Optimistic Considerations

In retrospect, my parents modeled a bit of an “us vs. them” thought process during my childhood. This showed up more profoundly in some spheres than others, and there a few ways that it was actually helpful. For example, my parents were careful stewards of our finances. Frivolous expenses were quickly identified and pro-actively prevented, and advertisements selling such wildly un-necessary items were painted as someone wanting to trick you into giving up your money to them for something that was far from worthwhile.

As I moved forward into the world and into various educational and professional pursuits, I found myself quickly disabused of this “us vs. them mentality” in most areas of life. It has unfortunately and persistently hung on in some ways, but most frequently its just a whisper in my head that tells me to not spend the money on something that I was considering purchasing.

Even there, though, I have to be careful. Being impulsive with one’s finances is never a good thing, but there’s such a thing as letting those same finances rule you, as well.

Last week, I had a break from class. I’m not on a large campus right now, but attending a small arts school that’s far detached from the parent university’s main campus. As such, I spend my time in one of two buildings that are across a pleasant Massachusetts street from each other, and nestled among various other small, local shops and restaurants. Immediately next to the building in which I have class, there’s an independent bookstore that I wandered into during my break. I love these types of bookstores… an environment that feels precarious in our digital marketplace. This one had a wealth of different books in different genres, ranging form political non-fiction to plays to current bestsellers. I paused and glanced through some acting books, and then flipped quickly through a book on dancing. I found myself wondering about the number of titles on performing arts, such as acting and dance. While I’m certainly no dancer, I’ve read my share of acting books, and I know that a very few of them would be classified as excellent books. I’ve become a bit wary, in fact, of such non-fiction, and found myself glancing dismissively through the dancing text. I could suddenly hear that old caution from my parents echoing in my subconscious…this was someone trying to trick a reader into paying for something that wasn’t worthwhile.

Now, before you look at me too judgementally, I stopped this thought process in its tracks quickly. I can’t judge the quality of that book, because, as I said, I’m no dancer (even though I did marry one). I think that the “us vs. them” mentality is harmful in this area, though, because a desire to be a good steward of one’s money can lead one to forego books with suspicion that may, in fact, be excellent books. I hold onto what may perhaps be a naive belief in other writers: most books aren’t written to take advantage of a marketplace in which they can make money for stringing together words. The vast majority of writers are honestly trying to contribute their thoughts to the public sphere, and we all benefit from this.

Now, of course, the opposite can be true, as well…readers that will buy any book because of its subject matter, with complete disregard to the fact that it may well be a poor book. I see this often in religious spheres, my own faith included, and perhaps specifically. This is an exception, though, and not the rule.

What this comes down to is my tendency to distrust others, which frequently isn’t a good thing. We are all better for hearing one another’s thoughts, and we can’t truly know if we disagree with those thoughts until we’ve heard them out.

I’m not saying I’ll buy that book on dance, but the next time I see a book like it, I’ll do my best to push down that nagging suspicion in the back of my mind.

Hello, My Name Is…

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had an issue with name tags.

It may have started in high school, when I had a summer job in a fast food place. You know: hot, lousy job, tacky uniform, managers who breathe down your neck, that sort of thing. Your name tags had to always be visible. That’s where it started, I’m guessing. I remember hearing a comedian somewhere around my senior year of high school doing a routine, and he said that, if you’re thirty and your job still involves wearing a name tag, you’ve made a serious error somewhere.

I don’t think that last part is true (many civil servants prove it to be incorrect), but his saying that reinforced my feelings somehow. My passionate distaste for name tags has continued to present day. On the rare occasion that I’ve had to wear an ID badge for work because I’m in a different building than usual, or when I’m attending a conference or that sort of thing, I practically tear it away as soon as I possibly can. I’ve been known to take my name tag from the registration table, shove it in my pocket, and be the only person in the room without one. I really do hate them that much.

Why, though? It’s difficult to believe that one or two bad jobs in high school and college turned me against name tags altogether. Besides, they’re such a common fixture in today’s workforce that it’s difficult to avoid them…although I’ll find a way if it is to be found. It’s sort of a small thing with which to have such a big problem. I mean, I’m picky, but not that picky.

Then, last weekend, I realized part of the reason. I was attending a welcome luncheon on Sunday afternoon, and I was sitting at our table with our daughter in my lap while Karen went through the serving line. There was one other guy who had returned from the line, and sat opposite of me at the table. I wanted to initiate conversation with him, but let’s face it…while I’ve been taught all of the social appropriateness necessary, I’m still a significant introvert, so finding conversation starters isn’t really a finely tuned skill set for me. My leading question is usually, “So, what’s your name?” And I go from there.

There was no point in that, though, because a quick glance down provided me with my table-mate’s name. Asking him was pointless. I already knew that he was “Kevin.” My strategy had been derailed, and I was left to improvise…which is far more energy than an introvert is typically prepared to expend.

I think that the underlying reason that I dislike name tags so much is because they make it that much more difficult for me to socialize. The underlying reason for that, I think, is because they remove natural conversation between two people. That, in it’s attempt to make it easier to get to know those around us, actually makes it more difficult to do so. Names, after all, are highly significant and powerful. Learning someone’s name and speaking that name is a profoundly spiritual, if everyday, experience. I think that having our names pinned to our chests rob us of that somehow…transforms the act of connecting two people into a mechanical experience.

There’s my reason for disliking name tags revealed. So, if I meet you at a conference or something like that, and I intentionally ignore your name tag and ask your name any way, it means I really want to meet you and know your name. And I really want to do that myself without annoying badges coming between us.

The Right Tool for the Right Job

I had design professor in college for several different theatre courses. I have no idea what happened to him, as attempts to re-establish contact in recent years has been unsuccessful for me. What I will always remember him for, though, is a phrase that he used to toss around the scene shop: “You have to have the right tool for the right job!”

It’s a phrase that I’ve found myself repeating many times since then.

I think that we’ve always been fascinated with our tools. My father’s “man cave” was a wood shop that he kept in a separate, detached building from our home. He would retreat there to work on his various projects. I actually never understood why he didn’t sell them on a larger scale, because he could certainly have made some income with his talent. His shop, though, was loaded: saws, drills, hammers…all of the fun tools that you would expect in a shop, and not at all dissimilar from when I would be constructing sets in the scene shop. It goes without saying, I think, that when my dad had disposable income laying around for his hobby, it went to tools.

While I’m not in any way gifted at sculpting things out of wood as my father did, I need various tools with which to craft words, or write code. Whenever Karen and I have a disagreement over disposable income (including whether or not such a category exists for us on a given month), it frequently arises over my desire for a new tool: a new iPad, the most recent operating system, a new piece of software, etc. These tools consistently make my work easier and more productive, but my tastes frequently are bigger than our bank account.

The issue with tools is that, if I’m to generalize any sort of example from myself, we can often become caught up in the shiny news toys to the point of distracting ourselves from the project that we might be using them to accomplish.

Don’t tell her I said this, but I think that Karen’s reluctance to try new tools because the learning curve for them actually distracts from her productivity more than staying with an older system that she already knows, may be wise.

When I remember my dad’s wood shop, I can remember at least two or three items knocking around out there that received minimal use. I’m sure my bag of technological toys has a couple of those as well. Certainly, I’ve even loaded up our kitchen in the past with gifts for Karen’s culinary genius that have gone largely un-used.

Perhaps there’s a lot to be said for creatively finding ways to accomplish the task at hand, rather than over-equipping our arsenal of tricks with which to accomplish them. Perhaps we can accelerate our productivity to the point of being unproductive.

What do you think?

Time Passages

I hope that I can keep track of what’s important.

That is, I find myself concerned a bit as, even while things go according to plan, I become anxious about the plan sometimes. This move has been different than previous moves for me…much different. Obviously, there’s the fact that I’m now moving a family of three, which is logistically an undertaking comparable to any traveling concert production, I’m convinced. Practically, this is also the biggest move I’ve ever done in regards to distance.

Also, though, this has been the biggest move in regards to emotional repercussions. I became extremely sad at one point during the process, and it lingered for days. I’m still not entirely certain why, but it was almost like I was grieving something. Maybe I’ll have an epiphany later.

As I’ve experienced this dramatic change in place, I’ve also experienced a profound shift in perspective on permanence. That is, I’ve began to recognize that certain things that felt permanent to me are in fact hopelessly temporary, and that what is critically important is, in fact, permanent. The career that I’m changing from was unduly stressful in its own right, but I had come to regard its daily schedule with a sense of permanence because of the comfortable income that it provided. Although we lived in an apartment that, by definition, is not a permanent home, I had come to regard the little routines and patterns there with a sense of permanence that not only belies my distaste for routine, but were also a practical way of staving off the chaos. I think that part of my struggle with this move has been trying to stay on top of being a parent and writer and (once again a) student in the midst of a set of systems that no longer work and have to be re-vamped or entirely replaced. Those systems, which allowed me to keep track of what had to be done and kept mine and Karen’s sanity, though, were very, very temporary things, designed for a temporary place that served us during temporary conditions.

For years, we were in holding pattern, wondering “what next?” in our lives.

And, now that we’re moving forward at long last, I’ve had an irrational difficulty letting go of the temporary. That is, the physical has been threatening to overwhelm the spiritual. What placed this into unyielding perspective, though, was two days ago in the back yard, as I pushed our daughter in a swing. As she giggled with delight and glided to and fro, she made extended eye contact with me, all smiles, her deep eyes communicating a wealth of information.

What they told me that afternoon was, “I trust you, Daddy.”

That’s permanent. Very, very permanent. Whatever transient circumstances and events rotate through our lives, my wife and daughter, and the responsibilities that I have to them, are permanent. They are persistent. They are pervasive.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

More Moving Thoughts

Thursday of this week was the last day of the day job that I’ve held for the last five years. I experienced an odd bout of sentimentality, which really was the last thing I was expecting. I took this position five years ago when freelancing wasn’t making the ends meet, Karen and I hadn’t been married that long, and we needed my income to be more consistent. I was just beginning to stir up dreams of doing a doctoral degree or an MFA at the time, and accepted the position thinking that I would stay there for one year.

Five years, accomplished financial goals, and one daughter later, I walked out of that office on a quiet Thursday afternoon, into a parking lot that has often found me thinking “it’s Friday!!“, and drove away just as I have hundreds of other times, though now to never return. It’s a given that I will miss my colleagues, because I have been honored to work with a great team there. And, although I’m not sure I can truly say that I will miss the place, or the position itself, I found myself appreciating it in a way that I wouldn’t have had I merely stayed for the year that I had initially planned. Again, evidence that my wanderlust can occasionally be a bad thing.

I suppose that longevity has its rewards. Who knew?