Assumptions

I was driving my family down to my mother's house for an Easter supper, when an interesting conversation came up in the car.  Easter is part of this, but not perhaps, in the way you'd think.

We have an interfaith family and cover all our bases...at least on the celebration end of things.  For Easter we acknowledge it as a time of renewal and rebirth - embracing perhaps more of the original intent behind the holiday before the Jesus story came to be.  We hunt for treat filled eggs and eat far too much from a feast prepared by loving hands, counting our blessings with every bite.  We enjoy time with family and friends and toast to good things past and to bright futures to come.  For a little while, we all put away our more pressing issues, and leave the cacophony of the popular culture and just enjoying the very nature of being.  I mention all of this to give you an idea of how we look at Easter in our family - though my husband was raised as a Catholic, he doesn't cling much to that dogma and tends to identify himself as Jewish when asked.  I am a Jew, raised in an interfaith household as well, as my mother converted to Judaism before marriage, and her entire family celebrated the holiday as well, but again...mostly secularly.  The message of Easter sent to me was mostly about bunnies and candy.  I knew it was a Christian holiday, but didn't get it's larger meaning until middle school, much less it's previous incarnation until later in high school (the festival of Ishtar).  And now that I understand it, after asking many questions and doing my own research, I greatly respect what the holiday stands for and how important a Holy Day it is for my Christian friends and family (and all those who I don't know) who observe it.  But I digress...

So, we're driving down to my mother's, and in the distance we see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles on the left hand side of the road.  Traffic begins to slow as drivers are pulling out of the way, and others are simply craning their curious necks to see what had happened.  I believe there were four emergency vehicles, a flatbed truck with the damaged car already mounted, and a handful of people milling about with a load of whatever was likely in the damaged vehicle now sitting on the side of the road.

I whisper, "I hope everyone is all right."

My husband says aloud, "Someone's making double time today."

I don't put this out there to present an obvious difference in the way we think with regard to compassion.  My husband tends to more of the compassionate side for the most part, but I still thought it an odd choice of comment to make.  So I asked him why.

He replied with something about the fact that it was Easter, and how sorry he felt for all those emergency personnel who were called out to work on the holiday.  (For the record, he did add that as he had more time to look at the situation as the passenger, he had surmised that everyone, for the most part, was safe and unharmed. But that part simply isn't germaine.)

This is where I found the more glaring difference in our thought process.  My husband made the assumptions that 1. all of the emergency personnel were Christian, 2. they were all observing the holiday and 3. that Easter would be considered a holiday to the extent that employers would pay holiday time for. 

I pointed all of those potential flaws to his logic. He paused for a long time, and then said, "I just didn't think about it that way."

It's these very same assumptions that those who are not Christian in this nation come up against so often.  It's these assumptions that cause so much angst and frustration.  It's these blind assumptions that even when pointed out, day after week after year...that build resentment and hostility. 

And day after week after year those of us who are not Christian, for the most part, are expected to simply forgive the misunderstanding or innocent ignorance, and roll with the punches, accepting, yet again, another heartfelt apology, and simply adjust our lives to accommodate the exclusionary scheduling. 

Prom on Passover?  Exams on Eid-al-Fitr? Dance Recital on Diwali?  Oh...we're so sorry...we didn't know.  Reviews on Rivdan?  Finals on Vaisakhi?  We didn't realize.  We didn't even think about it.  We just assumed...

Stop the assumptions.  Think outside yourselves.

I know I should wrap this up with some inspirational recommendation on being bigger and better than who you are, and learning and embracing (rather than simply tolerating) what is different from what you know, and being inclusive and educated.  But the whole thing is just so...bothersome and I don't want to come across as too pedantic.  I'm going to assume you've already figured that out.  So instead, I'll leave you with this...

Remember that old saying about when you assume?  It still holds.  For all of us.

I've started a change in course that could and will likely have some relatively radical outcomes for my way of life.  I stress the word "relatively". Not reality-show life changing, nor Nobel-Peace-Prize-winning changing, nor winning-Powerball life changing.  But I've taken a first step that I'd hoped would give me a sense of relief, but that hasn't come yet.  There has been so much chaos over the past few years and I've finally admitted that I can't, as much as I'd like to, hope or depend that someone else is going to pick up any of these broken pieces.  And so I've been starting the clean up.  One small piece at a time.

Warning: Grumble In Progress and Possible Pedantic Pedagogy

It's not a new revelation, certainly, but I have a hard time trusting people who claim to have spiritual superiority and wish to share that enlightenment or methodology when they also, perhaps coincidentally, possess enormous material wealth. I know that's...classist...I guess would be the term, but I don't even like the word "class" to define financial strata. Some of the classiest people I know have not much money to their name and so many in this country who have so much demonstrate the least class (although I know it's not the same thing). It's a form of prejudice, surely. Perhaps it is the luxury of their wealth that allows them the time to look so deeply inward and be able to take the time to evolve their soul. And I know we can't judge a book by it's cover, or purport to know what anyone is going through or weight of the world they carry on their shoulders. But one who has not a worry for where their next meal comes from, or where they make their bed tonight, or if their dependents are provided for...I would think finding solace of the soul has a shorter path. And I don't or won't deny that they can find peace and enlightenment - I'm sure they do. But I don't think they can necessarily teach most others well. 

 

Find me a person with next to nothing who can still find joy in the blessing of every breath, find the strength to lift up others and give of the only things they may have - their time and their talent...while still being able to be healthy and happy, (and not overcompensating to a point that's hazardous to their or their dependent's well being)that's who I want to take a tip from.  

 

Some of you might immediately leap to Buddha, or to Jesus, or any one of a myriad of other righteous, religious, and spiritual leaders from the past who cast off their earthly possessions to find their bliss.  But their context doesn't work for me.  Nor do I believe that it is necessary to shed all material things to find inner peace.  And none of them lived in our now. 

 

Realizing the potential of every day and acting upon it.  Even if on some days it simply means to take in the beauty of a sunset or the relish the simple grace of the mundane.  Living intentionally.  Acting purposefully.  Acknowledging when enough is enough - whether for better or for worse.  I think the solution is in there somewhere.  I'll keep looking.

 

 

 

 

Is It Really That Hard?

Over the course of my kids' educational careers at public schools, I've had to (more than once, mind you), gently remind staff and faculty at their public schools that those in charge of the calendars oopsied.  I guess this annual tradition will have to continue because it seems, as of late, that no one else is willing to do it.  Perhaps they are, and are just getting the cold shoulder, but I just refuse to believe that.  And I'm not sure that result would make me feel any better - in fact, it would probably make me feel worse.

What's the oopsie?  Scheduling any significant school event on a major Jewish holiday.  Oy.

Is it really that hard to look at a calendar? And if you've taken the time to actually look at the calendar, and maybe aren't reeeeeally sure how it works, because maybe, one time, somewhere in your academic career you vaguely recall something a bit wonky with how Jewish holidays work, and often, regular calendars don't quite get it right, and maybe...just maybe, you should check with more than one of your go-to Jewish employees or friends or neighbors, because maybe, just maybe they might not quite have it right either?

There was a grade-level program on the first night of Passover.  A test on Yom Kippur.  A field trip on Rosh Hashanah, among others.  Each time I've taken the time to point it out, I've been met with profuse apology, an appeal for understanding, and a schedule change.  Which is nice.  But this isn't MY job.

And yes, I know, the Jewish population isn't huge where I live, but it's not non-existent either.  No, we're not New York, or Miami, or Los Angeles...but COME ON ALREADY.

Now I come to find out that our local high school (where one my kids is a freshman) has their prom scheduled for the second night of Passover.  Oy vey.

I'm guessing someone did glance at a flip page calendar, saw Passover typed on Friday and shrugged "we're good".  Or they might have gone a little deeper, maybe used the web, and saw that it starts Friday, the 22nd of April.  They might not even have noticed the end date.  And even if they did, most gentiles only think of Passover as a one-night deal - this isn't Chanukah, for goodness sakes (their thought, not mine).

Oy veyz mir.

My kid isn't going to Prom - he's not old enough yet.  Or at least, if some senior has asked him to go, he hasn't mentioned it to me yet.  I'm going out on a limb assuming, based on his circle of friends, that this isn't happening anyway.  So, one could argue this doesn't affect me, why should I care?

But I do care.  And I know kids who ARE seniors, and who are Jewish, and will now have to make a choice - even if it's for a millisecond - just a fleeting thought in their heads - between Prom and Passover.

And I know, Prom will win.  Of course, Prom will win.  I get it.

It's a big school by population.  And we're a tiny minority comparatively.  I don't think there are any Orthodox kids at the school, but I'm not sure.  I would presume there may be at least a few Conservative kids, and I know of a handful or so of Reform.  But not one of them should even have to have the thought cross their minds.  Not in this day and age.

I'm so miffed and confounded and confuddled I can't even come up with a poignant summary, a salient closing statement - a provacative end point followed by an ellipsis.  And I love my ellipses.

What do you think?

Midlife Crisis?

For a number of years now, I've half-heartedly joked that I've been gearing up for a mid-life crisis. Almost as instantly as the word tumbled out of my fingers or mouth, I would quickly do some math and then reneg on the whole idea because obviously, I was then too young...not to have a crisis of faith, hope, life, etc., but to call it a mid-life one.

But in this year of 45, and looking at the lifespans of my grandparents, and their parents, barring any major complications, I'm okay with calling this mid-life.  If I can get at least this many years on the downslope...I'm okay with that.  Don't want to be greedy - as attractive as "As old as Moses" sounds (120) or even the accolade from White House may be (for 100), I can see living into that tenth decade would be pretty gratifying.

And so, now satisfied with that math...I can allow the crisis to begin.  Hold on, because I've a feeling it's gonna be a bumpy ride...

I'm Gonna Be What Now?

So something very exciting is happening, (not like, huge, ginormous life-changing exciting - well, maybe - kinda tip-o-the-iceberg thing...maybe), and I'll share it when it's all said and done.  Don't get too excited...it's super small scale in the big picture of things, but somehow there's some old proverb here about how a grain of rice to an ant is tantamount to Everest or something to that effect.  It has to do with writing (YAY!).  No, not a book...not yet.  But in order for it all to happen, as per standards of practice, my piece has to be edited.

Silent pause (much more appropriate than a southern-belle gasp, lace fan a-flutterin', back of hand slapped to forehead...you get it).

I've been an editor, both informally, and professionally (when I got to capitalize the 'E').  I get it.  Of course pieces have to be edited.  That's the way it's done.  It's extremely rare to find a piece of reading that's literally, perfect in every way.  Especially to the eyes and sensibilities of experienced and professional writers and editors.  Oh, the field day one could have with this, for instance!  But I'm relying on blogger-life license for the freedom from the constraint of literary style manuals.

But most of my writing, when submitted to publications gets pretty much laid in just as it is.  I typically give it a few rounds of editing myself before sending it anywhere, and of course, always have other eyes on it - but not necessarily those of writers/editors.  I'm fact-checking - making sure I understood things right, that I'm inviting the public to the right place, date, and time, etc.

This is the first piece I've submitted anywhere that's not in the journalistic style.  Oh, well, now that I think about it, that's not entirely true.  But that only other one that I did, was indeed, slapped up on the internet in its entirety.  That page doesn't exist anymore. They were hungry for content and collected as fast as they could.  Not exactly a recipe for success.  That's no reflection on the editor (who did not create the page) - it was a business that spread itself too thin to begin with.  But I digress.

So being the kind of piece it IS...I'm fraught with wondering what they'll do to it.  It's not that long, and what did I or didn't do?  Did I miss some punctuation?  Do people punctuate anymore?  Are they miffed at my double spacing after a period (sorry, won't let that one go - call me a dinosaur - a spaceosaur, as it were)?  The word count was constrained, so I had to really cut things down to make it fit - what could they possibly take out?  Did they not realize how much time I spent on it before (apparently not)?  Don't they know who I am (definitely not)? Don't they...

Yeah...they might.  And they probably don't.  It's just a first for me - a new set of feelings that I never wanted to deal with before.  And really, in the grand scheme of things does it change who I am?  Will it change my style?  My intent?  No.  Their job is to actually help me look good to more than say...just my mom (who's opinion I do value greatly - just making a point).  Just like I used to tell people whose work I edited.

Ah...I get it.  I really do.

Stumped

I knew this would happen.  I just knew it.  As soon I make the commitment to exercise regularly (my writing skills - please, did you think I meant something aerobic?  Well, I should do that too), I knew I'd get brain freeze.  Similar to ass freeze when I make the, typically too loud decision to start going to the gym.  My ass just gets stuck in the chair.  Typically writing.  Come to think of it, since I've made the commitment to write regularly I've been busying myself with all sorts of physical activity. Wait...what?

Somehow my wires are completely crossed.  Commit to sweat, I get words.  Commit to paragraphs, I get achy muscles.  Not that either one is a bad thing - but somehow I have to flip the switch. Like that same dagnabbit switch that turns on about 10PM, no matter how flipping tired I during the day.  The one that stays on for hours...as if my day has just begun.  Or what I think a day just beginning is supposed to feel like, per everyone else's relentless ongoing commentary about being so freaking chipper after dawn, after their alone time before the rest of the world wakes up.  Honey, that's when I'm typically turning in.  But I digress.

I think I have to blow up that silly ball.  Where is she going with this, you may wonder.  Stay with me.  A while back (longer than I care to remember) I went out and bought myself one of those fitness balls - those big ones that you can bounce on.  I realized how long I do sit in this desk chair, whether I'm doing something for one of my various volunteer gigs, one of my jobs, or just surfing the social media landscape, and thought it better if I at least did it moving.  I'm not paying to reorient the office into a standing desk scenario, so this seemed like the next best thing.

It's still in the box.  I'm not sure where the box is.  I see it in my mind's eye.  I vaguely recall its last location, but then it all goes blurry.  As soon as I buy a new one it will appear, of course.

But maybe that's just it, I have to do both simultaneously.  Then I'll have no excuses, right?  Still won't help my kitchen get clean, but at least I'll be doing good for my body and my soul.  And maybe...I'll get something moving...the train out of the station, the ship out of the port, the kids out of the schoolyard (oh, wait, that's not good - they should stay, right?)...bear with me.  The engines are revving...

2016 The Year of Change

Fa la la la - year of change, resolutions, making a difference...we've heard it all before.  I've said it before, I've kinda done it before, I've failed before.  But you've got to keep trying.  You can't stop.  I can't stop.  As much I want to.  Each December I try to convince myself that come January, I won't be among the millions making public pronouncements of eating better, getting healthy, pulling myself up by the bootstraps, etc., etc....et..cet..era.  But I can't help myself.  Though I've become more quiet in my planning - subversively setting myself up to hide my failures...or rather, my short-lived successes.

But I'm giving it another go.  How can I not?  How can I not be hopeful that this is the launching point of something wonderful?  That each day is not a new opportunity to be better than the day before (regardless of how it winds up...but especially if it winds up a crappy one)? I'm not quite ready to throw in that towel.

So here's my commitment - we'll start small...or rather...focused...so as to make things achievable - just as I so often advise many who come to me with all sorts of inquiries.  I guess that's part one.

Part two is that I will write more.  I will write often.  I won't necessarily write dissertations - but I will exercise this skill that quite a few folks have reminded me I have.  And hopefully, it will help make it better.  And also...that you will enjoy it.  And read it.  And become a part of Magzland.

More soon...pinky swear.