narcissism, ease, and google

everywhere i turn today i am hearing about google’s new privacy policies. the buzz, as i understand it, is about the fact that each google product/platform will no longer carry it’s own set of privacy agreements but that assent to one or two privacy policies will carry forward to other google platforms. this basically means that many of us will give passive assent to google to catalogue, aggregate, and integrate our many clicks and views across google products. in doing so they will be able to understand our preferences and interests with much greater depth and accuracy.

why is this a boon for google?

because they can assure their clients (the businesses who advertise or otherwise pay to place content with them) that their products and services will be put before us with much greater specificity.

have you noticed how, over time, the ads that pop up when you do a google search are increasingly ones that somehow relate to your interests? has it occurred to you that the videos that appear when you access youtube seem to be ones you would be inclined to watch? as google now integrates your plus ones, views on youtube, forwarded articles, and topics of search, it will be able to populate the content and ads of future searches with things it knows (quite literally) you will be interested in.

this is not necessarily a bad thing. to me, however, it is impossible to see it as a benign thing.

we, in the west, live in a culture of narcissism. it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking our way is the only way. it’s also easy to stay locked inside our own interests and thoughts, rarely branching out to stretch or grow. our internet use reflects where we fall on the continuum of health in the realm of how we relate to our own development within the context of a global community.

some people use the unending scope of the internet to seek out diverse information, create heterogenous communities of contact, and experience new-to-them thoughts/ideas/places/things. not everyone, however, does this. of special attention here are teens. cultural and anthropological research shows that adolescents are, by far, the most avid populators of the internet. these digital natives are now thought to spend 8.5-9 hours a day (on average) plugged in. they are also moving through a developmental continuum that predisposes them to feel like they are (or should be) the center of the universe, that everyone in the world does (or should) think like them, and that the consequences of their actions reach about as far as their noses. their brains are busily wiring circuitry for responsibility, self control, and emotional regulation. they haven’t mastered those things yet. their frontal lobes are in process as are their concepts of self and other, relationship, and moral and cognitive agency. they need exposure to diverse stimuli cognitively and experientially. they need to be stretched outside of their self created bubbles of comfort. they need to learn to become active with information. they need the important teachers and caretakers in their lives to function as their frontal lobes and developmental guides, providing them with exposure to variety and the optimal tension and integration that can come from being stretched.

when those important teachers and caretakers are crowded out by increasing amounts of time on an internet that caters directly to their needs, interests, and preferences it seems to me that narcissism, rather than health, is bread.

educators, parents, and others bemoan the decrease in empathy, critical thinking skills, and resilience that they observe in generation y. how can this not be contributed to by a bulk of time being spent with a “bff” (computer/smart phone) who knows all about you, presents you with what you will love, and does so 24 hours a day? there is no need for waiting, no potential conflict to work through, little engagement of the mind required, and it’s all available at any time. this does nothing to encourage the development of skills that will lead to life satisfaction. skills such as the ability to delay gratification, the fine art of negotiation and compromise, the difficult task of considering (respectfully, over time, in meaningful ways) what truly matters to another and valuing that in them. it doesn’t challenge assumptions or encourage deep processing.

but this is not just an issue for adolescents. it is an issue for the narcissistic tendency in all of us.

technology that anticipates our needs and readily serves us up our preferences is here to stay. it’s fun and it’s useful. it is also, however, impactful in ways that we may not think or want to consider. 

so...as our digital experiences become easier for us, as our time online offers increasingly specific forms of material catering to our preferences without our even seeking it out...may we all work to balance this with intentional efforts to broaden our experiences. may we get outside of our preferences. may we diversify our clicks and our real life encounters with people, thoughts, and ideas. may we all challenge our own individual tendency toward narcissism, remembering that there is much to be gained by being outside of our comfort zones.

pins of steel

while preparing to help host an opening night reception for a professional performance company on whose executive board i serve, my phone rang. some of the costumes had just been delivered to the theater unfinished. it was two and a half hours before opening night curtain and our bungee attached aerialist’s costume needed to be pieced together with safety pins. the pins they had scrounged at the theater were flimsy, leading them to open when the fabric stretched. given that an open pin would likely prick our performer, we needed pins with more heft. we needed substance over style. function over form. we needed me to find pins made of steel.

come to find out, most modern day safety pins are made of nickel or even lower density metals. cheaper to produce, these mass marketed safety pins are the far-from-sturdy cousin of steel and brass ones and bend when forced through even moderately thick fabric. upon exertion they open, exposing the point of the pin to the skin of the wearer. frustratingly, it’s impossible to tell these lower quality fasteners from their higher quality counterparts when they are tucked away in their packaging. in fact, they look freakishly the same and seem like such a good deal.

knowing i was in a hurry (not only did i need to find the pins but i needed to get them across town to the theater where i would pin the costume together before curtain) i raced into a store close to my home. once in the correct aisle i counted no fewer than 20 different types of safety pins. none of them, however, mentioned steel. there were pins made of nickel, nickel plated aluminum, rust resistant plastic coated nickel, and so on. i raced off to store number two. here i encountered 15 varieties of non steel pins. finally, at store number three i found them. mission accomplished.

as i dashed to the theater i thought about all the times i’ve used safety pins of late. it occurred to me that the times i have looked for a pin were similar to this moment. i couldn’t identify a time when i needed such a fastener when i wasn’t in some kind of rush or precarious situation. there was the day when my wrap dress kept unwrapping as i opened the door to the waiting room each hour. there was the frantic search before my son’s job interview when his button went missing. there was the moment when, as i was being told one of my lectures was being streamed online, i realized that whenever i moved my right arm my blouse came unbuttoned (and if you’ve ever seen me speak you know that there is never a moment when i’m not moving both of my arms). none of these situations found me relaxed with time to spare. safety pins, it seems, are objects we look for when we need certain, immediate help. in these situations strength is always a plus and sometimes a necessity. if the artistic director hadn’t told me that “any old safety pin” wouldn’t work, that we needed steel in order to handle stretch, i would have picked up the first pin that i found. a couple of hours later i would have learned, the hard way and in front of an audience, that they couldn’t deal with the pressure of lycra and movement.

it seems to me that relying on safety pins on the grounds of appearance only is a bit like relying on our cyber networks with little care for our real life ones. cheaply produced, weak pins bend at the slightest exertion and pop open at the time security is needed most. you can buy ten times the quantity of these inexpensive pins for the price of ten high quality fasteners. and yet, can they be relied upon when the fabric is stretchy and the demand is great? maybe not.

new research coming out of utah valley university has found that as students spend increasing amounts of time on facebook they begin to report that their friends have better, happier lives than their own. they also agree less with the statement “life is fair” and, if their facebook friend list includes high numbers of people they don’t actually know in real life, they appear to be even more certain that other people consistently have better lives.

it seems that many of us know that we are made of weaker metals and assume that everyone else is made of steel. when our primary contact with others is through social networks where we only see that which others intentionally present we don’t get the opportunity to experience the reality that we all bend. every one of us. under some circumstance or situation or temptation or pressure. every one of us bends. is less than sturdy. is less than the best. is human. 

even steel bends...if the pressure is great enough.

day after day i hear people lament how unacceptable they are and how seemingly uber acceptable their neighbors, friends, and associates are. i listen to deep wounds created by feeling ugly, stupid, or under-gifted. everyone, it seems, knows ten people who are more beautiful than they are, fifteen who are smarter, and multitudes who have more physical or relational resources than they do.

perhaps it’s time to broaden our perspectives. to consider that the wise comments, funny status updates, notes about accomplishments/parties/accolades, and photos that are posted on facebook are only glimpses into the lives of others. they tell us part of our friends’ stories but not all of them. just like looking at pins in their packaging tells us they are pins, not what they’re made of. expecting a nickel pin to do the work of steel is unrealistic. extrapolating about its strength by it’s shiny exterior is similarly so. 

my hope is that we might use our social networks as places of jumping off for the building up of real and genuine connectedness. that we might explore our circles of friends in ways that allow us to know, genuinely, who is sturdy and who is not, who needs help and who can offer it. that we would set our expectations appropriately. that we might be able to become deeply strong fasteners when others need them and that we will not assume that our own strength pales in comparison to that of others. that we would be willing to seek out genuine authentic relatedness, depth, and quality even when quantity and appearance are so readily available as substitutions.

even-ing out

i’ve spent more time on my personal facebook account in the last few days than i have in, maybe, ever. i thought it would be interesting to see how people dealt with the transition from one year to the next in the performance art like space of social media. what i gleaned from this bit of personal research were all the things that i’ve heard social networkers say. i found that i spent far more time in each facebook session than i had budgeted (there’s recent research that suggests users spend an average of 23.5 hours per month on the site), that i became bored long before i actually stopped interacting with the site, and that i became oddly discontent in growing measures as the days surrounding my “research” progressed. it felt to me that every tour of my friends’ posts left me feeling increasingly out of touch, emotionally uncomfortable, irrelevant, and, at times, amped up. when i posted a response, comment, or status i found myself distracted by what people might think of it and who might respond. in many ways it began to feel as though the center of my experience, as well as my feelings about myself, were residing outside of me, on my computer, rather than within my core.

it’s all so tricky. not everyone interacts with social networks in the same way. some are light hearted and honestly use such platforms to keep connected in light and quippy ways, posting status updates as they move through time with little thought of how they’ll be received. some, however, spend hours scouring photo albums in search of evidence of parties to which they weren’t invited, honors others have gathered, and diets their friends have succeeded at. these folks agonize, edit, post, then obsessively check for responses that will either boost them up or leave them flat. regardless of style of use, however, i sense that everyone, really, wants two things: to be seen and/or known and to gather responses from their audience.

even back in the stone ages of my undergraduate years, psychological research was conclusive about the effects an audience has on a person’s behavior. when there are many witnesses at the scene of a crime, each individual present is less likely to respond with help. everyone assumes that someone else has already done something. further, research subjects behave differently when they know they are being watched than they do when they believe they are not.

might this be similar in the land of public social relatedness?

if i’m engaging in a pursuit, a thought, an experience, a relationship, a conversation, etc, how does it change my engagement to ask those outside of it to see me in it? perhaps it enhances my experience or grows my sense of connection to share it via a status update. conversely, however, it might make me vulnerable. if others don’t acknowledge it, might i discredit it, seeing myself as silly, inferior, or rejected? any of these responses takes us out of the process of being in the present moment to typing about the present moment. in my opinion this must change the moment itself by removing us from the experience of the present moment (being) placing us instead in the role of observing the present moment “out loud” and to an audience (doing).

when we watch others observing their present moments publicly via status updates and/or personal narrative tweets we frequently respond either with a comparison to our own lives or with a largely emotional reaction. “i haven’t run 10 miles today.” “my daughter wasn’t invited to that gathering.” “i look 15 years older and 20 pounds heavier than my former classmates.” “no one ever comments on my posts.” “i have done nothing of import to report on.” “my kid didn’t get straight a’s or score a home run or win the student government election.” “i’m so disappointed in my lack of...well...everything.” sometimes it’s even worse and we notice check ins and facebook posts made during a time a friend turned us down because they needed to “work late/study/or take care of their mom.” in reviewing our friends’ narratives about their present moments we find support for our fears that we are not enough and we find models of who we should be to be seen more effectively.

the experience of seeing and being seen shapes us. patterns begin to form over time and we begin to significantly manipulate the picture our audience has of us as we selectively post about our lives. our “doing” (writing) about our “being” (living) takes on a form that we feel will allow us to be seen and responded to as though being seen and responded to is being known and being connected.

but is it?

when we are seen and responded to for our funny, smart, provocative posts we begin to believe that those qualities are the ones that are desireable (connectable) and we become less and less likely to post experiences that aren’t funny, smart, or provocative.  we tell ourselves (either consciously or unconsciously) that our genuine, authentic, sometimes mundane and other times insanely interesting selves don’t garner friends. rather our best presented, most interesting, highly publicized selves gain followers. followers watch. followers notice. followers see. and yet followers rarely move past passive seeing into genuine, responsible connecting. 

let’s face it, status updates on social networks don’t typically lend themselves to the kinds of topics people really “need,” and often desire, to be known in. who posts, “i really feel lonely these days. anyone have time for an in depth chat?” “i feel scared about my dr’s appointment this week. anyone free to provide some words of encouragement.” “i’ve messaged 10 people on match.com and have heard back from none of them. am i really this undesirable?” if we did post such status’ who would respond and how would they do so?

i was talking with someone recently about internet dating. he spoke (as does nearly everyone i know who has used such sites) of the constant feeling of rejection and turmoil he experienced in using the site. he has a unique, creative, celebrated career that spans both coasts, is young and physically attractive, knows how to dress, garnered accolades at a prestigious east coast university, and has a quick and dry sense of humor. he has all the things that our culture dictates as desirable and yet, he felt seen in these unique social networks, only for what he lacked. he felt sized up and evaluated. seen but not known. then rejected.

when he told me about removing his profile from these sites he spoke of things “even-ing out” for him. he used a hand gesture when he said this that looked like that of a music conductor directing the orchestra to hold a long, low note.

even-ing out. 

after my week of hyper facebook use i need this. i crave it. i long for the even-ing out of living in my moments rather than observing them for the perfect event/thought/experience to broadcast to my audience. i desire to be fully present to my own responses to my comings and goings and to find them compelling enough to not always desire to have others weigh in on them. i want to respond to others because they matter not because i want to.

i need my center to be in me, not on my wall. 

sharing

my daughter always puts cups in the sink after she uses them. she loves to place them upside down, frequently in or on top of the opening to the drain. as the primay dishwasher in our home, this makes me crazy. seriously. crazy. it makes no sense to me why anyone would put a cup upside down in the sink, let alone on top of the drain, and, it’s messy.

my son likes to borrow my car. he is far from irresponsible and typically restores order. he forgets periodically, however, and on those days i find the stereo turned up, gum wrappers gracing the floor, the mirror and drivers’ seat adjusted oddly. while it only takes me a few seconds to clear the clutter and restore order, it always ruffles my feathers more than it should.

my responses to these situations are frustratingly common for me. i aspire to be a gracious sharer and yet irritation so quickly and frequently settles where i wish understanding and flexibility lived.

the culture in which i live affords me so few natural opportunities to share. instead of relying upon a central desktop computer, multiple laptops migrate around my home which is spacious enough for everyone to have their own room.  no one ever gets a busy signal when they call because each of us has our own phone. with stores open 24 hours a day my neighbors never seem to need a cup of sugar or to borrow a tool. i am warm in the winter and cool in the summer, dwelling in my heated and air conditioned home rather than chopping wood or running through sprinklers with those around me. paper cups are the norm in my neighborhood coffee shop and i order my drinks to go.

sharing space, objects, and ideas, and all the stretching this requires, isn’t as common as it was in the past. we used to have to share a phone, a television, a car, a kitchen, a bathroom, books, movies. now we stream, download, amass portable devices, drive through, and hole away. sometimes intentionally and sometimes not.

i have friends who chose to live in intentional community in order to keep their lives from becoming too self-centric. many restaurants are integrating community tables where patrons can join others. these are fantastic things and yet not everyone can or will or wants to share in these ways. we all can, however, share more. we might, for example, share a conversation with our neighbor when racing in and out of the house. we could, for instance, loan our professional expertise to a non profit or our interviewing skills to a college kid learning how to apply for work or our time to clean up a trail or our eye contact to the grocery clerk who’s worn out or our sink with a housemate who places cups upside down. maybe we could share our things spontaneously, our time more freely, and our selves (our ears, our hands, our eyes) with more regularity.

i’m not referring, here, to the kind of giving of self or making space for others that is borne out of martyrdom or a lack of health or is solicited by manipulation. i’m not suggesting we rescue others from their responsibilities nor that we consistently swallow our own needs and preferences in deference to those of others. sharing out of guilt or when motivated by another’s entitlement is not healthy.

what i am referring to is the kind of sharing that grows both the sharer and the shared-with. i’m talking about developing the ability to hold our own preferences loosely enough that there is room for the presence of others in our day or week or month. the kind of sharing that is less about loaning an object and more about the giving up of ones’ self or invisible things/energies/capabilities connected to ones’ self. the kind of sharing that helps me realize that my [bizarre] need for cups to be placed in the sink a certain way means that i see the sink as mine and not a shared space. the kind of sharing where my flexibility, grace, and ability to be with with others meaningfully is grown.

every time i open my mouth to call attention to upside down cups or gum wrappers and ill adjusted mirrors i try to pause to ask myself, “to what end?” “does stating my preference or reaction contribute to the quality and nature of the connection i want with connor and kaija today?” i typically decide “no” and in so doing feel a sense of stretching. the sink may not be how i want it. i may need a moment before pulling out of the driveway and yet i can live with that and that feels strangely comforting to me. i don’t always have to have my way. i can live in a space that is shared, where the preferences of others live on an equal plane as my own, and where relationships mean more to me than my stuff.

it can be challenging to find places and ways to share. when we live alone. when we like things our own way. when we want to rest. when we have worked so hard for our autonomy and our ways of life. when someone has taken advantage of our sharing in the past. and yet, it can be done. with intention.

sit at a community table at a coffee shop. share a possession with someone (something that you care about but that you won’t be resentful about having shared) and pay attention to how it feels to let it go and receive it back (or not). share one gaming system amongst your group of friends. borrow books and movies from a library instead of downloading them then watch them in a shared space rather than by yourself with headphones in. share a compliment with the person who pumps your gas. or makes your coffee. or ironed your shirt. or cleaned your office.  loan someone your empathic ear, listening without giving a single piece of advice. share your flexibility and let someone else win the argument. share your humility and let someone else be “right,” even when...no...especially when, you disagree. you just might find out that there’s a very good reason they place the cups in the sink upside down.

(less than) ideal

years ago my family began a christmas caroling tradition. we gathered a group of friends and traveled to the retirement community where my mother-in-law was living. the kids among us made simple ornaments and pictures to hand out to the residents and we walked the halls singing from the caroling books my Nana used in the 50’s. our guide for the evening was an 80 year old woman named anna. small but mighty, anna led us with confidence. up and down stairs, in and out of rooms, telling us tidbits about the residents we were meeting. we had great fun and felt extremely rewarded by the smiles and genuine gratitude we felt from each encounter we had with a resident. toward the end of the evening we sang “i’m dreaming of a white christmas” and anna began to cry. when we finished she told us why.

when anna graduated from college she felt as though God was calling her to become a missionary. she decided to follow this call and boarded a boat headed for india. on the way her ship stopped briefly in the phillipines. world war II broke out, however, and japan took the islands leaving anna and her fellow passengers prisoners of war. two and a half years later, at her release, irving berlin had been present and had sung “white christmas” to the detainees. 

all 25 of us stood, dumbfounded, as anna shared her story. she told it as though it was old news, nothing extraordinary, something we already knew. for us, however, our already meaningful evening took on an entirely new dimension. no longer were we able to consider those we’d sung to as just a bunch of retirees. there were prisoners or war here, people who had been sung to by irving berlin. there were complexities here, hearts and minds and souls here. in sharing time and space with these people our stories had intertwined. 

we’ve carried this tradition on for 12 years, missing only one year in the mix. we’ve had as many as 47 people in our band of singers and as few as 22 over the years. in our early years we would gather for pizza before or ice cream after and then began sharing a potluck at a friend’s home as part of the tradition. this november i booked our usual date early, sent out emails a month before, and prepped our ornaments and books. in an odd twist of fate, however, very few carolers were available to join us and of those that planned to come, several ended up sick or called away by urgencies the day we were to sing. when i arrived at the center, knowing our group would be small, i felt discouraged and afraid. my worst fear truly could happen. i had planned an event to which no one might come.

this might not have mattered to me in other situations but i am now a known commodity at this center and among those that join me to carol. if only a few people were present, what would everyone think? doreen is a loser. all she can come up with is this? does she have no friends? no colleagues? no one who wants to spend time with her? why didn’t she just cancel? what did she do this year to make her yesterday’s news?

i’ve heard these fears and worse in my own mind many times and i hear them from others as well. why put myself out there? why risk inviting people (into my life, into an experience, into a conversation) only to be rejected? why confirm my fears that i am alone? not compelling? not interesting? a flop. a failure. 

our official start time rolled around and no one but my husband, daughter, and me were present. i began to dread the time. i began to regret the request that my friend host our post caroling gathering. i began to feel foolish and apologized to my family and to the coordinator who had fit us into the schedule. i began to feel a failure.

then, it happened. two of our oldest friends, both part of our original group, arrived. one with her 16 year old son and the other with her elementary aged kids. my college freshman son sauntered in wearing his santa hat with his roommate in tow. still feeling disappointed by our small numbers, i was relieved that we would at least be able to sing a few songs. we ventured out, beginning in the main dining room then heading down hallways and into the special care units and the health center where residents were likely spending a disappointing december.

we began weakly, rushing through each song as though saying, “sorry we’re small, sorry we’re not very loud. we won’t bother you for long.” i just wanted the exposure of my ineffective gathering skills over. as the hour went on, however, something amazing happened. i stopped caring that there were only 10 of us. it didn’t matter because what was happening was meaningful. i began missing those that weren’t there because i genuinely cared about them rather than missing them because i wished their bodies would make our group larger (and my planning more seemingly effective). i settled in to the moment and saw more fully the smiles of the residents to whom we sung. i actually heard their voices as they joined in. i savored the image of 5 year old everly twirling down the halls in her fancy christmas dress and observed her and her brother hiller melt hearts when they handed wheel chair bound men and women hearts of cinnamon and apple sauce. i fully noticed my son’s countenance as he interacted confidently with the individuals on the alzheimer’s unit and my daughter’s desire to sing one more verse and linger. because our group was small we had the freedom to wander down to the basement where residents sell amazing mid century modern furniture and other things they no longer need. the two 16 year olds among us played in the motorized scooter chair as they had played on tricycles years ago. we were all relaxed in a way that we wouldn’t have been had we been managing a large group. later we shared space and conversation in deeper ways than we had in the past, the 16 year olds talking politics, a mixed age group discussing theology, and others playing board games. as we tidied up i realized that i felt joy where i feared a feeling of failure would settle.

i want to master the lesson that is in this. i want to mean what i say when i say that whoever is supposed to show up will. i want to be confident enough to invite others and then release them to do what is best for their sense of self rather than having to respond to meet my needs of having planned a successful event. when i do this i will be free to continue to take relational risks. i may have to face my fears in the mix and in so doing i just might experience something important.

i feel confident when i say that everyone, deep within them (or possibly very close to the surface), has a sense of aloneness that twinges when touched. fears of no one showing up haunt us. i hear these fears all the time at coffee shops, in my office, everywhere, really, where honest people talk. sometimes they come true and we experience disappointment and loneliness. sometimes they don’t and we are comforted. the trick, it seems, is to not stop at the loneliness, the self proclaimed “failure” when we ask and no one shows. when we stop there we begin looking only for evidence that supports our belief that we truly are alone. that the people we want don’t want us so we may as well declare ourselves an outcast. unlovable.

perhaps it is in these places that we can truly begin to see who is there, more than who isn’t there, for us. it may not be an ideal community, it may not be a perfect partner or friend or roommate or spouse, it may be a less than effective co-worker or neighbor, it may be only a “good enough” connection. we may think we’re “settling” and yet, in so doing, we may learn to flex and share and co-mingle in new and grace filled ways. who knows, we may be that which has been “settled on” in the lives of others. funny, that.

being a friend to ones’ self is an essential foundation to being a friend for another. inviting others is easier when we know that, no matter what, we ourselves will show up for ourselves...and for each other...in whatever ways, large and small, we are able. only in taking risks can we deepen our connections with others and with ourselves, becoming grateful for (and grace filled toward) the fellow pilgrims on our journey...even if they are few and far between. the less than ideal may be just that...ideal.

right next to the spice

a few years back i saw a movie that ignited in me a deep fascination (some people in my life might call it an obsession) with india. the day the dvd was released i bought the film (a rarity for me) and immediately watched the extra features which included an indian cooking “how to.” the next day my son and i made our first indian dish, aloo gobi, carefully following each instruction.

shortly thereafter i made a trip to a local indian market and bought a few spices including an especially spicy curry powder. i wanted to learn to make more dishes, yet every recipe i found required 5-10 different spices and many steps of preparation. i felt sad. by that time i had developed a taste for the delicious meals i enjoyed at indian restaurants. i wanted to recreate them at home, yet, pushed by the pace of my sometimes-too-hurried life, i began to try to fool myself into thinking that my meals were indian if i simply doused them with the curry powder in my cupboard. forget the garam masala, the cumin seeds, fennel bulbs, and finely chopped ginger. no need for turmeric or simmering or bwana’ing (the art of making a gravy with spices and water, mixed with vegetables and legumes). curry powder made it indian, right?

some of you who know me may know that i am not a patient cook. i love to experiment and be creative in the kitchen but i mostly love sitting down to eat with the counters clean and all necessary cooking items washed and back in place. complex recipes are not my speed, they require too many ingredients (so much to take out and put away all before eating), demand far too much attention to detail, and often rely upon slow preparation and stretched out cooking time.

as my life has shifted, however, and i have developed a growing respect for results that can only be accomplished with patience, i have found my way back to some of those recipes. i have begun to try them again, contributing the time, care, and complexity of ingredients they suggest. i am noticing the way in which an honoring of the intended preparation methods requires me to change my process. requires me to make more messes. requires me to take more time. and allows me much more of a reward.

my favorite indian dish at present is chole, a chickpea curry that simmers in a gravy infused with whole cloves, cardomom pods, pepper corns, and chopped ginger root. by the time it is served the chick peas are heavy laden with the flavors of the spices. yesterday, as i ate a bowl of it, i bit into one garbanzo that tasted exactly like clove, then another that was heavily spiked with the peppery warmth of cardamom. it struck me that the complexity of this dish was so much more rewarding and interesting than the many bowls of hot curry i had made earlier in my journey. the fact that the flavors changed from one bean to the next, based on what they were near in the pan, is fascinating to me.

it makes me think about relationships. and community. and how i am flavored by the spice i am next to.

it seems to me that many of us surround ourselves with people who are just like us. when together we’re like one big dish doused in one single spice. it might be flavorful and yet it’s one dimensional. people who share our outlook on life, our beliefs or values, our socio economic status, our neighborhood, even our physical appearance make us feel so accepted, understood, and comfortable. we know how to talk to and be with these people. we speak the same languages, quite literally using the same vocabulary. we know what life in this kind of community will taste like. it’ll be familiar, comfort food safe. and that’s o.k.

it’s also o.k. to have times and spaces wherein we throw caution to the wind, stop worrying if tarragon and chile paste go together, and create something new. something we don’t know how to anticipate because it’s unique every time. a community with someone who looks nothing like us, believes things we don’t (or better yet, things we don’t understand), lives in places we haven’t traveled to, or who makes us just a wee bit uncomfortable. a community comprised of whole, strong spices. a community where each being is different and where that differentness makes a change on that which it is near.

i recently served as a panelist for a worldview forum at malone university in ohio. in preparation for the event i listened to the podcasts of previous forums. one had a christian scholar sitting next to the imam from the local muslim church. they each took five minutes to explain their faith tradition’s positions on scripture, dress, and the afterlife. it was not a debate. it was not a discussion. it was, simply, a coming together. a time of mutual sharing of space in the service of understanding where each of these very different flavors fall. and of respecting. other panels have accomplished the same objective with people on opposite sides of issues such as food production and farming, civil disobedience, and other seemingly unable-to-sit-at-the-same-table topics. i felt so impressed. and inspired. and enlightened.

as i reflect on my own community of support i realize that sometimes my fear that other spices might overwhelm my own flavor cause me to avoid them. at other times i lament over not being entirely sure how to interact with a taste highly different from mine so i hold back. i work hard, however, to push past these, and other, fears and have benefited from a wildly diverse and spicy group of friends and colleagues. beans and spices of all different types, so to speak, subtly flavoring those around them.

by opening myself to complexity, by being willing to sit with the not-like-me flavors that are next to me in the pan, my life becomes so much richer. my values are not compromised, my beliefs not necessarily shaken, the things i hold dear are not at risk. rather, my own self becomes more richly complex...more diversely seasoned. my community is simply expanded and grown and i am expanded and grown with it. the co-mingling makes the whole thing better in every way.

i’d love to know how the spices right next to you either keep you comforted and consistent in important ways or seep into you in challenging ways that change you. there is a time for both one spice curry and many flavored chole. a time for comfort communities and complex ones. if, and as, you’re willing i’d love to hear about yours...

the gift of authenticity

years ago, a woman that i admired invited me to her home for coffee. this new friend owned a business i frequented and was wise and witty. she embodied both a sturdiness and flexibility that drew me toward her. she told funny stories in which she took herself lightly and yet didn’t shy away from sharing her opinions and knowledge boldly when asked. she lived her values and gave generously of her time and resources to her community, her friends, and the world. all of this made her extremely attractive and wildly popular to those around her. given her amazing ways, i made all kinds of assumptions about what a visit to her home might be like. her abode would be warm, i was certain, and yet it would also be immaculate. books about smart topics would be laying around, heavily tagged and bookmarked, and classical music would greet me as i approached the door. it was all going to be so perfect, i imagined, and, it was. in completely different ways than i pre-supposed it would be.

when i arrived, no music was playing in the home that looked little like i had imagined. leslie’s daughter was coloring at the table and a few toys were scattered about. muffins were baking in the oven and the bowl they were mixed in sat on the counter. i was greeted with a welcome that was genuinely gracious and ushered into a home that was beautifully warm, creative, and real to the core. there was no pretense of perfection or subtle direction to notice the tidiness of her home or apologies regarding the stuff of everyday that is always out at my home but never seems to be at others. there were no all-too-familiar comments about how sorry she was that she only had time to bake muffins instead of providing a spread of home made danishes and preserves. instead, she told me plainly and without any false modesty, “i decided to give you the gift of not cleaning up. i figured if i started by having you over to my house as it normally is, maybe you’d feel welcome to do the same.” later, when the kids were using the bathroom she sent me upstairs to wash my hands. with what i can only call incredulous relief i witnessed evidence of her honesty. a stray sock, a pile of accumulated stuff outside her daughter’s door, and a few random objects strewn on the stairs after having been tossed up from below peppered the floor. the bathroom mirror had water splashed across it and there was a toothbrush on the counter. she really hadn’t cleaned up. the deep sense fondness i felt for my new friend is hard to describe. to this day i think about that sock on the floor and the instant affection born through my friend’s simple authenticity when i think about connection.

every one of us has a story about “entertaining.” our mother’s and father’s were either uptight and stressed leading up to visitor’s arrivals or perfectionistic and militant. they either had events catered or vowed to have everything home made. they made chore charts and kept everyone home to clean or did all the cleaning themselves, pointing this out to us in ways only true martyrs can. they helped us create assumptions about what it means to open our homes and our lives to others. while with them we developed deep beliefs about how we must present ourselves and our real and symbolic homes to others.

i escaped some of these ways of thinking because, somehow, my mother knew how to make an impromptu snack out of whatever was in the fridge. she was confident that the smell of popcorn was an inviting (and cheap) greeting and that what was served always came second to the environment within which it was offered. she never had a clutter free home and yet our home never felt cluttered. both of my parents welcomed people and knew that their welcome was far more important than anything else. the emphasis wasn’t on the clean, well appointed home or the fancy food, it was on welcoming the people that entered it. i never knew what an art it was to fully welcome people until i began inviting people into my own home...and office...and life. even with a history of being a part of an authentic-living community, i struggle (don’t we all?) with strong unconscious tendencies to want to present that which is tidy, perfect, well crafted, and the rest. i want to win this struggle.

a friend of mine did a stand up routine recently wherein she joked about spending all day cleaning house in preparation for visitors only to greet them, vacuum in hand, claiming to be just starting to clean up. “wow!” her guests think, “her house is this clean to begin with and she’s still cleaning?!” we want such interesting things: to have a tidy exterior and to make it seem effortless; to seem perfectly “together” and yet deeply humble and mindless regarding compliments; to have meaningful connections and yet to maintain control over our schedules and time and the content of our conversations. we wouldn’t want to appear messy, to not have it all together, to be...authentic.

i think back to that sock on the floor. in that moment it was, concretely, a symbol that my friend chose to live life fully and still invite me in. that she chose to include me then rather than to wait until she could have the house clean and still have time to connect. today, in my mind, that sock has come to represent so much more. when i feel tempted to inflate my successes in order to control what people think of me, i think about that sock. when i’m feeling low but respond to inquiries about how i am with, “life is all sunshine and rainbows thank you very much,” i think about that sock. when i feel less than and let that motivate me to miss out on experiences where that might be exposed, i think about that sock.

an author that i’ve been enjoying recently says, “if you want your community to be marked by radical honesty, by risky, terrifying, utlimately redemptive truth-telling, you must start telling your truth first.” (shauna niequist, bittersweet)

i want that. i really do. i want that kind of community and yet feel tempted to hide the dirty sock behind any number of distractions in order to direct your attention where i’d rather have it...on the clean and folded laundry rather than the soiled and scattered less than perfect parts of myself, my home, my life. in so doing i tell not only you that cleaning up is more important than you are, but i tell any children in my life the same. and they believe me and tell their kids and they tell two friends and so on and so on and...

may we all take small risks, as we are able, to invite people in today. not when the house is clean or my reputation is sparkling or i can pull up in a new car or i’m feeling prepared; but now. and may you and i welcome the messes that are part of being authentic. part of being real. part of being.