Brave New World... and a Fascinating One Too

So yesterday was my first birthday after joining Facebook. I've lost track of how many birthday wishes I received online... from relatives I haven't seen in twenty years to colleagues I only barely know. And it felt good. I was smiling all day. Which got me to thinking about this "social media" world and relationships and vulnerability and stuff like that.

I've also started studying social media from a professional standpoint to help nonprofits connect with their people. A key to getting along in this quirky little world seems to be to give, give, give and trust that others will respond in kind. We give links to our favorite funny videos, we share our outrage over political bungling, we applaud each other constantly, we share our triumphs and also our struggles.

I struggle over the struggle-sharing. How much is too much? When do we cross the line from sharing to whining? And, just how vulnerable do I really want to be? It's one thing to share my self-doubts or hurts with my close friends, quite another to put them out there for consumption by people with whom I have not had enough real-world interaction to know whether I can trust them with my pain. Often, as I type I'm thinking "will this come back to bite me later?"

I have one comfort, and offer it to those who share my reluctance to open up in public writings. I tend to be a "real" person - or so I have been told. Sometimes I'm too direct, and it can make others uncomfortable. I'm learning how to moderate that.... But so long as I am not showing one face to my friends and quite another to my professional contacts and still another to my family... well, then, I guess I won't have to face that imagined future episode where the Integrity Police shine a spotlight in my face while yelling "wait, on Facebook two years ago you said something quite different - you hypocrite!"

But maybe I am most afraid to be vulnerable in front of ME. Maybe I don't trust myself to be uniformly real, genuine, sincere. Maybe my insatiable inner critic still has more power over me than I'd like to admit. Maybe it isn't others that I'm most worried about. Hmmm. Does that make me a hypocrite after all?

Imagine it Better

Some people have the gift of imagination, and they usually know it. Others have the gift of faith, but many don’t know it. Here’s a good test: do you spend a lot of time worrying about or imagining things that have not happened yet? That’s the gift of faith turned inside-out. Clothes don’t look too good when worn that way, and neither does faith. In fact, it doesn’t look like faith at all but that’s exactly what it is.

The difference between imagination and faith? It’s much like movies. Most merely help you pass the time, but some actually move you – you are no longer the same person after having seen that movie. I think Chariots of Fire was one of those changing movies for me, a long time ago. I know It’s a Beautiful Life falls in that category for many people, particularly those of us who have longed for death. And that’s how it is with faith, whether the faith manifests as fear or hope – it changes us.

I know a young man who, as a small child, was absolutely fearless. All of life was one big adventure, waiting for him to explore it. But he has grown up in a fear-filled household and now he’s afraid to try anything new. It’s sad. The environment of fear has changed him, I'm hoping not permanently.

Here’s the funny thing: we have no more evidence that bad stuff will happen than we have for the hope that we will have good results. No, really, we don’t. It seems that way because we remember –in excruciating detail- every failure, every embarrassment, every injury we have ever suffered or witnessed. For some reason, remembering the good times doesn’t come as naturally.

At one point in my life, I decided to be rational about this. Today, the very idea of being rational about faith/fear seems pretty funny, but hey, it worked for me at the time. Whenever I would begin to become overwhelmed by worry (that’s the socially-acceptable name for fear), I would draw a line down a sheet of paper. On one side I would write down all the bad stuff that could happen regarding the situation at hand. Then I would write down all the good stuff that could happen. I would force myself to keep writing until I filled the "good" side. Inevitably I would stall after the first couple of lines but, if I pressed on, the list on the good side would grow and grow. It became much easier for me to take risks when I could see all of the potential benefits.

As a young child I promised myself that once I was an adult, I would never live in fear again. It took about twenty years after reaching adulthood for me to begin to feel safe, even in my own home. And that fear bug still bites once in a while, but I don’t live there anymore.

Are you living in fear? Move out. We think that by worrying we keep ourselves safer but that’s a lie. The gift of faith was meant to be used for something much more glorious than the illusion of personal safety.

Turning the Picture Around

Whether you're a father or not, I'm hoping you will read the rest of this. In fact, whether or not you've had a father, have a father, like fathers, or think the whole idea of "fatherhood" is, well, a crock... I sense there’s something important for you in here.

And here's why: because I see most people making the same mistake my dad made with his life. Not just with how he played the father-role with me and with my siblings, but more importantly how he played his role in the world. I don't think he knew he had a role.

My dad was generally a good, honest man who thought his role was to do his professional work well, and to take care of the house and the finances at home. In fact, he was a bit enlightened for his generation (born in 1926) because he also felt somewhat responsible for taking care of my mom's health and her sense of security. You would have to have known my mother to grasp what a tall order that was! They're both gone now, but I find myself on this Father's Day reflecting on what my dad did for me and realizing how clueless he was in some ways about his own influence. And I suspect you and I are just as clueless, at least most of the time. If you don't think so, you must still be under 30 years of age. :)

Dad believed parenting was to be done by the mother. Unless the mother called the father in to "have a talk" with a wayward youngster (read: I got less than straight-As so I needed that lecture about the right path and wrong path in life). He had no clue about a child's physical, cognitive, emotional or spiritual needs. He certainly had no idea about his ability and responsibility to address those needs. He brought home the paycheck and then stayed out of the way. It was safer that way, and it was all he knew.

My main memory of my dad is him walking away while my mom, uhmm … “let me have it”. But that's not the whole picture, and, as I come to terms with it (which has taken decades), the other pictures are starting to come back into focus. It's like they were all stuck behind the one 8 X 10 of his failure to protect me. Here are some of the other snapshots, the ones I took out today in honor of Father's Day, and of my dad:

When I was little, I was frustrated because other kids seemed to know what they were good at and this helped them know what they would be when they grew up. I was good at a lot of things. That was no help! Finally, in sixth grade, Ms. Taylor came up with a Creative Writing exercise where we would pull an index card out of a little box and write a short story based on whatever title was typed on that index card. I remember two: "The Time Capsule" and "How the Turtle Got its Shell." Now, the story I wrote about the turtle could only have been written by someone who has been repeatedly mistreated, but nobody picked up on this at the time. Here is what's most important: my dad thought it was very good writing and he saved the story. For a child who never received any praise, this was HUGE. Maybe I was finally extra-good at something! Snap.

Zoom out a few years and I'm a depressed, over-achieving, ulcer-suffering, high school senior. One day, my mom and I walk into Dad's office during the work day. We never did this before, so I guess we must have been dropping something off... In any case, I meet his office manager for the first time and she almost squeals in delight - like a teeny-bopper meeting a rock star. "Ohhhh! It's YOU! Your dad is so proud of you!" WHAT?

"Yes, you're the editor of the high school paper, right? He brings in everything you write and he passes it around so we all get to read it. You're very good." Snap.

I'm still surprised they didn't have to call an ambulance crew to pick me up off the floor.

I was so shocked and confused and angry about his silence at home (when I so badly needed affirmation) that it has taken me lo these thirty years to realize how that moment drove me to keep on writing, keep on trying, keep on believing I had something to say.

So, uhm, thank you - Papi. Thank you for recognizing my little talent, thank you for being proud of me, thank you for sharing that joy with others even while you were simply unable to share it with me. I miss you.

And, for the rest of us who are still here... we never know what role we will play for the people who cross our paths. I don't even remember that office manager's name. But she was able to reveal something I needed to know. She’s the one who took the picture that I pulled out today, and I wish I could thank her. Instead, I hope this pays it forward..

On Life’s Menu

Boring. Hopeless. Useless. Without purpose. Why do so many of us end up with these adjectives on the plate which is our day-to-day existence? I’m sure nobody would say they “ordered” these from life’s menu. This is simply what they were served.

So here’s the deal: this is exactly what we get served when we sit down and wait to see what the Life Waiter brings our way. Why? Because life is a buffet, friends! We either sit and get, well, basically nothing or we get up and go find something more interesting and potentially satisfying.

So why do some of us just sit – day after long and boring day – in the same job, the same home, the same thought-life? Maybe because that’s all we’ve ever known… that’s how Mom and Dad lived, and Pops and Granny before them. Maybe it is because we are so scared to try new things. That breaded lump might be delicious… or there might be a flesh-eating monster under all those deep-fried crumbs!

I think most of the time it goes deeper than that. We are so afraid to make a wrong choice and feel the resulting shame, that we simply give up our choices. That’s right – let the “waiter” choose. Then we can blame him for the outcome! Nobody can blame us for our failed and boring lives, these are just “the cards we were dealt” – to mess up my culinary metaphor.

Here is what happens when we refuse to just sit there – when we risk getting up and taking initiative for what ends up on our plate (and belly) We become people who are able to write something like this:

I’ve been told that the life of faith is an odyssey. An odyssey is an adventure full of surprises… every day is a wonderful experience for me. This is what God wants for your life too – an odyssey of faith-filled adventures as your covenant destiny is fulfilled. The question is, do you want it too? --- Dick Bernal, from his book Shaking Hands with God.

Here’s a toast to everyone who ever got up –even once—and dared to explore the odyssey that is life’s buffet.

The Lie, the Truth, the Choice

Human beings are an interesting lot. We seem forever bent on either meeting our needs or ignoring them. Either strategy fails miserably - unless misery is your idea of success. Here’s why: we are not built in such a way that we can truly meet our own needs. Like pack animals, there are things about human nature that work for the common good. When we try to focus on our own good… well, you get the picture.

Or maybe you don’t. Here’s the rub: some of my needs will only be truly met when I forget about myself and pour myself into other people. Some of my pain will only be put into perspective when I understand the greater pain of another. Some of my feelings of hopelessness will only be comforted when I comfort another. My feelings of worthlessness will only be neutralized when I do good for another. It’s the way I’m built.

And yet, people who are addicted to sympathy refuse to believe this. “You don’t understand; I’m in too much pain to help others.” Bullshit. You are in too much pain to afford NOT helping others. The lie that your situation is insurmountable, your loss irreplaceable, your handicap unbearable, your life worthless… whatever lie you have bought into will only continue to grow in the darkness of isolation and the moisture of the tears of self-pity.

Does this seem cold? Heartless? Ignorant? Yeah, well, most of what doctors do to heal a broken, infected body is hardly warm and fuzzy. But it is necessary and helpful. You must reach out to others who are worse off. You must. Hope is something that runs through you – when it has no outlet, it dries up. To the extent that you are not DAILY bringing hope to others, your own hope WILL dry up. Loss of hope kills. I should know.

Pouring yourself into others – in even the simplest way – is healing. It has worked for me and I have watched it happen for others. And the more hurt you are, the more this helps. So here’s the question, when times are bad: do you really want to get better?

Starving and Addicted - this could be us

I realized something recently. I don’t mean that I found out something new – but that it actually became real to me. Oh, sure, I’ll let the cat out of the bag in the very first paragraph: we all need a certain amount of attention and sympathy, even more when we have been through loss or injury. But these very real needs can turn into addictions – just as irresistible as any drug or thrill. It seems harmless enough until you witness someone caught up in an ever-increasing black hole of need that can never be satisfactorily filled. What started as a need turns into starvation – and every attempt by others to help only feeds the monster – not the person in its clutches.

Some might see a spiritual component to all this, right now I’m interested in the dynamics of it all and whether it applies to me. Yeah, sure, I’ll admit it – whenever I’m exposed to some facet of human behavior I first look to see whether it applies to me. And that’s a good thing – I’ve grown over the years from taking what I learn and translating it into action – changing habits or relationship patterns here and there. I suppose there’s probably a large pile of unapplied truths lying around here as well. Like – it’s not all about me!

The Scene of the Crime - or at least a social misdemeanor

Once at a meeting, it was explained that for a particular portion of our time together, we would share our area of greatest struggle during the past week – but only the headline, not all the details. The specific examples were “my family” or “my job”. I count two words in each of those sample responses – don’t you? A couple of people were unable to keep their response shorter than five full minutes!!!! And they seemed somewhat peeved by the very suggestion that there wasn’t enough time for each group member to get a full half hour of attention. This was a free support group; nobody was paying money for a therapist’s time and attention. One of the Detail People even insisted (before we began sharing) that the meeting end on time!

So, what’s up with that? Here’s my two cents worth – I would love to hear other views. When life hurts, and something feels good, we want more of that good feeling. For some, that good feeling has come from receiving attention and sympathy over their boo-boos – be those actual physical injuries, or relationship setbacks, or that dreaded monster… injustice. I mean, injustice is illegal – right? And true justice only happens when I am forgiven all my mistakes and fully appreciated for each thing I do right – right? Yes, we should “mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice”, but I am not about to sit down in the mud of misery and help you wallow in your self-pity.

Taking a Stand

At one point in my life I would have said “sorry – I won’t do it.” By this age, I have edited out the “sorry” when the stand I’m taking is the most loving thing I can do for the other person. So, I’m not sorry that I won’t give you what you want. I am willing to give you what you need – but we may not agree on exactly what that is. If, like the friends I described above, you at times find it difficult to restrain yourself from sharing all about your painful past or stressful present – maybe your perspective is a little off. Maybe you need to get a little LESS attention or sympathy and to GIVE a lot more.

Few things have been as healing for me as to do something for others who are worse off. And, trust me, there is ALWAYS someone worse off. More about that in my next post.