Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Atheism and Brilliance: A Note on Christopher Hitchens and Differing Opinions

Many times since I’ve started this blog I’ve touched on spirituality and religion. I have asked people with a journey of their own to write guest blogs for me. I haven’t yet explained in-depth my own feelings towards it; my assumption is that as you continue to read, you will piece it together on your own. I also think that including differing views is important as well, especially in our quest for our own truth.



When I stumbled onto Christopher Hitchins many years ago in Vanity Fair magazine, he was like a train wreck to me. I didn’t like what I read, or rather didn’t agree with the viewpoint, but I couldn’t stop reading. His first column that I read was about his staunch view on atheism. He was extremely in your face about his credence that no God exists, almost taunting. For some reason, I continued to read month after month despite my differing opinion about religion. We did agree on one thing: that organized religion is at the heart of many of the worlds conflicts.  I chose this quote about his views to illustrate his thoughts: “Hitchens contended that organized religion is the main source of hatred in the world: violent, irrational, intolerant, allied to racism, tribalism, and bigotry, invested in ignorance and hostile to free inquiry, contemptuous of women and coercive toward children, and that accordingly it "ought to have a great deal on its conscience.”  I agree with him that people use religion as a basis for war, judgment of others, intolerance and demagogy.  But I do have belief and faith that the world can be better eventually, whereas he did not.  And I admit that the news carries stories every day proving me wrong. I still believe that I can work to help others, to demonstrate my own faith by loving people despite our differences and by continuing to see the goodness in humankind.



I was married to a Jehovah’s Witness (a fallen one obviously, as they aren’t supposed to marry outside of their faith) for ten years.  He had not only fallen away from the religion, but his upbringing had left him very soured to the thought of religion as whole.  And despite my early assumption that it was “no big deal”, I came to understand that for him, he was his own highest power. And to that end, it was like living in a bad city with no police.  Like the Wild West, with no law to answer to, no guideline to follow and no repercussion for breaking a law.  This was my only personal experience with someone who was a nonbeliever, so to read Hitchens’ viewpoint actually gave me insight into the fact that not all nonbelievers are lawless. 

When Christopher Hitchens became ill with cancer a couple of years back, I continued to read his column which spoke about his illness and his strong opinions on pretty much every topic. Your feeling on religion aside, the man was brilliant. He could speak about many topics, to any audience. He was snarky and sarcastic, often self depreciating, which I appreciate.  He had a humor about his sickness, and for a good while was determined that this cancer would not defeat him as it had his father.  Sadly, he was incorrect and he passed away earlier this month.

When I read that he had passed, I went onto the VF website to read his memoriam written by Graydon Carter, the Editor of VF. It was deeply respectful and alluded to the genius that many felt Hitchins possessed. I also dug deeper to see if he had what sometimes happens: a deathbed conversion.  He did not and in fact he was adamant that would not happen. He held fast to his convictions right up until the end. I suppose after a lifelong certainty that he was right, most would choose to not let go of them in the end.

If nothing else, I remain optimistic that when people learned of his passing that they did not further his hunch about religion being the main source of hatred in the world.  He was someone’s love, someone’s son and someone’s brother.  I am hopeful that whatever religious creed someone subscribes to, that it holds within it the most basic and profound of all values: KINDNESS, COMPASSION AND LOVE.

Monday, December 26, 2011

A New Favorite Christmas Song... A life plan revisited

Christmas time for a single mom is always a sticky situation. On top of the budgetary struggles, we have the politics. I can’t speak for all single moms; I can only share my own situation. The tricky situation I find is juggling the time frame. My Christmases have always been relaxed. Even after I moved out, we would go to my parent’s house for the entire day after unwrapping presents at our house. It was easy…no dividing time, no separate households to visit.



But now, things are clearly different. My ex picks the kids up at 3pm on Christmas Day, which is actually a good compromise. I get them for Christmas Eve, which I make a big deal of. And I get to see my babies on Christmas morning, and that’s priceless. I try to be fair and give my ex the time he wants. After all, I get to wake up with them, even if it is at 7am!



For someone who was raised in a traditional household, this “hand off” to the other parent is increasingly difficult. I was raised spending all day with my sisters and parents. Fast forward all these years, and my younger sister isn’t an active part of the family and doesn’t visit and my kids leave at 3pm. It’s tough. I feel the loss. But we do make the most of it. I get to spend my time with my parents, which I now understand is so important. Especially when my kids aren’t close, I sort of understand how my parents feel. And I love spending time with my older sister (she’s going to kick me for pointing out OLDER in big, bold letters. Older older older. Just saying.) and nieces and nephew. They ease the pain of not having my kids there for sure.

At some point, I recognize that even if my ex isn’t perfect, he’s still my kid’s dad. And he WANTS to see them, which I’m aware is not always the norm. I think he does the best he can, and the best he was raised with. Not everyone has the ideal upbringing, or the most ideal role model. He is working with what he has, and the kids are happy with that right now. So I’ll take it. But in the mean time, I can only reflect on myself. And for a woman who didn’t think she wanted kids, I can say now that I was way off base. I read this quote below and cried.



They are all of these things to me, they are everyday my masterpiece. I very much view them as a work of art, not quite completed but always evolving. And they, in turn, have made me the same thing. They make me understand that I’m not perfect; I’m a work in progress. I learn from them what it is to be humbled, to be brought to my knees by love for someone (and not silly boyfriend love, I mean REAL love. Unconditional love.) On a similar note, I found this quote on Pinterest (I said I was obsessed!!) that may accurately describe my sisters (the OLDER sister) relationship with her 19 year old son, who she loves dearly but I suspect wants to strangle sometimes. I anticipate being in this situation in T-minus ten years (my son is 7).



And after many years, I finally understand that the fulfillment I wanted wasn’t held by the gypsy, wandering life alone plan that I always had, the one of wandering the country solo in a Ford pickup. It was fulfilled by creating and raising two forever companions for my life-long journey. So this year, I have decided that I have a new favorite Christmas song. This is a big deal, because my two favorites FOREVER have been “O Holy Night” and “Blue Christmas”, strictly by Elvis. This year, I’ve decided that the sentiment behind “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” (the Bing Crosby one is my fave.) is much more suiting to me.  I’ve included the lyrics below. I think they’re relatable, and tell my story this year. Enjoy!

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the Yuletide gay

From now on our troubles will be miles away

Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of Yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

Through the years we all will be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Merry Christmas, D&W Readers!

Slowly the wrapping paper dustup is settling, the smell of Cinnamon Rolls is thoroughly permeating the house and "A Christmas Story" is on 24 hour rotation.  Yes, Christmas is surely here!

 

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Judging Someone By Their Past: Two Finger Rings, High School and All.

I am obsessed with Pinterest. I am unapologetic and unabashed. I will not give it up for anyone, and in fact, it takes away from my love life and social life and I’m okay with it.

In my never ending quest for creative people, I stumbled upon this site after a recommendation by a friend.  And I find it to be a gathering place of creative people, so I could hang out there all day long.

It’s also a virtual mine field of corny, should-be-on-a-poster sayings. And I’m okay with that. Because as corny as they may be, they prompt thought. They make my wheels turn.  Well, they’re always turning but normally in a million opposing directions. So reading one sentence and pondering it is not only a hurdle, but also an example that ADD can be controlled.

The theme of this blog is “Don’t Judge Me By My Past, I Don’t Live There Anymore.” This one is funny for me. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been through about a MILLION transformations and evolutions in my life. I spent my elementary years as a super quiet, shy girl with fashion tastes that bordered a South Western loving transvestite. Junior High (Middle School) was spent wishing I could melt into the cinder block prisonesque walls. And I say this because I was not only the tallest bookworm in school, but add to that I got braces (Full Metal!) and an extremely Ill advised perm of my red hair.  First, perms and red hair don’t ever, ever go together. But I will take this as a testament as to how much my mother loved me. Because I lobbied for that perm…I pestered and nagged and finally she gave in. This was her way of supporting me and showing me that she thought I was beautiful NO MATTER WHAT. And by NO MATTER WHAT, I mean a perm circa 1989. That says a lot.

But my most memorable role in the past would be the identity crisis of 1992-1996. That’s a long one, and I’m estimating the years. I not only forgot my wholesome, ideal upbringing, but I altogether forgot that I was raised amongst farm land, and I thought that I was raised in East L.A. with some “Homies” and “Bitches”.  Try to leave behind the fact that the school I went to could have been the basis for 90210 with the stuck up chicks and cliques. I went entirely outside of the school to the other side of the tracks and picked a boyfriend from the worst part. I wore a Starter jacket (not the Eagles either…that says a lot. Clearly out of my gourd.) I wore Fila’s….red, blue, black and every other color. I had airbrushed jeans that said my name down the left leg, should I ever forget it. I had a two finger ring that was bent and warped from all my fights that I think my parents still have as a memento of my foolish teen years. They may have it framed somewhere like a trophy that I actually survived my teen years. I know I would.

And now…hmmm. How far I’ve travelled. Nothing at all like my past self, yet I’m not willing to ever act as thought that didn’t exist. I know there are women who act as though they haven’t made mistakes. They haven’t had lovers. They haven’t had kids without being married first. I’m not one of those. I’ve done those things and I’m glad I did. I’m glad I called out girls in high school for being boyfriend stealers. I’m glad I stood up where I felt there was an injustice. I was perceived as a bully then, when really I wasn’t. I was someone who had been bullied for having that red hair, that ill advised perm, for being too tall and too book wormish. By the time I hit high school, I was over it. I changed and evolved, I became the strong woman my parents always told me I could be. And I stood up for myself and others.

Years later, after my failed marriage, I became that woman again after a decade long absence. I’m fairly sure that she and I are one now. I’ll never let that side go again.  Because that side with two finger rings , slicked back pony tails and all, make me up every day. But I don’t expect to be judged on it. And too often, we see someone we knew in high school or in our past, and say, “I knew her when….”

You don’t need to qualify it. You just need to remember it and forget it just as quickly. How long ago was school? For some of us (Ummmm…me), it was almost 20 years. I doubt very much that anyone I knew back then is the same.  Sometimes, their bad behavior and traits have evolved into something worse, but not often. Mostly, they’re better, as am I. They’ve learned from mistakes, from heartache, from life. They’ve grown up.

Challenge yourself the next time you see someone you knew. Remember that you only KNEW them, you don’t KNOW them. They’re two very different notions.

Offer goodwill and a clear slate. After all, who couldn’t use that? I know that my Fila wearing, airbrushed jeans sporting past self sure could use some forgiveness and understanding.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Wonderment: Where Does Your Movie Take Place?

What a crazy few weeks! I’ve been traveling, training, talking, flying, packing, unpacking and packing again.  I have just unpacked for what is hopefully the last time for a while. On a plus side, my fear of flying is quickly abating out of sheer force. I’m still over taken by the second of panic during takeoff, but I have come to appreciate the beauty of flight.

One of my favorite things has become looking at the states from above, in particular cities at night. I love to see the golden lights twinkling below, and pondering the thought process behind the layout of the city. I often develop little stories in my mind of what people are doing down there.  This is the mind of a writer, I suppose, always spinning a story.  Vegas was easy, I assumed everyone was gambling away hard earned money or getting married on a whim.



This time, as I flew over Nashville, I wondered if some of the blinking lights I saw where from Christmas lights. Farfetched, of course, but it made me smile to think of it. I could see the cars moving, in one continuous line of light. I could see baseball fields, and malls packed with cars driven by holiday shoppers. It’s been so hectic this last month or two that I couldn’t wait to land in Philly and become one of those cars in the line of light, doing holiday shopping and visiting friends.

My second favorite thing is people watching in the airport. I think I could do it all day, and in some layovers I felt that I have!  But people at airports wear their emotions on their faces plainly; they don’t seem to be able to help it. Some are saying hello and enveloping long lost loved ones in a huge hug. Some are saying goodbye, and don’t want to let that person go. They’re the ones who stand locked in embrace for a long time, versus the hello hugs which last seconds. I wonder why that is? That saying goodbye is more permanent? I think we should have equal hello hugs.

I always wonder about their stories. I wonder what they think mine is. I’m using the word wonder entirely too much in this post, but I suppose that could be the theme of this post. I have spent an incredible amount of time “wondering” these few weeks.

I’ve wondered about my own story, quite frankly, as I sit on these long flights. When my life will calm down a bit, where I’m going to move to in the upcoming months, where all of this work will get me.  And then it came to me. I needed a setting. You can’t possibly figure out your story without a setting, an end location in which the movie of your life takes place. All of those people I stare down at from the plane have a setting. The people in the airport probably do, too. So that was it, I needed to determine where I wanted to be, what I’m working so hard for and where I want to end up.



This is what it looks like. A ranch house on at least 50 acres. Rolling hills or mountains in the background, at least. Wide, light filled windows, wooden floors and a big stone fireplace in a big, sunny kitchen.  And another fireplace in my bedroom, while I’m at it. A room overlooking the mountains with a nice white antique desk where I can write this here blog. And don’t forget the horse in the pasture and the kids running around with reckless abandon.  Clearly, I went from having no picture to a fairly well defined one!  I can almost tell you what I’m wearing, it’s become so clear.



But I have to admit that once I came up with a destination, the smaller steps of getting there seemed easier and a little bit more worth it.  How about you? Do you have a destination for your story? If not, please do yourself this favor:

Wonder about everything a little bit more. Wonder about yourself and your path, and then determine where it will lead you.  Where does your movie end?  You owe it to yourself to paint that picture!