as the kids and i walk together, as we sit with friends at a table, as i stand next to a woman i am comfortable with, the thought, "what do people think of us" crosses my mind. do people pass by us as they walk and see us coming towards them, or see us at a table having a meal, do they attempt to categorize us. where are we from? who are we? what do we do for work or play? who are we with?
people do it to all the time, everyone does it to the people around them, but i wonder how closely people can come when they do this while looking at me and the people i love. If i am alone with my kids, a pre-college jock-punk, a mid-high school bohemian chick and an elementary school ball of energy; who do people think we are? when we are traveling, do people know i am a single dad? as we laugh and joke with each other, it’s clear that we are happy; do they think that’s good, given moms death? or do they look and immediately know we are divorce survivors who have found the way to stay connected, even when forces pull us apart? is all of this unclear to them and they just think mom walked away for a few minutes and expect a curly haired woman to come up to us with a big smile and natural organizational skills.
when we go out with other families, families who do not have a father, do people look at them and think we are a large and loud single unit, rather than the two smaller families who have simply thrown our lots together and move with a natural flair of people who enjoy each others company.
these are questions that are closely related to the, ”can people tell i am an american” that i play with when traveling for business. the first time this was clear to me was the 4 AM transit flight into frankfurt a few years ago. i walked into the business class lounge, before i could open my mouth the fraulein behind the desk said, “hello, can i help you?” the shock that she could identify me as an english speaker was real. my family is a mix of every respectable european country, I can easily be mistaken for irish, english, dutch or german, but somehow, I am sure, she knew I was an american. I realize it’s not shocking, i can do the same most of the time, telling the difference between germans and brits by random mannerisms and clothing, but it was clear to me that my nationality shows through in a discernable way.
i was shopping in an outdoor market a few months ago, I was looking at a buddhist bracelet, called a dzi, which channels energy and can be customized for the wearer in order to provide the energy boosts required for each person. the owner of the stall looked at me and said, “this one is for people in management, it will provide five good energies and remove four bad energies, this would be good given your job”. i had never met this person before, but he had picked me out as a manager who needed nine energies to be rechanneled. this is despite the cargo shorts, pink t-shirt and flip flops which i was sure made me look more like an aging surfer than the general manager of a company.
so now i walk with my kids, with my friends, with my co-workers, with families for which i am not an official member and i question what people think the relationships are. can people tell who and what we are just by looking at us? can they see who we are just by watching us look at and talk with each other? can they see the comfort, the passion, the commitment to each other? can they feel the pain of the histories some of us carry with us?
within the asian community there is a strong question of “what would people think”. this helps to drive the people in the community to either keep actions to those which they are comfortable with everyone knowing, or to go to great lengths to ensure no one will ever know when they act in ways that require privacy. as an american there is an assumption of privacy, as well as a lack of concern with what people think. my father taught us to say, “who gives a f--- what people think”, its our life and we can live it anyway we want to.
but the question is, when people see us leading our lives. when they see the groups, the smiles, the bumps of the shoulder, the kisses on the cheek during hello and goodbye, when they hear the mix of languages at our table, what do they think? who do they think we are?
we are a modern family, we travel, we share many things other families would keep private and we have a good time. i am almost definitely sure everyone can tell that about us.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
sadness
i met someone a few days ago who is a strange mix, the first thing you notice is the beauty, the light that comes through her skin from inside, it is like she is glowing as she moves. as I watch the glow, it feels like the escaping of energy she stored from the strong sunlit days of her youth, now pouring out of her adding to the lightness of her personality. this is countered by a sadness that passes over her face, but stays visible in her dark emotional eyes. the depth of her expression, changes from serious and concentrated to light, warm and happy within a moment. this happens when she remembers to smile, the brightness of the smile explodes with a power that is almost felt as a physical force.
this person moves deliberately in her light and delicate shoes, the impression one takes is that she could be a dancer, but is weighed down with memories of the past or worries for the future which stop the steps from being free. rather she takes delicate steps, careful to not slip on a spill someone has made around her while she was not looking. she moves through her day, watching those around her, waiting to help someone with simple requests which will move their morning forward. the deeper, personal thoughts sometimes crossing her eyes, but never changing her steps.
as I watch this new friend, i wonder about her life, what was the first memory she has from her youth, what things have brought her joy, what has given her sadness. the mix of the good and bad, lightness and darkness, the pressure and the release are the things that make us each who we are. the strains of life are the events which push us down the roads of our lives. when we meet someone who has both happy and sad parts of themselves so visible and intriguing, the desire to know more is lit.
the sadness of her eyes, wiped away by her smile, is a wonderful transition to watch. like dark storm clouds which have built in the sky over a long and tiring day, magically blown away and replaced by the bright sunlight of an african summer morning. this smile is one that will be hard to forget, it warms the people around it and lights even a pleasantly lit room with added warmth and energy.
i may not have the opportunity to see these dark eyes or this smile again. as our lives drift apart, i will remember the expressions and i will hope that there is less sadness and more of the bright wonderful smile. the light of the smile will be the memory i carry with me, but the darkness of the beautiful eyes will also come to mind, both will make me smile sadly.
this person moves deliberately in her light and delicate shoes, the impression one takes is that she could be a dancer, but is weighed down with memories of the past or worries for the future which stop the steps from being free. rather she takes delicate steps, careful to not slip on a spill someone has made around her while she was not looking. she moves through her day, watching those around her, waiting to help someone with simple requests which will move their morning forward. the deeper, personal thoughts sometimes crossing her eyes, but never changing her steps.
as I watch this new friend, i wonder about her life, what was the first memory she has from her youth, what things have brought her joy, what has given her sadness. the mix of the good and bad, lightness and darkness, the pressure and the release are the things that make us each who we are. the strains of life are the events which push us down the roads of our lives. when we meet someone who has both happy and sad parts of themselves so visible and intriguing, the desire to know more is lit.
the sadness of her eyes, wiped away by her smile, is a wonderful transition to watch. like dark storm clouds which have built in the sky over a long and tiring day, magically blown away and replaced by the bright sunlight of an african summer morning. this smile is one that will be hard to forget, it warms the people around it and lights even a pleasantly lit room with added warmth and energy.
i may not have the opportunity to see these dark eyes or this smile again. as our lives drift apart, i will remember the expressions and i will hope that there is less sadness and more of the bright wonderful smile. the light of the smile will be the memory i carry with me, but the darkness of the beautiful eyes will also come to mind, both will make me smile sadly.
language
as your life progresses you have the chance to learn additional language skills. this can be within your own language where you are deepening your ability to use language to draw a picture, or you can add precision to your language skills, adding phrases which can enlighten the conversation without adding to the time or effort of the communication. it can also be by adding additional languages to your toolbox, giving you the ability to communicate with more people.
language is the key to ideas; it is the key to travel and to connection. without language you are an excluded outsider, simple conversations go on around you while you are left to guess at the meaning. the ability to guess at the general content is a skill in its own. the couple fighting at dinner, clearly upset about something and attempting to discuss, if not resolve, it in a public setting is a consistent image, but the reason for the fight, the words of the heated discussion are lost on one without the language skills to eavesdrop on the open and public airing of the issues.
some of the easiest conversations to pick up the content of are the exchanges between parent and child. the discussions saying, “allez come nu direct” as the parent tugs the child down the path and “nee, nee” as the child begs longingly for a toy or sweet. these are simple and easy to parse, even for the outsider. this is due to the similarity of the situation, no matter where you go children are the same, with the same desires, the same actions and the same frustrations and joys for their parents. the conversations follow those similarities.
the statistic I heard last night was that 70% of our communication skills are non-verbal. this means that use of body language, head shakes, pursing of the lips and smiles or simple pointing will get you most of the way there. this is true for someone who has raised their hand, and written a script in the air with their finger. it does not matter if they are saying “check please”, “bagi saya bill”, “l’descision, sil vous plait” or are simply mute. the action translates, the simplicity of the communication works cross culturally. It allows one to move and travel and not need to skip out on checks.
we were sitting in a brassiere outside a paris train station, the busy waiter has stood next to our table as we attempted to make our choices, the children were tired from a long day of sightseeing, we were now eating late waiting for midnight so we could watch the lights of the eiffel tower blink in the magical display of timed lighting that dances amid the city of lights. as we wasted time, our waiter was attempting to cover his crowded restaurant, with busy patrons and fast paced exchanges of shared language. when he came to our table, we were working to translate french menus to english for a skeptical pre-teen who simply wanted a hamburger and fries with a diet coke, the need to say coke light had not yet taken hold, and it was an added moment of confusion in each order.
we did make our order, and our parisian waiter was more than polite and helpful, no matter what people tell you, if you smile and try to work with the waiters, they will understand that you do not share their language. a few minutes later, the first round of drinks had come and we had emptied the glasses. my son, understanding busy waiters the world over, caught the eye of our waiter who was moving among the table, held up his glass and gestured with his finger, a non-verbal and universal sign for another round. the waiter smiled and nodded, happy that this exchange was direct and complete, even though it was done from a distance, both physical and verbal.
the real issues start when the level of communication required for the situation is deeper. you meet someone you want or need to have a real conversation with and you are not sure if you share the language skills to get it done. you see some one near you, you want to talk to them, you smile and move closer, but when you get there you are not able to make the connection with language. this does not mean you don’t share the same language, you may each speak a common language very well, but you are not able to find the words to make the connection.
while traveling, the situations come up, you are forced to speak, automatically without thought words escape your mouth, they come out without control, it’s a conditioned response, even if you intellectually know the person will not understand the words. a moment later, your thought-based response catches up and you can connect the neurons needed to find the words in your non-default language, you either shake your head at your lack of speed, or you simply repeat yourself in the second language. the seconds it takes to find the words, even in your first language, are added to when you are working in a language you are learning.
having the same language and using it is not a guarantee of communication, it does not ensure you can connect and get your point across. the ability to try, to trust in your own skills and to smile when you fail are much more important. those seconds of delay are shortened when you drop your fear, it’s the fear that stops us from moving forward in all interactions.
language is a tool, it is a vehicle to move and change, it can also be a barrier. language is the way we express our thoughts, but its having and sharing the thoughts which are most important, without that language is wasted and impotent.
language is the key to ideas; it is the key to travel and to connection. without language you are an excluded outsider, simple conversations go on around you while you are left to guess at the meaning. the ability to guess at the general content is a skill in its own. the couple fighting at dinner, clearly upset about something and attempting to discuss, if not resolve, it in a public setting is a consistent image, but the reason for the fight, the words of the heated discussion are lost on one without the language skills to eavesdrop on the open and public airing of the issues.
some of the easiest conversations to pick up the content of are the exchanges between parent and child. the discussions saying, “allez come nu direct” as the parent tugs the child down the path and “nee, nee” as the child begs longingly for a toy or sweet. these are simple and easy to parse, even for the outsider. this is due to the similarity of the situation, no matter where you go children are the same, with the same desires, the same actions and the same frustrations and joys for their parents. the conversations follow those similarities.
the statistic I heard last night was that 70% of our communication skills are non-verbal. this means that use of body language, head shakes, pursing of the lips and smiles or simple pointing will get you most of the way there. this is true for someone who has raised their hand, and written a script in the air with their finger. it does not matter if they are saying “check please”, “bagi saya bill”, “l’descision, sil vous plait” or are simply mute. the action translates, the simplicity of the communication works cross culturally. It allows one to move and travel and not need to skip out on checks.
we were sitting in a brassiere outside a paris train station, the busy waiter has stood next to our table as we attempted to make our choices, the children were tired from a long day of sightseeing, we were now eating late waiting for midnight so we could watch the lights of the eiffel tower blink in the magical display of timed lighting that dances amid the city of lights. as we wasted time, our waiter was attempting to cover his crowded restaurant, with busy patrons and fast paced exchanges of shared language. when he came to our table, we were working to translate french menus to english for a skeptical pre-teen who simply wanted a hamburger and fries with a diet coke, the need to say coke light had not yet taken hold, and it was an added moment of confusion in each order.
we did make our order, and our parisian waiter was more than polite and helpful, no matter what people tell you, if you smile and try to work with the waiters, they will understand that you do not share their language. a few minutes later, the first round of drinks had come and we had emptied the glasses. my son, understanding busy waiters the world over, caught the eye of our waiter who was moving among the table, held up his glass and gestured with his finger, a non-verbal and universal sign for another round. the waiter smiled and nodded, happy that this exchange was direct and complete, even though it was done from a distance, both physical and verbal.
the real issues start when the level of communication required for the situation is deeper. you meet someone you want or need to have a real conversation with and you are not sure if you share the language skills to get it done. you see some one near you, you want to talk to them, you smile and move closer, but when you get there you are not able to make the connection with language. this does not mean you don’t share the same language, you may each speak a common language very well, but you are not able to find the words to make the connection.
while traveling, the situations come up, you are forced to speak, automatically without thought words escape your mouth, they come out without control, it’s a conditioned response, even if you intellectually know the person will not understand the words. a moment later, your thought-based response catches up and you can connect the neurons needed to find the words in your non-default language, you either shake your head at your lack of speed, or you simply repeat yourself in the second language. the seconds it takes to find the words, even in your first language, are added to when you are working in a language you are learning.
having the same language and using it is not a guarantee of communication, it does not ensure you can connect and get your point across. the ability to try, to trust in your own skills and to smile when you fail are much more important. those seconds of delay are shortened when you drop your fear, it’s the fear that stops us from moving forward in all interactions.
language is a tool, it is a vehicle to move and change, it can also be a barrier. language is the way we express our thoughts, but its having and sharing the thoughts which are most important, without that language is wasted and impotent.
breakfast shadows
traveling around makes you aware of the core differences between people, the big things language, religion and culture gets much of the focus and attention, food does as well, it is a core element to people. food is deeply ingrained in the culture. the fact that seaweed is used dominantly in japan comes from the island nation’s connection with the sea, but it also helps to define the culture for people outside. these differences can also be viewed on a more micro level, people are simply different and some of those differences show through their breakfast.
i have a close friend who never eats breakfast in the morning. she simply does not feel the need for food when she wakes, and goes well towards lunch time most days without the desire for anything to eat. this is in stark contrast with others who wake to a hot pot of coffee, brewed on a timer to enable the immediate craving for the warm embrace of caffeine to be satisfied as soon as they wake.
people build the breakfast ritual into their mornings, making it a core element of their day. the comfort of repetition, the feeling of normalcy that comes from having the same breakfast, the same way at the same time helps some people take the first steps of the day in a structured and consistent way. this allows them to control, if not the entire day, at least the first hours in a way that enables them to prepare themselves for the tensions of the day to come.
i was thinking about this as it relates to stereotypes of people. does it say something about the person if they eat at home, or stop into the same bakery every day. does the choice of a breakfast on the go, a croissant or bagel rather than a sit down meal of nasi lemak tell us of the person and their day to come? is the espresso and pain au chocolate crowd inherently different than the diet coke and hersey’s chocolate bar group? both are taking caffeine and chocolate into their systems to get themselves started, but they choose to do it in very different ways.
as a way to make a point, i will describe a few completely fictional people. if there is any similarity to people who actually exist and whom I may have occasionally had breakfast with (who may or may not read this blog) please understand this is fiction and does not mean to describe or analyze you in fact. did you believe that?
angela is one who never eats breakfast. she makes breakfast for those around her and cooks with a passion and a flair, but she skips breakfast herself. occasionally there will be a coffee, but this is easily skipped as well. the need for cigarettes on the other hand is real and these are never skipped. angela has a level of control and self-discipline, along with the ability to deny herself simple pleasures as they are possible distractions from her day. the need to start the day and move into the sunlight of morning is more powerful than the demand for food. angela is more about taking care of those around her, and ignoring the simple needs that would bring her pleasure.
suzette and dee are sisters, who are complete opposites banana and green tea v. diet coke and chocolate in any form. the two of them view the world differently, they carry themselves in a different way, the focus on what’s right verses what feels right. suzette is focused on health while dee is focused on enjoyment. suzette is willing to take the time to do the hard work to be good, while dee is focused on the fast solution, with the minimum stress. where would these two sisters find such different needs in their lives. how do two women from the same childhoods, find such different priorities in their lives. or are they really more closely connected than the breakfast ritual shows, are they really the same with different appearance.
nora is another friend who is most at ease in her small comfort zone of the things she learned in her youth. she craves the food of her childhood, never to trying something new and different. when put in a situation where only new things are available, she closes up and refuses to try something she has never had before. she is most comfortable with the porridge she grew up with, she is not ready for eggs benedict or crepes. does this point to a desire, deeply ingrained, to stay within the safe embrace of her protective society? does the desire to stay within the comfort zone of breakfast, help to counter the desires to break out in other areas.
jonathan enjoys going to a local bakery every morning. the stated reason is to have coffee and croissant, to begin his day with caffeine and sugar, kick starting the day with the powerful boost of legal chemicals delivered by pastry and brewed coffee. the reality is that going to the bakery is a social call, the food is an excuse to see and chat with people who smile and chat back. overtime these people become friends and get to know him to the point they can anticipate his order and wonder where he is when he does not show for a few days. the need for friendship is actually more important then the need for caffeine.
all of this came from the thought that “you are what you eat”. if this is true, along with “breakfast is the most important meal” than we know that breakfast is the window into a persons real personality. watching what you eat takes an all new meaning. maybe if you are observant you can see things in the people around you as much as you can within yourself, just by looking down at the table and seeing how they start their day.
i have a close friend who never eats breakfast in the morning. she simply does not feel the need for food when she wakes, and goes well towards lunch time most days without the desire for anything to eat. this is in stark contrast with others who wake to a hot pot of coffee, brewed on a timer to enable the immediate craving for the warm embrace of caffeine to be satisfied as soon as they wake.
people build the breakfast ritual into their mornings, making it a core element of their day. the comfort of repetition, the feeling of normalcy that comes from having the same breakfast, the same way at the same time helps some people take the first steps of the day in a structured and consistent way. this allows them to control, if not the entire day, at least the first hours in a way that enables them to prepare themselves for the tensions of the day to come.
i was thinking about this as it relates to stereotypes of people. does it say something about the person if they eat at home, or stop into the same bakery every day. does the choice of a breakfast on the go, a croissant or bagel rather than a sit down meal of nasi lemak tell us of the person and their day to come? is the espresso and pain au chocolate crowd inherently different than the diet coke and hersey’s chocolate bar group? both are taking caffeine and chocolate into their systems to get themselves started, but they choose to do it in very different ways.
as a way to make a point, i will describe a few completely fictional people. if there is any similarity to people who actually exist and whom I may have occasionally had breakfast with (who may or may not read this blog) please understand this is fiction and does not mean to describe or analyze you in fact. did you believe that?
angela is one who never eats breakfast. she makes breakfast for those around her and cooks with a passion and a flair, but she skips breakfast herself. occasionally there will be a coffee, but this is easily skipped as well. the need for cigarettes on the other hand is real and these are never skipped. angela has a level of control and self-discipline, along with the ability to deny herself simple pleasures as they are possible distractions from her day. the need to start the day and move into the sunlight of morning is more powerful than the demand for food. angela is more about taking care of those around her, and ignoring the simple needs that would bring her pleasure.
suzette and dee are sisters, who are complete opposites banana and green tea v. diet coke and chocolate in any form. the two of them view the world differently, they carry themselves in a different way, the focus on what’s right verses what feels right. suzette is focused on health while dee is focused on enjoyment. suzette is willing to take the time to do the hard work to be good, while dee is focused on the fast solution, with the minimum stress. where would these two sisters find such different needs in their lives. how do two women from the same childhoods, find such different priorities in their lives. or are they really more closely connected than the breakfast ritual shows, are they really the same with different appearance.
nora is another friend who is most at ease in her small comfort zone of the things she learned in her youth. she craves the food of her childhood, never to trying something new and different. when put in a situation where only new things are available, she closes up and refuses to try something she has never had before. she is most comfortable with the porridge she grew up with, she is not ready for eggs benedict or crepes. does this point to a desire, deeply ingrained, to stay within the safe embrace of her protective society? does the desire to stay within the comfort zone of breakfast, help to counter the desires to break out in other areas.
jonathan enjoys going to a local bakery every morning. the stated reason is to have coffee and croissant, to begin his day with caffeine and sugar, kick starting the day with the powerful boost of legal chemicals delivered by pastry and brewed coffee. the reality is that going to the bakery is a social call, the food is an excuse to see and chat with people who smile and chat back. overtime these people become friends and get to know him to the point they can anticipate his order and wonder where he is when he does not show for a few days. the need for friendship is actually more important then the need for caffeine.
all of this came from the thought that “you are what you eat”. if this is true, along with “breakfast is the most important meal” than we know that breakfast is the window into a persons real personality. watching what you eat takes an all new meaning. maybe if you are observant you can see things in the people around you as much as you can within yourself, just by looking down at the table and seeing how they start their day.
mistakes
have you ever started to do something, thought, “it would be bad if this does not go exactly as planned” but then assured yourself, “no, it will be fine, i will take special care, i will not allow it to go bad, why would i let it”. this is normally where i smile to myself, knowing that mistakes have been made, even after reminding myself not to allow it to happen. this is exactly when mistakes hurt the most, when you were aware, but you moved forward anyway.
i am vacationing with the kids, traveling in europe, showing them the places i have come to love. they have never done the trips we are doing, they had never walked the peaceful and colorful canals of amsterdam, they have never sat on the terrace and enjoyed a drink in belgium or taken a fast taxi ride through paris, listening to the driver mumble profanities at the other drivers, cursing the lights and questioning why someone would park in the middle of the road to deliver a package.
they had never done these things before; they have now. the kids are enjoying the slower and friendlier pace of the europe. they are surprised that the sun stays up longer, with sunlight until nearly eleven at night, people sitting and enjoying the conversations, a coffee or a beer in front of them, smiles and stories flowing.
into this mix a mistake was added, we were on a train from belgium to paris. i had an envelope of tickets in my bag, safely stored above our heads on the baggage shelf. i thought of the need to climb up and retrieve the tickets when the conductor came to verify the tickets. it was a rush hour train, crammed with commuters and tourists; the anticipation of the travel or the fatigue of the earlier trips clearly marking many of the faces. i decided to get the tickets, the first step in the mistake process.
i moved to my bag, found them within the inner zipped pocket and brought them back to my seat. the kids were all sleeping, my daughter leaned over to snuggle on my shoulder; her wild hair falling onto my arm as we shared the limited space of our second class seats. i thought of what to do with the tickets and decided to put them in the cargo net on the back of the seat in front of me. the tickets for this leg of our trip mixed with the tickets for the later trip to enjoy the beach in southern france. leaving these behind would be a major mistake, i need to remember to pick them up before we leave, but of course i will not forget. the next step in the process of mistake complete.
as we pull into gard du nord in paris, we begin to collect our things. the kids wake, we move to pull ourselves together and ensure we leave nothing behind. the train comes to a shuddering stop and people move toward the door, politely forcing themselves though aisles, following signs to the taxi stands or the arms of waiting family.
we found our way to the center of the station, asked for directions to the McClean bathrooms in the basement of the station; where we paid a euro to get through the turnstile and relieve ourselves of the built up pressure from the ride. we went outside and found our taxi for the ride across town to our hotel. we checked in and after looking around the room, begin to unpack. within moments the clarity of the mistake was upon us. calls in english and assisted french, a rushed trip back to the station, broken discussions pushing the limits of my broken french, all with no positive result, the mistake was complete the tickets were gone.
the children were not affected by this, losing our tickets, needing to re-plan the trip on the fly. deciding not to pay for the trip to the south a second time, not to go to the beach, not to show how upset i was with the mistake. we worked together; we found our way out of paris, to a small town in champagne and into memories that were very nice. we then found our way to a comfort zone of less stressful travel schedule. this major mistake, this mistake that could have ruined the trip, that could have caused us to lose the fun of the adventure, ended up being seen as a expensive but positive thing.
we missed the beach, we didn’t get to sleep on the train, but we are relaxing and spending time together. this was the point of the vacation to begin with; keeping that point in mind has helped us deal with the mistake and move forward.
the lesson here is that all mistakes are painful; but most can be fixed by excepting and moving on. having people who love you and who don’t hold your mistakes against you help that recovery. understanding that spending time with the people who love you and accept your mistakes is the key to any recovery.
i am vacationing with the kids, traveling in europe, showing them the places i have come to love. they have never done the trips we are doing, they had never walked the peaceful and colorful canals of amsterdam, they have never sat on the terrace and enjoyed a drink in belgium or taken a fast taxi ride through paris, listening to the driver mumble profanities at the other drivers, cursing the lights and questioning why someone would park in the middle of the road to deliver a package.
they had never done these things before; they have now. the kids are enjoying the slower and friendlier pace of the europe. they are surprised that the sun stays up longer, with sunlight until nearly eleven at night, people sitting and enjoying the conversations, a coffee or a beer in front of them, smiles and stories flowing.
into this mix a mistake was added, we were on a train from belgium to paris. i had an envelope of tickets in my bag, safely stored above our heads on the baggage shelf. i thought of the need to climb up and retrieve the tickets when the conductor came to verify the tickets. it was a rush hour train, crammed with commuters and tourists; the anticipation of the travel or the fatigue of the earlier trips clearly marking many of the faces. i decided to get the tickets, the first step in the mistake process.
i moved to my bag, found them within the inner zipped pocket and brought them back to my seat. the kids were all sleeping, my daughter leaned over to snuggle on my shoulder; her wild hair falling onto my arm as we shared the limited space of our second class seats. i thought of what to do with the tickets and decided to put them in the cargo net on the back of the seat in front of me. the tickets for this leg of our trip mixed with the tickets for the later trip to enjoy the beach in southern france. leaving these behind would be a major mistake, i need to remember to pick them up before we leave, but of course i will not forget. the next step in the process of mistake complete.
as we pull into gard du nord in paris, we begin to collect our things. the kids wake, we move to pull ourselves together and ensure we leave nothing behind. the train comes to a shuddering stop and people move toward the door, politely forcing themselves though aisles, following signs to the taxi stands or the arms of waiting family.
we found our way to the center of the station, asked for directions to the McClean bathrooms in the basement of the station; where we paid a euro to get through the turnstile and relieve ourselves of the built up pressure from the ride. we went outside and found our taxi for the ride across town to our hotel. we checked in and after looking around the room, begin to unpack. within moments the clarity of the mistake was upon us. calls in english and assisted french, a rushed trip back to the station, broken discussions pushing the limits of my broken french, all with no positive result, the mistake was complete the tickets were gone.
the children were not affected by this, losing our tickets, needing to re-plan the trip on the fly. deciding not to pay for the trip to the south a second time, not to go to the beach, not to show how upset i was with the mistake. we worked together; we found our way out of paris, to a small town in champagne and into memories that were very nice. we then found our way to a comfort zone of less stressful travel schedule. this major mistake, this mistake that could have ruined the trip, that could have caused us to lose the fun of the adventure, ended up being seen as a expensive but positive thing.
we missed the beach, we didn’t get to sleep on the train, but we are relaxing and spending time together. this was the point of the vacation to begin with; keeping that point in mind has helped us deal with the mistake and move forward.
the lesson here is that all mistakes are painful; but most can be fixed by excepting and moving on. having people who love you and who don’t hold your mistakes against you help that recovery. understanding that spending time with the people who love you and accept your mistakes is the key to any recovery.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
changing expectations
as we move through life we change, we grow, we are hurt, we see new and exciting things, we experience loss and learn new skills. all of these good and bad elements of our life make us who we are. they also change what we expect from our lives, what we think of ourselves and how we perceive the world. when we have friends or partners over a longer period of time we can move in different directions. this is the cause of much of the discomfort that comes into relationships. one or both parties change but the relationship, or the agreed direction life is taking may not; which causes stress and sometimes breakage.
just after college i was close to a person, we agreed that our lives would move together. we would each go to grad school; we would stay together, help each other, be supportive and someday start a family. time pasted, neither of us went to school, she decided she needed a break from work and found a new direction in her life. at the same time, i had found a new career, decided i did not need formal schooling, but spent much of my time working on the skills needed for my new direction.
as time passed, i started my own company and took work which required me to travel, i found that being away was more comfortable than being close. that feeling built, as i realized i was spending much of my time defending the direction my life had taken. we were each unhappy with the direction the other was taking. in the end, the relationship ended, ended completely due to the hurt feelings of rejection and loss that came with the breakup.
my next relationship was much deeper, within a few years we were happily wrapped into a family relationship that included kids, house, mini-van and a chocolate lab named for the energy of life she brought to the family. we bought a house and started reconstruction, we were comfortable living without a ground floor, gutting the house to the bare walls because we were happy with each other and where we lived was not the focus of our lives. we worked together, sharing at home, at work, day and night, friends and soul mates.
but this did not last nearly as long as i had hoped. i was distracted and disconnected; i allowed frustrations to build and did not show how much i cared for her and the relationship. one day i realized she was considering a change in direction, one that did not include me. it was too late; i had lost the grasp i thought i had. i was swimming against a current i could not overcome. the waves were not pushing me under, but they were driving me away from the direction i wanted to go in. i expected it to last forever, to always have another day to make up for today. i lost that day, it was no longer there; the day had passed without my noticing.
life continues on, new relationships start, the issue is that prior history creeps in to take the faith core to the earlier relationships away. the faith is replaced with a deeply felt sense of direction. small bumps which the new shock-absorbers of youthful hope smoothed out, now shake one to the bone. every line in the road is felt, every frost heave of past winters in each of your lives is noticed. the shuddering of the car brings fear and causes you to take your foot off the gas.
you are not looking to stop, but you are also not comfortable driving that the speeds that brought you excitement and joy when you were younger. you have seen the results that speed, drunkenness and lack of control bring. you are no longer willing to take the risk. the time and pain of prior recovery, possibly the pain you are still feeling from the last accident of life a throbbing reminder of the risks. stopping in the middle of the road would be dangerous and stupid, but hurtling forward would also be reckless. you begin to think about yourself in a new light.
relationships, life, comes with expectations. there was a time that i thought i would live my life within 10 miles of my parents house, i would have a job that isolated me from politics and allowed me plenty of time to exercise and enjoy surfing off the beach i spent my youth on. i would have a simple house, a wife i would spend my entire life with and we would always share a common direction.
i live 12,000 miles from my parents, my job is more about politics than the technology that i grew to love, i have almost no time to exercise – as my waistline continues to prove – i have not surfed more than 3 times in five years, never on the beach of my youth, always in far away beaches that i barely know. i have homes on two continents, neither i care much for but which do allow me some comfort from the day. shared expectations with one woman seems the most distant goal i could think of.
life does change ones expectations. when this happens, you need the ability to be open and tell those around you it is occurring. the thought of pain and grief at the loss of those expectations can push you to remain quiet. the way the people react to your news can also drive you to suppress your self. sometimes, even the idea of future changes in direction, those that have yet to happen can cause the stress that will eventually force the change.
as you continue to take turns, it is too bad you can’t just pull into a garage and have those old shock absorbers changed, rotate the tires and lubricate the chassis. that’s what life needs, scheduled maintenance to replace worn out parts.
just after college i was close to a person, we agreed that our lives would move together. we would each go to grad school; we would stay together, help each other, be supportive and someday start a family. time pasted, neither of us went to school, she decided she needed a break from work and found a new direction in her life. at the same time, i had found a new career, decided i did not need formal schooling, but spent much of my time working on the skills needed for my new direction.
as time passed, i started my own company and took work which required me to travel, i found that being away was more comfortable than being close. that feeling built, as i realized i was spending much of my time defending the direction my life had taken. we were each unhappy with the direction the other was taking. in the end, the relationship ended, ended completely due to the hurt feelings of rejection and loss that came with the breakup.
my next relationship was much deeper, within a few years we were happily wrapped into a family relationship that included kids, house, mini-van and a chocolate lab named for the energy of life she brought to the family. we bought a house and started reconstruction, we were comfortable living without a ground floor, gutting the house to the bare walls because we were happy with each other and where we lived was not the focus of our lives. we worked together, sharing at home, at work, day and night, friends and soul mates.
but this did not last nearly as long as i had hoped. i was distracted and disconnected; i allowed frustrations to build and did not show how much i cared for her and the relationship. one day i realized she was considering a change in direction, one that did not include me. it was too late; i had lost the grasp i thought i had. i was swimming against a current i could not overcome. the waves were not pushing me under, but they were driving me away from the direction i wanted to go in. i expected it to last forever, to always have another day to make up for today. i lost that day, it was no longer there; the day had passed without my noticing.
life continues on, new relationships start, the issue is that prior history creeps in to take the faith core to the earlier relationships away. the faith is replaced with a deeply felt sense of direction. small bumps which the new shock-absorbers of youthful hope smoothed out, now shake one to the bone. every line in the road is felt, every frost heave of past winters in each of your lives is noticed. the shuddering of the car brings fear and causes you to take your foot off the gas.
you are not looking to stop, but you are also not comfortable driving that the speeds that brought you excitement and joy when you were younger. you have seen the results that speed, drunkenness and lack of control bring. you are no longer willing to take the risk. the time and pain of prior recovery, possibly the pain you are still feeling from the last accident of life a throbbing reminder of the risks. stopping in the middle of the road would be dangerous and stupid, but hurtling forward would also be reckless. you begin to think about yourself in a new light.
relationships, life, comes with expectations. there was a time that i thought i would live my life within 10 miles of my parents house, i would have a job that isolated me from politics and allowed me plenty of time to exercise and enjoy surfing off the beach i spent my youth on. i would have a simple house, a wife i would spend my entire life with and we would always share a common direction.
i live 12,000 miles from my parents, my job is more about politics than the technology that i grew to love, i have almost no time to exercise – as my waistline continues to prove – i have not surfed more than 3 times in five years, never on the beach of my youth, always in far away beaches that i barely know. i have homes on two continents, neither i care much for but which do allow me some comfort from the day. shared expectations with one woman seems the most distant goal i could think of.
life does change ones expectations. when this happens, you need the ability to be open and tell those around you it is occurring. the thought of pain and grief at the loss of those expectations can push you to remain quiet. the way the people react to your news can also drive you to suppress your self. sometimes, even the idea of future changes in direction, those that have yet to happen can cause the stress that will eventually force the change.
as you continue to take turns, it is too bad you can’t just pull into a garage and have those old shock absorbers changed, rotate the tires and lubricate the chassis. that’s what life needs, scheduled maintenance to replace worn out parts.
confessional
as a catholic child we learn the process of sharing your sins with your confessor. the first time you do this, you are in a small room called a confessional. there is a wall with a screen separating you from a priest who you have deep fear of, who you may have never spoken to directly. the idea is that you confess all the things you have done, to your god, but for some unexplained reason you are required to do it to his earthly agent, your friendly parish priest.
this process does come with significant trepidation. what if the priest is offended by your honesty and thinks of you as a degenerate soul who is beneath saving? what if he uses you as a foil in his next sermon; discussing your sins with the entire parish? he may or not use your name, but everyone from your neighbors to your parents and grandparents would know it was you. you know you are the only kid in the church who is so bad that they would do these things. everyone suspects you are capable of these things, but being confirmed by the priest would be the proof they needed.
as we age, we realize that the confessional is a practice location of the skill of dealing with your fears and anxiety in an open way. it teaches you that telling the truth, even when you fear the results are a part of adulthood which is required. without the confessional experience, many would have no adult, no authority figure to turn to and to share the inner turmoil that comes with living a life. how would we practice telling the truth even when it hurts? how would we find the capacity to open up and discuss things that embarrass us, things that on natural reflex we would keep deeply hidden and private.
the confessional for some does come with continued anxiety. throughout their lives, they use the need to tell the priest, from whom they desire the respect that comes from being a good catholic, their sins to keep god happy with them, and the force to keep themselves in check. for these people, it is simply easier to not commit sins which would take this respect away. they may act so good, that the smallest thought is confessed, allowing the confessional connection to remain, without the real dangerous sins which would jeopardize the priests view of them as good catholics.
for others, the confessional becomes a location of distant memory. the need to place themselves in the situation of structured confession is lost to them. they have passed through the need to go into a dark room, to look into a screen shielding the eyes of the priest from their own and to ask for forgiveness for their thoughts or actions by saying the words, “forgive me father, for i have sinned, it has been 17 years since my last confession”.
the confessional is a safe place to unburden yourself. it is a place where you can share your inner demons or actions, and to have someone react with caring and respect. it is somewhere that you know you will be given a punishment, but one which is neither difficult nor unfair. it is somewhere, with someone, to talk about yourself and to be given absolution for your limitations.
the issue comes when you need this level of absolution, but when you don’t have the safety of the confessional to turn to. where does one go when they are not a practicing catholic? where do they go when they have no one in their life that will listen to them and help without judging them; without bringing their own feeling or expectations into the discussion? that is what the priest is trained to do, counsel without judging.
some turn to a secular counselor. they go to therapy, and discuss the feelings that make them feel badly about themselves or their lives. the counselor is there to help them work to acceptance, not to tell them how to feel about the situation, but to help them see that the guilt is self imposed. when they realize the situation is within their control, they can decide to allow themselves the freedom to let the guilt and anxiety go, to move on with their lives and to accept their future human frailties without self consuming regret.
others turn to the people around them, people who are engaged in the situation and untrained in non-judgmental acceptance. they expect their spouse to listen and understand the situation, or the action. deep down, they may actually hope the spouse will react to the confession and judge them harshly. they may do it to hurt the person, or to have the person do the dirty work of ending the relationship that they don’t have the strength to do themselves. this is not only unfair, it is cruel and mean. sharing in this way does nothing but damage another person. hurting another to make yourself feel better is not what the confessional teaches us, you should not take this into your life if you know you will do nothing but hurt someone you should be showing love. it is not respect to unburden yourself at someone else’s expense.
the confessional is a location of safety and security. it is sad that so many of us have the need for this safety and have no outlet for it. the need for a clean conscience does not always stop us from acting in a way that would upset another. but compounding that act by bringing further pain forward into another’s life is worse than the original act.
there are many ways to help yourself feel better, don’t use those around you because you are too afraid to walk into the dark box of self reflection.
this process does come with significant trepidation. what if the priest is offended by your honesty and thinks of you as a degenerate soul who is beneath saving? what if he uses you as a foil in his next sermon; discussing your sins with the entire parish? he may or not use your name, but everyone from your neighbors to your parents and grandparents would know it was you. you know you are the only kid in the church who is so bad that they would do these things. everyone suspects you are capable of these things, but being confirmed by the priest would be the proof they needed.
as we age, we realize that the confessional is a practice location of the skill of dealing with your fears and anxiety in an open way. it teaches you that telling the truth, even when you fear the results are a part of adulthood which is required. without the confessional experience, many would have no adult, no authority figure to turn to and to share the inner turmoil that comes with living a life. how would we practice telling the truth even when it hurts? how would we find the capacity to open up and discuss things that embarrass us, things that on natural reflex we would keep deeply hidden and private.
the confessional for some does come with continued anxiety. throughout their lives, they use the need to tell the priest, from whom they desire the respect that comes from being a good catholic, their sins to keep god happy with them, and the force to keep themselves in check. for these people, it is simply easier to not commit sins which would take this respect away. they may act so good, that the smallest thought is confessed, allowing the confessional connection to remain, without the real dangerous sins which would jeopardize the priests view of them as good catholics.
for others, the confessional becomes a location of distant memory. the need to place themselves in the situation of structured confession is lost to them. they have passed through the need to go into a dark room, to look into a screen shielding the eyes of the priest from their own and to ask for forgiveness for their thoughts or actions by saying the words, “forgive me father, for i have sinned, it has been 17 years since my last confession”.
the confessional is a safe place to unburden yourself. it is a place where you can share your inner demons or actions, and to have someone react with caring and respect. it is somewhere that you know you will be given a punishment, but one which is neither difficult nor unfair. it is somewhere, with someone, to talk about yourself and to be given absolution for your limitations.
the issue comes when you need this level of absolution, but when you don’t have the safety of the confessional to turn to. where does one go when they are not a practicing catholic? where do they go when they have no one in their life that will listen to them and help without judging them; without bringing their own feeling or expectations into the discussion? that is what the priest is trained to do, counsel without judging.
some turn to a secular counselor. they go to therapy, and discuss the feelings that make them feel badly about themselves or their lives. the counselor is there to help them work to acceptance, not to tell them how to feel about the situation, but to help them see that the guilt is self imposed. when they realize the situation is within their control, they can decide to allow themselves the freedom to let the guilt and anxiety go, to move on with their lives and to accept their future human frailties without self consuming regret.
others turn to the people around them, people who are engaged in the situation and untrained in non-judgmental acceptance. they expect their spouse to listen and understand the situation, or the action. deep down, they may actually hope the spouse will react to the confession and judge them harshly. they may do it to hurt the person, or to have the person do the dirty work of ending the relationship that they don’t have the strength to do themselves. this is not only unfair, it is cruel and mean. sharing in this way does nothing but damage another person. hurting another to make yourself feel better is not what the confessional teaches us, you should not take this into your life if you know you will do nothing but hurt someone you should be showing love. it is not respect to unburden yourself at someone else’s expense.
the confessional is a location of safety and security. it is sad that so many of us have the need for this safety and have no outlet for it. the need for a clean conscience does not always stop us from acting in a way that would upset another. but compounding that act by bringing further pain forward into another’s life is worse than the original act.
there are many ways to help yourself feel better, don’t use those around you because you are too afraid to walk into the dark box of self reflection.
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