Archive | Reflections RSS feed for this section

Gratitude: beyond cliché to committed action

27 May

Image

Gratitude.  Oprah talks about it, as well as many others.  It is easy to consider it a cliché because it is so often said, “We should take time to be thankful.”  ”Put gratitude in your attitude.”  ”Be grateful, not hateful.”  But when the slogans are done, the gurus silenced, gratitude remains a powerful strategy for pulling one out of a slump.

When you’ve started hosting a one-person pity party, it may indicate you are circling on an area of lack in your life, where things did not go your way, when you were disappointed, when you felt afraid or alone.  No matter the circumstances, there is always something for which we can be thankful.  When we shift our thinking by starting a gratitude list, we can begin to realize there is much in our life to be grateful for.  Our focus shifts from lack to abundance, from lost opportunities to second chances.

This past week, a high school friend of mine passed away at age 42.  He was the same age as I am today.  Although I did not stay connected to him later in life, I have fond memories of him in school as we operated in similar circles.  What hit me, however, is the suddenness by which death may take us.  Seeing a familiar name and his age that followed made me think, “That could be me.”

This is not to be morbid, but to be realistic.  And it is that realism, that logic that reminds us eventually, one day, without notice, it will all be done for us, that heightens the opportunity we have each and every day to not only consider and reflect on the things for which we are grateful, but also to express that gratitude, appreciation, and love to those who are in our lives, to those who matter, to those who have made contributions great or small to the people we have become.

Some may consider this maudlin and morbid, that to focus on the reality of death leads us to living a better life.  I disagree.  If we waltz through life denying the reality that, one day, for each of us, it will end, it is easier to take for granted the things and the people we have in our lives.  It’s easy to go throughout each day a little less observant, a little less appreciative, and to lose sight of the bigger picture.  If we operate knowing that life is temporary, each day is another day to love more and to deeper levels, a day to bring joy to others, a day to do good work, a day to act with integrity, a day to learn something new.  Starting each day reminding ourselves of all the blessings we have in our lives, and to consider how we can share those blessings with others, can bring us not only greater happiness and satisfaction, it can also help the world become a better place.

Don’t let gratitude become a slogan, a catch-phrase, a cliché.  Let it be a real, tangible concept you model every day, that you embrace all you are blessed with (even in the tougher times), and that you do your best to share what you have with others.  Ask yourself, “What good can I bring into the world today?” or “What can I do to turn the negative to positive, the sad to happy, the mournful to joyful?”

The power to do this lies within each of us, and by starting from a place of gratitude, we are best equipped to move forward and make a difference in our own unique ways.

Domestic Bliss

10 Dec

This past week, I hit “Submit” and posted my last term paper of the semester.  It was 18 pages and over 6,000 words.  The week before last, I wrote another paper of comparable size.  As this weekend approached, my brain was tired.  It seemed appropriate, then, to spend today, my first day without a book to read, annotation or sketch to write, or presentation to prepare for, doing other things that feed my soul.

Sleeping In

Most days of the week, our house gets going at 5:45 a.m.  If my Other Half does a morning workout, we do 5:30, but in general, it’s 5:45 a.m.  On weekends, we may set the alarm for 7:30 or 8 so I can get up to get a few hours of homework in before I run errands.  Today, though, we set no alarm, and let the morning sun greet us through the blinds, the Comedy & Tragedy masks a friend brought us from Venice hung above the window staring down at us.

Even if I still wake up early, there’s something about waking up naturally, no abrupt slamming into the day, but a gentle waltz into consciousness.  Once I wake up, I, much like my father, have no problem laying in bed another 20 or 30 minutes.  I ponder the day ahead and things on my agenda, and if it is a chilly morning, I simply enjoy the warmth under layers of blankets.  Regardless of circumstances, waking up without an alarm was a simple joy this morning.

Knitting Frenzy

My parents live in Northern California where they have true winters and cold temperatures, and they also enjoy taking early morning walks around the neighborhood.  This year, Mom asked for a knitted hat she could sport on these regular promenades so amidst completing my last paper, I also knit a ribbed hat for her.

Yesterday, I started a matching scarf to accompany the hat and now the knitting-toward-Christmas frenzy begins.  I have a week to finish knitting the scarf and blocking it before both the scarf and hat get sent to California and to arrive in time for the holiday.

This morning, I eased into the day, spending an hour or so curled up in my favorite chair, a cup of robust coffee on the table next to me, knitting row after row of the scarf.  The last time I was able to do so without cause for concern of time was in August before the semester started, so it was very grounding to be able to spend more than a few minutes at a time knitting a project that I hope will bring joy to someone else.

Time in the Kitchen

Something else I enjoy doing is cooking, especially for others, including Mr. O.H. (Other Half).  Today, after I got home from grocery shopping, I got busy.  I baked lemon bars.  I made a pistachio pudding salad with crushed pineapple, cottage cheese, and Cool-Whip.  I made a Chicken Divan casserole.  It was a day full of comfort foods and of spending time in my intimate bungalow kitchen preparing a delicious dinner for my partner and me.

I do spend time cooking during school, but we tend to focus more on 30-Minute Meals so I can quickly return to reading or writing.  Today, I had no place I needed to be and no requirements placed upon my time.  It was energizing to return to the kitchen!

Feeding the Soul

Certain activities may or may not be conscious choices, but what I know for sure is there are things that, for whatever reason, feed our individual souls.  Some may get that energy and refueling from working out or running, others by getting involved with a performing group or community theater, some perform volunteer work, and still others make time to enjoy simple pleasures (like cooking and knitting).  It’s very easy to let time get the best of us, as well as the many demands placed on our time.  But in those moments when you feel the tension coming on, when your patience wears a little thin, or you just want to have a few martinis to numb the pain, consider stepping away for even a short while to do something that you really love to do.  You can listen to some inspiring music or read a chapter in an entertaining book to help you get your mind off things, if only temporarily.

This season is typically busy for many, to the point that we end up not able to truly enjoy the season and the people with whom we are celebrating because we reach the holiday itself in a full state of exhaustion.  Make this year different, and much more enjoyable for yourself (and those around you).  Take time to do the things you love, pursue your passions, and find those unique opportunities when you, too, can refuel and feed your soul.

 

Lessons from an Evening with Gloria Steinem

31 Oct

Last Friday, I had the opportunity to attend “An Evening with Gloria Steinem” at Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida.  I knew of her work, especially in the 1970s and 80s, focused on the feminist movement, but did not have a recent sense of her platform, her level of activism for not only women but indigenous people and same-sex marriage.  It was an evening that to describe with “inspiring” does not do it justice.  There were some specific points I found poignant and I want to share a few with you.

“This moment is unrepeatable.”

Her opening statement acknowledged the importance of the moment.  The moment in which hundreds were gathered in a college arena to listen to a cultural and historical icon speak, that same combination of experiences, perspectives, and DNA will never be in that exact same form again.  That notion, for me, immediately set a tone of collective oneness with those around me – many very different from me, many the same (and all assessment simply based on appearances).

Her statement made me realize that, in any given moment, whether shared with one, a group, or alone, is never to be repeated in precisely the same manner, with exactly the same outcome.  By opening with this statement, it not only made me appreciate what was happening and of what I was a part, but also translates to any other moment that may follow in our lives.

Triangle vs. Circle

Steinem certainly had a few things to say about people in positions of privilege, whether economic privilege (acknowledging the efforts of the Occupy Wall Street movement), or male privilege, or white privilege.  One core element in the maintenance of privilege is the establishment of a power structure that looks like a triangle – where the masses are at the bottom, and the few who hold the riches and the keys to rule the land sit neatly at the top.

One phrase she used that I thought had great applications in managing conflict, whether at work or at home, was, “How can we turn this discussion from a triangle to a circle?”

You see, in a circle, everyone is equal, and faces one another.  What types of triangles exist in your life?  When you see a triangle playing out in a meeting or even informal interaction, what role can you play (will you play) to transform it into a circle?  Thinking about transforming meetings by pushing others to think more inclusively by using the triangle vs. circle model made a great deal of sense to me – and I look forward to trying it out soon.

Images of God

No topic appeared to be taboo for Steinem.  Religion, and particularly religious conservatism, came up.  She talked about the historical role of a certain church in the legalization and then subsequent criminalization of abortions (citing very specific historical details effortlessly).  She also talked about religion and the privileges that being part of a large-scale organized religion brings.

“When images of God reflect the ruling class, you’re in deep shit,” Gloria said.  There is so much power in that statement, and as I think about the images of Jesus and of God that I saw growing up as a white boy in California – they all looked like me.  But historically, when all the images of God in any region where a particular religion is popular among the citizenry actually look like those in positions of power and privilege, and if you don’t match that image, as Gloria said, “You’re in deep shit.”  The ruling class has, in essence, likened their image to God’s, which only fuels their continued perception they are better than others.

Fertilized Egg v. Woman

As I continue to understand the privileges I experience simply by being male in this country, probably one of my biggest a-ha moments was when Gloria discussed the social discourse around abortion and how the language is very carefully phrased to refer to “the fertilized egg.”  Using this phrase, versus talking about women, their bodies, and what they may do with their bodies, helps people forget the abortion issue is about women making their own choices.  It’s not about a fertilized egg – it’s about the woman, her decisions, her reproductive rights, and it is not the government’s role to tell any woman what to do with her own body.

This one made me really mad, and even after a woman during Q&A challenged this notion, Gloria respectfully and kindly acknowledged that ultimately it is about letting a woman decide whether to have an abortion…or not – and to not deny her rights to do either.

Tell Our Stories

Towards the end of the evening, Gloria stressed the importance of telling our stories.  When we are presented as aggregates – women, men, heterosexuals, gays and lesbians – it is very easy, particularly for those in positions of power and privilege, to discount the impact certain policies or laws or hateful behaviors affect those in underrepresented groups.  When each of us, however, gathers the courage and uses the outlets we each possess, to tell our stories, to talk about our experiences in productive ways that help others realize there are other truths different from theirs – that’s when real change of heart and mind can happen!

As a writer, this call to action resonated with me.  I think of the stories about my life I have told here in the past couple of years and how it is possible that, to a reader of whom I may not even be aware, there is always the possibility someone may read a sentence or two and find comfort, joy, or inspiration.  The beauty of being human is that we all have this power – through the telling of our stories in whatever way we feel most confident (some write, some paint, some sing).  This call to arms was also about taking action, about doing something tomorrow, and then the next day, and the day after that.  Action is critical if we ever want to make progress.

What it all means to me

As I thought about relating the many messages, both great and small, discussed on Friday night, I turned inward and thought about myself and about the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender community of which I am a member.  I thought about how it seems we spend so much time trying to shape how other people view our community, trying to manage perceptions and misunderstandings, minimize the myths and spread our truth.  What I’m not sure we do as often in the LGBT community is spend focused time and effort looking inward, working more on how we view ourselves, and then appreciating the value and reward that can come from that type of introspection.

Growing up gay, we receive so many negative messages about who we are, being told that who and what we are is a sin, it’s an abomination, it’s ugly, or it’s just plain wrong.  Not that we are damaged goods, but there has been a little damage done to each of us along the way, those that received these messages, whether infrequently or often.  I tried to search on Amazon for books that were inspirational for LGBT people, that helped encourage, inspire, and heal.  From what I found, those volumes are few and very far between.

This is also true on an individual level.  Sometimes we spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think of us – but the reality is that no matter how much energy we put into trying to shape their perspectives, the other person, group, or entity will still see us however they want (and filtered through their own views, perceptions, and past experiences).

I see much greater rewards emerging from energy focused on caring for ourselves.  When we give ourselves the proper care and feeding, physically and emotionally, that makes us a better partner, colleague, and friend to others.  If we spend the time we need looking inward, we are then better equipped to care for one another.  We can have the power to turn a triangle into a circle, one unrepeatable moment at a time.

What are you planning to do with that?

24 Sep

I am fortunate in that, rarely in my life, have I been in a position where I’ve done something because it was a survivalist imperative.  There have been things that, of course, as a responsible adult and contributor to society, are required (such as pursuing gainful employment).  Even in the job department, I’ve been very fortunate that I’ve been able to work in fields that excite and inspire me, constantly challenge me and have, in myriad ways, helped me become the person I am today.

When I was pursuing my undergraduate degree in the early 1990s, a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology, I was getting a college degree, I think, because I knew it would be helpful for me as I prepared to enter the job market.  I wasn’t particularly sure what the psychology field would have to offer me, but I felt like the subject matter was broad enough that it would have applications to many fields.  I rarely got the question, What are you going to do with a degree in psychology?

Fast forward 18 years.  I’m 41.  Established in my career.  Partnered for 10 years.  Life is, truly, good.  I decide to pursue a long-held goal of mine, to go back for a Master’s degree, a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing in fact.  If you are a regular reader of mine, you’ll know this is not new news.  But what I have found interesting in the last few weeks as I have reconnected with friends and colleagues, as well as family members, and have shared the great news about my studies, I continue to get the question: A Master of Fine Arts?  What are you planning to do with that?

The underlying implication of this line of questioning is that it is not possible to go to school with the sincerest interest in, simply, the experience of learning, of being in an academic environment and having detailed discourse about obscure topics that only you and a small group of people have remote interest in.  It is a chance to appeal to one’s inner nonfiction nerd, one’s closeted grammar geek.

I know their intentions are good, and they simply want to understand how the time and expense invested in a graduate studies program will pay off in my post-academic endeavors.  Bottom line: What does this mean for you in the job market?

Pursuing a technical degree that prepares you for a specific field is one thing.  This is an artistic degree, that also prepares students for a particular field, but there is more to it.  A Creative Writing MFA elevates one’s literary skill and quality to new levels – and that is good for just about anything, whether creative writing or other jobs that require the drafting of any written content.  Having a full-time career now allows me to spend another portion of my time on my true passion and love, with the hope that eventually I will publish my work, that I will be immortalized in print, and that, in some small way, my words will mean something to someone when they are happened upon in a dusty library shelf, or a shiny, well-lit online PDF.

I certainly have goals in mind as I consider what I would like to do after I have obtained my MFA.  But the joy in this process is what is happening right now – the pursuit of the degree.  The new friendships I’ve established.  The books I’ve scoured that I may not have given a second glance to otherwise.  The copious sketches and papers I’ve written, many of which I am rather pleased with.  The spirited discussions I’ve enjoyed with my academic colleagues.  These are all the gifts I am enjoying now.

So forgive me if I don’t have a plan to foreshadow what I may do as a result of getting my degree, but in the first weeks of my first semester, I’m simply enjoying the ride.

 

Remembering

11 Sep

It was a Tuesday morning.  I was a young professional working in the Florida headquarters for Walt Disney World in Lake Buena Vista.  I was 31 and had just met the man who would end up being my partner for ten years (and still is today).  I was filled with the naivete of someone that age, adjusting to the world still, feeling like an adult while embracing a youthful spirit.

I was learning about responsibility and maturity.  I took for granted the safety and security of my homeland, land of the brave, the free.  Then the first plane hit the World Trade Center.  At a moment when our disbelief barely would help us put this event in context, a second plane hit the second tower.  Then one tower fell to the ground, a graceful giant reduced to ash.  The second tower shortly followed.  I don’t recall ever feeling so vulnerable, my mind wondering, like many Americans that day, what was going to happen next?  How wide and far would these attacks manifest themselves – was this the beginning of war on our own territories?

I left the office at noon that day, like many others, staggering to our cars in utter disbelief, a blanket of uncertainty launching us into a fog of momentary fear.  As a nation, as a person, we tried to make sense of what happened.  It got much worse before it got better as news of those we’d lost came to light.  We also found inspiration in the stories of those who survived, who were able to make it out and live to tell of their horrific and unimaginable experiences.

My first trip to New York City was in May 2004.  Since then, New York City has become my city, much like millions of other people.  Whether you live there or simply, as I do, see yourself as an honorary citizen, the city and all its diverse multitude has amassed a special place in my heart.  And though I was distraught on that fateful day, I found myself today equally, if not more so.

I watched the memorial tributes on television and began to realize the full cost of what transpired.  Now that I have context, having visited various parts of Manhattan, including its southern area, I now truly cannot imagine what that must have been like, looking up to see clouds of debris flying with great speeds covering entire neighborhoods, shrouding stories that would eventually be discovered, lasting reminders of the hope to come from such a tragedy, many phoenixes out of a mass of ash.

I’m also a different person.  Now 41, I don’t necessarily see the world as my playground.  I have more of a shared vision for what life can be like as part of the human race.  I see the interconnectedness of one person to another, and, at the risk of sounding narcissistic in my youth, I care more about others at this point in my life than I did when I was 31.  My youthful fervor has been tempered with love, loss and the learning that life has brought me.

Today, I do remember that day, who we were as a nation, who I was as a person, and what 9/11/2001 meant then.  I also reflect on what it means to me today, its memory etched in my heart.

I know our country is not perfect and our struggles within for economic stability and civil rights for all people continue amidst an onslaught of political ignorance and self-serving ideals.  But in those cities, that neighborhood, the quiet suburban street struck by a flood or a tornado or violence of one kind or another, we turn to each other as Americans, rising above our own needs to help another, to be there when push comes to shove and differences can be put aside, at least for the moment, to see the bigger picture: preservation not only of individual lives but of the American spirit itself.

Back to School

4 Sep

I am a firm believer that there is a right time for everything.  ”To everything there is a season,” so the saying goes.  And so the season for me to return to college to pursue graduate studies has arrived and I’ve now completed two weeks of classes and assignments.

Although I expect no accolades, it has been 18 years since I graduated with my Bachelor of Arts in Psychology from California State University, Chico.  The practices of a student’s schedule, managing assignments, and having all the time in the world to complete coursework (though we still often waited until the last minute) are much faded memories for me.  As school began, it was definitely time to relearn some of those skills and take note of some of the discoveries I’ve made as the first semester of my program begins.

Life experience counts for something.

As the semester began and I started to look at the syllabi for the two courses I’m taking, I combined them all into an integrated project plan.  This gives me a single view of all assignments for a given week and allows me to plan my studying time outside of the classroom accordingly.

As I read books, articles or creative work, I’m an avid highlighter, and take a moment to jot thoughts, questions or reactions on Post-It notes to place on the appropriate page.  I want to not only further anchor the learning in my psyche, but also want to ensure I am adequately prepared for any discussion in which I may be involved.

In these first two weeks, I have quickly realized that had I pursued the Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing degree right out of undergraduate studies, I don’t know that I would have had the work experience that has given me the project and time management skills that have already served me well, even early on in the semester.

Often, the greatest expectations of us come from within.

The first week of the semester was difficult.  I won’t lie.  Momentarily, my confidence was shaken, quickly finding myself caught in a game of comparisons with my fellow students.  I was basing these myriad assumptions on very limited interactions, and my intuitive mind quickly took something very minor and extrapolated it into something catastrophic.  Inside my own mind, I was being a bit of a Drama Queen.

It had been a very long time since I wrote any semblance of a formal essay where citations and bibliographies were required, so I second-guessed the form and wondered if was I doing it all correctly.  I wondered if my contributions to class discussion were as insightful or pithy as I felt they should be.  This was a dark space to which I had traveled.

Ultimately, after a few class sessions passed and I experienced the dialogue, as well as took time to get to know some of my fellow students, including some returning to college after being out for a while, I quickly realized that it is not about competition against others.  I would not even consider myself a competitive person, so thought it even more odd that I got into that momentary state with school.  With a couple of weeks passed, I realize that I would not have been selected for the program if the faculty did not believe and agree that I had something to contribute.  I also know this is true for my fellow students.

What I’ve been able to do, then, is to keep things in context and look for things that I can learn from each of my colleagues and classmates.  Simultaneously, my other focus has shifted to simply doing the best that I can, still pushing myself but knowing that I don’t need to get crazy about it.

Savor the learning experience.

From the very first class, I quickly realized they were too short.  We would just get into animated dialogue about an assignment or our reading and it would be time to go.  To find myself in a community of others with as much or more of a passion for writing and learning and literature that I have has been incredibly inspiring.  At the risk of resurrecting the nerd of my youth, I dare say that the term “homework” does not apply – these are simply structured reading and writing assignments that are fun and interesting and challenging.

No matter how long you have been out of college, or the roads of life on which you have traveled, if you’ve considered returning to school for graduate studies, do it!  I would say going back to pursue my MFA has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.  My mind is challenged.  My creativity is inspired.  My passion for writing and learning continues to flourish at ever-increasing levels.

Noting the larger scale projects on the horizon this semester, I’m sure I am still in the honeymoon phase of this first semester; however, the fundamental experience of being back in college makes the time, dedication, commitment and perseverance required totally and completely worth it.

 

An afternoon spent looking back

15 Aug

I’m not sure what inspired me to go out to the garage and pull out the bin of old photographs, bits of scrap and notes of memories.  Perhaps it was the rain, or the intense reflection of the author of the book I’m reading (Paul Monette, “Becoming a Man”).  I may have been inspired as I think about starting graduate school, pursuing my MFA in Creative Writing, making writing my priority.  Whatever the inspiration, I brought in the bin and began rifling through it all.

A newspaper clipping about my father when he was sent to Vietnam in 1968.  Obituaries for both grandmothers, an uncle.  Photos of old boyfriends and love interests, images captured on a given day of youth and innocence, never knowing what would await me in the world.  Generations unfolding, ancestors revisiting me, even great grandfather with two pencils in his vest as he held my grandmother when she was a baby.  My senior prom.  My senior trip to Hawaii, and Grad Nite at Disneyland.  They’re all there, selectively captured because they were so important then.

Now, at 41, I realize those photos serve another purpose far more critical than they did in the 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, my youth and young adulthood.  They help me remember the people, the clothing, the places I visited once or many times.  They help me appreciate more who I was back then, and they put that person in context with who I am today – and who was I back then?

A boy bullied in school for being overweight, for being effeminate in one degree or another, simply not liking sports or the other things boys are supposed to like.  Being called a fag when I was too young to know what that even meant, and as I realized what it was, I hated the person I was for a while.  I never heard anything good about gay people, and certainly didn’t have role models in the media to look up to, to consider the possibility it does get better.  I even contributed to the bullying of someone else for the same reason I had been bullied because it fed my insecurities, made me feel like someone better than what I thought people were telling me I was, I am.

I was a young man trying to find himself. Two days after college graduation, I climbed in a car with two friends and drove from northern California to Orlando, Florida.  It took us almost a week and I arrived with no job arranged.  I put it all on the line and knew I had to do something, and I did – and was employed three weeks later.  That was 17 years ago and I’m still with the same company.  I was a mousy lad, lacking self-confidence, and thought of myself as inferior to whomever I may have been dating at the time.  Time teaches us many lessons, through people, events, the right message at the right time when we need it most.

Juxtaposing that youthful character against the man I am today, I know I still have much to learn, much of my life to face, understand and appreciate.  But I have someone who has taught me many things – patience, open-mindedness, perseverance and diligence in pursuing my goals.  He has shown me art and theater and music and I am so much more now than who I was 10 years ago when we first began our relationship.

I kept filtering through the bin, continuing to unearth moments – Grandma & Grandpa’s 50th Wedding Anniversary, before Alzheimer’s zapped the latter’s wherewithal, Dad’s 50th birthday, my college graduation – and I still wondered what inspired me to be there on that Sunday afternoon, traveling decades of history.

In our 20s and 30s, do we focus more on living and then, when we reach 40, do we stop, or at least slow down, and consider the past, honor it, reflect on it, revere it, revolt in its unfortunate nadirs?  Do we become more nostalgic as we get on in our years, keeping one eye focused on the present moment, taking caution to not ignore who we are today and who we still aspire to be?

I think I revisited the past because I’ve put aside many memories.  They weren’t particularly happy or served as reminders of how invisible I felt as a child; perhaps they were happy in the moment but grew tattered on the edges with time.

On that Sunday, I knew the moment arrived for me to try to remember the details of my life, and to consider writing about them.

Reflections on my visit to the Salem Witch Museum

7 Aug

There have been periods in our history that serve, often at great cost, to illuminate what happens when generally intelligent people forego logic for societal and religious pressures, when townsfolk generate focused groupthink, when one type of person is valued, another demonized.  Such was the case with the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.

During my summer vacation, I visited Salem, Massachusetts, the deceptively charming setting of the unfortunate incidents and executions manufactured 319 years ago.  As a result of rumors, gossip and fear-mongering by religious Puritans, 13 women and 5 men were executed, mostly by hanging, one was pressed to death.  Following this unheard of cost of human life, the court ordering the witch hunt and subsequent executions was disbanded – but how did it go as far as it did?  Why did no one stand up and hold people accountable for their decisions?

I visited the Salem Witch Museum and after seeing the main program, as well as touring a secondary exhibit they have highlighting the various images witches have held in literature, history and mythology, as well as what real Wiccans look like today, my first reaction was to be horrified at the injustice.  That was followed by the realization that this is not the only example when people have been demonized, hunted and executed for a trait or characteristic, a belief, a point of personal identification, a culture, a point of view.  Most notable, of course, was the Holocaust of the 1930s and 40s, but there was also the McCarthy era where members of the intelligentsia with opinions different from that of the majority, were sought ought, interrogated, and although not executed, their sustenance and livelihoods were promptly taken away.

The United States military approach to investigating and firing gay and lesbian service people simply because of their sexual orientation – and then dishonorably discharging them for that alone – is another witch hunt of a different time, but much the same formula.

How does this keep happening?

We look at history, and not only recent history but hundreds of years back, and we judge their actions as horrific and hateful, wondering how they could ever hang someone simply for their religious beliefs, or those that had simply been accused of having those beliefs but without actual verification.  However, I look at today’s society, particularly in America, and I see how quickly group think takes our nation to dark places.

Whether it is recent aberrations such as the US economy or unemployment, to same-sex marriage and lgbt rights in this country, the majority shifts its viewpoint according to sensational news coverage and outspoken neighbors, swaying to align with those with louder voices than their own.  With more communication tools at our disposal, there is an even greater likelihood sentiment can shift and turn against a person, a community, a collective group of people.

Where, I think, we make mistakes is that many remain closed to the possibility that someone else’s truth may be different from their own.  Someone who is perceived as different is not a positive accolade, but rather a distasteful encroachment on decent society, and whether overt or subtle, those perceived as different may be treated differently in one way or another.

That treatment may be a glance of judgement, an “accidental” oversight of some sort, or blatantly driving through an occupied crosswalk when you are already moving from sidewalk to sidewalk, to painting hate language on a structure or property, to physically injuring someone or even killing them.  The range of reactions to things we perceive as different, things we may fear (or be driven to fear through media propaganda and lack of education or experience) are endless but to one degree or another they all result in people being discounted and dehumanized simply for who they are.

As I left the noted tourist attraction in Salem, I was reminded that we are not immune to the effects of ignorance simply because we are of a more recent generation with greater access to information and resources to understand the world around us.  In fact, I would argue there is commensurate treatment of some in this world (e.g., gay people in other cultures may be murdered or imprisoned) and that we are no better than the Puritans of 1692.

Ultimately, our call to action is two-fold:

First, we must grow more comfortable in our own skin, thus minimizing the perceived threats we may hold from someone else.  The same-sex marriage debate is fueled by the fear heterosexuals have that their relationships or arrangements are, somehow, devalued, or that they won’t be able to access the benefits they have been able to thus far.  Neither is true, and frankly I’ve seen far too many heterosexual people devalue their own relationships without the help of another marginalized community.  We have to decide ourselves to be more open to the reality of human difference.

Second, we must serve as advocates for others who are perceived as different for one reason or another so that we can all live in a world where we are valued and accepted.  When one person feels discounted or devalued, a community great or small suffers, someone isn’t free to be their full authentic self and, as a result, doesn’t bring the complete range of skills and talents to the work they do, the relationships they build, the activities in which they participate.

As we point fingers at the past, let us not forget the more recent mistakes made when fear and fuel manifest scapegoats for the majority, when there was greater value placed on everyone being the same and living in fear, rather than everyone living fully and being fearless.

Learning to speak one’s truth

10 Jul

The author as a boy, with father and family dog

Although we have freedom of speech guaranteed in our nation’s constitution, it is increasingly challenging to speak one’s truth, particularly if the viewpoint expressed veers from current public sentiment.

I am an only child, and growing up I was quiet, shy and often kept to myself.  I did this partly out of self-preservation (to avoid name calling and bullying from other children), and partly because my home, my room, my thoughts, were the few places I could go to where I could be fully myself.  In those places, I had to expend no extra energy to simply be.

As I’ve grown up, however, I’ve come to understand the importance of being able to effectively articulate my truth.  I certainly think these thoughts, and perhaps even write them in my notebook, but to express my views publicly for consumption by others is something that has taken a while for me to fully appreciate.  I also know I continue to learn the best ways to do that.

It requires courage to speak your truth.

Sharing what is true for you can be difficult because it is a tough message to share, or perhaps it is a sensitive topic, or your perspective does not align with majority society at a given moment.  In moments where I wonder if I should speak up, I ask myself:  What is the cost of my not speaking up?  How will I feel about this experience or situation?  How will I feel about myself if I don’t speak up?

Typically, asking myself these and other similar questions helps clarify for me the importance of speaking up and out.

For effective two-way communication, you have to entertain the possibility that what is true for you may not be true for someone else – and be prepared to accept it may never be.

We are all unique individuals with distinct personalities and perspectives.  We are bound to disagree, but it we can do so in a spirit of seeking understanding and not to win, or dominate, or convert, that gives both parties the freedom to speak what is true for each of them, while also letting go of any expectation that the other person change their views or values to align with your own.

When you attempt to convert someone to your way of thinking, or notably judge them for not having a popular perspective, you only establish a solid foundation for future conflict and you can potentially cut off future communication, opening the door for arguments, anger and misunderstanding.

Keep your intentions in check.

Not only is it important to know what you are saying, what is true for you, and to decide to speak up, but it’s also important to be clear about why you are sharing what you are sharing.  Our intentions, if positive or favorable, could drive us to share some unsettling news or feedback with someone so they may respond to allegations or take responsibility to turn the situation around.

If we, on the other hand, are using self-expression as a weapon to tear someone else down, to wound them emotionally or tarnish their reputation, then reconsider.  Words have the power to heal or harm – use yours for good.

What I’ve learned about speaking my truth

This week I’ve had a few conversations emerge in which I was fired up, where I felt like an injustice had taken place, or when I felt something needed to be addressed.  Now, most of those close to me know I do not typically get fired up about something, and that it often takes a great deal of poking and nagging to get me to the point of frustration and anger.

Because the frequency of these scenarios was notable for the week in question, I began to consider why was I getting fired up and why was I compelled to take time to have a conversation with someone or write to someone to express concern or disdain for circumstances or scenarios of which I am uncomfortable.  I finally realized that there is, in anyone’s life, that one moment where you realize that staying silent is no longer an option, that speaking what is true for you is everyone’s right, including your own, and you will, then, share accordingly.

I decided last week that the days of my staying silent and allowing injustice to continue and poison our society are over.  No longer will I keep my thoughts to myself, but will share them in a way that engages people to talk more about issues or questions, to keep communication lines open between me and others, and to honor that, like everyone else who steps forward and shares what is true for them, I, too, have the right, ability and platform to do the same.

And now is my season to do precisely that with the style and grace I have been equipped.  And as I prepare to start my graduate studies next month, the level of academic success I achieve will be commensurate with my ability to engage in the discussion in an authentic and transparent manner.


The pursuit of happiness

26 Jun

My partner and I visit New York City at least three times a year. It is our favorite city to visit, and our long-weekends or, occasionally, week-long sojourns, ignite the things in which we have passion, provide inspiration and education, and fuel our celebration of life itself. We always take in a few Broadway shows, explore the shops and galleries of SoHo, and enjoy a delicious meal prepared in restaurants owned by chefs like Mario Batali and Bobby Flay. It is a special place in our hearts, and we are looking forward to our next trip in July, and the one to follow in November.

It is fitting then that, on this, the 42nd anniversary of the Stonewall Riots that took place in Greenwich Village, marriage equality would find its way into law in the Empire State. We sat glued to the television last Friday night, watching the outcome of the vote, rejoicing at the law’s passing. With no residency requirement, we quickly realized that our dream of getting married is now realistic. We had considered getting married in Vermont, but with New York being such a special place for us, it would be befitting if we were to wed there. Now, it is a real possibility.

Some may wonder why same-sex marriage is such a big deal. They may say, “Straight marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, why would gays want it, too?” For some, their resistance is based on religion, and I accept that to be their truth. I only wish that those who believe that way would remain open to the possibility that others’ truths may differ from their own.

My partner and I will celebrate ten years together next month. We dated for three years before we lived together. We have shared the same home for seven years. We have taken amazing trips, seen immeasurable varieties of shows, plays, concerts, exhibits and have opened the world up to one another. It has been ten wonderful years and I know I am such a better person today than I was in 2001 when our relationship began.

Today we were chatting over dinner and acknowledged that we, too, want to join the many other gay and lesbian couples in having our relationships formally and legally acknowledged by a governmental body. We are pleased it will be New York and we hope to be married officially within one year from now. It is our plan and if you know anything about my partner, when a plan is made, it is executed. I’m just looking forward to the day I can truthfully and authentically call him my husband.

Being a gay man in his early 40s, I can’t recall when, at the age of 20, entertaining the possibility that one day I could ever marry the person that I truly love. We didn’t have many, if any, gay characters on television or in the media. We didn’t even have the internet. It was a world of underground magazines and word-of-mouth gossip that helped gay people find each other, if you found them at all.

I’m so glad the world is changing, that this country is changing, is realizing that “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” looks different for each citizen, but oddly, is still fundamentally similar in so many ways. The great news is that when one person pursues their happiness, that doesn’t typically keep another from pursuing theirs – unless, of course, discriminatory legislation maintains the strata of haves and have-nots. That tide is changing, and the ability to marry in New York state is a major wave of that change.

Life, liberty, and our general freedoms evolve as we, as a society, do the same. We take effort to be more informed, we gain greater understanding of the world around us, and our values evolve when we realize there’s room in this world for everyone to be who they are and love who they will.

And in that beautiful moment when I am asked if I take my man as my husband for life, I will proudly and with great certainty reply, “I do.”

← Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 30 other followers