the buzzing in our pockets

one of my favorite things to do when i speak to high schoolers is ask them to take their phones out (of their pockets, purses, and backpacks) and turn their ringers on and volume up. without doing this it’s easy to forget that they are being interrupted all the time. texts, facebook updates, instagram posts, and snapchats are coming in by the second, each one creating buzzes and pings in said pockets, purses, and backpacks. this isn’t limited to high school students. plenty of grandparents, middle schoolers, and folks in between live with the same reality.

so many of us have become (ever so subtly that we hardly knew it was happening) available for interruption 24 hours a day. we eat with our phones. we read on our phones. we play on our phones. we wait in line with our phones. we sleep with our phones. they never/rarely leave us.

i loved when phone lines came with busy signals. if you think about it, other than the ring, busy signals were the only indicators of any kind associated with the telephone. it was the sound that indicated that the person you were trying to reach was otherwise occupied. unavailable. busy.

few of us are ever unavailable anymore.

not only are we available to nearly anyone at nearly any time, we also have indicators for everything. when email arrives, when an app is updated, when someone posts to instagram, or tumblr, or facebook, or pinterest. while the busy signal used to indicate, “please wait. try again later.” our ears are now assaulted with calls for our attention. right now. while we’re doing ten other things. never mind that we’re already on the other line, responding to the ten texts that just came in, or trying to catch up on the emails that amassed since we last checked. what troubles me most is how attuned we have become to these digitally based message indicators and how willing we are to drop everything to attend to them.

it seems to me that the human body is designed with message indicators of all kinds. we yawn when we are tired. secrete tears when we feel sad. we have muscles that feel beautifully sore when we exert them and skin that turns red when we’ve been in the sun too long. our stomaches growl when we’re hungry and our hearts race when we’re afraid. or excited. or in love. these message indicators, however, rarely receive the kind of attention that the buzzing devices in our pockets do. we actually check our texts, our facebook accounts, our email. and respond. our bodies send messages, however, and we disregard them altogether. we caffeinate ourselves to chase away the yawn. we push past our exhaustion, stifle our tears, ignore the longings of our hearts. 

what would it cost, now and again, to turn off the message indicators buzzing in your pocket? to send the message, “try again later. i’m currently attending to something i am present with...myself. my friend. God. the beauty of the moment. nature.” to learn to be still and attentive enough to listen to the message indicators within? and to respond.

are we what we watch?

there are few things i enjoy more than engaging in someone’s story. one of the ways this happens for me is through documentary films which i go to see in the theater every chance i get.

last week, with a free evening before me, i checked what was playing in portland’s small, independent theaters. i found a film that was to screen only that evening, with the filmmakers on hand for a q and a afterward. four hours later i settled into my seat with nearly 50 other movie-goers to enjoy “arise,” a film made by women about women who are leading movements, small and large, to better the earth. what i noticed as i looked around the theater was plenty of grey hair, a significant lack of men, and far too many empty seats. when the final credits rolled, i found myself deeply moved by the stories i had just heard and the women i had just met.

following the question and answer session my husband and i ducked into the pizzaria next door for dinner. we sat at a counter which faced a window in which i watched the reflection of the television behind me. the images coming from the t.v. impacted me deeply as actresses and models showed photo after photo of themselves before and after using the skin care product line being advertised. for a full 40 minutes the infomercial flashed phone numbers, websites, and payment options among images of how terrible women look until they used said product. 

the stark contrast between the stories we’d just engaged could not be greater. in the documentary, women were exposed as being resourceful, smart, capable beings who, when they put their mind to something, change the world. in the infomercial, women were portrayed as being canvases, with confidence and happiness resulting from perfectly applied cosmetics.

to be fair, i have nothing against makeup (when it is ethically and fairly made and sold). i have fun with it myself and yet frequently leave the house without it. i have friends who sell it and friends who abhor it. my internal conflict that evening wasn’t related to makeup. it was, instead, related to the issue of how we spend our time.

while i was in the theater watching “arise,” thousands of others were spending the last weekend evening of spring break in other theaters taking in all manner of story. this particular week offered “spring breakers,” a film referred to as a victoria’s secret ad with violence and drugs targeted to the high school demographic. horror and action films were projected onto other screens. in homes, hours were being spent watching youtube and hulu, netflix, and all other manner of online video.

to be fair, i have nothing against mindless entertainment (when it is ethically and fairly made and sold). i need it sometimes. when life is too heavy and i’m too spent it is a gift to sit in a dark theater (or a darkened room with my computer) and be carried away into the land of a story on a screen.

what i wonder about, however, is how mindless our entertainment really is. are we truly unaffected by the images we passively observe? do the movies (or television shows or entire seasons) we watch make no impact on our internal worlds? our thought patterns? our beliefs? our values? or, instead, do the repetitive images (and language and emotion) that we subject ourselves to end up shaping us? is there merit to the phrase, “garbage in, garbage out?” 

one or two horror films are unlikely to create homicidal thoughts and tendencies. “spring breakers,” if viewed as a cautionary tale or a social commentary might even make a person think. youtube doesn’t necessarily make us stupid. the pattern of our viewing, however, and the accumulated amount of time we spend staring at images on screens does impact us. it just does. if it doesn’t, how can we claim that educational films are educational? if a daily dose of sesame street teaches, then so does a diet of “mindless” youtube and film.

it is not simple. in some instances the important messages of justice or redemption can be illuminated most effectively through stories including violence. historical reality exposes all manner of messy, horrific stories that deserve to be told. do we need, however, to take in huge quantities of sensationalist, evocative, sexual, violent, and demeaning images in order to be entertained? can these images ever truly be simply entertaining? or do they also inoculate us to feelings meant to be “message indicators” of sorts, intended to help us know when things are unjust, inhumane, or simply unfair. shouldn’t we want to look away from a rape or a murder or excessive bullying or a message being yelled at us that we can only be beautiful if we have perfect skin?

today i am asking myself how much time i give to that which entertains me. i am challenging myself to take in at least one quality, thought-enhancing screen based story for every one i take in that is either frivolous or indulgent. i am turning an analytic eye toward what i take in and wondering how the repeated habits of my entertainment choices shape who i am and what i think about. i would be honored to have you join me...and to hear your experiences as you do.

to check out the trailer and stories of arise, go to: http://www.arisethemovie.com

for a list of excellent films, documentaries, and television series', keep tabs on my professional facebook page (http://facebook.com/doreendodgenmageepsyd) where i'll be posting a list later this week. 

relational performance art

we all act differently when we’re being watched. it’s hard to find anyone who disputes this claim. social psychologists, marketing experts, your mom. they all agree. who and how you are in private differs from who and how you present yourself in front of an audience. even of one. i notice this about myself all the time. i don’t sing out loud or dance wildly in my car when i know that the driver next to me is turned in my direction. there are clothes i don’t go out to check the mail in. there are photos from entire decades of my life that will never be in frames.

when moving our bodies about in this world, it’s relatively easy to determine when we are being watched. when making our way past a full table to grab a seat in a restaurant. when arriving late to a meeting. when we’ve just done the most embarrassing thing ever. whatever that is.

when we notice an audience in these moments, we compensate quickly. we retreat. we blush. sometimes we even apologize. at times we anticipate being watched. we count on it. we prepare for it. we let it communicate to us. “you’re important.” “you’re ridiculous.” “you’re amazing.” “you aren’t seriously [wearing that] [doing that] [being the person you’re being] are you?” we seem to take in our observer’s responses as litmus tests about who we are.

as our lives become increasingly digitally centered, it seems to me as though we live more and more of them being watched. we think in status updates. we move through our days in tweets and tumblr posts. we strategically include flattering photos of ourselves on our profiles and similarly avoid the less than flattering stories we find ourselves central to. we check to see who is following us, who has liked our status’, or how many hits we’ve had in the week.

in so doing we treat both our lives and our relationships as performance art.

i believe that we do this for so many reasons. we are hungry for connection and at a loss for how to find it so we substitute evaluation (sometimes even assumed evaluation) for encounter. we are starved for self love and self knowing awareness but have developed neither so turn to self promotion to fill in the gaps. we are uncertain of how to feel about ourselves and don’t know how to anchor in God’s, our friend’s, and even our own sense of deep available value so we count up likes and hits and followers, figuring that those who are watching us will give us a clue as to how to behave. how to think. how to feel.

so today i will take a pause and i ask you to join me. when i want to hit “refresh” on the stats page of this blog, when i feel tempted to summarize my last hour or two in a quippy facebook status, when i watch someone else’s beauty/brilliance/success unfold on instagram and feel tempted to judge myself against it, i will stop. i will pause. i will look inside. i will be my own audience. and i will comfort the self that feels so compelled to perform and, instead, just be.

how i will honor trayvon martin

today marks the one year anniversary of the death of trayvon martin who was shot and killed while walking home from the store late at night.

i know that the sentence you just read is an oversimplification of a very complicated story. but in some ways, it’s not. isn’t every story complicated? isn’t every sentence a simplification of sorts?

when my children faced into middle school they began the arduous task of figuring out their own appearances and stylistic tastes. at the same time they made efforts to get past the externals that their peers presented in order to forge relationships that were more than skin deep.

adolescence is not a pretty time. neither is it simple.

a good friend once told me, “teenagers try on identities like we try on shirts.” that phrase has stuck with me. it is so true.

at that aforementioned middle school period i took my kids to a large bookstore. as we walked slowly through each section i suggested that they pick up a book and start reading. while they were more than happy to oblige among the harry potter and calvin and hobbes books they were less than willing to do so in the romance, history, or business sections. for the life of me i could not get them to open one of these books. 

it’s true i guess. we do judge the book by it’s cover. whether conscious or or not, our instinct tells us that there’s no way we’ll find something interesting to us in a book written by such and such, or covered in fleshy entwined bodies, or one that we find in the automotive section. we seem to be so sure of this.

the world of people and relationship are so different. 

and yet we approach them in much the same way.

we rarely linger in the “section” where we aren’t already comfortable. we don’t push ourselves past our go-to favorites to see if we might actually like science fiction, or history, or sodoku, or economics. we don’t read life of pi because it’s in the young adult section. neither do we read the wisdom of other religious traditions because we can’t find it among the shelves of our own. we assume we already know...the book’s cover informs us.

and yet it doesn’t.

trayvon martin was wearing a hoodie and was out late at night. he might even have talked tough. who knows, maybe he was trying on an identity like a shirt. adolescents are so that way. all tough and talk one minute and wanting to be tucked in the next. presenting a cover and yet secretly (or not so secretly) hoping you’ll see beyond it to who they really are and what they really need. especially since they don’t always know those things themselves.

we all pull figurative triggers everyday. we judge the inside by what we see on the outside. we are put off by what is presented so we never reach in to the insides where true connection, respect, and valuing takes place.

so today i will take risks and be warm and welcoming with the adolescents i encounter. i will not judge them by their covers. i will give them spacious benefit of the doubt and assume that they may be trying on shirts. the one that they wear tomorrow may be drastically different than the one that they wear today. i will remember that the thing that remains the same is their humanity (which i share) underneath. their bold, messy, hormonal, out of control, beautiful, brave, scared, trying-to-figure-it-all-out humanity. and i will not pull the trigger...even if their humanity scares me. for perhaps there is something to be learned by opening a book with a different kind of cover.

redeeming the screen

45 years ago today “mr. roger’s neighborhood” debuted on pbs. i was 2. while i don’t remember the actual first show, i do remember watching “the neighborhood,” in black and white, on a regular basis. when i was very young i believed that mr. rogers could hear and see me and i answered his questions with great intention and reverence. it was easy to imagine i was being heard because mr. rogers always paused after he asked a question and he always listened actively. he was engaged. he looked into the camera and held the gaze. he left space for answers. he created conversation. he didn’t need to fill the space. he fed his fish in silence and took his time doing it.

45 years later, space feels hard to find. silence is sparce. slowness has been overtaken by fast-paced constant movement and it feels like no image emanating from a screen listens. eye contact? what is that?

mr. roger’s original vision for a television program grew out of his frustration and disappointment with the seeming irreverence of his television peers in creating work for the new medium. television was overpopulated, in his opinion, with people throwing pies in one another’s faces. “smart” and respectful material was lacking and the only way he could live with himself was to take a swing at providing programming that spoke to and called out the very best in his audience. he did this by being counter cultural, by offering thoughtful discourse, and providing tools for both the intellectual and emotional needs of his audience.  he didn’t shock anyone into paying attention. he didn’t yell. he didn’t use single second visual bytes to keep his viewers from looking away.

so today, why not honor mr. rogers (and the many others like him who care about the quality and content of that which is presented on screens) by, somehow, redeeming your screen time. why not switch out a smart, point of view short film for your typical sitcom (http://www.pbs.org/pov/video/search.php?search_type=type&offset=16#film-list). or take time for a beautiful, complex, or at least authentically told, documentary when you’d typically watch the news (for instance: searching for sugarman, afghan star, paul williams still alive, bill cunningham new york, a man named pearl, or touch the sound...and if you’d like more...email me and i’ll be happy to send you a list). how about listening to a story at story corp instead of spacing out to youtube (http://storycorps.org). possibly swap a slow, quality classic for your next mindless adventure or a slapstick musical for your next romcom. or, if you want to kick it really old school, check out some of mr. rogers’ best episodes, field trips, and other highlights at http://pbskids.org/rogers/videos/index.html. becoming mindful and intentional about what you are taking in can do nothing but improve the quality of that which you see on screens.

few will argue with the reality that we are largely what we ingest. once, after a day of drinking pepto bismol, someone i know ate some oreos. when he threw up, the pink and brown told the story.

if we were to take a look at what the images we ingest create within us, what would we find? would we find respect, thoughtfulness, and love or would we find capricious lack of care, violence of every kind, and pies thrown in faces? humor doesn’t have to be base to be funny. intensity does not require beyond the pale explicitness to be communicated and intimacy does not demand skin to be effectively demonstrated. by taking responsibility for that which we watch we can change our insides which motivates external change of all sorts. and this is how movements are begun...with small acts, taken by individuals, lived out boldly into our communities and neighborhoods. where we can be still. where we can be engaged. where we can listen and hold a gaze. where we can see...and be seen.

reclaiming valentine's day

it’s that time of year again when people dread the mail. the season when people migrate from their feelings of inferiority brought on by the onslaught of holiday family letters to a sense of dread regarding what they won’t receive on valentine’s day. stores assault our senses with garish displays of scratchy lace, cheap chocolate, and tacky stuffed animals. hallmark ads provoke tears (or swearing) and everyone feels a general sense of disappointment and malaise. partnered folks feel let down by cards bought as an afterthought on the way home from work and people not in romantic relationships often experience the season as a sort of slow flow of salt poured into a large and gaping wound. or not. sometimes it isn’t pain that results from the anticipation of february 14th. sometimes it is anger, or loneliness, or panic. sometimes it’s all of the above. 

whatever your emotional reaction to the upcoming “day of love” is, i am wondering if you might consider joining me in taking the day back. valentine’s day need not be owned by card companies and florists. neither does it need to be boycotted or avoided. it can, instead, be transformed by simple acts of love performed with bold intention toward everyone in your life. not just your “lovers.”

i recently commented to an assembled group that while i am not a person who takes huge physical risks, i am someone who tends to take drastic relational ones. for some reason i don’t worry much about how an act of kindness will be received. i don’t fear looking silly (usually) when it comes to attempting to honor and love others. but i know that this is rare. just as i’d rather be poked in the eye than attempt a physical feat that i haven’t mastered, others of you would rather suffer many ill fates than reach out to someone and have that effort fall flat. or be passed over. or met with rejection. i get it. i don’t take anyone up on offers to go snowboarding or try an especially difficult rock climbing problem or play golf (or any other organized sport for that matter). there are certain ways in which i just don’t want to be exposed. or risk being exposed.

for me, valentine’s day offers the perfect opportunity for taking new relational risks in counter cultural and inspiring ways. to illuminate my point, let me offer you a glimpse into my outgoing mail today. there you would find envelopes of all shapes and sizes containing the least fancy valentines imaginable. they aren’t for my husband or kids but are rather simple tokens meant to honor the every day people in my life. one envelope is on it’s way to my friend (and if you’re my friend and your name is jen you should stop reading now and come back to this after thursday) who loves diet coke. when i emptied my last 12 pack of said beverage i cut a heart right out of the cardboard container, scribbled a quick note of gratitude for who jen is in my life and stuffed it into an envelope. today i put it in the mailbox. when she receives it i hope she feels a moment of warmth and connection and a sense of how much i deeply appreciate her. the other envelopes i’ll hand off to people on thursday are similarly crafted. none of them are particularly fancy. i didn’t spend a dime on supplies. i didn’t write rough drafts of my declarations of love and appreciation in order to get them just right. i just wrote.

an acquaintance of mine brings a rose with her to every doctor’s appointment. she gives it to the receptionist when she checks in. a friend fills his wallet with mc donald’s money to distribute to folks who ask for cash downtown. someone else brings small gifts to all the people she sees on her regular weekly errands (the grocery checker, the favorite barista, the librarian, etc) on her own birthday as an act of gratitude. all of these expressions, however, require resources of time, planning ahead, and money.

my wish is that we could move past all the expectations we place on ourselves and others regarding HOW we express our love and feelings of friendship and simply START EXPRESSING them.

so today, while you still have one sleep left before the big “v” day, how about joining me in a day of radical relational risk taking (and by radical i don’t mean jumping out of a plane in a cupid costume). i mean, instead, being radically simple. bravely resourceful. wildly affirming toward those to whom you’re connected. being lavish with words or gestures that speak the specific language of the other rather than your own native tongue. focusing on the message more than the medium. risking looking foolish in order to make another look (and feel and be) loved.

a harp on the hospital floor

several months back my uncle was in the hospital. he was on a medical floor (as opposed to a critical care unit) and it was fun to stop in on him. on one such visit a patient in an adjacent room attempted an “escape” and some large commotion in the waiting room drew four security guards and two police officers. amongst the constant in and outs of physicians, nurses, and medical residents there was a general level of “buzz” in the air throughout the unit that was palpable. no one was calm. not the staff, not the visitors, and certainly not the patients. everyone was rushing and darting and attending to things. call buttons went un-responded to and the swell of security staff roaming the hallways made for a tense atmosphere.

when my visit had commenced, i departed uncle jerry’s room into the rush of activity. emerging into the chaos, i took two steps and then i heard it. coming from a chair perched between the nurses station and the entry door to the unit were the lilting sounds of a harp. the harpist, a young woman dressed in street clothes, sat on the edge of her chair, eyes closed, lips shaped in a slight smile. the effect was mesmerizing. as people neared the music, visible changes took place in their stature and demeanor. footsteps slowed, expressions lightened, and shoulders dropped. a fragile calm seemed to hover in the five foot radius of this anomaly and began to spread.

i have thought of this experience frequently in the intervening months, wondering at the power that a simple presence had on such a frenetic setting. the sound of harp strings in the middle of chaos, urgent need, and even, possibly, danger somehow settled things. calmed them. soothed them. people could have rushed past the musician or dismissed the calm that the harp imposed but they didn’t. instead, they slowed, spoke with less harshness, and, sometimes, even stopped. they were pulled in, it seemed, by the shear unlikelihood of harp music in the middle of a hospital floor. the mellow depth of the music pulled behavior and feelings from one extreme toward a more balanced center. it felt possible, in the moments that i savored this, to be aware of both need and gift, sickness and health, urgency and calm.

i want to be a harp on the hospital floor of my every day life. when it would be easy to be swayed by gathering discontent, i would like to see beauty. when negativity threatens to take root in my speech, i want to invite hope. when my eye gravitates toward the ugly, i want to re-train it to beauty, especially in the broken. when impassioned opinion drives me to act loudly, i would like to chose the balanced, integrated calm of the harp. and when i’m not these things...please be the harp for me and bring me back to center.