Tuesday, August 30, 2011

August 30, 2011--I want to hear your story, I really do, but...

So, today my company sent out a mass e-mail asking each of us to complete a twelve-question survey that basically boils down our level of job satisfaction. It's one of those "on a scale of one to five, with five being that you strongly agree" kind of deals.

It's true, the last year has been way less than "five" for me. As the day of this e-mail was approaching, I debated what I would do or say. There was great disappointment in the "turn out" for this survey last year, and so the build up has been pretty intense, including daily "coaching" e-mails to make sure each of us understands each of the twelve questions. I've actually had to endure training seminars on communication, and having it acknowledged that sometimes we just really need to be able to vent to our "Q10." (In case you're not aware of who your Q10 is, it's your best friend.)

It's a little bit like the "Twelve Days of Christmas" without the pleasure of singing the long drawn out "five golden rings."

I think I made my decision when I hit the delete button this afternoon. As I went on through the rest of my day, I still thought about it a little. Did I do the right thing? Should I have "engaged?"

Sometimes people ask us to tell our stories just to be polite. They don't want to seem uncaring or disconnected. Last night, I attended a dinner thanking a group of us from my company who assisted our veterinary hospital in Joplin, Missouri following the tornado. Very important people from our main office came along to meet and thank us. Among those attending was the owner of the hospital who received our help. He was asked to share with all of us what it was like to be involved in the crisis.

Everyone likes a good story, right?

Well, he proceeded to tell every detail of what happened, from the mundane and irrelevant to the pertinent--or at least what I felt was pertinent. As I sat there hearing his tale, I kept silently thinking "When is he going to talk about the hospital?" It took him a while to get there, but he did finally circle round to the part to which we could all relate and in which we were most interested.

I found myself feeling a little bad about the fact that I only half-listened to him talking about people and situations I didn't really know or relate to. After all, it was his story to tell, not mine.

Nobody else volunteered to say anything about their experiences. I'd intended, if asked, to remind everyone that the people and pets of Joplin still need help, and that we shouldn't lose sight of the enormity of the disaster just because it's now three months down the road. I think I didn't volunteer because part of me felt like just as I hadn't cared about all of the details of the veterinarian's story, it was likely that nobody would care about what I had to say either.

It's a horrible feeling when you have a story to tell and no one seems to want to hear it. As someone who wants someday to make it as a writer, nothing really matters more to me than being heard or being read. When people hear that you are writing a book or that you have written a book, they often say they can't wait to read it and they will be only too happy to give you feedback. They're often just being polite.

Sending out a mass e-mail to thousands of employees sounds like a nice thing to do too. After all, don't we all want to be heard? Don't we all dream of the opportunity to tell the people we work for what we really think? The problem I have is that assigning my feelings and thoughts a numerical value just doesn't work. They want to hear my "story," but only on their terms. I don't think the number two adequately conveys my opinion about anything. And, yes, I realize that perhaps it's a little arrogant of me to think that anyone should want me to wax philosophical about the disappointments I have about my career, but I also think it's arrogant to ask me how I feel without giving me a format in which I can adequately express it.

In the Druidic tradition, bards were well respected. Their charge was to guard and transmit the oral history of Druidic belief and tradition. As our technology becomes more and more advanced and aimed at less information in more portable formats, I think we are losing an important part of the soul of humanity. In the Druidic tradition, the bard would share stories and songs with a gathering of his people. A connection was needed in order to ensure that these stories and songs would live on in generations to come.

When I was approaching the final semester of my mass communications degree, whispers about "the internet" could be heard swirling around the newsroom of the paper I interned for over the summer. I didn't know what it was, but as people started to say that someday there would be no newspaper to hold, I, like Joan of Arc, declared my undying loyalty to the hard copy. To this day, I can't bring myself to read a newspaper online. I need to feel my news in my hands. As Kindles and Nooks are becoming all the rage, I know that they afford me the ability to carry a library with me anywhere I go. I love that portability, and the fact that if I decide to read something and it turns out to be really horrible, it won't be taking up space on my already over-crammed bookshelves. But when I reach for "The Complete Poems and Tales of Edgar Allan Poe," I want to feel the hard cover and binding as I flip through the pages to find "A Dream Within a Dream." Like the cord that attaches to my Kindle to charge it, I know that given the choice of reading the "Twilight" saga in its original form, or by push button, I still want to curl up and connect with the real books.

The fast pace of today's society allows us to stay constantly "connected" wherever we are. We can "connect" with our friends via social networking. We can text in order to stay "connected" to our loved ones as we travel.

We can download movies, concerts, music and books anywhere we go. We can fast forward through commercials, skip songs on the album we don't like and scroll through to the "good part" of the book. We can hear the "story" we want to hear, not necessarily the one the story teller told. When we do that, aren't we really making the story our own? Aren't we really saying, I know I asked to hear your story, but can you get to the part I wanted to hear and skip all the rest?

Thanks to technology, we have the potential and ability to really connect. But what is the price of all of this "connection?"

Can you wait a sec, I've got to update my status?"

http://youtu.be/uibMMmcr3rc

















Saturday, August 27, 2011

August 27, 2011--The bigger we are, the harder we may fall.

So, I ran into a great friend today. She's someone who has meant a great deal to me over the years and from whom I have learned so much.

It was a rushed reunion, but in catching up a little bit, it wasn't long before we were both expressing a similar concern about the direction that we all sometimes try to take in business, and in life. Today, we happened to mostly be talking about business.

I've talked about expansion and growth before. I know that the business-minded person would argue that if you aren't growing, you're dying, but sometimes I wonder how worthwhile it is to outgrow your britches. Many would argue that if you are growing, just buy bigger britches, but at a point, getting infinitely bigger leads to one result--being unable to lift yourself up without the rescue of someone else's crane, and removing the front door.

As a registered veterinary technician, I am required to earn a certain number of continuing education credits every year to maintain my licenses. I invariably attend a large conference to get as much bang for my buck as possible. Along with days filled with lectures on everything from dentistry to how to calculate cardiac output, there is a giant hall filled with nothing but people who hope I have the power of the purse in my practice, and that I will go back to my hospital and strong arm my veterinarian into purchasing either a lot of something, or something really big and expensive. The joke is always on them--I work for a large company and have nothing to do with any decisions about purchasing. The fun thing about this giant hall is that in the effort to get my attention and "influence" over my doctors, these folks are trying to give me leaflets, samples, pens, magnets and any number of different things--oh and bags, lots of bags.

The funny thing is, I remember the first years of attending this conference. To me, every pen, magnet, leaflet and squishy stress heart was absolutely necessary. By the end of each day, the strap marks (from all the bags) cut deeply into my shoulders, and I was in need of massage, chiropractic or osteopathic therapy from carrying all the crap around. In time,  I thought I'd solve the problem simply by getting the CD Rom version of the proceedings book instead of the hard copy, but soon realized I just had to take less stuff.

This many years later, I still see the amateurs struggling with multiple bags of stuff that they had to have. Somewhere in the middle are the really hardcore attendees who bring the rolling luggage in which to cart everything around. Over the years, I have developed a strategy. I get rid of as many paper products as possible before I even start. After assessing the "valuable" crap that I could potentially pick up, I have greatly narrowed the amount of paper I have to carry around.

Today, I take great pride in the fact that I was able to limit myself to pamphlets about only one product, and the rest of the stuff I ended up with was ultimately very cool. I have two new books, four T-shirts, a new ball cap, dog slippers and three stuffed cats (yes, I really did need three). I did not pick up one pen, magnet or squishy organ!

My left shoulder still hurts like a mother (and not the one who made you cookies after school) and I am sure I still have things I really don't need.

It's natural to want more, but what if when you get more, you are able to hold onto less? I was pressed for time this morning, so I started the day off without a tote bag, and I didn't have time to grab anything to take notes on or with. Luckily, my writing portfolio was in the car, and a pen was handy. My writing portfolio has no shoulder straps. At lunch time, I found myself in a line with a book in one hand, and my writing portfolio in the other. There was no third hand for me to pick up and fill my plate, let alone grab a drink. I managed, but it was pretty tough. When I'd been sitting through the spiel that earned me the book, I hadn't considered how I was going to carry it and manage other things without a bag--all I had cared about was getting that damn book.

I think we often neglect to look beyond the horizon when something seemingly wonderful is being dangled right in front of us. In business, what could possibly be the downside to being offered a way to have more buying power with less of our own capital and effort? In life, what could be the downside to being offered an adjustable rate mortgage that allows us to buy more house than we can afford to pay for right now?

When we look at our current global economic crisis, much of it is the direct result of someone wanting more--much more. In many cases, this "more" has been at the expense of someone else less able to recover from the sacrifices needed to get this "more."

In the American automobile industry, the major car companies got tunnel vision and poured all of their resources into producing the larger, gas guzzling SUVs that were flying off of car lots. (And to think that many of us are outraged by the broken promise that we would be in flying cars by now. ha-ha) It never occurred to them that anything could change, and they were so big, that like the Titanic, they couldn't steer away from the iceberg of unrest in the Middle East and rising gas prices. Who wants to drive a tank when they can't afford to fill the tank's tank? In the quest to get more, more, more money, right away, the industry was brought to its knees.

The American automotive industry lost touch with its market because it was only focused on the easy money. It almost literally lost sight of itself. The banking industry suffered a similar fate, though because of its ability to bring everything crashing down on everyone, it hasn't met with many of the consequences most of us wish it had.

The quest for more often leads us down a primrose path. The problem with primrose bushes--they have thorns, so I imagine the paths do as well. It's hard sometimes to weigh the pros and cons of opportunity. When having more and being bigger supersedes all other goals, we have to realize in that place of more and bigger, there will inevitably be more distance between ourselves and the people and things that helped us achieve those goals. Our intentions may have been great, but in giving up some of what we have built and held so dear, we can't hold onto the things we were hoping to share--there's not enough room in the bag, and we only have so many hands.

When we find ourselves suffering the aftershocks of the giant expansion crashing around us, we're left to remember, with nostalgia, how simple and manageable everything was before. We remember that we were building things together and sharing the load. Everyone carried a small portion, so everyone felt a sense of ownership in the endeavor.

A small portion...with larger, sometimes giant heart.

http://youtu.be/F0FBi5Rv1ho



Monday, August 22, 2011

August 22, 2011--Forget, or remember?

So, it was three months ago tonight that I awaited word from my husband about how a powerful tornado had affected his hometown of Joplin, Missouri. I couldn't quite get passed the surreality of the evening. We had just been on weekend road trip and were settling back in at home.  I certainly couldn't process the event from two hours away.

How does anyone process this kind of tragedy? At the time, Jeph immersed himself in everything Joplin--literally, figuratively and virtually. My mother-in-law holed up at home, and intentionally stayed away from the damaged areas. Many of our friends banded together, and kept those far away up to date on what the immediate needs of the community were, and what was happening on the ground. I blogged about what was happening and even spent a week working with the "pet public" in Joplin via the company for which I work. 

People questioned what was appropriate, and when it was okay to start moving on. My brother-in-law and his fiance contemplated postponing their wedding. I watched Jeph feel angry toward people who complained about the smaller irritations of life and couldn't seem to see the forest for the trees. I felt at a loss. How do you comfort someone without encouraging them to relive the things they are trying to push out of their minds? I urged my brother-in-law to go forward with the wedding--insisting that people needed a happy event to think about in the face of all of the destruction and tragedy around them.

I felt it was important to make sure that Joplin didn't slip away into the hot summer breezes that carried away the last three months. Out of site so often really does mean out of mind. Many of us with family members from Joplin have tried to find ways to support our loved ones and the community in whatever way we can. Ex-patriots of the community have pulled together to lend support in whatever way they can. It has frequently been said that the sense of community in Joplin has been strengthened by the great loss felt by so many.

As I have written before, no photograph could ever provide the real picture of the destruction--the absolute void--that the horrific tornado left behind. The photos, videos and first-hand observations, for many, are etched into memory, and I am sure there are too many moments in which many would give anything to forget all of those images.

Three weeks ago, we attended my brother-in-law's wedding. It had been about six weeks since Jeph had last been to the Joplin area. I was curious to see what progress had been made since a friend and I had wound through what had once been neighborhoods. Jeph wasn't ready to see any of it again. For me, Joplin is like an adoptive hometown. For Jeph, every unrecognizable corner holds a memory.

For a few hours tomorrow, Jeph and many of his fellow coworkers will be working in Cunningham Park. He tells me that they will be working with rakes to clean up "micro debris." I'm sure at the site of any disaster, "micro debris" is part of any clean-up effort. As I consider the hours to be spent raking the park clean, it occurs to me that one man's "micro debris" is the piece of another man's life. Fragments of building material that once helped to make up a home now fit within the tines of a garden rake. The stuffing of some child's Teddy bear pierced by flying glass twists around the metal and will be removed by someone's gloved hand in order to be discarded. A shard of the china someone registered for as a wedding gift will klink against the inside of garbage can. This "micro debris" represents the humanity of the tragedy that should never, and can never be cleaned up.

As sure as no one with ties to Joplin can or will ever forget the nearly twenty minutes that left a path of nothingness rolling through town, there also will be moments for many years to come, where the stories and images that come flooding back leave the people of Joplin wishing they could do exactly that--forget.

A tornado tore through Joplin, leaving a giant void. A tornado also tore through the hearts of those who have called Joplin home, leaving giant holes there as well.

As the days and weeks have gone by since those fierce winds and rains ripped and pommeled people, homes and businesses, there have been moments of grief and loss renewed, but there also have been moments of hope and faith restored. As sure as homes and businesses will one day fill the emptiness of the Joplin landscape, moments of joy, happiness and new life will fill the holes left in the hearts of those who have lost so much. Those new moments will never erase the twenty minutes that ripped a town apart--just like garden rakes will never be able to gather all the pieces of lives and homes lost. But time will continue to pass, lives will be rebuilt and Joplin will be rebuilt. The memories of loss will dim, and new, brighter memories will take their place. Healing hearts will choose well what to remember and hopefully, what to forget.

http://youtu.be/-wfjPmDlCB0

Monday, August 15, 2011

August 15, 2011--Freedom isn't always...freeing.

So, this passed Saturday marked the fiftieth anniversary of an event most of the world would like to forget, or at least most wish had never happened. People in Berlin went to bed on August 12, and woke up on August 13 to find that a wall had been built providing a physical barrier that was stronger than the political barriers that had already been in place between east and west.

The date was marked in Germany by remembering those who died trying to flee Communist controlled East Berlin. Those fleeing sought freedom. They gave their lives for it.

This spring, we have all witnessed the power of people seeking freedom and liberty for themselves and their countries. The so-called Arab Spring has created a movement of people looking for the opportunity to self-govern, and to achieve greater economic liberty and secure freedom of speech. In Tunisia and Egypt, relentless peaceful protests served notice to dictators who take for granted that they have quashed the will of their people. Sure, there was some violence along the way, but by and large, these two nations struggled for freedom with a united and peaceful determination.

The human spirit and the desire to be free doesn't die easily. The many who died fleeing East Berlin are proof of that fact. The small percentage of those who fled successfully also shine light on that spirit.

As we watch the Middle East from afar, the amazing progression of events is nearly unfathomable. As narrow-minded Westerners, it's often difficult for us to look passed some of the more fundamentalist ideals of extreme Islam and remember that extremism the exception, not the rule. That's actually why it's called extremism.

The success of protesters in Tunisia and Egypt has been an inspiration to the world, not least of all neighboring countries. Libyans, Syrians and Yemenis also continue to struggle for their own freedom, though not always with as much success in the realm of doing so without violence. It has been a hard fought road for them so far, and it will be a hard road for a long time to come.

More surprising than these uprisings is the fact that success doesn't always lead to, well, success. In listening to an interview with Tawakkol Karman on National Public Radio this week, one of the things most of us watching take for granted is that overthrowing oppressive governments and dictatorships leads to a life of 'happily ever after' for the people of these nations. Twakkol Karman is a leading activist and journalist in Yemen. In her interview, Karman talks about the fact that struggling for freedom is difficult, but having a plan after overthrowing oppression has to be part of the struggle. She talks about the difficulties facing Tunisians and Egyptians because the groundwork for a future of freedom were not already in place by the time their oppressive regimes fell. Those countries now find themselves playing catch up.

It seems like being free would solve everything, doesn't it? But without a plan, what do you do with freedom? If you think about it, even eight-year-old Kevin McCallister had a plan in the movie "Home Alone." Granted, it was to order a lovely cheese pizza, and use his dad's razor, but it was a plan nevertheless.

Last summer, East Germans marked another anniversary--this was the twentieth anniversary of the reunification of Germany. Today, only a small section of the wall remains. It is the canvas for murals by many international artists--a symbol of turning something horrible into something beautiful.

In another NPR interview from last week, writer Hogler Teschke talks about the years since the destruction of the wall and how many East Berliners still have never even set foot in West Berlin, and vice versa. It's as if some invisible barrier remains between the two. He quotes his friend, Elizabeth Mann-Borgese, who says that "it is actually not very easy to learn to be a free person. And that sounds very simple and banal, but it is not if you have not learned it from your childhood on." 

I think it's inconceivable to those of us who have been free all of our lives to consider that while we all may seek to be free, the act of being free isn't necessarily a natural state. Being free is a learned behavior.


As the survivor of a very oppressive household growing up, I identify very much with the idea of having to learn how to be "free." While I never suffered torture, beatings, economic reprisals, or loss of loved ones, I lived most of my childhood dreaming of the day I would be free to choose my own clothing, my own friends, and to come and go from my house without being spied on and without the worry that I or others in my family would be the target of violence.

Many adolescents rebel. Drinking, drugs, wild hair, body alteration and promiscuity are a handful of the ways youngsters choose to express their opposition to household rule. Once set free, like a kid in a candy store, I marveled at all of the options, but my lack of understanding how to be free left most of the jars in the store clamped shut. One could argue that I am better off for not testing all of those waters, but my lack of webbed feet still illustrates the point that being set free doesn't mean you are free.

While comparing my own experience of being freed from a home of domestic violence and abuse to that of a nation of people struggling against oppression might seem to be oversimplifying their process, I think living for decades under such oppression would overwhelm anyone's senses and produce great difficulty. Freedom does not equate to lack of responsibility, nor does it provide solutions to problems that existed before freedom has been achieved.

These great people who are struggling to become free and/or to rebuild their torn and tattered countries now that they are free, have to find their way. Just like any adolescent, these countries will be traversing new territory. Some will put great care and thought into planning the freedom of their future. Others will stumble and fall along the way. But hopefully their struggles and successes will continue to be an inspiration to others, and as time goes by, we can all learn how to be free together.

http://youtu.be/n4RjJKxsamQ

Sunday, August 14, 2011

August 14, 2011--Ride your own ride.

So, I would never make any claim  to be physically fit. It's kind of funny, especially given that I am married to a man who rides his bicycle to and from work, and routinely rides ridiculous-mile-rides on the weekends, somehow managing to find his way back home without collapsing.

I have two bicycles. One is an Electra Cruiser, the other is a Redline road bike. Because I am married to a cyclist, I have plenty of gear. But none of my stuff gets used (at least not by me) on a very frequent basis. I occasionally decide to reform, and start riding a little bit. I have a couple of friends who are training for a triathlon, and they very kindly invited me to come along with them to scout out the cycling route today. I was excited, but also a little nervous. I don't ride that much. The most frequent physical activity in my life is carrying about thirty-eight pounds worth of dogs upstairs and down.

This morning, I rummaged through the tangle of cycling gear to find my socks and a lighter weight pair of gloves. Jeph attached a water bottle cage to my road bike and filled a couple of bottles to go for me. He loaded my bike into the truck bed--neither of us thinking that I would be able to successfully deal with unhooking it from the bike rack and getting it back together. I was all set.

After a few wrong turns, my friends and I reached our starting point. I felt compelled to remind them that I anticipated being dropped early and that they shouldn't worry about me when it happened. I joked that Jeph always tells me that you have to ride your own ride. I was right. The first big hill waylaid me. I kicked it into low gear--because otherwise, I was going to have to get off and walk it.

When you get dropped, there's the natural tendency to feel embarrassed and to try to push yourself to catch up. I resisted the urge, in part because my body didn't give me any choice. If I was going to make it without having to walk the bike, I was just going to have to settle for what I could do.

Over the years, I have frequently spent twenty-one days in July watching over a hundred men be completely turned inside out while riding the Tour de France. It's usually the hills that separate the pack and reveal who's really in it, and who's not. There's usually a small handful of riders who take off ahead of the crowd, desperately trying to win a stage and a moment of glory. You often see them looking over their shoulders to gauge the distance between themselves and the peloton. And you can see the moment in their eyes when they realize they're going to be swallowed up.

As I pedaled for all I was worth up the first of what I am sure were a hundred hills, I wasn't interested in looking back, and every time I looked ahead, all I could see was what seemed to be an insurmountable distance. How was I going to make it? And so I found myself just staring down at the road beneath me. I soon realized, the only way I was going to make it was to focus on where I was and nothing more.

When you're struggling to put one foot in front of the other--or in this case, one pedal in front of the other--you end up thinking a lot. I hadn't brought my iPod, because I did start off with the illusion that I might stay with the pack enough to chat, and because I can't find a set of ear buds that I don't hate. So in lieu of music to keep me going, I started thinking the mega cliche. This ride was like life. If you spend your time looking back, you're likely to ride headlong into a tree or a moving vehicle. If you spend your time looking too far ahead, you're going to feel too overwhelmed to make it. Just like you have to ride your own ride, you have to live your own life and make your own way. 

I spent most of my ride quite a ways back from my friends. They more than kindly waited at points where a turn was being made. Each time, I tried to reassure them that if I got too far back, or separated from them, I would be fine. Even if I wasn't sure about the route, I knew I would eventually find my way back to the parking lot with the truck.

We continued, and I got dropped several times along the way. But it didn't matter. I managed to make it up every hill without having to get off and walk, and even when our fearless leader made a wrong turn or two, I managed to keep going. In spite of my struggle, I was enjoying how happy my friend seemed on her bike, and it didn't bother me a bit that I was going to be bringing up the rear.

By the time we made our way back to the parking lot we started from, one of the riders in our little trio had had to peel off and head home for a prior commitment. We arrived just in time for her to call and make sure we'd made it back all right. And we had. Even I had made it back all right. I'd managed to pedal my way fifteen miles without stopping, collapsing or feeling like my whole body had been ripped apart.

I hadn't made the ride easily. It was a challenge. I rode my own ride. But as I watched my friend so happy on her bike and I managed to make it safely back to the trusty truck, it occurred to me that even though I had ridden my own ride, I was awfully happy to have been invited to join someone else on theirs.


http://youtu.be/Guv6hWaIQaE



Friday, August 12, 2011

August 12, 2011--When everyone loses, what is all the fighting for?

So, earlier in the week, I saw a bumper sticker that said: "An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind."

The phrase "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth" is attributed to the book of Exodus in the bible. While I'm not Jewish, and I am not a Christian, it seems to me that the bible mostly discourages us from following most of our urges. What strikes me about this phrase in Exodus is the fact that it seems to do just the opposite, since I can't think of anything more natural than to want to retaliate against those who commit transgressions against us.

It's been a tough nearly ten years in this little world of ours. We're just a month away from the tenth anniversary of losing more than three thousand souls in the terror attacks on 9/11. Those attacks were allegedly perpetrated against us because of our wayward western lifestyle. And our response--to avenge ourselves for the attack upon us. An eye for an eye.

In the moment, it felt so right for us to go after the bad guys--to go after Bin Laden, Al-Qaeda and the Taliban. What could be more justified than blood for blood--life for life. Nearly 7,500 American and Coalition fighters have died fighting the Afghan and Iraq wars over the last 10 years. That number doesn't include the number of veterans of these wars who have suffered so greatly from post traumatic stress disorder and have taken their own lives--these are casualties of war as well. And there are many thousands who have been so injured that while they are alive, the lives they lived before are gone forever.

It's hard to find any kind of reliable, accurate source of information about the number of Afghan and Iraqui casualties there have been since the War on Terror began. One statistic I saw estimated the number at more than 900,000. That's about half the population of the Kansas City Metro Area where I live. Can you imagine half the people in your city being gone? I can't.

In the beginning, it felt like we were doing some good. We went into Afghanistan to rid its people of the oppressive control of the Taliban and hopefully to make the country inhospitable to dangerous militant groups like Al-Qaeda. We freed women from the burqa and helped young girls obtain an education legally. I was all about the "girl power." I really thought we could "win."

As we start to look to the horizon and consider withdrawing our troops from Afghanistan, our great fears are being realized. The Taliban is trying to regain its foothold. The Afghan government is corrupt. The most reliable source of income for many is the poppy trade, and a lot of people have begun to wonder if things weren't more secure and reliable when strong militant groups like the Taliban were in charge.

Before we invaded Iraq, Jeph and I were sitting in a pub in Blarney, Ireland. While having dinner, we were overhearing the discussion of an Irishman and a couple of Australians about the prospect of our invasion and essentially how terrible Americans were for supporting such action. Jeph and I didn't support the invasion of Iraq, and luckily we had the opportunity to get involved in the discussion to share our views. Our passionate lack of support for the war in Iraq didn't prevent it from happening. What's crazy to me is that we might actually have done some good there, and we may actually be able to leave without that country being dragged back down into the mire.

But I worry. For any small amount of good we may have done, what have we gained for ourselves? We are still hated by many in the Middle East. Militant groups and individuals are still interested in launching attacks against us. And as we are dealing this week with the deaths of 30 servicemen in a helicopter shot down by the Taliban last weekend, I wonder, how many more people have to die in a war we don't seem to be able to win?

Wouldn't it be great if everyone wanted democracy and people everywhere shared in equal rights? As much as I think it would be, I also start to wonder why we think we can change other nations. People in countries like Egypt and Tunisia lived under oppressive leadership for decades, and because those countries posed no threat to us, we left dictators in place while people suffered. Without our intervention, the people of Egypt and Tunisia stood up for themselves and demanded their freedom--and they got it. Syrians and Libyans are struggling for the same freedom even now. It seems to me that the better course of action than intervention is to support people who are standing up for themselves. Peaceful protest leading to freedom seems to make more sense than people killing each other for power.

Unfortunately, peaceful protest can also be co-opted by those with nefarious intent. As businesses and police cars have been burning in the streets of London, Manchester and Birmingham, it's also clear that sometimes people don't even really know what it is they are fighting for. What started out as a peaceful demonstration of discontent about a man shot by the police turned into an excuse for bored, lawless youth to perpetrate violent crimes, torch businesses and loot. It seems that in the case of England, an eye for an eye has left many people blind.

The other night I was watching an interview with Bono and Somali rapper, poet and musician K'naan. They were discussing the plight of Somalis and others suffering from famine in the Horn of Africa. Anderson Cooper brought up the possible perception that people might have about Somalia after our efforts to assist them in the early nineties failed so miserably. Why would we want to make an effort now? It is easy to turn a blind eye when your outstretched hand has been bitten before. But as Bono, K'naan and some media outlets are starting to show us, we are turning a blind eye to more than half a million who are dying from hunger and disease--mostly children.

Again, I confess, I'm not Jewish or Christian, so the teachings of the bible aren't a mandate for me. That said, there is one man who agreed that we should turn our heads--we should turn them as we are turning our other cheek. In Matthew 5:39, Jesus is to have said that we shouldn't resist evil and that when we are struck on the right cheek, we should turn and offer our left to be struck as well.

Jeph, my atheist husband, has frequently said something over the years that is in much the same vein: "good for evil." When someone harms you, you should immediately offer something positive to them in return. For someone who views religion as wholly useless and nothing more than a fairy tale, it seems to me that he shares the moral compass of that simple Jewish Rabbi who many believe to have been their savior.

It hurts to see sometimes. The images of children with potbellies, flies and sunken eyes are no less horrifying to me today than they were when Ethiopia was suffering horrible droughts and famine in the eighties. The images of flag-draped caskets carrying sons, husbands and fathers home to be put in the ground are also heartbreaking. Seeing the senseless and blind violence of hyped up youth in a nation known for its civility only brings a sense of the world being deeply troubled and out of control.

I would love it if I couldn't see any of these things, but I favor humanity, and I don't want to go blind. Hit me or do what you will, I'm not willing to lose for the simple pleasure of hitting you back.

http://youtu.be/ykQRkgB-EXQ



Tuesday, August 9, 2011

August 9, 2011--Be Yourself Part 2--because everyone can be a superhero!

So, as I wrote my earlier post, I explored how rock stars come into being. Music is a passionate obsession of mine, so I am eternally fascinated by what makes a musician a rock star. Tonight, however, I had the opportunity to watch an HBO documentary that was on the one hand a little disturbing, but on the other very moving and inspiring.

The HBO documentary "Superheroes" follows the lives of some folks who are trying to be real life superheroes, and when I say real life superheroes, I mean exactly that. These are people who have created costumes--many with masks--and who go out on patrol in an attempt to make their city streets safer and a little better.

The most obvious comment that can be made here is that these folks have plenty of personal baggage, and in many ways their own victimization has been the catalyst for their vigilante lifestyle. Their alternate realities are intriguing and baffling, but their belief in what they are doing is phenomenal to see in action. There at once pathetic and inspiring.

Mr. Extreme lives in San Diego. He's a little chunky, he lives out of a van and his parents worry about him when he heads out into the night. He sees his main function as raising awareness within his community, but he's prepared to defend himself if necessary. He posts fliers about recent crimes and holds candle light vigils with his associates. Superheroes from other cities perform similar deeds while training and developing their physical fitness and abilities to defend themselves.

While raising community awareness about crime, and trying to make the neighborhoods around them safer is admirable, one of the superhero groups routinely goes out on sting operations--essentially trying to tempt criminals to act. I found that activity to be anything but heroic. As a survivor of violence and abuse, it's a tempting prospect to be able to go out there and exact my revenge on known perpetrators, but entrapping people in order to do it seems beneath the spirit of what these folks are seeking to do.

A handful of the individuals in this documentary did go out on patrol, but more often than not, their purpose was to aid the homeless in their communities. Zetaman and his wife Apocalypse Meow, and a guy who goes by the moniker "Life," routinely check in with people living on the streets in their cities. Zeta and Meow put together "Zeta Packs" containing essentials like toilet paper, socks, lip balm and small snacks with money out of their own pockets to hand out to people living on the streets. Life checks in on the homeless and gets to know them. He knows where they sleep, if they have eaten or not, and he offers them kindness and anything he has.  People like Zeta, Meow and Life aren't giving the bad guys "what for," they're showing what it means to be good guys. Several of the other real life superheroes featured are doing the same kinds of things. I most enjoyed these real life superheroes going out as a team during a Comic Con and visiting with the homeless in the area to offer whatever they could, while other people dressed up like superheroes were blocks away seeking autographs and memorabilia from heroes who don't really exist. It was a striking juxtaposition.

While I know we can't all don capes, masks and armor to go out and patrol our streets every night, I believe we can all be superheroes. There are people in every city, in every state who go to bed hungry every night--if they're lucky enough to have a bed to go to at all. Millions of men, women and children are fleeing the violence of Somalia to refugee camps in Africa, and they are suffering from starvation, disease and violence. There are many other areas of the world where people are suffering in similar situations.

Each of us throws away more food everyday than some people get to eat in a week. We waste water. We throw away items that can be recycled or repurposed. We pay $4 a cup for coffee instead of buying a bag of coffee for $6 that makes many cups, and then using what we save to contribute to decreasing hunger in our communities or someplace else in the world. We talk about things like charity starting at home, and well, that seems to be where it ends for so many of us who are too busy to think like heroes. There are small, easy opportunities to reach out and help others heroically everyday. For example, today, I downloaded a Bob Marley song and the proceeds went to Save the Children. Who doesn't like Bob Marley?

Mr. Extreme lives in a van, yet he is passionate about doing what he can for others. He posted fliers around town in an effort to help catch a guy who was assaulting people within his community. It's up for debate whether his efforts truly resulted in the capture of the assailant, but leaders in his community believe his efforts to raise awareness may have made a difference.

A couple of nights ago, I was watching a story on CNN about a group of teenagers in Mississippi who specifically sought out an African American to beat and ultimately kill. Their actions were captured on a security camera. The parking lot it happened in was well lit, and in the video, there were cars driving by. I think it's great that the video provides the proof necessary to bring these hoodlums to justice, but it's disappointing that nobody made any effort to save this man. The incident did happen in the wee small hours of the morning, but it's hard to believe nobody saw this attack taking place. As I mentioned in a previous blog, a woman who passed out a few blocks from where I live was sexually assaulted while bystanders did nothing.

Many of the individuals featured in this documentary act in the memory of Catherine "Kitty" Genovese, who was brutally murdered on March 13, 1964, while bystanders did nothing in spite of her many cries for help. Now, people didn't have cell phones fifty years ago, but you can't throw a rock today and hit a person who isn't carrying a cell--especially in my neighborhood.

One of the "real life" superheroes said something that really struck me. He said that people might look at what he's doing and say it's not normal, but in his eyes, it isn't normal to watch while your fellow man is suffering or being harmed. Those of us who don't act are the ones who aren't normal.

Raise a flag. Sound the alarm. The world around us is on fire all the time. All you have to do to keep it from burning is have enough heart to speak up or to take just one tiny step. It doesn't take a mask, a cape, or even super powers to be a superhero--it just takes the power of shared superhuman spirit.

http://youtu.be/Tgcc5V9Hu3g


August 9, 2011--Be yourself--because even you have an inner rock star.

So, I often wonder about the process of how one transitions from average Jo(e) to "rock star." I'm fascinated by the prospect of some music crazed nerd strumming guitar in their dirty-clothes-laden room at their parents' house, and how that nerd becomes the next Bono or Matthew Bellamy.

I listen to a lot of music, and I am especially fond of discovering new music and up and coming bands. I've often talked about it, and I never tire of being able to introduce friends to something I know will be great. I love the giant mega rock shows of U2 and Muse, but there is a warm, special place in my heart for seeing new music in small venues--seeing new music finding its sea legs.

Seeing new artists in small venues often affords me the opportunity to actually meet these new artists and give them feedback on the spot. As a writer, I know how critical it can be for someone just to tell you what they think about what you're doing. It gives you the hope that you might just be on the right track, and for new bands it makes the bumpy overnight travel from town to town in a van worthwhile. It makes the time away from home, family and friends mean something.

In the last year and a half, I have had the opportunity to watch Civil Twilight and A Silent Film grow. I know I've talked about them in previous blogs. I was lucky enough to "get in on the ground floor" with these two groups and see them as they played their first shows here in the states. The first time I saw Civil Twilight at the Bottleneck in Lawrence, Kansas, there might have been about forty people in the crowd. The band seemed kind of quiet--tentative, if you will. By the time I saw them at the Record Bar six months later, I was fearful that lead singer Steven McKellar's exuberance was going to land him quite literally in my lap. I saw A Silent Film at the Buzz Beach Ball last year, and when thanking me for coming out to see them, lead singer Robert Stevenson brushed his cheek against mine. He was very interested in where I had heard them first. Both groups are still fairly approachable, but each time I see them, I can tell they are finding their way--they are becoming the rock stars. 

Over the last weekend, Jeph and I attended the first ever "Kanrocksas" festival. It was two days packed with music we knew, and a lot that we didn't.

One of the "acts" that struck me most was "Girl Talk." "Girl Talk," for those of you who are like me, and are completely unfamiliar, is a DJ. He's a guy who mixes different tracks together. I'm going to be honest--I kind of don't get it, but hundreds and hundreds of people at Kanrocksas did. This skinny guy in sweatpants and a headband takes different pieces of music and fuses them together. He could be your younger, annoying brother in the room next door. There is nothing about him that seems overtly special, and yet women in bikinis gyrated around him, guys clearly wanted to be him and a massive crowd was enthralled by him. Even though I wasn't into it, it was fascinating to watch.

Friday night, we saw Ellie Goulding, a 25-year-old from Hereford, England. The picture of her on Wikipedia has her in what appears to be a plain sweatshirt and kind of out of control blonde locks. She looks exactly like the girl next door. She's up and coming here. Jeph and I originally saw her on an episode of Saturday Night Live this last year. Fast forward to Friday night. Ellie was glammed up in platform heels, black satin shorts and a sheer blouse over a black lacy bra. She looked great, but she looked miles away from the Wikipedia photo. I know that Ellie Goulding wouldn't be selling downloads and CDs like hotcakes in a sweatshirt, but it's amazing to see the transformation.

We also saw Eminem Friday night. Here's where I have to confess--I do not enjoy rap music at all. Ninety percent of it seems to be misogynistic, violent, homophobic and horribly negative. Sunday night, I watched a replay of Anderson Cooper's interview with Eminem. In the interview he talks about getting sober and takes Cooper on a tour of the neighborhood he grew up in. I get that many successful rappers have similar backgrounds. While I don't particularly like Eminem's music, I respect what he does and his importance and relevance within his genre. I can't imagine how hard it is to be a successful white rapper. And he commands a presence that is undeniable.

What really gets me is that it seems like the only way to be successful in this genre is to perpetuate all of the negative stereotypes within the African American culture. In order to be successful, you have to talk about women being "bitches," you have to talk about violence and call people the "N-word" or fags. I do realize that there are exceptions, but it seems like these folks aren't the ones making all of the money. And while I know that as a segment of our population, African Americans are the most disenfranchised people in our country, part of me wonders how many of these successful artists might be stretching their own truths--just a little bit--in order to make themselves more marketable.

When I think about a story I heard on National Public Radio's "Talk of the Nation" yesterday, it seems to me that successful African Americans should be trying to perpetuate a more positive image, because there's so much against the young people in their community as it is. In the story, educators were talking about the frequency with which students are either suspended from school or expelled. African American students are by far more likely to be removed from the classroom for disruptive behavior than others. I'm not saying that African American students are more disruptive, I'm just saying that when choosing discipline options, educators decide it's better for these students to be removed instead of trying to find ways to help them within the classroom and the school. I know that artists have a right to express themselves and to talk about the things that shaped them, I just wish that as these folks started to lift themselves out of these tragic situations they could also express themselves about how things can get better and there is hope. But when it comes to cashing in, I worry that the persona is more important than the person.

As I got ready to head out Saturday night, I decided to do a little "transitioning" of my own. By day, I am a veterinary technician and I wear blue scrubs everyday. Other than the jewelry I wear, the way I style my hair and the way I communicate with people, there's not much that tells people who I really am. So, despite it being over ninety degrees outside, I donned my calf-high, patent Doc Martens, a black skirt, red corset top and red lipstick. I'd only worn the Docs a couple of other times, so they managed to shred my heels--but, I looked good, and I looked like what I think my "rock star" self should look like. In the days since, I'm bandaging those sore heels and wearing thicker socks. It's okay, because eventually, those boots will be broken in, and so will that persona.


http://youtu.be/jW5f5OQSdsM


Friday, August 5, 2011

August 5, 2011--"Legend Quest." The quest itself MUST be the Grail.

So, over the last several weeks, I have been watching the Syfy show "Legend Quest." I started watching it, because I'm a total nerd. I love history, the supernatural and anything that involves a mystery. This show finds its perfect target in me.

Archeological explorer, Ashely Cowie gallivants to all corners of the world looking for legendary objects and places that may not even exist. So far, he's looked for the Ark of the Covenant, Excalibur and the staff of Moses--just to name a few. Ashely Cowie never finds any of these things.

I don't know what Cowie's qualifications are, with the possible exception of blaring exuberance and a Scottish accent. I've stopped watching it with my husband, because throughout the hour-long episodes, there's only one qualification Jeph pronounces him to have--that of being a complete tool. As I watch each episode and reach the end with Cowie failing to produce the item he sought, I ask myself--why do I bother? As previously noted, I'm a nerd, and I love the concept! And when it comes down to it, I think the reason any of us watches shows like these is because we all dream of finding that prize. I think shows like "Legend Quest" may shine a light on something bigger.

How many thousands of "legendary" objects and mysterious places are hidden out there? For every one I know about, I'm sure there are a thousand more. These legends and mysteries are symbols of something intangible that we are trying to make tangible. What's lost in these quests isn't any object or place, it's our knowledge of self and purpose. We don't realize that we don't need to find the Holy Grail, Excalibur, King Arthur's bones or the Garden of Eden. We only need to find ourselves.

Another of my favorite shows of all time was "Pinky and the Brain." It was an animated series depicting two mice--one whose dedicated purpose was to take over the world, and the other to serve his friend. They failed at every scheme the Brain plotted, usually through some clumsy misstep of Pinky's. But at the end of each episode, when they discussed their plans for the following day, the Brain never lost focus. His intent was still to do "the same thing we do every night, Pinky, try to take over the world." While I'm sure the Brain really did believe he wanted to take over the world, it was the pursuit of doing so that gave his life purpose.

Last night, we went to see "Cowboys and Aliens" with friends. Being the nerds that we are, how could we possibly pass up a movie twisting the cowboy and alien movie genres? The story is set in a small mining town that hasn't lived up to the gold-prospecting hopes its settlers came for. It turns out that the settlers aren't the only ones looking for gold. Through the course of battling the aliens to retrieve family and friends that have been abducted, Harrison Ford's character has a couple of revelations. He realizes, too late, that the young Native American working for him is in essence the son he has always wanted, and the quest for gold and wealth has only alienated him from his shiftless and wayward son that he has lost. He has been seeking the wrong things, and protecting things that have no meaning. Daniel Craig's character has forgotten who he was, and in the process of regaining his memory, comes to understand who he was meant to be, and what the pursuit of "shiny things" has cost him.

I know everything I've talked about so far has had more than just the ring of fiction and absurdity. "Legend Quest," "Pinky and the Brain," and "Cowboys and Aliens" are all designed to be entertainment. But there are any number of more "credible" shows and resources dealing with questing. I can't even tick off all of the shows on the History Channel, Discovery, National Geographic and the like that have similar pursuits. Some of the shows on these channels have a tendency to bear more fruit than "Legend Quest," but even the more reputable "questers" often fall short.

One would think that after such highly publicized and televised failures, these explorers and questers would lose hope and just go home to play Dungeons and Dragons with their compatriots.

What are you looking for? Is the quest to find it filling your life with stimulation, excitement and motivation? If the quest never bears fruit, will you feel cheated? I think it's up to all of us, nerd or not, to understand the purpose of searching for the great prize and the mysterious legendary object. Your life, and the quest for it is the true Grail.

At the end of the rope, in the bottom of the cave, hanging just above waters that haven't been seen for thousands of years, and just to the left of the Templar Cross, the thing we should really be trying to find is who we are, and who we wish to be.

http://youtu.be/Zb4dIvomCwI

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

August 2, 2011--It took a beacon to shine a light on the shamefulness.

So, I think most of us have watched as debate after debate and negotiation after negotiation in Washington failed to achieve meaningful compromise over raising the debt ceiling.

I want to believe there was never really any doubt that it was going to happen, because surely the people we have elected, whether Democrat, Republican or Tea Partier, couldn't possibly be dumb enough or selfish enough not to care about the future of our country's economy. And since that's what I want to believe, it makes me all the angrier that these jokers batted our future around like something as meaningless as a shuttlecock while strutting their political feathers to hold onto power. If we as the American people were worth our salt and not embroiled in the drama ourselves, perhaps we would be willing to take a real stand.

Last night, our leaders finally stopped teasing and taunting all of us, and they came to a horrible agreement that accomplishes little, except preventing us from defaulting on financial obligations we as a nation had already committed to.

I haven't made any secret about my liberal leanings, but I have been pleasantly surprised by a couple of the most conservative talking heads acknowledging that we didn't get to a fourteen trillion dollar debt under the leadership of one party. It takes two parties to tango, and while I would always defend the liberal leaders I have voted for and continue to support, I think that's the reality we all have to be willing to see.

As I watch coverage of our leaders walking through the halls of Washington harried and worn by what has played out over the last several weeks, one thing is clear--nobody is celebrating the success of this uneasy agreement and compromise. Conservatives talk about us finally working to get our "fiscal house in order." Liberals talk about the hope that sanity will win out, and we will look at realistic ways to close loopholes for big business and reform our tax code so that the wealthiest people in our country don't continue to line their pockets at the expense of the middle class and the poor.

In the midst of all of this grizzled rhetoric, there was a moment last night that captured the essence of how politics and our leaders have failed us. When Arizona Representative Gabriel Giffords made her way onto the House floor, it was as if for a moment, maybe, everyone remembered that we are all in this together. A Representative elected by her state, and gravely injured in the line of duty reminded us, once again, that the talk has gotten way out of hand.

It seems like it was only yesterday that our nation was in stunned shock when Giffords and eighteen others were shot outside of a grocery store. While I think everyone is well aware that shooter Jared Loughner is mentally ill, in the moment, everyone started talking about how outrageous political rhetoric had become. We suddenly realized that our talk had become very violent and counterproductive. Nobody had come out and said it was right to hunt down and shoot politicians we disagreed with, but nobody had come out and said we shouldn't.

When I think about how outrageous the last few weeks have been, it makes me worry that we haven't learned anything. If I had a dime for every derogatory post on Facebook I've seen about our president and our leaders, I'd be able to have a really nice dinner this weekend. I could get dessert if I had a dime for those that included expletives.

I really wonder if people truly believe that any one of our leaders has specifically set out to destroy our economy, increase unemployment, destroy small business, starve the hungry, deny medical care to the sick, inappropriately arm our troops, or promote abortion as the best birth control option. And yet, if you believe what is said on some of the most popular news programs on television, those are exactly the kinds of things many of our leaders have specifically set out to do.

I can't decide who's more insane, Jared Loughner, people who make these kinds of insane statements, or those of us who believe those statements. Maybe Loughner isn't the only one who needs treatment.

When I think of Gabby Giffords on the House floor, I want to believe that we can recover too. I want to believe that we can go back to being a nation that gave everyone else hope. While I think most of us would agree that our immigration policies and enforcement are a wreck, I long for the days when coming to America and living the American dream was something people from other countries wanted to do. More often than not, immigrants from places other than south of our border only come to seek their education and then take it back home with them. They aren't staying to create jobs and to help restore our nation's greatness.

Maybe it's time for us to ask ourselves why. Maybe it's our mutual disrespect, hate, and outright insanity that turns people off and makes them call us selfish, fat cats who don't care about our neighbors. If we think that we can continue to be a great nation while acting like mad two-year-olds who throw ourselves on the floor when we don't get our way, we should all be in a lock-down facility in Springfield, Missouri with Jared Loughner.

http://youtu.be/bd2B6SjMh_w