I've been a little behind with my postings. I've spent the past month putting in job applications or researching grad schools or taking the extra time to kick back and relax with some friends and acquaintances of years gone by. I also have two unfinished drafts I have yet to finish and post. But what brings me back today is a sad story that a friend suggested I should post about.
I've been working as a substitute teacher in a secondary school district for a few years now. I'm looking for a place in the world for my talents and passions, but while I've been living with my parents, straightening out some of the larger questions, and working as a peon for my old alma mater, I have had some awesome times. And I've generally liked my job. Not enough to pursue a career in education. But I've had some moments that have stood out. And they have always involved fun and amazing people. One of these people was Abe.
I met Abe last year when I covered his Spanish class for a full week. It was a one of the rare classes I will never forget because it was so much fun. There were about half a dozen freshman guys, all athletes, that sat in the front row, and they were so goofy in their attempts to be macho that I could hardly keep a straight face. They were such boys trying so hard to be men and falling so short—they were like penguins, seeming serious because of their tuxedos, but slipping arounds like bumper cars on the ice. They talked about making a guys-only club, and one of them called out, "Sausage fest!" They found it amusing when I cringed at that. And the one who stood out most in that group was Abe.
Abe was muscle-bound like the governator of California and yet was one of the friendliest people I have ever met. Once he turned around too fast and accidentally brushed against me—VERY lightly—with his elbow and nearly knocked me over. He was just as surprised as I was, and he immediately apologized. To see a person with so much strength and so much manners is to see a real paragon.
One of the things I remember most about that week was something that Abe said that had me laughing. There was an aide in that class, Mr. G., who was also a football player and also muscle bound. Personality-wise, Mr. G. was something of a dark knight—a nice guy but didn't take crap. When this aide went into the hallway to talk with someone for a few minutes, Abe told his freshman buddies, "You know, I bet I can drop Mr. G. When he comes back, I'm gonna tell him to meet me on the playground at 3pm." And sure enough, the kid did challenge him! And it was so funny to see him back down when Mr. G. like a bull accepted the challenge!
That week was the most I got to know Abe. I would see him periodically in the hallways, always with a smile on his face, but our paths never crossed very much after that. I covered his English class three times this year, and he was absent twice.
About one week ago, this young man passed away. I learned about it yesterday. Sadly, he took his life. I'm not sure what must have been going on in his life, but he was surrounded by people who care.
Recently my neighbor lost her West Highland White Terrier to liver failure. Something she told me: A little boy once said that dogs have such short life spans because life is about learning how to give and to bring joy and to love others unconditionally, and dogs come into the world already knowing this. Though I only knew him up close for a few days, I think something similar might be said about Abe.
As someone who has held in a lot of things for a long time and done his best to still smile and treat others with kindness, this really hits home for me. Sometimes you don't know what a person may be feeling or thinking. If Abe had held on a little longer, I wonder if he might have found another solution. I'm sure he would have. If he had opened up to more people, including people who were older and more mature and experienced, maybe he might have been able to see the different possibilities that were open to him. If nothing else, opening up would have released a lot of tension. I've learned from experience how good for the soul confession really is. And that's why I'm writing now.
I also really want his friends to know that this is not their fault. Some people on the Internet say (and write) things that are both insensitive and not thought out. When people die young, we always ask ourself, "What if?" But when you're 16, you may be scared to talk to someone about your problems. When you're 16, you may be scared to talk to someone about your friend's problems. And when you're 16, you most likely don't have the knowledge or the experience or the training to recognize signs of a serious problem in someone else, especially if they don't share that problem with you. These are not adults, they are kids. They are kids, but they are going to grow up fast now. I hope they learn to be there for one another. I hope they learn to reach out when they are in trouble. I hope they learn that real strength and real manhood and maturity means acknowledging a problem and asking for help if that problem is abnormally large.
I hope they learn from Abe how to be strong and kind. And I hope they learn that even though the loss of a loved one is painful, life is more painful without loved ones. The answer is not to attempt to avoid pain by avoiding new attachments but to out balance pain with the presence of loved ones and happy memories.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
A Day of Awesomeness
Well, it's time for a long overdue post.
This Sunday I went to an open house for the Master's in Business Administration program at my alma mater, Montclair State University. My mother drove me there for some much needed moral support before going off to run some errands like buying ravioli. I'm nervous, getting less and less sleep every night, and this morning I started feeling nauseous. All of which are signs pointing to good things in the future.
Before the show, I went to the Six Brothers diner to meet up with two of my friends from college: The Catholic Science Geek, who is a Ph. D. candidate at Columbia, and her sister, who is a potential candidate to the Salesian sisterhood and the only person I know who can do a better Sméagol impression than I can. It was fun. They ordered lox and bagels and a California omelette, while I had one of the most delightful gyros I've ever eaten. And of course, we had lots of laughs and awesome times. It makes me feel a lot better to hang out with intelligent young people doing something constructive with their lives.
Then they dropped me off at the open house. I was really well-informed on the MBA program, so I didn't really learn anything new from the actual info session. However, I did get to talk a little one on one with the marketing professor, who has worked on a movie with director John Huston (aka. the voice of the cartoon Gandalf). Awesome! I also spoke for just a little bit with another professor, but not very long, as there was a long line of other inquiring prospective graduates looking to speak with professors. But she recommended that I just get a foot in the door somewhere career-wise and begin networking. Speaking of which, I'm kicking myself now because I didn't think to talk to any of the other prospective students. I definitely need to work on my skills with meeting total strangers. But the open house was very bustling and not at all the atmosphere for sitting down over tea and getting to know somebody the way I like to. I'll make a note of it to do that in the future, at least when I know I'm in a program. On the plus side, I did learn a couple things about financing grad school.
And one of the other awesome things was to go to the 7th floor of University Hall and look out the window. It was a clear day, and I could see everything spread out beneath my feet, including New York in the distance. And I could see the Empire State Building towering over the skyscrapers of midtown Manhattan and away south, the Freedom Tower under construction. Looking at New York is beginning to make me feel just a little bit like home.
I could tell that there's tension in the air regarding jobs and the markets and student loans. But I'm beginning to feel that opportunity is out there, and that there really is a place for me somewhere. I'm beginning to feel that the sky's the limit. I may have to wait, and I may have to proceed very slowly and cautiously. But I'm beginning to feel that I'm following in the footsteps of my ancestors, and that I'm on my way up, no matter what.
Searching for grad schools is intimidating, especially in Business Administration. I don't have any experience in business or knowledge of economy. It's been years since I took a real math class. But knowing three people in Ivy League schools, all from the same floor I lived on in college, is a real inspiration. It definitely makes me feel that I'm in good company and gives me the confidence to share and contribute some of the things my life has been filled with. I have writing skills, skills with foreign languages, reading and analytical skills, and a small amount of experience as a leader. I value people, hard work, status and achievement, and sharing. I really think I could make a successful mark somewhere in the world. Good night!
This Sunday I went to an open house for the Master's in Business Administration program at my alma mater, Montclair State University. My mother drove me there for some much needed moral support before going off to run some errands like buying ravioli. I'm nervous, getting less and less sleep every night, and this morning I started feeling nauseous. All of which are signs pointing to good things in the future.
Before the show, I went to the Six Brothers diner to meet up with two of my friends from college: The Catholic Science Geek, who is a Ph. D. candidate at Columbia, and her sister, who is a potential candidate to the Salesian sisterhood and the only person I know who can do a better Sméagol impression than I can. It was fun. They ordered lox and bagels and a California omelette, while I had one of the most delightful gyros I've ever eaten. And of course, we had lots of laughs and awesome times. It makes me feel a lot better to hang out with intelligent young people doing something constructive with their lives.
Then they dropped me off at the open house. I was really well-informed on the MBA program, so I didn't really learn anything new from the actual info session. However, I did get to talk a little one on one with the marketing professor, who has worked on a movie with director John Huston (aka. the voice of the cartoon Gandalf). Awesome! I also spoke for just a little bit with another professor, but not very long, as there was a long line of other inquiring prospective graduates looking to speak with professors. But she recommended that I just get a foot in the door somewhere career-wise and begin networking. Speaking of which, I'm kicking myself now because I didn't think to talk to any of the other prospective students. I definitely need to work on my skills with meeting total strangers. But the open house was very bustling and not at all the atmosphere for sitting down over tea and getting to know somebody the way I like to. I'll make a note of it to do that in the future, at least when I know I'm in a program. On the plus side, I did learn a couple things about financing grad school.
And one of the other awesome things was to go to the 7th floor of University Hall and look out the window. It was a clear day, and I could see everything spread out beneath my feet, including New York in the distance. And I could see the Empire State Building towering over the skyscrapers of midtown Manhattan and away south, the Freedom Tower under construction. Looking at New York is beginning to make me feel just a little bit like home.
I could tell that there's tension in the air regarding jobs and the markets and student loans. But I'm beginning to feel that opportunity is out there, and that there really is a place for me somewhere. I'm beginning to feel that the sky's the limit. I may have to wait, and I may have to proceed very slowly and cautiously. But I'm beginning to feel that I'm following in the footsteps of my ancestors, and that I'm on my way up, no matter what.
Searching for grad schools is intimidating, especially in Business Administration. I don't have any experience in business or knowledge of economy. It's been years since I took a real math class. But knowing three people in Ivy League schools, all from the same floor I lived on in college, is a real inspiration. It definitely makes me feel that I'm in good company and gives me the confidence to share and contribute some of the things my life has been filled with. I have writing skills, skills with foreign languages, reading and analytical skills, and a small amount of experience as a leader. I value people, hard work, status and achievement, and sharing. I really think I could make a successful mark somewhere in the world. Good night!
Monday, February 20, 2012
Lenten Negations
Alright, you can call me a coward. Or wishy-washy. But I'm a lot happier WITH tea in my life than without. Lent has not even begun yet, and I'm losing my resolve to renounce tea. And this, at a time when I need tea the most.
If I am going to become any kind of aristocrat, which is one of my lifelong desires, and leave my family and my future generations a little better off than I found them, I need a real job right now. And I need to go to grad school. My period as a disillusioned youth is over. If I am to move my family up in the world, I need to get started right now. And this means putting in applications. And putting in applications means researching jobs and graduate programs. And that means a need for energy. And that means tea.
(Oh, how I hate the word "job"—it sounds so sordid. And so like to the fellow who suffered so much in the Old Testament: Job. But since I don't know how to trade stocks and don't have enough money to buy a house, let alone flip one, my starting place for now will have to be to get the best job and save up enough funds and do something intelligent with it later.)
Maybe I'm not making the biggest sacrifice I could for Lent. Maybe I'm giving in to Nietzsche's influence and turning Lent from a world-negation into a life-affirmation. Maybe I'm letting my tea addiction take hold. Maybe I'm going against my Italian heritage by advocating tea over coffee. But tea is healthier and cleaner. And the Buddhist monks used it to keep vigilant in their own spiritual struggles. And that is what I am doing.
So, once and for all, I'm not going to give up tea for Lent. At least, not this year. I'm going to give up coffee. I don't think I've gone more than a week without my daily espresso since college, so that will be a sacrifice. In fact, it will be such a sacrifice that I'm going to go stock up on some right now. I have SO much respect for people who renounce seriously.
If I am going to become any kind of aristocrat, which is one of my lifelong desires, and leave my family and my future generations a little better off than I found them, I need a real job right now. And I need to go to grad school. My period as a disillusioned youth is over. If I am to move my family up in the world, I need to get started right now. And this means putting in applications. And putting in applications means researching jobs and graduate programs. And that means a need for energy. And that means tea.
(Oh, how I hate the word "job"—it sounds so sordid. And so like to the fellow who suffered so much in the Old Testament: Job. But since I don't know how to trade stocks and don't have enough money to buy a house, let alone flip one, my starting place for now will have to be to get the best job and save up enough funds and do something intelligent with it later.)
Maybe I'm not making the biggest sacrifice I could for Lent. Maybe I'm giving in to Nietzsche's influence and turning Lent from a world-negation into a life-affirmation. Maybe I'm letting my tea addiction take hold. Maybe I'm going against my Italian heritage by advocating tea over coffee. But tea is healthier and cleaner. And the Buddhist monks used it to keep vigilant in their own spiritual struggles. And that is what I am doing.
So, once and for all, I'm not going to give up tea for Lent. At least, not this year. I'm going to give up coffee. I don't think I've gone more than a week without my daily espresso since college, so that will be a sacrifice. In fact, it will be such a sacrifice that I'm going to go stock up on some right now. I have SO much respect for people who renounce seriously.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Lent
Well, everybody, guess what I'm doing for Lent. I'm giving up TEA!!!! Don't think I can do it? Stay with me, and find out!
Of course, I might rely on the Sundays-don't-count rule. And why not? Lent is a fast of 40 days and 40 nights. If you count up the days from Ash Wednesday to Easter, they actually exceed 40 unless you omit Sundays.
Since Ash Wednesday is next week, I've been cutting down on tea but feeling a need to slightly increase my coffee intake. I've now been starting the day with a cup of espresso in addition to my afternoon espresso ritual. And honestly, espresso is delightful. Usually. If it's not too strong. I achieved the art of near perfection at espresso years ago and enjoyed many fine afternoons in my early college days with a cup of Medaglia d'Oro and some Nabucco.
But tea is something else entirely. Tea is cleaner. Tea is energizing. One whole cup of Green Mountain Coffee from a Keurig machine, delicious as it is, and I find that it's sticking to my esophagus--I can taste it for hours afterward. But one cup of Stash's Black Chai or my favorite loose leaf Prince of Wales tea only leaves me wanting another. And another. And another. I love this drink so much I've actually considered growing my own tea plants one day when I have property so I can use my own tea leaves for tea. And tea also has the enormous benefit of antioxidants and weight loss properties. This is one reason I want to cut back: I lost 8 lbs. in the last year. And for a naturally slim person like me coming from a long line of high metabolism, 8 lbs. is a lot! Tea is just about the only thing right now that would really be a sacrifice for me to give up.
But, why am I suddenly observing Lent, you might ask? As a "lapsed" Catholic, I haven't been to Mass, for myself at least, since the day John Paul II died almost seven years ago. I've made a few obligatory exceptions for family gatherings such as weddings, funerals, a confirmation, and the Easter I spent with my very religious grandmother in her very religious town in Italy in 2008. Why start now?
This may be difficult to explain. Part of the reason is that I have a friend who's Muslim. Over the summer, when he was fasting during daylight hours for the whole month of Ramadan, I found it really inspiring. He said he didn't really mind fasting: he enjoyed it. Much like I enjoyed giving up Rigoletto for Lent in the eighth grade. And he also felt a spiritual benefit as a result of his fasting. Not unlike the Hindu concept of tapas, the divine heat that comes from meditation. It really made me feel good to see what my friend was engaged in and so deeply motivated by. So learning about another religion really made me appreciate the one I was raised with, and I want to recover just a little piece of it.
I reached a point a long time ago when I felt I could no longer turn to the religion I grew up with for answers to the big questions: Why am I here? What do I want out of life? Why do the good die young? What if there is no God or no afterlife? What if there is no bliss? I found that Catholicism just couldn't answer those questions for me anymore, nor could Christianity or Judaism. Nevertheless, in the wake of that religion I found a huge void. Functioning without that religion has been an incredibly thorny path. Perhaps a shaky path is a better metaphor because it has meant learning to stand and to walk without a means of support. A complete and all-sustaining means of support, by the way. But just because a child learns to walk by himself does not mean that he walks away from his father and mother forever. He still has a need for and a bond to what nurtured him.
While I find that I cannot truly practice Christianity or any other religion that I've come across, certain rituals, images, and moments within Catholicism have nevertheless left a very profound impression on me. While my own worldview is generally closer to that of Norse and even Greek mythology than to Judeo-Christian ethics, nothing has ever spoken to me so deeply as the Crucifixion does. Not Wagner's Wotan, not Odysseus, not even Bilbo or Frodo Baggins. I instantly identify with the silhouette of three crosses on Golgotha.
The Crucifixion symbolizes everything: the death of God, the universal suffering and sorrow of life, the destruction and rebirth of all life, all matter, all energy. It contains the message: "You must die to yourself to be reborn." Whatever it is you have that is you and only you: destroy it. Surrender your ego. Leave aside the "I" for the "All." You must sacrifice the thing you most care about and be reborn. If you don't give it willingly, it will be taken from you and perish anyway. It is the theme expressed in the Bonfire Song in Kurosawa's film Hidden Fortress. It is the recurring message of Joseph Campbell's Hero with a Thousand Faces. It is the message of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde. It is a story told in all times and in all places and in all languages in a variety of images, be it Dionysus, Osiris, Adonis, Huitzilopochtli, and myriads more. In my particular case, this story was told to me in the form of the Passion and Death of Christ. It is a form which I recognize in my own life.
And isn't this the message of Lent? I know I've had to give up many of the people I've cared about over the years. And I had to give up the main structure of my life a few years ago. But in the end, mine was a story of renewal. And what I've sacrificed has led to my own rebirth. I can look at sacrifice and change with gratitude and humility. My entire view of life has changed. I can say with Nietzsche: "Yea and amen!" to everything.
So I'm observing at least one little portion of Lent this year. Because my life is in accord with its mystery. Because all life is the Via Dolorosa. Because my life is the Via Dolorosa. Because all life is the springtime born from the ashes of the dead. And I can still see it, even without a church.
So let's give up the tea! And let's welcome our own spiritual birth. Yea and amen!
Of course, I might rely on the Sundays-don't-count rule. And why not? Lent is a fast of 40 days and 40 nights. If you count up the days from Ash Wednesday to Easter, they actually exceed 40 unless you omit Sundays.
Since Ash Wednesday is next week, I've been cutting down on tea but feeling a need to slightly increase my coffee intake. I've now been starting the day with a cup of espresso in addition to my afternoon espresso ritual. And honestly, espresso is delightful. Usually. If it's not too strong. I achieved the art of near perfection at espresso years ago and enjoyed many fine afternoons in my early college days with a cup of Medaglia d'Oro and some Nabucco.
But tea is something else entirely. Tea is cleaner. Tea is energizing. One whole cup of Green Mountain Coffee from a Keurig machine, delicious as it is, and I find that it's sticking to my esophagus--I can taste it for hours afterward. But one cup of Stash's Black Chai or my favorite loose leaf Prince of Wales tea only leaves me wanting another. And another. And another. I love this drink so much I've actually considered growing my own tea plants one day when I have property so I can use my own tea leaves for tea. And tea also has the enormous benefit of antioxidants and weight loss properties. This is one reason I want to cut back: I lost 8 lbs. in the last year. And for a naturally slim person like me coming from a long line of high metabolism, 8 lbs. is a lot! Tea is just about the only thing right now that would really be a sacrifice for me to give up.
But, why am I suddenly observing Lent, you might ask? As a "lapsed" Catholic, I haven't been to Mass, for myself at least, since the day John Paul II died almost seven years ago. I've made a few obligatory exceptions for family gatherings such as weddings, funerals, a confirmation, and the Easter I spent with my very religious grandmother in her very religious town in Italy in 2008. Why start now?
This may be difficult to explain. Part of the reason is that I have a friend who's Muslim. Over the summer, when he was fasting during daylight hours for the whole month of Ramadan, I found it really inspiring. He said he didn't really mind fasting: he enjoyed it. Much like I enjoyed giving up Rigoletto for Lent in the eighth grade. And he also felt a spiritual benefit as a result of his fasting. Not unlike the Hindu concept of tapas, the divine heat that comes from meditation. It really made me feel good to see what my friend was engaged in and so deeply motivated by. So learning about another religion really made me appreciate the one I was raised with, and I want to recover just a little piece of it.
I reached a point a long time ago when I felt I could no longer turn to the religion I grew up with for answers to the big questions: Why am I here? What do I want out of life? Why do the good die young? What if there is no God or no afterlife? What if there is no bliss? I found that Catholicism just couldn't answer those questions for me anymore, nor could Christianity or Judaism. Nevertheless, in the wake of that religion I found a huge void. Functioning without that religion has been an incredibly thorny path. Perhaps a shaky path is a better metaphor because it has meant learning to stand and to walk without a means of support. A complete and all-sustaining means of support, by the way. But just because a child learns to walk by himself does not mean that he walks away from his father and mother forever. He still has a need for and a bond to what nurtured him.
While I find that I cannot truly practice Christianity or any other religion that I've come across, certain rituals, images, and moments within Catholicism have nevertheless left a very profound impression on me. While my own worldview is generally closer to that of Norse and even Greek mythology than to Judeo-Christian ethics, nothing has ever spoken to me so deeply as the Crucifixion does. Not Wagner's Wotan, not Odysseus, not even Bilbo or Frodo Baggins. I instantly identify with the silhouette of three crosses on Golgotha.
The Crucifixion symbolizes everything: the death of God, the universal suffering and sorrow of life, the destruction and rebirth of all life, all matter, all energy. It contains the message: "You must die to yourself to be reborn." Whatever it is you have that is you and only you: destroy it. Surrender your ego. Leave aside the "I" for the "All." You must sacrifice the thing you most care about and be reborn. If you don't give it willingly, it will be taken from you and perish anyway. It is the theme expressed in the Bonfire Song in Kurosawa's film Hidden Fortress. It is the recurring message of Joseph Campbell's Hero with a Thousand Faces. It is the message of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde. It is a story told in all times and in all places and in all languages in a variety of images, be it Dionysus, Osiris, Adonis, Huitzilopochtli, and myriads more. In my particular case, this story was told to me in the form of the Passion and Death of Christ. It is a form which I recognize in my own life.
And isn't this the message of Lent? I know I've had to give up many of the people I've cared about over the years. And I had to give up the main structure of my life a few years ago. But in the end, mine was a story of renewal. And what I've sacrificed has led to my own rebirth. I can look at sacrifice and change with gratitude and humility. My entire view of life has changed. I can say with Nietzsche: "Yea and amen!" to everything.
So I'm observing at least one little portion of Lent this year. Because my life is in accord with its mystery. Because all life is the Via Dolorosa. Because my life is the Via Dolorosa. Because all life is the springtime born from the ashes of the dead. And I can still see it, even without a church.
So let's give up the tea! And let's welcome our own spiritual birth. Yea and amen!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
"The Hills Are Alive..."
When I was staying with my grandmother in Abruzzo, I used to go for walks outside the village.
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| One of the many reasons why Nietzsche loved the mountains. |
One of my favorite routes was along the main road that passes through town. This road terraces its way up the mountain through a series of curves and straightaways. For most of the way above town, the side of the road is dotted with trees and brush, small slopes, hermit-like shrines, farmhouses, and even parks. The air is crisp and clean, there are beautiful flowers, and in the distance, you can see the snow-capped peaks of La Maiella, where countless hermits retreated during the Middle Ages to commune with God. The whole scenery is reminiscent of The Sound of Music or of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony.
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| Whenever I saw this flower, I found myself humming "Edelweiss." |
I often met another passionate walker on these afternoons. She was a native of Pittsburgh who married an Italian and has been living in Italy for thirty years. It was from her that I learned a few pieces of local lore, such as which snakes to particularly avoid—the little green ones. She showed me where to find delicious drinking water from a fast-running, icy stream. She also told me a tragic story that happened to a young couple in these mountains some decades ago.
High up, there is a certain point where the face of the mountain has a cleft. The road hugs the mountain all the way around this cleft, so that there is a sharp turn in and a sharp turn out. The road has two lanes, no shoulder, and an almost vertical drop on one side—with no trees close enough for cover or shelter. It was an intimidating location. As a native of New Jersey and one not very widely traveled, I have never been afraid of terrain while driving. However, when I approached this place, I was afraid to even do so on foot—not least because you cannot see around the bend until you get there, which cuts reaction times dangerously short if another car happens to be approaching from the opposite direction.
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| You can sort of see it in the middle of this picture. The cleft in the road is the curve. |
It was here that the young couple met their sad fate. One night, they were returning from their engagement party to our town, where the girl lived. Her fiancé, however, was not from the area and was unfamiliar with this difficult curve in the road. In the darkness, he missed the turn, and since there was no guardrail, the car plummeted down onto the mountain. The young man was able to free himself and get help. Sadly, however, the young woman died. Immediately after that was when the guardrail was built. But ever since, this part of the road has been called la curva della morte: "the curve of the death."
It was a sad story, but I am grateful to my friend for telling it to me. In doing so, she shared with me a little piece of my own heritage.
Looking back on this reminds me of Book VIII of The Aeneid. This is the chapter where the old king Evander introduces Aeneas to the local groves and rock formations of his Tiber community and steeps Aeneas in the numinous history behind his new and ancestral country—Italy. My own journey in Italy was such a personal quest, and I learned much about my grandparents, my heritage, and myself along the way. I am grateful to everyone I met—even to the ones I didn't see eye to eye with. This journey has truly changed my life, and if I could live it all over again, I would not change a single thing.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Pro-Life and the Übermensch
To say that all life is sacred. To say that a child with Down syndrome is sacred. To say that even the child born of such an unholy thing as rape is sacred. To be able to say, "The Lord hath given, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." To be able to say thank you for all the things that have been poured into my life, for the bad as well as the good. Not everyone is able to do this. But this is what it means to affirm life.
In my case, to affirm life means to be able to say, "Thank you, Osama bin Laden, for killing my uncle. Thank you for teaching me to value life with a passion I might never have known otherwise. Thank you for teaching me the wisdom of suffering. Thank you for teaching me to understand the sufferings of others. Thank you for giving me the desire to use my skills and experiences to make a difference in someone else's life."
Somewhere Nietzsche wrote: "Do not do your enemy good when he has done you wrong, for that would put him to shame. Rather, thank him and tell him how he made you stronger."
To be grateful means to say "yes" to everything that comes into your life, whether it is good or bad. It means to stand your ground and face the music even when times are hard. It means to not take the easy way out. This is what the pro-lifers are asking. They are not asking to call a mistake good; they are not asking to call rape or incest good. They are asking for the weight and gravity of life to truly be understood, at its ugliest as much as at its most beautiful. Pro-life is not merely anti-abortion. Pro-life is really a form of life affirmation, at least it is for one pro-life friend of mine. And it's a very big and difficult step to look at all the events of life with gratitude, even the ugly ones, even the ones that have hurt me. Not everyone can do it. It is such a big step that I don't think I could ask anyone else to do it, much less require it of anyone. But it is a way to a higher perspective and a deeper understanding, for those willing and daring to take it.
In my case, to affirm life means to be able to say, "Thank you, Osama bin Laden, for killing my uncle. Thank you for teaching me to value life with a passion I might never have known otherwise. Thank you for teaching me the wisdom of suffering. Thank you for teaching me to understand the sufferings of others. Thank you for giving me the desire to use my skills and experiences to make a difference in someone else's life."
Somewhere Nietzsche wrote: "Do not do your enemy good when he has done you wrong, for that would put him to shame. Rather, thank him and tell him how he made you stronger."
To be grateful means to say "yes" to everything that comes into your life, whether it is good or bad. It means to stand your ground and face the music even when times are hard. It means to not take the easy way out. This is what the pro-lifers are asking. They are not asking to call a mistake good; they are not asking to call rape or incest good. They are asking for the weight and gravity of life to truly be understood, at its ugliest as much as at its most beautiful. Pro-life is not merely anti-abortion. Pro-life is really a form of life affirmation, at least it is for one pro-life friend of mine. And it's a very big and difficult step to look at all the events of life with gratitude, even the ugly ones, even the ones that have hurt me. Not everyone can do it. It is such a big step that I don't think I could ask anyone else to do it, much less require it of anyone. But it is a way to a higher perspective and a deeper understanding, for those willing and daring to take it.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Procrastinations
Alright, so I decided when I started this blog that I would write at least 1 post a week. I'm a little behind my goal this week. To some extent, I feel like I'm back in college. As a student of 3 languages and literatures, I had lots of papers to write. However, even though I loved my classes and my subjects, and although I usually loved breaking down a piece of literature and expressing my observations about it, somehow I always found it much more fun to listen to Götterdämmerung or Sibelius until crunch time came--the night before the due date. This was also how I wrote my journal entries as an AP English student in high school. And now once again, I find it's so much fun to watch The Frisco Kid and Jane Eyre on TCM, and I'm having trouble keeping to my own writing goals and deadlines. Dear Abby, is there something wrong with me?!
I'm beginning to realize something: This preference I have for avoiding writing deadlines is really not conducive to a career where I would have to write long papers and articles frequently. Therefore, I should not become a literature professor! Or, any kind of a journalist. Actually, I first began to realize this years ago when I started taking a hard and serious look at grad schools. Analyzing literature is one thing. However, at the graduate level nowadays, it seems like classic works of literature are not really analyzed anymore. Rather, theories are broken down and discussed, particularly, it seems, social theories. Now, I'm not a sociologist. I'm not even a terribly social person. I certainly work and talk with people often, but at heart I am very much a hermit and thrive off my quiet time and my opera. It really seems to me, and to many of the older generation of professors, that the humanities, in taking this sociological trend, are becoming more like watered-down social sciences. Which means, no old school Dead Poets' Society love of great literature. No Mr. Darcy sparring words with Elizabeth Bennet. No Sidney Carton going to the guillotine with the solemn utterance, " 'Tis a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; 'tis a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." I don't think that this trend will win. A classic is a work that has withstood the test of time. Let's see an intro to sociology textbook beat out A Tale of Two Cities. I think it'll be a cold day in Satan's belly button before that happens.
Now, I can sort of see how it all began. Joseph Campbell analyzed mythology from a psychological standpoint some sixty to eighty years ago. To my knowledge, this was one of the first applications of one of the social sciences to an interpretation of literature, and it was done masterfully. The trend must have caught on from there. Certainly, by the 1960's, Pier Paolo Pasolini was writing poems and making films that were positively riddled with Marxist theory and criticisms of current values—he was an artist engaging in social theory and analysis in the form of creative works of literature. Already then in the 1960's, the lines between art and theory were blurring. However, not everyone is a Joseph Campbell or a tremendous cultural influence! Not everyone is a Pier Paolo Pasolini and an avant-garde artist! And nowadays, it seems the works of art are getting squeezed out of the graduate school classrooms. But to see a whole scene of gifted intellectuals blurring the lines between art and theory, and usually leaving out the art? I realize I am only a human being and I have my limitations, but to live in a world like that would twist my neck into knots. The reason that we have the humanities is precisely to contest the theories. The humanist artists, scientists, and literati made their mark on history because they refused to see man sacrificed to a set of ideas—something that went on quite literally in the days of the Inquisition. Likewise, we need to assert our own prevalence and dominance over ideas and theory. As Christ said, "The Sabbath was made to serve man, man was not made to serve the Sabbath," so also our ideas and theory are second to us and to the use to which we put them. We need art. We need literature. We also desperately need to understand ourselves. And analyzing works of art truly helps us to do that.
I realize that this fight is a good fight. And I don't know how to fight it if not in the trenches. But here comes another one of my preferences: for air missions rather than trench warfare. I've found out that I'm happier having a bird's eye view and less bumping of elbows. I don't really want a job where I have to debate with my peers and colleagues. I really want a job where I work with a few closely knit people and I'm very close to the top. I'm not really giving up a dream. I'm renouncing an illusion. I've always wanted the same few things out of life, and now I think I have a clearer picture of a few ways to get them—ways that are more practical for me and more natural. I still want to publish a book, but I don't really want to do it for a living. Maybe that's why I always procrastinated about writing.
I'm beginning to realize something: This preference I have for avoiding writing deadlines is really not conducive to a career where I would have to write long papers and articles frequently. Therefore, I should not become a literature professor! Or, any kind of a journalist. Actually, I first began to realize this years ago when I started taking a hard and serious look at grad schools. Analyzing literature is one thing. However, at the graduate level nowadays, it seems like classic works of literature are not really analyzed anymore. Rather, theories are broken down and discussed, particularly, it seems, social theories. Now, I'm not a sociologist. I'm not even a terribly social person. I certainly work and talk with people often, but at heart I am very much a hermit and thrive off my quiet time and my opera. It really seems to me, and to many of the older generation of professors, that the humanities, in taking this sociological trend, are becoming more like watered-down social sciences. Which means, no old school Dead Poets' Society love of great literature. No Mr. Darcy sparring words with Elizabeth Bennet. No Sidney Carton going to the guillotine with the solemn utterance, " 'Tis a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; 'tis a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." I don't think that this trend will win. A classic is a work that has withstood the test of time. Let's see an intro to sociology textbook beat out A Tale of Two Cities. I think it'll be a cold day in Satan's belly button before that happens.
Now, I can sort of see how it all began. Joseph Campbell analyzed mythology from a psychological standpoint some sixty to eighty years ago. To my knowledge, this was one of the first applications of one of the social sciences to an interpretation of literature, and it was done masterfully. The trend must have caught on from there. Certainly, by the 1960's, Pier Paolo Pasolini was writing poems and making films that were positively riddled with Marxist theory and criticisms of current values—he was an artist engaging in social theory and analysis in the form of creative works of literature. Already then in the 1960's, the lines between art and theory were blurring. However, not everyone is a Joseph Campbell or a tremendous cultural influence! Not everyone is a Pier Paolo Pasolini and an avant-garde artist! And nowadays, it seems the works of art are getting squeezed out of the graduate school classrooms. But to see a whole scene of gifted intellectuals blurring the lines between art and theory, and usually leaving out the art? I realize I am only a human being and I have my limitations, but to live in a world like that would twist my neck into knots. The reason that we have the humanities is precisely to contest the theories. The humanist artists, scientists, and literati made their mark on history because they refused to see man sacrificed to a set of ideas—something that went on quite literally in the days of the Inquisition. Likewise, we need to assert our own prevalence and dominance over ideas and theory. As Christ said, "The Sabbath was made to serve man, man was not made to serve the Sabbath," so also our ideas and theory are second to us and to the use to which we put them. We need art. We need literature. We also desperately need to understand ourselves. And analyzing works of art truly helps us to do that.
I realize that this fight is a good fight. And I don't know how to fight it if not in the trenches. But here comes another one of my preferences: for air missions rather than trench warfare. I've found out that I'm happier having a bird's eye view and less bumping of elbows. I don't really want a job where I have to debate with my peers and colleagues. I really want a job where I work with a few closely knit people and I'm very close to the top. I'm not really giving up a dream. I'm renouncing an illusion. I've always wanted the same few things out of life, and now I think I have a clearer picture of a few ways to get them—ways that are more practical for me and more natural. I still want to publish a book, but I don't really want to do it for a living. Maybe that's why I always procrastinated about writing.
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