Tuesday, April 14, 2009
A Pedicure on a Rainy Day
Ok, so for all of you who are sick of my background, I'm sorry, but I officially do not know how to change the background by myself. All the changes that have ever happened to my blog are thanks to Tiffany and Lacey :D
Today I am in Lehi, Utah sitting at a computer in Dave and Lindsey's house. It's slightly surreal to have this time in a quiet house with relaxed people after such an eventful semester.
I was talking to my mom yesterday while Ruth got a haircut. After finding out Mom still hasn't read Cheaper by the Dozen (one of the singularly funniest, cutest books ever written), I said,
"Mom! Why are we talking? You need to go read that book right now, and you'll just love it so much and we'll have so many more inside jokes!"
"Miriam, you're back!"
I was not expecting this exhuberant reply from her. I was a little confused until she explained that she could just tell I was on vacation, and finally relaxed.
This made me glad that I was myself, and sorry I had spent time not being myself. I knew what she meant though.
"It's not that you haven't been yourself, but you've just been Miriam during finals, or Miriam with a job, or Miriam doing school--and all those are different from the relaxed, regular Miriam." My mom explained. I then decided I wanted to be better at relaxing.
I don't know exactly what it is, but something in our culture has greatly crossed the boundaries between relaxing and being idle. For example, a familiar sense of guilt started twisting in my stomach after spending about 3.4 minutes looking for a new background I liked for my blog. And all day I've been wondering if I should feel bored or unproductive for just painting my nails, watching a movie, and talking to Lindsey and Evelynn. But I don't think I should feel guilty. Is there anything wrong with not having every minute of the day scheduled? In general I prefer to have my time planned and filled, but I think there is value in knowing how to relax and fill time with simple things.
I don't know exactly what this value is, but it makes sense that having time when you are not being constantly distracted or occupied is healthy.
Thoughts?
Today I am in Lehi, Utah sitting at a computer in Dave and Lindsey's house. It's slightly surreal to have this time in a quiet house with relaxed people after such an eventful semester.
I was talking to my mom yesterday while Ruth got a haircut. After finding out Mom still hasn't read Cheaper by the Dozen (one of the singularly funniest, cutest books ever written), I said,
"Mom! Why are we talking? You need to go read that book right now, and you'll just love it so much and we'll have so many more inside jokes!"
"Miriam, you're back!"
I was not expecting this exhuberant reply from her. I was a little confused until she explained that she could just tell I was on vacation, and finally relaxed.
This made me glad that I was myself, and sorry I had spent time not being myself. I knew what she meant though.
"It's not that you haven't been yourself, but you've just been Miriam during finals, or Miriam with a job, or Miriam doing school--and all those are different from the relaxed, regular Miriam." My mom explained. I then decided I wanted to be better at relaxing.
I don't know exactly what it is, but something in our culture has greatly crossed the boundaries between relaxing and being idle. For example, a familiar sense of guilt started twisting in my stomach after spending about 3.4 minutes looking for a new background I liked for my blog. And all day I've been wondering if I should feel bored or unproductive for just painting my nails, watching a movie, and talking to Lindsey and Evelynn. But I don't think I should feel guilty. Is there anything wrong with not having every minute of the day scheduled? In general I prefer to have my time planned and filled, but I think there is value in knowing how to relax and fill time with simple things.
I don't know exactly what this value is, but it makes sense that having time when you are not being constantly distracted or occupied is healthy.
Thoughts?
Monday, January 19, 2009
brotherly conversation
Morgan and I were talking on the phone Sunday night, just as I was about to write an e-mail for this chain. I asked him what I should write about. He proposed I write everything I'm experiencing right now.
-"No, no one wants me to just dump my whole life on them, that would not be beneficial for me or them."
-"Why not?"
And thus began a rather profound conversation.
While it is true that divulging every emotion I've experienced in the past week would not be particularly productive, Morgan and I discovered that people are much to quick to judge and label other people's trials. An unwritten law governs our responses to other people's woes: if your problems include phyisical abuse, suicide, a terminal illness, racial discrimination, genocide, frostbite, malnutrition, bankruptcy, and sometimes divorce, you automatically qualify for unconditional sympathy and justification for pain.
This is greatly frustrating to those of us who grapple with everyday pains. Apparently crying children, insensitive boyfriends/girlfriends, stressful schoolwork, forgotten birthdays, lack of friends, and sick Grandmothers may or may not make it on the list. The amount of sympathy one deserves for these things depends on the listener. And even if the particular person you are talking to is more understanding than most, there is a voice in your conscience nagging to "just get over it" because life could be a lot worse, and how can you cry over a rebellious teenager when there are parents who can't even have children? Aren't their problems worse? Aren't you undermining their pain by feeling your own (inferior) sadness?
This is a cruel falsehood. My Mom once said that even if the situation isn't credible, or the logic nonsensical, feelings are still real. Who are we to decide how much pain others should or shouldn't feel? It is impossible to even know exactly what others are feeling. So where do we get authority to compile a list of "real" tragedies? Who are we to tell others how much pain they should or should not be experiencing?
At this point in the conversation Morgan said,
-"What, and just listen to each other?"
-"Well no! I wouldn't go that far, I mean come on, do you mean be compassionate or something?"
We both started laughing. We both know there is more seriousness than humor.
What if we did just listen? How much easier it would be to hear about other people's problems! How simple it would be to just feel sorry for them and love them. A child cries over spilled milk because they have never had a parent die in a car accident. So to them, spilled milk is a real problem. Is it right to judge them for not going through something worse yet? And if they are really sad about the lost beverage, why should we try to convince them that their feelings aren't credible? Pain is a completely personal experience. Since humans are given zero capability to feel someone else's exact emotions, we should never rate or prescribe someone else's anguish.
In practice, this principle would allow us to love and accept each other, not feel as burdened by other's hardships, and more readily communicate honest feelings.
Thanks Morgan.
-"No, no one wants me to just dump my whole life on them, that would not be beneficial for me or them."
-"Why not?"
And thus began a rather profound conversation.
While it is true that divulging every emotion I've experienced in the past week would not be particularly productive, Morgan and I discovered that people are much to quick to judge and label other people's trials. An unwritten law governs our responses to other people's woes: if your problems include phyisical abuse, suicide, a terminal illness, racial discrimination, genocide, frostbite, malnutrition, bankruptcy, and sometimes divorce, you automatically qualify for unconditional sympathy and justification for pain.
This is greatly frustrating to those of us who grapple with everyday pains. Apparently crying children, insensitive boyfriends/girlfriends, stressful schoolwork, forgotten birthdays, lack of friends, and sick Grandmothers may or may not make it on the list. The amount of sympathy one deserves for these things depends on the listener. And even if the particular person you are talking to is more understanding than most, there is a voice in your conscience nagging to "just get over it" because life could be a lot worse, and how can you cry over a rebellious teenager when there are parents who can't even have children? Aren't their problems worse? Aren't you undermining their pain by feeling your own (inferior) sadness?
This is a cruel falsehood. My Mom once said that even if the situation isn't credible, or the logic nonsensical, feelings are still real. Who are we to decide how much pain others should or shouldn't feel? It is impossible to even know exactly what others are feeling. So where do we get authority to compile a list of "real" tragedies? Who are we to tell others how much pain they should or should not be experiencing?
At this point in the conversation Morgan said,
-"What, and just listen to each other?"
-"Well no! I wouldn't go that far, I mean come on, do you mean be compassionate or something?"
We both started laughing. We both know there is more seriousness than humor.
What if we did just listen? How much easier it would be to hear about other people's problems! How simple it would be to just feel sorry for them and love them. A child cries over spilled milk because they have never had a parent die in a car accident. So to them, spilled milk is a real problem. Is it right to judge them for not going through something worse yet? And if they are really sad about the lost beverage, why should we try to convince them that their feelings aren't credible? Pain is a completely personal experience. Since humans are given zero capability to feel someone else's exact emotions, we should never rate or prescribe someone else's anguish.
In practice, this principle would allow us to love and accept each other, not feel as burdened by other's hardships, and more readily communicate honest feelings.
Thanks Morgan.
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