At year end, thanking everyone who has benefitted us during the past twelve months is a common practice. For most people, that would be a long list. It is difficult to get through any day without the help of others -- even if it is just the gift of a smile of understanding while standing in a long line during holiday shopping and shipping season. Today, I'll thank two people in detail, and I'll thank the many others, known and unknown, who helped me this year with a global word of appreciation -- thanks!
This morning, two of my neighbors shoveled me out of my driveway, where the city's snowplow had deposited a soft wall of snow at the foot of my driveway and I had got stuck trying to force my beloved Volvo through it. I had thought that a Swedish car would make short work of a Michigan snowpile, but I was wrong.
I was wrong about another thing, too. "I told you to shovel out that snow before you try to drive away or you would get stuck," my across-the-street neighbor cheerfully admonished as she wielded her super-ergonomic shovel on the right. (She had indeed so warned me.) On the left, my elderly next-door neighbor mock-groused, "Oh, the joys of winter." Although their words could be described as mildly annoyed, I didn't feel any spirit of annoyance. Their alacrity in bringing their shovels to my aid and the brisk work they made of getting my car free belied any hint of chagrin. Their message seemed friendly but clear -- I get one free pass this winter. As a transplant from Florida, I get to be stupid for the first month of winter storms, but after that I had better get outside, whether at 6 pm or 10 pm after the city's snowplow comes through, and free up that driveway entrance. Otherwise, the neighborly help may not be so freely given.
I'll have to check out my perception with my neighbors next week at a cider-and-gingerbread party that I'm planning to give. If I'm right, I'm glad that that is their message. Like many other people, I will accept a free pass if it is offered. If it is not offered, I will find a way to take responsibility for myself.
Thank you, neighbors, for your compassion. And thank you just as much for holding me to our neighborhood's standards. I like the idea that you think I can be strong enough to do what has to be done. And I'll gladly help shovel you out if you need it in the short days and long nights ahead. Just not repeatedly.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Stories and Lies
Our theme for Winter/Spring 2008 at Creative Spirit Center is Share Your Story. Our inspiration is the tradition of sitting around the fire on cold winter nights and entertaining each other by telling and listening to stories. The stories can be completely made up, slightly modified, or the unvarnished truth (although using some creative license with detail and shaping usually makes the story more satisfying for the storyteller, if not the listener).
It's not stories that I am thinking about today, though. It's lies. Lies and why people lie. Recently I experienced being lied to and also witnessing a lie. The liars were of both genders, and that's all the identifying information I'll provide. My interest here is in the motivation to lie and my current attempt to understand it. In one case, although the lie was transparent, it was probably motivated by a need to save face rather than own up to an embarrassing lapse in judgment. We see this all the time in the public arena, so it should not be a surprise when one of our friends follows this course. The other lie was not so much transparent as baldfaced. Unfortunately for the liar, the lie had been discovered through some judicious investigation coupled with parental instinct. Therefore, the lie led to a double dose of whuppin'.
Lies seem to be the refuge of weakness. We believe that someone else has power over us and we desire to evade that person's legitimate or illegitimate interference with our desires. So we lie. Some lies are never found out, some are immediately found out, and most seem to drift around for a while in a moral gray area, where they color our impression of who we are and who others are. Our conditioning makes us lie, you might say. If we felt free and strong, we would not need to lie.
Do I ever lie? Sure. If I include exaggeration, omission, reframing (a popular form), polite white lies, and expressions of a convenient helplessness, a complete inventory might indicate that I lie every day. It is not often my intention to mislead. Usually, I lie to smooth a social interaction, save time, or avoid an unwanted experience. Lying, even in these benign forms, does erode my sense of honor, nobility, and safety. If I think about it, there is always something to say that is not a lie. Instead of exaggerating ("The car was going 90 miles an hour!") I could describe the panic I felt ("I thought I was going to be thrown from the car!"). Instead of politely lying ("I love your sweater!"), I could follow the example of Sir Winston Churchill, who, when introduced to an undeniably ugly infant, affirmed, "Now THERE'S a baby!" Usually, lying is a conditioned response. If we think lovingly about the meaning and power of words, we can usually find something to say that is completely true and, more frequently than not, in its own way, completely beautiful.
My recommendation: when faced with the temptation to lie, tell a story instead! It's more fun, it can lead to something positive, and instead of leaving you feeling furtive and sneaky, it leaves you feeling creative and free.
It's not stories that I am thinking about today, though. It's lies. Lies and why people lie. Recently I experienced being lied to and also witnessing a lie. The liars were of both genders, and that's all the identifying information I'll provide. My interest here is in the motivation to lie and my current attempt to understand it. In one case, although the lie was transparent, it was probably motivated by a need to save face rather than own up to an embarrassing lapse in judgment. We see this all the time in the public arena, so it should not be a surprise when one of our friends follows this course. The other lie was not so much transparent as baldfaced. Unfortunately for the liar, the lie had been discovered through some judicious investigation coupled with parental instinct. Therefore, the lie led to a double dose of whuppin'.
Lies seem to be the refuge of weakness. We believe that someone else has power over us and we desire to evade that person's legitimate or illegitimate interference with our desires. So we lie. Some lies are never found out, some are immediately found out, and most seem to drift around for a while in a moral gray area, where they color our impression of who we are and who others are. Our conditioning makes us lie, you might say. If we felt free and strong, we would not need to lie.
Do I ever lie? Sure. If I include exaggeration, omission, reframing (a popular form), polite white lies, and expressions of a convenient helplessness, a complete inventory might indicate that I lie every day. It is not often my intention to mislead. Usually, I lie to smooth a social interaction, save time, or avoid an unwanted experience. Lying, even in these benign forms, does erode my sense of honor, nobility, and safety. If I think about it, there is always something to say that is not a lie. Instead of exaggerating ("The car was going 90 miles an hour!") I could describe the panic I felt ("I thought I was going to be thrown from the car!"). Instead of politely lying ("I love your sweater!"), I could follow the example of Sir Winston Churchill, who, when introduced to an undeniably ugly infant, affirmed, "Now THERE'S a baby!" Usually, lying is a conditioned response. If we think lovingly about the meaning and power of words, we can usually find something to say that is completely true and, more frequently than not, in its own way, completely beautiful.
My recommendation: when faced with the temptation to lie, tell a story instead! It's more fun, it can lead to something positive, and instead of leaving you feeling furtive and sneaky, it leaves you feeling creative and free.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
First blog of the season
"You know you want to!" This is the counterpoint to that other inner voice that insists on being heard when I start something new, the one that says "No, wait! It could be dangerous!" As the voices escalate their volume in my roomy mental domain, my fingers type these words regardless of the debate. It seems that my body is on the side of the daring voice, not the cautious one.
Great! I do want to! Never an early adopter, even in the best of times, I admit to being nudged into the blogosphere as the result of starting a new job. People who are younger and hipper than I am insisted that blogging is something I should experience. And now, having jumped off this particular cliff, I intend to gaze serenely at the passing images as I descend.
Like (I imagine) most bloggers, I invite a response from any reader. To try something new and then to find new connections because of this (however modest) act of daring -- that seems to me to be a wonderful possibility. I'll let you know if anyone writes back.
Great! I do want to! Never an early adopter, even in the best of times, I admit to being nudged into the blogosphere as the result of starting a new job. People who are younger and hipper than I am insisted that blogging is something I should experience. And now, having jumped off this particular cliff, I intend to gaze serenely at the passing images as I descend.
Like (I imagine) most bloggers, I invite a response from any reader. To try something new and then to find new connections because of this (however modest) act of daring -- that seems to me to be a wonderful possibility. I'll let you know if anyone writes back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)