Looking Toward Nature and Longing

Oh how I admire the bird
Who is rarely alone
And can comfort himself
On those rare occasions
By coasting among clouds.

And the ant I too admire,
For it is strong and gentle
And rarely alone--
And the elephant has those traits
Along with caring and trumpeting.

While the human can be any or all
Yet somehow manages
To be alone quite a lot
And to feel alone
Even when he's not.  

Risk

A touch of the hand, a sideways glance,
A good conversation, and--
"Would you like to dance?"
And, "Yes, of course," three glorious words--
Yet also remains my own hesitance.
Should I stay the course?
Or should I advance?
And if I advance how far do I go?
Want and fear wrapped around each other,
A flavorful mixture we call risk,
Which is a hard thing to do and
Perhaps harder not to,
For it is difficult to risk, to live,
Difficult to know, difficult to trust,
But it is easy to love if you can just
Learn to master even one of the above.

Love Is a Tricky Thing

Love is possibly the most overarchingly important, often thought of, and frequently misinterpreted concept in society.  To refer to it even using the word concept feels inadequate, incomplete-- but in an attempt to speak honestly about it one must treat it as a universal concept rather than a special subjective experience, for all too often this latter manner of presentation is what we see.  The subjective experience of love is what movies present us with.  It is what people talk about at weddings. As outside spectators in these situations, we naturally generalize, making the subjective into the universal.  In other words we see the couple getting married or the couple on screen as representative of love itself.  We then start to wonder-- worry, even-- why we have not experienced this universally good thing.  We get self-conscious and jealous.  We start actively seeking it-- but the problem arises when the love we seek is the subjective version we have observed as a third party in the church pew or the movie theater seat.  We are seeking something we don't-- and will never-- fully understand because it is the experience of someone else, of which we have obtained what is only (however beautiful) the merest glimpse.

If we base something as chiefly important as our experience of love on glimpses of a love from which we are separate, then we doom ourselves to incompletion by seeking only small parts of a much bigger whole.  We do this when we ask someone out simply because that's what we think we are supposed to do and hey, she's good-looking and relatively successful and it's been a while since we slept with anyone or even kissed anyone, and so-and-so met his wife in this same situation so hey, let's give it a shot.  We do this when we reject someone in the early stages for not being impressive enough or romantic enough or spontaneous enough or gender-normed enough (or when we try too hard to be all these things ourselves).  We do this whenever we want the sex we know others are having or when we want the weddings that others keep inviting us to without first experiencing the feelings, the struggles, the sheer amount of time that made up the parts of their experience that we did not see.  We want the climax of the film while forgetting all those unsexy moments that were left on the cutting room floor or even perhaps removed from the script altogether or not even considered in the first place by the writer who (at least in part, however earnest and heartfelt a person he may be) is trying to sell us on an image both beautiful enough to pay ten bucks to see and simple enough to be conveyed in an hour and a half.

Real love, universally and conceptually speaking, is not something that can be forced, controlled, or achieved.  It is a mindset-- an ongoing, ever-developing, always imperfect mindset that requires (somewhat paradoxically) a combination of self-awareness and selflessness.  You must know and value yourself, but you must love the world and the other people in it at least as much and, if possible, more.  And you have to be comfortable allowing the self and the world to intermingle-- you must willingly share yourself (and not just the straight facts but also the feelings, the insecurities, the details, the overwhelming questions of intense moral debate): you must laugh and cry in front of others.  You must take the risk of looking foolish for the greater purpose of being human.

Of course you cannot do these things to the point of being dominating or intimidating-- the sharing cannot be one-sided or it ends up producing its purpose's opposite: alienation. You must also actively seek to do things for and learn things from-- even draw things out of-- others.  You must truly value them not because of what they might do for you or how they might make you feel or to what degree they are "marriage material" but rather because of who they actually are, what they do, what they stand for.  To love someone is not to demonstrate your own value in order to impress, conquer, or even genuinely help the person for altruistic reasons.  Rather, it is to actively value someone else and to help them see their own value better-- to help them develop it further.  The desire to do this should drive any action or demonstration of your own value.

Mutual love then occurs when each party does this regularly-- when there is not pursuer and pursued, desire and object of desire, knight in shining armor and princess in high tower.  Mutual love is two people standing on the same unsteady ground, recognizing the unsteadiness yet finding beauty in it all the same and longing to find even more-- willing to risk losing themselves completely for the chance at something greater.

In one-sided love, the lover loses their sense of self completely and might not get it back.  The other party enjoys the benefits of their lover's love but eventually tires of it.  They may feel superior to the doting fool or intimidated by the intense romantic, but for whatever reason they choose not to reciprocate.  Some of the truly bitter breakups result from this; an uneven exchange of selves has occurred, and the split leaves both parties feeling off-balanced.

In pre-love dating, folks are hesitant to truly put themselves out there for fear of this damage, this loss, this altering of self, but ultimately this fear defeats the purpose of dating, which is after all an attempt to put an end to feelings of isolation and loneliness.  This hesitance results in the awkward silences of initial dates.  It results in that confused feeling of: hey, we're both attractive, successful people.  Why is there no chemistry here?  Or perhaps worse: the self-conscious assumption that it's your fault there is no chemistry, that you are uniquely flawed, ugly, and undesirable.  Or maybe even worse than that: blaming the other person for the awkwardness, judging them as boring or not trying hard enough or trying too hard or not immediately meeting every standard, qualification, and fancy that composes the character of your ideal lover.  In any case, many dates fail to get off the ground because of a person's unwillingness to really release control of the situation.

In mutual love it does not matter if one person loses their self in the other because the other is doing the same thing.  They have each taken on the care of and responsibility for the self of the other, which means that identity is then maintained without isolation.

But of course that sort of trusting, selfless love takes time and ongoing practice-- and it's okay to want to be liked, to try to be impressive, to want to be wanted.  But you also have to take risks, put yourself out there in a way that some people may find offensive or strange or unimpressively imperfect.   And if someone puts their self out there in front of you, try being open-minded.  Try to embrace and join them in their risk.  It will not always work, but neither will love if you don't at least try.

Support

If the keystone were to fall
So too would the others,
But it does not
So they do not
And because they do not
It cannot,
And as a result
The rest of us gain
A lovely space to pass through.

A Certain Kind of Ache

There is a certain kind of ache
Which lingers
Felt by the brain--
Though the hand may search in vain
The weary feel it,
As do the restless
(No, these are not the same thing)--
As do those who remain
Too focused for too long.

It is impossible to grasp
Yet impossible to ignore,
For it nags like a child
Or the question of whether or not
You did in fact lock the door
Or the feeling of missing out
Or seeing too much--
It hurts the way the sun can,
The way you can't stop
Poking a bruise,
The way it feels thinking about
That person who almost loved you.

There is no real end for this poem--
Not an intended one,
For there is no real way
Of ending the pain
Without first finding the source,
And in this poem's case
The ache and the source
Are the same.

2013 Reading List

Happy belated New Year!  Here you will find descriptions of all the books I read in their entirety last year.  It wasn't as good a reading year for me as was 2012, so whereas I simply listed the largely enjoyable 2012 list in the order I read them, I will group the 2013 list by the degree of enjoyment.  Not that the less enjoyed group of books was bad... (I did finish them).  It's just that for varying reasons I don't think they are universally good recommendations.  Either I enjoyed them but most people won't, or I hated them but others might like them, or in a few cases they really are just bad.  Within each group, the order is mostly still chronological rather than a ranking.

Books I Recommend

1)  The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare: One of the lighter, more entertaining Shakespearean plays in which I don't think anyone dies!  A lot of classic archetypes like the woman using a test to determine which of her suitors is worthy of her.  The play is especially interesting when looked at from the perspective of antisemitism and how the Jewish characters are portrayed.  I believe I read somewhere that this play was quoted and referenced in later years by people who sought to vilify Jews.

2) The Tempest by William Shakespeare: Another of Shakespeare's better comedies.  I read and saw this one performed, and both experiences were pleasant.  This was the last play he ever wrote, and if you read the last monologue with this in mind it seems to be a farewell speech not just by the main character but also by Shakespeare himself.  

3) I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb: I am a big fan of longer, character driven stories, which this is.  In simple terms it is about a man who must continue to live his life despite the struggles he faces, the biggest of which are a schizophrenic twin brother coupled with a personal need to always be the strong one in the family.  

4) Doubletakes by various authors and compiled by T. Coraghessan Boyle: A collection of pairs of short stories by thirty different writers.  I would personally recommend Barthelme, Bender, Coover, Davis, Gaitskill, Moore, O'brien, Saunders, and Wolff the most, though nearly all works within are of significant value.  

5) Pricksongs and Descants by Robert Coover: a very post-modern collection of short stories with extremely unique structure, style, and subject matter.  Examples include "The Brother," a re-telling of the story of Noah's ark from the perspective of someone who doesn't get on the ark or "The Babysitter," which changes perspective every paragraph to the point where you lose track of which events are actually happening and which events are fantasies.  

6) Animal Farm by George Orwell:  This was one of three re-reads for me this year.  It is the tale of the first ever farm run by animals for animals, and it is meant to parallel the rise and failure of Communism in Russia.  

7) Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck: This is the tale of George and Lenny, two buddies seeking work during hard economic times.  It's got some great commentary on loyalty and loneliness.

8) All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque: My favorite book of the year, this is the tale of the common German soldier during World War I.  Great depictions of how value systems change as a result of extreme circumstances.  Unique in its focus on the side that eventually lost.  Amazing scene of terror and survival when the main character gets lost in no man's land and can't tell which side is his and which is the enemy's.  

9) Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis: A series of letters from a senior demon to a junior demon concerning the best ways to go about corrupting souls.  Some great commentary on faith, good vs. evil, and relative goodness/evilness.  

10) Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller: portrayal of a man (and his family) set on greatness, on the American Dream, on being liked by everyone, on starting with nothing and becoming something.  He is set on this, and teaches them to be, but is starting to realize failure.  Is the fault in himself or in a society that misled him?

11) Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman: A re-read of one of my favorite 2012 books, this is a collection of very short stories in each of which time functions in a unique way.  For full review go here: http://uglinessandinspiration.blogspot.com/2012/02/einsteins-dreams.html.

12) Othello by William Shakespeare: The tale of a man tricked into jealousy and violence as a result of his own insecurities.  I recommend this mainly because of Iago, one of the best literary villains ever.  He is such an ingenious asshole who is enemy to all but perceived as the truest of friends.

13) Seeking Common Ground by David Tyack:  This book provides a history of education in America and a strong examination of what a truly democratic education should look like vs. what our education system actually looks like.  Of particular interest to me were chapters 3 and 4 concerning the challenges of educating diverse populations.

The Rest of the Books:

14) King Lear by William Shakespeare: My least favorite Shakespeare play because who are you supposed to empathize with?  Every main character is a terrible, overly flawed and unlikable person.  The best character doesn't even get a name.  He is simply called the Fool, and he disappears halfway through.  

15) Henry V by William Shakespeare: It's got some famous lines, but mostly it's just boring.  Henry goes to war, the French underestimate him, and he wins despite terrible odds.  That's all that happens.  

16) The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare: My second least favorite Shakespeare play.  Few likable characters, though unlike King Lear you don't have to endure any of them for very long.  Also it's just really cheesy.

17) Safe House by Chris Ewan: Sort of a mystery thriller.  Enjoyable at the time, but I've already forgotten most of what it was about.  

18) These Things Happen by Richard Kramer: This is about the son of a gay man whose best friend has also just come out of the closet.  It's about love in spite of unusual family structure.  It starts out strong but drags toward the end.  

19) The Lightning Thief by Rich Riordan: kind of poorly written young adult fiction about the half-mortal children of gods.  It reads quickly, but too quickly.  I was never invested enough to stop as a result of some meaningful thought or emotion to be contemplated. It's all plot.  The first of a series that did not compel me to read the second.

20) The Magicians by Lev Grossman: sort of a more angst-y version of Harry Potter.  A teenager find out he has an aptitude for magic and gets into a super secret school for magicians.  But magic doesn't prove to be all fun and fantasy.  It's a lot of hard work.  The story is really more about growing up than about magic-- but not in the "Oh man, I went through that" kind of way. It's more like, "Man this kid sure whines a lot." 

21) Teach Like a Champion by Doug Lemov: Most of my colleagues hated this book because it seems to suggest that teaching is a procedural thing easily broken down into steps that can be applied to any student body.  However, it does provide some helpful and detailed strategies for accomplishing very specific goals within the classroom.  It's kind of like a teacher's playbook.

22) Whistling Vivaldi by Claude M. Steele:  This book details the very interesting topic of stereotype threat by using the very boring style of in-depth step-by-step description of research methods.  Stereotype threat is a situation in which a person perceives that they are being stereotyped and as a result of their anxiety about this they end up feeding into the stereotype.  Super interesting concept, but you can read just the beginning and end of the book and you'll get the gist.  The middle is mostly pedantic fine-tuning of research strategies.

23) The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne: The psychological tale of how one sin weighs on the lives of three different people.  This book has value and probably belongs on the other list, but it just seems too predictable to me.  I am probably just over-saturated after having spent a month and a half teaching it to students who mostly hated it.  If you like character-based, in-depth examinations of souls and value systems, this book is a good choice for you.  

24) The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz:  A lot of people really like this book, but it just didn't do it for me.  I found myself a lot more interested in the narrator, Yunior, and in the historical details about the Dominican Republic than in the actual main character Oscar or anyone in Oscar's family whom the story surrounds.  I didn't get what was wondrous about his life.  He didn't seem to do much of anything with it, and then when he finally does try to do something he gets beaten to death.  There's probably something metaphorical or allegorical going on there that I'm missing.

That's it for this year.  As always there were several books I read part of that were not included in the list.  If you want further details on any of the books or want to recommend me something, please do so.  Peace.

From He Who Sees and Feels

To She Who Lives

Eyes lit up

Like a Jack-o-Lantern

With all the glory

Of a much-loved holiday

And the story—

The story of who did this

And why…

And what happened

Leading up to it?

And the fire, the passion,

The glow, the aura—

The thing that makes children’s guts

Flutter with anticipation

And laugh with glee.

But these eyes are better than those

For they contain twenty-five years.

They contain turmoil and victory

And joy and sadness

And life.

They move with wonder

And widen with surprise

And belong to the land of the living

Rather than some plucked and mangled fruit.

They see and they seek and they see some more

And are all the better for it

As are we—

For in the looking,

In the process of it all,

There happen a great many things

Regardless of whether

What’s sought is found

For the seeking is the finding—

For all is good and all is worthy

In the eyes of one who knows

Why they’re looking.

To She Who Builds

A deck takes shape

Behind my childhood home

Where the crumbling patio used to be

And a woman looks on with satisfaction

And pronounces it good, this transaction—

For on it she will sit

With the fruits of life’s labor:

Two twenty-somethings

Home for the holidays,

Or a trio of long-known souls

Drinking glasses in hand

And smiles at the ready,

Or a dog who runs slower now

But wags her tail just as fast,

Or a small group of worshipers

Supporting and praying,

Some leaving, some staying—

All loving and saying,

“This is it, my friend,

And it is enough so don’t worry.

Though the memories may wander

Or shrivel and fizz,

It has not been in vain.

No life that loves is.”

To She Who Touches

A framed photograph hangs

On the white hallway wall

Next to several others.

To an outsider they may tell a story

Just as easily as they may not,

But were we to enter the image itself

Then turn one hundred eighty degrees

We would see a young woman,

Face concealed, hand on a trigger,

Looking and waiting—

Waiting for what?  I don’t know,

Perhaps a secret of the trade:

The lifting of a chin or

The picking up of a breeze or

The accentuation or elimination

Of some shade of contrast or

Some gut feeling that things are right

Or beautifully wrong or

Simply, mysteriously, incomprehensibly

Beautiful.

Such a person remains concealed—

For self-revelation is not written

Into the job description;

And yet

Such a person’s touch is felt

When the lonely are comforted

Or when the happy feel gratitude

Or when the forgotten are remembered.

When feuding friends realize

They’ve made it through worse,

When friends who’ve lost touch

Pick up the phone,

And when weary lovers rediscover

All those little things they love,

The young woman is at work—

And neither they nor she

May realize the extent to which

Their lives have linked,

But we might just if only

We could enter the image

And look around.

To He Who Ventures

A man sits in the passenger seat

Perhaps wearing a baseball cap

Or perhaps cap-less,

Wind tousling his hair,

Or maybe the window is up?

I am not sure, for I am not there.

No, this man has left me

Or rather we’ve parted ways healthily,

Each on a journey of our own now

Connected as family are,

But apart as are those

Who must yearn.

It is never too late

To get a fresh start

And all things are good

With ‘yes’ in your heart—

The future be damned!

It’s not even real.

Instead let’s travel, let’s love,

Let’s explore, let’s listen to the crickets,

Let’s watch the snow fall, let’s tell stories,

Let’s do all the things

We always said we would.