dis/engage
As I struggle with this latest bout of anxiedepressinsecurity, I'm starting to see a little more of a pattern in how I approach life. In social-ness, in bigger tasks, and even in everyday life. I engage to a point, I'm not as successful as I would like, then I burn out easily and go back to disengaging (disengaging often looks like web-surfing or browsing book stores, with no real intention to sit and read).
I go through spurts where I initiate more friendships, I go through phases where I try a new ministry, a new group, etc. But it doesn't take too long before I lose steam and I just don't feel the need to work so hard. I get sick of being in charge and can't wait until I can just kick back and be by myself again. I covered a lot of this, actually, in my previous post about my dream. But what I am realizing is that same 'tourist tendency' is brought into my social life as well--I am interested in being a part of a social group for my own sense of well-being, but the thought of having to put extended effort into it overwhelms me and makes me want to disengage.
Is it just laziness? In some ways, yes, but there is more to it than that. Take the social adeptness issue. Even the thought of thinking more of what I wear, how to appear confident, reading social situations, etc, just seems so daunting, because there is this underlying sense that no matter how hard I try I will never succeed in the way I would like,
and, extra kicker, that I will lose myself in the process. The genuineness that I value so incredibly highly will diminish if I start down the road of thinking about the impression I give, the more superficial aspects of getting along socially. I will get sucked into something that won't let go, and I'll be giving into the same culture that cruelly excludes those who don't keep up with the polish, the success, the confidence that we all prize so highly.
I do have this nagging anxiety that any step toward conforming to what our culture values, be it style, property, success, or whatever, will quickly eat me alive and I'll lose any sense of living how Christ calls us to live, and valuing what he calls us to value. Am I overfearing this? There seems to be some alternate call, that says that engaging in social and cultural norms is actually a part of valuing myself, of choosing to engage and see myself as a valuable member of society. But I just don't know. What is healthy engagement, and what is compromise?
the more things change, the more they stay the same.
I'm currently experiencing a wave of insecurity/depression that seems to hit at least once a year, certainly at least once whenever I transition into a new community. I feel so daunted by what it takes to enter into a group socially, that all my feelings of loneliness and inadequacy flood back, and I feel paralyzed. More like overwhelmed, like I don't know where to start. There is so much involved in what we call 'social skills'--matters of timing, looks, the degree to which you're acting confident, or casual, thinking about who to invite, who goes well with who, what do people want to do . . .
Many would say that I am over-exhausting myself, thinking too hard. I'm sure that's true, on some level. But I would respond that when I try to think less, or just 'be myself', that only works to a limited extent. These things I worry about are real, and 'just not worrying about it' works for a little while until I realize that people don't see me as someone they frequently want along, want to include, in more fun social events. I'm great at being the kind, intense, one-on-one person to interact with and engage, but it ususally doesn't translate into wider social acceptance. I've been good friends with several people who are more socially inclined, but after a while they start to see inviting me along as a burden, rather than just inherently wanting me in their social circle.
This is really just venting, so I'll maybe start writing about what I really wanted to write about in the next post . . .
Weird dream
Hi.
So it's been almost a year since my last post. So much for my great blogging idea. But even abandoned projects live on here on the web, patiently waiting to be picked up again, like the Velveteen Rabbit. Except that nothing degrades or wears out in cyberspace. What a miracle.
So I may pick up on the wealth theme from my last post later. Certainly I've learned a lot in this past year which will tweak my positions somewhat. But right now I need to write because of this dream I had this morning. I always remember morning dreams better--the ones you have when you get to sleep in, and you wake up early, but then go back to sleep for about an hour--those dreams.
In this dream I was in a foyer somewhere of a large building, kind of church-like--waiting to go into the auditorium. I was standing with a black woman, who I was connected to in some way, can't remember why. She confided in me that she felt like when she was with her white husband (who wasn't me) she felt pressure to show him around, introduce him to people, etc. I said something to the effect that my ex-girlfriend felt the same way (though in real life, I have no idea that she ever felt that way), and we went into the auditorium.
However, the next thing I remember, I'm back out in the (rather large) foyer, and dining tables are being set out. I see Sonam, an older Tibetan man whom I work with (in real life), and at some point I am given a map, and I'm happy because I enjoy looking at maps, so I open the map (can't remember what place it showed) and look at it with Sonam, pointing out places, having an OK time.
Then, somehow I notice my friend Zadok, and other people who I vaguely recognize, mostly friends from Quest. Frank, I think also. Without much conversation, Zadok launches into some slow motion mime. (Don't worry, no mime outfit, just normal attire), as do others my age, and I get this odd uncomfortable feeling that I'm supposed to be doing that too. But I don't.
The middle part of the dream is very hazy. There is a downstairs where others are hanging out, the foyer transforms into some larger location where people are gathering, eating, drinking, playing, whatever. Again, I sense that I am supposed to be participating, but I don't want to. I just want to be left alone.
Next thing I know, the action centers around a large table. It's white, the kind you see in cafeterias. There is some kind of wrapping up, then a few start cleaning up. At one point, I help a guy about my age do some sweeping, some picking up food off the floor.
Then, I reach for some bread, and bite a piece off. Evidently, I drop some crumbs because the man who is cleaning stands up at me and is irate. It's Ben Bruggemeier, someone I played drums with in high school. He (in real life) was always the incredibly popular, did-everything kind of guy, sports, music, friends, the guy who I was friends with but always lived very definitely in his shadow. Anyway, he demands to know what I'm doing, don't I realize the place needs to be cleaned up, I don't care, I'm not involved, blah blah blah.
Then his father shows up, and the berating continues (his father was the choir director at my high school, kind of a high school dynasty scenario). He adds that not only was I irresponsible by not cleaning up, why haven't I been putting posters out for the event. I maintain that I haven't heard of the posters, and didn't know what he was talking about, but pretty much everyone else present did. I looked over and saw a stack of posters, advertising this Young Life fundraising extravaganza that I had evidently just been present at. Mr. Bruggemeier kept dressing me down in front of everyone, saying that if I had done my part in putting up posters they could have had a lot more people. Then they asked what I was thinking, why I hadn't done anything to help or participate. I said something about how we had very different expectations, and needed to find a way to make our expectations clear to each other. All those present murmured some kind of agreement.
I do remember, then, starting to sweep and clean. I grabbed another piece of bread, partly out of spite, I think. My friend Sam told me that we could still get out of there and go to the other party later. And the interior setting transformed into a park (settings often change quickly in my dreams), so I was sweeping food off the lawn, picking up toys, putting them in bags for the next gathering, determined to do something to do my part. My friends were all gone, everyone else had left, just this giant job to do.
Then people started gathering for the evening fund raiser. Mostly my age or younger, and I got the sense they were all volunteers (and had probably done their job of distributing posters). The crowd of volunteers seemed larger than the entire crowd at the earlier gathering. So I decided that if I cleaned up well enough, I would allow myself to leave. It seemed to be in good hands. Then I woke up.
So wow. This took a lot longer to write than it did to dream. And how much of this is 'really' what I dreamed, and how much is me trying to impose more order than there actually was, adjusting details so they make more sense to a reader, what in this narrative is actually the dream, and what is my representation? How much has my act of writing this actually adjusted my memories of my dream, so when I think about it again, I'll be thinking of the manufactured memories that I have made while trying to write this?
There is something in the above paragraph that says a lot, I think, about story, about relating story, about the way in which we re-construct reality when we tell something, so that it always changes just a little bit in the telling. Even if there is no intent to deceive. I think there's a lot to be said there in terms of reading and writing history, questions of accuracy, and more specifically, how we trust the Bible as history (I'm a Christian, for those of you brand new to this blog). But I digress, big time.
Why is this dream important to me? It encapsulated, more than any other dream in recent memory, this constant worry I have about being too disengaged with life. The party is going on around me, people are doing their part, important work is being done, people are prepared, and I walk through as a spectator, mildly guilty that I am not in the thick of it, but too scared and too self-indulgent to actually plunge in. Maybe the best I can do is help try to serve in some small way when the action has passed.
So it appears I have internalized the criticism of the Bruggemeiers in my dream. I often protest that I don't understand the expectations, but isn't that lack of understanding just a function of how I disengage in the first place? If I engaged more, I would understand more what is expected.
I feel like a tourist in life. I am most comfortable as a tourist. I look, I wander, I read, I observe the work of other people's hands. I can disengage and go back to the proverbial hotel room whenever I feel like it. I move from community to community, from commitment to commitment, always ready to leave after one year, two, or at the most three. There is always a legitimate reason to move on, always something comes up where I truly believe God has guided my steps to the next place. But that re-direction always feels comfortable, because then I can start to disengage, not worry so much about sticking with a community for the long term, mostly I feel absolved of too much responsibility. And I like that feeling.
And I'm not sure what to do about it. I am not proud of this aspect of myself. I admire people who do engage, who do commit and make things happen, who are used by God to transform the world around us. I see myself as outside of that. I'm not sure if that's right, but that's how I feel. I feel I am wandering around the party, blissfully ignorant of what it takes to make it happen, stubborn and resentful when someone dares to suggest that I have been avoiding my responsibilities.
What will it take to really change? How much do I need to really change? Is this interpretation of myself really accurate? Do I offer something else to the world, just not in accordance with the ususal script the world provides--accomplishment, achievement, success?
new title
Hey--If you've read much of this, you'll notice I changed the title to something a bit less show-offy academic. I'd like to continue with this, but with a more focused goal--to look at the fundamental ways in which we think about relationship, human worth, possessions, emotion, identity, etc. etc. If you have any suggestions, fire them my way.
One fundamental premise that I try to keep in mind is that in all issues of virtue and evil, there are individual and structural elements intertwined. So poverty is not just about how much money I give to poor people, or charitable organizations, but about how I spend my money, what companies I support, how much I am willing to support publicly funded efforts to help people, etc. So far, pretty basic--this is 'structural sin 101'. I am also interested in looking at how our fundamental values and beliefs actually perpetuate and uphold these structures, even if I oppose them at the 'structural level'. For example, I might not like certain oil companies because of how they treat the environment, or their labor in other countries, so I don't buy their particular gas. But do I still assume that I should be able to buy the cheapest gas possible? It is the notion that we should get the most product for the least amount of expenditure on my part, that creates a cost-minimizing system in the first place? Can I look at my gas dollars as something I'm willing to spend more of in order to fund better care for workers and better environmental care? Am I willing to look at fossil-fuel transportation as a privilege that should be used sparingly, rather than as an inherent 'right', that I deserve to have as cheaply as possible?
I know--critiques of capitalism are pretty old, as well. And I actually agree with those who say that 'captialism is the worst system, except for all the other ones'. The reason that econimc liberalization is able to do better, on balance, at producing relatively comfortable societies is that it harnesses our greed and our drive for convenience and uses that as the engine for production, rather than trying to keep it in check, and limit greed for the sake of others. However, since there are inevitably big winners and big losers in this game, we simply shift massive, practically authoritarian levels of power from 'big government' to 'big corporations', with very little real difference for those on the bottom in terms of their poverty and relative powerlessness.
Capitalism is absolutely dependent on self-interest as the primary engine. Jesus teaches us to lay down our lives for others. Communism tries to make people do that on a society-wide level, with problematic results because 1) it must seriously curtail freedoms in order to do so, and 2) the system still needs to be organized by people with power, who eventually enjoy their power and become extremely oppressive themselves.
This is mostly personal mental spew, so I apologize. The point is: the real problem is our greed. The real problem is our desire for power and security on our own terms--our willingness to push others down to get it, or our willingness to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others when we have it, and are used to it. the real problem is the assumption that we should get the best deal we can for ourselves, rather than asking how our resources can best be poured out in service to others. the real problem is that in this area of economics, it is structurally and paradigmatically near-impossible to emobody the ethic of honoring others above ourselves.
How to change our hearts? How to really trust God for our power and security, and accept gladly what he gives and not crave more?
To start, we have to take seriously what Jesus teaches about wealth. I'd like to start out by suggesting that Jesus really does condemn wealth--not just say that we can have as much wealth as we want as long as 'our hearts are not attached to it'. Too strong a claim? Maybe. Next time I'll try and take a look at the evidence.
Blogging as voyeurism/exhibitionism
It's interesting doing this blog thing--one of the main internal obstacles in the past was the sense that we're all becoming too dependent on these relatively impersonal technologies in order to stay in touch and know each other. Put bluntly, when I first started reading blogs I had this unnerving sense of being a kind of emotional voyeur. Now blogs by nature are at least semi-public media, and I wasn't using any underhanded techniques to learn what people's blog addresses were. Nevertheless, even when I'm just innocently linking from one friend's blog to another friend's blog, there is this sense of trespassing, particularly if a person is putting fairly personal things on their blog.
In particular I remember reading some blogs after a few months of being at my current church, Quest. I had recently started getting to know these people, I liked them, wanted to belong to their circle, and reading blogs seemed like a perfectly harmless way to pass the time. Then it became slightly addictive, as I began looking at more and more posts, hungry for because I was getting to know these people. And by reading the comments feature, you can even eavesdrop on conversations, to a point. I found that I felt like I was experiencing these people on a level I hadn't yet experienced their friendship in real life. And therein lies the problem. Getting to know someone's heart through a public journal, when you haven't arrived at that point of intimacy through real face-to-face relating--well, that's kind of cheating, isn't it?
In all cases, the the people in question were OK with me reading their blog. And in the ensuing years, I have indeed been able to know these people as friends through actual interaction. Yet it still happens once in a while, where when I see someone I am relating to them out of a context of knowing certain aspects of their life and attitudes, not necessarily because they shared it with me but because I read it on their blog. It is a strange multi-layered form of knowing people, receiving both from what they have shared with you alone and what they have chosen to share to at least a chunk of the general public.
On the other side of the coin, what is it that compels us to make these pseudo-public statements, in some cases offering more of ourselves than we do in conversation? Obviously it is a less threatening format. As I sit here in my bedroom typing away, I can't see anyone's facial expression--see it change with slight approval or disapproval at a certain idea or word choice, I don't have to deal with your interruptions, or experience the anxiety when you start looking off to the side to see if there's anything or anyone of higher priority demanding your attention. There aren't all the variables, situationally and emotionally, that inhibit normal (un-intoxicated) relating and sharing in the interpersonal realm.
This also happens with e-mail--an amazingly great example of how a certain technology does not only facilitate communication, but has actually modified the way in which we communicate with each other. E-mail has changed the subtleties of how we communicate in our culture. For making plans, setting agendas, so many things, we just type out an e-mail and send it into cyberspace. In fact, there are many occasions where I would rather call and talk to the person in order to make the plans, ask for the favor, etc., but I increasingly feel an
inappropriateness to it--why 'waste' the person's time when you can just send an e-mail? Also, often we can be bolder or more assertive with e-mail, because there is no instant response. We don't need to hedge or hesitiate or pull back from part of what we wanted to say because again, there is no dynamic facial expression feedback matrix staring us in the face. And because it's so instant, there is rarely the care which was traditionally placed into letters, for example. Now, obviously there are exceptions to this--I have received some extremely sensitively crafted e-mails, and sent a few myself. Normally, though I try to stick to a policy of never dealing with sensitive issues over e-mail. But that is becoming increasingly harder to do as our culture takes this mode of communication more and more for granted. So we state our positions, press the send button, then go about our business until we see that symbol flash and that new message appear in our inbox. Then we take a deep breath, press another button, and quickly read to determine the tone, key words, anything to give us a sense where the other person is really at. Then, once that emotional response is given time to settle, we can go back and review the entire e-mail more carefully.
I've been debating with myself the extent to which e-mail has also very subtly changed our personal interactions as well, but I'm not as sure of this one. Are we getting worse at hashing out issues on an interpersonal level, because we're getting used to doing more of that on e-mail? As much as we extoll the convenience of it, I am convinced that it is more the comfort of distance from others, even our friends in certain cases, that draws us to use it so much. When we would rather send e-mails to the room or the cubicle next door to us rather than get up and walk five steps to talk to the person, something is deteriorating in our society.
OK, that was actually an e-mail interlude--what I was getting to at first was the motivation of bloggers (such as myself) for posting intellectual manifestos and personal issues on blogs. In some ways, where distance is a factor, it can be a way to communicate with a large body of people without having to repeat yourself dozens of times. But is it also, as I mused with my friend earlier today, simply a way of crying out for attention? In a way, I'm saying 'this is really who I am and what I think, and I was too scared to share all of that with you in our conversation, or the conversation took a different turn, so here's what
I want to say in the way
I want to say it so . . . Love Me!
I have had enough experiences where the friend I read in a blog is different enough from the friend whom I interact with in real life that it makes you wonder . . . How much do we ever know anyone? Is the 'me' you read in this blog closer to 'who I really am', or is this rather a more self-indulgent version of me, and the 'me' that has to relate and interact with people is a more accurate picture of the Dan that God created?
This gets way deep into identity issues, and no time to pursue them now. Enough already. Enjoy my exhibition, all you peeping toms :)
Rwanda
This is rather dark. I wrote it after watching a documentary about the Rwandan genocide.
Her fingers look just like the charred stumps of driftwood used to poke the fire while we huddle and laugh and one-up each other’s jokes
four charred thick stubs of driftwood sticking up from her hand
black blood trickles out
Satan’s piss
He is pissing on us all we who sit
and observe and analyze and maybe even cry
my isn’t that awful
isn’t that important
isn’t that devastatingly weighty I cannot comprehend that our governing bodies were not there to do something because they could have
he is pissing on us all and laughing
in our comfortable dens with aural soundscapes pulsing from our top of the line sound systems
soothing our wrecked narcissistic souls
I just feel awful, don’t you feel awful?
ensconced in my fortress
adorned with books and flyers berating the diabolical powers that allowed this to happen in order that I might be safe and secure
He is pissing on us all—syrup trickling from the stumps of a lucky girl's hands
Do not fuck with me—oh, no. My sliced heart will hack you the second my fortress dissolves
I am right there slicing away from the comfort of my own living room
I too can summon up neither tears nor shame
a little poetry
I am part; I am whole
wholly pushed, pushing myself, anxious vibration of loneliness take me out of my skin my damned quivering skin
Don’t look at me too closely I beg you, I am not whole. I am not here
I stay undercover where I can imagine you and I elsewhere unbound by anything
the open meadow where I can till and tame and love
You don’t refuse, neither do you indulge
You elusive, you infusing, calling me outside of myself: hating myself, loving myself all at once
my psyche bends from the strain
Ignite the soul you created,
as brave, as offensive, as helpless as you design
I want to be found in you
You who created this small boy, you who take these uncut stones and assemble them into a whole not prefabricated by toy companies
a whole profoundly painfully magically different from the original
and in this space
in this haphazard tapestry I find my fittingness,
my side, my angle, my aspect
Breathe on me. Breathe on us all with that gentle breeze stronger than Satan’s bile,
stronger than the blood on all of our hands
evaporating cleansing
Teach us a thousand new scents
Give us a thousand new names by which to re-create one another
Guide our hands as we fill in the details of your deep, true, terrifying story
You make things
You make things new
God, I hope so because if you aren’t there, if you don’t really make all these dead ones rise again
if the lonely never find your touch
if the beloved waste away from disease and disappear
if the oppressed just get blown up on their way to work
then the blessings don’t balance the curses
a thousand curses brought down upon our own heads
I crawl for sanctuary into a bare, hollow tomb
When will I learn that you don’t have to make anything new?
That healing is a gift and not a right?
When will I learn that everything you make distracts as easily as it inspires?
When will I learn to live you and breathe you?
