I've always shied away from writing about racial stereotypes. I think I tend to over-simplify, by saying that to me - they're really no different from gender stereotypes. Men and Women are different. We see things differently, we feel things differently. Isn't it OK to categorize our differences? Isn't it OK to point out the fact that women are typically more inclined to express sensitivity, and men are more often afraid to cry? Isn't it natural to poke fun at our respective insecurities, our weaknesses, our habits, when we know in our hearts that our cores are the same? That we have the same internal organs, the same basic needs, the same primal appetites? Stereotypes are just natural categorizations, based on generalizations about certain groups of people. Participating in racial stereotyping doesn't make us racist. Hastily labeling and compartmentalizing gender roles doesn't make us sexist.
I realize there's a sensitivity with racism, slavery and civil rights. I get that oppression is real and true, and still exists today. I empathize with the mistrust, with the skepticism, with the underlying bitterness. I have to admit, I would feel that too. Who wouldn't? If your ancestry, your history, your life was shadowed by a past that relentlessly followed you and your culture, and refused to be buried or ignored, wouldn't you be bitter? I know I would be. The darkness in those shadows becomes a part of who you are. You owe it some recognition.
And all of that said, Women aren't strangers to the Civil Rights movement. The whole Male/Female correlation isn't completely out in left field. There are plenty of men who still want women barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. There are still places where women are glossed over, ignored, and even abused. There are still men out there who think women shouldn't have a right to speak about things like business, politics and sports. There are men who say that American women are too aggressive, who covet the demure, submissive, East Asian prototype. The woman who smiles, rubs his feet, has his dinner on the table every day, and never asks for anything in return. Sure, there are. But I'm not a feminist. I'm a realist. And those women have minds of their own. They decide whose feet they rub, who's mouths they feed, whose kitchens they occupy. At least, in America they do. There are plenty of places where women still don't have a choice, and that's a whole different playing field.
When it becomes difficult for me, is when my African American friends are affected by this disconnect. When those friends are the victims of ignorance. Men often accuse each other of not being "Man" enough, but it's typically in jest. Guys seem to subscribe to the religion of Machismo - always trying to call each other out, for not being tough enough, not being strong enough. My African American friends are often accused of not being "Black" enough. Seriously? Man or Woman - not being "Black" enough is an extremely sensitive topic. I've experienced first-hand, the gravity and weight that label can carry. When I was in college, my beautiful, extraordinarily sweet and intelligent roommate was often caged by that generalization. We had many late night talks about what it meant to be "Black." We lived together for two years, and she was one of the closest friends I've ever had, and yet - the only real dinner I ever shared with her was on her wedding day - with at least a hundred other people. And post-college, I've had heartfelt talks with more than one exceptionally intelligent, charismatic, male friend, who can't seem to get away from the judgement - men who waver between letting the criticism roll off of their shoulders, getting angry and fighting back, or just bowing their heads, and accepting the crosses they have to carry.
And yet, we simplistic folk can't talk about race, without fear. Fear of being scorned, fear of being judged, fear of being wrong. Only the Chris Rocks of the world can make fun of the Black/White debacle, with a sarcastic tongue, and not be labeled as racist. And yes, I went there - but only briefly.
While I'm disgusted with the African American culture for scorning my friends, I'm not sure how to respond. It's a sad, sad world when being "Black" means hiding your true selves, dumbing it down, stifling your creativity. And not only that, but proving you're tough enough, showing you're street enough, for their standards. Keeping it real. As Rock would say, "Keeping it real? Real DUMB." And I commend my friends who refuse to fall prey to this trap, who joke, and pretend it doesn't hurt. But don't we all just want to belong? I wonder how I would feel, if I went home, and my friends made fun of me for being successful, for making decent money, for writing, for speaking correctly. If I was told I didn't fit, because I wasn't White enough. If proving myself to my race meant going against my moral and intellectual grain. If being White meant selling a piece of my soul to the Devil.
But in all honesty, I didn't set out to talk about racism or sexism. All of the above got me thinking about a different kind of compartmentalization - a different way of stereotyping, based on intellect and creativity. It definitely exists. From a young age, the smart kid in class is the "Brown-Noser," the "Nerd," the "Geek," the "Goody-Goody." The smart kids often get bullied, or get criticized for being un-cool. While not all smart kids are excluded from the "In" Crowd, it becomes apparent early that advertising your IQ can only get you Brownie Points with the adults and teachers.
So, why do we shun intelligence? Why do we discourage an eagerness to learn and create? Is intelligence really so restricted to that upper echelon, that elite few, that the common folk just can't relate? I find it really hard to believe. I can't write music, but I still enjoy a song. I can't paint a picture, but I'm still in awe of its beauty. If you aren't a Rocket Scientist, can't you at least appreciate the person who is, and what he contributes to the world? What is it about intellect that scares us? Why do we do our best not to stray far from the mediocre?
We criticize the dreamer. Any man who's ever been a pioneer in this world has been doubted, beaten down, crucified, and sometimes feared. Dreamers and idealists of the past have paved the way for modern day thinkers. And yet, society continues to doubt the very people they lean on to lead them. It's always been this way. People who can't lead, follow, but it doesn't stop them from judging. It doesn't stop them from hating.
In any case, discrimination against the intelligent and the creative is nothing new. It's been going on for ages, and I suspect it's just a cross the Different have to bear. What's really frightening is when this genius starts to separate not only the person from society, but the person from himself. How many creative people have been clinically depressed, had substance abuse problems, attempted suicide? How many have gone through life feeling ostracized and alone? How has intelligence and creativity become such a curse? And yet, doesn't it seem like depression is a catalyst for beautiful works of art? How often does a happy song, or funny movie, become truly cathartic? It's almost as if the pain gives birth to the beauty. And the beauty creates the euphoria. At least for me, an element of pain is inherent in a good work of art.
It seems like there's a theme in all of this. There's a price to pay for being different, for being creative, for being smart. Whether you're white, black, male or female, intelligence is a blessing and a curse. It means being questioned, criticized, isolated, and sometimes hated. It means being plagued by more profound feelings, being infected with malcontent. It means sacrificing normalcy for greatness. And I know that letting the jeers roll off of your shoulders is difficult. Being criticized for who you are is unfair. Being told you don't belong is hurtful, and painful and cold. Gifted people aren't content to be nobodies. As Adam Duritz (Counting Crows) sings,
"I don't want to feel so different, but I don't want to be insignificant. And I don't know how to see the same things different, now."
We struggle with the need to be significant, and yet, not feel different from everyone else - least of all our own race or gender. When our gifts separate us, when our peers insist on secluding us, when our own minds pull us in opposite directions - what choice do we have? We're growing against the grain, but we have to to keep fighting to be significant, we have to accept that it's OK to feel different, we have to know how to see those same things, Different - NOW.
- L.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Like Pulling Teeth
I spent 3.5 hours in the Dentist's office today. I haven't been to a Dentist in at least 5 years, probably more. It's funny, because I'm religious about brushing my teeth, and constantly conscious of my oral hygiene. Just, something about what that chair represents - enduring the invasive exploration, the unwelcomed intimacy. I cringe when I consider how vulnerable I feel. And true to character, I avoid, shy away, ignore. Four plus years in the little 'Burg, and I had yet to find a Dentist.
Enter Sinus Trouble, Gum Infections, Pain. Eventually, ignoring the problem became too difficult. Finally, I knew I had to face my fears, and ask for help. I got a recommendation, made an appointment, had a consultation, and left the office today feeling like my mouth had a new lease on life. Enter Acceptance, Gratitude, Relief.
While I was in the chair today, I started comparing the process to the bigger picture. Wouldn't it be grand if we could take our psyche in for an overhaul, after 5 years of beating it down, holding it in, refusing to acknowledge the negative effects of avoidance? Wouldn't it be freeing if we knew we could shed our emotional shackles in less than 4 hours, and leave with a newfound hope?
The Hygienist scaled my teeth, removing small bits of tartar from under my gums. She said they act like splinters - sneaking their way in, and creating irritation, inflammation, discomfort. Once removed, they heal, and relief comes almost instantly. I started thinking about the splinters in my brain. Sharp reminders of pain points, prickles of discomfort, shards of regret and defeat. Wouldn't it be nice if we could do some internal scaling; if we could instantly remove these splinters from our brains?
So, she asks - How often do I floss? Flossing once a day is her recommendation. Flossing prevents plaque from depositing between the teeth; prevents food particles from getting stuck in the spaces; prevents these invaders from promoting decay. It makes perfect sense, yes? And doesn't that premise hold true everywhere? And I think about the spaces in my life - the holes, the voids, the gaps - the spaces between who I am and who I want to be. And I consider - what gets in the way? What promotes decay? Grief, regret, anxiety, fear - to name a few. They're attracted to the spaces, they fester in the voids. And I know she's right. We need to floss every day. We need to fight the decay, with everything we have. We need to protect ourselves from the invasions.
I have some work to do - some polishing, some fillings, some commitment to caring for myself. The biggest risk is a cracked tooth that was filled many, many years ago. The metal filling shows through the side of the tooth, and the wall is so thin that it might just collapse when the Dentist tries to replace the filling. If this should happen, he'll need to crown the tooth. Sounds OK to me. Crown - like a fortress, for a tooth. A protective wall to reinforce the exterior, to maintain the integrity of the original casing. Is that a bad thing? What if we could do that with the psyche? Take a cavity, hollow it out, fill it back up, seal it in, and encase the exterior to cover the cracks? What if we could protect ourselves from falling apart, by putting up a wall?
And there's an additional risk that the crack might spread, that it might move down to the root. If that happens, a root canal is warranted. Enter Fear, Panic, Flight. I'm not sure I can face this right now, and I ask the Dentist - What does it mean? How much will it hurt? He tries not to scare me, and I appreciate the consideration, but what exactly is a root canal?
"A root canal is a treatment used to repair and save a tooth that is badly decayed or becomes infected. During a root canal procedure, the nerve and pulp are removed and the inside of the tooth is cleaned and sealed. Without treatment, the tissue surrounding the tooth will become infected and abscesses may form."
According to the Doc, the root canal is a much simpler procedure these days. Clean out the root, seal it up - and you're good to go. And again, wouldn't that be grand? What if we could take a look at our roots, extract the toxic, remove the vulnerable pulp, seal it up, and move on? Wouldn't we all be lining up for root canals? Wouldn't we welcome these new leases on life?
So, I guess my point is - I stumbled on a lot of parallels today. By opening my mouth, I opened my mind. By allowing myself to be vulnerable, I welcomed an opportunity to be reborn. And I think you can learn a lot from visiting the Dentist. Scale down, floss daily, polish regularly, protect yourself, and keep your roots in perspective. When it's time to extract and move on - try your best to do a mental root canal. It's not as clean as a dental procedure, but it's worth a try.
Next cleansing, April 12th. Stay tuned.
- L.
Enter Sinus Trouble, Gum Infections, Pain. Eventually, ignoring the problem became too difficult. Finally, I knew I had to face my fears, and ask for help. I got a recommendation, made an appointment, had a consultation, and left the office today feeling like my mouth had a new lease on life. Enter Acceptance, Gratitude, Relief.
While I was in the chair today, I started comparing the process to the bigger picture. Wouldn't it be grand if we could take our psyche in for an overhaul, after 5 years of beating it down, holding it in, refusing to acknowledge the negative effects of avoidance? Wouldn't it be freeing if we knew we could shed our emotional shackles in less than 4 hours, and leave with a newfound hope?
The Hygienist scaled my teeth, removing small bits of tartar from under my gums. She said they act like splinters - sneaking their way in, and creating irritation, inflammation, discomfort. Once removed, they heal, and relief comes almost instantly. I started thinking about the splinters in my brain. Sharp reminders of pain points, prickles of discomfort, shards of regret and defeat. Wouldn't it be nice if we could do some internal scaling; if we could instantly remove these splinters from our brains?
So, she asks - How often do I floss? Flossing once a day is her recommendation. Flossing prevents plaque from depositing between the teeth; prevents food particles from getting stuck in the spaces; prevents these invaders from promoting decay. It makes perfect sense, yes? And doesn't that premise hold true everywhere? And I think about the spaces in my life - the holes, the voids, the gaps - the spaces between who I am and who I want to be. And I consider - what gets in the way? What promotes decay? Grief, regret, anxiety, fear - to name a few. They're attracted to the spaces, they fester in the voids. And I know she's right. We need to floss every day. We need to fight the decay, with everything we have. We need to protect ourselves from the invasions.
I have some work to do - some polishing, some fillings, some commitment to caring for myself. The biggest risk is a cracked tooth that was filled many, many years ago. The metal filling shows through the side of the tooth, and the wall is so thin that it might just collapse when the Dentist tries to replace the filling. If this should happen, he'll need to crown the tooth. Sounds OK to me. Crown - like a fortress, for a tooth. A protective wall to reinforce the exterior, to maintain the integrity of the original casing. Is that a bad thing? What if we could do that with the psyche? Take a cavity, hollow it out, fill it back up, seal it in, and encase the exterior to cover the cracks? What if we could protect ourselves from falling apart, by putting up a wall?
And there's an additional risk that the crack might spread, that it might move down to the root. If that happens, a root canal is warranted. Enter Fear, Panic, Flight. I'm not sure I can face this right now, and I ask the Dentist - What does it mean? How much will it hurt? He tries not to scare me, and I appreciate the consideration, but what exactly is a root canal?
According to the Doc, the root canal is a much simpler procedure these days. Clean out the root, seal it up - and you're good to go. And again, wouldn't that be grand? What if we could take a look at our roots, extract the toxic, remove the vulnerable pulp, seal it up, and move on? Wouldn't we all be lining up for root canals? Wouldn't we welcome these new leases on life?
So, I guess my point is - I stumbled on a lot of parallels today. By opening my mouth, I opened my mind. By allowing myself to be vulnerable, I welcomed an opportunity to be reborn. And I think you can learn a lot from visiting the Dentist. Scale down, floss daily, polish regularly, protect yourself, and keep your roots in perspective. When it's time to extract and move on - try your best to do a mental root canal. It's not as clean as a dental procedure, but it's worth a try.
Next cleansing, April 12th. Stay tuned.
- L.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Peace, LOVE and Understanding
"Time. We all think that we have an endless supply of time. We take time for granted....."
Missy Love began her "Support Trey Love" update with these words, last night. An anguished mother, putting every ounce of her being into praying for a miracle - shedding her pride, and shamelessly asking for help from anyone who can give it - because she feels utterly helpless. I can barely read through my tears, and I ask myself, "What can I do?" I don't know the Loves personally, and I'm in awe of their strength and the community's response to their plight. There IS good in this world. There ARE kind people everywhere, willing to share their love, their support and their prayers.
I ask myself, "What can I do?" - and I'm instantly ashamed. What can I do? I'm not in the area, I don't know them personally, I don't have extra time or money - I'm immediately overwhelmed. I'm overwhelmed, and I'm ashamed because I have no right to be overwhelmed. My struggles are nothing compared to what this family is going through. They pray for a miracle, and I continue to ask why. I'm afraid that the prayers are falling on deaf ears - because I can't understand why a miracle is necessary. If there is a God, and God is good, wouldn't He have spared them by now? And I realize I'm no good to the Loves. I can't help, if I don't believe. I can't help, if I don't make the time. I can't help, if I'm focusing inward.
And what if Trey Love is an example? What if this little hero was put on this Earth to make me - and others like me - see the truth? What if we lose him, and the spirits of his mommy and daddy die with him, and we still think we have an endless supply of time? So, I considered the lesson a young man like Trey Love can teach us. And I considered the sacrifice he may be making for all of us. And I considered how unfair all of that is, and how horrific, and sadistic and cold. But, I considered it anyway. If Trey Love is fighting this battle, what can make the battle worth fighting? What can make his pain worth enduring? And maybe nothing can come close. Maybe nothing is enough. But at the very least, we have to say we didn't waste the time we had. We have to hold up our ends of the bargain. We have to do everything we can to validate our existence on this Earth, if Love is fighting for life - and especially if Love could be lost.
I took a look deep inside, and I know I'm not living up to my end of the bargain. I waste time, I waste money, I waste ME - repeatedly. I've gotten accustomed to the art of avoidance, and I live in a world where hiding is my first defense. Enter discomfort, and I turn away, run away, hide, or protect myself with some form of anesthesia. Discomfort isn't an option. Escape is the only route to safety. And what am I saying to this brave little boy? This innocent child who doesn't have a choice? This family who desperately prays for a miracle? I'm a cop out. And I know I'm not the only one. But that doesn't make it any easier on the conscience.
So, my commitment to Trey is to think of his example, when I'm tempted to run. To consider his bravery, when I just want to hide. To stop looking for an escape, when I know that my time here is limited. Of course he has my prayers and my support, but he also has my commitment to be a better ME, and I'm letting him hold me accountable.
Here's to Faith, Hope and Trey Love.
- L.
Missy Love began her "Support Trey Love" update with these words, last night. An anguished mother, putting every ounce of her being into praying for a miracle - shedding her pride, and shamelessly asking for help from anyone who can give it - because she feels utterly helpless. I can barely read through my tears, and I ask myself, "What can I do?" I don't know the Loves personally, and I'm in awe of their strength and the community's response to their plight. There IS good in this world. There ARE kind people everywhere, willing to share their love, their support and their prayers.
I ask myself, "What can I do?" - and I'm instantly ashamed. What can I do? I'm not in the area, I don't know them personally, I don't have extra time or money - I'm immediately overwhelmed. I'm overwhelmed, and I'm ashamed because I have no right to be overwhelmed. My struggles are nothing compared to what this family is going through. They pray for a miracle, and I continue to ask why. I'm afraid that the prayers are falling on deaf ears - because I can't understand why a miracle is necessary. If there is a God, and God is good, wouldn't He have spared them by now? And I realize I'm no good to the Loves. I can't help, if I don't believe. I can't help, if I don't make the time. I can't help, if I'm focusing inward.
And what if Trey Love is an example? What if this little hero was put on this Earth to make me - and others like me - see the truth? What if we lose him, and the spirits of his mommy and daddy die with him, and we still think we have an endless supply of time? So, I considered the lesson a young man like Trey Love can teach us. And I considered the sacrifice he may be making for all of us. And I considered how unfair all of that is, and how horrific, and sadistic and cold. But, I considered it anyway. If Trey Love is fighting this battle, what can make the battle worth fighting? What can make his pain worth enduring? And maybe nothing can come close. Maybe nothing is enough. But at the very least, we have to say we didn't waste the time we had. We have to hold up our ends of the bargain. We have to do everything we can to validate our existence on this Earth, if Love is fighting for life - and especially if Love could be lost.
I took a look deep inside, and I know I'm not living up to my end of the bargain. I waste time, I waste money, I waste ME - repeatedly. I've gotten accustomed to the art of avoidance, and I live in a world where hiding is my first defense. Enter discomfort, and I turn away, run away, hide, or protect myself with some form of anesthesia. Discomfort isn't an option. Escape is the only route to safety. And what am I saying to this brave little boy? This innocent child who doesn't have a choice? This family who desperately prays for a miracle? I'm a cop out. And I know I'm not the only one. But that doesn't make it any easier on the conscience.
So, my commitment to Trey is to think of his example, when I'm tempted to run. To consider his bravery, when I just want to hide. To stop looking for an escape, when I know that my time here is limited. Of course he has my prayers and my support, but he also has my commitment to be a better ME, and I'm letting him hold me accountable.
Here's to Faith, Hope and Trey Love.
- L.
Monday, March 21, 2011
The Meanest Fans in America
GQ writer, Adam Winer, recently published his list of The Worst Sports Fans in America. I have to say, I'm not at all surprised that our City of Brotherly Love ranked high on his list. Haven't we heard it all before?
Whiner - Err...Winer - writes:
Blah, blah, blah. I have one word for GQ: "BOOOOOOOOO!!" Seriously. If I have to hear the "Philly booed Santa Claus" argument one more time, I'm going to puke on someone, myself. Since when is a drunk guy in a red suit not deserving of a little heckling? St. Nick is just a fairytale, after all. It's not like we're booing the Pope. Although, let's not put it past us.
"Over the years, Philadelphia fans have booed Santa Claus as well as their own star players. They've even booed a guy who just helped the city win a friggin' World Series title—while he was getting his ring. Boooo! Admittedly, there are some things fans have cheered. Like Michael Irvin's career-ending neck injury and a fan being tased on the outfield grass. Things reached their nadir last season, when Citizens Bank Park played host to arguably the most heinous incident in the history of sports: A drunken fan intentionally vomited on an 11-year-old girl. The truth is this: All told, Philadelphia stadiums house the most monstrous collection of humanity outside of the federal penal system. "Some of these people would boo the crack in the Liberty Bell," baseball legend Pete Rose once said. More likely, these savages would have thrown the battery that cracked it."
And consider for a minute, the Winer's side - We cheered when Michael Irvin went down. Wrong? Sure. Insensitive? Absolutely. No one wishes injury on anyone - but put a bunch of drunk people in a stadium, playing their arch nemesis, and seeing the opponent's star receiver get taken out? The cheers might just slip out. It's not like anyone knew the injury was career-ending for Irvin (who was known for smack talking and drug abuse, by the way). And if you want to talk about Pete Rose, let he who's without sin cast the first battery.
My point is this: Get a bunch of drunk people together, add in some passion, sprinkle it with a little stupidity, and you have a recipe for disaster. Philly isn't the only habitat that acts as a greenhouse for obnoxious fans. Maybe sometimes it seems like they're more concentrated here, maybe they just get more publicity, or maybe we feel a slight tug toward living up to the rep - but I have to say, these things don't JUST happen in Philly. I lived in Pittsburgh for years, and I've been abused by many a Yinzer. Don't let the blue collar Philly haters fool you. They sell "F*$% Philly" shirts at every Steeler/Eagle match-up at Heinz field. They also insist on hating the Green, regardless of the fact that we aren't in the same conference, and we share the same hatred for "America's Team."
Let's rewind to 1989. As a young Troiani, I was christened by fire. First live game: Veteran's Stadium, Eagles vs. Dallas, ice balls everywhere, referee down, Jimmy Johnson escorted off the field by policemen on horses - not to mention the bounty Buddy put on Zendejas. I learned quickly, "It's not easy being Green." I remember my dad telling me "Wait here. Don't talk to anyone," while he used the facilities. I also remember a guy with a blow up Dallas helmet, who went into the restroom behind him. I heard a scuffle, a couple of expletives, and a loud, "F@ggot!" The gent came hobbling out, with a deflated ego....and helmet.
So, yes. Philly fans are passionate. And we have some drunks. And we all know that passion and alcohol don't mix. Add in a little stupidity, and you're spelling trouble. No matter where you are. All I can say is, we love our teams. If you don't want to be heckled, don't come to our house, and disrespect us. I don't condone violence, but the world of sport isn't for the weak and weary. Show up in a Cowgirl jersey, and we'll punch you in the mouth. And we won't feel sorry about it. No, not at all. We're proud of our teams, we stand up for our teams, and when it's necessary, we give our teams some tough love. Our guys can take a boo or two - and that's what it means to be strong. We might ask a lot, but we're willing to bleed - and that's what it means to be a fan.
- - L.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Love Makes the World Go Round
I woke up this morning to a story of a little boy and his family, going through the unimaginable, fighting the impossible. A little boy plagued with cancer, destined to lose everything, before he even has a chance to live. Trey Love hopes to turn 5 in October, but might never have the chance, and all day, I've been thinking of his family and his friends, and wondering how anyone wakes up with hope every day, when such tragedy exists.
Trey's parents are Phoenixville residents, but spend most of their time at CHOP, with their brave little son. Bouts of chemotherapy and surgeries, and the little man stays lively and strong. I wonder, how do his parents deal with the day to day, the helplessness, the pain, the overwhelming need to keep trying? How do they do it, when every day - I feel defeated? Every day, I succumb to the pressure to be perfect, the need to succeed. Every day, I beat myself up for not being enough, for not living my life the way I should.
Look at our problems. Compare them. Love wins - hands down. What have I got to complain about? Why am I struggling? This child is dying, and his parents will die with him, and I complain about my lack of motivation, about missing my zest for life. Seriously. If I could give that child a new world, I would do it, in a heartbeat. Give it to someone who needs it. Hand it to someone who's earned it.
Trey Love is an inspiration. He didn't ask for the challenge, but he fights through it, every day. His parents recognize the importance of the battle, and they know they might not win. No one should need to endure the pain and futility they've had to endure, and yet, they do it every day. Mike Love tells the world he's not afraid to ask for help - not now - and that, in itself, is a huge admission. It's hard to ask for help - to feel deserving of help - but he knows they need it, and he knows they'll give it back, one day.
There's a vigil in Reeve's Park tonight. Phoenixville natives are attending, and lighting candles for Trey and his family. I'm not there, but I'm there in spirit. Bless everyone who came out to show their support, and much love to the family of that little hero. No matter what happens, I'd like to thank the Loves for sharing their story, and for putting life in perspective. I'll think of Trey, when I'm tempted to be selfish, when I fall into the "Woe is me" trap.
I truly hope the light of the candles shines upon him, and his suffering is lessened by the love and goodness in this world. Thank you, Phoenixville, for stepping up. And please, help if you can -
http://www.causes.com/causes/124694-support-trey-love
- - L.
Trey's parents are Phoenixville residents, but spend most of their time at CHOP, with their brave little son. Bouts of chemotherapy and surgeries, and the little man stays lively and strong. I wonder, how do his parents deal with the day to day, the helplessness, the pain, the overwhelming need to keep trying? How do they do it, when every day - I feel defeated? Every day, I succumb to the pressure to be perfect, the need to succeed. Every day, I beat myself up for not being enough, for not living my life the way I should.
Look at our problems. Compare them. Love wins - hands down. What have I got to complain about? Why am I struggling? This child is dying, and his parents will die with him, and I complain about my lack of motivation, about missing my zest for life. Seriously. If I could give that child a new world, I would do it, in a heartbeat. Give it to someone who needs it. Hand it to someone who's earned it.
Trey Love is an inspiration. He didn't ask for the challenge, but he fights through it, every day. His parents recognize the importance of the battle, and they know they might not win. No one should need to endure the pain and futility they've had to endure, and yet, they do it every day. Mike Love tells the world he's not afraid to ask for help - not now - and that, in itself, is a huge admission. It's hard to ask for help - to feel deserving of help - but he knows they need it, and he knows they'll give it back, one day.
There's a vigil in Reeve's Park tonight. Phoenixville natives are attending, and lighting candles for Trey and his family. I'm not there, but I'm there in spirit. Bless everyone who came out to show their support, and much love to the family of that little hero. No matter what happens, I'd like to thank the Loves for sharing their story, and for putting life in perspective. I'll think of Trey, when I'm tempted to be selfish, when I fall into the "Woe is me" trap.
I truly hope the light of the candles shines upon him, and his suffering is lessened by the love and goodness in this world. Thank you, Phoenixville, for stepping up. And please, help if you can -
http://www.causes.com/causes/124694-support-trey-love
- - L.
Friday, March 18, 2011
March Madness
{Julius Caesar} "The Ides of March have come."
{The Seer} "Ay, they have come, but they are not gone."
"Beware the Ides of March." Shakespeare illuminated Caesar's fate, with this foreboding statement. We all know how it ends - Caesar betrayed, stabbed, left to die. And the words, "Et tu, Brute?" twist the knife even deeper. And you, Brutus? Even you?
March is the time - in like a lion, out like a lamb - or, so it goes. If we're lucky, the month gets peppered with occasional warm, sunny days - teasers - wetting our appetites for Spring. The remnants of winter remain - the last minute snows, the relentless rain, the deadly morning frosts. They mock us, like the Ides of March. Beware: They've come, but they have not yet gone.
And why is it that winter seems to plague us? And even those of us only mildly affected by the cold perk up at the first signs of springtime? The first 70 plus degree day, and everyone is riding around with their tops down, walking their dogs, baring their white legs, soaking it all up like lizards, sunning themselves on the rocks.
Something about this time of year is inspiring to the masses. Be it religious beliefs, changes in climate, or positive effects on brain chemistry - Spring - even glimpses of Spring - represent rebirth. New life surfaces everywhere - naturally, physically, emotionally. We all start stirring, as if we were wakened from months of hibernation. And yet, all Winter long, we go through the motions. It's not as if we've really been sleeping. We have the holiday season, the snow removal, sporting events. Winter isn't dead and barren. Why this collective gasp for air? Why do we cling to Spring?
All I can say, is it feels good. The first sign of Spring shows up like a ray of hope. The first warm day, like a pat on the back - a reward, for all we've endured. Spring is a promise of better days to come, and whether March is just a tease, or gives birth to the season, it somehow mothers us all. We're seduced by the Ides of March, for all they represent. One warm day, and we forget about the lion - We embrace the lamb. One sign of Spring, and we're blinded by hope. We ignore the Seer's warning, and fall prey to the madness. Et tu, March? Even you?
-- L.
{The Seer} "Ay, they have come, but they are not gone."
"Beware the Ides of March." Shakespeare illuminated Caesar's fate, with this foreboding statement. We all know how it ends - Caesar betrayed, stabbed, left to die. And the words, "Et tu, Brute?" twist the knife even deeper. And you, Brutus? Even you?
March is the time - in like a lion, out like a lamb - or, so it goes. If we're lucky, the month gets peppered with occasional warm, sunny days - teasers - wetting our appetites for Spring. The remnants of winter remain - the last minute snows, the relentless rain, the deadly morning frosts. They mock us, like the Ides of March. Beware: They've come, but they have not yet gone.
And why is it that winter seems to plague us? And even those of us only mildly affected by the cold perk up at the first signs of springtime? The first 70 plus degree day, and everyone is riding around with their tops down, walking their dogs, baring their white legs, soaking it all up like lizards, sunning themselves on the rocks.
Something about this time of year is inspiring to the masses. Be it religious beliefs, changes in climate, or positive effects on brain chemistry - Spring - even glimpses of Spring - represent rebirth. New life surfaces everywhere - naturally, physically, emotionally. We all start stirring, as if we were wakened from months of hibernation. And yet, all Winter long, we go through the motions. It's not as if we've really been sleeping. We have the holiday season, the snow removal, sporting events. Winter isn't dead and barren. Why this collective gasp for air? Why do we cling to Spring?
All I can say, is it feels good. The first sign of Spring shows up like a ray of hope. The first warm day, like a pat on the back - a reward, for all we've endured. Spring is a promise of better days to come, and whether March is just a tease, or gives birth to the season, it somehow mothers us all. We're seduced by the Ides of March, for all they represent. One warm day, and we forget about the lion - We embrace the lamb. One sign of Spring, and we're blinded by hope. We ignore the Seer's warning, and fall prey to the madness. Et tu, March? Even you?
-- L.
Monday, March 14, 2011
As You Were
"We don't see things as THEY are - We see them as WE are." - - Anais Nin
One of my favorite quotes, and so true. At least.....I think it's true. The statement implies that we don't really see the truth, the whole truth, but rather, a skewed version of the truth. I'm not sure it means reality is up for interpretation. Although, it seems to imply that each of us views our surroundings in such a way that reality, in its purest form is unrecognizable to us. We see only the truth we can relate to. Only the message we comprehend.
If what Anais Nin says is true, we all see things a bit differently. One could argue for or against the benefits of diversity, but it should be noted - so many of us don't fully understand who WE are. And, what then? This leads me to believe that not only are so many of us are incapable of seeing things as THEY are, but so many of us don't see things clearly at all.
This really puts a strain on those of us trying to "find ourselves" in this world. If we don't know ourselves, if we haven't defined ourselves, then - How DO we see things? Do we listen to the masses? Do we jump to conclusions? Do we let other people define us? Are we at risk of allowing other lost people to influence our opinions? Imagine that. A world full of people who don't know themselves, seeing the world through twice-removed sets of eyes. I don't like what I'm seeing, here.
And yet, we have to admit the uncertainty exists. Some of us think we see things clearly. Some of us repeatedly seek guidance. Some of us continuously question ourselves - and others. Some of us just don't know what to believe. Where is the truth in all of this ambiguity?
Living with all of this uncertainty is difficult. As human beings, we crave truth. We need validation. People feed on knowledge, faith, love and friendship. Connection is key. Understanding, based on likeness - of how we see things. Without truth, we're unstable, we're unsure. We don't know how to put one foot in front of the other. We don't know how to take that first step, toward finding ourselves.
So, the chicken and the egg reappear. How do you find yourself without knowing what's true, and how do you recognize YOUR truth, when you don't know who you are? And is it all hard and fast and true - or, are our worlds really what we make of them? In a world of uncertainty, how do we find our way? And how do we do it without latching on to others' truths? What makes us choose to lead, instead of follow?
I don't know the answers. I only know that uncertainty exists. And that Anais Nin was a wise woman. We bring home what's real and fast and true - for US. We believe what touches our hearts. We see what appeals to our senses of self. Take it in. Take it all in, and build on it. How you see things becomes how you see the world - and what the world represents to you. Don't cheat yourself out of the beauty. Don't deny yourself the experience. Don't be afraid of being yourself. The world really is what you make of it.
Get to know yourselves, and see things as YOU are.
- L.
One of my favorite quotes, and so true. At least.....I think it's true. The statement implies that we don't really see the truth, the whole truth, but rather, a skewed version of the truth. I'm not sure it means reality is up for interpretation. Although, it seems to imply that each of us views our surroundings in such a way that reality, in its purest form is unrecognizable to us. We see only the truth we can relate to. Only the message we comprehend.
If what Anais Nin says is true, we all see things a bit differently. One could argue for or against the benefits of diversity, but it should be noted - so many of us don't fully understand who WE are. And, what then? This leads me to believe that not only are so many of us are incapable of seeing things as THEY are, but so many of us don't see things clearly at all.
This really puts a strain on those of us trying to "find ourselves" in this world. If we don't know ourselves, if we haven't defined ourselves, then - How DO we see things? Do we listen to the masses? Do we jump to conclusions? Do we let other people define us? Are we at risk of allowing other lost people to influence our opinions? Imagine that. A world full of people who don't know themselves, seeing the world through twice-removed sets of eyes. I don't like what I'm seeing, here.
And yet, we have to admit the uncertainty exists. Some of us think we see things clearly. Some of us repeatedly seek guidance. Some of us continuously question ourselves - and others. Some of us just don't know what to believe. Where is the truth in all of this ambiguity?
Living with all of this uncertainty is difficult. As human beings, we crave truth. We need validation. People feed on knowledge, faith, love and friendship. Connection is key. Understanding, based on likeness - of how we see things. Without truth, we're unstable, we're unsure. We don't know how to put one foot in front of the other. We don't know how to take that first step, toward finding ourselves.
So, the chicken and the egg reappear. How do you find yourself without knowing what's true, and how do you recognize YOUR truth, when you don't know who you are? And is it all hard and fast and true - or, are our worlds really what we make of them? In a world of uncertainty, how do we find our way? And how do we do it without latching on to others' truths? What makes us choose to lead, instead of follow?
I don't know the answers. I only know that uncertainty exists. And that Anais Nin was a wise woman. We bring home what's real and fast and true - for US. We believe what touches our hearts. We see what appeals to our senses of self. Take it in. Take it all in, and build on it. How you see things becomes how you see the world - and what the world represents to you. Don't cheat yourself out of the beauty. Don't deny yourself the experience. Don't be afraid of being yourself. The world really is what you make of it.
Get to know yourselves, and see things as YOU are.
- L.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Fear Between Divides Us
"The future is no place, to place your better days." - DMB
Borrowing from one of my Facebook posts today, and coincidentally, another Dave Matthews song - I'm using the quote above to elaborate on a central theme in my life. Specifically: Waiting for it to start.
I know I'm not the only one guilty of procrastination. I'll work on that tomorrow, We'll talk about it tomorrow, I'll lose weight - TOMORROW. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It always seems like a cleaner, easier option. Tomorrow - not as muddy as today, not as challenging as mustering up the courage NOW. Like Annie says, "The sun'll come out - TOMORROW." Somehow, tomorrow is full of possibility. Tomorrow is full of dreams. Tomorrow is that transparent, dangling carrot.
So, placing your better days in your future is natural. There's a certain yellow hope that rides on the future - a certain promise, an unblemished dream. At least, for me. Each new day, I wake to believe that it's all still possible. I'm still destined to be special, still waiting to be born. I make decisions, make plans, make promises. It feels real, every morning. It still feels possible.
And then,the night comes. I look at the "To Do" list, only half checked off (if I'm lucky), and I see myself in the mirror. And I realize, the only changes made today are negative at best, and I resign myself to a glass of wine, a seat on the couch. I surrender to tomorrow. Tomorrow. Every day, is leading to tomorrow.
And while I want to keep believing in the possibility of tomorrow, I understand what Dave is saying, when he sings, "The future is no place, to place your better days." The time is now. You have to live your lives today, and not wake up, waiting for them to begin, not go home to spouses you can't love, or careers you don't embrace. You can't lay down and accept today, because TOMORROW is the be all and end all. Because every time you wake, tomorrow becomes today, and your happiness is still one day ahead.
So, what makes us put off until tomorrow, what we can do today? In a society where people need instant gratification, what makes us satisfied with postponing our happiness? If we're malcontent, why do we wait? Why does procrastination become so central to our existence?
And for me, I think it's fear - Not so much fear of failure, but fear of not being perfect. Fear of not living up to my own expectations, fear of creating something perfect that can't exist without being marred in some way - big or small. I spend so much time planning, wishing, wanting, and yet - I'm afraid of DOING. I'm drawn to the possibilities, I'm inspired by the challenge, I even like the chase - but I'm afraid of doing it wrong, afraid of the imperfect, afraid of not being quite.....right.
So, I place my better days in the future. I live for tomorrow - and the hope that it will bring me everything I need, that I'll be every thing I need - one day. The "fear between divides us," all of us - but divides me internally. Who I am/ Who I want to be.....still separated by fear. And maybe not just fear of failure, but fear that what I want just doesn't exist. Fear that I'll create my world, and it'll disappear slowly, under my feet. Fear that it wasn't meant to be. Fear that the sun won't come out - tomorrow.
So, no matter what the issues are, I think we'll agree that we have to keep trying. Try not to place all of your faith in tomorrow, try to live a little bit for today. Try not to fear the unknown, try not to lose faith in what's possible. And if you get a little lost, a little stuck, remember the words of Scarlett O'hara, "After all, tomorrow IS another day."
- L.
Borrowing from one of my Facebook posts today, and coincidentally, another Dave Matthews song - I'm using the quote above to elaborate on a central theme in my life. Specifically: Waiting for it to start.
I know I'm not the only one guilty of procrastination. I'll work on that tomorrow, We'll talk about it tomorrow, I'll lose weight - TOMORROW. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It always seems like a cleaner, easier option. Tomorrow - not as muddy as today, not as challenging as mustering up the courage NOW. Like Annie says, "The sun'll come out - TOMORROW." Somehow, tomorrow is full of possibility. Tomorrow is full of dreams. Tomorrow is that transparent, dangling carrot.
So, placing your better days in your future is natural. There's a certain yellow hope that rides on the future - a certain promise, an unblemished dream. At least, for me. Each new day, I wake to believe that it's all still possible. I'm still destined to be special, still waiting to be born. I make decisions, make plans, make promises. It feels real, every morning. It still feels possible.
And then,the night comes. I look at the "To Do" list, only half checked off (if I'm lucky), and I see myself in the mirror. And I realize, the only changes made today are negative at best, and I resign myself to a glass of wine, a seat on the couch. I surrender to tomorrow. Tomorrow. Every day, is leading to tomorrow.
And while I want to keep believing in the possibility of tomorrow, I understand what Dave is saying, when he sings, "The future is no place, to place your better days." The time is now. You have to live your lives today, and not wake up, waiting for them to begin, not go home to spouses you can't love, or careers you don't embrace. You can't lay down and accept today, because TOMORROW is the be all and end all. Because every time you wake, tomorrow becomes today, and your happiness is still one day ahead.
So, what makes us put off until tomorrow, what we can do today? In a society where people need instant gratification, what makes us satisfied with postponing our happiness? If we're malcontent, why do we wait? Why does procrastination become so central to our existence?
And for me, I think it's fear - Not so much fear of failure, but fear of not being perfect. Fear of not living up to my own expectations, fear of creating something perfect that can't exist without being marred in some way - big or small. I spend so much time planning, wishing, wanting, and yet - I'm afraid of DOING. I'm drawn to the possibilities, I'm inspired by the challenge, I even like the chase - but I'm afraid of doing it wrong, afraid of the imperfect, afraid of not being quite.....right.
So, I place my better days in the future. I live for tomorrow - and the hope that it will bring me everything I need, that I'll be every thing I need - one day. The "fear between divides us," all of us - but divides me internally. Who I am/ Who I want to be.....still separated by fear. And maybe not just fear of failure, but fear that what I want just doesn't exist. Fear that I'll create my world, and it'll disappear slowly, under my feet. Fear that it wasn't meant to be. Fear that the sun won't come out - tomorrow.
So, no matter what the issues are, I think we'll agree that we have to keep trying. Try not to place all of your faith in tomorrow, try to live a little bit for today. Try not to fear the unknown, try not to lose faith in what's possible. And if you get a little lost, a little stuck, remember the words of Scarlett O'hara, "After all, tomorrow IS another day."
- L.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
How ARE You?
So, let's talk about the relatively casual, usually rhetorical, question: How ARE you? I think it's safe to say, an acceptable answer is "Fine, thank you. And you?" Let's be honest, anything above "fine" or "good" is surprising, and oddly reassuring - but anything under "fine" or "good" is best kept under wraps. People don't really want to hear about your aches and pains, physical or otherwise, unless they're somehow emotionally vested in your well being.
To be truthful, my honest answer to the question would be "I'm overwhelmed. Probably 99% of the time." And then, I started to think about what that meant, and realized - we never use the word: "Whelmed." We're always, OVERwhelmed. So, what does it mean to be just plain whelmed? And the fact is, I really don't know. I never even considered it. It seems like one day, I woke up, and all of the sudden - I was overwhelmed. I can't determine when, - or if - there was a specific time when I crossed the line between "whelmed" and "overwhelmed." Almost like being whelmed is all or nothing. Either you're overcome with the feeling, or it's not there at all.
According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of "Overwhelmed" is:
o·ver·whelm Verb /ˌōvərˈ(h)welm/- overwhelms 3rd person singular present; overwhelming present participle; overwhelmedpast tense; overwhelmed past participle
- Bury or drown beneath a huge mass
- the water flowed through to overwhelm the whole dam and the village beneath
- Defeat completely
- his teams overwhelmed their opponents
- Give too much of a thing to (someone); inundate
- they were overwhelmed by farewell messages
- Have a strong emotional effect on
- I was overwhelmed with guilt
- Be too strong for; overpower
- the wine doesn't overwhelm the flavor of the trout
Defeat completely? Uhh....not completely. Losing the battle, maybe? Falling behind?
Give too much - Hmmm......this one, I can relate to. At least, wanting to give too much. Trying to give too much.
Strong emotional effects. Let's talk about guilt for a minute. Guilt is a HUGE factor for me. Feeling guilty, saying sorry, wanting to carry other people's burdens. Stopping to take inventory is something I rarely do. WHAT am I carrying? WHY am I carrying it, and WHO am I carrying it for?
Be too strong for; overpower. Well, not yet. Not to say the journey doesn't get rough, but it hasn't beaten me completely. There are days when I feel like it's stronger, when I feel like I'm weak, but the wine doesn't overwhelm this fish either. I keep swimming upstream.
In considering everything above, it seems like OVERwhelmed is probably the wrong word to sum up my well-being, and I'm going to attempt not to use it, going forward.
Let's look at the definition of "Whelmed":
- whelm Noun /(h)welm/
- whelms plural
- An act or instance of flowing or heaping up abundantly; a surge
- the whelm of the tide
- whelm Verb /(h)welm/
- whelmed past participle; whelming present participle; whelmed past tense; whelms3rd person singular present
- Engulf, submerge, or bury (someone or something)
- a swimmer whelmed in a raging storm
- Flow or heap up abundantly
- the brook whelmed up from its source
- Flowing or heaping up abundantly? Well, yes. That's my life. And yes, I feel like I'm engulfed in it sometimes. But, abundance can be curbed and controlled. The power of being whelmed can be captured, and dammed, and used to propel us forward - we don't have to be flooded and consumed. Before we resign to being overwhelmed, we should ask ourselves if we've actually crossed that blurry line from "whelmed" to "overwhelmed." Chances are, we haven't. And like me, the next time someone sincerely asks, "How are you?" You'll answer, "Fine, thank you. How are you?" And we'll mean it.
- L.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Too Much
I spent the first 8 years and 8 months of my life as an only child, until my brother was born on December 8, 1982. Being so much older gave me some advantages. We didn't grow up together. I was far enough ahead that I had a different perspective. I watched him grow, from a baby to an adult, and pieces of his childhood stick with me today.
There was a time when Dante was probably 2 or 3, and he would ask for things - juice, candy, whatever he wanted at the moment. My mom would encourage moderation, saying, "Not too much." Dante would cry, and say, "I WANT TOO MUCH!! I NEED TOO MUCH!" I often smile or laugh, remembering these tantrums. A huge piece of me still relates to this feeling, and while he didn't understand what he was saying at the time, I'm sure he feels it now.
The Dave Matthews Band effectively sums things up with the lyrics: "I eat too much. I drink too much. I want too much. Too much." Indeed. This theme has become central to the heart of America. So many shows about losing weight, addictions, rehab. A whole society of people, struggling to fill their voids. And a whole culture of lost Americans, sitting home watching, cheering them on.
Googling Obesity and Alcoholism, I came across the following:
America has the highest obesity rates in the world.
64% of adults in the United States of America are overweight or obese.
There are more than 12 million alcoholics in the U.S.
So, while it's obvious that America has an obsession with "Too Much," I can only ask the masses: What are we so hungry for? In a society, where we're blessed with the freedom to live, the freedom to choose, why do so many of us choose to feed our hunger in detrimental ways? Understanding that circumstance plays a role, and not everyone actively chooses his/her own fate, focus on those of us who do. Look at the educated, financially stable, socialized people, still yearning to breathe free. WHAT are we hungry for?
I think we all have voids - some bigger and more painful than others - but we all fill them in different ways. What makes us choose one way over another is intriguing. What makes us choose the negative over the positive is so complex, that maybe I'll never fully understand. But it's obvious that choosing that negative can only lead to a form of paralysis so disabling that people forget how to live. And if wanting and needing too much, can lead to silencing and stifling a person, what have we become? How do we find ourselves, when in searching we do everything we can to suppress and negate our needs? How do we live, when we feed on the things that can't satisfy, when we thirst for the things that make us numb?
I don't have the answers, but I see the pattern. Too much is fueling us. Too much is killing us. Too much is out there asking what we're hungry for. What ARE we hungry for?
- L.
There was a time when Dante was probably 2 or 3, and he would ask for things - juice, candy, whatever he wanted at the moment. My mom would encourage moderation, saying, "Not too much." Dante would cry, and say, "I WANT TOO MUCH!! I NEED TOO MUCH!" I often smile or laugh, remembering these tantrums. A huge piece of me still relates to this feeling, and while he didn't understand what he was saying at the time, I'm sure he feels it now.
The Dave Matthews Band effectively sums things up with the lyrics: "I eat too much. I drink too much. I want too much. Too much." Indeed. This theme has become central to the heart of America. So many shows about losing weight, addictions, rehab. A whole society of people, struggling to fill their voids. And a whole culture of lost Americans, sitting home watching, cheering them on.
Googling Obesity and Alcoholism, I came across the following:
America has the highest obesity rates in the world.
64% of adults in the United States of America are overweight or obese.
- Obesity is the #2 cause of preventable death in the United States
- 60 million Americans, 20 years and older are obese
- 9 million children and teens ages 6-19 are overweight
- Being overweight or obese increases the risk of health conditions and diseases including: Breast cancer, Coronary heart disease, Type II diabetes, Sleep apnea, Gallbladder disease, Osteoarthritis, Colon cancer, Hypertension and Stroke
There are more than 12 million alcoholics in the U.S.
- Three-fourths of all adults drink alcohol, and 6% of them are alcoholics.
- Americans spend $197 million each day on alcohol.
- In the United States, a person is killed in an alcohol-related car accident every 30 minutes.
- A 2000 study found nearly 7 million persons age 12 to 20 were binge drinkers.
- Three-fourths of all high school seniors report being drunk at least once.
- Adolescents who begin drinking before the age of 15 are four times more likely to become alcoholics than their counterparts who do not begin drinking until the age of 21.
- People with a higher education are more likely to drink.
- Higher income people are more likely to drink.
So, while it's obvious that America has an obsession with "Too Much," I can only ask the masses: What are we so hungry for? In a society, where we're blessed with the freedom to live, the freedom to choose, why do so many of us choose to feed our hunger in detrimental ways? Understanding that circumstance plays a role, and not everyone actively chooses his/her own fate, focus on those of us who do. Look at the educated, financially stable, socialized people, still yearning to breathe free. WHAT are we hungry for?
I think we all have voids - some bigger and more painful than others - but we all fill them in different ways. What makes us choose one way over another is intriguing. What makes us choose the negative over the positive is so complex, that maybe I'll never fully understand. But it's obvious that choosing that negative can only lead to a form of paralysis so disabling that people forget how to live. And if wanting and needing too much, can lead to silencing and stifling a person, what have we become? How do we find ourselves, when in searching we do everything we can to suppress and negate our needs? How do we live, when we feed on the things that can't satisfy, when we thirst for the things that make us numb?
I don't have the answers, but I see the pattern. Too much is fueling us. Too much is killing us. Too much is out there asking what we're hungry for. What ARE we hungry for?
- L.
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