I Resolve . . .
Something Could Change
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org Come 2009, I will commence on a new path. I will exercise regularly, smoke not at all. A healthy diet will become my regime. On Monday, January 5, my life mission will be realized in my work. The opportunity to inaugurate again, to give birth to me at my best will inspire a rejuvenation. Today, I resolve to . . . not make a single New Years resolution. In truth, I never have committed to change. Yet, the person you see before you is not the same being that might have appeared on any other day, of any other year. I have evolved, and so do we all.
No matter where an individual might reside, the calendar motivates people to review, reflect, and revise schedules that did not work as well as once envisioned. Pages in an almanac pass, and people presume, surely, these sheets of paper were meant to show signs of progress. Most ponder; twelve months of misery or mindless maneuvers. It is time for a change. Yet, the mantra few admit to on January 1st, is the one individuals maintain throughout their lives, 'people do not change.' Experts espouse there is evidence for this belief.
Dr. Edward D. Miller, Dean of the medical faculty at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, refers to the more than 70 percent of coronary bypass patients who revert to unhealthy habits within two years of corrective surgery. Although two-thirds of Americans believe they weigh seventeen pounds more than their ideal weight, few are able to shed the pounds. In a recent study, nutritional specialists at Duke University affirmed that two-thirds of dieters gain back any lost weight within a year.
While more than seventy-four percent [74%] of the Americans who are willing to confess, they smoke express a desire to give up the habit, 67% of these say they are addicted to cigarettes. Even the most sanguine studies state "20 to 40 percent of participants are able to quit smoking and stay off cigarettes for at least one year." For nearly everyone, a New Years Resolution is no more than a trial declaration. People propose; "I will try." Rarely do individuals voice a determined decision to do.
As I said, I never did. My fear of failure secured my silence. Personally, while it appeared that I battled with unhealthy habits, these were not my genuine challenge. My fear for the change I thought would never come, a career that fosters contentment, a close connection with a compassionate someone who would not suffocate me, a personal sense of fulfillment were the greater challenges.
Severe trepidation told me I could not achieve as I believed best. Even if I thought the impossible probable in time, I trusted that a resolution would not help me realize a transformation. Some might have said I was resistant, resigned to life as it was.
Certainly, Marion Kramer Jacobs, a Clinical Psychologist in Laguna Beach, California could concur with such a conclusion. Doctor Jacobs offers the decree, defeatist yearn to hear. "We're hard-wired not to change quickly." She declares; "Think of what chaos would ensue if you could snap your finger and change instantly tomorrow. You would be one person today, someone else tomorrow."
The author of "Take-Charge Living: How to Recast Your Role in Life . . . One Scene at a Time," is cited amongst those who contend the challenge to change may have evolutionary origins. She and other experts in human behavior surmise, mankind is accustomed to hierarchies. Rules, regulations, [even traditional resolutions] inform us. Societal structures require us to know our roles and perform them dutifully. Oh, how we do.
Governments guide us. Policymakers pass laws. People obey. Entrepreneurs employ us. Bosses bark of business strategies. Supervisors boom orders to subordinates. Laborers walk in lockstep. Families flourish when parents lead the little ones. Therefore, the accepted theory seems to be a person cannot change without assistance. Community, career, and domestic counselors count on this conviction.
Constituents are elated change has come in the form of a new President, Barack Obama.
Small business owners are advised if they follow a profound plan, they too will be transformed. "Clarify and Simplify," create an action plan for your workforce, soon all will be well. Certainly, a focused staff with will reap fiscal rewards.
Experts also seek to assist employees. Articles and airwaves are filled with plans, Again Americans are presented with secrets for success. Follow this strategy and realize your dreams; secure your resolution. Persons accustomed to being told what to do read essays such as, What says 'hire me!' to employers.
Dieters are delivered dictums. The plump are given programs to eliminate the excess pounds; 5 small changes to help you lose weight. Yes, fat persons, just as those fit to be tied by debt, an addiction to cigarettes, alcohol, or other penchants, are ready to follow the steps anyone might present. The hope is they might avoid another year of harrowing habits.
"Most of us think that we can change our lives if we just summon the willpower and try even harder this time around," said Alan Deutschman, the former Executive Director of Unboundary, a firm that counsels corporations on how to alter business agendas. Mister Deutschman, author of "Change or Die," declares in his diary, while most people have the ability to alter behaviors and attitudes, they rarely do. "It's exceptionally hard to make life changes and our efforts are usually doomed to failure when we try to do it on our own."
Perchance that is why most turn to friends or more frequently family for moral support. Authorities who admit a personal life is not as predictable as supposed facts, figures, and formulas might pretend it to be, give parents recommendations that provide greater flexibility. As 2008 exits, and 2009 enters, Moms and Dads are invited to resolve that they cannot solve every problem. This is the truth most people believe. Good intentions, while admirable, do not achieve results. Yet, men, women, and children never stop trying to transform others or themselves.
Perchance, rather than accept the rituals, adopt our roles, or obligate our selves to rules that dictate a future of failure, we might resolve to recognize that change comes slowly. Transformation travels from within. Growth is a process. Dreams are not realized in an instant.
As infants, we did not walk or talk. Toddlers have few tales to tell and narrate none exceptionally well. Children can make choices; however, by the time they are teens the decision to run out into the street, against traffic, may not seem wise. Little humans change constantly, as do bigger-in-mind-and body beings.
Young adults will assess all they knew again and again. What a woman or man, in her or his twenties, thinks is best may not be what the same individual at thirty would advise. Resolve, as I have, no matter the day or eve, New Year, or old, that rather than bemoan the research that elucidates why eighty percent [80%] of people will not successfully embark on self-renewal projects, embrace that you are, just as I am, not as we were. Tomorrow, we will not be as we are.
I resolve to remember change is a constant. My path is well traveled. At times, I tripped. I fell from the healthier course and then I picked myself up. Harmful habits went by the wayside with help from me. Friends, family, and experts may have lent a hand. However, they could not do what only I could achieve for myself. On this, the First day of January, I resolve to recall that I have evolved.
Resources for Resolutions . . .
- Average American Weighs 17 Pounds More Than "Ideal." By Frank Newport. Gallup. November 28, 2007
- Most Americans Consider Smoking Very Harmful. Gallup. July 28, 2008
- Smoking Cessation. American Heart Association. January 1, 2009
- So, you've lost 100 pounds. Now what? The struggle to stay slim doesn't end, even after the fat pants are gone, By Bonnie Taub-Dix, R.D. MSNBC News. April 18, 2008
- Planning for a Happier New Year, By Paul B. Brown. The New York Times. December 30, 2008
- Parenting Resolutions, By Lisa Belkin. The New York Times. December 31, 2008
- New Year, New You? Nice Try, By Alex Williams. The New York Times January 1, 2009
- Poll: Obama leadership rates high as Bush's after 9/11, By Paul Steinhauser. Cable News Network. December 31, 2008
- 5 small changes to help you lose weight. Cable News Network. January 1, 2009
- Smoking, weight, money top New Year's resolutions, By Adam Crisp. The Chattanooga Times Free Press. MSNBC News. January 1, 2009
- Blame brain for failing to keep New Year's resolution. Daily Telegraph. December 31, 2008
- Experts warn against going cold turkey. Daily Telegraph. December 31, 2008
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on December 31, 2008 at 11:58 PM in Addiction, Americana, Dreams Live and Die , Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Habits, Life, A Forward Motion, Looking at Life, Philosophy | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
What Pulls Us Apart
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
It was a cool Fall evening in South Florida. The breeze was gentle; the sunset glorious. As I approached the intersection where, each weekend I stand in support of peace and tranquility, I did as I do when at this crossroad. I placed my arm out the window. My digits were extended and formed the symbol associated with serenity. When I am in a vehicle, at the locale commonly considered the Peace Corner I work to preserve the intent of my Saturday mission. I strive to advance awareness for the notion, this nation remains at war. Soldiers are slaughtered far from the shores of home sweet home. Civilians, in their native country continue to lose their lives for a want of war. I crave global harmony and will work to restore some sense of civility worldwide. However, as I sat silently in contemplation cries of "Country First" startled me.
The divisiveness that has become pervasive during this political season smacked me in the face. Shaken, I turned to see where the words of contempt might have come from. There they stood, two young boys, perhaps eleven years of age stood on the sidewalk with homemade signs in hand. "McCain Palin" was painted on a poster. Smaller type, difficult to read from even a short distance, said more. I might pretend to portend what the words were meant to communicate. However, I rather not assume. I can only describe what was said and done as the seconds on the street turned into minutes.
As others had done when they passed me with my peaceful placard for oh so many years, I expressed my belief in a manner that might be visible to these youthful demonstrators. I reached for my Obama sign, which is neatly tucked between my windshield and the dashboard. I held the glossy rectangular navy blue sticker up, my arm stretched beyond the side of the automobile. The near Middle School age gents immediately saw my marker and exclaimed. "He is a Muslim!"
I calmly cried, "No, he is not. Barack Obama is a Christian." "However," I continued, even if he were as you seem to believe, why would that matter?" " Do you really wish to be intolerant of other religions?" "What of our rights as afforded by the United States Constitution?" Perhaps as one who taught Junior High School students for so long, an invitation to discuss seemed ideal to me. These young people, not familiar with me, and my love of open and reverent conversations were intent on repeating the rhetoric they likely heard in their homes.
I could not help but wonder would the words Communist, Socialist, or terrorist, pass through the lips of these lads. Might one boy or the other tell me as drivers had days ago when I stood on the corner in vigil for peace, "Barack Obama is Black"? My mind raced as I reflected upon the two chaps. I realized the issues important to them were those the elders they loved had discussed at length. Human as the young men were they knew what they knew. The adolescents were taught to think as the adults important in their lives did. We all do, at least initially.
I remembered a tale I frequently told pupils in the past. In my own life, I later understood, when I was young I was unaware of the infinite options and opportunities to think, say, do, and feel, in ways that were uncommon in my family. I could not imagine what was novel to me. If questioned I would defend my beliefs; however, unlike these preteens I did not dismiss a request for thoughtfulness. A want for greater wisdom was instilled in me from the first. I learned to desire discussions. Fury in my family seemed a futile emotion. It brought more wrath and offered little promise for peace.
However, my relatives did not raise these miniature men. Perhaps that explains why the pair of youthful McCain/Palin supporters began to rant and rage. They chided me for the size of my sign. The littler than full-grown lads laughed as they pointed to a banner firmly planted, permanently into the ground. Behind them was a monstrous sign, perhaps eight-feet wide and six feet high. The words McCain Palin stood strident for all passer-bys to see. On a background, so dark as to appear near black, the white letters screamed support for the Republican ticket.
The boys shrieked; "I cannot even see your sign." "It is so small," the two shouted. I did not react. The language the boys used morphed into a lexicon I will not utter, even when distressed. After moments when I avoided actual engagement; although I did not put my Obama sign down, I decided to speak again. "Love and peace," I proclaimed. I was quickly told there would be none of that. A slew of statements not to be repeated spewed from the mouths of babes. I was stunned, not by the venom but by the similarities and contrast.
While I waited for the light to turn green, I found myself lost in reveries.
As a child, also at the age of eleven or possibly twelve, I first began on my path as an activist, an advocate for people, regardless of race, color, creed, or religion. My civic maturity was intellectually realized through acceptance. I was taught not merely to tolerate others; I learned to embrace all. Amongst my lessons, diversity is as significantly wondrous as similarities. These were our family values. More importantly, the skill that was honed in my parents' home was listening.
My Mom and Dad helped me to understand that if I chose to hear what another believed, I could grow wiser. Together, communities are greater when the commonweal is the central concern. Fundamentally, my family believed, all individuals believe in love and goodness. "All men [and women, children too] are created equal.
Perhaps that is why, while in Middle School my family participated in a civil rights march. I was invited to join them. Years earlier, at the age of five, I became interested in politics. As my parents engaged in the most animated discussion I had ever witnessed, I learned of elections.
I grew aware of the emotional impact an economic issues and the impact these could have on a vote. Education, the environment, war, and peace all played a part in ballot decisions. At the kitchen table, as I sat and listened to the lively talk on topics that related to every aspect of life, I realized the power of everyday people. All Americans who vote shape our society. I also understood that those to little to cast a ballot had influence.
Mothers and fathers often jest, "My children learn what I never did." Proud papas revel in the knowledge a son or daughter shares. Modest Mamas marvel when their offspring offer informed opinions. In my youth, I may not have realized the words I uttered as a student enrolled in school were of interest to my Mom and Dad. What I saw and felt taught them. As I talked aloud, my parents learned. We chatted. The child was a mentor. Caregivers were counselors. Each gained and received a greater education from the other.
The difference between my experience and what I witnessed at the intersection was in my family, peace was promoted. A reciprocal reverence was advanced. A word such as "Muslim," a person's religion, was not considered a source for a slight.
I was not encouraged to slam or damn another being, not one who stood before me, or one who wished to serve the public. Indeed, behavior than might demean or dismiss another being was sincerely discouraged.
As a child, I was taught to believe competitive temperaments are counter productive. Characteristics that could be classified as cutthroat were considered childish, aggressive, and contrary to the traits that might create peace. Calmness was considered the pinnacle path. In my family, communication was thought to be the greatest travel, that is, next to thinking.
Even in election season, I learned at the knees of Mommy and Daddy; empathy is the best educator. I wondered. What had these young men experienced in their homes?
Would their mothers and fathers be pleased as they heard their brood proclaim prejudice statements from the pavement, "Barack Obama is a Muslim." Might the Moms or Dads of these chaps be indignant at the discordant idea of "Country First?" Would they rather the children cry in concord, "We, the people, are the change we can believe in." Likely not. Progeny are the products of parents.
If we teach the children to chastise, they will. Offspring trained to offend others do. Those tutored to act defensively often deliver dubious dictums. Fear fills the spirits of those who were not treated with abundant respect. Apprehension is frequently expressed as anger.
Concerned communication gives birth to calm and care. If we edify praise, as well as unity and peace, our offspring will practice kindheartedness. When mothers and fathers teach attentiveness and acceptance, the children will acquire comparable customs. Elders who choose to listen and learn from and with their progeny teach little ones to do the same.
Perchance what divides our country is not political parties, religious practices, color, or creed. What fractures America is the manner in which we parent our children.
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on October 20, 2008 at 09:00 PM in Adult Influence on Children, Americana, Children, Communities, Communities and Communication , Compassion, Conflict, Complex, Elections, Empathy and Evolution, Family, Functioning, Fables, Fear | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
The Lesson; All Beings Are a Beautiful Bundle of Love
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
The day was delightful. The water was superb. The sun was full and bright. A few billowy, puffy clouds floated through the sky. They were white, cumulus, fluffy fellows, the type that excite many a child as they gaze into the heavens. In parks, on lawns, little ones were likely looking up and pointing. "Look," they might say, "It is a horse, a donkey, or perchance a unicorn." It was a day for whimsy. The children, playful in the pool, barely noticed the graceful shapes as they danced above their heads. Instead, they were focused on what they decided were June bugs.
Three young sweet girls stood in the warm water near their Daddy. All were calm, content, and serene. The sisters chatted easily. Father smiled. The youngest lass expressed her curiosity. As her sibling searched for bugs on the plastic rope line, the "baby" in the family asked of the insects. "Are they icky to touch," the cautious curly haired youngster inquired. The more confident elder sister said, "No! They are cute," she said. See." The "older" child showed the girl of fewer years.
A stranger, in the adjacent lane was preparing to swim. Becky was her name. She was much older than the children, and perhaps no wiser; nonetheless, she share her assessment of the beetle. Becky said of the six-legged lovelies, "They are life; all creatures are beautiful." With that thought, the father beamed, and the older lady plunged head first into the water filled cement reservoir.
Lap after lap and look after look the woman and children enjoyed the quiet of the day. The words the swimmer shared seemed to hang in the air. People came and went, throughout the afternoon, and splendor was all anyone saw.
Then, everything changed. The evolution from tranquil to trauma was slow; nonetheless, unexpected. Those in the recreation park were struck, as if by a bolt of lightening. However, unlike when a storm threatens, swimmers were not forced to leave the pool. The jolt evoked more silence. No one screamed, but the sole boy, victim to the method his Mom's adopted for instruction.
The young mother, a woman, perhaps, in her early thirties, was extremely pleasant in appearance, and it seemed her personality was equally delightful. She, Madison, entered the deck area with her small son in her arms. Skin, beautifully tanned, this well-dress lady strode to the lifeguard tower. The little guy, let us call him, Michael, was not as bronze in color, and was visibly agitated. Michael whimpered, even as his Mom held him close.
Becky, the swimmer who enjoyed the company of the little lasses and their Dad before she began her exercise had just finished the more strenuous part of her routine when the mother and child came into view. Becky, a teacher, enjoyed children, in or outside the classroom. She marveled at the openness of a mind not yet crushed by the weight of worry. The sincerity of a small one was a source of fascination for Becky. Children, early in life, were candid and joyous, at least most were, or appeared to be.
Little Michael, a lad, maybe three, or four, was not a cheerful child. He wore no glee on his face, although his features were cute as could be from what Becky was able to see. When the swimmer first noticed Madison and Michael, they were yards away. They approached the guard tower at the opposite end of the pool and spoke with Brianna, the young adult hired to protect the public in an emergency. Becky thought nothing of the interaction. She was relieved to have only her stretches left to complete. Becky moved the shallow end and commenced with another ritual.
Behind her, a metal chair scraped along the concrete. The sound startled her and she looked up at the area where people sat enjoying the sun. Had Becky waited just a moment she would have known Michael and Madison had moved closer to her. The cries filled the air. The sweet little boy shrieked, "I wanna go see Daddy." Michael howled; "No Mom!!!! No!" His face scrunched tightly, this little lovable fellow yelled, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Please Mom! No!" Michael repeated the words, "I wanna go see Daddy!"
His mother chided him, gently. "We have to do this." Madison did not seem to believe she could quiet her son's fears. An expectation that the little guy might enjoy was void from her voice. The Mom simply worked feverishly, to accomplish the dreaded task. She prepared Michael for his dip in the water, and said, "Let's just get this over with."
Becky continued with her work out and wondered of the circumstances. Perchance, the mother and father were divorced or newly separated. Michael may have expressed the deep distress he felt for a family no longer united. Becky, the daughter of parents who parted understood how stressful such a situation might be. She was eight when . . . her reverie was interrupted.
Madison had abruptly carried Michael to the step at the shallow end of the pool. The Mom now wore a white shirt over her own bathing suit. Sweetly, she smiled and leaned forward. Madison said to Becky, "I do not wish to disturb you. I want to warn you; I am teaching my son to swim and he screams, loudly." As an experienced educator, Becky imagined it would be a mild and momentary shout. As one who swims daily and had for well over a decade, the teacher witnessed many a young child learn to paddle and breathe in water.
Indeed, at this very facility she has observed perhaps hundreds of child learn to master their strokes. The excellent swim teachers, parents and paid professionals, helped calm many a neophyte nerve. Often Becky watched with admiration as patient Moms, Dads, and lifeguards helped little ones wade through the water. It was as she shared with the girls earlier in the day, "They, people and insects, are life. All creatures are beautiful."
What Becky witnessed next was not beautiful; it was brutal! Madison held Michaels arms tightly. She forced him into the water. The Mom insisted the boy's head remain face down immersed until she pulled him up. Apparently, they had practiced this cycle before. Becky now understood why Michael cringed and cried out long before he was ever near the expansive liquid sea.
Initially, the trained instructor was paralyzed. Becky could not imagine that a mother might torment her child. The volume of Michaels screams increased. His little arms flailed. "Mom, No! Pleassssssssse!" The emotional agony he felt was palpable. Mom did not stop as he pleaded. The pain on his face did not move Madison to succumb. His words, his anguish, nothing stopped this mother on her quest. For Becky, what must have been a minute or less seemed like hours, years, decades. She thought of sweet obedient Michael. While he shed many a tear and shrieked when he could gasp for air, the little love did as he was told or required to do. He dropped his head into the pool on demand.
Off into the distance, in the parking lot, just outside the fence, Becky noticed a late model shiny black vehicle. The man at the wheel peered in. His car was not situated in a space meant for stopping. This fellow seemed interested in the antics of Madison and Michael. Becky mused; possibly the sound of suffering haunted him as it did her. She could not stand by a moment longer.
With an earnest concern, Becky expressed her empathy for the child. She inquired; "Is he frightened.." The mother responded, "He can swim." Becky queried aloud, had the mother sought other means for instruction. Perchance, if Michael were given the opportunity to slowly adjust to the water. If he were allowed to breathe easily as he slowly learned to stoke . . . Becky's words were cut off. Still somewhat genteel and reserved, Madison explained, "This is what his teacher taught me to do." "She is excellent. Everyone goes to her. They call her the swim Nazi."
The practiced swimmer, and professional educator, shared her own expertise. Becky told of a time when she worked with another teacher who was extremely punitive. This castigatory colleague was an award winner. Some children loved her, parents too. Students taught Becky what she had not known; if you are raised in a family where cruelty is common, you learn to believe that rough treatment is love. Violence is fondness when a family is familiar with vicious behavior.
Becky spoke of a man she loves. He was introduced to swimming in much the way Michael was guided. This man loathes his parents. As an adult, he says of himself, he is really messed up. For the man Becky cares for, trust is not an option. The lesson he learned at the hands of his mother, who taught him how to swim, just as Madison now advised Michael, is that people will hurt you.
In this very short and quick conversation Becky, recalled her own memories, and how she has vivid recollections of events in that occurred in her life when she was younger than Michael. Becky looked over at Michael's face. The torment was already etched into his skin. The screeches scarred him.
Madison listened, maybe. She was polite. The Mom never let go of her cherished son, Michael. The activity did not stop. Nor did the blood curdling screams. The echoes of pain continued to pierce the air, and break delicate decorum.
People within the recreation center while startled, they stood still or pretended to ignore what escaped no one. Only Becky articulated her concern. Madison expressed her interest; more so once she realized Becky is an educator. However, without a moment of hesitation, or a break from or for Michael, she offered a retort. "I will speak with the teacher." Becky again offered, the teacher does what she thinks is best. Perhaps, she, just as the pupils Becky spoke of, had parents who were as aggressive as she was.
Those who admire the techniques the Nazi swim teacher endorses may also be intimately acquainted with instruction through intimidation. "In my family no one yells," Becky said. Madison responded; the same was true in her life. She and her husband do not scream.
Michael continues to squeal. "Mom, Please, No!" He thrashes. He grabs for her mother. Michael reaches for Madison's shirt and slaps her body and face. The Mom had mentioned she wore the blouse just for this purpose. Michael grabbed at the swim instructor, just as prescribed, and when with her, Michael clawed for Madison's clothing.
His moves do not seem to suggest an intention to hurt the mother Michael loves. From appearances, the boy only hopes to find a source of solace. He wants to hold on to someone, anyone. His words seem to express a desire that his Mom will save him from her. The child cries out again and again. He flaps; he flounders. Little lovable Michael thrashes and struggles. Madison was not discouraged.
Still alert and attentive to her purpose, Madison proclaims, "The swim teacher has them trained within a week." Once more, she says, "Everyone goes to her." She may have sensed or seen Becky's alarm. Apprehensive, the mother said, "I will speak to my husband. He is in the car."
Becky realized the man who she had observed earlier might have studied the pair with an interest that could not be described. Possibly, what the father felt was beyond words. Becky knew that emotionally, this event tugged at her heartstrings. She wondered; did the Dad wait for he too could not endure the misery inflicted on his son. How could a mother be so cruel? How could anyone treat a child with such contempt? Why were words of compassion and caution not enough to stop the abuse? Was Becky alone in her anguish?
She exited the pool area, entered the locker room. Then she scrubbed herself in the shower. All the while Becky heard the howls and the hollers. This small sorrowful soul did not rant or rage against his Mom. He only called out for help. Each shout sliced the air and sent chills up Becky's spine. She could hardly contain her own tears.
Becky left the building and again approached Madison, whose energy and purpose had not waned. The worried woman spoke, "If I could I would like to inquire; would it not be better if Michael loved his lessons (and the person who teaches him)?" Did she share the latter thought? She was so troubled, she did not know what she said. Had she asked if it was necessary to master the skill in a week? Madison ignored Becky. She was done with this exchange. She said to Michael, "Just a few more minutes."
Defeated, Becky left the deck. She walked to the office where the guards stood in alert. The group discussed what left each of them distraught. A resigned Brianna verbalized her belief, "There is nothing we can do or say." Shocked to discover Becky spoke to the woman, Brianna began to ask of what was said. Then she realized Madison, with a drained and strained Michael in her arms, was near. She let out a sound that signaled the need for silence.
The mother and her madness quickly fled the premises. After a short discussion with the guards, Becky thanked them for listening to her fears and followed the path from the pool to the parking lot. Apparently, the couple and their child were settling into the coupe. The father glanced over as he saw Becky near the vehicle. Nothing was said. For Becky, there were no words.
She pondered. Was Becky the person now considered a predator? Had Madison grumbled to her husband as she shared details of the encounter? Exhausted and uncertain of the empathy she had supposed all beings had for others, Becky went to her car. She could not drive away, although she saw the family did. The lover of living beings, of children, could not fully understand what existed only for moments in her own life. She was haunted by the hurt she saw in Michael's face and heard in his calls.
Stunned and shaken Becky sat trembling for a very long time. She wailed; she wept. Had she just let a sweet child fend for himself in a world too awful to survive?
Hours passed and Becky imagines, in her life, Michael, and the impression he made on her would never move on. Sadly, she fears, what for her was but minutes, for Michael, will be life.
Becky had mentioned to Madison, or hoped she had, the effect of trauma. To this day, the older educator recounts the stresses that transformed her being. The lessons, what her Mom, Dad, and mentors did supposedly for her benefit, if not facilitated fondly, harmed her deeply. Cognizant that children absorb all they encounter and are affected by every exchange, Becky contemplates the drama Michael endured.
In a desire to calm her self, Becky, an educator who loves to learn, sought answers. She had so many questions, so many concerns. As a teacher, never labeled a dictatorial tyrant, she had much trepidation. What had Madison taught Michael? Was he expected to sink or swim? As she read, her angst increased. What would become of Michael?
How Do You Recognize a Patient (or Person) with Trauma if it is Not Always Obvious?
Different people respond differently to traumatic events. Some people will carry it around in ways that everybody can see that they've been impacted. But most people actually will go through a traumatic experience and won't have any easily visible or obvious manifestation of that. The problems may emerge many months or sometimes even years after the original event. So it's very important for people who are trying to understand trauma to become aware of the various ways in which traumatic symptoms can manifest, the various ways in which trauma can be carried forward by children and adults, and the pervasive impact that trauma has independent of the way someone is observed to perform.How Do Relationships Affect the Way the Brain Develops?
Human beings are at our core, relational creatures. We are designed to live, work, play, and grow in groups. The very nature of humanity arises from relationships. You learn language, you learn social language, you learn appropriate emotional regulation, and essentially everything that's important about life as a human being you learn in context of relationships. And the very substance of a successful individual is bathed in a whole host of relationships with people in that person's life . . .
Can You Continue with the Relationships and How it Affects the Brain
When you look at someone, when you hear someone, when you have a conversation, when you make a joke with somebody, when you touch someone, every single one of those physical interactions are translated into patterned neuronal activity that go into the brain of both people in that interaction and result in positive changes. These physical changes influence our immune system and they influence the autonomic nervous system that controls your heart and your lungs and your gut. Literally, when people have a wealth of relationships, where relationships are present in high quantities and they're of good quality, these individuals are actually physically healthier, they're emotionally healthier, they're more cognitively enriched, and they actually reach their potential to be humane in ways that are impossible without relationships.It's a very interesting thing that people don't really appreciate this very much, but that there's no better biological interaction that you can have than a relationship.
Yes, all beings are but a beautiful bundle of love. Yet, rarely do humans honor that veracity. So few people understand the depth of each interaction. Too frequently, individuals do what was done to them, or what they think they can. Societal standards, customs, traditions, the lessons taught by authoritarian teachers shape them. People learn. Yet, they may not have studied the ultimate lesson. We are each a lovely and fragile beings. We grow well when hearts, minds, bodies, and souls are tenderly touched.
"Michael, I am soooooooo sorry," Becky mused. What of the relationship she had with Michael, or for that matter, with all beings. What affect did her actions or inactions have. Becky though of how all that occurred developed, and how Michael might grow. "If only I had done more, been more, were a better teacher to your Mom, or had offered to help you learn to swim." Becky, heart heavy with regret promised herself, if she were to meet this family again, she would . . . in truth, she did not know what she could or would do. She only hoped that someone would tell her. How does one swim in a world where too many forget, all beings are but a bundle of love.
Sources and Suffering . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on July 6, 2008 at 09:00 AM in "Take me as I am!", Abuse, Adult Influence on Children, Aggression, Approval or Love, Art of Loving, Have or Be, Change the World [Within], Children, Desire to Learn, Dreams Live and Die , Education, Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Family, Functioning, Fables, Life, A Forward Motion, Looking at Life, Nature or Nurture, Quality of Life, Teach The Children | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Restricted Sorrow and Sainthood
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
I stroked the chair, caressed the spirit. I cried. She was gone; yet here. Not forgotten; forever her presence would be with me. Then within a wink of an eye, seven days passed. Luke Russert appeared before me. He stood; head bowed, and touched another chair. This overstuffed piece of furniture once held the frame of his dearly departed father. While some thought the moment sweet, many expressed exasperation. They tired of the coverage. Timothy James Russert was dead. We need not canonize him. A few were critical. They wondered did cable television have nothing better to cover. A "fellow" Journalist commented, "Will somebody please e-mail me when the eulogies for Tim Russert are over?" Perhaps, tributes only end when we, the mourners pass. Possibly, memorials are personal, as are the parameters on grief.
Three weeks ago today, I looked longingly at the place she occupied forever. My Mom could always be found seated at the kitchen table, that is unless she was cooking, baking, or gardening. When Mom boiled, broiled, fried, or roasted victuals she did so with a lack of restraint. Recipes were not to be followed. They were guides, as was her nose, and the tip of her tongue. Mommy was an eager explorer. If not in motion, she read voraciously while erect in a straight back wooden chair that I stood and admired twenty-one days ago.
Mommy reveled in being productive and creative. Her hobby was critical thought. She lived, breathed, and was a being who constantly researched, reviewed all she encountered, and reflected. Mommy was, and is authentic. Berenice never pretended to be perfect. She did not believe in the possibility. My Mom learned as she lived. All aspects of live were her lessons.
In our home, an error was an opportunity. Mommy evolved eternally, and had faith all beings do. I have no reason to believe that she has stopped or was stilled by a physical trauma that took her visible presence away from me. My father does not fear that she passed on to nothingness; nor does he conclude that her progression ended when her eyes closed here on Earth for the final time.
Indeed, that very morning, less than a month ago, while in my parents' home, my father did as he diligently did each week. He placed flowers in a beautiful crystal vase and put them in front of the chair where Mommy often sat. She was not there that morning; at least most people would not have been able to see her. Berenice passed more than eight years ago. Nonetheless, for my father and I she is always present.
On this date as on every other, my mother, his wife, would smell picturesque peonies. She would admire the crimson color. Red was her favorite hue. Fresh flora, picked from her garden, and presented with great care was never a vacant gesture. Mommy loved life in every form. Plants were no less important than people. The kitties some would call "pets" were also considered equal to humans in my Mom's eyes, although., I wonder if others ever understood that.
I think, at times, some felt as though Mommy was closer to the "cats" than she was to them. Perchance, she was. From the "babies" she received unconditional love. They, as my father and I, knew all her flaws and thought them fun. Those unique qualities were the source of endearment for father, the furry felines, and I. Food and feedings did not bind a mammal mother to her daughter, her husband, or to the purrfect little ones who sat with her every chance they could.
Mom and the four-footed cuddly children expressed empathy for each other in ways that could only be felt. She and some humans, not me, had never connected with such compassion. I suspect those who know us only from afar cannot fully grasp the wholeness, the whoness, that makes an individual great.
For me, Berenice was and is beyond belief. Perhaps that is why, all these years later, I gaze upon her station and shed a flood of tears. For me, it is as though she has yet to pass. Yet, in my heart I know of the looming doom.
Some would say my moans and the notion that I might mourn my loss silly. Near a decade has passed. Certainly, I must be over the occurrence. We are here; then, we are gone. People live and then they die. That is it. Enough already. I have reason to believe some who knew Mommy do not grieve as I do. Still the ache I feel at the mere mention of Mom is sincere. The pain of her passing will likely never leave me. Nor will her words or ways be lost on me. She is as alive within me and for me as she was the last time we spoke, face to face.
On the Sunday I last spent in her home, before I left for the flight back to my own abode, I turned and kissed a photograph of her. It stood in memorial in the dining area, on the sideboard. There, Mommy could see the flowers my father picked for her. From where she was, my Mom could also study the pile of books Dad left for her to read. He, as I, trusted she would wish to remain current. Just as they had when Mommy filled a more Earthly presence, volumes on various subjects, were stacked on the table. Mommy and Dad would read and discuss onto infinity.
Yes, my father is as foolish as I.
We recall the wondrous women who taught us to believe in love. Dad and I cannot forget the fondness of a being who had faith; there are no limits. While we understand that several persons think my father and I need to "get over" her "death," we must "move one," each of us experiences that we have evolved. Mommy has been integrated into our soul in a manner that shifts us farther forward. Neither of us ever imagined we might grow as we have. Our horizons have become more expansive. Might we be the flowers Mommy now nurtures from an ethereal garden? I can only wonder just as, I ponder the posture of those who easily leave loved ones behind.
Frequently, I marvel as I observe those who dwell on the hate, hurt, or the resentment they felt and possibly still feel. As Timothy Russert was laid to rest, several of those who survive were not at peace. Headlines blazed across page after page. Columnist crooned. In The Nation Alexander Cockburn penned all but a acclamation. He wrote in an article titled The Canonization of St. Tim, Beat The Devil . . .
The delirium in the press at Tim Russert's passing has been strange. As a broadcaster, he was not much better than average, which is saying very little. He could be a sharp questioner, but not when it really counted and when courage was required.
This short stanza is the kindest portion of the prose. A reader might ask, was Tim Russert expected to be perfect. Are we to believe that one is beloved only if they are flawless. Could it be that homage is reserved for revered Saints; humans need not apply. While I am able to relate to the frustration the author expresses, I also acknowledge the importance of what Tim Russert saw as his mission. The broadcaster wished to create a historical record, "My views are not important,” Russert explained. The man mused; the audience is intelligent. Viewers will think for themselves. Timothy J. Russert honored each of us when he offered a forum, a foundation on which we, the people could build.
For me, the vision Tim Russert spoke of defines love, unconditional, unconventional, unique, and exceptional.
Perchance, that is why I admire and appreciate what those who were close to him continue to venerate. Mommy forever offered, "No one has the right to tell another what they should think, say, do, feel, or be." Timothy James Russert, just as my Mom trusted that each individual would decide for him or herself what was right, correct, and best.
An anguished viewer may have wanted the host of Meet the Press to attack a guest, to confront a purported corrupt Congressperson, or curtly cajole a public official. Many an MSNBC spectator may have wished for an on screen war. As a reader of numerous periodicals might surmise, several persons hoped to hear Russert rant and rage. Yet, the gentle man could not, would not. Perchance, the Journalist and Jurist was a peacenik to the core as my Mom was, or conceivably, he was just polite.
Russert said his mission is to learn as much as he can about the guests' position on issues beforehand and take the opposing side, while maintaining a civil atmosphere on the show."I'm in a position to call them out and try to bring them back to the point where they're giving an honest answer to an honest question," he said.
Ah, the best policy. As my Mom taught me, one must seek truth and trust that veracity for one may not be reality for another. Wisdom grows; it is a progression. The sources for information are infinite. We must investigate, not castigate, or so I believe. I recognize this principle is contrary to the opinions of many a media specialist. Nonetheless, as one who intends to weep for the Mom I miss forever, I cannot spew words such as "How the Russert Test Failed America."
I inquire, might it be that America failed the Russert test; the key to a meaningful life is understanding.
Granted, judgments may differ; and I, for one hope they will. For I cannot learn from those who agree with me, forever and always. I embrace a philosophy that serves me well. Mommy helped me to realize, perfection is not precision. Facts are fluid. A stagnant specific is as flawed as the falsehood, we must grief a loss for only as long as it entertains a particular person or audience.
Tim Russert may have provided us with an unexpected opportunity, a chance to learn what most erudite elitists missed in educational institutions and esteemed ivory towers. If we wish to be excellent, we must embrace empathy. Only when we walk in a world that differs from our own, as Timothy James Russert hoped to help us do, can we garner a genuine depth. While conventional wisdom may teach us accepted rights or wrongs, I trust only exceptional insight allows for an awareness that the man or the Mom who sat in a chair teaches through his or her all too human being, more than they might through a supposed intellectual expertise.
Sources of sorrow, and serenity . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on June 22, 2008 at 11:00 AM in Empathy and Evolution | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Fight The Smears; Silence is Not Golden
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
Today, change has come. Contrary to the reality that has filled centuries of history, a Presidential candidate has chosen to Fight the Smears. Barack Obama, a man whose first name is defined as my own, "blessed," has opened a door. He has unlocked a window. Thankfully, the propitious aspirant has risen above supposed ceilings. Presidential hopeful Obama has endorsed a principle that I discovered as a child. Secrets are the source of sorrow.
Barack Obama's campaign revealed a Web site this morning entitled "Fight the Smears" -- aimed at, . . . beating back misinformation, half truths or downright lies being spread about the Democratic nominee via television, the Web, radio and, most pervasively, e-mail."The Obama campaign isn't going to let dishonest smears spread across the Internet unanswered," explained campaign spokesman Tommy Vietor.
Intentional slander causes great pain. Individuals who malign advance untold misery. Only the truth can set any of us free. However, few wish to speak of what they know. Most repeat the proverb, "Ignorance is bliss." Yet, in life, we may realize, when we are quiet, gospel is often fleeting.
Americans witness an amplified effect of silence each election year. What was intentionally withheld and accidentally revealed, or what was not explained well in advance to the electorate reverberates as it rolls through the press. Barack Obama understood this before he began his Presidential bid, or possibly, he did what was his habit.. In his biographical accounts, Dreams From My Father and The Audacity of Hope, the Senator honestly revealed some of what might have been considered character flaws. Perchance, he only exposed the ways one works through a rite of passage.
My Mom, a wondrous woman who believes, we must "never suffer" would have been impressed by a man who freely disclosures as Barack Obama has. I feel certain Senator Obama's mother was pleased with the person she raised to be real. Perhaps, Barack Obama's parent helped him to muse as my Mom did for me when she said, "In some families there are skeletons in the closet. In our home, there are no spaces in which to store the bones." In my life, people speak of what is in a moment. Myths do not become accepted as legends. I have come to recognize, forever is fluid when people are free to be.
In homes such as mine, no one need tiptoe around the torrid tales. Topics are not taboo. I experience when people are authentic in word and deed, individuals feel safe, secure, and serene. They trust that discussions are endless. Disagreements do not end a relationship; they begin an evolution. I know this to my core. I have lived it for a lifetime. Friends, who were less familiar with what always was in my family, through me, have come to appreciate secrets need not be.
I had and will forever have faith that no one is supremely correct. Nor are any of us mistaken. The only blunder, I believe, is a purposeful intent to cause pain. I do not think conversations injure, or at least dialogues need not do harm. However, for some this is the objective. In an election season, the people see what is contrary to the standard in my family. It seems the plan is to persistently penetrate any semblance of sympathy for a defined opponent. Conversations amongst candidates are not compassionate. Even constituents bicker brutally. Countrywide everyone speaks of a desire for peace, while they consciously war.
For me, disagreements are fine. They need not be feuds. In my mind, heart, body, and soul, chatter does not equate to conclusions. Talk is the catalyst for what is, in my life, eternal, slow change.
Perchance, if we as a nation truly wish to create a fertile future the manner in which we speak, and our expectation for what needs to be in an exchange or an election must be altered. However, if that is to occur we must acknowledge, transformation comes from within individuals.
With access to information, ah, what a mind can do. Malleable psyche morphs in ways we cannot see and in moments that may not make sense to any of us. Frequently, I have observed hearts melt when we share "stories" serenely.
Each of us may have an effect on another; however, we cannot know what that might be. Thus, we speak and hope we are heard. We listen; if we are open, we learn what we never imagined. Perhaps, the "blessed" Barack Obama, was instructed at his Mom's knee just as the "blessed one" Betsy was. What might be awkward, if not addressed, will forge a feeling of deep distress.
I was taught to endorse the adage, "Silence is Not golden." Indeed, I discovered, without words, people can only assume. Assumptions are often erroneous. At times, so too are our thoughts. Yet, we may wish to believe what is real for us is obvious., even if odious, and inaccurate.
Hence, I, as a human, one in a species that is bit too emotional for my taste, when given divergent information, initially, may become defensive. Nonetheless, I know I will forever reflect on every word another offers. I suspect others do as well. My belief is that this theory has spurred the Fight the Smears campaign.
Over time, and with or without further discussions, I may evolve to a place not entered before. I love the enlightenment that grows with empathy. Thus, I participate endlessly. I seek wisdom wherever it may be. I am convinced, knowledge is everywhere. Erudition will empower me. Ellen, my dear sweet compeer encourages me to have courage in my convictions.
Ellen and I are good friends and have been for well over a decade. We are extremely open with each other. Authentic honesty that does no harm is a habit of mine, and one she adopted unexpectedly in time. Given that all is discussed candidly, and with great care for the other, each of trusts we will not be declined an opportunity to speak. Smears will not be forthcoming. What is said in person will not be awkwardly courteous. Reciprocal reverence is sincere.
Nonetheless, or perhaps, because we are genuine with each other, disputes occur. Politically, we are as far apart as two persons might be. In an election year, needless to say, we can expect other emotive outbursts. A recent one was animated, just as our agreements are. Our earlier interchange illustrates what I believe and why I welcome a focus on the smears.
In my life, as I shared earlier, when people address misinformation, misunderstandings, or mysteries much can be revealed and resolved. Ellen and I, in our relationship, exemplify what is possible when people endorse a policy of "no secrets."
Days ago, each of us was excited as we discussed our sense of political truths. When our voracious vocal analysis ended, some might have thought venom was the cause. It was not. Shuns did not give rise to a sudden silence Essentially, all was postponed, for each of us was late for an appointment.
Ellen had no doubt that we would chat again. She knows very well, I do not leave conversations behind. Nor does she with me. Neither of us would hide from a possible conflict. History helps us to know this would not be our last quarrel. When one is so far from another politically; yet, so close when principles are practiced, certainly there will be quibbles. Nonetheless, these will likely progress as calmly as this one did, or as others have.
One or the other of us will call, write, or come over. Neither of us will avoid the subject that may have been the source of sore feelings. Perchance, in our personal lives, diplomacy is a practical policy. Ellen and I will chat of what occurred. We will speak of why we said and did as was done. All the while we will warmly express how much we value the other, even the opinions we might think odd.
Again, we will reassure each other. There are no facts. Every individual has faith in what they think accurate. Ellen, I, any individual has a unique perspective. Those who think as we do, dependent on the policy, principle, or practice, do not share our history and a particular point of view. Others will reach a conclusion upon reflection, as will we, which could be you or me. What each being evaluates is envisioned through a personal lens. Eyes and emotions are our sieves.
Ellen and I know to our core, my history is not hers. Her experiences are not mine. Our backgrounds and experiences are dissimilar. The effect of every encounter will be internalized differently. Nonetheless, or indeed, each of us is the change we can believe in.
A broad focus on a shared Fight against Smears, may help to create a community that truly cares. A site that teaches us how the world might function if everyone is open, may serve to keep the peace.
It is for this reason I applaud Barack Obama and those who seek specifics from the source. Granted, Barack and Michelle Obama will not have a chance to look into the eyes of every American. They will not be able to touch the hand or the heart of all citizens in the world. Time will not allow for personal introductions and interchanges. Nonetheless, I believe it is important to begin a practice void in most homes and absent on the campaign trail.
I have faith that if we face the rancor that resonates when misinformation becomes the message, we all will be better off.
Humans appreciate, people will prattle incessantly. Words will be whispered down the lane. Labels will linger if left out in the cold, or locked in a closet and hermetically sealed. However, if we, the persons who are the subject of the silliness that passes for truth, share what is real for us, people may listen, or at least in my life they have.
As I shared, for me, love is the only absolute. It is a challenge to love someone we do not genuinely know. I thank Barack Obama for removing the veil that too often in public forum obscures veracity.
I experience, if we wish to be trusted, we must trust that others desire to know us as we are. I am grateful, Barack Obama is willing to share truth with us. To speak to slurs and slights is to fight for the peace that has never bee part of a political campaign.
Open dialogue is the change I believe in. I appreciate the invitation to talk. I think, together, we can Fight the Smears, challenge affronts, and enter into a world of empathy.
References for the fight . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on June 12, 2008 at 07:01 PM in Approval or Love, Compassion, Conflict, Complex, Elections, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Lies, Life, A Forward Motion, Light. Darkness., Looking at Life | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Calm Communicators Unite Us. Cruel Commanders Divide Us
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
Americans are at odds. As a nation, we are splintered. The parts do not function as a whole. Some wish to control and command. Others prefer to work for the common good. As we stand, we are a country divided.
The most recent Internal Revenue Service data, shows one percent of Americans received twenty-one and two-tenths [21.2] percent of all personal income. In 2005, fifty [50] percent of the people in this nation, those who have long struggled to survive, earned twelve and eight-tenths [12.8] percent of all wages and salaries. In the United States, dollars earned split the population. Wealth is not all that separates us.
Color causes schisms. Citizens live in regions of the country labeled Red, or Blue. Brownish immigrants, with or without papers, are relegated to reside in neighborhoods far from the affluent or influential, even when authentic assimilation is meant to be an option. Frequently Black Americans are housed in communities where opportunities are few. When persons of various hues intermingle with the massive pinkish population, in the United States, the people of color are alienated.
Were Americans do physically unite, they would likely remain segregated. Americans subtly separate themselves from those they loathe, and form the people they love. Few ever consider what they do to create a rift. In America, demeanors, the way in which we communicate, divides us.
In this nation, a large portion of the population is frequently aggressive, abusive, and antagonistic. Those they encounter, the not obnoxious or toxic ones, accommodate, appease, appear unaffected, or remain anxious when in the company of the people who believe the best way to appear authoritative is to dictate what needs to be done, by whom, when, where, and why.
At times, the public is able to openly observe and discuss abuse, but usually, only when it is evident in the extreme. Banner headlines may scream a need to attend to what, for the most part remains hidden. Neglect, Abuse Seen in 90, 000 Infants. However, mostly Americans demonstrate their angst in manners identified as normal. No one speaks of what is standard. Perchance, the reason is, in the States reactive behaviors, which reveal annoyance, are so common as to be customary.
Daily, in periodicals we read of what we would wish to think is not traditional, but may be. The accounts scream to us. Citizens in this country think it outrageous when they realize. In Chicago, youth violence is increasingly prevalent. Twenty-two [22] students were slain in this heartland city so far this year. Our fellow country men remark, 'This sort of thing occurs only among 'those people.' Surely, the rest of us are sane and serene. 'The average American would not strike out in such a manner.' People say, 'Weaponry is for outlaws,' or at least, mechanical arsenals are meant only to combat a political enemy. Those who reside in the United States never imagine that "they" would use a gun in anger, or lash out when with a friend. Few consider how frequently they attack those they say they are fond of.
When words are the weapon of choice, and blood is not spilled, most in this country think no harm is done. War and wounds are what we see on the battlefields, and mostly abroad. In this country, life is calm.
We read of skirmishes elsewhere daily. Americans witness what occurs in the Persian Gulf. Iraqi deaths are on the rise regardless of the Americans attempt to Surge and subvert the violence. Now, that is awful. Thankfully, this nation is not torn apart by war.
Few ponder the fact that these excessive examples illustrate and amplify what is apparent in American homes. People pounce easily and often. We cruelly criticize and intentionally drive a wedge between unions. We conquer; and in America, we destroy.
In this country, enemies are thought to be around every corner. We publicly rant and rage when we refer to people of another race or religion. Privately, many are punitive towards those who reside in our homes. When we look upon those the "commanders" consider beloved, we see differences, and ignore similarities. He is wrong; I am right. She is flawed. "I am perfect." Spite is right. Malice is might. Vindictiveness is used to undermine viciousness. In many American homes, tit for tat is the acceptable.
Those in authority, "Tsk, tsk," the ones who they would wish to weaken. Children are infrequently given information about the consequences of their choices. Calm and complete communication is too often a rarity in our abodes. Rather than work to create cohesive communities within a household, parents and their progeny dictate, and divide.
Adults learn their aggressive manners in childhood. A slight from a toddler's first teachers cuts to the core. Terse comments, a tease, or a taunt directed at a teen does not simply slide off the back of one scarred by a lifetime of verbal slashes. Adults do not deflect digs; some have merely learned how to present the appearance of being unaffected by an oral assault. In truth, "Sticks and stone may break my bones, and names hurt me more than a physical attack might." Many may relate to a common event and decide this is not my business.
As I was leaving gym one morning, I overheard a mother berating her daughter for refusing to put her face in the water during a toddlers' swim class. "You're such a little coward," she told the sobbing child -- who could not have been more than three years old. "It's the same every week. You always make your daddy and me ashamed. Sometimes I can't believe you're really my daughter."Although my stomach churned with rage on the child's behalf, I said nothing. After all, I rationalized, the mother would just tell me to mind my own business. But I had no doubt that what I had witnessed was in many ways as bad as a brutal beating. It was emotional child abuse.
"The bruises don't show on the outside, so there are no statistics on how many children are victims," says Dr. Elizabeth Watkins, chief of pediatric primary care at St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital Center in New York City. "But anyone who works with children knows that the problem is widespread."
University of Minnesota psychologist Byron Egeland, who has conducted extensive studies on parenting and early-childhood development, says the effects of emotional child abuse may be at least as devastating as those of physical abuse. Research conducted by Egeland and his colleagues suggests that emotionally abused children suffer an even greater decline in mental and psychological development as they grow older than do physically abused children.
This abated state does not necessarily translate to an academic deficit. Often times, persons who were beaten down emotionally excel in their physical and intellectual endeavors. Countless adults, who were verbally assaulted as children, believe that the cruelty and callousness they endured, has made them stronger. People in older bodies show no physical blemishes. A mature member of society is not noticeably bruised or disfigured. Most middle-aged grown-ups, those once exposed to such exploitation have learned to hide the scars. Hurt hearts do not inhibit intellectual growth; nor do the effects of verbal and emotional injuries restrict achievements. As a tot, a teen, or an individual in his or her golden years, a person harmed by words can thrive and triumph. The attitude is, "I will show them!" The thought that provokes our success is, "I will do well. Then, they will [finally] love me."
The truth is mean Mom's and dismissive Dad's do love their offspring. They simply do not know how to show it. Too often, we do as was done to us. As adults, we become the people our parents were. While we may have abhorred mother or father's behavior, it is what we know. We grow to be as those who taught us were.
At birth, we learn of what we despise most. In our parents dwelling, as tots, we become acquainted with insults, invectives, and insolence. The invisible barbs are experienced as a barrage of bullets; each pierces the flesh. Mothers mock us. Fathers jeer. Brothers and sisters, bully. In our earliest years, we begin to think of when and how we can leave the company of those who say they treasure us. In time, as children we decide the best defense is a good offense. Hence, we become equally odious, angry, and ambitious. Often adults, who were verbally abused as children, when they speak of their parents, state, "They did the best they could." Indeed, perfectionist parents do what they believe is best, and they expect their progeny to do better.
In ambitious middle-class families, one of the most common forms of emotional abuse is the denigration of any achievement that falls short of perfection, such as when a child is punished for bringing home a B instead of an A. Jeree Pawl, director of the Infant-Parent Program at San Francisco General Hospital, observes that "perfectionist" parents may display irrational expectations.
After a time, Mom and Dad no longer need to express what they expect; children know what is necessary. In fact, a young person will demand more of him or herself than either parent ever did. In our youth, we become self-critical. Our parents likely did not disparage us as well as we demean ourselves. Each day, we improve. We can deliver venom more vigorously than Mom or Dad ever did. Persons, who were the victims of verbal mistreatment in their youth, inflict the same sarcastic and sardonic on them selves as they age.
The use of hurtful declarations becomes a habit. Spoken stabs pull a person down. Those not stated aloud do us in with greater force. The voice within is perhaps more furious than the one separate from self. Our self-assessments are as a cancerous virus. Merciless messages kill. Yet, no one notices the cause or effects of the illness. Too many Americans share the symptoms; hence, the pain is standard.
Parental verbal abuse may wound children's psyches so deeply that the effects remain apparent in young adulthood. Such abuse may wreak psychological havoc greater than that caused by physical abuse.With an M.B.A. degree under her belt, 24-year-old "Jaime" (not her real name) should have glowing job prospects in Chicago. But she harbors memories that erode her self-confidence and make her bristle with anger—memories of her father shouting at her, during drunken rages, that she was ugly and of little value.
Indeed, verbal abuse during childhood can scar people deeply, a new study suggests. It was headed by Martin Teicher, M.D., Ph.D., director of the Developmental Biopsychiatry Research Program at McLean Hospital, which is affiliated with Harvard Medical School. Results were published in the June American Journal of Psychiatry.Although the injurious effects of child physical and sexual abuse have been the subject of considerable inquiry, not much attention has been paid to the possibly noxious effects of verbal abuse on children.
People attend to what they see. The battered hearts, the wounded souls are not visible to the eye; although the effects of these are apparent if we wish to see them. Researchers studied and discovered what lies just beneath the surface.
People who were verbally abused had 1.6 times as many symptoms of depression and anxiety as those who had not been verbally abused and were twice as likely to have suffered a mood or anxiety disorder over their lifetime, according to psychology Professor Natalie Sachs-Ericsson, the study's lead author."We must try to educate parents about the long-term effects of verbal abuse on their children," Sachs-Ericsson said. "The old saying about sticks and stones was wrong. Names will forever hurt you."
Moms and Dads wield words as weapons daily. An innocent and sweet child may be saddened by what is said to them. Frequently, a lad or a lass, who has come to expect the worse is fretful, frightened, or apprehensive when near those who vocally attack. After a time, a child turned teen, may appear angry, as an adult resigned, acquiescent when with Mom or Dad. Still, the pain seeps out. It spills onto all the injured individual encounters.
The cycle starts subtly. It is all so subterranean. How often is a child told, "You need to take responsibility"? Yet, how frequently does neither guardian seems to accept that they play a part in what occurred in their own lives. After a night on the town, too much food, and an abundance of alcoholic beverages, Dad may bellow, "Stay out of my way today if you know what's good for you." Then, as if to inform his brood, father would offer, "I'm in a bad mood." Daddy does not wish to be liable for his own limitations. Thus, if he was under duress, or hassled, surely, someone else must be to blame.
It is a "me against the world" mentality. Those who command and seek control, the power they did not feel they had in their youth, see themselves as separate from the others. Hence, the great divide.
Mom may be no different from Dad. This sweet, soft-spoken woman, a mother committed to her children often commented, "My life would have been perfect if it were not for you." She would then say, "Get out of my sight; you are a bad boy, a hateful, ungrateful girl." Then, moments later, Mommy would say how much she loved you, or I. Life and love, as a child, and later as an adult can be caustic, chaotic, and troublesome, even if we emerge confidently. Either parent can do the damage. Both can build the barriers that teach one of the brood to be boldly brazen.
Weeks ago, Americans watched an esteemed achiever, a Presidential aspirant, vent wrathful words. The statements made echoed in every American household. On television and radio airwaves we heard, "Shame on you. “It is time you (act in a manner) consistent with your messages in public. That is what I expect from you. (L)et's have a debate about your tactics and your behavior . . ." Only days prior, we, as a nation, were moved by the magnanimous words, "(Y)ou know, no matter what happens in this contest -- and I am honored, I am honored to be here with [the same person who was slammed two days later.] I am absolutely honored." Hours before the homage was delivered in a face-to-face encounter, the self-proclaimed "fighter" raged, she was ready. The person she humiliated after offering a sincere homage was not. Then, in a fit of anger, this eloquent and accomplished adult exclaimed to her audience, "Let's get real."
On an occasion or two, the New York Senator states if she and her adversary worked as one, all dreams would come true. Quickly, Hillary Rodham Clinton reminds us that the same individual who she thinks praiseworthy is incompetent. He cannot command; nor is he qualified. The waling wounded Clinton claims the man who might steal her win is but a "child." She demeans his experience while she exaggerates her own. In a breath, the scared child, now a grown Senator, cries out. The former First Lady, who continues to carry the weight of a world built on pain within her, tells us the man who angers her is eloquent, admirable, and yet, inadequate.
One day this wise woman is passive or polite; then in the next moment she is aggressive and antagonistic. As Hillary Clinton speaks of Uniting the States, creating a cohesive Democratic Party, she works to divide these entities. She loves her country, her challenger, and her community; yet . . .
The push-pull of these love-hate relationships may remind us of what too many of us as children and adults experience in our family homes. In the "United" States, division, derision, declarations that divide a union are natural. Most accept the conventions that have been familiar throughout their lives. Few are disturbed by the divisiveness a Presidential candidate puts forth. Perchance, the American people relate. Might we consider the climate that was the candidate's childhood, her history, and the truth that fashioned her family?
The couple fought. In 1926, Dorothy's father filed for divorce, claiming that his wife had hit him in the face and scratched him on three separate occasions, according to Cook County records. In a March 1927 court hearing, Della Howell's own sister accused her of abusing her husband and abandoning her two daughters."She had a violent temper and flew at him in a rage, and would fight him," testified the sister, Frances Czeslawski.
Della Howell did not show up to contest the divorce -- she could not be found by subpoena servers. Dorothy's father was given custody. But, either unwilling or unable to take care of his daughters, he put them on the train to California, where his parents, Edwin Howell Sr. and Emma Howell, had moved a few years previously. . . .
The grandparents were ill-prepared to raise Dorothy and her sister, Isabelle.
Edwin Howell Sr. had emigrated from Wales. He worked as a machinist in an auto plant and as a laborer for the Alhambra street department, according to Alhambra city directories from the time. He mostly left the girls' care to his wife.
Emma Howell was a strict woman who wore black Victorian dresses and discouraged visitors and parties. Once, discovering that Dorothy had gone trick-or-treating on Halloween, she ordered her confined to her room for a year except for school.
"Her grandmother was a severe and arbitrary disciplinarian who berated her constantly, and her grandfather all but ignored her," Clinton wrote. . .
"Once I asked my mother why she went back to Chicago," Clinton wrote in "Living History." The answer? "'I'd hoped so hard that my mother would love me that I had to take the chance and find out,' she told me. 'When she didn't, I had nowhere else to go.'
Too many of us can recall a time when we wanted to be appreciated, admired, accepted by those who brought us into the world, or taught us to be the best we could be. Even when those we care for harm us, we still crave their adoration. A child who feels less than cherished will try harder. Humans will do whatever they believe they must do in hopes that someday, they will be treasured by their first teachers, the people they call family.
Hillary was the best student among her siblings, the one who took her parents' lessons most seriously. . .Hugh Rodham, unlike many other fathers of his era, raised his daughter to be ambitious. When she brought home straight A's, Rodham would say, "Well, Hillary, that must be an easy school you go to," she [Presidential hopeful, Hillary Clinton] wrote. . .
Hugh Rodham took thrift to even greater heights than many survivors of the Depression. If Hillary, Hugh Jr., or Tony left the cap off the toothpaste, he would toss it out the window and send the child to search for it. An allowance was out of the question. "I feed you, don't I?" she remembers him saying.
Clinton speaks of her father admiringly, but . . . no one disputes his gruffness. "He was character building, like our winters in Chicago," Ebeling, Clinton's best friend, said. . . .
He was "highly opinionated, to put it mildly," [Hillary] Clinton wrote. "We all accommodated his pronouncements . . .
Hilary is as many warriors in society are. She expects the electorate to tolerate her brusque, sometimes demeaning, statements, just as she accepted much of what her father said. If the people wish to argue with the aspirant, as occasionally she did with her dear Dad, Clinton thinks that is fine. After all, she is a fighter. She knows how to win. Just as Hugh Rodham did when he felt his children were uncontrollable, the dictatorial, decidedly aggressive decider known as Dad escalated the argument. "You are with me or against me" is a common refrain among those who command cruelly.
Many progeny adapt to parents who can be punitive. After a time, offspring learn, the boundaries that divide them are best when they remain as invisible, just as the wounds on the heart are. Children convince themselves, they are strong. They are in control. As long as they go along to get along all will be well, and it will be, until the next emotional upheaval. Even then, those who scream and demean will be fine, for what they experience is familiar.
I offer a personal anecdote, one that helped me to understand the divide that exists among us in America. There are the "fighters" well-trained to battle, and the peacemakers, those who talk in tones that are more tranquil.
I realized this only in recent years. A time ago, after I had lived on this glorious green Earth for more than three decades I thought I understood people. I experienced much in my lifetime. As a child, I settled in the suburbs, the city, and the country. In my earliest years may family had all the fineries. We were exceptionally wealthy. Then, there was the divorce. My Mommy, new Daddy a sister, and I were extremely poor when I was in Elementary School. Eventually we evolved into Middle Class. I felt as though we were average.
At seventeen years of age, I declared my independence. I left home, lived on my own, and struggled to earn enough money to survive. I inhabited neighborhoods not thought to be safe. My knowledge of life and it's various styles, I believed was expansive.
Then, it occurred. I met a man. Immediately, I knew I loved him. I had never been easily impressed. Romantic relationships were not part of my repertoire. This person, I perceived as beyond special. I admired him, and I intensely appreciated him. This gentleman was brilliant. He was very successful. He smiled ever so warmly. Until . . . suddenly, he yelled. The wrath was intended for me. As Gary excitedly expressed his disgust, his face was flush. His eyes and veins were bulging. This cherished chap was agitated, accusatory, and exceptionally anxious. To this day, I know not why. I have asked. Yet, an explanation was not forthcoming.
As Gary ranted and raged, I stood frozen, as a deer in headlights. I was stunned. In my whole life, no one had ever yelled at me, or so I thought, previous to that day. There was one other occasion.
That narrative aside, as Gary and I stood face to face, as he screamed and shrieked, he articulated the assertion, "You are having a tantrum." I marveled. I am a calm person. As a child, I was just as serene. In my entire life, I did not recall being explosive. As I observed Gary and listened to his words, I was uncertain which aspect of this encounter was more amazing to me, his conduct, or his contention. After, the damn or dam broke, he seemed free of his agitation. I was anxious, although still silent. I knew not what to say or do. What had I witnessed? What did it mean? How did I feel about it?
In time, I did learn as Hillary Clinton, and others whose hearts are hurt by words, do. I could choose to tolerate the brusque and debasing language. I could choose to appease, to please, or to patronize. However, I also understood no matter what I decided to do, there would be consequences. There would always be a chasm between Gary and I. I would never fully feel comfortable, for I did not know what might bring on another brutal belch of bitterness.
I walked on eggshells, and he, with all his hollering, hoped to secure the impression that he walked on water. I came to discover that Gary had been challenged all his life. His parents were the purveyors of agenda after agenda. As a child he had felt as he now teaches others to feel, as though he was and is less than. Gary was told too often, he was not good enough, smart enough; he was wrong. If Gary received an excellent evaluation in class, he too was meet with the remark similar to the ones the New York Senator heard in her youth. "Well, that subject is just too simple." "An "A" grade is not good enough."
Dissect a heart. Dismember a sweet spirit. It is the American way, divide and conquer. In a competitive society, where cruelty is common, most everyone will suffer, so that the few spoiled souls can feel, even if only for a moment, that they have succeeded. Sadly, their triumph is our demise.
Gary, Hillary, and too many we encounter have become so familiar with belligerent behaviors they no longer think there are other ways to work with people.
I was raised in a family where no one yells. To say I am jarred by loud aggressive rants is to understate what I feel. For a time, I team-taught with an instructor deemed superior. This person won District-wide awards. I understood why when I assessed the curriculum this teacher originated. Yet, this individual chastised students vociferously and with ample abandon. When in a rage, this educator's voice traveled throughout the building. I literally jumped in fright on more than one occasion.
Even without the volume, this teacher's words could cut like a knife. When the venom was directed at me, I froze. I am extremely sensitive to the lexis. The phrases this instructor used were not part of my reality. Our philosophies on life were disparate. Yet, I truly enjoyed this individual when the conversation was amiable. When jovial, the professor was a delight. Indeed, this person often was happy and genuinely fun.
When a scream was heard through the walls, students and I would react. Some smiled. A few laughed nervously. Others and I were startled. We cringed. When the world was again calm, quietly, throughout the room, discussions emerged. The demeanor of this academic was the topic. Talk of the teacher was approached tenderly. As I listened, I learned. If a person grows up in a home where one particular approach to life is normal, they learn to accept and appreciate that manner of expression. People who were taught to expect verbal lashings, as Hillary Clinton noted, learn to accommodate or accept.
If cruel criticisms were common in a home; howls were considered to be a sign, someone cares, painful as that might be. Those never exposed to love that did not hurt could not imagine the possibility. Tis a sad state in this union, when those we treasure most are the ones we whip to a pulp with words. A country divided cannot stand.
Perchance it is time to truly discuss what divides America. Dollars and legal documents are not divisive. Paper does not have the power to pull us apart. Race cannot physically separate us. In nature, every hue is a significant part of the whole. Religion does not cause a rift between neighbors. A philosophy can only teach us. Principles do not reach into our souls and cause us to slice and dice. It is we who control the chaos that drives a wedge between our brethren and we.
Might Americans come together at home and on every avenue? From Wall Street to Main Street let us speak kindly to each other. Let us teach the children well.
Perhaps, it is time to tell those you share a life with that you revere them without reservations. If we choose to use words that consistently show we care for those we love, perhaps, peace will have a chance. If our words were to mirror our stated beliefs, possibly, money would have no power, color could do no harm, and religious principles would be evident in our every expression. Please, imagine and work to give birth to what for too long was thought impossible. Let us live in an America, united in more than name only.
Sources, Scars, Screams in a divided society . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on April 4, 2008 at 08:00 AM in Abuse, Aggression, Americana, Approval or Love, Art of Loving, Have or Be, Children, Compassion, Conflict, Complex, Dreams Live and Die , Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Family, Functioning, Fables | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Fragrances and Food; The Way to a Heart is Through the Stomach and Nose
copyright © 2008 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
We met in December. The year was 2007. He was a friend of my cousin's. The two were best of buds; they still are. Cousin Paul has known James for decades. Jim moved to my hometown only months earlier. He felt alone. James longed for a friend, locally. Paul introduced us on the Internet. After my relative played the mediator, the man in the middle, the means for a message, he asked if he might share our electronic mail addresses. James and I each consented, and from then on, we exchanged epistles directly.
In letters, we liked each other. Admittedly, for us, the electronic medium was limited. We decided to share a drink together; although I let him know, I only imbibe water. James said that was not a problem. We arranged to get together at Starbucks. The coffee shop was near to his home and mine. Neither of us wished to share where we lived exactly. We were hesitant, cautious, or just not willing to chance the unknown.
Today, speed dates are popular. For some, a minute or two is more than enough to determine whether he or she is the "one." Some believe in love at first sight. They know immediately when Miss or Mister Right walks through the door. From across a crowded room eyes meet, sparks fly; for many providence steps in. Cupid's arrows are manifest destiny.
A gallant gent may meet a genteel girl and the two will gallivant forever. If a lady were to encounter a extraordinary lad in the last month of the year, by Valentine's Day, perchance the two would be wed. That is unless she eats garlic onions, or spicy foods.
James enjoyed our first encounter. He took pleasure in our later luncheon. My cousin's best friend looked forward to our every conversation. The more we chatted the more he longed to converse, connect, and commune in every way possible. This fine fellow spoke of copulation often. While he had been with others at the time of our introduction, he did not feel as close to them as he did to me. James spoke of our shared energy, enthusiasm, interests, and the excitement he felt in my presence. Nonetheless, one day, as he readied to rally at my home he decided he could not do it.
The smell of my well-seasoned skin was just too much for this lovable man. James diet is bland in comparison to mine. He did not wish to tell me I could not dine as I do. He did not wish to end our relationship per se; James just needed to create a physical distance. All the while, he reminded me of how much he loved me and always will. Certain he did not want to think of a time when we would not be emotionally together, James concluded, at least for a time, he needed to occupy a separate physical space. Perhaps, we could see each other and just not share a repast.
In the Twenty-First Century, the dynamics of dating are more complex. People are sensitive. The personal preferences of one person may offend another. Individuals are vocal.
Sharing meals has always been an important courtship ritual and a metaphor for love. But in an age when many people define themselves by what they will eat and what they won’t, dietary differences can put a strain on a romantic relationship. The culinary camps have become so balkanized that some factions consider interdietary dating taboo.No-holds-barred carnivores, for example, may share the view of Anthony Bourdain, who wrote in his book “Kitchen Confidential” that “vegetarians, and their Hezbollah-like splinter faction, the vegans ... are the enemy of everything good and decent in the human spirit.”
Returning the compliment, many vegetarians say they cannot date anyone who eats meat. Vegans, who avoid eating not just animals but animal-derived products, take it further, shivering at the thought of kissing someone who has even sipped honey-sweetened tea.
Ben Abdalla, 42, a real estate agent in Boca Raton, Fla., said he preferred to date fellow vegetarians because meat eaters smell bad and have low energy.
No matter how delightful a mate may be, if she eats meat, or finds a meal of fish repugnant a male suitor may not pursue her. If a woman thinks a man prefers a menu that is ethically loathsome, she will say so. Even those trained to understand, may not empathize at all.
Lisa Romano, 31, a vegan and school psychologist in Belleville, N.Y., said she recently ended a relationship with a man who enjoyed backyard grilling. He had no problem searing her vegan burgers alongside his beef patties, but she found the practice unenlightened and disturbing.Her disapproval “would have become an issue later even if it wasn’t in the beginning,” Ms. Romano said. “I need someone who is ethically on the same page.”
While some eaters may elevate morality above hedonism, others are suspicious of anyone who does not give in to the pleasure principle.
James did not quibble with my decision to avoid caffeine or alcohol. He did not question my desire to shun sugars. It made sense to this sweet man that I do not dine on meat, fish, chicken, or potatoes. James did not find fault with my wish to preclude processed foods from my diet. I did not consider his choices flawed. For me, people eat as they do. I delight in my entrees and worry not of what others consume. I understand change comes from within. I have no desire to transform another; nor do I wish to be converted.
As with other differences couples face, tolerance and compromise are essential at the dinner table, marital therapists said. “If you can’t allow your partner to have latitude in what he or she eats, then maybe your problem isn’t about food,” said Susan Jaffe, a psychiatrist in Manhattan.Dynise Balcavage, 42, an associate creative director at an advertising agency and vegan who lives in Philadelphia, said she has been happily married to her omnivorous husband, John Gatti, 53, for seven years.
“We have this little dance we’ve choreographed in the kitchen,” she said. She prepares vegan meals and averts her eyes when he adds anchovies or cheese. And she does not show disapproval when he orders meat in a restaurant.
“I’m not a vegangelical,” she said. “He’s an adult and I respect his choices just as he respects mine.”
In a former relationship, Eric and I were as Dynise Balcavage and John Gatti are. Never once was food an issue. I cooked meat for Eric with little hesitation. Admittedly, I would pay more for chicken parts. I could not bring myself to cut into the flesh and bone of one of G-d's creatures. When liver was prepared, I could not season the slices. In truth, my eyes could not gaze upon the bloody organ. Eric would place the animal protein in the bag I prepared with flour and spices. Then, he would lay the organ into the heated pan. Only after the meat was seared, could I continue to cook the "delicacy."
However, while I do not define myself by what I eat, I can no longer look at animal flesh on a plate and feel the same emotional distance I once did. While I still do not struggle with what another ingests, I do not believe that I would be so willing to bake, broil, or boil a bird, cook or carve a piece of beef, slice or dice a chop of pork. Perhaps, I have changed, even if ever so slightly.
I cannot be certain whether trends transform a person, age alters an individual, or if experience hardens hearts. Perhaps, ancient hurts hinder us. In an era where divorce defines the population, people have become more discriminating. James was married twice. I am the daughter of divorced parents. In America today, our experiences are common and likely shape us. The subtle nuances of companionship possibly affect the stomach and the nose..
Children watch Mom and Dad coo, only to see them separate. The pain of parents parting can cause a stomachache. Teens remember when their parents were romantic, rather than full of rage when together. As an adolescent reflects on unity he or she ponders, 'This stinks!' Adults cannot forget the one who broke his or her spirit. Habits of lover were appreciated. Slowly, but surely, all that seemed beautiful left a lover nauseous. The scent of one who was adorned becomes a reminder of all that was lost. Closeness can be sickening. Smells and tastes are no longer savored.
Nonetheless, people wish to believe passion is pure, adoration is in the air, and that special someone is just around the corner. Hence, we look, and look, and hope to find our Valentine. Restaurateurs rely on the human desire to love and be loved.
Valentine's Day ranks second only to Mother's Day at restaurants."It's something that restaurants all over the country . . . look forward to," said Steve Chucri, president and CEO of the Arizona Restaurant Association.
Thirty-five percent of Americans dine out on Valentine's Day, close to the 38 percent on Mother's Day.
Of those who dine out, 80 percent pay an average bill of $62. The remaining 20 percent spent more than $100 in 2006, the most recent year for which figures are available, according to Sherry Gillespie, the association's marketing manager.
Those spending $62 are paying $20 or $25 more than usual, Chucri said.
"I think people go out and spend more because they enjoy the day," he said. "They might get that bottle of wine instead of a glass of wine. Or they might get an appetizer and a dessert."
Pleasure or the want of it can be blissful. James and I experienced that from the first. The conversation, started and stayed interesting. We were authentically animated. He thinks I am saucy and sweet, but perhaps a bit too spicy. Like or unlike millions, James does not revel in the smell of natural seasoning. At one point he explained, "I think you are great. I enjoy your company. I yearn to be with you and would be if only you would stop eating garlic, onions, and spicy foods for three days."
While intellectually James does not object to my nutritional regime or my being as I am, his stomach and nose struggle to follow his fondness. Delicate scents do not disguise the aroma of peppers. A bouquet of cologne does not cover the odor of onions. From food to fragrances, friendships are fragile.
Perfume has long been an aphrodisiac decanted sparingly from an iconic glass bottle. But for Leslie Ware, a fashion editor at a quarterly magazine in Huntsville, Ala., fragrance has worked its magic in the opposite direction, as a romantic deal breaker.Several years ago, Ms. Ware was engaged to a gentleman who did not like Trish McEvoy 9, the fruity vanilla blend she had been wearing for seven years.
“He thought I smelled like a traveling carnival, the kind where they sell corn dogs, because I guess the smell was reminiscent of cotton candy,” Ms. Ware, 28, said. “This was the demise of Trish No. 9.”
It was a bad omen.
Soon after, Ms. Ware said she broke up with the perfume-averse boyfriend. She has not worn fragrance since.
A more recent boyfriend fared no better after he bought Ms. Ware what she called “an old-lady perfume” against her wishes.
“It made me mad,” she said. “I told him not to bother buying me fragrance since I am picky, and now I have a $125 bottle of perfume sitting in a closet.”
Just as stomachs lead many men, and women, noses help navigate these same individuals through the maze of ardor. When we wish to give to one we love, money is no object. The cost of the gift does not deter a admirer. Nor does the price impress the person who receives a present. There is much to love, and more to learn if we wish to create a bond that lasts.
This Valentine's eve women will not douse themselves in fragrances and men will be reminded not to buy perfumes as they did in the past. Colognes and toilette water are not collected as they were years ago.
[M]ore women are forgoing scent altogether. Last year, about 15 percent of women said they did not wear fragrance, up from 13 percent in 2003, according to a survey of 9,800 women conducted by NPD.“That may sound like a small number, but nationally that translates into two million more women who are saying ‘I don’t wear fragrance,’ ” said Karen Grant, the senior beauty industry analyst at NPD. “Eighty-five percent of women are still buying fragrance, but an increasing number tell us they are wearing fewer scents, less frequently or not at all.”
Fragrance fatigue is probably inevitable, with heavily fruited scents wafting out of everything from dishwashing liquids to hotel linens to candle displays at the mall. But perfume aversion seems to be tapping into a larger societal phenomenon that may have its origins in bans on cellphones and cigarettes: the idea that the collective demands of the public space trump one’s personal space.
“People are shying away from fragrances not for the traditional reasons that you’d expect, that it is too expensive or that they are wearing alternative products like body sprays or lotions,” Ms. Grant said. “Many people said it bothers them that fragrance has an effect on other people, that they are trying to be considerate by not overcoming others with scent.”
Indeed, Rochelle R. Bloom, the president of the Fragrance Foundation, an industry trade group, said that people who worry that their fragrance may offend others simply may be wearing perfume improperly.
It is not difficult to hurt the feelings of another. People are sensitive souls. Stomachs ache. Noses run. Hearts hurt. Cupid's arrows are curved; however, they can be straightened.
But sometimes couples can reach olfactory accord. Last fall, Robert Flood, a retired technology platform tester in Allen, Tex., worried how to tell his wife of 25 years, Amy, that he could not abide her new perfume, Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion.“It was very atrocious, at least to me,” Mr. Flood, 52, said in a phone interview last week.
The couple later worked out a compromise so that he would not be discomfited should her scent again stray into his air space. Henceforth, each will choose a fragrance for the other to wear.
“On Valentine’s Day, we will go to one of her favorite stores and she will buy me English Leather and I will buy her Jean Naté, which is the fragrance she was wearing when we had just met and she was 17 going on 18,” Mr. Flood said. “We are not smelling the perfume so much as the memories.”
Indeed, for the Floods, fragrance brings with it the Proustian power of recall. One could argue that those who forgo perfume now may inadvertently diminish at some future date the textural memories of relationships past.
Perchance, passion is more than a perfume or a pound of flesh. Spice may not be the cumin poured into the curried dish. The flavors that create true fondness are not found in the pantry or the powder room. The zest and zing that brings zeal into a relationship does not originate during a meal. A scent will not make heartstrings sing.
If two are to enjoy as one they must be responsive and receptive to what is not visible to the eye or smelled by the snout. Memories made and remembered satiate more than a stomach and flood more than a muzzle. This Valentine's Day may be the time to steam sweet nothings and sniff a bit of fresh air. Hugs, kisses, and Happy Valentine's Day.
Sweetness and Spice Sources . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on February 14, 2008 at 05:30 PM in "Take me as I am!", Approval or Love, Compassion, Conflict, Complex, Dreams Live and Die , Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Food Folly, Looking at Life, Looking for Love, Marital Status, Quality of Life | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
New Eyes Bestow Meaning; Making a Difference
Inspiration
copyright © 2007 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
As children, many of us decide we wish to help others. When asked what we want to be when we grow up, we typically respond, I will be a Teacher, maybe a Doctor, or a Nurse. I wish to serve society as a Social Worker, a Fireman, or a Law Officer. As a Librarian, I can truly help people grow intellectually. What they read will advance emotional enlightenment. Even food servers and those who prepare the fare, experience pleasure when he or she interacts with the connoisseur of sustenance and spirits. The builder provides shelter from the storms. We each wish to make a difference.
At a young age, we learn to admire those who encouraged us to grow our minds and bodies, no matter their walk of life. Throughout our teens, we study. Biological, physiological sciences are popular pursuits for pre-med students. Enrollment in Liberal Arts, Language Arts, and English courses is common among those that wish to practice pedagogy. Apprenticeships are available in other professions. Academic scholars and those who pursue lessons that are more practical diligently work to follow their dream. Finally, we finish. We feel our oats and exuberantly enter the workplace determined to inspire and bestow the best that we have to offer.
Each day, as successful professionals we awake to a new dawn. We drive to fulfill the promise of our chosen careers. However, after a while we feel drained. We believe we are not indispensable, effective, or even necessary. Many of us no longer feel committed to the profession that was once our dream. Millions of us fade fast when we do the work we once thought would feed our soul. We are stressed beyond belief. We do not think we can endure as we have for what seems forever.
Tired, worn, and torn we are tempted by higher salaries. The prospect of shorter hours excites many a mind. More prestige for less sounds great. Longer vacations intrigue others. Better benefits are a draw. For some, simply a break from the omnipresent demands might be nice.
In the field of education, each of these incentives is used to entice trained mentors to a District or to this calling. Yet, teacher turnover remains high.
In the medical profession, doctors too are extremely dissatisfied with what the vocation has become. Although physicians are thought to be more autonomous, they too feel ample pressure. Patients, insurers, Health Maintenance Organizations [HMOs], and fellow physicians all burden the mind and affect the quality of life.
Often individuals in every job are so overwhelmed. They think life would be better in another line of work. Stories of frustration are abundant. In each profession, people decide to move on; certain that the grass is greener elsewhere.
Americans are burned out, burned up, lighting the candle at both ends, and unhappy in their careers. Countless people question the choices they’ve made. Some assume they made decisions when they were young and naïve. They think as adults they are wiser. Numerous individuals acknowledge, in recent years the marketplace demands much. "Vacations" are defined as vocations on wheels. Trains, boats, and planes and now offices when on the go. They accept they are simply stretched too far. They see the evidence.
Five warning signs of job burnout
By Kate Lorenz
CareerBuilder.comDo you think you never have or never will experience work burnout? Consider these statistics:
The American worker has the least vacation time of any modern, developed society.
In 2005, 33 percent of workers said they would be checking in with the office while on vacation.
One-half of workers reported they feel a great deal of stress on the job.
Forty-four percent of working moms admit to being preoccupied about work while at home and one-fourth say they bring home projects at least one day a week.
Nineteen percent of working moms reported they often or always work weekends.
Thirty-seven percent of all working dads said they would consider the option of taking a new job with less pay if it offered a better work/life balance.
Thirty-six percent of working dads reported they bring work home at least one day a week and 30 percent say they often or always work weekends. These statistics, taken from CareerBuilder.com surveys of American workers, demonstrate the pressures employees in the United States are under [in order] to be available to the office, despite responsibilities -- or plans -- away from work.
All this, combined with longer work hours and many individuals handling the workloads of two, can easily lead to worker burnout.
If you think burnout on the job is just an excuse used by the weak to get out of responsibilities, think again. Stress and burnout can affect your immune system and have been linked to migraines, digestive disorders, skin diseases, high blood pressure, and heart disease. It causes emotional distress as well.
"Job burnout is a response to work stress that leaves you feeling powerless, hopeless, fatigued, drained and frustrated," writes Dr. Audrey L. Canaff, a UC Foundation Assistant Professor in the Counseling Program at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga in her article on WorkplaceBlues.com. "But since job burnout is not an overnight occurrence, it's important to recognize its early signs and to act before the problem becomes truly serious."
At times, the actions we take only add to our strain. Some take medication to relieve the pain of pressure. Side effects can exacerbate our physical and psychological well-being. Others run from the scene of the crime they once called 'my career.' More eat to escape the encroaching misery. A few exercise. Each offers temporary relief. Most accept they must suffer in silence. They hope this too will pass.
People ponder. Perchance, the company will be sold. The District will appoint new Administrators. Hospitals, on occasion, hire new management firms. Some say I will simply transfer to another locale. Scores of employees count the days until they might quit. Several ask to be fired. Unemployment and lawsuits are options. A few people dream; their day will come. However, often it does not, or so they believe. Most of us miss what is right in front of us. We do not see what is there, for our eyes are tired and we are weary.
Author, and Physician Naomi Rachel Remen once practiced in an area of medicine that left her separate from herself. She was extremely successful; thus, she did not realize how torn she was. For this amazing professional, life offered unexpected opportunities. Experiences helped open her eyes. Now she gives us great gifts through her inscriptions.
Finding meaningTeaching the practice of medicine involves more than teaching its science. Medicine is in crisis, and in crisis, we need to find something stronger than our science to hold on to, something more satisfying and sustaining to us as people in this work. Perhaps the answer lies in learning to cultivate the meaning of our work in the same way that we have traditionally pursued its knowledge base. We will need to learn to educate students to find meaning as skillfully as we educate them to pursue medical expertise.
In times of difficulty, meaning strengthens us not by changing our lives by transforming our experience of our lives, The Italian psychiatrist Roberto Assagioli tells a parable about 3 stonecutters building a cathedral in the Middle Ages. You approach the first man and ask him what he's doing. Angrily he turns to you and says, "Idiot! Use your eyes! They bring me a rock, I cut it into a block, they take it away, and they bring me another rock. I've been doing this since I was old enough to work, and I'm going to be doing it until the day that I die." Quickly you withdraw, go the next man, and ask him the same question. He smiles at you warmly and tells you, "I'm earning a living for my beloved family. With my wages I have built a home, there is food on our table, the children are growing strong." Moving on, you approach the third man with this same question. Pausing, he gives you a look of deep fulfillment and tells you, "I am building a great cathedral, a holy lighthouse where people lost in the dark can find their strength and remember their way. And it will stand for a thousand years!" Each of these men is doing the identical task. Finding a personal meaning in your work opens even the most routine of tasks to the dimension of satisfaction and even joy. We may need to recognize meaning for the resource it is and find ways to pursue it and preserve it.
While the philosophical may be enlightening, often people read such tales and do not integrate the moral into their lives. People relate to practical paths. Medical Doctor, and Counselor to cancer patients, offers a personal narrative.
A former patient of hers, Josh is a highly gifted cancer surgeon. A bout of depression overwhelmed this extremely esteemed Physician. Josh sought counsel and turned to Naomi. Remen met a disillusioned and cynical man certain of a need to retire. The medical man expressed his disenchantment, "I can barely make myself get out of bed in the mornings. I hear the same complaints day after day; I see the same diseases over and over again. I just don't care anymore. I need a new life." Although the doctor's skills gave life to many on the verge of death, it did not matter to him.
Rachel Naomi Remen recounts for her readers in Grandfather's Blessings, an account that may resonate within you.
Proust said the voyage of discovery lies not in seeking new vistas but in having new eyes. New eyes can often be found in very simple ways. Drawing on the work of Angeles Arrien, the author of the The Four Fold Way, I sometimes suggest to people like Josh that they review the events of their day for fifteen minutes every evening, asking themselves three questions in a journal.The three questions are: What surprised me today? What moved me or touched me today? What inspired me today? Often these are busy people, and I tell them that they do not need to write a great deal; the key thing is in reliving their day from a new perspective, and not the amount that they write about it. I asked Josh if he would like to try this as an experiment.
He was dubious. "Less expensive than Prozac," I told him. He laughed and agreed to try. I was not surprised to hear from him in a few days. He sounded irritated on the phone. "Rachel," he said, "I have done this for three days now and the answer is always the same: "Nothing. Nothing and nothing." I don't like to fail at things. Is there a trick to this?"
I laughed. "perhaps you are still looking at life in old ways," I told him. "Try looking at the people around you as if you were a novelist, a journalist, or maybe a poet. Look for the stories." There was a brief silence. "right," he said. I sighed. But he did not call me back.
Josh did not mention the journal again for several weeks. Our sessions focused on relieving some of the stress and reducing his workload a bit. He seemed to be getting better, and I was optimistic.
Six weeks later Josh came into the office with his bound journal. He spoke of how he struggled to see beyond what he knew, what he was trained to observe. The physician focused on science. He wrote of how a cancer shrunk or enlarged. He penned words that related to his work; a new experimental drug was effective. Gradually, he saw the people he cared for. Josh realized individuals stricken with terminal illness . . .
found their way through great pain and darkness by following the thread of love, people who had sacrificed parts of their bodies to affirm the value of being alive, found ways to triumph over pain, suffering, and even death.
People moved this medical professional to tears. Josh was triumphant for he saw what most of us no longer observe. Each of us leads meaningful lives. We touch others and change lives. We, as individuals make a profound difference. While overwhelmed with the logistics of work we lose sight of what matters. The exchange you had with this person or that helped them to believe, to begin to live their lives anew. An encounter expanded the awareness of another, or perhaps you were changed by a comment, a compliment, a thought made in passing.
Surgeon, Josh realized if he listened to hearts not through a stethoscope but through new eyes he could hear love speak to him. Empathy is the best educator, the most qualified doctor, and it exists within us. Teachers do not impart wisdom. Physicians do not heal wounds. Librarians do not bestow tools for knowledge. Flight attendants do not ease the travel. Our own hearts inform and help us recover when we are hurt, bothered, burned out, and bleeding for relief.
What we see, feel, hear, think, and choose to be is not determined by our career. These are evoked from within. Wherever we go, there we are. We cannot separate ourselves from our interpretations, explanations, illumination, enlightenment, or existence. A change in careers will not calm the soul. Chaos cannot be lessened if we leave a location. What truly alters our perceptions is not the work [job] we do, the work we do within transforms us.
No matter our profession, a Mom, a Maintenance Worker, a Machinist, or a Corporate Mogul, we make a difference in the lives of others and in our own internal universe.
As you travel through your day I invite you to reflect. What surprised you today? What moved you or touched you today? What inspired you today? Write your answers and share these with us. I trust what moves you will be meaningful to us all. We each relate to a reality that is ours daily. Every one of us only needs to look through new eyes. Perchance your view will help expand my horizons.
Sources For Stress and Redress . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on November 8, 2007 at 01:16 PM in Dreams Live and Die , Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Life, A Forward Motion, Looking at Life | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
The Only Barrier to Communication; My Emotions and Me
copyright © 2007 Betsy L. Angert
We each experience many obstructions everyday of our lives. There are physical fences we cannot or will not climb. A roadblock might impede our progress on the thoroughfare. Distance does us in. Many do not wish to venture beyond familiar neighborhoods. Proximity can limit our travel. Time is an interesting concept. Although, man created seconds, minutes, hours, and days, few of us seem able to separate ourselves from this obstacle.
As difficult as it might be to ford the river or sea, nothing compares with the challenge we feel when we know there is a need discuss subjects that cause us to feel defensive. Delicate topics are taboo too. Conversations of all sorts are difficult. Personal or professional, what we say aloud and what we do not can cause palms to sweat, hands to clam, pulses to race, and a person to pace. The heart is easily torn to pieces. The head hurts at the thought of what might be a threat. Communication can cleave, or calm; it can be the greatest bridge or the barrier that destroys a connection.
As I approach a theme that is ubiquitous, I realize Communication is the least understood construct in our lives. I could attempt to discuss what we do easily and yet struggle with from a singular perspective, that of an educator, a parent, a sibling, an employee, or a supervisor; however, I fear what I frequently experience. If I endeavor to illustrate what occurs when, or how, from a particular perspective people will do what they typically do; they will isolate an incident, and intentionally or not ignore the essence of this discussion, emotions.
As I approach a theme that is ubiquitous, I realize Communication is the least understood construct in our lives. I could attempt to discuss what we do easily and yet struggle with from a singular perspective, that of an educator, a parent, a sibling, an employee, or a supervisor; however, I fear what I frequently experience. If I endeavor to illustrate what occurs when, or how, from a particular perspective people will do what they typically do; they will isolate an incident, and intentionally or not ignore the essence of this discussion, emotions.
Personally, I do not presume to know what any individual must do to ensure that in their life, communications will be effective. Nor do I believe that any expert in linguistics can carve a path for you to pursue. As I share a tale or two, I trust you dear reader will relate as humans do, from your own life experience. Perchance that is the essential. We encounter, exchange, empathize, and grow. Life is an evolution with no singular solution. Lets us stroll down this path together, and discover the knowledge available to each of us. If we dare to dive more deeply than we do when we just talk, oh what treasures we might find. Let us look at the barriers to communication and examine ways to build bridges.
When we survey the research, we find the obscure and the obvious. Broad statements, outlines that obfuscate or abstract are available. Perhaps, we can fill in the blanks or read between the lines. Some of the script seems basic, easy to comprehend.
Barriers to Communication
Physical (time, environment, comfort, needs, physical medium)
Cultural (ethnic, religious, and social differences)
Perceptional (viewing what is said from your own mindset)
Motivational (mental inertia)
Experiential (lack of similar experience)
Emotional (personal feelings at the moment)
Linguistic (different languages or vocabulary)
Non-verbal (non-word messages)
Competition (noise, doing other things besides listening)
Words (we assign a meaning to a word often because of culture -- note the difference in the meaning of "police" (contrast [affluent neighborhoods] or any inner city perspective) or "boy" (contrast white male with black male perspectives)
Context (high / low)
Purpose
Mode (differences in way a message is sent)
Gestures (misunderstood gestures are a major barrier see discussion on non-verbal language)
Variations in language - accent, dialect
Slang - jargon - colloquialism
Different forms or reasons for verbal interaction
Dueling - seeing who can get the upper hand (playing the dozens)
Repartee conversation - taking short turns rather than monologue
Ritual conversation - standard replies with little meaning to words themselves (i.e. most US greetings)
Self-disclosure.
That last element is the one that tugs at heart. It is the hardest for many to accept or act on. Yet, in my life open discourse is essential if we wish to cultivate enjoyment. Communication, when effective brings closeness, counter to what our fears cause us to believe.
I see you shake your head and say, no that is not so. You might think, "How can I reveal of what lies deep within me." People will not understand. They may ridicule, rebuff, or resent my beliefs. 'Tis true; they might in the moment. At first blush, people can be reactive. However, think of a time when you did not tell someone your deepest secret. Did that not weigh heavily or your heart. Often, we snub ourselves more severely than others might.
In our communication with self, we do exactly what we think others will do if they knew. We shun us. We deny our feelings. The passion that pulses through our veins is veiled, just as it is in the dry list I presented earlier in this essay. It seems safer to hide the emotions. Thus, we travel on and justify, rationalize, reason, intellectualize, make excuses, blame . . . human beings mask the essence of a message in order to relieve the pain. Then they speak of external barriers?
I cannot speak to my boss; she is a b****! He is a b******! We do not speak the same language. In his culture . . . He could not possibly comprehend. She is unfamiliar with the language; she will not hear what I say. He is a man; how could he understand. You know how women are. No, tell me. I have yet to encounter any two that are alike.
I have to wait so that I may speak to him face-to-face. However, the time never comes. Thus, you wait and wait for the perfect opportunity. It never seems to come. After awhile, you decide it is just too late. Then you conclude, it is just too late. Too much has happened since. I guess I will have to suffer in silence.
Communication can cause such anguish. It can also bring great pleasure. The two are not separate; nor are they equal. They are the sum total of our unique being. Our background and experiences cause us to feel as we do, hear as we might, understand in the manner that makes sense to us. We may be critical, cordial, compassionate, or cruel; yet, no matter what our intent, another will perceive our words and deeds through their own filter.
Woes may be similar, worries akin. You, as I may be apprehensive when confronted with what I perceive is a need to say aloud what I think might be difficult. I hesitate. I vacillate. I hem and hah. I fear what I might mouth. In my desire to foil a fight, perhaps I create one?
When faced with a dilemma I recall the words my Mom uttered, "If you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all." Perchance, that would be best; however, it is my experience, what is not stated does far more damage than what be expressed poorly.
If someone comes to me and complains, if they accuse me of doing what was detrimental, do I become defensive. Might I attack, react, reason, or rationalize. Whatever I choose I must understand, mere words are not enough to communicate the flood that is within me. Nor will my statements be all that the other sees, hears, or grasps. There is far more to an interaction than the superficial sense we have of what was said or done.
Intellectually, I understand the inventory of barriers. First, there must be a physical proximity before a dialogue can begin. Yet, how often do you sit with your boss and never say a word when you object to a proposition. The lack of talk suggests as much as constant chatter. Yet, silence reveals no more than the sound of words.
Men, women, and children often reside in the same house and rarely share more than a meal. Many of us know our spouse or siblings as well as we do others, those outside the home. Some sleep next to a life partner each evening; they hug, kiss, and become intimately intertwined, bodily interlaced. However, one or both may loathe their lover. If they have a story to tell, they will not share it with their supposed soul mate.
When there is a need to speak with an associate, an acquaintance, a parent, a pupil, a physician, a personal trainer, a person that represents a professional organization some people feel safe. An emotional or physical distance can be grand. At times, individuals feel freer when with those that do not have the emotional power to hurt them. A cordon for some is a conduit for others.
For a few, electronic communication is the medium of choice. Numerous persons feel free to be when they chat in cyberspace. Apparently, Internet Dating Much More Successful Than Thought. We look for love in all sorts of places. The desire to connect to another human intimately runs deep. What we will do for love and what we will say in pursuit of our passion can have an enormous effect on communication. When we feel spurned, some of us may say or not express something more profound. When we are free to be, protected by the net that surrounds an electronic neighborhood, we may let it all fly. How many of us have received a computer-generated correspondence that bit more than a byte.
While all sorts of online exchanges can be misunderstood, social scientists say that faceless strangers are especially likely to run into problems. "Through that initial phone call, people become real," says Susan Barnes, a professor of communication at Rochester Institute of Technology in New York. Simply foregoing common pleasantries can make a message come across as rude-especially if communicators don't know each other. A rushed e-mail may give the impression that the exchange is unimportant. And, because first impressions set the tone for subsequent interaction, Barnes says, the exchange can quickly go downhill.Nadler says the missing element in electronic communication is rapport, that in-sync state that's easier to establish in person or by phone. Facial expressions, gestures, tone of voice-all these social cues are missing in e-mail (and smiley-face "emoticons" can do only so much to replace them). But because messages travel almost instantly, people act as if they're in a face-to-face conversation, says David Falcone, a psychology professor at La Salle University in Philadelphia. Because of this illusion of proximity, we're duped into thinking we can communicate about touchy subjects, such as disagreements or criticisms, and that the tone of our writing will be perceived correctly.
Furthermore, says Nadler, just because we can send a message anytime doesn't mean someone is there to receive it. Yet people often fear a delayed reply is a potential blow-off.
And when we feel slighted, we are more apt to throw a fit via e-mail than we would by phone. "The anonymity of e-mail leads to rudeness," says Barnes, adding we may not feel accountable, especially if we've never actually spoken to the other person. Even if we mean well, the lack of second-by-second feedback, by which we constantly adjust our words in conversation, can cause us to go on blithely composing messages that will rub the recipient the wrong way.
Nose to nose is not much better for communication. Granted, common language can be a problem. Conventionally we understand different dialects hamper our ability to communicate well. I, as others might offer infinite and general scenarios to demonstrate how language can inhibit effective exchanges. However, I suspect if you study the dynamics in each you may realize the verbal and nonverbal communication does not cause the problems. Again, emotions, expectations, inferences, incite disagreements. The fire in our heart, in our head ignites the flames
With no common history and little interaction outside the workplace, the intersection of the two groups -- which is occurring more frequently as Korean business and the Hispanic population boom -- has been fraught with tension and cultural misunderstandings.Ricardo Garcia, 34, complains he wasn't paid fully by a Korean contractor. Fermin Soto, a 42-year-old immigrant from Mexico, said he had similar problems with a different contractor, adding that the Korean builder spoke down to Hispanic workers.
The stories have made Ronald Tobar, who hasn't worked for a Korean employer, wary.
"I'm a little afraid of working for them," said Tobar, a native of Guatemala. "I hear they are aggressive and strict and give the worst jobs to Hispanics."
Such perceptions exacerbate tensions between the groups, said Daniel Choi, a lawyer for the Virginia Justice Center, a legal advocacy group for immigrants that mainly represents Hispanics. Many of the workplace problems Choi encounters while working on behalf of Hispanic immigrants against Korean employees are grievances like unpaid wages that have nothing to do with race or culture. Yet, perceptions of ethnic and racial biases often complicate matters.
When Thomas Yoon helped open the Super H Mart store in Fairfax in 2001, he noticed that some older Koreans, raised in the Confucian Korean culture where relationships are dictated by hierarchy and age, were offended that their Hispanic co-workers were tapping them on the shoulder to get their attention. To the Koreans, the gesture was disrespectful. To the Hispanic workers, the shoulder tap was simply a means of communication and signaled familiarity and comfort among the workers.
While the difference in language and culture contributes to misunderstanding, I suspect what causes a greater riff is the economic disparity. Money moves many a heart and a mouth.
A gesture meant to state, "I like you," may actually connote disdain. If it seems as though we condescend when in the company of one that thinks them better, or less, that message is felt. We need not express ourselves aloud. People hear the unspoken. Vernacular is victim to much misinterpretation. Yet, dialect is nothing on balance; a division in dollars can be quite the deal.
Love, money, and power all rolled into one can cause conflict in any liaison. Often, when people speak of relationships between men and women we hear such tales of deep distress. In another of the many available lists presented to enlighten, I read gender is a barrier to communication. The author cited . . .
Gender barriers
There are distinct differences between the speech patterns in a man and those in a woman. A woman speaks between 22,000 and 25,000 words a day whereas a man speaks between 7,000 and 10,000. In childhood, girls speak earlier than boys and at the age of three, have a vocabulary twice that of boys.The reason for this lies in the wiring of a man's and woman's brains. When a man talks, his speech is located in the left side of the brain but in no specific area. When a woman talks, the speech is located in both hemispheres and in two specific locations.
This means that a man talks in a linear, logical and compartmentalised way, features of left-brain thinking; whereas a woman talks more freely mixing logic and emotion, features of both sides of the brain. It also explains why women talk for much longer than men each day.
Ah, that is the excuse used to explain emotional differences. I marvel at what for me is a deeply held myth. Men have less words; the male mind is not wired as a woman's might be. There is much evidence to support humans are acculturated into the habits they acquire. Brains are pliable and porous. From the first, we are taught. What we learn when we were so very young we believe is natural. It is our nature to be stoic or expressive. Boys and girls believe before they are able to grasp there are other options.
In our society, boys are typically told they are hard-wired, hard-hearted, all that they are not. Male adults model the behavior, for they too were taught. Men are persuaded to believe they are not demonstrative; they must not trust in order to survive. William Pollack, Ph.D. author of Real Boys explains. He understands as I have all my life; boys feel very deeply and have much to say. They are "trained" from birth to speak less.
Pollack's message was a consistent one: The "boy code" imposes a "gender straitjacket" on boys, often leaving them without the experience or the tools to express their emotions safely. . . .It's a series of outmoded, unspoken, unwritten rules of conduct by which, for generations, we have brought up boys. According to the code, boys must be tough, stoic, not dependent on others, inexpressive people who are not allowed to share their pain.
Boys feel great pressure to emulate the code's ideal boy. Since they always fall short of this impossible ideal, they become frustrated, depressed, and angry.
Once more, we see the effect of emotions concealed. Emotions cloaked or presented as daggers are the barriers to communication in my mind.
I ponder what for me is most profound. What we hide from others [and too often from ourselves] hinders a healthy relationship. With others and self. Personally, I am haunted by the unspoken. Ultimately, I conclude that I must speak, but how.
How do I share what works on my mind? I fear rejection, resentment, rebellion, a reprimand; yet, I understand that my words to him or her may feel as any of these. It matters not whether I speak with my ward, my protégé, my mentor, or my muse. Communication is fragile. Talk is not cheap; it is priceless, so valuable, and yet so vague.
If, as I begin to express myself, I see pain in his eyes, I heart the hurt in his voice, do I apologize for the harm I never intended to cause yet did? Whether it be in a personal or professional encounter, words can wield as weapons. Much sorrow is evoked when we offer the most innocent observation.
A person presumes to know what I meant when I say, "please," "if you would," "might I suggest," and perhaps they are correct. However, more frequently than not, what each of us hear has more to do with our history than that of the speaker.
As I broach a conversation, I must wonder; yet rarely do we. Will a wounded soul, and perchance we all are invisibly injured, be able to hear my words, or even let me come close enough to share my deepest anguish? Will I, the truly impaired individual be able to separate myself from a need to defend myself, when I am so very offended?
Will one so strong and healthy, in appearance, be open to foreboding words of his or her failure to achieve. As a parent, a sibling, a supervisor, a mentor do I dare mention an error on the part of my muse. Should I mention the pain I feel when she says I am mistaken or the hurt in my heart when he tells me my every action annoys him? Do I speak to an associate about their behavior, or my reaction to their demeanor? In what way do I approach a child, a neighbor, or my closest friend? There is much I conceal, so many secrets, suppositions, and then there are the suggestions others offer, what might I consider if I hope to communicate effectively.
Last week, in my employ, I was given an assignment. I was commanded, ordered, directed, told, invited, welcomed, or asked to pen a tome. The topic would be "barriers to communication." Internally I know to my core, I revel in this theme. For years, I understood, what I wish to do in my life is write and broadly publish volumes of discussions on relationships. The ways in which we interact fascinates me. Misinterpretations boggle my mind. An exchange of ideas, while on the surface is a simple notion. However, I think there is no endeavor more complex.
I studied this subject extensively over the years; yet, when this request was made, I felt a tinge of resentment. I wanted to pursue personal prose, those that interest me. Well, that must not be true, for indeed this discipline moves me as no other. Yet, on this occasion I had no enthusiasm for in the work.
Nevertheless, I started the research, and discovered the reasons I was less than intrigued. Numerous sources furnished a simple analysis. Almost all the references addressed the issue as it pertains to a persons' professional life or the authors spoke in general. How could they not? They do not know us.
You dear reader, are likely familiar with the conventional wisdom. What are the barriers and how might we break these. The words read more than a decade ago resounded in my head. Stephen Covey, in Seven Principles of Highly Effective Families wrote of how we are not different at work than we are at home. Judy H. Wright, Parent Educator and Family Coach, also recalls her reveries of Doctor Covey writings.
Respect for Myself Respect for the Other PersonI have a right to my feelings. He has a right to his feelings.
One of the hardest lessons we have to learn as humans is you can not force others to do as you wish and you must make choices based on this. The only thing we truly have control over is our own inner thoughts and outer actions. We can provide information, influence, and suggestions to our loved ones and associates, but the desire to change [or do] must be within the individual. Accountability and responsibility involves claiming our own power and using our wisdom to create different results in life.
Perhaps, that is what worked within me. Correctly or not I felt as though I was "expected' to address communication in a manner contrary to my passion. It seemed, for whatever reason, I was meant to share techniques and these would guide readers. I understand that people prefer to peruse outlines. When asked to look deeper or contemplate the motivations and myths within, frequently men, women, and children state, "And your point is," as though there is a central focus or a guidebook to assist us in the complexity of communication.
I struggle with such simplicity. I fear a tome titled "Communication Made Easy." Perhaps billions would willingly purchase a copy of "Communication For Dummies." They might read with glee as though they found the answer; however, I cannot author that volume.
Change the way in which you communicate; it is simple, straightforward, and can be accomplished if only you know the steps. Allow for accessibility. Be sensitive to false perceptions, those of others, for clearly we are each correct in our ideals. Consider language and gender differences, even if these only deter communication because we believe they will. Certainly, address your own interpersonal preferences and change these if they hinder communication, not that you might recognize the difference between your learned habit and what you believe to be your nature. Nonetheless, break down those barriers. Yikes!
After I found numerous references that offer an index of solutions, I thought to myself, 'Fine, surface, as these sources are, so too will be my essay. I will do the project quickly. I can supplant and expand on a reference or two. Then I will have time to work on personal projects as I desire to do.' The composition need not be glorious. I have other interests to pursue.
Again, I remind myself I want to publish prose that discuss the delicate dilemma, how might we best communicate.
I recalled the thousands of workers I have seen in my lifetime. They all place personal priorities above the menial and meaningless assigned responsibilities. Even when engaged in a profession they love, people gravitate to the personal. Why would I be different?
We cannot always complete each tasks with equal vigor. Not every essay need be a masterpiece, nor will this one be. I decided, I would pen this treatise without delay or enthusiasm. [Remembering of course, I love, and wish to write volumes on the topic of communication.]
Just as I was about to begin my labor, the telephone rang. I received an electronic communication. Other occupational concerns took precedence. Then, the daily doings necessary to survive got in my way. Family situations that needed by full attention mounted. There were ample distractions. However, honestly, I knew, I did not wish to work on this tome. I began to examine why I did not feel as I do when I plunge into a blank page with intention.
I am told that many do not write or paint for as they gaze upon a blank page or canvas they feel great anxiety. I rarely experience such a sense of doom or gloom when in front of an empty space, for I feel no voids. I observe no vacant expanse. For me, emotions, raw and exposed, threaten my ability to communicate, to complete tasks, to commence, or to accomplish what I wish to achieve.
I realized at least a decade ago, what we experience in our professional lives, closely parallels what occurs in our private lives. We are not one way at work and another way home. You or I may wish to believe that we are profound in our profession and a failure domestically. Perchance we excel in our familial endeavors and flounder in each employ. Each of us, at times may muse we are different in various aspects of our life. Yet, in truth, what guides us in one circumstance, leads us to travel down each and every avenue. Our perceptions are extremely powerful.
Consider the thoughts that occurred to you as you read the various words I used to describe how this project was presented to me. Some of the terms may have made you cringe. Those that implied this "assignment" was forced upon me establish that this is an unwelcome endeavor. I loathe compulsory chores.
Bear in mind the topic that evoked this essay was not my creation; however, it is my life mission. Nevertheless, if doing this article is not my idea, then, I can resent the "request."
Most humans prefer to feel as though they have freedom of choice. I definitely do. Thus, an assignment feels as an obligation, a duty, a job, a task, and certainly not a personal preference. If the idea was not mine, even though, in honesty, it is, I might feel put upon.
My own reaction to a glorious action, an invitation to do, as I deeply desire, can and will change the dynamic of further communication between myself and my "supervisor.' The barrier, in this incident is as in every other conversation; the way in which I choose to interpret the intention of another affects the entire dialogue.
Might we also examine how the message was delivered? Did my 'superior' suggest I compose an essay on \ how we hear what we do and why. Did he present the notion of such an examination as a possibility or was this exercise required, a mandatory pursuit. In truth, it would not have mattered what "the man" said or how. The manner in which my "boss" spoke would not have influenced my reaction as much as the mere fact that he is titled, the "person in charge." I am but a subordinate.
In actuality, I am not above or below anyone. None of us are. Nor does anyone have the power to demand that we think, say, do, feel, or be, as they desire. For each of us, our background, experiences, the effect of these and our emotions are the greatest barriers to communication.
We hear what we judge was said. Every one of us truly thinks that what we believe to be so is valid and perhaps, it is, for us, in that moment. However, were we to open our minds, hearts, eyes, and souls we might discover another reality. Author, Dr. Steven Covey shared a story that may help to explain what occurs in every aspect of our lives.
These are deep problems, painful problems -- problems that quick fix approaches can't solve.
A few years ago, my wife Sandra and I were struggling with this kind of concern.One of our sons was having a very difficult time in school. He was doing poorly academically; he didn't even know how to follow the instructions on the tests, let alone do well in them. Socially he was immature, often embarrassing those closest to him. Athletically, he was small, skinny, and uncoordinated -- swinging
his baseball bat, for example, almost before the ball was even pitched. Others would laugh at him. Sandra and I were consumed with a desire to help him. We felt that if "success" were important in any area of life, it was supremely important in our role as parents.So, we worked on our attitudes and behavior toward him and we tried to work on his. We attempted to psyche him up using positive mental attitude techniques. "Come on, son! You can do it! We know you can. Put your hands a little higher on the bat and keep your eye on the ball. Don't swing till it gets close to you." And if he did a little better, we would go to great lengths to reinforce him. "That's good, son, keep it up."
When others laughed, we reprimanded them. "Leave him alone. Get off his back. He's just learning." And our son would cry, and insist that he'd never be any good, and that he didn't like baseball anyway Nothing we did seemed to help, and we were really worried.
We could see the effect this was having on his self-esteem. We tried to be encouraging, helpful, and positive, but after repeated failure, we finally drew back and tried to look at the situation on a different level. At this time in my professional role, I was involved in leadership development work with various
clients throughout the country.In that capacity, I was preparing bimonthly programs on the subject of communication and perception for IBM's Executive Development Program participants. As I researched and prepared these presentations, I became particularly interested in how perceptions are formed, how they behave. This led me to a study of expectancy theory, and
self-fulfilling prophecies, or the "Pygmalion effect," and to a realization of how deeply imbedded our perceptions are.It taught me that we must look at the lens through which we see the world, as well as at the world, we see, and that the lens itself shapes how we interpret the world. As Sandra and I talked about the concepts I was teaching at IBM and about our own situation, we
began to realize that what we were doing to help our son was not in harmony with the way we really saw him. When we honestly examined our deepest feelings, we realized that our perception was that
he was basically inadequate, somehow "behind."No matter how much we worked on our attitude and behavior, our efforts were ineffective because, despite our actions and our words, what we really communicated to him was, "You aren't capable. You have to be protected."
We began to realize that if we wanted to change the situation, we first had to change ourselves.
And to change ourselves effectively, we first had to change our perceptions.
Perceptions are punitive. Often we punish others or ourselves unjustly. After, I read Emotional Intelligence, by Daniel Goleman, I understood. Those that judge us most harshly, are far more critical of themselves. Ultimately, the victim becomes the abuser. The violence may not be physical. It may be verbal, emotional, intellectual, each perhaps, far more traumatic than bumps and bruises to the body. We criticize ourselves just as we were criticized.
When you were young, which of these did you feel more often:
No matter what I do, my parents love me.
I can't seem to please my parents, no matter what I do.
My parents don't really notice me.
The answers to such questions reveal more than about our childhood: they also tend to predict how we act in our closest relationships as adults.Our childhood shapes our brain in many ways - and so determines our most basic ways of reacting to others - for better and for worse. If we felt well-loved in childhood, we tend to be secure in our relationships - but if not, then we're more prone to chronic problems.
The primary paradox is that we trust what we believe to be true. We are so certain that what we understand is accurate, that we cannot imagine how wrong we are. Perchance, that too is, in large part is the puzzle.
As children, impressionable and desirous of knowledge, many of us were told we were mistaken, in error, at fault. What we heard is that our essence was flawed. Parents, Moms, Dads, school Principals, teachers, people we truly admired certainly must know. These esteemed individuals can see to our core. Thus, they have the wisdom to describe us as we are. As we age, what was said to us is what we say to ourselves. Sadly, rarely do we realize, those revered individuals never stated what we heard, nonetheless, we internalize the identity we adopted so very long ago. Indeed, neurological studies demonstrate the brain, chemically etches our patterns and our beliefs.
As the week went on and this project hung over my head as a weight, I waited for the load to fall down upon me. Auspiciously, it did. However, not in the way I expected.
A very close friend, one that I have known for decades shared a secret he held forever. He never told another human being. Yet, what remained hidden revealed itself in an ugly letter. This kind and gentle man discovered that, a pain he caused in his youth, was known to another. This other person held her hurt, just as he harbored his.
Each was deeply scarred. No words were ever spoken. Interpretations became truth. Insinuations and implications grew in intensity. The mind filled in for what was never spoken of. Each of these individuals now five and six decades old, is wounded in ways one would never imagine to look at them.
While both have a semblance of success, the circumstances, never communicated, has hindered their growth. They have achieved financially, although that was not enough to compensate for the horror they felt and hide. His and her accomplishments were inadequate; they did not fill the void left by the unmentionable. The health of each, physically, mentally, emotionally, and possibly intellectually suffered. Neither felt worthy of awards or accolades.
She blames him. He placed the onus on himself. Perhaps, deep down she thinks she was responsible for the trauma. We cannot know for sure. She refuses to engage in a significant exchange. He shutters. How might he ever repent. The hidden hurt now exposed; yet still not discussed scars the hearts more deeply.
A life, two lives ended long ago because there were barriers to communication. It matters not what the blockades were; nor is it important that we know the specifics of what happened oh so very long ago. The details, indeed, might allow us to feel separate or superior. "That would never happen to me." What occurs often, in the lives of every human being is we, I, do not communicate when we must. When we do, frequently we are defensive.
As a species, we're not very skilled at talking about tough topics.Sure, we can gather our courage and blurt out what's been bothering us for weeks, months, or even years. We get it out, unload, and move on, leaving hurt feelings and the seeds of another misunderstanding in our wake.
Part of the problem, Harvard researchers say, is that we approach such confrontations thinking that we not only understand our own point of view, but we also believe we know for sure what the other person did, said, and thought on the subject. And we think our view is right.
But in fact, they say, we're usually wrong, which explains why these kinds of talks often go so badly.
"When we get into difficult interpersonal conflicts, it's not very natural for us to see the conflict from the other person's point of view," said Douglas Stone, associate director of the Harvard Negotiation Project. "But it's a skill that is crucial to learn."
empathy, I believe is the best educator. I cannot ever truly know whom you are within. When I enter into a conversation, a negotiation, a conciliation, or a concession with a close mind, certain that you are less than I, then, communication will be but a dream. If we are to remove the force that keeps us separate we must listen, place ourselves where we have never been, in the heart, mind, and soul of another.
In fact, the way most of us broach difficult topics dooms the conversation from the start, they say. Openings such as "I think we should discuss why you've been so inconsiderate lately," immediately put the other person on the defensive and leads to an "I have not been inconsiderate" response rather than a talk about why he or she has been getting in at 1 a.m. and waking you up by playing the stereo.Instead of venting your opinion, the researchers say, you should do at least as much learning about the other person's point of view as you do talking about your own. Perhaps the person is playing music so late because he or she works two jobs to make ends meet and this is the only time available to study for a history of music course.
Without asking, you'll never know.
"Go in and remember to inquire as much as you tell your story," said Bruce Patton, the Negotiation Project's deputy director.
The greatest barrier to communication is I. You, he, and she are as I. Too often, we talk and do not listen. We hear what we plan to say. The words of a friend, a family member, and a fellow worker are frequently background noise to our own thoughts. What escapes from the lips of our neighbor falls to the ground. We are consumed with emotions; thus, rarely do we communicate completely with compassion.
I invite you to look at yourself, the way in which you interact with others at home or at work. Do you invite discussion? Might you embrace an opportunity to learn, to discover, or to authentically connect, or do you prefer to be in control.
Please consider we can never imagine what is within another. Why they did as they did. Please trust, if you are hurt, so too are they. I know it is hard to accept that he or she did not mean to demean, destroy, or diminish your worth. Sadly, they, as you have emotions, raw, and exposed to the elements.
If you wish to end the madness, remove the line of defense, the molehill in your mind and heart that is now a mountain. The barrier to communication is the one, or many, you, I, we create.
Intelligence is Emotional; Empathy is the Best Educator . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on October 10, 2007 at 12:08 AM in Communities, Communities and Communication , Emotional Decisions, Emotional Intelligence, Empathy and Evolution, Nature or Nurture, Quality of Life | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Achieving Peace In A World Built On Defense
copyright © 2007 Betsy L. Angert. BeThink.org
Again, I stood alone on the corner, as I had for months. My intent was as it has been for years; I seek to achieve world peace. However, after a short while I realized, today was like no other. I received the usual smiles and signals of serenity; nonetheless, the number of shuns, shrieks, and screams were as they had never been before. I held the same sign that I embrace each Saturday. The words "Love Not War!" are displayed for all to see.
My attire advances my message. Each afternoon, as I plead for harmony, I am dressed in white. My arm is out-stretched. My forefinger and middle finger are extended above my head as I offer a recognizable gesture. I only ask we give peace a chance.
Initially, as people passed me on this busy street, life was good. It has been for as long as I can recall. An automobile would pass. The occupants would toot their car horn. Numerous individuals would exchange nods or note that they too yearn for global tranquility. I would express my pleasure aloud. Repeatedly, as I encounter my fellow citizens I exclaim, "Thank you." My salutations of joy for our like desire fill the air. It is a pleasure to experience so many individuals in a shared quest for world harmony.
Then, suddenly, a car came very close. A United Sates flag was flying high above the chassis of this vehicle. An elderly man slowly rolled down the window and leaned toward me. Good naturedly he inquired, "Where is my love?" I grinned and said, "It is all around us." I continued, "We get what we give," or so I have long believed. However, as the afternoon wore on, I wondered was that so.
On this day, I was bombarded with flailing fingers, thumbs down, waves that connote wrongdoing, and of course, the third digit on either hand crossed my path. While these expressions were less than warm, they did not concern me. Individuals may have a difference of opinion. I accept and appreciate that. Each of those that offered a characteristic contrary conviction politely stated their case.
My reason for concern came from the few that expressed their disdain with fury. One man came very close to the corner, rowed down the window, and shouted, "Your actions support the terrorist." He asserted, "You are a traitor." I listened and said nothing. I contemplated the concept.
I thought of how I love this country. I never had a notion to leave the shores of America. I long to ensure that the United States of America will be exemplary. Others will look to us and trust mankind can "establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity." Indeed, my hope is that by our actions we will illustrate that "all men are created equal." Admittedly, my hope is that if we are all truly good to our fellow man, here and abroad, there will be no reason for resistance. As this chap shrieked, I offered no reply, not verbally, or otherwise. The young man sped off.
I contemplated terrorism. I wondered. Who is a greater threat, those that kill in the name of freedom and justice while dressed in American uniforms, or those murder the persons that they deem "the enemy." Reveries of scholar, Sam Keen filled my head. I recall the text, "Faces of the Enemy," and the message. The tome . . .
Examines the techniques of propaganda used to teach us "to hate all the people our relatives hate.” Some 400 posters and cartoons show how enemies are dehumanized by portraying them as enemies of god, barbarians, terrorists, sadists and aggressors so that we will be able to kill without remorse or pity.I think of this frequently. When I hear Osama Bin Laden or George W. Bush speak, I trust that the "overeducated at Harvard and Princeton," former Professor of Philosophy and Religion, and contributing editor of Psychology Today, Sam Keen is, for me, correct. Speeches made by Bin Laden, or Bush, are at times, interchangeable. Each tells us to hate an enemy.
You have . . . defiled our honour, violated our dignity, shed our blood, . . . and tampered with our security. We will treat you in the same way.I trust to my core, I sponsor no violence or campaigns that promote intimidation. Bombs and brutality are not a means to the end I endorse. As I stand solid and resolute, I hum the tune, "give peace a chance."
Moments passed; perhaps it was many minutes later. I was so lost in thoughts I do not recall now. The lovely city bus driver entered the intersection. From half a block away, I saw her smile, her kind face, and as I do every Saturday, I experienced her delight at the sight of me. She beamed. I could see, even from a distance her fingers were positioned as mine were. We each granted the other our traditional gesture. Together we promote peace.
I have long stated, when we connect with another human in a loving manner we can, and will, receive what we bestow. I believe Newton's Third Law of Motion governs the universe. Yet, sadly, some have yet to realize that a reactive stance will elicit the same in kind.
I recall a discussion in cyberspace just over ten months ago. The question was posed.
If you had to make a conscious, affirmative choice, would you rather win? Or would you rather be right?
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes [Prominent Writer, Physician]
The discussion that ensued astounded me. In truth, the query itself puzzled me. I do not believe in the concept of victory. For me, if one triumphs, they too are defeated. I believe the only absolute "right" is love, which translates to peace.
Many muse, "Love is an action." Indeed, I believe it is. Conversely, I postulate, "Fear is a reaction." As I stand before those that support a conflict that kills young, old, innocent, and innocence I realize many feel a need to defend their claim. "We must win the war before we leave Iraq." These were the words yelled to me from another open car window.
Again, I perpend. "Win" and "war" are constructs that I think untenable. Nevertheless, we as a nation are obsessed with each. Americans, and perhaps citizens worldwide, are quick on the trigger, swift when we wish to snipe, careless when critical. We welcome a Department of Defense. Many believe weapons of mass destruction, be they chemical, biological, nuclear, or words, serve society well.
People do not accede a need to pursue peace profoundly. The populace professes to believe, we must "fight" for freedom. I inquire, can we not all be free to feel as we do and still be civil, calm, and considerate of our fellow man. Some state, humans living in harmony is but a dream. I think the dream is possible.
I sigh as I consider this series of confrontational events, all in a single day bring no serenity. I weigh what is occurring. The sun was bright, the humidity high. I could feel the heat of the summer day scorch my skin. Hurricane strength winds were off in the distance. Might the moon influence the attitudes of people as they pass by? Perhaps the temperature, the hour, or the culture of combat that is pervasive in this country created what came next.
As I stood at my usual post on the northwest corner, I faced the traffic traveling away from the beach. Red, yellow and green lights directed the wave of cars. Ever and anon, drivers see me as they sit stopped, before they are given the right of way. Many beep prior to reaching the intersection. Others wait until they are closer. On occasion, an individual will decide to respond after they are farther down the road. Some want to read my sign, reflect, and than throw caution to the wind. Whatever people chose to do is fine with me, or so I thought. I had not contemplated an extreme confrontation.
It was close to one post-meridian time. The red light that held westward bound cars at bay changed to green. A very large, shiny, and new truck, cut across two lanes of traffic. The driver quickly raced towards me. This vehicle had been in the farthest left lane, nowhere near the curb on which I stood. The lorry careened. Its occupants clearly wished to be close to me. I saw the swift motion and feared the automobile would jump the sidewalk.
As the rig approached, I saw the side window was open. An extremely rotund man sat in passenger seat. He and the stout fellow steering the motor vehicle, each leaned towards me. Their skin was tanned, faces flush, veins were bulging, and their voices very loud. They deliberately declared, "You f***ing loser! You f***ing c***! You f***ing bit**!" I stood still. I said nothing. Words escaped me. I only knew my thought. I wish you peace and love. I hope you will find these. My desire is that we all will.
However, once more I am haunted by the vastness of defensiveness. For me, the claim that self-defense is justifiable encourages destructive engagement and advances assaults. Yet, that is the battle cry. President George W. Bush proclaims . . .
I want to thank my fellow Americans for caring about the subject of peace, and that's what I'm here to discuss.Never does the Commander-In-Chief mention the horror he released on civilians. Nor does he consider the reality that violence begets greater violence. Brutality increases exponentially when we engage in battle. Yet, this is what people often do. They bump and bruise their fellow global citizens all in the name of achieving tranquility.We meet at a time of great consequence for the security of our nation, a time when the defense of freedom requires the advance of freedom, a time with echoes in our history . . .
Like an earlier generation, America is answering new dangers with firm resolve. No matter how long it takes, no matter how difficult the task, we will fight the enemy, and lift the shadow of fear, and lead free nations to victory. (Applause.)
Like an earlier generation, America is pursuing a clear strategy with our allies to achieve victory. Our immediate strategy is to eliminate terrorist threats abroad, so we do not have to face them here at home. The theory here is straightforward: terrorists are less likely to endanger our security if they are worried about their own security. When terrorists spend their days struggling to avoid death or capture, they are less capable of arming and training to commit new attacks. We will keep the terrorists on the run, until they have nowhere left to hide.
At times, the downtrodden in exasperation do as the self-proclaimed "masters" of the universe do. They wage war for what they think right. The poor and mistreated fight in defense of freedom, as might we all. Perchance, those defined as "plebeians" determine they must defend themselves for those in power so eagerly attack. Parents may be the authority figure doing as was done to them. Peers may also adopt a repressive role. Interestingly, often, the "prominent" population is numerically less large.
We might consider the circumstances of well-known Civil Rights Leader, Malcolm X. In his endeavor to seek liberty and justice for all, he experienced as many Americans do, infinite inequity. In frustration, Malcolm expressed his fury. He spoke of the need to defend self, just as the President does.
"It doesn't mean that I advocate violence, but at the same time, I am not against using violence in self-defense. I don't call it violence when it's self-defense; I call it intelligence."Few recall that late in his life, Malcolm X made a pilgrimage that seem to prompt a change from within. While the revered revolutionary had little time left on Earth after his holy journey, there was reason to believe that ultimately Malcolm X would have embraced non-violence. Still, in this climate of conflict most prefer to recall the man that stood strong in the face of danger, as he declared . . .
"The price of freedom is death."The slain leader did not live to see peace; nor have we reached that preferred pinnacle. We can only hope that Malcolm rests in peace. In his name, we may wish to pursue the prospect, however, belatedly.
My day on the corner gives me little reason for hope. While the vast majority joined me in peaceful expressions, the experience reminded me of what I fear is too often true. George W. Bush may have said this best.
America's military is fighting in many theaters, yet always for the same cause. We seek to preserve freedom and peace for ourselves and for our friends.I observe that often, American's, our followers, and those they label foe only wish to establish peace for their pals. A person, or a nation, given any unforeseen circumstances can easily be considered an adversary. A slip, a slight, a misstep in the mind of this superpower or that supposed subversive can alienate an ally. One never knows what can trigger an attack.
In cyberspace, the same dynamic is evident. People posit an opinion, and those that disagree lash out in defense of their stance. An offensive retort is often delivered as a bullet might be. Words when used as weapons can pierce a heart and soul. Indeed, frequently, that seems to be the intent.
I return to the inquiry posited in a local Internet neighborhood; would we rather be right or win. Might we consider if any of us think ourselves righteous in comparison to another then we lose the empathy essential for peace. We cannot win a battle and lose a war. Any confrontation weakens us all.
whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or the holy name of liberty or democracy?"
~ Mahatma Gandhi, "Non-Violence in Peace and War"
Almost a century ago, we fought the War to end all Wars.
The number of men mobilised by both sides: the central powers (Germany, Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria and Turkey), and the allied powers (Britain and Empire, France, Belgium, Russia, Italy, USA), totalled over 65 million.We declared that destruction, The Great War. Decades later the globe was again on fire. Certainly, this more recent conflict would bring world peace. Countless skirmishes occurred before and after each of these battles. The cycle never seems to end. Fighting is accepted as a fact of life.When the fighting was finally over, no-one could tell exactly how many had been killed but historians estimate that up to 10 million men lost their lives on the battlefield - and another 20 million were wounded.
There are hostilities in our homes, fractures in our factories. Campaigns of cruelty in cyberspace are common. Offices are not exempt; offensive rhetoric lives large in every cubbyhole. On the streets, the battle continues. Gangs come to blows, and a little girl, all of five feet tall, is attacked for holding high a banner that pleads for peace.
Still, the virtuous declare victory, while the battle rages on. Might we consider if we truly wish to achieve harmony, "mission accomplished" must be the manifestation of shared love.
Defend the Right to Love . . .
Posted by Betsy L. Angert on August 21, 2007 at 01:04 AM in Aggression, Bush 43 Administration, Communities and Communication , Empathy and Evolution, Fear, Iraq War, Peaceful Protests, Philosophy, Spread Democracy, War and Peace, War is in the Wind, War Kills [Mind, Body, Spirit] | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack
