I took a walk with Lucy today. This is a near-daily occurrence; I need to get out of the house, she needs to get out of the house; we both seem to enjoy some time of me pushing her around the neighborhood. I even get some exercise and time to think. Since we bought Lucy a super-cool trike with a pushbar for Momma, she likes it even better.
Except. Sometimes I feel guilty. (Big surprise, right?) Because tho she does like to ride, she likes to walk even more. And stop, and smell things, like flowers (by smell, I mean yank off the stems and occasionally cram them into her mouth). And so while riding strapped to her trike, she waves at flowers and says, Ass? Ass?
I know it means: Hey, Mom, can I get a closer look at those? Down, please.
Except it kind of ruins the momentum and the exercise and the thinking to take a leisurely stop-and-eat-flowers break..
So usually I ignore the gestures and the requests and keep on triking.
But today I felt magnanimous. Plus, she'd earlier put up with a two hour car ride. So I undid her little jerryrigged safety harness (my dad's old belt) and let Lucy gather rosebuds! While she might!
Except, instead of gazing meaningfully at the roadside blossoms, she took off down the sidewalk. Happy as a clam to walk, rather than ride.
That's when I realized I had made a serious miscalculation.
She would not get back on the trike. And since it's the trike, with the jerryrigged harness, and not the stroller, with an actual harness, there was no convincing* her otherwise.
Thankfully, I'd had my moment of magnanimity fairly close to our house, instead of a mile away. Because I had to carry a very wiggly baby part of the way home, while pushing a trike at the same time.
Gather ye toddlers, while ye may.
*"Convincing", ie, strapping her in because I'm bigger than her. Sometimes it pays to have a small kid. Though she is wiry.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
noble morality
I heard about two minutes of an interview with Richard Dawkins yesterday on NPR. It was on Fresh Air, with Terry Gross of the wonderfully comforting voice. Dawkins sounded eminently reasonable and smart, and I always sigh when I hear very hard-line atheists on these programs, because being me, I am always swayed by (as a friend put it) a good argument. And, being Dawkins, of course he had a good argument.
Except I wasn't swayed so much this time. (Perhaps all this time praying through my faith doldrums is helping?)
His argument is that the reason religious people have to be moral is either a) because they think it's God's will, and/or b) because they're afraid of Him punishing them if they're not moral. Which, he says, is not very noble, because it's only being moral because someone is watching us. Much more noble, Dawkins argues, is being moral when you think we're alone in the universe, because then you're doing it for the right reasons--the morality itself.
Except when I thought about it, I don't think he's right.
Dawkins' argument assumes that each of us is this independent, wholly other being that can be separated completely out of the web of interconnectedness that binds us to other people (and I would argue, God). Because morality is, after all, about relationship, is it not? So how can you be "independent" in your morality? I think that's ridiculous. In other words, even the most hard-core atheist considers the opinions and interests of his loved ones (or just the neighbors) when he's deciding whether or not to be moral or not. Which makes his or her morality no more "noble" than anyone else's.
What is morality, anyway, if you take relationship out of the equation? Some kind of cold, scientific decision made in the privacy of our minds? No, it's an acknowledgement of our connectedness to others--our shared humanity, or life, in the case of animals or plants, or the earth. I think were in relationship to God, as well as our neighbors, and so have to weigh His (or Her) opinion and interest just as we weigh others' interests. Because if God is the creator of all of us--he's hardly disinterested. To make an analogy: if someone is mean to Lucy, it affects me, too. It pains me. Just as God is affected by our immorality.
And that idea of us all being independent actors, atomized and separate from everyone around us? I'm tired of that idea. I think it's ridiculous. And vain, and selfish, and probably ridiculous, if we're honest with ourselves. I think this idea is largely a construction of our time, that would seem incomprehensible to most other cultures and times. And I think it is going to be less and less useful as our society runs into the limitations we've been ignoring so long (like depleted water, oil, and natural resources).
So there you go, Richard Dawkins. I think you are a very smart, articulate person, but I heartily disagree with you. Although your accent is pretty sweet.
Except I wasn't swayed so much this time. (Perhaps all this time praying through my faith doldrums is helping?)
His argument is that the reason religious people have to be moral is either a) because they think it's God's will, and/or b) because they're afraid of Him punishing them if they're not moral. Which, he says, is not very noble, because it's only being moral because someone is watching us. Much more noble, Dawkins argues, is being moral when you think we're alone in the universe, because then you're doing it for the right reasons--the morality itself.
Except when I thought about it, I don't think he's right.
Dawkins' argument assumes that each of us is this independent, wholly other being that can be separated completely out of the web of interconnectedness that binds us to other people (and I would argue, God). Because morality is, after all, about relationship, is it not? So how can you be "independent" in your morality? I think that's ridiculous. In other words, even the most hard-core atheist considers the opinions and interests of his loved ones (or just the neighbors) when he's deciding whether or not to be moral or not. Which makes his or her morality no more "noble" than anyone else's.
What is morality, anyway, if you take relationship out of the equation? Some kind of cold, scientific decision made in the privacy of our minds? No, it's an acknowledgement of our connectedness to others--our shared humanity, or life, in the case of animals or plants, or the earth. I think were in relationship to God, as well as our neighbors, and so have to weigh His (or Her) opinion and interest just as we weigh others' interests. Because if God is the creator of all of us--he's hardly disinterested. To make an analogy: if someone is mean to Lucy, it affects me, too. It pains me. Just as God is affected by our immorality.
And that idea of us all being independent actors, atomized and separate from everyone around us? I'm tired of that idea. I think it's ridiculous. And vain, and selfish, and probably ridiculous, if we're honest with ourselves. I think this idea is largely a construction of our time, that would seem incomprehensible to most other cultures and times. And I think it is going to be less and less useful as our society runs into the limitations we've been ignoring so long (like depleted water, oil, and natural resources).
So there you go, Richard Dawkins. I think you are a very smart, articulate person, but I heartily disagree with you. Although your accent is pretty sweet.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
bad playgroup mommy
I joined a playgroup.
It's a pretty cool group of women that meets once a week in random parks and peoples homes. The children are pretty well-behaved (for toddlers) and they play nicely together. Lucy loves it.
Why do I keep putting off going, then?
Each week, I say, "I'm going to playgroup," and then when it gets to be that hour, I hesitate.
I think I'm not a people person. To put it mildly.
The problem with playgroups (and other larger group settings--say, over 5 people) is that I often feel more lonely than when I'm just by myself. I'm surrounded by people, and I think, "They all know each other. No one is talking to me. The voices! Oh, the voices!" Then I start hyperventilating.
Why do I feel so much anxiety in these situations? Give me a four-person group, and I am happy as a clam. I can connect with each person, and I don't worry about forgetting names. Add a few more people, and I am afraid I'm talking too much. Or not enough. I'm wondering if the person I'm talking to is bored. Or I'm bored. Or I think that person over there would surely be more interesting to talk to than the one I am, in fact, talking to.
It's like I revert to the 7th grade playground. Next I'll be saying "Like" after every sentance, and snapping my gum.
Breathe, Heather, breathe.
It's a pretty cool group of women that meets once a week in random parks and peoples homes. The children are pretty well-behaved (for toddlers) and they play nicely together. Lucy loves it.
Why do I keep putting off going, then?
Each week, I say, "I'm going to playgroup," and then when it gets to be that hour, I hesitate.
I think I'm not a people person. To put it mildly.
The problem with playgroups (and other larger group settings--say, over 5 people) is that I often feel more lonely than when I'm just by myself. I'm surrounded by people, and I think, "They all know each other. No one is talking to me. The voices! Oh, the voices!" Then I start hyperventilating.
Why do I feel so much anxiety in these situations? Give me a four-person group, and I am happy as a clam. I can connect with each person, and I don't worry about forgetting names. Add a few more people, and I am afraid I'm talking too much. Or not enough. I'm wondering if the person I'm talking to is bored. Or I'm bored. Or I think that person over there would surely be more interesting to talk to than the one I am, in fact, talking to.
It's like I revert to the 7th grade playground. Next I'll be saying "Like" after every sentance, and snapping my gum.
Breathe, Heather, breathe.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
age appropriate
So Lucy keeps picking up new words. It's pretty awesome, when it isn't confusing. Here's a sampler.
Duh-dee: Could mean Daddy. Or doggie. Or duckie. Or perhaps she has them confused?
Nah-noh: Eleanor? (Our cat) Oatmeal? No-no? You be the judge.
Ass? Ass?: Possibly nurse. Or yes. Or have I been saying inappropriate things?
Things could be worse: I know a friend whose daughter always used to say, very politely, "F$%^ you!"
Which meant "Thank you."
Not sure how long that lasted. But oh, it was funny. For us.
Duh-dee: Could mean Daddy. Or doggie. Or duckie. Or perhaps she has them confused?
Nah-noh: Eleanor? (Our cat) Oatmeal? No-no? You be the judge.
Ass? Ass?: Possibly nurse. Or yes. Or have I been saying inappropriate things?
Things could be worse: I know a friend whose daughter always used to say, very politely, "F$%^ you!"
Which meant "Thank you."
Not sure how long that lasted. But oh, it was funny. For us.
Monday, March 3, 2008
taking a stand
On the back cover of last week's New Yorker is an ad for Allstate. Here's the surprising headline for it: "The average woman spends 11 years out of the workforce taking care of family. Leaving her without enough retirement money to take care of herself." Another paragraph in, they cite that most women will give up 650 k as a result of those years out of the paid workforce.
Wow, I thought when I read that. They're going to advocate for some changes to our nation's social policies/workplace expectations as a way of changing that, and leveling the playing field for caregivers.
Man, was I naive.
Their prescription?
1. Women shoudl make sure they participate in their employer's retirement plan.
2. Women should make sure they invest while they're out of the workforce.
3. Women should make sure they get education so they're motivated to save.
Am I missing something here?
Okay, granted, we all must take responsibility for our futures. We're all participants in this process. But is that really the only part of the solution? Women: take care of everyone! And then, work a little harder, so you don't get screwed! It's all on you already--and now, even more so!
Their tagline: "Let's save retirement by saving for retirement. That's Allstate's stand."
Translation: "Let's transfer responsibility for our ridiculously thin social services in the US to you, the consumer, leaving absurd workplace expectations, and bad politicians off the hook, so we don't have to pay more corporate taxes! America, you're on your own."
What really struck me about this ad was that it's purpose was to make Allstate seem all generous and interested in womens' welfare.
Why did they bother?
How about this for a prescription?
1. Both men and women should get more workplace flexibility to care for their families. They shouldn't be penalized because they're human. They shouldn't be penalized in their careers--by passing up promotions or raises--and they shoudln't be penalized financially--when part-time work is paid a pittance, with no benefits.
2. We should have some state-supported daycare for those parents that would like to keep their jobs, or re-start their jobs when their kids are small. So that people can actually bring home a paycheck, rather than paying for the privilege of working.
3. We should reform social security and the tax laws so that women aren't penalized for providing our society with a) future paid workers b) home care for the sick or elderly that our country is probably not willing to pay for.
4. Talking about realistic taxes to provide healthcare for everyone, so people are slaves to a corporation, just because they need to provide doctors visits for their children.
Let's actually save retirement. And childcare. And healthcare. That's my stand.
Wow, I thought when I read that. They're going to advocate for some changes to our nation's social policies/workplace expectations as a way of changing that, and leveling the playing field for caregivers.
Man, was I naive.
Their prescription?
1. Women shoudl make sure they participate in their employer's retirement plan.
2. Women should make sure they invest while they're out of the workforce.
3. Women should make sure they get education so they're motivated to save.
Am I missing something here?
Okay, granted, we all must take responsibility for our futures. We're all participants in this process. But is that really the only part of the solution? Women: take care of everyone! And then, work a little harder, so you don't get screwed! It's all on you already--and now, even more so!
Their tagline: "Let's save retirement by saving for retirement. That's Allstate's stand."
Translation: "Let's transfer responsibility for our ridiculously thin social services in the US to you, the consumer, leaving absurd workplace expectations, and bad politicians off the hook, so we don't have to pay more corporate taxes! America, you're on your own."
What really struck me about this ad was that it's purpose was to make Allstate seem all generous and interested in womens' welfare.
Why did they bother?
How about this for a prescription?
1. Both men and women should get more workplace flexibility to care for their families. They shouldn't be penalized because they're human. They shouldn't be penalized in their careers--by passing up promotions or raises--and they shoudln't be penalized financially--when part-time work is paid a pittance, with no benefits.
2. We should have some state-supported daycare for those parents that would like to keep their jobs, or re-start their jobs when their kids are small. So that people can actually bring home a paycheck, rather than paying for the privilege of working.
3. We should reform social security and the tax laws so that women aren't penalized for providing our society with a) future paid workers b) home care for the sick or elderly that our country is probably not willing to pay for.
4. Talking about realistic taxes to provide healthcare for everyone, so people are slaves to a corporation, just because they need to provide doctors visits for their children.
Let's actually save retirement. And childcare. And healthcare. That's my stand.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
what I'd really love to know
is those people that are not Christians: does the last post sound like the rantings of a crazed, closed-minded fanatic? Or do you, too, ever get tired of the path you're on? What do you do about it? Is this a problem unique to close-minded Christians, or is this universal? I'd really love to know that.
the twenty year itch
I know all of you are so excited to hear that I'm suffering from another malaise of the spirit and faith. These come up every few months, often in tandem with, well, women's complaints. This time is no exception.
I've been feeling a bit weary with my faith lately.
It started when I forgot my Book of Common Prayer at our house, and thus couldn't use it at my parents. This went on for weeks, and I happily ignored the nice little routine I'd built up of checking in with God every once in a while. Why happily? Because I'm lazy, and there is so much reading material out there that demands my eyeballs. Demands.
Funny thing--when you skip prayer, God starts seeming awful distant.
Add in the feeling still out-of-sorts at our church. Not to blame my church, but Dyami and I haven't quite found our place there with our post-childbearing lifestyle.
So then Lent rolled around, and I decided to use the cycle of the holiday to try to reconnect with God, and so I started reading the New Testament, rather than reading all that other reading material.
This has been a mixed success.
But Jesus? I read a lot of his speeches in John and was just frustrated. Like: why are you so hard on your followers? How are they supposed to know Who the heck you are? and Can you just please speak clearly? and Who are You, exactly? And what difference does that make? and Why do You sound so religious? I want You to sound fresh, not like I've heard a million sermons on these words so much so that they've ceased to have meaning.
Of course, this latter complaint makes little sense. Jesus can't help that I've been a Christian for nearly twenty years. Or that familiar words are, well, familiar. I'm priviledged that I can read and understand the central text of my faith (I was stunned and humbled in Three Cups of Tea when a villiage headman wanted school for his children because he wanted them to be able to read the Koran like he'd always wanted to). But I hate going to church or bible study or reading a passage of beauty and thinking "Been there--done that."
And then there are all the textual criticism things that pop up whenever I read the Bible--like, how literally should I take all this stuff? And what does it mean that the Bible is "God-breathed?" and how do I balance intelligent reading with faithful reading?
Sigh. All these questions make my head spin.
Then I started reading Eat, Pray, Love. Which was really quite fabulous. And an interesting portrayal of this woman's search for God and faith and herself. Especially interesting because it is similar, in some respects, to mine, while being absolutely different all at once.
I could really hear her describing the God I know and love in many passages and experiences. And then there were passages that I disagreed with. Those same passages often made me envious, though. That she could so easily decide to take up the mantle of another faith tradition (well, not easily, exactly--the process sounded a lot harder than anything I've ever attempted with faith)--and assert that we should do the same if ours isn't working for us? That, in the end, the faith traditions are all seeking the same poetic metaphors?
This niggles at me. Sometimes...well, my faith doesn't work for me. Sometimes I feel it is heavy, and difficult. But I wonder: is it my faith, or is it me? Other days, when I remember Who exactly the God I serve is...those days, I realize the faith I have chosen is, well, easy, and it's burden is light. The other days, the God I'm serving is usually one of my own creating. Ie, small and petty and graceless and demanding.
I would like a Christian wiser than me to help me learn how to incorporate the meditation techniques and traditions of other faiths into my own practice. Because I think they have a lot ot teach Christians. So often modern Christianity is so head and intellect based that it leaves my heart out cold.
And I yearn for the transformative experiences Gilbert describes in her book--they sound awesome. So much so I wanted to (at moments) go to India to study with her guru and pray to Shiva.
Except my understanding of Christianity is (as she points out in her introduction) intertwined with Jesus' claim that he is The Way. The Only Way. Which always leaves me wondering how much I am free to pick and choose from cool portions of other faiths, and how much I am supposed to look and not touch.
I kind of feel like I've been married to Christianity (and perhaps not always to Christ. Which may be the problem) for a very long time, and the description of someone else's tumultous and wonderful affair with a different faith is leaving me, well, a bit itchy (then there's the 'seduced by books factor, which always gets me. I beleive everything I read, really).
Except--I'm not a big believer in divorce. What I mean is: I don't want to discard my faith because it isn't sitting right, or it isn't actualizing me. That seems kind of self-centered to me.
Indeed, much as I respect and admire Gilbert for her path--much as I hope I can have as much courage to seek my faith as she had to seek hers--some of her book seems self-indulgent to me. I think, perhaps, at the end of the book, I want to know what's next. Sure, she has come through hell, and healed herself, found God in an amazing way. But is that all? Is that all God leads us to--being right with ourselves?
It's the same problem I often have with Evangelical Christianity--that with all the talk of personal salvation, people forget about helping the poor. That they join six bible studies, but never go visit prisoners. I'm as big of a hypocrite in this area as any one else, I'm sure.
Is faith's ultimate goal just fuzzy warm feelings? Is it just self-esteem? Is it just about finding what I want, what suits me? I don't want to belittle Gilbert's encounter with God--I think good works will flow out of really understanding God's love and acceptance and character--heck, that's why I like Jesus, when I'm not annoyed at Him--but it bothered me, a little bit, that she doesn't make that leap. Perhaps it goes without saying? Perhaps her experience in Bali, helping her friend buy a house, points that way? I don't know.
Sigh. I am all bent out of shape about this post. I don't feel like I'm expressing myself very well, or giving enough credit to what was a wonderful book. Or enough credit to the hard road of finding faith these days. Sometimes it seems to me like we're all so lost, in our modern world of choices. Everything we choose is a freedom. And yet, all that choice--what we eat, what we wear, what our career should look like, our gender identity, how we raise our children, our music, our faith or spirituality--is dizzying. And sometimes I'm skeptical that each of us, locked in our own limitations will be able to find a God that is any bigger than our limitations. And that in discarding all of our traditions--in neglecting them, or disdaining them , we've lost our center and our wisdom. But what other choice (oddly) do we have?
I've been feeling a bit weary with my faith lately.
It started when I forgot my Book of Common Prayer at our house, and thus couldn't use it at my parents. This went on for weeks, and I happily ignored the nice little routine I'd built up of checking in with God every once in a while. Why happily? Because I'm lazy, and there is so much reading material out there that demands my eyeballs. Demands.
Funny thing--when you skip prayer, God starts seeming awful distant.
Add in the feeling still out-of-sorts at our church. Not to blame my church, but Dyami and I haven't quite found our place there with our post-childbearing lifestyle.
So then Lent rolled around, and I decided to use the cycle of the holiday to try to reconnect with God, and so I started reading the New Testament, rather than reading all that other reading material.
This has been a mixed success.
- On the plus side, I've really enjoyed the New Testament. I haven't read it in big chunks like this since college, and it's a fascinating read. I'm just reading it like any other book (rather than studying it, as was my somewhat obsessive habit in college) and I almost see more of the text when I'm not trying to be a scholar or a monk or something. Paul's personality, Jesus' personality, these really come through reading the whole thing in long chunks.
- On the minus side, I find myself kind of annoyed by Jesus.
But Jesus? I read a lot of his speeches in John and was just frustrated. Like: why are you so hard on your followers? How are they supposed to know Who the heck you are? and Can you just please speak clearly? and Who are You, exactly? And what difference does that make? and Why do You sound so religious? I want You to sound fresh, not like I've heard a million sermons on these words so much so that they've ceased to have meaning.
Of course, this latter complaint makes little sense. Jesus can't help that I've been a Christian for nearly twenty years. Or that familiar words are, well, familiar. I'm priviledged that I can read and understand the central text of my faith (I was stunned and humbled in Three Cups of Tea when a villiage headman wanted school for his children because he wanted them to be able to read the Koran like he'd always wanted to). But I hate going to church or bible study or reading a passage of beauty and thinking "Been there--done that."
And then there are all the textual criticism things that pop up whenever I read the Bible--like, how literally should I take all this stuff? And what does it mean that the Bible is "God-breathed?" and how do I balance intelligent reading with faithful reading?
Sigh. All these questions make my head spin.
Then I started reading Eat, Pray, Love. Which was really quite fabulous. And an interesting portrayal of this woman's search for God and faith and herself. Especially interesting because it is similar, in some respects, to mine, while being absolutely different all at once.
I could really hear her describing the God I know and love in many passages and experiences. And then there were passages that I disagreed with. Those same passages often made me envious, though. That she could so easily decide to take up the mantle of another faith tradition (well, not easily, exactly--the process sounded a lot harder than anything I've ever attempted with faith)--and assert that we should do the same if ours isn't working for us? That, in the end, the faith traditions are all seeking the same poetic metaphors?
This niggles at me. Sometimes...well, my faith doesn't work for me. Sometimes I feel it is heavy, and difficult. But I wonder: is it my faith, or is it me? Other days, when I remember Who exactly the God I serve is...those days, I realize the faith I have chosen is, well, easy, and it's burden is light. The other days, the God I'm serving is usually one of my own creating. Ie, small and petty and graceless and demanding.
I would like a Christian wiser than me to help me learn how to incorporate the meditation techniques and traditions of other faiths into my own practice. Because I think they have a lot ot teach Christians. So often modern Christianity is so head and intellect based that it leaves my heart out cold.
And I yearn for the transformative experiences Gilbert describes in her book--they sound awesome. So much so I wanted to (at moments) go to India to study with her guru and pray to Shiva.
Except my understanding of Christianity is (as she points out in her introduction) intertwined with Jesus' claim that he is The Way. The Only Way. Which always leaves me wondering how much I am free to pick and choose from cool portions of other faiths, and how much I am supposed to look and not touch.
I kind of feel like I've been married to Christianity (and perhaps not always to Christ. Which may be the problem) for a very long time, and the description of someone else's tumultous and wonderful affair with a different faith is leaving me, well, a bit itchy (then there's the 'seduced by books factor, which always gets me. I beleive everything I read, really).
Except--I'm not a big believer in divorce. What I mean is: I don't want to discard my faith because it isn't sitting right, or it isn't actualizing me. That seems kind of self-centered to me.
Indeed, much as I respect and admire Gilbert for her path--much as I hope I can have as much courage to seek my faith as she had to seek hers--some of her book seems self-indulgent to me. I think, perhaps, at the end of the book, I want to know what's next. Sure, she has come through hell, and healed herself, found God in an amazing way. But is that all? Is that all God leads us to--being right with ourselves?
It's the same problem I often have with Evangelical Christianity--that with all the talk of personal salvation, people forget about helping the poor. That they join six bible studies, but never go visit prisoners. I'm as big of a hypocrite in this area as any one else, I'm sure.
Is faith's ultimate goal just fuzzy warm feelings? Is it just self-esteem? Is it just about finding what I want, what suits me? I don't want to belittle Gilbert's encounter with God--I think good works will flow out of really understanding God's love and acceptance and character--heck, that's why I like Jesus, when I'm not annoyed at Him--but it bothered me, a little bit, that she doesn't make that leap. Perhaps it goes without saying? Perhaps her experience in Bali, helping her friend buy a house, points that way? I don't know.
Sigh. I am all bent out of shape about this post. I don't feel like I'm expressing myself very well, or giving enough credit to what was a wonderful book. Or enough credit to the hard road of finding faith these days. Sometimes it seems to me like we're all so lost, in our modern world of choices. Everything we choose is a freedom. And yet, all that choice--what we eat, what we wear, what our career should look like, our gender identity, how we raise our children, our music, our faith or spirituality--is dizzying. And sometimes I'm skeptical that each of us, locked in our own limitations will be able to find a God that is any bigger than our limitations. And that in discarding all of our traditions--in neglecting them, or disdaining them , we've lost our center and our wisdom. But what other choice (oddly) do we have?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)