Selling Ourselves Short

I saw this posted this on Facebook the other day.

The funny thing is, my initial reaction was to giggle and to "like" it, but mere seconds later, I realized what a horrible message this post promotes.

The first horrible message is the word "whore" itself. Does it mean somebody who charges for sexual services? Does it mean a "loose woman" with no morals who "slept around"? Who, exactly, was really a whore in HIGH SCHOOL? As a middle-aged adult, I know that regardless of how mature and worldly high school kids think they are, they are CHILDREN; possibly misguided, abused, confused, hurting, neglected - or maybe they're just teenagers!. We don't know what could possess an adult to consider a child a whore, but the idea that it's even possible to slap such an ugly label on a child is more than a bit unsettling to me.

The following reflection is based on three main points. The first is that kids in high school are children. The second is the idea that "damaged" people have no right to find solace in the love of Christ the Lord. The last is a plea for us to consider how we choose to operate in this world.

First of all, kids in high school are children. Older children, yes, but all the same children who are trying to find their place in a world that is often confusing, full of contradictions, and rife with hormonal changes and cellular growth. It is not only cruel to label a human being with such inescapable baggage, but it does absolutely nothing to promote healthy attitudes towards girls and women. For an adult to reflect on high school days and think for a moment that a teen-aged child was actually a whore speaks less about the "whore" and more to a backwards perspective that hurts women. Such a meme shouts judgement in support of a patriarchal worldview that seeks to keep those of the female persuasion in the "right place". Growing up is hard for everybody and it's especially hard for girls who are exposed, on a regular basis, to conflicting ideas about what it means to be a female. Whore? Hardly. Please think again.

As an adult who suffered through myriad instances of name-calling, shaming, and out right detestation from my peers during the high school years (and even before), I know that the only thing that got me through so many days of pain was my faith in God. How dare the blessings and grace of our Lord and Savior be denied to those who need it most! As an adult, I've known many women who also suffered through bad reputations as children/teenagers. One of the commonalities we all share is related to the notion of Love; love we lacked, love we didn't know how to manage, love that hurt, love that didn't seem like love at all, but we were told it was,.. Most of us were hurting. Most of us, knowingly or not, contributed to the arsenal of stones that would be used against us - we can see in this meme that it's not only bad to be a whore, but it's bad to repent, too - should we be thrown away? Are we that damaged and useless? I believe not. Love is a very powerful force. How can we expect children, teenagers particularly, to deftly manage the weight of such a powerful and life changing gift? Of course the people who were once labeled as "whores" post Bible verses now - they (we) know the taste of the water Christ offered at the well.  We know who saved our lives. We know the debt we owe. Do you?

Finally, as adults we can choose how we'll operate in this world. We can choose whether we want to spend our days hurting people or loving people. Hopefully as adults. we know that there are ways of being that cause pain, just as we know there are ways that can lessen it. Which path do we choose to take?

I'm going to close with a story.

One evening I was out with a friend who, like me, has a colorful past. She and I both have chosen the path we'll tread as adults and we try, with all of our human capabilities, to live with integrity - even in the face of our very human failings and struggles.

We had gone to a small cafe and chatted about our day when my attention directly shifted onto two very average, and even homely, looking young women. They were in their early twenties, at best.

They were chatting with a couple of "bule" (white foreigners) who happened to be men. She asked me if I thought those girls were pretty and wondered aloud why two "bule" like that would take an interest in them.

The phenomenon of local Indonesian girls and women actively seeking out "bule" men for the opportunity to improve their lot in life is a subject of regular contextual reflection.

The young women were dressed as if they had stepped out of a Salvation Army phone center - they weren't dressed the part to be out looking for men. My interest was piqued and from this point on, I paid attention.

What I witnessed was a business exchange. I saw their "pimp", I watched the deal go down, and I've watched enough TV to know what had transpired. I had never seen such a thing in "real life" and I was shamefully excited, I must admit - I'd never seen it before! It DOES happen! Moments later the entourage was no longer there.

Later that night I saw the same young women again; different place, different pairings. One of them was dangerously drunk (or something), so I reached out to them; being drunk to the point of incoherence is not a good thing to be in a crowded dance club. I talked to them as if they were "normal" women. I didn't treat them like low-grade whores. I interacted with them like the sisters they were.

If they were in their early twenties, that would be dreamy, but it now appeared that the very drunk one may have been all of 18 years old,

My friend asked me how I could speak to "women like that". I asked her how many friendly faces did she think those young women experienced on a daily basis, especially from other women? We reflected on our own lives and thought again, together.

As with before, the young women were once again gone.

I have no doubt that those two young women had little to no say in their situation. I am sure that their options in life were limited and that their vulnerability was exploited. I could not and cannot save them, but I can show them kindness and treat them with love and respect. That's what we are called to do as Christians.

When we throw the word "whore" around, we contribute to a system of values that dehumanizes women and perpetuates a cycle of pain that only a privileged few can escape, and moreover, we disrespect and demonize those among us who are trapped in lifestyles in which they have little to no agency.

Every time I see posts about the evils of sex trafficking I think on those two young women. They are not "whores".

Choose your words wisely, but importantly, choose your path wisely. How do YOU want to operate in this world?

Will you operate with love or with damnation? Sometimes in life it feels that we have few options, but we can ALWAYS choose that.

The Love You Save, Joe Tex

I've been pushed around

I've been lost and found

I've been given til sundown 

To get out of town

I've been taken outside

And I've been brutalized

And I've had to always be the one to smile and apologize

But I ain't never

In my life before

Seen so many love affairs

Go wrong as I do today

I want you to STOP 

And find out what's wrong

Get it right

Or just leave love alone

Because the love you save today

Maybe will be your own

Reflections of a Trainwreck

Last night I watched "Trainwreck", Amy Schumer's new movie, as I do just about every movie; on a laptop.

When I first saw the movie on the shelf at the store, I thought "Yay! This'll be funny!" And then I remember.

Sometimes it seems that's just the way it is; being a woman, the unending pain of what is harmfully dubbed "Daddy issues", and the societal smack down for daring to be anything other than what you're "supposed to be". Put on your big girl panties and deal.

What would have been a fun movie (more on that later) is yet another opportunity to reflect, to remember, and hopefully, to grow.

The movie wasn't as funny as I had hoped, I, like many women, either know or have been someone very similar to Amy.

While it was amusing to see the proverbial tables turned and a woman playing the role of the user, the exploiter, and the "emotionally unavailable", I just couldn't bring myself to laugh as often as I wanted.

Those characteristics don't represent who the character of Amy is as a person, but rather they represent the ways that she deals with how she thinks the world works. They are responses by her damaged soul. There is a difference.

As I washed clothes this morning, I found myself thinking about the movie. Amy's character reflects the values of her father and unfortunately, we only see pieces of how dangerous that can be for a woman. Waking up far away from home in a stranger's house to endure the walk of shame in club clothes isn't really funny.

Being late to work due to said incident isn't really funny, either.

In real life, the copious amounts of alcohol that she drank would cause some problems - at some point, anyway - what we can do when we're young changes as we get older, especially drinking everybody except ourselves under the table. Recovery times change.

In short, I couldn't laugh as much as I wanted because I've been, or I know, women like Amy.

Just like in the movie, though, most of us manage to move on. We can straighten out, learn our lessons, and have productive lives. Or not.

In the movie, Amy's boyfriend is the recipient of a prestigious award. She is there to support him and is fully aware of how important that event is to him. During his acceptance speech, she receives texts and calls from her megalomaniac boss. "PICK UP THIS PHONE NOW OR YOU'RE FIRED"

She removes herself from the room to take the call, hurts her boyfriend Aaron not once, but twice as she stayed out even longer to smoke a joint in the window.

Trainwreck.

Not only would I have not taken the call, but I wouldn't have had my phone on. I would have been fired.

You see, the thing about trainwrecks is that anything on the tracks is fair game - it was the job or it was Aaron, but it was going to be something. There's no wreck if nothing is not destroyed. It will always be something.

SPOILER ALERT - DON'T READ PAST HERE IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE FILM



I wish I could have been happier that she and Aaron were able to reconcile at the end, but I couldn't. I was happy for them, I mean, but does Aaron really deserve to deal with all that?

Recovery takes time and as much as we think that loving someone will "fix everything", it doesn't. Issues like Amy's character has don't just change overnight. We seem to get so happy when the trainwreck or the excuse me, "f**k up", finds someone who makes them see the need to change.

Change isn't easy or fast and what about the person on the receiving end? What about Aaron?

Do we think that male "f**ck ups" can just change? They don't, so why should a female trainwreck?

Maybe there's nothing in the movie to lead us to believe that she will change, but the fact that she wants to try is supposed to be enough. I do find comfort in their mutual affirmation at the end that they WANT to make it work and that they are willing to make the effort. That's huge, but...

I don't think it's enough. There are too many Aarons (or Avas) in the world that naively traipse into relationships with trainwrecks or "f**k ups" and believe that they'll just change.

Maybe they can change, but the idea that lifelong programming can be changed by the love of another person is dangerous. It's hurt countless women and now, showing that women can be the same, we risk not only spreading a disease of naivety that feeds toxic relationships, but also unconsciously treating it as normal.

Trainwreck.

I appreciate the film and I appreciate the female characters. It's important to see women in roles that are typically given to men. Yay! Women can be "f**ck ups" too!

I guess I just expected more. Unfortunately, it's the same ol' trope turned into a comedy. See, sisters, we can be the same! Yes, indeed, we ARE the same. And that shouldn't be something to laugh about.

When I was in my early twenties and found myself reeling from being on the receiving end of yet another male "f**k up", I played with the idea of being the same, but I had an epiphany. The people, male and female, who are hurt by trainwrecks and "f**k ups" don't deserve it. The people who DO deserve it can't be hurt, so how do we want to proceed? By hurting people (Aaron) who don't deserve it, or trying to make that change?

I don't wish for Amy's character to be a martyr, particularly, but our society has GOT to move past the tit-for-tat fixes of the goose and gander. It's not good for the goose, and it's not good for the gander.

It's the 21st century and it's time for a change. Amy's character, like the myriad male characters before her, has issues. And those don't just go away when a nice person who deserves love, respect, and honesty comes along to save the day. It just doesn't work that way and we need to stop thinking that it does.

It hurts everybody - trainwrecks, "f**k ups", and anything that happens to be on the track.

And that's not really funny.

The Cat's Meow

This morning while preparing food for one of my kitties who isn't feeling well and worrying about another one who seems to be less active of late, I caught myself thinking "if they could all just be HEALTHY at the same time!"


Wouldn't that just be wonderful if everything in our lives could be perfect? We would all have jobs that paid us enough to have healthy, perfect lives - enough food, able to afford health care (for ourselves and loved ones), safe houses and neighborhoods free from industrial waste or fumes.

A perfect life of being surrounded by people who truly love and care about your well-being in a world appreciated for its natural magnificence and free from exploitation and ruin.

A world in which peace is the rule, not the exception - people are kind and understanding. An education would include the building up of our very best natures - empathy, compassion, and the knowledge necessary to make everything better - perfect - less uncomfortable and hard with no one left out.

What if we could have the most fashionable clothes, the nicest cars, belong to the best clubs - would that be perfect?

I don't think there's anything wrong, particularly, with striving for excellence - for perfection; but life is not perfect.

In pieces and fragments, we can find some semblance of what may seem perfect, but true perfection will always elude us.

Life is not perfect - there is injustice, sickness, greed, and tragedy.

Shall we spend our days lamenting what is not, indeed, perfect or do we focus on what we can do, the things that are in our control?

To love.
To listen.
To try.

This morning as I thought about my cats, I remembered that I had choices. I didn't have to take any of them in. I could have left them in the street where they began - alone and tiny. It is very likely that they wouldn't be around had that happened, but I had the choice.

I chose to try. I chose to love. And that's not always easy.

How do we know whether to try or to turn away?

I guess there's no easy answer for that, but once we make the decision, we have to do our best.

No, life isn't perfect, but if we try and listen, we may find that life can be full and rich, especially when we love as best we can.

The cat's meow? It's an old American idiom and it means something wonderful, something awesome, maybe something fashionable. What a special realization that even though life isn't perfect, I can still choose how to behave in this world! Sometimes it just takes a gentle reminder that while life isn't perfect, when we do what we can with love, even the imperfections can be a blessing. The cat's meow.

Lynch Mob

Earlier this week on Facebook, I saw a picture posted with an article from The Chronicle of Higher Education titled The Literature of Lynching. The picture was of what Billie Holiday immortalized in her song "Strange Fruit", but this picture showed an entourage of contented attendees, as well.

The crowd gathered around was full of smiling faces, likely joking with each other, and seemingly proud that those two "got what they deserved".

The photo is disturbing,  indeed, and it is something from which we mustn't turn our heads. The sustained war against our African American brothers and sisters has not ended, but it has changed in scope and focus. We must be aware of our history and in that history, perhaps we can find redemption. A new way.

Religion, race, ethnicity, class - all have been used throughout history to protect a certain concept of tradition and the accompanying social norms. The drive to punish and the collective glee that accompanies such punishment isn't, and never has been, confined to the South, regardless of what we've been led to believe about ourselves.

Hatred towards our fellow beings, however, is evil. We must shut it down.

But sometimes, it's hard to see when it's embedded in our social psyche - our institutions, traditions, and even in our families.

We like to think that evil lies in an individual or group, but evil cannot be contained so easily. If it were, by now it would surely have been eradicated through all the wars and sustained violence inherent in so many cultures.

Why do we always think that we can get rid of evil by participating in evil? Martin Luther King Jr. said that only light can drive out darkness. We know that's true, so why do we continue to struggle towards fighting evil with evil devices?

The enemy is in us all. It can't be quarantined and exterminated. It has to be vanquished in the light.

The light of love. Of compassion. Grace.

When I first looked at the picture, of course my heart dropped. The inhumanity. The sheer glee of the spectators. The air of self-righteous vindication.

Scapegoating. Violence. Blame. Fear. Hate.

I'm learning that my culture doesn't own the patent to those things. They are as much a part of being human as the abilities of reasoning and self-awareness.

When we see violence, it can be so easy to dismiss, as the onlookers at the lynching seemingly did; this isn't really violence - it's justice, those people got what they had coming to them. Good riddance. In their minds, they were doing their civic duty by ridding society of a scourge.

Mobs of people taking justice into their own hands - literally or only as support staff - can never be a good thing.

The desire to punish, to find someone one to blame, to roast the scapegoat - it's just too tempting.

And it happens all over the world.

In Indonesia in 1965, Communists were the evil to be eradicated. They had to be wiped out. Estimates range from hundreds of thousands to millions of people killed; communists, as well as sympathizers, outcasts, and undesirables - some unfortunates who just happened to be on the wrong side of public opinion at the time, too. Many more were jailed, tortured, cast out, stigmatized. Scholars, artists, academics, free thinkers, intellectuals, and even farmers,

The acts committed in 1965 were spiffed up and spun into a far-reaching and inescapable propaganda campaign that would support the new administration. History books were re-written to support the stories of the conquerors and perpetrators. Any version of events that did not comply with the official story was destroyed. Even after the movement of Reconstruction that began in 1998, the history of what really happened in 1965 remained in a state of tenuous flux.

If I've learned anything, it's that what we think we know may not be the way it really is (or was). Hate has a delicious way of making itself palatable, even to those of us who swear we don't like the taste. It's sadly not too hard to give it a try and take a bite anyway.

The words and reasons we use to "other" people, or to make people into the "other",  are varied, but the result is the same. They're not like us. Let's blame them. Let's get rid of them. Let's kill them (physically, spiritually, or even economically)

This horrific cycle, although I was aware, I didn't quite catch because I was almost sucked into it. I didn't first hate, but in the receipt of hate, I decided that they, too, were worthy of being hated....of being bad. Deserving of punishment for THEIR crimes.

Then it dawned on me - there is no end to that cycle. We can always argue about who's right, who's wrong, who DID something wrong.

We can focus on BLAME or we can focus on what to do next.

In systems that are set up to punish, re-framing and focusing on reconciliation can be challenging, if not outright impossible - but we have to try.

If we could just talk to each other.  If we could just learn to listen. If we could put our egos aside long enough to work on a solution as opposed to working on a punishment, the world could be so different.

Until we can get to that place, I'm afraid that the lynch mobs - figuratively and literally - won't be going away any time soon.

Hate breeds hate. And it has to stop..

Pondering by a (Crazy?) Cat Lady Part 1

I've loved cats my entire life - my earliest memories involve dogs or cats, goats, ponies, ducks...if there's one thing about me, it's that I am an animal lover to the core. I especially have an affinity for cats.

We often think of cats as being independent, maybe spoiled, self-centered, and willing to swipe something, unprovoked, from a high place to the floor. Cats do what they want. And I've always liked that - gaining their trust and affection isn't a given, but something to be earned and cherished. There's a purity in the relationships we have we cats. We can feel that we get what we give - it's kind of safe that way.

Since living in Indonesia, I've had more cats to come in and out of my life than ever before. Some fell to the evils of rat poison (Raden Kartini Jinjibu, Siddhartha (likely), and Macan), some ran away or were more likely taken (Hebatwati and Sophia), and some just couldn't pull through the physical weakness of a motherless kitten hood (The Fabulous Four, Ringo, and a little white fluff ball who didn't make it long enough to be given a name, Lefty), and the two who didn't make it to birth or for long after (two of Saucy's litter, RIP)

I've cried over the losses of these precious animals and try, each time, to learn something that can be helpful for the next time I receive a crying kitten. I never go looking for the cats, but I can't just ignore it when I hear one crying...

The most recent story happened mere weeks ago. I was happily attending an event to support friends who are teaching the art and skills of gamelan performance to a group of young people. The kids were so cute in their East Java-styled blankong (batik turbans, basically) with their dark, Risky Business shades...

Just as the sun was beginning to set, I heard it. As usual, I tried to ignore it and tell myself that it was a bird, but after a while, I knew it wasn't so I had to go see. By the edge of the small street was an open box and three little kittens. The box had a couple of pieces of fried cassava and some poop trails...yes, the cats had come from that box and the box had been tossed there. Maybe being near the market is a fine place to discard small, useless animals - maybe there are people there who will feed them and certainly there are rats and mice, but the sun was setting and they were tiny, scared, alone, and on the side of a street.

At first I thought that maybe the mommy cat was nearby. I hadn't thoroughly checked the box out at that time and I am not fast to engage with kittens. I don't fancy myself a savior of kittens, but I'm not a passive observer, either. I had to check it all out.

The place where I was is a nice, open space with a small natural area (minimally landscaped, but maintained passive area, really) and a few trees - it's a shady place as at least one of the trees is a famed banyan.

Banyan tree in Kota Gede, Yogyakarta

I moved the box and the kittens away from the road to a safer place under a tree. I then returned to the event mere meters away.  The kittens continued to cry and I felt some solace knowing that they were at least out of harm's way - maybe someone would collect them.

As the sun went down, the kittens were still ambling around the box - confused and alone. Closer to the building is the big banyan tree. These trees are the natural habitats for spirits and good things - surely the kittens would be safe there. I moved them into the curtain of roots cascading off the branches towards the ground. One little kitten, the white, fluffy one, completely ignored the soft strip of bread I gave her and retreated into the cavern of the tree trunk. The other two ate their fill of the bread and frolicked around in the new, safe space...one regularly checking on the whereabouts of the other sibling.

I know that when cats, even kittens, seek out dark places to hide that they know their time is coming...I had planned to let the babies stay there in that tree, the two happy ones enjoying the vines, as well as the local school children who would surely love them, and the other one to embrace its sad fate in the heart of the spirit tree, but I changed my mind when I saw Tatok's concerned look."I don't think we should leave them". He didn't have to twist my arm.

After collecting the small white one from the core of the tree, we put them all in a tidy clean box for the ride home. The little white one made it through the night, but passed the next day about 10:00 in the morning. The seemingly heartiest of them all, Lefty (Paul), made it one week to the day and his passing was too strong a reminder of the tragic loss of Ringo four months ago. This time, however, I knew. I knew that any attempt to save him would fail - he had been warm and well-fed. Something else was taking him away and the best I could do was to make him comfortable and love him in those last moments.

Ringo enjoying the (hopefully) healing ocean air

I've learned a lot from my experiences with kittens and cats over the past few years. I had always thought of cats as being independent and disinterested with the welfare of others. I have been proven wrong time and time again.

Hebatwati (her name means "extraordinary woman") approached our dog, Jason, when she was less than 2 months old. She went on walks with us, her little bell tinkling with every pounce, step, and leap. She often slept with him in his kennel outside, especially when it rained. Their friendship remained the same up until the day she left, disappeared, or was taken. 

I no longer let the cats outside.

Jack is especially upset that he can't go outside. He has yet to be fixed (but will be this week) and he complains with groans and pained exclamations deep from within his strong, kind heart. Jack is the only other boy cat I've ever met who can be mentioned in the same sentence as my boy Rayne. Rayne was the ultimate protector. He would rest in the threshold of my daughter's bedroom door with a watchful eye on my while I did my university homework. He wouldn't go to sleep and move into either her room or mine until I was finished and in bed, myself. Rayne chased a Rhodesian Ridgeback out of the yard one day and he also chased 2 cats away from his protege, Phoebe. Rayne was one of a kind.

Rayne chillin' in a pile on laundry day

When Jack first arrived, he was maybe 2 or 3 months old. In his care was a small, white fluffy ball of cat, maybe a month old, who would be known as Saucy. Flapjack and Applesauce. Enough with the serious names, I gave these two fun names even though their personalities are not, remotely, silly.

A shot of the paint that red stain or paint that was on
Jack for the first couple of weeks...even after a good bath!

Jack was as protective of Saucy as if he were her mother. How in the world could such a small cat make it in such a harsh, lonely, environment? (It seems that they had lived/scrounged under a bridge before)

Saucy cleaned up a lot better than Jack that first day!

They took their baths nicely, but the struggles of hard living took longer to wash away. The red dye, paint or whatever that was didn't go away for weeks and they would very rarely be very far away from each other. Their dependence on and love for each other was always easy to see.

They looked pretty rough in the beginning, but their love
for one another shined through

I'm dedicating this post of my cat love to Jack and Saucy. Neither Jack nor Saucy has ever tried to scratch or hurt anybody - Saucy loves other cats and people, and Jack loves Saucy...and his "chosen people". Jack has spoiled Saucy to the point that I don't know if she realizes how hard their life was - she was still young. Saucy should be the kind of self-centered cat that many of us associate with cats, but she is not.

As they grew it, it got harder to see where one ended and
the other began

Saucy has loved and cuddled with every cat that has come into this house. Now that she is the mom of two healthy kittens, I'm sure that she is the reason that the third kitten from the side of the road is still with us. She has nursed Priscilla and cuddled her. Before Priscilla, Saucy had taken Tina and Sally under her wing, letting them cuddle with her and grooming them. How could such a cat as Saucy be so full of love and so ready to share it with others? I like to think it's because of Jack. She knows what it feels like to be loved and she shares it.

Jack and Saucy inspire me and make this house into even more of a home. I love my cats and if that makes me a crazy cat lady, then I guess that's what I am.

The moral of the story is that love is a good thing and it does good things, but we already knew that, didn't we?

Jack and Saucy

Saucy and her babies

Jack and Sally

Tina, Priscilla and Sally - in a pile

(Just like) Starting Over

As long as we're breathing and aware, I suppose that - hopefully - we're growing, too.

Sometimes I think I've had enough of the growing, really. When will there be a flower? How about some new leaves? Maybe it's just time for a new pot?

There's no question that growth is, or should be, a natural part of life, but what if we thought we were going to produce big, fragrant, red flowers and we only make little yellow bursts of color that are short lived and not-too fragrant? What if there are no flowers at all? What then?

Sometimes I feel like that - my education, experience, training...successes and lessons from all of those; they just don't matter.

True enough, an education can never be taken away, nor can the lessons from experiences - both personal and professional - but they can seem useless if they cease to have value. How is the value determined? Is it the market price, i,e, can I get a job with it?, or is it the personal sense of satisfaction (ego)?

For the entirety of my adult life, I've worked to create some kind of stability - went to college, bought a house, tried to engage a bit in "lifelong learning" (real estate certification, American Planning Association certification, TESOL certification...)

I guess the long and short of it was that I wanted to be "safe".

Five years ago I embarked on a journey that was both safe and not safe - a path that seemed to be perfect - a job (safe) that blended all of the things that I worked so hard to cultivate, stockpile, and that were meaningful to me; education, experiences, and most of all, my faith, but to a place far, far away with a culture that is, in many ways, the exact opposite of the one from which I come, or as I like to day, the same, but different.

Three years ago I threw safety to the wind. Accountable, honest, and ready to accept the consequences for my decisions and actions, everything.

Today I not only reflect on the idea of "safety"; stability, predictability, and comfort, but I also reflect on what it means NOT to have those things - is that the essence of life? How often do we THINK that we're safe - our jobs are secure, our relationships are forever - only to be taken by surprise when we discover that we were wrong?

Maybe I thought I'd be one step ahead of the game - all we can control, after all, are the things that are IN our control...namely our actions and our thinking. Was I safe in being accountable for those things? Did I mean to be safe, or was I merely trying to take ownership of my life and my decisions?

Looking back, the reasons don't really matter. I did what I thought was best based on the situation at hand.

The fallacy in my thinking is as multi-faceted and complex as would be expected in a cross-cultural experience. Knowledge, indeed, does not equal understanding (and that is demonstrated so effectively in this video)

Even though I KNEW what needed to be done or SHOULD be done, my brain just couldn't/wouldn't/didn't do it - after watching this video, I realized that I've been way too hard on myself for a few years.

The first time I began to cultivate my awareness that indeed, knowledge was not understanding may have been in August 2011 ... I was certainly feeling lost, all right.

To mediate those fears and the muddled confusion, I rode my bicycle. Two things that have been constants in my life that ALWAYS, always, make me happy are riding a bike and playing in the woods.

Riding my bike allowed time to think, reflect, and deplete some pent up energy.

I once wrote a post about how living here is like riding my fixie.  The point was that as long as I paid attention and kept peddling, the ride could be enjoyable.

Now, almost four years later, knowledge is yielding to a bit of understanding, but the bias that is in my brain is still there and even though I'm aware of it, it's mighty hard to change.

In conclusion, the education, experience, and lessons I had learned throughout my life are really helpful in the appropriate context, but now...here? They're not that useful. And I even think they're not all that valuable.

I need to start over. To begin and build again.

It can't be too hard, can it? I mean, it's as easy as riding a bike.

Freeze Out

My cousins and I had a bit of a joke about who among us was currently in "freeze out" - which one of us was the one nobody (especially our Grandmother) was talking to at the time. Truth be told, it was usually me or my other outspoken cousin who never knew her place, either. We just couldn't be quiet and accept things. I don't think we've changed much, but I'd like to think that we've grown wiser as we've gotten older and can, when absolutely mandatory, keep our mouths closed - if only temporarily.

While we can laugh, even sometimes much later, at the tensions that happen in our family lives, some of in the US often have little idea what it's like to live in a culture in which such a freeze out happens not only in families, but in greater society.

When it's really easy to surmise many things about a person just by looking at them, whether it's race or ethnicity, marital status, religion, level of education, or economic status, the world is a different place. In some places, making such off-the-cuff assumptions is treated as an art form - or maybe a survival mechanism.

Sometimes it takes getting out of context to see things.

Now, imagine that being friends with an outcast person or member of a marginalized group - maybe even as superficial as having a conversation or participating in dialogue - could cost you your job. Could cost you your own stability and safety. Could negatively impact your spouse or children. What then? What if you had been friends before they were outcast or marginalized? Can you afford to stay friends with them or speak to them in an intimate manner?

Flash back to high school - I remember clearly how there were rules to follow...the white rules. Make no mistake, being "white" involves a LOT more than skin color; now some of those secrets are leaking out...coded language, election decisions, where people choose to live - when they have a choice. Lots goes into that structure and there is hell. to. pay. if you don't, especially in the South of the 1980's - I can only imagine what it would have been like in the "old days".

I'm often in a state of shock when I hear flippant dismissals by some travelers of the mechanisms of social violence employed in other cultures as "exotic", "cute", "traditional" or "tribal". It's easy to dismiss mechanisms that marginalize and hurt people in other countries. I used to think that it was more of a reflection of cultural superiority rather than something some of us are trained to do from the minute we learn our place in our own society.

We are all masters of ignoring systems of violence when it's convenient or necessary.

And we are also adept at pointing out those cultures of violence when we have little to lose from making such assertions.

I've often said that things in Indonesia are just the same as in the US, but different. I tried to figure that out, but now I make a simple claim based on something my mother told me during my term as an Elder in my church. Wherever there are people, they are going to act like people.

We may be more connected now than ever and we may be learning that we're not as different as we thought, but remember this: we all, everywhere, are still are busy with what to do with the ones that don't fit, as well as with the ones who deserve to be heard - or not.

We just go about it in different ways, but it happens. Everywhere.

I pray for greater awareness and peace. I want to know when to keep my mouth shut and when not to, but most of all, I want to try not to participate in systems of violence.

The problem is that the definition of violence is as fluid as the oceans that divide us.

Tenth Avenue Freeze Out - Bruce Springsteen

Well I was stranded in the jungle

Trying to take in all the heat they was giving

The night is dark but the sidewalk's bright

And lined with the light of the living

From a tenement window a transistor blasts

Turn around the corner things got real quiet real fast

I walked into a Tenth Avenue freeze-out

Tenth Avenue freeze-out

And I'm all alone, I'm all alone

And kid you better get the picture

And I'm on my own, I'm on my own

And I can't go home