Carving Out a Space

Nighttime is the Right Time

2011-01-14T13:06:00.001-06:00

Y'all gotta check this funky jam out. Not something I made, but something I love:

http://www.youtube.com/user/randomcarbon#p/a/u/1/PUICTiCNweA

It is solved by walking

2011-01-11T16:01:00.001-06:00

Around the block from my apartment there is a labyrinth, built from lines of grey stones that are now mostly covered over with grass. A labyrinth is a physical tool for spiritual meditation. Found on the floors of cathedrals or backyards of small parish churches, it is a circular maze in which there is just one way in and out. Taking a roundabout path, back and forth along the edges of the circle and gradually weaving towards the center, the labyrinth-walker eventually finds herself in a small, circular space, from which she then eventually returns through the maze to where she started.

The labyrinth is a simple design. There are usually no walls; one could step easily across the path and into the center in a second. None that I’ve seen have been particularly large. At the one in my neighborhood, it takes five minutes to walk to the center at an easy pace. There is no locked gate, no voice guiding the practice, no instruction. Although it is sometimes walked in groups, at its core it is an individual practice. You can go as fast or as slow as you like, and stay in the center as long as you like. It is nothing more than a suggested route, twisted back and forth on itself in a small space; and what one does in the labyrinth is nothing more than walking. When I walk it alone, there is no one there to enforce what limited rules there are.

There is, however, a box full of pamphlets, which are sometimes partially soaked with rain that has dripped through the lid. On the cover of the pamphlet there is a quote in Latin: Solvitur ambulato (“It is solved by walking”). Inside, the pamphlet states that the labyrinth has been a Christian tool of meditation for many years. It also says that the first labyrinth long pre-dates Christianity, and that the Kabbala of Jewish mysticism, the Hopi medicine wheel, Tibetan sand paintings, and Hindu mandalas are all variations on this form.

I am new to this neighborhood, and when I moved in I was licking the wounds of a living situation gone painfully awry. I was both desperate and terrified to live alone; and once I moved in, it seemed that the solitude was always more intense than the gentle, indulgent privacy I had been hoping for. I spent many evenings pacing the middle-class neighborhood in failing light, wistfully watching fathers tossing a ball with their daughters, idly picking up brochures on houses for sale with re-fabricated interiors. One evening, I found the labyrinth, in the yard of the First Cumberland Presbyterian Church. It was so simple, so straightforward a ritual, that initially it seemed aimless. To walk nowhere, in a circle, and then back again the same way I came.

When I entered, though, my feet slowed. I stayed within the lines, finishing the path, and some surprising sense of the sacred kept me from crossing or moving through it too quickly. The feeling of reverence formed walls as real as stone or wood to guide me to the center and back again. In the center, I sat on a gray marble bench. I was in the same small yard that I had been in before, and yet I was also in a new space. I looked around me and something was different. I got up and moved back through and out the single doorway, feeling as if I had been somewhere. I was not being guided, taught, instructed, or regulated. I was completely alone. But still I followed carefully the lines of stone partly hidden in grass.

Perhaps the most frightening part of solitude for me is that there is no one to please but myself. I cannot bandage anyone else’s wounds, make anyone else laugh, or get instant gratification for acting the way someone else expects me too. I think the same goes for the labyrinth. It seems aimless at first because there is no right way to move through it, just like there is no right way to take a walk. There is no one to please or to follow but myself. The experience is open—open in length, open to the air, open for utilization by multiple religious traditions. It is an unsettling freedom; with only myself to follow, will I be strong enough to lead? What, in the end, will drive me if not the carrots or the sticks of other human beings?

--with appreciation to Christy Brasleton, Joe Gordon Gill, and Dave Harmon

One Handful.

2009-02-17T09:20:00.001-06:00

A word for today from the Teacher:

"Better to have one handful with quietness
Than two handfuls with hard work and chasing the wind."

Awed

2009-02-11T14:13:00.003-06:00

From Christianity Today, analysis following the release (!) of Philip Rizk yesterday evening:

"It has all the appearance, one Western diplomat said, that Egyptian authorities have totally miscalculated the effects of arresting a young man campaigning for humanitarian support to Gaza."
"Philip organized his march with a group of only 14 young people. His arrest has garnered attention for his march that he would never have achieved if he had not been arrested. His arrest has also resulted in discussions about humanitarian aid to Gaza and human rights in Egypt that would not have happened without his arrest. Egyptian security authorities have thus done his case a great favor that in all likelihood was completely unintended."

Wow. I LOVE these people all over the world--I am privileged to be part of them.

(and thanks, dear Emily J-A, for the above photo! They were beautiful!)

Closer to home (but still too far away)

2009-02-08T14:35:00.003-06:00

If you've seen my facebook profile then you know about my dear friend, Philip Rizk, an activist-journalist-student in Cairo who was arrested for undeclared charges by the Egyptian government a couple days ago. This is, needless to say, a disturbing and convicting incident for all of us who know and love Phil: both those who've known him personally and those who have come to know him through his work. You can read more about it here: tabulagaza.blogspot.com. What you'll notice about Phil is his eloquence, his compassion, his willingness to look injustice in the face and even more so his willingness to do something about it. Unfortunately, it isn't rare for such a rare individual to run afoul with governments, agenda-setters, stereotypes, and the status quo. Yet it also isn't unusual for such individuals to powerfully impact the world, despite this resistance. I beleive Phil is such a person, and I'm proud to know him. Though years, miles, and the challenges of our respective works have made it difficult to keep in touch, I remember (and I read it again today) the last personal email I recieved from Phil. It was about a year and a half ago, just before he started his master's program at the University of Cairo and as he was finishing the editing on his film (again, if you want to know more, visit the blog!). He was discouraged, I think--understandably so. Again, rare and dedicated individuals often face discouragement. What impacted me most, however, as I was reading our past correspondence, was a sentence that I wrote to encourage him, not realizing the depth of the words or their future implications. I wrote, "I still believe that God can be found in the dark places." Although I feel frustration, worry, and pain--we still don't know if Phil is ok or what he's had to go through--I'm choosing to still beleive this, and that God has a purpose for what has happened. It sounds trite. REALLY trite. But I can't find any better way to say it.
One thing this event has done is bring the experiences of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians in Gaza much, much closer to home for a worldwide community who are now worried and missing Phil. These abductions, mysterious disappearances, and even murders are a regular occurence and a regular risk for so many people in Gaza and in the Middle East. Whatever we decide the best strategy is to get there, we should never stop doing what we can to seek, build, cultivate, speak out, and fight for peace. Those who have recieved emails and updates from Phil will know that's how he often signs them: salam. Peace.

Charlotte, contented

2008-12-16T16:21:00.003-06:00

Picture: starbucks, airport. Not one of those 30-year-old, low-ceiling airports with winding, sprawling concourses like you find in the northeast. No, Charlotte airport is a shiny, streamlined, enticing playground where every type of food and drink is at your fingertips and the wireless internet is free. I should know: I've spent a total of 12 hours here in the past two weeks and have roughly 3 more to go. Despite the many enticements, however, I'm in a baaad mood. Flying is awful, these days. Refreshments aren't even free (did you know that??? they charge 2 dollars for a coke), nor are checked bags. So, either you fork out the cost of a plan ticket all over again or you're carting the largest carry-on you're allowed, a water bottle, a meal, a coat, and a briefcase across miles and miles of shiny floors. I, of course, chose the latter. I guess somehow I've become fudamentally opposed to spending money on unnecessary convenience, and I CERTAINLY don't respond well when I feel like I'm being 'tricked' into paying for things I shouldn't even need. Anyone? With me?

You may feel you've been misled by the subject line. Hmm, you're thinking, that paragraph doesn't sound contented, it sounds more like an angry, disgruntled rant. You might even be thinking, what's your problem? You're 25, well-traveled, and in good shape! Quit your whining... is that what you're thinking??;)

Well, you're right. So right. And about 20 minutes ago it occurred to me that I've been irritable and cranky all day, holding back rude thoughts towards the pushy woman next to me or the man behind me who talks to loud. I've felt justified in my irritation: PAYING for drinks? being CRAMMED into small spaces? What an injustice!

But thank the mercy of God, I'm not staying in that moody headspace. Generosity yearns to be set free in our souls. Wisdom cries in the street. Love is desperate to be free from the restrictions of fear and self-centeredness. Though it is said so often, it is rarely acknowledged in my life, so I'll say it again and again:

We have been given so much. We have been given soooo much. So what will we make of it?

PACES

2008-09-26T09:37:00.002-06:00

Humans move
At fascinating paces
Some scurry, some fly
Some lope, some saunter
Some with their minds two days in the future
Some with their gaze on the gravel
Beside
They take sand and water
They break their backs
To channel the movement of future moments
To make paths
That tell the planet, "This is where we walk.
This is our land.
These are our thoughts."

Home

2008-08-06T14:47:00.002-06:00

Just putting things in place
That there are small, well-used things
That there are places
Where they tuck in
And belong;
That I can take
wear
say
sing
as much as I want
and no more:

Hippo View Lodge and Restaurant again...

2008-07-16T08:10:00.002-06:00

...although the only hippo I can see right now is made of painted stone, has his mouth wide open, and is to be perfectly honest much gaudier and less impressive than real hippos.

In the past week, I have spent a lot of time and met a lot of people in the small town of Balaka, about a thirty minute drive from where we're staying. Hopping on the minibus (public transport) and heading to Balaka each morning has become the closest thing to a work routine I've had since I got here. For the most part, I am seeking out religious leaders in the area and asking questions about their programs, their congregations, their messages, and their views on the life problems and concerns of young people in Balaka (which here pretty much means anyone between the ages of 15 and 25). My shpiel is that I am preparing for a project that will start next year (which is def. true of the larger project I'm employed by right now) and that I will be back next year to conduct the project with a questionnaire for the youth in the churches (which is true pending financial support and funding). People like to hear that I'll be back, they like that sense of continuity and they often ask me for how long I'll be here next year. I want to say 4, 5, even 6 months--ideally for the research, I would come back for at least that long. Yet there's a hitch. I love being here on one level, and can't wait to come back, and yet along with that emotion coexists so much homesickness. At the same time as I'm promising a lengthy return visit, I'm counting the days before I get back to the comfort, love, friendship, and support I have at home; and this has only been a five-week visit, and I've only been here for three of those weeks. I wonder in my heart if I really have it in me to stay for longer, to really live here and and to even more deeply enter into the experience of life here. I want it and I don't. I think it would be different after some time passed, as I would hope that real, supportive friendships would emerge in this place eventually, yet I still can't help feeling like I'm too tied to home to do what my adventurous side is working towards.

This is something that certainly can't be resolved in the short term. I can't know what it would be like to live here until I do, for something longer than a few weeks. But I do wonder, for example, how those peace corps workers and the like do it--do I simply not have the personality for it?

Hmmm.... maybe the hippo knows.

Solitary Solidarity

2008-07-10T00:28:00.001-06:00

I’ve spent the last few days alone in Lilongwe, running errands in the morning at government offices and the print shop and trying, in general, to get our research project approved by government higher ups. There are a lot of issues involved, most of which I won’t go into, but basically our research involves HIV testing and collecting a lot of very personal, very private information from a lot of rural Malawian young women. And although the bureaucratic red tape is certainly a hassle to deal with, and has given me some stressful mornings the last few days, I completely agree with the importance of Malawi protecting their citizens in this way by making sure that foreign researchers who come in to do studies like this are abiding by a certain ethical code. The interesting thing is, all of these studies have to pass ethics committee review back in the States; but in the States, generally the ethical question is one of, “How will this study avoid doing any harm to participants?” whereas in Malawi, they are asking, “What good will this study contribute to our country and to the lives of participants?” Interesting dilemma for researchers, no?

In any case, mission is now accomplished as far as paperwork is concerned, and now we are just waiting to hear back. I am heading back to familiar human company this afternoon. But after these days of solitude, I am awaking with a few thoughts….

First of all, there is nothing more solitary than being alone surrounded by people. Truthfully, I am always (or almost always) in the company of people here, on the street, in the market, at the lodge. Yet the distance between me and these people is large, and I’m often tired from work, and it’s a lot of work for minimal gain to always be open, friendly, and outgoing. I have a few friendships here with Malawians, for which I am grateful, but they aren’t easy to navigate or maintain. And if, as I believe, the ultimate goal of all of this is relationship and relationality, how do I contribute to this when I sit alone at breakfast, lunch, and dinner and walk alone to the market and back and navigate public busses alone etc. etc. And when, during these times, what I mostly feel is the presence of my solitude, how does that in any way help me to express solidarity or relationality to the people around me?

The mind, in truth, gets weird after long periods of solitude (and I wouldn’t consider four days “long”, really, but I think this statement is still true). It gets a little paranoid. Oddly, it seems to pull away from people at a certain point, and get rusty at engaging in effective human interactions. It’s our own worst enemy at these moments—longing for connection and yet pulling away from it. I look around me on the busses, in the markets, and on the street and somehow I’m thinking: “I want to love the people around me, I just don’t think I can actually talk to them.” We are odd creatures. Thankfully, all of this is not up to us.

Because there is a third option: communion. I can be alone, and doing everything I can to distract myself from that reality (whether it’s burying my face in a book or making a lot of new friends); or I can enter the solitude, and find that actually, when I’m alone, the path to communion with the Spirit of God (which is present in everything around me) is clearer. I can sit alone on the patio at the lodge missing home, or I can sit alone at the lodge and look up at the stars, and listen to the sounds around me, and open myself up to the here and the now. It’s a subtle change, but it means everything.

From this communion, true solidarity (that isn’t just an avoidance of solitude) flows. That has happened before, even on this very trip to Malawi, and so I am assured it will happen again. And THAT sort of solidarity, relationality, and connection, that has no demands on the other to “solve” our own problem of solitude, is the refuge of true agape love for others and the world around us.

...and part 2!

2008-07-08T06:19:00.002-06:00

Try this one on for size: staying at a hotel called Korea Garden, eating a full English breakfast, surrounded by Japanese tourists...?

I don't want all of this to give you, the reader, the impression that Lilongwe is a "cosmopolitan" place. It could hardly be called a city at all, by Western standards. But my time here has been so full of these little oddities that I feel compelled to report them.

The final one is this: last week, I and the couple I'm working with (Jenny and Gregory, plus two babies) took their visiting friend up to the lake for a few days. We hired a boat to take us to this small island just about 2 km from shore. Snorkling, eating, watching fish eagles, etc. It was awesome, I promise you. But the funny part? we were there, on this deserted-esque island, eating a lunch of nsima (traditional Malawian staple) and fish with our hands, and what should pass by but a little motor boat carrying a wealthy middle-eastern man in traditional garb with his entire collection of wives--I think about 8--with him in full head-to-toe covering.

Whoa. yes?

Bollywood music in an internet cafe in Lilongwe...

2008-07-07T08:48:00.002-06:00

...(and other bizarre phenomena characteristic of the modern age).

I think I posted something quite like this last year, as well--just blown away by the particular elements of modern, global culture that have made their way to this smallest, poorest, and rural-est of countries. The internet cafe, actually, is owned by some Indian immigrants, I think, and there are a bunch of them here. I just had pizza at a Halaal Take-Away restaurant.

The week was a full one, and throughout a bunch of opportunities came along that I'm really excited about. I've made some friends, which is something I was hoping for from the very beginning; and I was able to identify and scout out a site for a project I want to start next summer. I'll even get to take the first steps--some interviews with religious leaders in the area--before I go. It's hard to beleive that just three weeks from now I'll be heading back to the US. Feels like I just got here.

I'm happy, though. It's hard and intense every day--sleep often 9 or 10 hours at night--but it's good. Real good. More later!

so beautiful

2008-06-30T04:45:00.003-06:00

Hey all! so, good news: not far from the lodge where I am staying is a hotel with WIRELESS internet in the restaurant. So, along with my laptop, a nice cup of tea, and a view of the beautiful Shire river, I am able to be an internet glutton again for the first time since arriving. Look forward to more updates from the Hippo View lodge.;)

Rather than trying to think of what to write about, or write about stuff I've already taken down in my journal again, in this post I'm just going to paste a page from my field journal that I wrote yesterday. I think y'all will find it interesting, and it has a lot to do with the questions I'm trying to ask while I'm here:

"Today was an incredibly full day. I spent the morning at the Assemblies of God church in Liwonde, which was a four-hour service in a hot, crowded, loud room in which I was highly-conspicuous and had no idea what was being said about 75% of the time. That was the downside, though; otherwise, the music was beautiful, the people were kind, and it was for the most part an incredibly fun and enriching experience. It was amazing to see the fervor of these people; their hearts were so THERE, with no critique, skepticism, or self-consciousness. That was what was most amazing to me, I think: the total lack of self-consciousness in the room. When the music would start, the people would move freely and readily; when it was time, they would sing or pray at the top of their lungs; and even when seated, strangers’ limbs or possessions would touch and crowd each other and no one would apologize. Women would discipline or speak to babies that weren’t theirs, and kids would drape their arms around each others’ shoulders or fall asleep in each others’ laps. It is something I have noticed before, and though I’m not entirely sure of its quality as a sociological observation, it stands out to me. It makes me wish I was more like that.

The order of the service followed fairly closely to how it went last summer when I visited. Lonnie wrote down in a notebook some of the translations of the songs that were being sung, and for the most part the words were simple, repetitive, and focused on the power of Christ to do anything and everything for His servants. There was the part of the service where a few older men danced in the front, pulled money out of their wallets, and threw it on the ground in the front of the congregation, but this shocked me quite a bit less than it had the first time I ever saw it. In some ways, I think it is a strong expression of the way they perceive the power of God as such that little pieces of paper are ultimately meaningless. The gesture seems to say, “There’s always more where this came from.” In a context like Malawi, one of the poorest countries in the world, that’s quite a statement of faith.

The pastor, Mister Gwedeza, is a fascinating personality to me. The first two-thirds of the service are run by other leaders in the congregation, and in fact I don’t think Gwedeza was even present during that time. In that first portion of the service, no one goes onto the actual stage, but all the activity takes place on the floor immediately in front of it. The pastor’s address is indicated in so many ways to be the culmination of the service; and once he enters, he alone goes to the pulpit on the stage to speak to the people. They even bring out a smaller, wooden pulpit for everyone else that stays on the floor in front of the stage. Before he began his address today, a woman from the congregation came up, stood in front of the stage, and did a brief call-and-response with the congregation in order to get them excited. When she was done, she turned and looked at the pastor, then bowed. This gesture was so full of respect, as was just about every visible interaction between the congregation and the pastor. All of this leads the observer to expect someone whose personality is big, overpowering, and unapproachable. Yet when Gwedeza gets up and begins, something quite different happens. He begins with a very subdued, conversational style; it feels like he is chatting with a group of people in the street. He steps down from the pulpit periodically, walking down the aisle; he even seems to avoid eye contact with people directly. He is anything but in-your-face, at the beginning. Yet after he gets going—which, to fully culminate, takes over an hour—he is speaking and then praying so forcefully, so passionately, that with each word his body seems to spring into the air and his face convulses. At his peak, he is stern, strong, overwhelming, and decisive. It would be difficult to doubt anything he said was true (though I, this time around, had very little idea of what he was saying). The service then takes about another 45 minutes of standing group prayer and slow singing to recover from this peak. Suddenly, just when I starting to stop caring that my right thigh was falling off the edge of the crowded bench and my throat was dry and thirsty, the service was over and everyone was reaching to shake my hand.

After the service, I approached pastor Gwedeza to ask him about the possibility of a meeting or an interview. He was unassuming, even shy. I had assumed that he would speak English well, being probably highly-educated, and yet he seemed to react as if he didn’t understand some of the things that I was saying and it was, basically, just like chatting with any other rural, uneducated, older Malawian man. We did set up an appointment, however, and I’m looking forward to it. He is such an odd mixture of completely unassuming and yet highly-paternalistic and respected by his congregation. Does he in fact receive this adoration and reverence only out of obligation, when at heart he is just a simple man who really loves God and really cares for His people? Or is he for the most part the instigator of the many rituals of respect and a highly-talented, charismatic chameleon?"

Malawi travel highlights (1st ed.): Liwonde

2008-06-28T02:45:00.002-06:00

You can try to find it on a map of Malawi, but I doubt it will be there. It's a small trading center/town about two hours minibus ride from Blantyre, Malawi's biggest commercial center. I'm here, safely arrived, despite having missed a flight on my way out from South Africa to Lilongwe and having been rerouted through Zambia (but the airway paid for a lovely hotel and food, which was nice). four days of travel gets lonely, I will say that; but every so often my sense of adventure would kick in and I would enjoy myself.

So, Liwonde. My first little outing since arriving at the Mpaweni Inn, a tiny little road lodge nearby where we stay for the equivalent of about 10 US dollars a night. I'm here with the Trinitapoli/Collins', which includes two lovely babies (cassia and Luce), and overall it is GREAT to be back here. I love the Malawian friendliness and sense of humor, and didnt even realize how much I'd missed it. THis week I'll be working on getting connected, going to some churches (The Assemblies of God church on which my MA thesis paper is based is on the agenda for tomorrow morning), and trying to figure out how to help Jenny T. get this major 2 million dollar project rolling. I have some clear tasks, I understand how things work around here, it's familiar, and yet I have plenty of time to think, talk to people, and experience. It's gonna be a great trip.

More later when more happens!

Gettin' Married

2008-06-08T20:25:00.003-06:00

Ok, I have a hunch that this post may turn out to be somewhat cheesy, cliche, and/or overworked. Frankly, I'm not really sure how one can philosophize about the topic of marriage without falling into cliches; there's two possibilities, really. This post will either conclude, "see, and that's why this wierd ritual called marriage is actually such a great thing" or "now you see why we should just get rid of the institution of marriage altogether, or at least radically re-vamp it." When it comes to marriage, both the believers and the skeptics are cliches. So, be warned: I'm not aspiring to writing here anything you haven't heard before.

That said, I have had a number of recent brushes with the topic of marriage (which encounters often take place at these odd little get-togethers called "weddings", which I seem to be going to a lot lately). In a week and a half, my family has their first: who knew that the youngest, my brother Chris, would be the first to go? As I was perusing their wedding website (very IN, the w.w.), I read that they first met (and this is true, I had just forgotten it) one decade ago. That's a long time, by anyone's standards.

Hold that thought, and add to it this: just had a conversation with someone who said that the last SIX weddings he has performed in which the b. and g. knew each other less than two years have already ended. That's a lot--and further, he has NEVER performed a wedding, in which the b. and g. knew each other less than two years, that has NOT ended in a divorce.

Ok, and then here's one more: two days ago I attended the wedding of some dear friends here in Austin. It's his second, her first. It was everything a wedding should be--gorgeous dress, late afternoon sunlight, damp eyelashes, virtuosic piano performances by the groom's mother, lots of young people, dancing, good food, free wine (well, free to me), and a moving message about how, when God created the world, one of the first things he did was make human beings to live in pairs. Perfect, huh? But yet, through the first portion of the ceremony, all I could think about was the many relationships, marriages and could've-been-marriages, that I know that are deeply, deeply broken. The thought running through my mind was, "romantic relationships and partnerships often (even when they last a lifetime) result in so much pain. So, why do we do this to ourselves?"

You may be asking, as you read, what I'm trying to get to here. Is it that marriage is hard, be careful, do a long engagement, marry that high-school sweetheart, or don't expect too much? Hmm. Is it that no one should get married until they are 100% sure they are ready? Is a couple's amount of "sureness" before the wedding even directly proportional to the eventual "success" of their union?

Married people reading this are probably saying to themselves, she clearly has NOT been married. And that is true. Not having been married, I have a tendency to think about it terms of formulae, success vs. failure, and good vs. bad. I've realized this recently, too--I've been living too long in the false belief that if I do good, both in marriage and in life more generally, I will avoid pain. But relationships (and again, life more generally) aren't really like that. Even if you did always know what was "good" every time, you would only sporadically be able to adhere to it completely.

So, return to the wedding. I think I got something, a message, a gift in that moment when my head was running around the same flagpole I know so well. I had this thought: with no brokenness, there is no redemption. With no hurting, there is no healing. With no pain, there is no sacrifice, with no sacrifice, no selfless giving, with no selfless giving, no love. I know this, and chances are good that you know this too, but somehow somewhere along the line we started working according to a different equation, that being smart, prudent, and good will "earn" us a get-out-of-pain-free card. But it doesn't, and it can't. Life is all ABOUT falling flat on our faces and getting it wrong.

How does this relate to weddings? Not sure yet. But looking at my friends Meredith and Jeremiah, jumping into something so ill-advised and yet irresistable as lifelong love and commitment, I did have this other thought: love (in the context of marriage, and in other relationships too) is not just for those who are wise, perceptive, type-A and capable enough to screw up less. It's for ALL of us. And it's worth fighting for. Not as some sort of wierd cultural ritual or some indulgence that if we were REALLY spiritual, we could live without; but as a grace, one of many rich and extravagantly confusing graces of which life is just chock full.

Let's fight for those graces. No matter what stands in the way.

Do you Smokey?

2008-05-27T19:39:00.004-06:00

Although it is the "most visited" of all national parks (or so I've been told), some dear Tennessee friends and I, taking a spur-of-the-moment excursion, found the Smokey Mtns National Park about as quiet, secluded, and serene as we could ask for. And so desperately needed. If you haven't lately stepped outside, camped, or spent a moment looking at a photo of a mountain while dawdling at work, DO IT. Here's something to get you started:

I don't know how to be...

2008-03-31T08:52:00.002-06:00

..a regular blogger. Or any number of other things that I would like to be.

I've had a series of huge moments lately, moments in which ideas and the wisdom about how to use them come like a gift. There's no other way to describe it. And though the pace of life lately has been about 15 miles over the speed limit, I haven't had to steer--that's being done for me.

My thoughts have been playing lately on the boundaries of three of my most significant interests: theology, sociology, and creativity. And how each of them has it's own window on what it means to be human in relationship with other humans. The further I go into community and the more complicated my community gets here in Austin, the more that I realize there is nothing more challenging, more draining, and more enriching than the community of people on a spiritual journey together. God, the Trinity, is community; the social system is community, with claims on us, whether we recognize it or not; our families, blessing or curse, are community; our friendships, whether deep or shallow, are community. The ties define us, as we define them. Yet it is so common to let these ties get sick, ignore them, or misuse them: we let individual choice trump commitment to relationships, we choose isolation over connection, we drive further inward to "protect" ourselves and those around us, only to drag our ties along with us.

The East African writer Malidoma Some talks about the way that the Dagara people, living in modern-day Ghana and Burkina Faso, see the role of the individual in community. He says, and I love this, that when a woman in the community becomes pregnant, everyone gets together to talk and divine, through ritual, what the unique purpose of this new human is for the community. Individual purpose is at the center of what it means to be human: and individuals are NOT interchangeable cores with attained knowledge and skill sets. If a human does not live in their purpose, they suffer and the community suffers. They need the community to determine their purpose, and the community needs them living in their purpose in order to be healty.

Also, purpose is closely tied to the idea of "genius", which they think about very differently than we do. Genius is not some general quality, given through random biological mutation or chance. Genius is each individuals link to God, their unique "channel" for spiritual power, that must be discovered and opened in order to allow spiritual power to be channelled to the community. We are all geniuses--we just each have unique genius.

HOWEVER. I don't know how to be in community. I don't know how to be a good friend, a good daughter, a good sister, a good student, a good ... whatever. But maybe that's the point--community isn't about me, individually, achieving success in a collection of individual identities (friend, daughter, student, sister). Maybe it is about recognizing the ties, commiting to the ties, feeding the ties, submitting to the ties that are already there. Lord knows, we are never able, no matter how hard we try, to get free of them.

I don't know how to be what I already am. And THAT problem, I'm certain, is at the core of what it means to be human.

Matisse shows up again...

2008-01-07T20:48:00.000-06:00

.. in the Kurt Vonnegut book, Bluebeard. Read it, read it. That's all.

Something to Say

2007-12-31T09:38:00.000-06:00

It's a unique experience, visiting old homes... catching up with friends I used to live my daily life with, trying to update them and be updated on nine months or so of life...realizing that not much has changed, and yet everything has changed during that time. Most of my friends here are married (or soon to be) with dogs and old houses they are fixing up and renovating (seriously--this is a very popular and excellent Pittsburghian pastime). Some are having kids or starting to try to have kids, some are sticking with dogs, but honestly, in the past few days I've hung out with six such couples. So, there. It is a trend.
Anyway, it's New Year's Eve, and so I'm trying to be thoughtful about the coming year. In the words of my friend Ian, 2007 did not live up to predictions (at least, that was the gist, sorry Ian if I misquote); in some ways, it far exceeded them. In others, it felt like dragging myself through quicksand. So, what do we do with this? For some reason, we feel the need to sum things up, organize time into periods called "years" that we can toast to and greet with a plan and a party hat. Yet the more we plan and resolute (does that work as a verb?), the more we feel powerless and carried along on a wind that has some other idea of where we are going. How do we get with that program? How do we learn to respond to where the wind is going without our own expectations and preconcieved notions?
A few people have heard the long story of my trip to Africa; how I found myself in repeatedly uncomfortable and unpredictable situations, and yet how much I learned from putting myself out there and how I returned with, well, something to SAY about Malawian life and culture (though I have so, so, so much more to learn). I think that if we let it, life will teach us and give us something to say to our fellow travellers in the end; getting ourselves to listen, that's the hard part. Getting ourselves to let go of our own plans, objectives, resolutions, and expectations... that's what takes a lifetime of blows and unexpected blessings to learn.
Yesterday, I was at a friends house watching the Steelers (another Pittsburghian pastime), and I was looking over a book of the life of the painter Henri Matisse. As I flipped through it, I just got the sense of a life lived practicing and engaging art; you can see his finished works in museums, certainly, but in the book you can see his studies, his unfinished works, his studios, his models, his sketches... you can see the life of the artist lived in moments that will never make it on a museum wall, yet contribute to those moments that show up in the Louvre. That's the kind of life I want. One that engages, that practices, that sketches ideas, that goes at it over and over again, that maybe produces one or two ideas/songs/essays/sentences that are truly good and last longer than I do...maybe. But that's not what's important. What matters is that I keep loving and serving that beauty, no matter what, even when it flows in ways I don't expect. So, to honor this idea, here's one of Matisse's shiningest moments... remember, a lifetime of work went into this:

truly amazing. Hope you have a New Year's Eve something like the moment portrayed in this painting.

Lookin' all official

2007-11-06T00:11:00.000-06:00

That was me this weekend: getting up in front of about 20 or so sociologists of religion and pretending like I was one of them. Afterwards, I hit receptions with cash bars and scheduled lunches and basically tried to push my way onto the radars of some pretty significant people in my field.

Is this my life? Someone pinch me.

Why I write

2007-10-12T09:47:00.000-06:00

It may seem odd, writing a post with such subject line, when I haven't written one in two months. My life, though, is scattered with moments that revolve around this question of "why writing", and I think I just had one. So, the only logical thing to do....

I was sitting here, in my office hours, recieving a slow trickle of Intro to Sociology assignments (I will be grading about 80 of them this weekend--that fact could be furthered discussed in a post entitle "why I DON'T write"), reading some of my friends' blogs. A couple of them have had babies recently, a few of them I haven't talked to in awhile, and reading their blogs makes me feel closer to them than I would be able to be otherwise. Then, I thought I might mosey on over to my own personal cyber-forum, seeing as I hadn't been in awhile... and then, I started reading some of my past posts. And I started to realize something: I write for ME.

I honestly believe that if I didn't write, I would have a much thinner conception of myself, my past, and where I am going. When I read what I've written a year ago, I think: oh YEAH, wow! That's where I was, and I have THAT in me!! We all know that modern life is like a rushing river, carrying us along and leaving us just enough time to frantically paddle. My paddling has been more frantic than ever this semester, and it's due to a combination of institutionalized norms that I'm living up to and my own D-R-I-V-E. I'm quite good at envisioning projects and accomplishments, and I am capable of seeing them through--I just still don't have the best sense of how much is reasonable to expect of myself in terms of time and energy (and emotional health). Yet thank God, I still from time to time have these moments, where the words I've written along the way mark where I've been, and I realize that the moving rush of my personal narrative is bigger than a career, than a family life, than moving around the country, or simply a chronicle of events and accomplishments. The Intro to Sociology assignments I will be grading this weekend are papers about narratives--how our lives fit into overarching collective narratives, how we understand our lives in terms of those narratives, and how narratives are more than just historical chronicles. They tell the moments plus the meanings of those moments. They enable us to understand ourselves and our world.

My narrative, then, is not about this job, that job, this person, that person; it's about learning love, feeling deep, clumsily trying to mimic the beauty I see around me, cleaning up dark corners, and responding to the spiritual reality of life. There is a beginning, middle, end, hero, villain, climax, plot, theme; and what's more, it's not just about me or even primarily about me....

It's about everyone.

Step into my office.

2007-08-10T09:48:00.000-06:00

These days, I have been working some from coffeeshops and some from home. Working from home is, obviously, easier on my grad-student-esque financial situation, and now there's even more reason to: my new house has a really lovely front porch.

Every morning this week I have worked on this front porch. It is, in fact, the only place in the house that I am able to pick up (or pirate, or steal, or whatever you want to call it) wireless internet, and that is an absolute essential for time-wasting email-checking every 20 min. Another thing I like: Austin is hot in the summer, right? Well, and this should be news to all you northerners, it IS hot, but because of the ubiquity of AC, nobody ever really notices. It's not an issue, only very rarely bothersome in any sort of way. Yet true to form, I feel a bit guilty about that (read once in adbusters magazine that it takes twice as much energy to decrease the temp of an environment by one degree than to increase it). So now that the magic happens on my front porch everyday, I get to really FEEL the heat. By 4:30 my skin feels clammy and little beads of sweat are hanging out on my upper lip. And YES, I LIKE that. I feel like I am REALLY living in Austin, connecting to the land and to the seasons rather than to an artificial environment. Wendell Berry would be proud.

The other things that I like, in no particular order, are: the old movie seats (that say "Century theaters" on the arms and have very convenient cupholders) that we have on the porch; feeling like I might actually get to know some of my neighbors this way (or at least, gain some notoriety); watching the grass in our lawn grow (which it is very, very good at); classic Massive Attack albums such as Blue Lines, for example, and the song "Be Thankful for What You Got" (look it up and listen to it, you won't be sorry); parenthetical statements (in case you didn't already notice).

One more thing. Yesterday morning, I had just settled in with my laptop and coffee and the mailman, Harry comes sidling up to our mailbox. I decide to walk out to take the mail from him personally, which I used to love to do as a kid for some reason. I think I associated the arrival of the mail each day with excitement and suspense, even though I recieved a lot less mail than Mr. "Current Resident." Anyway, he looks at me with my coffee in hand and says, "You look like you don't have a care in the world!" I laugh and say, "Well, I guess I don't!" He replies, "Show me how! Show me how..." and shakes his head and drives off.

Well, Mr. Mailman, when I really figure it out, I'll let you know. In the meantime, I just hope that you too have a porch.

One thing I love about Austin is:

2007-08-08T13:14:00.000-06:00

Doing my work at a downtown sidewalk cafe and watching the ducky tours go by.

And now, some photos

2007-08-08T10:43:00.000-06:00

It's not easy for me to choose just a few of these that encapsulate all that I did and saw when I was in Malawi. So, I'm not thinking to hard about it--just throwing these out there:

None of these pictures are really representative of my day-to-day there. They were all taken on special and unusual days. On the average day, we never get around to taking pictures. There's always "tomorrow" to capture the shop where we buy water everyday, the Malawian friends we've been working with, the minibusses that we ride regularly, the family at the restaurant where we went every day for dinner. True to my form as a poor photo-documentater, I didn't get pictures of any of those things. But at least you can see how beautiful it is there.

Back in Black

2007-07-31T15:34:00.000-06:00

... or in Austin, rather.

Life on the return has been a bit of an onslaught. I have been realizing so vividly how many of the considerations and worries of the crazy American lifestyle (and my personal grad school version) took back seat when I was in Africa.

Exhibit A: Personal appearance. Malawian women can, when they want to, do themselves up; but they also have few qualms about walking around with their hair a mess and their oldest clothes on. And they certainly don't worry about "looking fat." I didn't either, when I was there, which demonstrated to me just how pervasive the subtle influence of cultural ideals can be. Back home, the whole comparison, self-assessment, and self-rejection process of Body Image rushed back like a bad memory. I hate that it "has" me, and I just can't shake it.

Yes, here comes the first of many sweeping cultural generalizations: we are much more self-aware here than they are there, as I have experienced it. We worry about being cool, looking great, working out, being thin, glowing skin, bronzing powder, dressing to the nines, etc. etc. etc.; and it's a trap. You never win. It's worth barely a fraction of the energy we put into it.

So, any ideas on how to get free of this problem? Should we all just ship off to Malawi?

Now Boarding to Amsterdam

2007-07-16T11:39:00.000-06:00

... so i really shouldnt be writing this post, i should be heading to my gate, but i just cant help myself.

I am in Nairobi, where i spent the day unexpectedly; my flight out of lilongwe delayed 7 hours, setting off my whole itinerary. the only things i mind are: standing in long and motionless lines for about a total of 8 hours, sleeping on hard chairs in the airport cause all the hotels in nairobi are full, and also wearing the same clothes for three days straight, cause my baggage is still checked. other than that, its been a great adventure, and i have talked to people literally from all over the world since i arrived at the airport last night. i also got a hot shower and good food this afternoon, so I am not complaining.

Goodbye, Africa. I can't say I'll miss the hecticness of traveling within your borders, but that of course is nothing compared to all I have seen and enjoyed. Goodbye for now!

Lilongwe Hotel

2007-06-29T03:53:00.000-06:00

I have a major confession: I spent the last week in a nice hotel with a hot shower, television, and an unbelievable breakfast buffet.

What happened is this: the National AIDS Commission conference. Most of the people who have been working on the research project here have submitted papers to this conference at one point or another, and it just so happened that one woman had submitted but could not be present to present ( :) ) so I stood in. I stood in for her presentation, her hotel bed, her shower, her free meals, and her wireless internet.

This afternoon, though, I must head away and get back to real life. How spoiled I have been.

Pictures will come. And they will blow you away.

2007-06-26T07:57:00.000-06:00

Well I've been absent for a bit. I've been on a tiny little island called Likoma for the past week--you can find it on a map in the middle of Lake Malawi. There really isn't internet on this island. I don't think anywhere. But it IS absolutely, stunningly beautiful. so, refer to headline--pictures are coming.
two and a half weeks left, and the whole "point" of this summer is starting to come into focus. I didn't follow the schedule I had planned initially, and I certainly did not have the structure of research work I had anticipated. Far from it. But I've really had a rich slice of Malawian culture, and so many ideas now are floating around in my brain for future research and writing. I'm kind of broke too, which I didnt anticipate. But I also am starting to think about what it means to be "broke" in an entirely different way. Like, these researchers who were supposed to pay my way and didnt or did only partially are the ones who really provide for me. My life is a strong, purposefully-guided and richly-supplied stream that flows apart from any temporary employment, funding, or lack of income. I believe it sometimes. Just wish I could BE-LIIEEEEEVE it.
I was like a parched and starving pilgrim today when I checked my email inbox. I miss the people at home so much. Everyone of you--it almost hurts, how disconnected I've been from even the people closest to me. Communication is there, true, but complicated and expensive. Soooo.... I am holding out for a few more weeks.
And if you've contacted me and I havent responded, know that I wish I could. Know that I really, really wish I could. Know that I will have plenty to share when I finally do.

The Modern Age has reached Malawi

2007-06-03T07:47:00.000-06:00

I am sitting here, in Mchinji district, a VERY rural area near the border between Malawi and Zambia, on the district hospital, picking up wireless internet. If you could just see my surroundings, how rustic, how traditional, how rural, you would understand how wierd that is. One thing that continually suprises me here is just how connected to the world of communications technology even the most remote areas are here in africa. A LOT of people have cell phones (but only very few have televisions). Even people without running water have cell phones. And people out here do have a sense of the global culture, of the West and East and everything in between, that continually takes me off guard. Globalization is for real.
Unfortunately, though, the connection still isn't quite fast enough to post photos, which I had so much wanted to do. So those will have to wait.
Work is starting to pick up here, which is good, and I am more busy than I have been the past two weeks. I am here in Mchinji, at a beautiful and peaceful inn, working on a project where we interview locals who work as HIV testing counselors, asking them about their experiences and attitudes toward testing. In two weeks, I go to Likoma Island, where we are doing actual testing and network mapping on the island. I have heard that Likoma, especially is beautiful; but I have to say, this country has everything when it comes to landscape. Rolling, flourescent green tea plantations; mountains towering into the clouds; wide, grassy spaces dotted with sculptural trees; hardwood forests of towering trees with ivory-colored bark; and lush vegetation in all colors everywhere. And I still haven't been to the lake, the crowning jewel of this small country.

Now, don't you wish I could've posted some pictures??

Avocadoes as big as your head.

2007-05-31T05:19:00.000-06:00

As I begin this post I wish that I had been able to write one everyday since I have been here in Malawi. There is just to much to record, too much to reflect on, too much to share... All that I have bouncing around in my head are little snippets about the produce, the transportation, the people, the music, the churches, etc. At the moment, all of these things just seem like random pieces of a puzzle, where many are still missing. Oh, and time at the computer is short and expensive. So... given all that... what to say?

Since I have been here, I guess nothing has been like I planned. It has all been more confusing, more chaotic, more stressful, more beautiful, and more wonderful than I would ever have anticipated. Because of a major delay on the project that I was supposed to be working on at first, I have had about two (and maybe more) weeks to do whatever I want here in Malawi. A lot of opportunity yes... but when that means no one picking you up at the airport and no one telling you where to go or where to stay, then the reality of God's hand is just about the only thing you can feel between you and falling flat. And then you realize... you can't fall flat. You only have the choice to fear it or not.

So, dozens of unplanned opportunities have come along. Malawians are such friendly people and they are eager to make you comfortable and to teach you about their country. The poverty is, well, unfathomable. Initially, it was hard to seperate it from pictures I have seen--I mean, we all know from tv and magazines what poverty looks like. But when it is in front of you, in person... half of you feels too much and the other half, not enough.

I have been to an orphanage, a hospital, two churches, markets, a secondary school, on a mountain, in the middle of tea plantations, and in dozens of public transportation vehicles packed to the gills. It seems sometimes that everything, absolutely everything, is different here. And the hardest part has been how conspicuous I feel all of the time. It may just be forcing the natural self-consciousness right out of me--I already feel myself starting to care very little about how I look and if I'm liked or not.

I miss home more than I thought I would, and it still feels like a long time before I will get to see it again. But already I have been here more than a week and a half, and time is starting to pick up from the slow pace of the first few crazy days.

Africa, africa. What a big, overwhelming, heartbreaking, mysterious place.

Last post till Africa

2007-05-19T10:34:00.000-06:00

Yes, I leave in a few hours from Amsterdam, arriving in Lilongwe Malawi tomorrow afternooon.

Yes, I am excited.

The trip from Amsterdam to Nairobi, Kenya is 8 1/2 hours. Then a couple short stops (Lusaka, Zambia then Lilongwe) and I'm there.

more soon, I hope!

Nieuw Bericht

2007-05-18T08:52:00.000-06:00

That's dutch for "new post." Thankfully, in Amsterdam the blogger website looks the same, otherwise since it's all in dutch there would be no "nieuw bericht."

Having promised to blog more regularly now that my travels have begun, I begin with a bit about Amsterdam, on a bike, on a national holiday--ascension day.

This is my borrowed bike in front of some lovely graffiti...

...and this is me (bike in background).

Ascension day, btw, was yesterday; more explorations this afternoon:

A cat in a window--can you see him??

Gerber Daisies:

Possibly my favorite little street in the world, called "Kerkstraat" (church st):

The market:

Everyone's favorite neighborhood theatre costume store:

And last but not least, the Rijksmuseum:

More soon!

The Last Final and Other Things

2007-05-10T16:31:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow I have my last final of my first year of grad school. Taking important exams is always such a wierd thing for me--at times, I've prepared very little and then gone in and rocked the thing and at other times, I've studied my brains out and gotten rocked instead. The thing is, you never know how prepared you are until you are sitting there, mono y mono (sp??), with mankind's most ingenious invention of mind-control and torture: the final exam.
So, at this point, about half of me feels like I have a full grasp on the material and the other half wants me to read over the textbook again. In grad school, though, they take it easy on us: I can bring the textbook to the exam. What I wouldn't have given for such a privilege in my undergrad years. I guess now, final exams are supposed to better imitate real life. ??? They've got some work to do.

...Cause all of this, it ain't nothing like real life, even if you define "real life" as just about anything you want that isn't a ph.d. program in sociology (yes, I know there were a plethora of negatives in that sentence--keeps you sharp). It's competition, assesment, achievement (and its frightening antithesis, failure), and annual reviews. Most of the time, I love this work because I can make my own hours, plan my own schedule, and I don't have to punch a timecard or have a manager breathing down my neck. When I filled out my "annual self-assesment", though, I realized that "they" still breathe down my neck--they just stand a bit further back than before.

Sociologists write a lot of critiques of capitalist culture, and merit-based systems, and increasing inequality between the haves and have nots. So it's ironic when they construct and maintain their own little market-system of knowledge entrepreneurship and that good ol' American work ethic. There is competition on so many levels: how many articles have you published, how many M.A.'s do you have, how many top researchers have you chatted up at national conferences, how many hours do you work in a week. Relationships become strained, women fight to get tenure and raise kids at the same time, and those with personalities other than type A struggle hard through graduate school. It just doesn't seem to fit the things that we're trying to say about what's wrong with society. It's not that we don't see it--we're trained to be observant. We know we're doing it. We just don't know how to stop.

I'm getting better at letting all of this roll off my back, though. And that is a huge accomplishment--just about all I could ask for, if I'm gonna stick this out. There's more to life than publishing in American Sociological Review. There's blogging, for instance.

An Empty Room

2007-05-01T14:02:00.000-06:00

Today is moving day, and I'm taking a break with some food and some blog. Whenever I move (which is many, many times in the past few years) I always leave it all for one day and then, on that day, I enter "moving mode". Basically, what that means is I move (in both senses of the word) nonstop from morning to evening, getting into a zone where all else but the task at hand disappears from my head. It is hard, when I am in moving mode, to even get myself to stop and eat. But finally, at about 3 pm, I hit a stopping point and have let myself sit down for a minute.

I was going to post a picture of my empty apartment, but now I realize that I just don't have the heart (and also, I'm not sure where I packed my camera). This was not, by any means, the best place I've ever lived--real small, hard to keep clean, not too much light, not too much of a kitchen, and very good at letting in the texas-sized insects. Yet a lot has happened in this little room; and probably the most notable thing was how I made the most of the place despite change, stress, heartbreak, and loneliness. I remember the mixed feelings of coming back to this place from a month away for Christmas and calling it home; staying in this one room studio for two days straight during the January ice storm and gathering my thoughts and strength around me to prepare for my second semester. I remember when I first moved in, hours after I had arrived in Austin, realized my plan A was not going to work out, found the post online, and signed a lease. I remember how foreign and big and lonely this town felt. I remember "moving mode"--focusing all my energy on cleaning this place and making it mine despite all of the uncertainty of the future. And I remember a few sleepless nights and midnight walks around the neighborhood in the meantime.

I may have lived in happier places, brighter places, and bigger places; but these four walls will hold remnants of some of the most significant moments of my life. I made and was part of some beauty here, despite all of the obstacles. And one evening, in particular, on my cheap black futon with a guitar in my hands, I wrote this song:

These old shoes
Turned up at the toes
Have lived in four states
And traipsed through countless snows
And something I can't measure
Has shown them where to go
To get to here

This one-room
Apartment where I live
It's walls already saturated
It's air already thick
With sleepless nights and wonder
And all the grace you give
To get to here

This hard head
This stubborn rigid mind
Has walked through burning coals
And made it out alive
And after such a journey
It still ain't satisfied
To get to here

This blue book
It's binding now in shreds
It's older than these shoes
This room, This stubborn head
And it's waiting to remember
Every little last thing you said
To get me here

This small song
Is asking once again
Why always so hard
To be just where I am
Why such a huge treasure
That won't fit in my hands

These few words
I give up every night
That sleep won't come
And my body tells me, fight:
It's nothing that I've done
That has saved my wandering life
And got me here

Alleyway

2007-04-03T20:51:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite features of the urban landscape is the alleyway. Whether narrow and infested, or secretive and alluring, the alleys are the link between the image a city is built to convey and the truth inside its soul. Alleys are the playgrounds of shadows, snowdrifts, windtunnels, and fog; they can be ten degrees warmer or cooler than just around the corner and can be the first or the last places to see the weather shift. Sometimes they are safe havens, and sometimes they are just the place you wouldn't want to run into an enemy--they surround you and lock you into whatever extreme of danger or security. Clostrophobic or comforting. Short-cuts or dead-ends. Windows onto the next street or dark, never-ending tunnels.
The picture above is a damp, sparkling, magical alleyway in Bushmills, Northern Ireland. It leads into the next courtyard and on to another world. This alley is pure Ireland--lush, old, thick, green, and sprinkled with fairy dust. I passed it alone on a rainy afternoon and, rather than trespass, I stole a picture. Part of me wishes I had gone in, just for a moment--and yet the reality of the next street over could never really be what the alleyway makes it out to be. That's the trick of the alleyway. It makes what is normal into something momentous. It shades on the bright days and shines on the dark ones. It leads into the soon, the coming, the next...

It makes place into movement and movement into place.

Muh-Low-ee

2007-03-26T10:06:00.000-06:00

It's official: I'll be spending a large portion of my summer in a tiny little country in the heart of Africa. No not Maui, Malawi. The tickets were boughten last week-en and, well, something I've been mentioning in conversation as a possibility/probability for a year or two now is finally starting to seem real.
I'm a bit scared. I'm a lot excited. Here's why:
--I will miss my piano.
--I will miss my friends.
--I will be in a foreign country, observing things, talking to people, letting it all sink in
--It will be beautiful
--It might be lonely
--I may or may not accomplish very much
--I most likely will learn quite a bit
--I have wanted to do this for a long, long time
--I hope I don't get Muh-Lay-Ree-uh
--I will need support, thoughts, and prayers
--I'm getting PAID for this (?!?)
--I guess I'm really a sociologist now
--I can't wait to meet some Malawian peeps
--I have no idea what to expect.

South-By-South-Williteverend???!!!?!?!

2007-03-18T21:33:00.000-06:00

Yes, yes, all you music and madness lovers: SXSW has just taken place. Let's see, what can I say about the streams of mullets, tight jeans, aviator glasses, retro-vests (VERY in this year), and endless debauchery that crowded the streets of downtown Austin for the last four days??? How can I pay homage to the mother of all music festivals (at least, that I've witnessed) in such a humble blog? Especially since I could probably claim familiarity with only about 10 percent of the bands featured and I mean, look at my pictures--I'm not that cool.

What I DO have to offer, though, is the highlights of "SXSW on a budget." As a poor grad student, I was determined to do as much as possible with as little green stuff as possible, and I will have to say I did pretty well, though it did require endless patience with long lines and flexibility with plans. Every morning I got up and headed downtown around noon, not to return to my apartment till 2 or 3 AM most nights (if you were noticing that this post has a little extra "something"--yeah, that's sleep deprivation). The best part of all??? While many people paid nearly 200 dollars on passes or door fees, I saw the following fabulous acts:

1. The Walkmen
2. Peter, Bjorn and John
3. Architecture in Helsinki
3. Ghostface Killah (yes, the real one, not some skinny indies trying to be ironic)
4. Rakim (my pastor's hero--I got him into this show and he brought his 4-yr-old)
5. Peter and the Wolf
6. The Zincs
7. Cursive
8. David Garza
9. Faultline for Now (Austin friends)
10. Radiant

... and paid 0 dollars for all of it. With a little research, persistance, and doggedness in the face of unbelievable odds, you really can enjoy SXSW on a "shoestring", as they say. Oh, yeah, and the head cold from exhaustion was free too.

In conclusion, dear readers, let me say that, while I may not know about all the bands and their manager's shoe size or what-have-you like so many of the cool kids crowding Austin's streets this week, I really enjoyed myself. And, as Frank would croon, "I did it mmmyyyyy waaaayyyy....."

ps. and I saw Jessica and Ashley Simpson's dad at a show.

A Freudian Food

2007-03-08T12:05:00.000-06:00

The human psyche is to an avocado as:

Temperment is to pit.
Personality is to flesh.
Mask is to rind.

The temperment--we're to an extent born with it. It's us in our natural, diverse states. Personality is what develops as our temperments interact with our social environment and give us a self-image and a set of normal behaviors. Finally, our mask develops on the outside as a self-protective mechanism from specifically painful and wrong experiences.

Or at least, that's my take.

While it isn't so common for a sociologist to talk about tendencies we're "born with," I recently took something called a Temperment Analysis Profile that is mainly designed to help people see through the mask and the complications of developed personality into their more essential selves. The idea is that living in harmony and awareness of our natural temperment will make us most happy. The analysis uses questions that seem obvious and that you answer quickly, yet the profile assesment that comes back was, at least in my case, really personal and really revealing. So I guess I'm saying, I'm a believer.

Just don't tell my colleagues.

There is a freedom, though, in this that is so refreshing. Sure, there were things that came out that I wish weren't true about myself. But recognizing and accepting that they ARE true does wonders. Some things, I should work on. Others, I just need to embrace because there is truly nothing "wrong" with me. I recommend something like this for everyone who experiences regular frustration over certain of their own behaviors that they just can't understand or control. So often our immediate reaction is to try to change ourselves; yet what about the necessary process of understanding ourselves and what does and does not need to change?

So (get ready for cheesy wrap-up) next time you eat an avocado, think about that-- you are made up of several layers and they all have their own rationale.

Just don't try to extend the metaphor to guacomole.

Closure...

2007-03-05T22:19:00.000-06:00

...I never really understood what people meant by it. I was suspicious of the term, suspecting that it was probably more a disguise or a fabrication of reality than a real emotional landmark. Yet recently, I got to experience a sort of indescribable something for which, remarkably, closure struck me as quite simply the best word.

It doesn't mean that your heart closes completely.

It doesn't mean that the story ends.

It doesn't mean memories are erased or you get to start over.

But it IS a settling, a fading, a sealing feeling...

... and it feels good.

Water

2007-02-18T15:51:00.000-06:00

Water is the softest thing on earth
Yet its silken gentleness
Will easily wear away the hardest stone.

Everyone knows this;
Few use it in their daily lives.
Those of Tao yield and overcome.

-Lao-tzu

On my way home

2007-02-14T18:11:00.000-06:00

Every day, I take a city bus and a fifteen-minute walk to get home from class/work. And I'm glad that I do. I have to admit, if it weren't so impossible to park at the University of Texas I would probably drive my car a lot more frequently. But since that's not an option, I am actually much better off.

Although it takes about forty minutes or so in transit, and of course I could be more "efficient" with that time, it is precisely the things that happen on the bus and on my walk that get me out of my routine and make me think about things more important than my self just when I most need to.

Consider yesterday:
Two people, one a seemingly-homeless man (black) and the other a seemingly-homeless woman (white) get on the bus and sit at each end, the man near me in the back and the woman up front. The woman was a little off, and proceeded in the silence of this group of strangers to mutter obvious racial slurs and glare at the man in the back. I felt uncomfortable and ashamed but could only ignore it, well-trained city traveller that I am. The man then turned to me:
"you a student?"
"yes," I replied simply, fighting overwhelming reluctance to talk to a strange man but wanting to appear friendly on principle. I often interact with the fear of being called a "snobby white girl."
"what's your major?" he said.
"sociology."
"ah, sociology... so, you gonna make a difference??"

Well, I had no response to that. I shrugged and smiled weakly. Right then, anything I could say might get me stuck in my own logical or moral inconsistency. In the end, the best I could do was to make sure I wished this man a nice evening as I left the bus. A weak show of "making a difference," at best.

Then, tonight, while walking, this:

The picture hardly shows how beautiful and perfect it looked there on the sidewalk. It was completely unmarked, impossible to see how it had died. I don't usually (well, ever) have my camera with me, but for some reason I had it today. So I stopped and I caught a digital record.

I don't have a way to neatly explain the meaning in each of these experiences or how they "made me feel." I can only just say that they did not fit, really, into the modern picture of a world that is neat, easy to explain, or homogenous. They don't fit into the false three-car-family time-is-money uniform world; because, in fact, they are part of the REAL world, where life is messy and beautiful things die and strangers just won't be quiet when we want them to.

And so for that, I am grateful that I am forced to rely on an alternative form of transportation to the personal automobile. My life is made just a bit more interesting and a bit more REAL because of it.

Those wraskally rascals!

2007-02-07T22:30:00.000-06:00

If you want to REALLY be shocked by how much money you give the feds for half a years pay, just pay it all at once when tax time comes around. Yikes. Since I live off of fellowship money (which is oh so generously "given" to me rather than "earned," in a taxation sense) taxes do not get withheld from my income during the school year; but rather, they are stolen right out of my pocket in april. Gives one a new appreciation for the gentler, kinder "withholding" technique.

Do you ever try to convince yourself that "it's just money"? Yeah, right. We're Americans around here. It's NOT just money. It's not just what makes the world go 'round and drives our monstrous economy, it's also somehow become symbolic of everything else of value in life that it can't literally buy: our worth as a human being, our capability and talent, security, intelligence, kindness, love... Money's got its grubby little fingers in everything.

But it's not real.

So today I tried to tell myself, like so many times before, that IT DOES'T MATTER, and I'm probably happier with less anyway, etc. etc. Maybe eventually, if I've told myself that enough, I will have heard it as often as I've heard from my culture that money is everything. And maybe, at that point... I'll finally get it.

p.s. on the ivory tower

2007-01-30T13:03:00.000-06:00

I do, quite literally, mean an ivory tower:

This is where I work. 23rd floor. Window office.

How apropo.

update from the ivory tower.

2007-01-30T12:33:00.000-06:00

This post is gonna get a little sociological, but bear with me... there's a point.

In the past century or so, sociologists have started to borrow a theory from economics, entitled "Rational Choice Theory." This theory assumes that social behavior can be explained in terms of individuals who have fixed sets of preferences who act in a rational way in order to achieve (or "maximize", as they say) these preferences. It's become a very popular theory in American social science today (we do cherish our "locus of control", after all).

Is anyone else as skeptical of this idea as I am?

I look at my own life and I see, um, a shocking lack of rationality. Quite simply, I know that I have made a lot of choices either using the wrong reasons or from incorrect information or just not "reasoning" about the choice at all. And even more numerous are the actions I never choose at all--automatic, immediate, instinctive, norm-driven actions (ex. I don't "choose" to respond when I run into a friend and they start talking to me--I just do it, no questions asked). And that's not even counting constrained actions, when the actions of others or the larger system leave me with no ideal options. I don't have a choice to be hurt or depressed or happy in response to some events--those emotions just happen.

Yet reason and rationalizing are realities as well. In my point of view, 9 times out of 10 my reason is a tool for, well, making up reasons why I did or will act a certain way. The reason is rarely the driving force of action--but it is a useful tool in creating viable explanations for our actions. A lot of psychological research (for example, split brain studies where the link between the "instinctive" right brain and the "rationalizing" left brain has been severed) supports this idea.

As I was thinking about this tension, though, it suddenly hit me: it's the whole predestination vs. free will debate all over again, just in different skin! Do we have any control over our own lives, or don't we? Whether the alternate option is God or social forces (in my mind, it's both), we know that there is a bigger reality outside of us that exercises considerable control over what our options are. Yet, we DO certainly make choices, and (from a biblical point of view) God judges us according to those choices. Neither of these two realities can be disproven--yet they have seemed impossible to reconcile. We hold them in tension, with extensive butting-of-heads. Obviously, since generations have strugged with this question, I'm not gonna solve it in a blog (though perhaps someone could leave the answer in a comment??).

But now, the point: appreciate with me this synthesis of life, that the same themes are played over and over again in different variations in this world, and that our common humanity connects ideas, groups, and philosophies--though we may often miss or obstruct these connections. If ivory tower sociologists and baptist theologians are essentially wrestling with the same questions....

well, then. It must all be connected.

new news, 2

2007-01-28T10:10:00.000-06:00

Just to prove it about the babies, here are some pics: (and who doesn't love baby pics, riiight?)

this is a very close friend's (rachel) niece. She's the newest of all.

child of a former professor.

Olive- about six months new.

Helena-- not SO new anymore but c'mon... you see why I had to put her up.

and then, this:

This is from two years ago, when I had the privilege of helping dear Kelly and Jonathan birth their first baby. Most incredible thing. And they are expecting their NEW one any day now.

unfortunately I have few pictures related to new jobs or new engagements, but who wants to see those anyway? Babies are much cuter. Stay tuned for puppies and kitties.

new news

2007-01-27T22:40:00.000-06:00

There's been a lot of new news floating around in my circle of friends lately. New babies, new engagements, new jobs, etc. Most of these people I've known from college, so about four or five or even six years. It is crazy to think back on where we all were at that time and how we thought about the future.... which is now the very real reality.
Today I also sorted through my old messages folder of my email account. Ladies and gents, we are talking 1500 emails from over the past four years. Obviously, I don't get around to email "folder maintenance" very often. Piddling emails, emails from people I am not in touch with anymore, significant "Surprise! I like you!" emails, painful miscommunication emails, "please forgive me" emails, emails with pictures attached, emails that made me smile, emails from friends being supportive and loving, emails from a friend no longer living, and emails from friends who have been hurt. It was like looking at myself of four years ago in quick freeze frames--who I was to those around me, what I was concerned with, what my life was made of. It was difficult, actually, to delete even the most minor emails; it was hard to shake the feeling that I was losing those parts of my past. Its kind of silly, though, because I am an avid journaler and literally keep every letter and card ever sent to me snail mail... so I have plenty of other avenues for returning to the college and post-college me. There's something about the emails, though-- how I have communicated new changes in my life with others and they have shared their news with me... how significant dates and events are reflected through dozens of seperate dialogues.

so... any one else got new news??? if so, send me an email-- I promise I'll keep it for the next four years.

Who says it don't snow in Texas?

2007-01-16T15:47:00.000-06:00

... a lot of people, when I first arrived (in the middle of 100+ degree heat). but it appears they were wrong...

This is my front yard, by the way, and the next is the back...
My car, of course, is used to the stuff.

But the locals sure ain't. People in Austin like to keep a lot of stuff outside in their yards (both for decorative reasons and other ones that escape me), and so now they are out covering them all up with blankets.

I read that the last time it snowed in austin was valentine's day of 2004. As I took my walk around the neighborhood, a lot of people were outside or peering out of their windows at the snow coming down (really little ice-ball flakes). People were more friendly than usual... I would share little laughs with strangers as I walked by, knowing we were both so enjoying the time off from school, work, responsibility, normality, mundanity, etc.

Thanks, God.

Full Disclosure

2007-01-14T14:19:00.000-06:00

So I have this problem. I pretend.

I pretend things are great when they're not. I pretend I wasn't hurt when I was. I pretend I'm not angry when I am. I pretend I'm not afraid when I am. I pretend that just THINKING about grieving a loss is the same as actually grieving. I pretend that I am very much ok on my own and don't need lots and lots of help to get through this crazy, convoluted, confusing life.

And probably the worst of all is when I pretend to God that I don't need to feel loved. Because I do. I very, very, very much do.

People have often said to me that childLIKEness is a virture, but childISHness is selfish and should be avoided. Yet I don't know very many four-year-olds who are childLIKE but not childISH. and Jesus didn't say, "suffer the little children to come to me... but only those that are good and don't scream or cry or kick or try to get their way." The problem is, as adults we see certain negative and humiliating behaviors as childISH--throwing a fit, demanding attention, screaming and crying; while as people of faith, we idealize other behaviors as childLIKE--perfect trust, ability to recieve love, lack of worry over the future or what the next day will bring. So, we try to achieve childlikeness while avoiding the "pitfall" of childishness. but in perfect honesty... I am now not so sure this is possible.

So today, I am letting myself be childish with God. I am demanding His love and I won't take no for an answer.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Some po'try

2007-01-10T18:15:00.000-06:00

poetry, not poultry, that is.

MOMENT
moment
I check my pulse again
As we were trained
To be our own doctors.

Trouble
A compassion that feels like cruelty
And takes on a guise
Of torture.

Yet death lives in life
As life lives in death
And as these bedfellows live
So do I.
For even though for awhile death lives
Life never dies.

JOB
I will be silent
I'm declaring it now
The Lord of life spoke in the wind

I had heard of you, Great Being
But now I have seen
And so I shall not speak again.

New Year's Eve in Port Stewart

2007-01-01T16:17:00.000-06:00

In a Northern Irish coastal village, in one of three pubs in town, last night four friends and I welcomed the new year. Outside, the British Isles were experiencing 80 MPH winds and many new year's celebrations were canceled due to the weather. Yet the faithful few, all decked out in glitter and makeup (that was the crowd--I myself was in my pj's), braved the wind and needles of rain to drink in 2007 and fake the words to "Auld Lang Syne." Friends, you can have your NYC and Syndey, Australia on New Year's-- give me Port Stewart any day.
After we left, a dare to take a dip at the beach led us to the Strand, a long strip of sandy coastline bordered by rolling green hills and warm, twinkling lights. We drove the car onto the beach and the boys ran into the low tide up to their ankles, while Rachel snapped shots of them in the glow of the headlights. The wind was still strong, and as I jumped out of the car, everything in me cringed and tensed. But I resisted the urge to jump back into the warmth. I stood up straight and drank in the wildness and freedom of the densely dark, windy, freezing night. A beach in Northern Ireland, thirty minutes past 2006, friends and hope and peace and beauty, in the middle of a wild storm.

Welcome, welcome, 2007.

2006-12-26T09:49:00.000-06:00

I have to admit, my first attempt at blogging has me staring out the window wondering where to start. The name of this blog is "Carving out a space" which is a reference to a quote from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet: "The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy it can contain." Though the qoute carries a sense of the inevitability of sadness, it not only promises future joy but in fact, emphasizes the essential nature of that sorrow in the later experience of joy. So-- to me, it is a great promise.
The title also refers to an endeavor that we are all engaged in--making a space and identity for our selves in a huge chaotic crowded world. As a writer/artist/musician (labels I carry with some "fear and trembling") the use of words and expression has always been my method of performing this task. So--here's a snapshot of that process, hopefully expressed in such a way that adds some hope and inspiration to the world.
I have never considered myself "the blogging type", but have realized that connections across the country and the world with people I don't regularly run into have been hard to maintain, and yet they are important. I find myself keeping up with friends who blog infinitely better than I would otherwise, so.... here I go.

on the topic of space, something everyone should see (to entice you, I promise you will laugh):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uQ9ybSgnTg