..a regular blogger. Or any number of other things that I would like to be.
I've had a series of huge moments lately, moments in which ideas and the wisdom about how to use them come like a gift. There's no other way to describe it. And though the pace of life lately has been about 15 miles over the speed limit, I haven't had to steer--that's being done for me.
My thoughts have been playing lately on the boundaries of three of my most significant interests: theology, sociology, and creativity. And how each of them has it's own window on what it means to be human in relationship with other humans. The further I go into community and the more complicated my community gets here in Austin, the more that I realize there is nothing more challenging, more draining, and more enriching than the community of people on a spiritual journey together. God, the Trinity, is community; the social system is community, with claims on us, whether we recognize it or not; our families, blessing or curse, are community; our friendships, whether deep or shallow, are community. The ties define us, as we define them. Yet it is so common to let these ties get sick, ignore them, or misuse them: we let individual choice trump commitment to relationships, we choose isolation over connection, we drive further inward to "protect" ourselves and those around us, only to drag our ties along with us.
The East African writer Malidoma Some talks about the way that the Dagara people, living in modern-day Ghana and Burkina Faso, see the role of the individual in community. He says, and I love this, that when a woman in the community becomes pregnant, everyone gets together to talk and divine, through ritual, what the unique purpose of this new human is for the community. Individual purpose is at the center of what it means to be human: and individuals are NOT interchangeable cores with attained knowledge and skill sets. If a human does not live in their purpose, they suffer and the community suffers. They need the community to determine their purpose, and the community needs them living in their purpose in order to be healty.
Also, purpose is closely tied to the idea of "genius", which they think about very differently than we do. Genius is not some general quality, given through random biological mutation or chance. Genius is each individuals link to God, their unique "channel" for spiritual power, that must be discovered and opened in order to allow spiritual power to be channelled to the community. We are all geniuses--we just each have unique genius.
HOWEVER. I don't know how to be in community. I don't know how to be a good friend, a good daughter, a good sister, a good student, a good ... whatever. But maybe that's the point--community isn't about me, individually, achieving success in a collection of individual identities (friend, daughter, student, sister). Maybe it is about recognizing the ties, commiting to the ties, feeding the ties, submitting to the ties that are already there. Lord knows, we are never able, no matter how hard we try, to get free of them.
I don't know how to be what I already am. And THAT problem, I'm certain, is at the core of what it means to be human.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
Monday, December 31, 2007
Something to Say
It's a unique experience, visiting old homes... catching up with friends I used to live my daily life with, trying to update them and be updated on nine months or so of life...realizing that not much has changed, and yet everything has changed during that time. Most of my friends here are married (or soon to be) with dogs and old houses they are fixing up and renovating (seriously--this is a very popular and excellent Pittsburghian pastime). Some are having kids or starting to try to have kids, some are sticking with dogs, but honestly, in the past few days I've hung out with six such couples. So, there. It is a trend.
Anyway, it's New Year's Eve, and so I'm trying to be thoughtful about the coming year. In the words of my friend Ian, 2007 did not live up to predictions (at least, that was the gist, sorry Ian if I misquote); in some ways, it far exceeded them. In others, it felt like dragging myself through quicksand. So, what do we do with this? For some reason, we feel the need to sum things up, organize time into periods called "years" that we can toast to and greet with a plan and a party hat. Yet the more we plan and resolute (does that work as a verb?), the more we feel powerless and carried along on a wind that has some other idea of where we are going. How do we get with that program? How do we learn to respond to where the wind is going without our own expectations and preconcieved notions?
A few people have heard the long story of my trip to Africa; how I found myself in repeatedly uncomfortable and unpredictable situations, and yet how much I learned from putting myself out there and how I returned with, well, something to SAY about Malawian life and culture (though I have so, so, so much more to learn). I think that if we let it, life will teach us and give us something to say to our fellow travellers in the end; getting ourselves to listen, that's the hard part. Getting ourselves to let go of our own plans, objectives, resolutions, and expectations... that's what takes a lifetime of blows and unexpected blessings to learn.
Yesterday, I was at a friends house watching the Steelers (another Pittsburghian pastime), and I was looking over a book of the life of the painter Henri Matisse. As I flipped through it, I just got the sense of a life lived practicing and engaging art; you can see his finished works in museums, certainly, but in the book you can see his studies, his unfinished works, his studios, his models, his sketches... you can see the life of the artist lived in moments that will never make it on a museum wall, yet contribute to those moments that show up in the Louvre. That's the kind of life I want. One that engages, that practices, that sketches ideas, that goes at it over and over again, that maybe produces one or two ideas/songs/essays/sentences that are truly good and last longer than I do...maybe. But that's not what's important. What matters is that I keep loving and serving that beauty, no matter what, even when it flows in ways I don't expect. So, to honor this idea, here's one of Matisse's shiningest moments... remember, a lifetime of work went into this:
truly amazing. Hope you have a New Year's Eve something like the moment portrayed in this painting.
Anyway, it's New Year's Eve, and so I'm trying to be thoughtful about the coming year. In the words of my friend Ian, 2007 did not live up to predictions (at least, that was the gist, sorry Ian if I misquote); in some ways, it far exceeded them. In others, it felt like dragging myself through quicksand. So, what do we do with this? For some reason, we feel the need to sum things up, organize time into periods called "years" that we can toast to and greet with a plan and a party hat. Yet the more we plan and resolute (does that work as a verb?), the more we feel powerless and carried along on a wind that has some other idea of where we are going. How do we get with that program? How do we learn to respond to where the wind is going without our own expectations and preconcieved notions?
A few people have heard the long story of my trip to Africa; how I found myself in repeatedly uncomfortable and unpredictable situations, and yet how much I learned from putting myself out there and how I returned with, well, something to SAY about Malawian life and culture (though I have so, so, so much more to learn). I think that if we let it, life will teach us and give us something to say to our fellow travellers in the end; getting ourselves to listen, that's the hard part. Getting ourselves to let go of our own plans, objectives, resolutions, and expectations... that's what takes a lifetime of blows and unexpected blessings to learn.
Yesterday, I was at a friends house watching the Steelers (another Pittsburghian pastime), and I was looking over a book of the life of the painter Henri Matisse. As I flipped through it, I just got the sense of a life lived practicing and engaging art; you can see his finished works in museums, certainly, but in the book you can see his studies, his unfinished works, his studios, his models, his sketches... you can see the life of the artist lived in moments that will never make it on a museum wall, yet contribute to those moments that show up in the Louvre. That's the kind of life I want. One that engages, that practices, that sketches ideas, that goes at it over and over again, that maybe produces one or two ideas/songs/essays/sentences that are truly good and last longer than I do...maybe. But that's not what's important. What matters is that I keep loving and serving that beauty, no matter what, even when it flows in ways I don't expect. So, to honor this idea, here's one of Matisse's shiningest moments... remember, a lifetime of work went into this:
truly amazing. Hope you have a New Year's Eve something like the moment portrayed in this painting.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Lookin' all official
That was me this weekend: getting up in front of about 20 or so sociologists of religion and pretending like I was one of them. Afterwards, I hit receptions with cash bars and scheduled lunches and basically tried to push my way onto the radars of some pretty significant people in my field.
Is this my life? Someone pinch me.
Is this my life? Someone pinch me.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Why I write
It may seem odd, writing a post with such subject line, when I haven't written one in two months. My life, though, is scattered with moments that revolve around this question of "why writing", and I think I just had one. So, the only logical thing to do....
I was sitting here, in my office hours, recieving a slow trickle of Intro to Sociology assignments (I will be grading about 80 of them this weekend--that fact could be furthered discussed in a post entitle "why I DON'T write"), reading some of my friends' blogs. A couple of them have had babies recently, a few of them I haven't talked to in awhile, and reading their blogs makes me feel closer to them than I would be able to be otherwise. Then, I thought I might mosey on over to my own personal cyber-forum, seeing as I hadn't been in awhile... and then, I started reading some of my past posts. And I started to realize something: I write for ME.
I honestly believe that if I didn't write, I would have a much thinner conception of myself, my past, and where I am going. When I read what I've written a year ago, I think: oh YEAH, wow! That's where I was, and I have THAT in me!! We all know that modern life is like a rushing river, carrying us along and leaving us just enough time to frantically paddle. My paddling has been more frantic than ever this semester, and it's due to a combination of institutionalized norms that I'm living up to and my own D-R-I-V-E. I'm quite good at envisioning projects and accomplishments, and I am capable of seeing them through--I just still don't have the best sense of how much is reasonable to expect of myself in terms of time and energy (and emotional health). Yet thank God, I still from time to time have these moments, where the words I've written along the way mark where I've been, and I realize that the moving rush of my personal narrative is bigger than a career, than a family life, than moving around the country, or simply a chronicle of events and accomplishments. The Intro to Sociology assignments I will be grading this weekend are papers about narratives--how our lives fit into overarching collective narratives, how we understand our lives in terms of those narratives, and how narratives are more than just historical chronicles. They tell the moments plus the meanings of those moments. They enable us to understand ourselves and our world.
My narrative, then, is not about this job, that job, this person, that person; it's about learning love, feeling deep, clumsily trying to mimic the beauty I see around me, cleaning up dark corners, and responding to the spiritual reality of life. There is a beginning, middle, end, hero, villain, climax, plot, theme; and what's more, it's not just about me or even primarily about me....
It's about everyone.
I was sitting here, in my office hours, recieving a slow trickle of Intro to Sociology assignments (I will be grading about 80 of them this weekend--that fact could be furthered discussed in a post entitle "why I DON'T write"), reading some of my friends' blogs. A couple of them have had babies recently, a few of them I haven't talked to in awhile, and reading their blogs makes me feel closer to them than I would be able to be otherwise. Then, I thought I might mosey on over to my own personal cyber-forum, seeing as I hadn't been in awhile... and then, I started reading some of my past posts. And I started to realize something: I write for ME.
I honestly believe that if I didn't write, I would have a much thinner conception of myself, my past, and where I am going. When I read what I've written a year ago, I think: oh YEAH, wow! That's where I was, and I have THAT in me!! We all know that modern life is like a rushing river, carrying us along and leaving us just enough time to frantically paddle. My paddling has been more frantic than ever this semester, and it's due to a combination of institutionalized norms that I'm living up to and my own D-R-I-V-E. I'm quite good at envisioning projects and accomplishments, and I am capable of seeing them through--I just still don't have the best sense of how much is reasonable to expect of myself in terms of time and energy (and emotional health). Yet thank God, I still from time to time have these moments, where the words I've written along the way mark where I've been, and I realize that the moving rush of my personal narrative is bigger than a career, than a family life, than moving around the country, or simply a chronicle of events and accomplishments. The Intro to Sociology assignments I will be grading this weekend are papers about narratives--how our lives fit into overarching collective narratives, how we understand our lives in terms of those narratives, and how narratives are more than just historical chronicles. They tell the moments plus the meanings of those moments. They enable us to understand ourselves and our world.
My narrative, then, is not about this job, that job, this person, that person; it's about learning love, feeling deep, clumsily trying to mimic the beauty I see around me, cleaning up dark corners, and responding to the spiritual reality of life. There is a beginning, middle, end, hero, villain, climax, plot, theme; and what's more, it's not just about me or even primarily about me....
It's about everyone.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Step into my office.
These days, I have been working some from coffeeshops and some from home. Working from home is, obviously, easier on my grad-student-esque financial situation, and now there's even more reason to: my new house has a really lovely front porch.
Every morning this week I have worked on this front porch. It is, in fact, the only place in the house that I am able to pick up (or pirate, or steal, or whatever you want to call it) wireless internet, and that is an absolute essential for time-wasting email-checking every 20 min. Another thing I like: Austin is hot in the summer, right? Well, and this should be news to all you northerners, it IS hot, but because of the ubiquity of AC, nobody ever really notices. It's not an issue, only very rarely bothersome in any sort of way. Yet true to form, I feel a bit guilty about that (read once in adbusters magazine that it takes twice as much energy to decrease the temp of an environment by one degree than to increase it). So now that the magic happens on my front porch everyday, I get to really FEEL the heat. By 4:30 my skin feels clammy and little beads of sweat are hanging out on my upper lip. And YES, I LIKE that. I feel like I am REALLY living in Austin, connecting to the land and to the seasons rather than to an artificial environment. Wendell Berry would be proud.
The other things that I like, in no particular order, are: the old movie seats (that say "Century theaters" on the arms and have very convenient cupholders) that we have on the porch; feeling like I might actually get to know some of my neighbors this way (or at least, gain some notoriety); watching the grass in our lawn grow (which it is very, very good at); classic Massive Attack albums such as Blue Lines, for example, and the song "Be Thankful for What You Got" (look it up and listen to it, you won't be sorry); parenthetical statements (in case you didn't already notice).
One more thing. Yesterday morning, I had just settled in with my laptop and coffee and the mailman, Harry comes sidling up to our mailbox. I decide to walk out to take the mail from him personally, which I used to love to do as a kid for some reason. I think I associated the arrival of the mail each day with excitement and suspense, even though I recieved a lot less mail than Mr. "Current Resident." Anyway, he looks at me with my coffee in hand and says, "You look like you don't have a care in the world!" I laugh and say, "Well, I guess I don't!" He replies, "Show me how! Show me how..." and shakes his head and drives off.
Well, Mr. Mailman, when I really figure it out, I'll let you know. In the meantime, I just hope that you too have a porch.
Every morning this week I have worked on this front porch. It is, in fact, the only place in the house that I am able to pick up (or pirate, or steal, or whatever you want to call it) wireless internet, and that is an absolute essential for time-wasting email-checking every 20 min. Another thing I like: Austin is hot in the summer, right? Well, and this should be news to all you northerners, it IS hot, but because of the ubiquity of AC, nobody ever really notices. It's not an issue, only very rarely bothersome in any sort of way. Yet true to form, I feel a bit guilty about that (read once in adbusters magazine that it takes twice as much energy to decrease the temp of an environment by one degree than to increase it). So now that the magic happens on my front porch everyday, I get to really FEEL the heat. By 4:30 my skin feels clammy and little beads of sweat are hanging out on my upper lip. And YES, I LIKE that. I feel like I am REALLY living in Austin, connecting to the land and to the seasons rather than to an artificial environment. Wendell Berry would be proud.
The other things that I like, in no particular order, are: the old movie seats (that say "Century theaters" on the arms and have very convenient cupholders) that we have on the porch; feeling like I might actually get to know some of my neighbors this way (or at least, gain some notoriety); watching the grass in our lawn grow (which it is very, very good at); classic Massive Attack albums such as Blue Lines, for example, and the song "Be Thankful for What You Got" (look it up and listen to it, you won't be sorry); parenthetical statements (in case you didn't already notice).
One more thing. Yesterday morning, I had just settled in with my laptop and coffee and the mailman, Harry comes sidling up to our mailbox. I decide to walk out to take the mail from him personally, which I used to love to do as a kid for some reason. I think I associated the arrival of the mail each day with excitement and suspense, even though I recieved a lot less mail than Mr. "Current Resident." Anyway, he looks at me with my coffee in hand and says, "You look like you don't have a care in the world!" I laugh and say, "Well, I guess I don't!" He replies, "Show me how! Show me how..." and shakes his head and drives off.
Well, Mr. Mailman, when I really figure it out, I'll let you know. In the meantime, I just hope that you too have a porch.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
One thing I love about Austin is:
Doing my work at a downtown sidewalk cafe and watching the ducky tours go by.
And now, some photos
It's not easy for me to choose just a few of these that encapsulate all that I did and saw when I was in Malawi. So, I'm not thinking to hard about it--just throwing these out there:
None of these pictures are really representative of my day-to-day there. They were all taken on special and unusual days. On the average day, we never get around to taking pictures. There's always "tomorrow" to capture the shop where we buy water everyday, the Malawian friends we've been working with, the minibusses that we ride regularly, the family at the restaurant where we went every day for dinner. True to my form as a poor photo-documentater, I didn't get pictures of any of those things. But at least you can see how beautiful it is there.
None of these pictures are really representative of my day-to-day there. They were all taken on special and unusual days. On the average day, we never get around to taking pictures. There's always "tomorrow" to capture the shop where we buy water everyday, the Malawian friends we've been working with, the minibusses that we ride regularly, the family at the restaurant where we went every day for dinner. True to my form as a poor photo-documentater, I didn't get pictures of any of those things. But at least you can see how beautiful it is there.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Back in Black
... or in Austin, rather.
Life on the return has been a bit of an onslaught. I have been realizing so vividly how many of the considerations and worries of the crazy American lifestyle (and my personal grad school version) took back seat when I was in Africa.
Exhibit A: Personal appearance. Malawian women can, when they want to, do themselves up; but they also have few qualms about walking around with their hair a mess and their oldest clothes on. And they certainly don't worry about "looking fat." I didn't either, when I was there, which demonstrated to me just how pervasive the subtle influence of cultural ideals can be. Back home, the whole comparison, self-assessment, and self-rejection process of Body Image rushed back like a bad memory. I hate that it "has" me, and I just can't shake it.
Yes, here comes the first of many sweeping cultural generalizations: we are much more self-aware here than they are there, as I have experienced it. We worry about being cool, looking great, working out, being thin, glowing skin, bronzing powder, dressing to the nines, etc. etc. etc.; and it's a trap. You never win. It's worth barely a fraction of the energy we put into it.
So, any ideas on how to get free of this problem? Should we all just ship off to Malawi?
Life on the return has been a bit of an onslaught. I have been realizing so vividly how many of the considerations and worries of the crazy American lifestyle (and my personal grad school version) took back seat when I was in Africa.
Exhibit A: Personal appearance. Malawian women can, when they want to, do themselves up; but they also have few qualms about walking around with their hair a mess and their oldest clothes on. And they certainly don't worry about "looking fat." I didn't either, when I was there, which demonstrated to me just how pervasive the subtle influence of cultural ideals can be. Back home, the whole comparison, self-assessment, and self-rejection process of Body Image rushed back like a bad memory. I hate that it "has" me, and I just can't shake it.
Yes, here comes the first of many sweeping cultural generalizations: we are much more self-aware here than they are there, as I have experienced it. We worry about being cool, looking great, working out, being thin, glowing skin, bronzing powder, dressing to the nines, etc. etc. etc.; and it's a trap. You never win. It's worth barely a fraction of the energy we put into it.
So, any ideas on how to get free of this problem? Should we all just ship off to Malawi?
Monday, July 16, 2007
Now Boarding to Amsterdam
... so i really shouldnt be writing this post, i should be heading to my gate, but i just cant help myself.
I am in Nairobi, where i spent the day unexpectedly; my flight out of lilongwe delayed 7 hours, setting off my whole itinerary. the only things i mind are: standing in long and motionless lines for about a total of 8 hours, sleeping on hard chairs in the airport cause all the hotels in nairobi are full, and also wearing the same clothes for three days straight, cause my baggage is still checked. other than that, its been a great adventure, and i have talked to people literally from all over the world since i arrived at the airport last night. i also got a hot shower and good food this afternoon, so I am not complaining.
Goodbye, Africa. I can't say I'll miss the hecticness of traveling within your borders, but that of course is nothing compared to all I have seen and enjoyed. Goodbye for now!
I am in Nairobi, where i spent the day unexpectedly; my flight out of lilongwe delayed 7 hours, setting off my whole itinerary. the only things i mind are: standing in long and motionless lines for about a total of 8 hours, sleeping on hard chairs in the airport cause all the hotels in nairobi are full, and also wearing the same clothes for three days straight, cause my baggage is still checked. other than that, its been a great adventure, and i have talked to people literally from all over the world since i arrived at the airport last night. i also got a hot shower and good food this afternoon, so I am not complaining.
Goodbye, Africa. I can't say I'll miss the hecticness of traveling within your borders, but that of course is nothing compared to all I have seen and enjoyed. Goodbye for now!
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