Notice me!

Inspired by Jodie Foster's Golden Globe remarks

I'm not ashamed, I love to filter my photos. // the cropping, the framing, the saturation. // each with its own emotion and visual lux. // an embellishment created for each of you, my followers. // whether friend or family or stranger. // sending each one out hoping to connect with you. // your likes thrill me shamelessly. // I go trolling for hash tag comments. // yearning to move you. // I want to touch your awe. // find transcendence with a stranger. // notice me! #



http://instagram.com/p/Zj7aEZoKYD/

Courageous Conversations

Somewhere along the way through motherhood, I missed out on an important meme, Courageous Conversations. Sure, I’d heard the term, but I didn’t realize it was capitalized.

I bet I’m not much different from the rest of America. I have a vague idea it was a phrase Obama said, and one that many of my “culturally competent” friends will drop into our conversation, signaling they are in the tribe.

I haven’t read the book and I didn’t Google it before beginning my thoughts. My jumping off point today was the article in Seattle Times today regarding a US Department of Education probe into discrimination in the classroom. When I finished it, I heard “courageous conversations” ringing in my mind.

Before speaking further, I must identify myself to anyone who has not met me. I am a divorced white mother of a mixed race 13 year-old black son who is at the racial identity phase of development.

I wanted Son to read the article, of course, but knew that was not going to happen. Instead I reread it underlining quotes and data I wanted to share with both Son and his teaching team at the meeting about his attitude tomorrow afternoon. (Spot on timing, Seattle Times.)

While there have been no suspensions at our house, there have been plenty of lunch detentions. Plenty. Lunch detention doesn’t sound like much, but think about Son’s perception that others are getting away with just a talking to.

“[He] has heard countless stories of black students who receive harsher punishments than white students for infractions that seemed identical.” “Yeah, so, I already knew that,” says Son.

“Some of the biggest disparities show up in schools with relatively small numbers of black students.” There are just 5 blacks in Son’s grade. Five.

“Where the racial disparity kicks in, all the discipline data says, is when you look at subjective reasons for discipline, things like disrespect or being disruptive, excessive noise, or loitering.”

Some of Son’s white female teachers have found him disruptive and disrespectful. Son feels he is singled out unfairly, the only one being called out at a table where everyone was talking. (Yes, he admits to talking and goofing around. The problem is the added edge of being singled out for reprimand when you already feel a bit of an outsider.)

What’s complicated is that all of the adults in the situation are well intentioned, culturally experienced white people who sees things very differently than Son.

I sincerely believe every one of the adults involved are doing their best. They’ve been through the training. They even have family across racial lines.

But if I am honest, if I am courageous, I must admit that I can’t recognize in myself any deep-seeded bias I might have not yet discovered. Have I been more protective because my son is black? You bet. Do I worry more? Absolutely.  Of course I’m biased, so why aren’t they as well.

And what parent of a young black man growing up in this country isn’t doing her or her best to help their son build the necessary armor and savvy to keep them safe out in a world who expects them to be either thugs or Oreos.

So tomorrow I will do my best to have one of the courageous conversations that ends in smoothing the way and keeping Son on the right track. I will follow Dr. King’s teachings and begin with a compassionate heart.

And tonight I’m going to meditate on the challenge of self knowledge. Can we ever see into our subconscious motivations and their resulting actions? 

Message from the late winter garden

The chill of the damp soil seeps through my gardening pants soaking in the earth’s dark dampness.

Though the air is chill and the soil still cold, life is erupting everywhere -- hundreds of weeds pushing up into the growing light.

Now is the time for the hoe: the bulbs have all shown their heads and the sprouting weed’s feet have not had time to hunker down. Slicing through the top of the soil, I turn them under.

I returned today, into the garden -- my own little speck of earth. This 5^th garden hour, I feel myself opening, breathing freer as bright yellow daffodils and velvety crocuses herald Spring’s arrival.

Under my fingernails I smell the earth. A switch flips and I feel the stirrings in my body’s neural memory.  Wake up!

The wheel turns plainly in the garden. A ceaseless flowing of light and dark growing first longer and then slower until the turn begins the cycle again. Though I cannot see the stars through my LED streetlight’s glare, I can feel the infinite’s presence connecting to my small, but important, place in the cosmos.

The wisdom of the garden is continually revealing itself to me. I grow with the flowers and die with the weeds. Sending out thanksgiving for being blessed with a home that has its own patch of earth; place enough to grow flowers and pumpkins and chickens, and where my children have room to grow.

“Wake up, wake up!” The garden calls. “My work is no chore and the harvest begins now.”

Showerhead Christianity

(alternatively titled, Why I'm not a Christian.)

Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” (Mark 10: 21) 

How do you rationalize possessions when you are a follower of Jesus? (No. I do not want to debate you nor exchange Midrash.)

The turning point to my present state of mind began with taking down the water-saving shower head and putting up a modest, but ample one.

Mind you the angst over a showerhead’s GPM rating is an angst of the 10%: guilt of unearned privilege, thriftiness as a virtue, and riches require great responsibility.

Replacing a miserly trickle (almost as bad as a navy shower, but at least the water is warm), with a wide open flow asks an unanswerable question: Where is the balance between discomfort and squandering?

Philanthropy: Groupthink of the privileged?

Today I attended @SeattleCityClub’s #PhilanthropyForward event. It was a discussion full of hashtag jargon like #engagement #collective #collaboration #connect #advocacy #influence #progressive #community #capital #accountability.

I was astonished that an entire conversation surrounding the topic of collective giving did not mention the United Way. In fact, people seemed to think it was a new idea -- just like the power of the $25 donation.

Not so long ago, the United Way spearheaded the concept of collective giving.

Not so long ago at the Pride Foundation we talked about the $25 gift being equal in significance to the $25,000 donation. It’s in no small part this view contributed to the passage of Marriage Equality.

Yet we are continuing to talk about how to impact same problems of 20, no 100, years ago as if we live ignorant of history. It appears to me we’ve simply found a new language to describe our efforts.

Meanwhile, the problems of global inequality and poverty only seem to grow worse.

Not so long ago, non-profits would hold out their open hands with the statistic “lower-income Americans give proportionally more of their incomes to charity than do upper-income Americans” so therefore give.

This statistic is very comforting to charity’s majority stakeholders –staff, leadership volunteers, donors. It gives them an out to not have to look at their own privilege, the paradox of comfort vs. calling.

Have you noticed? All of the progressive, hard working, virtuous people of change have high levels of intellectual, emotional, or monetary capital. They have the time, energy and resources, not to mention responsibility, to invest in making the world a better place for all living beings.

The outsiders of this change process are the tired, the weak, the overwhelmed, not to mention the poor. When your intellectual, emotional and financial capital is depleted, you are too busy trying to make it through the day. You don’t have the resources to think about philanthropy.

This divide is at the heart of the philanthropist’s angst.

Back to collaboration and engagement. Change must happen at the level of the people to move all of America forward. We need all people involved to make significant, lasting change. A large segment of society has not found a way to join the forward movement.

We need to widen our circle. Seattleites are notoriously private, some say unfriendly. I know I feel it anytime I walk into a new group, like today at the City Club.

Aren’t the best parties hosted by the people who welcome you at the door and introduce you to someone new? Why don’t we practice this more frequently in our community gatherings?

We must do more than talk to each other at events and donate to Aunt Suzy when she is fighting cancer.

We must practice intentional, authentic living. (More jargon, it’s true.)

We must strive as individuals to connect to others by our heart strings and

Groups must embrace each individual through common values and human experience.

And, yes, we must organize.

Do we need fresh organizations? New jargon? New methods?

Perhaps the most significant and insightful answers to the questions at hand can be gained by thinking about the United Way omission in today’s Philanthropy Forward discussion. Let your subconscious work on it. The answer is found at the nexus of collaboration.

Were you there? I’d love to hear what you think.

Life on the Split: confessions of a rebellious woman

I have been revolting against being a full-time mother -- and all of its accompanying responsibilities -- by laying my disorganization at the feet of my ex and my children instead of taking ownership of it myself.

Yet I see myself capable of going more deeply into motherhood than I am now. But I fear if I give my all to the most important thing in my life, my children, I will lose myself; I, the professional woman will become irrelevant.

Ladies, sound familiar?

Let me digress a moment. Of late I’ve been reclaiming the ground in my home (no longer “our home” after 5+ years of divorce.) The chaos of the time seems to be waning, but a new one – the rebellion of my children – is looming.

This is my feminist *existential struggle. This is the struggle of all women: finding the balance of career and personal expression with the nurturing of family and maintaining a loving home. It’s living on the split between yourself and yourself. Exhausting ground. And housework is the first thing I want to cut and neglect. That and household finances.

And yet.

Recognizing I am exhausted, I have allowed time for myself to lapse, to drift, to a fallow time that is both frightening and needed. Finding my new footing in this dance called life mustn’t be rush. So I find time to do things like reorganizing the kitchen and cleaning my children’s rooms for them. Time that feels indulgently spent while at the same time feeling oppressive and never-ending.

Reorganizing my kitchen was inspired by opening my new gift from my mother – over and over again. The new bottom-storage fridge made me think twice about remodeling the room’s organization, so I installed a pot rack and spoon hooks, made the nook into a craft room/homework table. Utensils and pots are gradually finding their new homes and bread is starting to live in the shiny new breadbox.
So tonight I started by cleaning out the icebox, then I turned my attention to the Tupperware cupboard.

(Yes Son, this is the mysterious activity I do when you are away. Clean and write.)

I’m down on my knees organizing the Tupperware cupboard finding homes for each lid, each container. I I take care to be sure all are matching. Culling the homeless lids and casting them into the hall cupboard to rest until I clean that out soon. I’m paying attention to how it feels to do the job. I’m practicing mindful housecleaning which allows me to have an epiphany. I need to teach these kinesthetic kids by example. (Duh.)

Teach by example

I set the standard for order, calm and organization. If I don't work hard at it myself, how can I expect them to? Instead of blaming others, I can pull up my bootstraps in this New Year and strive for a different kind of perfection. One where balance and harmony reign. Dramatic cuts will be made in some areas while restorative activities will need to be increased in others. Intentional living.

I can do it without complaining because I am showing by doing and they are learning by living it. This feels right for living it needs to happen for a kinesthetic child to learn it. They need to see how it’s done now that they have been taught how it’s done and lived with doing it for five years.

So a radical idea hit me. Instead of having them do chores, I will free them from doing them. I will not criticize their contributions  should they volunteer, but I will quietly rearrange and pick up while they are in school. I will do it the way that feels right. Do I have the energy to do it? Will they learn anything or will I benefit mainly from household peace and order?

So ride with me down the path a bit here. Will this plan work?  I'm taking bets it will.  I hope you’ll vote.

QUESTION 1: How long until they ask what's up?
QUESTION 2: How long will I hold out until they have to do chores again?
QUESTION 3: What should I tell them?
This plan could be a lot more complicated. Every little detail could be all thought out. But I think it's better to wing it a bit. Lord knows I’m the mistress of complexity and tend to overdo that. Besides, I’m always reserving the right to hold on. Wouldn't you? And if I lean into mindful living and acceptance, I'll bet they learn from that too. And that, my friends, is a lesson not to be discounted.

*Existentialism, n.  is the philosophical and cultural movement which holds that the starting point of philosophical thinking must be the experiences of the individual, and that moral and scientific thinking together do not suffice to understand human existence, so a further set of categories, governed by "authenticity", is necessary to understand human existence. ("Authenticity", in the context of existentialism, is being true to one's own personality, spirit, or character.) Wikipedia. I’ll be making a contribution to Wikipedia in appreciation of the definition of existentialism. Will you join me?

A bunch of tips on being creative

First, don’t turn on the internet.

Second, don’t have a piece of hardware go south (like my memory card isn’t readable right now, but I will get it working before I finish this blog.)

Third, don’t have a year-old computer that already can’t keep up the data storage issues.

Fourth, don’t spend time considering whether you can afford to buy yourself a new computer nor time to crack open that new external drive you bought yourself for Christmas.

Fifth, do not take phone calls from your children who are having troubles at your exe’s house.

The way to be creative is to turn it all off…and for me that even means turning off music (but I know for a lot of you out there, music is a critical “fidget” that helps distract a portion of your brain so the other part of it can focus). But I digress.

At this moment I am waiting for my SD card to upload to my computer, after having to go to the internet to figure out a work around when my computer couldn’t see it in the card reader. 

Another aside: don’t you agree that search is a critical technical skill we haven’t been teaching effectively? (Thinking of homeschooling this winter break.)

And a bunch more to dos.

• Do keep a supply of chocolate on hand.
• Don’t try to draw and write in the same time period.
• Don’t beat yourself up about unfinished projects.
• Don’t take care of the housework, holiday preparations, or other hostess fretting.
• And DO! Put the post up even if it isn’t perfect!

Yay! I got it working!

An early Happy Holidays from my office to yours.