connection. I wish you grace. And I am so profoundly grateful for all of you.