Lately, my conversations and experiences have revolved around the prescription; more specifically, the “right” way to live. Is there even such a thing? It is my opinion that an ideal way to exist, according to societal expectations, does indeed penetrate the very fibers of our being. But, I do not believe that this image we have been sold is, in any way, the “right” way to live...only a mere sales pitch. One, I am afraid, that makes the world around us operate successfully, although, in most cases, miserably.
The prescription that I speak of is the one that faces college graduates in their last semester, or, really anyone in their twenties: job, husband or wife, house, family pet, kids, grandkids …preferably in that order. This is the very prescription I, myself, once coined as “right.” But what, exactly, is right about it? Stability, security, love, belonging, and purpose all come to mind. It actually sounds pretty good. Then, why is it that this “right” seems to be “wrong” for so many?
Is it the trapping sensation felt when financial obligation commits you to one location and, possibly, one vocation? Is it the predictability and isolation of “forever” with another human being? The exhaustion of parenting that is different from the Norman Rockwell painting? Possibly. But I think that might sound a little jaded. Realistic, perhaps? Maybe.
Without question, there are associations with the prescription that are desirable, but I do not believe it is the prescription itself. A job, at the very least, gives a person purpose; and, if not purpose, financial stability. In a perfect world, it would do both. If, by chance, these objectives could be fulfilled outside of employment, I believe satisfaction could be achieved. Along those same lines, a significant other is supposed to symbolize companionship and love. While I do believe this could work, I also believe that these same needs can be met with other people. It is my opinion that living amongst many provides a more balanced, possibly positive, environment for all human beings...especially children…than an isolating immediate family experience. With the support of many, men and women are lifted of the burdens to themselves and each other as members of the opposite sex, but also as parents. Women help each other raise children and serve as a necessary support system for one another, while men can feel understood and appreciated within their own gender. In short, the community at large benefits from such strength, physical and emotional, in numbers.
Is this concept realistic? As previously mentioned, under current survival circumstances, it is not for the majority. The world, as we know it, works because of the prescription. Communities are built because couples buy houses. Those same couples find work in the area to pay for their house. In most cases, kids follow to create a family. Finances become a huge priority for the family, making the job an even more important necessity. And once the kids are in school, relocation is nearly impossible. It is the prescription that keeps businesses booming and houses off the market. If everyone was free from obligation, personal and financial, there would be significant instability.
It would be irresponsible of me to suggest that the prescription isn’t right for anyone. In fact, I think it works for many. But is it something people choose because it makes them happy, or because they have been told it will make them happy? And how could one really know if it will make him or her happy until he or she experiences it? More importantly, are people limiting their options to marriage, mortgage, and birth children in an attempt to achieve the desirables of love, companionship, stability and family?
While I am certainly grateful to those who follow the prescription, and would never foolishly rule it out, I am hoping to keep the options to achieve my desirables limitless.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
My Own Backyard
On the day the 44th President of the United States was inaugurated, I held on to a popular reaction. It had seemed, to some, that this act of ceremonial tradition triggered a difference in the world’s appearance. Some felt that on this day life looked differently, in a positive way. This expression quickly reminded me of my own thoughts not too long ago.
Over the holidays I did some traveling. One might even say that I enjoyed something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. I visited my old place of employment in South Carolina, explored a new city, stayed in other people’s homes, and lost myself in the beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains. And, as usual, I acquired some miles along the way. It was during these very miles that I found myself dissecting my own reactions to change.
Could it be that the sunset experienced in a new location looks more beautiful than the same one experienced at the place we call home? Are the hills of another state more attractive simply because of their location? The rivers more serene? Time, itself, more meaningful? When I reflect on my disclosed summaries of trips I have taken in the past, I remember promoting the grandeur of all that I had seen with a tone of excitement. The sunsets were, in these testimonies, indeed the most beautiful, the hills were more attractive, and the rivers more exquisite. Somehow, time WAS more meaningful and had to be treated as such.
Could it actually be the change in location that defines these moments more positively in our minds? The newness of the experience? Do we get so wrapped up in the change, and our need for it, that we cloud our vision of its truth? Is it better because it is, or because we need it to be? We want it to be?
When I left Missouri’s borders for the New Year transition, I came back with a new challenge. The challenge to see the place I call home with a new set of eyes; to find the same beauty in the sunsets of Missouri as I can anywhere else in the world…the same inspiration from the hills…the same serenity from the rivers. If I choose to see my state, my own backyard, differently…I believe I will.
Over the holidays I did some traveling. One might even say that I enjoyed something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. I visited my old place of employment in South Carolina, explored a new city, stayed in other people’s homes, and lost myself in the beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains. And, as usual, I acquired some miles along the way. It was during these very miles that I found myself dissecting my own reactions to change.
Could it be that the sunset experienced in a new location looks more beautiful than the same one experienced at the place we call home? Are the hills of another state more attractive simply because of their location? The rivers more serene? Time, itself, more meaningful? When I reflect on my disclosed summaries of trips I have taken in the past, I remember promoting the grandeur of all that I had seen with a tone of excitement. The sunsets were, in these testimonies, indeed the most beautiful, the hills were more attractive, and the rivers more exquisite. Somehow, time WAS more meaningful and had to be treated as such.
Could it actually be the change in location that defines these moments more positively in our minds? The newness of the experience? Do we get so wrapped up in the change, and our need for it, that we cloud our vision of its truth? Is it better because it is, or because we need it to be? We want it to be?
When I left Missouri’s borders for the New Year transition, I came back with a new challenge. The challenge to see the place I call home with a new set of eyes; to find the same beauty in the sunsets of Missouri as I can anywhere else in the world…the same inspiration from the hills…the same serenity from the rivers. If I choose to see my state, my own backyard, differently…I believe I will.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Balance
If it’s Sunday, it’s Meet the Press…or, if I slept in longer than usual, that other political show with George Stephanopoulos. Regardless, it is a time for me to watch and listen to those who govern our nation, as well as those who critique their decisions. With green tea in hand, this morning was no different.
As I listened to the roundtable discussion that seemed to jump from one conflict to another, I found my thoughts wandering elsewhere. I began thinking about many of the conflicts facing the world today, not to mention those of our own nation. And, like most, my first reaction was sadness and frustration. But, almost just as instinctually, my second reaction was one of appreciation.
Not too long ago, I had a conversation with an older Korean man who dialogued with me about the importance of good and evil. His basic argument was that the existence of evil allows good to be understood or appreciated as such; the idea that the struggle of life allows its counterpart to exist. And this is exactly where my mind wandered to with regard to all of the world’s advertised pain and suffering.
Is it possible that these very conflicts are necessary for the world to be balanced? While it is shocking, even to me, to advocate this very idea…the idea that peace and violence provide a healthy balance to existence…it also brings about a resolve that is very calming when troubled with the question, “Why?”
When I reflect on the purpose of many that seems to revolve around the troubling nature of things---problem solvers, peace keepers, employees of homeless shelters, civil rights advocates---I can’t help but question if life really would be better without conflict. Would we really appreciate good? Can worldwide peace truly exist? Or is it in our nature to create conflict for a purpose, which may or may not involve balance?
I cringe at the idea of war; I get uncomfortable around guns; and I cry when shown visions of genocide. But, it is my opinion that those reactions are a direct result of their counterparts. Worldwide peace will, I’m afraid, continue to be a lifelong purpose for mankind. But its achievement, if accomplished, will be extraordinary due, mostly in part, to the suffering that preceded it.
As I listened to the roundtable discussion that seemed to jump from one conflict to another, I found my thoughts wandering elsewhere. I began thinking about many of the conflicts facing the world today, not to mention those of our own nation. And, like most, my first reaction was sadness and frustration. But, almost just as instinctually, my second reaction was one of appreciation.
Not too long ago, I had a conversation with an older Korean man who dialogued with me about the importance of good and evil. His basic argument was that the existence of evil allows good to be understood or appreciated as such; the idea that the struggle of life allows its counterpart to exist. And this is exactly where my mind wandered to with regard to all of the world’s advertised pain and suffering.
Is it possible that these very conflicts are necessary for the world to be balanced? While it is shocking, even to me, to advocate this very idea…the idea that peace and violence provide a healthy balance to existence…it also brings about a resolve that is very calming when troubled with the question, “Why?”
When I reflect on the purpose of many that seems to revolve around the troubling nature of things---problem solvers, peace keepers, employees of homeless shelters, civil rights advocates---I can’t help but question if life really would be better without conflict. Would we really appreciate good? Can worldwide peace truly exist? Or is it in our nature to create conflict for a purpose, which may or may not involve balance?
I cringe at the idea of war; I get uncomfortable around guns; and I cry when shown visions of genocide. But, it is my opinion that those reactions are a direct result of their counterparts. Worldwide peace will, I’m afraid, continue to be a lifelong purpose for mankind. But its achievement, if accomplished, will be extraordinary due, mostly in part, to the suffering that preceded it.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Unabridged Version
With presents packed into leftover retail bags placed strategically in the trunk, and a homemade potato dish releasing its scent throughout the entire vehicle, we headed out for our traditional holiday travel destination. After several minutes of temperature control adjustments made solely through indirect comments from each traveler indicating an uncomfortable state, the radio's tunes and the repetitive sound of the tires on pavement began to lull me into an isolating fog. Although every now and then the voices in the front seat pulled me off my train of thought, I mostly found peace in my stare out the back seat window.
I have found that my travels in the back seat of a vehicle allow me to really see my surroundings. Not that I do not physically see the same things when in the front passenger seat, but I feel as though my obligation to the driver as a companion of sorts somewhat distracts me from the immediate environment's details. In addition, the front seat experience does not allow me adequate processing time to appreciate these details as I feel I could. This holiday was no different.
While riding along, I saw rearview windows blocked completely with beautifully wrapped presents; brightly colored paper and metallically shiny bows. I saw dogs of all kinds moving frantically back and forth in their spot of the vehicle, pacing almost with a curiosity of the excited energy spilling out onto the roads this very day. There was an older man and a boy walking alongside an outer road, bundled up from head to toe, holding hands and moving forward with intention. There were even other faces in the backseat of cars looking out into the world with expressions that, too, symbolized inner reflection and thought. With each passerby, I couldn't help but wonder about his or her story; who are these people, really? Even within my own traveling vehicle, I wondered this very question.
A couple weeks ago, during my visit to Barnes and Noble, I was meandering through the Bargain Books section of the store. It was then that I came across several unabridged collections, and the very notion of my own unabridged version; the unabridged version of Rachelle. Does anyone really know this version of me? Do I?
There are so many aspects of our life, while maybe not forgotten, are certainly edited…removing the raw experience and all the emotion and thought associated…so that we may move forward and focus on the now. It seems that holding on to each and every detail of the past would cloud the present and future; maybe making the ability to grow a struggle in itself, if not impossible. But even in the chance that we truly know and embrace the unabridged version of ourselves, is it even possible to share it with another? This then begs the question, "Do we really know each other?" I sometimes think I know just as much about my own family as I know about the stranger in the back seat of the vehicle passing by. Yet, somehow, the titles and frequency of exchange have convinced me otherwise…despite the lack of personal disclosure.
I have found that my travels in the back seat of a vehicle allow me to really see my surroundings. Not that I do not physically see the same things when in the front passenger seat, but I feel as though my obligation to the driver as a companion of sorts somewhat distracts me from the immediate environment's details. In addition, the front seat experience does not allow me adequate processing time to appreciate these details as I feel I could. This holiday was no different.
While riding along, I saw rearview windows blocked completely with beautifully wrapped presents; brightly colored paper and metallically shiny bows. I saw dogs of all kinds moving frantically back and forth in their spot of the vehicle, pacing almost with a curiosity of the excited energy spilling out onto the roads this very day. There was an older man and a boy walking alongside an outer road, bundled up from head to toe, holding hands and moving forward with intention. There were even other faces in the backseat of cars looking out into the world with expressions that, too, symbolized inner reflection and thought. With each passerby, I couldn't help but wonder about his or her story; who are these people, really? Even within my own traveling vehicle, I wondered this very question.
A couple weeks ago, during my visit to Barnes and Noble, I was meandering through the Bargain Books section of the store. It was then that I came across several unabridged collections, and the very notion of my own unabridged version; the unabridged version of Rachelle. Does anyone really know this version of me? Do I?
There are so many aspects of our life, while maybe not forgotten, are certainly edited…removing the raw experience and all the emotion and thought associated…so that we may move forward and focus on the now. It seems that holding on to each and every detail of the past would cloud the present and future; maybe making the ability to grow a struggle in itself, if not impossible. But even in the chance that we truly know and embrace the unabridged version of ourselves, is it even possible to share it with another? This then begs the question, "Do we really know each other?" I sometimes think I know just as much about my own family as I know about the stranger in the back seat of the vehicle passing by. Yet, somehow, the titles and frequency of exchange have convinced me otherwise…despite the lack of personal disclosure.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Birds on a Wire
Here it is; the official first day of winter. And, I can honestly say, I have spent an abnormal amount of time today trying to stay warm. According to the weather folks, it is negative-something degrees outside. And whenever the weatherman says, “Minus,” I automatically visualize my important limbs…minus fingers, toes and the tip of my nose. At one point today, I was actually wearing my stocking cap…INSIDE my apartment.
My heater is on. I stare at my fireplace imaging warmth since I ran out of heat-producing materials a couple days ago and have yet to acquire more. I have even placed a down comforter on my couch for cocoon-like preservation when in a non-movement state of being. None of this, however, has seemed to alleviate the arctic tundra that is now my living environment (and I’m pretty sure the Ben & Jerry’s I had for dinner didn’t help any either). Maybe I just have a cold? If so, I’d like to trade it in for a warm! All joking aside, the colder weather has definitely affected the behaviors of all living creatures near and far.
Every morning on my way to work, I can’t help but notice a flock…maybe a group…possibly a collection of birds that gather on a particular telephone wire. While I cannot be certain it is the same birds every day, I can be certain of their presence; same place, same time…approximately same amount. It might even be the exact same amount, although I have never taken the time to count.
Just last week, I noticed a slight change in the birds’ placement. They were closer together. It was as if they were snuggling to stay warm on their wire. I chuckled and thought to myself, in tough times even the birds stick together. They do what they have to for survival; for a better existence.
This thought just happened to coincide with a demanding time at work. With the help of a new computer software system, coupled with a traditionally busy time of year, our office staff was buried in task with little to no end in sight. It almost seemed hopeless. But just when emotions were running high, our leadership rallied the departmental troops. And with a couple days of cross-training, and a few more days of hard work, the office load was tackled. What would have taken weeks to finish, was completed in days.
Just like the birds gathering for warmth, this teamwork effort exhibited in a time of crisis brought me great joy. It truly is amazing what can be accomplished when living creatures work together for the greater good. Anything is possible. Although this time of year usually makes me overly sentimental, these kinds of actions make my heart sing year round. I truly believe that when we allow love and kindness to rule our actions, we leave less room for the stuff that prevents us from greatness. Collectively, our greatness is redefined.
My heater is on. I stare at my fireplace imaging warmth since I ran out of heat-producing materials a couple days ago and have yet to acquire more. I have even placed a down comforter on my couch for cocoon-like preservation when in a non-movement state of being. None of this, however, has seemed to alleviate the arctic tundra that is now my living environment (and I’m pretty sure the Ben & Jerry’s I had for dinner didn’t help any either). Maybe I just have a cold? If so, I’d like to trade it in for a warm! All joking aside, the colder weather has definitely affected the behaviors of all living creatures near and far.
Every morning on my way to work, I can’t help but notice a flock…maybe a group…possibly a collection of birds that gather on a particular telephone wire. While I cannot be certain it is the same birds every day, I can be certain of their presence; same place, same time…approximately same amount. It might even be the exact same amount, although I have never taken the time to count.
Just last week, I noticed a slight change in the birds’ placement. They were closer together. It was as if they were snuggling to stay warm on their wire. I chuckled and thought to myself, in tough times even the birds stick together. They do what they have to for survival; for a better existence.
This thought just happened to coincide with a demanding time at work. With the help of a new computer software system, coupled with a traditionally busy time of year, our office staff was buried in task with little to no end in sight. It almost seemed hopeless. But just when emotions were running high, our leadership rallied the departmental troops. And with a couple days of cross-training, and a few more days of hard work, the office load was tackled. What would have taken weeks to finish, was completed in days.
Just like the birds gathering for warmth, this teamwork effort exhibited in a time of crisis brought me great joy. It truly is amazing what can be accomplished when living creatures work together for the greater good. Anything is possible. Although this time of year usually makes me overly sentimental, these kinds of actions make my heart sing year round. I truly believe that when we allow love and kindness to rule our actions, we leave less room for the stuff that prevents us from greatness. Collectively, our greatness is redefined.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
My Cheatin' Heart
After I parked my car, I hesitated briefly before reaching for the door handle to exit. Was I really going to do this? Will I really be able to enjoy myself? The uneasy feeling, although subtle at first, was now penetrating my thoughts loud and clear. Surely the sensation I will experience after walking through those doors will be worth this initial guilt.
As I approached the doors, I found that the excuses I had made for my behavior in this moment during the walk from my car to the entryway were starting to work. I was getting excited. Once my feet crossed into the environment that brings me so much pleasure, I let go of all my worries. That is, until I was asked for my proof of commitment.
Almost instantly, my smile vanished. The excitement was replaced with shame. I glanced down into my wallet and saw my true companion staring back at me. It was in that moment, when my eyes looked longingly at my Borders Rewards Card, that I vowed to never step foot in Barnes and Noble again (no promises). I paid for my soy milk Chai Tea Latte with a simple debit card, knowing in my heart that refusing the acquisition of a Barnes and Noble Rewards Card was the right thing to do. This was a test of my loyalty, and I think I can confidently say that I passed with flying colors…minus the part of seeking another’s companionship, spending time and money happily.
While it is clear that I didn’t truly have hesitations about venturing into a Barnes and Noble, it IS true that I would have preferred a Border’s experience. And that got me thinking about the impact of our preferences on limiting new experiences. Is it possible that our preferences are formed more out of habit than pleasure, with pleasure deriving from comfort? Sure. Is it also possible that our preferences are formed strictly out of comparison of isolated experiences? Of course. In conclusion, as long as my preferences don’t falsely impact another experience negatively and are open to being replaced, I will continue to enjoy them as such.
As I approached the doors, I found that the excuses I had made for my behavior in this moment during the walk from my car to the entryway were starting to work. I was getting excited. Once my feet crossed into the environment that brings me so much pleasure, I let go of all my worries. That is, until I was asked for my proof of commitment.
Almost instantly, my smile vanished. The excitement was replaced with shame. I glanced down into my wallet and saw my true companion staring back at me. It was in that moment, when my eyes looked longingly at my Borders Rewards Card, that I vowed to never step foot in Barnes and Noble again (no promises). I paid for my soy milk Chai Tea Latte with a simple debit card, knowing in my heart that refusing the acquisition of a Barnes and Noble Rewards Card was the right thing to do. This was a test of my loyalty, and I think I can confidently say that I passed with flying colors…minus the part of seeking another’s companionship, spending time and money happily.
While it is clear that I didn’t truly have hesitations about venturing into a Barnes and Noble, it IS true that I would have preferred a Border’s experience. And that got me thinking about the impact of our preferences on limiting new experiences. Is it possible that our preferences are formed more out of habit than pleasure, with pleasure deriving from comfort? Sure. Is it also possible that our preferences are formed strictly out of comparison of isolated experiences? Of course. In conclusion, as long as my preferences don’t falsely impact another experience negatively and are open to being replaced, I will continue to enjoy them as such.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Musical Chairs
She said our wait would be twenty to twenty-five minutes. I looked at her skeptically seeing as the journey for name submission, alone, took five. Nevertheless, I smiled thankfully and proceeded to use my compass to navigate through the Black Friday crowd to reach the spot where my parents were waiting (slight exaggeration). They had managed to find two seats on the cushioned booths that lined the entrance walls. I happily stood in front of them, as all other seats were taken, and observed those standing elsewhere.
Restaurant waiting-“room” time can be quite interesting. People-watching is heightened with dialogue that tends to amuse strictly out of intrigue, and minds start to wander, often out of hunger. Since we were waiting to dine for brunch, and I was focused on breakfast food, I found myself wandering more than watching. Just as I started thinking about all of the chickens it must take to produce all of the eggs being cooked and served in this particular restaurant on this particular day, I noticed movement to my right. Booth Vacancy Alert! As I looked around for the notables whose absence would give me seating clearance: elders, expectant mothers, children, etc, I was surprised to find myself in green-light status. Just as I was about to plant my rear next to my folks, two teenage girls swooped in for the kill. I laughed.
What did this remind me of? It only took a second before the childhood memories of circular movement and plotting came flooding into view. Of course! Musical Chairs. I should have known. All those years of training wrapped cleverly into an enjoyable activity. Adults have known about the limited restaurant-waiting-area seating since the beginning of time, right? What better way to communicate the vital skill of seat nabbing than in a “game” that can be played all throughout the formative years?!
To the girls’ credit, once they realized I had been contemplating filling one of the seat vacancies, an offer was made for exchange. Although I declined out of amusement for the moment, I was motivated by the gesture. It reminded me that while our competitive nature does tend to surface instinctually, it can be controlled for a better outcome.
Restaurant waiting-“room” time can be quite interesting. People-watching is heightened with dialogue that tends to amuse strictly out of intrigue, and minds start to wander, often out of hunger. Since we were waiting to dine for brunch, and I was focused on breakfast food, I found myself wandering more than watching. Just as I started thinking about all of the chickens it must take to produce all of the eggs being cooked and served in this particular restaurant on this particular day, I noticed movement to my right. Booth Vacancy Alert! As I looked around for the notables whose absence would give me seating clearance: elders, expectant mothers, children, etc, I was surprised to find myself in green-light status. Just as I was about to plant my rear next to my folks, two teenage girls swooped in for the kill. I laughed.
What did this remind me of? It only took a second before the childhood memories of circular movement and plotting came flooding into view. Of course! Musical Chairs. I should have known. All those years of training wrapped cleverly into an enjoyable activity. Adults have known about the limited restaurant-waiting-area seating since the beginning of time, right? What better way to communicate the vital skill of seat nabbing than in a “game” that can be played all throughout the formative years?!
To the girls’ credit, once they realized I had been contemplating filling one of the seat vacancies, an offer was made for exchange. Although I declined out of amusement for the moment, I was motivated by the gesture. It reminded me that while our competitive nature does tend to surface instinctually, it can be controlled for a better outcome.
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