Sunday, October 9, 2016

False Paradigms of the Abortion Battle

Like many of us, I've been watching the Trump candidacy implode after the recent revelation of his lewd comments. It's not surprising but it's still scandalous. It strips away all illusions that this man could be worthy of the Oval Office.

And yet, some people continue to insist that Trump is the only hope of the pro-life movement, because "abortion is the only issue that matters." It's the defining issue for a presidency, some say, for it sets the moral character of the nation. So they put all their hope in a pro-life candidate because they believe that he will appoint Supreme Court justices who will overturn Roe vs. Wade and turn the tide on the culture of death. These are the people who say, "Focus on the platform, not on the person." As in, don't pay attention to Trump's character or personality or anything he says, even though he will be the face of America to the whole world and also to our children. Just think about the things that the conservative movement will be able to achieve with him, whereas the pro-life movement and religion in general will be squashed under Hillary.

This is short-sighted and wrong-headed. And here's why.

There is an assumption embedded into all of this, and that assumption is that the hinge for turning abortion around is to be found in the legal system, in the exercise of power from the top. I don't deny that laws carry pedagogical weight, and that they are an important lever of power. But I think the true lever for overturning Roe vs. Wade is not going to come through the law or through the exercise of power. Legal decisions are completely sterile and impermanent if there is no change of heart, or change of mind paving the way. The real power is not to impose something on an unwilling and unconvinced population, but to persuade and to win hearts so that the law expresses something that many people already fervently believe to be right.

Case in point: we witnessed a tipping point last year with the legalization of same-sex marriage. But the Supreme Court decision was preceded by cultural sea change, a widespread acceptance of something that had been immensely unpopular just ten years before. In May 2015, a Gallup poll found that 60% of Americans supported same-sex marriage. So for most people, the court only confirmed something they already stood behind.

This is a lesson in how change happens. You can't force something on people who don't agree with it and expect to get by with no backlash. Some pro-lifers expect that an authoritarian Trump presidency and a future conservative Supreme Court will force the issue. This is an unlikely scenario for two reasons: first, how exactly would America's most unpopular president in history -- presiding over the most polarized (and probably increasingly Democratic) Congress in history -- ever get his nominees appointed? And second, the next president, guaranteed to be a Democrat, would simply reverse as much as he could. And let's not forget the grassroots backlash from an angry populace. We would end up worse off than before. Forced gains are unstable gains.

But it's a different story if a sufficient majority -- not necessarily an absolute majority -- already wants it. The law is more likely to stick if the prevailing sentiment supports it. So instead of looking for the outward victories of laws and restrictions, we should be focusing on the Kulturkampf, the culture war. Hearts and minds, baby, hearts and minds!

How? I think there is a way, but there is also an obstacle that prevents us from seeing it clearly.

The obstacle is that we are stuck inside a false paradigm. The pro-choice vs. pro-life divide is structured around two compelling values that are set into an artificial opposition. Pro-lifers uphold the value of the babies, the most innocent of us all, the little heartbeats that can be heard as early as five weeks. And pro-choicers uphold the value of women, particularly of their self-determination as a keystone of their dignity and freedom. Pro-life is about babies. Pro-choice is about women. How terribly ironic that the closest embrace in nature -- between a mother and her child -- has become such a battleground of false oppositions.

In my opinion, only the pro-life movement has the power to break this false paradigm. How? By reaching out to the positive values that have made the pro-choice movement resonate with so many people. Pro-lifers need to continue being champions for unborn babies, but they also need to be the greatest champions of women the world has ever seen. Certainly, many pro-lifers already are! But the rest of us need to follow suit.

There is a special opportunity here. Think about it: the pro-choice side cannot coopt the value of babies. It would negate its own platform to give extra value to the baby, which is already referred to in reductive language as a fetus or a ball of tissue. But the pro-life side can certainly reach out to the value of women without negating our deep concern for the baby. We can do so much if we widen our embrace to help women more, to give them a greater sense of freedom and self-determination, to give them more options than just abortion. The pro-life side has to empower women and trust women like never before.

Like it or not, it looks like Hillary Clinton will be president come November. And probably many decisions will be made over the coming years to make it easier for women to get and pay for abortions. Perhaps taxpayer funding of abortion will make us all complicit, like it or not. But aren't we already all complicit insofar as we have been complacent?

My problem is I've been waiting for someone else to do the work of changing the law... when what really needs to be changed are hearts. It seems to me that most women get abortions because they are overcome with fear and anxiety; they don't feel ready, they have no money, they can't handle a special needs baby's many time-consuming requirements, they don't have a supportive partner or family, or they just weren't planning on this happening right now. Perhaps some were victims of race or incest.

Our question should be: what can we do to help take away that fear and replace it with confidence and hope? I think it can only happen when there are enough caring people to support each woman in need that she can breathe a sigh of relief and say, "Okay, maybe I can do this after all" or "I trust that my baby will be well cared for in an adoptive family." I think most women want to love their babies. They are just so afraid. And helping them win that quiet, interior victory over fear can save a life.

And of course prayer is essential -- prayer and grace also help love and trust to overcome fear -- but it has to work in tandem with real, effective support. We can't just pray for people to be courageous and accept their baby, but then not do anything to help them. Perhaps even just a little support would be enough to tip the balance. Another point as well: I think we have to be careful to pray in places and in ways that are not going to be perceived as an attack on women. Praying outside abortion clinics might seem like the right thing to do, but I think most women -- the ones you are trying to win over, right? -- experience it as a condemnation or even sometimes as an attack. And that only reinforces the fear.

The upshot: Roe vs. Wade isn't going to change until our culture changes, and our culture isn't going to change until we roll up our sleeves and get involved. Love, not law, is the most powerful lever of change. Love for babies, and also love for women. We won't win until we widen our embrace to make room for both, and until we empower women to overcome fear with love and hope.

Saturday, July 23, 2016

Three Favorite Walking Songs

Lately I've been partial to long walks, which have gradually been evolving into sweaty, painful runs through Florida's humid heat. And along the way, my constant companion is music.

I'm partial to sad, melancholic bands with a bit of barroom oomph and/or embedded crescendos. So let me introduce you to three of my favorites:

Exhibit A: The Strumbellas: "Spirit"

This is actually a new favorite but I can tell it's going to be sticking around. Aside from the sound, which has lots of interesting surprises -- the vocals that sound like a bunch of guys singing in a bar, the rollicking beat, and the lead singer's winsome voice -- there are also the lyrics. There's the chorus of "I got guns in my head, spirits in my head and they won't go... the gun still rattles, the gun still rattles, ohhhh" but there are also the in-between lyrics about not wanting to keep running and "waiting for my day to come" and living a half-life out of fear. It's about just plunging into your true life with hope, courage, and honesty.

Exhibit B: The Lumineers: "Angela"

The Lumineers always have interesting lyrics, and this one does not disappoint. But first, let's talk about the music. It starts off with an intimate, acoustic feel but gradually builds with a kind of down-home stomp-the-floor intensity that has almost a foreboding or urgently beseeching quality to it. But what I like best are the lyrics:

When you left this town, with your windows down
And the wilderness inside

Let the exits pass, all the tar and glass
'Til the road and sky align

The strangers in this town,
They raise you up just to cut you down
Oh Angela it's a long time coming

And your Volvo lights lit up green and white
With the cities on the signs

But you held your course to some distant war
In the corners of your mind

From the second time around
The only love I ever found
Oh Angela it's a long time coming

Home at last

Were you safe and warm in your coat of arms
With your fingers in a fist

Did you hear the notes, all those static codes
In the radio abyss?

Strangers in this town,
They raise you up just to cut you down
Oh Angela it's a long time coming
Oh Angela spent your whole life running

Home at last
Home at last

Vacancy, hotel room, lost in me, lost in you
Angela, on my knees, I belong, I believe

Home at last
Home at last
Home at last
Home at last

Home at last, hmm

How beautiful is that? Again, a dominant theme of coming home, of finding one's true life, of not living a shadow life built on lies. It's a call to honesty, authenticity, to facing down pain and moving through it with courage, and then finding someone real on the other side of it all. "Home at last."

Exhibit C: Boy and Bear: Southern Sun

I've been obsessed with this one for months. The opening 30 seconds are kind of painful (not my favorite) but the guitars and the way the sound gels in the rest of the song is just so... satisfying. The sound reminds me a lot of Fleetwood Mac, which is also one of my favorite groups (never get sick of "You Make Loving Fun" and "Gypsy" and a host of others) but of course this group is not just a replay by any means. And as for the lyrics, the part that speaks to me is this:

So come on, come on I'm ready now
Go get your things out honey, let's get ready to roll
Oh I can feel the wave coming over me
I've been waiting for this day too long just to let it all go

So once again, a song about hope, resolve, and standing up to embrace something new. It's a song for a watershed moment.

So there you have it. Three good ones to enjoy on your own walk through life. They sound much better on iTunes than they do on these videos, by the way...

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Daesh's Dirty Fuel

The news about the Paris terror attacks hit me while we were enjoying an evening festivity on the beach. I was reading about a rising death count and hostages trapped inside a concert hall while watching my kids shimmy to "La Vida es Un Carnaval." It felt incongruous, to say the least.

I predict, like many others, that these attacks will continue and will grow in frequency. ISIS -- or rather, Daesh, to use the more appropriately derogative term -- is fueled by hatred whipped up to a frenzy. For an interesting perspective on why and how that hatred grows, Cass Sunstein offers a really interesting sociological analysis to complement the historical and cultural reasons that are also operative.

There is power in hatred, of course. It's an explosive passion, and it will fuel bold action. A people driven by hatred will leave a trail of destruction behind, like the smoking wreck following Smaug's orgy of destruction.

But how do you defeat a dragon?  Do you fight fire with fire?  Do you match their hatred with yours? Is the reaction of the West going to be to stir up a conflagration of fear, suspicion, and hatred against Muslims? Or is there some alternative way, perhaps a tiny chink in the scales that can be exploited?

Responding to hatred with hatred would actually be feeding the dragon. On the one hand, we have to respond to the threat with force -- I'm not suggesting we offer flowers to people who are beyond the point of rational dialogue and who have demonstrated a depth of depravity and evil that beggars the imagination. We must speak the only language they understand: power. They cannot be contained or reasoned with. They must be defeated with decisive strength.

But the moral fuel behind our response should not so much be hatred for them as love for our own cultures and peoples. Hatred is a dirty fuel that leaves pollution behind it in the form of hidden costs whose bill we have to pay later on. Politicians who use hatred to fuel their own rise to power are not inherently constructive people, no matter their claims to have the secret to a country's greatness.

I'm all for patriotism and loyalty to country. It might be because I see my country more through the prism of what it once was or what it ought to be, rather than what is really there. That's a valid criticism; it might also be a typical quality of love that it sees what we can be, not just what we are. But isn't also possible that who we could be is just beneath the surface of what we are now? Sometimes extreme events make us rise out of our mediocrity and catch a glimpse, once again, of our true mettle.

There can be an unexpectedly transcendent side to tragedies, because they can slice into the heart of a people and reveal what we are made of. In some cases, they also shape a national character, because we choose how to respond. And that choice, to some degree, defines us anew. As long as hatred or fear do not coopt our response, it can be an inflection point for growth and unity.

The jihadists want France and the West to be afraid and to begin to hate. They don't care if Muslims are the target of that hatred; in fact, they would be pleased to see Western governments crack down on Muslim populations and subject them to unfair treatment, because that would feed into their narrative that the West is an aggressor that hates Islam. Disproportionate or unjust restrictions against ordinary Muslims would drive new recruits into their arms. Likewise, the rise of xenophobic far-right groups would betray the West's highest ideals, corroding the national discourse and bringing out our ugliest impulses to exclusion, prejudice, and hatred.

In addition to the necessary use of force to crush Daesh abroad, we also have to look for the chink in the dragon's armor, the hidden weakness to be exploited. Is it the claim to religious legitimacy? In that case, as Graeme Wood argued, the best response would be to prevent its so-called prophecies from coming true. If the caliphate does not expand geographically, Daesh will begin to look like just another failed state, not the 21st century version of an inexorably victorious Mohammed. Is the weakness its own shaky unity with fellow jihadists? The power struggles between Daesh and Al-Qa'ida are still going on, and some foreign fighters have given up the fight, discouraged that they are not killing Assad's men as they had hoped, but are instead killing rival jihadists. Perhaps intelligence services could also focus on sowing internal discord within Daesh, so that they can no longer distinguish between friend and foe. If they crack down on their fellow jihadists, then many fighters would become ever more disillusioned and wonder, in their heart of hearts, if Daesh is really everything it claims to be.

Daesh's dirty fuel is its hatred of the West, situated in its simplistic good-versus-evil narrative. I think our efforts to crush them militarily (and also financially, by cutting off their funding and supply lines) should be complemented by a more subtle form of psychological warfare to dilute their passion and belief in their cause. The Vietnamese used psychological warfare against the United States, Henry Kissinger argued, by dragging out the Vietnamese War and making it seem like a road to nowhere, an ongoing hemorrhage of money and blood. Support for the war unraveled, especially on college campuses, and domestic political pressures contributed to its ending with a whimper, not a bang.

We need to try analogous tactics with Daesh. In addition to military tactics like airstrikes, we need to unravel its legitimacy from within, doing whatever we can to defeat the ideology, the hate-filled virus that infects and begets new zombies by the thousands. On the grassroots level in Western countries, I think the best qualified individuals to fight the virus are the Muslim communities themselves, perhaps even the Syrian refugees who can testify, firsthand, to the monstrosity of Daesh in their former homeland.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Between Magnetic Poles

Today I was translating a text about a painter from Andalusia and there was a line in the original that gave me a lever, a way of understanding or cross-sectioning the world we live in.

The line was "la sensibilidad artística andaluza se sitúa entre el caos creativo y el orden constructivo" [the Andalusian artistic sensibility is situated between creative chaos and constructive order]. It was referring to how two opposing poles coexist in the same society, reaching expression in the works of a single painter -- and yet instead of becoming a source of deadlock, frustration, incoherence, or conflict, they are a source of tremendous fecundity.

This set off a spiral of thoughts:

Tensions, oppositions, differences are all a gift. They are challenging to manage, but true creativity arises from the bringing together of completely disparate and unexpected realities, approaches, ideas, avenues of thought -- so the effort to harvest all those hidden fruits is well worth it. We can always do more together if we work through the tensions between our differences and find a superior "third way" that we would never have found if it weren't for the challenge of the other who makes us go beyond our assumptions.

Yet, the ordinary temptation is to view these differences as an obstacle to happiness, prosperity, harmony, and peace. The refugee crisis in Germany: what a challenge to integrate all of those Syrians who have just barely escaped from hell and who want to start a new life. They are from a completely different culture, religion, background. Germany: so precise, punctual, ordered... and refugees from chaos. Yet, what a tremendous opportunity for Germany to defy the darkness in its past by writing a more generous and humanitarian chapter in its future. The country that once sent trains of Jewish refugees to death camps in the East is now receiving another sort of refugee, also from the East, and giving them shelter and the chance at a better life. It looks like reparation.

Angela Merkel said that the current influx could change Germany's demographics, and that the nation as Germans know it is going to change. But perhaps there is also a deeper level to that change: not only will the external demographics change, but there will be a significant shift in the German identity, so laden with guilt even generations after World War II. It's a new beginning -- if, and only if, the inevitable tensions are handled with grace, patience, ongoing dialogue, and the quest for a better way than the false alternatives presented by groups on the political extremes.

I think of that also with the rise of Paul Ryan to the position of Speaker of the House. He is also facing a "house divided" between left and right, two factious extremes that cannot seem to agree on the time of day, let alone momentous questions that shape the future of a nation and impact the entire world. I think this is the direction that US leadership should take, both at home and abroad: we are always going to face huge differences of opinion, and somehow we have to take all those opinions to the table and work through them to find a creative solution on the other side. It is difficult, delicate work, and it requires tact, diplomacy, clarity, and extraordinary communication and leadership skills.

I think of this also in regard to the election of the next US president. What scares me most about Donald Trump is his simplistic bulldozer approach to problems that are so much more complex than he seems to acknowledge. How will he deal with Putin? "We'll get along." What?? What is his foreign policy program?  "I'll make America great again. No more losing deals on trade." What does that even mean? I picture him trying to bully his way across the international arena, accentuating all the worst characteristics of America abroad, trying to solve problems by throwing money at them, alienating our allies and sparking disgust and derision among our enemies. We can't afford that in our next leader. We need a statesman, not a bombastic demagogue whose baseline assumption is that money solves every problem and overcomes every difference.

Here is another thought: Islam, the religion of submission, often touted as the religion of peace. I think the essential genius of Islam is that it seeks to obliterate diversity and difference (in this case, of belief and moral praxis) by forcing submission to a single set of ideas. (Not every branch of Islam, of course, but the radical branch that endorses sharia law and jihad.) Radical Islam fears differences, and I wonder if it is because it is predicated on an idea of purity frozen in time, like an insect encased in amber, and any processes that involve dialogue and seeking out creative solutions to bridge differences are necessarily suspect because they also entail the possibility of change. Entering into dialogue with the Other tends to change us; it provokes shifts, sometimes small and sometimes seismic, in the way we perceive reality, ourselves, and the other. This is threatening to a system of beliefs whose lodestar is an ideal of pure [understood as unchanging, without innovation] religious practice. Radical Islam cannot adapt to the Other because it knows that the Other poses a threat to its fragile, brittle, rigid identity. It cannot change itself -- it will not change itself -- so it must change the other, force the other to submit. Only when the entire world has submitted to Islam will this radical branch rest, because then the threat of change will be gone.

Why are some people, or some groups, so threatened by change? Is it psychologically so difficult to assimilate change, to evolve with time, to be challenged and to find oneself adapting in response? I guess it is difficult to the degree that we approach life with the misguided idea that we have arrived, or that our work is finished.

I appreciate the constructivist idea that we are constantly making ourselves, as Kierkegaard also argued. Of course, there is an aspect of ourselves that is given and endowed and relatively unchanging (even on the physical level, I am not going to reach 6'2" because I cannot will my body to change however I want). Yet, on the spiritual level -- on the level of ourselves that engages in relationships that are not limited only to the physical -- we can change and develop in drastic ways. We are constantly "creating" who we are through our choices, not just in the externals of where we end up or what circumstances surround us, but in the very interior dimension of identity and convictions and moral fiber and allegiances. We are a constant work in progress. This is the human condition, so we should not be threatened by change at all. We should relish it, enjoy it!

So, tensions, oppositions, differences force us to grow. They demand effort, because we have to find a way to build a bridge between two opposing poles. But I think it can be done, and it can be beautiful! So the right way forward is not to fear those differences at all, but to approach them thoughtfully, looking for a creative solution, and being willing to be changed.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

On Fishy Burps and the Reset Button

While wandering around in a local GNC the other day, I found myself slightly overwhelmed by the superabundance of vitamin choices, each one promising me essential nutrients that my body needs RIGHT NOW.

The fish oil capsules in particular caught my eye. Brain health, hmmm... Could those translucent orange capsules make me less forgetful and more on top of my life?

"No fishy burps" and "Burp-less fish oil," the labels promised... which I found utterly charming. You mean to tell me that fishy burps are practically a trademarked *thing*? That other people suffer them, too? And that there is now a solution to the problem of concentrated anchovy or krill belches!?  I need to know more!

Ah, the power of marketing...


Something fishy about that face...
Speaking of marketing, there is also the rise of Donald Trump. When he first appeared on the scene, I thought he was just seeking a bigger audience for preening purposes and an excuse to tell everyone that "I'm really, really rich." But apparently, he has been making giant strides, with 24% of Republicans now supporting his candidacy, compared to only 4% in May. What? Are we crazy? I know American politics look like a freak show, but this is too much.

Fishy burps indeed.

The whole unexpected surge of support for The Donald (not to be confused with Donald Duck, although the similarities are striking) has got me thinking again about the difference between a reaction and a response. It's a familiar idea, but so perennially true that it deserves to be highlighted again.

Reactions are negative, emotional, short-term, focused on striking back against something that causes us angst or pain. To react is to hit back swift and hard, to mutter an obscenity, to curse the darkness.

A response, by contrast, is a positive answer to something good that touches the heart or awakens the mind. We respond to the siren call of something excellent, true, or beautiful. We find an echo in ourselves, and the response is also an act of self-recognition. I respond because something in me finds that this good person or thing that I love expresses a piece of me, or of the person I feel called to become. To respond is to open one's hand to another, to echo and mirror something beautiful, to light a candle.

"It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness." Apparently, the founder of Amnesty International was the first to use the phrase, back in 1961. Now, in 2015, Trump is raking in the support by cursing the darkness right and left, perhaps sometimes even exaggerating it when it serves his interests. (A novel technique for politicians, I'm sure.) And people who are also disgusted with the status quo and sick of the usual array of politicians are on board, united by shared hatred and frustration.

If this is the way we build, based on a shared hatred, then we're in for a rough ride.


I've been struck lately by the power of Choice in a relationship -- in a totally positive sense. My marriage, stamped and certified as Human, has the typical good days and meh days. There are mornings when we just start off wrong: someone is tense about something, or there is an impatient reaction, or someone (okay, me) forgot something important. So sometimes our gears jam up and we find ourselves "refunfuñando," which, contrary to the appearance of the word, is not the least bit fun.

This is me when I am woken up before 9:00 a.m.
Def. "refunfuñar": to grumble. Think Grumpy of the 7 Dwarves. (Because everything in life can somehow be explained with a Disney character.)

But one thing we do extraordinarily well is hit the magical Reset Button. This is when it rocks to have a really bad memory -- "Hi, I'm Dory" -- me by nature, JC by choice. Both of us have the ability to stop, catch the spiraling dynamic, and turn it all around. We say a quick "I'm sorry" with a rueful grin and then we just keep swimming, just keep swimming... and it actually works. I've been impressed at how this man is able to say, "I'm sorry, I was wrong." I think it's rare and precious. I never apologize because I'm always right, which is also rare and precious.

So here is my manifesto: no score keeping, no endless Silent Treatments, no Frosty Glare or Read-My-Mind-And-Guess-How-You-Offended-Me-This-Time-Bozo. I could not live with someone who played those games. I can't read your mind, can't guess what you're thinking, and I won't lie because I have no poker face and I won't be able to remember my lies well enough to keep them straight. If you have something to say, well, say it-- and so will I. Then we'll laugh, hug, and continue on. [Caveat: not talking about serious offenses here, just the daily stuff.]

So this is it: a relationship between two flawed people who constantly fall, but who get up again fast because why marinate in resentment when you can make the choice to be happy again and to build something beautiful together? Why live in the past? Why not give people the chance to change? I know some people are resistant to change, but I think that many others are able to grow so much when we give them permission to start over without the old ball and chain miring them in the past.

I guess that's also the idea I have of God and of confession. I know some people have this idea of God as the Judge who is going to read me the list of my failures in a sonorous, gravely voice and then rub it all in my face with Righteous Indignation, but honestly, I've always felt that he is just eager to brush it all aside and pick us up again so that we can keep growing, responding to what is good and what lights us up inside. He's on our side, he has a sense of humor, he gets us, and he doesn't hold grudges.

This is all according to me, because I am the final authority on all things God. I don't want to brag or anything, but I am currently praying a NOVENA to St. Anne, and I can feel my Holiness Quotient growing by leaps and bounds, LEAPS AND BOUNDS, BABY! Don't mind my elbows jabbing your ribs as I push my way forward to heaven ahead of you.

So, we all know that self-recrimination is already a heavy burden when we fail, and there is always a little voice that wants to tell us, "You so totally suck" when what we SHOULD be hearing is "You so totally rock, squirt! Give me some fin. Noggin." When we're at our worst, the forgiveness and humor of another somehow lighten that burden, or even make it slide off our shoulders. But when we let our stuff fester, then even our responses to minor problems tend to take on the quality of a reaction: disproportionate, paranoid, whiny, and butthurt. Fishy burps at their finest.

I just think we have much more power, much more Choice than we realize. I don't mean to suggest that all problems can be solved by airily shaking it off, Taylor Swift style. There are some deeper problems or conflicts that will take much more to resolve, and there are some that are too far gone and that only distance, time, and separation can heal. There are also difficulties that spring from depression, which is certainly not something you can just choose to cast off. I know the idea does not apply across the board.

But with those many caveats aside, I think there is still ample margin for Choice, for the response of love and creativity and fresh starts and lighting candles and all the good that can come from giving others -- and ourselves -- a second chance.


I never did buy the fish oil capsules. Instead, I got an organic women's multivitamin "set" (five or six vitamins to take per day, because more is more and I'm going hardcore now). The pills have some fish oil in it but also tons of other nutrients derived from plants and fruits, so it's like eating a thousand broccolis and kale and greenery and shrubbery and all the good stuff that I don't eat because I'm busy hitting the wonton soup and the fried pork egg rolls.

Well, much to my chagrin and contrary to their marketing fantasies, I now get fishy burps AND organic vegetable burps. A thousand broccoli florets, revisited with my morning coffee. Nice...

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Fresh Slate

Since my husband and I are both fairly prolific Facebook users (my new favorite is Instagram), the two of us have been virtually banging a few pots together announcing to the world that we will move, are moving, have moved from Xalapa, Veracruz to Tampa, Florida.

So here I am in our hotel room in Miami, still buzzing from the flight (and possibly also from the two Stella Artois that I downed along with a massive hamburger). And I want to stop and take a moment to separate the signal from the noise.

The signal is what this moment means -- and the noise is the sum of all the immediate, practical concerns that make up the obstacle course of each day. For us, a big part of the noise was selling all our furniture and as many belongings as possible; then packing, donating, and organizing the leftovers we couldn't sell or bring; then shepherding the girls through various airports; then getting through the dreaded immigration and customs line...

And now we are here. Well, almost "here," since we have yet to make our home. I am standing in front of a blank canvas, brush in hand, relishing the moment with all its possibilities. Hello, Pinterest dreams. All I need is a high-ceilinged house with French doors and endless cascades of sunlight on shiny wood floors... preferably overlooking the Amalfi coast. The Eiffel tower would also be an acceptable substitute.

I won't deny it: this is a sweet, sweet moment. I'm happy. I feel liberated after having gotten rid of almost all of our past possessions except for a few items of sentimental value. I'm full of expectation, and also pleased that I didn't have to break any bones or drag any unwilling prisoners along behind me to get here. Each thing comes at the proper time. People change. Circumstances change and doors open.

And this is the signal: the message that each gift comes at its proper time, often accompanied by a lot of noise and distraction, sometimes also by a prelude of pain or disappointment. But the gift comes.

This song has been playing in my head a lot ever since I first heard it. This line, in particular: "Millions of balloons tethered to the ground. Weight of the world tries to hold us down. Cut the strings and let me go. I'm weightless... I'm weightless."

"Weightless" by Natasha Bedingfield

It's ridiculous, but I cry a little every time I hear it. Also the "Let It Go" song from Frozen. Pathetic much? Yes. But it speaks to me. And the cold never bothered me anyway.

So now what? Does a change of place really mark a fresh beginning? Does it change us, or just the accidentals surrounding us? Is there more to life than decorating a new apartment? I'm not sure.

I think a new circumstance like moving can change us if we let it, but most of that change already took place in a quiet, gradual way. Perhaps moving just reveals the changes that were already made. Drop by drop, day by day, living in Xalapa changed me. No one can get married, become a mother, and live in another culture for five years without changing and broadening in some way.

There is not enough space here to detail all those changes, plus I don't really have the perspective to see it all yet, but there is one thought that comes to mind: a kind of letting go of the "tyranny of what if," which is the lingering sense of "what would my life have been if I had taken this other fork in the road?" and the comparing of one's actual self to an imagined alternative self that would have resulted from other decisions.

Nothing torments the "is" like the "shoulda, woulda, coulda." In the end, those are all imaginary -- they don't exist and they aren't real. But who doesn't have at least a few of those specters flying around, especially during the seasons of sacrifice when the going gets tough and it seems like everyone else is having such a great time, or at least an easier time?

There are seasons of sacrifice, and there are also short moments of sacrifice. For example, my littlest baby, Victoria, is a terrible sleeper. I can't get her to nap for more than 20 minutes at a time during the day, and she seems to need me to be attached to her in order to sleep. If I'm not there, she wakes up repeatedly. I have to work at night, so her constant waking up (and needing to be nursed back to sleep, which is a process that takes about 10 to 30 minutes) is agony for me. JC knows that I run upstairs about six or seven times during my nighttime work shifts, and he also knows that I am often in a silent rage of frustration because my baby won't sleep, which means I am up until four in the morning finishing the work that I can only do piecemeal. What I could have done in two hours now takes six hours.

So, while nursing her back to sleep, I am interiorly having a fit because "my life is impossible" and "I can't do this!" and "I'm gonna die." Another refrain, which JC heard frequently from me when I was sick and working late into the night was: "The universe hates me." I didn't want to name any Names, but Someone with the power to make my life easier was withholding the love. Or so it seemed.

The other day I had a small epiphany about these situations, and I think it was a moment of grace because it gave me the key to know how to calm myself down and change channels in the future. We were in a taxi on our way to the Veracruz airport, which was about an hour and a half ride. I was exhausted and it was V's nap time, but she was writhing this way and that on my lap, totally unwilling to calm down and sit still, much less sleep. She was not in pain, just restless about being stuck in a taxi (and I know this because as soon as we got out of the car, she was screeching with joy and happiness). Since I was already tired and frustrated that she wouldn't rest (when she doesn't rest, I can't rest either, not even if JC carries her), I was starting to get that desperate feeling again and my interior temperature was starting to rise. "Why won't she sit still? Am I not allowed to rest EVER? WHY, God, WHYYYY?" Cue interior whining.

But then I had a slight interior shift -- like when the chiropractor moves some bones around and things fall into place -- and I thought, "Instead of fussing that V is not acting like I think she should act, why don't I just accept that this is how it is? This is how she is right now. Stop thinking that you're going to rest in this taxi ride, because it ain't gonna happen. It will be over soon. Just roll with it." I somehow relaxed in the saddle, and the rest of the ride wasn't quite so frustrating. And in the end, she also calmed down a little -- at least enough for me to be able to stare vacantly out the window, which was all I really wanted out of that taxi ride.

So that was my lesson. In a microcosm, it was my biggest takeaway from five years in Xalapa. Instead of interiorly fussing and whining that things are not the way they ought to be (according to me), why not just accept the way that they are and try to work with that? Relax in the saddle and enjoy the ride. A few acts of acceptance never hurt nobody.

I'm really good at learning lessons when the time for applying them is pretty much over.

But I will remember this: the seasons of sacrifice are not forever. Ride what comes your way and keep hope in the future. The universe does not hate you; God loves you. But Obi wan Kenobi says that you must learn that the world does not revolve around you and your expectations. So lighten up, let go, and breeeeeaaaaaathe like a Zen master.

Toward the end of our time in Xalapa, JC and I visited a few places that were significant for us starting out, and we both commented that it felt like we had come "full circle." There was a sense of closure, of saying goodbye and closing a chapter for good. I'm sure for him there was a sense of sadness and some nostalgia. For me, there was a sense of furtive joy and elation. It's over! It's finally over! But there was also a sense of life's unpredictability. There was a time when I thought that I was going to be in Xalapa for another ten years or more. But life changed.

Now I have this five-year plan, which I will not disclose for fear of jinxing myself. But I have a feeling that life is going to bring us some surprises, and that the next five years will look nothing like any plan we have agreed on. I hope it brings good things, but I'm also aware that it could bring some tough times... and that once again, we'll just have to hang on and try to enjoy the ride.

So much for the signal. Now back to the noise: DECORATING. I am obsessed and must have an apartment that looks like this. Preferably on a shoestring budget.

Thoughts? Questions? Suggestions? Recommendations for good furniture stores? Please speak: the Zen master is listening.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Motherhood in Dots and Strokes

I've been thinking, for no particular reason at all, about the appeal of minimalism: saying much with few words, or evoking a complete image with just a few strokes. It seems like we have a cognitive tendency to connect the dots when just a few slender ideas are suggested: two arcs on paper become koi fish circling in a pond, or perhaps a woman's demure downward glance.

When little is given, perhaps just the essentials, there is a kind of austere mystery that invites a sense of wondering, and even of imaginative co-creation.

In life as well: we connect the dots. Sometimes the resulting constellation is a flash of insight… but in my case, it's usually just a harebrained interpretation that earns me a single raised eyebrow from my husband -- itself a minimalistic gesture that speaks volumes.

Anyway, thinking of minimalism in writing brings me to the genre of Japanese haiku, which is supposed to bring together two contrasting images in a tightly constrained syllabic structure -- like Twitter on a diet.

So here are a few of my own amateur sketches of the reality that fills my mind and heart every day: being a mother to my two girls. I think any mother would agree that it's impossible to sum it up properly in words, even if we could write volumes, precisely because motherhood is made of such an endless number of experiences -- most completely ordinary, but all somehow significant because of the constant undercurrent of love that goes from our hearts to theirs. And sometimes it's those ordinary moments that capture the essence of the experience...

Connect the dots as you will!


butterfly effect:
a baby's opened eyes cause
the heart's seismic shift


       sparkly silver shoes,
       dirty puddles in the rain:
       opposites attract!


peach fuzz, corkscrew curls--
conspiratorial heads:
and so it begins...


       curls afloat, laughing,
       she runs baptized in sunlight,
       chasing the pigeons


wiping a bottom,
I suddenly feel observed:
bright eyes smile, aware.


       sweet ballerina
       swan in a pale pink tutu
       burps like a swamp frog

sleep's seductive spell
drapes her mind; her fist opens...
I tiptoe away.

Time for the mice to play.

***   ***

walking side by side
you took my hand, smiled at me;
a flame rekindled.