Friday deep thoughts

Mountain ash tree in our backyard

Maybe the only thing that is really true right now is that we are all alive. If I'm sitting here typing this, and you're reading it, we each have a pulse, and I can press a finger to my wrist and feel it. We're breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I can feel the keys under my fingers, I can see the cat sleeping next to me on the sofa, I can hear traffic in the distance through the open window, faintly taste the granola I had for breakfast. Maybe that's where we start. 

If you've been around for awhile, you've seen the quote below, because I think this is at least the fourth time I've posted it. It's my favorite quote from Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzburg, and one of my touchstones since I first read it a dozen years ago: 

"Faith does not require a belief system, and is not necessarily connected to a deity or God, though it doesn't deny one. ...faith is not a commodity that we have or don't have-- it is an inner quality that unfolds as we learn to trust our own deepest experience.... No matter what we encounter in life, it is faith that enables us to try again, to trust again, to love again. Even in times of immense suffering, it is faith that enables us to relate to the present moment in such a way that we can go on, we can move forward, instead of becoming lost in resignation or despair. Faith links our present-day experience, whether wonderful or terrible, to the underlying pulse of life itself."  -- Sharon Salzburg, in Faith: Trusting Your Own Deepest Experience

"The underlying pulse of life itself." 

Have a great weekend. 

The things I carry and the summer reading report

I've told you before that I have headaches that start in my neck and shoulders. So it should be obvious that I need to think about the stuff that I carry around all the time-- like my bag. But honestly, it hadn't even occurred to me until this week when I heard a podcast host mention in passing that she hated carrying a big bag because it made her shoulders hurt. 

So the next day, I got out my kitchen scale and started weighing all the stuff in my bag (enneagram 5, yup), and deciding what I could get rid of. I have always been an over-packer. I carry all kinds of stuff that I might need-- bandaids, eye-drops, migraine meds, advil, cough drops, post-it notes, a mini pad of paper, pens (several), two kinds of lip balm, flossers, 3-4 reusable shopping bags-- you get the idea. LOTS of stuff.

But it's all stuff I like having with me. I don't really want to get rid of any of it. My heaviest items were the things that are non-negotiable: wallet (11 ounces), phone (7 ounces), and checkbook (5 ounces). So I started by nixing the multiples--maybe I could get by with one shopping bag, one pen, a couple of index cards instead of a pad of paper, two bandaids instead of a dozen, etc. At first it didn't seem like it was going to make any difference, but it ended up being a couple of pounds lighter, and it's noticeable. Why didn't I think of this years ago?

It's occurring to me that under the circumstances (ie., headaches that start in my neck and shoulders), maybe I should re-think my philosophy of Personal Junk Transportation. Maybe I should keep the extra stuff in my car and just carry my phone, ID, and a couple of credit cards in one of those phone cases. Will be thinking more about this. If you have any good advice, let me know.

Hmmm. Also. Maybe I should join the 21st century and realize I don't need to carry a checkbook all the time. I only go one place that requires a check, and I always drive there so it could be one of the things I keep in my car. Hmmmm.

 Summer Reading Report:

"Fascinating" and "thought-provoking" don't always go with "couldn't put it down," but that's how I felt about The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Ann Fadiman. It's older-- I think it was written back in the 90s-- but it feels like it was written last year (other than the occasional reference to a cassette deck and the lack of cell phones). Very relevant to some things that are going on now, and highly, highly recommended. Everyone should read this book.

The rest of these are grouped by mood, but other than that they're not in any particular order.

Other books from the "fascinating" category: Packing for Mars by Mary Roach, The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery (interesting but got a little long for me), The Library Book by Susan Orlean (definitely not in the "couldn't put it down" category, but still interesting).

Really fun to read: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli (high schooler deals with his first real crush and coming out), The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune (fastidious, rule-following inspector for the Department in Charge of Magical Youth is sent on a new assignment where none of his previous experience seems to apply), With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo (teen mom who is a gifted chef works hard to make her dreams come true), Get a Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert ("open door" interracial romance), Big Summer by Jennifer Weiner (plus-size influencer is asked by her high school nemesis to be in her wedding). 

Mystery/Dramatic/Great Reading But Not Exactly "Fun": Hidden Depths by Ann Cleeves (my first Vera Stanhope mystery and I loved it), The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin (dystopian sci-fi), Celine by Peter Heller (a female P.I. of a certain age tries to find a missing dad), The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller (didn't especially like this at first but by the end she had won me over), Network Effect (Murderbot Diaries #5, really should read the series in order, and the first one is short so it's easy to figure out if you will like it)(I do, a lot). 

Not for me: Mexican Gothic which I had heard was more eerie than horror. The podcast host who recommended it compared it to Jane Eyre or Rebecca, both of which I loved, but NO. I can't say more than that without spoilers but... well, ok, I'll put a spoiler at the end and you can see what you think, see below. It's beautifully written and once I was into it I had to finish it to see what happened but good grief, I could not read it before bed, which is my main reading time.

*****SPOILER ALERT****** for Mexican Gothic

Seriously. An ancient evil being who inhabits an elderly man vomits black fungus yuckiness into the mouth of our heroine-- how is that possibly not horror?? That was the worst scene but it wasn't the only one in that vein. Sheesh. Really wish I could un-read that scene.

*********END SPOILER***************

7ToF: an update on my efforts to de-plastic and de-Amazon my life, and a brilliant travel plan

1. You remember my New Year's resolve to cut down on single-use plastic (see the end of this post)? I'd give myself a B- on this so far. I've found some replacement products that are working well, and I've found them at Target, so you know that means that the anti-plastic movement has hit the middle class mainstream. So now I can usually (not always) avoid using ziplock bags. I'm partial to these brown paper sandwich bags because I can toss them and not have to bring home a dirty bag, but MadMax likes the reusable bags better (see photo).

I'm pretty consistent about using reusable bags for shopping and carrying my own water bottle. But that's about all I've done. I need to get back to putting energy into this. I confess I bought some reusable produce bags that are still in the box.

2. I'm not doing so well on disentangling myself from Amazon (if you missed the post on why I'm trying to avoid Amazon, it is here). There are so many things that we just can't get around here even when there's not a pandemic, and the shutdown definitely made it worse. I buy local when I can, and I've ordered stuff from Target, Wal-Mart, etc. when I can't. But I've also ordered stuff from the Big A. ("A" can stand for whatever you want to insert there, depending on mood.)

3. On the other hand, I am doing much better about not buying books from Amazon. I think I've only ordered one physical book from them in the past six months. Bookshop.org is great, and they've become my go-to for ordering actual physical books. They redistribute their profits among independent booksellers. It's not as fast as Amazon, but I rarely need the books on my doorstep in 48 hours. 

4. I was so committed to cutting back on my reliance on Amazon that I bought a refurbished Nook, Barnes&Noble's e-reader, in an effort to quit buying new books for my Kindle. It works fine, but I have to tell you there is no comparison between a Nook and a Kindle. The Kindle is more thoughtfully designed, has better back-lighting, and feels about three times faster. So I'm conflicted about this. Kindle e-readers are a good product that I really enjoy and use the heck out of. I'm hoping that recent pressure from publishers and maybe even some thoughtful legislation will level the playing field so that I can keep using my Kindle without feeling guilty about it, because I do love it. It's complicated.

5. One of my Instagram friends posted a picture of a trip to Barbados that she took a couple of years ago, mourning our inability to travel. I was suddenly struck by an intensity of longing to go somewhere that was so strong it was almost physically painful. God, I miss traveling. SO. MUCH. But then I had a brilliant idea. For me, about half the fun of travel is planning the trip, so what if I go ahead and plan a trip? Maybe we'll never actually do it, but I can order the books and do internet research and make a plan. I'm so excited about this. It is actually pretty difficult to get to the Caribbean from here (as opposed to Hawaii or Mexico, which are two short plane flights away), so maybe I will even take advantage of the fantasy aspect and plan a trip to Barbados. Or Turks & Caicos. Or St. Lucia. I don't know. I'm just getting started. 

6. A friend of mine told me recently that her GI doctor told her she should be taking a probiotic. I nodded along, half-listening, because I've been taking a probiotic off and on for years. I even buy the refrigerated kind. But then she said he told her it has to be a particular brand, Culturelle. And then she said, I've been taking it for a month now and it's like my metabolism is working again. Well, enough said, because we all know what it feels like to have your metabolism slooooooooow doooooown. Good grief. So I trotted off the next day to Target (they also have it at Costco, I haven't looked anywhere else), and I've been taking it for three weeks now, and I have to agree. I have no studies, nothing but my friend's anecdotal evidence and my own. But it's definitely worth a try. Also, it doesn't have to be refrigerated, so I actually remember to take it since it's in the same place as my other meds/vitamins.

7. This week's movie worth re-watching: Galaxy Quest. If you didn't like it the first time, re-watching won't change your mind, but it's one of our family favorites and it had been too long since we'd seen it. By Grabthar's hammer, what a savings. oh lord, do I love Alan Rickman. I could go on and on about lines that have entered our family conversations, sometimes without us even remembering where they came from. Those poor people. Could you fashion some sort of rudimentary lathe? Hey, I'm just jazzed to be on the show. That was a hell of a thing. And of course, Sigourney Weaver's classic, Look, I've got one job to do on this ship. It's stupid, but I'm going to do it.

Have a great weekend.

Dentists and shaming and another book on racism (too long)(again)

1. The dentist we'd been going to for years retired a couple of years ago. The younger dentist who bought her practice seemed perfectly competent, but every time I went in for cleaning or a checkup, I left feeling demoralized and shamed. She was very good at a sort of patronizing disdain that made me feel like my lack of perfect teeth was a moral failing. I thought it was just me being hypersensitive, as usual.

But after Dean and MadMax, without prompting, reported that they were starting to dread going to the dentist because she was so negative, we finally decided to switch. We love the new place. They're positive and encouraging, and even though I haven't changed a thing about how I clean my teeth, they frequently praise me for doing a good job. Thank you for being my easiest appointment of the day, my hygienist told me after my appointment last week.

2. I know you don't care about our dentist, but I'm making another point here. Last year I wrote a couple of posts (here and here) about understanding conservatives. I quit writing them--even though I could have gone on and on--mainly because I was so far out of my league, but also because I got so disgusted by some things conservatives did last year that I decided I was done defending them. But I have to say, here is another thing that drives conservatives nuts, and that their leadership is now capitalizing on: why are we (liberals) so damn negative? I have my theories about that, and maybe I'll write them out some other time. But it seems like liberals are always playing the moral outrage card, the finger-pointing card, the look! I found another way you're wrong! card. 

(For the record, this is not intended to be about the current argument about who has the most positive, hopeful convention. This was mostly written before either of the conventions, although I edited it today. Since I'm not a political junkie, I don't pay all that much attention to them, honestly.)

I am so tired of reading/listening to criticisms of our current president. I don't like him, either, but we're not changing any minds. Could we move on already. I think the lines are already drawn here. Either you think he's awesome, or you think he's ridiculous but he could be a decent president if people would just let him work, or you can't stand him (me). Continuing to harp on how horrible he is is a waste of energy when we really need to be working on other things--positive change, for one thing.

3. I read another book about race a couple of weeks ago (I'll put the title in the first comment). I have mixed feelings about it. It was recommended to me as the one book about race that people should read if they're only going to read one, so I thought I should read it, even though it wasn't (and isn't) the only book about race I've read or will read. 

But I'm not sure I would recommend it. It was the "free" book at our library's ebook site last month, and everyone I talked to that tried it said they couldn't finish it because it was so relentlessly negative. The author would say that is the fault of the reader because of tone policing and white fragility and white apathy and all the other things white people are when we're at our worst, but I think there's a difference between tone policing (when I tell you to phrase something more politely and respectfully so you don't hurt my feelings)(i.e., making it about me) and writing with some awareness of your audience and how to reach them. Knowing your audience is a basic skill of anyone who is trying to communicate with the public. And if the majority of people who pick up your book put it back down again, you've missed your mark.

But having said that, I did finish it, and now that I've had a week or two to think about it, here's what I think: if you can go in with your armor on, realize that a) the author doesn't live in the US and thus is critiquing our culture from the outside, and b) that she makes sweeping generalizations that aren't always accurate, it may be the best way to quickly get a grip on white culture from the perspective of a person of color. 

It's not very long, and in spite of her insistence that you spend time journaling deeply every day during her 28-day program, you can read it fairly quickly. Instead of reading one chapter each day, I read two or occasionally three. I'm sure she would say I missed the whole point of the program because I didn't read it the way she wanted me to, and maybe I did. But I learned a lot--about racism, about myself, and about her-- and I've never, ever been one to follow someone else's arbitrary rules for me blindly, whether they are my parents, the evangelical church, or an author I've never met before. 

So, the pros of the book are: it quickly and neatly identifies the ways that white people marginalize people of color. It avoids stories and anecdotes and just goes for the bullet point info that she wants you to know. And she is excellent on several points (her explanation of the problem of cultural appropriation clarified some things that had confused me in the past, for example). 

The negatives: She assumes that white culture is far more monolithic than it is. She doesn't recognize, even slightly, that there are differences in different regions of the US, and that there is a difference between someone who truly believes that white people are the superior race, and people who are fully committed to racial equality but have lived with blinders on and need to learn. She actually says at one point that if you find yourself arguing with her, you are participating in white supremacy. (So we're not even allowing discussion anymore? She is setting herself up as the arbiter of what's inside my head?) 

She is relentless in shutting down every "good" impulse I (as a white person) have ever had about ways I want our culture to do better-- it's white centering or faux allyship or white saviorism or, or, or. She does finally in the last pages outline a way forward--and by then you're pathetically grateful for it-- but only after she has shredded every idea that you might have had about helping out. 

And you know, maybe she's right. Maybe the only way white people can get it through our thick heads, through the layers of assumptions and ignorance and blindness, is to relentlessly beat us over the head with it. But if you find yourself despairing and discouraged as you read her book--as I did-- try switching to a different one instead of just giving up. 

There are plenty of great ones out there. I personally find the information easier to digest and comprehend when it is accompanied by stories and/or personal narrative. Try the ones I mention in this post, or Black is the Body, which was the one I read after the one I'm discussing. I have books by Ibram X Kendi and Ta-Nehisi Coates coming up and I'll report back.

I guess I'm glad I read it, but I came out of it exhausted and depressed (instead of feeling energized and ready to march, as I did after the manifesto at the end of Michael Eric Dyson's book What Truth Sounds Like). And she would probably say, well, people of color are exhausted and depressed all the time, so it's only fair.

Mentor in training

Another memory: about ten years ago, I was eating dinner with a group of friends, mostly my age except Liz, who is about fifteen years older. My friend Ann was struggling with how to deal with an opinionated and adversarial daughter-in-law after her son's marriage a few months earlier. (We've all heard about dealing with your mother-in-law, but more and more of us are discovering how difficult children-in-law can be, yes?) 

Liz, my older friend, had kids who had been married for years, but she listened without comment while we all commiserated with Ann over how difficult her daughter-in-law was being. We encouraged her to stand up for herself, not let the young woman manipulate her, etc. We were being supportive, because that's what you do with your friends.

Finally, Ann turned to Liz and asked her if she had any advice, since she'd been dealing with this for years longer than any of the rest of us. Liz said, a little sheepishly, "I think you should let it go. You're in this for the long haul. They've been married less than a year, and she doesn't know you or trust you yet. If you make a fuss about this now, it could be years before she gives you another chance."

Which led to dead silence because of course Liz was right. Then we all started laughing, because we were so far off base in our response. Why did I think Ann needed my opinion? My kids aren't even married!

Maybe I'm making too much of this, but it keeps coming to mind when I think about being a crone/wise woman. Liz listened. She didn't jump in with her opinion. She waited until she was asked for advice. (Oh, lord, do I have a hard time with that one.) She stated her opinion and her reasoning without making it sound like she was the ultimate arbiter of the right thing to do. She was talking about a subject where she had direct experience, and she knew what she was talking about.

In other words, she was helpful instead of overbearing. I could choose a worse role model.

(as always, the names in this story have been changed)

exactly how experienced are we?

Here's a memory: my grandparents were disapproving-- in the purse-lipped, silent way their generation did so well-- when I proudly told them I often paid my own way when my boyfriend and I went out on dates. Their values for dating were completely different than mine. They couldn't imagine dating outside of courting-- looking for a potential spouse-- for one thing. And for another, when the man pays, it shows that a) he is financially stable enough to afford it, b) he will (presumably) take good care of his future spouse, and c) he knows how to toe the line in a way that shows respect for the values of his elders. 

But I had been introduced to feminism by a bunch of feisty Californians, and even though it was the 80s, I was still in 70s second wave feminist mode. I didn't need a man to pay for me. I didn't need a man to support me, and I certainly didn't need to make my decisions based on an outmoded set of rules that no longer applied. 

I've been thinking about this a lot lately as I think about how my feminism is different than the feminism of women 15-20 years younger than me (and yes, it does shock me to realize that someone who is 15 years younger than me is in her mid-forties). Because probably when I gently (and unforgivably) point out the errors in their thinking, they're probably having the same reaction to me that I had to my grandparents back in the 80s. 

There are a whole cascade of things that are just so different now. We refused to wear a lot of makeup or dress in provocative ways, because our mothers had to do that stuff to be attractive/acceptable to men, and we sure as hell didn't need men's approval to feel good about ourselves. We were more than happy to use convenience food products or store-bought food because we weren't going to be trapped in the kitchen the way our mothers were. 

Aside: whenever someone goes off on preservatives in food. I have the hardest time not saying do you think Lewis and Clark, or Ma Ingalls, would have been interested if you'd told them that they could stir something into their food and never have maggots or moldy food again? Because, seriously.

But what we discovered when we jettisoned all of that happy homemaker stuff is that some women--maybe even most women, and a lot of men-- are happy homemakers. There are thousands, maybe millions, of people who get a huge amount of satisfaction out of making oreos from scratch and whipping up their own homemade ketchup and knowing that their children have never had a happy meal from MacDonald's. 

Me? I thought about buying stock in MacDonald's (symbol: MCD). I could sit and read a book while my kids played for an hour and half in the germ-filled ball pit and everyone was happy. I had a hard time limiting it to once a week. And also, I don't remember them ever getting sick from it, germ-filled as it may have been. In fact, they have the impressively robust immune systems.

It's just a different world out there. So when I said a couple of weeks ago that being a crone meant being experienced, what does that even mean? What good is experience if it's completely irrelevant? Because if we're going to be wise women, we need to have something to offer, don't we? 

I think this exact dilemma is what has led a whole bunch of the people who are 10-20 years older than us to turn their backs on any kind of mentorship at all. They're headed out to their second vacation home or their monster RV, and don't call us, we'll call you. 

That's what I'm thinking about right now. More thoughts to come. 

And by the way, thank you for clicking, if you did. The tally was considerably more than I was expecting in my worst moments, but not quite as many as I was hoping for in my more extravagant dreams. So what I decided was to keep posting until I finished my current crop of ideas and then decide what's next. In other words, nothing has changed. Ha. 

a pseudo-survey

The short version is: please click here if you read this blog, either regularly or occasionally. (That's all you have to do, just click-- there's no real survey.) For more info, read on.

I'm trying to decide if I want to continue blogging, and those of you who have been around for awhile know that this happens every so often, and usually even if I think I'm going to quit, after a few weeks I start back up again. But really, having a blog--even when I'm not posting very often-- is always there in the back of my mind, and maybe it's time to free up that energy and use it for something else. I'm not sure what, but I've always liked to jump off a cliff without knowing where I'll land.

Since most of us (including me) use some kind of reader app for following blogs without actually visiting the blog itself, it's hard to get an accurate idea of how many readers I have. Blogger/Blogspot, the blogging site I've used for more than 15 years now, doesn't have the most sophisticated stats page, so I don't know if you've read something unless you click through to the actual site.

So this is kind of a pseudo-poll, because if you, just this once, click through to the website, then I'll have a more accurate idea of how many people are reading this nonsense and I can figure out what to do. It's anonymous because if the service I use (Blogger) has a way to track where pageviews come from, I don't know what it is. And if you're actually reading this at the website, then you don't need to do anything because you've already triggered a pageview.

On Feedly, there's a button at the bottom of every post that says "Visit Website" so you could click on that, or you could just click on this: To Square a Circle (Barb's blog).

Thanks.

Call me Hecate

I told you a couple of weeks ago about my newly discovered crone status, and of course I've been thinking about that quite a bit, since over-thinking is my superpower.

Like any good survivor of 90s feminist spirituality, I can't think much about being a crone without thinking of the triple goddess archetype, The Maiden-Mother-Crone. Feminist spirituality is all about The Goddess and her three eternal faces, the virgin with her sweetness and limitless potential, the mother with her creativity at full power for self and community, the crone, the embodiment of wisdom and experience.

The idea got applied everywhere-- even as a description of business cycles and the creative process: the germ of an idea (Maiden, limitless potential), the hard work of making the idea into reality (Mother, the maker), and the successful ongoing idea (Crone, wisdom and expertise that come with experience).

I've been thinking about how this might apply to me. How different is it to be in the "experienced" phase of life rather than in the "maker" phase of life? In the maker phase, you are working your butt off to get your life the way you want it, or to hang on and survive the hard work of living out the vision of the idea you had -- for a family, or a business, or a career, or all of those. And maybe the idea dies or fails (you get laid off, illness strikes, your marriage fails, bankruptcy) and you have to start again, but always the idea is to make the life you want.

When you're in the maker phase, if the vision isn't working or if it implodes, sometimes it makes sense to blow everything up and start over. Move to a new town, end your relationship, change careers. But maybe once you're a crone, the priorities are different. That's not to say re-creating doesn't happen to older people-- women way older than me have blown up their lives and started over, sometimes by their own choice, sometimes because circumstances force them to.

But maybe being a crone isn't about a specific age, it's about being smart. Instead of blowing everything up, maybe there are minor tweaks, incremental adjustments that can be made that will be just as effective. I don't want to say being a crone is about maintaining, because that sounds like stagnation. Being experienced might mean you recognize that you've already built a foundation and now it's time to be smart about how you want to preserve what's good, while moving forward into what's coming. Blowing everything up and starting over may not make sense anymore.

Hmmmm. Lots to think about. I have a houseful of company coming tonight so not sure when I'll post again.

recent events

(This is two posts mashed together, one written last fall after I read What Truth Sounds Like, one the week of June 8th, both of them edited this week. In other words, it is long. Sorry about that, but I thought it was better to get it all over with in one post. I think I've already proven that I'm not an expert on racism, so don't expect brilliance. I'm tempted to say don't read this post because honestly, white voices are not what is needed right now. Yet here I am.)

Part One

I just wrote and re-wrote and deleted and re-wrote and edited and deleted three paragraphs on the topic of racism, and I've decided to leave them deleted because nobody needs to hear about another white woman uncovering more layers of recognition of her privilege. But it's a dilemma. Sometimes you need to talk about it.

It's not like I didn't know about my privilege before--I understood the idea of white privilege the first time I heard about it thirty years ago-- but I also still have lots more to learn. And I'm discovering, after some things I posted on Instagram, that if you talk about new layers of things you're learning, the assumption is that you knew nothing before, that the whole world of white privilege was an unknown to you until this moment. I've even had people unfollow me.

Whatever you may have made of the story I told you a couple of years ago, I've been supportive of social justice work since a couple of ferociously progressive teachers in my elementary school taught us what was what back in the 60s. (I was so proud of those young men with their raised fists on the medal podium at the 1968 Olympics.)(I was in second grade.)

I may not have been very brave about bucking the status quo, but I've never wanted people of color to suffer or to have fewer opportunities than I do. But I confess that in the past, I've believed that since I vote pro-social justice, I've done everything I needed to do. Racism had nothing to do with me, I thought, because I am not one of those ignorant, racist people. 

Clearly, that kind of passive anti-racism has not been enough to change the way things are. And that means I've had a steep learning curve about the reality of racism in our country. I keep learning more and more about how insidious racism is, and how it has continued practically unchecked without me realizing that it did.

I didn't know, but at some level I have to be honest and say I didn't want to know. I wanted to be able to keep living my untroubled life, at least untroubled by racism. I wanted to believe that the only people who were still racist in the US were a small number of uneducated yahoos that everybody knew were crazy. I was wrong.

And if we can't keep talking about what we're learning, even long after our original moment(s) of insight, we're doing a disservice to the complexity of dismantling racism in this country. It's not a one-time light bulb moment. If saying that--being honest that I'm learning about racism even as I oppose it-- means I get "canceled" because I'm a racist, what are we even doing here? Are we not allowed to learn? Am I supposed to pretend I have perfect understanding when I don't?

Part Two

Trayvon Martin, the 17-year-old who was shot by a white man in 2012 for simply walking through his neighborhood, was the "wake up" moment for me. I have a black nephew. He walks through a white neighborhood every day. But just like I wake up bleary-eyed and foggy-brained every morning, that wake-up moment didn't mean I instantly, totally understood the complexity of systemic racism.

I've been occasionally reading and researching ever since, but a couple of years ago I started getting more serious about it-- honestly, at least partly inspired by Colin Kaepernick. He fascinated me (Dean is a moderately serious 49ers fan) even before he set off a firestorm of white outrage. When he knelt for the national anthem (do you remember that at first, he sat?), I was curious. What was he up to? Why did something so simple, so seemingly innocuous, cause such a bitterly furious response?

At first I just read stuff on the internet. And then Austin Channing Brown's I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness. And then So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo last spring. And What Truth Sounds Like by Michael Eric Dyson last fall. And fiction by many black authors.

That probably sounds like bragging, and I suppose at some level it is, but I'm hardly a saint about this. First of all, the more I read, the more I realize how dumb I am about the experience of people of color in our country, even when I've lived and worked right alongside them. And secondly, I argue with these authors in my head. I don't always agree with them. 

But I've learned far more than I've argued. I've been shocked by some of the experiences I've read about, the statistics I've been ignorant of, the systemic oppression that happens while I've blithely looked away. And saddest of all, I'm embarrassed by the way white liberals have not been helpful at. all. (The Dyson book is especially telling on that subject.) The one thing I know for sure: the way people of color are too often treated in this country is just flat-out wrong. There is no excuse. We have to do better. 

So, not sure where I'm going here. I don't want this to be a fad, something that I get all excited about and then a couple of months from now, I've moved along to something else. For several years now, I've wanted this to be an ongoing part of how I live, and that means reading books by black authors and immigrants and Indians and Hispanics and Muslims and members of the LGBTQ community. 

I'm not sure exactly what else it means. Montana is more diverse now than it was when we moved here, but there are still only a few people of color where we live. But I can call people out for racist remarks (and I have)(I have to be honest and tell you it rarely works). I can be open to change and encourage others to do the same. And I can acknowledge that I'm still learning, still uncovering layers of ignorance in myself, hidden attitudes I'm ashamed of, and resistance to change in the places I least want it. But it's work that's worth doing, work that has to be done.

Pentecost Sunday

(written the week of May 31st)

Our church, like most, has not been meeting during the pandemic shutdown. Fortunately, we have a decades-long history of broadcasting our service on Sunday morning over a local radio station. So we didn't have to figure anything out when the pandemic shut our doors, we just kept doing what we'd been doing for years. The only change was that instead of feeding the sound from inside our sanctuary to the radio station, either live or time-delayed, our pastor and someone who was acting as liturgist would go to the radio station on Thursday to record a pseudo-service. Then the radio station spliced in recorded music and played it back on Sunday morning.

As the pandemic restrictions eased and things began to open up again, we decided to borrow an idea that many churches have been trying: a parking lot worship service. This past Sunday was Pentecost Sunday, and our pastor was all ready to set up in the parking lot with a sound system, a couple of musicians, and (we hoped) a whole bunch of people in their cars who were excited to be together again. Whatever I may believe about God (or not) on any given Sunday, there's no doubt that our church is made up of people who are happy to be together, and we have all missed that during the pandemic shutdown.

But Sunday morning, in spite of an early sparkling start, by 8:15 or so the weather had turned. Around 8:30, a massive thunderstorm rolled through, with winds up to 69 mph, toppling trees and ripping off branches and knocking out power all over the county. More than 30,000 people were without power by Sunday afternoon. Unsurprisingly, there was a remarkable lack of people showing up in our church parking lot. At 9:40, twenty minutes before the service was supposed to begin, the power at the radio station was out.

Since our plan had been to broadcast the radio program over the sound system--so that both those in the parking lot and those who had stayed home would be hearing the same thing--that put us in a tough spot. Only a few people had arrived at that point, but our pastor made the tough call to cancel the service. We turned some people away, and started texting and calling others to let them know that the service wasn't going to happen.

Then, lo and behold, about two minutes before ten o'clock, the power came back on at the radio station. At that point, there were eight of us still at the church. So one of us opened the doors to his car, cranked up the radio, and the eight of us hung out in the parking lot, sitting in camp chairs or leaning on cars, and listened to the service our pastor and a liturgist had recorded a few days before.

I had had a bad week. And by "bad," I don't mean that bad things had happened to me, I mean that I was my worst self. I had let some things slide at home that really should have been taken care of. I had hurt my sweet mom by inadvertently texting a snarky comment to her instead of to my sisters. I had not met my own expectations in accomplishing a couple of personal goals. Our country was in the midst of the response to the murders George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor, and I was feeling the collective burden of our national sins. How come we can't stop this? Have I been doing enough? How do we finally change this? To be precise, I was feeling like crap, and hopeless on top of it.

And then I had the experience--one that I've had many times before-- that reminds me why I go to church. The words of the confession seemed to speak right to me, and the forgiveness of sins washed over me, as if rolling away my failures and petty meanness. Forgiveness doesn't change a thing. Not on its own, anyway. I'm still the same person with all my same faults after I've been forgiven as I was before. I'm still responsible for creating change in myself and around me, and I'm still responsible for apologizing to my mom and making things right.

But it reminds me that with all my crap and all my faults and all the ways I can't solve the problems that are right there in front of me, I am still a beloved child of God. For that hour, I can lay my burdens down, the load of failure that threatens to pull me under, and breathe into it, just long enough so that when the service is over, I have the energy and the resources to keep going.

That is all.

(Edited to add 6/24/20: The original version of this has been out there on the RSS feed all along, but I deleted it while I dealt with my narcissistic white liberal guilt over being an idiot. I made a few edits so that I could live with it. It's entirely possible I should have left it in its original state as a marker of my learning curve. But I didn't.)