I was just about to finish up the self-appointed task of reading and annotating the entire new textbook anthology we're using for one of the classes that I work with on campus, and pretty pleased to be nearly complete, when I flipped the page and came across the biblical story of Jonah. (The whole anthology is different perspectives on what it means to lead a life that matters.)
I didn't even have to read the story to hear the message loud and clear.
Now, pretty much everyone knows the story of Jonah. It's one of the first feltboard stories you see as a little kid in Sunday school class. Jonah gets a pretty clear directive from God. Go. To. Nineveh. Jonah, being sort of a brat, is like, Um....No. He gets in a boat that's headed the exact opposite way of Nineveh, climbs down below, and takes a smug and satisfied little nap. The guys on board experience a huge storm and assume that one of them had clearly done something wrong, so they wake Jonah up to see if it happens to be him. And you know Jonah is already like, Craaaaaapppppp. It's totally me. So he tells them to toss him overboard, and they do, and the storm disappears. Eerie. Even more eerie is the fact that a big ol' fish is waiting for Jonah in the water, swallows him up, and spits him out a few days later on dry land. (It's here I always have the image of that scene from Pinocchio where they build a fire in the whale's belly to escape...and that, by the way, is the wrong story...) God once again reminds Jonah of his mission. He goes, probably with a series of big overblown sighs and frustrated grunts, does his job in Nineveh, and God saves the city. Jonah gets mad about that, but that's another post for another day.
So, like I was saying, I didn't even have to read the story to know the message. For a while, God has been calling me to a certain something, a Nineveh of my own. I don't really want the job. It's not a fun job. It comes with a fair amount of risk. It is going to be hard to do. I will probably be there for a while, or forever. And I've been trying to ignore this job for a while. But I really have known for a while. And just seeing the title of the book of Jonah on the page this week was enough to tip the scale.
I'm not dumb. I can take a hint and learn a lesson. And frankly, one guy being tossed overboard into a raging storm and then a whale's belly is quite enough. I don't need to throw myself overboard with him. I don't even need to be in the boat. Tonight I told Derrick for the first time that I was told to go to Nineveh, so to speak. And he just chuckled and told me that my confession made a lot of sense. And then he said, Welcome to my life, a series of frustrated but grateful groans to God about being in the places I am told to be. All. The. Time. At least we get to gratefully groan together from now on?
I'm not really sure why God does this, sends us to places we don't want to go, on missions we don't want to do. I wish I had some really insightful thing to write right here. I guess I just choose to see the silver lining when I can. Otherwise, I'd probably just end up perpetually mad at God. There was a reason Jonah was to go to Nineveh. There must be reasons for me to face my own Ninevites. Some growth or learning or development or maturity. Even if I stomp my feet and scrunch my face the whole time. God knows better than I why he called me to this task. He knows why it needs to be me and them and how it will all turn out in the end. It might not be the way I anticipate. I might even be mad at the result in the end, but that doesn't change the fact that God is God, and I am who he wants to use. I don't get it. I'm a tad frustrated by it, but I know in the end that there will be gratitude and growth in there somewhere, somehow.
At least the fleeting thought of getting in the opposite-way boat is out of my head. Jonah already learned that lesson for me. Wish me luck in Nineveh, folks. I'm going to be there a while.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Monday, March 24, 2014
Pre-Digital Footprint
In one of my roles at work, I serve as a mentor to a group of students that are challenged to think about issues of character. This semester's focus is on technology and character, with a close eye on social media. This week, students were asked two questions:
-----
I have this box in my house. It's filled with hundreds of old black and white photos from my grandparents, some as far back as their newlywed days. I've flipped through the photos more times than I can count. These discussion questions of digital footprint have my thoughts drifting back to when they were young. What footprint did they leave behind?
If I went digging, and I mean really intensely digging, I bet I could find published, public records of these two grandparents. Their birth, marriage, death records. Major purchases. Their number listed in the phone book. Their address in the church directory. Perhaps my papa's business got some local press in the paper. They were not invisible. Their existence left a footprint in the world.
And that box of photos is filled with the happiest of memories. Their first house together. Dinner parties. A new baby. Vacations. All with perfect hair and clean rooms and pretty dresses and happy people. The documented portions of their lives were by no means accurate representation of the lives they lived. They had to have had bad hair days and naughty kids and years where the money didn't allow them to take trips.
So what's the difference? Sure, the medium is different. I couldn't really Google them, per se, like you could Google me. My photos, looking just as put together and accomplished and well traveled as theirs did, aren't in a box. They're in a cloud. My records aren't buried on microfiche. They're floating about it bits and bites online.
The most significant difference as far as I can tell is how the information is transmitted. How and how far. The photos in the box only get seen by the people I show them to. My photos get seen by anyone with adequate Googling ability. Their address was in the church directory. Mine can be found on whitepages.com. When one of them needed to call their second cousin's husband Morty, who picked up Grandma's scarf at a family reunion, they simply asked their sister, who called her cousin, who looked in a notebook, and found Morty's number. If my second cousin Amber picks up my scarf at a reunion, I simply search her name and town to come up with her number. If an employer wanted to know what Grandma was really like before giving her the job at the meat processing plant where she once worked, he called a reference, and that's all he knew. Unless she was in the paper that week for reckless driving. Now, employers, like everyone else, Googles us, finds us on Facebook, looks for our tweets.
Papa could have published an opinion piece in the paper every week if he wanted to. He could have showed their family photos to everyone who would have stopped to see them. He could have chosen an unlisted phone number or opt out of the church directory. They controlled the footprint that they left. And so do we. But for us, the options are far greater. The reach, much farther. The access, much easier. But we still control it.
I'm not opting out of Facebook anytime soon. My blog and other public displays of my existence on this earth will not be shut down either. These records I'm leaving behind aren't really bad or scary or dangerous. They're just new forms of old footprints. And just as I relish those happy black and white photos of my grandparents, I hope that the footprint I leave behind for my grandchildren brings them joy too. I don't want to be invisible in the world. I leave my footprint for the next generations. And in our world, that footprint just happens to be digital. Who knows what it will be for them.
- What is your digital footprint? In other words, where have you left significant digital traces online?
- What picture would this paint of you? Do you feel this would be an accurate representation of your "self"?
-----
I have this box in my house. It's filled with hundreds of old black and white photos from my grandparents, some as far back as their newlywed days. I've flipped through the photos more times than I can count. These discussion questions of digital footprint have my thoughts drifting back to when they were young. What footprint did they leave behind?
If I went digging, and I mean really intensely digging, I bet I could find published, public records of these two grandparents. Their birth, marriage, death records. Major purchases. Their number listed in the phone book. Their address in the church directory. Perhaps my papa's business got some local press in the paper. They were not invisible. Their existence left a footprint in the world.
And that box of photos is filled with the happiest of memories. Their first house together. Dinner parties. A new baby. Vacations. All with perfect hair and clean rooms and pretty dresses and happy people. The documented portions of their lives were by no means accurate representation of the lives they lived. They had to have had bad hair days and naughty kids and years where the money didn't allow them to take trips.
So what's the difference? Sure, the medium is different. I couldn't really Google them, per se, like you could Google me. My photos, looking just as put together and accomplished and well traveled as theirs did, aren't in a box. They're in a cloud. My records aren't buried on microfiche. They're floating about it bits and bites online.
The most significant difference as far as I can tell is how the information is transmitted. How and how far. The photos in the box only get seen by the people I show them to. My photos get seen by anyone with adequate Googling ability. Their address was in the church directory. Mine can be found on whitepages.com. When one of them needed to call their second cousin's husband Morty, who picked up Grandma's scarf at a family reunion, they simply asked their sister, who called her cousin, who looked in a notebook, and found Morty's number. If my second cousin Amber picks up my scarf at a reunion, I simply search her name and town to come up with her number. If an employer wanted to know what Grandma was really like before giving her the job at the meat processing plant where she once worked, he called a reference, and that's all he knew. Unless she was in the paper that week for reckless driving. Now, employers, like everyone else, Googles us, finds us on Facebook, looks for our tweets.
Papa could have published an opinion piece in the paper every week if he wanted to. He could have showed their family photos to everyone who would have stopped to see them. He could have chosen an unlisted phone number or opt out of the church directory. They controlled the footprint that they left. And so do we. But for us, the options are far greater. The reach, much farther. The access, much easier. But we still control it.
I'm not opting out of Facebook anytime soon. My blog and other public displays of my existence on this earth will not be shut down either. These records I'm leaving behind aren't really bad or scary or dangerous. They're just new forms of old footprints. And just as I relish those happy black and white photos of my grandparents, I hope that the footprint I leave behind for my grandchildren brings them joy too. I don't want to be invisible in the world. I leave my footprint for the next generations. And in our world, that footprint just happens to be digital. Who knows what it will be for them.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
On the Freedom of Facebook
I will preface this post by saying that I fully realize that by posting my opinions here, on a public blog, I am acting with a fair level of hypocrisy. This is not a holier-than-thou message, but it is a judgement of sorts, a judgement of appropriate versus inappropriate behavior online because it seems to me that we have lost the ability to tell the difference.
I find myself wondering lately what goes through people's minds when they post things to Facebook. What goes through my mind? As a rarer than most poster, I feel like what I post is about as random as my life in general. A quick perusal of this year's posts so far, my posts have included a few photos of random happenings in life (coffee, an event or two, engagement photo) and some random updates about workouts, weather, work, a few birthday messages to friends. And sometimes I wonder if even that has been too much. It's not overly exciting. They don't mean much. To me, this is sort of the equivalent of making small talk with someone you haven't seen in a while because for the most part, it is indeed small talk with people I nearly never see.
Recently, I have been witnessing more and more Facebook freakouts. Many of the posts I read are not small talk with acquaintances but rather deeply personal and directed updates about breakups or family members, not so subtle passive aggressive messages, and even intensely personal medical procedures/updates. There are hurtful, uncomfortable, painful things being published out there for all to see, and to what end?
Now, we need to pause here again to note that I realize that this blog is not so different from a Facebook status update. And if you dig through its pages, you will find deep hurts revealed amidst various reflections and personal details of my life. So I get it. It feels good to get things out of your brain, off your chest, and into the universe.
But there is a level of responsibility that comes with public domains like Facebook, like this blog, that is being forgotten and perhaps eliminated completely. And the deterioration of this responsibility is being considered, I think, something it is absolutely not: freedom. There is no more freedom in Facebook than there is standing face-to-face with your dearest loved one, a random stranger, your grandmother. In fact, I would argue that there is actually much less freedom in these virtual lands of limitless reach because what you share is not being shared in the closeness of friendships, the personalness of family, the trust of your grandmother. It's not just going out to one person or an elevator full of people you'll never see again. You're sharing irreversible, unerasable information with an endless list of friends, acquaintances, family, strangers, friends of friends...
Facebook's repercussions are not just about what you're saying about yourself out there to the world. Certainly there are many avenues of self expression that are just as public as a Facebook status. Facebook's repercussions are about those that your messages are reaching. Words have power, and in a medium like Facebook, the reach of that power is extreme and unfathomable. Harsh or cruel words for loved ones, embarrassing moments of good friends, passive aggression, words of hate, rumors...there is simply no room for this level of irresponsibility. Not behind closed doors, not on a street corner, not on Facebook. Take responsibility. Man or woman up. Problems with people should be dealt with with people. Not with the public. Please stop using Facebook as a medium of harm and turn it into something beautiful. Use Facebook for good, for uplifting those around you, for making the world a little better place. It's your responsibility.
I find myself wondering lately what goes through people's minds when they post things to Facebook. What goes through my mind? As a rarer than most poster, I feel like what I post is about as random as my life in general. A quick perusal of this year's posts so far, my posts have included a few photos of random happenings in life (coffee, an event or two, engagement photo) and some random updates about workouts, weather, work, a few birthday messages to friends. And sometimes I wonder if even that has been too much. It's not overly exciting. They don't mean much. To me, this is sort of the equivalent of making small talk with someone you haven't seen in a while because for the most part, it is indeed small talk with people I nearly never see.
Recently, I have been witnessing more and more Facebook freakouts. Many of the posts I read are not small talk with acquaintances but rather deeply personal and directed updates about breakups or family members, not so subtle passive aggressive messages, and even intensely personal medical procedures/updates. There are hurtful, uncomfortable, painful things being published out there for all to see, and to what end?
Now, we need to pause here again to note that I realize that this blog is not so different from a Facebook status update. And if you dig through its pages, you will find deep hurts revealed amidst various reflections and personal details of my life. So I get it. It feels good to get things out of your brain, off your chest, and into the universe.
But there is a level of responsibility that comes with public domains like Facebook, like this blog, that is being forgotten and perhaps eliminated completely. And the deterioration of this responsibility is being considered, I think, something it is absolutely not: freedom. There is no more freedom in Facebook than there is standing face-to-face with your dearest loved one, a random stranger, your grandmother. In fact, I would argue that there is actually much less freedom in these virtual lands of limitless reach because what you share is not being shared in the closeness of friendships, the personalness of family, the trust of your grandmother. It's not just going out to one person or an elevator full of people you'll never see again. You're sharing irreversible, unerasable information with an endless list of friends, acquaintances, family, strangers, friends of friends...
Facebook's repercussions are not just about what you're saying about yourself out there to the world. Certainly there are many avenues of self expression that are just as public as a Facebook status. Facebook's repercussions are about those that your messages are reaching. Words have power, and in a medium like Facebook, the reach of that power is extreme and unfathomable. Harsh or cruel words for loved ones, embarrassing moments of good friends, passive aggression, words of hate, rumors...there is simply no room for this level of irresponsibility. Not behind closed doors, not on a street corner, not on Facebook. Take responsibility. Man or woman up. Problems with people should be dealt with with people. Not with the public. Please stop using Facebook as a medium of harm and turn it into something beautiful. Use Facebook for good, for uplifting those around you, for making the world a little better place. It's your responsibility.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Engagement Treasures
There's something to be said for treasuring every phase of your life to the extent that one can, but let's be honest that some phases of life are more treasurable than others. For instance, I'm not so sure that I will look back and be able to state with certainty that I treasured my dissertation writing phase of life. I hopefully can at least say I survived it, I muddled through it, I, um, accomplished it. I doubt I will say I treasured it.
And hearing of and even in some cases witnessing horror stories of engagements, I'm not so sure that three months ago I would have put being engaged on the to-be-treasured list. However, half way through this business, I must say I am having far too much fun.
There are just certain things that one only EVER gets to do while engaged. I had never really thought of this before, but lately, this is becoming really apparent. Beside the obvious fact of getting to plan a wedding and all the details that come with it, there are tons of other things I feel like I am experiencing, discussing, and learning in this special period of life.
I get to experience the excitement of getting engaged over and over each time someone finds out. New girlish squeals abound, and we all dance around and hug and smile. This also sometimes happens between Derrick and I when we realize how many days or weeks we have left to go before life together begins (okay, so he doesn't squeal and dance about, but I usually do). I have been able to discuss many things I did not expect to discuss with anyone. Amongst my closest friends, topics of, ahem, marital bliss have come up more times in the last two weeks than my entire life previous. It's strange and delightful. And enlightening. And I feel like I have learned so much about myself, my impending wifehood (wifery? wifeishness?), us, our strengths and gifts and how those somehow come together in one house and one life together.
I am so very glad for the choices we have made. I would not have wanted a longer engagement than six months no matter how wonderful this treasured time is because, let's be honest, the real treasure awaits me after the engagement - my husband. But I am so glad that I get the gift of a cherished, treasured engagement that is sure to be followed by a cherished, treasured marriage.
And hearing of and even in some cases witnessing horror stories of engagements, I'm not so sure that three months ago I would have put being engaged on the to-be-treasured list. However, half way through this business, I must say I am having far too much fun.
There are just certain things that one only EVER gets to do while engaged. I had never really thought of this before, but lately, this is becoming really apparent. Beside the obvious fact of getting to plan a wedding and all the details that come with it, there are tons of other things I feel like I am experiencing, discussing, and learning in this special period of life.
I get to experience the excitement of getting engaged over and over each time someone finds out. New girlish squeals abound, and we all dance around and hug and smile. This also sometimes happens between Derrick and I when we realize how many days or weeks we have left to go before life together begins (okay, so he doesn't squeal and dance about, but I usually do). I have been able to discuss many things I did not expect to discuss with anyone. Amongst my closest friends, topics of, ahem, marital bliss have come up more times in the last two weeks than my entire life previous. It's strange and delightful. And enlightening. And I feel like I have learned so much about myself, my impending wifehood (wifery? wifeishness?), us, our strengths and gifts and how those somehow come together in one house and one life together.
I am so very glad for the choices we have made. I would not have wanted a longer engagement than six months no matter how wonderful this treasured time is because, let's be honest, the real treasure awaits me after the engagement - my husband. But I am so glad that I get the gift of a cherished, treasured engagement that is sure to be followed by a cherished, treasured marriage.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
On Inexperience (or Giant Training)
This morning, in a one-on-one meeting with a colleague, I was faced with a number of suggestions. A little brief context for what it's worth: I am responsible for developing and implementing two courses on campus, both of which have either taken a slow wander of the initial path or leapt off the path on purpose. Add into that the receipt of a grant, some new texts and tools to implement, and you've got one mighty challenge on your hands.
The initial suggestion was that I pull together a committee to get clarity on the direction that the courses should be going in order to get the framework settled. Again, a little context: we already did that once, and I generally loath writing by committee. I expressed these things in response and was met with yet another suggestion: you create the framework, then present it to the committee.
The suggestion was probably valid enough save for one thing. The committee of folks that would be pulled together have more years of experience as individuals than years I have been alive. They were the founders, more or less of the courses. I consider them to be the few and mighty that stand in a place of high honor and respect. Doesn't it all seem a little backwards? To send me, who is currently gaining some of her first experiences in the faculty world, into a room of giants with my ideas of what their course should look like? I think people around here exceptionally overestimate my abilities.
But by the time I got back to my office, something started to sink in a little bit. People are indeed overestimating my abilities, putting me in risky positions of responsibility, directly in the shadows of the giants...because they trust me to do it. And upon further inspection of the idea, is there a better way to learn and grow as a professional than that? These giants are giants in their own rights, but they are caring, nurturing, safe giants who, just maybe, are working on raising up another giant in their midst.
This particular juncture of my career life is incredibly rich and stuffed full of blessings that until today I was viewing as something equivalent to burdens. I couldn't understand why anyone would want a young-ish, inexperienced professional, still in the throes of her training and education, to take on things that looked like department head work, like experienced teacher stuff, stuff meant for those who have been around the block. But these challenges, these new experiences, these shadows-of-giants encounters are indescribably valuable blessings that are, in fact, preparing me for gianthood.
So, does it make any sense for me to prepare and present something to the ones that really were the founders of the great things I'm a part of now? Certainly not. Will I accept the responsibility as giant training? With deep appreciation and joy. No longer will I quiver in the shadow of the giants, worrying about every little thing, attempting not to be seen or heard. Instead, from their shadows, I will look up, watch closely, accept criticisms, and allow myself to grow. How thankful I am for the giants around me who care little that I am not yet standing among them. How grateful I am to be given the opportunities to live in their shadows.
Time to get back to work. There's giant training coming.
The initial suggestion was that I pull together a committee to get clarity on the direction that the courses should be going in order to get the framework settled. Again, a little context: we already did that once, and I generally loath writing by committee. I expressed these things in response and was met with yet another suggestion: you create the framework, then present it to the committee.
The suggestion was probably valid enough save for one thing. The committee of folks that would be pulled together have more years of experience as individuals than years I have been alive. They were the founders, more or less of the courses. I consider them to be the few and mighty that stand in a place of high honor and respect. Doesn't it all seem a little backwards? To send me, who is currently gaining some of her first experiences in the faculty world, into a room of giants with my ideas of what their course should look like? I think people around here exceptionally overestimate my abilities.
But by the time I got back to my office, something started to sink in a little bit. People are indeed overestimating my abilities, putting me in risky positions of responsibility, directly in the shadows of the giants...because they trust me to do it. And upon further inspection of the idea, is there a better way to learn and grow as a professional than that? These giants are giants in their own rights, but they are caring, nurturing, safe giants who, just maybe, are working on raising up another giant in their midst.
This particular juncture of my career life is incredibly rich and stuffed full of blessings that until today I was viewing as something equivalent to burdens. I couldn't understand why anyone would want a young-ish, inexperienced professional, still in the throes of her training and education, to take on things that looked like department head work, like experienced teacher stuff, stuff meant for those who have been around the block. But these challenges, these new experiences, these shadows-of-giants encounters are indescribably valuable blessings that are, in fact, preparing me for gianthood.
So, does it make any sense for me to prepare and present something to the ones that really were the founders of the great things I'm a part of now? Certainly not. Will I accept the responsibility as giant training? With deep appreciation and joy. No longer will I quiver in the shadow of the giants, worrying about every little thing, attempting not to be seen or heard. Instead, from their shadows, I will look up, watch closely, accept criticisms, and allow myself to grow. How thankful I am for the giants around me who care little that I am not yet standing among them. How grateful I am to be given the opportunities to live in their shadows.
Time to get back to work. There's giant training coming.
Saturday, March 08, 2014
Moving Out and Moving On
As Derrick and I draw nearer to our marriage (three months to go!), I have found myself to be far more reflective amidst all the pragmatism required for the wedding and life-together details that must be sorted out. The practical, detaily things that must be approached have begun to morph, each expanding and grabbing hold of more meaning than I originally allowed them. The process has been somewhat overwhelming, but I also revel in the joy, the contemplation, and the anticipation that come with all of these reflections.
As a gift of sorts to Derrick before our marriage, I offered to move out of my home and then work together to move into our home. Now, for those unaware, "my home" and "our home" happen to be the same house. It makes the thought of moving out far more foreign and bizarre. At first, even Derrick suggested that it was simply too much work and not necessary. He liked where the furniture was and how the kitchen was organized. For the last almost two years, he has been able to make sense of the space as we share it on a part-time basis. But the problem with this arrangement is and really always has been that there is a "his" space and a "hers" space, divided by 90 miles and many weekdays apart. And in three months' time, that division will be gone. The miles, the days, the separate spaces simply will no longer exist.
Early on in recognizing that this transition would indeed take place (I mean, that is one of the reasons we're getting married after all), I began to realize that in my mind, my home would always be just that - mine. Not ours. It would be my place with a sudden influx of a bunch of other stuff and clothes and shoes and gear that I'd have to find a corner or a box for. I even caught myself making comments to that effect. And I realized that this would not be a one-and-done matter where problems would simply solve themselves as we settled into "my home." No, it would fester. It would forever be a point of contention as long as we stayed in "my home."
The only solution was to move out, to break the bonds of comfort I have built within the sturdy walls, the familiar arrangements. But beginning the process of moving out has done something far greater than creating a space for the both of us. As I open closets whose sole purposes have been to hide away former pieces of my life, to stockpile my history...as I touch and handle parts of my life that have been stored away, boxed up with a fair amount of permanence, I begin to see my stuff in a different light.
Prom dresses and internship uniforms. A thousand t-shirts from nearly every campus block party, program, and trip. Elementary school doodles and graduation tassels. Love notes and journals. These are the pieces that make up my history, that are placeholders for the memories created with every experience. Although some of these act as relics, archeological artifacts that will elicit the giggles of our future children and grandchildren someday, much of the stuff I had once treasured and moved with me from place to place suddenly seemed far less significant. The physical pieces weren't what kept my history together.
So together, Derrick and I opened countless boxes, chuckled at old photographs, sorted through what I thought were the things that crafted my history, and boldly proclaimed much of it trash. And in those moments, there was no sorrow, no lament of the loss of all of my stuff. It was more like liberation. A moving on of sorts. A clearing away of unnecessary things to make room for all that is to come.
These days, "my house" is beginning to feel a little more like "a house" as we strip away the many things that I once was sure were my treasures. As the closets and the cabinets empty one by one, it really does look like someone is moving out. And someone is. Moving out and moving on. From "my home" to "our home." A transformation that could not have happened any other way, but that symbolizes so much more than just two spaces coming together. Two lives are coming together, ready to face whatever is to come. Together.
As a gift of sorts to Derrick before our marriage, I offered to move out of my home and then work together to move into our home. Now, for those unaware, "my home" and "our home" happen to be the same house. It makes the thought of moving out far more foreign and bizarre. At first, even Derrick suggested that it was simply too much work and not necessary. He liked where the furniture was and how the kitchen was organized. For the last almost two years, he has been able to make sense of the space as we share it on a part-time basis. But the problem with this arrangement is and really always has been that there is a "his" space and a "hers" space, divided by 90 miles and many weekdays apart. And in three months' time, that division will be gone. The miles, the days, the separate spaces simply will no longer exist.
Early on in recognizing that this transition would indeed take place (I mean, that is one of the reasons we're getting married after all), I began to realize that in my mind, my home would always be just that - mine. Not ours. It would be my place with a sudden influx of a bunch of other stuff and clothes and shoes and gear that I'd have to find a corner or a box for. I even caught myself making comments to that effect. And I realized that this would not be a one-and-done matter where problems would simply solve themselves as we settled into "my home." No, it would fester. It would forever be a point of contention as long as we stayed in "my home."
The only solution was to move out, to break the bonds of comfort I have built within the sturdy walls, the familiar arrangements. But beginning the process of moving out has done something far greater than creating a space for the both of us. As I open closets whose sole purposes have been to hide away former pieces of my life, to stockpile my history...as I touch and handle parts of my life that have been stored away, boxed up with a fair amount of permanence, I begin to see my stuff in a different light.
Prom dresses and internship uniforms. A thousand t-shirts from nearly every campus block party, program, and trip. Elementary school doodles and graduation tassels. Love notes and journals. These are the pieces that make up my history, that are placeholders for the memories created with every experience. Although some of these act as relics, archeological artifacts that will elicit the giggles of our future children and grandchildren someday, much of the stuff I had once treasured and moved with me from place to place suddenly seemed far less significant. The physical pieces weren't what kept my history together.
So together, Derrick and I opened countless boxes, chuckled at old photographs, sorted through what I thought were the things that crafted my history, and boldly proclaimed much of it trash. And in those moments, there was no sorrow, no lament of the loss of all of my stuff. It was more like liberation. A moving on of sorts. A clearing away of unnecessary things to make room for all that is to come.
These days, "my house" is beginning to feel a little more like "a house" as we strip away the many things that I once was sure were my treasures. As the closets and the cabinets empty one by one, it really does look like someone is moving out. And someone is. Moving out and moving on. From "my home" to "our home." A transformation that could not have happened any other way, but that symbolizes so much more than just two spaces coming together. Two lives are coming together, ready to face whatever is to come. Together.
Saturday, March 01, 2014
Update on the Update Addiction
I've been somewhat hesitant to write an update of my previous blog post because, well, it seems that posting it would indicate I have failed my mission. But after over a week of trying to make some adjustments, there have been a number of things worthy of reflection.
The rules, or perhaps guidelines, I had set for myself were not particularly complicated, but for me some of them seemed like a stretch. Close the perpetual feeds like Facebook most of the day, use one browser window at a time; limit notifications of the far too many email accounts that I have and when I check them; leave the phone away in meetings, meals, and face-to-face conversations; and TV is not a white noise device.
I tackled the too-many-email accounts-and-notifications issue first. After work last Friday, I set to the task of changing all of the notifications in my phone. I turned all notification buzzing or sounds off. Not wanting to be completely oblivious, I did leave the blinky light option on for now. This is a process after all, right? As a bonus though, I attempted to eliminate one email address completely by unlinking all of my Google Drive files from one of my Gmail accounts.
The act of turning the buzzing off was far more freeing than I anticipated. Usually, when my phone buzzes, I immediately turn on the screen, view the email, decide whether to keep it or eliminate it, then turn off the screen. That sounded really efficient until I realized that the phone may buzz 30-40 times a day. A DAY! And each time, a distraction from whatever I was doing. Now, when my phone buzzes maybe twice a day, it's usually a phone call or something actually of value. The rest of my day enjoys its new found freedom from the buzzing.
The web browsing habits were not so instant gratifying, however. I immediately decided to close the multiple browsing windows and keep Facebook and Twitter closed while at work, but a funny thing happened. Although the screen was empty, the physical habits remained. As I attempted to read an essay for curriculum preparations this week, after about every paragraph, I would find myself instinctively glancing at my screen. EVERY PARAGRAPH?! That's a lot of interruptions for there being nothing to look at! After a week without multiple distractions on screen, I actually find that I am still doing this. These distracted habits run deep. But I am determined. More work on this to come.
Other deeply entrenched habits remain as well, but they are seeming easier to navigate. Once home from work, my phone screen is perpetually checked, just to make sure I didn't miss anything important. I still really want to do this, but I have found that the ever so simple solution of putting the phone away in it's case has pretty much solved this. I don't have the desire to check it if it's not out in front of me, tempting me to glance just one more time. I am pleased with this tiny glimpse into freedom. This same philosophy has kept my phone away at meetings, at meals, and in face-to-face conversations, and frankly, people have noticed. And that tells me that my distractions where not only distractions to me, but they were actually creating distractions for others around me. Wow. How clueless I truly was.
TV was also a simple fix. I've never really been that in love with television. I just don't find most of it entertaining. But sometimes I did think that it made a nice white noise machine, as if surly I could study better or be more productive with it on. Duh. No. Turing it off has allowed me to really focus again, letting my brain soak up words on a page or in my project rather than the babbling words from some redundant sitcom or sports announcer.
It came up in our book club in the last meeting we had that one reader wished that Nicholas Carr would have suggested a solution, a how-to guide to fixing all of our technology-distraction woes. And true, there was no 12 step program to follow tucked in the appendix of the book, but I don't think that means that Carr has not suggested the solutions we all know exist. The truth is, we all know that we can't escape the Internet world, lest we decide to become Amish or live on a deserted island somewhere. It's too big, too pervasive, too convenient, and too necessary to how we all now live. But we can control it. In the days of Google Now and Siri, services that claim to understand and really know you... In the days of notifications and multitasking and background noise and hyper-connectedness, we still have choices to make. We can choose to fall victim to it all, letting in envelope our lives, our days, our work, and our brains. Or we can choose to take control back, to put limits on our technology, to think clearly and uninterrupted, to be quiet and still, to find balance.
I really think that is the solution. That is the how-to guide. It doesn't look the same for all of us. Some are deeper in the tech trenches than others. Some are more addicted, committed, controlled than others. But we all can take a look around us, a good hard look, and choose what is really, honestly helping us and what is actually hurting us.
You won't find me in a bonnet and buggy anytime soon. I do not intend to ever become Amish or a cave dweller or disappear on some deserted island. I appreciate many of the good and wonderful things that internet technology has given me. But I do have full intentions of keeping my brain. My relationships. My love of adventure and fresh air and clear thoughts. I choose less multitasking. Less notifications. Less Pavlovian screen glancing. It's a process and a journey, and I am excited to continue on it quietly and undistractedly.
The rules, or perhaps guidelines, I had set for myself were not particularly complicated, but for me some of them seemed like a stretch. Close the perpetual feeds like Facebook most of the day, use one browser window at a time; limit notifications of the far too many email accounts that I have and when I check them; leave the phone away in meetings, meals, and face-to-face conversations; and TV is not a white noise device.
I tackled the too-many-email accounts-and-notifications issue first. After work last Friday, I set to the task of changing all of the notifications in my phone. I turned all notification buzzing or sounds off. Not wanting to be completely oblivious, I did leave the blinky light option on for now. This is a process after all, right? As a bonus though, I attempted to eliminate one email address completely by unlinking all of my Google Drive files from one of my Gmail accounts.
The act of turning the buzzing off was far more freeing than I anticipated. Usually, when my phone buzzes, I immediately turn on the screen, view the email, decide whether to keep it or eliminate it, then turn off the screen. That sounded really efficient until I realized that the phone may buzz 30-40 times a day. A DAY! And each time, a distraction from whatever I was doing. Now, when my phone buzzes maybe twice a day, it's usually a phone call or something actually of value. The rest of my day enjoys its new found freedom from the buzzing.
The web browsing habits were not so instant gratifying, however. I immediately decided to close the multiple browsing windows and keep Facebook and Twitter closed while at work, but a funny thing happened. Although the screen was empty, the physical habits remained. As I attempted to read an essay for curriculum preparations this week, after about every paragraph, I would find myself instinctively glancing at my screen. EVERY PARAGRAPH?! That's a lot of interruptions for there being nothing to look at! After a week without multiple distractions on screen, I actually find that I am still doing this. These distracted habits run deep. But I am determined. More work on this to come.
Other deeply entrenched habits remain as well, but they are seeming easier to navigate. Once home from work, my phone screen is perpetually checked, just to make sure I didn't miss anything important. I still really want to do this, but I have found that the ever so simple solution of putting the phone away in it's case has pretty much solved this. I don't have the desire to check it if it's not out in front of me, tempting me to glance just one more time. I am pleased with this tiny glimpse into freedom. This same philosophy has kept my phone away at meetings, at meals, and in face-to-face conversations, and frankly, people have noticed. And that tells me that my distractions where not only distractions to me, but they were actually creating distractions for others around me. Wow. How clueless I truly was.
TV was also a simple fix. I've never really been that in love with television. I just don't find most of it entertaining. But sometimes I did think that it made a nice white noise machine, as if surly I could study better or be more productive with it on. Duh. No. Turing it off has allowed me to really focus again, letting my brain soak up words on a page or in my project rather than the babbling words from some redundant sitcom or sports announcer.
It came up in our book club in the last meeting we had that one reader wished that Nicholas Carr would have suggested a solution, a how-to guide to fixing all of our technology-distraction woes. And true, there was no 12 step program to follow tucked in the appendix of the book, but I don't think that means that Carr has not suggested the solutions we all know exist. The truth is, we all know that we can't escape the Internet world, lest we decide to become Amish or live on a deserted island somewhere. It's too big, too pervasive, too convenient, and too necessary to how we all now live. But we can control it. In the days of Google Now and Siri, services that claim to understand and really know you... In the days of notifications and multitasking and background noise and hyper-connectedness, we still have choices to make. We can choose to fall victim to it all, letting in envelope our lives, our days, our work, and our brains. Or we can choose to take control back, to put limits on our technology, to think clearly and uninterrupted, to be quiet and still, to find balance.
I really think that is the solution. That is the how-to guide. It doesn't look the same for all of us. Some are deeper in the tech trenches than others. Some are more addicted, committed, controlled than others. But we all can take a look around us, a good hard look, and choose what is really, honestly helping us and what is actually hurting us.
You won't find me in a bonnet and buggy anytime soon. I do not intend to ever become Amish or a cave dweller or disappear on some deserted island. I appreciate many of the good and wonderful things that internet technology has given me. But I do have full intentions of keeping my brain. My relationships. My love of adventure and fresh air and clear thoughts. I choose less multitasking. Less notifications. Less Pavlovian screen glancing. It's a process and a journey, and I am excited to continue on it quietly and undistractedly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)