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Hurt people hurt people.  People hurt others because they themselves are hurt.  The people who they hurt, hurt others.  It is an endless cycle… unless it is not.  What can stop the cycle?

People like you and I point fingers at one another saying, “You hurt me!”  The truth is, I did hurt you, whether I meant to or not.  You hurt me, whether you meant to or not.  I am hurt.  You are hurt.  I cannot see your hurt because of my own hurt.  You can’t see mine because of yours.  We are each stuck in our own pain, pointing fingers of blame.  Again, the endless cycle.  What can stop the cycle.

The only choice other than feeling the pain and looking for blame seems to be to just sweep it all under the rug.  Just pretend as if nothing happened.  But it did.  The hurt is real.  The pain is intense.  To ignore it is to direct the rage inward.  Inward where it will eat us alive.  What else can we do?  Am I supposed to just “forgive and forget”?  I can’t forget.  It hurts too bad.   The two choices to a) live in the pain and feel the hurt or b) bury the pain and pretend it is not there both feed the cycle.  But it is all most of us have ever seen… ever!  There must be another way.

Enter Grace stage left…

No, I’m not getting religious.  As much as I have heard grace talked about at church, rarely if ever have I seen it practiced.  I’m not talking about some cosmic thing that you can’t quite put your brain around.  I mean the kind of demonstrated grace we can experience in this life.  It understands we are both in pain and that much of that pain is born from misunderstanding.  The grace I am talking about allows me to listen to you without defense when you are accusing me.  (Ever experienced that?)  In this kind of grace I recognize that I am a pain giver as well as a pain receiver. (Ouch!)   This grace creates a space where you and I can listen to one another for understanding, not to fix the problem and not even to agree!  The kind of grace space I mean is one where you and I can feel both listened to and understood.  Where we are not so concerned with who got the most points or who won.

The world is full of hurt people.  Some of them were hurt by me.  Some by you. I know some of the wounds I have inflicted, but not all of them.  I want to live in a place of grace where I can confess my faults and feel understood.  If there is to be any hope of having a space like that, someone has to start.  Someone must break the cycle.  In that spirit, I want to be one who helps create those kinds of spaces for others.  It has to start somewhere.  Why not here?  Why not now?  It is not an easier way to live, but it is a better way to live.

grace, hope, life, personal, spirituality

I picked up, Improv Wisdom: Don’t Prepare, Just Show Up by Patricia Madson in one of the many bookstores in Berkeley last month when we were visiting Erin and Justin.  The title stirred me and a cursory browse of the book showed promise.  I wasn’t mistaken.

Each day I understand better that our value is not tied to what we do or even what we can do.  We all have value because we are.  There’s value in just showing up and being present.  Planning and preparing are important, but they aren’t everything.  I am learning that, while being prepared is invaluable, being present is just as important if not more so.

The section I read today in the book was on rituals.  Being one who loves variety, I have always thought of rituals as ruts, but this book has given me a different perspective.  Rituals can help us get in the groove.  Madson was relating about the rituals she was introduced to in some classes she took.  She says,

At our desks in calligraphy class, we began with the ritual of grinding  the ink.  There is a correct way to hold the ink stick and to move it in small circles in a tiny pool of water on the stone that serves as an inkwell.  The action of making ink became both a physical and mental preparation for the work of learning how to paint Japanese characters and bamboo leaves.

These rituals at the beginning of each session had the effect of creating order and harmony.  We knew what we had to do when we entered the sace.  Cleaning and grinding ink got us into the world of the art without the stress of creation.  There was a calming effect…

My best meetings have been the ones where I not only prepared for the content, but took time to prepare my self to clear out the clutter and be more present.  What a wonderful way to look at rituals as preparation for the art of being present.

growth, observations, personal, random, reflection

Watching my granddaughter, Molly, grow is so incredibly rewarding.  She is constantly learning new things.  Every day she wakes up so full of life.  It’s as if she’s wondering, “What cool things am I going to learn today?” I used to believe that kids learn new things until they become adults.  Then you are are “just a grownup” for the rest of your life.  This was around the same time that I thought grownups could do whatever they wanted. I don’t know about all adults, but it sure hasn’t turned out to be true for me.  Each stirring is another opportunity to learn.

When I feel stirred, it feels like a small voice saying, “Pay attention.  Something cool is going on.”  It is an opportunity to see something new that I never saw before, or something old in a new way… hearing a new sound… smelling a new smell (what did I have for lunch?).  For me, being stirred is learning.  My artist/neighbor/friend says, “To truly live and grow is to always be open to being stirred/ stimulated/ moved, isn’t it?” What does stirring mean for you?

Reading for stirring

When I was younger, I read mostly for information.  I was (and am) a learner. The rule makers I was trying to please said, “Learn the rules and obey them and you will be okay.”  So I studied and listened in order to learn the rules of life.  The better I learned the rules, the better I could recite them and the more I felt like I fit in.  Unfortunately, with my head down, learning and applying the rules, I didn’t see that I was following a map through life that was written by others who were as clueless as I was.  They saw what they saw and no more. Lately I have found myself understanding that most rules are someone else’s ideas about how life works.  They remind me of the ancient maps of the world drawn by people who had a very limited perspective.  Yes, they were invaluable in their day, but really… are you kidding me.  This is North America?

Lately I find that I am reading less for learning and more for stirring.  I want to learn, but to get more perspective, not the right answer.  Don’t get me wrong, I do read to learn, but the ideas the author is trying to convey are less important to me than what her words stir in me. Not because I have all the answers, but because some things I am ready to learn and others… not so much.  The stirrings are a clue to what I’m ready for.  Some of my recent reads have stirred me to irritation.  Even that has value.  I was able to ask myself what I believed and what was this author stirring in me.  That was way more valuable than reading an author I agreed with completely (if that were possible).

Lately, I find that I enjoy two kinds of books.  The first type is books that explain some facet of the way life works in a way that I have never thought of before.  Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink and Seth Godin’s Linchpin are two that I particularly enjoyed.  I’m reading one now, called Nudge that talks about the kinds of things that influence the thousands of decisions we make every day.  Fascinating stuff.  Not the whole story, but a new perspective.  The other kind of books I find myself gravitating to are biographies.  I got stuck on presidential bios for a while and then got out of that rut by reading a biography of Louis Armstrong, Pops.

I am a little surprised that I like biographies so much for two reasons.  First because, I like surprises. I don’t want to know what is coming next.  With a biography, you already know the ending.  For me, knowing that the story is true and experiencing the depth of the whole person is fascinating and stirring.  I pick a biography because of what the person did.  But when I as I slow down long enough to read the details of his life, he becomes a real person with real difficulties to overcome.  The other reason my interest in biographies surprises me is that I’m not a big fan of history.  I find facts and dates to be overwhelming and boring.  But reading the biography of a historical figure helps me experience history through their eyes.  They become much more than their accomplishments.  That stirs me, and I like being stirred.

observations, personal, reflection

Molly in Charlotte

New words, laughter and smiles

Grandparents smiling

family, life, personal, random

“I’m stirred,” I said to Jeanie recently.  Not that that is unusual.  I frequently say I am stirred.  Why? Because I am frequently stirred.

Am I alone?  Are you stirred?  Do you ever feel a little emotional flip in your belly?  It doesn’t have to be a huge thing, just a tiny little flip will do.  If so, you too have been stirred.

Stirred [adjective] Being excited or provoked to the expression of an emotion

Imagine a jar of water.  The water is clear, but there is sediment on the bottom.  The jar is me (or you), the clear water is a lack of emotion.  The sediment is the stuff we remember from our past… some of it good some of it bad.  It is made up of memories and beliefs attached to the memories that were emotionally embedded.  Haven’t you ever been reminiscing about something with a friend and say, “Remember when we…?” and the friend doesn’t know what you are talking about. She has no memory of it whatsoever.  Chances are, it was emotionally embedded for you, but not for her.

Our jars get stirred when anything bumps up against our expectations and beliefs.  Sometimes we feel that little emotional flip.  Sometimes we are paralyzed with anxiety.  Our tendency is to ignore the little flips and avoid the big ones until the emotion dies down and it seemingly takes care of itself.  Getting stirred can be incredibly uncomfortable and even embarrassing.  If we just hold the jar still long enough, the feeling will go away.  I think that’s what they mean when they say, “time heals all wounds.”  It doesn’t, but the feeling gets smaller over time.  It becomes more sediment in the jar to be stirred up later.

The feelings are what embeds the memory and with the memories are embedded beliefs.  Some are true, but many are lies.  The value in the stirring is that we can feel and in the process examine those beliefs.  I won’t tell you that is easy.  In fact it is incredibly difficult to examine carefully and to be honest about those beliefs.  As far as I know, the only alternatives are to a) ignore the stirring and hope it will go away soon or b) point fingers at other people or circumstances.  Neither is worth the pain in the long run.

The thing is, stirring the jar is the only way I know of to un-embed those feelings and beliefs.  As uncomfortable as it is, it is valuable.  Kind of like removing a splinter.  The first time you get a splinter, getting it out with the tweezers hurts like crazy.  The second time, just the sight of the tweezers is enough to hurt even worse than it did before.  There’s a fear embedded with the memory.  The problem is that to leave the splinter is to invite infection.  So we feel the fear and let the tweezers do their work anyway.  Soon it is all forgotten.

I am afraid of being stirred.  Just the same, I want to be stirred.  When I feel the flip, I want to keep asking myself what it is about.  What do I believe?  Is it true?

What about you?

observations, personal, reflection

If talk is cheap, listening is expensive.  I love to listen to heartfelt stories especially from people I love.  There’s one whose heart I love hearing above all and that is my sweetie.  Tonight, she needed to vent about some things and she gently let me know was what was coming.  Her setup helped me to listen the way she wanted to be heard.

When we want help, we want the listener to listen for understanding.  We want solutions.  However, when we want to vent, solutions is exactly what we do not want.  We want to be listened to just for understanding.  It’s a subtle difference, but it is the difference between the speaker getting what they want or not.  If the speaker owns the topic and doesn’t get what they want, the whole experience is frustrating and irritating.  When it works though, it is magical.  There is nothing quite like the feeling you get when someone focuses on you and truly listens for understanding.

Listening is expensive because it is hard work (hard emotional work) and because it is rare. One last thought.  If you want me to listen for understanding, do what Jeanie did.  Tell me what you want and, who knows, you might just get it.

Thanks Sweetie.  It is an honor to hear your heart.

affirmation, family, personal

While boarding my plane on my recent trip to Arizona, I overheard one passenger telling another about a different method for tying shoes.  He was just finishing the explanation and telling her how it was much more secure than the regular method.  My shoes are constantly coming untied, so I was curious, but the line was moving again and it was too late to ask.  I determined to check google for the answer.

Wouldn’t you know there is a site devoted to tying ones shoes; Ian’s Shoelace Site features 17 ways to tie a shoelace. I experimented with each of them evaluating for ease of tying and security until I came to the “Two Loop Shoelace Knot”; the “normal” knot that I learned when I was a kid.  Thinking that it has never been very secure, I almost moved on and then I caught Ian’s warning:  “It’s often tied incorrectly, resulting in an un-balanced ‘Granny Knot’.” As an experiment, I tied my shoes automatically without thinking about how I was doing it and checked the results.  No wonder my shoelaces always come untied.  I have been tying a “granny knot” my whole life!

So, I didn’t need a fancy new way of tying my shoes, I just needed to tie a square knot instead of a granny knot.  I have to think about what I am doing when I tie them now, but now that I am tying them correctly, my shoes have been quite secure for the last couple of weeks.  Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

personal, random

Just a year ago today my life changed forever when Molly Nicole Ogren entered and made me a grandpa.  Now all my relations are referred to by their relationship to Molly; Jeanie is “Gran”, Danae is “Molly’s Mom” etc.

I knew I was going to love being a grandpa, but I didn’t know why.  It’s hard to explain, but kinda like this…

• First I grew up.  I wasn’t really aware of what was going on because it was the first time I’d ever grown up.
• Next, I had kids of my own and I got to grow up again.  While I observed the things they were going through, I remembered similar experiences I had.  I wasn’t really trying to live my life through them, but it sorta happened that way when their stuff reminded me of my stuff.
• Now as the grandpa, I get to do it again.  Only this time I am not primarily responsible for this one.  When I am with her I can just love up on her and study her.  I love watching  her learn.

The interesting thing is that I change each time I go through this process.  I think it is interesting how as parents we tended to worry about how our actions would affect our children.  What we missed in the process is how they were changing us.  I’m not the same person I was when any of my children were a year old.  Molly is already working her magic on me.  Giving me a whole new outlook on life.

Last time I was with her was Thanksgiving weekend.  Over and over, I went through the routine of placing my hand on my chest and saying, “Pops”.  Then I put my hand on her chest and said, “Molly”.  After a few times, she put her hand on my chest and a couple of times she actually said, “Pops!”  Danae said that she had to mop me up off the floor when I melted.

Here are some recent photos for fans:

2009-11-30 Thanksgiving

family, life, observations, personal, photos

Please don’t tell my Sunday School teacher, but I watched Godspell, a musical from 1972 based on the life of Jesus from the Gospel of St. Matthew.  I was 14ish when it came out in movie form and being Southern Baptists, my peers and I were forbidden to see it.  I (being an obedient young fellow) didn’t see it.  By the time I was old enough to decide for myself, I had forgotten about it and it was not readily available (VCRs hadn’t even been invented yet).  I never saw it until tonight.

I can understand why they didn’t allow us to see it.  This modern, artful depiction of Jesus and his followers was way too “out there” for most of the folks in my parents’ generation.  In this musical, Jesus is a hippie and is dressed clownishly.  The whole “hippie” thing of free love and irresponsibility, chafed against their values  for hard work and conformity.  To make matters worse, his disciples are both black and white, male and female and the songs are rowdy rock and roll (for the time).

While I understand and even respect the stance of those church leaders (oddly, I don’t remember ever discussing this with my parents), I was not part of their generation and I feel like I missed something good.  The movie I watched tonight was quite dated.  The video quality and the style of music were typical of the 70’s… but there was something about it that moved me.  I think I would have been moved as a teenager too.  I saw a creative, artistic expression of the life of Jesus that I think would have inspired me.  Clearly, it was never intended to be taken as a literal interpretation of the Bible, but that fact was likely missed by the folks who ran things in my church.  Their position was that dancing, joking, references to drinking wine, etc were sacrilegious and disrespectful.  To them, acceptable depictions of Christian themes in art would be limited to “normal” church music and art.

I remember some of the songs from the musical like “Day by Day” that came into their own as pop tunes.   I could never understand what they found offensive (apart from the association with the musical itself).  According to the wisdom of Wikipedia, “Most of the score’s lyrics were from the Episcopal Hymnal, set to music by the cast members.”  I think it was a good desire to protect the young people from something, but in retrospect, their control kept me from an experience that would have been enriching to me.

Day by day
Day by day
Oh Dear Lord
Three things I pray
To see thee more clearly
Love thee more dearly
Follow thee more nearly
Day by day

church, memories, personal

Twenty five years ago today I had an important meeting with the owners of Fox Music House.  They were rescuing me from my failed business and hiring me all at the same time.  We had a meeting scheduled to sign all the papers that morning.  As luck would have it, Jeanie was in labor, but we knew it would be hours before she delivered.  We had been through this “birthing thing” twice before, so we were experts.

We called the doctor to tell them she was in labor and I went to my meeting.  Afterwards, I picked up Jeanie and we headed to the doctor’s office.  They were beside themselves with worry by the time we arrived causing us to wonder if they’d ever done this before <just kidding>…<sort of>.  By the time we had gotten to the hospital we found out that Jeanie’s dad, Vic, had canceled the classes he was teaching, come to the hospital, waited and left!  Everyone was in a panic except Jeanie, Jim and (soon to be) Erin.  Needless to say, Erin was born later.

She was a dissatisfied little girl.  She wanted to do what her sisters were doing and was not happy to be younger and less able.  Maybe that drive helped her to achieve so much.  I remember watching her play with wooden blocks and legos.  She would make bridges and it seemed to me that she had an innate understanding of what it took to make them strong.  Maybe it’s just because I was her dad, but I was impressed.

When she was about the age she was in the photo above, Erin loved to hang out around me in the morning to watch me shave.  I would scoop off a dab of shaving cream and put it on her cheek, which pleased her to no end!  She’d run off through the house squealing with delight.  I do miss those little slices of life.

She shares my love of astronomy.  When she was in high school, she did a project with the head of the Physics dept at the College of Charleston.  If I remember correctly, her project was to map the moons of Jupiter.  It required the use of my telescope, which is rather cumbersome to move around.  Since I was commuting from Charleston to Charlotte to work that year, I wasn’t around during the week to help her set it up.  I wanted so much to be around to help her with it, but I taught her how to setup the telescope and she did it all by herself.  I guess that’s the part of letting go that’s hard for a dad… but it’s good.  She and Justin just returned from a vacation in Hawaii where they got to see the big telescopes.  When she told me how cool it was, I was so jealous.

One night when she was 16 years old, she asked me to tuck her into bed and tell her a story.  I guess she was feeling nostalgic for when she was little.  No matter what the reason, I was happy to relive some of those fun memories of the tucking in ritual.  That night, I made up a bedtime story on the spot, just like the old days.  The next night she repeated the same request, “tell me a story and tuck me in.”  This continued for a week or more until one fateful night.  As much as I loved the attention and getting special time with her, I asked if I could just read something since I just didn’t have the energy to make up a story.  She agreed.

I looked on her bookshelf and saw The Hobbit.  I asked her if she had ever read it.  She hadn’t.  So we started reading it.  We continued every night until we finished it weeks later.  At the end of The Hobbit, we continued with the Lord of the Rings.  We were almost done with the first of the three books when Peter Jackson announced his epic project to bring the Lord of the Rings to the big screen.  Needless to say, we were beside ourselves.

In her senior year of high school, she won an award for playing the part of Gollum in the school theater department’s production of The Hobbit.  (The photo is of her with her award beside herself in costume).  She looked really creepy.  When the Lord of the Rings movies came out, the two of us went in costume! (Hers was way cooler than mine).

Erin has always had a sensitive heart.  I can remember once when Erin was a teenager, I was in a bad mood and snapped at Jeanie.  Erin said in a matter-of-fact way that what I said was mean.  I immediately knew that she had nailed me, but she made it easy for me to acknowledge what I did because she was so respectful in the way she said it.  Now that she’s in grad school at Berkeley, she focuses a lot of her energy into getting girls interested in science.  She’s passionate about bringing a better representation from the “other half” of the population into the scientific community.  I think that is so cool.

Erin, you are so easy to love.  I am so very glad that I get to be your dad.  Have a very happy birthday.  I love you.

P. S. This is a video Erin made recently with her new ukulele from Hawaii.  Be sure and watch until the end… it’s special.

http://jimazing.com

family, personal