Who We Touch
Never underestimate the effect a person can have in your life. We never know who may be there for us in our darkest hour, and often we are wildly unaware of who, in life, we touch. Nothing happens by accident. We cannot spend a moment connected to another without being changed by it. Even two ships passing in the night are bound to feel the waves from the other's wake.
Review of "Wish You Were Here"
Time and time again I have heard people state their disappointment with this book. On some level I can understand where they are coming from. One of the first things I was taught about writing stories was that there were two necessary elements: some sort of conflict followed by a resolution or redemption. This novel never reaches a point of climax, and rather than ending in some sort of resolution it merely drops off, almost as if the author grew tired of narrating the story. I think that in order to truly appreciate this novel one must lay aside any preconceived notions of what makes a book "good". It is unlikely that the reader will finish the novel without the sense of wanting more, but in my opinion, this is what makes the novel great. O'Nan has an uncanny ability to draw the reader not only into the character's world but into their very hearts. The story itself is unremarkable. There is no drama, no closure. There are only moments. That is the beauty of this novel. Even as life surrounds us with its grander scheme, we live only in moments, and ultimately they are the things that define us. This novel is unfinished because, at the end of the day, life is unfinished. Situations can be resolved but we as human beings - emotional, cognisant - cannot be. Therein lies the heart of this book, and what gives this book heart.
Memory Almost Full?
I’m in a vintage clothing store. Frighteningly, vintage has come to include the decade of my high school graduation. I see several teenagers bopping around the store, picking up this and that, and one says, with genuine curiosity, “I wonder what people dressed like in the 80’s and 90’s”. I cringe. Not only at what we actually DID wear, but at these brazen youth, who will never suffer through the trials of neon and side ponytails. No, their fate is one much worse. They will never suffer through the strains of handwriting a letter. The little notes passed when no one’s looking.
Yes, Virginia, there was a time when “text” was not a verb, chat meant speaking casually, and “google it” meant, simply, nothing.
Do not misinterpret me: I love the internet. I adore it in a way I cannot put into words. I find cell phones exceedingly handy, and I spend more time on Facebook than I would like to admit. But these were not always staples of my existence. And I am more grateful than I can express for that fact.
Often we attribute convenience to technological advancement, and there is some, if not a considerable amount of truth to that. Yet at what price is this convenience served? It may be true that cell phones, email and chat keep us a moment apart, but the cost is high. For as much as technology unites, it divides. I remember days with friends hovering over a dial-up modem, cheering it on as it did its final dance. In these days of cell phones, ipods, tablets and netbooks, how attune are we really to the world around us? There is no shortage of entertainment to take us away from the doldrums of daily life. But is that not what life is? A series of experiences, made special by those with whom we share them? So little is shared these days, and even fewer conserved. What shall we remember about yesterday, let alone days long in the past? Is our global “memory” almost full?
On my bookshelf are boxes of letters mailed to me over the years. Piles of folded notes passed in Biology class. The time we took to write out a letter, stamp it and mail it, then wait the necessary interval for its arrival. How tedious, one thinks. I look at the them- dozens of pages of my past. Substantive reminders of times long gone. And I am filled with gratitude. For these papers are palpable paragons of friendship; they were created, from start to finish, with love. And they are still here, many over twenty years down the road from their creation. I look with pity at the tides of texting tweens, fingers furiously flying over a fake keyboard, sending text after text- only to be deleted when the memory is full. Chat messages spiral into the nothingness of “archives” on social media. Sure, right now the most important news is “did u no he ttly hz the hots 4 u???” Passing sentiment, and, I may add, not even actual words. Inevitably they think they are the lucky ones. The ease with which they can communicate, the shortened verse and instant delivery! But give it twenty years. What tangible memories of their correspondences will remain? Virtually none (no pun intended). What will be testament to their formative years? Sadly, very little. Does technology make our life easier? Well, yes. But the nostalgia and sentimentality that can slip through the cracks are robbing us of, to an extent, our humanity.
Am I saying to forgo texting and chat? Absolutely not. But I implore you, leave traces of yourself behind. Life is too beautiful to be confined to a screen. We are beautifully imperfect creatures, edited by Photoshop and confined to pixels. Live with technology, not through it. Write a letter with paper and pen. Take a polaroid photo. Smile. Keep the memories alive. The day will come when the memory means far more than the latest iphone. Forget keeping up with the Jonses- or the Kardashians or anyone else. As Steve Jobs said, “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”
Human
Tonight as I was leaving Walmart (after one of the most excruciating checkout experiences in history, I kid you not) I came upon a woman standing by a car which had obviously been driven onto a median and gotten a tire stuck in what appeared to be deep muddy water. In that back seat of the car was a girl, around seven or eight. I asked if she needed help, for me to call someone or whatnot, but she said she was just going to try to drive it out. I knew this was unlikely to work (at least without causing significant damage to the car) so I told her I would get the security guard to come over and help her figure out the best solution so she wasn't stuck there by herself. She thanked me several times, and I could tell it meant a lot to her. This is a story in itself, but it is not the story I started out to write. You see, the woman was black, and I realized as I pondered over why it was I felt the need to mention this that it was only because I hear so much about the disrespect and racism that's supposedly running rampant in our nation I felt the need to point out that I actually did a kind thing for a black woman and with no expectation of acknowledgement or personal gain. I did it simply because it was the right thing to do. Which led me to a revelation. The entire premise behind the cessation of segregation was the idea that "separate is not equal", yet the more a minority - any minority - makes their struggle unique the more they do indeed separate themselves from the masses, bringing us back to the original dilemma of separate yet equal. We (because all of us are guilty of it, to some extent) are simply perpetuating the existing prejudices by implying that our unique situation is somehow different than that of anyone else. We are recreating a war we once claimed to be so proud to have won. And it makes me wonder, then... what do we value more- the freedom of victory or the self-imposed martyrdom of battle? Are we - not just blacks, not just minorities, but humans - able to find a sense of value within ourselves if we are merely succeeding without necessarily overcoming? And does not the American culture lend a huge hand to the idea that one must start as an underdog in order to obtain value at the top? Most importantly, what will it take for us as a nation to realize that we are all the victims, we are all the culprits, and we are all responsible for finding our way off this malicious merry-go-round of hate and self-pity? In other words, we are all of us not that different after all... and sadly, should we each continue to rally around our personal causes and choose to turn a blind eye to the bigger picture, no one among us will escape unscathed. By claiming that "[insert-definition-of-yourself-here] lives matter", we are killing one thing we all have in common, the one thing that truly DOES matter- humanity.
Roots Die First: The Political Suicide of America
I am not a Republican. I am not a Democrat. In my opinion, the only difference between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump is the means to the inevitable tragic end. I believe - and I'm surely not the only one - the perpetuation of a two-party system will severely limit and eventually destroy America; there is an actual nation in existence RIGHT NOW, and as the politicians sit back and philosophize about the necessity of progressive thought or the importance of strict adherence to the Constitution as it was written there are, literally, millions and millions of people whose daily lives go on despite the chatter, who cannot help but be affected by what seems to have become a system less dedicated to those they are elected to serve but to their party's ideals; ideals which they vehemently cling to regardless of how irrelevant, illogical, improbable or impossible they may be, because - let's face it - the vast majority of voters are no endorsing a candidate, they are endorsing a party - i.e. the belief system they either identify with or, more likely, see as the "lesser of two evils". And, sadly, that is essentially what elections have become for most American voters: being forced to choose a candidate not for what they actually DO stand for but for what they DON'T. Tell me, honestly, is this Democracy? Was not the democratic republic we reside in originally created as "government of the people, for the people, by the people", can we not regardless of political affiliation all agree on at least that much? Yet somewhere along the line politics became much less "of" the people, scarcely "for" the people, and, at last, hardly "by" the people. A government by the people would have to be formed by the needs and desires of the people, and, with the vast majority now the choosing their "lesser of two evils", it is a reluctant acquiescence of the people at best; there is no "of" left in the equation. Yet we keep the same equation, and thus the result holds as well...until it doesn't. We as a nation seem incapable of admitting any degree of vulnerability, yet was not the Titanic once the unsinkable ship? Is that going to be our eventual fate, dancing the night away on a sinking ship, so unwilling to allow our delusions of invincibility to die that we end up sacrificing our very lives instead? We listen to candidates talk of political ideals, watch as they set lofty goals, make empty promises, trying to snag any and every bit of support they can along the way, like a fisherman's net cast at sea, and we trust, blindly, that what we find when the net is full will be our intended capture after all.
Too dramatic? Too bleak? Too inconceivable a reality? Hillary Clinton. Donald Trump. Forget party affiliation for a moment. Can you honestly say that either individual is a person *you* lend you support and confidence to be best equipped to lead this nation?
This nation was founded on the principle that every citizen has a voice. Do not allow yourself to be trampled by the very bandwagon you blindly jumped aboard.
American voters: forget choosing what you think you can live with; what can you not live without? Stop sacrificing. This is your life. This is your right.
Don't settle. ELECT.
The Human Condition
The driving force behind our eternal quest for knowledge is the hope of gaining an understanding which gives us a sense of meaning and purpose to our otherwise desultory existence, to find a reed on which to cling, an allocation of destiny derived from that which we designate as our truth; we follow that beacon of light as if it were our own personal North star. It matters not the cogency of the claim but the weight of the anchor. That inexplicable hunger for we-know-not-what, the need to validate our own self-awareness; this is the human condition.
Six Things You Never Ask A Woman
1. When are you going to start trying for a baby?
2. When are you going to start a family?
3. When are you going to give those boys a sister/give those girls a brother?
4. What race is his/her father?
5. Was he/she adopted?
6. Is the father around?
Why these are not okay:
1. Maybe she's planning on waiting a few years. Maybe she's ready to start soon. Maybe she's been trying for ten endless years, gone through the indescribable pain of infertility, but doesn't speak of it because it's simply too painful. Maybe she just lost a baby and she's the only one who even knew she was pregnant, so she battles the loneliness and brokenness while putting on a brave face for everyone else. Maybe she knows that having kids is just not for her, and she's chosen another path, but she secretly feels she's seen as a freak for being a woman who does not want children and in turn berates herself for wanting to leave the beaten path of how society defines womanhood.
2. Does she have a husband? Wife? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Dog? Cat? Goldfish? Then she has already started a family. Families come in all shapes and sizes, and they do not have to include children. Moving on.
3. Seriously people... you DO realize how stupid a question that is, right? We don't choose the gender of our children. And are you insinuating that those boys "need" or "deserve" a sister or those girls "need" or "deserve" a brother? No, they do not. And the sexual organs one has at birth are only one part of the equation when it comes to gender.
4. First of all, it's none of your business. Maybe she doesn't want to disclose information about him or disclose it in front of their child. Maybe she doesn't know because she was dating around a bit and none of the men stepped up to take a paternity test. Maybe she was raped and never saw him well enough to be able to tell.
5. Maybe they are adopted but not yet aware of it. Maybe they are adopted, but she doesn't see the differences- they're her kids, and parenthood is not defined by anything that happens before you step in your home with that baby in your arms, or teenager holding your hand. Having a child does not make you a parent. That is something you have to decide to be, and continue to be for a lifetime.
5. If you feel you need to ask this, DON'T. It's likely not a story she wants to recount, especially in front of her child, and it's none of your goddam business anyway.