tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43677474772548079412024-03-13T22:54:00.557-04:00Flying Lessons"If we listened to our intellect, we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go into business, because we'd be cynical. Well, that's nonsense. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down." -- Ray BradburyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-47974371092467544422014-01-23T14:38:00.000-05:002014-01-23T14:42:07.659-05:00An Attack of Pronoia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><figure><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosbNxKbYuiTawGczkNxA79TiaSBhMMuKMe8DoN3jSs3CQqjeuP4KNCYo9k0aW12AQ0REh7caPSRUIVfvkm5JNIFmU5EfY1VTQG_IPC4JmOWJm-5hhnTuGYA71mczaIhYC8vpXmym6UMc/s1600/IMG_1865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosbNxKbYuiTawGczkNxA79TiaSBhMMuKMe8DoN3jSs3CQqjeuP4KNCYo9k0aW12AQ0REh7caPSRUIVfvkm5JNIFmU5EfY1VTQG_IPC4JmOWJm-5hhnTuGYA71mczaIhYC8vpXmym6UMc/s320/IMG_1865.JPG" /></a><br />
<figcaption><i>A car that is even older than mine.</i></figcaption><br />
</figure> <br />
</div>Just because you're <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pronoia_%28psychology%29">pronoid</a>, it doesn't mean they're not out to help you.<br />
<br />
Sometimes the randomness of the universe works in my favor, and if I decide to pounce on the opportunity, I can make more things happen in my favor. Take today, for instance. My dentist's assistant called me yesterday to tell me that they needed to reschedule this morning's appointment, which left me with a good deal of "found time". My car was due for an emissions inspection, and my driver's license was set to expire next month, so I decided to use the morning to take care of those two things. And maybe some of the afternoon -- you hear all these horror stories about people waiting in line for hours.<br />
<br />
Today is Thursday, a nondescript kind of middle-of-the-week-ish day in the next-to-the-last week of the month. All the government offices closed down on Tuesday because of a snowstorm, but that was two days ago, so maybe any backlog would be at least partly cleared. It was bitterly cold out today, so maybe less hardy souls would not be venturing out. Besides, it wasn't going to get any warmer before the deadline for my car inspection, so today was as good as any.<br />
<br />
My friend Lauren had told me to go in the middle of the morning to avoid all the people taking care of their inspections before they headed off to work and all the people taking care of this on their lunch breaks. I headed out from home about 9:45. My side street was covered with a thin layer of hard-packed snow, left behind by the snow plow. Once I got to the main street, though, it was clear sailing. I made it to the emissions inspection station just after 10:00. There were no lines, but each of the inspection bays had a car in it -- except one. In I went. My car passed the test, I paid my fee, and off I went. It was now about 10:15. Unheard of! I've never gotten in and out that fast.<br />
<br />
I drove a few yards down the street and turned into the next driveway -- the Motor Vehicles office. The parking lot was filled with parked cars and cars cruising around looking for a parking spot. I chose a row with no cruising or waiting cars, and headed toward the far end. An open space beckoned to me. Handicapped only? No. Reserved for staff? No. In fact, no signs or special markings at all, just an ordinary empty parking space. In the front row. Just a few yards from the door.<br />
<br />
I went inside, got a ticket with a number on it, and found an empty seat in the waiting area. Near the front. With a good view of the "now serving" screen. I pulled a magazine out of my bag and began to read. A woman's voice announced over the PA system that the credit card system was down -- all payments must be by cash or check. I peeked into my wallet -- yes! I had visited the ATM not too long ago, and I had enough cash to pay my fee. A little after 11:00, my number was called, and I went to the service desk. Passed my vision check, verified my information, had my photo taken. The first printout of my new license had a scratch on it from the printer, so the woman behind the desk had to print a new one. <br />
<br />
While she was doing that, another announcement came over the PA system: all staff members using the driver's license system had to log off immediately. Oh no! But just after the announcement, my new license popped out of the printer and it was un-scratched. The woman behind the desk was none too pleased about having to log off and wait for an indefinite time, since it meant that everyone after me was going to be frustrated and impatient. "It's my lunch break anyway. I think I'm going to take off," she said. <br />
<br />
New license in hand, I got back into my car and headed home, arriving less than two hours after I had left, with my new emissions certificate AND my new driver's license. The only downside is that my license photo shows a much less perky, unlined face than I had 10 years ago (the last time I was required to have a new photo). But it's the face I have now, and I'm good with that.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-19762389428154588512014-01-14T13:21:00.000-05:002014-01-14T13:21:43.968-05:00The hat with the purple feather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ky47uIwx7ko93bUyLSEW1q40sNFAMxQiDBvwY3V_Vk48ps5eDLg1SojtJrzGVySSlguQW9__g4n7IJuYW4-WWwRfX4Zco1s9nbKbwmjbCaOdQfpNy7TK-y5B-Htk_Yb7EUegIuHHM6w/s1600/IMAG0658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ky47uIwx7ko93bUyLSEW1q40sNFAMxQiDBvwY3V_Vk48ps5eDLg1SojtJrzGVySSlguQW9__g4n7IJuYW4-WWwRfX4Zco1s9nbKbwmjbCaOdQfpNy7TK-y5B-Htk_Yb7EUegIuHHM6w/s320/IMAG0658.jpg" /></a></div>Last Sunday, a little incident concerning a hat with a purple feather came back to visit me, and it reminded me of how the most seemingly insignificant things can change a person's life. It's a scary thought, but also a great source of validation and inspiration. <br />
<br />
These days, it takes a bit more effort for me to move from "isn't that an interesting thought" to actually logging on to the blog site and typing up a new blog entry. I'm building a freelance writing business, and writing that doesn't involve a paycheck and a deadline tends to get put off until some ambiguous "later". The hat incident converged with several other "interesting thoughts", and together, they pushed themselves up to the top of the do-list. So here's a new blog post.<br />
<br />
I started this blog partly to keep my friends and family updated on my "reboot year" and partly to help me think my way through the process. In hindsight, I see that this was the "ground school" part of my flying lessons. I had originally intended to spend the first half of 2012 resting and recovering, the next six months a looking for a new job, and then get back to work sometime in 2013. Life had other plans for me. <br />
<br />
The more I got into my 2012 reboot year, the more I realized that I would need the entire year to rethink my goals and priorities, train myself to think in new ways, and discover parts of my life that I had mistakenly left behind when I got all wrapped up in the work mentality that is typical of Washington DC. I thought a lot about what I wanted to do with what's left of my life, but I intentionally didn't look for specific job postings. <br />
<br />
I spent the first half of 2013 doing career research, looking for opportunities, going on networking interviews, answering job ads, and generally gearing up to re-enter the workforce. I was having no luck at all in landing a new job. I suspect that I'm just too old and expensive for a lot of employers, and I'm not up on things like "user experience" and "search engine optimization". <br />
<br />
2013 was the move out of the ground school classroom and into the cockpit. The place where the ideas and theories were put into practice and where I began to test things to see what actually worked and what didn't. I was starting to wonder if I would run out of fuel, crash, and burn. Again, life had other plans.<br />
<br />
That summer, I went to a party celebrating a friend's 25th wedding anniversary. I had worked with Beth for several years when I first moved to the DC area, and we stayed in contact ever since. Toward the end of the party, Beth made a point to take me aside and talk to me. "Mike's looking for writers. Would you be interested?" Mike had been my boss when Beth and I worked together, and he was now freelancing for the website of the organization we all used to work for. In essence, I would be doing a small part of my old job, working for my former boss and with my former co-worker (Beth was freelancing for them, too). Luckily, my old job had been a very good experience, and so I was glad to say yes. I contacted Mike and offered my services. That little freelance gig now brings in enough money to pay my grocery bill every month, and it gives me a chance to browse around in all of the scientific journals published by the organization. <br />
<br />
A few months later, Lori showed up at my religious community, and she liked it well enough to stay and become a member. Our Community Leader found out that Lori was working for the same organization where I had previously worked, and she introduced us and asked if we had worked together. Lori and I had been in different departments, but when she found out that I was a science writer, she asked if I would be interested in taking on some assignments for some projects that she was working on. Sure, I said, and now I'm writing career advice for college students. Some of what I write draws on resources and research tools that I have used for my own career development -- I'm getting paid for my own job search.<br />
<br />
Shortly after that, Tom posted an ad with a professional society that I belong to, soliciting freelance writers for two ongoing assignments. I had written a feature article for his magazine about ten years earlier, when I was trying out freelance writing as a sideline to my full-time job. Back then, I had decided that I couldn't handle full-time work and large freelance assignments at the same time, but now that I'm not working full-time, I decided to respond to his ad. I mentioned my previous writing assignment with his magazine and explained my situation. A few days later, Tom contacted me and offered me the more advanced of the two assignments -- writing regular feature articles for the magazine. I recently submitted my first article, and the check is going to cover my mortgage payment and condo fees.<br />
<br />
The point is that all these opportunities grew out of things I've been doing all along. I had no idea at the time that my friendships, my little experiments, and even my struggles would be the seeds of the work that is providing for my needs now. It wasn't my intention to become a freelancer -- the very idea terrified me. But now that I've decided to take this thing seriously, the opportunities are beginning to come. The seeds I planted unknowingly have taken root, grown tall, and started to bear fruit.<br />
<br />
My "year off" was not a temporary break, after which I would return "once more into the fray". It was the first step in an evolutionary process that would lead me toward a new stage of my life, and the ripple effects of the things I did years ago have come back to find me. <br />
<br />
Which brings me to the hat with the purple feather. Last Sunday, my friend Shirley said, "I have to tell you something. I don't think I've ever told you this before, but I have to tell you now." Several years ago, I facilitated an <a href="http://juliacameronlive.com/books-by-julia/the-artists-way-a-spiritual-path-to-higher-creativity" alt="The Artist's Way" target="_blank">Artist's Way</a> group at the <a href="http://www.ethicalsociety.org" alt="Washington Ethical Society" target="_blank">Washington Ethical Society</a>. To get people to sign up, I was asked to give a short pitch for the group at the Sunday meeting, and I walked up to the front of the room wearing a poet's hat -- a black felt beret with a big purple plume -- that I had bought at a Renaissance festival. The hat got a laugh, and it got people to listen to my short description of what we would be doing in the group. <br />
<br />
Shirley was very new at WES, and she wasn't sure if she would continue to attend, but the hat with the purple feather piqued her curiosity. She signed up for the group, which inspired her to take her talents as a collage artist to a much higher level. She also got to know some of the other WES members through her participation in the group, and she decided to become a member herself. Through her participation, her daughter has now begun to attend WES, and she is now an active participant in several of the programs. <br />
<br />
I wasn't trying to change anyone's life when I decided, almost on a whim, to wear that silly little hat. I just wanted people to sign up for my group. The ripple effects happened outside my awareness, without any effort on my part besides just showing up and doing what needed to be done. Facilitate a little group, write a little magazine article, make time for chatting with friends. Life takes care of the rest of it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-62566088981700718462013-10-05T15:27:00.000-04:002013-10-05T15:27:17.045-04:00Might as Well Jump<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwQx6yjdvwStsoJjyucV-MjWnYzcCf04ZBO6vsjpYbfnBWd7j4xt9S7DMYM0W5ubDUDt7AvIDVSytXcXucdWByv_79gY9jmtDQ7SaHG2gqGSPSEuLPdagBnZW4HA2BWv3lrIJlfy_Sl8/s1600/1280px-Oreophrynella_nigra+captioned.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwQx6yjdvwStsoJjyucV-MjWnYzcCf04ZBO6vsjpYbfnBWd7j4xt9S7DMYM0W5ubDUDt7AvIDVSytXcXucdWByv_79gY9jmtDQ7SaHG2gqGSPSEuLPdagBnZW4HA2BWv3lrIJlfy_Sl8/s320/1280px-Oreophrynella_nigra+captioned.jpg" /></a></div></div>Last week during her talk at the Washington Ethical Society, Mary Herman shared a couple of compelling images from a television show she had watched recently. It's so easy to turn animal behaviors into metaphors for life in the human world, but in this case I think it's apt.<br />
<br />
The first image is that of a tree frog. Ordinarily, this little frog lives high in the treetops in the tropical rain forests. Hopping is rather precarious in this situation, so the tree frog has sticky pads on its hands and feet (do frogs have hands and feet? It seems odd to call them paws) that let it work its way from branch to branch. Every now and then, the frog has to beat a hasty retreat to escape from hungry birds and snakes. It needs to put as much distance as possible between itself and the predator, and it needs to do it quickly. So the frog takes a dive. It lets go of the branch it's on and goes into free fall.<br />
<br />
Suicidal, right? No. Remember the sticky hands? The frog just waits until it sees a better leaf or branch, puts out its hands, and grabs on. Some tree frogs even have webbing between their fingers and toes that acts as a kind of parachute, buying them more time to look for their next perch on the way down. <br />
<br />
Jumping requires letting go. No second thoughts about how far you're going to fall before you land again (or splat). Leaving behind all the tasty tidbits on that branch you worked so hard to climb up to. Once the frog lands, it finds itself in a new situation. New neighborhood, new sunlight patterns, new locations for the food and water, new neighbors to adjust to (or flee). No regrets, life's different now, move on.<br />
<br />
The second daring amphibian is the pebble toad, who lives on the rocky heights of the Venezuelan mountains. Again, this is a neighborhood where hopping is an iffy proposition, so the toad climbs the mountain slopes. In one particularly dramatic <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p004rqt3">video clip from the BBC</a>, one of these little guys makes his way to the top of a ridge, only to meet a tarantula coming at him from the other direction. <br />
<br />
So the little toad goes rigid, leans back, and bounces down the mountain, off a cliff or two, and into a waiting pond -- more like a puddle, actually. The pebble toad is so small and weighs so little that all the bouncing around doesn't hurt it. It doesn't stop to grouse about all the lost status and progress, it just does what it needs to do and begins again. That's life. This kind of strategy doesn't work if you're one of the big guys. When you're higher up on the food chain, if the free fall doesn't kill you, it will certainly incapacitate you and make you easy prey for something else.<br />
<br />
People aren't frogs and toads. We do, however, find ourselves in situations where the real danger is in clinging to the familiar, clutching our hard-earned status, hesitating at the thought that we might fail utterly. Letting go requires knowing how to use the advantages that we carry with us and having the willingness to start all over again in a new situation.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>I get up, and nothing gets me down.<br />
You got it tough. I've seen the toughest around.<br />
And I know, baby, just how you feel.<br />
You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real <br />
-- Eddie Van Halen, "Might as Well Jump"</blockquote>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-73811715322954903392013-09-27T12:08:00.001-04:002013-10-05T15:29:18.184-04:00Life is What Happens While You're Making Other Plans<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_ALEmXloSDg/UkHcdodJgwI/AAAAAAAAD8Q/o28VnYC7qfY/s1600/IMAG0522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_ALEmXloSDg/UkHcdodJgwI/AAAAAAAAD8Q/o28VnYC7qfY/s320/IMAG0522.jpg" width="320" /></a>I haven't posted here in a while. I'm in a bit of a transition period, and I'm not sure where it's going. My original intention was to take some time off and get my head together. Then, I would do some networking, send out some applications, and land another job.<br />
<br />
So far, my head is a bit more together than it was when I started this whole thing. I am clearer on what it is that gives me a sense of purpose, what it is that gets me "in the flow". I am taking better care of my health, physical and mental. I am no longer a slave to the clock, and I'm not constantly drowning in a sea of stress. I have time to actually think.<br />
<br />
I've been doing a lot of networking as well. Informational interviews, attending conferences and seminars, doing volunteer work, talking with friends. Reconnecting with colleagues in person and on social media.<br />
<br />
I've been sending out a lot of job applications and resumes as well. I'm keeping my LinkedIn profile current, and I'm posting links on my website when my freelance pieces are published. But after nine months of actively looking, I haven't landed a job-type job.<br />
<br />
Instead, I'm finding enough freelance and temp work to keep myself afloat. I have signed on with a temp agency, and almost immediately, they found me a month of almost-full-time work at a decent hourly rate. It was the same type of work that I left behind -- not the sort of thing that I would want to go back to permanently, but interesting enough to revisit. Counting the commute, it took about 11 to 12 hours of my day, every day, five days a week, just like my old job. But my co-workers were nice, the money was good, and the work was tolerable.<br />
<br />
My freelance work is a bit more satisfying -- I'm writing short articles about recent scientific publications, geared toward a scientific audience. I also just finished a magazine feature article for college undergraduates, summarizing the various ways you can discover what kind of a career really motivates you. (Pretty much what I've been putting into practice these last couple of years.)<br />
<br />
In between all that, I've been keeping up with the long walks and time with friends and all the rest of it. I've had to drop the yoga classes for now because I've had some other expenses that I needed to take care of, but I look forward to getting back into the yoga as soon as I can.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w8cIrOmOtqU/UkHnFbE8NbI/AAAAAAAAEAs/gJaRoi4Pn2M/s1600/Photo+by+Carl+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w8cIrOmOtqU/UkHnFbE8NbI/AAAAAAAAEAs/gJaRoi4Pn2M/s320/Photo+by+Carl+4.jpg" width="320" /></a>Last week, I spent four days in Austin. <a href="http://www.andrewleodeleon.com/" target="_blank">Andrew De Leon</a> released his first album, and a dozen of us <br />
from his little Twitter community came to his release party. We came from California, Maine, Quebec, and everywhere in between. What a grand time that was. Even though most of us had never met in person, we were not strangers. It was like summer camp, making our plans for the day, hanging out, messaging each other -- what time should we meet for lunch? Whose turn is it to drive? This little band of Andrew-fans are my friends in the truest sense of the word.<br />
<br />
We had a little pre-party party on Friday, when we stopped by the Moose Lodge just to see if we could find the place, and wound up meeting all of Andrew's family (they were setting up the party). Andrew's mom called him at home, and he hurried out to meet us. He is a total delight, as are his cousins Josh and Eric and his uncle Rey (his collaborators on the album), his parents, aunts, uncles, and all the others. To me, that was the highlight of the trip, since it allowed us to talk, and dance, and laugh on a more personal level. We also met Andrew's friends Jaime and Meigan, who feature prominently in his YouTube chats, the following night. The actual party on Saturday was a great celebration -- lights and music and excitement. It was Andrew's moment to shine.<br />
<br />
I also reconnected with a classmate of mine from junior high and high school, whom I had only seen a few times since graduation. Fred is one of the best people I know, and it was such a joy to see him again. He had lunch with my friends and me, and my friends all think he's wonderful. He even stopped by the album release party for a little while, much to our delight.<br />
<br />
So right now, the universe is taking care of me. I don't know where I'm going. Maybe this is my life now. I'm OK with that. I have good people in my life, and my bills are getting paid. There's no grand "Ta-da!" moment to mark the end of my sabbatical. Rather, it's a gentle blending of one stage into another. And that's OK.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-29535939177653617342013-06-03T18:36:00.000-04:002013-06-03T18:36:05.227-04:00The Pursuit of Happiness<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnklbcSm4d8YGQrQZAxOe1YmThCBZTudQ_bO3fyNaX-_plVuGA1Wo99rTSjNTm4GxvolN_MHIgsIehNfpRn-qUAKK6dlQ5MsO5G1gDidcmIKABXy-EETT0cKdCuMnHOrqDMvHNF8Ijh8g/s1600/IMG_3888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnklbcSm4d8YGQrQZAxOe1YmThCBZTudQ_bO3fyNaX-_plVuGA1Wo99rTSjNTm4GxvolN_MHIgsIehNfpRn-qUAKK6dlQ5MsO5G1gDidcmIKABXy-EETT0cKdCuMnHOrqDMvHNF8Ijh8g/s320/IMG_3888.JPG" /></a>What with all my online and dead-tree subscriptions and social media "follows", I get a torrent of articles every day. Every now and then, some chance juxtaposition will grab my attention and tell me more than either article would have on its own. This happened on my Twitter feed over the weekend. <br />
<br />
One article, from <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2013/05/how-happiness-changes-with-age/276274/"><i>The Atlantic</i></a>, was written by a woman who describes herself as "just shy of 40 years old". She mused about how her definition of happiness had evolved from "the high-energy, totally-psyched experience of a teenager partying while his parents are out of town" to "the peaceful, relaxing experience of an overworked mom who's been dreaming of that hot bath all day". <br />
<br />
She cited a study done at Northwestern University that scoured 12 million (!) personal blogs to see what words were associated with happy experiences, correlated with the age of the blogger. Younger bloggers, they found, described themselves as "excited, ecstatic, or elated -- they way you feel when you are anticipating the joys the future will bring - like finding love, getting ahead at work, or moving to a new town". <br />
<br />
"Older bloggers were more inclined to describe happy experiences as moments of feeling peaceful, relaxed, calm, or relieved - they way you feel when you are getting along with your spouse, staying healthy, and able to make your mortgage payments. This kind of happiness is less about what lies ahead, and more about being content in your current circumstances."<br />
<br />
The examples cited in this article fit pretty well with the stereotype of getting old and boring, slowing down, finding contentment in blandness. No doubt, many parents who are crossing the portal into middle age associate happiness with a nice warm bath and no kids yelling "Mom? Mom? Mom?" from the other side of the bathroom door. <br />
<br />
As I ease into my late 50s, I have no desire to resume the energetic pace I kept up 30 years ago. However, staying healthy and keeping up my mortgage payments are more a baseline between me and unhappiness than a source of actual happiness. That's like saying I'm content that I can still dress and feed myself. I may reach that point some day, but I'm nowhere near there yet. <br />
<br />
These days, I'm less concerned with owning the newest car, showing my employer that I can give 120%, or trying to make myself look like the models in the fashion magazine (thank goodness for that!). With all that out of the way, I have more courage to pursue my own projects and ambitions. I'm willing to take risks that would have (and did) terrify my younger self. I'm willing to go all out for the things that I told myself I would do "one of these days". Like quitting a well-paying job that was draining the life out of me, with no new job lined up, in order to develop my creative side and look for ways to build a truly fulfilling and useful life. There's nothing like a glimpse of your own mortality to kick you into high gear while you still have a high gear.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I think this way because my life hasn't been a long linear progression of advancements and material acquisitions. I've been through downsizings, layoffs, recessions, stagflations, you name it. I've learned the hard way that "security" isn't really secure. You can do your best for an employer who turns around and fires you for no other reason than to reduce head count. You can invest as wisely as you know how for your future, and see it wiped out overnight by high-stakes derivatives traders and greedy bankers. The house you proudly invested in and maintained so lovingly can be transformed instantly into a pile of rubble by an electrical fire, tornado, or flood.<br />
<br />
I know people whose main goal is to hang onto the status and possessions that they have built up over the years. Often, there is a subtle sense of terror underneath the veneer of prosperous contentment, born of a realization of just how easily these things can be taken away. <br />
<br />
I know other people who accept the impermanence of their circumstances, and of life itself. These people radiate a deep sense of serenity. They know that whatever happens, they will find a way to deal with it. They invest in relationships, appreciate living in the moment, and take joy in working toward their highest ideals. Oh yes, they pay bills and make home repairs and invest for their later years, but those things are merely the infrastructure, not the source of their happiness.<br />
<br />
The second article I mentioned was much more inspiring to me. It's a post on my colleague Denise Graveline's blog, <a href="http://eloquentwoman.blogspot.com/2013/05/famous-speech-friday-ellen-johnson.html"><i>The Eloquent Woman</i></a>. Denise describes a commencement speech by Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, the 74-year-old president of Liberia. Sirleaf is about as far from the stereotype of Gramma in her rocking chair as you can imagine. She began challenging her country's status quo in the 1970s, and in 1980, she fled the country after speaking out against the government then in power. Note: she was 42 at the time, slightly older than the mom in the first article who finds happiness in the bathtub.<br />
<br />
Sirleaf returned to Liberia at the age of 47, and was subsequently placed under house arrest, followed by a prison sentence after she made a speech insulting government leaders. At the tender young age of 67, she took office as the first female head of state in Africa. She is one of three people who share the 2011 Nobel Peace Prize for her "non-violent struggle for the safety of women and for women’s rights to full participation in peace-building work".<br />
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Denise quotes a part of Ms. Sirleaf's commencement address to Harvard University's class of 2011:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>The size of your dreams must always exceed your current capacity to achieve them. If your dreams do not scare you, they are not big enough. If you start off with a small dream, you may not have much left when it is fulfilled because along the way, life will task your dreams and make demands on you.</blockquote><br />
Ellen Johnson Sirleaf is pursuing her bliss by leading Liberia into the future. She has risked and lost everything -- several times -- and come back stronger than ever. I imagine that she takes a day off now and then to enjoy her grandchildren, or the simple pleasures of sitting in her garden. But being content with nothing more than quiet nights at home petting the dog? Hardly. Maybe the author of the <i>Atlantic</i> article will rediscover her inner fire once her kids are on their own. Or maybe she will just schedule another spa day and settle down with a good book and a glass of chablis. <br />
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I think I'm somewhere in the middle. I've never been driven into exile or sentenced to prison for my beliefs, but I'm not settling for bourgeois blandness either. I have things to do, people to see, much to accomplish in the time I have left.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-35686545867402658562013-04-19T15:56:00.000-04:002013-04-19T15:56:37.773-04:00Beyond the Formula<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHRhgT5WJyz5iZf_naKWdZeMSqF5SfiVd5q1ReCzdWhs20beMkdwAujsw71H-Z1f1T_a_DuWayY9JP2N9t7Qn6yxqkqANtvpHBmbqLzL4Dy2wb0UVb6jlc3XSeuhM4bZX9P5eP0tWfXU/s1600/IMG_3846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHRhgT5WJyz5iZf_naKWdZeMSqF5SfiVd5q1ReCzdWhs20beMkdwAujsw71H-Z1f1T_a_DuWayY9JP2N9t7Qn6yxqkqANtvpHBmbqLzL4Dy2wb0UVb6jlc3XSeuhM4bZX9P5eP0tWfXU/s320/IMG_3846.JPG" /></a>I haven't been posting as often lately because I've been pulling together a draft for a book based on my experiences over the past year-and-then-some (among other things). I was making backups of the postings from my old blog, and I ran across this. It was a good reminder from 2009 me to 2013 me, and I'm sharing it with you here. As proof that this sort of thing actually works, the first piece of fiction I published (in <a href="http://www.fictionontheweb.co.uk/2012/11/skew-lines-by-nancy-mcguire.html#more"><i>Fiction on the Web</i></a>, the venerable short stories website) was born of a mental riff on "Phhhht". <br />
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Thursday, March 5, 2009<br />
It's OK to Play<br />
Every now and then, I get an aha! moment. Not always at the most convenient times, but worth capturing and remembering even so. I got one of those last night as I was reading myself to sleep, and it woke me up again like a persistent toddler about 5AM today. And now, here it is almost 9PM and the idea still sounds good to me, so I'm passing it along to you.<br />
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I'm in an extended conversation these days with some fairly serous, highly educated folks, who want to nurture and develop their creative talents. Some do it for their own pleasure, and some as a way of expressing their deep, important capital-T Truths to those who come after them. The pleasure folks seem happy with craft projects and dabbling and just enjoying things in general. The capital-T Truth people are a bit disdainful of the whole thing, because you see, they are past that childlike stage and they must devote their time to perfecting their art. All that inner child stuff and writing with your non-dominant hand and representing your dreams in sand trays is all right if you are a blocked artist, or a mere hobbyist, or a beginner. Once you get past that stage, there is serious business to be done.<br />
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The aha! came as I was reading David Jauss' "Alone With All That Could Happen". The third chapter -- the one that talks about rhythm and flow. He starts out talking about the writing techniques of varying one's sentence lengths and cadences to influence the pace and fluence of the story, then moves on to the pacing and flow of chapters, sections, entire books. It's the kind of stuff that makes you want to go back to that short story with the ending that doesn't quite work and diagram it to death to see what's wrong with the danged thing.<br />
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But then. Jauss starts talking about the "musical unconscious". Stories that exist in a sort of pre-verbal language before the words form around them. Writers walking around going, "aah. aah." because the story has an aah in it, but they don't know if it's a cat or a camera or a hammer. Apparently, he has some scientific studies to back this up. The mind is equipped with an inborn "assembly language" (to lapse into computer-speak), an internal operating code that requires an interface to translate it into English, or French, or Navajo. A rhythm that you recognize but can't quite articulate.<br />
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And that's why we dabble and play and indulge the goofy thoughts, odd sound effects, warped observations, Dali-esque dream sequences. These are a way of speaking with and listening to the pre-verbal utterances that come from so deep within that we aren't even aware of it most of the time. Didn't you ever wonder why your best story ideas came at the oddest times and places? Why the title of someone else's play turns into your very different novella. Why your neighbor's whiskey bottle collection in his living room window grabs you by the lapels and forces you to remember something you dreamed 3 years earlier. Why that poem or book chapter seemed to write itself, relegating you to the role of stenographer?<br />
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Haven't you ever read prose where the technique was flawless, but it seemed flat, lifeless, derivative? The author has Tolkien's technique down cold, but the writing doesn't draw you into that magical world. The whole thing has a paint-by-numbers feel to it, and you can see the bits of technique poking out like outlines on a badly doctored photograph. Like a Beatles tribute band that gets all the notes right, but doesn't make you wanna dance like John, Paul, George, and Ringo did. Skim through the editors' preferences in Writer's Market and count how many times the phrase "writing class" is used in a snarky way.<br />
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No, technique and polishing and crafting all come later. You start with the 3AM idea, the bit of a song stuck in your head, the "aah, aah", the drumming of your pencil on your desktop. You go with the goofy, the skewed, the "where am I going with this". And you let it grow unhindered until it's strong enough to withstand your pruning and trimming. Would you prune a half-inch seedling?<br />
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Yes, you can try to emulate the masters. Learn from their success. By all means. But if you don't start with your very own inspiration, anything you do will look like a knock-off. They said it first, and they said it better. You start with your own stuff, and even if what you wind up with is a little rough around the edges, it's yours. Go back and look at those masters. Didn't they speak with their own voices? Wasn't that what made them great? Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-450495949042644202013-04-02T20:38:00.000-04:002013-04-02T20:38:20.362-04:00My Elevator SpeechIn the spirit of casting one's bread upon the waters... Here's my "elevator speech", what I'm looking for career-wise. I'm actively looking for work after my renewal year, and it always helps to let people know what you're looking for. Feel free to pass this along, even if you don't think you know anyone who could use this. You never know, after all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXtuKr_-XokYciPBkWI55TO1M4IdVPAOpzSYfkYwwpEqJHuksUlSTiEFXbGjNFQvaei3hJ0G6chSwSZ0x2HPvRYKBLYdiWpMJFmji-uSZv1lABV0Nr10LsmodtF6BGgF0L_IXTkkNUFs/s1600/elevator-speech-graphic-small-opti.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXtuKr_-XokYciPBkWI55TO1M4IdVPAOpzSYfkYwwpEqJHuksUlSTiEFXbGjNFQvaei3hJ0G6chSwSZ0x2HPvRYKBLYdiWpMJFmji-uSZv1lABV0Nr10LsmodtF6BGgF0L_IXTkkNUFs/s320/elevator-speech-graphic-small-opti.jpg" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-12478669407537728812013-03-20T15:51:00.001-04:002013-03-20T23:12:26.669-04:00Permission to Speak Freely<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicK4a97wBIMTypp4aNgZLeN1nqah-n5GBANa1vG2CLN9rggLbM1nYuvaO7VYzNjIqODkOgynw2Dbqfu3YmhekEpaUs6WgNwRrE-nx0_-t-VR2xR6cix91hw1dTbIgP2RBKIxq5zwam_BQ/s1600/IMG_0984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="250" width="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicK4a97wBIMTypp4aNgZLeN1nqah-n5GBANa1vG2CLN9rggLbM1nYuvaO7VYzNjIqODkOgynw2Dbqfu3YmhekEpaUs6WgNwRrE-nx0_-t-VR2xR6cix91hw1dTbIgP2RBKIxq5zwam_BQ/s320/IMG_0984.JPG" /></a>A few years ago, I decided to submit an entry to the Washington Post Magazine's annual short story contest. Write a story about the photograph on this week's cover, they said, and they spelled out the rules of the contest, including the maximum word count and the deadline. The photograph showed two people riding in a convertible down a highway in the vast open spaces of the American Southwest, as viewed by someone in the back seat. All right, I told myself, I know this part of the country very well, and I'm very good at writing to fit the space and meet the deadline.<br />
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And so I wrote a pretty good story about two sisters who were supportive but not close. The younger one had her head in the clouds and the older one was practical but she hadn't quite given up all her dreams. I closed with a scene of the older sister driving the younger one home in her convertible after rescuing Little Sis from a sticky situation caused by a fanciful idea running head-on into an unforgiving reality.<br />
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My story didn't even make runner-up. I was not surprised. In a metropolitan area this large, a pretty-good story has a snowball's chance in hell of making it past the slush pile. Still, I wasn't ready to give up on my pretty-good story. I gave it to my sister and my mom's friend (a retired English teacher) to read. Their response was lukewarm. "Writing little stories is such a pleasant hobby," Mom's friend said. Ouch.<br />
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You see, my characters were all bottled up inside themselves. You knew that Little Sis ached to escape the small town where she grew up and go live in the city. You knew that Big Sis gave up a glamorous life for that of a domestic goddess. But neither one of them had room to speak for themselves, and so the whole story felt as though it had been painted in shades of pastel pink and lavender and laced up in a tight corset. It was a "that's very nice, dear" type of story.<br />
<br />
I tried again last year, juicing it up a bit for a writer's group I was in. They helpfully pointed out a few places where they didn't quite follow what was going on, a few places where things left unsaid really ought to be said. I got seriously hung up on how much to explain about the big distances and small towns in the Southwest without getting bogged down or turning it into a travelogue. I shopped my pretty-good story around to a few small literary journals, but no one wanted to publish it.<br />
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This year, I tried one more time. I signed up for a fiction workshop at the Writer's Center in Bethesda, and I decided to use this story as my project. I even volunteered to be one of the first group to have our work critiqued by the instructor and the other group members. After all, if you're in the first group, they can't compare you to the budding Faulkners and Grishams who are already 300 pages into their debut novels.<br />
<br />
The consensus of the group? Open this story up. Waaaaay up. This is a good strong start on a much bigger story. Forget the word count, you're not in the contest any more. Let the characters talk to each other. Show us what they do, how they react. Flesh out the secondary characters. Introduce us to them one by one, and let us get acquainted with each one before you bring in another character. Show us how the characters react to how things look, sound, smell. <br />
<br />
So I sat on the story for a couple of weeks, until I suddenly realized that I was going to have to give my revisions to the group that Saturday in preparation for a second go-round. I printed out a copy of what I had, and I began to write. And write. And write. Freed from the word-count boundaries, the story seemed to flow. The scenes in my mind appeared on the paper. I looked up between-town distances and street scenes and bus schedules on the internet. I imagined myself walking alongside the characters. Oh yes, this was much better.<br />
<br />
During second go-round of critiquing, I got many comments on how much more developed the story was, how the imagery was coming to life, the characters were more three-dimensional. But more questions arose. Did the sisters fight? Why was Little Sister's reaction to her big letdown so muted? What happened during the all-day bus trip? The two-mile walk? Was The Guy really a cad, or just a decent guy who let a little fling get out of hand? "Let the photograph go," the instructor said. Did I really need that last bit about riding the 200 miles home in an open convertible, or was it just something I saw in the photograph?<br />
<br />
The people in my story needed biographies. The scenery needed a set design diagram. This theme came out for several of my fellow authors' work as well. Even though the final story might be short, the author must be very clear about who the characters are, why they do what they do. And this might require writing backstories and detailed descriptions that never appear in the final version. <br />
<br />
Before I could edit and craft my story, I had to let it expand to its fullest extent. Great billowing clouds of expository prose. Adjectives and adverbs. Similes and sensory input. I had to know the people and places, the sights and smells and sounds as well as I knew my own friends and the inside of my apartment. Lay it all out in all its sprawling verbosity.<br />
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And then -- craft, edit, polish, distil. How do you describe the little "tells" when people are restrained on the outside but seething inside? Can a lifted eyebrow tell a reader that my character is furious but won't admit it? A clenched jaw, a lowered voice. Eyes briefly lowering when a character is lying. Search out all the excess adjectives, adverbs, and cliches, and find a way to show instead of tell. Delete the throat-clearing setups, the fluff words, the subjunctives and participles and other various ways of tap dancing around the main point. Oddly enough, Twitter is a lovely way of stripping out the extra verbiage. 140 characters makes you say what you mean.<br />
<br />
This would have been torture while I was still developing my characters and plot. It would have been wrong. Like trying to make topiary from a one-inch seedling. No, the plot, characters, and scenery have to be fully grown, solid and strong, then you have at it with the crafting tools.<br />
<br />
If I'm a person who doesn't express all the colorful scenery inside of me, how can this come out in my writing? It's very scary putting it all out there like that because now you know that all those passions are in my mind. I have to speak freely about what sex feels like, what anger and betrayal feel like, what it's like to dream. To be down but not out. Some of my old wounds might begin to hurt and bleed again. But I can't talk to you through a gauze curtain. If I paint only in pastel shades, how can you know how much I care? Am I brave enough to open up and talk about these things? To add bright colors to my pale palette? I'm going to have to do this if I'm going to write fiction that's any good. Or nonfiction. I can't hold it back and still be compelling. That's going to take an awful lot of courage on my part. I hope I can do it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-72977557996181406232013-03-14T17:52:00.000-04:002013-03-15T11:19:59.878-04:00Books that Matter<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6PglI6AeDcFX6TKgjgwJ-aVgV4CXN9m3h5itmRk5aHX0Ho_KquwuM30WQ8rAWr1YgEgL8wN033x9KS3nyceendWr3XRu3cstwJpA2GOJm-J5HtwuZIljDdtPucISJ3cl82nt8dZdPFU/s1600/web_Open_Book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="154" width="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6PglI6AeDcFX6TKgjgwJ-aVgV4CXN9m3h5itmRk5aHX0Ho_KquwuM30WQ8rAWr1YgEgL8wN033x9KS3nyceendWr3XRu3cstwJpA2GOJm-J5HtwuZIljDdtPucISJ3cl82nt8dZdPFU/s320/web_Open_Book.jpg" /></a>On the theory that a good nonfiction book needs a bibliography, here's a start on mine. These are books that have influenced and inspired me. They are the books that I will never sell at a yard sale. I don't usually read books twice, but these books are the ones I read over again, flag the pages, underline passages, and write in the margins.<br />
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<b>Taking Creative Pursuits Seriously</b><br />
<i>The Artist's Way</i> by Julia Cameron. A twelve-step program for sidestepping creative blocks, self-censorship, and false criticism. Requires about 8 hours a week if you're going to take it seriously, and it's easier to go through the program with a weekly group to hold each other accountable. If you really engage in the chapters and exercises, you will definitely move outside your comfort zone -- and that's a good thing.<br />
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<i>Bird by Bird</i> by Anne Lamotte. A funny, very personal account of the writer's life. The personal anecdotes convey wise lessons in perseverance, overcoming one's inner critic, and getting your work out into the world.<br />
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<i>The War of Art</i> by Steven Pressfield. A writer's life is not all flashes of inspiration and muse-driven all-nighters. Writing well requires writing, rewriting, revising, revamping, and rewriting again. Every day. The payoff? The art we make is "as true to reality as it gets".<br />
<br />
<b>Self Discovery</b><br />
<i>Now, Discover Your Strengths</i> by Marcus Buckingham and Donald O. Clifton. Employee performance reviews and professional development programs so often focus on helping employees address their weak points. Since nobody can excel at everything, wouldn't it be better and more satisfying to focus instead on the things that you are best at and that come most naturally to you? Team up with someone whose strengths complement yours, and now you've got a strong, motivated team.<br />
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<i>Secrets of Six-Figure Women</i> by Barbara Stanny. The title of this book put me off at first, but I soon got over it. Stanny is not writing exclusively about high-powered female executives. Rather, she has some very apt advice to offer women on taking our own goals seriously and presenting ourselves confidently. Earning a six-figure income was not a goal of mine when I first read this book (in fact, it seemed ridiculous), but eventually, I <i>did</i> clear that six-figure bar by asking for what I was worth.<br />
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<i>What Color Is Your Parachute?</i> by Nelson Bolles. I have an ancient, pre-Internet edition of this reliable old standby. The self-evaluation exercises are just as good now as they were then. Do you like working outdoors or indoors? With people or alone? What do you value most: security, money, recognition, adventure...? What would it be like to base your career on things that you actually enjoy doing?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>How the World Works</b><br />
<i>American Mania</i> by Peter C. Whybrow. What if an entire nation were the subject of a centuries-long genetic experiment? Whybrow posits that this is exactly what is going on in the United States. From the ancient wanderers who crossed the Bering Strait to the world citizens who maintain their tiny flats in New York City, the US has been settled and populated by the adventurous and the dissatisfied. The result is a type of collective bipolar disorder marked by euphoric highs and catastrophic crashes.<br />
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<i>Bright Earth</i> by Philip Ball. Visual artists are visionaries, but they are also creatures of their time. This history of the evolution of color in art covers pigments, dyes, and printing techniques. From ground-up rock pigments for cave paintings to color palettes for computer monitors, from a nobleman's display of wealth to an evocation of pop culture, Ball explores how color perception and use varies with culture and time.<br />
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<i>Faster</i> by James Gleick. Every aspect of our 21st-century society is infected with the need for speed. Channel-surfing, multitasking, stand-up meetings, and sound bites characterize an environment that stresses us out, eliminates time for thoughtful analysis, and leaves no margin for error.<br />
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<i>Fire in the Mind</i> by George Johnson. European-American culture is so steeped in scientific data and analytical reasoning that we often forget that there are other ways of looking at the world. Johnson, a science writer who lives in Santa Fe, NM, contrasts the core tenets of the scientists at Los Alamos National Laboratory with those of the nearby Native American and Catholic Penitente communities.<br />
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<i>The Innovator's Dilemma</i> by Clayton M. Christensen. Remember printed telephone directories? Film photography? The Sony Walkman? These items went from indispensable to obsolete in the blink of an eye, not because of some public campaign to abolish them, but because their replacements worked their way up from nerd's toys to market dominance.<br />
<br />
<i>The Rise of the Creative Class</i> by Richard Florida. Why are some towns "cooler" than others (and I'm not talking about the weather)? Why do creative people gravitate toward certain types of workplaces? How can cities and employers attract and reward people who live by their creative wits?<br />
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<i>The Tipping Point</i> by Malcolm Gladwell. Connectors, mavens, and salesmen -- each has a role in discovering a small idea and "taking it viral". Why do some ideas catch on and not others? What are the early symptoms of a big change? Fashion trends, crime waves, and "The British are coming!" all factor into this fascinating analysis.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Other Worlds</b><br />
<i>Broom of the System</i> by David Foster Wallace. This is the first DFW book I ever read, and I was hooked. Lenore Beadsman, the only semi-sane character in this book, navigates the bizarre disappearance of her grandmother and a couple dozen fellow nursing home residents, a brother who stores drugs in drawers in his artificial leg, her pet cockatiel rising to stardom on a Christian television network, and a host of other increasingly wacky plot elements that somehow all come together at the end.<br />
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<i>Lord of the Rings trilogy</i> by J.R.R. Tolkien. Tolkien creates an entire world, complete with centuries' worth of history, languages, and an army of characters. That he not only sustains his plot over a couple thousand pages, but immerses you entirely in his vivid landscapes and the lives of his characters is an astounding feat. Grand themes of good and evil, deep friendship, and the call of duty are woven deftly into a riveting story.<br />
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<i>Moonheart</i> and <i>Spirit Walk</i> by Charles de Lint. If I ever go missing, you might want to start looking for me in a section of Ottowa bounded by Central Park and Patterson, Clemow, and Bank Streets. I've taken up permanent residence in Tamson House or one of the myriad Otherworlds to which it serves as a portal. Don't expect me to come home. <br />
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<i>Neverwhere</i> by Neil Gaiman. Underneath the city of London is a parallel society where Knightsbridge becomes a night's bridge that swallows the unwary in its darkness. The Angel, Islington is an actual angel. A girl name Door can walk through walls. Richard Mayhew, a humdrum citizen of London Above, comes to Door's aid and is drawn into the life of London Below as a result. <br />
<br />
<b>Spritual Matters</b><br />
<i>The Battle for God</i> by Karen Armstrong. Armstrong traces the histories of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam to illustrate how believers' concept of God has shifted and changed over the centuries. This book explores how man creates God in his own image, and must re-create the image when it ceases to be useful.<br />
<br />
<i>The Feminine Face of God</i> by Sherry Ruth Anderson and Patricia Hopkins. This is a compilation of the moving and heartfelt accounts of women who, faced with deeply unsatisfying beliefs and cultural practices within their original religions, went out looking for an experience of the transcendent that they could call their own. <br />
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<i>A History of God</i> by Karen Armstrong. In this broad survey of the clash between modernism and fundamentalism in the western world, Armstrong shows that the fundamentalist movements within Judaism, Christianity, and Islam have more in common with each other than they do with the more moderate expressions of their source religions.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-40746701945100661412013-03-11T13:33:00.000-04:002013-03-11T13:33:44.422-04:00Life as a Needlepoint ProjectLast night, I was chatting with a friend on Twitter, and we started talking about how to know what you really want out of life. It's an ongoing process for me. Every so often, I have to spend some serious time taking stock of where I am, getting my bearings, and figuring out what's next. I'm now in the process of transcribing my journal notes into a digital document, with the intention of combining them with my blog postings and making the whole thing into a book. I'm working on my mid-December notes right now, and I came across an extended metaphor that I thought was worth posting here. This explains my process much better than a series of tweets ever could. Or at least it explains me to myself. I hope it's helpful to someone else, but really, it's enough just to remind myself of where I've been and how I tend to navigate long ambiguous processes.<br />
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<b>Life as Needlepoint</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUymejlAPwafzBcvZFCk9XGS02Vl4mPWJCWpHr8rQfImOGS7GNte8-hGIcSuHAbYw8hJ66zdCLdXTvhbX9rqkv42pTXLc-dXrXUVa0FhMa5pAg6Tws4z9sn6O8nGS-aJ-0Hhz3Zymv1CE/s1600/IMAG0240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="250" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUymejlAPwafzBcvZFCk9XGS02Vl4mPWJCWpHr8rQfImOGS7GNte8-hGIcSuHAbYw8hJ66zdCLdXTvhbX9rqkv42pTXLc-dXrXUVa0FhMa5pAg6Tws4z9sn6O8nGS-aJ-0Hhz3Zymv1CE/s320/IMAG0240.jpg" /></a>If I work on kits, they turn out looking really nice. Someone with a real talent for perspective, shading, and composition has produced a canvas painted in great detail, picked out just enough yarn in all the right colors. All I have to do is fill it in. I get a little impatient toward the end, filling in background and putting in the finishing details, but I stick with it until it's done. But it's still a kit.<br />
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When I design my own stuff, I get an idea in my head. Then I go online and look for someone else's images that I can combine and adapt in my own way. Drawing is not one of my more developed skills, but I can do collages. If I work from photographs, I have to simplify them down to work with the stitch-pixels of a needlepoint tapestry. I try to work with the yarn I already have, but I always wind up buying more because I need some other colors, or I run out of background yarn.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQEz7ufTN8h-f1HSEM8-337PdA_gYd4z3Zistdlo_ID4iRmmy-1m9O8-1Rb9WevYE7VIRmaNygv9oOMnGPIfKopyl__VeQKfhfs7_hXQ6DZD7mymyl_WqdkZnfuFYEWqfUeB5XlKfgOc/s1600/IMAG0261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="250" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQEz7ufTN8h-f1HSEM8-337PdA_gYd4z3Zistdlo_ID4iRmmy-1m9O8-1Rb9WevYE7VIRmaNygv9oOMnGPIfKopyl__VeQKfhfs7_hXQ6DZD7mymyl_WqdkZnfuFYEWqfUeB5XlKfgOc/s320/IMAG0261.jpg" /></a>It always takes more yarn for the background than I think it will. If I have to buy more yarn mid-project, the color never quite matches. I have to be very clever to work that in in a way that doesn't just announce "I ran out of yarn." Complex backgrounds help with that, but you don't want to clutter up the design. Better to get enough yarn in the first place. Learn from experience how much you need.<br />
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PhotoShop lets me play around with the designs and colors -- much better than crayons on paper. I only have a black and white printer, though. And I just sketch my design onto the canvas in black sharpie. I suppose I should paint the colors onto the canvas in acrylic, but I'm too impatient. I just sketch the broad outlines and keep a picture handy to refer to for the details. That lets me experiment and change things on the fly, but it also means my designs are much less refined than the kits. Experience is making me a little better about putting in shading and details. I don't know if I will ever have the artistry of the kit designs. I don't know if I <i>want</i> that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZF8PMLHIz6YHMvMPeUE9szIjzBtiLv4K5dSEC6iyFn5DBd5H-ZKo3ET0C5rp7NOIR9HzqTiVIJCIyTdAXcIHuybLieJ1oJ8-pf5TURQUczCn-cgGNfCeEmSSAa21kvji5DsLfcxTa48/s1600/IMAG0400.jpg" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="250" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZF8PMLHIz6YHMvMPeUE9szIjzBtiLv4K5dSEC6iyFn5DBd5H-ZKo3ET0C5rp7NOIR9HzqTiVIJCIyTdAXcIHuybLieJ1oJ8-pf5TURQUczCn-cgGNfCeEmSSAa21kvji5DsLfcxTa48/s320/IMAG0400.jpg" /></a>I look at some of my past projects, and the best ones are the simple designs. Not too jam-packed with detail. The Alphonse Mucha design was fun, but it's cluttered. The moon behind the clouds and its partner sun in a red sky over water are very appealing. Maybe my style is Art Deco or Craftsman?<br />
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I have a pencil sketch ready for a 25" x 25" canvas. A female crescent moon embracing a male sun. Two shooting stars in the corners and a starry-night background. The night sky will have to be aubergine instead of navy if I want it to go in my bedroom. Do I dare try to do realistic faces? Will it ruin the design if I try to make the colors harmonize with my green-and-brown decorating scheme? If I'm going to invest the effort, I want to know.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3yvf8mzjUM_W3cWRxHZDpkmV2OpoRFfuTzoTq7gZoTtnMP_3K-xY6Uay5DJooHm_xvjt3qsFNBdSPAhua9B-AXwCcfJX5ktpNlfXzi67ZTl4PQVhpXmROy6P__f3RbBg7t8Uld7N4jRY/s1600/IMAG0401.jpg" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="250" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3yvf8mzjUM_W3cWRxHZDpkmV2OpoRFfuTzoTq7gZoTtnMP_3K-xY6Uay5DJooHm_xvjt3qsFNBdSPAhua9B-AXwCcfJX5ktpNlfXzi67ZTl4PQVhpXmROy6P__f3RbBg7t8Uld7N4jRY/s320/IMAG0401.jpg" /></a>It seems as if all the pieces fit in better when I'm working on a kit. Everything works, it's smooth. But it's a kit. Finding kits that I haven't already done and that I want to work on is getting harder and harder. Not that many people do needlepoint. I don't want to do pictures of cute kittens or country scenes or religious platitudes.<br />
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If I want to have a design that really means something to me, I'm going to have to make it myself. I can use bits and pieces of what's already out there. I can use my experience to plan and anticipate. I can be diligent about my preparations. I can know what I'm strongest at and learn from my failed experiments. I can push the envelope a little.<br />
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The results might not be as detailed as my grand imagination. I might have to compromise to get the pieces to fit, or to have a design that integrates with my decor. I have to balance living with my constraints against having something grand enough to make me happy. <br />
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I have to try new things, supported by the old standbys. I have to have the diligence to rip out the parts that don't work, redo them, and keep moving ahead. Some of my projects wind up in a box. They didn't work, for one reason or another. Some are just abandoned sketches, some are small completed squares. One is a large canvas, eventually completed just to say that I completed it, but it no longer goes with anything. I should give that to a craft sale or something. Let it be useful for someone else. Some of my designs are good, but they don't go with my stuff. I should let those go. Maybe take photographs to remember them by. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKDftVsdmyZ3gOKWfbw2FYhR7sOi8jparbzIcZzvGKAKh5mpkKmbxAuAh2UF78w3m6dFUrFlUCDgS6YHI95zMBjpGn6NcxR3Ni_Hv9togQ3vH8P3XSajb6Qx8eOm-wpha5CIQ3MzLL2I/s1600/butterfly+and+scroll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="250" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKDftVsdmyZ3gOKWfbw2FYhR7sOi8jparbzIcZzvGKAKh5mpkKmbxAuAh2UF78w3m6dFUrFlUCDgS6YHI95zMBjpGn6NcxR3Ni_Hv9togQ3vH8P3XSajb6Qx8eOm-wpha5CIQ3MzLL2I/s320/butterfly+and+scroll.jpg" /></a>I want to know as much as possible before I invest the money and effort in a large project, but I can't know everything in advance. I take my best guess on what is worth moving forward on, and I plunge in. I take stock at various points -- move ahead or drop it? Change the plan? Once I'm in it, sometimes it's worth it just to finish up for the sake of finishing up. <br />
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That kit I did of the butterfly on the parchment scroll was beautiful and complex. Lots of work, but worth finishing. Even all the detail-work. And then it sat in a box for years because I didn't know what to do with it. Finally, I said what the heck, bought a simple frame, blocked and mounted it myself, and hung it in my bedroom. And it's perfect. (OK, maybe mounted a little crooked, but that's wabi-sabi.)<br />
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My best efforts involve learning and borrowing from what others have already done or what others are better at than I am, and then customizing and re-assembling the pieces to suit the image that I have in my mind. I can play around with ideas and attempt small trial efforts that are intended only to help me think things through. Eventually, though, I have to just plunge in and begin. I have to simplify the grand mental images to fit my talents and limitations without losing the delight in making something really wonderful. The simple designs usually look the best, anyhow, and "simple" is not the same as "amateurish". <br />
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I have to make a design that fits in with the parts of my life that are already in place (the parts that I want to keep, anyhow). Inevitably, some aspects of my project don't look like I wanted them to. If it's bad enough, I have to rip that part out and do it over again. If it's good enough, I keep it and enjoy the serendipity. As much as I would like to complete my project using only the resources that I already have, it never really works out that way. I have to go out and get what I need to move ahead. <br />
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Sometimes it's worth it to persevere and just finish for the sake of finishing. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes, by the time I finish something, circumstances have changed and the finished piece no longer has a place. Sometimes, a finished project is just what I need at the time, but circumstances change and it no longer fits in. Every now and then, a finished piece that I didn't have a place for at the time re-emerges from the storage closet after many years, and it's exactly what I need right here, right now. I don't really know in advance how things will turn out. All I can do is make the best preparations I can, and then begin.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-81264505095407990012013-02-21T23:25:00.001-05:002013-02-21T23:47:24.509-05:00It's Not How Far You Go...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KKN3tWg_Eo1xO6D1hlLJVP4filMw5v7Wsi9VwB4BXtm1KTTL8HL-SBW7zvYLe7ZM1XuliVDzara1BDgZlHg0-HEbzLFRxN3_tKeC_ZPBVgFQnCGVQvo-GpTl8p6DAekjGRMZ3llwnYQ/s1600/IMG_3910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KKN3tWg_Eo1xO6D1hlLJVP4filMw5v7Wsi9VwB4BXtm1KTTL8HL-SBW7zvYLe7ZM1XuliVDzara1BDgZlHg0-HEbzLFRxN3_tKeC_ZPBVgFQnCGVQvo-GpTl8p6DAekjGRMZ3llwnYQ/s320/IMG_3910.JPG" /></a>I've been taking yoga classes for just over two years now. A lot of my ideas for blog posts pop into my head during yoga class, inspired by a bit of poetry, a bend or twist that I never dreamed I could do, or just lying quietly on my mat at the end of class. <br />
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I did quite a bit of yoga back in the 1970s, and I was very proud of how flexible I was. It was all about reaching a little further, clasping my hands around the soles of my feet, getting my forehead to reach the floor, any way I could. Meditation and insight didn't factor in back then. Here it is, almost 40 years later (ack!), and I'm taking a different approach. I started classes because I had a sedentary job that left me too drained to even think about going to the gym after work. I was living pretty much completely inside my head, and I needed to get my body into the act as well. Yoga seemed like a nice, gentle way to ease back into my physicality.<br />
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Those first classes were miserable. My muscles ached, I couldn't hold the poses, I couldn't keep my hair out of my face (that's still a problem sometimes). I missed half the classes that first session because of an infection on my knee. My teacher was a patient, gentle soul -- a woman about the same age as I am, her middle-aged roundness disguising her amazing strength and flexibility. She took my classmates and me through the basic techniques slowly, thoroughly, explaining how the various parts of the body worked together and making sure that we lined everything up just so. She was always ready with a funny observation to help us smile as we held our wobbly Warrior 2 poses and teetering Tree poses. <br />
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It was humbling to start all over again like that. I couldn't bend and stretch like I used to, and it wasn't just age and inactivity. Taking the poses with strength and alignment makes for more gradual progress, but greater confidence and bigger after-class benefits in the long run. The muscles begin to develop and strengthen, not just stretch. The posture gets better, the balance is more secure. Gradually, the effects become apparent. <br />
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I'm taking two classes a week now, and the basic poses have become much easier for me. Downward Dog is a delicious stretch rather than an endurance test. My Warrior stands just a little stronger now. I remind myself of these things as I venture into more advanced poses in my Level 1-2 class. Half-handstands on the wall? One side of my mind says, "The heck you say!" while the other side says, "Well, let's try this and see what happens." Tonight, I tried my first supported half shoulder stand. Head, shoulders, and spine positioned just so on the mat, muscles engaged and pulling in the proper directions. Lift the butt off the mat and rest it on a block. One leg goes up, then the other. How about that? <br />
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After that 40-year hiatus, my body had almost completely forgotten those haphazard poses I did in my younger days. I had to begin again from scratch, but this time, I have the patience to build my skills bit by bit. Line things up just the right way instead of going to extremes. "It's not how far you go, it's how you go far," my teachers tell me. I practice improving my posture as I sit at my desk or wait for the train. I practice standing on one foot as I brush my teeth. I concentrate on my breathing when I'm stressed out. Instead of "doing yoga", I'm "living yoga". Or trying to, and getting progressively better at it. <br />
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That's kind of like what's happening to me after this year off. I had to break apart all the schedules and structures that had bent and twisted me into such an uncomfortable shape. I spent some time with hardly any structure at all, and then slowly put the pieces back into place. Before, I was organized, efficient, and productive -- but I was doing it in a way that eroded the very things that make me unique and creative. Now, I sometimes wonder where the day got away to, and I'm distressed by how little I've done -- until I remember that I have restored the things that keep me in proper alignment and make me strong. The yoga classes and long walks to clear my mind and keep my body healthy. The good night's sleep and nutritious food. The writer's workshop where I'm honing my skills in the company of a dozen delightful fellow writers. <br />
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Gearing myself up for the next phase of my life is not a sleek, elegant process. It's slow and stiff and wobbly. I'm staying with it, though, because I know that I will pick up momentum over time. I'm being very mindful of how I put the pieces into place, making sure that things are lined up just so. Strengthening myself in the basic things so that I can be strong and confident as I move into more adventurous things. I'm making myself schedule information interviews (which are a lot of fun once I'm actually doing them). My resume and website are up to date, and I'm pursuing job leads from various sources. I'm letting my professional network know that I'm alive and well, and back on the market. I'm less like a bullet train and more like a hiker following a badly marked trail, but I am making forward progress. And like they tell me in yoga class, "It's not how far you go, it's how you go far."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-18816170803899542522013-01-24T14:52:00.000-05:002013-01-24T14:52:19.950-05:00Can We Talk?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0648RsYUZWBiqAJxe3nXwAF1ny2snmL2Ork1LVvoN9gRJLQfRmU8inhFVvOPC9ZhJGJnLgqReUrCpJxrQgBWiXx2ZA0j4tToKqauHbhyNYSTTq_mdp7LZ4SdDxo6U-JgsYrkhI6sg60s/s1600/IMG_3880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0648RsYUZWBiqAJxe3nXwAF1ny2snmL2Ork1LVvoN9gRJLQfRmU8inhFVvOPC9ZhJGJnLgqReUrCpJxrQgBWiXx2ZA0j4tToKqauHbhyNYSTTq_mdp7LZ4SdDxo6U-JgsYrkhI6sg60s/s200/IMG_3880.JPG" /></a></div><br />
My year off is officially over. I'm still at home, but I'm actively looking for work. Maybe that will be a job in the conventional sense of the word, or maybe it will be a more creative way to bring in income. I'm not sure. I've tried telling myself that I ought to be checking the job ads more assertively, mailing brochures to potential clients, making cold calls and all. But it just doesn't feel right. I have chastised myself, telling myself to just get over my inertia and start the wheels moving again. Don't be such an introvert, I say. Which is kind of like telling myself to stop having such blue eyes or stop being so short.<br />
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I have found a much better source of motivation, though. It comes through in the morning when I am writing in my journal -- or sometimes at 3AM when I am wishing that I could get back to sleep. In the deep stillness of my room, little ideas make their way to the surface. Concrete, definite actions that I could take. Actions with energy and enthusiasm behind them. Actions based on what I do naturally, what I enjoy, what gives me satisfaction.<br />
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There's a stillness born of time away from the daily commute, the meetings and deadlines and periods of boredom interspersed with crises. In that space has come an appreciation of things that I have been doing for years, but have not integrated into the way I make my living. With that realization has come a desire to more fully integrate the marketable skills with the calling of what is most important to me. <br />
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I have come to acknowledge more fully my talent for talking about scientific and technical issues in language that is engaging and easy to understand. I might not get the story first, but I get it in context and I do my best to get it right. That's a real talent. It's much harder than summarizing one's research in the specialized language of one's own field. It goes beyond opening up a stream of data in the hopes that the more information you throw at people, the more likely they are to come around to your point of view. It's very different from "dumbing it down". Good science writing requires me to respect my reader's intelligence and convey an accurate, nuanced picture in language that is both precise and accessible. <br />
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Good science writing is an act of empathy. When I'm conducting interviews for an article, I have to do my homework ahead of time to know who it is I'm talking to and have some basic knowledge of their work. I don't want to waste this person's time asking basic questions that could be answered easily with a little online research. It's incumbent on me to know and convey to the person I'm interviewing the purpose of the article I'm writing and to ask for information that makes my article into something worth reading. I'm responsible for communicating to my source just why it is that he or she is exactly the person who can best help me learn and convey the specific information I'm going after. <br />
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I have to use my skills in asking questions to encourage my sources to talk about the most interesting, relevant, or important parts of their work. I have to listen carefully to what my sources are telling me. I can't assume that I know in advance what they are going to say. I can't shape their answers into what I think they should have said. I can't be reluctant to ask for clarification -- even if I think I understand what they meant to say. This requires a certain humility on my part -- a willingness to relinquish any concept of myself as an expert and to let my sources speak for themselves. My expertise comes in organizing and conveying the voices of all my sources as accurately and understandably as possible.<br />
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Empathy requires me to know something about the audience I'm writing for. What this audience is most interested in might not be the same thing that most interests my sources. Depending on the type of article I'm writing, I might have to spend some time educating my audience, but I can't be overly didactic without losing their attention. Everyone is busy these days, and a multitude of information sources compete for my reader's attention. I have to make it worth my reader's time to read my writing. I have to show my readers something new or present a different point of view on something familiar. Some part of what I say has to be relevant to the world they inhabit. <br />
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I have to be trustworthy. If I come across as selling a particular point of view or advocating for a particular cause, I might capture the attention of those who already agree with me. But I will lose those readers who disagree with me -- the very readers who might have an "aha!" moment or engage others in a constructive dialogue after having read my article. On the other hand, false balance is just as misleading as blind advocacy. On some issues (climate change is one notable example), the scientific consensus is so strong that giving equal weight to a small opposing minority is a distortion of the facts.<br />
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Trustworthiness also requires clarity. "Baffle them with bullshit" is not an acceptable approach here. Few intelligent readers come away convinced that because an issue is presented in dense technical prose, it must be important and correct. On the other hand, talking down to one's readers, using lazy metaphors, or affecting a false hipness only makes the writer look incompetent. The goal is to convey a message and convey it well.<br />
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Conveying a message also requires an understanding that we are not completely rational beings. Two reasonably sane, intelligent, well-intentioned people can look at the same set of facts and draw very different conclusions. We all operate within our own social, historical, and experiential frameworks, and we interpret what we see accordingly. A good writer must provide enough context and perspective to inform, but not overwhelm, her readers.<br />
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Our emotions affect how we react to information, whether or not we are aware of it. Thus, humor, diplomacy, and yes, empathy are far more than ways to "spice up" an article. They are necessary elements in connecting with one's audience and opening a space for dialogue -- or perhaps drawing the lines for battle.<br />
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The work I enjoy best draws on all these skills, but some of my previous jobs have required a "just-the-facts" approach. For some purposes, that's enough. An activity report for a government agency is not the right place to hone one's skills in humorous narrative nonfiction. But since I have all of these skills, it's up to me to find an outlet for them. Leave the cut-and-dried work to those who excel at it.<br />
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Lately, I've been exploring social media (FaceBook, Twitter, and the like) as a means of staying in touch with the people I've met through my travels, career, and various stages of my life. This has evolved into a means of conversing with people whom I have never met face-to-face, but with whom I share common interests and affinities. I'm exploring the nuances of brief written communications and asking myself how well it is possible to know another person through electronic interaction alone. Electronic communities are changing the way we understand friendship and the way information (or misinformation) spreads. <br />
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Increasingly, interest groups, businesses, and other organizations use these channels to shape what we think and how we talk to each other in ways that go far beyond the pop-up ads and "you might be interested in..." suggestions. Skilled communicators realize that this is where their audience is, and they seek out the people they want to reach in this way. Perhaps the entire message can be conveyed right there on the spot. Perhaps a brief note on Twitter alerts readers to a more detailed account elsewhere. Perhaps flinging an idea into the fray sparks a conversation or elicits a wealth of crowd-sourced information, an exchange of diverse points of view. In any case, it's a matter of going out and engaging in dialogue with readers where they are rather than passively waiting in the backwaters of the information stream.<br />
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If this is so interesting to me in my personal interactions, why not investigate ways to build this into my profession as a science writer? After all, one of the reasons I took 2012 as a year off was to discover ways of integrating the various values and interests I have into a means of supporting myself while contributing something worthwhile to the world. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-84523688835402654542013-01-20T21:40:00.000-05:002013-01-20T21:40:29.451-05:00Racism Through a Child's Eyes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieGuaBhziYeDsaf_1W-6k4xXNX0KJkiXz856nhExhy42OzEC_MT_2OvT3UxFMgwcc2KnH0nnKddK3c9DF1L3MU66bnqNA6Ypy1fUiGBQtifmHvt_qd_EzxmHjUd0ccnHlUbFo0BWFGRCo/s1600/IMG_0604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieGuaBhziYeDsaf_1W-6k4xXNX0KJkiXz856nhExhy42OzEC_MT_2OvT3UxFMgwcc2KnH0nnKddK3c9DF1L3MU66bnqNA6Ypy1fUiGBQtifmHvt_qd_EzxmHjUd0ccnHlUbFo0BWFGRCo/s200/IMG_0604.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Tomorrow is Martin Luther King day, and I want to share three memories from my years growing up in southeastern New Mexico. This is how my child's mind dealt with issues of race, using what I saw and heard all around me.<br />
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<i>Colored people.</i> In the 1960s, "colored people" was the polite term for those we now call African-Americans. When I was maybe 7 or 8 years old, I heard the term and formed a mental image of brightly colored blue, green, and red people, like the colors in my crayon box. I never saw any people who looked like that, however. One day, I asked my mother what color colored people were. She looked at me strangely, as if I had asked an odd question. "They're just negroes," she said. Well, that was a letdown. I had seen negroes before, and they were just sort of brown.<br />
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<i>Speaking Spanish.</i> The town where I grew up is about 100 miles north of the Mexican border, so naturally a lot of my schoolmates were of Mexican heritage. Many of them spoke Spanish at home and on the playground. My teachers would always scold them and tell them not to speak Spanish at school. They were probably trying to keep them from excluding the rest of us from their conversations, or maybe indoctrinate them into some common culture. In my child's mind, however, I thought that Spanish must be a language made up of dirty words. Why else would our teachers be so stern when they scolded my friends?<br />
<br />
<i>Mythical Meskins.</i> During my early years in grade school, the older kids would tell us about the mythical creatures they called "Meskins". These were mean people who hid in bushes, and they would jump out as you passed by and cut you with their knives. Many of my playmates had dark hair and skin, and they had surnames like Garcia, Hernandez, and Reyes. In my mind, these were two separate and completely unrelated observations. It never occurred to me to make any connection between the playmates I saw every day and the mean people hiding in bushes, whom I never did encounter. When I was old enough to realize that "Meskins" was a racial stereotype of Mexican-Americans, I was also old enough to know how hateful it was. I had been right all along -- my friends and playmates were nothing like the imaginary predators that I had been told about, and I feel very fortunate that my friendships were never poisoned by the hateful stories the older kids told.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-90402683692949049232013-01-09T11:53:00.003-05:002013-01-09T11:53:44.455-05:00This Is Your Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0F6ygOjhy8D5KvSrbkvOIAgCnijYi48n7fjzS3S1Ayji7yNnTxioUVDh60WpJYpYgFC7uInx0GPFg52yb4ubgrwjUNALOMjlK4nDh4f2DrZNAtHYPf0EilNpbKVU4u5xCTpywz6k3a40/s1600/This-is-your-life-do-what-you-want-and-do-it-often.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0F6ygOjhy8D5KvSrbkvOIAgCnijYi48n7fjzS3S1Ayji7yNnTxioUVDh60WpJYpYgFC7uInx0GPFg52yb4ubgrwjUNALOMjlK4nDh4f2DrZNAtHYPf0EilNpbKVU4u5xCTpywz6k3a40/s200/This-is-your-life-do-what-you-want-and-do-it-often.jpg" /></a></div><br />
In a delicious little piece of serendipity, my eye was drawn to this poster, which appeared in the margin next to a wonderful <a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2012/04/12/john-cleese-on-creativity-1991/">web video on creativity</a> that a friend sent me. This poster is the "<a href="http://shop.holstee.com/pages/about">Holstee Manifesto</a>" and it encapsulates the philosophy of the Holstee company. Their story (copied from their website):<br />
<br />
<blockquote>In the heat of the recession in May 2009, brothers Mike and Dave and their partner, Fabian started Holstee. More than a company, or clothes, the trio wanted to create a lifestyle. Starting in the summer of 2009 they dove head first into the world of design and production. After six months and a huge learning curve, Holstee launched its first line of Recycled Tees made of 100% recycled plastic bottles that were milled, cut and sewn within 150 miles of each other in North Carolina. Starting with this first round, 10% of all sales were lent to entrepreneurs in extreme poverty through non-profit micro-lending organizations like Kiva.org - a tradition they are proud to still embrace.</blockquote><br />
These guys are the anti-Dilberts. May their philosophy take hold and flourish!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-77740192597000176472013-01-07T22:49:00.001-05:002013-01-07T22:49:45.028-05:00Taking Stock<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTZqe0d_3HkRwfThwoFQUn6T6fsZ4QBFaIna5x2ZxYLb7QSncdQD-x9XDk1oqIWAmpxYORUn7Md7Ru6qeokrQv3Yk3NGue-cnfUYtrqE1_cKnaYROs0FJVMbL1WmLQuTPzy-52FQmx-4/s1600/Nancy+28+Jan+2012_edt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left; margin-right:5em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTZqe0d_3HkRwfThwoFQUn6T6fsZ4QBFaIna5x2ZxYLb7QSncdQD-x9XDk1oqIWAmpxYORUn7Md7Ru6qeokrQv3Yk3NGue-cnfUYtrqE1_cKnaYROs0FJVMbL1WmLQuTPzy-52FQmx-4/s200/Nancy+28+Jan+2012_edt.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgOHuEWRiNNIYn9HOP_IVNez32ze_6fMC7E7b1knWUo2p44fFkASlxVn_Hqwf1e_8jjUMt0MQkZNBtD4dtwEKlUbC6fk1l5CRLV5_fzk7FKi4gFhivnUm0VGY_GI27nasSnUhHYle5al0/s1600/18Nov2012_edt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgOHuEWRiNNIYn9HOP_IVNez32ze_6fMC7E7b1knWUo2p44fFkASlxVn_Hqwf1e_8jjUMt0MQkZNBtD4dtwEKlUbC6fk1l5CRLV5_fzk7FKi4gFhivnUm0VGY_GI27nasSnUhHYle5al0/s200/18Nov2012_edt.jpg" /></a></div><br />
It's a new year. First Monday of the year, most people are back at work. I'm taking stock of where I've been and getting a little more concrete about where I'm going. Over the past year, I've:<br />
<ul><li> rested and recovered from a stressful job<br />
<li> educated myself about making a living as a self-employed person<br />
<li> read several books on discovering and pursuing one's bliss<br />
<li> attended seminars and programs related to possible directions for my career<br />
<li> read several well-written novels -- for enjoyment and to see how it's done<br />
<li> gotten into the habit of daily walks and twice-weekly yoga classes<br />
<li> lost enough weight to drop one full jeans size<br />
<li> decluttered my kitchen and done several small maintenance projects around my home<br />
<li> completed a small mosaic tabletop and a tapestry toss pillow<br />
<li> started making a small table out of my old college textbooks<br />
<li> started the design on my next tapestry<br />
<li> discovered a couple dozen online friends from around the world who share a common interest in the ongoing saga of Andrew De Leon<br />
<li> bought a guitar and started relearning my notes and chords<br />
<li> published two short stories<br />
<li> written a feature story on science careers (will be published soon)<br />
<li> learned to use Twitter and become a lot more proficient in using Facebook<br />
<li> kept up this blog and a daily journal, and begun putting these together as a book<br />
<li> completely redesigned and updated my <a href="http://www.wordchemist.com">website</a>, with a lot of help from my sister Linda, a talented graphic designer<br />
<li> rediscovered the joy of spontaneous day trips, local musicians, and three-hour lunches with friends<br />
</ul>
<a href="http://verbal-aviation.blogspot.com/2012/03/flooding-with-chance-of-clouds.html">Last March, I posted</a> that I felt unfocused and directionless, like a river that had overflowed its channel and spread all over the place. Since then, I've started carving out some new channels for myself. I spend some time each day writing and doing physical exercise. I am still a member of the discussion group that's been meeting twice a month for the last ten years. My eating and sleeping habits are much healthier. Several of my friends have commented that I look happier and more relaxed. Someone even told me that I look ten years younger! (The top picture is me in January 2012, and the bottom picture is from November 2012.)<br />
<br />
Over the next several months, I will be contacting several organizations that I have identified as potential outlets for my writing. I'm checking out several agencies that specialize in writers and other creative people. I'm signed up for a six-week writing workshop, and I bought a book on "how to blog a book". <br />
<br />
I'm also paying more attention to friendships and spending time with people I enjoy. I'm more receptive to going out and doing things now than when I started this adventure a year ago. <br />
<br />
I'm currently conducting an impromptu survey of friends from my various social circles asking them to complete the sentence: "Nancy is my go-to person for _____." Interestingly, none of the responses so far mention my technical knowledge, editing skills, time management abilities, or any of the other talents that were so useful in my previous career. Instead, the responses mention wit, insight, humor, creativity, rationality, carefully considered opinions, and the like. I'm taking this as a sign that I need to build these elements into the line of work that I pursue. If people are already looking to me for these things, then shouldn't I be including them in the efforts where I spend most of my time and energy?<br />
<br />
If 2012 was a year of healing and exploration, then 2013 will focus on love and money, and how best to integrate the two. I need to make a living, but I also need the dear people and passionate pursuits in my life. I can't call my book "Eat, Pray, Love" -- that title is already taken. Perhaps I should call it "Heal, Explore, Thrive". That seems to capture the adventure so far.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-43845297382202742462012-12-26T19:49:00.000-05:002012-12-26T19:49:33.281-05:00If you don't stop making that face...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiincFA-k0yk_wownU58QgMfyHK-XOwq9XQMFJvzocjmSfwt0czf4Mul4bAYrBxh6n8_xgxO2ujdcMN-XbnEkaWhT-4Rn7MAd1vZY7243HVxbZt9EzZWP4yt4NlDaBvJYy4zUooKuvXpQ/s1600/IMG_2375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiincFA-k0yk_wownU58QgMfyHK-XOwq9XQMFJvzocjmSfwt0czf4Mul4bAYrBxh6n8_xgxO2ujdcMN-XbnEkaWhT-4Rn7MAd1vZY7243HVxbZt9EzZWP4yt4NlDaBvJYy4zUooKuvXpQ/s200/IMG_2375.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Did your Mom ever tell you, "If you don't stop making that face, it will freeze that way"? When life is moving really fast, people often just get one glimpse of us, like a snapshot. In their minds, that's the way we are -- face, talent, personality, preferences. That's their image of us, our face is "frozen that way". <br />
<br />
How closely does my public persona resemble the person I think of as me? Has anyone ever gotten fixated on an inaccurate view of me or formed an image that represents just one side of who I am?<br />
<br />
Sometimes, the matter is out of your hands. Parents often think of their offspring as children, even after they grow up, and no amount of rational persuasion or objective evidence will change their minds. Maybe your classmates from high school remember you as that nerdy/freaky/jock/flaky kid even though you've moved past that long ago.<br />
<br />
The cast of Star Trek got stuck in the image of the characters from that show, no matter what other roles they played. They got a lot of money and fame for their efforts, but their careers pretty much got stuck there. The movie Galaxy Quest parodied their plight, with a story about a group of actors from a long-defunct television show who could only find work reprising their roles at sci-fi conventions and shopping mall openings. <br />
<br />
In the 1960s, four budding musicians and actors signed on for a TV show about a boy band, The Monkees. Their careers were defined by the characters they played on that show for the next 40 years. They got very frustrated at the constraints imposed by their contract, but they raked in a pile of money. That was a good thing, financially speaking, because their most visible source of income in the years to come was band reunion tours and appearances as former members of The Monkees. Was it worth it?<br />
<br />
On the other hand, if you don't provide something that your audience, clients, or friends want, you can find yourself all alone.<br />
<br />
A folk singer I know insisted so strongly on doing everything on his own terms that he choked off his own career. He didn't care enough about what his audience wanted, and his fellow musicians found him difficult to deal with.<br />
<br />
Andrew De Leon, an aspiring singer, gave his first public performance almost as a way to put his dreams to rest, certain that he was going to be hated. The audience responded in an overwhelmingly positive way, and his new-found fans pressed him to release a CD. Now, he's changed genres, blending the operatic style that made him famous with the heavy metal and goth styles that he has admired for several years. Did he perform his least important kind of music so that if he was rejected, at least it wouldn't be for the music that was closest to his heart? Should he please his fans or please himself? You can't blame the fans for wanting more of what drew them in the first place. On the other hand, being typecast in a role that's not really you can choke off your enthusiasm before you can realize your potential.<br />
<br />
In my previous job, I became known in my company as a very capable technical editor and trade show exhibit manager. That wasn't inaccurate, but those talents ranked very low on my list of personal priorities. Perhaps I could have pursued my creative writing and visual arts interests in my spare time, but my job left me very little time or energy to pursue the things that I cared about most. My employers didn't require those skills from me, and "creative writer" was not what came to mind when they thought of me. So I provided what my employer wanted, at great cost to my personal priorities.<br />
<br />
If you don't care enough about other people's feelings, you're a narcissist, and people walk away from you. If you care too much about what people think of you, you're a people-pleaser, and they take you for granted and exploit you. <br />
<br />
There has to be a third way, where you engage with other people while keeping a sense of yourself. You act in a way that shows respect and caring for others, but you respect and care about yourself as well. Reveal your true self, but only as much as appropriate. Actively seek common ground between what you have to offer and what others desire from you. Have boundaries, but give your closest friends a means of access to the self that you think of as "really me".<br />
<br />
"Being yourself is not remaining where you are, or being satisfied with what you are. It is the point of departure." -- Sydney J. Harris<br />
<br />
"As I think more positively, I attract positive-thinking people into my life, with whom I have satisfying relationships." -- Barbara J. Winter<br />
<br />
"As I know myself better and act with more integrity and authenticity, I become more capable of entering into close, authentic relationships." -- Nancy McGuire<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-87502630899961585252012-12-17T18:29:00.000-05:002012-12-17T18:29:17.277-05:00Enough is EnoughI just sent this letter to Congressman Chris Van Hollen and Senators Barbara Mikulski and Ben Cardin:<br />
<br />
<br />
These past few weeks have shocked us over and over again with senseless killings due to gun violence. It's not just the Newtown shooting, as horrific as that was. It's the Clackamas Mall shooting in Portland. It's the killing of Selina Brown and the wounding of her daughter Kodie by her father as they boarded a bus in DC. It's the shooting at the movie theater in Aurora, the shooting of Gabrielle Gifford and others in Arizona, and before that, the Beltway Sniper, the shootings at Columbine, Virginia Tech, the individual shootings that claim so many young lives in the District… well you get the picture. Over and over and over again, someone with easy access to guns decides to claim some fame or revenge, and there is so very little to stop them from acting on their impulse. <br />
<br />
I am not advocating a complete ban on private gun ownership. I grew up in a town with a strong hunting culture. I have friends in rural areas who need to protect their livestock, and who cannot wait a half hour or more for the police to arrive if an armed intruder is prowling around their homes. I know that business owners must have some means of protecting against armed criminals. Legitimate gun ownership is not the problem here.<br />
<br />
However, I can see no legitimate reason for civilian citizens to own assault weapons, semiautomatic weapons, high-volume ammunition clips, and other weapons best left to the military and law enforcement professionals. Even if there were legitimate uses, surely these instances are rare enough that we can give up access to these weapons to serve the greater good. <br />
<br />
Certainly, someone in an insane rage can kill using a knife, a baseball bat, or even bare hands. But such a person, acting alone, cannot kill scores of people in a few short minutes. Only someone armed with a rapid-fire gun can do that. <br />
<br />
We require people to register their cars, pass routine inspections, and carry liability insurance. We require drivers to demonstrate proficiency and familiarity with the laws of the road, and we take away their licenses if they violate these laws too often. We require additional qualifications and special licenses for people wishing to drive big-rig trucks and Metro buses. Surely we can institute similar safeguards for gun ownership and use? All that is lacking is the political will to stand up to well-funded special interest groups -- the NRA in particular. Congress is in a lame-duck session right now, and many of your colleagues have nothing to lose by pushing for gun control legislation before they leave office. The nation has been shocked and horrified by one mass killing after another, and people are pleading for some kind of concrete action to curb the violence. Now is the time to say, "enough is enough" and push through the legislation that we need. Australia did it in 1996. We can do it now. Please.<br />
<br />
Your constituent,<br />
Nancy McGuireAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-71044557698746597512012-12-11T13:40:00.000-05:002012-12-11T13:40:12.810-05:00Keep, Donate, Toss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2CflctFr8VjbKkGMD_tqs084r05RcmDSzorRxHHhg2EgCoJemvRhfYUM_Pi1Ul5QdNVBMxFU97wZyj-HTLIcZR08CJwmgW9szZxUboPIK9liT8okjDYa_BL2MzZtX0hb9m5kO3lOlHM/s1600/IMG_2234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2CflctFr8VjbKkGMD_tqs084r05RcmDSzorRxHHhg2EgCoJemvRhfYUM_Pi1Ul5QdNVBMxFU97wZyj-HTLIcZR08CJwmgW9szZxUboPIK9liT8okjDYa_BL2MzZtX0hb9m5kO3lOlHM/s200/IMG_2234.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Three years ago, I decided that my bedroom was a wretched mess. I had already gotten my living room into decent shape with furniture that harmonized and functioned well. I sent a couple of carloads of clutter (plus several large pieces of mismatched furniture) to new homes -- including the landfill, when I couldn't come up with a better solution. The space where I entertained guests was looking pretty respectable, but the space that was just for me was a dumping ground for whatever had landed there over the years. <br />
<br />
My first step was to ask for help. The <i>Washington Post</i> runs a weekly article where people send in photos of rooms that they want to remake, and a professional decorator provides a sketch and recommends various furniture pieces and paint colors. The photos I sent in of my hodge-podge bedroom were deemed worthy of the challenge; a professional photographer came and shot several "before" photos to run with the article. A decorator took my comments, asked for measurements and a proposed budget, and set to work on creating the "after" sketch. <br />
<br />
The "after" sketch was nothing like what I had asked for. Instead of a soothing, sunny Zen retreat, the decorator had gone for heavy earth tones and a strong Southwestern theme. More than half the budget was devoted to a dresser that had several layers of "artistically" peeled paint. I realized that I was going to have to come up with my own answer on this one. I did, however, like the way that she had arranged the furniture, so I kept that bit of information. Maybe the sketch in the newspaper article would appeal to someone else, so that would be my donation to someone else's inspiration. <br />
<br />
I already had some idea of where to start. I knew that the five-drawer lateral file cabinet that dominated the room would have to go. Why was I saving all that paper? I weeded it out the best I could, boxed up the rest, and made myself a promise to scan as much as I could into computer files and send the paper to the recycling bin. I advertised the file cabinet online, and a husband-and-wife counseling team claimed it for their office.<br />
<br />
I went through two wicker hampers of things that I hadn't looked at in years. After saving a few precious keepsakes, the hampers went to new homes at the next condo association yard sale.<br />
<br />
After a couple of months of searching locally and online, I found a set of furniture that I liked. I placed an order, to be delivered in three weeks. I called a local charity to come and pick up my old bed, mattress, night stand, and chest of drawers. While I waited for my new furniture, I would be sleeping on an air mattress and using cardboard boxes to store my sox and undies. <br />
<br />
I took the opportunity to clear everything out of my bedroom except the pictures on the walls and the clothing hanging in the closets. The parquet floor was in need of a new finishing coat, and this was a rare chance to get that done. I had also planned to paint the walls, but I ran out of time, energy, and motivation. The current paint job was just fine -- a total change was not necessary. <br />
<br />
When the new furniture came, and it was time to move back into my bedroom, I brought back only the things that I knew I wanted to keep. The rest stayed in the living room, cluttered and under foot -- purposely annoying me to force me to donate or toss them rather than letting them sneak back into my new personal space.<br />
<br />
The newly decorated room was not a complete change -- I still had my familiar artwork on the walls, which were the same color as before. I still had that odd little round table that no one seems to like except me. I used the furniture arrangement from the <i>Washington Post</i> article, but the furniture itself was my own choice. It doesn't all match, but it harmonizes quite well. I still have keepsakes on the new, airy bookshelves, but just a few -- not the visual bedlam I had before. The room doesn't look like the photos in the decorating magazines. It looks like where I live, only it's more peaceful now.<br />
<br />
This year has been a metaphorical parallel to 2010's bedroom project. I took the radical step of leaving my job so that I could open a space to reconstruct my life. So that I could give the same honor to my own space that I had spent so many years trying to give to others' spaces. For the time being, my own space is a lot emptier than it usually is. I have used that time to get a few things in order -- physical health, stress levels, personal relationships, creative projects. <br />
<br />
I'm keeping a few familiar things in place during the renovation -- my home, my friends and family, the kinds of things I read. A lot of the old things have been moved out. Some will come back into this new room, some will not. As I did for my bedroom, I am making three piles of "life stuff": Keep, Donate/Sell, and Toss.<br />
<br />
The only things that will be allowed to stay in or return to my metaphorical room are the things that are valuable to me, including friends and family, home, adequate income, music, photography, travel, learning and discovery, creativity. Other things don't fit me so well, but might be useful to someone else: routine technical work, exhibit planning, proposal-writing teams, classroom teaching, "leadership". Some things are going into the dumpster -- if you want to dive for them, be my guest: the long commute, cubicles, being a human dumping ground for someone else's low-priority projects, the chaos and constant sense of crisis that comes from working with people who don't plan in advance or respect other people's plans.<br />
<br />
Anyone who has ever done a major decluttering project can tell you that you have to go through a stage where everything is a mess. You have to navigate your way around stuff on its way out. You have to dig through boxes to find stuff you need to use. Things don't fit quite the way you expected, and you have to adapt. Sometimes, you have to go looking for a couple of extra pieces to make the whole thing work. Eventually, though, everything finds its place and you begin to believe that it's all worthwhile.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-34383781979039469752012-12-07T14:16:00.000-05:002012-12-07T14:16:02.504-05:00Chill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqGC3XY3P7eYWoGXNLX4VvIJYp0691MrIDHChoIhSvpuSV0ObI6nrg2smm7r_m3EEXMfkVGSWDJTJRJQz_zklIO4I5t30IpeJl-Gwt_3u2W4vP7ajYxTFVuls59FPwZhMy4VnXJ8kuiw/s1600/IMG_1501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqGC3XY3P7eYWoGXNLX4VvIJYp0691MrIDHChoIhSvpuSV0ObI6nrg2smm7r_m3EEXMfkVGSWDJTJRJQz_zklIO4I5t30IpeJl-Gwt_3u2W4vP7ajYxTFVuls59FPwZhMy4VnXJ8kuiw/s200/IMG_1501.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Autumn is winding down. The sun can't seem to drag itself more than halfway up in the sky, and some days, it doesn't crawl out at all from under its downy blanket of gray clouds. The trees outside my window have closed up their photosynthesis factories for the season, and the squirrels are topping off their stores of acorns before they bed down for the winter. Slow down, Nature says.<br />
<br />
Didn't we used to do that? After the harvest was all in the barns, didn't we put up jam and visit the neighbors and plan next year's gardens? Didn't we grab a few extra hours of sleep or stare dreamily into the fire? Didn't students have a few weeks away from their classes -- time to spend with family and friends?<br />
<br />
That's all slipping away now, or at least it seems that way. The relentless grind of the industrial machine demands end-of-year reports. Metrics to be gathered, deadlines to be met. Conferences scheduled adjacent to holiday weekends mean more tourist dollars from attendees tacking a few vacation days onto their business trips. Smart phones and laptop computers let your far-flung team hammer out contract proposals from their seats in various hotel lobbies as they await their airport shuttles. Those few days away from the office just mean a lull in the meeting schedule so that you can finish up that extra paperwork.<br />
<br />
Time to reconnect with friends and family, exchange gifts, and sing and dance has morphed into a two-month marathon of jam-packed schedules where every spare moment is crammed with events or commuting between events. Gift-giving requires camping out in front of stores to ensure your place at the head of the predawn stampede on Black Friday -- or foregoing your leisurely pie and coffee after Thanksgiving dinner in order to snag the prime deals available on Thursday evening. Instead of a few precious items, carefully chosen to symbolize a friendship, we fill shopping carts with piles of mass produced commodities. Why drive around delivering plates of homemade candy to your closest friends when you can send them boxes of red and green M&Ms that you ordered online?<br />
<br />
The quiet sense of reverence inspired by a candlelight midnight Mass or a Solstice bonfire is drowned out by back-to-back concerts by every performing group in existence -- great throngs of under-rehearsed choristers who are stressed out from generating annual reports and studying for final exams. Every conductor uses the holiday season to stage his grandest effort, but the aggregate is just a cacophonous blur.<br />
<br />
Setting aside one time of year for paying special attention to the people we love used to make sense when our communities were small. When we worked, lived, and played together all year long. When the driving force was the connection with each other, and the music and dancing was just a symbol of that connection. Now, the music and dancing have become the main focus, and people are secondary. Commerce has gotten into the act, and so now the holidays are pressed into service as a revenue-generating activity. People are tertiary. Getting together requires airline tickets and tight scheduling and dealing with flight delays and tiny airplane seats. People are quaternary.<br />
<br />
I'm starting to wonder if maybe I'm just nostalgic. Maybe the medieval peasants didn't enjoy holidays so much as just survived day to day through the long cold winters. But didn't they dance and go wassailing now and then? I distinctly remember getting small gifts from friends and family that said, "I know what makes you smile." I remember making batches of candy in our family's small kitchen and helping my parents deliver plates of goodies to our closest friends. I remember the intimacy of candlelight church services, and singing "O Magnum Mysterium" with the choir.<br />
<br />
This year off has allowed me to stay away from a lot of the craziness that accompanies this time of year. No annual reports to write, no metrics to gather, no conference exhibits to organize. The television screen is dark for much of the week -- I don't have to put up with the advertising mania if the set's turned off. I can take long, contemplative walks in the middle of the afternoon. I'm living off my savings, so my friends and family understand that my gift giving will be simple, and my travel budget does not include airline tickets this year. <br />
<br />
The end-of-year mania sounds like a distant roar from my little refuge. It's like watching a street mob from the safety of an upstairs apartment. Like hearing the throb of a stadium concert from an office on the other side of the college campus. Like seeing a news report of thousands of people stranded at an airport, while sitting in a nice warm living room and enjoying a cup of tea with one friend. I'm not oblivious, I'm just not in the thick of it this year. Thank goodness.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-7833423590070713922012-11-24T17:49:00.000-05:002012-11-24T17:55:31.302-05:00Don't Go There<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLeTVccKyYH_maJTuI-VzgTJ1vIb5l9ax37pvNNi4dGICs8ne6m1IBaDmsb9HQYr5-bFx225B4ZailI2krgBatBa12YVk4TlSe5X-3X_1dM4vr-V975jLQWk0I-lz-01nopDQJG9uVtI/s1600/IMG_1712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLeTVccKyYH_maJTuI-VzgTJ1vIb5l9ax37pvNNi4dGICs8ne6m1IBaDmsb9HQYr5-bFx225B4ZailI2krgBatBa12YVk4TlSe5X-3X_1dM4vr-V975jLQWk0I-lz-01nopDQJG9uVtI/s200/IMG_1712.JPG" /></a></div><br />
One of my college homework assignments, back in the days when the USSR was going strong, was to read <i>The Communist Manifesto</i> by Karl Marx. I studied better with background noise (I still do), so I sat in my dorm room with the door open. My hall-mates would pass by and peek through the door to see what I was doing, and several of them were scandalized by what they saw. They seemed to think that merely reading this forbidden treatise would somehow pull me over to the dark side. I might begin asking questions about things that should not be questioned. I might begin to think independently. It was all very dangerous.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphen5TMam5ZqJzphuVDQX3E-tPzYPmDmzFtUrQCmIPv2EsEIeR0InpFju5rq3l8sQ5zC55tQXfDZ5wRSC-mXchUU1XZ0WreFVk7V4yc7L2A15yLmx_1kTaymffkdcUNT7C1tM9Wl4LTWNY/s1600/IMG_0949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphen5TMam5ZqJzphuVDQX3E-tPzYPmDmzFtUrQCmIPv2EsEIeR0InpFju5rq3l8sQ5zC55tQXfDZ5wRSC-mXchUU1XZ0WreFVk7V4yc7L2A15yLmx_1kTaymffkdcUNT7C1tM9Wl4LTWNY/s200/IMG_0949.JPG" /></a></div><br />
People like their ideas neatly contained, finite and easily managed. In the movie <i>The Truman Show</i>, Truman Burbank grows up on the elaborate set of a reality TV show, but he's not aware that millions of people are watching his every move. Christof, the director of the show, rationalizes this manipulation by saying that he's enabling Truman to live an ideal life, free of the pain and violence of the outside world. When Truman begins suspecting that all is not as it appears, Christof uses every means at his disposal to prevent Truman from discovering that his friends, including his wife, are actors and his world is an artificial construct enclosed in a bubble. <br />
<br />
This year has been an exploration outside the bubble for me. I'm exploring who I am and what I like to do when I'm not constrained by the necessities of getting up early every morning and commuting to a cubicle. I'm listening with a sense of amusement to politicians talk about "takers" who don't pay income taxes. I'm one of those "takers" this year, but I'm taking the resources that I earned through my own hard work. I'm listening to talk of jobs and assignments and stress and evaluations with the ears of someone who is standing outside of that culture. And I'm realizing that after my experience of life off of the hamster wheel, I'm not sure that I want to go back.<br />
<br />
Now that the year is coming to an end, I'm getting a lot of questions about what kind of a job I'm looking for. Friends and family are genuinely concerned about me, since I had told them that I wasn't financially ready for retirement and I would have to find a source of income after my year is over. I have been trying to use the term "source of income" rather than "job", because money can come from a variety of sources. What would be the point of taking this year if I merely went back to the same life I left behind? <br />
<br />
Some people get that idea, some don't. For some, "money" means "job". Job means office, commute, benefits package, managers, promotions, and performance evaluations. Jobs mean productivity, efficiency, being a team player, and working hard so that some executive or business owner can live out his dream (and if you're lucky, you can live a few of your dreams after you hit 65). Some part of my mind believes that, too. My career has been such a big part of my life for so long, it's hard to think in other terms. No one in my immediate family has been an entrepreneur for any great period of time. My sister and I have both done freelance gigs, but they tend to span the periods between job-type jobs.<br />
<br />
Some people have told me how brave I am to be breaking out of this mold, but they could never even consider doing something similar. Some people are distressed when I tell them that I'm not sure what my next move will be. I tell them about the freelance projects I'm doing, the work I'm publishing, the little networking opportunities. That seems to reassure them that I'm doing <i>something</i> that might get me a job and bring me in from my wanderings in the wilderness. It tends to reassure me that I'm not just wasting my time, waiting for the money to run out.<br />
<br />
For the time being, my savings are holding out rather well. I'm well aware that I will need to step up my efforts very soon. But it feels like cutting corners on my grand adventure to start looking too hard too soon for another niche in the machine. Might it be possible to make a life outside the office? If I succeed at that, would it disturb those friends of mine who are silently suffering in jobs that they hate, but have told themselves they must endure? Is it safer if we just don't ask certain questions?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-45262807695423160662012-11-06T15:28:00.000-05:002012-11-23T21:16:11.388-05:00Prison on a Pedestal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRy6buybonlIf-rc4LzpOtBq9tjLXMHIyC24nKP1nNixZw1NPM2d2vnmztwtbqfwKn6HvidFUXX9TgRwJFfSEYuLbKuwNplHQdv3qH9qaOsresS57d6mIrTOhZZvix0MufQVoVHndwCFg/s1600/Griffin_flipped_3815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRy6buybonlIf-rc4LzpOtBq9tjLXMHIyC24nKP1nNixZw1NPM2d2vnmztwtbqfwKn6HvidFUXX9TgRwJFfSEYuLbKuwNplHQdv3qH9qaOsresS57d6mIrTOhZZvix0MufQVoVHndwCFg/s200/Griffin_flipped_3815.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I read Chris Richards' concert review in the <i>Washington Post</i> today (<a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/concert-review-justin-bieber-at-verizon-center/2012/11/05/44a069be-27c4-11e2-b4f2-8320a9f00869_story.html">Bieber Live: Less Than Believable</a>) about last night's Justin Bieber concert at Washington DC's Verizon Center. The fans had a great night. The business side of the Bieber Empire had a great night. Apparently, The Biebs did not have a great night. Richards wrote, “The star didn’t seem to want to be there. His audience didn’t seem to want to be anywhere else.”<br />
<br />
One photo that ran with the article showed Bieber descending onto the stage, strapped into a harness that sported 15-foot "angel wings" fashioned from cymbals, guitars, and other musical paraphernalia. This was no angel, just an 18-year-old kid who had posted a little music video on YouTube just a few short years ago, and who had been transformed into a hugely successful commercial product. <br />
<br />
Beiber's fans have created an image in their own minds of what he must be like, incorporating a large dose of their own hopes, dreams, and needs, with a small sprinkling of what's left of the actual human that is Justin. The business end of his mammoth commercial enterprise relies on the human that is Justin to occupy this larger-than-life persona, born of the union between preteen fantasy and savvy marketing, in order to continue generating the huge amounts of money that the enterprise needs in order to perpetuate itself.<br />
<br />
Bieber did not work his way up through smoky bars and small-town auditoriums. He is not grounded by a small following of fans who have been with him since the beginning, and who know him close-up. No, he burst into international fame overnight through the magic of social media. His far-flung fans enjoy a one-sided familiarity, the illusion of knowing this person whom they have never met. Like Sovietologists, they search out and dissect the tiniest factoids for some small insight into this mythical being. One wonders if they would turn away in disappointment if they caught an accidental glimpse of the man-boy behind the curtain.<br />
<br />
Chris Richards immersed himself in this online world in preparation for yesterday's concert and wrote an <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/music/i-want-to-belieb-getting-lost-in-the-web-of-justin-bieber/2012/11/01/5c4df972-22e3-11e2-8448-81b1ce7d6978_story.html">article</a> about it earlier this week. Says Richards, "On Twitter, Bieber’s name is tweeted roughly every second of the day, and he’s amassed more than 29 million followers. ... Tweeting at Justin Bieber is like sending a prayer to God. You hope you’ll be answered, but the real comfort comes from believing he can hear you.”<br />
<br />
Quoting one of Bieber's Twitter fans: “Dear Justin Drew Bieber...can you notice me and follow me? I EXIST.” <br />
<br />
Watching Bieber perform, Richards mused, "Makes ya wonder: Did Bieber even want to be onstage? Were his dreamy doe eyes actually spaced-out stares of exhaustion? His vocals — a mix of live singing and pre-recorded backing tracks — lacked a pulse and frequently sounded Bible-paper thin." The commercial persona had grown so large that it was becoming too heavy for the human being to carry. <br />
<br />
I have no idea what this kind of dual existence must be like on this scale. Not even close. I do know, however, what it's like to be burdened with someone else's expectations of what I should be like. I know how miserable I can make myself when I try to be the person that someone else expects me to be. Someone sees some small part of me that they like, or that fits in with their agenda. They don't really know the rest of me -- my hopes, dreams, needs, and desires. Nor do they want to know.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, it goes beyond not caring enough to find out. I once dated a young man for more than two years before I could no longer bend and distort myself to satisfy his demands that I become the ideal woman that he had created in his mind. I was just as deluded about him as he was about me. I had mistaken his ego and coerciveness for confidence and leadership. I had thought that he would continue to care about me after I became a "sure thing". Had he bothered to know me on an intimate level, however, I would have ceased to be the blank slate on which he could draw his fantasy woman. Not knowing me was central to his agenda.<br />
<br />
More recently, my need for comfort and support in the face of an impending job loss (mine) revealed the weaknesses in my year-long relationship with a man who had made his life into a shrine memorializing a traumatic event from his teenage years -- 30 years before. Again, I was just as deluded as he was. I mistook his appearance of vulnerability and his willingness to talk about his trauma for true sensitivity and openness. When I became the vulnerable one, however, it became apparent that he had no interest in reciprocating my care and concern. The painful story that he had shared with me was well rehearsed and intended to solicit empathy from tender-hearted women. When I allowed myself to step back and observe him, I heard him recite his tale many times, almost exactly word for word, and then bask in the rescue fantasies of his carefully selected audience. <br />
<br />
One of my discoveries about the government contracting world is the extent to which contracting companies engage in creating a shiny, enticing product with which to win over the government agents in charge of awarding the contracts. This includes recruiting and hiring highly credentialed people to back up a rosy picture of what the contract could be at its most ambitious and innovative. Once the ink is dry and reality sets in, the job usually turns out to be much less challenging and satisfying than the picture in the contract proposal. The "science communications" job turns out to be aggregating dry prose for quarterly reports and cobbling together exhibits for trade shows. If your manager knew how deeply you yearned to write informative, engaging articles about research and its context in society, he or she would be forced to acknowledge how deeply unsatisfying your actual job was. It would be that much harder to report up the chain of command that all is well, and the worker bees are happily productive. So much easier just not to know. Your boss is not your friend.<br />
<br />
I have also experienced real friendship and real concern for others in my life. The biggest difference that I see is that the more I find out about the person, the better I like them. I don't have to agree with the person, nor do I have to share all of their interests. Getting my preconceived notions blown to bits feels like a good thing. Here are real human beings, with all their strengths, weaknesses, quirks, and personal histories, and I like them better the more I know.<br />
<br />
I do not normally join celebrity fan groups -- I left breathless boy-band worship behind with my adolescence. However, I am following the emerging career of Andrew De Leon. Like Justin Bieber, he became famous overnight (he auditioned for America's Got Talent, and the videos are all over YouTube). He has a very active Twitter account. His fan base spans around the world.<br />
<br />
Unlike The Biebs, he was not immediately picked up by a high-level talent scout and catapulted to platinum-record fame and fortune. He's back home now, working his way through small-venue performances and sessions in a local recording studio. His family and long-time friends are in close proximity, and he still has time for trips to WalMart and The Cheesecake Factory. He makes videos for his fans, but they are the musings (and belches and funny faces) of a very normal 20-year-old, not the lavishly produced performances of a rock superstar. I find that very reassuring. Andrew is still a human being.<br />
<br />
Recently, he released a song, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWYTOcJKUJ4">The Devil's Knight</a>", that he wrote himself. If you had really listened to his earlier interviews, the dark style and lyrics of the song would have come as no surprise. Andrew may have sung opera, art songs, and Ave Maria during the talent competition, but he made no secret of his admiration for Marilyn Manson and Rob Zombie as well. He toned down his Goth makeup for his television appearances, but he also let it be known that he was a makeup artist for low-budget horror flicks. <br />
<br />
Predictably, some of his fans were scandalized and let it be known that they would no longer be following him. I check in now and then on his Twitter page, and I could see it coming. The fans who had cooed and fussed over him, the ones who tweeted him as if they were sending prayers to a deity, the ones who begged him for just one little reply -- how much of their version of Andrew was really a creation of their own minds? The hyper-religious fans who left him because of the dark metaphors in his song -- well, really, what did they expect? One especially astute line from his song states, "Perfection to the blind, true devil lies inside. No lies when I tell you that my soul is in the night."<br />
<br />
Unlike The Biebs, Andrew did not don the angel wings and dutifully shoulder his public persona for the fantasy-fulfillment of his fans. Part of the reason that he did not go further in the talent competitions is that he refused to be the clean, neatly packaged product that fills up the seats in the Las Vegas theaters. Andrew's reaction to the loss of his disillusioned fans? "Apparently I have lost my 'Christian' fans due to The Devil's Knight. How many f***s given? Zero. I still have you guys <3." (That's a sideways heart at the end, in case you didn't know.) Mr. De Leon isn't much of a diplomat. I find that very encouraging.<br />
<br />
Update: On November 17, Andrew De Leon tweeted me: "I came across your article about me. I wish more people could be as understanding as you. <3"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-69703970226376614232012-11-01T15:20:00.000-04:002012-11-01T15:20:31.022-04:00The Storm This Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyxXH9CnWGNGjmL-iMXnW7-1IkD2ZJPXrDRTOs1x53t3blLfjWd0Je0xOdZkKOw9XdTPyBC4mRM6ZfVd6lR6dSKISs-ZJJDt_6txQmzxbRJNyVvMIHXl5neYFdRJdR3iv6EA8OG2qACo/s1600/IMG_0600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyxXH9CnWGNGjmL-iMXnW7-1IkD2ZJPXrDRTOs1x53t3blLfjWd0Je0xOdZkKOw9XdTPyBC4mRM6ZfVd6lR6dSKISs-ZJJDt_6txQmzxbRJNyVvMIHXl5neYFdRJdR3iv6EA8OG2qACo/s200/IMG_0600.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Earlier this week, I spent a couple of days cooped up indoors, riding out Hurricane Sandy. Looking back, I realize how different this experience was from the time I spent in this same little home in 2003, riding out Hurricane Isabel.<br />
<br />
Back then, I had been living in this condo apartment a little less than 6 months, and I didn't know any of my neighbors well. We were directly in the path of the hurricane. The power went out fairly quickly and was not restored for a week and a half. Only one of the building's backup generators was running at full power. One had partial power, and the other had none at all. <br />
<br />
Fortunately, my kitchen was on the line to the fully functional generator, but it wasn't safe to use my electronic devices because of the power fluctuations. No television, no email, spotty telephone service -- and no lights in my bedroom. I suppose I could have sought out company in the building lobby, but I was afraid of being so close to the window wall that fills the lobby with sunlight on a normal day. I had never been directly in the path of a hurricane, and I had no idea what to expect. I felt so alone.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, I had booked airline tickets many weeks in advance for a trip to see my family in New Mexico. Thus, after a few days (that felt like an eternity), I was able to board the plane right on schedule and fly away from my windswept exile. My sister kidded me that I had to go almost 2000 miles to get a hot shower and cash from a working ATM machine. I was just glad to be back among familiar faces.<br />
<br />
This time around, the Washington DC area was hit with a glancing blow. Again, I spent a couple of days housebound, but it was a very different experience. The day before the storm, my neighbors and I chatted in the lobby. I knew that if I needed anything, I could knock on any one of a dozen doors and find a friend to help me. We never did lose power, but I knew from previous storms that our current building maintenance crew was diligent about keeping the generators ready to go. I didn't have plane tickets this time, but I didn't need them. I was prepared and well connected.<br />
<br />
I thought that I might work on several projects around the house during the storm, but instead I spent a lot of the time online chatting with friends and family all over the country. I posted photographs and status reports online and kept up with my local friends who were doing the same. <br />
<br />
I surprised myself by what I didn't do during the storm. I didn't turn on the television until late in the day. I knew from past experience that all of the stations would be broadcasting nonstop, breathless coverage of the very worst effects of the storm. There's only so much of that I can take, especially if I'm looking out the window to see how much damage is in my own back yard. I didn't watch movies or work on craft projects. I didn't do any writing (although I filled up six pages in my journal the day after the storm). <br />
<br />
No, what I did was to seek out my friends and stay connected with them. It was a more concentrated version of what I've been doing lately during normal weather. I'm not nearly the news junkie I used to be, and I have a whole list of household projects that I haven't even started. Sometimes, I criticize myself for not being more "productive". Then I realize that I am doing exactly what I need to do. <br />
<br />
When I started this year, my goals included improving my mental and physical health, making more time for the people in my life, working on creative projects, and finding a way to make a living that uses and builds my strengths. I have a pretty good handle on the mind/body thing, and now I'm working on building up my friendships. I'm making small inroads on the list of projects (paying and not), but for now, I'm building and strengthening my own personal community. The rest of it will come in good time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-74082023173200748982012-10-24T12:51:00.000-04:002012-10-24T12:51:03.162-04:00Serendipity and Intention<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTou5X33Tlw6s5fD2oApr2b_ZH94ziyaAWc8v8cUEbTEHsH-TeHqKxejLa8qQohyphenhyphenq6pfkjsParHxCyF0tvHkvJiO11LiHVbjNnfF92NAENuLnZfdR0KIwB2XZd4HvR7zUZ9cng7jsVock/s1600/YINYANG.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTou5X33Tlw6s5fD2oApr2b_ZH94ziyaAWc8v8cUEbTEHsH-TeHqKxejLa8qQohyphenhyphenq6pfkjsParHxCyF0tvHkvJiO11LiHVbjNnfF92NAENuLnZfdR0KIwB2XZd4HvR7zUZ9cng7jsVock/s200/YINYANG.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Last night, my Deepening Circle celebrated our tenth anniversary with cake and sparkling wine. Twice a month, since October 23, 2002, we have gathered in a living room or a restaurant to discuss prearranged topics, enjoy free-form discussions, and share our music, histories, and dreams with each other. Members have come and gone, but the group goes on.<br />
<br />
We were all a little hazy on our starting date. The original agreement was to meet for six months, then disband or continue as we saw fit. Our beginning had none of the trappings of a ten-year journey, just an experiment that we had agreed to carry out for a few months. The historical record surfaced when Callie, one of the two women responsible for launching the group, found an old e-mail printout as she was decluttering her house. The e-mail had a list of the original members of our group, our contact information, and the time and date of our first scheduled meeting. Callie found this just a couple of days before last night's scheduled meeting, just in time to get the cake and wine (one of her dad's favorite brands, which happened to be on sale) so that she could surprise us with her discovery. <br />
<br />
October 23, 2002 was a Wednesday, and we've been meeting on Tuesdays. I don't remember if we changed our meeting day after that first meeting, but it doesn't matter. Callie's serendipitous finding of that e-mail added a touch of magic that honored our ten years of intentional community.<br />
<br />
I like to think that we discover things that have been there all along by focusing our attention toward finding them. Like tuning in to a particular radio station -- the radio waves are there all the time, but you have to tune your receiver to a specific frequency in order to hear the music. That presupposes, however, that you have the right kind of receiver already and that you either know what kind of music that station plays, or you scan all the frequencies available to you until you find what you want. <br />
<br />
But what about things that come to you unbidden -- things that you didn't even know how to ask for (consciously, anyway)? What is it that goes on outside of our consciousness that brings just what we need when we need it, even if we didn't know we needed it? Things have come to me that I didn't know how to ask for, or that I have asked for but that came in a form that I couldn't have imagined. Job offers, a cherished pet cat, lovers, a 35-mm camera, my current home, an artist whose work moves me in ways that I still don't understand.<br />
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So we do this curious dance, acting intentionally and purposefully, while keeping a space open for the unexpected. Too much open space, and you lose all focus. You drift aimlessly through the fog. Too little space, and your possibilities become limited to what you already know, what your mind is willing to admit. The world sees you as being self-sufficient, so it offers you no help. Other people need to see some open space so that they can gain access to your life.<br />
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But even there, we have to maintain a balance. You don't just leave your front door open to let strangers wander through your home and take what they please. You don't invite the neighbors in to watch your most intimate moments with someone you love. (Or maybe you do! I don't.) There has to be a safe space where you can guard the tenderest and most precious things. A place where you can retreat to safety when the world gets to be too much. But if you spend too much time in your sanctuary, the world goes on without you. People forget that you exist, and it's hard to come back out and find a friend when you need one.<br />
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Serendipity and intentions. Engagement and retreat. It's all a big balancing act, a big ebb and flow. An acknowledgement that we have the power to love things into existence, and a willingness to receive what we did not create.<br />
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<i>The image at the top of this blog posting is something that I've been using as an icon for a some of my social media accounts for the last few years. I found it on the Internet, unexpectedly, while I was looking for something else. It really captures the concept of the balancing act for me. If you know the original source of this image, please leave a comment below.</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-35818461688763994332012-10-06T16:34:00.000-04:002012-10-06T16:34:02.029-04:00Blueprints and Data Mining and Jigsaw Puzzles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Ru_B83m3lOOFcCQvwnmN7kxcW9QwdNMBnOTMLiJvO1mGhAnMU5ds3xJhmmXAQtV3pap0bBslOPC_vcYmEK5vuyyTlWgX-OZMSOYZFYkprxSi6J_IXWERHQ-gwZyTAdvkpMTK24Hxr6o/s1600/raven+in+cage+puzzle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Ru_B83m3lOOFcCQvwnmN7kxcW9QwdNMBnOTMLiJvO1mGhAnMU5ds3xJhmmXAQtV3pap0bBslOPC_vcYmEK5vuyyTlWgX-OZMSOYZFYkprxSi6J_IXWERHQ-gwZyTAdvkpMTK24Hxr6o/s200/raven+in+cage+puzzle.jpg" /></a></div><br />
There are many ways to go about finding something when the way ahead is not entirely clear. Some of my friends take a goal-oriented approach. Assess where you are now, define where you want to be, then make a detailed outline of the steps you need to take to get from here to there. That's great when you have a clear idea of what "there" looks like.<br />
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Some problems can be solved by diving into books and articles and advice from friends. Find out what someone else already knows, and use that to make your design. That's great when the question you want to answer is something that someone else has already answered.<br />
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My problem is that I seldom know what my goal will look like. I may have a general dissatisfaction with the way things are and a vague sense of what direction I need to go, and that's about it. The life I imagined for myself 30 years ago bears little resemblance to the life I have today, and that's not such a bad thing. I didn't have the ability back then to imagine this life. I discovered it as I went along.<br />
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I did the best I could with what I had, and every now and then I took stock of things and saw where the pieces fit together and suggested the outlines of a next step or two. It's been like solving a puzzle.<br />
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First, you clear out an empty space where you can work. It's much harder putting a jigsaw puzzle together on a cluttered table. The pieces don't fit because of all the stuff underneath. You can't see what fits where because there are too many things in the way.<br />
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When you begin, you don't have a clue where most of the pieces are supposed to go. You might not even have a picture to help you along. So you start with what you have. Edges and corners, pieces that are clearly part of a bright pattern, like a flower or a jewel. You fit those together, and the spaces between them suggest other pieces that might fit in. The colors along the edges suggest interior pieces that might fit that general area. You try pieces out, and sometimes they fit and sometimes they don't. <br />
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You take a break when you need to, then you come back and fit a few more pieces into place. Pieces that you wouldn't have known how to place before you put those first pieces in. Sometimes, you realize that the pieces aren't fitting properly, and you have to undo a section before you plow on ahead.<br />
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Little by little, the picture emerges. Maybe it's what you expected, maybe not. Sometimes, pieces get lost and you wind up with blank spots in your puzzle. As long as the picture is relatively clear, it's enough.<br />
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I cleared things out in a big way over the past couple of years. I cleaned closets and weeded out files and got furniture that harmonized and fit my space. I quit a job that was taking up too much space in my life. I made time for quiet, reading, long walks -- and blogging! <br />
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I have begun to fit a few pieces into this clear space: <br />
<i>Yoga and walking,</i> for a quiet mind and a healthy body. I went from "plank pose is gonna kill me!" to "I can do this!" The balance poses need more work, but I'm getting better. A three-mile walk now seems very ordinary to me.<br />
<i><br />
A new guitar and several new CDs,</i> for more music in my life. I feel self-conscious about playing my piano, especially with my touchy downstairs neighbors. My guitar is quieter -- and much more portable. I'm having to re-learn what little I knew about playing guitar from my few lessons in the 1970s, and I am in serious need of some finger callouses. That will come.<br />
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<i>Movies, art exhibits, panel discussions, and other events</i> for mental stimulation. Sometimes with friends, sometimes by myself. Sometimes, I come away with an idea for the next move in my career. Sometimes, I just come away feeling inspired and happy. Both are valuable to me.<br />
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<i>Writing projects,</i> because this is a big part of who I am. I have a fiction piece coming out online next month, and a nonfiction piece being published this month. (I'll put in some links when they go live.) I am getting small bits of inspiration for several stories in progress. And most mornings, I write Morning Pages (a la The Artist's Way), which vary from brain dumps to aimless meanderings to bloody brilliant.<br />
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Social media,</i> as a way of getting the word out there and reminding people I still exist. I'm learning my way around Twitter and news feeds and my very own website, and a professional FaceBook page. It's kind of disjointed right now, and I can spend way too much time just looking at other people's updates. Gradually, I'm getting a feel for how to skim the important stuff, avoid the negativity, and make a presence for myself. It's a skill, like anything else.<br />
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Little pieces of the puzzle, coming together. I'm still not sure what the picture is, but something is starting to emerge.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367747477254807941.post-15358305562656808402012-09-27T13:13:00.000-04:002012-11-23T21:17:18.185-05:00Pushing Back Against the Haters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsdwAlZyru1TQNP-o3jjCvvCXG5nQzHu_cvlL4jGKSZ9ljUOV_Jrd2U81-bvaQPsiLFKpTQNr8djrQcDrxJjyWk6bG22h9aH4-V2qLUQYmq3NJWamBoH0t6Q072U1DlDjFHrMJJTC2P4/s1600/IMG_3910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsdwAlZyru1TQNP-o3jjCvvCXG5nQzHu_cvlL4jGKSZ9ljUOV_Jrd2U81-bvaQPsiLFKpTQNr8djrQcDrxJjyWk6bG22h9aH4-V2qLUQYmq3NJWamBoH0t6Q072U1DlDjFHrMJJTC2P4/s200/IMG_3910.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Some of my best writing is inspired by the occasional convergence of news items around a common theme. I'm right in the middle of one such convergence, and I just have to share this with you all. I am getting a lot of this from my FaceBook friends, whose news links are a great way to aggregate stories from all over the web. The theme that is coming through almost on a daily basis is this: people are beginning to push back against the haters.<br />
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<a href="http://www.detroitnews.com/article/20120924/METRO/209240341">Story 1</a>: A quiet, "free spirit" of a teen girl is elected to her school's homecoming court as a cruel joke. The entire town comes together to give her the royal treatment. <br />
<blockquote>For the homecoming dance Saturday, businesses will buy her dinner, take her photo, fix her hair and nails, and dress her in a gown, shoes and a tiara.<br />
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For the homecoming game Friday, residents will pack the football stadium so they can cheer when she is introduced at halftime.<br />
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They will be wearing her favorite color (orange) and T-shirts with messages of support. A 68-year-old grandmother offered to be her escort.<br />
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"I am in awe, overwhelmed at the amount of support," said Jamie Kline, 35, who began a Facebook support page. "I never expected it to spread as far as it has."<br />
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From <i><a href="http://www.detroitnews.com/article/20120924/METRO/209240341">The Detroit News</a></i><br />
</blockquote><br />
<a href="http://jezebel.com/5946643/reddit-users-attempt-to-shame-sikh-woman-get-righteously-schooled">Story 2</a>: Someone sees a young Sikh woman who has an unusual amount of facial hair, which she made no attempt to hide or remove. The person posts a surreptitious photograph of the young woman on Reddit, and "wait[ed] for the abuse to flood in." The young woman's friend alerted her to the photo, and she posted a response that was so gracious and kind that the photographer posted a sincere apology. <br />
<blockquote>... I've read more about the Sikh faith and it was actually really interesting. It makes a whole lot of sense to work on having a legacy and not worrying about what you look like. I made that post for stupid internet points and I was ignorant.<br />
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From <a href="http://jezebel.com/5946643/reddit-users-attempt-to-shame-sikh-woman-get-righteously-schooled"><i>Jezebel.com</i></a></blockquote><br />
<a href="http://www.salon.com/2012/09/25/son_of_a_bigot/">Story 3</a>: Nate Phelps, a son of the "minister" who runs the Westboro Baptist Church, left his family just after midnight on his 18th birthday, and has pursued a much more loving path in his life. He has had to work hard to heal from the psychological wounds of his abusive upbringing, but now he is reaching out to help others.<br />
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<blockquote>Now in his 50s, Nate finds himself publicly squaring off with his father and siblings to reverse their legacy of intolerance. He lives in Calgary, where he has become a public speaker who champions LGBT rights and raises awareness about the connection between extreme religion and child abuse. He is currently writing a book about his life and is the subject of an upcoming documentary.<br />
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From <a href="http://www.salon.com/2012/09/25/son_of_a_bigot">Salon.com</a></blockquote><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbIvmlFDcaM">Story 4</a>: Andrew DeLeon, a teen from a small town near Austin, wasn't into sports or athletics. He became accustomed to being "hated" and "rejected" by the kids in his school, but he summoned up his courage and auditioned for America's Got Talent this year. I've <a href="http://verbal-aviation.blogspot.com/2012/07/isaac-andrew-and-mick.html">written about him before</a>, and I continue to be amazed by his generous and loving attitude toward his many, many adoring fans. This young man, who is now 20, amazed everyone by singing operatic arias in an other-worldly falsetto voice. Even though Andrew didn't get past the semi-finals in the competition, his fans continue to support him. He is currently paying his dues, performing in small venues and recording songs from a makeshift studio.<br />
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Here's his <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbIvmlFDcaM">Austin audition</a>, and here's a more <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUfiZOroqvc">recent clip</a> that he made to keep in touch with his fans. The comments on his Facebook fan page and on his YouTube video page are almost entirely positive and supportive (an amazing feat), and he routinely gets messages from depressed, rejected, and out-of-the-mainstream teens who have been inspired and encouraged by his example.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/01/opinion/kristof-born-to-not-get-bullied.html?_r=0">Story 5</a>: Lady Gaga, back when she was just Stefani Germanotta, was once thrown into a trash can by a group of bullies from her school.<br />
<blockquote>“I was called really horrible, profane names very loudly in front of huge crowds of people, and my schoolwork suffered at one point,” she said. “I didn’t want to go to class. And I was a straight-A student, so there was a certain point in my high school years where I just couldn’t even focus on class because I was so embarrassed all the time. I was so ashamed of who I was.” <br />
From the <i><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/01/opinion/kristof-born-to-not-get-bullied.html?_r=0">New York Times</a></i></blockquote><br />
Lady Gaga went on to become an immense success as a musician and performer (to put it mildly!), but she hasn't forgotten the pain she experienced during her teens. She and her mother have founded the <a href="http://bornthiswayfoundation.org/">Born this Way Foundation</a>, which is " is dedicated to creating a safe community that helps connect young people with the skills and opportunities they need to build a kinder, braver world."<br />
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Bit by bit, kind souls are pushing the pendulum back from the mean-spirited, winner-take-all attitudes that have dominated our environment for far too long. I hope to see many more such stories, and I will pass them along to you, gentle readers.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13325084432311533013noreply@blogger.com4